bug-fics

[bug-fics]

Bookshop Romance

Remus Lupin x Reader

word count: 5.65k

fluff

Note: hope you guys enjoy! i'm going to be posting this on AO3 as well if you want to check it out there too. same username as here!

The bookstore is your favorite spot in town. You just love sitting in there and reading books. And the people watching as customers come in and out is another favorite activity of yours. You’ve lived in this town for a while now, ever since you graduated from university. The town is small and was just what you were looking for at this point in your life when you decided to move away from home. Your apartment is tiny, but you loved it regardless. It’s decorated with pictures and posters and trinkets, most of which are from the thrift store in the town. Your prized possession is your record and book collection, which takes up an embarrassing amount of space in your home. You love it anyways.  

You discovered the bookshop quickly after you settled into your new home. You were on a walk exploring the town when the small sidewalk sign on the outside drew you in. Almost like it was meant to be. Since then, you’ve entered the door hundreds of times and plan on entering a hundred more. 

You got a job at the local bakery, which gave you enough money for rent and other necessities, along with spending money. You integrated nicely into your small town living. You even made friends with the workers at the bookstore due to your frequent visits.

Your visits were sporadic but regardless, you developed a routine for what your visit would look like. You start off by grabbing a coffee at the cafe inside the shop,sometimes bringing along a little treat from the bakery. Then, you sit down in the cafe area and read however long your heart desires. You’ve spent as little as twenty minutes here and as long as seven hours. You love the simplicity of your routine and you do it as often as your life allows.

Today, you enter the bookstore and make your way to your usual spot in the back. Although very few people are ever in here at the same time, you still like to be in your own little world away from everyone. You reach into your tote bag and pull out the book you’re currently reading. 

After a while of reading, you finally finish your book and your coffee. You make your way into the bookshelves to find your next read. Once in the aisles, you stumble upon a young worker putting books onto the shelves. You know every worker here by name, so you know that this is a new employee. You watch him from afar, mesmerized by his beauty. He has dark blonde hair that’s almost brown and has some curls. He’s bent over, but he looks pretty tall, and he’s wearing a brown and green striped knit sweater with brown corduroy pants and Dr. Martens. You didn’t think you believed in love at first sight but upon seeing this man, you’re rethinking your beliefs. He looks perfect and you can’t help but stare at him. You bring the strength to pull yourself away and you peruse the shelves some more before settling on a book that you’ve been meaning to read for a while and go to the register to check out.

“Hey, y/n, how’ve you been?” Lily, a worker who quickly became your best friend, asks you.

“Doin’ good, thanks. You?”

“Great,” she smiles. “Saw you eyeing up the new worker in the stacks,” she says with a teasing tone and cheeky smile.

“I was not!” you say, feeling the heat rise in your face.

“He’s cute, I don’t blame you. He’s pretty quiet, though. Keeps to himself. Too quiet for me, but perfect for you!”

“Oh god, Lil, you better shut it before he hears.”

“Oh calm down I’m just messing. He works every Saturday, though. So I expect to be seeing you here a lot more frequently.”

“Goodbye, Lily. I’ll see you soon,” you say with a laugh as you walk away.

“Every Saturday!” Lily shouts as the door is closing behind you. 

You shake your head as heat fills your cheeks once more. You haven’t been with a guy in a while and the thought of having a new crush simultaneously thrilled you and filled you with anxiety. 

You stop by the grocery store on the way home. Chicken was cheapest, so you made that for dinner along with some rice and asparagus. You love to cook, so you spend any time not at the bookstore in your kitchen. Once you finish eating, you light a fire in your fireplace and put on a record as you cozy up on your couch and begin reading the book you just bought.

—

The next few days go by slowly. The image of the cute new worker is etched in your brain and you find yourself thinking about him all the time. After what feels like years, Saturday finally comes around again and you find yourself getting ready to head to the bookstore. Your visits to the bookstore in the past were frequent but never consistent. You made your visits there around your schedule and would go whichever day fit best. Now, you feel a little silly planning your trip so specifically just to see a boy. But frankly, you don’t find it within yourself to let it impact you too much.

You put on your jacket and leave for the bookstore. It’s the beginning of winter, so you walk as quickly as your feet can carry you. The ten minute walk feels like 20 in the cold but finally, you enter the shop. Lily hears the bell ring and looks up to greet the customer and once seeing that it’s you, she laughs out loud.

“Not. A. Word,” you mutter to her as you head to your seat. It has a perfect view of the register, so Lily shoots you winks every now and then - knowing that you can see her and that she can see you - all of which you roll your eyes in response to. 

The bookstore is small, so conversations can be heard from across the store. About an hour into reading your book, you hear Lily talking to the boy. “Hey Remus,” she all but shouts to him, knowing that you’re listening. “Can you go by the register while I wipe down the tables?” Remus, you think. That’s a cute name.

You can’t hear his response but he appears in your viewpoint a minute later. You find yourself staring at him once more. He sits down at the chair behind the register and begins reading a book. He looks perfect sitting there and you can’t help but stare. 

“You’re welcome!” Lily shouts at you, knocking you out of your trance.

“Lily, he can hear you!” you whisper, trying to get her to be quiet.

“Yeah, whatever. With all your staring, I’m sure he’ll catch on eventually anyways. You know you’re visible from the register, right?” she teases. “I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you,” she says as she nudges your shoulder. She leaves to go back to the front of the store and leaves you to your book.

The next time you look up from your book, you realize that it’s almost time for the shop to close. You see Remus and Lily both doing their closing duty tasks and sheepishly get up from your table, embarrassed that you stayed there this long.

“Bye, Lily,” you say to her as you leave the store.

“Bye, y/n,” she winks at you, Remus right by her side. You avoid Remus’s eyes as you leave the store, already counting down the days till next Saturday.

— 

Almost as slowly as last week, Saturday finally rolls around once more. You get to the bookshop a little later than you normally do. You only have a little bit left in your book to read, so you decided to spend your day doing other things, like running errands, and would finish the book at the shop.

“Almost thought you weren’t going to show up,” Lily says jokingly when she sees you walk in.

“I swear, you’re going to be the death of me.” You settle into your spot and do the same thing you’ve been doing the last few weeks. The simplicity and the repetition of your Saturday routine pleases you and has become something that you look forward to.

You ease into your novel and become wrapped in it, very close to the end and very excited to finish it. You hear Lily ask Remus to clean the tables, making a mental note to yell at her later, but go back to focus on your book. One, because you want to finish it. But also because it would help you avoid eye contact with him.

Finishing the book takes a little longer than expected. Stealing glances at Remus a little too frequently probably didn’t help. You finally finish and close your book and rest it on the table. 

“I really like that book,” you hear Remus say from a few feet to your left as he’s cleaning a table.

“Oh, yeah. It was really good. Kinda sad I finished it, though. I didn’t want it to be over.” You can feel your heartbeat quickening as you look up to meet his eyes. You have been daydreaming about talking to him since you met, and you can’t believe it’s finally come true.  

“I can give you some recommendations, if you’d like.” He speaks with a quiet voice. 

“Yeah, sure. That sounds nice.” You get up from your seat and he walks you to the shelves to show you some books. 

“This is one of my favorites,” he says, grabbing a book from the shelf. 

“I’ll be sure to check it out. Thanks.”

“No problem,” he smiles. “I’m Remus, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you smile back.

You begin walking over to the register to purchase your book. Once you turn the corner from the book stacks, you see Lily silently cheering for you.

“Oh he’s totally into you too.”

“Oh hush. Just ring me up.” You blush as you hand her the book.

—

Making the weekly trip here quickly becomes your favorite day of the week. Over the last few weeks, you’ve grown closer to Remus. He’s given you countless book recommendations and have given him some in return. You hangout with him in the shop during his shift, often earning teasing glances from Lily. You’ve learned a little bit about him from small talk through your hangouts. He’s a year older than you and he's from Wales. Like you, he liked the small atmosphere of the town and was drawn to it, and his two best friends moved here also. He just recently moved to town at the end of fall and the first thing he did was get a job here at the bookstore.

This week's visit to the bookstore happens to fall on Valentine’s day and you were hoping that Remus would be working, not knowing if he was dating anyone. Remus has set up Lily on a date with one of his friends, so you knew that she wouldn’t be working tonight.

You open the door to shop, the bell ringing as you enter. You see Remus at his usual spot behind the counter, which sends a bit of relief through you knowing that he wasn’t out with anyone else. Upon hearing the bell, he looks up and makes eye contact with you, giving you his usual smile before continuing to help out the customer. 

You make your way to your usual seat and move forward with the weekly routine that’s been in place since Remus started working here: come to the store, read a book Remus recommended, talk with him about it, buy another one of his recommendations, give him a recommendation if he needs one, and repeat the next week.

You sit like this for about an hour, content with your book and your coffee. You hear the bell ring and glance up to look at the counter and notice that Remus isn’t there and you feel a pit grow in your stomach. Maybe he is going out tonight, you think to yourself while sighing, and you go back to reading your book. You feel silly for letting yourself get so attached to a boy you just met.

The bell at the store rings once more a few minutes later and although you can’t see the door from your seat, you see Remus getting back to the counter holding a bouquet of flowers. Every bit of hope that you had that he may be single leaves your body in that very moment and you feel just about ready to cry.

You decide it’s time for you to leave, not wanting to see whoever those flowers are for. You grab your book and just as you turn around, you see Remus walking towards you with a book in hand. You try to act normal, but are sure that somehow, there’s a mix of sadness, panic, and joy on your face all at once.

“Hi Y/N, where’re you going?” he says with a small frown.

“ I was just gonna head home and finish reading this there,” you reply softly while waving the book up to show him which one it is, trying not to show your disappointment. “I actually really like it,” you continue, “I’ll probably end up finishing it tonight.”

“I’m glad you like it, it’s one of my favorites. Here’s another one I think you’d like,” he says while handing you the book.”

“Thanks,” you smile. “Can you ring me up for it on my way out?”

“I already bought it, consider it a Valentine’s day treat,” he says, causing you to blush. “So, you don’t have any plans tonight?” You feel your breath hitch in your throat, hoping this is leading where you’ve always dreamed it will.

“I don’t,” you say intrigued, tilting your head slightly. 

“What do you think about coming over to my place? I can cook dinner and you can finish reading that book, maybe we can watch a movie, or listen to music,” he rambles on nervously. “I don’t really care what we do. Completely up to you.” He adds on, smiling anxiously as he awaits your answer.

You are smiling giddily and probably look a little crazy, but you can’t help yourself. This moment doesn’t feel real. Your wishes are finally coming true.

“I’d love that,” you reply as quickly as your voice can after processing what just happened. “But who’re those flowers on the counter for?” you question.

“Oh, I forgot,” he says while running back to the counter. He grabs them and walks back over to you, carrying the bouquet of deep red roses scattered with baby’s breath flowers in between. “These are for you. I didn’t want to come right up with these and scare you off, or in case you were dating anyone or said no. Although with the weekly visits and the way you always stare at me, I didn’t really think you had one anyways.”

“I don’t stare!” you yell before putting your face into your hands, mortified. Because you spent a lot of time staring at him. Remus pulls your hands down and tilts your head up by your chin to meet his eyes as if to say Yes, you do. “I don’t stare,” you insist.

“Right, whatever you say,” he mocks. “Are you ready to go? I took the rest of the night off.” 

“You took the night off? And what if I said no,” you tease while gathering your things.

“I had a hunch you’d say yes,” he replies. “And Lily told me you would.”

“You asked Lily?” you almost yell, causing him to laugh.

“Of course I did. I wasn’t really looking to get rejected.”

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me. But yeah, I’m ready to go.” He grabs your bag and swings it over his shoulder. He opens the door for you and the pair of you leave the store. Once outside, he begins leading you in the direction of his home. 

“How far do you live?” you ask. 

“I have a small house on the outskirts of the town. About a twenty minute walk if you don’t mind walking.”

“Yeah that's perfect.” The two of you begin the walk to his house. Casual chit chat fills the air as the two of you get to know more about each other, getting closer together as the walk progresses. You point out your apartment building to him when you pass it. 

“I almost moved in there,” he says to you.

“Why didn’t you?”

“You’ll see when we get to mine.”

“Well what’s that supposed to mean? I like my place,” you tease as you continue walking, following Remus wherever he goes. 

“Oh I’m sure your place is great. And I’d love to see it one day. But my place is amazing. You’ll see.” He has a smile etched onto his face and is walking joyously towards his house.

The rest of the walk is filled with comfortable silence. As you walk further and further from the center of town, you wonder where Remus is taking you. Although you’ve lived in this town for what feels like forever now, you haven’t ventured this far into the outskirts.

Finally, Remus starts slowing down. The two of you make it to a little cul de sac that only people who live here would go down. There are three houses, each with a long driveway and trees scattered around for separation and privacy. He leads you to the house to the right and begins walking down the driveway with you. Just as he thought, your jaw quite literally drops when you see his house. It's quaint and perfect. The walls are green and there's some stone, brick, and wood throughout for contrast. Vines line the walls and there's a beautiful front porch that looks like it wraps around to the back. 

“Holy shit, Remus. How on earth did you find this place? This house is gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. “I built it.”

“You what?!”

“My friends and I wanted to live near each other. We were looking for an area to move into and I stumbled on this place. We bought the land and built the houses. That house across the way is my mate James’ and the one in the center belongs to Sirius.” 

“Remus you’re amazing. This house is amazing,” you gush at him.

“You haven’t even seen the inside yet. C’mon.” He grabs your hand and leads you inside the house. You didn’t think anything could top the outside of the house, but Remus Lupin was full of surprises. There was a huge bookshelf that made your own collection look tiny. The fireplace was extravagant and has pictures lined up on the mantle. Much like your house, his was filled with trinkets and frames lining the walls. One frame shows him and two other boys that you assume to be James and Sirius. There are more group pictures lining his walls. You wonder which one he set Lily up with.

He has a record player off to the side and his collection is just as big as yours. “Pick a record,” he says as he guides you over to the table that houses his record player. You flip through his collection – of course he has it alphabetized by the artist's last name. So do you – and stop when you get to David Bowie.

“I love Bowie!” you shout as you pull out The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust, your favorite album by him. “Here.” You hand him to record and he smiles and laughs as he puts it on.

“That’s my favorite album too.” Five Years starts playing and he walks around to finish giving you a tour. The kitchen is just as nice. The cabinets are green, slightly lighter than the outside of the house, and there are wood and gold accents along with wood floors. There’s a small table in the kitchen and a large island, perfect for cooking. Next is the main bathroom, which is also green, and has numerous plants inside. He walks you upstairs and briefly shows you his bedroom, green again and filled with many books, and the three extra bedrooms, one of which is his office. 

Lastly, he leads you back downstairs and out the back door to the backyard. You were right, the porch does wrap around the back. Lights and plants line the porch. He turns on the outside lights to reveal a fenced in backyard engulfed by trees. Two bigger trees are inside the fence and in between a hammock is hanging. There’s a fire pit with chairs surrounding it and lights strung all around the backyard. Amazingly, there is an inground pool that’s covered up by a tarp.

“Remus, this is amazing. I can’t believe you built this.”

“Thanks. You haven’t even seen the best part.”

“You keep saying that and it keeps getting better. I don’t know how you can top this backyard.”

“Look up.”

“What?”

“Look up,” he says again.

You listen to him and look up at the night sky and you’re met with the most beautiful view of the sky you’ve ever seen. The stars and the moon are shining so brightly, It’s like the sky was created by Remus himself and you were seeing it for the first time.

“How the hell does the sky look like this,” you whisper in awe.

“This was the selling point for me. I sit on the hammock and just stare at the sky for hours.”

“This really is amazing. You’re lucky to have this place, you put a lot of effort into it.”

“Thanks, I really did. It took a lot of building and planning, but I’m so happy with where it is right now. Anyways, you must be hungry, let me start cooking. How does chicken sound?”

“Sounds great,” you reply. He takes your hand and leads you back inside to the kitchen. He pulls out the chair at the kitchen table and motions for you to sit. You mutter a small thanks as he lights a few candles on the table and begins grabbing all the ingredients. Before he begins prepping, he puts on an apron that says, “Kiss The Cook,” causing you to laugh.

“Hey. James bought this for me and it’s the only one that I have,” he says defensively, busting out into a laugh.

Conversation falls naturally upon the two of you and you learn more about Remus as he cooks for you. His favorite color is, shockingly, green. He also loves to cook. He and his friends do weekly dinners and this usually falls upon Remus to cook but he doesn’t mind. Sirius and James bring the drinks and desserts and Remus says they always have a good time. 

“You know the bakery down the street from the bookstore? They usually get the desserts from there,” he says as he plates up the food.

“You’re lying. I work there! What do they look like, I bet I’ve seen them.”

Remus smiles as he goes to the living room and comes back with a photo of the three of them.

“I do recognize them! They come in all the time. I always slip them something extra.”

“You’re the one that’s been doing that? They’re gonna freak when I tell them the girl I’ve been swooning over is the same one that’s fueling their sweet tooth.”

“You’ve been swooning over me?” you joke at him. He just blushes in response and looks at his chicken. You smile at your mutual ability to stun each other and start cutting up your chicken.

“I think this is the best chicken that I’ve ever eaten,” you say to him after taking a bite.

“You’re just trying to make me blush.”

“Well yeah. But I’m serious, this chicken is really good. Next time, I’ll cook for you.” “I’d like that,” he says with a smile. 

Once the two of you finish your meal, you make your way to the living room where Remus puts on a new record. You settle onto the couch as he starts a fire. He sits next to you, grabs a blanket, and drapes it across the two of you as he hands you your book, filling you with confusion.

“Finish the book,” he says.

“It’s fine. I’ll finish it when I get home.”

“No, trust me. I don’t mind. Sitting here with you is all I need.” You blush in response to his words and you open the book. You have less than 30 pages left, so you shouldn’t be busy for too long. His arm wraps around you and you cuddle closer into him as you hold open the book. Sometime later, you close the book and look up to see him staring at you.

“How was it?” he asks.

“Really good. I’m glad you recommended it to me.”

“Me too.”

The two of you stare into eachothers eyes for what feels like an eternity, neither one of you willing to make the first move. With a wave of confidence, you lean in to break the distance between your lips and his. His lips are soft and you move slowly at first. After a few seconds, you tear away from him and go to look him in the eyes once more. Before you can do this, he pulls you in by your cheeks and locks his lips to yours, this time with more passion. He pushes you back without breaking contact until your back is on the couch and he lies on top of you. He pulls away for a second, with nothing but Bowie and the south of your breath filling the room.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” you say breathlessly.

“Trust me, I do,” he says before going back in. Your hands comb through his hair as his roam your body. Every touch of his feels electric and you can’t imagine a life without his touch. The sound of the doorbell ringing surprises both of you, Remus so much that he falls off of the couch, causing you to laugh. He shoots you a glare before going to answer the door.

“Moony, how’d the date go!” you hear a man shout as he barges in the house. You hear two pairs of footsteps, three if you count Remus’s, walk into the living room and you lock eyes with James and Sirius as they sit on the opposing couch.

“Oh shit! You’re the bakery girl! Moony, why didn’t you tell us you were in love with the bakery girl!” the long haired man says to his friend before turning to you. “He’s been pining over you for weeks. Can’t believe he finally got the guts to ask you out.” 

“How was I supposed to know she was the bakery girl!” he shouts in defense. “Now we were kind of in the middle of something. Can you go?” You laugh at the banter between the boys.

“Ouch, kicking us out? I’ll remember this,” the boy with glasses says. “We accept sweet treats as apologies.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind next time you come in,” you say as Remus practically kicks them out.

He huffs as he closes the door and starts walking over towards you. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes. “They’re so embarrassing and will probably be the death of me.”

“It's okay,” you chuckle. “They seem funny. I can’t wait till the next time they come in.”

“Oh I’m sure they can’t wait either.”

“I had a really great time tonight. I hate to end it early, but I should be getting home.”

“Let me drive you,” he says. He grabs your jacket as well as his. He swings your bag over his shoulder once more and leads you outside to his car. 

“If it’s so cold outside, why didn’t you drive to work?” you question.

“We wouldn’t have had as much time to talk,” he responds. “Wouldn’t you rather a 20 minute walk filled with conversation than a 2 minute car ride? Plus the walk up to the house is a better reveal than a drive up.”

“Can’t argue with that,” you say as you buckle in.

The drive to your house is quite short and you’re sad to have to say bye to Remus. He parks outside the front and walks you up to your apartment door.

“I had fun tonight. Even if it got interrupted by your friends,” you smile at him.

“I’m glad they didn’t scare you off.”

He stares into your eyes before leaning in to give you one final kiss for the night. He watches you enter your apartment before going back to his car and driving away.

Once inside, you finally have a minute to collect your thoughts and process what just happened over the last few hours. You shoot Lily a text saying you hope she had fun on her date and also cursed her out for not telling you about Remus’s plan to ask you out. You put the flowers he bought you in a vase on your kitchen table and begin getting ready for bed.

Once your night routine is done, the last thing you do before bed is read. You grab the book he gave you out of your bag and you flip to the first page. You’re shocked to see there’s a note on the inside of the front cover from Remus.

Y/N,

Hopefully you said yes to the date or else this is going to be a really awkward read. You caught my eye the moment I saw you at the bookstore. Yes I saw you staring at me in the aisles on my first shift. You were not slick. And I saw you staring all the other times. And all the times you and Lily talked. Sound really travels in there. You never saw me staring at you, though. Getting to know you the last few weeks has been the best few weeks I’ve had in a while. Even when the days were tough, the thought of seeing you at the store got me out of bed. I really hope you said yes to the date because I would not want you to read this otherwise.

Anyways, this is my favorite book of all time and I wanted to share it with you. I hope you like it. I’d love to talk about it when you’re done. Give me a call, or come visit me. You know where I work.

Remus

You smile like a little girl as you read the letter, happy the feeling has been mutual the entire time. You save his number into your phone and send him a text thanking him for tonight and for the book. You go to the first chapter and your stomach drops when you see the book is annotated. You flip through the pages and see that almost every page has a note on it. Small things like underlined quotes, or something in the margin like “this made me think of you.” Your heart flutters knowing that Remus did this for you. You sit down in your bed, grab a pen, and begin reading, responding to his annotations along the way. 

—

The sun’s rays peer into your room just as you finish the last page and you realize that you stayed up all night reading and annotating the book. You get up from bed, grab your jacket, and run out the door towards Remus’s house. 

You make it to Remus’s house much quicker than you imagined. Out of breath, you ring his doorbell and wait for him to open the door. It takes him a good thirty seconds before he makes it to the door. His hair is messy and he’s wearing grey sweatpants and a green sweater that looks like it was thrown on haphazardly before walking to the door. Sleep fills his eyes as he rubs them in the morning light, the sun hitting him just right and giving his skin a beautiful golden color as well as lighting up his eyes. At first, he looks confused as to who could possibly be ringing his doorbell at the crack of dawn. But once he realizes it’s you, a smile grows on his face.

“I finished the book. I really liked it,” you say before Remus could even get a word out, still panting from the walk over.

“You what?”

“I finished the book.”

“How on earth did you manage to do that?” he questions. His voice beautifully raspy from the night.

“I saw the annotations and I stayed up all night reading. Here,” you say as you hand him the book. “I hope you don’t mind. I wrote some notes back for you.”

He smiles back at you and flips through the pages to look at the annotations you left for him. “Have you slept at all?”

“Nope,” you say while popping the P. “I wanted to finish it as soon as I could and get it back to you.

He stares at you in response, his smile growing larger by the second. “Come in,” he says as he moves to the side of the doorway to give you space to walk in.

You walk in his house and he leads you to his bedroom. 

“Come on,” he says as he pulls open the covers. “Let’s get some sleep.”

You join him in the bed as he pulls you close to him. The heat radiates off of his body and warms you up as you cuddle into his body. Sleep falls upon you quickly and the last thing on your mind before you fall asleep is Remus Lupin.

[bug-fics]

Candygram

Summary: It's Valentine's day and you shoot your shot with Eddie by sending him a Candygram.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, fluff, sfw

4.8k Words Master List

“Just do it.”  Robin said, following your line of sight to the booth in the corner of the Hawkins cafeteria. It was a simple table with a red cloth thrown over it and a handmade banner that read ‘CANDYGRAMS $1’ and was decorated with tacky hearts. 

Every time you glanced over at the booth, your heart would start pounding and your stomach would twist in knots. You had never considered yourself to be shy before, when you first moved to Hawkins a few years ago, Robin had joked that you didn’t need a welcome wagon because you had thrown yourself into band and had introduced yourself to everyone with ease. 

You had masked your anxiety over being the new kid with an overinflated sense of confidence and it had worked out really well for you until you caught feelings for the freak who sat next to you in remedial science. 

“I think... I would rather chug formaldehyde.” you said slowly, staring so hard at the offensively pink and red booth that Robin was sure it was going to catch flames. 

“Either go up there and buy a candygram or I’m going to do it for you.” Robin said. “If I have to hear you waffle about this for one more day I’m gonna rip my hair out.” 

“But if I send him one, then he might actually acknowledge me and realize I might have something resembling a feeling for him, and that’s just not really cool, you know? Goes against my chill and mysterious personality.” you said, leaning back on your chair with a cocky grin. 

“Last night I saw you and Steve cry over Bambi.” Robin deadpans. 

“Okay, so we were drunk and also shut up.” you snorted, rubbing your face. 

“How are you going to know if there’s anything there if you don’t even take the chance?” Robin scolds. “Come one, I’ve seen the way you look at him. I’m surprised the whole school doesn’t know-”

“Again, cool and mysterious personality.” you tried again. 

“Plus I know he’s just as weird as you.” Robin continued, ignoring you. “I mean, last week I saw him get Jason Carver to back off one of the freshmen by pretending to exercise a demon out of him!”

You stared at Robin for a beat before thunking your head on the lunch table. “I’m going to marry him. Holy shit, he actually tried to expel the demon lurking in Carver?” You were laughing at the thought. 

During your first senior year and his second, Eddie Munson had caught your eye when you had the same lunch period. He was loud and energetic and so fucking weird you couldn’t help but to be drawn to him. Had your parents not forced you to stick with band, you would have considered joining Hellfire. Unfortunately even with this last go-round as a super senior, they still made you stick with it despite your senioritis reaching terminal levels.

You never had a good opportunity to talk to him, and the more time passed the harder it became to justify just randomly approaching him. This semester you finally had your opportunity when you’d been put in the same class and sitting next to each other no less. Still, the most you’d been able to say was “yeah, sure” when he’d asked you for a pencil once. 

Four weeks sitting next to Eddie, and you had barely spoken to him while noticing every little thing about him. He read a lot in class when he could get away with it, and doodled in his notebooks constantly, especially dice and dragons seemed to be the biggest theme. His school notebook wasn’t nearly as filled in as his Hellfire notebook, and he was always fidgeting in class. He also didn’t talk much, and at least once a week he’d end up falling asleep in class with his head in his hand. 

“There’s not gonna be a wedding if you can’t even talk to the guy.” Robin said. “He’s not even scary! Dustin comes in to talk to Steve all the time about Hellfire. He’s just a dork.”

“I know and that’s the problem.” your voice was a strangled laugh mixed with a groan. 

“You showed up the first day of band and introduced yourself to everyone, even if they weren’t in your section. What is the hold up with you talking to Eddie?” Robin pried. 

“Because back then, it didn’t matter.” You looked over at Robin, poking at your mystery meat. “When I first got here it didn’t matter if anyone liked me or not. I was only supposed to be in this school for a few months and then graduate. Then I didn’t. I could handle it if someone didn’t like me. None of you were really supposed to matter to me. No offense.”

Thankfully, Robin didn’t seem offended. “You were just making nice with the inmates until parole.” she joked and you nodded. 

“Yup, and then when I realized that I was going to have to actually have a full other year of school, that meant that I was going to have to care if I was ever gonna graduate.” You continued. “Luckily you saw through all my bullshit bravado and started dragging me to movie nights with you and Steve.” 

“Yeah yeah, we love friendship. So what does any of this have to do with Eddie?” Robin said, not needing you to explain the backstory that she had been present for. 

“It means that with Mr. Munson, I unfortunately, care so fucking much what he thinks of me.” you relented. “He’s the biggest freak in school, and the dorkiest loser, and if I try and talk to him and he’s not interested in talking back I won’t be able to take it. Robin, I will simply lay down and be dead for the rest of my life.”

“That’s not how that works, you can’t be dead for the rest of your life.” She shook her head, her brows furrowed. “Because if you’re dead then... you’re not alive”

“Schrodinger's corpse then. Alive and dead at the same time.” 

“Look, just send him the stupid candygram. The worst he can do is say no.” She stood up from the table and grabbed your hand. “Let’s go.”

And that’s how you ended up at the booth, jotting down Eddie’s name on a piece of paper and shoving a few quarters in the till with Robin looking smug. “I doubt he’s ever gotten one anyway, if anything he should be thrilled that someone wanted to send him one.”

“If this kills me, Steve’s in charge of the music at my funeral.” you sighed. 

---

Candygrams were being handed out and delivered through the week. You weren’t paying attention to what period they were supposed to be handed out, and so when two students in obnoxious heart shirts and fake wings burst into your science class with Eddie right next to you, you were about ready to throw yourself out a window. 

No one was surprised when Janet and Charlie were tossed a few candygrams, but everyone’s head whipped around when the red heart shaped lollipop and card was set on Eddie Munson’s desk. Eddie himself seemed more surprised than anyone. 

He had the lollipop in his mouth before he even opened the note attached and you were seconds away from bolting out the door. With any luck, maybe he didn’t know your name even after weeks of sitting next to each other. 

“Who’s it from, freak?” asked Patrick, the basketball jock who sat a few rows ahead. That earned a few snickers from the class. 

“It’s from your mom.” Eddie said without missing a beat and taking out the lollipop. “Tell her I say thanks.”

More laughter from the class as Patrick stood up as if ready to fight, but the teacher quickly told him to sit down. 

Shit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. You felt a bit guilty that your candygram had kicked up a fuss, but at least Eddie didn’t out you as the person who sent it to him. In fact he wasn’t looking over at you at all. 

You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he flipped the card around, as if looking for something. All that was written was his name and “YOU’RE SWEET!” written in cheesy font and his name scribbled in your handwriting. 

And nothing else. 

You didn’t know if you should laugh or cry at your stupidity. You’d been so jumbled and nervous that you’d forgotten to sign the damn thing. Robin was gonna have a field day with this one. 

Eddie kept fidgeting with the card through the rest of class, twisting it and bending it until it was as crumpled and torn as your heart felt. He shoved it in his pocket and didn’t even glance at you as the bell rang and he stood up and tossed the eaten lollipop stick in the trash. 

It’s not personal. You told yourself. He has no idea who sent it to him.

That’s when you had a horrible idea, so stupid it might actually work. 

---

“Explain how this is going to work again?” Robin asked. “You’re going to keep sending him lollipops this week until he notices you?” 

“Sort of.” you said, buying another candygram. “I’ll just send him a few joke ones as a feeler and if he responds positively I’ll come clean. If not, I keep my dignity. It’s a win-win.”

“Since when do you care about your dignity?” Robin sorted. 

“Since I caught feelings for the least dignified guy in school, I guess.” You knew it was stupid, you knew it was ridiculous, but you already messed up once so you might as well lean into it. You scribbled his name down, this time signing it with a satisfied giggle. “This is so dumb.”

Oh, but it was so worth it. You had bought it before school started, guaranteeing that it’d be delivered the same day, handing over a crisp dollar to Nancy Wheeler who had volunteered for the booth. If Eddie had been surprised the first time, he looked almost shocked now.

Eddie, sorry I forgot to sign the first one! This card said, once again not giving away any sign of who it was actually from. You saw his eye sparkle in amusement as he ate his lollipop, and this time the card was read over a few times before being carefully tucked into his dungeon master notebook. 

By the third day, the novelty of Eddie Munson getting candygrams had worn off with the rest of your class, but Eddie’s grin only grew wider each time. 

“Anything for me, Cupid?” Eddie asked as the student council members walked back in to hand out more lollipops. 

He whooped as another one was dropped on his desk and he snatched up the card quickly and you had to cover your face and bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling at his excitement. 

Eddie, sorry I’m so bad at remembering to sign these things! I just get way too excited about sending them out that I lose focus. So anyway this card is actually from-

You had carefully spaced out your writing on the small rectangle of paper so that it left absolutely no room for you to sign your name. Eddie looked downright giddy as he read the note over and over. Seeing him so happy made your stomach burst into butterflies and even if he decided after this he wasn’t interested, this was enough. Knowing that he was smiling because of you was enough. 

Someone said your name and you looked up, surprised to see one of the student council members standing next to you and handing you a candygram. Your eyebrows shot up as you took it with a thanks and opened up the card. 

Who had sent one to you? You’d been so wrapped up in your little scheme you didn’t even consider that someone would try and send you one either. 

A smile tugged at your lips as you saw your name and a small drawing of what looked like an egg in a nest as the sender. Robin, of course. Probably making fun of you for sending candygrams to Eddie without signing either. 

You tucked the candygram in your own notebook safely and dared a glance over at Eddie again. You hadn’t expected for him to be looking back at you, and your heart jumped in your chest. He unwrapped his lollipop and lifted it slightly as if he was trying to toast. You held yours up as well to him, an off sense of camaraderie between two people who had their day temporarily disturbed for commercialized love. 

Thursday came around, Valentine's day proper, but they’d be doing one last day of candygrams on Friday as well. This was a fundraiser after all, and capitalism trumps any semblance of real sincerity. Well, you said that but that wasn’t exactly going to stop you from continuing your little plan. 

Today was the day you were going to pull out the big guns. You handed over a full $5 to have a carnation sent to Eddie, as well as a return to sender card to Robin for being a good friend. 

“Shouldn’t he be the one sending you a flower?” Nancy asked, handing you the card to write on. You wondered how Nancy had time for all of the extracurricular activities she had going on, working with the student council and the school newspaper. 

You just shrugged at the question, not realizing how wide you were smiling or how obviously warm your cheeks were. To anyone with two eyes, you were glowing and to anyone with one eye, you were phosphorescent. 

The disinterest that your classmates had from the last two rounds perked back up with a flower was delivered to Eddie that afternoon. 

“For little old me?” Eddie said, batting his eyelashes at the delivery boy as he took the carnation. You giggled to yourself as he opened the card again. 

Man, I’m bad at this aren’t I? Don’t worry, this time I’m writing very small so I have room to sign this card. Seeing you light up when these get delivered has made my whole week, and totally worth it. Anyway this is from- 

To be fair, you had actually signed your name this time. However this time you had made an attempt to erase it with one of those erasers. The horrible stiff ones that only made big smudges and made the mistake worse and nearly tore through the paper. You had carefully looked at your smudged signature for a long time before deciding it was illegible enough to send. 

Eddie faked a swoon in his seat, nearly toppling over onto the floor. “Come on!” he laughed, pushing himself back upright, smiling with his whole face. He looked over the note again, something clicking in his brain and you quickly looked down at the book you were currently pretending to read. 

“It’s someone in here.” you heard him mutter to himself and your heart started pounding in your chest. You focused on your breathing to try and stop yourself from giggling and giving yourself away. 

“Stop sending yourself stuff, Munson. It’s pathetic.” Patrick called out. 

“If you wanted me to be your Valentine, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask nicely.” Eddie said, but he sounded distracted as his eyes scanned the room for any hint of who this mysterious person is. “And next time, I’m more than happy with just the lollipop, it’s saving me on smokes.”

You didn’t even notice the lollipop on your desk until class had started back up. Unfolding the card you smiled to yourself, seeing that it was from Robin again. This time the egg in the nest had a crack in it and seemed to be hatching. You’d ask her about it later. 

Nothing said during the rest of class even registered with you, every word was in one ear and out the other. This had been a fun week sending Eddie all the lollipops and flowers but tomorrow was the last day to have something sent to him. 

Were you going to sign your name? That’s the million dollar question. You had told Robin that you would if Eddie seemed interested, and he had made it clear he was enjoying the attention. 

But would he still enjoy the attention if he learned it was from you? You two weren’t exactly friends, but not complete strangers either. He didn’t seem to dislike you, after all he’d raised a toast with you with your lollipops the other day. 

Well, if you were gonna put yourself out there, you were gonna do it on your own terms.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Robin said that Friday morning as you dropped a handful of ones on the table for one last hurrah. 

“Nope, I’ve committed.” you said, taking the small stack of cards and getting to work. 

“I’m going to have you committed.” Robin shook her head. “I mean, this is actually insane, you know that right? There’s no reason to go through all this trouble, when you could just talk to him.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that, Buckley?” you asked, as you added one letter of your name to each of the cards. “Gotta make him work for it.”

“So you’re gonna give him a Valentine's themed word jumble as your big sign off?” 

“Yup.” you confirmed, adding his name to each of the cards. He’d get them all in one go and then it’s up to him to unscramble your name and figure it out. 

After that... well, the ball is in his court. 

Besides, if he liked the lollipops enough that he’d reach for one instead of a cigarette then that’s good enough. 

“You’re such a weirdo. You deserve each other.” Robin went on. “The Weirdo and the Freak. It’s like Beauty and the Beast except.. Not.”

“Robin, don’t you know three languages?” you snorted finishing up your stack and handing them over to be sent. “You are so much smarter than me, but this is where you lose words?”

“It’s Friday and I haven’t had coffee.” she pointed out. “Oh, thanks for sending me one by the way.”

“Yeah, of course. I mean you sent me one so I wasn’t gonna leave you hanging.” you nudged her playfully. 

“I didn’t send you one.” Robin looked at you, confused. 

“What?” You reached into your backpack and pulled out the notebook where you had placed the card and handed it to her. “But that’s a robin’s egg...?”

“It’s an egg, probably.” Robin agreed. “But I’m broke. I didn’t send any out.” 

You stared at the card with new eyes. If she didn’t send it, then who did?

---

“Holy shit.” Eddie muttered as a bag of lollipops was dumped on his desk with no rhyme or reason, earning a round of laughter and snickers from the class. The teacher had long since given up on trying to keep the class’s attention when the Cupid’s showed up. 

He sorted through the cards, a puzzled expression on his face as he looked at the different letters on the cards until he found one that had real words on it. 

Figure it out, Sucker <3 Eddie’s face was a wonderful mixture of amusement, bewilderment, and mild offense. 

One of the Cupid’s handed you another two lollipops as well. One was actually signed by one of your friends in band, and the other had another doodle of an egg. This time the egg was completely hatched and there was some sort of weird bird flying off. 

Not a robin. You decided, trying to figure out what it was supposed to be. 

You barely paid attention in class for the rest of the hour, your attention split between the three egg Valentines you received and the man next to you. Eddie had pulled out his Dungeon Master notebook to try and decode your message. You felt flattered that he was using his favored notebook to try and figure out your puzzle. 

Eddie was sucking on one of the lollipops diligently as he scribbled down random letters. Now that you thought about it, you’d never seen him look so studious in class before. You wondered if this is what he looked like when he was working on his campaigns and your brain decided to give you a treat of a daydream where the two of you were sitting around in your room while he explained his campaign and how he’d love to have someone like you join Hellfire-

It was three minutes before the bell, and that meant just a few minutes until your last period and the weekend. With Valentine’s day falling in the middle of the week, most of your friends were going to be off doing things with their partners. Maybe you, Robin, and Steve- no wait, Steve actually got dates. Robin worked on the weekend. 

Maybe Eddie- NOPE. Not going there, you were not about to get your hopes up for this. 

You glanced over at him again, looking at his notebook to see if he was anywhere close to decoding your name. Eddie had the worst handwriting you’d ever seen and so you would be surprised if he could even figure out his own notes. Between unjumbling your letters, he had started doodling in the margins. You assumed that they were D&D monsters from the look of it, since none of them looked like actual animals except for the bats in the corner. 

The only other thing you recognized was a dragon, drawn in a larger scale on the side of the page. It’s wings were expanded and it was flying off, and from this angle it looked like a weird...

It looked like some bird

Some sort of weird bird

Your head snapped back down to the card in front of you. This wasn’t a weird bird. It was a dragon. A dragon hatching from an egg. An egg that hatched a dragon. A dragon that was drawn with the same pose as the one in Eddie’s notebook. Eddie’s notebook had your dragon no wait, your card had his dragon-

Eddie Munson had sent you the cards. 

Eddie had-

“Oh.” You said out loud. You were nearly fighting back hysterical laughter at this, and you pressed your hands against your face, with your shoulder shaking with repressed laughter. 

Why the hell had Eddie sent you those cards? The two of you had barely spoken to each other!

 You did the same damn thing, dipshit. You reminded yourself. In fact you had gone way harder than he had. But what did this MEAN? 

The bell rang and everyone scrambled to get out of the classroom, and before you could say anything, Eddie was off and running out of the classroom at the speed of light. 

What was that about?

Robin was right. If you were ever going to have a chance with him, you were going to suck it up and talk to him, even if it meant possibly embarrassing yourself. Plus, finding out why he sent you three candygrams was currently trumping any fear of rejection. Curiosity killed the cat, but at least he died satisfied. You’re pretty sure how that saying went at least. 

You knew that Eddie had Hellfire today, it was Friday and he and all of his friends had been running around in their club shirts. With a deep breath you...realized you had no idea where the hell they actually met. 

This whole thing could have been planned better, actually. 

You started walking around the school blindly for any sign of the signature baseball tee that they all wore. If you found one of them, they were sure to lead you to Eddie. God, you felt like a stalker. 

There. Long dark curls against a stark white shirt with black sleeves. Your heart leapt in your chest, and you had to make the choice now. 

“E... Eddie! Wait up!” you called out, walking quickly towards him. 

When he turned around to look at you, you felt the air disappear from your lungs. How was it possible for him to be so beautiful and why the fuck did no one in this school seem to notice? 

Eddie pulled the lollipop he’d been sucking on out of his mouth, surprised to see you. 

“Hey.” he said. “Uh... you sit next to me in class.” 

He was either playing dumb, or you were about to make an ass of yourself. But, like Robin asked, since when do you care about dignity?

You reached into your bag and pulled out the candygrams that had been sent to you and holding them out. 

To your relief he gave you a bashful smile. “Guess you caught me, huh?” he asked. “You solved my Valentine’s puzzle.” 

“I have a pretty high intelligence when I apply myself.” you said, which only made him grin wide. “But I gotta say, Munson. I’m actually a little disappointed. I mean, sadistic and scary dungeon master of the Hellfire club, and this is the best puzzle you could come up with?”

He crossed his arms and took a step towards you. “Well, I don’t know you as well as I’d like.” he said, and your stomach erupted into butterflies. “Had to start somewhere.” 

“I guess I had to be sneaky and pay attention to you to figure it out. You’re hard not to notice, you know.” you admitted, crossing your arms as well to mimic him. 

“Being The Freak means I fail most stealth checks.” he shrugged. 

“High charisma though.” you threw out there, hoping that line would land and to your delight it did.

“It’s the Munson Magic. I come by it naturally.” Eddie’s smile was so wide it was cheesy but shit, it was working on you. 

“Not great intelligence though.” you smirked at him. 

“Oh? And how do you figure that?” He looked a little offended now, and you saw his shoulder stiffen as if he was waiting for this to suddenly go south. 

“Spell my name, Eddie.” 

You could see the lightbulb go off in his mind and his eyes widened. 

“You- wait, you were the one who kept sending me the cards?” Eddie looked nothing short of bewildered and ecstatic. You had a feeling that if things went well, you wouldn’t have to worry about ever knowing what he was thinking as he wore every emotion on his sleeve. 

