#Third floor on the West Side | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 10 months ago

Text

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy - G.S.

Synopsis. He knows that you would be one of his favorite stories from his travels. And you know that you want nothing more than to stay by his side. After meeting an alluring cowboy at Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon, both of you are sure of one thing - this must be fate.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, wild west! AU, cowboy! Satoru, mayor’s daughter! Reader, Satoru is SO DOWN BAD, angst, kinda slowburn, friends-to-lovers, bartender! Nanami, cunnilingus, oral sex (female + male receiving), unprotected sex, gun violence, pet names (m’lady, my love, + others), tumbleweed bandits, reader and Satoru are both going through stuff, Gege cameo, swearing, author’s daddy issues come out.

Word count. 12.1k (I’m scared)

A/N. You know how hard it was to make this all cowboy-y. Anyway that’s off the bucket list.

Art by @_3aem on X.

“So, you itchin’ for a beating from me or yer’ wife?”

Glowering down at the drunk old pervert as he waddled away in fear, you sigh as you dust down your heavy skirts. Typical. The sun beats down on your face as you look up at that familiar faded banner.

Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon

The only bar in your little town of Rustcliffe, and by default the only one around for miles. You hated this place - not the saloon, no, the handsome bartender there was always a sweetheart. But at some point, the comfort of your quaint old town had become too comfortable.

But that’s a story for another time. Right now, you were here to drag your father back home - per usual.

Rolling your eyes at the cacophony of drunken voices carrying from inside, you step through the dust-bitten swinging doors.

What hits you first is the stench of cheap alcohol, and then the inebriated camaraderie of the men around you. In the dim lighting of the saloon, you squeeze through the crowded tables and make your way to the bar.

Not a hair out of place, as usual, Nanami lights up when he spots you. “Well, it’s been a while. Here for the mayor again?” he speaks over the boisterous laughs around you.

You flash him a smile, “Yeah, you know my father. Fraternizin’ with the voters and all that.” you wave off your father’s excuse to come down here.

“Certainly takes his job very seriously.” Nanami chuckles, “You’ll find him over by the window, in the back.” he points.

Tipping your head in thanks, you walk the treacherous track to take your animated father home. When you come in view of his table, you find that he wasn’t alone. Damn, it was always harder to convince him to go when with other people.

You know your father has spotted you by his lively laugh and gleeful shouts, “Ah, my daughter! My beautiful daughter! Whatcha doin’ here? Come come! There’s someone I wan’ introduce you to.”

A smile slips out unintentionally at his almost-endearing pride. You mentally prepare yourself to say some awkward hellos to some of your father’s old drinking buddies before dragging him home.

Upon reaching your father, he immediately pulls you into a drunken embrace, wrapping his slightly rocky arm around your shoulders. “This is the daughter I was telling ya about! Prettiest girl in town! Hell, maybe even the country, knowin’ ma girl.” he prattles.

In his jovial state, he abruptly turns to face whoever he was drinking with, unsteady on his two feet. Probably another old geezer, you assume not taking your eyes off your father until you could make sure he won’t collapse on the bar floor for the third time this month.

Finally, you look up.

Your eyes meet blue.

Blue, blue summer skies.

To Satoru, you were the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen. As soon as he caught a glimpse of you menacingly threatening that creep outside through the window, every word the mayor said went in one ear and he couldn’t even remember if it went out the other. Too entranced.

And when he introduced you as his daughter? Shit, it might just be fate.

“C’mon now boy! Cat got yer’ tongue? What happened to that sharp mouth of yours?”

The booming voice of your father snaps Satoru out of his captivation. Damn, he must’ve been staring for too long.

Mentally praying you weren’t spooked by his speechlessness, he finally speaks, voice slightly shaky at your presence, “Ah- Good day m’lady. Apologies for my impoliteness, the name’s Satoru Gojo.” he tips his crisp white hat. Gently grasping your hand in his, he places a delicate kiss, looking up at you as he awaits your response.

You gaze, slightly awe-struck, at his ethereally beautiful white locks and the impish grin from where he held your hand. His lips were so soft.

“Oh!” you startle at the clap of your father’s hand on your shoulder. Shit, you were definitely staring too long. Rushing to introduce yourself, you quickly interject a “Nice to meet you, Satoru” before your father starts leading the conversation once more.

“Satoru here is a traveler, arrived jus’ today! Told him people like us could never, I mean imagine, right?” he slurs.

Your ears perk up at this piece of information, “Oh? Are you really a traveler, Satoru? How admirable.” you gush, previous bashfulness forgotten. Was that…a blush spreading across his face? Couldn’t be - your town's whiskey was known to give people rosy cheeks on occasion.

“Thank you, m’lady. It’s nothing special really, jus’ staying here a while.” he barely gets the words out before you father bellows a tangent - “Don’ be shy, boy! How wondrous traveling is, kids these days could use some toughening up!”

Both of you rush to catch your father as he sways with a passion seen only during election rallies. It takes the two of you to steady the man. As he continues babbling half-lucidly, you cock your head sweetly at Satoru, “Help me take him outside?”

Satoru thinks his knees might give out then and there.

The air is chilly by the time the three of you step outside, sun making its way below the horizon. Despite your father’s protests that he can ride home on his own, he knocks out as soon as Satoru gracefully mounts him on his horse. Carefully saddling behind him, you try to make sure your father doesn’t fall off of Satoru’s beautiful white Quarter horse.

“You really don’t have to escort us home, Satoru. My ol’ man wouldn’t even feel it if he fell, I swear.” you insist as Satoru holds onto the reins from the ground, feeling bad for bothering him.

“It’s no trouble. After all, Gege seems to like him very much, hm?” Satoru remarks as he turns to his stallion, who attempts to bite him in response, “Can’t say the same for myself.”

“Hmm, how can I be sure yer’ not a serial killer?” you tease, reveling in the sharp laugh it draws from him.

“You’ll jus’ have to take a chance on me, m’lady.” he hums, eyes sparkling with mirth. There’s a lull in the conversation as Satoru pulls on the reins to start walking you down the road, the rhythmic clip-clop! of the horse filling the still air.

“So you travel?”

“This is a nice town.”

Both of you speak at once, anxious to fill the silence, only to sputter self-consciously.

“You can-”

“No no, it’s only customary for a lady to go first.” he hums, looking up at you.

“Tell me stories of your travels.” you breathe out, eager for any crumb of escape from your little town.

As you made your way home to the sprawling family ranch, the night adorned itself with twinkling stars that matched the mischievous glint in Satoru’s eyes as he told you bizarre tales from his life on the road.

“IN MY DEFENSE, it was dark an’ that tumbleweed was shaped suspiciously like a lowly bandit. Hey- don’t laugh- it was a very heated standoff!” Satoru exclaims animatedly as you cackle.

“Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that, cowboy. Even bandits woulda run away from your clownery.” delighted at the way the moonlight illuminates the blush that tinges his ears.

Making a fool of himself, Satoru’s stories have you laughing until your cheeks hurt, wishing you could experience them too. You almost forget about your father’s deafening snores and the bite of the wind.

But Satoru does not. Brows furrowing as he catches your slight shiver, he mentally berates himself for forgetting his manners. How dare he let a lady suffer the cold while he still had his fuckin’ coat! What a sorry excuse for a cowboy, this is worse than that time he accidentally lassoed a rattlesnake.

Hastily shrugging his coat off, he passes it to you with a sheepish smile on his face.

Face heating up against the cold draft, you breathe in the smell of pine, amber, and something so Satoru. Clearly not as affected as you are, Satoru launches back into his stories.

If Satoru thought his knees were going to give out before then he knows they’re about to now. He aims to keep his eyes steadfast on the road as he recalls his endeavors, because he’s aware that even one glance at you all wrapped up in his coat wouldn’t be too good for him.

Making out the warm lights in the distance, his heart falls as he realizes his time with you is drawing to an end. You seem to share similar sentiments, as you sigh silently.

Once again, a silence falls upon you two (well, three if your slumbering father counted) - but this time, it was serene. You could almost drift to sleep if it wasn’t for your mother’s frantic calls for you from the front porch.

“Oh, darlin’, I was so worried! I didn’t think it would be so late out!” she frets as Satoru helps you get down from his horse. Hands on your waist searing into your skin.

Clearly awoken due to the commotion, your dad stumbles his way down and towards your red brick villa.

“Ah, honey! I’m home…somehow…you know, I met the most interesting fella Something-toru. A wanderer, real interesting.” turning comically to Satoru, he exclaims in delight “Something-toru! How didya get ‘ere?”

Stifling his laughs, Satoru backs away, claiming he had to leave before your father roped him into more rounds of drinks. Which clearly didn’t work because your mother approaches him, “Stay, Satoru, stay! Can’t have you sleepin’ underneath some tree when you escorted our darling daughter all the way out here.”

Any refusals are immediately blocked out by your very inebriated father yelling out in agreement, claiming he wanted to listen to more of Satoru’s “funny lil’ stories”. Your parents head inside - well, more like your mother heads inside with your father in tow - having taken his speechlessness for agreement.

As you follow, you turn to Satoru, a strange part of you gleeful at the fact you won’t have to part with him for now. “We’ve got an extra room, and it’s got yer’ name on it. The stablehand will stall Gege, c’mon, it’ll be a lot better than the ground.” you grin.

“Hey! The ground can be very comfortable.” Satoru declares defensively, yet follows you inside anyway.

It’s only rushed goodbyes and promises to talk tomorrow morning as the housemaids fuss around Satoru. “Goodnight m’lady.” he’d winked as your head housekeeper clutched her pearls at his dirty boots on her recently polished hardwood floors.

That night, as you lay in your childhood bed, you realize that you still have Satoru’s coat on. Whether from his coat or something else entirely that you did not want to explore, you felt so warm inside.

---

Morning dawns with the symphony of the Western meadowlark that nudges you gently awake - usually. Today, it’s abruptly shattered as the door bursts open and someone barges into your room. Judging by the thud of hefty boots, you knew very well who it was.

“Rise n’ shine, m’lady!” Satoru’s voice - way too cheerful for six in the morning - chirps out.

It’s been a few days since Satoru has been staying with you. Now more a friend than a guest, you expect he’s come to wake you up for a morning ride with Gege, watching the sun rise as you exchange silly banter. But it’s so early…

“What do you want, Something-toru.” you grumble out from in-between your comfy covers. You secretly delight at his whines of “How dare you not remember my name, I even told you about the rattlesnake lasso!”

The warmth of your bed and the melody of Satoru’s voice has you sluggishly falling back asleep - that’s before he promptly sits on your bed. The force of it bouncing you both, making you sit up with a laugh.

Satoru was on your bed.

Satoru was on your bed. Shit, after what your father told him this morning, he wouldn’t blame you if you kicked him out with a punch to his pretty nose right this second. Mentally slapping himself a million times over, he hurriedly gets out the reason he was sent in to wake you up in the first place, “Ah- Um, the mayor is meeting with…someone important, wanted you to come down and meet him. Well, if tha’s all then I’ll be going, Gege won’t brush himself, sadly.”

And before you could get another word out, he’s swiftly out the door.

Satoru was on your bed. Your cheeks slightly heat up as you realize you didn’t mind?

His words ring in your ears as you get ready for the day - if it was someone important, then you might as well dress to impress. Impress someone else too. Shaking off these strange thoughts from your mind, you make your way downstairs, nose wrinkling at the smell of tobacco that greets you.

You’ve always hated the stench of the overpriced tobacco your father brings out to impress guests. “There she is! My daughter!” your father smiles, beckoning you over. “There’s someone who’s here to see you.”

Grimacing at the cloud of smoke, you take a seat on the plush sofa beside your father. He gestures at the man seated in front of him, “This here is Naoya.”

Despite his sharply handsome features, you shift uncomfortably at the way he watches you like a predator appraising his prey, eyes following your every movement. Apparently approving of what he saw, his lips curl into a smirk, “Your future husband.” he says saccharinely sweet.

What the fuck?

“Father?” you panickedly turn to him for answers, voice strained at your attempt to keep it even. But your father merely guffaws out a laugh, “Well well, nothing confirmed just yet. But you know with the way things are going with the re-election, might as well get to know a suitor and...” his voice trails off as he takes another puff of his cigar.

“My apologies sir, I refuse.” you drone out, looking straight at Naoya. You don’t miss the way his smirk grows leeringly as he mutters “You don’t have too much of a say in this matter, sweetcheeks.” The audacity.

Apparently your father doesn’t hear, a more grave expression taking over his face, “Now I’ve talked with Naoya, you’re of marriageable age. And as young as I feel, I won’t be around forever. You need someone to take care of you, dear. We’ve talked about this.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you abruptly stand up, disturbing the smoke around you. “I can take care of myself.” you spit out venomously, storming your way to the heavy front door in an attempt to run away from this situation.

In the dim sunlight filtering through the curtains, Naoya watches in amusement as you stomp out of the room. Hilarious, the feisty ones were always the best.

Over the mayor’s ramble of apologies, he grins “No don’t worry about that. She’ll be mine either way.”

The heavy wooden door creaks in protest as you slam it shut, echoing your frustration. The brisk air is a temporary relief from the suffocating atmosphere inside.

“Talked about this” your ass. Every conversation - if you can even call them that - was a heated warning about being married off before you end up a spinster. You couldn’t care less about ending up alone if it didn’t mean living life with a man that talked to you like that.

Your thoughts block out the crunch of the gravel beneath your boots as your feet subconsciously lead you to the stables, where you used to play hide-and-seek as a kid. More recently, though, it has become an escape from conversations like these.

Approaching its familiar wooden doors, you catch a glimpse of Satoru, back turned and meticulously grooming Gege.

Sensing your presence, he turns with an easy smile that quickly fades as he notices the deep furrow of your brows. “Hey there, m’lady. Everything alrigh’?” cerulean eyes flit across your face worriedly.

“Oh yeah, everything’s great. Just got introduced to my absolute asshat of a future husband.” as if Satoru’s concerned expression makes something in you snap, the words tumble out along with your tears.

“I don’t even- The way he looked at me- Can you even believe?”

Satoru was about to rip apart whoever this load of horse manure was that made tears streak down your pretty face. Throwing his brush down - which Gege didn’t quite appreciate - he quickly envelopes you in his arms, letting you muffle your sobs.

“Hey hey. It’ll be alright, we’ll work something out. I promise, m’lady.” he consoles.

Eventually, as your cries die down, you look up to see the rising sun casting a soft glow on Satoru’s features, illuminating the sincerity in his gaze.

The determined glint in his eyes emboldens you, “Yer’ right, I will not be forced into a marriage, especially with someone like Naoya. I’m not anyone’s property.”

A subtle warmth is present in Satoru’s gaze as he utters, “Tha’s my girl.” before reeling back and backtracking immediately, “Ah! I mean- good for you m’lady. Naoya ain’t the one. Anyway, tell me about this ‘asshat’.”

You raise a brow teasingly at his rapid change of demeanor, before plopping down on the hay, launching into your first impression of Naoya and why the rumors downtown of him making babies cry were probably true.

The sun shines high in the sky as you lay there in peaceful silence, only to be broken by the doubt weighing heavy on your mind. “I’m scared.” you admit.

Satoru turns from his place beside you from the hay, “It’s alright, you got Gege and myself beside you. If Naoya ain’t the one then he ain’t the one.”

Your eyes meet his twinkling gaze, “Yeah, he’s not the one.”

The air grows charged with something unspoken as the silence stretches out. Satoru can feel the tips of his ears burning at your words - stop it Satoru, she didn’t mean anything by it. As always, he retreats into humor to break the crackling silence.

“I’d help you hide the body, y’know. Then you can have a shotgun wedding with whoever you want to share your days with.”

“Oh yeah? What if he turns out just like that asshat?” you challenge.

“Well, if it doesn’t work out, you can always run away with me. Fightin’ tumbleweeds together.” Satoru makes light of the situation, in an attempt to etch that beautiful smile on your face once more. It works, as you throw your head back and laugh.

“Yeah, I’d love that.” you get out in-between giggles.

If someone looked at you like Satoru did, you probably wouldn’t mind marrying them. A voice whispers in the back of your mind, sending your brows furrowing once again.

Meanwhile, Satoru finally had a name for your future not-husband - Naoya.

Urgently getting up and removing the hay stuck to your clothes once you hear your housemaids calling for you, you leave Satoru with a grateful smile that had him swooning out loud immediately after the stable door shut - to the very visible judgment of Gege.

It felt like a knife in his chest when the mayor tittered secretly to him about your future husband this morning, thoughts of you getting married plaguing his mind all morning. Well, if you were happy then it’s fine, isn’t it?

He was halfway through imagining you in a beautiful dress of white when you’d arrived with a cloudy expression covering your gorgeous features. If Satoru had thought hearing about your fiancé was like being stabbed, then the despair on your face made him feel like he was completely cleaved in half.

You deserve someone that deserves you. Probably not him. Certainly not Naoya.

Walking back to the house to fetch his riding gloves, he’s lost in the thoughts of standing off against a faceless man calling himself your husband when he bumps into somebody.

“My apolog- Asshat?” Satoru blurts out at the man testily raising a brow at him.

“Excuse you, barn boy?” he fumes, at the nickname that slips by. Ah, he’s done it now. Lips tweaking into a forced smile, Satoru grits out, “Ah, apologies, sir. Cowboy tendencies.”

The air is tense as Naoya mutters, “Keep those to yourself.” He moves to walk past Satoru, before stopping close enough to utter words meant for only him to hear, “And stay away from my future bride. I saw the hay on her skirt, yer’ insane to think you’d have a chance, barn boy. Go back to wanderin’ around.”

Satoru stands rooted to the spot as Naoya walks off, too many emotions he can’t name whirling inside him. That morning, he stalks off for his longest ride since arriving at Rustcliffe - not coming back with Gege until well after midnight.

---

To Satoru, long rides always mean interesting dreams. Right now he was in a tap-dancing competition against a one-eyed alligator who looked suspiciously like your father. It’s a shame - he was winning too - that the competition is suddenly crashed by an angel calling for him.

“Satoru…Satoru!”

An angel that sounded like…you?

“Satoru if you don’t wake up I’m feedin’ your boots to Gege.”

His eyes shoot open, yet his sleep-addled brain still struggles to process you standing over his bed, soft hands shaking his bare shoulders lightly. “Angel?” he rasps out.

You huff out a laugh, “No, I’m here to drag you to hell - or close enough at least.”

Face burning at already making a fool of himself before noon, he sits up in bed, blanket sliding off to reveal his toned upper-half.

Shit, it should be illegal to casually have a body like that.

Trying your best to avert your eyes from the dips and curves of his sculpted body, you continue, “My father’s holdin’ Rustcliffe’s annual Harvest Hoedown in a few weeks, the whole town’s gonna be there. You made it just in time for some dancing lessons.”

“What makes you think I need dancing lessons?” Satoru raises a brow playfully. You take a brief moment to admire the way his sleep-tousled hair curtains his alluring eyes, before replying in an ominous tone, “I need dancing lessons.”

Wow, you really did need dancing lessons, Satoru notes as he stifles a laugh when you step on the poor instructor’s foot for the fifth time this afternoon.

Locked in the stuffy studio, he recalls the way your father demanded that you not step one foot outside until you mastered the upbeat waltz for the hoedown - putting Satoru in charge of making sure you don’t slip away. “It’s stupid really, he’s never had a problem with me sitting out before. All because that asshat will be there…” you’d muttered hotly on the way.

Ah yes, that asshat. Sleep weighs heavily on Satoru’s eyes from riding all night long, yet his words still ring painfully in his ears. Who did he even think he was to have a chance with you?

Well, it’s alright, Satoru will be out of this town in a few months, and you’ll marry some man of your choice that could give you everything you could ever want.

The only thing that snaps Satoru out of his overthinking tirade is the abrupt pause of the music and the heavy sigh the dance instructor lets out - clearly having taken a break for his own sake rather than yours. You shuffle sheepishly across the polished floor to where Satoru stands, “Was it worse than you thought?” you grimace.

“Well, you always do find a way to surprise me, m’lady” he teases, chuckling at your dramatic groan. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot the instructor rushing outside for a smoke. Hopefully not because of your dancing…

You scoff in defense as Satoru’s cackles grow louder - having thought the same thing. “Well, I’m sure the great Something-toru is much better on his feet.”

Instead of retorting, he steps one heavy boot onto the waxy dance floor, holding out a hand expectantly. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

“But, there’s no music?” you raise a brow, yet you place your hand in his much larger ones. Soft, his hands were surprisingly soft. And so warm.

“Did I mention I was a great singer too?” he grins, a small dimple at the corner of his mouth as he pulls you closer.

Shit, it was way too hot to be cooped up in a dance studio. Or maybe it was just Satoru’s hand around your waist, making your skin burn through your heavy skirts. They flow around you as he glides you gently across the floor.

You train your eyes steadily on your feet - partly out of necessity, and partly out of fear of meeting Satoru’s intense gaze.

The only sounds filling the small studio were the squeaks of your boots and Satoru’s soft humming of a nonexistent tune. It was beautiful, his voice. It reminded you of calm summer days.

“Ah- sorry!” you panic as you step on his toe, only for him to pause his melody and huff out a laugh.

“Step on them as much as you want, m’boots are thick.”

You’re sure he meant this only to bate your embarrassment, but something about his words and the warm endearment in his gaze have your cheeks heating up. You focus on your steps in silence as he guides you patiently, tenderly.

Pride grows in your chest as you start stepping on his boots every six steps instead of two. Satoru seems to have noticed too, “Hey! You’ve improved, m’lady.” he whispers, as if afraid to break the stillness in that humid room as you two continue your silent dance.

Loud clapping from the doorway makes you two jump apart, shattering the serene bubble you’ve found refuge in. “Brilliant! I thought I’d come across my first hopeless case, yet you’ve worked absolute wonders Mr. Satoru!”

Your escape is quick, you urgently drag Satoru out the door before he can be forcibly recruited as a dance teacher.

You heave out a sigh of relief at your freedom from the treacherous clutches of the dance studio. Merciless sunlight stinging your face, you begin to make your way through the dusty hustle and bustle of Rustcliffe in the afternoon.

Now, all you had to do was avoid bumping into your father for the rest of the day and you should be fine!

Speed-walking by Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon, you’re confused when you’re faced with a few more drunken stares than usual. Surely your new skirt can’t be that flattering?

With a jolt, you realize you’re still grasping Satoru’s warm hand in his. Dropping it as if it burned, your cheeks heat up at the mirth on his features. “Not that I’m complainin,” he grins, “but warn a guy next time you manhandle him. S’not good for the heart, m’lady.”

Rolling your eyes at his joke, you begin pointing out the things to see as you walk the familiar old roads of Rustcliffe, detailing the town gossip.

It really was not good for his heart, Satoru was sure he’ll drop dead very soon one of these days because of you.

He couldn’t rip his eyes off of you as you animatedly talked about granny Wei wrestling Mrs. Davidson for her secret brownie recipe.

Shit, he was really getting in too deep.

Night falls fast, a deep shade of blue.

Saying your goodbyes to Nanami at Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon - at a time you knew your father wouldn’t be around - your heart swells as Satoru excitedly rambles about “Good ol’ Nanamin! What a chip off the old block, we became fast friends y’know?”

You didn’t expect your mission to avoid your father to turn into an impromptu Rustcliffe tour. But watching Satoru’s face light up as you told him silly little stories of your childhood, you wouldn’t have changed it one bit.

Sent off with a cheery “Come back soon deary!”, you’re exhausted by the time you say all your goodbyes to the people of the town.

“You’re loved, y’know?” Satoru speaks up out of nowhere as you steady yourself behind him on the saddle.

“Hm?” you ask, fatigued from spending the day walking around town. A large hand caresses your cheek to rest your head against his back, tightening your arms around his waist.

Lightly snapping the reins, he repeats, “You’re loved.”

You drift on his words gently to sleep, the clip-clop! of the horse matching the deafening beat of your heart against your ribcage. If only you could be like this forever.

SLAM!

You wake up with a start, only to find yourself…hovering? Surely there must be a valid explanation - you really didn’t feel like doing an exorcism right now.

It takes a while of your nonsense to realize you’re being carried by strong arms supporting your back and legs.

“S-Satoru?” you ask blearily.

“Shhh, forgive me, m’lady. Didn’t think that damn door would be so loud.” he responds, bed creaking under his weight as he softly sets you down.

Smiling down at your incoherent mumbles, he whispers softly “It’s alrigh’, you can rest now. Goodnight m’lady.”

Struggling to rip his gaze from your gracefully sleep-addled one, it’s only the thought of someone in the house catching him in this position that makes him stand up.

A hand - uncharacteristically swift - grasps his wrist, stopping his tip-toeing to the door. “Satoru…” your groggy call of his name sends shivers down his spine. Hesitatingly following the gentle pull of your hand, he kneels beside your bed.

“Yes, m’lady?” he breathes.

You surge forward, sleep hazing the practical side of your mind. Acting on pure instinct, your soft lips meet his.

Satoru freezes in surprise as a beat passes. One. Two.

He stays in the same position when you flop back onto your pillow, soft snores filling the otherwise pin-drop silence. His lips burn as he brings up a hand to touch them in disbelief, stifling an euphoric laugh.

You startle awake in the middle of the night, after some questionable dream about Satoru carrying you to the bed and you kissing him.

Imagine. Ha!

Settling back into where you were carefully tucked into bed, you snuggle the warm coat at your side.

Wait. Shit.

---

If either of you remembered what happened that night, neither of you mentioned it.

Oftentimes, you questioned whether it was a dream. The only thing keeping you from fully believing so being the intensity in Satoru’s stare whenever his eyes briefly flickered to your lips and the hasty retreats whenever it seemed like you would bring up the topic.

But why wasn’t he saying anything? And why did he not want you to?

In fear of messing up the comfortable camaraderie you two had, you continued this magnetic dance of normalcy. But honestly could you really consider it “normal” if each gaze was charged with something neither of you could describe?

But why wasn’t he saying anything? And why did he not want you to?

You could only imagine the worst.

Satoru thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. Well, probably a bit below heaven, because - ideally - there you’d be his wife and Gege would actually like him.

It’s alright, even if just for a sleep-hazed second, he was yours. And he didn’t want to hear you apologize for it.

Still riding the euphoria of that brief kiss, he goes about life as usual, sure that you would be one of his favorite stories from his travels.

---

“WELCOME ALL TO RUSTCLIFFE ANNUAL HARVEST HOEDOWN! WE GOT HARVEST, WE GOT HORSES, WE GOT SOME HOE- Oh- what? yes, dear that was on my script…” your father’s voice bellows across town from the loudspeaker.

You breathe in the warm, candy-scented air, fairy lights illuminating the colorful stalls selling everything from candied apples to binoculars (“Spy On Your Neighbors Without Worry!”).

Place ringing with the bustle and chatter of the town, you think it feels like something out of a picture book.

A warm smile finds its way onto your face, you’ve loved the Harvest Hoedown since you were a kid. Here, you can forget the longing for something more, the rows at home about your looming engagement, and most of all - you can almost forget Satoru.

Ever since that kiss, you’ve found it hard to face him. Sure, the banter and half-joking schemes to murder Naoya are the same. But your heart clenches every time he looks at you with a tender melancholy, losing the words to apologize for taking advantage of his kindness.

