#Step-up/Step-down Converters

[oversease220volts]

Universal Plug Adapter: Compact and Convenient

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Why You Need a Universal Plug Adapter

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Choosing the Right Universal Plug Adapter

With a plethora of options available, selecting the perfect universal plug adapter can be overwhelming. Consider these factors:

Compatibility: Ensure the adapter covers the countries you'll be visiting.

Number of Ports: Choose an adapter with enough USB ports for all your devices.

Size and Weight: Opt for a compact and lightweight adapter for easy portability.

Safety Features: Look for adapters with built-in surge protection and safety certifications.

Tips for Using Your Universal Plug Adapter

Check Voltage: While universal adapters can handle different plug types, they don't convert voltage. Always verify the voltage compatibility of your devices.

Avoid Overloading: Don't overload your adapter by plugging in too many high-power devices simultaneously.

Protect Your Devices: Use the adapter with surge protectors for added safety.

[pushing500]

As a token of apology for letting her get hypnotised by Nexorust the revenant, the gang at Château de Amitié have saved an Anima Nexus seed for Tupelo to plant and connect with. I thought about having one of the Jones boys do it, but they're more interested in mechanoids than magic trees, so Tupelo got to do it instead.

Ivy is connecting to nature in her own unique way. I don't know if icy marsh water would be my first choice of swimming-spot, but Ivy grew up in a desert and probably thinks this is great fun. I'm glad she's enjoying herself.

Remember that wild child who was ignored by a bear a while back? Well, we've tamed him in hopes of shipping him to an outpost so he stops loitering around our colony.

The little bastard immediately makes it very clear that he is not very appreciative of our hospitality.

If you're going to act like a pig (is it racist or xenotype-ist to call a pigskin a pig? 🤔) you get nicknamed like a pig. Welcome to the colony, Chow-Down. Hopefully your time with us is brief.

After dealing with a bratty, whiny child all morning, Mechi decided to treat himself and finally get around to studying the Archotech structure nearby. It's so magnificent...

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[truepowertransformer]

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[neverendingford]

um not like to freak you out or anything at this hour of the night but i think about things a lot and im a bit high so im sorry if its alittle incoherent

"how much is false and how much is just animal instinct" i think all of its "animal instinct" at its core, and i guess the truthiness of it depends on what you classify as true or false.

i think morality is just a social construct to help groups cooperate and survive, same with the tendency to assimilate and fall into categories. and really there's nothing inherently wrong with constructs, theyre just our animal instincts. it's okay to fall into them i think. they are quite handy and like you said you can make your own. i think the emphasis should be more on being aware of them than breaking free of them. you're only human, i think. scritching your chin

and with entropy and meaning and all that. i think its so easy to get lost in the big picture. we don't last long in the grand scheme of things and we dont really have an inbuilt purpose besides existing. you can make your own purpose(s) if you want. but like just on its own you exist and thats pretty cool. you're the only one that will get to live your life. you will get to experience emotions and get a peak into the wide breadth of things that exist. i think all that's pretty awesome and reason enough to be alive. it's really grounding (for me at least) to just remember how cool and rare it is for me to exist and get to experience so many things.

Shit.. yeah you're right it's all animal instinct huh. outside of conspiracy shit like aliens and divine revelation, everything we're working with is stuff we've developed ourselves (and like.. our interactions with other animals on the planet). it's a very "Hypocrite that you are, for you trust the chemicals in your brain to tell you they are chemicals." situation. all that we are is derived from our existence.

guess I was too baked into the false dichotomy of mind/body, where really it's all just body and extrapolations from it.

I think that's actually a pretty relaxing thought though. it absolves any existential duty to some sort of "higher cause" and simply lets me exist in a neutral state.

yeahh, it's so easy to lose myself in the big picture. like when people see pictures of space and get scared because they're so small in comparison. the urge to find an answer to all my questions right now. it's both comforting and frustrating to know that people have been doing this for as long as we can remember. digging deeper and deeper hoping to find hell. building higher and higher hoping to find heaven. and all that's left is the things we've built. monuments to nothing else but our own efforts to make sense of things.

data is neutral until it gets interpreted, right? knowing that I'm small in comparison to other things isn't anything until I feel something about it. whether I feel scared and hopeless in the face of the enormity, or if I feel excited because of the chance I get to live whatever short tiny life I have. it's all still a framework I've constructed around the information. it's all input -> processing -> output. and that's infuriating because recognizing that you're interpreting data skews that interpretation. that thing where quantum particles are disturbed by the very act of observation. being self aware enough to be resistant to common therapy approaches. recognizing the mechanism fucks with the mechanism.

[angrythingstarlight]

Are there ever times Malyshka is in the mood for some retail therapy and actually encourages Bucky to go wild with the black card?

Bucky knows you're not always comfortable letting him spoil you. But he knows one place you can't resist. thats the newindie bookstore downtown. He'll buy out the entire place if you want.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader

WC: 1.8K

CW: Bucky being a menace, flirting, teasing, kissing and a hint of upcoming smut. Bucky is taller than reader. Minors DNI.

A/N: Written on my phone and unbetad. Also we're going to ignore that this is a week late.

You rarely agree to let your mobster spoil you the way he wants. So when you do get in the mood to indulge him and let him buy out every shop on Fifth Avenue, Bucky takes full advantage of the opportunity.

Sometimes you get the urge to spend his money, let yourself enjoy everything he has to offer.

Other times, he has to bribe you.

“I have enough clothes Bucky. I can only wear so much jewelry,” you sigh like you’re aggrieved by this conversation. He knows you too well to fall for your act. “I don’t need anything else.”

Oh, you don’t? We’ll see Malyshka.

Bucky runs his thumb across his bottom lip, a hint of wicked amusement flashing across his face. “So you’re not interested in checking out the new bookstore that opened up on broadway?”

You freeze. Eyes flickering in his direction the second the word bookstore rolls of his tongue. Oh. He knew that would get your attention.

“If you want, I could close the place down. Let you shop in peace. Pick out as many books as you want for as long as you want,” He offers, his casual tone in a stark dichotomy with the excited gleam in his eyes, lips curve into a smirk and he leans forward, elbow on his knee, chin resting on his palm. Watching with you inch closer and closer to his trap like a lion patiently waiting for a gazelle. “If you want me too.”

This man. This sweet, insufferable, incorrigible man. You look up, searching the ceiling like it has a good excuse for you to turn down this offer. It doesn’t. And you don’t. So you spent an hour arguing with him over the way he showers you with gifts and yeah, you just demanded that he stop spending so much. But the prospect of unlimited books is enticing.

And he knows your weaknesses. Bucky doesn’t play fair.

His teeth are at your neck. And you’re so close to giving in that he can taste it. “You can tell me about your favorites while I carry them for you.”

You can see it. Clear as day. Your six foot something mobster in his signature black suit, sleeves rolled up past tattooed forearms, carrying your books as he follows you around the quiet bookstore, listening to you ramble on about your most anticipated series. The mere thought is like a shot of vanilla whiskey straight in your veins, warm and heady, making your heart race. Your resistance falls and crumbles the more you picture the two of you surrounded by books.

And when you meet his eyes, he knows he has you. He’s going to spoil you one way or the other.

The bookstore is a converted music store. Some of the old art work is still displayed on the walls. The framed album covers emphasize the laid-back aesthetic. Large windows covered in quotes block most of the summer sun, leaving the warm overhead lights to cast a dim warm glow over the rows of packed shelves. The unmistakable smell of books drifts through the air. Oversized plush chairs paired with small tables are scattered throughout the space. The only other people in here are a couple of employees sitting at the checkout desk.

He’s a few steps behind you. Looking even better than you fantasized. Jacket discarded on a table near the entrance. Books piled on one arm, his tattooed biceps bulging under the growing weight. One book turned into two turned into the towering stack he’s carting around.

At first, you thought he was only asking about your books to be polite. But the longer you talk, the more interested he becomes and the more you realize he genuinely cares.

He wants to know everything. Why you picked out that particular book? I love this author. Why you’re reading this series. This was recommended to me and the first book ended on cliffhanger. I’ve been dying to know what happens next. Why you prefer this genre over that one? I guess I love reading about love.

That gave him pause, and he stores that little detail away for later.

He decides he’s going to get copies of every book you picked out and read them. Bucky has this constant need to know more about you and he’ll take every opportunity to gain insight into the things you like.

“What’s your most anticipated read this year?”

“Too many to name Bucky,” you laugh.

“I got time Malyshka.” His free curving under your chin so he could gaze into yours. “Tell me about them.”

He means it. You’ve been in here for hours now and he’s never checked his watch or pulled out his phone. Never get even a hit of being bored.

He’s too busy paying attention to the books you linger on, figuring out your preferences, noticing the way your eyes light up when you spot a special edition. He’s too busy watching you to think about anything else. He’s too busy falling more in love with you.

The more comfortable you get, the bolder your choices are. His brows quirk here and there when you start selecting your more salacious choices.

The teasing is gradual, feels natural, almost as if the two of you have always done this, like this is your hundredth time browsing this bookstore and not the first. His questions are both hilarious and endearing.

Why do you need to read a mafia romance when you have me? So you can read about billionaires, but I can’t spend money on you. I see how it is, Malyshka. You read a lot of smutty things, don’t you? I’m noticing a kinky little pattern here. Want to tell me about it?

No.

Well.

Later. You hissed that, eyes covertly searching the space even though it’s just the two of you on the second floor. He only grinned. You have no idea that you’ve already told him more about your fantasies than you realize.

He lets that go for now. Bucky plans on questioning you again. In private. With a lot less clothes on.

You stop in front of a particular series, already anticipating his response. It’s difficult not give yourself away, willing your lips not to move. His brows raise slowly as you pull the alien romance off the shelf. The cover is, well, it’s something, it couldnt be mistaken for anything other than a smutty alien romance. Choices were made. It’s not like you’re going to read this in public.

You stare at him staring down at it and you place it on the stack.

His gaze lifts and he drags it down your frame and back up, an unreadable expression in his deep blues. You shrug, lips slipping between to hide a chagrined smile. Heat fanning across your face.

“Malyshka is there something you want to tell me?” He takes a step closer. “Anything I should know—” His tongue sweeps across his bottom lip. ���—about this particular fantasy?”

