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yelena-bellova · 1 year

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Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter Four

Chapter Four: Luck

Plot: Joel, Y/n, Tess and Ellie encounter Clickers, and sacrifices are made.

Warnings: tlou ep.2 spoilers, language, violence, gore, blood, guns, death, (16+)

Word Count: 4.4k (what else for chapter 4? lol)

A/N: So the only reason I was able to get this out so fast is because chapter three and this was supposed to be one big chapter. It ended up being too long, so it got split. Please don’t make this your expectation 😂

I love reading all your comments, even if I’m horrible at responding to them. I’ve never had this kind of response to my writing and it’s a lot to keep up with. I, once again, have to reiterate that this is a 16+ series and if your name is not listed on your page, I will not be tagging you. Gotta look out for younger eyes 👀 I hope you enjoy this chapter! There’s no flashback, but a lot of hints about things to come later…I’m a terrible tease 😂🤫 Enjoy!!

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The museum doors were covered in fungus.

“This feels like a great plan,” Y/n sarcastically stated.

Joel ignored her disapproval, going ahead and kneeling down at one of the fungal sites. He ran a hand over it before breaking through it with the butt of his rifle.

“It’s bone dry,” he reported, “It could mean they’re all finally dead in there.”

Could was the key word of the sentence. ‘Coulds’ were like ‘probablies,’ hope with barely a breath left in it. The adults all started going through their packs, puling out their flashlights.

“Oh, man…” Ellie muttered.

Joel whipped out his light and looked exepctantly to Ellie, “Marlene pack you one of these, or just sandwiches?”

“Yeah,” Ellie answered, searching through her pack.

Y/n nudged the kid’s arm, drawing her focus. “You stay behind one of us at all times,” she instructed, “Slow and steady. Do not wander. Got it?”

Ellie nodded, “Got it.” When Tess crossed her hands, a gun and a flashlight in each, Ellie took notice. “I have a spare hand.”

“Congratulations,” Joel noted sarcastically.

With her pistol drawn, Y/n watched Joel move forward. It bothered her that he had been leading them the whole way. Their talk on the highway proved he thought he was capable of more than her. He assumed that just because he’d known her when she could afford to be delicate, she couldn’t have possibly grown into a fighter. Setting caution aside, she marched forward to walk parallel to him.

“Get back,” he ordered.

“Get bent,” she grunted.

The four of them moved as silently as they could through the museum’s lobby, posters and signs proving it had once been a landmark. Y/n moved alongside Joel, at one point taking a step ahead of him and finding a corner full of dry Cordyceps.

“We’re good,” she announced.

“Oh, finally,” Tess remarked, “Some fuckin’ luck.”

“I guess we should’ve gone this way in the first place,” Joel acknowledged.

“Oh, shit!” Ellie exclaimed, the three of them ran to join her. She’d broken Y/n’s third instruction like it was nothing.

There lay a body, covered in fresh blood and claw marks through its clothing.

“What the fuck did that?” Ellie inquired.

Y/n, Tess and Joel shared a knowing look.

“Maybe,” Tess’ voice shook as it lowered, “Maybe he was attacked outside and crawled through the doors. The door was open. Could’ve been him. I don’t hear anything.”

“Who would you hear?” Ellie asked.

The adults shushed her, Joel held up a hand.

Ellie lowered her voice, “Who would you hear? Are you saying an Infected did that?”

“Shh,” Tess crooned.

“Because I’ve been attacked by one and it wasn’t like that,” Ellie added.

Joel took a breath, it was all he could allow himself. “Okay, from this point forward, we are silent,” he whispered, “Not quiet…silent.”

“What-“ Ellie began.

“No, no questions,” Joel stopped her, “Just do it.”

Having very little trust in the man who had openly admitted to wanting to kill her, Ellie peered at Y/n, who nodded in solemn agreement. Things had suddenly become very, very real.

The four of them made their way to the museum’s staircase, taking slow steps up the creaking steps. Joel and Y/n made it to the top first, only having to stop when a piece of debris fell in a cloud of dust. They shined their flashlights across the way, a massive piling of death and fungus-covered bodies laying tragically still.

Crunch.

The exes spun around to see Ellie baring her teeth nervously, a skeletal hand below her sneaker. Everyone held their breath. There was creaking coming from above them, every step they took was a step closer to being buried alive.

Joel and Y/n made it into the Independance Hall exhibit, taking stock of their surroundings and coming up clean. Ellie followed with Tess close behind her.

Suddenly, there was a crashing sound; the building was finally giving out. Lightining fast, Y/n surged forward and grabbed Ellie’s arm, pulling her forward as Tess nose dove to the floor. Y/n let go of Ellie to extend a hand to Tess, who braced herself with it and got to her feet. They barely had a second to gather their thoughts before a loud, animal noise echoed through the room.

Then came the clicking.

Y/n and Joel drew their guns together, aiming in the direction the sound had come from. They slowly backed up, Tess and Ellie moving behind them, as the noises drew closer.

Fear can stop a clock, and none of them could tell how long they waited until the snarling, shriveled monster stepped into the room.

Y/n and Joel’s grudge ceased to exist as they moved in sync, silent as the grave they prayed they weren’t about to meet. As their group passed a doorway, more clicking sounded through it. They startled, backing up as the erratic footsteps came closer.

Two. There were two Clickers.

The foursome sought shelter behind a glass display case as the Infected began to roam the room. Each of them were processing the situation spearately, but they needed to move together as one.

Joel saw the fear in Ellie’s eyes, he couldn’t take it from her, but he could prepare her. “They can’t see,” he mouthed, leaning over Y/n, “But they can hear.”

On the other side of the display case, one of the Clickers walked past, shrieking as it jerked around. It had been over a year since Y/n had been this close to one of them, she’d forgotten what it was like. The way experience melted away and fear overtook all your senses.

Joel held up a finger to the three of them. If the Clickers could pass through without noticing them, they could make a straight shot up to the passageway and be gone. Everything rested on how the next thirty seconds went.

Y/n was too afriad to shut her eyes and too scared to face the creature head on. She simply stared ahead, trembling with each sound the monster made.

They listened as it turned the corner of the display case, until it was mere inches from them.

Ellie gasped.

Y/n grimaced.

The creature spun around to them and screamed.

Joel unloaded his rifle on the creature, who reached out and dragged him forward.

“Run,” Joel screamed.

Tess took off with Ellie, shooting at the other Infected before escaping the room. Y/n stayed, firing shots at the creature as it fought Joel. It knocked the rifle out of his hands, leaving him with only his pistol. Y/n was able to wound it enough to momentarily stun it, giving Joel and her time to run away.

They sprinted down the hall, Joel turned around and fired a shot before they dove into the next room. He knocked over a podium, creating an obstacle in the Clicker’s path, buying him and Y/n a few extra seconds. Joel grabbed her wrist and threw them behind a shelving unit.

Now fear, it turns out, is a powerful thing. It can cause people to turn on one another, or it can bring them together. Y/n had spent the last twenty four hours listing all the ways she wanted to kill Joel Miller, but face to face with the reality of losing him, she was doing everything she could to save him. They both were.

Joel’s hands shook as he reloaded his gun, his flashlight tucked between his shoulder and his chin. Y/n stretched her arm out over his chest, her breath trembling in time with his as they waited…

The Clicker was right next to them.

Joel shone his flashlight around the corner, the Infected was a mere ten inches from them. Mercifully, it hadn’t sensed them, and headed around the other side of the shelving unit. Y/n peered through the dusty screens, charted a clear path, and motioned for Joel to come forward. They crouched as they walked, Y/n spotted Ellie hunched against another display case.

Joel and her quickly crossed the space and got down alongside her. Joel looked to his side, signaling for Ellie to follow them around the case. They crawled in the opposite direction, the Clicker only a few feet away from them and but a second from discovering them. It just needed to take a few more steps and then it would be in the other room….

A piece of glass crunched under Joel’s boot.

The three of them stopped.

The Clicker screeched and leapt across the case, tackling them to the floor. Ellie thrashed and yelled as it pinned her down. Joel and Y/n each kept an arm against its chest, pushing it away with their combined strength. Y/n freed her arm from between her and Ellie’s bodies, pressing her gun against the Clicker’s abdomen and shooting it three times. It stunned the monster, giving Joel time to shove it off of them. Y/n shielded Ellie, who was gripping her jacket, and Joel shielded Y/n. Joel aimed his pointed at the Clicker once again, and gunned it down as it ran towards them. He fired a few final shots, just to ensure it was dead.

The second Clicker charged towards them, Joel and Y/n shoved Ellie behind them, no time to draft an attack plan. Saving the day, Tess came from the side and lodged an axe in the Clicker’s head. Thinking quick, Joel left Y/n and Ellie to retake his rifle, firing one shot before a second that did the creature in.

Joel surveyed the Clicker, examining the bloody chunks of fungus laying around its head. Fear was enough to create doubt, even in front of fact.

“You all right?” Joel asked Tess, who was getting to her feet.

“Twisted ankle, but…yeah,” Tess answered.

Y/n turned to Ellie, “Are you okay?”

“Well, I didn’t shit my pants, so…” she responded, glancing around her in case they’d missed one. She stopped and rolled up her sleeve, revealing a bloody mark, “You fucking kidding me?”

Y/n didn’t know whether or not to be scared. Joel knew exactly what to feel.

“I mean, if it was gonna happen to one of us,” Ellie muttered.

Joel didn’t let his anxiety come over him often, but he could feel it building. Tess was tuned into him enough to see it happening.

“Hey,” she coaxed, “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

The four of them filed out the top window, Y/n offering Tess her hand to help her onto the roof. Joel went to work immediately, pulling out a first aid kit and a piece of cloth.

“Put this around your arm,” Joel instructed Ellie, handing her the cloth. In the chaos, he hadn’t even thought to ask Y/n if she was injured. “You-“

“I’m fine,” Y/n said coldly, eager to settle back into blind hatred.

Ellie made her way to the makeshift bridge, a few wooden planks, and took the first step. “Over there?”

“Yeah, I know,” Joel spoke as he examined Tess’ ankle, “It looks scary.”

“That was scary,” Ellie replied, “This is wood.”

Y/n followed Ellie, her legs steadying more with each step across the divide. In the world they lived in, fear had to pass as quick as a summer storm.

“Are they always like that?” Ellie asked once they were both on the rooftop.

Y/n sighed, “Not at first. I mean, they’re always scary but at the beginning, they look…” she paused, forcing the memories out like a tide in the ocean, “They look normal.”

Ellie hummed, wandering off to the edge of the building. As Joel crossed the plank, Y/n went to stand beside Ellie. The sun was shining gold down on the remnants of Boston, illuminating the good and the bad.

This. This was what still gave Y/n hope. She needed to believe that maybe, maybe, there was a way to restore the world back to its beauty. That was the key difference between her and Joel; she still wanted to find what little good was left out there.

Joel came to stand on Ellie’s other side, peering over at the girl. “Is it everything you hoped for?”

“Jury’s still out,” Ellie gave a half-shrug, “But man, you can’t deny that view.”

Tess rejoined them, walking with new purpose. “C’mon, let’s get there before it’s dark,” she grunted, climbing over the edge and scaling down some siding.

Joel and Y/n stood at the edge of the roof, each staring out into the horizon lost in their thoughts. Their severed connection lived in the space between them, sparking and straining as it tried to pull them together.

But they’d had twenty years of ignoring one another’s memory. It was going to take more than a fight and a sunset to come to any kind of truce.

Y/n silently climbed down the side of the building, leaving Joel on his own. He glanced down at his watch, taking a valued second to himself, before heading down after the rest of them.

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The rest of the way to the State House was spent in quiet suspicion. Everyone watched Ellie with more interest than before, waiting for something to happen.

When they arrived, Y/n spotted the truck that was supposed to transport Ellie and her. There was supposed to be someone outside waiting to meet them and yet, the place looked as deserted as the rest of the city.

Joel glanced at Y/n, silently asking if this was right. She answered with a distant shake of her head as she looked around them. She drew her gun and got up, stepping strategically through the grass. Joel huffed in exasperation, coming out in the open to follow her.

Y/n approached the truck cautiously, her breath already trembling like she’d already seen what lay inside. She ignored Joel practically breathing down her neck as she swung open the vehicle’s door. Empty.

Joel held up a hand to Tess, who stood with her gun aimed and Ellie protected behind her. “Stay back,” he mouthed. When he turned back to Y/n, he found air.

Y/n rounded the vehicle, examining the other side before her eyes and nose were drawn to the ground. There was a bloodied body laying underneath the truck. She knelt before it, whatever had happened to it hadn’t been more than an hour or two ago. The blood was still new, but the flies had already found the poor soul.

Joel was at the rear of the truck, bracing himself for whatever fight lay inside it. He threw the back door open and took a stance, finding the same nothing they had in the cab.

“Joel?” Tess called, coming to join them, “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Joel said, looking around the corner of the truck to Y/n, “What was the plan?”

Y/n sighed and ran a hand through her hair, “Driver was supposed to be waiting here, one or two Fireflies just to verify it was us…we were supposed to jump in the truck and go.”

“They went inside,” Ellie announced, staring at the steps leading to the State House. The three adults peered over to see the bloody footprints painted on the staircase.

“Come on,” Tess grunted, grabbing Ellie’s hand and letting the blood tracks show them the way.

“Tess,” Joel called, Y/n wasn’t waiting for him to call the shots. She jogged up the stairs with the same urgency as his partner. “Tess!”

Tess burst through the doors, holding both Ellie and her pistol in front of her. Y/n flanked Ellie, ready to attack whatever could been lurking in the building. Joel followed the women, exhausted by their recklessness.

What they found was worse than they could have imagined.

Every Firefly body was on the floor, their blood spread across the slick marble.

Y/n could feel her chest cave in on itself. Her comrades, the plan to take Ellie west, hope itself, it all dead lay around her.

Tess showed the same panic Y/n was trying so hard to contain. “Okay, I mean there’s gotta be a fuckin’ radio or something, right?”

“Start looking,” Y/n holstered her gun, running to check the crates, the equipment…anything that could offer them a morsel of chance. If she could get in contact with Marlene, they could form a new plan. She’d take Ellie herself, if necessary, doubts be damned. They couldn’t admit defeat so easily.

“Tess,” Joel called, having already deduced that one Firefly had got infected and it had spread to the others, “What’re you doin’?”

Y/n threw open crates, scouring the contents for a radio, with Tess searching beside her. They both ignored Joel.

“Where did Marlene say you two were going?” Tess asked Y/n.

“Tess-“ Joel tried again.

“Just west,” Y/n answered, her breath quickening, “We were supposed to get the exact location here.”

Tess threw her hands out in exasperation, “Just west. Fuck. Okay…well, one of ‘em’s gotta have a map on them, right?”

Y/n was already examining the bodies without touching them, “Check each one.”

“Joel, can you help us?” Tess impatiently asked, kneeling next to Y/n and searching through the victim’s pockets.

“No,” Joel bellowed, refusing to indulge the fantasy any longer, “Tess, it’s over. We are goin’ home.”

Tess spun around, shooting daggers out her eyes, “That’s not my fucking home!”

Her cry was loud enough to silence the rest of them. Tess hung over one of the bodies, fighting back her tears enough to stand up and face Joel.

“I’m stayin’.”

Y/n stayed on the ground, confusedly watching the scene play out.

“I mean…” Tess almost laughed, “Our luck had to run out sooner or later.”

Joel stood perplexed. Perhaps he’d have figured it out if he had looked in between her words. In her eyes. In her quivering lips.

“Fuck,” Ellie exclaimed, her voice lowering to a whisper, “She’s infected.”

