Omg This Is Gold! 

Yeeees. There's so little fanfics about Ryan Reynolds and his characters. Totally unfair.

Thank you for this story 🥹🥹

Torture

Pairing: Nolan Booth x Fem!reader

Summary: What happens when The Bishop decides to torture you instead of Hartley?

Warnings: swearing, kidnapping, torture

A/n: I love me some Ryan Reynolds and I was shocked to see that there weren’t a lot of fanfics based off Red Notice so I had to write something

You met John Hartley and the infamous Nolan Booth after getting arrested in Rome. Your life as a criminal was just starting and this was your second heist. Call it beginners bad luck. Somehow all three of you found yourselves intermingled with unearthing the three cleopatra eggs. It has been quite an adventure, an FBI agent, the world’s second best art thief, and the worlds best failed art thief.

Unbeknownst to you, Nolan and Hartley were handcuffed together in a room further down. You couldn’t hear a thing over the sound of a crowd cheering.

For some unknown reason the only thing you could think of was whether Nolan was okay. Your heart raced at the idea of the Bishop torturing him for information on the third egg. You hated to admit that the criminal had grown on you, his constant humor and dashing looks made him completely irresistible but there was also something much deeper and gentler that drew you towards him.

“Where is she?!”, Nolan spit at the Bishop.

She walked in front of him, “That’s not important Booth, this is the time where you tell us where the third egg is.’”.

Nolan let out a breathy laugh, “Piss off for a thousand years.”.

“Oh bummer, I really wanted to do it the easy way.”, she sighed, “That’s okay, I’ll get the information from you, by hurting him.”., she gestured towards Hartley.

“I’m sorry what?”, Hartley questioned.

“I love this plan.”, of course Nolan would.

Bishop turned up an electricity machine and made her way towards Hartley, “You two share a special bond, I mean why else risk your lives together attempting to steal the eggs.”, she grabs two metal pliers, “Isn’t that right, Agent Hartley?”.

“There isn’t any bond between us, I barley know the guy…Booth tell her we’re not friends.”.

Of course being the cheeky one, Booth had to play this one out, “She knows about us pal.”.

“That’s bullshit..”, Hartley immediately knew what he was doing.

“She knows about our special bond..she knows you were the best man at my wedding…”.

“You son of bitch.”, Harley spat at Booth, “He’s lying!”. The Bishop teasingly sparks the pliers in front of Hartley’s face.

“If she hurts you bad enough, I mean if she gets really creative with it, than I’m gonna have no choice but to tell her everything.”, Nolan continues his speech.

“Now Mr. Booth, where is the third egg?”, Nolan stayed silent, “Okay..here I go..”.

“No don’t wait..”, Nolan sarcastically pleas.

He seemed completely unfazed with the torture his new found friend was being subjected to.

“Hm, let’s switch it up.”, the Bishop nods to Sotto and he exits the room with one of the pliers, “If this isn’t working maybe giving a few shocks to that pretty little thing down the hall will.”.

Nolan freezes, suddenly the air feels stiff and the once humorous situation turned sour, “Don’t you fucking touch her.”. He says in a serious tone.

“Seems like we’ve struck a nerve, tell me where the egg is.”.

“Eat shit!”, she lets out a low chuckle and presses a button.

Your screams could be heard clearly, crying for help, crying for Nolan’s help, “NOLAN!!”.

“NO NO STOP IT!”, Nolan thrashes around, “ITS IN EGYPT!”, Nolan finally caved in.

She stoped the machine, “Where in Egypt?”.

“It’s buried with Cleopatra in the Grand pyramid, there’s a secret entry way, alright!Just please stop hurting her.”, Nolan breathes heavily.

“See! That wasn’t that hard, I would say nice working with you but we both know that would be a lie.”, and with that The Bishop left.

“I swear to God I’m gonna to kill that bitch”.

While the two of them got into a shooting fight with Sotto, you were still trapped in the chair. Your body felt numb and your cheeks felt wet, you presumed it was your tears. There was a metallic taste in your mouth and all you could do was whimper as you heard gun shots.

Than there was silence, you heard a door open and your blindfold was ripped off. It took a minute for your eyes to adjust to your environment but the only thing you could see was Nolan’s worried expression as he looked down at you.

“Nolan, it hurts”, you sobbed.

“Hey hey hey, I know sweetheart.”, he didn’t mean for the name to slip out but he was too distracted to care.