“Come come! It’s startin’!” you hear gleefully from your left. Before you can register what’s happening, you’re pulled into a circle of bodies dancing to an upbeat tune.

Laughter bubbling out of you as you lose yourself in the song, you turn to your right and see…your dance instructor, who is very visibly (and audibly) praying for his feet. Dramatic. You’ve learned a lot recently with Satoru’s help.

Oh, there he is again. For someone that leaves place so swiftly, he sure is set on living permanently in your mind.

Hidden amongst the audience, Satoru cackles at the distress on Mr. Dance Instructor’s face. Little did he know, with a bit of Satoru’s magic you’ve improved - stepping on his toes only once every fifteen steps!

He was so proud of his girl.

Ah, except you’re not. You’re so much more. And he’s reminded of that every time you averted your eyes from his during dance lessons, the proximity of your bodies doing nothing for how out of reach you felt to him.

He rips his gaze from you, walking away from the growing crowd. Where was that damn drinks table again?

It’s past twelve as the townsfolk start pairing up for the hoedown couples dancing. You’ve usually sat this one out, not one for the complicated steps nor the intimacy.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spy your parents waltzing in their own world. How nice it must be. Your supposed asshat of a dance partner was over by the drinks talking with some men, barely looking your way.

Guess the dance lessons were for nothing. Frustrated and slightly tipsy, you move to make your way off the dance floor.

Suddenly, a large hand blocks your view of the exit. Who the-

Satoru.

Ears tinged a pretty red, and eyes slightly dazed, he hiccups over the rich music “Would you- dance with me, m’lady?”

Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the way his face flushed your favorite delicate pink - but you slide your hand into his warm one, “I’d be honored to, Satoru.”

A strong arm pulling you flush against his body, faces only inches apart. His hot breath fans you as Satoru murmurs, “Looked s’beautiful tonight. Best dancer in town I’d say.”

“Only cuz’ of you, Satoru.” you chuckle at his genuine tone as he steers you across the dance floor. Feet in perfect sync, the waltz fades into the background as you look into his tired eyes.

“Nah, tha’s all you, m’lady. I’m nothing much.” he grins morosely.

Your brows furrow at his words, clearly something was wrong. And this wasn’t the place to talk about it. “Come with me.” you utter, pulling him along with you to a place you knew he’d love.

Little ol’ Rustcliffe wasn’t called that for nothing.

The air is tense, the chatter of crickets fill the silence between you two as you guide him to your haven, hand still tightly in his. It’s a steep walk uphill from the outskirts of town, a place you’d stumbled upon during one dashing attempt to escape from this town as a tween.

“Finally here.” you exhale as you reach your destination, fireflies lighting the way.

“Hah- If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were tryin’ to murder-” Satoru’s voice dies in his throat as he drinks in the view before him.

The twinkling lights of the entire town of Rustcliffe reflect in his eyes like constellations. Townsfolk barely discernible from this distance, yet the soft jovial music carried over. It was beautiful.

Satoru looks at you in awe as you lay down on the ground and point upwards, “Tha’s not all, cowboy.”

Quickly getting on the ground beside you - albeit at a safe distance - his mouth gapes wider at the perfect carpet of stars above him. A celestial version of what he saw below. He turns his head to see you bathed in the moonlight. This place was beautiful.

“Satoru, are we okay?‘ you voice out in concern. He’s taken aback by the sudden turn in conversation. You cut off his scramble to make a joke, “I’m serious. Please talk to me.”

He can never win against you.

Heaving out a sigh, “Maybe. Who knows. But whatever it is, please don’t apologize for that kiss, let me have it.”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised, “Let you have it? Satoru, why wouldn’t you have it?”

“M’lady, I don’t know if you’re aware, but you’re like fireworks. Captivating and fierce. That kiss was a mistake, and soon enough you’ll find a rich, handsome-”

“I only want you.”

“I’m leaving soon.” he retorts.

“I only want you.” you repeat, stubbornly.

“I’m leaving m’lady.” he argues.

“No- Satoru-”

“And I’m childish. I’m insecure. I’ll never be able to provide for you the way you deserve.” he plows on, emotion cracking his voice.

“Satoru, I love you.” you breathe out.

Satoru’s breath catches in his throat, the silence was deafening. “What was that?” he turns, voice quiet with disbelief.

“Well, I don’t know if you’re aware, cowboy, but you’re like blue summer skies. And I just so happen to love blue summer skies.” you huff out, finally understanding the reason for his behavior these past few weeks.

“I don’t expect a huge mansion, or some enormous ranch, or even a cowboy that knows the difference between a lasso and a rattlesnake. I just don’t want anyone else, Satoru.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

“And…you’re sure? Really sure?”

“Yes.”

Silence punctures your conversation once more, broken only by a loud cackle. You turn in disbelief at his change in demeanor, “All cheered up now, Satoru?”

“Why would you have feelings for me? Was it the tumbleweed story that did it for you?” he gets out through laughs. It was contagious, and soon enough you yourself joined him, clutching your stomach.

In the thoughtful silence that follows, you find yourself inching closer to him until your faces are mere centimeters apart. “Blue summer skies and fireworks don’t go too well together.” he breathes.

“We’ll make something work out, remember?” you hum.

Your first kiss with Satoru was a sleep-addled mistake.

The second was when his lips capture yours as if they were the source of life itself.

Rolling on top of you, he’s careful to not rest his full weight as his lips don’t leave you, tongue caressing yours. Satoru tastes sweet - like hard candy and your father’s bottle of Baileys. Pulling away a hair's breadth, he whispers against your lips, “Let me be yours?”

“You probably say this to all the girls, hm?” you tease him, as revenge for making you wait so long. He softly bites your lips in retaliation, relishing in your drawn-out whine. “Yes, fine. If only you’ll let me be yours.”

Clearly approving of your answer, he continues his dance with your lips. Barely parting to breathe, as if it hurt to leave you.

And it did. A low groan sounds from the back of his throat as Satoru kisses you with the desperation from these past few weeks. His hands stayed firmly cupping your face, as if scared to move elsewhere. Yours, however, was wandering the expanse of his back, and it was driving him insane.

“M’lady…” he breathes out at the feeling of your legs wrapping around his hips, a warning.

You knew where this was going and you don’t know if you’ve wanted anything so bad. “Satoru, I need you.” you mutter, words punctuated by pecks to his swollen lips.

Maybe that’s the trigger that sets him off. It’s not long before Satoru is kissing you again. Pinning down your arms with one hand, he rolls his hips into yours. You gasp as you feel the outline of his hard cock straining against his trousers.

He was so big.

Your pussy drips with anticipation and fear of what was about to come.

Satoru thinks he might be getting whiplash, how was it that an hour ago he was moping in his loneliness and now he’s got you underneath him? Silently thanking whoever was up there, he wanders a hand down your body. Fingers trailing teasingly above where you wanted him the most.

“Tell me what you want, m’lady.” he rasps. Now Satoru is sure he’s getting whiplash when you grind your hips up into his hand, whining “Need you- on me.”

Skirts hastily pushed up, Satoru shuffles so his face is right hovering right above your pulsing core. In the cool moonlight, he can see the way you get wetter at each hot breath on your cunt. “Please Satoru.”

You were not good for his heart. Surging forward so he’s nose-deep in your pussy, Satoru’s tongue flattens against your swollen folds. His eyes roll to the back of his at your taste. You tasted better than the candy at the hoedown.

Your desperate whines for more send blood rushing to his cock, twitching achingly against his trousers. Leisurely dipping between your folds, he watches with blown-out eyes as you grind your hips deeper into his face, keeping a firm grip on his soft locks. Using him.

Shit, if this was your reaction to him teasing you…

Your whimpers of pleasure and lewd squelches of your cunt fill the night air as he plunges his tongue inside your clenching hole, fucking you at a merciless rhythm. His brows furrow as his tongue dips in and out relentlessly. He sinfully loves the burn of his scalp as you pull his hair to angle him just right.

Thumb harshly circling your clit, Satoru thinks he loses a bit of his sanity at every moan of his name that leaves your pretty mouth. “You taste s’good. So perfect for me, m’lady.” his voice sends vibrations to your pussy that have you feeling your heartbeat banging in two places.

“Hngh- Satoru, don’ stop!” you mewl as his nose catches on your clit, clamping down on his tongue. He continues his movements, breathing you in so sinfully. Air was overrated - Satoru Gojo, famously daring traveler and devilishly handsome, dies here between your legs. He wouldn’t even mind.

“Cum in my mouth, m’lady. Please.” he begs, voice muffled by your dripping cunt. He locks eyes with your fucked out ones as he pulls you by the thighs impossibly closer to him. He never wanted to part.

The stimulation of his voice in addition to his fingers and tongue becomes too much. “Satoru! Hah- M’ gonna cum-”

Tears spring to your eyes as you cum all around Satoru’s tongue. He doesn’t let up his harsh abuse of your pulsing pussy, groaning as he laps up your juices - your slick pooling at the corner of his mouth.

He was so greedy for you. Shit, this is so much better than he’s imagined every night he’s fucked his fist in that lonely room.

As both of you attempt to catch your breaths, the chattering song of crickets and distant music from the Harvest Hoedown fill the air once more. Satoru looks at you with a devious glint in his eyes that has your cunt twitching once more.

You’d felt his rock-hard length. And you wanted it now.

“Satoru. let me feel you in my mouth, please.” you murmur. Kneeling before him, you look up at him with eager eyes. At his slow nod, you give an experimental squeeze to the large imprint of his cock, thighs rubbing together at Satoru’s drawn-out hiss.

“Oh, m’lady. You drive me insane.” he groans.

Cursing the heavy trousers that cowboys wear, you fumble it down his legs. Muscles, creamy thighs come into your view, making your mouth water.

In the dim lighting, you see the precum drip down Satoru’s flushed cock. The prominent vein down his side glistens prominently. Shit, he’d never fit in your mouth let alone your cunt. But you wanted it so bad.

Satoru’s heavy breaths sound in the still air as your bruised lips inch closer to his throbbing cock. A deep breath, and you spit on his blushing head, saliva dripping down the side of his length and to where you gently grasped his base.

It was filthy, it was debauched. You absolutely loved it.

Satoru lets out a strangled moan as you flatten your tongue and take his tip into your mouth, sucking gently. He bucks his hips into your mouth as you run your tongue along his sensitive slit “Shit- Sorry, m’lady. You’re just hah- too good.”

Popping off his aching cock, you press kisses to the side of his length. He groans lowly at the vibrations as you speak about something that has been on your mind for a while now, “Satoru, don’t you think we’re past formalities now?”

“Well, I could call you my goddess?” he smiles. “Or my angel? Or-” Satoru chokes on his words as you take him fully into your mouth - partly because you needed him to shut up, and partly because you cunt ached with need.

“Sh-shit. Jus’ like that.” he rasps as you suck him at a dizzying pace. Precum drips down the side of your mouth as you take him in deeper - nose meeting the snowy white hair on his pelvis.

Your mouth burns at the stretch, his hips grinding lightly into your mouth to meet each bob of your head. Your pussy drips once more at how desperate Satoru was.

His mouth drops open in a silent gasp as you move to take his tight balls into your mouth. You admire the dazed look in his darkened eyes. “Oh god- I’m gonna cum. Please, let me cum in your mouth, m’lady.” he murmurs, eyes rolling to the back of his head as you continue your ruthless pace.

As soon as your lips are around his cock once more, Satoru comes fast and hard with a gravelly moan. Hot spurts of his seed dribble down the corner of your mouth as you take it all in.

Ah, this wasn’t what you had planned when you brought him here - but you sure weren’t complaining.

Satoru just about passes out when you stick out your tongue to show you’ve swallowed every drop of cum he gave, cock twitching once more. He needed you in a way that would make a hooker blush.

Finding his voice, “As much as I’d love to ravish you right here, m’lady, I think you deserve somethin’ a bit more comfortable.” He swats at a mosquito attacking him as you grin devilishly.

---

Gege has never flown across the dry ground of Rustcliffe faster.

Wind in your hair and Satoru’s arms warmly around your middle, you feel the thundering of his heartbeat against your back - matching your own. You admire his moonlit profile, the light casting an otherworldly glow over his cloud-like hair. You could probably go anywhere if it was by his side.

You’ve never been happier to see that familiar ol’ ranch.

Navigating your sprawling villa, you find, is close to impossible with a relentless Satoru pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck.

“Satoru…we gotta make it to the bed.” you giggle, drunk off of him rather than the liquor from before. He sighs impatiently, before promptly lifting you off of your feet. His hat and hip holster falling to god-know-where as he runs up the stairs to your bedroom with you in his arms.

The thud of heavy boot echoes throughout the empty house - your parents still at the Harvest Hoedown. It reminds you of the night you first kissed him. As he slams your door shut and pushes you against it, however, you never in your wildest dreams would have thought that it’ll lead to this.

Tongue tangling with Satoru’s, feet still not reaching the ground. You don’t think you’ll make it out of this alive. Nor will Satoru.

Satoru is definitely not making it out alive.

He’s barely stepped a foot into your bedroom before he’s got his hands all over you - groping and teasing every inch of your body he can find. Your legs wrapped around him, he holds you in the air, hands roughly squeezing your ass.

His lips don’t leave yours, tasting himself on your tongue - even as he bunches your skirts around your hips. Exhaling in relief as his hands meet your bare lips, he holds a finger to your pulsing core.

You whimper at the feeling, still sensitive from before. He drinks in your mewls of pain and pleasure, lips curling into a smug smile. “Still sensitive, m’lady? You poor thing. How will you take my cock if yer’ like this?”

Your groan of impatience turns into a panicked whine as Satoru moves towards the bed, “Maybe we should tuck you in bed for now? Continue this tomorrow?”

Reading the challenge in his eyes, you immediately free yourself from his hold. His confused gaze soon turns into a surprised one as you push him roughly onto the bed, straddling him after.

“You always do surprise me.” he laughs out between the magnetic kisses you leave on his lips. Buttons fling across the room as you rip his shirt in impatience - fingers too dripping in lust to work through them. You’re sure if the same could be done to your heavy prairie skirt, then it would’ve suffered a similar fate.

You run your hands along his sculpted body greedily, as you’d wanted to since the first time you saw him shirtless. He hisses at the friction and the impatience at wanting to do the same to you, fingers fumbling with your complicated clasps.

After much frustration and curses on whoever invented corsets, you’re finally exposed in front of Satoru.

Shit, he really should call you his goddess. Because in the dim lighting of your bedroom, he thinks he’s in heaven as you sit atop him, bare and needy for him. Fuck Naoya. Fuck any faceless suitable husband. Eyes half-lidded and lips kiss-bitten, you’re like this because of him.

Grinding his now-bare hips against yours, a low groan rips from his throat at the feeling of your swollen folds spreading against his aching cock. Your dripping slick mixes with his as he continues rutting into you.

“Ah! Enough teasin’, Satoru- Want you inside me.” you whimper sinfully.

Your words make Satoru snap. Wordlessly, he sheaths himself inside you with a sigh of relief. Moans leave his throat unrestrained as he bullies his cock deeper and deeper inside your hot cunt. “Fuck. S’tight, your pretty pussy is suckin’ me in so good m’lady.” he hisses out, brows furrowed in pleasure.

Satoru could feel himself losing more and more of his sanity every time your plushy walls clenched down on him as he pulled out to fuck up into with harsh thrusts. It was so animalistic, the way your perfect cunt couldn’t bear to part with him.

Your slick drips down his length and onto his heavy balls each time he rams into you at a merciless cadence. Soft yelps of his name leave your lips every time his tip kisses your cervix.

Ah, this time he was actually going to pass out. Your pretty whines, your dripping cunt, the way your tits jiggled so enticingly at each thrust - it was all too much.

Angling you slightly with his bruising grip on your hips, Satoru smiles with satisfaction at that one spot that makes you convulse on his cock. Abs burning at the pace, he hits it over and over. Your nails dig into the muscle of his shoulder, moans of his name leaving you against your will.

You were sure to be absolutely covered in marks tomorrow.

But that was a problem for later you. Right now, all you could focus on was grinding your hips down to meet Satoru’s thrusts, eager for him to hit that spot even harder. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the painfully good stretch of your snug cunt. So full.

“K-keep going, Satoru. Don’ stop, please.” Your rickety bed creaks in protest at each relentless thrust, overpowered only by the stinging smacks of his balls against your ass.

It was so filthy. So debauched. And you absolutely loved it.

As Satoru’s hands sneak down to draw rough circles on your clit, you feel yourself getting closer and closer towards cumming. Leaning down to capture his lips with yours once more, you whisper against his mouth, “Satoru, I’m- Hngh-”

He connects his sweaty forehead with yours, “Mm. me too. Fuck, gonna fill this pretty pussy up. You want that, m’lady?”

Just the thought of being so full of Satoru sends you over the edge. You cum with a lewd moan of his name, cunt clenching so impossibly tight around his cock.

“Ah! Shit.” Satoru grits out at the way your walls were fluttering around him so perfectly. Your whimpers as you gush around him sounds like music to his ears.

Satoru thinks he sees heaven as he cums. A part of his soul parting with him that night. Thick ropes of his seed paint your walls white, strained whispers of your name leaving his mouth as if a prayer. As if you were his goddess.

A feral part of him keeps bucking his hips into you, letting you ride out your highs together. Fucking his cum deeper and deeper - claiming you as his.

You do the same in your own way - biting down on Satoru’s exposed neck. Hard. His strong arms wrap around you to keep you from moving away, letting you use him as you please.

Cum drips down your legs, staining your blanket.

As your highs finally bate, you blink out the haze from your eyes. Looking up at Satoru from where you were snuggled into the crook of his neck, admiring the innocent blush adorning his face and his glossy, bruised lips. Both of you so overstimulated and euphoric.

“Got any travel stories like this?” you chuckle out, half-delirious and exhausted from what just transpired in this room.

“Not at all.” Satoru breathes out, pulling you closer to him, closing his hazy eyes to the sex-filled air.

That night, squeezed into your warm single bed, Satoru tells you stories of before his travels. You’re unsure if your parents are home yet, and right now with Satoru in your arms - you don’t care.

You listen as he rambles about growing up in the quaint town of Summer Pass. How he was raised with beautiful parents, a wonderful life. Yet, since the passing of his best friend, he’d taken up what the two had been dreaming of since they were children - wandering the world.

“I’m afraid, if I stay too long then it always ends up hurtin’.” he whispers into the still night. Caressing his hair, you pull him into your warm embrace. Your heart weighs heavy as the back of your mind pangs with the realization that Satoru will still leave despite this.

Both of you fall asleep reminiscing talks of your childhoods. In your exhausted state, maybe you misheard - but you could’ve sworn by the “I love you, m’lady.” Satoru whispered against your lips right before you closed your eyes.

Limbs intertwined till you’re unsure where one ends and the other starts, you have the most peaceful sleep in a long time.

You’re unsure when Satoru snuck out of your room. The only evidence of last night being the washcloth on your bedside table that he’d tenderly cleaned you up with, and a singular button from his shirt at the foot of your bed.

Cheeks heating once you catch sight of it, you make your way down to breakfast in your most well-covered dress.

What you certainly didn’t expect was to be interrogated by your mother. “So…” she begins. ”When did you come home, darling? We didn’t see you at the hoedown after midnight.”

Ah, suddenly these scrambled eggs just did not want to go down your throat. “Jus’...went to see somethin’ interesting.” you respond, eyes meeting with Satoru’s amused ones across the table as he subtly plays footsies with you underneath.

---

Sneaking around with a secret cowboy boyfriend doesn’t just happen in books, you realize. It’s a lot easier since Naoya is around a lot more often than usual. The only thing he might be good for may be keeping your parents entertained…

Since then, Satoru, you conclude, really does not like L-words: namely, Love and Leaving.

Despite his breathless confession that night, Satoru hasn’t said anything more about his feelings towards you - nor when he’ll be leaving.

It’s okay, you have time. You console yourself, as you lay in bed with him after he’d snuck into your room as per usual, pulling his warm presence closer to yours. But Satoru’s inevitable departure looms closer and closer like a dark cloud above your head.

It’s only two months after that night, when you’ve retreated from another engagement conversation you shut down, that Satoru brings it up. Hands intertwined and watching the sunset on top of your father’s barn, he utters in an uncharacteristically grave tone “I planned to leave next week, m’lady.”

Your heart pricks at his words. You knew this was coming.

Clenching your fists in self-assurance, your words tumble out.

“Let me come with you.”

“Let me stay with you.”

The nostalgic lullaby of the world around you is deafening as you and Satoru reel back in synchronized surprise.

“You- stay?”

“Wait- huh?”

Brow raised, you gesture at him to continue. “I just- I thought maybe I could stay here. Build a life with you, if you’d like, m’lady.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. Satoru - who smiles brightest when talking of his tales of travel - was offering to settle down?

“W-what? Satoru, why would you? You love traveling.” you sputter out in disbelief. His smile grows, as does the warmth in his eyes. “I’ve found something I love a lot more.” he murmurs, with a playful bite to the crook of your neck.

You crack a smile at his sincerity, though you shake your head in disagreement. “You should be out there explorin’ the world, Satoru. And…I want to be right by your side.”

“I thought you loved this place?”

“I do.” you sigh. “But I feel so trapped.”

Resting your head on Satoru’s shoulders, you admit how dear Rustcliffe is to you - although oftentimes you try to deny it - and how you want to leave just as much.

The stars wink at you two mischievously by the time you’re done, a twinkle that matches the look in Satoru’s eyes as he announces, “So~ We run away together in a blaze of glory. End scene, credits roll, Gege win’s best actor.”

“Exactly. Although I prefer the term unannounced relocation.” you hum, relishing in his bark of laughter. “Now, c’mon, cowboy. We gotta get up early for that damn election rally tomorrow.”

Heading back home as inconspicuous as possible is always tedious. In addition to praying away your swollen lips, you head in innocently at different times.

Hurriedly greeting your housekeeper, you attempt to make a swift escape to your room. Only to be blocked by…Naoya?

“We meet again, sweetcheeks.” he smiles, stepping closer towards you. Determined to stand your ground, you stare menacingly up at him. “Hello, my apologies for being so unavailable to meet these days. Business, y’know.” your voice steady.

“Ah, yes. I know.” he hums dangerously. Looming closer to your face, you smell the tobacco on his breath as he mutters, “It’s no matter, your father and I have gone through with our conversations. You and I will announce our engagement tomorrow at your father’s rally. That is final.”

“I’ve talked with you about this, I’ve screamed at you about this. I will not marry you no matter what my father nor anyone else says.” you grit out through clenched teeth.

“Why? Got anyone in mind? Think it’ll be anyone else your father approves of?” he raises a brow, delicately raising the neckline of where your dress had dripped down - where Satoru had nipped before.

He knows.

“Not at all.” you smile sweetly. Not waiting for a response, you run upstairs. Seems like running away in a blaze of glory might have to hurry up.

Twisting and turning the entire night, you don’t get a wink of sleep, mind a whirlwind of how you’d get Satoru and run away before the announcement.

It was terrifying.

---

Parading around town in an itchy engagement dress under the boiling sun on your father’s collection of purebred Italian horses (+ Gege) wasn’t exactly how you wanted to spend an ideal morning. But it wasn’t the worst.

You snuck glances at Satoru riding in front of you, looking devastatingly handsome as ever.

Naoya had been terrifyingly quiet all morning. You could feel his penetrating stare on you, scrutinizing every movement and every conversation. He rides beside you - your soon-to-be husband.

As the procession ends at your father’s podium, where he proudly takes a stand. As he plows on with an inspirational speech that has the audience in cheers, your mind runs a mile a minute as you slip away from the stage. Even in your gauzy white dress, it’s easy to get lost in the animated crowds of Rustcliffe - which you and Satoru use to your advantage.

This was happening. You were going to finally leave.

Heart clenching at the sight of your jovial parents onstage, you take a long look before turning away. It’s okay, it’s alright. This is something you’ve been wanting for years.

Brain whirring at the letters you’d send them on your travels, you miss the harsh gaze following you.

“Satoru!” you gasp at the blur of white and black that embraces you as soon as you step foot into Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon. The bar, empty for the first time in years since your father’s last rally, was your hastily chosen place of refuge.

Nanami, who wasn’t initially too keen on being involved, had sympathized once he saw the look on your face. “Alright, but if anyone asks - you two were never here. Not too good for business, y’know.” he’d stated, permitting you two to do whatever you please.

Although, it probably was worth noting that he’d almost taken it back once Satoru tackled him into a hug with a joyful squeal of “Nanamiiiin~!”

“C’mon now. I’ve got our bags saddled on Gege. We’ll leave immediately.” Satoru voices, snapping you out of your reminiscing. Rushing to give Nanami a farewell hug, your heart lurches as he whispers “Goodbye. Promise you’ll write.”

This was really happening.

Nodding in promise, you finally turn to the open door and step into the dusty sunlight. Satoru leads you to where Gege is impatiently waiting for your quick getaway. You could almost laugh at the sheer exhilaration coursing through your veins.

You were going to get out.

You grip onto Satoru’s shoulder for support as he circles his arms around you to lift you onto the seat, slightly shaking at the intoxicating adrenaline.

You were finally going to be free.

“Leavin’ so soon, sweetcheeks?” a chilling voice slices through the air. One that you know way too well. Your heart stops, as does Satoru’s hands in midair - before he sets you down slowly.

Body moving against your will, you turn to the deceivingly sweet voice behind you. Naoya.

A cold sweat breaks out across Satoru’s forehead.

He stares down Naoya’s hand hovering over the holster at his hip. “I knew there was something off about you, barn boy. You think I’d be outmatched by someone like you?” he hisses, resentment poisoning every word.

Satoru does what he does arguably the best, “Oh c’mon asshat, don’t be so melodramatic. We’re just going on a little adventure.” he smirks.

“Don’t I know of these adventures.” Naoya spits out.

Agonizingly slow, Naoya draws his gun. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife as the three of you stand frozen, searing sun casting eerie shadows across the desolate road.

BANG!

Naoya’s first shot tears through the deafening silence. Narrowly missing the bullet, Gege whinnies in fear before running off to safety. Satoru skillfully maneuvers you two into the shadowy alleyway beside Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon.

In the blink of an eye, he presses you close to the dust-bitten wall as he pulls out his gun. “Stay here.” he gasps out.

With lightning speed, Satoru retaliates - firing back-to-back shots at Naoya with a speed and precision that has him scrambling for cover behind a barrel.

The gunfire echoes throughout the quiet town, these familiar streets becoming a battleground. Despite both parties shooting from their impromptu covers, neither are invincible.

A stray bullet harshly grazes his arm, blood painting the ground a deep crimson. Fuck, this really burned like a motherfucker. But he was still alive - he still had to protect you.

The standoff intensifies, stray bullets flying off in every direction. They splinter holes through the rustic shop banners. You could only be thankful that the town was at the rally, confident you’d never forgive yourself if anyone died on this road today.

Satoru fires off shots with uncanny accuracy, years of defending himself on the road coming in handy. Yet, he was losing blood. So much blood. He realizes with a jolt that his vision was slowly blurring.

