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thecreelhouse · 1 month ago

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daylight

Paring: Steve Harrington x Francesca “Frankie” Amato

This is part of the accident prone AU— please be warned there are spoilers in these mini fics if you have yet to read the main series! This post-series fic and more can be found here -> accident prone - the blurb sides

Summary: The morning after their first time together, Frankie’s self-doubt begins to creep back in; there’s nowhere to hide her imperfections in the sunlight, and her confidence wanes. Steve’s determined to take every chance he can get to remind Frankie just how beautiful she is.

WC: 3.4k

Includes: soft smut (oral/face sitting- f receiving, fingering, handjob, cockwarming), silly banter, some dirty talk, hurt/comfort, body/self-esteem issues, fluff, language, etc.

A/N: In the midst of this break I’m taking (if you can even call it that lmao), I’ve managed to finish a few AP blurbs! (yes i know they're longer than blurbs shhhhh). this one’s Frankie centric, but I have one for Steve with similar subject matter, and I’m hoping to post that one soon too. Anyway, hope you enjoy this if you read <3 (divider cred: @/strangergraphics)

Sunrise rouses Steve from a deep sleep, mind flooding with memories from the night prior. He and Frankie are tangled up in one another still, clothes long ignored from the moment they stripped one another down. She’s still sound asleep, but murmuring something softly, face buried into Steve’s shoulder.

He doesn’t want to wake her, but can’t help kissing the top of her head; her buzzcut’s tiny hairs prickle against his lips. Her hair’s already began growing back, but Steve can see what Frankie mentioned the night she cut it all off— the tiny bald patches keeping the growth uneven. Subconsciously, his fingers trail to one of them, feather-light touch tracing the edge of the bare spot.

It still feels like a dream, the fact that Frankie likes— loves— Steve just as much as he loves her. Last night felt even more surreal, in the best ways possible. How lucky he felt to find someone he could bare all to, literally and metaphorically, someone who didn’t run away when he exposed the most vulnerable details of himself. Someone who didn’t judge him for what was out of his control. Someone he could relate to on a personal level he’s never had with anyone else before.

Frankie breaking down her walls, allowing Steve in so he could care for her, love her in return— that was huge, too. He’s never had such an honest, down to earth relationship like he does with her.

Making love is far from perfect outside of the movies, but even more so when illness and disability limit ways to connect with a partner— yet this was the happiest he’s ever felt after a first time with a partner. It was real, and maybe not pretty at times, but it was the strongest connection he’s felt with someone.

There’s one fact he’s hung up on, though: Frankie can’t have kids.

That’s not a dealbreaker, not by a long shot, nor is it something to think about this early in their relationship. But Steve still feels a pang in his chest remembering her confession in the heat of the moment.

Panting, Steve nods frantically, “You got, uh, do you have—“

“If you’re asking about protection, it’s in the drawer,” She nods towards the nightstand. “But I um, I can’t… I can’t get pregnant. If that’s what you’re worried about, I mean.”

“I’m sorry—“

“We can talk about it another time, okay?” She rests her hand on his face, any hint of sadness invisible to the naked eye; Steve shakes it off and nods.

He wonders if it upsets her; did she hope to have kids of her own someday, too? Before her health rapidly declined?

There was a time Steve dreamed of starting a family with someone he loved— misguided by old feelings, believing that someone was Nancy— but every year that passed he felt as if he was drowning deeper, and deeper, into his chronic pain. It’s reached the point where he’s unsure if the opportunity were to arise, would he even be capable of being a dad?

Most days, Steve struggles to care for himself; how could he ever care for a little one if he struggles to leave bed sometimes?

Like Frankie admitting she had to let her dreams slip through her fingers, he’s starting to believe he’s already doing the same with his own dream. No, he’s been mourning the loss of this dream, among others, stuck at the first stage of grief— denial— since leaving Hawkins behind.

He wonders if he’ll ever move onto the stage of anger; all that bottled fury will surely spill over at some point.

“If you think any louder, you’ll wake the whole city up.”

Steve startles from Frankie’s raspy morning voice; she pops an eye open, smirking at her partner.

“That obvious, huh?” Kissing her forehead, he cuddles closer to her. “Morning, pretty girl.”

She blushes, playfully sassing, “Ew, shut up.”

“Pay me and I’ll consider it.”

“I told you months ago you could just take my paycheck in exchange for the sass.” Frankie rolls her eyes, but her smirk fades, realizing they’re both still completely bare, aside from the sheets. She sinks under the covers further, earning a confused chuckle from Steve.

“What’re you doing?”

“I—“ She shuts her mouth. “Nothing.”

Steve tries to draw her back to him, but she keeps herself wrapped up.

“Hey, talk to me.”

She knows she can’t slip out of this one, sighing while resting her forehead on his shoulder.

“I know you saw me last night, and this is stupid, but it’s… it’s a little nerve wracking to let you see me in broad daylight.” Ashamed, she scrunches her eyes shut. “I want to feel comfortable, it was just easier in the dark.”

This wasn’t going to be easy, and Steve knew that; Frankie had been dealing with major self esteem issues for most of her life, it’s not like that’d go away in one night. He pushes the sheet away from her face, cradling it in his hands.

“‘Key, do you trust me?”

“Well, yeah,” she snorts, but notices he’s serious; her teasing smirk drops as she answers him honestly. “Of course I trust you.”

Steve holds her gaze for a few moments before kissing her. It’s gentle, relaxed, and begins to put Frankie at ease; her body loosens up with a satisfied hum. As she melts further into his touch, he pulls away, leaving her to pout.

“How sore are you?”

Frankie’s brows knit together, laughing a little. “From what?” Steve gives her a look, and it clicks. “Oh, I’m a little sore, but not— it’s a good kind of pain— wait, shit, no, not like that.”

A fond smile graces his lips, enjoying the way she rambles, all flustered.

“Can I touch you?”

Involuntarily, Frankie groans with desire; the memory of Steve’s tender caresses, soft kisses, tangled up in one another— it makes her blush deeply.

“Please.” It comes out so breathy, she’s a little embarrassed, but it only spurs him on more.

“One condition.”

Frankie rolls her eyes, throwing her head back with another groan, but this one’s laced with annoyance.

“What?”

“Gotta let me see all of you.”

She freezes under his touch, offering the tiniest shake of her head.

It’s a step back from her progress the night before. Steve sighs, “Frankie—“

“The sun’s up, that’s a whole different ballgame,” she mutters, tugging the sheets back over herself while rolling away from him. “You saw enough last night.”

“Don’t think it’s possible to ever see enough of you,” he ducks under the covers, swiftly flipping her on her back. Gently, he spreads her legs, parting her folds with his fingers; even in the limited light under the sheets, he can tell she’s soaked, all sticky and sweet. The memory of her soft sounds, how her hips rolled into his face, and the taste of her flood his mind— and taste buds.

Frankie watches him curiously, nodding a silent reassurance of consent. Steve’s eyes stay locked on hers as he flits his tongue lazily against her clit. She gasps, tensing up when he gives her open-mouth kisses over her core, taking his time to swirl and roll his tongue where he’s already caught on to make her whimper.

He finds a rhythm that satisfies the two, still languid in the swipes of his tongue, slipping inside her every so often. She arches her back, trying to push herself closer, even rolling her hips slightly; the bolder she grows, the more Steve reels back.

At first, it’s not very noticeable, but in time, the passion and momentum begins to fade off once Steve’s pulling away. Frankie grabs his hair with desperation, clit throbbing with need while his hot breaths settle down.

“Why’d you stop?” Her pout’s almost enough to make Steve bury his face in her again, but he’s got a plan to stick to. He kisses up her body while her hand’s still tangled in his locks, loosening with each kiss. “Go back,” she whines with a morning rasp, a noise that shoots straight to his length, half hard already.

“C’mere,” he murmurs once he reaches her neck, sleepy kisses wandering all over the map of her skin. “Want to watch you finish.”

“B- but you could see me down there,” Frankie whines again, catching onto Steve’s plan. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair,” he kisses her cheek, tilting her face towards his with a finger under her chin. Glistening lips hovering over hers, he mutters, “Is that my girl won’t be kind to herself.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to be a jerk,” she grumbles, leaning in to kiss him regardless, but he backs off. “Steve, what the fuck?”

“Gotta make a compromise somewhere, angel.” He rolls onto his back, tugging Frankie on top of him. She holds most of her weight off of him, but he’ll take the baby step regardless. “Come up here.”

“This is cruel, you know that, right?” She’s not that serious, but facing a fear isn’t exactly something she’s thrilled to jump into.

“Hey, you don’t have to finish if you don’t want to,” Steve rolls over onto his side. “We can just hang out, go back to sleep, whatever—“ He yelps when Frankie pushes him onto his back. “You like manhandling me a little too much, Francesca.”

Frankie pouts, but it’s no use, not when Steve can see right through her; he knows she’s not fond of her full name, not unless Steve’s saying it. Even playfully scolding her, it causes something to spark deep down.

“I hate you,” she mumbles, crossing her arms over her bare chest. She’s so fucking cute. Steve considers caving again, but he holds steady.

“You don’t.”

With a huff, she rolls her eyes, grumbling under her breath. Her leg swings over Steve’s waist, hovering over his lap.

“You’re the worst.”

“Oh, truly the worst of the worst,” he teases, hands sliding up her legs. “Relax, s’okay, I got you.”

She stays propped up on her knees, shaking her head, “M’gonna be too heavy—“

Steve narrows his stare, fingers digging into the plush of her thighs; curving his hands to her backside, he cups her ass, pushing forward. Frankie stumbles a bit on her knees, catching herself as she plants her palm onto the pillow, next to his head.

Faces almost touching, he asks again, “You trust me?”

Biting her lip, Frankie nods hesitantly; she does, but she doesn’t trust herself to just… enjoy the moment.

“I trust you,” she answers, legs shaking as she positions her lower half above his face. Involuntarily, her hands cover over her face, believing she’s shielding herself from how silly she must look from this angle.

Steve, of course, won’t have it.

“Honey, you really don’t have to hide from me.” Steve reaches up, gently pulling her hands away from her face. When she scrunches her eyes shut, he leans back into the pillow, hands caressing her thighs. He tries breaking the tension with a lazy joke, “What, is the view really that bad from up there?”

Frankie’s eyes shoot open, feeling awful for even making Steve joke like that. She shakes her head furiously, “No, no, oh my god, no fucking way.” Pouting at Steve, her heart melts, yet trying to steel itself all at once. “You just— you look like… you look so unreal, all the time, and I can’t imagine the view from down there’s very… nice.”

“Well, you’re not down here, are you?” He leaves languid, feathered kisses along her thighs, eyes fluttering shut as he groans, ever so softly. He nuzzles his face into the top of her thigh, just before it meets her core, relishing in her shaky breaths. “I’d stay down here forever, if you’d let me.”

“Or until one of us has muscle cramps?” Her teasing causes Steve to laugh against her, breath hot and heavy over her folds; the vibrations of his amusement taunt her, too.

“Or that, sure.” Kissing her centre lightly, he smirks as she shudders, but then she’s hiding her face all over again. Steve grabs her hands with one of his, winding his long fingers around her wrists; it’s gentle, but it gets the point across. “What, do I have to pin your hands back, or something?”

Frankie’s eyes grow wide, blush radiating from her cheeks, down her body in record time. Involuntarily, her legs twitch, trying to squeeze together for some kind of relief, but her partner’s big fucking head is in the goddamn way.

The shit-eating grin on Steve’s face only grows by the second.

“You’re into that, huh?”

“I- well it’s— I’m— no, not really— it’s kinda just—“ Flustered, she huffs, “Oh, fuck you, Steve.”

“Anytime you want, honey.” Arms curling around her plush thighs, he splays his hands along her backside, kneading her flesh, inching her closer.

“Oh my god,” she pretends she doesn’t shudder the words out, forcing her eyes to roll, “I can see it now.”

“See what?”

“How fucking cocky you must’ve been in high school.”

Steve can’t even be bothered to argue that one. He only shrugs, makes a noise of indifference before kissing her core again. The sweet noise she fails to hide earns his smirk, urging him to continue.

“You wouldn’t have given me the time of day back then,” he truthfully points out, kissing away from her folds, down one thigh. He solemnly adds, “And honestly, I don’t think I would’ve let ya’ if you tried.”

Frankie pouts, “Why not? You’d be embarrassed to be seen with me?”

Steve’s hands caress up her hips, then backtrack down to her thighs. He leans back to shake his head. “No way. I mean you—“ he pauses to contemplate his words, afraid he’s conveying this incorrectly. “… You would’ve deserved way better than whatever the fuck kind of asshole I was back then.”

The pout on his partner’s face molds into an aching, empathetic expression. “Steve, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have joked like that—“

“S’true, though.” He shrugs against the backs of her thighs, reminding Frankie of the position they’re in. She begins to climb off of Steve, but he wraps his arms around her legs, holding her in place. “I’m just saying… glad you never met that version of me. You would’ve hated that guy.”

“Hate’s a strong word,” Frankie reminds him, gasping as he nudges his nose against her clit. “If I hated someone, I wanted to run over their feet with my wheelchair. So, rethink your words, Stevie.”

As he buries his face back into her, he laughs, tickling along the most sensitive spots. Frankie winds her fingers through his bed head, mewling from the sensation. Steve takes his time, kissing her folds with the same passion and tenderness when he kisses her lips; it’s not like they have anywhere to be today, and he could probably spend his morning underneath her, if not longer.

