I Just Can't Stop Listening And Watching Queen!!

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 ✨

Let's go, Kieraaaaan

do not chastise the dove (13) ✧ 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 hearing begins, and things aren’t entirely what they seem. (but that is not a bad thing.)

word count: 3,980

warnings?: inaccurate depiction of legal proceedings, a plot twist perhaps, pet name (dove)

Continuar lendo

I normally don't read fanfics written in first person, but this one is amazing. I really liked it.

Steve retouching y/n's makeup was cute 🥹

SUNGLASSES AND LIPSTICK STAINS (part I/III)

Summary: after having his heart torn in half at Tina's party, Steve finds comfort in the most unexpected person. Who would have guessed he would develop such a strong connection with someone he's barely spoken to?

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Genre: angst (hurt/comfort)

Tags:

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, Steve breaking down because that needs a tw.

A/N: taking creative liberty to a) move the release of 'Like A Virgin' Studio Album to September of '84, and b) make Steve and Nancy fall apart a bit earlier for the sake of the plot. It does have a second part, but they can be read separately. That said, enjoy <3.

Part II

Part III

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

Don't cry don't cry don't cry, I begged myself, stalking out of the boisterous house with my thumb and index rubbing away the tears. Don't cry here, I repeated, not at Tina's fucking pre-Halloween party.

October's sharp air cut through my lungs, making me choke up. Maybe the drastic change of temperature wasn't to blame, maybe it was the lump in my throat I was desperately trying to swallow.

She didn't love me.

Gnawing on my lip harsh enough to draw blood, I put the sunglasses back on in an attempt to hide the inevitably shed droplets of salty water spilling from my lids —though they were dried by the light yet freezing wind as soon as they fell.

A part of my mind was begging me to give Nancy the benefit of the doubt, but weren't drunk words sober thoughts?

Drunk words. As stupid as it may have sounded, it hadn't dawned on me. She was hammered.

I had abandoned a completely wasted Nancy in a stranger's bathroom, alone in a house full of people like Billy Hargrove. God, I was the worst.

"Shit."

My eyes darted a tentative glance at the house over my shoulder before being casted down to stare at my shoes. I had to do it, didn't I? Or I could just walk away.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I could just get into my car and leave.

Breath in.

"Fuck." Sniffling, I turned heel and jogged to the backyard's door I had just walked through in search of a breather.

Navigating the crowd of sweaty, intoxicated highschool students was much easier the second time. Although I was grateful for not having to shove my way back to what had been my starting point, I didn't like one bit the way everyone seemed to spare me pitiful looks when I passed by.

Gosh I didn't want to do it —I really didn't want to— but still my trembling hand knocked on the closed bathroom door.

"Nance?" I hated how my voice so obviously cracked at the nickname. "Nance, open up." I pleaded, leaning my defeated form on the door frame.

A couple of seconds passed. Still no response.

"Nancy." I tried again, my patience running shorter each time the girl didn't reply to my calls. So short that I decided I wouldn't wait for her to turn the knob. "Jesus, Nance, can you—"

I froze at the now clear entrance; my mushed brain refused to fully process that the reason why Nancy was not listening to my request was because she was, in fact, not there anymore.

And what were the odds —genuinely, what were the fucking odds— that the tiny window facing the front yard was perfectly situated for me to see Jonathan Byers helping Nancy climb into his Ford LTD's passenger seat.

That was it, that was what it took. My body allowed me just enough time to shut myself into the bathroom before breaking down.

After sitting down —or more like falling—on the cold tiles, everything was a blur of shoulders spasming and heart pounding in my ears so loud that it prevented me from hearing my own sobs.

In the span of a year, my life had changed drastically —technically for the better, but I had lost my closest friends and pretty much everything that was familiar to me. I got by just fine because I had Nancy, and now she was most likely gone too.

I was alone. Again.

My fingers tangled and tugged at my roots in an attempt to ground myself. I had to— I needed to get a solid grasp of reality, get up, and walk to my car.

I was barely succeeding in pulling myself back together the best I could when the third mistake of the night came to bite me in the ass; I hadn't put the latch on.

READER'S P. O. V.

"Wait!" Samantha's fingers pinched dangerously tight the cheap white lace of my fingerless glove, which gained her a slap on the back of her hand. "Ouch! Where you going?! You just came back!"