Breaths labored and slumping forward against the wall, he aims one last shot at Naoya. Fuck. Shit. Dear lord, if you’re up there, please don’t let my love die here.

A finger pulls the trigger. The bullet flies through the air as if in slow-motion.

It hits metal.

Naoya’s gun flies through the air, clattering onto the sun-scorched ground as he is finally disarmed. The beginnings of a grin curl Satoru’s lips before he heaves out a heavy sigh. Eyes closing and body collapsing forward, the last thing ringing in his ears being your harrowed scream.

“No no no no. Satoru please.” sobs wreck your throat as your hands frantically check for Satoru’s pulse. In your panicked state of mind, you barely register the crunch of gravel nearing towards you two.

“Shit. The fuck is it that you even want?” that dreaded voice sounds ominously in your ears. “To travel? I can fuckin’ take you places.”

Sagging on the saloon wall for support, Naoya clutches his bleeding side as he observes the two of you. In an instant, you’re in front of Satoru’s body protectively, hand steady on his discarded gun pointed right at Naoya’s head.

“Leave, before I shoot your brains out..” you threaten, voice deceptively steady.

“I thought I could be the one to break you - the mayor’s wildchild daughter. But why the fuck do you put yourself through this?” he continues, voice strained with anger.

“Because he is the one I want. I refuse your proposal, and I am not sorry for it. Now leave.”

You were standing up now, the cool metal of the barrel pressed firmly to his forehead. Finger hovering above the trigger.

“I believe the lady said to leave.” Nanami’s voice startles you both. His normally stoic face was etched with anger.

Despite his injuries, Naoya manages to glare at Nanami. But, realizing the odds are against him, he backs away, but not before venomously promising “This ain’t over, sweetcheeks.”

He leaves a bloody trail as he limps out of sight.

“Told you this wasn’t good for business.” Nanami sighs at the chaos. With Nanami’s help, you carry Satoru inside - body moving on instinct as your mind races to process everything that happened.

The empty bar now serves as an improvised hospital. Laying Satoru down on a table that acts as a makeshift bed, propping his feet up in a desperate attempt to recirculate his blood. You desperately tear the intricate of your engagement dress into bandages, hurriedly wrapping it around his injured arm.

The atmosphere is taut, air once thick with the stench of alcohol now reeking of blood and the dusty antiseptic Nanami had brought to you from the very back of his shelves. The methodic ticking of the bar clock sounds like gunshots to your ears.

His reassuring presence is probably what keeps you sane as you stare unmovingly at your hands, stained a dark red from the blood seeping through Satoru’s clothes.

You must have been sitting there for hours. Maybe even days. Or it might have even been just a few minutes.

All you know is a flash of blue, and you’re surging forward, heart racing. “Satoru?! Satoru! Please say something.” you cry out, tears streaming down your face once more. Nanami quietly makes his exit to the back, leaving the two lovers to their privacy.

“Satoru.” you breathe out, relief flooding your body and a smile forcing its way onto your face as Satoru’s half-lidded eyes meet your worried ones.

“M’lady.” he whispers weakly. His uninjured arm shakily cups your cheek, and you lean into his warm touch. “I would never have forgiven myself if I left you alone, m’lady.” he rasps, eyes boring into yours. “Couldn’t have fought off the tumbleweeds yourself.”

You let out a watery laugh. There he is, the man you love.

“I love you, Satoru.” you speak in a hushed tone, as if anything louder will throw you back into your nightmare. His smile grows, blue summer eyes flooding with silent tears.

“I love you, too. So, so much. Wherever you go s’ where I belong, my love.” he utters words meant for you - and only you.

Your heart swells at the indescribable emotion on his face. “Then, rest well. We have to make our getaway in a blaze of glory, remember?”

It wasn’t a blaze of glory, more like a teary trail of apologies and thanks as you embrace Nanami farewell - for the second time today. He hugs Satoru too, but only begrudgingly after he bemoans about being on the brink of death any second now.

You step outside once more, hands shaky at what awaits you.

In the distance, you hear a frantic call of your name. You turn, only to have your parents barreling emotionally into you.

Word seems to have spread around town about what had happened, and your parents were first to come to you - your father running off midspeech.

Through your hurried stream of tears and recollections of what happened, you managed to bawl out “I-I’m so-”

Words which are quickly hushed by your equally emotional parents. “Please don’ apologize.” your mother soothes.

“If anything, I should. I’m so sorry for tryin’ to coop you up here, my dear. I was a scared, insolent man. S’hard to not see you as my little girl, I hope you can forgive me, my darling.” your father sighs shakily. He looks a lot older than you remember him.

Grabbing both your parents into a tight embrace, you whisper out the words “I love you, and I promise to write.”

With a final hug goodbye from your parents - to both you and Satoru, you take a seat in front of him on the now-calm Gege.

“Ready m’lady?” you send a teasing glance at Satoru, who positively swoons overdramatically.

“Oh yes, Mr. Brave n’ Handsome cowboy.” he responds in a theatrically high falsetto. “Travelin’ the world won’t be all sunshines and rainbows, y’know? If you want a way out now then jus’ say the word.” he warns in his normal voice.

“Trynna get rid of me already, cowboy?” you raise a brow playfully. He wraps his arms securely around your waist. “Just sayin’, wouldn’t want you to regret a single thing.” he murmurs softly.

“I won’t. As long as we win against those tumbleweeds, right?”

Huffing out a laugh, “Can’t promise ya that, my love. You’ll jus’ have to take a chance on me.”

The snap of reins. A last look at your waving parents, and your little town of Rustcliffe. You ride into the horizon with your white dress billowing behind you - on what you and Satoru would later consider blazing glory.

---

“Didya hear about the mayor’s daughter? Last I heard, she was kidnapped by a rogue cowboy a couple years back, snatched her straight off her feet on her wedding day!”

“Hogwash! I heard she went quite willingly - the boy was quite a looker, you see. Stabbed her fiancé in his sleep before riding off into the sunset!”

Nanami stifles a laugh at the scandalized gasps echoing around the table as the old drunkards run the gossip mill.

In a subtle motion, he discreetly tucks away a photograph, its back adorned with enthusiastic handwriting and a…hoofprint?

Taj Mahal sprawling in the backdrop, two identical heads of white hair grin mischievously in the photo.

Yet, yours takes center stage.

A/N. Did this in two days, anything is possible kids (I need to lie down). Reblogs are so so so appreciated.

Plagiarism not authorized.

8K notes · View notes

januaryembrs · 7 months ago

Text

WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Description: Sunshine rookie gets a boyfriend, and Spencer can’t help but think he would be so much better for her. But that definitely isn’t the jealousy talking, right?

Length: 8k

Warnings: nothing really, jealousy? talks of sex? embarrassment? Mention briefly of vomit because of allergic reaction.

main masterlist.

author’s note: I want to write for these two until my fingers are two little stubs and even then I’ll learn with my toes. Can be read as a stand alone!

He thought he was going to be sick when he saw her that random Thursday, leaning against her desk, a sweet, bashful smile on her face. Or, more specifically, Spencer thought he was going to need to at least sit down when he saw the man standing next to her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the little daisy earrings Penelope bought her for her birthday almost laughing at his gobsmacked expression.

He liked Agent Taylor Bingley. He respected the fresh faced desk jockey from the third floor that swanned around their bullpen, usually discussing warm up routines with Luke. He was quick on his feet, a pretty decent shot. Never missed a report, never tardy, even offered his parking spot up to Spencer on more than one occasion because he didn’t mind the long walk from the other lot. He flew under the radar, and when he was noticed, it was because he was a particularly kind soul.

Spencer didn’t think he’d ever seen him without those rosy cheeks that made him look almost always sunburnt, or that trademark boyish grin a handsome guy like him had down to a tea. So it really shouldn’t have been such a surprise to see him lingering around his sunshine girl.

Except she wasn’t his, not by a mile. They just spent almost every second of the work day together.

“Check it out, rookie has an admirer,” Tara said, the heels clicking against the floor as she passed the door, where Spencer seemed to have stopped, his eyes narrowing at the happy couple, “Can’t say I blame him. She’s a pretty girl, don’t you think, Spence?”

She didn’t realise she was rubbing salt in a superficial wound, but Spencer felt his jaw feather with annoyance. Because she was beyond a pretty girl, she was honey and all the months of Spring and a hot drink on a rainy day and finishing a good book and the dessert your mom let you have on your tenth birthday. Not that he could admit that. So he just nodded, right as Taylor leaned over to kiss the apple of her cheek.

She shied away, smiling to her lap and playing with her fingertips, not looking up from her little potted plant that sat next to her on her desk, and Spencer knew it was because she floundered when people gave her too much attention.

Like when Garcia had said her blouse and bun combo she’d worn the other day made her look like a sexy teaching assistant, she’d stammered something close to a thankyou and headed to the kitchenette to get herself a glass of water. Or when Rossi had said the bangs she had cut herself two weeks ago looked cute, that his daughter had been desperate to try something similar, she’d spilled her coffee down her front not even two seconds later because she had been so occupied telling the man it was no big deal.

“Morning, Doctor Reid, Doctor Lewis,” Taylor said, his pearly white teeth gleaming with that West Coast, surfer boy tan that made Spencer want to huff. The man was insufferable. Well, correction, he was insufferably nice for someone Spencer was desperate to pick apart with faults the second he’d seen her preening over their sunshine rookie.

“Morning, Agent Bingley,” Tara said civilly, smiling back at the Agent that passed them to head to the elevators. She caught a glimpse of Spencer, and was quick to make herself scarce in the interest of needing to check in with Penelope, because she knew what that stormy look in his eye and the way his lips pressed into a thin line meant, profiler or not.

Spencer didn’t pay much attention to Lewis leaving his side, not that he was trying to be rude, his eyes were zeroed in on the way she fumbled around her desk, looking for imaginary mess to tidy, which included rearranging the pots of glitter pens and highlighters next to her monitor, only to put them back exactly how they were before.

“Agent Bingley, that’s new,” Came a voice over her shoulder, that made her jump in her seat, and her expression was skittish when she swivelled around, Spencer towering over her with calculating eyes. Luke rolled his chair around the divider to lean in on the conversation, having witnessed the whole thing in high definition since her desk was right next to his.

“Oh, Taylor?” She squeaked, and Spencer didn’t need to touch her face to know it had gone hot just by the way she simpered and fiddled with the hem of her knee length skirt, avoiding their gaze, “Yeah, he took me to the aquarium at the weekend and we got lunch. It’s not really serious or anything, I don’t think,”

She seemed unsure, her lips pursed together and a tiny crease between her brow he hated, and it was then Luke’s deep laugh rumbled next to them.

“Does he know that?” Luke asked, and she shot him a look, wide eyed and confused, as he cleared his throat, “I was thinking I could take you out again in that pretty red dress-”

She threw a wad of scrunched up notepaper at him, an embarrassed smile on her face as she shook her head at him, “You have spent way too much time with Penelope, you’re turning into gossiping school children,”

But she seemed happy, like the thought of the conversation she’d had with Agent Bingley made her all the more girlish herself as she giggled lightly, her gaze meeting Spencer’s empty expression. He wished he could hide his jealousy better, perhaps even seem happy for her. She deserved someone soft and saccharine and humane like Bingley, not a rough shell of what once was a brilliant man. He knew he should feel somewhat pleased for her, at least now he had empirical, hard evidence on why he couldn’t have her, but he couldn’t.

“All I’m saying, rookie, is if you got that man bringing you breakfast and sweet talking you after one date, you’ll have him wrapped around your pinky by the time he’s your boyfriend,” Luke chuckled, and Spencer thought he might just burst a vessel with how hard he clenched his jaw at that dreaded b word.

Alvez had no idea just how much he had twisted a knife in Spencer’s gut, which was plunged even further when he saw that sparkle in her eye when she looked up at him.

“Ignore him, he’s a busy body,” She chirped, her teeth peeking from her lips when she hid a grin, “You wanna get coffee later? Taylor brought me tea and I’m dying for the good stuff,”

Spencer nodded with a small smile, because her attitude was infectious, and selfishly thinking that Bingley couldn’t be that perfect for her because she only ever wanted tea when she felt sick, usually towards the start of the month that he guessed was in correlation with her menstrual cycle but would never ask. She wouldn’t want tea for another two weeks, and would likely take an extra shot in her cappuccino today because this was when she felt the most lethargic.

Swivelling back around in her chair to log onto her computer, she remained completely oblivious to his inner turmoil.

For once, Spencer wished he’d been late to work.

–

Two months. They had been dating for two fucking months. As far as Spencer could tell, from Penelope’s need to chatter about their sunshine rookie and her hot, stud muffin of a boyfriend, things had only been official for about five weeks of that time, but it hadn’t stopped Spencer from wanting to swallow glass because that would likely be less inconvenient than seeing the two of them together.

Taylor usually brought her breakfast whenever they would get back from a case, which infuriated Spencer because he always bought her tea. She was a people pleaser, Spencer knew it before he had ever thought of her as anything other than the shiny newbie with too much joy and doe eyes he’d never seen before. But now, knowing her better than anyone else in the office did because she practically shadowed his footsteps, it was blaringly obvious to him that she had either never told him she didn’t like tea first thing in the morning, or he had never bothered to take notice.

Spencer felt an odd puddle of smugness and fury when on more than one occasion he saw her pouring it down the drain, cold after sitting there for hours until it was unbearable and she couldn’t force herself to drink anymore. It was obvious to him, so why wasn’t it obvious to her own boyfriend? Spencer thought bitterly. But then Agent Bingley did leave a sour taste in his mouth these days.

Speaking of which, Spencer felt that pang in his chest the way he always did when the happy couple walked into the office together. Her hand was usually in his, though she seemed to simper under the weight of the team's glances; knowing and teasing as he’d take her to her desk and whip out the to-go pastries that he’d bought them that morning.

“Morning, Spence,” She skipped past his desk, Taylor trailing behind her like a dog, though she seemed not to mind keeping him waiting a moment as she spoke to her friend, “How was Doctor Who?”

He smiled despite his grudge, because she always remembered what he said. He’d told her once that Thursdays were his evening to watch the show, and every time Friday morning rolled around, she’d bound up to lean over his computer and ask.

“It was okay, I’m excited to see what they do with a Female Doctor, even if I’ll miss Capaldi,” He replied earnestly, and her eyes filled with glee.

“Did they give her a new one of the doo-hickies they have?” She asked, his chest butterflying with an aching sort of affection because she seemed to remember everything he ever told her.

“Sonic Screwdriver?” She nodded her head, even though Spencer knew she didn’t quite understand the show entirely, “Yeah, I prefer Sarah Jane’s Sonic Lipstick however,”

“I wish I had one of those, I could reapply and save the world, how cool would that be?” She said, and they laughed together a little, before Taylor popped his head over Spencer’s computer with that dentist white beam and his excitable eyes, bluer than any sea rolling onto shore.

“Morning, Doctor Reid,” Agent Bingley said, and the smile withered from Spencer’s face, morphing into a civil nod, his expression unreadable.

“Morning, Agent,” He said, his eyes tracking back to his screen as he suddenly found Emily’s group email about staff room fridge etiquette invigorating.

Taylor must have taken it as a sign the Doctor Reid was busy and finally let him have a minutes peace, that is until she took a seat at her desk and he leaned next to her, handing her a warm bagel.

Spencer heard them chatting for about ten minutes, of which he was trying anything to tune them out, including roping Luke into their own conversation. It wasn’t until there was a lapse in the chatter that Spencer’s ears pricked up, and he heard her stand up from her desk, eyes wide as she spat a mouthful out into a tissue.

“Does this have coconut in it?” She asked somewhat fearfully, Spencer’s head whipping around to her little corner of the bullpen. Her little self help stickers dotted around her desktop stared back at him, her reminder to ‘drink water’ almost horribly ironic the second he’d heard her question.

His stomach dropped when Taylor frowned, “Yeah, it’s coconut and raspberry, is-is that not okay?”

Spencer was quick to stand up out of his own seat, rifling through his satchel to dig out his water bottle, making it to her desk in just two long paces and handing it to her without another word as she looked up at him worriedly.

“If you need to puke, it’ll probably be for the best so that you can get the traces out of your stomach. You can’t have the steroids before you hurl or it won’t work,” He soothed, and she nodded, sipping on his water with shaky hands, and Spencer was quick to catch the way her skin had a slight sheen to it that hadn’t been there before. He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to gage if she was well enough to make it to the bathroom on her own or if he would need to drive her to the ER. Either way her expression worried him.

“I-I thought it was white chocolate,” She peeped, looking extremely sorry for herself as she dumped the chewed up brownie in her bin, and Taylor almost appeared at her side, looking entirely lost as he stroked a hand down her hair.

“Talk to me, what’s wrong?” He asked, seafoam hues trailing down her sweating face in terror.

“She’s allergic to coconut,” Spencer cut in, his tone a little harsher than needed, and her boyfriend’s expression wilted like a kicked puppy.

“Shit! You never mentioned, I’m so- I’m so sorry, honey,” Taylor went pale, and she didn’t look much better as she pushed past the two of them, heading for the bathroom, Spencer a single pace behind her.

“I got her, don’t worry,” He called over his shoulder to Agent Bingley standing there like a gaping fish, his hand running through his blonde sweep as he watched her all but running out of the office, Spencer’s long legs keeping up with her.

“Is your skin getting prickly yet?” Spencer asked. Swouldn't go into anaphylaxis, at least not as far as they knew, but the large hives that would appear on her chest and neck and the vomiting was not ideal. She kept a tray of steroids in her desk incase an accidental cross contamination happened (and because Spencer had forced her to have some on hand), but seeing her panicked eyes as she tasted the chalky fruit had made him fawn over her like she was marked for the plague.

“Neck is getting itchy,” She replied, tugging at her collar and pushing the door to the unisex bathrooms open, heading for the nearest stall, “You don’t have to stay for this bit, it’s not-”

He cut her off by sweeping her hair into a ponytail, as if to tell her to stop worrying about him, and he stroked a hand over her arm to let her know he was right there, because he knew she really hated anything gory and gross like that.

He hushed her when she’d try to apologise, hand her his bottle of water in between moments where her whole body seized.

And for a minute, she thought that Spencer might be the only person who she’d ever let see her like this. Not Luke, or Garcia and certainly not Taylor.

The thought of it kept her quiet for the rest of the morning.

They seemed to move past the whole debacle quickly. Luke said Taylor had taken her to a fancy restaurant uptown to apologise, making a huge point to avoid the coconut banoffee pudding like it was an explosive.

“You guys are so cute, you’re like Jane and he’s literally your Bingley. I swear your kids are going to be sweet enough I could drizzle them right next to ice cream,” Penelope said over the SUV console speaker, Spencer in the driving seat and her in the passenger, flicking through her files as they approached the victim’s house.

The rookie blanched, “Woah, woah, kids?” She protested, and even Spencer felt himself nearly swerve the minute the bubbly IT geek said it. She looked shaken, awkwardly chuckling and reaching to tuck hair behind her ear, “Slow down, Garcia, we’ve not even- you know what, I think we’re talking about the wrong thing here-“

“You’ve not even what?” Penelope burst out, her need for the lastest gossip overwhelming the reading of the room. She swallowed heavily, shifting in her seat to face out of the window, her knees touching the door with a thud, “Have you guys not had sex yet?”

“Penelope!” The woman screeched, her face hot and gobsmacked that she’d even said it out loud.

But it was telling enough, and Spencer’s face whirled over the console to her, guilt written on her features.

“I just assumed you guys had done it seeing as both of you are the hottest couple I know, I mean I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you if I was a guy-“ Penelope tried to save herself in the only way she knew how, by digging herself a deeper hole.

Spencer’s hand shot out for the centre screen, “We’re losing you, Garcia, you’re breaking up, bye,” He pressed the end call button, and he didn’t need to look at the girl’s face to know she was the epitome of mortified.

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, the awkward silence of the car killing him as much as he knew it was her, but he thought better of it and clamped his mouth shut. It took him a minute before he opened his mouth to speak again, if not to ask her if she wanted to stop at a drive thru for breakfast, but she beat him to it.

“I was going to say we’ve not even said I love you yet,” She murmured, keeping her body entirely swivelled away from him, her arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to make herself smaller, as if she could just smush herself into the seat so he wouldn’t say anything. She cleared her throat, scratching her wrist nervously, “But I guess that’s also true too,”

“Why not?” Her eyes snapped onto Spencer when he braved those two words, and he sensed he’d overstepped some sort of boundary before he realised it sounded like he’d been speaking about the latter, “Why haven’t you said it?” He clarified.

She went quiet, her shoulders shrugging being the only sign that she’d heard him, gaze trailing back out her window.

“He’s not said it yet either, and I don’t think I want him to. Not yet at least,” Her voice was soft, heavy as if every single one of them was coming from her heart, “Love is such a big emotion I think if he did say it, I wouldn’t know how to respond. Like, if I’m going to say it back to someone, I want to be sure I feel it otherwise it’s like I’m betraying everyone else’s version of love, you know?”

He thought she might just be an angel bottled up and thrown into his life, and he sometimes wished he could take a look inside that head of hers because how she had protected her beautiful look on the world after seeing so much hurt staggered him. He had become cruel and cold and heavy where she looked at the lecherous shithole heading for disaster they called Earth and saw right to its soul, gave it a hug, told it she would care even when no one else would.

He tore his eyes from the road, and took in the outline of her face, mindlessly watching the pedestrians on their daily commute to grab lunch, a dog peeing against a lamp post, a motorcyclist bobbing and weaving in between the midday traffic, her doe eyes never missing a trick.

Forcing his gaping expression back on the road, because he might just swerve and hit the damn rider off his bike if he let himself get lost in his little dreamscape that consisted of nothing but her and her face and her thoughts and her words, he cleared his throat, not sure how to add to the poetic, rose tint she seemed to see the world in.

“That’s good, that you’re taking things at your own pace, atleast,” He said, not particularly profound but at least it was something, “You shouldn’t do things just because someone else wants you to, even if you think it would make them happy,”

“But I like making people happy,” She countered, her expression troubled as she looked over at him with a quirked brow, “I like making you happy especially,”

“What makes you think I’m not happy?” Spencer asked, his mouth drying up, his stomach flipping in cartwheels when she giggled to herself like for once she was the smart one snd he was the one who needed teaching.

“It took you three and a half weeks to crack a smile when we first started working together,” His jaw clenched, because he was the one who counted the statistics. Perhaps he was rubbing off on her. “Honestly, I thought you hated me. I thought a seasoned agent like yourself probably would get frustrated teaching the dumb newbie the ABC’s, even ones that admire him. But then I thought, instead of getting so butt hurt about it all, I could just give you a reason to smile and you’d see that I’m not just a useless rookie learning to roll over for treats.”

Spencer’s throat bobbed. He’d hate himself forever for being so cruel to her those first few weeks, the clipped tones when she’d add something in a particularly chirpy voice, the way he would forget his manners sometimes when she’d bring him a coffee, because his head had been so deep in survival mode that being nice didn’t matter. Being nice had got him nowhere in Mexico, in fact it had shown his soft underbelly and drawn a target on it.

“I never hated you,” His voice croaked out, weak and pathetic, and it's times like that he remembered ten years ago talking to her would have made him blush, pop a boner, and lose half his IQ all in one go. Coughing, his knuckles turned white at the wheel, and he avoids her gaze that feels like a pitfall trap, “It’s difficult to go back to how you used to be when you’ve got a thousand eyes on your back waiting for you to lower your guard,”

“I know, I know that now, I jus-” She floundered, worried she’d touched a nerve, but he stopped her by leaning over the console and putting a gentle hand on her kneecap.

“Relax, I know I wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around,” Spencer said, his timbre quiet but honest, “You were one of the few things I looked forward to, if I’m honest.”

“Really?” She said, agog, like she was waiting for him to turn around and say it had been a joke, “You didn’t think I’m too loud or, like, too much?”

“How can there be too much of you? If your body wasn’t in correct proportion, your organs wouldn't function-”

“Spencer,” She said, though he knew she was smiling even without having to look, “You know that’s not what I meant,”

“I know,” He replied, a smug little smile quirking on his own lips because he loved making her happy too, “No, I could never find you too much.”

She simpered under his words, his hand a stoked flame on her skin as she brought her fingers over the top of them to squeeze them together, before she changed the subject because she knew her cheeks might just explode if they heated anymore.

–

They were back from a long case, one that had made everyone tired and grumpy, especially because they needed to swing by the office for an hour of admin even Emily couldn’t wriggle them out of.

And ofcourse, as he always was when Spencer was feeling like he was already about to strangle someone out of annoyance, Agent Bingley was right there when they entered the lobby.

She hadn’t slept well on the jet, despite Spence loaning her his jumper to use as a pillow, and she was in desperate need of coffee, the kind that Spencer and Penelope forced her to try instead of the cold caramel thing she liked. She’d even go for one of Luke’s zero sugar, zero milk atrocities right now.

“Hey guys, how was the flight?” Taylor jumped in to ask, and everyone gave some sort of variation of a groan because that was exactly how it had felt. His attention turned to her, as she pulled up the rear with Spencer attached her her hip because she had been practically sleepwalking the entire way there, “Hi honey,”

“Taylor, hi,” She said, her eyes perking up when he held out a hot take away cup for her, “You really didn’t have to,”

“Nonsense, herbal tea is supposed to alleviate headaches and help get you to sleep,” He replied, his other hand behind his back quickly whipping out to produce a bunch of flowers in front of her face.

She barely had time to flash him a grin to hide the disappointment that it was nowhere near as caffeinated as she’d like, nor that she didn’t even liked herbal tea, before a bunch of lilies were thrust her way.

“Lillies,” She said, her hand covering her chest at the touching sentiment, “Taylor, you shouldn’t have,”

“I know they’re your favourites,” The blonde replied, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and effectively putting a wall between her and Spencer, whether he meant to or not. Her expression wavered, and Spencer's eyes went straight to her, waiting for her to correct him. Because they weren’t her favourites, not even in her top five. Hyacinths were. Or Foxglove. Or Delphiniums. Not Lillies.

She nodded wordlessly, and the three of them headed for the lift, where the rest of the team held the door for them, her expression tiptoeing between guilty and smiling, Taylor’s almost ecstatic to see her after her long few days away, and Spencer’s entirely pissed off that the sun kissed jerk couldn’t see every sign blaring in his face.

“I might have to cut off the stamen when Ace comes over,” She queried, her eyes roving over the beautiful white petals opening towards her like a book.

“Ace? Who’s Ace?” He said, and Spencer and JJ exchanged a glance, because the whole elevator was now privy to their conversation as David pressed the six button. Taylor reached forward to push the three for himself.

“The dog I foster sometimes, the one I told you about. He helps me when I need to talk through some things. He’s a very good listener,,” She said with a dopey smile on her face, her eyes casting over her boyfriends face with a willing expression, because she knew for a fact she’d told him at lengths about the bouncy Spaniel that adored her, “He comes over for playdates, but the pollen inside lilies are poisonous to dogs,”

Taylor scrunched his nose up, “Ugh, I hate dogs, they’re so slobbery and the always seem to smell awful,” He commented, her face dropping the slightest in a way that made Spencer’s hand curl into a fist, because how dare Agent Bingley take that away from her, “I thought you were a cat person?”