Losing herself in bliss, little by little, Frankie’s fears are overshadowed by pleasure, urging her to roll her hips against Steve’s tongue, rather than cower away in a useless shame.

Steve kneads the plush of her backside, huskily groaning as he guides her back and forth on his face. “Fuck… just like that, honey.” The lewd sounds of his tongue lapping up her slick goes straight to his cock, and he can’t handle it anymore. One hand leaves her body to stroke himself clumsily, bucking up into his hand and moaning deeply against Frankie’s clit.

The jerking movements paired with his swift tongue break Frankie’s haze with curiosity. She glances back over her shoulder, ready to drool as she watches Steve fuck his fist. Without much thought, she leans back, pushing his hand away to replace it with her own grip.

Her spine’s gonna kill her for this one, but it’s worth it when his angelic moan vibrates against her folds.

“H- honey, you— ah!” He thrusts so hard, most of his lower half twitches upward, save for his heels digging into the bed. “You don’t— s’gonna hurt you later,” he pants, unable to hold his hips against the bed. “Baby, don’t—“

“I’m okay, promise,” and really, she is; the soreness that’ll set in later will be a walk in the park compared to her worst pain days. Slowing her hand, she asks, “Is this okay? I can stop.”

“Feels good, but this is about you,” Steve shivers as her grip slides up and down his shaft, picking up speed again. Through a heavy lidded stare, he admires the view from below, in awe of Frankie as she rolls her hips on her own, self-doubt falling away. He tries to keep up, only left to pant and whimper into her core, “Oh… fuck…”

His cock kicks in her grip, earning a devilish grin from his partner. “Close?” Steve only nods, eyes fluttering shut as he fucks into her fist, fervently sucking on her clit as he slips a long, thick digit into her. She keens as his finger curls just right, reaching that delicious spot that’s begging to be touched. “Wh- what if I just… stopped?”

Steve’s eyes fly open, a muffled “nuh-uh,” vibrating around her sensitive nub.

“‘Cause I think you could totally come untouched,” she taunts, ready to release his length when he reaches his free hand up to her chest, toying with her pierced nipple. That playful smirk of hers falls as she gasps, “You’re evil. Wish I- I never told you ‘bout… oh, god…”

Only shrugging, Steve chuckles while sliding another finger inside, eyes glued to Frankie as she falls apart on his fingers and tongue. Her jaw falls slack while her head lolls back, trembling as she finally reaches the edge. Her hand has long forgotten pleasuring him, but he’s perfectly fine with that, as long as it means making her a total wreck like this.

“F- fuck!” Frankie rides Steve shamelessly, drowning in ecstasy with a shattered moan, racking through her body as it gracelessly carries her to her high. Her hand flies up to slap over her own mouth, but Steve abandons her chest, tugging her hand away, silently demanding to hear her.

“Atta’ girl,” he praises, still working diligently to guide her through the bliss, all the way until the end. The way she chants his name breathlessly, clenching her thighs around his head, it’s enough to make him come, too; untouched, he spirals into pleasure, just like Frankie wanted.

The aftershocks and fuzzy, floaty feeling she’s immersed in is enough to shove her shame and self-doubt aside; might as well take the chance before it vanishes.

Through labored breaths, she asks, “Can I ride you?” Steve chokes on air, taken aback by the sudden shift.

“Not complaining, but where the hell is this coming from?”

She ignores him, trying to grip onto the confidence before it slips away, “Yes or no?”

“Well I mean, y- yeah, f’course, but I— it might be a bit ‘til… y’know…”

“S’okay,” she shimmies down his body, sinking onto his half-hard cock, grinning as Steve twitches and whimpers. Frankie smirks down at him while blushing. She leans down, wrapping herself around him, comfortably seated on his length. “I’ll just keep ya’ warm ‘til then.”

Steve shudders a loud moan, managing quip, “I think you are the worst, not me.”

“Oh? I can get up—“

His arms wind around her waist, holding her in place, “Don’t you dare, Francesca.”

“M’kay,” she smirks, head tucked into his neck. “I’ll just wait then.”

Steve kisses the top of her head, sighing when he feels her flutter around his cock.

“Thank you, Stevie,” Frankie sounds half-asleep, making him chuckle. She kisses his neck lazily, “You’re too good to me… love you.”

“No way, if anything, you’re the one who’s too good to me—“ His partner snores softly, while Steve laughs silently, shoulders shaking.

Well… that wore her out.

Frankie shifts, reminding Steve that she’s still warming him. He sucks in a sharp breath, doesn’t have the heart to wake her to move.

“Guess I deserve the karma, huh?” Lovingly, he holds her close, admiring the relaxed, peaceful state she’s melted into. He mindlessly traces patterns into her skin, avoiding sores and bruises from her flare. “Sweet dreams, ‘Key.”

Eventually, Steve drifts off, too, feeling lucky to love and be loved by someone so beautiful, inside and out.

And he’ll take any chance to remind her of that.

#steve harrington x oc #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #my fics #fic: accident prone #fic: accident prone - the blurb sides #Steve Harrington x Francesca ‘Frankie’ Amato #Steve x Frankie

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hauntedparaclassics · 21 days ago

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March 18, 2025

‘Ghost Adventures’ Host’s Wife & Convicted Murderer Texted About Being in Love (Report)

Shocking new details have emerged about Victoria Goodwin’s alleged murder-for-hire plot to have her husband, “Ghost Adventures” host Aaron Goodwin, killed.

A Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department report, obtained by People magazine, claims that Victoria hired a hitman with the help of convicted murderer Grant Amato.

The arrest report claims Victoria and Grant texted about "how much they are in love" and that Goodwin insisted her husband “would not accept divorce."

She allegedly reached out to Amato, 35, in March 2024 after seeing him in the docuseries “Ctrl + Alt + Desire.” The show claims that Grant stole $200,000 from his family and later killed his mother, father, and brother. He is serving a life sentence.

NBC Orlando affiliate WESH 2 shared more details from the arrest report, which stated, "[Victoria] had become aware of Amato through a true crime documentary and began writing to him. She described their relationship as pen pals which began in May 2024 and ended in November of 2024."

Per WESH 2, Victoria allegedly wrote to Grant of the plot, "I'm so anxious LOLOL, I just can't believe it's happening… how did I get to this point," and, "Am I a bad person? because I chose to end his existence. Not divorce."

The exchange also mentioned "payment plans, location, anticipation, and nothing done to stop the plan once in motion."

According to WESH 2, Victoria had set aside $11,515 to pay the hitman.

Another message from Victoria to Grant, allegedly said, "[Aaron Goodwin] is asleep right now in the hotel room… brother. I need to know what is going on. Can I get an update? Was it done?"

The plan came to light after Okeechobee Correctional Institution corrections officers confiscated Amato’s phone and found the messages. Florida Department of Corrections then reached out to LVMP regarding the plot.

The messages ultimately led to Victoria’s arrest earlier this month for soliciting to commit murder and conspiring to commit murder.

When asked about the messages, Victoria allegedly said in the arrest report that she was “lonely” and having marriage problems. She claimed she did not want Aaron dead, and could not remember sending any messages about a hitman.

According to the arrest report, "She described herself of sometimes daydreaming of being in a different situation… Victoria expressed her feelings of wanting to be without Aaron and with Amato, which she described as fantasy or daydream."

Shortly after Victoria’s arrest, Aaron filed for divorce. According to the docs they wed in 2020, although their wedding ceremony took place in 2022.

Source: Extra TV

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hpowellsmith · 3 months ago

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Spoilery ask and answer from @firesquid4 about Noblesse Oblige references in Royal Affairs and Honor Bound below:

They're brief and obscure - most people haven't seen them, or if they noticed they haven't mentioned it!

In Royal Affairs, the queen makes some small references about Pascha (I think it's if Rosario isn't married to the Creme MC).

In Royal Affairs and Honor Bound, Rys shows up very briefly under a couple of different names, when interacting with Hyacinthe in RA and with Lavinia and Amato in HB. If you look through Rys' passports in a scene in Noblesse Oblige, you'll recognise the names.

I've generally been cautious about referencing the events in Noblesse Oblige for a few reasons. The first is that originally it was designed to be totally separate so I avoided referencing it in Royal Affairs; also, I started NO partway through RA so that made it more tricky to add in. (If I was doing it again, I would include more mentions in RA).

The second is that it's always a bit of a balancing act when deciding these references: I'm wary of it becoming overly contrived, especially when characters are a long way from each other geographically.

The third is that the endings of NO are open enough that I don't really want to set certain things in stone. eg: would an MC and Pascha who ran away stay away from the royal family forever or would they return to them at some point over the years? Things like that are very personal to the MC and I'd rather allow players to make their own interpretations if possible.

The fourth is that as far as Rys and Pascha go, there are governmental/royal influences that have a lot of power and motivation to hide what happened with them. Danelak is less powerful but they have strong motives to keep under the radar.

All of that said! I wouldn't say "never", especially if I was writing something set in Jezhan.

And who knows, if I have the time and brain for it I might write some side things about the Noblesse Oblige characters post-game!

#interactive fiction #choice of games #honor bound #royal affairs #Noblesse Oblige #creme de la creme series

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fluffymaxsworld · 1 year ago

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first post!! read please👇👇

before getting into it fr i want to make a few things clear!

1. i’m not english neither i’ve professionally studied english, i’m self learned, so i apologize for any mistake!

2. i’m a MINOR, i’m aware of what i write and i’ve already took the responsibility. in any case, i don’t want any minors end up like me so please DNI <33

3. it’s the first time EVER i write stuff and publish it, so i accept gladly any critique or advice as long as you don’t insult me, thanks :D

husband!leonkennedy x wifey!reader headcanons

(i wrote wifey but gender is not specified!)

i’m sorry, it’s a short post cause i’ve gotta study (i hate italian school)

sfw + mention of nsfw

• leon doesn't hesitate for a second when you ask him for something, which can be a Happy Meal or a yacht.

“babe, i was joking when i told you i wanted to live a castle!”

“whatever, i bought it, it’s yours.”

• he’s clingy, god, so much clingy. it’s even annoying, sometimes. when he’s at work, he’s gonna call at least twice a hour, checking on you or asking if you needed anything. and when he comes home expect cuddles, lots of them… and if they aren’t enough he’ll fuck you dumb till morning (so basically everyday).

• he listens to white girl music. you first discovered it when you arrived early from work and heard california girls blaring in the living room. ever since you caught him dancing to Snoop Dogg Katy Perry it's been taboo in the Kennedy household. he loves you, yeah, but don't try to remind him of what happened that night.

• [this is for my italian fellows out there] being half italian just like him was a sure great point in the relationship. you spend hours talking about how stupid americans are for putting pineapple on pizza, how much you love your origins and how attractive Monica Bellucci is (yes, she's the only woman you allow him to call attractive). plus, he LOVES talking to you in italian, especially some cheesy stuff like:

“sei così bella, sembri uscita da un film di sorrentino” (“you’re so beautiful, you look like you’re from a sorrentino’s movie”) [sorrentino is an italian film director and screenwriter]

“i tuoi occhi sono profondi e mi fanno sentire amato” (“your eyes are so deep and make me feel loved”)

• he’s a movies addicted. he forces you to watch every night a different movie. and it’s fun cause he always falls asleep in your arms before the ending.

NSFW!! MINORS DNI!

• having sex with leon kennedy is like getting a one-way ticket to heaven. he treats you gently but still roughly. he pushes your spots so well that you could come in seconds. he loves playing with your nipples, he likes to suck and pinch your sensitive buds, making you scream and moan. he's definitely dominant in bed, but he likes to be dominated, as long as you feel good about it. he likes to spank your ass, leaving a red mark that he would then lick, apologizing for leaving it. he bites your neck like a damn mosquito, so much so that one day you almost ran out of concealer. if you really want to enjoy sex just ignore him for two days, he will come to you like a lost dog and you’ll welcome him with open legs.

hope you enjoyed this short post <3 please share advices if you want!

DO NOT STEAL!! thanks<33

#leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil #headcanon #italian reader

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transmascutena · 1 year ago

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what do you think about the incestuous relationships in revolutionary girl utena, and the root causes of the abuse? one of my favorite analyses I've read so far talked about how rape and incest aren't deviant, they are an extension of the patriarchal family unit. And do you have any thoughts/analysis about how it specifically manifests in RGU and the way the narrative communicates these themes?

It's so annoying the way some people act like the incest is just regular brother and sister complexes that's common in a lot of anime, and not an integral part of the show's themes about the Family fostering an environment ripe for abuse. The show treats these heavy themes seriously, and I wish I was smart enough to articulate my thoughts about Miki and Kozue, Anthy and Akio, etcetera. Hence, this ask.