“Surprise?” you asked, playing with the strap of your backpack. 

Eddie licked his lips, chasing the last of the flavor of the sucker he’d been eating. He looked at you, as if searching for something, and you cut in before he had the chance to find it. 

“Do you want to hang out sometime?” you asked, a little louder than you meant to. “Like, just us.”

“Do you think you can handle a date with The Freak?” Eddie asked, standing a little straighter. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, and I promise the worst of them are true.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Eddie, I’ve always wanted to join Hellfire.” you smirked. “I’m sure there are worse things for a first date than sacrificing someone to Satan, or summoning demons, or joining a cult.”

“I’m a gentleman, I would never ask a lady to summon demons on the first date. That’s at least a third date activity.” Eddie held his hand to his heart and raised a hand as if making an oath. 

Oh yeah, you were going to marry him. You were already picturing proposing to him and taking him away from this town. 

“Then how about dinner at Benny’s?” you suggested. “Burgers and shakes on me and you can tell me more about Hellfire and dragons and I can give you a spelling lesson.”

Eddie ran his ringed fingers through his hair and you giggled as the rings got snagged and he struggled to untangle them. 

“It’s.. a date then.” he said, but it came out as more of a question, as if he was asking if this was really happening. 

“A date.” You agreed, handing him your number, having come prepared. 

As you began to walk away, he called out after you. 

“Wait! You said you wanted to check out Hellfire, right?” Eddie said and you turned to look at him. “I’m... I’m actually running a one shot tonight. Kind of beginner friendly enough. I don’t often do this in the middle of the semester but one of our usuals dropped out because he had a date so... we have an open seat at the table. If you think you can handle it.”

Your smile widened as you walked over to him. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Eddie offered his arm to you, as if he were a gentleman which you took eagerly. 

“So... how do you actually spell your name?” 

---

Dear Reader, I hope you have the easiest name to spell because that would make this fic at least 3% funnier. Also, I'm proud I got this done before Valentine's day because I never even finished my Halloween or Christmas fic. Be proud of me.

Please reblog if you enjoyed it <3

Tag List: @gagasbee, @ihaventgotaclue-really @tastefullyferal @anonymouskiwi @hellfiredarling

[bug-fics]

island of love - part two

a steve harrington/reader love island au.

word count; 18k

read on ao3 / series masterlist / part one

As soon as Naomi has left, Chrissy and Nancy run into the villa. You have to hold Eddie back from running after them, and it seems like Steve is holding Robin back as well. For what purpose, you don't know. "Let me go," Eddie says angrily.

"No," you reply calmly. He turns to you to yell but stops when he sees your grave expression. "I know you care about her. But let me do it."

Eddie nods and you stand after squeezing his hand. Emma is walking over to you and you point to the villa. She nods and meets you in the trellis. "Can you see if Nancy is okay? I'm gonna find Chrissy." She nods again and disappears into the house. You eventually find her in the bathroom, crying in the empty tub.

"Oh, babe," you say empathetically. "I'm so sorry."

"I really liked him," she sobs.

"I know."

"I thought he liked me."

"We all did."

"I thought he was a good guy."

"So did we. Looks like we were wrong."

She looks up at you with red eyes. "What's wrong with me?"

You sigh, take off your shoes, and climb into the tub with her, pulling her close. She settles her head under your chin and you stroke her hair. "Nothing's wrong with you, babe. He's what's wrong. He's an asshole who couldn't see what a great girl he had and chose to throw it all away. He's a moron." She hiccups a giggle. "You're way better than him. He's not worth it."

"I'm still sad," she sniffles.

"You're right, those were the wrong words," you concede. "Everything you feel is valid. But the fact that your feelings don't matter to him is what makes him trash. Your true friends care when you're sad, or happy, or angry, or anything. Because they love you and you matter to them. And me and Emma and Nancy and Eddie and Steve and Carson all wanna be your true friends."

She nods. "You are my true friends."

"Good," you reply firmly, making her laugh a little. "You're our true friend."

"I can't believe I worried what Ryan would think while in Casa."

"That's because you're a great person who truly cares. That only reflects well on you."

"Really?"

"Really. And you can be sad for however long you want, but don't let him make you think you're a bad person. That's just simply untrue." She hugs you and you hug her back hard. "Now, do you wanna go back outside or do you wanna go to bed?"

She thinks for a second. "Outside."

"Okay, then let's get you out of this tub, touch up your makeup, and walk out with your head held high. Sound good?" She nods. You extract yourself from her and climb out, helping her stand as well. She fixes her hair and makeup in the mirror and then turns to you with a thumbs-up. You return it and hold her hand as you walk through the villa and back outside.

Emma and Nancy are nowhere to be seen, so they're probably still inside. You think about checking up on them after depositing Chrissy in the kitchen to make tea with Carson, but Eddie is waving you over to the daybed. You go to him.

"How is she?" He asks.

"She's been better," you reply as you settle onto the bed with him. "But she knows she's worth more than that scumbag."

"Did you know?" You cock your head. "That he would turn out to be a bad guy?"

You snort. "I'm not clairvoyant. But I had my suspicions from the beginning."

"Seems like he fooled everyone else."

"Ugh," you say in frustration. "I hate guys like him. Liars who won't accept the consequences of their actions. It makes me so angry."

"Me too." Eddie rubs your shoulder in sympathy.

To get your mind off of Ryan, you look around the backyard. Chrissy and Carson are having a lively conversation, and she's laughing, so that's a good sign. Ryan and Sam are holed up together on the sundeck, clearly knowing they're both persona non grata. Blake and Maggie are cuddling on one beach chair, which has to be uncomfortable, but they look like they're in bliss. And Steve and Robin are huddled close on the beanbags, talking quietly and intently. You feel a pang.

Eddie follows your line of sight. "How are you feeling?"

Sighing, you wave a hand. "I don't know. So much has happened. It's hard to even think about myself."

"But?" He leads.

"But...I'm sad. I guess this is Island of Friends for me."

"I don't know," he muses. "I think you should go after what you want. You might regret it if you don't try."

"Maybe," you respond distractedly. Steve has gotten up and is walking...towards you. You quickly look at Eddie in panic but he just smiles kindly. So when Steve gets to you, it's silent.

He says your name. "Can we chat?"

Your name falling from his lips is so lovely to hear. You nod and Eddie has to push you to stand up. You do so robotically, motioning awkwardly for Steve to lead the way. You look back at Eddie one last time but he just gives you a good luck thumbs-up. You roll your eyes and follow Steve.

His ass looks really good in those jeans and his arm muscles show nicely with his t-shirt. You're daydreaming about running your hands through that hair you'd desperately missed when he turns around abruptly. Then he grabs your arm, tugs you into the bathroom and then into the shower stall, and makes you crouch with him.

“What are you doing?” You ask in shock.

He shakes his head, motioning for you to take off your mic pack like he is and push it across the bathroom floor. You copy him slowly, and he closes the stall door once they’re both sufficiently far away.

He looks at you like he's a drunk and you're the last sip of gin. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks," you respond automatically, a bit crisply.

"I missed you," he admits.

You want to say you'd missed him too, so much, too much, it was unbearable how much you missed him. But all you reply is, "That's nice."

He looks pained as he whispers your name. "I still want to be with you."

"What?" You burst out. "You still want to be with me? After bringing back Robin from Casa Amor? That's not a good show of loyalty, Steve."

"I know, but I did that for a reason."

"What reason?"

"I can't tell you."

"Convenient," you scoff.

"Well, what about Eddie?"

"What about Eddie?"

"Seems like you had a good time in Casa Amor."

You rear back. "That's not fair. I had to recouple."

He makes a frustrated sound. "I know, I'm sorry. I'm just...I don't know. You have to believe me. All I thought about in Casa was you. I just wanted it to be over so I could see you again."

"It's not really matching up with the actions, Steve."

"I know," he says in a huff. He's angry but you can tell it's not with you. "Look," he takes your hand, "all I can do is promise that you're it for me. Not Robin, not Nancy, you. Please, I will prove that to you." Tears come to your eyes. You want to believe him, but you don't know what to think. None of it makes any sense.

You look away so you won't cry and Steve makes a pained noise. He continues, "I'm sorry I hurt you, and I know you don't understand. But I promise you," he gently cups your face so you'll look at him, "I'm still yours."

The tears do come then, so you stand suddenly and turn away. You command, voice thick, “Please leave.”

Steve says your name but you don't look back. Eventually he sighs and leaves the stall, then the bathroom.

Not wanting to go back outside, you undress and take a shower, crouching down again. You cry, because you're so confused and bewildered and unbelievably lonely and you can't see the bigger picture here even though you know there is one. What do Robin and Nancy have to do with each other? Why did Steve come back with Robin if he wants to be with you? Why is this way more complicated than just a normal season of this goddamn TV show?

When you're all cried out, you finish your shower and get ready for bed. You slip under the covers and pull them over your head. You hear the other islanders moving around, talking, doing their nighttime routines. It's a while until Eddie slides into bed too, but you're still awake.

"Hey," he whispers, joining you in the dark. "What happened with Steve?" You just shake your head. "Okay," he says soothingly. "No pressure. Come here." He motions for you to get in close to him so you do, laying your head on his chest. It's nice and sturdy, and his heartbeat is strong and steady, but it's not Steve's, so you only cuddle with Eddie for a few minutes and then scoot away.

You give him a kiss on the cheek before you go. "Thanks," you whisper.

"Anytime, angel." He turns over and falls asleep.

You peek out and see that the lights are off. You turn and see Steve on his bed next to you, asleep facing you. You study his pretty features, his soft hair, his strong nose, his kissable lips. You look at him until you drift off to sleep, and then you dream of your happy ending, with him.

;

In the morning, after sleeping in and drinking coffee and changing into a swimsuit, you're touching up in the bathroom mirror when the shower door opens and Robin pops her head out.

"Thank god," she says in relief when she sees you. "Can you help me? I can't reach the backs of my legs to do a really good shave."

You're confused by the request but reply, "Um, sure—" Before you can finish, she has pulled you in with her. She tugs you so you're both crouching behind the spray.

"Steve is telling the truth," she says urgently.

"What are you talking about?" You're alarmed.

"He's all in for you. He wants to be with you."

"But—" You're sputtering. "What about you?"

She grimaces. "I'm not here on completely truthful circumstances." You raise an eyebrow. "I'm gay and I'm here for Nancy."

This entire summer has been one shocking revelation after another, but this takes the cake. "More words please," you reply weakly.

"Nancy and I had been hooking up for a while recently. But when I said I wanted more, she ran away. Literally. She came here."

"Why?" You ask, baffled.

"I don't know. Maybe she wants to go back when it was easy. She loved Steve in high school; he was her first love. She changed him for the better. But I know she wants to be with me too."

"And Steve in Casa...?"

"Steve agreed to bring me into the villa so I can get her back. He gets it."

You stare at her for a minute. She gives you a earnestly nervous expression. "Do you like horror movies?"

She's caught by the abrupt subject change but nods. "I love them."

Understanding dawns. "You're the word slip-up," you say faintly.

"What?"

"She almost called you her girlfriend but stopped and corrected herself to 'friend'." Robin starts to get excited but you're not done. "Is this Nancy anything like your Nancy?"

She shakes her head furiously. "Not one bit."

"So she didn't hate reporting?"

"She loves reporting, she's always wanted to be a reporter. She even has a part-time anchor job offer waiting for her in Chicago."

"And she loves mysteries?"

"Absolutely. She spoils every mystery movie we've ever watched because she's figured it out within the first act. I always got so mad at her about that."

"And Steve is not the one that got away?"

"Nope. She told me she's the one who broke it off with him before college. Never saw her speak about him with anything other than friendship and warm memories."

"So Steve...does want to be with me?"

Robin goes soft. "Yes, he wants to be with you more than anything. You were all he talked about in Casa. It started to get on my nerves a bit, but you're just as lovely as he always said."

You blush. "This is crazy," you finally say.

"I know. This is like, the gayest shit I've ever been part of, and we're on a straight reality dating show."

You laugh. "Agreed." Then your brain starts up again. "So like, what's the plan?"

Robin's expression turns to one of discomfort. "I don't know, honestly. I want you to be with Steve but I need more time to talk with Nancy."

"Don't worry about me and Steve. We'll figure it out," you reassure. She smiles gratefully. "Problem is, I've got my own reconnaissance mission too." At her confused look, you explain about bringing Eddie back to get to know Chrissy.

"Oh, they would be so cute!" She gushes.

"I know, right!" You exclaim before remembering the gravity of it all. "So you need to stay coupled up with Steve while wooing Nancy back, and Eddie needs to stay with me until he woos Chrissy, so none of us get dumped before we can fix the couples."

"But if you couple with Steve and Eddie couples with Chrissy at the next recoupling, what will happen with me and Nancy?" She asks worriedly.

"We're gonna need more boys before they do another recoupling. I'm just worried how it'll go when they send them in."

After talking a bit more with Robin, you get uncomfortable from crouching so long and guilty about the amount of water you're wasting, so you step out and stretch. Your brain is so full of new information and plan ideas and weird connecting lines, you're not sure what to do next.

Scratch that, you know one thing you want to do right this second.

You rush out of the room, through the villa, and outside. You burst out of the trellis and run towards Steve, who is toweling dry his hair after swimming his laps. Thankfully, he sees you coming and drops the towel as you slam into him for an enormous hug, catching and holding you tight. You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his neck, smiling uncontrollably at his familiar scent.

"I missed you too," you breathe out and Steve relaxes into you, smushing his own face into your neck. You two hold each other for another minute, before he lets you go reluctantly.

He's grinning like crazy. "Sorry I got you all wet," he says happily.

You wave a hand. "I was already wet. I had to help Robin shave her legs just right." You're staring at him intently and he understands.

"Ah," he replies, drawing it out. "I hope you were able to help her."

"I was. I'm really good at shaving."

He laughs, relief clearly flooding through him. "Good." You just give him a brilliant smile.

;

A few days pass uneventfully—to the public. Within your secret little group, things are happening.

Under the cover of night, you tell Eddie about the revelation from Robin and Steve. He's shocked as well, but seems to accept it easily. You also let him know you'd revealed the Chrissy plan to Robin, who has absolutely told Steve. He's more worried about that, but you reassure him that they also want to see him and Chrissy together.

He continues to comfort and spend time with Chrissy. You keep an eye on him, but he's as chivalrous as he'd sworn to you. He seems to be cheering her up, making her smile and laugh more than Ryan ever did.

Robin is trying to talk to Nancy, but she's not making it easy. It's hard enough to find time and space for them to talk without the mics picking them up, but Nancy also either refuses to talk or refuses to listen. You offer to subtly talk to Nancy to help, but Robin declines, afraid it'll make Nancy even more wary, like a wild animal of some sort.

You and Steve try to enjoy the time you do have together. You can't be physically affectionate, since you don't want to show the public Steve and Robin are not a strong couple and get them dumped, but you still talk, mostly with the group but sometimes alone—and most happily, the swim lessons start up again. It's a great chance for you two to admire each other under the pretense of teaching, though he does teach you how to swim as well. It's as good as it can be. The only thing missing is Steve's bedtime story.

You and Robin come up with a code to determine how each mission is going: you'll ask, "how was your shave today?" like an inside joke, she'll ask, "how were swim lessons today?", and you interpret the status based on the answers. Like if she said she had a terrible shave, she hasn't made any progress with Nancy. Or if you say that the lesson went great but you're still feeling unsure, Eddie seems to be moving well with Chrissy but the end is not yet in sight.

Then one day, you're having a rare moment alone with Steve, talking about your deepest fears, when your phone rings with a text. You give him a nervous look and pull it out. "I got a text!" There's chaos as everyone scrambles to surround you. "Erik has chosen you to make his appetizer for tonight's date," You read. Everyone "ooh's".

Then Emma's phone goes off. She reads, "Brandon has chosen you to make his appetizer for tonight's date." She squeals while Carson groans.

Chrissy's phone chimes. "Erik has chosen you to make his main course for tonight's date." You look at Eddie, sitting next to her, and his face is both disappointed and exasperated.

Maggie gets the next text. "Brandon has chosen you to make his main course for tonight's date."

Surprising everyone, Robin's phone dings. "Erik has chosen you to make his dessert for tonight's date," She reads in astonishment.

If you're thinking you're in the clear, you're wrong. The last text comes to you. "Brandon has chosen you to make his dessert for your date tonight." Steve makes a frustrated noise beside you.

But it's not over. Eddie gets a text next. "Tania has chosen you to make her appetizer for tonight's date." Everyone starts chattering at the prospect of not only two new boys, but another girl as well. You look at Chrissy and see hints of jealousy on her face.

Ryan's phone goes off. "Tania has chosen you to make her main course for tonight's date." No one bats an eye.

Then, worst of them all, Steve's phone beeps. "Tania has chosen you to make her dessert for tonight's date," he reads grimly. You look at him in worry and he gives you a sad smile.

"Come on!" Emma grabs you and tows you back into the villa to get ready. Maggie, Chrissy, and Robin all join you in the dressing room. It's a weird mix of energy: Chrissy and Maggie are both excited and chattering nonstop. Robin seems to be a bundle of nerves that will be tense for the rest of time. Emma is ambivalent about it, happy to be chosen but not particularly worried about her head being turned. And you're subdued—you don't want to be on two dates with bombshells, all you really want is to be with Steve again.

When you're reluctantly ready with everyone else, you head outside, where three tables have been set up for romantic dates. You, Emma, and Eddie head to the kitchen, where you work together to make a decent appetizer.

When you're about finished, you can hear steps coming down the trellis path, and everyone looks over to see the new islanders. They wave at you, those waiting for the next parts of the meals, and the islanders watching everything from the terrace, then sit at the tables.

You put the finishing touches on the appetizers, exchange wary looks with Eddie and Emma, and make your way to the table that has your name on it.

Erik is a nice if overexcitable boy from Alaska. You wouldn't have been able to guess that from his accent alone, but it becomes more obvious when he says things like "the lower 48" and talks about the perks of ice roads in the dead of winter. He talks about Alaska a lot actually, and keeps complaining about the warm temperature here, and you're not really sure why he would come on the show in the first place.

Thankfully, Chrissy interrupts his spiel and you leave the table gratefully. She sits down as you go join the waiting islanders, since you're the only one with two dates tonight.

You're happy to remember Steve and Robin are the dessert choices alongside you. You keep Steve in the middle, so it can look like he's keeping Robin close before they're both on dates, but sit close next to him. His hand behind you sneaks up, and he gently rubs his thumb across your lower back, staying subtle but still giving you goosebumps.

All too soon, the three of you have to construct your desserts. It's an easy choice of ice cream, and you dish it out together, staying quiet but shooting each other small smiles and reassuring looks. Then you receive a text telling you to start the last part of your date, so you go take over for Maggie at Brandon's table.

You want to say you learn more about him than he's from Minnesota, complete with the accent—why did the producers pick cold-weather folks for this hot-weather show?—but that would be a lie. You spend the entire date staring at Steve and Tania's date over his shoulder. Tania is going overboard—laughing like crazy, touching Steve's arm a lot, smiling with all of her teeth. You don't really think Steve is doing anything to encourage that behavior, but his back is to you so you can't help the jealousy that rises within you. By the end of the date, you wouldn't be surprised if your eyes have turned green.

You pick up the plates and take them back to the kitchen so you can get away from Tania hanging all over Steve. Robin joins you and you sidle over to her, covering your mic to whisper, "You and Steve are going to have to step up your game." She looks at you and nods dejectedly, and you start doing dishes.

The rest of the islanders come down and meet Erik, Brandon, and Tania, distracting them enough so Steve can slip away. He joins you in the kitchen, wordlessly drying the dishes you've washed, staying close to you and Robin, who is cleaning the counters and putting away the food. You watch everyone excitedly talk to the new people, observing.

Emma and Carson are with each other, holding hands, so the date did not turn her head, like you'd predicted. Eddie is near Chrissy and watching her nervously, since she's talking animatedly with Erik. Ryan has ditched Sam to talk with Tania more, and she's welcoming the attention. Blake and Maggie are back together, not touching but sticking close. Nancy is on the outskirts of the group, continuously glancing at you in the kitchen.You chance a look at Robin, who is seemingly busy but also glances back at Nancy.

After the excitement of the dates, you're exhausted, so after meeting Tania properly—she's overly perky and from Arizona—you take a shower and get ready for bed. You slide under the covers and just watch aimlessly as the rest of the islanders trickle in.

When it's lights out, you turn on your side and lock eyes with Steve, who smiles at you dreamily. It's impossible not to smile back, and you two just gaze at each other until you both drift off.

;

In the morning, you're prevented from sleeping in by Robin, who joins you in bed to talk. Under the covers, she tells you that she and Steve have both resolved to be more couple-y so Steve doesn't get stolen by Tania at the next recoupling. She reassures you that it doesn't mean anything to either of them but you just laugh, reminding her you know she's gay and that's a given. She goes red but laughs with you.

You and her join the rest of the girls to discuss the previous night. Emma confesses she and Carson had done some light, over-the-clothes touching and blushes when you all squeal about it. Maggie confirms she and Blake cuddled, and Robin adds herself and Steve to the cuddling list. Sam doesn't add much and you say your head was too jumbled from the dates to really get close to Eddie, which is technically true.

When you all go downstairs, Steve hands you and Robin cups of coffee. Robin makes a big deal about it for show and kisses him on the cheek. But he only preens when you give him a small thanks.

A little later, as you're all lounging—you, Eddie, Robin, and Steve on the daybeds with Nancy, surprising you even though she doesn't say much, and Brandon, an actually good conversationalist; Blake, Maggie, Emma, and Carson on the sundeck; Ryan and Tania talking on the beanbags; Chrissy and Erik by the trellis; and Sam tanning on a beach chair—a phone chimes.

Tania holds up her phone and yells, "I got a text!" About half of you groan while the other half cheer. She continues, "Islanders, are the boys ready to decide what they want to do with their lives? It's time for Career Day!"

You all run down to the challenge stage, which is set up to look like a very complex job fair. It's revealed the boys each have to go through the course and pick a career option. With eight girls, there are eight jobs: pilot, firefighter, astronaut, professional athlete, rockstar, college professor, doctor, and architect. Each boy must go through school (solve easy math problems on a blackboard), graduate (walk across a short platform as the girls throw caps at them), and complete the “application” for their chosen profession (which varies). They get to kiss a girl of their choice after "getting the job".

The producers really went all out for this one.

Steve volunteers to go first. He breezes through the math and excellently dodges the caps thrown at him. He obviously chooses college professor, which involves solving more complex math problems. It takes him a minute but he gets through them, and brings over a giant A+ sticker to the line of girls, winking at you before stopping at Robin and placing the sticker on her chest. He kisses her, dipping her dramatically to the cheers of everyone else.

Carson goes next and gets through the math easily enough, but does get hit a few times by caps. He goes with doctor—very city boy of him—and has to perform CPR on a dummy. He then goes to the girls and puts his stethoscope around Emma's neck, kissing her. She's blushing when he leans back.

Erik takes longer on the math but does miss all the caps coming at him. He chooses firefighter, which baffles you beyond belief for how much he was complaining about the heat, and has to dress in the uniform as quick as he can and spray water at a "fire" raging just off the challenge platform. He inspects each girl before adorning Chrissy with his helmet, kissing her sweetly and making her giggle. You see Eddie roll his eyes.

Eddie decides to go next and gets through the first part without breaking a sweat. He predictably goes for rockstar, and must "perform" for the rest of the islanders. He does it perfectly and everyone screams like he's a member of the Beatles and it's the 1960s. He walks over and gives his pick to Chrissy, kissing her as well. She's red after that one, Eddie looking proud. Everyone looks over at you but you smile and shrug, saying it's just a challenge.

Ryan goes next to almost utter silence from the girls. You even refuse to throw caps at him, which he takes with a cocky grin. He chooses professional athlete and has to complete a few warm-up exercises before throwing a football through a ring a short distance away. Annoyingly, he does it on the first try and struts over to the girls. He bypasses Sam and kisses Tania, making the rest of you gasp. Sam, however, does not seem phased. Maybe she's realized he's an asshole too.

Blake almost falls off the graduation stage after being hit by a cap in the face, for which Chrissy yells a frantic apology. He laughs it off and goes for architect, flipping over the math blackboard to "design" a new skyscraper. It ends up looking like a funky sphere, which is a new one you'll give him that. He goes to Maggie and hands her a comically large pen, then kisses her passionately.

Brandon is last of the boys. He's barraged by caps but hits them away to get across the stage unharmed. He goes for pilot and has to construct a paper airplane. He doesn't know how so everyone yells directions at him until he finally gets it. He comes to the girls and takes off his cap and places it on...you! Surprised, you're taken aback when he kisses you, keeping it chaste and short. He grins at you afterwards.

Since there's one more girl than boy, one boy has to go twice. Steve goes for it before anyone else can volunteer. He gets through as easily as before and has to choose astronaut as the only job left. He looks ridiculous as he pretends he's on the moon and plants the American flag, step-jumping absurdly high and shouting out the famous line, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind!" to everyone's laughter.

Then he's walking over and he's stopping in front of you and he's handing you a NASA patch and he's kissing you. This one is much more intense and you can hear the gasps from the girls around you, but you can't bear to stop it. It's so nice to feel his lips on yours again, and his hands are cupping your face like he's holding on for dear life. When he finally breaks away, you're both panting. He smiles in joy just for you and you return it, schooling your features into shock when he walks away smugly.

All the girls rush you afterwards and you play up your bewilderment as they talk over each other. You keep repeating you don't know why he would kiss you when he's with Robin, who suggests he wanted to see if there was still a spark. There obviously is, but you just say you don't know when the girls ask follow-up questions. It's all everyone can talk about as you walk back to the villa.

Thankfully it's then time to get ready, and all the girls convene in the dressing room. You keep getting caught up thinking about that kiss and have to jolt yourself back to reality. It was so good, better than you remember. You walk out with everybody else in a dream-like state of happiness.

Until a phone chirps.

Carson reads out nervously, "Islanders, please gather around the fire pit immediately." The mood goes subdued as you all trudge over there.

Once seated, Emma receives a text. "Islanders, there will now be a recoupling. As the newcomers, Erik, Brandon, and Tania will choose first. After that, the boys will decide. The girl not picked will be dumped from the island tonight."

Erik, Brandon, and Tania all stand in front of the fire pit. Erik goes first.

"I know I've only been here a day, I would like to couple up with this girl because I really like her vibe and I think we get along really well. She's beautiful and fun and super cute. I can't wait to get to know her more. So the girl I'd like to couple up with is...Chrissy."

She makes a noise of surprise, and you grab Eddie's hand and hold it tightly. Chrissy walks over to Erik and stands beside him. She gives him a little smile, but doesn't seem completely happy.

Tania goes next. "I'd like to couple up with this boy because he's gorgeous, funny, and I actually like his cocky attitude. He hasn't had the easiest time in the villa, but I think this is the couple for him. So the boy I'd like to couple up with is...Ryan."

You let out a huge exhale quietly as Ryan doesn't even look at Sam before walking to Tania and kissing her on the cheek. You catch Emma's gaze and she rolls her eyes, making you smirk.

Finally, it's Brandon. "I would like to couple up with this girl because she really surprised me with how good of a listener she is and I think she's got a really cool and chill demeanor. She's very nonchalant and I want to see what's under the surface. So the girl I'd like to couple up with is..."

When he finishes with your name, you just blink. Everyone claps as if unsure and Eddie knocks against you so you'll move. You walk to Brandon, who gives you a big smile. You half-return it but look at Steve as soon as you've turned around. His face is blank but Robin is clearly rubbing his back soothingly.

Then it's time to switch. The new couples sit down while the rest of the girls stand in front of the fire pit. As expected, Blake and Carson choose Maggie and Emma, respectively. Steve picks Robin again, trying to sound happy by it but you can read between the lines. By the time Eddie goes, the only two girls left are Nancy and Sam. Sam looks unbothered but Nancy seems nervous.

"I'd like to couple up with this girl because she seems really nice," Eddie says awkwardly. "We don't know each other very well but I'd like to change that. She deserves to find love in here and I think I can help make that happen. So the girl I'd like to couple up with is...Nancy."

She sighs in relief and almost races back to Eddie, giving him an unexpected hug that he returns stiltedly.

Then everyone is crowding around Sam, saying their apologies and goodbyes. The girls all go to the villa and help her pack. She's a little sad about it but doesn't seem heartbroken, and says she's excited to go home and see her friends again. You all wave at her as she leaves.

Exhausted by the night's events, everyone chooses to go to bed. You stand in the shower and mourn not being with Steve, but at least it gives Robin more time to talk with Nancy. You're mostly nervous about being chosen by Brandon—is he assuming you're a good listener because of that first date? why does he think you're so chill?—and having to share a bed.

But when you get to the bedroom, he's already asleep, snoring quietly. You slide in beside him and face the opposite direction, towards Steve. He reaches out a hand in the darkness and you take it. He squeezes it and makes a promise with his eyes: he's still yours.

;

You, Robin, Steve, and Nancy are chatting in the kitchen when a phone rings. You look at each other with anxiety.

Over the past few days, things with Nancy and Robin have progressed. Once or twice Robin said she had a bad shave, but most of the time, she gave you thumbs-up and raved about her amazing shaves whenever you ask. Chrissy and Eddie also got closer, though Erik did steal away enough of her time that they're not out of the woods yet. Your reviews of swimming lessons were appropriately hopeful and realistic.

In fact, that very morning, as you're dozing after the lights have come on, Robin freaked the hell out of you by jumping in bed and joining you under the covers. She winced at your swear of shock and said, "Sorry about that."

You breathed heavily and glared at her. "What?" You asked flatly.

An excited grin spread across her face. "Nancy talked to me last night!"

Now you were up and interested. "What happened?"

"Not much, and we didn't talk about anything to do with us, but we spoke for a few minutes about the recoupling! I think almost being dumped has opened her eyes a little," she theorized animatedly, "and she's open to listening more now."

You sighed in relief. "At least something good came from this recoupling."

She gave you a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry about you and Steve."

"It's okay." You shrugged. "We're as solid as we can be."

"Just look on the bright side: we're fooling the public and pulling one over on the producers," Robin pointed out and you laughed.

"Very anti-capitalist of us," you commended. She grinned widely.

The two of you got out of bed and went downstairs, taking your offered coffees from Steve, who also made some for Nancy. But you could still tell he got the most satisfaction from your smile of thanks, and it simultaneously excited and relaxed you.

You spent more time with Steve and, as necessary, Brandon. With the latter you try to stay friendlier and don't say much—why not lean into the idea that he thinks you're a great listener? you are, but you can't say you're very interested in what he says—so he doesn't get the wrong idea. It's a thin line to walk, as you don't want to push him away for fear of being dumped and you don't want to bring him too close for fear of leading him on when you don't want to. You're not sure how long Robin needs to win back Nancy's trust, so you're prepared to do this for as long as needed, but you hope he doesn't get too attached. You don't actually want to break his heart.

When Steve wasn't spending his time with you or the group as a whole, he was with Robin. They cuddled in front of everyone, looking physically affectionate without actually doing anything romantic like kissing. They call each other pet names and tease sweetly, and if you didn't know Robin was gay, you probably would've been jealous. Hell, you are a bit jealous, just of the fact that Robin can be as close to him as she wants and you can't.

It's all going suspiciously well, and you're very conscious of what the next challenge and recoupling might bring. Now you're finding out.

Maggie calls out, "I got a text!" and the islanders walk over to stand around her. She continues, "Islanders, we come up with our own challenge ideas and we have to say they're great. But sometimes our siblings over in the UK come up with something truly brilliant that we just have to steal. Can you guess what it is? It's time for Snog, Marry, Pie!"

You cheer with everyone else, because you do love Snog, Marry, Pie, but you're also a bit worried about how it might play out. There's a lot moving behind the scenes that could easily be brought onstage for everyone to see.

As you all move to the challenge area and see the line of whipped cream pies, your nerves only rise. There's a coin toss to see which group will go first and girls win.

Surprisingly, Nancy volunteers to start, and shocks everyone right off the bat: she decides to kiss Erik. You look at Robin, who doesn't seem very phased...maybe this is tactical. She can't stay with Eddie forever, not if he's gonna keep flirting with Chrissy, so it's possible she knows she needs more time and is securing it now. Either way, when she breaks away, blushing, Erik looks properly baffled but also like the kiss might've been...good?

Nancy moves on and kneels in front of Steve. "I would like to marry Steve because he's one of my oldest friends and I cherish our relationship deeply. And I apologize for ever hurting him." She's staring at him intently, possibly communicating that the apology extends to what’s happened on the show, and he smiles kindly.

"Of course I accept," he replies and shows off the fake ring with a flourish, making everyone laugh.

Nancy walks over, picks up a pie, and heads straight for Ryan, slamming it in his face with a satisfying smack. "We all know what that's for," she says lightly, as she licks whipped cream off her finger and Ryan wipes it from his eyes. Everyone cheers her on and she laughs as she comes back to the girls.

Maggie goes next and switches up the order a bit. She goes to Blake and proposes to him sweetly, which he accepts. She pies Ryan just like Nancy, a given.

Then she really surprises by going up to Carson and kissing him, making Emma drop her jaw in shock. It's not very long and stays closed-mouthed, but when she leans back, she says cheekily, "Wanted to see what would take Emma from Blake, but I just don't see the appeal." Carson laughs awkwardly as Maggie goes back to the girls.

In retaliation, Emma immediately after and kisses Blake first thing. Maggie rolls her eyes but is clearly getting upset the longer it goes on. Eventually Emma leans back and makes a face. "Could be better," she mocks and Maggie huffs.

Then Emma predictably proposes to Carson, who accepts and kisses her dramatically, obviously reassuring her that the kiss with Maggie meant nothing; and she pies Ryan as expected.

When she gets back to the girls, she and Maggie glare at each other before dissolving into giggles, unable to keep up the charade. Carson and Blake give each other a smiling eye roll.

Chrissy goes fourth and upends everyone's expectations by kissing Eddie passionately. He's startled but quickly regains his composure and kisses her back. Taking a peek at Erik, you see his eyes are squinted, not in anger but more like confusion maybe? Regardless, when Chrissy and Eddie break apart, they're both panting, bright red, and sporting huge grins.

She inspects the line of men but ultimately bypasses them to come up and kneel in front of you. You look at her in surprise as she says your name sweetly. "You've always been there for me and I don't know where I'd be without our friendship. And I'd rather marry you than any of those guys." You laugh and accept, hugging her tight when she stands.

She then grabs a pie and throws it in Ryan's face, in what has to be the most satisfying event since Casa Amor.

Tania volunteers to go next and goes for the pie first. Instead of moving towards the guys, she comes to the girls and pushes it into Chrissy's face, apparently fed up with everyone pie-ing Ryan. Chrissy cries out in surprise and the rest of you surround her and glare at Tania, but she just smirks.

She then stirs the pot even more by kissing Ryan intensely—disgustingly—and proposing to Steve, who is completely blindsided by it. He accepts hesitantly and takes his hand back from her immediately.

You want to go next to pie her for those moves, but Robin beats you to it. She runs over to the pies, picks one up, and intercepts Tania on her way back to the girls, hitting it in her face nicely. Tania stops in shock but Robin just smiles innocently and says, "That's for proposing to my partner," before moving towards the boys.

Predictably, she proposes to Steve, giving a mushy speech that Steve pretends to swoon over, and she laughs while he spins her in a circle. She also ignores the rest of the boys and comes back to the girls to kiss you on the cheek. "Thanks for helping me shave," she says with a wink, and you laugh as everybody looks confused as hell.

Now is your chance. To appease the public and reality show gods, you propose to Brandon, trying to stay as unromantic as possible. He accepts kindly.

Then, to appease yourself, you kiss Steve, really going for it. He reciprocates, dipping you so it can be seen as a joke rather than being as real as it is. To complete the show, you break away in laughter and playfully push him off, subtly brushing your fingers across his chest to display your real feelings. His smile is huge.

You then pick up a pie and walk towards the girls, fake throwing it in Nancy's face, and then really throwing it at Tania's. She's caught unaware so it smacks into her spot-on. "That's for pie-ing my wife," you add. Chrissy hugs you when you go back to stand by her.

Since you were the last girl to go, the lines switch and it's the boys' turn.

Ryan volunteers to go first and as expected, proposes to Tania with the most fuckboy speech ever heard, though she accepts like it's the sweetest. Then he changes things up by going up to Robin and kissing her way too intensely, forcing her to push him away. At his lewd smirk, she glares and you look at Nancy to see her glaring too.

To top it all off, he grabs a pie and smashes it into your face—you're guessing because you were the last person to pie Tania, while Robin was the first. He goes back to the boys with a satisfied look.

Steve moves immediately, grabbing a pie and pushing into Ryan's face. "That's for kissing my wife," he says but he looks at you, and you know he did it because Ryan had also pied you. You and Robin look at each other and smile. Ryan makes a loud, frustrated noise as he wipes the cream from his face, but Steve just shrugs.

He then goes up and kneels in front of Robin, matching her proposal speech in gooeyness, and she accepts with a face like she's going to cry.

To finish, he comes down the line and kisses you, keeping it short to make it another playful move, but it still makes your lips buzz and he's smiling widely as he goes back to the boys.

To defuse, you think, Carson goes next and proposes to Emma, who actually does start to cry. You all "aw" at her but she waves it away in embarrassment, making Carson smug with pride. He kisses you on the cheek—"thank you for making Emma feel welcome here"—and everyone "aw"'s again. Finally, he takes up a pie and adds it to the pile on Ryan's face, who becomes grumpy about it and makes everyone snicker.

The tension amps up again as Brandon volunteers and chooses to kiss Chrissy right off the bat. She's surprised and you can see Eddie grow rigid, Steve resting a hand on his shoulder soothingly. Chrissy gives a smile that looks more like a grimace when Brandon pulls away, and absolutely locks eyes with Eddie across the platform. He relaxes with the look she gives him.

Brandon walks down and proposes to you, staying sweet and light and making you laugh. You accept graciously and he smiles. The next thing he does endears him to you more than words ever could: he pies Ryan.

Eddie moves to go right after Brandon returns. He runs up to you and gives you a quick, sweet kiss, along with a stare that telepathically tells you it's for helping him with Chrissy (you think).

He then goes up to Chrissy and gets down on one knee. "Chrissy, I've liked you since Casa Amor," he says. "You're the drums to my guitar, the Madonna to my Steven Tyler, and I think you like me too. Will you marry me?"

She looks at him for a minute, long enough for him to start to get antsy, but finally nods and laughs. He lights up and puts the ring on her finger and hugs her tight. It all pretty much ensures their coupledom in the next recoupling.

He then grabs a pie and smashes it into Brandon's face. "That's for kissing my wife." He says it playfully, but you can see the satisfaction he got from the pie-ing. Thankfully, Brandon laughs and apologizes teasingly.

Erik goes next. He picks up a pie and unexpectedly throws it at Eddie, though he does it lightly. "That's for pie-ing my bombshell partner," he says with a chuckle, and then kneels in front of Brandon for another surprise. Brandon looks at him curiously and Erik just shrugs and says, "Thanks for being my bombshell partner." Brandon finally smiles and they hug—in a manly way, of course.

To round it off with yet another shock, he walks down the line of girls and stops in front of Nancy to kiss her. She seems pleasantly taken aback, and entertains it for a few seconds before lightly pushing him away, playing it off as embarrassment. He smiles and goes back to the boys.

Last but not least, Blake takes his turn. He goes up to Maggie and proposes with charm, to which she accepts with grace. He also kisses her but it's just part of the proposal, because he then goes up to Emma, kisses her on the cheek, and says, "Thanks for being my first partner and being so cool," with a kind grin. She goes a little pink—the horror of being called out for being nice!—but hugs him tightly.

Blake then picks up the last pie and pies...Ryan, just to come full circle. He doesn't grumble this time; he just licks at the whipped cream around his mouth.

Challenge finally over, you all race back to the villa to shower and get this gunk out of your hair. That night, freshly clean and all dressed up, you make the rounds to see how everyone feels after the wildest Snog, Marry, Pie you can remember.

For the most part, it's good news. Blake, Maggie, Emma, and Carson are all cool with each other and are too focused on talking about their own stunt to discuss anyone else's. Tania and Ryan are off on their own, licking their wounds—you don't even approach them, having heard them complain about all the islanders being "stuck-up", which is not a problem for you. Eddie and Chrissy are snuggling together and while it warms your heart, you check on Erik, only to find him talking with Nancy, who is making an effort in the conversation.

Most relieving is that Brandon isn't very hung up on your kisses with Steve, instead talking about other things and complimenting your proposal (you also compliment his). You do spend the night with him, pretending to be a good couple and trying not to stare at Steve and Robin, who are huddled together and looking as lovey-dovey as ever.

The only thing that gets you through it is the smiles and longing looks Steve throws your way.

;

Another couple of days pass without much drama—this must be somehow both the most boring and most exciting season of Island of Love ever, you think.

Robin and Nancy seem to be taking two steps forward and one step back, which you can understand. You keep up the charade with Brandon—the love charade at least, he is your friend by now—and the secret pining with Steve. He and Robin are just as romantic as ever, still overdoing platonic actions to distract from the lack of intimate ones.

Nancy and Erik, and Eddie and Chrissy, spend more time together—though the latter's time is much more physically affectionate. No kissing yet, as they're not an official couple, but almost everything but. Everyone else is also lovey-dovey in their couples, although Ryan and Tania are properly gross about it.

It's been a breezy day so far, including an actual breeze in the air. There was sleeping in, coffee, swim lessons, shaving reviews, group discussions, and lots and lots of laughter. You and the rest of the girls are in the dressing room, talking over each other as you get ready for the evening. There are at least three conversations going on at once, but it's easy for all of you to participate in each one without trouble.

After taking plenty of selfies and group shots, you meet the boys outside. Brandon compliments you nicely, but what really makes your heart skip a beat is Steve's expression upon seeing you and the way he brushes his fingers against your hand as he passes to greet Robin. You're all about to split off into whatever groups naturally form when a phone chimes.

Erik pulls out his. "I got a text!" He yells—unnecessarily, as everyone is still in one clump. "Islanders, please go to the fire pit immediately."

A hush falls over the group and you all slowly make your way over there, sitting in your couples. Then, Robin's phone beeps. She reads, "Islanders, the public has been voting for the couples they think are the most compatible. The three least voted couples risk being dumped from the island tonight."

Her voice goes a bit squeaky by the end. It's not surprising—there are seven couples after all and you're nearing the final—but still unpleasant to confront. You all stand up, as you know what to expect.

Another phone goes off and Nancy pulls hers out. "The couples who are safe, in no particular order, are..."

Your phone dings and scares the hell out of you. Breathing deeply, you pull it out and read, "Emma and Carson." They both let out sighs of relief and sit back down, kissing each other sweetly but still adopting nervous expressions.

Eddie's phone chimes. He reads, "Steve and Robin." Now you let out a (silent) sigh of relief, as one piece of the puzzle is safe. They sit down and each lock eyes with you, giving you hopeful faces.

Carson's phone rings and he says, "Erik and Chrissy." Second piece of the puzzle secured.

Emma's phone chimes and she reads, "And Eddie and Nancy." Final pieces of the puzzle are good!

You're about to feel completely relaxed until you realize...you're still standing. And that last text was implied to be the last safe couple. Your breathing stutters.

Chrissy pulls out her phone—you didn't even hear it go off—and says worriedly, "The final three couples are at risk of being dumped from the island tonight. Please stand in front of the fire pit."