“I like them both equally, but Ace is sweet. He curls up on my legs after we’ve gone for a walk,” Taylor still didn’t seem convinced, and she felt stupid for even mentioning it, well aware that the rest of her team were listening in on her childish description of the old dog that wanted nothing but love.

“Why do you need a dog to talk anyway, babe? You have me,” Taylor said, in a way that was supposed to sound comforting but made Spencer want to shake him and tell him to listen to a damn word she was saying. Her eyes dimmed, and she looked at the lilies again, feeling entirely ungrateful for wishing they were something else, and the elevator doors opened onto the third floor. Taylor kissed her cheek and waltzed out of the lift with a quick goodbye to her team that was returned in murmurs. Turning to look at her, his body already in the anteroom of his own floor, he smiled sweetly at her, “I love you,”

JJ and Emily whipped their heads to her face, expecting to see some kind of puppy love blossom there, only to find wide-eyed panic, her smile slowly slipping. Rossi cleared his throat when she said nothing, the air turning stale as the team waited for her response, Taylor looking at her expectantly, and she wished the ground would open up then and there to swallow her whole, because that would probably be better than whatever this was.

Tara nudged her shoulder, waking her out of her daze, Luke scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, and it was then after a beat more of silence that Taylor opened his mouth again, “Babe, did you hear what I-”

She leaned forward to press the close door button, her doe hues in full flight mode, her fingers only picking up the pace when her boyfriend took a step closer towards the elevator, and Emily brought a hand over her mouth in muffled laughter when the doors slammed shut in front of him, their sunshine rookie entirely spooked and needing a quick exit.

The tiny metal box went silent, Spencer watching her face meld from alarm to horror, to sheer embarrassment.

“I mean, I’ll give it to you kid, that’s one way to do it,” Rossi said, patting her on the back and she shoved her face in her hands, the stems of the dove white flowers brushing against her cheek roughly.

“Please tell me that didn’t just happen,” She groaned through her fingers, JJ chuckling as the doors to their own floor opened up.

“Oh honey,” She said, rubbing the girl’s back gently, leading her out onto the BAU carpet that felt harsher against the souls of her shoes than it ever had before, “I think what you need is a coffee and a long talk with someone who isn’t a dog,”

Spencer watched her shuffle to slump down behind her desk, her expression still rattled and lost, JJ’s eyes flicking to him every now and then in a way that urged him to be the one to do just that because it was obvious by now who she talked the most openly to in the office.

But by the time he’d braved walking over to her desk, she’d already rushed through her report, excusing herself home for the day, and he knew her well enough to know she needed some breathing room before he could approach the subject, otherwise she would shut the doors on him too.

He hated the spiteful part of him that revelled in Taylor’s expression when that metal screen had slammed in his face.

—

It was three days later, and she had enforced a strict ban on talking about that day in the office. For once she didn’t look like she was going to break her resolve either, since every time someone tried to weasel information of her she would either pretend she hadn’t heard, or would excuse herself to make her fifth coffee of the day, or even had thrown her paperwork on the floor when Luke had pushed her for an answer just for an excuse to avoid the topic.

In fact, Spencer himself had been tempted to get her alone because he knew she would crack without much pressure from him, though the thought of using her trusting nature against her seemed wicked, and so he stopped himself and settled for curiosity.

It wasn’t until they were away on a case and they were shoved in a room together that the subject of Taylor was even brought up, and even then it was entirely out of his control.

“I’ll take the couch,” Spencer said, his eyes falling on the double bed in the centre of the room, striding over the other side of the room to throw his to go bag down on the two seater sofa that would wreck his back.

“Don’t be silly, we can just share the bed.” She said, as if it was the most obvious solution, which it was, “I sleep talk a little, but just give me a shove and I’ll shut up,”

Spencer paused, watching her fumbling around her bag for her toothbrush and paste.

“Won’t your boyfriend mind?” He asked, his palms clammy because he worried for a moment it was wrong to bring it up, and his chest butterflied when she froze, “Sorry, I know you didn’t want to talk about it, I just thought I wouldn’t like my girlfriend sharing a bed-”

“We broke up,” She said, taking pulling a large pink shirt out her bag and some strawberry printed shorts, her toiletries stuffed in her pockets, “So don’t worry about any of that stuff, we can share,”

And she waltzed into the bathroom without any more explanation, the lock clicking behind her and leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts.

They had broken up? Was it because of what happened in the elevator? Was it because of what Penelope said in the car? Was she the one to break up with him or the other way around?

Spencer felt like a gossip, even though his thoughts had gone no further than his cranium, and by the time she emerged from the bathroom, fresh faced and in her pyjamas, he had already changed himself, tucked himself under the cover in the hope she understood they didn’t need to talk about it if she didn’t want to.

She smiled at him, tucking her dirty clothes back in her bag and heading for the bed, slipping under the plush duvet with a soft ooft.

“Light on or off?” She asked, her finger hovering over the switch beside their bed.

“On, if that’s okay?” He replied and she nodded wordlessly, shuffling down under the covers, pulling them up to just below her armpits. Crossing her arms over her stomach like she was snow white waiting to fall into a poison-laced slumber, her eyes bore holes into the ceiling, and his thoughts banged loudly against his temple. The silence of the room seemed to only turn their avoidance tactics into a cacophony they couldn’t ignore.

“If you’re going to ask questions, I might as well tell you before we get back to Quantico.” She said finally, her sigh heavy and exhausted and she looked over at him, his brunette locks splaying over the pillow in waves, his facial hair scratching against the sheet when he flicked his head over to her too.

Hazel had never been such a pretty colour than when they sat in silence for a moment, staring at one another, almost daring the other to speak first. He swallowed, his mouth watering at how she looked, tucked under the sheets, her body lax and soft under her pyjamas, her hands skimming over her stomach nervously.

“Is it because of the day in the elevator?” Spencer asked after a few minutes, breaths suddenly becoming difficult to regulate naturally unless he forced them to be, because he was so close to her under the covers, his entire body too long and gangly for just a twin bed, he could smell her shampoo and conditioning combo in full force. Her spearmint tongue rolled words around her mouth for a minute, dropping down to his Star Wars shirt he felt childish for wearing the minute he saw her looking at it.

“Kind of, he just wanted us to move so fast, it just kinda made me nervous, but I always thought being nervous was supposed to be good, you know?” She sighed, forgetting to breathe in between her splurge of words that had been building up inside her for weeks, “Like you said the feeling of excitement and fear are almost identical so I think I just convinced myself I was being dumb and I was being a bad person for not just giving him what he wanted. I’m supposed to love him, right? Being his girlfriend and all that,”

He had said that; because scientifically that was exactly correct. The hormones released during love and during fear were, down to their core, chemical matches, and it felt funny she’d remembered that fact considering she made him feel somewhere in between too. He knew she was special, just as much as he knew the idea of tainting her with his core terrified him. Like he secreted some kind of radiation that would ruin her if she got too close for too long. But he couldn’t help it. How do you stop yourself from wanting something good? It was just science. A Pavlovian response.

“You’re not supposed to do anything. There’s no timeline for how you feel, and you can’t force yourself to feel something any quicker or stronger than you do,” He said, shaking his head when she bit her lip, her fingertips playing with one another ontop of the sheets.

“He wanted to know when I was ready to have…” She swallowed, her cheeks heating, “Intimacy with him. A-and it’s not like I’ve not done it before, I had a boyfriend in high school, but I just felt like with him…”

“He didn’t pressure you, did he?” Spencer asked, his brows furrowing as he felt a surge of annoyance flash through his blood that she had wound herself up so much just because of some guy who couldn’t keep it in his pants for a few months.

Her eyes widened, taking in the storm brewing in that beautiful woodland gaze of his, and she shook her head quickly, “No, no, nothing like that. This was all on me, it was all just me being dumb,”

“You’re not being dumb just because some guy didn’t like the answer you gave,” He corrected, exhaling deeply and letting his frown drop, because he knew she hated when he did that, “Why didn’t you want to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She shrugged, looking back up at the dusty lamp shade hanging from the ceiling, the cobwebs that smattered around the wooden panels.

“I don’t know, I just kind of never saw the two of us.. becoming intimate, you know?” She said, her tone sheepish like she was in confession and he was a priest sat on the other side of the divide. He looked over at her, scanning the outline of her face, but she seemed adamant on avoiding his gaze, because she knew she would spill everything the minute she looked at him. With Spencer, there were no secrets, and that was entirely the problem.

Spencer’s lips pursed, thinking of exactly the right thing to say to such a delicate soul when she was laying herself hypothetically bare for him.

“You don’t have to be intimate in a relationship if you don’t want to. No one who loves you should ever make you feel like there’s an expectation or like you owe them that,” Spencer explained softly, edging his pinky finger out the tiniest bit to catch the back of her hand that now lay flat on the bed, her head turning up to meet his round forest hues that looked down at her with more softness than he’d felt in a long time.

He wished he could stay here with her forever. In the quiet of this room, they were just the two of them, not Doctor Reid and the Special Agent he had a huge hopeless crush on that was years his junior and thought she could fix everything wrong with the world.

“I know,” She sighs, and his heart caught in his throat when her pinky raises up to meet his own, the tips of their fingers brushing against one another like they were meeting each other for a slow dance. He had touched her many times before, but there was something illicit about this time. Like their skin had become oppositely charged and was pulling the other one in with an electric crackle, “He never pressured me but I felt like I could have tried harder to want it.”

“If you don’t want it, you don’t ever have to have it. A lot of people reach your age when your frontal cortex is developed and realise they might be asexual, it’s not a bad thing-” He tried reassuring her, but she was quick to shake her head again, bashfully ripping her eyes away from him to look at their caressing fingertips.

“No, no. It’s not that I never want to be intimate ever, I just never really felt comfortable around him enough to let myself want it. Like I couldn’t just be me with him, I was just being what he wanted me to be. Like he never really knew the real me,” She explained, and she rolled over onto her side to face him, her other finger coming up to absentmindedly trace over the prominent vein that ran up his arm, stopping just below where his old needle scars were at the crook of his elbow. If she saw them, she didn’t say a word, but Spencer felt like she was trailing a flame over his skin. He thought if she took his manhood in her hand she’d probably get the exact same response from him, because with every invisible swirl and line she drew over his skin, he felt a heat ripping through his loins. “Does that make sense? Like I didn’t think he would like the ikky parts of me so I ended up putting on a charade,”

“Y-yeah,” He replied, and his stammer made her look up, eyes wide and innocent as she watched him all but falling apart under a single fingertip. God he was pathetic. Mid thirties and nearly finishing in his boxers over a pretty girl touching his arm. Only it wasn’t just a pretty girl. It was her. His sunshine girl. “But I don’t think you have any ikky parts, to be honest,”

Her eyes deepened into pools of awe, and he watched her trail a glance down his nose to his mouth vulnerably.

“Spencer, you’re being too kind,” She whispered, and he swore his chest lurched.

He cleared his throat, and moved to roll over towards her too, hoping to disperse some of the energy that was clogging between them, only for it to become dialled to a hundred, trapping them in a tiny box where they were looking at one another, laying on the bed they were being forced to share and almost holding hands, because committing to full thing was scary like they were ten years old in a playground.

“Of course that makes sense. It’s much healthier to form intimate relationships with people we trust and feel safe with than rushing into things,” Spencer tried to breeze past the tension, but her breath was fanning over his face, almost tripping him over his words, because she was still looking at him like he knew all the answers. Because he usually did. Except for this time. This time, he felt like he was walking blind towards his point, “Not that one night stands should be shamed or anything, but it’s much better to engage in sexual intercourse with someone when it feels right,”

She breathed out deeply, licking her lips, and her finger movements stopped.

“So it’s just a when you know, you know, kind of thing?” She asked, her brows pulling together in a saddened frown, “I’m not, like, broken or anything?”

He sat up on his elbow, grabbing her wrist tight enough she would listen the minute he said it to her, because he never wanted to hear her say that again, “There is nothing wrong with you, you hear me?” She looked up at him with glassy eyes, wide and shocked to see him so desperately insistent over her, “You feeling secure is more important than any guy out there, no matter how nice they are, got it?”

She nodded after a beat, because she thought her brain might have stopped working with the way he was leaned over her, looking down at her with a glimmer of the harshness he’d been drowning in when she first met him. These days he seemed to have mellowed out the tiniest bit, except the straightforward tone he held with everyone else who wasn’t her, or the general heavy handedness he didn’t seem to realise he was capable of. Like in the way his warm, rough hands gripped the skin of her wrist, his expression somewhat frustrated though not with her as he looked down at where she was half beneath him.

“Spence?” She whispered into the electricity between them, her eyes trailing over his nose again and ghosting over his half attempt at facial hair. They were just whisps, but they suited him embarrassingly well. He didn’t reply, just stared at her to wait for her response, “I feel safe with you, you know that?”

He swore his heart was thumping out of his chest. She looked divine under his hand, sweet like a pudding begging him to taste, and he couldn’t help it when his thumb trailed up the side of her jaw, brushing just under her bottom lip, and she seemed to press herself further into his touch, a cat being scratched behind velvet ears.

“You’d tell me if you ever wanted me to stop, wouldn’t you?” He murmured, gooseflesh crawling up his arm when she nodded, her eyes boring holes into his soul when she looked up at him like that.

“Always,” She answered honestly, blinking at him once, twice, before she took a deep breath for courage, “But what if I never wanted you to stop?”

Spencer nearly moaned when he crashed their lips together, and he heard her squeak in delight beneath him, his large hand cupping her jaw, weaving into her hair, tugging her closer. She felt like her was consuming her whole, and she had no qualms about it, not when she reached a hand up to his shoulder and tugged him even more on top of her, the weight of him on her chest comforting and achingly right.

He pulled away to breathe for a moment, but she was chasing his lips, her touch maddening and he swore his brain switched off when she ran a hand up his spine, slipping under his shirt and tracing over every one of his vertebrae making him shiver. Her lips were stronger than any craving he had ever felt, the instant dopamine rush embarrassing for a man of his age, so hardened by the world reduced to putty, ready to beg for more because now he’d had a taste of her ambrosia, he didn’t think he could ever think straight again. A man sent crazy by forbidden wine.

He pushed her hair away from her face, using his long fingers to wrap around the back of her head and pull her impossibly closer to him, his other arm skirting down to her clothed waist and pressing their bodies together. She whined in his mouth, and Spencer thought he could finally die happy.

He pulled away to let her catch a gasp, her fingers carding through his long, brown curls, scratching against his scalp in a way that drew a low growl from his throat. He needed more, needed her, more than the air he gulped down ravenously and he found himself kissing at her soft neck, her head tipped back in bliss as he kissed every inch he could.

“The reason I didn’t want it with Taylor,” She choked between manic breaths, her hands holding onto him so tight he knew she didn’t have any intention of asking him to stop, “Was because it didn’t feel like this,”

Spencer wove their fingers together, pushing her hand above her head as the other came up to tilt her face towards him, looking into her bleary eyes for a second, their noses ghosting past one another, her mint breath delicious on his lips.

“It never feels like this, baby,” He whispered, their foreheads pressing together before he gave into her again and pressed his lips against hers so hard she whimpered into his mouth.

And she believed him.

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

5K notes · View notes

xneens · 4 months ago

Text

wasted summer - one

series masterlist

watching jj like someone else hurts, thankfully, you finds comfort in rafe’s arms … and his bed.

Music boomed in your ears, the party in full swing as you made your way upstairs, away from the guys smoking weed and girls dancing to Kanye West. Using a guest room on the third floor, you opened the window and crawled out onto the roof. With a drink in hand, you watched partygoers jump into the Cameron's pool, observing the party from afar.

Taking a sip of the cheap vodka JJ had gotten, you glanced at the blond, a frown on your lips as you saw him sweep Kiara off her feet, jumping into the pool with her. Kiara likes JJ, that much you know is true after she had drunkenly confessed during a girl's night out. Bitterness grew inside you as you watched him respond to her subtle flirting, praying desperately he didn't return her feelings but your own.

You look away, downing the rest of the cup before throwing it off the roof in hopes of it hitting someone. Hopefully either one of them, but they were still playing in the pool. Together.

"Littering on my property? Harsh." a voice behind you murmurs as he crawls out the window, sitting beside you on the roof. Rafe grins at you, bringing the blunt to his lips.

You roll your eyes, keeping them on him instead of the heartwrenching scene below you. "Like you haven't littered at my house before. Payback."

"So vengeful ever since you started hanging out with those Pogues." Rafe chuckles, offering you a hit off his blunt. You decline it with a wave of your hand and he shrugs, taking another hit off of it.

Glancing back at JJ and Kiara, you can't help the pang in your heart as you watch them play in the pool, splashing each other with large smiles on their faces. Sighing, you look back at Rafe, suddenly wishing you'd brought a bottle of Titos with you.

Rafe arches a brow, a smirk dancing on his lips. "What're you doing up here, anyways? Shouldn't you be hanging out with the Scooby gang?"

Not wanting to be in his eyesight, you lay down on the roof, staring at the night sky, the lights from the party polluting the starry sky. "I needed a break."

"From those dirty Pogues?"

You smack his arm, causing the blond to burst out laughing. "Stop bullying my friends."

"Bullying works," replied Rafe, shifting to mirror your position. He groans softly as he lays back on the roof. "Remember Agatha Haynes? She no longer smokes fifty cigarettes a day after you called her Hagatha."

A snort escapes your lips before you can stop it. You shake your head. "God, I was a bitch."

"You still are." Rafe dodges another smack, a teasing grin slapped across his face. "Still the spoiled, snobby, selfish girl you were. You're just better at hiding it now."

"Oh, and the hits just keep coming." You groan out dramatically, smiling back at him. "I'll have you know that I am very empathetic and care about other people's feelings.”

The blond shakes his head, taking a hit from his blunt. "Is that why you're hiding out from your gang of mutts? Because you care about them so much you don't want them to know you're suffering in silence?"

"I wish you'd suffer in silence."

"Woah, don't violate the thirteenth-year truce," Rafe replies, drawing out a reluctant smile from you.

Rafe was ... Rafe. Born with a golden spoon in his mouth, acted like every rich kid from Figure 8, only worse, and knew how to get his way. The only fight the blond had lost was to a coked-out tourist to who Rafe ironically sold the coke.

Most people didn't see that he could be nice when he wanted to. You always held it above everyone that Rafe Cameron had a soft spot for you, even if it only came from being his little sister's best friend. Still, it was nice to be one of the few people not to be on the receiving side of his hostility, a side Sarah was constantly on.

It was a weird friendship built on a truce made by four and six-year-olds. During your fourth birthday party, Rafe had gifted you with a promise to never be the cause of your tears and you promised to never cut holes in his tighty whities again.

After a few minutes of silence, Rafe turns his head to look at you, exhaling out smoke. "Seriously, though, why are you hiding?"

"Not hiding, taking a break." You correct him, refusing to meet his eyes. He wasn't completely wrong, you were hiding from your friends, specifically two of them.

"That's such bullshit." scoffs the man next to you, rolling his eyes at your words. "Tell me."

You groan, covering your face with your hands in hopes of hiding your embarrassment from him. "No. It's nothing."

"Tell me."

"Stop being nosy."

Rafe snickers, putting his blunt out before grabbing your hands and pulling them away from your face gently. Eyes filled with serenity, a sight only you and Wheezie ever got to see. "Tell me, you know I won't tell anyone."

Your playful pout makes his grin widen. "You'll make fun of me."

"Me? After our truce?" asks Rafe, throwing his head back in laughter. "Never."

After contemplating whether to lie to his face, you sigh, rubbing your temples. It couldn't hurt to tell him, it's not as if he ever told anyone stuff you've told him before. "Kiara likes JJ. And ... I think he likes her back."

An awkward moment of silence hangs in the air before Rafe inhales sharply. "Oh. I didn't realize you wanted to fuck the help."

"Rafe." your tone made him throw his hands up in surrender. Staring back up at the sky, you scrunched your nose. "I kind of like him. It just sucks a little seeing them so touchy with each other and flirting in my face. If they become official, then I'll literally be the only person in the friend group without anyone. I'll be a seventh wheel and that's so fucking pathetic."

"You're getting ahead of yourself," says Rafe, scoffing. "My sister found someone who puts up with her shit, you'll have an easier chance finding a boyfriend. If you don't like anyone, I'll volunteer."

You can't help but roll your eyes at his not-so-comforting words. "Thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel better."

The blond chortled, sitting up. "I'm serious. Anyone who isn't blind can see you're clearly much better than those idiots you hang around. The girls you hung out with were annoying as hell but at least they were better than those group of Pogues."

"How very Kook of you to say," you mutter back, not taking Rafe's words earnestly. Shifting, you sit up, eyes flickering back to the pool, immediately spotting Sarah and John B., Pope and Cleo, and JJ and Kiara still playing with each other. "I don't know, they probably don't care I'm not with them right now."

You could feel Rafe's eyes burning a hole in your face, his lack of insults to throw at your friends making you uncomfortable. Anything was better than silence when it came to Rafe. Silence meant he was thinking and you almost always never liked what he was thinking of.

He stands up before holding his hand out, gesturing for you to take it. "Come on, let's get you something to drink. It'll cheer you up."

You immediately take his hand, standing up. "Don't need to convince me."

"None of that cheap shit you've been drinking. My dad has some expensive whiskey he keeps in his study." Rafe adds, climbing back through the window with you right behind him. He doesn't let go of your hand, even after you climb back inside.

Rafe leads you through the swarm of people in the hall, heading towards the second floor for his dad's office. He pushes a guy away from the door, unlocking it and holding it open for you to enter. You step across the threshold, glancing around Ward's office as Rafe shuts the door behind him.

You'd been in Ward's office a handful of times, most times with Sarah and one time with Ward himself when you had skinned your knee riding a bike and he bandaged it up. Being inside the warm-lit room with Rafe felt strange and slightly tense.

Plopping down on the big leather couch, you watch Rafe walk towards the desk, raiding his father's desk drawer until he finds the big bottle of GlenDronach. He grabs two glasses, sitting down beside you as he pours the amber liquid.

You scrunch your nose at the smell. "God, I can smell the hangover."

Rafe smirks, pouring too much into both of the glasses, capping the bottle back up. "Nah, if anything this will help you sleep. It goes down smooth."

You take the glass from Rafe, wincing at the strong musk of the whiskey before downing half the bottle like a shot, immediately coughing after swallowing it down. Rafe's brows furrowed as he watched you slam the half-filled glass down on the coffee table, exasperated. "That did not go down smooth."

"It's sipping whiskey, you don't drink it like a shot of vodka." the blond clarifies, judgment and confusion in his tone. "Who the hell takes a shot of whiskey?"

Glaring at him, you cough out the burning in your throat. "Get me a Sprite, motherfucker."

An amused smirk dances on his lips as he stands up and opens Ward's mini fridge, pulling out a cold can of Sprite. He opens it before handing it to you, sitting back down. "I just witnessed a crime."

You gurgle half the can, soothing your burning throat before glaring at him. "I don't like the taste of alcohol, I just drink it to get drunk. Besides, people who actually enjoy the taste are psychopaths."

"You never miss the chance to tell me I am," Rafe replies, grinning as he takes a more moderate sip of his whiskey. He makes an approving expression, swirling the liquid around the glass.

"You can have mine. I hate it." You push the glass in front of Rafe, leaning back on the couch. Rafe sipped his glass of single malt whiskey while you drank a can of Sprite. "Worse thing I've swallowed. And there's competition."

Rafe makes a face at that, shaking his head. "Please, no details of how the help was in your mouth."

Smacking his arm caused a drop of his whiskey to spill over the side. "Stop calling my friends the help, you snarky asshole."

The blond gives you a look, setting his glass back down on the table. "Maybank helped me carry my golf clubs at the club last week. I can't think of a better title for him. It's in the name."

You roll your eyes, downing the rest of your drink. Rafe could carry his own golf clubs so you knew he sought out JJ's help specifically to taunt and mock him. "If I get the lifeguard job, are you gonna start calling me the help?"

His eyes softened slightly, head tilting towards yours. "No, of course not. You're far better than anyone else, even if you decide to get an unnecessary job.”

"Even better than you?" you arch a brow, watching his lips quirk up in a genuine smile.

"Always," replies Rafe.

Heat pools in your stomach, the whiskey's delayed effect. You glance away from Rafe's sharp eyes. Clearing your throat, you shift on the couch, making yourself more comfortable. "It's not unnecessary, by the way. The job. It looks good on my transcripts."

"Hm, still going to Charleston?"

You shrug, staring at the insurmountably large portrait of Denmark Tanney in Ward's office. "I don't know. My parents want me to, and I'll get into it but I don't wanna be so close to home, you know?"

Rafe's brows furrowed, a frown tugging on his lips. "Where are you thinking?"

"Either New Orleans or London," you answer, pulling a laugh out of Rafe. "Yeah, a wide range of possibilities for me."

"You don't wanna go to Charleston?" questioned Rafe, his eyes never leaving yours. A look of displeasure passes his face. "It's not that close, seven hours."

You make a face, shaking your head. "Seven hours is too close for me.”

The blond scoffed, leaning forward to sip his whiskey.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you observed him. Teasingly, you ask. "What, you gonna miss me when I leave?"

"I thought it was obvious," Rafe replied, downing the rest of his glass. He shifts on the couch, placing his arms on top of it, giving you a sardonic grin. "I think Charleston is far enough."

Rolling your eyes for the millionth time that night, you lay your head back, sighing. "You can come visit me anytime. Just don't bring anyone. Especially not Topper or Kelce."

"Ah, I wouldn't wanna walk in on you and your victims." jokes Rafe, patting your thigh softly. "Wouldn't be the first."

You laugh, winking at him. "Maybe you'll be my next victim."

Rafe raises a brow, leaning back slightly as he stares at you. "Don't tease me, I have no self-control when it comes to you."

"Yes, I think that was clear when you sent Tom Schnitzel to the ER for trying to drug me," you reply, inhaling sharply at the memory. You were positive you still had Tom's blood stained onto the white top from that night. "Thanks for that, by the way. I don't think I properly thanked you for that."

Rafe waves it away with a hand, standing. "Don't worry about it. I needed to get it out that night, anyway. Come on, I have something to show you."

Curious, you follow Rafe out of the office, walking down the hall to his room. He opens the door, motioning for you to enter. Immediately, you plop down on his bed, laying out on the soft mattress as he closes the door behind him. You watch him walk towards his dresser, turning around with a small jewelry box, a bow sitting on the top.

"What's that for?" you ask, taking the box from Rafe, and inspecting it.

He sits on the edge of the bed, eyes watching you fiddle with the box. "Your birthday present."

"It's not for another month."

Rafe shrugs, grinning. "Consider it your early birthday present, then. Come on, open it."

Tilting your head, you lift the top from it, the diamond tennis bracelet sparkling as soon as the light hits it. You gasped softly, taking the bracelet from its mold, watching in fascination as the diamonds danced in the light.

"Holy shit, Rafe," you mutter, inspecting the bracelet. "What the fuck? How much was it?"