Nolan unhooked the restraints and guided you to your feet, you immediately crashed into his chest due to how weak you felt.

“The electricity affected her worse than me because she’s much smaller than I am.”, Hartley spoke and met Nolan’s eyes. Hartley knew the look Nolan had and felt guilty for how badly injured you were.

“I was so scared they were going to hurt you.”, you spoke.

“I wish it was me rather than you.,” he said in a whisper.

You pulled back from the embrace and met his eyes which looked down upon you lovingly yet concerned. He lowered his head and placed a hesitant kiss on your forehead. As he pulled back he analyzed your face for any sort of reaction, once he saw the faint blush on your cheeks and your smile he returned it. He cupped your face and leaned in, your breath hitched as your two lips connected.

You deepened the kiss by pulling him closer by the neck earning a short groan from him.

“Okay okay, break it up!”, the two of you pulled away both out of breath and looked towards Hartley.

“Dude! A little privacy here!”, Nolan said and promptly returned to kissing you.

“Why did I agree to any of this.”, Hartley left with a huff.

You didn’t know what the futures has in stored but for now you felt safe in Nolan’s arms and you knew that this is where you belong.

Stop starting discourse about Freddie’s sexuality 2k18

It’s been 27 years. Let it go. It doesn’t matter. Freddie hated when people constantly prodded about his sexuality in life. There is no reason to fight over it in death. He wanted to be known as a musical legend, not as that one gay/bi/whatever the fuck man who also happened to sing. It’s disrespectful to him. Just stop. Leave it be. Let him rest.

EVERYONE PLEASE LISTEN. DO NOT IGNORE THIS.

Article 13 is going into it’s final stages of voting. 

If this gets through, it will allow many, many companies to abuse and misuse this article to take down as many memes, fan works, and even other independent creators on sites like YouTube, Facebook, and other websites INCLUDING Tumblr. 

THE FAIR USE LAW AND SAFEHARBOR LAW WILL NO LONGER APPLY IN THE U.S OR IN OTHER COUNTRIES. 

IT HAS ALREADY PASSED IN SEVERAL OTHER COUNTRIES. 

WE CANNOT ALLOW THEM TO TAKE AWAY WHAT WE BUILT FOR THE INTERNET SO FAR. 

So here is what you need to do to drag this article down. 

1. Spread the word 

I can’t stress this enough. The more attention this gets the more people we can get to take this down. 

2. Make your own content 

Make your own content on the matter and make sure it is clear to others that Article 13 is bad for every internet user involved. 

3. If you live anywhere in Europe, contact your MEPs 

Ask them if they approve of the article and why. If they do approve of it, try to convince them in a clear, reasonable, and most sensible way possible that this law is BAD. 

The article itself is way to vague about what it’s conveying to its people. 

Saying that as long as the use of said internet memes or content is good as long as it’s in “good faith.” 

We cannot let some shoddy government tell us what we can and cannot post. 

FREE SPEECH IS A HUMAN RIGHT. NOT A PRIVILEGE. 

Here’s a video on Article 13 that Film Theory made on the matter. It will explain things better than I can. 

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=GbXHrj8k7dg

“There is a war inside of Butcher, and to get to the dawn, you must first travel through the night. Butcher has both the tendency to be the villain and the hero, which makes him a hell of a lot of fun to play.” – Karl Urban for GQ Magazine.

I want to cuddle with Marc and do cafuné 😭😭

“Your hair is really soft after you wash it” with Marc🥺(can we send in more than one lmfao)

pairing: marc spector x reader

warnings: fluff!

a/n: yeees you can send in more if you want ;)) btw i also combined this with an anon's request for a head massage!

Night has fallen over the city. There’s a calmness to the air that makes you softly smile as you wait for your husband to finish washing up. You pass the time by reading a book in bed, ready to turn in for the evening soon. 

The chapter you’re currently on has you completely absorbed that you don’t hear the water in the shower shutting off or notice a shirtless Marc entering the room a short while later. It’s only when he snatches the book out of your grasp and sets it on the nightstand do you finally acknowledge him.

“Babe, I wasn’t done with that,” you huff as Marc crawls onto the bed, settling between your legs and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Although, I guess it could probably wait…”

“Mhmm…” he hums in response, gazing up at you sweetly that it made you forget what you’ve read in the last fifteen minutes. “Hi, baby.”

