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#last Saturday of the summer I have to work

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days

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Winter's King 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: it's saturday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You follow the king into the great hall. Despite the sun beaming in through the open doors and the chirping of sparrows from the courtyard, it is a dour affair.

King Geralt marches across the hall as you stand by a tall candelabra near the door. It remains unlit as the summer lights much of the space through the long windows and broad doors. He approaches the bishop in his robe and sash and points the man with a terse grunt. Lord Dustan and Lady Rozlyn stand behind the cleric, looking fraught.

“Where is the bride?” The king growls as his golden eyes skim the stone walls.

“Your highness, we’ve just called for her--”

“She is aware of our impending nuptials, she would keep her betrothed waiting?” The king rebukes, “you summer souls and your flimsy spines.”

The duchess twitches in offence but does not rebuff the insult. The wine has subsided well enough to allow her some sense. Lord Dustan’s lips press tight and he claps.

“My daughter, at once,” he hisses in your direction.

Before you can turn on your sole, the king grunts, “fetch her yourself. How can I trust you to keep my kingdom in order if you cannot bring the same to your own house?”

“Yes, your highness,” Dustan blanches, “it was only I thought it would be swifter to send the maid.”

“It would be swifter if you stilled your tongue,” King Geralt barks.

The duke recoils and hurries off. Your eyes meet the king’s and he gives a slight tilt of his head and you resume your plaintive stance. Lady Rezlyn looks him up and down before she withdraws her gaze and instead focuses on the portrait of her husband’s predecessor.

The air grows stagnant as you wait. When at last a stirring comes from above, the king is gripping the dagger on his belt. He is not impressed with the delay.

“Father, I am here, I am here, unhand me,” Lady Jazlene blusters in ahead of the duke. She wears the red and ivory and matching ribbons have been braided into her curls. She has several necklaces piled around her neck and her hands are adorned in tones of silver and gold. “I am ready,” she sighs as she approaches the bishop and face the king, “it is not the wedding I dreamt of but for a king, I might settle.”

King Geralt’s golden eyes narrow. He looks through his bride and she wavers on her feet as she reaches for him. He does not offer his hand nor his arm before he faces the bishop.

“The vows,” the king demands flatly.

“Er,” the bishop falters and searches the chamber.

“Where is the writ?” The king hisses, “do you not have a scribe?”

“Here, your highness, here,” Dustan waves to a squire waiting near the outer doors. “It only requires ink and seal, after the vows of course.”

The king exhales hotly and faces the bishop again, signaling with a curt flick of his fingertips. You only then notice Merinda across from you, she must’ve followed the noble daughter in. She exchanges a glance with you, she is not more amused than King Geralt.

“Ahem,” the bishop adjusts his tall cap, “let us begin. We commune here today to--” The king waves his hand dismissively and the cleric flinches. “Hm, uh, sir, your highness, my lord, King Geralt, of Rivia and the Hinterlands, and the Summer countries,” he stutters as his eyes droop, “do you swear, by the sacred rites and the laws of the realm, to take this woman in blessed matrimony? To attend to your duties as husband and keeper, until death?”

The ceremony is as brusque as anything the king does. He does not have time or patience for the pageantry or prolonged talking. His shoulders rise with his breath and he heaves out, “I make this vow.”

“And, Lady Jazlene, daughter of Debray, do you swear, by the sacred rites and the laws of the realm, to take this man in blessed matrimony? To attend to your duties as wife and servant, until death?”

Jazlene sniffles and makes a show of blotting her face with her sleeve. Her mother blubbers from the side and Lord Dustan hushes her. Their threatrics are almost humourous amid the solemn air. King Geralt rumbles and stares over the bishop’s head.

“I... I make... I make this vow,” Jazlene bawls and pulls out a handkerchief from her bosom. She covers her nose and wipes away her tears. “I shall love the king and serve him better than any w-w-wife.”

The bishop hesitates as he looks between the bride and groom. He nods and beckons forth Lord Dustan, “so we will seal this marriage in ink and wax. Sign your names and let the royal stamp be applied to set in bond your fates until the black night sees you to rest.”

Dustan comes forward with the parchment and signals to another unseen figure. A servant brings forth a quill and well as the contract is laid out on the table near the wall. The king approaches as Jazlene weeps at his side, trailing after him as she trembles. The king signs first, with a slash of the quill, then Jazlene barely keeps hold of the pen as she loops her name across the rough surface.

She drops the feather and fans herself. She looks around, preening, and grabs onto the king’s arm, “so we are married.”

He doesn’t react. He turns without acknowledgement as she stays latched on, pulled forth by his easy strength. His gaze touches yours as you watch the strange and strained scene. This is unlike any wedding you’ve ever seen, though you haven’t seen a noble one in all your life. Only the whispered vows of servants behind the stables or in the meadows. Those ones that are only written in spirit.

His eyes quickly flit away and he sets his sight on the doorway beside you. He walks forward with his bride dragging on his arm. His mail jostles loudly with his steps as his soles scuff.

“Let the marriage be consummated,” he mutters without look back, “you will be ready to travel at dawn.”

“Your highness?” Dustan stumbles forward, “dawn?”

“Husband, am I to come with you?” Jazlene murmurs.

“A kingdom must be rebuilt,” King Geralt states without inflection. “I will not rule over a resentful people, I will show them I fought for them, not against them. And you will follow through on your vows to me or find I am not so weak as that fool, King Waleran.”

⚔️

You help Merinda with Lady Jazlene’s travel chest. You pack away as much as you can; shifts, nightclothes, gowns, stockings, all that you think she would like to take with her. The sudden departure allows you little time for ponderance, you only do as you must. As ever. So is life.

“She will hate it in the Hinterlands,” Merinda scoffs, “when I served for the earl, there was a man from the Winter Isles. He was missing fingers from the cold. He told me how they turned black and fell off.”

“Then she will need to find some mitts,” you shrug as you roll up a cloak. Much of the lady’s clothes are not suited to a colder climate. She has no furs; they are not needed in the Summer lands. Midsummer through to High Summer offer little more than a cooling rain between mild to sweltering highs.

“Perhaps she should bundle up against her husband too,” Merinda snickers, “he is icy as the tundras he hails from.”

“He is a king, he has much to worry for,” you sniff.

“Mm, I suppose, though he hardly ever looks concerned for anything. Speaks even less,” she muses, “I suppose Lady Jazlene will speak plenty for both of them.”

“Queen Jazlene,” you correct her bleakly.

“Oh, he should worry for that,” the other maid chuckles again. “Though I suppose now she will have all the gowns she likes.”

“Perhaps,” you allow.

“Let us prosper here without her demands. Where it is warm and sunny,” Merinda sighs.

“It will be rather quieter,” you agree.

You carry on until the chest is near overflowing. You sit on the lid as Merinda buckles the straps. You will need some male servants to come carry it to the stables. That should wait until morning. Lady Rezlyn bid you wait in her daughter’s chamber should she emerge from the king’s.

You pack a smaller chest for her jewels and her cosmetics, and a few books she’s worn down with her fingertips, and her sewing hoops and needles. Oft, she only holds onto those possessions as she gossips with her mother. You suppose that will be difficult. When the duchess and her husband return home and their daughter must face her obligation without ally.

There are servants like Merinda who might covet gems and pretty things, but you’ve never much envied the noble type. They have overly much responsibility. You only need swab a floor or lace a dress. Life could not be simpler.

“Hm,” she hums and gives a cluck of her tongue.

You wind up a length of ribbon and put it in the chest. You feel Merinda watching you. You look up and arch your brows. “What?”

She smiles, “you remind me of him.”

“Who?”

“The king,” she tinkles with laughter, “you are both so... quiet. You never say more than you need to. I can appreciate that given who we serve but you are a hard nut.”

“I don’t have much to say, suppose,” you reply. “Don’t know very much of the king, either.”

She’s quiet as you carry on. You assume some things will need to be sent after the lady; the queen. It will be a long journey and not one which you think would entail many banquets. It’s a scary unknown ahead of Lady Jazlene, though it is overdue.

When the smaller chest is full, you and Merinda lift it onto the larger. It is late and the night hue surrounds you as only a single flame is lit. You yawn intermittently but neither of you dare lay down to sleep. You wouldn’t want to be accused of idleness.

You sit on the window bench and watch the moon as Merinda paces through shadows. You rest your chin in your hand but only for a moment as suddenly the hinges groan and cut through the din. You stand as Merinda faces the door sharply.

Lady Jazlene drifts in. The ribbons in her hair are loose and her dress is still laced tight, though her skirts are rumbled and wrinkled. She leaves the door ajar behind her as she ambles stiffly towards the bed. She turns to fall onto the bench at the foot of the four-post frame.

She doesn’t speak as she stares ahead. Merinda shuts the door as you inch towards the noble woman. She offers no reaction as you hover near her. She presses her hands above her knees and shudders out a breath.

“My lady,” Merinda speaks first, glancing at you cautiously, “your highness, would you... would you like a bath?”

Jazlene doesn’t answer. Her head moves subtly back and forth then dips again. She balls fabric in her fists.

“I did what mother said,” she croaks, “and... I was... I was aroused. I was ready...” she murmurs.

You and Merinda stand in silence. You’ve never heard the noble daughter speak so smally. She lifts her head.

“I did it. I did my duty,” she declares, “but he...” she rises and you back away as she sweeps around the bed, a hitch in her step. She goes to the mirror and leans in, touching her cheeks, turning her head this way and that, “I’m beautiful, aren’t I? Mother says, father says... but the king... the king...”

She blows out her breath and is silent. She spins and clutches her bodice. She looks down at herself.

“He didn’t even let me take this off,” she babbles, “then he just... sent me away.” She puts her hand to her chest, “a bath? Did you say a bath?” She looks at Merinda, “yes, I must wash. Wash it all away.” She clears her throat and drops her hand, rolling her shoulders, “tomorrow we must leave--” her voice catches, “I must go to my new home with my...” she puts her back to you and sits on the cushioned seat before the vanity, “...husband.”

You nod to Merinda and cross the room to meet her at the door. You share a look, one which doesn’t need conversation. Even though she’s laid with a man, your fellow maid looks distressed. You go out into the hall, pulling shut the door gently in the nocturnal dim.

“Do you think he was cruel?” Merinda asks.

“It isn’t our concern, is it? It is a wife’s duty...” you whisper, uncertain.

“It was her first,” Merinda remarks, “perhaps she was unready.”

“We shouldn’t speak of it,” you gird.

“You needn’t be so chaste,” she reproaches, “if I didn’t know her wrath, I might even feel sorry for the lady.”

“Mer,” you warn again, “let us get some water for the bath.”

Merinda chuffs, “you are so... boring.”

You walk away from her, ignoring her chiding. You don’t care if she thinks you dull. It isn’t your place to judge the marital matters of the lady and her husband. It is even dangerous to gossip over royal business. You will not chance it.

She follows. You descend and go to boil a pot in the kitchen. Merinda lights several candles as you go to work. You carry the large vessel between you. Several trips up and down to fill the large tub. Merinda undresses Jazlene as you go to return the pot.

You place it near the fire stove as the embers burn low and orange. You stand in front of it, the cindery scent tinging your nostrils. You should go back but unease lingers in your gut. The way Jazlene just stared, how hollow she sounded, you’ve never seen her like that.

The candles behind you flicker and you turn to the swirling shadows. There’s a figure just inside the doorway, almost ghostly, much too towering to be the cook. You gulp and fold your hands against your stomach.

“Hello?” You utter to what must be a wraith.

There is no answer, the silhouette merely moves towards you. You steel yourself, a scream caught in your throat. The tint of the fire stove reflects off golden irises and the king’s figure comes clearer in the night. You suck in air and steady your feet.

“Your highness,” you gasp.

“Ale,” he sneers.

“Yes, your highness, I will fetch--”

“To my chambers,” he demands, looming over you.

“Yes, your highness, ale, at once,” you go to spin and he grabs onto your arm, drawing you back. He grips tightly, squeezing as he pulls you into the haze of warmth radiating from him. Or perhaps that is the oven.

He holds you, puffing out breaths as he glares down at you. You’re trapped in his simmering sights. You look up at him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. He lets out a low snarl and slowly releases you.

“I hate these summer lands,” he grumbles as you stagger back.

You still and stare as he backs away. He turns on his heel and stalks towards the door, leaving you in frightful curiosity. You open and close your fingers, your forearm tingling from his firm grasp. You rub it through your sleeve as you spin towards the cellar. You will be certain to grab a full cask for the king’s thirst.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #the witcher #series #winter's king #au #medieval au

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 15 hours

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Hear It In The Silence

Elks Chapter 6

Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Chapter Summary: The changing of the season brings a realization of the feelings you hold for Joel. Chapter Warnings: Smut, fluff, feelings, p in v sex, apocalypse birth control (pulling out). Words: 3,900 Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Series Summary: Life in Jackson is quite comfortable and simple for you. You love teaching your students and running your library, you love the comforts of living here, perfectly complacent with the company of your two cats, guitar, tattered CD book, and a few friends. You like comfortable and simple, though the feelings you feel whenever you see Joel Miller are quite the opposite. Once you meet him, it seems like he needs you in his life as much as you need him. A/N: I listened to "You Are In Love" by Taylor Swift and "Myths" by Beach House on repeat for this chapter. I love writing this happy story for Joel, I hope you like it too.

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Masterlist Playlist

***

“State Of Grace” by Taylor Swift.

Summer is always the busiest time in Jackson, the sun stays up higher making everybody work longer hours. You help out in the gardens after school until the sun dips below the mountains. Joel isn’t home much, patrollers take advantage of the increased daylight staying away for longer stretches of time. You and him try to spend as much time together as you can between your busy schedules and Ellie.

You sit together at community movie nights, his arm slung behind your chair, slowly running his fingers up and down your shoulder.

He sleeps over on the Fridays he’s not on patrol and walks you to your library, always grabbing the box of books you have.

He has Ellie help him fix up your fence and builds you a new feeder holder for your cats, even though they make him sneeze and sniffle, always caring for the things in your life.

He kisses you goodnight on your doorstep when he walks you home, the kiss usually turning heavy, both of you not caring who walks by as Joel backs you up against your door.

You stay over the nights before he leaves, always roused in the morning with a long, deep kiss before he picks up his boots and heads downstairs.

He finds small trinkets and art supplies for you, never coming home empty handed, always breathing you in deeply when you hug him hello.

Everyone knows about the two of you now, Tommy’s big mouth announcing how his big brother has been made a “big ol’ softy” thanks to you when he had one too many at the Bison. It’s a small town, news spreads quick.

Your lives become easily intertwined in the two months you’ve gotten to know him, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You leave CD’s at his place, he leaves an extra pair of boots at yours.

The quiet, bookish artist teacher and the big bad, brooding flannel clad stranger fall for each other like it’s straight out of a film you’d wear out watching in your VCR.

——

It’s late Saturday afternoon, it’s been a long day at the library, made even longer by the fact that today is the day Joel returns from his six nights away on patrol. You move quickly down the busy main street, nodding and saying hello to friends. Never stopping to chat, your destination is to Joel’s house. Your only thought is how much you hope he’s back already. Your heart tries to help you name this feeling.

Quick strides up his familiar walkway, two steps to his door, you now know exactly how to turn the door knob so it doesn’t stick. The house smells like him… a little like sawdust, a little like leather, a little like coffee, now your favorite scent. The comfortability of his home helps you to name it.

“Joel? I’m heeeere,” you shout down his hallway slacking your backpack down your shoulders and laying it near his door. He told you just last week he was going to hang a hook for it since you’re here all the time. Taking the effort to care for your possessions because they’re yours. His thoughtfulness helps you to name it.

There’s no answer, but there is a small jar of flowers on his coffee table. Oranges, purples and pink hued petals packed together haphazardly, all picked out specifically because he knows they’re your favorite colors. You bring the flowers up to your nose and inhale their smell. The sweet floral scent mixed with Joel’s house helps you to name it.

You smile as you imagine his large fingers holding such delicate blooms. His hand grabbing a jar out of the cupboard. His palms pressing dry against his plaid kitchen towel after filling the jar with water from the tap. His face as he takes a step back and intensely judges his arrangement for you. His back aching right in the spot that always ails him as he gently bends down to place the jar of flowers at the corner of his coffee table knowing it’ll be one of the first things you notice when you walk through his door. For someone who has lived and lost a thousand lives, for someone who should be forever cold and closed off to the world, romance is never lost on Joel. You can name the feeling. You’re in lo—

A loud clash comes from the back of the house interrupting your thoughts. You place the flowers back down on the table and race to his kitchen. A movement outside of the window catches your eyes… there he is. Working outside, taking advantage of the beautiful summer weather, never able to rest during the daytime. He just got home from patrol and yet he’s still working. Your heart begins to race as you watch him throw logs of wood into a dilapidated wheelbarrow. You want to run to him, but you know you need to take advantage of being able to watch him work so close and anonymously. His face focused on the task at hand, eyes staring straight forward, brow furrowed in concentration, mouth slightly open and frowning causing his mustache to turn downward. He’s sweaty, you can tell by how golden and dewey his skin is in the sunlight, strong arms glistening with sweat, the fabric of his gray shirt wet in the neck and chest straining with each lift and throw of a log, his unruly hair growing curlier the longer it gets laying a little flatter thanks to the moisture and heat his body is giving off. He pauses for a second, taking a glove off to wipe his brow, you can’t take it any longer. You practically sprint to his back door and throw it open, Joel’s head turning when he hears it creak. His smile, goodness, his smile, it’s so wide and so full of affection, his eyes disappearing behind crinkles on the side. He begins to walk towards you as you walk towards him, your footsteps getting quicker as the distance between you is closed. You’re finally swept up in his arms, head pushed against his chest tightly, inhaling the heady scent of him in after a contented sigh. His shirt is soaked with his sweat, making the scent of him even stronger.

“Hi sweetheart, missed you,” he smiles against your hair.

“Hi, welcome back, missed you too, so much,” your happiness spilling out of your mouth.

“Mm,” he moves a hand up to grab your chin and angle your face to look at him. “Five days is a long time.” Joel licks his lips as he stares down at yours.

He bends forward and kisses you, lips first softly pressing against yours. His hands moves to your face, one hand still clad in a glove, he’s too impatient to touch you to take the time to remove it. His thumbs press into your cheeks a little harder as he deepens the kiss, his tongue beginning to lick at yours. He pulls his lips away before the kiss becomes too indecent for his backyard. His forehead still rests against yours. “So happy to be home,” he whispers.

“Thank you for my flowers, I love them,” you grin.

“Yeah?” Joel joyfully respires against you.

“Mmhmm, they’re so beautiful, I’ve never gotten flowers before.”

Joel pulls his head away so he can look you in your eyes. “M’glad you like them,” his hands still on your face his thumbs swiping back and forth against your cheeks. You’ve doubted his feelings for you, finding it easier to believe you’re living in a daydream where the man you had a crush on is the man who you get to spend all of your extra time with. But this? The way he’s cradling your head in his hands, the way he’s smiling at you, the way his eyes are angled down to look into your eyes, the look on his face when he saw you in the doorway, the way his lips hesitated to pull away wanting to kiss you longer… it’s the same for him as it is for you.

“Let’s get inside,” Joel pulls you out of your thoughts, “s’been a long day for me, just started doing this to make the time go faster until you got here.”

———

“You ever been in the ocean?”

The sun has long gone down, Saturday night is always your favorite night. Joel sits next to you on his couch, hair still damp from his shower with an after dinner cup of coffee that the two of you split, he’s always mindful not to instantly gulp all of it down.

It’s become a shared routine for the two of you, low music coming from the stereo usually a new band that you introduce to him, maybe you’ll read the book you’re currently reading aloud, maybe he’ll fall asleep mouth agape emitting little snores as you quietly sketch, most of the time your night ends watching one of the few movies you share between your two households you falling asleep with your head in his lap. Typically it starts like this, discussions about life before, you always eager to remember, Joel always closing up perfectly happy to let you do all of the reminiscing for the two of you.

“Yeah, couple of times, used to go to a beach town in Texas. You?”

Joel’s answers, always straight and to the point.

“Once. Went on a vacation to California when I was a kid. I don’t remember much about it, but I remember how I couldn’t believe how big the ocean was. I know I was really afraid of swimming too far away from my dad, but wanting to just be taken away by the freedom of the waves. I miss swimming, used to swim for my high school, I don’t even know if I’m any good at all now after all of these years…”

Joel eyes you as you muse through your memories, always ever present right with you whenever you get lost in your thoughts. Your words always making up for his lack. His attentive silence urges your memories on.

“I used to stay in the water for so long, I miss the feeling of my body moving against it and feeling so weightless. We had one of those above ground pools for a few summers when I was younger, I’d put the radio on and just float for literally hours. My mom would have to buy me oil treatments for my hair because it’d get so dry from the chlorine.” You smile at the memory, “I hated the smell of it on my hair, smelled like old lady perfume."

Joel chuckles, leaning in and kissing the top of your head inhaling deeply. “Always love how your hair smells now.”

“Rosemary and yarrow, my own mixture.”

“Love it, you always smell so good and sweet.”

You smile and look up at him. “You always smell like such a man.”

“A man, huh?” He smirks, the lines around his eyes crinkling the exact way you love. You can always tells just how amused he is by how much his eyes disappear. You love that about him.

“Yeah, you just smell capable, always faintly like wood and leather. I love it.”

You love a lot of things about him. In fact everything that you know about him, you love. You love how gruff he can get when he doesn’t get his way, whether you beat him at a card game he brags about his prowess in or if he burnt the toast. You love how his first stop after learning of his patrol assignments is your house, ready to spend whatever remaining time before leaving he has with you. You love how he teases you, always in the sweetest way possible, never any sign of cruelty, never knowing just how funny he is. You love how he’ll adjust the chain of your daisy pendant, gently moving the clasp to the back of your neck, his hand lingering against your skin. You love the communal silence between the two of you as much as you love the small talk the two of you share. You love how your shoulders will brush while you walk together. You love how he always puts the pictures you draw for him around his home turning it into a gallery of your work. You love how he’s become your closest friend, sharing lighthearted inside jokes over meals. You love how he doesn’t even blink twice when he sees you open your door in his shirt, knowing you love how soft and worn it is. You love him, ground shaking, rip roaring love. It feels kind of like being carried away by the ocean.

You never thought you’d be able to feel this way about someone. Joel Miller, the man from Texas, so beautiful, so handsome, so soft, so capable. You know he’s lived a longer life than most even in the reality you and the world share now. You know just what he’s lost and what he’s sacrificed. He’s so complicated and yet you can tell exactly what he always needs.

“You look a little lost there sweetheart, you alright?” Joel pushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m okay,” you turn towards him, sitting on your knees. “Joel, I love you,” you breathe out in one, long nervous breath. “I– I think I am in love with you.”

Your anxiety beginning to peak at your admission.

Your heart beginning to race.

Your nerves begin to twist inside of you, your doubts begin to make themselves known… until the sight before you quiets all of them.

Joel blinks with the realization realization of your words as his eyes slowly look into yours, he gives you a crooked grin, his dimple deepening as his lips turn upright, a low exhale departs his lips.

“I love you too sweetheart, so much. Been feeling this way for quite awhile, just didn’t want to spook you. In fact, damn near kept me up the first night I realized it. Pretty sure I’ve loved you since the first day you showed up on my doorstep in those overalls with your box full of pretty colors wanting to make me something.”

It’s been named. It’s as golden as Joel’s skin, more tanned and golden from the longer summer days. It’s as warm as the cup of coffee Joel pours out into the chipped owl mug. It’s as sweet as the scent of the flowers he picked for you. It’s as safe as the feeling of being pressed up against his body in an embrace. It’s love.

“I love you.”

“Say it again sweetheart,” Joel pulls you into his chest, your body falling into his. “I love you.”

“Sounds perfect coming out of your mouth,” his hand coming up to lift your chin up towards his face. “I love you too darlin’, let’s go to bed.”

——

You used to call your home your sanctuary, but you’ve found a new oasis at Joel’s house in the second room down the hall upstairs, his bedroom. Light gray walls, a chair in the corner where he always lays his clothes out “just in case,” crates of records and a dilapidated record player that hisses loudly, a bedside table, a drawer of it now filled with your things, a large bed covered in a dark gray thin quilt he uses in the warm months that smells of him.

That same soft quilt you now lay under, your body clad only in his shirt. The way Joel watches you as he removes his jeans and shirt, the way he gently lifts the covers to join you in bed, the way he exhales against your forehead as he kisses it, this time it feels different. This time he pulls you closer, clutching his hands against your back tighter. You rub your bare legs against his, your hands rest against his chest as he leans in for a kiss. Soft lips meet yours, it’s the first time you’ve kissed him in his room since the two of you admitted your love.

It all started with a glance months ago, a nervous meeting in his living room, an accident leaving you splayed out on the road in front of his home, an early morning walk to your library, and a mural for him to remember his past. Now, Joel Miller is kissing you in his bed, surrounded by all of his things, inside his home.

You lean back from the kiss, the soft light of the lamp he’s left on bathing the room in aureate tones. “I love you,” you whisper, the hazel in his eyes shimmer as he gives you the same crooked smile he blessed you with earlier.

“I love you, so much sweetheart,” he returns against your lips, kissing you. The deep timbre of his words radiate through your body, spreading warmth through your limbs as you open your mouth and his tongue licks against yours.

Your hands grab his hair, fingers wrapping around his curly tendrils, breath hitching as he kisses down your neck, goosebumps covering your skin when his tongue dips out to lick the sensitive spot between your neck and collarbone. His hand snakes down to the hem of your shirt to lift up and remove it, taking the opportunity to roll you on your back, planting himself above you. His tongue roams down your body to lick and lave all over your now bare chest, dragging it back up to your mouth leaving a chaste kiss on your lips before moving back down to take a nipple in his mouth.

You squirm underneath him feeling the weight of his cock resting against your thigh, you want him so bad. His hand grabs your ass as you bring your leg up to give him more access to your now aching cunt.