The blond chuckled, taking the bracelet and unlocking the hook. He gestured for you to put your wrist out. "Real diamonds. None of that lab-grown bullshit. Don't worry, the cost didn't even dent my account."

You give him a look, allowing him to put the bracelet on your wrist and shake it as soon as it's on. "I told you before that I don't want expensive gifts from my friends. Just my parents."

"I'd like to think I'm more than one of your obnoxious friends," replies Rafe, causing you to give him a look. He snickered, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Last time, I swear."

"Highly doubt that." you turn your attention back to the bracelet, smirking at how it looked against your skin. "Thank you, though. It's really pretty."

Rafe stares at you, blue eyes watching you admire his present. "Yeah, beautiful."

You glance up at him, cheeks flushed from the whiskey and drinks prior. Heat pools in your stomach as your eyes meet his. Clearing your throat, you tuck your hair behind your ear. "Best present I got this year."

He smirks, laying his head down on a pillow, watching as you mirror his movement. "Yeah? Do I get to be your favorite until I piss you off?"

"Of course. I give it five minutes." you tease, grinning when Rafe smacks you with a pillow softly. You dodge his second hit, rolling closer to him, your arm pressed against his. "I was kidding! You'll be my favorite forever."

"That's more like it," Rafe says, a satisfied grin slapped across his face.

You groan softly, rolling onto your side to face the blond, eyes closing. The party was still going on downstairs, the loud thumping of the music heard two stories up. Your mind briefly flickered to what was happening with JJ and Kiara until Rafe's fingers ghosted over your side.

"I swear to god if you're gonna tickle me, Cameron," you grumble, eyes still closed, feeling his fingers roam around until they hit your stomach.

Rafe chuckles quietly, fingers stroking the ribcage tattoo you had gotten with Sarah. "When did you get this?"

"A week ago." you giggle as he runs his fingers up, touching your neck. Your eyes snapped open and you immediately slap his hand away, your brand new bracelet swinging slightly from the movement. "Rafe. You know how ticklish I am."

"Sorry," he smirks, tone unapologetic. His hand drifts to your hips, fingers playing with your cutoff shorts. "Wouldn't want a repeat of the Jenga incident."

Your nose scrunches at that, remembering the night you spent at the ER. "It was an accident."

"Still sticking to that story?"

"You moved your head."

"You threw a glass at my head." Rafe corrected, a smile tugging the corner of his lips up.

Scowling at him, you shake your head. "No, I threw it at the wall behind you. You moved your head at the last second and had to get five stitches."

"If you weren't so fucking competitive ..." Rafe teases, trailing off.

You bite your tongue, letting the subject go with great difficulty, but managing to not bite back. Closing your eyes again, you let your muscles alleviate. "Hm. Whatever."

You both lay in silence for a few minutes, the alcohol in your system and Rafe's soft bed allowing you to relax despite the loud music creeping through the walls. Despite feeling his eyes on you, you felt your body intense, the bed cradling you.

Rafe's hand drifts slowly up your hip, fingertips softly brushing against the sliver of bare stomach before slipping slightly under the hem of your top. Your eyes flutter up at the movement, watching as his thumb draws circles on your skin.

Goosebumps arise, and you suddenly realize how close he is, not even a foot away. His eyes flickered to your lips, his tongue peeking out to wetten his own. Your breath gets caught in your throat, his face somehow closer now.

Maybe it was the alcohol you've consumed trying to forget your own despair or an excuse to get your mind off JJ and Kiara, but you watched as Rafe brought his lips to yours, not pulling back when the taste of whiskey invades your mouth.

A hand caressing your cheek, Rafe rolled over on top of you, his elbows holding up his weight as he kissed you. His tongue sought entry to your mouth, biting your bottom lip. You gasped slightly at the feel, allowing him to deepen the kiss. You melt into his touch, your lips parting slightly as Rafe's tongue sweeps in.

Rafe breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down your neck, leaving a string of soft kisses along your collarbone. Tilting your head back, you give him better access, running your hands through his hair, a soft content sigh escaping your lips.

He nips at your collarbones before sucking a mark into your skin, just right above your breast causing you to mewl at the touch, your hands drifting to his shoulders, freshly manicured nails digging into his skin. You meet his eyes, his ocean blues now darkened like the water during a storm.

Something comes over your body, seeing Rafe in a new light. Suddenly needy and impatient, your hands tugged at the hem of Rafe's black polo, pleading silently for him to take it off. Taking your hint, he sits up, taking it off in one swift move, tossing it on the floor.

You'd never admit it, not even to Rafe–especially to Rafe, but you'd always loved his abs. The definition of the, so toned, tanned, and delectable. He may have been your friend, but you weren't blind to his looks, and definitely how his abs looked when he flexed them.

As your fingers traced the defined line down his stomach, Rafe's hands slid under your top until the tips of his fingers met the fabric of your bikini top. Needing more, a lot more, you sit up, ridding yourself of the offensive clothing. You heard Rafe groan, pushing you back onto the bed, eyes roaming the sight of the hot pink bikini top you still wore, the top so little it was hardly covering your nipples.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmured, reaching out and pulling off the top quickly, the thin string breaking at the force, your tits spilling out. You gasped, nipples hardening in the cold air. Rafe groaned at the sight, hands cupping your breasts, his breath hitting your nipples. "Fucking incredible."

You arched your back, moaning softly as his tongue wettens a nipple before taking it into his mouth. His teeth nibble it, sucking and teasing the hard bud while his fingers play with the other, rolling it between his fingers. Rafe pinches it gently, looking up at you with a smirk when you mewl.

Running your hands over Rafe's back, you feel the warmth and firmness of his muscles, wetness pooling at the thought of kissing every single inch of his torso. Before he could take the other nipple into his mouth, you pull his lips back to yours, wrapping an arm around his neck as a hand runs down his back, nails scratching his spine.

Rafe's hand moves down your sides, fingers playing with the button of your shorts. Pulling back from the kiss, he unbuttoned your shorts, slowly–and agonizingly–sliding them off. The cutoffs pile onto his shirt on the floor.

You know Rafe's experienced, so are you, but you swore he almost looked nervous as he stared down at you, his hands slightly shaky as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your matching pink thong. Those join the discarded clothing on his bedroom floor.

He looks like a man starved as his eyes focus on your bare cunt, hungry and almost animalistic as he leans closer to your glistening pussy, nose nearly touching the clit. "You're already so wet."

Instinctively, you spread your legs wider, hands grasping the sheets as his finger leisurely dips into your wet pussy, your lips parting slightly. His thumb touches your clit, rubbing it gently. You groan, hips bucking at the feel, needing more. "Fuck."

Rafe smirks, pushing a finger into your cunt, watching as your face contorted in pleasure. He adds a second before you could come down from the small high. "Look at you, so needy and desperate."

Before you could think of a retort, he leans down to replace his thumb with his tongue, licking and sucking at your clit as his fingers continue to thrust inside you, gaining speed. The sight of Rafe's head between your legs, his tongue flicking your clit was so erotic, the vision enough for you to get wetter. You throw your head back, your fingers tangling in Rafe's hair as you pull his head closer to your dripping pussy, a moan filling the room.

His fingers hit that spot inside you, causing a surprise whimper from your lips to escape. Rafe pauses, glancing up at you, pride in his eyes before he doubles his efforts, his fingers curling to reach that spot. He sucks your clit, nibbling it when you tug his hair.

"Rafe," you moan, arching your back. You push his head deeper between your thighs, pussy clenching around his fingers, so close to falling off. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"That's right, say my fucking name when you cum on my fingers," Rafe grunted, his fingers plunging in and out of your soaking wet cunt. He licks your clit, staring up as you come closer.

A dripping mess, you buck your hips up as Rafe continues his relentless actions on your pussy, moans of pleasure filling the room. His free hand moves up your torso, cupping your breast before rolling your nipples between his fingers.

You lose it when he pinches it harshly, moaning loudly as you come undone, pussy clenching around his fingers, throbbing. You whimper out his name, your hand gripping his hair. "Fuck!"

Rafe laps it all up, replacing his fingers with his tongue, hands holding your legs open as you attempt to close them, your clit sensitive. He runs his tongue along your pussy, lapping up your juices, groaning at the taste, unable to pull himself away.

He licks his lips, staring possessively at your cunt before looking up at you with a proud smile. "You taste so fucking good."

He then proves it to you, lips meeting yours in a kiss. You taste yourself on him as you kiss him back, lips moving against each other. As you come down from the high, you roll him over, straddling his torso. You move your lips to his neck, marking it until you kiss down his chest. Meeting his eyes, you run your tongue down his abs, kissing every individual one.

You move to straddle his legs, quickly unbuttoning his pants, much opposite of his agonizingly slow approach. Rafe lifts his hips, helping you take off his jeans, sitting up to pull you in for another kiss. Giggling, you push him back onto the bed, your fingers sliding underneath the band of his boxers.

You bite your lip as you take out his cock, your hand wrapping around it immediately. The size of it made your mouth water, licking your lips in anticipation as you stroked it slowly causing Rafe to groan. With an approving hum, you lick the tip, meeting Rafe's hungry gaze.

Smirking, you run your tongue along the length of it, pulling back when Rafe bucks his hips up, glaring at you for teasing him. Chuckling, you decide to end the shortlived torture, taking his cock into your mouth, your warm, wet lips wrapping around his cock.

He groans, fingers pulling at your hair, guiding your movements, and urging you to take more of him. The sight of your soft, pink lips wrapped around his cock was something he'd never forget. "That's it, baby. Suck my dick like a good slut."

You felt your pussy clench at his words, growing wetter as you suck him off, eagerly bobbing your head up and down his dick. Pre-cum drips onto your tongue and you savor the taste, moaning around his cock, Rafe grunting at the feel of the vibrations.

Not wanting him to cum down your throat, you stop, slapping his cock on your tongue, smiling innocently when he narrows his eyes at you. He looked so hot staring down at you, chest heaving as he panted lightly, his knuckles white as he tried to restrain himself. His cock bobbed up as if begging for attention.

Shifting, you move up his body until your pussy is inches from Rafe's cock. You tap your clit with his cock, whimpering quietly, your clit still sensitive. Rafe's hands drift to your hips and you smack them away, giving him a smile as you rub your cunt against his dick, wanting to tease him just a little bit more.

He grits out your name, hands by his sides as he clenches them into a fist. "Stop teasing.”

"Or what?" you arch a brow, smirking as you let the head of his cock slip into your wet cunt. Temporarily speechless, Rafe lets out a guttural groan as you sink down unhurriedly, watching as your pussy wraps around his cock until he bottoms out. The size of his cock stretches you out, your walls fluttering around him as you rock slowly. "Holy shit."

"Jesus Christ." Rafe growls, his hands cupping your tits as you begin to bounce on his dick. He squeezes them, watching as your pussy swallows his cock like a vice. "So tight. Made just for me."

You moan at his words, leaning back and placing your hands on his thigh, giving him a view men would kill for. You ride his cock, throwing your head back at the feel of his cock stretching you out. Rafe reaches down, slapping your ass as you ride him, and you mewl at the gentle pain. "Rafe."

Rafe's thumb touches your clit, rubbing it as he watches you ride his cock, his lips parted slightly like he is seeing one of the seven wonders of the world. His eyes dart between his cock sliding in and out of your cunt and your face contorts with pleasure, moaning every time you slide down his cock.

"Fucking gorgeous." Rafe whispers, thrusting up into you, his pupils dilated when you whimper loudly. He sits up, his hands gripping your waist, moving his face in front of your bouncing tits, taking a nipple into his mouth, swirling it with his tongue. "So much better than I imagined, baby."

You place your hands on his shoulders, pussy clenching around his cock. You moan into his ear, kissing his neck as he thrusts up into you, your legs trembling as you draw closer to cumming. "Rafe, I'm gonna cum."

The words cause him to double his efforts, gripping your waist so tight it would leave bruises, his cock filling you up as he fucks you fast. His lips drag across your neck, leaving a mark as his cock brushes against your cervix. "Cum for me. Cum all over my cock like a fucking slut."

You cry out as you come, your cunt tightening around his cock. You bite Rafe's shoulder, muffling your ungodly loud moan. "Fuck, fuck!”

He pulls you back in for a kiss, spilling his seed into your awaiting pussy. Rafe slows to a stop, groaning against your lips, his cock nuzzled deep inside you. Rolling you on your back, he doesn't separate from you, keeping his dick warm as he kisses you languidly. Taking a breath, he breaks the kiss, staring down at you, a small smile gracing his lips. "You alright, sweetheart?"

Tired and content, you return his smile, pussy throbbing around his softening cock. You nod, eyes heavy. "Yeah, you?"

Rafe chuckles quietly. "Yeah, me too."

As your eyes drift close, you feel Rafe press a kiss to your forehead.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #outer banks #obx

948 notes · View notes

imaredshirt · 2 months ago

Text

I'm kinda really into the idea of Fiddleford meeting Stanley before meeting Stanford.

Pretty early on after being chased out of New Jersey, Stanley ends up being chased out of Kentucky and drives the night through Tennessee until his car breaks down somewhere west of Murfreesboro. He gets the car towed to a nearby garage, where a young mechanic takes one look under the hood and says he'll have it ready in a jiffy. All Stan will have to do is pay a few bucks inside, and he can be back on the road in no time.

Sounds great to Stan, except - well, he's broke. He can't pay the guy. He knows this, but the guy doesn't know this, so Stan spends the next few minutes trying to talk up one of the old-ish Stan-vac Vacuums he's got stashed away in his trunk, hoping to give it to the guy in lieu of cash.

Turns out the mechanic is a chatty guy himself, and Stan learns a few things about him: his name's Fiddleford (Stan calls him Fidds right off the bat, and for some funny reason the guy's over the moon about it) he likes building little gadgets and the like in his off time, and he's working at his uncle's garage for a few months to earn some spending money before he heads off to some back-up college in California.

Next thing you know, Stan's got the trunk popped open and Fidds is examining the vacuum, humming and hawing and narrowing his eyes at the shoddy design. The car's fixed up and ready to go at this point, but Fidds is taking the vacuum over to a workbench where he's got a set of tools nearby, and Stan's following him, trying to explain that the vacuum isn't bad exactly, it's just --

"So, the thing doesn't actually suck stuff up," Stan says as Fidds deftly pulls the machinery apart. "I mean, it'll pick up some dust bunnies for a few minutes before giving up, but then it kinda - uh, spits them back out."

"Well," Fidds says, squinting one eye to look into the dust bag. "Aside from the clogged exhaust port on this one, I reckon you just needa fix that shoddy wiring to the motor and adjust the coolin fan. That'll take care of both problems."

"Shoddy wiring?" Stan groans. It wasn't like he was the one who had made the thing. He was only slapping his name over the handle and selling it. "What am I supposed to do about that?"

"It's an easy enough fix ," Fidds says. He rubs his chin and plucks the motor up, looking at it thoughtfully as he twists it to and fro and then adds, "If you want it to perform its most basic functions, that is. But I bet if I tinkered with it enough, I could make it even better."

Suddenly, he's got this almost manic gleam in his eyes, and Stan would be worried if the guy hadn't already piqued his interest. "Yeah? Better how?"

Fidds glances around the corner at his uncle, who's snoring away in a plastic lawn chair, then looks back to Stan. "Better as in it could pick up a dust bunny hiding under a bed on the third floor from the kitchen."

Stan's feeling a little manic himself. “Pal, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve just made this thing marketable to every single sucker from here all the way back to Jersey.”

Fidds doesn’t have the right tools there in the garage, so he says he’ll have the thing ready in two days. Which is fine with Stan, he doesn’t have anywhere to be anyway, so he asks if there are any secluded places where he can park his car for the night - which prompts Fidds to cheerfully offer up a spare bedroom back at his family’s farm. It catches Stan off guard, until Fidds explains the terms - he just needs to do some chores around the farm from sunrise to sunset, and that’ll take care of the room and the car repair, no problem.

So that’s how Stan finds himself in this little room somewhere out in the hills, sitting in a cushiony bed, suitcase at his side and car parked out under some sycamore and hickory trees. Fidds is at the door telling him what time dinner’s at and what time everyone gets up the next day to start with all the chores, and Stan is nodding, suddenly feeling like he could fall asleep where he’s sitting, even with the mechanic’s rapid-fire twang going on and on, which he doesn’t mind - the guy’s voice is nice. The bed is comfortable. The room is warm and dry and it’s about a thousand times better than sleeping in his car for two nights.

He kicks off his boots and he’s still nodding when he falls back, drowsy and relaxed, and falls asleep to Fidds’s voice explaining how the room’s available for a few weeks, as long as Stan’s up to working on a farm.

Stan wakes a few hours later to a plate of dinner sitting on the bedside table and some banjo tunes being plucked out somewhere outside. He looks out the window and sees Fidds sitting under a tree, sticking his tongue out as he adjusts the strings on his banjo before looking up and waving cheerfully at Stan. Stan waves back.

He wouldn’t mind staying here for longer than a couple nights, he guesses. Working on a farm wouldn’t be too bad.

(Throughout the weeks, they learn things about each other - like how Fidds’s family wants him to marry a nice girl, have a few kids, inherit the farm, forget about computers and physics and college - and how Stan’s dad kicked him out for ruining his brother’s future, and how his brother hasn’t talked to him in months and probably won’t for years)

(and once the vacuum is done, they try selling it together, and it goes well - until the vacuums are so strong that one dummy gets their arm sucked up into it right up to their shoulder, and someone says they lose a hamster to one - not that the dummy or the hamster suffer anything worse than minor injuries, but an angry mob chases Stan and Fidds right out of Tennessee and through Arkansas and all the way to Texas, where they find themselves feeling kind of despondent in some seedy little motel, and then Stan turns to Fidds and asks “Hey, you know anything about making the adhesive on the backs of bandages better? Or maybe just less painful?” and Fidds’s eyebrows shoot up and the manic gleam is back, and needless to say, they spend the rest of autumn being chased from one city to the next.)

#idk man i just had a hankering for some more fiddlestan #fiddlestan #fiddleford mcgucket #stanley pines #gf #listen fiddlestan being chased from state to state together #is kinda my jam #wheiever pines twins fidds ends up with #he's also gonna end up being chased by something #whether it be a paranormal monster #or an angry mob

211 notes · View notes

coconut-dreamz · 11 months ago

Text

delicate

"is it chill that you're in my head?" || tom blyth x famous! reader

a/n: it's my first time writing for tom blyth and i've been obsessed with him and taylor swift songs lately so i wrote this! i hope you enjoy ! slightly angsty, ambiguous relationship between reader and tom

my reputation's never been worse

so you must like me for me

ever since the news came out that you and your a-list celeb ex broke up, negative comments filled your comment sections. all you wanted to do was turn them off, but your pr team was vehemently against it. they wanted it to seem like you didn't care about the criticisms, you didn't, but it was getting out of hand now.

there were rumors on those stupid gossip sites that you had cheated on him and that it was what caused the downfall of you two. that couldn't be further from the truth, but he and his pr team decided to not comment on it and therefore your management team decided that it would look like you were just trying to cover your ass by denying the accusations.

but, just when you were in the deep of it, you met tom. he didn't care about what people were saying about you. you had met at a mutual friend's new years party. he hadn't even heard about the rumors about you until you mentioned it. he was a breath of fresh air.

dive bar on the east side, where you at?

phone lights up my nightstand in the black

you had moved to new york recently to escape the toxicity that plagued your every move in la. you didn't have many friends there, all of them left behind in la. tom had taken it upon himself to show you the best spots in town.

you were wallowing in self pity, watching dumb rom-coms on a random tuesday evening when your phone lights up on your nightstand. you pause your film and move to pick up the phone. it was tom, asking if you were busy. you quickly reply with a no. he invites you out to a nearby dive bar with him and some of his friends.

you were hesitant at first, feeling comfortable in your bed. but, tom managed to convince you to come out. you quickly throw on a pair of jeans and a nice shirt, hailing a cab and heading to the bar in question.

the moment you walk into the bar, tom shouts your name, waving you over to him and his group of friends. "i'm so glad you could make it! this is rachel and josh, they're my costars for my most recent project."

is it cool that i said all that?

is it chill that you're in my head?

you laugh at tom's ridiculous dancing, you were on facetime as he was on set for tbosas and you were still back in new york. you keep laughing at his antics, shouting out "oh my god, i love you!" you immediately throw your hands over your mouth, eyes widened. did you seriously just say that? "oh my god! you didn't just hear that!" you shout at tom, your face flushed a bright red. you immediately hung up, too embarrassed to face his reaction yet.

you couldn't lie, tom was always on your mind. you didn't want to admit it, but you were falling for the brit. your thoughts constantly led to him. you could be thinking about tuna and you would somehow end up on tom.

your phone starting ringing, shortly after you hung up. it was tom. you realized you had to face him either way and answered the call. "i love you too," he admits once the call connects. any shred of embarrassment left your body hearing that. a smile graced your face and a newfound warmth filled your body.

third floor on the west side , me and you

handsome you're a mansion with a view

do the girls back home touch you like i do?

you had originally gotten a rinky dinky apartment when you first moved out here, not expecting to stay long. but the new friends you made helped you fall in love with new york. so, you decided to get a new apartment. this time, on the upper west side. tom was kind enough to help you move from your first apartment to the new one.

after a long day of rearranging the new furniture you had gotten, you and tom were laying on the floor of your living room. he sat up and stared out the window of your new apartment, the view was a lot better compared to your previous one, which was just a brick wall. as he admired the city lights, you admired him.

you move to hug his back as the two of you enjoy the view of the city below you. the two of you didn't have a label. sure, you told each other that you loved each other, went on dates and even double dates, but you had never called him your boyfriend and you, his girlfriend. you wondered what was stopping either of you from taking the next step and making it official.

was he this way with the girls back home? were you different from the british girls from his past? thoughts of self doubt plagued your mind. "what's on your mind, beautiful?" tom's voice breaks you out of your reverie. "huh? oh, nothing." you try to avoid the reality. "don't lie, i can tell something's bothering you."

you sigh, taking a breath, "do the girls back home touch you like i do?" you ask him. he's confused at first, "my home's here, with you." and those five little words were able to dispel all your thoughts of self doubt and insecurities. you simply kiss him in content at his words of reassurance.

it didn't matter if you two didn't have a label yet, you were his home, and he was yours.

long night with your hands up in my hair

echoes of your footsteps on the stairs

stay here, honey, i don't wanna share

after a long night of bar hopping, you two stumble into your apartment. too tired to even take off your street clothes, you both collapse on the bed, quickly falling asleep. it's around 6 am you stir awake. you can hear tom walking up the stairs to your room. "are you leaving?" you ask as he enters the bedroom. "yeah, i have a shoot in a couple hours." he searches around for his missing sock.

you frown, hearing this. "come back, just for a few minutes." you plead. you weren't ready to let him go yet. to share him with the rest of the world. right now he was just yours, and you wanted it to stay that way. "fine, but only for a little," he agrees, abandoning his search for his missing sock. and instead climbs back in bed into your open arms.

sometimes i wonder, when you sleep

are you ever dreaming of me?

it was another night where tom slept over in your apartment after a night out on the town. you couldn't fall asleep, instead staring at tom's peaceful face as he slept. he had a small smile on his face as he slept. you wonder what he's dreaming about. you hope that it's you and if it wasn't, you didn't want to know. you snuggle in closer to his warm body and decide to try to fall alseep.

sometimes when i look into your eyes

i pretend you're mine all the damn time

you were at your friend's new years party, it had been a whole year since you had met tom. the two of you were dancing wildly to the music playing, tipsy off the champagne. as you stared up into his eyes, you envisioned a future together where you didn't have to question your relationship status with him.

#tom blyth x reader #tom blyth #tom blyth imagine #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #coriolanus

498 notes · View notes

reticulating-splines · 1 year ago

Text

WIP - West 70th

1880s-1910s row of Upper West Side townhomes.

Been working on this row of late 19th c. brownstones on and off for the past year now, so needless to say when I heard about For Rent I was hype.

Download Here

This initially started because I was homesick for NYC during the pandemic. Specifically for the area of the upper west side my dorm was in while I was a student. I mainly blame this experience for my obsession with historical architecture - walking along central park west past the Dakota on the way to the subway, smoking on the stoops of the brownstones late at night, going to classes in the wedding cake that is the Ansonia - it was just everywhere, and so, so beautiful to look at.

Except a lot of it is faded glory - buildings subdivided, details chipped or covered in the thickest coats of grime or paint. So I wanted to replicate some of the old New York from around the turn of the century. The one I read about in the Luxe series and saw in the Samantha movie lol.

The basement or garden level of each four-story brownstone will be dedicated to the original purpose as the main workplace of the service staff. Unfortunately no room for the actual garden, so laundry lines and planters are on the roof. There are bedrooms and bathrooms for a cook and a housekeeper/butler, along with the staff dining and the kitchen. The butler's pantry is directly upstairs from the kitchen, and the top floor is almost exclusively made up of staff bedrooms and washrooms.

I usually do the service areas first because they're the most interesting, and there was nothing more interesting than a full edwardian brownstone kitchen. Lots of exposed piping, beadboard, subway tile, and shelves of clutter. Has a separate scullery, pantry, and stairs down to a basement storeroom to keep your best champs-le-sims nectar in. There's also a servant's bellboard in the kitchen and the staff dining room. It along with the "boiler" system are made with tool and CC-free.

The main entrance and parlor are doing their best to continue the gothic revival theme of the exterior. The library and dining room follow in the enfilade starting in the parlor. Since this first house is a corner lot, it has a bit more width and space than a true brownstone. The only actual brownstone I've been inside of is Lady Mendl's, so ofc I had to have an extensive tea setup. Def took a lot of inspo from these two pics alone for these rooms.

The main stairwell and picture gallery lead to three large bedrooms on the second floor, and then up to the children's room and nanny's bedroom on the third floor. I really like skylights. I learned the importance of decent lightwells in staving off depression one semester when my window looked out onto a brick wall

The master bedroom and the children's room above it both have their own private sitting rooms and bathrooms. All rooms have either fireplaces or cast iron radiators.

There's no way this is going to be finished by the time For Rent comes out, so im just going to release it in whatever state it's in when it does come out. The exteriors and interior room layout for all the townhomes will (hopefully) most likely be set by then anyway.

Now available for download!

Also the anniversary of Chez Cromwell is coming up! Ive been gone for the better part of the year due to starting a new job, but I havent been idle. C.Cromwell has been updated for infants and ceilings, which led to me redoing the exterior and almost every room, so a rerelease is coming v soon! Sneak peek below. Happy Thanksgiving!

#sunblind by softerhaze #picture amoebe #drift reshade #heyharrie #lilis-palace #felixandresims #pierisim #reticulating builds #west 70th #the sims 4 for rent #ts4cc #the sims 4 #ts4 build #ts4 wip #sims 4 apartment #ts4 architecture

1K notes · View notes

schoopsahoy · 2 years ago

Text

the wrong side of the tracks

steve harrington x fem!reader {18.8k} you and steve had never seen eye to eye, to put it lightly. but when you have to work together at family video, you start to realise you might not hate him as much as you once thought. enemies to lovers, no use of y/n. 18+ mdni

You could pinpoint the exact moment that your personal vendetta against Steve Harrington had started. Not that it was hard to remember. You’d just moved to Hawkins, back to your parents home town and away from the warm air of the West Coast, forced to face Hawkins middle school before you’d even got your bearings of the trailer park you’d shacked up in.

