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sanguineterrain · 1 year

Text

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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cherrychilli · 10 months

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Slip of the Tongue

A mini series I 18+ I Enemies to lovers

Chapter two

Eddie Munson x neighbor! reader

Reader and Eddie are the same age - she's in College and he's repeating his senior year once again.

Chapter Summary: Eddie invites you back to his room for a one on one demonstration of his skills.

A/N: Sorry for edging y'all last chapter. This one's pure smut start to finish. Enjoy💛

Chapter warnings: Oral sex (f), fingering, squirting

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The stress had taken its toll on you.

Juggling two part time jobs while studying for your college midterms had you running on fumes, unable to unwind no matter what you tried. The little time you had to yourself was usually spent catching up on sleep but that wasn't ever enough to reinvigorate you, not when you had other needs that went unmet in the meantime.

You were desperate for some real stress relief, bordering on delirious. You had to be because how the hell else could you explain ending up in Eddie Munson's bedroom? Lying in his bed, your panties amongst the litter of cassettes and fantasy magazines strewn across his bedroom floor, and said boy's head between your thighs.

"You better not be wasting my time, Munson", you tried your best to sound tough, a near impossible task when his lips are brushing against your inner thigh, so very close to your slit. He had your skirt pushed out of the way to bunch at your waist, large, rough hands wrapped around your thighs which bracket his face.

"So feisty", he cooed back in reply, breath puffing warm against your core.

It's all so painfully surreal, being here like this, but you try your hardest not to think about it too hard for the sake of keeping your sanity intact. About how Eddie's got you laid out and completely exposed, your bare pussy mere inches away from the boy you'd come over to yell at, the same boy who'd caused a fair amount of the tension he's now offering to help relieve with his tongue.

"Don't worry. I'm going to take real good care of you", he breaks you out of your internal spiral, a teasing but lighthearted lilt to his voice as if somehow, he'd sensed your nerves.

And then he says, "You ready?"

It's a simple yes or no question, much easier than the ones you've been pouring over for days in your practice tests but you find this one the hardest to answer. Not because you're unsure of what to say – you had your answer ready and tucked at the back of your throat ever since his fingers climbed up your thighs to tug at the waistband of your panties.

No, it's because you’re certain that when you answer him, everything’s going to change.

"Yeah...go ahead", you manage to wring the words from your throat, fingers clenching his sheets, eyes trained up at the ceiling because watching him somehow feels like too much.

The few seconds that elapse before his mouth descends on you feels like you’re freefalling, a sharp, plunging descent with no way to prepare yourself for the impact of his tongue gently licking at your folds, thighs jerking as he lapped at the slick which had gathered when you watched him play through the window.

"Y' know, for someone who's always in a sour mood you taste pretty fucking sweet", he smirked, knowing it would set you off, thumb momentarily skimming your folds in place of his tongue.

Ordinarily, a comment like that would have earned him a knee to the groin but now, in this maddeningly bizarre situation you've find yourself in the middle of, your body reacts against its usual instincts, hips shifting off the bed to chase his mouth for more.

"Don't stop", you mutter loud enough for him to hear, tone somewhere between commanding and imploring, eyes slipping shut.

You've never felt a warmth like the kind that seeps into your veins like sunlight when Eddie's broad tongue parts your folds, licking his way up to your clit to lightly swirl the pointed tip over your sensitive bud, hands bringing your hips back down to bed to hold them firmly in place.

"Shit, Eddie that's...nice", you sigh out, perhaps the most civil thing you've said to him in weeks.

Everything smelled like him – the sheets, the pillows, even you, you realize as you turned to press your cheek against his mattress, your hair now carrying the same woodsy, smoky scent, inhaling a little deeper to take in that undertone of boyish musk you find yourself strangely drawn to.

His scent.

Another soft swipe of his tongue along your folds has your toes curling but what's makes the fluttering sensation brewing in the pit of your stomach grow stronger is knowing that he's carrying your scent too.

"Oh fuck..."

The way his tongue roams you is slow and lingering, not at all like what you'd watched him do with his guitar but fuck does it feel good, having his fingers press into the meat of your thighs like he’s afraid you might slip through them at any moment, teasing your clit with soft kitten licks, plush lips occasionally trapping the bud to suck lightly before releasing it again.

He's building you up for what's to come, taking his time to find out what makes your breath stutter and your spine curve in an effort to press yourself closer to him, getting you to loosen up and give yourself to him.

Minutes go by like this though you’re not sure how many. Ten? fifteen? maybe longer, of him lazily laving and sucking gently and it's amazing but it’s also only nearly enough, steadily stoking the fire inside you. It’s enough to draw out a soft pants and muffled moans out of you, enough to make all the tension that had wound you so tight begin to unravel but not enough to grant you the release you're seeking.

Chest heaving, you can’t bring yourself to beg, afraid of what you might sound like if you did, a choked whine of Eddie’s name so close to spilling from your lips already. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing it.

Angling your right foot, you’re able to reach down and press your heel into his waist, not forceful, just enough to make him pull away from cunt, lips sheened with your slick and chin brushing the soft curls on your mound when he peeks up from between your legs.

“Need more already huh?”, he beats you to it, knowing and smug.

As much as you wanted to deny it, you already missed having his mouth on you. Lips pressing into a thin line to show your annoyance, you try to grasp at the right words from the jumble of them knocking around inside your head, hoping to pick the ones that might help you seem less needy than you actually feel, not wanting to boost his ego more than you probably already have.

“What you did earlier when you were playing… that was different”, you point out carefully.

“I know, I’m just getting you ready”, he explains matter-of-factly, eyes dropping back down to your cunt, gently spreading your folds apart with his thumbs with rapt attention.

“I am ready”, you try to argue, a little breathless but firm.

Eddie meets your stern gaze again and gives you a skeptical look in return, holding your stare for a few more seconds as if assessing you before he ultimately yields.

"Alright alright. Listen, uh - this might get a little intense so just um… pinch my hand if it gets too much for you and I'll stop, okay?", he winds one arm around your hip, holding out his hand for you to take.

The shift in demeanor has you slightly taken aback. He’d been so cocky for most this, showing shades of something softer at times but this was the most blatant display of that side of him so far – no sass, no crude remarks, no teasing jab. It was a side you’d seen glimpses of back when you were in school with him, that considerate streak he was sometimes partial to like when he’d taken in those freshmen who didn’t seem to fit in anywhere else. You never thought he’d show you the same kindness, no matter how veiled. Part of you even thought you didn’t deserve it after all the squabbling you’d initiated over the years.

Tentatively, you stare at the hand he offers you, his words echoing in your head loud enough to override your temporary and uncharacteristic bout of guilt.

Intense? Too much for you? Fuck, it's so hard to keep from wanting to grind your core against his face when he says things like that.

"You're pretty confident, aren't you?", you say instead, stalling so that you could discreetly wipe your palm against his sheets before you place your hand in his, afraid yours might be sweaty.

"Yeah, I am. And for good reason", he grinned, curling his much longer fingers around yours as you rest your joined hands close to your belly button, hoping he couldn't feel the storm of butterflies flapping their wings wildly inside your stomach.

“Oh, but first–”

Despite your best efforts, you can’t contain the pathetic yelp he rips from you when he pulls you closer by his free hand, picking your legs up abruptly to get them over his shoulders, spreading you even wider and getting you so close that you’re practically locked in place.

"Eddie-shit", you try to scold but it’s no use.

There’s no more soft, gentle licking when he dives in, tongue moving boldly to pulse against your clit with enough pressure to make your whole chest feel like its crackling with pops of electricity. He’d warned you it would be intense and you learned he was a man of his word, thighs twitching and quivering around his cheeks and curtain of curls. You squeeze his hand instantly, not pinching, he notices, a sign that it’s okay to continue as you throw your head back.

Spiraling again, you’re at a complete loss as to how good this feels. It never felt this good with the other boys and it definitely didn’t feel like this even when you touched yourself. How could someone who’s never touched you until today be able to get you like this so quickly and so easily?

Well, the position certainly helped. You’re entirely at his mercy like this, pinned in place from the waist down, suddenly very aware of how strong Eddie really is, not what you’d expected of someone who spent most of his time occupied with fantasy games. He groans, deep and rumbling, the vibration of it travelling through you while you fight to keep your teeth firmly set in your bottom lip, starting to writhe as he alternates between flicking your clit with his tongue and sucking on it, sloppy, wet, filthy sounds echoing plentiful in his bedroom.

It’s a riot inside your head – two thoughts competing and clashing fiercely; one part of you screams for him to slow down, that it’s all so much so fast despite having asked for it and the other roars back a resounding keep going, oh god, keep fucking going, overtaking the first.

But Eddie isn’t privy to any of this – you don’t want to let him know because even with the way he’s making it harder and harder for you to not just cry out for more, you’re much too stubborn to actually do so – knowing full well that if you were to let on just how much you’re enjoying his ministrations, he’d never let you hear the end of it.

Easier said than done.

Your resolve is withering at an alarming rate, not sure how long you can keep true to your vow of silence when he slips his tongue into your opening, pleasure and relief melding into one now that you have somethinginside you, curtailing the ache of being empty for this long. He fucks you with it, driving it in and out, lavishing you from the inside with every stroke and drag of the slippery muscle against your walls.

“Oh Ed– oh fuck”, you blabber, hips bucking up against his face. You clench around it, clit throbbing in the absence of his tongue swiping over it but the way his nose bumps the tender pearl with every sloppy thrust of your hips more than makes up for it.

He lets you rut against his face like that, only pulling back and away minutes later but you’re not left wanting for long.

A sharp gasp is pulled from you when a finger plunges into you, another joining not too long after. You feel stupid for forgetting how well those fingers moved on his guitar when he curls them inside you, long and thick, reaching deeper than your own, filling you better than his tongue did.

“Shit, listen to you”, he tutted, cunt sopping and squelching loud enough for your whole face to flare up. “Got this worked up just for me, huh?”

He wants to hear you beg; you know it. Rather than replying you whine between ragged breaths, containing the rest that threatened to spill out in moans and cries for more. But it’s nowhere near enough to satiate him now. Eddie frowns, face clouding with irritation. He wasn’t going to let you get away with stifling yourself any longer.

“Tell me how good I make you feel”, he says, tone losing its playful lilt and gaining a firm edge instead, eyes darkening.

“I’ve been real generous with you today – even after all your fucking attitude”, he punctuates with a particularly rough thrust of his fingers into your cunt, another gasp tapering into a whimper falling from your lips.

“Not g-gonna say it…” you tremor, so clearly affected by what he’s doing to you.

He laughs but there’s no amusement there, only something foreboding glinting in his eyes. “Can feel you, honey – trying so hard to hold back but you’re soaked and you’re squeezing me so tight”, sinking his fingers in up to the knuckles.

“C’mon, I’m not asking for a lot, am I? just say the words and I’ll let you cum,” he murmured, amber eyes hooded and locked on yours.

“Eddie-”, you start, hating how it came out all pitchy and wavering, hating it even more when you see how much he liked hearing his name leave your lips like that. “You said you would- this isn’t what we agreed- “

“Do it or I’ll stop”, he cuts you off, unsmiling. You can tell he isn’t joking when his pace falters and his fingers still inside you.

The fear of him stopping when you’re already so close rushes in with torrential urgency, no time to feel embarrassed by how quickly or how hard you squeeze his hand when you feel him begin to unweave his fingers from yours to make good on his threat, your steely grip preventing him from slipping away, begging him to stay.

