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jentrovert · 2 months

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Time Marches On

(Richard Cameron X Fem Reader)

Oneshot

Synopsis: After the death of Neil Perry, your brother Knox brings you to one last poet’s meeting. As a falling out with Richard Cameron ensues, you seem to be the only one capable of seeing his side of things.

Warnings: Talk of suicide, death, grieving, mention of firearms, arguing, swearing, minor violence, a kiss, angst with a semi-happy ending.

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Author’s Note: Based on the movie Dead Poets Society, but obviously a bit different. Reader is about a year younger than Knox, and is referred to by she/her pronouns. It’s difficult to be neutral for every appearance and capability, but I do try to be pretty general. Let me know if you see anything to the contrary. Thanks, guys. X

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Neil was gone. It was easy to say, impossible to process. On paper, he was dead; mentally, it just wasn’t true. He was still around, you’d see him tomorrow, or maybe over spring break when he and your brother would dare each other to go swimming in the frigid water. Everything was fine; everything was normal. Until it finally got quiet, the night you sat in the dining room after his funeral, shivering under a blanket by the radiator. Everyone had excused themselves to their own rooms for the night. Even watching your older brother sob, which you seldom witnessed, you managed to keep it together. Only once the silence crept in, engulfing the room and everything around you, screaming in your ears to be heard, did you finally crack.

First it was one tear, then three, and then before you knew it, you were a broken mess on the floor. The winter cold seeped through the old walls of your childhood home, bitter and unforgiving of your circumstances. A cruel reminder that the world wouldn’t stop after this, on the contrary, it would keep hurling at you just as harshly as it had before.

You hadn’t been the closest friend of Neil Perry, but he’d known your brother for years and had become something of an honorary brother by that point. It was easy to picture their group of poets, affectionately called “dorks” by you, all joking and picking at one another as they always did, huddled up in their quaint little cave that you’d been invited to on a handful of occasions. They were happy and smiling, filled with admiration for each other as they read off their newest theatrical composition. They were poems that bestowed hope to each boy, giving them the promise of an eventful, passionate future. You hadn’t admitted it at the time, not in front of your brother, but it gave you hope as well.

“Why?”

It repeated itself on a frustrating loop in your mind.

Didn’t Neil love his friends? Weren’t they worth living for? Didn’t he know how dreadfully you’d all miss the boy?

You were aware of how selfish those questions sounded out loud. It wasn’t about any of you; you knew that. And part of you wanted to wring Thomas Perry for the way he treated his own son. He’d failed him in every way a parent could. You wanted to blame everyone that ever wronged your brother’s friend, but deep down, you knew the thing that had pushed Neil toward the decision he made was bigger than all of you. You didn’t know if you felt more helpless wondering what you could have done to save him or by considering that there was nothing anybody could have done at all. A small part of you wanted to feel angry with Neil, angry at the state he’d left you all in, but you knew that was just as ridiculous, too.

It was incomprehensible. He looked so great in that play the night he died, and so excited to do what he loved. You were all so proud of him. You would’ve hugged him so much tighter if you’d known it was the final time.

The struggle of trying to keep quiet in the late night made you cry even harder. You considered each of Neil’s schoolmates, how they were probably doing the exact same thing you were, and how they definitely had more of a right to cry than you did.

The image of Neil with a gun in his hand continued to claw and tear its way into your brain regardless of how much you struggled to shove it away. You didn’t want to see it; you just wanted him to put it down. You wanted it so bad that you started mumbling it aloud. You begged God, you begged the universe, you pleaded with anything that would listen, but no one answered, and you knew no one ever would.

Before you realized it, you were fast asleep on the linoleum, and unbeknownst to you, Knox had placed a pillow by your head and two extra blankets over your body whilst you slept, unsure if he should disturb your slumber or not. In the early morning hours, you found what your brother had done and immediately knew the culprit. There was no doubt it your mind Knox hadn’t slept at all that night.

You smiled faintly into your pillow, grateful that your brother always made the effort to care for you, even in his own strife. Sure, you made fun of him constantly, but you loved him a lot, and you did miss him when he was away at boarding school. You loved his friends, too. You wanted nothing more than to take all of their grief away and make everything better, but it didn’t work like that. You were powerless in the situation.

Not long after that, you learned that Knox’s friend Charlie Dalton had also gotten expelled from the school they attended. You were shocked, to say the least. It was the last thing those boys needed to lose another friend. When probed, your brother informed you that Charlie had actually attacked one of their other friends, Cameron. Apparently it had something to do with a lie Cameron told, and it had really crossed the rest of them. Now, you knew Cameron, and you knew Charlie. You also knew that they liked to bicker back and forth, mainly because their personalities differed so significantly, but nothing too major. Charlie was an avid rule-breaker, and Cameron was terrified to stray away from the straight line he always walked.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” Came your brother’s voice, along with a weak knock on your open bedroom door.

You looked up at him in acknowledgment, turning away from the blank schoolwork in front of you.

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. “We’re having our last poet meeting with Charlie.”

You blinked at him, fighting the painful lump that formed in your throat. “Oh” was all you managed to croak.

“If you’d like to come with me…”

With a shaky breath, you nodded, standing from your desk. “Let me get my coat.”

There was a heavy weight on your shoulders as you trudged through mounds of snow. The turns were familiar; the same branches snapped under your feet. It was equal parts haunting and comforting to see the cave coming into view. Once inside, you weaved around rocks to find your usual spot. You offered firm hugs and empathetic smiles to each of the boys who’d already arrived, taking extra time for Todd, who sat off to the side. You hadn’t known Todd for long, as it was his first year at Welton, but strangely enough, he actually seemed to have gained some confidence since the last time you met. You’d honestly expected the opposite, given how close he was to Neil, but you were proud of him nonetheless. You were proud of them all, and you let them know such.

Everyone mingled half-heartedly with one another, doing their best to raise the spirits a bit. You finally managed to question one of them about their English teacher, whom you hadn’t known as well as they did, but knew their dead poet society was founded by his encouragement. Just as Pitts was about to answer, Charlie came strolling into the cave, and everyone turned their attention to him.

“Alright, we’re all here, I guess,” He stated, barely loud enough to hear, keeping his hands stuffed in his trench coat pockets as he scowled at the floor.

You could tell Knox wanted to say something to the boy, as this had been Neil’s best friend, but he didn’t. Charlie looked bitter, scorned. He didn’t bother with greetings or formality as he took a seat on a rock near the entrance.

Knitting your brows, you peered around at each of them, then back to Charlie.

“What about… Cameron?”

“What about him?” He barked, gawking at you like you had grown two heads.

You hummed in thought, caught between not wanting to overstep and also wanting to speak your mind.

“Listen, Charlie,” You started carefully, gripping at your jacket hem, “I know that you’re angry-“

“Angry?” He cut you off. “Angry? That lying bastard wasn’t invited, (Y/n).”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” You quipped.

“Then what are you so confused about?”

It was almost comical the way the rest of the boys’ heads went back and forth between you as you squabbled. Your brother attempted to interject, but you dismissed him.

“I know he messed up, Charlie-”

“He didn't 'mess up’… He got our only role model, the only support we had, thrown out! As if we weren’t grieving enough!” Charlie gestured to the people around the room.

Your jaw clenched. “Stop interrupting me. I know what you think happened, but Cameron is grieving too.”

You’d known Charlie for a long time. The two of you butted heads in the past over trivial things, as he had a habit of deliberately trying to work your nerves, but it was never like this. Emotions were at an all-time high; that part was clear.

“Think? (Y/n), you weren’t even there; I know what happened!” His volume grew with each word he spoke, hair falling over his eyes.

You could feel heat rising in you from anger, a stark contrast to the freezing air around you. “Charlie, Cameron is a teenager who freaked out and made a bad decision. I really think you’re all dog piling him.”

“He got me expelled!” Charlie’s face turned a deep shade of red as he shouted, each syllable emphasized by the fog of his breath and an echo off the cave walls.

“Are you joking?" You jutted a finger at him. "You got yourself kicked out!”

Charlie looked fiercely taken aback for a moment, but quickly snapped out of it. “Are you saying we shouldn't be pissed off at him for what he did to us? What he did to Keating?”

“I didn’t say your anger wasn’t justified, but for God’s sake, nobody put puppet strings on you and forced you to hit Cameron! I’m sorry you have to leave Welton, but that was dumb as hell, Charlie. Don’t you realize that all of you and Keating might’ve gotten kicked out if Cameron hadn’t blamed him?”

The rest of the group exchanged looks, completely at a loss. None appeared to handle this kind of confrontation well.

Charlie’s feet were heavy as he stood, his voice much lower but still venomous. “Why the hell are you defending him like this? Are you two shagging or something?”

You took a sharp inhale at the accusation, gaping at the male in front of you. You glanced over at the other poets, whose cheeks were collectively warm with embarrassment.

“Are you kidding me, Dalton? Look, just because you can’t do anything remotely nice for the opposite sex without getting something out of it, doesn’t mean the rest of us function that way,” You snapped.

“You know what?” He scoffed. “You weren’t even part of this group, you were just a tag-a-long for your goddamn brother.”

“Fuck you.”

“Guys, please!” Your brother shouted, looking so distressed he might cry.

Charlie was unfazed, and turned to lean against a rock.

“She and her boyfriend started it,” He shrugged, cold as the Vermont frost outside.

You knew this wasn’t Charlie. He was hurt, mourning the gaping hole now present in his heart. He wasn’t angry at you, not even Cameron for the most part; he was angry that Neil had been taken from them; he was angry at the world. Even so, it still stung.

“You know, Charles,” You muttered, starting toward the exit. “You can point fingers in every direction you want, but it won’t change a damn thing about what happened.”

Knox tried to grab your arm, but you shook him away, pivoting to face Charlie one more time. “Have fun at your new school.”

With that, you briskly made your way back toward Welton, listening to the arguing between Knox and Charlie fade behind you. You hated what death could bring out in people. On one hand, you understood their anger toward Cameron, but on the other hand, you knew there was more to the story than that. Cameron was devastated just like they were, and now completely iced out by the people he had left.

You knew how much all the boys looked up to Charlie, and due to his discrepancies with Cameron, you were aware of how the rest of the group tended to treat him. Their loyalty lied with Charlie, no matter what. Even Knox would roll his eyes and get annoyed with the youngest boy, but you understood Cameron better than that. He was a kid who’d been conditioned to do everything by the book, to never oppose an authority figure, and to fear all the adults around him at all times. It was something the rest of them usually couldn’t comprehend.

You chose to take Charlie’s words with a grain of salt. Eventually you would reconcile. Though he was partially right, however; you weren’t an official part of their society; you didn’t even attend Welton. He also wasn’t wrong about your infatuation with Richard Cameron. You were closer in age, and you actually got along quite well. You were the only one capable of persuading him to sneak out on nights he was being particularly stubborn. Meeks had teased that “Of course a pretty girl is what convinces Cameron to break the rules,” which made everyone but him erupt into laughter. You’d spent most poetry meetings exchanging fleeting glances and casual touches, ones that went undetected by the rest of the group. It was something that never really got the opportunity for discussion.

You were so lost in thought you almost didn’t notice the solemn redhead sitting on Welton Academy’s front stoop. Just as you reached the parking lot, you saw him from your peripheral; his head hung low as he absentmindedly fidgeted with something in his hands. After taking a second to look back in the direction you’d come, you ultimately decided to approach him. You weren’t sure if he even wanted to talk, but you were certainly itching to. Once he caught sight of you, he rose from his spot, expression a mix of relief and guilt. He was happy to see you, you could tell that much, but it was obvious he also feared what you might be getting ready to say to him.

As you opened your mouth to greet the boy, the next step you took was immediately met with a patch of ice that caused you to tumble forward. You shrieked in surprise, arms flying forward to brace your body for impact. However, Cameron was quick to catch you. He grunted at the initial collision but was graceful at steadying you back on your feet, only after holding you in place for a brief moment.

“You okay?” He murmured, gazing at you with eyes that seemed heavy and tired—the kind of tired people your age shouldn’t know.

“Yes- Yes, I’m fine; thank you, Cameron,” You stammered, trying and failing to collect yourself under his watchfulness.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded shyly. “I appreciate it. I would’ve eaten that concrete if it weren’t for you.”

He chuckled under his breath, managing a small smile. That’s when you noticed the purple ring around one of his otherwise bright emerald eyes.

“Cameron!” You gasped, taking his face in your hands, which caught him off guard. “Oh… Your poor eye.”

His face was already flushed from the cold, but it spread as you inspected him closely from different angles. You grimaced at the injury, shooting him a sympathetic look that made him shake his head at you.

“It’s fine, (Y/n). I deserved it.”

You released your grip with a huff. “That’s not true.”

He looked at you as if that were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Yes, it is. I'm sure you know what I did.”

The shame in his voice made your shoulders drop, and you placed a hand on the boy’s forearm.

“Cameron…”

“Neil was the one who took me in, introduced me to everyone.” He studied the ground like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “And I… I got his best friend kicked out. I got his favorite teacher fired. I made all his friends miserable. That's what I did for him in return."

You examined him for a moment—the way his lip quivered as he wrestled with the urge to cry. He looked away, hiding his face.

“I wrote a poem for him.”

You looked down at the folded piece of paper in his hand. “Cam-”

“I don’t know why I did it, (Y/n). I don’t. I loved Mr. Keating. I thought that’s what I was supposed to say. The way they spoke to me… I didn’t want to let anyone down; I panicked. I didn’t want us all to get expelled or something- Mr. Nolan, he- I didn’t want to…”

You could tell by the way his voice was cracking that he’d begun to cry, and you ran your thumb over his arm to try and comfort him. It was disturbing to see so many people in your life crumbling like that, and even more so knowing there was nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t stand it anymore, and drew him in for a tight embrace.

“Cameron…” You spoke softly. “Nolan manipulated you. He's an asshole. He needed someone to blame besides himself, and he wanted it to be John Keating. So he picked out the one student he knew was under his thumb and fed you what to say. A vulnerable kid he knew would fold at the thought of disappointing him. He’s the bad guy in all this, not you. Him and Tom Perry. It was never you.”

Cameron looked up at you with glassy eyes as you pulled away. You couldn’t tell if he believed what you were saying or not. He didn't respond one way or the other.

“Why are you still here?” You wondered suddenly. It dawned on you that most of Welton's students had left for the holiday already.