“Hello to you, too,” you reply as Marc nuzzles his head in your stomach as if you’re a pillow. You feel him breathing in the scent of you, savoring the warmth of your body against his. 

Smiling, you thread your fingers through Marc’s dark, damp hair. “Your hair is really soft after you wash it.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles into you, voice thick with exhaustion. “I used your conditioner.”

You lightly chuckle as you twirl each silky curl around your finger. “I know. I’ve been smelling it for weeks now.”

“It’s a really good conditioner. Smells like strawberries, too.”

“It surely does,” you agree, gently drifting your nails through his locks. You then move your fingertips in circular motions on his scalp before moving to his temples, drawing out soft blissful groans from his parted lips. His breaths come out slow and even against your skin, and it’s quiet and peaceful and relaxing—

Then, Marc starts to snore softly, and you hold back the giggle trying to escape your lips, afraid that it’ll wake him from his slumber. Even though you’re beginning to feel pins and needles from where most of his weight is resting on you, you don’t have the heart to disturb him.

It’s rare seeing Marc this way. The usual deep furrow of his forehead and worry lines creasing his face is all gone, serenity now painting over his features. He melts into your hold; finds safety and comfort in the way a home does. Because that’s what you truly are to him— his home, his everything.

You take it all in, embrace the simple delicateness of this moment and let it etch itself into your memory for an eternity. 

Nights like this remind you of your abundance of love for him. And as you carefully brush Marc’s hair away from his forehead to press a kiss there, you wonder how life could be any more beautiful than this.

✨ send me an ask with a sentence + a character and i’ll write the next five ✨

REBLOG IF NAZIS OFFEND YOU MORE THAN NIPPLES.

I hope Stan Lee is immortal because I cannot imagine future Marvel movies without his cameos.

Omg 😭😭😭😭😭😭 I to put Marc in a little jar and protect him from the evil of the world

do not chastise the dove (14) ✧ steven grant, marc spector, jake lockley

do not chastise the dove ✧ a royal moon knight au | ao3 | pinterest board

pairing: knight!steven grant x fem!princess!reader x knight!marc spector x knight!jake lockley

series summary: you were a princess who would rather be anything but a royal; he was the knight her father forced her to marry—a true match made in hell if there ever was one. but, as the wedding inches closer and closer, it seems that, perhaps, your father had finally done something right by you. 

chapter summary: the king is exposed, the future is considered, and the past is revealed. 

word count: 4,582

warnings?: inaccurate depiction of legal proceedings, fluff, a little angsty, discussion of randall + wendy, discussion of did, pet name (dove)

Continuar lendo

That was amazing 😂😂😂😂

I really can imagine reader every day thinking about ways to write his name wrong and Bakugou (secretly) being anxious to know what new name will be in the cup.

Also, my brain conjured the scene where some day she writes "biribinha" (that's Bakugou's nickname given by the Brazilian fandom and it's little fireworks every popular at a specific time of year here) and when Bakugou see what reader wrote he search it and finds out that "biribinha" it's the same thing as bang snaps.

Anyway, loved the last name written 😂😂😂 reader is really brave 😂😂😂

Your favourite thing to do is pretend you have no idea who Dynamite is and constantly fucking up Bakugo’s name on his coffee.

He’ll come in once he’s done patrol and changed out of his hero costume. The first time it happened was honestly an accident. You’d been so lost in thought, you took his order and then asked for his name. When he didn’t reply right away, you glanced up at him, his face holding a blank look.

“Ha? You don’t know who I am?”

Of course you knew who he was, everyone in the city knew who he was, regardless of being in costume or in normal clothes. You could almost see the gears moving in his head, wondering how anyone could possibly not know who he was. You simply shrugged, handing him his change and getting to work on his very simple coffee order.

Once done, you placed his order on the counter and bid him a good day. The look on his face when he picked up the coffee and read the name on it was priceless. His face scrunched up in confusion and then immediately to anger.

“Is this some sort of fucking joke?”

You were for thankful the shop was busy for once. You knew he wouldn’t make a scene. You gave a smile and a wave, and continued to help the next customer in line. You watched out of the corner of your eyes as he glared at the name as he left the shop, grumbling to himself.