Joel felt the very ground they stood on crack down the middle, a divide separating him and the only person he’d allowed himself to care about in twenty years. The unspeakable plague had finally come for one of them, and it had attached itself to the wrong person.

“Show me,” he muttered.

“Joel,” Tess said softly, taking a step forward. Joel flinched, jumping back an inch away from her. He regretted it immediately, it was pure instinct.

Tess pulled back her jacket and shirt to display the reddening bite mark.

Y/n got to her feet upon seeing the wound, unafraid to close the distance Joel was putting between them. Joel threw out a hand to pull her back, but Y/n smacked it away and placed her fingers around Tess’ wound. In another life, it could have been extremely well done Halloween makeup. She wanted it to be.

“Oops,” Tess tried to smile, “Right?”

Y/n rubbed her fingers against Tess’ shoulder, if these were her last minutes, she wanted her to feel human touch one more time.

“Take your bandage off,” Tess ordered Ellie.

The girl unwrapped the cloth from her arm, showing the adults her newest bite mark. It was already healing.

Tess surged forward and took Ellie’s arm, holding it up to Joel. “Look. Joel? This is real,” she pulled Ellie forward, “Joel, she’s fucking real.”

Joel and Y/n spotted it at the same time: Tess’ hands were beginning to shake.

Tess retracted her arm into her person, her breaths quickening with passion. Passion for a future she would never see.

“I need you to get her to Bill and Frank’s,” Tess stated.

“No,” Joel started to argue, a flurry of emotions hitting him at once. It was real. This was real.

“They’ll take her off your hands,” Tess continued, unstoppable in her pleas, “They’ll handle it from here.”

“No, no, no,” he shook his head, sounding like a child in denial, “I can’t. They won’t take her. They’re not gonna take her.”

“They will,” Tess insisted, “Cause you’re gonna convince them.”

“I’ll take her,” Y/n said from behind Joel, “Tell me where they are and I’ll get her there.”

Tess squeezed her eyes shut, “No, it has to be him,” she looked to Joel, “I never ask you for anything. Not to feel the way I felt, not to-“

“No,” Joel said, a kneejerk reaction. He had spent so long caring for her as much as his grief would allow him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tess snapped, “Cause I don’t have much time. This is your chance. You get her there, you keep her alive…” she bit back her tears, “And you set everything right. All the shit we did…please say yes, Joel, please.”

Joel could feel what was left of his heart beginning to break. He couldn’t lose anyone else.

A strained gasp from one of the Infected Fireflies echoed behind Ellie, “Oh, fuck!”

With all the tranquility of a piano melody, Joel stepped forward, cocked his pistol and blew a chunk of the one-time human’s brains out.

The strands of fungus began to stretch out around the Infected’s hand. The signal had been sent. Within minutes, hordes of Infected would descend upon the State House.

Joel exhaled, realizing what he’d done and ran to the building’s door. He could hear the distant snarling and choking of the Infected. Whatever pitiful amount of time they’d possessed had just gotten slashed in half.

“How many?” Tess asked calmly.

“All of them,” he reported, “Maybe a minute.”

Y/n took a shaky breath and raised her gun to Tess’ head. Joel was quick to aim his rifle at her head.

“Don’t you fuckin-“

“Do you want me to do it?” Y/n ignored Joel, locking eyes with Tess. It wasn’t an act of anger, it was an act of mercy. She was trying to save what was left of Tess’ life.

Tess shook her head, taking stock of her surroundings and rushing around the room. She tipped over barrels of gasoline and crates of grenades, letting them spill across the floor. Twenty years of sin and her last act was to save. This was Tess Servoupolis. Not her reputation, not who she’d been forced to become to survive…her.

Joel watched, heartbreak etched in each line of his face. He wanted to scream, to cry, to punch, but time had numbed his emotions enough to be able to keep it all inside.

Tess finally came to face Joel, keeping a foot of space between them. She couldn’t handle watching the man she loved move away from her like she was…what she was.

Y/n backed up to stand with Ellie, feeling like they were intruding on an intimate moment.

“Joel…” Tess said his name one last time, knowing just how much weight the words she was about to say carried, “Save who you can save.”

He was holding so much back, so many things he wanted to say, even just to touch her one last time. His grief overwhelmed him, for both women he wasn’t able to save. But if he couldn’t heed Tess’ final wish, he’d never be able to look himself in the mirror again.

Joel took one last look at her, the two of them committing each other’s gaze to memory, and Joel turned on his heel, grabbing Ellie and dragging her away.

“No!” Ellie yelled, hitting Joel’s arm to try and break his grip, “We’re not leaving her! Get off me, you fucker!”

Y/n, let them pass, standing firmly planted in front of Tess. She wanted to say something, but nothing rivaled the weight of the moment. She wanted to thank her for her sacrifice, tell her how sorry she was that she was about to what was to come…something to let her feel some sort of compassion before she lost herself entirely.

“I-“

“Protect her,” Tess urged, staring straight past the Joel and Y/n’s resentment and into her soul, “Protect him.”

Y/n’s breath shook as she considered what Tess was asking of her. She wanted to know the man she loved would live to see the days she wouldn’t. Y/n couldn’t fault her that, it was so easy to care about Joel. If Tess was a better woman than Y/n and had earned that devotion he showered upon a select number of people, she would feel the same devotion to him till death.

Y/n wanted to run in the opposite direction, but she wasn’t so heartless that she wouldn’t obey Tess’ last request. She nodded, pouring out her condolences through her pained stare, and took off the same way that Joel and Ellie had.

Leaving Tess to die.

She found them outside, Ellie still fighting Joel tooth and nail. Y/n pressed her hands to Ellie’s back and urged her forward, running alongside them in a desparate effort to escape the tidal wave of Infected encroaching.

They’d put a safe amount of distance between them and the State House when the building exploded.

Joel wrenched Ellie forward to shield her, letting him and Y/n take the heat of the blast. They drew their guns, waiting for a stray Infected to pass through the violent flames, but none came. Tess had succeeded.

The three of them stayed perfectly still, except for their heaving chests, watching the fire consume the State House. Twenty years ago, Joel would have allowed himself to break down. He would have let his knees hit the dirt, his fists ball and his grief would have spilled out of him as if he was made of it.

Twenty years ago, he could feel whatever he wanted. But to survive, you had to bury your desires with the dead. Joel knew that better than anyone.

And so, skipping the eulogy and going straight for repression, Joel lowered his rifle and walked away.

Y/n, who wasn’t as hardened as her ex-love, could no longer keep her tears at bay. She crouched down in the dirt, pressing her hands to her lips in a praying position, and allowed a silent rain stream down her cheeks. Losing anyone was awful, but losing someone who wanted redemption, who wanted to atone for their sins and leave the world better than they’d found it…that was tragic. Tess had sacrificed herself to save them, to save Ellie, to save a future she could only hope came to pass. Perhaps Joel couldn’t mourn her, Y/n knew his grief was the match that lit his whole being ablaze, but she could. She would.

Ellie stood beside her, tears filling her once-innocent eyes. Her naivety had always been on life support, but it was fading with every minute she spent outside the Wall.

Deciding her momentary memorial would have to serve as enough for Tess, Y/n got to her feet and wiped her eyes. “Come on,” she whispered, her voice strained as she put a hand to Ellie’s back. She led them down the dirt, following Joel’s ghostly silhouette…

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rhapsodynew · 1 month

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“The Found Weekend”

This happened exactly 50 years ago: in late March- early April 1974, Yoko Ono lost total control over John Lennon, putting him in care Mei Pang.

Yes, John would later call this period of drug and alcohol delirium “A lost weekend”, but considering that the last one took place at that time - in fact, the only one after the Beatles! - jam session with participation Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr and John Lennon, and their last photos together were taken, then this is just a godsend for history and Beatlemans!

29.03.1974. Mae Pang, John Lennon, Paul and Linda McCartney, Harry Nilsson. Photo: MEL Evans (MALCOLM FREDERICK EVANS ARCHIVES)

On Thursday, March 28, 1974, Paul and Linda McCartney drops by Burbank Studios in California to see how the album is being recorded Harry Nilsson's Pussycats, produced by John, and Paul joins a jam session with John and other musicians on the track ‘Midnight Special‘, which is their first joint performance in the musical environment after the split of the Beatles, which happened about four years before. At the end of the day, John invites Paula at her music session at the beach house in Santa Monica.

01.04.1974. John and Paul by the pool. Photo: Dougal Butler. Perhaps the MOST RECENT photo of them together!

“Don't be too serious, we don't get paid. We don't do anything, we just sit here together, and if someone gets bored with me, take the lead!”

- John Lennon

Ringo and Paul

These days, the last known photos of John and Paul together were taken. The photographers were John's mistress, Mae Pang, as well as the former roadie Beatles and at that time Lennon's bodyguard, Mel Evans. Several polaroids belong to Linda McCartney, as well as a friend and assistant Keith Moon to Dougal Butler. Dougal takes pictures on April 1, 1974, in which Paul performs a medley of Beatles songs on the piano, as well as those where John and Paul are together by the pool. (This polaroid photo will be the last ever joint photo of John and Paul...)

With no plans to record at Burbank Studios, John spends Sunday, March 31 relaxing by the pool, and later that evening holds the second of his Sunday music jam sessions at his beach house. Paul was among those present.

John. Linda's polaroid

“Just turn up the fucking microphone... McCartney plays harmony on drums,

” says John Lennon

during the evening-long session, which is recorded for posterity on equipment borrowed from Burbank Studios

youtube

Along with two former Beatles (John on guitar, Paul on drums behind the drum kit of Ringo, who was absent at the time - and both often on vocals), there are Linda (Hammond organ), Stevie Wonder (electric piano), Jesse Ed Davis and others. Cecilia is recording, and among them are melodies that they completely do not understand, you never believed, like: "Never trust a Bastard with Your Mother", "Little Beauty", "I Left Home And Wandered around", "Lucille", "Nightmares", "Be on your Guard I", "Cupid", "Chain Gang" and "Take This Hammer".

At the end of the session, in the early morning of April 1, Paul, Linda and their family go to the nearest hotel. And to the beach house Jonah is coming to Ringo... and he finds out that Paul had been here shortly before and played his drum kit.

Closer to lunch, they return to the beach house Paul and Linda, however John hadn't gotten up yet. Paul immediately heads to the piano and, along with Moon and Nilsson, performs a medley of Beatles songs, which all three musicians are happy to join. After that, Nilsson suggests Semi is a bit of a dangerous drug known as ‘angel dust‘, from which Paul refuses. John wakes up around 3 p.m. and joins other musicians and friends who are relaxing by the pool.

During his 1975 interview on BBC2 Old Grey Whistle Test John briefly recalled that session:

“I really played with Paul. We did a lot of things in Los Angeles. But there were fifty other people playing, and they were all just watching me and Paul!”

By the way, in April 1974, after many refusals following his drug conviction in England in 1973, Paul finally received an American visa. And on April 13, 1974, the album Band On The Run ascended to the top of the American album charts. It would go on to sell over 6,000,000 copies worldwide and spend over two years on the US and UK charts. Meanwhile, it is reported that on the same day, Paul's ex-girlfriend, an actress Jane Asher, gave birth to a baby girl in England.

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thegeneticopera · 8 months

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after seeing many misconceptions on the ages of the characters and also the general lack of knowledge on relevant key events, I thought I'd create a timeline!

A comprehensive breakdown of important dates in Repo! The Genetic Opera:

1993: Rotti Largo was born (July 14th)

2006: On April 5th, the first ever death for NOS (Neuro-Overstimulation Syndrome) was recorded. GeneCo was then founded later that month in Milan, Italy by Giuseppe Largo and Dr. Michael Whatley who eventually discovered a treatment using an experimental drug called Zydrate and genetic manipulation.

2011: Marni was born (No date)

2016: Nathan was born (No date)

2017: Blind Mag was born (July 5th)

2019: Luigi Largo was born (November 20th)

2024: Pavi Largo was born (September 29th)

2025: By this point, The Genetic Opera, an interactive TV show, was sponsored by GeneCo to promote designer organs and keep the public "status-conscious" in order to continue boosting profits.

2032: Carmela Largo/Amber Sweet was born (August 23rd)

2035: Graverobber was born (No date)

2036: Marni brings Mag to meet Rotti Largo

2039: Shilo Wallace was born (August 27th), Marni Wallace dies, Nathan becomes a repo man

2040: Mag's eye transplants (March 21st)

2048: Blind Mag's Corpus Crusade tour

2053: Tao of Mag, a charity concert event held for blindness

2056: Rotti signs his last will and testament, declaring Shilo as the sole heir of his estate (August 7th). The events of the film take place on November 7th - Nathan, Rotti, and Mag die. Shilo presumably goes missing. Amber takes over GeneCo at a later unspecified date.

Some common misconceptions cleared up by the timeline:

Mag did not receive her eyes at 19, the date listed on her repossession chart says otherwise

Marni and Mag have a relatively large age gap. At the time in which Marni brought Mag to meet Rotti, she was already 25, and Mag was only 19. I personally like to think that Marni was a singing mentor of some sort (since in Chase the Morning we see that Mag has a memory of Marni singing), and perhaps worked with disabled people and this is how they met!

The age difference between Shilo and Graves is only 4 years!

Mag and Luigi only have a two year age difference. Her being under GeneCo's thumb since she was 19 and Luigi was 17 is probably why they have a relationship.

On that topic, Nathan is only 3 years older than Luigi, there's no way him or Mag could have "baby sat" the Largos as children if they're all approximately the same age (excluding Amber, but considering Nathan had his own daughter to raise and was a repoman and Mag was a world class opera singer I still doubt that would be the case)

This one doesn't have a specific date, but I felt it should be added regardless: Pavi's face disfigurement seemingly happened very recent to events of Repo! We see several times within the film that there are posters and billboards of him with his original face, even in the pictures Rotti has he didn't have the scarring yet. The posters say that GeneCo offering face replacements will be happening in 2057. Pavi was the one in charge of that, and he was stealing faces prior to his scarring (as seen in the pictures). We also know from several sources, including Luigi himself, that Pavi's face happened because of a botched surgery. It's safe to assume this was because of the new face replacement campaign that was being offered, and it was within the last year or two before the events in the film.

#repo! the genetic opera #repo the genetic opera #r!tgo #rtgo #mod luigi #blind mag #luigi largo #pavi largo #amber sweet #shilo wallace #repo graverobber #nathan wallace #timeline

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kaija-rayne-author · 8 months

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I guess the discourse today is about Astarion being the favourite poster boy of the devs to the detriment of the other characters.

Yes. That's unequivocally true. Wyll having so little compared to Astarion is also an example of racism.

It's also capitalism. Larian can't make more games unless BG3 does well. So far it has, so in their choice of poster boy they chose correctly.

Every business, especially entertainment ones, follows a similar model. Develop stories or games that the previous game helped fund. It's common in book publishing too.

(Which, tbf, is my realm of knowledge, but the business facts are the same.)

What you, if you're indie, or the publisher, if not, chooses to spend time on is the thing/character/aspect/story that will sell the most copies so they can stay in business.

They bet on Astarion being popular because:

1. Vampire, vampire stories don't seem to get old. People want more.

2. White hair, if you're at all into gaming or anime, you should recognize the white-haired anime boy coding Astarion has.

3. He's pretty. In games & books like these, people want to get turned on or be sucked into emotions, that's rather the point. So, of course, they made him pretty and gave him an angsty backstory about it. Have you noticed that his vampire fangs are the more traditional style and the rest have funky (and likely more efficient) chompers with the fangs on the front teeth?

