#(series)

[althaiareads]

Aaaghhh. Suddenly this story popped in my head and had to re read it, and it is even more beautiful than ever. It's even better a second time around. I love everything about it.

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Summary: June brings the end of Harris's preschool career and the official beginning of your new life as a family of three--with a little help from your friends, of course.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), oral (f! receiving), p in v, mentions of phone sex, grief and loss

WC: 7.8k

Chapter 20/20

A/N: With the official end of Trapped Under Ice, I am now opening up requests in the TUI universe. Thank you all for taking this journey with me as I processed my own grief. As long as you keep requesting, I will continue writing for our little family 💚

Thank you to @rip-quizilla for making that scene stronger. Ily, bb.

Divider credit to @saradika

The diner is bustling with customers, happily chatting over stacks of pancakes and overstuffed omelets. Coffee carafes clink against chipped mugs as the waitstaff pours refill after refill. 

You weave through the rows of tables, careful not to bump into servers balancing trays of food or busboys carrying the used dishes and silverware. A small yellow gift bag is clutched in your hand, and you hold it to your chest to protect its fragile contents. 

Harris spots you before you can see him; his little arm shoots up from where he’s tucked into the booth next to Wayne. 

“Ms. Sweetheart!” he frantically waves, his grin wide enough to stretch off of his cheeks. “Over here!”

You laugh, watching as Eddie scoots from the middle of the seat to the end, making room for you to sit down. There are two steaming cups on his side of the table, centered on little saucers that are likely older than you are. 

“Morning, baby,” he greets you with a smile, leaning in to give you a small kiss—no tongue, of course—as you slide in next to him. “You sleep okay last night?”

You nod sheepishly, remembering the phone conversation the two of you had had, well after Harris fell asleep. Eddie’s sultry voice had guided you through touching yourself; the next-best thing to having his own fingers inside you. 

“Wish I could be there right now,” he’d murmured into the receiver, so low that you could barely hear him. The faint sound of his own fly being lowered punctuated his words. “Wanna make you feel so good, Sweetheart, but I know you’re being a good girl f’me tonight, aren’t you?”

You bring the coffee mug to your lips, hoping to blame the heat creeping up your face on the drink, and take a hearty sip. It’s a little sweet, but mostly bitter. Just how you like it. 

The crinkling tissue paper as you lean back in the booth draws your attention to your company and away from your indulgent memories. “Happy Father’s Day, Eddie,” you kiss him on the cheek, your lipstick tinting his stubble pink. “This is from me and Harris. Be careful with it.” There’s a deliberate vagueness in your warning, not wanting to spoil the surprise. 

Eddie cocks his brow, clearly not expecting any sort of present from you. Shocking, considering you’d taken Harris to the Paint-n-Play on Wednesday during your usual tutoring session time, and you’d figured he would have spilled the beans as soon as he and his dad had a moment alone. He rustles around the bag with dramatic flourish, trying to build anticipation but only succeeding in testing Harris’s patience.

“Open it, Daddy! Open it!” Harris bounces up and down in his seat, mouth sticky and teeth tinted purple with grape juice as he urges Eddie to stop dragging out the process. Wayne discreetly places his palm behind his grandson’s scalp, protecting his head in case he rocks too far back. “Me an’ Ms. Sweetheart did it together!”

“You did, huh?” Eddie chuckles, pulling out a ceramic mug. It’s painted sky blue, and Harris had insisted on making purple polka dots, splotchy as he’d haphazardly dunked the brush in paint and pressed it to the plaster. Written in bright orange blocky letters is DAD; you’d helped him sound out duhh-ahhh-duhh, his little tongue poking out in complete concentration. Your only visible contribution is the tiny green 1997 painted along the handle, marking the first year you’d celebrated Father’s Day together.

The multitude of complementary colors and mismatched designs should clash. The dots look more like disfigured spiders than circles. The 7 you’d carefully written with a fine-tipped brush is slightly smudged from where Harris had picked up the mug before it had fully dried, and there’s an extra curving line extending from the first D in DAD after he’d started writing the letter backwards.

To Eddie, it’s perfect.

“I love it.” Brown eyes find his son’s hopeful gaze that eagerly awaits his father’s reaction. “This is the best present I’ve ever gotten.” He places the mug on the table next to the coffee-filled one in front of him, tipping its contents into his gift. A few drops dribble down the side, but most of it ends up where it should. A success, in his opinion. He takes a hearty gulp, not caring that the hot liquid singes his taste buds. “Is this magic?” He holds the mug up to his face, studying it like it’s a precious stone. “Because, I swear, it makes this coffee taste better.”

The little boy beams, exchanging an elated glance with you. “Ms. Sweetheart, did you put magic in it?”

Eddie chimes in before you can respond. “I bet she did. She’s sneaky with it; always sprinkling it where you least expect.” His empty hand finds your thigh underneath the table, silently claiming it as his own. “I don’t know how she does it,” he muses wistfully, adding another sugar packet to the mug and swirling it with a spoon until it’s dissolved. Like it was always part of the coffee from the jump. 

“Speaking of presents,” Wayne chimes in, unearthing a tiny, newspaper-wrapped package from his jacket pocket and handing it to his nephew. “‘S, not much, but it’s a Father’s-Day-slash-housewarming gift for ya.” 

“I thought we agreed on no gifts,” Eddie shakes his head, suddenly self-conscious about arriving empty-handed. 

“Well, I lied.”

Wayne watches as Eddie tears into the paper. Whatever home run or double-header had made the front page of the sports section is irrelevant compared to the mystery item that is snugly tucked between baseball stats and the upcoming game schedule. 

A small gasp leaves his mouth as he unwraps a wallet-sized picture frame; the word family is etched into the wood right above the plastic-protected photo. 

It’s from Harris’s bowling party; the one Wayne had taken of you and Eddie on either side of the birthday boy. Happiness radiates off of the three of you with such intensity that it seems impossible for it to be captured in a still frame. He’d forgotten that Wayne had even snapped it.

“Wayne, I…” Eddie struggles to find the words he needs to properly convey his feelings. The tip of his nose burns with the anticipated influx of emotions. “I’m gonna put it right next to my alarm clock, so it’s the first thing I see every morning.” 

You lay your head on his shoulder, the edge of his lips finding your forehead in a half-kiss. He soaks in the comfort you bring, absorbing it through every pore as he exhales and feels himself relax.

The waitress comes over with a notepad and a smile. “You folks ready to order?” She clicks her pen, poised to jot down what the four of you want to eat.

“Chicken fingers, please!” Harris announces, perching up on his knees and leaning his elbows on the table. “With French fries!”

The waitress, whose name tag reads Bee, offers a sympathetic smile and a soft click of her tongue. “I’m sorry, buddy. We don’t start serving lunch until 11:30.”

The boy’s lower lip quivers at the news, having his heart set on eating his favorite food. You can see his perfectly curated routine begin to crumble, taking his excitement with it. “But…but I even said ‘please!’” he insists, voice cracking. 

You step in quickly, wanting to salvage the Father’s Day celebration before Hurricane Harris can brew up a storm. “Hey, Har, I know you’re disappointed about the chicken fingers, but I have a super special idea.”

“Wh-What?” Misty eyes indicate that tears still threaten to spill over his lashes. 

“When Grandma used to take me to the diner, we used to split silver dollars. They’re pancakes, just smaller.” You take a deep breath and smile, hoping and praying that your plan works. “Would you like to share some silver dollars with me? And we can come back and get chicken fingers another time.”

Harris considers your proposition, rubbing his hands together along his knuckles to soothe himself. Finally, he says, “Can we eat them with syrup?”

“That sounds delicious.” You lean over and ruffle his hair, careful not to let any loose strands land on the table. “You wanna tell the waitress?”

“Mmkay,” he nods, turning to Bee and smiling. “Me an’ Ms. Sweetheart are gonna have the, um, little pancakes.” He frowns, unable to remember the dish’s name. “The dollars?”

Bee laughs and nods, jotting it on her notepad. “An order of silver dollar pancakes, coming right up. And for you gentlemen?” She brings her attention to Eddie and Wayne. 

The older man clears his throat, ordering a Western omelet with home fries and rye toast. Eddie asks for the same but with white bread. “And a refill on the coffee,” he adds. 

Bee promises to be back shortly with the food, and the four of you resume your conversation. 

“We’ll get to take a new picture next week at someone’s graduation,” you say with a smile, looking in Harris’s direction. “Are you excited, Har Bear?”

Harris takes another messy sip of grape juice. “Uh-huh. I’m gonna go to kindergarten soon! But first is summer.” 

“Summer first, then kindergarten,” you agree, sipping your coffee before it gets cold. You’re no stranger to it, often setting down your to-go cup at work and forgetting about it until well after morning circle time, but you relish any chance you get to enjoy it while it’s still warm. “I was thinking: once you and Daddy are all moved in, we should make plans for this summer. Like the zoo, or the pool…”

“Yeah!” Harris claps his hands together and grins. “Or Disney World!”

Eddie’s ears perk up at his son’s suggestion. “Not this year, but maybe soon.” If he can continue moving up the ranks at the record store, coupled with the two of you splitting rent, it might even happen next year, but he doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t guarantee he’ll keep. “And we’ll drag Grampa Wayne with us.”

Wayne responds with a shake of his head. “You’re outta your mind if you think I’m goin’ on any of those roller coasters.”

“You’re gonna sit and ride It’s a Small World the whole day?” Eddie teases, leaning back in his seat. 

“Damn straight.”

The food comes out ten minutes later, steaming plates carefully placed on the table. You cut the silver dollar pancakes into bite-size pieces, pushing half to the side nearest Harris and the other half closest to you. A glass syrup carafe waits to be used, its handle sticky with residue. 

“Say when,” you tell Harris, drizzling it back and forth across the plate. He waits until the pancakes are drenched before stopping you.

You watch as he uses his fork to spear some pancake, pops it in his mouth, and chews thoughtfully. “It’s yummy!” he declares triumphantly, already scanning the plate for his next piece. “This is my favorite food ever!”

You, Eddie, and Wayne share smiles; none of you take his declaration too seriously, knowing he changes his favorite anythings on an hourly basis. Still, a win is a win, and avoiding a chicken finger-induced tantrum is no small feat. 

Eddie spreads a pat of butter over his toast, but his eyes never shift from you and Harris sharing breakfast. You’d asked him whether he prefers blueberries or chocolate chips in his pancakes, and the discussion quickly devolved into a competition to see who could come up with the grossest pancake addition. 

“How about…” Harris wiggles his nose, “broccoli pancakes?”

“Ew!” You stick out your tongue in disgust. “That was a good one, but I think I can top it. Would you eat…” you tap your chin in contemplation, “fish stick pancakes!”

Harris squeals, far from an inside voice, but no one wants to correct him. “That’s super yucky! Fish stick pancakes?!”

Eddie smiles, tucking into his own food. He wants to savor the joy, the warmth. The twinkle in Wayne’s eyes, the upturned corners of Harris’s lips, the trill of your laugh. He wishes he could capture the feeling, but a mental image will have to do. 

He inhales and allows himself to be wrapped in the unconditional love he had once convinced himself he didn’t want nor deserve. 

The Hawkins Preschool cafeteria has once again been transformed. The custodians folded the long tables, propping them against the wall, and set up rows of folding chairs, leaving a small aisle for the graduates’ families to find their seats. 

Other parents stare as Eddie walks in, perspiration prickling under his arms as he hears them whispering about the kid who ran away. It’s audible enough for Wayne to hear; he rests his hand on his nephew’s shoulder and gives it a small squeeze before they take their seats. 

Jeff and Dustin arrive a few moments later, noticing Eddie and Wayne in the small crowd and shuffling over. Eddie pulls them each in for a quick hug, and Wayne does the same.

“Glad we made it,” Dustin says with a sigh of relief. “My flight got delayed half an hour, but we made up the time in the air.”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “It didn’t help that we had to stop at a payphone so you could call your precious Suzie-Poo,” he huffs, but there’s a glimmer of a smile on his lips, proud of the way his friend cares so deeply for his partner. “Anyway, we’re here now.” He takes a seat next to Wayne, shifting so he can speak to Eddie. “Is Harris excited to graduate?”

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie laughs, shaking his head at the recent memory of his son prancing around the apartment that morning in his cap and gown, small body drowning in the flowing green fabric. In that instant, Eddie could picture him as a young man, crossing a much larger stage to receive his diploma from Hawkins High. If Higgins is still the principal, Eddie might have to teach Harris the family tradition of flipping him off. 

Sue Sinclair makes her way up the small staircase to the podium, adjusting the microphone so she speaks into it easily. “Good morning, parents, siblings, and other special guests. Welcome to Hawkins Preschool’s Moving Up ceremony.” She beams, holding for applause. Eddie eases back into his seat; he’s known Principal Sinclair for years, since Lucas had joined Hellfire, and she’d recently stepped up to take over teaching Harris’s class for the remaining weeks of the school year. After the little boy had given his statement to the police, Marion and Paula’s teaching licenses had been immediately terminated, and negligence charges were currently pending.

“Before we get started, I’d just like to make an announcement.” Sue Sinclair looks over to where your class is standing, patiently waiting their turn to receive their sticker-laden diplomas. “I am pleased to announce that our very own Mr. Will Byers,” she extends her hand in Will’s direction, “will be our newest head teacher starting this fall.”

Though everyone in attendance is clapping, it’s obvious that Eddie, Wayne, Jeff, and Dustin cheer the loudest. Will blushes red, unused to being the center of attention, but the smile on his face shows how excited he is to take on this new role. You wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind and pull him in for a proud hug.

“Our students have worked incredibly hard this year, learning their letters, numbers, and how to be a good friend,” the principal continues. “And though we will miss them dearly, we are thrilled to send them off to kindergarten with these new skills. So, without further ado, let’s bring out our graduates!”

The ceremony begins, starting with your class. You stand at one end of the stage, sending each student off to where Will is waiting at the other end as Principal Sinclair reads out each of their names. They take their certificates and pose with baby teeth on full display while their parents snap photos from disposable Kodaks and bulky Nikons. All the seemingly endless days, the menial fights over sharing toys; every moment was worth it if it led to this.

You usher the kids to their seats in the front row after your final student’s name is called, spotting Eddie in the crowd as you sit down. He winks, the corner of his eye mischievously crinkling. You smile, taking full advantage of the other parents’ distractedness and give him a little wave; the exchange a private love letter.

Both of you bring your attention back to the stage when Sue Sinclair calls up the next class. Harris stands towards the center of the line, excitement buzzing through him at a rate that cannot be contained. He rocks from the balls of his feet to his heels, back and forth as he awaits his turn. His brown ringlets poke out from underneath his cap, grazing just above his eyebrows. 

Principal Sinclair pauses, looking directly at Eddie when she speaks. She understands the gravity of this accomplishment, her lipsticked smile reaching her eyes as she leans in towards the microphone.

“Harris Munson!”

Eddie jumps up, hollering as loud as his vocal cords will allow. Harris accepts his diploma and smiles wide, both at his accomplishment and at the sound of his dad cheering him on. His expression further brightens when he sees Wayne, Dustin, and Jeff beside him, and he waves while jumping up and down.

He’s supposed to walk from stage left to stage right, just as all the students before him have done; in typical Harris fashion, he takes the road less traveled. With a mighty leap, he catapults himself off of the stage and makes a beeline straight for you.

Two little arms wrap themselves around you, squeezing you as tight as they can. The brim of his cap is flush against your cheek. “I did it, Ms. Sweetheart!” His words carry a lightheartedness that only a child’s joy can bring. “Did you see?” He picks his head up from where it was nestled against you and giggles, dimpled chin brushing your bicep.

You tilt the mortarboard slightly upward and press a kiss to his forehead. “I saw, Har,” you tell him, using your thumb to wipe away your lipstick print, “and I am so, so proud of you.” Readjusting his cap, you usher him over to where the rest of his class is standing, a garden of happiness blooming within you. 

You look back at where Eddie is sitting, wishing you could sit next to him, fingers laced together while his thumb caresses the side of your hand and grasping your hand tighter when Harris’s name is called. For now, it’s enough to know that you’ll be by his side throughout all of Harris’s future endeavors and accomplishments. A team. 

Eddie’s palms press into his slack-covered thighs as he peers over at you and grins. Bright, adoring eyes meet yours, speaking every thought that his mouth can’t say right now. I love you. Thank you. We couldn’t have done this without you.

You accept the wordless praise with a smile, one that reaches beyond its usual confines. 

Dustin notices the small exchange, and he nudges Eddie’s ribs with his elbow. “She’s the one, huh?” He cocks his eyebrow knowingly. 

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie murmurs, no longer paying any attention to the remaining names being read aloud. “You ever think you’d see the day I settle down?” His tone is teasing, but there’s an ounce of insecurity behind them. 

To Eddie’s surprise, Dustin nods without hesitation. “Always knew you would.” Carol Perkins shushes him from the row ahead, but he just flips her off and rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t you remember that time in high school when we got sloshed—sorry, Wayne,” Jeff cuts in sheepishly, “and you went on a rant about how you secretly wanted the whole wife, kids, picket fence deal?”

“And I believe I threatened to kick your ass if you told anyone,” Eddie points out, embarrassment turning his face red, apparent even under the light stubble covering his cheeks. 

Wayne chuckles softly. “I already knew. About the dream and the booze.” He laughs a bit harder at Jeff and Eddie’s shocked expressions. “If you keep replacing vodka with water, eventually, it’s all just water.”

“Ya don’t say.” Dustin’s sarcasm bleeds through his whisper. 

