#Divina De Campo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

artificialqueens · 2 years ago

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🏳️‍🌈 Euphoria, 3/10 (Greentia) - Juno

Summary: Veronica enlists the help of a songwriter and some new friends to help make her project a reality.

A/N: Part 3 of Eurovision au, and we’re getting nearer!! Big thanks to everyone who has let me annoy them about this fic, and there is more content on my blog!!

When Veronica woke up the Monday after Pride, her alarm on August Bank Holiday sounding illegal, she found herself with a creeping headache and dry throat, in a bed that wasn’t her own, but one she knew all too well all the same.

Light green bedsheets twisted around her body, the colour clashing with the pinks and oranges of the lesbian pride flag which hung at a jarring angle on the wall opposite the bed, beside the bookcase Joe had painted black, holding a few battered books, some records, and a fluffy monkey in a hat, grinning at her over its cymbals.

Veronica rolled onto her back, but Joe wasn’t there.

She put one arm over her face with a groan. We’re definitely gonna have to talk about this at some point.

Even though Joe was in the flat, making a cup of tea, he said nothing to her, and Veronica had no time to think about this yet again. Her mind buzzed with a single thought: that one of Tia’s songwriters had offered Veronica a space at their studio to record this song today, and she hadn’t even showered yet.

Her previous music had been recorded at home with their phones, but now that she’d been signed, her label had given her a budget to hire a studio. And Tia had lit up when Veronica had told them.

“My friend Baby - that’s what they’re known as, just Baby,” Tia had waved their hands excitedly as they’d told her last week, “they own a recording studio and they said they really want to meet you, want to talk about working with you, if you’re up for it? They’re an amazing songwriter.”

And now, thanks to getting distracted by Joe last night, I’m gonna be late. Kill me now.

Time was money, and she was already wasting it being late, especially as she was paying by the hour to be there. Somehow she got to the studio only ten minutes late, sprinting the last two hundred metres from the Tube station, arriving out of breath and full of nerves.

But when she got in, Baby was an excited whirlwind, adorned with box braids and the kindest smile Veronica had seen. They grasped Veronica’s hand in both of theirs and bounced on their heels. “It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you!”

“What!” Veronica laughed at their response, her face heating up. “What has Tia told you?”

“Only the truth, babe.” Veronica span at their familiar voice, and her heart thumped at the sight of Tia, leaning their shoulder against the wall and sipping from a cup of coffee. They stood upright and opened their arms, and she gave them a brief hug.

“Told you they’d like you!” They whispered before she broke away.

Baby grabbed her arm, spinning her back round to them. “It’s so nice to meet you, come through -“

The recording studio was not what Veronica had imagined. Instead of being a plain, dingy place, Baby’s had a sixties feel to it, from the patterns on the walls, the decor, leather chairs and the mixing deck. The piano was in the corner, and there were guitars there already too, sitting on their stands next to their amps.

Tia immediately went to one of the chairs and sat down, spinning themself and running their hands along the deck.

“I love recording studios,” Tia sighed, “they make me feel like I’m on a spaceship or something.”

“God, me too! It’s the whole … moving your chair around the deck and all the buttons and things,” Veronica moved her hands as if turning the dials.

Baby came in, holding water and glasses, followed by someone Veronica presumed to be Baby’s girlfriend. A tall, blonde woman Veronica vaguely recognised from a Vera Wang advert she’d seen on a billboard, who was clutching a portable coffee in one hand and a Nintendo Switch in the other.

“Hi, I’m Dakota, it’s gorgeous to meet you,” she purred, leaning down and giving Veronica an air kiss on each cheek. “You like it in here? It was my idea to make it look like this. Much better than what it looked like before, so boring and brown.”

Baby sat down at the deck and put their own headphones on, but Dakota just picked up her Switch instead, settling herself into a corner out the way.

“She’s just here to watch us and play Mario Kart.” Baby grinned fondly at her.

Veronica chuckled, picking up her guitar and looping the strap over her head. “Alright. What bit are we recording first?”

It made far more sense now that she was recording with Baby why she was paying for a four-hour slot. Recording on her phone normally didn’t take long, but this was a far more detailed analysis. Baby was meticulous and heard things Veronica seemed to miss. If a note was flat, or early, it was redone, over and over until it was perfect.

Once it was complete, at the end of the day, Baby placed the headphones over her ears and played the finished song all the way through.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes from the start, as she realised she actually liked hearing herself this time, and the effects and the beat that Baby had added in, gave her a floaty feeling in her chest like she was riding a roller coaster. She fought the smile until it was too strong, and the overjoyed laugh wouldn’t stay in her throat.

Baby’s smile was soft as they looked up at her. “D’you like it?”

Veronica’s voice was hoarse, her throat was sore and her fingers numb; but listening to the finished product lifted her heart, warmed her soul.

“It’s - it’s great.” She swallowed. “Thank you.”

“Oh, you’re so welcome Veronica. You know, I was looking for you online earlier, but I couldn’t see any videos for your music, just the fan-made ones - can you send me the links?

“Videos?” Veronica echoed. “What videos?”

Baby’s jaw dropped to the ground. “Hang on. Don’t you have any videos for your singles? Nothing? Oh god - we’re gonna have to hook you up. So this song - is this for your next single? When is your label planning to release? Or is this an album track?”

“It’s a side quest,” Tia said flatly.

“A what?”

“It won’t be an album track,” Veronica started, but Baby carried on through her.

