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auspicioustidings · 4 months ago

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Devil's Trumpet

AKA the Appalachian horror brain worms would not leave me alone

Summary: You move to small town West Virginia to get your head on straight but the men in the woods start unravelling you instead.

Words: 3.5k

CWs: mild horror, vague reference to mental illness

This is best read while listening to some Southern gothic tunes 🎶 I suggest Big Dark Love by Murder by Death!

Colour leeched out of the world here. There is something almost comforting about that, something familiar. Familiar too is the way this town moves like syrup too thick to be pleasant in your mouth. It was how you moved though the world once. Not anymore though, no, now your mind is your own and not an invading force. Now you can appreciate the drab slowness as something external to yourself, just an environment around you and not a prison closing in inside your head.

There wasn’t much of a plan really. A will reading that left you with not a lot, but enough to get the hell out. Signing with a fountain pen that made your skin crawl with how it scratched. A stiff drink and a dart thrown at a map and tearing a ragged hole in the Greenbrier River as the sharp point didn’t quite sink far enough into the board and tore its way through the paper on the way down. You were never any good at darts.

You aren’t putting down roots. Those were for old growth, not for hardy weeds that broke through concrete and always found another crack through which to grow when killed. Nothing that felt too much like a home, so instead a room at the only inn.

This town is too small to warrant one, but it doubles as a watering hole come evening. It doesn’t seem to have been updated in an age, you wonder idly if the plaque upkept to a gleaming shine declaring the inn to have been opened in 1824 is somehow conveying pride at the fact. The peeling wallpaper in your room was probably pretty once, but the green now seems sick with age and the delicate floral pattern has started to wilt.

There is no routine to your days here until one slowly creeps in as it always does.

Breakfast first. You don’t know if it’s something in the air here, but you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and are eager to drown it in food and mint toothpaste. The inn has a small kitchenette for guest use and you make yourself toast with butter and strawberry jam. It’s a little too sweet but the tea helps, black with no sugar.

You stretch out the back of the inn and enjoy the view of the woods. You don’t call it yoga because it makes you less likely to do it, but you had learned when things were bad that quietly engaging your body in the morning was a good way to quiet your mind. There’s a little tension in the back of your neck you try to work out but it sticks there until you finish up and go back inside to shower. The hot water fixes it you think.

The first few weeks here you just sit and watch the world go by, but then you one day you decide to get up and spend some time wandering the town. It’s small, decrepit. There is the inn, a few sparse houses, one general store. The library, despite being the only venue with any chance of entertainment, is usually empty. You meet Mrs Lela Kaletaws who runs it, although she isn’t always around.

Roads here are barely holding together, but the one main road that runs out of town is at least in somewhat better condition. It runs parallel with the woods at one point, curving off just past old Mr Kleer's house. The man in question usually sits on his porch but he’s friendly enough so you don’t pay much mind to the gun.

After you’ve wandered town you make sandwiches for lunch. It isn’t much exciting, but it is routine and is filling enough that you bunker down for a nap after.

In the afternoon you go for a long walk before returning to the inn for dinner. There is a bar downstairs that opens in the evenings and serves food that while not a delicacy by any means is hot and filling. You retire to your room, read some of your book and go to sleep.

It continues that way. Breakfast, stretch, shower, wander, lunch, sleep, walk, dinner, read, sleep.

At first you only really skirt the edge of the woods, but with each passing dreary day you venture closer to the depths down the packed dirt path. The path through the woods is confusing and unmarked. Where you swore just yesterday it went to the right, today it goes to the left. Even so it must be your sense of direction, because the path always leads you past the jimsonweeds that come up to you chest before spitting you out on the road that leads to old Mr Kleer's house. The flowers are beautiful, but there is some metallic tang to their otherwise sweet scent that causes your teeth to ache.

—

More comfortable with the area now, it causes a fright when you see a man in the woods just in the corner of your eye only to snap your head around and have him vanish. You force calming breathes and keep walking. There is no such thing as ghosts in these woods.

Old man Axell calls to you from his porch as you pass, rifle butt settled on the rickety wood that you worry will collapse and left leg stretched straight out towards you like reaching for something.

“Seeing things in the woods kid?”

“I look spooked sir?”

“Like you’ve seen a Ghost I reckon.”

You give a shaky laugh at that.

“Only if ghosts come in flesh and blood and quick feet. Some man gave me a fright is all.”

“Must be out of towners” Axell says.

You do not like the way he says it. You do not like that he looks at you strangely. But you smile and nod and get on your way. He is only an old man.

—

There is someone in the woods. You feel his gaze on you, feel the dull prickle that rests on your nape from those eyes.

“We really must stop meeting like this” you say.

You have stopped trying to catch him. Now you only speak, eyes set on the dirt path in front of you. You do not think you will get a reply and when you do you shudder horribly at how much closer the voice is than you had anticipated.

“Don’t enjoy the company?”

He’s English and you frown. Out of towner. The old man must know something, but maybe you cannot begrudge him having fun at your expense. You have not made friends here.

“Enjoy company where I can see it if it’s all the same to you.”

The man laughs. It is a confusing laugh, warm and cold all at once as it bounces through the trees.

“Careful what you wish for.”

You resist the urge to turn even as his voice moves strangely, like he is swaying from one side of the path to the other.

“Must have a face like sin to keep hiding away” you say.

The next words you can feel. His breath is right at your cheek, a strand of your hair lifted by his fingers.

“Quite the opposite.”

Your heart is a prey animal running from a predator, beating wildly against your ribs as you turn to find he isn’t there. Only you certainly felt him. He leaves a sweet smell behind.

—

Sleep does not come easily that night. The rain against your window casts the moonlight strangely into your room. You spend hours watching as the creeping vines on the wallpaper seem to twist and shift beneath the moon flowers. When you finally fall asleep, it is almost as if you can smell them. Sweet and slightly metallic.

You wake up with the fading scent of damp earth and something on the edge of rot in your nose and the feel of dirt packed uncomfortably under your nails. They’re clean you find, but you spend the start of the morning cutting them down once you see the fading scratches left on your arms and legs through the night.

—

He is not the only stranger in the woods. You swore you would not go back, but routine takes you there without thought.

The Scottish man likes to walk on your right hand side, just enough steps behind you that you can only see him at the very side of your vision. You think he is handsome, but it is difficult to be sure. What you can be sure of is that he is dressed oddly. You have spoken to him for a while now, discussing yourself mostly. Perhaps it is the eerie quiet of the woods that makes you want to fill the dead space, but you tell him more about yourself than you ever would have thought yourself comfortable with.

“Are you a soldier then?” you ask.

“Sometimes, I think.”

You take a moment to chew that answer, wonder at the taste of it. There is a panic when you smell blood on the air, but it is quickly blanketed by sweetness. You have reached the jimsonweeds. It is too early, you have not walked far enough to be here already. But before you can protest the steps to your right stop and you know the man is gone.

None of them ever come farther than this.

—

You try the next day and the next to get answers from him. He seems to make a decision at one point just as the familiar smell reaches you and you think you will leave with no more information than you had before.

“I’m SAS.”

He is not there when you turn to thank him. He is not there at all when you return the next day.

—

The library run by Mrs Kaletaws is added to your routine. Breakfast, stretch, shower, library, lunch, try to sleep, walk, dinner, read, try to sleep. The small building has the peculiar addition of a cat you never quite see. You hear the skitter of claws on worn wood floor that has started to smell of sickly sweet rot, see fading scratches on the legs and arms of the chair, find hairs on your clothing, feel the prickle of eyes focused on you from the dark running up your spine to settle dully on the back of your neck. You have tried before to get a glimpse of the creature, but it only seems to exist in the very corner of your eye and retreats when your gaze tries to creep around to catch it.

Lela never talks about the cat. She told you once that it is only her and her wife that live in the basement below the library. You have never seen her wife and fear she must have some permanent sickness that stops her from being able to do much. You think they should move above ground so she can at least see the world through the windows obscured by racing raindrops, but you keep it to yourself.

The one computer here is old, the white plastic exterior now yellowed. Still, it is the only gateway to the outside world in this little town and you blow at your tea while waiting for your search results. ‘SAS military bases in West Virginia’ is a shot in the dark, but you need to start somewhere. After a sip you dump more sugar into your cup before looking at your finally loaded results.

There are none. No British military installations at all in the USA. You had hoped at least the results would bring up something about training exercises but it is just pages of useless information about bases around the world. You read about the SAS, fall down a rabbit hole of how they torture their soldiers to train them to withstand it. You go through pages and pages of search results until finally one talks about SAS soldiers in this area.

The link takes you to a dusty website that stopped being updated sometime in the late 90s. It’s some sort of conspiracy blog and you are prepared to close it, but you can’t help but get lost in the story it tells.

The details are unclear which you suppose is the hallmark of any good conspiracy. 40 years ago. There was a team of two, or maybe four or maybe seven. They set up just outside the woods with little to no explanation. There’s an interview from a local, not a name you recognise so one you think is likely long dead. She says two of the soldiers went into the woods first. She remembers something bad must have happened, because there was an argument between the five left outside. Nobody was allowed close, but she watched two more men go into the woods. After that the operation seemed to vanish entirely overnight and nobody heard anything more about it.

Whoever authored the blog has a gift with words because despite your logical mind knowing it was probably nothing but a random training exercise, the hairs on the back of your neck raise.

There is a photo of the alleged unit at the end loading slowly. You stare in fascination as line by line appears from the top. The world stops before it fully loads. At first you are confused as to why your whole body is tense, why your heart is racing. And then you figure it out. Silence. Complete and all together sudden silence. No rain hitting the windows, no scratching of the cat echoing, not even the whir of the computer.

You do not want to look away from the screen. You do not want to turn around. The prickle on your neck goes from dull to sharp.

The computer powers down.

—

He says to call him John. This man does not walk to your right like the Scottish one, or behind you like the first one you met. He walks in front of you. You can see the full expanse of his back clad in a vest. He wears a hat. He only ever turns slightly, enough to see that he has sideburns but never enough to see his face.

You are so enraptured by being able to see so much of him so clearly that it takes you a while to notice there is someone on your left. A few steps behind like the Scottish one does on your right. It takes you by surprise enough that you are about to forget the unspoken rules and turn, but John predicts your move.

“Eyes forward.”

“Sorry” you say automatically, fixing you eyes to his back and letting the other man stay as the impression of a creature just in sight of your left eye.

“They’re pretty, Captain.”

“I’m aware.”

It should not make you blush but somehow it does.

“What’s you name?” you ask.

There is no way to direct it specifically to the man on your left, so you simple direct it to the back of John and hope that the trees will send it where it needs to go.

“Captain?” the man asks, not for permission but as if genuinely unsure of the answer.

“Kyle, your name’s Kyle.”

“Right. Kyle.”

You catch the movement of him touching his chest, maybe rubbing at a name tag there but you can’t be sure.

“You can call me Gaz if you like.”

John and Gaz are your company for weeks. Whenever you ask after the other two, the air turns sweet and bloody and you are left alone among the jimsonweeds.

—

“Got intae trouble for ye.”

You’re not sure where you are but you recognise the voice. Is he in your room?

“We both did. Curiosity would’ve killed you little kitten,” comes the other voice from the first man in the woods somewhere behind you.

You hazily look down at yourself. You are not in the bed at the inn, you are in another bed laid on your back. You feel your legs brush against one another, not clad in the flannel you remembered wearing. Silk, you are wearing silk. Delicate against your skin, not much of it. Were you wearing perfume? Something smells sweet.

As you stare at the bare expanse of your leg a hand sinks into your thigh, squeezes.

“Fuck LT, so soft. Fingers just sink right in.”

You fight the urge to look to the right where the hand is coming from. You can’t look, some primal part of your brain knows you cannot look.

“Stay away from the woods” the man behind you whispers into your ear like a caress as his hands settle gently around your neck.

You do not feel the snap of bone, but you hear it. You taste the blood in your mouth.

You do not manage to fall back asleep when you wake.

—

Breakfast, library, try to sleep, don’t go into the woods, dinner, try to sleep, stare at the wallpaper, try to sleep.

—

You overhear Axell and Lela once. You think they are talking about you.

“You think we’re doing the right thing?” Axell asks.

“I don’t think there is a right thing anymore.”

“It’s been a long time now. Maybe we should let them go.”

“You think we could?”

There is a silence. Neither of them thinks so. Paranoia settles over you that you haven’t felt since back when things got bad. It’s like an old vice settling into your bones, or maybe seeping out of them as if it never truly left. You cannot go back to that place again so you take some aspirin for the rhythmic pulsing behind your eyes and the dull prickle at the back of your neck and resolve to put any thoughts of conspiracy out of your mind. Lela and Axell are simply old, there is not something they know that you do not.

—

You do not mean to walk into the woods again. The man behind you is back. He feels different somehow.

“I could eat you right up” he says against your neck.

Old Mr Kleer sees the bloodied bite at your throat and says nothing as you walk by.

—

You book a bus ticket. It feels too much like there are tendrils growing from you to burrow into the ground, to fix you here. If you don’t rip them out now, it is only a matter of time until the roots are so deep you won’t be strong enough to move. You aren’t eating properly, you’ve hardly slept and when you do you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and covered in scratches. There is still the shape of a bite on your throat and the B&B owners in Pennsylvania look at you with pity as you check in.

The building is charming and fairly new. You stare at the neutral pink wallpaper. One corner of it has lifted ever so slightly. You fall asleep staring at the peek of green underneath.

—

It doesn’t rain as much here, the sun is out and everything seems more colourful. Weeks pass in a haze and you slowly emerge again, eating properly, sleeping through the night. The town on the Greenbrier starts to fade to an unpleasant dream.