Principal Sinclair reads the last student’s name with the same enthusiasm she’s given all of the other kids. “I now present to you, the Hawkins Preschool class of 1997!” She mimes tossing a cap in the air, the students’ cue to do the same. 

The fervor of the cheers and applause could shake the cafeteria. Whistles pierce the air and reverberate off of the walls, none louder than Wayne Munson’s. You stand up, smoothing the pleats of your dress to soak in the achievement of completing another academic year; for you, this one in a brand new school with more challenges than you’d cared to endure. 

You and Will take in the sight of nine cherubic faces looking up at you in admiration, though they’re beginning to shed their baby fat. This was certainly a journey, and you couldn’t have asked for a better teaching assistant to walk beside you through it all. 

“I’m gonna miss you next year,” you say, squeezing him in a tight hug. 

“I’ll be right down the hall!”

Begrudgingly, you let go of him, not losing the pout on your lips. “That’s way too far for me.” The two of you both know that you’re serious; it won’t be the same without having him in the classroom with you. “Can we try to match up our breaks and eat lunch together?”

“It’s a date,” Will laughs, then juts out his chin to motion behind you, “but it looks like I might have some competition.”

Before you can turn around, Eddie’s arms wrap around your waist. He tugs you in close so your back is flush against his chest, the buttons from his shirt pressing into your spine. “There’s my girl,” he murmurs in your ear, lips so close that they brush the lobe. “Are you ready to start your summer?”

You kiss his cheek, adjusting your stance so you can walk hand in hand to get Harris. He torpedoes himself into Eddie’s stomach, shrieking with laughter as he’s lifted into the air. 

“Har Bear, you’re a preschool graduate!” Eddie smacks a kiss to his son’s temple. “How should we celebrate, hmm? Ice cream? Chuck E. Cheese?”

“Ice cream!” Harris decides easily. “I’m gonna get cotton candy with rainbow sprinkles and—Uncle Dusty!” He squirms out of Eddie’s grasp and races over to Dustin. 

“What? I’m not an ice cream topping!” Dustin teases, crouching down to ruffle Harris’s curls, matted to his scalp from being hidden underneath the cap. 

Harris giggles. “You’re so silly!” He glances back and forth from him to you, and you realize he doesn’t know that you’d met in March at Will’s birthday party. “Uncle Dusty, this is Ms. Sweetheart. She’s my almost-mommy.”

“Ohh,” Dustin replies with a smirk, raising his eyebrows and nodding. “I think she needs to be your dad’s almost-wife first–”

“All right! Ice cream time!” Eddie hurries to cut him off, glaring at Dustin for bringing the idea to Harris’s attention again; he has constantly been hounding him about marriage ever since he found out about his newest living arrangements. The idea of marrying you, however, eases his tension and has a smile tugging on his lips; a slight switch in expression that his uncle spots easily.

Wayne’s gruff whisper is in Eddie’s ear. “Sounds like it’s time for an almost-proposal.”

“Shut up!”

“I think that’s the last of them!” Jeff calls out, lugging the final cardboard box from his car into your apartment. He wipes his hands on his jeans and closes the door behind him, careful not to wake up his sleeping daughter in Viv’s arms. He looks over at where you, Robin, and Jess have begun unpacking, laying Eddie’s clothes in one pile and Harris’s much smaller clothes in another.

Jeff places a kiss on the crown of Viv’s head, then plants an identical one on Ettie’s. “Where are the guys?” 

“Harris’s room,” you say; bittersweet taste tinging the new label. It feels better than Grandma’s old room, but part of it will always belong to her. You hear Harris giggle as Eddie and Dustin re-assemble his racecar bed, spreading warmth that gently softens the sadness until it resembles sentimentality. “I’ll come with you; I have to put this away, anyway.” You grab the pile of Harris’s clothes and tuck it under your arm.

Eddie and Dustin sit on the floor, rogue screws spread around them as they intently study their project.

“I think this piece,” Dustin muses, picking up one of the sides of the frame, “connects with this one like that…”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, it’s the other way around.” He takes the screwdriver and twists the metal into the slot triumphantly. Your breath catches in your throat as his bicep flexes with the motion, perfectly displayed where his t-shirt sleeve had been cut into a makeshift tank top. “There we go.” He looks up and realizes you’re there, perfectly still as you watch him. “Hey, Sweetheart. Y’good?” There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye; though it was inadvertent, he knows what he’s doing to you.

You only nod, the movement dragging you out of your momentary stupor. He chuckles as you place Harris’s shirts and pants in the dresser, fingers clumsily slipping over the knobs. It’s the same unicorn-covered dresser that had sent Harris into hysterics a few weeks ago, but you’d painted over it before he could see. It’s now a dark navy blue, no evidence of what once lay beneath.

Eddie’s amused by your reaction and subsequent embarrassment, running his tongue over his teeth and chuckling to himself, but his victory is short-lived.

“Hey, Casanova,” Dustin’s exasperated voice cuts in, pointing to the section Eddie just assembled, “you put the piece on upside down.”

Harris crinkles his nose. “What’s Casanova?”

Eddie buries his head in his hands as Dustin scrambles to explain. “It means your dad is trying to show off his handyman skills for your almost-mommy.” He winks in Eddie’s direction before leaning in and exaggeratedly whispering in Harris’s ear, “but he’s not doing a very good job.”

As soon as Harris distracts himself with setting up his toys, Eddie is saluting his friend with a quick flip of his middle finger.

You crouch down, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “Don’t worry; I’m very impressed.” He blushes when you kiss his cheek. “Your uncle’s going to be here with dinner in a few minutes, if you burly men want to wash up.”

Eddie nods, turning to his friends and his son and speaking in a deep baritone. “You heard the woman! Let us refuel so we may regain our strength for hunting and other masculine activities.”

Harris’s brows pinch together in further confusion while you and Dustin share an eyeroll, but the three of you follow your fearless leader out of the room. Eddie lets the two of them pass and waits for you, sliding a coy hand in your back pocket and murmuring against your hair. “Man and woman make fire in bedroom later?” He continues using the deepened voice.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s…that’s not a no, though, right?”

The summer sun is still high in the sky when Wayne arrives at the apartment, three pizza boxes still warm in his palms. He’s barely able to put them on the table before Harris is racing towards him, ready to give a full report of the goings-on of his day. 

Jess sits at the table, baby Ettie laying in her arms while she gives Viv a break and feeds her from a bottle. You place a piece of pizza on the paper plate in front of her, and one in front of Robin, who adoringly watches her girlfriend dote on a baby. Wayne sits in the third seat, thanking you with his kind smile as you pass him a slice.

You join Eddie and Harris on the couch; Jeff plops down in the La-Z-Boy on the other side of the coffee table, motioning for Viv to sit atop his legs, while Dustin has seemingly been relegated to sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Uncle Dusty, come sit next to me!” Harris chirps, nearly knocking your plate out of your hand as he bounces onto your lap. His curls tickle your chin as he leans over to take a bite of his dinner, dragging the cheese halfway off of the crust before Eddie holds it in place. 

Dustin obliges, squishing in next to you with an apologetic laugh, but you don’t mind. Dialogue melds together, with people seamlessly leaping from one conversation to another. Robin poses the question of what everyone thinks Ettie’s first word will be, which prompts Wayne to tell the story about how Eddie tried so hard to get Harris to say dada, only for the boy to scream out “SHIT!” in the middle of Bradley’s Big Buy. 

Jeff looks across the room at his tiny daughter. “Please don’t let that be your first word,” he jokingly begs her, picking a greasy pepperoni piece from his slice and dropping it in his mouth. While he’s preoccupied, Viv steals a bite of the crust. 

“Are you all going to the July 4th carnival next week?” Eddie asks through a cheesy mouthful. 

Everyone except Dustin answers in the affirmative. “Flying back home tomorrow,” he says, a round of booing from the group forcing him to pause mid-statement, “but Suzie and I are—hey, not cool!” He swats at a crumpled napkin that Eddie lobs at his head. “Suzie and I are going to try and visit for my mom’s birthday in August,” he finishes with a pointed look. 

Harris tilts his head back so you can see straight into his flared nostrils. “Ms. Sweetheart, you’re coming to the carnival with us, right?”

“Of course! What rides are we gonna go on?” you ask, his little feet kicking at your calves as joy flows through his body. 

“The Ferris Wheel! Me an’ Daddy always go on that, an’ now you can come with us!”

He and Eddie always go on the Ferris Wheel. It’s a tradition that they share, and now they’re allowing you in. Now you’re part of it. 

You smile, kissing his forehead in a celebration of belonging and delight. “That sounds like a lot of fun,” you agree. “Do you think Daddy will play the games and win a prize for us?”

Eddie groans at your suggestion. “Those booths are all rigged. Every last one of ‘em.”

“I dunno,” Jess says teasingly, wiping Ettie’s chin with a cloth bib, “I won a stuffed animal from the whack-a-mole last year—”

“Oh, yeah! And I beat the Test Your Strength one,” Jeff adds slyly, getting a rise out of proving Eddie wrong. 

Eddie throws his voice to a falsetto, mocking his friend’s words. “I beat the Test Your Strength one,” he echoes nasally, chuckling when Jeff scoops up the napkin previously thrown at Dustin and hurls it towards Eddie. 

The rest of the evening continues like this, silly banter and recalled stories that end up being cut short or watered down for the impressionable ears listening in. It’s love in its many forms: between partners, between parents and their children, between friends. Each peal of laughter, each shared smile, each memory made adds to its foundation; brick by brick, layer by layer. 

The pink hues of sunset darken to indigo and eventually settle into a night sky, the moon shining brightly and unobscured by clouds. Eddie, Jeff, and Dustin finally manage to put the race car bed back together—and just in time. Harris’s yawns become more frequent until he can no longer fight sleep, dozing off with his cheek pressed against your chest. Soft snores leave his slightly agape mouth. 

“I feel the same way,” Wayne jokes, standing up from his chair and stretching his back with a grimace. “It’s been a long day.”

The group nods in agreement, quietly gathering their belongings and saying good-bye. 

“Thank you all for helping today,” you say, handing out hugs while keeping Harris sound asleep. He stirs but doesn’t fully wake up, even with all of the commotion. “We really appreciate it.”

Eddie seconds your sentiment. “It means a lot to us. We know we owe you a lot more than just dinner—”

“You guys are family,” Viv interrupts with a smile, gently rocking a sleeping Ettie in her arms. “This is what family does.”

A calloused hand rests on your shoulder from behind the couch; you lean your head on Eddie’s forearm and give it a small kiss. The delicate hairs brush against your lips, and you relax into his touch.

Your guests file out, already making plans to meet up at the carnival. Eddie closes the door behind them, insisting that he can beat Jeff at the Test Your Strength and demanding that his friend buy him a funnel cake when he does.

There’s a soft murmuring coming from Harris’s room, and Eddie walks as quietly as he can. He watches silently, shoulder pressed against the doorframe, as you place his son’s head onto the pillow. The crisp sheet is draped over his sleeping body, followed by the Buzz Lightyear comforter you’d bought at Kmart especially for him. Harris stirs for a moment to grab onto the blankets, tugging them to his chin and scrunching up his legs to assume a cozier position. He lets out a content sigh and slips back into his dream.

“Good night, kiddo,” you whisper, kissing his mop of curls. You look around the room, so different from when it belonged to Grandma. It seems larger, his race car bed taking up much less space than her queen-size bed did. A Lego set lies where her shoe rack once stood. The top of his dresser is covered in Hot Wheels, rather than the makeup and jewelry that Grandma had on hers. 

But it’s a good kind of different, one that comes with the natural ebb and flow of life. It brings inevitable change, and it’s your choice whether to embrace it or run away.

“You’re a natural at this bedtime thing, y’know.” Eddie’s voice, low and soft, places you back in the moment. He holds his arms out for you to nestle into them, holding you as close as he can. His thumb caresses your shoulder blade. “It normally takes a couple of stories, half a dozen pee breaks, and a horse tranquilizer to get him down.”

“I think being completely exhausted from moving helped,” you laugh into his chest. “And I’m right there with him. Man and woman might have to postpone their fire-making.”

Eddie’s chuckle vibrates against you. “Yeah, it wouldn’t be my best performance. Wanna make this one really good, since it’s a special occasion and everything.” He closes Harris’s door and leads you to the bedroom you two now share. “We gotta christen this bad boy.”

“We’ve had sex on this bed a million times.” You recall the ways his lips traced over your body, eager to memorize every inch of skin. 

“But that’s when it was only your bed,” he points out. “Now it’s ours.”

Ours. Our bed, our home, our family. Ours. 

You can barely change into pajamas before you’re falling asleep; Eddie manages to slip off his jeans and shirt, clad in plaid boxers and nothing else, before crashing down into the bed you now share. His arm slips around your waist, fingers reflexively dancing up your shirt, while he buries his head in the nape of your neck. 

When daylight breaks and the sun streams through the gaps in the blinds, Eddie has assumed a starfish position, blankets flung to the edge of the bed in what must have been a middle-of-the-night move. You’re still dozing, but he knows he has to wake you if he wants to sneak in some alone time before his son wakes up.

“Morning, gorgeous.” His breath tickles under your earlobe, pulling you close to him. You hum, not quite awake but no longer dreaming. “C’mon, wake up, pretty thing.” He licks his lips before kissing the exposed skin of your shoulder blades. 

Wiping sleep from your eyes, you turn over and face him. Your mouth lazily finds his, the cotton fabric of your pajama top fisted in his grasp. The outline of his morning wood is visible through his boxer shorts; it presses into your thigh as though greedily searching for your warmth. “You always wake up this hard?” you tease, fingertips already fiddling with the worn elastic waistband and dipping towards the treasure beneath. The scruff of his pubic hair grazes your knuckles. 

“Only when I dream of you,” he mumbles with a cheeky grin, climbing on top of you while shedding his only clothing article. The boxers fall to the floor unceremoniously. 

“Smooth.”

“I thought so.” Both hands cup your cheeks; you expect him to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Love waking up next to you.”

It draws a memory of the first morning you’d spent together; an inadvertent sleepover that culminated in one poorly-crafted lie and two broken hearts. He looks at you now, tired and yet still beautiful. How could I have let her slip by? How did I almost miss all of this?

You take the lead this time, arching your back so your torso melds into his, connected by desire. Eddie has your tank top off in a heartbeat, tongue swiping over your nipples the instant they’re visible. 

“Perfect,” Eddie groans, making his way down your abdomen. He places your legs on top of his shoulders, lips delicately fluttering over your clit so he can lick a broad stripe up your labia. “I know we should be having a quickie, but I can’t turn down breakfast in bed.” His face is buried in your pussy, inhaling your scent and committing it to memory. 

You giggle at his phrasing. If you question it, you know he’ll make a comment about you being good enough to eat. You give in instead, letting him ravish you just the way you both crave. 

One finger, then two, slip into your waiting cunt while his mouth focuses on your clit. You’re dripping with your arousal and his saliva; you bite your lower lip to stifle the noises begging to be heard. 

“Eddie, Eddie,” you croak, trying to keep your voice down. “I’m so close, s-so close…”

Eddie says nothing, continuing to worship the taste of you. You can feel his victorious smile as you cry out his name in orgasmic bliss, toes flexing just as he brings you down from the high. 

“Need you, fuckin’ Christ,” he breathes, tempering the stimulation pulsing through his cock with a few short tugs. 

You nod, already electrified at the prospect of being split open on him. He sinks into you with a muted moan, savoring the way you envelop him within your warmth. “All mine, Sweetheart; you’re all mine.”

“Mhm,” you manage. Your fingernails dig into his upper back with a force that will surely leave crescent indents in his skin. “I’m all yours. Always will be.”

His thumb runs along your jaw and he smiles. She’s all mine.

The ridges of his dick form a delectable friction along your walls. Each thrust is a mutual give and take, an exchanging of selves with every breath. 

“I love you.” Eddie’s impossibly beautiful like this, hands holding your hips steady while sweat drips from his forehead onto yours. He brings your fourth finger between his lips; you can feel his tongue claiming it as his own. “And I’m gonna put a ring on this pretty little finger of yours, okay? Just want it to be perfect for you.”

You weave your fingers into his sleep-mussed curls and kiss him. “Don’t need perfect. I’ll marry you without a ring.” Whatever elaborate fairytale wedding you’d been crafting in your head is suddenly wholly unnecessary; all that matters is that you and Eddie commit to one another. But you know him well enough to not question his devotion to you. If Eddie Munson wants to give you the proposal of a lifetime, then that’s what he’s going to do. 

There will be no unkept promises this morning, no shattered hearts to mend.

He can’t hold back any longer, spilling into you with punctuating grunts. You receive every last drop gratefully, a part of him within you, and you finish for the second time today. 

“I meant it.” He gently withdraws from inside you, both of you mourning the loss of the other’s body. “When I said I’m gonna marry you, I meant it.”

“I know.”

“Good.” Eddie grins, laying on his side and propping himself up on his elbow. Sweat glistens along the sparse hairs curling over his bare chest. “Are you hungry? I know I worked up an appetite.”

You kiss his nose, biting the end teasingly. He yelps in mock pain, so you kiss it again. “I am, but I have to be honest—between all the unpacking and sex, I don’t have the energy to make breakfast.” 

“Me neither,” he admits with a laugh. “Why don’t we shower, wake up Sleeping Beauty,” he nudges his head towards Harris’s room, “and go to the diner.” He stretches and stands, eyes drawn to the nightstand, where the framed photo from Wayne leans against a porcelain lamp. Happiness captured with the click of a Kodak.