Cameron’s eyes drifted downward again, his voice almost a whisper. “I asked my mother if I could go back and visit after Neil…” He didn’t finish the sentence. “She told me that she and my father didn’t pay tuition just so I could leave all the time.”

“That’s all she said to you?”

You were perplexed.

“They just want me to be good and focus on school,” He added, almost as if it were normal.

“Oh, Cam,” You nearly broke down crying yourself.

None of these boys deserved to be treated this way, not at all.

Your fingers trailed up to his chin and lightly directed him to face you. A single tear spilled over his lashes, which he hurried to wipe away.

“I shouldn’t have told on Charlie. I screwed up. I screwed up badly.”

You contemplated how a mother could hear her young son under such duress and not rush to his aid. It was the least they could do to comfort their own child, who now had no one to turn to. For a split second, you worried if Cameron would ever have the same thoughts that Neil did, and the idea terrified you.

“I want you to understand you’re worth so much more than that mistake. Even after everything, I bet Keating still believes in you. In fact, I know he does. And if Neil were here-” You took a breath. “He wouldn’t hold it against you for long. I'm confident in that.”

Cameron offered a fragile, half-cocked smile.

“They’ll forgive you one day,” You continued. “I know how bad it feels right now, but you need each other. And once you’re done with this school, you’ll go on and do amazing things, because you’re too smart not to.”

Neither of you realized the way you gradually began to lean in closer as you spoke.

“You’ll grow up, become even more handsome, then probably have a family or run a business, and never have to think about some of these people again.”

“You really think that?” He uttered, trying not to sound as desperate as he was.

You were close enough then to run a hand through his ginger strands of hair, your other hand finding purchase on the back of his neck. It wasn’t clear whether you were feeling bold or just emotionally vulnerable, but it seemed to surprise you both equally. You’d been way too nervous to try anything like it previously, but now you understood how short life truly was, and you weren’t going to waste any more of it.

“(Y/n),” He hesitated, looking worried. “You should probably go. I really don’t deserve…”

“Yes, you do.”

"But... Why?"

You beamed at him with the most playfulness you’d mustered up in days. “Carpe Diem?”

After staring at you shortly, he reciprocated the sentiment, and gently pressed his lips to yours. His hands found the most respectful place they could on your waist, although a bit shaky and unsure. The feeling was foreign and somewhat awkward at first, but you wouldn’t have changed it. It was a soft and simple kiss, one that gave you butterflies. The moment didn’t last very long, but it was plenty for the time being.

When you finally pulled back, Cameron looked like a deer in headlights, to which you couldn’t help but giggle. You marveled at the pattern of freckles dotting his scarlet cheeks, unconsciously reaching to brush your fingertips over them. You could feel the dry tears that lingered there. He relaxed under your touch, and with a newfound bravery, he tilted his head and gave the palm of your hand a light peck. You savored each other’s company, content to stand out in the elements as long as you could hold onto that comfort for a moment. It was all the validation you needed.

“Maybe not today or tomorrow, maybe not even a year from now, but everything is going to be alright. I promise.” You leaned and gently took the paper from Cameron’s grasp. “Now let’s go read this for Neil.”

And he trusted every word you said.

Knox was going to avoid telling Charlie what he’d accidentally stumbled upon when he went to check on you. As much as he wanted to murder Cameron for everything—that now involved moving in on his little sister—it was an issue that could wait for another day, he decided.

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swagsauce23 · 3 months

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i've never been in love before (now all at once it's you)

Pairing/s: Jirou Kyouka x jazz!Reader

Summary: Jirou finds the silence of the night unbearable to sleep through, Bakugo invites her to a place everyone in UA has apparently known about except her.

Content: 6.1k words, mild hurt w comfort, sad themes, fluff too tbh, bakugo uses gay as an insult jokingly, “im gon kms” jokes, they/them for reader, mentions of reader’s parents, takes place post-war arc, jirou+bakugo siblingship cuz i said so

A/N: chat not proofread + i have not written in months + and i havent touched mha in YEARS!!! soz cuz this is pretty long part 2 coming in as soon as i actually finish it LOL

The silence is deafening for Jirou.

She shuffles onto her right side, the bandage covering the (non-existing?) half of her left ear slightly stings as it’s exposed to the chilly air of the night. The sounds of blankets and pillows shifting against her right ear provides little comfort against the booming quiet.

She doesn’t hear the others downstairs cheering as Satou brings his homemade snacks for movie night. She doesn’t hear the shouts and video game noises across from Denki’s dorm. Doesn’t hear Mina gossiping in Hagakure’s room that’s down the hall.

She doesn’t hear Midoriya training just outside the building, having been moved to a more safer facility in the school grounds for his injuries, nor does she hear Aoyama’s faint classical music in the floor below her, having refused to return to 1A since it’s been discovered that he’s—

Jirou suddenly feels dizzy.

She sits up in her bed, hands gripping onto the blanket over her lap as burning chills suddenly appear through her one earphone jack. She pushes the blanket away, shivering as she stands up from her bed to make way outside of her dorm.

She’s slightly surprised to see the kitchen lights turned on once she makes her way downstairs. Turning a corner, she looks and sees who’d be awake at the dead of night.

With the kettle bubbling in the background, Bakugo has his elbows leaned against the counter, brows furrowed as he fiddles with what seems to be some sort of small device in his hands.

“Bakugo?” Jirou says, interrupting him from his deep trance. He snaps his head in her direction, a small sound of surprise coming out of him, eyes wide, startled, as if he didn’t seem to notice Jirou standing there, eye bags on her face as she uses one arm to steady herself against a kitchen wall.

“God, it’s just you.” He sighs, tiredness evident in his voice, turning his head back with his hand rubbing at his temple. “Why are you up?” She asks, taking a seat on one of the chairs near the kitchen island that’s between her and Bakugo as he tsks at the small device in his hand and pockets it in his jacket.

“It’s too fuckin’ loud.” He cryptically says and Jirou gives him a weird look. It’s been quiet all night even with the state of her ears. It’s too quiet, she thinks.

Jirou only hums, doesn’t push any more as the tiredness seems to suddenly seep in. She stares at the kettle beside him. “What are you making?” Jirou asks, following his eyes towards the boiling water machine. She feels normal again, asking Bakugo what he’s making.

“It’s just for the noise.” He dryly answers, his eyes squinting as if in annoyance as the sounds from the kettle get quieter. Jirou’s eyes finally land on his attire, only noticing the unusual attire the blonde is wearing that one usually wouldn’t wear at this time of night. She thought that he’d be wearing full-on silk bed robes with how tired he also seemed to look.

“You’re goin’ somewhere?” Jirou asks again subconsciously, eyes focused on the kettle as silence quickly fills the air as the machine comes to a quiet. Bakugo turns to her with frustration. “Awfully curious, ay?” He snaps, with almost an edge to his voice. Jirou looks back at him and immediately puts on an apologetic look upon seeing the blonde’s face that’s littered with tired marks and scars. “Sorry.” She says, looking away and putting her focus on the marble island in front of her.

“No, I— Ugh, fuckin’ hell.” Bakugo complains, guilt seeping in with the exhaustion in his tone. He roughly rubs his temple before leaning across the counter and turning the kettle on again. Turning back against the counter again, tense and stiff, heaving as he rubs his hands against the black coat he’s wearing.

The reappearing noises of the kettle comfortingly takes up the space for the two young heroes.

Beat.

“What about you?” He asks so quietly that Jirou barely catches it. “What?” She looks back up at him, “Why are you awake, dumbass.” He repeats with a familiar groan. Jirou snorts, “Can’t sleep, you know, it’s, I—” She starts before pausing when her hand comes up to lean up against the left side of her face. She pauses, not noticing Bakugo's empathetic look

“I’m goin’ out.” He says, interrupting her from her silence as she looks back up at him.

“To, meet someone.” What?

“At this time?” She raises an eyebrow, “What are you— you doing drugs or something, dude?” She jokes, Bakugo scoffs, a small smile on his face. “Fuck you. No, I’m goin’ to the Midnight Lounge.” He retorts.

“Midnight Lounge? That sounds like a bar.” Jirou says, eyebrow raising higher at Bakugo. “That’s ‘cause it is, idiot.” He says, as if it’s common knowledge, up until he takes in the look of confusion and suspicion on Jirou’s face.

“You know we’re underaged, right?” She accuses with an amused smile.

“Not really a bar anymore since rebranding but,” Bakugo quickly comes to defend himself, “It’s a jazz bar, but don’t act stupid— Everyone knows it’s more of a diner than a bar, ears.”

Jirou ignores his nickname for her, still looking at him with a face of increased confusion. “..Have you not been there before?” Bakugo asks slowly, as if asking if someone knows how to breathe oxygen.

“This is like, my first time hearing of this, jazz-diner-bar, dude.”

Bakugo is taken aback. “You haven’t been to Midnight Lounge?” He asks again, as if it would change Jirou’s answer as she shakes her head no, “Used to be called Mighty Melodies?” Bakugo clarifies and Jirou continues to shake her head in confusion.

“You fuckin’ serious with me right now?” He asks again, and Jirou is concerned with how insistent he is with making sure that Jirou has absolutely never, ever heard or taken a foot inside this Midnight or Mighty Melodies Lounge place he’s talking about.

“Dude, what the hell are you on?” She asks jokingly, but not really. “What the hell are you on?” Bakugo retorts back before taking a good look at her with squinted eyes, like he’s trying to dissect what’s happening under Jirou’s brain.

“Come with me.” He says.

“What?” Jirou looks at him as if he chopped off her other earphone jack.

“Go back to your room and get dressed, idiot. Come with me.” He repeats, clearly annoyed.

“It’s late.”

“Neither of us are goin’ back to sleep anytime soon, nerd. We’re old enough to skip bedtime.” He argues. “Seriously, go get a jacket or somethin’ and we’ll go.” He adds when he notices Jirou’s skeptical look.

“Hurry the fuck up before I throw my sweat at you and make you explode!” He threatens, raising his voice as he puts up one hand to make small sparks to add to the antic.

Jirou laughs before getting up and raising her hands in surrender, “Okay, okay! I’ll go!” She says before quickly making her way back up to her dorm.

Bakugo looks at her retreating form and lets out a small amused huff, shaking his head before letting his ears focus on the bubbling from the kettle.

The air is colder outside compared to Jirou’s room as she and Bakugo walk the streets of a small part of the city near the school, towards whatever place Bakugo was insistent on bringing Jirou along.

“What are you even doing in a place like that, Bakugo?” Jirou asks, mist coming out of her mouth as winter is just right around the corner.

“Weren’t you listening? Told ‘ya I had someone to meet over there.” Bakugo replies, Jirou hums before tucking further into her purple and black striped scarf. “Gotta get somethin’ from ‘em. Shitty ear aid broke.” He adds. Jirou’s both surprised and in awe he seems okay with talking about what should be such a somewhat sensitive topic with her.

“Might fuckin’ help you too or somethin’, I don’t fuckin’ know.” He mutters, more quietly than ever but Jirou manages to just catch it. Her boots pause with a dumbfounded look at her face but quickly go back to walking when Bakugo turns on a corner of the street.

She walks beside him as they both stand in front of a tall, but humble building. Warm lights gleam from the inside as the sound of soft jazz fills the air. A wooden sign engraved with the words Midnight Lounge hangs above the entrance door.

Jirou stands there admiring the atmosphere, focusing on the music that’s flowing through and the details she’s trying so hard to pick apart. She snaps from her trance when a bell jingles over the door Bakugo opens.

Jirou and Bakugo enter the building, the former looks around the establishment as she trails behind the blonde as he leads them into a small booth in a corner near the front door. Jirou sees about 5 or 6 groups of people occupying the tables on the main floor, with several people on their own taking refuge near what seems to be the bar area, although the chalkboard menus filled with all sorts of dishes and drinks suggest otherwise.

“This is like, peak atmosphere.” Jirou comments as they sit down, her eyes finally landing on the big stage that’s placed on the far end of the establishment where a live band is playing.

“It’s— just like, right around the corner too. How the hell have I not been here?” Jirou says, looking back at Bakugo who’s taking off his coat, revealing the warm orange sweater he’s wearing. “You fuckin’ tell me,” He starts, “Almost everyone in our class knows about this place, y’know.”

Jirou looks at him with wide eyes, “For real? Didn’t know you guys hated me like that.” She jokes, “You said it, not me.” Bakugo snickers. “Ass.” Jirou lets out a small smile before turning her gaze back to the stage. “Nobody told the little runt about this, if that helps.” Bakugo adds.

“Little runt? Mineta? Jesus, Bakugo.” Jirou sighs while a small snort comes from Bakugo. She shakes her head, eyes observing the different musicians in the band, her eyes following the pianist who stands up from his instrument and onto the stage where the microphone is, “So where’s this friend that you’re supposed to meet?”

“Can’t fuckin’ wait a little? Shut up, it’s ‘boutta start.” Jirou turns back to him to give him an unamused look when all of the sudden, the lights inside the building start to dim.

A spotlight is cast upon the stage, highlighting the pianist Jirou was just eyeing earlier. A man with slick-back brown hair, with an impressive moustache adjusts his bowtie before tapping the mic once, twice then three times.

“Good evening, folks. Welcome to the Midnight Lounge.” He starts, a smooth, buttery voice coming out of him that catches everyone’s attention in the room. “We’re about to start our last and final performance, with a special guest that I’m sure many of us admire!” A few people clap and whoop, “So sit back, relax, and enjoy the rest of the night.” The man goes back and takes his seat again on the piano and Jirou takes this opportunity to look back at Bakugo.

“Was that him? You looking for ways to grow a moustache?” Jirou jokes and Bakugo lightly shoves her to turn back to the stage, “Shut up, idiot. Watch the perfor—” Applauds and cheers from the rest of the establishment quickly cut Bakugo off as Jirou tries to look back to see who’s the special guest on stage—

A soft, delicate voice comes and cuts through the crowd, their cheers quiet down as the piano picks up and the drums softly blend into the singing voice. Jirou looks at the other patrons as they nod their head to the music, conversations stopped as some take the time to admire the singer on the stage.

She sneaks a peek at Bakugo who’s completely entranced, his previously rigid and tight stance completely melted away. She knew by the way his eyes almost seem to share the same look every time he’d practice the drums every rehearsal during the sports festival. It looks like he’d fall asleep any moment now.

Her eyes are redirected to you. Words barely comprehended and processed as a saxophone solo comes into the song, all she could do was sit mesmerized as you share smiles with the musicians on stage, sitting on a wooden stool that’s propped near the microphone. When your voice returns to sing, she thinks she'll be okay with staying in that moment forever.

