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unabashegirl · 2 months ago

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Love Island — part 3

AU. Based on the TV show.

Author's note: I just want to say a huge thank you for all the love and support you’ve shown for the first part of Love Island! Every like, reblog, message, and little comment has genuinely meant the world to me

Also! Please, please don’t hesitate to send in your requests — whether it’s blurbs, one-shots, or even just a fun idea you want to see come to life. If you're feeling a little shy, no worries at all — you can always send them in anonymously through Tumblr! I’d love to hear from you and create more content you’ll enjoy 🌞💌

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The couples began to drift off into quiet conversations around the villa, but Tom stayed rooted to his spot, his fists clenched as he watched Harry and Y/N exchange glances. Beside him, his friend Lucas, a tall, lean guy with sandy blond hair, noticed the tension and nudged him.

"Mate, you alright?" Lucas asked, voice low so the others wouldn’t overhear.

Tom exhaled sharply, his gaze still fixed in Harry’s direction. "Not really, no."

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t think it’d bother you this much. You two weren’t exactly, you know… Romeo and Juliet."

Tom scoffed, shaking his head. "It’s not like that. It’s just—I thought we were solid enough to stick it out a bit longer, you know? This is barely the second week and she’s already runnin' off with Harry."

Lucas gave him a sympathetic look. “Can’t blame her too much. You said yourself you weren’t feeling that spark with her.”

“Yeah, but…” Tom struggled to find the right words. “It’s just a kick in the teeth, that’s all. Feels like I’m bein’ made a mug of.”

Lucas patted him on the shoulder. "Look, you’ve still got options. The girls are already buzzing about you—Layla’s practically been eyeing you since the first day. And don’t forget Max and Callum, they’ve got your back too.”

Tom’s jaw tightened as he looked around, catching Max and Callum’s sympathetic glances from across the pit, while Jamie joined their little group, clapping Tom on the back. "Forget it, Tom," Jamie said. "This whole thing's a game, right? Y/N's just playing it. Tomorrow, find a way to play back."

Tom forced a smile, trying to brush it off. "Yeah, maybe. Guess we’ll see."

As the boys exchanged a few more quiet words, the rest of the villa settled into their new dynamics, unaware of the brewing tension that would no doubt play out with even more intensity in the days to come.

“Ah, the sweet sting of rejection,” the narrator's voice chimed in with a touch of mischief as the camera panned over Tom’s tense expression. “Looks like not everyone’s feeling quite as ‘coupled up’ as they were this morning. But hey, this is Love Island—where loyalties change as quickly as the cocktails get poured.”

“With Tom stewing by the fire pit and Harry sharing stolen glances with Y/N, it’s safe to say we’ve got ourselves a love triangle in the making. So, who’s playing the game? And who’s about to get played? Only time will tell… and maybe a few sneaky chats by the pool tomorrow.”

As the night settled in and the villa quieted down, Y/N and Chloe slipped away from the others and made their way into the dressing room, heels clicking softly on the tile floor. Chloe nudged her with a cheeky grin as they reached the mirrors, settling in front of them with makeup bags and brushes scattered around.

“Alright, spill it,” Chloe whispered, eyes sparkling. “What’s going on with you and Harry?”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Chloe raised a brow, smirking. “Please, everyone saw the way he was looking at you during the recoupling. You’re both already causing a stir, you know.”

Y/N’s cheeks warmed, and she bit her lip, trying to play it cool. “Look, Harry’s… well, he’s a bit different, isn’t he? There’s this energy about him—it’s easy to talk to him. He makes you feel like the only person in the room.”

“Mm, dangerous.” Chloe teased, reapplying a bit of lip gloss. “So, does that mean you’re done with Tom?”

Y/N sighed, leaning on the counter. “I think I am. Tom’s sweet, but it just feels too… comfortable, you know? And then there’s Harry. I just don’t know where it’ll go. But it’s Love Island, right? I’ve got to see what happens.”

Chloe nodded thoughtfully, nudging Y/N with her shoulder. “Fair enough. Just don’t let Georgia or Lila get in your head��they’ll be on him like hawks.”

Y/N laughed, brushing it off, but there was a hint of nerves behind her smile. “I know”.

t’s the end of a long day in the villa, and with the recoupling finally done, couples are settling into bed��some with more excitement than others. Y/N and Harry, freshly paired up and very much the center of attention after Harry’s bold choice, head to the bedroom together, laughter and nervous smiles exchanged between them.

They climb into bed, adjusting the duvet and settling in. The tension is thick, a mix of nerves and excitement crackling between them as they lie shoulder to shoulder. Harry glances over at Y/N, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips.

“Quite a day, yeah?” he murmurs, turning to face her a bit more, his hand resting between them on the duvet.

Y/N grins, brushing a bit of hair behind her ear as she looks back at him. “Yeah, wasn’t expecting that.” She pauses, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Didn’t think you’d pick me.”

Harry chuckles, his eyes meeting hers in the low light. “You’re surprised? Really?” he asks, feigning shock. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“I mean…” she shrugs, but her smile widens. “Maybe a little. But you’ve got the whole villa talking now, you know. Even Georgia was making claims.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” he says, rolling his eyes with a grin. “But I’m here, aren’t I?” He leans a little closer, their faces only inches apart. “Thought it was obvious I wanted to get to know you. Really get to know you.”

They share a charged look, each of them feeling the spark in the small space between them. Y/N’s pulse quickens, but she keeps her cool, meeting his gaze with confidence.

“Alright,” she teases. “Let’s see if you’re as smooth as you think you are.”

Harry laughs, playfully nudging her shoulder before leaning back. “Careful, or I’ll start showing off,” he whispers. Then he lets the moment settle, his hand gently resting near hers under the duvet, their fingers almost brushing.

They lie in companionable silence for a moment, each of them acutely aware of the other’s presence, as the lights dim throughout the villa.

The narrator’s voice floats in, a knowing chuckle evident.

“It looks like our newly-minted couple are starting to find their rhythm… but this is Love Island, after all, and things never stay simple for long. With Y/N catching Harry’s attention, will sparks fly, or will rivalries start brewing? Get ready for some sleepless nights and see who’s getting closer... and who’s getting jealous.”

As the morning sun rises over the villa, Y/N is the first to stir, carefully slipping out from under Harry’s arm as he sleeps soundly beside her. She lets a small smile escape as she notices his relaxed expression, feeling a flutter of excitement as she heads to the kitchen to make herself a smoothie. The villa is peaceful, the calm before the inevitable storm of another day.

Taking her smoothie out to the sun deck, Y/N settles in with her book, enjoying the quiet moment alone. She relishes the warmth of the morning sun and the rare stillness in the villa, her mind drifting back to the night before, replaying the feeling of Harry’s arm around her as they fell asleep.

Half an hour later, the villa begins to come alive. She can hear voices and laughter drifting over from the bedrooms, and soon enough, footsteps approach her.

“Y/N,” Tom’s voice cuts through her quiet time. She looks up to see him standing beside her, his expression intense.

“Oh, morning, Tom,” she greets, setting her book down and bracing herself for what she knows is coming. His brows are furrowed, and it’s clear he’s got something on his mind.

“Do you mind if we have a chat?” he asks, hands on his hips as he stares down at her.

She gives a small nod, gesturing for him to sit. “Sure, let’s talk.”