4. Twink, you'd have to be really not paying attention to not notice that one. They tend to be attractive to the largest section of players.

6. Slow burn, a lot of people prefer slow burn romance.

7. Classically handsome. You could turn him into a statue (and can!) and he wouldn't look out of place.

I don't experience this type of point form character building, my characters tend to march fully formed into my head and demand I write them.

But Astarion was built as a fictional character that would (hopefully) capture a broad cross-section of players and give the game some more sex appeal.

Sex sells.

I'd lay money I don't have on every aspect of Astarion's character having been a deliberate choice to encourage sales.

And that's fine. That's what capitalism does. Don't like it? Start voting for social support programs and things like ubi so that people can create without worrying about the bills.

Is it fair to the other characters and to the gamers who love other characters more than Astarion? Absolutely not. I do hope Larian gets the message and produces more content to make them all equivocal.

Especially for Wyll, they did him so dirty.

Is Wyll having the least lines and scenes racist? Yup.

Larian, despite their faults, produced something that so few games companies have done recently. A single purchase, single player RPG without micro-transactions that was an excellent game straight from release.

Other games companies are bitching about that because it's like sand in the oyster of their business models.

Which, for a while now, has been to roll out a game that wasn't ready yet and use the players as unpaid, uncompensated labour to find bugs etc. As a gamer, I've really hated that.

Did Larian fuck up? Uh, yeah. On several issues. But they also made an amazing game that was awesome from release.

It would be a shame to lose sight of that.

It's important to call out the shite when we see it, but the current 'it has to be perfect for me, or I won't play' attitude rampant on the 'net these days is disturbing to say the least.

I've read Larian has a feedback thing on fridays. If this really bothers you, hustle on over and participate in the feedback session.

They're still actively working on the game. They can still make changes and they seem reasonably responsive to fan feedback.

But just remember... the reason Astarion is the poster boy with the most content is because of capitalism. It was likely a cold, business focused decision vs anything else.

Which doesn't make it better. I just figured inserting a bit of entertainment business knowledge might be helpful to the discussion.

#bg3 astarion #bg3 #KaiPlaysBG3 #Larian #Larian studios #larian critical #bg3 critical

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stuffymcstuffsworld · 3 months

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☆Idol, Idol☆

Murmur was making room on his desk for more akudol merchandise. Humming happily as he added the new additions to his collection.

"Geez, don't you have enough of that shit already?" Eito asked while lighting a cigarette. "Absolutely not! Star-Chan just came out with a new poster that I need to buy and have them autograph!"

Furcus looks up from one of her many books. "Aren't you running out of desk space?" "Who needs a desk? This is a shrine for my precious Star-Chan!"

"Aren't all akudol's basically the same? I don't understand why you need to be so obsessed with this one in particular." March pokes at one of the figurines which Murmur promptly slaps his hand away.

"Star-Chan is different! They've been performing since I went to school here. And they always remember me. And they call me their number one fan! And they've personally given me front row tickets before!"

"Oh, Devi, their feeding your obsession." "What does your spouse think about all this shit?" Murmur gasps offended.

"For your information, we both like akudols, and they don't mind my collectibles. They even managed to get me a ticket for their concert today!"

Murmur buzzed with excitement. Happy to see his favorite akudol, but sad his partner always seemed to be busy for those concerts. He had hoped bond with them over this akudol too.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Fixing your hair and makeup as you got ready for your concert tonight, you smiled at your reflection. "You mean even after all these years, your husband still doesn't know you're Star-Chan?" Your manager asked.

You giggled and fixed your outfit. "Nope! Isn't that adorable? He's so excited when he sees either side of me. I love it!"

"Are you sure you want to retire? You still have several years left in your career." "I'm getting older. Akudols is a younger demons game. Besides , I can still perform. But I want to perform as myself and not Star-Chan."

You test your mic. Your manager sighs and leans against the wall. "I guess I can't force you to continue. But are you sure you want to announce it tonight?"

"Yep!" You chirp as you slipped on your heels. You could hear the roar of the crowd. "You know what they say, 'it's now or never' if I don't do it tonight I never will."

The peppy beat starts, and you strut onto the stage. A bounce in your step as you hear the roar of the crowd. You see Murmur in the front row cheering. You give a little wave and start the song.

☆I can't help it if I make a scene, stepping out of my hot pink limousine. Turning heads, and I'm stopping traffic. When I pose they scream, and when I joke they laugh.☆

You see the neon glowsticks and banners waving frantically around. You brush your hair out of your face. Leaning towards the edge of the stage where your fans can almost touch you.

☆I've got a pair of eyes that they're getting lost in. They're hypnotized by my way of walking.☆

You laugh and back away from eager hands swaying your hips playfully. You wave your finger in a scolding manner. You flaunt your dazzling charisma, ensuring you have the crowds' undivided attention.

☆I've got them dazzled like a stage magician. When I point, they look, and when I talk, they listen.☆

You stop in the middle of the stage, looking out at the crowd. So many had shown up. So many cheering your name.

It's been a great journey to reach where you were today. You couldn't have done this without your fans. How wonderful it was to have them.

☆Well, everybody needs a friend, and I've got you, and you, and you. So many I can't even name them. Can you blame me? I'm too famous!☆

You smirk confidently as you place your hand over your heart. You spread your wings and take flight. Spinning and twirling around the room.

Your fans become more excited reaching up for you. But you only reach out for one. Your husband. You adore his shocked face as you drag him on stage.

☆Haven't you noticed that I'm a star? I'm coming into view as the world is turning. Haven't you noticed I made it this far?☆

You face him and let your magic disguise drop. His jaw hits the floor. You laugh and kiss his cheek. You adored his reactions.

☆Now everyone can see me burning. Now everyone can see me burning. Now everyone can see me burn~ing.☆

The stage lights shut off. The curtains close. None of that matters, though. They only thing that matters is what you'll husband will say.

"I... i... can't believe it." You bite your lip worried. It turns out you didn't need to worry. "I'M MARRIED TO STAR-CHAN!!!! THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!!!"

You gasp startled as he picks you up. You both end up laughing as he spins you around. "Do you realize what this means?" He asked.

You shake your head amused. "You can sign all my new Star-chan merch!!!!" You can't help but laugh hysterically as he sets you down and pulls off his backpack shoving newly bought items into your hands.

#mairimashita! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #reader #murmur #steven universe #songfic

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dropintomanga · 2 months

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We Would Not Be Here Without Akira Toriyama

I am sad and emotionally wrecked right now. We lost a legend that changed everything.

Akira Toriyama, who's famous for Dragon Ball and working on other properties like Dragon Quest, passed away at the age of 68 this March. It sucks because we're celebrating 40 years of Dragon Ball.

Dragon Ball Z was my gateway into anime fandom when I was a 5th grader literally 30+ years ago. Way before Toonami, I watched a Cantonese-dubbed episode of DBZ at a friend's place and became slowly hooked ever since then. Chinatown in New York City at the time was filled with Dragon Ball Z merchandise. Posters, toys, wall scrolls, video games, trading cards, etc. You name it, it was there. DBZ fandom wasn't as mainstream back in the early-to-mid '90s as it is now, but there was something. Especially for me.

I also remember my first time using the internet at a public library in 1999 and one of the first sites I visited was a GeoCities fan site about DBZ. That's how I found out about the original manga. My first manga purchase was Dragon Ball Z Volume 1 by VIZ Media in 2003 and it was a big-sized volume that was priced at $14.95 at the time.

Dragon Ball Z also got me closer to one of my younger cousins during the Toonami years and we formed a bond over anime since that time. I would play make-shift DBZ scenarios with him when he was little. I had Dragon Ball Z figures at the time. When I think about those days, I realize that it's those moments that count especially when kids are dealing with so much competitive stressors that don't encourage play.

I know everyone has their favorite Dragon Ball characters, but my favorite character ever is Vegeta. I wrote a whole bunch of articles about him through the years. One of my top posts ever was about growing up with Vegeta. And that was written 13 years ago.

At the time, I felt similar to Vegeta. I have this very lone wolf-ish disposition despite appearing friendly to a lot of people. I'll admit that I have softened a lot over the years. I don't have as much pride as Vegeta does as of late. But the thing about Vegeta lately is that he's a much different character than in the past. If you follow the Dragon Ball Super manga, you know what I'm talking about.

And then I realize I've grown up alongside Vegeta for 3 decades. It's surreal. Part of me feels like I haven't changed all that much like he has, but I have grown up in ways that I wouldn't have expected.

Which leads me to this - if it weren't for Dragon Ball Z, I wouldn't have gotten into anime. I wouldn't have gotten to explore other series beyond it. I wouldn't have gotten into manga. I wouldn't have met friends in fandom in my '20s. I wouldn't have fallen deep into the JRPG abyss. I wouldn't have gotten into Yakuza/Like a Dragon afterwards. I wouldn't have gotten into Japanese mahjong as a result of that. Dragon Ball Z started a chain effect that's still sending ripples to me to this day.

Akira Toriyama provided a introduction for me and everyone looking for something different into the world of Japanese pop culture. He is Cool Japan to me. Toriyama got so many people to see how wild, imaginative, fun, and inspiring Japanese pop culture media was. It's arguable that Toriyama had a much bigger impact on overseas fandom than Osamu Tezuka.

A lot of people involved in anime and manga would not be here if not for Toriyama. I want us to acknowledge that. I know I have. He was a game-changer or should I say, a world-changer for everything related to the perception of anime and manga globally.

Rest in peace and power, Toriyama-sensei! You will never, ever be forgotten!

#Akira Toriyama #Dragon Ball #manga #anime #pop culture #RIP #fandom #anime culture

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bellafragolina · 1 month

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Could you write an imagine for Ingo, emmet, and N (separate) were it takes place during the final year of highschool. The characters and the reader a pining for each other hard and they’re working hard to try and confess as well ask the other to prom. Up to you on who confesses first

you got it babe! these will be a little shorter due to there being multiple characters, hope that's okay!

🍓🍓🍓

Ingo:

You were all he could think about most days. Ingo knew it was hopeless, that denying it would get him nowhere. He had to face the facts that he was smitten for you. It was hard not to be, when you smiled at him and laughed at his pitiful jokes. He was lucky to have been assigned as your lab partner for the year, a blessing he wasn't going to squander after pining after you so hard all of high school.

So Ingo planned. He worked diligently to create something worth your time, an intricate gesture to show the extent of his feelings, hopefully without being too much. As much as Ingo admired you, he didn't want to scare you away by being too much too fast.

He could already be loud; he didn't want to be overbearing.

So on a bright Saturday morning, Ingo plotted himself in your front yard, shaking head to toe as he clutched his big sign, his bouquet of flowers, his balloons, and a bag of sweets he knew you liked. His call of your name had you running to your window, and as you peered down to him, you read the words on the sign he held.

"Please join me for a fun Eevee-ning at Prom!"

"Please!" The red-faced Ingo tacked on, just in case.

You slapped a hand over your mouth, giggling. "Yes! I'll go to prom with you!"

Ingo's resounding "REALLY??" could be heard across Unova. But hey, at least he was happy. That's all you cared about anyway.

Emmet:

Emmet was pretty deep in denial of his feelings for you when prom season began to roll around. You were just his very good friend! And he got so excited to hang out with you that it made him all hot and flushed, so it wasn't blushing, Ingo, he was just hot.

The thing that really kicked his ass into gear was hearing that someone else wanted to ask you to prom. It was just a casual mention he happened to overhear, and suddenly Emmet was struck with horror that he was being dumb assuming you'd go to prom together without him even asking just because you were best friends.

(Jealousy played a hand in it as well, not that he really acknowledged that part.)

Emmet didn't waste time once he came to those several conclusions. He scrambled to get what he needed. He grabbed your favorite sweet treats, he got flowers, he got a plush of a Pokémon you liked. He raced to your house afterwards, nearly tearing out the knees of his jeans as he dropped to a kneel before you.

"Prom!" He shouted at you, sweaty and blushing and deliriously smiling so very wide. "Please!"

"Really?" You gasped, clapping when he nodded. "Yes! Emmet!"

Your kiss kicked his head on straight. Oh, he did love you. A lot.

Good thing he had all of prom to make up for lost time!

N grew up sheltered, but he knew about prom. He knew about promposals, how romantic they were, and figured they were the perfect way to express his feelings for you. He knew through your Pokémon that you were practically swooning over the idea of being asked to prom, so N went to work.

It was. . . more difficult than he expected. Getting the supplies was easy, but what would he say? What would he put on the poster board? There were the typical prom-related puns, or Pokémon-related puns, or what have you, but he wanted it to be special. You deserved special.

He couldn't ask Ghetsis, so N turned towards your own friends. Luckily, they were happy to helpful, if a bit threatening towards him should he even think of breaking your heart (not that he would ever!). They showed him a few quotes you liked, a few puns you found endlessly funny, and other ideas.

And with all the information, N put together the most incomprehensible and crowded poster board to ever be. And he marched it up to your house, along with flowers and candy and a corsage and even a stereo playing music in the background.

"Hello." He greeted, rushing to get the words out as you struggled to comprehend the sign before you. "Please go to prom with me. We'll have so much fun!"

"Oh!" You gasped, but you grinned. N dropped his sign the moment your arms opened to him, beaming into your shoulder. "Of course!"

You showed your friends the pictures your parents took afterwards, and they boggled the monstrosity N put together. But you were covering him in grateful kisses, so they kept any negative opinions to themselves. At least you were happy!

🍓🍓🍓

how cute! promposals sound so romantic and sweet T-T

hope you enjoy!

~Renee

#pokemon imagines #pokemon x reader #ingo x reader #emmet x reader #submas x reader #n x reader

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hyperfixat · 8 months

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AI LESS WHUMPTOBER DAY THREE ISOLATED

support and engagement would really motivate me to help post and work on the rest of this stuff!

(@ailesswhumptober)

You stretch your arms up in the air as you yawn, rolling out of your bed on the Astral Express. The memories of last night are hazy, but you don’t linger on it as you head to your ensuite bathroom to freshen up for the day.

When you make to step out into the passenger car, pulling on the door handle, it doesn’t budge.

Odd.

Maybe March was playing a prank on you or something?

You call out for March, Dan Heng, PomPom, Mr Yang, Himeko, to no avail. You try the handle once again, before trailing back to your bed, picking up your cellphone to message the Astral Express group chat.

Your phone turns off with a click and you let out a frustrated sigh. Walking back to the door you rest your ear against the panel and listen for any signs they’re out and about.

Nothing.

With not much to do you plop back onto your bed, clicking open your phone to doom scroll until something happens.

You hadn’t known the express had docked. Though why Pompom would land at a planet hostile to… your kind?, humans?, or perhaps something to do with just discrimination. They claim you’re their favorite passenger, so it had to have been an emergency for them to stop… at whatever this planet is.

Your blinds had been closed for the night, and you think better of opening them, but you peek out from the bottom.

It looks like any other planet’s railway. Nothing looks odd or out of place; no ‘humans dni’ signs or posters. You wonder how they’re getting by, your crew, they’re all human-oid, no?

There’s a long period of waiting, maybe an hour, maybe more. Then there’s footsteps, heavy and en masse. Not just the Astral Express crew. These are the sounds of heavy boots, those of soldiers. You can hear March’s distinct tone, so it’s not a raid or something uncouth, she’s at least somewhat calm.

“—and these are the sleeping quarters! They’re all empty at the moment.” They’re getting closer. When they’re outside your door, strangers, hostile on sight to you specifically, “this room is empty. We can’t let you check his one room, sorry!” March giggles.

“We keep unstable synthesis materials in there.” Dan Heng explains levelly. “It would take too long to safely have you search it, we’ll be gone before you’d be finished suiting up.”