“Oh, okay, well anyway, Veronica, I think you need a really eye-catching video as well for this song you’ve got here. Think about the sorts of things you want for it. You can use the green screen studio here too if you want to play instruments, but think about what you want and if you want bits at certain locations as well.“

But all the way home that evening, she didn’t really know what sorts of things she could do for a video, or where to start. And the deadline to submit her song and video was only six weeks away.

Maybe Joe can help me choose.

But when she got home, her loneliness echoed in the mundane sounds in the flat. The scrape of the front door, the keys on the countertop, the creak of the door to the living room. The buzz of her phone when a message came through, but when she looked, she found she had two to read.

Divina @ 19.02: for a video you should stay within budget, i would prioritise recording and editing costs with the money and do what you’d like with the surroundings, lots of free spaces in London you will prob find something Divina @ 19.03: recording quality is important but natural light saves you lighting costs and natural environment can be a great backdrop. Have fun with it and bring the song to life xx

Her heart sank at the other message.

Joe @ 19.08: out with anubis and the dnd lot will be late dont wait for me x

The lead weight in her gut hung heavier. It’s always the way; he just runs off with his D&D group the day after.

She needed to talk to him. They still hadn’t talked about Veronica’s birthday either. Or that time in June where they’d both come home from work stressed and wound up and it had felt good to help the other unwind -

They had to talk.

Even if Veronica wasn’t sure what to say.

——

“Sorry I’m late,” Veronica flopped down onto the chair in the cafe two days later, putting down the bottle of water and jamming the heels of her hands into her temples with a groan. “Oh, god. Worst Wednesday ever. One of the invoices got messed up and I had to create a whole new order form before I could create it again.”

Dakota slammed her coffee down, staring wide-eyed at her. “You still have an office job?”

“You’ve had two number one singles, babe.” Baby tilted their head, regarding her through a mask of concern. “That’s gonna do you an injury.“

“I’m down to four days, and I need to keep money coming in.”

“It’s not always as fast to change over, Baby.” Tia, sitting beside Veronica, blew bubbles into their Diet Coke through the straw.

Baby made a noise in their throat. “Probably won’t be much longer. Anyway. Video time! What have you been thinking?”

“Oh, God,” Veronica laughed, “lots of thoughts.”

“Spill.” Baby leaned towards her; Dakota mimicked them, leaning so close that Veronica felt like she was back at a teenage sleepover about to tell them her crush.

“So. There’s basically three types of music video, from what I can tell,” Veronica said, holding up four fingers. “One. What I’m calling the band video. Basically just a band playing their instruments, there’s loads of slow motion shots of the band members, hair flicking, the lead singer looking moody - that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, that’s one,” Baby nodded at her. “In the biz we normally call that the performance video. Good if you just want the viewer to see you strumming a guitar and lip synching.”

“Exactly.” Veronica put one finger down. “Second, there’s a story. Crap acting and the occasional wide-angle lens of the singer looking sad.”

Tia snorted and held up their hands. “Yep. Been there, done that.”

"Narrative.” Baby grinned. “Really popular.”

“Then there’s the … I don’t know how to describe this. The weird one. There is no reason for any of what’s happening, it doesn’t make sense with the song, but it looks cool. Sometimes they don’t even have the singer in them. Like, the song is about falling in love but the video is someone walking around the underground.”

Baby laughed. “Yeah, I know what you’re saying. We call them concept videos; you don’t always understand the reason but it’s the artist’s vision. I see a lot more of those now, people never used to like them, but they’re getting more popular.”

“I always wanted to do one of those,” Tia sighed, “but I don’t think I ever did.”

“Which one did you like doing most?” Veronica asked them.

Tia looked up to the ceiling, considering. “I liked the performance ones. They were always great. Normally in a nice car or a boat, or in mansions and old castles. And we used to dress up and strut around.”

“Oh, yeah. I call those the boss bitch ones.” Baby said. “They’re always really fun to record, and you always come away from those feeling really good about yourselves.”

“That’s the only thing I missed about the band. Us all trying to strut around and look sexy.” Tia gave a dry chuckle. “Didn’t work for me.”

“What did Vanity always say about you?” Baby asked them.

“That I had two left feet that she could see, and maybe two more invisible ones,” Tia deadpanned, picking up their straw. “And I guess she had a point.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Veronica shook her head. “Anyway, did I get them all?”

“You missed the animated video, but I don’t think you’d be wanting to go for either of those, would you? Is there one you like most?”

“I’m not sure.” Veronica rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “I’ve got the budget off the label, so I’ll see what I can get for that.”

“They might have some direction they want you to go in, I’d ask them first,” Baby pointed at Veronica’s phone.

She picked it up, dropping Divina a message.

Veronica @ 18.17: What sorts of things does the label want for the video?

When she put her phone down, Baby and Tia were in deep discussion.

“… office, and I’d already told them I had to take some leave. Ugh. I just want to get this wrapped up now.”

“Have you got some dates you’re wanting to get booked in?”

Tia nodded. “It’ll be quite a big chunk of December, Dakota said that was the earliest you had two days at a time available. God, at the rate we’re going though, we’ll only have three songs done!”

Baby’s mouth dropped in feigned outrage, giving them a slap on their forearm. “Is that a hint? Genius comes to those who wait, babe.”

“Are you …” But they both turned to Veronica as if in shock at her interruption, as if they’d forgotten she was there.

“Sorry. But are you doing music at the moment as well?”

Baby looked up at Tia, their face suddenly serious. But Tia nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve decided I have one more album in me.”

“They said that about their first,” Baby grinned.