—

There is something comforting about the old man who comes to stay and sits by you for breakfast in the mornings. He has the remnants of a Russian accent and laughs frequently and easily. The stories he tells are fantastical, but he’s non-committal about his visit to small town Pennsylvania although he at least tells you that he likes the nature around here. He whispers that his legs aren’t up for much walking anymore, so he has to take the easy paths through small patches of nature.

It takes a week or so more to work up the courage to accompany him on a walk. It seems silly, but the woods make you feel afraid. Maybe a short walk through the small area he spoke of will help you get beyond it. You rub at your neck, feeling the marks faded but still there.

—

He notices your discomfort and tries to ease it with his stories as you walk the dirt path.

“It’s the most important thing I’ve learned you know” he says, the aching grief in his voice causing you pause, “you cannot leave friends behind.”

You turn to him, intending to ask how much longer the path leads since it is getting dark now. He is not there.

“Nik?” you ask, calm at first but increasingly more frantic.

That old familiar dull prickle settles on the back of your neck as you run back down the way you came to get out of the woods. Drooping tree limbs get in your way and you push through, ignoring the scratches. As darkness falls you slow to a walk, unable to see anything in front of you. You catch the smell the sweetness of the jimsonweeds. You can smell blood.

Foot steps that are not your own surround you. A set in front of you. One behind. To the left and to the right.

“Welcome home.”

#mhairiwrites #tf141 #tf141 x reader #sort of not really?#horror is so hard to write my god

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haikyu-mp4 · 6 months ago

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heyy!!! Congratulations on the milestone! You deserve this and so much more! Each and every one of your fics is just so cute and sweet😁😁

Applying with Kageyama, I'm organised and driven.

hii! thank you so much, that warms my heart!! and thank you for the great application, you're hired<3

Vanilla latte

Kageyama is a customer and buys something just to talk to you, for the now hiring! event

word count; 742 – gn!reader

Kageyama would never understand how Hinata got so into coffee when he already seemed to have more energy than anyone else just by being himself, but here they were, hitting up a new coffee shop because his shorter friend wanted to bring a coffee to training with the Olympic team.

“Just because Iwa says it’s bad doesn’t mean it kills you,” Hinata insisted like he was at Takeda’s level of making everything sound like great wisdom.

“Dumbass!” he responded, as usual. “You know I don’t like coffee.” And just like that, the conversation ended and they got in line, Tobio standing halfway behind, halfway beside Hinata since he wouldn’t be getting anything. They had this conversation almost every morning this week, and Kageyama was sick of it. Why would he keep trying coffee for energy when he knew the bad effects of it and didn’t even like the taste?

While they waited in line, he and Hinata kept bickering under their breaths, or Hinata would look at the menu boards while Kageyama looked at the display of cakes and bakery. That did look good, he should have some for his next cheat day. Wasn’t Tsukishima’s birthday coming up? Bet he’d have some strawberry shortcake.

And no matter how many thoughts he distracted himself with, they were all whisked away when Hinata got to the register and Tobio heard the softest voice asking what he wanted. So he looked up to discover possibly the prettiest person he had ever seen.

“Can you recommend a coffee without anything chocolate-y?” Hinata asked cheerily, making you hum in thought for a moment before nodding.

“Personally, I love a classic vanilla latte,” you suggested, and while Hinata agreed to get that, Kageyama also nodded as if you were talking to him. “And you?” you asked, turning your attention to him, who stood stiff as a tree beside Hinata.

Kageyama had never wanted a coffee more in his life. It's as if his brain totally forgot that you can order drinks without coffee in a café.

“He doesn’t want-”

“I’d like to have the same,” Kageyama said, effectively cutting Hinata off but also earning him a confused glare. “As him.”

“I thought you didn’t-”

“I’ll pay for both,” Kageyama added to hopefully bribe him into silence, giving his friend a strict side-eye. Please follow my lead, dumbass.

“Sounds good!” you said, not thinking too much about their dynamic. You were on the opening shift and talking to them helped keep you awake. “What’s your name?”

“Hinata and Kageyama…” he said, pointing to his friend and then himself. “What’s yours?” You looked up in surprise, accidentally smudging the little heart you drew behind his name. And if your cheeks flushed a light pink from the intensity of his stare, who could blame you?

You pointed to the little sign on your shirt. “Y/n,” you still said, about to turn away and start his order.

“Also uhh…” Kageyama put a hand up to stop you, happy when you looked up at him again expectantly but felt his cheeks copy your flush as he had no idea what he was trying to say. He looked around the café, looking for inspiration, and then back at you.

“Is there something else I could get you?” And now that he was stalling for time, you took a moment to relax your shoulders and take him in. He was a very handsome man, tall, dark-haired, very your type. You would be lying if you said his awkward front wasn’t charming as well.

Maybe he felt your eyes on him because he took to rubbing the back of his neck. “Something to eat?”

“Like bakery or a sandwich?” you suggested, not even noticing that Hinata had moved on and your coworker came over to man the other register.

“Bakery. What do you like?”

“Cinnamon rolls, they’re the best here, I swear,” you said, and your conviction made him finally crack a small smile.

“Two of those.”

“We should come back here tomorrow,” Kageyama said, making Hinata chuckle at the finality of it because even though Kageyama was taller than him, he could clearly see the flush that was still burning his ears. Wait until everyone hears about this!

“Are you going to eat those?” he asked, pointing at the paper bag in his hand. Kageyama groaned.

Shit, I was going to leave one of the cinnamon rolls as a gift. Better luck next time.

masterlist

#now hiring! event #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #fanfiction #haikyuu x you #hq #haikyuu fluff #haikyu fluff #kageyama x you #kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #hinata shoyo #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama

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wave2tyun · 10 months ago

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cherry wine | ☆

pairing: taehyun x reader

genre: college!au, chef!tyun, fluff, suggestive (it gets steamy towards the end?!)

prompts: - "i can feel how fast your heart is beating right now"

- "here- let me help you"

warnings: none<3

word count: 2.8k

a/n: special dedication to the anon who sent me an ask about this fic, hope you'll enjoy reading this again :D💓💞💘💖💓

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

there were many things that you were good that. cooking, however, was not one of them. when you first got one of your friends to come over and taste one of your dishes, they could barely hold back tears as they tried to chew the food and make it slide down their throat. knowing that you’re not a big fan of takeout, they could barely comprehend how you’ve managed to survive up until now.

the minute your uni opened up a cooking course held by the culinary arts students, your friend made sure that your name would be the first one to appear on that list- without telling you about it, of course. you had a big ego, and you most likely wouldn’t have accepted to sign up for the course yourself. therefore, so as not to risk anything, they only told you about the secret they’ve been keeping away from you one hour before the first class started.

‘stupid course’ you mumbled, putting on the apron that the chef’s assistant handed you. was it really necessary to wear it? you were thankful that at least there weren’t any other familiar faces in the room, otherwise you would have died of embarrassment. everybody else seemed to have, in one way or another, some sort of knowledge in the cooking field. meanwhile, you lacked the skills, and the blue apron you were dressed up in made you feel goofy. you glanced over at your watch: 11:02. if you were fast enough maybe there was still time for you to sneak out of there-

“good morning, everybody” a male voice was heard.

great. your one and only chance to escape slipped away from your hands. the course was officially starting, and there was no way you could back out now. you lifted your head, eyes searching for the source of the voice, and once your eyes landed on him- you couldn’t help but inhale sharply.

you were screwed.

the student that was assigned as the ‘head chef’ was cute- so much cuter than you thought. he was somehow the perfect combination of cute and hot: big shiny eyes that resembled two tapioca pearls, a soft smile that revealed his cat-like fangs, as well as broad shoulders and toned arms, which were exposed by his rolled up sleeves.

“i’m taehyun, a 3rd year culinary arts major” he introduced himself “i will be the one leading you throughout this course. thank you to everyone who has signed up, i hope you will find these lessons useful”

taehyun’s words were met with a round of applause from the other people in the room. he smiled brightly, clasping his hands together “without further ado- let’s get started. we’ll start of easy, with a basic soup recipe”

you glared at the vegetables in front of you. it seemed like your definition of easy didn’t exactly match his. making a sandwich was easy. cutting vegetables? absolutely not. you clumsily tried to follow along as taehyun demonstrated each step, paying close attention to not cut or stab your finger with the knife. these poor vegetables- your cutting board resembled a crime scene. you sighed, looking at the potatoes and carrots that you had yet to handle.

taehyun started roaming around the kitchen counters, making sure that everyone was carrying out the task well. you sensed him stopping right next to your place, and you resisted the urge to hide the mess you created with your hands. knowing that his eyes were on you, you were now feeling even more nervous than before. your hands were now starting to shake as you continued using the knife.

“can you give me your knife for a second?” taehyun asked, interrupting your actions.

“s-sure” you stuttered, handing him the sharp object. taehyun moved closer to you, grabbing one of the carrots from the basket.

“when you cut these- make sure you get rid of the ends first” he spoke as his hands followed the instructions “this makes it a bit easier to hold the rest of the carrot. then- hold the knife straight, and push it down, separating it into smaller pieces” you watched as taehyun chopped up the rest of the carrot flawlessly, in probably less than 10 second “give it another go” he offered you the knife back, making you gulp.

you breathed in deeply, trying to calm yourself down as you reached out for your own carrot. however, your attempt was in vain. no matter how many times you tried, the pieces you were cutting ended up looking uneven. you could feel your cheeks burning intensely. “i’m so sorry-“ turning to look at taehyun in pity, you were expecting him to start laughing in your face, but you were only met with another one of his sweet smiles.

“you’re holding the knife at an angle. here- let me help you” taehyun walked behind you, his hands hovering right above yours “is this okay?” he spoke softly, waiting for your confirmation to go on.

you nodded, and taehyun took hold of your hands guiding them as he explained again “like this” he whispered, pressing down the knife gently. he was just correcting your mistakes- just doing his job, but god, you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter.

“think you’ve got it now?” he chuckled.

you almost forgot to reply, too caught up in the moment “yeah- thank you”

“you’re welcome-“ taehyun sneaked a glance at your name tag “-y/n” the words rolled off his tongue softly.

taehyun removed his hands from you, going back to his place at the front to go on with the lesson. perhaps this course wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

the next time you had to attend the cooking course, you put in a little bit more effort in your appearance. for taehyun? maybe. only something subtle though. you did want it to be noticeable, just not too much. he wasn’t supposed to catch on to the fact that he was the cause of this.

the thought of doing mistakes didn’t seem as taunting anymore- not if it meant that taehyun would be the one helping you out again.

no matter how many times you were struggling, taehyun came over to you with a smile, fondness taking over his eyes as you furrowed your brows, paying close attention to his words.

one day, he called your name out at the end of the lesson- asking you to remain for a bit. you waited next to him as the class emptied, and taehyun shily pulled his phone out once it was just the two of you there “if you ever have questions or need help with anything- you can always text me”

and so you did. you used any excuse to talk to him, asking small questions like “how should i prepare this?” “what can i add to this?” “does this look right?” and taehyun seemed to reply with enthusiasm every time. you looked forward to seeing him every saturday at the course. any kind of stress created by college disappeared the moment you were in his warm presence, and felt his soft touch. you couldn’t help but sulk a little bit whenever he helped out other students, even though that was simply what he was supposed to do. maybe you just wanted to have all of his focus on you.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

walking out after your last course of the day, you received a new message:

taehyun :)

[6:34 pm] are you free tonight? there’s something i want you to try

you typed in a quick reply, an almost immediate raise in heartbeat taking place at the thought of seeing him that evening.

you got back to your dorm as fast as possible to drop off your bag, as well as to get changed into something a tad bit more special than just some jeans and a hoodie.

once you reached taehyun’s door, you took a moment to rearrange the flyaway hairs and to make sure that your outfit looked in good condition. ringing up the doorbell, taehyun didn’t take long before opening the door, the smell of freshly-sprayed on cologne enveloping your senses, a breathless ‘hi’ escaping past both your lips at the exact same time.

the only source of light in taehyun’s apartment was the small candles sitting on the elegantly decorated dining table. it seemed like he had everything prepared, except for one single thing: the dish itself. all the ingredients were neatly prepared on the counter, as if waiting for your arrival. those were, indeed, taehyun’s intentions. he did have a special dish in mind that he wanted you to try, but the though of having you in his presence while preparing it just seemed to make his heart flutter a bit longer.

even though you were definitely not as skilled as taehyun when it came to cooking, you still offered to help him in any way you could, not wishing to simply sit around waiting to be served. for your first task, you were chopping some tomatoes for the pasta sauce. taehyun came up behind you, putting his hands on top of yours like he did during your first course with him.

“don’t worry- i know how to do this now” you said.

“really?” taehyun quirked an eyebrow, the tone of his voice both amusing yet also incredulous.

you hummed, proud of your small progress. taehyun didn’t separate himself from you “maybe i just want to stay close to you” he admitted, voice low as if he didn’t know whether it was right to confess his thoughts out loud.

“i wouldn’t mind that” you spoke quietly, letting out a confession of your own as well.

you could hear taehyun softly exhale in relief at your response. his warm chest came into contact with your back, his head coming to rest on your shoulder. it was intimate- way too intimate for those feelings of love to be clouding your heart only. his warm breath on your neck was starting to make you feel almost light-headed, to make you lose focus, and in a moment where your attention had completely dissipated into thin air, you almost let the knife cut your finger.

“are you okay? did you get hurt?” taehyun asked in worry. he brought your finger to his face upon closer inspection “it’s all good, don’t worry” you replied hurriedly, embarrassed by your lack of concentration at the task at hand “i just got lost in thought that’s all” you babbled on further. taehyun nodded as he started guiding you, holding your hand and the knife with slightly tighter grip than before to ensure that there wouldn’t be any more slip-ups “do it this way” he said.