She can hear the hi-hats and the soft sounds of a brush against the drums, the different chords from the piano, each and every note from the saxophone rings so clearly in her ears. She can hear your voice so clearly, like light at the end of the tunnel. For a moment, it feels like she can finally have a good night’s rest.

A moment that passes too quickly for her liking.

All of a sudden, the saxophone plays its last note, the piano softly blending back into silence, your voice lasts just a little bit longer, until that ends too. The silence that fills the space your voice once taken has never felt so comforting to Jirou before.

A small beat passes, before the patrons in the store all cheer. The lights slowly turn back on and shine a light of warmness across the room. You stand up from your chair and bow, dragging the other band members with you as well.

Jirou barely registers that the performance has ended until Bakugo snaps his fingers in front of her. “Oi, emo. Pay attention.” He says with a smug smirk on his face, the tight tension has returned to his body, but Jirou thinks it looks evidently more relaxed than before.

She looks at him, bewildered at what she just experienced. “What the hell was that?” She asks him as Bakugo only leans back against the cushioned booths with his smirk only growing bigger as if he’d done something groundbreaking. “That was my friend.” He says with pride.

“No way. Did you just hear their voice? That’s fucking crazy.”

“Fuck yeah.”

“I’m not joking, that was literally the most euphoric thing I’ve ever experienced.”

He snickers at her, before looking back at where you were near the stage, greeting and thanking the patrons who were all talking to you. Jirou turns to see what he’s looking at, seeing you slowly approach their table. She quickly turns to Bakugo with a panicked look and he can only laugh at her stupid face.

A patron calls out your name and you turn your head, “Aye! Amazing show there, kid. Fantastic voice!” They say and you bow your head in thanks, “Thank you! Come again soon!” You say, heading off to another table to greet guests before a loud, boisterous laughter catches your attention.

Your ears lead you to a table with what seems like a purple-haired girl with her head clenched between her hands and a boy with spiky, blonde, hair with— “Katsuki?” You say out loud, unknowingly calling out his name as the two of you lock eyes. He stops laughing as he nods at you, raising his hand to call for you. “Oi! Come over here!”

Jirou only stares at you as you make your way over to their table, barely registering anything as you and Bakugo interact.

Bakugo quickly stands up from his table to greet you with a hesitant side hug, much to Jirou’s surprise. “You’re alive!” You say, quickly checking to see any wounds on him, your eyes landing on his very burnt ears. “No aid?” You ask softly, concern laced in your voice.

“Of course I’m alive, I’m not a fuckin’ wimp.” He boasts first, making you roll your eyes. “And, yeah. I’m here for that.” He quickly taps his ear and you nod in understanding.

The feeling she got from you doesn’t waver one bit, your speaking voice entrances her just as much as you were singing. A passing thought comes to her with how comfortable Bakugo seems to be with you, it must be the tiredness, she reasons. Although she’d understand if it’s due to anything related to your demeanor that seems to fill everyone in the room with peace.

“This is Jirou. Jirou Kyouka.” He says, turning to the purple-haired girl across the table. Your eyes widen, noticing the other party at the end of the table. A girl sits in one of your booths with tense shoulders and hands pocketed as she’s dressed in a gray-ish, purple coat, and what seems to be her scarf laid on the space beside her. Jirou Kyouka. You swear you’ve heard that name somewhere before.

You hold out a hand for her to shake, introducing yourself, making Jirou snap back to your eyes. “Is Jirou okay?” You test the name on your lips, puzzle pieces connecting in your brain as you piece together who she is. She nods, eyes wide as she takes your hand. “Jirou Kyouka. I can’t believe it took us this long to meet.” A moment of silence passes when your fingers make contact, goosebumps running up your arms as your palms touch. Jirou’s brain blanks when you give her a small smile that she returns with a shaky one.

Bakugo sits back down from across her, and you quickly follow and sit beside him. Jirou’s hand is disconnected from yours as she raises her eyebrows, finally registering your question, “What do you mean?” She’s surprised that you seem to know who she is.

You finally remember who she is, with her watered-down punk look that makes sense when you see smudges of eyeliner on her face and the endearing purple hairdo she has. “I’ve heard from the others in 1A all about you!” Jirou firmly believes that Denki has been here before and she wonders why he hasn’t told her about it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before. Although it does seem like this place wouldn’t be your type. ” You reason, taking a peek at the metallic bracelets adorned on her hand. “You did amazing at the sports festival earlier this year and my mom’s a big fan of your dad’s work.” It feels as if the cold from outside suddenly came in as Jirou flushed from the praise.

“That’s why I brought her here today. Idiot’s never been here.” Bakugo explains with disbelief in his voice. “Not that I knew anything about this place, since nobody told me.” She retaliates, sending the blonde a small glare as he laughs.

“She’s emo. She doesn’t listen to jazz.” Bakugo comments again, and you let out a laugh. “Rude.” Jirou says, “Erm, I actually do, mind you. But not as much with other genres. You’ve seen our sports festival performance?” She realizes what you just said and ends up being even more surprised that she’s only met you just now, especially when it seems like you’re well-acquainted with the rest of her class.

You quickly shake your head, “Not in person, unfortunately.” Jirou lets out a small ah, “I wish I had though, I would’ve done anything to see Bakugo over here kill the drums.” You nod over at the blonde as he glows at the praise, “Watching from the television was good enough to catch how amazing your voice was though. Do you take classes?” Jirou barely registers the compliment before answering, “When I was younger, yeah! You?”

“Oh, no! But gosh, I wish I could.” You say with a sheepish smile, “Really? I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone with such,” She racks through her brain for a word, but falls empty, inwardly cursing herself as she tries to get the lump out of her throat. “with such a voice.” Sweet Ethel Cain, I’m gonna kill myself after this, she thinks.

Your smile slowly falls at her words, you swear you just felt the hairs on your legs rise along with the ones on her arms. Her shy compliment makes the corners of your mouth turn up again.

“That’s ‘cause of their quirk.” Bakugo interrupts, almost boasting. Jirou’s eyes widened in curiosity, ignoring Bakugo. She sees you shaking your head amused but ultimately nodding in agreement, “Yes, what you’re talking about might be because of my quirk.”

“Shittyhead over here has a calming quirk and shit.” Bakugo adds, roughly patting your shoulder, “That is indeed the gist of it.” You chuckle, shoving Bakugo’s hands away from your shoulder, taking notice of the bandages and the fresh burns on his skin. Jirou thinks it only makes sense that you have a quirk that alters your voice, there’d be no other reasonable reason that could explain why in the world your voice was so enticing.

“What does it do?” Jirou asks before she could help herself, and she panics when she realizes that it could be a little insensitive to ask someone like that, “You can’t just ask someone why someone’s skin is pink, Kaminari!” A memory flashes through her of when Denki and Mina first met at UA, of which her yellow-haired best friend quickly found out that Mina is not a force to be reckoned with. She’s about to apologize until you let out a small laugh at her.

“It’s called Siren, well, at least that’s what my dad calls it.” You start, Jirou hangs on every single word you say, while Bakugo taps the table with his fingers. “Which doesn’t really make sense, my voice acts as a calming agent for others. I can’t lure you in or ask you to do things for me like a siren-like quirk would typically do.” Jirou doesn’t fathom why anyone would deny you anything you ask. She surely would.

What?

“I’ve been told it apparently has a different feeling for each person. Some say it’s like being lulled to sleep, others feel like they got everything they need at that moment. I don’t really know much about it.” You let out a small laugh, rubbing a hand against your neck.

“But your quirk is crazy fucking useful.” Bakugo suddenly compliments as you and Jirou turn to him with surprise, “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t apply for a course at some hero school. Your viability even if your quirk isn’t necessarily powerful or potent is huge.” He says, turning to meet your gaze with a genuine look, before you shake your head.

“Somebody needs to run this place,” you start hesitantly and Jirou notices Bakugo’s face almost, shrinking, into what seems like disappointment. It’s obvious you’ve had this conversation more than once with the pushy blonde, she thinks. “I won’t be any good in that field. You won’t believe the ruckus this place got when you guys were handling that supervillain a couple weeks ago.” You deflect away from the topic and Bakugo lets out a small frown but doesn’t push any further.

“Also, are you guys even allowed to be here?” You worry, suddenly remembering the time of the night and the presence of two minors being far away from somewhere that’s safe, protected and where they’re supposed to be.

Jirou puts on a nervous smile while Bakugo gives you a sheepish look. “Come on, we’ve been here before all the time.” He reasons and you shake your head. “It wasn’t the same before, not with everything that has happened, Bakugo. Being here, it’s not safe.” You berate softly, the blonde winces at the use of his last name.

Jirou lets out a small laugh as Bakugo raises his hands in surrender, before pulling out the small device she’s seen him fiddling with earlier as he hands it to you. “We’ll go our way as soon as possible.” He says as you inspect the device, looking at the blonde with a sad smile. He looks over at Jirou as she gives him a slightly bewildered look, before turning to you again, “Maybe another one.” You nod, standing from your seat and removing yourself from the booth.

You turn to Jirou, giving her a comforting smile, “I’ll just go in the back. I’ll have some people serve you guys.” Jirou nods in understanding, turning to the drummer across from her with a million questions in her head as you leave from earshot.

“I have tinnitus.” Bakugo states blankly and Jirou acknowledges the faint look of vulnerability he has. “Ringing in the ears, guess that’s what you fuckin’ get for givin’ a kid an explosion quirk growing up.” He jests in an uncannily soft manner that quickly passes when a server comes up to them with two cups of what looks like hot chocolate.

It’s common knowledge in class 1A that several members have drawbacks to their quirks. She’s noticed Denki has been significantly forgetful shortly after the battle has ended. Mina has had frequent burns despite having built her resistance to her own quirk for years. She thinks she’s heard Dark Shadow being restless in Tokoyami’s room when she went back up to her room to change.

But no doubt in her mind, the most evident one is Izuku. Jirou recalls watching him break every single possible part of his body to win against his competition during the sports festival. She didn’t think there could be anything worse than having parts of your body break every time you use your quirk.

She thought wrong when the others had said something about the green hero losing his quirk after the war. She didn’t even think that was possible.

A hand subconsciously comes up to brush the hair behind her left ear, the lacking presence of half her quirk suddenly becomes apparent. Maybe it’s not such a crazy concept to think about. She puts her hand through the handle of the mug in front of her.

“Annoys the shit out of me. Fuckin’ worse than when dunceface babbles on and on and on,” Bakugo admits, cutting Jirou from her train of thought. “But it’s been too quiet and at the same time, it’s just—” He pauses, eyeing the mug full of hot chocolate in her hand. Jirou can only stay quiet as she eyes him a look full of pity, before his own eyes land on her.

God, he hates that look.

“It’s been too fucking loud.” He spits out, forcing his gaze on his own mug. Jirou looks at his pinched blonde brows, his red eyes that have been significantly softer compared to their first few months together at UA.

“I—” Jirou starts, trying to think of something to say to take the space between them before the silence does. “I don't think I’ve been hearing good.” She winces, cringing at the way she words it. A silence comes between them, a rare comforting one, knowing that they’re in strange solidarity with their situations.

She hears Bakugo’s loud snort, “No shit, sherlock. You got half your fuckin’ ear blown off.” He jokes with a wolfish grin, and Jirou can’t help but smile at his blunt statement, letting out a few laughs.

“So, you’re getting like, what? Cochlear implants or something?” Jirou asks, having done a significant amount of research once she finally got back from the war to help with her hearing.

But those implants can be pricey, and if she’s constantly being on the battlegrounds in the future where villains know about your very specific hearing quirk, she can’t even begin to think about how she’ll be able to afford replacing them without aid from her parents. She’d hate to ask anything more from them.

How can Bakugo get such important implants from a friend in a jazz bar?

“Somethin’ like that,” He shrugs, “Of course, I can fuckin’ afford ‘em, but nobody has the fuckin’ time to wait months for that shit.” Jirou nods, that makes more sense. It’s a long process to get those and if her quirk had affected that process too, it’d be even longer for her.

“Then what are you getting?”

“You know about Y/N’s quirk. It’s crazy fucking useful, my only fuckin’ complaint is that I can’t drag them with me all the time so they can get this stupid fucking ringing outta my ear.” He huffs and Jirou raises an eyebrow.

He gives her a pointed look, “Come on, you can’t tell me that voice isn’t as clear as fucking glass.” She shrugs, but nods, “I mean, yeah. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“IEMs that play a loop of their voice. Glorified fucking earphones. Not any better than the real person, have to shove the thing down my ear, but it helps when I’m tryin’ to sleep.” Bakugo admits nonchalantly while Jirou looks at him with shock.

“So, you’re sleeping to the sound of their voice?” Jirou asks playfully but a part of her is genuinely curious.

Bakugo looks at her with a stunned look until it dawns upon him how else his words could be interpreted, “Okay, fuck you. You’re makin’ it sound gay.” He swats at the air in front of her while Jirou lets out a snort, backing away from him. “Don’t make it weird, you piece of shit. It’s not like that.” He defends.

“Whatever toots your horn, bakubro.” Jirou raises her hands in surrender, teasing him as Bakugo fake-spits at her.

“But does it actually work, though?” The purple-haired girl asks.

“Does for me. I know the other shitfaces in class seek them out. Dunno if they ask for it.” He explains and Jirou can’t help but feel left out, not having known about you like the others did. “You’ll fuckin’ find out soon enough, I asked one for you too.” Jirou nods, unsure how to feel about sleeping to some stranger’s voice.

But she remembers how she felt when you sang and she admits that all the comments about your quirk are very accurate. The concept of falling asleep to someone’s voice isn’t unfamiliar to her and if Bakugo’s doing it, it’s probably worth something good.

“How did you even meet them?” Jirou asks Bakugo, looking at the door where you disappeared to that’s on the far end of the establishment.

“Parents are friends with the folks. Mom loved jazz.” Bakugo says plainly, his hands tapping against the table becomes more rattled as his eyes nervously follow the musicians in the background, stopping and slowly packing their instruments one by one, the silence slowly yet surely filling the air.

“You listen to jazz?” Jirou adds, Bakugo doesn’t seem like the type to listen to anything remotely soft. He raises an eyebrow at her, “The brush techniques for the drums are good. What, you don’t think jazz is for everyone, shithead?” Bakugo pokes at her while Jirou pokes her tongue out at him. “I’m just curious.”