"Alright, okay,” Tia put their hand to their forehead, chuckling softly at Baby’s remark. “I have at least one more album in me. So, Vee, your video, do you want to brainstorm some ideas?”

Having an industry professional and a fresh-from-retirement singer brainstorming a video with her made it much more methodical. Hiring recording equipment and the studio would be the main expense, but the rest was already at her fingertips.

“I know a few people with cameras,” Baby ticked off their fingers, “and there’s loads of woodland you can record in, and as long as it’s a nice day and we’re facing the right direction, you won’t need artificial lighting.”

All the way home visions of woodland and what her video could look like ran through Veronica’s head like a film reel. Ethereal, dreamlike images of herself dancing in sunlight through trees, something her mum would probably call frolicking and her sister would roll her eyes at and call embarrassing.

When she got back home, she ran to her wardrobe, running her hand along all the dresses she had and picturing herself in them, dancing to her song, being on a screen for millions of people to see.

By the time she’d rounded it down to a shin-length pink dress and a shimmery gold summer dress, it was almost ten.

She wanted to see what Joe thought, but he hadn’t come home yet.

——

"I’m sorry Neil … migraine. Really, really bad.”

She didn’t see Joe until that Friday morning, standing at the open door to her room, tapping his heel against the wooden frame, making what sounded to Veronica like a lot of noise. She waved a hand, but he didn’t take notice.

“No no, it’s fine; my in-tray was already done yesterday so it will just be today’s things …”

“Rodney.” Veronica looked up at Joe as the car horn sounded from outside yet again.

“Yeah, yes, I know Neil … and Kat has access to my emails.”

Another beep. Veronica coughed.

“Sorry, sorry - I’ll feel better on Monday. Hopefully. Thanks. Sorry. Bye."

She hung up the call with a relieved sigh.

"All sorted.”

“Yes!” Joe punched the air while Veronica reached for her shoes. “See, I told you it would be easy to -”

Her phone was buzzing, this time a call from Tia’s number.

“Oh my god, I can’t, I need to -”

“Here.” Joe grabbed the phone and pressed the dial. “Well hello. How are you doing this fine sunny morning?”

“It’s meant to rain in like two hours, are you and Ronnie ready to -”

“Yes, yes we’re on our way.”

“Got everything? Change of outfit? Shoes? Makeup? Wipes? Deodorant?”

“Don’t worry my darling, we have everything on the list you gave us, just have to persuade our Ronnie to get out the door -”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Joe just looked back at the phone. “That’s what she said after Pride too.”

“Joe -”

By the time they got downstairs, threw the two bags into the boot of Kitty’s car, and Kitty’s foot had hit the accelerator pedal, Veronica’s stomach was starting to hurt.

“What if I’m seen?”

“Hmm?” Joe turned away from the window to face her, squashed in the middle with Tia on her left.

"I just don’t want to get in trouble. With Neil.”

“You won’t, my love; he has a duty to trust his employees.”

“Bit nerve-wracking, that’s all.” She sighed. “Tell you what though. I’ve never done it before, I feel dead naughty -”

“What?” The collective shout of the other four, combined with their heads spinning like owls round to face Veronica in the back sent the car into a drift, until Kitty gave a squeak and turned back to face the road, waving an apology at another car she’d come very close to.

“You’ve never just … taken a day?” Ella asked flatly, their jaw on the armrest next to the passenger seat.

“Ronnie, remember when you were leaving the house last month and I told you I had a day off? Well,” Joe patted her hand with a patronising smile, “it wasn’t because I’d booked one, let’s just say that.

"And I told my agent multiple times that I was getting laryngitis when I was really hanging out my arse or on a beach somewhere.”

Kitty waved her hand. “I told mine I thought I had appendicitis because I’d heard Ella mentioning it from some book she was reading, my agent didn’t even think about it, they just took my word, and I was then papped at Notting Hill carnival, with a huge cocktail in my arms, and put in the Metro the next day.”

“Oh my -” Veronica clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing. “So you’ve all done this before?”

“Many, many times babe,” Tia shook their head. “God, how have you never done it!”

Veronica looked back at Joe. Bathed in amber sunlight, he looked positively angelic when he took her hand from her lap, stroked her knuckles.

“He isn’t out looking for you, Rodney, he just expects you to be in bed. Which, as far as he knows, you are. No one is gonna spot you outside. No one will see. They’re all in the office, so they won’t spot you all the way out in Epping Forest.”

Her tongue was robbed of a response, as it often was when he seemed to read her mind like this, but he still raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

“It will all be fine, my love.”

Her stomach, twisting itself into a knot moments ago now settled, the slow ache passing away, because when Joe spoke words like that he seemed to cast a spell with them.

And he didn’t fail today.

They still needed to talk. But not today.

They pulled into a parking space, grabbed the bags from the boot, and follower Kitty and Ella to the agreed spot. Veronica’s eyes were trained on Ella on the way, ten feet ahead of the other three on their walk deeper into the forest.

“What’s Ella Vaday doing here -”

“Oh - she’s really good at creative direction. She coordinated some videos for me when I first went solo.”

“She’s - she’s Glinda! She’s on the West End!” Veronica whispered back, her eyes wide.

Tia shrugged. “Yeah, she is now, but she still does stuff like this now and then, and she is free today, so she said she’d come.”

A whirlwind had brought them to this point in less than twenty-four hours. A hurried message to the group chat from Baby that a last minute cancellation had come up in the studio for this afternoon; Tia finding people to record and a location to take advantage of the warm September sunshine; and Joe’s shift switching to Saturday night instead of Friday. The only thing that had been needed for everything to fall into place was for Veronica to get the Friday off work.