Despite that first encounter, he kept coming back. A few days every week, he gave you his normal coffee order (to the point that he stopped even telling you the order) and you purposely messed up his name. He knew you knew who he was, so he’d play your stupid little game. He told himself day in and day out that he was only going back to the coffee shop until you got his name correct but deep down he knew that not to be true.

You really were surprised when he showed up the next day, empty coffee cup in hand. Slamming it down on the counter and glaring at you. The neatly written Pro Hero Deku facing you.

“That’s not my fucking name.”

At six o'clock Steve stares at you from the misted window as you untie the ribbon on your apron, take it off and disappear into the back of the shop. He knows you're tired and you just want to go home. He knows it, because it's the first thing you always said to him after the shift, in another life: before Vecna, before the war, before you forgot about him forever. 

I didn't expect it. Omg. You shattered my heart from this paragraph onwards. 😭😭

And the ending 😭🤌

Remember Me- Steve Harrington

Summary: Every morning Steve shows up at the coffee shop you work in and every morning you hope is the one where the cute stranger will finally talk to you. But it never happens and maybe you don't really need it. Yet, while you wait at the tables with a smile, you can't help but wonder why you feel like you've known him all your life.

Words count: 3.8k

Tags: Fluff and Angst. Post-season4 Steve Harrington / Post War/ Mentions of major character death.

Y/n smells like coffee and lemons. A strange mix that Steve still doesn't know whether its good or not. You move around the shop with a circumstantial smile on your face, a tray in your hands and a green apron used as an impassable wall against the rest of the world, your armor.

Yet you can't take your eyes off that customer, who oders American coffee every morning and sit at the table furthest from people. Sometimes he brings a curly-haired boy with him, other times there's a beautiful girl with big blue eyes - perhaps his girlfriend, perhaps a friend - and with them he smiles slightly more. But he is often alone and clarly wants to be.

You're sorry for that. You don't even know why, you have so much else to think about. You moved in the USA just a few years ago, from your  country you ended up in the middle of nowhere, in Indiana, and when you  arrived you discovered that this place is not as safe and boring as you believed. Strange deaths, accidents, earthquakes, natural disasters like it has been cursed and to be honest you have the feeling of having lost a good part of the time spent here. Now, apart from the fact that this place sucks, you should think about having fun, hanging out with boys, trying to make friends like your aunt says, but you don't. You go home at night and think of a sad stranger and you don't want to, you really don't want to but you do. Silly girl.

"What can I get you sir?" you ask, like every day. When he's alone he usually doesn't reply, he mumbles something under his mouth, looks into your eyes and points his finger at his choice. The menu next to the paper napkins is his voice and you like to listen to it.

"I'll bring it to you right away." There are no smiles between you, even if you would like to. Sometimes you've found yourself wanting a simple "thank you" said properly, not half-mouthed or in a whisper. Yet there's kindness even in the way he moves, the way he isolates himself and it's something you can't explain.

When you place the coffee on the table – a breath away from his fingers – he usually just looks at you. His are not eyes to remain indifferent to. It's not the color that makes them  so special, they're big and dark, but it's their depth, the way they seem to be a portal to that boy's soul, the way they peer into you and seem to contain not a shred of malice and seen too much. They look like a child's eyes, actually. They have something pure, sincere, tremendously tender and at the same time they contain the gaze of a veteran and they defeat you. He looks at you and you are chained. But that's okay, you wouldn't have tried to resist anyway.

He looks at you with something that reminds you of sweetness, hints at a half smile - the first - and this alone is enough to burn you inside,  even if it's snowing outside.

The boy doesn't like snow, he's always in a bad mood when it snows. One day you overheard him talking about it with his friend Dustin, Dexter, something like that. 

"Everytime I fear he is coming back"

"He can't, you know it . We made sure it can't happen again"

"Yes, but at what coast?" and his voice had broken in a yearning way, on the last syllable, like a raging river that you thought you would see burst. When you turned to look at him not a single emotion had appeared on his face. You would like to know what happened to him.

Everyday you look away from him when you realize you've spent too much time staring at him and walk away, ignoring the abandoned baconnotes on the table, silent like him. You feel stupid, a high school girl staring at the mysterious lonely boy. It's ironic and you don't know it yet, but there was a time Steve Harrington was the opposite of mysterious and lonely.