The two of you have fooled around in his bed, you’ve explored each other’s bodies, you’ve had him in your mouth, he’s had you in his, but there’s been a silent agreement between the two of you to not take it a step further. Tonight? Tonight that’s going to change.

You reach a hand down to palm him through his briefs, he smiles against your chest as you moan at how hard he is.

Another moan strangles out of your mouth as his hand moves from your ass to your cunt, running a line from your entrance to your clit and back down.

“So wet f’me, I love how wet you always are f’me. Fuck, I love you baby,” he dips a thick finger into you, his thumb rubs against your clit, “love this pussy.”

“Joel,” you whimper when he adds another finger, “make love to me.”

“I will baby, it’s all I’ve wanted to do, just need to get you ready f’me.”

He buries his fingers deeper, curling them up and hitting the sensitive spot inside of you. Your legs begin to quake as his two thick fingers fuck you through an orgasm, slick spilling out onto his fingers. Your hands clutch the sheets as you stare wide eyed at his handsome face.

“S’beautiful. My beautiful girl, love how you cum for me.”

“Please,” you beg. “Please let me feel you inside me.”

The way his hand pets your knee reminds you of the way he softly touched you the day you fell. A tumble from a rock setting in motion your love story. You’re naked on Joel Miller’s bed begging him to make love to you because of that one little rock. You wish you could put it on display in your home.

He groans as he leans back on his haunches and pulls his briefs down, his cock springing free and already leaking. He’s so hard and so ready. He’s all yours and he loves you.

His large body climbs over you, entrapping you underneath him, the only place you’ve ever wanted to be since that first day you saw him. Your hips rise to try to get his cock closer to you, legs spreading open to offer him your pussy.

He leans down and kisses your neck, licking his way up to your mouth as you grab his cock and begin to pump him bringing it closer to your dripping entrance.

You guide it in, he’s so big it stings. You have to remind yourself to breathe as he slowly begins to move in and out of you. A slight grin on Joel’s face breaks out as he feels your pussy grip him.

“I love you,” tears prick at the edges of your eyes, you’ve never felt so secure, so warm, so full as Joel moves inside of you, his broad body looming over yours. Your legs wrap around his waist as your hands run up and down his broad chest and stomach, feeling his muscles pulse as he moves inside of you.

“Love you too baby, so much,” he groans as your cunt flutters around him. He takes his time, languidly entering and exiting.

He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, a protector, a listener, a lover, his cock stretches your pussy as you think about how much you love him. How lucky you are to have him.

“You feel so good in me, you fill me so well,” you praise. Joel’s eyes burning into yours as you moan your words out with each push of his hips against you.

His grunts mix with your moans as he kisses you, your whole body begins to shake. His nose bumps against yours as he thrusts harder.

You’re so overwhelmed by his body, by his cock, by his love. You grab his biceps as your orgasm begins to peak, your pussy tightening around his cock. You’ve never had him this way, and you fear you’ll never get enough of it.

“Yes baby,” he grunts, his pace becoming relentless, the sound of his body against yours echoing in his room. “Cum f’me, cum f’me. I love you.”

You gasp “I love you” as your orgasm crescendos, nails digging into his arms, heart beating rapidly against your chest, body quivering underneath Joel as he fucks into your soaked cunt.

“Love you baby," he growls as he pulls out and shoots his cum across your stomach.

You stare up at the sight, his face blissed out after cumming all over you, his mouth slightly agape panting for air, the one curl of his hair you love that always rests against his forehead hanging forward as his big brown eyes stare into yours.

"I love you darling," he smiles dipping his head down to kiss you.

"Love you," you say against his lips.

Whatever you did to deserve Joel Miller’s love, whatever brought him to you, whether it’s a rock or fate in the apocalypse, whatever caused this love between the two of you, it’s like a myth.

Later that night, you fall asleep next to Joel in his bed, the last words you hear as you drift off to sleep is “I love you” whispered against your neck.

A/N: See you next Monday!

Tag list: @orcasoul, @dvmbazzsworld, @glitterymanboy

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #elks #joel miller smut #joel miller ff #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #the last of us fic #joel tlou #tlou joel

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kalpasio · 1 year

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hii

I asked me when you can upload a Kalpas fluff fanfic 😭😭 my heart misses him so much and i need content from him

hiiii!!!! I'm so sorry I haven't posted anything in so long, school has been kicking my ass lol

next week I have finals so I don't think I'll get any writing done this week, BUT

I'm like half way to 2/3 of the way through the mafia au fic (depending on how crazy I get) and I fully plan on either finishing that or writing one of the one shot requests I have not this weekend but the next. so assuming I dont just keel over, I'll try to have Kalpas fluff up soon!!!

#I really am sorry!!!#i am not as good at school as i would like to imagine lol #you dont need to know this but i have 2 finals on the first day (Wednesday)#and then ONE on the last day (Wednesday of the next fucking week)#so im cramming for those first two exams this week #and then after that ill have time #so rn the plan is: panic this week #take exam Wednesday #work on the mafia story Thursday and if i finish it ill type and edit it on Friday and post by Sat #if not then ill write up the one shot Saturday and post it sunday?#then whichever isnt finished ill do after my final on the 10th and ill be done with classes after that #so im REALLY HOPING i can go back to posting every week during the summer

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missnxthingg · 2 months

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I CAN'T LIE TO YOU ✮ LN4

pairing: Lando Norris x bestie!Reader (childhood best friends to lovers) summary: Lando Norris decides to surprise his best friend after being a long time away from home. What she didn't expect was that he had a big secret that he couldn't share with her words: 4.5K - warnings: swearing, suggestive content & not proof read author's notes: I'm back once again! Now you just know I'm a sucker for childhood besties to lovers. Also, I may have already started writing a part two for this one... let me know if you want it!

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The days in England have become more boring with time. Y/N was losing her mind over the repetitive routine that follows the life of a college student. Work, study, beer with close friends and bed. So when her mother invited her for a family dinner, she worried about how excited she got with the event. It wasn’t supposed to be anything special, just her parents and a few of their close friends gathered to catch up over nice food.

Coming home felt way too good. It’s a feeling most college students get when they go back to their hometown, leaving their crappy flat in university to be served with their parents pampering during their quick visit. Y/N was supposed to be back to her place in just a couple of days, but she felt satisfied to be in a different place than the four walls of her house. Not to mention that she was having a good laugh with everyone at the table.

Her mother always takes dinner parties to another level, serving the best food in her special crockery, saved for moments like this. So Y/N packed a nice new outfit; a cute long-sleeved dress that looked perfect with tights and heels. Not that the guests cared about how she was dressed, but it felt nice to look beautiful and all put together for once after months of hoodies and leggings.

As usual, her parents invited the Norris family, as they’ve been the best of friends for the longest time. Not only they lived next to each other for years back when she was younger, all of their kids were really close friends with Y/N. But the spotlight always goes to Lando, who is the same age as her, making them grow up attached to the hip.

They all grew up going to the same school, not to mention that she would always tag along in Lando and his brother’s karting sessions, having the best time watching them drive flawlessly on tracks. He always enjoyed the times when she’d steal her parents cameras so they could make some homemade videos of their time together. Or when they would sit back, watch their dads play golf every Saturday and share candies in the cart.

Y/N and Lando have been inseparable since the age of four, growing up side by side, going through everything together. She was so important to him that, when he joined Formula 1 and had to choose a number to race, he chose the age the two of them had become friends.

“The number four is for my best friend, Y/N. She was the one to suggest it, and the meaning behind it is very cute. Actually, I don’t want to tell you to not spoil anything, but I can only say that it’s very dear to my heart”, Lando said once in an interview during his second season in F1, making every single one of his fans curious about the meaning.

But it’s been a while since the infamous duo had been together. They supported each other from afar; Y/N sometimes joining him for race weekends and Lando coming back to see her on birthdays and weekends in London, while he visited the McLaren factory. But the last time they had been together was four months ago, during summer break, when he dragged her to join him for his crazy trips around the world. When racing and university was back on, they lost a little bit of touch; almost no calls and only a few texting breaks so they wouldn’t fall apart.

A lot happened in those four months. Lando had a new gorgeous girlfriend; a model who everyone had become obsessed with her TikTok videos for beauty tips. They had been seen together a few times around the world, her joining him for the races and a lot of make-outs behind DJ booths at parties. Y/N, on the other hand, was lacking in the dating department. But the friends she made over the past year made everything worthy. After years of pretty much having Lando as her only very close friend, she finally found new people to go out and have fun as a normal 20-year-old.

With that, Y/N and Lando’s friendship got weird. He had been avoiding her for a while, with the excuse of being too busy with racing, but actually not wanting to talk about his personal life with someone who knew him like the palm of her hand. Meanwhile, she was having a good time with her friends to be bothered by anything. But lately, life had become more boring and Y/N felt like having Lando back would bring some more fun into her life again, with all the epic parties and the good times they always managed to happen.

“Only one month left”, she thought, as winter break was approaching, meaning that Lando would finally be free to come home for the holidays.

She was pushed out of her thoughts by Adam Norris, who now seemed interest in Y/N’s life after a long catching up with her dad. “Tell us more about college! Are you having fun? Learning anything special?”, he asked with a kind smile.

“Oh, I’m graduating this spring, so it’s been… rough”, she chuckled. “But everything has been amazing, you know? The internship is so cool and the people are nice as well”.

“I just can’t believe it will all be over soon”, his wife, Cisca, responded. “It feels like it was just yesterday when you joined uni and Lando started his first season in F1. Time really flies, uhm?”

Every mention of his name made Y/N smile like a fool. But lately, it has been accompanied by a ting of pain on her chest. God, she missed him so much.

“What is it that you miss?”, Cisca asked, pulling Y/N out of her thoughts. Shit, did she say that out loud?

“I said I missed your pie so much, Cis. You know I have always loved it growing up”, Y/N tried to cover it up by stuffing her mouth with the cheesy pie, trying to keep her thoughts of being spoken out loud. But something caught her by surprise.

“Yeah, mum’s pie is the best in the world, isn’t it?”, a male voice said from behind her, one that she hadn’t heard in person for a while. Her eyes widened when she realized who it was, only to turn around and see Lando standing right behind her tugged into his signature comfortable hoodie, with a giant smile plastered on his face, and a bouquet in his hands. “Surprise!”

Y/N brought her hands up to her mouth, trying not to cry at the sight. She couldn’t believe what was standing in front of her. So she jumped out of her seat and jumped into his arms, not caring about anyone else in the room or the flowers being crumpled up in his hands. Lando buried his nose in her hair, taking in her scent, making him feel at ease for once

“What are you doing here?”, she leaned back, holding his face between her hands. His soft eyes looked down at her, his smile never faltering.

“I thought I could surprise my best girl”, he admitted, digging one of his hands into her hips, making her securely close to him. “I had a break before the end of the season, and it had been so long…”

“Shut up, you idiot. I just want to hug you”, she cut him mid-sentence, burying her face in his neck, making his smile even wider, if that was possible. Everyone on the table laughed at her reaction, but let them have their moment after months without seeing each other. It felt too good to be true.

“I missed you so much”, he whispered in her ear, pressing a small kiss to the top of her head.

“I missed you too. Welcome home, Lan”, she leaned back and kissed his cheek, making it tinted red. Lando was so cute when he blushed. “You brought me flowers! How cute is this?”

She took the giant bouquet filled with red and pink roses out of his hands, bringing it close to her body. “It’s an apology for not being here as much as I should”, he said, making her heart so warm with the thoughtful gift.

“You being here is enough”, she pressed another kiss to his cheek and quickly pulled him for another hug. They just couldn’t get enough of each other.

“Alright, we all know you both really miss each other, but you can catch up after dinner. Food is getting cold and poor Lando must be starving”, her mother cut them off, making Y/N look back at the table, her face burning in embarrassment. He laughed at her behavior and pulled the chair next to her so they could sit together.

Through the whole dinner, Lando told all of his amazing stories traveling the world, leaving all the ‘best friends only’ parts for later, when he would be alone with Y/N. She felt so happy to finally have him by her side, making fun of her table manners, resting his hand on her knee and cracking any bad jokes just to see her roll her eyes. And even though he lived those many adventures, Lando knew life couldn’t get better than having his favourite person in the world back on his side.

“So, Lando, what finally brings you back home?”, Y/N’s father asked, making him shrug.

“You know, the championship could’ve been better and I feel really tired, you know?”, Lando searched for his best friend’s hand under the table, entwining their fingers once they met. Then he looked at her with an adoring smile on his face. “I just need some recharging. Thought I could use some home time before the last few races of the year”.

“You’re always welcomed to recharge in our house if you want to, Lando”, her mother said before the conversation was taken somewhere else once again.

While everyone else chatted, Y/N and Lando updated their phone gallery with new pictures of them. A lot of cute selfies and pictures of their homemade dinner which soon found their place on their Instagrams.

y/username

liked by landonorris and 3,419 others

y/username: always feels good to have my best friend back in the house

tagged: landonorris

landonorris Besties reunited LFG!

↪ y/username you’re such a bore

fanacc1 FINALLY SOME Y/N AND LANDO CONTENT

fanacc2 Wasn’t him dating a model?

↪fanacc3 He is, but Y/N is his childhood best friend

fanacc4 ugh, if i was his gf, i would be so jealous of them together

↪fanacc5 I bet his girlfriend actually hates them

fanacc6 Does this mean more Y/N around the paddock?

The dinner was coming to an end with the delicious sweet treats they prepared for dessert. At that point, Lando and Y/N were just existing at the conversation. He slipped an arm around her shoulder and she found a comfortable spot to lean into him and keep sipping on her wine while they shared a slice of cake. But even though they were quiet, they surely weren’t tired. So as the rest of the adults continued with their chat, they took their glasses of wine to the backyard, just so they could have some alone time.

Lando chuckled when he saw what was still standing strong in her backyard. “You still have our old treehouse?”, he asked and she nodded excitedly. “Wow, it looks so much nicer than before”.

“It’s because I renovated it, you fool. Haven’t I told you?”, she asked, but Lando shook his head. “Oh my… you have to see this! Now it’s a grown up treehouse! Take a look”.

Y/N dragged him to the small construction and made him climb all the way up to the house. It changed a lot with the renovations. Their wall doodles from when they were little kids were preserved by a varnish coat on the wood. She also substituted the old toys for books and her collection of vinyls, making the place look extra cozy. There was even a table for afternoon tea and card games, a TV and a huge futon, with lots of cushions, so they could just lie down and spend the rest of the day hidden from the world.

“What a glow up!”, he joked. “I loved it. This is amazing”, Lando took a place next to the window, where the moonlight invaded the room. Y/N sat next to him and almost immediately pulled out her camera just to capture the moment. And just like old times, they had fun doing a tiny photoshoot together, only to be cut off by his mom, calling them from the ground.

“Are you coming, Lando?”, Cisca asked, making him look over to Y/N, who replied for him.

“I’m not letting him go anywhere, Cisca”, she joked, throwing her arms around Lando, making his mother laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your son”.

“Have fun you two”, they waved at her and sighed after finally being left alone for a proper catching up between best friends. Lando had a satisfied smile on his face and he felt so calm at that moment. He threw both of his arms around his best friend and hugged her tightly.

“Home, at last”, his cheek was pressed on the side of her face, making her giggle with the contact. “I want to know everything going on with you. Just blurt it all out. I owe you this”.

“Oh, nothing great happened”, she shrugged. “Nothing that you didn’t know already. The internship is nice, but it’s coming to an end soon and I’m not sure they’ll keep me with them. And college is almost finished, so that’s kind of bittersweet”.

“I thought you were excited to have a degree”, he said, making her sigh. “Are you not happy about graduating?”

“Of course I am. You more than anyone knows how important this is to me”, she answered. “And I made so many good friends and I’ve been having the best time with them. I know graduating will make us grow apart”.

“Endings aren’t always nice, uhm? But you have to look at the bright side of things”, he started. “You’re finally achieving something great and you managed to have a really good time along the way. Made friends and worked really hard to become the best professional out there. I’m so proud of you!”

Lando has always been her biggest supporter on pursuing her academic path. He remembers all the talks they had about her wanting to master in communications. While he didn’t get to finish school to up his game in racing, he was there for every step his best friend took until enrolling in university. So when they talk about it, he always has that beautiful proud smile on his face, to which Y/N loved seeing.

“Thank you”, she smiled shyly. “And what about you, Mr Worldwide? You’ve been everywhere these past months. How was it?”

“Oh, always amazing”, he beamed. “I got to see so many amazing places around the world. You would’ve loved all the clubs I went to. The DJ booths are amazing. Oh, and the golf courts… breathtaking”.

“Yeah, I saw all the pictures”, Y/N arched her brows and rolled her eyes. “You didn’t even bother on calling, telling me about your adventures”.

“Sorry, I lacked in that department”, he apologized. “Even though everything has been amazing, I’m so tired of this year. I could’ve done better on the track and the last few races have been exhausting. I knew that I needed to recharge before the last two races, so I came back to you”.

“It’s always a pleasure to have you home”, she ran her hand through his curls and smiled. Lando always saw Y/N as his home. She always brings him that sense of familiarity, and her absence in his travels around the world were taking a toll on him.

Not to mention that hiding a big secret from his best friend also wasn’t doing him any good.

“But I’m not here to talk about me. I want to know everything about you”, he poked her side with his index finger and smirked. “Anyone special appeared in your life in the past few months?”

“Please”, she rolled her eyes. “The last time I had a proper hook up was during our summer trip to Bali with that guy on the club”.

“Come on, it can’t be that bad”, he giggled, but Y/N’s face was burning in embarrassment.

“I had a few dates in the past months, but fuck me, they were annoying”, Lando laughed at her statement. “One of them found out you’re my best friend and spent the entire time asking questions about you. And the only guy who was actually decent came in his pants when we were making out in his car. Didn’t even get to touch me”.

“Oh, poor you”, he giggled. “So no boy to be my new best friend? I mean, come on, we need more male energy in this friendship”.

“Sorry, Lan. No boyfriend this time”, she said. “You, on the other hand, started dating this gorgeous model and forgot to tell me about everything.”

And there she said it: the topic Lando had been avoiding the most throughout the whole night. He really didn’t want to talk about it with Y/N, because his big secret had been hiding right there. He knew he couldn’t, and didn’t want to, lie about anything to her. And he also knew that he really needed to vent about this secret with her as well.

Lando turned really quiet, and looked away, avoiding her eyes. “Don’t start now, Y/N. I mean, there’s not much to say, to be fair”, he mumbled.

“Come on, I want to know everything about the woman who stole my bestie’s heart”, she poked him, but Lando didn’t dare to look Y/N in the eyes. “I mean, everybody loves her and she seems sweet. Why don’t you want to tell me about her?”

“Because we’re not together”.

“What do you mean? I’ve seen the Instagram pictures and the gossip pages posting videos of you two kissing in the club. I thought you were becoming a thing”.

“Y/N, don’t push it”, he asked, his voice bargaining on his throat.

“Why don’t you want to tell me about her?”

“Because we’re not together, I told you”, he sighed. “She’s a PR stunt. She’s not my girlfriend, and it’s been consuming me from the inside ever since we started this little thing”.

Lando finally looked her in the eyes and Y/N saw them brimming with tears. As an immediate response, she rested a hand on his arm and waited until he was ready to talk more. He leaned into her touch and the tears started to stream down his face. He’s never one to cry for anything, so the tears meant that it was so much more than he was letting show. Her heart broke at the sight of her best friend.

“Is this why you look more tired than usual?”, Y/N asked and he nodded, making the tears fall harder. “Oh, Lan… Come here”.

She pulled his head to rest on her chest and Lando wrapped his arms around her, needing some sort of comfort. He didn’t say much for a couple of minutes after, feeling his heart aching on his chest. He wanted to talk about everything with Y/N, because he knew she would understand him. He always feels vulnerable and safe enough to talk about anything with his best friend.

“Everything is so fucked up, Y/N”, Lando cried out. “God, I can’t take this fake relationship anymore. Do you know how disgusting it feels to pretend to be in love with someone you’re not? And to lie to everyone, hiding it from my parents. From you. I can’t stand it”

“I’m sure you have a good reason to be doing so”, she said, fingers running through his curls and making him sure that she was right there with him. Y/N felt his fingers clinging tighter onto her. “You’re just doing your job and that’s okay. This won’t last forever”.

“I feel so lonely, you know? I was doing so bad on the last few races and I missed home so much. I missed talking to my dad and hugging my mom. I missed making fun of my sisters and going for a drive with my brother. And I missed you so much. I wish I could just stay here for a long while”.

“Soon you’ll get to be here for as long as you want, baby”, Y/N pressed a kiss on top of his head and Lando sighed in comfort. It ached a little less with her there. “And we’ll get to spend so much time together. You can come over and we’ll have sleepovers. We can take the car, drive around and go clubbing until sunrise. Whatever you want”.

“God, it would be so easy if it was you”, he whispered, still holding onto her as if his life depended on it. What did he mean with that? Just those single words made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. Truth is, while her heart ached for her best friend, she was relieved he’s not in love with someone else. Did he have feelings for her?

“You know, I looked over my so-called girlfriend one night while we were hanging out at the club and I wanted to shout to everyone that it was all an act. She’s like a solid reminder of how lonely I am all the damn time. It’s ridiculous”, he grunted.

“Come on, look at me”, Y/N pulled his face to look up and held his head between her hands. “Lan, you are never alone, okay? Even if you feel like you are, and even if I’m not there physically, you know that I’m always with you. I’m right here”, she rested a hand over his heart, making him smile through his tears. “I've been in your heart since the moment we met”.

“I…”, he started, but couldn’t get to say the rest. After all this time, Lando was afraid that the next move would ruin their friendship forever. But looking her in the eyes, comforting him through this rough time, he knew she felt the same. “I love you, Y/N”.

She was expecting anything. ‘I know’, maybe. That was so much bigger than what she imagined. Lando had said he loved her countless times over the years they’ve known each other; after all, they grew up together, almost like brother and sister. But this time, it was different. Y/N knew it, and Lando knew it too.

Y/N was too stunned to speak, so he continued with his confession. “I always have, you know? And I only hid everything from you because I can’t lie to you. And because I thought you’d never look at me the same way if you found out”.

“Lando, I…” she stopped mid-sentence, trying to catch some air. “Fuck, this is a lot. Just wait a second”.

They giggled together and he leaned his forehead against hers. “It’s okay to not say anything right now. I just dropped a giant bomb on your lap. This wasn’t the way I wanted to confess to you, but I just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore”.

“Are you saying this because you’re emotional? Because I swear to God, if you are, I’m gonna kill you for misleading me”, her eyes were brimming with tears and Lando whipped them away.

“I’m telling you the truth”, he assured. “I think I’ve loved you my entire life. With all the crazy things I’ve experienced in my life, you were the only constant. You’re home, Y/N”.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”, she asked and he took a deep breath.

“Because I was afraid of losing you. Scared this might ruin our friendship somehow”, he admitted. “You’re the most precious thing in my life. Do you know how scary it is to fall in love with your best friend when you’re just a kid? And then grow up, and those feelings never go away, just getting stronger every day. I just didn’t want to lose you”.

“You weren’t going to lose me, Lan”, her eyes softened at his confession and now he was the one wiping her tears. Y/N brought him back for a hug and even though he didn’t have an answer, deep down he knew she felt the same.

“I’ve loved you since we were four. There’s a reason why I always carry this number with me”, Lando confessed. “God, look what you do to me. I never cry”.

“You only cry for the important things”, she reminded. “That’s why I love you, Lando. I’ve been in love with you for my entire life too, idiot”.

His eyes widened as he looked up to her, who had a smirk plastered on her face. “Can I kiss you?”, Lando asked, but before she could properly shake her head in agreement, he crashed his lips into hers. He needed to be home, and Y/N has always been home for him. It was the most intense kiss they ever had, like years of lingering had finally paid off for both of them.

Lando pulled her closer with a hand on the back of her head. She wrapped her fingers around his neck, smiling into his lips. Then, as if it wasn't enough, he pulled her to sit on lap, making them closer somehow. She slowed down the pace, making the kiss needier and more delicious. Lando even let out a satisfied throaty moan, his heart speeding on his chest. Her touches made him feral, knowing that after years of pinning, he finally had his dream girl.

“Thank you for this”, he whispered against her lips, a wide and satisfied smile on his face. “Thank you for all the years, all the times you've been here for me, to tell me everything is going to be alright.”

“Always, Lan”, she played with the hairs on his nape. “I love you so much”.

“I love you too. So much”, he left one more peck on her lips before hugging her again. “I don't know what I'd do without you”.

“Yeah, me too”.

The story of how they fell in love with each other was long, but beautiful. Lando and Y/N sat in that tree house all night and shared all of those stories with each other. And for a second, he really believed everything was going to work out. After all, if he had Y/N, Lando would be just fine.

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eilidh-eternal · 3 months

Text

Thinking about tattoo artist Ghost who notices you in the studio quite often. Who recognizes the signs of using tattoos as a thinly veiled coping mechanism and can’t help but think that there’s a… better… way for you to cope. Ways that he can help you with. Things he can teach you that don’t involve needles but would still leave his mark on your skin.

You need him.

You’ve just finished up your session with Soap, finalizing the payment with him at the front desk, when you feel a looming presence at your back.

Ghost.

“Um… hi?” He’s the only one of them you haven’t sat for. Over the last few months you’d worked your way through nearly the entire staff at the studio, amassing a collection of new pieces like a kid collecting happy meal toys in the summer–often and to the detriment of your bank account.

“You're with me next week.” His tone brooks no argument. “Soap, what do I have open next Saturday?”

“I can’t, I–”

“Ye’re open from two to close.”

“Book her. The full day.”

“What?!”

“Got somethin’ special drawn up that I’ve been holdin’ onto. We can make adjustments when you come in. See ya next weekend.“ He saunters back to his station without another word.