“like this?” you repeated, trying it out yourself. you turned your head slightly to face him. there was a soft pink dusting taehyun’s cheeks.

“yeah, just like this” he answered back in a daze. you didn’t fail to notice the way his eyes sneaked a glance at your lips. the thought too tempting and inviting- especially when he was holding you so close. but he had to wait- he couldn’t give in yet. the tension and lingering touches were consuming you whole as you continued to prepare the dish together.

the wine taehyun placed down the table seemed to be the perfect solution to loosen things up, to get rid of all the worries of your unspoken feelings.

“i bought this especially for tonight- it goes well with the dish” taehyun looked down as he smiled shily “i hope you’ll like it” he said as he poured each of you a glass of the sweet cherry wine.

“swirl it around first- then let the liquid touch your lips for a bit to get a small taste” he explained. taehyun already had an interest in alcohol, and the culinary arts programme had only expanded his knowledge in the field further. although it was necessary for him to learn- you found it attractive how he paid attention to even the smallest details.

the wine was more of a sweet kind than dry, intense- yet not overwhelming, and just as intoxicating as him. the pasta didn’t let down your expectations either. you had never tasted pasta with a sauce so creamy and full of flavour before, you couldn’t believe that you had assisted in the preparation and didn’t somehow ruin it.

“this tasted so good” you complimented him hurriedly between bites. taehyun couldn’t control his face at the sound of your words- a cocky grin taking over which he tried to hide subtly by having another sip of wine.

“only the best for you” he replied brazenly, reaching out his glass towards you. meeting him half-way, you clinked your glasses together, giggling at his words.

the wine glasses were filled right after another without a moment of waiting as you got through your dinner. and before you knew it, the expensive bottle was already sitting on the floor underneath the table, not a singular drop remaining in it. to you, taehyun’s eyes seemed to sparkle a bit more now, his smile at least ten times more endearing. and to taehyun? he could barely hold himself back from confessing out of the blue just so that he could finally give your lips a kiss

you clumsily gathered the dishes, bringing them over to the sink. you both agreed that washing them should be a problem for later, since you were quite (very) tipsy and didn’t want to risk flooding the apartment.

turning around after you placed the last plate in the sink, you were taken aback to see taehyun so close to you. he put his hands on the counter behind you, trapping you between it and his own body. his eyes were firmly placed on yours and you noticed how the blush on his cheeks had never disappeared. was it because of you? or just the alcohol?

his head fell on your shoulder, his hands were now on the small of your back as he tried to keep his balance.

“tae- is everything okay?” you asked worriedly. you didn’t know what his alcohol tolerance was, and you didn’t want him passing out on the floor in front of you.

taehyun hummed, burying his face in the crook of your neck. his soft black hair tickled your skin, and you wished you could run your hands through it “can we just stay like this for a bit?” he mumbled.

you opened your mouth to speak, but taehyun interrupted you before you could do so “i can feel how fast your heart is beating right now” he lightly chuckled.

“you’re probably the cause of that...” you replied, the alcohol giving you the slight push to admit it. “is that so?” taehyun lifted his head up slightly, peering into your eyes “every time i get close to you- my heart beats just the same”

your face burned instantly, locking eyes with him for just one moment, before you noticed the way his travelled down to your lips once again. taehyun licked his lips before resting his forehead against yours. his warm breath tickled your lips, and your body trembled in anticipation for him to close the gap. pulling him in by softly grabbing the collar of his shirt, your lips captured taehyun’s in a tender kiss.

taehyun melted into your touch, letting out a small gasp once he promptly parted away from you, only to come back to taste you with even more passion than before. warmth consumed you, breathing heavily as your lips pressed together in a frenzy “your lips taste so sweet” taehyun breathed out “even sweeter than the cherry wine”. taehyun clumsily moved any leftover ingredients out of the way before lifting you up on the counter, his hands trailing underneath your shirt, touching your bare back as he continued to kiss you, the desire flowing through your veins was making it unable for you to stop. it made a chill run down your spine, and you parted your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to slip inside. your fingers got lost through the strands of his hair, pulling at them slightly and emitting a deep hum from him; hot, passionate kisses sending a rush through your whole body as you tasted him. his lips were so soft- so warm, and so incredibly addictive.

in need of oxygen, you parted away for him for a moment, his glistening lips trailing back almost immediately.

“please- will you let me have another taste?”

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thepointtopoint · 11 months ago

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sanguineterrain · 2 years ago

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it's a feeling that's fine - s.h.

Summary: You accidentally climb the wrong fence on the hottest day of May. It turns out to be the best thing that's ever happened to you.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings/tags: no use of y/n, no physical descriptions, etc. reader is in a toxic friendship; she's slightly bullied in that indirect mean girl way, but the toxic friendship ends. reader cuts her finger by accident. drinking and drug mentions. fluff, humor, strangers to friends to lovers, summer vibes, so many princess bride references. steve is super duper sweet!!! post s4 volume 2.

A/N: so if you wondered where i've been for the last two months.... it was in a cave writing this fic. i'm really proud of this one; the reader is a little different than how i usually write, but i hope you'll like her all the same :) if you enjoy this fic, please please let me know through comments/reblogs!

divider by firefly-graphics

Today is hot.

Weatherman Dale had said this morning that today is a record high for May. It’s so hot, in fact, that Debbie Wellerman had called you this morning asking if you wanted to come swim in her pool.

You’d asked if you could dig for worms in her yard. She’d sighed and hung up. You hope that means yes. Joan has been in need of some company. Worms would be good for her.

You go around Debbie’s house and stop at the back gate. The Wellermans are kind of mean and they don’t like it when you take too many cucumber sandwiches. To avoid them, you’ve taken to going through the back gate whenever Debbie invites you over. It works pretty well.

Except today, the gate is locked. Which is weird, because Debbie usually leaves it open. It’s how her boyfriend, Brett, sneaks in during the day, and how Brett’s brother, Chet, sneaks in at night.

You’d asked once why the brothers come over separately. Debbie had gotten mad and kicked you out without giving you any ice cream. You don’t ask about Brett and Chet anymore.

The problem is that you’re wearing flip flops, which are not ideal for climbing fences. Or anything, really. You once climbed a jungle gym in flip flops and skinned both knees.

You slip off your flip flops and fling them over the fence. They land a second later, clapping against the ground. The fence is covered in climbing ivy and tiny red flowers you’ve never seen before. You wonder how Debbie made them grow so fast.

The street is empty, which is nice. Sometimes people in Loch Nora like to yell at people who don’t also live in Loch Nora.

The fence wood is hot but not so hot that you can’t touch it. You stick your feet in the little grooves and start to climb. It’s not too high of a fence, but it’s high enough to warn people who don’t belong here.

That’s never stopped you, though.

Getting over is trickier. You expect Debbie to see you by now, but there’s no sound. She must be inside, or maybe she’s out and forgot she’s invited you. She does that sometimes.

Wood dust clings to your fingers and the soles of your feet. When you’re a foot from the ground, you hop down. Then you turn.

There’s no sign of Debbie. There is, however, a boy.

He’s reclined on an inflatable blue ring floaty in the middle of the pool. He wears sunglasses and red board shorts with little white anchors on them.

He has very pretty hair, both on his head and chest. He also has pretty lips. And arms. All of him is pretty, really. You wish you could see his face properly. He probably has a nice face too. Symmetrical and kind.

The area around the pool is paved just like at Debbie’s—only it’s a lot larger than you remember. There's a patch of dirt next to the gate. You go and crouch at the edge. You don't see any worms. Probably because it's so hot. You'd stay underground too if you were a worm.

You stand and turn to look at the boy again. He looks like he might be asleep.

“Did Debbie invite you?” you ask.

The boy shoots up from the floaty. The shift in weight makes him lose his balance and he topples into the water a moment later. The floaty flips with him.

He resurfaces almost immediately, spitting water and rubbing chlorine from his eyes. You squint.

Yes, you were right. He does have a very nice face.

The water comes up to his waist. He pushes his hair back in handfuls, blinking. Then he fishes his sunglasses out with his foot and sets them on his head.

“Can you swim?” you ask.

He stares at you, blinking.

“What?” he says after a beat.

“Can you swim?” you repeat.

“Uh, yeah? Yes, of course I can swim.”

"It would be bad luck if you couldn’t.”

His brows furrow.

“Because I can't swim,” you clarify.

“I wouldn’t be in the pool if I couldn’t swim,” he says.

“That’s good thinking.”

You sit at the edge of the pool and dip your calves in. He wades closer until he’s about three feet away.

“How did you get here?” he asks.

“I walked.”

“I mean, how did you get in my backyard?”

“Oh. I climbed the fence.”

You peer closer. He looks familiar, but you can’t quite place him.

“Are you Brett and Chet’s triplet?” you ask. “You’re a lot prettier than them. Did their mother feed you extra vitamins?"

His eyes go wide. “Uh… Brett and Chet Kingsley?”

“Uh-huh. Debbie invites both of them over, but never at the same time.”

“Who's—they don’t have a triplet.”

“That’s good. Three’s bad luck.”

“My house number has a three in it,” he says.

“Don’t step on any sidewalk cracks,” you warn.

He tilts his head, tongue poking out like he’s sizing you up. You let him, focusing on his face instead. He has dark, warm eyes the color of black tea. His shoulders are toned with lots of freckles on them. He looks like a boy who’d like Debbie, not you.

“Is Debbie going to be back soon?” you ask. You don’t want to get attached to a boy who’ll just end up wanting Debbie instead. You've made that mistake before.

“Um… if you’re talking about Debbie Wellerman, she lives on the next block over. I’m Steve Harrington.”

“Oh. You’re the guy who fought the monsters.”

He eyes you warily. “Wh—how do you know about the monsters?”

"Who doesn't?"

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it.

“You can’t tell anyone," he finally says.

You shrug and kick at the water gently.

“I have no one to tell. Debbie doesn’t believe in monsters.”

��She doesn’t believe in giving you a key either, huh?”

“She doesn’t usually lock her gate,” you say.

“Well, this isn’t her gate.”

“Yeah. I like your shorts.”

Steve’s cheeks flush pink.

“Are you getting sunstroke?” you ask.

That turns his cheeks pinker.

“No, no." He coughs. "I’m fine.”

“It’s a record high temperature for May,” you say. “That’s what Weatherman Dale said. The highest it's ever been since 1923."

“Yeah, I heard." He nods. "I didn’t wanna run the AC the whole day so, here I am. My friend Robin was supposed to come over, but I guess she bailed.”

“Robin is a nice name. Is she a bird?”

Steve smiles. “No, she’s a girl.”

“Oh. I thought maybe she was a bird you’d made friends with while fighting monsters.”

“Well.” Steve shrugs. “I did sort of make friends with her while fighting monsters.”

“Robins are good omens. They bring luck."

“Huh.”

You swallow. You’re probably talking too much. That’s what Debbie would say. That’s why boys sneak into her yard and not yours.

"So." Steve puts a hand over his forehead to block the sun. "Debbie Wellerman, huh? You don't seem like the type to be her friend."

"Friends can come from the most unusual places," you say. "Like under a tree or at the bottom of the ocean."

"Have you made many friends at the bottom of the ocean?" Steve asks with a smile.

You hesitate. Is he making fun of you? Sometimes, you can't tell. The people in Loch Nora are good at making fun of you without you knowing.

Steve’s hair has already begun to dry, a little crunchy from the chlorine. He doesn’t look like he’s making fun of you.

"Not many. But that's where I found Joan," you say.

"Joan was at the bottom of the ocean?"

"Kind of. I found her in a pond. Then I found her sister, but I lost her at sea and I couldn't swim out to rescue her. It was a sad day. Joan didn't handle it well."

Steve's brows rise. "Wow. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Joan has been on the incline. I think she's finally ready to get back out there. I wanted to find her company, but I didn't want to disturb your dirt."

“My dirt?”

“Mmhm. I'm trying to make a social club for her."

"Out of dirt?"

"Out of worms."

"Huh."

Steve rests his chin on his arm that's perched on the ledge.

"Your hair is wavy," you observe.

"What? Oh, yeah. I didn't put anything in it."

"Like what? Secrets?"

"No, like, gel. Product."

You nod in realization. "Your hair was so big in school.”

Steve winces. "Yeah. Sorry, I wasn't the best guy back then."

"You were in your chrysalis. You needed time to grow. But then you turned into a butterfly. Or a moth, if you prefer."

"Moths are spooky," says Steve. "They look like they have eyes on their wings."

"Yes. But they're actually friendly. Unless you eat them. Some are poisonous." You lean in, deadly serious. "Don't eat moths."

"Will do."

"No, don't. And warn your Robin too. She might think one looks delicious and meet her doom."

A smile creeps onto Steve's face.

"You're kind of strange," he says. "In the best way possible."

"Thank you."

"Do you want some lemonade?"

"Is it poisoned?"

"What?" Steve startles. "No, of course not."

"No, I suppose not," you say thoughtfully. "You hadn't expected me to climb over your gate, so you wouldn't have had time to poison the lemonade."

Steve stacks one arm atop his other, looking up at you. The ends of his hair have begun to curl. You like it so much.

"What if I pour from the pitcher right in front of you? Will that make you feel better?" he asks.

"You can still put something in my glass," you say. "Or you might have built a tolerance to the poison for this exact moment. Like in The Princess Bride."

"I'm only twenty-one. I would've had to start very young to build a tolerance. Besides, what would be my motivation to poison you?"

You shake your head. "There's no need for motivation. Violent delights. But you've fought monsters, and Lucas Sinclair says you're a good guy. So, yes, I will have some lemonade."