“No. I only got that because—,” you start when he takes another languid, deliberate glance over the cover. “Wait. Let me explain. And besides you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover.” You do but that's not the point.

“Oh I need to hear this,” he laughs, peering down at you. “And for the record, I’m judging you and this book.”

You could pick the wildest book in the place and he wouldn't judge. Tease yes. Of course, he's obligated as your man to do so.

If anyone else said that you would have been offended, Bucky would have been offended.

But there’s something about the way he says it with the right balance of endearing amusement and playfulness that the thought never crosses your mind. You lean into your instincts and decide to play his game.

“You know what. Forget it,” you sniff, letting your face drop, arms folding across your chest and you turn away. If you know him as well as you think you, you have two seconds before you feel his body heat on your back. "Maybe you don't deserve to know how the alien mating ritual."

Not even a second later, he immediately follows you with a murmured please tell me kissed softly below your ear.

You do. Although the explanation for the book isn’t any better than the cover when you get to the vibrating 'additions' the aliens possess.

Bucky teases you throughout. All lighthearted. Never demeaning. Done in a way that leaves no room for embarrassment, not when he has you laughing in the middle of the monster romance section.

You love how comfortable he makes you feel, how it easy it is with him. You can share these parts of you and know that while he may play and tease and question, but he’s never going to make you feel bad for whatever you read. And he’s intrigued. Even if he won’t admit it aloud.

“So let me get this straight. This alien spur thing happens to fit right next on her cli—” he cuts off with a chuckle when you elbow him right in his middle of his firm six-pack.

“Yes. It does. And before you ask, she enjoys every second of it.”

By the time you get to the end of the aisle, the conversation tapers off when you get distracted by a set of books with sprayed edges. It takes a minute to find the first in the series, you pick it up and flip it open to the first page, the book heavy in your hands.

The first paragraph is all you need to make up your mind. When you turn to add it to your pile, you find Bucky gazing at you with this indescribably tender expression in his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me, do you?”

“What?”Your mouth goes dry and every inch of you becomes aware of how close he is. But not close enough.

Bucky doesn’t answer, instead, he takes the book from your grasp and sets everything down on one of the tables.

His footsteps are quiet on the carpet. He keeps going until you’re backed into the shelves. His hands cup your face. “No idea.”

The words barely leave his lips before they’re on yours. The kiss starts off sweet and slow. You breathe him in, hands gripping his waist. His tongue slips between your lips and the taste of you awakens him. His lips meld to yours. The kiss becomes more. Possessive and deep. Needy. You feel his groan and it makes you shiver. One hand slips down to your ass, and he pulls you closer. He can’t get enough. He wants more. Needs more. God, you make him greedy. Bucky’s going to take everything and give you even more.

He breaks away, his lips hovering above yours, forehead pressed to yours. His cologne lingers on you, warm and fresh. “This looks good on you.”

It takes a second for your brain to catch up, still stuck on the way your lips ache from his touch. “What does?

“Being spoiled and happy. It looks so fucking good on you Malyshka. Makes you even more stunning. You have no idea,” he murmurs softly, chaining kisses down your throat, your pulse pounding under his touch. “No idea that I’d know I’d do anything to keep you looking like this.”

He steps away, leaving you breathless and needy, holding the shelves of the fantasy section for support. Runs a hand through his hair, adjusts his erection and picks up your books. Debates kissing you again. Decides to wait until your in the car, he knew he got the windows tinted for a reason.

Grins at your flustered expression and winks.

“This is just the start.”

How do we feel about these two and reenacting one your favorite books 👀

[buckysleftbicep]

the cat's out of the bag 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: teeth rotting fluff

summary: during a storm, you rescue a stray kitten and spend the next week trying to keep her hidden from your boyfriend.

word count: 2k

author's note: i love cats and dogs, genuinely would run a little zoo of my own if i could. enjoy my loves and stay safe out there! please drop a like or a reblog if you enjoyed! <3333 based on this request

i love soft!bucky with my whole heart

It started with a storm and a pair of very, very round blue eyes.

You hadn’t meant to adopt a cat.

The plan was simple. Boring, even.

Drop off your mission report to Val, grab a too-sweet latte with Yelena while listening to her complain about Walker’s latest disaster, and then spend the evening wrapped in your favourite blanket, bingeing your comfort show for the fifth, okay, seventh time.

That was it. No drama. No interruptions. Definitely no unexpected pets.

But fate, and a suspiciously open cardboard box near the alley dumpsters behind your usual deli—had other plans.

That’s where you found her.

Or rather, that’s where she found you.

You hadn’t even noticed the box at first. You were halfway through texting Yelena about her ridiculous idea for matching leather jackets when a faint sound stopped you cold.

A mewl, soft, reedy, desperate. You turned, heart already twisting, and there she was.

Soaked. Shivering. All fluff and no fight.

Her white fur was a grimy, matted mess, stained gray from the rain and dirt. She couldn’t have been more than a few months old—tiny and fragile, huddled against the crumpled side of the box like it might still protect her.

When your shadow fell over her, she didn’t flinch. She just blinked up at you with those huge, too-wise eyes, let out one pitiful little cry, and tucked her nose into her paw like she was already giving up.

And that was it. You were done for.

You crouched without thinking, hands already moving before logic caught up. She was cold, so cold you swore you could feel it through your fingertips when you scooped her up and tucked her against your chest.

Your jacket came off next, hastily unzipped and wrapped around her as you stood, shielding her from the steady drizzle like instinct had overridden every ounce of your common sense.

She didn’t struggle. Didn’t even try to claw or hiss. Just curled tighter against your chest, her body trembling as a soft, tentative purr vibrated against your sternum.

You looked down. She looked up.

That was the moment.

You didn’t have a name for her yet. You didn’t have a plan. Hell, you didn’t even know if pets were allowed at the compound.

But none of that mattered.

You walked the rest of the way with one arm wrapped around your jacket, cradling a soggy, wide-eyed ball of fur like she was the most precious thing in the world.

You didn’t even make it two steps into the building before Bob spotted you and said, flatly, “You’re keeping it.”

You didn’t argue. Because he was right.

You hadn’t meant to adopt a cat. But it turns out, she’d already adopted you.

"Your name is Alpine," you whispered as you tiptoed into your shared bedroom with Bucky, cradling the tiny fluff ball like a state secret.

She was warm in your arms, damp fur already drying against the softness of your shirt, her little body nestled in like she belonged there. "And you, my girl, are a secret agent."

Alpine blinked up at you with slow, sleepy eyes. Then she let out the tiniest sneeze, her whole body jolting with the force of it.

You smiled, tucking her closer. “We’ll work on stealth.”

Operation Hide-The-Cat was officially underway.

You were surgical in your efforts. Strategic. Diligent. The litter box went in the back of your closet, camouflaged behind a wall of boots and a perfectly draped robe. Her food and water bowls were slipped into a lower drawer you’d emptied and converted into a makeshift dining nook, lined with a towel and everything.

You bought a ridiculous amount of pet wipes and dry shampoo to keep her from smelling too obviously like cat. Her toys were buried between pillows and blankets, and her treats were stashed behind rows of books on your shelves, labeled as "protein bars" in case anyone peeked.

Alpine had more square footage and amenities than some junior agents in the compound.

You even rigged the air vents with dryer sheets to mask the scent, knowing full well Ava liked to crawl through them when she was bored—or looking to scare the shit out of someone. If she found out about Alpine, it would be game over.

Not because Ava would snitch. But because she’d absolutely try to recruit her into the team.

The first few days were a breeze. Alpine slept for hours, nestled in the crook of your arm or burrowed into the soft blankets you arranged like a throne.

She ate delicately, gave you tiny headbutts whenever you reached for your phone, and purred like a small engine when you read aloud at night. It was like living with a warm, sleepy marshmallow who occasionally attacked your socks.

Then she discovered Bucky’s jacket.

It was just hanging there—carelessly draped over the back of your chair, like he always left it when he stayed over in your room.

Dark blue, soft with wear, the kind of thing he grumbled about losing but never actually took back. It smelled like him—pine and clean soap and just a trace of that cologne he insisted he didn’t wear.

The same jacket he’d left behind after that quiet night in, when the two of you had curled up on your bed with takeout and old black-and-white movies. You’d fallen asleep on his chest halfway through Casablanca, and he hadn’t moved a muscle until morning.

You never gave it back.

Apparently, neither could Alpine.

You caught her the first time while brushing your teeth, half-asleep, groggy, and wondering what the soft thump-thump-thump was behind you.

There she was, in all her tiny glory, rolling back and forth on the jacket like she’d claimed it in the name of the feline empire.

You watched in disbelief as she kneaded her little paws into it—making biscuits like it was hers, purring so loud it echoed off the tiles.

From that point on, it was a losing battle.

Every time you turned around, there she was—wrapped in it like a burrito, dragging it off the chair like a victorious hunter, or burrowed into its folds with her head poking out like royalty in a four-poster bed.

You tried to relocate it. Hang it up. Even hide it. Somehow, she always found it.

You started picking fur off it obsessively, lint rolling like your life depended on it—every sleeve, every seam, every goddamn inch of it.

But it was too late.

Because when Bucky walked in three nights later, gaze sharp and mouth already forming some sarcastic comment about your tendency to “hog all the blankets,” he paused mid-step. His eyes dropped to the chair. His brows furrowed.

Then he picked up the jacket.

Held it at arm’s length.

And pulled one long white hair off the collar.

You froze.

Alpine, traitor that she was, chose that exact moment to sneeze again—from under your bed.

Day Seven.

You were in the kitchen reheating leftovers, Alpine nestled warm and content inside Bucky's jacket like a smug little stowaway.

She’d made herself a nest just under the zip, her tiny head poking out beneath your chin, her soft purr vibrating gently against your sternum.

Her paws were tucked against your chest, and her tail flicked lazily beneath the fabric, occasionally brushing your ribs like a mischievous secret waiting to be exposed.

You stirred the pasta one-handed, trying not to disturb her. She’d been sleepy and clingy all morning, refusing to be left alone in the pile of blankets you’d made for her on the bed.

You’d tried sneaking away twice, once for the bathroom, once for food, and both times she’d meowed like you’d abandoned her forever.

So here you were, cooking one-handed with a clingy fur baby zipped into your jacket like the world’s neediest hot water bottle.

That’s when your boyfriend walked in.

Fresh from training. His shirt clinging to him like a second skin, damp with sweat in all the distracting places.