Tom sits beside her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, looking almost nervously at the floor before meeting her eyes. "Listen, Y/N, I’ve just got to ask… after last night, where’s your head at?” He exhales, clearly unsettled. “I mean, after Harry chose you like that, I just… I need to know where we stand.”

Y/N pauses, feeling the weight of his gaze on her. “Tom…” she starts carefully, gathering her thoughts. “I won’t lie, things are a bit… complicated now.” She sighs. “Last night didn’t exactly go as expected.”

Tom shifts, swallowing, but nodding, his jaw set. “So… are you still interested? Or are you moving on?”

She looks at him, appreciating his honesty but feeling the awkwardness of the situation. “I’m just figuring it out, you know? I think we owe it to ourselves to see how things feel with other people too. That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

Tom’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing as he processes her words. His posture straightens, and he crosses his arms, clearly frustrated.

“Wait—so that’s it? You’re just… seeing how things feel with other people now?” he asks, his tone edging into anger. “After everything we’ve been building? Just because Harry waltzes in, you’re ready to throw it all away?”

Y/N lets out a small sigh, trying to keep her voice steady. “Tom, it’s not about throwing anything away. We both came here to meet people, right? I thought we were on the same page.”

Tom scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to just… drift off the second someone else showed interest.” His voice rises slightly, his frustration boiling over. “Feels like I’ve been wasting my time if you’re just going to move on that easily.”

“Tom, I’m not just moving on,” she says, trying to keep her tone calm despite his anger. “We’re meant to be exploring connections here. That doesn’t mean what we had wasn’t real. It just means… I have to be open to the process.”

Tom shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “Open to the process? Sounds like an excuse. You know what? I’m not buying it.” He stands up, his face flushed with anger as he glares down at her. “Maybe I should’ve seen this coming. Maybe you’re just like everyone else here, out for yourself.”

Y/N flinches at his words, feeling the sting, but before she can respond, Tom turns on his heel and storms off, leaving her alone on the sun deck, her peaceful morning now shattered.

“Looks like Y/N’s got her work cut out for her, and with Tom on edge, it’s only a matter of time before the villa feels the heat. Will Y/N be able to smooth things over, or has Tom’s fuse finally burnt out?”

Y/N’s gaze follows Tom as he strides toward the kitchen, his jaw tight, shoulders tense. Harry, blissfully unaware, is busy preparing two cups of tea, one for himself and other, for Y/N. He’s humming softly, a faint smile playing on his lips—clearly in a good mood.

Tom approaches him with an air of simmering frustration and barely contained irritation. Without missing a beat, he nods at the extra cup in Harry’s hand.

“That’s for her, isn’t it?” Tom says, his tone sharper than usual.

Harry glances up, his brow lifting in mild surprise at Tom’s confrontational tone. “Yeah, it is,” he replies, unfazed, as he continues stirring the tea. “Why?”

Tom huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just didn’t peg you as the type to swoop in the second someone’s available.”

Harry’s smile falters, and he sets the spoon down, giving Tom his full attention. “I don’t think I’m swooping in, mate,” he says, his tone calm but with a slight edge. “We’re here to see if there’s something there, yeah? Same as everyone else.”

“Right, of course,” Tom says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But she and I were building something. And now, you’re what? Just gonna step in and see if you can do better?”

Harry’s jaw clenches for a second, but he keeps his voice steady. “Look, Tom, I didn’t come here to cause any issues. I’ve got to trust that Y/N knows what she wants. So if she’s interested… well, that’s her choice, isn’t it?”

Tom’s eyes narrow, the frustration boiling over. “Choice? Yeah, well, maybe I think it’s a bit easy to make that choice when you’ve got someone like you throwing yourself at her.”

Harry’s eyes flash, but he remains composed, taking a calming breath. “Listen, mate,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m not throwing myself at anyone. I respect Y/N, and if she wants to spend time with me, I’m not going to stop her. Simple as that.”

There’s a tense silence between them, each refusing to look away.

“Ooh, trouble in paradise! It seems Tom’s feeling a bit threatened by our new islander, and let’s just say Harry’s not exactly backing down. With two guys eyeing the same girl, it looks like sparks are set to fly—just not the romantic kind.”

As Tom’s frustration starts to draw even more attention, Lucas steps in, placing a firm hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Mate, c’mon,” he says, guiding him away from the kitchen. “Let’s get some air, yeah? Cool off a bit.”

Tom clenches his jaw, but after a beat, he allows himself to be led away, shooting one last glare in Harry’s direction. As the two disappear toward the sun deck, Harry lets out a quiet sigh and turns his attention back to the tea he was making. Just then, Y/N approaches, having seen most of what transpired from across the villa.

“Hey,” she says softly, offering him a small, apologetic smile as she glances in the direction Tom had gone.

Harry hands her the cup he prepared, his expression softening the moment he looks at her. “Morning,” he says, a little smile creeping back. “Here, thought you could use a good cup of tea after… all that.”

Y/N takes the cup gratefully, blowing on it before taking a sip. “Thanks. And… sorry about that,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Tom’s just… well, he’s been feeling a bit blindsided, I think.”

Harry gives a little nod, leaning against the counter and watching her. “No need to apologize,” he says gently. “It’s not your fault if he’s upset. Besides, it’s not like you owe anyone anything here.”

Y/N gives a soft, contemplative nod, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “Yeah, I know. It’s just—Tom’s comfortable, you know? He’s a nice guy… but I’m not sure there’s anything beyond that.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re too sure,” Harry says, a hint of a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Just a little comfortable, is he?”

She chuckles, shrugging lightly. “Maybe too comfortable. There’s no spark, no real excitement.” Her gaze lifts to meet his, and for a moment, they both linger in the silence. “With you, though,” she starts, feeling her cheeks warm a little, “I think I do feel something… different.”

Harry’s grin widens, his gaze locked on her with unmistakable interest. “Is that right?” he says, his voice soft and low. “Glad I’m not the only one, then.”

She bites her lip, glancing down for a second before looking back at him. “Guess we’ll have to see where it goes, won’t we?”

Harry takes a small step closer, his voice dropping even lower. “I’d like that.” His hand lingers by hers, almost touching but not quite, as if savoring the tension between them.

“Looks like the tea’s not the only thing heating up this morning! With Tom sidelined and sparks flying between Y/N and Harry, it seems our villa’s newest couple might just be on the verge of something big. Stay tuned, because in here, anything can happen…”

Y/N takes a slow sip of her tea, glancing up at Harry with a slightly nervous smile. "So," she begins, setting her cup down on the counter. "What made you come here? To Love Island, I mean."

Harry leans back, crossing his arms as he thinks about her question. “Guess I just thought it’d be a bit of a laugh, to be honest.” He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “Never done anything like this before. My sister convinced me, actually—said I needed to do something that’d take me out of my comfort zone.”

Y/N smiles, intrigued. “So what is your comfort zone, then?”

He smirks, thinking. “You know, work, mates, a good pint at the local…” He pauses, his gaze softening. “I guess I don’t usually put myself out there, especially with relationships. I’m… guarded, I s’pose. I don’t let people in that easily.”

She nods, understanding. “I get that. It’s hard to open up, especially when you’ve been hurt before.”