Well.

Despite the odd nature of the encounter, you go. ‘Just to see what he’s drawn up,’ you tell yourself. In actuality, you’d had a hell of a week and were itching, chomping at the bit, for the bite of a needle by the time the appointment came around. And damn him it’s good. Really fucking good. Fits your aesthetic perfectly and his suggested placement isn’t far off from where you would have chosen yourself.

Fuck it.

You let him do it. Follow him down the hall to the private room, nod when he tells you to get comfortable and that he just needs to grab one more thing from his station and he’ll be right back.

You’re stripped down to your panties and the oversized hoodie you brought in, big enough to drape and maneuver out of his way while maintaining a bit of modesty, when he comes back.

“You bring water? Somethin’ to eat during breaks?” he asks as he sets a water bottle of his own on the counter. You nod and his head tilts ever so slightly. “Need words, sweetheart.”

“Yes. I did.”

Not the first time an artist has asked the question, but his insistence on a verbal answer is a curious deviation from your typical experience here. Soap certainly didn’t wait for your answer before he had his arm slung over your ass to ‘steady himself’ while needling a trail of stars down your spine a few weeks ago.

“Alright, let’s get you settled then. Down.’ He presses on your shoulder, pushing you down onto the reclined chair. “We doin it on the left or right?” His hands linger on either side of you, bent at the waist to hover over your frame.

“Uh, you said right would look best… with the other pieces? So um… yeah. The right.”

There’s a flicker behind the richness of his eyes. Something dark and smoky the seeps into the irises.

“Lookit you. Listen real well, don’t ya?”

What?

He leaves you with mere milliseconds to process. “On your side. Let’s get you stenciled.” His hand trails along your ribs, glides over the bulky fabric of the hoodie and tugs. Pulls at the pocket on the front to get you moving. “Good girl,” he purrs when you comply, shifting onto your left side and folding your arms close to your chest. “Up.” He helps you lift your head and slides a pillow under you. Does the same with your knees, pillow pressed between them to stabilize your hips.

“Thanks…” It comes out in a dazed mumble and he simply hums, as if all of this is… normal.

It isn’t. You know that. Nothing about him says normal.

The mask. His insistence—no, his demand—that you book a session with him. The way his tone brooks no argument or excuse. How some baser instinct tells you to heed his demands. Traitorous fluttering of nerves in your stomach and the heat pooling between your legs.

The black nitrile gloves clinging to his hands like a second skin are cold against your leg. Makes you twitch when long fingers push the hem of your hoodie over your hip and hook underneath the narrow waistband of your thong. “Just moving this up a bit,” he says and pulls it up to your waist, elastic pulling taught against the crease of your thigh and digging into the skin. Pressing against your pulsing core.

The cleanser is even colder and comes with no warning, but the warmth of him has begun to bleed through his gloves. Melts into your skin as he cleans his canvas and runs a hand over your hip in appraisal.

“Got a little fuzz,” he says more to himself than you, thumb swiping over the fine dusting of hair. The muscles in your back tense in an effort to fight against the shudder threatening to snake down your spine, skin burning beneath the massive hand that lingers on your thigh.

He’s precise about it, removing the hair with slow and even passes of the razor and going back over the area with disinfectant. “Doin’ so good for me, layin’ nice an’ still while I shave ya. Bet ya sit like a champ.”

Your eyes go wide, lips falling open in a silent gasp, and you’re thankful he’s currently bent over your hip and can’t see the shock written plain as day on your face. You blink. Force your brows to lower and snap your mouth shut before you say something stupid like ‘thank you.’

The stencil goes on in silence but you can feel his eyes on you. More precisely, on your face. Curious and observant. You’re so focused on not looking at him that you don’t hear him rise from his stool. Don’t register that he’s moved until he’s leaning over you and curling a finger under your chin to turn your face up towards the ceiling. Towards him.

“There she is. Let’s have a look, yeah?”

Why does he want to look at—?

The stencil. He means the stencil. He wants you to look at the stencil.

“Okay…”

He drops your chin but makes no move to pull away from you as you sit up on your elbows, twisting to get a look at the purple carbon adorning your hip and thigh. You straighten out your leg, move it this way and that, looking for any odd stretching or scrunching.

“It looks good. I like it there. It um… You were right. About it being a good fit.” When you look up at him he’s already staring down at you, eyes trained on your face rather than the stencil with a dark, inky quality to them. Pupils expanding and swallowing up the light in the room.

“Course. Knew I’d be right about ya.”

You blink and it’s gone. No more wisps of smoke swirling in amber coals. The heat in them abated by whatever he sees in you.

You have no idea what he sees in you.

He does, however, give you a reprieve when he straightens and moves to the counter to begin mixing ink while the stencil dries.

The air around you feels colder when you settle back on your side, sapped of your warmth by small touches and lingering glances. Like he’s purposely stoked a fire in you just to take from and warm himself with.

“Seen you ‘round here a lot. Got quite the collection.”

It doesn’t sound like a question, and you’re not sure if he’s expecting an answer, but you give him one anyway. Feels… wrong, not to.

“I like the work you guys do.” You’ve sat for all of them. John. Gaz. Soap. And now Ghost. Have their marks inked all over your body.

“That the only thing you like?” The broad expanse of his back is the only thing you can see, but you have a feeling that if you could see the sliver of his face visible behind the mask he’d have that same even stare he always has on the studio floor.

“Gaz is nice to look at,” you offer, and hear him huff behind you.

“That so?”

“Soap has steady hands. They wander a bit, but his lines are the best I’ve seen. Tit for tat I suppose.”

“And Cap?”

“Who? Oh, you mean John?”

“The old man ‘imself.” He turns then, arranging the ink on the rolling tray between the two of you, and you catch the dart of his eyes in your direction before they shift back to his station. “He doesn’t normally do the kinda work pretty things like you come looking for.”

“I- um…” He keeps tripping you up. Making you stumble over the words in your head with compliments and praise and firm hands and–

“You like the pain.” Your gaze jerks towards him, tracks his movements as he lowers himself down onto the stool. “Cap’s got a heavy hand,” he clarifies, but it’s too late for excuses. Your reaction only confirms what he already knows.

“That– I don’t… I don’t like it. It just…” His eyes are locked on you, simmering with something in the molten depths of them that reels you in against your will. Compels you to spill secret truths to a stranger. “It makes everything else quiet, for a little while…” You sink your teeth into your lower lip with the admission, eyes slipping away from the intensity burning in his to settle on a fleck in the wood grain of the cabinet.

Silence stretches long and thick between the two of you, the only sound in the room coming from the speakers spilling music out of the ceiling and the little clicks and taps of him preparing the various tips and needles for his machine. The wheels on his chair whine as they roll forward, forcing him into your field of vision once more.

Warmth floods your cheeks, rushes up your neck to your ears in a simmering wave of vulnerability, and you can't look away when he leans down to peer into your face. “There's other ways to make it quiet, ya know.”

You toy with the drawstring of your hood, debating how pathetic you’d look if you pulled it over your face and hid from his probing gaze the rest of this session.

“Stop.” Your fingers freeze. The sternness of his tone has your eyes flicking cautiously back to his, apology ready on your tongue, expecting further reprimand. “You’re thinkin’ too much.”

Yes.

“That what you need, hm? Someone to make that pretty head take a break for a little while?”

Yes please. You offer him a timid nod.

“What’d I say about that?” he chides, folding his arms over his knees.

Your mouth feels dry, stuffed with cotton, and tongue heavy on its floor. “Sorry.” It comes out scratchy and an octave too high. Too needy.

“‘S okay, sweetheart. You’re still learning the rules, but we’ll get ya there,” he croons, hand coming up to chuck you under your chin.

“Rules?”

“Yes sweetheart, rules. You only have two for today. When I ask you a question, I need a verbal answer. Can you do that for me?” His voice carries with authority and his eyes remain fixed on yours, awaiting your acknowledgement.

“Yes.” A touch smoother this time, despite the tightness lingering in your throat.

“Good girl,” he purrs, petting a hand over your hair as he straightens and shifts further down towards your hip, pulling his tray along with him. You hear the buzzing of the machine when he begins fine tuning, testing the speed and picking up ink.

“Your second rule,” he says as he leans forward, big, gloved hand coming to rest on your waist and the other hovering over the stencil, needle poised just above your skin. “If ya need a break, tell me. And–” He gives your waist a firm squeeze. “—squeeze this arm if ya need more. Got it?”

It takes a moment for the full weight of what he’s offering to sink in, for neurons and synapses to catch up with the realization of it.

“Got it.” You watch the mask pull taught over his mouth. He’s smiling.

“So good for me already,” he murmurs, grip tightening on your waist a fraction. “Let’s get started on your ink then, yeah?”

The first pass of the needle traces a line on the outside of your thigh, a long, curved section, and already you can feel the quiet creeping in amid the bite of broken skin and the buzz of his warm hands pressed against you.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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withahappyrefrain · 5 months

Text

Somebody to Love

Summary: Attending a cookout hosted by Penny seemed like the perfect way to kickstart summer. Meeting and falling in love there wasn't on yours or Bradley's bingo list.

Warnings: Language, Bradley being a loverboy, female reader

For @roosterforme's Rocktober event! I'm so sorry it took so long and hope you enjoy it!

The first time you saw Bradley was at the Hard Deck.

He completely missed you, as much as it pains him to admit.

In his defense, his eyes were on the ivory keys of the piano, only looking up briefly to revel in the cheers from guests of the Hard Deck as he played.

You, in his defense, were just trying to get in and out. Considering it was barely seven, you thought you were coming in before things got rowdy.

You were mistaken.

The show he was putting on was nice to watch while you waited for Penny to be free. But that's all it was, a show. And after a while, you couldn't help but scoff. Was being in the Navy not enough attention?

The smile on Penny's face when her eyes met yours was worth the wait. You pulled out the coveted book from your bag, raising it in the air as if it were the golden ticket.

"Amelia is going to be so excited," Penny beamed as she took the book from you, "She's been talking about it for weeks!"

The mention of your former student brought a smile to your face.

Amelia was a student during your first year of teaching. You felt a kinship to the young girl, whose parents were going through a divorce at the time. You also saw that her love of reading was untapped, blocked by years of past teachers failing to help her learn how to read.

So you worked with her the whole year, and the summer after that, helping the girl catch up. One summer, Penny offered a bartender job when she heard you were looking for extra money. Over time, the Benjamin women had become more like family than your own.

It's why you stayed in touch. Why you took on extra shifts occasionally during the school year, when Penny truly needed help at the last minute. Why you made the trip out to the Hard Deck simply to give a book.

"Stay for a drink? It's on the house," Penny held up an empty glass, hoping the way it gleamed in the light could entice you into staying.

But you looked around, taking in how many people were there, how loud it was. How the man wearing aviators and a Hawaiian shirt was feeding the crowd with the piano rendition of a song that sounded familiar.

And simply shook your head.

"Should get going, it is a school night." The truth was, you'd rather be at home, in your bed reading than staying out late with a bunch of pilots.

Before you could say goodbye, Penny placed a hand on yours.

"Before you go Birdie, I wanted to let you know that we're celebrating Amelia's middle school graduation two weeks from Saturday. We'd love to have you there."

You smiled, sincerely flattered that they would want you present for such an event, "I'd love to. Will your man of the hour be there?"

A giggle escaped from you when you saw Penny's cheeks begin to turn pink.

Bradley swears if he had looked over at that moment, he wouldn't have let you leave the Hard Deck that night.

—------------------------

Bradley Bradshaw was not anti-romance, despite what his friends claimed, despite the numerous times he's turned down someone wanting to set him up.

The idea of romance did appeal to him. The idea of spending the rest of his life with one person, who loved him and wanted to grow a family with him, was very appealing in theory.

He wasn't against it at all. Just cautious.

Cautious as he witnessed first hand how dangerous his job was, how it tore families apart. Hesitant because he grew up with the aftermath- the support groups, the sympathetic looks, the empty dining chair that served as a loud, always present reminder of what he and his mother had lost.

He had been on dates, had been in relationships. They never went anywhere and Bradley was fine with that. The possibility that he may not come back from his deployments lingered in his mind, as did the image of someone receiving a flag and maybe his dog tags.

Why put someone through that?

“It's hard, but I wouldn't change a thing about it. You'll understand when it happens to you.”

His mother’s words rang in his ears. He knew she meant well. Bradley knew those words were true for her.

But he couldn't see them being true for himself.

So he came to Amelia’s graduation party with a vegetable tray and no date, despite Penny’s insistence that he could bring someone.

It's why Bradley walked straight past the kitchen, ignoring the unfamiliar voices. It's why he kept to the people he knew, rather than mingle with strangers.

And that was fine, enjoyable even. Things were going the way they always went, the way Bradley wanted it.

Consistent.

Bradley Bradshaw lived for consistency. Each morning, he'd get up and go to work. Work hard until his bones ache. Spend time with friends and the makeshift family he had found. Go to bed alone. Rinse and repeat.

Consistent.

Everything was just fine, until Bradley felt a hand grip his shoulder. When he turned around, he found Jake and his fiancé, Danica (or Venus, as everyone called her), looking at him.

“Your future wife is in the kitchen. Get in there.”

—-------------------------------

Bob saw her first.

It was hard to miss the sound of classic rock blaring from her red Subaru.

The sounds of eighties rock was a nice change from the Jerry Lewis and Sinatra music Bradley insisted on playing.

Even nicer was her voice. Sweet, smooth, light.

She was clearly in her own world, unaware she had an audience.

Nor would she. Bob knew better than anyone the pains of people walking in on him. So he quietly got out of his car, leaving her to finish the song by herself.

Reuben was the first one to speak to her.

Or rather, his daughter was.

Ava, always determined to explore, ran into the kitchen as soon as he set her on the ground.

It was easy to find her. Despite being only two, Ava had quite the voice on her.

Given her shouts about cookies, Reuben wasn’t surprised when he found his daughter in the kitchen, pointing excitedly to a plate of sugar cookies.

He was a little surprised to see that the person kneeling down to talk to her wasn’t Penny, but rather a woman he had never seen before.

“Is it okay if I give her a cookie?” She asked, motioning to the sugar cookie she was holding in her hand.

“As long as you're able to cut her off after two,” Reuben chuckled, “I'm warning you now, she can be hard to convince.”

You smiled, the corners of your eyes crinkling, the bridge of your nose scrunching up as you looked at Ava, “It'll be tough, but I think I can manage.”

Javy was the first one to try to include her in the picnic festivities.

“Hey, don't tell them this is what we’re calling them, but we’re playing beer pong against the old timers in the basement. You in?” He asked.

“Oh I'm good, but don't worry, your secret is safe with me,” She said with a gentle smile and a wink.

It was the fact that she sounded assured, content to stay in the kitchen and continue making small talk with some of the wives, away from the hubbub of the picnic, that made him not push.

Natasha was the first one to have an actual conversation with her.

In a sea full of testosterone, it was hard not to notice another woman. Especially one who looked around her age.

“So how do you know Penny?” You looked rather surprised by Nat’s question, surprised that another person had noticed you in the kitchen and decided to converse.

“Oh, I'm, well, I was Amelia’s third grade teacher. I tutored her for a couple of summers and have helped Penny bartend when she needs extra help,” you explained.

Natasha recalls Penny mentioning you a few times, now able to put a face to the name.

“So you're the teacher! Penny said we might see you at the Hard Deck this summer,” Nat grinned, hoping it would help her feel more at ease.

“I am! I'm still figuring out how exactly I want to spend my summer. First time I won't be doing summer school or tutoring,” you explained, continuing to wash the dishes that had begun to pile up on the counter.

“Any travel plans? Or family you plan to visit?” Nat asked.

You shook your head, eyes appearing dismal for a brief moment, “I don't have much family to visit. But I have been meaning to explore the area more, so I might do that.”

Natasha knew not to press. You didn't owe her any further explanation.

But out of all people, Jake Seresin was the one to make the connection.

“I’m sorry, but what did Penny just call you?” He asked, jamming a finger up his ear to clean it out, convinced he heard it wrong.

“Oh, Birdie!” you explained, flustered, “It’s um….it’s always been a nickname that friends and family have called me, ever since I was a kid. When I told Penny, she started calling me that too.”

Jake recalls the other details he's learned; a love of classic rock, vintage clothes and children, how your face lit up when someone spoke to you, as though you had been waiting an awfully long time to be noticed, to be acknowledged.

Your nickname.

It hits Jake like a fucking freight train.

“Excuse me, I have to go uh, um, find my wife,” he said abruptly, practically running out of the kitchen.

Jake quickly found his Venus, tapping her on the shoulder as he ignored the death glare Phoenix was giving him for interrupting.

“What is-”

“Birdie. Her nickname is Birdie.”

Danica’s amber-glazed eyes widened as she shot Natasha a knowing look.

“Where is she?”

Which is how Bradley Bradshaw found himself being dragged away from the grill and into Penny's house.

After all, Bradley didn't have too much common sense. He would insist he was alright, despite losing his beat as he watched his close friends fall in love and get married.

So they were just helping, helping him find somebody to love.

“Y'all are being ridiculous, just because she likes the same music-”

“It's more than that. You just need to see for yourself,” Jake explained, pushing him towards the kitchen. Inside, a sweet voice was talking.

“Peekaboo! I see you!” He could hear a big smile through your voice, “Now it's Ava’s turn!”

Bradley turned the corner to find you sitting cross legged on the kitchen floor, enabling you to be somewhat closer to eye level with Ava. You and the little toddler were both full of giggles as you continued your game.

Ava’s small hands flew up to her face, covering her eyes. It was an adorable sight, how she was trying to say the words. A bright smile adorned your face, eyes shining as you played with her.

“Where did Ava go?” You asked, pretending to look, “There she is!”

A warmth flooded Bradley’s heart as he watched this mysterious woman interact with Ava. It felt familiar,childhood memories of his mom flooding back. But this time, instead of feeling sorrow, a pleasantness surrounded him.

Strange.

Ava babbled, causing you to giggle once more.

“My name is Birdie. Can you say Birdie?”

Oh.

So that was why everyone thought this was his future wife.

It was a cute coincidence, nothing more. Yes, it was beyond endearing to watch you interact with Ava, you were obviously great with kids.

“Roo!” Ava’s coos of her special nickname for Bradley broke him out of his thoughts.

“What's a Roo?” You asked, your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. The puzzled look on your face was adorable.

“That would be me. Hey Ava girl,” Bradley kneeled down, his arms open wide, allowing Ava to run over and hug him.

You instantly recognized him thanks to the memorable mustache. But his smile and eyes were much softer now. His whole demeanor is less cocky and more approachable in Penny’s kitchen.

Bradley scooped the young toddler into his arms, grinning as Ava giggled.

“You being good? Trying to persuade people to give you more cookies by being adorable?” Bradley asked the toddler.

“I'm holding out strong. Don't want her dad to hate me for giving her a sugar rush,” You explained, a soft smile on your face as you watched him interact with Ava.

“See, the key is to make sure the sugar rush happens when he takes her home,” Bradley grinned, “That way he can't do anything about it.”

“I'm sure he can ask around regarding who gave her all that sugar though,” you retorted, facing the sink again to continue the dishes.

“See, that's where you have the advantage; you're not in the group chat,” Bradley balanced Ava on a hip, walking over to the sink to join you.

You were fun to talk to; able to hold your own with a soft, yet slightly mischievous smile adorning your face.

“I'm Bradley,” he explained, the spirit of his mother probably screaming that it took him this long to introduce himself.

“I take that's your actual name, considering that's way too normal to be your callsign,” normally you wouldn't tease a complete stranger like this. But he was easy to talk to and it helped that he was holding an adorable baby like a complete natural.

“It is. My callsign is Rooster.” The information caused your hands to still.

“Rooster?” It was too wild to be a coincidence.

“Yeah, when I was part of my first squadron, I was always the first one to be up. But I also had a tendency to be well, louder than what they would have preferred, which is how I got my callsign Rooster.” Bradley smiled as he recalled the loud complaints of his squadron, which always seemed to die down once they learned he was making breakfast.

“I, love that. Sorry, I, it's funny your callsign is that. Because it's like a nickname right? My nickname is Birdie,” your speech quickened as you realized you were rambling, “I know that nicknames aren't the same as callsigns. Well, in a way they are, they're both given to you for a reason, right? It's just funny how our nicknames are both-”

“Excuse me?” You looked up to see your savior came in the form of a bespectacled man who was standing by the door.

“I was threat-I mean, told by Danica and Phoenix that I needed to get Ava,” The man said, walking over to Bradley.

“Bo!” Ava exclaimed, reaching for the man.

“Sure thing Bob,” Bradley said, hanging over the toddler to his friend, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes at his friends’ schemes.

“C'mon Ava, let's leave the two soon to be lovebirds alone,” Bob whispered, out of the room before Bradley could say anything.

“Did he just… “

Bradley sighed, “Gotta watch out for that one. He's quiet but can be cheeky when he wants to be.”

“As opposed to the others, who are just outright cheeky?” You asked.

Bradley chuckled, “You're catching on. Here, I can dry while you wash?”

He could be spending time with his squadron. Could be spending time joking with Mav’s old squad, making jokes and talking about the past that he was too young to remember. Could be anywhere but here in the kitchen, helping you do dishes.

And yet, he didn't mind it at all. Bradley was finding himself enjoying his conversation with you, despite knowing it would earn him several eye rolls and shoulder shoves from Danica and Jake.

You were surprised he was still here, that he hadn't found an excuse to leave.

It was a nice change.

“So you're the teacher Penny talks about?”

You laughed, “Is that who I'm known as? You're like the third person to ask me that.”

“Just shows how big of an impact you had.” Your cheeks warmed at the praise.

“You know, you just try your best. Make sure to listen. Helps that I'm also a child of divorce, you know? Had a lot of pointers,” you shrugged, but it was clear you were downplaying your efforts.

“Have you always wanted to be a teacher?” Bradley asked, wanting to keep the conversation going, despite the dishes being done.

You took your hands out of your pockets, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. Your shoulders shrug as a small smile spreads across your lips.

“Yeah. I love helping folks, especially kids. I was a camp counselor all throughout high school and I just….felt at home when I was helping other people,” you explained.

You leaned forward, the scent of jasmine flooding Bradley’s nostrils.

“It makes sense that I became a teacher. But if you asked me as a kid what I wanted to do as a grown up, I wouldn't have said teaching.”

Bradley leaned forward. With the sunlight hitting him, you could now see the lighter shades of brown that adorned his curls.

“A mom. I’ve always wanted to be a mom.”

“You'll understand when it happens to you.”

Oh. Okay.

That's when Bradley Bradley finally gets it. Because he's imagining life with you; moving in together, getting married, having kids. The risk is still there. But he'd rather live with that risk and you than not at all.

“I know that's silly, but it's true. I mean, it's not even an occupation-”

“I said I wanted to be a dad when I grew up.”

Your eyes light up at his admission, feeling at ease and less like a rambling burden.

“You must have had a really great Dad then.” There was a flash of sorrow in his eyes at the mention of his father.

“From what I remember. I was only four when he died, but….from what I remember, he was great,” his voice was softer now, his eyes showing he was in another place.

You inched closer to him, “I'm really sorry, I'm sure that was hard for you and your mom.”

“It wasn't easy. But she always said she wouldn't change anything. Never really understood that until recently.” His shoulder is touching yours, his long fingers inches away from your thighs. You were hyper aware of the closeness, unsure if moving away would be proper or offensive.

“Something helped you have that revelation?”

“Moreso someone.”

It's impossible to not notice the way his stare lingers on you, how his smile is warm and those whisky eyes are shining bright as he sends a wink your way. It makes your heart flutter; no one has ever looked at you that way before.

Nerves begin to overtake your brain, causing you to look away from his intense gaze.

“Should we um, get back to the picnic?” You all but mumbled. There's no desire to leave him, but you don't want to get your hopes up.

“Can I at least get your number before we do that?” Bradley asks, eagerly getting out his phone.

Bradley Bradshaw hates accidents, except for the one that led him to this kitchen, to you.

His forwardness is uncharted territory. There's no wondering or second guessing; Bradley wants to stay in touch, wants to keep talking to you.

It's nice. It's unfamiliar. It's exciting. It's sending your doubts and anxiety into a tailspin.

Your fingers fumble for your phone, opening up a new contact for him to fill out. His fingers brush against yours when he hands you his phone, little sparks flying up your spine.

Bradley simply smiles when your eyes look at the screen of his phone. Your brows knit together in confusion, the bridge of your nose scrunching up as you read over the words again and again, eyes surely playing tricks on you.

“Um, I think you made a mistake Bradley?” you hold up his phone, “The name for this contact is Mrs. Bradshaw?” It also has a heart emoji next to it, but that wasn't worth mentioning.

“Oh, it's no mistake,” Bradley grins.

The only sound you can let out is a confused huh.

“You just gotta put your number right there, and then you're all set.” Bradley points to it, an assured smile remaining on his face.

“Are you….are you going to change the name?” You asked, dumbfounded.

Bradley shrugs, “Nah. I'll know it's you. But I can put the word ‘future’ in parentheses if you want it to be more accurate.”

Your fingers have a mind of their own, typing in those desired ten numbers. Bradley takes his phone from your hands but not before placing a gentle kiss on your burning cheek.

His lips feel soft, the hairs of his mustache gently tickling your skin. When you turn your head, your lips are now inches away from yours.

You try to ground yourself, try to look away from his lips, try to ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling that's overtaking your body.

“Sorry Birdie, but I'm old fashioned. First kiss shouldn't be until the first date,” He winks.

What floors you more, his confidence or his bold desire for you?

Raising an eyebrow, you ask, “And when will that be?”

Bradley chuckles, “Whenever you want Birdie.”

He can't be serious. But what would he gain from leading you on, other than Penny’s wrath?

You straighten your shoulders, trying to hold your own against his large frame.

“Tomorrow at six,” You muster up all the confidence you can, preparing yourself for him to drop the act.