“Please...”, you begin to crumble, breathy and desperate and aching for him to finish what he started.

The smile pulling at his slick lips tells you he’s appeased, pumping his fingers inside you again, slow but deep, stretching you well.

“Go on…” he encourages, speeding up when you let loose an unrestrained moan that comes out all high and pretty for him, helpless to his touch, your building arousal making you grow compliant.

“Fuck -Eddie, I’ve- I’ve never felt this good before”, you relent with a sob.

“Yeah? Poor baby – always working so hard… got no one else to take care of you. Needed it so bad, didn’t you? Couldn’t even control yourself when you saw me today, huh? Climbed in my bed and spread your legs even though you say you can't stand me”, he grins wickedly, tone thick with condescension.

He was right. For years, you were gasoline and him, the match, all of that smoldering friction between the two of you culminating in the most surprising way.

“But now you can’t get enough of me.”, he finished with a sneer.

Something new blossoms beneath your ribs – humiliation.

But instead of trying to shy away from it you find yourself welcoming the way it sprouts up like tendrils, winding around you all slow and creeping, all because you’ve been put in your place, rendered a mewling, gasping, desperate thing by the boy you’ve spent far too much time despising.

“Wanna feel your mouth on me again”, you blurt between pants, a broken, pitiful sound.

“Need you to make me cum – please”

He watches you struggle under the weight of your own desire, willing to debase yourself if it meant he’d grant you your release and it makes him chuckle, satisfied.

“Was that so hard?”, he flashed you one of those impish, shit eating grins before his mouth is on your clit again, fingers driving inside you in tandem. Your free hand shoots out to weave into his hair, clutching it like a lifeline.

The combination sends you careening towards the edge, the feeling starting to become too much when he sucks hard on your bundle of nerves but there’s no way to pull yourself away from him – not that you wanted to. Not really.

Your whole body tenses and ripples when it crests, something white hot barreling its way out of you – too fast and too intense to warn him, cunt fluttering around his moving fingers, thighs squeezing, throat growing hoarse from your cries.

It runs through you in crashing, gushing waves, leaving you shaking and keening, lungs burning for air until breath returns to you slowly, roiling intensity settling down into pulsing aftershocks. They subside when the afterglow comes next and you relish the way it drapes over your quivering body, lips trembling and chanting whispered exclamations of ‘oh my god oh my god oh my god’ up at the ceiling, still reeling from it all. It’s only when the sensation of weightlessness that had cradled you for those moments following your orgasm begins to recede that you spring up, elbows pressing into the mattress to support you, heart shooting up into your throat when you catch sight of Eddie.

And it’s worse than you thought.

His cheeks, mouth, jaw and neck are soaked, as is the collar of his shirt now clinging wetly to the dip between his clavicles. Oh shit it’s in his hair too, noticing a few dampened ends which stick to the fabric near his shoulders.

In the thick fog of your afterglow your mind turns sluggish – too slow to piece together what exactly had happened as your eyes lowered in search of what caused Eddie’s current state. Realization sets in after a few seconds of delay in the form of a swooping, twisting flurry in your belly, worsening when you find the same wetness coating your inner thighs and pooling on his sheets, your ass resting in a little puddle of well, yourself.

You've squirted all over his face and his bed.

"I've never done that before”, you breathe out, both stunned and mortified at what you’ve done. Though your worry lessens somewhat when you dare to look at Eddie again, the look on his drenched face telling you that he’s anything but upset about it.

“I’ve never made anyone do that before”, he utters back, sharing your surprise.

Your hand which somehow had managed to stay clasped in his throughout the whole thing is finally returned to you when you both loosen your hold on each other, awkwardly pulling away enough for you to scoot off the damp spot on his bed and for Eddie to ease up onto his knees, which he realizes a little too late was probably a mistake.

Your eyes dart to it when you hear his sharp inhale, widening at the sight.

There's a new elephant in the room to address now – the massive erection straining against his sweatpants.

Silence shrouds the room, both of you speechless, panting and sweaty. He makes no move to cover himself and you don’t think to set your gaze anywhere else.

You’re not sure why you did what you did next, only that you felt compelled to do so.

Easing up on to your knees, you come face to face with Eddie, skirt falling back down to conceal you. Your fingers move seemingly on their own accord, curling into the waistband of his sweats, fingertips grazing the hot skin that lies underneath and for some reason he lets you, watching you closely albeit a little disbelieving. This wasn’t part of your ‘agreement’. He’d offered to get you off and you had accepted but that was the extent of it, neither of you giving much thought as to what would happen after but here you are, chasing after more.

Inches away from his lips, you can smell yourself on his skin. That tangy, earthy essence he'd lapped at and drunk down so eagerly for the past hour. What made him like it so much? What made him want to do this all in the first place? You wanted to ask him but more than that, fingers tightening on the cotton waistband, daring to dip inside and skim the course trail of hair above his pelvis, you wanted to find out what he tasted like too.

You draw a little closer and so does he, nose brushing his, chin tipping up, eyes slipping shut…

But your lips don’t meet.

Whatever was about to happen is cut short then, the both of you whipping your heads in the direction Eddie’s bedroom door, on the other side of which comes the sound of the front door unlatching and a set of boots stepping through the entryway.

Wayne’s home.

“Fuck”, you exclaim in unison.

Sharing a panicked look with Eddie the two of you begin to scramble quietly off the bed, not wanting to risk alerting Wayne to your presence in their trailer.

You liked Wayne. Despite his gruff exterior he’d always been fair to you and your family but the last thing you wanted was to get caught out in his nephew's room. Like this.

"Shit – I can't believe I'm saying this now but...you have to go", Eddie winced as he whispered to you, looking increasingly more regretful with every word he’s forced to let out in reference to your departure.

"No– It's okay. I get it, I really should leave", you hush back in agreement, looking all kinds of frazzled and just as sympathetic given you bare as much of the responsibility for how things escalated the way they did.

You get your shoes back on as quickly and quietly as you can manage, panic rising when Wayne calls out something from the kitchen about dinner.

“Be right there!”, Eddie yells back, swooping down to pick your panties up off the floor, sheepishly handing them to you and you ball the underwear in your fist, suddenly too embarrassed to let him look at them despite everything that’s transpired.

And with that brief brush of his fingers against yours, a moment hangs over the two of you as you stare at one another, a moment that begs for something more to be said about the situation.

But what could you say?

"Thanks for the head?"

"Sorry about the mess. I hope it doesn't leave a stain?"

Nothing feels right no matter what you try to scrounge up and scrape together from the recesses of your mind so reluctantly, you don’t say anything at all, turning towards the window and letting him help you out through it, a faint sense of something sour washing over you when his fingers slip away from yours.

The walk back to your trailer is a short one but it’s made all the more difficult on unsteady, wobbling legs. Casting your gaze at every neighboring window in search of anyone happening to look outside, you try your best to look as inconspicuous as possible despite your ungainly stride and your disheveled state, scrambling up and through your front door.

Back in your room, slumping against your bedroom door, your thighs are wet and sticky, breath coming out in short, hurried puffs, heart thudding a mile a minute and you have just one thought ballooning in your mind.

How the hell were you ever going to look Eddie in the eye after this?

Tag list: @sadlittlesquish @honey-flustered @cryingglightningg @cadence73

#eddie munson smut #stranger things smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader

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0strawberrysorbet0 · 6 months

Text

𝐴 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟

𝐻𝑎𝑧𝑏𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑙 𝑥 𝑀𝑎𝑙𝑒!𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

This is a series so if you'd like to be tagged simply just comment!

Not too happy with this chapter but hope it's good enough 😕

Please do not use/steal my work on this site or any other! Reblogs and likes are appreciated greatly!!

Part one ← Part two → Part three

Summary: When Charlie is called to heaven for a meeting instead of her father she is ecstatic but she meets a boy with some very familiar features..

Warnings: cursing, Adam mentioned, rlly weird layout, idk what else, probs spelling mistakes and weird grammer

Where am I??" Was the only thought coursing through the boy's mind?

He couldn't hear anything but his thoughts, everything else was muffled as if he was underwater, he strolled mindlessly throughout the forest, there were lush plants and exotic flowers of every tone and shape.

He could see birds and insects, things they did not have in his new home...

As he walked forward, it was like he was being pulled, like he didn't control it...

He heard a voice call for him...

"ƙׁׅյׁׅ݊ꪀյׁׅժׁׅ݊ᝯׁׅ֒꯱ dear?? Where-" was all he heard, voice silencing before he heard a yell...

He couldn't make out words but he heard a male's voice shout, who were they shouting for??

As he stumbled through the thicker, darker patch of forest he reached a tree, an apple, sparkling and juicy, shaped like a heart hung from a branch. Just as he went to grab it,

someone clung to the skin on his leg.. Or something.. Biting down on his flesh.. His pale skin turned pink and oozing a cherry-coloured syrup.

As he turned to see the blood dripping he shot up, dripping in a cold sweat as his face whitened.

That dream. Again.

It had been haunting him, it happened every so often but now more than ever. It was always the same.

He wanders, a woman calling for someone and a man screaming then sees the Apple and tries to grab it before being bitten. Then waking up before being able to see the creature.

But what was it?.. He sat up on his bed, grabbed a yellow shoebox from under his bed, he placed it onto his milky white duvet.

He peeled the lid off the box, revealing a little rubber duck... He didn't know where it was from but he had had it for as long as he could remember, there were a few photos of him and his friends... Mainly Emily.

There were a few random things, buttons and feathers, but he finally found what he was looking for, a folded sheet of parchment. He opened it revealing a drawing of the forest, mainly the path he walked and the paths he could see.

He took out the red pen and drew the figure of a woman, shouting... He couldn't see the figure's face or features but he could tell it was a woman.

His father could never see this, nor Sera. They'd think he was plotting against something.. Which he'd never do. He wasn't a monster.

At the bottom of the box was a small gift from Emily, a little box that had been wrapped with gold ribbon. Inside was an apple... An actual real apple.

He hadn't a clue where she got it but it was gorgeous. So shiny and juicy, plump and red, a delicious bloody red...

He had never understood why they were forbidden anyways, yes because of The Fall but surely the fruit wasn't the problem..

He couldn't blame Eve.

He wouldn't have resisted either.

His silence was broken by knocking on his door. "(M/N)? Son? I'm heading off to my meeting, there's some food on the table, take care!"

It was his dad, it was thoughtful of the man to let him know he was leaving but it scared the boy shitless.

He got himself dressed and got to work on his heavenly duties, he strolled through a building, looking for Emily, he had to tell her about his dream.

As he walked past a meeting room he could hear a familiar screeching voice, Adam.

And a voice he hadn't heard before?.. A young girl? Whatever. It wasn't Emily so it didn't matter, he continued to walk until the voice got louder, almost like it was behind him

"Miss?? Excuse me!? You dropped some feathers!!"

Miss? He turned to see the person who had been shouting, it was a girl.

She had red glowing eyes with the sclera being a strong yellow color.

Her hair was the same straw blonde colour as his hair, it was tied up into a strange ponytail, in circular shapes almost, she was wearing a blood-red suit and her cheeks were rosy and pink.

What a strange angel... She didn't even look like an angel...

He just turned and continued to walk, going to find Emily.

..............................................................................................