You’re smiling, thinking about sharing silver dollar pancakes with Harris again just like you used to do with Grandma. Somewhere along the way, you grew from the child to the adult in that scenario, passing on a tradition you never even knew had been started. 

“That sounds amazing.” As you say it aloud, something in addition to hunger gnaws at your stomach. You’ve been putting it off, hiding from the truth, but you want to stop pretending. You want to feel everything that comes with accepting reality. Without sorrow, you would never recognize joy. Without grief, you won’t understand the depths of our love beyond the physical plain. 

“Could we make a quick pit stop first?”

Though it’s still morning, the late June humidity has your shirt clinging to you, sweat beading along the collar and around your bra clasp. You close the car door behind you; Eddie shuffles to open the back door for Harris. The little boy unbuckles his seatbelt and hops out of the booster seat, glancing between you and his dad. You take his left hand and Eddie takes his right as you walk over to the stone. 

“Hi, Grandma,” you whisper, crouching down to better see the engraving. Gently, your fingers dance over the etched words: Beloved wife, mother, grandmother, and friend. “I know I haven’t been by to visit you yet, but I’m here now.” You muster up a small smile. “And I brought Eddie and Harris with me. They…they loved you, too.”

You falter for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Eddie’s hand rubs your upper back, not caring about how perspiration-soaked it is. 

“Do you want some privacy?” he murmurs. “Harris and I can wait by the car. You take as long as you need.”

You nod, watching them walk hand in hand to give you your space to grieve. Filling your lungs with a deep breath, you speak what’s been in your heart. 

“I need to thank you,” you start, talking directly to where her name is engraved, “for a lot of things. But I guess, um, the most important is how you taught me to forgive without taking shit—can I swear in a cemetery?—from people.” Your laugh is heavy with the weight of remembrance. 

“I miss you. A lot,” you continue, tears now spilling freely from your eyes. “I miss doing puzzles together. I miss cooking together. I’m going to try and make your applesauce for Thanksgiving this year. I think Harris will really like it.” You swallow thickly. “If you’d met him before you got sick, you would’ve adored him. He’s got the biggest heart of any kid I’ve ever met.”

You’re finding it easier to talk; everything you need to say is coming naturally and without hesitation. 

“He’s…he’s living in your room. I guess, technically, it’s his room now. But a little part of me will always consider it your room, too. And I think that’s okay.” You nod, confirming to yourself that it’s all part of the process. “He keeps asking me and Eddie when we’re going to get married. To be honest, I’m kind of wondering the same thing.” You smile at the thought of marrying Eddie, maybe even legally adopting Harris, if that’s something they also want. “I’m not in a rush, though, but I really do believe that Eddie’s the one. He’s my person, and I’m his. So, yeah, I’m definitely hoping that he proposes sooner rather than later.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to visit. I always thought losing you wouldn’t be as hard as it was, because it felt like I had already lost you to dementia.” It feels silly to admit aloud, but it’s the truth. “I should’ve known that it wouldn’t be easy. But I promise, I’ll stop by more often, and I’ll have plenty of cute Harris stories to tell you.”

There’s just a bit more that you need to share before you can go. “I love you, Grandma. And…thank you for loving me, too.”

You stand up, pressing on your knees to ensure your balance. Taking one last look at the stone, you run your fingers over the jagged marble and turn back towards Eddie and Harris.

The little boy is perched on his father’s hip, squinting into the sunlight to make out your form. “You ready, Ms. Sweetheart?”

You blink through misty eyes, staring at the two people in front of you. Ten months ago, if someone had told you that your one-night stand at a dive bar would end up being the love of your life, you would have laughed in their face. But the universe does what it must to remain in balance, and it doesn’t humor any arguments.

Inhale, exhale, repeat. This is where you’re meant to be. This is who you’re meant to be: a partner, a friend, an almost-mommy.

“Yeah,” you say finally, the tears clearing from your vision and a genuine smile forming on your lips. “I’m ready.”

--

💚

[arinewman7]

Studies into the Past (series)

Laurent Grasso

Oil on wood, 2023

[stevesgother]

Let's Hear It For The Boy!

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, oral (f receiving), emotional sex, aftercare, tooth rotting fluff bc i love them, latter half as usual is not proofread bc i can't bring myself to read my own smut. maybe someday!

AN: here’s a little Dress bonus chapter bc so many people loved that series! I know i didn’t let them bang in the final part, so here ya go. I hope it scratches the itch :)

The sounds of a specially curated mixtape drift and settle over the room. Steve has you underneath him, his entire weight crushing you like your own personal safety blanket. He peppers kisses over every inch of exposed skin and then some, giving you a brief reprieve from the steamy makeout session you were previously engaged in.

It had been 3 weeks since New Year's Eve. In that time, Steve has managed to spend every waking second with you that he could. He’d taken you on lavish dates to the only fancy restaurant in this dying town– Enzo’s, and you’ve spent countless days snowed in, watching “borrowed” tapes from Family Video. He takes you grocery shopping and puts your favorite cereal in the cart before you get the chance to grab it yourself. To be loved by Steve, is to be seen. You think he knows you better than you know yourself, in every way except for one.

You had decided to take things slow, for the fear of risking everything the two of you had worked so hard to build over the length of your entire friendship thus far. Steve loved you, and you loved Steve. He had a reputation, or he did at one point, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel taken advantage of. More importantly, he wanted to take his time with you.

In the midst of a sweet, languid kiss, you hear the beginnings of Deniece Williams’ ‘Let’s Hear It For The Boy’ and break away from him with an excited gasp.

“Stevie Baby, this one’s for you!” You brace yourself against him enough to flip him onto his back, reversing your previous position and straddling his hips. He giggles when you grab your hairbrush from your nightstand to use as a makeshift microphone, and sing pitchily to the verse.

“‘Cause everytime he pulls me near, I just wanna cheer, let’s hear it for the boy!”

You give a seated performance as you sing and wriggle on his lap. He rolls his eyes in an attempt to pretend like he doesn’t find your theatrics the most endearing thing he’s ever seen.

“Let’s hear it for my baby!” You shake both his shoulders and give him a smacking kiss on the cheek, “You know you gotta understand!”

Steve didn’t know it was possible to be more in love with you than he already was. The adoration he felt for you was insurmountable; the blood in his veins seemingly replaced by pure sunlight that seeped from him wherever you touched. He wanted to marry you, he was sure he was going to marry you.

When the song finally hummed its last notes, you flopped dramatically against his chest. Hair mussed and chest heaving with the exertion of singing him all four minutes of the song. He deserved it, after all.

“Have I ever told you you’re a horrible singer?” he asks playfully.

You swat his chest and laugh, “Rude!”. Forget the other five, teasing was Steve’s love language.

“I still love you, though,”

“Yeah I don’t know, the juries still out,”

“Alright, I think that’s enough out of you,” he says as he flips you over in one sweeping motion to lay on your back again. You’re a fit of laughter as he presses open mouthed kisses down your neck and over your collarbone. 

Your giggling starts to subside when your senses clock how good his lips feel against your skin. You exhale a breathy sigh when one of his large hands presses firmly up your side, his other hand cupping your cheek. He grins up at you before returning to passionately collide his mouth with your own. You moan into it, presenting him with the opportunity to slide his tongue eagerly against yours.

“Nothin’ else to say, huh?” He smirks down at you. You can only respond with a blissful shake of your head ‘No’.

Your legs are hugging either side of his torso, and he gives an experimental grind of his hips against your clothed core. You can feel the hard outline of him and it elicits a groan from you, tugging the hair at the nape of his neck that you have woven through your fingers.

“That feel good?" You’re embarrassed to be panting slightly already, it's just the effect he seems to have on you.

“Yes– Steve,”

The most the two of you had done until this point was hand stuff, and even then it was few and far between. That’s not to say you haven't thought about doing more; lately it actually seems to be all you can think about. You feel like a horndog teenager again.

Steve continues to kiss you as he slips a hand beneath the waistband of your pajama shorts, and he can feel the wet spot already forming on your cotton panties. You let out a breathy whine at the sensation.

“Pussy feels so good baby,” he murmurs against your mouth, “wonder how she tastes,”

Your eyes turn to saucers at his implication, but he only smirks at you as he shuffles slowly down your body, pressing kisses all the way down your torso and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

He makes eye contact with you as he slips two fingers beneath your waistband again to ask, “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please,” you try not to sound too pathetic as you lift your hips to assist him in removing your layers.

Steve’s never seen you in anything more intimate than a bathing suit on a hot summer day. Now he’s staring at you like you’ve hung the moon just for him. His best friend, the love of his life, and he’s about to go down on you. It feels like an episode of The Twilight Zone.

“Everything okay?” you chuckle nervously, feeling the weight of his gaze on unexplored territory. It feels vulnerable in a way you’ve never felt before, and you’re scared he doesn’t like what he sees. You weren’t a virgin, and neither was Steve; but right now, you might as well have been.

“Yes, yes, sorry. You’re beautiful. It’s perfect, everythings perfect,”

It always feels like the greatest privilege to watch Steve’s usual dominant and confident exterior melt away. It’s not often you get to make him flustered instead of you, and you can’t help but find it adorable.

He nuzzles his stubbly face into your thigh, and inhales deeply; taking in your scent. It causes your stomach to erupt in somersaults. He locks eyes with you as he slowly removes the last barrier between you and his mouth. Self consciousness takes over when you realize he can finally see all of you, causing you to tighten the space between your thighs.

Steve’s quick, though. He stops you with a hand on each leg, keeping you open for him. “Don’t be shy, honey. I wanna see you,”

“Okay, I trust you,” You stare up at your popcorn textured ceiling to escape the intensity of it all. Just then he places a tentative kiss to your clit. It’s barely anything but the surprise of it makes you cry out in pleasure. Steve takes it as a sign to properly begin, and he laps at you like you’re his last meal.

“Oh, Steve!” Your hands fly to his hair and you tug, eliciting a groan from him that vibrates through your core and amplifies the feeling of his tongue on you.

“Taste so sweet, baby,” you can hardly hear him as he’s nose deep in your pussy. The sharp point of it massages your sensitive bud as his tongue teases your entrance.

If that wasn’t enough, you’re seeing stars when his index and middle finger breach your hole, hitting that spongy spot inside of you that only Steve could reach. He curls his fingers as his lips wrap around your clit and you all but grind against his face. He quickens the pace, and you can already feel the beginnings of your climax in your tummy.

“Steve– ah!– I’m gonna come,” you cry and he doesn't change a thing. No speeding up, no slowing down. There’s not a thing on this earth that could separate his mouth from you. All that matters to Steve is making you finish on his tongue, and hearing those sweet little sounds you make when you do.

Your release washes over you in waves as you sloppily grind your hips against Steve’s face. When he finally looks up at you from between your sticky thighs, his face is shiny with you from nose to chin and he’s beaming. Actually beaming.

“Did so good, baby,” he praises as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans down to kiss you, “so beautiful,”. It’s a strange thing to taste yourself on someone else’s tongue, but you really don’t hate it. If anything, it turns you on more.

He continues to kiss you with a renewed fervor, you reach a hand between your bodies and palm him against his sweatpants. The whimper you elicit from him spurs you on enough to slip a hand beneath his waistband and take his velvety length into your hand.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so hard in his entire life, every nerve in his body alight like a live wire. Unconsciously, he thrusts into your hand– desperate for some friction. The soft skin of your fingers feels euphoric wrapped around his length.

“God– I love you,” he half groans into the crook of your neck as he grinds against your palm.

“Baby,” you gasp, “I want you– I wanna feel you,” Your hips start to lift again, in search of any type of stimulation. This seems to break him out of his arousal induced trance as he snaps his head up to look you in the eye.

“I– like you want to, want to–?” he sputters, suddenly nervous at the idea. Still, you find his hesitation at your request charming. It’s obvious how much he cares for you.

You giggle, “Yes Steve, I ‘want to, want to’,” you repeat his words back to him in the same cadence, causing him to roll his eyes, though the action has no real irritation behind it.

“Okay– Yeah, Okay,” he’s reeling as he reaches into the drawer of your nightstand to retrieve a condom from the box you’ve kept there for a little over a week now. Tearing the foil with his teeth, he rolls the rubber down his length with expert fingers. You try not to think about the fact that he’s done this probably a million times before you.

“If it hurts or you want me to stop or you don’t like something–”

“I’ll tell you,” you cut off his anxious rambling with a hand on his cheek, “I promise.”

He nods and presses his forehead to your own. It’s a little sticky with sweat already, but you don’t mind. He smells like cinnamon and mint and something so ineffably Steve.

When he finally pushes into you, you’re both gasping into each other's mouths. He wraps his arms around your back in a sort of hug, not bothering to hold himself above you anymore. He needs to be as close to you as he can possibly manage. You return the embrace, locking your ankles behind the small of his back and placing his cheeks in your palms to kiss him deeply.

When he’s finally to the hilt and your hips are completely flush, he gives you a moment to adjust before setting a rhythm.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes– yes, I'm good. You feel so good, Steve,” You can feel tears brimming at your lashes with the intimacy of it all. Having him like this– this is something you’ve only ever dreamed of. The affection you feel is insurmountable.

His hips start at a slow pace, he’s so big you can feel him in your stomach. “Faster, baby, please,”. And who is he to deny you when you ask so politely?

“Don’t cry, love,” He removes a hand from behind your back to wipe away a stray tear, and kisses the salty trail it left down your cheek.

“I just love you– I’ve waited so long,” you hug him tighter around his neck as he starts to pick up the pace.

“I know, I love you,”  You can feel his hips stutter and you realise he’s close. The shared sweetness bringing you both closer to the edge. You cry out again as he repeatedly hits that sweet spot, the small thatch of hair at his base providing the perfect friction.

“I’m close–” he manages to strangle out.

“Me too. Inside me– please,”

He falters only for a moment, “You sure?”

“Yes, Steve, I need you,”

Your nails dig and leave crescent shapes in his shoulders. You miss the sound he makes when you tug gently on his pretty locks, so you do it again. It’s enough to send Steve hurtling over the edge of his orgasm.

“Oh -- I’m coming,” He all but shouts and the sounds he’s making are obscene enough to have you there with him.

“Look at me, baby,” he commands, not unkindly. He’s so pretty like this– cheeks flushed pink, lips permanently fixed in a ‘O’ shape, sweat beading at his upper lip; his brow bone and hairline.

You stare at each other as you come; it’s the most intimate thing either of you have ever experienced. Suddenly you realize Steve has tears welling in his eyes, too. You pull him into a slow, languid kiss. You press your lips to the corners of each of his eyes, as well.

When he moves to pull out, you wince slightly and he soothes his hands up and down your leg as he stands. “I know, honey. Stay there, I'll be right back,”. With that, he slips his boxers back on and makes his way towards the bathroom. When he returns, he’s holding a warm washcloth and a small dixie cup of water. As you drink, he takes the liberty of cleaning you up, as gentle as you’ve ever seen him.

He kneels by the bed to be level with you, and runs a hand over your head to brush away stray hair. The repeated motion in which he does it nearly puts you to sleep.

“Want me to run you a bath?” You almost cry again. How is he real?

“That’s okay, maybe in a little while,” you’re becoming too sleepy to talk properly now, you raise your arms signaling for him to join you in bed. “Just want you to lay with me,”

“I think I can manage that.”

He moves to hold you against his chest, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, and you fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I'm feeling very Little Lies about this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So this is the reason you missed Thanksgiving," a butter knife jabs in your direction as you poke at the white turkey meat; this? You look up then at Lloyd as he nearly chokes. 

"Uh, yeah," he coughs behind his fist and swallows, "we were out of the country..." 

"Yes, why would you bother to stay. No use in seeing your mother at the holidays, or the rest of your family," she reproaches. 

"Mom," he groans. 

"For ten years," William adds from his wife's side. "Now you show your face and you look as if you're eating rotten apples." 

"No," Lloyd argues. "It's just... I'm busy and I don't get a lot of time away from work." 

"We all have obligations," Gwenyth argues. 

"Well, I took her away so I could propose," he explains as he presses his fork into the whipped potatoes. "And it worked out perfect, right? Cause now I can bring her to meet everyone." 

Gwenyth hums flatly, "I suppose." She clicks her tongue and takes a healthy gulp of wine. 

"So, Pixie," Lillian drawls from further down, "what do you do for work? Oh let me guess. A librarian?" 

You don't let the suggestion bother you. You don't see it as an insult even if she says it like one. You shake your head. 

"No, I--" you begin and Lloyd stomps your foot so you bite down on your voice.  

"She is a corporate consultant. International corporation," he explains.  

"Oh, wow, sounds busy," Gwenyth remarks. 

"Yes, how will you have time for children?" Lillian challenges. 

"I'm sure they'll find time to make them," Benson chortles over his snifter.  

"Ben, please," William rebukes. 

"We're focusing on the wedding before all that," Lloyd says. 

You peer around as you chew your cheeks in frustration. You're annoyed by how they speak of you as if you're not even there, and so intimately. Yet, you don't have much to say for yourself. This whole facade is tiresome and you really don't care what they think about a made-up job. Or marriage, for that matter. 

"That will be done with quickly," Gwenyth sniffs. "And she will need to quit that job if she wants to do her duty as your wife." 

"I can handle a job and a husband," you blurt out. 

The table quiets as if stunned that you can speak. You blink and Lloyd puts his fork down and touches your arm, "sweet pea--" 

"I highly doubt you'd be marrying him for any other reason than that nest egg promised to him," Lillian scoffs. "You don't need to play a saint with us, darling. Marriage is a transaction in more ways than one; affection, money, sex--" 

"Lilly," William warns and she laughs. 