The blonde lets out a snort as he takes a sip from his mug, and Jirou does the same too. The bell above the door rings ever so often as the people in the room leave one by one, the cold air breezing in every time.

Both of their mugs are empty by the time you come back to their table. Your face shining that it almost blinds Jirou, complimented and highlighted by the lights, even though she swears the lights have dimmed.

You quickly hand something to Bakugo and he nods at you in small thanks. Jirou observes the distressed look on your face before your head turns to look at the near-empty establishment. “It’s late. As much as I’d love to catch up, you guys need to go back to UA and sleep, alright?” A sigh comes out of you, “We’re about to close, anyways.”

Bakugo lets out a small huff before nodding, standing up from the booth to face you as Jirou stands up from her side as the two heroes let you guide them back outside the establishment.

It’s cold when Jirou is the first one to step out, she quickly brandishes her scarf around her neck, turning her head to see you and Bakugo exchange a quick hug with a few pats on the back, she finds herself warming at the rare sight.

“It’s been so good seeing you, Katsuki. I’m glad you guys are alright.” Jirou questions how the smile on your face shines so bright despite your back facing the lights from the building.

“I know the bar’s called the Midnight Club but that doesn’t mean you should always be coming here at the dead of night, alright?” The two students laugh, nodding.

“We’ll come back soon, nerd. Expect that I’ll be eating all the wings on your menu.” Bakugo says, closing the last few buttons on his coat. Jirou nods, she definitely wants to come back. “The music, it was really awesome. I’m glad I got to meet you.” She shivers, whether it’s because of the cold or from your eyes on her, she doesn’t know.

Your smile widens at her words, “Me too. Seriously. I hope you come back.” Your ears pierce through her. Jirou flushes, it must be getting colder.

Bakugo hums, “The two of you, I mean.” You clarify, turning to see Bakugo’s pondering face hidden by the scarf he’s put on again.

“Right.” He says, a small, mischievous grin on his face before he turns back and goes his way. “See you later, nerd.” He raises his hand as farewell and you chuckle.

Jirou looks at him going back to the street from where they came from before turning back to you, “I should go.” She sheepishly says.

You laugh, letting out a small breath, “Right.”

She smiles before quickly jogging to the blonde’s path, not before turning her head around one more time to see you. “Thank you for the drinks! Have a good night!” She manages to shout out, waving her hand goodbye, already half across the street.

You wave back, letting out an even louder laugh that she can hear despite the distance, “No problem! Take care!”

Jirou watches your distancing figure waving as she walks towards Bakugo, before you eventually go back inside. The last few people going back out as you exchange your goodbyes with them.

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in, turning to Bakugo on her right, who’s looking at her with a knowing grin.

“What?”

“Nothing.” His eyes go back to focusing on the path in front of them.

The silence is comforting as the two make their way back to school, crickets chirping and leaves falling and it feels like it took no time to finally arrive back in the school dorms.

Bakugo takes off his scarf and sheds his coat, quickly going back to the kitchen to turn the kettle on. Jirou eyes him as she takes off her scarf.

“Not going to bed yet?”

“Makin’ more hot chocolate.” He says, Jirou hums before making her way back to the dorms— “Wait, Jirou.” Bakugo calls for her as she turns around confused.

Bakugo puts his hand out with a small device, reaching out for her to grab it. “Airpods?” Jirou eyes the device, taking it in her hands. “Works the same as one. Button on the side. It starts playing the shit.” Bakugo explains and Jirou nods in understanding.

“Thank you, Bakugo.” Jirou gives the tall blonde a smile.

He nods, “Don’t be fuckin’ loud.” Jirou snorts as the somewhat affectionate words, or as affectionate Bakugo could be, leaves out of his mouth before he turns back to the kitchen.

Jirou stares at his still figure for just a second before going back upstairs to her dorm.

The deafening silence returns as Jirou steps inside her room, taking off her boots to put aside as she eyes the belongings in the dorm she’ll need to be packing soon.

Quickly changing back into her pajamas, she sits on the edge of the bed as she opens the small device, where two smaller devices sit.

Taking them out of the case, she carefully places them in her ears, navigating the left one through the cotton bandages.

She lies on her bed, uneasiness settling in her body before she presses one of the buttons on the side of her head.

Kyouka Jirou falls asleep to the sound of your voice that night.

#PEN HAS BEEN PLACED ON PAPER!#bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #jirou kyouka #jiro kyoka #jirou kyouka x reader #kyouka jirou x reader #jiro kyoka x reader #kyoka jiro x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dude nobody writes for the mha girls </3 #everyday im in despair #this fic kinda an excuse to nerd abt chet baker LOL

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cerebellam · 2 years

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Something Worth Living For - Chapter 6

Ash Williams x Female Reader

Summary: Feeling hopeless, you decide to drown away your sorrows. Turns out you can’t handle your liquor (or ketamine)

Warning(s): Language, alcohol consumption and intoxication, accidental drug use (ketamine), sexual themes and language, large age gap, feelings of negative self worth

Masterlist: X

A/N: Sorry for the delay as always. This chapter was really fun considering I’ve been on vacation drinking A LOT, so I had some inspiration 😂 More to come soon! 😉

A blonde highlighted bartender approached you at the bar top, a glass in his hands. The man had an almost ‘surfer boy turned stoner’ type of charm to him. He gave you a friendly grin.

“Hey there, what can I getcha?”

“Something strong please. Anything.” You almost pleaded, a half-smile on your lips.

The man winked. “One Pink Fuck, comin’ right up!” He flipped the glass in his hands and set it down on the counter. Huh, that was the drink Ash had mentioned the other night.

You returned a smile, watching as the man assembled your cocktail. You saw him pour a myriad of different alcohols, the liquid becoming a pretty shade of pink lemonade.

You felt someone approach your side. Ash’s blue shirt came into your peripheral vision.

“Ugh. Chet, what the fuck are you making? Don’t give her a Pink Fuck!”

The bartender, Chet, shrugged. “She wanted something strong, man! Who am I to deny a pretty patron?”

You blushed, turning to Ash. “Yeah, the pretty patron needs something strong.”

He sighed. “Look, Y/N. I know this is a lot. Let’s just get back to the airstream and talk about this, huh?”

“I don’t think talking is going to change the fact that I’m engaged, apparently.”

Chet perked up at this, offering a goofy grin. “Oh hey congrats!”

“No, you idiot. It’s an arranged marriage,” Ash sighed, voice dripping with exasperation.

His smile fell. “Oh. Yikes.”

You nodded in agreement. “Yeah.”

You both watched Chet finish making your drink in silence. He placed the drink in front of you.

“There you are, an Elk Grove specialty. Don’t waste any time, now. Throw that baby back!”

Ash’s mechanical hand suddenly reached across to block you. “Y/N, I’m warning you. Don’t drink that.”

You scoffed, pushing away his arm. “Or else what? What are you, my dad?”

Seriously, who did he think he was? You were engaged to a fucking demon for heaven’s sake. You were allowed to mourn this more than unsavory union in your own way.

Ash frowned and leaned in closer to you. “Watch it, or else daddy’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

You shrugged, trying your best to ignore the heat flushing over your body and in your core at his threat. You quickly took the glass and raised the rosé colored liquid to your lips before he could protest. It was sweet, leaving a slight tingle on your tongue.

You turned back to Ash and he sighed, defeated. He watched you, dumbstruck, as you sensually licked the remaining alcohol from your lips. “And what lesson is that?”

Ash was at a loss for words.

You winked, casually turning back to the bartender. You raised the glass in your hands and inspected its contents. “That’s pretty good, Chet! One bartender to another- what’s in this?”

“Vodka, strawberry liqueur, grenadine, lemonade, ketamine, a little sprinkle of orange zest and nutmeg…”

You almost choked, coughing on your final gulp.

“Did you just say ketamine?!”

“Only the special-est K for my customers!” Chet beamed.

You blinked, setting the glass onto the countertop with a ‘thud’. You turned back to Ash with wide eyes.

“Hey, I warned you.”

The tingle on your tongue had now turned into a full on numb sensation. There was no way this was going to end well for you.

Ash’s annoyance quickly dissipated into a chuckle. The damage had been done.

“Seriously, have I ever steered you wrong before? You have to build an immunity up to this stuff. Chet, go ahead and make me one.”

“Already ahead of you, brother.”

Chet poured two more servings from the silver cocktail shaker, passing a glass to Ash. They raised their cups in a cheers.

“To kicking evil’s ass. Seriously, Y/N. We’re going to get this fucker. No worries.”

You gulped. “Well now I’m not worried about that, am I gonna like…have a heart attack now? Die or something?!”

Ash and Chet shared a look before joining in together in an uproarious laughter. “Yeah no, but seriously, you’re in for a treat.”

You rolled your eyes, making your way over to an empty barstool. A very warm feeling suddenly began to spread over you, flushing your face and heating your chest.

“Woah…” You took another step forward and almost missed your footing completely. Ash quickly caught you in his arms as you stumbled forward.

“Yeah, okay, champ. Let’s get you out of here.”

“Mhmmm,” you giggled. “You’re strong.”

You sloppily dragged a finger down his bicep.

“And you’re drunker than who shot John, come on.”

A feeling of euphoria had taken over you, and you could hardly see straight. All you knew was that the man holding you in his arms right now felt strong, safe, and…ridiculously handsome right now.

You both were soon approached by Kelly and Pablo, leaving Ruby to sulk alone at her table.

“Is she okay?” The two looked at each other knowingly. “Pink Fuck,” they said in unison.

Ash nodded. “Yeah, I’m gonna go ahead and get this one back somewhere where she can’t do anymore damage.”

Kelly eyed you, sighing wistfully. “Yeah, remember the first time I tried that stuff?”

“Yeah, you KO’d pretty hard, Kel,” chuckled Pablo.

“But it felt so nice! Lemme have a glass-“

Ash quickly cut her off, struggling to keep you standing straight. “No can do. No more room to babysit tonight.”

She rolled her eyes, turning back to the bar. “Ugh, fine. Fuck it, bring on the beer I guess.”

“That’s my little alcoholic.”

She quickly turned back to flick Ash off. Pablo smiled.

“Get her home safe, Jefe! We’ll brainstorm some ideas on how to get Baal.”

“Thanks Pablo. You’re a real pal.”

Your vision was completely blurred as you crashed down onto a soft surface. Where were you? You giggled, smoothing your arms over what you could only assume was a bedspread. You were in the Airstream. On Ash’s bed. This could be fun.

“Alright, you can sleep this off here. I’ll take the couch. We’ll go back to killing evil tomorrow.”

You quickly sat up to the edge of the bed and reached a hand out, grabbing his. You smirked and with one swift move, pulled the man standing before you to his knees.

“Y/N, what are you-“

“Shhh,” you whispered, sloppily hanging a finger on his lips. “Kiss me, Ash.”

The older man gulped, staring at you intently with brown eyes. “Y/N, you’re very very intoxicated right now. And depressed. That’s a combo that equals no bueno.”

You pouted, trailing your fingers across his jaw. The alcohol and apparent drugs running through your system gave you a surge of confidence you didn’t normally have. “Ash, please.”

He shook his head. “I can’t, Y/N.”

Somewhere deep inside of you wondered if he didn’t want you. What kind of man like him, a Jefe, would want just some girl like you?

He stood to his feet, turning to leave. You didn’t want to see him go quite yet.

“Ash?”

“Yeah, doll?”

“Will you at least sleep next to me? You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you slurred.

“I’m not quite so sure that’s a good idea-“

“Please? I’m afraid of seeing him again in my dreams…Baal.”

He couldn’t resist the e/c, doe-eyed look in your plea. Ash wanted nothing more than to have taken you up on your offer, and make sweet sweet love to you all night long. But he knew better.

A deep reluctance filled his veins as he defeatedly crawled into the bed next to you, and you immediately inched to his side. You snuggled into his chest, breathing in the faint smell of aftershave and motor oil. You snaked a leg around his and held him close.

“Thank you,” you breathed, slowly drifting off into a deep sleep- the safest you had felt in days.

Chapter 7 coming soon!

#ash williams x reader #ash williams x you #Ash Williams #evil dead #evil dead 2 #bruce campbell #ash williams fanfic #ashley j williams #kelly maxwell #Pablo Simon Bolivar #chet kaminski #ruby knowby

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wayward-persephone · 2 years

Note

do you see any of the characters helping reader throat train? 🥺

Oh my 🥵

The Grabber/Albert Shaw

When he's feeling generous and wants to just sit back and enjoy your mouth on him. Would almost be entranced by the sight of you slowly taking him deeper and deeper.

Troy Dyer

Would definitely enjoy training you. Would love to tease you a bit, but would also praise you and shower you with affection the entire time.

King Aurvandil War-Raven

One of the only times he's gentle with you. Will growl in approval and pet over your face and jaw lovingly, telling you how good you are doing, and how much pleasure you're bringing him.

Ellison Oswalt

Enjoys being in your mouth anyways so this is really the next logical step. Would look up so many articles on the best way to help and make you the best teas afterwards to soothe your throat.

Sal Procida

Has a habit of fucking your mouth already so he's beyond ready for this. Would massage your jaw and kiss all over your throat afterwards while praising you. Will also tease you the next day if your voice is raspy.

Chet Baker

Is probably the one to bring it up. Will shower you with praise and would lovingly pet over your face and neck. Cooing at you over how well you're doing and would watch you with heavy-lidded eyes the entire time.

Tucker Crowe

He likes teaching you new things so he would really enjoy this. Would be happy to have you on your knees as he calmly and slowly trains your mouth and then your throat to take his entire cock. Brushing your tears away with soft touches and tender words.

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b-a-n-a-n-a-ss · 2 years

Text

Fire house boys x reader - Living At The FireHouse pt.1

This is going to be a chapter/part series that nobody will probably read 🤷🏼‍♀️

Summary: the reader is Hank Stanley’s daughter. When she comes to the fire house with a boy, the other men get protective.

Warnings: small cursing, mentions of sex, very protective people.

Characters:

Roy Desoto

Johnny Gage

Hank Stanley

Chet Kelly

Mike Stoker

Marco Lopez

—————————

“Shhh be quiet.” I giggled quietly to my boyfriend. He held my hand brightly as we snuck into the fire station.

My dad is the captain of the fire station. His name is Hank Stanley and I’m y/n Stanley. I’m 17 years old and I am a junior in high school.