This morning it's different and you don't run away. You linger a moment too long on the marks that can be glimpsed from his shirt, scars on his neck that seem to continue under the fabric of his shirt for who knows how long. You've already noticed some small signs, but usually he's very careful to cover them. Today they are redder and more visible. You notice more scars, these never seen before, on his arms and you realize only now that he has cut his hair and when he moves them you notice and old wound on the left side of his face. 

If he wasn't around your age you'd really think he's a war veteran. You wonder what he must have been through and you don't notice his hand extended towards the cup, which meets yours. For the first time, you feel the contact with his skin, a silent echo of an unexpressed desire. You know nothing about him, barely his name. "Steve" You've heard from his friends. You know nothing of his life; still for an instant you dream of being part of it with all the monsters he must have fought to hurt himself like this. You talk with your eyes for as long as you stay close: you with a silent voice full of questions, he with a single answer. And it's always the same.

To each request, he reacts by moving his fingers, running along your palm and thumb, making red-hot marks that only you can see. You feel them, like burns on your skin, as if you are no longer in the cafeteria, surrounded by people, but in a private place, where every gesture, every touch acquires meaning. And there's no need for him to say anything, you know that today he wanted you to see his scars, he wanted to understand how you would react, he wanted you to see him for real. And you do it, you really see him, and you don't get scared. You never could. You don't know why. 

«Y/n please, could you bring me more coffee?»Another guy asks. He is just another is a customer, an ordinary, common one. Not like him. Just a guy who shows up often, asking you for coffee and smiles. And you're willing to give it to him, you're willing to pretend with the others but not with Steve, with him you only smile when you really want to and it's absurd that in his presence this happens more or less always. 

"Sure! " Breaking contact  with Steve seems more tiring than studying for the last exam, more painful than finding out you didn't pass it. You feel yourself blush as you bow your head and flutter your eyelashes, tucking the tray under your arm. Sorry, you say in one last look, ready to leave him. But he grabs your wrist with the delicacy that distinguishes him, making you turn around again. Blush again.

"I'm Steve." I know, you would like to answer however you avoid doing that. It's the first time you can hear his voice right, with words articulated slowly, fearlessly, spoken for you and you alone .

«Y/n.»

Steve runs his thumb along the inside of the wrist before letting you go, in an almost automatic gesture that he seems to regret immediately. A Last, anxious caress, which reveals what his eyes have always hidden.

"I know"

These words are the most exciting thing you've heard in a while. Suddenly you understand why Steve comes in every day, stealing a look and a few minutes of your life. Or so you believe. You feel a shiver running down your back, turning into a burning caress - the one you would like from him - and going up your spine, up to your ears. It's hope. 

You don't know how or why, you feel as if you already know him, as if in another life your skin has touched nothing but his, and you don't even believe in these things. Maybe he feels the same, the same overwhelming nostalgia for something you haven't even experienced. You hope you're right, you hope he comes here every day  just to see you, to search for a contact that happened by chance - by mistake - and to show you his tormented gaze of him, looking for the peace that he has lost in you. 

«I'll bring you some coffee» You say to another customer, looking at him without seeing him.

I have to talk to Steve. I can't let him go. Not like that. You hurry to get the hot container of coffee and reach the customer's table, dedicating a smile and a moment of your life to him. A moment that he could have, or should have, dedicated to someone else.  "Are you on duty again tonight?" You almost don't hear the question, taken as you are from another table, another customer, one different from the others. Your mind is only on Steve. "Yes," you say, glancing at Steve to make sure he's still there. He is. You suddenly feel calmer. "But only until six."

"It's already dark at six" the boy observes. "I could take you home..."

"There's really no need to, thanks." You walk up to the counter to put the container away. You hear the doorbell ring, and feel the brutal urge to turn around. 

Steve's table is now empty.

*

At six o'clock Steve stares at you from the misted window as you untie the ribbon on your apron, take it off and disappear into the back of the shop. He knows you're tired and you just want to go home. He knows it, because it's the first thing you always said to him after the shift, in another life: before Vecna, before the war, before you forgot about him forever. 

You put on your coat, gloves and wool cap, and say goodbye to your colleague. "See you tomorrow." You pull the scarf up on your chin as you open the door.  