"I need a makeup retouch!" I yelled over the party's racket, pushing my friend's grasp off me. "I'll be back in a minute!" I assured her, walking backwards in the bathroom's general direction. "Pinky promise!" Giving the girl an apologetic smile, my digits found the knob at my back and gave it a swift twist.

I didn't even realize I wasn't alone until I was fully inside the room with the door locked behind me.

"Oh my gosh— Sorry! I-" I frowned at how quickly the slouched form dressed in black raised to his feet and transformed into a fairly put together Steve Harrington, sunglasses on, chin up and hands on his hips, as if I hadn't walked in on him crying. "Didn't know... There was someone. Are you good?"

"Yup, don't worry, I was about to get going." He mumbled in a hoarse voice, rubbing his nose as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. "Uhm can I—" his index finger vaguely motioned at the door my back rested against.

"S-sure, yeah." I stepped further into the narrow space, clearing the way the best I could manage for the boy to leave.

He didn't leave right away though; instead, he stopped before me and parted his lips, drawing in a small breath as if he planned on voicing a thought, but nothing came out.

Maybe whatever booze Tina had put on that bowl at the kitchen counter was messing with me, but for an instant, I actually felt... bad for Steve Harrington.

"You uh... Came with Nancy Wheeler right?" I recalled seeing them dancing earlier and, thanks to the awkwardness my malfunctioning mind was putting me through, I completely missed the way he flinched at Nancy's mention. "I can— I can go get her if you want."

"Good luck finding her." A weak, rueful laugh accompanied Steve's sentence as he allowed his frame to lean on the wall opposed to me.

Apparently, he had no actual plans of leaving the bathroom, and it just didn't feel right to get out and let him be on his own, so I chose to tiptoe around the topic to at least get some answers.

"The damsel in distress left without her knight in shining armor?" It was a half mock I didn't bother to hide. After all, I had never been too fond of neither Steve nor Nancy, so no matter how well-intentioned I was, some bitterness was doomed to slip out.

Luckily, the boy seemed to take it with humor, choosing to not only indulge the poor analogy, but also taking on it himself. "Oh no, she left with him actually." He puckered his lips, giving me a couple of rapid nods followed by a resentful chuckle. "Yeah he's the knight in shining armor, I'm just bullshit."

"Jesus, Harrington." I whispered, my sympathy for the boy growing exponentially. I had a slight idea of who said knight in shining armor was, and if my suspicions were correct, what Steve Harrington was playing was a losing game.

"Am I that bad?" He questioned in a reedy voice.

"I... don't know?" It was surprisingly heartbreaking to not be capable of reassure him. "I just know you're a popular kid that sucks at history."

"But I'm not— do I look like a shitty person, like, from an outside perspective?"

'Yes' would be the truth, but the truth wasn't going to help anyone. "I don't know, Steve." I shrugged, grasping onto the edge of the sink's counter behind me. "For what's worth, since you parted ways with Hagan and Perkins, you come across like uhh... Like a better person?"

"I'll take that as a compliment, I guess." He announced, running his fingers through his tousled hair before shoving both hands into his pockets. "Thanks, Y/n."

"Oh, wow." I breathed out a genuinely surprised laugh, tilting my head to the side. "you know my name."

"What d'you mean? We were in like" one of Steve's hands left his pocket to aimlessly gesture around. "What? three group projects together? And that's just this year. How could I not remember your name?"

"I mean— okay, fair, but you're Steeeve Harrington." I leaned forward while dramatically dragging his first name. This, for some reason, seemed to genuinely amuse him; I caught a glimpse of his half smile before he averted his gaze from me. "King of Hawkins High and shit. Didn't really expect you to remember my name."

He snorted at my latter quote, the tension visibly heaving on his shoulders slowly dissipating the more we talked. "You're pretty memorable. Specially considering that you yelled at me for not arriving on time. Several times." He remarked, mimicking my motions, back separating from the wall in order to briefly bend over.

"Sorry 'bout that." An apology wouldn't have been my preferred choice of words in any other scenario, but the moment didn't really call for a witty comeback.

"It's okay, I deserved it." He responded, retreating to his initial position.

What followed was an uncomfortable silence that begged to be broken, but I had only so much to talk about with Steve Harrington.