I live at the station with my dad. I also live with four other men. They are all in their early 30s. I grew up at the fire house and all of these men raised me. They are also very protective of me.

Me and my boyfriend went on a date and we are currently trying to quietly make our way to my room. I live in a different part of the station from the guys. It was 12 am and 3 hours past my curfew. I was sure all of the boys would be asleep by now.

We quietly went into the kitchen and I leaned with my back against the counter. My boyfriend pressed his body against me and kissed my lips. I kissed back and ran my hands over his jaw.

Then the lights turned on. My blood ran cold and my eyes shot open. My boyfriend jumped back from me and we both turned our heads to the living room.

All the guys including my dad were standing there with their arms crossed. I sucked in a breath and felt my face grow hot. I bit my lip and my boyfriend moved closer to me.

“Come sit down.” My dad said. I nodded and I went and sat on the couch with my boyfriend beside me. The guys all pulled up chairs and sat in front of us.

“So who’s this?” Roy asked nodding his head towards Daniel.

“Umm this is Daniel, he’s in my grade.” I said.

“Why are you coming in late with him?” Mike stated.

“Uhhh, because we are dating.” I said as my boyfriend sunk into the couch beside me.

The feeling in the room changed completely. It was now tense and all the guys were studying Daniel.

“When did this happen?” My dad asked.

Me and Daniel looked at each other and bit our lips. We looked back towards the men and Daniel spoke up.

“Well we’ve been friends since fourth grade when I moved here.” He said, looking at his lap. He was intimidated, I could tell.

“We asked when you two started dating.” Marco said. Daniel shrunk down even further and leaned his body against mine.

“We started dating in February of last year, when we were both sophomores.” I admitted. All of the men had wide eyes.

“So you’re telling me you kept this from us for a year?” Chet asked. I nodded and looked at the floor.

“Have y’all had sex yet?” Johnny asked. Everyone started scolding Johnny but my dad stayed looking at me. I shifted in my seat and looked towards Daniel. He shifted in his seat too and looked up at me a little.

“Uh, yes.” I said quietly. The room went silent and all the men looked at me and Daniel. My face was red and Daniel was holding my hand tightly.

Then all at once the men stood up and started to yell at Daniel. Roy grabbed my arm lightly and made me stand up. All the other men literally chased Daniel out of the station.

I was seeing red, why did they have to ruin everything.

“You better have enjoyed this because this is the last time you’ll be seeing her!” I heard Chet yell.

I bit the inside of my lip and tasted a metallic taste. I put my finger to my lip and pulled away. Red wet liquid stained my finger tip and I sighed.

The men came back in and cornered me.

“You can’t see him ever again.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about him?”

“You have to come right back here after school everyday.”

A bunch of statements were piled on top of me and I broke.

“Can y’all shut up! I’m seventeen years old and I know what I’m doing! I’m not six anymore I need freedom you can’t just keep sheltering me my whole life!” I yelled at the men. I shoved passed the men and went to my room.

I slammed the door shut and huffed. I went into the bathroom and took deep breaths trying to calm myself down. I was so angry I didn’t know what to do with myself.

I ended up turning around and pinching my mirror, shattering it and slicing my hand. I cursed and I fell to my knees, clutching my fist to my chest.

There was commotion in my room and muffled voices from outside the bathroom door.

The door to my bathroom opened and all the men were standing there. They caught a glimpse of the broken glass and my bloody hand and immediately sprang into action.

Roy and Johnny went to get the medical kits while Marco and Chet went to clean off the couch. Mike and my dad helped me stand up and walk to the couch without stepping on any glass.

The tears in my eyes wouldn’t stop flowing as I sat on the couch next to Johnny. He pulled out some peroxide with a wet cloth and poured the peroxide on my cuts.

I hissed and Roy sat beside me. My dad was in front of my with one of his hands on my knee. Johnny cleaned my cut and wrapped my hand. I thanked him quietly and looked at my lap.

“Look we’re sorry for being so hard on you and Daniel. We just want what’s best for you.” My dad said. I nodded and looked around at all the men. They had sorry expressions on their faces.

“I’m sorry too, this is just the first guy that I actually like that likes me back. And I didn’t want y’all to scare him off like y’all have all my other friends.” I explained.

All the men nodded and my dad hugged me. I hugged him back and the other men did their turns of hugged as well. I then went to my room and fell asleep.

(I have many ideas for this series and it shouldn’t be a king one but I will be writing a lot for it.)

#fanfic #fanfiction #x y/n #fluff #reader insert #x reader #emergency #Marco Lopez #Mike stoker #roy desoto #johnny gage #hank stanley #chet kelly #fire house #fire station #series #1970s

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simplyholl · 4 months

Text

The Interview

Summary: After a talk show interview where secrets are revealed, things get heated in your dressing room.

Pairing: Rockstar Bucky x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI. Rockstar AU.

See My Masterlist Here

A/N: Sebastian Stan as Tommy Lee has me in a chokehold. So this was born from my tatted, horny daydreams.

"Who is your celebrity crush?" The host of the Midnight Show, Chet Smith asked you. Your newest movie was a box office hit, so you had to do every talk show to promote it. To say you were exhausted is an understatement. Luckily, this was your last stop for today. This show was the most fun because Chet brought out all the celebrity guests together. At least you weren't by yourself answering awkward questions.

The other guests were Red Star, the hottest rock band at the moment. They went viral while playing at their local bar. An audience member threw a bottle at their lead singer, Loki and the whole band jumped off stage to fight. They were offered a record deal the same week.

They are known for their wild videos on TikTok. Women everywhere love them. Currently, they are squeezed on the small sofa with you for the interview. Bucky Barnes, their drummer sat on one side of you, his tattoos drew you in like a moth to a flame. You were doing your best to not stare at him the whole time.

The Odinson brothers, Thor and Loki were on the other side. Loki is the lead singer, his long, dark curls and piercing stare made men and women weak in the knees. Thor plays guitar and he is the band's himbo. He's a charmer, flirting with you the whole interview. Steve Rogers is their bassist, an All-American guy to balance the others out. He plays the part well, flashing his megawatt smile at the live audience. But you can tell there is a darker side to him lurking under the surface.

You consider Chet's question; your PR team warned you about questions like this. "Well, I don't really have one." You shrug your shoulders, as the audience begs for a real answer. "Come on, darling. I know you're lying." Loki smirks, reaching his hand over Thor to rub your thigh.

"If I go first, will that help?" Steve asks, being the helpful guy that he is. You nod smiling shyly at him. "Okay, but when it's your turn you have to be honest." He winks at you, and the audience goes wild. He answers one of your costars. You promise to hook them up later. You feel your cheeks heating up, suddenly embarrassed that you have to answer now.

Chet repeats the question, and you bite your lip, pointing beside you to Bucky. "My celebrity crush is actually this guy." Bucky looks ecstatic, high fiving his band members as they congratulate him as if he has won an award. Thor's answer is a pretty pop star who he had been spotted out with twice already.

Loki's celebrity crush is a famous author whose upcoming book features a main male character who looks suspiciously like him. Dating rumors swirled even though there was no proof, except for a few flirty comments between them on Instagram. When it's Bucky's turn he says you, draping his heavily tattooed arm around you. You smile, grateful that he lied to save you from public humiliation. You were sure he was going to say someone who didn't look anything like you.

You're already dreading what the headlines tomorrow had in store. You and Bucky cuddled up on this sofa would no doubt be on every website. You should have lied, you tell yourself. People will start shipping you, his fans would be saying horrible things about you. You should have said anyone else.

Red Star took the stage to close the show. They were playing their latest number one hit. The audience was on their feet, some girls were crying as Loki's sultry voice came over the speakers. You watched Bucky closely. He played the drums like it was his life's purpose. He tossed the drumsticks in the air, pointing to you and winking as he caught them. It was the sexiest thing you had ever seen.

When their set was over, Bucky walked toward the dressing rooms with you, stopping outside yours. "Thanks for saying I was your celebrity crush back there. I would have been so embarrassed if you would have said somebody else." He flips his hair out of his eyes. "You don't have to thank me. It was the truth." You tell him goodbye, feeling awkward about the whole thing. You turn to go inside your dressing room to change into comfy clothes before you go back to the hotel.

Thick fingers catch your wrist, pulling you back toward him. "I wasn't ready to tell you bye." Bucky's lips curl, the light shines on his nose ring, bringing attention to his face. When you look into his shining blue eyes, you realize you don't want him to leave either. You grab the sides of his leather jacket, pulling him toward you. His mouth is on yours instantly. He presses you against your dressing room door, his large body covering yours.

You tangle your fingers in his long locks, needing him closer. Bucky hungrily kisses down your neck, while one hand travels under your dress. He rubs his thumb against your soaked panties. "All this for me?" You whine when he rubs harder, your clit making contact with the silky fabric. You move your hips, lost in the moment.

Voices echo down the hallway, bringing you out of your horny haze. "Bucky" You whisper, trying to warn him so he has time to stop before they see you. "Shh. I got you." He moves his body, so he is blocking you from view. His fingers are relentless, dipping inside your panties. His rough thumb rolls over your clit, you bury your face into his chest.

"Oh my God, It's Bucky! We are huge fans!" A woman's voice comes from behind him. You aren't brave enough to look, so you keep your face hidden. "Thanks guys. I love meeting fans. So, what's your favorite song?" You try to pinch him so he will get rid of them, but he continues talking about the world tour they are about to go on.

He enters you with two fingers, curling them as you moan out loud. The women look around him, finally noticing you. "Is she okay?" The second one asks. "Yeah, she's fine. She just ate too much so she has a stomachache." His fingers caress your inner walls, thumb rubbing in small circles. The band in your belly snaps, arousal flooding his hand as you come apart. Your legs shake, and you hold onto his arm to steady yourself. You clench your teeth to keep from making noise.

"You better get her inside; she can barely stand." One of the women says. They tell you both goodbye, as Bucky leads you inside your dressing room. "You did so good for me, but I need more." You look at him incredulously. He just made you cum the hardest you ever had in your life in front of two strangers and that wasn't enough.

Your legs are still trembling as he lifts you onto the vanity. Your back hits the cool mirror as Bucky slides your panties down your legs. His hot breath tickles your thighs as he lowers his face, pressing kisses to your inner thighs. He takes his time, nipping your sensitive skin. He licks a lazy stripe up your center, avoiding where you need him most. His tongue sinks inside you, firm nose pressing against your clit.

You cry out, head falling back, knocking into the mirror behind you. It bangs against the wall, hard enough to rattle the pictures hung there. Bucky drinks every drop of you, moaning as you writhe against his face. His plump lips fasten around your swollen nub, sucking and tugging like he can't get enough.

Your shaking legs close around his head, trapping him as you ride out your high. You cry his name, not caring who hears you. Bucky lifts you, slamming you against the wall. He holds you with one arm, the other works quickly to bring his pants down. His cock springs free, pink tip leaking. You swallow hard, intimidated by his size. "You're so big." You shiver, anticipation putting you on edge. He holds you, lining your bodies up.

"You can take it." He snaps his hips up, slamming into you. You try to adjust as he stretches you, wiggling around to see if the stinging will go away. When it starts feeling good, your arms wrap around his neck, holding on as he pulls out, leaving the tip in. He thrusts back into you, bottoming out. You have never felt so full, he fills every inch of you. He sets a steady rhythm, every part of him feels like it was made for you. You pulse around him, your back hitting against the wall as he sinks impossibly deeper.

Bucky bunches your dress around your hips, thick fingers digging into your skin as he fucks you. You try to meet his thrusts, but you're too weak from the explosive orgasms he already gave you. You hold onto him as he uses your body, his ragged breath on your neck brings forth the familiar pressure in your lower stomach.

"You're doing so good. Fuck! You take me so well." He praises, moving your thigh higher up his torso. He holds it in place, tilting his hips. The new angle makes your vision blur as he deliciously drags against a place you were sure was a myth until this very moment. Your nails dig into the back of his neck as you shatter around him.

Bucky's thrusts grow brutal, taking what he needs from you. "Oh fuck" He moans as he spills inside you. For a moment, you just look at each other, trying to catch your breaths. Thankfully, he knows you can't stand on your own, so he carries you to the sofa. Your dress is still around your waist, arm over your eyes. You can already feel a dull ache in your stomach where he had been just moments ago.

"Do you mind?" Bucky asks, pointing his phone toward you. You narrow your eyes, not understanding. "You're just so fuckin' hot and I wanna remember this." He says, his meaning finally dawning on you. You nod, almost too tired to speak. He angles his phone camera toward you. "Fucking perfect." He examines the photo he just took before showing you.

Your hair is disheveled, giving you the appearance of being caught in a windstorm. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes blown wide with lust. The top of your dress barely contains your breasts. The bottom is by your hips, your exposed cunt glistening with his cum. Bucky set the picture as his phone's background. You protested because you looked like a mess. Bucky stopped your arguing with a kiss. "You know what you look like?" He asks, smiling wide as he turned his phone screen toward you. "What?" You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling insecure. "Mine."

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @loz-3 @megharat-barnes-reid @kats72 @crimson25 @mochie85 @cakesandtom @lokidokieokie @theallknown213 @alexakeyloveloki @tmilover1993 @yeaiamme2 @pigeonmama @yeehawbrothers @lokischambermaid @fictive-sl0th @nomajdetective @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @freegardenbanananeck @lamentis-10 @jainaeatsstars @queenshu @justsebstan @kcd15

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seonghwaddict · 6 months

Text

23:46 — song mingi

in which your best friend is a little hard to wake up.

roommate!song mingi x fem!reader. genre. friends to lovers. fluff. timestamp. warnings. lots of kisses. wc. 1k. rating. pg-13.

lilo's notes. hiii here's a cute little mingi fic because i love him so much :3

listening to. you're mine, you!, chet baker

masterlist.

a quiet chuckle leaves your lips as you walk into the living room, finding your roommate fast asleep on the couch. mingi snored softly, sprawled out with his black playstation controler dangling from his hand for dear life.

you just wanted to grab a snack from the kitchen, but instead you made a detour to crouch beside the couch and take the controler from his hand as gently as you could. not that taking it from him forcefully would’ve made any difference; he could sleep through a category five hurricane. once you set the controller on the small coffee table, you reached for the glasses that squished against his nose.

he didn’t stir as you nudged his shoulder gently. at first you felt bad about having to wake him, but the distinct memories of him whining about his shoulder hurting after sleeping on the couch flashed through your mind.