After the war with Vecna and the disappearance of the Upside Down, even the climate has changed. The ice covers the streets, leaving just two gray trails to show the asphalt. There are very few cars parked outside the cafeteria, a badly parked red BMW stands out, it's the only one not covered in snow. Steve smiles seeing you, he holds back from calling you, enjoying the image: a colored spot in the whiteness of winter. You puff. It's cold, and you have to walk home, your high boots sinking into the white blanket, the houses still to be rebuilt across the street are the only sign of the drama Hawkins has experienced. An earthquake so strong that it has destroyed everything. You have been hurt, a head injury big enough to steal a piece of your life. A piece so important that you're only retrieving the fragments of your life here, tales of your aunt, your friends, which for some reason never seem to fit right together 

"Hey." A male voice calls you. You keep moving forward. It is not the first time that some stranger tries to approach you .

«Y/n.» You turn around, you see him and suddenly the snow and the cold disappear and the world is a warm and beautiful place. Steve. "Hello, y/n." You take a step towards him and stop, as if you've dared too much. "What are you doing out here?"

 With this wheater. You think you know the answer. And you hope to hear it from him.

"I'm here for you" Would be the sweetest music. But Steve shrugs, makes an embarrassed noise, pulling his jacket around him. You seem to notice a redness on his cheeck, you wonder if it's not just the cold. "What does it mean?" You ask, letting out a smile, tossing your tied hair. Steve's eyes catch yours, in a silent response that seems to be enough for you. For a moment everything is as before for Steve, you are only you and he is only him and in your eyes he finds the girl he fell in love with during a war that you shouldn't have had to fight. 

You arrived like lightning a year ago alongside the only friend you managed to make in the city at that time: Eddie Munson, and you were the first -together with Dustin- to try to prove his innocence, with all that this entailed: including demobats, Upside Down and Vecna. Now you don't remember anything, and maybe a little part of Steve is happy you don't have to carry the trauma with you, but you don't remember the good things either. You don't remember Eddie. When you look at his old posters or find his photos on the newspapers, to you he is just the killer who terrorized the city and you don't mourn his death. But you did it, you did it until you lost your breath, screaming at the top of your throat in the middle of the darkest night. Steve had to drag you from his  body by force, against your punches and kicks. You melted into his embrace, you vented the pain with such force that he feared your bones might break from the powerful sobs that shook you. Steve lulled you into a tormented sleep and watched over you. And then there was Max. The list of fallen soldiers got longer. Murray.Hopper, again. Will.

And Robin, oh, Rob. 

You were the only thing keeping Steve alive after that. When his best friend fell into his arms, Steve wanted to die and for a moment he stood still, ready to let himself be taken by the same cursed monster that stole Robin from him. But you were there and you needed him, he had to keep you alive. He had to think about Dustin.

Then he lost you too. In a different, unexpected way. When Vecna took you, he thought you were going to die, because the music wasn't playing and you were floating in the air and he, he looked away, like a coward, he gave up. He decided he didn't want to see you die, not like that. He regrets it every day. All he did was prepare to grab your lifeless body, imagining that he would be the next one to die. He couldn't live in a world without Robin.

 But in a world without Robin where he didn't even have you, it was torture, hell. The world was shaking again and the earth was cracking  and Steve desperately wanted to die. But you fell into his arms still alive and breathing and Eleven had killed Vecna and all you had were broken bones and a head injury from the pressure exerted by that monster. Steve didn't know it at the time, but you also had a brain injury, something strong enough to erase everything from the last three years. Everyithing about him. Your family, despite being aware of the situation, has decided not to tell you anything, to keep you away from them, from Steve.

 After all if it wasn't for them you wouldn't have been involved. Also Steve promised to protect you and he didn't. He had failed you , as he did with Robin.

Dustin has kept him alive, keeping him company in the months of solitude spent locked up in his house. Nance forced him to eat every day and Erica, Erica remained silent next to him for hours and that was enough at least for a while. Then, at a certain point, Steve saw you from the shop windows, you were working, smiling. 

And it wasn't enough anymore.

The sky is black, the streetlights barely lit up the street, yet you can understand more about Steve right now, looking at his face wrapped in half-light, than you ever guessed during these endless mornings. «Y/n» your colleague opens the door, investing you with warmth and light, so much so that you lower your eyelids.

"Sorry... I saw you out here. I just wanted to let you know that I'll come early tomorrow so you can go home early." You nod as the door closes. When you turn to Steve, you find him closer than when you last looked at him. You see his breath condense between you and join yours. Heat mingling with heat, and desire meeting desire. Steve nods at the BMW.

"I... I didn't mean to scare you, I just... I can take you home if you want." 

