#being dramatic on a saturday? perhaps

[spice-ghouls]

:)

[b0ther]

ain't even jealousy

you fucking hate the basketball team, but there's no one you hate more than aomine.

pairing : aomine daiki x reader (feminine pronouns. afab) rating : explicit, not safe for work (sexual content) type : chaptered tags : aomine is a bully im not even kidding he is quite cruel, porn with PLOT, reader is besties with satsuki, reader also has a crush on imayoshi, reader also was wakamatsu's ex, hate sex, semi-public sex, manhandling, vaginal penetration, thigh fucking, semi-clothed sex, some slutshaming going on here, reader has big tits, slight dubcon. word count : 4,323

author's note : title from 'want u back' by cher lloyd. this is comissioned by a dear friend. hope you enjoy mwah. this first chapter (and whole fic im ngl) is centered around the onsen episode.

( masterlist │ ask/request │ ao3 )

After a long and hard day at school, all that you ever really want to do is to quickly get to your part-time job and finish up your shift. Perhaps you can get some convenient store food after that, or go straight home to shower and rest.

Whatever it is that you daydreamed of, it wasn't this.

Satsuki calls out to you, her voice soft against the bristling wind with her lithe arms circle around yours as you try to walk away, dragging her body forcefully with you. She whines your name over and over again, over the beating speaker against your ears before you finally had enough, ripping your headphones off your head, turning to face her.

“Satsuki!” You try to sound stern, but you end up whining in the same tone that she used. You can only be so serious as a high school girl, after all.

Her pink strands fall against her face messily; you use your other hand to tuck them behind her ear as she elongates the way she enunciates your name and begs, begs, begs you to listen to her. “Please! Just—”

“Satsuki!” You groan, shaking her off your body. “I’m busy. I have a part-time job, I’m failing maths, I have club activities. I can’t just… ditch everything and go !”

“You can!” It’s like she was not listening to a single word that you uttered. “It’s a month away and on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday—which you can begin asking for a leave day starting today , they will definitely let you if you do it a month in advance!—and maths!? That’s easy! I’ll teach you!”

You slant your eyes at her, arms crossing on your chest. “Alright. What about my club activities?”

“You mean your journalist club? One that encourages their members to leave their comfort zone in order to bring back interesting stories? One that basically has a crush on the basketball team?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, don’t be dramatic.”

She gasps. “Don’t you love me!?”

“Don’t do this to me…”

“If you love me at all, you wouldn’t even think twice about going with me. Imagine me, a girl, going alone on an all-boys’ trip to some secluded place—”

“You’re being dramatic—” You tried reiterating your point.

“I’m not!” She whines, even louder this time, attracting attention from all the other Touou students around you. “You literally have nothing to lose by coming along! Give me five reasons—five good reasons—and I will literally stop bothering you.”

You shake her off again, and this time, Satsuki lets go and stumbles back a couple of steps as the mischief on her eye continues to shimmer. You have never lost an argument to Satsuki—but there is a first for everything, and you have a feeling that you are going to break some personal records today.

“First,” you take a deep breath as you hold up a finger. “Aomine’s gonna be there—”

“Perfect!” Not giving you a chance to speak, she cuts you off, eyes glimmering like starlight. “You like him!”

She strikes a nerve with this one.

One of your eyes twitches as you cross your arms under your chest. The excited smile on her face fades in an instant, recognizing in an instant that something is wrong.

Recognizing in an instant that something she should have known about is wrong.

She blinks a couple of times, trying to use all that intelligence in her head to analyse the error in what she said (which turns out pretty useless—guess all that she is good for is basketball).

“Have you been paying attention at all?” You begin to blabber after letting out a huge gasp, arms waving around in the air. “We’ve been friends for years— years ! Since the first year of middle school, and you know nothing of  my strong, burning opinion of Aomine!? Flash news, Satsuki, it’s not love!”

“You—” She stammers, “You talk about him a lot!”

“I complain about him a lot!” You correct her, blowing out air in frustration, feeling somewhat betrayed that your best friend had just accused you of liking your archnemesis… your enemy… your… your rival.

The point is! You hate him!

You would rather live in a world without television and the internet and good music if it means that you will have to never hear him say another word.

Aomine.

You shiver in annoyance.

Just saying his name irks the hell out of you. Imagining his face causes a feeling close to that of an explosion in your chest. You just wanna grab him by his face and shove him down a flight of stairs.

You cannot even count all the shitty things he did to you in high school: revealing your crush on Nijimura Shuuzou not just to the then-basketball team captain, but the entire student body; tripping you in the cafeteria multiple times; stealing your undergarments during P.E. and commenting crassly about how you were two sizes under his favourite adult model. Granted, you never told Satsuki about the last thing. That shit was just too embarrassing—you were glad that no one else was in the room when he threw your bra back at you.

Still, your frustration remains at her. Jogging down memory lane boils your wrath, and you close your eyes to calm yourself down.

He’s just a bully.

A damned bully.

And you would be damned if you are going to willingly spend your weekends in the same vicinity as him.

“Well… Dai-chan likes you!”

You roll your eyes.

Yeah, right.

You would agree if she had claimed that he found you attractive, or he thinks you’re hot. But liking you? Highly improbable—impossible, even.

Aomine Daiki does not seem like he is capable of feeling any emotion aside from boredom and mischief. The only thing he loves, or even likes, is probably his beloved Aya-chan from his gravure magazines.

You’re not even sure if he still likes basketball.

Which is a shame—seeing someone so tall gradually shrinking to the size of nothing, even if you despise the guy, the whole ordeal with whatever-the-fuck Satsuki’s basketball team went through still managed to extract some sympathy from the bottom of your heart. You’ve been paying attention to Aomine, after all, albeit not under any positive light.

“Whatever,” from past experiences, you know better than to argue against Satsuki. “I don’t care anymore. And you know what? Aomine himself and your blatant disregard of your best friend’s feelings—me!—should be enough to fit all five criterias!”

You know that look in her eyes, the way her lips press against each other and how one of her hands is clenched into a fist. 

“I’ve been friends with him for 16 years, (Y/N),” she bumps her fist against her chest in pride. “Best friends, even! I know him better than you do!”

You scoff. “People who like someone don’t bully them, Satsuki. Open your eyes.”

“He isn’t bullying you!” She groans.

“Oh, so now not only are you attempting to kidnap me, but you’re also defending my bully?”

“Argh!” Satsuki hugs your arm again, earning her a groan from you. She calls out your name again, enunciating each and every syllable. “ Pleeeaaaaseeee? You don’t have to pay a single dime! You don’t even have to see Dai-chan if you want to. Imayoshi-san will be there—you like him, right?”

You slant your eyes at her in suspicion, not buying anything she just told you. You just know that you will have to see Aomine sooner or later if you come with her to the onsen. 

“No man is ever worth that much headache, Satsuki.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, still shaking you ferociously. “But it’s Imayoshi-san!”

You decided to come along. Because of course you did.

It’s either that, or Satsuki pestering you for the rest of the month, bringing either Imayoshi or Aomine or whoever she thinks will get your attention.

And Imayoshi Shouichi? Sure. He’s hot as hell.

But is he worth dealing with Aomine?

You like to think not.

Satsuki dragged you along to a basketball team meeting—the one that would be discussing the practice trip and the whole onsen ordeal.

It wasn’t like you needed to be there at all. You know just a little more than the average person about basketball. All that you were preparing for the onsen was your clothes and deciding whether it’s you or Satsuki who should be bringing her hairdryer.

“Why me?” You said, crossing your arms when the attention of the entire basketball team was redirected towards you, and Imayoshi laughed. The only problem they were facing was convincing Aomine to come along.

And you were happy with not being the babysitter. You were happy with twiddling your skirt as you sat on the edge of the stage of the hall, scrolling down your social media timeline as the team argued on how to get that blue-haired freak into coming.

That was until Satsuki ruined your afternoon by offering up your name.

To your surprise, everyone in the team seemingly agreed almost immediately to offer you as a sacrificial lamb to feed Aomine’s ego and coax him to at least come to the trip.

“He likes you,” Wakamatsu scoffed when you asked why, and you glared at him, but said nothing. Out of respect, you guess, to the upperclassman. It’s not like you respect him, though. You’re on bad terms with a lot of the basketball team, but no matter your disagreements with Wakamatsu, you will never dislike him the way you loathe Aomine.

“He does have a soft spot for you,” Imaoyshi mused as he flashed you a smile—and lord , you cannot say no to Imayoshi. Especially when he’s being so nice.

You saw Satsuki smirking from the corner of your eyes and internally cursed her.

That was how you found yourself climbing the ladder leading to the rooftop. 

And that was how you found Aomine with one hand between his backpack and head, and the other holding an obscene magazine.

He doesn’t even spare you a single glance—probably thought you were another manager or even worse: Satsuki again. But the moment you open your mouth to call out to him, his head snaps in your direction, an eyebrow raised in amusement as he pushes himself to rest his body against his elbows.

“What are you doing here?”

You try not to let your rage spill. You try to keep the boiling water down. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and continue to climb the ladder before approaching him.

Think rational, you think to yourself, he hadn’t even said anything yet.

“The Captain wants to see you,” you manage to say between your gritted teeth, staring down at him before looking away. Imayoshi didn’t ask you to make Aomine see him, but Aomine probably respects Imayoshi more than you, so you try to throw him under the bus just to get out of the situation quicker.

“Imayoshi-san?” He frowns before repeating his initial question: “What the fuck are you doing here?”

I want to punch him.

“You own this roof or something?”

“Calm down,” he scoffs, tilting his head before eyeing your body up and down. You shift your weight into your other leg, ignoring the uneasy feeling on the pit of your stomach. “I just wanted to know.”

Sighing, you glance up at the sunny sky, sweat starting to form on the base of your neck and you are dying to leave at that very moment. You shelter your eyes from the sunlight, despite finding it more appealing than Aomine’s face.

“We’re discussing the practice trip thing—whatever, and also the onsen trip,” you lazily explain, not bothering to hide your disinterest. “Imayoshi-senpai wants you to be present for the meeting. Obviously.”

You cannot fathom the fact that you were explaining his basic responsibilities as a club member to him. What a fucking child.

“You coming with us?”

His focus seems to be misplaced, and you glare at the sky, imagining it was his stupid face.

“I’m going with Satsuki,” you correct, still not willing to look at him. “I don’t give two shits about you or the basketball team.”

“Hey,” he sits up, wrapping his fingers around your wrist before tugging your body towards him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

You scoff, finally letting your gazes meet before pulling your hand away. “Fuck off.”

He, in fact, does not fuck off.

Aomine pulls on your wrist again, this time hard enough for you to lose your balance and fall, your knees landing on the coarse floor as the bottom of your skirt rides up your thighs. The skin of your knees scraping against the gravelled surface and you curse, jerking your hand away only to immediately shove his shoulder.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” You shriek, annoyed at how he remains unmoving even as you push him again.

He towers you, even when sitting, and keeps his eyes peering down at you.

Maybe it’s the heat that day; summer has just ended, but even the soft Autumn breeze cannot conceal the searing flare creeping up the skin of your cheeks. Aomine slants his eyes and grabs your wrist yet again—you weren’t quick enough to retract away from his athletic instincts, and so, you fall again when he pulls you in closer.

You hiss in pain as your knees drag more against the floor, desperate to find your balance only to grab on his shoulders.

“Hey,” He calls out to you, a lame attempt for your attention. “Look,” he says again, and your dumb ass looks.

He grabs the magazine on his lap and tautens the pages together, showing you the spread where he left off before you interrupted his peaceful afternoon. “(Y/N), remember Aya-chan?”

The girl that ruined your life?

How can you forget?

You cannot hide the distaste in your eyes as your eyes scan her beautiful, black hair falling against the sheer material of her white uniform top. The black lace bra she was wearing underneath is apparent as she pushes her two tits against each other, legs spread to reveal an equally seductive pattern on her panties.

Before you even realise, Aomine’s arm begins to wrap itself around your waist as he holds you up, fingers creeping up the side of your torso, tracing invisible lines before resting on one of your breasts. Your stomach begins to churn in excitement, embarrassingly enough, and you press your legs instinctively when the muscle between your thighs tighten as he continues fondling you.

You circle your arm around his neck under the pretence of keeping your balance.

“Mhmm…” He clicks his tongue, resting his face on the side of your upper arm—his nose touching the side of your tit as his hand palms your other one. “I feel like you’re no longer two sizes under Aya-chan. Maybe a size under? Maybe the same size?”

You grit your teeth. “You talk big. Have you ever seen her outside your magazine? She probably edits her photos.”

He grins, gaze shifting to drink in your frustration. “No, but you’re real, and I’m groping you right now. Isn’t that better?”

“Better than your pretty Aya-chan?”

Aomine raises an eyebrow, humming knowingly. You can’t even believe the word escaping your mouth.

“You have a cute side to you after all,” He muses after a short, mocking whistle. “What do you want me to say? Want me to tell you how much better you are than her?”

“Want you to shut the fuck up.”

“Calm down, tiger.” He laughs, pulling away from your arm. He tosses the magazine to the side, straightening his back to press a short kiss to the peak of your cheekbone. His hand begins to work; he slowly kneads your breast while continuously trailing kisses down to your ears. Your nipples brush against the fabric of your damned lace bra, and he stops for a moment only to tug on where your bud is protruding.

A whimper leaves your mouth.

“Excited are we?” He whispers, voice dropping lower as he presses his lips against your ears. “I like hearing you like that.”

“Shut up,” you run out of words, turning your head to the other side, exposing your neck to him. Which turns out to be a bad idea, as he takes it as a sign to sweep his tongue over the skin of your neck.

“A–Aomine—”

“God,” he chuckles. “Who would’ve guessed that you can be this sexy?”

He pulls away from your neck, and drags his hand from your tits to rub against your torso, feeling the material of your uniform. He presses one hand on the small of your back, pressing his forehead against yours. In a swift motion, he pulls on your body, drawing out a squeak as he lays you down against the concrete floor.

“What if…” he trails, rubbing a thumb under your eye as he hovers over rested body. Your cheeks sear with heat, alongside your chest and the pulsating on your cunt. “...I just fuck you right here?”

“W-what?” You whimper.

He laughs. “I’m hard as hell. You made me this way.”

“You were the one groping my tits!”

“You liked it,” he shrugs, pushing himself off of you, forcing both your legs open as he moves between them. His fingers begin to unbutton your uniform, unravelling the bra you are wearing underneath. Sucking in a deep breath, he stops midway down your torso, and without taking his eyes off your chest, he asks, “Want me to stop?”

Your cheeks flare, and you don’t answer him. You don;t even look at him.

He takes a quick glance at your expression.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

“...Whatever.”

A wide smirk forms on his face, fingers continuing to unbutton your uniform all the way down.

“Do me a favour and get up for a bit,” he murmurs, pressing one of his hands against your back once again to get you to sit up. The feeling of his palm against your bare skin sends you to shivers, coupled with the soft wind whistling between the two of you.

“What’re you—”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as his fingers fumble with the hook of your bra. It took him two wrong moves before getting it right with the third—the fabric loosens around your body, and you pull him closer to conceal your humiliated expression.

“See,” Aomine chuckles after some awkward motion, tossing your stupid bra to the side when he finally gets it off. “You’re so pretty like this.”

“Shut up,” you groan, nails digging into his skin deeper and deeper.

He pulls himself away from your grip, taking a nice hold on your torso to pull your ass up his lap, letting you fall against the hard floor again.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, roaming his touches against your legs. His eyes cannot leave the heaves of your jugs.

“Stop fucking staring,” your hiss, trying to pull your uniform together, hiding your chest away from him.

Aomine scoffs, using one hand to unbuckle his pants. Your eyes travelled from his face to the loose button on his collar to the wet stain on the grey briefs around his hips to the bulge underneath them.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He tilts his head at your question, furrowing his eyebrows as he takes his cock out from under his briefs. “Fucking you?”

The precum leaks from the tip of his cock, little drops of white strings rolling down his length. He pulls your hips closer to his body and presses it flat against your soaked panties.

He groans at the contact. Your warm slick welcomes him entirely as he presses more against the fabric, rubbing his tip along the length of your pussy.

“S’that feel good?” He whispers, hastily hooking his fingers on your panties, pulling it up your legs, then tossing it to go with your bra. He presses his arm on the side of your head, leaning into you again.

“Don’t put it in,” you whine, trying to hold back your hips from rolling. “You’re gonna get me pregnant.”

“You can’t say shit like that,” he groans against your neck. He positions the tip of his cock against your cunt, and even with your sopping lips, you aren’t sure if you are ready to accommodate his size at all. 

“You don’t want to be a teen dad,” you bite your lower lip, hand going to rub his neck.

“I wanna fuck you, though,” he breathes, using his thumb to run along your wet slit. “Wanna fuck you raw, wanna cum inside’a you.”

You tremble with his words, feeling two of his fingers now circling your pussy. “D— don’t be stupid.”

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, making your cunt wish it has something to tighten around. “D’you know how long I’ve been wanting to get you like this?”

He pushes himself off of you, and holds your wounded knees as he watches your chest heaves, heavy tits rolling with every staggered breath. He flips your skirt over, exposing even more of your cunt to the chill.

He rubs his length against your slick, his tip now pushing against your swelling clit. “I’d jack off and wonder if you were tighter than my fist,” he wraps his cock with his hand and places it again on your entrance, pushing in a slow, deliberate motion.

Between your drooping eyelids, you saw him inaudibly mutter a curse.

“Used to wanna fight Wakamatsu ‘cus he’d stuff this pussy all he wanted. Right?” He scoffs with a stupid, satisfied smile that you wish you could wipe off his face. “Shame that you broke it off, huh? Did he dump you when he realised how much of a whore you are?”

“Shut up…”

“Well, I don’t care. More fun for me.”

“Aomine—“

“Who else have you fucked in the basketball team?” He grunts. “In Touou?”

“Shut— shut the…”

You slap the back of your hand against your mouth—not willing at all to let him hear you be satisfied with his size—biting down on the flesh as he pushes his cock in. All of his cock in.

“Aomine—”

His cock is dragging against your wall, kissing every possible inch of your insides. Your hole continues to burn as he stretches you wide open, draining every last bit of energy from inside of you.

“ F-fuck…”

Your hand goes to fondle your own tit, rolling your hard nipple between your fingers, sloppily trying to garner more and more pleasure. His dick fills you more and more, stuffing you full, before finally stopping.

“Don’t act all reserved now,” he raises an eyebrow as you mewl out his name. He stays still for a moment, a bud of sweat rolling down his temple before pulling out of your homey cunt. “You don’t have to lie.”

Aomine bites his lips, letting his cock rest between your pussy lips. He sees the way they engulf his dick, moving his hips to rub against your core.

“Letting me fuck you on the school rooftop,” he murmurs, “where’s your fucking self-respect? Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t your first time getting dicked down up here.”

Your eyes slant up at him, but he quickly shuts down any of your retaliation by pressing his thumb flat against your clit, slowly circling the nub. Your teeth press down hard on your bottom lips.

“We aren’t— we are not …” You babble, putting a thumb between your teeth to stop yourself from moaning, “...having sex.”

He scoffs, drinking in how your eyes roll with your head turned to the side.

“I was inside you just a moment ago.”

Filthy noise of his cock squelching against your cunt filled the air—if someone were to come after you, they would hear Aomine’s dick fucking your pussy lips.

“Fuck,”Aomine spits, pressing your legs tightly against each other then down on your lips.

“A-ah,” You gasp as he drills into your thighs, the tip of his cock rubbing quick and hard against your swollen clit. “Oh my God—”

“Are you cummin’?” He breathes, one hand reaching to roll your tit on his hand. “Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, and you whine at the nickname. He snickers, “You’re so sexy like this, y’know that?”

Your back arches, little whimpers of encouragement swallow your pride whole as you fall completely into him. Aomine grunts at the expression, seeing the lewd expression on your face. He picks up the pace, slamming his hips against your ass.

“M’gonna cum,” he hisses. “Fuck. Wish I could shoot my load into your tight little cunt.”

“Fuck it,” you manage to spit between your groans, “F-fuck it. Just— oh God, just don’t stop—”

Your words rile him up even more—he tightens his grip on your leg, his fingers bruising your fragile skin. Your head begins to spin. Your slam your fists against the ground and your mind numbing orgasm comes the moment strings of Aomine’s thick, white cum comes flying down your skirt and stomach.

“Shit,” he loosens the grip on your legs, letting them fall even with your still convulsing ass and core. His gaze stays on the tip of his dick, the white cum oozing from it, then to your face—your parted lips, dumb eyes, and the sweat dripping down the side of your head down your neck.

He feels himself getting harder as he watches your plump lips whine, wondering how they would wrap around his thick length, if the colour of your lipstick would stain the veins of his cock.

“You coming to the onsen trip?” Aomine tries to distract himself.

You roll over, blindly reaching out for the bra that he tossed God knows where.

“Fuck you.”

[hearts4renaa]

ONCE BELIEVED

summary: what they thought love was versus what you showed them it really is. featuring xiao, childe, diluc, scaramouche, albedo, and alhaitham.

contains: 0.7k words, little drabbles for each boy 🫶 fluff

a/n: finally some fluff 😭 this piece was pretty personal for me to write, since i used perceptions of the loves ive seen through my people watching/people around me/personal experiences. enjoy 🫶

Xiao thought love was a useless phenomenon that only mortals experienced. He didn’t think love was all that special, nor did he understand how someone could devote their entire life to one person. To love was to be attached. To be attached was to get hurt. However, you taught him that love did have a use; to bring out the best in each other. You brought out a different side of Xiao. A softer, gentler side that was able to relax at your touch. The side of Xiao who finally felt like each breath of air in his lungs were ones of life, and not as a reminder that he is still suffering. The side of Xiao who was proven wrong about love, but he could never be more glad than he is. Xiao knows what true love is now. Love is you.

Childe thought that love was fiery and passionate all the time. He thought that to love was to kiss dramatically in the rain, to dance in the moonlight. To forever be caught up in the thrill of it all, like a never ending adrenaline rush. But being with you made him realize that love isn’t just a thrilling roller coaster ride. Sometimes, love is the quiet laughter at night, sweet kisses on each other's foreheads, or the comfort of simply sitting next to each other. Love doesn’t always have to be burning brightly; sometimes, it’s a calm flame in the corner of the room. It may not be dramatic, but it illuminates everything around it.

Diluc thought that to be loved, he had to be worthy. He thought that he had to perfect himself in order to be loved, that he had to meet certain conditions. But then you came around and flipped his entire worldview around. You showed him that he didn’t need to be extravagant, or strong all the time, or perfect. He just had to be Diluc. Your Diluc, who does extensive research on grape juice just to find his favourite kind. Your Diluc, who wakes up early on Saturdays to make you a hot drink to serve to you in bed. Your Diluc, who brings you small trinkets with that lovely smile. Your Diluc, forever yours.

Scaramouche thought that love was like a business deal. Two people come together and realize how they could benefit off each other; that’s what it really is, right? Otherwise, how could you possibly devote your love, your trust, your time, your life to someone? But he gets it now. The moment you got through the smallest crack in his walls, it all came crashing down. The way you knew him, the way you saw right through all his bluffs and best defences. Despite the many roundabouts, you went through the labyrinth to his heart, all because you loved him. Love doesn’t always need a rhyme or reason. Sometimes, you love for the sake of loving. And loving you is one thing he’ll never regret.

Albedo thought there was a formula for love. He thought it could be calculated, predicted. You start as friends, you touch their hand to spark interest, then you flirt and so it goes. It’s ironic, because his love for you was not planned at all. In fact, it hit him like a truck. He didn’t expect any of it at all. He was so stunned that he was in denial for weeks before Kaeya literally had to call out his heart eyes for you. But now, the spontaneity of your relationship is what makes him happiest. What should the two of you do today? Stay home cuddled up in bed? A picnic at Windrise? Perhaps Albedo could draw a portrait of you? The unknown is can be scary, but not with you. And as long as you are by his side, he will go wherever the wind takes him.

Alhaitham thought that all forever loves have to go through some sort of major conflict within their relationship. He thought that you had to fight for your love. He thought that love was something you had to almost die for. When you came around, it’s as if all stars aligned. Every failed love led the two of you together. It’s as if the two of you were molded for each other. From the silent understanding stares or soft smiles from across a room, anyone outside could see the love flowing from the two of you. Of course the two of you had disagreements like any couple, but things never exploded beyond repair. At the end of the day, the two of you knew you’d be okay. Some things are just meant to be, and the two of you are one of them.

[satoruhour]

a/n: fluff today! about 1k <3 domestic mornings (afternoons) with satoru always my fav to write about. pls support this as much as my smut works ty 💟 !! / @crysugu @hyomagiri @satohruu @shotorus @greycaelum

by now, it’s late in the afternoon so much so that you’re sure the blinds are hot to the touch from the harsh rays of Amaterasu and her blessings of another bright, hot day. it’s normal in tokyo to wake up to warm sheets and a throat desperate for some water but you’ve learned to avoid it by setting an earlier alarm — take a morning shower, make some tea and grab a book.

satoru, not so much.

he likes to whine a lot when he first stirs, a plethora of sounds that leave him at how he can’t feel your warmth in his arms (“you’d be complaining even more about the heat if i was, you idiot.”), sometimes about the morning being too bright (“mister, it is twelve thirty-four right now.”) and mostly about sweat. today he decides to do all three.

gojo mumbles something incoherent when you accidentally nudge your legs into his, a childish whine how he missed you. “baby, i’m right h—”

“yeah, but . . oh, jesus christ,” his voice is awfully loud when he complains about the rays. “why is it so bright?”

“sun—”

and like always, in classic gojo satoru fashion, he never really lets you finish.

“oh eeewwugh . . i’m so sweaty,” your boyfriend has reached full consciousness by now and if it wasn’t the morning perhaps you’d think he was drunk from how dramatic he was being.

“you literally live in a penthouse, stupid, just go take a shower in one of your bathrooms.” and you go right back to your story. at the corner of your eye you can hear him pouting, crawling up to you and resting his chin on your thighs as he reads the synopsis of your book. satoru blows a raspberry, which you can feel on your hand and the spittle from his mouth makes you sigh; you think it’s due time to give your boyfriend some attention.

“story sounds boring,” you roll your eyes and put it to the side and the reveal of his stupidly cute face almost makes you cave. there’s a deep frown on his face because you’re insulting him so early in the morning and thinking your book is better than him, when really you’re just trying your best to reach your quota before book club saturday. eventually, you do give in after reading the starting sentences of chapter 18 over and over again and frankly digesting nothing, thinking only now of his body wash on your body.

it hasn’t exactly sunk in how you manage to be dating the gojo satoru, with all his cheeky smiles and inappropriate jokes (and timing too), that you are the only one to see him like this in the morning: all not what people says he is and yet he doesn’t hide it one bit from you. why is there any need to?

it’s you.

“don’t frown, ’toru,” you mumble, fingers that were previously turning pieces of paper now smoothen out the furrow of his eyebrows and the tautness of his expression. they’re soft against his skin, and while he’d like to commend it to the body wash he uses he thinks it’s just because it’s you. every inch of you is soft but not without good measure. you still stand up for yourself and sometimes your feet walk a little too much and he can feel the callouses on the balls of your feet when you accidently shock him under the duvet.

you are soft in the way you feel against him, whether it’s when you ask meekly for a kiss and when you hum under the scorching shower water as he lathers your body. you are soft when you laugh loudly and you have to squeeze his hand as you slap his back with the other, and other times soft as you chastise him for buying yet another big stock of your favourite strawberries.

soft is strong, attractive in satoru’s book, because even when your love resembles the first breath of hypnos, it still pulls and tugs and yanks at his heart to drown in you like a siren luring a sailor; right into the depths of the darkening sea where he’d let you take him anywhere even if it meant travelling blind.

“done sulking?” you asked as a mutter, hands now cupping his cheeks that possibly hold all of gojo’s cracks and insecurities and feelings together. they bring him up gently, sweaty back now quelled momentarily with a strong draft from the windows and it’s like his soul reaches the highest point of existence like he did eleven years ago.

you kiss him gently, lips moving in tandem with his as your hands lose themselves over his body and you huff in surprise when he straddles you. long body hunching over yours as you chase his lips like riko after stingrays and you both after suguru and him after a reformed jujutsu society and—

“whew.” is all he says when he pulls away and you’re equally out of breath and gojo swiftly switches your positions. there’s a big grin on his face from the attention you finally give him, “you love me, huh?”

you roll your eyes again at the stupid, harmless comment, shutting him up effectively when you lean down again and kiss him rougher this time, feeling his wet palms span the expanse of your back and up your shirt. gojo sits up and you follow like choreography, moaning softly when he tugs you closer and suddenly you think you should’ve made yourself a cup of cold tea instead.

“i love you,” it’s a whisper against your lips and you have influenced so much of satoru that he is also soft, “i love you so goddamn much.” you nod back, pulling away lightly and you swear you see okinawa again in his irises. they look just as beautiful as the day he lost his youth and gained wisdom and you still love him the same.

“i love you more than my book, promise.” you quip, forehead against his and eyes mapping out each lagoon to pond to sea in the multiplying blues of his eyes — they seem only to do that when he’s with you.

“you better!” he laughs softly into your mouth and he can taste the tiramisu from yesterday on your lips, and you can taste his intoxicating smile. the absence of you, the sunlight and the heat doesn’t matter much to satoru now, and will settle for being soft in the sheets of cloud nine. satoru will make you forget about the tea you’ve woken up early to make and all the nuances of the characters of your book and maybe the slowly rotting strawberries (you might still eat them).

“you better . .” it’s like a plea the way he repeats it but his doubts are silenced once you mumble i do against his skin like a promise, a vow, and satoru then decides he cannot wait to see you from across an aisle.

yeah, soft laced white would look terribly beautiful on you.

♡

[shawty-writes-a-little]

Study nights

Alex turner x wife!reader

Summary: Dad!alex does math, goes terrible wrong, hurt comfort

Word count: 3k

Warnings: cuss words? Math with dad ptsd?