“mingi…” you whispered softly, nudging him again, “mingi, wake up.”

after the third nudge he muttered something, though you could quite tell what. with your hand resting on his should as he pushed his face further into the pillow beneath his head, you sighed and moved to get up. but before you could register it, a hand wrapped around your write and pulled you down on the couch, legs tangling with yours and his other hand keeping you close by the small of your back.

you held your breath as he began moving you, practically trapping you beneath his large body as he drags himself halfway on top of you, one leg slotted between yours. his short, washed-out pink hair tickled your cheek as he lifted his head to look at you. you would’ve laughed at the tired expression of his face, all pouting lips and squinting eyes.

“i tried to wake you.” your voice came out a lot higher than you intended, not realising you almost felt flustered at your current position.

his eyes fluttered shut again and he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, making you tense for a moment before relaxing. his voice gravelly in his newly awake state, he spoke against the soft skin of your neck, “why”

“you always complain about your neck hurting when you sleep on the couch, i was trying to get you to move and sleep in your bed but you wouldn’t wake up.”

your answer has him humming understandingly, nuzzling his face further into your neck. your best friend was usually quite affectionate, however, this felt different from the more common cuddles during movie nights or occasional hand holding. you chalked it up to him not being fully awake, mind still hazy from his nap. at least until you felt the first of his kisses along your neck. they were so soft they were easy to miss, yet still the unmistakable brush of his lips that you sometimes found yourself wanting to feel against yours.

still, you didn’t protest, tentatively moving one of your hands up to brush through the hair at the nape of his neck. this only encouraged him, another hum vibrating against your skin. a soft sigh slipped passed your lips as his large hand moved to the small of your back to your waist, thumb carressing you through your flimsy white tanktop. with his body pressed against yours and his lips kissing anywhere he could reach comfortably, you relaxed, letting yourself lean your head back against the plush sofa.

“mingi,” you finally pulled yourself together to ask, “what are you doing?”

“just… just holding you,” he muttered against you. his kisses were tender and didn’t hold any sense of urgency, lazy presses against your pulse. “you feel nice, you smell nice, and you’re so warm. let me just hold you for a bit, please?”

it almost sounded like he was pleading when he asked you to let him do so and you found it hard to say no. in general, you found it hard to say no to anything he asked. so, you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper and making him lift his head to look down at you. moments turned into seconds which turned into minutes as your surroundings blurred and all you could think of was the tender look in his eyes as he leaned forward. he paused, waiting to see if you’d tell him to stop, but at the sight of the slightest of nods he couldn’t hold himself back from brushing his lips against yours. his hand on your waist tightened for a second as he pulled away, holding himself up with his other hand, forearm supporting him as his face hovered above yours.

he took in the sight of you beneath him, gaze flickering all over your face as he tried to memorise the sparkling look of your round eyes and your tiny puffs of air. there’s a smile tugging at his plush lips, barely noticeable but enough to make your cheeks warm even more. and when he spoke, his voice was no longer rough with sleep, but a gentle whisper only for you to hear.

“please tell me this isn’t a dream.”

you almost laughed at the endearing question but opted to smile instead, your hands cupping his cheeks. “no, this isn’t dream.”

“good,” he spoke through a sigh, sounding oh so content, “you’re just so pretty.”

a comfortable silence washed over you as he lowered himself to press another kiss against your lips. this time he let himself stay longer, he found the taste of your lips addicting, getting lost in the way they feel against his tongue as he swiped it along your bottom lip. when you parted for air, he rested his forehead against yous, breath mingling. the rest of the night was spent through lazy kisses and loving words that left you confused at the relationship you shared with him. but before you could ask about it, you had both fallen asleep, wrapped in each others arms on the couch you had tried so hard to get him off of.

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet

taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo

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falloutwithmegirlypop · 4 months

Text

Chet x Reader headcannons

No warnings, fluff, gender of reader not specified. Very minor angst.

Vault-Dweller reader

Oh, my, god. He is obsessed with you.

Chet never gets bored of spending time, with you. You can spend every single day together and never fight.

He will do absolutely anything with you, movies? You get to pick. Food? Of course! Do you want to make something together or go by the cafeteria? You want to go investigate the horrors of the vault together? He might cry, but he is not going to let you go alone.

He loves making food for you. After a long day of work, you’ll come home to see him in a pink strawberry apron. Happily stirring away at a much-too-large bowl of BlamCo Mac-N-Cheese. Or you’ll walk in on him baking a massive batch of cookies for you.

Chet really doesn’t care what people think he should be doing. He loves you, and he’ll do anything to see you happy.

When he gets transferred to another job after letting Lucy out, he is super bummed.

PLEASE rub his back, sit with him, watch movies with him. Your very presence makes him feel better.

he still shaken from the raider attack. He might wake up in the night. Only to find your comforting presence next to him. Hold his hand, he won’t tell you, but your hand in his keeps all the bad thoughts away.

Wassup Guys! FWMGP here. Sorry for my recent absence, and that this is so short, I’ve been doing finals. Expect more soon… please request!

#fallout chet x reader #fallout x reader #fallout fandom #fallout #fallout fic #fallout fanfic #fallout show #fallout x you #Chet x reader #fallout Chet x you #Chet x you #fallout chet

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pottersmiracle · 6 months

Text

Drunk words are sober thoughts

Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves x Fem! Reader

warnings: tiny bit of angst here and there-fluff-drunk ben-clingy/affectionate ben-klaus teasing you both-use of y/n-small bit of pet names (by ben)-drunk ben talks about being married to you 👀

summary: your boyfriend tries his best to act like the umbrella academy being there doesnt affect him, he also tries to act like he doesnt care that they don’t like him. But he’s horrible at hiding it from you.

a/n: rewatching tua - if this man doesnt get a smidge of happiness in season 4 im rioting - someone give sparrow ben a hug and a kiss - not proofread don’t murder me - pls send requests for umbrella academy characters 🙏

Masterlist

Ben was drunk. Really drunk. You were sitting next to him at the table and Klaus came over and started talking to you both, mainly you because you were actually interested in talking to him, “eleven people.” Ben mumbled. “Huh?” Klaus asked, you looked at Ben confused. “There are only eleven people left.” He says looking at both of you.

“Okay.. drunk ben clearly likes numbers and.. shrimp.” Klaus says looking at Ben’s plate. You laugh softly as Ben looks at Klaus, “and you couldn’t even invite me to your stupid bachelor party.” You sigh and lean back in your chair. You were right

“Oh.” Klaus said taken aback, “have we finally flicked off bad benny’s hard candy shell?” “Why don’t you like me?” Ben asked, his words slurring a bit. “Because you’re a big puckering asshole!” Klaus admitted. Actually its not like you could disagree with him, Ben was an asshole to klaus and the others.

You let them talk and walked around talking to everybody, congratulating Luther and Sloane, even having an actual nice talk with Reginald, Ben was staring him down the whole time though.

You walked past Fives table and nodded at him, you could tell he was severyly drunk and it was honesty humorous. He raised his glass to you and nodded as you laughed and walked back over to your boyfriend who was watching you as you sat down.

“You left me.” Ben pouted. You laughed and scooted your chair closer to him, “you were having a conversation. I gave you two some privacy.” Klaus gave you a smile and took a sip of his drink.

Ben groaned in response and took a bite of his shrimp as you all watched Reginald stand up to make a speech. You rubbed Ben’s back softly as Reginald talked, as he talked you notice Viktor and Allison. They were in a heated argument it was obvious but Allison ended up leaving the wedding.

“The sun rises over a lily’s field. A mother veiled, her lips concealed. The mourners come in droves of black to bury what their hearts unpack. With shallow breath and time eclipsed, i pray you miss death’s gentle kiss.” Reginald finished his speech and looked at everyone.

You clapped lightly and klaus cheered, “Beautiful! bravo dad! Bravo!” Ben stared at his father, “makes no sense.” He mumbled, you smiled at him and held his hand.

Chet turned on some more upbeat music after Reginalds dark speech. Everyone got up to dance except for you, Ben, and Viktor. “Can i tell you something?” Ben asked sitting up to look at you, his words were slurring but not enough to not understand him. “Of course.” You said.

“I would’ve loved getting married to you.” He admitted. “Just.. not at the end of the world.” He said slowly. You looked at him, you were shocked that he said that. He was always affectionate but not like this. He got up and kissed the top of your hand before standing up, “come on, let’s dance.” He had a wide grin on his face, he was officially in his chaotic stage of drunk. You tried to push off what he said as, he’s just drunk, its nothing to think about.

Although drunk words are sober thoughts..

After the fun dancing, everyone sat on the roof and hung out. You sat next to Sloane with Ben and Klaus trailing behind you, Ben sat next to you and wrapped an arm around you and Klaus sat next to Ben.

Ben rested his head on yours and Five got up, he wobbled around and everyone started yelling and laughing, “i feel like im gonna throw up.. actually, i’m hungry.” He said his goodbyes to everyone before going inside followed by Diego and Lila.

Ben and Klaus got up to leave as well. “Oh god.” You muttered standing up, “i should follow them. Goodnight guys, congratulations.” You smile at Luther and Sloane who smile back, “goodnight!” Viktor said goodnight to them as well and went inside with you.

#Spotify #sparrow academy #sparrow!ben hargreeves #ben hargreeves #ben hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy

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miniy00ng1 · 23 days

Text

Not Yours pt.2

Five Hargreeves x Female!Reader

wc: 2239 (not proofread yet!)

warnings: swearing, fighting, lmk if i missed anything

find part one here my masterlist here

Hi lovelies! While writing I realized that this was going to be more than two parts like i had originally thought it would be. but regardless i hope you enjoy and don't forget to give me feedback! pls ignore and grammar errors! thank you <3

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

“Welcome mi familia to my home away from home. My dearest Hotel Obsidian.” Klaus introduces, arms spread wide and breathing in the musty glory of the hotel. “Oh how I’ve missed her. Lookie who’s here! Mon frère Chet! How are you? We need your finest rooms good sir!” Chet places a sign on the table cash up front. The group of super siblings empty their pockets managing to gather enough for two rooms.

“So what’s our next move you guys? Because the Sparrows can attack at any given moment. I know I would.” Diego asks, anxious to kick some more ass. Luther turns towards Diego, placing his hands on his shoulders, “Diego, just relax man. They’re not coming, they’re going to need a couple of days to recover with the way we left them.” “You really think so?” Diego asks hopefully, at this moment you peek around Luther’s body into Diego’s view and shake you head, sliding you thumb slowly across your neck. Five notices you trying to rile Diego up and drags you to the elevator.

“First, I get kidnapped. And now I have to bunk in the boys room. Just kill me now.” Y/N complains as she is forced into the room being shared between four men. “You can complain all you want Y/N, but I have to keep an eye on you, so deal with it.” Five huffs taking a seat on the lower bunk bed. You roll your eyes, “There are only four beds in here dipshit and five of us. Where the hell am I supposed to sleep?” Five smirks at you, putting his hands behind his head and fully reclining on the bed as you make a gagging sound.

The other three brothers enter the room shortly after and begin to discuss how there are now other versions of themselves out in the world. Your curiosity gets the best of you, “What was you guys’ version of me like? Everyone seems to like her so much better, she couldn’t have been that great.” The men all speak at once listing all of the good qualities other you had such as her kindness, or her mindfulness, or her hopefulness. You jokingly smile extra big and say, “Doesn’t she just sound like a ray of sunshine.” The rest of the night is uneventful as everyone is exhausted from the events that occurred earlier.

That night, you end up taking the bottom bunk and Five sleeps on the floor next to it. The morning sun shines directly into eyes, disturbing your slumber. As you wake up and try to adjust your eyes, you feel a pressure on your hand. Lifting your head from the pillow, you glance over the edge of the bed and see a slumbering Five holding your hand–warmth spreads across your face. You quickly snatch your hand out of his grip, startling Five awake, he immediately scans the room for any threats. Five furrows his eyebrows once he makes eyes contact with you. No words are exchanged between the two of you as you get out of the bed and head towards the bathroom down the hall.

While freshening up in the bathroom, Y/N takes note of everyone in the restroom. There’s an elderly lady, a woman in her late 40s that looks like she’s done every drug on planet earth–twice, and a tan woman with a young boy standing behind her. The woman stares at you as if you’re familiar with one another. “What the hell are you looking at lady?” You says while drying your hands. The woman laughs in disbelief, “No fucking way.” You raise your eyebrows at the lady and exit the communal bathroom, startled to find Five dressed in a suit and waiting for you. “This entire hotel is full of freaks.”

The two of you take a seat at the table joining Klaus and Diego. The table covered in boxes of Chinese takeout, Five hands you a container and chopsticks, “Eat up, you must be starving.” You nod your head as a thank you and dig into the noodles. The siblings discuss their next course of action, if they have to fight the Sparrows to get the briefcase back or stay in the timeline. Across from you, something has caught Diego’s eye as he abruptly drops his food and rushes away from the table. You turn your body to see where he’s run off to and see Diego chasing the woman from the bathroom.

Diego returns to his seat five minutes later wih a young boy who claims to be his son. Not a single one of the Hargreeves at the table question the legitimacy of the relation. “So if you’re his dad..Is that blonde lady his mom?” You question, not seeing the resemblance at all. Diego nods in confirmation, “She claims he’s my son and that lady, is Lila. You two have met, she tried to murder us like two days ago.” “Two things Buddy. One, I am not your Y/N. And two, you’re an idiot. No wonder she tried to kill you.” You say, piecing the missing information together.

A short haired Vanya approaches the siblings. “Wow Vanya! I am loving the haircut! It really suits you!” Klaus calls out, admiring the new style. “Oh, it’s actually Viktor.” Viktor says awkwardly. The brothers glance at each other before Diego speaks up, “Who is?” “I am, always have been.” Viktor confirms. “Does anybody have a problem with that?” Everyone at the table shakes their head no and congratulates Viktor. “Look, I met with Marcus last night he agreed to give us the briefcase in exchange for Y/N. He says he doesn’t want to start a war.” You sit up straight at the mention of the trade.