“Done. Do you prefer Italian or French?”

“Neither as I'm lactose intolerant.” This was it. Was he going to stop the act, once he knew it would require more effort.

“How do you feel about Thai? I know a great spot. Never been but it's been praised by Jake and Danica and let me tell you, that woman does not give out praise easily.”

You giggled, “I could tell. By the way, is there a reason he calls her Venus?”

“Short version; he's obsessed with her. Been that way since they met in the parking lot of a coffee shop. You should ask them how they met; they give different answers and it's hilarious,” Bradley explains, a gleam in his eyes as he thinks about one of his favorite couples.

“I'd like that. But if you go with me,” you asked, “Kinda random to just walk up to a couple you don't know and ask how they met.”

Again, you expect Bradley to falter. He's clearly more outgoing than you, so why would he want someone whose first instinct wasn't to strike up a conversation with strangers?

“I will, but only if you confirm we’re on for Thai tomorrow at six.”

Surely, he couldn't be serious. But that sweet smile and shining brown eyes said otherwise.

“You really gonna take me out?” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Of course! I mean, I'm more than happy to take you out tonight, but you said tomorrow, so I'm sticking to it. Plus, it gives me time to get you flowers. Speaking of which, what are your favorite? You seem like a sunflower gal,” his eyes reminded you of an eager puppy, absolutely endearingly adorable.

“What makes you think that?” He was absolutely right, but you wouldn't let him know that yet.

Bradley shrugged, “When you smile, it reminds me of sunshine. Also, if it want to get technical, birds also like sunflower seeds.”

You couldn't help but throw your head back and laugh. Your laugh was sweet, bursting with joy. It calmed down Bradley’s racing heartbeat.

“And what should I get you, Rooster? Corn meal?”

His corniness almost made you forget that he literally compared you to the sun.

Almost.

His laugh was deep, bellowing deep from his stomach, making you feel warm all over.

“You kill me Mrs. Bradshaw, now let's go get you that story,” He gently takes your hand into his, entwining his fingers with yours.

The nickname makes you less confused and more certain Bradley would be sticking around.

#my writing #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster x y/n #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw fluff

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yellowharrington · 18 days

Text

save a horse (ride a cowboy!) -- joel miller x reader

pairing + fandom: joel miller x reader, the last of us (hbo)

word count: 3.9k

warnings/notes: smut and porn!!! minors DNI, 18+!!! no outbreak!au. she/her pronouns used, afab!reader (with mentions of body parts), no use of y/n. age gap (joel is at least 10 years older). drinking (both reader and joel), unprotected PIV, oral (f receiving), spanking, dirty talk, car sex. if i missed anything lmk!

a/n: recommended listening: save a horse (ride a cowboy) by big & rich. honourable mention to austin by dasha bc it's been on repeat. please take the time to leave comments/reblog if you liked it <3 thank u for reading!! divider by @cafekitsune

summary: meeting an older man at the bar and spontaneously fucking him in his truck was not on your list of things to do for your first summer back in austin, but what can you do?

You hate going dancing.

Sweaty clubs with bodies brushing up against one another, sticky with the hot summer heat, confined to the walls of a crowded bar and beer sticking to the bottom of your shoes. Not the way you plan to spend your first Saturday night back in Austin for the summer, but Maddy is so convincing, your hand clasped around yours, a pleading look in her eyes.

“I promise. It’s so fun. We’ll invite Kaylee and Erin and it’ll be a whole thing.”

You rolled your eyes at her, slipping your hand out from between hers. “Fine. One drink, one dance.”

She squealed with excitement and clapped her hands together, stepping up from the small cafe table. “We can pregame at mine. Wear that black top you have.”

You nod, thinking of the top in question. A corseted black thing that didn’t leave much to the imagination, breasts spilling out of the stop beneath the tight stitching. You think it probably got shoved to the back of your closet somewhere.

Joel hates going dancing.

Well, he doesn’t hate dancing. He just isn’t good at it, and hasn’t gone since his very early twenties. And he certainly would not be interested in spending the evening with Tommy at a country bar in downtown Austin, surrounded by women who would grimace at a pair of old men taking up a table.

But Tommy is convincing, hands gesturing around him annoyingly, until Joel gives in. “Fine. One drink. Then I’m leavin’.”

“This city is swarming with beautiful women,” Tommy says, knocking back another sip of his hot coffee. “And you’re too holed up inside to meet any of ‘em.”

“I like my own company,” Joel starts, bringing his own coffee mug to the sink. “Some of us are happy by ourselves.”

Tommy snorts, a hand clapping onto Joel’s shoulder. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, big shot. We’ll see when there’s a bunch of hotties in front of ya, then you can tell me that you like being alone.”

Joel gags at his use of the word ‘hotties’, and pulls his work boots on. “I can still change my mind, ya know.”

Night falls over the suburbs of Austin, taking the sunshine but leaving the humid, sweet heat in the air. You’re surrounded by your friends at Maddy’s apartment, a light pink gloss swiping across your lips. You’ve managed to dig out the top she had mentioned earlier, tied in a tight bow at the back. Your dark jeans hit just below it, letting slivers of smooth skin show, which somehow seemed sluttier than the fact your boobs were practically falling out of the top. Your jeans outlined the plump curve of your ass, a pair of dark cowboy boots adorning your calves. The last time you’d dressed like this was a long time ago, so it felt a little foreign, but not uncomfortable.

The cab ride to the bar is eventful, with 4 girls singing along to the songs on the radio at the top of your lungs. You were already a drink or two deep, having done some brightly coloured shot at Maddy’s house, taking it without thinking. You still weren’t planning on doing anything insane tonight, and bar drinks were expensive, so this was probably the best it was going to get for you.

The car pulls up to the bar and waits for you all to pour out, flashing your IDs to the bouncer, sliding inside past the thrums of people already inside. The bar was almost full, dance floor packed, drinks being poured by every bartender. Neon signs and amber lamps served as the only lighting for the establishment, already making things feel fuzzy around the edges for you.

Joel sits at a rickety wooden table in the corner of the bar with Tommy, scratching the wet label off of his beer bottle. He had fished out a plaid t-shirt from his closet, his usual jeans taught across his thighs and a pair of nicer boots than his work ones on his feet. His hair was pushed back, curls still lapping at the nape of his neck and curves of his ear. He was noticeably older than the other patrons of the bar, painfully aware of that fact, he felt rather uncomfortable. Tommy didn’t seem to mind, feet tapping at the beer-washed hardwood. “Stop lookin’ so mad,” he remarks, close to Joel’s ear. “You’ll scare ‘em all away.”

There are groups of people pouring in from outside, bachelorette parties and frat boys, making Joel feel unbelievably out of place. It was hard to lighten up when he wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing here.

The doors open once more, your group of friends pushing their way through the sea of people, hand in hand. Joel notices, one girl in a cowboy hat, one in denim jean cutoffs, one with a big belt buckle that glints pink against the light.

Then he notices you.

His face softens as you follow behind your friends, as they push to the front of the line for a drink. He’s got 10 years on you, easy, but that doesn’t stop his cock twitching against the zipper of his suddenly too-tight jeans.

Soft curves, a top that fits you just right, and jeans that accentuate the dips and lines of your body. You’ve got warm energy, a bright smile adorning your glossed lips.

You barely even notice him, until you turn around and make eye contact, your shining eyes meeting his. He’s too handsome for his own good, biceps and shoulders pressed tight against the sleeves of his shirt. He’s got his thighs spread across the chair he’s sitting in, towards you, almost like he wants you to come and just sit right on his lap.

You offer a small smile across the dim bar, taking your drink and following your friends to the last open table they’d spotted. A high top, back to the stranger now, giving him the opportunity to see your shape. He swears you’re sticking your ass out on purpose, so he can see the soft skin where your jeans meet the bottom of your top.

“Joel,” Tommy’s voice cuts through the bustle of the bar. “If you’re gonna be so fuckin’ miserable, we can go. There’s another place-“

Joel stops him, teetering his beer towards his brother. “This is fine. We can stay for another round.”

You pull yourself away from the group after finishing your round of sugary drinks and shots, your head beginning to buzz. “I’ll get the next ones,” you giggle, pushing yourself out of your seat and steadying yourself on the ground. “Green tea shots?” The girls hoot and holler back to you, as you turn on your heels towards the crowded bar.

Joel gets up, almost looking panicked, when he sees that you’re leaving your group. He downs the rest of his beer and tips his head towards Tommy, as if to ask, “another?”. Tommy nods and sits back in his chair, continuing to observe. Joel makes a beeline, able to slide right beside you in line.

You can smell the cologne and laundry detergent on his clothes while he stands behind you, shuffling on his feet. You can almost feel his nerves, radiating off of his large form.

He can smell your perfume and shampoo, it’s intoxicating.

Joel is served first, the bartender leaning forward to listen to his request. “Two Buds, and uh,” you feel a soft hand on your shoulder. If you couldn’t see that it was him, someone would have a black eye.

“What are you drinkin’, darlin’?”

His voice is sweet like honey as he dips down to be so unbelievably close to your ear, his hand now on the side of your arm. Heat spreads up your neck at his proximity.

“Oh, I’m getting like 4 shots, you don’t have to-“

“What kinda shots?”

“Uh, green tea. Green tea shots.”

“And four green tea shots.”

The bartender nods as Joel slides his cash across the bar, turning, and looking down at you slightly. You feel impossibly small in that moment.

“You really did not have to do that, thank you.” You’re on your tip toes, a hand pressed against his chest now, lips as close to his ear as you can get.

He shivers. He can’t remember the last time someone was this close to him in this way.

“No problem,” he waves it off, taking the two beers by the neck of the bottle and moving over slightly for you to grab the shots.

Your ass brushes across the front of his jeans, and he knows it’s intentional.

“Thanks again for the drinks,” and you’ve disappeared back into the crowd in a second.

Oh. Nevermind.

He can’t help but feel a little dejected, slinking back to his seat with Tommy and passing him his beer. “Struck out, huh?”

“Shut up.”

Joel watches your table still, annoyed, but not entirely surprised. Pretty stupid of him to think you’d want to fraternize with a man such as himself, so much older than you. Maybe he’d come off too strong?

His head is all but hanging in his hands when he watches you get up again, your friends coming along with you. He averts his eyes in embarrassment, not noticing that you’re making your way over to his table.

Tommy notices.

“Ladies!” He draws out, hands thrown up in the air. Joel looks up then, locking in eyes with you immediately.

“Didn’t think I’d leave you hanging, did ya cowboy?” A smile tugs at his lips as you extend a hand to him. “After you were so nice?”

He laughs a little, your other friend taking a hold of Tommy and pulling him towards the crowded dance floor. He’s very easily persuaded.

“Come dance with me!”

“Oh, I’m not a dancer,” he laughs, warm and honeyed. It makes heat pool in your core.

“Neither am I. Come anyways.”

All he can do is obey, taking your hand and letting you lead him away from the table.

The music pulses under your feet as you end up in a tight line, shoulder to shoulder. He can’t stop looking at you, leaning down to speak into your ear.

“I wasn’t kiddin’ when I said I didn’t know how to dance,” he explains, and his breath is hot against the curve of your ear.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it when we start goin’. Just follow me.”

And I saddle up my horse

And I ride into the city

I make a lot of noise

Cause the girls

They are so pretty

Joel’s eyes are parked on your body as you start to move along to the steps of the line dance, feet tapping against the hard wood of the floor beneath you. Your hands are up by your face, clapping along to the beat. He tries to follow along, at least stepping in the right direction, clapping at the right time, but it’s no use.

Your body is insatiable - hips rolling to the pounding music. The curves and lines of your ass, paired with the soft tissue of your breasts nearly busting out of the top you chose to wear. Your skin is supple, shining against the dance floor lights that are favouring him right now as he lets a red blush engulf the skin of his cheeks and neck.

He wonders what it looks like underneath, peeled off and bunched up around your ankles, or thrown on the floor of his bedroom. He thinks of fingering the ties of your shirt, loosening them and pushing it off, his hand across the front of your throat as he makes you look at yourself. How pretty you are. Goosebumps spread across the exposed skin of his arm.

You grab his hand suddenly, and he’s taken out of his daydream. Your eyes are fiery as you let yourself get even closer to him, feeling bold enough to put his hand across the small of your back.

“Follow me,” you command, as he looks down at the footwork you’re doing along to the song.

Riding up and down Broadway

On my old stud Leroy

And the girls say

Save a horse, ride a cowboy!

He attempts to follow it again, egged on by the feeling of your hot skin against his thumb. He could honestly maybe cum just from this touch alone if he really tried.

It’s not actually as hard as he thought, if he concentrates. A few steps, repeated over and over again, until it comes naturally. You notice how easily he picks it up, smiling up at him, beaming up while he’s lost in thought.

The song picks up, and the whole floor is enthralled by the dance. You see Joel’s smile light up the room, and he hasn’t dared to move his hand from your back. You don’t mind.

When your body turns toward his, he halts before almost running into you, still following the steps along to the song.

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

Your words take him by surprise, but they are not unwelcome.

“Yes.” His hand envelops yours as he takes a look at Tommy, seeing that he’s still in the throws of the song with your friends.

Your hand leads him off the dance floor and towards the club bathroom, but he stops you, lips close to your ear again. “My truck is parked out back, if we want, a little more, um,” he clears his throat, “privacy.”

“Show me the way,” you smile, letting him pull you out the doors and into the darkness of the parking lot.

He fishes for his keys nervously when you get to the side of his truck, an older model with blue paint. He can’t remember the last time he did anything like this, if he ever has, and it’s getting to his head.

“Let’s get in the back seat,” you say, taking him out of his trance. “Wanna feel you.”

He lets you in first, pushing across the bench seating as he slides in beside you. There’s a moment of awkwardness, before your hand reaches out to touch his denim-clad thigh. His breath hitches.

“Relax,” your smile is intoxicating to him, and he’s drinking you in. “We’re just here to have a little fun.”

He lets himself lurch forward, your lips pressed against his fervently. They’re rough and chapped, but cold from the beer he’d been nursing earlier, offering you some reprieve.

Your hand snakes up his chest to the side of his throat, pulling him in to come closer and delve deeper. His tongue comes out to lick across your teeth and press against the soft wetness of your tongue, as his hand comes up to palm your breasts over your top, grabbing at any flesh he can get his fingers on.

He quickly and deftly finds the bow Maddy had tied on the back, pulling it loose and letting the fabric relax so you he could pull it off of your form.

His hands began to explore the soft skin of your breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth as you arch into him and let a strained moan come from your lips.

“Fuck,” is all you can think to say, because his large hands are spread across your back, forcing you closer, and into him. Soft moans escape your lips as you let him take what he needs from you.

“Off,” he commands suddenly, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of your jeans and yanking them down, after you pop the button and undo the zipper. Your boots have come off at some point in the tussle, and now you’re naked in the back seat of a stranger’s car with not much to say for yourself.

You push his flannel down his shoulders as his weight hovers over you, revealing how strong he really is. Rippling biceps beneath his tight shirt, strong chest, kind eyes.

You’re lying beneath him, when his hands come up under your thighs to push them apart and expose your pussy to him. He kneels between your soft thighs, thankful for the dark night sky around him, as he delves into your heat with his warm tongue.

You see stars when he makes first contact, a broad stripe of his tongue sending you into space. He’s hungry for it, immediately suckling onto your clit and wrapping his lips around it, strong hands still pushing your thighs apart. He’s taking his time to taste you, wild and intricate, feeling the bulge in his jeans strain against the zipper.

“Oh, fuck,” you manage to get out, in between breathless moans. Your hand came down to tangle in his hair, feeling the soft locks between your fingers, enjoying the way he’s making your hips roll onto his face. You can’t help but rut against him, soaking his wet mouth with your slick, using him to get yourself off.

He’s moaning into your pussy, working his own now-free cock in one of his hands, while the other delves two fingers into your core. Your breath catches in your throat when he fills you, stretching you open and wide for him, hitting the perfect spot to make your stomach start to spasm as you threatened to unravel beneath him.

“Fuck, so good, so so good,” you laugh breathlessly, the ecstasy beginning to take over as he continued to work your pussy, and you felt the familiar white-hot feeling along the back of your thighs.

“I’m gonna, — oh my god,” you couldn’t even finish your sentence before he was tonguing at you harder, eyes flickering up to watch you. “I’m gonna fucking come.”

“Good girl,” he growls into you, only offering you momentary reprieve from his tongue before using the rest of his energy to help you ride out your orgasm on his face. Your hips bucked and spasmed against him, the windows fogging up with your hot breath as you fucked yourself on his fingers. He let you pull on his hair as moans tumbled from your lips, breathless and spent.

When you managed to come down, he took his fingers from inside you and pumped his cock a few times, now bobbing in between the two of you as he slid himself up your body to kiss up your chest and capture your soft lips into a kiss.

“Sit back,” you whispered, pushing on his chest to bring him back sitting upright. His jeans were pooled around his ankles now, and you had pulled his t-shirt over his head to meet the other clothes on the floor of the truck. You positioned yourself across his lap, pumping his cock a few times and feeling the girth around your fingers.

He looked blissed out, head against the headrest, savouring the feeling of your pretty hand around him. If he looked down between your two bodies he might come right then, at the sight.

“You did so much work, baby,” you coo, sitting down on his thick cock and bottoming out immediately, just to watch his lips fall open and eyes flutter close at how tight you are. “Made me cum so easy.”

Your lips latch onto his neck as you kiss and lap at the rough skin, letting your hips rock back and forth, slowly at first. Getting used to his length inside of you would’ve been tough if he hadn’t opened you up so easily beforehand.

“Move,” his hands come to your waist, lightly forcing you to grind down on his lap. His cock was hitting inside of you so perfectly as you swallowed him into your body, looking down as his head lulled back against the seat. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he started, letting you set the pace of your hips, hand coming up to paw at your breast once more.

“You like this cock, don’t you?” You nod, letting your hand come to the seat behind his head and steadying yourself before beginning to bounce in his lap. “Yeah, fuck, yeah I do.”

He’s in his element now, any and all shyness from the newness of the situation melting away as he pounded into you mercilessly. The truck was no doubt shaking back and forth a little, a steadying hand print the only window to the outside world. Joel didn’t even care if people could see, they’d just be jealous.

“I’m gonna, fuck-,” he starts, eyes cloudy at the edges, vision fuzzy as he looked up at you. You were fucked out, cock-drunk on him, watching as he was coming undone underneath you as you squeezed around him. “Oh yeah?” You tease, not letting up on the rhythm of your hips, his hand coming down to your ass in a firm slap.

You moaned then, arching your back into him and sitting back. “Where do you want me?”

He’s desperate to cum now. Even the thought of your pretty face beneath him, taking his hot ropes on your soft pink lips is making him jerk forward into you with need.

He pushes you off, and you wince from the loss of contact. He’s fisting his cock above you right away, pink tip ready to explode any second at the sight of you, tits pressed together. Your mouth is open, and he sticks his fingers in between your lips as you moan around them, tasting yourself.

“Cum all over me,” you start, pinching your nipples with your free hand. “Fuck, I want it.”

It’s enough for his knees to buckle and hot cum to shoot all over your stomach and tits, painting you white with his seed. His eyes squeeze shut as you watch him ride his orgasm out, balls emptying onto you as he slows down and regains consciousness, taking a second to drink you in when he can open his eyes again.

Your breath is heaving as you take a finger to swipe some of his cum onto your finger, dipping the digit into your mouth. His brows furrow together as he pulls you up to kiss your lips, devouring you, hands coming up to each side of your face as if to thank you for such a good time.

“Been a while since I did anything like that,” he laughs, and you follow shyly. “You got like, a napkin?” You giggle, as he grabs something in the front seat for you to clean up with. “Thanks. That was fun.”

He nods in agreement, catching his breath before pulling his t-shirt over his head. “I suppose we should go back in there,” he checks his appearance in the rearview mirror, all blushed and fucked out.

You put your top back on over your body, turning towards him. “Can you lace me back up, please?”

His hands begin to work at you, tightening a bow at the bottom much like it had been done before.

A thought crossed your mind that made a giggle escape your lips. “What?” Joel asked, amused, pulling his jeans back on over his hips.

“I don’t think I ever got your name.”

He laughs too, thinking of the events that had transpired given neither of you knew such a basic piece of information.

“I guess we can stick with cowboy.”

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller one shot #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

Text

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [22.4k] A biggie. Best friends to lovers, summer, childhood, pining, crushes, a kiss that wasn't supposed to happen, the last cherry popsicle and three promises.

When you were both eight years old, Steve Harrington handed you the last popsicle and told you he loved you.

It was the most innocent kind of talk, from the mouths of kids, fresh faced, summer freckles, ankles dipped in the pool and sunburn on your cheeks.

You weren’t truly sure you both knew what those words meant back then, the depth and meaning that they held. But you said them back, lemon and sugar on your tongue and he’d beamed at you, brighter than the Indiana sun and that was that.

And that night, when you were camped out on his bedroom floor, the first day of summer vacation and his bed sheets draped across your heads, he shared his secret stash of twizzlers with you, lips tinted red and pinkie fingers linked.

His eyes were solemn when he whispered to you, the dulled yells of his parents downstairs acting as his backing track. His mom was slurring a little, his dad laughing mirthlessly and something smashed. You had both flinched, moved closer together between the pillows and stuffed animals.

You remember his mouth brushing up against the shell of your ear, hushed promises falling from his lips, the kind that only an eight year old could make.

Steve Harrington promised you three things that night:

One, he’d always be your best friend.

Two, he’d always protect you from everything bad and scary.

And three, he’d never break your heart.

He only kept two of those.

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

“I think Jessica is coming over,” Steve said as he handed you a can of soda, the cold condensation on it making your fingers slip over his.

You screwed your face up and rolled your eyes behind your sunglasses - Steve’s sunglasses - ‘cause it was a rare Saturday that you’d managed to get off work together, seventeen and desperate for time to do nothing with your best friend.

It wasn’t meant, but you let the sound of annoyance slip from your lips, stretching yourself out on one of the Harrington’s sunloungers. Steve looked at you from where he’d sat himself down by the pool edge, exasperated and somewhat fond. You picked at the edge of your bikini bottoms, peachy orange and still damp from the water.

You scrunched your nose, looking over at him from over the top of his old Ray Bans as he took a sip of his cola, eyes on you, waiting for you to talk. He knew you wanted to say something, could tell from your face, the way you twisted your lips and fidgeted with your swimsuit.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

If you didn’t know the boy well enough, you’d have thought his tone was condescending, maybe even a little mocking. But when you were both fifteen, he’d stood by your side at the counter of the ice cream parlour, watching your cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink when the older guy behind the freezer had winked at you, handed you your cone and called you ‘sweetheart’.

Steve had called you the same ever since, never getting tired of the way you lit up at it, all soft and full of affection, lips twisted to hide your smile, nose turning pink.

“I thought it was just gonna be us hanging out today?” You asked, trying to keep your voice level, casual.

It was silly the way your chest was hurting, an anxious creep across your bones, making your skin too warm in a way that the sun wasn’t. It wasn’t necessarily because you didn’t like Jessica, you didn’t really know, honestly.

But you’d been in Steve’s life long enough to know that not many of his girlfriends had liked you. It made hang outs and movie nights awkward, a fresh set of eyes on you, watching the way you and Steve interacted, holding back from the way you’d normally touch him, keeping your head off his shoulder, throwing your legs over the arm of the chair instead of his lap.

You’d go to the kitchen, the bathroom, bringing back more snacks and a drink only to hear the boy being interrogated about how long had Steve known you, didn’t she have a boyfriend and god, why was she always here?

You’d stand with your back against the hallway wall, a packet of twizzlers crushed to your chest as you listened for Steve’s response. It was always the same, sure and strong and leaving no room for argument. It made you feel warm and a little safer, like you belonged in the Harrington house just as much as him, brought up in the large home with its pool and absent parents together, barbecues in the summer, Christmas in the dining room, mom and dads by your sides.

“She’s my best friend,” he’d always say, “where she goes, I go.”

Some girls put up with it for longer than others, dirty looks given to you out of the car window when Steve would insist on dropping you home too, a messy press of a kiss pushed to your cheek before he made sure you got in your front door okay.

There were girls that were done after bumping into you in the school hall, a sweater on your frame, the hem almost covering your shorts and god, they’d think, that looks awfully familiar. They’d sit in whatever class they had next, eyes on the chalkboard but their minds trying to decide if they’d seen that sweater on Steve’s bedroom floor before, thrown lazily over the back of his desk chair.

You’d find them arguing about it at his car after school, voices clipped and raised, drawing a little too much attention and you’d hear your name said like a curse. Steve would let them walk away, hands rubbing at his eyes and when he’d pull himself onto the trunk, he’d find your gaze across the parking lot and he’d smile, a little soft and a little sad.

But he’d look at you from the driver seat when he was taking you both home, eyes flickering with something else as they dare to roam across your shoulders, your chest. You’d catch him staring, brows raised and your knowing smile would make him blush but he’d tell you, everytime:

“Looks better on you anyway.”

Steve shrugged, looking a little guilty but swung a leg into the pool, letting the water swish around his shin.

“I know, but,” another shrug, his gaze on the blue tiles, “she’s my girlfriend.”

You sighed, pushing yourself off of the lounger and walking over to the edge of the pool, chlorine and cedar from the garden filling the warm air. You poked a toe to the boy’s side before sitting down next to him, both feet in the water and the garden slabs sun-warmed against the back of your thighs.

You nudged a shoulder into Steve’s, fighting a smile when he did it back, shuffling closer so your arms brushed together.

“We haven’t hung out just the two of us in ages,” you told him, trying to sound annoyed but your words came out a little mournful, huffy even. “It’s been weeks.”

You knew it wasn’t Steve’s fault. Between school and both of you working weekend jobs, it was hard to find time to see each other. And since the startling realisation of finding out there were kids with superpowers out in Hawkins, other worlds that held monsters and magic, you figured trips to the cinema were at the bottom of both of your lists.