Steve pushes himself out of the pool with ease, dripping water all over the concrete. You stare at the rivulets that hurry down his legs and chest. He has a lot of hair everywhere. You like that too.

He offers his hand and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. Your shoulder bumps his. Steve's skin is warm. He smells like chlorine and something sweeter. Pineapple, maybe.

"You would do very well as a knight," you say. "If I were a princess, I'd want you to commit yourself to me."

Steve makes a weird noise in his throat.

"Uh, th-thanks," he says.

"You're welcome."

"So you, uh, know Lucas?"

"Yes. He lives on my block. His mom gives me rides sometimes."

You step in through the sliding glass door, which puts you directly in the kitchen. The house is at least twenty degrees cooler. You shiver at the sudden temperature change.

"You don't have a car?" Steve asks.

"No."

"You walked from your house to Loch Nora?"

"I took the bus part of the way. Then I walked."

Steve takes two glasses down from the shelf. Then he opens the refrigerator. You sit at the large kitchen island while he pours.

"Debbie Wellerman has a car," Steve says.

"Uh-huh. A Porsche."

A money car, she'd called it when she got it for her sixteenth birthday. Boys love girls with money cars. Maybe that's why boys don't love you.

Steve hands you a glass. You take a long sip. Your mouth puckers and you scrunch your eyes shut as the acid coats your tongue.

"Shit. Not enough sugar?"

You swallow and open your eyes.

"It's wonderful, Steve," you say earnestly.

"You don't have to lie. I saw your mouth screw up."

"I'm not lying. It's the right amount of sour."

Steve takes his own sip. His lips pucker, and he shakes his head.

"Nope. Definitely needs more sugar."

You cradle your glass in your hands. "Don't take mine. She's perfect."

Steve breathes a laugh, returning the pitcher to the fridge. He sits beside you on the island. He's already developing a slight tan. You wonder if more freckles appear the longer he's in the sun.

"Why doesn't Debbie pick you up?" he asks.

"Why would she pick me up?"

"Because that's what nice friends do. And it's unfair to expect you to come all the way here when the buses don't go through Loch Nora."

"Debbie always expects me to come over," you say. "So I do. She doesn't like my house."

Steve frowns deeply.

"I don't mind the walk," you offer, trying to make him smile again.

It doesn't work. Steve takes another sip. His lips purse, red like cherry candy and shiny with lemonade.

"She should meet you halfway more often," he says, dumping his lemonade into the sink.

You trace shapes into the condensation of your glass.

"I wanted to go rollerblading," you say. "But…"

"But what?" he prompts.

"She didn't. Neither did Brett. They wanted to make out in the pool.”

Steve grimaces. “Sounds like a drag.”

“They make weird noises. Like goats at the zoo.”

Steve snorts. You smile and kick your legs, pleased.

“My friends go rollerblading,” he says. “The kids love to skate at the park. You could come with us one day.”

“You have kids?”

“No, I—” Steve shakes his head, chuckling. “Definitely not. No, they’re only a few years younger than me, but me and the other people our age call them kids. They’re part of our little monster-fighting group. Anyway, uh, y'know. Open invite. If you're ever tired of goat noises."

You stare at him for a minute. He seems nervous, and you can't make out why. Nobody's ever nervous around you.

"Okay," you say. "I'd like to meet your kids."

"Cool. Well, um, I can give you my number. We usually meet up on weekends, but once school ends, any day is game."

Your heart rate picks up. You know this part. Only from a distance, of course. But you know what it means when a boy gives a girl his number.

“You want me to call you?” you ask.

“Yeah. I mean, if you want to. I feel like it’s a little forward for me to ask the girl who climbed my fence for her number. So, um, you can call me. Is that cool?”

Steve looks at you and waits. You chew your lip and nod.

“That’s okay.”

He smiles. “Great! I think I have a pen around here somewhere…”

Steve walks around the table to a stationary caddy on the counter and takes out a blue Sharpie. You stick out your arm, palm up.

"Uh…" He looks at you. "I can find a notepad."

"This helps me memorize things better," you say and wiggle your fingers.

"I don't wanna give you ink poisoning."

"You didn't poison me before. You're not very good at it."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

You shrug. "Depends on your aspirations."

Steve hesitates for another second. Then he takes the top of your forearm and begins to write on the soft underside. He writes slowly, which tickles, but you remain still.

He's so close. You're reminded all over again of his hands and warmth and pineapple scent.

Steve caps the marker. You inspect the writing.

"Good penmanship," you say.

"Think so? Robin says it's chicken scratch. But she can't talk—hers is ten times worse."

"It's neat," you say. "But not serial-killer neat. If I were a graphologist, I would give you the all clear."

"Graphologist?"

"A handwriting expert. I would write in my report, 'not a murderer.'"

"Well, that's a relief," Steve says. "I try to keep the murdering to a minimum."

You hum and finish your lemonade in one gulp.

“Thank you for not poisoning me."

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Steve replies through a smile.

His smile makes you nervous. A good nervous, though, like you're about to sled down a big hill.

You push yourself off the stool. Steve gets up with you and opens the sliding glass door for you.

“A very stalwart knight,” you say, and walk over to where your flip flops are.

You throw them back over the gate. They land with a clack on the sidewalk.

You find your footholds on the gate and turn to look at Steve.

“It was nice to meet you, Steve Harrington. Don’t fight any monsters by yourself.”

“Whoa, hang on!” He jogs over and lightly touches your arm. It sears your skin like you've been kissed by the sun himself. “I’ll unlock the gate. You don’t need to… climb again.”

Steve pulls the latch next to you. The gate creaks open. You hop off and walk through.

Steve leans against the gate, elbow bent. His bicep bulges. You've never been this close to a shirtless boy. Your stomach flips.

“Are you sure you know where Debbie lives?” he asks.

Your eyes dart from his chest to his face.

“Yes.”

“Really? ‘Cause you didn’t exactly find it the first time.”

“Second time’s the charm,” you say.

“I thought it was the third time.”

“No. Three’s bad luck, remember?”

Steve runs his tongue under his molars, once again staring at you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. You slip into your sandals while he figures you out.

“Well, um. You can come back if you get lost. Or you need help. Or you wanna look for rocks."

You tilt your head. “You’d look for rocks with me?”

“I don’t know how helpful I’d be—all rocks look the same to me. My friends would probably be better at it than me. But, yeah, I would.”

“Okay. Thank you for your hospitality.”

He grins. “Sure thing.”

You take his hand and shake it. It’s warm and slightly calloused. You wonder if he holds girls’ hands often.

"I hope Robin finds your house," you say. "Goodbye, Steve Harrington."

Then you go.

You do find Debbie’s house on the second try. You hide your Sharpie'd arm behind your back when you enter. Debbie doesn’t ask why you’re late. Brett doesn’t acknowledge you, and you wonder how you mistook Steve for his brother.

“There’s lemonade,” Debbie says as she heads in, Brett at her heels.

You don’t drink any. You know it won’t be the right amount of sour.

Movies are better in the summer. This is a fact you've learned to accept.

There's no dread of the cold after you finish a movie in the summer. The tape ends and you can go outside and still love the real world.

Sorry, we're on a break! the sign on the store window reads in loopy script. You sit on the hot curb in front of Family Video, your yellow shorts bunched around your thighs. Sweat sticks to the back of your neck, and you drag a hand across, then wipe your fingers on your shirt.

From here, you can just see the cement-filled cracks in the asphalt, where the earthquake split the main road two years ago. Because of the cracks, the bus stops three blocks from the plaza, so you'd walked three blocks in the heat.

You hadn't been lying to Steve, though. You really don't mind the walk.

Beads of sweat drip down your forehead. One slips into your eye and burns. You make a fist and press it into your eyelid.

Okay. Maybe you mind a little.

"Hey, neighbor!"

You look up, squinting through the sun. Lucas Sinclair waves at you. You wave back. A girl with two red braids is next to him.

"Hi, Lucas," you say, standing as they approach you on the curb.

"This is my girlfriend, Max," he introduces proudly.

"My congratulations. Getting a girlfriend is no easy feat."

Max studies you for a moment. "I think I should get the credit, considering I said yes."

"Undoubtedly," you say.

"Are you his neighbor?" she asks.

"Yes. Lucas is an outstanding neighbor. You should be very proud of him."

"I believe it," says Max.

"What are you doing?" Lucas asks.

"Lots of things," you say. "Breathing, digesting. But presently, I'm waiting for the video store to reopen. I want to rent The Princess Bride.”

Max snorts. "Good luck with that. Those two take five hour lunch breaks now, ever since Keith moved away. It's barely a business anymore."

"There must be a lot of courses in their lunch," you muse.

"Yeah… uh, we're going to get ice cream. Wanna join?" asks Lucas.

"Okay." You turn to Max. "Will my presence impede your special plans?"

Max squints. "Special plans? Like what?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you've written Lucas a series of sonnets to profess your love."

"A series of what?"

"Poems."

"Love poems are corny," she says.

You wonder if Steve would agree.

"Sometimes corny things are good. When they come from the right person," you say.

Max acquiesces with a hum.

"No love poems today," she says. "You should join us."

So you follow a couple steps behind them to the Baskin-Robbins down the block.

The AC whooshes as you step inside, drying your sweat to your forehead.

“Wow,” Max says with a scoff. “It’s like Starcourt all over again.”

You follow her gaze and spot Steve.

Oh. Steve.

He's in a green Family Video vest. A girl sits across from him, wearing a matching vest. She has cropped hair and a bandaid on one knee.

“Hey, losers!” Max calls. “This isn’t a lunch break.”

The girl flips her off. “The sign says we’re taking a break. It doesn’t specify how long of a break.”

Lucas orders a scoop of strawberry ice cream for himself and a scoop of cookies and cream for Max.

“Yeah, plus, we’ve had a grand total of one customer today,” Steve adds.

“Well, you would’ve had two if you hadn’t been here on your seventeen hour break,” Max shoots back.

He scoffs. “Oh, really? Who?”

“Can I get one scoop of rocky road ice cream with oreo crumble and gummy worms in a cup?” you ask the cashier.

She goes to scoop the ice cream. Max proudly points at you.

“Her,” she says with a smirk. “She wanted to rent The Princess Bride, and now she’s not gonna be a paying customer ‘cause you two are lazy.”

“I would still be a paying customer,” you say.

Max shakes her head at you.

“I’m trying to make a point,” she whispers.

“Oh. You’re doing great."

“Your total is three twenty-four,” the cashier says, sticking a spoon into your cup.

The sound of a chair being dragged across the floor draws your attention. Steve is up, trying to free his leg from under the table. He finally wiggles free and jogs to the counter, wallet in hand.

"Hi,” he says. "I can pay."

“But I have money,” you say, brows knitting.

“No, I know. I—now you can save your money. Do you–do you mind if I pay for you?”

“Will I have to pay you back?” you ask.

“Oh my God,” the cashier mutters under her breath.

You shrink at her tone. You've missed something, evidently. You have no clue what.

Steve glances at her, mouth pinching.

“No,” he says gently, turning back to you. “You don’t have to pay me back. It’s a gesture. As a friend.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Steve gives her the money. You take your ice cream.

“Smooth,” you hear Max say to Steve. He bumps her arm with his elbow.

Steve pulls a chair from another table for you. You all sit down.

"This is, uh…" Steve trails off, turning to you. "I'm sorry, I never got your name."

"You kept calling her Buttercup," the girl says.

Steve whips his head around to hiss at her.

"Robin."

"She's my neighbor," Lucas says.

"We know," Max tells him.

"I don't." Robin raises her hand briefly, shooing Steve away. "I'm Robin Buckley."

"Hi, Robin. Watch out for moths," you say.

She tilts her head and smiles. You look at Steve, who's already looking at you.

"Princess Buttercup?" you ask.

"Well." He rubs the back of his neck. "Y-Yeah, kinda. You mentioned The Princess Bride and, uh, I don’t know your name, so…”

You mull that over.

"If I'm Buttercup, you must be Westley."

Steve's eyes widen. "Uh…"

Robin snickers. Max smirks.

"Interesting shade of red you're turning, Westley," Robin says.

"Shut—"

He kicks her chair leg. She yelps and shoves him in retaliation. Max rolls her eyes.

"Have some class, will you?" she says.

"I'm classy!" Steve insists.

"Not anymore," Lucas says gravely. "Now you're a glorified babysitter."

"Childcare is dutiful work," you say.

Steve grins at you. Your stomach flutters.

“Is that a mud pie?” he asks.

You nod.

“Gummy worms?”

You tilt your head. “How did you know?”

Steve chuckles. “Lucky guess.”

Across the table, the others argue about the classiest ice cream flavors.

“It’s obviously mango sorbet.”

“Sorbet isn’t ice cream!”

“Are they your kids?” you ask.

Steve leans in so you can talk in his ear. His arm is on the back of your chair. If you shift the slightest inch, you’d feel him.

“Minus Robin. Though, sometimes…” He rolls his eyes playfully. “But, um, yeah. Two of them.”

“How many kids do you have?” you ask.

“Let’s see…” Steve counts on his fingers. “Six?”

“Wow. You must be some babysitter.”

“I’m alright.”

You lean in. Steve blinks.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“You have an eyelash.”

You swipe the hair off his cheek and hold your finger in front of his mouth.

“You have to make a wish.”

Steve’s eyes slide to you. He gently holds your hand in place. Your heart beats faster.

“‘Kay.” He blows the eyelash away, but doesn't release your hand. “Let’s see if it comes true.”

The numbers stare at you. Taunt you, really.

You practically have them memorized. You’d written them thirty times on a piece of notebook paper. Then you’d shoved that under your bed.