It was your second day there, maybe your third. (Maybe your memory wasn’t that great, but the specific day didn’t matter). You were sat alone in the cafeteria picking at the sad meal in front of you, your head down in an attempt to ignore the lunchtime chaos around you.

“You’re new here, right?” A voice pulled your head up away from your tray as a group of kids joined you at your lonely table. You didn’t really know people’s names yet, you definitely recognised them though. Seen them around the yard, an air of importance around them that was only ever found in schools.

You’d kept your lips pressed shut, a small nod the only response you were willing to give. You could tell where this was going by the grins and the giggles and already had no interest in entertaining it.

“‘Course she is, what a stupid question.” One of the girls snipped back to the boy who’d asked the question, elbow digging into his side.

“Heard you live in the trailer park. Moved all this way just to live in a tin can.” The comment earned a laugh from the rest of the group, all far too amused by the snide comment.

You could feel your skin heating up, some sort of mix of shame and anger and anxiety, and you begged your body to not let your skin flush and give away your emotions.

“It’s rough out there. Must suck, being born on the wrong side of the tracks.” The same boy continued on his attack, clearly made up with himself and the responses he was getting from his friends.

You just stared at him for a moment, eyes blank and brows furrowed, letting the laughs around you trail off in anticipation of your response.

But you didn’t give one, instead picking up your backpack up off the floor and getting up to walk away from the table. Your barely touched food left behind as you stormed out of the canteen and those same cruel giggles followed you even with the distance put between you and the group.

And that was it. A dislike started before you even knew their names. Not that you stayed oblivious to who they were, after a few weeks you had settled in enough to put names to faces. Which meant you could confidently say you wanted absolutely nothing to do with Steve Harrington.

—

You need a job. Well, another job. Your hours at the diner have dropped over summer since people are busy vacationing and generally getting themselves out of Hawkin’s, which leaves you with little leftover each week to put in your savings pot - that coincidentally exists with the aim of getting yourself out of Hawkin’s too.

You do, however, find yourself questioning how much you need another job when you turn up to your Family Video interview only to be greeted by Steve Harrington.

Robin had told you about the job opening, and sure you know they work together. Robin has long since dealt with your disbelief at their friendship, your comments a little less frequent now but you still respond to any mention of him with a groan and overly dramatic eye roll.

But she’d assured you, absolutely promised hand-on-heart, that she would be there when you come in for your interview. But as you stand in the doorway, bathed in the red glow of the fluorescent light, you lock eye contact with Steve and realise that you really should know better by now than to trust Robin to know her schedule.

“Oh for fucks sake.” You grumble, brows pinched together a little as you step up to the counter, the boy behind it watching your annoyance with a smug smile.

“Now that’s no way to get a job.” His tone is condescending, and if you had even an ounce less of self control you think you’d be tempted to smack the grin right off his face. It wouldn’t be the first time, but these things are a bit more acceptable in middle school.

“My bad, Harrington, didn’t realise you owned the store.” You feign shock, hands raised to your side as you gaze around at the shelves stacked with tapes.

“I can’t believe Robin told you to apply.” He scoffs, arms folding across his chest.

“Don’t be stupid, we were friends before you were.” It’s childish, stupid bickering that you really should be above by now. And you are, with anyone else. But not with Steve.

“Oh, real mature.” He draws out his vowels as he rolls his eyes at you, every little movement further lighting that angry fire in your chest. “She can have other friends, better friends.”

It takes everything in you to not take his bait, every nerve in your body pulsing with frustration and rage and you have to take a deep breath in to keep yourself at least somewhat calm.

“You’re a real piece of work, Harrington.” You exhale your words out, eyes closed as you shake your head at him. “Where’s Keith?” You never thought you’d see the day where Keith was the better option in terms of company.

“In the back.” He juts his head in the direction of the office door at the side of the store. “Better hurry up, you’re late.” He taps his fingers against his watch, and you realise that thanks to your petty arguing you’re now late to your interview.

You flip him off as you walk towards the office, feet striding quickly across the store. You can’t believe Steve Harrington was still ruining your life, even after graduation. Maybe you’re being dramatic, but you think your dramatics are allowed given the circumstances. If there was anyone you allowed yourself to be a little bit childish over, it was him.

Turns out it’s pretty easy to secure a job at Family Video if you’re a pretty girl who can hold a semi-decent conversation, the interview pretty much consists of Keith scanning over your CV, asking the usual boring questions of why do you want this job? and what would you bring to the store? and after a whopping ten minutes you’re walking out the office with your new FV vest in hand.

You wave it at Steve as you walk out, a smirk on your lips as he glares at you. “See you next week, Harrington.” You sing, not stopping to hear whatever smart response you’re sure he has cooking up and head back out into the parking lot.

—

You’ve worked four shifts at Family Video now, and three of those you got lucky and only had to work with Robin. But today luck isn’t on your side, it’s just you and Steve alone all day. It’s pretty easy work, but with easy also comes boring, and with that comes plenty of time for Steve to try and rile you up.

You’ve spent the past hour trying to put away the ever growing pile of returns, sat cross-legged on the floor as you slot each tape into its rightful place on the shelf.

Except every time you seem to make progress, Steve comes along to move the tapes around, feigning interest in each one before he puts it back somewhere it doesn’t belong.

“Oh now this, this is meant to be good.” Steve picks up Back to The Future, waving the tape at you as he studies the case in fake intrigue.

“Everyone’s seen Back to The Future, Harrington. It’s not some hidden gem.” You huff as you shuffle on the carpeted floor, legs going numb and the rough fabric leaving indents into your bare calves from where they’re pressing into the ground.

“Hm, yeah, maybe.” He puts it back, in the completely wrong spot, before picking up another video case with the same false fascination. “What about this? Y’seen this?” He holds the copy of The Breakfast Club directly in front of your face, your hand quickly swatting it out of the way.

The impact of your knuckles on the plastic stings and you quickly pull your hand away, blowing on the skin to attempt to sooth it. “Yeah, I’ve seen it.” Your voice is blunt, unimpressed at his antics. “D’you not have work to do? Instead of, you know, disrupting mine?”

“What? I’m trying to help.” He acts shocked at your annoyance, bottom lip jutted out in a puppy dog pout as you let out a dramatic sigh.

“You’re a fuckin’ headache, you know that?” You pinch the skin between your eyes, at the point of exasperation with him and his determination to ruin your day.

“C’mon, why don’t you want my company?” His voice is thick with sarcasm, his arms crossed over his chest as he peers down at you on the carpet. It makes you feel small, enough to have you standing up to lessen the height difference between you - though you still have to crane your neck to stare at his face.

“I will never want your company, Harrington.” You narrow your eyes, huffing a little as you pick up the box of returned tapes and make your way to start on another shelf as far away from him as you can get.

But of course, he follows you. This time hanging back so he can lean against the counter and watch as you go on your tiptoes to place the tapes on the top shelf.

“They’re gonna fall.” He nods towards to tapes teetering on the edge of the shelf, and you know he’s probably right, but you’re not going to admit that.

“Whatever.” You grumble, continuing on with your stacking and trying your hardest to block out the boy's presence behind you.

“Look at them, they’re wobbling, if they fall on you you’re gonna get a concussion.”

“Can’t be worse than this.” Your voice is sickly sweet and entirely fake, and you turn to flash him your best sarcastic smile.

You turn back to carry on organising the shelf, maybe being a little too rough with how you’re shoving the tapes on there, lips twisted up into a frown as you feel Steve’s eyes watching your every move.

“You need to-“ Steve steps up behind you, his words halted as a hand goes above you to catch a tape before it can come tumbling down off the top shelf and most likely fall directly onto the top of your head “- chill out.” He pushes the tape back onto the shelf, now positioned safely there away from the edge.

Your body feels tense with how close he is, chest practically pressing into your back as he crowds over you, you think this must be what fight or flight feels like. All the nerves in your body on high alert, chest thumping and skin suddenly feeling too warm even with the AC pumping through the store.

“Whatever.” You repeat, but your words seem to hold a little less bite now. Steve seems to notice, a shallow chuckle coming from behind you before he finally moves away and settles behind the desk.

You find yourself letting out a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding, shaking your head to yourself before carrying on with your work as best you can whilst ignoring his presence.

You’ve told Eddie to pick you up when you finish at 5, the promise of a takeout and 4 pack of his choice enough to bribe him into being your chauffeur for the night. You already planned to buy those things anyway, but if it got you a ride home too then who are you to complain.

He’s usually late, nearly always in fact, so you take your time getting your belongings from the staff room. Vest tucked back into your bag, hair pulled out of the knot you’d tied it in to keep it out of your face as you work.

The rest of your shift with Steve had been spent in awkward silence. He’d stopped bothering you after he’d stopped the tape from tumbling down onto you, instead busying himself with other tasks which conveniently kept him at a distance from you. If you did ever have to cross paths with each other there’d be an awkward shuffle past one another or a detour taken around one of the shelves. You weren’t complaining, you’d take uncomfortable tension over him actively annoying you any day.

After dawdling for a few minutes in the back, re-tying your laces and fiddling with how your shirt was tucked into your skirt, you push the staff room door open and step back out into the store. When you see Steve standing at the desk talking to Eddie, laughing about something and seemingly getting along, you feel your lips turn into a frown. Surely they weren’t friends? Surely this wasn’t another part of your life Steve Harrington had managed to wiggle his way into.

You stride over, brows pinched as you appear next to Eddie who stops his laughter to look down at you, face a little puzzled at your clearly irritated expression. “Hey kiddo, you good?”

“Don’t call me kiddo.” You huff, the feeling of Steve’s gaze boring into you and you can feel the blood rush to your cheeks with embarrassment. It’s only made worse when he laughs at Eddie’s greeting, and you suddenly feel about 2 feet tall. “Can we go?”

“Yeah, was just waiting for you.” Eddie shrugs, his eyes still studying you as you shuffle your feet on the carpet clearly eager to leave. “I’ll see you around, Harrington.” He gives the other boy a casual salute, nodding to him as he backs towards the door.

“Later, Munson.” Steve nods back, before turning back to you, your knuckles turning white as you grip the strap of your bag tightly and wring the fabric to try and get out some of your frustration. “See ya, kiddo.” His voice is teasing and his smirk doesn’t falter as you scowl at him, eyes narrowed and stare pointed, mumbling something under your breath before you pass Eddie by and storm out.

“Woah, slow down.” Eddie calls after you, door swinging shut behind him as you stride across the parking lot to his van.

“Since when were you two friends?.” You frown, looking a bit too much like an upset child to try and dispute his nickname for you.

Eddie shrugs, looking back to the video store and then to you. “He’s not so bad, the kids love him.”

“He’s a dick.”

“You two just don’t get on, he’s chilled out since he graduated.” Eddie tries to reason with you, the same point you’ve heard a million times before from Robin.

Maybe he has changed, dropped his stupid high school persona and become a nice guy, for everyone but you. But the grudge you both hold for each other runs too deep to be glazed over with his change of heart, too much said (or maybe unsaid, in terms of apologies) for you to truly buy it.

“He thinks he’s so much better than us, y’know? Because he lives in some big house with all that money and we live in the trailer park?” You lean against the van behind you, metal hot against your skin in the evening sun.

“He’s not like that anymore. It’s not even his money, he works the same shitty minimum wage job you do.” Eddie's hands are shoved into his pockets, and you do feel bad for putting him on the spot with all this, but your anger is bubbling up in your stomach and it’s like it’s consuming your every thought.

“Whatever. If you wanna ignore the fact he’s some rich dickhead, be my guest.”

It makes it worse, in a way, that him and Eddie get along. Because Eddie was one of your first friends when you’d moved to Hawkin’s, looking out for you in the trailer park and school in the same way an older brother would. You had the same lifestyle, grew up with the same struggles but for some reason Steve wasn’t giving him grief. Apparently it was just you. You wish it didn’t bother you, wish you could wring the thoughts out of your brain onto the tarmac below.

“C’mon, don’t let it ruin our night, yeah?” Eddie smiles at you, a sympathetic look because he can see how riled up you are. “I’ll even pay for the beer.”

“You can’t bribe me, Munson.” You huff, but the whisper of a smile appears on your lips and Eddie knows that in five minutes all will be forgotten. Once you’re a good distance away from Steve. “I know you don’t have the money for it.”

“Yeah, you’re right. You caught me.” He holds his hands up in faux defeat. “But the thought was there.”

“I appreciate the theoretical generosity.”

Your eyes flick back to Family Video before you climb into the passenger seat of Eddie's van. You don’t know why you do it, torturing yourself with one last reminder of your infuriating co-worker before you close the door and shut the day out of your mind.

—

You should’ve known it was going to rain. Maybe you did, and had chosen to ignore it. The air this morning had that close, sticky heat to it, the kind that comes when the clouds are hanging low in the sky and you can almost smell the deluge that’s just waiting to be spilled.

But the sun had still been high when you’d set off to your shift at the diner this morning, too hot to even consider a jacket and your bag was already full with a change of clothes for your shift at Family Video this afternoon.

You watched the sky open up and douse Hawkin’s in a long needed rainfall from the windows of the diner, eyes darting to the clock because you needed to set off in what, twenty minutes? You found yourself saying a silent prayer to whoever was listening for rain to let up for just long enough for your walk across town.

Unsurprisingly, your prayers went unanswered.

You keep your head down, chin tucked into your chest and eyes focused on the pavement beneath you, as you storm your way downtown. Your bag tucked tightly into your side, as if that will stop the unrelenting downpour from seeping through the canvas and onto your clothes. Your clothes stick to your skin uncomfortably, the fabric of your diner uniform rough and irritating and you really regret selling your car now.

The walk to Family Video was 20 minutes on a good day, but today isn’t a good day and you’re practically jogging as the rain smacks across your face almost painfully so you manage to get there in just under 15. You push the door to the store hard and almost trip over the welcome mat as you bound across the threshold.

Your hair is dripping onto your clothes and into your eyes, eyelashes catching the droplets and blinking them away before they can render you blind, and you’re suddenly aware of the fact you’re probably leaving little puddles of rainwater with each step and Steve is sat at the desk watching you and you genuinely wish the ground would swallow you whole.

“Don’t even fuckin’ start, Harrington.” You hiss as you storm from the door towards the staff room, eyes still focused on your feet because if you make eye contact with him you’re sure the embarrassment and anger will kill you on the spot. You sling your bag onto the floor as soon as your in there, the contents of it soaked only slightly less than the clothes on your back, and you have to blink hard to fight off the sting of tears that threaten to spill.

Because the truth of it all, at the core of all the pettiness and bickering and childish comments, was you felt ashamed. Steve had made you feel ashamed for who you were, where you were from and the way that you lived all those years ago. The fiery anger that came in response was the only way you knew to counter that horrible, achy feeling that sat in the pit of your stomach.

You fumble with the buttons on your shirt, fingers slipping against their plastic as you try to change out of the sodden material. Everything feels so difficult, like you’re having to exert so much energy just to change out of your uniform and you have to remind yourself to just take a deep breath, your hands shaking with the slurry of emotions that are twisting in your gut.

You don’t bother trying to pack your clothes away neatly, deciding they’re a lost cause and just tossing them to the floor next to your bag. There’s no way they’ll dry off before you need to walk home anyway. Your cotton t-shirt clings to you, only slightly less suffocating than the button down you’ve changed out of, and you’re really regretting choosing jeans right now because the damp denim is stiff and unyielding as you try to pull them up your legs.

Everything feels too close, too tight on your skin like your circulation is being cut off everywhere the fabric touches. You pull the bobble off your wrist and scrape your hair up into a ponytail, trying to find some relief from the way it’s sticking to your neck.

You linger by the door for a moment, swaying back and forth a little on your feet as you psych yourself up to walk back into the store. You don’t want to look at your reflection in the mirror, mascara probably smudged onto your cheeks and cheeks flushed to a bright pink, so you take a deep breath and stride out into the fluorescents. They make your eyes squint a little, the bright cold light painful compared to the dullness of the staff room. You walk to the desk, Steve watching you with an eyebrow raised but for once he doesn’t look like he’s going to come at you with some snide comment.

“I need the key.” You hold your hand out, words short as you avoid eye contact. “For the bathroom.”

Steve just nods at you, hands reaching below the counter and pulling out the oversized key ring that identifies the bathroom key.

You mutter a thank you, the words barely audible as you grab the keys off him and hurry towards the employee bathroom. Your hands are still shaky, and the obnoxious key ring only makes it harder for you to get the key into the lock. After a few tries you manage to get the door open, pulling it with such panicked force that it almost makes you trip over your own feet as you tuck yourself away inside.

The hand dryer mounted to the wall is shoddy and barely warm, but you sit yourself on the cold lino floor and wave your hands under the sensors so the weak stream of air can blow over your head. It only lasts about 30 seconds each time, so you have to keep holding your hands above your head to trigger it again in a vain attempt to dry yourself off.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting under the dryer for, losing count of how many times you have to reactivate it as you stare at the tiled wall opposite you. You’re a little zoned out, the loud hum of the machine above you sending you into a bit of a trance, so when the door of the bathroom opens it jolts you back to reality and has your heart beating faster.

“I really don’t wanna hear it right now.” You mumble, not having to even look to know it’s Steve standing in the doorway. You brace yourself for some snide comment, knowing you’re too drained to give anything back.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything.” It’s probably the first time he’s spoken to you without some snark in his voice. You wouldn’t say he sounded warm right now, not by a long shot, but you could probably settle for genuine. “Was just gonna give y’this.” He’s tripping over his words, forcing them out as he holds out a yellow jumper to you from his spot in the door.

You look up at him now, nose scrunched up in confusion as your eyes move between the jumper and him trying to discern any ulterior motive in his expression. But it’s not there, he’s just blinking at you, big brown eyes filled with something close to sympathy. You hesitate at first, clenching and unclenching your hand as you weigh up your decision, eventually reaching out and taking the jumper off him.

“I won’t tell Keith you bunked off for, like, twenty minutes either.” And then he almost smiles, a twitch of his lips that could be put down to a trick of the light. But it’s there, and you catch it, and for once it’s not laced with sarcasm.

You nod in place of a thank you, words caught in your throat because this is probably the first time Steve Harrington has been nice to you and you still don’t know whether to trust it. He leaves you there in the bathroom again, a few more minutes to yourself to try and gather your thoughts before you have to go out there and actually start your shift.

You debate not putting the jumper on, too proud to give Steve the satisfaction of helping you. He’ll probably hold it over your head for however long, until he needs something from you and can bring up the fact you owe him one. But the dampness of your clothes is making you shiver, and you don’t think you can face working an entire shift answering questions from customers about why you’re so damp.

So you bite the bullet, swallow your pride, and pull it over your head. It’s too big for you, swamping your frame and hanging down to your thighs, but it’s soft and warm and dry, and you hate to admit it but it smells great. Some spicy cedar cologne that Steve has obviously doused himself in, the fact you actually like it makes you shudder. It’s almost enough to make you take it off. Not quite though.

You don’t say anything to Steve when you finally step onto the shop floor, heading straight to the desk to see what needs doing. You have to push the sleeves of the jumper up your arms to stop them falling over your hands as you flick through paperwork, not really taking in the words and having to re-read them a couple of times for them to actually register.

It’s amazing how much time you can pass fronting shelves, especially when you’re spending all your energy on blocking out your surroundings. A couple of customers ask you to help them find movies, and you have to blink yourself back to reality so you can actually think about where they’re stocked.

The computer system is clunky and slow and you have to stop yourself huffing as you wait for it to load up the customers details. You don’t mean to be short with anyone, but god you’re ready for the day to just be over. The screen finally lights up and you slide the tape across the counter to the woman in front of you, she gives you a sorry smile - clearly you’ve not fully dried off yet and must look a little worse for wear - before picking the video up and leaving the store.

“You’re gonna scare the customers off if you keep talking to ‘em like that.” Steve’s voice comes from behind you, making you jump as you turn around to face him.

You furrow your brow. “Can you not be a dick for like, one single day?”

You expect some shitty response back, but instead Steve seems to drop the subject.

“Why’d you walk here anyway? Thought you could drive?” He looks down at you, standing in your damp clothes save for his dry jumper, his voice genuinely curious rather than the usual questioning tone you’ve come to expect.

“I can drive, I sold my car.” Your nose is still sniffly from the downpour and it scrunches up with the ticklish feeling, small lines spreading across the bridge.

“Why’d you sell your car?” He’s leaning back against the counter now, hands behind him holding his weight.

“Jeez what is this, twenty questions?” You grumble, pulling the sleeves of Steve’s jumper down over your hands. He just looks at you expectantly, eyebrows raised in place of an answer. “I’m saving up, to move.”

“You gonna get your own place?”

“No, like, move. Away, I wanna go back west.” You shrug, eyes focused on your hands as they twist in the jumpers cuffs.

“Oh, yeah, I forget you’re not actually from Hawkin’s.”

His words almost make you wince, because of course he forgot. There’s no reason for him to remember, not that you moved here from out of state or that he hounded you about it the moment you did.

You let out a dry laugh, a small shake of your head as you keep your eyes away from him. “Yeah, right.”

There’s a weird silence that hangs in the air then, one that’s normally filled by more spatting or sly smirks but instead it just sits there. Heavy and unaddressed, the pair of you stood waiting for something that didn't come. Steve eventually stalks off, busying himself away from you as you hang around by the desk assisting any other customers that come in that evening.

You occasionally make eye contact with one another, each caught glancing from across the store and quick to turn away. The shift is pretty dead, midweek evenings never drawing that much of a crowd, but you manage to make it to the end without having to say anything more to Steve.

It’s still raining when you venture outside after locking up, bag clutched close to your side as you brace yourself for another walk through the torrential conditions.

You debate using your diner shirt as a makeshift hood, but quickly decide against it. It’d probably just piss you off, and you’d end up soaked either way.

You take a deep breath before you step out into the rain, trying to walk as fast as you can across the parking lot but it’s dark out now and you have to squint to stop the rain getting into your eyes and your feet just won’t carry you as quick as you’d like.

“Hey!” Steve calls out after you, still standing under the shelter of the store. You debate ignoring him, ploughing on through the rain and not looking back, but something inside you makes you turn around. “You want a ride?” He nods towards his car.

You stand for a second, processing what he just said. Surely you misheard, because Steve Harrington offering you a ride home must be a sign you’ve lost the plot or the end of the world is actually here.

“Seriously?” Your hand is across your brow, shielding your eyes as you peer back at him.

“Well, yeah.” He acts like he’s stating the obvious. You’d be mad if he wasn’t offering you a lifeline, or at least a dry journey home.

You chew on the inside of your cheek before nodding. “Okay, thanks.” Your voice is barely audible over the sound of the rain hammering against the tarmac, but you start walking back towards Steve’s car so he can assume you’ve taken him up on the offer.

He waits for you to get into the passenger seat before he gets in himself, the noise of the storm outside muffled by the car's metal shell. It smells surprisingly clean inside; not that you didn’t expect it to, or that you’d given it any thought at all. But the air freshener that swung from the mirror had a pine fresh scent and there was a lack of rubbish inside considering the amount of kids he ferries around.

“You still live in Forest Hills?” Steve isn’t looking at you as he turns the key in the ignition, checking his rear view mirror before he pulls out of his parking spot even though the lot is pretty much empty.

“Yep, still there.” You had your bag on your lap, holding it to your chest as if it was some sort of shield, something to hide behind.

The creak of windscreen wipers along with the hum of the radio fills the car, though it’s barely loud enough to make out what songs are actually playing. You wish Steve would turn it up, let the music slice through the silence that sits between you as he drives.

It’s a nice car, sleek and with leather interiors all in tact. It makes you almost glad you don’t still have your car, which would look like a beaten up tin can next to Steve’s. But it would also mean you weren’t having to accept a ride off him, so maybe you shouldn’t write it off so quickly.

“It’s purely selfish, y’know? Me giving you a ride. Just don’t want my jumper to get ruined.” His voice seems to hold less bite than usual.

You’ve been picking at your nail polish, eyes focused on the flaking red paint as a little pile of it collects on top of your bag. You glance at Steve through your lashes when he speaks, eyebrows raised slightly. “Is this you trying to make conversation?”

“No, just wanted to let you know.” Steve doesn’t take his eyes off the road, and you move your attention back to your nails without giving him a response.

That same unsettling silence fills the car again, you debate turning the radio up yourself but decide against it. You think it’d be rude, which is strange because normally that’d only encourage you around Steve.

“Why’d you hate me so much?”

The question makes you stop scratching at your nail polish. Steve’s looking at you when you glance up this time, only for a split second before diverting his eyes back to the windscreen.

“Are you being serious?” You almost laugh, tongue pressed into your cheek to stop yourself saying anymore.

“Yeah, I mean, I know I kinda sucked in school but-“ He pauses, trying to find the right words. “I d’know.” He can’t.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” It almost comes out as a question. Your head tips back to lean against the headrest as you stare up at the car's fabriced ceiling. When Steve doesn’t say anything, just looks at you again as if waiting for you to continue, you press on. “I’d been here less than a week before you and your dickhead friends decided to rip into me for living in the trailer park. Y’all thought it was so funny, couldn’t get enough of the jokes.”

You see Steve press his lips together, out the corner of your eyes. “Pretty sure you gave me shit too.” His voice is quiet, unsure if he really has a leg to stand on.

“Yeah, because I didn’t wanna be a fuckin’ doormat.”

“I mean, I’m not friends with ‘em anymore.” He shrugs, fingers drumming on the steering wheel at a nervous tempo. “Plus, I tried apologising to you and you told me to ‘get fucked, Harrington’.” He mimics your voice, but it doesn’t seem so spiteful this time. It might make you laugh if you didn’t have your guard up so high.

“Look, I’m real glad you’ve done the 12 steps of assholes anonymous or whatever it is that made you sort your shit out.” Steve laughs and you narrow your eyes at him. “What? What now?”

“Assholes anonymous, was pretty funny.” For the second time that day you think you catch him smiling at you.

His comment throws you off a little. “Yeah, well, I’m a pretty funny person I guess.” You sigh, brows pinching as you try to regain your train of thought. “All I’m saying is if you keep being a dick after you apologise, it kinda defeats the object.”

Steve hums, a small nod because you are right. As much as it pains him to admit it. “In my defence, you also kept being a dick.”

He’s right this time. “Guess I’m pretty stubborn, too.” You don’t notice that you’re almost at the trailer park, rolling up towards the Forest Hills sign that’s distorted by the rain through the windscreen. “You can just drop me at the entrance, don’t wanna traumatise you by making you drive through.” You almost sound like you’re joking, a lilt to your voice that Steve’s never heard before.

“Shut up.” He shakes his head, a small huff of a laugh coming from his nose. “It’s still pouring down, looking out for the jumper, remember?”

“Right, course.” You draw your words out, a smile twitching at the corners of your lips. “If you turn left when you go in, then take the second right.”