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Notebooks and eraser dust were laid out all across the dinning table on a Saturday night, Alex was helping his seven year old son practise some basic math. “Three times five?” Alex questioned with a sigh as he crossed his arms, it had been over an hour and half by now.

“Uh-umm-“ James paused for a minute going through the table from the top to get to five, “Fourteen?”

“No” Alex exhaled rubbing his eyes “You’re close try again.” He said, both their patience wearing thin at this point. To James, his dad was a free pass for all mischief. Playing in the mud, ice cream very late at night, watching superhero movies, playing pretend superhero-basically everything his mum refused him. However in this moment James was one more question away from calling for mum.

“13!” James said confidently but the exclaiming tone faded with his dad’s frown.

“You know this James, just when we got started you knew the whole table, come on no try again.” Alex said sternly.

“I don’t know” James said furrowing his brows, in general like all kids did he hated math and had a saturation point, he had far reached it.

Alex got the hint that the boy was just being stubborn out of annoyance to do math now, he made him repeat the table after him twice and wrote some multiplication sums for him to practise. Just the fourth sum and James had tears brimming his eyes, he was too frustrated to continue solving sums. He could perhaps get out of it if he cried. “James you know this won’t fly with me.” Alex said.

“I want mumma I don’t want to do math with you!” James said pointing a dramatic finger at his dad as tears streamed down his face along with anger residing on his nose.

“You can cry all you want young man, I’ve got all night you’re not leaving until you finish this worksheet.” Alex spoke with a shrug not phased with the crying as he picked up the pencil James threw out the table. “Come on.” He said as he tapped the pencil on the worksheet for James to continue.

James too was too headstrong to submit and also too tired to do the worksheet anymore, “I won’t!” He sobbed even more so dramatically, as if Alex had unleashed hell upon the seven year old.

“Go on…throw your tantrum. Like I said I have all night we are not going anywhere until you finish this.” Alex said sternly, however just seven James knew eventually he’d win this with his ultimate rescue.

“Mumma!” He cried out for his mom loudly, who was just upstairs, unaware of the happenings of downstairs.

James kept on calling for her, “Your mumma is not going to finish this for you alright?” Alex said sharply as he crossed his arms he was responded with a rather loud screeching from James who was just as stubborn, it was a matter of who wins this tantrum now.

Rushing footsteps followed down the stairs along with y/n, “what is going on here?” She inquired however as she walked to the dinning table and saw the math worksheet she was quick to put it together.

At the sight of his mother, James cried even more to reflect the torment his dad inflicted upon him while doing maths, “Dada-“ James cried pointing at Alex very frustratedly and then hugged his mom.

Y/n shared a look of disappointment with Alex as she rubbed James’s back, “it’s alright” she said as James continued to cry.

“He’s throwing a fit on purpose you know” Alex told y/n irritatedly as he shifted in his seat on the dinning table, “typical.”

“Alex.” Y/n said furrowing her brows, she knew this tantrum throwing to get out of math was common for James, however she knew the last thing the boy needed was getting told off again “hey…hey take a deep breath” y/n instructed as she wiped his tears, “it’s alright.”

“Dada—he-he called me stupid-“ James said with a shrill cry hugging her mom again. As he frantically pointed at Alex on the dinning table.

“No I didn’t!” Alex defended crossing his arms leaning forward on his seat “I said he was being stupid.”

“He also called me a-a—little widiot!” James exclaimed, he sure did remember a lot for somebody who was forgetting the multiplication tables he did every night Alex thought to himself.

“You’re not an idiot James” y/n cooed as she coddled the boy in her arms, trying to soothe his crying. This was very unlike Alex, he was generally the more patient parent between the two of them whenever it came to dealing with James’s tantrums. With school work, alex and y/n had divided subjects, James was just in first grade so it wasn’t a gigantic academic burden however the arts and crafts assignments weren’t really y/n’s cup of tea. That is why Alex did them with James, quite frankly it seemed he enjoyed those. The father son duo were always found laughing and having fun in the living room on craft nights, perhaps math together wasn’t their thing.

“He’s overreacting I didn’t even say that much and he knows that you’ll soothe him making me look like the bad guy—which is exactly what he wants!” Alex reasoned pointing with his hands to assert clearance but frankly both Alex and James seemed having the same tantrum in different.

“And which one of you is 37?” Y/n shot back sharply as she carcasses James’s hair and soothed his crying. This would take a while and she didn’t want it to escalate longer so she took James up the stairs to his room. Y/n comforted James a bit more as Alex was left in a sour mood at the dining table down there, awaiting a bit of reasoning himself.

After some time she came back downstairs again, which didn’t seem to be such a long time, it didn’t take more than a few toys to distract a seven year old. However y/n’s 37 year old was a bit more stubborn, “What the fuck Alex?” She spoke, annoyed but patiently.

“What?” He replied with a scoff locking his jaw, a bit frustrated from the math facade himself and that y/n didn’t take his side. That kept him from admitting any guilt.

“Why do you do math with him if you don’t have the patience for it?” Y/n asked as she took the books off the table, along with the mess of pencils. Couldn’t really stand so much mess.

“It’s not about patience.” He spoke maintaining a mild tone unfolding his arms to be expressive of his frustration “Y/n, we’ve been doing multiplication together for over an hour, he makes the same mistake of adding the multiplication sums when there’s a carry forward one. And he purposely says tables wrong? When we started he knew what was 3 times 5 but just now when I asked him he said it wrong?!”

“That is exactly what you need patience for!” Y/n exclaimed pointing her hands to the air to exaggerate obviousness.

“No” Alex shook his head for a moment, “I am patient. He just thinks he can get out of studying if he throws a tantrum and that’s exactly what he did…and he’s successful thanks to you!”

“He is seven Alex.” Y/n said sternly “James does math with me and cries too, it’s not politics he is seven and has a capacity.” She spoke, it wasn’t unlike for the little boy to throw fits given math was, well, math.

“That is actually your fault. You have him believe that if he cries and has reached the end of his capacity of doing math he’ll get out of it.” Alex said with a shrug and air quoted ‘capacity’.

“That’s not true.” Y/n spoke as her eyes brows squinted together in a frown, “When he cries, I let him have his moment help him calm down and we try again unlike you-“

Alex stopped her midway already aware what she was going to say, “unlike me what huh? The bad guy?” He spoke making a sarcastically dramatic face. He believed that y/n had this perception of Alex being a bad guy whenever he was even remotely firm with James extremely contrary to how he usually was. He just tried to do what he’d seen y/n do. It seemed that y/n could get james to do math and clean his toys and all those seven year old revolving chores but since he was always the parent who he had more fun with, Alex being even a bit serious had two of them take it out of proportion. “Me trying to be a serious parent doesn’t make me a bad guy.”

“Who is saying that?” Y/n asked completely confused wherever that came from, he’d just spew to this conclusions of other people’s perception on him in his mind “Literally? I never even said that-“

“I know but it’s just that every time I try to be serious we always have this conversation as if only you’re entitled to it.” He reasoned to his wife. He didn’t particularly ever enjoy being the serious parent, he’d rather read James a story book and do silly voices with all characters in the book than make him do math. If it were upto Alex every day would arcade Sunday for him and James.

“But there is a certain way Alex.” Y/n sighed taking a slant across him at the dinning table, “You can’t just berate him to do math.”

“Oh please-“ He scoffed throwing his head back, he wouldn’t put that big of a word on it.

“No no don’t dismiss it. You calling your seven year old a little idiot for getting addition sums wrong? You know what that makes you?” She asked tilting her head.

“What?” He answered with an exhale already knowing it’d be something witty.

“A big idiot.” Y/n said with an unapologetic shrug.

“Are you serious love come on” Alex rolled his eyes at her crossing his arms again, sometimes y/n could really tell where James got all his dramatic mannerisms from.

“Yes, look, you and I weren’t Einsteins when we were seven. He is just doing all of this for the first time, you have to be patient, if you call him names he’ll just hate the subject and also studying with you.” Y/n reasoned softly as she saw Alex’s stubborn frown soften a bit, “And he has his own frustrations too you know? He calls Caleb from school his number two best friend because his number one best friend is you. this other day there was this silly thing with Caleb, they had to pick partners for this one game in their class but Caleb didn’t pick James for his partner so he was a bit upset about it and then you, his number one best friend calls him a little idiot?”

Alex’s face softened and was soon immensely regretful of it, he was often a part of first grade drama debrief but he’d probably missed this Caleb one, even if it hadn’t happened Alex still felt remorseful of even talking to James in the wrong tone. With a sigh he deadpanned his face with both his hand, “I feel awful, fuck, did he really call me his number one best friend?” he and looked at y/n again taking his hands off his face for a quick second.

“Yeah…” she sighed, James and Alex…both her big heart big tantrum boys. She hated seeing either upset, she shifted from her seat to Alex’s barely situated into his lap yet when Alex already had his arms locked around her waist. He felt bad for being dismissive to her a few moments ago too when she was trying to be the voice of reason, y/n smiled softly interlacing her fingers with his “Look it’s alright…everybody has their moments. As did you and it doesn’t make you any less of a best dad in the world. Yes you’re maybe a little rigid, but that’s fine you were only trying and it came from a good place just not the right way. There are no tags on being a parent, you are a wonderful one who’s James’s number one best friend.”

Alex hummed, deeply comprehending every word she told him because it did do a bit to make him feel slightly less worse, he got over his insecurity of being the unserious parent, she was right about having no tags on being a certain kind of parent. There are no proportions to it and he felt stupid for feeling as such. He looked at y/n for a moment just in awe of how someone could he so excessively understanding. He didn’t even have to voice his feelings out exactly but it’s like she caught them unsaid, “I am sorry…” he trailed off, looking down at their intertwined hands and his other by her waist holding her close. The domesticity of her made him feel so grounded. “Thank you for this—seriously you are life’s biggest gift to me and then James, he is your biggest gift to me. Being a dad, it’s my most cherished thing. Even that I do it wrongly sometimes but you’re here, showing me the right, thank you, y/n truly.” He spoke as he leaned forward a bit planting his lips onto hers, lengthening the kiss as he held her face with his hand.

“You are welcome.” She said as the smile on her face as she pulled away. Her smile only brightened with what he told her, running her fingers fingers through his hair as he held her close, “You’ve got some apologising to do to a certain someone too yeah?”

“Yeah” he nodded with a firm urge to make amends, even if James was seven. Alex wasn’t going to let his small whims go unattended, especially when he was at fault.

-

Softly knocking on James’s room to announce his presence Alex opened the door in a bit as the boy sat on the rug playing with the Legos. Sitting down next to him Alex took a few legos in his hands too but James was quick to take them away. Someone knew well to hold a grudge. “Hey buddy.” Alex said softly letting go off the legos not wanting to offend James.

James just let out a loud and dramatic huff, letting his dad know he’s still upset. “I don’t want to speak to you!” James said with a shrug and turned to the side with his back facing his dad.

“Well…” Alex trailed off and got up to sit in front of James again, folding his legs “I am not here to speak to you either.” Alex said masking the boy’s attitude “Did you know mumma called me a big idiot because of you?”

James stifled a giggle and continued the upset face act as he didn’t look up at his dad, showing his affronted mood “Mumma never lies” James said still playing with his Legos.

“Ouch.” Alex chuckled a bit at the boy’s sass but couldn’t really blame him “probably deserved that one” he mumbled. “I just came to speak to my number one best friend.” Alex stated as James looked up at his dad, his dropped face instantly brightening up, “was wondering if he’d be interested to be my pillow fight partner against mumma…” Alex trailed off with a dramatic sigh.

“Yes I’d be interested!” James exclaimed almost immediately, his number one best friend voluntarily wanting to be his partner in a game really countered petty first grade school drama and math frustrations for him.

“Oh you would?!” Alex asked matching his enthusiasm and held him up in his arms, throwing him to the air once, making James burst into laughter “Can I ask you for a favour? Forgive me? I am really really really sorry for what I called you, I made you cry and I feel so awful about it.”

“It’s alwight dada!” James shrugged with a giant smile, children were so easy to make amends with it was so sweet.

“Did you know when I was your age I couldn’t even remember 8’s table. Ask grandma…it was so difficult for me. But you? You are the smartest boy I know! I mean you do some addition problems so fast I can barely keep up!” Alex told him enthusiastically.

James’s face was graced with a giant smile as he jump hugged his dad out of joy. Alex felt at peace as he held James in his arms tightly with his one hand caressing his hair. He looked up to find y/n leaning by the doorframe and smiled even more, “I see someone’s made up.” Y/n remarked at the sight.

The two pulled away and shared a mischievous look to their partnering up of pillow fight against y/n, having been in this situation before y/n knew some mischief was brewing up against her. “Hey hey now” she stood straight in an alert stance “don’t you even dare boys!” She exclaimed, as the night ended in pillow fights leading to tickles leaving the house full of laughter.

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HI! If you gave this a read, thank you <3333

Feel free to request something, feedback is always appreciated!!

[munsonsreputation]

I THINK THERES BEEN A GLITCH

CHAPTER FIVE: FASTENING MYSELF TO YOU WITH A STITCH

↢ chapter four | series masterlist | chapter six ↣

🎧 soundtrack

steve harrington x fem!baker + artist

word count: [20.5K]

warnings: no use of y/n, cursing, self deprecation (are we surprised???) overall fluff

summary: things get heavy with the farmers market making its quick approach — thoughts gnawing away at you and pressure building in your bones. slowly but surely, you’re back at square one, lost in the labyrinth, thinking that the plane was going down. but what happens when Steve comes along in the midst of the storm and mess?

There was a sugary sweet aroma that clouded your apartment — a mixture of freshly chopped fruit that simmered in lemon juice and the overwhelming heaps of sugar and vanilla you mixed together all day.

Racks of fresh baked cookies cooled on a wire rack on the counters while the next batch baked in the oven. You had gone as far as to clearing out most of your fridge space — pre-filled piping bags littering the shelves along with the rest of the precut ingredients you had prepared throughout the week.

Somehow, no amount of planning and prep seemed to matter because you hadn’t anticipated being responsible for a few hundred batches of sweets for Saturday’s Farmers Market. Perhaps you should’ve posed a few more questions and concerns before agreeing on the spot, but you knew you weren’t going to leave Nancy hanging.

She was always so good to you… welcoming, big-hearted, and most of all supportive. Even if she didn’t ask, you would’ve volunteered yourself the second she brought up that she would be hosting the event.

If there was any way you could help, you wouldn’t even think about hesitating.

However, the ache in your limbs and the tiredness in your eyes were speaking a whole nother tune than your heart and mind. You spent the entire week in and out of the grocery store picking up pounds and pounds of flour and sugar — even the sweet lady at the market had run out of fresh eggs to sell you, having already picked up a few dozen days prior.

There were too many baking dishes and itty bitty teaspoons littering the bottom of your kitchen sink.

Recipes that normally took you an hour to bake had tripled with the increasing measurements.

Grocery store runs became more and more frequent with you forgetting to pick up that one very important and vital ingredient.

The menu you had scribbled down on a random piece of paper had been crossed off and rewritten and crossed off again more times than you could count. At this point it was barely legible, the black ink a jumbled mess of your handwriting that only you could understand.

Safe to say you were a mess… literally and figuratively.

There was a tingling feeling in your bones, an impatient restless prickle that flooded your senses in a way that was voicing to you that you were on the verge of a breakdown in the middle of your kitchen if you didn’t step away.

“Fuck this!”  You hissed to yourself sharply.

You reached for the knob, turning it to shut off the heat completely and pulled the bubbling fruit compote away from the burner. The floorboards creaked under your heavy footsteps taking you away from the kitchen and into the living room where you fell against the couch cushions, finally letting your back rest after being on your feet all day.

“It’s gonna be okay… everything is fine, I’m just being dramatic.” You whispered reassuringly to yourself with fanning hands trying to get yourself to cool down. 

But you and your consciousness knew you weren’t fooling anyone… not even yourself.

It wasn’t a foreign feeling at all — you had been here many times before staring up at the ceiling and trying to ground yourself in any shape or form. But it just so happened that you hadn’t felt like this in awhile, maybe because of how busy life had become with your new friendships and the less time you spent worrying. 

You had done your best to keep it at bay, even when it came to your artist’s block, you never let it overwhelm you like this If anything you accepted it and waited it out, but now that you knew someone was counting on you… it just had to come back and bite you in the ass.

“I can’t do this!” You whined dramatically, standing up and snatching the phone off the coffee table, dialing in the numbers and pressing it tightly to your ear.

With every ring you paced back and forth from end to end of your living room. The cord pulled taut with each step you took before it was slack and taut again.

‘Hey this is the Buckley residence, sorry we can’t come to the phone right now… you should probably leave a message and we’ll try to get back to you but no promises!’

You groaned, pinching your eyes shut as you stood in place waiting for the beep to come but you really wished she would have picked it up and sounded off her lovely voice.

“Hey, Robs, it’s me,” you knew she would be concerned right away when she heard this, your usual bubbly greeting gone and instead replaced with dullness.

“I’m having a really shitty day right now and maybe you can give me a call when you get home? Love you and hope to talk soon.”

It never got this bad, to the point where you felt like you couldn’t move from where you were and even if you wanted to, you had no idea how.

The thought of letting someone you cared about down made your stomach twist and turn. You didn’t have many people in your life, let alone genuine friends. But that all changed when you met Robin and soon after her friends became yours.

Nancy trusted you and was counting on you to be there for her — to show up the way for her the same way she did you. And sweet Will was also counting on you, the boy pitched you the idea and you smiled in his face promising him that it wasn’t only great but that you’d be there to help.

You could already imagine the disappointment in their eyes if you had to tell them you weren’t sure you were the right fit just barely two days before the event. It would totally shatter them, maybe not completely, but enough for them to never ask you for anything ever again because you’d only let them down.

Even when you didn’t mean to, it always happened, and here you were about to repeat it all over again. Losing the people who genuinely cared about you the same way you cared about them just because you couldn’t get out of your own head.

All of your life you had believed that everything good and right just ended up breaking, burning, and ending — it was always your fate. 

DING!

“Oh my god!”

You scrambled off the cushions in a haste, the phone toppling over onto the floor as you ran into the kitchen and threw on the oven mitts as quickly as you could. The smell of burning was only faint, the timer you had set on the microwave beeping two more times before shutting up.

You whipped the oven door opened, a big gush of heat enveloping the air whilst you reached in and grabbed the pan. Frantically searching your kitchen for any free space on the already cluttered counters, you made room on the kitchen table, placing it down on a dish towel to prevent it from developing a heat stain.

Much to your surprise, the cookies were not at all burnt: the colorful sprinkles of funfetti still remained vibrant embedded within the vanilla sugar cookies. You wedged the metal spatula underneath, checking and making sure they were perfectly golden, which in fact they were.

“Fuck my life.” You huffed, throwing off the mitt and raking your hands through your scalp.

The pressure was building, the weight on your chest feeling like the whole town was counting on you when you knew deep down they weren’t. The show would still go on with or without you but it just was principal – being inconsiderate or not.

The phone began to ring, muffled sounds from against your living room carpet as it had fallen over in the midst of the haste. It was probably Robin, concerned about the voicemail you left minutes ago.

“Hey sweet—”

“Steve!”

It was supposed to be a greeting of pleasant surprise not expecting him to be on the other line, despite spending the last week non stop on the phone with each other when you both were free. But all Steve heard was panic and distress, your warm and surprised hello replaced with everything opposite of that, making his mind race.

“Woah, hey, did something happen? Are you okay?”

You couldn't spare him from the truth or not, and it didn’t really matter because he’d end up finding out somehow. You sighed, peeking back into the disaster of your kitchen before looking down at your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. 

“I… well, kinda, not really, I don’t really know.”

“Do you need me to drive down there? I can come right now.”

There was shuffling in the background, his bed squeaking from getting up from it and the sound of his car keys being swiped off the counters. It had you backtracking as quickly as possible, regretting being so vague and making him worry like this knowing he was so far away.

While the thought of him coming down to see you after a week apart sounded enticing, it would be entirely selfish to let him do so. You weren’t Steve’s responsibility to take care of, no matter how much you felt inside for him and how his presence could put you at ease right about now.

For now, you’d settle for the next best thing: him over the phone. 

“Wait, no, that’s not what I mean, I’m sorry…” You squeezed your eyes shut, sniffling a deep breath in, “I just—just was having a really bad day and then I almost burnt the cookies I had in the oven. I’m not hurt, I promise.”

There was a deep sigh at the end of your sentence, the one where he could picture your shoulders falling defeatedly and that terrible frown he hated to see on your face. He could imagine it would be the same sight as when you sat across from him at the diner and felt so horrible about yourself.

If only you were a block away, he’d be at your doorstep in a heartbeat ready to tackle whatever was going on like it was his only duty in the world. To be quite honest he hated the distance between the both of you, like some sort of curse that only you two had to go through.

Way to go for Dustin and Suzies long distance problems.

There was another squeak, his back hitting his bed again before he spoke. “What’s going on?” 

You shook your head, not wanting to dump all of it on him after the day he probably had. “N-nothing. I’m just being dramatic and getting in my head about the farmers market thing.”

There was a migraine already coming to life from the pulse on your temples just thinking about it again. 

“C’mon tell me what’s bothering you.” He pressed, unwavering in his efforts to help you get it off your chest. 

You took another deep breath, falling back onto the couch cushions and this time ready let all the pent up stress go by finally telling someone the truth. 

“I don’t know if I can do it… I mean, I didn’t anticipate for it to be this stressful, you know. Which is stupid of me, I mean what did I think it was gonna be? A walk in the park? I swear, I’m not lazy or anything, I just didn’t realize—”

He cut in before you could even think about finishing that sentence, scoffing incredulously, “Stop it, you don’t have to tell me you’re not lazy because I know you’re not.” 

His voice was soothing and sure, not a hint of uncertainty behind it that made you think otherwise. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at your own negativity that you promised yourself you would stop doing but would always have a habit of. 

“Saying it out loud makes me feel like I am.” You attempted to laugh at yourself to lighten the spirits, but Steve let out a disapproving grunt and you almost see the visual of him shaking his head. 

“You’re such a hard worker, I mean, that’s why Nance picked you. She knew you could do this and I do too.”

Even over the phone he never failed to make your heart melt and cheeks blush. Call yourself cheesy or whatever, but he was the greatest pick me up on days like these. 

Staring up at your ceiling you began getting lost in him despite the lack of visuals. “I kid you not, I think I went back to the grocery store like five whole times. My arms are going to be ripped with how many pounds of flour and sugar I’ve been picking up.” 

He chuckled, trying to picture it in his head. Poor you having to lug bags and bag of flour from the store all the way to your car then back home. 

“You know you could’ve called, I would have come down and helped sooner.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. You’re already doing a lot at work and—”

“Cupcake, I categorize tapes. My job is far from stressful.” His tone went stoic, pretending like he didn’t know what you were talking about.

Steve did more than just categorized tapes. He dealt with the horrible and impatient customers, even the rowdy teenagers who kept wandering back to the adult film section. He put up with a whole lot at work — but you were never someone he had to deal with.

A relief of sorts is what you were – someone he’d call or run to with no hesitation because it just felt right. No obligations, no whys or hows,  just because in his bones, you felt like that person for him. 

His almost.

You’re the one he looked forward to calling after a long hard day knowing that you would be able to make him forget all about it. He could lay there in his bed, eyes shut with the phone glued to his ear and you on the other end of it. Maybe it wasn’t the best substitute for sleep, but in his eyes it was the best rest he could ever get if you weren’t here laying beside him like before. 

Still, your apologies never ceased, too concerned for his own wellbeing. “But you’re on your feet all day and you’re really tired and—”

Steve cut you off, stopping your unnecessary yet thoughtful concern for him. 

“And I still would’ve come down even if I was all of those things. You don’t have to worry about bothering me, you know you never do.” He said it sincerely, a happy and eased way about it like there was no other way to explain it. 

“How do you always do that?” You murmured, voice finally settling into a more relaxed mood the longer you spent away from the chaos.  

“Do what?”

You wiggled around, tapping your fingers against the phone, “You know what I need to hear even when I don’t say it outloud.”

Steve had always been great at that and for someone who claimed to never be good with words, he just knew exactly what to say. He’d like to think it was because the kids needed constant advice in their teenage lives and he came to be better at guiding and explaining things to them. 

But you never asked for advice nor did he feel like you ever needed it. Everything that he’d spew to you came from the bottom of his heart, things that he always wanted to tell you without reservation. 

He pretended to think for a second before replying obviously,  “Hmm, maybe it’s because I care about you?” 

“You care about me?” 

His laugh echoed lightly, thinking you were playing around because how could you not know? Your silence answered his question, and he just knew he had to tell you how serious he was. 

“Of course I do!” You could tell he sat back up on his bed, voice a little stronger now as he continued, “I care about you and I can’t stand hearing you talk so badly about yourself when I’m head over—”

A loud ring erupted through the receiver, a second call on the other line completely cutting Steve off as he was about to put it all out on the table. 

“Shit!”  You winced pulling the phone back and rubbing your ear from where it was ringing. 

“What!?” Steve shouted loud enough to hear with the phone still pulled away from you. 

Looking down at the display, the last name ‘BUCKLEY’ illuminated in bright orange. 

“Umm, Robin is calling… I left her a voicemail and she’s probably worried and I—”

Steve let out a breath of relief, sighing out as he settled back on the springs of his bed. “You can put me on hold, it’s okay.”

“O-okay, sorry, just a minute.” You squeaked, switching the line with your brain still processing what he was on the verge of saying. 

“Hey Ro—”

You couldn’t even get the full greeting out before her voice came to you rushed — you could imagine that’s exactly what Steve heard when you picked up his call a few minutes ago. 

“Oh thank god! I thought something bad happened for a second. Are you alright?” She asked worriedly.

“Yeah! Just kinda had a mini breakdown, but I promise that I’m—”

“Do you want me to come down? I can call Steve or Nance and get a ride there.” She offered quickly without hesitation. 

You truly had the best friends in the entire world… how did you manage to get so lucky?

“No! No! I swear I’m okay… it was just some stupid thoughts about the farmers market thing. You know the stress and whatever.” You reassured her, hoping she wasn’t too strung up on it. 

“Are you sure?” She pressed again just for good measure, “I know Steve would drop everything for me and him to come down and help you.” Her voice lifted with a bit of teasing that you caught. 

You smiled self indulgently, happy to know you had people who were willing to come all the way down here to be with you — it showed that they really cared, and even if you didn’t need them to, hearing it outloud warmed your anxious heart. 

“You’re so sweet, Ro…but I swear, I’m okay! Steve actually called me.” 

“He did?” She gasped. 

She wasn’t actually too surprised considering that these days after scoring your number all Steve would talk about was getting home from work to give you a call before you headed to bed. 

The next morning she would be bombarded with him going on and on about the conversation you two had — little things like what you had for dinner, a stray cat you started feeding, entirely mundane yet sappy things that had him hooked because you were the star of those stories. 

Nevertheless she loved hearing about it — a perfect start to her morning, lunch break, and the entire shift of the day before doing a full repeat the next day. 

“Yeah, he’s on the other line right now.” 

A squeal ensued from her end, one that made a smile pop upon your features because her happiness always had its special way of radiating and lifting up everyone around her.

“Oh perfect! Merge the call!”

“Are you sure? I can tell him I’ll call him back later.” You offered, wanting her to know she would always have your full undivided attention. 

“You can merge it! I actually have something important I really want to tell the both of you if it’s okay?” She said making your mind race with a million different things she could be planning to tell you and Steve if it was this important. 

“Of course, give me a sec.” 

You heard her “mhm,” before you switched lines again and this time Steve’s whistling came through the receiver.

“S-sorry, she was checking in.” You cleared your throat, not doing a great job of masking the croak. 

“Was she jumpy?” He joked, knowing she had a habit of doing that all the time. 

“A little,” you snickered, “she wants me to merge the call. Has something important to tell us.”

“Okay, cool, yeah that’s fine. She called out of work today so I didn’t get to talk to her all day.”

Robin calling out of work was a rarity, sure the job was a little boring, but working with her best friend compensated for that. Steve was usually up to date in advance whether she would be calling out or not – so getting to work today and not seeing her was incredibly weird. 

You cleared your throat once more, fingers twirling around the cord as you spoke kindly, not wanting to let what he did for you go unnoticed. But Steve never did things to be thanked for, you knew that for sure, but still, you would cherish him for taking the time out of his day to be there for you. 

“But umm, I really appreciate what you said earlier, y’know… encouraging me and whatnot.” Your voice was soft, filled with a mixture of gratitude and warmth. 

“You know all you have to do is ask and I’ll be your biggest supporter.” Steve responded happily, making sure that it stuck with you. 

Your fingers hovered over the merge button, contemplating your choice of words before you decided to let it go at the last second. “And Steve?” 

“Hmm?”

“I-I care about you too…a lot, just so you know.” 

You said with an oath-like-whisper hearing his breath hitch with a thick swallow. Clearly he was a little taken aback by your sudden leap of boldness that was usually hidden under your bashfulness that he found endearing, nonetheless. Before Steve could say anything else, you clicked the merge button, a quick static ringing through the receiver before it cleared up. 

A joyful Robin came through the other side. “Can you guys hear me, alright?” 

Steve coughed, trying to steady his heart that was pumping faster as he hung onto your words for dear life. He tried to think of something else in the meantime, knowing he needed to at least survive this phone call before he got to pace his room for the rest of the night and replay the words in his head. 

“Y-yeah.” 

“Yuppers!” 

You obviously did a better job at trying to seem nonchalant.

Robin squealed, the sounds of her getting comfortable on her couch filling the line before she spoke again. 

“I have some really big major news to spill but—”

“But first tell me why you called out of work, dingus? I had to deal with Keith all alone today!” Steve retorted. 

She scoffed loudly, “God, do you ever shut up and listen, Harrington? It’s a part of my story.” 

“Wait, you called out of work because of this big major news?” You asked suspiciously. 

“Yeah…well actually no! I called out of work for a reason that led up to the big major news.” She informed you both. 

“Oh! Well, whenever you’re ready!” You chirped ready for the news. 

“Okay so remember Vickie?” 

Steve clicked his tongue a few times, “Isn’t she still dating that jerk from Purdue?” 