Harry’s eyes meet hers, something vulnerable in his gaze. “Yeah, it is. That ever happen to you?”

She hesitates, looking down at her cup. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Had one or two of those, too. I’ve always felt that… if I’m gonna be with someone, I want it to be all-in, you know? Like, I don’t want to waste time on half-hearted feelings.”

“Exactly,” he replies, his voice steady. “That’s it for me, too. People are so casual these days, like everything’s disposable. But I want someone who actually wants to be there, through all of it.”

Y/N looks up at him, feeling the intensity of his words sink in. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”

“What? Thought I was just here for a holiday fling?” he teases, a grin breaking through the serious moment.

She laughs, shaking her head. “Not exactly. But it’s nice… to see you’re after something real.”

Harry tilts his head, studying her. “What about you? Is there anything you’re hoping to find here?”

She takes a deep breath, then nods slowly. “Yeah, I think there is.” She looks away for a second, gathering her thoughts. “I’ve spent so much time focused on what everyone else wants from me, you know? And I think… maybe it’s time to figure out what I actually want.”

Harry’s hand rests on the edge of the counter, close enough that she can feel his presence. “ It’s like, everyone has expectations. Sometimes, you just want a clean slate, a chance to be yourself.”

They hold each other’s gaze, the air thick with something unspoken. Harry leans in just slightly, his voice a soft murmur. “I reckon we’re both looking for that spark, then. Something that feels real… not just ‘comfortable.’”

Y/N swallows, her cheeks warm. “Seems like we’re on the same page.” Her smile turns playful as she raises her eyebrows. “Guess that means you’ll have to impress me, though.”

Harry laughs, eyes twinkling. “Oh, I’ve got my work cut out for me, have I? No pressure, then.”

They share a laugh, but beneath the humor, there’s a sense of understanding, a spark that neither of them can deny.

The girls gathered on the sun loungers, sipping their drinks and chatting about the day’s events. Georgia, with her sharp gaze fixed on Harry and Y/N across the yard, leaned in closer to Lila and Amber, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Look at them, all cozy and sweet over there,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Can you believe it? Y/N really thinks she’s won the jackpot, doesn’t she?”

Lila squinted towards the couple, where Harry and Y/N shared a laugh, the sunlight catching Y/N’s hair. “They do look a bit... comfortable, don’t they?”

Georgia scoffed. “Comfortable? More like she’s turned him into her little puppet. I mean, really—what does she even have?’

Amber leaned back on her lounger, a smirk forming on her lips. “You’re just jealous, Georgia. You’ve made it pretty clear you’re interested in Harry too.”

“Jealous? Please,” Georgia shot back, crossing her arms. “I wouldn’t waste my time on someone who’s already taken. It’s pathetic. She’s just playing the sympathy card”.

Lila shook her head, frowning slightly. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? She is nice.”

Georgia raised an eyebrow, her tone dismissive. “Nice doesn’t get you anywhere in here, Lila. Nice girls finish last. Harry deserves someone who’s actually worth his time, not some sad little backstory.”

Amber leaned forward, intrigued. “What’s the real issue here, Georgia? Is it just about Harry, or do you feel threatened by Y/N?”

Georgia’s expression hardened. “I’m not threatened. I just don’t think she belongs here. She’s too soft. This is Love Island, not a charity case. And let’s be real, Tom was way better suited for her. But she just had to run off with Harry, didn’t she?”

Lila shook her head, glancing between Georgia and Amber. “But that’s how this whole thing works, right? If there’s a connection, you go for it. It’s not her fault Tom couldn’t keep her interested.”

Georgia huffed. “Whatever. I just think it’s weak. And I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’m happy for her when she’s clearly trying to stake her claim on Harry like it’s some kind of prize.”

Amber raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “So, what’s your plan? Just sit here and sulk while they flirt?”

Georgia smirked, the corners of her lips curling in mischief. “Oh, don’t worry. I have a few tricks up my sleeve. I’m not done just yet. I’ll make sure Harry knows exactly what he’s missing. And if that means shaking things up a bit, so be it.”

Ah, the sweet scent of jealousy in the morning! Someone get Georgia a mirror—she clearly needs a reality check!

let me know if you want to get added to the tag list xx

TAGLIST: @st-ev-ie, @harrystyleshotwife, @valuunit, @familyshow-orisit, @ellaorchard, @loverrryxo, @dashingday

-> part 4

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heartburriedinvenice · 5 months ago

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the end is undeniably near (and i keep running towards it) - steve h.

(steve harrington x hopper!reader)

a part of my phoebe challenge 🎞🪐💌🕯

based on the song "i know the end" by phoebe bridgers

in which you always wanted to escape hawkins, indiana, until you didn't anymore.

in which the billboard said "the end is near"

content warning post season 3 (SO SPOILERS), mild cursing (maybe), ANGST like the whole time, unhealthy coping, and hawkins being hawkins, reader is an implied theater kid (im sorry not sorry)

a / n i disappeared on y’all, I’m sorry!! you know life is getting weird when i randomly return to tumblr. just dipping my toes back in the water of all this so i apologize if i am a little rusty. this is just a piece of a hopper!reader show rewrite that has been in the works for a while so if anyone likes it enough, lmk, I’d be be happy to start posting the whole thing,starting from season 1! any feedback would be awesome (and also requests cause I need inspo back). okay enjoy some angst!

No one ever got out of Hawkins, Indiana. Like the town was somehow enclosed within some heavy-duty bubble, only a few people ever got the nerves to squeeze through. Until you did, until you did the one thing you believed was impossible. You packed your bags, loaded up your car, and left hell. And you did it without a goodbye because the only way to do the impossible was without one. And deep down you knew you were a coward, even after fighting monsters and otherworldly creatures, you were a coward. You could not face what was left behind or allow yourself to acknowledge it.

And it ate away at you in a way you could have never imagined. Too busy pretending like it never crossed your mind, like Hawkins never existed in the first place. Still, it chipped at you piece by piece until the guilt of escaping Hawkins, Indiana finally caught up with you. Until one day that guilt would sneak up and trip you, sending you tumbling all the way back down a hill to only land right back at the gates of Hawkins, at its green sign, Welcome to Hawkins! That warm welcome, the warmest welcome, with its murders and second dimensions and its people. Those people. Those people who worked their way so deep into your heart before you could even realize it. So deep that leaving felt like removing deeply grown roots from a garden, so impossible, so hard to tell where they even stopped growing. You weren’t sure entirely when they grew so deep, you don’t really remember at all how they got there. When you let them? Why did you let them? After everything, you should have known better. You shouldn’t have let them.

You were fifteen when you knew you could never live in Hawkins, Indiana your whole life. It never felt real, artificial, fake. Mass-produced nuclear families and white picket fence houses and stale dead-end jobs.

And then Steve Harrington needed an extra art credit and found his way as the lead in Hawkins High’s production of Romeo and Juliet. When rehearsing turned into giving Steve girl advice and driving with him to drop off flowers. When running lines became swinging a bat of nails and finding an alien in a fridge. When the day before the play performance had turned into icing Steve's bruises on your couch as you ran lines back and forth because neither of you could sleep. When a whole group of middle schoolers sat in the front row and your dad sat center with a bouquet of flowers. They were your family. Your strange and messy family all pretending to be interested in the gibberish mess of Shakespeare on stage. Them watching with stifled laughs as Steve stumbled through lines, as the balcony scene turned into him and you having a staring contest trying to figure out whose lines were next. And though your director would have your heads later, the two of you sat giggling during intermission and had to hold the laughter again when your director asked why you didn’t have time to be memorized to perfection. Because you had all the time in the world, didn’t you?.