There’s a feminine voice replying in a language foreign to you.

“There’s no need for that, we’re leaving within the hour.” Welt.

Your heart stutters and you hold your breath as a hand jiggles your door handle.

“Let’s move along,” Dan Heng’s voice is firm and the shadows peering in from under your door disappear. His voice commands the enemy soldiers away from your door and you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

The soldiers soon file off the ship and your door unlocks with a click and Dan Heng opens it. His body fills in the door frame, stopping March 7th from running in.

“Dan Heng,” she whines, shoving him inside your room so she can bound over to your bed and jump next to you.

Himeko peeks her head inside, “Pompom says we’re taking off soon. Settle down you three.”

“Yes, Ms. Himeko~!” March giggles.

“Sorry about not warning you, we hadn’t prepared to land here.” Welt says from the hallway, looking at you. “We needed an emergency refuel before we could stop at the Xianzhou Luofu. I apologize for any alarm this extrusion may have caused you.”

“Thank you Mr Yang, I’m fine now. It was a little scary at first.” You laugh a little.

“Excuse me!” Pompom shoves past Himeko and Welt’s legs, waddling their little body into your room. They clamber up your bed and smother you in a hug. “Pompom is so sorry for landing here!”

“Aw, it’s okay Pompom. No harm no foul,” you pat their fluffy ears.

Their large eyes seek yours for a moment before they nod and hop off your bed, heading to the captain’s chamber.

“We’re leaving now. You all,” they deliberately look at all the passengers gathered around your room. “Get seated.”

#verified hyperfixat post #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x trailblazer #hsr x reader #ai less whumptober #ailesswhumptober #ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptoberday3

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ker0senebunny · 2 years

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meet me behind the mall✫*ﾟ･ﾟ

steve harrington x fem!reader

part ii — 9/25/22

summary: steve was never yours to lose. you went in knowing that, but god, you'd give anything to go back to that summer. a tale of childhood enemies, kisses in cars, and the best summer of your life. inspired by my favorite track from folklore. enemies to almost lovers. focuses primarily on seasons 2, 3, and 4. (angst, fluff, smut)

warnings: afab!fem!reader, language, angst, fluff, smut (18+), dom!steve strikes again except he's a lil meaner, sub!reader, drinking/use of alcohol, but no use of sir or daddy etc, praise + degredation combo yktv, oral (m!recieving, mentions of f!receiving), mentions of penetration (pls remember to practice safe sex!!), mentions of fingering, use of pet names, size kink (for like one second), dirty talk, no use of y/n, kinda asshole!steve but pt ii is gonna be more soft s3 steve. promise. all characters are 18+, beta'd (freakin finally) by @flwersgarden, @royalmaybank, @appocalipse, and @kissmxcheek

word count: 9,596 (jeez. now u all see why it took so long)

notes: first of all: thank you to my absolutely lovely proofreaders/editers/besties. you all are always kind, always encouraging, always loving. you motivate me on my most unmotivated days. i admire you all so much as writers and as wonderful people. with that being said, it's been a while, hasn't it! so sorry for the delay. college is very overwhelming! anyways, as you see above, the sequel will (hopefully) be out in two weeks. this is part i of iii so strap in everybody. enjoy! xox olive

p.s. 500 followers wtf??? thankyou im gonna stinkin cry. and as always, reblogs are greatly appreciated. thank u for the lurv (srsly)

when steve harrington loves someone, he makes it known. which perfectly explains why he didn’t want to make you known.

you wanted him to be the boy who walked you up your driveway, moths fluttering against the porch light overhead. you wanted him to take your chin between his fingers and tilt your lips toward his. you wanted to taste the watermelon lip balm he’d borrowed from you. you wanted him to wait until you unlocked the door, almost slipping inside, before turning around to feel the plush of his lips against yours just once more.

and you foolishly believed that he could be that boy.

instead, you got rushed calls asking you to meet him behind the mall in his BMW and a stupid nickname.

steve was probably your greatest enemy (no, you’re not exaggerating. a years-long feud has earned him that title). but it was fine. after all, you had your best friend robin. the two of you were planning on moving to california after high school, dreaming of a shabby apartment with peeling paint that you’d cover up with photos of friends and posters. maybe you’d coparent a cat. you didn’t even know what you wanted to do with your life, yet. you just couldn’t handle hawkins anymore. it was a drab little town, rusted and decaying. not quite past its prime — there wasn’t really ever a prime. you just wanted more.

steve was your next door neighbor. to say things had been rocky between the two of you would be an understatement. your parents were on good terms, and you and steve used to be sort-of-maybe-kind-of friends.

it all started when an ice cream truck pulled onto your ritzy street. you ran out of your house at full force: nine years old, with one tooth missing in the front. you had begged your mom for her spare change right before you sprinted out the door. you just had to get the last cherry ice pop. but someone was there before you; you watched as the truck driver placed a red “x” over your precious ice pop flavor. you were dejected, preparing to go back inside when you caught a glimpse of a striped shirt out of the corner of your eye. it was steve harrington, your older next door neighbor who lived just over the fence to the right of you. you threw a determined look in the direction of the brown-haired boy before marching up to him. you tapped him on the shoulder and he looked at you, confusedly. you held out your little palm, coins clinking and set in the center.

“i’ll pay you extra for that ice pop,” you said, your mouth set into a serious line. steve seemed interested, quirking his brows up, hazel eyes shimmering in the indiana humidity. “how much do you have?” he asked, nodding at your hand. you counted the coins in your hand. “i have one dollar. and i know you paid fifteen cents for that ice pop. i’ll give you the whole dollar for it.” he pondered your deal for a couple of seconds before saying, “nah, i’m good!” and walking around you, back toward his house. you turned around to chase him as as he walked toward his house. “please, steve! cherry is my favorite,” you begged, putting on your best pitiful face that always worked on your parents and stopping right in front of him. you watched as his face changed, and you thought you’d won. “oh cherry’s your favorite?” he asked. you nodded so vigorously that your summer dress waved in the muggy air. “tough luck,” he said before unwrapping the ice pop and taking a big bite in front of you. you stood there, mouth agape as he exaggeratedly enjoyed what should’ve been your ice pop, right in front of you no less! he licked his crimson-dyed mouth as he threw the barren popsicle stick into the garbage can in his driveway. “see you around, cherry,” he said as he walked up to his porch and slammed the door to his house.

that’s how you became cherry to steve and steve only. he annoyed you every day of your life with that stupid fucking nickname.

on your first day of freshman year, you popped into the entrance of hawkins high with robin, your best friend since middle school. steve saw you, whistled, and yelled down the hall, causing everyone to stare at you: “hey, sweet cherry! look at you, all grown up.” your excited face morphed into a fiery glare as you angrily walked past him, skirt swishing. his goons howled and cackled as you seethed, robin turning around to flip them off.

it wasn’t like the two of you fought every time you were around one another. okay, it totally was. but it was because he was such an insufferable dickhead and you were definitely not going to take his bullshit lying down.

he started dating nancy during your sophomore year, something you learned as you walked to his car in the morning, opening the door to the passenger side before his hand shot out to stop you. you rolled your eyebrows. “steve, i have a big history test today and i’m not in the mood for whatever the fuck you’re doing.” he rolled his eyes back at you. “we’re picking up my girlfriend,” he said, kicking at the loose gravel in his driveway. your eyebrows flew to the top of your forehead. “girlfriend?” your voice rising so high in pitch that it came out as a squeak. “and you haven’t managed to be an utter douche yet?” he rolled his eyes so hard you were afraid they'd get stuck there. “just get in the backseat, cherry,” he said as he slid into the car.

you looked at the smooth leather incredulously as steve adjusted his rearview mirror. you gingerly pushed your bag into the car, making sure your body touched the seat as little as possible. “i don’t even want to know what’s happened back here,” you said as you shuddered. steve caught your gaze in the mirror, a piece of gum popped in his mouth. “y’know, cherry, you’ve had many chances to find that out for yourself,” he said with a teasing lilt to his lips. you scrunched your nose in disgust and made a retching noise. “i’d rather drink a t-shirt through a straw,” you said in a huff. to your surprise, he actually laughed.

you hadn’t been paying attention, choosing to review your history notes one more time and so you didn’t realize you pulled up to the wheeler house. now, you were extra intrigued. steve honked twice and rolled down the window as nancy wheeler approached, giving her a kiss at which you gagged. he glared at you through the rearview mirror.

“nancy, you know cherry. my enemy,” he said as he pulled out of her driveway, a hand on the back of the passenger seat. you saw the veins and tendons in his arm flex under suntanned skin from a summer of lake days and pineapple sunscreen. nancy gave you a shy smile, which you returned. you also told her your real name and explained to her that for some reason, her dipshit boyfriend couldn’t let go of something that happened when you were kids. she laughed prettily at your words and a weird feeling settled on your chest, an unwelcome and quite frankly, bothersome weight. she returned to a gooey conversation with steve, letting you simmer uncomfortably in the backseat.

you blocked out their lovey-dovey-whatever-the-fuck with your flash cards.

you hated yourself for it, but when steve and nancy started falling apart, you were kind of glad. you’d actually gotten pretty close to nancy because of all the carpooling, often seeking one another out during your classes to giggle about something one of the basketball jocks said. so you hated yourself for your glee at seeing them leave separately at a halloween party. you didn’t even really understand why it felt like that intrusive weight had been lifted from your chest. you convinced yourself that you were just relieved that youur dear friend dumped that idiot.

at the moment, you were dressed up in your sluttiest costume, batting away gross high school boys who tried to woo you. you were dressed as a pixie: a form fitting, dark green dress, so short that the distressed skirt barely brushed the top of your thighs. you finished off your look with a cute pair of wings. you were just trying to enjoy the night with robin; the two of you made it a habit to people-watch at these things. well, because drunk people were funny and easy to make fun of. it’s not mean, it’s just the truth.

you saw steve walk in and immediately nudged robin to snort at his stupid risky business costume, but then he took his sunglasses off. and he saw you. and he looked you up and down over the edge of those stupid sunglasses. and he ran his stupid tongue over his stupid pretty mouth. and maybe it was the vodka running through you (cherry flavored of course), but god, in that moment, you just wanted him.

you shook yourself from your lustful stare and broke eye contact with him. he slipped his glasses back on and followed a very distressed looking nancy deeper into the party. again, probably the cherry vodka, but you didn’t seem to notice her coming your way. she called your name to get your attention and an easy smile made its way onto your face. “nance!” you giggled as you moved to squeeze her. she laughed at your tipsy self and made sure that you were okay before giving steve an unsure look and getting herself a drink. you were left with steve as he took off his sunglasses again, just to look you in the eye. you looked to your left, but robin was nowhere to be seen.

“you look good, cherry,” he said lowly, taking you in once again.

your breathing was a little uneven. “tha-thank you,” you said, looking at your green fingernails against the red of the solo cup in your suddenly clammy hands. he leaned one arm against the wall behind you, blocking your view of the kitchen.

“really good,” he said at a volume only you could hear. you shuddered as you felt blood rush to the surface of your cheeks, warming them to the touch. it was definitely the alcohol in your body because here you were, getting horny over steve fucking harrington. a) your enemy and b) the boyfriend of one of your friends. thank god said friend returned that instant, pulling steve away to dance, seemingly refreshed by a shot of tequila. you gave nancy's hand a squeeze before she left, mouthing the words “call me later” at her. you thought that something was off with her. obviously, she was still grieving barb’s death - something that she confided in you. but you had a feeling that there was more there.

sometimes, it’s scary how on the nose you are with things.

at least an hour ago, robin told you that she was going to walk home with vickie, a girl who was in marching band with her. you were a comfortable amount of tipsy: the kind of drunk where every blink feels like a new, warmly-tinted world. but not so drunk that you’d make catastrophic decisions.

you didn’t need alcohol to do that.

you decided that it was time to leave. you’d finally gotten bored of watching all the people you knew make a fool of themselves. you walked outside, past cups littered on the lawn and through the october chill, to see steve sitting in his car - alone. you furrowed your brow before crossing your arms to create a little warmth and walking over. you gently knocked on the driver’s side window, startling the boy. he had a vacant look in his red-rimmed eyes. steve rolled down the window before sighing out, “cherry, i’m really not in the mood to fight right now.”

now you had to know what happened.

“i’m not here to fight with you,” you said as you leaned in closer, “i saw you when i came out and just wanted to check in.” you said it so plainly, like it was an obvious truth and not a huge contradiction to the entirety of your relationship. steve felt like his lungs had started again. he rolled up the window before pushing open the passenger seat door. you’d just barely settled into the seat and closed the door before he said, “nance told me she doesn’t love me.” you turned to face him. “steve, she was super drunk-“ he looked at you with more raw emotion than you’d ever seen from him. “cherry.” he stopped you in the middle of your sentence. “i know that she meant it.” you didn’t know what to say. you didn’t know how to handle comforting the one person you’d hated for what felt like a lifetime.

you turned your whole body to face him before stretching across the console to give him an awkward hug. he went stiff in your grasp as you looped your arms around his shoulders. “what the hell are you-“ “shut up, dipshit,” you said, “i’m giving you a goddamn hug. just accept it. you can win her back, y’know? you can be sort of sweet, sometimes.” he actually relaxed at your words and pushed his cheek into the space between your collarbone and your neck. you felt him inhale against your skin and your flesh pebbled. he slowly wrapped his arms around you too, pulling you into him. you squeaked in surprise and he chuckled, the warmth and the vibrations of his low voice extended through your entire being. “thank you, cherry. needed this.” you hummed. “of course, steve. i don’t actually hate you, did you not know that?” you felt him shrug. “honestly? i couldn’t tell.” you threw your head back and laughed, the sound taking up the small amount of space in his car. as you stopped laughing, you noticed that you were almost on his lap, your hands moving to rest against his broad chest. his pretty pink pout inched closer toward yours. there was a fraction of an inch between the two of you. “steve,” you said softly into the air between you two, “we can’t. there’s still nance to think about. you haven’t actually broken up yet.” he shook his head, a hand coming to rest on your hip. you could feel the warmth of his hand through your flimsy skirt. “there’s no nance. there’s only you right now, cherry.”

when steve harrington kisses someone, he wants them to feel it. and he wants them to feel it everywhere.

you definitely did.

he pushed his silken lips to join yours, sending you into a spiral, body thrumming with feverish passion. his kiss was needy, as if you were a replacement for someone else but he just needed someone. but you didn’t care. because that wasn’t the craziest thing about this…entire experience. your arms had wound themselves around his neck, his arms around your waist, tugging you across the console.

of course, you tasted like cherries. steve groaned as he caught your bottom lip in his teeth, silently asking you to open your mouth for him. your little gasp allowed him to slip is tongue into your mouth; his big hands tugging you even more into his lap. he kissed you like it would be the last thing he ever did on this godforsaken earth. you clumsily crawled to his seat, planting yourself in his lap. you both laughed into the kiss, before melding your lips together once again. he kissed you breathless, watching as your lips shone with a mixture of his and your spit. he pulled you toward him to plant another passionate kiss on your mouth, before making his way down your neck. steve sucked little bruises into the column of your throat and savored the taste of your sweet soap. he left a vine of dark, blooming spots as you writhed and shivered on top of him. you pitched your hips over his, causing your clothed core to run over the ridge of his growing bulge. he kissed all the way down to your chest, running his hands up and down your sides, causing you to shiver. he bit down gently on the swell of your left breast, gently sliding his hand under the delicate strap of your dress, pulling down on the elastic to reveal your entire breast. you pushed your chest forward and he grunted out a laugh as he wrapped his pink pout around your stiffened, pert nub. you were throwing your head back to give him more access to your tits, lost in the pleasure, when suddenly his horn beeped — startling you both. you looked at him with your matching kiss-stung lips, your eyes wide. he was still breathing heavily.

you looked at the dark sparkle of steve’s eyes and the flush to the tips of his ears. you smiled down and leaned in to kiss him, but he turned his head. you stopped abruptly, smoothing down his collar in a calming motion. “is everything okay?” you asked delicately. even though your bodies were pressed together, you and steve couldn't have been further from one another. he ran a hand over his face and sighed. “i can’t do this cherry.” you gave him a small smile of pained understanding and slid off of his lap.

he put the car into drive.

the ride toward both of your houses was silent, save for the wind rushing past the window you opened. you’d needed to cool off after what had just occurred; you may have betrayed one of your friends by furiously making out with her boyfriend (who she thinks you hate) and you kissed steve harrington. the boy who gave you the dumbest nickname he could think of so he could use you as personal entertainment.

because that’s what he does. he uses people.

steve pulled up to your house, and as you moved to open your door, he gently took your wrist in his hold. you halted your movements, turning your head to look at him. “i just want you to know that this didn’t mean anything, cherry. it can't.” you felt as if your brain had plummeted to your feet. you blinked in shock. “what do you mean?” you asked, arms crossed in front of you, brows high. “that. in my car. it didn’t mean anything to me.” you were stunned. he kissed you first, and when you reciprocated, he reciprocated with even more fervor. you scoffed before exiting his car. “you’re never going to find ‘the one’ if you keep treating girls like shit, steve.” you slammed his car door, causing him to jump a little at the force. you trudged up the stairs to your porch as shameful tears burned at your waterline.

you heard the quiet rumble of his car as he waited for you to safely enter your home. your fingers trembled in the crisp fall air as you slipped through your door. he simply turned to go to his house. you could see the marks your teeth had left, lavender and garnet winding their way around his neck.