He had that casual, unbothered look about him—like he didn’t even realise how effortlessly distracting he was.

He paused the second he saw you.

His brows drew together, subtle but sharp. “Hey,” he said, voice low as he crossed to the cabinet for a mug.

“Hey,” you echoed, far too casually, heart skipping when Alpine’s tail twitched right as he passed behind you. You subtly shifted your stance to hide the movement.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, frowning faintly. “...You purring?”

You blinked. “What?”

He tilted his head, mug in hand, a smirk just barely beginning to tug at his mouth. “I swear I just heard purring.”

“No you didn’t.”

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly, “Are you purring?”

“Why would I purr?” you asked. "That’s not even something people do.”

“Not usually, no,” he said slowly, taking another step forward, eyes dropping briefly to the suspicious lump in your hoodie.

You held your ground. “I’m cold.”

“In June?”

You cursed the climate-controlled compound. Couldn’t they have made it slightly more believable?

And then—of course—Alpine chose that exact moment to stretch.

A soft meow slipped out of her as she extended one paw toward your zipper like she was participating in the worst game of peekaboo. Her little white head pushed through next, blinking sleepily at the sudden light.

There was a long beat of silence.

Bucky just stared.

Alpine blinked up at him, completely unbothered, tail flicking like she was proud of herself.

And Bucky—

He smiled.

Not a smirk. Not one of his usual crooked, knowing grins. A real smile. Slow and soft and a little stunned, like it had crept up on him without warning. Like he hadn’t expected it. Like he hadn’t expected you.

“You adopted a cat,” he said quietly.

“Rescued a cat,” you corrected quickly, your hand already stroking her head out of pure guilt. “I didn’t mean to. She was just... there. In a box. In the rain. She looked at me. And sneezed. I didn’t stand a chance.”

Bucky stepped closer, something unreadable in his eyes. “She yours?”

You nodded. “Technically, she’s off the books. Like… extremely off the books.”

He crouched slightly, careful and deliberate as he reached out and scratched behind Alpine’s ear.

She melted instantly. Eyes fluttering shut. Purr ramping up like a motor.

You watched, heart thudding.

“Well,” he murmured, not looking away from her, “she’s got good taste.”

“In jackets?” you teased, a little breathless.

“In people,” he said, finally meeting your eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Alpine let out a pleased little chirp, completely oblivious to the tension she’d just wandered into.

You exhaled slowly. “Guess the secret’s out.”

Bucky chuckled. “Wasn’t much of a secret. Pretty sure Yelena saw her yesterday licking marinara off the kitchen counter.”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the fridge. “Of course she did.”

“She took a video,” Bucky added, laughing now.

You covered your face with your hand. “She’s never letting this go.”

“Relax,” he said, voice warm. “No one’s kicking her out. She’s... kind of perfect. A little menace. Like you.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. His expression was open, easier than you’d seen it in days. Like Alpine’s very presence had cracked something in him.

“You mean that?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. She can stay.”

You grinned. “But she has to share the jacket?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean my jacket that you permanently borrowed?”

“You left it here, technically.”

He leaned in and kissed your temple. “Semantics, sweetheart.”

Later that night, when you wandered into the living room with a book in one hand and Alpine’s new toy in the other, you stopped in the doorway.

There they were.

Bucky was stretched out on the couch, hair still damp from his post-shower rinse. One arm tucked behind his head, mouth parted slightly in sleep. And curled right on top of him, nestled into the center of his chest like she’d been born to be there—Alpine. Her tiny paws rose and fell with his breathing, purring so loud you could hear it across the room.

Neither stirred. You didn’t say anything.

Just stood there, smiling softly, heart full and warm in a way you hadn’t expected when this week started.

[lady-luckk]

how about a cowboy or a farmer with a bimbo city girl reader??

itd b so funny if she was just like “do brown cows make chocolate milk??”

or maybe she almost kills the guy by accident trying to rake some hay

i love the trope “she’s an idiot but she’s my idiot”

so like, what’s the wifi password?

# pairings: yandere farmer cowboy x bimbo / himbo reader

# synopsis: while making your way to a fun hangout with your friends your car suddenly breaks down. a kind farmer allows you to stay with him until someone can pick you up. but why are the roads weirdly empty?

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession, kidnapping, and murder. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI.

# notes: reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!

you’re not entirely sure what led to this. one second you were on your way to hangout with your girlfriends, the next, your pink convertible broke down next to the most farm-ass farm you’ve ever seen. and now? you're standing in front of a barn that smells like hay and something suspiciously meaty, trying to get a signal with your rhinestone-covered phone held toward the sky.

"phone ain't gonna save you out here, princess."

you nearly jump out of your glittery crop top. standing behind you is a tall, broad, sun-scorched wall of man with stubble, a permanent scowl, and arms like they personally fought god for dominance. he's wearing a stained flannel shirt, worn jeans, and a scuffed cowboy hat pulled low like he’s hiding from the law—or just the concept of smiling.

you blink up at him. "omg, hi! are you like, the farmer or cowboy guy?"

he snorts. "i’m the farmer. ain’t another soul within miles, and i sure as hell didn’t call for no... barbie doll on a breakdown."

you gasp, offended. "excuse you, this is Y2K chic. and my name isn’t barbie—it’s..."

"...of course it is."

“you’re not from around here, are you?"

"nnooope. GPS brought me out here for, like, reasons. and then my engine started making this very dramatic sound. sooo now i'm, like, a damsel."

he crosses his arms, face unreadable, then sighs. "you standin’ out here in the heat for long?"

"i mean, i guess? i was gonna call someone, but I’ve only got like, one bar and a lot of hope."

another pause. then he turns and mutters, "c’mon."

"huh?"

"you want heatstroke or you want a glass of water?"

you blink. "omg, you’re nice."

"i ain’t nice," he snaps, opening the screen door wider. "i’m just not leavin’ some glittered-up stranger to roast in a ditch."

inside, it’s a mix of rustic charm and obvious bachelor chaos. he pours you a glass of water without asking, sets it down in front of you like he’s done this a hundred times, and leans against the counter like he’s regretting all of it.

although internally he’s a whole different story. he can’t believe his luck meeting someone as cute as you in this area. he swore he felt his heart leap out of his chest the minute he saw you. 

"name’s eli," he says at last. "i’ll take a look at your car. if it’s fixable, i’ll fix it. if not… guess you’ll be stuck here a bit."

you bat your lashes. "you wouldn’t mind that, would you?"

he shifts, jaw flexing. then: “don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetheart.”

but he won’t meet your eyes. and he doesn’t notice he poured you a second glass of water before you even finished the first.

you follow eli outside, trying not to trip on your own wedges as you strut across the gravel like it’s a runway and not, in fact, a minefield of dirt and despair.

he walks a few steps ahead, toolbox in one hand, broad shoulders shifting beneath that flannel like they’ve never known a day of weakness. he doesn’t say much, but you catch him glancing back once—just once—to make sure you’re not lost or dead or doing something ridiculous.

you're doing all three, probably.

when he reaches your car, he pops the hood with one rough tug and peers inside like he’s about to deliver bad news to a family of four.

after a beat, he grunts. “when’s the last time you had an oil change?”

you blink. "what’s that?"

slowly, so slowly, he turns his head and looks at you.

his face is completely blank. emotionless. a man on the brink. like he’s just been told that gravity is optional now. or that the cows have unionized.

you smile up at him, unbothered, chewing your bubblegum. “is that, like, something you get at a drive-thru? because i only do drive-thrus if they have fries.”

he says nothing.

just stares.

a long, long pause.

then: “you shouldn’t legally be allowed to own a vehicle.”

"that’s what my driving instructor said!" you chirp.

eli shuts the hood and mutters something to the lord, probably begging for patience, strength, or a strategic lightning strike.

“you’re lucky i don’t believe in abandoning helpless creatures,” he mutters, already walking toward his truck. “i’m gonna get the part you need. stay put. don’t touch anything. don’t lick anything. don’t—just... don’t.”

you wave sweetly. “k love you, byeee!”

he stops mid-step. shoulders stiffen.

and without turning around, he mutters under his breath, "you’re gonna be the death of me."

later that day, eli returns with what looks like half a junkyard and a grim set to his jaw. he spent hours elbow-deep in your car, occasionally muttering things like “what the hell is this glitter doing in the engine?” and “is this a sticker of a unicorn on the oil cap?”

finally, he slams the hood shut, wipes his hands on a rag, and delivers the verdict with the gravity of a man announcing a funeral.

“pinky, she’s dead.”

you gasp dramatically. “pinky? you named her??”

he squints at you. “she named herself the minute i saw the pink steering wheel cover. and now she’s toast. fried the transmission, shredded the belt, and i’m pretty sure the air freshener doing psychic damage.”

“oh noooo,” you moan. “so what do i dooo?”

he sighs. long and loud, like you physically pained him. “you’ll stay here until i can find someone to tow it and get you back to civilization.”

"yay!" you beam.