"Once upon a time, there was a glowing city protected by golden gates known as Heaven and ruled by beings of Pure light, Angels that worshipped good and shielded all from evil..." A blonde girl read aloud,

As she flicked through the pages she looked at the part in between the section where Lucifer and Lilith tempted Eve and the banishment.

It was burnt, the small gap, unnoticeable at first glance, but with the number of times she had read it, she could tell someone had burnt out a few pages, burning part of the story...

"Charlie?" Her girlfriend said at the doorframe, an extermination had just happened, she looked out the window at the burning city.

She needed to put a stop to this, these sinners surely didn't deserve it. Well at least some of them.

The day seemed to melt away quickly, they had talked about commercials and... Well they all had some unique ideas...

Her phone started to ring, and she jumped up and went to answer it.

It was her father? Strange... He never called.

But he wanted her to go to heaven instead of him? Holy shit... Maybe she could change heaven's mind after all...

Before she knew it she was there, heaven..

When Charlie arrived she noticed how pristine everything was, light, bright, the place was practically blinded by white light.

She now stood before The Adam, or as he called himself (much to her dismay) The original dick. She had put all the ideas she could (before he'd interrupt) onto the table but they smushed it all.

To sum it up... The meeting went horribly. She had not only been turned down but completely ignored. Her whole life she had believed angels to be kind, caring creatures... There was a reason they made it up there after all.

But she wasn't so sure now. She wasn't so sure about anything anymore.

As she was leaving she saw a pair of wings stroll past the door, they were full and stuck out proudly, glowing a bright white. The feathers looked almost like cotton candy as they surfed the breeze, one or two floating off.

One had dropped at her feet. She picked it up before trying to get a look at the angel, they had long blonde hair, and she presumed it was a woman.

"Miss?? Excuse me!? You dropped some feathers!!" She shouted about the feathers, maybe the angel would need them? Or maybe she just wanted to see the angel's face. She couldn't tell but she felt somewhat connected to the being.

The angel turned gracefully, piercing eyes staring through her, beautiful, beautiful eyes, they were the colour of a rich berry, a beautiful purple, like a flower, soft and delicate. Yet the angel's stare could have ripped her in half by that alone.

Charlie stood there, not making a sound so the angel turned around. Bored with her it walked off through the corridor.

She needed to know who this was and why they looked like her mother.

..............................................................................................

"I still dunno what ya mean by 'she looked like my mother' toots, who are ya even talkin' about again?" Angel replied, pouring himself another drink as Charlie told the spider demon bout the meeting and her encounter with the angel.

"I'm telling you!! She looked just like my mom!" She said, waving a picture of her mother in front of Angel's face.

"Jeez, okay calm! I get it!" He slapped the picture away "Why are ya so bothered though?"

"I don't know. I just felt connected to her.. " she said, petting Keekee, who curled into her lap and purred at the affectionate touch.

"For all you know it might've not even been a girl, just let it go toots" he took a big swing of his drink before pouring another drink.

"I'm telling you I feel connected to them, I... I know they looked like my mother." She sighed.

Hopefully, she'd be able to go up to heaven soon, to win them over and to see that angel again.

Tag list - @demstarno @kenny-619 @bunbunboysworld @lovedesperatevampire

@honey-valentin3 @type-ink

#hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x male reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel angel dust #fanfic #hazbin hotel emily #male reader #son!reader #enjoy!!#A Hidden Star #fantiction #x reader

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slvttyharlow · 1 year

Text

Missing Anniversary.

Featuring. Jack Harlow x Fem! Wife! Reader.

Anonymous Request. Can you write a jack fic where he misses an important date like anniversary or something so a little angsty that turns into fluff.

Summary. Jack misses an anniversary and you’re upset.

General Tags. Angst and Fluff.

Content Warnings. Crying that's it.

Word Count. 809.

Notes. Anon, I hope I did your request justice, I'm so nervous, this is my first fic that's out on this acc and I really wish I did good, please go easy on me. If you'd like to be tagged when future works are out, you can fill out that taglist form.

Extra. Requests are open, please read my rules beforehand! / Comments, likes, and reblogs are highly appreciated but not pressured.

Starred Links. Navigation + Masterlist + Prompts + Taglist

When Jack came home, you were sitting on the couch strolling through your Instagram not even throwing a glance his way. He walks in and smiles when he sees you. “Hey babe, it was a good day at the studio, got a lot done but I missed you though.” He said with a huge smile on his face as he walked up to you going to kiss your lips but you moved your head slightly so that his lips met your cheek.

“What was that?” He questioned but you just ignored him and kept scrolling through your phone. You were pissed and you had every right to be, today was your wedding anniversary and you thought to make it special by cooking his favorite food and setting up his favorite lingerie that he could take off of you later but he forgot. You tried giving him the benefit of the doubt like maybe his phone stopped working but he texted you earlier asking you to send a picture of the cologne he regularly used.

You knew he would be busy with his album, and you were fine with that, you supported him every step of the way but you never expected him to forget an important day like this, you treasured this day so much, the day you married your high school sweetheart so him forgetting made you feel hurt, you’d have been happy if he just sent a text, it was the thought that count.

“So you not gon tell me why you’re acting weird?” Jack was getting quite annoyed at being ignored especially when he came home early to be with you since he missed you throughout the day, you were the only thing on his mind when he was at the studio so for you to be acting this way towards him was crazy. You simply rolled your eyes and got up and walked past him, bumping his shoulder as you walked to the dining table and picked up the plates of food that were now cold, and made your way to the kitchen to wrap them with saran wrap.

Jack wondered what he could’ve done to make you this mad at him but he came up empty. What he did know was he wasn’t going to let you go to bed angry. “Babe, please tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it,” he spoke softly as he walked into the kitchen, watching you put the food in the fridge. You ignored him again and were about to make your way to the bedroom but Jack immediately got in front of you, stopping you from taking another step. “Nuh-uh, you know we don’t do silent treatment and no going to sleep angry at each other,” he says as he looks down at you.

“Jackman move out of my way,” you said as you got annoyed with him being in your presence, not wanting to look into his eyes knowing if you do, you would give in like you always did. Jack was surprised by the use of his first name since you always called him ‘babe’ or ‘baby’. “Not until you tell me what's going on.”

“Do you know what today is? Why don’t you check the date!” You yelled as you stepped back putting some distance between you and him. You watched him pull out his phone with a quizzical look on his face and when he sees the date, you turn your back towards him not wanting to make eye contact since you might start crying at any moment. “Baby… I’m so sorry, I thought it was tomorrow, I swear I have everything planned,” you stayed silent and he came closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him and that’s all it took for the tears to roll down your cheeks and he started rocking you back and forth.

“You know I love you right?” He says soothingly as he starts tracing shapes on your stomach, you nod your head silently and lean more into his touch. “I promise you, I thought the 25th was tomorrow and had everything ready for us to celebrate,”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to start checking your calendar on your phone,” your response makes him chuckle. “Yes, I’ll be more up to date from now on, can we start over our anniversary for tomorrow, trust me you gon love what I have planned.”

You turn around in his arms and look into his blue eyes. “Yes we can, I’m sorry I was mean to you,” he shakes his head. “Don’t apologize, I deserved it, I love you,” he rubs your arm a bit. “I love you too, babe,” he connects his lips with yours, holding you close to him not letting you go, come tomorrow he will make it all up to you.

#🎤 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩? ╱ 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠.#jack harlow #jack harlow angst #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow one shot #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow x you #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow story

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hopeluna-archived · 2 years

Text

Obey Me! Brothers + them accidentally confessing

A/N: I couldn't do all the brothers so I did some of them, hope you like it <3

Request: Heyyy I don’t know if you’re taking requests but if you are, Could you please do the brothers reaction to MC waering (cat ear) headphones so the brother they’re sittin with thinks they can’t listen to him and confess or say something super cheesy and then MC turns around and replies to what he said?? Please!!! Btw I love your posts, you are a really good writer!

M.list

Lucifer

Lucifer is mortified but he manages to keep his face neutral when you reply back to his confession. He slaps himself in his head, why did he go to talk about how much you meant to him??

He would promptly make a smooth comment about how he knew you felt the same way and proceed to make you the flustered one instead.

Mammon

Mammon, just as Lucifer, is mortified except he doesn't really hide it that well. When you answer him back, he rather comically moves away from you like you'd give him a disease.

He'll then proceed to yell a stuttering "you didn't hear anything, you got me??" and run away from the room to calm down his beating heart that feels like its about to stop any second.

Satan

You'd think he is completely unphased by your reply if you didn't notice the way his eyes slightly widen and the way Satan's grip on his book tightens a little.

At first he wouldn't say anything at all, hoping that somehow this was all a part of his imagination and the ground would just swallow him up. And if you don't break the silence, he won't either. Satan will just go on about his day like nothing happened.

Beelzebub

Omg the carpet looks very interesting all of a sudden. Beel will take a moment to just process the fact that you very much heard and replied to him confessing his feelings for you.

After regaining his composure, he'll blushingly admit his feelings once again and ask if you'd like to go on a date with him. Beel definitely did not plan to confess to you like this but hey, he isn't really complaining.

───────────

Tags: @diann-murphy

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!! Do not repost or claim as yours though, its not cool.

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1000roughdrafts · 5 months

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another request here! could i please request a fic with pregnant!reader (writer's choice for which winchester brother is the dad!) where the three are en route to a new case and are in the middle of nowhere when reader goes into labor and ends up giving birth in the impala? 😊

Warnings: pregnancy, birth, swearing, canon-level arguing between the Winchesters

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Full disclosure, I've never given birth so please forgive anything that doesn't make sense lmao

Having spent the last few weeks on the road, case after case with no space from each other, I had to admit that the three of us were starting to go a little crazy. Sam and Dean had been at each other's throats over the pettiest things since my six month mark in this pregnancy.

Sam would yell at Dean to get his feet off our bed, and Dean would yell at Sam to lighten up. Or they'd argue about who takes what role in hunts. Tonight, I try to just ignore them to focus on packing, but it proves difficult when my name keeps getting brought into the mix.

"I said no, Dean! We're not taking the case," Sam growls, slamming his book shut. "It's at least a days drive from here, if not two and with Y/N so deep into this pregnancy," he lets out a breath, glancing over at me with wide eyes, as if the realization of my quickly approaching due date has just hit him. "I just don't think it's a good idea."

Dean tries to shake the frustration out of his body by punching a pile of clothes into his bag. He aggressively grips onto the next pile and looks up at Sam, face tight, "so we make a couple of stops along the way to make sure everything is alright," he chides with a shrug, the bag ripping slightly as he shoves that pile into it. "Damn it," he says under his breath.

Sam scoffs with a glare in his eyes, "do you even know how many hospitals we pass to get there? None! Not a damn one!"

Dean shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, "we'll take the scenic route then."

Frustrated, I raise my voice about theirs, "okay! Can you both please stop talking about me like I'm not here!" I shout, my voice shaking with anxiety. They both spin around, shock in their eyes as they meet mine, as if they completely forgot I was still in the room with them. Dean bows his head, "I should be allowed to have a say in this considering… oh, I don't know," I say, pretending to be amused, then raise my voice, "I'm carrying the baby! And I'll be damned if I spend the next 4 weeks of this fucking pregnancy being treated like I need to be bubble wrapped!"

"I'm just trying to protect you," Sam says sheepishly.