"I should head o—"

"I like your costume." Either his comment was louder, or he was too in his head to process mine on time. "Sorry, what?"

"Nothing." I found myself dismissing my own announcement in favor of exploiting another topic. "I didn't take you for a Madonna fan."

"Why? The woman's smoking hot, and she got some bangers." His genuineness twisted up the corner of my lips in a confused smile. That was certainly not how I had expected my night to go, but so far I was oddly pleased.

"I like yours." I bobbed my head at his clothing choice. "Risky Business?" He hummed affirmatively, a tinge of pride making his chest swell. "Nice. Can I try on the sunglasses?"

"Uh... Sure."

Hesitance could be read in his body language whilst handing me the glasses. As soon as I got a hold of them, he immediately casted his head down, fixing his gaze on his shoes.

I spun around to face the mirror, deciding not to bring attention to his avoidant demeanor. "What do we think?" I questioned instead in a lighthearted, almost joking tone after putting on the sunglasses. "I personally think they make me look cool."

Steve peeped at me through his still watery lashes and the ghost of a small smile fighting to bring some light to his face. "You look cool."

"Nice try but nope, it's definitely the glasses." I countered, using my middle finger to slide them down my nose enough for my eyes to be visible. "They make a pretty good job of blocking the view, don't they?"

"They do." He muttered.

After catching his eyes on the reflection once more, I did an 180 and hopped on the marble countertop.

"First heartbreak?"

"And last." Steve's brows rose as he distractedly kicked the tiles.

"You know it's completely okay to cry, right?" He huffed, so I insisted on the matter. "Everyone's wasted anyway, you don't need these." My fingernail tapped on the plastic arm of the complement.

"Y/n," Steve scoffed, pushing himself off the wall to approach me. "I have uhhh a reputation." He stated with wide eyes and raised brows and, in the midst of trying to figure out whether or not he meant it as a joke, I found myself cackling. "Are you laughing at me?" He inquired with an outraged frown that I, again, didn't know if I should take seriously.

"I don't know, am I?"

"You better not." He barely had to reach out his fingertips to take the sunglasses from me, which made me suddenly aware of how close he stood. "I'm already sensitive."

"My apologies." I whispered with an amused smile, leaning back on my hands to put some more inches between us.

"As I was saying before you decided to be rude," he made a stop to place back on his sunglasses. "I have a reputation." His hand came to rest by my thigh on the counter. "So there's no way in hell anyone in here is seeing me shed a single tear."

"I just saw you sob, though." I teased with a quirked brow.

"I'll allow that because you've put up with me for" he brought his wrist up to his face as if he was about to check his wristwatch. "A long ass while. I'm sorry for keeping you here."

"It's not like you're keeping me captive," I nodded at the door, briefly redirecting Steve's attention to it. "I could've left."

"Yeah, but you didn't."

"Because I didn't do what I came here for yet." I explained, pointing at my face. "I was supposed to retouch my makeup."

"Why?" I felt the embarrassing urge to whine when Steve pushed himself off the sink. "It looks good to me." He stated in a confused tone, pushing his sunglasses up to rest on his head.

"You need glasses. Like, actual glasses," I declared, scrunching my nose. "'cause you're blind."

He puffed out a jaunty 'oh c'mon', which made a smile creep up my visage. Had I just managed to cheer him up?

"You wanna have a laugh before leaving the bathroom?"

"What do you have in mind?"

Steve's eyes notably widened when I pulled up the side of my white layered tulle skirt, which sent me into a fit of giggles while I fished out my mini makeup palette from my thigh high, and consecutively extended my arm to hand it to him.

"Fix my makeup, pretty boy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

STEVE'S P. O. V.

No matter how many times Y/n had assured me I could mess it up and she wouldn't mind because 'it's a Halloween party anyway', I still tried to do my absolute best, which obviously required a very slow process for something Y/n could have probably finished herself in a couple of minutes.

"Stay still."

Knocknocknock!

"IT'S OCCUPIED!" The girl shouted, making me yank her face back to me by holding her cheeks.

After the second person who walked in on me attempting to retouch Y/n's makeup, we had decided to put the latch on the door.