"Well?" She shrugs. "You do know, the wedding only guarantees a twenty percent payout. He needs an heir to get all of it." She pets her stomach smugly and smiles. "I can assure you it's well worth it. Once you meet Lorelai, you'll see." 

"Oh? Maybe when you meet her, you'll consider being a mother too," Lloyd retorts. 

"Excuse me?" Lillian snarls. "I love my daughter." 

"Of course you so," he sneers. "I'm sure she feels all that love right now as she enjoys her turkey and carrots with the nanny." 

"I can't have her around adults and alcohol. You can't possibly understand," she snaps. "And maybe it's better that you never do. I could never imagine you as a father, especially when you are such a child." 

"Takes one to know one," Lloyd growls. 

"Enough," William barks. "Both of you." 

Ransom laughs loudly at the end of the table. Lloyd shifts and Lillian rolls her eyes. You sigh at your plate. You miss your family. For the first time in years, you truly miss them. 

"What the hell are you laughing at, Hugh? The only reason you're here is because your grandpappy exiled you." 

Linda gasps, "He's not exiled--" 

"Oh, right, of course not, Lin, that's why you're here breaking bread with the peasants. That's what you called us at great grandmother's wake--" 

"Lloyd, watch your mouth," William snarls. "Better yet, shut it." 

Lloyd recoils in his chair and stiffens. His features sharpen then he lowers his chin and picks up his fork. His jaw is stone as he stirs the gravy into his potatoes. You wouldn't call him humbled, more whipped like a dog. These people make you feel something for him you never thought you could; sympathy. 

"I don't care about money that much," you say. "It can't buy respect. Besides, I would never marry a man without a prenup. Whatever Lloyd has will remain his." You push your shoulders back as a yawn tickles in your throat. "At this point, he can keep you lot as well." 

You stand up and take the cloth napkin from your lap. You fold it neatly, "Gwenyth, you can tell whoever cooked dinner that it was delicious. I appreciate you all having me but I'm going to go find a hotel and some peace." You step around the chair and push it into the table, "happy holidays." 

You turn, your insides jittering. What are you doing? Where did that come from? You could say you're tired and not thinking straight, but honestly, you're just so repulsed by these people that your head could explode. They're lucky they only got a a few pieces of shrapnel. 

You march out without looking back. Your cheeks tinge hotly with self-awareness. You've messed it all up. After years of harnessing your emotions under Hansen's thumb, you finally snapped. You blew it all. 

"What she said," another chair scrapes as Lloyd speaks. "Mom, dad, good night." 

You enter the hall and head for the entry way. You hear him beside you. You're still foggy with disbelief. It isn't until you sit to put on your boots that you notice Lloyd. 

"I know, I'm done. Fired." You pull on your leather booties. "I'll take the severance and figure it out." 

"I didn't say so," he says as he grabs a coat from the closet. 

"Um..." 

"You're completely right. We can't stay here. They're all a bunch of pricks and they wonder why I didn't come home for ten years," he pulls on his coat as he speaks. He pushes back his hair then smooths his mustache. "We're better off at the hotel. We'll sleep better there--" 

"We? Lloyd, please. Stay with your family. I need space," you stand and reach past him for your jacket. "Besides, I booked a single queen and it's Christmas Eve." 

"Queen's big enough. You're tiny--" 

"Okay, no, no," you hiss. "It's not happening. Stay--" 

"But I don't want to," he whines. 

"Mr. Hansen," you say. "You're out of your mind." 

"Well, after your blow up, I don't think I'm welcome," he puts his hand on his hip. "So this is your last chance to save your job. You made the mess, you clean it up." 

"Me?" You exclaim. 

He hushes you and step closer, "Pix, you already made a scene, let's not do the encore. I'm gonna grab my bags, alright?" 

"You can't be serious." You say. 

"Hey, I gotta play the loyal husband--" 

"And why exactly is that necessary? Why couldn't you get one of those Tinder girls?" 

"Woah, woah, come on, someone will hear you," he covers your mouth with his hand and you turn your face away with a blech. "Go warm up the car. We'll talk on the ride to the hotel." 

You stare at him. He watches you, as uncertain as you've ever seen him. In the silence, you can hear the din in the other room. 

"Always was such a baby," Lillian laughs venomously. 

"He could've chosen someone without an iron spine," Gwenyth adds. 

You grimace and throw your hands up, "fine, get your things." 

"You're the best," he grabs your shoulders but before he can kiss you, you put your hand up to pinch his nose. He recoils and rubs the tip, "ow." 

"No more of that," you say as you pull your keys out of your pocket. "Thank god I only had one glass of wine." 

You stomp out the front door. The frigid winter air hits you like a bus. Once one even ground, the swirling snow flecks onto your shoulders and hair. Great, now you get to drive in the snow with an unwanted passenger. 

You get in the driver seat and push the ignition. You turn on the heater and the heated seats. At least Hansen pays enough for the add-ons. Still, you’re not sure there’s any compensation equal to what you just went through. 

You look over as the front door opens and closes. Lloyd rolls a giant suitcase with him, another smaller bag strapped on top, and a third in his other hand. You don’t move as you watch him descend the steps, easing the wheels over the edge one-by-one. 

He comes down the long walk and jerks as his loafers slip on the icy pavement. It would be funny if you weren’t so damn exhausted. You steadies himself and continues on. You should get out and help him. You don’t. 

You pop the trunk with the button. He loads in his bags as you check the rear view. He comes around the passenger side and pulls the door open. He lets out an obnoxious ‘brrrr’ as he drops into the seat next to you. You shift gears as he shuts the door. 

“Ugh, I feel so much better getting out of there,” he says as he adjusts the seat, making room for his long legs. 

“Why?” 

“Um, why not? My family is the worst--” 

“No, why did you drag me into this?” You ask as you lean into the wheel and squint over it. The dark, the snow, the unplowed roads, it’s like the universe can’t stop throwing you obstacles. 

“You want the real answer or the nice answer?” He replies. 

“Mr. Hansen,” you growl. 

“Right, I had no other choice.” 

“No other choice?” You repeat. 

“Look, those long-legged beauties back home, they’re fun, but they don’t got much else going on. I needed someone who could play along,” he explains. 

“Play along?” 

“Yeah, I mean, you’re smart so--” 

“I’m smart...” 

“I wouldn’t hire you if you weren’t--” 

“Jeez, wow, Mr. Hansen, thank you so much. You think I’m so smart, so you should know I’m smart enough to know better than to believe you. You think I’m desperate,” you turn slowly onto the next street. “You think I have nothing else going on.” 

“No, that’s not--” he shifts in his seat. 

“It’s exactly what you think,” you huff. “Well, I do. I have a flight in...” you pause and check the time on the dash, “five hours so when we get to the hotel, I’m going to sleep and you’re going to let me. Then I’m going to catch my flight and the curtain can be pulled on this whole theatre.” 

“Your words, not mine. I don’t think you’re desperate.” 

You don’t respond. You’re tired. He just can’t leave things alone. He always has to say something. You wonder if he was truly left to his own thoughts, if his head would combust. 

“I’m actually impressed,” you says, “you held your own.” 

“Sir,” you utter. 

“It was good. Entertaining. I mean, all these years, you never once talked back to me but wow, that was... majestic, really. You didn’t even wait to see my mother’s face. Or my sister’s.” 

“Your family is weird,” you blurt out. “Sorry, uh, I didn’t mean--” 

“I mean, yeah, we probably are but I don’t really have anything to compare it to,” he says. 

You nod. He has a point. Yet, while that horde of entitled brats might explain his personality, it can’t excuse it. 

The hotel’s marquee shines like a beacon as you steer into the lot. You yawn and shut off the engine. You let yourself out and drag your feet around to the trunk. You take out your carry-on as Lloyd hovers at the other side. 

“All of your stuff, out,” you say. “I’m going straight to the airport in the morning. Checkout is ten so as long your gone by then, I don’t care what you do.” 

He’s quiet but he obeys. He takes his bags out and sets them on the ground. He pulls the rolling bag and slings his smallest bag on his shoulder. You snap the trunk shut and turn, shuffling across the icy tarmac. 

You enter through the automatic doors and cross the desolate lobby. You check in with your ID but as you look for your credit card, Lloyd flicks his between his fingers and offers it up to the clerk. 

“It’s on me,” he insists. 

You won’t argue. You really don’t trust him to leave by checkout. As you head for the elevators, he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t speak until you’re behind the sliding doors of the compartment. 

“You know, I’m still your boss so you can’t just order me around,” he says. 

You glance over at him. “Right, won’t happen again, sir.” 

“It could have been worse, you know? I could’ve actually had you come all the way out here just to drop off some gifts. If you think about it, you got a free dinner and some wine--” 

“Yeah, it was a great time,” you say dryly. “Mr. Hansen, I’m too tired to lie any more. Tonight was one of the worst nights of my life so no, I don’t think it could be worse.” 

The doors open and you stride out. You swipe the card at the door corresponding to the number written in the folio and let yourself in. He follows closely, nearly running over your heels with his suitcase. 

You take your bag to the bed and take out the cotton pajamas stuffed inside just for tonight. You bring them with you into the bedroom, doing your best to ignore your guest. Lloyd wanders along the wall and finds his way to the mini fridge. 

You’re in no rush to change, only to get to bed. You trade your dress and stockings for the cotton two-piece and emerge. You shove your bag and clothes beside the night table and slide under the blankets. You pull them up to your shoulders. 

“They got wine, tequila, beer--” 

“I’m going to sleep,” you insist. 

“The alcohol will help.” 

“No, it will make waking up even harder.” 

“After tonight, I think you need a shot.” 

“Mr. Hansen,” you grumble and cover your head. 

“Fine, more for me.” He snickers. 

You’re happy he can’t see the irritation on your face. You might just be better off to let him drink whatever. Eventually, he’ll have to pass out. At least, you can only hope he does. 

[althaiareads]

“i will, sleep well, hermosa” “Hermosa?” “beautiful“ “You’re making me blush… Sleep well, Frankie”

OMG I'm giggling and kicking my feet so hard rn. This was so cuteeee!! I am so excited to keep reading.

(Also, I'm pretty sure this is a re read for me but I cannot remember for sure, but I am so grateful for that because I will be all in my feelings again)

The Pilot and his girl

ch. 1 - TLoU AU

Frankie Morales meets the love of his life and starts creating a new life for himself, her and his little daughter. But things are about to change in ways no one could've imagined with the outbreak of the cordyceps infection.

Series Master List

The idea of putting the guys from Triple Frontier in to The Last of Us was a random thought I had a few weeks ago. I really wanted to explore what Frankie Morales would do, who he would turn into, if he had to experience the outbreak, fighting to protect himself and those he loves in a whole new way.

I'm having so much fun writing it and I really hope you'll enjoy reading it! The first hints of TLoU pops up in chapter 9.

No age gap, our reader and Frankie are the same age, no use of Y/N, no physical descriptions.

Edit: Making this easier to navigate - Chapter 2

Frankie’s at the corner of the bar, his back to the wall, as she walks in. The boys, Pope, Ben and Will, are arguing about some finer point of something or other, he’s not really paying attention anymore, so he’s the only one who notices her. A bachelorette party tumbles through the door first, the bride to be wearing a tall plastic tiara on her head, and her friends trailing behind, all wearing Friends themed t-shirts that say “The one where Lizzy marries Steve”, cackling loudly and making “wooohoooo” noises. The boys immediately turn and check out the girls but one look at how far gone they all are, this is probably the only bar in town that will still serve them at this level of intoxication, they turn back to their conversation. 

She’s trailing behind her friends, coming in after the others and just about hiding the t-shirt under her jean jacket, looking a lot more sober than the rest of the hen party.

Frankie can’t help but stare, the way the black jeans are hugging her curves makes his heart rate pick up, but when she pushes her hand through her hair and smiles at her friends it feels like it stops in his chest, pausing a second before racing again. He swallows, tugging at his cap, pulling it down deeper over his eyes as he tries to look without staring. She glances around the room as her friends occupy one of the large booths next to the jukebox and start a giggling argument about what songs to play first. Somehow her eyes catch his and he feels heat creeping up his throat as he quickly looks away, down at his drink, over at Pope, anywhere but at her.

…

Against your will you’ve been talked into ending your friend’s bachelorette party at a local dive bar in a part of town you and your friends usually don’t hang out in. Your usual hang out had refused to serve your friends, seeing as they certainly were about four tequila shots too far gone, and you’d been ready to call it a night then. Bachelorette parties weren’t even really your thing but as Lizzy was the last of your friends to marry, apart from yourself, you couldn’t really back out when she begged you to come. So after failing to get into three clubs, Lizzy had bribed the bouncer to tell her of a bar that would let them in and he’d told them to try The Outback Bar across town. 

So here you are, pushing open the door to a place that was decorated to look like something out of a Crocodile Dundee set while your friends squealed over the stuffed plush kangaroo by the jukebox. The bar is half empty, mainly regulars scattered around the place, some playing pool at the back. This neighborhood isn’t exactly the best so you scan the place for any potential troublemakers but one of the booths is filled with three middle aged ladies sipping on some sort of cocktails and it makes you feel a bit more calm. How bad could a place be if a group looking like local high school librarians were drinking at it? 

At the bar you spot four guys involved in an animated conversation. Well, three of them are, the fourth one is looking at your but ducks his head the second you catch his eye, his hand shooting up to rub his neck under a mop of dark curls that stick out under his cap. His eyes are shaded but you can make out his curved nose and nervous smile as he glances over at his friends, still rubbing his neck before his hand slides down and rubs his patchy beard instead. He quickly shoots a glance your way and you feel like you’ve been burnt when your eyes meet just for a second, his face softens into a quick smile before he drops his gaze again. Before you can help yourself you smile back and you hope he saw it before he looked away. Smiling at random men in bars was dangerous business but this man had such a sweet, soft smile that he’d pulled a smile in return from you before you’d even realised what was happening. 

Your friends call you over to the booth and then order you to the bar for a pitcher of beer and tequila shots, deciding you’re the only one sober enough to order for the table. You shake your head and laugh at their loud demands for more liquor but you decide a pitcher of beer won’t do much damage this late in the game anyway. 

The bartender is busy serving another patron so you lean on the counter and try to sneak looks at the man at the other end. The bar is a big rectangular shape, wrapping around the open shelving system in the middle and it lets you peek through the opening towards the four friends at the opposite corner. Two of them are blonde and blue eyed, similar enough looking to be brothers, and both conventionally handsome, you know your friends would be all over them. The third man has shorter dark hair and even at this distance you can see the grey around his temples. He’s handsome and something about him tells you he’s probably very aware of how good he looks. He’s waving his hands around, trying to make some animated point to the blonde guys, as they both laugh and shake their heads. 

The fourth man, the one with the cap, seems to be listening with only half an ear as he tilts the liquid in his glass around the rim. Out of the corner of your eye you try to get a closer look at him. His hair is curling around his ears as well as around his neck, and as he smiles at something his friend says you see a dimple in his cheek, his eyes crinkling at the corners as the smile all but transforms his face into something warm and soft. He’s got a scruffy looking beard over his jaw and chin but a thicker moustache that seems to be trimmed just above his top lip. The cap that’s pulled down securely on his head is well worn and beaten and it seems to be a permanent fixture on his head the way he tugs on it every now and then. You can’t help but wonder if he’s hiding a bald patch under there but his dark curls are thick even when he swipes the cap off his head, smooths them down and pulls it on again. 

As Frankie tugs again on his cap he looks over the bar towards the booth the bachelorette party has occupied but he can’t see her. Quickly he scans the bar and feels heat shoot through him as he meets her eyes through the bottles and shelves. This time he doesn’t duck his head straight away, her eyes hold on to him as she gives him a smile before dropping her own gaze to the drinks menu in her hand, still smiling. He keeps watching her, unable to pull his eyes away, and when she lifts her eyes towards him again he feels his lips pull up in a smile that he can’t even seem to control. This woman is gorgeous and she’s looking at him with a smile so sweet he’s losing his breath. Before he knows what he’s doing he lifts his hand from his glass and gives her a quick wave. 

The movement draws Pope’s attention and he’s immediately looking over Frankie’s shoulder, trying to see who his friend is waving at. Catching sight of her Pope exclaims; 

“Damn, Frankie, she’s cute, go talk to her, man!” 

“Shut the fuck up, Pope, dammit.” Frankie sighs as he sees her look away. The bartender has come to take her order and she starts talking to him. 

“I’m serious, Fish, she’s into you, go talk to her, get her number. If you don’t I wi..ll.” Pope makes a show of standing up from the stool and Frankie grabs his shoulder and pulls him down again while Pope laughs at his friend’s awkward glance back at the woman. Ben and Will have also turned, craning their necks to see what the fuss is about and Ben gives a low whistle as he sees her leaning on the bar. 

“Pope’s right, Fish, go talk to her, she’s hot!” 

“Na, na, I changed my mind,” Pope laughs, slapping Frankie’s shoulder. “Frankie here will run headlong into enemy territory with his balls out, but what he doesn’t have the guts for, is to talk to someone like her.” 

“Just shut up, Pope, seriously,” Frankie grumbles as he downs the last of his drink and pushes it across the counter. 

“I’ll bet anything you don’t have the cojones to go over there and get her number, buddy.” Pope grins, enjoying riling his friend up as a red flush creeps up over his throat. 

Frankie glances over at her again, she’s waiting on her order at the bar. As he looks her eyes flick to him again and when she meets his gaze she stays locked on him for a second before she looks down at the counter, a shy smile creeping across her face. No doubt she noticed how all of them now seem to be focused on her. 