You and Brandon, Ryan and Tania, and Blake and Maggie all do as directed. It's much worse from this angle, as you're now faced with everyone's anxious looks and tense body language, which is not helping your own. Brandon grabs your hand and you clutch it gratefully. Steve gets the next text: "The remaining islanders will now determine which one couple will stay in the villa."

Jaws drop and another text immediately follows that one. Steve finishes, "That was not a typo. Two couples are going home tonight."

"They didn't need to say that, we got it," Emma mutters, annoyed. You'd smile if you weren't so terrified.

Everyone but the three standing couples huddle together and speak in hushed voices. This is actually the worst part, you think. When watching the show, you're privy to the whole discussion, but as a couple on the chopping block, you have no idea what's going on over there. You can only hope your friends are vouching for you and Brandon to stay, but it's definitely a tough choice with Blake and Maggie also on the line.

It feels like an eternity—or maybe a few seconds—before the islanders settle back into their seats. Chrissy stands to give the final verdict.

"This was a really hard decision," she starts, her voice wobbling just the tiniest bit, "and it was torture to have to make it. We love all of you and don't want to send any of you home. But we can only save one couple, and so the discussion was heart-wrenching and powerful. We have decided to save..."

When she finishes with yours and Brandon's names, your knees almost give out. Brandon swings you around to hug you tightly, which you return in a daze.

Then you're turning to Blake and Maggie and your eyes are filling with tears at the sight of their own. They're smiling—it's not all bad, they reassure, they're going home together, and they're so thankful to the show and all of you for bringing them together and rooting for them—but soon everyone is crying too, hugs going on for a long time.

All of you walk the couples to the villa and help them pack, stopping every few items to relive a memory attached to one or another. When you finally lead them to the outer doors, you all take last hugs and watch them leave.

You sigh, exhausted, but you also know the night is still young and it's time for the public to hear the real thoughts about the dumping. Leaning against Chrissy, you escort each other back out to the daybeds. Thankfully, Carson and Emma nor Brandon and Erik join you—the former because they just lost their best couple friendship and want to be alone, and the latter for discussing something, which you're thinking is Erik and Nancy's blossoming relationship.

You lay back and smile at Steve and Robin as they join. Robin sits in the middle so you can cuddle someone without it looking suspicious, but Steve secretly keeps his hand under both your bodies and strokes your shoulder tenderly. Nancy also sits on your bed, close to Robin but not too close. Though, you can see Robin's foot brushing against Nancy's lower back and Nancy relaxing. Chrissy and Eddie snuggle together on the other bed.

"Alright," you start tiredly, "tell me everything."

"Well, it was tough to make the decision between you and Brandon, and Blake and Maggie." Robin says first. "Carson and Emma were really rooting for Blake and Maggie." Translation: It was hard to convince them to dump their friends.

"They did mention they don't see compatibility between you and Brandon," Steve adds, "but that it was a very small belief." Translation: They know you and Brandon are not a lasting couple and didn't want to save you.

You argue, "They're wrong about that." Translation: I will have to work harder to be more couple-y. Robin rests her head on your shoulder at the implication.

"We know," Eddie insists. Translation: Yeah, you will.

"What about Ryan and Tania?" You ask.

Everyone's mouth twists. "That was hard too," Chrissy says, "but an easier decision than the other one." Translation: Obviously they were going to go home the whole time.

"I hope they're doing okay," Nancy adds with an almost-there sincerity. Translation: Thank god they're gone, we hated them. You try not to laugh.

"Thank you guys for saving us," you reply, fully sincere. Translation: Thank you for saving my ass so we can keep up our missions.

"It wasn't just us." Chrissy looks at you intently. Translation: You're gonna have to thank Carson, Emma, and Erik a whole lot to make it worth it for them. You nod seriously, indicating you understand.

Then you're yawning, and it is classified as contagious for a reason.

You try to sink father back into Robin, but she pushes until you're off her and sitting upright. You whine as she climbs out, but she just squeezes your cheeks and smiles. Steve doesn't follow her right away and you're so tempted to just lay back and rest against him, but you resist it. You'll be able to do that soon.

He does help you up however, pulling you into a standing position and leading you back to the villa with everyone else. You give him a grateful, longing look that he returns, and then you go shower. You thankfully get to bed while Brandon is still awake, and motion for him to join you under the covers.

"Ooh," he says once covered completely, "I feel honored to be getting a meeting with you under the covers. I always wondered what you did under here."

You laugh quietly. "It's the only privacy you can get here. Some things you don't want the whole public knowing."

"Fair," he replies with a smile. "What's up?"

"I think we should make the rounds tomorrow and really thank everyone for saving us," you explain, "especially with Carson and Emma. Blake and Maggie were their best friends."

"That's a good idea. We can definitely do that tomorrow."

You give him a relieved look. "Great. I just think we owe them a lot."

"I agree." He nods and you smile kindly. He returns it then adds, "Is that it? 'Cause it's really hot under here."

"Yeah," you respond with a giggle. "Only drawback."

You both pop out from under the covers to the dark room and roll to face opposite directions. Steve is looking back at you, small smile on his face. You smile back, and fall asleep quickly, to thoughts of him.

;

True to your word, you and Brandon give your thanks graciously and frequently. You make coffee for Carson and Emma while Brandon prepares them some fruit for breakfast (not oranges of course), and then sit and eat with them to really thank them and let them talk about the dumping. They were sad to lose Blake and Maggie, and were unsure about you and Brandon, but they seem pleasantly surprised by the gesture, during which you're a bit more physically affectionate with Brandon to really seal it.

You two also thank everyone else, verbally and by doing little tasks here and there. Brandon brings Steve a towel after his morning laps and you offer to help Robin shave again (she declines). Brandon spots Erik in the gym during his workout and you have a real discussion with Nancy to get to know her better one-on-one. You give Eddie advice on how to keep going with Chrissy while Brandon gives her a (innocent!) neck massage for a knot she's had in her shoulder for a week now. When Robin sees that, she grumbles jokingly that she wishes that was her thank-you gift, making you laugh.

You and Brandon even, in the evening, make dinner for everyone else. Well, Brandon makes it. You help as much as you can without ruining anything, after you'd burned the pasta and cut the vegetables so horribly that Brandon confiscated the knife from you with a laugh. To make up for your lousy cooking skills, you become the most gracious hostess, handing out drinks, appetizers, and talking with everyone. It works well enough.

The next day, you all keep it low-key. You make sure to spend most of your time with Brandon, and cuddle with him close enough to satisfy the public and other islanders of your compatibility. People rotate in and out to talk with you two, and it kind of feels like you're holding court for your loyal subjects.

Robin says she had her best shave yet with a truly brilliant smile that could blind someone. Eddie and Chrissy confirm they're basically a couple now that Erik has been talking more with Nancy. Steve comes around and mostly talks sports with Brandon, while you try not to stare at him dreamily, picturing his hands wrapped around you and his lips on yours. Even Nancy stops by, not talking about anything in particular, but you can see her happiness has increased since Robin's "shaves" have gotten better.

After all the girls get dressed up and the night falls, but before anyone can cheers the newly opened champagne, someone receives a text.

"I got a text!" Robin says. "Islanders, please gather around the fire pit."

The mood isn't as low as last time since this can't be another dumping. Sure enough, when you're all sitting in your couples, Carson gets the next text and reads, "Islanders, it's time for a recoupling. As the girls will be choosing, will the boys please line up in front of the fire pit."

Brandon gives you a smile that you return as he joins the rest of the guys in a line. Emma's phone goes off and she stands with a lovestruck expression. It's a soft sight on her usually stony face.

She starts, "I would like to couple up with this boy because he's somehow turned me into the gooiest, mushiest girl here, and I'm not even that mad about it." Everyone laughs quietly and Carson grins cheekily. "I'm so happy we met in Casa Amor and that he liked me as much as I liked him. That we still like each other so much. I can't wait to see where this goes in the future—I think it'll be a happy ending. So the boy I'd like to couple up with is...Carson."

Everyone claps as Carson jogs to Emma and gives her a sweet kiss before they sit down. Chrissy's phone dings and she stands. When you take a peek at Eddie, he's looking at her with adoration.

"I'd like to couple up with this boy," she says, "because he really has been my rock after everything that happened with he-who-shall-not-be-named. He's almost brought me back to life and I can't believe I just about passed up that chance. I am so grateful," she says your name and looks at you in thanks, "that you brought him back from Casa Amor. I don't know where I'd be otherwise—he really is the guitar to my drums. So the boy I'd like to couple up with is...Eddie."

You cheer the loudest as he walks over to her and gives her a huge hug. She laughs when he kisses her cheek and they sit, wrapped around each other. Then Robin's phone chimes and she stands up.

"I'd like to couple up with this boy, because it's alarming how well we go together. He makes me laugh, swoon, and coffee, and what more can you ask for?" Steve rolls his eyes with a smile. "I'm so glad he took a chance on me in Casa and I can't thank him enough. I really think we're soulmates on some level. So the boy I'd like to couple up with is...Steve."

You feel sad for a brief moment—that should be you—but it fades quickly when both Steve and Robin look at you with love. You smile back at them and notice how Steve fully relaxes into Robin at it. Nancy's phone rings and she stands.

"I'd like to couple up with this boy, because even though we haven't known each other long, I think we get along really well and I'm excited to see where it can go. He seems to really understand me and isn't that the most important thing in a relationship? So the boy I'd like to couple up with is...Erik."

He smiles and kisses her on the cheek when he reaches her. They sit, and he puts an arm around her shoulders, but they don't hold hands. Maybe by the "really understand me" Nancy actually meant it—that he knows? You ponder until your own phone goes off next to you. Confirming it's your turn to choose, you stand.

"I'd like to couple up with this boy, because we have fun together and he makes me smile. I'm glad he took a chance on me and I'd like to say it's worked out so far." Brandon smiles kindly. "We laugh at the same things, think on the same wavelength, and like the same people—each other." Everyone chuckles at your teasing. "I wanna thank him for everything we've been through together. So the boy I'd like to couple up with is...Brandon."

He walks over and you give him a genuine, tight hug that he returns, and you two sit down.

Since that's everyone, you all break from the serious feeling and start talking and laughing again. Eddie immediately leads Chrissy to a daybed and no one follows. You and Brandon join Steve and Robin in the kitchen for some food.

When Robin whoops in joy and you all follow her line of sight to Eddie and Chrissy and see them kissing sweetly, everyone joins in, you probably the loudest. The couple part from each other and Eddie waves at everyone to shut up as Chrissy covers her red face with her hands. He brings her close and they cuddle.

The four of you in the kitchen walk over to them as soon as possible and congratulate them, embarrassing them further and laughing at their flustered faces.

You all sit together and get close and talk. Eventually Erik and Nancy and Emma and Carson wander over and join in. You're not sure how you all fit on the daybeds but you make it happen. As you survey everyone on top of each other, both physically and verbally, you think this may be your favorite part of the whole experience. Well, maybe second best, you think, as you catch Steve's eye and he gives you a smile that melts your entire being.

;

In the morning a few days later, you're not woken up by sunlight shining onto your face, someone jumping into your bed, a phone chiming with a text. You're woken up by...a baby crying.

You jolt upright at the loud sound. Brandon is groggily waking up next to you, as are most of the islanders, with the exception of Steve, who has already jumped out of bed. He has the biggest smile on his face as he looks at you—it makes your heart sing. You're interrupted from further daydreaming as the crying continues.

"It's baby day!" Steve shouts excitedly and runs towards the noise.

"Wha?" Robin mumbles from her pillow, eyes still closed.

"It's baby day," Emma repeats, but her voice is filled with dread. She follows it up with a groan and a flopping back onto the bed. Beside her, Carson is grinning and standing and rushing after Steve. You go with him, padding into the villa's living room to find five cribs holding five fake, but very loud, babies. Well, four—Steve has picked up his and Robin's baby and is rocking it in his arms, cooing at it softly. Noticeably, his baby is not crying anymore.

Shaking your head so you don't keep staring at Steve being the cutest dad ever, you locate yours and Brandon's crib and peer in. Brandon soon pops his head next to yours.

"Aw," he says, "it's a girl."

"How can you tell?" You ask, as he picks up the baby.

He shrugs while holding your "daughter" on his hip. "I can't. I just want a girl."

You chuckle and caress the baby's cheek. Her cries soften then disappear, as Brandon continues to bounce her. "What's her name?"

"That's up to you," he replies. "I did pick the gender."

You hum, studying the doll for a few seconds. “Violet," you say abruptly, the name just popping into your head.

"Violet," Brandon echos. "Yeah, you look like a Violet." He's talking to the baby.

"Vi for short," you add and he nods.

"Hold her?" You take her gently. "I'm finding her an outfit."

"I get final approval!" You call as he races to the big bin of baby clothes in the corner. Carson and Robin are already there and digging through. You look back at baby Violet and picture her as a real child. At the fantasy, you hold her tighter and glance at Steve, who has his doll tucked against his chest sweetly as Robin shows him the outfit options she'd picked out. He senses your eyes and looks back at you, giving you a bright smile at seeing you with your doll as well.

After returning it, you peek into the crib again and find a pacifier and bottle. You pick them up. Brandon comes back, holding up two cute dresses. You survey them and choose one, giving Violet back to Brandon so he can dress her.

"Here," you say, holding out the baby's extra items to him. He takes them and puts them in his pajama bottom pocket. "I'm gonna get ready quickly. I'll be right back." Brandon nods, and you can't help but drop a kiss on Violet's head before rushing out. You keep your word and get dressed in record time, only stopping to brush your teeth and hair. You meet him back by the crib and take now-dressed Violet so Brandon can get ready too. You let him know you'll be outside.

You make your way to the kitchen, finding Steve there making coffee. "For you," he says while passing you a mug. Taking a sip, you sigh in happiness—it's perfect. You tell him as much and he beams. He continues, "And who's this?"

You adjust Violet so she's facing Steve and stroke her head. "This is Violet."

"Oh, I love that name!" He exclaims. "It's on my shortlist for daughters."

You blush at his excitement. The universe just keeps showing you signs that Steve's the one, doesn't it? "Where's your kid?" You ask to change the subject.

"With his mother," he replies and you both smirk. "On the daybeds." He points, and you follow his finger to see Robin playing with their doll in the shade. "His name is Dustin."

"Interesting," you muse.

"Named after a close friend," Steve explains. At your smile he goes pink. "Miss that guy."

"I'm sure he's watching and is honored you named your son after him."

"He better!" Steve calls out toward any nearby camera, and you laugh.

"You still gonna get to swim?"

He nods. "Robin's letting me swim if I'll let her nap later."

"Great parenting skills right off the bat," you praise, and he preens.

"Hey," Brandon says as he walks into the kitchen. Steve hands him a mug and Brandon thanks him in surprise.

"We talked about drinking our coffee black," Steve says. "So it's easy to make."

Brandon's about to reply when Emma comes stomping into the kitchen. She pulls open the fridge door angrily and you all look at her. "What?" She barks and everyone averts their gaze. Carson comes striding in soon after, baby strapped to his chest in a carrier. He looks frustrated—Carson, not the baby.

"Emma," he says, voice tense, "we have to talk about it."

"What's there to talk about?" She fumes and slams the fridge door closed. "I said I don't want to take care of it. That's pretty straightforward."

"Scott is not an 'it'," Carson retorts, "and this whole challenge is about parenting together."

"'He'," Emma mocks, "is not even real!"

Carson gasps and covers his baby's ears as if protecting him from her statement. "He is very real, to me at least."

"Give me a break." She rolls her eyes.

"If that's what you want!" He yells and then stalks away, taking his baby to the beanbags and sitting with Eddie and Chrissy, who are cooing over their own doll together. Emma scoffs in response and goes to the sundeck, not even finishing making her coffee. You, Brandon, and Steve all look at each other with grimaces.

"I'm gonna join Robin," you say hesitantly. "Feel free to work out if you want." It's directed at Brandon, who nods slowly. You leave the kitchen and settle onto a daybed, as Steve and Brandon finish their coffee and go their separate ways.

Looking at Robin and baby Dustin, you have to laugh at the sight of the doll covered in white lotion, sunscreen presumably. Since it can't soak in, it just sits on the doll's "skin" oddly.

Robin looks at you and realizes what you're laughing about. "Sun protection is important!" She protests.

You laugh again but nod as well. "It's a good idea. Pass me the bottle." Triumphant, she gives you the sunscreen and you cover baby Violet in the lotion as well. When you're done, you look at Robin and both of you bust out laughing. 

"Okay," she wheezes, "it's pretty funny."

"I told you!" You shout between giggles.

"At least we're being good mothers," Robin pants, "even if they look ridiculous."

"Aw, they don't look ridiculous," Chrissy says sweetly, having walked over to you and Robin. She sits at your feet and motions for the bottle, which you hand to her. She squirts some out and lathers it on her doll. Once it's covered, her mouth twists like she's holding in a laugh. "Okay, maybe a little bit." You and Robin laugh again and Chrissy joins in. The three of you settle back and Chrissy introduces you to her and Eddie's daughter, Katie.

"I never knew if I wanted kids," you say, "but I guess I do now." You hold Violet to your chest and squeeze her tight.

"Oh, I've always wanted kids!" Chrissy replies.

"You would," Robin teases, and Chrissy rolls her eyes good-naturedly. She continues, "I still don't think I want any. Dustin here is cute but the cons outweigh the pros for me."

Chrissy frowns. "But you look so cute with him!"

Robin grins and pretends to model with her doll, making you and Chrissy laugh. "We may be adorable, but there's a lot more that goes into not fucking up your kid."

"Every kid gets fucked up, one way or another," you input. "You can't help it. Just as long as you try your best, love them no matter what, and always encourage them to be open with you, it'll be okay in the end."

Chrissy and Robin golf clap. "Very wise," Robin says snobbily. You shove her in retaliation. "Hey, watch the baby!"

At that moment, your baby starts crying. "Oh," you coo, "is little Vi hungry? Should we go see where daddy put your bottle?" She screams louder in response and you snort. "I'll be back," you tell Chrissy and Robin, who nod in sympathy.

You slide off the bed and walk over to Brandon in the gym, shouting that Violet's hungry. When Brandon understands your words, his face turns to one of horror.

"I left it upstairs," he says like he's going to be struck by lightning for admitting it.

"Okay," you shrug, "go get it."

He races off and into the villa. You bounce Vi, shushing her even though it doesn't do much. Brandon reappears and practically sprints to get the bottle to you. You take it and adjust the doll so you can start "feeding" her. As soon as the bottle's in place, she quiets down. You look up at Brandon with a smile, but he's frowning.

"I'm so sorry," he groans.

"Hey," you soothe, stroking his upper arm. "It's okay. She got it in the end." He makes a face. "Not the end of the world," you insist. "Look, she's perfectly fine now." You both look down at her, "eating" happily. Eventually, the noises taper off and you intuit she's done. Looking up at Brandon, you ask, "Wanna burp her?"

He looks a little afraid but nods anyway. You smile encouragingly and hand her to him, placing her in the correct position. He starts to pat her back and after a few minutes, she lets out a burp.

"You got it!" You exclaim happily.

He grins back at you as he moves the doll so he's holding her on his hip. "I got it from here," he says confidently. "You go take a break."

"Alright," you reply, impressed, and walk back to the daybed, where Steve has joined Robin and Chrissy has disappeared. You take up your previous spot on the vacant bed and watch as the couple make the exchange. Steve is cooing at baby Dustin so lovingly that it makes your heart (and thighs) clench. He only has eyes for the doll, not even noticing when Robin lets out a sigh once her hands are empty. She stands and pads away, murmuring something about finally getting coffee, and you lay down on your side to keep watching Steve.

The sight of Steve caring so much for a doll just makes you want to see how he'd be with a real baby. You try not to let your face go too lovestruck, but it's a losing battle.

"Where's Vi?" Steve breaks into your reverie.

"With her father," you respond dreamily.

Steve looks at you finally and sees the expression on your face. You blush at being found out, but his smile just grows. "Robin told me you want kids?" He sounds hopeful.

"I do," you confirm. "Obviously, so do you."

He somehow brightens further. "Always. Want a whole pack of them running around."

You laugh. "How many is in a pack?"

"Six, give or take," he answers, and chuckles when your jaw drops. "But I'd be fine with one. Just need a baby in my life sometime."

"I think you can get more than one." You watch his face intently and almost swoon when his smile about splits his face.

"Yeah?" He asks excitedly.

You hum affirmatively, and Steve holds Dustin tighter in response, still gazing at you. "Did Robin tell you she doesn't really want them?"

He shrugs and nods at the same time. "So did Nancy."

"Interesting. How did Erik take it?"

"Surprisingly well. Didn't even bat an eye."

More evidence he knows what's going on behind the scenes, or can sense it anyway. "What do you think about Emma and Carson?"

He looks out into the backyard, and you follow his gaze to the sundeck, where Emma is still sitting, rigid and tense. You search out Carson, who is with Brandon by the trellis. They're talking normally while their dolls lay on their chests, each secured with an arm around them. It's a cute visual.

Steve turns back to you. "I don't know." He sighs. "Bad sign."

You nod in agreement. "Worries me."

"Me too."

"You too what?" Eddie interrupts, plopping next to Steve, baby-free. He plays with Dustin, making faces even though the baby can't laugh at him. You do instead.

"Emma and Carson," Steve explains. "Worries us."

"Oh, yeah," Eddie replies gravely. "I heard about the kitchen fight."

You wince. "Not a pretty sight."

"Hope they can work it out," Steve says.

"I don't know," you protest. "That's a big thing to disagree about. Deal breaker for a lot of people."

"Well, it's good that Chrissy and I both want kids," Eddie says brightly, to lighten the mood. You raise an eyebrow and Steve gives him a look. "Sorry! But the topic was depressing me."

You can understand that, so you three start talking about other, happier things. Brandon wanders over and sits with you, starting a conversation about what you think your babies would be like in real life: Violet would be quiet, thoughtful, and kind; Dustin would be loud, passionate, and funny, "just like his namesake," Steve adds. Eddie runs off and drags Chrissy over with Katie so they can join in, saying she would be punk, rebellious, but a softie at heart.

You watch in jealousy as they gaze at each other with heart eyes, wanting to be able to do that too. You sense and look over to lock eyes with Steve, who has a soft, adoring expression. Soon, it seems to say, and it makes you glow with happiness.

You wander away in search of something to eat, and encounter Robin and Nancy talking animatedly in the kitchen. They barely notice your arrival, they're so wrapped up in each other, and you smile into the fridge for them.

As you munch on some grapes, you survey the scene. Carson has joined Erik on the trellis seating, adopting the same pose. It looks like they're dozing, but the babies are still tucked into them closely. Emma has moved to a beach chair and is suntanning, though she doesn't look very relaxed. Steve and Brandon have moved to the beanbags to sit in the sun, hats tucked low on the babies' heads. Eddie and Chrissy have taken over a full daybed, laying next to each other with their doll in the middle, talking and laughing gently.

You're marveling at the view of it all when a phone beeps. "I got a text!" Nancy yells. "Islanders, it's time to learn who has passed the baby challenge!" Everyone cheers.

She continues, "The couples who have passed are...Steve and Robin." They both pump their hands in the air, turning to each other to do an air high-five, which makes you snort. "Eddie and Chrissy." They lift their hands from the daybed in triumph. "And..." She finishes with yours and Brandon's names, and you both whoop.

"The couples who have not passed are...Erik and Nancy." She goes sheepish. "I wasn't very attentive, I'll agree with that. But Erik was a model father!" She yells and he shouts back a thanks. "And...Emma and Carson." It's quiet as you all look at Carson, who doesn't look happy but doesn't say anything. Emma doesn't even look up.

"It's time to say goodbye to your babies," she finishes. "Please place them back in their cribs."

Everyone starts moving towards the villa. You approach Brandon and Violet with a pout. "Bye, baby Vi," you say softly, stroking her head lightly. "You were a great daughter."

Brandon gives you a sympathetic look. "The best."

"Can I put her back?" You ask, and Brandon hands her to you. You walk into the villa and lay her gently in her crib, giving her another silent goodbye as you take one last look. When you lift your head, you meet Steve's gaze as he leans over Dustin's crib. You smile at each other softly. Without breaking eye contact, you move towards each other and eventually hug tightly.

"God, I wanna kiss you," he whispers in your ear, and your breath catches.

"Me too," you reply, just as quiet. "So much."

"Just a little longer," he promises. You nod and he leans back to look at you again. You're trying not to cry, hating this invisible barrier between you, but Steve just keeps projecting strength in his stare. You breathe deeply to regain composure and eventually step away. He seems reluctant to let you go. You give him one last grateful smile as you follow the girls upstairs. You try to memorize his returning beam before he disappears from view.

;

The next day is much quieter, but you feel a sense of emptiness. "Is it weird if I miss the babies?" You wonder aloud in the morning, sitting at the kitchen counter and savoring your coffee.

Emma scoffs and says, "yes," while Steve replies, "no," at the same time. Emma rolls her eyes at Steve's answer and walks away. Instead of going somewhere in the backyard, she enters the villa and eventually emerges on the terrace. You exchange a look with Robin, who's standing next to Steve across from you.

"Think that's a good on-the-terrace mood?" Robin asks hopefully, face falling when you shake your head no.

"I'll go," you reassure her and stand from your stool. You grab Emma's half-finished coffee and bring it to her on the terrace. She doesn't take it when you hold it out to her, so you set it on the table in front of you and sit next to her. You let the quiet linger a bit longer, finishing your own coffee, before setting the empty cup next to Emma's and asking gently, "You okay?"

"Fuck off," she snarls. You don't take it to heart and just nod, lapsing into silence again. A little while longer, as you're daydreaming about Steve, she says quietly, "No."

You look at her. She looks miserable. "Wanna talk about it?"

She shrugs. She doesn't say anything for a minute, but eventually continues. "I don't want kids."

"That's okay," you reply. She looks up at you, seemingly surprised. "Not everyone has to have kids."

"But..." She trails off, chewing the inside of her cheek. "It's what a woman should want."

"No one can decide what a woman wants except that woman."

"But that's what Carson said," she argues, on the edge of tears.

You give her a sympathetic expression. "Well, that was an asshole thing to say." She snorts like she wasn't expecting it. You keep going. "He doesn't get to tell you what you want. No one does but you."

"Yeah," she says with confidence, surprising you both. She embraces it. "You're right. I'm in control of myself."

"Exactly," you encourage.

"And I don't want kids!"

"Damn right!" You give her a high-five and then the two of you dissolve into giggles.

"I can't believe I let a man tell me what to do," she says with disgust.

"I thought you were lost to us forever." She pushes you at your teasing and you laugh.

She gives you an appreciative face. "Thank you." It's so sincere it kind of makes you wanna cry.

"That's what friends are for." You go bright so you don't actually tear up. "Ready to go back?"

She nods firmly and you stand together, walking through the villa quickly. She emerges outside with her head held high and doesn't even look at Carson, who's giving her a dirty look. However, you look at him and shoot him your middle finger, making his mouth gape in shock. You snicker at it as you rejoin your friends in the kitchen, Emma making some toast and talking with Steve and Robin.

You stick close to her during the day and into the night, just to be supportive, but it doesn't seem like she needs it. She stays strong and you wouldn't have believed she'd been so low before if you hadn't seen it with your own two eyes. She even picks out a daring outfit that makes her look smoking hot and refuses to speak to Carson when he tries to talk to her. You've never been prouder.

You two are relaxing on the beanbags with Nancy and Erik, talking about nothing and everything, when a phone chimes. "I got a text!" Eddie yells from the trellis bench, where he's laying with Chrissy. "Islanders, please gather around the fire pit immediately."

You and Emma give each other an exasperated look as you get up and join the procession to the fire pit. You sit in your couples, Emma with an inch of space between her and Carson. Another phone goes off and Brandon pulls his out. "Islanders, it's time for the final dumping. The public have been voting for their favorite couples and the one with the least votes will be going home tonight."

You hold Brandon's hand tighter, remembering the last dumping. You expect it to be a drawn-out, torturous affair, but when Robin's phone dings, she reads, "The couple with the least amount of votes is..."

Your phone startles you by ringing. You lift it up and say grimly, "Emma and Carson."

Everyone looks at them. Carson looks upset but Emma just shrugs. She stands and you walk over to her, all the girls following and circling around her. "I figured," she explains. "Yesterday could not have been in our favor."

"Hopefully the public are just not voting for you two because of what Carson said," you offer hopefully. Emma looks at you with a smile.

"Maybe," she says lightly. "But I'm mostly sad that I'm gonna miss you guys so much." You all "aw" and go in for a group hug. She giggles at the center and holds everyone close. "Help me pack?" She asks when you break apart. All the girls nod.

You take her back to the villa and pack her suitcase slowly, reminiscing about your adventures in the villa in the past weeks. You laugh, you cry, and you hug an alarming amount of times, but it still doesn't feel like enough. When she and Carson wave and step out of the door, you lean against Chrissy with tears in your eyes. "She was our day one-er," you say wetly.

Chrissy sniffles. "Gonna miss her."

"Me too." You look at each other, but it just makes you both cry again. Eddie comes over and you lay Chrissy against him gently. She digs her head into his chest as he holds her tightly, smiling at you in sympathy. You smile back.

Walking with them to the backyard, you want nothing more than to go to Steve and be held by him, to hear his heart beating under your cheek and feel his lips on the crown of your head. Instead, you go to Brandon and hook your elbow with his, resting against him just a little. He places his hand on yours, patting it lightly in comfort.

"Come on," Robin says softly. "Let's get a drink."

You and Brandon nod and follow her to the island, where the glasses and champagne bottle are waiting. Erik opens it expertly and pours, Nancy handing out the flutes to everyone. Brandon lifts his into the air.

"Island of Love final four!" He shouts.

You all echo him and cheers. As you sip, you glance around at everyone, chatting lowly. You land on Steve, who's staring back at you. You two smile at each other, and you wonder what will happen next.

;

one year later

CELEB Magazine Issue 2780

HAPPY ONE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY TO THE MOST BATSH*T INSANE FINALE IN ISLAND OF LOVE HISTORY

There are days everyone asks if you remember where you were when they occurred: September 11, 2001; the day Michael Jackson died; when Destiel became canon. And the latest event to be added to that list is the season five finale of Island of Love, where the craziest series of things happened to create the most memorable episode in all of reality television. It's officially been a year, so let's recap, shall we?

Season five was a weird ride from start to finish. There was drama for sure, but we can't say we completely understood it. And there were a lot of secret conversations the contestants had that couldn't be recorded—making the creators revamp their procedures so that couldn't happen anymore. Because of that, we probably should've seen it all coming, and on some level, we did. But it was also way more than we expected.

We went into the finale with four couples: Steve and Robin, Eddie and Chrissy, Erik and Nancy, and Y/N and Brandon. We liked them, we thought they liked each other. We were wrong. Kind of.

It was wild from the very beginning. After introductions and some videos from the season as a whole, host Naomi Tressel is about to announce the fourth place winners, when Nancy interrupts her. "Stop!" She says. "I need to say something!"

After given a microphone, she proceeds to apologize and profess her love to fellow islander Robin. Everyone's jaws drop, there's crickets from the audience. But none of the islanders look surprised, let alone absolutely shocked like we were. Once Nancy is finished, Robin runs towards her and they kiss passionately, while the other contestants just smile and cheer them on. Even their partners, Erik and Steve, seem happy for them.

So Robin and Nancy—who, we've learned, were friends with benefits before Nancy came on the show to get back with her ex, Steve, and Robin followed to get her back—are hugging and no one's sure what to do next. Naomi is begging for direction, but even the producers don't know what to say. Eventually, someone takes charge and tells Naomi to keep going as planned. We hear that she looked at them like they were crazy, but adopts a composed expression when the camera turns on her.

"Well, wasn't that a surprise!" She exclaims, clearly floundering. "Happy for the two of them. Going back to our program..." She then announces that Erik and Nancy had been fourth place, and the (ex?) couple hug. They join Naomi on the couch and nonchalantly answer all her questions about the season, revealing that Nancy had told Erik early on in their coupledom that she and Robin had something going and she was still exploring that. He'd been super cool about it and agreed to be her partner as she and Robin spoke further. Naomi stares at them as Nancy gives a tiny speech thanking Erik for helping her. He just responds that he's glad they finally got together, teasing that they took until the last minute.

They finish their interview and Naomi comes back after a commercial break to announce the third place couple. She's seemingly back to normal and reveals that Y/N and Brandon have won. The two of them join her on the couch, where they give everyone whiplash and explain that they weren't really a couple at all, but just good friends. How did they fool all of us so well? Watching their clips in the show, it's obvious. Well, hindsight is 20/20.

Then it's down to Steve and Robin and Eddie and Chrissy. Robin is back standing with Steve, while Nancy is standing with Brandon and Y/N, who are all hugging. Naomi tries to get her groove back and reveals that first place goes to...Steve and Robin! They cheer as confetti rains down, second place winners Eddie and Chrissy hugging them excitedly. Naomi then shoos them away so Steve and Robin can go through one last challenge: will they split the prize money?

Spoiler alert: they do, but not without one last twist. Steve gets the winning envelope and confirms that he's sharing the $50,000 with his partner Robin. But he doesn't stop there. No, he goes on to state that he won't be keeping his half of the money but giving it away, to...Y/N! We're flabbergasted. Y/N, of Y/N and Brandon, third place winners?

The very same. Steve explains that he's giving her the money not just because she deserves it, so she can focus on auditioning for an orchestra, but also because HE LOVES HER. IN THE ROMANTIC SENSE. As fans will remember, the two were coupled up in the first weeks, until Nancy stole him away and then he brought Robin back from Casa Amor. They were obviously good friends, and kissed a couple of times later in the season—claiming they were seeing if the "spark was still there"—but we never doubted Steve's fidelity to Robin, especially not after she called him her soulmate in a recoupling speech. Later, after the finale, Robin explained Steve is her soulmate—just platonically.

Y/N runs from behind the scenes and she and Steve embrace passionately, kissing for a really long time. Brandon doesn't look fazed at all. In fact, the rest of the islanders are all screaming for them and running onstage to pile into a group hug. When the camera goes back to Naomi, she can't help but look helpless.

"Well," she says, “that's all for tonight, I guess. Unless there's another surprise?" She looks at the contestants, who all shake their heads, smiling from ear to ear. "Thank god," she sighs. "Thanks for joining us on what's turned out to be one hell of a season finale." The program ends and the rest of the world just sits their with our mouths hanging open. Then, we obviously go on the internet.

It blows up, it trends, it goes viral. It's the biggest thing since One Direction broke up. It's the only thing anyone can talk about for days. And who can blame them? Almost none of the couples came out intact—the only exception being Eddie and Chrissy—and we were plot twisted three times in one hour. And in the year since, it's become a meme, a running gag, and even a cliché. But no one can ever outdo the original.

"We tried to see what our islanders have been up to since the finale, but couldn't get in touch with anyone. If y'all are reading this, can you give us a call? We wanna see how it's working out," you finish reading.

"Been working out pretty well, I'd say," Eddie says as he and Steve set down the couch they'd been carrying. Steve collapses onto it and you join him, his arms opening wide for you to cuddle close. You show him the magazine article, the pictures accompanying it from the live finale.

"Should we call them?" Robin teases, and Nancy pinches her side. "Ow!" She protests but Nancy just rolls her eyes fondly and tugs her closer, as they lean against the kitchen counter.

Chrissy pretends to think about it but ultimately waves a hand and says, "Nah." Eddie snorts as he sits in a chair near her, motioning for her to sit on his lap. She does so, relaxing back as his arms wrap around her waist.

You remember when you used to feel jealous about that public display of affection...but now you're where you belong, snuggled up with Steve, his head resting on top of yours.

You're all in your and Steve's new Chicago suburb apartment. It's a cute little place that's halfway between your places of work. It was an easy decision to move in together really—you'd been a real couple since the finale. You had immediately gone off on a vacation, just the two of you, to make up for all the time you hadn't gotten to spend together during the show. You hadn't told anyone but your friends and sworn them to secrecy, so no pesky reporters tracked you down.

The choice of location had been by chance. You and Steve had actually picked up a map and both pointed with your eyes closed—your finger landed on Maine while his on Idaho, so you of course went to Maine. You'd gotten your parents to reserve a tiny Airbnb right on the coast, and so you and Steve holed up together. There were nights out, nights in, a whale-watching tour and even a boat to Nova Scotia, just for the hell of it. You two had gotten to know each other quite well, and best of all, Steve had finished his bedtime story about Eleven and the Upside Down (but sh, no spoilers).

It had been hard to go home separately after that month of bliss, but you both dove into working to get back to each other. You'd quit your job and went full-force into auditioning, going all over the United States before accepting a first violin placement with the Chicago Symphony. Steve had applied to all of the school distracts he wanted to work at in Illinois, eventually interviewing for and getting a great position in Maine Township, just outside Chicago.

It also helped that your friends and fellow islanders also live in Chicago. Chrissy had joined Eddie there and gone one step further to join his band. He swears that she elevated them, since now they play at mid-level clubs around the city and have a record deal pending. Chrissy blushes whenever he says it but doesn't refute it. Nancy accepted that anchor job offer when she'd come back, Robin in tow. They weren't living together just yet, but it's a close thing. Robin spends all her time at Nancy's apartment anyway. She claims it's better than hers and Nancy doesn't disagree.

Steve points out a great picture of the two of you kissing. You nod. “Maybe we should reach out,” you say, “just so they can send us the original photo. It would look so good framed.” Steve laughs with everyone else, his chest vibrating against your back, making you go all gooey inside. “I’m serious!” You protest.

Steve kisses your temple. “I know, beautiful; it’s a good idea. I’d love to be able to see that moment everyday. Best of my life.”

You blush as all your friends “aw” at the sentiment. “Mine too,” you reply softly, embarrassed by how exhilarating it is to hear those words. Steve just squeezes you to him, burrowing his face into your neck and placing barely-there kisses to the skin.

“I think it was the best moments of all our lives,” Nancy muses, but Eddie holds up a finger.

“Not me. It’s a toss-up between proposing to this beauty during Snog, Marry, Pie, or our first kiss as a couple.” He tightens his arms around Chrissy, who smiles.

She adds, “I think mine was when I got to pie Ryan.” Eddie tickles her for that and she laughs, swatting his hands away. “I’m kidding,” she finally says and Eddie settles. “It was the first time we kissed, period. In Casa Amor.” Everyone “aw”’s again as they kiss.

“Well mine was the finale,” Robin declares, holding Nancy closer. “Obviously. Who would say Nancy Wheeler confessing their love for you on live television wasn’t their best moment?”

You almost expect Nancy to pinch her again for that, but she just leans over and kisses her girlfriend softly, not even adding anything.

Your phone chimes and you say, “I got a text!” as you pull it out, just for the hell of it. You giggle as everyone groans. “It’s Emma! She’s set to come up next weekend. We got confirmation from Brandon and Erik too? And Blake and Maggie?”

After being dumped from the show, Emma and Carson had gone their separate ways—a definite good thing. She’d moved down to Miami and became a semi-professional boxer, doing great in that circuit. Similarly, Brandon and Erik had also gone south, to Texas, and went into business together. You’re not exactly sure what they do but they’re good at it—their company is super successful. Blake and Maggie had moved in together, in her hometown of San Francisco. You’d been surprised at the choice—it was expensive as fuck—but both of them had signed brand deals after the show and were the faces of major ad campaigns, so you think they’re good.

“Erik is in,” Nancy confirms.

“So is Brandon,” Steve follows up.

“As are Blake and Maggie!” Chrissy finishes excitedly. “It’s gonna be a proper Island of Love reunion!”

“Thank god there won’t be any cameras this time,” you sigh. “Maybe Blake, Maggie, and Emma can get their shit together.”

“What do you mean?” Robin asks, intrigued.

“Okay, swearing y’all to secrecy.” Everyone nods seriously. “She told me recently she had a crush on both Blake and Maggie during the show.” A couple people gasp and you nod enthusiastically. “And now that she’s not with Carson, she can see if they’d be open to it!”

“There are other elements of that situation that we don’t know exist,” Eddie points out.

You look at Chrissy. “Well,” she draws out, twisting her mouth. “Maggie told me she’s bi too. And that both of them are into the idea of being poly.”

Everyone “ooh”’s and you display your hands like you’re resting your case. “It’s perfect.”

“Does that mean we have another secret mission on our hands?” Steve says slyly, raising an eyebrow.

You all look at each other in hopeful curiosity. Everyone seems on board with the idea and so you clap your hands. “Operation Throuple is officially underway!”

The other two couples start talking over each other to bicker about the name, while you settle back against Steve and enjoy the moment.

“Okay,” Steve says quietly, just for you. “This might be tied for best moment of my life.”

You smile. “Tied with the finale?”

“Tied with every other moment I get to spend with you.” He nuzzles his nose against your cheek and you giggle. “You’re the love of my life, you know that?“

Your heart jumps, but you just nod. “I know. You know you’re mine too?”

“I know,” he whispers and kisses behind your ear.

Guess it was Island of Love for you after all.

#I read this on ao3 when it came out and jsut found it on here #and let me tell you #YOU HAVE TO READ THIS #ITS SO GOOD #I LOVED EVERYTHING ABOUT IT #AND THE CHARACTERS ARE ALL FULLY FLESHED OUT AND WELL WRITTEN #SO MANY PLOTS #it’s so perfect #this is the best #i love them sm #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fic #🪲 fic rec

[bug-fics]

Hey! Can I get the number 89 (in honour of 1989 tv) with finnick ?

☼ lovestruck, lovesick, lovelorn pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, death mention, death, gore for sure, blood, weapon usage, mention of prostitution.

wc; 8.6k

prompt; 86. "Do you trust her?" // "No, but I trust her anger."

notes; i already did 89 for Peeta (castaway) and i'm trying not to do any repeats, so we're going with 86 :)

--

The golden Cornucopia sits abandoned in the middle of this black sand island, whereas normally it’s occupied by the Careers to ensure that no intruders steal from them. There must not be anything worth protecting in here, then, besides the weapons that are displayed.

This allows the group to spread out, picking places to rest in the shade. Peeta lowers Beetee to the ground, propping him up against a box. He backs off, going to stand next to Katniss.

Beetee calls out to Wiress, making her go over to him. She crouches down, hands on her knees, waiting. In her limited state of mind, you’re fairly surprised that she’s still comprehending people, much less requests. He holds up his coil of wire, she takes it. “Clean it, will you?” 

Wiress nods, wordlessly getting to her feet and going to sit on the edge of the island to clean the spool of blood. She dunks it in the water, occasionally using her fingers to rub a particularly hard spot. While she does this, she begins to sing, no longer repeating the words ‘tick tock’.

It must be some sort of nursery rhyme from District Three, because you don’t recognize it. It’s about a mouse running up and down a clock, which is fairly appropriate, given the recent discovery, thanks to her.

“Oh, not the song again.” Johanna says, rolling her brown eyes. “That went on for hours before she started tick-tocking.”

Wiress stops suddenly, getting to her feet, posture rigid as she points to the jungle and says, “Two.”

The rest of you watch as a white wave of fog begins to seep onto the beach. From here, it doesn't seem so threatening. You probably wouldn’t think twice about it, if you hadn’t run for your life from it early this morning. While it melted your jumpsuit and poisoned your skin, causing you to strip to your under clothes and for your body to be covered in scabs from where it touched you.

You’d rather fight the orange monkey muttations a hundred times than risk doing that again.

“Yes, look, Wiress is right. It’s two o’clock and the fog has started.” Katniss says.

“LIke clockwork.” Peeta agrees. “You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress.”