Unbelievable as it was, you began to question what you at fifteen had promised you would do. Because you had found more than stale every day Hawkins. You had found their odd-balls who taught you to play Dungeons and Dragons in their basement, who reminded you so much of your sister. And you had found Steve Harrington, a pretty boy with a heart of gold, who risked his life for his Juliet that night at the mall. Who held you tight when it all got too much.

When you moved back to Hawkins, Indiana, after Sara, after your parents split, you were sure life would never be the same again. You needed a fresh start, to completely reconfigure your life and pretend none of what had happened had happened. That you never had a sister, that your dad hadn’t completely changed, burrowing himself under alcohol and late shifts. That your mom wasn’t actively trying to forget and build another life over the one that had been left abandoned in that New York apartment. You were so sure you would have to move on, cut it all out the minute you graduated from high school. You were sure you had to escape on your rickety old bike right out of town.

Then things happened and somehow you found yourself again, found your father again as you sat together for your first Christmas dinner in years. Celebrating the return of the young Will Byers and the return of something else, something more, something familiar and warm. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but it was yours. You saw your father again for the first time in years that night, Christmas Eve, sitting on the porch as light snow fell and hit your heads, bundled in warm jackets, pretending the coffee you made was not mediocre at best. The police chief and his daughter, a messy duo. And that was perfect to you.

And then things happened again and again and again and finally everything just shattered.

And you left. You did what you had always hoped to do. But you didn’t feel the pride you had thought you would feel when you dreamed it at fifteen. You weren’t heading towards a new life, you were sitting in a stuffy apartment in the city. You were stuck again at what felt like the beginning. Unable to go with the Byers, you immediately made other plans, back at the apartment you had spent so many nights trying to forget.

And it ate away at you in a way you could have never imagined or wanted to imagine. Too busy pretending like it never crossed your mind, like Hawkins never existed in the first place. Still, it chipped at you piece by piece until the guilt of escaping Hawkins, Indiana finally caught up with you. Until one day that guilt would sneak up and trip you, sending you tumbling all the way back down a hill to only land right back at the gates of Hawkins, at its green sign, Welcome to Hawkins! That warm welcome, the warmest welcome, with its murders and second dimensions and its people. Those people. Those people who worked their way so deep into your heart before you could even realize it. So deep that leaving felt like removing deeply grown roots from a garden, so impossible, so hard to tell where they even stopped growing. You weren’t sure entirely when they grew so deep, you don’t really remember at all how they got there. When you let them? Why did you let them? After everything, you should have known better. You shouldn’t have let them.

And then Steve Harrington needed an extra art credit and found his way as the lead in Hawkins High’s production of Romeo and Juliet. When rehearsing turned into giving Steve girl advice and driving with him to drop off flowers. When running lines became swinging a bat of nails and finding an alien in a fridge. Or jumping into a hole in the ground and lighting up never-ending tunnels of vines straight from those horror movies you used to watch with your sister. When the day before the play performance had turned into icing Steve's bruises on your couch as you ran lines back and forth because neither of you could sleep. When a whole group of middle schoolers sat in the front row and your dad sat center with a crumble bouquet of flowers. They were your family. Your strange and messy family all pretending to be interested in the gibberish mess of Shakespeare on stage. Them watching with stifled laughs as Steve stumbled through lines, as the balcony scene turned into him and you having a staring contest trying to figure out whose lines were next. And though your director would have your heads later, the two of you sat giggling during intermission and had to hold the laughter again when your director asked why you didn’t have time to be memorized to perfection. Because you had all the time in the world, didn’t you?.

Unbelievable as it was, you began to question what you at fifteen had promised you would do. Because you had found more than stale every day Hawkins, you had found their odd-balls who taught you to play Dungeons and Dragons in their basement who reminded you so much of your sister. And you had found Steve Harrington, a pretty boy with a heart of gold, who risked his life for his Juliet that night at the mall, pulling you up when you twisted your ankle running up a flight of stairs and getting you out to paramedics when it was over. Icing your ankle and holding you when it all got too much. When you watched everyone exit the mall but the only real family you felt like you had left. When the police told you your fathers body couldn’t be found, buried under ash and grime in the mall fire. That he was the hero, that he saved your lives sacrificing himself.

When you moved back to Hawkins, Indiana, after Sara, after your parents split, you were sure life would never be the same again. You needed a fresh start, to completely reconfigure your life and pretend none of what had happened had happened. That you never had a sister, that your dad hadn’t completely changed, burrowing himself under alcohol and late shifts. That your mom wasn’t actively trying to forget and build another life over the past one that had been left abandoned in that New York apartment, calling only for holidays and those important life events she was so sad she had to miss. You were so sure you would have to move on, cut it all out the minute you graduated from high school. You were sure you had to escape on your rickety old bike right out of town.

Then things happened and somehow you found yourself again, found your father again as you sat together for their first Christmas dinner in years. Celebrating the return of the young Will Byers and the return of something else, something more, something familiar and warm. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but it was steps in a direction. You saw your father again for the first time in years that night, Christmas Eve, sitting on the porch as light snow fell and hit your heads, bundled in warm jackets, pretending the coffee you made was not mediocre at best. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something for the two of you. The police chief and his daughter, a messy duo. And that was perfect to you.

And then things happened again and again and again and finally everything just shattered.

Spring of 1986, the New York apartment was driving you insane. You felt like you might start running up the walls if you didn’t get out soon. At least that would be ten times more interesting than sitting and watching your Step-Dad watch golf—a sport you didn't understand. Seeing how bored you were, he tried to explain it, but you didn't process a single word he was saying.

You didn’t want to have something with him, you didn’t want a thing you bonded over and you especially didn’t want that thing to be golf.

You debated moving, you debated being drastic and dying your hair to make your mom upset but what good would that do other than feed the part in yourself that no longer cared, no longer wanted to care. Everything you cared about had slipped from your grasp, had disappeared, no matter how tightly you clutched it was gone.

Fuck.

You stared at the wallpaper, one you knew your mom had probably gushed over at the store and chosen. And you glanced at the patterned carpet, and the family picture you were not in. And even though they all reassured you that you were family, deep down you knew you had uprooted their whole routine. You especially saw it in your moms eyes when she looked at you a little too long, a constant reminder of what she had lost all those years ago.

You listened to the busy city traffic below the apartment and the sound of wailing sirens you had completely become ignorant of after you lived in Hawkins so long. You glanced at the kitchen, the sink with no dishes and a fridge actually filled with food that wasn’t leftover take-out, mediocre pasta you had cooked, or boxes of Eggos. And you looked at the man beside you, silent, watching golf. It was all so different.

Every day it remained that way, your mom got home from work late, your stepfather came home before you got back from school, and then Liam, your step brother would come home.

He made it all a little more bearable. The littlest but only because he reminded you of home. He reminded you of Dungeons and Dragons in Mike Wheeler's basement, and your found sister, and the party that always had you on your toes. But even you could not warm up to the boy because he would never be them. And it was unfair. It was cruel of you to make comparisons between Hawkins and New York, to allow that to shut out the only family you now had. But it was one habit you could not seem to break no matter how hard you tried.

