Come watch me defy the laws of css & html on AO3.

There is also a Mohabbot prequel in the works, though that one will be more long form with some html goodies thrown in.

Closer look at the IG profiles:

''Okay, see, right there, it's so suspicious. Do you have the lottery numbers or something?''

''Robin, this is not suspicious.'' Steve's brows furrow.

''Then why are you hiding it,'' Robin is desperate.

''Because you keep trying to grab it!''

''Only because you keep hiding it!''

He figures the easiest way out of this is to tell a very mundane half truth. The less questions the better, easier for her to believe she was investigating something lame than her finding out he has a magical study buddy. 

He drops his shoulders and shows her the list, ''It's just a list of tapes I'm gonna go buy.'' Robin visibly deflates, ''There, happy?'' Steve adds.

''No, that was a waste of my time, I thought you were sat on something juicy, dingus.'' She frowns, shoving a pencil through the hole of a half rewound tape of sixteen candles. 

''Do you want to go catch a movie after? We still haven't seen stand by me.'' 

''Uh, I can't have plans.''

''Plans? With who?''

Steve has backed himself into a corner. She knows literally all of his friends. So he lies. ''It's a date.''

''A new date or a second date,'' She beams. So much for minimal questions, way to go Harrington, he thinks. 

He eventually gets away from the conversation with a great deal of effort, he tries not to give her anything else to chew on, he can't afford to be interesting today. 

All he wants to focus on is you, and tapes.

On his lunch break, Steve takes his list, his wallet and makes a quick trip to the record store, ready to spend a crazy amount of money on your first cassette experience. It feels important. You asked about the tape deck like it was some great human mystery, and now Steve can't stop imagining you sitting crossed legged on his desk, listening with your head tilted and your wings glowing faintly from the light of the window. 

So yeah, he wants to splurge. 

He trails his fingers along the shelves, checking names against his rumpled list. He finds most of what he came for, plus a few he hadn't heard on the radio but decides might work anyway. By the time he gets to the front to get ringed up, the collection is bigger than planned. He tosses a pack of gum from a nearby rack on the counter too. 

Outside, the sun hits him full in the face. He squints, plastic bag hooked around two fingers, already thinking about tossing the bag into his backseat and dragging himself back to Family Video until six. After that he can get the hell out, go home and wait for you to fly in. 

The store door swings behind him, ''Psst.''

He looks around. ''Psst.'' the sound gets louder, more urgent. 

He's looking and looking but he can't see who's trying to get his attention.

''Over here!'' He looks up to the top of his car. You're perched on the roof like it's the most obvious place in the world for you to be, legs tucked to one side, dress bright against the dull shine of the BMW.  He hurries over, slightly worried you'll be seen, and a lot more worried as to why you've come to find him midday.

''What?'' he whispers harshly, '' What the hell are you doing here?''

''I got impatient,'' you say, all smiles. ''My day cleared up and I wanted to say hello.'' 

Steve opens his mouth, no words come out. He's more than happy to see you. Of course he is. The sight of you there in the sunlight, grinning at him like you haven't just shaved ten years off his life. 

But also, ''Aren't you worried about being seen?'' Steve looks around again, checking nobody has noticed he's talking to the roof of his car like a maniac. 

You shrug, ''Not really I can always hide behind you!'' 

Steve has no idea what to do with the way that makes him feel, very protective mainly. 

''You need to get in the car.'' He begs.

You look down at the BMW, then pull a face.

''Really?''

''Yes, please.'' He begs you.

''It'll growl again,'' you say, still skeptical, ''I hate when it growls.''

''I know, I'm sorry, but im worried somebodies gonna see you.''

He bounces on the balls of his feet, eager to move his conversation somewhere safer as quickly as you'll let him. You tilt your head, considering him.

''Why are you in such a hurry?''

'''Cause I have to get tell Robin im ditching my shift.''

Your cheeks go pink, ''For me?''

Steve smirks, feeling all fuzzy and dizzy, ''Yes for you, you still want to figure out the tape deck right?'' 

He holds up his plastic bag filled with every album he could think you'd appreciate and wiggles it, it crinkles. 

You clap your hands together, moving to stand quickly now there's an activity on the horizon, ''Yes!''

''Alright then.'' Steve holds open the passenger side door and you fly in, taking your seat. There's no t-shirt for you to sit on this time, before Steve can find a solution, you grab the seatbelt with all your might instead. Bracing yourself. 

You stare up at him incredibly serious, ''I'm ready,'' you say.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek.

''You look it.'' 

He crosses around to the driver's side and settles into his seat, glancing at you before he turns the key. Steve creeps the car down the roads all the way to his house, which he remembers is not as green as your own home. 