(and then he had the audacity to ignore you for almost an entire week.)

your parents were asleep as you padded up the carpeted stairs. you quietly shut the door to your room, running your hands over your face. there was a post it left atop the phone on your nightstand — a note from your mother. it said that you had a call from nancy and to make sure that you called her back. your still shaking hands picked up the phone, dialing the wheeler family’s number. your slightly drunken brain was all muddled, from both the alcohol and the memory of steve’s plush kisses seared into your skin. so muddled, in fact, that you’d barely remembered that it was past midnight. thankfully, it seemed that nancy was awaiting your call, picking up after only a few rings. you waited for her to say something, calling out her name gently to get her attention, closing your eyes as sobriety started to make your head ache.

”steve and i broke up.”

your eyes popped open in surprise. “what? why?” you spluttered, unsure how to support her. she seemed subtly different — distanced, even. “i don’t think i ever loved him,” she said. she sounded exhausted. “i’m so sorry nance,” you said, heart making a dull, incessant thudding in your ribcage. sure, on a technicality he’d been single, but now he was your friend’s ex. she sighed into the phone. you could picture her curling and uncurling the thick, coiled wire as she talked to you. “eh, it was for the better. he just used me to prove that he could get me, y’know? i don’t think he actually wanted me.” you didn’t say anything. of course you knew better. of course you knew that he did, in fact, actually love her. “what an asshole!” you said indignantly, “give me the word nance and i’ll climb into his room from mine and rock his shit.” her laugh trickled out of the tiny speaker, crackled but joyous. “you always make me feel better,” she said to you in earnest, “thank you. you’re just one of those people who would never hurt me. i’ll call you tomorrow.” your pulse seemed to fall out of your body. but you didn’t tell her that; she needed the you she knew, not the you who almost fucked her ex two seconds after they broke up. “of course, nance. i love you.” that’s what you settled on. you both bid one another good night and hung up the phone. you grabbed your stuffed teddy and curled around it, falling just on the line between consciousness and sleep.

you had a reputation of being a good babysitter so when claudia henderson calls, you pick up. dustin was one of your favorite kids in hawkins, constantly making you laugh with his quips and contagious smile. on that particular fall weekend morning (claudia had a wedding to go to), dustin was determined to see steve. he kept dragging out your name, pestering you with a whiny tone of voice. “please!” he said as you spread mustard on his sandwich at the kitchen counter. “absolutely not!” you sang, keeping up with your rhythmic smearing. dustin groaned and put his head on the counter like a toddler. he said something, but it was muffled by the granite surface. “come again?” you said with a small smile on your face at his antics. dustin raised his head, blowing curls away as they blocked his vision. “he’s just helping me look for dar— i mean, for mews. please?” you sighed at his pleas. you couldn’t deny that your heart clenched at the thought of the innocent boy and his missing cat. “fine,” you said, rinsing off the knife you’d been using and giving dustin his lunch. “but i’m not letting you out of my sight. i’m in charge. capiche?” he nodded and thanked you through his chewing, oblivious to the storm rampaging through your mind at the thought of seeing steve.

you’d been trudging through dry leaves for what felt like hours, but was probably more like 20 minutes. when you’d arrived at this shady meeting spot with dustin, steve spat out your name. you winced internally at the omission of the nickname you claimed to hate. “what’s she doing here, henderson?” he asked, with venom lacing his voice. as if you were the one to initiate a kiss, tell him that it meant nothing, and ignore you for no reason. he was giving dustin quite a look, one you took to mean that he didn’t want you there because of the kiss. what you didn’t know was that steve wanted you as far away as possible from the dangers of the upside down. but of course, you had no idea that steve and dustin had been through literal hell together. “i’m in charge of dustin for today, so i’m staying,” you said, crossing your arms and raising your eyebrows in a challenge. “stubborn as always, cherry,” he said into the empty forest, not even bothering to look at you.

so, you spat back, “fuck you, harrington.”

“almost did, baby,” he said over his shoulder.

your mouth was agape. your vision turned white hot with rage at his immaturity. so you did what any rational person would do.

a crack rang out and spread throughout the wood. steve held his cheek where an imprint of your delicate hand was beginning to redden. your own hand stung from the force with which you slapped him, a tingle spreading through your palm. dustin looked on with shock in his big brown eyes. steve just turned toward the abandoned railroad track and began walking, rubbing his jaw.

the two of them were spreading meat all over the forest floor, and when you’d asked, dustin had given you some half-baked excuse. you couldn’t bring yourself to believe it, but you were so stressed out that you let it slide. you walked with your arms crossed to keep out the autumn bluster that permeated your cream-colored sweater. the red ribbon in your hair blew gently in the breeze, and steve thought about his hands embedded in your hair, his mouth on yours, you, in his car. in his bed, waking up to your face. he returned to the present when he heard you ask dustin about if he was sure "mews" was in this “creepy forest.”

you were looking at steve, too. he looked a little too good in his jeans and gray members only jacket. his hair was coiffed over as per usual, but you kept thinking about how you’d mussed it beyond repair the last time you saw him. you felt embarrassment and a little excitement rush to your cheeks as you tried to look anywhere but at him and his stupid, perfect face. and he had a bat with nails in it. why he took it with him to look for a cat, you didn’t know. but it was kind of hot.

he’s a dick, you quickly chastised yourself.

“dude, that’s not how you impress a girl,” you heard steve say. you were intrigued. you knew that dustin probably also told steve about his crush on max, and steve being just so good with girls was about to give him some advice.

“i don’t know. you’re trying way too hard,” steve continued.

dustin rolled his eyes in exasperation. “well, not everyone can have your perfect hair. alright?” he retorted.

steve rolled his eyes right back. “it’s not about the hair, man. the key with girls is just…just acting like you don’t care.”

you snorted at that, causing both of them to turn to look at you. steve narrowed his eyes as you challenged his words. “got something to add, cherry?” he said with that tone of voice that made you want to tackle him. a small smile made its way to your pretty lips. the same lips that steve couldn’t get himself to stop thinking about. “that’s not how you show a girl that you like her.” dustin was suddenly enraptured by your perspective. “what do i have to do? tell me!” the boy begged you. you laughed at his urgency. “show her that you do care. communicate with her. be clear about what you want with her,” you said with certainty, before continuing, “be kind to her. do something for her that you know she’ll like.” steve was silent. you thought he was upset by you stealing his thunder, but really, he was deep in thought. why was he thinking about you? why was he thinking about how he kept your favorite watermelon lip balm in his car (just in case you needed some. he definitely didn’t use it to see what you’d taste like)? why was he thinking of sneaking through your window to kiss you silly and wake up with his face in your neck, your hands on his back? why was he thinking of you, his cherry, instead of nancy? he blinked to clear his mind of thoughts of you, before grumbling something about the light disappearing.

on that day, you were supposed to be watching dustin. except for the fact that the child you were supposed to keep safe, was very much indeed, missing. you’d called him down for dinner over 15 minutes ago. he told you that he was going to do some homework after your excursion with steve. when no response came from his room, you’d searched the entire henderson household, frantically moving shower curtains and drapery aside. you almost gave up when you saw that the laundry room window was open, and you knew that your favorite little shit had gotten out. you went out into the living room to center yourself as you felt panic sink in. a loud crackle brought you out of your deep breathing. it was one of dustin’s extra walkie talkies on the coffee table. you grabbed it and fiddled with the dial until you heard small voices calling dustin’s name. “dustin! where are you? we’re almost at the junkyard.” a beep, another crackle. “almost there! it was tough to get out, guys. give me a break.” it was dustin. your mind went into protective mode as you shoved your feet into your converse and grabbed the walkie talkie. you rushed outside and took one of the spare bikes in the hendersons' garage before booking it to the old junkyard, the light sinking beneath the horizon and dusting the world around you in night.

when you arrived, you saw dustin and lucas (whom you knew), along with a redheaded girl and wait— steve? “dustin!” you yelled, worry evident in your voice. everyone’s heads whipped toward you, all four sets of eyes equally as wide. you marched toward the group, wading through the darkness and the heavy fog, fully prepared to drag dustin home. “cherry, you can’t be here,” steve said, taking a step toward you. “don’t tell me what to do, harrington. i mean nothing to you, remember?” steve didn’t know how to respond. his mouth moved as he reached for some way to tell you, no, cherry, honey. i can’t let you see this.

“i’m staying,” you said with finality. steve moved to protest again, but you both jumped at a rattling nearby. something growled and steve raised his bat. “cherry, take the kids and get in the bus,” he said, eyes flitting around — alert. “eat shit harring-” “cherry,” he said. he said that stupid nickname like he’d never said it before, urgently, tenderly, begging. you nodded breathing out a little “okay” as you herded the children toward the rusty vehicle. you all peered out as steve called to the creature, taunting it. lucas was looking through his binoculars when he gasped. “steve,” he screamed. “watch out!” steve kept his eyes trained on the monstrosity emerging from the fog. “a little busy here,” he said, licking his lips in anticipation of a fight. “three o’clock!” lucas yelled again. before you knew it, dustin was running toward the bus door, throwing it open, and calling steve’s name, and yelling “abort! abort!” you pulled dustin back in, hands trembling as you saw one of the creatures lunge at steve. he dodged successfully, rolling over the hood of a desolate car. another one launched itself at him and your heart seized in fear. luckily, he was fast enough to swing his bat at it; it landed with a half-whimper, half-growl. you realized that you were screaming now too.

“steve! hurry!” you cried, desperation tearing through in your voice. he was running now, running harder than ever now that he’d heard your sobs for him. he jumped in at the last second, just as you threw your arms out and shut the door. the creature’s body landed with a sickening thud against the door. more creatures gathered with the original, scratching at the door and shaking the bus. you scrambled to get the kids behind you as steve fortified the door. one broke through the door; everyone was yelling but you pushed the kids to the back of the bus as steve beat the monster with his bat. you joined him at the front, taking a nearby metal rod to help, knocking the beast to the ground, where it heaved weakly. one of its brethren saw your attack and charged at you. steve reacted in a heartbeat. he was on the monster in an instant, viciously hitting it with his bat. after a few more seconds, the creature made a shuddering move before laying still. the one previously attacking steve seemed to orient itself. it snarled, all dripping teeth and ragged growls, and threw itself at steve. he was unsuccessful, and to your horror, was about to go for steve’s throat. your name was caught on his tongue as he looked to you for comfort, for anything. and he saw it in your eyes. he saw everything you were afraid to tell him. but then, the monsters seemed to be enchanted by something, something you couldn’t perceive. they suddenly leaped out and off of the bus. relief flowed through your veins as you realized everyone was in tact. steve was in tact. you noticed that the two of you were smushed together as the kids regrouped next to you. you both pretended not to notice that steve’s arm was encircling your waist, rubbing at the sliver of skin that your top revealed.

“what the fuck was that steve?” you breathed out. you felt his chest rise beneath your back. “a demodog.” “a what?” he sucked in a breath, tensing underneath you, before launching into an explanation about all things upside down. at the end of his rant, you were quiet. “that’s why i didn’t want you here,” he said as if he weren’t sure you’d be listening. but you were; he held your attention fully. “i didn’t want you to have to see this.” you turned to face him, interlocking your fingers. “well, i’m sure as hell not leaving you now, harrington.” “as if you could ever stay away from me, cherry baby.”

oh, how right he was.

since steve had revealed the upside down to you, the two of you had been through a lot. more than the average enemies would go through together. he’d been beaten up by billy hargrove (someone you never particularly liked), and you’d sobbed over his bruised face, blood crusting in the little fissures left by billy’s knuckles. he’d woken up, dizzy and in pain to feel the wetness of your tears on his face. “i’m okay, cherry. look at me, hey? i’m fine,” he said, reaching up to put his palm on your cheek. he kept a secure hold on you as you traversed the complex tunnels, crushing you into his chest when he thought you two were about to die in a herd of inter-dimensional monsters. you’d both pulled away quickly, cheeks warm and clearing your throats nervously. surely enemies do that, right?

so now, steve was only more of a pain in your ass. especially since he made your heart flutter, since he made you perk up at just one whiff of rosemary and laundry detergent.

when starcourt mall opened up over the summer, robin got a summer job. the hendersons didn’t really need you as much this summer, and you already had a pretty good babysitting gig going with the waldens who lived on the other side of you. so in your spare time, you’d go visit your best friend.

the only issue was that steve pain-in-your-ass harrington worked with her.

sure, the free ice cream may be worth it, but was it really worth it to see him? especially after that halloween night. at the end of the day, you loved robin more and could shove the stinging thrill of seeing steve to the bottom of your stomach.

the only issue was that he looked too damn good in his dumb fucking sailor uniform. and you kept thinking about kissing him again.

both robin and steve were working today; you were perched behind the counter on a stool that robin had designated for you. though you’d tried to forget about "it" and him, you just couldn’t. yeah, you asked him to forget, but it seemed like he remembered it just as vividly as you did. the two of you tried to stay on opposite sides of the store, which was difficult considering that it was extremely small. and the area behind the counter just had to be narrow. he’d brush by your legs, causing your spine to stiffen and a sharp inhale to make its way down to your lungs. he’d grace you with a faint, “sorry, cherry.” you’d tuck your legs in closer to your seat. you wouldn’t — and couldn’t — look each other in the eye. robin, on the other hand, was completely oblivious, chattering away to you both. you’d noticed that the two of them were getting closer. you weren’t the type of person to tell your friends who they could and couldn’t be friends with, but robin knew that steve used to be your enemy. not used to be, you reminded yourself, he is my enemy.

it was one of the slower days that june — the morning of what would inevitably become the friday rush. the store was quiet, save for the hum of the freezer. you were enjoying your sample of cherry-almond swirl as robin checked the freezer one last time. “shit,” she muttered, sliding one of the frosted doors open. you cocked your head at her, spoon still in your mouth. robin turned to steve. “i have to go refill the cookies and cream. we accidentally put two chocolate chips in. be right back!” she was out the door before either you or steve could offer your help in the larger freezer in the back (aka avoid one another). the hum of the fluorescent lights was louder, grainier, invading your headspace. the edges of the plastic spoon now stung the sides of your mouth and the almond flavor left a bitterness on your tongue. you took the spoon out and chucked it into the “used spoons” cup, all the way from your little stool. “nice shot,” steve said, causing you to whip your head around to look at him, surprise sparking in your eyes at the sound of his voice. “thanks,” you said dryly. it was quiet for a beat before you took the initiative to speak again. “i don’t think i’ve ever told you, but i’m sorry about you and nance,” you said. he gave you a tight smile. “right,” he said, “you two are close.” you mirrored his smile. “yeah. i know you tried your best,” you said awkwardly. “thanks. i just don’t know if i’m meant to have her,” he said with melancholy weaving through his words. steve looked like he wanted to say something else. just as he opened his mouth, you both turned toward the door as you heard robin mumbling about how heavy the ice cream was. steve quickly turned toward you, “meet me behind the mall. after my shift. please?” you nodded slightly, suspicion clouding your eyes. he reached out to squeeze your hand, moving toward the register and giving the standard scoops ahoy greeting as the afternoon rush began.

steve had left scoops maybe fifteen minutes ago. you nibbled at your lip, another spoonful of cherry-almond swirl left a sweetness on your tongue. the coldness sitting in your mouth faded away as you checked the clock again. robin looked at you as you raised your eyes toward the clock again.