Hawkins, Indiana was quiet, it was small. Hawkins, Indiana was both a breath of fresh air and a tightening grip that had you gasping, clawing for a second to breathe. New York was loud, so loud that the sounds of sirens and blaring car horns became only white noise in your head. It was big, not big in the welcoming and warming way. Not big in the feeling of catching sight of a friend in a crowded room. It was big in the way you could not point out a single person at school that you had seen more than once. It was big in a way similar to that of being alone in the middle of a large party. It was so big that being alone in a quiet, dark, empty room would feel the same as walking amidst the large crowds on the street.

And New York didn’t have Steve Harrington. New York didn’t have crazy kids and weird aliens, New York didn’t have Robin Buckley or Nancy Wheeler or Jonathan Byers, New York didn’t have comforting hugs from Joyce, and New York didn’t have your dad and it never would again. The thought of it was enough to make you sick, nausea filling every inch of your body, barely able to swallow down the fact. But you would swallow it down like you always did, like you did everything else.

Your mom would always tell you you could talk to her if you needed to, that no matter how long you were a part she still cared about you. But you still remember the look on her face when you had turned up at the apartment after all those years. Finally back together face to face, the only words she was able to muster was, “you grew up”.

You kept busy filling the days with nothing. On a good day Liam would show you some project he did in class that day, him seemingly the most unbothered by your move-in. And your stepdad, Bill, would ask you how school was to which you would reply fine. It was fine, it would always be just fine.

And you would stare at the phone on the wall in the kitchen. Dialing and hanging up and dialing and hanging up, hearing him pick up and then slamming the phone down, falling back into the chair at the kitchen table. Sometimes he would call back, you knew he caught on, you would just listen as the phone rang, head in your hands. You couldn’t face it, it was all too much and answering that call, hearing that voice would only throw it all back at you at once. It would knock you down and hold you there as you tried to gain control of the emotions you had locked up so tight once again. You felt sick to your stomach once again and the feeling spread, it spread all throughout your body, all the way to your fingertips and toes. For the first time in your life, you begged your body to just throw up, hoping the feelings would go along with it, until the pit in your stomach was completely washed away.

It was this sinking feeling every time you heard the phone ring and as much as you wanted to convince yourself otherwise, you weren’t sure if you would ever pick up. Maybe you would just forget about it all. But it was hard when your mind was plagued with images of creatures you could only describe as otherworldly and when every time you looked at yourself in the mirror before a shower your eyes would draw focus to the deep cut scars that littered your body. You would never truly escape Hawkins, Indiana, it was impossible, and it would follow you around until you finally gave up and went back. But you refused to allow it to have that control, until you picked up the phone…by accident.

It was late, a Saturday evening of all things. Your mother was working late that weekend, your step dad was asleep on the couch, and your step brother had abandoned his books on the table and gone to bed. And the phone kept ringing and ringing and ringing, over and over in repeated increments. One call, two minutes passed, another call, three minutes had passed, and a third call with three minutes passing and on and on and on-

“Will you turn the damn thing off!” Yelled the man on the couch, whose deep sleeping was even disturbed by your past trying to creep back in.

And it worried you, as you apologized and turned back to the phone, head aching from the noise. It worried you because every time before, the phone would ring one, maybe two times before the line went silent. But tonight, you had lost track of just how many times you had slammed the phone down to stop the ringing.

You looked up at the phone again, quiet for much too long, longer than before and RING. RING. RING.

The grunt of your step father filled the empty room and without a second thought, not wanting another lecture from your mom about not getting along with him, you reached for the phone line. Slowly placing it against your ear, you instantly pulled it back as a voice blasted through, louder than the ringing of the phone itself. “Goddammit! please pick up the phone-”

“Hey,” was all you said, it was faint and quiet in contrast, laced with guilt that had piled up from months of avoidance and pretending Hawkins didn’t exist. But it was loud enough to stop the yelling as murmurs and whispers filled the background of wherever your caller was calling from.

Your Steve Harrington, your Romeo who deserved answers. After everything you had been through he deserved something from you that you had failed to deliver.

“Oh thank god, you don’t know how happy I am to hear your voice,” and what you expected to be anger was anything but, rather the clearest sound of overwhelming relief. Relief that all came crashing down the minute he spoke his next words. “You need to get back here, like... like-“

The sound of struggling came from their end of the phone and your heart rate sped up in a panic, only realizing how tightly you were holding the phone to your ear.

Dustin’s voice quickly came through the line, a complaining Steve evident in the back, “like right now, like ASAP, like as soon as possible.”

Dustin’s voice, his tone did nothing to loosen your grip on the phone, nothing to ease your panic and you almost slammed the phone down again. Back home, back in the familiar, back to memories of people that haunted your every thought. You wondered if they had called the Byers, your sister, you wondered if she was there too.

“We can pay your bus ticket, but I can’t really explain like this and we just, we need your help,” Dustin practically cried. “We all need you. We can’t let anyone get hurt again.”

That was all you needed. Hawkins had a pull on you, a force you tried to ignore but eventually pulled you back anyways. Steve was back on the line soon after, you already scribbling a note to your mom, phone pressed against your ear by your shoulder. And when you heard his voice again your breath caught in your throat…it seemed to always do that with him.

“Steve, I-”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“No, but, Steve I really, just…I don’t know where to start,” you tried to explain, losing any of the words you had planned to say while lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling.

“You don’t have to,” he simply said. But you knew you would, you had too many words to speak. “Just show up, just be here. We need you, even if you don’t believe me. It’s getting crazy again.”

Hawkins would never not be.

“I will be,” you reassured, really reassured. “I will be, I promise.”

And if everyone in Hawkins knew something, you never broke a promise, never. You got close sometimes, sometimes it seemed like you would, but you always met your end of the bargain. You said you would be back in Hawkins, Indiana and you would be. Setting the phone down back on it's holder with a quiet click, you jumped from your chair in the kitchen, as the wood chair quietly screeched against the floor. Open and close, open and close, the drawers in the kitchen were opening and closing until you found a tape role, cutting away a piece. Grabbing your note off the counter, you secured the piece to it and stuck it against the fridge where it would be noticed by your mom.

She would know what it meant, you knew she knew all along, that New York hadn’t been your home in a long time. That Hawkins had grown into something much deeper than you could have ever anticipated. And even then, in that kitchen, in that busy city…you knew, the end was near

#stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steveharrington #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington x reader angst #angst fic #could become a series...#steve harrington angst

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friendlyrandomperson · 10 days ago

Text

Nice to meet you again.

Part twenty six!! This is longer than a bit of the chapters so far! :)

New things give Eddie quite a fright at first, and it takes a few minutes for him to warm up to it.

Oh, but this? This is something new, and he does not like the fact he is warming up because of it. His face, his heart, everything.

“I’m burnin’ up an’ I know I ain’t sick!” He says, mindlessly stirring his tea in repetitive counterclockwise motions. Poppy softly laughs, covering her mouth with her wing and giving Eddie a knowing look. Eddie stops stirring, placing his spoon down and sipping on his tea.

“Dearie, who makes you feel this way?”