“Not since last month!” 

“What happened between them?” You wondered, not knowing much about Vickie and her history with Robin. 

There was a heavy sigh before a devastating confession. “He cheated on her.”

“Ouch.” You grimaced, biting down on your lip. 

“What an asshole.” Steve muttered. 

“Exactly! But anyway, we ran into each other this morning at the bus stop and we kinda just hit it off and we spent the day together then she kissed me!” 

You gasped and Steve cursed. The both of you were shocked by not only hearing about poor Vicky’s cheating situation, but on top of all that, the fact that she and Robin had swapped spit after how many months of pining. 

“You blew me off for a girl!?”

“Oh shut up Steve, as if you didn’t do it to me before either!” 

If you weren’t so flabbergasted, you’d make a comment about how the two still fought like siblings even over the phone, but you didn’t, too intrigued and wanting to know more details. 

“Did she initiate the kiss?”

“Yes!” 

“Like a peck kiss or like a full fledged make out kiss?” You pressed.

“I-I don’t know! Maybe a little bit of both? I was just following her lead, okay? Last time I kissed a person was back in sixth grade when Donny Humberford dared me to… it was unpleasant and quite honestly was my awakening that I never liked boys.” 

You giggled as Steve went for his round of questions, the two of you taking turns like it was some sort of interrogation. 

“Well, c’mon tell us, was this kiss at least pleasant.” 

Robin sighed a sigh that sounded straight out of a rom-com, you could picture her kicking back her legs and looking so enamored by just the memory itself. 

“The most pleasant kiss I think I’ll ever get.” She sing-songed cheerfully.

“What about if Phoebe Cates kissed you?” He challenged.  

“Okay, woah, that’s totally unfair! Vickie and Phoebe are both hot babes!”

You jumped in again, this time with a very important question that needed to be answered. “Did you foot do the pop up thing?” 

Stuttered words came from Steve, who had no idea what you were talking about. “The what? Is that some sort of sex thing?” 

Robin snorted. “Ew no!” 

“Steve!” You shrieked, covering your face. 

“What?! You said foot and thing in the same sentence and that makes me think of some really gross stuff that I don’t even think the rated X section has.”

Robin gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth, “You’re totally right! Wait, do you think Keith stole all the foot fetish tapes?” She speculated seriously. 

“What the hell is wrong with your boss?” Your face twisted up in horror. 

“He’s a creep.”

Steve was next with a considerate yet weird warning, “Please, if you ever come to visit us, do not wear opened toed shoes at the store.”

“Jesus Christ, yeah, I’ll make sure I remember that. Anyways, the foot thing!” 

“Oh yeah, the foot thing!” Robins snapped gleefully. 

“Would someone just explain the goddamn foot thing?” Steve complained. 

“You know! When you kiss someone you really really like and your foot does that little pop up thing because you’re enjoying it because it’s with them.” You tried your best to explain. 

“Guys don’t really do it though… they pop something else, if you know what I mean.” Robin cracked with a laugh before Steve choked on his spit at the vulgary. 

The line reduced to chortles, you and Robin dying at the joke, while Steve couldn’t help but smile, waiting for you both to settle. 

“And you want to call me filthy?”  He pointed out when it finally died down. 

“No but seriously, she kissed me out of nowhere and I didn’t get the chance to really even process it and I’m just realizing that and, holy shit! I kissed Vickie!” 

“She actually kissed you first but okay.” Steve corrected, though Robin didn’t seem to catch it. 

“Vickie and I’s lips were pressed together! I felt her mouth on mine! Oh my god! I kissed Vickie!”

It wasn’t long before the call was filled with her squeals and screams, Robin completely forgetting about you and Steve while she remembered it all in her own world. Her heavy panting filled the line then, taking a breather from the screams and her recollection of every detail. 

“Honey, do you wanna process that alone?” You suggested indulgently, hoping she would take you up on the offer because it really was a special moment you wanted her to process. 

Thankfully she didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, I gotta go!”

“Bye-bye now, don’t dream too much about it.” Steve sing-songed before she hung up with a heavy clunk. 

The static rings through for a millisecond as she disconnects, before you and Steve are alone once again. Good-natured and proud laughter comes from both of you, so ecstatic for your friend. 

“That’s adorable! I’m so happy for her!” You gushed with a squeal. 

“I should’ve known something was up! She never calls out of work like that and doesn’t give a reason why.”

“I bet you she’s screaming into her pillow right now.” 

“Or she could be pacing her room with her face in a pillow and screaming.” He added as you both agreed that it would be a very possible ‘Robin-thing-to-do.’

Steve seized the moment with a question of his own. “Have you ever done the foot thing?” 

Laughter came out the second he finished the query, you just couldn’t help the fact that he was asking about that all of a sudden – not that you minded, but you just never imagined Steve Harrington asking about a corny foot pop. 

“Now all I can think about is foot fetish.” You fake gagged. 

“You’re so dirty minded! Okay, okay, has your foot ever done the pop thing…that’s better?”

“Much better,” You crooned, thinking for a moment about all the times in which you’ve been kissed with nothing sticking out, “And, no, I don’t think it’s ever happened to me.” 

“Really?” He sounded surprised, as if it was some sort of shock that you’ve never experienced such a thing. 

“The foot pop is, like, totally memorable, trust me.” 

Steve was half regretful of bringing up such a dumb question, hoping it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. The last thing he wanted was to remind you of your ex that he already knew you weren’t too fond of. 

“Well who knows? Maybe one day right?” He put it out there into the universe, crossing his fingers that his optimist came through the way he wanted. 

Your small laugh was all it took for him to know everything was just right. “One day.” 

Perhaps it was the hour and the lack of sleep you had been getting for the past couple of days, but you let out a yawn, apologizing in the middle of it as Steve chuckled and told you not to worry about it.  

“I should probably go… I need to get started on the cupcakes and package the cookies up.” You groaned, reality hitting as you looked around your place that was still a complete disaster, and didn’t magically clean itself up. 

“Why don’t you call it a night huh? I’m sure you worked all day.” 

Steve’s voice filled with the same concern as the beginning of the call, still not understanding why you were putting yourself through so much when you were already doing the best you could.  

“Been up and moving since 7 a.m..” You yawned again, rubbing your eyes. 

Steve shook his head, not that you could see him, but he was sure you must have felt his discontent for overworking yourself through the phone. 

“You did so much work, you deserve a break.” He repeated sternly. 

You rubbed your forehead, knowing he was more than right. “Yeah but then that means I’ll still have more work to do tomorrow and—”

“And I’ll come and pick you up and we can bake the rest of the stuff at my place. I’ll help and it’ll be a nice change of scenery for you.” 

Steve was notorious for doing and saying things without using his head, oftentimes leading to horrible and awkward situations. But when it came to you, more times than not, everything he did and said was without thinking of himself and more for the best interest of you. 

He knew you’d been bending over backwards for this event and the last thing he wanted you to do was go at it all alone. Steve knew you were more than capable of doing it all by yourself, but he didn’t want you to – not when he was there willing and able.

“Don’t you have the morning shift tomorrow?” You suspected, having both his and Robin’s schedule memorized by heart. 

“Well Robin owes me so not anymore.” He retorted cheekily. 

Sure, maybe he should have given Robin a break considering kissing Vicky to be an incredible milestone, but if he could survive a shift alone with Keith so could she. Plus, it was for you, so Robin couldn't be too upset if she wanted to. 

“If you’re going to call out I don’t want to make you do more work.” 

“You’re not making me, I want to.” 

He’d do anything when it came to you without even second guessing it. There was something deep down inside of him hoping that you knew and understood that because he needed you to. 

“You’re too good to me.” Your chest rose and fell, a happy breath that was a glimmer of hope to his ears that you knew. 

He took his own breath, glancing over at the alarm clock on his bedside table, “Get some rest and I’ll be over in the morning.” 

“I could drive there if you want? Save you some gas and let you sleep in a bit more.”

“I know you could, but I want to. So please?”

Why Steve was so generous when it came to you, you’d never really understand considering the mess you were. A part of you liked to think that you were the mess he wanted and there was nothing more you wanted to be than his. 

“Y-yeah, sure, thank you.” You stuttered, gripping the phone tightly 

“Get some sleep okay? You deserve it.” He cooed, a smile leaking through his voice that you could see even over the phone. 

“I will.” You promised to smile at the thought of getting to see him so soon. 

“Night sweetheart.”

“Night Stevie.”

Steve shouldn’t like the idea of waking up at the crack of dawn and proceeding to drive to a town an hour away on the one time he called out of work — but when it’s Roane and he’s coming for you, he loved the journey.

He felt more lively than ever even if he had woken up ten minutes before his alarm and ran out of instant coffee to make before he left. All of the little inconveniences didn't matter when he was taking the roads that led straight to you.

There’s a vast difference between the town he grew up in and yours. Hawkins should feel like home, and at times, it really is — his closest friends are there, but then again his parents always come back eventually. And when they do, it feels less than that — like him playing a game of hide and seek trying to avoid them until they go out of town again.

Sometimes there were moments where he just wished that they both packed up their things and relocated permanently so he could stop banking on the moment where they finally woke up and made an attempt to be an actual family — the one he still yearned for even after all of these years of disappointments.

It’s the harsh truth he’s had to face since he was a young teen realizing that they’d always come home, but never for him. A feeling of cruelty that reminded him that no matter how patient he was, his parents would never notice the way they’ve neglected him through the years.

He kept quiet, stayed hidden in plain sight when they were around knowing they could never make up for it — the damage had been done and his home was never going to be home as long as they were around.

But in hindsight, that’s why he enjoyed visiting Roane these days.

He didn’t have to hide or worry about running into one of his father’s friends from the office or his mother’s girlfriends, trying to uphold a conversation with them that he clearly didn’t want to be in. He knew close to nothing about his parents and their whereabouts and didn’t want to unless it was them coming home early and him needing to leave for the next few days.

In Roane there’s no one he’s hiding from… just someone he’s desperate to get to.

But of course an early morning in town isn’t complete without a pit stop at Taylor’s. He’d be damned if he showed up at your doorstep at this hour without a dozen cronuts and your favorite coffee.

He was welcomed with the chime above the door, inhaling the smell of freshly ground coffee and baked breads, a type of homeyness that could never be replicated unless it was coming from your kitchen. 

Like second nature he knew what to get, an order of assorted cronuts, your rose latte with an extra pump of vanilla syrup, and his very plain iced mocha with an extra shot of caffeine to get him through, but he doubted he really needed it when you’d be there beside him the whole day.

“It’s going to be $19.89.” The cashier announced, ringing up the total and he nodded, reaching into his back pocket.

Flipping open his wallet, there was a giddy smile that spilled on his face. The yellow notepad paper folded up and placed within the clear pocket of the billfold, your handwriting reading ‘to: stevie <3’

It’s probably the worst way to store his most prized possession, but the damn thing got him through long work days and even longer ones at the arcade when Max and El begged for $5 to spare — he doesn’t mind them asking if every time he opens his wallet, he’s greeted by something that reminds him of you.

He probably looked like a psycho taking too long to grab a $20 bill with him distracted. Finally sliding the cash across the counter, he waited for his change before tucking it back into his wallet and stuffing the receipt into his pocket and stepping off to the side waiting for the drinks to be done.

“Steven!”

The greeting came from the woman walking through the front door, the chime of the bell above her not at all audible with her voice bellowing within the small space. She wore a big big smile, arms held out wide as she approached him.

He cracked a grin, letting her pull him in as he hugged her warmly. “Dorothea.”

She was just as lively at seven in the morning as she is at ten at night at the diner.

“I haven’t seen you around in a while. You two haven’t stopped seeing each other already have you?” She lifted a weary brow, voice laced with a bit of teasing. 

Steve shook his head, shyly smiling at her insinuation of what you two had going on. “I’ve just been working a lot, these days. I’m going to see her right now, just came by to pick up some breakfast for us.” He gestured towards the counter of packaged goodies. 

“Aren’t you such a gentleman? You know if I could clone ya, I would!” She pinched his cheek playfully.

God, she reminded him of his great grandmother he hadn’t seen since he was seven.

“That’s uh…very sweet of you. Thank you.” Steve smiled sincerely, hoping he didn’t look too strained. 

She gripped onto his arm, squeezing as she smiled from ear to ear. “Well tell her I said hello! She hasn’t been to the diner in a while, must be locked up in her apartment painting or something.”

“That and baking.” Steve replied with a proud grin. “She’s in charge of a booth at the Hawkins market tomorrow.”

“No kidding?” She tilted her head, strikingly, always amazed at the amount of things you were able to juggle. 

“You should come, she’ll be happy to see some familiar faces around.” He extended the invite warmly, cursing himself for not having a flyer on hand to give her in case. 

“Order for Steve.”  

He gave her another smile, “Hope we see you there,”

“I’ll try my best, pumpkin! You two enjoy your breakfast, now.”

And he was off, back on track to his destination with the goods secured knowing it would make your morning better even if you were not so much an early bird. It’s little things like this that he knew he could do to make your day a little less stressful especially since he anticipated plenty of baking for the next few hours.

But he hoped with his presence you’d find it in yourself to not put so much pressure on yourself. He was there for a reason, wanted to give you a hand and take some of it off your plate so that you could relax a bit.

Sure, he didn’t really know much about baking, but he was willing to learn for you.

The drive to your place was short, not too far away from the cafe. Your apartment complex was tucked away from the main parts of town, hidden just a few miles away from Taylor’s and the diner.

It was a quiet yet cozy neighborhood, everything about it screamed your name. 

Flowers of all kinds littered the boulevard, bright yellows and pinks peeking out through the tall green grass and dancing in the sun, accompanied with a light breeze of air as he drove by.

Stray kittens and puppies roamed the sidewalk like community pets, nuzzling up against the ankles of children who walked hand in hand with their parents and siblings towards the bus stop for school.

Tall oak trees that had been standing for years lined the sidewalks housing birds and their babies on branches where they also got the best view of the sunrise at their peaks.

Elderly couples mingled with others, dressed in their cozy morning attire and some still in their pajamas hoping to get some exercise in the summer nice weather that would soon be replaced with autumn.

Quite frankly this place held everything and more that Steve wanted for his life. The atmosphere filled with some sort of magic potion that had him wanting to stay forever if it meant that he got to walk these same sidewalks and drive down the same roads with you by his side.

It was stupid and far-fetched idea considering the circumstances he was in, but he’d still like to think that someday this would be the place he called home. Somewhere where he didn’t have to just watch happy people living their lives with the ones they loved, but where he could be doing the same too.

“Here we are.” Steve whistled, turning his wheel into the complex a few blocks away from the main homes.

He was glad you lived on the ground floor, not because it would save him time to take all the items into yours, but because your place greeted him through the windshield every time he pulled up and placed his car into park next to yours.

Your front porch, while not having much space, was still decorated with everything that made you, you.

Fresh herbs planted in a small basin that sat on the railing of the entrance and a trellis of green vines resting against the wall beside your front door. There was a welcome mat placed at the doorstep along with a pair of gardening boots that were too big your size, an attempt to scare off potential burglars who want to mess with a hypothetical giant with a size 10 foot — Steve laughed like a maniac when you told him about that.

He shut the car off, reaching for the coffees and juggling the box in one hand as he shut the door with his hip and approached your front door steps.

Setting down his drink, he brought his fists up to the door knocking firmly. “Sweetheart, it’s me!”

He waited, listening to hear your voice call out for him followed by your footsteps thudding against the wooden floors as you ran towards the door, but all he heard was silence. Not even the sound of music playing through your record player or the morning news on your television.

Just pure silence.

He frowned, knocking again this time a little louder. “You in there? It’s Steve.”

Still no answer. 

He pressed his ear to the door, complete silence, not even a peep of water running from the shower which confirmed his suspicion that you were still very much asleep. Though he wasn’t surprised, you were probably in bed sleeping soundly after all the work you did yesterday. 

Steve set the items down on the porch, looking around the area until his eyes landed on the pot tucked away in the corner  — it was a fake succulent where you planted a spare key. He tried to tell you how unsafe it was to keep a key out there in the open but you claimed no one would try to pluck a key out of a creepily real looking cactus.

Smart girl you were. 

“Gotcha.” He smirked, plucking the key away from the bottom of the pot and approaching the door with it in hand. 

“I’m coming in, cupcake.” Steve called out one last time with a knock. A warning, hopeful that you finally had woken up but to no avail there was still silence.

He sighed, sticking the key into the lock and turning it open and carefully pushing the door in not wanting to startle you. But alas, he didn’t think that it was even possible when you were cramped up on the couch sleeping soundly. 

“Oh, christ.” He said under his breath, quietly stopping in his tracks. 

You had a blanket partially pulled over yourself keeping you warm enough to bear the entire night. Your hair was sprawled out across the cushions, strands resting along your cheeks. You slept like a baby, curled up in an awkward yet comfortable position. 

Steve quickly picked up the coffees and baked goods, shutting the door as quietly as possible as he toed off his shoes and rested the items onto the coffee table.

He looked towards the kitchen, finally aware of the sheer magnitude of work you had been doing. Sure it was a bit of a mess, but he was relieved a bit to know that you got some rest like he suggested. 

“Sweetheart,” Steve whispered softly, bending at the couch where he shook your shoulders gently.

You only stirred, keening as you nuzzled yourself deeper into the cushions, eyes pinching tighter to stay asleep. He felt terrible for having to be the one to wake you up, but it had to be done. 

“Honey, it’s almost seven… you gotta get up.” He spoke a tad louder, brushing back your hair out of your face until you pressed your cheek to his hand, gluing it there so he couldn’t move. 

“Hmmm, no it’s not.” You argued sleepily with your eyes still closed, licking your lips as you remained comfortable. 

You were cute even at this early hour and he would have loved to let you stay in bed but he knew it would throw off your entire game plan and have you rushing more than you already were. 

“C’mon doll,” He shook you again, this time with enough firmness to get your eyes pinching and peaking open. 

He gave you a small smile, mouthing ‘good morning,’ as you stared blankly at him, not a single thought behind your tired eyes other than it had to have been a dream that felt too real. 

“I had to use the key to get in… you fell asleep out here last night.” His voice was faint, not wanting to rudely pour all this information on you so early in the morning.

Clear confusion accompanied the tiredness, just starting to really wake up and fathom that Steve was hovering above you and it wasn’t a trick your brain was playing on you.. 

“W-what?” You yawned, shutting your eyes again and giving them a rub. 

“It’s 7 in the morning, sweet thing. You overslept a little.” His thumb moved up to caress the skin under your eyes, soothing your harsh rubbing. 

You moaned out an objection, shaking your head against his hand, “No, I didn’t.” 

He laughed, shaking his head at your positivity before finally pulling his hand from your cheek to lift his sleeve and hover the watch over your face.

 “Look, honey.”

It took you a second, eyes still clouded with fatigue as you squinted up at the hands of the clock. Slowly you began to process it, the short hand pointing sharply at the 7 and the mere fact that Steve was in fact before your eyes with the purest look of fondness despite the hour. 

“Holy shit!” Your eyes widened, pushing the blankets off yourself in a haste and sitting up. 

“It’s okay—”

Your eyes darted to him, frowning deeply, torn between embarrassment and stupidity for having him wait out there for god knows how long. 

“I swear I set a timer for fifteen minutes,” you huffed, pointing towards the coffee table for the stupid kitchen timer that he proceeded to pick up and shake. 

“I was supposed to take out the trash and pack up the cookies.” You explained, watching as he sat it back down and gave you a reassuring shake of his head, unbothered by the situation. 

“It’s okay, maybe you just didn’t hear it.” He tried, hoping you would give yourself the benefit of the doubt instead of beating yourself up.  

You took a deep breath, offering a tight smile as you patted the space next to you and gathered the blankets over your shoulders. He took a seat, getting comfortable beside you, watching how you closed the space until your knees were knocking against each other. 

“I’m really so sorry… were you waiting long?” You glanced over to him.  

He shook his head, reaching over to brush your hair over your shoulder. “Nope, I just got here. Thought I told you to rest up last night?”

“You did,” You said guilty, watching his hand drop back down to his lap, “Buuut I just wanted to get a few more things done and I was supposed to have a power nap then clean the place up.”

You combed your fingers through the roots of your head, resting your elbows on your knees as you realized the mess was still very much there and Steve had to be here to witness the catastrophe.

Just as quickly as his hand dropped to his lap, it came back out to rest over your knee, fingers rubbing assuringly as he gave you a sequence of squeezes to get you looking at him again. 

 “S’okay, you needed it.” He assured you, his touches never ceasing as his chin poked out towards the coffee table. “I got you some coffee and your favorite.”

Sure enough there was a box of piping hot cronuts filling your apartment with their decadence, and a cup of your favorite morning drink rested right beside his half finished one. 

Steve’s generosity was something you never thought you could get used to, but by now you should’ve known that he always went above and beyond… at least for you. 

“You didn’t have to.” You whispered thankfully, closing your eyes as you tilted your head onto his shoulder.  

He slotted closer to you, keeping his thumbs rubbing your skin in random patterns as you felt him shake his head against yours, simply murmuring, “I wanted to,” in the quiet space. 

For once, in the last few days that you spent in the haze of stress and anxiety, today felt like the calmest morning you had all week. Despite you nearly burning your apartment down and falling asleep in the living room in less than 24 hours, with Steve here, it seemed like he brought some sort of magical potion that had you thinking everything was going to be okay. 

It was difficult for your heart to swell and get tight in the confines of your chest when you realized that peace could be this. The two of you spending mornings like this, even when you were the farthest thing from peace – maybe it was him who could give it to you. 

The two of you sat around for a few minutes in complete silence, just enjoying each other's presence for what it was worth right now. Something about it felt domesticated in the best way possible, knowing the simplest things in life like this were free. 

“I’m gonna go shower really quick.” You announced, slowly pulling away from his side and stretching your arms out.  

He retracted his hand from your skin, being the first to stand up, “I’ll put your coffee in the fridge for now.” Steve headed towards the kitchen with your drink in hand. 

Your feet continued across the floors padding towards your bedroom, bed still freshly made having not slept on it the night before. Sure your back should have been aching from sleeping on the less than suitable couch, but you got the rest you needed and that’s what mattered.

You pulled open your closet, settling for a loose dress to sport instead of jeans knowing they’d probably be covered in flour and sugar by the end of the day. You pulled your towel from the hanger on your door and walked across the hall towards the bathroom.

Catching a glance at yourself in the mirror, you looked exhausted — the clear fatigue that had been building up over the last couple of days settled and ended up with the after effects of the burnout showing on your skin. A cold shower was what you needed, icy water cascading your body, doing its very best to wake you up and rid you of the exhaustion. 

You didn’t keep Steve waiting long, out of the shower in less than fifteen minutes and by then you could hear the slight clambering of dishes coming from the kitchen. 

“Have you eaten yet?” You shouted loud enough to hear, combing your fingers through your semi-damp ends.

More clambering came through the door, before you heard a loud dramatically loud scoff, “Without you? Of course not!” 

You grinned in the mirror, rolling your eyes at his quick wit before finally shutting off the lights and heading down the hallway to see what he was up to. 

Once you got him in sight, his hands were drying the dishes in the rack and there was no longer the clutter of the dirty ones in the sink. He stacked the mixing bowls on top of one another before noticing your presence lingering behind him. 

“I took out the trash and did some dishes. Didn’t want to get started without you.” He hung the damp towel over the oven handle before gesturing over to the empty trash can that was once overflowing.

“Steve, you’re a guest.” You chastised, going around the kitchen to pick up the small bits of trash that stuck around.  

“A considerate one at the least.” He shrugged his shoulders, following you around like a lost puppy and offering his hand out to take the remnants of the garbage from you to toss into the bin himself. 

“Well, thank you.” You grinned, moving around him to throw it in trash, before he grunted out a snicker. 

“C’mon let’s sit down and eat before we get going.” 

He had already brought some plates out, moving next to the drawers to grab some utensils. For whatever reason, warmth bloomed in your heart, happy to see that Steve was just as comfortable in your home as you were in his. Simplicity in him knowing where things were was a sort of happiness you couldn’t explain. 

You bit your lip, walking over to the fridge to open it before looking over your shoulder. “Did you want me to make some more food?”

He shook his head, opening the box of cronuts and fishing two out for the both of you. “I’m okay, but I could whip up some scrambled eggs for you?”

He looked up from the sweets, seeing you nod your head with a desperate look on your face as you held your stomach. Last night you hadn’t eaten much so you really needed to make up for it by having a hearty meal to set you up for the rest of the day's work. 

“Coming right up.” He drummed his fingers off the dining table, as you switched places. 

The kitchen was soundly, not much with chatter this early in the morning, but with the sizzling from the pan as Steve poured in the eggy mixture and the soft buzz of the toaster oven where you warmed up the  cronuts. It wasn’t like the morning at Steve’s where you waltzed around the kitchen — it was much slower, yet filled with the same amount of domesticity. 

Steve could tell you were still tired, the grogginess seeping slowly out of your bones the more you sipped on your coffee and tapped your toes against the tiles watching the oven closely. You weren’t trying to hide it from him on purpose, but he noticed that with every small yawn you let out, you turned away from him, trying to brush it off with a headshake. 

He didn’t put a spotlight on it though, just happily smiling to himself as he stirred the eggs and watched you in his peripheral vision. The high pitched ding rang through the small space and you sighed contently, slipping on the oven mitt and reaching for a pair of tongs to grab the pastries, plating them nicely on two plates.

“You can start eating if you want.” He insisted, turning his head to follow you when you skimmed past him 

You hummed disapprovingly, setting them on the coffee table before making your way back to him,“No, come on I’ll wait for you. Let me wash the–”

He lunged over, getting in the way of you turning on the faucet, “Stop it, you’re gonna overwork yourself.”

You huffed at the absurdity of the situation, seeing as though he was the one who was already overworking himself and it was barely 8 in the morning. 

“I’ve barely done anything all morning.” You argued with a light laugh, attempting to get past his arms and switch the water on. 

Still he stood his ground, not letting your pushing move him with your nudges, “Considering the amount of work you did last night, you shouldn't be doing anything right now.” 

You crossed your arms over your chest tilting your head at him. “You’re not gonna give up, are you?” 

He shook his head, pointing back at the living room with the spatula still in hand. “Not a chance! Now go sit down, I’ll be there in a second.”

“Fine!” You drawled, heavily stomping your foot down and turning on your heel back to the living room. 

Steve’s eyes never left yours, even when his back was turned to you, he could feel you attempting to tidy up your living room in the slightest way, to which he simply bellowed, “sit and relax,” before you were shuffling back into the couch cushions, mumbling how he had eyes on the back of his head like a mother would to which he laughed. 

The kids would certainly agree. 

After a few minutes, you heard the burner shut off, and his footsteps walking over to you.

“Breakfast is served.” he announced, setting the eggs in front of you.

“You’re an angel.” You looked at him, grinning as he handed you a fork from where it was hiding behind his back. 

“I’m flattered.” He took a seat beside you and picked up his plate, “So tell me what’s the plan for today.”

You took a bite out of your eggs, chewing and swallowing them down. “Yesterday I made the frosting for the cupcakes so today we’re gonna make them and ice them.”

“What flavor?”

“Maple and Raspberry.”

His face twisted, lips curled up before he spoke, “I’ve never heard of that combination before.”

“No silly,” You covered your mouth from giggling, “The maple frosting is for the brown sugar cupcakes and the raspberry frosting is for the hibiscus cupcakes, but they also do have a little bit of raspberry in them.”

His bottom lip jutted out over his top one, nodding at your correction, before he lifted a playful brow at you. “But can’t you tell I trust you so much that I thought Maple and Raspberry would be good together?”

Steve trusted you more than he trusted himself which said a lot considering that he was usually pretty set and stone with the way he did things in his own life. After all, his parents didn't play a big role in his so he had to figure out a lot of it by himself. But when it came to you, trust came easy knowing you wouldn’t drop his hand if you told him you wouldn’t. That was the territory between you both, promising and keeping your word – never letting the other fall. 

“If we have any extras maybe we can test it out.” You suggested with a nudge of your elbow into his arm as the two you both smiled and continued to eat.

“How was work yesterday? I didn’t get the chance to ask you over the phone.” You shifted your knees towards him. 

His face covered with mock horror, while you playfully gasped, watching him set his plate down.“Hell. I honestly think it was the most grueling eight hours of my life.”

“It couldn’t be that bad.” You tried to reason with disbelief in your voice, because really, how bad could it have been? 

“Being forced to work a shift with Keith is literal hell. I mean for one he could not shut up and for someone who claims they love movies, he just kept talking over all of the stupid tapes I put on to try to shut him out.” Steve rolled his eyes at the recollection, so thrilled that he wasn’t stuck in the same predicament today. 

“And isn’t Robin working with him today?” You stifled your laughter, for your dear friend who was probably dealing with Keith all by herself right now. 

There was a devious smirk replacing his distaste for yesterday realizing he had planned it accordingly without realizing.

 “Yep, but she’s got a half day so technically she’s only spending half a day in hell with him.”

“You’re horribly considerate for someone who was upset that she called out for a girl.”

Steve shrugged nonchalantly, knowing he couldn’t be too upset at Robin. After all, she was his best friend and sure he was pissed for having to work with Keith, but he was happy that she finally got to spend time with Vicky, the same girl she had been pining over since forever. 

“Had I known it was for Vicky I would’ve called out too and came down here to help out sooner, but I thought she caught the flu or something.” He turned his nose up, happier that his best friend didn’t catch anything bad except the love bug. 

Your face contorted with irritation at yourself, waving your hand in the air, “Trust me when I say you’d be glad you skipped out on the mess yesterday.” 

He didn’t skip a beat, shaking his head at you being ridiculous because he’d never miss out a chance to be with you.

 “I wouldn’t have minded anyway.” 

While his words were true, and you definitely believed that he wouldn’t have minded considering he cleaned up the place while you were showering, you felt a little hopeless knowing he was picking up the pieces when he didn’t have to. 

“You know I still feel a little bad that you’re spending your day off helping me bake.” You placed the plate onto the table, letting your shoulders sulk deeper with your hands twiddling in your lap. 