Now you have it taped to your dresser mirror.

You wish you could talk to Joan about it, but she’s bathing in the sink after an unfortunate encounter with a paint can.

The Sharpie is gone from your arm, has been gone for several days now. But if you concentrate, you can see its silhouette on your skin.

You get up and peel the paper off the mirror. Then you go down the hall to your phone.

Carefully, you dial, making sure not to press any wrong buttons.

The phone rings. You rock on your toes.

“Hello?” Steve says.

You freeze.

“Hellooo…?”

“Hi,” you finally say. “It’s Buttercup.”

“Oh!” He sounds so happy. “Hey! Hey, how are you?”

“Good.” You chew on a cuticle. “It’s Saturday.”

“Oh, right! Did you wanna go rollerblading?”

Relief floods you. He remembers.

“Yes. If you’re planning it.”

“I haven’t talked to the kids, but I’m sure they’d be down.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “I can pick you up in twenty?"

“I can walk.”

“C’mon, in the sun? You live on the same street as Lucas anyway, don’t worry about it.”

“Well.” You twirl the telephone cord around your finger so tightly, it threatens to cut off your circulation. “Okay… if it’s no trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” Steve promises. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

You hang up and run to your room to dig for your skates. They’re stuffed under your bed next to a mini gumball machine. You shove two green gumballs in your mouth and race to the bathroom to check on Joan, nearly slipping on the wood.

“I’m going out, Joan. I think he might… he might like me.” You crunch on the gumball shells and shudder. “What a terrifying thought.”

You pull out the drain stopper and set Joan on a washcloth to dry. Then you go down the hall to put on your sneakers.

Steve arrives five minutes early. You only know that because you spend the whole time watching the road from your curtained window. You shake your hands out, overwhelmed with nerves.

It’s just a boy. He’s only a boy.

The two of you meet halfway. Steve jogs backwards, unusually skillful, and opens the passenger door for you.

“Hey. Does Joan want to come?” Steve asks.

You shake your head. “She’s having a spa day. It’s just me.”

“Well, I’m happy to have you,” he says, sweet and earnest.

You duck inside the car and shake your hands a little, trying to fend off the returning nerves. Just a boy.

“So, that’s El,” Steve says as he gets into the driver’s seat, pointing to a girl with short curls. “And you know Max and Lucas.”

Max nods at you with a smile. Lucas waves.

“Hi, El,” you say. “Cool hair.”

“Thank you,” she says, voice soft. “I like your skates.”

“I found them at a yard sale. You can find anything in a yard.”

"Okay," Steve says. "Everybody buckled?"

“Yes, Mom,” Max mumbles.

Steve catches your gaze and rolls his eyes. You smile.

Briefly, you worry you’ll have to fill the silence and talk about yourself, like people expect you to. But Steve and the kids hold conversation easily. They talk about anything and everything.

They're more energetic than you're used to; Debbie always prefers it to be quiet.

But you don't mind it. You don’t feel lonely like you do when you’re with Debbie.

“Alright, please stay within this area,” Steve says when he parks and everyone gets out. “Within—”

“Shouting distance!” Max yells. “Yeah, we know!”

The park isn't crowded. Most of the paths are clear, so skating will be no problem.

Max gets out two skateboards from the trunk.

“Max is going to teach me how to do an ollie,” El informs you. “Would you like to join us?”

“Maybe later,” you say. “I want to master my yard skates.”

She nods and follows the others to the small skate park on the other side of the trees.

You bring your skates to a bench and sit, lacing them up your feet. Steve is a few feet away, swinging his arms slightly.

“Aren’t you going to join them?” you ask.

“Oh, uh, no. I brought my own skates… I thought maybe we could skate together, if that’s okay?”

“Yes, I would like that,” you say.

Steve beams. “Alright, cool. I’ll go get mine.”

You stand, about to take a step forward—and immediately slip.

Steve reacts instantly, lunging to catch you. One hand grabs your elbow, the other on your stomach. You squeal and cling to his shirt.

“Are you okay?” he asks, helping you stand upright.

“I’m okay,” you say, breath caught in your throat.

You take a step but your foot wobbles. Steve grabs you again. You don’t try to take another step.

“I thought skating would be intuitive,” you say, rolling one skate to test.

“What?”

You look up. Steve’s face is inches from yours. His hair is golden in the sunshine. His eyes lock on your own; his focus sends a jolt of electricity down your spine.

“You know, like how babies are able to swim for the first six months of their lives?”

“Uh…” Steve tilts his head. “No?”

“Oh. Because they were in the womb, they have that ability. ‘Cause they float around in there for nine months, you know? But then they lose it. That’s why we have to learn how to swim.”

“Wow. That’s a cool fact.”

Nobody ever thinks your facts are cool. But Steve does.

“Well, I thought skating would be similar,” you say. “I’ve watched other people skate, so I thought I’d just… do it. I guess I lost that at six months too.”

Steve’s smiling. It’s a gentle smile, though. Not a teasing smile.

“I see,” he says. “I’m sorry for your disappointment.”

“It’s alright. Life is far more than disappointment. No use getting hung up on it.”

“Do you want me to teach you how to skate?” he asks. “I promise I’m good at it. Coach Collins said I could’ve seriously pursued it.”

“So skating for you is like avoiding death for Westley,” you say.

“Actually, I’m pretty good at avoiding death too,” Steve says. “And making grilled cheeses.”

“Triple threat.”

He ducks his head with a laugh, and you feel the warmth of it flow through your own body.

“Sure. Can’t make lemonade for shit, though.”

“I think your lemonade is perfect, Steve Harrington.”

His cheeks are scarlet again. It’s quickly becoming your favorite color.

“I would like it if you taught me,” you say.

“Okay. I’ll get my skates after you get the hang of it. Put your hand on my arm, right here.”

Steve pats his forearm. Carefully, you do as he says.

“I’m nervous,” you confess.

“I got you,” Steve says, cheek brushing your head. “I won’t let you fall, Buttercup.”

Saint Aloysius’ parking lot has the best rocks.

You've never told anybody as much because you imagine the lot would get busy, and you like it empty.

Today, you're searching for a brother for Joan. Ever since that tragic day at Macinaw Island, Joan's been very lonely. It‘s hard being a sisterless sister.

Joan is smooth and round, so you look for an equally smooth and round brother. Commonality is important.

Your knees hurt from squatting, so you sit. The rocks poke your butt.

You hear a car rolling up the hill, engine a soft purr. You stop and turn.

The car is maroon and shiny, with only a couple slight scratches you can't notice unless you look really hard. You don't recognize the license plate, although you have yet to start your record of Hawkins plates.

It putters to a stop in front of Giovanni's Bakery across the street. The car doors open.

"I'm losing my edge, Robs! I made a damn fool of myself. I can't even—"

"Okay, first of all, I feel like we're glossing over the fact that you don't even know this girl. And what she did was technically trespassing."

"Do you know her name?" another voice pipes up.

"No, Dustin, I don't know her name. I don't even know if she lives in Hawkins!"

Their voices disappear as they go inside the bakery. You find Joan a brother, Jack, and Jack finds a wife named Gwen. Gwen isn't smooth and round; she's sharp-edged and will be harder to clean, but she's a muted salmon color and you think she's pretty. You hope Jack will find her pretty too.

As you dig through the pile of rocks, your finger catches on the edge of a broken bottle. It slices your finger. Blood swells immediately.

You put your new rocks in your plastic red pail with your other hand. Then you stand, joints popping as you do so. You stick your ribs out and bend your spine in a stretch.

You cross the street to the bakery, pail in hand. The bell jingles as you enter. You hum the ding-dong under your breath.

"Can I help you?" the man behind the counter asks.

"Hello. Can I have five baci di dama and five of the raspberry sandwich cookies?"

He goes to the display case with a paper bag. You rest your elbows on the counter, pail handles over your arm.

"Anything else?"

"Yes. Do you have a bandaid? I'm bleeding."

The man purses his lips. "No bandaid, sorry."

"That's okay. Just the cookies, then."

"Buttercup?"

You turn. Steve stands before you, wearing his Family Video vest. Robin is beside him, her hair piled into a windblown bun on her head. Another boy, shorter than both, younger, is with them. He waves at you, curls bouncing.

You wave back. Robin squeals.

"Oh my God, what happened to your finger?" she asks, horrified.

"There was a broken bottle in the parking lot."

"Jesus," Steve says. He takes your hand and inspects it. He's so close and warm. All you can do is stare at the freckles on his neck.

“Why were you in the parking lot?” he asks.

“I was looking for rocks. This is the best rock spot in all of Hawkins. Well, after Lover’s Lake. But the pH has been abnormally high there. Probably because of the monsters. So I came here.”

"Hi, I'm Dustin," the boy introduces. “Is your finger okay?”

"Hi, Dustin. I think I’ll survive,” you say. “Dustin means brave warrior in Norse.”

Dustin beams. “Yup. I was named after my grandfather. He served in World War Two.”

"Names are important,” you say. “Joan agonized for days deciding what I should call her. Eventually, I decided for her. A name says a lot about a person. Steve has a warrior and good luck at his side."

"Yep, Steve-o here is pretty blessed to have us. And," he gestures to you, "You are?"

"Hungry," you say, taking your bag of cookies with your free hand.

The bag crinkles as you open it. You hold it out to Steve.

"Do you want one? I promise they’re blood-free.”

"Uh…” He glances at your hand. “Are you sure your finger is okay?”

“She’s a trooper. Survived ink poisoning and everything.” You wave the bag again. “Cookie?”

Steve takes a baci di dama out and pops it into his mouth. He hums as he chews, nodding.

"'S good," he says after he swallows.

"Baci di dama means lady's kisses in Italian," you say.

His cheeks turn pink again.

"You should drink more water," you add. "You turn pink easily."

Robin snorts. Steve holds a hand to his cheek.

"Uh, thanks."

“You’re welcome. Robin, would you like a cookie?"

"No, thanks,” she says. “I'm picking up a tiramisu for my mom's birthday."

"I want a cookie!" Dustin says.

"Dude," Steve hisses.

You hold the bag open to Dustin. He takes a raspberry sandwich cookie.

"So," Dustin says, mouth full. "Are you Steve’s girlfriend or something?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” you say.

“Du-ude!” Steve says too loudly, voice climbing in pitch.

“What? You talk about her all the freakin’ time. I needed to know.”

You look at Steve. He rubs the back of his neck and half-smiles.

“Anyway,” continues Dustin. “How do you know Steve?”

"I climbed over his gate by accident on the hottest day of May,” you say.

"By accident?"

"Yes. All the gates in Loch Nora look the same. Except Steve's gate has climbing ivy and little red flowers. It's much nicer than the other houses. It looks like a person lives there. I mistook it for Debbie's gate."

Robin tilts her head at you. You don't care what Steve says; she's a one hundred percent bonafide bird.

Dustin points to your pail, crumbs all over his chin. "Why do you have rocks?"

"They're for Joan," you say.

"Joan? Is she your friend?"

"She's more like my confidante. She doesn't talk much, so I think it'd be presumptuous of me to call her a friend when I have no idea where we stand."

"Navigating friendships can be hard," Steve offers.

"Yes," you say. "They can be."

"Being straightforward can help a lot," he continues. "It, uh, at least helped me. That way the other person knows what you mean. No room for miscommunication."

You nod. "That's good advice. I'll have to try that with Joan. Sometimes she can be kind of hard-headed."

You roll up your bag of cookies and reposition your pail on your arm so the metal doesn't dig into your skin.

"It was nice to meet you, Dustin," you say. "Goodbye, Steve and Robin."

"Wait!"

Steve holds the door for you and follows you out. He still smells sweet, like pineapple, and also a little woody. He touches the small of your back, sending a bolt of electricity down your spine.

"I have a first aid kit in my car. Let me wrap your cut."

"Oh." You'd forgotten about it. "Okay."

You follow Steve to his car. He pops the trunk and rummages. You spot a bat with nails.

"Very inventive," you say, pointing at the bat.

Steve laughs shyly. "Yeah, uh, the monsters."

"I definitely wouldn't want to fight you if I were a multi-dimensional monster."

He smiles and takes out a small spray bottle of disinfectant.

"This is gonna sting, okay? But we need to make sure nothing gets infected."

"An infection would be unfortunate," you say. "I'm quite attached to this finger."

He sprays and cleans your finger. You wince and Steve squeezes your wrist in apology. Then he pulls out bandaids.

"Any preference? I have rainbow, Star Wars, 'cause they're all a bunch of nerds, cats… oh, I have flowers! ‘Cause you’re, uh, Buttercup, you know?"

"Flowers," you say, because Steve's so excited about it.

He nods and opens the bandaid. You hold out your finger and Steve carefully wraps it. He rubs your knuckle.

"Thank you," you say.

"You're welcome. Be careful, okay?"

"I will."

He closes the trunk, swinging his keys on his finger.

"Sorry if that was awkward, by the way," he says. "Dustin, I mean. He can be… blunt."

"It wasn't awkward."

“It wasn’t?”

“No,” you say. “I’m happy you tell people about me. I tell Joan about you all the time.”

"Oh." He nods. "That—that’s good. So… we’re both… uh—”

"Do you want another lady's kiss?"

"What? Oh—" Steve clears his throat. "N-no, that's okay. Thanks."

You take out a raspberry cookie and bite into it.

"Your hair has product," you observe.

"Yeah. No secrets, though."

"Everybody's hair has secrets."

"Even yours?" he asks.

"Especially mine."

Steve rubs the back of his neck. You open your bag and take out another cookie. He looks like he's trying to find the right words to say. You don't mind waiting.

"Hey, do you like barbecue?" he asks.

"I like it as well as anybody else."