Five’s face hardens at Viktor’s statement, “Absolutely not Viktor. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but this timeline in perfectly acceptable, there are no apocalypses or psychopaths coming after us. And last time I checked, you don’t speak for this family. There won’t be any unnecessary trades. Especially not if they include Y/N.” “You’re wrong Five. We don’t belong here. Allison is miserable, her own daughter doesn’t exist and you’re holding Y/N hostage just because she looks like your Y/N!” Viktor argues back. Five seethes in Viktor’s face, “I said no.” Five drags you off the chair forcing you to follow him. You hear footsteps chase after the two of you, “Five! Five wait up!” Five stops, still holding onto your wrist as Klaus catches up. “You two sure move quick for such little legs. Anywho…how would you two like to join me on a little roadtrip? We can relax and cruise the open road, it’ll be a grand ole time!” Five agrees to go with Klaus against your wishes.

Leaning against the car, you scan Five’s figure, “Like what you see?” Five says cockily, smiling at you. “That is the ugliest outfit I have ever seen. Genuinely, you should burn that for the sake of everyone else. And take that stupid hat off, you’re embarassing me. What did I ever see in you.” Five’s smile drops but before he can make a rebuttal Klaus skips over towards the car, “Let’s go bitches! This is going to be so much fun!” It was not fun by any means. Thirty minutes into the drive, Klaus and Five start arguing due to the fact that Klaus tricked Five into coming to meet his birth mother because he was scared to do it alone.

“You were scared? So you brought me along like an emotional support schnauzer?” “I would say you’re more like a little cute, feisty chihuahua.” You say mindlessly. Five turns and glares at you, you’re certain he’s picturing murdering you in his mind. The fighting goes on for a little longer before the boys make up at the big ball of twine. Soon enough, you guys arrive at a farm where Klaus’ mother is supposedly living. Five tells Klaus that this is something he has to face alone and that he’ll stay with the car.

Five moves the car to the side of the road and turns on a radio station playing songs from the 60s. He then exits the car just to open the rear door, “Scoot over, I want to stretch out my legs and do my crossword.” “You are such an old man. I don’t know how I could be into that.” You say while scooting over to make room for the teen. Five slides in next to you ensuring that his body is facing yours, “I’ll have you know that I have a lot of redeeming qualities that you loved. Not to mention, I’m a sweet talker Darling.” Five brushes his hand against your cheek, holding eye contact with you. Five’s green eyes are intense as you stare back noting the specks of blue in them. “I know, it’s hard to look away from them right?” Five winks at you finally breaking eye contact and sitting back, attention back on his newspaper. You blink rapidly trying to process what had occurred between the two of you.

Suddenly, a pulse rushes through the car shaking it as it passes. Five immediately sits up, hand gripping yours as he scans the area for signs of danger. You two exit the car, still holding hands. “Five? Where’d the cows go?” You question pointing towards the previously filled farmland which was now completely vacant. “Damnit can’t I get just one day off?” Five sighs throwing his hands in the air. The teenage boy gets to working on equations trying to figure out what he and his siblings fucked up now. In the distance, you hear a faint yell. A few seconds later comes Klaus with an angry Amish mob chasing after him, “Start the car! We’ve got to go now!” The three of you clamber into the car and speed off.

Klaus tells Five his findings and experience with the Amish and how his mother died before he was born. Five stomps on the breaks, causing you to fly forward, “We are so fucked. We’ve created the Grandfather Paradox.”

Once back at Hotel Obsidian Five takes you with him to find Lila. Her son, Stanley, tells you that she’s in the women’s restroom. Five is about to enter before you stop him, “Hey perv, this is the ladies room. Let me go.” You spot Lila in the bath and wave at her, “Y/N! Long time no see. Well actually, I guess you’ve never met me before but…I know you. And I can’t stand you just as much as I hate your husband.” Lila throws a knife in your direction and you are about to move out of the way when you feel a rush of air as you are blinked across the room.

You pull out of Five’s grip, “I can handle myself Five. And he is not my husband!” Lila approaches the two of you fully nude, “If you lovebirds are done with your couples quarrel. I’d love to get this over with.” Five and Lila fight and blink around the bathroom–you never knew two people could have the same powers. Lila manages to knock Five off of his feet, she then blinks to you and punches. You duck down, narrowly avoiding her fist. You sweep your leg at her feet aiming to knock her down. Lila lands on her back and you use your powers to transform into Luther in order to have an advantage, size and strength-wise. You swing your arms up in the air readying to pummel the woman into the ground. Lila mimics your power also transforming into Luther–your eyes widen as you realize what her powers are. Lila pulls her legs to her stomach before kicking them out, launching her legs into your stomach. You fly back, groaning as you land on a sink and breaking it off the wall. Curse Luther and his stupidly big monkey body.

Five has recovered and catches Lila off guard by slamming his body into hers. While distracted he squirts her in the face with soap, “Okay! Fuck! That’s enough!” Lila calls out, wiping the soap out of her stinging eyes. Five blinks over to you as Luther, “Y/N? Are you okay?” You transform back into your teenage self, accepting Five’s outstretched hand, “Never been better.” After making sure you were okay, Five grabs the briefcases from Lila’s possession. They were of course broken and the two decided that they would use their powers to travel to the Commision.

“We can’t bring her, we barely have enough power to bring ourselves.” Lila states motioning towards you. Five looks at you trying to figure out where to put you for the time being. Five walks you to his brother Diego, “I need you to watch her. I’ve got things to do and she can’t come with.” “What the hell? No! I’ve already got one little shit to take care of. I don’t need another.” You scoff at the conversation between the men, “I can hear you guys, you know?” They both ignore you. “Just make them watch each other, I don’t know. Figure it out, I’ve got to go.” Five walks off quickly with his hands in his pocket. Diego looks at you and rubs his face, “Stanley! Get your ass over here and come meet your Auntie!”

part three

taglist:

@ohmyitsfaith

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves x female!reader #number five #the umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves x reader #miniy00ng1

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signedreality · 2 months

Text

ᯓ FAWN

alastor x reader

ଳ synopsis ; you and alastor decide to take a stroll around earth, but during your visit, you meet a fawn without her mother.

ଳ warnings : romance, petnames, slight suggestiveness, i combined part 2 with this one, there is a child, chaos, and fluff.

ଳ missive ; fun fact as to why my old account is gone, my friend thought it would be a sharp idea to delete my account as a prank! i left my laptop open to cook something when they were present and when i came back, i was logged out, and when i tried to log in, i couldn't. when i asked, they revealed the prank. this is the only oneshot i had saved due to it being my recent, so i'm reuploading it. this is soleilplume back on her broadcast, and i will try to upload more soon! and yes, i am pissed right now, but my anger does not need to reflect onto you all. enjoy!

now airing ; alone together - chet baker

earth visits were rare when it came to you and alastor's strolls.

your walks typically took place in hell due to how much of a risk it was to go back to earth, but when you both do, it's always at night in a forest.

the trees cover you both from being spotted—the only thing that could possibly give you both away to those who were still alive being the loud sound of alastor hitting his head against a branch.

the poor demon was rather tall for the forest, yet he never complained. he just learned to avoid the branches that hung lower than others.

usually, your nights were only filled with the chirping of crickets while you took in the scent of the earth. the sensation of having the wind caress your skin was one you missed greatly, as well as the mossy scent that swarmed the air whenever you both walked around.

the silk of his suits sleeve was one you had grown to know each time your arm was linked with his, and your hand always found its place on his forearm.

the only time your strolls were different was when you and alastor spoke quietly to one another—his voice ringing out in a low tone as the air was coated with his compliments. ranging from him saying you look ravishing to you being the person he'd want no matter where he was. whether it be earth, heaven, hell, or even the moon, he'd want you to be right beside him with your hand in his.

yet, with tonight, there was a different sound ringing out.

it wasn't alastor's words, or even the crickets, for the sound of a stick snapping behind you both made alastor's ears perk up.

you both hastily turned around to face whatever was behind you, but what you saw made you softly chuckle while alastor appeared confused.

a fawn took a few steps back at how quick your movements were, and its beady eyes were lit up by the fireflies that rose up from the grass.

"it's just a fawn..." you responded, and alastor's gaze darted to yours as soon as your arm unlinked with his.

you kneeled onto the grass while the fawn lifted one of its hooves, and you slowly held out a hand as you smiled.

"hi..." your voice was soft while the fawn's ears perked up, and its tail slightly swayed as it trotted over to you.

fireflies flew from the blades of green underneath you with each step the fawn took—its ears bopping with its trot while alastor watched the interaction.

"where's its mother? the fawn looks no more than a year old..." alastor spoke while the fawn stood right in front of you, and it sniffed your hand for a moment before resting its chin in your palm.

"maybe she's somewhere nearby?" you remarked as you scratched the fawns chin, and the deer closed its eyes as alastor hummed.

"that would make sense...it's unlikely that her mother abandoned her given how females don't typically leave their mother's company until about two years."

"aren't you a know-it-all?" you commented, and alastor only clicked his tongue. "i'm part deer, darling. is it so wrong for me to know a bit about my kind?"

all you did was softly laugh while your attention focused back on the fawn, and her eyes bored into yours before you removed your hand from her chin. as soon as you stood up, the fawn tilted her head in confusion.

"we should probably leave her be. the mother probably won't come if we're around—she'll think we're a threat..." alastor only chuckled at your words, "who's the know-it-all now?"

"is it so wrong for me to know a bit about my kind?" you mocked his previous words, and the demon's grin only widened before he grabbed your hand. he raised it to his lips as he softly kissed your skin. "not at all, my dear..."

you pursed your lips as you felt your chest tighten, and alastor only lowly chuckled before he slowly spun you around.

your hand was pulled while your chest pressed against his—your eyes widening as you softly smiled. "save the charms for later, al...we still have to go."

"as you wish, darling." alastor wrapped an arm around your waist, and you watched as his cane appeared in his free hand. "i thought you didn't like bringing your cane out here because it got dirty?"

"i usually don't," alastor remarked, "but it seems wrong to walk without it."

you watched alastor peer over his shoulder as your back turned to the fawn, and the demon narrowed his eyes at the fawn. "farewell, little one!"

you smiled as you and alastor started to walk again, and as a few seconds went by, you heard a leaf crunch behind you both.

as alastor's arm left your waist, you turned around to notice the fawn.

it was following you both.

alastor raised an eyebrow as the fawn trotted up to you, and when you took a step back, the fawn froze before taking a step back.

and when you moved forward, so did the fawn.

"that's odd..." you mumbled before spinning in a circle, and when you did, the fawn reciprocated the move.

"it seems the fawn has mistaken you for her mother, dear..." alastor spoke as you frowned.

of course, the thought was rather sweet to think about, but you weren't this fawn's mother. the doe had to be somewhere around here.

"do you think her mother's okay?" you quietly questioned as you gestured for the doe to come closer, and she happily trotted up to you while alastor tapped his cane.

his cane vanished as you looked at him in confusion, and a soft, green light emitted from him while he sighed.

"since it's causing you much dismay, i'll go peer around for a bit..."

"what do you mean—?" you tightly closed your eyes as soon as the light got brighter, and you moved your hand to cover the fawn's eyes before noting the light's sudden vanishment.

hot breath coated your face while your eyes slowly peered open, and you blinked a few times as you noted the buck in front of you.

a crimson coat of fur flourished around the deer while its legs were a gradient of red and black, and its antlers hovered over your form while you stared.

the fawn slightly scrambled from your touch as she peered up at the buck, and the male let out a low breath before slowly moving towards the fawn.

he leaned his head down before nudging the fawn's side—the buck making sure his antlers didn't hit her. she eventually scrambled over to you as the buck lifted his head up.

and after a few seconds of standing there, the buck strolled off into the forest.

leaving you and the fawn alone as you moved to sit on the ground.

you knew for a fact that was alastor, yet the only thing you didn't know was that he could turn into that.

"that was weird, wasn't it?" you spoke to the fawn as if she could answer, and she kind of did as she bleated.

a soft laugh left your throat while you moved your hands to pet the fawn, and what felt like a couple of minutes had been almost an hour before you heard hooves hitting the ground.

the buck had returned with a doe at his side, and the deer looked at you and the fawn.

the fawn perked up at the sight before facing you, and a light nudge was given to your nose as the fawn dashed over to her mother.

oddly enough, a wave of disappointment washed through you while the mother never broke her gaze from you, and she gifted a slight nod of her head before she and the fawn trotted away.

the buck slowly approached you as it stood right in front of you, and he leaned his head down while his face rested in the crook of your neck.

you softly laughed while your hands rose up to rub the fur on his neck, and soon enough, a flash of green made you wince before you felt a familiar smile against the skin of your neck.

your arms wrapped around alastor's neck as he placed soft kisses along the crook of your neck, and a low grunt left his throat before he lifted his head up.

his gaze met yours while alastor sat in between your legs—his hands resting besides your thighs as he hummed. "why are you still upset, my dear? we found the fawn's mother, did we not?"

"you found the doe, first of all." you emphasized before letting out a sigh, "and second of all, i just miss the fawn, i guess? it was cute to hear the idea she thought i was her mother—"

"you like the thought of being a mother?"

"hold up—" you spoke until your words were cut off by alastor's lips meeting yours, and you relaxed into the kiss as your hands moved up to weave through his hair.

you felt his ears droop down while his hands slightly scraped at the soil beside you, and he pulled back before he rested his forehead against yours.

"what if we had our own little fawn, my dear? would that make you happy?" he spoke, and as soon as you slightly nodded in response, his grin widened.

well shit.

⤷ two years later

"how can something this adorable cause so much stress?"

your laughter lightly echoed as you heard alastor's words, and you peered over your shoulder to stare at him while soft cooes crowded over your previous chuckles.

alastor's sleeves were rolled up as his suit jacket rested on the bed, and one of his suspenders were partially hanging off his shoulder while he held your baby in the air.

giggles and babbles rang from your baby as her hands grabbed out for her father despite already being in his arms—a wide grin on alastor's face while his tail partially wagged.

the girl had a tail of her own, as well as a pair of ears to match. the dots along her fur were enough to bring a smile to your face every time you noted them.

"are you talking to me or marie?" you softly questioned as you grabbed your jacket, and you shrugged it on.

"why would i question marie when she can barely even pronounce 'dada'?" alastor pulled marie so her head would rest on her chest, and as soon as she tried to stick her thumb in her mouth, he was quick to gently pull her hand away. "we are not letting you get into that habit—"

"is someone still envious that she said 'mama' first?" you teased while alastor stared at you, and he narrowed his eyes in a way that said enough for you to let out a laugh. "come on, she was just babbling and it happened! you can't be upset about that!"

"my dear, i saw you mouthing the word while i was trying to get her to say my name..."