“Ok, Pope, what’ll it be, what do I get if I get her number?” 

“A hundred bucks, I’ll give you a hundred bucks because that’s how certain I am that you don’t have the balls to ask for her number.”

“You’re on.” Frankie says as he slides off the stool, “You’re gonna pay for my first date with her.” 

...

You can tell you’re suddenly the topic of conversation among the friends on the corner and heat is creeping up your cheeks as you feel four pairs of eyes on you. You glance over again, looking for the man with the cap and when your eyes meet him you can’t help but smile again. 

The bartender brings you the pitcher of beer you ordered, no tequila shots, and two baskets of fries. You pay and start grabbing the order and throw a quick glance over at the corner again but this time the man with the cap isn’t there. 

“Hi, sorry, do you maybe wanna hand with that?” 

You suddenly hear a low voice behind you and you turn to see the man with the cap standing in front of you, a shy smile on his face, his hands stuck deep in his jeans pockets. 

“Yeah, sure, that would be great, thanks,” you return his shy smile as he grabs the pitcher and the tower of glasses from you. You take the fries and lead the two of you over to your friends’ booth. They all cheer as you arrive, immediately grabbing the food and drinks. You turn back to the bar, two large jugs of water are waiting for you on the counter and the man follows you back. 

“Thanks for that” you smile at him and he gives you another shy one back. 

“I’m Frankie, Francisco Morales,” he says, his hand seemingly by its own accord shooting up to rub the back of his neck while you give him your name. His smile widens as you lean on the bar counter, not grabbing the water straight away and he mirrors your action, putting his arm on the counter and standing close enough for you to smell his body wash and the warm cotton of his t-shirt that’s stretched tight across his broad shoulders. The dimple is back and you notice how he’s got small bald patches in his scruffy beard that’s dappled with grey in places. 

“So, bachelorette party, huh?” he asks and nods his head towards your friends who are now toasting in beer and howling along to “I want it that way” by The Backstreet Boys on the jukebox.  

“Yeah, I’m the designated “get them all home in one piece” person tonight,” you sigh with a crooked smile at them. “They are a bit too wasted to still be drinking but you know…” you shrug your shoulders and give Frankie a grin, “been there, done that too.” 

“Got the t-shirt,” he smirks, lifting the edge of your jean jacket with his finger tips to show off the “The one where Lizzy marries Steve” t-shirt you’re sporting under it. 

“To add to my collection,” you reply, laughing as you look down at the print. “I think this is the 8th one. Lizzy is the last one to be married. The couple from the first one has already gotten divorced and remarried so we’re getting through them.” 

“Any of them yours?” Frankie asks and you notice how he’s frowning his forehead, his brow knotting as he looks at you as if he’s nervous for the answer. 

“No, none of them mine,” you can’t help but smile, his face is adorable as his expression drops into a shy smile. His dark brown eyes are very expressive, crinkling again at the corners as he steps a little bit closer to you, giving the busboy room to collect the glasses from the bar behind him. The music from the jukebox suddenly turns off as the softer lights of the bar are replaced by harsher bright lights. 

“Closing time!” the bartender calls from behind the bar as your friends boo and jeer, sinking the last of their beers. “I’m taking these fries to go!” you hear Lizzy slur and you cringe inwardly as Frankie glances over at them. 

“So, seeing as I’m running out of time,” Frankie begins, still standing close enough for you to feel the heat coming off of him, “I wanna ask for your number, maybe?”

“You’ve got to earn that privilege, Frankie,” you look up at him. “I don’t usually give my number out to guys I’ve just met at random bars on Saturday nights.” 

“Yeah, no, I get that, probably a smart strategy too,” he falters. “I would’ve bought you a drink first and maybe we could’ve talked a bit more but you know, I didn’t want to not ask anyway.” He scratches at his beard absentmindedly and shoots a quick glance over his shoulder at his friends who are all eagerly still watching the conversation. “Maybe we can catch up here sometime, do you ever come by this place?” he asks. 

“This is my first time here, it’s really on the wrong side of town for me,” you admit, starting to regret not giving him your number but old habits are hard to shake, not giving out your number to random guys being one of them. 

“Oh, ok, I get it.” Frankie looks down and scuffs the toe of his boot on the bar’s skirting board before looking over at his friends again. “I should just go then, get them home too.” 

He starts to move away as you see his dark haired friend make a gesture as if he’s rubbing imaginary money between his thumb and fingers while smiling at the two blonde guys. 

“Did your friend make a bet with you about getting my number?” you ask him, suddenly putting two and two together. 

“Yeah, kinda, it wasn’t serious or anything, he was just, just, kinda pushing me to work up the nerve to come over and talk to you.” Frankie stutters slightly and your heart contracts as his hand shoots up to rub the back of his neck again, his dark curls becoming ever more unruly with each pass of his hand across them. 

You suddenly feel arms wrap around you from behind and a wave of perfume and tequila washes over you. Lizzy is giggling in your ear, tugging you away from Frankie. “Sorry, lover boy,” she squeals, “She’s mine tonight!” 

You shoot Frankie an apologetic look as Lizzy pulls you over to the booth where the exasperated bartender is trying to convince your friends that it’s time to leave. Frankie gives you a small wave before stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning back to his friends. You turn to the tasks of gathering your friends together and calling for an Uber to get you all home safe.  

...

As you leave the bar with the bachelorette party, getting them out the door is like herding cats, you spot Frankie and his friends making their way across the parking lot. Frankie’s got his back to you but you can still make him out, his unruly curls sticking out from under his cap, backlit by the flood lights in the lot. A smile suddenly creeps across your face and you call out to him. 

“Frankie, wait up!” 

He turns as you make your way towards him, and his friends all turn too, immediately breaking out in wide grins. The dark haired one gives Frankie a quick shove as to motion him towards you and Frankie picks up his feet. You meet him halfway across the lot. 

“Give me your phone,” you say and hold out your hand towards him. 

“Why?” he says with a confused look, but he still fumbles in his back pocket to pull out an old iPhone with a cracked screen. 

“Let me win that bet for you,” you grin as he taps in the pass code and hands you the phone. 

Frankie’s confused look changes into a wide grin as you add yourself as a new contact in his phone and hit “save” before handing it back to him. 

“Make sure your friend pays up what he owes you now,” you smile before turning back to your friends who are yelling at you to hurry the fuck up as the Uber you ordered pulls up to the curb.

As you walk back across the lot you suddenly hear Frankie’s fast footsteps approaching from behind. Turning back towards him you stop as he puts his hand on your arm, his calloused fingers are dry and warm against your bare skin, his grip gentle, just resting against you. 

“Does that mean I can call you too?” he asks, his dark eyes barely visible under his cap, but you can see the shyness from before returning. 

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” you smile before reaching up and pressing your lips to the bare patch in his beard, giving him a quick kiss. Behind him you can hear his friends whoop loudly and cheer, someone yells, “Go, Fish!” and when you pull back from Frankie a blush is creeping up his throat, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he grins. You smile again and pull away from him, letting his hand slip down along your arm before his hand gives your fingers a small squeeze and lets you go. Turning back to your friends, who are still yelling at you to get a move on, you hide an even bigger smile. As you quickly make your way over to the waiting Uber you feel butterflies flutter in the pit of your stomach. The light scratch of Frankie’s beard still on your lips and his warm hand imprinted on your arm. 

…

Later that night, or early morning more like, your phone pings as you're brushing your teeth, getting ready for bed. It’s a number that’s not saved in your phone but as you pick it up you have a good feeling about who it might be from. 

“hope i didnt wake you. just wanted to give you my number too so you didnt think i wasnt serious and only did it for the bet. sleep well.”

As you read the message your phone pings again and you tap to the new message.

“sorry, it’s frankie, i forgot to say”

You can practically hear his voice through the message, see his frown as he curses himself for forgetting to sign off with his name in the first message and it makes you smile, thinking of how his brow had knitted together as he first talked to you in the bar, that soft, shy look under the peak of his cap.  

Quickly you save his number as a new contact in your phone and reply to him. 

“Hi Frankie, you didn’t wake me, I’m still up :) Thanks for your number. Did your friend pay up?”

You finish brushing your teeth as you watch the three dots move, indicating that Frankie is typing a reply.

“ye he did, although he’s not convinced you didn’t give me a fake number so i guess i have to show him this to prove it.” 

You smile to yourself as you type, moving towards your bed. 

“I guess I have to keep it clean then.”

Frankie’s reply comes quickly this time. 

“that line alone is going to get me into trouble…” 

You giggle to yourself as you tuck yourself in, holding your phone up as Frankie keeps typing. 

“so i have all my winnings to spend and its only fair that I share them with you. can I maybe take you out someday?” 

“I’d like that, call me tomorrow and we can maybe work something out?”

Frankie’s reply is almost instant. 

“i will, sleep well, hermosa”

“Hermosa?”

“beautiful“

“You’re making me blush… Sleep well, Frankie”

You feel yourself grinning like a fool as you put your phone on your bedside table and close your eyes. Trying to not let your mind run away with you, you squash down an excited little squeal as you burrow yourself into the pillow.

[seven7arts]

From the begging to the end of the road || ARCANE SEASON 2 ACT FINALE

[curiositysavesthecat]

*This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).

[ogmaddoxtamoke]

Everyone knows that Lucifer loves apples, but few know how deep that love goes. I'll give you a hint: VERY.

This'll be the only sticker this week since, you know, Thanksgiving and all that, but I'll be back on my bullsh-- next week. Got a couple pieces in the works that I would love to show you guys when the time arises. Until then, have a happy and safe Thanksgiving!

[des-vanecido]

— En otra vida se nos dió.

(Arcane act 3 Sesión 2 EP 7.

[90s-kid-sad-adult]

you see your power?

[chriseatingmeoutin4k]

MILE HIGH pt 2:

Turbulence

pt 1

authors note—this was going to be longer but tumblr wouldn’t let me put any more text

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

warnings—smut, suggestive, pet names, set on a plane, use of y/n

you were barely awake, kept drifting in and out of sleep. you snuggled into what your were lying on. wait, where were you lying? there was something warm and hardening that your head had just snuggled into. you felt your hair being played with softly, and slowly opening your eyes, you realized what you where on. you were lying on chris’s lap. now much more awake, you looked down to see those familiar plaid pants and a bulge. you quickly sat up, a blush rising in your cheeks. chris looked at you with a devilish smirk. “what happened hon, the turbulence wake you up?” “i- um - i’m sorry” “no need,” he assured with a sultry chuckle. you felt your core dripping with wetness at the scene you just partook in and from the look on his face, he was reflecting your own thoughts. you had to get a minute to yourself to cool down or else you weren’t sure you could get through the rest of the flight next to chris. you peered to see if there was a line for the bathroom. nope, and almost everyone was asleep as well. you shifted to gather your blanket so it was on the seat and you unbuckled to get up to use the bathroom. “y/n, where are you going?” his voice was laced with confusion and a bit of desperation. “i’m going to the bathroom chris. can i get through?” he made no move to rearrange his legs to allow you to pass to the aisle easier. “chris—“ “you can pass through like this, can you not?” he wasn’t going to budge. you sighed, rolled your eyes, and began to shuffle through, your ass literally in chris’s face. suddenly there was a shake in the plane, a fit of turbulence. you couldn’t hold yourself up to keep standing, and you felt strong hands grip your hips. “it’s ok, i got you.” another shake left you falling, but you could’ve sworn you also felt chris’s hand pulling you down too. you plopped onto his lap with a oomph. you quickly went to pull yourself back up, muttering embarrassed apologies, but chris’s hands stayed firm, pushing you into his lap, keeping you there. “chris?” you whispered. “yeah,” he groaned. “what are you doing?” you shifted you body slightly to look at him, really only using the movement as an excuse to gain friction on your now throbbing core and to get a sense of his own desperation. his eyes fluttered closed at the shift, and you felt his cock grow even more under you, now fully erect against your ass. “what does it look like ?” he breathes out. seeing how much you turned him on turned you on, and your urge to get the the bathroom grows by the second. chris brushed his lips along your neck, pausing at the sensitive area under your ear and nipped with his teeth. “c-chris i need to go to the bathroom.”  you make no move to leave this position however, and you feel his fingers pull your chin around to meet his eyes. “need me to help you?” you nod, lost in the icy blues and the way his fingers grazed your skin. he loosened his grip on your hips and allowed you to stand up and hurriedly walk to the bathroom. chris followed right behind, eyes on your ass. you opened the door and rushed in, turning around to see chris closing and lock the door behind you both. 

Taglist

@suyqa

@lvrsturniolo

@emely9274

@goingtojohnkramershouseee

@matts-myloverboy

@k1ng-z3ro

@mattscoatedcock

@chriseatingmeoutin4k

[lnfours]

focal point ☆ character and locations introduction

— hi guys! i came up with an little visual overview of all the characters and locations explained in the ‘focal point’ series. i hope you all enjoy!!

back to series masterlist

meet your main characters:

— lando norris

◦age: 23

◦major: sports journalism - 4th year

◦nickname(s): ‘lan’, ‘landinho’, ‘norris’

◦favorite color: orange

◦favorite song: timeless - the weeknd & playboi carti

◦roommates and best friends with oscar piastri. stubborn, sarcastic and slightly annoying, but also hot and charming as hell. definition of ‘everyone wants him’, but he only has eyes for one person, despite the ‘heartbreaker’ attitude he’s labeled with. protects and loves with his whole soul.

— oscar piastri

◦ age: 22

◦major: business administration - 3rd year

◦nickname(s): ‘osc’, ‘osco’, ‘pastry’

◦favorite color: blue

◦favorite song: skyline - khalid

◦roommates and best friends with lando norris, also best friends with y/n. currently has his eye on someone, but he’s always finding himself stumbling over his words whenever she’s around. big time polite cat ™️ energy and is just the most nonchalant, down to earth person.

— lily zniemer

◦age: 22

◦major: forensic science - 3rd year

◦nickname(s): ‘lils’, ‘lil’, ‘lilypad’

◦favorite color: green

◦favorite song: work song - hozier

◦roommates and best friends with y/n, music and book lover, avid true crime podcast listener, spends her free time cuddled on the couch watching her favorite tv show or reading a book with a cozy blanket. the gentlest, sweetest soul you’ve ever met, and totally isn’t crushing on the cute guy in her chemistry class.

locations:

— britechester university | located in england

— lando and oscar’s campus apartment

— lily and y/n’s campus apartment

[althaiareads]

“That’s still pretty impressive to me though,” you smile at him. “If we had one of those Deep Impact situations, you know, where they have to select the important people to save to keep the human race going? Book editors would not make that cut but I’m pretty sure pilots would be needed.” 

Oh boy, if you only knew what's coming to ya...

The Pilot and his girl - ch. 2

So, I have vague plans for this fic now but the first two chapters are just dabbles, trying to find a way to write a reader insert and to write Frankie Morales. I'll have to think of a good title for the fic as I get the story together, for now it's just a bunch of scribbled ideas in a notebook. I'll update and give more of a summery once it's taken shape in my head I guess? Until then, I hope you enjoy a second date with Frankie and some fluffy flirting with our sweet soft boy.

Edit: making this easier to navigate- Chapter 3

Waking up late the next morning you catch up on the gossip from last night in the bachelorette party chat thread. It’s filling up with groans and promises to never drink again as your friends wake up across the city. You’re feeling fine, you’d only had a couple of cocktails last night, and now you’re poking fun at your friends while Lizzy curses at you for letting her do too many tequila shots. 

Steve’s future wife: “Seriously, you should’ve stopped me, you were supposed to be my guardian last night!” 

“I stopped you from ordering Long Island Teas for the entire club at 1am, your head and your credit card should be very grateful, Lizzy!”

Steve’s future wife: “My head doesn’t feel very grateful right now…”

Your phone suddenly pings with a new message and as you tap out of the party chat you see Frankie’s name on your screen. You can’t help but feel a little jolt of excitement as you pull up his message.

“morning. i was wondering if youd maybe like to get some coffee today, seeing as i didnt get a chance to buy you a drink last night?”

Your mouth pulls up in an inadvertent smile as you see the text, you’d been hoping he’d get in touch soon.

“Morning, yes I’d like that, I definitely need coffee this morning! 

You hit send but instantly regret it, maybe that message sounded like you only wanted coffee and not that you were happy to see him again? You quickly type out a new message. 

“Sorry, I hit send too fast… I meant to say that I definitely need coffee. But I'd also like to get some with you.” 

The second you hit send you see the innuendo and bite your lip, fuck! 

…

Frankie can’t help but chuckle as he sees her message come through. He knows she means coffee but he sees her typing away as the three dots move on his screen and guesses she’s trying to back track from the “get some” innuendo. He waits while she types, still smiling to himself. He’d been nervous about asking her out for coffee so soon but he wanted to give her a chance to get to know him a bit before he asked her out for dinner, less pressure for both of them he figured. When her instant yes came back he’d felt heat flash through his body, he really wanted to see her again and she seemed to feel the same way. 

“Shit, ignore that last message completely, I mean, yes, I’d really like to get some coffee with you this morning, Frankie.”

Frankie chuckled again and typed his reply. 

“no pun intended then?”

“Shut up :)”

And then; 

“Where do you want to meet, and when? I’m free the whole day. My only plan was to recover from last night.” 