Just the idea of faking a migraine to her boss had been enough for adrenaline to still be running through her now, but arriving at Epping Forest on this perfect morning felt like nature sighing with relief.

Sunshine followed them here, the few clouds bright and blinding white as if dipped in melted silver. A rainbow of leaves, succumbing to autumn, painted their woodland canvas for the day in deep red and umber orange and mustard yellow and pale green, and the blue of the water of the lake they reached sparkled with diamonds left by sunlight.

“Where have you all been?” Baby was there, hugging Tia as they came up to them all. They were flanked by Dakota, yawning and clutching a steaming travel mug, and some others that Veronica hadn’t met, each holding a camera.

“Sminty and Le Fil,” Baby pointed to them each, “probably the most awake people here.”

At their words, Sminty raised her head and gave Baby a look that might have killed them on the spot if their back hadn’t been turned.

“Are we ready to go,” Ella called, “light is looking fab at the moment so I don’t want to chance the weather turning or anything -”

“I just have to change quickly, and then we’re good to go.” Veronica looked around. “Where - where should I change?”

“The changing rooms are right there, love,” Sminty pointed to a spot with thin air, while Le Fil shrieked with laughter and batted her on the arm.

Dakota shrugged, smiling awkwardly. “That tree is quite big there, you might want to change behind it?”

She’d opted for the pink floaty dress, with lots of material to flow behind her. But in her hurry she’d forgotten her shoes, and all her accessories.

Jesus Christ.

So when she came round the tree, announcing herself with a forced jovial “ta-da!" throwing her arms wide as she could, she couldn’t stop warmth creeping up her face. She was in her converse, grey with wear, however absurd it appeared against the pink flowing material of her skirts; and no accessories whatsoever.

But Joe, beaming delightedly. gave a gasp and reached towards her. “You look fantastic, Rodney, an absolute dream.”

“Love that colour on you,” Dakota purred, “you’ll have to tell me where you got that dress - oh god, you look so lovely I could just eat you up.”

“Hey, hey, I saw her first, I’m calling dibs.”

“Maybe she isn’t interested in dibs, Joe, maybe -“

But Tia’s quiet, unfathomable expression drowned out their voices. They were looking at her as if they’d never seen her before, frozen like a statue, until Baby nudged them to say something and they picked up their phone.

“… this lovely place, isn’t it gorgeous!” Joe’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, turning Veronica to the view. “Absolutely wonderful. You’re going to fit right in.”

“Okay, let’s get going,” Ella was setting up the cameras as she spoke, adjusting positions for the movement of the sun. They had to work quickly against their natural backdrop which was changing every minute, every second they delayed.

Veronica realised with a laugh that the video set-up had virtually nothing to do with the song. In fact, by her own ratings, this was going to be number three: a weird one.

“Veronica?” Ella called, approaching her and holding out her hand. “Are we taking any stills for the cover on your phone?”

“Yeah -“ Veronica picked up her phone, but as she was switching on the camera, she spotted a new message from Divina.

Divina @ 9.05: sorry Ronnie been poorly last couple of days. yes the label want someone with you in the video besides Joe to act as a friend/love interest. having someone else in there makes you look more relatable xx

Her breath caught in her throat. “Oh, god.”

“What?” Ella asked.

“They want me to have someone else in the video.” She showed Ella and Joe her phone, and Joe closed his eyes.

“God’s sake. Couldn’t Divina have told you before this morning, Jesus.”

“I only messaged them on Wednesday night, it’s not their fault.”

“Alright,” Ella nodded, putting her hands on her hips. “You’ll need to get someone else to sign in to your video. Once you’ve got that, we can shoot. I think we’ll have to cancel today.”

“Cancel?”

The word fell like a lead weight. Veronica’s mind span at the realisation - she’d lose the day today for filming, she’d lose her slot at the studio, she’d lose the money she’d already paid towards that and to the people here … A frantic course of mental gymnastics later, and she realised that if she didn’t do this today, she’d likely have no budget to give it another try, her blood ran cold at the mere thought -

“I’ll do it.”

The voice came from behind Veronica. She looked over her shoulder at Tia, who shrugged. "I’m not doing much else other than standing around getting in the way.”

“Tia? Are you sure?” Ella raised one eyebrow. “Would it be okay if you were in someone else’s video in a non-singing part given … you know.”

There it was again.But Tia made a noise in their throat.

“As long as people don’t recognise me. Hang on. I’ve still got the cap I think…”

They looked in their bag, pulling out a baseball cap. “Oh, good, I thought I still had this. It’s not mine, it’s Vic’s,” Tia explained, “she left it at my house one time, I said she had to come and get it, and she said she would … and then she didn’t.”

Baby frowned. “You think people aren’t going to recognise you … because you’re wearing a hat?”

“I’m in my casuals, why not?” Tia motioned down to their jeans and tie-dye shirt, looking up at Veronica. “What do you think?”

And truthfully what Veronica thought wasn’t something she could verbalise, but her fireworks were exploding in her chest and hope had sprung again in her mind.

“Sounds good,” Joe said behind them both, “what are we waiting for?”

Working with Ella on a set outside meant painstaking planning. Ella held her phone at so many angles, testing lighting and filters and sound, taking almost twice as long to set up as to film.

But once she was satisfied, filming here was like being lost in some magical world. She encouraged Veronica to do whatever felt right; to dance, spin, to hang from trees and cartwheel. Ella recorded lots of angles, lots of locations, and plenty of plain shots for the green screen later, while Veronica let worry leave her body through her hands and feet into the dirt and grass, let herself become the song.