“Why?” He lifted his brows, genuinely confused at why you would feel bad for him where there was nowhere else he’d rather be.  

You gave him a small shrug, looking up at him with uncertainty. “Because you should be doing something you want to do or better yet resting in bed preferably.”

He hated when you tried to look out for him more than yourself, immediately taking your nervous fingers away from your lap and holding them in his. You stared at him, holding on tight and wondering what was going to come out of his mouth. 

“I am doing something I want to do with the person I prefer to be with right now.” 

There was a twinge of vulnerability in his tone and you could see the way it painted his features whole. How you could tell, he was telling the truth about wanting to be here with you and not just doing it because he felt obligated to. 

Your heart was seriously going to break itself out of your chest soon. 

“You’re gonna regret saying that once I turn your kitchen into a disaster.” You joked, squeezing his hand in yours and not letting go. 

He pursed his lips, shaking your comment off, preparing for the said disaster in his kitchen as long as you were going to be there. Becoming a deadweight with his hand in yours, you easily pulled his arm up, neck adjusting to get the time on his watch. 

“If I’m planning it out in my head correctly then we should be done by this afternoon and that way you can drop me off before traffic hits and I’ll drive down tomorrow morn—”

“Pack a bag and spend the night.”

“Huh?”

“Just stay the night at mine that way you won’t need to drive down so early for the farmers market.” He explained like you should’ve known it was the plan all along. 

You couldn’t help but throw your head back, staring at the ceiling as you called out his name in faux exasperation.

“Steveeeee.”

“What?” He pursed his lips slyly, pulling you by the shoulders to get you looking at him again, “you’ll get to spend a few extra minutes in bed and you’ll be saving gas. Basically killing two birds with one stone.”

“But I don’t want to be stuck in your hair the entire day.” You protested. 

His brows lifted suspiciously as his lips twitched up trying to resist the grin, “Woah, you plan on gluing yourself to me or something? Cause if you are, I don’t know if I could forgive you for messing up my mane.”

“You’re impossible,” You nudge his shoulder with a weak fist failing to hide your smile, “I don’t want to be a burden. What if you have plans?”

“I do have plans, silly.” He began, reaching for your hand and rubbing his thumbs across your open palms, “and all of them involve you.”

“You know you’re making this very hard for me to decline.” You attempted to harden your features, but to no avail the smile crept through. 

He patted your knee with a victorious look on his face. “Good. We can spend the day baking and prepping then we can sit back and relax. Maybe go out by the pool and sunbathe… Oh! And I got a new tape so we can watch it before bed or something.”

“Sounds tempting.” You fizzled through your teeth, squinting your eyes decisively. 

“That means it’s working and you should say yes.” He whispered, like a voice of reason. 

“Okay.”

“Great, now go pack a bag.” He patted your leg, one, two, three times before standing up and gathering your empty plates in a stack.

“Will you do me a favor while I do that?” You stood, trailing behind him into the kitchen where he was placing the dishes in the sink. 

“Yes, I’ll wash the dishes—”

“No, not that!” You laughed, gesturing him towards the counters where a rack of cookies sat alongside other crafty materials. “I need you to package the cookies in little plastic baggies and tie them off with ribbon.”

“I can definitely do that, too.” 

“I got a few done last night but fell asleep before I could finish.” You picked an example up, showing it to him. 

“Don’t worry about it, I can do the rest.” He took the baggie from your hands, ushering you away with a shoo of his hands. 

You thanked him before heading back into your bedroom quickly grabbing the canvas bag that hung above your door as you sifted through your drawers and closet for some clothes.

You picked out a floral dress for tomorrow's event, and settled for an extra set of intimates — you packed an oversized tee and some jeans in case but you knew Steve would let you borrow some of his if you needed and he still had your pair of overalls that he hadn’t given back yet.

“Do I double knot them?” Steve called out.

“Yeah and you can snip the ends to make them even!” 

“Got it, thanks!”

You slung the bag over your shoulder, drawing the curtains and unplugging your lamp just in case since you’d be gone for the night… maybe even the entire weekend. The only thing left to pack was your skincare products, throwing them in a small pouch and making a mental note to set them on the bathroom counter when you got to his to prevent any from leaking out onto your clothes.

Steve finished off tying the last baggie of cookies, bunny earring them and snipping off little bits of the ends to try to make them look as cute as your sample did.

“What do you think?” He held his work of art up as he heard your footsteps coming closer. 

You grinned, holding your hands out before he plopped it into your palm while you inspected it. 

“They’re adorable!” You giggled, smoothing the frayed edges of the cut ribbon.

“Are you trying to be nice? You can tell me if they look bad.” He pouted, attempting to take it back from you to redo the bow knowing you took pride in anything that was yours. 

You shook your head, keeping it towards your chest and away from him. “No, I’m serious! They look so cute, thank you for doing them.” 

His cheek was met with a quick kiss, before you brushed past him putting down your things on the living floor before sauntering back into the kitchen with a mission to get everything ready to go. 

“Y-you’re welcome,” He coughed out, kindly covering the crack in his voice with a sweet smile before he turned to watch you, “Anything else I can do?”

“Stop being so nice.” You poked out your tongue, beginning to pack the cookies into a brown bag for easier transportation. 

He huffed, helping you without being asked, “Now that would turn me into Mike and I don’t think you’d want that.”

“Do you have some vendetta against him or something?” You questioned, hands hitting his with every grab and toss. 

“Oh we all do” He snorted, swiftly sweeping the bag away from you, before pulling the keys out of his pocket.

“I’ll go put your stuff in my car.”

He proceeded to grab the rest of your belongings, lugging the bag you packed and the other stuff to his car all in one go. You triple checked all the appliances making sure everything was unplugged and turned off before you began drawing all the curtains to completely dim the place for the next couple of days. 

“Ready to go?” 

“Yep, just gonna grab the paintings.” You nodded, pointing to the small crate full of finished canvas that you would be selling at the market. 

He didn’t let you even try, immediately beating you the distance and grabbing the box, holding it on his hip as he held the front door open for you. Sticking by your side as he watched you lock up, being your second eyes and even pulling on the handle for an extra precautionary measure. 

The air conditioning had been running, thankfully cooling down the vehicle as you buckled in and watched from the rear view mirror while Steve closed the trunk shut and rounded his way into his seat and did the same. 

“Why don’t you close your eyes until we get to my place?” He suggested, glancing over to you while turning on the radio trying to find a station you would enjoy. 

A dramatic gasp left your lips as you slapped down his visor, opening the mirror to check yourself out. “Wow, do I look that tired?” You half joked, placing your hands on your cheeks in horror. 

“Stop, that’s not what I meant,” He chuckled, reaching over to flip it back into place with a tight regretful smile, “What I meant to say was you didn’t get much sleep last night and it could help a little bit to just close your eyes before doing more work today.”

“But I feel bad, you’ll probably be so bored in complete silence.”

He wondered if you always worried about him this much and while it was cute, he’d have to tell you to stop eventually, because worrying would do you no good, especially if it was about him. 

“You know, you’re gonna need to stop feeling bad for me all the time.” He lectured, tilting his head at you. 

“I can’t help it when you’re stuck with me.”

“Will you please just try to nap at least?” His voice was more optimistic and you nodded skeptically.  

“Fine, but you have to wake me up if you get bored.”

“Deal. Here, this’ll be more comfy.”  He said, leaning across the console and reaching for the lever to lean your chair back all the way for max comfortability. You covered your face, laughing behind them as you wiggled and got comfier in the seat.

“Comfier?” He brought his hands back to the wheel, watching as you nodded your head with closed eyes. 

“Way better than my couch.” You mumbled, positioning yourself towards him, still getting snug in the confines of his car.

He pulled up the emergency break, beginning the journey with one last look at you. “I’ll wake you up when we get there, sweetheart.”

Steve knew you were a natural in the kitchen — ran that place like it was your second home, but what he didn’t anticipate was how you worked when it came to strictly baking. Perhaps him suggesting the nap on the drive to his place was a great idea considering the fact that you were wide awake and running on that coffee he picked up.

He could barely keep up, straying behind to wherever you would go — oven, pantry, fridge, sink, repeat. It was endearing and far from something that Steve would categorize as chaos, in his eyes this was your comfort, somewhere it all just came to you naturally, which also included dishing out tasks, ones that Steve was happy to take up. 

His bottom lip was pulled between his teeth, brows scrunching towards the center of his forehead while his hands squeezed the piping bag and wrists swirled it slowly around the tops of the cupcakes.

You bent at the hips, looking through the glass window of the oven checking up on the loaves that had been baking, making sure they were rising properly. Standing up straight, you dusted your hands sneaking up behind Steve to catch a glimpse from over his shoulders.

“You’re doing great!” You whispered cheerfully, not wanting to throw him off his focus.

His shoulders only bumped as he chuckled, head tilting abruptly to the side before finishing off the swirl and setting the piping bag down.

“It’s a little crooked don’t you think?” Steve frowned, picking up the treat and holding it out in front of him.

You shook your head, rubbing his shoulders, “They’re perfect and you’re a complete pro already.”

“Okay now that’s a reach.” He placed it down, turning to you with an unconvinced yet charming grin. 

You tucked your cheek into your shoulder, shrugging, “What? I’m being serious! I messed up like a whole dozen cupcakes before I ever got good and here you are only three in and they’re gorgeous.”

“You’re really making me consider switching careers to part time cupcake piper you know that?”

“I’ll hire you on the spot.”

“Geez, offer a man some insurance first.”

Your face twisted apologetically before spreading with a self indulgently smile, “Probably can’t do that, but I can assure you I know how to properly dress a cut if you end up slicing your hand open!” You chirped sweetly, tapping his cheek with an affectionate pat chuckling against your touch.

The ding of the timer set off, prompting you to turn around and make your way back to the oven, slipping on the mits. A gush of hot air enveloped you as you took out the hot loafs, setting them on the stove. Quickly you shut the door, tossing off the mits as you inspected them with your eyes first. 

“How do they look?” Steve asked, coming beside you as you poked the tip of a knife through the center checking if it was baked all the way through.

A quick second to examine the knife to ensure there was no residue was all it took before you nodded, “Wonderful, but they’ll look even better once I glaze them.”

“What do you need?” He rose his brows heading over to the cabinets ready to get whatever you needed. 

Likewise you went towards the fridge, “Powdered sugar and preferably whole milk — ah ha! Whole milk it is.” you clicked your tongue, peeking past the door to see him looking through the tins and bags.

He cursed under his breath, closing the door a bit to meet your eyes. “I don’t think I’ve got any powdered sugar in here. I should've asked you last night if you needed anything before.”

You shook your head, turning back towards the fridge, “That’s okay, we can go to the store together later?” You suggested going to put the milk back. 

He snapped his fingers, pointing at you. “Better idea, why don’t you go now and I’ll stay back and finish frosting up these cupcakes, hmm?”

“I could wait for you, I don’t need to frost them right away.”

“You need a break, sweetheart. I’ll be fine, here,” He paused, walking out of the kitchen with you trailing behind him into the living room, “Take my car and let me give you some cash.”

“Steve, I don’t need your money.” You countered with a light chuckle, taking the keys from him as he reached into his pocket shaking his head.

“No seriously, take it and get whatever you need. I feel like shit for not asking before and making sure I had all the ingredients.”

He truly felt horrible and you could tell in the way he scrunched his brows and shook his head more at himself than towards you. The last thing he wanted was to fuck up your whole process that he knew you always took the time to run through effortlessly. 

“You’re already doing enough, you know.” You remind him with a tender rub to his shoulder, “It means a lot…you talking to me over the phone, bringing breakfast over this morning, and taking all the way here to make sure I wasn’t lonely.”

It was a true sentiment that you spoke and meant every word of. You were sure that no amount of baked goods or thank yous would ever be enough to show Steve how grateful you were.

“I wanted to, you’ve done so much for everyone, me especially.” He knew you went out of your way for everyone including himself, putting everyone first except you. 

“Well, I wanted to.” You assured him. 

“In that case, I want you to take this and get whatever we need. Please?” He placed the bills in the palm of your hand, smiling when you nodded and palmed it. 

“Do you want anything specific? I think I’m just gonna pick up a bag of powdered sugar and a small thing of white chocolate chips for the scones.” You picked up your purse you had thrown onto the coffee table where you arrived.

He shook his head, walking you to the front door and pulling it open, waiting as you slipped back on your footwear. “I’m alright, I don’t need anything. Just drive safely and don’t be scared to use the horn if you need it.”

You let out a laugh, tiptoeing and placing a kiss on his cheek, “I will and don’t stress about the cupcakes, they already look perfect.”

As you buckled your seatbelt and adjusted the mirrors, you took one more look out the windshield, waving a “see you in a bit,” to the boy watching from the driveway. It was funny to think that the first time you’d been there, you had been sitting in your own car anticipating the entire moment of meeting everyone and now you were there in his car knowing you’d be back in no time. 

Hawkins wasn’t new territory to you. You have frequented the place for years, but it was just a little funny that throughout all the years, these roads never led you to Steve, and all your friends for that matter, until now.

The grocery store you walked into was the same one where you met Robin and from there the rest was history. Funny enough, you hadn’t been there since that interaction — it felt like forever but at the same time it had only been a matter of weeks. Time was silly thing, and it just so happened that all the fates aligned in some magical way.

You strolled through the aisles with a small basket in hand, picking up the necessities while also checking out what they had in stock this time of year. It was in the produce section that you ran into the sweetest lady in town, Joyce, who was seemingly glaring at the tower of apples debating on which ones to pick.

“Granny Smiths, Fuji, and Galas are the go-to if you’re gonna use them for baking, but if not then any will do, just make sure none of them have noticeable dents.” 

You snuck up beside her, stifling your laughter as she jumped for the initial scare, then again, but with a smile on her face when she realized that it was you.

“Honey! Oh my god, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” She quickly engulfed you in a hug, before you finally greeted her properly.

“Are you here with Steve?” She asked, looking around to see if he was nearby.

You shook your head, checking out the pile of apples and picking some for you and him as a snack.. “No, he’s actually back at his place frosting cupcakes for tomorrow.”

An impressed smile was plastered on her face, her cheeks lifting with a cheeky blush, “He’s just the best huh?” she teased, as you giggled and rolled your eyes playfully.

“Who’s the best?”

The deep voice bellowed a few feet behind you, prompting you to look over your shoulder, and down came Hopper sporting a surprising pale pastel button up, lugging two boxes of Coca-Cola. He gave you a pointed look, something that silently said, “please don’t comment on my non-work attire,” to which you honored, obviously.

“Hey Hop,” You waved, reaching out to give him a small hug after he placed the drinks into the cart. He patted your arm, before letting his drape over your shoulder as you laughed and let him be.

“We were talking about Steve,” Joyce started, “He’s back at home helping her out with the bake sale for tomorrow.”

He peered down on you with a stern nod, “Well isn’t that great. Drove down here yourself? Car not giving you any issue right?”

He really was a dad right down to his core. If you told him how you’ve been avoiding driving your car for the past couple of days, he would probably suggest he go check it out then and there.

“Oh no, Steve actually picked me up this morning and let me take his car to come here for some stuff we needed.”

“He let you drive his car?” He questioned, taken aback and clearly so as he dropped his arm and propped it up on his hip.

“I know, crazy right. He has a lot of trust in me.” You coughed up a laugh, while Joyce piped in something about how she thought it was sweet of him to do.

“Says a lot considering he never even lets me take her for a spin.” He shook his head, dramatically clicking his tongue at all the times he had failed to get the keys to the Harrington vehicle. 

Joyce groaned, tilting her head at him.“That’s because you’re a forty year old man that drives like a drunk sixteen year old on prom night.”

“Ouch!” He shouted, face coated in fake hurt as she brushed him off.

Turning her attention back to you when you asked, “Will I be seeing you guys tomorrow?”

She smiled brightly, clapping her hands towards herself, “Oh of course! I’m helping Karen run her book exchange booths.”

“And I am acting as security.” Hop announced, plucking an apple and taking a bite out of it.

“Just you? Where’s the rest of your unit?” You pestered him jokingly.

He only shrugged, mouth full of half chewed up apples as he replied.“I have no idea, but the event will need some securing.”

“Honey, it’s a farmers market. I don't think there’s anything to be securing.” Joyce reasoned.

“We’ll see about that.” He shot back with no harm.

Their bickering was always light hearted and fun, something you could appreciate because it was the laughter that always kept the relationship lively. And in any relationship for that matter, laughter was like the heartbeat to it all, something so witty, but essential — you wondered if you and Steve sounded like that from time to time.

You took a deep breath, smiling as you opened your arms, and reached over to give Joyce a farewell hug. 

“Well I should get going, I don’t want to be gone too long.”

“Of course, tell Steve we said hello and we’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Will do!” You said, pulling away, and doing the same to Hopper.

“Bye kid.” He patted your head before letting you go your separate way.

The drive back home was as pleasant as the drive over, just lacking in company. You didn’t think that you’d get used to driving Steve's car without him being there in the passenger, but still, it was a thoughtful offer and it did give yourself some time to clear your head of all the stress that you endured yesterday though much of it was already gone since you woke up this morning. 

You placed it in park when you got into his driveway, grabbing all the grocery bags in one go before you exited the car and made sure it was locked up. The front door was surprisingly unlocked, meaning Steve hadn’t moved since you left. You’d lecture him about leaving the door unlocked when there were freshly frosted cupcakes that burglars would most definitely take first.

“Steve, I’m back!” You called out, toeing off your sandals at the foyer before you made your way into the living room dropping his keys back onto the coffee table.

“Still in the kitchen!”

You lugged the bags along, lifting them in the air as you walked through the doorway.

“I know you told me you didn’t want anything but I ended up grabbing a bag of tangerines and I was thinking we could make some drinks for when we go out to the — oh my god!”

They fell with a heavy clunk to the ground and thank goodness there wasn’t any glass in there, but the poor apples would definitely be bruised. Steve turned his head over his shoulder, quickly shutting off the water as you stared at the loaves sitting on a raised plate as the excess icing dripped off the sides.

“Sur-prise?” He cracked a nervous smile, wiping his hands dry, hoping to receive the right reaction from you.

“You iced the loaves?!”

If your tone came sharper than you meant, he didn’t notice it and neither did you. Steve was too busy watching the surprise wash over your features — the way your eyes widened and mouth hung open.

He leaned against the counters, still watching you until your eyes finally met his. Picking up the index card you had brought from home, and walking over to the pantry, pulling out a now empty bag of powdered sugar, and placing them on the counter.

“I may or may not have lied about the powdered sugar but yeah, I read the recipe card and followed it to the tee.”

He paused, opening a drawer to retrieve a spoon, scooping up a little of the excess that dripped into a bowl before handing it over to you, “Here, give it a taste, please.”

You could tell he was nervous, eyes leaking anticipation while he held it out, his hands nearly shaking. It was cute that he got so nervous, like you could ever be mad at him for trying his hand at something so thoughtful of him to do. So you took the spoon, sticking it into your mouth before you promptly hummed around it, nodding your head at him with wide eyes that should’ve been enough to tell him he did great. 

“Fuck did I mess it up?” He spoke with an uneasy feeling, swiping his finger into the bowl and grabbing a sample to taste, pressing his lips together to try to decipher if something was terribly wrong. 

You shook your head hastily, removing the spoon from your mouth before twirling it in the air, “No you nailed it, like absolutely nailed it!”

Still even with your assurance, he seemed to doubt himself, picking up the bowl for himself, moving it around to test the consistency of the frosting. He held it out towards you, tipping it back and forth. 

“It’s not too runny? I think I added more than a capful of milk.”

Instead of trying to ease his worries with words, you simply rounded the corner, taking the bowl away from him so all he could focus on was you. It was cute that now you could see what Steve meant when he said you go into your head all too much — maybe he was right when he said self-doubt would get you nowhere but a headache. 

“You did perfect,” You began, dusting off the powdered sugar off his t-shirt, looking up at him with a grin, “not too runny, not too thick. Just right.”

It was enough to stop him in his tracks, ironing the worries away in the same way he did yours more often than not. The hand on his chest didn’t leave, when the words stopped, in fact you kept it there, smoothing the wrinkles of his shirt without really thinking much of it, while Steve tried to keep his composure and heart in his chest.

“S-so what did you buy?” He deterred his sights, looking towards the floor where the groceries still sat.

You squinted, hand stopping its movements, as you flashed him a sneaky smile shaking your head before slightly digging your fingers into the dough of his chest. 

“No, we’re not just gonna skim over that whole thing…you lied to me!” You shrilled. 

And like that, the kitchen erupted with laughter, Steve failing to keep up the innocent act, and you beyond astounded that you fell for it. He held his hands up in defense as playfully pushed him away, even stepping back as he tried to move closer, just to be theatrical. 

“Okay technically I didn’t lie lie!” He countered with his hands waving in the air. You crossed your arms over your chest, raising a brow at him,  “I thought I didn’t have enough of it but after you left, I measured it out and like the recipe said, a half cup sugar for each of the loaves and I just so happen to have one cup.”

He was the sweetest boy you’ve ever met: not a chance you could be upset even if it was just pretend. 

Steve had already done so much for you in less than 24 hours. From dealing with your anxiety over the phone, to driving all the way to you, and then on top of that trying to take the stress off your plate.

There was a pinch between your brow, beginning to grow deeper and your lip caught between your teeth. The longer you didn’t say anything, the more Steve caught the tell-tale signs of your guilt knowing you hated that he was doing so much and you finally got a break you deserved. 

He was just as quick to reassure you, stepping forward and testing the waters to see if you’d close the space and to which you did, pouting up at him with an adorable frown until your chest met his in a hug. 

You could feel him smile against your head, hands wrapped around your body as he tightened the hold tenderly, “I wanted to do it. You needed a break.” He murmured into your hair as you chuckled into the fabric of his shirt. 

It felt routine by now, and you didn’t need to thank him verbally when he gave you a nod as soon as he pulled away and saw the sincere look upon your face. The way he was able to read you like an open book felt personal, the only kind of way that you wanted to be read by him. Ins and outs of you already memorized so carefully with little to no room to question if he was right or not.

You didn’t want him to question anything, especially not you.

Taking a deep breath, you shakily let it out, slowly pulling away from each other until you looked over the counters and to the ground. 

“Tangerines.” You called out, moving across the tiles.

“Huh?” 

“I picked up some tangerines at the grocery store.”

You handed him the netted bag of fruits that he easily ripped open and let them spill over the table top, “They’re in season?” He pursed his lips, inspecting the fruit carefully. 

You nodded, reaching out for the remnants of its packaging, smoothing it out to show him the label, “They’re from Long Beach, California.”

It piqued his interest, looking over at you like you’d know the answer to his curiosity, “Do you think they grow on Sunrise Boulevard?”

You giggled, shrugging your shoulders while you unloaded the rest of the items. “Probably. I’ve never been so I don’t know for sure.”

“We should go someday.”

He extended the invitation as if you, a paycheck to paycheck living individual, could ever afford a trip like that in a heartbeat. But it was the fact that he extended it in the first place that had your insides twisting and turning like a lovesick fool.

We. The possibility of you two going together. And he said it as sweetly as it sounded, honey dripping from his lips, with a smile oh so beautiful that you could really believe that maybe you two could go together one day — even if the rest of your friends tagged along.

As long as he was there with you there was always the possibility of we. 

Steve often transported you back to middle school, the days where you caught yourself kicking your feet and blushing like an idiot over a boy who said all the right things. The only difference is Steve didn’t let you crash and burn on the ground. With him, things feel different.

“We should.” You said, lifting your hanging head, not caring anymore about hiding the red flush of your cheeks.

“Good.” He smiled with a nod that he was more so giving himself, his brain spitting out all of the celebratory phrases it could think of after seeing the double vision of your rose blush. 

For once, the both of you seem to be a bit braver in your endeavors, holding the intimate eye contact in the silence of birds chirping from outside the flung windows and the whistle of the wind. If you two were a cartoon animation, your hearts would have been jumping out of your chests, and interlocking hands by now.

His eyes didn’t stare blankly at you, and yours certainly didn’t shoot dangers through him. It was as if you both were swimming in each other, taking one another in without a single word spoken because none needed to be said.

You both knew it and you both could hear it in the silence.

“Why don’t we go for a swim, yeah? Call it a day with the baking and just… just spend some time?”

Together he wanted to say. Something that should’ve slipped freely but instead died in his throat, too scared to let you know what spending time together really meant to him, between the both of you, actually. 

“I’d love that.”

You kicked Steve out of the kitchen, claiming that he could at least let you finish up the cleaning after he had lied to you about the powdered sugar. You could hear him from the stairs, still arguing that it wasn’t really a lie, making you shake your head and snort while you wiped down the counters.

He emerged as you finished washing the sticky icing bowl, wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks with two towels under his arm. You were sure, he caught you staring for a second, before kicking you out the kitchen to go get changed while he made you both drinks and skimmed the pool for dead leaves and critters.

Getting changed in the confines of his bedroom felt like the first time you had been there all over again. Only this time you weren’t a stranger and he’s not waiting on the other side of the door for you to be done. 

This time you’re a piece of his life and he’s waiting for you.

Slipping into your swimwear, you caught a glimpse of yourself in his mirror. It had occurred to you that this was the first time you would be as bare as you would be in front of him. Sure you weren’t a prude or anything, but you always felt a bit shy, and your feelings for Steve didn’t make it any better.

Not wanting to leave him waiting for so long, you plucked a random shirt from his dresser and threw it over yourself before jogging down the stairs and out the sliding door where he stood with the pool stick in hand, grabbing whatever that was floating on the surface.

“I’m back,” You made your presence known, moving beside him to see the small pile of leaves he gathered on the side of the pool.

Your nose turned up at the little critters that crawled away into the grass, before Steve whistled and pointed to the shaded umbrella, “M’almost done over here, I put your drink over there.” 

The pool loungers had been tugged under the shade with towels laid out over the cushions and a variety of snacks sitting along inside the drinks. 

“I just juiced some of the tangerines and stirred it with some tequila and margarita mix I had left. If it’s too strong, I can add more juice or make you another.”

You thanked him, walking over to take a seat and sip on the drink while you waited for Steve to finish the pool maintenance. A lot of his home was taken care of by him, and you could understand why if his parents weren’t home too often – it forced him to take up everything and keep everything in order. 

You wondered why Steve never gave himself the credit he deserved. Only in his early twenties already taking on what most people in their late twenties still had a hard time getting a grove with. Yet he made it look flawless with little to no complaints about his situation and how this responsibility might have been too much for him. 

But deep down in the pit of your stomach, you wondered if this place was really his home or a home he was looking after until he found his. It wasn’t entirely the same situation as yours, hell, you got out the moment freedom striked. 

Steve had everything: enough money to pay for rent at a decent apartment nearby, all the life skills in the world, and himself — you just wondered why he was staying. 

“How is it?” He called out, back facing you from the other side of the backyard where he stuffed the pool scopper back into the shed. 

Your hand raised above your forehead blocking the sun as he walked towards you, the other picked up his drink handing it to him when he sat on the end of your lounger, thankfully blocking the remnants of rays for you. 

You watched him take a sip, nodding his head at himself before looking over to you for your opinion.

“Good! Not too strong actually, I think the tangerine juice is great.” You bubbled, taking another sip of yours before placing it back on the table with a clink. 

He hummed through his drink, before setting it down and taking a look at you. You had made more space for him on the lounger despite him having his own only a few feet away. Your legs tucked under yourself, and arms came to wrap around your midsection, attempting to hide from his gaze despite his t-shirt that was already drowning you.  

You were naturally sheepish, and he knew that but he hoped you weren’t doing this just because he suggested it. The last thing he wanted was to force you into doing something you didn’t want to be doing. Hell, the both of you could be inside sitting in silence, and Steve would be happy, long as you were there. 

“You know, we don’t have to swim if you don’t want to. We could just sit out here and talk, whatever you want okay? Whatever is comfortable—”

“No, no, I’m fine! I—I’m just a little shy, that’s all.” You shook your head, attempting to relax your tense muscles, untucking your legs from underneath you.

He grinned, nodding slowly, as his fingers grazed the sleeve of his shirt on your body. “That's okay, nothing wrong with that,” he assured you, meeting your eyes with a impish glint, “nice shirt by the way.”

“Thanks… for letting me borrow it, I mean.” 

You looked down at the graphic, finally aware that it was an Eagles t-shirt, that unbeknownst to you was one of his favorites and only worn during special sports occasions. However he decided in his mind that anytime you wanted to wear the garment, it was a special occasion in itself. He wouldn’t want to have it any other way. 

“Always.” He grinned, looking down into his lap, not wanting to frighten you with his ceaseless content. 

The heat of Indiana wasn’t as fierce as it had been for the past summer and you hoped it would stick around, at least until tomorrow so you all could survive a pleasant farmers market afternoon. For now, you’d enjoy whatever mercy the season would have on the town with no complaints, especially when there was a mansion with a view sitting right beside you. 

“Wanna get in?” You snapped out of your thoughts, eyes following his movements as he asked you and took another sip.  

You sat up, legs extending over his as you looked out at the aquamarine reflection of the water. “Uh, yeah, do you have any sunblock, by any chance?”

He clicked his tongue, tapping his fingers against your shins. “Shit, yeah, sorry I totally forgot. I think the kids used up the last bottle but I have the spray kind, if that’s okay?”

“Of course.” You nodded, lifting your legs and letting him slide away. 

He walked through the sliding door again, and you could hear the slight rustle of him looking through cabinets and cursing at himself that the kids must have misplaced it. With him still busy you took a deep breath, tugging the shirt off your body and smoothing your fingers over your skin. 

You had nothing to be insecure about, not when it came to Steve's eyes. He’d seen you stripped down with your emotions – sadness, insecurity, exhaustion and everything in between. Him seeing you in a bathing suit was far less intimidating than it seemed.  

“Sorry, I think Dustin must’ve knocked the cap off or something but it still sprays and… oh, h-hey.”

The sunblock slipped from his hands, poorly failing to juggle back into his grip in time before it clanked against the concrete. You didn’t give him an answer, simply lifting your brow before you choked out a fit of laughter, hunching over yourself to grab your tummy.