“M’sorry,” Steve said anyway, and you hated the way he sounded, like he really meant it, like it made him sad too. “If the kids didn’t need rides to the arcade all the damn time, maybe we’d-”

You rolled your eyes, fond. “You know it’s not the kids I mind, Harrington.”

And that was true. You and Steve had taken your unofficial babysitter roles pretty seriously, and with six twelve year olds to wrangle together, it would’ve been a hard enough job without the threat of impending doom lurking behind every corner.

You’d grown up thinking monsters only lived under your bed, hiding behind your closet door, and they could be banished with a flashlight, a kiss from your mother, the promise of chocolate chip pancakes in the morning from your father.

But you’d grown up too fast, seeing things that weren’t supposed to be real and you hated the way you knew how to butterfly stitch someone's skin back together, how you’d seen too much of your best friend's blood.

He pressed his nose to your shoulder, warm skin on warm skin and he let his teeth graze you, a playful threat of a bite before he sighed, knowingly, understanding.

“Jess said she likes you,” Steve offered, hands on the grass as he leaned back, head tilted to the sun. He was watching you from under his lashes, the length of them casting shadows over his cheekbones. “Said you had chem together and you were crazy smart.”

You scoffed, laughed mirthless, because the only reason Jessica Preston knew you had class with her was ‘cause she used you to cheat off of you before you moved seats.

“I bet she did,” was the only answer you gave, because the garden gate was suddenly squeaking and Steve was standing up, splashing water over your thighs as he greeted the girl in question.

“Jess, hey!” Steve called out, reaching for her and pressing a kiss to her lips. His came away glossy and a little pink as Jessica reached into her bag, pulling out a tube and quickly reapplying. He gestured to you, smiling, “you two know each other, right?”

You grimaced, holding your hand up in some sort of wave before you pushed Steve’s glasses onto your head.

“Sure,” you said, not sounding sure at all. You stood up, brushing drops of water and small flecks of gravel from your skin. “Chemistry, Mrs Telford’s class.”

Jessica squinted at you, pretty features twisted in confusion and Steve wanted to jump head first into the pool from the awkward silence that had filled the yard.

“Right!” The girl finally gasped out, all false smiles and white teeth. “Totally! Of course.”

And then, you were dismissed.

“Steve, there’s a party tonight,” you heard the girl tell him, stomach twisting as you walked past them, grabbing your shorts from the lounger and dragging them up your legs. “Matt’s parents are gone and,” she tapped a finger on his chest, trailing it down his sternum. “So are mine.”

You wondered if you had too much sun, wondered if the heat was what was making your insides bubble, your chest feeling too tight. You found your way into the kitchen, the open patio door doing nothing to curb the same heat that had leaked in from outside.

You ran the tap, waiting for it to turn freezing before filling a glass and chugging it, back pressed against the counter so you didn’t have to look out the window.

You could still hear them though.

“You can pick me up, right? I’ll be ready at eight and then you can stay over at mine,” Jess was practically purring and it made you slam the now empty glass down into the sink a little harder than you meant to. “We’ll have the place all to ourselves.”

“Uh, actually, we’re having a movie night later,” you froze, turning to look over your shoulder to see Steve gesture to you through the window. Jess followed his hand, lips downturned and eyes holding venom.

“You’re kidding right?” The girl asked, disbelief spilling from her lips. “I’m offering you a night in my bed and you’re turning me down for Back To The Future with her?”

It was actually The Goonies, you’d wanted to tell her, but Steve was licking his lips nervously, eyes flickering between you and Jess and you really wish you could say something to save him.

You stepped out the patio doors, arms crossed self consciously over your chest. “Steve, it’s okay, we-”

Steve shrugged and he didn’t look surprised when Jessica stepped out of his embrace, glossy lips twisted in shock and annoyance.

“We’ve had it planned for a while Jess,” he explained, “movies, pizza and-”

“Well come after,” Jess demanded, like it was simple. “Or better yet, just do your stupid movie night some other time.”

Steve looked confused, staring down at the girl as if he was wondering which part she wasn’t understanding. You grimaced, eyes wanting to fall shut ‘cause you knew what the boy was going to say and god, you wished you could hide from it.

But then he was explaining to her that you were staying over, crashing at his like you always did, like you had done for years.

Steve said it so plainly that you almost wanted to laugh. In fact, your lip twitched, the threat of a smile pulling at it and you turned, toeing at the grass as you waited for the impending blow out. The boy had an endearing habit of stating the truth with such a sincerely soft tone, almost oblivious to the carnage his honesty could sometimes cause.

“I’m sorry,” Jessica stated, voice climbing a little higher in volume and pitch as she took in this new information. “I could’ve sworn you just told me you had another girl staying with you tonight.”

Steve scrunched his nose, mouth parting as he wondered what he was supposed to say to that. He floundered, hands gesturing wildly as he tried to gain some control on the matter.

“Jess, what? It’s not a big deal, it’s not like that.”

And he was right, it wasn’t. Not yet.

Nothing had ever happened with you and Steve, not when you were pressed together at night, side by side in his bed, moving closer as you slept, pillow creases on your cheeks, hands close to places you shouldn’t have been touching.

Nothing happened in the mornings either, when you were both soft with sleep, hair mussed and misbehaving, warm hands and toes pushing into the other's skin as you tried to find the comfort of that lazy feeling in each other.

You’d never noticed him stare at you when you got out of the shower, skin still damp, hair pushed back from your face and a too big shirt clinging to your thighs. He never realised you held your breath when he pulled his top off at night, body warm and solid beside you, fingers desperate to trace a map of constellations across his back, freckle to freckle.

Your realisation that your best friend wasn’t just attractive, but was pretty, was a slow burn. It came as you aged, an appreciation growing as you did, Steve too. You noticed the boys in your class as they grew taller, filling out, and you didn’t realise the same was happening to Steve until the summer you both turned fifteen.

You’d spent school vacation at his parents lake house, watched him laze shirtless on the small motorboat, new muscles flexing, drops of water casting tiny rainbows across the tanned skin it clung to. He’d grown his hair out, chocolate brown strands out of control and messy, boyish as it was pretty. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, new feelings, and when Steve continued to throw you over his shoulder, playing in the shallows of the lake, his wide hands spanning the curves of your thighs, your hips, you ignored the burn his touch left behind.

Jess huffed out a laugh and it sounded dangerous, a little like a threat. She found your gaze, held it until hers dropped to scan you up and down, doing her best to make you feel small.

“Whatever, Harrington,” she shoved past Steve, shoulder edging into his chest as she headed for the gate. “Ask your little friend to suck your dick instead.”

You burned at her words, eyes wide as you stared at a crack in the patio, refusing to watch as she stormed through the gate, the hinges protesting loudly as it was slammed shut, leaving you both in silence.

The trickle of the pool filter was the only sound for a minute, maybe two, then you heard Steve sigh, heavy and world weary. You looked at him, feeling a little guilty.

“Shouldn’t you go after her?” You asked.

Steve gave a half shrug, already moving to sit down on the lounger that you’d spent your morning on. You joined him, sitting on the end so you didn’t touch, like you weren’t supposed to after Jessica’s accusation.

“Nah,” he told you, “it’s fine, it’s… whatever.”

You snorted and the sound made the corners of his mouth lift a little, eyes flitting over to you, always interested in what you were going to say.

“That’s a new height of romance, Harrington,” you mused, foot dipping into a small puddle of pool water. You drew lines and shapes on the dry concrete with your toe, watching the sun dry them out almost instantly. “It’s whatever?”

“I dunno,” Steve sighed, reaching over to pluck his sunglasses back from the top of your head and pushing them over the bridge of his nose. He looked good with them on, you mused, too pretty, too nice. “Wasn’t like we had that much in common.“

“Then why date her in the first place?” You asked, face twisting with annoyance.

Steve had developed a habit in freshman year of dating girls who gave him nothing more than wandering hands in the back of his car, passive aggressive comments when he missed their calls and whiplash when they found out about you.

A smirk tugged at his lips, a handsome match with his Ray Bans and messy hair and he turned to you, eyebrows raised.

“You’re a pig,” you muttered, trying to sound disgusted but Steve was pushing his fingers into your sides, hands dragging over your ribs and you were laughing despite yourself, “get off me!”

You were ignored, unsurprisingly, and you wondered if Jessica had made it back to her car yet, if she’d driven away or if she had heard your shriek of delight when Steve suddenly stood and scooped you up.

One arm was wrapped around your waist, a wide, rough hand pressed against the skin just under your breast, his thumb grazing the of your bikini. The other curved itself on your thigh, your body held tight to his as he ran with you, hurtling you both to the edge of the pool and you pressed your face into his neck when he jumped, bracing yourself for the cool water.

Steve didn’t let you go until you both surfaced, his feet planted on the bottom of the pool as he pushed you both to the surface. Your hands were around his neck and you gasped, water dripping from your lashes and lips, hair a wet mess and he was laughing. That soft laugh that made any summer day feel warmer than it already was, a laugh that reminded you of fresh lemonade and bedroom sheet forts.

He let go of your legs before you waist, letting the lower half of your body slide out of his grasp and slide against his, so you were chest to chest, your abdomens pressed together and you almost lost your footing, chin slipping under the water, eyes gazing up at him despite the way the sun made it hurt.

Maybe it was the way you pressed a hand to his stomach to ground yourself, feeling the muscles tense under your touch, maybe it was the way you were looking at him, maybe he just forgot he wasn’t supposed to look at you like that. But something happened and Steve cleared his throat, letting go of your waist and allowing himself to fall backwards and under the water.

He reappeared a few feet away, hair darker and slicked back, eyes a little wild as he looked at you, like you were suddenly dangerous.

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you.

You weren’t overly fond of Nancy Wheeler, not at first.

You couldn’t deny that the dislike you felt for the girl stemmed from jealousy and your own inability to get a handle on your feelings but, you had to admit, she was better than most of the girls Steve had dated before.

Pretty, smart, sharp and with a keen eye. She liked journalism, the quiet and even you. You shared the knowledge of The Upside Down, bonded over the fear you both felt for her brother and his friends and when you passed each other in the hallway, you nodded, civil and overly aware of all the things you’d both seen together.

You weren’t joined at the hip and you didn’t love how she slid her hand into Steve’s, or how he kissed her at her locker, telling you he’d catch up with you at lunch. You’d spent months telling yourself you weren’t jealous of Nancy, just that you missed your best friend and you resented the way the girl took up all his free time.

You missed the way he snuck in your bedroom window, a pointless task and waste of his energy, ‘cause your parents would hear him clambering up their drainpipe, eyes rolling, fond and affectionate, ‘cause it was Steve.

He’d always told you that he did it for the fun of it, to see you smile when his head appeared over the sill and so you’d help him clamber over the window frame. He’d spend the late hours with you, whispering about nothing and laughing about everything, shoulder to shoulder in your bed until you both fell asleep, sprawled on top of the sheets, his shoes in the middle of your floor and his arm slung over your waist.

You liked it when the sun woke you early, the curtain still opened from when you’d forgotten to close them after Steve’s sudden appearances, the light pink and peach as it leaked into your room. It painted stripes of light and shadow over your walls, over the boy’s broad shoulders and cheek, the other smushed into your mattress, hair a mess and lips parted sleepily.

You got to admire him like that, when his eyes were still closed and he was so unaware. Steve couldn’t catch you staring, wondering if his lips were actually as soft as they looked, if he knew how pretty you thought he was, if he thought you were pretty too.

He still picked you up for school in the morning, his BMW sat at the end of your drive but his clothes were sleep creased, hair mussed from spending the night with Nancy instead, sneaking through her bedroom window and not yours. He still smacked a kiss to your cheek when you parted for class but it wasn’t the same, he wasn’t quite just yours anymore and you hated the way it hurt.

So yeah, you could appreciate that Nancy was a nice person and seemed to be good for Steve - at least, until she wasn’t - but you didn’t have to like her for it.

When she broke your best friend’s heart, you’d found him sitting on the hood of his car after school, lips downturned and expression sour, nothing but worry beating in your chest ‘cause you hadn’t seen him since the morning before and no one answered your calls to his house that night.

But then rumours started swirling around the halls, floating over tables in the cafeteria like wildfire and you couldn’t fucking find him. You saw Nancy in the library during your free period, her head bent close to Jonathan Byers as they whispered about something you couldn’t hear, their hands on the table, fingers too close to touching and Nancy had the right to look guilty when her gaze met your own.

So you’d marched straight over to Steve and he crumbled a little when he saw it was you, slipping off the hood and letting you usher him to the front seat. He didn’t really hesitate when you held out your hand to him, silently asking him to let you take care of him.

He placed the car keys in your palm, eyes tired, face sad and you were desperate to fix it. You hadn’t seen Steve like that before and you didn’t know what to do, his pain was yours, your heart beating hard against your chest until you felt like your bones were bruised.

There were talks of the girl cheating on him, wandering around late with Jonathan and you knew they shared the same worries and trauma that you all did when it came to knowing things the rest of the town didn’t, but you didn’t know what was happening between the pair.

So you drove him home, listened when Steve told you that he loved her, that he didn’t know how to fix it. But then it was and then it wasn’t, a game of on and off, yes and no, that you couldn’t really keep up with.

It all came to a head on Halloween, after months of leaving your window open for no one.

Steve climbed in, startling you, hands finding your bedroom floor before his feet did and when he stood, eyes meeting yours, you wanted to be mad at him.

It had been a week since you hung out, passing in the halls and waving when you could, exams stressing you out and his time taken up by Nancy and all the parties he seemed intent on going to. He’d given up trying to get you to go with him, sick of it all after the second time, a spare part, third wheel, an audience to his kisses with Nancy.

But he stood by your bed with the most forlorn expression on his face, features soft and watery and you simply pulled back the sheets, shuffling over to the side that had been made yours when you were both seven, so Steve could claim his.

The boy toed off his shoes, his jacket falling to the carpet as he shrugged it off and you felt like a kid again when he crawled across your mattress, shuffling underneath the covers and pushing himself against you.

Steve got as close to you as he could without asking for a hug, his pride already seemingly too hurt to put himself out there, even with you. But he didn’t hesitate when you turned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you, your nose pressed into his hair. He smelled like smoke and weed from the party, a little like Steve underneath it.

He returned your touch instantly, seeking it out with a desperation that almost shocked you, eager to accept it when it was offered. He tugged you in by the waist, arms wrapped around you and his face pressed into the crook of your neck.

He wished he told you then, that you smelled like summer and afternoons by the pool, like cherry popsicles and promises and home. But he didn’t feel brave enough, not then, not yet.

“We broke up,” Steve finally mumbled, voice a little broken and muffled by your neck and hair. “She broke up w’me. Called us bullshit.”

You frowned, confused, pulling back a little in the hopes that Steve would look at you and explain but his grip on your waist only tightened and you patted at his hair, smoothed the almost curls at the nape of his neck and whispered his name.

“Steve, hey, babe, what?” You received a groan in answer but you persisted, shuffling out of his grasp and gripping his chin with your finger, pushing at him a little pleadingly until the boy looked up and met your gaze.

“What happened?”

Steve didn’t answer until you pulled the sheets over your heads, your own little bed fort that let the dim light of your bedside lamp filter through, soft and warm and hazy. You let go of his chin, your hand smoothing his hair back from his face and he pushed his cheek into your touch as he spoke.

“Nancy, it’s over,” he told you, a frown pulling at his brow, “she said the whole relationship was bullshit, that I was bullshit.”

You held your breath, letting him talk as you smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone, feeling him relax into you despite the way he was letting his words tumble from his lips, mixing in with his emotions until he was stuttering over himself.

“She, she said we were just acting like we were in love?” Steve caught your stare, his eyes confused as he looked at you, as if he could find an answer in your gaze but you just gaped at him. “Said that I only thought I was in love with her ‘cause I was too busy tryin’ to pretend I wasn’t in love with someone else, or some shit like that, I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“What?” You whispered, voice full of surprise because what the fuck?

“Right?” He answered, indignant and wide eyed. “I don’t know what she was talkin’ about, she would answer me, just told me she wasn’t in love with me and god, fucking Byers took her home.”

“Jonathan?”

You screwed up your face, hardly even reacting when Steve groaned again, pushing himself back into you, his face comfortably pressed into your chest, just above the swell of your breast, his mouth warm through your shirt.

It should’ve startled you, the proximity, the intimacy, especially after missing him for so long. But it was still Steve, your best friend, the boy that promised to be there until the very end.

“Why’d Jonathan take her home?” You asked, your cheek pressed to the top of his head as you spoke, the sheets fluttering around you both as Steve shifted, arms wrapping around you more, pulling you until you were flush with his body.

He couldn’t have been touching more of you if he tried.

“She was drunk,” he mumbled into your chest, lips moving over your shirt, making the material shift across your skin and it lit you up, body electric and the air buzzing. “I told him to. She didn’t want me.”

You sighed, eyes closing at the pained sound in the boy’s voice and you let him hold you, your own hand taking into his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way you knew he liked.

“Steve,” you murmured, soft and sympathetic.

He whispered your own name back to you, his tone the same and it made you smile. You could feel his own against your chest, lips lifting, breath coming out in a small huff.

“You could still talk to her tomorrow, y’know?” You said conversationally. You hated yourself for trying to fix it for him, for attempting to out the girl back between you both but fuck if you weren’t a good friend. “Maybe she just said all that shit ‘cause she had too much to drink.”

You twirled a length of the boy’s hair around your finger, making it curl. “Was it Jack Templeman’s punch? That dude makes rocket fuel in a bowl, she might have been absolutely wasted.”

Steve shook his head before he pulled back, falling into your pile of pillows and gazing at you.

“Nah, I don’t wanna chase her,” he said and despite the sadness in his voice, he sounded sure. “I don’t wanna be with someone who thinks I’m bullshit. I mean, I know I’m not perfect, but damn, bullshit?”

You shook your head, gaze hard and you wanted to shake him, to make him understand how wrong Nancy was.

“Steve, you're not bullshit.” He held your stare, lips parted. “You’re the furthest thing from that, I’m sorry I don’t know why Nancy said that, I wish I could-”

He stopped you before you could continue, a small smile lifting at his lips and he found your hands between the tangle of sheets, tugging you over to him and onto his chest. You lay your head there, protesting when Steve’s finger poked at your cheek, fond and soft.

“I know what you’re gonna say, sweetheart, and it’s fine.” He sighed, sleepy and weighted. “You don’t need to fix everything for me, not this time, anyway.“

You fell silent, thinking about the times Steve was referring to, wondering if this was finally the year he stopped needing you. The thought made your chest hurt, your eyes blur and you sniffed.

“My dad’ll be home from that conference soon,” he mumbled softly and you could tell without even looking at Steve that he had his eyes closed. “You can come fight my battles for me then, how’s that sound short stuff?”

It was silly, his words. The way they made you feel. Like you were needed again, important. Like he didn’t wanna face the things that scared him without you. It hurt that after all those years, he still felt like that about his own father but it calmed a part of you to know that he didn’t seem as cut up about Nancy Wheeler as he once was.

“Are you okay?” You asked, tentative, and you made a face ‘cause god, that seemed like a stupid fucking question. “Will you be okay?” You asked instead.

Steve hummed noncommittally and you craned your neck to look up at him, smiling when you were proven right at his closed eyes. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as you shifted over him, tucking yourself into his side.

“I mean yeah, sure,” he murmured, voice dropping lower and rougher as sleep pulled at him. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

He turned his face to yours at that, nose nudging at your forehead as he blindly sought out your features, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your temple.

“M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair and you stilled, swallowing the lump that had caught in your throat. “I’m so sorry I’ve not been around.“

You squeezed your eyes closed at his words, letting them burn until you were sure you weren’t going to cry.

You wanted to say it was okay, to soothe him, to make Steve feel better but the lie got caught on your tongue and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him something that wasn’t true.

You shrugged instead, lips twisted to keep them from turning downwards, his words heavy on you because god, you’d missed him so much.

“I missed you,” Steve whispered and fuck, it lit you up inside. “Like, really missed you.”

He was soft and gentle with it, words brushing against your temple, breath warm, hands twisting in the sides of your shirt, barely grazing at your skin, head butting at yours playfully.

He was Steve, he was late nights, long days, summer rainstorms, driving lessons, flunking your test, Saturday afternoon drives, feet on the dash, music too loud, smile blinding.

He was a little bit yours again.

“Yeah,” you sighed, feeling a little lighter than you had before, eyes falling shut like Steve’s. “I missed you too, Harrington.”

Steve’s breath was becoming slower, chest falling heavy and lazy and you both curled into each other on instinct, sleep pulling both of you together, the same way it did when you were both ten and piled on the sofa, movie still playing.

“You still my best friend?” His voice was a soft mumble, and you heard the worry there, hidden behind a crack of humour.

“Yeah, I’m still your best friend.”

—————

You didn’t see Nancy until a week later, and when you did, you didn’t expect her to corner you at your locker, big eyes wide and asking if you could talk.

You met her after school, walking to the opposite end of the parking lot from where Steve would be waiting on you, perched on the hood of his car as usual.

Nancy saw you coming, her face a little nervous as she bid goodbye to Jonathan who’d been standing beside her and you watched as they squeezed each other's hand before he took off.

You raised your brows as you approached, tugging your headphones to sit around your neck and you wondered what Nancy Wheeler could possibly have to say to you.

The world wasn’t ending, the kids were all safe and she wasn’t your best friend's girl anymore.

She squinted at you, trying to work out your mood, your emotions but you remained a little stoned faced, wondering if Steve would be pissed if had to see you here. You knew they’d spoken since Halloween, a chat that Steve had said felt too formal and stilted, but the air was cleared enough that they could cross paths when dropping Dustin, Will and Lucas at Mike’s house, an awkward wave exchanged from the front door to the car.

“You wanna sit?” Nancy asked, gesturing to a bench that sat by the edge of the school line, shadowed by trees that provided a little coverage from the wind that was picking up now that winter was approaching. You kicked at the leaves on the ground and shoved your hands into your jacket pocket, holding it tighter to your body.

“Sure,” you muttered, following her across the grass, leftover rain sticking to your boots.

The sky was still blue, a crisp Fall day that turned your nose pink, numbed your fingers and had you wishing for a Hawkins summer, the smell of sunscreen and cut grass replaced with rain and the promise of snow.

You sat on opposite ends of the bench, bodies turned to face each other and with the safety of your school bags between you both. You picked a dead leaf off the sole of your shoe, waiting for the other girl to talk.

“Look, I don’t know what Steve’s explained to you,” Nancy said, voice cracking a little with what seemed like nerves. “You know, when we spoke the other week.”

You shrugged, “I mean, not much,” you answered, “but it’s really not my business to know.”

Nancy nodded at that, appreciative, “I guess but I just want us to be friends, you know? I wanted you to understand why I broke it off with Steve. He’s a great guy but-”

“I know he is,” you interrupted, brows pulled together in confusion ‘cause there was never any debate about that. You softened a little when Nancy smiled at you, lips pulled up and eyes a little knowing. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“It’s fine,” she told you, voice lighter than it had been before. “Like I said, Steve’s great… I guess I just didn’t love him the way I should’ve. And maybe that would’ve been a little easier if I didn’t see the way he looked at someone else.”

You frowned, staring at the girl as she looked back at you, silently willing you to catch on.

“What?” You asked, “I thought this was about you and Jonathan? You can’t act as if you haven’t been glued to Byers hip since this happened.”

Nancy had the right to look guilty, picking at her nail before looking back up at you. “Yeah, no, you’re right. I didn’t mean for what happened with Johnathan to happen… it just did, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

She brushed a curl from her face, bringing her bag down to her feet so there was less separating her from you. The wind rushed at you both, stinging your cheeks and whipping at your clothes before it settled back down and let Nancy speak.

“I’m not blaming this on Steve, I’m not, and I shouldn’t have said he was bullshit,” she rushed out, “maybe we were just meant for other people you know? And think that, maybe, Steve doesn’t know that he’s already found his person.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huffed, “but whatever. I’m just glad I don’t have to hear the two of you arguing every other day.”

Nancy nodded, smiling at the way you were avoiding her gaze, your mind suddenly racing with what she’d said.

“For what it’s worth,” the girl murmured, foot nudging friendly against yours, “it would probably make it a lot easier on the poor guy if this girl could admit that she was in love with him too.”

“Alright, yeah,” you stood up suddenly, cheeks flushed and your head a little scattered. “I think you’ve got it twisted Wheeler, but, uh, good talk.”

The girl hid a laugh, pressing her lips together as she watched you gather your bag, eyes shining. Nancy nodded, looking up at you as you stood a little awkwardly. You raised a hand in a goodbye, a small smile lifting at your lips in what seemed like an amicable agreement.

You stopped before you got too far, the sun in your eyes as you squinted back at the girl who was still sitting on the bench.

“Hey, Nancy?” She looked at you, eyes surprised.

“Yeah?”

“Are you happy?” You asked and she was taken aback at how genuine you sounded. She paused, eyes flicking over to where Jonathan’s car was parked, engine idling as he waited for her.

She nodded, resolute. “Yeah, I am,” she answered quietly and confidently.

You nodded too, surprised at how it warmed you to hear that. You never wished ill on the girl, you just didn’t like how she broke your best friend, leaving you to put him back together again, piece by piece.

“I’m glad Steve’s got you, you know,” she called back before you could start to walk away again and her words made your heart stumble. You swallowed, looking at her with parted lips. “He’s lucky to have you.”

And well, wasn’t that a statement to behold?

When you finally clambered into Steve’s car, bringing the chill and some stray leaves from the outside, Steve was frowning softly, concerned by your lateness.

He looked at your flushed cheeks, pink nose and glassy eyes from the sharp wind and cranked up the heat, pointing his vents to your side too.

“Where’ve you been?” He asked, voice worried, “I was gonna call in the kids, start a search party.”