"Well, um, I'm having a barbecue this Saturday. Lucas won a big championship game and so we're celebrating his win."

"That's nice," you say. "Congratulations to Lucas."

"Yeah! So, um, did you maybe want to come too? It'll be at my house. You could bring a friend if you wanted. Like Joan."

"Joan is a vegetarian," you say. "But I'm sure she'd enjoy the company."

Steve smiles. He has such a pretty smile.

"We're ordering pizza too, so Joan can have some of that."

"You're a very thoughtful host.”

Then you have a terrible thought. But you have to ask it because if you don't, you might be breaking some kind of invisible expectation. You do that a lot.

"Does Debbie have to come?" you ask.

Steve blinks. "Uh, no? It's not a requirement."

"Some people ask me to parties because they want Debbie to come."

Steve frowns. "That's rude. I wouldn't do that."

"Okay. What time does the barbecue begin?"

"You can stop by anytime. But we'll probably start eating around six."

You nod. "Joan and I will be there at five thirty."

Steve's answering grin is blinding. He must be really excited to meet Joan. You get it; Joan's the life of any party she attends.

"Great, that's great. I'll see you then."

"Bye, Steve," you say.

"Bye," he answers like he's out of breath.

Even the way he breathes is pretty.

Every month, Miles Stanwick throws a party.

Miles is a celebrity in Hawkins, his father being a state senator, and Miles is, according to a drunk Debbie, “the Gatsby to her Daisy.”

You're pretty sure Debbie hasn't read the book. Or maybe she's a living tragedy. Either is possible.

It had been just you two in her room, without the Other Debbie she pretends to be to impress the people of Loch Nora, when she'd told you what it meant to be in love.

"You just know," she'd said, her breath reeking of tequila.

You'd turned your head. Tequila made your nose itch.

"But you love Brett," you'd said.

"Brett is who I'll marry," she'd corrected. She’d sounded so sad. "Miles is all I've got."

Then she'd thrown up all over her carpet. You'd helped her into bed and made a mental note to find her a friend like Joan to keep her company, for when you weren't around.

You don't like parties. They're loud and smelly and usually filled with people you don't like or don't know. And at a party, people you don't like and people you don't know are one and the same.

You would leave, but Debbie is your ride tonight. So you're stuck here until midnight, maybe even later.

Someone plugs in a karaoke machine and that gets most of the party's attention. The music is horribly loud and is the kind that’s just a lot of synthesizer.

A guy jumps onto the Stanwicks' coffee table and knocks over the potpourri dish. Dried petals and orange peels scatter across the carpet.

Debbie appears in front of you, a red Solo cup in her hand.

"What did I bring you here for?" she asks, mouth curled. "To slump on the couch?"

"No one here wants to talk," you say.

Debbie rolls her eyes. "Parties aren't for talking. They're for drinking and making out. Someone's rolling a blunt in the den. Go suck on that, will you?"

The people in Loch Nora are so good at making you feel two inches tall. You wish you'd brought Joan. She'd know what to do.

You've tried alcohol before. Champagne at a wedding. A sip of rum from the Wellermans' liquor cabinet, back when Debbie wasn't so caught up in being just like everyone else.

Maybe it's your fault, too. Maybe you're too good at standing out.

You go to the kitchen. It's already trashed. You step over a spill on the floor. Then you turn around and lay down some paper towels so no one will slip.

There are various bottles of strong liquor strewn across the counters. You decide to try the punch and fill your cup to the top. You sniff it and your nose wrinkles at the whiff of alcohol.

You so badly want to have fun. You want to know what makes all of this worth it. You want your friendship with Debbie to be worth it.

You down the punch in one go. It makes you cough and you scramble for water at the sink. You wonder if the punch is poisoned.

You wobble out of the kitchen a couple minutes later, head already woozy. A girl stands with a drink, one arm folded.

"Where's Debbie?" you ask. The girl winces and steps away from you.

"She went with Miles and some other people to the lake."

Your eyes widen. "No, they can't. There's monsters."

She looks at you like you might be an insect splattered on her dashboard.

"You're Debbie's weird friend, aren't you?"

Weird doesn't make you feel good, like Steve calling you strange did. Weird makes you feel like when a boy in sixth grade stepped on your heels while going up the stairs because he thought it was funny.

"Debbie would've told me," you say.

The girl shrugs. "Guess she ditched you. She can't score with Miles if you're killing the vibe."

Weird tastes like poison in your mouth.

"Debbie was my ride," you say, but she’s already gone.

Your head aches. You try to think on what to do next. It's nearly midnight. No one is awake, and you have no idea how to call a cab.

You find the Stanwicks' phone in the hall and dial the only number you know, besides your own, and the local pizzeria.

"Hello?"

You lean against the wall, phone in both hands.

"Uh, hello? Who is this?"

"H-hi, Westley." Your voice cracks.

"Hey," Steve says, unbearably gentle. "My favorite rock girl. Jesus, it's… midnight."

"I'm sorry," you say.

"No, no, it's alright. I'm just—is everything okay? Are you okay?"

"Debbie ditched me."

Silence. For a moment, you panic that the line's dropped.

"Steve?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm, um, at Miles Stanwick's. The address is… well, I don't remember, but I'll go outside and look for the house number—"

"I know it," Steve says. "Stay right there. I'm coming to get you. Don't drink any more."

Your lip wobbles. "'Kay."

"It's okay," he soothes. "Drink some water. Don't take anything from anybody."

"I just wanted to be fun," you blurt.

"You are fun, Buttercup. Way more fun than anybody at that house, I guarantee it. I'll be there in ten minutes, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you, Steve," you say, no longer feeling so small.

You hang up and go to the kitchen to get more water from the sink. Then you return to the hallway and sit, back against the wall, knees tucked into your chest.

You doze, lids heavy from the alcohol. The next thing you know are two hands on your arms.

You jolt awake. One hand cradles the back of your head so you don't thump it against the wall.

"Hey, hey." Steve kneels in front of you. He brushes your cheek with a cool knuckle. "It's me, it's Steve. Are you okay?"

His hands are cool against your overheated skin. He smells like lemon shampoo.

"My knight," you say.

"I thought Westley was a pirate."

“He was only pretending."

You let Steve ease you up. His car keys dig into your hip.

"Ow," you say dazedly.

"What? What hurts?"

"Keys."

"Oh." Steve shifts you to his opposite side, hand on your back. "Sorry, honey."

"Honey never spoils," you say. "Did you know that? You could dig up honey from a tomb that's thousands of years old and as long as it was stored in an airtight container, it's good to eat."

"I love that you know that."

"Do you really?"

"I really do," Steve says. "C’mon, let's get you home."

Outside, the moon is a dot of cream in the purple sky. The neighborhood is quiet. Most of the houses are also dark.

"I'm sorry for calling you so late," you say.

"Don't be. I'm glad you called me. These parties can get out of hand."

"Debbie left. She went to Lover's Lake with Miles—"

The panic returns, flooding your body. You squirm and Steve tries to keep you steady.

"Whoa, what's—"

"The monsters! There's monsters down there, Steve. I don't like Miles, but I don't want him to be eaten!"

"No, no, no more monsters," Steve assures you. "They can't come through there anymore."

You still. "Promise?"

"I promise."

He helps you into the passenger seat of his car. Steve leans in and pulls the seat belt over you.

"Comfy?" he asks.

"I like you so much, Steve Harrington."

It's too dark to tell, but you suspect he's got another case of sunstroke.

"I, um, like you too, Buttercup. You're really cool."

"Me?" You wave your hand. "No."

"Really," he insists. "You are. The coolest."

If you were Debbie, if you weren't weird in the wrong way, if you didn't go to parties to talk, and if you fit a million other criteria you never will, Steve would kiss you right now. Or maybe you'd kiss him.

But you don't know how to go about that. You don't think it's your right to do such a thing.

So Steve shuts the door and walks around to the driver's seat. You stare at your flower bandaid.

"Four three's," Steve says as he turns the ignition.

You turn your head. "Hmm?"

"The house number. Four three's. That's gotta be, like, astronomically bad luck, right?"

"Without a doubt."

Except you're here with Steve Harrington, and he calls you honey and thinks you're cool. And that doesn't seem like bad luck at all.

"I'm going to a barbecue," you call out.

There's no reply. You close the door behind you.

Joan sits in your pocket. You've tied a purple ribbon around her head, right above her googly eyes. You don't know what the dress code is for a barbecue, but you hope she's not underdressed.

You haven’t spoken to Steve since Miles’ party. You’re not sure what you should say, and you can’t bear the thought of calling him to hear silence.

Even if he doesn’t like you the way you like him, you hope he’ll still be friends with you. Steve and his kids have grown on you. You don’t know if you can go back to who you were before the hottest day of May.

“Material Girl” plays from inside Steve's backyard. You mouth the words as you fling your flip flops over the gate.

"What the fuck?" someone says from the other side.

You climb the gate and shimmy down. It's a good thing you're wearing shorts under your dress.

A boy, lanky and tall but probably Lucas's age, holds one of your flip flops. He stares at you and shakes the shoe.

"Is this yours?"

"Both of them are," you say. "Does Steve like Madonna?"

He grimaces. "Unfortunately."

"Cool."

You spot Steve sitting on one of the deck chairs with Robin and a boy your age with big, curly hair and a Led Zeppelin shirt with cropped sleeves.

"Venus" plays next and you wobble in time with the music as you walk over to Steve.

"Her weapons were her crystal eyes," you whisper. The pavement is warm under your toes.

"Making every man mad."

Steve turns just as you reach him. He stands so fast he shakes the chair.

"Hey!" he says. He sounds out of breath again. "Hey, you came."

"You invited me," you say.

"Yeah, yes." Steve nods. "I did. I'm glad you're here."

"You play good music."

"Ha!" Steve whips his head to look at the curly haired boy. "Suck it, Munson."

"She's obviously biased."

"Munson," you say. "Eddie Munson?"

Eddie freezes under your gaze. Robin and Steve glance at you.

"Yeah, uh, that's me." Eddie smiles weakly. "Look, you might've heard some stuff abou—"

"You helped fight the monsters," you interrupt. "You're very brave."

Eddie's eyes widen. "I—"

"Most people just like to ignore monsters. It takes a really good person to fight them." You turn to Steve. "Do you have orange Fanta?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll get you a can. Feel free to sit… where are your shoes?"

You point behind you. "Your bodyguard had to screen them after I climbed your gate. You have very tight security."

"After you climbed my… wait, Mike? God, I’m sorry about him. I'll get your shoes back."

"It's okay. Flip flops are dangerous weapons. It's only a matter of time before the airport bans them."

Steve tilts his head, eyes warm. "Right. I'll be back. That's Eddie and Robin… you know them."

"I know their names, and that's about all you can know about anybody."

Eddie giggles. You look at him. He doesn't seem to be laughing at you, so you sit where Steve was sitting, across from Eddie's chair. You point at his shirt.

"I like Kashmir."

"Thank God! Somebody with decent tastes."

"I'll listen to anything," you say. "It's important to be a good listener."

Eddie grins. "Words of the wise."

"Where's Joan?" Robin asks.

"Right here." You take Joan out of your pocket and set her down on the edge of the pool chair.

"Sick," Eddie says.

You nod. "The ribbon was my pick."

"I like it," Robin says.

"Thank you."

Steve returns with an orange Fanta for you and a root beer for Robin.

Robin points to Joan. "Steve, this is the famous Joan we've heard so much about."

"That's a rock," says Steve.

"Yep."

"Oh." He nods in understanding. "Joan is your pet rock?"

"Confidante," you correct. "’Pet’ is demeaning."

"Got it. And was Joan's sister also your confidante?"

"No. Joan's sister didn't like me much. She thought I was a bad influence on Joan. But we shouldn't talk about it now. Joan gets very sad when I bring it up."

You open your can. The carbonation hisses. It's itchy and sweet on your tongue.

"I like your hair," you say. "It's fluffy. Like it was on the hottest day of May."

Steve pushes a couple strands behind his ear.

"Thanks. The gel is too much on hot days like these. Weighs me down."

"At least you won't float away." You look at Eddie. "Is your hair full of secrets too?"

Eddie ruffles his hair. "Not as many as Steve's, but I've got a couple in here. 'S what gives my curls volume."

"Hm. Just as I suspected," you say.

"Ste-eve!" Dustin whines from across the yard. "You promised burgers!"

Steve rolls his eyes. "You'd think he's never been fed in his life."

Eddie pats his shoulder. "You've got this, Harrington."

"Oh, no. You wanna eat, you've gotta earn your keep. Come on."

Eddie groans, flinging himself off the chair. "Save me, Buckley!"

"Already did that," she says, pulling her sunglasses onto her eyes. "Never again."

"You should tie up your hair so it doesn't catch fire," you suggest.

"Well, at least somebody cares about me," Eddie declares, pulling his hair into a ponytail.

Steve turns to you and smiles softly.

"Are you hungry? You can have the first pick of the burgers."

"Won't Dustin be annoyed?"

Steve shrugs. "Kid could use some manners. Besides, pretty girls always get the first pick. It's the law."

You follow Steve and Eddie to the grill, pretty girl echoing in your brain the whole time.

Eddie's hair doesn't catch on fire and Steve makes you a perfect burger. The sun sparkles on the pool surface. The kids come out to eat and, predictably, Dustin complains about not getting the first burger.

"Not fair. Just 'cause she's your girlfriend," he mumbles as he goes off to search for the mustard.

You check to see if Steve had heard the comment. He doesn't seem to have; you can't decide if you're relieved or not.

The chairs are all taken by the time you finish fixing up your burger. Steve stands immediately as you approach.

“Here, take my seat,” he says.