"enough bickering!" you stated before turning around, and you walked over to alastor as you cupped his cheek.

you placed a soft kiss against his skin while he gently chuckled, and he turned his head so your lips would meet his.

the kiss was rather short considering how marie started to babble, and you smiled against alastor's lips before pulling back. you leaned over to place a quick peck against marie's head while she cooed.

"are you ready to go?" you asked alastor as he slowly handed you marie. you always adored how gentle he was with her—every action and movement he did becoming cautious whenever he was near her.

and while you were certain it was impossible at first, you had grown to love him more based on that alone.

you scooped the girl into your arms while her chubby hands came up to grasp at your face, and you stuck your tongue out at her before you brought your attention back to alastor.

"just let me toss on my jacket..." he slightly stretched his back as he grabbed his jacket, and he pushed his arms through while he dusted off the sleeves. "you're positive you wish to go, dear? what if marie is frightened by them?"

you gave alastor a firm nod as you slightly bounced marie in your arms, and you smiled at him. "she'll be okay! she'll have her father there to help her if she gets scared..."

and your words made his grin soften while he partially shook his head.

"we both know she'll call for you, not me..." the slight hint of sadness in his voice made your eyebrows furrow before alastor snapped his fingers, and the feeling of wind behind you made your head perk up as you turned around.

a hand placed itself on the small of your back as you hastily snatched a baby blanket from the bed, and you placed it over marie before you strolled through the portal.

the earthy smell filled your nose as you let out a relaxed sigh, and marie seemed as curious as she could possibly be while she looked around. her hands moved away from your face while you hummed. "it's a bit chilly, isn't it, riri?"

"i still can't comprehend that you chose such an odd nickname for our fawn..." alastor mumbled as the portal closed behind him, and you shot him a teasing frown before looking around.

"do you think they'll even be around here anymore?" alastor tapped your back with his pointer finger as he hummed, "why don't you ask them yourself?"

you perked up before looking around, and as soon as your eyes rested on the pair of deer, an excited grin sprawled across your face.

"they're here!" you quietly celebrated as you looked down at marie—the girl already staring at the deer with a smile. "aren't they pretty, riri?"

the fawn you and alastor had originally seen trotted up—her appearance being rather mature as marie squealed at the sight of the deer approaching her.

the fawn lifted her nose to softly sniff marie before backing up, and the deer let out a slight bleat while the doe approached.

the doe merely stared at marie before the baby held out her hand—gentle coos ringing out as the doe allowed marie to touch her snout. alastor fully wrapped his arms around your waist before leaning against your head, and you softly smiled at the action while the fawn kept moving to sniff marie in amusement.

things were going better than you had planned they would.

the fawn kept making marie laugh while you and alastor relaxed, and the doe just watched in amusement as she witnessed her fawn play with your child. it made you feel proud in a way.

you had gotten to show off your little fawn to hers, and all was well until snarls erupted in the air.

alastor let go of your waist as he straightened his posture, and your head snapped to stare at whatever had made that noise—your grip on marie tightening at the low sound.

it was a buck.

one that was deeply grunting while its eyes rested on alastor, and its ears dropped low to its head as you held marie closer.

"al—"

"my dear, will you please cover our daughter's eyes for a second?" he slightly tilted his head while he took a step toward the buck, and immediately, the deer sneered as it bit the air.

alastor's only response was a strained grin before his eyes turned into dials. "i'd rather her not see this..."

marie only let out a slight cry at the buck's actions, and you held marie's face into your neck while you lifted the blanket to act as a barrier for her vision.

you turned your head and before you closed your eyes, you noted the fawn and doe rush off as you sighed.

a green light flashed, and as quick as it came, it was gone.

and it was replaced by the sound of antlers clashing against each other.

your head sharply turned to watch as you noted that a crimson buck was fighting the one that was present earlier, and so far, the red one was winning.

the old buck tried its hardest, yet the red one—alastor—came out on top as his antlers slashed against the other buck's face.

you heard marie slightly sniffle into your neck while the buck ran off, and you moved her body to where her back was leaning against your chest—your arms wrapped around her so she wouldn't fall.

the crimson buck let out a low breath before he turned around, and he walked up to you and marie as he stood in front of the baby.

marie let out partial sobs while the deer let her grab onto his snout, and she nuzzled her head into his fur as she held him close.

"dada!" marie slightly cried while the buck's eyes widened, and he moved his snout up while marie held on.

she was partially tossed into the air before a green light emitted, and she was caught by the hands of her father while he slowly spun around. "hey—i'm here, okay? there's no need to cry..."

her cries turned into giggles as they erupted through the forest before alastor hugged her close to his chest, and a light kiss was placed on her head while you witnessed the sight.

"dada's here, okay?" alastor spoke while marie nuzzled herself closer into his chest, and her eyes closed as you walked up to alastor's side.

"see? who did she call for when she got scared...?" alastor faced you with a smile on his face, and you noted the gleam of awe that rested in his gaze while his hand rubbed marie's back.

a hasty peck was placed on his lips until you flicked his forehead, and he blinked a few times as you jokingly frowned. "though, don't toss her up like that again. it scared the shit out of me—"

alastor only chuckled as he moved his hand away from marie's back so he could rub his forehead, and once he noted her shift in her sleep, he quickly moved to continue rubbing her back before responding.

"as you wish, my dear..."

⤷ word count ; 3,145

🌊 reblogs + hearts + comments are appreciated !

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x you #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #radio demon #radio demon x reader #radio demon x you #fanfic #alastor fanfiction #the radio demon #x reader #reader insert #x you #📻 signedreality is on the air

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sanguineterrain · 1 year

Text

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

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

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 10.6k

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

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

divider by firefly-graphics

Today is hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s never stopped you, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did Debbie invite you?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

“Can you swim?” you ask.

He stares at you, blinking.

“What?” he says after a beat.

“Can you swim?” you repeat.

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

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

His brows furrow.

“Because I can't swim,” you clarify.

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

“That’s good thinking.”

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

“How did you get here?” he asks.

“I walked.”

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

“Oh. I climbed the fence.”

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

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

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

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

“Who's—they don’t have a triplet.”

“That’s good. Three’s bad luck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who doesn't?"

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it.

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

You shrug and kick at the water gently.

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

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

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

“Well, this isn’t her gate.”

“Yeah. I like your shorts.”

Steve’s cheeks flush pink.

“Are you getting sunstroke?” you ask.

That turns his cheeks pinker.

“No, no." He coughs. "I’m fine.”

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

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

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

Steve smiles. “No, she’s a girl.”

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

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

“Robins are good omens. They bring luck."

“Huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Joan was at the bottom of the ocean?"

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

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

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

“My dirt?”

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

"Out of dirt?"

"Out of worms."

"Huh."

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

"Your hair is wavy," you observe.

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

"Like what? Secrets?"

"No, like, gel. Product."

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

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

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

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

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

"Will do."

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

A smile creeps onto Steve's face.

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

"Thank you."

"Do you want some lemonade?"

"Is it poisoned?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve makes a weird noise in his throat.

"Uh, th-thanks," he says.

"You're welcome."

"So you, uh, know Lucas?"

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

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

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

"No."

"You walked from your house to Loch Nora?"

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

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

"Debbie Wellerman has a car," Steve says.

"Uh-huh. A Porsche."

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

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

"Shit. Not enough sugar?"

You swallow and open your eyes.

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

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

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

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

"Nope. Definitely needs more sugar."

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

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

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

"Why would she pick me up?"

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

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

Steve frowns deeply.

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

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

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

You trace shapes into the condensation of your glass.

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

"But what?" he prompts.

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

Steve grimaces. “Sounds like a drag.”

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

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

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

“You have kids?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You want me to call you?” you ask.

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

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

“That’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Isn't that a good thing?"

You shrug. "Depends on your aspirations."

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

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

Steve caps the marker. You inspect the writing.

"Good penmanship," you say.

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

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

"Graphologist?"

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

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

You hum and finish your lemonade in one gulp.

“Thank you for not poisoning me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes dart from his chest to his face.

“Yes.”

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

“Second time’s the charm,” you say.

“I thought it was the third time.”

“No. Three’s bad luck, remember?”

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Thank you for your hospitality.”

He grins. “Sure thing.”

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

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

Then you go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Maybe you mind a little.

"Hey, neighbor!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Undoubtedly," you say.

"Are you his neighbor?" she asks.

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

"I believe it," says Max.

"What are you doing?" Lucas asks.

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

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

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

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

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

Max squints. "Special plans? Like what?"

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

"A series of what?"

"Poems."

"Love poems are corny," she says.

You wonder if Steve would agree.

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

Max acquiesces with a hum.

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

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

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

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

You follow her gaze and spot Steve.

Oh. Steve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He scoffs. “Oh, really? Who?”

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

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

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

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

Max shakes her head at you.

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

“Oh. You’re doing great."

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

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

"Hi,” he says. "I can pay."

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

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

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

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

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

Steve glances at her, mouth pinching.

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

“Oh. Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

Steve whips his head around to hiss at her.

"Robin."

"She's my neighbor," Lucas says.

"We know," Max tells him.

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

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

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

"Princess Buttercup?" you ask.

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

You mull that over.

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

Steve's eyes widen. "Uh…"

Robin snickers. Max smirks.

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

"Shut—"

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

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

"I'm classy!" Steve insists.

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

"Childcare is dutiful work," you say.

Steve grins at you. Your stomach flutters.

“Is that a mud pie?” he asks.

You nod.

“Gummy worms?”

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

Steve chuckles. “Lucky guess.”

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

“It’s obviously mango sorbet.”

“Sorbet isn’t ice cream!”

“Are they your kids?” you ask.

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

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

“How many kids do you have?” you ask.

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

“Wow. You must be some babysitter.”

“I’m alright.”

You lean in. Steve blinks.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“You have an eyelash.”

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

“You have to make a wish.”

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

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

The numbers stare at you. Taunt you, really.

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

Now you have it taped to your dresser mirror.

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

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

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

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

The phone rings. You rock on your toes.

“Hello?” Steve says.

You freeze.

“Hellooo…?”

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

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

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

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

Relief floods you. He remembers.

“Yes. If you’re planning it.”

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

“I can walk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just a boy. He’s only a boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max nods at you with a smile. Lucas waves.

“Hi, El,” you say. “Cool hair.”

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

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

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

“Yes, Mom,” Max mumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max gets out two skateboards from the trunk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I would like that,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“Uh…” Steve tilts his head. “No?”

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

“Wow. That’s a cool fact.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Triple threat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m nervous,” you confess.

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

Saint Aloysius’ parking lot has the best rocks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Anything else?"

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

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

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

"Buttercup?"

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

You wave back. Robin squeals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His cheeks turn pink again.

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

Robin snorts. Steve holds a hand to his cheek.

"Uh, thanks."

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

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

"I want a cookie!" Dustin says.

"Dude," Steve hisses.

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

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

“Not that I’m aware of,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

"By accident?"

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

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

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

"They're for Joan," you say.

"Joan? Is she your friend?"

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

"Navigating friendships can be hard," Steve offers.

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you," you say.

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

"I will."

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

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

"It wasn't awkward."

“It wasn’t?”

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

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

"Do you want another lady's kiss?"

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

You take out a raspberry cookie and bite into it.

"Your hair has product," you observe.

"Yeah. No secrets, though."

"Everybody's hair has secrets."

"Even yours?" he asks.

"Especially mine."

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

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

"I like it as well as anybody else."

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

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

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

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

Steve smiles. He has such a pretty smile.

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

"You're a very thoughtful host.”

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

"Does Debbie have to come?" you ask.

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

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

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

"Okay. What time does the barbecue begin?"

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

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

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

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

"Bye, Steve," you say.

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

Even the way he breathes is pretty.

Every month, Miles Stanwick throws a party.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weird tastes like poison in your mouth.

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

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

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

"Hello?"

You lean against the wall, phone in both hands.

"Uh, hello? Who is this?"

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

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

"I'm sorry," you say.

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

"Debbie ditched me."

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

"Steve?"

"Where are you?"

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

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

Your lip wobbles. "'Kay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My knight," you say.

"I thought Westley was a pirate."

“He was only pretending."

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

"Ow," you say dazedly.

"What? What hurts?"

"Keys."

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

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

"I love that you know that."

"Do you really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whoa, what's—"

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

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

You still. "Promise?"

"I promise."

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

"Comfy?" he asks.

"I like you so much, Steve Harrington."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You turn your head. "Hmm?"

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

"Without a doubt."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is this yours?"

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

He grimaces. "Unfortunately."

"Cool."

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

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

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

"Making every man mad."

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

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

"You invited me," you say.

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

"You play good music."

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

"She's obviously biased."

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

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

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

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

Eddie's eyes widen. "I—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I like Kashmir."

"Thank God! Somebody with decent tastes."

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

Eddie grins. "Words of the wise."

"Where's Joan?" Robin asks.

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

"Sick," Eddie says.

You nod. "The ribbon was my pick."

"I like it," Robin says.

"Thank you."

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

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

"That's a rock," says Steve.

"Yep."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve pushes a couple strands behind his ear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve turns to you and smiles softly.

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

"Won't Dustin be annoyed?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here, take my seat,” he says.

“We can share,” you offer.

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

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

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

“It’s spectacular.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I do,” you say. “Thank you.”

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

“Doritos!” Robin shouts.

“Napkins, please,” El says.

“Cherry Coke!” Mike calls.

“Beer!” Eddie whoops.

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

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

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

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

Steve sighs, lifting his arms.

“Two hands, guys. Only got two.”

“I can help,” you offer.

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

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

“That’d be great, thank you.”

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

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

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

"Whoa, whoa.”

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

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

You frown. "The Doritos have eluded me."

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

"I knew you’d best me and succeed."

"Best you?"

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

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

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

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

"I would never try to sword fight you."

"I appreciate that."

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

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

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

“Buttercup?”

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

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

“Yes, Westley?”

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

“Everything okay?” he asks.

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

“Everything’s fine.”

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

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

Steve’s eyes widen.

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

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

He nods, encouraging you to continue.

“I’m not like Debbie,” you say.

“I know.”

“I’ll probably never be like Debbie.”

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

“Oh.”

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

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

“It’s wonderful,” you whisper.

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

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“I would very much like that.”

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

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

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

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

Dustin shrieks.

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

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

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

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

“Again, very sorry about them.”

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

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

You hum and lean over to unwrap a popsicle.

“Oh,” you say. “Three left.”

“Three popsicles?”

“Mmhm.”

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

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

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