"And I'm telling you I don't need protection," I snap. His eyes widen, and head hangs slightly. He takes a few careful steps my way. Softening my voice, I add, "Sam, I'm tired of all the fighting, and I'm tired of being treated like I can't do anything for myself."

He lets out a long, almost unwilling, sigh of agreement. "I get it," he says softly. "I guess I wasn't thinking… we were… he-" he stutters, letting air bounce between his lips when he knows there's really only one thing he should be saying, "I'm sorry. You're right."

"Thank you," I sigh, ignoring Dean's smug smile.

"Oh, don't act like you're any better, Dean!" Sam sneers.

"Stop!" I say as Dean rolls his eyes. He grabs his bag to head for the door, muttering that he’ll be in the car before slamming the door shut behind him.

Sam scoffs, looking around the room with a blank stare. "He's been such a jerk lately," he says, looking back at me.

"He's probably just scared, Sam," I say, brushing the hair out of his face. "I mean, you know how he is. And our lives are about to drastically change. Who knows what hunting will look like when we have a child to take care of. I mean, life is already so dangerous for us, and now we have to protect something so defenseless. That’s terrifying."

---

The cramping starts a few hours away from our destination when we stopped at a gas station for fuel and food. They were mild at first, going away as soon as they started, giving me a long enough break in between pangs to forget about the last.

"Okay, so apparently the victims all have missing hearts," Sam says in a long sigh, scrolling through news articles on his phone. He looks up with a puzzled expression, "we thinking werewolves?"

I grit my teeth as another pang hits. It's almost like I could feel every groove and line in the road. Clearing my throat, I add, "but it wasn't a full moon, was it?"

"No," Sam says in a soft whisper, "but maybe-" a shout rips through me from a cramp, interrupting Sam and he turns to look at me.

The last thing I see before clenching my eyes shut are Dean's eyes flashing back at me through the rear-view mirror.

"Yeah," I lie, my breathy voice giving me away and I yell out again when Dean drives over a bump. I throw a hand to my belly, rubbing the area that hurts. But it's all hurting now, and then nothing again. I take quick breaths. Anxiety riddles me. Did something happen to my baby? I wonder. My eyes open and my heart just pounds.

Dean pulls the car off to the side of the road with a screech when I yell out again, my hand gripping tight to seat in front of me. The second the car has slowed enough, Sam jumps out to get into the backseat with me.

Dean uses the steering wheel to push from to turn my way, "what's happening? Are you okay?" Dean asks while Sam races to unbuckle my seat belt.

"Of course she's not okay, Dean!" Sam growls, his eyes full of worry. I can hear them bickering with “I told you so” and “yeah well if you’re so smart” in the distance. My ears ring, and I'm too tuned into the frogs croaking in the swaying trees.

A tight ache hits me again and my body jerks forwards as a scream lets itself out of me.

"I think the baby is coming," Sam whispers to Dean with wide eyes.

"No shit," Dean mutters, throwing his door open to come to the backseat. He opens the door, using it to prop up his arm as he looks in.

"No, no, no," I cry, shaking my head. "It's gotta be Braxton-Hicks, it has to be-" I plead, tears streaming down my face. "It's too soon," I say anxious as all hell until another wave of pain takes over, and Sam grabs my hands in his.

"It's gonna be okay, Y/N," Sam says, gently squeezing my hands. His eyes pan up to Dean, getting his attention, "we gotta get her pants off her," Sam says quietly, and I groan.

Dean rushes into action, taking my back in his arms to lay me down on the seat. Sam works fast to get my clothes removed, but slows when the ache hits again.

Sam’s eyes widen when he realizes how close we are to holding our baby, and he rushes to remove his jacket, placing it on the seat between my legs. I prop myself up on my elbows, bringing my feet onto the seat to bend my knees and open my legs. Never in my twenty-nine years of life did I expect to be pregnant, let alone give birth in Dean’s car with the damn Winchester brothers delivering my baby, but here we are.

The cold hair nips at my naked skin, but it’s easy to push past the discomfort of that when it feels like a fucking fire was started on my lower half. Sam holds his hands on my thighs as he encourages me, reminding me to breathe and push. The irritability in me adds to the fire, and I want to tell him to shut up, but I don’t. I can’t see Dean, but I know he’s probably as scared as I feel right now, given how out in the open we are. He keeps a firm, but comforting hand on my shoulder as I push, offering words of encouragement here and there, his focus more on the world around us, scanning for danger.

Dropping my head against Dean’s arm, I let out a groan as I push, the pain almost unbearable now. I could feel the pressure and burning of each one, and after what feels like hours the pressure increases to the worst pain I’ve felt yet.

I squeeze Dean’s hand probably harder than I should have, but suddenly a weight feels like it’s been lifted from me, and I’m washed with relief of the sweet sound of my baby crying. My arms fail to hold me any longer and I fall back against Dean.

Sam chuckles as he holds our baby, wrapped up in his jacket, close to his chest. With Dean's help I'm able to sit up, still using him as a back rest.

"It's a girl," Sam says with a big smile, tears welling in his eyes. He hands her to me, and I'm overwhelmed with love, joy and exhaustion.

"Shh, shh," I coo before kissing her on her small forehead. "It's okay, we've got you," I whisper. Tears fill my eyes and I can't help but to sob as I look down at her beautiful face. I rock her in my arms, and her cries quickly calm, turning into whimpers. Tracing the features on her soft face I'm mesmerized at how beautiful she is.

Looking up at Sam, my tears continue to fall, but I wear a smile, "we just had a baby!" I say, almost in disbelief. I continue to rock her for a while, as if it were just me and her. Then I feel Dean's hand tap my arm.

I turn to look at his red eyes, then back at my baby, "do you wanna meet your uncle?" I say in a baby voice before looking up at Sam with a silent request to help me hand Dean our baby.