You laughed, a little strained after the conversation you had, rubbing your hands together for warmth and you shrugged, noncommittal.

“I was uh, just catching up with a friend.”

Can I go where you go?

When Steve got a job after graduation at Scoops Ahoy, it was supposed to mean free ice cream and catching a late showing at the cinema after his shifts.

It brought you Robin Buckley, Steve in a sailors hat, a new flavour of ice cream every month and fucking Russians.

You thought dimensions and demogorgons were about as much as you could handle but Dustin came back from camp with a new gadget he’d built, some kind of high tech radio that looked like it was held together with duct tape and paper clips but the thing actually worked.

It worked well enough to pick up secret codes from underground labs, translated by Robin and well, fuck. Suddenly you were trapped in an elevator that wasn’t actually supposed to be an elevator and Erica Sinclair was going to miss her Uncle Jack’s party.

You knew Steve wasn’t happy with you, you could tell by the way his jaw was set, the way that he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, and his lips twisted and his gaze dropped when you tried to catch his gaze.

It made the air in the elevator crackle and buzz, tension on top of tension as you moved around each other, looking for a way out, hardly touching, hardly speaking. Robin twisted her lips, sympathetic, when she caught your gaze, your face flushed with annoyance.

He’d told you not to come.

Not out of meanness, or because you had fallen out, simply because he didn’t want you in harm's way. You’d ended up yelling at each other, a hundred feet below the mall and trapped in a metal box because why did it matter when Robin and the kids were stuck there too?

Steve, of course, cared that he had another friend, a thirteen year old and a ten year old to keep safe and he had every intention of doing so. But he couldn’t help but feel sick, his stomach rolling, at the thought of you being put in a dangerous situation.

You’d told him that he was being stupid, that you weren’t leaving him. You thought you’d seen all the dangers Hawkins had to offer, you could handle yourself, you could help him.

His worst fears came true when you all got split up, Dustin and Erica hopefully somewhere above you all, on their way for help, for something, anything.

But then a man came, tall and dressed in uniform, badges adorning his chest, and he took one look at the way Steve stood in front of you when he entered and swung for the side of his head.

The boy fell backwards, dazed, groaning at the shock and pain of it all before pulling himself off of the floor, body slow and sluggish. He lifted his head in time to see the same man gripping you by the back of your neck, hair fisted painfully in his grasp as he pulled you out of the room. Robin was yelling, swearing as she tried to get a grip on you, her hand wrapped around your ankle from where she was on the floor but you were pulled from her easily, a swift kick sent to her stomach for the audacity of her trying.

Steve felt his heart leave his chest, plummeting to his stomach, his blood running cold and everything around him slowed down. His vision was fuzzy but he could see the panic on your face, lips parted in a gasp as you tried to get to grips with what was happening.

Russians. A lab. Under Starcourt Mall.

He couldn’t move fast enough and he wanted to yell out, he wanted to run. But it was like being trapped in a bad dream, body damp, sheets tangled around his limbs as he tried his best to scream, to move, but nothing fucking happened.

The door slammed shut before the ringing in his ears could stop and he could taste blood in his tongue, metallic and horribly warm. He made his fists bleed from pounding on the door, knuckles cracked and bruised, voice wrecked from yelling your name.

He only stopped when the man came back, pulled him from Robin's side and threw more hits to his face, his body. His skin was littered with angry bruises, almost black, skipping the shades of lavender and pink, turning inky within minutes.

Between each punch, Steve spat out blood and asked where you were, groaning as he spoke. He was ignored, time and time again, until he lost it completely, tried to lash out, fists swinging, legs thrashing and he wasn’t sure if he was crying, or it was just blood dripping down his face but he wanted to sob, desperate for you.

He was thrown to a chair, tied back to back with Robin as some guy in a white coat threatened him with surgical equipment that looked like it didn’t belong in a hospital and when his eyes fell shut with the weight of his injuries, he wondered if he’d ever see his best friend again.

You were finally gathered up in what could’ve been hours later, maybe one, maybe five. A guard tugged at your wrists, taped together and red raw from where you’d tried to pull them apart and suddenly you were pushed through the same door they’d taken you from, thrown at Steve’s feet and the yelling continued.

Who did you work for, who did you work for, who did you work for?

It didn’t end until people were dead and Starcourt Mall was on fire.

Alarms had gone off, Dustin rushing in with an electric cattle prod of all things, weidling it like battleaxe and telling you all you had to run. You weren’t sure who was supporting who as you all tumbled back to the surface, dripping blood and tears onto the mall floor as Steve gripped your hand with a fierceness you’d never experienced from him before.

But then there were guns, El broken but still fighting, the rest of your friends, concern and confusion written on their faces ‘cause when you had all been fighting Russian Soviets, they’d been fighting Billy, the evil inside of him turning him into something different from the boy you’d seen in the school halls.

You’d held Max when he fell, body bloodied and ripped open, eyes glassy like he’d known what was coming. You left the mall that night with a new fear of loud noises, of fireworks that cracked and snapped in the sky. You knew what burning flesh smelled like, you knew that there was more to be said about monsters, more danger in the world than just the creatures that lurked in the cracks of the earth.

You knew that evil could come in the shape of a man, a familiar face, behind a uniform, a doctor's white lab coat.

You were tired, beaten, a little bloodied and bruised and your throat was raw after you’d screamed for Steve, fists beating on the door as you went ignored. You heard him from behind the steel walls, his voice as wrecked and panicked as your own and you sobbed when you heard his yells turn to groans, sickening wet thumps of bone hitting bone, breaking up the sound of him calling out your name.

You sat beside him in the ambulance, hands still clutching each other tightly, fear of being torn apart again ripping through you both. The medic wanted to take him to hospital, to make sure his cheekbone wasn’t shattered, that you both weren’t suffering from shock or concussion but Steve refused, just wanting to go fucking home.

The sky was angry, red and crying, plumes of black and crimson smoke billowing from the broken building and you didn’t know what to do. People were dead and the whole world seemed to be burning.

But Steve took you by the hand, pulled you to his side as you made sure everyone was okay, as well as they could be considering the circumstances and the boy stood a little numb as he watched you drop to your knees and fold Max into a hug, tears streaking through the blood and dirt on your cheeks when you pressed a kiss to El’s forehead.

Everyone was a little broken, barely standing, barely breathing and it didn’t seem difficult to continue the lie to your parents, calling them from a pay phone to say that you were okay, you had seen the news but it was fine, you had been at Steve’s the whole time, you’d be home in the morning.

You let Jonathan bundle you both into the back of his car, one of his old jackets thrown around your shoulders as Nancy sat in the front, Steve beside you, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. He dropped you both at Steve’s front door, little to be said between the hour of you as shock and tiredness tugged at your bodies, your heads. Hands were pressed to shoulders, squeezing softly, telling each other everything you all needed to say but couldn’t - not then, not just yet.

Thank you, I’m sorry, I’m glad you’re okay, I’m happy you’re safe.

The Harrington house was empty, as expected and the rooms felt darker and colder than they had before, empty and too big, your harsh breaths rattling too loudly and you could feel a panic building inside you, clawing at your chest.

It grew when you looked at Steve’s face, dried blood and dark bruises making him look like he was about to fall apart and when you squeezed your eyes closed, you could hear the way he yelled your name, raw and broken.

A sob bubbled from your throat, spilling from your lips and you’d barely taken a breath before Steve was in front of you, arms pulling you into him, a hand around your neck, foreheads pressed together. It was supposed to ground you - and it did, in a way - but the cries still came, stuttered and broken, the heavy kind of sobs that made your body heave with the exertion of it all.

Steve held you through it, both of you swaying unsteady on your feet in the middle of his hall, shoes streaking dirt across Mrs. Harrington’s white tiles. Neither of you could ask the other if they were okay, ‘cause the answer was obvious but when your tears finally stopped, your face wet and your head sore, the boy took you by the hand and led you up the stairs.

He walked past his bedroom door, the little slice of heaven you most wanted at that moment in time, the only place in the large house that truly felt like home to you both. It was a surprise when he nudged open the door to the main bathroom, rarely used due to all the ensuites that were accessed through bedrooms but the large corner tub there suddenly looked like a gift from above.

You felt like a spare part when Steve let go of you long enough to turn the taps, filling the bath with hot water and a mixture of his mother’s expensive soaps and bath milks, sweet smelling bubbles and steam filling the room.

You found a first aid kit underneath the sink, pushed to the back of the cupboard, unused and when you motioned to the boy to sit on the closed toilet seat, he did without arguing. He spread his legs for you without you needing to ask, standing between his knees with a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton balls, more tears slipping down your cheeks as you mumbled out apologies, dabbing the stinging liquid into his skin.

Steve simply held onto your legs, eyes closed and his hands wrapped around the back of your knees, his thumbs stroking over the sensitive skin there as he whispered back, telling you it was okay, it’s fine, I'm fine sweetheart.

The cuts on his face didn’t seem as angry, as severe, when you wiped away the blood that crusted around them but the dark bruises seemed mean and vicious against the pale cast of his skin, shock seeping out all the colour from his cheeks.

He let you press a kiss to his forehead, clutching at the sides of his head, fingers buried in his damp, messy hair and the push of your lips was fierce, conveying everything you wanted to say but couldn’t, because fuck, you didn’t know how to tell your best friend that you think you were falling in love with him. Because how else could the thought of losing someone hurt so fucking much?

Steve left you alone to bathe, skin stinging as you stripped down to your underwear, your body and bones lazy as you pulled at your jeans and shirt. You gave up when you got down to your underwear, cotton pants and lacy bralette mismatching in a clash of cherry print and forest green and they both stuck to your skin as you slid into the hot water.

You drew your knees to your chest, eyes closed and head pressed there as you let the heat nip at you, cuts and scrapes protesting but it was good to feel something when your head felt numb, your chest hollow. You weren’t sure how long you sat there for but you could've sworn someone was calling your name, a knock on the door echoing on the tiles and your mouth felt too fuzzy to answer.

Steve could only hear the slow, steady drip of the tap and panic rose in his chest when you didn’t answer him and he had thoughts of you unconscious and slipping beneath the bubbles.

So he knocked once more, heart racing before he turned the handle and pushed at the door a little, calling out your name.

He heard the water splash at the sides of the tub, movement at least. But then he heard you sniff, the noise turning to soft sobs and it gripped at his heart, crushed it a little and before he knew it, he was in the bathroom, bare feet on the tiles and staring down at you, tucked into the smallest ball you could amongst the bubbles.

Neither of you spoke as Steve pulled off the shirt and cotton sweats he’d changed into, his own eyes glassey as he left his boxers on, stepping into the water with you, sitting down in the space behind you.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world when he spread his legs and pulled you into them, your back to his bare chest as he wrapped his arms around your knees too, holding you to him. He let you cry like that, head bent over yours, the two of you curled into the water together, steam licking at your skin. You think you felt a tear drop from his eye, warm as it slid through your hair and onto your cheek and the feel of it made you search for his hand, scrambling desperately under the hot water and foam so you could link your fingers through his.

Your grip on each other was as tight as it was when he’d pulled you to your feet after Dustin saved you from pliers and scalpels, the same way it had been when a six year old Steve had helped you up from the playground, knees scraped and front tooth missing after falling from the monkey bars. It was the same touch you granted him when you were twelve and he had to go to the emergency room, his arm broken after falling off of his bike. You’d begged to ride in the ambulance with him and his mom, his ink stained fingers reaching for you, not Mrs. Harrington.

When you had no tears left to give and the water was turning lukewarm, Steve turned the tap again, let the hot water fill the room back up with steam and soothe your tired bodies. He grabbed a sponge, tapped at your knee until you turned to him, face to face and unbelievably vulnerable.

But you let him smooth the sponge over the bare skin that he could see, up your arms, wiping away the soot from the fire, the stubborn dried blood that didn’t want to leave. He squeezed warm water over your chest, looking at your eyes and definitely not your bra, the pretty, green lace turning darker against your skin.

He pressed a kiss to your hair when you let your head fall into him, too tired to sit up and when you couldn’t hear the far away whine of sirens in the distance anymore, he helped you stand, the water that was light pink with blood swirling down the drain. He wrapped you both in towels, murmuring the whole time that you were okay, he had you, it was gonna be fine.

You pulled your favourite shirt from underneath his pillow, tugging it on and falling into his bed, the smell of Steve and home surrounding you in the same way that the sheets did, soft and comforting. The boy clambered in beside you, body stiff and pain settling in his bones but you glued yourself to his side, hands intertwined and pressed between your chests and you couldn’t close your eyes until Steve leaned into you, breath warm and smelling of mint as he pressed his lips to your ear as he told you: “Remember when I promised you that I’d protect you from everything bad?”

You nodded, remembering that cherry flavoured popsicle and the way Steve’s pool looked so much bigger and deeper back then. “We were eight, Steve.”

He hummed in agreement, forehead rubbing fond against your own and you revelled in the fact that you both smelled like the same cotton and lemongrass body wash.

“We were,” he agreed, voice a soft whisper, cracking a little from the yelling that had ripped his throat apart. “But the promise still stands, sweetheart.”

You opened your eyes to look at them and he looked a little fuzzy as you teared up. But Steve shook his head gently, hand tightening around your smaller one.

“No more tears, please babe,” he sniffed too, as if the entire night suddenly hit him, “I got you now, yeah? I’m never gonna let anythin’ happen to you, promise.”

You slept then, a little broken and fitful, but every time you shifted in your sleep, the boy followed, bodies traversing across the mattress and between the sheets. When you woke in the morning, you had your head on Steve’s chest, a leg thrown over his own, your thigh hitched high over his and his arms were a vice grip around you, his face pressed to the top of your head.

The sheets were on the floor, a pillow by the door as if it had been kicked and the sun was shining through the gap in the curtain, bright and warm and mocking. The world felt a little different after that night, and so did your friendship with Steve Harrington.

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all.

Working at Family Video with both Robin and Steve meant that you got to spend a lot more time with your friends. It also meant that Robin was more privy to watching how you and Steve interacted with each other and it had the girl taking notes on your relationship with the boy like her new favourite science experiment.

“Look, I’m just saying, he’s not really dated since Starcourt and the boy lost it over you that night.”

You rolled your eyes, still putting away the videos that were stacked in your arms as Robin followed you up and down the aisles. The store was quiet, a Tuesday afternoon giving you little to do but you’d graduated after you fought a monster and survived the soviets, so applying for colleges wasn’t all that high on your to do list.

Your parents had taken that news better than Steve’s, both couples perplexed at their kids' choices to stay in Hawkins and work for the summer but at least your Dad had threatened bodily harm against you when you’d told him.

You eyed Steve who was on the other end of the store, leaning lazy against the counter as he ticked off the delivery list. He looked a little older, like you did, but the stubble on his jaw and the broadness of his shoulders made your lips part every time you chanced a look.

He was still Steve, but he was a little taller, a little stronger. He was still late night drives and sneaking through your window, mixtapes on your birthday and cherry popsicles in his backyard during the summer. Maybe he flirted a little more with you, comments suggestive and compliments coming easier but you tried not to think about it. When you did, late at night and alone in bed, it made your head spin, your lips part, your eyes close.

You sighed, turning to Robin to tell her with an exasperated whisper, “we’ve been best friends since pre-k, of course he was upset that I was dragged away by a fucking Russian Soviet, Robin.”

She rolled her eyes at you, stumbling over her own foot as she tried to keep up. Steve glanced up at you both at the noise, brows furrowed as you both froze, eyes a little wide and you waved, hands raised awkwardly in unison.

“What’re you both doing?” He called out, suspicion lacing his voice and you felt heat travel from your chest to your cheeks.

“Nothing,” Robin called out at the same time you told him you were fixing the horror section.

Your voices piled over each other and you wanted to groan, because Robin couldn’t lie to save herself and now you both looked like idiots. But Steve just smiled, fond, and turned back to his stack of papers.

“I'm telling you,” Robin continued, voice a little lower now, “Steve likes you, like, he likes you, likes you. Why can’t you see that?”

You stopped and turned at her last words, truly taken aback at how sincere she sounded, how confused she seemed.

‘Cause Steve was still Steve and you were still you and nothing in the world could really change that. Steve had promised you that he’d always be your best friend, and at nineteen, that still seemed like a pretty sweet deal.

You shrugged, pushing the last copy of Nightmare On Elm Street onto the shelf and you crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling far too exposed at her interrogation.

“It’s not like that,” you told her, whispering still, “it’s never been like that with Steve.”

She huffed, swiping a finger along the row of videos and blowing away the dust she’d collected. Robin turned, an eyebrow raised. “Would you want it to be like that? ‘Cause seriously, dude, I still can’t believe that, in like, sixteen years of friendship, you’ve never even kissed once.”

You shrugged again, holding back on telling the girl that sometimes you thought the same.

When you were fourteen, you thought that Steve was going to be your first kiss. Looking back, you weren’t sure why, you just did. Maybe it was a feeling, maybe it was hope, maybe it was just inevitable.

‘Cause you grew up beside the boy and never once did he feel like a brother, and that had to mean something, right? He held your hand when you watched scary movies, when you crossed the road on Main Street, when it was rush hour, just like your parents had told you to when you were seven. He never dropped your hand, he never kicked you from his side of the bed when the movies you watched together became too much.

You went through middle school and high school still the same, joined at the hip, still sharing secrets, still holding hands when things got too hard.

But then one summer, Hayley Collins had a birthday party and you’d been sick, too ill to attend but Steve had still stood underneath your bedroom window, features twisted with conflict as you told him it was fine, he could go without you. You remember telling him to have fun, and to bring you back some candy.

He did. He brought you back fistfuls of sweet stuff, bags of M&M’s and pop rocks but you didn’t expect him to bring his lips to your ear and tell you a secret you never expected.

Steve had had his first kiss. A game of spin the bottle in Hayley’s basement with her cousin who was from out of town. A girl a year older, a girl who had pretty blonde curls and a reason to wear a real bra.

You remembered the feeling when your heart sank and the pop rocks stopped fizzing on your tongue. You wondered why the sugar tasted bitter, why your eyes were suddenly pricking with hot tears and when the boy asked if you were okay, a grin slipping from his lips, you lied and told him that you still felt sick.

You turned to Robin, a fake smile pulling at your lips as you tried to act casual, as if her words weren’t kickstarting a feeling in your chest that you had been trying so hard to ignore for the last five years.

You furrowed your brow, turned to the cart that was still full of videos no thanks to your friend, and picked up another pile. You stacked them until they reached your chin, until they gave you a reason to walk to the other side of the stands and take a deep breath.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” you lied, and it felt heavy on your tongue, tasting too sweet and sinful. Because of course you had. “It’s not something that’s crossed my mind.”

Robin saw right through you and you could tell by the way her brows rose and she hid her smile behind a press of her lips.

“Sure,” she said, voice too light. “Humour me then. What do you think would happen if you did let it cross your mind?”

You stared at her, mouth agape, because what the fuck was the girl getting at.

She grabbed some of the videos you were holding, The Exorcist close to slipping from its slot underneath your chin and she started stacking them beside you, completely out of alphabetical order, but that was a problem for another day.

“Just listen,” she said and you hated how she sounded excited. “What do you think would happen if you asked Steve to kiss you?”

She dropped a box, cursing when the corner of it hit her toe but she bounced back up, bright eyes still brimming with all the thoughts that were swirling round her head at once.

“Cause you know he would, right? Like the poor guy can’t say no to you, he’s never been able to.”

You made a sound of protest, heart hammering in your chest because Steve was still right there, fingers running though his hair, pen between his lips and so completely fucking oblivious.

But Robin suddenly stopped and spun to face you. She wrapped a hand around your wrist, soft and warm and you could tell she was choosing her words carefully before she said them, a sure fire way to tell that the girl was being serious.

“There’s a reason that none of his girlfriends have stuck around, babe,” Robin murmured, sincerity lacing every word. “It’s ‘cause he always picks you, every time.”

—————

It had been a week since Robin had cornered you at work, whispering to you about Steve and kissing and god, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You thought about it when he gave you a ride home after work, sun setting, the day turning pink and casting indigo shadows over his face, the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth.

You thought about it when he pushed himself into you during Saturday morning shifts, his body lazy as he leant against you, his chest to your back and his head on your shoulder. It felt softer and intimate than when he’d done it before, your mind running wild with the idea that if you turned around and kissed him, right there in the middle of Family Video, he might kiss you back.

You thought about it when you were lying by his pool, his parents gone, the kids and Dustin’s new friend Eddie starting water fights on the lawn. You’d watch the way Steve watched you, jealous eyes and lips pouted when Eddie soaked you with a water balloon, skin damp, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. You watched how he softened and lit up again, your attention on him when you shook your wet hair over his bare chest and you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze followed the movements you made when you bent to slide your shorts back up your legs.

So maybe it was for those reasons that you turned to him one Friday night, when it was just the two of you out in his backyard, and asked him why he’d never kissed you.

It could’ve been the joint you’d been sharing making you feel braver, or maybe the shadows that you were hiding in, the spaces that the pool lights didn’t quite reach.

Maybe it was the way Steve had been looking at you each time you took the joint from his lips and put it between your own. Hair a little messy, eyes hooded, jaw slack.

Maybe it was because of all of it. Maybe it was because you were nineteen and growing impatient. Maybe it was sixteen years of build up. Of wondering, wanting, waiting.

The air smelled the same way it did when you were eight, chlorine and cedar from the trees, that afternoon's sunscreen mixing with weed and smoke. Your tongue was stained red from the popsicle you’d had, Steve’s blue and there were new freckles on both of your faces, noses a little pink from lying out in the sun all day.

And when the afternoon faded into evening and the sky was lilac, Steve produced a joint with a grin, a wiggle of his brows and suddenly you were lying on the deck together, the pool filter trickling in the background and laughing soft as you blew smoke into the night.

There was a buzz of insects from the forest that stood behind the house, the faint hum of someone’s music that played from a couple of yards over and you felt the warmth radiate from the boy from where he lay beside you.

Your bare feet pointed to opposite ends of the pool, one of yours dipped into the water and your heads were touching, cheek to cheek. If you turned to look at him, you knew your lips could slip over his easily and the thought of it made your body fizz.

He had just plucked the joint from your mouth, thumb grazing clumsy over your top lip, fitting pretty into the dip of your Cupid’s bow when you tilted your head, cheek resting on the patio, the slabs still warm from the afternoon sun.

“Hey, Harrington,” you sounded quiet and lazy, like you didn’t have a care in the world. But god, your heart was in your throat, pulsing like a warning. “You ever thought ‘bout kissing me?”

If Steve was shocked, he didn’t show it, not really. His eyes widened slightly, joint hanging slack from his lips and he stubbed it out on the concrete before swallowing, hard.

He turned to you, noses almost brushing and you watched the way his gaze settled on your lips.

“Why d’you ask?” His voice was a hush, warm and rough.

You shrugged, boldness faltering because he hadn’t answered your question but holy shit, he was still looking at your mouth, the way your tongue snuck out to wet your bottom lip before you spoke.

“Just something Robin said,” you told him, nose scrunched.

Your words made his lips part, nodding in understanding because of course Robin was involved and the girl had been at him too, hounding him in the stockroom at work, calling him out on his obvious crush on your over old, dusty videos.

But all the boy could say was, “oh.”

And then there was silence, for a second, maybe two. It felt like minutes, like an hour, like the sky was suddenly crashing down on you, as if lavender clouds and the stars were going to bury you were you lay but then-

“I have,” Steve said, quietly sure. You looked over at him as he blew out a breath, “course I’ve thought about it. ‘Bout kissing you.”

“Oh,” it was your turn to keep silent, his admission washing over you like a tsunami sized wave, one that you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep your head above.

You sat up suddenly, shocking Steve and he leaned up onto his elbows with wide eyes, watching as you turned to face him, legs crossed and knees knocking into his thighs.

“Why haven’t we?” You asked, bemusement colouring your tone and you couldn’t help but press your hand to his where it lay on the deck. Your fingers brushed over his, a new kind of touch. “Why haven’t we ever kissed?”

You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat, if it was rattling against your ribs as loud as it seemed to be. You held your breath as Steve sat up too, mirroring your pose and crossing his legs until you were knee to knee and looking like a couple of innocent kids again.

He shrugged, blowing out another breath and he tugged a hand through the front of his hair, making it stand on end. He looked a little wild, like you short circuited him, like you were half way to ruining him.

The boy’s voice cracked a little when he tried to answer and you wondered if this was okay, if you should’ve asked but then Steve was speaking, his thumb drawing absentminded circles over your bare knee.

“I’m not really sure,” he said and he spoke soft and quiet, like he was telling you a secret. “I suppose I just didn’t wanna lose my best friend.”

It was the answer you expected. Best friend first, the prospect of a girl to kiss in the background of his mind. You should’ve been happy, you should’ve felt loved, but the idea of never having Steve in the way you realised you wanted him was becoming more crushing by the day.

“Or maybe,” he suddenly continued, “I guess… I guess I didn’t realise I was allowed to.”

Your lips parted at that, a small bomb dropped in the middle of the Harrington’s backyard. You waited for the pool to empty, for the small wave to hit your back, for the sky to light up but nothing came and Steve was watching you, waiting.

“You’re allowed to,” you whispered and oh my god, you didn’t feel high enough for this, but you continued, tummy dropping and skin electric. “You’ve always been allowed to.”

You heard Steve’s breath hitch and it only felt natural when his hand came up to cup the back of your neck, thumb pressed to the spot behind your ear and god, he was leaning in and so were you.

“I just don’t know if we should,” he was telling you but he was still moving into you and his hand never fell away from your face.

“It’s just a kiss,” you told him, voice shot, lips falling apart and you could smell his aftershave, the leftover chlorine that stuck to his skin and he was summer, he was cherry and smoke and god, he was forbidden, he was yours. “Friends can kiss, doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“It’s really just curiosity, right?”

His nose was bumping against yours, both of your eyes fluttering closed at the feel of the other's breath falling across your lips and you wondered if he’d taste like his popsicle, blue raspberry, sugar and fizz.