Jsjsksks I know I sent an ask just yesterday about Revolutionary Girl Utena, but your analysis is so cohesive, and I really appreciate you bringing family/marriage abolition and amato-normativity into your analysis posts. It's very affirming to me as an aromantic asexual.

thank you so much! i will admit i also have a hard time putting my thoughts about these themes into words, because they are . a lot, so forgive me if this is a little rambl-y. but they are a huge and very important part of the show, so they're important to talk about.

i think i know the analysis you're talking about, and it's spot on. every kind of abuse we see in the show is a product of The System (patriarchy, the school system, the nuclear family, etc.) that's not to say that the abuse isn't purposeful, or that it doesn't often come from people choosing to do harm, but their ability to cause that harm is facilitated by these systems. for example, the system is not forcing akio to do what he does (although it is the reason he knows it will get him what he wants) it is just giving him the tools to do it effectively. abuse does come from people, but the systems are what makes the abuse so effective, and that's why we need to dismantle them.

this is something i've mentioned before, but a big part of why anthy was so trapped in her situation until the end, is because of the expectation to value family above all else, and to always love and forgive them no matter how they hurt us. and that is the reason why incest is so inherently toxic and abusive. it's not that it's "gross and unnatural" (such rhetoric really only serves to hurt and alienate victims anyway) it's that you cannot ever have a healthy relationship in a framework that tells you that you always have to stay with someone, and forgive someone, and love someone, no matter what. it doesn't matter if there's no age gap (seen in the kaoru twins) to create other kinds of power imbalances and it doesn't matter if they're not actually related by blood (seen in nanami thinking touga isn't her "real" brother, and in touga trying to use that against her.)

i've talked about how all this affects utena as well, and how even the state of not having a family makes you vulnerable to it, here.

it's not that siblings (or other family members) are more likely to be abusive people, but when they are, it is a lot harder to escape said abuse. leaving a regular abusive relationship is already incredibly difficult, but if they're you're family, it's even easier to fall into the mindset of "oh, but they really just want the best for me." when you've been taught that family is the most important thing in the world, leaving them is a huge decision. especially if you rely on them for material needs as well, like housing and food (which also happens a lot in romantic relationships and marriages.) there's also the way that with sibling incest in particular, especially if there isn't a big age gap, the victim will often be made to feel complicit in the abuse, either by their abuser or by society at large. like it's something "weird and taboo" that two people are doing together, rather than the abuse it really is.

that last part definitely manifests in the show, with the victim-blaming anthy recieves. from nanami especially. her desire to prove that she's "not like anthy" comes from an understandable place. she's dealing with figuring out that her feelings for her brother weren't what she thought they were, but it ends up with her putting equal amounts of blame on akio and anthy for the abuse she witnessed, even though there is a clear perpetrator (not helped by nanami already disliking and distrusting anthy.) it's clearest, i think, when she refers to them as "those perverted siblings" to utena.

it's funny (it's not) that this kind of thinking even manages to happen in the fandom itself. anthy is obviously not a perfect passive victim, and it's reductive of her character to say so, but the idea that she is as much an active participant in the abuse as akio is, is a take i have seen too many times for comfort. like, congrats, you fell for the exact kind of thinking that the show was trying to critique!

#there's a lot more i could say but i'll leave it at this for now. thanks for the ask i always appreciate an excuse to ramble a little #revolutionary girl utena #analysis #anthy #nanami #akio and anthy #asks #m #all girls are like the rose bride

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p-receh · 9 months ago

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Analysis time! :D

What better way to make another thesis for certain parts of the last episode?

This post, I'll be talking about how strong the Power Spheres could take over its owner's mind.

As I ever mentioned it before. Even though comic book already covered the story of season 2. Again, we still need to look at the TV ver. Because whatever happens, TV shows is still the roots of Boboiboy's franchise. Whether you like it or not.

We good? Now shall we begin?

Re edit for grammar correction

See, of all every Power Spheres that had been introduced, only Kokotaim gang were not yet been "confirmed" what was their Power Spheres look like. Sure, the only elemental bot that had been shown were Hang Kasa's Crystal Bot and Retak'ka's Light Bot, but that's it.

Monsta already established two rules about the Power Sphere:

Every Power Spheres have their mind and soul. They could talk, think and feel like a living being.

Whatever happens, their contact with their first owner emended to their traits and it impacted to their next owner as well.

My first suspicion obviously came from what Gopal had said before in one of anon ask box about the first debut of Taufan and Hali in OG series.

"In the past, Boboiboy Lightning turn into Thunderstorm because he felt extremely angry. Boboiboy Wind turn into Cyclone also because of felling an absolute joy."

Another interesting aspect is from Mechamato movie. Specifically when Amato in Mecha suit mode was being locked to a flashback scene triggered by Mecha Bot uncontrollable sense of fear.

(excuse me for putting the Indonesian sub ver. :/

*translation note in order:

"Mechabot, Shoot!"

"Mechabot! What's wrong?"

"C'mon Mechabot!

From this point, I think you can guess what I would want to go from here.

As the tweet mentioned. It is interesting to note the similarities between the two. Whenever the Power Spheres' soul take over the owner's body more deeper, their eyes will glow and the scars spreads to their skin.

And by that logic, the Power Spheres consume much more energy than before. Thus the heavy drained out both mentally and physically from their owners.

Amato knew this and to fix the same issue, he convinced Mecha Bot during their final battle against General Grakakus in the same movie.

"Mechabot, close your eyes! I will be the one to handle our moves! Trust me!"

It goes back to one of my ted talks about this topic and a highlight some particular line from Kuputeri.

One of my favorite Boboiboy account also solidified his statement again about Oboi's being controlled by Power Sphere or in this case, elemental forms.

In my opinion what Oboi went through was somehow worse than any other Power Sphere wielder out there.

Not only he wields seven strongest powers in the galaxy but also might be the most unconstrained one to control them. Then again he still not reach his age of consent, but he already hold big responsibility to become the hero and most wanted target in the galaxy.

Think about it, even their original owners were a bit struggled to learn their power. Hang Kasa travel planets to planet only for learning his power with other elemental masters, Kuputeri needs to harness for at least hundreds years until she could tame Beliung/Tempest's, A small crack Ki'rana's body armor could made her went berserk due to the immense power of the Lightning bot.

In common sense, every wielder still has their Power Spheres as their own companion while Oboi hasn't. What Boboiboy only has to contain that grandiose powers? a watch. A watch that went three times modification simply because of the powers that was too strong to keep and use all at once. Not to mention how frequent Oboi uses split and now with fusion techniques is also add to the list.

He barely managed to ease his mind when transform to Beliung, Ice and Blaze worsen Baraju's conflicts with their near 3rd tier transformation, and he was lucky to be saved by 30 minutes Oakuat Juice so he could keep Rimba under his watch.

Now that we come so far, the questions still remains missing:

With how bad the elementals took over Oboi, will it possible they are gonna be the next villain for him in the future?

Does Amato knows about Boboiboy's Elementals powers? Does he also know Ochobot past before sending it to him?

Did the rest of elementals Power Spheres already destroyed after the first Retak'ka's raid or not?

I guess maybe Mechamato series might be the answer of Ochobot and all elementals Power Spheres in the past. Again we still have no clue what happened to him during the season 2 events.

And also this line up post before Monsta split the title for Dwifusion to "Gentar" and "Baraju"—

—announced the third season of Galaxy series after BM3 Gur'latan(quite close too after the movie you know?) . My only hope is that it cover the elenmentals and also other origins of Yaya, Ying, Gopal, and Fang Power Sphere.

Where were they came from? Were their Power Spheres also get destroyed like all elementals did? Are their owners still alive or not?

🤔

OOT but I just love Monsta's new thumbnail art for full ep marathon of Windara. 😎👍

#boboiboy #boboiboy galaxy #bbbglxs2 #bbb #mechamato #analysis recehan

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vraisetzen · 7 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/vraisetzen/760495338592272384/httpswwwtumblrcomvraisetzen75994414665714892?source=share

Oh, your answers to these questions are absolutely brilliant. I reread them earlier today.

I adore the way in which you crafted this world and the ease with which you navigate this world.

Firstly, you are so fantastic at characterising every single character in your stories. Even Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma feel fleshed out.

Secondly, I adore the little details that you put into this story. Michikatsu creating a wooden horse for the little boy? How adorable. The little boy wanting to steal the snacks? I’ve observed this behaviour one too many times in my nephew. Clinging to Sanemi like a bear cub? That made me giggle! 😁

Thirdly, your… attention to the historical period is really impressive. Personally, I found your exploration of how Michikatsu’s an old soul in the modern world to be utterly fascinating. Of course he’d feel that way! And Michikatsu disappearing in his study or the forest makes sense! I can’t even imagine the level of alienation he must feel — feeling it on two fronts, first by being human once again, and secondly by being displaced centuries forward.

The idea of Michikatsu working in a bookshop is adorable. Do you imagine he’d also just… read during his working hours when no one visited to learn more about the modern world? He’s also… such an impressive man visually, so imagine if he’d attract a gaggle of people visiting this bookshop just to ogle at the superhumanly attractive giant of a man?? 🤭

The interaction with Tanjiro is super interesting and I think it’s hilarious how Tengen let slip the location of Reader’s residence so many times. Would Reader then end up meeting with Tanjiro alone? Without Michikatsu?

And Sanemi’s wedding!!! I actually really, really enjoyed reading that extract! I LOVE the way you wrote it. I think you chose some really cool descriptions to describe the affair!

And the interaction at the end between Reader and Sanemi… my breath hitched in anticipation! And to have it end on that note, with Sanemi saying this remark… I thought it was brilliant. And you know what? As I read it, I thought… you know what? Sanemi would say that. (Also the detail of Reader resembling Shinobu and Sanemi clocking that was fascinating. I wonder what Reader’s relationship with the rest of the butterfly girls was/is like.)

(Also, since Michikatsu takes care of Amato during the wedding… do you think he gets on well with children? Or rather, that he enjoys their company?)

Can I also give a special shout-out to your writing in general? I think you’re currently my favourite writer on Tumblr. I really enjoy reading your writing style. You use some of the most mature, thought-stimulating imagery in the most effective of ways. I love that plotting seems to come easy to you. I love how your writing reflects how observant you are about the world. I love how you’re able clearly and distinguishably grant each character their own special essence, making all of them feel distinct and different.

Whenever I read your continuations of ‘Notte Stellata’, I always get super excited. I think it may be one of the most memorable fan fictions I’ve ever read? I read it weeks ago and I keep on thinking about it. You’re actually the only reason why I check Tumblr in the first place — I don’t have any reason to be on here otherwise.

Thank you for writing these brilliant extracts and for indulging us in making us learn more about the wonderful world of this story.

Oh gosh, Anon — you're far too kind and thoughtful with your responses too! (And I apologise for getting to your Ask this late; each of your questions were too good for me to give a simple reply!)

First of all, I'm glad that you liked the excerpt! I certainly did enjoy imagining the various scenarios and what exactly Michikatsu would do in this strange new world; as I mentioned in a different Ask, I did wonder if he would be a kendo instructor, or perhaps a craftsman, but somehow, a librarian/bookstore assistant felt the most true to my interpretation of Kokushibo.

I would imaging the bookstore owner, Tanaka-san as being quite kindly and lenient to his new assistant; Kokushibo could lose himself for hours in a book, especially if it is one he has not read. While Western books began to be imported into Japan during the Kyoho era of Tokugawa Yoshimune's reign, he did not have the time to fully appreciate them then, being so occupied with refining his swordsmanship. Now, he, as a human, he finds himself occasionally distracted by the occasional foreign title: The Sorrows of Young Werther, Cartesian metaphysics, and even a sprinkle of fables and fairytales. He is intrigued by the foreign language and distant environs, and their morals which seem at once familiar yet alien; occasionally, Tanaka-san allows him to bring them home, and the Reader would find him in their sitting room, seated by the candelight, with his book propped on the reading stand and a cup of tea beside him.

It is an endearing sight to behold; his grand stature towering over the stand which seems almost miniature in comparison. He does not even notice the Reader coming into the room, and settling down beside him to steal a glance at what has him so engrossed.

"It's getting late," you remarked, leaning your head on his shoulder. Michikatsu keeps his eyes on the page as he extended an arm around your waist, tugging you flushed against his side.

"Just one more chapter," he murmured, turning the page. He does not notice you gazing up at him, taking in his profile and the way his lashes cast a slanted shadow across his cheek. In the candle's glow, he looked serene and contemplative, his expression a touch softer than when he was seated before a Go board.

His appearance at the bookstore, of course, draws many curious eyes, who at first believed Michikatsu to be a bodyguard hired to ward off shoplifters. While he did not speak much, leaving the socialising and idle chatter to Tanaka-san, it was difficult for one to ignore his presence.

The children, in particular, seemed taken by his appearance; at first, they were intimidated by Michikatsu's height and quiet nature, preferring to spy on him while he went about his tasks. And for most part, he was fine with them looking at him; in his past he had been a father after all, and he did not think it strange to help them if needed.

"You go first." Michikatsu heard a hushed whisper while he unpacked a stack of old books for the rental section.

"No, you go first!" another voice argued. "You lost the bet, remember?"

"Yeah, go for it, Gen!" egged another.

Michikatsu pretended to be absorbed in his work even as he spied one of the children — Gen, no doubt — emerging from their corner. The little boy swallowed thickly as he shuffled forward, bumping his index fingers together as he asked:

"Uh... mister," he started, looking at Michikatsu. Flicking his eyes downward, he saw Gen take a step back as if in alarm, but the young boy persisted, jutting a chubby finger at the tail of his long hair, where silky black gave way to tips of scarlet "Is, uh, your hair — is it real?"

Michikatsu placed the books down, before nodding: "Yes, it is."

"He speaks!" one of the remaining two would exclaim, before running out of the store in a gaggles of giggles. Gen cried in alarm as he was left behind, the lollipop in his hand nearly falling out of his grasp while he chased his friends down the corner.

Looking with amusement at their small, disappearing backs as they hot-footed down the streets, Michikatsu wondered — with a small, pensive smile — when the time would come for him to look on at his children with you.