Dean strolls around the Impala to stand next to Sam, taking my daughter in his arms so carefully. He holds her tightly against his chest, eyes crinkling at the corners as he sways with her. He holds his hand over her head to protect her from the wind, bringing his lips down and plants a kiss on the top of her head. "Well, aren't you just a little cutie," he says, then looks over at Sam, "must not take after your daddy," he jokes. "Ha, ha, very funny," Sam says flatly, but smiles. Dean clears his throat after a pause, "do you know what you're gonna name her yet?" Dean asks, and I glance at Sam hesitantly. "Well, I was thinking Mary Y/M/N?" I suggest, and their jaws drop, but their faces light up. Sam takes a few steps towards me to kiss me hard. "It's perfect," Sam says.

~~~ A/N: Y/M/N = either your mom's name or whatever name you want to put here :)

If you liked my story, please remember to heart, comment or reblog. Or if you'd like, you can add yourself to a tag list here if you wish :) Thank you for reading!! :)

Everything Tags <3

@waywardblueshun @81mysteriouslyme @drakelover78 @soab1967 @shutupandfeedmethings @pollywantacracker666 @sonnierae26 @obsessed5sosfreak @tlovescoffee @hobby27 @cluz1babe @emptycanvasposts @suckmyapplejacks @sigrunsavestheday @flamencodiva @roseblue373

Sam <3

@fangirlxwritesx67 @tlovescoffee @immafangirlmess @cluz1babe @fandom-princess-forevermore @stoneyggirl @sizekinkshawty @chaospossum

#sam x reader #pregnant!reader x sam winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural fandom #supernatural fan fic #dean winchester #supernatural fic #fanfic #1st person pov

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doodlebeeberry · 11 months

Text

It's that time of year folks!!!

Very very excited to host the gift exchange once again! Past two years have been a ton of fun, so lets hope the third is even better!

if you wanna join, just reblog/reply to this post or dm me with what you'd like. full rules, dates, and details are under the cut, please read those fully first before joining!!! :]

Entries close midnight (est) November 27th!!

For the uninitiated, the osc gift exchange is exactly what it sounds like! you let me know via reblog/reply/dm what you'd like as part of your gift--whether that's a certain show, character, ship, oc, anything! Then, you'll be randomly assigned a giftee and will make a gift based on their request. Finally, once the day comes, you post your gift and @ the person its for!

the timeline looks like this:

Nov. 11-27: enter by letting me know what you'd like! as with previous years, I ask that you keep your gift requests sfw, and to please send me references for any ocs you may want as part of your gift. As well, if there's anything you cant do (ie, a character or paring that makes you uncomfortable) please let me know when you join!

Dec. 1: I'll let you know who you've been assigned! please be sure you have dms (or at the very least asks) open for this bit!

Dec. 1-30: Make your gift! this can be anything from art to writing to music to needlepoint--so long as you include the giftee's request, the possibilities are endless!

Dec. 31: post your gift, and be sure to @ who its for in the post! Please do not post your gift before this date!!! if for whatever reason this date does not work for you please let me know and we'll work something out!!

Assorted other things to note:

please make sure your gift requests are osc/ object show related! if you dont know what that is then this likely isnt the gift exchange for you lol

you dont have to do everything your giftee requests if you dont wanna. If they give you a list of 20 characters, you can pick 1, 5, 10, all 20, the choice is up to you!

if you need to drop out for any reason please let me know as soon as possible so I can reassign your giftee

not a hard and fast rule but if you could shoot me a message when you get your giftee letting me know you saw the message, itd be much appreciated!!!

you can not join anonymously! It wouldnt be fair to your giftee, in my mind, if you did :]

on a related note, while i try to make the exchange as open to everyone as possible, if i deem it necessary i can and will bar you from participating if your inclusion would be detrimental to other giftees. while i dont anticipate needing to do so (so there isnt really a reason for you to worry about it) this was an issue last year. In the very unlikely event that I dont let you join, please dont yell at me about it. just accept it and move on.

as per usual, ill be using the tag #osc gift exchange for the event, so feel free to tag your posts so i can find them! :D

And that's it! if youve got any other questions or comments, feel free to ask and ill do my best to answer them! Thank you! ^-^

#didnt wind up going with the form cause i dont have it in me to make one rn (i appreciate the input on the matter tho!)#and now for the tag spam. yay!#osc #object show community #ii #bfdi #tpot #bfb #bfdia #inanimate insanity #battle for dream island #hfjone #onehfj #osc gift exchange #object oc #gonna have to reblog this in the morning cause 9 pm is NOT a good posting time lmao

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discworld-heritage-posts · 8 months

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What do you think you add? Do you think you make a poignant post better when after scrolling down through it we see someone saying it's "official"?

I'm choosing to interpret this ask as a genuine question (albeit one that's been worded a bit rudely) instead of a hate anon, because I wouldn't want to tarnish people's dashboards with hate anons.

Now, to answer your genuine question... The "Discworld Heritage Post" tagline I add to the end of posts has as much validity as I have authority to bestow it: none. Do I think my tagline makes posts better? Of course not! And I certainly don't think I make them official, (and neither my url or my pinned post claim that I do so).

I don't know what reasons other people had to start their own Heritage Posts blogs for other fandoms, but I will gladly tell you mine: I got into Discworld. I discovered the Discworld fandom in Tumblr. And, one day, while scrolling down some Discworld related tags, the idea just popped into my head. After checking that there wasn't a Discworld Heritage Posts blog already, I decided to make one.

I personally follow a few Heritage Posts blogs, and my reason to do so is probably the same as to why many people follow this blog: I wanted to see that kind of content. Tracking tags and being up to date on the most popular posts of a fandom is doable, but doing so for the dozens upon dozens of media I'm into is impossible, so I like to follow some Heritage Posts blogs to get some of those posts directly into my dashboard (it's also worth mentioning that sometimes, some iconic posts are made when people comment stuff on them, and those don't appear in the search tags, so following blogs that post about a certain fandom is the best way to come across some of those collaborative posts, because otherwise you'd rarely get to see them). So yes, I created a blog that, had it already existed, I would have liked to follow. Also, while other blogs with this gimmick usually limit themselves to reblogging, let's call them the "greatest hits", I've said since the beginning that I didn't care about how many notes something had. Be it cool art or a funny or insightful post, if I like it, I send it to my drafts.

However, none of those reasons are the main reason why I made this blog. The main reason is that I did it for myself. After exhausting all the content that showed up in the Popular Posts tab, I couldn't help but think of all the gold and treasure that wasn't there, buried and hidden due to the way Tumblr's search engine works. If you're familiar with the Discworld concept of "lies-to-children", that's what the "top posts of all time" is in Tumblr. A 20k post from 2016 will not be there, but a six month old post with 400 notes will show up. Surely there had been amazing Discworld posts and art posted in 2015 and 2013, but I wasn't going to find most of them unless I expressly went looking for them. And this blog was the perfect excuse to do so. As of replying to this ask, there's nearly 600 posts sitting in my drafts, and if I didn't have this blog I would have never discovered 90% of them. And those are the ones I've seen. I still have dozens of places I haven't searched.

I know that if I reblog a month old post with over 2k notes, a lot of people in the fandom will have already seen it. However, a 2k notes post from 2014, or a drawing with 40 notes from 2012 is something that is less likely to have hit people's dashes recently, or at all. When you come across the "Discworld Heritage Post" tagline in a post, please don't picture me as an uppity monarch performing the Tumblr equivalent of a knighting ceremony, or a stuffy museum curator deigning a piece worthy of being included in an exhibition. Picture me as a kid enthusiastically jumping and flailing my arms around while yelling "holy shit guys check out what I just found!!", because that's how I feel running this blog.

Ultimately, whether one of my posts does better or worse is indifferent to me, because they aren't my posts, or memes, or drawings. I'm just the intermediary. That being said, of course it's not indifferent to me, because more engagement means that was a post many people hadn't seen before, or had forgotten about, and one of my goals was to run a blog that would allow people to find those hidden or long forgotten gems.

When all is said and done, Heritage Post blogs are just another one of Tumblr's gimmicks. If we're not your cup of tea, you're free to ignore or block us. If you want to reblog something and don't want the tagline, you can reblog it directly from OP (or from another reblog if OP has deactivated their account).

#long post #THAT BEING SAID #I've seen people being very exited about something they made showing up in this blog and calling it an honor and stuff like that #and to those people I say: I see you and your lovely tags and my heart warms when I read them #i might not have any real authority besides a self imposed gimmick in a nearly defunct social media platform #but if seeing your stuff here makes you happy and proud those feelings are valid and I want you to treasure them #a lot of things only have the meaning we ascribe to them and my tagline might not hold any official meaning #but it does mean something VERY IMPORTANT:#that I saw your post and I loved it and I reblogged it to make sure other people could also find it and love it #I need to come up with a tag for asks don't I? ok how about #asked and answered #dhp's asks #discworld

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modernperplexity · 7 months

Text

Chapter Rating: E (18+) Minors DNI, mention of alcohol consumption and substance abuse, fluff, angst, sexual tension.

Word Count: 5,634

Pairing: Frankie x f!reader

Chapter summary: A glimpse into Francisco's past, You meet the guys, and Santiago (that meddling little shit) gets his way you'll see ;). This time we'll see soft and sexy Frankie, that's all I'll say for now.

A/N: Hey y'all! Chapter 4 is finally here! As always, my inbox is always open to chat/suggestions/ questions etc. Please feel free to comment/reblog. I love hearing from you! Also, please excuse any typos you may encounter.

If you'd like to join the tag list click here :) or let me know in the comments.

Happy reading loves!💜

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3 / Chapter 5

Chapter 4: Whiskey Sours & Sweet Confessions

“Are you shitting me!?” Ashley's eyes glazed over with pain and rage, “Are you fucking shitting me, Francisco!?” She slammed the mini zip lock bag on the dining table, her rage hung heavily in the air between them.

Frankie’s silence was deafening as he stared at the bag in defeat unable to tear away his gaze from the evidence Ashley had discovered. His mouth went dry, his voice caught somewhere between self-loathing and guilt of the choices that led him to that very moment.

“OH!.. So you have nothing to say?!” Again, there were no words in response to her confrontation, “God, you are so.. so-” She stammered, her voice quivering with indignation.

“Just say it.” Frankie surrendered, one hand covering his eyes, seeking brief solace from the heat of her anger.

“-Pathetic! I don’t know why I am even surprised anymore! This is so like you!”

The words stung as they reached Frankie who was sitting at the small dining table. Ashley’s yelling had prompted a sharp cry from Camilla who was only 8 months old. The guilt of losing Tom, the money, and the casualties of that mission haunted Francisco. He hated who he became but couldn’t fight the shadow that loomed over him. Ben had his boxing gig, Will went into overdrive at the VA, Santiago up and left for months at a time, and Frankie, well, he’d come back and dove head first into his only escape; the only thing that kept his body from feeling heavy.

“Ash, I’m s-” He could barely get a word out.

Ashley raised her finger to his face, the anger burned brighter in her eyes, her words laced with pain. "You promised!! Frankie!! You promised that things would be different. That we’d have a better life! But instead, you left me alone, responsible for everything, to care after your fucking kid..”

“Look, you can insult me all you want. I know I’m a piece of shit and I deserve it, okay!?” Frankie’s hands raised in defeat, “I deserve it, but don’t talk about Camila like that ..she’s your daughter too!”

“Well!” A slow clap accompanied her judgemental scoff, “look who finally decide to act like a father that actually gives a damn!”

"I... I never meant for it to come to this, Ash," he finally managed to say, his voice trembling. "I know I've fucked up- repeatedly. But please, believe me when I say that I never stopped caring about you or Camila."

Ashley turned away, her tears flowing freely now. "You have a shit way of showing you care, Frank. Time and time again you prove me right, I can't trust you. I can't keep playing this game."

She ran her fingers through her hair as she stared out the kitchen window “This isn’t what I wanted, Frank. I didn’t want this life, You left me alone in this, meanwhile you’re out there spendng the little money we have just to feel whatever the fuck it is you need” she paused, no longer being able to hold back tears, before she let out what she had wanted to say for the past few months, “I’m done... I’m done with you! We both know none of this is gonna change.”

“Ash, I’m sorry..I’ll get help this time, I promise.”He reached out a hand, desperate to bridge the evergrowing chasm between them.

“Don’t. touch. me.” she pinched the bridge of her nose, and drew a sharp breath “Get the fuck out”

Frankie’s eyes went wide, his words failing him once more.

“GET OUT!!” Ashley managed through her anger, tears now streaming down her face as she threw out a bag of his things and slammed the door.

Frankie dusted off the steel green amo box he had stored on his top closet shelf. His hands hesitated to reach the latch. It wasn’t often that the box saw the light of day. In it, Frankie held pictures he didn’t want around the house but that he knew someday Camila would ask for. Pictures of him and Ashley from the night they met, of Ashley’s pregnancy which Frankie begged to take- Ashley who always begrudgingly complied.