Frankie suggests a coffee shop in a part of the city close to downtown. The area is good for weekends and has lots of places to hang out under the trees that line the river that runs through the neighbourhood. She knows the place and agrees to meet there in an hour and Frankie gets in the shower to get ready. For all the flack Pope had given him last night about making him pay up the one hundred dollar bet he’d also seen that Frankie was really into this girl. He’d spent the ride home telling his friend to not worry, that he was a great guy and that this girl would like Francisco Morales if he only gave her a chance. 

“I know it’s a tired old line but just be yourself, Fish. You’re charming when you want to be and good looking, you know the girls always line up for you when we’re out, even with that damn cap shoved down your forehead. She’s into you so just relax and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman.” Pope had slapped his friend on the shoulder before getting out of the truck and now Frankie tries to force himself to feel some of Pope’s confidence as he scrubs himself down in the shower. “Just relax, he tells himself as his stomach flips at the thought of the way her lips had felt against his cheek last night. “You’ve got this, Frankie, you got her number, she replied, she wants to see you again, just take it from there.” 

…

The second you’ve confirmed to Frankie that you’ll meet in an hour you rush out of bed and into the shower. Butterflies are back in your stomach and you’re kinda surprised at the effect this guy is having on your nerves. It’s not like you to get so nervous about a guy you’ve barely spoken to, even if he was cute and broad as a barn door. Something about Frankie’s shy approach, the way his face seemed to soften when he smiled, made your heart melt a bit. But there was definitely something more confident lurking under the surface, you could tell from his teasing replies to your messages. It gave you the feeling that he was probably hiding a more assertive manner under his initial shyness and you couldn’t wait to make him comfortable enough to bring it out. You were looking forward to getting to know him better and so far it didn’t seem like you’d regret your snap decision to give him your number last night. 

The coffee shop Frankie suggested is right on the river and as you’re walking towards it Frankie texts saying that he’s got a table out back next to the water’s edge. You make your way through the building and see him sitting at a table looking snug in a dark green hoodie, the cap still firmly on his head. His unruly curls are poking out around his neck but it looks as if he’s made the effort to contain the ones around his ears, they are tucked in under the edge of the cap, still threatening to escape. He’s sitting relaxed, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed, looking out over the river where two crews are rowing past. As you get closer he seems to spot you from the corner of his eye and his gaze finds yours, his handsome face splitting into a warm smile as he gets up. 

“Hey, good to see you,” he says, stepping forward to drop a kiss on your cheek before stepping back, still smiling. Your butterflies make themselves known as his warm smell washes over you, that same warm cotton smell from the night before, mint from his toothpaste and something that has to be his body wash. His lips are soft as they brush against your skin, a sharp contrast to the light scratch of his beard. He seems to pause for a second against your cheek as his hand lands on your waist and when he pulls back you feel the cool tip of his nose on your skin. 

“Hi, good to see you too,” you smile as you try to squash the butterflies, letting him pull out the chair opposite his at the small table as you sit down. He gets back to his own seat and leans on his forearms on the table, making it shift slightly as it takes his weight. You bite the inside of your lip as you suddenly feel very shy at the way his eyes are focused on yours and he seems to notice the movement, his eyes dropping to your lips as you worry at them. 

“You’re gonna draw blood, hermosa,” he says with a soft voice and you feel his thumb smooth over your bottom lip, making you let go of it. His gesture is gentle and calming and as he drops his hand back to the table you find yourself wishing he’d continued, your face leaning into his hand. His crooked smile makes your own creep back as he captures your fingertips between his own on the table, gently tugging them towards him, as he leans closer, dropping his eyes to your lips again. Your breath catches in the back of your throat as you watch the pink tip of his tongue dart out over his bottom lip as he moves closer. 

“Morning, early birds! Let me guess, some coffee to start off with to wake you up, huh? And then let me take you through our specials today. Ya’ll are gonna love our seasonal pancakes!” 

You all but groan when the server’s chipper voice cuts through the moment you’re having, Frankie immediately pulls away from you and your fingers slips through his as he clenches his jaw before picking up the menu card on his side of the table. The server continues to rattle through the specials and you scan the menu in front of you. 

“Do you wanna start with coffee, maybe?” Frankie asks, ignoring the server’s chatter. 

“Yes, please, that sounds good. I don’t know what I wanna eat yet,” you say and flip the menu over to look at the huge drinks menu on the back. 

“Black coffee for me, thanks,” Frankie says to the server who has finally covered all the specials. “Know what you want, hermosa?” 

“A double shot cappuccino, thanks,” you reply, looking up at the server who takes your orders and walks away with a nod. 

“Rude,” Frankie smirks as he leans forward again, capturing your fingers in his, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His shyness from last night seems to have disappeared in light of your own and his eyes are warm and soft as he gently tugs you forward, his gaze flicking down to your lips and up to your eyes. You feel heat pooling in the pit of your stomach as he gets close enough for you to smell his toothpaste again, his lips pulling up in a small smile as he gently strokes his thumb over your bottom lip. 

The sharp signal of a phone suddenly cuts through the air and Frankie actually drops his head on to his hands and curses in Spanish under his breath before he leans back and pulls the offending item out of his back pocket. 

“I’m about to toss this damn thing in the river,” he grumbles, throwing you an apologetic look. But looking at the screen his eyebrows pull together in a deep frown. 

“I’m really sorry, I have to take this, it’s work but they usually don’t call on a Sunday.” 

Frankie gets up and steps away from the table. You watch him retreat, realising you don’t actually know what he does for a living. You go back to studying the menu and after a couple of minutes Frankie sits down again, a disappointed look on his face. 

“I’m really sorry, but I have to go,” he says, his hand shooting up to the back of his neck in that same gesture from last night, his face looking crestfallen and apologetic. “There’s an emergency at work that I have to deal with, the guy who’s on call this weekend is stuck in traffic behind some big pile up and can’t get to the airfield.” 

“Oh,” you say, disappointment washing over you, feeling your stomach drop, and it must’ve shown on your face because Frankie’s hand shoots forward and grabs yours. 

“Please don’t think I’m trying to get out of our date, I was really looking forward to hanging out with you but,” Frankie’s fingers are rubbing across the back of your hand, his eyebrows knitted together over his worried eyes, “it’s a medical transportation, some transplant organ that I have to pick up from Mount Hope and fly over to General, it can’t wait.”

“Wow, I didn’t even know you’re a pilot. You fly airplanes?” 

“Helicopters,” he replies proudly as he pulls you up from the chair, still holding on to your hand. “I did it in the army for years but since I left I’ve been working at a local airfield, doing different transportation assignments.” His large hand feels like it dwarfs your own with how easily it fits inside the warmth of his and you hold on to him as he walks you across the patio into the coffee shop. “Maybe we can get the coffee to go?” he suggests, “And some pastries too? They do really good little hand pie things here.” He smiles down at you and you feel a bit better about the sudden end to your date, at least it doesn’t seem like he’s running off just to get away from you. 

When you get to the counter Frankie asks for your coffee order to go and pays for a couple of hand pies while you pick them out, cherry for you and Frankie immediately goes for the same one when you point it out. While he’s waiting for the pies he suddenly looks over at you with a quizzical look. 

“What?” you ask, his face suddenly mischievous. 

“Are you afraid of heights, hermosa?” 

“No, but I’ve never been in a helicopter if that’s what you're asking?” 

“Do you wanna go up in one today?” Frankie grins, his eyes definitely looking like he’s about to get you into trouble.

“Can you do that? I mean, are you allowed to take someone up just like that?” 

“You’re my new co-pilot in training now,” he beams, delighted with his idea. “I’ve got to fly from the airfield to Mount Hope, pick up the box, fly over to General and then back to the airfield. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours if you’re up for it?” His smile is infectious and the excitement in his body is palpable as you feel his hand squeeze yours, you can’t refuse him. 

“Sure, I guess I’ll sign up to be your co-pilot, Frankie,” you laugh and he pulls you in under his arm, dropping a kiss on the top of your head as he grabs the bags with coffee and pastries. “You’ll love it, I promise.” 

Frankie guides you out of the coffee shop and shows you to his truck parked across the street, taking you round to the passenger side door and opening it for you like a gentleman. It makes you smile at him as he gives you a hand up the high step and he grins back at you, making your heart flutter at the sight of his eyes lighting up. In the short time you’ve spent with Frankie, his eyes have definitely become your favourite feature, the dark brown irises changing as his smile comes and goes on his face. When he smiles they seem to soften, his eyebrows coming together as the corners crinkle, when he’s nervous or awkward he drops his head and looks up at you from underneath the peak of his cap and his eyes mirror the worry in his head, now they’re really sparkling with mischief and glee as he all but bounces around the front of the truck before pulling himself up into the driver’s seat. 

“Your coffee, hermosa,” he passes the take away mug to you before placing his own in the cup holder. The truck has been sitting in the warm sun and Frankie pulls the hoodie over his head, tossing it in the back before starting up the truck. The white t-shirt underneath does nothing to hide the sheer width of his shoulders as he turns in his seat, hooking his arm round the back of the bench seat as he manoeuvres the truck out from the tight spot at the curb. You try not to stare at how his chest flexes as he twists half way around in the seat, his muscular arm resting right next to your head. You follow the line of it up underneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, it’s ridden up high on his deltoid and you can see the dark smudge of his armpit as he grunts, twisting around again. 

“Admiring the view, cariño?” Frankie chuckles as he catches your eyes on his chest and you feel heat rushing to your face, quickly slapping your hand over your eyes, stifling a giggle. Frankie laughs loudly and pulls your hand from your face, tugging you closer to him across the wide seat. 

“Come here, hermosa, you can look as much as you want,” his chest is rumbling as he laughs but he pulls your hand up to his mouth and presses his lips to the back of it before setting it down on his leg, moving his hand to the gear shift and pulling out into traffic. 

“So, never been in a helicopter?” he asks, glancing over at you. “Ever been up in a smaller plane?”

“No, nothing like that, only regular commercial flights. Is it very different?” You’re slightly nervous about the idea but Frankie’s excitement is infectious, this is clearly something he loves. 

“It’s very different from a commercial flight but I’ll make sure to go easy on you, no loops or flying upside down.” He moves his hand on top of yours as the traffic starts to flow smoothly, lying warm and solid over your own. 

“I’ve never seen a helicopter fly upside down, you can do that?” Your limited knowledge of helicopters makes Frankie break out in a big grin. 

“Only on special occasions,” he glances away from the road for a second and gives you a wink and you roll your eyes as you catch on. 

“Ha. Ha. Very funny, you’re a regular comedian,” you pull out your hand from under his and punch him lightly on his upper arm, but you can’t help but smile as he chuckles and pretends to duck his head to get away from you. 

“A few helicopters can fly upside down but not this one, unfortunately, I’d like to see your face when I do it,” he laughs again and takes your hand back, placing it on his thigh but holding on to it this time. “Really, don’t worry, hermosa, I’ll take us up and down and fly straight as an arrow, no fooling around.”

“At least not in the air.” It slips out before you know it and Frankie immediately snorts loudly and you feel laughter bubbling inside you as he breaks out in a wide grin, shooting you a mischievous look. 

“At least not in the air,” he agrees, looking at the road again but his eyes are wrinkling at the corners as he smiles. “I’m gonna have to keep an eye on you, make sure you’re not touching any of my buttons.” 

“Ok, that one was too obvious,” you giggle as he tries to contain the way he’s chuckling at his own joke. 

“Yeah, I know but I couldn’t help it,” he smiles, tugging at his cap and looking over at you as the truck comes to a stop at a red light. His brown eyes are warm and happy, the sunlight shines into the car from behind him and his unruly hair has escaped from under his cap and is curling around his ears again. You hesitate for a second but the urge is too strong, you reach up and graze across them with your fingertips, feeling the soft strands brush against your skin. Frankie inhales deeply and the smile slips from his face, replaced by something more urgent. He leans in and the rich aroma of the coffee he’s been drinking washes over you. 

“I really want to kiss you,” he mumbles close to your lips, “but not in my truck at a red light, so please, hermosa, do that again when I won’t crash any vehicles we might be in.” He stays close for a beat longer and drops his gaze to your lips before pulling back with a small groan just as the light changes to green. 

You feel like the atmosphere in the truck is about to reach a dangerous boiling point so you try to calm yourself down by sipping on your coffee and reaching for one of the pies, handing the other to Frankie. 

“I feel like I'm tempting fate by eating a cherry pie with one hand while wearing a white t-shirt.” he says as his first bite drips cherry juice down his fingers. “This is so good though,” he catches the trickle down his pinky with his tongue which makes you swallow and quickly look away. 

He’s right, the pie is very tasty and you both fall silent as you try to capture every flaky crumb that falls from the pie as you bite into it. The filling is sweet and tart and gone far too soon. 

“Fuck, I wish we’d bought three each,” you moan as you swallow down the last bite. Frankie is still juggling the last of his as he turns the truck on to a smaller road on the outskirts of the city, steering with one hand and keeping the pie away from his, miraculously still white, t-shirt. 

“Here, have the rest of mine,” he offers, holding out his hand to you. 

“You sure? You’re not one of those people who offer their food and then get offended when I eat half your fries?” 

“No, I’m smarter than that, I always order a large fries when I’m eating with a woman,” he grins. “Just take my pie, I’m gonna need both hands here anyway.” 

“I’m gonna test you on that,” you say as you gratefully take the last bit of pie from him, “this damn pie really is too good.”

“You wanna share my fries, hermosa?” Frankie smirks, the truck now rumbling down a long straight road, air hangars in the distance. “That must mean I’m getting a second date out of this?”

“That still depends on how this helicopter ride goes, you make me airsick I might change my mind.” You scrunch up your nose as the hangers come closer. “I’m actually kinda nervous, I don’t wanna fuck up your assignment by throwing up in your helicopter.”

“Do you usually get carsick or seasick?” Frankie asks. 

“No, not usually.” 

“Then you’ll be fine, that kind of sickness has got something to do with the balance system in your ear so if you don’t get seasick you’ll be fine in a chopper.” He reaches over with his clean hand and squeezes your thigh, giving you a warm smile, “Don’t worry, hermosa, I’ll take care of you.” 

Frankie pulls up next to the hangar and parks the truck, grabbing his hoodie from the back, quickly coming round to the passenger side as he tugs it over his head and gives you a hand down.

“This is the place,” he says and waves in the general direction of the open hangar doors. “I’ll just get the paperwork from my boss and then we’ll be off.” 

With a hand on the small of your back he guides you towards the hangar where you’re both greeted by an older man who introduces himself as Denny, Frankie’s boss, as Frankie explains that he’s taking you with him on the assignment.

“Sorry to commandeer your date, miss,” he says with a friendly smile as he hands Frankie the paperwork and a set of keys. “But I’m sure you’ll enjoy the trip, Frankie is one of my best pilots.” 

You look over at Frankie who’s looking pleased about the praise as he flips through the paperwork Denny handed him. 

“Thanks, boss, I’ll remember those words next time we talk about my pay raise,” he grins and closes the folder. “Come on, cariño, let me show you the chopper and get you strapped in.”

Frankie’s warm hand rests on the small of your back again as he takes you towards one of the helicopters parked outside the hangar. He’s rattling off facts about it and the technical specifications, you’re trying to keep up but most of it means nothing to you, and he soon breaks into a chuckle as he sees your confused face trying to comprehend what he’s talking about. 

“Don’t worry about it, sorry, I get a bit carried away, even the guys in the army would tell me to shut the fuck up when I got too technical.”

“It’s really cool that you fly helicopters for a living but I genuinely have no idea what any of that means,” you smile at him, “I’m just happy you’re happy to let me tag along today.”

“Of course I am! It was my idea after all, I’d feel too shitty about ditching you before I even got you a coffee.” You’re at the chopper and Frankie unlocks it, sliding open the door and helping you up into the passenger seat. He picks up the seat belt but pauses, looking at your torso. 

“You’re gonna be cold in just that t-shirt and jacket,” he says. You’re wearing the same jean jacket you had on last night with a fresh t-shirt underneath and as you watch he tugs his hoodie off again. “Put this on, I’ll run over and grab something from the locker room.” 

You take the hoodie from his outstretched hand, “Thanks, Frankie,” and he gives you a quick smile before turning and jogging back towards the hangar. 

You slip his dark green hoodie over your head after shedding the jacket and tossing it on to one of the seats in the back. The smell of him overwhelms you the second you pull it over your face, still warm from his body. It smells clean, like fresh detergent and something woody and spicy that might be his body wash. You stop for a second to inhale the scent that seems to be inherently his before pulling it all the way down. The hoodie is far too big for you and you have to roll up the sleeves just to have your fingertips showing. 

You’re wiggling into the seat belt, hooking your arms through on either side, when Frankie comes jogging back with black hoodie on. This one is decidedly more well worn, the fabric fraying at the edges around his arms where he’s pushed it up to his elbows. Down by his hip you can see the white of his t-shirt shining through a hole that looks like something burnt through the hoodie. 

“Comfy?” he asks as he steps up into the cockpit on your side, checking your seat belt and clipping you in securely. 

“Yeah, very. Thanks for lending it to me,” you smile up at him. He’s very close suddenly, as he bends down and pulls on the straps, you feel the tension locking your body into the seat. Frankie looks down at you as his hands still on your waist, you’re holding your breath, his eyes seem to be fixing you in place as much as the seat belt and you hear him slowly exhale, almost in a shudder. 

“Remember what I said about not crashing any vehicles?” he asks, his voice dropping into a low whisper, dark and rich. You nod slowly, the hoodie suddenly feels much too warm. “Please remind me about that when we come back here.” He stays locked on you for a few more breaths until he finally pulls away, caressing your waist as he lets his hands slip over you.