This was only one such encounter Michikatsu had at the bookstore — one he did not mind, especially when compared to the other: the older ladies who also heard about a young man working for Tanaka-san, and gained a sudden interest in the works of Murasaki Shikibu and Ono no Komachi.

"My, aren't you a tall one!" they marvelled.

Most of the time, Michikatsu was more than happy to help the older ladies with their romance novels and poems on the top shelf — the townsfolk, it seemed, were endlessly enamoured of his height. And if they had any questions about his scars, and curiously sharp canines, they made no comment, preferring to steer the conversation quickly to other more pressing topics:

"Are you married, young man? I happen to know a charming young lady who would make a very lovely wife for you," they asked.

Michikatsu arched a single, sardonic brow, but kept his eyes firmly on the books as he arranged all six volumes of the Kojidan. "Yes."

"Oh, and what does she do for a living?" they pressed. "Or does she tend to the household?"

Nothing of your concern, was the reply that came most naturally to him. Instead, he offered: "She paints. Occasionally."

"Ah, an artist," they said, a note of derision masked behind a thin veneer of courtesy.

In a different time, Michikatsu would have been unaffected by their tone, but at the moment a spark of irritation flared in his chest, and he was compelled to add:

"Yes, and a rather splendid one."

It is at this point that the doors to the bookstore open with the faint twinkle of chimes, and you, carrying a roll of kimono and a box wrapped in a furoshiki of green and black checks, floated in, looking a little windswept and out of breath.

"Tanaka-san," you greeted, settling the box down on his counter. "I hope I'm not bothering you."

"Of course not!" the old man said, peering over his newspaper to search for Kokushibo. "He should be down the third aisle."

You nodded with a polite grin, ready to set off, but Michikatsu surprised you by emerging first. He wore a cryptic expression as he paced towards you in long strides, before suddenly picking up your hand.

"My dearest," he said by way of greeting, kissing each of your knuckles with a firm press of his warm lips. Your eyes are as wide as saucers as you blinked in confusion at the very sudden, very public show of affection; Michikatsu was a generous lover, yes — but only in private where only you knew the depth of his passions.

"D-danna-sama?" you stuttered, a little lost for words as Tanaka-san chuckled behind his papers. Had he been reading too many of those Western novels? Sordid tales from the likes of Moll Flanders and Don Juan?

Then, you spied a small shape emerging from the aisle — a middle-aged lady dressed in Western clothes, who seemed rather annoyed with Michikatsu. Glancing up at your husband, you enquired with your eyes as to what happened, but he only smiled, and remained silent.

"And what is that?" Michikatsu asked, casting his eyes toward the box.

"Oh," you said, and elaborated no further.

Because, by another strange twist of fate, the Reader had bumped into Kamado Tanjiro whilst collecting Michikatsu's new clothes from the kimono store.

After sending her reply to Tanjiro, the Reader had casted aside her worries about visiting the young man as she fretted over other important matters: making pickles for the winter, registering Michikatsu's name at the city hall — a small part of her, perhaps, wondered if Tanjiro had dropped the matter as she did not receive further correspondence from the young man.

What she did not expect, however, was someone calling her name the moment she emerged from the kimono store with Michikatsu's new clothes bundled in her arms.

Turning around, you came face to face with Kamado Tanjiro, who waved his wasted, shrunken arm with enthusiasm as he bounded towards you. The alarm bells clanging in your head drowned out his greeting while you eyes darted around the vicinity for any place to which you could excuse herself — the bank, perhaps? Or the apothecary?

You were ashamed of yourself for avoiding Tanjiro like this, truly — but the young man, who now stood before you, breathless as he puffed small clouds of fog, was as jovial as ever. He asked: "It's so nice to meetyou here! I was just wondering if I should visit your place some time this week?"

"You were?" you asked, instead of returning his greeting. Your knuckles were white as you tightened your grip on Michikatsu's clothes, but you stretched your lips in a tight, polite grin nonetheless.

Tanjiro nodded, and scratched the scar on his forehead absent-mindedly. "But I suppose that would be a little rude of me, wouldn't it?"

"Ah, well..." you said, unsure of what to say even if you did agree with him. Tanjiro spied the fabrics you were carrying — the dark colours, the masculine, geometric designs. There was little mystery as to who these clothes were meant for; it was common knowledge that you were orphaned and had been living alone until your "illness", as Lady Amane had so kindly told them. You gulped as he looked up at you.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Tanjiro began, as you waited with bated breath for his next sentence. "But I'm just glad that you're doing well, especially since we heard so little about what happened to you before-"

Just then, a young woman, petite and dainty, bounded to Tanjiro's side. With a start, you realised that it was Tsuyuri Kanao — she was dressed in a pink kimono embroidered with small white flowers, with a matching kanzashi that tinkered as she looked lovingly at Tanjiro. Uzui had spoken of an engagement between the two, but it had been so long since you had seen her that the couple still came as a surprised to you.

The stiff smile in your cheeks gave way to something more natural, and you found yourself saying: "Kanao-chan — I hope all is well with you?"

"Senpai," Kanao answered, and you were surprised to hear her soft but strong voice, for she has never spoken to you at the Butterfly Mansion. "It's wonderful seeing you again."

"Kanao-chan and I will be getting married next fall," Tanjiro explained. "It would be great if you could come. It's not special, of course, and it would be held at the Butterfly Mansion with the others-"

"Kiyo, Naho, and Sumi would all be delighted to see you too," Kanao finished. "After all the lessons you gave them on drawing and watercolours. I think they would be pleased to show you their progress."

"Though, of course, if you're busy..." Tanjiro added, waving his bony hand in the direction of Michikatsu's clothes. At their warm words, you felt your grip loosened as well as you straightened yourself, and shook your head.

"No, I'll be there," you promised, looking at each of their young faces, and feeling a clench in your chest as you meet Kanao's clouded eyes and Tanjiro's sightless one on his right. After all that did Shinobu did for you, this was the only thing you could — should — do, for the both of them in return. "With my husband."

And perhaps Tanjiro might known it all along, and was only waiting for you reveal — as he had always been a considerate soul — there was a knowing gleam in his eye as he matched his smile with yours, and nodded.

Then, suddenly and rather flustered, he asked if Kanao had something they could give you; and despite your best efforts to reject their gift, Tanjiro pushed a small heavy box into your hand, claiming that it was nothing much, but that he wished you would enjoy this small gesture.

At present, Michikatsu surveyed the bento, unknotting the cloth and lifting the lid. You watched his expression closely as he gazed at its contents, taking a small sniff.

"Tara-no-me," he observed, closing the box with a small grimace. "They're rare around this time of the year."

"You can still find them in the mountains if you know where to look," shared Tanaka-san from behind his papers. "It's rather green and bitter, but very delicious if prepared well."

Michikatsu frowned as he tied the cloth around the pot. Then, ever so slightly, he pushed the box in your direction, letting you know that he would not be eating it.

"Sounds wonderful to me," you remarked, hoisting the box back in your arms.

I hope this answers your question, Anon! Sorry if it was a little bit of a hodgepodge, but I couldn't resist writing a little scene that mashed everything together instead of it being small separate parts~ Your questions were truly thoughtful and I'm so glad that you took the time to consider my writing! I'm always happy to write more for Koku and the Reader ☺️

xoxo, V ♥️

#ask box #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kokushibo #kokushibo x reader #kokushibob x you #kokushibo x reader insert #kamado tanjiro #kanao tsuyuri

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autuboho · 4 months ago

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It’s not the desire / attraction for another that is wrong when you’re in a mono relation.It’s the dishonesty that is THE betrayal. It’s human nature & natural for BOTH men and women to be attracted/stimulated both physically mentally and energetically by others

sure as long as it is consensual or they aren’t conjugally involved it doesn’t harm anyone, I guess?

#this belief stems from people who think being attracted to other people is inherently wrong and immoral because you are in a relationship #fuck you amato culture #it stems the idea that you are supposed to be attracted to your partner only #not to mention sex and romance

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aroacebaker · 1 year ago

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'tis the day of the valentine's, the day of hearts, roses, and romance but is it a day for everyone to go to the cinema with their lover, or on a walk in the sunset?

Not necessarily. Being aroace, seeing how much romance and sex is put on a very high pedestal is annoying to say the least. Seeing how romantic love is the only is the only important kind. Platonic love not being mentioned at all.

Not only is seeing amato - and allonormativity annoying, but the way it's capitalised and in your face (I'm looking at you white and pink balloons) is a new level.

Having very few, and not very close irl friends, deprives of the possibility to do something platonic, making the things I mentioned stick out, and sting even more.

Besides that, love should be shown all through the year, there's no need in my opinion for a special day, especially not such an advertised one.

So, what's an aro's perspective on valentine's? It's overplayed, over advertised, over capitalised, is there any harm with it? Not really, but have it be equal between romantic and platonic love, don't shove it in people's faces.

#aro #aromantic #arospec #aro pride #aspec #queer #ace #aroace #valentines day

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thecreelhouse · 9 months ago

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accident prone

part five - a stormy kind of love

Paring: Steve Harrington x Francesca “Frankie” Amato (fem!OC)

Summary: Amidst Frankie’s ruthless flare up, the truth finally spills over and out, just not in a way Steve has ever expected or experienced before.

WC: 11k+ (oops lol)

Includes: a little angst, a lot of fluff, language, mentions/discussions/symptoms of disability (specifically surrounding fibromyalgia and lupus), internalized ableism, hurt/comfort, a fuck ton of emotions and (good) feelings — keeping it vague, don’t wanna spoil anything for y’all ☺️

series playlist ⋮ masterlist

sweetest thing - U2

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“baby’s got blue skies up ahead / and in this I’m a rain cloud

you know we got a stormy kind of love / oh, oh, oh, the sweetest thing”

A/N: hi! the majority of part 5 was one of the very first parts I wrote for this fic, and I’m so excited to share this one with y’all, especially the lil surprise hidden within ☺️ thank you for the support and encouraging words on the last one!! I really hope y’all enjoy this part, bc we’re finally at the good stuff 🥹 (well. some of it. yeah, there’s a part 6 coming I’m sorry LMAO)

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Humans are naturally stubborn; it’s funny how the help and assistance a person might need could be right in front of them, but they shove it away, wanting to be independent and keep their pride intact. Steve’s discovering over time that Frankie is this exact type of stubborn, through and through.

Time has passed since Frankie opened up about her past, and her flare up waxes and wanes; just when it feels like her routine medications are helping, another symptom pops back up. Despite her father, and Steve, constantly suggesting to try intensive treatment, she’s stubborn and continues to refuse the help. And in a way, Steve gets it; the side effects as your body adjusts to a new medication or treatment isn’t exactly a walk in the park, but he hates seeing Frankie suffer. He hates that he can’t do much more than provide emotional comfort.

Steve persists, slipping the suggestion of treatment into conversation when possible, but it never goes anywhere. He promised her, he promised her father, though, that he’d do anything to keep her safe, so he plans on being a total pest about it until she at the very least considers.

Something finally breaks in mid-spring, when he expects her same, stubborn denial instead.

The sun’s warmth feels good, despite the way the abnormally hot day is causing his joints to heat up with inflammation. He pushes the ache and stiffness out of his mind, just happy to spend time with his friends on a good day, especially now that Dustin and Eddie moved to the city. The park is quiet, too, a perk of visiting in the late morning on a weekday.

“What’re you making?”

Frankie, wearing large sunglasses, grins up at Steve from her spot on an old quilt, holding out a chain of wildflowers she linked together. He can’t see the way her smile crinkles at the corners of her eyes as they usually do, but he knows her facial expressions well enough to envision them anyway.

“Flower crown! Want one?”

“Oh, I, uh—“

“If he doesn’t, I sure do.” Robin nudges Steve aside to sit on the edge of the blanket, sharing with Frankie. He scoffs, joining them on the quilt.

Steve glances around, then asks, “Where did the other knuckleheads go?”

Robin waves her hand with an eye roll, disinterested.

“Who knows, who cares.”

Frankie frowns dramatically, “I care.” Steve narrows his eyes playfully at her. “What? I wanna make everyone flower crowns. Didn’t know that was such a crime, Steven.”

Shaking his head, he chuckles, before glancing around to try spotting his friends.

“How the hell do you even make these?” Robin’s curiosity has her fixated on Frankie’s handiwork in real time. She pushes her sunglasses up onto her head before demonstrating.

“So you just…” She takes a hepatica with pastel pink petals, holding the stem gingerly in one hand, while the other holds a tiny pocket knife. She cautiously slices down the middle of the stem, just enough to create a tiny slit. “You could use your fingernails, too, but sometimes it’s easier to use a knife. Paper clips or safety pins work too!” Picking up a spring beauty, she slides its stem into the fresh opening on the hepatica’s stem. Holding it up, she grins at Robin. “Y’just repeat that ‘til it’s the length you want.”

A familiar warmth blooms within Steve while watching his two friends find joy in something so simple. Frankie just… fell into place with Steve’s friends easily. Like she belongs here among them, because she does belong with them.

Giving Robin the flower chain to finish on her own, Frankie grabs some dandelions she gathered earlier, and begins to start a new chain.

“‘Key, those are weeds.”

Though focused on her project, with her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth, squinting one eye closed— Everything she does is cute. What the fuck— she replies, “They’re wildflowers, Steve.” She slides one stem into another, then resumes slicing down another stem. “They’re important for the bees, and we kinda need bees to exist to live, y’know.”