Making music had always been a magnetic pull, but the music coming alive this blissful way intoxicated her, and quitting her office job for more and more of this sensation had never felt more tempting.

It was Ella who brought her back to Earth, in a scene with Tia. They were meant to be walking towards each other, but Ella had shouted for them to stop so many times the sun was disappearing behind the clouds.

“Cut - alright, okay, you both need to learn how to walk.”

“What?” Both Tia and Veronica said in unison, and then Veronica caught their eye and they both snorted with laughter.

Ella huffed for what felt like the millionth time that morning. “This is serious - you can’t just walk like you normally walk, you have to walk mysteriously.”

Veronica put her hands on her hips. “How in the name of satan’s balls am I meant to do that?”

Ella ignored Tia’s explosion of laughter, slapping their hand to their mouth to quash it, folding her arms. “Just walk like you normally would, but mysteriously.”

She walked back to her spot, and tried again, this time mimicking a creeping motion with her hands and feet that made Tia stop dead in their tracks, their face tensed as they tried not to laugh again.

“Cut - Veronica.”

Imitating Ella’s weary huff, Veronica folded her arms. “Ella.”

She gestured at the sky. “Do you want to be doing this in the rain?”

Veronica let her arms drop to her sides. “Just - okay.” She turned and walked back to her spot. “Tell me how it should be, then.”

“I already said. Mysterious.”

“But what does that even -“

“Ron, just look at me as if you’ve never seen me before, but I’ve got something really sparkly on my face - like a diamond or something - and you want to take it off me.” Tia waved a hand as they spoke. “It’s fine, Ella, we’ll get it.”

Tia was wringing their hands, and Veronica mouthed a sorryat them, but they gave her a small smile, shaking their head.

She fixed her gaze on a spot just above their eyeline, and tried to picture what Tia might have there if they could grow anything. Maybe a unicorn horn, maybe a jewel, maybe another eye. Maybe it wouldn’t even be something growing, but a headpiece, delicately placed on their head with a decorative piece in the centre.

No, that would be annoying. If that was me, I’d be batting it off my head all day.

No, a jewel seemed most likely. And as they came closer to her, she could see them with a sapphire maybe, or topaz, or maybe a brilliant amber with deeper browns and golds at its heart -

“Cut. Better, much better. I think that’s a wrap on this scene. Do you two want to go and sit on the branch now?”

Veronica barely realised she’d moved at all, but apparently she had, and Tia had met her in the middle, tilting their head to the left in what was becoming a familiar movement.

“See?” They murmured, so quietly Ella wouldn’t have heard. “Instant mystery.”

But Veronica wheezed with laughter and made her way past them to the branch of the tree they were both meant to be sitting on next.

For the ending, she and Tia were meant to be filmed from behind, sitting on this low branch and looking at the lake. But all the expertise she had garnered as a kid at climbing trees seemed to have left her body, and she yelled in frustration as she swung from it like a sloth.

Tia chuckled, climbing on easily and tugging her up with them, their arm around the bough to keep steady.

“We’re just going to film the ending, with you two looking at the distance, so just, y'know,” Ella gestured with her hands “do what you’d normally do together.”

Veronica waited for her to move behind them before muttering, “Yeah, because I’m always up in trees with people,” to another snort from Tia.

“You’re nailing this, Vee.”

Their voice was so low. The hand around Veronica’s shoulder was quivering, ever so slightly, and they would not let go of the bough of the tree with their other arm.

“Tia,“ How did you know that would work?”

They bobbed their shoulders. “You pick up a few tricks as you go along.”

“Yeah, but …” Veronica chuckled, “that was pretty specific, Tia.”

Tia opened their mouth and then closed it with a bark of laughter. “You know - yeah.”

They were looking towards the horizon, but blinds had fallen behind their eyes again, lips pressing tightly together and then parting.

“Look,” Veronica began, but the longer she looked at them, the more unsure every word in the dictionary sounded in her head, trying to piece together something that she could say to them.

Eventually, she settled on just one. “Thanks.”

They frowned, turning to her. “For … for teaching you a trick?”

Veronica shook her head with another laugh. “No! For …”

For standing in. For calming me down. For being here. For always being here for some reason -

“… for this.” She gestured in a wide circle, hoping to make some sense. But Tia’s eyes darted between hers, their fingers tightening at her shoulder and their lips pressing tightly together.

“I mean it,” she continued, not sure what was propelling her to speak but needing to fill this expanse, “you’re - you’ve done so much for me, and …”

“You’re, like …”

But Tia gave a quiet laugh, averting their eyes to her shoulder with a bite of their lip - and that bizarre urge Veronica had on the roof came back again -

“Cut, we’re good! Nice one!” Ella shouted from behind them both, brushing her hands when Veronica turned to her. “Back to the studio now?”

When Veronica turned back, Tia was wordlessly sliding off the branch, helping Veronica back down by catching her against their chest, hurriedly letting her go, letting in the chilly wind that was picking up.

”Guess we should -“

”Yeah,” Veronica nodded. “Off to the studio.”

But Tia sat in the passenger seat on the way back, and Veronica didn’t get the chance to find out what she was.

——

It took almost a month for the edit to be completed on her video, but at the start of October, the deadline approaching to apply, Kitty emailed her to say it would be with her the following day.

Divina had breathed a sigh of relief when Veronica had told them. “Oh, thank God. Come to the office tomorrow afternoon and we’ll get the whole thing done and dusted and sent off.”