You nodded at his question, too gone to speak and the movement made your top lip brush against his. Sparks against your skin, electric, dangerous and it made you sigh.

“Steve?” You whispered, eyes squeezed shut like you were seven again and making a wish beside your birthday cake, candles making your skin glow.

He hummed, thumb still pushing against that spot on your neck, “yeah sweetheart?”

“Will you kiss me?”

And fuck, maybe Robin was right because the boy didn’t say no. In fact, Steve didn’t say anything, he just moved into you until your nose was pressed into his cheek and his lips were plush against yours and oh my god you were kissing your best friend.

He still tasted like raspberry, like you thought he would. Like summer and promises and pool days and a little smoke and Steve.

It was a slow push of his lips to your own, mouths slanting over each other’s, soft and languid like you both knew this was your only chance. You thought you heard him moan, a soft, low noise that made your chest hurt and when the kiss lingered, you brought your hands to his cheeks, fingers splayed over his jaw as you tugged him a little closer, greedy.

And when his tongue licked at the curve of your bottom lip, his hand travelled to tilt at your chin, asking you to open for him, you did, no questions asked. You sighed, blissed out, when his tongue slid over yours, a hand falling to fist in his t-shirt, soft cotton crumpled in your hand because you felt like you were going to float away.

Then Steve was pulling back, chest heaving, forehead pressed to yours and eyes still slammed shut as he gave you another secret, pressed to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the curve of your neck.

“I always thought you were gonna be my first kiss,” he said it like a confession, like something holy. “M’sorry you weren’t.”

And then he was back on you, lips melted between your own and you knew that the pretty noises that you pulled from him would play like a record in your dreams for months on end. Steve was grasping at your hip, the material of your dress bunched under his hand, making the cotton hitch higher up your thighs.

You were in his lap, wide hands on your sides, guiding you as you kissed him, lovesick, eyes closed, body buzzing and you fell across his knees, thighs shifting apart to cage him underneath you and oh my god.

Fuck.

You sat a little higher than him, knees planted on the deck and his head was tilted back to kiss you as you crowded him. One hand was on your jaw, thumb rubbing against your cheek as he kissed you deeper now, a little dirty and when he pulled a small moan from you, his hand clasped at the back of your thigh, skin on skin.

You could feel him hard underneath you and it made your head feel fuzzy, your body pleading with you to drag yourself along the length of him, hips rolling, chest heaving.

When you pulled back, panting, the reflections of the pool were bouncing off your faces, ripples of light dancing across the boy's features, hitting his eyes and turning them caramel. You felt golden when he touched you, skin lit up, the air around you both crackling like a storm was coming.

Maybe it was still the weed, maybe it was a new found courage, maybe it was just teenage hormones and the thought of seeing each other naked for the first time since you were both four, but when Steve asked if he could take you inside, you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

It felt different in his bedroom when you both tumbled in, colliding with the dresser as you kissed each other like you meant it, like you’d never do it again. The room felt smaller, darker, softer, more intimate than it had ever been for you and suddenly you felt like a girl at the end of date.

Steve touched you like you were more than just his best friend and it made your stomach roll, your thighs rub together and you couldn’t quite get over the way his hand spanned the width of your cheek, fingertips grazing your hairline whilst his thumb managed to pull at your bottom lip, eager for more of you.

It all got a little wild after that, loose change and bottles of aftershave cologne clattering off of the drawers, falling to the floor as Steve picked you up and slammed you on top of it, legs spreading for him to fit in between. Hands roamed up your thighs, pushing at the soft skin there until he hitched a knee up and over his hip, pressing himself into you.

Your dress came off first, his shirt following, a mix of colours on the carpet and he pressed his lips to the skin he uncovered, mouth over lavender lace and delicate straps.

It felt desperate, you felt desperate. And when he sucked a bruise into the column of your throat, you keened, high and needy. It made the boy groan, mouth vibrating against your chest as he kissed over the lace triangles covering you, his gaze flicking up to watch you nod at him before he was pushing one aside, tongue smoothing over a nipple.

It made you grab at his hair, fingers delving deep, tugging in appreciation and you were prepared for the sound it pulled from him, low in the back of his throat and it made his eyes flutter shut.

“Sweetheart,” Steve huffed out, hands skimming up and down your sides as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna come in my pants if you keep that up.”

He sounded wild, unravelled and sharp around the edges. It made you feel full of power, pretty lips and lace and soft skin, and you pressed the softest kiss to Steve’s mouth, his breath coming in harsh pants and before you could ask, you were being manhandled again, legs around his waist and his hands on your ass.

He sat you both on the bed like that, spread out pretty on top of him, knees pushed into the mattress as you pulled at his belt, holding yourself up as he shuffled out of his jeans. He sucked tiny bruises on your collar bones as your bra was peeled off, nothing but your underwear separating you both and you felt his hands drag down your back, a touch that was so affectionate and soft that it took your breath away.

Then night seemed slower after that, like time paused for you both, just for you to remember every touch. Like the world stopped spinning on its axis just for you two, just so you would both remember the way the other felt, ‘cause fuck, you had a feeling this wouldn’t happen again.

“We don’t have to go any further,” Steve gasped, lips barely leaving yours as pushed and pulled at your hips, helping you rock over him, body rolling across his lap. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

But you were ready to climb him, your hands grabbing at his hair to tug him back to you, kisses swallowing his words and telling the boy that you wanted exactly the opposite.

It was strange how natural it felt, to tug the length of him out of his boxers, the feel of him hot and hard in your hand. You shuffled in Steve’s lap as he palmed you over the lace of your underwear, breath uneven. It didn’t take long for him to tug them down your legs as he slid on a condom, your foot kicking purple lace to his bedroom floor and you suddenly felt like you were underwater; body moving lazy and slow as you lifted yourself onto your knees, Steve’s hands strong and reassuring as you took him in your hand and sunk down onto him.

Neither of you moved, bodies tangled and still as you fit perfectly in his lap, arms wrapped around each other as you panted heavy into parted lips. Steve whispered your name, like a prayer, soft and broken before he pushed his lips to yours, head tilted into you so he could catch your lips deep and slow.

He grunted in surprise when you tightened around him, body clenching on his at the touch of his tongue across your bottom lip and you whimpered, hips beginning to wiggle. This was more than you’d felt before, more than wandering hands in back seats, more than a quick and fast hook-up in a party bathroom, more than fingers under skirts in your bedroom when your parents were asleep across the hall.

“Can I move?” You ask, quiet, your hands grappling desperately at Steve’s shoulders palming over the muscles there. “I need to move, Steve, please.” If you were begging, you didn’t care, because you felt so full, so tight around him and you couldn’t help but admire the way the boy looked underneath you.

But Steve didn’t have you waiting long, any teasing long forgotten about ‘cause he felt like he was wound too tight and you felt like fucking heaven around him. You didn’t know your eyes were wet until his thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, breath stuttering and you both gasped and swore when you lifted yourself up, just to rock yourself back down.

He moaned your name so prettily, lips glossy from your kisses and his eyes were hooded, gaze set on you, jaw slack, hands roaming across the expanse of your back as he held you to him.

You moved over him with purpose, Steve answering with low groans and he pulled soft whimpers from you, your hand catching his face so you could look at him, gazes heavy and hot, pinned to each other. Your thumb found the curve of his bottom lip, tugging a little and Steve moaned when the pad of it slid over the edge of his teeth. “Steve,” you gasped, hips moving messy and the boy grabbed at your ass, helping you ride him a little faster.

“That’s it, sweetheart, tell me, tell me what you want and I’ll give you it,” he pressed his lips to yours as he spoke, words slipping over your lips, your tongue and god, they tasted sweet. “I’ll give you anything.”

“More,” was all you could manage, breath hitching, eyes slamming shut ‘cause Steve’s hand dropped between you both, skin slick and he pressed his thumb over your clit; quick, hot circles that made stars flash behind your eyelids. “Close?” Steve asked, voice rough and you nodded, moving a little wilder over him, the boy reciprocated, hands holding your hips still so he could thrust up hard into you until you were biting down on the muscle on his shoulder, thighs tensing, eyes tearing up.

Steve whispered your name when he came, arms tight around you, head buried in the crook of your neck, eyes squeezed shut, hoping and praying that he’d always remember the way you felt around him.

He kissed you one last time that night, bodies still naked and stretched out between his sheets and you didn’t say anything to each other as you caught your breaths, eyes wide on each other. There was a part of you that wished you could have the excuse of alcohol, too messy after some party to remember. You couldn’t blame the weed either, the half smoked joint still stubbed out in the backyard, hardly enough to do anything than let you both share a buzz.

In the morning, you pulled on your clothes, wrinkled on Steve’s bedroom floor, still smelling of smoke and the boy. You tiptoed around his room, searching for your underwear, your shoes, all while the boy lay on his bed, face down, hair mussed and the white sheets barely covering his waist.

You wish you had it in you to let yourself drop back down into bed with, to have the courage to press a kiss to the freckle on his right shoulder, smooth a soft hand down his spine. But the sun was coming in through the window and your lips were still swollen from your best friend’s kisses and everything was starting to taste like a mistake.

You didn’t know it, but Steve was awake as you left, eyes open and face pressed into the pillow that still smelled like your shampoo, heart beating wild in his chest but he didn’t move, didn’t call out to stop you. And well, that was that.

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue.

You didn’t talk about it.

A week passed and neither did Steve and before you knew it, you were a month down the line, the feel of your best friend's lips on your skin feeling like a fever dream and you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to forget the feel of him moving against you, inside you.

It hurt to look at him, for a while. It got worse before it got better, stilted conversations and awkward eye contact, the taste of regret in both of your tongues and all the things you wanted to say to each other were left unsaid.

But it was fine.

Steve asked you round for a movie one Friday, videos stacked on the coffee table in his living room, your favourite sweater of his lying out on the arm of the sofa along with red vines and the good kinda popcorn.

You didn’t push yourself into his side like you normally would and you didn’t know if that disappointed him or not, but when he dropped you off home later that night, the sky was a dark, rosy pink, the lingering smell of rain in the air and he smacked a messy kiss to your cheek before you climbed out of his car.

It was fine. Until it wasn’t.

Steve started dating again, one girl, two girls, three girls. Lucy on Saturday, Matthew David’s cousin Paula the next Friday, Cindy from last year's cheer squad the week after.

You didn’t ask about it and he didn’t tell you, just poking an affectionate finger to the apple of your cheek when he told you he’d see you the next day. You were his best friend, again, still, only.

It was fine until one Friday shift, when you disappeared into the back room a little earlier than the store closed. You came back out in a new dress, short and pretty, with blush on your cheeks and a gloss on your lips. Robin had wolf whistled, Steve had frowned.

“Where are you going?”

His tone of voice cut you in half, accusatory and a little shocked. Steve leaned over the counter, a finger picking delicately at a lock of hair that you’d spent too long trying to get to sit nicely.

“A date,” you told him, voice soft, gaze lowered as you tried to cram lip gloss tubes and perfume bottles into your bag.

“With who?” Was the instantaneous response, that same tone of voice.

You saw Robin’s gaze flitting between the pair of you, not privy to the events that took place a month prior, but not for a lack of trying. The girl was perfectly aware that something happened. She just didn’t know what and neither your or Steve had told her anything.

“Nate Owens,” you told him and god, why was it so hard to meet his eye? “You know, he was on the team with you.”

Steve pulled his brows together, bewildered at your answer. “Yeah, I know him, why the fuck are you going on a date with Owens?”

You heard Robin’s sharp intake of breath and she watched as you squinted at the boy, annoyance on your features. Knowing what was to come, she grabbed the last of the returns and made her way to the other side of the empty store, leaving you two alone.

“What?” You huffed out, exasperated already. Your stomach was tumbling and you hated the way you didn’t know why. Maybe it was first date jitters, maybe it was the way Steve was looking at you, maybe it was because you knew you had absolutely no interest in dating anyone that wasn’t your bet fucking friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve grappled for something to say, stuttering over excuses until he tutted and grabbed the stapler, carelessly turning it over in his hands as he told you, “you’ve got nothing in common with him, like, at all.”

You scoffed, pulling at the hem of your dress and smoothing out imaginary creases, you were annoyed, something burning and twisting inside of you. “Sure Harrington, I forgot you choose all your dates based on compatibility and shared goals for the future.”

“He’s a douchebag,” Steve tried again, “he’s only after one thing.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I am too,” you said loftily and you didn’t look for Steve’s reaction, you didn’t want to. You moved from behind the counter, leaving a cloud of perfume in your wake and headed for the door. “Robs, I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”

Before the girl could answer, Steve was tailing you, moving across the store with that stupid stapler still in his hand and he called out your name, making you stop and turn.

“He’s just gonna hurt you,” the boy explained and you hated how his voice had turned a little softer. “You can do so much better than him.”

“Yeah?” You turned fully, chin raised and shoulders set as you locked eyes with Steve. “Who should I date then, Steve? Who’s good enough?”

The air felt electric, fully charged as the boy stared back, lips parting, chest barely moving as if he was holding his breath. If Robin was still there, you didn’t know, your mind only registering the way the boy was still silent in front of you.

“That’s what I thought,” you eventually muttered, hot tears threatening to prick at the corner of your eyes. “Don’t wait sixteen years to start taking an interest in my love life Harrington, I’ve got by just fine without your advice.”

You’d opened the door by the time Steve replied, voice hot and clipped with anger and something else, a tone you’d never heard him use with you before. “Yeah, well, don’t come fucking crying to me when he turns out to be a dick.”

You laughed humorlessly, your back turned to him as you faced the night outside, the cool air nipping at the heat on your cheeks. You wanted to go home, to chance a look at Robin and silently ask her to clamber into bed with you, if she’d let you cry onto her shoulder as you ate pizza and watched reruns of Charlie’s Angels.

There was also a part of you that wanted to turn to Steve, glassy eyed and confused, to ask why it suddenly felt like you were fighting for the first time since middle school.

But you didn’t.

You walked out into the night and let the door slam shut behind you.

If you’d hung around, you would’ve heard Robin slam down the copy of Stand By Me that she was holding, eyes a little angry and disappointed as she looked at the boy and said: “You’re a fucking idiot.”

‘Yeah,’ Steve thought, ‘he knew he was.’

----------

You hated that Steve was right, you hated that Nate Owens was a pig, you hated that he did nothing but look at your chest over the dinner table, you hated that he tried to lean in for a kiss the minute you both got back into his car, you hated that he got pissy with you when you didn’t let him push his hand up your dress, you hated that he told you to put out or get out.

You hated that he left you on the side of the road, a little out of town, at a restaurant that you didn’t really know, dinner paid for with his daddy’s money.

You hated that when you finally found a payphone at the side of a dark gas station, you punched in Steve’s number. You hated that you started to cry when you heard his voice, you hated that he told you was coming to get you.

Steve found you easily despite your awful directions, and when he asked if you were okay, voice quiet and gentle, you choked out a little sob, feeling pathetic and Steve told you to stay put, that he would be there as fast as he could.

He definitely broke some laws to get to you, flashing through amber lights faster than he was supposed to and when he pulled into the station only twenty minutes later, his heart ached at the way you leaned against the brick wall, half in shadows with your arms wrapped around you, the slight wind picking at the hem of you dress, lifting it from you thighs.

Steve got out of the car before you could move, pushing yourself off of the wall and he hated that your eyes were glassy, that you seemed embarrassed. You let him tug one of his sweatshirts over your head, one he specifically grabbed for you before rushing out of his door, ‘cause he watched you leave work without a jacket and if he’d been in a better mood when you were going on your date - if you’d have been going on a date with him - he would’ve teased you about being cold later.

Steve opened the passenger door, waiting for you to fold yourself into the front of his car and when he got back in, the only light coming from the old neon sign that was flashing red, telling customers that the store was open.

He wrapped his hands around the steering wheel, squeezing it until his knuckles turned white and he glanced at you, expression almost unreadable.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked.

“No,” you shook your head, and it was true. You’d thrown an elbow into the Nate’s chest when he tried to push you too far, too fast, the sharp point of your arm catching him just below his throat and he’d turned on you, telling you to get the fuck out. “The only thing hurt is my pride, but I guess that’s on me, huh?”

Steve sighed at that, turning fully in his seat so he could face you, his hand coming up to press into your cheek, his thumb running gently under your eye, catching the tears there before they fell.

“Sweetheart-” Steve started, but you were overwhelmingly emotional, everything from the night and Nate and Steve suddenly becoming too much and god, you just wanted to yell with it.

“What? Is this the part where you say I told you so?” You tried to sound biting, but the words hitched in your throat, fresh tears springing to your eyes. “Why’re you even here Steve?”

You knew why.

“Cause you asked me,” he answered, simply and that was all there was to it, wasn’t there? “And I’m not gonna tell you shit, I’m… I’m sorry I acted like that early, I dunno what was wrong with me.”

You wanted to press further, you wanted to ask him if he truly didn’t know the reason he acted like an asshole. You wanted to ask if he was jealous, if he wanted you the way you wanted him, if he missed you, if he thought about you when he went on all these dates, if he wanted to kiss you again, if he thought about it all the time, the same way that you did.

But Steve was still talking, fingers slipping from your face to pick at a stand of hair, playing with the end of it absentmindedly. The car felt too small, too warm and too dark, and you were sure that the last time you were both this close, you’d been in Steve's bed, wrapped around him as he made you come.

“He didn’t deserve even an hour of your time,” he told you, brows knitted together in a frown. “And you deserve better than Nate fucking Owens, you’re too good for him,” he repeated his statement from earlier and it made you chest ache, your tummy tumble over because god, you wanted to be brave.

“Who’s good enough then, Steve?” You breathed it out, voice almost a whisper because you were so close to losing it, to grabbing the boy by his face and telling him how you felt, how’d fallen in love with him fuck knows how many years ago and you’d only recently let yourself believe it.

He started, wide eyed, lips parted and waiting, the same reaction he’d had back at Family Video. But you didn’t walk away this time, you let out a huff of laughter, no humour in it as you sat back in the seat and started out of the windscreen. The gas station was deserted, the night creeping into a new day, the clock ticking closer to midnight and the light was still flickering.

It painted you both crimson, eyes brighter than they should’ve been, cheeks rosy. You pushed a foot to the dash, dress slipping up your thigh and gathering in the crease of your leg, showing off way too much skin but you didn’t care.

“I grew up with all the other guys in our grade knowing that I was Steve Harrington’s best friend,” you told him, voice hushed and cracking, “all of them too scared to touch me ‘cause your stupid ten year old ass always threatened to beat them up.”

He was still staring, lip twitching as if he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh or not because it was true. But then he watched a tear slip down your cheek and it caught the light, a flash of ruby before it got caught on your top lip and you licked it away.

“Then in high school, I was a challenge, ‘cause I was still Steve Harrington’s best fucking friend. Boy’s would either be terrified to talk to me or treat me like the best prize they could win. They thought I was off limits, some thought I was your girlfriend and god, Steve, fuck…”

You swallowed, hard, breath catching in your chest and the car was so silent, the boy watching, listening.

“I never thought that I wanted that, to be anything more than your friend. I didn’t,” you tried to sound convincing, but even to your own ears, your protests sounded weak. “But then you kissed me.”

You looked at him from under your lashes, hands twisted nervously in your lap, his sweater fisted between your fingers and you hated the way it smelled like him, like mint and cedar and smoke and suddenly, it was all too much.

“I know I asked you to,” you blurted out, eyes brimming with tears again, spilling over the line of your lashes and suddenly, you didn’t care about what you said anymore. “But fuck! Robin said that you never say no to me, that you’d do anything for me and god, I just wanted it once, I didn’t know it would go that far that night… I don’t regret it,” you rambled, words falling clumsily over the next and you chanced a look at him, his eyes full of shock but there was a softness behind it, familiar and fond. “I don’t regret it at all, I just-”

You sucked in a breath, let your head fall back onto the rest and let your eyes fall closed before you admitted another secret.

“I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

You kept your eyes closed as you kept talking, the words, the confessions, falling so much easier now that you’d started. The dark made you feel a little bolder, the silence of the boy encouraging you to just keep spilling your heart out, no interruptions.

“I thought that maybe you would feel the same, that you’d say something first, ‘cause you’ve always been braver but then you started dating that girl, then the other one. And maybe I was just stupid, maybe I was wrong,” you sighed, gazing to the side to catch Steve’s eye, a warmth blooming over your entire body, embarrassment, adrenaline and the feeling that you were throwing yourself off a cliff surging over you. “But there was a part of me that thought you’d maybe figure out you loved me too.”

You didn’t know what you expected, really. There was such a large part of you that still believed you were only going to ever be friends, that if Steve wanted more, he would've told you by now. That part told you you were imagining things, that sleeping together was nothing more than an experiment, a product of being high and bored with your best friend. It told you to ignore the way you thought he looked at you, the way that sometimes, you were so sure his touch lingered for longer than it needed to.

But then there was a voice in the back of your head, a shit, it sounded a little like Robin’s and it told you that the boy before you would do anything for you, anything you asked. And wasn’t that why he was here now? It told you that friends didn’t look at each other like that, that friends didn’t have to untangle themselves from each other's arms each morning, that friends didn’t kiss like you had both done.

Steve whispered your name then, a hand reaching out to catch yours.

“You know I love you,” he whispered, voice a little shocked, a little awed. He sounded broken too, like he didn’t know what he was supposed to say, like he was terrified of saying the wrong thing. “I’ve always loved you, you’re my best friend.”

Your heart fell.

“I- I don’t wanna lose you,” Steve said and he was rambling, falling over his words as his eyes searched your face for something he wasn’t going to find. The softness you’d held in your features was gone. “Babe, you’re my best friend, I can’t lose you-”

“Don’t call me that,” you choked out, your heart racing, your stomach twisting. You thought you might be sick. “Fuck, shit, take me home.”

You pulled your hand away from where the boy held it, your demand sounding harsh and too loud in the quiet of the car. You couldn’t look at him. The red light was still flashing, flickering and it suddenly felt like it was splitting your head in two, like it was pulsing to the same beat as your heart.

Steve said your name again, pleading, his hand on your arm, silently begging you to turn, to look at him.

“Can you let me explain? Please, god, I didn’t mean it like that, you have to understand-”

“Take me home, Steve, please.”

But he ignored you, tugging the keys out of the ignition and leaning forward, a hand tilting at your chin to try and a catch your gaze but your cheeks felt too hot and the burn at your eyes told you that you were going to start crying again and all you could think about was the list of boys who were too scared to make you theirs, too happy with a quick fuck in the back of their shitty cars and you never used to care because you were only ever happy with one boy.

You knew you should’ve let him talk, that you owed him his chance to speak but the burning sensation of embarrassment and rejection was creeping up your spine like poison and you hated it, you couldn’t stand it.

You panicked.

You pulled at the door handle, fingers clumsy as you pushed the door open, clambering out with Steve’s sweater still swamping your frame and you could hear the boy calling your name even after you slammed the door shut.

You made a start for the alleyway behind the gas station, somewhere the car couldn’t follow and by the time you made it a few streets over, you realised Steve wasn’t coming for you anyway.

You got halfway home before the rain started falling, a pathetic spit that misted into the air and soaked you through. It made your hair stick to your cheeks, Steve’s sweater damp and hanging heavy on your body and by the time you reached home, it didn’t smell like him anymore.

Good, you thought.

Because when you were eight years old, Steve Harrington was the first big to tell you he loved you and then he promised you three things:

One, he’d always be your best friend. Two, he’d always protect you from everything bad and scary. And three, he’d never break your heart.

It took almost twelve years, but shit, the boy finally broke one of them.

Take me out, and take me home.

It took Steve twelve years to break his promise to you, but only four days to fix it.

Which was impressive really, when he spent the first three days agonising over what to say to you. You’d been avoiding him like the plague, worse than the plague, quite frankly.

He expected you at work the next day, chest sore from holding his breath as he watched the door, eyes tired from staying up all night.

He’d stayed in that gas station parking lot for too long after you’d left, eyes wide as he watched you leave, disappearing behind the alleyway almost instantly.

Steve had slammed his hands on the dash, overwhelmed with everything you’d said, admitted to him, with glassy eyes and he fucking hated how he’d made your bottom lip tremble, your breath hitch and stutter as you tried not to cry.

He’d panicked.

And you’d left.

He’d driven home slowly, trying to catch sight of you on the sidewalks that led home, rolling down the streets that looked unfamiliar to see if you were there, trying to find shortcuts. When the rain had started, he’d cursed, no sight of you anywhere and by the time he’d pulled up outside your house, he was relieved to see your bedroom light on, a sign you’d made it home safely.

He wanted to knock on the door, to climb into your bedroom window and try to make you smile again, to stop you crying because he couldn’t fucking stand it when you cried, especially because of him.

But the window was shut, a rare sight and he knew it was a hint, a very obvious clue for him to stay the fuck away. He watched your light flicker off, the house bathed in darkness and he’d sat, pushing the heels of his hands to his eyes and cursing himself.

He should’ve told you, he shouldn’t have been so fucking scared.

You didn’t show up at work and when he asked Robin if she’d heard from you, the girl had told him that you were sick, had called in early and spoke to Keith.

“She’s put in a line for the entire week, actually, said it’s a bad bug,” Robin had told him knowingly. “Whatever you’ve done, Harrington, I suggest you fix it.”

Steve didn’t ask how Robin knew, didn’t press her for any more details, ‘cause he knew her too well, knew she wouldn’t tell him shit so he just slammed a video he was supposed to be rewinding on the desk, and sighed, heavy and tired.

“I know.”

You didn’t answer his calls. With your parents visiting family out of town, there was no one in the house but you and you made a point of refusing to pick up the phone at all.

Robin would visit, not bothering to knock as she slipped into your house, huffing and humming to herself as she climbed your stairs, barging into your room unannounced.

She set a careful gaze on you, a lump underneath the duvet, as she dumped your favourite snacks at the foot of your bed.