He snorts, “So why are you taking their flowers, then?”

Frankie’s face drops, “Oh.” Steve thinks she’s playing along at first, even as her bottom lip wobbles comically. Once her eyes become glassy, and she sets her flower chain down, he’s backpedaling his teasing comment, hands shaking ‘no’ along with his head.

“No, no, I was kidding! I— you’re not— they’re fine, the bees are fine.”

Robin can’t hold back her laughter, and Steve glares at her. “I was laughing at you, dingus. Frankie’s got a point, bees are important.”

“Guys, it’s— I’m okay,” Frankie shrugs it off, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater; black eyeliner smudges along the knit, grey, sleeve. “Oh. Jesus I’m a mess.” She laughs, but the tears break anyway, and she can only imagine her face is smudged up, too. “M’sorry, this is all so stupid. I’m getting upset over everything lately.”

“It’s not stupid if you’re upset,” Robin points out with sincerity.

She only shakes her head, sliding her glasses back over her makeup stained eyes, “It’s all good, I know you— you were just kidding. Sorry ‘bout that.” She picks her project back up, hands trembling a little. “This whole flare up has me ridiculously emotional, but gimme five minutes and I’ll be fine.”

While Frankie keeps her focus to the flower chain she’s working on, Robin glances over at Steve, worried. They’ve been best friends for so long now, they can read each other’s faces with ease. He just nods subtly at her, and she pushes up off of the blanket.

“Is anyone else hungry? I’m gonna find those two goofballs, and maybe we can grab food somewhere?” Robin wanders off, not waiting for a response.

When she’s out of earshot, Frankie grumbles, “If she left so you can ask what’s wrong, I’m fine.” A flower’s stem is crushed between her fingers as they twitch involuntarily. “I know you mean well, but I really don’t want you to waste all your energy worrying about me.”

“‘Key… it’s not a waste.” Nothing’s ever a waste with you. “Please don’t shut me out.”

“What is there to talk about? I’m not shutting you out, Steve. It’s just the same shit, you don’t need to hear me cry about it all the time.” Her tone is frantic as her fingers won’t stop shaking, yet she won’t pause from connecting the flowers.

Steve doesn’t miss the way she bites her lip before it can pout, or how she’s staving off tears, features scrunching in frustration. “If it helps to talk about it more than once, I’m listening, and maybe if you started treatment again—“

“Drop it, stop trying to get me to go. I’m fine, just— everything hurts. A lot. Okay? See? Nothing different from what’s been happening since this all start— shit!”

Frankie drops her pocket knife, grabbing her own hand as a bead of crimson bubbles up along the pad of her thumb. She stares as a trickle of blood winds down her thumb, onto her palm. Steve quickly inches closer, about to reach for her hand, but she reels back.

Grabbing the edge of her black skirt, she blots the laceration, pressure included. “Why am I so fucking…”

Steve’s not tired of Frankie, nor is he tired of anything related to her health and this current flare up, but he is tired of this stubborn mindset she refuses to release. It’s difficult to be open with her about his bad health days when she won’t do the same in return, like they promised one another.

Rummaging through his bag, Steve pulls out a small pencil case, one he’s converted into a mini first-aid kit. He can’t remember when he made it, or if he’s ever gone without it since, but it’s useful for moments like this. Frankie notices, brows furrowing.

“Steve, m’fine—“

He ignores her weakened protest, one that sounds like a broken record at this point, grabbing her hand. It’s a firm grip, but nothing threatening, still tender somehow with its intentions. Cleaning her wound with a disinfectant wipe, she hisses at the sting.

“You don’t have to baby me.”

Again, Steve ignores her, trying to stay composed against her forced pride. He bandages the laceration, but doesn’t let go of Frankie.

“I don’t get why you’re pushing me away suddenly. Did…” Steve’s struggling to keep his emotions to himself, but they’ve been building for quite some time now. He can’t stand how his voice cracks as he asks, “Did I do something wrong?”

This isn’t about me. Stop. Stop it. Grow up.

Frankie wildly shakes her head, “No, absolutely not. I- I promise you’re fine.”

“What’s going on then? Look, if you need space, I can give you th—“

Her fingers, still trembling, tighten around his own. “Please don’t,” Her bottom lip quivers into a pout. “Can we talk later? When you come over? Just you and me.” She scrambles to elaborate, voice cracking, “I’m not ready to to talk about it with anyone else.”

“Okay, yeah,” He nods, squeezing her hand as his anxiety sinks like a stone in his stomach. “Whenever you’re comfortable.”

Reaching for the unfinished chain of flowers, Steve stops Frankie, moving the knife away before closing it.

“I was gonna finish it for you,” She’s desperate for a distraction, desperate to keep herself busy so her thoughts don’t eat her alive.

“Not after practically stabbing yourself, honey.”

Stop calling her that. You’re just friends.

With a huff and an eye roll, she wipes any remaining tears away before commanding, “Fine. Lay down.”

“Wh- what?”

She points to her thigh, unused flowers in her other hand. “You won’t let me finish your crown, and I need to keep busy.”

Steve immediately understands what she’s saying; he knows how fidgety she becomes when anxious and overthinks. Hesitantly, he lays back, head resting on her leg while glancing up at her, squinting from the sky’s bright reflection behind her.

One by one, Frankie takes each wildflower, sticking them in his hair. Her touch is soft, fingers carding through his hair between each flower; Steve can feel her relax, and he does the same.

A comfortable silence blankets them, one that neither dares to break.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

As Frankie and Steve’s lives intertwined, they both ended up with a copy of a key for one another’s apartments. They were originally only for medical emergencies if necessary after Steve’s big medical scare, and Frankie’s worst flare up yet; now those copies are used often to let themselves in for routine plans.

It’s Friday night, Dustin and Eddie started up Hellfire again at a local board game shop, and Robin works at a gay bar down the street on Fridays and Saturdays; Steve got tired of moping inside, alone on the weekends. What started as last minute plans for Frankie and Steve on a quiet Friday night turned into a weekly routine. They fell into a pattern of alternating between their places each time, and tonight’s plans were at Frankie’s apartment.

When Steve lets himself in with a couple movie tapes and a pizza, he’s met with Frankie running down the hall, groaning in frustration, pair of scissors in hand. Steve sets everything onto the coffee table in her living room, eyes locked on her frantic behavior.

“Whoa— didn’t anyone tell you running with scissors is dangerous?” He tries cracking a joke, but Frankie’s spiraling, consumed by her thoughts.

“Steve, I- I can’t fucking take it anymore.”

His eyes widen before he follows her down the hall and into the bathroom. She throws the pair of scissors into the sink, diving into the cabinet below before haphazardly throwing its contents onto the floor, in search of something.

“Talk to me, what’s going on?” He crouches down, resting a comforting hand on her back as her shoulders slink down. She pulls out a pair of clippers before letting herself relax under his touch.

“I feel so stupid getting upset over this,” She mutters, ducking her head into her knees as she folds forward on the floor. “Why does everything have to be so hard?”

Frankie shudders, suppressing the wave of tears that want to crash. Steve gently pulls her upward and into a hug, allowing her to collapse in his arms.

“Is it anything I can help with?”

She shakes her head, then pauses. “I mean, you have before, but I- I’m so— I can’t keep relying on others to help me all the time. I miss being independent.”

Steve knows how that feels, he knows what it’s like to feel as if you’re a burden to everyone around you, just because your health is out of your control. Realistically, it’s far from the truth, but when the world isn’t built to include disabled and chronically ill people, too, it’s hard to believe otherwise.

“Do you want advice, or comfort? Do you need space?” He’s learned asking this is better for the other person, rather than assuming and diving into unsolicited advice. Frankie trusts him, though, and would gladly listen to him anyway.

She’s quiet for a moment, pulling back to look Steve in the eye. His heart aches at the exhaustion in her eyes, the bags under them, carrying deep, dark circles; she hadn’t been sleeping well this week, and it was really catching up to her.

“I really needed to wash my hair, but it’s so much work,” Out of habit, she begins to fidget with the end of her braid, loosely wound and hanging over her shoulder; her fingers freeze after a second, glancing down at it nervously before pulling her hands away. “I kept dropping everything in the shower, and got dizzy from the heat and everything just— just—- it was overwhelming. I didn’t get to finish washing it, and I feel so gross.”

“Well, hey, I don’t mind washing it over the tub for you—“

“Steve, you’re a sweetheart, and I’m always grateful for your help, but you’re struggling, too. It’s not fair to expect you to help always.”

He remembers the scissors she threw into the sink, then glances to the clippers. “Were you gonna cut your hair?”

She looks down at her braid, pouting with a soft nod.

“But I kept chickening out,” She whispers, unable to look Steve in the eye again. “What if I look awful?”

Perplexed is Steve as he remembers the photos Frankie showed him from her high school days, just as cute in a pixie cut as she is with long hair now. “You’d have to really try your hardest to look awful.”

She scoffs out a laugh, “Kiss-ass.”

“I mean it, ‘Key,” Steve’s thumb and forefinger reach out to hold her chin, bringing her gaze back to him. “You could pull off anything.”

“You won’t think I’m ugly?” Steve’s face drops as the words hit his ears. “It’s just— I—“ She rolls her eyes at herself, “It’s only hair, why am I so upset?”

“I’d never think that, first of all. And second, my opinion on your looks is irrelevant. Fuck anyone’s opinion, honestly. You do what you want, Frankie. I’ll support whatever you decide.” Steve wishes she could see the natural beauty she radiates, from the inside out. Self esteem issues are different when you’re in constant pain. Everything can be attached to how you feel, and it’s easy to tumble down the slippery slope of self loathing when your body works against you, from the inside out.

Steve continues, “And it’s a big change, it’s understandable to be upset while you decide. Maybe it’s good to sleep on it, think it over. If you still want to tomorrow, then go for it.”

Frankie’s eyes gloss over, pout trembling. “I still gotta wash it, though… and if I cut it, it seems silly to wash it all, then let that effort to go to waste.”

Steve shrugs, like the answer is obvious. “Told you, I’ll help.”

Minutes later, after returning everything back where it belongs, Frankie’s leaning her head back over the tub, with plenty of towels under her neck to make it a tad comfier. Steve’s gently scrubbing shampoo along her roots when he notices a small bald spot. Then another… And another.

“‘Key… why didn’t you tell me you were losing hair?” It was hard for him to see before, with how thick her hair naturally is, but it’s enough to alarm him now that its visible. He remembers the clippers she pulled out of the cabinet. “Wait, you’re gonna shave your hair off? All of it?”

She only nods blankly. “I don’t know what else to do, Steve. This hasn’t happened in years.” As she speaks, stray strands come out in tiny clumps here and there. “Not since that awful flare up I told you about.”

Steve doesn’t make a scene, just continues washing her hair with cautious, gentle hands.

“Well,” His glasses slide down his nose a little too far, but he can’t fix them with his hands all sudsy; he’s trying so hard to be better about wearing them more often. She notices, reaching up to gently push them back up the bridge of his nose. He chuckles softly. “Thanks.”

“You were saying?”

Steve’s silent for a moment, catching up to his thoughts again. “Oh, right. I was gonna say, just go for it. Sure, it suits you, a- and I like braiding it for you,” He blushes slightly. “But y’know how badass you’ll look? And how fun it’ll be rubbing your fuzzball head?”

“As long as your hands are still on me,” Frankie teases, but realizes a moment too late how it sounds. Steve can’t catch the snort leaving him in time, while Frankie’s eyes grow wide, mortified. “Oh— no, wait, not like— jesus— I don’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. That was gross.”

“Francesca, we’re having a moment, and you go and ruin it with your mind in the gutter,” Steve cracks back, earning an eye roll while a smile cracks across her face.

Settling into a comfortable silence, Frankie breaks it, “You think I should just… get it done and over with?”

Steve pretends to ponder as he rinses the suds from her hair; a few more tiny bundles of hair flow towards the drain, but he keeps his cool, for her sake. Deep down, he’s worried, but he doesn’t want to upset her any further.

“I think… you should do whatever feels right, but—“ He slowly lifts her head, gingerly scrunching the towel around her hair to sop up the water. “I also think you’ll feel a little better if you eat something first. Pizza break?”

Her eyes grow wide as she laughs, embarrassed, “Oh my god, I forgot, I’m so sorry! My dumb hair can wait.”

Once the pizza is reheated and they’re settled on the couch, they play one of the movies for background noise. Frankie pipes up, “Hey, Steve?”

He’s mid bite, hitting a blob of cheese that’s way too hot, burning the roof of his mouth, wincing at the sting. “Ow, hothothot—-“ Rather than spiting it out, he swallows the scorching hot food, frowning comically as it burns down his throat.

“Oh— that’s,” Frankie’s trying her best to keep a straight face; she’s concerned, but he brought it on himself. She shoves his iced tea towards him, which he gratefully takes and gulps down. “Steve, you gotta have like, second degree burns in your throat at this point. You always do that.”

“And I’ll do it again next week, too,” He quips before shrugging. “What were you gonna say?”

“Hm? Oh. I- I just wanted to say thank you, for earlier. With everything.” She’s normally not shy like this, especially this far into the friendship with Steve, even with the flirting. But the vulnerability is more than she’s comfortable with, and he can tell. “And I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that.”

“Like what?”

“Asking if I’d look bad. I swear I wasn’t fishing for a compliment—“

He sets his plate aside, intending to reach out for her face like earlier, but he remembers the pizza grease on his fingers still, and decides against it.