“go.”

“what?” you said, only half paying attention, lost in your thoughts about a certain boy’s freckles.

robin dragged out your name with a playful impatience.

“go.” you furrowed your brow as she plunged the scoops ahoy’s grey shag of a mop into soapy water. “dude, it’s okay. i’m getting a ride from my mom. i don’t know who this is about, but if you look at the clock one more time i’ll never give you my blessing to be with them,” she said as she slapped the mop on the tiled floor.

you looked at robin, still chewing your lip, plastic spoon in hand. “you sure, robbie?” she flashed you a toothy smile. “promise, cherry,” she said with a wink. “don’t you dare call me that, buckley,” you said as you tossed your spoon and pulled on your cardigan. she cackled as you swung open the door, turning left toward the parking lot. you made a sharp right through the food court to get to the back of the mall. through the smudgy, glassy exterior, you could see steve’s face illuminated by the lights in his BMW. you took a calming, deep breath as you pushed through the doors. steve’s windows were open; you could hear music coming out (you could swear that it was the talking heads). you smiled unconsciously at his choice. maybe somewhere along the line, in between dusty, rotting alternate dimensions and “placid” morning car rides, he’d listened when you blabbered on about your favorite band.

he heard you approaching and suddenly straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “hey, cherry,” he said breathily. “hi,” you said plainly, still suspicious about this whole meetup. “i just want to say that i’m sorry,” he said. you looked at him unimpressed; after all, he did have quite a few things to apologize for.

“for that night, at the halloween party.” you caught his eyes when your head snapped to your left, a wide, pained look mirrored in your own irises. your silence scared him — he’d expected more yelling. he deserved it. he huffed out a tiny sigh, before speaking again: “i missed you. i missed having you around because cherry, i don’t hate you. i really don’t. our little arguments or whatever? those were the best part of my day. and then they stopped because i fucked up.”

you smiled at that, and he mirrored it: the prettiest smile you’d ever seen. he laughed a little, “but i couldn’t stop thinking about you and how i missed the smell of your cinnamon gum in my car.” your eyes were softer now, glistening with something between a kind forgiveness and an inkling of playfulness. “and then we got thrown into the upside down and didn’t really get to talk about it since, y’know, we could’ve died at any moment? and then i found myself still missing you, because all that wildness wasn’t enough.”

you let the sentence hang in the air before telling him, “i missed you too, harrington.”

you’d barely noticed that you and steve were drifting closer and closer together. you felt little puffs from his plump lips brush over your own pout. “cherry-” he started. “steve,” you pleaded, hands spreading across his chest. he pulled back a little, grabbing your hand gently when he saw hurt flash over your features. “i just want you to know that i’m not looking for anything serious.”

oh. of course.

he sucked in a breath through his teeth as your face hardened into steely ire. “i really loved nancy. i can’t get over her that quickly.” you pulled your hand from his. “but cherry, i can’t stop thinking about you. and that night, god. i just keep thinking about what i would’ve done to you if we hadn’t stopped.”

something heavy settled in the pit of your stomach, the feeling making its way into your core.

“show me,” you said.

he smiled that harrington smile before slotting his lips against yours again — deeper, frenzied, hungry, like he wanted to pull the taste of cherry-almond swirl from your mouth.

(“show me,” you had said. what you really meant was, “i’ll take any part of you that i can get.”)

you felt him harden in his jeans, his cock pressing up against the rigid seams. he hissed as you trailed your hand down his chest, toward his bulge. you looked up at him, eyes glittering and so sinfully innocent. you pressed a kiss over where his arousal was evident and his eyes rolled back in his head. “cherry, baby, honey. i could cum in my pants if you touch me like that one more time.” you smiled at that, delicate hands palming him gently, kissing his neck a pretty sea of pinks and reds, and reaching toward his zipper. “jesus, fuck. cherry,” he rasped as he pulled your head off of him by the back of your pretty locks. your neck was craned back as you looked into his dark hazel eyes. “are you going to be a good girl for me?” he asked with a taunting lilt to his throaty voice. you nodded. he smirked. “words, cherry.” “yes, i’ll be your good girl, steve,” you said, hands already wandering, mouth watering at the thought of his scent, his cock, anything — all over you. he tutted at your ministrations, pulling you off of him once again. “good girls listen to directions,” he said, lips twitching into a smirk.

“bad girls don’t get to cum.”

his hand that was holding your head had changed position, reaching to grasp your chin between his fingers, squishing your cheeks a little.

“do you think you’ve been a good girl, cherry?”

you mumbled out a soft “no” around the restriction of his fingers.

he kissed you after you answered, a soft, plush press of his lips against yours. you tilted your head forward to get more from his mouth, more from him. but he pulled away and you whined. “you’ve been bad, cherry. so now i’m gonna fuck that pretty mouth,” he growled as your thighs clenched. it didn’t go unnoticed, and steve was not-so-secretly proud of himself that he got you flustered. “and if you touch yourself, you will be punished. got it?” he said, cementing his rules in you. at the talk of punishment, steve sobered up for a second.

“what’s our safeword gonna be, princess?”

“starcourt?” you suggested. he smiled.

“perfect. now, if you let me fuck your mouth and use you as my little cocksleeve, maybe you can cum,” he said so sweetly, as if he needed to wrap you around his finger more. you suckled at his neck as you unzipped his jeans, tugging impatiently to get them off. your mouth watered at the thought of his cock; it was probably pretty and red and leaking — all for you. his boxers were next. his cock sprang out of the confines of his boxers, slapping the leaking tip onto his stomach. he exhaled as the cooler air of the car hit his shaft. he held out his palm to you as you admired his length. “spit,” he commanded. you tucked your hair behind your ears and did as he instructed. he took his hand and used your spit to slick up his member. you only just realized just how big it was, biting your lip nervously. he noticed, of course. “what’s wrong, angel?” he said, reaching toward you to rub your lower back gently. “is it gonna fit in my mouth?” you pouted. you wanted it to. like, really wanted it to. he glowed at your innocent question. “it will eventually, baby. maybe not today, but someday soon.” his words seemed to comfort you and you happily took over stroking his shaft with your spit. he threw his head back against the headrest. “fuck, cherry. s’much better than i imagined. so much better.” now it was your turn to glow, thinking about steve fucking his fist in the shower, in his bed, to the thought of you, his childhood enemy. your body felt warm all over and so you took a leap, sponging an experimental peck onto his reddened tip. his hips jolted forward at your touch, causing your eyes to widen and you to pull back. “shit. sorry, honey. just can’t get enough of you,” he said with a gentle stroke to your head. “s’okay, stevie,” you replied sweetly, “wanna make you feel good.” you then bravely dove forward and slotted your mouth over his cock, swirling your tongue around the head and gagging as you took as much of him as you could. his eyes rolled back into his head and he threaded his fingers through your hair. “holy shit, cherry,” he said, “so good. so wet, so warm f’me.” once you figured out how to breathe through your nose, you slowly started bobbing your head up and down. you hollowed out your cheeks, stroking what couldn’t fit in your mouth (yet). on one of your little moves, your teeth grazed the underside of his cock, where a vein bulged. he hissed and you felt more precum spurt from his tip. you ran your tongue over it to soothe the sting your teeth left, worried that you’d made a mistake. but the unmistakable “fuck, just like that, cherry” from above you was enough to reassure you.

you pulled off for a breather, pressing wet, sloppy kisses up and down his length as you recovered. he was just about to ask if you were okay before you took initiative again, taking him further down your throat this time. he gasped and moaned and whimpered and you were in heaven. you were surrounded by him: his musk, his heavy balls gently held in your hands, the hard muscle of his thick, hairy thighs trapping your head. “can i hold your head, angel?” he asked you, ever so gently. you nodded while keeping yourself latched onto his cock, the heavy weight on your tongue oddly comforting. he gently grasped the back of your hair in one hand before thrusting his hips into your mouth, feeding his cock into your warm, wanton mouth. you gagged a little in surprise, but steve held your hair tighter and told you to just relax your throat. at his words, you did (well, you tried with a little whine), and he slipped in further. the spit that had gathered at the corners of your lips started to spill over as you attempted to take him all the way. you hadn’t expected yourself to be getting this wet over him getting off, but here you were, making a mess of your cotton panties as you sputtered choked, eyes glossy from tears. your throbbing pussy was visible through the sheerness of the fabric that your wetness had left. you pressed your thighs together to garner some relief for your poor pulsating cunt, but you remembered that if you were good, you’d get to cum too.

steve was thrusting into your mouth now, enraptured by the warmth of your wet tongue and swollen lips — the same mouth that he dreamed about kissing almost every night. he moaned above you at the sight of your spit-slicked lips, how your eyes were wide and dumb as he fucked your throat. "holy shit, cherry. my perfect little slut, such a good little whore f'me," he panted. you locked eyes with steve as his dick rapidly plunged in and out of your tight throat and at your heated gaze, he was cumming. hot, salty ropes hit the back of your throat. you made a little noise of satisfaction, humming around his shaft as your mouth filled with his seed. steve shot one last load into your mouth, groaning out your name — your real name — and collapsing, almost boneless in his seat. you pulled your mouth off of him, swallowing his load and giving the still-flushed head a soft kiss. he tasted salty and woody. you felt syrupy slick rush out of your fluttering hole at the taste left on your tongue. he ran a hand through his hair, cheeks red, still breathing heavily. “open your mouth,” he said, looking at you and tapping your cheek lightly. you did as he asked and stuck out your tongue for good measure. he gave a pleased hum when he saw your tongue dart out to lick a little bit of his seed that was left on the corner of your mouth. “good girl. you swallowed,” he said. you burned at his praise. "thank you, stevie," you said shyly. he bent down to sprinkle kisses across your face.

your cheeks glowed with arousal as his hand gently gripped the back of your neck, casually keeping you in the palm of his hand. he slanted his mouth over yours, swiping his tongue over your own and hummed when he tasted a remnant of himself in your waiting mouth. you smiled into the kiss, the vibrations tickling your pretty pout. he pulled back, his eyes and lips shining. suddenly he was pushing a hand through his hair and checking himself out in his rearview mirror. you looked at him, mouth pursed in confusion and discomfort at the pressure between your legs. “steve,” you whined. “what’s up, cherry baby?” he said as he gently buckled you in. “don’t i get to cum? i was so good,” you begged, grabbing his bicep between his smaller palms. the polyester of his scoops uniform shifted under your pawing hands as he extended his arm behind your headrest, tendons flexing as he reversed out of the parking lot.

“you were a good girl, but only after you had my cock in your mouth.”

so that was it? he wasn’t going to get you to your release? your mouth fell agape and you detached yourself from the boy, sliding back in your seat and watching hawkins speed by.

suddenly, you were pulling up to your house. your parents had left the foyer light on, keeping the entryway to your house bathed in its soft brilliance. it felt like déjà vu; you, flustered and exiting steve’s car after he’s been an asshole to you — yet again.

you resolved to never see him again as you cursed yourself for thinking he’d changed. but this time, he gently tugged you to him, saying your name quietly, and lifting your chin up to tilt your precious face toward his. he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, one that filled the small space of his car with your deep inhale. you decided that this was your favorite kiss with him that you’d ever had. you looked at him with little hearts in your eyes as he smoothed your wildly messy hair back. he smiled at you, gently purring “don’t you dare touch yourself tonight.” you opened your mouth defiantly at his orders. he shushed you with a quick kiss to the corner of your lips that left you wanting more. “i’ll know if you do,” he said with a wink.

and you knew that you’d definitely be seeing him again.

you did cum that next day. three times to be exact; once on his fingers, once in his mouth, and once on his cock. he’d looked up at you from between your quivering thighs, asking you if he'd made it up to you. you nodded blearily, desperate to get his tongue on your hot core once again.

but whatever summer love, saying “us” moments you had, had very quickly become much deeper. you knew you were in deep shit when you realized you two were playing house after a sleepover at steve’s. you’d walked downstairs to see him swaying gently, nursing a cup of coffee in his boxers. you were wearing one of his old basketball t-shirts: sun-faded and soft and steve. he gave you a lazy smile as he dropped a kiss on your mouth, tasting of the vanilla creamer he swore he kept around “just for you, cherry. that shit’s disgusting.” you wrapped your arms around him; he sighed against your mouth as your fingertips began to rub his lower back with such care, such sweetness. “morning, stevie,” you said through a delicate yawn. ““mm mornin’ cherry,” he said, dipping down to leave a smattering of kisses across your neck and clavicle as you held each other in the sun-soaked kitchen. you silently wished to yourself that the two of you would stay like this, preserved in a memory forever. that you wouldn’t have to return to the world where you “hated” each other. that you could live together in a house of your own, with your own rich coffee scent filling the ground floor, without the upside down. your eyes snapped open at your wandering thoughts. no, you told yourself, it's steve. of course he ate you out on the kitchen floor before bending you over the counter. and of course, in the afterglow as you laid atop the cool tile, you just had to realize that you loved steve harrington.

“always so good f’me,” he rumbled, tracing his blunt nails on your back, raising goosebumps on his path. you looked into his cinnamon eyes, absorbing the ring of mossy green around his irises.

“anything for you, stevie,” you cooed, putting a veil of satin over your voice to mask the churning of your emotions.

“careful, cherry. i might start thinking that you’ve got a crush on me.”

oh, he had no idea.

© ker0senebunny. all rights reserved. all original posts of writing are my own words, with the exceptions of quotations from songs, movies, and other media. my work is NOT to be crossposted to another platform, copied by anyone, or translated without my express and explicit permission.

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#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things volume 2 #stranger things #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine

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jake-g-lockley · 2 years

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Give it Back or Else (Poe Dameron x fem!reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist

Summary: Thievery can sometimes end in sweet ways Warnings: Swearing, a bit suggestive. Word Count: 989 words

A/N: Gonna continue lazily writing more Poe Dameron fluff maybe until my brain explodes.

You ran at top speed, clutching the helmet to your chest, dodging people around you. You found a crowd of people in the middle of the corridor and decided to use it to your advantage and slip away into a small corner as you watched your pursuer run right past where you were standing.