Eddie raises his eyebrow and sets down his cup.

“Frank, why?” Poppy snickers, shaking her head softly.

“I think you may have feelings for him, Eddie Dear. No pun intended.”

She smiles that gentle, sweet smile everyone in the neighborhood knows. That smile like a mother, loving and kind. Like raindrops on the windows, a warm embrace of a blanket in Winter when one craves the warmth the outside lacks, a laugh that feels heartfilled and not forced.

“Well o’ course I do! He makes me feel happy.” Poppy sighs softly, not in a tired way, no, in a calm way. “Oh, dearie not that kind of feeling. More of a…” she lifts her wing and shakes it, ruffling the feathers. “Fluttering?”

Eddie’s eyes widen just a little bit in understanding.

“Oh!”

“Oh.”

Eddie looks at his cup as his cheeks warm up, in that familiar way they have been, in the way they do when Frank smiles, when he sees that lightness in his expression, the way his eyes crinkle at their edges and the way his laugh carries so beautifully, like a melody. With a flustered, sheepish smile, Eddie glances back at Poppy.

“I.. s’pose that’s ‘bout right.”

💌🦋

New things, whether physical or emotional, never phased Frank before. He has always been able to navigate through the unfamiliar with logic, with reasoning.

This feeling, however, this pounding in his heart, this pooling heat in his cheeks and this warmth in his chest, is far more unsettling than anything Frank has experienced or dealt with before. It scares him, all reasoning failing to explain.

What is it, why is it here, why is it only around Eddie?

Julie has not been any help, she has simply been giggly and simply saying “Oh Frank, you really have no clue”, turning the subject away and leaving Frank more confused than before he asked her for help. Not only that, but she has been finding ways to keep the two men together, whether that is partnering them in a game or having Eddie take her role momentarily to, quote, “Show me how it’s done”.

Frank shakes his head as he closes his book, looking up and seeing the Sun is long gone, the moon giving a soft glow to the neighborhood.

“Oh, again?”

He sighs, standing up and walking inside.

⏳⌛️

"Mailman— Mr. Dear, could you stand a tad closer to Franklin please? I need you on the right, not in the middle."

Sally, with one arm still crossed, points at Eddie and wiggles her finger side to side. Eddie nods, stepping to the side and folding his hands neatly in front of himself.

"Juliet could you step forwards towards Franklin, darling?"

Julie skips over, a little farther away than Eddie but much closer to Frank than before. She folds her hands behind her back and rocks on her feet, back and forth, toes to heel to toes to heel.

"Hmmm... Mister Dear could you switch with Juliet for me?"

"I-I'm sorry, what?"

"Switch with Juliet, now."

"Okie dokie then."

Eddie looks at Julie, who looks as confused as he feels. They both shrug and switch places on the stage, both standing the way they had been previously.

"No, no, no, switch roles, Mr. Dear, do not make me repeat myself again! Juliet, give him your script."

Knowing exactly what Sally is doing, Julie hands her script to a confused, slightly nervous Eddie.

“Okay, let’s try this again. Mister Dear, if you will be so kind, start us from the start of Julie’s dialogue.”

“Wait a min’, she ain’t done nothin’ wrong, why are we switchin’?” Eddie squints at the script as if the ink will tell the truth the neighbors remain silent about.

“Oh, simply a change of pace.”

Suddenly, a loud crack of thunder rings through the auditorium, accompanied by a startled squawk from Poppy, a yelp from Eddie, and a “Woah!” From Howdy.

“Oh no, no, no!! Everyone, out, out, go home!!”

The frantic star ushers everyone out, keeping her girlfriend behind because she “cannot have a star so radiant be dulled by a storm”. Frank covers his head with his arms and is about to sprint before a darkness surrounds him and the rain stops above his head, raging around his body yet never reaching him. He glances up and sees a deep navy blue covering, two large arms around it.

“What in the— Eddie?!”

“C’mon, the Post Office is closer! Everyone’s already gone home!!”

Usually, Frank would argue that he could go alone. He is fully capable of doing so, he has even gardened in the rain because of the convenience of skipping the step of watering his plants.

Right now, all he wants is Eddie to be out of the rain, warm, safe, and dry. Frank just nods, letting Eddie guide him through the pouring rain, their feet splashing onto the ground and the wind roaring around them.

Eddie pulls open the door, welcoming both men into the pleasant, warm atmosphere of the Post Office. By this point, Eddie’s jacket has soaked through and did not provide any cover for Frank, so both men appear as if they had gone swimming.

“Heh, c’mere, I’m sure I’ve got somethin’ that you can change into.”

“Eddie, it’s really not that big of a—“

“Oh, please, you’ve got more water on ya than a fish! The least I can do fer ya is give you somethin’ dry ta have on.”

Eddie wanders off to the back room, Frank following close behind. The door opens with a slight creak, a click of the light switch revealing… darkness.

“My ‘pologies, lemme turn on those whatchamacallits.”

Eddie walks into the room unbothered, connecting two ends of fairy lights and bathing the room in a candle-like golden glow.

The room itself is moderately sized, enough to live in but not comfortable by any means. Eddie’s desk is a deep purple, a stack of construction paper stacked in the top left corner by the entrance. Little paper cranes, flowers, and butterflies are on the surface, specks of color like stars against a deep night sky.

Opening a few drawers, Eddie’s eyebrows furrow, and he puckers his lips slightly. His hair drips onto his broad shoulders, frames his face perfectly. His cheeks are tinted red, rosier than usual if you pay attention.

“That’s cute. What- no stop that. But he is really cute when he’s focused… no!”

Frank shakes his head, cheeks burning against the cold of his skin, clothes, and hair. He turns to the little origami projects and rests his hand on the desk next to a paper crane.

“Eddie, did you make these by yourself?”

“Hm?”

Eddie turns his attention towards Frank, noticing the origami he left out and blushing even more.

“Oh, that’s uh- heh that’s just somethin’ ta pass the time, ain’t half as interestin’ as yer butterflies.”

Eddie waves his hand, turning back to his drawers and sifting through some clothes.

“None o’ these are gonna fit ‘im.” Eddie sighs, pulling out a pajama set, long sleeved and collared top with a pair of pants, both white with blue vertical stripes, handing it to Frank.

“My ‘pologies in advance, these are gonna be pretty big on ya.”

Frank takes the set, the men’s fingers brushing together and setting their faces aflame.

“Thank you Eddie, I will be perfect- cough perfectly fine, thank you.”

“Oh no, you ain’t catchin’ a cold are ya?”

“No, no I’m fine. Where is your restroom?”

“Phew, alrighty then. Right over there, ‘s the door that don’t got a sign.”

“Thank you.”

Frank gives a polite smile before walking into the bathroom, closing the door and turning the lock with a gentle click. Glancing at the pile of clothes, his cheeks burn.

“Our hands just touched. That’s all. He was giving me clothes.”

Not just clothes, butterflies as well.

Frank chooses to ignore the flutter of his heart as he takes off his uncomfortable clothing, not soaking wet anymore, just slightly air dried.

Slipping on the warm, dry clothes, the soft smell of Eddie’s cologne wraps around Frank’s figure, a hug without a body to hold.

He smiles at the familiar scent, walking out of the bathroom and making his way back to Eddie’s room. He walks back in to see Eddie in a pair of matching pajamas, only his is short sleeved with shorts.