He looked through the old mementos and photos as his hands began to shake. One of Ashley and Cami at the hospital, Camilla’s newborn hat, and the tiny plastic medical ID bracelet among other things. He hesitated knowing what lay at the very bottom of the box. A dainty silver ring that he had bought a few weeks after he found out Ashley was pregnant but could never bring himself to give to her. It seemed like the obvious next step after having a baby.

Frankie always wanted to be a father. When he found out about Ashley’s pregnancy he was terrified but excited nonetheless. Reality hit him hard when the hospital bills came in, one after another. Money was tight and tensions were high between them before he lost his license and only became worse afterwards. Pope’s offer for the Lorea mission was insane but it offered him a chance to provide for his struggling family. A way to prove that all that time in the army and special ops wasn’t wasted. It was a weapon to fight back the voice inside his head that deemed him useless.

It had been a couple of days since Ashley had reached out. Should he respond? Did he even want to? The memories of seeing Camila for the first time, wrapped in a hospital blanket, so tiny and fragile, flooded his mind. The promise he made to himself to protect his little girl at all costs lingered. Now, he faced the difficult question: should he allow the woman who had abandoned him, who had heartlessly left Cami, back into their lives? Would he be selfish as a father if he refused to let Cami see her mom? Ashley had the potential to trigger him, but perhaps she had changed... or had she? His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door, breaking the cycle of contemplation that had consumed him since he opened the box.

“Texted the boys, they’ll meet us at the bar in an hour” Pope pried the door open a bit more when he saw the pictures scattered on Frankie's bed, giving Frankie a knowing glance while he leaned on the door frame, “You good?”

Frankie paused, that period of his life brought on a plague of complicated emotions, “Yeah...I uh- I’m fine”

“What are you going to do?” Santiago glanced over to the phone beside the box on Frankie’s bed.

Frankie dragged his hands over his patchy beard, “I.. don’t want to think about that right now”

“Good. Drinks on me, we’re celebrating tonight!”

“We got our pilot back boys!” Ben cheered from the corner of the bar. The “unhappy hour” neon sign provided a dim blue light over the booth where they sat.

“It’s been a long winding road, man. We’re proud of you, Fish!” Will clapped Frankie on the shoulder and handed him a glass

“Never met anyone more deserving..You belong in the sky” Ben added with a genuine smile, glad to see his brother happy again.

Frankie chuckled, “I still can’t fucking believe it. I get to have my wings back!” He sighed with deep relief “In all seriousness, I can’t thank y’all enough. You all had my back when I lost sight of everything that mattered”

“Hey, that’s in the past. You’re our brother, we’d do it all over again- no questions asked” Santiago replied.

Ben nodded in agreement and took a sip of his beer, “So, how does it feel to be back up there?”

“It's like nothing else, the freedom, the rush, the sense of control... It's fucking indescribable” He grinned, “I’ll take ya next time” I don’t mind the extra flight hours.

“Sign me up, but please, Fish, no more near-death experiences, alright? I had enough of that last time.”

The men all burst into laughter and clink their glasses together, “to Catfish!”

Michele practically dragged you out of your apartment. She had agreed to meet a few of her coworkers at a divey bar in town and insisted that you meet them. The night was slightly cooler than most Florida nights but not drastically colder- it is Florida after all, prompting you to wear a thin green cardigan paired with a black mini skirt that highlighted your curves, sheer black tights, and your comfy black combat boots.

She gently clasped your hand, leading you through the bustling crowd, the melody of The Smiths' "This Charming Man" filling the air around you. Your heart nearly skipped a beat as your eyes locked onto Frankie, a beer in hand, making his way towards the illuminated jukebox.

The sight of him left you momentarily breathless. "Everything alright?" Michele's concerned voice breaking through to you.

You blinked, forcing yourself to focus on the present moment. "Yeah, umm... Frankie's here," you managed to reply, your voice tinged with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

Michele's eyes widened in surprise. "He's here?" she echoed, her gaze darting around the bar.

"Over at the jukebox," you informed her with a subtle nod in Frankie's direction.

Her eyebrows raised in approval “Damn, he is fine, but you better go over there before blondie wins him over.”

“Wait, what?” Heat surged in your chest, a stark reminder of the truth you could no longer hide. The thought of someone else with him sent a pang of jealousy coursing through you. Oh no, is that the barista from the coffee shop?

Your eyes were locked in, unable tear away from the scene unfolding before your eyes. When it dawned on you, Frankie was no longer looking at her, he was now looking at you. A subtle spark of recognition and excitement flashed across his eyes, fleeting but unmistakable. Frankie briefly introduced her to Ben, who immediately wore a bright smile, before heading toward you.

“Talk to him!” Michele urged with encouragement, “Have some fun.. And PLEASE have something good to tell me afterward!” She squeezed you tight and handed you her shot of whiskey, “I’ll find you later... if you want me to find you.” She added with a wink before disappearing into the crowd.

As Frankie drew nearer, a surge of anticipation swept over you. With Michele's words echoing in your mind, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. With a quick flick of your wrist, you downed the whiskey Michele had given you, its fiery warmth spreading through your veins, emboldening you for the encounter ahead. You turned around and nearly collided with Frankie, “Oh, Jesus!” You blurted, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumbled back a step, caught off guard by the sudden proximity.

Frankie smiled, appearing amused and slightly concerned, ”Everything alright?” the genuine concern in his voice already putting you at ease.

“Just needed a little liquid courage, I guess” A nervous laugh escaped you.

Frankie chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Well it looks like you can’t go a week without running into me” He teased, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I seem to have that effect on people” You chuckled, grasping the silver chain of the clutch you selected for the evening, “What are you doing here?”

“The boys brought me out to celebrate” He paused and leaned in closer, taking in the warm cherry scent of your perfume on the crook of your neck, his voice a hushed whisper, “I passed my pilot exam.”

“You passed the exam!!” Your eyes widened with excitement as you cheered, unable to contain the joy bubbling up within you. Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around Frankie's neck, drawing him into a tight embrace. “Frankie, this is such great news! I’m so proud of you!”

Frankie’s grin widened his arms wrapping around you in return, the warmth of your body against his causing his heart to race even faster. “Thank you” he said, his voice tinged with sincere gratitude, “It’s been a long time coming” His eyes lingered over you as he pulled away, your face mere inches away, "You know, I couldn't have done it without your encouragement. Our conversation at the coffee shop meant a lot to me"

Your cheeks flushed pink at Frankie's heartfelt words, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Well, I'm glad I could help in some way," you replied, your heart swelling with pride and admiration for the man in front of you.

"What are you drinking?" Frankie asked, his eyes sparkling.

"You're here to celebrate you, but you want to buy me a drink?" you teased, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

"Just think of it as another coffee," he winked, his playful demeanor displaying no signs of surrender.

"A whiskey sour, please," you smiled, unable to resist his charm as you watched him effortlessly command the attention of the bartender. His presence seemed to fill the room, making everything else fade into the background.

As you observed him, a smile emerged from the corner of your lips, his hands made your glass seem three times smaller. "He buys me coffee and my drinks," you remarked with a playful sigh, adding a hint of dramatic flair. "A true American hero."

The widest grin spread across Frankie's face. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this at ease. Despite the complexities that could arise in whatever was happening between you both, he pushed those thoughts aside, not wanting to dwell on them, not tonight at least.

"Here," he said, handing you your drink, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. Without hesitation, he casually took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours "Come on, I want you to meet the guys."

“Well, well, well- would you look what the cat dragged back in” Pope revealed a mischievous grin after taking a sip of his beer, his gaze shifting between you and Frankie.

You smiled, “Nice to see you again too, Santiago”

“I’m just messing, Hermosa” Santiago chuckled, getting up to hug you. “That was meant for Fish.”

“So this is Peech!” Ben exclaimed with a grin, pulling you into a strong and warm embrace, “I know the speech sessions are for our lil Camcam but I can tell you’re great! Fish hasn’t shut up about you since day one!”

Your cheeks flushed pink, Frankie too smitten by your nervous laughter to pay Ben any mind, aside from a brief sidelong glance in his direction.

“You’re kind of a celebrity ‘round these parts, darlin” Will added sweetly, “It’s good to put a face to the name finally.”

“Likewise!” you agreed, “Well since we’re all here to celebrate our pilot,” you lightly nudged Frankie, “Why don’t I get us the next round?

Ben sipped the last of his beer, and set down his glass, “OH I like her!”

The atmosphere was filled with laughter and positive energy. The men bantered and shared stories of their early days in the military with you. It came to you as a surprise to feel so effortlessly at home with the group. You would have never pictured feeling so at ease while surrounded by men. Your quick wit and charm drew them in. As the night wore on and drinks flowed, Frankie found himself becoming even more infatuated with you, displaying the palpable string of tension that existed between you both. It hung in the air, creating an undercurrent of anticipation and curiosity. The subtle stolen glances, lingering touches, traces of smiles. It all prompted knowing looks from those around the table. Santiago who of course, was the first to notice, wore a mischievous grin, earning him a swift kick under the table.

“So” Santiago interrupted Ben who had been bragging to you about all the fights he’d won recently, “has Catfish ever told you about Truth or Spare?” Santiago’s eyes eager for your response.

Ben whistled, “oh, here we fucking go”

“Oh come on..its just a game” Santiago hissed.

“What is this? Highschool?” Ben shook his head

“WhAt Is tHiS HiGhScHoOl?” Santiago mocked in return.

A hesitant look flashed across Frankie’s face,“I don’t know Pope”

“It’s okay, I want to hear about this.” You chimed.

“He’s trying to get you to play this drinking game we all played when we enlisted in the army.” Will explained, directing a knowing look in Santiago’s direction, “But there’s no pressure.”

“We all played when we joined the squad” Ben said with a reassuring smile “some supposed way to build trust but really it was our excuse to get drunk on our days off”

You nodded, curious to learn more, "Hmm.. How do you play?" you looked at Santiago waiting for an explanation.

"You have to choose between answering a personal question with complete honesty or taking a shot. It's all about testing your limits."

Frankie's hesitant expression didn't ease, but he spoke up nonetheless. "Yeah, but it can get intense. Some questions really push your boundaries, and the drinks add up quickly."

Will half smiled "Shit’s about to get real, but seeing that your drink of choice is whiskey, I take it you can hold your own" He added with a wink.

A mix of excitement and apprehension settled in your chest. "Alright, I’m in."

“Atta girl!” Santiago nodded approvingly. "Welcome to our circle of trust. Just remember, once you start playing, there's no turning back."

You nodded, and met Frankie’s eyes with a playful smirk, "Okay, but Frankie goes first."

As the game kicked off, the group went easy on you. They couldn't help but laugh as you shared stories of your younger self sneaking out on summer nights and the satisfying moment when you finally stood up to your childhood bully after being pushed off your bike countless times. They absolutely loved that one. But as the game progressed, things got more intense. The questions became more personal, pushing boundaries and leading to more serious unearthing. You spilled the beans about that time you accidentally sent a sext to your grandma consequently making her blood pressure drop, sending her to the hospital earning “oohs” and laughs from the group. Pope begrungingly admitted to having a crush on one of Ben's exes. Ben got caught in the act during a threesome by one of the girl's ex-boyfriends, Will confessed to hooking up with the same flight attendant multiple times on different flights, and then there was Frankie, who got stuck in a janitor's closet for four and a half hours after hooking up with a girl at a concert and had to resort to peeing in a bucket (Yep, that was the last time he ever saw her).

Then Santiago’s question changed the air around you, “Are you seeing anyone?”

“No” Your response quick and easy, too easy to satisfy Santiago’s agenda.

“Do you currently have feelings for someone?” He prodded.

A fiery warmth spread across your chest at his second question, rendering you to an absolute halt. His words seemed to pierce through the din of the crowded bar, leaving you momentarily speechless.

"Um, well, I... I mean, you know, it's complicated," you stammered, your words slurring slightly as you struggled to form a coherent response. Frankie's presence heighten your flustered state, making you feel more unsettled than usual. The alcohol coursing through your veins seemed to amplify your nerves, leaving you feeling jittery and out of sorts.

Desperate for a moment of reprieve, you took another sip of your water, hoping it would help to calm your frazzled nerves. But instead, it only seemed to exacerbate your unease. "I, uh, I just...I do," you blurted out, your eyes widening in alarm as the words escaped your lips. With a sudden rush of embarrassment, you instinctively covered your mouth, as if trying to snatch back the breath you had just spoken.