You wait for a few seconds, trying to control our breathing, before turning back the same way you came from and you start running as fast as your legs can carry you, long hair flowing behind you.

“HEY!” the commanding voice shouts from the opposite direction of the corridor and you don’t stop. You jump over the small orange and white droid that had been helping his master chase you and you continue sprinting, your laughter echoing through the hallway as people cheered.

You've been playing this same game with Poe Dameron for weeks now. He started it with an apple slice, then you followed with his socks and the items kept getting more personal by the day. You and him had turned it into a competition and people were finding it very entertaining.

You turned into another corridor and waited for a few seconds. When the coast was clear, you slipped the helmet under your linen shirt and walked around the corridor, trying to find a place to hide from the angry pilot.

You spotted General Leia and Rey reading some documents on their datapads in one of the rooms and you waved at them with a grin. The general gestured for you to come in and eyed the bump on your stomach with a confused expression.

“You took his helmet didn’t you?” She says, chuckling.

“Nope, this is my baby. Looks good doesn’t it?” You wiggle your eyebrows with a smirk.

“Damn, didn’t know Poe worked that fast.” Rey murmured.

“Hey, I heard that.” You said shooting her a glare.

“Oh no, Y/N, he’s coming over here. You better hide.” Rey says, moving her chair slightly and you crawl under the space of the table.

Two seconds later, you hear the door whoosh open followed by heavy breathing.

“General, did you see her?” He says, panting.

“Nope, even if I did, I’m not going to snitch, Commander Dameron.” You hear Leia say as Rey giggles.

You could practically hear him rolling his eyes at the General and you almost laughed.

“She’s gonna pay when I get my hands on her.” he groans. “Thanks anyway, you guys were no help.”

Rey kicks you once the coast is clear and you crawl out from under the table.

“When are you guys going to stop this and start admitting that you like each other.” Rey says, punching you leg playfully.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You mumble, looking away from her and absentmindedly started stroking the fake baby bump/helmet.

Oh yea, you were harboring the strongest feeling for the Resistance’s Poster Boy. The first time you fell for those puppy eyes, you thought you were having a slight stroke and your mind started melting because he had the ability to get whatever he wanted when he used his puppy eyes, especially with you.

It all happened so fast that you couldn’t comprehend the feelings and you were almost certain that he wouldn’t reciprocate your feelings. You longed for him and you tried to keep it to yourself but evidently everyone seemed to notice anyway.

“I think I should go and return this.” You mumble, gave the General and Rey a small smile and waddled out of the room.

Playing a funky tune on the helmet that was still under your shirt, you looked around for Poe, legs moving in sync with the tune, when suddenly you heard beeps. You turn around to see a murderous Poe marching down the hallway towards you with BB-8 rolling fast to keep up with him.

Your smile drops and you back into a wall as Poe closes in. He stops and stares at you for a few seconds, taking note of where his helmet was. You clung onto it, holding Poe’s intense eye contact.

“Y/N, give it back.” He says holding out his hands.

“Don’t touch my baby.” You say, playfully.

“I said, give it back, or else.” He narrows his eyes.

“Or else?” you push, a smirk growing on your face as he closes the gap between the two of you.

“Or else, I’ll give you a real baby.” He whispers into your ear and your smirk drops instantly and a shiver runs up your spine.

You swallow and shake your head absentmindedly. You stare up at his beautiful face from under your lashes and chew your bottom lip.

“Kiss me and you can have the helmet back, Dameron.” You took the leap without even thinking about its consequences and your eyes widened at your own little outburst of confidence.

Before you could blink, you felt Poe’s soft lips on your own and you black out for a second before slipping your hands upward to pull on his flight jumpsuit’s collar, deepening the kiss.

Kissing Poe was everything you ever imagined, the warmth of his lips were so inviting and you could taste the minty toothpaste that he used. He slipped a hand to the nape of your neck and pulled you towards him and you whimpered into his mouth at the slight pressure.

When the both of you pulled away, you were so breathless to the point of exhaustion. Poe leaned his forehead on yours as his free hand slipped under your shirt to pull out his helmet. He looked at the helmet then put it on your head, kissing your nose, making your face heat up.

“Maker, I’ve always wanted to do that.” He chuckled, pulling you close.

“That’s my line, Dameron.” You smile up at him as he leads you to the cantina.

“Y/N?”

“Mmhm?”

“I hid all your clothes.”

Tagging:

@ahookedheroespureheart @mintpurplemnm

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pastanest · 1 year

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if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to the very lovely friends who have relentlessly sifted through tumblr archives to recover them, thank you all so much!! ♡

PDA With A King

- Thranduil may be the poster-elf for stone cold bitch syndrome, but whenever you’re around, he transforms into The Softest Boy™️

- he isnt one for holding your hand when you walk with him, instead he’ll hold his arm out to you and wait for you to link yours through it or simply hold onto his bicep, and he’ll smile down at you as you do

- in private, when the two of you are sitting or lying down together, he will often play with your fingers, tracing the lines of your palms with his fingertips, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, the most gentle touches you can imagine

- Thranduil may not be the most emotionally expressionate person, but that makes PDA with you all the more fun to him, because anyone who sees him dip you to the ground to kiss you passionately is shocked beyond belief, and this amuses the King very much

- whenever the two of you are separated for any length of time, he will hold both of your hands and kiss your forehead before he goes

- more often than not, advisors and guards will enter the throne room to find it empty, and a search party is formed in order to find the King and Queen, only to discover the two of you dancing together in one of the castle halls

- Thranduil loves to dance with you, whether it’s ballroom slow dancing that brings with it such a strong sense of intimacy and safety, or more fast paced dancing that results in you both laughing until you’re out of breath

- and Thranduil will ask you to dance with him anytime, anywhere. most of the time he doesnt even have to ask, he just holds his hand out to you and leads you to an empty space big enough for the two of you to dance

- you encourage him to attend the festivals of the local villages, and he is very reluctant to do so, but as soon as he realises that festivals mean music, and music means dancing, he’s all for it

- sometimes, completely out of the blue, when you happen to walk into a meeting or just into the room where the King happens to be, he will march over to you and pull you into a kiss, without saying a word, simply because he adores leaving you in a flustered daze

- kisses with Thranduil are usually passionate ones, unless something has caused him great stress or sadness, because he turns to you for reassurance, and when he gets it, he thanks you with the softest kisses

- he will often hold your hips with both hands or place them at the small of your back, but he also occasionally places one of his hands against your cheek

- usually it is you who has your hands on his face, though, and he cant tell you how much he loves the feeling of your fingertips tracing the lines of his cheekbones and jaw

- he’s a very cuddly person, and although this isnt displayed in front of others, he will demonstrate his strong affections for you in smaller ways, such as providing you with adoring smiles, and bringing your hand to his face in order to kiss your knuckles frequently

- when you’re alone though, the two of you are practically attached

- you normally fall asleep with Thranduil’s head on your chest or in the crook of your neck, because the only way he can be calmed into a slumber is when you run your fingers through his hair

- but on occasions when harm has come to you, he will hold you in his arms all night, placing soft kisses at the top of your head long after you’ve fallen asleep

- Thranduil prefers to sleep on top of you because he feels that you are more protected that way. if someone were to try and attack you, they would quite literally have to go through him first, and he would sacrifice himself for you in a heartbeat, though he keeps that a secret because he knows that if you found out the truth, you would never let him sleep like that again

- one of your favourite things to do as a couple is swim in the streams of the Kingdom at night

- admittedly, it usually involves skinny dipping, because when the Kingdom sleeps there is no risk of being seen

- the two of you will splash water at each other until you’re completely drenched and laughing so hard that your sides hurt

- Thranduil will swim over to you and scoop you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his bare waist as his lips beg to be reunited with yours

- and as soon as they are, Thranduil is gliding backwards through the water, so that the two of you are kissing in the middle of the stream, under the stars

- when you pull away, you see each other’s features being blessed by the light of the moon, and you fall back into each other again, as close together as two creatures can possibly be

- Thranduil is a pretty big fan of PDA, because it leaves an affect on you that he adores, and when the reactions of those around him are so utterly hilarious, he will gladly take every opportunity to kiss the woman he loves, but it’s only when you’re alone that his affections for you truly blossom

#thranduil #thranduil x reader #lord of the rings #x reader #lotr #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction

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micamicster · 2 months

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I Knew I Loved You Before I Met You

Have a Bucky scene! This is supposed to be the b-side to whatever much more serious story I was writing in Sam's pov (link to that snippet). As I will probably never finish these please don't take them seriously <3

Also this isn't canon compliant but Marvel isn't real you know

Sometimes he thinks Sam is the only good thing about the future. Sometimes he thinks that Sam’s everything good about the future. If there’s a difference between those two thoughts, he doesn’t have any better words for it.

When he’d first met Sam—well, depending on your definition, they’ve had several first meetings. By one definition he’d either ripped his steering wheel out through his windshield, yanked him out of the sky, or tried to put him through a wall face first. Bucky doesn’t really remember those ones. He just has to go off of the (obviously exaggerated and totally unreliable) versions Sam recounts when he decides to seize the opportunity offered by the question ‘how did you two meet?’ and make Bucky squirm.

If Bucky doesn’t remember it, he thinks it doesn’t count. Maybe it’s the first time Sam met him, but the first time he met Sam was during the year Sam and Steve were chasing him.

A year of drawing smaller and smaller circles around them as they sighed and fought and slept and drove and kicked the frozen rocks in the Hindu Kush or the Smokey Mountains, squinting into the sun like it had any clues to give them, anything at all. The first time Bucky met Sam, it had been through a rifle scope.

He’d met him in the air. Watched him from a hundred paces upwind twisting against the blue, soaring, looping around the sun. Sam eating tacos in the passenger side of a jeep, laughing at Steve’s beet red face and playing it off like he wasn’t coughing on the spice himself. Teaching Steve to fist bump, complete with explosion noises. Rumpled and serious over stacks of files in a diner, too late or too early for company. Dark eyes tracking bullet paths from sniper rifles he didn’t place, cautious in the face of Steve’s leaping optimism, watchful where Steve throws a wave or salute, reserving judgment. Sam.

Sam says these don’t count. Meeting someone according to Sam, who is casting himself as an authority on the subject, involves walking up to them, introducing yourself, getting their name, and shaking hands. “Two people gotta be involved! The time you watched me choke on an m&m through my bedroom window and didn’t even intervene, ain’t meeting, Boo Radley. It’s called stalking, and I’m adding it to your rap sheet.” Sam marches over to the poster paper hanging off the bathroom door and scribbles on it.

Bucky follows him, glowering. “By that definition, I’ve never met anybody.”

“By that definition,” Sam mimics. “Man, don’t give me that poor-little-orphan-boy act. What, they didn’t have handshakes in the 30s? Didn’t have names? ‘Never met anybody,’ You’re so full of shit.”

“Never met anybody important,” Bucky concedes, for the sake of the brief moment where Sam blinks at him. Sincerity always catches him off guard. Bucky has to be careful not to overuse this tactic or risk diminishing returns, but it’s worth it for his startled, wide eyes, the barely noticeable hitch in his stream of words.

In that moment of silence he leans over Sam’s shoulder to read the additions to the list. Stalking, and Watched me coughing for a full minute and didn’t break in to give me the heimlich. “I thought you were for prison abolition.”

“I’m not asking for jail time, I’m asking for reparations. I coulda died, man!”

Bucky lets his face go dour and gloomy in response to the teasing, a look that never fails to increase Sam’s enjoyment of a situation.

“Look out, Eeyore,” he says gleefully. “Your face might stick that way.”

“Too late. It froze like this in cryo.”

Sam’s delighted cackle is loud enough to attract Natalia’s attention, and Bucky carefully suppresses his reaction—his face might look blank and intimidating to others, but Tasha can pick out a mockable emotion at a hundred paces.

Her attention is enough to distract Sam, rerouting him into the kitchen where he starts fussing with the coffee pot. Bucky trails after him to hover silently in the doorway like an Eeyore balloon at the Thanksgiving Day Parade, avoiding eye contact with Natalia. She thinks she’s so fucking funny.

Good things about the future: Drunken noodles from Royal Siam with fresh basil and lime, extra spicy the way Sam orders it on movie nights. Losing at spades to Sarah and Cousin Jay, Sam blaming him for their downfall every hand of the game. Cass facetiming him from the kitchen table in Delacroix, history homework all spread out in front of him, both of them ignoring Sam shouting, ‘amnesiac, A-M-N-Something-S-iac, definition ‘he don’t know shit,’ you’re better off trying wikipedia,” from the couch.

“Man, just ask me.” Sam doesn’t bother turning around, but his amusement is palpable in the set of his shoulders, the back of his neck.

He sighs. “Who’s Bo Rad Lee”

The crinkle at the corners of Sam’s eyes, when he wears his smug stupid face. That’s a good thing about the future.

#here's to 10 years of HIM!#i need a writing tag if im gonna be posting shit but as yet i remain. uninspired <3 #tagging I GUess.#marvel #bucky barnes #sam wilson #sambucky #ok now that i've posted something and got it off my chest lets all go back to pretending marvel and i have never met <3 thanks <3

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iamstartraveller776 · 1 year

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Prompts for pairing of choice (but I would not say no to Haladriel)

"hey, can i borrow your hoodie real quick? i'm just heading down to the store and mine isn't really dry yet..."

And the one about jealousy over dates :)

Oooh, why not both? Yes, let's do both in one ficlet! Thank you for the prompts! (And of course I'm doing Haladriel!) Also, this one got away from me a little bit.

Modern/Non-magical AU. Rated M. (ao3) Word count: 3739

CROSSING BOUNDARIES

Your turn for groceries. Pick them up before 6 pm.

Galadriel rips the post-it note off the bathroom mirror and, crumpling it, tosses it toward the bin. The offending wad of hot pink lands on the floor by the tub, and she leaves it there out of spite. Her roommate will hate it, just as the environmental scientist in her despises that he’s wasted paper again when he could have sent her a text.

But that’s an argument that she’s never won. “Noldor,” Halbdrand would say with an exasperated sigh, “you do realize that the electricity we use to charge our fancy devices doesn’t appear out of thin air, don’t you?” Then they’d go around in circles over which was the greener method of communication, never coming to a consensus, and red thoughts of how her hands might fit around his neck—and squeeze—start to scratch in her brain.

She glares at the balled post-it, and with a huff, she picks it up, drops it in the bin. Her passive aggressive protest would be pointless. He has his own bathroom.

It’s 4:57 p.m. according to her phone. That leaves her hardly any time to bathe away the grime and sweat from her work in the field today, and no time at all to linger beneath the scalding water that her sore muscles desperately need. Worse, she tried to be efficient—something she’s never been particularly good at when it comes to mundane chores—and threw all her laundry in the washer ten minutes ago. She planned to spend the rest of the evening in her pajamas, catching up on reading or mindlessly scrolling through Netflix, adding shows to her list that she’ll never watch. Now she has to brave the crisp, wet spring evening with nothing but her summer wardrobe and wet hair.

She’s glad she left her muddy boots just inside the front door earlier. He deserves to trip over them.

By the time she’s out of her unjustly short shower, she’s thought of another way she’s going to get her revenge. She dons a cropped t-shirt, not bothering with a bra, and a pair of running shorts, then marches to his room. Her heart flutters just a little as she turns the doorknob. There are rules in their apartment, ironclad. He made that very clear when she moved in. She hadn’t minded then; she needed a way to escape the oppressive expectation that stifled every corner of her family home. Putting up with Halbrand’s near-OCD seemed a small price to pay for freedom.