“Heh, sorry ‘bout that. I wish I had somethin’ more suited for ya.”

Frank chuckles slightly, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize, thank you for the clothes.”

The fairy lights click off, a loud crash of thunder following closely. Eddie goes to the lights and tries to click them together, exhaling through his nose when the lights would not turn on. Listening closely, he notices the lack of the hum from the heater and the florescent lights in the main part of the Post Office.

“Well, ain’t that lucky. We got no power.” Eddie turns to Frank, a shy smile on his face. Frank smiles back, glancing at the origami pieces on the desk as his eyes adjust to the sudden light change. He nervously picks up a butterfly, hands holding it like a real insect, tender and sweet, careful not to mess anything up.

“I could teach ya, if you’d like me to.” Eddie’s voice is low, hesitant, a slight quiver. “How? The power’s out.” Frank holds the butterfly to his chest, examining the delicate folds of the paper, a beautiful craft. Eddie walks over, shyly placing his hands out to take the butterfly. Frank carefully places the butterfly in Eddie’s hands, watching as he sets it down and gives Frank a piece of paper instead.

Eddie takes Frank’s hands in his own, gently moving the other man’s hands and fingers to fold the paper correctly, slow and smooth movements.

The rain and wind dance with a haunting melody of disarray, the clouds thick and allowing no light to shine through.

Usually, Frank would ignore the howling winds with a lamp, or if the lights went out, a nice candle, and a book to read. Thunderstorms never bother him unless he is overstimulated or about to be.

Eddie, on the other hand, usually hides during thunderstorms, curling up in his blanket with a flashlight and a nice, happy book to ignore the rain with. He tends to doze off sometimes, waking up tangled in a blanket, his flashlight on the floor with the beam pointing at a random spot in the room, and his book either on the floor or somewhere on the bed with no reasonable explanation for how.

Spending this time with each other, both sitting on chairs now, knees and hands together, feels right. A steady, pleasant rhythm both could get lost in for ages. The warm, firm guidance of Eddie’s hands against Frank’s, gentle verbal corrections and praises in between.

“And then, you fold it right here.”

With one last fold, the butterfly spread out, a small yellow paper butterfly.

“You did it, Frank!!”

“No, technically you did.”

“I helped you, that ain’t the same.”

Frank shakes his head with a soft chuckle, cradling the paper in his hands, the ghost of Eddie’s touch still around him.

“Thank you, Eddie.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, the raindrops pattering on the glass of the Post Office entrance. Eddie stands up, walking over to the window and using what little light there is to check his watch.

“Goodness, look at the time!”

Eddie looks out of the window, glancing at the sign on the door. He sighs softly, flipping the sign around to say “Sorry! We’re closed ‘till (5:30 am)!” Instead of “Come on in!”.

“Well, Mister Frankly, looks like you’re stayin’ with me tonight.”

#frank x eddie #eddie x frank #franklydear #frankly dear

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shifterin · 9 days ago

Note

🐚🌷💌

i appreciate the ask, thank you <3 i'll be answering for my beatles dr!

🐚 : QUICK SHELL . . . okay, just a quick fire of a few questions. favorite inside joke? what food combination do you love but other people think is strange? how do you feel about surprises? do you live a more analytical or creative lifestyle? if you had to describe yourself in three words, what would they be?

inside joke — john and i have this inside joke that winston churchill is secretly our birth father and that's why he was named after him. we pretend julia and him had a forbidden romance and all that, romeo and juliet style. one of us will see him on the television and yell, “oi, dad’s on!” we both think it's hilarious, we've been doing it since we were pre-teens. we used to lie about it to our friends, haha.

food combination — pineapple on pizza

surprises — i don't like them. i don't like feeling out of my depth or when someone catches me off guard. i’d rather have time to prepare for things. i value when someone is honest about their plans and intentions. paul is bad for this, he always wants to organize something behind my back and i just end up feeling left out.

analytical or creative? — see, you'd expect me to say creative because i'm a musician, but that's really the only area of my life where i’d consider myself such. i’m actually a very logical, practical kind of person.

three words — resilient, thoughtful, contrarian

🌷 : TALL TALE TULIP . . . what is something someone told you as a child that you still partially believe? are you able to have your feet uncovered in bed without thinking a under-the-bed-demon will drag you under? do you let your friends "split the pole"?

oh, all the old worrywart things mimi used to warn me about as a little girl. don't go to bed with your hair wet or you'll catch a cold. always wear socks even when indoors or you'll catch a cold. make sure to bring a jacket or you'll catch a cold. she was frequently fretting about me getting sick. she's also quite big on manners, even silly things that don't really make sense. no elbows on the table. why? i couldn't tell you. she just thinks it's impolite. it stuck with me, though. she could never get john to listen to her, but i was more impressionable, eager to please, searching for a stable mother figure. john always says i’m just like her. i take it as a compliment, even though i’m certain he intends it as an insult.

💌 : LOVE LETTER . . . what random things do your friends associate with you? a fictional character you resemble? the scent you always wear? a dumb phrase you made up?

the moon, stars, rain, flowers. all earthy things, really. the colour green. both vanilla as a scent and as a flavour. thumb rings. classic literature. cats. using ‘jesus christ’ as a swear.

#poison ivy and the bugs #beatles dr #60s fame dr #shiftblr #shifting realities #reality shifting #shifting #shifting blog #shifting community #reality shifter #shifting antis dni #shifting motivation #desired reality #shifting script #shifting scenarios

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rosesradio · 10 months ago

Text

hsmtmts fic masterpost

if hsmtmts really is having a renaissance (or the same 10 people are back in the tag, my beloveds), i thought i would share a little post for my fics on ao3 <33

i have portwell, portbowell, & caswen—fluff, angst, & smut, feel free to peruse the wares 💌

portwell (ej/gina)

reconciliation: fingers crossed (rose's version) 2k | fluff

It was odd, this playful bickering game they played, never knowing where the limits were. EJ, her ex-boyfriend, calling her cute...that seemed like a limit.

But Gina kinda liked that. She was never one to play by the rules.

A collection of drabbles set in my "Gina and EJ are next door neighbors and reconcile after their break up at camp" universe.

portbowell (ej/gina/ricky ot3)

who said anybody would? 23.5k | fluff | angst | coming-of-age

When EJ gets a voicemail from his father days after the show, asking him to visit the Caswell Success School, he has mixed feelings.

This is Gina’s first ever romantic road trip. To be honest, her entire life has been a road trip, so she’s not that excited to be getting back in the car again.

Ricky doesn’t want to go to Chicago, but he doesn’t want to stand around at a gas station on the edge of town, either.

or: if i could make a short film on how i'd get portbowell together post-s3, it would go a little something like this.

caswen (ej/ricky)

talk to me, deep in the night (& i'd tell you something i never thought i'd admit) 2k | hurt-comfort

"Hey," Ricky's voice spoke up again, reprimanding as a hand came over his script, and Ricky was pulling it away. "I've seen you pour over this thing too much. It's killing you, man, just give it a rest. The rehearsal went really well today, remember?"

EJ felt a white-hot bolt of anger flash through him for a second, and felt the urge to jerk his script back, to yell at Ricky to go away. But he couldn't, not when it seemed Ricky actually cared for him.