Steve didn’t mean to be such a man, but just a split second ago, you were covered up in his t-shirt which alone made his head spin, and now, he was seeing skin that had never been exposed before and he felt like he might pass out and knock his head into the concrete. Perhaps it would have been a terribly gruesome way to go out, but at least you were the last thing he got to look at before he went. 

“I—I’m sorry!” He stuttered, turning away sharply as his throat bopped with a swallow, “I didn’t mean to say that, it kinda just slipped out. Feel free to totally hit or slap me right now, because that was super duper weird of me and—”

You stood up, prompting him to seal his lips as his eyes slowly turned to watch you pick up the sunscreen, beginning to spray the formula onto your arms, working it into your skin.

You looked up at him through your lashes, washing away his embarrassment as he saw you shake your head.“It’s fine, really. I don’t think it was weird, at all… just super duper funny.” You teased, scrunching your nose at him.

He breathed out a sigh of relief, still looking apologetic in his features.“I feel like an idiot,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck stiffly. 

You tilted your head at him, wiggling the bottle in the air. “You can make up for it by getting my back for me?”

He took it from your hands, watching as you spun around and pulled your hair away. “You sure?” 

You hummed, “Positive, unless you’re gonna say ‘hi’ to my behind too.” You joked, turning over your shoulder to see him scoff a laugh before spraying you down.

He was careful, asking permission before his hands even touched your skin, and then again when he had to work the product under the straps of the suit. His fingertips are light and gentle, and at the same time meticulous, making sure not to miss a spot and let a single sliver of your skin get burned by the sun.

“Want me to get yours too?” You suggested, spinning back around when his hands finally dropped from you.

“Only if you want to.”

“Spin, Harrington.” You twirled your finger in the air, grasping the sunblock and getting to work.

It was different, feeling your touch without a layer of clothing in the way. Sure, you’ve both slept in the same bed, practically in each other's arms with him shirtless, and you two definitely touched each other in the softest way that no one else did. But your touch right now was suffocating, eating him whole as he tried to breathe through it and tell himself that you were too good for him. 

“You have a million beauty marks.” You murmured, breath fanning over his neck making him go dizzy. 

He swallowed, turning over his shoulder to watch you rub the product over his shoulder blades, your fingers working mindfully under his gaze. 

“B-beauty marks? Moles, you mean?”

You met his eyes, shaking your head with the softest look upon your face. “I prefer to call them beauty marks.” 

“That’s cute.” He whispered as a reply.

“Yours are too.” You complimented, feeling him exhale soothingly while your hands worked the rest of the skin, ending it off by tapping your fingers against the beauty marks, “all done.” 

You twisted the bottle shut, tossing it on the lounger for later when you two would have to reapply. Turning towards him you ran your hands up and down your arms, waiting for what was next. 

“Are you a strong swimmer?” He lifted his brows, watching you think. 

You blinked, thinking  of all the rare moments you’ve ever been in a body of water there in the midwest. “J-just a little. Why?” 

“Don’t want you to drown.” He said, a smirk growing on his face. 

You shook your head, not understanding what he was getting at. 

“Why would I— Steve!”

 A squeal ripped through your throat, as he scooped you up into his arms bridal style, carefully walking you both over to the edge of the pool where hid your face in his chest expecting a gush of water without warning. He couldn’t help but chuckled, adjusting your higher with a small toss until you wrapped your arms around his neck securely. 

“You ready?” He bellowed out into the air with a hoot, cradling your head gently for extra measure.

“Whenever you are.” You pinched your eyes shut, tucking yourself more into him as if that would make it less worse. 

And like that, cold water engulfed your body all at once. Even in the big splash, Steve’s arms never left your body, keeping himself glued to you as you both came up to the surface and your hands brushed your hair away from your face. 

“I got you,” Steve laughed, shaking the water away from his face and never daring to let his arms leave your body.  

“It’s so cold!” You whimpered, immediately wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling yourself closer to his body where your jaw trembled against his collarbone. 

He could feel you shaking in his arms, taking a bit longer to adjust to the coolness given the fact that you hadn’t been to a pool in ages. His hands ran up and down you back, pausing in between passes to knead your skin. 

“You’ll warm up soon,” He guaranteed, kissing the side of your head before resting his chin on top of yours, the two of you fastened together with a stitch until your shivering fizzled out. 

Usually Steve’s pool was filled with the bustle and shouts of children, water splashing everywhere and him standing on the sidelines with his hands on his hips, reminding the kids not to run on the wet pavement. 

Though today it might have been the most peaceful it’s ever been. 

Turns out, you’re not the best swimmer after all these years with little to no access to any pool or beaches, but you are one hell of a floater, giggling as Steve waded the water beside you, mimicking waves and moving you along the expanse. 

You two attempted to race, doing laps back and forth, but you gave up a few seconds in, elbows resting on the concrete as you watched each stride he took against the water until he was back to you. Rubbing his eyes, he caught his breath and looked at you in disbelief. 

“You beat me?!”

“By a long shot.” You joked, before he playfully rolled his eyes and swam closer to you. 

His hands sneaking underwater reaching out to grip your thighs and throw them over his hips where you quickly held on tight as we took you both to the center of the expanse. There was little to no room between you both anymore, the personal space bubble had popped long ago and now it was a shared out that sheathed the both of you. 

Steve didn’t think he could let you go, even if he tried. 

With your backs beneath the sun, everything felt right. Clearing the air, you breathed in the mix of chlorine and each other. The only sounds were the whistle of the wind, the swoosh of the water around you, and your harbored inhales and exhales. 

It was all consuming in the best way possible. 

For Steve, the city he had lived in his entire life felt as cruel as the loves in his past. And there were a lot of loves: platonic and romantic, yet nothing felt entirely like this – not even close. There was always a flaw, a blemish in time that made the past never work out the way he had hoped, but there was a gut wrenching realization that ever since he saw you, there was no need to look back at those shortcomings. 

He was quieter than usually, eyes studying you without even realizing it, still you didn’t shrink under his view. You followed his sights, watching as his orbs moved from a part of your face to the next, taking you in like an art piece, memorizing every detail like his life depended on it. 

And for a moment a wave of realization washed over you. The way you were in Steve’s arms, the way he was looking at you, the way you looked at him — friends didn’t do the things you both did, especially when your other friends were around. 

Steve was just your friend when he gave you a long-sleeve to borrow, drove down to your art gallery, talked you through your worst moments, offered you a bed to sleep in, slept with you in said bed.

But maybe you and Steve were never destined for the whole friendship thing. You both had crossed so many lines unforgiven, and there was no way either of you could deny the truth by saying goodbye.  

You had to step into it and let go. 

You swallowed, arms tightening around his neck while your chest rose with a deep puff. Only then did he snap out of the haze, blinking slowly until he shook his head and snapped his eyes to yours silently apologizing to which you brushed off with a half-hearted smile. 

“You know, some beauty marks have meaning.” You revealed, hushed tone just loud enough for him to catch against the breeze. 

His breath hitched, tips of his fingers caressing your spine, tracing it up and down absentmindley like second nature.“Y-yeah?”

You nodded, eyes meeting him, almost pleading for him to let you. “Can I tell you about them?”

“Please do.”

His grip on you was tight enough to allow you to let go, letting your arms float freely in the water, before thumbing the marks on his skin delicately.

“You’ve got a bunch of tiny ones by your eyes,” You whispered, carefully swiping over them with your thumbs, “these ones mean that you’re hard working, which you are.” You said obviously. 

He’d be willing to work harder to make whatever this was permanent. To wake up from the dark night he’d been sleeping through since he could remember. He’d do it all, if it meant getting to wake up to you, everyday… to wake up and be yours, it was that simple. 

Your thumb moved down to the double freckles on his cheek, murmuring, “Sensitive.”

“Like a cry baby?” He questioned, still full of jokes despite the inner monologue that was eating his entire being up. 

You breathed through your laugh, holding his face still as you clarified. “Like someone in touch with their emotions.” 

Steve never had the best upbringing, you knew that, and while your understanding of the whole picture was very little, you knew that he didn’t let that define him. He didn’t treat his past as an excuse to be horrible to other people, in fact it made him better. Softer in his approach to situations that he did his best to guide instead of control.  

Honesty was the freckle on his chin. Steve never tried to prove himself to be a good person, worthy of something greater than the things he was given, even when he was. He had trusted the wrong people in the past, did and said things he was never proud of, but he didn’t ever pretend like those moments didn’t happen. 

His reputation, the one that should've scared you away and prevented you from getting to know the real him, was in your eyes, the most delicate thing about him. He didn’t try to put up a perfect facade for you, but he did prove that he threw out all the bad, every cloak that hid his true colors and daggers that fought every truth — he threw them out, not to become someone new, but to finally be him. 

How you wished you could’ve been brave enough to say it all because you wanted him to so desperately know. 

And how Steve wished he could dive into your mind and swim through your thoughts as you stared at him with complete tenderness. Something he didn’t think he could ever get used to because what about him could possibly make you go slack-jawed? He didn’t know what you saw him, but quite frankly he’d listen if you’d tell him. He’d listen to anything you had to say. 

“Any other ones?” His grips moved down to your waist squeezing gently and seeking the connection in the midst of your silence. 

You hummed, giving him a soft smile before he reciprocated it, visibly enchanted by your ability to get lost in him the way he got lost in you. 

“You’ve got a special one right here,” You let your fingers brush over his cupid's bow, caressing the spot back and forth. 

His eyebrows jutted up curiously, breath fanning over your thumb as he spoke. “Special, huh? You’ve gotta tell me now, sweetheart.”

He pulled you in just a little closer, your chest bumping into his and your foreheads just inches apart, and like that, you were a little more brave with nothing left to be scared of. Your hands cradled his face, forcing him to keep his eyes on yours with every word that left your mouth because you wanted him to understand, to see himself the way you saw him. 

“Empathy. The world lacks it, but somehow you’re full of it.” Your words flowed with conviction as does the admiration that sparkled in your eyes. 

“H-how?” His voice broke, as if he could barely believe that he had an ounce of it within him. 

You rolled your shoulders back, determined to get him to see it in himself. “Well for starters, you’re a great listener. Always listening to me ramble about dumb stuff and—”

“Nothing you say is dumb.” Steve said sincerely, fingers caressing your back warmly against the coolness of the water. 

“See, you’re also good at reassuring me.” You grinned, teasing him because he proved himself wrong. 

He rolled his eyes comically as you went on. “And you always try your best to understand me, even when I’m a mess and nothing makes sense. You try and you put yourself in my shoes to try to understand.”

“I always want to understand you.” He murmured, eyes staring into yours with fondness that was difficult to not shy away from, but you forced yourself to bear it. 

“I know, and that’s why you’re such a good person, Steve.” You smiled, rubbing your thumbs along his cheekbones following his structure. 

Steve Harrington was quite possibly the best person you’d ever get the honor of knowing the way that you did. You truly wanted to share him with the world, to give everyone a look at the finest person who was everything and more jumbled up into one being, but at the same time you wanted to be selfish, to keep him to yourself because no one deserved him, sometimes you felt like you didn’t either.

You just got lucky. 

“I hate not knowing what you’re feeling.” He admitted, swallowing thickly, remembering all those times he had to poke and prod in order to get down to the root of your sadness. 

You nodded understandingly, hating how closed off you were in the past. “Sometimes I’m too scared to say it outloud.”

You wanted to be more like Steve, not wanting to be defined by the things that you hate, the things that you were afraid of, or the things that haunted you in the middle of the night. You wanted to throw out your sword and live in peace just being defined for what you loved… the people you loved.  

“Why?”

Your eyes met his curious ones with reluctance, nerves kicking into gear more than ever because you knew what saying the truth meant.  

“B-because, I don’t want to mess things up.” You said, nervously massaging the back of his neck with gentle touches hoping he couldn’t feel them shake. 

All this time you thought it was black and white. Too scared to let the past go because of the years you had put into them, and too scared to move forward because you didn’t want a repeat. The extremes that held you back, believing that failing once meant failing forever — all of that meant nothing anymore. 

All you could see in your mind was you and Steve intertwined, all of the bad that you had thought up was put behind you and you never wanted to look away from him. 

“You couldn’t mess anything up, not between us.” He said firmly, one hand loosening from your body to grab at your elbow, bringing it back to his cheek where he wanted you to feel him. 

All this time he thought it was burning red. Chaos and dramatics without ever solving anything. The highest of highs and lowest of lows, a dangerous path that never led him anywhere except heartache and pain. The treacherous journey that was always destined for failure — he didn’t feel that anymore. 

All he could see in his head was him sneaking back and forth from your town with you in his bed, and nothing would ever be the same. 

“Are you sure?” Yours eyes locked, his washing away any lingering feelings of doubt with a simple nod. 

You saw the thick swallow and bop of his throat while his hands traveled to your jaw, holding you there. “I’m positive because I’ve been feeling too.” 

And like that you both were wide awake.  

“S-say it please,” Steve pleaded running his thumbs over the bottom of your lip wanted to feel it so he knew it was real. 

“I-I could show you instead.” You murmured, taking his wrist in your hand, feeling the thumb of his pulse. 

He nodded, resting his forehead against yours, feeling you breathe against him like a lifeline reaching out.

“Please.”

Finally you both were letting it go, stepping into it together because what you had was golden, like daylight.

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: happy new year everyone!!! I’ve missed you all so much and I’m so sorry I’ve been gone for so long — I took a break from posting as avidly in order to prioritize letting myself rest up and enjoy my break. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and a big thank you to my love, Effie, for helping me proofread this and always giving me the best advice ever!!! I can’t wait for you all to read the next chapter!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

[simphellscape]

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 12TH, 2020- 5:24PM // SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13TH, 2020 - 2:38AM // next | tw: alcohol, horny bird pt. 2

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13TH, 2020 - 2:38AM

“Cheater!” Kei exclaims, scattering several UNO cards across the floor, “You’re -hic- cheating.”

He pouts dramatically, throwing himself against the living room carpet. This childish display has you cackling. Perhaps he’s a bit too drunk, but it doesn’t matter because so are you.

“Can we play a different game, please?” he pleads, slurring.

“It’s not my fault that I’m a god, Kei!”

“If I wasn’t drunk, you’d be a goner.”

“You said five minutes ago that you aren’t even drunk!”

“I’m not!”

“Liar!”

“Different game!” he bellows, still throwing a tantrum.

You reach over and flick the back of his head. Even though you’re hammered, you still manage to land it squarely in the center. His head flies off the floor to face you, honey eyes narrowed.

“You’re dead, (Y/L/N).”

One of his feathers darts toward you, aiming directly for your exposed ribs. You know this game far too well, and while you could easily avoid his attack, you secretly enjoy this kind of attention. In a way, it’s like he’s touching you. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

You leap to your feet and begin sprinting in the direction of your bedroom, but the feather is simply too fast. Before you can even make it through the door, it’s teasing the sensitive area, causing you to convulse with defeat. You, unfortunately, are being tickled within an inch of your life.

“K-Kei!” you shout, breathless and laughing, “Stop it!”

“No, you flicked me!”

You crash into the wall and slide to the floor, feather never leaving your side.

“I’m gonna pee!”

“You shoulda thought of that before you flicked me, then!”

“I -- fuck -- I’m sorry!”

“What? Can’t hear you. Speak up!”

“I’M SORRY!”

“That’s what I thought,” he says, a fake threatening tone to his voice.

With that, the feather zips back into the fold of his wings, bumping into a lamp on the way. You stay slumped against the wall, attempting to catch your breath. Meanwhile, Kei has raised himself to a relaxed sitting position on the living room floor.

“Now, a different game, please,” he smiles.

“Fine, crybaby.”

“Watch it, or I’ll tickle you again!”

“Nooo!” you whine, returning to your spot on the living room carpet with a graceless thump.

“I have an idea!” Kei gasps.

“Shoot.”

“How about, um, Truth or Dare, but, like, with alcohol! Like you take a shot if you don’t wanna do your truth… or your dare… or whatever.”

“I didn’t realize we were sixteen years old.”

He calls a feather to hover dangerously close to your ribcage once again.

“Jesus, alright! Just put that shit away.”

He smirks with satisfaction as the torture device returns to its crimson plume.

“I’ll go first!”

“Hold on, let me get the vodka,” you grumble, hoisting yourself up.

As you hobble to the kitchen, Kei begins the game anyway.

“Truth or dare?”

“Let’s do truth,” you decide after a moment, returning with the bottle of vodka.

“You’re no fun,” he pouts, considering his options, “Hmm…. oh! Okay, so, you’ve got good aim.”

“Yeah. Truth or dare?”

“I WASN’T DONE YET!”

“I’m teasing, Kei! Someone’s touchy.”

“Leave me alone,” he growls, “I wanted to know what your quirk really is. Because I don’t think that’s all.”

“Yeah, that’s not all. All of my senses -- you know, sight, hearing, whatever -- are better than a normal person’s. Not all of them are the same amount of better though! My sight is the best, and then touch, then -hic- hearing, smell, and taste. It kinda sucked at first, but I worked really hard to make it worth something, ya know? I even got an ultimate move out of it!”

Kei’s mouth is hanging open in real, but overexaggerated shock.

“Really? Show me!”

“It’s not really something I can show you…”

“Oh. Well, can you, like, tell me about it then?”

At this, Kei scooches closer towards you, eyes widening even further.

“I just, um, focus more, and it makes my senses almost perfect. Like they’re great on their own, but with more focus it gets to the point where, like, I can tell what people are gonna do before they’re finished doing it. It’s like -- ‘oh, I can hear their pinky toe moving in their shoe, they’re probably gonna take a step’. It gives me a migraine when I’m done though.”

Kei nods and begins the long, arduous process of standing up.

“Okay, so I’m gonna get up and then I’m gonna do something totally unexpected. You gotta say what I’m gonna do.”

“I just told you it makes my head hurt, birdbrain!”

“But I wanna seeeeee!”

“You can see it later! I don’t think I can do it right now, anyway. I’m drunk.”

He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest.

You learned from your last time drinking together that when Kei drinks, he often wants to play some sort of game. And when he’s drunk and playing a game, one of two things can happen. One, he gets extremely competitive. This is what happened last time, when he flipped your game of LIFE off of your coffee table. Or, two, he becomes a big, mopey baby, which is what’s happening right now. You know it’s all in jest, and while it’s slightly annoying, it’s mostly endearing. You can’t wait to remind him about this tomorrow. If you’re even able to remember, that is.

“Truth or dare?”

“I’m gonna pick dare, because I’m not a loser,” he mocks.

“Oh, now I’m gonna pick something terrible.”

You scan the room, drunkenly scrambling to find something hellish for him to do as revenge. You just did a deep clean of the whole apartment, so there’s nothing really gross around here that you can think of. You’re fresh out of mushrooms, otherwise you’d make him eat one. You know he would have hated that. You could make him wear one of your bras on his head, but that would require him to see it. Too embarrassing for you. Suddenly, a lightbulb pops in your head.

“Let me touch your wings.”

There are two reasons for this diabolical idea. Kei talks all the time about how he loathes when fans touch his feathers without his consent. But also, selfishly, you just really want to know what they feel like. You’ve felt individual feathers before, and they’re incredibly soft. Feeling multiple all at once sounds heavenly.

“No. Absolutely not!”

“Now you’re no fun!”

“They’re sensitive!”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“No, that’s wooorse!”

“How the fuck is that worse?”

In addition to the flush of Kei’s intoxicated cheeks, a new pinkess spreads across them.

“Either let me touch your wings for a few seconds or take a shot,” you urge him.

He locks hazy eyes with you, and you can see the gears turning in his head. Simultaneously, the gears are turning in your own. You can’t really gather how it would be worse for you to be gentle with them. Holding back on the pressure couldn’t possibly hurt him. In fact, that seems like it would be more pleasurable for him.

Your brain stops in its tracks.

Pleasurable.

Before you can stop yourself, you share your revelation.

“You don’t want me to touch them because you’ll like it too much!”

“No, I--”

“Don’t lie, Kei!”

“I don’t--”

“No, you do know!”

“FINE, TOUCH THEM!” he concedes, throwing his arms in the air.

You grin widely, feeling victorious, as he turns to the side. You use this opportunity to scooch closer to him, preparing to caress the plumes.

You could go about this one of two ways, you figure. You could make this as easy as possible for him. A quick stroke across a small section. Or, you could make this extremely difficult for him, running your fingers between the expanse of the whole wing. Something about the intimacy of the interaction, the inhibiting effect of the alcohol, and your burning desire to touch his wings, to touch him, make you pick the latter.

You wiggle beside his extended leg, facing the wing directly. Before you touch him, something possesses you to lean towards him and whisper in his ear.

“Remember, this game was your idea.”

All in the same motion, you draw your head back and carefully dive your fingers into his wings. As you run them along the surface, you suck in a breath. You expected them to be soft, but you’re taken aback. It has exceeded your expectations by a lot. Your fingertips tingle at the way each feather teases them. The fine barbs feel smooth underneath your touch. A strange sensation zips its way up your arm like it’s a live wire. You move at a sloth’s pace, wanting to savor this feeling for as long as possible, mesmerized. You’re only halfway across when Kei’s hand closes around your wrist, forcefully yanking it away.

His previously hazy eyes are now dark, met firmly with the wall directly across from him. His breathing is labored, shoulders heaving with each inhale and exhale. The previously pink flush in his cheeks is now beet red. Warmth spreads in your midsection, intoxicated by both the restraint he has you in and the downright primal look on his face.

“That’s enough,” he asserts, sternly.

You flounder, looking deep within you for some sort of snarky reply. There’s nothing left in your head; it seems that this interaction has wiped them all away. You feel redness creep up your neck and into your face. Your heart is beating out of your chest. You’re sure that Kei can hear it loud and clear. You swallow hard, and attempt to find your voice.

“Come on, that was nothing,” you offer, weakly.

Your gaze flickers from his eyes to his lips. They’re parted slightly to allow for his panting breaths. The image of him closing the distance between you, crashing them against yours, flashes across your brain. Working against them in expert fashion. Just like you’ve wanted for so long. You can practically feel the pressure of them, sucking on your bottom lip and lightly nipping. To satiate the need you suddenly feel, you take your bottom lip between your teeth, returning your gaze to the predator before you.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Keigo’s palm burns around your wrist. It’s taking everything in him to refrain from pinning you down on the floor and reenacting the images flashing in his head. Your heartbeat is drumlike, rapid, and even more inebriating than the copious amounts of liquor he’s had tonight. Your erratic breaths cause your chest to brush lightly against his forearm, the additional contact driving him further into insanity. After years of training, he knows that this is the ultimate test of his will. He’s losing.

A part of him consistently suggests that loving you isn’t a venture that’s destined to fail. The rest of him usually overshadows that, spouting endless excuses for his actions. Well, rather, inaction. Right now, he’s forgotten every reason he’d previously given himself. No matter how badly he wants to, how desperately he needs to, he can’t bring himself to look at you. If your expression is anywhere near what he’s imagining it to be, he won’t be able to stop himself. In his soul, he knows that if he acts right now, he will be completely unable to show anything resembling mercy. The already looming threat of going completely feral will swallow him whole, and he will fuck you into oblivion.

It’s appealing, the thought of releasing hold on his inhibitions. The only thing stopping him now is the thing that stops him from doing a lot of things these days.

He must, above anything and everything else, keep people safe. And you just happen to be at the very top of the list of people in the world.

This is as instinctual as breathing for him. A knee jerk reaction to outside stimuli. His outside might be extremely stimulated right now, but the core of his very existence will not allow this to continue. Not like this. If he’s ever presented with the opportunity to sleep with you, it has to be centered around you. It has to be considerate. It has to be gentle. The current state of things doesn’t equate to that at all. Of course he cares about you, about your safety. He also cares about being a decent human being, a decent pro-hero, even in the face of quickly reducing into an animal.

Finally, in the raging battle of Keigo versus avian instinct, Keigo emerges victorious.

In one swift motion, he releases his grip on your wrist and raises himself off the ground. Semi-rational thought slowly starts to flow back into his head. He knows that whatever the hell all that was effectively ruined the banter for the night. The way he reacted to your touch scared himself, and he can’t even begin to imagine how terrified you must feel. Moments like these reacquainted him with the fact that his quirk, combined with all of the meddling the Commission did to him, essentially made him a monster. He goes to great lengths to hide that from the rest of the world, but now he’s revealed the most ugly part of himself to the only person in the entire place that matters. You, his entire life, now know that even the most human of hawks are predators, too.

He stumbles to your balcony. In his altered mind, he believes that leaving would be the ultimate courtesy to you right now. It doesn’t matter that he’s plastered. It doesn’t matter that you’re already following him, begging him to stay. No one, especially you, deserves to spend another moment with such an unholy creature as Keigo Takami.

Without so much as a backward glance, he surges off of the balcony and into the night sky. His aim is to fly across the city, across the country, across the world. But, his double vision doesn’t grant him much aid in the darkness. Before he can make it even fifty feet from your apartment building, he clips the one across from you with his massive wing. In any normal circumstance, he would be able to recover from this without much issue. But he’s shitfaced. So, instead, he careens into the street below at remarkable speeds. With a yelp, he lands on the gravel and slides, scraping his entire left side. For a moment, his deafening, panic induced thoughts are quiet. It happens to be just long enough to hear you from your apartment four stories above.

“KEI!”

A pro-hero such as him should be able to take an injury like this like it’s nothing. In fact, he’s done it countless times before. Something about the drunkenness and the complete descent into self-loathing keeps him glued to the pavement. He knows you’re coming. He knows he’s going to have to face you. He knows that you’re probably worried out of your goddamn mind. He knows it’s all his fault.

For the first time in recent memory, Keigo feels entirely lost. Though he’s tried so hard, he knows now that you’ve found him out. In his perfect world, he hoped that you took his lack of affection and general emotional standoffishness as a sort of defense mechanism. In essence, that’s what it was, but he never wanted you to find out any of the myriad of things he was defending himself from -- defending you from. Now, there’s no way in hell you could view it as anything else. He wants you. Badly. And now, you know.

He hoists himself up into a sitting position with difficulty, both hands finding their way to his hair. The panic is starting to give way to crushing defeat. He’s already running through ideas on how to cope with the loss of your presence in his life. After the imminent rejection he’s about to face, he’ll have to cut off contact with you for his own sanity, at least for a little while. Maybe he can contact Kana and see if there’s any way she can assign another pro-hero to your case. Just as he’s running through candidates to recommend, he hears your sandals crunching against the gravel.

“Hey!” you call out.

Keigo inhales deeply and raises his head.

“Oh, thank fuck,” you breathe as you approach him.

You stumble slightly as you finally reach him, hands reaching out. You crouch beside him and begin to inspect his form, picking pieces of the ground off of it.

“(Y/N)...” Keigo sighs.

You shift your focus from cleaning him up to his face. As soon as you see the look of despair on it, your own face drops.

“What? Kei, what’s wrong?”

Is it possible that you aren’t as thrown off by this interaction as he is? Did this even phase you at all?

“Um.. you were there five minutes ago too, right? You witnessed the shit that I just pulled?” he asks, softly.

“Yeah, you jumped out of a fucking window! Of course I witnessed that, you idiot!”

Of course you didn’t care about the fact that he almost acted on his innermost desires in the most animalistic way possible. As always, you just wanted him to be okay. He should have suspected as much.

But, after tonight, he’s not sure if he’s physically able to keep the act up much longer.

“I meant before that.”

Redness creeps across your cheeks as you nod in recognition.

“Yeah, uh, I did witness that,” you whisper.

“And,” Keigo gulps, “did that… uh… scare you? At all?”

You laugh nervously. A flighty and musical sound. Keigo’s heart drums faster.

“No. I wasn’t scared. I was…” you trail off.

You suddenly groan and throw your hands over your face.

“God, Kei, don’t make me say this,” you cry.

His mind races. What could possibly be worse than making you scared by that? He can’t immediately think of anything, but whatever it is must be awful. He definitely won’t be seeing you ever again after this, but he needs to know. He has to prevent this from happening ever again. Not that it ever will, because he doubts that he’ll ever let his guard down like this from now on.

“You’re gonna have to. I’m not following,” he mutters.

You whine, and retract your hands. Your eyes are glued to his chest, as if that’s as close as you can get them to his eyes at the moment.

“I -- it kind of… turned me on.”

Keigo feels as if someone dumped a gallon of cold water over his head. In fact, if someone managed to do that right now, he would probably be less shocked. He can feel his mouth drying out from the amount of time he’s spent with it hanging open.

“See! I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” you groan, shifting to raise yourself up.

Without thinking, he wraps his hand around your wrist again, pulling you towards him. You fall to your knees, face inches away from his own. He searches you one final time for any sign of regret, but all he finds is a desperate, pleading expression. He somehow finds it in him to speak.

“Can I?”

You nod softly and he does what he’s been wanting to do for months.

The first thing he notices when his lips finally meet yours is the taste of strawberry vodka. The second thing, hitting him immediately after, is an explosion in his chest. It’s a million sensations at once -- flowers blooming, fireworks popping, the sun rising. Keigo has done a lot of things in his short life, but not one of them has even come close to the pleasure of kissing you.

What was a tentative, slow pace quickly evolves into something needy, something frantic. His hands shift from the soft grip around your wrist to tangle themselves in your hair, pushing you closer to him. Even though you’re practically on top of him now, you’re not close enough, and he doesn’t think you ever will be. His tongue swipes against your lips, begging for entrance. You happily oblige, and he delves deep into you. As your teeth crash together, Keigo begins struggling for breath. He doesn’t want it, maybe he doesn’t even need it. Now, he feels as though you’re the only thing he needs to survive. Just as he accepts that as fact, you break away to rest your forehead on his. You’re panting, giggling softly between breaths. As he collects his thoughts, his mouth moves before any of the rest of him can.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he whispers.

“You should have done it sooner,” you retort, still out of breath.

He’s beginning to regain control of his body now, so he pulls away from you just far enough to plant a soft kiss against your nose. Even though he would love to continue to feel the most unique and gratifying thing he’s ever felt, he recognizes that now is not the time nor the place. But, if he has anything to say about it, there will be plenty more opportunities, scattered across the rest of time. He pauses as that thought, at how a simple kiss has fixed the position he’d been saving for you since the moment he laid eyes on you. You, his first friend, his last love. He finds your hand and squeezes it.