They found each other through Celebrimbor. When she’d confided in her childhood friend that she was looking for a place, he mentioned that he knew an old grad school pal that needed a roommate. Tall, attractive, and a few years older than her, Halbrand had an unsettling intensity. He looked her over within minutes of their first meeting, the corner of his mouth quirked up, and said, “Yeah, alright.” There was a challenge in those two words, and it zinged in her veins with a sort of savage anticipation. She gave him back a small grin, told him she’d bring her stuff on Saturday.

This is the first time she’s set foot on his room. She thought it would be more like a boudoir. Dark walls, a four-poster bed with burgundy curtains. Maybe a collection of special toys in a glass-enclosed cabinet. It’s irrational, but that’s the picture that has popped into her head on the infrequent occasion he’s brought someone home for a few hours. She’s imagined his ephemeral companions as willowy and world-weary, though she’s only ever seen one in passing.

That was another broken rule, but it wasn’t her fault. She got the courtesy text, told him it was fine if he wanted company. Elrond was picking her up anyway; they were celebrating his recent promotion. When she returned around one in the morning, she was sure she had an hour or two yet before the mystery woman made her quiet exit. She was wrong. His bedroom door creaked open, and she stood stock-still in the dark kitchen where she’d just finished refilling her water bottle. She held her breath as he escorted his guest to the front door. Fortunately, neither of them noticed her. The woman, beautiful enough to grace the cover of a fashion magazine, leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, and there was a twinge in Galadriel’s stomach that bordered dangerously close to jealousy. She blamed the aberration on a starved libido. Celeborn had another six months left on his tour with Doctors Without Borders, and their only attempt at virtual intimacy had been awkward, blessedly cut off when his spotty internet connection dropped. They had a good laugh about the incident and decided to wait until he was back, but god, sometimes she missed the feel of a body over hers.

Halbrand closed the door, turned toward his room, unfocused gaze sweeping past her, and she thought she’d survive being an accidental voyeur. But then his eyes jerked back to her, and he froze in the dim ambient light streaming in through the living room windows. He wore only a pair of black boxer briefs that hid almost nothing. She never considered what his physique might be, but she couldn’t avoid it then, not when his lean, chiseled frame was on display. As a runner, Celeborn was fit as well, but this was different. Halbrand was built for more than endurance.

“Like the view, Noldor?” he said with a canted brow. The question was flippant enough, but there was something in his lancing stare that seethed. As if he believed she’d laid in wait to catch him in this state. As if he’d make her pay for it if they stood another minute longer this way.

Her skin felt too tight, the air too dense in that moment. But she wouldn’t let him see how he was affecting her. She rolled her eyes instead, muttering, “Get over yourself,” as she walked past him. That was nearly three months ago. He hasn’t had a late-night dalliance since, and she refuses to think too deeply on it.

It’s unsurprising that his room is tidy. But the space is otherwise ordinary. Mahogany furniture free of dust, books lined up perfectly on the shelves. She’s tempted to lift the duvet on his bed, to see if he used hospital corners on his sheets. Artwork hangs on the walls along with a sword she wouldn’t be surprised that he made himself. The hobby keeps his fingers permanently calloused, stained with soot no matter how hard he scrubs his hands after a weekend in his forge just outside of the city. She’s been there, sat on a stool in the corner in the sweltering shop and watched him work. It’s soothing, the orange-white glow of metal and the resounding clang as he swings a hammer down again and again.

She shakes off the memory, focuses on the task at hand. The clock is ticking. There’s a door to his own bathroom, opposite the walk-in closet—amenities that he pays the higher portion of the rent for. She flips on the light to the closet and runs her hand across the ordered line of button-downs, suit coats, and slacks until she reaches the activewear. Her target is the heather grey hoodie. He’s worn this one more than the others, and if she’s going to cross boundaries, she’s going all in.

The hoodie is so huge that it falls past the hem of her shorts; the overlong sleeves bunch at her wrists. The inside is still buttery soft, and she wonders how he keeps the fuzzy fabric from pilling. She leaves the rest of the room untouched, slips on a pair of Converse, and with reusable bags in hand, heads to the store around the corner.

The drizzling rain outside makes her grin, even if her legs prickle with chills. Later, when she hands him back his soggy hoodie, the expression on his face will be worth the discomfort. She runs into Bronwyn and Arondir at the store, makes small talk for a bit. Bronwyn’s eyes keep darting to Galadriel’s unusual attire but thankfully doesn’t comment on it. They part with a promise to set up another game night—where there will be more alcohol than gameplay and everyone will lose to Halbrand. Everyone except Galadriel. She’s managed to bring him to a stalemate a time or two. He gives her a singular smile when it happens, as if he likes it. That smile has infiltrated her insomnia-addled thoughts at night, along with his sculpted bare chest and rough hands. She hates it—hates him for it.

Celeborn needs to come home. Celeborn needs to call her more than once a month, needs to talk to her for longer than ten minutes. And Halbrand needs to stop filling in the void.

It’s an ungainly walk back to her building with two armfuls of grocery bags, but she makes it to the foyer before the skies open up. The doorman hustles to usher her inside and calls the elevator for her. It’s a perk she takes for granted, coming from an upper middle-class family. The closest she’s ever gotten to slumming it was at university in the dorms. Her work keeps her from being too spoiled, though. She spends roughly a third of the year living out of a tent, collecting samples.

After a couple attempts with her key, she manages to get into her apartment. Her boots are no longer in the entryway which means Halbrand beat her home, but she knew he would. She also knows he’ll emerge from his room with a lecture about respecting the public spaces in their home. She’s hungry for it. There’s a jittery swell of energy inside of her that needs an outlet. He doesn’t appear, though, not until she has the groceries almost put away. He’s in sweats and a t-shirt, hair wet as if he’s just finished a shower, and she banishes the fleeting thought of how soft those curling locks might be.

Brows raised, his gaze travels from her face down to her toes, pausing where his hoodie hits her mid-thigh. She glowers at him, unblinking, every step by languid step he takes toward her, daring him to start the clash that’s surely coming.

“Is this what we’re doing now?” He twines his finger in one of the drawstrings, gives it a little tug. “Touching each other’s things?”

She tips her chin up in defiance of her heart thudding against her ribcage. “I needed it. Mine was in the wash.”

He nods slowly with a hint of a smile. “And if I need something, I can just—” he tugs on the drawstring harder, “—take it?”

She doesn’t miss the edge to his question, but it isn’t sharp enough, not for the battle she’s craving. “No.”

“No?” He inches closer, a whisper of menace in his narrowing eyes. “Then give it back.”

She retreats a step, then another and another, gaze dropping with his to the drawstring unwinding from his finger. It falls to her chest, and she looks up at him. “I’m not done with it yet.” She spins on her heel and breaks into a near-run toward her room.

He catches her in the living room, yanks her off the ground and into his chest with an arm around her waist. “I’m not done with you yet.” The words are a low growl in her ear. A threat. Exactly what she wants.

The fight.

The pressure valve has finally released on their charged dynamic, and she kicks her legs, pommels her fists against his arm, as she yells at him to put her down. It’s never been physical between them before, but this is so much more gratifying than their usual shouting matches. She wants him to hurt. She wants to hurt. For reasons she’s not willing to acknowledge.

His grip is steel, immovable, but she doesn’t stop trying. Her pulse stutters when he tosses her onto the couch. Before she can scramble to her feet, he’s on her, knee between her legs, hand gliding up her bare thigh to the hem of his hoodie. She has to battle the instinct to close her eyes, drop her head back, to live inside the sensation of his calloused fingertips against her skin. Using all of her strength, she shoves against his shoulders, but he’s too strong. His large hands circle her wrists, and he pins them above her head.

“You wanted my attention, and now you have it.” There’s a feral light in his eyes, and it feeds the inferno growing inside of her.

“I didn’t.” Not how he’s implying. She can’t want it that way.

“You did,” he counters, pushing her arms together so he can hold them with one hand. He grabs a fistful of damp hoodie, slides it up to her waist. “Or else you wouldn’t have worn this one.” His gaze drifts to where he’s exposed a sliver of her stomach. He inches the fabric higher, and her breath hitches with the first blush of true disquiet. This isn’t a game anymore.

“Stop,” she says, despising that it sounds more like a plea than a command. “I have a boyfriend.”

Halbrand snorts, glancing up at her. “That doctor? He’s not your boyfriend.”

“He is—”

“Who feeds you, Galadriel?” His hand tightens on her wrists, lip curled in a snarl. “Who makes you dinner every night? Who makes you coffee every morning with one sugar and a splash of hazelnut creamer just the way you like it? Who picks up the goddamn shoes that you leave in the entryway when you’re too lazy to do it yourself? Who watches nature documentaries with you? Who do you spend your weekends with?”

His words are a blade flaying her apart, bit by ugly bit. Every accusation he makes comes with a dozen memories of how the lines have blurred between them over the last year. It was a gentle-sloped descent that began with “How was your day?” Then “Instant ramen isn’t a meal. I’ll cook if you’ll clean.” That became “Hey, I’m going out for drinks with some friends tonight. Want to join us?” A bag of her favorite chocolates chucked at her when she’s curled up in bed with cramps. The surprise birthday party she threw for him and his unfettered laughter at her pathetic attempt of a cake. These moments and countless more.

Turning her head, she squeezes her eyes closed as if she can shutter this piercing truth. Throw it in a vault and sink it into the dark recesses of her mind.

Halbrand lets go of the hoodie and grasps her chin, drawing her face back to his. “Look at me.”

“No.” Because looking will be an admission that she doesn’t want to make. A confession that she’s already betrayed Celeborn. That she resents him for abandoning her to chase a higher calling. Resents that his kindness isn’t the same as thoughtfulness—something she hadn’t known until Halbrand showed her the difference on Valentine’s Day with his “joke” bouquet of peonies compared to Celeborn’s clichéd red roses.

Celeborn is steady and nice, the ideal husband to fill out a future family portrait, one with a white picket fence and two children. Everything she was raised to want.

Halbrand is a hurricane on the sea. Lightning and thunder. Frightening and alluring at the same time. They agree on almost nothing. He drives her so mad sometimes that she has fantasies of drawing his blood. And yet, she wants to drown. Because she doesn’t have to make herself less in his storm.

But he’s wrong, all wrong. She can’t want him.

“Galadriel,” he says her name with a quiet warning. “Look at me.”

She does.

His expression is both softer and too much. Too intense. Too possessive. “I’m more your boyfriend than he’s ever been.” He drags his thumb across her bottom lip, follows the movement with hooded eyes, and murmurs, “More than he ever will be.” He relaxes his hold on her wrists, and she wrests them free.

She needs space to breathe—to think—but her fingers knot in his shirt, and she’s pulling him closer. He comes willingly, eagerly, hot breath fanning over her lips just before he seals his mouth over hers. The kiss is sloppy, violent. A clash of teeth and tongue, and it’s not enough. Not when he slips down, fits his hips against hers. Not when he snakes his arm behind her back and crushes her to his chest. Not when she folds her legs around him, arching upward. It’s not enough.

His beard is sandpaper on her skin, but she likes the burn as he makes a wet trail across her jaw, down to her neck. He lets out a frustrated grunt when the hoodie gets in the way. The room spins when he stands up with her, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs as he staggers toward a room—his. She’s too busy scraping her fingers through his hair, nipping at his throat. Twice, they crash into the wall before he kicks the door open. She makes a noise of protest when he sets her on her feet, but then he’s yanking the hem of the hoodie up. Her crop top comes off with it, and when his eyes widen with surprise, she remembers that she has nothing else on underneath.

For a breath, she thinks she could stop this, leave this final line uncrossed. She’s only kissed him, given him a glimpse of the forbidden. She could flee to her room, lock the door. She could do it. But when a slow smile blooms on his lips, when he brushes the back of his knuckles across her collarbone, she knows she won’t.

He traces a path between her breasts, not touching—not yet. “He’s never laying eyes on this again.”

She bristles at the authority in his tone despite the chills pebbling beneath his questing fingers. “You don’t have a say in that.”

“I do,” he argues, hands gliding down her sides. “This temple has only one priest.” His fingers hook into the waistband of her shorts, and he drops to his knees. “And I’ve come to worship.”

The last flimsy thread of her resistance snaps, and she splays her fingers in his hair again as he divests her of the rest of her clothing. As he uses lips and tongue and fingers to send her to a terrifying, breathtaking height. He holds her upright through the crest when her quaking legs fail her. Lays her on the bed to recover, only until he’s as bare as she is. But it’s long enough that she remembers that she doesn’t want easy. Not with him. She’s ready when he tries to crawl over her, shoves him onto his back and straddles him.

“It’s like that, is it?” he asks with a rasping laugh.

She yanks his roving hands away from her chest, presses them into the bed, grips them hard enough to leave marks. “It’s the way it’s always been.”

“Yes,” he hisses in agreement as she begins her own ministrations.

This, between them, is wildfire. Dangerous but so alive. Too impatient, he breaks free of her grasp, drags her up to him, swallows her protest with a blistering kiss. He makes her the hammer to his anvil as his fingers dig painfully into her hips. She claws red lines into his shoulders and chest in return. The blaze is consuming her, devouring them both, as they become more erratic, more frenetic. It’s too much. She can’t—

She doesn’t fall. She erupts.

Flipping them both over, he finishes with his teeth and mouth sucking a welt into curve of her neck. He collapses on her with an affectionate curse afterward. He’s heavy, but the weight is an anchor, bringing her back from the heaven or hell he sent her to. When she shivers, he rolls onto his side, pulls her into him, and wraps his duvet over them both. She’s irrationally pleased that they’ve made a mess of his bed.

The sky is full dark in his window when she wakes—alone. She has a vague memory of him tucking the blanket back around her, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. She doesn’t know how she feels about the latter. Her chest is tight, and she wants to call that guilt. It should be. Though, she can only muster a pale ghost of the emotion. Obligatory, but not truly hers.

Maybe that’s what her relationship with Celeborn has always been. An obligation they naively called devotion.

She slips out of bed, picks up Halbrand’s discarded t-shirt as she makes her way to his bathroom. From the sounds in the kitchen, she can guess what he’s up to, but she’s not ready to face him yet. She catches her reflection in the mirror, pauses to study it. Her hair is in disarray, crimson patches on her chin, her neck, her breasts. Faint bruises dotting her hips, her thighs. She runs her fingers over the purple-red mark at the base of her throat, and desire yawns awake in her belly, so thick that she’s almost ill with it.

Is this what it’s like? To be coveted. Claimed.

She pulls on his shirt and holds the collar up to her nose, inhales the clean scent of his laundry detergent, the hint of his sandalwood soap. She opens his medicine cabinet, examines each item—aftershave, cologne, deodorant, toothbrush and toothpaste—leaving her fingerprints on everything inside, as if she’s making these hers. Because he’s made her his.

“There you are.” She turns to find him leaning against the doorframe, wearing a half-smile, arms crossed over his bare chest. He glances at the shirt she wears and clucks his tongue. “Still touching my things.”

She mirrors his self-satisfied grin. “You touched mine.”

He straightens with a quiet laugh, reaches out to grab his shirt and tugs her closer to him. “You’re wrong,” he says, leaning forward. “This is all mine.” He tangles his other hand in her hair, draws her mouth up to his for a kiss, deep and wet.

She wants to laugh. She wants to cry. Because this—the chaos that they are—is somehow love.

~FIN~

#saurondriel #haladriel #saurondriel fic #haladriel fic #sauron x galadriel #halbrand x galadriel #galadriel x sauron #galadriel x halbrand #my fic #modern au #non magical au #human au #crossing boundaries

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