Steve nods, his car slowing as he turns into the park and follows your directions. You preemptively hold the straps of your bag, like you’re ready to bolt the second the car lulls to a stop. You don’t though, instead fumbling with your seatbelt and shuffling in your seat as you debate on what to say.

“Thanks for the ride.” It feels a bit weak after the conversation you’ve had during the journey. Like you should be coming out with something more profound or resolving. You have no idea what that’d be, though. “I’ll, uh, wash the jumper and bring it to work.”

“No rush,” Steve waves your words off. “Got plenty of others.”

“Right, checks out.” Steve thinks you don’t sound as short as you usually do, you think so too. “See y’around, Harrington.” You nod at him before finally getting out of the car. The smell of petrichor coming from the ground hits you as soon as you step out, the cold air washing over you as you hurry to your door through the rain.

You look back once before you step inside, and you know that Steve hasn’t left yet because you would’ve heard it but it still shocks you a little to see him waiting for you to get inside. He gives you a nod, barely there especially through the rain, but you return the gesture before you push open your door and cross into the warmth of your home.

You hear Steve’s car start up, stood still by your front door in a confused trance about the last ten minutes until your moms voice snaps you out of it.

—

“Since when did you wear glasses?”

You look up from the computer to Steve who’s just walked in for his shift, the glasses in question slipping down your nose bridge as you do. “I d’know, a few years? I normally wear contacts.” You shrug.

Steve stares at your face, eyes scanning over your features and the round metal frames that circle your eyes. You can’t read his expression, his eyes lingering a little too long and making you feel like you’re under a microscope.

“Jeez Harrington, quit gawping.” Your brow furrows and you can’t hold his stare. You hate having to wear your glasses, but you ran out of contacts this morning and had no other option. You can feel your blood rising to your cheeks and hope the pink glow of the neon Family Video logo is disguising the flush.

“Can I try ‘em on?” There’s a playful smirk on his lips, one that makes you only furrow your brow more as you huff out an annoyed noise.

“Get fucked, no way.”

“Oh c’mon sweetheart, just for a minute.” The pet name is laced in fake sweetness but not in the sarcastic way you’re used to, you hate that you don’t hate it.

“No. Way.” You repeat, arms crossed over your chest like a stubborn child.

But Steve doesn’t care for your answer, leaning over the counter and plucking the frames off your face despite the way you swat at his hands and try to move your head away from his grabbing hands. He puts them on, blinking a couple of times as his eyes adjust to your prescription. “What d’you think? Do I look good?”

“No, you look dumb. Now give them back.” You try to lean over the counter and grab them back but Steve quickly steps out of your reach.

“Don’t be cruel.” He pouts at you and you just roll your eyes. “You really are fuckin’ blind though.” He cracks a grin at you and you know he’s not being mean, just trying to poke and prod at you for some other reason.

“Yeah, so give them back.” You round the counter so you’re in front of Steve now, reaching up to try and get your frames back from the boy's face but he sees that coming from a mile off. Before your fingers can even graze the metal he’s pulled them off his face and held them up over his head. That lopsided grin that you’ve seen an awful lot lately spreads across his lips as you sigh in frustration, all dramatics and not much action to back it up.

You’ve got no hope of getting them back as he holds them over his head, even as you’re toe to toe with him and craning up as much as you can. You tug on his arm, fingers curled over his bicep as you try to pull them towards you but his hand braces your waist to try and hold you off and the heat from his palm has you distracted. You can feel each of his fingers pressing against your skin, so hyper aware of each spot he’s touching.

“You can do better than that.” Steve teases, his hand tightening its grip each time you push up on your toes to try and get closer to the frames. It’s childish and stupid and definitely a waste of both of your time but you can feel it in your cheeks.

“Can you two actually do some work instead of flirting?” You’re too caught up in your mission to get your glasses back to notice Keith coming out of the office, stood near the door looking less than impressed at the two of you.

Steve’s mouth drops into a small ‘o’ at the sound, his eyes finally pulling from yours and his hand brought down to his side. “We’re not-“

“I don’t care, do some work.” Keith huffs, pointing between the two of you and fixing you with a firm glare before stalking back into the office.

You take the opportunity to finally grab your frames back, Steve still distracted by the interruption so it’s easy to pull them from his fingers.

“Nice going, Harrington.” You push the frames back onto your face, tone dripping with soft sarcasm and you flash him a small grin before you return to the computer so you can pick up where you left off.

“S’your fault.” He mutters, lingering near the counter and watching as you scroll through the screen looking.

“Do some work.” You don’t look away from the computer, your hand grabbing the sheet that has all the recent returns written on it that need putting away. “Stop causing trouble.”

“You love it.” You can see him grinning out of the corner of your eye, corners of his lips curled up in confidence even when you scoff at his remark.

You wouldn’t go as far to say you love it, not by a long shot, but you definitely don’t mind his antics as much as you used to. The teasing no longer holding that same bitter weight it used to, instead replaced with something softer that chips away at that grudge that sits deep in your stomach. Uncurling it’s way out and leaving the space empty, waiting to be replaced with something else.

—

You’re going to be late. It’s ten minutes past when your shift at Family Video was supposed to finish and twenty minutes before your shift at the diner is due to start, and Steve isn’t here to take you off, and you’re going to be late.

Your bag is already stored under the desk, you didn’t bother putting it in the staff room today because you knew you’d have to leave quickly. But you can’t leave, because Steve’s not here. You might actually kill him.

You drum your pen on the counter, an antsy beat that reflects your current mood because you need to leave and the clock keeps ticking and you’re still here and you suppose this is what you get for putting your strict time schedule in the hands of Steve Harrington.

The second you hear the bell above the door ring and see Steve bundle in looking a little flustered and pink in the cheeks, you grab your bag up from underneath the counter and swing it over your shoulder.

“Hey, sorry, I know I’m late I-“ Steve’s still catching his breath, but you don’t have time to listen to whatever excuse he has.

“No time, gonna be late.” You hurry round the counter, almost tripping over your own feet with how quickly you’re trying to get out of here.

“No, hey, wait a minute.” He reaches out to grab your wrist as you pass, but decides against it at the last second instead hovering his hand over your arm.

You look between his hand and his face, almost amused by how he’s holding it there without actually committing to the act. “What? Make it quick.” You huff.

“Well, I’m having a movie night tonight with, like, everyone. Real big group, lots of us. And some of the group, not naming names because I respect their anonymity-“ His hands are flailing as he rambles on, dramatic and completely avoiding the point of what he’s trying to say.

“Spit it out, Harrington. I needed to be outta here like, 10 minutes ago.” He’s standing between you and the door, and you’re not quite cruel enough to just walk out in the middle of this clearly very challenging monologue.

“Right, sorry.” He nods, brows pinched a little in seriousness. “Some of us, them, wanted to invite you. To movie night. With everyone.” Every time you think he’s done, he keeps on adding to his sentence.

You pull your bottom lip under your teeth, a little taken aback by his offer. Sure, things had been a little calmer between the two of you since he gave you a ride home. Less bite to your words, the occasional smile at something the other said. Nothing crazy though, certainly not enough to expect an invite to his place - even if the invite was technically from an anonymous party.

“I mean, I have work, at the diner.” You glance at the door, eyes darting around everywhere but Steve’s because you’re on the spot and maybe you feel a little flustered with the shock but you’ll be damned if you let him know.

“That’s fine, you can turn up whenever.” He shrugs, hands shoved into his pockets because he wants to fidget and can feel them getting a little clammy from asking you what is really a pretty simple question. He puts it down to the fact he’s not used to being so nice to you, that’s definitely it.

“And it’s at your place?” You know that by asking all these questions you’re only delaying your exit, getting yourself in deeper trouble when you’re inevitably late, but the whole thing is so bizarre you can’t bring yourself to leave.

“Yeah, but it’s not just my thing, it’s the -“

“The group, yeah, got it.” You interrupt. “I guess I’ll see when I finish, how I’m feeling y’know.”

“Yeah, course, no pressure, I’ll let them down easy if you don’t turn up.” He nods, face still serious but there’s a lightness in his voice now, a bit teasing but nothing like it usually is - or used to be, you suppose.

“Anything else?” You start to make a move towards the door, you’re probably going to have to run to work now through the summer heat and blinding sun but somehow you’re less mad than when Steve first turned up.

“No, no, that’s it, you’re free to go.” He holds his hands up and steps back from the door.

“Great, thanks for the permission.” You roll your eyes but there’s a curl to your lips which gives you away, a tiny silent notion that maybe you’re not so mad at him anymore.

“I’ll see you tonight, think of the group.” He calls after you as you head out, and you turn to give him a brief wave of your hand to acknowledge his words. You have to turn away quickly because you can feel a proper grin trying to work its way onto your face and you’re not ready to deal with why it’s there or what that means. It’s easier to just cast your eyes down at the tarmac that’s glowing from the sun and focus on your feet as you put one in front of the other as quickly as you can without breaking into a sweat.

You spend the entirety of your shift debating on if you should go tonight. You try your hardest to focus, you really do, but taking orders and pouring coffee isn’t exactly complicated work and the customers ask the same questions every day so you don’t even need to think about your answers anymore.

You’re standing behind the counter, elbow resting on the cold surface and your head resting in your hand so you can comfortably stare into space. You must look pretty out of it, chewing on your pen and eyes focused loosely on one of the big windows that looks into the diner, because it’s enough for your boss, an older woman called Eileen, to clock you.

Normally you’re a hard worker, chatting up a storm and always busying yourself with something to pass the time but today you’ve been a little clunky, not particularly bad but noticeably distracted. So when she comes to stand beside you, a finger poking into your side that makes you jump and straighten up, you think you’re about to get a scolding. You were also ten minutes late today, through no fault of your own.

“You got somewhere better to be?” She asks, for a moment you panic but once you look at her and see the knowing smile on her face you know you’re not in trouble.

“Sorry, it’s just,” you weigh up what you’re going to say, because you’re still a bit muddled over it all anyway, “a friends having a movie night, and they invited me and I d’know, guess I’m thinkin’ about going if I’m not out of here too late.”

“A friend, huh?” She raises her eyebrows at you, because since you started working here you’ve never been so distracted by a simple invite from a friend.

“Yeah, well, a group of ‘em really.” You put your now chewed up pen back into your apron pocket, swaying on your feet a little as you avoid eye contact with your boss because you don’t like that questioning tone in her voice. She knows you too well for you to try and bluff.

“Tell you what, you get all that cutlery back there polished up and make sure the stations are tidy enough and you can finish early.”

Your nose scrunches at her offer, because she’s not the sort to lie but you’ve never gotten cut early and you’ve barely said anything at all. Maybe you really were out of it today and she just wanted you out of the diner. “Seriously? Like, actually finish and go?”

She laughs, a warm sound followed by a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “Yeah, kid, get it done and get yourself out of here.”

“I will, holy shit - sorry, I mean thank you.” You blurt out, pressing your lips together to try to fight off the dumb smile that’s really on your face. For no other reason than you’ve got a Friday night off, of course.

“Y’make sure your friend knows that this is a one time thing though, alright?”

The way she says friend and the quirk of her eyebrow has you scurrying away back into the kitchen. “For sure, I will, thank you.” Your voice carries through the pass, and you start to make your way through the mountain of cutlery that’s piled up throughout the shift.

It’s close to 8 o’clock by the time you finish, the sun starting to settle lower in the sky and covered by a haze of clouds. There’s a pink tint to everything outside, a nip in the air that warns of the end of summer though you pay no attention to it. You’d quickly changed out of your uniform back into the same t-shirt and pair of shorts you’d been wearing earlier, clothes being pulled out and shoved into your bag without much care as you hurried yourself out of the diner before your boss could change her mind. Though she did send you off with about half a cherry pie in a to-go box, which she only ever did when she was in a really good mood.

It’s not too far of a walk from Main Street down to Steve’s house, or maybe it is but you’re grateful for the time alone to actually decide on whether to turn up or not. You could easily just go home, take the night off and just relax. Plus, it seemed pretty out there for an invite to suddenly be extended to you. You’ve heard Robin talk about their big movie nights before, although you can’t say you paid much attention to what she said after she mentioned the fact that Steve hosts them.

You have to physically shake your head to yourself, shake off this weird doubt that if you turn up it’s all going to be one big joke that you’re the punchline of. You’re too old for that sort of stuff now, surely.

That cold breeze that you’re so determined to ignore seems to pick up once you start getting more into the suburbs of Hawkin’s, your bare arms and legs nipped at by the first signs of autumn. You know you have Steve’s jumper in your bag, the plan had been to give it to him before you left your shift at Family Video but his late arrival had meant it completely slipped your mind. But you can’t turn up to his house in his jumper, can you? You’ve barely buried the hatchet, the figurative soil still fresh. But you are cold, and it’s that or your shitty work vest which holds about as much warmth as tissue paper, so maybe it’s okay to just put it on for now. Just til you get inside.

It’s not until you’re standing there on the doorstep of the Harrington house that you realise you might’ve actually gone a little bit mad. This should be your worst nightmare, the sheer thought of it should have you turning on your heels and sprinting home. But you’re not, you’re knocking on the door and standing there waiting for someone to answer and you have definitely gone mad.

You can hear a muddle of voices inside, they pick up when you knock and it has you suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed. Maybe you should’ve just gone home. But before you can think anymore about whether you’ve made the right choice by coming the doors being pulled open and Steve’s stood there and he almost looks happy to see you. “Hey, you came.” His eyes scan over you, specifically his jumper, and there’s a smug smile on his face that is definitely less antagonistic than usual. “Nice jumper.”

“Yeah, got an early finish at work.” You tuck your chin to your chest to look down at your torso “Sorry, I was meant to give it to you at work but I had to rush out and then it’s kinda cold out tonight.” You can feel yourself rambling, quickly cutting yourself off. “I brought pie.” You hold up the plastic bag that holds your to-go container.

Steve waves off your apology, or explanation, or whatever it actually is. “It’s cool, keep it as long as you want.” He steps aside so you can cross the threshold into the house. You’ve never been before, but it seems like everyone knows where Steve lives purely from the amount of parties that were held here throughout high school. “You’ll be popular, gonna be invited every week if you keep bringin’ pie.”

“Using someone for their access to pie is pretty morally skewed.” You quirk an eyebrow at him, voice deadpan but you’re not being serious. It takes Steve a moment to register that, so used to the constant tension between the two of you.

“You’re right, I’ll be sure to tell everyone to not be so shallow.”

You breathe out a laugh, and it’s small and barely there but it’s genuine. You and Steve both catch it, eyes locking for a brief moment before you’re both quickly looking away. You’re still not sure what’s changed, but you’re not going to question it right now.

“Go through, get yourself comfortable.” Steve gestures towards his living room, you can hear hushed voices now that you’ve stopped talking but you try to push any urges to run out of your mind. You toe your shoes off before padding through the house, aware of the fact they’re probably filthy and the house looks pristine. Like it’s barely lived in, it could be one of those model homes.

“You’re here!” Robin practically shouts when she sees you, a grin on her face that quickly turns to a look of confusion when she realises you’re standing there in one of Steve’s jumpers. “And you’re wearing one of Ste-“

“I brought pie.” You cut her off rather than yourself this time, placing the bag onto the coffee table that already holds a ridiculous amount of food. It looks like a kids been let loose in a candy store, but then again maybe they have.

“Oh I love your job!” Robin’s quickly distracted by the gift from your work, and you silently thank your boss for unknowingly giving you a way out of what would surely be an interrogation otherwise.

The room is filled with faces that you recognise, some from school like Robin and her girlfriend Vickie, and you sort of know Nancy Wheeler who’s here with her boyfriend Jonathan. The rest are all the kids that frequent Family Video, coming in usually just to pester Steve rather than actually rent anything. They’re all squished up on the biggest couch, shoulder to shoulder as they all cram in so they fit there.

You give a small wave, a quiet hello and smile to everyone - who don’t seem all that surprised to see you there.

You settle yourself onto the floor, onto the pile of cushions and blankets that’ve been laid there as more makeshift seats. You feel out of place, in the house you’ve never been in before with people you don’t really know other than Robin. You plant your hands either side of you as you sit cross-legged, palms pressing down into the plush fabric as some sort of grounding point. It gets a little easier to not think about how you’re the odd one out once the film starts playing, conversations hushed as the opening to The Goonies starts playing.

You keep your eyes trained on the TV when Steve sits down next to you, his knees almost knocking into your own. You know there’s room on one of the couches, but maybe this is him attempting to be polite.

“Didn’t think you’d come.” He leans into your side as he speaks and you can smell the same cologne that lingered on his jumper.

“Neither did I.” You shrug, lifting your chin to the side slightly so you can look at him. The TV screen is lighting you both up, the light changing with each frame and changing the way the contours of your face are hit by shadows.

“Bit strange, you just know where I live.” He teases, and you knock your elbow into his side but it’s kind of soft and doesn’t hold any real anger to it.

“Everyone knows where you live, Harrington. You might as well have written it on the walls of the school.”

“What can I say? I’m a brilliant host.”

You roll your eyes at him, your stare through your lashes kind of soft in the low light. “Wouldn’t know.”

“You do now.” His voice is a little quieter, words spoken low like they’re supposed to stay hidden.

You ignore the way your stomach is twisting up, not in the same way it used to. “Maybe, jury’s still out.”

His bottom lip juts out, all faux upset and big brown puppy dog eyes. “Even after all my hard work? I slaved for hours over the stove.” He gestures to the table piled high with snacks, hands moving lazily and brushing against your knee. His hands are warm, or maybe you’re still cold from the walk over.

“Can you two shut up? Some of us are trying to watch this y’know?” The curly haired boy, you’re pretty sure his name is Dustin, shushes you from the couch.

“You’ve seen this like, twenty times Henderson.” Steve whispers back, like he’s suddenly conscious of keeping his voice hushed.

“Yeah, and I want to see it again. If you wanna flirt, take it elsewhere.”

You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks, a pink flush spreading across the skin and you’re grateful that Steve’s distracted by the boy because you don’t think you’d ever live this down.

“It’s my house, and I’m not -“

“Shut up.”

“Dickhead.” Steve mumbles, but he keeps quiet after that. You’re not sure if he can feel the weird tension that sits in the air between you, you hope he can’t.

There’s a big debate on what to watch next when The Goonies finally finishes, mostly involving the kids who can’t seem to decide on what they want to watch. It’s sweet to watch, if a little bizarre. This is the last sort of thing you imagined to be going on in Steve Harrington's house on a Friday night. After a good twenty minutes of arguing, the red haired girl eventually gets up with a huff and just puts Back to the Future in the VCR. She gives you a small lopsided smile as she sits back down and you recognise her from the trailer park then. She’d not long moved there, just her and her Mom. You smile back, making a mental note to say hi the next time you see her around.

“Y’seen this one before?” Steve whispers to you, cautious to not get another earful from Dustin. There’s a cheeky smile on his face when you turn to him, and it makes you smile too.

“Everyone’s seen Back to the Future.” You mumble, tongue pressed into the side of your cheek to stop yourself grinning too much. Your hands suddenly feel clammy against the blankets, so you shuffle a little so you can hold them in your lap instead.

You can feel Steve’s gaze on you throughout the movie, just for a moment or two before he’s looking back at the screen. You try not to turn your head when you realise, hoping if you keep your eyes on the screen he won’t know that you know.

You look up over to Robin at one point, who’s cuddled up close to Vickie under another blanket and she nods at you. You’re not sure if it’s a nod of approval, or more of a “I told you you’d get along”, or she could just be entirely confused by whatever was happening. It’d make sense, you’re pretty confused yourself.

Jonathan and Steve are both in charge of getting all the kids home at the end of the night, the group split between the two cars. You’re helping tidy up before you leave, grabbing any rubbish you can whilst the kids bicker about who’s going to sit where in the car.

“You have so much explaining to do.” Robin tugs at your arm as you reach down to grab a candy wrapper, Vickie standing off to the side to at least pretend to not be listening.

“I promise there’s really not much to explain.” You shrug, your hands now filled with bright coloured plastic.

“You’re kidding, right? You two hated each other for years and now you’re at his house in his jumper? Get talking.” She pokes your ribs, and you try to wriggle away from her touch.

“I mean, I was told it was an invite from the group.”

“First I’ve heard of it.”

Your mouth hangs open a little, taking a small inhale as you try to process what your friends just said. But you can’t, because then Steve calls your name from his hallway and Robins fixes you with a look and your heads feeling a bit fuzzy as you excuse yourself from the interrogation.

“You want a ride home?” Steve has his car keys dangling from his forefinger as he’s leaning against the frame of his front door.

“It’s cool, I can walk.” You look down to the colourful rubbish in your hands and then back up to Steve. “I do need a bin though.”

“I’ll sort that.” Steve takes the rubbish from you, walking into his kitchen as he continues talking. “It’s dark out, you’re not walking.”

“I walk home all the time.” You pull the sleeves of your, or Steve’s, jumper down over your hands.

“Good for you, not tonight though.” His voice is sarcastic and you narrow your eyes at him once he’s standing back in front of you but it feels different to how it used to, a lot less like a standoff.

“It‘s out of the way, I’m fine to walk.”

“I’m dropping Max off, you live in the same place.”

You huff, eyes locked with Steve’s as he raises his eyebrows at you because he knows he’s won. “Fine, but only ‘cause you’re already going there.”

Robin and Vickie both give you the same look as they pass you on the way to the car, their eyebrows raised and a grin that says you’ve been caught red handed. You’d try to argue a defence but you wouldn’t even know where to begin.

After all the arguing the kids went through to decide who gets shotgun, Steve ends up kicking Dustin out the passenger seat so you can sit there. The boy grumbles something you can’t hear as he clambers into the backseat, but Steve fixes him with a glare and he seems to quiet down pretty fast.

You don’t say much during the drive home, mostly just listen in to the silly arguments Steve, Dustin and Max have. You never pinned Steve as the type to babysit, and maybe this wasn’t quite babysitting, but it was clear how much he cared about them despite all their bickering. It was miles apart from how you two bicker, or used to anyway.

Dustin is the first out, and he actually says goodbye to you as he climbs out, clearly no grudge held over you stealing his spot up front. Once you get to Forest Hills you realise Max’s trailer is opposite Eddie’s as Steve pulls up in front of it, waiting until she’s inside before he starts his car back up.

“I can just get out here if it’s easier.” You gesture out of the window with your thumb.

“It’s fine, you get door to door service with me.” It’s dark in the car, the inky black of the night seeping into the enclosed space but you can tell Steve has some cheesy grin on his face just from the sound of his voice.

It’s only about two minutes before you’re outside your own trailer, the bedside lamp in your room left on for you and emitting a glow through the slatted blinds over your window.

“Y’know, Robin said she didn’t know anything about inviting me tonight.” You don’t know why you say it, wanting to push the words back inside as soon as they come out.

Steve exhales out a laugh, a little awkward because he didn’t really think about the fact you would definitely speak to Robin. “I mean, I did say it was anonymous, so could’ve been anyone else.”

“Right, yeah, I’m sure Nancy Wheeler was really rooting for my presence there.” You raise a fist alongside your words, fake enthusiasm quilted by a genuine smile.

“You can’t get me to reveal anything more, I’ve already said too much.” Steve shakes his head at you and you can’t help but let out a laugh. It’s a proper laugh and it surprises you a little when it comes out, Steve thinks it’s one of the nicest sounds he’s ever heard.

“Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” You nod your head, closing your eyes as if this were a serious issue. “Thanks for the ride, again. Better be careful or I’ll get used to it and start expecting ‘em.” You tease, finally lifting your bag out the footwell and you’re already halfway out the car before Steve can reply and tell you that he wouldn’t really mind that. It’s probably for the best that he keeps that to himself anyway.

You turn to give him a wave, a small flick of your wrist and a small smile that’s barely visible in the dark but it’s definitely there. You almost begrudge yourself for letting your guard down so much, seemingly so easy to just forget how much you really disliked Steve Harrington. You try to tell yourself you still find him annoying, maybe not to the level of hatred as before but he’s not off the hook. Your arguments with yourself become less convincing by the day.

—

By the end of summer, the rain that so often frequents Hawkins in the fall has already started to pour. Most days there’s at least a shower, and if you’re lucky it’s when you’re tucked away in work. But some days it’s like the heavens have opened and weep for the whole day, no relief or break in the clouds, just a solid slate of grey across the sky.

You know to bring a waterproof with you every time you leave the house, so your clothes can at least stay dry as you march across town to your shifts. But the cold of the rain has you sniffling, nose permanently a little pink along with your cheeks even when you’re out of the cold.

It’s also become somewhat of a routine for Steve to drive you home if you’re both working that day, the same argument each time of you insisting that you’re fine to walk or you can call a cab and him being adamant that he’s giving you a ride and that’s that. He’ll even come back to pick you up a couple of times when he’s finished a few hours earlier than you, waiting in his car in the parking lot as you wrestle with the keys to lock up. He’ll try to say he was passing by anyway, you think that he’s lying but you choose not to say.

You’re wiping down the last few tables of the diner, the sun set a good few hours ago now and the harsh fluorescents are making your temples pulse with the threat of a headache after being here all day. Your feet ache, you’ve barely been off them for the last twelve hours and even though you’re used to it, it doesn’t make the pain any less irritating. The venues empty now, at least, so you can focus on speeding through the last of the close and finally return to your bed.

The bell above the door jingles, an indicator that someone pushed it open and you try to stifle the groan that wants to spill from your mouth. You’re too tired to deal with some disgruntled customer who’s about to be told they can’t get a burger.

You toss your cleaning rag onto the still damp table, a little dramatic with it as you smooth out your apron and head to the host desk. “Sorry, but we’re all closed up now.” You call through before you even reach it, hoping they might turn round and leave before you have to face them.

“Damn, can’t even get a coke?”

You peer round the curve of the diner to see Steve standing at the host desk, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans and he gives you a stupid grin and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself grinning back. “Nope, not even a coke.” You’re at the desk now, still behind it so it serves as a divider between you and Steve.

“Oh, that’s a shame. Was really craving one.” He shrugs his shoulders,

“Why’re you really here, Harrington?” You ask even though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Told you, I was craving a coke. But seen as I’m here, and you’re nearly done, I can give you a ride home.” He says it so casually, like it’s just a coincidence and definitely not because he knew you were closing tonight and for some reason he really doesn’t like the thought of you walking home alone in the dark.

“Y’gonna give me a say in that?” You look up at him through your mascara coated lashes, a little smudged under your eyes after your long day.

“Probably not, no.” He shrugs again.

You sigh, all false dramatics and Steve knows it. “Fine, you’re gonna have to wait around for me to finish though.” You gesture to the booths that line the front windows.

He sets himself down in one of the garishly red booths, the leather worn and stitching frayed and still a little damp from where you’ve wiped them down.

You disappear back into the restaurant, just for a couple of minutes, only to return with a glass filled with coke and you set it down wordlessly in front of him. You don’t wait for him to respond, instead moving straight back out of his eyeline to finish up your close. You don’t want him to think it means more than it does, or maybe you don’t want to think about what it means. It’s one of the two.

It doesn’t take you long to finish up your jobs, you’re so used to doing them that you could probably get them done blindfolded or in your sleep. You say a quick goodbye to your manager, gathering up your coat and bag that you’d tossed into the office when you’d arrived and bundling them up into your arms.