As he steps down and walks around the chopper to the pilot’s side you slowly exhale, trying to calm your racing pulse. That’s four times you’ve been close to kissing and the tension is building inside you to the point where you just want to grab his face and pull him down to your lips. Frankie’s presence is both comforting and rousing, his easy smiles make you feel happy and warm, but the tension that builds when he comes close is exhilarating and almost paralysing. 

Frankie swings into the pilot’s seat and straps himself in, starts going through the pre-flight checks and hands you a pair of headphones to put on. He slips a pair over his own ears and soon you hear his voice coming through them as the helicopter's engine roars to life. It’s loud, much louder than you expected, and you’re glad for the headphones protecting your ears. 

“You ready?” Frankie’s voice comes through the headphones with a slight distortion and you give him a nod and a thumbs up and he smiles back. His face shifts into a more serious look as he looks over the instrument panel and readies everything for flight before he pulls back on the stick in front of him and the helicopter slowly rises off the ground. You feel your stomach plummet as the tarmac drops away beneath you, the cockpit of the chopper seeming impossibly small. It makes you feel like you’re sitting on a tiny chair with nothing but sky around you as Frankie makes the helicopter climb higher. You focus on a spot on the floor between your feet to get your nerves under control and only throw quick glimpses out the window as the surrounding buildings fall away and are replaced by blue sky.  

“Hey, you ok?” Frankie’s voice comes through your headphones as his warm hand lands on your leg and you glance up at him. His eyebrows have knitted together and he’s got that sweet worried look again. 

“Yeah, I’m good, I think I just got a bit of vertigo as we took off,” you huff, drawing a deep, slightly shaky breath. 

“We won’t be climbing anymore, I’m just gonna keep us straight and steady to Mount Hope now. Just keep breathing, hermosa.” He rubs your leg a few times and smiles before he grabs the stick with both hands again. You watch him as he checks the instruments, hailing Mount Hope Hospital to let them know his ETA and then corrects the chopper’s course slightly with a small movement of his hand. He’s moving with an easy confidence that makes you relax, he looks so comfortable in the pilot’s seat, so sure in every move he makes, never hesitating as he checks the instruments and manoeuvres the helicopter. This is the most confident and assured you’ve seen him yet. You trust yourself to sit up a bit straighter and start looking around, carefully glancing outside and actually admiring the view. 

“Feeling better?” You look over at Frankie as his voice comes through your headphones again, he’s smiling as you nod and smile back. 

“Everything looks so different from up here, I can’t even pick out any landmarks,” you remark, looking out over the city again. 

“That’s city hall over there,” Frankie points at a large domed building in the distance. “And there’s General Hospital where we’ll drop off the cargo. And there’s the river,” he points at the long watery snake that glints like silver as the sun hits it from above. 

Frankie continues to point out landmarks to you as he pilots the chopper towards the first destination and pretty soon you feel comfortable enough to lean closer to the window and let your gaze drop down below the chopper. Your stomach clenches at first but then you get used to the view and start enjoying yourself and Frankie’s easy company. He seems so happy flying, so in his element, that it’s hard to not get affected by his good mood. The shyness from your first meeting last night is gone and when he looks over at you it’s with bright eyes and a big smile. 

“I love that I’m the first one to show you all this,” he grins as you get braver and turn in your seat to get a better view out the window. “Your very first helicopter ride, it’s a big deal.” 

“I see why you love it so much, it feels addicting, to be able to fly above everything like this.” 

“Yeah, I always knew I wanted to be a helicopter pilot, used to watch the traffic reports on the news, just to get to see how the pilots flew, even when I was just a kid.” He chuckles at the memory. 

“And then you did it in the army you said?” 

“Yeah, I joined up with the intent to train as a helicopter pilot, I was in Delta Force for years before I left the army.” You see his face change into something darker as he seems to fold in on himself a little. “It wasn’t exactly the experience I thought it would be, it…it was maybe…it left me a bit..I don’t know…” he falters and you see the light go out in his eyes as looks down on his hands for a brief second. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, you don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to,” you regret bringing it up as you see how it changes his mood, but Frankie shakes his head, giving you a small crooked smile. 

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just…I wanna tell you about it but not now, it’s maybe something for a date much further in the future, if you still wanna have me around then.” He says the last thing with a look over at you that melts your heart, that soft smile that transforms his face. 

“We’ll see,” you smile back at him, “if you stay true to your word about sharing your fries with me.” 

He chuckles and takes your hand, giving it a quick kiss, before grabbing the stick again.

The radio crackles through your headphones and you hear someone from Mount Hope hail the chopper and Frankie responds, starting to prepare for the descent down onto the landing pad outside the hospital. It takes a few minutes and your stomach flips a few times as Frankie steadily brings the helicopter down towards the ground. 

When you’re on the ground a hospital worker in scrubs and a jacket walks over to the helicopter holding onto what essentially looks like a big cooler with a red cross on it. Frankie quickly unbuckles himself and jumps out to slide the door to the back seat open. The middle aged woman with grey hair grabs his hand as she climbs into the back, giving you a quick nod, while Frankie checks that she’s safely strapped in and gives her a pair of headphones.

Soon you’re up in the air again, this ascent was much easier to handle, and Frankie turns the helicopter around and radios to General Hospital to let them know the ETA of the transport. With a stranger in the back of the chopper, the woman has the cooler on her lap the whole way, your conversation with Frankie is minimal. You keep looking out the window, trying to spot places you know, and at one point Frankie nudges your shoe with his boot and points down at a building ahead of the chopper. “The Outback Bar” is painted in large letters on the roof and he gives you a quick grin as you spot it and smile back at him. 

This trip is longer but time still passes fast and soon Frankie is bringing the helicopter down towards the bigger hospital. This time the landing pad is on the roof of a tall high rise and Frankie’s eyebrows are knitted together in concentration as he parries the side winds and slowly makes the descent. You watch him from the corner of your eye as he gently shifts the stick and works the pedals to correct the position. You can’t help but wonder how different this must be from his experience in the army. You try to imagine doing this while at the same time being under threat of enemy fire, but you can’t even picture it. 

When the helicopter touches down on the landing pad you barely feel it, just a slight sway. The lady in the back immediately unbuckles herself as Frankie gets out and slides open the door. You hear her yell a thank you to him over the roar of the rotor blades before walking with brisk pace towards the medical team waiting for her. Frankie swings himself back into the pilot’s seat and straps himself back in. 

“That’s it, mission accomplished, back to the airfield for us.” he says through the headphones and gives you a bright smile before pulling back on the stick and making you rise into the air again. 

“I feel bad,” Frankie suddenly says. “I just realised I never asked what you work with? I’ve just been going on about helicopters.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you laugh, “My job is nowhere near as exciting as helicopters, if I took you to my office you’d fall asleep in a corner before long,” you smile back at him.

“I doubt it, I’d be stealing snacks in the break room, isn’t that what office work is all about?” he smirks back at you. “What kind of business do you work in?”

 “I work in publishing, with academic books mainly.” 

“Really?” Frankie says, his eyes widening as he looks over at you. “That’s pretty damn impressive though, sounds like a job you need to be really smart to do.”

“I don’t know about smart, often it feels like I mainly baby sit grumpy professors who don’t understand why their thirty year old dissertations can’t be printed unedited as a text book,” you sigh, “my people skills are very often tested to the max.”

“But still, you’ve got a college degree right?” he asks, as you nod he continues, “I went from high school to the army and then on to this. I know nothing about anything except flying choppers.”

“That’s still pretty impressive to me though,” you smile at him. “If we had one of those Deep Impact situations, you know, where they have to select the important people to save to keep the human race going? Book editors would not make that cut but I’m pretty sure pilots would be needed.” 

Frankie chuckles, “I fucking loved that one, with Elijah Wood and Morgan Freeman, right? I liked that the meteor actually hit earth, and they showed the destruction and the panic, most movies build up to it but then disaster is avoided at the last second..” 

“Yeah, I really liked that too, in a messed up kinda way,” you say, ”and how they showed how that kind of event brought out the worst in the human race.”

 “What kind of movies are you into?” Frankie asks as he corrects the chopper and sets a course towards the airfield.

“Uuhm…most of them, I guess? I love any kind of historical drama, makes me feel like I have a time machine. And although I’m not crazy about superhero movies I love all Spider-Man movies, really looooove,” you emphasise the love, pulling out the o while Frankie chuckles. 

“I didn’t take you for a Spider-Man girl but that’s good to know.”

“What about you, what are your favourites?” you ask him. 

“I’m pretty predictable, I love action movies, and superhero movies,” he laughs, “and any good horror movie, especially at home with all the lights out, really scare the shit out of myself.” 

“Oh no, I can’t handle horror movies, Frankie!” you protest. “I get so scared I can’t sleep after them. I saw Gremlins when I was like nine and it scarred me for life, I haven’t watched anything scary since I think.” 

“You never watch horror movies?” Frankie asks, his eyebrows raised, looking shocked. 

“No, never really, I avoid them if I can.” 

“Not even classics like The Shining, Psycho, Halloween?” Frankie’s looking over at you, rattling off horror films you’ve heard of but would never dream of watching.

“No, nope, never ever, absolutely not,” you shake your head firmly, you know exactly where Frankie is going with this. 

“I think I need to plan a movie night for our second date,” Frankie chuckles. 

“That’s one sure fire way of not getting a second date, Frankie,” you warn, crossing your arms and pressing your lips together in a firm line, “absolutely not happening.” 

Frankie giggles and leans over, tugging at your arm, trying to uncross it, “Come on, hermosa, I’ll protect you, keep you safe from all the monsters, I’ll let you hide behind me when you get scared.” 

“Why would I even wanna get scared in the first place?” you protest, his giggles making you smile as he tugs your arm free and pulls it over towards his seat. 

“Because then you can hide yourself in my arms and I can feel like the brave guy protecting you from the imaginary monsters,” Frankie smiles and does that thing where he pulls your hand to his lips for a kiss while his warm brown eyes stay locked on you.

You smile back at him, his lips are warm and soft against your skin, and you wish you were back on the ground already. “I’m happy with you just being the brave helicopter guy who’s great at keeping me calm during flying.” 

“Yeah, really?” he smiles and you recognise the way his eyes shift to something more mischievous, “wanna try something scary up here?” 

“Uhu, what do you have in mind, Frankie?” you ask cautiously, “no crashing any vehicles please.” 

“Just hold on to your seat belt, like this,” he lets go of your hand and motions you to grab on to the straps just below your shoulders.

“Why, Frankie?” you ask nervously. 

“Just hold on,” he grins and you grab hold of the straps, watching him intently. He hails the airfield on the radio and tells Denny you’re almost back but that he’s going to try out something before landing. “We’re just gonna have some fun up here,” he says to his boss while grinning over at you. 

“Frankie….” you plead, but you can’t stop yourself from giggling too as the all clear comes through the radio from Denny. 

“Alright, here we go,” Frankie grins and you suddenly feel your whole world tipping sideways and you all but scream as the chopper suddenly tilts, Frankie pulling hard right on the stick. After a few seconds he straightens up again, only to bank hard left as you squeal, squeezing your eyes shut. Your stomach drops as you feel gravity pull you down, only the seatbelt keeping you in your seat. Next to you Frankie is chuckling happily as he pulls the chopper back up horizontal again. You press your head back hard against your set, trying to catch your breath. 

“You alright, hermosa?” Frankie’s voice comes through your headphones, you can hear his grin and you open your eyes and look over at him. “I fucking hate you, Francisco Morales,” you huff but you can’t hide your smile creeping up. The rush had been exhilarating and Frankie laughs at you. “Wanna do it again?” he asks and when you nod, he looks delighted, “knew you’d like it. Hang on then, cariño.” 

As Frankie puts the chopper through a number of skilled manoeuvres, the world around you tips and tilts until your head is spinning, adrenaline flowing through your system. It’s like being on the world’s best roller coaster and you can’t help giggling and squealing as you’re running out of breath. Until suddenly, out of nowhere, the air sickness hits and you feel nausea crash over you. 

“Frankie,” you cry out, “please stop, please stop.” 

Frankie immediately brings the chopper up to hover steadily and leans over, one hand on the stick, the other on your shoulder. You breathe in and out of your nose and try to control the panic in your chest. 

“Just breathe, hermosa, just look at the horizon and keep breathing.” He rubs his warm palm over your arm, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done so much, I’m so sorry, hermosa.” He keeps rubbing his palm up and down your arm and the warmth from his hand and his calm voice in your headphones brings your breathing under control and the nausea dissipates slowly. Eventually you can look away from the horizon and over at Frankie, he’s still leaning over as far as his seat belt will let him, his eyes worried and guilty looking under the cap. 

“Feeling better?” he asks, moving his hand up from your arm to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over the soft skin. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to make you air sick, cariño.” 

“I’m feeling better now,” you give him a small smile, “I don’t know what happened. I was having fun and then it just hit me all of a sudden.” 

“I think I went a bit overboard on the banking, I should’ve been more careful with you, I’m really sorry.” Frankie’s pained expression tugs at your heart and you reach up and put your hand over his on your cheek. 

“It’s fine, Frankie, I really had fun, it was like being on the best roller coaster. I guess it just got a little bit too much suddenly.” 

Frankie looks a little bit less guilty and gives you one of those warm, soft smiles that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle, his thumb still caressing your cheek.

“I think I’ll get us down again now, get some solid ground under your feet, hermosa.” 

“Sounds like a good idea,” you smile back at him, thankful for his calm way of getting your freak out under control. He leans back into his seat, reluctantly letting go of your cheek, and starts the descent. 

As the helicopter smoothly descends towards the airfield tarmac you see Denny approach from the hangar. Shielding his eyes from the dust whipped up by the rotor blades he waits until Frankie safely puts the aircraft down and turns off the engine, the silence almost deafening after the constant roar in your years. Frankie gets himself out of the pilot’s seat before coming round the chopper to help you out, gently taking the headphones off your head and unclipping your seatbelt. 

“Easy there,” he says, taking your hand and helping you to find your footing. Your legs are surprisingly jelly-like after being in the chopper, a bit like stepping off a boat when the ground still moves under you. “Don’t want you falling over, hermosa,” Frankie tucks his arm around your waist as Denny comes over. 

“Thanks for handling that, Morales,” he says as Frankie hands over the paperwork and the keys to the chopper. “Head on out of here, I’ll finish up, go enjoy your date.” The last thing he says with a smile at you, still safely tucked in with Frankie’s arm around you. 

“Thanks, boss, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he gives Denny a nod and guides you back towards the truck. You’re fine on your feet now but Frankie’s arm feels good around you, so you let your hand slip around his waist and with a little tug Frankie pulls you closer, you catch his smile as you glance up at him. 

As you get back to the truck Frankie walks you over to the passenger side door but doesn’t open it. Instead he moves so that your back is against the side of the truck, with him standing close in front of you. You feel a shiver run through your body as you see the look in his eyes, his brown eyes almost black as he leans closer to you. 

“Remember what I told you to do again, back when we were at the stop light?” he asks, his voice dropping low and dark. 

“Yes,” you breath out, pulse racing so fast you can feel it in your throat. 

You lift your hand and caress your fingers through the unruly dark brown curls poking out around his ear. Frankie inhales and briefly closes his eyes before opening them again as you let your hand slip down his neck, caressing the soft skin behind his ear. You stroke your thumb over his jaw, fitting your thumb against the bare patch. 

Frankie steps in closer, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, slotting them around your face. The pink tip of his tongue pokes out, wetting his bottom lip briefly. 

“Can I finally kiss you now?” he whispers as his eyes flick down to your lips before looking up at you again. 

“Yes, Frankie, please,” you whisper back at him. 

His lips are soft, warm, supple, as he gently presses them against yours, his thumbs caressing your cheeks and his scent fills your nose. You wrap your arms around his waist and pull him closer and he steps in eagerly, pushing you up against the warm metal of the truck. His tongue darts out and runs along your lips, making you open up and taste him willingly. He deepens the kiss, tilting his head to savour more of your mouth as you feel his tongue slide along your own. A small moan escapes you and in response Frankie slides a hand behind your head, tangling his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer. 

You’re bunching up the sides of his black hoodie with how desperately you’re hanging on to him as he licks deeper into your mouth, the gentle kiss quickly turning into something a lot more eager. Frankie’s pressed up against you fully and as he shifts his stance you feel the ridgid thickness between his legs press up against your stomach. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through you and heat pools at the apex of your thighs as Frankie moans into your mouth, shifting his weight again. With a groan he pulls away from your lips, both of you panting, out of breath. 

Frankie drops his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, you can feel his chest rise and fall against yours. 

“You drive me crazy, mi hermosa,” he whispers, “wanted to do that since I first saw you last night.” You smile up at him even though his eyes are still closed. 

“Probably would’ve let you do it last night too, Frankie,” 

“Should’ve asked Pope for a bigger bet,” he grins, opening his eyes and looking down at you. You smile and reach up for his lips, he meets you eagerly and you lose yourself in how soft he feels as lets his tongue slip into your mouth again. 

Chapter 3

[stevesgother]

Little Red Lighthouse - S.H

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings - exes to lovers, second chance romance, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, idiots in love, so much pining, cursing, alcohol & drug use, mental health themes

WC - 1.3k

AN - this was originally gonna be a super long oneshot, but in typical emma fashion I'm making it into another mini series

Divider by the amazing @strangergraphics <3

The Alcott. That was your favorite bar in Hawkins; and it was all you could think about sitting outside this shitty bar in Chicago. A mere few hours from home, and yet entirely too far. Just having finished school; it was an education completely orchestrated by your parents. A college you didn’t want to attend, a degree you had no enthusiasm for.