"I'm struggling here, Y/n," I absentmindedly informed her, words coming out muffled by the lipstick I held between my teeth while I tilted her chin up. "so if you could please stop moving—"

"Steve, I appreciate the dedication, but you're taking forever." she quipped in a lighthearted manner.

"Excuse me, but I believe you told me to fix up your makeup, not to ruin it." I riposted before blowing away the surplus dust from the brown eyeshadow I had just finished applying. "Okay, we reached the critical point." I announced, putting down the compact case to take the red lipstick bar from my mouth.

"Okay wait!" Y/n, who had until then been lolling on the countertop, sat upright and wrapped her fingers around both my wrists. "Now I want you to take it easy. This lipstick" she shook my right wrist. "Is a menace. You gotta be careful."

"Pfffft I got this," I assured her with regained confidence I had thought lost when I first entered the bathroom. "trust me."

"Alright, I'm trusting you." Her hands released mine and went to rest on her lap.

"But you can't move."

"I won't."

"And you can't talk." I reminded her, holding her jaw still with one hand while the other held the lipstick a couple of inches away from her lips.

"Okay." Our voices had gradually gotten lower until hers became a barely audible whisper, followed by a silence filled only with the distant sound of Psycho Killer playing in the living room.

Slowly but surely, Y/n's plump lips were carefully coated in a deep shade of red. Blinded by self-assurance and the incomprehensible wish to prorogue my time standing inches away from her, I resolved to do a second layer.

Not even halfway through the process, the bar slipped down. "Shit!"

"Steeeve, that's not my lip." She singsonged with a growing grin that made my task much difficult for more than one reason.

"I know. wait, I think can fix it— stop smiling!"

"I'm sorry!"

"I'll fuck it up even more! Damn it, Y/n." I took a deep breath, straightening my back in order to release some tension. "hold on."

Cradling her cheeks to make sure she was kept in place, I brushed the red beneath her lower lip with my thumb, slightly parting it from her upper one as a consequence.

The mistake was quickly fixed, but I was unable to let go. There was definitely something mesmerizing about that shade of red, I figured after finding myself repeating the previous motion with my thumb, this time with a featherlight touch.

"I fixed it." I struggled to find my voice and release Y/n's face, but I managed. Had I not known better, I'd have sworn she sighed when my hands switched her skin for the countertop. "You wanna... Uh... Check?"

"Sure." I didn't have time to take a step back before being frozen in place by her motions; instead of turning around to look at the mirror, she pulled my sunglasses down to my nose and checked herself in the reflection.

The sunglasses must have done an excellent job of blocking the view, because Y/n seemed completely unaware of how my eyes had latched onto her lips and wouldn't let go.

"I'm impressed, Harrington." She commented, returning the sunglasses to my head without a warning.

It took me a second too long to lift my gaze from the red lipstick.

"Steve?"

I wanted to voice my thoughts —I really did—, but my exhaustion only permitted me to act on impulse.

A muted gasp escaped Y/n's throat when I lunged forward to press my lips to hers, which made me realize how stupid that decision had been.

Just as I began to pull away, Y/n's lace covered palm found it's way to my cheekbone, sliding into my hair as soon as my own hands landed on her hips, bringing her upper body closer to mine.

I wouldn't be able to tell whether it lasted two seconds or two minutes, but it felt way too short.

"Okay" her soft panting fanned over my parted lips. "Okay we can't— this—" she puffed, shaking her head 'no' as she leaned back. "We can't do that."

In my haze and my neediness, I could only ask, "W-why?"

"Because" she contorted to the side to reach for a wet towel laying near the sink. "You're dating Nancy Wheeler—"

"I don't know about that."

"and" she went on, shushing me with her index finger before attempting to remove the red mess her lipstick had made on my mouth and around. "I have to see her nearly every afternoon." She might have noticed my confused visage, because, with a sigh, she explained further. "My little brother is best friends with Mike."

"Henderson." My brows raised so high they met my hairline. It had taken me a hot minute to put two and two together. "Holy shit."

"Holy shit." She agreed, giving me a soft push so she could jump down the sink. "Now, I don't particularly like Nancy, but I don't know if I'd be able to look at her in the eye after..."

"Fair point. Jesus, I'm sorry." I groaned, taking off the glasses to manually comb my hair in an anxious manner. "I shouldn't— I didn't even think-"

"No, it's okay."