“You didn’t put me on the spot, or anything like that. I’d be upset too if I was losing hair. Maybe not as much as my high school self but— that- okay, that doesn’t matter here. Point is, you’re allowed to be upset, ‘Key, but also I meant it when I said you’d look badass. Like, Tank Girl badass.”

“Surprised you even know who Tank Girl is,” She teases, but gifts him her signature, warm smile. “Thanks, Steve. I owe you for all of this, big time.”

“You owe me nothing,” Steve sincerely replies, then remembers, “Well, you do owe me that mixtape you’ve been hyping up for months.”

Her hand covers her mouth after taking a bite of her pizza, trying not to respond with her mouth full. She holds the other hand up in a ‘One minute!’ gesture, before leaving the couch. She’s only gone for a moment, returning with a cassette tape, handing it over to Steve.

The tape is wrapped in old newspaper, with holographic stickers slapped all over it, donning her shaky, but sweet handwriting on a tag that says “For Steve”.

He feels a warmth wash over his face, blushing and unable to hold back a smile.

“Can I play it now?”

“No!” Her own exclamation takes her by surprise, sheepishly adding. She laughs it off and waves her hand. “I- I mean, just… wait ‘til you’re on your way home, at least.”

Steve doesn’t push it, doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable; he gets it, sometimes there’s something awkward about gifting something to someone, and watching them open it in real time. He just makes a point to throw it in his messenger bag, tucked into a safe pocket inside.

“Thanks, Frankie.” He smiles warmly at her, earning a rise of rosiness to her cheeks. “I’m excited to listen to it.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The pair of scissors are open wide, caging in Frankie’s messy braid. Her hand shakes, and Steve watches as she frowns, shaking her head before throwing the scissors into the sink.

“I can’t do it.” She looks at Steve behind her through the mirror. “I need to, but once it’s gone…”

“Yeah, but it can always—“

“Steve, don’t tell me it’ll grow back. If it even does grow back, it’ll be all patchy and uneven.” She pushes herself to ask, cheeks growing red, “Last thing I’ll ask help with, I promise, but can— would you do it for me?”

His features falter, unsure. “I don’t mind helping, really, I don’t—”

“But?”

He sighs, “This is so personal for you, I really think you should be the one to do it. At least cutting the length off.” As Frankie fidgets with the ends of her braid, ignoring the strands of hair coming loose between her fingertips, an idea hits Steve. “I can help, though.”

Before she can ask what he means, Steve comes up behind Frankie, gently turning her toward the mirror again before reaching for the scissors. He hands them over to her, and hesitantly, she takes them, fingers gripping through the handles. What she doesn’t expect is his hand to slide over hers, mirroring the position.

“This okay?” He can feel her hand shake underneath his, but he assumes it’s from her tremors.

It’s not.

“Um— uh-huh,” She manages to rasp out; why this has her so flustered when he helped her wash her hair earlier makes no sense to her.

Steve guides her hand holding the scissors to the braid, starting just above the hair tie at the end.

“We can start slow, okay?”

“Okay,” She takes a deep breath, clamping her eyes shut. Steve chuckles softly.

“‘Key, it’s not safe to use scissors with your eyes shut.”

Her eyes snap open, narrowing into slits at him into the mirror, lips parting to shoot a smart-ass comment, but she forgets it immediately. With a scoff, she mutters, “Fucking brain fog.”

Steve can’t help laughing, burying his face into the top of her head. “M’sorry, I was bracing myself for the worst, didn’t expect that.”

His laugh is contagious to her, and she giggles along with an eye roll. “Yeah, neither was I. Guess you’ve been spared.” He settles down, but she can’t.

“Francesca.” He tries being stern, but the corners of his lips curl upward. “Get it together.”

“Okay, okay!” She takes a few deep breaths. “You gotta stop using my full name like that.”

“Why? Is it bugging you? I can stop.” Steve’s face falls a little, but she looks away from his gaze in the reflection.

“No, I’m gonna end up liking it with the way you say it,” She grumbles, not mad, but embarrassed. She misses the way Steve’s cheeks turn a rosy pink. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Okay.” He’s so close, she’s trying to ignore how his chest feels so warm against her back, focusing on moving her hand with his to close the blades together slowly. It’s a slow snip through her hair; despite losing it, it’s still thick enough to take a bit to get through.

Frankie’s eyes follow the chunk of hair as it tumbles to the floor.

“Okay… alright, that wasn’t so bad. B- but don’t let go yet.” She breathes, finally locking eyes with Steve in the mirror. “Please.”

“It’s okay, I got you.”

Moving the scissors up her braid, she stops his hand where her shoulder begins.

“Ready?” He asks, and she nods. Again, they cut through her hair together. More falls to the floor, leaving Frankie with shoulder length hair.

“God… I can’t remember the last time my hair was this short.”

“You wanna stop here?”

“One more time?” She lifts her hand, palm facing down, using the side as she taps the side of her head above her ear. With a nod, he’s about to move their hands together when he hesitates, brows scrunching together as he thinks. “Steve, you okay?”

“Might be easier like— here, hold these—“ Frankie takes the scissors from Steve before he grabs a spare hair tie from the counter, pulling what’s left of her hair back. “Maybe even’s the right word, not easier. My bad… Can you reach back here?” He splits the ponytail, gently tugging the ends to tighten the hair tie.

She shrugs, arms still aching from her attempt at washing her hair earlier. Steve is about to take the scissors back, but her grip tightens. Again, she shakes her head.

“Gonna push through it,” She mutters, stepping away from Steve to keep the scissors at a safe distance. She lifts her arms back, one to hold the ponytail out, the other with the scissors.

Her hands shake, and this time, it’s the tremors; they won’t quit, and Steve being Steve, he immediately wants to help, but hesitates. Just like the day he met her. He knows how frustrating it can be when someone jumps in to help, assuming just because you’re not able-bodied, you can’t do anything on your own.

She waits, holding her hands back for a few seconds, then pulling them back in front of her. “I can’t. I’m gonna end up bald and missing fingers,” She tries to laugh it off, but she’s visibly upset. The need to ask for assistance is barricaded off by her pride.

Steve knows Frankie well enough by now to tell what she’s thinking; he reaches around her for the scissors, gingerly pulling them from her grip. He does his best to pay no mind to the close proximity, but he does notice the way Frankie gets goosebumps when his breath hits her neck.

That means nothing, quit overthinking it.

“Ready?”

She nods, “Mhm—“

“‘Key, keep your damn head still,” He uses his free hand to grasp the back of her head, laughing as he splays his palm open, fingers wide as he easily steadies her. “Little miss bobble-head.”

She stifles a laugh, nodding with a deep breath. “Okay. Go for it.”

Steve moves swiftly, before either of them fall into a fit of giggles once more; with a quick snip, Frankie’s small ponytail is gone. She’s left with an uneven, disheveled haircut, shaking her head to get the loose hairs out.

“I dunno, Steve, I think we’re done. Looks totally presentable.” Her eyes lock with his in the mirror for what feels like the millionth time that night; the two of them splitting into a fit of laughter all over again.

“Yeah, Frankie, you’re— …” He loses his teasing remark in an instant; even with her hair unkempt among the patchy bald spots, even with fatigue weighing heavy on her features, her smile and personality peek through with ease. She’s beautiful, always, from the inside out, and he’s positively fucked.

“I’m… ?”

“Nothin’.” Steve nods over to the clippers on the sink. He clears his throat, hoping the warmth blooming across his face isn’t noticeable; it’s not just noticeable, it’s hard to miss. “You need help with that part?”

Frankie gives him a skeptical look before grabbing the clippers, plugging them in to the nearby outlet. “Might need your help with the back, if that’s okay. Otherwise… can’t really fuck this part up, right?”

Steve breathily laughs with a nod, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. “Right.”

Shaking out her nerves— literally, looking like a wacky inflatable arm man— she laughs off the doubts, flipping the switch. She holds the clippers in front of her face, nearly going cross eyed— Jesus, she’s cute, Steve thinks with a faint smile; holding it up to her hairline, she stares at herself in the mirror while pushing the clippers right down the middle of her head.

“Can’t go back if I make myself look like a fool, can I?” She laughs, muttering to herself, but Steve still catches it.

He watches as she stays focused, running the clippers through more hair; with each glide of the device along her scalp, her breath grows shallow, short. Steve anticipates the panic to start, but it never comes; a tear slips, then another, trailing through the little loose hairs scattered across her face, but she’s not upset. It’s a huge change, and Steve expected this to be emotional, but he doesn’t expect her lips to curl upward, ever so slightly.

A good chunk of Frankie’s hair is buzzed down on the left side, and she continues on, releasing a shaky, breathy laugh. “Holy shit.”

“How do you feel?” He asks over the monotone buzzing, filling the room.

“Like a damn mess, but… good.”

He’s not thinking when a soft, “Atta girl” slips out; the simple praise turns Frankie’s face a cherry red.

“Can’t say shit like that to me,” She murmurs, working on shaving another stripe down her head. Steve’s left with scrambling thoughts, wondering if she means what he thinks she means.

Boldly, he’s about to ask why, but her hand begins to shake. Steve steps in, about to grab the clippers, but pauses. He doesn’t want to overstep boundaries, or make her feel helpless, because she’s not.

As if she can read his mind, she tells him, “It’s okay, Stevie. I trust you.”

Steve takes over, gliding the clippers along the spots Frankie couldn’t reach earlier. Though he’s a little faster than she was, he still takes his time, checking in with her every so often to make sure she’s doing alright. First time she tries to nod, but Steve gives a playful glare through the mirror, and she laughs, until his fingers grip the back of her head, this time closer to her neck. The smile on her face drops, and the blush returns.

Under his fingers, Steve feels her shiver, but doesn’t visibly react, just continues to run over her prickly scalp, making sure the buzzed down hair is completely even. When he flicks the power off, and the buzzing halts, Frankie reaches up to her head, rubbing along the freshly buzzed skin. It’s prickly and textured, and some spots where patches once lay are still a little noticeable, but it’s not bothersome anymore. She can finally gain some peace now that she won’t have to try hiding hair loss anymore.

“See? Told ya’,” Steve smiles warmly at her, gently brushing off the stray baby hairs from her shoulders. He leans closer to her ear, causing her breath to hitch. “You definitely look like a badass.” She playfully pushes her shoulder back into him with an eye roll.

Finally, she turns around, leaning against the sink, glancing up at Steve, face to face.

“Thank you, Steve.” She presses up on the balls of her feet to swing her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. Steve blushes— because that’s all they seem to be able to do over one another tonight. His arm curls around her waist, hand pressed against the small of her back, while the other reaches to cradle the back of her head.

“Don’t thank me, you did the hardest part.”

“What, crying?” She makes fun of herself with a giggle.

“No, you were brave to take care of yourself, even if it was hard and the last thing you wanted to do.”

“Steve, don’t you dare start with the sappy shit,” She warns, but he can hear the smile in her voice. She doesn’t let go, and he doesn’t want to. Despite constantly joking how cold she gets, Steve notices how warm her embrace is.

“How do you have a perfectly shaped head?” Steve murmurs, running his large hand over Frankie’s now freshly shaved scalp. She giggles as the sensation of his fingers so close to her skin, it feels so foreign.

“What?” She pulls back, smiling, and he has to suppress the reaction to frown over the loss of her arms around him.

“Yeah, like, c’mere,” He gently pulls her hand, resting it at the back of his head, slowly guiding it along his own scalp. The pads of her fingers ghost over some uneven dips and bumps on the back of his head. “Feel that?”

Frankie giggles some more, “Steve, were you dropped as a kid or something?” He’s fine with the teasing, the two of them do this often to one another. But when she reaches further up out of curiosity, her fingers graze a scar, thick and rugged along his scalp. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Startled, she goes to pull away, but her fingers get tangled in his hair, accidentally pulling a little too hard.

Steve whimpers, eyes darting away, and Frankie freezes while her gaze grows wide, glued to him.

The tension settling in the air around them is suffocating; one of those “you could hear a pin drop” kind of moments. It’s only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity to Steve.

“I- uh—“ He clears his throat, eyes darting away, then back to her, instantly turning bright red. “S- sorry.”

Rather than shrug it off, or politely accept the apology, Frankie says with a small glint in her eye, “Good to know.” She leaves Steve in the bathroom, all alone and flustered. He sighs, louder than he means to.

“Whose mind is in the gutter now?” She sing-songs from the end of the hall. She’s only gone for a moment before returning with a vacuum cleaner, biting her lip to hold back her laugh as she finds Steve rubbing his eyes with his fingers, hand sliding under his glasses. “M’gonna clean this up quick and shower… again.” She rolls her eyes at herself.

Steve nods, exiting the bathroom as her voice follows, “Pick the next movie, I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Do you want he—“ He cringes at himself, catching his words a bit too late as he realizes how they sound.

“Do I want your help? In the shower?” Frankie smirks while she plugs the vacuum in; that look she gives is going to be the death of him. “Gonna have to find a more clever line than that if you wanna see me naked.”

“Wh— that’s not—“ Steve sputters, feeling his entire body burn up under her gaze. “I wasn’t saying it like that, I swear!”

Frankie flips the vacuum on, cupping her ear towards him comically, shrugging like she can’t hear him. She shouts over the noise, “What was that?”

Steve rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh, flipping her off playfully before heading down the hallway. Right as he’s about to be out of earshot, he hears a muffled, “Maybe later, if you’re lucky!”