There is a fire inside you, even if you can't explain why. You should be scared of an unknown guy who comes to your workplace every morning and now silently approaches you to offer you a ride home on a dark winter afternoon, but the truth is that Steve makes you feel so many things and fear it's not one of them. You think that this is his car, that the car says so much about people, that you want to see what he keeps inside it, the objects that are important to him. There is probably his scent inside it. 

Steve smells good, clean.You know, you just don't know why.  "That is fine." 

"Steve, can I... Can I ask you a question?" You ask after a few steps in silence. He nods, keeps walking, his arm against yours looking for even the slightest contact. He needs it, or else he'll sink. He needs it to keep himself on his feet when dark comes and in the streets he sees the faces of his dead appear. When your bodies touch, over layers of fabric, you feel your skin melt and you wonder if maybe you're crazy. "Why me?"It's a strange question, you know, you're a little ashamed of it, and you're afraid of scaring him but you feel, somewhere inside you, that maybe he has the answer you were looking for, the missing piece in your story. Or maybe it's just an illusion. He turns around, his gaze softens and he observes you like the answer is the most obvious thing in the world. Because there is no other girl.

 He doesn't say it, he can't. He doesn't want to mess with you, he doesn't want to lose you again and scare you. 

"You know y/n, I've never met a waitress as good as you." 

You laugh, putting a hand over your mouth. "You're an easy guy to get Steve Harrington"

He opens his eyes wide and you don't realize it but is'shere, clear, limpid: Steve has never said his surname. You don't notice, not really. You keep walking beside him. "Thanks," you whisper as you let your arm slide, intertwining it with his. What would it be like to really feel his skin? 

Warm. Rough in the points furrowed by scars, soft in the rest of the body. To Feel the sensation of  naked flesh on your lips, the scent of laundry, the saltiness of his body, the pulse of the vein on his neck, where you place a kiss that isn't there, never was. It's a fantasy that looks a lot like a memory. It scares you. "Let's go." He exhorts you, with shyness and a touch of fear his hand moves to your back and your body is warm under his gaze. His breath is against his cheek, slips under the scarf, up to your neck."Yes" he says, holding his breath. It's cold, but not that much, not now, not for you. Not when you feel Steve's nose against your ear, not when he notices your twitch too. Steve closes his eyes, tries to refrain from telling you everything, from holding you tightly to him, it's so difficult now that he has you close again to resist, to keep a distance that hurts and he doesn't want. "Are you cold?" Steve asks  in a low voice, but for you this question is so much like the caress you've been craving since you became aware of his presence in the shop, since you met his gaze."Not at all'."

You feel Steve's smile on your cheek and you feel like you're. You just turn your head, just to give him the opportunity to reach your lips, but Steve doesn't kiss you, he's still with his eyes closed and who knows what he thinks of you, looking for a kiss from someone you don't even know

."You smell like coffee." The words are an incandescent breath on the mouth. His breath join yours,  you can feel the the taste of him – mint and aftershave – before you even smell it, like you've never tasted anything else in your life. 

"You don't like it?" Thrill after thrill, waiting to discover something about him that you don't know yet. Everything, you have to find out everything, but it seems to you that you have known him for a lifetime."I love coffee" You know he is lying. You just know. But you don't care. Just one question goes through your head and in order not to give it a voice you decide to shut your mouth in the best possible way at the moment. You shiver a little when your lips are close to him. You trace his cheek slowly with your lips, waiting for the moment when he pulls back and tells you you're crazy. You look for the right way to kiss him. 

"I don't usually do that. You must have something very special" You whisper against him. And Steve can't take it anymore, like a dam that breaks its banks, he pushes you completely against him, as if you were one. And then, finally, he finds his way. When he kisses you – slowly at first, giving your lips time to get to know each other; then devouring your every thought, as if nothing else exist but you – you find yourself repeating to yourself that you don't want to kiss anyone anymore. Touch no one anymore. Let anyone kiss and touch you except from Steve. 

"Steve" You murmur breathlessly, pulling away from him. "Would you think I'm crazy if I tell you something?"He shakes his head, his lips swollen and beautifully red. "Never"

"I knew you before, didn't I?" Now Steve Harrington no longer has the strength to lie.Steve Harrington has come to get his girl back and far off in the dark of night he swears he can see Robin Buckley smiling at him for it.