“We can share,” you offer.

Steve lets you take the back of the chair, settling at the foot. “You Make My Dreams Come True” plays on the speakers.

“Whoever made this mixtape is a genius,” you announce.

“You like it?” says Steve. “I actually made this one. Robin and Eddie think my taste sucks, but—”

“It’s spectacular.”

He hums, ducking his head shyly. “Well, speaking of spectacular: I made more lemonade, if you want to test it before I unleash it upon the masses.”

“I’ll happily drink your lemonade,” you say. “It’ll build my iocane tolerance.”

Steve grins. “I rented The Princess Bride, by the way. I know you meant to get it a few weeks ago. We can watch it tonight, if you want.”

“You remembered I wanted to watch it,” you say.

He nods. “Well, uh, yeah. Do you still want to? If you don’t, I can—”

“I do,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.” Steve stands, hand outstretched so you’ll give him your empty plate. “I’m going inside. Anybody want anything?”

“Doritos!” Robin shouts.

“Napkins, please,” El says.

“Cherry Coke!” Mike calls.

“Beer!” Eddie whoops.

“Doritos, napkins, got it. The cooler is right there, Wheeler, and are you kidding, Eddie? No drinking by the pool. Have we not learned our lesson from the last four years?”

“Bold of you to assume I’ve learned anything, Steven.”

“Can you bring us popsicles?” Max asks. “Lemon and grape.”

“Ooh, popsicles sound good,” says Robin. “Bring me one too. Fruit punch.”

Steve sighs, lifting his arms.

“Two hands, guys. Only got two.”

“I can help,” you offer.

“Now that’s a great idea,” Robin says. “The two of you in the kitchen, alone. Really brilliant, don’t you think, Steve?”

Steve glares at her. Then he turns to you, expression softening.

“That’d be great, thank you.”

You follow him into the kitchen. It looks exactly like the last time you were here, except for the food. Steve opens the freezer and digs through the box of popsicles. Then he takes the pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge and sets it on the counter.

“Can you get the Doritos?” he asks. “They’re up there.”

You open a shelf over the stove. The chips are at the very top. You try jumping; all that does is bang your ribs into the counter.

"Whoa, whoa.”

Steve’s hand rests on your back. Your stomach swoops.

"Easy, Buttercup. I’ll get it, sorry ‘bout that."

You frown. "The Doritos have eluded me."

"They’re a tricky bunch," he says, reaching and successfully grabbing the chips.

"I knew you’d best me and succeed."

"Best you?"

"Yes," you say. "Like in a duel."

Steve tilts his head, a tiny crinkle forming in the center of his brows.

"Are we going to duel? Like Inigo and Westley?"

"Not if I can help it," you say. "I'm terrible with a sword."

"I would never try to sword fight you."

"I appreciate that."

His hand slips from your back. You watch it fall to his side.

“Feel free to help yourself to whatever you want,” Steve says as he takes a glass out of the cupboard. “You can also take food home.”

You exhale through your nose and wiggle your fingers a little, trying to stave off the nerves. You wish Joan was in your pocket right now, but you left her on the deck chair.

“Buttercup?”

You look up. Steve has a glass of lemonade in one hand. The top button of his polo shirt is undone. Was it always undone? You can’t remember.

Anyway, he’s beautiful. And you’re so damn strange.

“Yes, Westley?”

Steve smiles. You don’t think anyone has ever smiled at you as much as Steve does.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

He puts the glass in front of you. You glance at it, then back at him.

“Everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure? I won’t force you to drink my crappy lemonade if you don’t want to, y’know.”

“You called me strange,” you blurt. “When we first met.”

Steve’s eyes widen.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he says softly. “But I won’t call you that anymore if you don’t like it.”

“No, I–I know you didn’t mean it in a bad way. But…”

He nods, encouraging you to continue.

“I’m not like Debbie,” you say.

“I know.”

“I’ll probably never be like Debbie.”

“I much prefer you as yourself,” he says.

“Oh.”

You sip your lemonade. Your lips pucker but you smile all the same.

“Damn,” Steve says with a chuckle. “I really can’t nail that lemonade, huh?”

“It’s wonderful,” you whisper.

He takes a step forward. You set the glass on the counter.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“I would very much like that.”

Steve’s lips are slightly chapped. You taste like lemonade and he tastes like Coke and God, you like it so much.

You loop your arms around his neck like you’ve wanted to do for weeks. He returns in kind, both hands slipping to your waist.

It’s not just a boy kissing you. It’s Steve.

The sliding glass door whooshes open and you jerk your head back in surprise. Max and Dustin trod in.

Dustin shrieks.

“Seriously? This is what was taking you so long?”

“If you were gonna do that, we would’ve gotten the popsicles ourselves,” Max says with a huff, grabbing the popsicles and chips from the counter.

“Told ya they were making out!” comes Eddie’s voice from outside. “I warned you, kiddies!”

They clear out, with one last stink eye from Dustin. Steve shakes his head, nose pressed to your cheek.

“Again, very sorry about them.”

“They wanted to check in on their favorite babysitter,” you say.

Steve lifts his head and rolls his eyes. “I need a padlock or something.”

You hum and lean over to unwrap a popsicle.

“Oh,” you say. “Three left.”

“Three popsicles?”

“Mmhm.”

“Well, that explains it. Astronomical bad luck, right?”

“Actually,” you say, leaning in for another kiss. “I think my theory was wrong.”

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things

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chibipeachu · 6 months ago

Text

“Love Story” ¦ R.J

wc: 4k (I was rly excited ok...)

pairing: richie jerimovich X fem!reader

warnings: none, just a cute love story, semi proofread 🤍

A/n: seeing sooo many proposals during taylor's tour and he would so drop the question during your guys song!!

Richie signed as the bell above the door rang, it had been a night filled with drunk men and their hookers all night long.

As he walked out to the front he froze at the sight of a girl, giggling to herself as she scrolled through her phone before walking up to the counter. “Hi mikey, wait you’re not mikey?” She slurred as she looked at richie.

“Nope, he’s out for the night, what can i get you though sweetheart?” The girl looked up at the menu and pouted her lips.

Richie smiled as he noticed her smudged lipstick and gloss.

“I’ll have, um..” She froze as her gaze felt unfocused as she tried to read the board. “I’ll get whatever, you choose for me!” She grinned at the forty year old.

Richie signed and nodded to himself. “Got it, just uh go sit before i come back to find you passed out on the floor.”

The girl saluted before stumbling to a barstool and patiently waited for her food.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The smell of bell peppers made the girl lift her head from the sticky table, she smiled at richie as he placed her food in front of her, it was a cheesesteak.

”It smells soo good!” She squealed, clapping her hands and dancing in her seat a bit. Richie scoffed, amused at the girl.

“Wanna join me?” Her question caught richie off guard, he glances down at the girl as she held up half of the sandwich towards him.

“I couldn’t, i gotta handle the front.” Richie declined.

The girl gave richie a look before looking around the empty restaurant, “yeah ok, since it’s suuupper busy..” She giggled, earning a playful eye roll from richie who sighed before sitting down next to you.

As they pair sat in silence, richie sighed as his phone lit up with a text from tiff saying she was keeping eva for his weekend due to ballet practice. “So what’s your name?” the girl questioned, taking a bite of her sandwich before looking up at richie who picked at the small side of fries.

“Richie..” He smiled as the girl nodded at his name. “How is it spelt? Like ritchie valens or richie rich?” She questioned, swapping richie for the fries.

Richie chuckled before taking a bite, “richie rich, i guess?” He shrugged and watched as you quietly hummed to yourself as you ate. “How ‘bout you?”

She tiled her head to the side. “How about me, what?” she questioned.

As richie re-asked the question her eyes started to droop.

“Y’know you have pretty eyes..” The girl tiredly pointed her manicured nails towards richie, she slowly slid the sandwich towards richie and fell asleep, her forehead on the cold, but sticky tabletop.

Richie chuckled softly and started to clean up around you.

After bit he had noticed your phone started to ring, he sighed as there was no sign of you waking up to answer.

Picking up the phone, he was greeted to questions. “WHERE ARE YOU!” a voice yelled.

Richie pulled the phone away from his ear. “Yeah, uh your friend fell asleep here at the beef and if there’s a way for you to come pick her up-!” RIchie was cut off by a frustrated groan.

“Fuck, daddy’s gonna lose it if he find out she’s not with us!” The voice sighed before asking for the street name.

A few minutes had passed and a white car had pulled up outside of the diner, he was in the back for the most of them carrying their friend to the car but by the time he walked back to the front, he noticed as the car doors slammed shut before taking off.

He sighed as he looked around the restaurant and froze at the sight of a pink prada bag on the countertop, hidden by a mountain of napkins. “Shit..” He cursed as he picked up the bag and looked for an piece of identification.

He quietly hummed to himself as he pulled out a gucci wallet, “who’s sugar baby got lost?” he questioned to himself as he flipped it open to find tons of cards and cash, a purse snatcher would be in heaven by the amount left carelessly in your bag.

As richie went to give up in his search, he froze at the sight of a pair of sunglasses in a satin bag with your initials embroidered.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You sighed as you walked into the beef, it had been your sister’s bachelorette the night before, somehow you had slipped away from the group and into your favorite diner.

“Hi mikey..” You greeted the shaggy haired owner, who watched you walk in, clearly enjoying you fighting a hangover.

“You look like shit.” He grinned at you.

“I feel like it..hey did i happen to leave-” before you could finish your words, mikey held up your bag with a smirk. “Oh this?” He teased.

“Don’t be a dick, give it..” You held your hand out for it, he sighed and handed it over to you. “Could i also get something to go please?” You smiled at mikey.

“I don't know, you did tell my employee he had pretty eyes last night..” HIs words made you widen your eye at him, slowly shaking your head. “No i didn’t…did I?” You questioned yourself quietly.

As you sat down questioning yourself, mikey had placed your typical order and walked to the office.

A basket of fries made you brake away from your thoughts. You glanced up at the employee and immediately got flustered, it was the guy from the previous night.

“Um, hi?” You offered a small smile, earning a chuckle from him. “Hi, here’s your order to-go.” He handed you the bag. You shifted your eyes from the to-go box to his blue eyes.

“You’re richie, right?” You questioned, trying to rack your brain for his name. “Uh, yeah.” He scratched his scruff. “I’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable with my comments..” You apologized, fiddling with your bag.

“With comments like that, i’d hope to see you in here more often now!” He smiled at you.

You grabbed the to-go box and nodded and let out a chuckle. “Will do, richie!” You smiled and waved as you exited the shop.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

As the weeks went on, you and richie had grown close, you had often stopped by the beef to greet him and the others, you often hung out around the shop till closing with richie and spent hours talking ot one another, it had gotten to the point where you gave him your number to spent more hours of the day talking.

You smiled as you sat at the counter of the beef and watched as richie cleaned the tabletops.

“No shot, your favorite artist is taylor swift!” You smiled as he sighed and continued to wipe down the counters. “I have a mini swiftie, after a while t-swift grows on you.” He smiled.

You laughed, “favorite song then?” you asked as you sipped from your cup. “Probably, cardigan..” He paused and took a second to think about his answer before he glanced at you and placed the cloth over his shoulder.

“Yours?”

You pouted out your lip, thinking over all her songs, “love story.” You smiled as richie smile grew.

“What? I like the classics..” You both chuckled, richie focused on getting a sticky spot on the counter, not noticing you grabbing his phone which was connected to the shop’s music.

“You’ll be prince, and i’ll be the princess!” You sang out loud, your arm extended towards richie who turned his head to watch.

He laughed, amused by your little show, thankfully he had set out the close sign early so no customers would try to ruin the moment.

“It’s a love story, baby just say yes!” He continued while laughing to himself, silently admiring your bright smile.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“Eva!”

“Lovie!” The little blonde squealed as richie unbuckled her from her carseat.

“What are you doing here?” She questioned as you walked up to her, a small bouquet of tulips in your hand. “I’m here to watch a very talented ballerina.” You grinned.

You knelt down to her height and handed her the flowers. She squealed and held them to her chest.

“What do you say to lovie, eva?” Richie questioned, watching your interaction with a grin on his face.

“Thank you!” She gave you a small side hug before walking to the doors to the theater, her ballet bag being carried by richie.

“Is tiff and frank here already?” You questioned as you noticed all the moms, fixing their children’s hair.

“Tiff hasn’t said, i’ll go give her a call, could you-!”

“I’ll go watch eva.” You cut richie off, giving him a reassuring smile, taking eva’s bag from him.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Eva had gotten antsy, as more kids would pass her, hair done and ready to perform.

Tiff had told richie her and frank had gotten a flat tire and wouldn't be able to make it to her recital.

Richie sighed as he brushed eva’s hair into a lumpy bun. “It has to be smooth!” Eva sighed, frustrated.

You quickly placed down your bag and eva’s bag next to richie and motioned for the brush and hair tie.

“I can do your hair, since somebody..can’t..” You told eva, side glancing towards richie was sat beside you both on a chair, looking defeated. Eva giggled.

You managed to get her hair into a neat bun, eva sighed as she noticed her tiny baby hairs sticking up in the front of her forehead.

“Wipsy’s again!” She whispered, annoyed with her hair.

“I have those too, here richie could you hand me my purse?” You turned to your boyfriend who jumped and quickly handed you the bag.

You smiled to yourself as eva held your purse in her lap, watching as you dug through your bag before pulling out a tube of hair slick gel. “Always prepared, huh?” Richie smiled as you gently held eva’s chin and slicked the hair’s down.

“Want a little chapstick?” You questioned the little blonde who nodded and pouted her lips, you quickly grabbed your small tin of chapstick and added a bit to her lips, you quickly handed her the tin, she quickly placed it in the bag and turned to the side to look at herself.