“that wasn’t meant to be exciting.”

as the days go by, eli gains a large affection for you. he believes that since you’re “living” with him now, that practically means that the two of you are married. 

when you two finally travel into town. he doesn’t like people looking at you. not the guy at the gas station who dared compliment your lip gloss, not the mailman who called you “darlin’” with too much sugar in his voice, and definitely not the tourist who asked if you were “lost” with that fake concern dripping off his words. 

eli’s a walking warning sign the second you step into town with him. the locals know him—eli carter, the mountain of a man with a scowl carved into his face and hands that could bend steel. most folks keep their distance, half-respecting, half-fearing him.

they say he’s good with his work, bad with people, and meaner than a rattlesnake if you push the wrong buttons. so when he rolls into town with you, all glitter and sunshine and questions like “do horses get cold?”—yeah, people notice. the butcher’s wife whispers that he’s gone soft. the old mechanic raises a brow like he’s seeing a ghost. when someone chuckles a little too long at your rhinestone boots, eli’s jaw ticks. when a guy at the feed store offers to help you lift a bag of seed, eli’s already there, grabbing it with one hand like it weighs nothing. “they’re good,” he says flatly, not even looking at the guy.

even when you try to chat with the locals, eli’s always close—never rude, but not exactly inviting either. he doesn’t trust easily, especially not when it comes to you. and if someone even looks at you sideways, he’s suddenly all sharp glances and low muttering, hand at your lower back like a silent claim: they’re mine to worry about.

eli’s jaw gets tight, voice real low when he steps between you and anyone who so much as thinks about flirting. once, a farmhand from a neighboring ranch tried to strike up a conversation with you at the feed store—eli didn’t say a word, just calmly picked up a full grain barrel, one-handed, and moved it like it weighed nothing. the guy left before eli even had to speak. you giggled, called him “jealous,” and he growled something about “men like that not knowin’ how to treat you right.” 

he won’t say this out loud , but every time someone shows a little too much interest in you, he finds a new chore to do right beside you. fencing, fixing the barn door, chopping firewood shirtless in the sun like that’s normal behavior. once, you saw him bend a crowbar back into shape like it was a breadstick and he acted like it was no big deal. he claims he’s just “lookin’ out for you,” but you’ve noticed how fast his mood shifts when someone else tries to.

eli always has an eye on you. he always seems to know exactly where you are. no matter what he’s doing, his eyes find you like it’s instinct. you’ll be picking flowers by the fence or sneaking another cookie from the jar, and somehow, he’s already looking. not hovering, not smothering—just always aware. like keeping you safe is a reflex, not a choice. it’s subtle, but constant. protective, almost possessive. like some part of him’s decided you’re his to watch over, even when you don’t realize you need it.

he can’t keep his eyes off you. to him, you’re just his precious darling.

eli gives you a curfew like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “sun’s down, you’re inside,” he says one evening, arms crossed and eyes steady like he’s expecting a fight. you blink at him. “wait, like... a bedtime?” he grunts. “ain’t about sleep. it’s about not wanderin’ into a coyote den in your platform heels.” you try to argue, but he doesn’t budge—just mutters something about you being a “walking hazard” and how “ain’t nothing good happens after dark out here.” and true to form, every evening as the sun dips low, he’s there on the porch, arms folded, waiting.

if you’re even five minutes late, he’s already out with a flashlight like a grumpy dad looking for a runaway puppy. he won’t admit it, but the curfew isn’t just about safety. it’s about knowing exactly where you are. keeping you close. keeping you his.

every night, without fail, you end up in the kitchen with eli—him cradling a mug of coffee, you wrapped in one of his old flannels, sitting on the counter like you belong there. the light is soft, the air warm, and he’s always gentle with you at this hour, like the quiet makes him softer. he’ll brush your hair back without thinking, pass you the sweeter drink without asking, and murmur low little comments that sound more like affection than teasing.

sometimes he rests his hand on your knee when he walks past, like anchoring himself to the moment. he doesn’t smile much, but with you like this—half-asleep, blinking at him under kitchen lights—there’s a warmth in his eyes that says more than he ever will.

there’s always a comfortable silence between you, broken by the occasional sarcastic quip or dry comment from him when you ask if cows dream or if the moon looks closer out here. sometimes he’ll pass you a spoon to taste something he’s cooking, or nudge your knee with his hip to get you to move over so he can reach a cabinet. it’s quiet, almost domestic. like this little nighttime routine just… happened. and neither of you questioned it.

and just like that it’s been a month. you no longer notice how the roads seem to “get worse” whenever you mention leaving, or how eli’s smile always grows just a little too warm when you say, “maybe i’ll try calling a tow service again.”

you’ve stopped wondering why your cell service hasn’t come back. you’ve accepted that the mountains are just “that bad,” as eli puts it. eli’s a good guy, there's no way he’d do anything to sabotage you from going back home. like eli totally did not install a signal jammer two days after you arrived or that he's murdered everyone who ever offered to take you home. there's just no way. 

now, you’re completely settled in—no wifi, no car, and definitely no cute outfits from home. but honestly? you’re so content. the cozy flannel shirts, freshly baked cookies, and endless cups of lemonade have turned life here into a dreamy routine.

but something nags at you.

you’ve been living with eli, enjoying his hospitality, but you don’t want to feel like a useless freeloader. so one afternoon, you decide it’s time to step up and offer to help around the farm. you can’t just keep eating his food and just looking pretty, right?

you walk up to eli, who’s messing around with the tractor, and clear your throat.

“eli, I was thinking… i should help out more around here. you know, so i don’t just sit around all day being a freeloader.”

eli glances up, his face a mix of surprise and a hint of reluctance. he wipes his hands on his pants, a sigh escaping him.

“you sure about that?” he asks, his voice gruff. “you’ve been here for a month and you’re just now deciding to help?”

you nod, determined. “yeah, i wanna pull my weight.”

he doesn’t seem convinced but shrugs. “alright, fine. you can start by feeding the animals. that’s simple enough.”

you beam. “great! i can totally do that!”

you were definitely not cut out for farm life. after eli told you to help with feeding the animals, you felt determined, but that determination quickly turned to chaos.

you squinted at one of the cows and asked, "so, uh... do brown cows make chocolate milk?" eli froze mid-step, gave you the most soul-dead stare, and muttered something about regretting every decision that led him to this moment.

then the chickens got involved. you tried to scatter feed like in the movies, but instead slipped on your own glittery flip-flop and fell right into the middle of their breakfast—cue one chicken hopping onto your back like it was claiming a new roost. 

the goats were no better; one of them chewed on your hair extensions while you screamed, "sir, boundaries!" and the pigs? the pigs chased you across the yard when you accidentally dropped a granola bar from your purse. eli didn’t even try to hide his grin as you ran by him yelling, “they smell fear, eli, they smell fear!” 

by the time it was over, you were covered in hay, dirt, feathers, and regret, and eli just handed you a wet rag with a grunt, like this was all perfectly normal. 

but this wasn’t the first time you’d gotten yourself in a mess. oh, no. this was just the latest installment of “you vs. farm life.” you had managed to almost flood the barn by forgetting to turn off the hose, break a shovel trying to pry open a stubborn gate, and somehow trip over a rock and sprain your ankle—while sitting down. eli had bailed you out every single time. and he didn’t even seem to be all that surprised anymore.

like that one time you got it in your head to “help” eli with a small fix on the tractor. it involved welding, and you’d sworn you could do it. five minutes in, you had almost burned off your eyebrows and started a small fire by the side of the barn. eli was on you in an instant, throwing a bucket of water over the flames, shaking his head like you’d done this a million times before. “i swear to god, you’re gonna burn this place down before we even finish building it,” he grumbled as he handed you a fire extinguisher.

"you really know how to ruin a moment, eli," you pouted.

“moment?” he muttered, sounding exhausted. “you were about to become a human torch.”

there was that time you tried to be helpful in the kitchen by making dinner, only to end up dropping an entire pot of spaghetti on the floor, then attempting to "clean it up" by throwing it into the trash—half of it splattered on the walls and the other half stuck to the ceiling. you’d been standing there, horrified, when eli walked in. “don’t even ask,” you said weakly.

he’d just sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work fixing it. “get out of the kitchen before you burn yourself,” he grumbled, tossing you out of the way with a gentle nudge, as if you were a ragdoll. “and don’t try cooking again until I’m here to supervise.”

you gave him a smile that could’ve melted the coldest of hearts. “you love me.”

he grumbled something unintelligible, but you could see the hint of a smile beneath his gruffness.

and it wasn’t just accidents. oh no. it was your sheer ability to get into trouble. like the time you wandered off into the woods to “explore” and ended up trapped in a thorn bush because you thought you saw a unicorn. yes, you. a unicorn. by the time eli found you, you were stuck, practically covered in thorns, and looking like a glittered-up forest creature. “if I hadn’t come to find you,” he’d said, grinning slightly, “you’d still be out there, trying to make friends with a unicorn.”

you had the decency to look sheepish. “i was trying to be imaginative.”

"yeah, well, next time, try not to get stuck in the thorn bush before you start trying to talk to magical creatures.”

safe to say after that incident eli forced you to wear and carry an airtag with you permanently.

then came the day you decided to help eli with manual labor—big mistake. you tried lifting a hay bale and almost dislocated something. when you grabbed the post hole digger, it practically dragged you across the yard. eli didn’t even let you finish struggling; he took it from your hands with a grunt, muscles flexing like it was nothing, and muttered, “you’ll break before the tools do.” you huffed, but he didn’t budge, already finishing the job in half the time. apparently, your job was now “supervising,” which mostly meant staying out of the way while he manhandled the entire farm.

and then there was the one time you decided to “fix” your own car because you were “bored” and “needed a project.” that involved you somehow locking yourself inside the trunk while trying to find your spare tire. it was a whole dramatic saga that ended with you yelling for help from inside the trunk, much to eli’s amusement. when he finally popped the trunk open, you had the nerve to ask him, “how’d you know i was in here?”

“because you’ve gotten yourself in a mess, like, again,” he replied, his tone dry.

you beamed up at him. “i’m just that special.”

“special? yeah, that’s what we’ll call it.” he smirked before pulling you out of the trunk and checking over your car like he wasn’t wondering why he didn’t just lock you in there himself.

but despite all the chaos you caused, despite the non-stop antics and trouble that seemed to follow you, there was something comforting about it all. eli might grumble, he might make fun of your messes, but he never left you to fend for yourself. he had this way of always being there—whether it was pulling you out of a thorn bush, rescuing you from your own cooking disaster, or simply watching over you while you made another mess in the barn. eli didn’t get frustrated. he just dealt with it—and, in his own way, he took care of you.

you were a disaster, sure, but you were his disaster. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for both of you.

[headkiss]

fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

𝜗𝜚

Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

-

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

-

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

-

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

-

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small ��Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

-

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

-

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

-

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

-

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

-

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

-

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

-

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you think!! it helps more than you know <3

[ferociouslycreativemystery]

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In the final field you have the option to instead enter your own amount, if you want to give less or more or in between any of the previous options. Note that the amount you enter is in Swedish krona, so look up the exchange rates so that you know how much you are giving if you choose this option!!

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Check the first box if you want your name to show up in the public list of donations, leave it unchecked to remain anonymous. Check the second box if you want to hide the amount you've donated, leave it unchecked to show the world your donation amount.

Finally, hit the red button to be taken to the payment page. Fulfil the payment, and be sure to double check the amount you're donating. Note that we use commas instead of dots to separate decimals in Swedish, so 50,00 kr means simply 50 kr.

And that's it! Thank you so much for your donation!! 🥳🐐

Please reblog this post so that more people will hopefully donate, or at least get to enjoy a tiny Gävlebock!