You're nowhere near as scared as you were on your first trip in his car, but your fists are clenched so hard he thinks there may be little holes in the seatbelt when you pull away. 

He half expects you to fly up to his window when he lets you out of the car, but you stay hovering by his shoulder as he grabs the bag of tapes from his back seat. 

You tap him on the shoulder.

You're waving your hand toward the front door, your eyes going wide, then narrowing.  He realises you're miming a question.

''No, nobodies here.''

You breath out audibly, ''Phew.''

Steve shuts the car door closed with his foot, it shuts with a thud.

You sit yourself down on his shoulder, clutching to the edge of his work vest he had forgotten to take off.

At some point he's got to invest in some tiny things for you.

 Cups, a chair at the very least. Snacks too, he's not sure what counts as a snack to you, a grape might be dinner, a cracker might be a full sheet of cake. He thinks about it as he passes the kitchen, all the way up the stairs and to his room. Steve gets the impression you're getting quite comfortable being in his room now, judging by the way you leap off his shoulder, his breath catches in his throat, but of course, you don't fall, you fly.

''Jesus, you scared me!'' He breathes, hand to his chest.

''Sorry! I forget you don't know how flying works.''

''I know how it works.''

You give him a look.

''I mean, in theory,'' he says, ''Watching you do it is something else though.''

You wave a dismissing hand at him, he's dramatic, he knows. But you're delusional if you think you aren't dramatic too. Especially when your mini hands grab at the plastic bag he hasn't set down yet. Your wings beat fast as you tug uselessly at it, trying to drag both Steve and the tapes to his desk.

''Hurry, I'm so excited I might die.''

Steve freezes. 

You sigh, rolling your eyes at him, ''No that can't actually happen.'' You try pulling again.

He grants you some mercy, and goes to the desk with you. The tape deck comes to life with a click and a hum when he flicks the switch. You're practically buzzing alongside it. You're on it immediately, hands skimming over the plastic, leaving smudges on its surface. You press a button, then another. Something pops open so fast you nearly get knocked backward. 

Steve catches the edge of it before it can smack you.

''Okay, maybe we try waiting for instructions,'' he suggests, half laughing, half cautious.

''It moved!''

''Yeah, honey, you pressed it.''

You close your eyes, ''This is fantastic. What else can I press?''

''See that, is  how you get concussed, be careful.'' Steve pleads. 

 He tips the bag upside down and the tapes come spilling out one by one in a cluttered pile, you turn, all interest redirected and marvel at them as they cascade. 

''Okay, take your pick,'' he says, spreading them out, ''I got stuff I think you'll like but, I'm wrong a lot so if you hate all of them, that's fine.''

You sit down in front of the pile, legs tucked under you, head swiveling from one cassette to the next. It's as if he's given you treasure, 

''I'm sure I'll love them!'' you say, very earnestly. Then your face pinches with the seriousness of the task. ''I don't know which to pick.''

He looks for one specific tape, ''Try this one,'' he plucks Rumours out of the pile and holds it up so you can see the cover, ''People say Stevie Nicks is witchy, witches and fairies, seems kinda similar to me.''

You gasp like this is excellent logic, so unbelievably excited and hop over to the machine, ''Which button do I press?''

''You gotta hit that one right here,'' Steve says, pulling the cassette from its case, spinning it in his hand once, and lining it up with the tape well once you've pushed the eject button with both hands, putting your whole body into it. The little door pops open, this time you've kept a safe distance and you jerk back in delight. 

''And now?'' You look back at him, you're trying to be as patient as possible, but you march on the spot. 

''Just push it closed and it'll start playing.''

You try just that, it doesn't budge, Steve starts reaching out his hand to help shut it for you but you turn around, plant both feet, and shove your back against the plastic with a tiny, determined grunt.

The music starts trickling through the air a second later, guitar floods the room, the rest of the song follows behind it. Your hands fall still, your mouth parts a little, then you grab the sides of your skirt and begin to sway.

Steve forgets what he was going to say.

You look so magnificent in the afternoon light, dancing around the middle of his desk, he has the most warming thought. If he could wish for anything right now, it would be that he was small. Or you were his size, just for one song even. Long enough to take your hand and twirl you around like a girl ought to be when she likes a song as much as this. He imagines it anyhow, you laughing, bells harmonising with the notes of the music, your fairy glitter swirling around you, glinting like sunrise on the ocean. 

His poor heart pangs.

Your feet tap along to the beat, Fleetwood Mac, thankfully, seems to be a hit so far. Steve wishes for the briefest second, that you knew his friends, Max would be all over this, she'd have perfectly crafted you a mixtape by now. El would wanna be your best friend. Dustin would lose his absolute shit over you. He's gonna keep you his little secret for now though, emphasis on little, he thinks. He knows you seem jittery around the mere thought of other humans, meeting his rag tag group of teenage idiots isn't something he's gonna broach with you quite yet.