Wiress smiles, and then kneels in the sand to continue singing and dunking the coil in water. “Oh, she’s more than smart.” Beetee says from beside you. Your eyes slide over to him. “She’s intuitive. She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines.”

“What’s that?” Finnick asks Katniss.

“It’s a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there’s bad air.” She says.

“What’s it do, die?” Johanna scoffs.

“It stops singing first. That’s when you should get out. But if the air’s too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you.” Katniss ends that line of conversation, turning to go inside of the Cornucopia.

Johanna goes in after her to poke around in the weapons, since she’s been empty handed the entire time. Funny how Beetee was able to make it to the Cornucopia before she did, even if it ended up getting him hurt because of it.

You briefly glance at Finnick from where you were watching Johanna, and you have to do a double-take when you realize that he’s staring at you. He looks you over, up and down, which would be flattering, if you didn’t know that he was assessing your demeanor, deciding if you were a threat.

You squint at him, face twisting. “What?”

“Nothing.” He tells you.

“It’s not nothing if you’re looking at me like that.” You snap. “Leave me alone.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything back. You’re getting tired of him thinking that you’re going to betray the alliance. You’re in this as much as he is, you volunteered to be here. If anything, he should be a little grateful that he got a district partner that’s invested and capable.

He doesn’t see it that way, though. He thinks that you’re just as bad as Enobaria and Brutus—that you’re itching to get back into an arena to kill for some spotlight. And you know this, because he told you himself on the train. Once you were out of sight of the cameras, he tried to lay you out in front of Mags and the escort, and you shut him down.

You know he disagrees with the way you choose to handle situations, but to think that you would get in the way of a rebellion was a slap to the face. You made sure he knew that later on, when you were out of earshot of the Peacekeepers. If he wanted to think of you so lowly, fine. The line is drawn when he begins to implant those ideas in other people’s heads, too. Especially since you’ve done nothing to deserve it.

It didn’t matter to him. In fact, he tried to block you from being invited into the alliance by telling Haymitch that you could fuck the whole plan if your mood changes. He said all it would take is one disagreement, one thing not going the way you wanted, one wrong look, and you’d make sure that everyone else would be brought down by it.

Thankfully, Haymitch knows better than to just take Finnick’s word for it. He might be a drunk, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention for the past ten years. He knows that you and Finnick have a history of not getting along. If anything, you’ll sabotage Finnick more than you will the alliance as a whole.

Which is why he told you that you have a place in it, if you want. And while everyone else places stepping stones to make sure that the plan to get rescued is in place. You were told that you have two jobs; the first one being protecting Katniss and Peeta, a task that you were already prepared to risk your life for. As for the second one—if anything were to go wrong, if someone unexpected were to get killed, you’ll replace their shoes, and get Katniss and Peeta to the end of the day at all costs.

This is why you’ve been on edge. If Finnick would see past his hatred for you, and thought about it, he’d realize that you’re trying to make sure that Katniss and Peeta are in good positions. You are not the threat here.

Johanna lets out a grunt, you turn your head in time to watch as she throws an axe through the air, straight at the Cornucopia. It hits the sun-softened gold with a gentle thud, and it sticks. She crosses the area, pulling it out by the handle, making a face at the blade.

Katniss is digging through the weapons, probably looking for more arrows to add to her collection, because two sheaths aren’t enough. When she finds one, she swings it over her back and comes out to stand over Peeta, who’s drawing a map of the arena onto a large leaf that he brought from the jungle. He slices the circle, creating twelve equal wedges.

“Look how the Cornucopia is positioned.” He says, looking up at her.

Her eyebrows draw in, and she turns around to take a look at the building she just came out of. “The tail points to twelve o’clock.”

“Right, so this is the top of our clock.” He says, numbering the wedges one through twelve. “Twelve to one is the lightning zone.” He proceeds to write lightning in the wedge, and then goes clockwise, adding blood, fog, and monkeys in the next sections.

“And ten to eleven is the wave.” She says, he writes it down. 

Finnick comes over with Johanna, the two of them have upped the weapon count on their bodies. And he thinks you’re the dangerous one, as if you don’t have a sword and a couple knives on you. Does he really need two tridents and half a dozen knives? It makes him look…

Hot, a voice whispers from the depth of your mind, It makes him look hot.

He’s standing in a patch of sun, where the Cornucopia doesn’t quite reach. The sunbeams baking his already tanned skin. His eyes are a brighter shade of sea green, with the light being in his eyes. He looks like he belongs at the bottom of the ocean, commanding the creatures that dwell in it.

He must feel your eyes on him, because he flickers over to yours. You stare for a second longer, before blinking and looking away, back at the map that’s being drawn. 

It’s a shame that Finnick decided years back that he would rather keep you at a distance instead of making a friend out of you. The two of you are so similar that it hurts at times, but all he can see are the differences, which hurts more.

The both of you won at young ages, with him setting the record, while you won at fifteen. He had an advantage in his Games, though, because the sponsors were drawn in by his good looks for being someone so young. This meant that he had everything he could have ever asked for gifted to him in the arena.

On the other hand, you didn’t make much of an impression during your reaping or the Tribute Parade, forcing you to change the strategy that you’d been given by Finnick and Mags. They wanted you to keep your head down, but if you wanted even a sliver of a chance, you needed to make your name big.

So, that’s exactly what you did. And that’s where the resentment he has for you, started. You showed off absolutely all your skills in the Training Center, making sure the Gamemakers knew you had potential, getting you a score of nine. During your interviews, you told Caesar that there wasn’t a single hurdle you wouldn’t jump to get home.

That statement was put to the test in the arena, when you killed several tributes, including your own district partner, because you knew it put you one step closer to getting out. You didn’t care what bridges you had to burn, how many sponsors you had to lose, or if you lost the support of your mentors. Nothing could stop you, and it didn’t.

Finnick hates that you had no remorse when you got out of the arena. Or now, because you told him that this is the hill you’ve chosen to die on, because between life and death, you choose life. He can’t wrap his head around the fact you’re so cold. How could the two of you be from the same district?

The similarities came back into play when you turned sixteen, when the Capitol realized that they do care about you. Which changed your title from victor to Capitol darling. You were told to join Finnick and be a prostitute, or President Snow would kill your family. 

This is where you screwed up, believing him to be bluffing. You didn’t think he would actually do it, but he’s a man of his word. When you were done listening to the screams and pleas of your parents to spare your siblings, Snow told you that if you didn’t agree, Finnick’s family would be next.

You had no choice, you had to agree. And when Finnick found out that you landed right where he was, there wasn’t a single shred of empathy he had toward you. Not even after you returned to District Four, and he learned that your family had been murdered in your home. The one you’d be forced to stay in for an additional two weeks while they got your victor house ready.

If you weren’t indifferent to his existence before, you sure as hell were then.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the others?” Katniss asks Johanna and Beetee, referring to the wedges. 

“Only blood.” Johanna says, Beetee nods.

“I guess they could hold anything.” Katniss looks down at Peeta.

“I’m going to mark the ones where we know the Gamemakers’ weapon follows us out past the jungle, so we’ll stay clear of those.” Peeta says, drawing diagonal lines on the fog and wave beaches. He then sits back. “Well, it’s a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway.”

You look up, going to check on Wiress, since she’s gone quiet. Your eyes find Gloss, water dripping from his bare skin, knife sliding across the skin on her throat. It’s too late to save her, you know this when the blood begins to come down her neck like a waterfall.

The knife on your belt is in your hand and flying through the air in the matter of seconds. It’s headed right for Gloss, and when the blade lodges in the center of his forehead, it throws him back. This kills him instantly.

A movement out of the corner of your eye makes you turn your head, hand reaching for the knife that’s lined up next, but Johanna’s on it. She buries her axe in the center of Cashmere’s chest, eliminating her.

Three cannons blast, back to back.

Finnick swings his trident upward, deflecting a spear that had been aiming for Peeta, thrown by Brutus. Finnick goes to twist his body to take the knife that Enobaria throws at Beetee, but he misses by an inch. It’s too late for you to save Beetee, as the knife shatters the lens on the right side, and the blade buries itself in his eye socket.

Fuck.

Another cannon blasts.

You shove Finnick out of the way to chase after Enobaria and Brutus, who are making their escape around the backside of the Cornucopia. They’ve successfully killed two of your most important allies, and they don’t even realize it.

The two Careers are running down one of the sand strips to the beach. You manage to throw one more knife at Brutus before he’s out of range. It slams into his right calf, taking him down. He lands on his hands and knees, which is exactly what you were hoping for.

Right as you’re about to step onto the strip, the ground beneath you jerks, throwing you down. The center island of the Cornucopia begins to spin, fast. You press your sword between your body and the ground, digging your fingers into the grooves to hold on. 

It’s only thirty seconds later when it slams to a stop without warning. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, taking measured breaths to calm the growing annoyance in your chest. The Gamemakers knew you would kill Brutus, and later Enobaria, if you caught up with her. That’s why they had to intervene, otherwise the fun of the Games would be gone.

You slam your fist against the rock, pushing yourself to your knees. You lean back on your heels slightly, face to the sun while you collect yourself. With Wiress and Beetee being gone, this is a very large hiccup that you’re going to have to smooth out. You jinxed yourself, didn’t you?

A sigh leaves you as you get to your feet, swinging the sword into your hand. As you round the corner, you can see that everyone else is upright. Finnick looks over at you, eyebrows raised, waiting for good news, because you were the closest to the Two tributes.

“Brutus is injured. I would’ve had him if the fuckin’ Gamemakers had minded their own business.” You stab the tip of the sword into a patch of sand.

“Where’s Volts?” Johanna asks, looking around the group.

“He’s dead.” You tell her.

She meets your eyes, “What happened?”

“I—” Finnick starts.

“I didn’t block the knife in time.” You talk over him. “Enobaria’s got a strong arm, it went right through his glasses.”

You can see Finnick staring at you from the corner of your eye. You lick your lips, tasting the salt of the water, before pressing them together. When you look at him, the two of you stare for a long second.

You, Johanna and Finnick know what this means. If just one of the Three tributes had been killed, you could’ve used the other. With both of them being gone, it means that someone needs to pick up their job, and you were the one that was elected to do just that.

“What now?” Finnick asks you.

You tilt your head, eyes going out to the water, finding two of the four bodies. It’s got to be Wiress and Gloss, because they’d been right next to each other when they died. You lean your sword up against the Cornucopia before wandering forward, to the edge of the island.

Wiress is floating on her back, on her stomach sits the spool of wire, golden and shining in the sunlight. You begin to head down the sand strip closest to her body. “I want the wire.”

“What for?” Johanna asks, “That was his weapon, not yours.”

You look over your shoulder. “It has to be now, doesn’t it?”

Johanna makes a face, but it’s not one of doubt. She knows that you’re right, that’s why she won’t bother to argue. Not that she would, anyway. You and Johanna get along, basically two peas in the same pod. She just likes Finnick more, because he puts up with her bullshit.

You jog as close as you can get to Wiress’s body, before diving in the warm water. It’s a nice break from the sun, even if it is for a minute. It doesn’t take long to get to her body, prying the coil from her fingers. You’re about to swim away, when you hesitate, closing her eyes.

Finnick is waiting for you on the strip when you get back to it. You place the wire on the rock, and he reaches down to help you up. Your face twists, but you take his hand, letting him help. The moment you’re on both feet, he pulls you close, a rough hand on your shoulder as he pulls you close to speak in your ear.

“If you can’t do this, you need to tell me. I’ll figure something else out.” Finnick harshly whispers.

You jerk back, squinting at him. “Worry about yourself.” 

As you stoop to grab the wire, Finnick shakes his head. “I mean it, (Y/n).”

“And so do I.” You tell him, lowering your voice. “There’s a reason why Haymitch trusted me with this, and not you.”

He raises his eyebrows, “We’re back to this, huh?”

You scoff loudly. “You’re the one that’s upset by it, Finnick. So, here’s a fucking suggestion: deal with it.” You shake your head. “You’re so worried that I’m going to betray the alliance, that’s you’re forgetting that this is what I do.” You motion to the jungle with your free hand. “Enobaria and Brutus can run all they want, but we both know they’re going to have to come out eventually if they plan on finishing us off. And when they do, they’re going to get it.

“Not from you, not from Johanna, from me.” You seethe, moving around Finnick to head back up to the Cornucopia. You throw your hands up, one of them still holding the wire. “Face it, Finnick, I’ve got this handled.”

You turn around, finding that your three other allies have their eyes on you. You ignore them, watching where you place your feet. On the island, you retrieve your sword, dropping the wire onto a box. Finnick is a few feet behind you, wearing a hard expression.

You hate it when you have to talk to him like that, but you can’t do it any other way if you want him to listen to you. It’s like he doesn’t care unless you’re being hostile, except that tone of voice has him on edge, afraid that you’re going to flip a switch.

There is no happy medium. It’s like he’s dead-set on thinking that you’re an unlikable person. You wouldn’t have minded having an actual conversation between you, Finnick and Johanna to figure out a plan together. It’s his fault that he decided to take the situation into his own hands by assuming that you wouldn’t have the ability to fill Beetee’s shoes.

It makes you mad, so now you’re going to take care of it by yourself. As much as he wants you to ask for help, you’ll do everything in your power to make sure you don’t need him. Or the others, for that matter.

“Let’s get off this stinking island.” Johanna says once Finnick has joined the group.

You dig through the weapons in the Cornucopia, looking for a pair of knives that aren’t too short. The only ones that are available are displayed on the wall in the very back. They’re slightly curved, not too heavy. They’ll work just fine.

You watch as Peeta, Finnick and Johanna start in three different directions.

You stand next to Katniss, watching this. When they realize that no one is following them, they stop.

“Twelve o’clock, right?” Peeta asks. “The tail points at twelve.”

“Before they spun us.” Finnick says. “I was judging by the sun.”

“The sun only tells you it’s going on four, Finnick.” Katniss tells him. “Any one of these paths could lead to twelve o’clock.”

You tuck the knives in your belt, as you circle the Cornucopia with them to try and find the path that’ll lead to the twelve beach. Only, the jungle is perfectly replicated in every section, down to the last tree. Johanna suggests following Enobaria and Brutus’s path, but it’s been washed away.

Katniss stops. “I should have never mentioned the clock. Now they’ve taken that advantage away as well.”

“For now.” You murmur. “We still have the wave at ten to tell us, we’ll be back on track after that.”

“Yes, they can’t redesign the whole arena.” Peeta says.

“It doesn’t matter.” Johanna’s growing impatient, wanting to move. “You had to tell us or we never would have moved our camp in the first place, brainless. Come on, I need water. Anyone have a good gut feeling?”

You let them decide which strip to take to the beach. Katniss and Peeta begin to lead the way. You grab the wire, motioning for Johanna and Finnick to go next, but they don’t budge. You roll your eyes and duck your head, putting a good distance between you and Peeta before you walk.

“What’s the plan?” Johanna’s voice sounds far, and she’s trying to be quiet, but there’s not enough going on for it to conceal her.

“She says she’ll handle it.” Finnick murmurs, you can’t tell if he’s mad or not.

“That’s it?” She asks, “It looked like she was yelling at you.”

“She did.” He says. “She told me to worry about myself, and she’ll handle Enobaria and Brutus.”

Johanna doesn’t speak right away. “Do you trust her?”

“No, but I trust her anger.” He tells her. “She’s right, this is what she does best.”

“So, you want to follow behind her?”

“Do you have any other ideas?” Finnick shoots back.

“No.” Johanna sighs.

When you get to the jungle, they look inside of it, trying to figure out if there’s anything waiting inside or not. When you can’t see any immediate threats, they relax.

“Well, it must be monkey hour. And I don’t see any of them in there.” Peeta says. “I’m going to try to tap a tree.”

“No, it’s my turn.” Finnick objects. “I’ll at least watch your back.”

“Katniss can do that.” Johanna says. “We need you to make another map. The other washed away.” She reaches up, yanking off a large leaf to hand to him. “(Y/n) can stay with us, while she figures out what to do with the wire.”

You drop it in the sand, along with your sword, as you sit down. Peeta crouches beside you, beginning to make his map, again. As you watch him draw the slices, your mind begins to wander. 

Katniss and Peeta are the Careers’ focus. They want to target the ones with the highest scores first, and then work their way down. If they take out a few of you in the process, then that’s great, but they’re afraid of what the Twelve tributes could’ve possibly done in order to get a perfect score.

It was a little odd for Gloss to go for Wiress, if this is the case. And Cashmere wasn’t able to kill anybody before she died. You guess she might have been going for Katniss, but Johanna was in between them, she wasn’t going to make it that far. That’s why Brutus tried to get Peeta with the spear, and maybe the knife was originally aimed for Peeta, not Beetee?

You just can’t wrap your head around their strategy of getting rid of the Three tributes. Were Enobaria and Brutus that worried about you guys coming up with a plan to use the explosives on the tribute platforms? It wouldn’t be the first time it happened in the Games, it’s just a stupid idea to do it in the water, when you have nothing to steady yourself on.

Either way, you need to figure out a way to draw them in. If there’s anything you know for sure, it’s that they’ll wait until dark to attack again, because they’ll have cover. It’s only the two of them now, which means they won’t attack the five of you all together, they’ll get overpowered in seconds. They’ll wait until you split up.

You play with the wire, twisting it between your fingers while you think.

If they send another twenty-four rolls from District Three tonight, you’ll have no choice but to go into the jungle for the lightning section, because that’s where they’ll be rescuing you out of the arena. You would just say that you should go up to the lightning tree and wait, except you won’t know what time it is until ten, like you said.

When the wave does it, you’ll have two hours to get to the tree. After that, Katniss and Peeta will have to get split up long enough to get the tracker out of their arms. That’ll be the perfect time to kill Enobaria and Brutus, too.

You just need a reason for them to split up. Johanna’s already agreed to getting it out of Katniss’s arm, which left Peeta for Finnick. You need some sort of placebo plan in the meantime, something for them to focus on to keep their minds off of the fact that the situation is going to be very, very suspicious.

“That’s it.” Peeta says, sitting back. “I don’t—”

A scream cuts through the still air, silencing him. You whip around to look back at the jungle, unsure of whether or not it belongs to Katniss. As you get to your feet, sword in your hand, you can hear another voice, shouting back. That one sounds like Katniss.

“What’s happening?” Peeta asks.

You get to your feet before he does, pulling the sword into your hand as you break through the jungle, swinging at any leaves in your way. “I think we chose the wrong section.”

“It’s supposed to be the monkey mutts right now, how can it be anything else?” Peeta asks.

Your face twists as you look over your shoulder, finding that Johanna’s eyes have rolled back as far as she can get them. “Because it’s the next hour?” She snarks.

Peeta doesn’t respond. For a moment, you’re genuinely concerned that the forcefield on the first day might have fried his brain a lot more than you thought. When you begin to think of all the decisions he’s made over these past couple of days, you relax. It’s not really out of his nature to say something stupid once in a while.

You’re about twenty yards into the jungle when you stop suddenly, sword at your side, eyes scanning the trees above. When Johanna and Peeta finally pause, you realize just how quiet it is out here.

Johanna takes a step or two forward, coming to stand next to you, looking up at the tree branches. She covers her eyes with one hand, squinting. “There’s no birds.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” You tell her, your normal voice feels too loud. “There’s not even insects.”

“What are you thinking?” She asks, looking at you.

“I feel like it’s too early to be the beast, because the sun was down further yesterday.” 

She nods. “A new hour.”

“That doesn’t explain why it’s so quiet.” Peeta says.

“Could be something in the trees.” You tell him, turning your body to face him. “That’s why I don’t want to go further in.”

“But Katniss and Finnick are in there.” Peeta shakes his head. “We have to.”

“Don’t you think they would’ve called for help by now?” You ask, “We heard Katniss say something, but then she stopped.”

“And they can’t be dead because there’s no cannon.” Johanna says after. “What if they’re hurt?”

You look further into the jungle. “It’s a bad idea.”

“We have to try.” Peeta says, starting toward the two of you.

You move in time to let him pass without running into your shoulder. He makes it an additional five yards before he walks smack into a wall, head bouncing off. A little smile fights its way onto your face, and then it vanishes when you realize that this is exactly what happened when he hit the forcefield.

He reaches out, going to touch it. You stride forward, grabbing the back of the neck of his undershirt, yanking him back. “Are you stupid?”

“Wait.” He swats your hand free. “Watch.”

You grab his wrist when he holds his hand out again, causing him to look at you with wide eyes. “I’m not taking any chances with you.”

“Then do it yourself.” Peeta motions, you let go. “It would’ve blown me back if it was a forcefield. Besides, it’s too far down.”

You look at space in front of you, seemingly fine. The wall that he’d run into isn’t even visible. You take in a breath, holding it, before sticking your hand out in the direction of it.

The palm of your hand vibrates against it, you apply pressure, wondering if it’ll budge if you lean into it, but it doesn’t move. You look down at your sword, pressing your lips together. If this is a forcefield, this will most definitely kill you. Still, you swing the sword into the invisible wall, and you’re pleasantly surprised when it doesn’t explode into sparks upon contact.

“Well…” You trail off, beginning to walk around the wall, keeping one hand on it. No matter where you touch, or how far along you walk, the wall doesn’t stop. You make it into the next section of the jungle, and around the corner, and still feel it there. When you make it back to Johanna and Peeta, you shake your head. “Sealed.”

“They’re inside?” Peeta asks. “Do you think they can hear us?”

“I’m going to say no.” Johanna grunts, swinging her axe into the wall repeatedly. “If we can’t hear the birds,” Her voice is strained, “Then we can’t hear them.” She stops, tossing the axe aside, it lands next to a bush. She sighs, “I guess we’re going to wait out here.”

Peeta doesn’t like this idea, you can tell by the way his face screws up, but he knows you don’t have any other choice. 

“I’m going to grab the wire, then.” You tell her.

“Speaking of it, come up with anything yet?” She asks, eyebrows raised.

“Almost.” You say, walking away from her.

When you get to the beach and find the wire, you don’t go back into the jungle right away. You stand beneath a patch of shade, staring at the Cornucopia, and the trees beyond it, squinting.

From what you can tell, Enobaria and Brutus aren’t on the beach or in the treeline, which means that they’re in those trees, somewhere. They must be fairly far in, where they’re resting. They likely won’t come out again until they’ve been sponsored and their wounds are healing. And even then, they’ll make sure you’re not on the beach, first.

Or maybe they are able to see you, and you just can’t see them.

If you were in their shoes, you’d be watching your every move right now to figure out what you’re doing. And if that’s the case, it doesn’t matter what you do with this wire, they’ll already know the plan. Really, it would just be an excuse to split Katniss and Peeta.

So, that’s what it’ll be.

The wire could be used for a number of things, you could probably make a trap out of it. There’s enough of it for you to bring it to the tree and back down to the beach, twice. The question is what Beetee would have used it for.

You close your eyes, listening to the waves on the beach, trying to remember how Beetee won his Games. You were talking to Mags about it the other day, she was telling you that it’s been thirty years since he won. Back then, he wasn’t the strongest tribute either, he had to make something to electrocute the last remaining tributes.

He wouldn’t really be able to do that now. He had the sources—the lightning at midnight and the water at the center. In the condition he was in before he got killed, he wouldn’t have been able to make the trip up to the tree, back down to the water, and up again to be out of the way of the electricity. And the chances of the wire being cut by the Careers isn’t that low, even in your situation now.

You’d need someone at the base of the tree, and someone unspooling the wire down to the water…

Your eyes pop open, it takes them a second to adjust to the sudden light. You stare at the water. This is what Beetee was going to do, wasn’t it? The wire acts as a conductor. If you hook it up to the tree at the right time when it strikes, it’ll fry everything in the water.

But what you want is to kill the Careers, in a way. The sand would have to be wet too, or at least damp. Which… Which will be the exact case when the wave hits at ten, and it’ll be cooler out, so the water won’t evaporate as quickly. If you bury the spool in the sand, it should have the entire beach covered and the water.

“Bingo.” You say, grabbing the coil.

You join the others back inside of the jungle, finding Peeta on the floor, forehead pressed to the invisible wall. Johanna’s pacing back and forth, arms crossed over her chest. When you get closer, you’re able to see that Katniss and Finnick are on the other side, both of them with their hands over their ears.

When a twig snaps beneath your weight, Johanna looks over. She lets out a sigh, shoulders slumping. “What took you so long?”

“Came up with a plan.” You tell her, dropping the wire and your sword next to one of her axes. 

“What plan?” Peeta asks, unmoving.

“On how to kill the remaining Careers.” You wink at Johanna, but it’s not flirtatious.

You know she understands when the crease appears between her eyebrows, giving you a slight nod. “Care to enlighten us?”

“When they’re out, I will. I don’t want to have to repeat myself.” You nod at the other two. “What’s going on in there?”

“I think it’s jabberjays.” Johanna says, pointing up at the trees behind the wall. “They’re fifty of them in the trees. Katniss tried killing them, of course it didn’t work.”

Your eyes land on Finnick, finding his muscles rigid. You crouch to get a better look at his face, there’s a streak of red from his nose, down his lips, and off his chin. “What happened to Finnick?”

“He ran face-first into the wall.” Peeta says. “It was a bloody nose.”

You hum, lowering yourself to the ground. “Hopefully it won’t be much longer.”

—

The wall suddenly breaks, Peeta falling forward. He catches himself on his hands, getting to his feet. He doesn’t even say anything, just scoops Katniss into his arms, and walks straight out of the jungle with her, leaving the arrows behind.

You sit up, looking over at Johanna to see that she’s staring at you. She tilts her head, “Do you want to try?”

You take in a breath, “I’ll let you know if it works.”

She nods, following after Katniss and Peeta, because someone needs to be watching over them. You get up, walking a few feet over to Finnick, before crouching down beside him. 

You lift a hand, hovering it over his back for a minute, and then change your mind, placing your elbows on your thighs to lean on them. He’s got his eyes closed, head down. He probably can’t even hear you. You don’t even know how he’ll react to being touched, much less by you.

You press your lips together, heart hurting at the sight of him. It’d be better if Johanna were here, she can talk to him. All you’ll do is upset him more. You grind your teeth, once again wishing that this wasn’t your relationship. As you go to stand up, the hands over his ears loosen, head beginning to lift.

He looks around in the jungle first, making sure the threat is gone. That’s when he notices you beside him, waiting. His eyes are watery, he swallows.

“Hey,” You murmur, “Are you okay?”

He stares at you, eyebrows drawing in.

You nod, “I’ll go get Johanna.”

Once again, you try to get to your feet, when he speaks, “Why?”

“Why… what?” You ask, pausing.

“Why would you get Johanna?” He asks.

You turn your head in the direction of the beach. Is he really going to make you say it? Does he want to see the pain it’ll cause you? Or does he think it’ll come out venomous?

When you look at him, you sigh, “Because I’m not really a comforting person to you, am I?”

He doesn’t answer your question, “Where are they?”

“They’re on the beach.” You tell him. “I figured out a plan that’ll work. I’ll tell you guys when you’re ready.”

“Do Johanna and Peeta know?” He asks.

You shake your head, “No.”

Neither of you move, staring at each other. And while you could stay here forever, you don’t allow yourself. You push on your knees, standing up. You offer your hand to him, but he moves it away, just like you figured he would.

He doesn’t say anything, walking past you to leave. You stare at the scene of dead birds in front of you, before you turn around, collecting yours and Johanna’s belongings, and going to join them on the beach. 

Katniss seems better, she’s talking to Peeta. Johanna is standing over them, she glances at Finnick when he passes by. She has to twist her body to see you standing in the treeline. You hand her the axe.

“It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We’re the ones in the Games. Not them.” Peeta says.

“You really believe that?” Katniss asks.

“I really do.” 

“Do you believe it, Finnick?” 

“It could be true. I don’t know.” He says, looking up at Johanna, ignoring you entirely. “Could they do that? Take someone’s regular voice and make it…”

Johanna makes a face, looking at you for help. You play with the piece of wire you’d unraveled, “I’m sure Beetee would know.”

“Peeta’s right.” Johanna then says. “The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on her hands.” She deadpans. “Don’t want that, do they?” She scoffs, throwing her head back to shout, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

She shakes her head, wandering around the beach to pick up shells. When she finds a good few, she stops next to Finnick, holding her hand out. “I’m getting water.” Finnick drops the spile into her hand, and she begins toward the jungle.

Katniss grabs her hand. “Don’t go in there. The birds—”

“They can’t hurt me. I’m not like the rest of you. There’s no one left I love.” She says, shaking her hand free. You don’t miss the look she gives Finnick, and then you, as she disappears into the jungle. 

She comes back a couple minutes later with a shell of water, handing it over to Katniss first. She makes trips back and forth, letting each of you have some. She comes out one trip with a pile of arrows that she gives back to Katniss.

Finnick shakes his head, walking to the water. He stops a few feet in, and sits. You let the wire drop to the sand, tired of bringing it wherever you go. You don’t move from where you are, eyes fixated on his back.

“Who did they use against Finnick?” Peeta asks, curious.

Katniss is quiet. You’re expecting her to say Annie, because it makes the most sense, but when you look over, she’s eyeing you, and so is Peeta. 

“What?” You ask. “Was it Annie?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Katniss murmurs. “We thought we heard you.”

A loud laugh comes from you, unwarranted. The thought of Finnick caring about you enough for the Gamemakers to use you against him is funny. Really funny, actually. It must’ve been a walk in the park for him, listening to your pleas. A little gratifying, because he could pretend that you were getting what was coming for you.

But Katniss isn’t laughing, she’s serious. 

The humor leaves your smile, “It must’ve been his mother, that he was mistaken for me.”

“No, because we heard his mom, too. That first scream was yours.” She insists, “And he dropped everything to find you.”

“Finnick would never do that.” You tell her, voice cold. 

She doesn’t press it further, but the look in her eye is enough. She’s not lying to you, she’s telling the truth. She doesn’t gain anything from making something like that up.

You won’t believe it though. This is the same Finnick that told Johanna that he didn’t trust you, an hour and a half ago. There’s nothing that could’ve made him change his feelings in that time span.

Unless it didn’t.

Your eyes narrow at the back of Finnick’s head, hand tightening around your sword. 

A cannon blast keeps you from thinking about the subject any further, but the bubbling in your stomach is only getting hotter. Finnick gets up, coming to join you three, as well as Johanna, materializing out of the jungle. You stand together, watching a hovercraft appear over the next section, claw dipping in several times to retrieve all the pieces of one body. 

The beast.

This sparks Peeta to create another map, this time he’s able to fill in more than half of it. It starts with lightning, rain, and fog. It moves on to monkeys and jabberjays. He has to skip a section, and then writes beast. And the next one you have after six to seven is the wave at ten. This means you’re missing five of the other hours. 

The others begin to come back to life. Finnick begins to weave a water basket and a net to fish for dinner. While Katniss takes a swim and applies more ointment. By the time she’s done, Finnick has worked up a pile, so she sits on the edge of the water, cleaning them for him. 

It doesn’t take long for Katniss’s words to creep back into your mind, refusing to leave it be. Finnick cares about you, a thought that should have you excited, but it makes you uncomfortable. He has spent the last eight years making sure that you know that he hates you and couldn’t care less about what happens to you.

Yet here he is, supposedly dropping everything to save you. Possibly even leaving Katniss behind to do it. The Gamemakers must know something that you don’t, if they knew to use your voice. You want to assume that they thought Finnick was worried solely because you’re his district partner. Except, that doesn’t make sense either, because the two of you are notorious in the Capitol for being a pair of mentors that get into fights about how to handle things.

He has a lot of nerve.

The sun falls below the horizon, the moon rising to replace it in the sky. When they finish cleaning the fish, they bring it over, setting it in the middle of the circle for you to enjoy. The four of them begin to settle in the sand, you don’t move from where you stand.

The anthem begins to play, stopping them from digging in. The Capitol seal lights up the sky, and then it’s replaced by the faces. Cashmere, Gloss, Wiress, Beetee. The woman from Five, the morphling from Six, Blight, and the man from Ten. 

Eight tributes dead.

Strangely, this makes you think of your own Hunger Games. Where you managed to kill four people in the span of two hours, one of those being Rio, who was your district partner. By the end of the Games, you had eight kills under your belt. A third of the competition was taken out by you, a little fifteen year-old.

Once again, a factor that used to make Finnick sick. And now it doesn’t.

“They’re really burning through us.” Johanna says.

“Who’s left? Besides us five and District Two?” Finnick asks.

“Chaff.” Peeta says without missing a beat.

The sound of clinking fills the air, you look up to find a parachute coming down, teetering from side to side. It lands perfectly in the middle of the group, unfolding itself to reveal the steaming rolls.

“Do these look like District Three to you?” Finnick looks at Johanna.

“Yeah, look at the imprint.” She says, running her finger over the top of one. “How many are there?”

Finnick counts them, being sure to be thorough. “Twenty-four. How should we divide them?”

“Let’s each have three, and whoever is still alive at breakfast can take a vote on the rest.” Johanna says, causing Katniss to laugh.

You pull your sword out of the sand, swinging it up to rest the flat part of the blade on your shoulder. Finnick looks up at you, eyeing your stance. You step away from them, shaking your head.

“Sit down, (Y/n).” Finnick tells you.

“Why, so you can keep an eye on me?” You snap, crossing the treeline. “Come and get me, Finnick.”

You make it a few feet in, before you hear the snapping of branches behind you. You sigh, turning with raised eyebrows to see that Finnick took it as a challenge. You didn’t mean it that way. You didn’t want him to chase you.

“Get out here.” He tells you.

You walk backward, tilting your head at him. “I’m just making sure Enobaria and Brutus aren’t out here.”

“I don’t care.” He’s still walking toward you. “We’ll worry about that when we make camp.”

You stop, letting your sword down from your shoulder. When you look past him, you can see that there’s enough distance between him and the beach. There’s privacy to talk and sort out what you heard.

Your eyes land on him, “Katniss told me something,” You start, watching his eyebrows twitch, “About how you thought I was the one screaming for help.”

Finnick shakes his head, “I thought it was my mom.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said too.” You tell him, “But you said my name, and you dropped everything to go and get me.”

He sets his jaw, “So?”

“So,” The word is bitter, “What changed?”

He laughs, “Nothing, (Y/n). I went—”

“They used loved ones and family.” You cut him off. “You care about me, admit it.”

“I don’t.” He tells you. “I never have, and I never will.”

“You chased after the jabberjays thinking it was me, and you followed me in here because you’re worried that I’ll get caught by the Careers, admit it.”

“I don’t know what you think is happening, but whatever it is, it’s not true.” His voice wavers.

This is all the confirmation you need. “You want to know what I’m thinking right now?” You press your pointer finger to the middle of his chest. “That you’re not bothered by me anymore, and you haven’t been for a while. You’ve done a damn good job of hiding it up until now, but the jabberjays got you good.”

Finnick grabs your wrist, “That’s not true.”

“What changed, Finnick?” You insist.

“Nothing, because I don’t have feelings for you.” He snaps. “The reason why I came in here is because we want to move camp to the ten sector once the wave happens, I just didn’t want you to get lost out here and think we abandoned you, making you think it’s a free-for-all.”

He lets go of your wrist, face screwed tightly, as he leaves you here. You watch him go back to the beach, while you take several breaths, feeling the pit in your stomach grow.

What have you done?

---

this is part of my 3k celebration!!

[bug-fics]

right where you left me;

chapter one: ticket to anywhere

summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.

warnings: 18+; smut in later chapters; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series (11k words).

steve harrington x f!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods. inspired by this edit from @somnambulic-thing.

masterlist | next chapter

——

October, 1990…

——

Everything is wrong.

It hits you, sitting there in front of the vanity mirror, voices swirling about the room full of your girl friends. Your gown, the colors of the bridesmaids dresses, the venue. It’s too lavish, too over the top. Not the small, intimate feel you imagined ever since you were a little girl, friends surrounding you, watching as you married the man of your dreams.

But then again, the groom isn’t who you imagined either. That’s the first of the many issues with this day that jump to your attention.

Clark is fair haired and light eyed. Handsome, in the way that you can tell he spends thousands of dollars on clothing to do so. More acquaintance than the man you always envisioned standing beside you on this day.

This same man, who you found only moments ago seemingly in a passionate argument with one of your bridesmaids. Both of them touching one another in a way that seemed too familiar, like they’d done this dance, had this same conversation at least once before. She begged for him to leave, to get away now, to back out of the marriage. Pleaded with him to consider love, instead of some business endeavor.

Had reached up and kissed him bruisingly, his hands fisted in her gown. The same wrinkled one that stares at you now as your fingers toy with your bouquet, her sad eyes plastered on your face.

You know you should feel something. Anger, betrayal, hurt, resentment — but instead you feel nothing at all. You’re not in love. Haven’t been. Now your mind only buzzes, someone calling your name bringing you to attention, head lifting slightly.

“Are you okay?” they ask, “can I get you anything?”

And it’s two words.

A name, really, that pops into your mind.

“Can you see if Steve Harrington is here yet?”

——

Steve’s not sure what to think when a bridesmaid he barely recognizes — likely because he’s only met them once or twice before — barrels toward him, an intensity in her eyes that has him worrying something has gone wrong.

Everything is wrong, though. Because he’s here, in this ridiculously huge wedding venue, standing in for those in Hawkins who couldn’t make the trip, about to watch as his best friend marries a man who isn’t Steve Harrington.

And as much as it pains him, loving you means doing anything to see you happy — even if it kills him in the end. It’s all he knows, all he has done for as long as you’ve been a friend to him, two wide-eyed eleven-year-olds sitting in some fancy ballroom as you watched your parents parade themselves around like the elite that they deemed themselves to be.

What he doesn’t expect, however, as he’s practically dragged into a room, is to find you standing there pacing back and forth, beautiful as ever and not at all happy for someone who is about to be married.

“Stacy, a moment?” you ask, lifting your head enough that he can see you fully.

You’re absolutely breathtaking, in a way that’s almost cruel, because after today you’ll officially be a wife. After today, he’ll have to accept that his feelings that are not at all platonic toward his best friend he still harbors all these years later can only ever just be that: feelings.

As the door shuts behind Stacy, you rush forward and slam into his chest, and he’s immediately there to wrap his arms around your waist. You’re a vision in a fluffy tulle skirt, the veil on your head brushing against his chin, and it’s then he feels the frantic flutter of your heart against his sternum. It’s then he can feel your fingers curl around the lapels of his suit — can see the flash of tears swimming in your eyes.

“I need to get out of here,” you whisper hoarsely.

Breathlessly.

“What do y —”

“Please…take me away from here. Anywhere, I don’t care. Please,” you beg, and though he has more questions than answers, he dips his head. Because again, he’ll do anything to make you happy.

Even if that includes helping you run from your own wedding.

With a long exhale, Steve steps back a bit, fingers carding through his hair. He moves to the door, head tossed over his shoulder to glance back your way.

“Give me a second,” he says, slipping from the room into the hallway.

There’s no one in the nearby vicinity, this room far enough away from the rest of the guests that escaping shouldn’t be a problem. His eyes catch on the glowing exit symbol in the distance, and he knows his car is a few blocks away, but it’s better than nothing and will have to do.

When he slips back into the room, you’re wiping your hands along your dress, clasping one around his as he extends a palm your way.

He can’t deny the ache in his chest as you take it, the electric jolt that courses through his body, but now isn’t the time. If you’re going to get out without anyone noticing, you’ll have to do so now — and quickly.

“Come on,” he urges, and you’re both off, rushing down the empty hallway unbeknownst to your waiting guests, the world bursting to life in color as the exit doors swing wide open.

——

“Remind me to never run in heels again,” you gasp out, hand tight in Steve’s as you dart through busy city streets, avoiding bodies along the way.

All around, people honk their cars, citizens whistle and congratulate you as you run on by. And you know it’s because you and Steve, for all intents and purposes, look as though you’ve just married. Him in his suit, and you in your poofy wedding gown, the edges now stained a murky soot color.

“And I want this stupid thing off my head right now.”

Steve pauses on the side street as you come to a halt, his chest bumping yours at the abruptness as your fingers reach up to unclasp your veil from your head. Balling it up in your hands, you toss it into the nearby garbage can. Pigeons scurry away in haste, a squirrel skittering away from its hard earned meal.

“How do I look?” you ask, hiking up the edges of your gown as someone nearly trips on it, making their way towards the crosswalk.

“Like a runaway bride.” He laughs, shaking his head. “My car is another block that way. Let’s go.”

He grips your hand again, and you know you really don’t have to hold it, but it brings you comfort all the same. The further you run away from the wedding venue, the more you realize what exactly you’ve done. You’ve run out on your intended husband, on friends, on your family who has spent the money to make it all happen — and everyone will have something to say about it. Word gets around quickly in your social circle.

But it’s a decision for yourself. The first in a long long time.

There’s something so liberating about it — about rushing after Steve as he loops you around other bodies, as he opens the passenger side door for you and helps push your frilly skirts inside, before dropping down into the driver’s seat and shoving his key in the ignition.

And as he turns the key, peeling away from the busy side street, and heads toward the nearest highway, you know it’s the right decision.

——

Neither of you speak for the first half hour driving. The roads are busy, traffic bumper-to-bumper in the city, Steve’s grip a white knuckled one around the steering wheel. There’s also the suddenness in which your reality comes crashing, dress still on your form, the edges sodden around your ankles, the ring on your finger glinting in the slowly setting sun. Every part of this day has done a complete one eighty.

“We’ll probably have to stop in a few hours,” Steve says, a little more to himself, the hum of the radio spilling into the quiet car, “where do we want to go anyway?”

“I still can’t believe you drove all the way here,” you tell him softly, head turning a bit to take him in.

He’s loosened the tie around his neck, his hair is a little unkempt now, the suit jacket long tossed into the backseat. Those bare forearms of his ripple with each turn of the wheel, your eyes dragging along hair-dusted skin. You’ve missed him; more than you ever could realize, his presence a comfort after being surrounded by people who don’t understand you — not really, at least — for so long.

“I wanted to be here,” he says, “I don’t mind driving, you know that.”

You did. You’d spent many nights circling the familiar streets of Hawkins over the span of a few years once you’d both been able to drive. Those same streets that are unfamiliar now, mere memories in your mind. It had been a few years since everything that happened with Vecna, and a few years since you watched your childhood home grow smaller and smaller in your parent’s rear view mirror, Steve along with it, waving from his parent’s driveway.

“And I wanted to see you,” he adds, glancing your way, those hazel eyes bright in the setting sun.

The idea dawns suddenly, lips moving to form the words before you can think otherwise, “Hawkins. Take me to Hawkins with you.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, a little hesitantly, weariness seeping into his tone. “It's about…a twelve hour drive. I think we can make it to Ohio before getting some sleep for the night. You’ll just need to direct me with the map.”

You answer with a smile, reaching into his glove compartment and pulling out the map, the weathered corners bent like they’d been the last time you’d gone on a road trip with him. After everything had gone to hell at Starcourt, you needed to get away, the two of you taking to the road, a finger swirling around until it landed upon a random state.

It feels like old times, sitting here in the car with him, the windows down, his hair blowing in the wind, and the crisp smell of fall air to greet you.

The drive is quiet for the most part, other than the small exchanges here and there of roads to take, giving him enough time to make sure he’s in the correct lanes and the like.

It dawns on you then how long it’s been since the two of you really talked. Your exchanges throughout the years have been sparse, at best. Always meaningful, but moving twelve hours away has put a strain on your relationship from the get go. Initially you’d aimed for one phone call a week, which had soon turned into once every two weeks, and then down to once a month.

And once Clark had stepped in six months ago, your conversations were even less frequent, and always cut short — Clark never having understood why the two of you were so close.