What is this charity thing?

Musikhjälpen is an annual charity event organised by the Swedish public broadcasters. Every year in December, 3 hosts are locked in a glass cage for a week and they broadcast in shifts, nonstop for 144 hours (6 days, 24 hours per day) to create an occasion for charity donations. They are visited by various music artist, celebrities, and talk to people who have special knowledge about the donation theme of the year or who organise initiatives for donations. You can watch clips of previous performances on their youtube channel here.

The event's official donations website also allows the public to set up their own "initiatives", to which donations can be made. This is what I have done! The money goes directly to the event organisers (the public broadcasters' aid agency, Radiohjälpen), who then pool all the money that is collected during the week. After the week is done they will begin portioning it out to trusted charities that are relevant to this year's theme. This year's theme is Alla har rätt att överleva sin graviditet, or in English: Everyone Has a Right to Survive Their Pregnancy.

Learn more about musikhjälpen on English Wikipedia or on Sveriges radio's website (in Swedish).

Or

If you prefer, the goat will be just as happy if you make a donation to a charity of your choice. You'll have to find links to other causes on your own though! 😊

I should probably also mention that I am in no way officially affiliated with Gävlebocken, I just crocheted a little guy and thought it would be nice to spread some constructive spirit among all the calls for arson. 😇

[rosemaryhoney27]

Dont mess with our daughter

Wrath of the Fentons

Jason Todd had seen a lot of weird things in Gotham. Lazarus pits, immortal assassins, fear gas-induced nightmares—hell, he'd been one of the weird things, once upon a time. But watching a bunch of black-market meta traffickers haul a very pissed-off redhead into an unmarked van in broad daylight was quickly climbing the ranks of what the fuck moments.

She wasn't screaming. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Most metas—or normal people—would be terrified. Instead, this girl looked annoyed.

Jason had been tracking this particular ring for weeks. They specialized in kidnapping metas with "unique features"—horns, glowing eyes, animal traits, things that marked them as different. The bastards made a killing selling them off to the highest bidder.

The girl—Jazz, he caught one of the thugs saying—fit their usual type. Her hands, bound behind her, had faint green veins pulsing under her skin, as if something otherworldly coursed through her. Her eyes flickered a ghostly green before settling back into a sharp, human blue.

Jason knew that look. It was the look someone got when they were waiting.

For what? Backup? Did she have a tracker? A hidden weapon?

He was about to interfere when Jazz sighed dramatically and muttered, "You poor, poor idiots."

Jason didn't have time to wonder what she meant before his comms flared to life with a frantic Oracle.

"Red Hood, stand down—I repeat, do not engage—the girl's parents are en route, and—holy shit—these guys have no idea what they just did."

Jason frowned. "Parents? Who—"

And then he saw the tank.

It barreled down the street, mounted with weapons that absolutely should not be street legal, glowing green with ominous energy. The side of the vehicle had a logo painted in jagged white letters:

FENTON WORKS

The doors flew open, and a massive man in an orange jumpsuit leaped out, wielding what could only be described as an anti-aircraft cannon converted into a rifle. His wife followed, a visor covering her eyes, her sleek blue bodysuit glowing with strange symbols.

"JAZZ!" the man bellowed, aiming the cannon at the traffickers as if they were just another ghost to blast into oblivion.

"Hey, Dad!" Jazz called, still completely unbothered as one of the thugs tried to hold a knife to her throat. "You might want to be careful. They think I'm a meta."

"Oh, honey," her mom said, pulling out a gun that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi horror movie. "They won't be thinking anything in a few minutes."

Jason took a slow step back.

He'd seen Bruce handle hostage situations with surgical precision. He'd seen Dick talk down armed criminals with nothing but charm and a smile.

He had never seen two civilians go full scorched earth on a meta trafficking ring without so much as a plan beyond "rescue daughter, destroy everything."

The traffickers barely had time to react before green energy blasts tore through their van, their weapons, and the street around them. The sheer destructive enthusiasm was a sight to behold.

One thug made the mistake of aiming a gun at Maddie Fenton. She shot him with a glowing net that phased through his skin before electrifying him into unconsciousness. Another tried to run—Jack Fenton threw what looked like a modified bear trap, which snapped shut around the guy’s legs and dragged him back, screaming.

Jazz, still tied up, sighed as one guy tried to use her as a human shield. "You do realize that you're standing between me and them, right?"

The thug barely had time to consider his life choices before Maddie calmly shot him in the leg.

Jason, crouched on a nearby rooftop, slowly exhaled.

Well. The ring was definitely out of commission.

As the Fentons loaded the unconscious criminals into their highly illegal ghost-proof containment units, Jazz finally noticed Jason watching. She arched a brow.

"Hey, Red Hood, right?"

Jason, still processing, just nodded.

Jazz smirked. "You look like you're having a what the fuck moment."

Jason stared at the still-smoking wreckage of what used to be a human trafficking operation and then at the grinning, trigger-happy Fenton parents.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

[rexhya]

note — i present to you zalla

✦ ✦

yandere!prince who has to set up alliances with another kingdom before he becomes king. it's an torturous task he wouldn't be bothered with if it wasnt a step closer to ruling and becoming king.

he brings you along of course, it's nothing official anyways just a diplomatic meeting to discuss plans and put up with snobby nobles.

the princess is beautiful of course. lush blonde hair falling in long beach waves on her shoulder, a rather tall and busty stature you knew many longed for and golden amber eyes to match her hair. Princess Zalla greets you politely, theres a man at her side, a servant or bulter you assume that sits right next to her. Anul soon makes his own appearance, his hair is down today, something about not wasting your skills on a pawn.

the four of you sit across from each other, or rather, Anul and Zalla sit down and you stand by hid side untill he forces you to sit by him as well. it's quite informal to sevants to do this but there was not arguring with the man so you sighed and took your place.

the man next to Zalla was sitting as well, the princess had frowned disapproving when he stood in his original spot. you cocked your head curiosisly, could it just be a conicidence?

you didnt get to ponder as the meeting began, there was three other nobles you didnt know the names of that showed up and discussion began. thankfully I, you were ignored by them and they didnt make a fuss of the seating arrangements.

what was more stressfull was Anul and Zalla, they were like oil and water.

"Well then I supposed all finances will be cut off for soiling, there's no need for money to he wasted on a resource thats no longer needed." Anul rolled his eyes, yawning unashamedly and you sighed, rubbing Anuls back in hopes to ease his attitude. He only glanced at you affectionately, eyes softening into a purpley smile before returning his gaze to the princess.

Zalla didn't back down however, "And then I suppose that means all magma blocks can be converted as well? I belive that counts as an unnecessary resource?" Coincedentally the male servant across from you sighed as well, whispering a small "behave." into her ear. Her neck blushed pink but she only glared harder at your prince, their gazes locked in a infinite standoff.

You looked at the man sympathetically, and he looks at you to, faintly nodding your heads in understanding.

There was only so much you could do for the royals who's pride was equivalent of the sun.

Somehow meeting ended in mutual agreement and the two royals were quick to leave there seats. Zalla pulled the man quickly, "Let's go [MS], this place isn't good for you." and she dragged him away with a kiss on his cheeks, Anul pulled you along soon after. Holding you waist tightly agaisnt his, you wished the servant good luck, you knew he would need it.

bonus!! ++

[in an alternate world, ms and yn become friends]

yn: so whats the worst thing shes ever done to you?

ms: [emmbarassed] she kissed me in front of the queen, i thought i was going to die of humiliation.

yn: ugh, i understand you, with tounge?

ms: of course. what about you?

yn: [looks away] he threatan to ahem, take me in front of the castle.

ms: [wide eyed] and did he?

yn: [slaps him] no he didn't you block head, hey thats not funny!

[oversease220volts]

Voltage Converters: Everything You Need to Know

A voltage converter is an electronic device that changes the voltage of an electrical power source. In simpler terms, it allows you to use appliances designed for one voltage (e.g., 120V) in an area with a different standard voltage (e.g., 240V).

Why Do We Need Them?

The world uses two main voltage standards:

100-120 Volts (V): Primarily used in North America, parts of Central and South America, Japan, and some Southeast Asian countries.

210-240 Volts: Used in most of Europe, Africa, Asia, and Australia.

If you try to use a device designed for one voltage in a region with the other, it could damage the device. A voltage converter prevents this by safely adjusting the incoming voltage to the level your appliance needs.

[truepowertransformer]

Distribution Transformers — CCI Transformer Pvt. Ltd

Single Phase Distribution Transformers

A transformer that utilizes single-phase alternating current to step-down long distance and localized transmission currents into power levels more suitable for residential and light-commercial applications.

Three Phase Distribution Transformers

A transformer that utilizes single-phase alternating current to step-down long distance and localized transmission currents into power levels more suitable for residential and light-commercial applications.

Contact us:

Call us: 8318455691

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Address: D-7 Industrial Estate, Somaiya Nagar Dewa Road, Barabanki, Uttar Pradesh 225123

For more information visit:http://www.ccitransformer.co.in/product-distribution.html

CCI Transformers Private Limited

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon Riley is a nudist

And hear me out with this one, okay?

Simon loathed clothes. Ever since birth, he couldn’t stand wearing them. Tight shirts felt suffocating, clinging in all the wrong places, while loose shirts bunched up every time he sat down, irritating his skin like sandpaper. Socks made his toes feel trapped. Jeans? Felt like leg prisons.

So as he got older and lonelier, finally getting a place to call his own, he took full advantage of the one thing he had control over: being bare. Naked, free, relaxed. It was like finally exhaling after holding his breath for years.

He slept nude, cooked nude, cleaned nude, and lounged nude. If a neighbor caught a glimpse through the blinds? So be it. This was his damn house. His sanctuary.

He never had a problem with it… until he got a partner.

Simon didn’t really get the memo at first either. He didn’t think you’d mind. You were his, after all. And besides, he trusted you enough to be comfortable in his own skin and scars. And at first, you said nothing. You were happy he felt that at ease around you. Proud even.

But there came a point. A moment where things tipped.

A point where you could no longer ignore the way his balls quite literally stared at you while you were trying to eat lunch. A point where his nuts were uncomfortably pressed against your back at night because he liked to sleep curled around you. Hell, you could barely take him seriously during conversations not when all you could see was his ass swaying as he turned to grab something off the counter.