"Yeah?" he asked instead, bleary and soft, looking up at Ricky.

the summer after high school 1k | suggestive

EJ was a sight to beat all others—his hair was starting to dry from when he’d taken a dive earlier. He insisted that he hadn’t needed sunglasses, and the way his eyes narrowed in the brightness gave him a surprisingly rugged look. His shoulders looked even more broad without a shirt, and his abs, well…

Or: the summer after high school brings out a new curiosity within Ricky, one that fixates a bit too long on EJ when he’s not wearing a shirt.

tell me, shouldn't everybody feel like this? 7k | fluffy smut

The night of Ricky's eighteenth birthday was winding down, and everything had gone perfectly. He crossed every single thing off his list, and now he was done...sort of.

Ricky pulled a second list from the pocket of his sweatpants, looking over his new list of goals. EJ curiously glanced up from his phone—which he'd gotten early, a total abuse of his CIT privileges—and grinned.

"You're not seriously still looking at that list, are you? I thought you did everything." EJ said.

"I did," Ricky replied. "This is a new list, Elton. My Complete-Before-I-Turn-Twenty-One list. Much shorter. Much more exciting."

o romeo, romeo, wherefore art thou romeo? 7k | smut

"Character work, right?" Ricky asked breathlessly, half a genuine question, half to be a smartass.

EJ nodded, kissing him again, sparing no beginning gentleness, no sparkling layer of untruth. It was honest and hungry, so much so that Ricky felt a slight pain on impact, but he couldn't care. He gripped his shirt and kissed him back, finally understanding why Juliet had wanted to marry Romeo so achingly quickly.

#hsmtmts #portwell #portbowell #caswen #ej caswell #gina porter #ricky bowen #this will probably go in my pinned web somehow it took me a minute #pls let me know if you read any of these :')

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sagesolsticewrites · 5 months ago

Note

Bestie! For February prompts, how about Masala Chai for Benny and Vika, and Dried Rose Petals for Brady and Jules, please? 💗

G bestie!! Thank you so much for these, I had a blast writing them 🫶✨

February prompts- inbox is open! 💌

Benny x Vika, masala chai

Vika leans on the counter, savoring the silence of the little beach house normally bustling with her friends enjoying one last vacation before the fall chill sinks in. Eyes closed, she lets the distant sound of the waves wash over her as she wraps her hands around her warm mug, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of sugar and spices. She could sleep in, she knows, but her body’s so used to the early hours the hotel requires…

There’s a familiar nudge against her leg, and she looks down to see a panting Meatball, tail wagging a mile a minute.

“Morning.”

And of course, Benny enters the kitchen right after the husky.

Vika reaches down to pet Meatball, giving herself a moment before she’s confronted with post-run Benny— a version of him she has yet to get used to seeing, all sweat-damp curls and a bright grin…

“Good morning,” she greets him with a smile, careful not to let her gaze linger too long. “You boys have fun?”

Benny steps over to the sink to wash his hands, nodding over to his dog.

“Absolutely. This guy loves chasing those seagulls.”

He glances around the kitchen, “Got any coffee ready?”

“Not yet,” Vika says apologetically, gaze flicking over to the empty coffeemaker, “I can get some started if you’d like.”

Benny shakes his head, considering. He glances down at her mug, “Whatcha got there?”

“Masala chai— er, spiced tea with milk.”

She cringes slightly at her explanation, knowing it doesn’t remotely do her favorite drink justice.

But then she sees the interest dawn on his face, and before he can ask, she’s offering.

“I have extra left over if you’d like to try some. I promise I won’t be offended if you don’t like it,” she adds with a weak laugh.

That sweet, soft smile blossoms on Benny’s face.

“I’d love that.”

She seamlessly pours the remainder from the small saucepan into a mug, straining out the loose tea and spices. Benny looks in fascination at the whole cardamom pods, cloves, and bits of cinnamon left in the strainer before meeting her eyes and taking a sip.

“Woah,” he says, eyes wide, and Vika doesn’t realize how nervous she is until he exclaims, “This is really good,” and her whole body relaxes.

“I’m glad you like it,” she says with a small smile as she gathers the milk, tea, and spices to begin another batch.

“Oh, I don’t need any more, Vika—”

She cuts him off with a shake of her head, “Oh, no, this is for Jules. And whoever else wants some, I suppose. I tend to give her any extra I make, but…” Smiling, her gaze drifts meaningfully over to the mug in his hands.

Benny recalls what her friend is like before her morning dose of caffeine and sugar, and a look of mild horror crosses his face.

“You let me take Jules’s share?”

“I wanted you to try it! She won’t mind.”

Benny sets his mug aside, lunging for the coffeepot.

“Better have coffee ready, too, just in case.“

Brady x Jules, dried rose petals

Juliet twirls in front of the mirror, soft pastel green skirt flaring around her, the tiny white flowers printed on it turning into a soft blur. A soft floral scent surrounds her, though she hasn't put on her perfume yet— that’s the result of tucking tiny muslin bags filled with dried rose and gardenia petals into her drawers and the pockets of her dresses in the closet.

She’s been talking for weeks about the sweet boy she’s been seeing, John Brady, who’ll happily let her drag him to every bookstore in Ithaca and ramble on about Shakespeare, and in return she happily listens to him practice his saxophone and talk about his dreams of becoming a professional musician and, barring that, a music teacher. Her parents had decided they wanted to meet this boy before things got any more serious, and so tonight Johnny was coming over for dinner.

Juliet skips down the stairs, helping her mother with the final touches to the dining room when the doorbell rings. She stiffens, relaxing only when her mother touches her hand gently.

“We can’t wait to meet him, sweetheart.”

She nods, taking a deep breath before she and her parents step into the foyer. Juliet pauses before she opens the door, locking eyes with George Thompson.

“Daddy… please be nice.”

Her overprotective father lets out a “hm” that she knows to mean I’ll try, but I’m watching him.

Knowing that’s the best she’ll get on a night like tonight, she finally flings the door open.

There stands John Brady in his nicest suit, hair neatly combed, with a bouquet nestled in his arms.

Juliet can’t help the wide smile that always appears at the sight of him.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, and they stand there for a moment before she remembers what she’s supposed to be doing.

“Um, come in, please.”

She steps aside to let him through, turning nervously to face her parents once the door is closed firmly behind her.

“Mom, Dad… this is John Brady.”

The smile he gives her family is dazzling, betraying only a hint of his nerves.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.”

He holds out the bouquet to her mother, “Mrs. Thompson, these are for you.”

“Oh how sweet!” She gushes, instantly taken by the gesture.

“Nice to finally meet you as well, son.”

Her father extends a hand, almost challenging John to shake it.

He reaches out with a respectful nod and gives it a firm shake.

Her father’s expression shifts ever so slightly, and Juliet knows he’s impressed, just a little bit. She gives John an encouraging nod as her father leads him into the dining room— everything’s going well so far. She just wants her parents to love him as much as she does.

Their voices fade as she drifts into the kitchen to help her mother carry out the last couple dishes. Loath as she is to leave him alone, her father did promise to be nice…

“So, John, I hear you’re at Ithaca College. What are you studying?…”

#sage answers #gina!!#february prompts #oc: vika patel #benny x vika #oc: juliet thompson #brady x jules

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