But when the afternoon crept on, with no email from Kitty, Joe persuaded her to take a detour with him to a park he’d found one stop away from the office.

They walked together, while leaves around them tumbled in clusters from the trees, draping an autumnal carpet around their feet, and the rain fell in a gloriously steady noise on the umbrella and the trees and the river before them.

Joe gave a shiver, and Veronica turned to him.

“Remind me why you brought me out here.”

“Well.” Joe shrugged. “Nice to find a bit of London that isn’t all urban jungle, darling, don’t you think? And anyway. You seemed a little …” he looked up, contemplating his next words. “… tetchy. Yes, a little tetchy.”

“Tetchy?”

But she had to admit, he had a point. Her stomach rumbled from not having had a thing to eat since breakfast; her eyelids were heavy from waking up at three this morning, too excited to fall asleep again.

This video was the final piece of the puzzle for Eurovision, but it was more than that.

It was her own vision. It was art in a form she’d never contemplated. It was her embodiment of her song, it was completely and utterly her, something that she wanted to see on the screen, something that transcended herself and watch the music come out of her, watch herself rising, rising -

The email arrived.

Joe heard the buzz, and turned to her, quirking an eyebrow.

With a hammering heart, Veronica clicked the email, nodding at him.

“Here we go,” she whispered to Joe, and he gave an excited squeak and leaned closer to her.

There it was.

Her video.

Lustrous shimmers danced in her hair and all the frills of the fabric of her dress, drifting like candyfloss clouds in the echoes of her movements. Pastel pink lights filled the screen, letting Veronica bask in an ethereal blur of light. She saw someone with effortless elegance, every step so free and joyful, someone who had exploded into life from a cocoon, who sang a celebration of the world and of her place in it.

Some part of her was aware that Joe’s arm slipped into hers to grasp and rub her hand, but her heart fluttered and her lungs wouldn’t work and she was lost in this idyllic dream …

Then the music ended, the video stopped, bringing her sharply back to reality.

Veronica was back under Joe’s huge black umbrella, and all the while the world had continued to turn, leaves spiralling downwards in brown and red and orange, and the pattering of raindrops around them both clearing her mind, cooling her overheated nerves.

Neither of them spoke.

All Veronica felt was her soul settling back into her body, a hum from Joe, squeezing her fingers.

“Magnificent, isn’t it? What did you think?”

But Veronica didn’t reply. She just kept breathing, words rushing half-formed through her head but vanishing before she could catch them.

“I … are you sure you’re happy you were only in a little bit of it?"

"Of course!” Joe squeezed her hand. “You know I have more of a face for radio, anyway.”

“Oh. We’ll have to get you on there then.”

Joe gave a cackle, throwing his head back.

She turned to him. “What?”

“This is why I love spending time with you, Ronnie, because most people would just simper at me that of course I don’t have a radio face, but your reaction is to want to get me on the radio instead!” He cackled again, and Veronica’s face grew very warm again.

“Sorry. I don’t think I registered-”

“Don’t apologise, it’s hilarious!” He leaned into her, laughter dying, and grinned at her. “Anyway, I loved it. There was the right amount of me and the right amount of you. And Tia looks really different to how they look on their socials, don’t you agree? I hardly recognised them at first.”

She nodded, and with a jolt in her stomach realised that if Joe didn’t recognise them, and he’d seen them close up, then what was to stop them from being incognito with the world?

By the time she’d walked the rest of the way to the office, Divina was waiting in the lobby for her, tapping their foot against the leg of their chair and sighing with a roll of their eyes when she got in.

“You really like to do everything last minute dot com, don’t you?” They stood, leading her back towards their office, from the main reception and through the corridor, through the open plan workstations and to the offices at the back.

It still smelled of fresh paint, even though the walls didn’t seem to have changed colour at all; but while Divina walked briskly through the hallway of the main reception area, Veronica stopped to admire the so-called talent wall. It was by far her favourite part of the office, featuring all the pictures and names and descriptions of the various careers of people who were currently signed to the label, and their achievements.

“I’m not on this wall yet!” She called to Divina. “When is my picture getting put here?”

“When you win Eurovision, Ron,” Divina deadpanned back.

She chuckled to herself, skimming her eyes across the names. Lots of stars from the past and present, familiar names …

Tia Kofi?

“This needs to be submitted before five, Ronnie!”

She had to tear herself away from their blurb on the wall and jog through the office to Divina’s voice, from their cubicle of a room. Painstakingly organised, the wall calendar neatly marked with annotations and every paper in their neat pile, Veronica always felt they were taking a trip to their old headmaster’s office whenever she went to see them.

They were perched at their chair, horn-rimmed glasses pushed up their nose, not looking up and tapping on the keyboard plugged into their laptop.

“Have you got everything ready to submit?”

Veronica nodded. “Yes.”

“You sure? You did the checklist the label made you?”

“Yep - I filled in the form, I got the song cover, the song itself, I’ve got the video, I’ve done everything they asked.” She unfolded the paper for the fiftieth time, running a finger down every question again. “Act, Veronica Green. Names of participants, Veronica Green. Pretty straight forward so far,” she giggled at her own joke.

Divina echoed her laugh, but their foot was tapping against the table leg, Veronica could feel it. “Good.”

“Label, Meridian; song title, Butterfly; song length, two minutes and fifty four seconds -“

“Alright, alright, I don’t need to hear it all.” Divina pulled up their paper copy of the checklist. “Form, done. Song? In each format?”

“Saved on the email.”

“Video?”

“Compressed and ready to send.”