“It’s getting pretty late. You should probably get to bed,” he suggests.

“You could stay with me, if you wanted. I wouldn’t want you to get arrested for drunk flying,” you chuckle.

The smile that sprouts on Keigo’s face is strong enough to break his cheekbones. It’s a miracle that they stay intact.

“You’re absolutely right. Always looking out for me, aren’t you?”

He lifts himself up and pulls you with him. As the two of you walk back to your apartment, your pinky fingers are linked together. It’s a small, almost lazy connection, but neither of you seem to be able to entertain the thought of letting go.

(a/n): fuckin finally amirite

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter Three - Fearless

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

Chapter one: Cursed

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Ao3 link

---

The grandfather clock chimed four times, the echo ringing softly throughout the dilapidated house, floating all the way up the stairs to Rose’s attic lair. The noise was soft, but she was already wide awake, legs twisted in the crumpled bed sheets, flipping her pillow for the hundredth time to find a comfy position to sleep.

Fuck it. 

She flung off the covers and tiptoed over the smooth, varnished floorboards, turning on her bedside lamp. Her eyes stung as the dark room flooded with light, the huge space with its vaulted, beamed ceilings and dormer windows bathed in shadow. 

The house had four large double bedrooms on its second floor, but there was something about the attic room that drew her to it when she, her mother and stepfather Jerry had taken possession of the crumbling place two months ago. The twisting little staircase up to the top floor, the spectacular view of the woods from both front and back, and the quirky, dramatic interior called to her. There was something oddly romantic about this room.

The place had since been dusted within an inch of its life, floor varnished, thick rugs laid upon the boards, and an old wrought iron bed manhandled up the stairs. When her posters were pinned up on the brick wall and her clothes and books found homes in the shelves and wardrobes, it began to feel homely. Hers .

Except for the piano. That had come with the house, stowed away in the attic room, a gorgeous old piece, out of tune and unloved. Rose had years of piano lessons from her mother’s elderly aunt as a child, and whilst it was not an all-consuming passion, she could play pretty well. The piano had been retuned, but it felt...strange. Rose could never forget that it belonged to someone else once, someone long dead. She didn’t know the story behind the murder that inspired its nickname Murder house on Morehead , and planned on keeping it that way; her dreams were troubled enough without sketching out and colouring in the gothic murder that took place in these walls. It was like something out of the Edgar Allen Poe stories they worked on in O’Donnell’s English class...like she’d prize open the floorboards and find a beating heart. Ugh.

But Rose crept about her room this morning with a bubbling excitement, looking forward to school and the strange new friends she made on Friday night in the drama prop room. Sad, wasn’t it, that her weekend was boring and unremarkable, and she longed for school.

She folded and hung the piles of laundry that occupied her Saturday night, then took out half her clothes and laid them on the bed, throwing together five different outfit options and hating every one of them. The overalls were too whimsical, the dress too frumpy, the blouse didn’t fit well anymore.

“Pull yourself together, you muppet,” she mumbled to herself, sitting cross legged in the middle of half her upturned wardrobe. “It’s just clothes. Since when did you give a shit about fashion? Not like anyone’s going to be looking at me. Unless they want to laugh.”

By the time the clock chimed six, she had chosen the least nauseating of her options, but also one that felt her. Okay, perhaps not her usual style, but the her she wanted to be. A green tailored pinafore dress with double breasted buttons, fancier and more form fitting than most of her casual clothes, with a pretty white shirt underneath. Doc Martens bought in Camden Market, yellow stitches standing out against the black leather.

Punk and fancy...an eclectic mix, maybe. But perhaps that suited her. And despite a very dull weekend trying not to fixate on the events of Friday night, the slightly flirtatious words of one particular Dungeon Master popped up in her head. You’re good most of the time, but you can also be very bad if you want to be.  

Forty minutes and half a can of Aqua Net later, Rose emerged into the kitchen, colliding with a figure by the stove, narrowly avoiding a stream of scalding liquid.

“Oh, Jiminy Cricket, that was close!” Jerry cried out, clutching unsteadily onto a porcelain teapot and hopping backward. 

Her stepfather was short, slightly rounded, with hair greying at the temples and a timid disposition that would border on pathetic if he wasn’t so bloody nice all the time. God, the man couldn’t even swear properly. Rose often thought it was like living with a character from a children's cartoon.

“Sorry, I was lost in my own head,” she murmured, fetching something to mop the scalding liquid from the floor, and also his now-splotchy tie. It was a novelty tie, of course, printed with colourful horse-shoe magnets with googly eyes and moustaches, as if they were alive. 

Jerry quickly set the teapot down, hopping about the wet patch on the kitchen floor. “That’s a-okay. I was hoping to have your tea all ready, but half of it’s on the floor. I did what ya said last week, I added an extra spoonful of leaves.” He smiled goofily, “One for each cup, and one for the pot. ”

Rose couldn’t help but smile as she blotted up the spillage on the floor. “You remembered that?”

“Of course, buddy. Gotta perfect those tea-making skills in a house full of English ladies, haven’t I?” He looked down at Rose, feigning surprise. “A teenager up before sunrise...has the world turned upside down?”

“Haha,” she said drily.

“And what’s that on your face? Is that lipstick ?”

She busied herself with teacups and plates, scavenging for some breakfast to go with the tea. “I wear lipstick sometimes.” Sometimes...when she snuck into the pub last summer, with an eye on the handsome young barman. 

“Oh, sure,” Jerry nodded along timidly, not quite daring enough to contradict her. They began their new morning ritual, one that had taken root over the last year both here and at home in England. He poured a cup, added a dash of milk, and passed it over for her inspection.

Rose breathed it in, cup almost hot enough to blister her hand, and took a sip.

“Well?” Jerry was on tenterhooks, waiting for the verdict.

“Nine out of ten,” she marked him, after a long pause. “Nice and strong, but there’s a taste I can’t quite recognise.”

Jerry turned away quickly, tidying up the clutter on the countertop. “Oh? Must be the milk, I think it’s starting to sour. I’ll pick up some more when I stop by the store today, I need to go to Melvald’s for some more varnish for the staircase anyway, and the grocery store is only next door.”

“Thank you.”

“I know this weekend was kinda quiet, with your mom and I out at the antique store in Carterville all day Saturday, but I thought maybe we could go to that Family Video rental place next weekend. I hear that the new James Bond movie is out on VHS already. Or maybe the record store? I know Duran Duran had that song on the movie soundtrack, maybe you could get the single on cassette.”

Rose groaned. “I would, but I've lost my walkman. It must be somewhere in this enormous museum of a house.”

That walkman had seen her through countless hours in hospital wards, waiting rooms, and at home when she became invisible to all her old friends. Yes, she could get a new one, but the lump of plastic was oddly important to her. 

A noise at the kitchen door heralded her mother’s arrival. “Careful,” she said to Jerry. “If you mention Duran Duran or Simon Le Bon she’ll combust on the spot. She has a little crush.”

Jerry cocked his head, confused. “I thought it was Simon the Skinhead from the pub back at home?”

“Right,” Rose stood up abruptly, deciding whether to flee or face the Balrog herself. Perhaps if she could face down a dragon with a bunch of unfamiliar teenage boys, she could do it. “I am eighteen, mother. Old enough to marry, go to war, to vote, and to drive. And in any civilised country, to get blindingly drunk. There will be no talk of crushes, Simon Le Bon, Simon from the Nag’s Head, or any other bloody Simons.”

Her mum simply clicked her tongue. But as she moved about the kitchen, Rose could see shadows under her eyes, and her skin had an unhealthy grey sheen.

“I’m only joking, mum,” Rose said quickly. “You don’t look well. Are you alright?”

“Me?” Mum smiled, but it was brittle. “Oh, it's nothing. Just had a few headaches, and a bad night’s sleep. Nothing a cup of tea and an early night won’t cure.”

Rose hesitated. “Are you sure? I’m at the hospital next week for ECG and scans anyway, maybe you could go and see someone whilst I'm being prodded and poked like a lab rat. Maybe they’ll put me on a wheel and tempt me with some peanuts.”

“It’s really nothing, Rosebud,” she said. “You have enough to worry about, with your first full week of school. I’m just glad that you’ve joined a little book club already. What was it called again?”

Rose winced. “Hellfire, Mum. And it’s not a book club, it's a fantasy game.”

“If you say so.”

Jerry coughed awkwardly. “Well, I'll make sure I bring home something nice for dinner so you don’t need to cook. Pizza, maybe? Have a great day, ladies,” Jerry said, pressing a kiss to her mother’s cheek and fetching his briefcase. “And if the lights start acting up again, just ignore it. I’ve already called John the electrician. He’s on it!”

---

Butterflies hit her stomach the second she stepped into the parking lot, scanning the faces of every student hurrying into the school building; no Hellfire shirts, no friendly faces, no metalhead with the prettiest eyes and enough charisma to have her babbling and weak at the knees, only a sea of unfamiliar people. Except for Andy the meathead, of course. He nearly ran her over in a shiny red muscle car, a whole pack of basketball players bursting out its doors as it pulled into a space, laughing their asses off at Rose as she almost tripped to avoid the swerving car.

The hallways were no less intimidating than Friday, stuffed full of strangers who all knew each other, who spared not a single glance for Rose. It took five attempts to remember the combination on her locker, swearing under her breath the whole time, being nudged and bumped by unfamiliar people trying to retrieve their own books. The PA system blurted out cheery messages on this week’s homecoming dance, one which Rose had no intention of attending. 

History went by in a blur, math was painful but bearable, and before she knew it, lunch had come around again. This was it, wasn’t it? Unremarkable days, punctuated by crappy lessons and crappy food, with none of the friendship or wild experiences she had craved in all those months in hospital or at home, living vicariously through books and movies and music. Dull. Rinse and repeat.

Just like Friday, she entered the bustling cafeteria alone. She took a deep breath and surveyed the crowded tables, scanning over the jocks in their letterman jackets, the effortlessly cool party kids slouched elegantly over the hard plastic seating, wearing sunglasses indoors on a grey September day. Band kids carrying instruments. Then, something caught her eye. Hellfire. 

They sat at the same table as last week, but the guys were incognito today, not wearing the demon-emblazoned shirts they saved for campaign days. She could see the back of Mike and Dustin’s heads, along with another younger boy she had yet to meet; Gareth, Chris and Jeff were on the opposite side of the table, all three of them laughing and turned towards their glorious DM like flowers leaning toward the sun.

There he was, perched awkwardly on the back of the chair rather than sitting in it, a head above the rest of the guys. Big, frizzy curls, Iron Maiden t-shirt, smiling like he was feeding off his friends laughter, so comfortable in the spotlight, so happy being seen.

And Rose couldn’t deny it anymore, the little flame sparked on Friday night, one that only burned hotter after a long weekend playing and replaying the possible, hopeful , flirting during the D&D session. She fancied Eddie Munson, she had a great big crush on him after only three hours. 

Naturally, the thought of actually sauntering up to the Hellfire table and sitting down with her lunch tray was terrifying. Yes, they were welcoming to her on Friday, but didn’t that mean they wanted the random new girl to hang out during the week, did it?

Then he spotted her. Puppy dog brown eyes became alert and his whole body shifted from its awkward perch on the back of the seat towards Rose’s position. But the thin, flexible plastic had other ideas. It snapped, and he collapsed off the back of the damn thing, jean chain jangling and feet up in the air as he rolled over - to the cheers and laughter of the general population in that half of the cafeteria.

“Total wipe-out!” A blazer-clad, sunglass wearing party dude cried out. 

“Total freak- out,” another party kid returned, sniggering.

The Hellfire guys flipped him off and a minor turf war seemed to begin, in gestures and passive aggressive jeers. But Rose was kind of mesmerised; Eddie rolled over and leapt to his feet, spinning until he locked eyes with her and shrugging dramatically for her benefit, laughing off his own shame. She grinned back in return. Hell, he didn’t have any shame, he didn’t give a damn about the rest of them. Rose envied that with a sudden punch to the gut; in a hundred years, she didn’t think she’d grow that self assured.

Eddie settled in another chair further down the table, and waved at her, pointing to the empty seat by his side. 

She waved back gingerly and went to get some food, picking up a tray of something labelled tuna casserole. Upon inspection it seemed to consist of tuna, pasta and cream sauce, topped in cheese, which was so far from her understanding of a casserole that it boggled her mind for a moment. Clutching her tray with unsteady fingers, she honed in on Hellfire, picking her way around the crowd, past a studious table of kids studying, and another table of younger girls flipping through the pages of glossy magazines and squealing, until she saw it. The ghost table. The always empty table in the corner of the room, tucked away and obscured by a pillar, that she’d chosen to hide on her first day. 

Except the ghost table wasn’t empty. Robin Buckley slumped over its surface, head propped up in her hands, red-eyed and all alone. She toyed with her milk carton, picking the laminated carton into curly pieces, completely cut off from the world..

Rose had spent enough time crying in a corner to notice that same misery in another. So despite the lure of Hellfire, she turned away and walked up to the ghost table. Robin hardly noticed, not glancing up or stopping her slow dismantling of the milk carton.

“You know,” Rose began tentatively, “If you keep that up you’ll end up with a milk over your tuna casserole.”

Robin’s eyes snapped up, red-rimmed, cornflower blue. Up close, her face was smattered with freckles. Very pretty, despite the puffy redness. “Yeah, well...I think a good coating of milk will actually improve the food here. Might wash off the school-mandated funk.”

“Funk - is that what this is?” Rose gestured to the casserole with her chin. “I thought it was mac and cheese.”

“Well at least the school board is saving money on the lunches...expired military rations must come cheap,” Robin chuckled dryly. Her blank face morphed into a frown, and she looked up pitifully. “Listen, I wanted to speak to you this morning. I tried to find you, but I didn’t know which classes you had, or where your locker was.”

 “ I have no idea where my locker is,” Rose joked back. But beneath her flippant attitude she was kind of nervous. Robin’s tentative signs of friendship ended badly last week, and she didn’t know what to think of her classmate yet, not after the conversation in the locker room.

Robin stuffed her hands into the pocket of her classic bomber jacket. “I know I roped you into soccer tryouts, but I was a little surprised that you didn’t show up. I mean, i’d say I scared you off but you’re back, talking to me. Though i’d guess that’s more pity than genuine desire to join the soccer team.”

“There was some pity involved,” Rose admitted. She looked down at her black leather Doc Martens, almost squirming as she gathered the courage to say it. “I...uh...I heard you and your friends in the locker room. I just wanted to say that you don’t need to be ‘ all fake nice, and shit’ , or pretend to be my friend. I’ll do just fine by myself.”

Robin’s face fell, and she gasped through gritted teeth. “Holy shit. I did not mean for you to hear that...i’m sorry. I just wanna clarify I do not support what Linda said, she was a bitch, and I told her that to her face this weekend. It may have led to a serious breaking up, friendship-wise.”

Rose was oddly touched that a near-stranger would stand up for her, in any capacity. She sat down tentatively on the chair next to Robin, placing down her lunch tray. “Was it bad?”

“The worst,” Robin sighed, slumping on the table even further. “She said I was so different after the summer, and I was dragging down in her senior year. Apparently she can’t focus on college applications if she’s so bummed out by my miserable aura .”

Rose would feign surprise, but Linda did come across self-centred and, quite frankly, a bit of a bitch on Friday. “Bollocks. A good friend wouldn’t say that.”

“I don’t know, maybe you’re right,” Robin shook her head. “She was my best friend all through middle school. And I guess we grew apart over the last couple of years. You reach a point where you realise, you know what, everything we do or talk about is about her . I started listening to Blondie because she liked it, I played soccer because it was her favourite sport...I don’t even like soccer.”

“Neither do I!” Rose laughed.

That had Robin confused. “You were going to try out for something you didn’t like?”

“I was hoping to talk to some people, maybe make some friends. But I should have said that I hated it straight away, then I could have left you and your friends alone.”

Robin snapped to attention. “Hey, I didn’t just want to talk to you because of soccer. I hope you know that.”

Her stomach did a hopeful little flip. “Really?”

“Uh, shut up, dingus. You are totally cool. And it's nice not to be the only one with verbal diarrhoea for once.”

A little cackle came out of Rose’s throat. “Yep. That shit’s contagious.”

Robin’s shoulder shook with laughter, messy tangled hair bouncing about her face. “Oh my god, that is so lame. You sound like Dustin.”

“You know Dustin?”

“ You know Dustin?” Robin echoed right back at her. “Dustin Henderson? How is that even possible?!”

Rose grinned and leaned in conspiratorially. “Friday evening was kind of weird for me...it's a long story.”

The chaotic girl nudged closer. “Oh, I am so in need of a long story that isn’t about Linda’s college plans or Steve’s miserable love life. Hit me with it.”

Rose took a deep breath and prepared to explain how she came to meet a gaggle of teenage dungeon dwellers on a Friday night, but one fleeting look in Hellfire’s direction stopped her in her tracks.

Eddie was moping in his chair, casting a dejected look her way. As soon as she made eye contact he snapped away, as if burned, and turned back to the guys. The last thing she wanted to do was damage her tentative relationship with Hellfire - okay, with Eddie - when they had been so kind and patient with her last week. But at the same time, Robin was alone and in need of a friendly ear. Damn, the social hierarchy was brutal in this place.

“Can...can you give me a minute?” Rose asked Robin. “I just need to say hello to some new friends and let them know I haven’t forgotten them.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of this already,” she raised her fingers to her temple in a mock salute. “Permission to depart granted, Private McAllister. Return for duty at thirteen hundred hours. Wait...is that one p.m.? I have no idea.”

Rose almost skipped as she stood up and backed away from the ghost table, saluting her right back. “Yes, drill sergeant.”

Eddie caught sight of her halfway across the room, his entire demeanour brightening with each step she took toward Hellfire’s table. By the time she stood two feet in front of him he was lit up like a lightbulb, drumming on his ripped jeans with his fingers to a rhythm only he knew, flexing just a little bit in the artfully distressed Iron Maiden t-shirt.

God, he smelled nice. The scent of Old Spice was pretty strong even from two feet away from him, along with a tinge of cigarette smoke and something else she couldn’t name.

“Hi guys,” she said feebly, hands twisting together behind her back. 

“Hi,” Eddie returned, brown eyes soft as he looked up at Rose. All the Hellfire members turned to her at once, the separate conversations that were happening in tandem all trailing off into silence. There wasn’t hostility, but there was something more...a little surprise, maybe? They weren’t as confident in the school cafeteria as they were in the drama room. Less themselves.

“So,” she continued. “I hear this place isn’t as friendly as Eddie the Bard’s tavern, but it seems to be where the adventurer’s hang out.”

“Haha,” Dustin chuckled. “It’s like a tavern, but not. Because it's terrible here, and the food is kinda gross.”

“Incredibly gross,” Jeff agreed.

“Plus, no mead,” Eddie chimed in. “Maybe I could deal with O’Donnell’s English class if I were a little buzzed.”

Wait, what? Eddie had O’Donnell’s class too? Ah, now she remembered, there was an elusive Mr Munson she had sent to detention prior to Rose’s catastrophic arrival. Actually, thank god he had missed her embarrassing rant. For very budding, very obvious reasons she didn’t want to come across as an absolute loser. “If you find any, you’d better share it.”

He smiled. “Of course, Lady Rose. I...uh...admit I thought you might be too concerned with your social standing to dare talk to the freaks in daylight.”

Shit. He waved her over earlier and she sat with Robin instead...the man might be uber-confident, but he was still human , and maybe she had upset him. She had to put that right, no matter what it did to her social standing.

Rose looked around; a third of the cafeteria had eyes on the exchange. Whether their curiosity was more about the new girl, or the freak table, she couldn’t tell.

“You thought wrong, dungeon master,” she sat down in the empty seat by Eddie’s side, “I’ve no social standing left to lose. And even if I did, I don’t give a fuck about the opinion of a bunch of gorillas in letterman jackets, and the jungle they think they rule over.”

“Wait,” Eddie tapped the table with his ringed fingers, eyes swivelling about as if he were confused and searching for something. “We’ve gone from a tavern to a jungle? Sweetheart, if I'm gonna keep up with your impressive range of analogies I'll need notes. Maybe a lesson or two.”

She blushed again - goddamn it, the perils of having vampire-pale skin - and looked down. Her bare knee was inches from his, she could feel heat radiate from his body. “I think the workings of my brain would frighten off anyone.”

“Try me,” he leaned back casually, gesturing at himself. “I’m literally tattooed with bats and demons, if you hadn’t noticed. I’m not easily scared.”

“Oh,” she signed softly, eyeing the ink peeping from his shirt sleeves, “I’ve...um...definitely noticed.”

A throat cleared behind them, and Rose suddenly realised the rest of the guys were watching with expressions ranging from innocent puppy-like enthusiasm (Dustin), mischievous glee (Gareth), or mild interest (Chris, Jeff, and Mike). Plus confusion, from another one she didn’t know.

“Right, introductions,” Eddie said, “Rose, you know everyone except Sinclair the fickle-hearted, betrayer of adventurers, the newest member of the big-orange-ball team.”

“Hi,” the guy between Mike and Dustin waved. “I’m Lucas. I heard a lot about your session on Friday. Mike said it was awesome, I wish I could have seen it.”

“Congratulations on joining the basketball team. Oh, and whatever they said about me, it’s all lies,” she said nervously. “I’m not very good. I just happened to turn up at the strangest possible moment...everything else was Eddie.”

Mike and Lucas shared a strange look, an ‘ I told you so’ kind of look. It had her palms sweating.

Eddie turned back to her. “No lunch tray then, huh. Abandoning Hellfire so soon?”

“I just wanted to say hello and explain that I need to have lunch with Robin today. I don’t know if you noticed, but she’s not having the best day.”

He leaned to one side and looked beyond her to the ghost table. “Buckley? She’s a band nerd, right?”

“I guess so. I don’t want to jinx it but I think we’re going to be friends. And friends don’t leave each other when they are alone.”

Instead of disappointment or anger, something else flashed across his face. “Look at you, gathering your own sheepies. I can’t say i’m not disappointed, but I get it.”

“Maybe tomorrow?” She asked hopefully. 

He made a show of thinking about it, playing it up for her amusement. “Maybe, possibly, okay definitely . Wait!” He leaned forward, arms braced on his knees, looking around sheepishly. “There’s something I need to give you today. Kind of a slipper situation.”

Rose scrunched up her nose. “Huh?”

He shook his curly hair and waved dismissively. “Don’t worry, i’ll explain later. Are you around sometime this afternoon, after school maybe?”

“My Mum is picking me up again. The terrible price of not being able to drive.”

Eddie laughed. “You should really get on that. Or at least convince the Balrog to let you get the bus.”

Rose bit her lip. She didn’t want to wait until tomorrow; a fleeting few minutes at the lunch table was not a big enough hit of whatever this was, not even a little bit. “But I do have a free period after English class.”

His eyes lit up. “Really? Wait a minute...me too!”

Gareth’s elbows slammed against the table opposite them. “No you d-”

“No I don’t have plans for that free period, thanks for your concern, Gareth.” Eddie said very pointedly, shooting a manic look at his friend. “If you want to hang out after English I can explain this whole thing, maybe show you the parts of Hawkins High that weren’t on the formal guided tour.”

Eddie wanted to hang out with her. Alone, without the other guys...wait, this was without the other guys, wasn’t it? Or would they all trail after him? Somehow she couldn’t picture Eddie without his little misfit flock of sheepies .

“That sounds great,” Rose said, standing up, fidgeting with her hands. “See you after English, Eddie.”

She spun around before he could even respond, half-skipping back to the ghost table, heavy leather boots as light as a feather on the shiny floor. Robin was watching, squinting in her direction, fingers peeling at the milk carton in her lap again, absentmindedly.

“Context,” she fired off as soon as Rose sat back down. “I need context, stat. I have no idea what's going on right now.”

Rose smiled brightly. “I think I've joined a satanic cult.”

Robin gawped and grabbed the carton; the warped laminated cardboard split open with a pop and drenched her entire lower half with milk. It soaked her jeans, spilled a milky waterfall into her sneakers, and sloshed all over the floor. She made a loud, bleugh noise in her throat as she surveyed the damage, and looked up at Rose with an utterly defeated expression. 

“Your new Lord and master Satan, does he offer a cleanup service?”

---

Midway through Biology, nose-deep in the pages of a brand new textbook and speed-reading the section on neurological impulses in the brain, it hit her. She was meeting Eddie for a free period. As far as she knew, just the two of them. Did this mean he liked her as more than a friend? Or was this typical extroverted-Eddie behaviour? Just a casual, low-key hangout that somehow involved a slipper ? 

Robin quizzed her thoroughly in the cafeteria, but she was light on details. Yes, she came across Hellfire by accident, yes D&D was fun (no, it was not really a satanic cult), yes she seems to have joined. But the panic-inducing crush on its DM? She may have left that out, for now.

Rose was suddenly seized with the impulse to flee to the girls bathroom and check on her hair; yes, it was in far better shape today, natural curls actually teased out a bit and sprayed with some Aqua Net, but did it still look decent? Maybe she should get out the lipstick buried in the bottom of her bag.

“Oh, this is hopeless ,” she groaned into the pages of the textbook.

“I know, right?” A gentle voice sighed. “This neuroscience quiz is going to be the death of me.”

Rose lowered her book. Over the top of the pages hovered a cheerleader, elfin-faced, with strawberry-blonde hair, sitting just at the lab table in front of her. Rose thought she looked familiar from English, but she was quiet, like she too wanted to be invisible despite the green and white uniform. Her cream jacket emblazoned with a Hawkins Tiger swallowed her slender frame, and she looked downcast, like she wanted to burrow into it and never come out. She looked like the kind of girl to have a charmed life, but instead was forlorn, more sad than a biology test could account for.

A sudden rush of sympathy came over Rose. “Mr Kaminski doesn’t seem that...enthusiastic,” she admitted quietly.

In fact, the teacher was currently scribbling long sections of text  with no explanation or even discussion with the class. His balding head hovered close to the chalkboard, fingers and jacket collar dusted with pale chalk, arms moving in a blur as he raced to write out his lesson plan as quickly as possible.

“I suppose. Maybe it’s just my brain. I’m stupid, just like my mom says,” the cheerleader said, melancholy. Gosh, she had such pretty blue eye shadow, just the same shade as her eyes. 

Wait, should Rose be wearing eyeshadow? She didn’t think she’d ever pull off that elegant pastel look, it tended to clash with her hair. Though she might curse her own features sometimes - she always thought her nose was too large for her face - she did actually like her hair colour: red, but a slightly darker auburn red, not a carrot top as the kids used to call her at home, before her hair darkened.

Rose abandoned any thoughts of dazzling blue eye shadow, and decided to make an offer. “There’s no way you’re stupid. Oh, I made some flashcards whilst he was talking, you could borrow them, if you like?”

“Really, you would do that? For someone you don’t even know?”

“I’m Rose, you probably knew that already, from the forced introduction at the front of the class.”

“Chrissy, Chrissy Cunningham,” the forlorn cheerleader introduced herself. “Jason Carver’s girlfriend.”

Oh. Jason...king of the jocks, antagoniser of freaks, preacher of morality in English class. She couldn’t see them together, somehow.

Rose held out a thick wad of neon yellow cards, covered in her loopy handwriting. “So now we know each other, you can borrow the flashcards.”

Chrissy’s smile was dazzling as she took the notes. “You’re too nice. Won’t you need to use them yourself though?”

“I’ll make some more,” Rose shrugged. 

Turns out, when you spend half your teens in a hospital undergoing every scan on the planet and talking with specialists, including neurological examinations after the little died-for-a-while incident, this stuff came quite easy. Not that she had any ambition to pursue biology or medicine or anything vaguely health-related as a career - she’d had enough of the frailty of the human condition, thank you very much.

She was first out the door when the bell rang, books clutched to her chest, almost knocking over a boy in the crowded hall in her haste to get to English class. She speed-walked right past her locker, groaning and slapping her own forehead when she had to turn back and fiddle with the awkward little dial, messing up the combination and cursing under her breath as she tried to get the bloody thing open. When she eventually cracked it and pulled the metal door open hastily, her books collapsed onto the floor in a head, and she had to scoop them all up, chanting “fuck, fucking fuckity fuck,” and earning some serious side-eye from a girl with an enormous permed side-pony and a gigantic blue scrunchie.

So by the time she arrived at O’Donnell’s door, most of the class were chatting and taking their seats. Except this time, her desk at the back of the room was taken. Occupied by none other than Eddie, who seemed to take the rigid metal and wood frame of the desk and chair as a personal challenge, slouched in the chair at such a weird angle that he was almost lying down, feet squirming against the floor.

Miraculously, the desk to his left was free. And with no fear of offending Robin - who had used the milk stunt in the cafeteria and a very impassioned plea to Principal Higgins to get the afternoon off and go home to change - she slipped past the other students and took the empty desk.

“Twice in one day, McAllister?” Eddie quipped, leaning toward her. He put a hand to his chest in mock surprise. “Should I get a restraining order? Pepper spray? Maybe keep Dustin around as a highly ineffective bodyguard?”

She took out her new copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories and poems, the gothic raven taking wing on the front cover, dropping it on the faded wooden desktop. “I’ve seen Dustin with a d20 in one hand and a sharpened pencil in the other, roaring like a tiger as he took down a demogorgon. He was feral. I’d put my money on him any day.”

It made him chuckle, eyes sparkling under the harsh fluorescent lights of the classroom. “Henderson is totally terrifying in his own way. Damn, sweetheart. Here I was, betting on you getting through-”

“Mr Munson, is that you?” O’Donnell’s nasal voice sliced right through whatever Eddie was about to say, jolting him to attention, his pencil bouncing on the floor. “I had almost begun to forget what you looked like.”

He took it like a blow to the chest, his quick-tongued, brash exterior slipping right into place. “You wound me, Mrs O’Donnell. Did our time together mean nothing to you?”