Still, you let it slide. Until that day.

Your friend was over, and Simon: tired from work and on autopilot made his way inside, tugging off his shirt, undoing his belt, already stepping out of his cargo pants and down to his boxers. The same boxers he was about to take off when he walked into the living room… and froze.

Silence.

Your friend’s face was a picture of horror. Yours was painted in full body embarrassment. Simon? Confused, holding the waistband in his hand.

That was it. The final straw.

You sat him down that night and had the talk.

“Look, Simon. I love you but can you at least wear boxers around the house?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like having to see your ass when I eat. And I can’t take you seriously when you’re butt naked trying to lecture me about safety knives.”

“What’s wrong with my ass?”

Eventually, he relented. He agreed to boxers. And it worked. Peace was restored. You had no further complaints.

Until he got an idea. A plan.

What if he converted you?

It started subtle. He hid a few of your shorts. Nothing major. And soon you were walking around the house in nothing but your panties and one of your shirts. Then he escalated. Began hiding your shirts too. But you simply grabbed his, oversized and soft.

So he played dirty.

He ordered some itching powder off the internet. Just adding a little sprinkle in your shirts, his too: he had to sell the lie. And sure, you could just wash them. But that took hours. Hours you’d be bare.

So when you said you were hopping in the shower, he smiled and sat back.

The door swung open as you stomped out of the bedroom, frustration written all over your face.

“Ugh! Everything I wear is uncomfortable and itchy!” you whined, dumping handfuls of clothes into the washer with enough force to shake the drum.

Simon sat on the couch, arms behind his head, casual as ever. “What I’ve been sayin’, love. Clothes are the curse of people.”

You pouted, flopping down beside him with crossed arms. “Maybe I’ll just go nude like you.”

His grin stretched wide, wolfish and smug.

“Would never say no to that.”

And from that day on, the conversion was complete.

You were barefoot, panty clad, and happy. No shirt, no pants, no problem. Sunlight touched your bare skin as you made breakfast, as you lay in his arms on the couch, skin to skin. You slept bare chest to bare chest with him every night, feeling every steady breath and heartbeat. It was peaceful. Intimate. Freeing.

Until you found the itching powder tucked behind some boxes in the closet.

You almost laughed.

Sneaky bastard.

You should’ve been mad. But you weren’t. You just smiled to yourself, grabbed the bottle, and poured a little bit into his boxers.

Let’s see how he liked it.

Might write more for theses two if I have any ideas since I liked making this

[spiderb00bs]

headcanons of yellowjackets x reader (teen timeline) and reader who is beefy and tall and everyone kind of has a crush on her, but you can make the focus be Lottie Nat and Shauna, please please please

⚽You were always the pride of your parents, always doing every kind of sport you could. If you were any good, you'd be taking lessons.

⚽Your parents never cared that you liked girls - which is amazing for you, actually - just as they never cared that you hated sports or that you liked arts and music. But they always demanded maximum commitment from you in your academic and sporting life.

“I don't care what you like. Just don't let it get in the way of your athletics!”

⚽Your parents were ice skaters, and when your mother became pregnant, they gave up everything for you, which is one of the main reasons why they won't leave you alone until you're a full athlete.

⚽When you went to high school, your parents immediately pressured you to join the girls' soccer team. And lucky for them, you were quite a player.

⚽You had it all, the muscles, the speed, the physical fitness, everything. You could certainly have been team captain if you'd cared enough.

⚽Soccer wasn't your favorite sport, in fact, you didn't even like all those sports your parents pushed you into, but you knew that this was something very important to them, so you sacrificed a little.

⚽You learned to like the Yellowjackets, you learned to put up with the training, and you learned to make friends with all those girls. Being in the sports world wasn't easy, especially when everyone saw you as an imminent threat.

⚽But that wasn't the case with the girls on the team. They liked you, they were friendly and nice, never treating you like an opponent.

🦌The first to approach you was Lottie. She complimented your expensive soccer shoes and laughed when you made a joke about stealing them from a store. She became very comfortable with you from then on.

🦌You were seen together in the hallways, and Lottie was always very physical. Holding your hands, hugging your shoulders and holding your biceps while laughing at something you said. She was nice.

🃏And then came Natalie.

🃏The girl with the bleached hair appeared to you as a really unexpected surprise. The one you didn't suspect, the one you didn't even know existed.

🃏Not that you hadn't noticed Nat, but she seemed from a completely different world to you. Always getting into trouble with her friends and skipping classes. You only saw her at training and you'd never really spoken to her before.

🃏You don't usually talk much, you're quieter, in the way that made people want to know more about you. But no Nat, the blonde girl hadn't really noticed you until that fateful day.

🃏Seeing the girl walking down the sidewalk and being bothered by two guys in a car was worrying, you walked close to her just to make sure nothing happened. And just as you imagined, one of them got out of the car when Nat didn't pay any attention to the idiotic words he was spewing at her.

🃏When you saw the boy get out of the passenger seat to reach the blonde, you hurried your steps, shouting at him when you saw the idiot grab one of her arms.

🃏He didn't even see you coming, or the punch you threw at him. Falling to the ground, the boy groaned in pain, while the other one sped off in his stupid convertible car.

🃏You accompanied Nat home that day - or at least as far as she allowed - just to make sure the other boy didn't come back to disturb the blonde.

🃏Nat started paying more attention to you from that day on.

🖊️🎀The next ones were Shauna and Jackie, yes, because if you have the attention of one, you have the attention of both.

🎀Jackie was the first to talk to you, but Shauna had been watching you from afar for a long time.

🎀It was hard to understand the mixed signals Jackie was giving you, she was very flirty, but she had a boyfriend, and you honestly didn't understand what all the small talk she was having with you was about.

🖊️With Shauna it was different, you saw her through Jackie. Not that you didn't like the Taylor girl, but you didn't want to get involved in whatever was going on between her and her boyfriend.

🖊️So whenever the Yellowjackets' captain wasn't in sight, you got a little closer to Shauna. You thought it was cute how she could always talk about things she liked around you.

🖊️🎀And you may not have noticed the look on her face, but the Taylor girl saw from afar when Shauna's eyes lit up when she talked to you in the stands, or when she was away with Jeff at lunchtime. she always watched.

👓Just like Misty.

👓You didn't know Misty very well, you only knew that she was in love with Coach Scott. The poor girl would completely lose it around the guy, who was obviously gay. You knew one of your own when you saw one, but you thought it best to leave that to yourself.

👓You and the girl with the curls never had a full interaction, but you noticed the looks she gave you when you were a bit nicer to her than the other girls.

👆If you hardly noticed Misty, you didn't even know Mari existed. At least not until you saw her at the nationals party and discovered that she was basically a born follower of Jackie.

👆All you saw of Mari was the completely drunk girl blatantly trying to flirt with you. You thought it was funny at first, but how clueless she seemed made you a little worried.

👆You didn't have much time to check the girl out, at least not when Lottie pulled you away from her when she saw that Mari was too close to you.

🦌You and Lottie kissed that night. The night before the nationals, the night before all the chaos happened.

⚽That night, Shauna saw you and Lottie kissing. That night she got into a fight with Taissa. You remember how you and Van tried to defuse the situation, and you remember whispering a little apology to Laura Lee when all the girls told her to shut up.

🧤You remember Jackie forcing all of you to say kind words to each other. You remember telling Van that you loved her hair, and that she was a great goalkeeper.

🧠And you remember telling Tai that you loved her intelligence, and that you thought she was one of the most beautiful girls you'd ever seen.

⚽You also remember giving Lottie and Nat a lift - the blonde finally told you where she lived - that night, dropping Lottie off first, and then dropping Nat off.

🃏Except that the blonde girl didn't get out of your car. She looked at you, unbuckled her seatbelt and jumped on you, kissing your lips with desire.

🃏The next thing you know, you're in the car alone as Nat pulls into the trailer park.

⚽After the plane crashed, it was as if something had clicked in your head, everything seemed to have changed.

⚽On the one hand, it was the first time in years that you didn't have to race against time and do everything your parents wanted. But on the other hand, you were stuck with a bunch of teenage girls who were starting to get very strange.

🦌The weird stuff started with Lottie's visions. You were the girl's safe haven, Lottie couldn't stay away from you for long. And of course you were able to notice how strange things started to get.

🦌The shivers she got when you went into the cabin, that stupid game of conjuring up ghosts or some shit like that. You saw a version of Lottie you'd never seen before, and as much as you didn't want to, it scared you a little.

🃏You didn't have much time to discuss it with her, at least not when you were one of the ones chosen to hunt with Nat and Travis. The blonde girl practically forced you to go along with her because she didn't want to spend time alone with the Martinez boy.

⚽you didn't tell Lottie about how you kissed Nat that night. And you certainly didn't tell Nat how Lottie had kissed you hours before the kiss happened.

🃏When Lottie walked away, things between you and Nat started to blossom. Even though Lottie kissed you at the party, and you've been a great support to her ever since, you've never talked about dating. And that's why you allowed yourself to test the waters with Nat.

👔It was clear that you wanted to push a certain boy away.

👔You didn't like Travis, but observing had always been your strong suit, and you could clearly see that the boy wasn't at all happy to see you and Nat getting close.

👔Travis was clearly insecure, you could see it a mile away, and it all intensified when the girls seemed to look more at you than at him.

👔It started small, the girls complimenting you and your physique when you took a dip in the lake. And although he heard Mari say that he was hot, he also heard when Jackie said;

“Ew, you can't be that desperate… at least not when she's here,” while pointing at you.

👔Then it was with the gun, you were good, you knocked over all the cans without even looking at them properly. It seemed easy to you, like second nature, and Travis hated it.

👔It got worse when he tried to chop wood. You needed wood for the fireplace, and Travis quickly grabbed the axe, a proud smile on his face when he managed to chop the first board. Happy to finally be able to show that he was better than you at something.

👔But as the morning wore on, the Martinez boy's arms grew tired, and before long, Taissa simply told him to get some rest, saying that you would take over from now on.

👔You missed the look of anger and his jaw twitching with rage when he saw how much faster you cut the wood. And you certainly missed the angry snort he let out as he stomped away after seeing some girls spying on you doing the heavy lifting.

🎀Jackie was there, watching you too. Although the girl felt useless in the wilderness, she always forgot when she looked at you.

Then the doomcoming happened.