“Art?”

“Everyone’s been credited,” Veronica checked again, “yep, they’re all on there.”

“The endorsement from Meridian? Well,” Divina muttered, opening their folder on their screen, “I’ve got that. Somewhere. That’s the vital part; they won’t submit you without the sponsorship from the label. Ah, here it is. Alright. You just need the email itself now.”

“What,” Veronica put a hand to her chest, “can’t I just say hey, pick me, I can get the Eurovision party started right now?”

A nerve twitched in Divina’s neck.

“I’m joking, I promise.” Veronica raked a hand through her hair. “Okay. How about this. ‘Dear theydies and gentlethem, I wrote a song, please consider me for the queer FA Cup final this year. Love Ronnie.’ And I’ll add some kisses.”

Joe would have laughed. Tia probably would have too. Divina just tilted their head and stared wordlessly at Veronica.

“Okay, fine. I’ll put For your consideration, please find attached my submission for the Eurovision Song Contest 2023 to represent the UK. Kind regards, Veronica Green.”

“That sounds ideal.” Divina unfolded her arms. “You’ve got about an hour before the deadline, I’d recommend getting it done right now.”

Even though she’d checked the attachments of the email to the BBC so many times, she checked them again. And one more time for good measure. They hadn’t changed since this morning: still the song, all the album artwork, and now the video. Everything still worked, everything was still there.

She took a deep breath.

Her finger hovered over the blue Send button on the screen.

Then she pressed it, and breathed out.

It’s done.

It’s done!

Her whole body tingled. Her hands shook slightly and the oxygen in the room didn’t feel like it was quite enough.

I’ve applied for Eurovision. Holy shit!

Pride Challenge Points: 6032

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #euphoria #juno #tia kofi #veronica green #tia x veronica #baby x dakota #baby #dakota schiffer #divina de campo #eurovision au #pop star au #lesbian au #fic challenge

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gifsbysimplysonia · 2 months ago

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Many thanks to @buckets-and-trees for putting this one on my dash.

Something @witchywithwhiskey is SO well versed at is environment building? I don't feel like that's the correct phrase, but I also can't come up with the right one lol. I'm not as good with words as they are :P But the entire opening of this story is so full of vibrant, rich sensory detail that I saw the whole thing play out like the opening credits of one of my beloved Hallmark / Netflix romance movies. Gritty sandy sidewalks, the sound of waves being a soundtrack to the walk, feeling her bathing suit digging into her skin and her thighs chafing (as a fat gal, I know that one well) under her dress. It was all just SO VIVID because the descriptions are so well written and I love being immediately immersed in Brambleberry Cove (how cute is that for a seaside small town name too, btw).

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home.

When I tell y'all I screamed into my pumpkin pillow at these lines because ... I struggle so much with describing emotion, no doubt because I am not good at feeling or processing it myself, right? LOL but this description of feeling safe and comfortable and the revelation that THIS is what coming home feels like...refer back to the GIF cuz omgggggggggggggggggg. So good.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

All of the physical description of Steve is TOP TIER but I love this moment being observed because it's one of those times where I feel like canon Steve comes through in someone's characterization of him. Steve being inherently good at noticing and respecting how shy or nervous people are - especially kids - and knowing how to ease that? Yes. All the yes. That is so Steve Rogers.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last.

This makes me giggle because I, too, would be TERRIFIED of talking to THE Steve Rogers - let alone a Steve Rogers I had grown up with - but my nosy ass would want to know EVERYTHINGGGGG I'd missed with him lol

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all.

THE WAY I WOULD POOF INTO THANOS DUST IF THAT VOICE CALLED ME BY THAT NICKNAME, GOOD LORDT.

Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore.

It's crazy to me lol cuz I am someone who will deny deny deny how I feel to my own detriment. But I'm reading about this person who actually ALREADY KNOWS HOW SHE FEELS from every observation she's had about Steve since she entered Seaside Scoops ... but I guess only subconsciously? But it's so funny to see the juxtaposition of her thoughts and feelings but then her logic coming in and trying to be like, I don't know why I am feeling these feelings. YES YOU DO, MISS, YES YOU DO.

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile.

Having been in this position myself (and going through it again now in Q4 of 2024), I so badly want to hug her because she feels as though she has to hide how she's really doing and really feeling. But oh man, do I get it.

Steve is also still drawing in this 'Verse cuz the Seaside Scoops mascot is a shark Steve drew FOR HER back when she knew him originally and I THINK THAT IS SO PRECIOUS! I kind of want to commission someone to actually draw it now, hmmmmmmm.

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else.

I want to die at how cute he is cuz this Steve still can't take a compliment, still has a memory like a steel trap, and a habit of making people feel special with his thoughtfulness. There's intimacy in someone knowing your order of anything, really ... ice cream, coffee, meal at the corner diner. And it's noticing deets that REALLY resonates with me and makes me melt as a reader *screams into my pumpkin pillow again*

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

*sing song voice* hate thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis lol I don't know why on earth she didn't keep up her promise to stay in touch and stay friends with Steve but it makes me want to step on her stubbed toe >:P I get that "life happens," but as someone who felt like the one always following up with friends when they went off to live another life, I just ... he deserved better.

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun.

It's the continued reference to elements that remind me of the town and the summertime to describe him that I am so enjoying.

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well.

The longing? Is killing me. It's delicious but she KEEPS TALKING HERSELF OUT OF WHAT'S GOING ON which makes me want to again, stomp on her stubbed toe lol

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

"There was no other reason."

Me:

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions.