Ben whistled in response, “Whoever he is, he is a godamn lucky guy” his eyes flickering briefly towards Frankie who held back a smile and preferred to fidget with the corner of his napkin than to look up at you.

You stole a quick glance at Frankie, hoping to gauge his reaction, but he kept his eyes fixed on the table, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. Despite his attempts to appear nonchalant, you couldn't shake the feeling that he could see right through you. Before the awkward silence could stretch any further, a buzzing at your hip provided a welcome interruption, breaking the tension that had settled over the table. Grateful for the distraction, you quickly reached for your phone, hoping to find solace in the familiar glow of the screen.

"S-sorry, I gotta take this," you stammered, your voice trembling slightly as you hurriedly scooted out of the booth and made your way to the patio area.

Once outside, you fumbled for your phone, your heart racing with anxiety. With trembling fingers, you answered the call. "Michele... Jesus Christ, I-I've never loved you more," you breathed into the phone.

“Hey, I just wanted to check in, you doing alright?” Her voice tinged with genuine concern.

You breathed in, composing yourself, “Yeah, I’ve been having a great time.” The alcohol coursing through your veins making you increasingly aware of your intoxicated state

“Of course you are chica! you’ve been surrounded by four smoking hot guys practically all night!” she quipped with a sassy tone, “That’s right, I saw them!”

You couldn't help but giggle at her playful remark as you swayed your way to the balcony.“Where are youu?” You asked, struggling to keep your balance.

“I’m out by the exit, heading out in a few but I wanted to make sure you’re good.” She giggled but not at anything you said. You thought you heard a male voice in the background, murmuring something and calling her "baby."

“Call me if you need anything, yeah? Except for condoms, I only have one of those in my purse” You could practically hear her mischievous smile over the phone.

“OH MY GOD!” You burst into laughter, “love you, I’ll text you when I get home”.

“Love you, bye!” Michele responded, her voice warm with affection before the line went silent. You ended the call and tucked your phone back into your purse, not yet ready to return to the company of your friends inside.

Just as you were about to gather your thoughts, a gentle hand landed on your shoulder, causing you to startle.You spun around faster than you realized you could handle in your current state, only to find Frankie standing there, his hands held out in a gesture of apology.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you”. He said softly, his eyes filled with concern as he steadied you with his touch.

You responded with a shy smile, mesmerized by the way his deep brown eyes sparked, even in the dim twinkling lights of the patio. “It’s okay”

“I, uh, I wanted apologize about Pope.” His hands lingered on your arms, and you couldn't help but notice the way your heart fluttered at his proximity. “He can get intense”.

“Oh F-frankie, you don’t have to do that, itss all fun and games”. Despite your attempt to remain composed, you found yourself increasingly aware of the effect the game had on you, the warm, fuzzy effect of the drinks settling over your body. So much so that you nearly tripped on your own feet. "Oops!" you giggled, feeling the edges of your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I think it’s time to get you home” Frankie smiled sweetly at your clumsiness before realizing the implication of his own words, “I uh, I mean, not like that. I just–”.

You placed a finger on his lips “Shhh..” quickly stealing a glance of his eyes and back to your finger, your voice soft but insistent “Jussst take me home”, Frankie’s gaze made you nervous “....there’s no way I can drive like this”

The bar pulsed with excitement, even though it was well past midnight. Frankie's touch was like a gentle yet firm anchor as he guided you through the sea of people, his presence stirring a whirlwind of emotions within you. You'd often fantasized about what it would be like to spend a night out with him, but never did you think of a moment like this. Frankie opened the car door for you, his eyes filled with a subtle tenderness as he helped you settle into the passenger seat. His caring nature was warm and reassuring. As you glanced around the interior of his car, you couldn't help but notice how spotless it was. Of course, you thought. He did have a military background afterall.

The engine roared to life, the sound blending seamlessly with the melody of Gerry Rafferty's "Right Down the Line" playing softly in the foreground. It was a song you knew well, its familiar notes adding to the magic of the moment. Frankie loved night drives, particularly on nights like tonight when the air carried a hint of coolness. He couldn't help but steal glances at you, as the wind played with your hair, brushing it across your cheeks. He watched with a smile as you sang along to every word of the song without a care in the world. It was as though each lyric held a piece of your soul, released into the air with each heartfelt note. In that moment, under the starlit sky, Frankie found himself captivated by the raw beauty of your uninhibited joy, feeling a warmth spread through him at the sight of your carefree spirit. It was a moment he wished he could freeze in time, etching it into his memory as a reminder of the magic that existed in the simplest of moments spent with you.

Your hand reached for his, reminding him that this, whatever this was, was actually happening. There was this air of trust between you.

"Still feeling okay?" Frankie asked, his voice soft as he glanced at you, his eyes reflecting the dim glow of the streetlights nearby as the car came to a stop.

You nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. “I'm okay. Thank you for driving me home"

Frankie squeezed your hand gently. "Anytime. I want to make sure you’re safe, Hermosa."

A soft blush tinted your cheeks at his words, and you looked out the window, trying to hide your smile.

Frankie stepped out of the car, and opened the door for you. He offered his hand, assisting you up the stairs that led to your front door. The yellow glow of the overhead bulb cast a warm hue over his features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the curls in his hair.

As you climbed the steps, lost in thought of his features, you stumbled, your foot catching on the edge. With a surprised yelp, you began to fall forward, but Frankie was quick to react, reaching out to steady you, once again.

"Whoa there clumsy," he chuckled, a smile playing on his lips. "wouldn't want you taking a tumble."

You both couldn't help but laugh at your own tipsy clumsiness, the tension of the moment dissolving into shared amusement. "Thanks," you said, flashing him a grateful smile. "Guess drinks and stairs don’t mix."

Frankie grinned, his eyes sparkling with humor. "No problem, but you know, I've never seen anyone trip going up stairs before. You've got talent!” He chuckled

Your laughter only grew louder at his quip, and after a moment of catching your breath, his eyes met yours and you decided to take a chance.

You paused, liquid courage spurring you on. "Can I tell you somethin?" you asked, your voice tentative.

"Of course, Hermosa," Frankie replied, his expression curious.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before confessing, "I really should have kissed you that first night we met."

For a moment, there was silence between you, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Then, Frankie's smile widened, a warmth filling his gaze as he reached out to gently cup your cheek.

"Then why don't you?" he murmured softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

Your heart skipped a beat as Frankie's words hung in the air, sending a thrill coursing through your veins. His touch was electrifying, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your cheek, sending shivers down your spine.

You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, his lips tantalizingly close to yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still as you drowned in the intensity of his gaze.

"Maybe… I will," your voice barely above a whisper, hardly audible over the pounding of your heart.

Frankie's smile widened, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. "I dare you."

With a surge of boldness, you closed the remaining distance between you, your lips meeting his in a sweet, exhilarating kiss. It was everything you had imagined and more, a perfect fusion of passion and tenderness that left you breathless and craving more.

As you pulled away, a grin spread across Frankie's face, his eyes sparkling with joy and affection."Looks like dreams really do come true," he murmured, his voice filled with desire.

Your heart raced as he leaned in for another kiss, his lips crashing into yours. This time with an intensity that sent sparks flying, fueled by hunger and desire.

You melted into him, tangling your fingers in his curls as his kiss deepened, each touch sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. Frankie's hands reached for your thighs, wrapping you around him, as he carried you up the stairs and into your apartment with ease.

“Bedroom” you managed to breath out in between kisses “Mmm…to the…left”

You collapsed onto the cool sheets of your duvet when Frankie paused “Wait..” his chest rising and falling as he leveled his breath, his tone suddenly serious “let's…let’s slow down a bit”

“Yeah” you responded, a confused look flickered across your face, “Okay, you’re right. We probably should”.

"I like you, a lot," Frankie admitted, his gaze softening as he looked into your eyes. "But I want to do this the right way and–“ He stopped mid thought glancing over at your open bathroom door “I also couldn’t help but notice that annoying leaky faucet!”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, you breathed in still catching your breath “I’ve been bugging the landlord about that for months!”

Frankie grinned, his eyes lighting up. "That's an easy fix! I can come by sometime and help you out with that."

A warmth spread through your chest at his offer, and you couldn't help but smile. "Oh really?” Your voice offering a tone of mischief ,”I'd like that," you replied, feeling a sense of anticipation building between you “I’d like that a lot actually”

Without hesitation Frankie leaned in and planted a quick tender kiss on your forehead before settling beside you. The warmth of his presence beside you filled you with a sense of comfort and contentment, and you couldn't help but snuggle closer, savoring the closeness between you as a comfortable silence enveloped you both. But soon, conversation resumed, flowing effortlessly between you as you discussed your favorite movies, swapping recommendations and sharing anecdotes about awkward date experiences.

Frankie's laughter filled the room as he recounted a particularly embarrassing moment from his past, and you couldn't help but join in, sharing your own humorous stories in return. The more you talked, the more you realized just how much you had in common, and each revelation brought you closer together.

At one point, Frankie leaned in close, his voice low with mock solemnity. "Well, now that we've shared all our embarrassing stories and secrets, what are we going to talk about on our first date?"

A blush crept up your cheeks at his teasing remark, but you couldn't help but laugh. "Guess we'll just have to come up with some new material," you replied playfully.

As the conversation lulled, Frankie glanced at the clock and sighed. "I should probably head home," he said reluctantly.

But before he could move, you reached out and gently grasped his hand, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please stay," you pleaded quietly, "For me."

For a moment, Frankie's expression softened, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of surprise and tenderness. And without another word, he nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he settled back into bed beside you.

But before sleep claimed you, Frankie's quiet voice broke the silence. "You know, you're half right about that first night we met."

"What do you mean?" you responded, now propping yourself up to look at him.

"I should've kissed you," he admitted, a hint of regret in his tone. "I should've made you put your number in my phone or something." He chuckled softly, his fingers gently playing with strands of your hair.

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, "Well, lucky for you, it's not too late," you replied, reaching for his phone on the nightstand, a smile tugging at your lips.

And as you melted into each other's embrace, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you wrapped up in the quiet stillness of the night. With the gentle patter of rain as your lullaby, you drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 3 / Chapter 5

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starvels · 2 months

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starvels’ Smut Recs for @cap-ironman Steve/Tony Fic Rec Week 2024

For Smut Recs, enjoy these resplendent, juicy berries. May they burst rich upon thy tongue. Please remember to leave a hollering comment, add a busty, blushing kudos, or hit a reblog on a fic post in order to show your gleeful appreciation of such delicious goods.

Check out all of starvels’ Cap-IM 2024 Rec Lists [here].

(touch me) at the seams by welcoming_disaster @welcomingdisaster

Tags: Established Relationship, Avengers Vol. 8 (2018), BDSM, Bondage, Impact Play, Smut, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Gags, Mild Angst, Painplay, Tony Stark's General Control Issues, Dom Steve Rogers, Sub Tony Stark, with a hint of switching, Solid B+ BDSM etiquette, Enthusiastic Consent, Mild Breathplay, Subspace Summary: Tony wants more out of his relationship with Steve and gets it. Notes: A bruise-beautiful exploration of BDSM realism and messy love in-between Steve and Tony, interwoven in the context of their superhero lives.

down the rabbit hole by starvels

Tags: Iron Man Armor/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Plot What Plot, Implied Consent, Armor Kink, Sparring, Superpower Sex, Heavy BDSM, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Masochism, Dom/sub, Sub Steve Rogers, Dom Iron Man, Dom Tony Stark, Anal Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Deepthroating, Ass to Mouth, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Leashes, Collars, Bondage, deep penetration, Large insertions, Size Kink, Strength Kink, Blood Kink, Spanking, Slapping, Nipple Torture, Humiliation, Technological Kink, Power Dynamics, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Open Relationships, Somnophilia (Referenced), Come as Lube Summary: Steve spends an entire afternoon at the mercy of the Iron Man armor. He gets exactly what he asks for, and then some. Notes: 25k of intense RACK Iron Man armor kink. You already know if this is your meal ticket. Punch it in, bud.