This was how you seemed to be spending most of your days post-undergrad: sulking and ruminating. Everything you could’ve had, but don’t.

–

“Steve, this is insane. That’s like a 15 foot drop!” 

You say as you peer over the bridge, shivering slightly in just your underclothes. It was only the cusp of Spring, the weather in Indiana hardly what you would consider “warm”.

“Oh c’mon. You said you would!” He barked a laugh.

“I told my mother that if you jumped off a bridge that I would too as a hypothetical.” You deadpan, even though a smile still tugs the corners of your mouth.

He looked lovely, always did. Moles adorning his cheeks, scattering their way down his back and into his boxers where your vision couldn’t reach. He shot you a grin only reserved for you.

“3..2..1 JUMP!”

“Wait!-”

Steve gripped your hand, pulling you down with him into the icy water below the bridge. Unable to decipher if the sinking feeling in your gut was from the rapid fall of his skin on yours. The shock of the bitterly cold water knocked the wind out of you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His smile gleaming at you. Water dripped from his eyelashes, beading on the apples of his cheeks.

 “It’s freezing!” you gasp as you surface. He starts to grip your shoulders in his warm hands, then pauses. A sudden nervousness settled and he was staring. You nervously wondered if there was something else in the water with you both. He never broke his stare. Your best friend for a million lifetimes, beautiful as ever. Looking at you as if you hung the moon just for him.

“I think I'm in love with you.”

–

When Steve finally peeled open his eyes and glanced at the blinking red of the alarm clock it read ‘3:00 PM’. His breath tasted of stale liquor as he slowly rose from his unmade bed. Skull pounding, he blindly reached for the painkillers he had made a habit of keeping on his nightstand, for afternoons like this.

Your old friend group planned a ‘welcome home’ party in anticipation for your return to Hawkins. Where you had gone to college out of state and made a new life for yourself, Steve hadn’t seemed to be able to keep his ahead above the violent current that was the trauma he endured here, in your hometown.

As you rested on the train back to Indiana, walkman in hand, you felt an air of nausea.You had started to regret leaving your car at your parents house 4 years ago; unsure whether the knot you felt in your gut was the result of motion sickness, or the thought of having to face him again.

Admittedly you were excited to see your friends again. You hadn’t come home for Christmas, for Thanksgiving, not even for summer breaks – always opting to stay as far away from that living nightmare as possible. You told yourself little lies. That it wasn’t because Steve Harrington still resided there, and with him, everything you lost. Everything you know you can never get back.

The air in Steve’s office was stiff and smelled of stale coffee. Robin sits in a less than lady-like position across from him in a chair unofficially designated for her. A plaque that reads “Chief” sat crooked between them from where Robin had set down the paper bag containing their lunch.

“You’re going to have to face her at some point, Steve.” Her voice snaps him out of his dissociative state.

“Yeah, I got it.” He sighs irritably, all traces of enthusiasm drained from his tone.

“I’m just saying,” she starts, “it's been 4 years. I’m sure she’s moved on, man. No bad blood.” It’s meant to be reassuring, but she doesn’t understand that that's entirely the problem. He gives her a skeptical stare. “Look, we’ll all be there. You have a ton of buffer people. Just stop by for a few minutes? For me?” The childish pout she gives in an attempt to guilt-trip is enough to push him over the edge.

“Rob- okay, fine. Stop making that face. For an hour. Not a second longer.” He points a finger at her, not unkindly.

–

As your car crunches over the gravel in the parking lot of Robin’s apartment complex, you can’t help but notice it’s already filled with cars despite you being perfectly on time. All the windows you knew belonged to her unit were lit a glowing yellow behind sheer curtains, allowing you glimpses of mingling silhouettes. You wonder briefly if this was intentional, or if in your never-ending brain fog, you managed to jumble the times.

A quick glance around the lot reveals that your friends still have the same cars they did all those years ago. Jonathan’s Ford LTD, Nancy’s Volkswagen Cabrio, and an achingly familiar maroon BMW 733i. Your heart jumps to your throat when you see it, accompanied by a sharp twist of betrayal in your chest as you don’t recall Robin ever mentioning he would be here. You suppose you can’t blame her.

You stop to take several deep breaths at the front door. You can hear the bass of an old, classic tune bumping inside and you try to time your breathing with it. In three, hold three, out three, and repeat. You raise your fist to knock before thinking it silly, so you just give the knob a tentative twist and walk in.

The room erupts in ‘Hey!’’s and ‘There she is!’’s. It’s a relief to realize they don’t hate your guts, even though they’ve always made it clear that they don’t. A nauseating guilt settles over you as you’re reminded of how long you’ve left them with barely any word from you at all– the pain of this town and everything that happened in it just too much to bear; even if they were your best friends.

Back then, talking to them sounded like long, mucousy vines that strangled and trapped. It sounded like the bitter cold and emptiness of your hometown mirrored just beneath your feet. It sounded like watching chunks of flesh be ripped from your boyfriend’s skin. It sounded like his screams for your help and you just couldn’t– you needed time.

Now though, as they wrap you in hugs and you smell the homey scent of your best friends apartment, it feels less like then and more like now. Over Nancy’s shoulder, slightly obscured by her usually wild curls, you catch the eye of the one person not dogpiling you, and fight the grimace threatening to surface. You don’t hate Steve, not by any sense of the word– you just can’t look at his stupid, beautiful face without remembering what you did to him.

When everyone disperses, satisfied with their greetings, you can really take in Steve’s appearance in front of you. The years haven’t been unkind to him, but he looks tired. Day old, maybe two, stubble shadows his usually bright face. He fills out the red sweater and light wash Levi’s he wears nicely. You think he’ll always have that boyish Harrington charm, but he looks more like a man than when you left him.

You walk towards him hesitantly.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Hi.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You drift into that sort of sleep that makes your head hurt. Even as you detach from consciousness, you feel the tempo in your skull driven by the pulse of your fatigue. The void behind your eyelids is painted in dull hues in splotches and smears. 

The residue of stress from your waking hours remains. It coils your muscles and knots under your shoulder blade. Just behind the curtain of sleep, it waits for you. A flight, your family, all that mess. 

You groan as you wake slowly. You shift as the blankets lay heavily over you, almost holding you down as you try to stretch out the stiffness. You arch your back and stop as you feel a firm prodding against your ass. 

You slap your hand down on the arm hooked around your middle. No way. Lloyd squeezes you and draws himself flush until you know exactly what he’s pushing against you. Ew! 

You jar away from him, ripping his arm off as you bounce and sit up in disgust. As you do, the blankets slip off his torso and he grumbles. His naked arm and shoulder bulge.

You huff and clutch your head. “Jesus, Lloyd, what are you doing?” 

“Mmm,” he curls his arm over his head, “shhhhh.” 

“Are you drunk?” You accuses. 

He giggles, “a lil.” 

You roll your eyes and reach for your phone. Your hand hovers over the night table and you frown. It’s gone. 

“Where the hell is my phone?” You hiss. 

“I unno,” he babbles. 

“Mr. Hansen,” you poke him, “where the heck is my phone? It was right here, now--”  

Your eyes skim to his side of the bed and pinpoint on the digital clock. Your heart drops. What the hell? You leap out of bed in a panic and rush around to the table, grabbing the clock as you whine. 

“No, no, it’s-- I missed my flight! Lloyd,” you slam down the clock, “what did you do with my phone?” 

“If you must know, I plugged it in. For you.” He raises a hand groggily, his eyes still closed. “I was being nice.” 

“Nice?” You spin and search around. 

You spot the cord plugged in beside the television. You don’t fail to notice the empty samplers of whiskey either. You storm across the room and pick up your phone. You tap the home button and it stays black. You gnash your teeth and push the power button on the side. The boot screen flashes on. 

“What-- you shut it off! You made me miss my alarm and my trip out. Everything else is booked up!” 

“Family sucks,” he gurgles. “You’re not missing much.” 

“That’s not fair,” you snap. “You don’t know my family, okay? Not everyone came from a cult of spoiled rich kids.” 

“I’m not spoiled,” he argues and stretches, the blankets slipping further down. 

“Oh, because that’s what’s important right now,” your anger spikes and you shake. You aren’t emotional. You do your best to repress everything, for your own good as much as his, but you’re at the end of your rope. After last night and now this, how can you not be enraged? “Ugh, are you naked?” 

“Can’t sleep in clothes. Gotta let it breathe,” he spreads over the bed with a yawn. 

You stand speechless, staring at him, helpless to the flurry of emotions coursing through you. Disgust, rage, disappointment, frustration, every last stitch holding you together snaps. You drop your head and sigh. 

“Fine, I’m just going to go home.” You surrender, “I give up.” 

You shake your head and traipse away. You go into the bathroom and shut the door. Before you resign yourself to the long journey back, you just need a moment. 

You sit on the edge of the tub and stare at the tile. You feel foolish. You don’t know why you came all this way for such an ungrateful brat. He might be your boss, you might need your job, but you deserve better.

Well, you don’t always get what you want, do you? No, it's people like Lloyd and his clan that do.

The handle turns and before you can react, the door swings open slowly. You look up and gasp as you raise your hand to block out Lloyd’s lower half. He shamelessly stands in the doorway, leaning on the frame. 

“Hey, Pixie Puff, it’s okay. How about we drive up to see the family? Me and you? We could make a road trip of it.” 

“Drive? You mean me? You’re still tipsy. Plus, you are not invited,” you snarl and look down. You don’t know how you forgot, or how you managed to sleep in it, but the ring still clings to your finger. You tear it off as you stand. You stomp up to him and shove it into his chest. “It’s all just a joke. Or maybe I’m the joke.” 

“No, Pix, you saved me,” he slurs. “Really. Last night... was amazing. I’ve never seen you like that. Fiery.” He reaches to touch your cheek and you dodge him. You grab his hand instead and put the ring in it. 

“I wasted my time,” you let him go. 

He watches you silently, swaying on his feet as you turn to the sink. You unwrap the sample-sized toothbrush and uncap the mini tube of toothpaste. You try ignore him as he looms in the door. 

“Please don’t leave,” he says. “You can’t Pixie pie. Please,” he staggers forward and you turn your face away before you can see everything. “Look, there’s Christmas brunch today and I can’t go alone.” 

You spit a mouthful into the sink and rinse it away, “well, you’re going to.” 

“No way,” he argues. “Mom’s been blowing up my phone and dad left me a long voicemail. I’m in trouble.” 

“It’s not my problem.” 

“But, but—you're my assistant. I’m your boss.” 

“And I’m not your fiancee.” You counter. 

“I demand it, I—I--” he blusters as he braces the sink. “I’m in trouble, Pix. I’ve been a bad boy.” 

The words make your insides crawl. How can he be so pathetic in both the most revolting and most pitiable way? You've never seen him like this and you never really wanted to. It’s embarrassing. 

“Like I said--” 

“No, no,” he grabs your wrist and you flick foamy paste onto him. “I’m not asking. You do this or—or you’re fired!” 

You stare at him. You weigh the consequences. It might be nice to be free, yet then again, you’ve been applying for jobs since you started working for him and haven’t gotten anything better. Only jobs with lower pay and menial work. 

“You want me to beg? I can beg,” he says. 

“Can you put some pants on?” You tear away from him and grab a towel. You throw it at him and go back to brushing your teeth. 

“Pixie,” he pouts. 

“I want a raise.” 

“Fifty cents.” 

“Fifty-- Five dollars at least. And a Christmas bonus. And vacation days,” you rinse the brush then your mouth. You use the hand towel to dry off. “And I want it in writing.” 

“What? You don’t trust me?” He challenges. 

“You lied to get me here. Then you sabotaged my alarm.” 

“I was helping--” 

“You know what you did.” 

“Christ, Pix, when did you get so mouthy? It’s making my balls hurt.” 

“That’s gross,” you avert your eyes to the ceiling, “cover up. I can’t focus.” 

“Ugh, fine,” he wraps the towel around his waist. “I’m sure you’ve seen one before. Probably not any as big but--” 

“I want to know why you’re doing this.” 

“You met my family, you know they’re a handful,” he crosses his arms and shrugs. His chest bulges and the thick hair brushes against that on his arms. 

“There’s another reason.” 

“No,” he denies unconvincingly. 

“I’m not going to go along with this dumb play if you don’t tell me. Don’t you think I deserve to know? If you keep me ignorant, than how can I be convincing, huh?” 

“You’re smart. Sneaky even,” he unfolds one arm and points at you. “Alright, cards on the table.” He drops his other arms and adjusts the towel around his waist as he grimaces. “That inheritance my sister mentioned. It’s... substantial. And I want it.” 

“Okay, but... wouldn’t that mean someone needs to die?” 

“Nah, the old bat’s been dead forever,” he sneers. “I get it when I get married. Well, a portion of it. Then the rest is all mine once I pop out a mini Lloyd.” 

You squint as you take in his explanation. It still doesn’t make sense. 

“Right, but you’d have to present legal papers. And a child. That’ll be harder to fake.” 

“Yeah, almost impossible.” He agrees and flutters his fingers over his mustache. He stares at you. Intently. 

Heat creeps up your back and across your shoulders. It curls around your nap and crawls up your cheeks. He can’t mean-- 

“Absolutely not,” you yipe. “You really are out of your mind. We are not getting married and I’m definitely not.... not doing that other thing.” 

“It’s just a piece of paper,” he says. 

“Just-- no way. No!” You wave your arms vehemently. “Not in a million years.” 

“Ouch,” he frowns, “you know, that hurts my feelings.” 

“You’re my boss, alright? It's just... deranged.” 

“I can be,” he shrugs. 

“Lloyd! Mr. Hansen,” you have to calm yourself before you continue, “I’m not going to sell myself because you want some trust fund--” 

“I’ll give you a cut,” he says suddenly. “How about it? Then you won’t even need a raise because you’ll be rich.” 

You go quiet. It’s fishy. You know you can’t trust him. He already lied to you a dozen times over. Besides, giving you a fair share means cutting you loose. Is it that much money? 

“How much?” You ask. 

“Ten thousand.” 

“All this for ten thousand? Sure. It’s more. I know it. So you give me at least a million or I’m going to fill up my tank and go home, right now.” 

“A million--” he coughs. “You drive a hard bargain for someone making less than 100k.” 

“And who’s fault is that?” You retort. “I want a million and I want that notarized.” 

“Notarized?” He whines. 

“Fine, can’t lose what I never had--” 

“Fine, fine, you can have it. I’ll get it notarized,” he nears and offers his hand, “but it’s Christmas and I think everything’s closed so... shake on it?” 

“I’m not having a kid. We’re going to a courthouse then I’m getting mine and going.” 

“We can do a surrogate--” 

“No kid.” 

“Adopt--” 

“Don’t push it,” you grab his hand and shake. “One million and I will suffer until the New Year.” 

He grins triumphantly, “you know, Pix, I always appreciated that about you. You always got my back.” 

“Go. You need to sleep off the Jack Daniels,” you retract your hand sharply. 

“And I’ll dream of all that money we’re going to get,” he giggles and rubs his palms together. “We’re going to be rich, baby.” 

“Lay down before I change my mind.” 

“Too late, we shook on it,” he winks and backs up. The towel catches on the rod next to the door and you quickly turn as it slackens. He lets out an oops as it falls off and you avoid looking back. “This show’s for free, baby, don’t worry.” 

“Get out,” you say. “I’m gonna need some coffee if I’m going to deal with you all day.” 

“Grab me some too, pookie? Pweez,” he taunts, “oh, and if they’re serving bacon, I’ll have at least a dozen strips. The grease is good for my hangover and once that hits, I’m gonna be a baby.” 

“That’s great,” you mutter dryly, “coffee and bacon. Now please, give me some space.” 

“It won’t be that bad, Pixie stick. Trust me. You got me.” 

“Not making it better,” you turn to the sink and lean on it. “Please.” 

“Right, okay, I’m going,” he picks up the towel and slowly pulls on the door. You sigh. “I’ll be in bed if you need me.” 

You shake your head. The door clicks and you look at your reflection. Are you really doing this? It feels like you’re selling your soul. You should’ve asked for more. 

You finally find your strength. You go out into the suite and grab your bag. You pull out your sweater and throw it over your head. You ignore Lloyd as he lays on the bed. 

You take your wallet and the room key. You don’t bother with your phone. You might just leave it there for the day because once your mother finds out you missed your flight, you’ll be in for an earful. You already feel rotten enough. 

As you find your way down to the dining hall, your anger returns. He did that on purpose. He spoiled your plans all for his stupid selfish ploy. The payout might be hefty but you’re already regretting this. Still, he as good as backed you into a corner...right? 

You get the coffee, two cups on a tray, and some muffins, and a greedy handful of bacon. You’re not hungry, you just need caffeine. You head back up to the room, basking in the silence of the mostly empty hotel. Everyone else did what you should have and hit the road by now. 

You make a sluggish return. The only thing you have to look forward to is the coffee and you’re sure that hotel fare is not gourmet roast. You balance the tray and slide the card in the lock. You enter the room, roiling in your thoughts. 

You’re too distracted to notice the noise before you get too far. You put the tray down as your ears prick at the dulcet groan. You glance over at Lloyd as something moves beneath the blankets. Is he-- 

“Oh god!” You exclaim and spin on your heel. “Jesus!” 

You race out of the room and slam the door as you enter the hall. You lean against and stifle a scream. What is wrong with him? Well, you know exactly what’s wrong with him. Daddy issues, mommy issues, sister issues, and maybe even uncle issues. He’s entirely corrupt and you just made a deal with him. 

This is going to be a nightmare.