He thinks of everything, anything that isn’t Frankie; he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, shoving his glasses onto his head. The sound of running water floats down the hall, and Steve takes the opportunity to sigh his frustration out. Flopping into the couch’s cushions, he’s trying to think of anything to stop the rush of blood and heat ready to run south.

Currently, there’s no room in Steve’s mind for anything else other than Frankie.

I’m so, so fucked.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Steve should’ve stayed.

He wanted to. He really, really wanted to stay at Frankie’s— it’s not uncommon for one to crash at the other’s place on movie nights— but, in Frankie’s terms, he “couldn’t get his mind out of the gutter”— There was just no way he could stay without embarrassing himself. Making up some excuse Frankie saw right through about needing to get home, reluctantly, he left.

Frankie is his friend, he can’t ruin what they have with his desires. But he’s torn, because it’s more than just fleeting lust, he likes her. Really, really likes her.

Sometimes, Steve wishes he could say he hates how easily their bodies meshed together, how casual it was to cuddle with one another, fall asleep in one another’s arms. That he hates how cute Frankie looks when she drools a little in her sleep. Or that he hates the sweet balance she carries between positivity and realism— always leaving room for the bright side and reality’s facts. He wants to hate both her gentle and sharp laughs, the off-key way she sings softly to herself while keeping busy; her self confidence, the warmth in her smile that always reaches her eyes, despite their cool grey tones—

He’s lying to himself. He could never find himself actually wanting to dislike Frankie in the slightest. There’s not a damn thing about her that bothers him.

Nothing, except for the fact that to Steve, she’s perfect in the way she embraces her imperfections, her quirks, her flaws, her strengths— it’s all only drawing him into her more and more as time carries on. Frankie is perfect as a friend alone, and that’s just something he can’t afford to put on the line for the sake of his feelings. Feelings that are most likely one sided.

Even after the comments about a date made months ago, on the precipice of slumber, Steve still can’t tell if Frankie was joking or not. Or if she called him “babe” after a nightmare just to be nice. Same with the innocent kiss left on the top of his head. He’s completely puzzled, left to wonder if he’s overthinking it all, or if the signs are really there.

Tonight didn’t make any of this easier to untangle and make sense of, either.

Feeling fine enough to walk home and enjoy the warm night, Steve skips jumping on public transit; maybe the fresh air would do him some good, clear his head. When he reaches in his bag for his Walkman, his hand brushes against a cassette case— the mixtape Frankie made for him.

Avidly, he tears the upcycled wrapping paper off, admiring the mixtape’s DIY cover art.

With a clumsy grip, he nearly drops the case, catching it in time to glance over the cover she made, resembling the punk show flyers tacked on her bedroom walls; the style’s true to her character. Eager to listen, he pops the tape into his player for his return trip.

What he doesn’t expect is to hear Frankie’s voice flood through his headphones.

“I know what you’re thinking, ‘this girl cannot shut the fuck up, huh?’” Her laugh instantly graces a smile across Steve’s face, shuffling his feet along the concrete as they carry him home. “I swear, there’s music on this tape, but I wanted to say something first.” Steve’s brows knit together, listening carefully. “I promised you months ago I’d make a mixtape of mostly songs and bands you haven’t heard yet, but some are gonna be familiar to you. That’s … intentional.”

There’s a soft hum of static, filling in a short gap of silence.

“I kept putting this off, ‘cause I got this idea shortly after your hospital trip, but I was too much of a scaredy cat to go for it. Felt too soon.”

“What felt too soon?” Steve mutters to himself, as if she can hear him.

“You’ll pick up on it, I know you will. You always amaze me with the details you notice that no one else does.” Frankie sighs, does one of the countless things Steve finds cute about her; she blows air through her lips, making ‘pbbbbbtttt’ sounds, like when she’s stuck on her own thoughts. “It’s been hard trying to tell you this myself, so… m’gonna let the music do the talking for me. Just do two things for me, please?”

He braces himself, because what on earth would Frankie be so afraid to tell him in person? What would she need to hide behind a tape for?

“Listen the entire way through, and when you’re done,” She takes a deep breath, letting out a nervous giggle. “If we’re not on the same page, and I’m just some delusional freak, promise me we’ll still be friends?”

Steve stops dead in his tracks, breath caught in the back of his throat. Is she—

There’s a harsh click, abruptly rushing in an unfamiliar song after her intro. His eyes bounce around his surroundings in a hurry, landing on a bench a few feet away. Once Steve’s settled on it, he flips the case over, looking for a tracklist—

It’s not a complete tracklist. Just a list of the artists in chronological order.

“‘Key, are you kidding me?” Steve grumbles to himself, shaking his head while a smile’s curling along his lips.

A lyric from a Dinosaur Jr. song catches his attention, stretching his smile into a grin.

“The weirdness flows between us / Anyone can tell to see us”

Scribbled on the bottom of the list is her scratchy handwriting:

You’ll get the titles later!

-Frankie ♡

Steve’s hopes begin to rise, but he forces himself to squash them immediately. There’s no way, there’s no fucking way this is what I think it is. I’m just thinking too far into it.

Three minutes into the next song, by my bloody valentine, Steve’s still on the bench.

How long is this one? Jesus Christ.

It’s not bad, but he can’t make out the words, and god, it feels like this one’s going to last forever. Silently, he’s cursing Frankie for adding this to the mix. Maybe this song would be great to listen to while stoned out of his mind on the floor, but not right now, not when he’s antsy to figure out exactly what this tape’s all about. He’ll have to ask her for the lyrics later.

Track #3 by Fugazi is good, and the lyrics are a gut punch from the start.

“I am a patient boy / I wait, I wait, I wait, I wait / My time, water down a drain / Everybody’s moving / Everybody’s moving / Everybody’s moving, moving, moving, moving / Please don’t leave me to remain / In the waiting room—“

Steve loses track of the words from there; he’s never been the best at keeping up with the fast paces of some punk songs, but he gets the point.

Track #4— a Kate Bush song— is one he’s heard before, courtesy of Max always playing Kate Bush’s discography, even after surviving Vecna’s torture. He can’t remember the name, but he remembers it’s off the album The Dreaming, and the lyric “We let the weirdness in” has him curious as to why Frankie chose this song, wondering why it’s another song leaning into the word ‘weird’.

All pondering halts when he immediately recognizes the Bruce Springsteen song— Crush on You. His breath hitches in his throat while the familiar song from The River plays on. The lyrics and title are self explanatory.

… Maybe I’m not overthinking it.

He’s unsure when he began walking again, but he’s already halfway home when he realizes it. The trip by foot on a good pain day is 10-15 minutes, but at the pace he’s speed walking, he can easily make it home in 5.

The next three songs by Jawbreaker, Green Day, and X are songs he’s never heard before, but recognizes the style of each band from the times Frankie plays her own mixtapes in the store.

The repetition of “I want you” over and over in the Jawbreaker song begins to fizzle out his doubts. The entirety of the song by Green Day is even more obvious, but “I know that we’re only friends / I hope this feeling never ends / If I could only hold you / it’s the only thing I want to do” makes his heart jump.

“Holy shit,” He’s frozen on the stairway to his floor as the words float into his ears. “… She likes me.”

She feels the same. Frankie feels the same.

It’s the opening lyrics of the X song that cause the last of his doubts disappear, rushing down the hallway to his apartment.

“Now if you love me, please don’t tease / If I can hold you then let me squeeze / My heart goes ‘round and ‘round / My love comes a-tumblin’ down.”

Steve promised he’d call Frankie once he made it home safe— they do this every time one leaves the other. Now all he can think about is of is calling her to confess his feelings instead. He’s fumbling with his keys, dropping them a couple times, and bangs his head on the door when he tries to pick them up; the door swings open, with Robin glancing down at him, a brow quirking over his frantic demeanor.

“I thought someone was trying to politely break in,” She cracks while moving aside for him to come in. Steve begins pacing in circles as he tugs his headphones off, staring at Robin, stunned. “Whoa, dude, what happened? You good?”

It barely comes off as a whisper, rushed out like a dream that’ll disappear the more he focuses on it. “Shelikesmeback.”

“Who— what— I’m too tired to decipher what you just—“

From the position his headphones are around his neck, he faintly makes out opening notes of Sweetest Thing by U2. A bright smile appears among his features, despite the love song’s bittersweet, realistic meaning; it’s one Frankie always teases him for enjoying.

Holy. Shit.

“She likes me, Robin. Frankie likes me.” Saying it out loud, to someone other than himself, sounds far too good to be true. Despite how surreal it feels to figure this out, he can’t suppress his still-growing grin.

“I told you!” She grins, already antsy for details. “So, what happened?”

“She gave me—“

“How’d you find out?”

Steve huffs, still winded from the run home, but also annoyed, “Because, she gave me a mix—“

“And why are you here?”

“Jesus Christ, Robin, let me answer one of those at least.”

“Okay, okay, sorry!” She rolls her wrist, hand circling in a “let’s go” gesture, as if she’s not the reason for the hold up.

Scrambling for the tape’s case, he holds it up to her, hand shaking from a flurry of emotions. “The— she made me a mixtape, a- and she said she’s using the music to tell me how she feels, ‘cause she’s too scared to tell me herself.”

“That’s actually really sweet,” Not a hint of sarcasm can be found in Robin’s words, but her face crinkles in confusion. “But you never answered my last question— you were just with her. Why aren’t you doing something about this?” She gives him a “duh” look and gestures her hands out, exasperated as he stands there, lost. “Steve, I swear if you don’t finally tell her how you feel—“

Now it hits him. “Oh my god… why did I— I have to— I’m such an idiot.” Eyes wide and jaw slack, he takes a moment to breathe deeply and collects his thoughts. He pulls her into a bear hug, one that takes her by surprise, leaving her in confused laughter. “Robin, you’re the best wing-woman ever.”

As Steve rushes out the door, she shouts, “I did the bare minimum, but I’ll still take the award!”

Eddie opens the door across the hall from theirs, poking his head out along with Dustin. Steve’s already out of sight when Dustin asks, “What the hell is going on?” Eddie’s head snaps down the hall, then back to Robin with a quirked brow, expecting an explanation.

“Hang on, I’m getting popcorn, ‘cause we’re gonna gossip like nosy grandmas,” Robin snickers.

Steve’s already rushing down the stairs, unaware of the conversation he’s left behind, yet still a part of.

The following song on the mixtape has a familiar style— it’s Strawberry Switchblade, he recognizes the poppy goth style, giving Steve a boost in his step and energy to retrace his steps. The instrumentals are so upbeat, and the lyrics are cute, sweet, like Frankie. She’s played them in the shop before, but he’s unsure if this song ever came on through the stereo’s speakers.

“In a kiss lies so much more than touch / And my life has found a new temptation / And ecstasy has meaning once again”

Wait—

This is the song she was singing along to the day Steve found her dancing while sweeping around the shop. Before he startled the living daylights out of her, accidentally ruining her moment of solitude. It makes him chuckle to think of that memory; that entire day— aside from her pain, pushing it aside with her pride— was so good to them both.

Exerting himself to run back will cost him for the rest of the week; his reward will be multiple high pain days, but Steve doesn’t care. All that matters is getting back to Frankie, finally confessing feelings he always believed were one sided.

“I find suddenly I'm closer to you / And I find all my wildest dreams / Have come true / While I spin round / My heart is beating for two / And I am wishing / It will always be you and I / You and I”

Winded already, Steve slows down, trying to pace himself and keep his heart from beating out of his chest.

Just a few more blocks. A few more, and I can tell her I feel the same, hold her, hopefully kiss her, finally.

That alone is enough to carry him the rest of the way, though he almost runs into the street without looking, until a car honks at him, yanking him away from his thoughts. He holds his hands up apologetically, cringing as the car speeds off.

Man, try not to die before you can tell Frankie how you feel.

Lovesong by The Cure is the next track, one Steve knows well. He doesn’t know many songs by The Cure, but he likes this one; warmth is blooming throughout his body over the clarity and certainty of Frankie’s feelings through the lyrics.

“Whenever I'm alone with you / You make me feel like I am home again / Whenever I'm alone with you / You make me feel like I am whole again”

If Steve was honest, he hasn’t felt completely at home since leaving Hawkins; the closest he’s felt to that has been with his friends, and now, with Frankie. She puts him at ease, reassures him that he’s safe and at home in his own skin.

Home and safety are two things he’s longed for, even while living in Hawkins. His home— his parents’ house— that never felt like a home. Not unless the party filled its empty shell.

The rest of the way back blurs by, body on auto pilot as he finally catches her apartment up ahead.

He’s practically running down the hallway, tugging his headphones off his ears, while he’s too wrapped up in the moment to stop the tape; Dolly Parton’s voice faintly sings on as Frankie’s apartment door comes into view.

“Say goodnight while there's still a star to wish on / Say goodnight while the moon is still in your eyes / Let me touch your smile and hold you for awhile / Then say goodnight, but never say goodbye”

Steve pumps the brakes, hesitating as he reaches the door; they welcome themselves into one another’s apartments all the time now. But this feels different, this is different, and what if he intrudes at a bad time? What if she’s asleep already?

Ignoring his worries tumbling like an avalanche, his hand shoots out for the doorknob, spare key at the ready, but he hovers above it. He can’t bring himself to unlock it, can’t pinpoint a clear reason against the second nature behavior.

Oh, fuck it.

He knocks rapidly, then regrets it in an instant. Chest still heaving, he tries settling down, calming his breaths before she can open the door.