“So cute!” You smiled as you watched her smile and bat her eyelashes at herself in the mirror.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You sighed as you tried to closed the mansion quietly, as the weeks past, you and richie had gone hours on the phone with each other, spending most weekdays with one another, doing basic tasks.

As you quietly tip toped to the stairs to finally got to bed a light turned on from the living room, making you freeze at the sight.

“Tsk, tsk, sneaking out like a teen again?” Your father’s gruff voice spoke up.

You sighed and placed your purse on the stairs before walking over to your father, where he sat in his chair, shuffling a deck of player cards he kept on the coffee table.

“No, i was just trying to not disturb anyone’s sleep with the door slamming.” You sat down across from hi, on the coffee table.

“You’ve been out very late, this past few months, is there something i should know about?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“And now that i’m looking at you, whose jacket is that?” He questioned, the look of distaste clear on his face

Your breath hitched, as you went to open your mouth, a light turned on in the front hall, making you and your father turn to the source.

There stood, your mom, she had a tired look on her face. “Will you too go to bed?” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“In a moment, answer me young lady..” Your father pressed.

“NOW!” Your mom hissed at your father, who sighed and got up from his chair and placed the cards beside you.

“This talk isn’t over yet.” You nodded as he wished you goodnight before walking up the stairs.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The next morning you sighed as you drove your sister to pick up her veil from the bridal store.

“What’s got you so down?” She frowned.

“Nothing..” You brushed her off, huffing as you waited for the light to turn green. “I know you better then that, what’s the matter?” She pressed, turning to face you.

“Nothing’s the matter..” You tried to brush the topic off.

“Does it have to do with dad last night?” Your sister, questioned, making you turn to her.

“Did everyone hear our conversation last night?” You groaned, continuing to the bridal shop.

“So who’s the lucky person?” Your sister grinned as you shook your head, a small smile growing on your face.

“Do you remember when I wandered away from you guys during your bachelorette party?” You asked, occasionally glancing over to your sister.

“Yeah, we were laughing cause you were knocked out by the time we got there.” She giggled at the memory.

“Well, I guess i had drunkenly started to flirt with one of the night workers and i may have been constantly went back and possibly at one point he became my boyfriend.” You sighed, your sister sat in the passenger seat with a grin.

“What’s his name?” She teased.

“Richie, richie jerimovich.” You said with a smile at the thought of your boyfriend.

“Older dude?” She questioned, picking at her nails, her smile still obvious.

“He’s in his 40s, so a bit older then me..” You confessed.

“Well, after we pick up my wedding errand, how about I go and meet this richie guy?” She proposed.

“Sure, he starts at 2 and by the time I find room in the trunk for your things and we drive over, he should be working.”

Your sister squealed, excited for you.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You glanced at your sister who nodded to herself as she took in the area, you quickly parked the car on the street and got out.

“You’re just gonna leave the car parked here?” Your sister questioned, noticing a group of men not too far from the shop, looking at you both.

“It’s fine.” You brushed her off and looked back at the group and walked closer to the curb. “Crooked john, will you watch my car for me please.” You hollered out to the man, he nodded at you.

“See it’s fine.” You smiled and walked into the beef.

“Welcome ladies, what can i get you started with today?” Richie smirked as you and your sister walked into the shop.

“Hello..” Your sister squeaked out, looking around the building.

“Hi richie, can we get two cheesesteaks please?” You batted your eyelashes at him, making him smile and lean a bit over the counter to kiss your cheek. “Alright take a seat, sweetheart.”

You smiled and motioned for a booth for your sister to sit down in.

While waiting you and your sister went over her wedding plans, her day had been arriving very quickly.

“Alright, two cheesesteak sandwiches.” Richie smiled as he placed them onto the table, your sister perked up and and hummed in delight at the smell of the food.

“Hey, sweetheart,”

You glanced up at richie who looked at you up and down. “Yes?”

“I thought you didn’t know where my jacket went..hmm?”

You felt red, he had caught you red-handed.

“I possibly found it in the back seat..”

He shook his head and kissed the top of your head.

“So richie, I trust you already know not to hurt my sister, correct?” Your sister questioned, swallowing her fry before turning to richie with a straight face.

“Would never dream about it.” Richie gave her a reassuring smile.

“Good.” She smiled before eating her food.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“Do I look alright?” Richie asked you as he watched you fill in your eyeliner.

“You look fine, stop messing with your tie!” You scolded, turing to look at richie, who raised his hands up in surrender.

After richie and your sister’s meeting, she had invited richie to her wedding rehearsal, you both thought it was finally time to introduce richie to your parents and other family members.

“I’m just freaking out, a gorgeous girl with a sad bastard?” He snorted as he walked into his bedroom and picked your bag up from the end of his bed to sit down.

“You mean a gorgeous girl with her fantastic boyfriend?” You smiled as you walked closer to him, slotting yourself between his legs.

“Tonight will be fine, it’s a step in the next direction!” You smiled down at him, softly holding his chin in your palms.

Richie just smiled and places a kiss on your palm.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Richie gave you a small smile as you squeezed his hand as you both walked into the venue, in the middle of the room, stood your sister and her fiance.

Your sister perked up and waved you both over.

“C’mon..” You gently tugged richie over to your sister and said your greetings to her.

“Mom and dad are outside.” Your sister whispered to you and richie as she hugged your both.

You nodded and took a deep breath before looking at richie, who’s grip had gotten a bit tighter.

Richie sighed and squeezed your hand twice before walking over to your parents.

“Mom, dad, i’d like to introduce to you guys my boyfriend.” You announced, making your mom smiling at richie.

“So this is the one that’s been making my daughter so smiley?” She teased before hugging richie and hugged her back.

You smiled at the pair and glanced back to your dad and felt your smile drop, his face was upset, he eyed richie up and down.

“Dad, this is richie jerimovich..” You guided richie toward’s your dad.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir.” Richie held his hand out.

Your father just watched richie for a moment before turning to you.

“We will be having a word after your sister’s rehearsal.” He said sharply, walking back into the venue without turning back.

Your mother sighed as she watched him, she turned to you and richie and reassuringly rubbed your arms.

“He’ll come around, he’s not always a grump.” She smiled before following after your dad into the venue.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The rehearsal had a tint of tension in the air as you got in place for the vows.

Richie’s leg hadn’t stopped bouncing as he watched you elegantly walk down the isle before your sister and father.

As the rest of the guests chatted inside, your father had taken richie outside and forced you to stay inside with your mother and sister.

“I’m not an idiot you know..” Your father sighed as he looked at richie.

“Excuse me?” Richie questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“I know what you want with my daughter, and i’m not gonna let you hurt her.” Your father argued.

“I don’t know what your talking about sir, i love your daughter, truely.” Richie defended himself. “Bullshit, you’re not the first asshole to try this whole nice guy act with her!”

RIchie scoffed and rubbed his stubble, trying to contain himself.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about sir..” Richie sighed.

“Yeah right, that’s why your only see your daughter on certain weekends,” Your father scoffed.

“Just face it, you and her are from two very different lives, you don’t deserve to have her.”

Richie let his words sink in, without a second thought richie scoffed and raised an eyebrow. “You can talk shit about me all you want but you don’t know your family, do you? I may only see eva evry other weekend but hell, at least i know my kid’s favorite things!” RIchie argued back.

“I forbid you to speak or lay eyes on my daughter!” Your father yelled before walking back into the venue, you watched with wide eyes as you could see your dad and richie going back and fourth.

You quickly excused yourself and went to go outside but your father quickly dragged you away from the doors, you swatted his hand away from you.

“I have to go talk to richie, let me go dad!” You groaned.

“I’ve had enough of this ridiculous non sense “relationship” you have!” Your father yelled, making you scoff at his words.

“What? Gonna forbid me from seeing him?” You mockingly asked, your father only raised and eyebrow and nodded.

You froze and stared at him, in shock. “You can’t be serious…i’m an adult!” You grumbled out.

“DO you wish to see your sister walk down that aisle? To meet your future nieces and nephews?” He questioned, seemingly mocking you.

Your eyes began to water, scoffing at him while trying to wipe your tears.

“This is bullshit..” You muttered as you walked away from him and walked outside and look around for richie but didn’t see him anywhere, your phone buzzed from your palm, you tearfully unlocked it and sighed as a text from richie popped up.

R ♡ - i hate myself for this but i’m breaking up with you.

You sobbed at the text, your excitement for the night has washed away and was now replaced with grief of the loss of your relationship.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“You what!” Tina yelled at richie as he told everyone you’d no longer be visiting the beef on special visits for him.

“I had to T, her dad was right, her and I aren’t meant to be..” Richie sighed, mikey scoffed at his best friend.

“You’re an idiot!” Mikey declared, leaning next to marcus who shook his head at richie.

“It had to be done ok, or else I wouldn't have been able to give her the life she deserves.” Richie sighed, tired of everyone pointing out his dumb mistake of leaving you.

“How do you know she wants a life like she’s used to?” Tina questioned, making Richie look at her curiously.

“Did she hate going to see Eva perform? Did she hate coming here to bring you stuff you forgot? Did she-!” Tina was cut off by Richie realizing you always wore a big smile doing simple domestic things with him, going to the auto shop, buying groceries, watching movies while binging on dollar candy.

“I fucked up!” Richie groaned, searching for his keys.

Mikey chuckled as richie rushed past the doors and out to his car, everyone gathered around the back door and watched as richie manically peeled out of the parking lot.

“Think he remembers it’s her sister’s wedding today?” Tina questioned, making mikey and marcus laugh.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You smiled as your sister and her new husband walked down the aisle together.

You and the best man walked behind them and out into the hallway, you watched and greeted some guests as they exited the wedding hall and waited outside to see the bride and groom off to the reception.

Your father quietly walked past you, whatever phone call must've been important by the way he separated from everyone, you sighed, it had been weeks since your breakup with richie, your father had hardly spoke to you since.

“He’ll come around honey..” Your mother tried to soothe you, rubbing you back gently and guided you to see your sister off.

You smiled as you were handed a small can of bubbles to blow over the couple as they walked to their car.

The wedding had filled most of your time, it was a nice distraction from the pain, the wedding would’ve been better if richie was by you the whole time.

As you all watched your sister happily wave to everyone as they drove off, a warm hand on your shoulder made you turn to see your father with a sad smile on his face.

“Father?” You questioned, he sighed and motioned for you to step away from the crowd.

“I haven't been the best father as you've gotten older, i still act as if you are this little girl who has to respect me and do as I say,” Your father sighed out.

You tilted your head, confused.

“And with your sister being engaged and you showing up with a boyfriend, i felt old, my little girls were growing up, i was just- no I still am terrified of either of you getting used by someone who doesn't care.” He teared up at bit, you half smiled at him.

“Mr jermovich opened my eyes for me, i hardly knew you or your sister beside what you liked as kids, you’re a grown woman now, and if he’s what makes you happy, i’ll just to pray he doesn’t end up in a back alley.” He joked, making you snicker before hugging him.

“What if it’s late for him to take me back?” you stressed.

Your father chuckled and rubbed your back in comfort, “He’s smitten with you, you’ll find a way.”

You smiled at him and hugged him once more before he tore himself away and walked outside to join your mom in the car and drove off the reception.

With a little bit of acceptance you smiled and walked to your car and unlocked the door when a honk came from behind you.

“Yo, sweetheart!” A raspy voice called out

You rolled your eyes and ignored it. “I get i fucked up, but you don’t gotta ignore me!” A familiar voice shouted.

Quickly whipping around to face the car, a grin grew on your face, richie with his head out his window, still in his work shirt. You quickly ran over to the car. “What are you doing here?” You laughed as he smiled up at you.

“Had to make sure a pretentious asshole didn’t try to swoop in.” He grinned.

As you looked at richie it all clicked together, the phone call your dad was on, the reassurance that richie was smitten with you…”You called my dad?” You giggled.

“Took a lot to get your family’s help to spit it out but we got there!” He sighed.

“I love you.” You confessed, making richie laugh and pull you into a deep kiss.

“Love you.” He muttered against your lips. You pulled away snickering “you pulled a sixteen candles!” motioning towards your bridesmaid dress, and his casual wear.

“Just get in the car..” He laughed.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“What song you excited for E?” You asked the little girl as you, tiffany, frank, eva and richie sat together, waiting for taylor to come out and perform.

“Love story!” Eva squealed, clapping making tiff and richie smirk at her.

“Me too!” You laughed as the little girl, swung her legs and looked around the stadium.

You leaned back into richie and smile at him. “I think our song is love story, we relate to the lyrics a lot.” You joked making richie chuckle before kissing your cheek.

“We’ve come along away from your dad trying to keep you away from me..” He muttered to himself, the weight of the velvet box in his pocket, feeling heavier than before.

As the show went on, you all had stood up along with other people in your section as love story played.

“Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone, I keep waiting for you, but you never come

Is this in my head, i don’t know what to think!” You sang along with eva, not noticing frank and tiff pulling out their phone’s.

Richie looked at the stage and pulled the ring out and turned to you as you sang, eva tugged on your arm and pointed behind you towards richie.

You turned to see richie on one knee as the lyrics to love story lined up.

He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said, marry me juliet, you’ll never have to be alone, i love you and that’s all i really know…

You gasped at the sight, everyone in your section screamed at the proposal and cheered as you nodded at richie, who quickly got up and pulled you into a kiss, eva cheered along with tiffany who finished recording you both.

“I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress, it’s a love story baby just say yes!” You and richie sang and you cradled the new ring on your hand.

#richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich x y/n #richie jerimovich x you #richie jerimovich fluff #the bear x reader

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