EW, GURL, EW. Thank you, Bucky, for saving her from that and calling Steve.

The fact Steve is driving her home in his truck and there's reference to the salty sea air as well as the smell of the leathery interior of his truck is once again SO GOOD. I was immediately inside that truck, staring at Steve's profile myself, feeling what I also imagine is a not-so-smooth ride cuz I'm imagining an older truck lol Again, the sensory detail work is top notch.

She is BLITZED and saying all her inside thoughts out loud which at first makes Steve laugh but then when she talks about how he looks different but the same cuz his eyes are the same and the bump in his nose is still there and his lips are soft and full ... oof! The mood SHIFTS. Cuz he's like, yeah nobody else even saw those things BUTTERCUP *swoon* and in her drunkenness, she's all indignant and says well then they never really saw YOU, Steve and I am SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG cuz OMG GURL JUST SAY YOU LOVE HIM ALREADY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But Steve's response made me have to jump up out of my bed and take a lap around the couch cuz

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest.

THIS. IS. A. ROMANCE. MOVIE! I'm TELLING you! It has all the correct beats!

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited.

All of this makes me think, ok we are about to get INTO it but everything takes a TURN. Cuz we find out they already had sex once. I guess it was both their first times and Steve, bless his heart, finished in 3 seconds. Because of that, he asked Bucky if it counted cuz he wasn't sure, and homegirl is PISSED at this revelation for some reason. It's a WILD turn.

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.”

The way I legit sat here clutching my pillow like ... not knowing what to do for a good 30 seconds after reading this. Cuz of course she has to be DRUNK to reveal exactly how she feels about him, right? But that she is so VEHEMENTLY ANGERED by Steve inadvertently almost taking away "credit" or whatever? It's insane! Like, what more do we need to know she is IN LOVE WITH HIM?!?!

But crazily, we don't get into THAT conversation, they continue arguing about their first time lol! He insists she deserved better, she reveals he went down on her and gave her 3 orgasms which ... way to go, sir lol

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again. “You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

The way I expected him to HIT THE DAMN BRAKES and them to go off a cliff at this point because THAT IS THE REACTION THIS CONFESSION DESERVES!

Instead, he tells her he thinks about her too so she undoes her seatbelt and almost makes him crash lol but he pulls over then REFUSES to give into the gorgeous woman literally BEGGING HIM FOR JUST THE TIP because ... Steve Rogers will not do that with someone who is drunk which is SO GEE DEE STEVE ROGERS it makes me wanna hug him and then kick him in the shins lol

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected.

Nothing like when a kink comes out of NOWHERE to slap me in the face. LORDT.

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch. When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

Damn him for making nobility so hawt but also vocalizing how much he actually WOULD LIKE TO BE PHYSICAL WITH HER cuz straight up rejection could hurt if he didn't add that in.

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you.

That whole section is just deliciously written.

What follows and I will not quote because y'all NEED TO GO READ IT FOR YOURSELVES is SUCH a ride. Because Steve won't pursue anything physical but he tells her, he holds no qualms about her pursuing her own pleasure...while in his lap...WITH HIS HAND AROUND HER THROAT.

THENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN THEN THENNNNNNNNNNNNNNN he starts dirty talking and CHEESE AND RICE, Y'ALL! Better have your own pillow or sound absorbing something to use when reading this section cuz it is soooooooooooooooooooooooo

Cuz then SHE also starts voicing FILTHY thoughts and the give and take between the two is so incredibly fire. *fans self* I was literally sweating.

Eventually things wrap up and gentleman that Steve is, he takes her back to her rental and hangs out to ensure she gets in bed ok.

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.” For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. “Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself.

THIS IS A ROMANCE MOVIE, YOU GUYS, I'M TELLING YOUUUUUUU. The way it so vividly plays in my mind.

I know not to be that reader that demands more or anything like that, but in the A/N it was expressed that this was an idea that has been with the author for a while and they just don't know if they will ever get to flesh it out completely. But I feel like we have 2 really full acts here ALREADY so there only needs to be one more ... it's such a rich setting, Steve is such a fully developed character already, and their relationship and this being second chance romance (which I am SO obsessed with right now) ... it's just something I REALLY REALLY enjoyed. Beautifully done, and actually because the almost sex is as hot as it is, it's actually a movie that has to be done for PASSIONFLIX so we don't get fade to black lol

@witchywithwhiskey this is a masterpiece and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for writing and sharing. As someone trying to write my own second chance romance, I feel like a lot of this is a master lesson in how to do it WELL. And of course thanks again to Aspen for putting it on my dash to begin with. It's one I know I'm going to revisit often (and have a few times already).

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away.

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk.

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in.

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on.

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away.

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway.

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure.

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit.

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove.

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders.

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice.

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with.

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become.

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized.

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life.

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down.

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore.

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears.

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee.

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat.

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger.

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans.

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone.

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing.

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore.

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time.

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it.

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions.

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder.

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes.

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line.

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye.

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well.

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs.

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup.

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove.

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve.

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk.

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists.

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor.

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.”

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life.

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you.

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.”

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life.

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town.

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet.

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark.

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest.

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?”

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.”

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.”

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window.

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it.

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans.

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his.

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.”

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper.

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument.

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together.

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together.

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer.

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat.

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans.

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning.

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone.

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname.

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself.

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths.

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.”

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap.

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.”

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near.

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.”

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face.

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand.

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself.

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.”

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine.

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body.

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door.

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus.

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession.

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself.

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

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