So you suppose you shouldn’t be too surprised when Steve suddenly asks, “What happened back there?”

“I didn’t want to marry him,” you admit in a whisper, training your gaze ahead at the streets, leaves golden and amber flashing by the passenger side window. “I couldn’t marry him. I didn’t love him — I never loved him.”

It had been an added blessing that it seemed Clark felt the same, his mouth preoccupied with your friend’s minutes before you made your escape out the back door.

“Then why agree to marry the guy?”

It’s an innocent question, but it has your stomach lurching all the same, your lips parting slightly, heart pounding in your throat. “Steve…your parents are like mine. You know why.”

Because it had been arranged that way, Clark’s path pushed in front of yours, the pressures of your parents and their business ventures breathing down your neck. That and Clark had his own goals, as did you, and marrying would help you achieve them.

It wasn’t like you’d ever love him, either.

Love had only been reserved for one man in your life, and he’d never loved you back.

“So you marry some uptight rich guy to make your parents happy? What about how you feel?” His fingers tighten around the steering wheel, voice rising in volume. “And you were going to just go along with it?”

“Stop judging me! It’s not that simple.” His eyes dart to yours, unused to you ever raising your voice at him. “You don’t get it. You gave up that life. I had no choice but to go with them when everything happened the way it did in Hawkins.”

“Yes, because I was tired of feeling like a failure of a son,” he grumbles, carding his fingers through his hair, “tired of being looked at like I was Jonah Harrington’s biggest mistake.”

“You’re not a mistake.” Your fingers reach over the center console, briefly hovering above his bicep before resting there gently, feeling the tension in his form dissolve. “I thought I was doing the right thing for my family. I was trying to buy time and get my inheritance so I could be done with it all eventually. It was stupid, I know. But I’m making this decision right now, running away with you, for myself.”

His hand slides down to grasp yours, bringing the back of your knuckles to his lips to press a kiss there. He’s done it thousands of times over the years, but it has your heart skipping like it does every time, chills dancing along your spine.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, dropping another gentle kiss to your knuckles, “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Me too, Steve.”

——

The moon comes out to play, and the two of you stop at a gas station just as Steve’s watch reads eight at night. The place is dilapidated at best. Neon glowing lights flickering along the top of the pump, the numbers worn away by weather, the inside of the building covered in inches of grime.

You’d intended to grab some snacks and water bottles, but the lack of sanitation efforts has you wanting to wait for the next convenience store instead. So as Steve pumps the gas, you lean onto the hood of the car, skirts spanning around your thighs, thanking someone as they pass and comment on how beautiful you look.

“You do look beautiful, you know?” Steve lifts his head, those corded muscles on his forearm drawing your attention once more. Head shaking, you tip your head up, eyes narrowing on his face curiously. “A shame you got all dressed up for that guy though.”

“Shut up,” you tease, sticking your tongue out at him, propping your map up on your thighs. “So if my guesses are right, we’ll be getting to Ohio in a little less than three hours. Hopefully the hotels in Powell aren’t full. I’m already pretty tired.”

“If worse comes to worse, we could always sleep in the car —”

“Steve.”

“What?” He raises a hand in surrender, smiling at the angry furrow of your brows. “Wouldn’t be the first time we camped out in the back seat of it.”

“I’d prefer a mattress after the day we both had,” you tell him, folding the map and tucking it beneath your thigh. “We also need to keep an eye out for a store. Pretty sure I saw a cockroach in the gas station, so I’m not trusting anything in there. Plus pork rinds and jerky didn’t exactly sound appealing to me.”

Steve grimaces in agreement, the gas pump clicking, signaling his full tank. He replaces the nozzle on the holder and pushes the flap back into place, snatching the map from your hand as he passes around the front of the vehicle to slide back into the front seat.

You follow suit, shoving your skirts about your thighs, finger toying at a hole in the hem that you must have made while running through the city streets. The realization of thousands of dollars, all for naught, with the lingering fear of your parent’s disappointment swirling in your gut has your stomach churning uncomfortably. But there’s little time to linger on those worries, as Steve slides a finger along your forearm to draw you back to reality, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Look at me,” he demands softly, hazel eyes glowing in the seedy gas station light that flickers above. Lips twitching, you meet his stare, chest warming under the burn of his affection, “there’s that smile I love. Everything is fine.”

There ends up being a small grocery store at the next exit, a little family owned thing, with very few shoppers lingering inside. You offer to go in alone, but Steve insists you’re in another state and he’s not about to leave you by your lonesome. So you end up standing beside him, him all tousled in his dark pants and wrinkled dress shirt, and you in your dress, drawing the attention of curious customers.

“We got lost on our way to the airport for our honeymoon,” Steve tells one person who wanders a little too close for his liking as you grab bags of chips off of a rack, tossing in a jar of salsa for good measure. “Going to stop at that hotel down on Verdant instead. Really want to go above and beyond and treat my wife, you know?”

The one that looked all seedy, like it was practically falling apart, windows broken and covered with wooden slats. The customer eyes the two of you wearily, offering well wishes, sounding a little uncertain as they slowly but surely back away, not wanting to talk any further.

Nothing quells your giggles at that, head pressing into the bag of marshmallows you found, eyes pinched shut to keep your tears at bay. “Steve, they probably think we’re crazy.”

“Speak for yourself, honey,” he chuckles, reaching over to snatch the bag from you, “why do we need these?”

You pluck it back, pouting. “If you must know, they’re for me. I don’t share with guys named Steve who have too many opinions.”

“If we’re getting marshmallows, we need graham crackers and chocolate too,” he points out, reaching over to grab the other two s’mores ingredients from the end cap you’re standing in front of, tossing them into your shopping cart. “For two adults, it looks like we’re buying for a bunch of kids about to enter into a sugar coma.”

“Look — we’ve had a stressful day,” you huff out, pushing the cart further down the aisle, “we’ve earned s’mores and snacks. Plus we need it for the rest of our trip. I saw a coffee shop next door too. I’ll buy it. I feel bad you drove all the way to the city, only to leave again.”

“If I have coffee now, I’ll never fall asleep,” he exhales, shoulder brushing yours as you meander through the aisle, snatching a package of water bottles for the car off a pallet. “I do think we should grab breakfast tomorrow morning. Maybe do a little touristy stop before heading back to Hawkins. What do you think?”

Time alone with Steve? Time you haven’t had in way too long, if you’re being honest with yourself. Even now, standing in the store with him, getting gas with him before that, you realize just how much you’ve missed your best friend. Things like this, so banal and generally uninteresting, have you smiling until your cheeks hurt, brimming to overflow with excitement.

It’s an easy choice, really. “Sounds perfect.”

——

One room. There’s only one room with a single bed left in the whole damn hotel. You suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise, because nothing has really turned out how you anticipated today.

Still, you ask the woman at the front desk again, and she arches a brow in confusion — likely assuming you and Steve are already having marital issues merely hours after you tied the knot. There’s no use explaining it to any more people tonight. For now, you’re a newlywed, and Steve is your doting groom.

“Not like we’ve never shared a bed before.”

Steve’s voice is a low rumble near your ear as you stare at your distorted reflection in the silver wall of the elevator across from you. The thing is you have shared a bed with Steve numerous times over the years. As teenagers, when you often snuck over to Steve’s, after your parents left for business trip after business trip. He’d leave the window unlatched, a hand there to grab you as you scaled his trellis, blankets already pulled back on your side of the bed.

But for some reason this feels different. Hours ago you’d been engaged to another man — hours ago, after you’d caught said man in an affair, you’d only had one thought. And it had been this man standing before you; though then again, it had always been that way.

Steve Harrington, your beautiful best friend with a big personality and even bigger heart. Steve Harrington, the one that you always wanted, but also the one that never was.

With a steely sigh of resignation, you watch as Steve swipes the key card, flicking the light on in the doorway. It’s a simple room, not the upscale hotels you’re accustomed to. There are no lavish furnishings, no glittering chandeliers. Instead you’re met with a dresser and a dilapidated television. Against the back wall is a bed, the linens starchy beneath your fingertips, though you suppose they’ll have to do.

Steve whistles, glancing up at the popcorn ceilings. “Could be worse, right?” It’s an awkward chuckle, his hands reaching down to undo the buttons around his arms, hair on his chest visible a moment later as he unbuttons the top of his dress shirt. “Shit — just realized we don’t have any clothes. Should have stopped somewhere.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, because he’s seen you in nearly every state of undress at this point.

In bathing suits over the summer, sitting atop his bathroom sink in your bra after Billy Hargrove had shoved you particularly hard at the Starcourt mall while under possession, your ribs scraped against the hard ground. And you’d seen him the same, beaten and bloodied after his altercation with Jonathan, after the Russians had taken him for questioning and beaten him to a bloody pulp, after the events with Vecna that had left his skin raw and battered.

Though you suppose this is a little different, as it’s the first time he’s going to be undressing you, despite being under different circumstances than those you dreamed of throughout the years. Fantasies you’ve long pushed aside in the catacombs of your mind, to be filed away as ‘things that’ll never happen since he’s your childhood best friend.’

Your fingers tremble as you turn in front of him, exhaling deeply as you mutter out, “I can’t reach the buttons. Could you…please?”

There’s a sense of awareness that settles over you as he approaches from behind. Broad, battle-calloused hands rest at the nape of your neck, drifting lower where they settle on the endless row of buttons there. His breath prickles along your skin, those nimble fingers of his toying with that first button, his inhale shaky as he undoes another, and then another, and another. With each button, more flesh is revealed, the ghost of his touching a phantom along your spine, the dress starting to sag around your breasts, your hands coming up to cup the gown close to your chest.

Steve’s eyes meet yours in the mirror affixed to the wall in front of you — hazel, and sparkling in the ethereal moonlight that pours through the softly parted curtains, tinged with an emotion you can’t quite put a name to. A deep exhale falls from gently parted lips as his knuckles drag along your spine, a delicate line that stops once he reaches the base, freeing you from the last of the buttons. White tulle drops to the ground beneath you, toes kicking it out of the way, leaving you standing there in a cream nightgown, lace detailing around the edges hugging the sumptuous curves of your breasts.

Steve’s throat bobs, clearly not wholly unaffected by all of this, as he peers at you. Your feet carry you backward toward the bed, legs curling beneath your form as Steve moves to unbutton his own shirt, tossing it haphazardly into the corner once it’s free from his torso. He’s the same and different than you remember. All broad chested, a dusting of hair along his upper body, a line from his naval down beneath the dark pants hugging a pair of toned thighs. Scars line his sides where the demobats had bitten into his flesh, his shredded back a tapestry of markings that catch your eye as he walks around the opposite side of the bed and slips in beside you. You avert your eyes, trying to not draw attention to the fact you’ve been ogling, ignoring that simmering ache low in your belly that forms.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing, only settling down on the mattress and shifting so his thighs brush your hips, his head resting on a pillow as he gazes at your profile.

Rolling onto your side, you reach over and trail your fingers along the forearm he tucks under his head, thumb running gentle stripes along the width of it. “Thanks for saving me today.”

“You know I’ll always be there for you,” he whispers back, reaching over your form to turn off the bedside lamp. “Always.”

——

Stones knock against the bedroom window. Rouse you from bed. Head poking up from your pillow, you wander over to the windowsill, hand covering your heart as Steve’s head appears in the opening, body practically thumping against the floor in his hastiness.

Broad palms settle on your biceps, the backs of your thighs pressing into your mattress as he leads you to sit down, hazel eyes meeting yours. Your fingers reach up to glide over his chest — to feel the rapid thump of his heart in his chest.

He’s real.

He’s here.

After worrying for days that something has gotten him too, he’s right here in the flesh.

Alive.

“I saw the news,” you gasp out, swallowing the harsh knot growing in the back of your throat, “Do they really think Eddie Munson did it? Do they really think he killed Chrissy? Fred? Steve, what’s going on? Is it the Upside Down? Let me help you.”

“It’s bad this time. Like — like really bad.” His fingers touch along your temples, poking and prodding, gauging your reaction. Your only reaction, however, is to grip at his wrists, fingers bracelets around his pulse points, head tilting to the side. “Are you in pain anywhere?”

“Steve, I’m fine,” you reassure him, pushing forward to loop your arms around his waist. To push him back against the bed so he can settle down a bit, his thighs against yours. “Your heart is racing. What’s wrong? I’m coming to help next time —”

“You’re not helping this time. Last time was a mistake.”

You’d been driving in the rain one evening back in July and saw Max and El walking on the streets, looking a little dejected, and ended up peering in the window at the Holloway’s when something had gone wrong and demanded the girls tell you what was going on — especially when you were El’s tutor and she usually told you everything. Once you’d found out Steve was missing too, all bets had been off the table for staying out of whatever was bump in the night.

He rolls over onto his side, hand coming up to cup your cheek, smothering your grimace under the softness of his touch. “I can’t…I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to you.”

“Steve.”

Your hand rests over his, eyes boring into his, noting the flush on his cheeks, the glittering lower line of his lashes. Whatever this is, whatever he’s dealing with…the weight is crushing him, and your heart breaks with the immensity it.

His fingers reach over to grasp at your Walkman laying on the bedside table beside your bed. He drops it down onto the mattress between the two of you, a pleading look in those hazel depths.

“Put your favorite song on loop. Keep batteries on you at all times, and keep the headphones nearby until I tell you it’s safe.” Your mouth opens to speak, but he continues, “Please, just trust me. It’s safer for you this way. People are dying.���

“Let me help, Ste —”

“Please,” he begs, dropping his forehead against yours, “just trust me, okay?”

You nod, and in the morning, as you start to feel your body coming to wake, his fingers trace your temple. Like he’s trying to memorize every detail, the calluses on his fingers from years of baseball soothing your soul.

“I love you,” he whispers, like he always does.

I love you, in the way he loves Dustin and Robin or any of the other kids.

I love you, in the way he’s loved you since you were eleven.

I love you, in the way you always tell one another you do.

I love you, in the way he always has, but not in the way you always wished he would.

“I love you,” he says once more, and you slip back into sleep.

——

Went to try and find us some clothes. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you. Be back soon. - Love, Steve.

With a yawn, you roll over in bed, clutching the note to your chest. It smells like your best friend — that warm vanilla scent with something minty beneath. Comforting and completely him. The space beside you is still warm, the imprint of his body a reminder that he’d even been there at all. Popcorn ceilings meet your field of vision as you flip onto your back, holding aloft your left hand, light coming through the window catching on the glittering diamond there.

“Never thought you were one for a rock that needs an insurance policy,” Steve teases, appearing in the doorway with bags of clothes and other products in hand. “Then again, never thought you’d marry a guy named Clark. What is he, Spider-Man?”

“You mean Superman?”

He shoots a mocking glare your way and settles down beside you on the bed, pulling out various articles of clothing.

“It’s not designer, I hope that’s fine.” You shove at him lightly. He’s gone with a pair of black leggings and a chestnut colored sweater for you, along with a pair of boots that’ll be nice for the fall weather outside. “I eyed the shoe size. Hope they fit.” The shoes are a size too big, but they’ll work, and you laugh as he pulls out a bra and a pair of underwear. His eyes narrow a bit your way, “Just wanted to make sure I covered all the bases. I already got judged enough at the store by the cashier, so do not even go there right now.”

You snicker, tucking the clothes against your chest gratefully. Honestly, nothing sounds better than a new pair of comfortable clothes, ready to be rid of the flimsy dress dancing along your thighs.

“This is perfect,” you tell him honestly. Steve himself went for something similar — a pair of dark blue jeans, a black sweater, and a pair of simple shoes. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” he says, stopping you from reaching for your wallet. “You couldn’t exactly walk around in your dirty wedding dress for another day.”

“Yeah, but you’ve already done too much for me —”

“You’re my best friend. Stop acting like you’re inconveniencing me. I asked for this. Plus we haven’t hung out much in…oh, I don’t know, two or three years? That’s a lot of lost time to make up for.” As your features soften at his words, he adds, “Now hurry up and get dressed. There’s a diner around the block that looks nice enough and I’m starving.”

——

Fifteen.

You’re fifteen and it’s a dare.

Tommy and Carol think it’s funny.

Seven minutes in heaven with Steve Harrington.

The room is silent, all eyes on you. And maybe it’s the cheap liquor stolen from Steve’s parent’s expensive cabinet running through your system, but when Carol points at you and laughs that you won’t do it, you grip Steve by the collar of his shirt and stomp off to the nearby coat closet.

Steve’s breathless behind you, body thumping yours as you both stumble inside and the door is shut. Without hesitation, you tug on the rope chain connected to a single lightbulb and squint as your eyes adjust to the orange glow radiating off Steve’s golden skin, flushed by the summer sun.

“Time is ticking and we don’t hear kissing!” Tommy cackles, though it’s muffled through the wooden door separating you from the rest of Steve’s guests.

The rest of the room dissolves into fits of giggles, drowned out by the harsh thump of your heart pounding in your ears. The light flickers up above, and part of you wonders if it’s the only imperfection in the Harrington home. Something so trivial, and yet it distracts you from this nerve wracking moment, in this closet, with this boy.

“I’ve — I never…” you babble, feeling your chest heat, embarrassment choking off the rest of your words. “So, like, if we…do this…I don’t really know what I’m doing. And I think if I’m going to get it out of the way, I’d want it to be with someone I trust, and there’s no one I trust more than you. So, like, why not, right?”

Steve’s grinning. A goofy little thing that grows as he steps a little closer, one of his palms curling around your hips, toying with the belt loop on your jean shorts. “You want me to kiss you, hmm?”

Steve’s different now. He’s grown in the four years you’ve known him. He’s handsome, not that he hasn’t always been. But there’s more of him now. His chest is broader, his hair is longer, he’s popular now. By default, you are too. None of that has ever mattered; as long as you have him, you’re happy. But it’s at fifteen that you really understand the love you feel for him isn’t wholly platonic. In fact, the older you get, the more time you spend with him…it only solidifies in your heart that whatever his soul is made up of sings to your own.

It’s equal parts surreal and terrifying.

“Hey…hey,” Steve whispers, voice a coo that he only reserves for you, “what’s the pout for?”

“You’re teasing me,” you tell him, tipping your head up a bit, the fire in your eyes clashing with the worry in his, “and I already told you I’m nervous. You only have one first kiss and I —”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I'm being an asshole. Let me start over again, yeah?”

You nod, swallowing thickly as he lifts a hand and cups your cheek. The pad of his thumb runs over your bottom lip, parts you for him gently. Shaky breath skitters along your bottom lip, heart thrashing wildly behind your sternum as he takes another step closer and tilts his head down a bit, the warmth of him permeating your thin tank top when his chest brushes yours.

“It’s just me,” he breathes out, noting your trembling, taking another step closer.

His hips bump yours and linger, all the butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. A steady beat of ‘kiss me, kiss me, kiss me’ in time with their wings throbs in your blood.

Steve’s thumb strokes back and forth against your lip, drags it down further as your breath mingles in the middle, as you lean up onto your toes and meet him there, humming into his flesh.

The space between you shrinks and he’s there, warm and gentle against your flesh. You barely have time to register the fact he’s kissing you, because a knock sounds from the other side of the door, signaling your time is up. Both of you jolt apart, a little breathless, your hand coming up to rest against your mouth. He swallows thickly and opens the door, the closet awash in bright light, and though he seems mostly unaffected, a solid realization drops into your gut.

You’ve never loved anyone before, and maybe people will say you’re ‘too young’ to know anything about it, but you know with absolute certainty you love Steve Harrington.

——

Steve’s beaming because you’re glowing. Practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you wander through the park you’d stumbled upon shortly after breakfast, shoes crinkling against fallen leaves as you kick them into the air, glee personified. He wishes he had a camera, if only to capture the way you look right now. You, with your head tipped up to the sky, arms out at your sides, catching the small droplets of rain that began falling only minutes ago on your upturned palms.

He’s already suggested heading back to the car and getting on the road for the remainder of the trip to Hawkins, but the more it rains the happier you seem. As though you’re shedding your old life, a little lighter than you had been hours ago.

He hates that Clark’s ring is still on your finger, especially when he feels the way he does simply looking at you in this moment, but he can only imagine the enormity of the emotions welling in your system. You walked out on your family and your marriage; he knows your family, and knows what consequences might come from your actions.

Maybe you need a moment before popping the bubble and accepting fate? And who is he to hinder your joy? He’d spend every day trying to get you to smile like you are right now, having done so all the years of your friendship, only now it twists his gut tight. A harsh coil, curling around his esophagus, robbing him of his voice and air.

“I love how free and open everything feels here,” you tell him, practically skipping over to his side, shoulder brushing his. “I’ve been in the city so long I forgot what it’s like.”

He knows exactly what you mean. It’s quiet here. Peaceful. For a moment he can pretend you two are the only people in the world. “And soon you’ll be back in Hawkins,” he says, curling an arm around your shoulders, tucking you in close. “Are you excited?”

“A little nervous to see everyone,” you admit, resting your head against his shoulder. “It’s been…”

“Almost three years since you visited.”

He’d come to visit you in the city, on weekends where he could get away and book a plane ticket. But even then, he’d only see you for a weekend at a time. Nothing like before, when you’d spend nearly every day with him, and then once Robin joined the picture, she’d become the third part of your trio.

He can’t wait to have the both of you back together in the same state again.

There is so much he already imagines doing, places he wants to show you, things he wants to share with you.

“Everyone misses you, though,” he reassures you, hating the way your features drop when you whirl around to face him, the amber leaves wrinkling around the edges of your shoes. “They’re going to be so excited. Swear.”

“Pinky promise?” You hold out the sad little pinky, eyes leveling with his.

“We haven’t done one of these since we were seventeen when you asked me to teach you how to parallel park and promised to write my science paper if I helped you pass —”

“Yeah, because I failed the road test and was the only one in our class to not pass on the first try. It was embarrassing.” And you’d been miserable about it. Made it everyone’s problem. He’d thought it cute, the way you’d ripped Tommy H to shreds when he said it was okay you failed because Steve could always chauffeur you around, and you’d flipped the guy off with your favorite finger to throw his way.

Still, he curls his finger around yours and grins, “How do you feel about getting on the road? If we leave now, we should be in Hawkins by dinner time. Maybe we can bother Eddie for a free drink. You know he owns the Hideout now? Expanded it, so it’s a restaurant too now. The owner had passed and trusted Eddie would take care of it. Everyone’s really proud of him.”

You don’t. He’s never told you. It happened the past year, and with Clark entering your life, communication had dwindled a bit. He tried to hide his upset with those first few phone calls. Tried to pretend he never noticed how you’d spoken quicker, as though you were trying to speed up your catch up sessions, as though someone were looking over your shoulder.

It hurt to have the little bits he got to keep of you — the parts he liked to think were for himself — cut even shorter.

Things are different now, he reminds himself. You’re here, with him, heading back to Hawkins.

But for how long…that weary part in the back of his soul whispers. Just as quickly as he has you back, he knows he can lose you now. The thought alone stirs dread within him.

“Do you mind if we stop at a phone booth first? I want to call my family. Make sure they at least know I’m okay.” You’re already gesturing to the booths he can see in the nearby distance, hidden under a halo of golden and flame colored leaves dancing on tree branches.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” He knows them. He knows it’ll be anything but civil conversation.

He watches a grimace flutter across your features. “I think I owe at least that to them.”

——

Calling is a mistake. A huge, unfathomable mistake. The phone booth rests on the outskirts of the park, leaves falling to the ground around you, the fall chill in the air adding to the drop in temperature once you step beneath the awning and dial the number you know by heart.

Steve remains behind you, a comforting hand on your shoulder you accept by lacing your own fingers atop his. There’s a quick greeting, a simple ‘hi’ that spills out from you in a nervous rush, and then the phone blares to life. What feels like dozens of voices burst on the other end. You can hear your father shouting in the distance when your mother says who is calling.

Clark’s voice also appears in the background, and you wonder why he’s with them. It’s not like you ever spent much time with him outside of family obligations.

The relationship had been a ruse, a predisposed desire foisted upon you both by affluent families in want of furthering their ‘prestigious bloodlines,’ a result of societal pressures becoming too much. Many had insisted many married for less, that these arrangements were more common than you were led to believe, that love wasn’t afforded to people ‘like you.’ You hated it — hated all that it stood for.

Your relationship with Clark had never been deeply emotional or physical. A kiss on the brow or a peck on the lips for appearances sake, but you never allowed him near your heart. He was a friend, sure; someone you could talk to, could vent to — but that was all it ever had been.

You were merely upholding the optics your families expected of you both. The plan all along had been to eventually separate after Clark received his promotion within your father’s practice, and you obtained your inheritance before finally deciding what you wanted to do with your own life. Figured it was the least owed after throwing away everything you once knew to play a role you detested as a ‘perfect daughter’ to one of the largest plastic surgeons in the country.

“Where are you?” your father demands, voice a gruff bark, “You must have some grand explanation for walking out and throwing the thousands of dollars I threw into your wedding away.”

“I’m safe,” you tell them, smiling softly to yourself as Steve’s fingers squeeze tight around your shoulder.

“Don’t think we didn’t see you run out with Harrington's son. I had the venue pull the security footage —”

“With Steven?” your mother gasps. “You didn’t tell me that, dear.”

“If this is some affair, you and Clark will deal with it in couple’s counseling. I expect you back here this instant, young lady. I did not raise you the way I did just for you to run back to that hell in a handbasket town —”

“I need time away,” you say, a little bite to your tone you don’t expect, heart hammering away, “I don’t know how long. But I need this, okay?”

“Sweetheart.” Clark’s voice pours through the receiver. It’s fake, you know it’s fake. All appearances because he knows his promotion is in jeopardy. He can’t be sole heir of your father’s practice without the wife needed to secure the deal. “Let’s think rationally here. Come back home, I miss you. Please, my love.”

Steve stiffens behind you, his ear having lowered down to the earpiece. You shake your head and he softens when you tug him nearer by his sweater, relishing in the warmth of his body to block out the cold.

“I only wanted to call to tell you all that I'm okay. And I’m okay. I promise.” Voices start to rise in volume, but the phone slams against the holder and the line grows dead, ready for the next caller. Fingers rise to pinch at the bridge of your nose. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill out. Steve opens his mouth to speak, but you offer a stiff shake of the head, murmuring, “Can we just…go? I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, sliding a hand down to take yours in his, pulling you from the phone booth. You follow listlessly behind, free hand toying with the edge of your sweater. For someone who always takes up a room with her personality, you seem so small now. Deflated. He hates it. Hates that they hold this power over you, knowing he escaped the same thing years ago now and never looked back. “I love how they still think I’m some shitstain on my family legacy even after all these years. Kind of funny, right, seeing how those people are so miserable, and yet for the first time in my life I’m actually happy.”

You laugh at the blasé nature of his words. He always knows what to say to make you laugh, always has. “I’m glad one of us is.”

He stops, whirling around to cup both your shoulders. “You’ll figure it out too. This will all blow over. It’ll be okay. Do you want me to take you back home?”

The word sinks deep in the pit of your stomach. Home. Is it home, though?

“No,” you mumble, sounding a little forlorn, “no, I want to stay with you.”

“Okay, well…I have one rule when we get back into the car.” His hair dances along his brow as a stray wind picks up. There’s a shadow of stubble along his jaw, and the urge to run your fingers along that new part of him rises up within you. Head tilting to the side curiously at his words, he continues, “Your life back in the city? Doesn’t exist right now, okay? All of that — leave it right here on this walkway. Think you can do that for me?”

You nod, the city laid there to rest on that sidewalk in the middle of Powell, Ohio.

——

Steve visits the first winter after you leave Hawkins. Feels a little out of place as he appears at your parent’s doorway, holding out a bottle of wine he grabbed from a supermarket, in a suit that he knows is ill fitted on his body because he borrowed it from Eddie Munson. Your home is huge; towering white walls, marble floors, a sprawling staircase. But it’s cold and it’s empty and feels empty, without memories to fill it.

Not like your home back in Hawkins, where he spent his days laying on your bed as you studied, or on the couch watching movies, legs tangled in blankets, chairs set around to make silly forts. He misses baking in the kitchen — or rather you baking, while he prattles on about anything that comes to mind as you tossed ingredients together with love and care.

His heart swells as you rush forward, practically leaping into his arms, perfect as you’ve always been. All beaming smiles, melodious laughter, and that incomparable beauty that radiates from within you.

You feel like home — like his; and yet, you’ve always felt that way.

But you’re here and he’s in Hawkins and you’re miles apart now.

And the way your father pulls him to the side after dinner for a not-so-innocent glass of whiskey outside reminds him exactly of that.

“This childhood crush you have — I always thought the two of you would grow out of it. But it’s clear that is not the case.” It’s a dark sound, a sound that has Steve swallowing thickly, fingers tightening around his glass. “We allowed it for as long as we did because it was good for the two of you. Having friends in that town. These are the people my daughter needs to be around. Her peers, her friends, people that she can grow with.”

Steve swallows again. It’s not unlike the conversations he’s had with his own father before his parents left Hawkins. ‘You’re not good enough for her, you’re not good enough in general, you should have scored that hoop, should have won that baseball game, should have gotten better grades, should have joined the family business.’

Should have, should have, should have.

“I love your daughter, sir.”

He’s always dreamed of telling you first. But the moment was never right, sometimes you’d be dating someone, or he would be. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if your feelings were the same. If he learned anything from the knock on his head thanks to Nancy Wheeler, it was that life only passed you by if you waited.

The older man leans back on his chair and sips his drink, the air bitingly frigid, and yet Steve feels hot beneath his clothing. Can feel every wrinkle of fabric against his slick skin. “You know I can’t allow that.”

“Not to be disrespectful, sir, but she’s her own person —”

“That may be true. She has her free will, and both of us are well aware how stubborn she can be, but sometimes that clouds her judgment —” Steve’s mouth opens, but he’s cut off, “What will you be able to provide her? Where are you working these days? That movie shop?”

“I’m — ah —”

“If you were to marry her, how would you provide for your home? For your children, should you have any?”

Steve flounders on the spot. He has his job, and maybe it doesn’t pay what he would like, but he’s also taken up working side jobs with a local contractor. Has started learning how to build, how to fix, has started remodeling Hopper’s old home that he bought off of him when he married Joyce. It’s a fixer upper, but it’s one of the few things he has that he can fully say are his and his alone.

Maybe he doesn’t have everything now, but in a few years…

“Imagine in a few years. You might make her happy now, but what if she wakes up one day and realizes love isn’t enough? When the bills come in and finances are tight — it creates a strain on a relationship, a stress that I don’t think your childhood whims can even sustain. Not forever, at least. She’s used to this.” He waves his hands to the lavish home you live in. “All she knows is this.”

And he cannot measure up. He can’t provide this. Will never be able to reach this unimaginable wealth. Can’t take you to fancy five-star restaurants, still drives the car he’s had for years now, lives in a home that doesn’t have fully functional windows. A home where when it rains he lays out buckets to catch the water droplets that dribble inside through the roof that still needs a ton of love. He has no pension, no fancy 401k, and the barest of savings to his name.

Not enough, he’s not enough, not good enough.

It’s the words that are unsaid that speak the loudest.

He understands immediately what the older man means.

He’s not enough for you.

He’d never been enough for his own family, so why did he assume this would be any different?

“I know I cannot tell you what to do,” the man across from Steve says, a smug grin across his lips that has his blood running cold, “but I would like to make it very clear you will not have my blessing in the matter. Is that understood?”

Steve says nothing, because the door slides open and you’re there in your sparkly dinner dress that likely costs more than what he makes in a week. The differences in your classes have never been so firmly drawn in the sand. You take his hand and urge him inside, smiling at him like he hung the moon, and your father presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Steve, remember what we talked about, son.”

And he’s gone, but his words remain. Swirling, swirling, swirling around inside Steve’s mind. Like little crystalline shards, little daggers, that sink into his skin and twist. Barbs, tangling within him, leaving him reeling and aching.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, brows furrowing, hands cupping his cheeks. “Hey, are you okay?”

You’re warm, stroking his skin so comfortingly, and he smiles down at you, forces it onto his face for your sake. “I’m okay,” he lies, but though you frown a bit at his reply, you smile weakly when he adds, “Missed you, that’s all.”

“There’s a movie playing tonight that I think you’d like. Come with? For old times sake?” Hopeful. You sound so hopeful.

“Sure,” he says hollowly, the mantra of ‘not good enough’ echoing impossibly loud as you walk him down the hall.

——

The rain falls harder now. Thicker droplets that drop against the windshield, little tracks like tears falling down the glass, pushed away a moment later by wipers.

You tug your thighs up closer to your chest, head nodding along to the song playing on the radio. Steve seems far away — lost in thoughts that form a haze over his eyes. Moments ago you’d run your fingers over the backs of his knuckles and he’d offered you a smile, but that wouldn’t do.

“This mountain I must climb,” you sing out, filling the car with your off-key notes, “feels like a world upon my shoulders.”

“What are you doing?” Steve chuckles, head turning your way. There’s a nervousness about him that feels unfamiliar. A conscientiousness that’s usually not there when it comes to him.

Trying to break him out of whatever spell he’s in, your hand splays out, clutching at the sleeve of his sweater dramatically, waving his arm in the air.

“Through the clouds I see love shine —” Another grand swirl of your free hand, and a laugh bursts from him. “It keeps me warm as life grows colder. Come on, Steve!”

“In my life, there’s been heartache and pain,” he mumbles beside you, thumb tap-tapping against the steering wheel. From where you’re sitting, you can see the twitch of his lips, the corners climbing upward. “I don't know if I can face it again.”

You both break into a fit of giggles as the next lines come through the speakers. And then, with your hand against your heart and his waving out in a flourish that teasingly thumps your chest you both cry out in equally as horrendous voices, “I wanna know what love iiiiis. I want you to show meee.”

You turn to face him, staring intently in his eyes, both of you wailing from deep within your bellies, “I wanna feel what love is. I know you can show meee.”

Your head falls against his shoulder, both your shoulders shaking as the song continues around you, eyes following the tracks of the raindrops spilling onto the glass. Comforting, it’s comforting and feels like home.

The chorus blares again and you catch Steve mouthing the words to the song, his eyes a little misty, your heart splintering down the middle.

Trying to break the quiet tension in the car, you tease, “Is that a tear in your eye I see, Steve Harrington?”

He shoves you lightly, though he makes no effort to move you from his shoulder, sniffling noisily. “Shut up.”

“It’s an emotional song. I don’t blame you,” you giggle airily, looping an arm around his waist, the gearshift digging into your middle. You’re about to ask him what has him in his thoughts just as a rectangular object flashes by your side of the car. “Oh! Was that the —”

“Welcome to Hawkins,” he says softly, your head whipping behind you to catch the back of the sign declaring your entrance to your childhood town.

“I’m back?” You breathe out, nose nearly pressing up against the windshield, despite Steve trying to pull you into your seat by the back of your sweater. “Steve?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles breathily, “you’re home.”

“Home.” Endless rows of lush trees fly by, the rumble of distant thunder drowning out the Foreigner song blaring through Steve’s stereo system. “It’s been so long. Still kinda smells.”

“Definitely still smells over here,” he admits, finally managing to get you to rest back against your seat. “Calm down, you dork.”

Wrinkling your nose at him, you suddenly jump, clapping his forearm rapidly with your excited palm. “Oh my gosh — I get to finally see your place!”

“You get to stay at my place too,” he muses, smirking in a way that has your toes curling a bit in your shoes.

You watch as familiar buildings come into view. Different than they were before the town had been devastated by Vecna, but they're all the same. He winds down roads with names you can still remember, weaving along streets until making his way down the path toward where you knew Hopper’s old cabin to be. Only as you pull up, glancing out the window up at the beautiful trees above, it’s much different than you remember. Gorgeous, nestled away as it is in the middle of one of the most peaceful places in all of Hawkins. Larger and triangular on top, with wide windows and a wrap around deck. Beneath a wooden awning are two wooden chairs, facing your direction. A porch light glows with a yellow light, illuminating the deck and the car just feet away from where Steve parked.

“Were you expecting company?” You push the clasp of your seatbelt free, grabbing your things and pushing the passenger side door open. Leaves crinkle and crunch beneath your feet as you step out, rain droplets falling onto your head.

“Looks like Eddie is still here. That’s his fiancée’s car.”

“Eddie’s here.” He nods at your query, stepping in closer, arm there to loop around your shoulders. “Your home…it’s so much different than it was. It’s — it’s amazing, Steve.”

“Figured it needed some remodeling, seeing as monsters had ripped through it.” He grins to himself at your compliment, though, pride radiating off of his form. “It does look pretty great, doesn’t it? I’m proud of it. Mr. Lafferty gets all the credit. He taught me everything I know.”

“Mr. Lafferty…” The name sounds familiar. He’d been one of the few carpenters in town.

“He passed away a few months ago.” Steve grimaces. “But he helped a ton. We expanded the place, added some rooms, and updated it. It’s…well, it’s home.”

“Show me?”

He nods, pulling you along the makeshift walkway beside him. Rocks shift and move as you follow him, shoes tapping against the wooden steps leading to the front door. Steve pushes it open and you’re greeted with high ceilings, wooden beams along the walls, a fireplace set in the far right corner, two gray couches nearby with a wooden table in the middle of the space. There’s a television in the corner, and set back against the far wall is the open kitchen area.

“You are…not at a wedding,” Eddie murmurs, appearing from within the refrigerator, open beer can in hand. “Thought you were getting hitched.”

“Decided marriage wasn’t for me,” you laugh, rushing forward to slam into the man, sighing happily into his chest as arms loop low around your waist. “But Steve tells me you’re getting married.”

“Yeah, somehow tricked a girl into saying yes,” he chuckles, taking a step back to look at you. “You look great.”

“You do too!” His scars look faded by time now, his hair longer than you remember, earring twinkling behind those dark curls of his. “And who is this?”

There, on a little mat in the corner of the kitchen, is a little orange kitten. It peers up at you with honey colored eyes, a little nervous as it pads closer to Eddie. The metalhead scoops the kitten in hand, little kitten limbs spilling over his forearm.

“This is my nephew, Garfield,” Eddie says, rubbing at a tiny furry ear. “Steve found him behind the Hideout. I managed to convince him to keep it. Poor guy is out here living all on his own, it was only a matter of time before he started talking to the trees. As his best friend, I needed to look out for him, you know? So I figured talking to a cat would be more acceptable.”

“Very funny, asshole.” Steve plucks the kitten from his friend, holding it between the two of you. Your eager fingers reach out to pet it, the little head tilting upward to maximize chin scratches, a rumbly purr vibrating against your fingertips. “You fed him?”

“Fed him, cleaned up after him. By the time you have human babies, I’ll be a pro.” Eddie clapped his best friend on the back, giving you another hug. “I should get back. Promised Abi I would grab pizza on the way home. I’ll see you both around. Enjoy your night, kids.”

His ringed fingers waggle and your cheeks burn. “Oh, it’s not like —”

He offers a parting bow and slips out the door, his boots thundering on the front steps, leaving you alone in Steve’s home. Alone again, you take another glance about the space, noting the staircase against the opposite wall.

Raising a finger in the air, you ask, “Your cabin has a second floor?”

“Yeah.” He nods, jerking his head in the direction of the stairs. “Come on.”

Following him, you walk the few stairs leading to his bedroom, taking in the large king bed set against more windows that bleed moonlight into the otherwise dark space, the tan and cream pillows piled high against a dark comforter, his closet in the corner. There’s a woven basket in one corner, various plaid and knitted blankets poking out. To your left is what he tells you is the bathroom, door closed for now.

Even without the fire presently burning in the fireplace, the home feels warm. Like something Steve has put his heart and soul into to make it exactly what he envisioned. Proud doesn’t even start to touch the emotions welling up within you for the man.

All of this. He’s done all of this in the years since you’ve been gone.

“So, uh, you can use the bed? I have a ton of blankets, so I can always sleep on the couch. For however long you want to stay.”

“Steve, no.” He arches a brow. “This is your home. You didn’t plan on hosting. You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Or…” Steve places Garfield down on the edge of the bed, the kitten curling up into a content ball, paws kneading into the comforter below. “we just…share? Again, nothing we’ve never done before. Just like the thousands of other times we’ve done it.”

“I mean. Hell, we did that last night too.” You shrug, because he’s not wrong to suggest simply sharing again.

“Exactly.” Steve watches as you walk around his bedroom, taking in the sights. “I got you pajamas. They’re in the car, so I’ll just have to run out and grab them quickly. We can go shopping for more stuff in the morning. If you’re…planning on staying for a bit.”

“Yeah…I mean, I haven’t thought about for how long, and I don’t want to put you out for longer than I —”

“You can stay however long you need to. Or want to. Not a problem.” Steve clears his throat, hand coming up to run along the back of his neck.

“Okay.” You nod.

“Okay,” he echoes.

That’s that.

And later, as you both curl up beneath the blankets, Garfield lying comfortably near Steve’s feet, you whisper into the darkness.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

You can feel him in the bed behind you. There’s enough distance between you that it feels like a chasm, though.

“I’m cold.”

He exhales a yawn. “Do you want me to throw more logs on the fire?”

“No…” You shift backward a little, your frigid feet touching his warmer ones. “Can you, uh…get closer? Like when we were younger.”

Bandaged knees. Summer slick skin. The smell of sunblock in the air. Bodies huddled together, legs tangled and arms wound right. Nights where you fell asleep against him on the couch during winter, his heartbeat a lullaby. Laying under the stars at Lover’s Lake, losing track of time, and having to rush back home as the sun set to get ready for school, his hair a wreck. Images flicker in your mind, memories of times long ago.

It feels different now. Changed, as his body sidles in closer, a muscular arm coming to curl low around your waist. A hum pours from you as he tugs you against his chest, the feeling of his breath at the back of your neck a comfort that has your head nuzzling further into a fluffy pillow.

“Is this good?” he asks, resting his forehead against the back of your head, the rumble of his chest vibrating along your spine.

“Perfect.”

And as his breathing slows and he starts to drift off to sleep, you can’t help but to think about how warm he feels. About how easy it would be to lose yourself in this fantasy — of staying here, in this home, with the person you love.

Therein lies your problem.

——

please please interact if you like. it means the world to content creators. and as always, i am so happy to share a new story with you all. 🩷

[bug-fics]

become the sun

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: figuring out how to move on from life in hawkins, steve takes a trip to the beach, where he meets you, who becomes his tour guide and maybe more than that.

word count: 14.5k

warnings: fluff, teeny bit of angst, strangers to friends to lovers, and some kisses!!!

a/n: hiiii i am so excited to finally have beach steve done for u guys!!! it’s inspired by true blue by boygenius (if u couldn’t tell by the title)!!! i put a lot into this one and i hope u like it <3

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The beach is an interesting place. It changes with the seasons, the population shrinking as the leaves fade from green to brown.

There’s the crowds that come through from the months of June to August, the people that occupy summer homes, the tourists stopping by, the sand stuck to skin, the coconut smell of sunscreen. It’s when everything is bright, saturated with sunlight and people.

And then, there’s winter. The cooler weather driving away the summertime residents, turning things into a quiet town where the locals all know each other. Snow falling on the beach in January, hands tucked into jacket pockets.

For Steve, it was exactly what he needed. A getaway, room to grow, something away from Hawkins where he felt stuck, still.

For you, the beach is home.

You’ve lived in True Beach your entire life, in one of its classic blue houses with white trimming and accents. You’ve watched the town grow, watched people come and go with the seasons.

The town sits on the east coast, tucked away and—when it isn’t in the heat of summer—small.