When you get back to Steve he’s still sipping on his coke, eyes watching you pad over with your belongings clutched to your chest.

“You need me to pay for this before we go?” He asks, straw resting on his lips so he can go back to drinking it as soon as he’s spoken.

“Nah, you’re good.” You shuffle your bag in your arms when you feel it slipping from your grasp. “Just don’t tell on me.”

Steve mimes zipping his mouth shut, and holds out the now empty glass to you. You raise an eyebrow at him, your arms full and he retracts the glass when he realises there’s no way you’re grabbing it.

“Just put it on the bar.” You turn your body to look back to the bar, and Steve shuffles himself out the booth so he can place the glass on the end of the counter.

“C’mon then, trouble.” His smile grows when you roll your eyes at his nickname, a scoff falling from your lips that holds no real weight.

“Don’t call me that, asshole.” You grumble, walking ahead of Steve and out of the diner, the bell ringing out as you pull it open to leave.

“Don’t call me asshole, asshole.” He mimics your voice, and you turn to shoot him a half hearted glare.

“You’re a nightmare, givin’ me a headache.” You wait at the passenger door, looking over the roof to him and the amused look on his face.

“You don’t mean it.” He hums, eyes fixed on you as he unlocks the car.

“Totally do.” You hold his stare just for a moment before fumbling with the door handle amongst your belongings, huffing a little as you struggle to pry the door open. You manage it, though, with a little stubbornness.

As soon as you’re in the car you toss your stuff in the footwell, your bag has spent an increasing amount of time there to the point where there’s probably various things that have fallen out rolling around there. Pens and hair elastics and maybe a lip gloss, all littered on the floor waiting to be found.

“You got any decent music yet?” You root through his glove box, even though you know he’s definitely not bought anything new since you last looked through his cassettes.

“They’re all decent.” Steve counters, hands circling the wheel as he reverses out the parking spot and onto the road. “You’re just uncultured.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry I ever insulted Bon Jovi.” You pull the tape out and tap it against your hand, the hard plastic leaving your palm a little red.

“Well, that one’s not mine.”

“Don’t lie to me, Harrington.”

“It’s not.” He sulks, and you let out a small laugh as you push it back into its place and close the glove box.

“It’s okay, I’m not judging.” You tip your head back against the seats headrest, twisting so you can look at Steve. He glances at you out the side of his eyes, a look of I know you are in the quick stare. “Someone’s gotta like them Steve, it’s good you’re taking one for the team.”

Steve turns to look at you properly, brows pinched together a little and he looks almost confused.

“What? Oh come on, I was just teasin’.”

“You called me Steve.”

“Well, yeah, that’s your name?” Your brows furrow now, your faces mirroring each other.

“You never call me Steve, it’s always Harrington or some stupid insulting nickname.” He chuckles over the last part, face softening slightly.

“Oh. Right.” You pause, mouth twisting up a little as you think about what he’s just said. “I guess you’re right.” You can feel Steve still looking at you as both sit in silence, your eyes flicking between him and the dashboard. “Stop staring at me, you’re makin’ it weird.”

“It is weird.” He laughs, and you huff, sinking further into your seat with your arms crossed across your body. It’s like you’re trying to make yourself smaller, shrink yourself down to stop him staring at you.

“You’re weird.” You grumble, but there’s nothing really behind your words.

“Y’know you used to be a lot better at comebacks.” He teases, and you rack your brain to try to come up with some witty response but everything feels a little jumbled and the words won’t pull together in a way that makes sense.

“Yeah, well, I’m tired. You tire me out with tryna navigate your shitty music selection.”

“Oh do I?”

“Yeah, you do.”

Steve laughs and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, blood pumping harder and flushing your skin and you’re grateful that the streetlights don’t offer much clarity because you don’t want him picking up on your blush too.

You stay silent until you reach the trailer park, words all caught up in your throat that won’t come out even if you want them too. Steve doesn’t seem to mind though, just keeps glancing at you with a smug smile on his face because he knows you’re flustered, as much as you try to play it off. You caught yourself off guard, and so did he, and now you’re too busy in your own head to actually say anything.

The car pulling to a stop eventually brings you out of your head, back to reality and to the front seat of Steve’s car. You look out the window to your trailer as it sits empty in the dark, no lights left on so it's almost completely enveloped by the night sky, the faintest outline of it visible through the inky black.

You reach for your belongings in the footwell, wringing the straps of your bag in your hands as you press your lips together trying to come up with the words you want to say. Or any words at all at this point.

“Nobody home?” Steve nods his head towards your unlit trailer, and you look over at him with wide eyes, blinking a little as the words process that he’s talking about your home and not about the fact you’ve sat in silence for the last five minutes.

“Oh, no, my parents are travelling for a couple weeks.” You stumble over your words, like your brain has forgotten how to communicate with your voice box properly. You let them sit in the air for a moment, mouth still slightly agape like you’re not quite done. “Do you wanna come in? I’ve got a couple joints rolled, if that’s your sorta thing.” You can’t meet his eyes, instead staring past him into the night beyond the window.

“Depends.” Steve draws the word out, and you have to look at him to try and read his expression despite the fact it’s probably the last thing you want to do right now. “You got any Bon Jovi?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Shut up, absolutely not.”

“I suppose I’ll cope.” He sighs, all over dramatic as he pulls the keys out the ignition and holds them in his palm. “C’mon then, lead the way.”

You push yourself out the passenger door, stumbling a little over your own feet in the dark as you try to dig through your coat pocket for your keys. It probably doesn’t take you that long to find them, but in the dark it feels like time drags on and there’s a million eyes on you watching your every move because what on earth were you doing bringing Steve Harrington into your home out of choice? Maybe it was a moment of temporary insanity, maybe it’ll wear off soon.

You have to kick the bottom left corner of your front door to get it open, some internal part of it sticking and you curse yourself for never actually sorting it because the world around you is as good as silent and the sound of the impact of your shoes on the plastic seems to ricochet around you.

Everything feels a bit less strange once you knock the lights on, the buttery yellow glow over the familiar surfaces seeming to settle your mind. You stand aside to let Steve in, closing the door behind him and cutting off the cold night breeze that was leaking in.

“Stay here, I’m gonna go get changed.” Your hands are still full so you have to jutt your head towards your bedroom, Steve only nodding in response as he gazes around the room.

Your parents have a habit of collecting nic nacs and trinkets from their travels, and they litter every possible surface they can around the living room. It makes for an interesting space to look at, you suppose. Although it could also be bordering on just looking cluttered.

Your room feels a lot calmer, and emptier, in comparison. Most of the decorations are taped to your walls, old tour posters your parents had held on to mixed in with photos of you and your friends. You have a little clutter on your desk, but it’s mostly a mix of pens and pencils and various makeup products you’ve been too lazy to put away. It looks lived in, really. Homely and an accumulation of yourself, everything with its own place despite the mess.

You sling your bag and coat to the corner that’ll be covered by your door once it’s open, your diner uniform swiftly following onto the now growing pile. You pull on a pair of grey sweatpants, that you’re fairly sure used to be Eddies given how you have to pull the waist tight and roll it down in order for them to fit, and a vest top that skims your midriff and leaves a band of skin showing across your stomach. You’re too tired to really care about how you look, contacts removed and glasses replacing them as you glimpse at yourself in the mirror. It’s fine, really. You’re in your space, after all.

With a pair of well worn slippers replacing your trainers, you pad out your room and back to Steve, who doesn’t look like he’s moved an inch since you left him there. “When I said stay here I didn’t mean, like, that specific spot.”

“Oh, yeah, I know, I was just lookin’ at… everything.” Steve nods, eyes moving from one of the many ceramic plates lined up on a windowsill over to you. “The glasses are back.” He grins at you, and you feel your nose scrunch up as you set him with a stare.

“Hands off them this time.” You point at him, his hands raising to his side in defence. “We can smoke in my room, just ignore the mess.”

“S’cool, I don’t mind mess.” He shrugs, and you quickly turn on your heel to walk back to your room.

“Sit.” You gesture over to your bed whilst you scour through one of your desk drawers for the little tin you keep your joints in. You pull various notepads and loose papers out, piling them up on top messily until you feel the cool metal brush your fingers and pull it out. You know there’s a lighter somewhere on the top, amidst the now larger pile of junk. You shove the papers back in, the crisp noise covering the sound of you humming to yourself as you roll pencils and make up tubes around to reveal the well worn lighter. The print worn off where you’ve held it over the course of the last few months.

The joint hangs from your lips when you turn around, snorting a laugh at the sight of Steve perched on the edge of your bed. “You can sit normally, y'know?” The words are muffled into the roach as you flop yourself onto your bed, pulling an empty can off your bedside table that’s been functioning as an ashtray. You cross your legs so it can lean against your shins as you light up, taking a deep inhale as Steve adjusts himself to be sitting a little more comfortably, less like he’s waiting in the doctor's office.

“Your rooms nice, suits you.” He looks around the space before landing on you, joint still between your lips as a smokey haze starts to fill the room.

“Cheers, Harrington.” You hold the joint out to him after taking one last drag, poised between your pointer and middle finger, your equivalent to an olive branch. “M’sure the room appreciates it.”

As soon as Steve inhales he can feel the warmth of the smoke hit his chest, flowing down his throat and spreading across him. “You like living here? In the trailer park, I mean.” His question strikes up some sort of response in you, a panic that you thought you’d moved past but your face must show it because he’s quick to clarify. “I didn’t mean it like that, like, in a bad way or anything. I was just asking, probably a stupid question.”

You shrug, and you can feel yourself cooling a little, shoulders relaxing and breathing deeper. “I guess, it’s just the norm for me though. Always lived in a trailer park.” Steve passes the joint back to you and you’re grateful for the buzz it’s giving your mind.

“It’s cosy, feels like a proper home. Like, real people actually live here.” Steve realises he probably sounds like he’s already high, and maybe it is hitting him a little quickly but it’s mostly the fact he’s just not good with his words.

“As opposed to fake people?” You hand the joint back to him.

“No, well, kind of.” He flicks the joint off into the can, hand brushing your leg as he reaches over. “My house is usually empty, other than me, it doesn’t really feel like a home y’know?”

You press your lips together, corners pulling down into a small frown at his words. “Sounds pretty shitty.”

“I’m used to it.” He shrugs. “I forget it’s not like that for everyone ‘til I’m somewhere like this.”

You never really think about the fact you’re actually lucky to have a good relationship with your parents, a close knit family unit even if it is contained in the small trailer. You must be zoning out a little because Steve knocks his hand against yours to pass you the end of the joint. You take it off him, fingers almost tangling together in the lazy movements of your hands. “At least you’ve got a good group of friends, you guys all seem really close.” You smile at him, taking one last toke of the joint before dropping into the can where it fizzles against the last of the soda in there.

“Yeah, we are, s’nice.” The haze of smoke fills your small room now, and Steve’s words are slow and soft because his heads a little fuzzy and you’d be lying if you said yours wasn’t as well.

You push yourself off your bed, feet sliding across the ground more than stepping as you mooch over to your cassette player, finger tracing over the tapes as you read over the titles you’ve seen a million times. “Any requests?” You call over your shoulder, Steve watching you from your bed with a slack smile.

“I can go get the Bon Jovi from my car?”

“Fuck off.” You shake your head at him, turning back to the player but not before he catches a glimpse of your smile. You settle on a Fleetwood Mac tape, slotting it in and turning the volume down low so it’s more of a background hum as Second Hand News starts playing. You grab a bottle of nail polish off your desk on your way back, returning to your cross legged position opposite Steve as you start painting them, tongue peaking out a little as you focus on the small brush.

You can feel your glasses slipping down your nose, a careful finger pushing them up whilst trying to keep the wet polish intact. Your eyes squint slightly in focus, lids feeling a little heavy from the smoke and your body wants to move a lot slower than you’d like it to so your strokes are a little messy as you apply the black lacquer on the last couple of nails. Carefully twisting the cap back on the bottle, you place it on your bedside table and hold your hands up to admire your work, though there’s arguably not much to admire with the specks of polish that dot the skin next to your nails. “What d’you think? Are they a total mess?” You hold your hands out to Steve, wiggling your fingers a little so the sheen of the paint catches the light from overhead.

“Nah, they look great, a real masterpiece.” Steve glances at them briefly, but even when you’re focused on your nails you can feel his eyes on you.

“What? Did I get some on my face?” You run the pad of your forefinger across your nose and the apples of your cheeks to try and feel for any stray polish, though if it was there you’ve probably just made it worse.

“No, no. Jus’ looking at you.” He pauses, lips pressed together as he takes a deep inhale through his nose. “You’re really pretty, y’know?”

Your brows pinch together, a little confused and your brains a bit too foggy to really process the fact that Steve’s just complimented you. “You’re high, Harrington.”

“A little, yeah. But you are, always thought you were.” He shrugs, leaning back on his palms and head a little crooked as he looks at you through his heavy lashes.

“Oh, really? That why you were so mean to me in school?” You ask, but you don’t sound accusing, maybe it’s the weed making everything a little softer. “What’s next? Pulling my hair in the playground?” Your lips pull into a smirk, a little too sweet for your words to hold any venom.

“Hey, you can’t blame me for thirteen year old Steve’s behaviour. S’not like that’d be my method of choice now.” Something about the way he’s speaking has your heart beating a little quicker, chest suddenly feeling heavy because it feels like he’s saying something more and you can’t deny that you want to know what that is.

“Oh yeah? What’re these methods then, hotshot?” You sit up a little, shifting in your spot because you can feel a tension in the room. It’s like you’re teetering on a ledge, and any tiny movement will send you plummeting into something entirely unknown.

“I can show you, if y’want.” Steve’s almost whispering, voice so soft that you’re not sure you heard him correctly. But the way he’s looking at you, eyelids a little heavy and pupils blown, confirms that you did.

You pull your bottom lip under your teeth, eyes scanning over his face to try and discern any sign of a laugh, trying to wait him out and see if he cracks but the seconds pass and he’s still looking at you like you’re the only other person on the planet right now. “Yeah, you can show me.”

The words have barely left your mouth before he’s moving into you, big hand cupping your cheek and thumb grazing over the trail of freckles that spread across the high point there. You feel the breath hitch in your chest at the contact, reminding yourself to keep breathing as Steve brings his face to yours. His nose nudges yours, a gentle movement that has you tilting your head to the side a little. He follows your movement, lips hovering over yours for a moment and your eyes are squeezed shut because you’re still not entirely sure this isn’t a joke and you’d rather not open your eyes and find out.

But then his lips are on yours. Your eyes are still closed and you’re still telling yourself to breathe and Steve Harrington is kissing you in your bedroom.

It’s soft at first, gentle and barely there, but then you lean forward to bring yourself closer to him and reciprocate his movements and it’s like a switch has flipped in both of you.

Your hands move from their place in your lap to behind his neck, arms draped over his shoulders and fingers brushing into the hair at the nape of his neck. The light touches have Steve kissing you with more urgency, lips parting a little more and tongues brushing against one another and then you sigh and it sends Steve’s head spiralling because you sound so pretty and it’s him who pulled that sound from you.

He keeps a hand pressed against your cheek, guiding you as he licks into your mouth and nips at your bottom lip a little, and the other sits on your waist. His fingers brush the bare skin at your waist and it has your entire body feeling like it’s being electrified, each slight movement of his hand sending another current through your veins.

He pulls away slightly, lips still so close to your own that you feel them move as he speaks. “”Are they workin’?”

You can feel the smile on his lips, and your breath fans against his lips as you exhale a small laugh. “Yeah, think so.”

Then he’s back on you, lips peppering kisses on your mouth and cheeks and jaw, trailing down your neck and sucking on that sensitive spot by your collarbone. You inhale sharp, biting down on your lip that’s a little swollen from kissing to try and stop yourself whining as he leaves purple marks along your throat. It doesn’t work very well, the noise coming out like a whimper and his grip on your waist only tightens when he hears it.

“God, y’sound so pretty.” He murmurs into your neck, kissing over the spattering of pretty lilac bruises that he’s left behind.

“Steve.” You’re definitely whining now, voice all desperate and fingers pulling at his shirt to try bring him back to your lips again.

He obeys your tugging, planting soft kisses on your mouth and pulling back to look at your face in between them. You're looking up at him through your lashes, eyes all bright and needy and probably the softest he’s ever seen them look.

“Can I touch you? Is that okay?” He punctuates his questions with more kisses, loose strands of hair falling down into his face and brushing against your skin.

Your heart feels like it’s rattling around inside your chest, desperate to break out of its confines because it feels so constrained having to stay inside there. You nod at Steve, mouth still parted a little as your chest rises and falls with your heavy breathing.

“C’mon, use your words. Normally got so much to say to me, honey.” There’s a smirk on his lips and a teasing to his voice but the way he’s looking at you gives him away, shows you he wants it as bad as you do.

“Don’t be a dick, Harrington.” You breathe, a smirk matching his spreading over your face. You lean up to kiss him again, his bottom lip pulled between your own as you move away again. “Y’can touch me, want you to.” You whisper the words, just loud enough for Steve to hear, and he’s already moving you so you’re lay beneath him with a hand beside your head holding him above you.

“Back to surnames already? Seems cruel.” He pouts, a finger running along the waistband of your sweatpants and the sensation makes you feel a little dizzy.

You shift up onto your elbows, just slightly so you can brush your nose against his and hold his gaze. “If y’want me to say your name, you’re gonna have to make me.”

Steve almost feels his heart stop at your words, the way you speak softly has his mind running a million miles an hour and his head spinning out. “Oh, I plan to.”

His hand moves slowly past your waistband, movements calculated and teasing but you keep your composure as he trails his fingers closer to your core. His pace is agonising, pulling back each time he edges closer so when his fingers finally brush over the growing wet spot on your panties you can’t help but let a small moan slip from your mouth.

“Fuck, y’already wet, huh? That all for me? Got you all riled up?” His words are smug but you can see how his chest is rising and falling quickly and his pupils are blown out as he gazes down at you.

“You ever stop runnin’ your mouth?” Your words come out breathy, little piques in your tone as he grazes over your covered clit.

He chuckles, fingers finally pushing aside your underwear after what felt like an age of teasing. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”

“In your dreams.” You barely get your words out before your breath gets stuck in your chest from Steve’s fingers rubbing circles against your clit, eyes closed and head tilting back from the sensation that’s travelling up over your whole body. “Fucking hell, Steve.”

One of your hands holds your weight, still sat up off the bed so you can bring your lips to Steve’s between your moans, and the other grips at his shoulders. Nails digging through the material of his shirt as you try to find purchase as his fingers continue their steady motions across your clit.

When he finally slides a finger inside you, your slick meaning he can slip in easily after he’s riled you up, you let your body drop against your bed. Your grip on his shoulders pulls him down with you, his other hand holding him above you. You tug at his shirt, wordlessly urging him to pull it over his head as you pant beneath him. He only stops his motions to remove it, tossing it aside to the floor of your room and you follow suit with your own which leaves your chest completely bare.

“Jesus, you’re so hot.” It’s more like he’s talking to himself than you, eyes scanning over your body and then back to your face as he returns his hand to its place between your thighs.

“Shut up.” You murmur, smile tugging at your lips and you can feel the blood running to your cheeks.

“You are, y’so beautiful.” He kisses you on your cheek, the corner of your lips, trailing them down onto your chest as he pumps his fingers inside of you.

You trail a hand up his bare arm, over his shoulder and to the nape of his neck so you can thread your fingers into his hair. Tugging a little when he finally slips another finger inside, stretching you out and pulling more moans from you as the coil inside your stomach winds itself tighter and tighter.

“Oh my god, Steve, please.” You find yourself begging, everything all too much yet not enough at the same time. Your hips buck against his hand, desperately trying to chase your high as you reach a hand between the two of you so you can palm at Steve’s crotch. Even through the denim you can feel how hard he is, straining against the confines of the fabric and you barely even have to touch him before he’s groaning into your skin in between kisses.

“What d’you want, jus’ tell me and I’ll give it to you.” His voice is strained as you continue to grope him through his jeans, pressing himself harder into your hand as he speeds up the motions of his fingers inside you.

“Want you to fuck me.” Your practically whining at this point, and you can feel your walls clenching around Steve’s fingers as he works you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, yeah, I want that too.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so needy. “You got a condom?”

“I’m on the pill.” Your words send Steve’s head a little dizzy, a deep exhale coming from his mouth and you take it as disappointment. “S’fine if you don’t want to, though.”

“Are you kidding?” Steve locks his eyes with your own, both still a little hazy from smoking and the intensity of the moment. “I want to.”

With his words your already fiddling with the button of his jeans, tugging at the denim and he pulls his fingers out of you so he can tug them down along with his boxers and discard them onto the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. You can see how hard he is now, tip already leaking as he helps you out of your own sweatpants so you’re left in only your panties.

You wiggle your body a little as you slowly pull them off, suddenly feeling a little too exposed despite all that's already happened tonight. But the way Steve’s staring at you, like you’re a work of art, something made just for him, makes you feel a little less self conscious.

“You sure you want to do this? We don’t have to.” His voice is soft and you know that you could turn him down now and it’d be fine, whatever grudge that was held between you is now buried no matter what you say. But you do want it, not even 24 hours ago it might’ve killed you to admit it but not now. Not here, in your room with Steve looking down at you like you’re the only girl in the world.

“I want it, want you, Steve.” You lean up and kiss him softly, a break from the teasing and intensity of your touches. Something more gentle, in place of an apology or explanation, something that says I don’t just want you now, I want you for good. Steve kisses you back like he understands.

Steve pushes into you slowly, gradually hitting deeper inside you with each thrust and it has you squeezing your eyes shut tight and practically seeing stars. When he finally bottoms out, he stays there for a moment, the pair of you breathing in sync. He can feel your walls squeezing him, and he has to take a moment to collect himself to stop himself finishing then and there.

Your arms hang over his shoulders, one hand running through his hair and the other tracing lines on his back. You almost feel bad for how your nails dig into his skin when he starts moving again, but when he moans in your ear you don’t feel so guilty anymore.

“Feels so good, wanted this for so long y’know? Think it would’ve solved all our problems.” Steve’s rambling on, a little drunk on how good you feel and how you look underneath him. “Don’t think m’gonna last long, keep clenching around me and it’s driving me crazy.”

Your bedroom is filled with the sounds of your moans, bed creaking and it’s all a little dirty but you’re too fucked out to care. The knot in your stomach is still tugging tighter from when Steve had his fingers inside you, and it’s only getting more intense now his cock is nudging that spot inside you that you can never reach on your own. “I’m close too, y’feel so good Steve.” Your voice is sickly sweet and only pushes Steve closer to the edge.

“Jesus, fuck.” Steve runs a thumb across your cheek, eyes locked with yours as he pounds into you harder and the sounds you’re making are bordering on pornographic - you’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so clearly into it, kissing you hard and a little messy and you can feel that coil in your stomach about to snap.

“M’gonna cum.” You can barely force your words out, especially when Steve moves a hand back to your clit and begins rubbing circles around the bundle of nerves. It only takes a few more thrusts for you to go tumbling over the edge, walls clenching around him tight as you grip his shoulders and leave little crescent marks as a reminder of the night.

You can tell Steve’s close too, the way he’s moaning your name and his pupils are blown as he watches you unravel. His thrusts get a little sloppy, quicker but his rhythm is messy and when you drag your nails down his back it’s the final push for him. You can feel it as he cums inside you, warm ropes filling you up and he keeps thrusting into you slowly even after he’s finished. His breathing is heavy as he looks down at you, bodies tangled and a little sweaty but he still thinks you look beautiful.

You feel empty when he finally pulls out of you, like your body had gotten used to him being there. You whine a little at the feeling, but Steve’s quick to kiss away the noise as he strokes your hair.

“This mean we’re friends now?” You ask, a little teasing as you smile at him.

Steve shifts his body from its place over you, looking through the mess of clothes on the floor to find his boxers amongst them. He hands you his t-shirt, and you’re not oblivious to the fact he’s giving you his clothes to wear instead of your own. He looks over to your light switch and then back to you, going to flick it off when you respond with a nod. “You do this with all your friends?”

“Well, no. But y’gotta at least ask me on a date before you get to pass that point.” You pull his shirt over your head, the smell of his cologne a comfort as you settle into it.

“What, you wanna be wined and dined, huh?” He’s grinning at you, and you shuffle up to let him lay next to you in your bed.

“Obviously, Harrington. Get with the program.”

“C’mon, surely I’m past the surname point now.” His finger traces along your jaw as he lays facing you, following the curves of your face and nudging it closer to his.

“Maybe, I’ll think about it.” You’re still grinning as you kiss him, just for a moment but even after you pull away you keep your face close to his.

His arm rests over your waist as you cuddle into him, a soothing weight that helps to lull you quickly into a sleep. You slot into his body easily, head on his chest and his chin resting atop of it, falling into a position that feels almost too natural, like it’s something you should’ve been doing for a long time before.

You’re not sure what time it is when you get woken by a knock at your door. Though a knock is probably too gentle a word, it was more like a repetitive slap against the plastic that has you grumbling as you try to wriggle out of Steve’s grip and out of bed. You pull your joggers on, eyes still a little fuzzy from sleep as you make your way out your room and to whoever was pounding on your door.

“Alright, alright.” You’re mumbling so whoever’s out there definitely didn’t hear you. You pull the door open the door to see Eddie standing there, stupid smug grin on his face as you stand there still half asleep. “Jesus, Eddie, what is it?”

“Harringtons here, isn’t he?” He sounds almost giddy with it, because he knows he’s right. He looks behind him to Steve’s car, then back to you as you stand there in Steve’s shirt. And then he notices the spattering of purple bruises along your neck, and that’s enough to send him over the edge with laughter. “Oh my god, I knew it! I knew this would happen!”

You stand there, blinking the sleep out your eyes because you’re still way too tired to be dealing with Eddie and his apparent victory. “D’you actually want something? Or is this it?” You point down to him, the boy still grinning wide and you’re half tempted to just slam the door in his face.

“This is it.” He shrugs. “Just needed proof, and those-“ He wiggles his finger towards your neck “-are proof.”

“Fantastic, thanks so much for waking me up for this Eds.” You huff, hand already on the door ready to shut him out. “Now get lost.” There’s nothing cruel to your voice, Eddie knows you too well to take any offence.

“See y’later, you little harlot.” That’s enough for you to slam the door in his face.

You pad back into your bedroom, Steve groaning as you clamber over him to try and get back into place but inevitably disturb him as you do so.

“What was that?” His voice is thick with sleep, a little gruff and you tuck your face back into his chest with a sigh.

“Jus’ Eddie. Gloating ‘cause he got proof.” Your voice is muffled, lips brushing against his skin as you speak.

“Proof of what?” Steve’s hand trails lazily up your spine, a barely there touch that could easily lull you back to sleep.

“This, us, I guess.”

“Oh, well, that’s not so bad, is it?”

“Nah, I don’t mind.” You move your head away so you can look at Steve, eyes fighting to stay open and a sleepy smile on your face. “D’you?

Steve shakes his head, eyes all doting on you even in his tired state. “I don’t mind at all.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x fem

2K notes · View notes