🎀Jackie dragged you away from the girls while the party was going on. She brought you back to the cabin, whispering to you all her intentions from the start.

🎀Telling you how much she wanted you, telling you that you were better than Jeff, telling you everything she ever wanted to tell you.

🎀Until she stopped talking and your lips were pressed together.

⚽You hadn't seen Nat anywhere at the party, and you didn't have anything serious, it was more like escapes to relieve each other.

⚽At that point, you thought you were going to die, so you were going to enjoy whatever the wilderness gave you.

⚽But that night ended badly for you.

⚽Being kissed by all those girls, and then chased and tied to a tree with a pine cone in your mouth, just waiting for Shauna to put a knife to your throat and have the courage to do what Lottie was saying needed to be done.

⚽That night may not have ended so well for you, but you can't complain, at least not after what happened to Jackie.

⚽When winter came, everything seemed robotic. You hunted, chopped wood, ate, slept and did it all over again.

⚽Your brain went on high alert after that episode - which you later discovered was because of Misty's mushrooms - and since then you've been on the back foot with all the girls, except Nat.

🃏Things between the two of you were going well, but in a friendly way. Nat knew that everyone was going through a difficult time over the winter, and after what you experienced that night, she gave you a bit of space.

🖊️Everyone knew that that night was a blur, but it was still very vivid in your memory. Incredibly, Shauna was the first to apologize.

🖊️You always knocked on the fridge door when she was inside, with Jackie's dead body. Reminding her that dinner was about to be served and that she needed to go in.

🖊️It was you that Shauna held on to when everyone agreed that they were going to put an end to Jackie's corpse.

🖊️And she clung to you even tighter when you actually put an end to Jackie's corpse.

🖊️You never thought that Shauna would see you as anything other than a friend. But you were wrong.

🖊️You were the first (and only) person Shauna became attached to after Jackie's death, and I mean it!

🖊️You're the mother of her baby, no matter what anyone says, no matter that Jeff is the real father, no matter that you don't know!

🖊️You're her baby's mother!

🖊️Maybe it's the fact that you're always there, you always make sure that she eats well (within the conditions of the wild), giving her some of your food so that she has milk to breastfeed her baby. you always make sure that she sleeps well, she even says that she only sleeps well when she's next to you. You do everything for her and that's what makes her start to believe that you're the mother of her baby and that you're going to get married when you get out of that hell.

🖊️When she loses her baby, you're the only person who can "comfort" her. Letting her have her space, and she still feels everything so strongly.

🖊️you can't blame her, she's just lost a child. That's simply traumatizing, and adding it to everything you've been through, you understand why she's so sad.

🖊️Honestly, you didn't think much of it. You were Shauna's shoulder to lean on, right?! Someone she could confide in and expect loyalty from. At least that's what she thought.

⚽So imagine how mad she was when you swore loyalty to Natalie. Your new queen, the one you had to swear loyalty to for your life, the one the cards picked out.

⚽The same girl who stole you from Shauna's hands.

⚽But you certainly didn't imagine what would come next.

⚽Nat was the Antler Queen. Shauna was out of control. Lottie was some kind of God.

⚽And you, well, you were in the middle of the crossfire.

⚽Ever since Shuana had become this authoritarian figure, she and Nat were always in a silent battle.

⚽You were always caught in the middle, trying to make things cool between them, which only ended up making things worse for you.

🖊️🃏While Shauna would purposely push you, bump into your shoulders just to get a reaction out of you, and leave angry bruises on your skin when you played "capture the bone". Natalie would wipe the blood off Shauna's bites, kiss the purple bruises on your skin and draw imaginary stars around your scars.

🖊️And that certainly made Shauna much angrier than before.

🖊️And everything got worse! The discreet (not so discreet) threats, the macabre tone of voice, the scary stares… everything made you scared to death of Shauna.

🖊️And that's exactly why you had to raise your hand and declare your vote against Coach Ben.

⚽You didn't want to, you swear you didn't! But the look Shauna gave you as she whispered the words "You're dead!" was enough to make you raise your hand in the same second.

🃏You couldn't look Nat in the eye after that, and apparently, neither could she,, since you were practically thrown out of the hut you shared, standing for a few minutes at the makeshift door before being dragged away.

🖊️You didn't even have to look up to see that it was Shauna. You felt it, the rough touch on your skin telling you everything you needed to know.

🦌However, not looking up made you miss the look of curiosity that Lottie was giving you. That puppy look, that look of pity, that look that said "I can take care of you!"

🦌You and Lottie hadn't been very close since the beating Shauna had given the girl, and although you didn't have that much time to think about Lottie, you sometimes found yourself wondering what your relationship would have been like if none of this had happened. After all, Lottie was your first.

⚽The rest of the days are almost a blur for you, living on Shauna's threats, Lottie's strange looks and Natalie's disturbing silence.

⚽You didn't want Coach Ben to die, but you almost thanked him the day it happened, the day Natalie killed him.

🃏You saw her coming out of her cabin, knife in hand, ready to do what should have been done a long time ago.

🖊️You were cautious as you pulled a sleeping Shauna off your chest, walking slowly towards the faded-haired girl.

🃏That night, Natalie spoke to you for the first time, that night, you supported her decision, that night, you apologized to her.

🖊️And when day broke and Shauna didn't find you by her side, she was furious. She was even more furious when you defended Natalie, when you wouldn't let her be killed and when you stood in front of her, daring anyone to walk over you.

🖊️Shauna had never seen this side of you, and she certainly didn't like it. The way you put yourself above her word, the way you seemed to have finally discovered that you were much bigger and stronger than the Shipman girl made her teeth grind.

🃏all this to defend Natalie.

⚽When Lottie announced that she would be the new queen, your stomach churned, you thought you had finally achieved a form of rebellion, free from Shauna's grip on you.

⚽That day, you helped Natalie prepare dinner. That night, you saw Shauna holding hands with Melissa, and that night, you saw Lottie kill your chance to go home.

⚽You certainly weren't a fan of punching or hurting people, but you can't lie and say you didn't let a little smile slip when the other guy shot an arrow at Melissa.

⚽You knew that girl was circling Shauna the whole time, waiting for a chance to present herself as the obedient dog she so desperately wanted to be.

⚽But you didn't care.

⚽Running through the woods to catch those strange people so they could finally take you home.

🃏You remember running a few meters on your own, before feeling Natalie's hand slip through yours, running along with you, squeezing your hand for comfort.

🖊️🃏You also remember Shauna's body passing between you with enough force to break your entwined hands.

"Come on, it's not time for this kind of bullshit!"

⚽You returned to the camp with Hannah that night. You also remember interrogating the woman. You don't even know what you asked, because the important thing was that you were all going home!

⚽At least you were, until Lottie started saying the strangest fucking things! She gave you a knowing look, as if silently asking if you really wanted to go back to your fake life, living the life of your parents.

🃏You almost let yourself be convinced, but Natalie's warm hand sliding over yours brought you back to reality.

🖊️That seemed to awaken something in Shauna, who quickly joined Lottie's side. It was the second time she had used the girl, using the crazy things she said for her own benefit, a twisted way of getting you closer to her.

⚽You didn't go home.

⚽But nothing could stop you from hatching a plan to make it happen.

🖊️You knew Shauna had noticed, you knew she was furious. Fortunately, you were no longer her punching bag.

🖊️It was foolish of you to think that the consequences of Shauna Shipman's actions wouldn't come back to you.

🖊️When Shauna's scream chased Melissa out of the cabin, you felt a shiver run down your spine.

🖊️That scream used to be directed at you.

"NOBODY GAVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU TILL ME!"

🖊️Those words probably hurt, but you have no idea how it got to you, the whole thing escalating too high for you to keep up.

"All right, go back to her." Melissa said, pointing with her head in your direction. Turning her back soon after. "Just don't come crying to me when she realizes you're fucking crazy."

🖊️The sound of the gun, Melissa turning around, her hands shaking, Shauna telling you to repeat what you said…

🖊️The shot.

🖊️You saw it all. The shame of a girl standing there with wet pants, even Shauna's stupid, cruel smile.

⚽You didn't understand, the whole thing had turned all of you into animals! How could Shauna, the girl who liked to write and made fun of you for watching bad movies, now be terrorizing people? How Lottie, the sweet girl who talked to you on the first day, told you her secrets, made you feel special. Was she now a completely insane girl, killing people for the sake of the wilderness?

🃏You became attached to Nat, she was the closest thing you had to humanity, the closest thing you had to home.

🃏The closest thing you ever had to love.

🃏And out of love, you did what you had to do. Out of love, on that winter's day, in the midst of all that savagery, in the midst of all that, you found yourself by Nat's side.

🃏Kissing her lovingly after she and Hannah had changed clothes, asking if you could go with her, telling her that you loved her.

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"Of course I do, you idiot."

🃏You remember leaning your forehead against Natalie's, your two breaths mingling before she nudged you lightly with a smile on her lips, telling you that everything would be all right.

⚽You watched the girl head off in the direction of the mountains, you took a deep breath before following Hannah back to the campsite, intertwining your fingers with the woman's as Shauna looked in the direction of the two of you.

🖊️You winced when Shauna spoke to "Nat", hoping that it was enough of a distraction for your girlfriend to make it to her destination.

🖊️You held your breath when Shauna removed the mask from Hannah's face, revealing the woman's face.

🖊️But you couldn't help the little smile that escaped your lips when Shauna grabbed the thick fabric of your clothes, screaming at the top of her lungs.

"WHERE THE HELL IS NATALIE?"

Okay, I don't really know if this is good, but I hope you like it Anon <3

ngl, I love writing for Beefy!reader (I see myself in this)

[rosygaze]

help wanted!

pairing: johnny storm x assistant!reader

summary: it’s your first day at your new job and a certain cocky blonde helps you out.

word count: 2.2k+

note: not me getting attracted to a blonde man 😔 the f4 trailer kickstarted my mcu hyperfixation again so i had to get this out of my system. might be the start of a lil series of one shots based on this pairing 🤭 also i ignore the fact that joseph wears blue contacts for this. i simply do not accept baby cow eye erasure 🙂‍↔️

next part >

“You got this. You got this.” You whispered to yourself in the comfort of your car.

Job hunting was going poorly and you were getting desperate when you saw the ad on the paper. An assistant job. That didn’t seem too hard. Get some coffees, organize files, schedule meetings. You could do that.