You’ve been working at the cafe for years, floating between positions. Baking in the back, ringing people through, cleaning tables. Mornings are spent in the cafe, then, when you’re off, you’re trying to soak up whatever summer has to offer.

Today, you’re heading out the door with your swimsuit on under a sundress, tote bag on your shoulder.

“Have a good one, sweetie!” Macy, your boss (more like a mother figure and friend by now) calls from the counter as the bell above the door jingles with your exit.

“Bye, Macy!”

The heat hits you as soon as you step out the door, your eyes squinting in the sun as you try to fish your sunglasses from your bag.

Your walk to the shore is easy, the steps nothing but muscle memory by now. You cross main street, head towards the path worn into the sand by foot traffic, over the small dunes until the sound of waves crashing onto sand hits your ears. It’s mixed with laughter, conversation, the sound of kids playing.

It’s pure summer.

Towel laid out, you settle in a spot a bit further from the shoreline, enough so that there isn’t anyone else sitting in close proximity to you.

Soon enough, you’ve got your dress pulled off and tossed into your bag, a layer of sunscreen applied, and a book in your hand. You’re laying on your stomach, propped on your elbows, ankles crossed. You’re so wrapped up in the words in front of you and the heat of the sun on your back that you don’t notice the boy setting his things nearby and jogging towards the water. Not until he comes back.

A droplet of water splashes your page, and you look to the side to find the culprit. Your heart stutters at what you see: a boy shaking out his wet hair the way a dog does, all clumsy and cute.

You’ve never seen him before. This boy with brown hair falling over his forehead, eyes crinkling in the sunlight, freckles in a constellation across his skin, a sunburn kissing the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. He’s pretty. You’re glad your sunglasses can hide the way your eyes trail down to his chest, the smattering of hair there, the sand that sticks to his damp skin.

In this part of True Beach, you know pretty much everyone. The locals, the people who stay for the summers, but not him. You’d remember him if you did.

“Good swim?” You speak up.

Steve’s head lifts, his eyes finding you easily, laying on your tummy, sun setting a glow across your skin. He scans you, the curve of your back, the book in your hands. You’re the first person who’s spoken to him so far in True Beach, and for a second, he thinks he might’ve dreamt it.

“Yeah,” he says. He wants to say more, ask your name, something, but the words seem stuck. “It’s beautiful here.”

“First time here?” You push yourself up to sit, book set on your towel, your hands propped behind you.

“First time anywhere, really.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, flickering across your face.

“I hope it’s a good one, then.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, pushing it from his face, he slings his towel over his shoulder, “I do, too.”

With that, the boy picks up his bag and heads off, and you can’t help but watch him leave, the freckles that dot his back, the muscles that sit there, too. You hope that you’ll see him again.

You hope that maybe, maybe this summer will be different than the rest.

-

Steve’s staying in a condo down by the beach. A white building with scratched paint and faded accents of greens, yellows, and blues. He’s on the ground floor, his small patio a step away from the sand. Coral Condos, it’s called.

He’d found True Beach on a whim, staring at a map and waiting until something jumped out at him. This town did.

For Steve, Hawkins was becoming too much. A reminder of everything that’s ever happened to him, of things he doesn’t know he’ll ever accomplish. His friends were all moving on, moving away, and he was just there.

First it was Nancy and Jonathan going out of state for college, then it was Eddie moving to Indianapolis for his music. What hit him the hardest was when Robin was off to school, too. When he was working shifts in Family Video alone, with his thoughts and the hum of the TV.

He needed to get out, away from the house that served as a reminder of the absence of his parents. He needed the room to change, to let himself be known as who he is now and nobody else.

So he’s here, spending his summer in True Beach to try and figure things out.

Steve’s been worried about his decision, wondering if it was too much, if he was doing the right thing. Robin had reassured him plenty, but after being in a single town for pretty much his entire life, this trip seems bigger.

Then, you spoke a couple of words to him on the beach, and he thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Even with big sunglasses covering your eyes, there was a kindness there, the beauty of someone not having any preconceived notions about him. Here, King Steve doesn’t exist.

Not to mention that you spoke to him, sunlight bouncing off your skin, lips moving around your words in a way that caught him.

His walk back to his condo is full of replaying your short conversation, the small smile that had spread over your face. Why the hell didn’t he ask your name?

Steve hopes to see you again, to feel the way he did when you talked to him. Like a person, someone worth speaking to, someone without a reputation that follows him despite being long gone, someone he wants to be.

Yeah, he really hopes to see you again.

-

Soon enough, you’re back at the cafe, working your morning shift and glancing up every time the bell above the door jingles. You’d never admit it, not even to yourself, but you’re looking for someone specific. Looking for the boy from the beach.

It’s odd, the little spark of hope you get whenever the door opens. You don’t even know his name.

Instead of facing this strange pull you feel towards a total stranger, you try to focus on work. Your customer service smile, making coffees, bagging sweets. You’ve been doing it long enough that it’s all subconscious, a routine that’s easy to fall into.

Then, only an hour before your shift is meant to end, the boy walks in, hair messy on top of his head.

Unsure if he even remembers you, you try to act natural. “Good morning!”

Steve follows the sound of your voice, finding you at the counter by the register, welcoming smile on your face. He recognizes you right away. It’s the same face he’d seen on the beach, the one he’s thought about since.

“Hi,” he says, stepping up to the counter across from you. He glances down to your name tag, pinned to the strap of your canvas apron. It suits you, he thinks. “Makes more sense than ‘girl from the beach.’”

“Sorry?”

“Your name, I mean.” He shifts a little on his feet. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

Steve. A piece of him you won’t have to wonder about anymore. Today, Steve’s wearing a linen button up shirt, the first couple buttons undone, his chest hair peeking out.

“Well hi, Steve. Boy from the beach,” you smile softly, a shared memory floating between you. “What can I get for you?”

If he’s being honest, Steve had sort of forgotten what he came into the cafe for once he saw you standing behind the counter. He looks at the menu on the wall behind you, skimming over the words.

“Um,” he looks back at you, his indecisiveness written in a small wince on his face, “have any drink recommendations?”

“Coming right up.”

You turn to make his drink, the coffee machine whirring behind you, the sound of things brewing a constant background to your day. You pour some ice into a cup, and soon enough you’ve got his drink mixed and poured, too.

You grab a cup sleeve, scrawling a small message on it before you can overthink it, and then slip it onto the cup, turning back to the counter where Steve is waiting, hands tucked into his pockets.

He watched you bounce between things in the cafe, hands moving like it’s second nature to you.

“Here you go,” you say, setting the cup onto the counter.

“Thanks.” Steve picks it up, dropping a bill onto the counter with his other hand.

Again, he finds himself wanting to say more to you, to stretch out the conversation. Instead, he heads to a table in the corner of the cafe and takes a sip of what you’ve made him. Of course it’s good, he thinks. You don’t look like someone who would mess these things up.

Right when he’s about to set the cup back down, he notices the sharpie scrawled onto the sleeve, lettering angled and curved to fit in the empty space. It could only be your writing, the words sweet and simple.

‘Welcome to True Beach :)’

Steve smiles at his cup, at the hint of something friendly, something kind, in a place so new to him.

He really should talk to you more this time, he knows it. Because he regretted not doing it once and he doesn’t want to do it again. So, when he finishes his drink, he walks up to the counter all over again.

“You’re back,” you say, though he never really left. He’d been in the cafe the whole time, your eyes always finding their way back to him.

“Yeah,” he sets his now empty cup down on the counter gently, “can I get another?”

“You liked it?” You smile a little, feeling a zip of success, of some sort of accomplishment.

“I mean, it’s refill worthy, so,” he shrugs like the answer is obvious, shoulder to his sunburnt cheek.

You make him another, the same way you made the first, his eyes on your back, your hands working on autopilot. The recipes make themselves by now, written into your memory.

You still can't really believe Steve’s here, that the boy from the beach walked in when you’d been thinking about him since you spoke. You wonder if it’s some sort of sign, hands of fate pushing him into the cafe.

Either way, you decide to take a chance.

“So,” you hand him his drink, and he hands you another bill and refuses the change, “if you wanted to meet some people, there’s this bonfire tonight at the beach. You should come.”

“Really?” He checks, because there’s no way you’d invite him somewhere after such small conversations, right?

“Yeah, really,” I want you there, you’d say if you had the courage. “You can get to know a bit about True Beach. Being a newbie and all.”

So far in his stay, Steve hasn’t been inclined to seek things out. He’s been alright keeping to himself, going to bed early enough. Now, he’s thinking that it’d be good to get out, to meet people, to explore the way he told himself he would here.

Maybe to see you again, too.

“I’d like that,” he nods, a shy smile on his lips. “You’ll be there?”

In all honesty, you’ve yet to attend a bonfire this summer. You’ve never been a huge fan of them, really. But if he’s going, so will you.

“I’ll be there,” you confirm. “It’s down by the docks. Sort of hard to miss.”

“I’ll see you later then, girl from the beach.”

“Later,” you smile, and a mirrored expression spreads on Steve’s face. “Boy from the beach.”

He turns and leaves, the bell above the door ringing yet again with his exit. For once, you spend what remains of your shift eager for the day to pass, for it to be nighttime with a fire crackling nearby and the boy from the beach as company.

Steve doesn’t know what it is about you, doesn’t know how or why, but somehow, you’ve made him feel like he’s in the right place. Like leaving Hawkins wasn’t this big huge mistake the way he’d worried it would be.

He needed to get out, he knows that, and he’s done it, but he’s yet to move on. Maybe tonight could be a step towards that, a step towards new friends (though he’ll always have those from Hawkins), a new environment, a new beginning.

He thinks about it all on his walk back to the condo. His past, what could be his future. He doesn’t know what it looks like, and maybe he never will, but he knows that the sun warming his skin and the salt in the air is something he could get used to. Something he could love, if he could just let himself.

And when Steve eventually throws away his cafe cup, he makes sure to keep the sleeve with your handwriting on it. A souvenir as good as any.

Maybe a sign, too. A promise of some sort.

-

Your hands are covered by the sleeves of your sweater as you walk over to the bonfire, bright orange casting a glow over the sand, the warmth of the flames hitting you as you draw nearer.

It’s early enough that hints of the sun remain in the sky, a stripe of orange on the horizon, fading into blue as you look up. It’s a really nice night, the stars and moon bright above you, the breeze still warm enough to wear shorts. Even so, you can’t help but be nervous.

You haven’t been to one of the bonfires in a long time, and though you see these people often in town, it’s never like this. Never all at once.

Plus, there’s Steve. You hadn’t told him a time, but he said he’d come and despite barely knowing him, he seems like the kind of guy who means what he says. The anticipation is what gets you. What you’ll say when you see him, how to act.

You’ve never wanted to get to know someone the way you do with him, the instant sense that he’s a person you’d like to have in your life, and that’s intimidating in itself.

“Look who decided to show up!” It’s Steph’s voice, your longtime friend, forever neighbor.

“Hey,” you give her a small smile, happy to see her and apologetic all at once. “Sorry it’s been so long.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she tosses an arm around your neck, “come on!”

Steph guides you to the group standing around the fire, people you’ve known forever, people who cheer at your appearance (though the enthusiasm is hugely influenced by their various states of being drunk).

It’s Mason who works at the record store, Vic that busses tables in the diner like no other. It’s everyone who makes True Beach what it is and you’re glad to be a part of it, even if your mind continues to drift elsewhere.

You keep looking towards the path that leads to the beach, hoping to see a silhouette coming through, the boy from the beach. Steve.

It’s unusual, the way you wait for him to show up. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve had this sort of eagerness, the excitement of meeting someone new, of feeling this pull.

Steph seems to notice your eyes drifting again during your conversation, and she’s quick to ask, “what’s over there?”

“Huh?” You look back at her face, and you don’t exactly love the accusing look on her face.

“You keep looking at the path,” then, she gasps, like she’s discovered something amazing, “are you waiting for someone?”

“What? No.” You shake your head when she nudges her shoulder into yours. “Just thought I saw something.”

“Sure you did, babe.”

All you can do is shake your head again. She’s already gotten the idea in her head, you won’t be getting it out. Besides, even if you won’t say so, she is right, after all.

The night continues on this way, your eyes constantly flicking towards the path, thinking that the person arriving is Steve. It never is, though.

Your hope is shrinking smaller and smaller as the time goes by, thirty minutes, an hour, another hour. Still no sign of him. You’ve only just met, and yet, the disappointment strikes you hard, a sinking in your gut, a thump in your chest. You really thought he’d come.

You shouldn’t be surprised, you think. Or upset, really. You’re a total stranger inviting him to a beach at night, you’ve probably scared him off, freaked him out.

Eventually, you find yourself sitting in the sand by yourself, everyone wrapped up in conversations, laughter ringing behind you.

You stare at the waves, the steady rise and crash onto the shore. You stare and stare and stare until you figure it’s too late now, Steve’s not coming, and you should just go.

So, with an embarrassing lump in your throat, you stand and dust off the back of your shorts and head towards the path, glad that nobody notices your departure, that you're able to force away the tears that have no business being there in the first place.

Where he is, Steve blinks his eyes open gradually, waking up to a dark condo and a kink in his neck. After a day in the sun, he’d accidentally crashed on the couch, falling asleep with the hum of the TV in the background.

At first, he’s just confused, disoriented as he checks the clock and sees the time. 12:26 AM. Then, it hits him. The bonfire, the ‘see you later,’ you.

Fuck.

He scrambles to get up, shoving on his shoes and heading out the door without a thought about how he must look right now. His hair a total mess from being pushed against the couch cushions, his eyes bleary from sleep. That’s not what matters.

Steve’s basically sprinting to the beach, running until he sees the docks, sees the fire still burning nearby. There are still people, too. Maybe I can save this, he thinks, maybe she’s here and I’ll explain and we’ll just laugh about it.

You’re the first person he’s really spoken to here, the first one to make him feel like True Beach was a good idea, and he’d be a fucking idiot to lose the whisper of a friendship before it’s gotten the chance to form. A total fucking idiot.

Breathing heavily from his rush to get here, Steve walks over to the first person he sees, a girl with a can in her hand, her hair in braids that have become loose with time.

“Hey, sorry,” he says, getting her attention.

Steph’s the one he’s addressing, though he has no idea who she is. She turns towards him and smiles politely, because she’s got no idea who he is, either.

“Hm?” She hums.

Steve says your name, the name that’s been in his head since he’d read it on your apron. “Have you seen her?”

“Oh! You’re the one she must’ve been waiting for.” Steph looks around, her eyebrows scrunching, “ummm, she was here. Guess she left.”

You’re the one she must’ve been waiting for, she was here, guess she left.

Steve’s stomach drops. You’d been waiting for him, and he’d practically stood you up like an asshole. Sure, he was asleep and it was unintentional, but you don’t know that, and he feels awful. The things you must’ve been thinking, how you felt.

He feels like the biggest jerk ever.

Steve forces a smile, though he’s sure it’s an awful facade. “Okay, thanks anyway.”

With that, he turns away from Steph and heads back towards the path, his head down, shoulders a little slumped because this isn’t how things were supposed to go.

He was supposed to show up, to talk to you and learn more than your name or where you work, to plant the seed of something between you. Friendship, maybe. More, if he’d been lucky.

“Hey,” Steph calls before Steve gets too far. He turns around. “She’s got a shift tomorrow. Seven AM.”

He nods, and heads off again. He’ll fix this. Somehow, he’s going to fix this and it’ll work. It has to, he thinks, because he needs to know you.

-

Steve barely sleeps that night. For one, there was the nap that was long enough, and then—of course—there’s you. He spent hours laying on his back, watching the ceiling fan whirl above him, trying to figure out what to say.

In the end, he scraps every idea he has and decides to wing it the best he can. Not a great plan, but it’s all he has, so it’ll have to be enough.

Your friend said you started at seven, so Steve shows up at the cafe at exactly 7:02 AM. He's got mismatched socks on his feet, sandals on top of those. He’s sure his eyes are puffy, too, the lack of sleep evident on his face.

Despite that, he opens the cafe door, the bell ringing above his head. He spots you right away, leaning over a table, wiping it down with the towel in your hand, your walkman clipped onto the pocket of your apron, headphones on your head.

There’s someone else at the counter this time, an older woman with crinkles by her eyes and a kind smile. But, Steve came here to see you, so he heads over to the table you’re cleaning.

You can’t hear him coming, you only catch him walking over in your peripheral, his hands shoved in his pockets. You straighten, leaving the towel on the table and pausing your music, pushing your headphones down to rest around your neck.

“Steve. Hi.” You’re sure the surprise is in your voice. You really hadn’t been expecting to see him again.

“I’m so sorry about last night,” is what he says, needing to get it out, unsure of how else to start.

He surprises you a second time, his words are written on his face, the sleepiness in his eyes, the tiny frown on his mouth, the worried scrunch in his brows. It’s impossible to deny his sincerity.

“Oh.” You twist your fingers in the wire of your headphones. “It’s totally fine, you don’t have to apologize to me.”

“No, I do.” Steve pulls his hands from his pockets, and they move as he speaks, like he can’t help it. “Listen, it’s gonna sound made up, but I swear to you, it’s not. I fell asleep.”

“Steve-”

“I did. I got back from the beach and I fell asleep. As soon as I woke up I went to the bonfire, but you’d already left. I’m sorry for making you wait like that.”

You were never angry or upset with him to begin with. It was more towards yourself, the disappointment. You’d built up an expectation of him, of the night, in your head, and it’s your own fault. Still, the explanation has your chest feeling lighter.

“It’s okay, Steve. I mean, I’m a total stranger inviting you to this thing. It’s weird.”

“It’s not! It’s not weird, I promise.” He’s quiet for a second, then, his voice softer than before, he says, “I really did wanna go.”

You’re not sure what it is that gets you, maybe the way his brown eyes seem to melt a little, or the way his voice slows with the last few words, like he really wants you to hear them, but either way, any lingering negativity of the night before seems to fade away.

“You didn’t miss much, really.” You lean your hands behind you on the table. “Just a bunch of people getting drunk and slipping around in the sand.”

“I’m still sorry I didn’t go. I told you I would.”

“Steve, seriously, it’s okay.”

“Thanks for, you know, letting me explain.”

“Stop worrying about it, ‘kay? We’re good.”

Steve wonders if there’s a reason this place jumped out at him when he’d read the name. If some sort of divine intervention led him to True Beach. Because he’d found you here, and though you’ve only spoken a couple of times, he knows that people like you are rare. The sort of kindness that feels refreshing, the easiness of being around you.

He wants more of it, wants to know if maybe there’s a reason he feels like he was meant to meet you.

“I do want to know True Beach,” he says, “being a newbie and all.”

Your words from the day before coming from him make you smile. The thought that he’d remembered what you said well enough to repeat it back. Not everyone listens like that.

“I could show you around, if you wanted? You know, the best spots, the good food.”

“You’d do that?”

“Yeah! It’s an excuse for me to do more than just be lazy on the beach. Plus, It’d be fun.”

He smiles, this time it’s not hidden or pushed back, it’s a beam of light, sunshine peeking out from behind a cloud. “I’ll take you up on it, then.”

You smile, too. “I’m off at one, if you wanna meet back here?”

“Yeah, yes, that’s great. I’ll be here.”

Steven turns to go, but you call out, “don’t fall asleep this time!”

He faces you again, heads towards the front counter saying, “maybe I should get a coffee. Just to be safe.”

You shake your head with a grin, one that stays on your face even when you turn away and continue to wipe down the tables. Not even 8 o’clock in the morning and it feels like a good day.

Macy’s the one who served Steve his coffee this time, and once he leaves, the cafe now mostly empty, she walks over and leans a hip against the table, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyebrows raised at you.

“So, who was that?”

“His name is Steve.”

“Steve, hm? He’s a cutie.”

“Macy! He’s only here for the summer. And we only just met, alright? It’s nothing.”

Somehow, her eyebrows go even higher, the look on her face one you always get when she knows something. Or, when she thinks she knows something.

“Okay, okay. But I saw your smile just now.” She pokes your cheek, “I know you, sweetie. That wasn’t nothing.”

“I’m just gonna show him around. He’s new here, that’s it, I swear.”

She holds her hands up, “fine, but I will be saying ‘I told you so’ if that changes.”

“I’d expect nothing less, Macy.”

Macy likes to try and play matchmaker with you often, but her tone is usually much more joking than it is now. Though it’s still light, still teasing, it’s different. You wonder if maybe she was seeing something you couldn’t, something you didn’t want to see.

You don’t know this boy, not really. You know he has a way of saying things that make them feel true, that he has the softest eyes you’ve ever seen, that he’s able to pull smiles from you without even trying.

No, you don’t know him, but maybe you could. Starting today.

-

This time, Steve doesn’t leave you wondering. He shows up five minutes before your shift is set to end, and Macy, noticing him walking into the cafe, leans over to you, “looks like your boy is back, sweetie. Go ahead and get out of here.”

You shake your head and let it slide, knowing that she’ll believe whatever she wants no matter how much you fight her on it. You lean your head on her shoulder long enough to say: “thanks, Mace.”

Then, you’re heading out, tugging the bow on the back of your apron loose and slipping it over your head to hang it up on its hook on your way to the back room where you grab your bag. You pause at the mirror by the employee cubbies, smoothing back some baby hairs and brushing stray coffee grinds from your cheeks.

Steve stands to the side of the entrance, somehow looking more sun kissed than he’d been this morning, and he waves when he spots you walking towards him. “My tour guide.”

“That would be me.” There’s a small smile on your face already. There always seems to be one when you talk to him. “You ready to go?”

He moves to open the door, gesturing with his free hand, “lead the way.”

The summer heat hits you as soon as you walk through the door, the sun shining on the side of your face. You twist your head away from the sun and towards Steve, who’s fallen into step beside you, his strides matching yours.

“I thought we’d stay downtown, show you the shops and stuff.” Steve looks at you as you speak, even with the sun making him squint. “Sound okay?”

“Sounds perfect. I trust you.”

He steps around you, tugging your wrist gently to place you on the inside of the sidewalk, and himself closest to the road. It’s a small thing, one that could easily be meaningless, but your heart stutters the slightest bit, your steps slowing before forcing yourself to keep up with him.

The walk is short, filled with small talk that doesn’t feel forced or exhausting. It feels natural, the kind of ‘how are you?’ you get from a friend rather than a stranger. And you suppose he isn’t a stranger, you know just enough for him to be more than that.

Your hands brush between you, knuckles skimming against each other just once. A spark zipping up your arm, the same electricity traveling in his, too.

You ignore it (try to, at least), and before long, you’re at your first destination of the day. You stop walking, turning towards the awning of the store, “here we are.”

Steve stops with you, his eyes set on your face as you gesture towards the building. He looks away when you catch him, looking up at the sign hung above the door, a wave that fades into music notes, the words ‘Splash Records’ layered on top of that.

Now, it’s you who’s looking at his face, looking for a reaction. “It’s a gem, I swear.”

He turns to you again, his eyes, lighter in the sun, set on yours, “like I said, I trust you.”

“Okay,” you open the door for him this time, light blue paint flaking onto your hand when you twist the knob, “after you.”

Walking in, the record store is packed, but not in a way that feels stuffy. It’s full, music streaming through the store’s speakers, surrounding the space. There’s crates of records set on tables in the middle, shelves of them lining the walls.

Then, straight ahead from the door at the back, there’s the counter, the register sitting atop it, a record spinning behind it.

You wave to the boy standing there, “hey, Mason!”

Mason waves back, smiling at you, “hey! Need help finding anything?”

“We’re only browsing. Thanks, though.”

“No problem, cafe. You let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

The local workers in True Beach have developed this habit of calling each other by their jobs, hence why you’re ‘cafe.’ It’s silly, and you’re all well aware of everyone’s actual names, but it started and stuck ever since.

“Sure will, record store.”

Steve, for some reason, has this dull, punched-in-the-gut kind of feeling. He shouldn’t, he really, really shouldn't, but he does. Seeing the boy smile at you, seeing you share an inside joke.

And then, you’re wrapping a hand around his wrist so softly and leading him into the store and the ache is gone, replaced with this warmth. Warmth that blooms and grows into his chest.

“So, Steve, beach boy, what kind of music do you like?”

Just like that, the ache is forgotten.

“Take a guess,” he says.

You walk towards one of the crates at the front of a table, the letter A attached to the front. He follows, watches you flick through the records.

“Hmmm,” you stop and tug one out, facing Steve and holding up ABBA’s Arrival. “This one.”

“Come on!” He laughs, mostly because you’re right, and you seem to know it.

“You’re totally a ‘Dancing Queen’ kind of guy.”

He shrugs, a closed-mouth smile with mischief laced behind it, and turns to a different crate. And then, ever so softly, he starts humming the tune to ‘Dancing Queen.’

You smack his arm lightly, jaw dropped, soon spreading into a grin of victory. “I knew it!”

You continue on with your guesses, Steve following behind you with a sort of brightness in his eyes. He feels like you’re showing him more with each minute you spend together, your personality shining through with every smile or laugh he’s lucky enough to get from you.

The next album you pull is by Wham! and Steve huffs a laugh and shakes his head, “you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I’m right again, aren’t I?”

“No comment.”

“I’m so good at this.”

By the end of it, you’ve added a-ha and Tears for Fears to the pile, and though Steve will end up buying every single one, he looks at the stack in your arms and sighs.

“Have you been stalking me?” He asks, because you’ve yet to be wrong with your selections.

“Yeah, right. You wish,” you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fumbling a little with the records in your hands. “I am just really, really skilled. Plus, you just give off the energy for it.”

“You aren’t making me seem very manly, you know?”

“Who said anything about manly?” Your eyes are kind, Steve thinks they sort of sparkle when you say, “good music is good music. Who cares what it says about you?”

He’d been joking, of course he had, because you’ve been right all along and he sort of stopped worrying about music taste when he started hanging out with Robin, who’s favorite genre is musical soundtracks, and Eddie, who never stopped liking what he did no matter what Hawkins thought of him.

And then, he thinks, Eddie would like you. Would like the way you spoke about music.

Steve’s not sure what to say, not sure how to thank you without sounding like a total idiot. But he doesn’t have to, because you speak before he can, like you’d known he needed you to. “Anyways, you ready for our next destination?”

“I’ll go wherever you go.” The words are soft, and they feel like so much more than simple when he says them. They aren’t more, you know that, but they sound like they could be. “You’re the tour guide.”

Steve buys the records, and with the bag in his hand, he follows you out the door and walks beside you—again, closest to the street—without question.

A couple of stops later (one being the sunglasses shop, where you and Steve handed each other pairs to try on, giggling behind hands, posing into the mirror of the other person’s lenses) you’re leading Steve into the diner on main. It’s classic, vinyl seating, checkered floors, the light blue of the shallow parts of the ocean serving as the pop of color in the place.

You grab a booth, Steve sliding in across from you. It’s by the window, a street of sandals smacking the ground, towels slung over shoulders, and beach bags covered in sand on the other side of it.

It doesn’t take long before a familiar face strolls up to your table, and you give her a little wave as she walks up, “hey, Vic! Busy today?”

“I’ve seen worse, cafe.” Her eyes flick over to Steve, her eyebrows raising when she looks at you again. “And who’s your friend?”

“This is Steve, he’s staying for the summer and roped me into being his tour guide.”

“Hey,” he says, an awkward, but always kind, smile on his face.

“Well, welcome to True Beach.” Vic pulls out her notepad and pen from her pocket. “What can I get you?”

You both order, and Steve listens to you chat with Vic some more, the interest you show in what she tells you, the way you pay attention to her story about a strange customer. He thinks about the way you’ve greeted every shop employee so far today by name, the way they all greet you with the same recognition.

He thinks about how nice it must be to be a part of something like that, a steady unit in a town that sees different faces constantly.

“Sorry about that,” you say to Steve after Vic walks away. “She likes to tell stories.”

“Don’t be. I was eavesdropping, anyway.”

You laugh, quick and sunny, and Steve soaks it up, letting it warm him up. He’s sort of captivated by you, the way you move, the things you say, the way he feels around you. It’s something totally new to him, no matter his history with girls. This is on its own, special and rare, he thinks. Or, maybe, he wishes.

“So, Steve…”

He fills in the blank. “Harrington.”

“Steve Harrington. What brings you to True Beach?”

“Ummm. Vacation?” Steve asks rather than says, because he really doesn’t have an answer. At least, not one that he thinks makes any sense. Self-discovery? Escape? Didn’t want to be the last of his friends stuck in Hawkins?

All of the above, maybe.

“No!” Your foot nudges his under the table. “I mean, like, really. What’s your story? What led you right here?”

Steve likes the way you say what you mean, how you don’t seem to be afraid to ask something more personal. The list of things he likes about you seems to keep growing.

“I grew up in Hawkins, Indiana. Small town, been there my whole life. I was sort of an ass in high school. Hanging around with the wrong people, you know?” He scratches at the hair at the base of his neck, nervous. Less so when he sees your gentle smile and nod. “Anyway, then I met better people. My best friend, Robin, this dork Eddie, and these kids that I care about a lot. Sort of became their babysitter—minus the pay—and, yeah.”

You notice the way he lightens up when he talks about these people, the whisper of a smile on his face as he does. It makes you smile, too, knowing that he has people like that. People that can ease him with a simple memory.

“My parents were never really around. Work trips all the time, stuff like that, but it forced me to learn a lot. I worked at this movie rental place for a few years, and then all my friends were moving on, going to school, taking control of their lives. I figured I’d do the same.”

“That’s why you’re here?”

“Hm?”

“To move on. Take control of your life.”

“I guess so. I wanted to go somewhere. I’ve never ventured out-of-state until now. Saw the town on a map and that was it.”

“I think that’s really cool.” You reach across the table and squeeze Steve’s hand, his eyes flicking up from his lap when you do. “It takes a lot of bravery to come somewhere new, especially alone.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Steve’s quick to brush things off. He didn’t grow up being called things like brave, and though the expression on your face is clearly honest, it’s hard to accept a compliment. Doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t expand a little, though. Like an extra puff of air blown into a balloon.

“Don’t fight me on this, Steve Harrington.”

He’s not sure he could fight you on most things. He’d rather let you win.

“Alright, fine. What’s your story, then?”

“You sure you wanna hear it? It’s pretty boring.”

I want to know everything about you, Steve thinks. He won’t say it, though, won’t risk freaking you out when this has only just begun.

“You got mine. It’s only fair.”

It’s been a long time since you’ve met someone new, since you’ve had to do the whole getting to know each other thing. Usually, it’s awkward for you, the stress of good impressions. Now, with him, it’s easier for some reason. It feels like you’ve known him far longer than a few days. There’s a familiarity there.

“Okay, okay. My family moved here when I was like five, so it’s pretty much all I remember. We’ve lived in the same house since, blue shutters and chipped paint, but I love it. It’s home.”

You don’t feel very different from how you feel now when you think of home. Comfortable, at ease, like you’re not meant to be anywhere else.

Steve Harrington. You’re glad he chose True Beach.

“I started working at the cafe when I was sixteen, I think,” you continue. “Macy—that’s my boss, but she’s more like family—she gave me the job and I just never left. She wants me to take over one day.”

“Will you take over?”

“I love that place. I don’t really see myself anywhere else,” you shrug, hands fiddling with the napkin in front of you. It’s something not everyone approves of, like you’re wasting away there. “I know it’s not all that impressive.”

“Hey, if you love it, isn’t that what matters?” The toe of his shoe pushes yours gently, your eyes catching his. “Not everybody gets to say they love what they do. And you do. I think that’s impressive.”

“Really?”

“Really. I think it’s great, honey.”

Steve lets the name slip, but when he sees the bashful smile on your face, the way you duck down a little, he can’t bring himself to feel bad about it.

Honey.

If you didn’t have a crush already, you’re absolutely done for now.

-

Day by day, you and Steve grow closer, and you’re now far more comfortable calling each other a friend rather than a stranger.

You show him a little bit more of the town each day, and a little bit more of yourself, too. He does the same, and you’ve found that Steve is an easy person to talk to, to trust. It’s a friendship born over rented bicycles and hands-free riding down a hill, brunch at the cafe during your breaks, and Steve lending you his baseball cap when you forget your own.

It feels completely natural, like you’ve known him a lifetime rather than a week. It feels like something you didn’t know had been missing.

Steve doesn’t feel much different. There’s a little bit of guilt in him, because he’s never felt this way while in Hawkins; like he belonged. He loves his friends, and that had nothing to do with them, but it sat with him nonetheless. A weight on his chest.

The weight seems to be forgotten when he’s with you, when you’re smiling at him as you show him your home like you’re welcoming him, like he could stay. It’s when he’s alone that he thinks about what this could mean, what he should do.

Right now, though, he isn’t alone, so there’s no heaviness there.

You’re taking him to a ‘super great surprise location,’ as you’d called it, your sandals leaving patterns in the sand, the sun bouncing off your bare shoulders. Steve walks the slightest bit behind you, not far enough that you can’t talk to each other, but enough so that you’re definitely leading the way.

Steve’s honestly too distracted to pick up on where you’re headed. The curve of your spine, the way your hair seems to change color under the sun, the pattern of your strides. It isn’t until you tilt your head and point upwards that he catches on.

He lets his head fall back to match yours, looking up at the lighthouse that sits on a rocky part of the beach.

“The lighthouse?” He checks, “Isn’t that, like, against the rules?”

“Aw, Stevie, since when do you care about the rules?” That’s something you’ve been doing lately, calling him Stevie. He likes it more than he should. “Besides, I won’t let us get caught. Don’t you trust me?”

You’re facing him now, walking backwards, a smile full of mischief on your face. Steve can’t help but be honest, “yeah, I trust you.”

“Well then, let’s get climbing, Harrington.”

You don’t have to tell him again. Steve follows you without another question, like it’s really that simple. He follows you up and up the lighthouse until you’ve made it to the top, out on the metal balcony that overlooks the beach, the water.

You sit down, legs dangling over the edge, arms leaning on the bottom part of the railing. And though Steves not fearless by any means, he sits beside you, position mirroring yours.

“You bring all your tourists up here?” Steve teases, his knee brushing yours.

Vulnerability is scary, and you don’t usually share much about yourself with people, preferring to keep your cards close, but things are different with Steve. It’s scary and incredible all at once. He’s different.

So, you reply seriously, your voice quieter, “I’ve actually never brought anyone up here.”

Steve looks away from the view to look at you, your confession unexpected but welcomed. Like he’s thought since he’d met you, he really wants to know you. Every single thing.

“Really?” He asks, gently poking for more.

“Yeah,” you nod, your eyes focused on the way the waves look from up here, the shades of blue. It’s less scary to talk this way, without looking at Steve and his eyes that you just fall into.

“I always come up here alone,” you continue. “To think, mostly. Like, when things feel really big and awful, coming up here and seeing how small everything is helps. I kinda find comfort in the insignificance, you know? Nothing I do will ever really be that big of a deal, and that’s peaceful, I think. Does that make any sense?”

He finds he can’t look away from you right now, the sad—maybe even nervous—twist of your mouth, your hair messy from the wind. He wonders if he should tell you that he doesn’t think you’re insignificant at all. At least not to him.

“It does,” Steve says, blinking away from you and turning to look at the water, too. “I think that’s part of why I came here. It’s nice to be unknown, to not have to worry about every move I make because of how people will react. Things feel a little lighter.”

You nod, looking down at where your legs touch, your feet hanging over the edge of the balcony. You hadn’t meant to get so serious. Tour guides should be fun, right? So, you add, “the view’s nice, too.”

The sun’s setting now, the sky becoming a blend of pinks and oranges, the rays on your skin turning golden. Still, Steve finds himself looking at you again when he says, “yeah, it is.”

You turn your head at his tone, the gentleness of it. Your eyes find his, the brown almost bronze in the sun, the color melting and swirling and you can’t break eye contact. He’s reeled you in like nobody has before, like he’s been on the opposite end of a string that ties you together, and he’s the only one who could pull it.

“I’m really glad you picked True Beach.”

Steve’s gaze flicks to your mouth, then your eyes, and your mouth again. “I am, too, honey.”

Then, you’re closer to each other, your shoulders leaning together, the warmth of his arm pressed against your own.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, and neither is Steve, all you know is his nose nudges yours, and when you tilt your head in response, you’re kissing. First, a tender press of his lips on yours, and that’s all. But it isn’t enough.

Subconsciously, without a thought, you chase his mouth when he pulls away ever so slightly, and it’s all he needs before he’s kissing you again. Before he’s really kissing you.

Steve’s hand finds your cheek, gently tilting your face for him so he can kiss you the way he wants to. He’s not sure what he’d been thinking before this, all he knows is that this feels too good to stop, too good to be the wrong thing to do.

Your hand is hooked in the neckline of his shirt, knuckles brushing his bare skin beneath it, keeping him close. The other rests on the balcony between you, holding you up, letting you lean towards him.

You haven’t been kissed many times, but you know that for it to feel like this is a rare thing, something delicate that you won’t look into just yet. Right now, this is enough. The sparks that seem to fly around you, burning through you.

Even when you do pull away, nothing feels broken. No, Steve simply uses the hand on your cheek to guide your head to his shoulder, and it’s comfortable, your cheek squished against him, his hand grabbing yours from his collar and holding it in his lap.

You stay that way for what could be minutes or hours. As if you’ve been just like this hundreds of times before.

-

Steve offered—more like decided, really—to walk you home from the lighthouse, the sun sinking lower and lower with every step. You took the long way, sand beneath your feet, breeze growing cooler against your cheeks.

Neither of you have said anything about the kiss, and you haven’t felt the need to. If anything, it feels natural, like this pink haze brought on by the kiss is meant to be there; there’s nothing to be said.

Maybe that’ll change tomorrow, but it’s today and that’s what matters.

At some point during the walk, after knuckles brushing and sparks fizzling between them, Steve had wrapped his pinky around yours, which then turned into holding hands, fingers intertwined, palms pressed together. The warmth of it spread up your arm, a tide rising up and up and up.

It’s dark by the time your house comes into view, weathered paint and blue accents, the porch light glowing warmly in the night. That’s another thing about True Beach: porch lights stay on.

You stop at the end of your driveway, swinging your hands between you. “This is me.”

“Well,” Steve’s fingers flex in yours, his thumb running over your knuckles just once. “Thanks for showing me your spot, honey.”

You look down at your hands, smiling at the way he says it. Honey. Like you’re as sweet as the real thing, like he really believes that.

“Thanks for trusting me to take you there.”

“It was a good one. How you gonna top it next time?”

“I don’t like to reveal my secrets. You know, like a magician.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He gives your hand a squeeze, eyes finding yours, something written behind them that you can’t pick out. “I’ll see you tomorrow, magic tour guide.”

“See you, Steve.”

You’d spoken the entire walk back to yours, but it feels different now. Thicker. The way it did at the top of the lighthouse just before you’d kissed. You squeeze Steve’s hand back before turning to walk up your driveway.

Steve holds onto your hand until he can’t anymore, his arm stretched out ahead of him, yours behind you, only dropping when you’re out of reach. It’s something that has your hearts beating in tandem, like they miss the contact.

When you get onto your porch, the doorknob in your hand, you turn back and wave to Steve again, who lets a smile spread across his face as he waves back. Once inside, you lean against your closed door, head falling back against the wood.

What the hell are you gonna do when summer’s over and he has to go home?

Steve’s thoughts aren’t much different, because somehow, you’ve made this place feel more like home than Hawkins has in a long time. He’s not always worried about things—though he still worries more than he should—and it’s gotta mean something.

He kicks a pebble the whole walk back to the condo, dragging his feet and hoping that walking slower will make his mind move quicker.

It doesn’t really work, and once he’s back in his place for the summer, he figures that he should

probably call the only person who’ll know just what to say to him (with the addition of some jabs).

He grabs the phone from the wall in the living room and dials Robin’s number.

“Hello hello?”

Steve relaxes a little at the sound of her voice, because she’s his best friend in the entire world and he misses her. A lot. Where Hawkins felt heavy, Robin was the one to make things better, but with her and the group away, the weight got to him.

“Hey, Rob.”

“Steven! How’s your trip going?”

“I told you not to call me Steven.”

He actually doesn’t mind it that much, because it’s something only Robin calls him, and as silly as it is, he won’t really stop her.

“Don’t care. Tell me about your summer. Where are you staying again?”

“It’s called True Beach.”

“And?”

Steve can picture Robin waving her hand in the air as she says it.

“It’s actually really nice,” he says. “The beach is beautiful and the weather’s great and there’s a bunch of cute shops on the main street. I met this girl in the cafe and she’s been showing me around.”

“Oh, really? A girl?” She’s probably wiggling her eyebrows now, Steve thinks.

“It’s only friendly, Rob.” He opts out of telling her about the kiss just yet. Maybe because he knows what she’ll say, something about him

having feelings for you. And maybe Robin would be right about that. “But it’s been really fun so far. Went to the record store, this diner, the lighthouse. I got you some presents.”

“Aw, Steven! You shouldn’t have!”

“Don’t act like you don’t want the presents, Buckley.”

“Whatever, Harrington. Have you been taking pictures? And who’s this girl! You can't just gloss over that, dingus.”

“I have some, but my skills don’t really match up to Jonathan’s.” Steve leans his shoulder against the wall where he stands, twisting the phone cord around. “And she’s great, seriously. We’re friends, okay? You’d like her.”

And Steve believes that, because ever since meeting Robin and finding the sort of once in a lifetime friendship with her, he can only see himself around people that she’d like, too.

“I bet I would, Steven.”

“Anyways, how are you? What’s been going on?”

As Robin updates Steve on things—her crush that she’s never spoken to before, what Eddie said he was working on when she spoke to him last, what she had for breakfast—he listens, letting himself get distracted from his thoughts of you.

Not that the thoughts are bad in any way, but they’re confusing, they’re something he hadn’t been prepared for when he’d decided to take this trip. He finds that even though he spends a lot of his days with you, he’s still thinking about you once he’s alone.

Steve’s not quite sure how to face that, but for now, he won’t. He’ll listen to Robin, talk to her until they’re both too tired to continue. He’ll enjoy having you as his tour guide and his friend.

Whatever else you could become, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he doesn’t want you to be a stranger again.

-

Tomorrow has come and you haven’t been able to get Steve out of your head.

First it was the stuff that had you shoving your face into your pillow last night. The way his hand felt on your cheek when he kissed you, the way it felt in yours when he walked you home, the way he held on as long as he could when you parted ways.

Now, it’s the kind of what-ifs that have you worrying about what will happen when you see him again today. Will he act like nothing happened, will he want to talk about it, will he hold your hand again?

You’re excited to see him, it’s hard not to be when you like him so much, but you’re nervous, too. Probably for the same reason.

All you can do is go about your shift and hope that it distracts you enough to ease the small twist in your gut, the unknowns eating at you just a bit. If Macy notices something’s bothering you (which she does) she doesn’t say anything, opting to let you ride it out because when Macy believes something’s right, it usually is.

She feels that way about you and Steve.

Steve, who’s been tossing around in his bed all morning trying to sleep in and avoid thinking too hard. So far, no luck. Instead, he’s been wondering how to go about today with you. Because what he wants is something he’s afraid is too far out of reach, something he’s scared of, and he doesn’t know if it even remotely lines up with what you want.

Eventually, it gets too late for him to keep twisting himself up in the sheets, so he gets up and gets himself ready. Steve chooses not to drink coffee this morning, feeling jittery enough as it is.

His walk to the cafe is different today, because even though he’s still excited as ever to spend time with you, there’s a little weight in his chest that makes him nervous. He decides to walk quickly, whether it’s because he’s eager to see you or to get whatever will happen over with, he’s not so sure.

He doesn’t want you to be a stranger again.