Rose looked around. Half the students including meathead Andy were laughing, the other were quiet, looks of apathy, or even hostility all across the classroom. Jason Carver most of all.

Mrs O’Donnell peered over the rims of her tortoiseshell glasses, her defeated stance obvious to the whole class. “On the contrary, I remember it all. Every expletive-filled rant about the curriculum, every complaint from another concerned parent who begged me to move you from their precious children’s class, every flunked test. In fact, I regularly pray for you to get your smart mouth in gear, put pen to paper, and finally get a passing grade so we never have to see each other again.”

Ouch. That hurt, even as a bystander. But it rolled off Eddie like oil on water; in fact, he seemed to feed on it. ��I know, Irene. I’ve treated you bad. But we’ll always have those beautiful Saturday morning detentions, I'll look back on our memories fondly.”

Even Andy gasped at that one. One girl’s bubble gum dropped out her open mouth, stuck to the page of her open notebook.

“How Principal Higgins continues to let you on the school grounds and in a classroom is beyond me, Mr Munson,” O’Donnell fumed, the folds of her sagging neck shaking like a turkey as she vibrated with anger. “But I will not let you detract from the education of the other students. Save your theatrics for drama class.”

Eddie - for once - said nothing and let her cool off; she turned to the desk and took a huge shoulder-shaking breath before digging out her teacher’s copy of Poe. “Back to The Tell-Tale Heart, please class. Today we will discuss the physical manifestation of death and paranoia in the story, and how the house itself is a character, influencing the plot and bringing about the climax of the book. Listen up, for the themes here will be found in The Fall of the House of Usher when we study Poe’s other works after Thanksgiving.”

O’Donnell set to the lesson, and after a few minutes of settling the class and discussing the text, Rose finally spared a long glance at Eddie. He’d deflated, like the quippy defensive act with the teacher had truly taken it out of him. She didn’t like the look of it at all, that trace of sadness that lingered in his eyes.

He caught her staring. 

You okay? She mouthed at him, totally unfocused on the lesson, grateful they were at the very back of the class.

Eddie gave her a weak thumbs up, smile lines etched into his cheek. He was way over the pretense that he was reading the book, looking downward at the desk, taking something small out of his pocket and pressing it to the desk. But then he stopped, frowning and inspecting the tabletop with serious interest. Whatever it was, it was shiny and sharp, partly obscured by his unruly hair.

Oh fuck. Rose sat there last week; etched into that desk was a seriously cool-looking grim reaper, shadowed by a cowl, face unseen, wielding a scythe. She’d traced her fingers over the drawing and she’d drawn a severed heart in the path of the scythe in red marker pen, inspired by the beating heart that haunted Poe’s narrator and drove him to confess.

She must have made a pitiful noise of some kind, for when his eyes swivelled up, he knew . She could just tell. His ringed finger pointed at her then back at the desk, question written all over his own face. 

Casual. Yes, Rose could be casual about it. She shrugged, but it became a weird cringey motion and before she knew it she’d leaned into her own shoulder, muffling her own groan and hiding. Just wanting to be swallowed by the floor. Of course he could draw, of course the bloody grim reaper was penned by the Dungeon Master of Hellfire. It was so on brand, so in character...and she’d just doodled on top of his creation on her first day, like it was nothing.

Avoid eye contact. That will work. She kept her head down and listened to O’Donnell, focusing on her explanation of literary devices. Dramatic irony...fascinating.

Rose lasted thirty seconds. She snuck a glance toward him; Eddie immediately sprang to life, pulling a grotesque face with his tongue pointing down to his chin, eyes devil-wide and fingers feigning pointy horns on his head.

Rose spluttered, unable to stop herself. Her bark of laughter choked in her throat and became a humiliating cough, every person in the room suddenly swivelling to see what was wrong.

“Do you need a glass of water Miss McAllister, or can I get back to the class?” O’Donnell asked.

Tears stung the corner of her eyes. Eddie - the bastard - had quickly composed himself, pencil in hand, poised over his notebook as if he were diligently taking notes. Butter wouldn’t melt, puppy dog eyes. Only Rose could see the open page of his notebook was completely blank.

“Sorry,” Rose croaked. “My throat feels a bit dry, but i’ll be fine.”

O’Donnell narrowed her eyes, looking between the two of them. “Hmm,” her lips pressed together, and she launched straight back into the lesson.

Thus it began. Forty minutes of torture. Each time they made eye contact she was struck with an uncontrollable, side-splitting urge to laugh, bursting in her chest, threatening to spill out at any minute. It didn’t help that he committed to the bit with more vigour than a Shakespearean actor, pulling more faces, winking, mimicking O’Donnell by pushing non existent spectacles and peering over them.

By the time the bell rang her stomach ached, and she had learned absolutely nothing about the literary devices of Edgar Allen Poe. Couldn’t tell you a thing. Stupefied, sent into a dreamy daze.

When the bell screamed out, that stomach ache quickly turned to butterflies. Eddie shrugged on his leather jacket and denim battle vest, hovering by her side as she grabbed her leather satchel from the floor, pushing her books in clumsily.

“So,” Rose began, as they walked side by side out of class, shoulders bumping into each other at the door. “I’ve been dying to ask you about the slipper thing since lunch. Are we talking about a literal slipper, something I can wear on my feet?"

Eddie smiled bashfully. “Purely metaphorical, sweetheart. Though if you are into cosy footwear, you should go for it. Fly that freak flag high and proud, baby. I...uh... admit, i’m liking these boots though. Very Anarchy in the UK .”

Rose looked down and almost tripped, suddenly aware of her own clumsy feet. “Skinhead, actually,” she corrected. “I got them in Camden Market a few years ago. Though everyone seems to wear them since John Entwhistle went on stage in them a few years ago. He’s a guitarist-”

“The bassist from The Who,” Eddie cut in, nodding eagerly. “Oh I know who he is. He’s seriously good...so good they call him Thunderfingers. He experimented a lot with bi-amps and all these stacks of speakers so he could actually hear himself over the goddamn drummer, cause you know The Who weren’t known for being quiet, man,” he paused, grabbing the back of his neck and looking a little sheepish. “Sorry, I get a little crazy when it comes to music. The guys usually throw something at me to make me stop. Gareth’s broken a dozen drumsticks that way. In fact, I have to buy him some more from the music store in Cartersville before the weekend, or we won’t be able to practice.”

Really? Did his friends find this irritating? Because Rose wanted nothing more than to let him keep talking, revealing more about himself.

“There are so many questions I want to ask,” she said, gesturing with her hands, becoming more animated. “But most of all...you’re in a band? With Gareth? Do you play rock music? I figured it would have to be, with this entire look you have going on.”

They had wandered the corridors together. Eddie opened the door to the parking lot as she spoke, holding it open for her with a small bow, and following her outside. His limbs became looser, more free, with each step away from the school doors.

“Yeah, i’m in a band,” he flexed his shoulders, jean chain slapping into his thigh. “We all are, the older Hellfire guys. Gareth’s our drummer, Jeff is rhythm guitar, Chris is our bassist. But Corroded Coffin doesn't just play rock music, we’re a metal band.”

Rose followed him across the lot, no awareness of her surroundings. “Ah. The Iron Maiden t-shirt should have given it away, shouldn’t it,” she muttered, thinking herself foolish for not noticing earlier. “Wait, so if Gareth is the drummer, and Chris and Jeff are guitarists, what does that make you?”

Eddie had stopped, leaning against the panel of a beaten up old Chevy van, black with a white stripe across its middle. His stance was too casual for it to be someone else's, one of his sneakered feet braced against the panelling. His wicked smile spread slowly, dimples forming underneath the apple of his cheeks. “Lead singer, and lead guitarist, sweetheart. You think Hellfire is my baby? Wait til you see me on stage, wielding the mighty Warlock. There’s nothing else like it. It’s fucking intoxicating.”

Rose bit her lip. Eddie on stage, Eddie with a guitar...that was imagination overload, almost breaking her brain. “Your band is called Corroded Coffin? That’s gothic. Are you sure you haven’t been reading Edgar Allen Poe?”

Eddie looked flustered. “Ha ha. Yeah, it’s the best a bunch of middle schoolers could come up with. Eighth grade Eddie thought it was cool as hell.”

“It’s right up there with Black Sabbath. Wait...they are metal, aren’t they?” 

“Rose,” he said seriously. “If you start me up on the definition of metal, it will take more than a full free period to explain. Before you go all adorably ranty and ask me a million questions, I have to give you something.”

Eddie opened the drivers door of the van and leaned right in, jeans dropping at his hips until a stripe of plaid boxers were on show. He rummaged around in the cluttered front seat, throwing wrappers and tapes around until he cackled like a horror villain and grabbed something, turning around, hands hidden behind his back.

“What is it?” Rose said, on edge.

He whipped his arms around with a flourish. A very familiar silver walkman sat in his hands, headphones attached with a coiled little cord. 

“Thank fucking Christ,” she let our a deeply held breath. “I looked for that thing for hours, and turned up the whole house. Mum was tearing her hair out. I honestly thought I had lost it.”

Eddie handed it to her extravagantly. “You must have dropped it at Hellfire. I’m glad I could be of service to the fair Lady Thorn, nymph of Icewind Dale,” he squirmed and shuffled on his Reeboks, squinting as he looked at her. “I...uh...I have a confession to make though.”

Rose held the walkman tightly, against her chest. “Is this the part where you bundle me in the back of the satanic murder van and I become a gruesome story on the six-o-clock news?”

He gasped theatrically. “Shit, no way. Hellfire can’t sacrifice its own members, even satanists have to have some morals. You’re off limits.”

“Ah, so other students are on the table?” Rose asks.

His tongue ran over his teeth devilishly, and it did something feral to her, spreading warm, rushing feelings across her body, in particular places she shouldn’t be thinking about right now. 

Eddie’s eyes light up. “We prefer a nice ritual altar, but the lunch tables could do in a pinch.”

Rose snorted out a laugh, covering her mouth again, blushing furiously as she realised how inelegant she sounded. But she couldn’t be composed and cool when he was so lame and adorably funny. 

Eddie stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, his words spilling out in a rush. “I was serious about the confession though. I just possibly, might have, okay definitely and repeatedly listened to your mixtape.”

“What?!”

“Now i’ve said it out loud that sounds like a total invasion of privacy,” he panicked, hands pulled out, palms up in a defensive gesture. “But it was there...all tempting and seductive, whispering Eddie, push my buttons...play me.. .and I caved like a little bitch.”

Rose bit her lip. “It’s okay. It’s not like you read my diary or something. Don’t even have one.”

“Oh, thank Satan,” he sagged with relief. “Because I have so many thoughts about your taste in music. Dear god, I have never heard so much Duran Duran in my entire life. Hungry Like the Wolf was on there twice ...was that an accident?”

She was mortified, and it felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. She had a giant, unrelenting thing for Eddie Munson, rock god and frontman of a metal band...and he’d heard all her guilty pleasure songs, a tracklist she’d put together without any thoughts of being overheard by magnetic, weirdly, alluringly, handsome boys dissecting her music tastes. 

“Kill me now,” she mumbled. “Just tie me up and put me in the van, let Hellfire sacrifice me on the altar.”

Eddie blinked several times like an owl, head dipping low. “Wha- what?”

“Well, now you have seen my inner loser,” Rose said, laughing sarcastically. “You know what? I’m not ashamed. This is me, Rose McAllister, lover of shit music, that must be what you’re thinking. I like Duran Duran. And Queen. And...and...and I suddenly can’t remember who else is on the tape.”

“Bowie, Billy Idol, Flock of Seagulls...” he trailed off gleefully, taking a step forward with each musical act, until he was so close she could see the dark liquid amber of his eyes. “And i’ll admit, for a minute there I was confused. Yes, it’s eclectic. There’s some normie shit on that tape. But when I flipped that little sucker over and listened to the other side, White Room came on and I was floored. Cream? Come on, fucking Eric Clapton on guitar? That is awesome. Sunshine of Your Love too...and then Hendrix with Voodoo Child, and that sweet opening riff of Smoke on the Water by Deep fucking Purple ? That’s rock, baby. That’s some serious orgasmic fucking guitar work right there...and Deep Purple are the goddamn progenitors of metal. Well, I'm kind of shafting Sabbath here, which feels wrong. Sabbath is really the bedrock of metal, who am I kidding. But the point is, you might just be a potential metalhead.”

He was so passionate as he went on and on about music that he seemed to vibrate, like he would burst at any moment, head shaking side to side, frizzy hair with a life of its own. 

She took the lifeline, held onto it tight. “So i’m not a lost cause, then?”

“Lost cause? Fuck no!” He shouted the last two words and their little bubble popped when a teacher yelled across the parking lot, reminding them both that this was still school, even if it was a free period. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly, holding up the walkman. “For returning it. This little thing got me through three long-term hospital stays, and Duran Duran and Cream and all the other bands, they kept me sane when I thought I was going crazy.”

His eyes softened. “You’re welcome, Rose. Can’t have you going crazy, we need that eighth player for Hellfire on Friday night. Gareth’s counting on you to do the girl voices.”

“Are there a lot of female voices?”

He leaned back casually on the van again. “Oh, we come across a few fair maidens on our travels. Sometimes other warriors, sometimes a saucy tavern wench we have to seduce to gain information. But...uh...we won’t make you do anything like that. Nothing creepy or uncomfortable. Just warrior maidens in this campaign.”

“Great,” she said, fighting off some serious nerves. The thought of being seduced by Eddie with words over the Hellfire table had her spiralling. Earth to McAllister, get your mind out of the gutter. She tried to change tack, before she blurted out something stupid. “So I believe I was promised a tour of the school. One that included all the parts the teachers won’t tell you about.”

Eddie flared to life again, slamming the door of this van shut and bowing for her again, ushering her toward the school building, where they walked in tandem, crossing the parking lot and going down the side of the building. “One tour coming up, milady. Can’t go back on my word now, can I. So these are the dumpsters that the lunch leftovers are thrown in each day. Smells divine, doesn’t it.”

Rose wrinkled her nose. “Just lovely.”

“I caught one of the teachers dumpster diving here once...that was a disturbing sight. Couldn’t look at them the same again. But quickly, we’ll move onto the athletic grounds, where the brightest and best of the monkey house fling faeces...I mean balls....up into the air to show off their masculine prowess and attract a mate.”

They approached a small outdoor field marked out with white lines, surrounded on two long sides by rickety metal frames of seating.

“The jock in his natural habitat,” Rose joined in, putting on a posh voice like the narrator of a documentary. “Threatened by other mature males, he peacocks, putting on a large helmet to increase the size of his head, and a jockstrap to appear more appealing to the female of the species.”

Eddie was in his element, joining right in. “And here, the bleachers. The mating grounds of the common jockstrap, where after the mating dance on the football field is complete, he attempts to lure the female with exaggerated claims of manliness, in a desperate attempt to procreate.”

Rose’s laughter trailed off as their hands accidentally brushed, and she felt as dizzy as a drunk coming out of a bar on a cold night, hit by fresh air. Eddie must have sensed it too, for he dropped the act and flexed his fingers like he didn’t know what to do with them. They took quiet, almost aimless steps across the grassy field, until he suddenly grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the treeline, jolting her forward.

“Come on,” he said cheerily. “Last stop’s this way.”

He dragged past the bleachers and into the , following a narrow, well-trodden path, where the beautiful golden leaves that made up the autumn tree canopy widened into an opening. Stray leaves crunched under Rose’s sturdy Doc Martens, but all she could feel was his hand, curled confidently around hers. Eddie was tactile with all the Hellfire guys, but friends don’t lead each other by the hands into secret spots in the woods...did they?

“If this leads towards a creepy ritual altar, Munson, then i’ll...” 

His head whipped around. “Don’t stop there, I’m intrigued.”

I’ll let you tie me up and do whatever you bloody like, Rose’s traitorous inner voice whispered. “Go for the eyes or the balls,” she said out loud. “Or if I was at home, crack you over the head with my hockey stick. I once saw a girl knocked clean unconscious on the hockey field.”

“That’s so brutal,” he grinned. “I would not have pegged you for a violent kind of girl.”

“I know i’m a clumsy, babbling idiot, but perhaps there’s more to me than people think.”

“Oh I am certain of that,” Eddie said with conviction.

When he turned back to the woods trail she spotted a black bandana tucked in his back jean pocket, and the huge Dio emblazoned on the back of his denim sleeves jacket. From his hair, rings, and the badges sewn all over his clothes, to the chain sewn clumsily into his sleeve where the zipper had broken, everything about Eddie Munson was unique, unapologetic about who he was.

They emerged in a clearing, dominated by a weathered picnic table and benches. It was a really odd spot for a picnic table, but Rose supposed the woods were pretty at this time of year, and the tree cover gave them complete privacy.

Privacy. Actually, this was the first time they had been alone, and far from the observing eyes of the Hawkins High student body. 

“Last stop,” he swaggered around the clearing, letting go of her hand and leaning on the picnic table. “The most dangerous spot in the school, where all the stoners go to score some pot.”

Rose chuckled and came to sit at the table, opposite him. “Which idiot thought this completely obvious spot would be a good spot for a secret drug deal? Let me guess, is it one of the basketball team?”

Eddie went quiet, eyes wide as saucers, waiting for something. She looked around, taking in the sights and smells of the forest, and looking down at the splintered table top. There was something etched into the wood, a bat...a whole series of bats, in the same style of the grim reaper from O’Donnell’s English classroom. Eddie’s grim reaper.

“Shit,” she exclaimed, breaking the silence. “Fuck. It’s you, isn’t it?”

His whole expression was vulnerable, watching her closely, warily. “Afraid so. Guilty as charged. I guess this is the part where you tell me to fuck off and leave you alone, huh?”

Rose didn’t expect it, she hadn’t really thought much about his life outside of school. She’d only known the guy for a couple of days, a few hours altogether. That rocker image he gave off was an outline, one she had yet to fill in with colour and shade, the complex reality of his life still unknown.

She turned introspective for a minute. She might have spent a lot of her teen years in and out of hospital - which was boring, filled with straight-laced medical staff and other sick children - but when she had recovered, she’d quickly tried to seek out all the elusive, wild experiences she’d dreamed about for years. Bars and pubs and alcohol, late nights with new people she’d hoped to call friends, but never really stuck around. There was a streak in her that she inherited from her father. It killed him in the end, led him to a cold, watery grave when she was thirteen and newly diagnosed, so drunk he’d swerved off the road into a small lake. So no wonder her mother watched over Rose like a hawk, melting down when she was home late, smelling of cheap spirits or beer, seeking out something to make her feel.

Life was messy. Hers had been, at least. So it should be no surprise that Eddie Munson’s was too.

“Motherf-” Eddie bit off his own curse, turning around slowly, sinking down onto the bench opposite with his back to her. He sat with his head in his hands, completely still. She’d not seen him that still in all the short time she’d known him.

She realised it had been a long time since he made his admission; she’d just sat there in silence, leaving him with no answer. And no answer probably felt like judgement or rejection.

“I see what this is,” Rose said, trying to keep her voice lighthearted. “You can’t sacrifice me to your lord and master Satan, but at least you can make a few bucks and convert me to the devil’s lettuce.”

“Don’t,” he murmured back quickly, still buried in his hands.

Okay, so joking didn’t land well. Rose leapt over the table - though it was more of an awkward scramble with a sudden realisation that her dress wasn’t that long so she should be careful of her leg placement - and dropped on the bench alongside Eddie. She couldn’t say why the hell she didn’t walk around, a momentary madness maybe, or copying the habits of the boy next to her.

“You can flee now,” Eddie said. “But i’ll walk you back to school if you want. Don’t know who else is out in these woods.”

“Why would I flee?!” Rose asked, voice high pitched.

“Oh, I don’t know. Because you’re in the woods with a fucking drug dealer. You must think i’m a waste of space. I would.”

She raised her hand, placing it tentatively on his back, wary they had not touched above the hand holding when he dragged her here. “I don’t give a fuck if you sell weed. I mean, assuming you’re not selling coke or heroin to the kids...”

“Fuck no,” he responds immediately, enough punchy anger in that statement to let he know he means it. “Just weed at school. Some bennies and ketamine too, but i’ve never sold them here. Mostly outside bars.”

“I’m not shocked. I was sick a lot, but I did have a fucking life, Eddie. I’ve done stuff i’m not proud of. But my opinion shouldn’t matter, what do you think about it?”

Eddie drew in a deep breath and sat up. He still couldn’t look at her; his face profiled from the side, staring at the forest floor. “What do I think that I can’t get an honest fucking job in this town, where the name Munson is synonymous with lying, cheating, stealing and wasting away like goddamn trailer trash? Because I am trailer trash by the way, I live with my Uncle Wayne in a one-bed unit off Kerley. Its just fuckin’ fantastic...I sell to kids who wanna get high at high school parties, living a little before they piss off to college and get white collar jobs or settle down and start cookie cutter little families. Whilst i’m a two-time super senior who can’t even scrape together enough credits to graduate from this shit hole.”

Eddie was gathering momentum, a dam burst behind the endlessly funny, confident demeanour he’d shown her. His knees were bouncing relentlessly, hands gesturing to punctuate the helplessness of his words. 

“I’m twenty years old, and the highlight of my fucking life is playing Dungeons and Dragons with a bunch of fourteen year old boys, or playing guitar with a garage band on the weekends and clinging onto the vanishing fucking hope that we might be good enough, that I might be good enough for something more than being booed off stage by a crowd of five drunks at The Hideout on a Tuesday. And knowing i’m gonna end up like my Uncle Wayne working twelve hour shifts at the plant with a trailer to come home to if i’m lucky, or even worse, like my old man...Al Munson, the two-time felon who tried to get me to mule fucking drugs for him...who left me to deal with the aftermath of a shootout without a second goddamn thought, leaving me to keep that cop from bleeding to death. So it's a factory or a jail cell for Eddie Munson. Glamorous, huh? Just the kind of guy you wanna be...you wanna be spending time with.”

Rose let the words echo around her. She laid her head back on the picnic table, the gravity of his words settled in as the russet leaves of the red maple tree swayed in the wind. “Come here,” she said softly.

Eddie snapped. “What?”

“Lie back with me.”

“This is a weird moment to be having a nap, sweetheart.”

“Just do it.”

He hesitated. Seconds later she heard a resigned gruff sigh and felt strands of his hair tickle her neck, heads laid side by side on the table.

“What are we looking at?” Eddie asked.

“Leaves. They’re pretty."

“Okaaay. I get it. I broke you, didn’t I. Fried your wires.”

“I want to spend time with you,” she began tentatively. “I want to be around you because you should be scary-”

“This isn’t a good start,” he interrupted.

“Shh. Just hold on. You should be scary,  you're covered in tattoos and chains and badges of heavy metal bands. You’re a bit obnoxious-”

“Wow.”

Rose swatted his hand, and somehow, his ended up tangled with hers again. But this time their fingers were entwined, the kind of intimate  hand-holding for those destined to be way more than friends. He held onto her like his life depended on it.

“Go on, Rosie,” he said, softer this time. “Tell me how obnoxious I am.”

Rosie. That was new. Well, it was better than Rosebud.

“Don’t be so impatient,” she chastised him. “I was saying...everything you do projects this big, fearless rockstar. Bold and scary and brave, shepherding these kids from the people that would bully them, their shield against the judgemental dickheads of the world. They think you’re tough because you don’t care for the opinions of normies. But you do care, and that’s exactly what makes you strong. You exist loudly, brilliantly, exactly as yourself, despite that fear. I’m not exaggerating when I say that in the two days I've spent with you, Edward Munson, I feel like a better person. I’m a little less afraid to be me. Maybe I can be fearless too.”

He squeezed her hand, until her fingers went numb. She squeezed back, until she swore she felt one of their knuckles pop, fingers so entwined she couldn’t tell where hers ended and his began.

“It’s Edgar.”

She sat up, blood rushing to her head. “What?”

Eddie’s hair was splayed about his face like a curly brown halo. He turned to face her, a slow smile turning the corners of his lips upward. “My full name is Edgar. I blame the old man, the asshole. I’m telling you this in complete confidence, the only person in school that knows is Jeff. If Henderson or the other kids find out...���

“ Edgar? Like Edgar Allen Poe?” Rose almost screeched. “Should I be following you around with a raven or a beating heart, reciting poetry?”

“Piss off,” he said, still smiling.

“Edgar Munson. Were you born in the Victorian era? I know you said you were a super senior but...wow. Should I get you a cane to walk with? A top hat? Shit, should I be calling you Mr Munson?”

“Seriously, McAllister. I’m gonna-”

“Mr Munson, esquire. I shouldn’t forget to respect my elders.”

Eddie tugged on their joined hands until she rolled into him, the full length of her torso pressed against his. Every cell of her brain deteriorated at once, the sheer heat of his body, the badges and zips pressing into her breasts, the immediate dismantling of the personal space that had kept them at a polite distance...and now they were in the same space, all pretense dropped, sharing breath, noses almost brushing. So close she had to look between his endlessly dark eyes to see them both, trying to determine what he was thinking.

“You were saying?” He said low; she could feel it vibrate through her chest, sending her into a daze until she had to remember to actually breathe.

“I...I don’t know,” she babbled, cripplingly aware that she was nearly straddling his lap, their thighs pressed side by side. Her lips parted, working up the courage to close the distance and kiss him.

Eddie reached out his free hand and held her jaw, stroking the skin of her cheekbone with his thumb. She would have sworn that literal violins struck up in the background, a chorus marching to the rapid beating of her heart, like she was in a period romance with the brooding hero. And when his hand slipped into her hair, raking through it, bringing her head closer, it was so perfect that it was almost...painful?”

“Ow,” Rose winced, her scalp on fire. “Ow, ow, ow!”

“Shit, what did I do?” Eddie cried out, face twisting into shock.

They tried to spring apart, snapped back by his hand caught in her hair. Rose felt a few strands of her hair torn out at the root. Eddie’s chunky silver rings had caught in the thick strands; the more he struggled, the more she cursed and hissed in pain. 

Eddie was babbling. “Oh my god i’m so sorry, what the fuck, i don’t wanna hurt you sweetheart please...i’m so sorry. Let me take them off, let me-”

“Fucking hell, Jesus Christ, I feel like i’m being scalped,” Rose mumbled back to him, tears springing in the corner of her eyes. She closed the distance again, needing to stay close to prevent the damage from worsening. Eddie’s face was right by hers, at one point their cheeks were pressed against each other and she fully ended up in his lap, as he wriggled the massive rings from his fingers.

“I’m sorry baby, i’m sorry,” Eddie said soothingly, his teeth gritting as he tried to delicately remove the last of the rings.

By the time they were all freed and his hand could untangle from her hair, they were breathing hard like they’d both run a marathon. Eye contact made, shock and panic shooting adrenaline through both of their veins, like she’d been drinking hard. She laughed, he followed. Sinking into mirth, the tense, romantic mood shattered into pieces, left with something funny, something still deep, something that was paving the way for serious, heart-stopping feelings.

“What is it?” Rose asked, seeing Eddie dissolve into a fit of giggles. “Is it the hair, do I look ridiculous?”

Eddie’s eyes were glowing. “My rings are all stuck in your hair...your hair is literally metal, McAllister. That’s so fucking weird.”

Her hands flew to her scalp and were met with four lumpy, cold chunks of metal. “Oh shit. What do I do? Will they come out by themselves? I don’t want to lose any more hair, I got chewing gum in my hair as a child and Mum had to cut it out, it took two years to fully grow out.”

Eddie nodded vigorously, taking off the ring on his other hand. “Just relax, I swear i’m not gonna do any more damage. At least, I don’t think so.”

Rose laughed again. “Are you sure it won’t hurt?”

Eddie thought of something, he dipped his hand into his pocket, bringing out a plain cassette tape in a transparent case. “I can’t promise, sweetheart. But I have a distraction for you. After I heard that beautiful mess of a mixtape in your walkman, I kind of made one for you.”

Rose felt more tears at the corners of her eyes, but not from the pain. “You made me a mixtape? After Friday night?” The subtext was clear: after one meeting, one session with Hellfire?

“Yeah. It’s metal songs that I thought you might like, after working out what music you’re into. Do you wanna listen whilst I try to untangle the rings?”

She nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak.

“Okay, here we go,” Eddie nodded. He switched out the tapes, clicking the walkman cover into place and putting her own tape into the case. He brushed the hair back from her shoulders gently, placing the headphones over her head, adjusting them carefully until the offending section of hair was free and the headphone cups covered her ears properly.

“You good?”

“I’m great,” Rose replied.

His bare hands looked different, fingers pale. He must wear the rings a lot . He pressed the play button and a guitar struck up, a kind of restrained introduction with a drumbeat slowly rolling in. It wasn’t heavy , not in the way she expected. It was...nice.

Raspy vocals kicked in, still relatively tame compared to her expectations.

I ride, I ride the winds that bring the rain

A creature of love and I can't be tamed

I want you, 'cause I'm gonna take your love from him

And I'll touch your face and hot burning skin

Eddie had wordlessly begun, fingers stroking her scalp, gently lifting away sections of hair until the rings were visible. 

No, he'll never ever touch you like I do

So look in my eyes and burn alive the truth

She closed her eyes and felt the music, and Eddie’s fingers, struck by the sheer intimacy of sitting so close to someone, fully trusting them to tend to you whilst you couldn’t hear a thing. She felt when one of the rings came free, just as the song’s chorus swelled.

I'm a wild child, come and love me

I want you

My heart's in exile I need you to touch me

'Cause I want what you do

I'm a wild child, come and love me

I want you

My heart's in exile I need you to touch me

'Cause I want what you do

I want you

Rose was nodding her head in time to the beat, losing herself in the music. By the time the first song had finished, Eddie was tapping her on the shoulder. She opened her eyes and found him watching with concern, as he carefully took off the headphones.

“I’m all done, sweetheart. Did that hurt?”

“Not a bit. Eddie, the song was great. Who was it? I’ve never heard them before.”

His answering smile was contagious. “That’s W.A.S.P. See?” He pointed to one of the badges on his denim vest. “They’re kinda recent, made a name for themselves in L.A. Really good showmen, their concerts are legendary. I’ve been meaning to go see them when they tour. But don’t lie to me, Rose. Did you like it?”