What you couldn’t do was freaking rocket science. You could just imagine the look on your face when your potential new boss told you that you’d be working with her at the space center. Why didn’t you read the fine print before going to this interview? She was kind enough not to laugh in your face when you explained that you didn’t have any experience in that field. She just gave you a kind smile and moved onto the next question.

You thought that was it. You blew it. But a few days later, you received a call to let you know that you got the job and that they'd be sending you an information packet soon. You might’ve squealed into the poor receiver’s ear.

Now, here you were in your car, bouncing your leg anxiously and staring at the giant facility that housed rocket ships. You sighed and flicked through the folder in your lap.

After going through everything for the fourth time this morning, your watch read 20 to 9. That seemed early enough to look competent, but not too eager. Another deep breath and you stepped out of your car. You slung your bag over your shoulder and clutched your folder to your chest like a lifeline.

A loud screech made you jump. Your head snapped towards the sound and saw a bright red convertible pulling into the parking lot. A cloud of dust trailed behind it as it pulled into the spot across you. Your curiosity was piqued.

Only the back of the driver’s blonde head faced you so you couldn't make out his face. He adjusted the rear-view mirror and looked at his reflection through a stylish pair of sunglasses. The stranger ran his hand through his hair, and it fell perfectly back in place.

You knew you should get inside but you couldn’t help but stare a little longer. That backfired on you when he peered over the tops of his glasses and you saw big brown eyes looking straight at you, corners crinkled in amusement. The driver killed the engine and you held your breath. He opened the door and long legs stretched out of the flashy car.

He wore nice shoes, khaki trousers, and a well-fitting blue dress shirt. You trailed your eyes further up and saw that he took off the glasses, placing them on top of his perfect hair.

He was handsome.

“Hi.” He called out and looked you over, lingering on your legs. Your fingers reached down to the hem of your skirt and pulled it down ever slightly.

“H-hello.” You stammered and scurried off towards the building. Mentally, you were hitting yourself for stuttering.

“Hey, wait!” You didn’t stop. Gravel cracked behind you and you made the mistake of turning around. You saw him running after you, catching up immediately. “You new here?”

You nodded. “First day.”

“Figured.” He sped up a little until he was a couple of steps ahead of you. He started walking backwards so you could see the devilish smile he put on. “Would’ve definitely remembered you.”

You nearly tripped over your heels.

And he clearly noticed.

“I’m Johnny.” He stopped and held a hand out for you. You hesitated before slipping your hand in his. You gave him your name and tried not to notice how nice his calloused hand fit in yours. “Pretty.”

A warm flush came over your body. You had to get inside quick. “It was nice to meet you, but I have to get going.”

“Which department are you in? Maybe I can give you a tour.”

“That’s very kind but, I know where to go.” You waved your folder in front of him. You didn’t know where you were going but you had a feeling that the longer you spent around him, the more you’d embarrass yourself. The door handle was just inches away from your grip but Johnny beat you to it.

“Sure, but I’m much better to look at than a boring piece of paper. More fun too.” He shrugged, putting his weight on the handle. You tried not to notice how the muscles under his shirt shifted.

“I'll take my chances with the paper.” You scoffed.

Johnny pouted and put a hand to his chest. “You wound me, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes and managed to squeeze your hand in the space between Johnny’s arm. Just barely able to grip the cool metal, you pushed the door open and he pretended to fall inside. You couldn’t even try to hide the silly smile on your lips when you walked past him. The lady behind the front desk looked up at you with an annoyed expression. You faltered in your step.

“Be brave.” Johnny whispered in your ear. You glared at him and he gave you a wink in return.

“Good morning.” You said with a bright smile. The receptionist didn't greet you back. She just gave you another withering stare. “It's my first day and I was told to get my badge here.” You continued.

“Name?” She snapped. You told her, a little taken aback by her tone. She slammed a piece of plastic on the counter and slid it towards you. “You know where to go?”

“Uh-“

She sighed, exasperatedly. “Take the elevator to the right down to basement 3. Turn right down the hallway, take two rights, one left, and it’s the 5th door on your left. Got that?”

“I-“

“I’ve got her, Marge.” Johnny popped up beside you, a thousand-watt smile on yet again. “You have a day as beautiful as you.”

‘Marge’ made a disgruntled sound, looking less than pleased. She gave him a withering look and went back to her work. You shuffled after Johnny to escape Marge's wrath.

“Bet you wish you took up my offer now, huh?” Johnny hit the button to call the elevator.

“Is she always like that?” You kept your voice low in case she could still hear you.

“Yup, haven’t managed to crack her yet but, trust me, it’ll happen one day.” He held up a finger and looked far away, dramatically. Silly. You thought. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Johnny put a hand on the frame and gestured for you to go in. “Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

“Oh, you don��t have to do that.”

“Do you remember how many turns you have to take?” He raised a brow. You paused for a second too long. He chuckled at your hesitation. “I’m going that way anyways. It’s no problem.”

You wanted to turn him down again but you knew you would just get lost and be late on your first day. Having someone who knew this place to show you the way would be the most logical decision.

Plus, you were slowly learning that you liked brown eyes.

“Okay.” You went inside first and Johnny followed. He pressed ‘B3’ and the doors closed. Your nerves settled in again once the elevator rumbled as it descended down. You tapped a finger against the folder. Out of the corner of your eye, you could feel Johnny’s gaze burning in the side of your head. You turned and saw him leaning against the wall, studying you. “What?”

“You nervous?” He nodded towards your finger.

“Who wouldn’t be?”

“Me.” Johnny cocked his head. You shook your head incredulously. “You know who you’re gonna be working for?”

“Susan Storm.”

His eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You narrowed your eyes. “You know her?”

“I do.” He crossed his arms. “What are you gonna do for her?”

“I’m her new assistant. I don’t really know what to expect.” You sighed.

“You’ll be fine. She’s nice, really.” The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Johnny held the door open for you again and let you go out first.

“Are you sure? I only met her once during the interview.” You followed Johnny’s lead as he took you through the maze of your new office.

“Positive. She’s a bit of a hard ass sometimes but she’s one of the smartest people I know so she has a right to be. Don’t tell her I said that. She’d never let me live it down.” Johnny’s hand hovered over your upper back to guide you to turn right when you were about to turn left. “So if she chose you, you must be someone special. I wouldn’t worry.”

“That actually makes me feel a bit better.” Johnny gave you a reassuring smile and you noticed your fingers weren’t fidgeting anymore. “What do you do here?”

“I’m a pilot.” He said, nonchalantly, but you noticed his chest puffed out just a tad.

Your eyebrows shot up. “A pilot?”

“Impressed?” Johnny’s smile turned into a smirk.

“Trying not to be.” You teased but you genuinely were.

“Once you see my skills, you won’t be able to resist.” Innuendo dripped off his words and he looked way too pleased with himself. Johnny led you through two more turns and presented you with an unlabeled door. “Et voila, your new home.”

“Thank you, Johnny.” You said, genuinely. “There’s no way I would’ve found this on my own.”

“No worries.” He leaned against the door and gave you that smile again. The same one that had you tripping over yourself. “But… if you ever wanted to repay your knight in shining armor, maybe you could join me for dinner sometime?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, not knowing how to respond.

“Johnny!” A voice saved you from your own embarrassment. You looked over Johnny’s shoulder and saw Susan Storm walking towards the two of you. She had a stern look on her face as she stared at the man in front of you. “No flirting with my assistant.”

“I wasn’t doing anything of the sort.” He winked at you.

Susan put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him behind her, standing in between the two of you. Her bright blue eyes turned to you and gave you a warm smile. “Hi, it’s so nice to see you again.” You shook hands.

“It’s nice to see you again too, Ms. Storm.” Her eyes crinkled as her smile reached her eyes.

“Oh, please, call me Sue.” She put her other hand on top of yours and squeezed. Now, you felt stupid for being so nervous. “I see you've met my brother, Jonathan.”

“B-brother?” You looked at Johnny and back at Sue, finally noticing the similarities between the two. Blonde hair, same noses, similar jawlines. Fuck. Were you flirting with your boss’ brother on the first day?

“Younger brother.” Johnny supplied.

“Ah.” You nodded. He was clearly trying not to laugh.

“Hope he wasn’t too much of a bother.” Sue squeezed your hand one last time before letting go.

“He was very helpful actually.” She tilted her head at you and looked back at Johnny, who just shrugged.

“See? I’m helpful.” Johnny told his sister.

“Then go be helpful inside. Ben’s looking for you.” Sue cocked her head in the direction of the room. Johnny rolled his eyes and moved towards the door.

“Fine.” Johnny turned those brown eyes to you again. Something in your stomach fluttered when you locked eyes. “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”

“Johnny, what did I say!” Sue hit his shoulder.

“Ow!” He rubbed his shoulder and stumbled through the door.

“Sorry about that. If he ever makes you uncomfortable, let me know and I’ll hit him again for you. Now, let me show you around.” Sue gestured for you to follow her.

You followed your boss through the door and your jaw dropped as soon as you saw what was inside. Behind the nondescript door was a big hangar. There were computers everywhere and various metal parts in every corner. But the piece de resistance was the rocket ship in the middle of the room. It was as shiny as it was tall. You’d never felt so small in your life.

“Whoa.” Was all you could get out. You craned your neck back to see the pointed tip of the ship.

“Ain’t she a beauty.” Sue sounded proud. “That’s the Marvel-1. Our baby. We’re taking her up to space soon.”

“You are?” You walked further in and saw workers walking around, carrying different parts towards the rocket. Banging and clanging sounds echoed through the big space.

“Mhm. It’ll be a small team. Just me, my husband, Reed, our friend, Ben, and Johnny.”

You couldn’t help but scan the people’s faces, trying to get a glimpse of the blonde again but no dice. Is it weird that you were disappointed?

“That’s amazing.” You looked back up at the rocket. “I’ve never seen a rocket in person before.

“You’ll be seeing a lot of them now.” Sue put a hand on your shoulder. “Now, we have a lot of work to do before that thing is ready to launch and I’ll need your help.”

“You can count on me.” You stood up straight.

“I know I can. That’s why I chose you.” Sue smiled at you. You wanted to prove her right. And most importantly, prove to yourself that you could do this. “Ready to take on your first task?”

You nodded, eagerly.

You got this.

next part >