Eventually, with a big breath in, Steve tugs the cafe door open. He sees Macy before he sees you, knowing it’s her because of the name tag.

“Hi there,” she says, her smile crinkling her eyes a little. “Steve, right?”

He’s surprised that she knows his name. And then, the idea hits him like a small punch, his mind getting hopeful with it; you must’ve talked to her about him. You care enough to talk about him with Macy, who you’d said is like family to you.

“Yeah,” he says, walking the rest of the shirt way to the counter where she stands. “And you’re Macy?”

“That’s me!” She seems to notice the way Steve’s eyes search the small cafe, and she smiles as she speaks, “she’s in the back. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

It’s not even a minute later that you’re walking out from the back and towards Steve, tote bag slung over your shoulder, sunglasses on top of your head.

“My guide,” he says as you meet him by the counter. “What’s on the agenda today?”

“You’ll see soon enough.” You fish your car keys from your bag, and they jingle in your hand when you find them. “Ready to go?”

“Sure am.”

As you and Steve head towards the door you hear Macy call, “bye, sweetie! Have fun!”

You turn to face her and send her a wave. In return, you get a wink and an eyebrow raise and you just shake your head. She might be onto something, though.

Soon enough you’re in your car, Steve in the passenger seat, driving out to the lookout because it’s usually quiet this time of day and you want him to see it that way. The waves crashing onto sand below, the endless stretch of sky.

You chat as you drive, and you’ve found that you didn’t need to be so nervous, because he’s Steve and something about him makes everything seem easy, natural. You’ve fallen into the same spot you were yesterday on the walk home, this bubble of pink and sweet and more surrounding you.

Steve asks you about how your shift went, how busy things have been, what you had for breakfast. Simple things that draw you back into simply feeling the glow of being with him. It’s like he soaks up sunshine and spills it out, warm and bright.

When you turn your head to glance at him quickly, you’re stuck on the way the sun hits his face, the freckles that have appeared on his nose from his time spent at the beach. He looks like he belongs here, you think. A boy with summer written all over him.

And when you make it to the lookout, Steve reaches across the center console for your hand, and your fingers lace together just like they had last night. It feels like the softest click of puzzle pieces fitting together, right where they’re supposed to be.

Steve hadn’t been thinking when he did it. It was his hand reaching out on instinct because it wanted to, because it felt empty where it sat in his lap beforehand.

You keep talking for a bit, back and forth and back and forth and all you can think about is how maybe (definitely) this is more than a crush. That maybe you don’t ever want to see him go.

-

After the lookout you and Steve still have plenty of the day left. You can only look at a view for so long, really, so you decide to head to the beach, which you’ve yet to do, surprisingly.

It’s the main attraction of the town, so you figure you should include it on your tour, even if you know he’s already been. It’s where you met, after all.

You lead him to a spot further down the beach, where crowds dwindle and a line of rocks sort of secludes it from the rest. Of course, it’s not empty. It never is during summer, but it’s as calm as it can get.

A bathing suit is usually hidden under your clothes during the months of May through August, so, with your towels laid out, a cooler that you’d had in your car set in the sand, and bags tossed beside it, you slip your sundress over your head.

Steve watches you pull the fabric up, the hem getting higher and higher until your dress is gone and he’s trying not to stare too hard. Your skin glows with the sun, and he has to tug his own shirt over his head to pull his gaze away. Fabric pulled in front of his eyes to snap him out of it.

Your sunglasses sit on the bridge of your nose, your eyeline hopefully hidden because Steve’s there and you can’t exactly look away. Dusting of chest hair over sun kissed skin, freckles and moles a constellation you’d reach out and trace if you could.

Blinking away, you shift your sights to the ocean, the waves cresting, whitecaps sliding onto the shore. You breathe in the salt air, the breeze warm against your skin.

Soon enough you and Steve are both settled on your towels, light chatter from other groups mingling with the sounds of the waves.

“Boy from the beach,” you say, lulling your head to the side to look at him. “Funny seeing you here.”

“What a coincidence.” Steve likes that you’ve got this thing, something shared between just the two of you. “Girl from the beach.”

“How’re you liking your trip so far?”

“Well, I’ve got this great tour guide. She’s been showing me all the spots,” Steve leans back onto his hands, while you’re laid down fully, peering up at him through your sunglasses. “I think you might know her.”

You grin, butterflies in your stomach. Your hands rest over your tummy, like you’d be able to feel them floating in there. It’s just so easy with him, so natural. You feel like you were always meant to meet each other, it was just a matter of when.

“She sounds familiar,” you play along.

“Yeah. Super kind, works at a cafe, really pretty.”

Really pretty. He’d added it on like a fact, like to him, there’s no questioning that. Your fingertips push against your stomach a little, trying to shoo away the butterflies.

“Pretty, huh?”

Steve’s always thought so, and he didn’t even realize he’d said it until you repeated it back. He doesn’t regret it, though. Because he thinks it every time he looks at you. That you’re pretty.

“Yep. Ringing any bells?”

“I don’t know about that, Steve.”

“I do, honey.”

Your eyes flick between his, his eyes squinted because he’d forgotten his sunglasses, but all you find is that softness that seems to live in the brown of his iris.

He’s looking at your face, at the curve of your mouth and the slope of your nose. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore the way he feels, the way he’s felt. He really fucking likes you.

You breathe in deep and turn your head to face the sky, nervous under his gaze, unsure of how to read things. He’s leaving at the end of summer, and you’ll be here. What if that’ll be all you ever see of him? His couple of months here, and then, the end.

The moment seems to pass, Steve changing the subject to something about a new music release he wondered if you’d listened to.

The feelings linger, though.

Worries shoved down and stomach flutters warded away (mostly), you and Steve talk like friends, which you’d take over strangers any day. It hasn’t been too long, but it’s been long enough that you know each other, that you can talk or be quiet and have it be comfortable.

Eventually, with sunbeams warming your skin and your early shift weighing on you, your eyes grow heavy and you're lulled to sleep by the sound of Steve's voice and the sea.

He’d been telling you a story, something about the first time he’d gone to see Eddie play at the Hideout and how surprised he’d been. When he’s done, he waits for a reply, only to be met with silence.

Peeking over at you, Steve notices your head rolled to the side, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths. As delicately as possible, he reaches over and lifts your sunglasses to find your eyes shut, and he realizes you’ve fallen asleep.

There’s a smile worming its way onto Steve’s face as he pushes your glasses back into place. A smile brought on by how cute he thinks you look right now, pout on your lips and hair messy from the wind.

A smile turning just a little bit lovesick because you feel comfortable enough with him to be asleep right now.

It’s only twenty minutes before you’re blinking your eyes open again, shifting and breathing in deep as you wake up. The breeze has died down, the heat having your forehead a little damp, your body uncomfortably warm.

“Morning, sleepy.”

You groan and turn towards Steve, sitting up and stretching your arms out in front of you before responding. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep.”

“Don’t apologize. You’ve been working and dragging me around every day. I’d be tired, too.” He’d pulled the cooler to serve as a backrest while you were asleep, you notice. “Good nap, though?”

“Yeah. Guess I needed it.”

You’re feeling warm, almost too warm, so you fan yourself with your hands. Steve notices. “You feel okay?”

“Just warm. Probably shouldn’t have slept in the sun.” You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, which you’re sure is unappealing, but Steve only seems concerned for you, never judgemental.

He twists to open the cooler set behind him, digging out a can that’d been buried in the ice, condensation dripping from it as he lifts it out and shuts the cooler. Steve scooches himself closer to you on the sand.

“Here,” he uses his free hand to move your hair out of the way, pressing the can to the back of your neck with the other.

Your head tips backwards, the cold can pressed to your heated skin immediately cooling you down, easing your discomfort. Still, you feel warm inside—this time, in a good way—because Steves attentive and so, so sweet.

“Thank you, Stevie. That feels really nice. Maybe you should be a nurse.”

“If nursing equipment was a cooler, maybe,” he chuckles. “That feel better?”

“Mhm. Much.” You’re feeling plenty awake now. Plenty alive. “You know what would feel even better, though?”

“Tell me.”

“A swim.”

Then, you’re pushing yourself up from the ground, sand sticking to your palms, and running towards the water. Tossing the can aside, Steve’s quick to

follow, chasing your laugh, grains kicked up behind his heels.

You’re waist deep in the water by the time he catches up, water shifting around him, warmed by sun rays and refreshing all at once. You twist around to face him, walking yourself backwards into the water slowly, Steve following you the way he seems to do.

He thinks he might go anywhere if you were leading the way.

Eventually, you stop, the water up to your chest now. Steve stands close, within reach, waves licking at his skin. You tilt your head at him, “hi.”

“Hi.” Steve runs his fingertips across the water, but his eyes are on you, how the sun is a halo of light behind you.

“Next on my tour: the ocean,” you hold your arms out, like you’re introducing the water to him. “What do you think?”

“Beats the lake back in Hawkins by a long shot.” Lover’s Lake is fun, but it’s nothing special. Mucky waters and grass rather than sand. But this, here, it feels special. “It’s great.”

“Yay! So, since it’s great, you won’t mind if I do this?”

You’re pushing water at him before he can respond, splashing him and giggling when he faces you, jaw dropped.

“You did not.”

“Figured you wouldn’t mind, since the water’s so nice and everything.” You shrug, “sooo much better than at home-”

You’re cut off by Steve’s retaliation. He’s gentler than you were with it, but you’re sprayed with water all the same and you can’t help but laugh a little.

“Oh, you’re on, Stevie.”

And then, you’re splashing him, and trying to swim away, and he’s chasing you and splashing you back, a mess of laughs and taunts, a play fight that’s free and fun and you don’t remember the last time you’ve felt this way.

It’s not long before Steve catches you, though, long limbs pushing him through the waves until his arms are wrapping themselves around your waist to tug you back to him.

“Gotcha,” he says, his head bent to speak into your ear.

You’re not laughing anymore, your heartbeat picking up in your chest, Steve’s arms seeping warmth into your skin and your stomach. You spin in his grip to face him, but his arms don’t move. “How’re you so fast?”

“I was co-captain of the swim team. We even won trophies and shit.”

“That was an unfair advantage.”

Steve’s hands spread wide, palms on your waist, thumbs dragging over the skin above your bikini bottoms. He sees the way your chest moves with your breaths, quickened and heavy. He’s not playing anymore. Not since he’d gotten the feeling of your skin beneath his hands.

“So, what do I win?”

“A free tour guide?”

“I already have that, honey.”

It’s hit you how close he’s gotten, his nose so close to brushing against yours. It’s like it’d been at the lighthouse, a shift, breaths mingling between your faces, a pull.

“Okay,” you say. You’re not sure if you’d been responding to what he’d said or if you’re answering a question he hasn’t asked out loud.

His eyes search yours, and when you lift your chin for him, he can’t help himself. Steve kisses you for the second time, his fingers digging little indents into your skin, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

You don’t think you could even if you wanted to. Instead, your hands find his shoulders, and Steve groans so softly into your mouth. Just from your hands on him.

It grows quicker, a little more heated, your mouths moving, heads tilting, and somehow you end up with your legs around Steve’s waist, one of his arms holding you to him, the opposite hand splayed between your shoulder blades.

The current seems to move with you both, waves hitting your shoulders, dancing around you. They push your bodies closer.

Steve can’t believe he’s kissing you again, he can’t believe he’s got you wrapped around him and your lips on his and that it’s real. That it feels so much like a wave rolling over and crashing, breaking something down, creating room for something more.

He forgets that you’re in public, that there are people around—though, not too many, thanks to the spot you’d chosen—and that time doesn’t simply stop when he kisses you. Because it sort of feels like it does.

The world goes quiet, and all he feels is you, you, you.

This time, when you pull away, after however long has passed, your hands slide from his shoulders down to his arms. You smile at him, almost bashful in a way, a tease still lingering behind it, “was that an okay prize?”

Steve’s got no idea how he’ll go back to Hawkins after this.

-

It’s been hours since Steve got back to the condo, and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you. You’d stayed on the beach until the sun set, and Steve walked you home, and he held your hand just like he did after the lighthouse.

And again, he finds himself reaching for the phone and dialing Robin’s number.

“Robin speaking,” her voice sounds after a couple rings.

“Hey, it’s Steve.”

“Steven! Hi! How’s it going over in beach land?”

He doesn’t even bother with the use of ‘Steven,’ because he’s just relieved to hear her voice, to know that he’ll always have her, to talk to his best friend.

“Yeah, it’s good.” He leans his shoulder against the wall, his free hand scratching lightly at his arm. “Really good. How are you?”

“You worried about me?”

“Rob.” I always worry, is what he means to say. Of course, Robin knows him well enough to know exactly what he means without having to say it.

“I’m good, Steve. Seriously! Except Keith keeps calling me to pick up shifts at Family Video and I don’t even work there anymore!” She huffs, and Steve laughs. “Don’t giggle, dingus. This is a serious problem.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll get bored eventually,” he says. “Why do you think Keith has had like five jobs in the last three years?”

“Whatever. Tell me about what you’ve been up to. Oh! How’s the girl?”

If she were here right now, Steve thinks Robin would be shaking his shoulders, demanding every detail. He’d held off on talking about you fully last time, but now, he needs advice and though Robin technically doesn’t have any experience to help him, she’s the only one he wants to tell right now.

“She’s incredible, Rob. I really like her, think you would, too.”

“Mhm, what happened to ‘it’s just friendly,’ huh?”

“We kissed. Twice, actually.”

“What! Steven, you can’t just drop that on me. What happened? Oh my gosh, is she your girlfriend?”

“Slow down. I’ve only known her for a couple of weeks, okay?” Robin makes a noise on the other end, and Steve can practically see the face she’s making. Something that says ‘whatever.’ “You know the last time I called you? We actually kissed that day, at the lighthouse.”

She gasps, “and you’re only telling me now?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Ugh, just keep talking.”

He shakes his head. Steve doesn’t really know how to put everything into words. How he feels, the way things happened. He tries anyway.

“Then today. We hung out at the beach, and we went for a swim, and we were playing around and then we were kissing. I don’t know. I like her a lot and I’m not really sure what to do. Or how she feels.”

“Okay. Okay, tell me about her. About the beach, too.”

“She’s really nice. Like, she says ‘hi’ to everyone when we go places, and she’s been showing me around after she works all morning.” Steve doesn’t realize that there’s a smile spreading over his face the more he talks about you. “It’s just so easy with her. It feels like I’ve known her for years with how we talk and everything. I don’t know. It sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid, Steve,” Robin’s voice is a little softer, like she wants him to know she means that. “And the beach?”

“It’s so great here. I like the atmosphere, the smell of the ocean in the air all the time and the people and even the condo is nice.”

“Can I say something that might scare you?”

“You’ll say it anyways, won’t you?”

“I will. Here it is: you sound really happy there, Steve. Like, happier than I’ve seen you in a long time.”

His stomach twists, almost guilty that he could be so happy someplace where he’d started fresh. Like he’s betraying Hawkins and all of the good that he’d found there, even when so much was bad.

“I really miss you, Rob. I miss everyone.”

“I miss you, too, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be happier where you are.”

Her words sort of punch him in the chest, air sucked from his lungs, his heart feeling heavy in his chest. Because when he thinks about it, like really thinks about it, Steve is happy here. Happy is a big thing.

“When did you become so wise, Buckley?”

“I’ve always been wise, Harrington.”

His head falls against the wall with a small thump, his thoughts weighing him down a little. Steve really likes it here, and he really likes you, and he misses his best friend. He’s not sure where to go from here.

“What am I gonna do?” Steve’s quiet, but Robin hears him.

“You’re gonna do what’ll make you happy, Steve. For once in your life, be selfish, do something for yourself, not anyone else.” Robin knows Steve better than anybody knows him, and she knows why this is hard for him. “You know I’ll always be here. It doesn’t matter where you are. Besides, True Beach isn’t so far. I’ll visit and annoy the shit out of you. Plus, I need to meet this girl. She’s clearly a good one, if she’s got you like this.”

Because she knows him the best, Robin already knows that what he should do is stay. Stay where he sounds happier than ever, unrestrained in a way he never could be in Hawkins. Stay with you, who’s brought it out of him.

“Love you, Rob.”

“I know. Love you, too, dingus.”

Steve’s eyes are stinging, though he’s not really sure why. Maybe he’s overwhelmed with how quickly things can change, sad that this feels a little bit like a goodbye even though he knows it isn’t, maybe even relieved that Robin’s supportive of him no matter what. Maybe it’s everything all at once.

“What about the presents I got you?” He asks.

“Well, Steven, there’s this thing called postal service, where you can put things in the mail.”

Steve laughs welty, eyes misty, grateful for how easily Robin manages to brighten the mood. For the rest of the conversation, he feels a little lighter.

Now he’s just got to tell you how he feels.

-

It’s crazy how people can take root into your life, plant themselves there and grow like ivy spreading wide over a house until there’s more green than brick.

Steve Harrington proved that when he’d shown up in True Beach mere weeks ago and dug a spot for himself in your life, in your heart. He came barreling in, a stream of sunlight sneaking through a gap in curtains, and you’ve chased the warmth, basked in it as much as you could.

In so little time, Steve’s become one of your absolute favorite people in the world. A stranger to a friend to something toeing the line of so much more. You’ve kissed twice, and it’s been enough to tell you that your feelings are undeniable. They’ve taken root just as he has, buried deep.

With those feelings, though, has come the painful realization that he’s leaving soon.

Last night, after your kiss, you hadn’t been thinking about what would happen next or what it could mean. No, you were blinded by the day of sunlight that is Steve. You’d forgotten that sooner or later, the sun has to set.

Now, it’s your day off and instead of sleeping in, you’ve found yourself overthinking at the lighthouse.

You’re worried about what will happen when Steve goes home, whether you’ll keep in touch, whether he’ll forget about you, if he’ll ever come back. On top of that, you’re worried about your feelings, how strong they’ve grown in a short time, if he, by any chance, feels the same.

Sat on the balcony, chin resting on your bent knees, staring out at the morning sky, all you do is think.

Steve’s conversation with Robin last night was the push that he needed, the reassurance that he can do this and have everything be okay, that he’s allowed to make this decision for himself. That doesn’t make it any less scary, though.

He decides that he has to tell you as soon as he can, while he’s got the momentum to do it.

It’s still early when he heads to the cafe in hopes of finding you, and while the place is open, there’s nobody inside when he walks in. Well, nobody except Macy.

“Hi there, Steve,” she says, a gentle smile on her face.

“Hi, Macy,” Steve then says your name, and Macy’s smile shifts to knowing and fond. “Is she here?”

“She’s not in today, dear. But I have a good idea of where you’ll find her if she isn’t home.”

“I do, too.” The lighthouse. “Thanks, Macy.”

“And Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m happy for you two.”

Macy speaks like she already knows how this will turn out. For the sake of optimism, Steve chooses to nod in thanks and head out. Macy seems like someone who’s right more often than wrong, and he hopes that it works for him this time.

He heads to the lighthouse right away, because he remembers what you’d said about being up there, how it helped you put things into perspective. Plus, he’s got a feeling. That pull to you guiding him.

While Steve feels good about his decision, hopeful, even, he’s still afraid. You might think this is all too soon, too fast. Worse, you might not even feel the same at all. But then, what if the worst doesn’t happen? What if you want him, too?

Those what ifs are enough to take the chance, he thinks.

Steve finds you at the top of the lighthouse, chin propped on your knees, arms wrapped around your bent legs. “Hey, honey. Want some company?”

You lift your head at the sound of his voice, turning to find him standing in the doorway to the balcony with his hands tucked into his pockets, his hair messy from the wind, eyes still a little puffy from sleep. He really is pretty, and you wouldn’t dream of denying his company. Not even when he’s part of your worries.

“Hi, Steve. Yeah, sure.”

He takes the few steps over to you, crouching to sit next to you, his shoulder touching yours.

“I went to the cafe to find you,” he says.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Then, you weren’t there, so I figured this would be a good place to look.” He nudges you lightly, “and I found you.”

“You did.”

“I wanted to tell you something, if that’s okay?”

If that’s okay, like you’d ever deny him.

“‘Course it is.”

“Okay,” he takes a big breath, because Steve knows there’s no going back after this. He’ll say it and he won’t take it back. “I really fucking like you. I thought we could be friends after we kissed the first time, like a blip, you know? And if you just wanna be friends, that’s okay. I want you in my life, however that looks. But I’d like you to be more than that ‘cause I have pretty big feelings for you.”

Your chest rises and falls quicker, his words making your heart pump faster, because he wants what you want and he’s telling that to you and it feels so good. Too good.

“Really?”

You turn your head towards him, finding him already facing you, your eyes locking like magnets. He’s smiling so softly at you, nerves and sincerity, patience and fondness. You want to kiss him all over again.

“Cross my heart, honey.”

“I really fucking like you, too, Stevie.”

And just like that Steve knows this was the right call, that you’re the right call, because there’s a sweet, closed-mouthed smile on your face that he put there and it’s all he could ever ask for.

He dips forward to kiss you, once, twice, three times. Small pecks before pulling back.

“What’s gonna happen when you leave?” You ask, worrying out loud, eyes searching his.

“About that,” Steve reaches for your hand, weaving your fingers together and giving it a squeeze. “I love it here. A lot. I feel like I could really belong here, and I have this pretty tour guide to thank for that… Um, I was thinking I’d extend my stay.”

You squeeze his hand back, fluttering in your stomach at the relief of him wanting to stay, at the thought that you’d had a part in that.

You think he could really belong here, too. He’s meant for summer and sand and the sun. Meant for lighthouse sunsets and every season by the ocean. He’s summer in a boy.

“Yeah? For how long?”

“However long you’ll have me.”

Steve wonders if now’s a good time to tell you that he’s fallen in love with more than just True Beach.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

thank u so so much for reading!!! if u enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment/reblog and letting me know what you thought! it helps and means so much <3

#steve harrington x reader #🪲 fic rec #PLS #😭🫶🏻 #they are so precious #they are literally so cute #and i love them sm #they are in love #literally crying they deserve the world

[bug-fics]

The Naughty Wench

Summary: You work as a barmaid at the raunchiest booth at the Renaissance Faire, and Eddie purchases a beer from you. He gets a little more than a "huzzah for the tipper" when he throws a fiver in the jar labeled "Thank you, Mistress". (Read: you talk dirty to Eddie while you pour beer down his throat) Based on this Tik Tok posted by @joyful_aura: https://www.tiktok.com/@joyful_aura/video/7244964514561543470

Word Count: 4.7k

Content Warnings: light degradation, dirty talk, sexual themes

Working the faire circuit was in one word… an experience. 

Just last week you had been in Texas at Scarborough Faire, where it had been hot as balls underneath your layers of linen, lace and leather. The earlier months hadn’t been too bad, but there was one thing you’d learned about the southern states in your years of renaissance faire experience- when summer hits in the south, it hits hard. The moment you’d driven your van past the Indiana state line, you could have sworn the temperature dropped ten degrees on the spot. 

Now here you were- all trussed up in your wench getup, tits pushed up high enough that they rested like two fleshy pillows right below your collarbones. The corset you’d chosen today wasn’t your most comfortable, but you looked damn good in it- milk chocolate brown with pale gold ribbons that laced up the front. The straps that ran over your shoulders provided some extra support, which you were grateful for with all of the movement your job required. Your skirts today were a warm shade of mustard yellow with a few mismatched patches sewn over holes and stains that had refused to come out over the years. Short sleeved blouses were a must, unless you wanted to pass out from heat stroke or have beer-soaked sleeves clinging to your forearms. Today yours was a pale cream color, with little puffed cap sleeves to cover your shoulders and a neckline that plunged below your corset, so the girls were front and center, ready to earn plenty of “huzzah for the tipper!”s.

Today was Sunday, and since this faire was weekends only, Sundays were basically Fridays as far as faire folk were concerned. As was tradition, you would all be going out for libations once the day was done, followed by a blissful night of sleeping late in your Volkswagen Westfalia.

You hadn’t known what to expect when you’d quit your job and joined the faire circuit, but every day you got to meet new people, play dress-up, and speak in a funny accent- which accent? You switched it up day to day. And the fact that you got paid to do that made it even better.

You loved your little renfaire life. 

You stood with your hands on your hips inside the little wooden booth that served as your place of work for the next month’s worth of weekends. Every plastic cup was stacked in place, you had a fresh cleaning rag stuck into your apron, and patrons were already beginning to file into the fairgrounds. A pleasant breeze brought a smile to your face. 

“Morning, love!” You turned to see your fellow barmaid, Ingrid, wiping her hands on her own apron after wringing out her own rag into a small bucket of soapy water. Her outfit today was- like most days- the polar opposite of yours. She looked more like a pirate wench while your color palette was more akin to what one might picture in a countryside tavern. Burgundy skirts and off-white petticoats swished around her black lace-up boots, and her black leather waist cincher showcased the smallest part of Ingrid’s middle. You gasped, acting scandalized by the bits of black lace from her bra that peeked over the neckline of her red blouse.

“Ingrid, what kind of place do you think we’re running here?” you tutted, smiling cheekily all the while. “This is a respectable establishment! People might start thinking we sell more than just the drinks here, you know.” 

Ingrid cackled, hopping up to sit on the wooden counter behind her. “My dear, I have absolutely no clue what you could be talking about.” She shrugged, smirking behind a shared secret. “We do sell more than just the drinks.” You both giggled knowingly, continuing to complete all of the morning to-do’s around the bar.

Ingrid was right- drinks weren’t the only thing your bar was known for. 

There were plenty of booths around the faire where patrons could purchase a drink, but only one where the barmaids would pour beer directly into their mouths while talking dirty to them- and The Naughty Wench just happened to be that booth. 

Originally, the idea had been Ingrid’s- the two of you had been friends for a year now, meeting last year in this exact same spot at Indie Faire and working at what was then a run-of-the-mill beer booth. It was customary at any renaissance faire for bar wenches to proclaim “Huzzah for the tipper!” when presented with a tip of any kind, so neither of you was a stranger to putting on the theatrics when money was dropped into your tip jar. One day, however, Ingrid had put out not one, but two tip jars- one labeled ‘Thank You’, the other labeled ‘Thank You Mistress’. You had laughed at it at first. Then Ingrid started…changing the script. 

A patron would chuckle to themselves, throwing a dollar into the Mistress jar, eyes going wide and cheeks flushing when Ingrid would smile and tell them they were “such a good boy.” 

After a few more, she’d gotten even more creative. “Oh, you thought I only wanted money?” she would croon, holding the beer tauntingly out of their reach. “I want to hear you beg for it, say ‘please, mistress’,” When you’d heard it you’d been appalled, mouth opened wide in shock. You had already prepared yourself for the patron to yell in her face and demand their money back when you’d heard a shy, stuttering “P-please, mistress, can I have my beer?”

Throughout the day, Ingrid’s “Mistress” character only continued to amp up with every hour. At some point, you had joined in, repeating the sultry tones you’d been listening to Ingrid spout easily to strangers and even making up a few responses of your own.

“Only good boys get to drink at the faire, have you been a good boy?”

“You need to say please before you drink- good girl, you’re so very welcome.” 

“Hands behind your back and open wide.”

Word about Ingrid’s sultry tipping strategy circulated quickly. Soon, more and more patrons were lining up at your booth ready to be degraded by pretty girls in tight corsets, and when you started pouring the beer into their mouths, tits pressed up higher on your chest while you leaned seductively over the bartop? People couldn’t get enough. 

The success you’d both had with Ingrid’s brilliant idea had now landed you here- a booth that was dedicated to serving delicious beverages garnished with a splash of degradation. 

Your first patron of the day- a young woman who looked ready to play a fairy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream- stepped up to Ingrid, gazing up at her with a flutter of eyelashes as she ordered a can of beer and shyly dropped a one dollar bill into the jar labeled ‘Thank You, Mistress’. Ingrid smiled, asking “Do you know what that jar is for?” to which the fairy blushed and nodded, giggling. 

“Mm-hm.” 

Ingrid grinned flirtatiously, popped open the beer, and addressed the fairy, “Such tiny little hands you have, they’ll make my can look so huge…”

***

Eddie Munson was vibrating.

At least, he felt like he was. He could barely contain his enthusiasm as he looked around at every sword, every pair of elf ears, every corset- to his left, there was a booth selling handmade leather journals. To his right, a stage where a crowd had begun to gather to watch a group of bagpipe players. In front of him and behind him, a seemingly endless number of nerds who, like him, had found a place where being a weirdo was not mocked, not simply tolerated- but celebrated. 

“I fucking love it here.” Eddie sighed. 

Steve Harrington, whom Eddie was still a little astounded had been convinced to actually go to a renaissance faire, looked overwhelmed already. “I can’t believe there are this many grown adults who wanted to spend the last day of their weekend playing dress-up.” 

“Playing dress-up and getting drunk.” Robin corrected. Unlike Harrington, she had thrown herself into the renfaire spirit completely, showing up in a tasteful pirate outfit that Eddie had a feeling was comprised mostly of oversized pieces she’d found in the men’s section of the thrift store, but she pulled it off. All she was missing were some real swords, which she had already announced she was on the hunt for today. 

“I feel bad for people who are so out of touch with their inner child that they have to get drunk just to put on a costume.” Dustin said matter-of-factly, shooting Steve a judgemental look. Steve balked when he caught it, yapping at Dustin about growing up or the ridiculousness of how much quality costumes cost- something along those lines. Eddie wasn’t listening, he was too busy taking mental note of which booths he needed to come back to before they left; he knew if he ducked inside them now, he would blow all of his money on the first stall they saw, and he was determined to stretch his budget for the day as far as he could. 

“Well I for one think we all look amazing, costume or no.” Robin said decisively. Eddie had to agree. He had spent weeks working on his own costume, digging through his and his friends’ closets to create an ensemble fit for a tiefling bard such as himself. He had fashioned himself a pair of red horns using one of Erica’s old headbands, toilet paper rolls, tin foil, paper mache and black paint. Now, they sat nestled securely among his brown mane of curls. The rest of his outfit had been easy- a blousy-looking shirt from Nancy’s closet that he’d rolled up around the elbows, one of Wayne’s old waistcoats from a suit that hadn’t seen the light of day since Eddie’s parents’ wedding, apparently, a pair of black pants that he’d tucked into his combat boots, and a plethora of accessories. Rings on every finger, every belt he owned slung over his waist or across his torso, one even looped twice around his thigh. Eddie had even gone the extra mile this morning and smudged some of Robin’s red lipstick (he was still amazed that Buckley owned lipstick) around his eyes as a nod to the fact that tieflings’ skin is normally red or blue. To finish off the look, he had even brought along his old acoustic guitar, which was slung over his back to mark him undeniably as a bard.

Eddie thought he looked pretty damn cool. 

The rest of their party had also decked themselves out for the day, Robin with her pirate outfit, Dustin, Mike, Lucas and Will had done a fantastic job of transforming themselves into hobbits for the day. Max, Erica and El hadn’t been able to decide whether they wanted to dress as pirates or fairies- so they’d all chosen both. Now they looked happy as could be, skipping down the dirt path with fairy wings on their backs and plastic swords on their hips. That left Steve as the only normal-looking person in a sea of geeks. 

Eddie chuckled to himself- for once in his life, Steve Harrington was the odd one out while Eddie Munson was effortlessly fitting in. 

“First order of business is turkey legs.” Robin announced, eyes already darting in every direction in search of lunch as she wandered ahead.

Steve mumbled in agreement, along with something about finding something to drink so that he’ll survive the day. Just then, a trio of pretty young women in corsets caught his eye, immediately brightening his mood. He ran a hand through his hair, ready to say something undoubtedly Steve-y to them, when they beat him to the punch. 

“Hi! Um, would you mind taking our picture?” One of them said, shoving a camera in his direction. 

Steve, surprised but not altogether deterred, smiled and took the camera. “I’d be happy to, ladies.” However, he couldn’t hold back his shock when the girls all turned to the four teenage boys. 

“You guys look like you came straight out of Lord of the Rings!” one of them exclaimed. “Best costumes I’ve seen all weekend, honestly.” The girls situated themselves between the blushing boys as they muttered different ‘thank you’s and complimented the girls’ outfits in turn. 

Steve snapped the picture begrudgingly while Eddie slung an arm around his shoulders. “Looks like you’re losing your charm there, Harrington.” he smirked, earning an eye roll from Steve in turn. 

“Yeah, yeah, piss off, Dante’s Inferno.” 

“How have you read Dante but not Tolkien?”

Their bickering was cut short by corset girl retrieving the camera from Steve, then giving Eddie a shy, “I like your horns.” 

Eddie turned his full attention to her with a toothy grin. “‘Preciate it, sweetheart.”

The girls waved goodbye with a thank you, erupting into giggles as they walked away. Steve shook his head in disbelief. “What world did I accidentally cross into where Munson has game and I have none?”

Eddie cackled maniacally, hopping onto a nearby picnic table and swinging his guitar to his front, strumming it a couple of times with a flourish of his hand. 

“You’re in my kingdom now, King Steve!” Eddie plucked the strings of his instrument jauntily, unable to contain his glee. “Here, it pays to be a freak.”

Strum-strum-strum.

Eddie threw a fist in the air. “Huzzah!”

To his surprise, his call was echoed by several patrons and vendors, erupting in a hearty “Huzzah!” from all around him. 

Accepted. Celebrated. Eddie felt at home. 

That’s when Robin came bounding up from behind him, two turkey legs in hand. “Okay, I know where we’re going next.” She sounded excited.

Steve took one of the turkey legs from her hand, eager to get something in his stomach. “And where is that, Robin?” 

She grinned largely, immediately launching into a retelling of a conversation she had had with another patron while waiting in line for the turkey legs, going on several tangents about how surprised she was that the line was short, how the patron had been dressed like a viking and actually had viking tattoos all up and down his arm, how she wasn’t sure how accurate they were but they sure looked cool-

“Robin!” Steve interjected impatiently.

“Right! Sorry! Basically one of the bars has wenches that talk dirty if you give them a tip, and I want to see that in action.”

Steve and Eddie’s eyes grew wide. Steve, hilariously, started to check behind him for the kids as if they were still too young and innocent to be talking about such things even though they were all about to graduate high school already. To his relief, they had all wandered into a booth selling leather goods. 

Eddie responded before Steve could. His lips had curled into a mischievous smile, “Buckley,” he crooned, gesturing for her to lead the way. “I’m gonna need you to tell me more about these wenches.”

***

By noon, the line for your booth was easily at least ten people long and stayed that way no matter how many beers you’d poured. Luckily for the two of you, not every patron at the faire was seeking you out just for the bonus content. Most of them just wanted a drink, which you couldn’t fault them for. After all, nothing went with a summer day quite like a cold, bubbly beverage. 

“Hey,” Ingrid’s voice caught your attention as you took a brief moment to wipe down the drain under the tap while the line had gone briefly shorter. “Remember that conversation we had where I called you out on having a type?”

You laughed, nodding your head. “Yes, I think I do. Why?”

“Tell me what that type was again?”

You sighed, tucking your rag back into your apron and patting your hands dry at your sides. “Let’s see, I think I remember you said long hair was involved-”

“Long dark hair, specifically.”

“-long dark hair, right.” you remedied. You busied yourself with fixing the next patrons’ drink orders as the discussion proceeded. “Tattoos were mentioned, and I think you said something about makeup?”

“You always get all swoony around men wearing eyeliner or some kind of eye makeup. Always. Without fail.”

“Yeah, yeah okay…” you rolled your eyes. She was right, but you hated that you were apparently so obvious about it. 

“I would like to make an educated guess about another thing I think belongs on that list.” Finally turning to face Ingrid, you cocked your head, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Okay, I’ll bite- what else do you think belongs on that list?”

Ingrid grinned, looking pointedly at something over your shoulder. “I think you’re into guys who play guitar.”

You blanched- damn. That had been true since high school, how did she-

You spun around to see whatever Ingrid was focused on behind you, and felt your knees get weak when you found it. There was a man- in his twenties, from the looks of it- dressed as a tiefling bard with a guitar slung over his shoulder. It was true, from looks alone he checked all of your boxes. The long curly hair, the red makeup around his eyes, the tattoos that showed on his forearms… 

“You okay over there, or did my business partner go brain dead for a second?” You heard Ingrid’s smirk before you saw it. She laughed at you good-naturedly when you faintly swatted at her with your cleaning rag. “It looks like they’re headed this way, you take him and I’ll take his blonde pirate friend.” 

You took another look at the man- trying not to be obvious about the fact that you were looking- and noticed this time that he was traveling with two others: the aforementioned blonde pirate and a normal-looking guy who, admittedly, had very nice hair. They did seem to be headed your way; you quickly took a moment to turn around and top off the canteen that hung from the leather belt at your waist with some cold water. You quickly took a sip before turning around to face the counter, and when you did, there he was. 

 “Hi, uh-” his eyes were downcast, hands digging into his pockets for cash. “-can you break a twenty?” Pulling a crumpled bill from a money clip, his gaze met yours under an apologetic brow. Big brown eyes, framed with blood-red smudges- he pulled it off. Tremendously.

You didn’t have to force your service industry smile- it came naturally for him. “With pleasure, noble bard.” You propped your forearms on the wooden bartop, hoping your cleavage was looking particularly stunning at the angle from which he was gazing up at you. “And what sort of beverage might you be craving on this fine day?”

“That’s right, wrap your lips around my tip and drink me down, beautiful-”

Before he could answer, the two of you were both more than a little distracted by Ingrid’s filthy monologue. She held a freshly opened can of beer to the blonde pirate girl’s lips, and you were very impressed with how easily the girl was able to obey the instructions that Ingrid gave every customer who tossed a tip into the Mistress jar- hands behind your back, mouth open, chin up, eyes on me. You and the dark-haired tiefling were both entranced by the sight before you: Ingrid, with the endless stream of dirty words that tumbled from her mouth as she poured bubbly, golden brew down the throat of the tall blonde pirate. 

“-keep that pretty mouth open you little minx, and look up at me as i finish down your throat. Yes, that’s a good girl, and swallow.” Ingrid pulled the can away from her lips with a smile, gazing proudly down at the pirate who sputtered out a soft cough after breathing down some much-needed oxygen. “Good job, darling.” Ingrid crooned. 

The regularly-dressed guy standing behind her stared with wide eyes, and you couldn’t quite tell if he was appalled or impressed. “Oh…my god, Robin!” he guffawed. 

“I’ll.. aha, um-” You refocused your attention to the bard standing before you, a natural blush now creeping into his cheeks beneath the red makeup on his temples. “-I’ll have what she’s having, please.” He nodded to his friend- Robin, apparently. 

You smiled knowingly, taking the twenty from his hands and ignoring the rush you felt when your fingertips brushed his. You made his change, handing him a few fives and ones before giving the Mistress jar a gentle tap. You finished opening his beer just in time to see him toss a five into the jar- a generous tip, since the beer only cost $3. 

You raised an eyebrow, smiling at him appreciatively. “Huzzah for the tipper.” you purred, opting to make the phrase just for him instead of yelling it obnoxiously for all to hear. After all, you were about to be plenty obnoxious already. 

You nodded flirtatiously to direct his attention above you. “See those shackles up there, love?”

His eyes, shining with anticipation and the best kind of nerves, flicked up to what you were referring to- dangling from the wood above the bartop were a pair of metal handles that hung by black-painted chains. They were similar to an actual shackle, but it was obvious that they were there to hold, not imprison. The bard looked back down to you, returning your flirting gaze. 

“I do.” he smirked.

You narrowed your eyes on him playfully. “I’m going to need you to reach up and take hold of them-” He did as he was told, and you admired how his blousy sleeves fell further down to his biceps, showcasing the way his ink stretched over lean muscles. “-oh good boy, you look so good stretched out for me like that. Hold tight now, darling.”

You had to hold back a chuckle at how quickly his flirty eye contact and smirk turned to a pure deer-in-the-headlights expression when you’d called him a good boy. You had an inkling that this guy wasn’t used to being told what to do in this particular way. 

Leaning forward until your cleavage was practically up against his nose, you nodded at him sweetly. “Open that pretty pink mouth for me darling- yes, that’s right, lips around my hole and suck-” Once the can was to his lips, you began pouring a steady stream down his throat. His big doe eyes didn’t know where to look, torn between your eyes and your tits that looked just about ready to pop out of your corset. The rest of the words that tumbled from your mouth were less spoken and more so moaned while you gazed down at this gorgeous little tiefling who- for the next few moments- was completely at your mercy.

“-take it, yes, good boy, take me deep into your throat as you look up at me with those pretty brown eyes. Oh my goodness, you’re so obedient! I love it when a big strong man lets himself be this pretty and stretched out for me as he suckles on my little hole. No, don’t look away, my eyes are up here you wretched little thing- yes, that’s right, oh I only wish I could hear all the pretty noises you make when you take me down deep like this. Yes, you’re going to finish me, aren’t you? Oh yes, you’re going to finish me using that dirty little mouth-” Nearing the end of the can, you poured the last drop down his throat. “-yes, oh that’s a good boy, swallow every drop of me, good job love.”

He sputtered a final swallow, red-faced and breathing deep after chugging an entire can of beer. His eyes were still wide, but now there was also the way he looked at you- like he would do pretty much anything you ever told him to do at the drop of a hat. 

Letting go of the shackles above your head, he managed to catch his breath before checking behind him to make sure he didn’t have a long line of waiting customers. No line had formed, but his blush had deepened when he saw his friends both watching him with smirks that said they were never going to let him live this down. 

“Shit,” he chuckled looking up at you, his personality taking on a slightly more devil-may-care sort of attitude now. “I-uh- I think I blacked out, you might have to say all that again, I didn’t catch it the first time.” 

You laughed, easily shirking the domineering attitude that you exuded for the job and relaxing into what felt natural- soft, sweet, and flirty- with this guy, at least. “Tell you what,” you said, coyly. You weren’t normally one to invite strangers out for drinks, but Ingrid had been right about one thing- this guy was definitely your type. “When the faire closes today, I’ll be at a bar called The Honeybee about ten minutes from here. If I happen to see you there,” you shrugged, and you didn’t miss how his eyes immediately flicked down to your cleavage as the motion made you bounce. “-then we can say all kinds of things to each other.” 

The facial expression on the bard changed in an instant, his expression shifting from innocent and eager to knowing and darkly tempting. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “Are you always as demanding as you were just now, or was that just an act?” 

You knew what he was asking, and part of you wanted to tell him that he’ll have to show up at The Honeybee if he wants to find out, but something in you also wanted him to know the answer to that question- wanted him to know so many things about you it made your head spin. 

“I can go either way and have a great time regardless.” you replied, smiling sweet as a spoonful of honey, and the devilish grin that he gave you in return took the breath from your lungs. 

“Perfect.” he practically growled, “What’s your name?”

You told him, and the way he repeated it on his lips had you pressing your thighs tightly together. “And your name is?”

“Eddie.” he smiled. 

You grinned in return. “Eddie.” you repeated. His name tasted like whiskey and cinnamon on your tongue. “I’ll see you tonight, then.” 

To your surprise, Eddie laughed raucously, hopping back a few paces. “Oh, on the contrary, fair barmaid!” With a flourish, he swung his guitar from his back to his front, strumming a few chords in rapid succession and plucking them in a melody that showed a level of skill that you hadn’t been expecting. After a moment of music, he stopped short and looked up at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Mark my words, my love- you’ll see me again before tonight and you will- without a doubt- hear me before you see me.” 