I should just go in, I have a key, and knocking this late might startle her, and that would fucking suck, totally ruin the moment when I’m trying to tell her I feel the same—

The door creaks open, with a sleepy Frankie poking her head out; her freshly shaved head is covered by Steve’s hoodie, one he left behind weeks ago that she refuses to return.

“… Steve?” She smiles, a little confused seeing him again; she rubs one of her eyes, hand covered by the sleeve, opening the door some more with the other— Christ, she’s fucking cute just by existing— “What’d you forget this time?”

Steve’s heartbeat is in his throat, blanking out as he locks his gaze with hers.

“I…”

Don’t freeze up now, say something!

“You…” Her smile falters a little, noticing how winded he still is. Opening the door wider, she steps closer to him, hand reaching for his arm as she leans out of the doorway. “Hey, are you okay?” Gently, she pulls him inside, softly shutting the door behind them.

Dolly’s voice floats out of his headphones, breaking the daze he began to fall in.

“Oh, it's easy now to tell you how I'm dreaming about tomorrow / Because you'll be there to share that dream with me / But now it's time to close your eyes, put this night away / And keep it safe, a perfect memory”

Where it was hiding all this time, Steve’s unsure, but a flicker of confidence sparks within him, ignites him to make a move.

“D—“ He has to clear his throat, still catching his breath from running. “Didn’t get to say goodnight the way I’ve always wanted to.” Frankie’s too tired to catch on, not until Steve carefully backs her against the door, leaving little room between them.

While the last song plays out of his headphones, slung around his neck, he’s grabbing her by the waist with one hand, and the other cradles the side of her face; gently making its way to mold along the side of her neck, thumb ghosting along her jawline. She gasps softly as the two gravitate toward one another, foreheads pressed together, noses nudging against one another—

The dim apartment, the sounds of the city, the entire world begins to melt away for Steve; it’s just the two of them, bodies and hearts meeting the way he’s dreamed of for months now.

Lips tenderly colliding, it’s soft and sweet, affectionate smiles causing the two to giggle into the kiss. Frankie loosely grips the front of his shirt between her fingers, tugging him closer as her hands eventually slide up his chest, arms slinking around his shoulders.

It’s a cinematic, magical moment, if the lead roles were two disabled friends to lovers, anything but what mainstream romance films depict. No, this is real. It’s real, because Steve can tell the difference between Frankie’s usual tremors, and the way she’s trembling right now with excitement. It’s real, and he’s able to let the ever-growing ache in his body fall away, while his focus fixates on Frankie only.

This is the truest form of affection Steve has ever felt for and with anyone, ever— and it’s real.

He takes one step back abruptly, still holding onto her as an avalanche of overthinking begins to tumble. “I shouldn’t have left earlier. Did I wake you up? I was gonna just let myself in, but then I panicked, and then I felt bad for knocking, ‘cause you were totally asleep, and I know you’re gonna be too nice to tell me—“

“Steve,” She breathes that same reassuring, smile-ridden, acknowledgement, and like every time before, he’s at ease. “I’m glad you left earlier— wait, no, hold on, that sounds mean—“

Steve starts laughing as her face turns red.

“If you didn’t leave, you wouldn’t have listened to the tape!” She backs up a bit, hands falling to her hips as she tries to elaborate.

“Hm, I dunno,” His hand reaches out for hers, pulling it out of the sassy pose to tug her closer; she stays put, stance locked to the floor. “I would’ve snuck a listen if you fell asleep.”

“Oh, for— You know what I mean, Harrington!” She tries to come off pissed, but bursts into giggles right along with him. Sticking her tongue out, she flips him off while he catches a glimpse of her tongue piercing, jaw slack as he’s blushing like he did the first time all over again. Frankie smirks, aware of what he’s really looking at. “You wanna know what it feels like, don’t you?”

Steve nods with a strained, groaning reply, almost in a trance “I- yeah, I gotta know.” Her smile scrunches up her features as he leans back in; a nervous laugh slips out of him while his lips brush against hers, but once they meld together, everything feels so natural, so right.

The last time anything felt right to Steve was… god only knows when. He’s lost in his thoughts until Frankie’s lips part, slotting against his with ease. She boldly runs her tongue along his bottom lip, smirking as Steve makes a soft, airy whimper into her mouth. His knees feel weak as her tongue brushes against his, the stainless steel piercing giving a new sensation he’s never experienced in any kiss before this. Who knew a little piece of metal could make a kiss so dizzying?

It ends as quickly as it begins, with Frankie pulling back in giggles against Steve’s lips while a groan slips from him. “Holy shit…”

“Would’ve kissed you way sooner if I knew this silly piercing would make you weak at the knees.”

Playfully, Steve rolls his eyes, with a scoff to match. “Oh, like you didn’t have to use a mixtape to tell me how you feel.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She scrunches her face. “So… you’re staying, right?” At first, Steve thinks it’s a question backed by desire, but she cracks, “‘Cause you look like you’re about to pass out.” She squeaks out a laugh as he pulls her off the door.

“Shut up, ‘Key,” His lips are back on hers, initiating a deeper kiss; Frankie hums, and the vibrations against his own lips drives him wild.

“Can we, uh—“ He’s a breathy mess, gaze falling to her lips, then finding her eyes again. Fatigue is creeping up on him, and though he wants to stay up all night with her, he knows they both need the sleep. Coherent, full sentences are lost on him as he only asks, “Bed?”

Frankie’s brows shoot up, tugging a teasing smirk along her face. “Oh? Damn, didn’t know you moved that fast.”

“No, wait— not— that’s not what I meant!” He’s flustered, shaking his head wildly. Frankie’s amusement only grows. “I- I- I don’t— god, that made me sound like such a dick—“

“Steve.” That’ll never get old, the way they both stop one another’s ramblings with a breath of the other’s name, followed by a comforting, tiny smile. “I’m only kidding. You’ve gotta be exhausted from running back, huh?”

He exhales relief, nodding. Even drained, he smiles at her tiredly, “So worth it though.”

“Yeah, we’re not working tomorrow, are we?”

Grinning sheepishly, he shrugs. “I can get us a ton of coffee—“

“Nope, it’s decided, shop’s closed tomorrow.”

Steve shakes his head, grin still hanging around. He’s got a feeling it could last a long time.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah? How?”

“I… didn’t think that far yet, shut up.”

“Okay, sleepyhead, c’mon,” Hand lacing in his, she leads him to her bedroom, where he lets himself flop onto her mattress to finally rest. He sinks back into the pillows, legs hanging over the side as his eyes slip shut with a dazed sigh.

Frankie carefully removes his glasses to set on the nightstand, giggling, “Steve, you’re still— we’re not cuddling if you wear your damn jeans in my bed.”

Eyes still shut, Steve’s the one smirking now. “If you wanted to see me naked you could just ask, ‘Key.”

“You’re such a little shit.”

A weak retort dies on Steve’s tongue as he feels the laces of his sneakers come loose, shoes sliding off his feet. Frankie stands up, hands on her hips as he pushes himself to sit up. The tiny act of affection makes his heart swell.

“M’not taking your pants off,” She giggles, eyes falling down his figure. “Though, it’s tempting.”

Steve grumbles under his breath, unbuttoning his jeans and kicking them off, falling back onto the bed as he’s left in his boxers. His eyes begin to close again, until his legs are pushed apart; Frankie stands between them, watching a blush creep across his face with a smirk. Her hands take their time as they slide up his thighs, crawling onto the bed, ending up directly over him.

“Oh— wait, hey, what—“

Steve’s sure as hell wide awake now.

“H- hey,” He shudders nervously, hand wandering up to her face. Through her smile, she bites her lip, leaning down towards him.

“Hi,” She stifles a bout of giggles, noses barely touching, lips hovering over his. His breath hitches, eyelids growing hooded. “Steve, can I tell you something?”

He’s way too eager to respond, nodding quickly, bumping his nose against hers. The two groan from the gentle collision, dissolving into laughter while he murmurs a ‘sorry’.

“Y’can tell me anything,” He’s trying his hardest to keep his cool, but his wavering voice has to be a dead giveaway. “You know that, ‘Key.”

Frankie’s lips brush against his, and Steve’s too slow to catch her before she leans in closer to his ear, breath tickling along his lobe.

“You’re in my spot, babe.”

She sits up, sleepy giggles escaping her as she rolls off of him. Steve exhales with an annoyed look, narrowing his stare at her as he slides over.

“Just when I thought you were trouble already,” He scoffs, slipping under the covers; his arms wind around her waist, pulling her into his embrace.

“M’your favorite troublemaker though, huh?” Frankie nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck, limbs intertwining with his own.

“I don’t know… you got three other knuckleheads to compete with.”

She scoffs, “You’re tough to please.”

“Oh, far from it, embarrassingly enough.”

Steve kisses the top of her head, hand slipping under the sweatshirt’s hood to softly graze his fingers along her buzzed head. She shivers under his touch.

“Sorry—“

She grabs his hand, holding it in place. “Don’t, it feels nice.” A ghost of a kiss lingers on his neck, coaxing a whimper out of him. She leaves another imprint of her lips behind, and another, taking her time as she works her way up his neck. She pauses at his jawline, murmuring against his skin, “This okay?”

“Mhm,” One hand slides to the back of her head, cradling it gently as the other wanders to the small of her back, tracing mindless patterns along her spine. Her trail of feather-light kisses continue along his jaw, to his chin, up to his lips. Eyes locking with his, she nudges her nose against his, lips barely touching again as he parts them with bated breath.

“I like you, Steve.”

A lopsided grin pulls along his worn features.

“I like you too, Frankie.”

She shakes her head, “No, I- I really like you. Like… a lot.”

Steve steals a quick kiss, admiring the way her cheeks heat up, blush running strong under her butterfly rash. Somehow, their connection feels the same, and yet completely new all at once. Uncharted territory with the one he trusts his heart with the most.

“And I like you a—“

“No.”

“No?”

Frankie sighs shakily, “M’so bad with words.” She kisses him, lips lingering a little longer than he did prior. “And I’m—“ Another kiss. “I’m so… I’m really scared to say it.” She doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t give him the chance to ask what she means when she kisses him again; she moves with grace at first, Steve following her lead. They move together so fluidly, but a renewed desire takes over, slipping her tongue into his mouth as her hands grip his shirt, balling the fabric into her fists.

Steve can feel her piercing against his tongue, immediately growing dizzy from the heightened sensation that damned little piece of metal brings. The strong hand on her back circles to her hip, fingers kneading the plush curve along her body. This time, Frankie’s the one to make a needy noise, whining into the kiss. He pulls away, despite his body screaming at him to mold into hers again.

“You can say it,” Steve murmurs against her lips, half in a whisper. Her arms slink around his shoulders, fingers toying with the soft tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck. “S’okay, I’m scared too.”

She winds a lock of hair around her fingers, then another, tugging ever so slightly, enough to make him shiver.

“Y’feel the same?”

Steve nods slowly, lips melding into Frankie’s, with a hum of a “mhm” vibrating into her. Reluctantly, he moves back again, gravelly offering, “Fuck yeah I do.” It earns a giggle from her, but it’s short lived.

“Steve, m’not kidding, I- I’m scared to say it, but I wanna.” She trembles against him, but keeps some kind of composure. “W- what if you leave and—“

Desperately, he shakes his head, antsy to hear what she wants to tell him. “‘Key, just say it, pl—“

It’s a raspy, rushed mess, but Steve still hears it, loud and clear:

“I love you.”

A silence falls between the two, where the only sounds are their shallow breaths and wildly beating hearts.

“‘Atta girl,” Steve’s teasing response brings a grin along Frankie’s face as she blushes deeply, before kissing her again, taking his time to memorize every line and curve of her lips. But he abruptly stops, “Shit, wait, I- I love you too, sorry, I’m— it’s just— you’re distracting me, Francesca.”

Between kisses, she laughs, then murmurs, “Can’t say that shit t’me, told you that.” He trails away from her mouth, kissing softly along her face, making his way to her neck. Gasping, she pulls at his hair, pausing him as he groans lowly. “Quit using my full name too, I like how it sounds coming from you.” He laughs as she forces a frown. “We should be sleeping, Steve.”

“What, you don’t wanna make out all night?” He’s teasing, but checks in, “We can stop. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m more than comfortable, trust me. But don’t— uh— only this, okay? For now?”

Steve kisses back up her neck, taking in the view of her kiss-swollen lips, the dark circles under her eyes, and the lazy grin across her face. Now that they stopped, fatigue is catching up to her quickly, and it’s written all over her features.

Her “I love you” echoes in his head over and over.

Nodding, Steve gently cradles his hand against her face— a signature move the two now share, one that wouldn’t feel right with anyone else.

“For as long as you want or need,” He’s exhausted, can feel his eyelids growing heavier by the second as the two calm down; sleep’s within his reach, and judging by the tired look she wears, she’ll doze off with ease soon, too. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t going anywhere. I love you, ‘Key.”

Before Steve can drift off, he remembers the last time the two were in her bed, and what a difference there was between the emotions then, and now, but Frankie’s voice yanks him out of the thoughtful daze.

“Hey, babe? You free tomorrow?” She mumbles, smirking with eyes closed, lazily wiggling her eyebrows in his direction. “Y’wanna make out?”

He bursts into laughter, embrace tugging her close as she gives a giggle that settles with ease as she falls asleep.

“Fuck yeah I do.”

#steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x fem!oc #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #fic: accident prone #my fics

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