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Whole Lotta Love by lomku @oluka

Tags: Bodyswap, Sparring, Established Relationship, Porn with a little bit of Plot, BDSM, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Dom Steve Rogers, Sub Tony Stark, Bottom Steve Rogers, Dirty Talk, Tenderness, Avengers Vol. 8 (2018), Iron Man Vol. 6 (2020), Rough Sex, Topping from the Bottom Summary: Tony and Steve get hit by a spell that makes them switch bodies. They decide to make use of the opportunity to play out one of Steve's kinks. Notes: THIS! is! the body swapping power dynamics exploration you have been looking for. Beautiful hot steam, thoughtfully sculpted into a one interchangeable form.

Wishing You'd Dreamt Me by Kiyaar @kiyaar

Tags: hickmanvengers, Mindwipe, PWP, Angst, Secrets, BDSM, Gags, Guilt, incursions, Bondage, Messy Power Dynamics, Established Relationship, Betrayal Summary: Steve keeps enforcing his own silence, keeps parcelling himself up to give to Tony, for Tony's enjoyment at Steve’s expense. Keeps writing blank emotional checks. Notes: Slide yourself riiiight into this mess and immerse yourself in Steve and Tony and the heaving guilt and sweltering heat between them like a happy lil gator going to swamp town.

Deep In the Woods by dirigibleplumbing @dirigibleplumbing

Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Sexual Fantasy, Oral Sex, Dubious Consent, Rape/Non-con Elements, Face-Fucking, Facials, Begging, Choking, Tony talks about Civil War but don't expect a conversation between two people meeting each other as equals lol, Not A Fix-It, Not A Happy Ending, Avengers: Prime (2010), Avengers Vol. 4 (2010) Summary: In the aftermath of an argument that ended with Steve yelling that Tony was off the Avengers, Tony comes to find out if Steve still means it. What can Steve say? There’s a war between them, one Tony erased from his memory. Tony’s still a traitor and a liar. He needs to face the consequences of his actions. And Steve needs to stop fantasizing about how he saw Tony violated in Jotunheim. Notes: Raise your glass to toast this Messy Possessive Visceral Consent-Fucky SteveTony Banger Of A Jam with me, altogether now.

make the most of my own surrender by fuckofdaedalus @the-faultofdaedalus

Tags: Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Impact Play, Whipping, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Extremis, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Safety Goggles Summary: They both had a thing for it, both ways round, being marked up by eachother, but before now, it was mostly just fantasy, when it came to Steve. He healed too quickly for that, for any marks Tony put on him to last longer than an hour or two. After Extremis, Steve had thought I’d be the same for Tony, and had both mourned the lost of being able to mark him up and had felt privately relieved that they would be on more equal ground, now. And then Tony had revealed that he could actually control how fast he healed. And that had been. Well. That’d done a lot for Steve. That he could mark Tony up with a crop or a switch or just his bare hand, and that not only would he keep those marks, but that if he did, he was choosing to, actively, keep them. Because it also did it for him, and because he knew how much it did it for Steve. And then Tony had suggested that he could give other people Extremis. And that he could probably whip up a version that could control Steve’s healing. And. Well. Here they were. Notes: This fic shouts SWITCH RIGHTS loud and clear and we must all tune in to hear the gorgeous bill of those rights! Some transhumanism w your kink?? Yessir !

give you everything by tinystark616 @tinystark616

Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Bottom Steve Rogers, Top Tony Stark, Anal Fingering, Riding, Armor Kink Summary: Steve really likes how Tony looks in the Iron Man armor. Notes: Author says, "I may have been looking for an excuse to write Tony fingering Steve while wearing the gauntlet," and honestly we all have been looking for an excuse to READ this, as well.

to pleat light by starvels

Tags: Established Relationship, Sparring, Semi-Public Sex, BDSM, Trans Tony Stark, Sub Tony Stark, Dom Steve Rogers, Humiliation, Dirty Talk, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Vaginal Fingering, Exhibitionism, Mirror Sex, Sex Positions, Self-Bondage, Slapping, genital slapping, Spanking, Biting, Painplay, Scent Kink, Spit As Lube, Come as Lube, Wet & Messy, Barebacking, Puppy Play, Breathplay, Choking, Blood Kink, Overstimulation, Objectification, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Bruises Summary: “Be sure, Tony. I won’t stop once I start,” Steve says. “Oh yeah?” Tony cranes his neck around to follow Steve. Blond hair is tickling Steve’s brow and his body is tensed up, muscles bulging against his shirt. Anticipation whets Tony’s tongue; his body as impatient as his mind for Steve, always for whatever Steve has planned for them. It mixes with the sumptuous shame of potentially being discovered out here in the gym. “That a promise, tough guy? Gonna give it to me so good that I won’t be able to get away? Won’t even want to —” like he ever does, “won’t think to tap out?” “Sure,” Steve says. Notes: Sparring turned into kinky horizontal athletic barebacking -- what's more of a classic than this? Tune in for the next episode of Tony's face meets the mat, here.

Black or White? by goresmores

Tags: Cunnilingus, Frottage, Tiddy Suckin, First Time, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes Summary: Tony needs help getting ready for an event and sensual dress zipping leads to a whole lot more when Stevie comes to help. Notes: Everyone has a tit-spectacularly good time here for sure and so should you!

For your eyes only by S_Horne @s-horne

Tags: Female Steve Rogers, Female Tony Stark, Period Sex, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Genderswap, Blood, Period Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Fluff Summary: Toni was laid back on the bed, hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her and already tangled in messy knots. Her legs were spread wide, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she stared at Steph through half-lidded eyes. That would have been gorgeous in itself, but what was making Steph’s mouth water was the way that Toni’s pussy was positively shining. Toni was soaking already, juices slowly dripping out of her and pooling in a wet spot on the towel they’d laid out. Steph licked her lips and squeezed her thighs together when a bubble of blood slid out of Toni’s hole. Because that’s what the towel was for. That’s why Toni was laid out bare. Bright red blood was slipping out of Toni steadily, labia already coated with the thinner liquid that would have caught in her panties. Notes: IF we are truly to unravel the sticky, iridescent, blood-filled center of superheroes lives, we MUST also lean our lips into the blood in their sex lives. This is thus.

Slick Moves by Loran_Arameri @loraneldin

Tags: Tony's armor goo, Pre-Slash, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Misuse of SHIELD supplies, Ambiguous/Open Ending Summary: Steve has developed a fascination for the Iron Man Armor, especially for the flight-gel that covers Tony whenever he pilots the suit. In an attempt to satisfy his curiosity, he steals a bucket of it with no plans for what to do with it. After bringing it home, one thing leads to another. Notes: We should and in fact MUST support Steve's nasty fascination with all things regarding the Iron Man Armor, particularly Ultimates' IM's armor flight gel. It is categorically Essential and you are Legally Obligated.

slow fire by welcoming_disaster @welcomingdisaster

Tags: Bittersweet, Established Relationship, Banter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Baggage, Explicit Sexual Content, Hopeful Ending, Slice of Life, Mentions of Cancer, very boring established relationship sex, cannot overstate the extent to which these people are lazy about fucking, Holidays, Feelings Realization Summary: Steve spends Christmas at Tony's. Notes: Set this in your gums and suck on it like a nice ginger snack, let it melt over your tongue so good.

forecheck by starvels

Tags: Avengers Team, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sports, Rivals With Benefits, Queer Themes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Tony Stark, Smoking, Flirting, Banter, Getting Together, Switching, Rough Sex, Biting, Oral Sex, Face-Fucking, Dirty Talk, Scent Kink, Bruises, Frottage, Anal Sex, Spit As Lube, Nipple Play, Nipple Piercings, Come Shot, Casual Sex, Trans Tony Stark, Power Dynamics, Partial Nudity, Deepthroating, Roughhousing Summary: On the first day of the All Star Games, Steve loses the shooting skill challenge, chain-smokes three cigarettes as a reward for doing a half-naked photoshoot, and sleeps with Natasha Stark. All in all, it’s not a bad start to the weekend. Notes: Muscular bodies dealing with the spectre of publicity, the serious slickness of sweat against sweat, and intricate, nasty power dynamics; it's not 3490 canon but it's not not 3490 canon.

bear my soul and breathe by fuckofdaedalus @the-faultofdaedalus

Tags: Breathplay, Hand Jobs, Established Relationship, Kink Discovery, Under-negotiated Kink, Fluff and Smut Summary: practicing pins in the avengers gym gets a little rowdy. just some simple s/t breathplay. Notes: A juicy slice of domestic life that tastes really classically trope baked and deliciously endearment sweet.

Something fell from the sky. by jayjayverse @jayjayverse

Tags: Fanart, Tentacles, Explicit Sexual Content Summary: When Tony is missing in action. Steve starts looking for him right away and when he finally finds him, it's nothing like he thought it would be. Notes: Steve, too, longs for those comic tentacles to finally have their way with Tony and we are so lucky to be able to see it in such detail here.

Time, Space, Flesh by veryvincible @cassabi

Tags: Getting Together, lots and lots of banter, wistfulness, Bittersweet Ending, Happy Ending, It's BOTH it depends on how you look at it… but it's both, Canon Divergence, Oral Sex, Gentle Sex, handjobs, Steve Rogers is a Little Shit (affectionate), Pre-Serum Steve Rogers Summary: “I’ve got a hotel room,” Tony said. “And if we’re seen?” Tony’s response came quick, too confident. He’d given the same spiel many times before. “Oh, you know. Good friends. Had a bit to drink. Maybe we’re French— you know how it is. Besides, we’ve been here for how long, now? If anyone was going to notice you, you’d think they’d have done it by now.” Notes: Bullet Points of this Bullet Points fic: - compelling concept - affectionate articulation - great pacing and tone - a tart lil cherry of longing for the road to finish it off.

Game Over by swtalmnd @amysnotdeadyet

Tags: 8-bit art, Digital Art, using my skills for evil Summary: I learned pixel art yesterday, and today I am using it for evil. Notes: Clue into this screen to see these adorable and fun pixels that will definitely makes you wonder what 616 in-universe fanart and erotic games would take the form of.

[RBB Art] All Dolled Up and Nowhere To Be by isomer (isozyme) and phoenixmetaphor @isozyme @phoenixmetaphor

Tags: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Crossdressing Summary: Tony cleans up nice. Notes: So many lovely pieces in this, with great details on the lingerie and expressions and makeup. Time to admire them all!

stars glued to our thighs by starvels

Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Established Relationship, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Tony Stark's Red Thong of Justice, Body Worship, Light Masochism, Nipple Play, Trans Character, Trans Steve Rogers, Trans Tony Stark, Domestic Fluff, Banter, Tony Stark's Workshop Summary: Steve’s been out of town for a few weeks, doing the superhero thing. To welcome Steve back home properly, Tony clears some space for Steve to slide right into. Notes: Blares those Trans4Trans Tit4Tit Tat4Tat and Wink4Wonk HonkHonks in this cozey, bantering established relationship piece.

how he got here by Areiton @areiton

Tags: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Soft Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, POV Steve Rogers, Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff Summary: Tony had said, “Do you know how pretty you look, when you’re stuffed full of my cock, Steven?” Notes: A sumptuous scene of Ults S/T lingering in each other, craving more and more from each other and actually allowing themselves to have it.

Bruised Fruit Bleeds Sweeter by ghosthan @ghosthan

Tags: Civil War, Mildly Dubious Consent, Under-negotiated Kink, Light BDSM, Extremis, Avengers Disassembled, Canon Compliant, Civil War: Casualties of War, Implied/Referenced, Child Abuse, Not A Fix-It, Angst, Bittersweet Summary: Steve and Tony meet privately to talk. It would figure that Steve’s idea of compromise amounts to Steve giving nothing, and Tony losing everything. (Or, talking turns into fighting, and fighting turns into fucking.) Notes: Gritty and grimy under your nails, rucking up desire and regret and all the things that should have been, right in the remains of the things that were.

fine as cream gravy by starvels

Tags: Marvel 1872, Established Relationship, Casual Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Original Male Character(s), Sexual Experimentation, Oral Sex, Deepthroating, Cock Worship, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Open Relationships, Multiple Partners, Cuddling & Snuggling, Bisexual Steve Rogers, the complexity and simplicity of being gay in the marvel wild west, an illustrious cocksucker steve rogers agenda, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Summary: Tony’s an old hat at sucking cock. Steve himself ain’t nowhere near as talented. But luckily, Tony seems to enjoy both giving Steve tips on how to suck proper, and bringing amenable fellers home to give Steve plenty of opportunities to practice honing his craft. Steve likes to think of it as a solid goshdarn win for everyone involved. Notes: A dirty little ditty about the depth and breadth of Steve Rogers' love for deepthroating and his continuing efforts to explore strange new cocks, which we obvs all support whole-throatedly.

Laid Low [the Fall Backwards Remix] by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes) @hollyandvice

Tags: Original Male Character(s), Gangbang, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Anal Sex, Spanking, Face-Sitting, Gags, Miscommunication, Getting Together Summary: Steve doesn't expect Tony's enthusiastic support when he offers up the idea. Not that he was expecting ridicule, but this is much more than he could have anticipated. Notes: An alt POV remix piece that lays out sensation and motivation neatly like spice shakers laid out in a tasty, tasty row. Gobble one smackerel after another.

That’s all folks!

Thanks for reading and make sure to kudos and comments the fics you explore! Fandom is a circle and we are all passing it forward. 😜

#CAPIMREC2024 #stevetony #cap-im events #fic rec #stevetony fic rec #616 #ultimates #mcu #bullet points #1872 #my fic #lemony goodness #cap-ironman

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