''I take it you like this one?'' Steve calls over the music, which you've figured out how to turn up. You nod your head so fast your hair bounces, there's a sparkle of sheer joy in your eyes that has nothing to do with your magic. 

''Mhm, put this in the yes pile!'

Steve's eyes crinkle when he laughs, ''You've only heard one song, here, let me-'' He sticks the tip of his tongue out while he fast forwards the tape for you, the whirring of it bewildering you. 

''You can skip them?'' You try to peer into the dark door, wanting to watch the skipping happen in real time.

''And rewind too, if you really like one, we can always play it again.''

Your head just about explodes. 

He stops the tape somewhere in the middle of a dreamier track, after listening for a few seconds, you adjust your shimmying accordingly. Dancing a lot softer for this one. Less bounce, more drifting. 

''This is so different to our music,'' You say.

Steve hums, leaning one hip against the desk. ''Yeah?'' 

''Ours isn't trapped in things.''

''Trapped?'' He asks, you point to the tape deck. Sure.

''It has to be performed right there.''

''Right where?'' Steve is so interested, at first he thought his growing interest in fairies was general, after having met one. But he thinks he may actually just have a growing interest in you, and the way you live your own life, what you love, the words you choose, what makes you happy.

You sit on a Madonna tape while you think, '' At the tavern, at home, I don't know.'' 

Steve lets out a laugh you don't understand at the mention of taverns.

''Sometimes we enchant the instruments to play for us,'' you carry on, ''But it's always better when everyone's together, at the tavern I mean.'' You stand up again, spinning, your skirt fanning out around you, ''Everyone dances, wings bump, the floor gets sticky because, spilled drinks, ladybugs the laughing gets so loud you can hear for miles down the way.''

Steve's smile creeps up before he can stop it, ''Taverns huh? That where you drink all that fae wine you were drooling over just telling me about?''

You bolt over to him, and slap him on the arm, it barely hurts, but he still says, ''Ow!''

''Shut up! You wouldn't be laughing at me if you'd tried it.''

''Have you tried human wine?'' He doubts it, but he asks you anyway.

''Nope, don't wanna. I've told you, fae wine is magic, why would I drink non magic wine,'' you give him a look like that was obvious, ''Pointless.'' 

He supposes it is. 

''Alright, alright, don't get your wings in a bunch.'' 

You scrunch your nose at him, the way you do when he's said something funny and you won't stoop low enough to laugh at. You're far too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. 

''Change the tape!'' You demand, ''But, put on something you like!''

He startles, that's pressure he wasn't prepared for. 

He glances over at his own collection, Bruce Springsteen, Tears For Fears, Foreigner. You know virtually nothing about human music besides the fact that it exists, and that now apparently, you're a huge Stevie Nicks fan. But he knows no matter what he picks, you'll bully him somehow. 

He goes with good old Bruce. 

The opening notes of Dancing in the dark ring out when you shove the tape well closed again like before. He hadn't expected this experience to be such a workout for you. 

You dust your hands off, very proud of yourself and look toward the speakers. Steve watches your face, instead of listening to the song.

''Oh, yes.'' you say after a minute, ''This is very you.''

Steve drops into his chair, and props his head into one hand. ''Is that good?''

''Well yeah. I think you're great so…''

That peculiar feeling erupts through Steve again. He makes a conscious choice to focus on the song instead. 

The two of you listen together through the whole song, you don't dance to his pick, instead you sit, close enough to him your shoulder ends up resting against his forearm. Steve puts considerable effort into not breathing too hard, scared that if he moves, you'll notice and pull away. 

''I liked it!''

''There's no way you liked that one.'' he snorts.

''Uh, yes I did.''

''You didn't twirl once.'' He's got you there.

''I liked it, I'm not lying. I just liked the first one better,'' you add. 

''I know.'' He'll take it, it's not your fault he struck gold the first time around. It's rare Steve hits the nail on the head, so he feels on top of the world he's managed to provide you with music you actually enjoy. 

''Wanna put it back on again?''

You glow. 

He holds the rumours tape out to you, you grab it carefully, cradling it like it's precious. You fly high, and drop it into the well with more confidence this time, having watched him do it twice, you gain a bit of speed to click it closed, then you go up, up, up and let yourself free fall the couple centimeter distance onto the play button. 

The music starts again.

You land back onto your dance floor with a bounce. Taking your skirt in your hands again, you start swaying along, content to dance to your new favourite album.

ty for reading!