“Loved it. Play the next song,” she demanded. 

Eddie stowed his rings in his jacket pocket and put the headphones back on her. “This is Sabbath, but not Ozzy Sabbath, Dio Sabbath. Lady Evil is such a great song, I love this one.”

“Listen with me then,” Rose slipped them off straight away, inverting the earcups and pressing one to her ear, pulling Eddie close so he could listen from the other ear. Faces only inches away, sat side by side on the picnic bench, she felt as giddy as a thirteen year old with their first crush.

The music played again, and she could feel Eddie’s body move with the music.

“I can’t believe I've not really listened to metal before,” Rose admitted, caught up in the smooth vocals of Dio. “This is great.”

Eddie gave her an intense look. “You can’t start with full on thrash metal, sweetheart. You’ve gotta work it up, take it slow. Build up the intensity, until it’s pounding at your eardrums and you’re begging for more. Just wait, we’ll get you there. You’ll be listening to Metallica and Slayer in no time.”

Rose lowered her eyes and flushed again, feeling suddenly nervous that the man at her side had evaded the law, dealt drugs, and probably had vast and thorough experience to back up the clearly sexual innuendo behind his words. Whilst she had never gone beyond some frantic snogging and a bit of over-the-clothes groping with Simon the skinhead, the young barman from the pub at home, which her mother thankfully seemed to have no clue about. 

But as Black Sabbath launched into the chorus of Lady Evil and her little finger gently nudged against Eddie’s on the table, the slightest contact causing his breath to hitch and his cheshire grin to spread slowly across his face, she knew in her bones that whatever was happening was affecting them in equal measure. She might be able to live up to her little speech earlier; she might just be fearless. 

[erikahenningsen]

Headcanons for a Regina that goes to college but breaks contact with everyone from high school for at least all four years. How do you picture her? If you can't picture her ever doing that then forget i asked lol

In my heart I refuse to believe she would break contact with Shane (or Cady) but we don't have to talk about it

I think that she wouldn't necessarily break contact because she was on bad terms with everyone but more out of a dislike of who she was while she was in middle/high school, especially sixth grade-junior year and she feels like she can't really get away from it without fully starting over. Maybe she even goes private on her social media.

She goes to a large university somewhere far away from Evanston, maybe UCLA or NYU where she can blend in

Regina has a lot of trust issues after everything that happened junior year and really internalized a lot of the things her classmates said to/about her when they turned on her, compounded by the guilt she still feels about what she did to Janis, so she's kind of hesitant in making friends

She eventually develops a small but close group of friends that she feels sure, for the first time in her life, actually like her for her and not because they want something from her

This gives her the confidence to finally start exploring her sexuality after shoving her attraction to girls down for so many years (as a side note I think she felt guilty about her sexuality after bullying Janis her for being a lesbian so she just decided to ignore it until she could get away from NSHS)

I think she also starts experimenting in other ways—maybe she cuts her hair, maybe she gets a tattoo, maybe she dyes her hair pink, maybe all three!

Regina does become somewhat notorious in the lesbian circles at her school for hooking up with girls and then being messy about it but as she gets more confident in her sexuality she has her first girlfriend and they go to Regina's first pride together

I think she's still dramatic and messy but she mellows out a lot once she doesn't have the pressure of the expectations of people who have known her all her life. Like in high school, she didn't know which parts of her were a performance and which were real and that was a lot of why she acted so insane.

Regina, rumored to be dead or perhaps in jail, reemerges at the five-year NSHS reunion looking like this and everyone loses their minds

Sleepover Saturday

[ms-m-astrologer]

Transiting Mercury enters Leo (pre-retrograde zone)

Tuesday, July 2 - Tuesday, July 16, 2024

Yep - those dreaded words, “Mercury retrograde,” loom over us again.

Mercury isn’t very comfortable in Leo. It is said to be in its “fall” here, ie, in a sign (Leo) opposite the sign it’s exalted in (Aquarius). Mercury likes pure icy cold facts - “just the facts ma’am” - whereas Leo is all about the drama and the ego.

Little kiddos with Leo Mercury often have to be reminded to tell the plain, unvarnished truth. If they develop the talent for “embellishment” and steer it into proper channels, that’s one thing. But as an example - my dad was a Leo, with a Leo Mercury, and he never let the facts get in the way of a good self-aggrandizing story. It got so bad and was so thorough that he was completely misrepresented in his own obituary - his parents were hurt and astonished, and everybody’s grief was compounded due to all the lies.

But, I think that’s more of a theme and issue for the upcoming retrograde. These next two weeks can be seen as a set-up time, and of course we want to take advantage of that! Looking at Mercury’s areas:

Learning - it goes better if we can have some fun with it and enjoy the process. Leo can be very interested in science, as well as the usual artsy Leo piece. We like to show off what we know.

Thinking and reasoning - stubborn! But can come up with some wonderful creative solutions to problems. We have to work on keeping our “egos” out of it.

Communication - can be very dramatic and creative. Can also be very loud. The instinct is to shout over people when they disagree. Work on (remembering) those listening skills.

These aspects are valid on the day they happen - especially the first ones, when Mercury is still streaking along.

Wednesday, July 3 - Mercury/Leo opposite Pluto Rx/Aquarius, 1°19’. The Leo-Aquarius polarity is “I’m a star!” versus “Everybody is a star!” This opposition probably points out a difficult truth (especially if it dings something in your birth chart) around that theme. Someone tells you something true, but harsh - or maybe you tell someone! Be careful not to let vanity, or need for approval, over-react.

Saturday, July 6 - Mercury/Leo conjunct Vesta/Leo, 7°32’. First of three, with the other two happening while Mercury is in its retrograde zone. These two combined usually ignite some new scholastic interest. Whatever amazing idea we get, though, we should hold that thought and not act on it, because it’ll be up for review during Mercury retrograde - and probably come out in a completely revised form, the third time, in Virgo.

Monday, July 8:

Mercury/Leo sextile Jupiter/Gemini, 9°50’

Mercury/Leo trine North Node/Aries, sextile South Node/Libra, 10°48’

This can give us some intellectual arrogance. I’m thinking of Peter Pan crowing “How clever I am!” On the less egotistic side, we have opportunities to expand our knowledge, in a way that makes us feel confident about ourselves and our ability to learn.

Monday, July 15 - Mercury/Leo square Pallas/Scorpio, 19°53’. First of three. Struggles to find our authentic voice - authenticity being a Very Big Deal for Leo and Scorpio. Perhaps we aren’t as eloquent as we want to be. Can also indicate learning difficulties. I’m also thinking that, given the nature of Leo and Scorpio, we aren’t listening - and that will get us into trouble soon enough.

[fangirlingalittletoohard]

Down Bad

After perhaps the worst day of both of your lives, you and Crowley need proof that life is worth living again. When you meet each other in the bar in which you work, you prove to be exactly what the other needs to provide comfort after the conclusion of both of your relationships; a friend. How will you both react, after being hurt so terribly, when you begin to fall for one another?

Crowley x fem!reader

Use of y/n

Warnings: occasional swearing, alcohol, angst

1,432 words

prev. chapter

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Chapter 5

You and Crowley had been in the pub one Saturday evening and you’d had a few more drinks than usual. It was very rare that you went clubbing these days, but you wanted to dance. Crowley had been reluctant, but your best doe-eyes (and the irritating amount of times you whined “please!”) had convinced him to join you. 

You had stopped back at your apartment to change. If you were going on a night out, you were going to do it properly in a ridiculously skimpy outfit that was not at all appropriate for the time of year rather than the simple ‘jeans and a nice top’ you wore for evenings in the pub. 

“Can you physically take any longer?” Crowley complained from your sofa as you tried on yet another tiny top and mini skirt combo.  “Just for that comment I think I’ll try the first three outfits again just to make sure.” You teased through your mostly-closed bedroom door. You could practically feel him rolling his eyes.  “I’m coming in in ten seconds and dragging you out, whether you’re wearing clothes or not.” He threatened. 

You scrambled to pull on one final outfit, cursing yourself for not thinking to try this skirt on first as it clung to your body perfectly. You grabbed a pair of old trainers from the bottom of your wardrobe and pulled the door open.  “Finally!” Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes but suddenly stilling when he saw you.  “What?” You asked, standing on one leg and wobbling slightly as you pulled on a shoe.  “Oh you are not seriously wearing that.” He chastised, his voice low.  “Why not?” You pressed defiantly. “I think I look quite good.”  “That’s besides the point!” He argued, his eyes glued to your form. “It’s November. It’s freezing.” He stated.  “It’s all part of the fun.” You rebutted. “Anyway, you’ll be way too hot in that once we’re inside.” You gestured to his jacket. You knew you would be cold on the ten minute walk to the club, but you also knew that you would thank yourself for wearing minimal clothing one you’d been inside for a while and your body was damp with sweat.  “You’re seriously not bringing a coat or anything?” He asked, still staring at you.  “No, I’m not, mum.” You teased, pulling on your other shoe. “Are you coming or not?” You asked, making your way to the door. He huffed over-dramatically, and repeated the noise when you handed him your phone, keys and lipgloss to keep in his pocket as one of the defects of your skimpy outfit was its lack thereof. 

~~~

You were shivering less than two minutes after leaving your apartment.  “You’re a nuisance, you know that?” Crowley asked, removing his jacket and wrapping it around you. His words conveyed a complaint, but his tone was soft. You elbowed him playfully in response before pulling the jacket tightly around you. It was comforting. You liked the way it was much too long for you. You liked the smell of it - it smelled like Crowley. You realised that you hadn’t really payed much attention to the way he smelled before; why should you? 

You couldn’t tell whether it was the tipsiness or the jacket, but you felt a warmth in your chest and couldn’t resist the soft smile which your lips began to form. 

~~~ 

You’d been inside for just over an hour. Crowley had bought you both drinks and you’d hung around the bar for a while whilst he refused to dance. Finally, you’d convinced him to join you in the middle of the packed floor. You had to be in the right mood in order to enjoy clubbing, and you were in that mood tonight. You loved the feeling of bodies pressed against yours, of blaring music that you could feel in your chest and flashing lights which disorientated you. 

Crowley watched you for a while before finally succumbing and dancing with you. You were a good dancer. You moved your hips in such a way that drove other people crazy but you didn’t do it for them. You danced because it felt good. And god it felt good tonight. It felt good when Crowley’s eyes were on your body. It felt good when he moved so close to you that you could feel the heat radiating from him. It felt good when he placed his hands on your hips. It felt good when he slotted a thigh between yours and closed the gap between your bodies, moving his hips in sync with yours. 

It was hot. He was hot. You supposed you had always known that he was attractive, but you’d never exactly felt attracted to him until now. The way his shirt sleeves were rolled to just above his elbows, his shirt buttoned so low it threatened to expose his nipples, his sharp jawline, his plump lips twisted into a smirk, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh where your hips became your ass. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest against his. His fingertips pressed even harder into your hips. Your body felt as if it was on fire and you just couldn’t help yourself. You tilted your head upwards and placed a feather-light kiss to his lips. 

For a second, he didn’t move. You began to slink away, thinking that you had made a mistake and he wasn’t feeling the same way. But one of his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and the other snaked itself into your hair and pulled you back into him. He captured your lips in a searingly passionate kiss. Your head spun and your body tingled as his lips moved against yours, his tongue darting inside your mouth a few times as you continued to grind your hips together. He eventually released your lips, only to reattach his to your neck, leaving messy, wet kisses on your exposed skin. “Crowley…” You mewled into his ear, melting into his touch. 

Without warning, he pulled away. He released you from his grip and stepped backwards, bumping into the people behind him. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it and quickly began to move away from you through the crowd. You chased after him, tripping over people as you stumbled to keep up with him. 

Eventually, you were outside, the cold air stinging your lungs. “Crowley!” You yelled, finally making him stop and turn to face you. You took a moment to catch your breath, before continuing, “I’m sorry,” rather feebly.  He didn’t reply, but simply stood six feet away from you, his chest rising and falling rapidly.  “I’m sorry,” you repeated, “if I misread the situation.” The cold air was sobering you up relatively quickly and an awful feeling of guilt and dread was creeping over you.  “You didn’t.” He replied finally.  “I… then what’s wrong?” You asked, stepping towards him. He took a step back as you did so.  “I just…” he began, tensing his jaw as if it was physically difficult for him to express himself, “I just can’t do this.”  You frowned. “Why not?” You asked, beginning to shiver.  “It’s… I just can’t.” He replied, taking another step away from you. “It’s not for you to understand.” You felt anger bubbling up from the pit of your stomach. You’d got to know Crowley on such a deep level over the past few months and you’d become such close friends. You wanted more than that, and Crowley had certainly shown you tonight that he did too. He wasn’t going to tell you what was and wasn’t for you to understand. “What the fuck, Crowley?” You spat, feeling tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You were determined not to cry right now.  “You’re better off without me.” He stated simply, turning and striding off. 

You stood dumbfounded, watching him walk away. He had left you alone. You were cold. You were tired. You were angry. You were confused. How had you fucked this all up in the space of one evening. You were sure he was reciprocating your interest. You’d fucked up this friendship because you’d got drunk and thought he was hot. God, you hated yourself so much in that moment. 

Once you noticed how violently you were shivering, you made your way over to the queue of taxis outside the entrance to the club. You slipped into the back of one, gave the driver your address, and finally let hot tears gush down your cheeks as he drove you back to your apartment, alone. 

................................................................................................

Chapter 6 (final chapter!)

[campbyler]

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH

oh my god first of all:

"On Saturday, Will is well and truly convinced that he’s entered an alternate universe – a Victorian romance novel, perhaps, or maybe a Shonda Rhimes production" LMFAOOO

Dustin treating Will for heatstroke and Will getting pity brownies from campers im crying

AND THE FUCKNG HANDPRINTS ON WILLS SHIRT AFTER THEY KISSED AND LUCAS FINDING THEM I AM ACTUALLY GOING INSANE

I feel like every ask I send to yall is just incoherent forms of AAAH lmao but truly that is all I have in me, phenomenal as always

HEHEHEHE THANK YOU SO MUCH! scrolling down to the bottom of our inbox to answer some post ch05 asks so sorry that this is fully two and a late . my bad . will was going THROUGH it this chapter and i cannot blame him for being dramatic about it because i would have done the same!! so so glad you enjoyed those parts bc they were soooooo so fun to write! never apologize for being incoherent — we love seeing all the different iterations of AHHH in our inbox!

[alias-sam]

Pierced by a Golden Soul

Chapter 45. Blueberry Blast Strikes Again

Platonic Jojo's x Reader

Summary: Fate is a bizarre concept with countless more bizarre implications. In life sometimes such extraordinary events happen that the only reasoning left must be fate. The tragedies that constantly befall the Joestar bloodline for example may be the unluckiest series of cards drawn in human history, or perhaps the work of a greater power. There is no way to tell for sure. Had Dio Brando or Jonathan Joestar moved slightly on a divergent path the world itself would be left very different. The fate or luck of the noble Joestar bloodline has led to destruction of evil likes of the Pillar Men and DIO. This story is of a similar caliber to that of the other Joestars (as I am sure you are familiar with them). This is a story of lost souls, compassion, hope, and above all fate.

Word Count: 1,089

(Crosspost from Wattpad, full fic is already posted there.)

You looked up at the menu hesitantly. Was it worth it? The name 'Blueberry Blast' was staring back at you in bold vivid cerulean lettering. Might as well try it, right? You didn't even get a sip of it last time. Typically you wouldn't visit places like this, but Vita seemed just as excited to come to the store as Jaya was the first time she showed you the shop.

For a moment you were glad Vita was ordering. It gave you more time to decide if your experience with smoothies last time was enough to deter you from the treat all together. That was until Vita looked the cashier in the eye as he ordered a carrot, orange juice, and tangerine smoothie. The cashier looked over Vita's shoulder at you to make sure the boy was being serious. You facepalmed before nodding. It was an odd quirk of your friend that you had noticed. He only ever ate orange foods, his favorite of which was carrots. He always had them on his person somehow and you never quite understood why.

"Sir... we don't keep carrots in stock here..." The cashier explained awkwardly.

"That's fine." Vita nodded. You knew what was coming next as a bag appeared in Vita's hand. "I brought my own. If you could just mix them in with my smoothie that would be fine." The cashier once again looked at you for some sort of guidance, but all you could do was shake your head and motion for her to go with it. You were planning to leave a generous tip for the trouble.

After making sure Joseph didn't want anything you wound up ordering a Blueberry Blast and paying. Vita tried arguing he'd pay for his own stuff, but you assured him a two-dollar smoothie was something you could handle.

The boardwalk was fairly occupied, given it was a Saturday you weren't all that surprised. You slowly followed behind as Vita excitedly showed Joseph around the various stores and tourist attractions. You were happy to see the two getting along, they both had an eccentric-ness that helped them bond. Vita's eyes held a sense of adventure and affinity for mischief that you noticed in Joseph's, the many years on Joseph had dulled the shine, but it was there. You could only assume the kind of trouble the man got up to in his younger days.

Eventually the three of you had to stop and rest in a shaded area. Joseph, despite his excitement to explore, was getting tired in the hot sun, and you could tell. After making sure he was all settled, you pulled Vita aside and lightly scolded him for not minding his pace when showing a very old man around on such a hot day. The boy was about to apologize when his watch started beeping.

"Oh no! I have to go!" He yelled, looking panicked. "I completely forgot to feed Harvey and Rodger before coming to meet you here this morning!" Before you could do or say anything else, Vita dramatically threw his smoothie over his shoulder and dashed away. Joseph looked over at you confused.

"Harvey and Rodger?"

"Better not to ask." You sighed, watching the boy's retreating form and taking a sip from your own smoothie. With no better option, you took a seat next to Mr. Joestar on the bench.

"Lovely weather we're having." He commented awkwardly.

"Yep." You responded absentmindedly. It was quiet for a moment before you got up the courage to say what was on your mind. "I overheard you and Jotaro talking about me the other day..." You admitted. "I didn't hear much, and I don't entirely know what it was about, but I can't help but feel like Jotaro is mad at me?"

"Jotaro.... he'll come around." Joseph sighed, leaning back on the bench to look up at the clear blue sky. "Don't worry about all that. When the time comes, I'm sure Jotaro will tell you. With everything going on, now definitely isn't the right time." You were confused by the old man's words but stayed silent and let him continue. "Maybe my grandson doesn't, but I trust you Y/n. I can put in a good word for you." The man perked up as he shifted through the pockets of his jacket. "Speaking of, I have a little something I was hoping you could help me with."

"Oh?" You looked at Joseph curiously. He eventually took out a key ring.

"I have a few things that have been sitting in a storage room at the Speedwagon foundation research center not too far from here." Joseph handed you the key ring, which you hesitantly accepted. "Whenever it's convenient, I'd appreciate you going there. I'm an old man and just can't sort through all that stuff. There's a box in the storage room labeled 1989, it should have a photo with me and Jotaro and a few other people. I've been wanting to find it for some time now, but haven't had any luck. Would you mind?"

"Not at all." You assured the man before placing the keys in your pocket. It wasn't that odd of a request, so you accepted it gladly. Just as you were about to continue with your smoothie a group of teens ran by, one of which knocked the Styrofoam cup from your hand. "Hey!" You yelled as you felt the juice splash into your shirt. "Stupid kids." You mumbled. "Could you wait here for a second?" You asked, looking over at Joseph. "I need to clean this crap off."

"I don't mind. Take your time." The man said before gazing out at the scenery by his little bench.

"Thanks." You sighed before heading to the nearest bathroom. As you walked off, you failed to notice a shadow slithering underfoot towards Joseph's bench. Whether it was luck or fate, you managed not to step on it.

You angrily murmured to yourself unintelligible curses about how you were never going to subject yourself to Blueberry Blast ever again while you wiped your shirt with a wet paper towel. After getting most of the juice off, your shirt still had a massive blue stain on it, but there wasn't much to be done. You murmured a few more curses to yourself about careless kids before heading back outside towards Mr. Joestar.

..................

"Anyways, sorry about that Mr-"You stopped mid-sentence as you gazed at the empty bench in front of you. "...Joestar?" You quickly looked around through the surrounding groups of people, but had no luck finding your missing charge. "Crap."

Jotaro was going to kill you.

[kolttonen]

The psychological horror of Brand New's The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me - an album analysis, part 4/4

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

Bangs and silence

The Devil And God has many dramatic, noisy times and they are often highlighted with ringing silence and soft vocals. Luca has a musical jumpscare - it is an acoustic song that seems to end softly on a whimpering whisper, just to go full 180 and spit right back at your face with a brutal re-entrance of the band. 

You could drink up the entire ocean We'll still find someone to be everything we know that you'll never be So touch me or don't Just let me know— Where you been? Or we could leave it alone I'm sure there's someone who knows where you've been (Where you've been)

The track goes out with a bang just to be continued by Untitled, where a soft guitar and electronic sounds are accompanied by a muffled vocal clip:

I could never love you I could never love you, could never love you

 The dramatic differences in the sound are a great allegory for the overall emotional tone of the album, which changes from a total numbness to a soul-crushing guilt. No wonder this album is the emo gold-standard.

The Devil And God shows Brand New's musical flexibility in how they invent sounds that paint the landscape of the album without words. Some of my favorite bits include:

The moist, noisy sound of Welcome To Bangkok, which reminds me of the wet and foggy sound on Deftones’ Saturday Night Wrist:

The chilling outro of Archers, where the distorted guitar mimics first an emergency vehicle, then a heartbeat monitor and finally a woman's scream:

The drum fills and overall percussion track of Not The Sun:

The entrance of horns in Limousine:

The guitar and drum fills after Lacey delivers perhaps the most awful line of the whole album:

And you can’t blame your mother,  She’s trying not to see you as her worst mistake

The guitar line in You Won’t Know competing against Lacey's vocal track:

The guitar solo in You Won’t Know. The song might have my favorite guitar parts in any Brand New song.

Conclusion

I love this album, but God does it make me feel like shit! I love The Devil And God like I love Hereditary or Saturn Devouring His Son - not because they make me feel good but because they make me feel something. The Devil And God is like a car crash you can’t look away from, a loved ones slow slip into an unhealthy mindset you are forced to witness. To write an album from the point of feeling lonely or ill with shame and guilt is not easy as these are not easy feelings to express and put into words. Writing and delivering it in such a compelling way that those feelings don’t just come across to the listener but infect them with them was always a feat Lacey mastered. The Devil And God discusses the ugly turmoils of being an adult with inconsolable feelings of loneliness and desolation in a very catching way that stays with you.

The Devil And God might be the best of things, it might be the worst of things. It will make you find emotions you never knew existed and make you wish you never did. This album will become your favorite daydream and worst nightmare. It will seek out the skeletons in your closet and build you prison walls of their bones. If you feel its calling, let it come to you, but for God's sake, do not seek it out!

br

-

Comments: The correct lyrics to The Devil and God are not clear, as the band seemed to change them out during some live performances and hardly ever gave out the official ones. For the sake of this analysis I have picked the lyrics which I have deemed the most fitting and meaningful.

[fukounaboy]

hello again, angel! here's another letter. today is the second anniversary. happy two-month anniversary! wishing you a very good day, once again.

i said i would be leaving, but i suppose that turned out to be a lie, as i return here every so often to come and send you something. i don't know if you've read them (or whether you are even here to do so), but that aside, i just wanted to say that i love you very much. thank you for everything.

while i have been "away" (for not even two days, apologies for the melodrama) i have been thinking quite a lot. about myself, of course, as i have a tendency to be very self-centered. i keep looking at myself and not recognizing or being disappointed with whatever i see. sometimes i wish the sun would come back out of the sky and it were the summer again and i would regain my confidence and happiness and perhaps even a bit of personality, though, unfortunately, i know that is not how it works. perhaps by the summer i will be pleased with myself.

unrelated, i watched your lyric video for the better to eat you with by the stereosexuals! i'd never heard the song until now. i like it very much,,

sorry for this being so terribly long. i'm not really sure how to end this otherwise. i do not know when i will be sending you another letter. most likely tomorrow. apologies about me and how dramatic i am. if i do not send a letter tomorrow, then friday. or saturday. sunday? whenever i do. i hope it will be soon.

goodbye! i love you! <12121212121212

~ crispin viscera k.

RAHHHHH Hellooo... It is. The second anniversary. !!! Or. Was. Because it's 12:19 AM. But. I will pretend it is still the 7th. I am also wishing you a good day. And. Happy 2 month anniversary. :D I am. Kinda happy it was a lie. Because. I enjoy having you here !!! But. If you need to disappear for a bit do it bcz you are important to me and a lotta other people and you deserve to take a break sometimes no matter how big or small the break is cuz sometimes people need to disappear sometimes cuz disappearing helps and that is okay !!! You deserve rest and everything good and you deserve to feel good n happy !!! I always read them I read every single thing you send me. :3 I may not answer but. I read them. Dw. !!! ^^ And yes. I am here. As you can see. I am not here a lot as of uh. 2 days. But. I am here. Nonono I love your melodrama it's v. Silly. (?) We can be v melodramatic togetherrr don't apologize. :3 Yk what. I do not really like summer. But. I also hope it is summer. Right now. Because I want you to be v happy !!! Because you deserve nothing less !!! And anything except happiness for you should. Go away forever. Or smth like that. :3 RAHGH do not watch any of my first like 5 videos please I hate them. So much. They are awful. And I. Hate them. But. Besides that. I am glad you like the song !!! It's my second favorite from The Stereosexuals. (My first favorite is 1Fish2Fish... :3) DO NOT EVER APOLOGIZE FOR THAT (/lh) I like reading everything you send me no matter what or when or whatever else. Even if I do not answer I love reading everything and it makes me so happy. !!! It doesn't matter when you send any. Any messages at all are v much loved and appreciated. :) AGAIN DO NOT APOLOGIZE FOR BEING DRAMATIC It's so fun I love it. It's just how you are and it's so silly. :3 I also hope it is soon. !!! Goodbye !!! I love you too I love you smsmsm. !!! <12121212121212 (Also. Unrelated to everything. But. I want to show you this song because I've been listening to it a lot and I just. Wanna show you. And also if the link thingy doesn't work uhhh oh well. Anyways. Goodbye. :D)

[nateascendingskies]

DISTANT DETONATIONS - on the Trinity Test in Oppenheimer

After seeing Christopher Nolan's latest, "Oppenheimer", in all its full IMAX glory last week, many thoughts have continued to ruminate in my mind, with everything from the film's subject matter to its technical merits being under consideration. Of those ruminations, none are perhaps more important than what could arguably be called the defining moment of the entire film - and quite possibly even the lives of many of those dramatized and portrayed on screen, the infamous Trinity atomic bomb test near the famed Los Alamos National Laboratory in New Mexico.

As many who have studied the Manhattan Project and its influences on the end of World War II from the perspective of the Pacific Theatre already know, the test marked a crucial turning point in the close to 3 years of tireless research in developing such a weapon - one that, in all theory, could end all wars due to its unfathomable and near apocalyptic power, harnessing the destructive force of miles high fire and hazardously radioactive particles into one package. As the film's titular subject once stated, quoting the Bhagavad Gita, "Now I am become death, destroyer of worlds."

For director Christopher Nolan, who has been well known for eschewing computer graphics as the lead focus of his visual effects sequences, often using them to complement or tweak massive practical stunts and explosions, recreating such a moment in history was going to be a difficult test. How much firepower, magnesium powder and gasoline would it take to portray such a lethal force without being deadly to anyone on set, and how spectacular would the final result look on such massive screens in the format Nolan intended people to see the film in - IMAX?

Well, therein lies the genius of how the test is portrayed on film. For close to a year, I had been eagerly anticipating how such a moment would play out - I even went out of my way to buy tickets to a showing at the largest IMAX screen in Seattle to make sure I got the best experience possible. I knew what Nolan was capable of - he had utterly floored me with Interstellar some 8 years earlier. And while I wasn't the biggest fan of Dunkirk, I knew that he'd tastefully portray such an event with his experience in the dramatizing the era of World War II. Even then, everyone was expecting the test to blow the roof off of their local cineplex - I mean, why wouldn't it?

That Saturday night I saw the film, the tension was palpable leading up to the test - almost presented in real time to as it actually happened, tricky weather conditions and all. I was close to gripping my armrests, my heart was racing. Just how insanely massive was this going to be?

Then - it happened. The button was pushed, the countdown timer hit 0, and the test occurred on screen, but not with the explosive force that had been overblown and hyped by many. Instead, it felt, in an intriguing way, distant, restrained and even beautiful - using forced perspective and some extremely well staged pyrotechnics, such a crucial moment in history had been revisited. Then, the theater was given the jolt they were expecting - not in the explosion itself, but in the shockwave of sound that passed through the test site afterwards.

Perhaps we as an audience that night, myself included, should've caught onto this sooner - every explosion in the buildup to the test had a scientifically accurate delay of sound afterwards. In addition, the way Nolan had written and structured the film beforehand was far from the means of glorifying such an explosion - who did we think he was, Michael Bay? Oppenheimer was a complex, unfairly vilified political leftist, and even potentially neurodiverse man (awkward socially and better in visually driven theoretical physics than in math - the signs were there for him to be on the autism spectrum), so why would this moment in history even remotely resemble something from his earlier "Dark Knight Trilogy"?

This was a test that many were worried would destroy the world through a chain reaction igniting the atmosphere of the Earth. No spectacle was warranted, especially since this would lead to the deaths of tens of thousands in Hiroshima and Nagasaki a few weeks later. Thus, such an approach was not needed, especially considering the mental trauma that awaited both us and Oppenheimer in the film's last hour (and especially so in the real life events that informed the film).

In all essence, it made perfect sense for the Trinity test to feel that small. We were seeing it from the perspective of the men who were there that night - not some wide angle or close up view of the events like something James Cameron had done for Titanic some 25 years earlier. And with on how bone-chillingly apocalyptic a note the film ends on an hour and half later, the way the test is shown on screen only reveals itself to be more brilliant with the full picture being unveiled. The test itself may not have destroyed the world. But as Oppenheimer notes to Einstein in a meeting at the end of the film set a few years after the test, the aftermath of it just might have.