"No—"

"Steve—"

A loud bang on the door made us both jolt on the spot.

"Y/N! I'M GOING HOME, AND I'M LEAVING WITH OR WITHOUT YOU!"

"Fuck— COMING SAM!" I watched as Y/n's skirt twirled gracefully when she checked herself in the mirror, trying to fix her lipstick before making her way to the door. "I... Guess I'll see you around?" She tentatively asked, sparing me an apologetic glance over her shoulder with her fingers already around the knob.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll... See you around."

She gave me a small wave before unlocking the door and leaving it ajar after sneaking out of the bathroom.

I couldnt help but let out a quiet laugh at the snippet of conversation I caught from both girls.

"He really touched up your makeup up, didn't he?"

"Shut up or I'll murder you with my bare hands."

Why Tom Hiddleston is so precious???

In which we are all James Corden

 Bonus: because Tom’s response is precious

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

I didn't know that. Thanks for the information!

Folks, friends, y’all.... esk*mo is a slur. I understand a lot of people don’t know that, I don’t want to be a dick about it, but I’ve been seeing it in fics. Wanna write “esk*mo kisses”? Just say “nuzzled noses” or something.

I’m not here to call anybody out, it’s been in multiple fics, I’m not vague posting. This is just a psa. 👍🏻

I love this movie so much! I never saw it with the original dubbing and I guess that I never will, because Selton Melo being Kuzco is absolutely amazing.

The Emperor’s New Groove 2000, dir. Mark Dindal

I have no words to describe this gem!

touching din | din djarin

Summary: The three times that Din bends his own rules and engages in physical touch. 

his primary love languages are acts of service and physical touch. i will die on this hill. i started this one just to indulge in the thoughts of touching his lovely face. it’s been in the works for a while and although i know it’s far from perfect, i’m glad that it finally gets to see the light of day! warnings: bad language, potential incoherence? idk i’m very tired but i hope you like it tags: plenty of fluff, plenty of indulgent, sfw touching, and then a good handful of angst. rollercoaster central. this takes place over a period of time, so part of it comes after finding out grogu’s name, which is why he’s referred to as many things! word count: 4650 written by: archie

The travelling between planets would’ve been excruciating if not for your life partner and your adoptive child. The three of you made rather an unorthodox family. A runaway from Corellia, a Mandalorian and a… a sweet ball of green. An unorthodox family, indeed, but loving.

The Child chirped and bubbled away on your lap, apparently having a conversation with you while you sat in the pilot seat. You listened attentively, made agreeing noises at all the right moments, the lights of hyperspace travel filling the cabin with slow flashes. He really was so cute. You’d tell him it often, and you’d tell him that Din thought so too, even if he’d never say it. That much was obvious.

It was in the way he carried him, the way he protected him. The occasional pat to his head, or the quiet rub to his long ears as he slept. He wasn’t the type to openly say it, but it was clear, and that was what counted.

The Child reached out to the knob atop the gearstick, fingers wiggling.

“Baby, no. We have to always ask Din about the ship, hm?” You bounced him gently on your knee in an effort to ease the sad coos- but there was no need. A gloved hand reached around you, exposed fingertips closing on the ball. It was unscrewed and placed into the waiting green hands, content whirs and chatters soon filling the air.

The warmth in your chest grew into a smile as you dropped your head back, peering up at the helmeted man that stood just out of sight. “That’s a yes, then?”

A nod. “That’s a yes.”

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I'm obsessed with protective girlfriend who dates Kirishima. Absolutely the best! She is so badass. I dare you to say a single bad thing about Kirishima! Do it if you want to die.

Loved it! 😍

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 — 𝐞.𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚

𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦. eijirou kirishima x fem!reader

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲. fluff with a sprinkle of angst, mentions of broken bones and blood, reader is a badass and acts morally grey, because I got carried away <3

𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲. a student from another class decided to insult kirishima, unaware of you standing right beside your boyfriend, ready to snap their neck at any given moment.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤. listen, i just love that “i’m a literal sunshine and my partner is scary as fuck” trope and kirishima is just a sweetheart… spiky hair, spiky teeth and a heart of gold. i loved writing this and i hope you enjoy this fic! reblogs are appreciated as well 🖤

𝖫𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖧. 2.350 words

MASTERLIST

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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.