“You’re not sick, are you?” You hated how it didn’t even sound like a question, just an accusation. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

And you did, you told her everything from the joint, to your kiss, the entire night. You told her about Nate, about your confession, about the way Steve looked at you when you told him that you thought he loved you too.

Robin listened, curled up by your pillows beside you, your head on her shoulder and her cheek resting on yours, a bag of Reece’s Pieces between you both.

“I know that this probably isn’t what you wanna hear right now,” the girl began, patting your hand with her own, “you know, with you being all heart broken and what not.”

You huffed.

“But I don’t believe for a second that Steve doesn’t love you, that he isn’t in love with you.”

“Robin, please,” you groaned, shoving your face into her arm, because she was right, you didn’t wanna hear it. You’d spent too long trying to convince yourself that she was right, Steve was in love with you, only to blurt out your feelings for him and have him look at you, sheer panic on his face, in return.

She sighed, knowing it was useless trying to make you see her side of things, so she pushed her nose to your temple, blew a raspberry to the side of your head and stole another Reece’s Piece.

“Have you spoken to him?” She asked, voice unusually quiet.

You shook your head.

“Have you let him try?” The girl said knowingly.

You shook your head again.

Another huff, a somewhat affectionate butt of her head to yours and then she turned, shuffling against the pillows until you were face to face.

“He’s really broken up about this,” she told you and her words made you wanna cry again. “You need to let him explain.”

You sniffed, eyes watering and despite the ache that still lived in your chest, you nodded.

“‘Cause I don’t think you said things right, y’know?” Robin squinted at you, trying to make sense of what you’d told her Steve had said that night. “He’s a guy, shit, he’s Steve. Communication isn’t his strong point.”

“I don’t know what’s more clearer than ‘you’re my best friend, I can’t lose you’. Idiot or not, he made it pretty obvious that we’re never gonna be anything more.”

The movie that you had both hardly been watching was over, the screen fading to black and the credits rolling. A love song started to play, soppy and too cheery and you grunted, searching for the remote between the sheets before angrily pressing the off button. Silence fell over you and Robin snorted, flinging herself over your lap and looking up at you with a small smile.

She pressed a finger to the tip of your nose and you scowled.

“Ever think that maybe he’s just scared?”

Your frown deepened and you stared down at your friend, lips parted at the absurdity of her question.

“What?” You scoffed. “I’ve watched him take down a demogorgon with a baseball bat, Robin, the boy isn’t scared of much anymore-”

“He also got his heart broken by the first girl he told he loved,” Robin interrupted. “He dates girls that he isn’t really interested in, that are the complete opposite of you. His folks are never around, he’s made his own family out of his friends.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly feeling thick, your chest tight.

“You're probably the most constant thing in his life, y’know,” she mused, voice unbearably soft. The girl brought a hand up to tuck a stand of your hair behind your ear, the gesture fond. “He’s always had you, maybe he’s just scared to fuck things up and lose you.”

You couldn’t say anything. You didn't want to. ‘Cause that stupid burn was scratching at your eyes again, at the back of your throat and you were so done with crying, you were so over pushing your face into your pillow to dry your face.

Robin sat up suddenly, stretching and bending down to pull on her shoes. She popped another piece of chocolate in her mouth before smacking a kiss to your cheek and you were still silent, bundled up between pillows and blankets in bed.

“Talk to him, babe,” she told you, heading for the door without any other goodbye, “ I’m sure he’s got a lot to say.”

Fuck.

You picked and put down your phone six times before you decided to pull on your shoes and start walking. It didn’t take long to walk from yours to the Harrington’s, but you moved at a snail's pace, playing tightrope along the edge of the sidewalk before you stopped at the corner of Steve’s street, heart suddenly ready to burst from your chest. The sun started to set as you waited, hesitating. The sky turned from blue to lilac, tangerine and peach and the air became still.

You walked up his front path, hand raised, ready to knock.

It was a sparkler between your ribs kinda feeling, jump off a cliff kind of feeling, take a shot of tequila kind of feeling, risk fucking everything kind of feeling.

You’d walked away from the boy, his words stuck in his throat, your name dying on his lips and now you were ready to make it up to him. ‘Cause Steve was right, whatever either of you felt, you couldn’t lose him either.

The idea of rejection hurt, but not having Steve Harrington in your life hurt even more.

So you knocked.

Once, twice, three times, but no one answered. His car was in the drive, no parents to be seen and you took a deep breath before you plucked up the courage to open the door like you normally could.

Your footsteps echoed in the large hallway and the only sound you could hear came from the backyard, the tinny sound of music playing from outside. You found him there, spread out lazy by the edge of the pool, shirt off, one leg dipped into the water and his hair messy from swimming and the leftover heat from the day.

Shadows from the tree branches above fell over him, cutting through the gold light, streaks of pink and rose painting his skin pretty and you stood for just a second, watching through the open patio doors.

You tugged anxiously at the tagged hem of your shorts, the T-shirt you’d tucked into it suddenly feeling too constricting and you wanted to pull at the collar, you wanted to take off running again, because the sight of him hurt.

Before you could step out into the last patch of sun, Steve sat up, muscles flexing, pool water swirling and he froze, lips parted and staring at you.

It had only been four days since you’d last seen him, but it felt like far too much time had passed. You hadn’t gone that long without him in years, not since your parents told you that they were taking you to Utah to spend a summer with your grandparents. They’d cut the trip short by two weeks, aggravated and done with their fifteen year old daughter who didn’t shut up about how much she kissed her best friend.

Yearly trips to the lake house with the Harrington’s resumed the summer after that.

The boy whispered your name as if he’d scare you off and he sounded tired, sounded a little broken, just like Robin had said.

You lifted your hand in an awkward wave, stepping out into the yard and into the streak of sun that stretched across the patio. It warmed you, skin lit up, a golden glow slanting over both of you and even from where you stood, Steve’s eyes looked like honey.

“Hey.”

He stood, a hand raking through his still damp hair, making it even messier than usual and he mimicked you, hand raised, wingers waggling shyly, as if you hadn’t known each other for seventeen years.

“I was just coming to see you,” Steve admitted and he sounded as nervous as you felt. “I tried calling you. A lot.”

You nodded, feeling guilty and it burned at your chest. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Steve nodded, bare foot scuffling against the slabs and you wanted to crawl back into your bed, already feeling defeated. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this with Steve.

“I was gonna come round, you know,” Steve started again, gesturing to you, he looked lost, a little helpless. “Before now I mean… I just- I didn’t wanna upset you and you didn’t answer the phone so I just,” he shrugged, looking at the pool instead of you. “I didn’t wanna upset you any more.”

Almost silence; the trickle of the pool filter, the buzz of insects, the sway of the wind in the tree branches.

And then, “I’ve missed you,” Steve said, voice softer than before. “A lot.”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding then, feet moving forward and you let yourself fall into one of the loungers, a space beside the pool that was so overly familiar.

You looked at the boy then, and god, he was the last cherry popsicle, he was sunshine, he was summer, he was full of promises and all your secrets, he was late nights and early mornings, first crushes and last kisses.

“I’ve missed you too,” you told him, voice hurting with sincerity.

It seemed to be all the boy needed to surge into action, because he relaxed at your admission, moving to the other lounger so he could sit across from you, bare knees almost bumping and he was leaning forward, invading your senses and he smelled like chlorine and sunscreen, mint and cedar and boy and summer and Steve.

“Why’d you leave?”

“I’m sorry,” you told him, eyes suddenly filling with tears because you were so embarrassed by it all. From your outburst to your storming away, leaving the boy sitting confused after he’d come to get you. “I just- I couldn’t sit there and handle the rejection, I never should have said anything, it was so stupid of me-”

You were stopped by his hand reaching out and covering your own, that familiar warmth of his fingers twisting between yours, a wide, rough palm, calloused on your own.

You looked at him, cheeks warm with your ramblings and he sighed, affection radiating from him as he gazed at you. He didn’t look confused this time, or panicked. Maybe a little bit scared but there was something else there and it shone a little brighter.

“Sweetheart, I never once tried to reject you,” Steve huffed out a soft laugh, “shit, I don’t think I could if my life depended on it.”

“What?” You froze, brows knitting together as you replayed the same conversation you both had in the car and you shook your head, confused. “You literally told me I was your best friend, Steve, that you couldn’t lose me.”

“And that’s true!” He burst out, “you just never let me finish!”

He sighed, using his free hand to scrub over his face and he took a deep breath before he faced you again.

“I panicked.” He said it so simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m so sorry babe but I fuckin’ panicked. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear those words from you, you can’t even fucking imagine how long. I just didn’t wanna mess it up, I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk not having you.”

A sound of surprise left your lips at his words and you wanted to laugh at the irony of them, ‘cause yes, yes could imagine. But you kept quiet, letting the boy speak, making up for how you didn’t last time. You squeezed his hand instead, hoping it was reassuring enough.

You watched him lick his lips as he thought about his next words and your brows rose when he suddenly moved, kneeling in front of you and tapping at your knee, silently asking for you to spread your legs and let him in. You did, almost embarrassed by the lack of hesitation on your par but Steve moved into the space tour created for him, suddenly too close.

You exhaled a little slower, could count the new freckles on his nose, could see the small scar that cut through his brow, the one you gave him when you were seven and pillow fights got too boisterous.

He smoothed his hands up and down your thighs, a touch that brought comfort and he took another deep breath, readying himself for what he wanted to tell you.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen,” he said slowly, each word dropping like an atom bomb and you wondered if the earth was shaking. “Maybe longer, I was probably too stupid to work it out before then.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh and Steve grinned at the sound.

“It took me a little while,” he admitted, gaze lowering as if he were suddenly shy, “I didn’t know the difference between loving you and being in love with you. You’ve been in my life for as long as I can remember.”

His fingers found the frayed hem of your shorts, twisting the strands between his fingers absentmindedly.

“I remember Nancy telling me that, uh,” he cleared his throat, words catching on his lips with nerves and hesitation, “she uh, told me that I didn’t love her like I thought I did. That I was in love with someone else.”

You inhaled sharply, remembering the girl telling you something similar that day on the bench. You’d been confused and a little irritated at her, defensive maybe, now that you looked back on it. You remembered the way she twisted her lips to hide a grin that she didn’t want to annoy you with, eyes all too knowing.

“I kinda realised then,” Steve nodded, eyes finding yours from under his lashes and god, you wondered when his face had moved so close to yours. “She was totally right, I just didn’t really wanna admit it.”

“Why not?” You asked, voice a little sad, ‘cause that had been years ago, and you felt overlooked, like so many missed opportunities had passed you both by and god, were the two of you really that stupid?

“I was stupid!” Steve burst out and you laughed, a little sad with watery eyes but shit, you were too. “So I kept dating random girls, anyone, really. Tried to take my mind off you, tried to forget about you in my bed.”

God, the memory made you burn.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he whispered, still leaning into you, eyes closed like he was at confession. “Asking you out on a date seemed so ridiculous when I already know you better than anyone else.”

Your nose grazed Steve’s, and you let out a small sigh because as much as you were hurt by it all, you understood. You and Steve had seen every movie there was to see, had taken trips out of town to every concert, spent too many evenings at burger joints and ice cream parlours. You probably wouldn’t have guessed you were on a date with the boy unless he was in a tux and there was a chandelier above you.

And that seemed like a big ask.

“I would’ve loved to go on a date with you,” you said anyway, cause the idea of Steve pulling up outside your door with flowers in his hand gave you butterflies, tugging at your heart in a way that made you warm.

“Yeah?” He smiled, blinding and it only widened when you nodded.

He moved impossibly closer still, cheek to cheek so he could find your ear with his lips, hands moving to your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles on the inside.

“I spent so long tryin’ to work up the courage to ask you to be my girlfriend,” his admission sounded like his biggest secret yet and you held your breath as he whispered it to you. “So long that years passed and we got older and suddenly the word ‘girlfriend’ didn’t seem enough.”

It was strange, but you knew what Steve meant. The word seemed too arbitrary, too normal, to describe the relationship you had with each other, how you felt about the other.

“I know,” you told him, voice just as soft and quiet as his. “I’d still like to be yours though.”

His grin was contagious, warmer than the sun that was starting to set, brighter than the rays on the pool and you swore the world was spinning a little faster in excitement, as if the planets and the moon were just as happy as you were.

“Yeah?” He asked, low and rough, nose pressing to your cheek, lips just brushing yours.

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed, waiting, wanting.

“Can we always be this close?” Steve asked, and you melted a little at the question, at that soft sincerity he always managed to give you.

“Yeah, god, please,” you answered and your voice sounded a little husky, a little pleading because you couldn’t imagine anything else. “Can you kiss me, now?”

The boy swore under his breath, the curse mixing with a huff of laughter and he smiled against you, mouth pressing happy to your cheek and you beamed at him, lashes tickling his skin, both of you warm against the other.

“Could never really figure out how to say no to you, y’know that?” He whispered, as if he was giving away a secret. Steve let his lips hover over yours, his hands wrapping around the small of your back, fingers playing with your belt loops, pulling you flush with him. Your hands smoothed over his bare chest and around his neck, skin hot with the sun, with being near you.

“Can I take you on a date?”

Something bloomed inside of you, wildflowers between your ribs, a new day of summer, a heatwave in your chest.

“If I say yes, will you kiss me?” you asked, a little bratty, a little teasing. You’d waited so long for both, you didn’t know what you wanted first.

But then Steve was pushing into you, lips pressing down onto your own, his hand along the underside of your jaw as he used his thumb to push a little under your chin, tilting you up to his mouth so he could lick into you, adoration pouring into you. You felt the way he loved you, like the way everyone else saw it. It still felt new, his lips on yours, new in an exciting way, new in a ‘god, I could get used to this’ way.

“Lemme take you on a date,” he said again, a smile on his lips, pressing it to yours and his voice was sunshine but rougher, even warmer and it made you smile that cheek hurting kinda smile.

You nodded.

“You still my best friend, Harrington?”

Steve pulled back to look at you, eyes shining. “That and more, sweetheart.” And when he said that, it felt enough. ‘More’.

“You still gonna protect me from everything bad and scary?” You nudged the tip of your nose to his, voice sweet.

“With everything I have in me,” he answered honestly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, catching your laughter. “Baseball bat and all.”

“Promise you won’t break my heart?” You asked, forehead to his, eyes full of every emotion you felt. Love, excitement, fear, hope, nervousness, adoration.

“Promise you won’t break mine?” Steve whispered back, a hand on your cheek, thumb grazing over your lip.

“I promise,” you told him, hands gripping right at his shoulders, running across the nape of his neck, diving into his hair.

“I promise,” he repeated, and shit, you believed him.

-----

Ko-Fi ♡

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington fanfic

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strangersmunsons · 9 months

Text

read 'em and weep

you and Eddie meet at the library. he’s smitten.

Contains: Eddie x Reader, bookworm!reader, lovesick!Eddie, reader gives Eddie book recommendations. No mention of reader’s physical appearance, no use of y/n. Warnings: brief mention of loneliness & negligence in Eddie’s childhood. Word Count: ~2.2k it's my hope to make this a little series! i think eddie is def a bookish guy - no lord of the rings quoting, metal head dungeon master hates reading. he would certainly be open to any fantasy/horror recs you had for him! <3

Indiana. 1989.

Hawkins Library sees a lot of action in the summer.

They offer a wide variety of youth programs to keep the local kids busy and the parents sane while school is out. One of the main events is Saturday Story Time, a beloved weekly staple that you have recently been tasked with putting on.

It’s simple. You gather a number of books, usually with a common theme, and then read a select few to the children who had signed up for the day. Most of the kids in attendance are no older than six or so, with some parents even pulling up chairs to the back so they can sit with infants cradled in their arms. The older ones sit criss-cross-applesauce on carpet squares in front of you, their chubby faces alight with giggles as you recount each silly, fantastical story with all the spirit you can muster.

And then there’s always an accompanying arts and crafts project, of course. If you read The Very Hungry Caterpillar then, naturally, you have to make little googly-eyed caterpillars out of popsicle sticks and colorful pom-poms. You don’t make the rules.

If trouble occurs during Story Time, it’s usually in this phase. (Giving paste to toddlers is always a gamble – you never know what they’re gonna do with that.)

And on this particular morning, it’s been chaos from start to finish. A whopping eighteen kids had signed up, and you stretched yourself pretty thin trying to attend to everyone.

One of the babies spit up directly onto the little girl sitting in front of him and his mother. Someone slipped on their carpet square and fell harshly to the floor, earning a bruised elbow that you gently fussed over. You wrangled a pair of twins who fought bitterly over a bottle of Elmer’s glue. There were three individual running-with-scissors-scares and, finally, you spent a good ten minutes soothing one sobbing child with whom there was nothing apparently wrong with, and that you suspected was just in need of a good cry.

So yeah, it was basically pandemonium.

But eventually, to your great relief, things wound down. The audience dispersed, with their handmade goods clutched in sticky fists, and went to peruse the glossy line of picture books you put out for display. Within the next hour or two, everyone traded the cool darkness of the library for buttery sunshine, and all was quiet again. You waved cheerfully to the last parent-child duo as they made their exit, promising them that there’d be a fun activity next weekend too.

You love these storytime sessions, you really do, but sheesh. Sometimes they run you ragged. With the havoc of the morning finally over, and the promise of lunch in your near future, you try to shake off the weariness, and instead take it upon yourself to clean up the disorganized mess someone’s made of the horror section.

You’re going about your work, tongue poking out in concentration as you strain to reach the really high shelves, when you notice someone standing in your peripheral vision. You turn and glance at him, or at least, what you can see of him. He’s half-hidden by the shelf behind you, but you catch sight of brown hair and denim.

A pale face appears on a craned neck from around the corner. His dark eyes meet yours, widen slightly when he sees that you’ve caught him lurking, and he abruptly disappears again.

You purse your lips to hide your smile. This isn’t uncommon; such moments often occur when you’re cleaning up a section of books someone is hoping to sift through. In a small act of kindness, you move over to the neighboring shelf and look for something to busy yourself with; trying to give the guy a chance to browse without having to ask you to step aside.

He doesn’t emerge. You wait, expecting to sense him passing by you, but no dice. It’s amusing to think that someone might be frightened to approach you (You? Really?) but you can’t help feeling sorry that you were in his way.

The rest of your shift is rather uneventful. At the end of the day, you punch out and head home, the stranger behind the shelf forgotten.

When you come back to work on Monday, it’s much quieter than the last morning you’d been in. You greet your coworkers and set up shop at the front desk, opening up a book of your own to pass the time until someone needed assistance.

You’ve been reading for about half an hour when the big double doors open up for the day’s first visitor, the sound echoing loudly in the silent, spacious room. You look up in interest, ready to greet the person with a warm smile.

“Good morning!” you softly call out as he comes into view. He walks slowly towards you, shoes scuffing the checkered tile with each step. As he comes nearer, you can see that he’s biting his lip, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, the gesture oozing self-consciousness. He only makes eye contact with you for a second before his gaze flits away again.

He’s pretty conspicuous-looking to be approaching the desk with such hesitance, you think. He has dark hair that hangs in slightly-scraggly curls down to his chest, and huge dark eyes. The pale skin of his arms, sticking out from within a denim vest/Judas Priest t-shirt combo, are littered with tattoos.

He pauses a few feet away from you, like he’s debating whether he wants to stop and chat, or to simply veer off towards the bookshelves and start browsing. Ultimately he decides to shuffle forward, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Hi there. What can I do for you?” you ask, voice gentle but encouraging.

He looks down and rests a hand on the desk, absentmindedly tracing the wood pattern with his thumb. “Um, yes.” He doesn’t offer anything else.

There’s a pregnant pause, both of you digesting the fact that what you had asked was not a yes or no question.

He tries again. “I…am in need…of some new reading material.”

You nod gravely, expression serious. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Did you have anything specific in mind?”

He begins to rock lightly back and forth on his feet, contemplating. “I like fantasy, especially Tolkien. I read a lot of horror, too, and sometimes sci-fi. If you had any suggestions for me, that’d be great.”

“Oh, we can certainly find you something,” you reassure him, already flipping through a mental rolodex of your favorite books in those genres. “Here, come with me.”

You stand and move around the desk to meet him, beckoning for him to follow.

Eddie watches you run a delicate hand over the spines of the books, keenly aware of the clammy sweat that’s flooding his own palms. Be cool, Munson.

“So,” you begin, a gleam of excitement in your eyes, “you like fantasy. Do you read Le Guin?”

Eddie nods eagerly, hair bouncing slightly with the movement. “Oh yeah, I’ve read the Earthsea trilogy.”

“Have you read any of The Hainish Cycle books?”

“I haven’t read those ones, no.”

You pull out two slim paperbacks from the row, holding each one out for him so he can study the covers. “These ones are science fiction, and they’re pretty good. You might like Rocannon’s World since it’s similar to a fantasy novel, but personally I think Left Hand of Darkness is the best.” You suddenly pause, and look around furtively, like you were checking to make sure that you two are really alone. You even put a hand up to the side of your mouth, as though shielding the conversation from eavesdroppers.

“Honestly,” you lower your voice like you’re admitting something scandalous, “I even liked it better than Earthsea.”

“No!” Eddie immediately matches your whispered, gossipy tone and lets his jaw drop, pretending to be aghast.

“Yes!” you insist, seemingly delighted by his willingness to play along. Eddie’s heart soars.

“I guess I can’t refute that until I read it, huh? What’s it about?” he asked, taking it from your hand.

“An envoy is visiting this frozen alien planet, and he’s trying to convince them to join this intergalactic coalition that he represents, but they’re making it like, really difficult for him. Also, gender doesn’t exist, and there’s political turmoil stemming from border disputes.”

“...oh. Cool.”

The next half-hour passes in this fashion. Your soft, mild demeanor is aglow with enthusiasm as you pull out book after book, giving him an off-the-cuff elevator pitch for each. Eddie can practically feel the cartoon hearts swirling around his head, bright pink and red bubbles that are almost certainly going to appear out of thin air and give him away.

He can’t put his finger on what it is, precisely, that’s pulling him in so deeply, drawing him towards you like a magnet with an opposite pole. Maybe it’s the tender way you talk about each book, the love and care that’s so tangible in your sweet voice, the way you speak about them as though they’re your old friends. Perhaps they are.

It’s not an unfamiliar concept to Eddie. A childhood steeped in loneliness and poverty, instability and dysfunction, neglect from his volatile and unreliable parents…yeah, he gets it. The wanting, the longing, the dire need to escape to someplace that doesn’t exist, some place where things were better and didn’t hurt, a dreamworld that would be kinder to a scrawny little boy with unwashed hair and a mean father.

The closest he ever came to it was when he lost himself between the yellowed and dog-eared pages of the few, precious books he owned.

So he listens to you chatter away with chest-aching tenderness, already thinking that he could listen to you like this for hours and be glad for it.

“You love fantasy, but you’ve never read The Last Unicorn?”

Eddie gives you an apologetic half-shrug, no longer able to keep the goofy, besotted grin from unfurling across his face. “Never got around to it, I guess.”

“It makes me cry. You have to take it,” you tell him with pleading eyes, adding it to the top of the growing pile in his arms before he can refuse. Not that he ever would. How could he, when you look at him like that?

“You cry at this one, really?” He looks curiously at the artwork on the front, an innocent picture of the pale horned creature. “But it’s so unassuming…”

“Don’t be fooled, it’ll get you. Take it,” you repeat.

Eddie shifts the stack of books to cradle it in one arm, so he can raise the other at you in a salute. “Yes, ma’am. And when I’m finished with it, I’ll give you a full report on the emotional damage it caused me.”

This makes you giggle, lips turned up in a gorgeous smile, and Eddie knows he’s a goner.

Back at the front, you resume your previous positions at the desk. Him in front and you behind, this time separated by a short pile of books.

You hold your hand out. “Card, please, sir.” Polite and professional, but with a little sparkle in your eye that lets Eddie hope for a moment that his time with you this morning was more pleasure than business.

He fumbles with his wallet, slipping out his library card and slotting it between his index and middle fingers, extending it for you to take. His chunky silver rings catch the light.

You accept the offering. “Thank you” – you quickly read the messy signature at the bottom – “Edward.” You look back at him with a grin.

He cringes, face scrunching in embarrassment. “Oh God. Call me Eddie, please.”

The scanner gives a little chirp! as you begin the checkout process, nodding. “Will do, Eddie.” His name sounds like a song when you say it, one he never wants to stop listening to.

You finish scanning his books, and slide a receipt into the jacket of the novel on top (which just so happens to be Katherine Dunn’s Geek Love). Instead of sliding the stack towards him, you keep both hands clasped on the cover, hesitating. You bite your lip, an unconscious imitation of himself earlier. “Listen….”

Eddie straightens up a little, stomach flipping like a coin. “Yeah?”

You bow your head. “I’m sorry if I talked too much. It’s just – most people who come in don’t actually ask me for recommendations, and I got excited,” you admit quietly, looking sheepish.

“Don’t apologize,” Eddie says without missing a beat. “I appreciate it. I really enjoyed it, actually,” he adds, eager to quell your anxiety. “I liked talking with you.” More than you know.

“O-oh,” you stutter, taken aback. “I liked talking with you, too.”

Eddie nods, smiling slightly. “Would you like to…talk again?” He flushes scarlet and coughs. Smooth. “I just mean, when I finish these” – he motions towards the day’s finds – “we have to discuss them, right? You helped me pick ‘em out, after all.”

“Of course. You have to let me know what you think.”

His smile gets bigger. “So we’ll reconvene?”

“We’ll reconvene,” you chuckle.

“Awesome. Looking forward to it.” He sweeps up his books, and gives you a little wave. “Thanks again, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

And he can hardly wait. It looks like he’s got a lot of reading to do…

thanks for reading!!! <3 edit: this is now a series! Read Ch. 2-> Here!

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x bookworm!reader #stranger things fanfiction

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