You let out a surprised laugh, fingers flying up to your mouth to block an obnoxious guffaw from escaping your lips. That only spurred Eddie on more. He made a sort of swatting motion with his hand, gesturing toward your own hand at your mouth. “Away, thou evil hand! How dare ye venture to hide the sweetest of smiles that does bloom on a flower such as this?” He plucked away at his instrument dramatically, as if doing so were a declaration of war. You couldn’t help but humor him, grabbing the offending hand with your other one and firmly clasping both in your lap. 

Eddie smiled, still strumming his guitar. “Aye, and stay away! For there are far better things for pretty hands to do than hide even prettier faces.” He waggled his eyebrows up and down as he began to walk away with his friends. 

Your jaw dropped as you let out a good natured scoff. “And what would the noble bard suggest I do with my pretty hands?” you knew that you practically yelled it, and it caused a few other guests to glance your way questioningly; you didn’t care, it certainly wasn’t the strangest thing you’d said today. 

Eddie’s cackle rang out through the air like electricity during a storm, and your heart did a little backflip when he spun around once before facing you one last time before he was out of your line of sight. “Oh, my lady-” he called, smiling unabashedly, “-I humbly suggest you find the biggest can you have, think of me-” and then the motherfucker winked, “-and use your imagination.”

#PLS #this was insane #jesus fucking christ #this was so perfect #the plot #I need more Eddie ren faire fics #this was so fun #the flirting #literally dead #eddie munson x reader #🪲 fic rec

[bug-fics]

the swindling of steve harrington’s heart

word count: 9.5k synopsis: you write for the advice column in the hawkins post, under the pen name gabby. you get a letter asking for advice about a first date and there’s no way it’s the same guy you’ve just landed a first date with, right? steve harrington doesn’t need help with his dates… right? [based on this post] [fem!reader + strangers to lovers but… steve’s a big sap for you already, ok?]

The first letter comes in on a Tuesday. 

It’s posted in an ordinary envelope, with only a messy scrawl on the front to dictate that it was for the advice column of Hawkins Post. Inside revealed the same loopy letters, on a single piece of paper, reading: 

Out of all the letters you’ve ever received at this job, most of which were lengthy admissions of troubles in suburbia, this one was by far the most interesting one you’d gotten all month. All year if you were being honest.

Writing advice under the pen name Gabby for your local paper likely wasn’t anyone’s first choice of job, not at least for those serious about writing as yourself was.

But between flipping burgers down at Benny’s and slinging shakes at Rita’s Diner, it seemed the lesser of all evils. And hey, it paid decently enough and you had a sweet little set-up in one of the drowsy corners of the office. 

It’s how you wind up here, scanning over the letter from one mysterious S.

Keep reading

#pls i love them #this was so perfect #literally crying they deserve the world #Steve was so nervous I loved it #like this is such a new ride if him and it was perfect #dear god #they are in love #it’s everything #this is so cute #🪲 fic rec #steve harrington x reader

[bug-fics]

I need posh boy old money king steve turned hero to fall in love with the (and i mean this affectionately) the most grubby slob of a girl ever. Like imagine clean, put together Steve “the hair” Harrington with the type of girl who sleeps in her makeup, has acne, lives in a trailer park, is like missing a front tooth from fucking around with her friends or like from eating shit on a skateboard, just a greasy, grungy, stoner, dude bro type girl.

The switch from being in love with princess Nancy wheeler, to flirting with these cute preppy girls at work, to befriending and falling for this walking garbage pile who is super sarcastic and bitchy, burps in ppls faces as a joke, never has her shoes tied, wears dirty wife beaters and flannels with ripped up patchy jeans that have grass stains on them.

I’m TIRED of soft clean small preppy characters who get emotional and are so shy and quiet. I just feel like the dynamic would be so fun and Steve would have like a moral dilemma like he did when Dustin convinced him he had a crush on Robin.

They would meet through Eddie or Robin and she’s just like the walking loser and at first Steve is like off-put bby her behavior bc like gross but like finds himself falling for her or something idk I didn’t think that far ahead but I need more diverse readers bc all of them are pink frilly preppy shy girls or soft bookworms which are great but like… JUST THINK ABOUT NEW DYNAMICS!!

as a writer (I rlly can’t call myself a writer) I try to make reader loud and confident and outgoing bc every other reader fits in the soft girl aesthetic. I need bitchy, messy, dirty, adventurous, loud, just grubby girls! Dirty bed sheets, trashed rooms, scuffed shoes, ketchup stains idk it doesn’t even have to be a Steve fic literally any fic in this fandom could have this type of dynamic bc reader personalities are lacking in diversity lowkey and I love grubby

OMG LIKE IMAGINE NANCY X GRUBBY READER!! Fuck Steve this, this right here would be such a hilarious dynamic and I NEED it. Nancy is like the opposite of what I described she’s pretty, and clean, and headstrong, and focused. With like a dirty adhd tomboy gf (ronance but grubbier) like it’s so perfect.

Even Robin with a gf who like has no concern for her own safety and Robin is spitting facts about how the mold growing on the cups on R’s bedside table could result in life or death sickness or something idk it would be so perfect

I LOVE GRUBBY DIRTY GIRLS I’m tired of unrealistic cleanliness in fics girls are gross and it’s ok

#stranger things x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #robin buckley x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #🪲 blurb #johnathan byers x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things blurb

[bug-fics]

OMG THIS IS SO COOL 😭🫶🏻 feeding the gays for pride month, we need more cool and unique wlw fics so I’m so excited for this, the description alone is so good!!! The character dynamics are so different I’m screaming I can’t wait to follow along with this mini series

Raspberry Swirl - MASTERLIST

Y2K!Robin Buckley × Bi!Artist!Reader

✨ Drac’s Sapphic Summer 2023 ✨

It’s your second year working at the Hawkins Boys & Girls Club Day Camp- All your kids are back and it’s their last year before they embark on a treacherous journey through the green and orange striped locker maze of High School -and they’re looking for advice and guidance from their favorite counselors! Through growing pains, crushes, and confusing feelings, they can’t wait to hang out all summer with the cool Art Corner advisors- You and their beloved Dungeon Master, Eddie Munson, and their recreational sports club coaches, Steve Harrington and… wait. Who’s Robin Buckley… and why is she the coolest girl you’ve ever met? On the first day alone you talked about Drew Barrymore movies and artists like Joan Jett, Tori Amos, and she was even wearing a Liz Phair shirt. This is the first time you’ve ever had a crush on a girl, you’re not really sure who to talk to about it, so you pour all these feelings into your beloved Diary until the end of summer for the big annual camping trip because you’ve decided: There. That’s when you’ll tell Robin how you really feel…. You just hope that she feels the same way.

Warnings: 18+ content (minors dni)

AU takes place in 2005. counselors are 24/25. No use of y/n. Alternative!Coded fem!Reader having their first girl crush, discovering bisexuality, questioning sexuality, cursing, smoking, drinking, yearning, work shenanigans, the whole nerd party is here, Robin has pink hair. Coach Steve in glasses, Eddie’s van has a mural, Y2K nostalgia + pop culture references, + more to come as chapters are posted!

Under the cut is where I will be linking weekly “reader written” first person-pov diary entries & the end of summer oneshot ⬇️

Dear Diary….

I’m Only Happy When It Rains. (Coming this Friday- June 9)

Raspberry Swirl: the fic (Coming July 28, 2023)

After a summer of weaving friendship bracelets, swapping secrets, and even burning playlists on customized CDs for each other… the big camping trip is finally here! A whole weekend roasting marshmallows and skipping stones on the lake, do you have the guts to make your confession before Robin takes that job back in Oregon? As everyone’s duffel bag is packed, on the bus, ready to go, where the hell is Robin?? You hope she’s not missing the trip on purpose… you can still practically taste the Peach Schnapps from Steve’s party last night….

#robin buckley x reader #🪲 fic rec

[bug-fics]

friday, i'm in love (eddie munson x reader)

summary: one of these days, you'll talk to the cute boy at your coffee shop. just... not today. (wc: 6.3k+)

order up! i've got one cup of sunshine for @munson-blurbs ♡

Today’s the day. 

You take a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your bag as it digs into your shoulder.

Today’s the day. 

You pull the door open for your local Starbucks, your preferred study date destination. 

Today’s the day. 

You smile at one of the other regulars, a kind and older gentleman named Jim. If you focus on Jim, your eyes won’t avert to him. 

Today’s the day.

You already know he’s here. You delude yourself into believing you can specifically hear the scratch of his pencil on paper, that every click of a mouse or clack of a keyboard is coming from his laptop. Hell, maybe if you closed your eyes, you’d convince yourself the music humming over the shop’s speakers is actually the muffled tone warbling out of his headphones. 

Today’s the day.

You order one of your normal drinks, one brimming with caffeine and drowning in enough sweet caramel drizzle to give you instantaneous cavities. It doesn’t matter – today’s meant to be a sweet day. The weather’s nice, nothing like it was last week when you’d been ordering a hot Earl Grey tea sweetened with honey each day, and you tell the young man taking your order that it’ll be iced. 

He’s new. You have no doubt in your mind, because he wasn’t here last week, and one of the baristas you do recognize is hovering to the side as he rings you out. 

You’re a creature of habit. All the baristas know you well, other regulars (see: Jim) even recognize you these days. You used to only come in once or twice a week, either to cram for tests or play a morbid game of catchup with all your homework, but something changed in the last two months. 

He showed up in the last two months. 

Today’s… not the day.

You turn with your overly sweet drink in hand only to be met with sore disappointment. You were right, he is here, already seated at his usual table. 

And he’s joined by a girl and boy you’ve never seen before, but he surely has, by the way he’s all smiles and laughter focused directly at the pair. 

You try to not let your stomach drop too low, to catch it before it hits the ground and gathers any unwanted attention your way. It’s fine, it’s okay, it’s good – today wasn’t the day, but maybe tomorrow will be. Maybe tomorrow can finally be the day you speak to the boy from the coffee shop who’s overrun your thoughts one day at a time, the boy you see every day like clockwork, the boy you’ve never exchanged a single word with. 

“Dingus, you can’t just say that to a girl!” the girl seated in front of him, her back to you, yells as she smacks Dingus on the chest. 

Your coffeeshop boy only cackles in delight, and you feel as if the sunshine that has broken through the cloud cover outside has wormed its way into your veins. His laugh is brilliant and warming as it echoes in your chest, and you try to remind your beating heart that it isn’t yours to keep. That doesn’t stop your arteries and veins from wrapping their way around the sound and thrumming to match its pace. It doesn’t stop your ribs from trying to hopelessly capture the sunshine. Maybe one day you’ll make him laugh like that, maybe one day you’ll find the nerve to strike a conversation with him.

Tomorrow has to be the day, since this sunny Monday hasn’t been.

—

Tuesday also isn’t the day. 

You don’t even have a good excuse this time. He’s alone today, just as he usually is. His headphones are already in once you’ve arrived and you can hear tinny guitar solos blaring out of them from across the room. You almost convince yourself that that’s a good reason to approach him, to tap his shoulder and let him know how listening to music that loudly can permanently damage your eardrums, y’know? 

But then you realized how prissy that made you sound. If you did that, you’re sure Chrissy, one of your favorite baristas here, would absolutely taunt you for days on end, probably making jabs about you being a grandma, going the full mile and offering you a senior discount just for shit and giggles. 

So you stay seated. And you meet the peculiar look of Chrissy as she watches you and Eddie, the only two customers in the lobby this time of afternoon, as if she’s waiting for something to happen. Anything. The raise of her eyebrows serves as a painful prodding in your side as if to say “Well? What are you waiting for? Go on.” 

You don’t go on. And that’s the issue – for the last two months, you have let the idea of some stranger completely occupy every thought you have to spare without even knowing his name. He was just always here; two months ago, your once quaint and nice study spot was infiltrated by wild curls and drumming fingers, plush pink lips that could make the older ladies that pass through absolutely swoon with a simple smirk and hello. You’d talked the ear off of all your friends for nearly an hour the day he’d worn grey sweatpants in rather than his normal ripped jeans. You’d caught yourself staring intently at the various rings that decorate his left hand on more than one occasion, trying to make out what the various symbols of silver were. 

“This is getting painful to watch.” 

You hadn’t even noticed Chrissy round the counter and head over to your table with a cloth in hand until she was looking down at you with a soft, childish pout and her big blue eyes framed with furrowed brows. 

“What?” you question, putting down the pen you’d been clicking on and off for the last ten minutes, making no move to properly revise and submit the essay lighting up the screen of your laptop. 

Chrissy keeps her voice low, moving to lean down closer to you under the guise of wiping the table beside yours, “The two of you. It’s painful, babe. One of you has to stop making eyes and make the first real move eventually.”

Real. A word you had cursed over a glass of wine with your roommate last night. 

She’d pointed out the way you only liked the idea of your coffee shop boy thus far, how you had yet to introduce yourself to the real him. Which, she was right, of course. It was easiest this way; from a distance, he can be anything you want. He could be your easy Sunday mornings, sleepy smiles over toast and coffee made at home. He could be your tired Thursday evenings, coming straight home from whatever class or shift had wreaked havoc on your mind and right into his arms, popcorn and a movie already waiting for you to decompress over as you told him about your day. He could be a source of comfort on cold nights, a breath of fresh air on warmer mornings. He could be anything, as long as he continued to be just your coffee shop boy. A fruitless crush you’d always observe from across a bustling lobby. Keeping him at an arm’s length kept both of you safe: from disappointment, from complications, from reality. 

“Just because we both come in everyday to use your free wifi and drink your mediocre coffee, doesn’t mean you get to play match-maker when you’re bored,” you try to keep a straight face as you say this, forcing a look of disinterest as Chrissy stares you down. 

Normally, this would be the part where you’d snap at Chrissy that if she was so piqued in her interest with your coffeeshop boy, she could ask him out herself. But he wasn’t Chrissy’s type – the round enamel pin on her apron with a faded, baby pink  background, multiple cats stacked on top of one another in different shades of pink, orange, and white, told you as much. The heart eyes she’d made at the girl that had been here with him the day before confirmed it. 

“Don’t be so pissy,” Chrissy teases, “Or I’ll revoke wifi privileges.” 

“You don’t scare me, Chris.” 

“I should.”

“You’re all bark, no bite,” you scoff, a bit louder than before, and don’t even notice your boy subtly taking one of his earbuds out, fighting to keep his eyes down to the page he’s scribbling on rather than glancing up at your interaction, “And I use bark sparingly, considering your bubblegum pink aesthetic doesn’t exactly scream scary dog.” 

Chrissy grins wider at your words – you’ve never backed down from being brazen with your humor against her. You don’t treat her grossly delicate or thickly lay on fake niceties. You’re genuine. It’s probably a contributing factor to you being her favorite regular.

He snorts, and you just barely catch the echo of the sound, making both you and Chrissy glance in his direction. 

His eyes are glued on his notebook as a blush begins to spread up his neck. You can’t help the shy smile that urges the corners of your mouth upwards. 

Talk to him, Chrissy mouths obnoxiously as she grabs her rag, taking slow and exaggerated steps backwards before she spins, her blonde ponytail bouncing as she speed-walks back behind the counter.

One day, you’ll talk to him. Soon. 

—

Soon comes too soon. Far too soon and far too embarrassing of circumstances. 

One moment, your eyes are glued to the statistics textbook in front of you, laptop set off to the side with your headphones connected in and a study playlist queued up on Spotify. The next, someone’s frappucino is spilling across the pages of numbers and percentages, making you gasp and jump back to no avail. The damage is done – your book is ruined, the front of your shirt is soaked, and all of your handwritten notes are now soggy and unreadable. 

“Oh, shit!” the poor kid who had been the culprit stands before you, stunned and red with embarrassment as his friends quiet their cackling from behind him. It’s clear the group had been rough-housing, and that’s what led to this accident. 

You zero in on a melting glob of whipped cream that settles into the open spine of the textbook, mouth falling agape as tears fill your eyes immediately.

Shit. No. No, no, no. This was a rental. 

None of the younger boys are the one to make a move to help you. The baristas don’t stand a chance, delayed in even noticing the commotion. You’re a statue of bleary vision and panicking breaths as you realize the sticky mess is everywhere, including your laptop. 

Your coffeeshop boy notices immediately. He’d noticed the moment the young boy had lost his balance beside you, was already scooting out his chair and jumping up before the blended coffee had even made contact with your table. 

You come to your senses right around the time he’s at your side, a fistful of napkins, uselessly attempting to save your textbook that was already clearly ruined.

“Ah, fuck,” he whispers as he uses up all the napkins he’d managed to snag, looking up wildly at you, eyes zeroing in on the mess on the front of your shirt. You can’t even relish in the fact that this is the first time you’ve heard his voice so closely; you’re mortified and trembling, still unsure of whether you’re more angry about your textbook, your laptop, or your shirt, “Hey, you okay?” 

Tears. There’s tears streaming down your face, hot with embarrassment and anger and defeat. You think the kid whose drink is now in your lap has been apologizing, but you pay him no mind. 

“Go get cleaned up,” the coffeeshop boy immediately moves out of the way, motioning you out of your seat, towards the bathrooms, “I’ll watch your stuff, try to clean it up some, too.” 

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You’re up in an instant, ignoring the stares of the baristas and the other boys, racing to the back corner of the shop where the two single-person bathrooms reside. You rush into one blindly, trying to calm your erratic heart and the impending panic attack. 

It takes you twelve minutes to do so. Three splashes of cool water to the face, two pep talks about how it “wasn’t that bad”, and another whole minute of blankly staring into the mirror at the baby-hairs that frame your face that are now wet and plastered to your cheeks and forehead alike, just wondering where you’ll come up with the money for your damaged textbook. 

And laptop. It also got on your laptop, son of a bitch.  

You also have to come to terms with the fact that you’d burst into silent tears in the middle of your favorite coffee shop. In front of your coffee shop fantasy crush. You may never recover from that embarrassment, if you’re being honest with yourself.

A small knock comes from the door of the bathroom, forcing you to sigh deeply before gathering up all your composure and broken pride. 

“Yeah?” you ask through the crack, hardly opening the door. 

It’s Chrissy, standing wide-eyed and hopelessly holding two pieces of clothing in her hand, “Okay, so uh, we don’t have any spare shirts here. But… But I have a spare apron? And a spare jacket? I’m sorry, these are awful options.” 

“I…” I’d rather die than wear that apron, or ruin someone’s jacket. “It’s fine, Chris. I’ll probably get going anyways.” 

“But your shirt is all-” she pauses, and you could burst into tears all over again at the way she scrunches her nose so adorably, “-sticky.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“It’ll get all over your car.”

“It’s already all over my stuff. Might as well go big or go home.” 

“I owe you a free coffee now, you know that?” Chrissy’s shoulders finally deflate in defeat, accepting your stubbornness as the winning contender, “Next time you come in, probably tomorrow. Whatever you want. It’s on the house, I sw-”

“Damn, now I wish some twerp spilled their mocha cookie whatever all over me,” it’s him – your coffee shop boy. A boy who came to your rescue, a boy who lives in all your bedtime fantasies, and a boy whose name you still don’t know. Chrissy turns and the two of you both look at him, you opening the bathroom door wider despite your embarrassment. He immediately throws up a hand in surrender, “Sorry, I’m, uh- shit, I’m interrupting. But I just… Uh, well. Okay, this is weird. Really weird. You can ban me if this is too weird,” he turns to Chrissy with wide brown eyes, making her immediately cross her arms across her chest defensively, “Seriously, okay? Say the word, I’ll accept my banishment. I just-”

“What’s behind your back?” Chrissy narrows her eyes. You hadn’t even noticed the boy hiding something, too busy being enamored by his stumbling words and adorable blush. Fuck. You hated it; you hated the fact that everyone was right, and the real him was even more adorable than you could have anticipated. 

He brings his arm out from behind him, and when you see what’s in his clutches, you nearly scream in frustration. 

He’s not just more adorable than the fantasized versions of him you’ve created – he’s more thoughtful, too. It spells out trouble for you and your restless, irrevocably romantic heart. 

“I keep spare shirts in my van,” he explains sheepishly, “I swear it’s clean. It’s for- well, I… It’s for ‘just in case’ situations. Sort of like this one, I guess.” 

Chrissy is quick to take it from him, passing it along to you as she keeps staring him down, “How convenient.”

“Very,” he nearly cowers under her stare, swallowing hard before turning to you, “You don’t have to give it back or anything. You can even burn it, for all I care. It’s just some shirt for… for, uh, some shitty band.” 

You don’t think too much about the comment, just shut the door and leave Chris alone with the coffeeshop boy, silently praying she doesn’t tear into him unnecessarily after the act of kindness. You change shirts, dabbing at your chest with wet paper towels between peeling off your coffee-stained blouse and switching it for your coffeeshop boy’s shirt. 

Corroded Coffin. It’s not a band you recognize, as you read out the jagged writing of the logo across the front of the black t-shirt. The white font pops and you’re already trying to think of an easy segue into maybe discussing whoever this ‘shitty band’ is with coffeeshop boy rather than the mortifying disaster you’d just endured from a group of young teenage boys who knew no better.

But when you leave the bathroom, that group of scoundrels is gone, along with coffeeshop boy. Chrissy wears an apologetic look over the shoulder of a customer she’s taking the order of at the front counter. It does nothing to wear on the sinking feeling of disappointment in your gut, that deflation at realizing he didn’t wait around for you. The customer pays and leaves the counter, and Chrissy almost looks to be expecting you to stop and say something, but you don’t.

You don’t say a single word. Only rush and gather your things off the table, which are surprisingly clean. Coffeeshop boy did a good job.

Too bad you don’t have the chance to tell him. 

Reality, you decide, has something in common with the coffee; it’s always going to end with a bitter bite, no matter how much sweetness you suffocate it with. 

—

You don’t return for several days after Wednesday’s incident. Thursday turns to Friday, Friday bleeds into Saturday, and by the time Sunday rears its ugly head, you’re still wallowing in self-pity. Embarrassment has a way of sinking deep into your bones, and no amount of curling up in the center of your bed will make it fade. You try to sit up at your desk and finish some of the revisions you’d been working on that awful day before wearing some kid’s frappucino, but you can’t focus. The pages of your rental textbook are still sticky, your S and K keys now only work half the time, and you can’t find the right study playlist. The atmosphere is wrong, the vibe is wrong, everything is just wrong. 

At least you hadn’t resorted to wearing Coffeshop Boy’s shirt. You’d thought about it, of course, but you hadn’t hit that low of a point. Not yet, at least. 

Your roommate can’t take it. She insists you get out of the house, simply because your moping is “too fucking sad” to witness. To which you obviously had to retort, “how do you think I feel?”.

So now you’ve been standing outside of your usual Starbucks for five minutes. Squinting like a weirdo through the large, front windows, trying to make out if he was there. Or maybe the ‘twerp’ who had spilled the frappucino. You weren’t looking for a fight – you just needed to avoid every individual who had witnessed the most embarrassing day of your life to date. 

“He’s not here,” a voice suddenly says from behind you. You jump a fraction before spinning and catching sight of one of those damn witnesses: Chrissy, “He never comes in on Sundays. You don’t, either, by the way. What gives?” 

“I’ve come in on Sundays before,” you deflect.

Chrissy laughs, shaking her head, brushing past you with her green apron rolled up into one of her fists, “No, you haven’t. So I’ll ask again,” she pauses, opening one of the front doors and motioning for you to enter first, “What gives?” 

Your feet drag as you walk past her, the lobby eerily quiet. At the very least, she’s right – there’s no sign of your coffeeshop boy. Just some old dude with a newspaper in your usual corner, and a girl with a laptop, seemingly in some sort of video meeting, in coffeeshop boy’s usual spot. 

“No hidden romance there, unfortunately,” Chrissy notices your staring and waves between the patrons. Neither so much as look up, “You and Eddie are our store’s only modern Romeo and Juliet.” 

“Who?” 

“Eddie,” she repeats, watching the realization spread across your face. A smirk appears on her glossy lips as she clarifies anyways, “Your knight-in-shining-armor. The boy you’ve been making heart eyes at for weeks. The dude of your dreams-”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you cut her off, cheeks already warming as you glance again to the girl and the old man. Still no reaction. Your mortification today, it seems, has no audience. 

Eddie. Eddie. Eddie. 

The name thrums through your chest, excitement and a twinge of guilt racing through your veins. 

Your coffeeshop boy’s name is Eddie. 

“I never knew his name,” you whisper quietly, catching yourself staring in the occupied seat that is usually his. “I… Have you known it this entire time?” 

Chrissy shakes her head, “No, I asked him Thursday. You know, the first day of your disappearance.” 

You can’t even process her slight jab at you, or the way she tilts her chin as she waits for a reaction. You’re too busy thinking about Eddie. Eddie, who doesn’t come here on Sundays. Eddie, who keeps spare t-shirts in his van– Eddie, who drives a goddamn van.

He’s suddenly tangible. It’s dizzying. 

“He asked about you, y’know,” Chrissy’s voice is low and you finally glance back to her, “On Thursday. And Friday. He asked about you.”

Eddie, who you’ve been waiting for the day to introduce yourself to. Eddie, who asked about you. 

“What’d he ask? Specifically?” you question, taking a deep breath and trying to clear your thoughts. 

“If you’d been in, if I’d seen you. He even asked for your name.” 

“Did you tell him?” 

“Nope,” she grins, blue eyes sparkling, “I figured I’d give you the honor.”��

It’s on Sunday that you decide the next day you see coffeshop boy, that you see Eddie, it will be the day. It’s only fair that he knows your name now that you know his, after all. 

—

Monday isn’t the day, and neither is Tuesday. You show up to the Starbucks, you take your usual spot, you spend hours studying – Eddie never shows up. Wednesday and Thursday aren’t the days either, filled with finals and celebratory dinners at twenty-four hour diners with friends. 

By Friday, you’re missing your coffeeshop romance terribly. 

But Friday, as it turns out, isn’t quite as unlucky as the rest of the week. You wake up that morning, and you can feel it in your bones; today’s the day. You’ll see Eddie today. You’ll introduce yourself to Eddie today, without a Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappucino soaking your shirt. It’s an acknowledge truth in your bones, maybe even in the stars. Everything is aligning, and you were going to stop spending your days with your head in the clouds. Maybe it would fizz out, and the crush that had kept you on the edge of your seat, that had kept you mildly entertained for months would lead to nothing. But maybe, just maybe, this could be a beginning. A leap of faith into reality that could turn into something real. 

 When you first show up, you don’t see him. It’s during the tail-end of the morning rush that you make your way in, ordering your usual iced coffee and taking your usual seat with the perfect view of Eddie’s usual seat. Customers filter in and out, a line occasionally forming before the baristas take care of it quickly, but not a single person is the one you’re looking for. 

You distract yourself. You busy yourself with pulling out your laptop, glancing over whichever grades have been finalized, pondering over the ones that have yet to be set in stone. Once you’ve beat that horse to death and have nothing left but scholarly anxiety bubbling up, you’ve moved on to making a spreadsheet of all the books you want to read during the summer, with all the free hours you definitely weren’t going to waste, and would totally make use of. You even color code by genre. 

You think you have more fun making the spreadsheet than you will enjoy the actual reading over the novels you listed. 

Just as you’ve finished your iced coffee, ready to move onto looking at goddamn Yahoo news to entertain yourself, a cup is sat down in front of you. A hot grande cup. 

You read the sticker turned towards you before you even spare a glance to the person who’d sat down the drink: a grande Earl Grey tea, sweetened with one packet of honey. 

“Chrissy, I only get this when it’s rain-” you start, assuming the barista would be the one standing over your table. It isn’t. It’s coffeeshop boy – it’s Eddie. You can’t help the curse that falls from your lips, “Oh, shit.” 

“Sorry,” he bites his lip as if holding back a life, hands nervously shoved into the front pockets of his jeans as he rocks on his heels, “I just… I honestly don’t know what you usually get. But your cup was empty when I walked in, and the one time I got here before you, this was the drink you got, but now that I think about it, it was raining that day and that didn’t even cross my mind-”

Your smile is slow as it uncurls, so saccharine and so enamored as you finally cut off his rambling, “Thank you.” 

He doesn’t look reassured in the slightest, paling as he stutters out, “Oh, God. I- I’m a creep for remembering that, aren’t I? Fuck, I’m sorry. I just wanted to do something nice because I know Thursday was so rough-” he cuts off at your subtle wince at the reminder of that entire tragedy, “Sorry. God, how many times can I say sorry, am I right?” 

Eddie, who is absolutely fumbling over rambles like a fool when he approaches you to talk to you first. Eddie, who is quickly shaping up to be better than even your wildest dreams. 

“First of all,” you start, nervously making eye contact, trying to calm your nerves by reminding yourself he’s an even bigger mess than you right now, “You’re not a creep for remembering that. That’s… it’s really thoughtful, actually,” he breaks out into a restrained smile, the smallest glimpse of relief on his face, so you continue, “And second of all… I mean, who knows? Maybe it’ll rain and you saved me some trouble.” 

He lets out a bark of laughter at that, and immediately, all frozen awkwardness around the moment shatters. Whatever pedestal you’d set the boy on the last several weeks has crumbled with ease. Reality comes crashing down, and you relish in it. 

You relish in the golden streaks through his messy curls, and you drown in the richness of his brown eyes, entrancing this close up. You relish in that dimple in his right cheek, deep enough to swallow you whole as he recollects himself. You relish in the fact that he’s here, it’s Friday, and today is the day. 

“There is absolutely rain on the forecast, and you should absolutely just take my word for that and not fact check me,” he jokingly replies, “I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“I know,” you blurt out with thinking, and immediately regret it. You can’t tell if the shock on his face is laced with amusement or not and you panic, desperate to defend yourself, “I- Chrissy told me, I swear. I’m sorry, that was weird, I just-”

He’s the one interrupting apologies now, “It’s okay. Can’t be weirder than knowing a stranger’s rainy day coffee order.” 

Grinning. God, you can’t stop grinning, even as you breathe out your name. 

“Sorry?” he asks with furrowed brows, hardly catching on to the whispered reveal.

“That’s my name,” you explain before repeating yourself. His cheeks undoubtedly ache the same way yours do, “Now I’m not a stranger. Makes it less weird.” 

His smile is downright radiant, and oh, God what you’d given to hear him murmur your name under his breath again in that odd, peculiar manner he just did. As if he’s trying it out, tasting it on his tongue and deciding if it’s worth repeating. 

His eyes shine; you have a feeling you will be hearing it again. 

“Say, is this seat taken?” 

You assume he’s meaning the chair across from you, tucked neatly into the table covered in your belongings, and you immediately shake your head to tell him it’s not, motioning for him to join you. 

He wasn’t meaning the chair. He flops himself down beside you on the bench seating, settling into the plastic plush as his thighs brush against yours. 

“So,” he starts, propping his elbow up on the table beside your laptop, resting his chin on his fist,“Tell me about yourself, not-stranger.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Everything,” he answers, making your heart clench, “But maybe, let’s just start with your coffee order for days that aren’t rainy.” 

Hours. You and Eddie spend hours talking. The baristas behind the counter rotate, the sun eventually sets, and you don’t even notice when clouds form and light spatters of rain spit out onto the sidewalk outside. You dive headfirst into reality with Eddie, and it’s like the first breath of Spring. 

He wakes you up in a way no shot of espresso ever could. It’s as if something deep inside of you had been sleeping for so long, you’d forgotten it existed until he magically awoke it. Something shining, something wonderful, something new. Something real.

Everyone was right. The tangible Eddie is infinitely better than the idea of coffeeshop boy. 

“You know,” you’ve drained your earl grey, laptop long since closed as your body mirrors Eddie’s and twists until your kneecaps press against each other. His arm rests casually along the back of the seat just over your right shoulder, “I’m still curious who Corroded Coffin is. I know you said they’re shitty, but-”

“Oh, God,” Eddie throws his head back in laughter, running his free hand over his face, “So, uh, funny story.”

You quirk an eyebrow, “Funny story?”

“Yes. Hilarious, actually,” he affirms, “Corroded Coffin is… uh, well… Corroded Coffin is my band.”

You can’t stop the snort, realization dawning on you. That’s why Eddie had the spare shirt in his van – it’s his own damn merch.

“I’m going to pretend you’re laughing with me, not at me,” he hums, leaning back and watching your giggles continue to hit you in waves.

“I am-” you start to reassure, broken off by another gasping laugh that even has him chuckling along, “I am, I swear! I just… Why would you tell me you guys are shitty?” 

“A bad joke,” he hums, waving his free hand, chuckles still lingering at the edge of his tone, “I tend to tell a lot of those around pretty people.” 

Pretty people. He thinks you’re pretty. 

“Yeah?” you choke out, laughter abruptly fading as the realization hits you.

He thinks you’re pretty. 

“Yeah.” 

Oh, God. He thinks you’re pretty. He’s in a band. He remembered the drink you got on a rainy day ages ago (him forgetting the rainy detail can be forgiven because he remembered without even knowing your name). He smells like spice, like everything kind and gentle and warm. It mixes so well with the smell of the coffee already in the air, you wouldn’t have noticed it was his cologne unless you hadn’t spent a better part of the hour leaning in closer and closer to him, the scent getting stronger and stronger. 

Maybe reality can be sweet. Maybe it’s not always bitter. 

“You know, we have a show coming up,” he continues on, tilting his head at you curiously, “Tomorrow night, actually.” 

“You do?” you ask dumbly, not catching on, not yet.

He nods, the corners of his lips curling up, “Yeah. It’s at this venue not far from here, a small bar. It’s not much but it’s an upgrade from where we started…” he trails off, eyes diverting to the wall behind you and across the store, “Uh, you obviously don’t have to… but, I mean, if you’re not busy, I could always add your name to the guest list. It’s no pressure, obviously! I mean, you don’t have to go, it’s just an id-”

“I’d love to,” you stop him with a hand on his knee, grounding him from the returning rambling, “Tell me when and where tomorrow night, and I’ll be there.”

Your heart might just burst. 

“Right,” he seems to still entirely beneath your touch, eyes darting down to where your hand rests, “Yeah. I can write it down for you-”

“Or I could give you my number.”

“Or you could give me your number.” 

You’re both grinning, blushing fools. He takes a second, just staring at you, seemingly in awe, before you have to remove your hand from his knee and put your palm up as a signal for him to hand over his phone. 

He nearly drops it in his flurry to get it into your waiting hand, bouncing his knee the entire time it takes you to put in your contact information. You make a point to add a coffee cup emoji after your name. 

“Hey, guys,” the two of you are suddenly interrupted just as you’re giving his phone back. It’s the barista from last Monday – the new one, the one who’d taken your order when you’d been convinced that would be the day you were going to speak to Eddie. Funny how clueless you had been at the time, “Sorry to interrupt, just wanted to let you guys know that we close in about ten minutes.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie gasps, sitting up straight as he tucks his phone back into his pocket, “Sorry, man. We’re heading out.” 

The new guy’s eyes light up ever so slightly, shrugging off the apology and just nodding with a polite smile. 

You wonder if you’ll even get the chance to break the news to Chrissy. Something tells you she’ll be finding out before you see her again. 

The boy retreats, and you’re quick to grab your laptop and move to shove it into your bag. Eddie stands and waits, unbothered and encouraging you to take your time before you swing the heavy bag over your shoulder. 

Eddie, the boy who’s show you’ll be going to. Eddie, the boy who now has your number. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get sick of his name echoing through your mind. 

“Thank you again,by the way,” you say as you pick up that empty grande cup, turning for the trash, “The tea was good, even though-” 

It’s raining. It’s steadily sprinkling outside, trees shifting with a gentle and stormy breeze. You can tell easily, even with the darkness of the evening having fallen. There’s rogue raindrops racing their ways down the window in front of you. Your reflection stares back faintly, and over your shoulder, you can see Eddie smile shyly. 

“It’s raining,” you murmur. 

“I told you,” Eddie says softly, “It was on the forecast. Also, I might have noticed the clouds building up on the drive over.” 

You turn to face him slowly, heart thumping against your ribs, “Did you… You knew it was my rainy day drink, didn’t you?” 

He blinks once, twice, before swallowing hard and nodding, “I did.” 

“How?”

“I mean, I wasn’t lying. I did hear them call it out that one time. Also, you always have a hot drink especially when it’s raining.” 

He looks like he might pass out from embarrassment, but you just let a grin overtake your features, “Oh?”

“Like I said, it’s creepy. Do I need to apologize again? I can apologize again.” 

Oh, your grin grows. 

“What else did you notice?” 

“Excuse me?”

You shrug, “What else did you notice about me? For example, I’ve always noticed your rings. Also, you listen to your music far too loudly. You’re gonna go deaf one of these days, you know.” 

He melts, color returning back to his features as he realizes you’re not upset or creeped out, “You noticed me before the other day?” 

“I did,” you try to downplay it, keep an even tone as your heart screams, “And it sounds like you noticed me too.” 

A boyish grin and two steps forward, he’s approaching you and evading your space with that warm smell of spice once more. 

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, ears and bridge of his nose alike tinged in a spackling of pink, “I noticed the faces you made whenever you’d work on math homework. And the way you’d cringe every time I turned up my music. And the way Chrissy never stopped teasing you, the same way she’d tease me on the days you weren’t here.” 

“Wow,” you sigh, looking back down at that empty cup. That goddamn empty cup that just revealed to you that he thought of you just as you’d thought of him, “We’re idiots.” 

That feeling that still rings in your bones. No longer just the feeling that today is the day, but that there’s more good things to come. There are lazy Sunday mornings to be had, relaxing Thursday nights to enjoy. There are tangible things to have and to hold in your future, materializing right out of nonsensical ideas you’d clung to just days before.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs in agreement as you toss the cup into the trash, “Yeah, we’re fuckin’ idiots. Don’t tell Chrissy, capiche?” 

Today was the day. Today was just the beginning. 

“Capiche.” 

It’s not until a month later, when you and Eddie come in together on one of your slow Sunday mornings, that Chrissy gets her I told you so moment. After the shock of seeing her two favorite customers on a Sunday, of course.

#eddie munson x reader #🪲 fic rec #pls they are so cute #literally crying they deserve the world #like are you serious #this is so cute #the fluff #THE PINNING #coffee shop romance #literally such a cute fic

[bug-fics]

We Got Love:

modern!steve harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve picks you up from the bar after your night out with Robin and he realizes he's overwhelmingly in love. | masterlist | Title/fic inspiration song always at the bottom - steve's music | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is - please respect this

WC Range: 5-10k

Warnings: reader consumes alcohol with descriptions of being tipsy / fluffy gooey hopelessly in love with each other kissing and flirting

A/N: A night out with @loveshotzz in Chicago had us thinking about Steve picking us up and bringing us to McDonald's and then a sweet anon sent a thought about Steve helping our tipsy selves and thus this fic was born. I hope you love it!💛

Steve was in too deep. He wasn’t supposed to fall this hard or this quickly. Sure, he’s known for giving his heart away too easily, but he knew this was different. He knew you were different. He was going to take it slow this time - he had a whole plan. 

He’s never been a good planner.  

You’re sweet and soft, but you’re not afraid to bite back. You’ve got an energy about you, and sometimes he feels a little like you’re the sun. He can’t help but be drawn to you, like you’ve got a gravitational pull just for him, but if he gets too close too fast he’s gonna get burned like he always does. 

But Jesus Christ, you’re not making it easy for him. You’re so sweet and perfect already, but you have to be gorgeous too? Cause you’re always pretty, but tonight…wow. And your ass in those jeans. His hands form fists at his sides, planting his heels into the floor so he doesn’t just start making out with you in front of Robin. He’s going a little insane - like he feels like he needs to keep his hands on you at all times or he’ll literally stop breathing, he’ll die if he doesn’t get to kiss you and -

He’s so fucked. 

Hair curled and bouncing across your shoulders as Robin and you dance and headbang to the early 2000s playlist she insisted would pump you up for your girls night out. His bathroom counter is littered with lipsticks and various tubes of things you hold up to him in the store for his opinion on. He just nods and asks ‘Do you like it?’ before you drop it into the red cart with a smile and leave a kiss on his cheek. 

A laugh that has the ability to actually crawl into his chest and burrow inside of his heart leaves you as Robin gives you shit for being high maintenance. He hides a smile from his spot leaning in the doorway as you insist that the tequila shot is going to be better with the orange, “Trust me, Robs. When have I steered you wrong?”

Robin starts to list several times you’ve done just that and your face scrunches as you stick your tongue out at her. Steve watches you both lick salt from your wrists and as you make eye contact with him he clears his throat and looks down, cheeks flushing pink at the thought of your tongue like he’s thirteen again.  

Yup, totally fucked. 

The clink of your glasses on the counter draws his eyes up once more, your face squished in amusing pain as you suck on the orange slice, eyes fluttering open and removing it with a wide smile directed at him over Robin’s shoulder. Body wiggling and hands clapping together as the alcohol enters your body and another laugh leaves it as Robin begrudgingly admits to liking the orange.  

A pink stain left on the rim of the glass and one on his cheek after you skip over to him, arms wrapping around his neck. Steve’s hands find their favorite spot on your hips, fingers slipping seamlessly into the belt loops and trying not to think about how your hips and ass are gonna look dancing out at the bar without him. How you naturally sway easily to the beat, and smile around the skinny neon straw between your teeth as someone tells a story. How in between turns at an arcade game or a round of pool you use the stick or someone’s open fist to sing along to the songs playing because your walls come down a little from just a few drinks. 

You lean back to peer at him with a smile that makes his heart stutter, sure he’ll need to seek actual medical attention to get it restarted as you tap your nose to his chin. God, you’re so fucking pretty. 

“You gonna be okay all by yourself tonight handsome?”

Handsome. 

He can’t help but sigh a little when you call him that. Can’t help the way his hand moves to push a piece of your hair behind your ear like he’s a leading man in a rom com you’ve made him watch. 

He wants to tell you the truth. That no, as a matter of fact, he will not be okay alone and he needs you to stay. And it freaks him out a little bit that he wants you to stay forever and it’s not even for sex. He wants to debate about the best candy to have with popcorn, for you to shove your cold hands under his shirt and press your nose into his neck. To banter about what to watch only for you to fall asleep five minutes into it. Words on the tip of his tongue that he doesn’t want you to leave ever. Because you’re going to go out tonight and go back to your place and he feels crazy because he wants you to just move in and that’s not in the plan. That’s not taking it slow at all, Harrington. 

Raising your eyebrows at him, waiting for his response, his hands now push your hair from your shoulders gently. Swallowing harshly as his fingertips graze over the straps of your black tank top hiding under a jacket, trailing up your neck and back down relishing a little in the goosebumps that rise in their wake. A non committal hum leaves his pursed lips before he sighs, “You know, I really don't know. I think you should stay, just to be safe.” 

It’s not the words that cause the feeling of a box of bouncy balls being dropped in your stomach, but the way Steve says them with that look. Tone and eyes warm like honey dripping over every inch of you, sealing your body in a sweet and sticky heaviness. Convinced you’d melt into an actual pile of goo if he let go of you, ready to shout how you’re feeling from every open window at every tallest peak in the world. Tequila and citrus mingle with the words that dance on your tongue, making it all a little harder to keep inside. You’re far too tempted to tell Robin that there’s a change of plans and you’ll have to stay curled up next to your boyfriend for the rest of your life. 

You don’t say those things though, but you pretend to play along with his game - to see how much of his heart he’s willing to give away before you give all of yours to him. 

“Well, safety is my middle name…”

Steve’s smile widens, lopsided and rising on the right and you want to reach out and trace over his lips and memorize the smile you’re able to pull out of him - just for you. Body filling with heat at the thought as his hands squeeze at your shoulders. 

Thumbs brushing across your neck as he takes the smallest step to fully close the distance between your bodies, “Right, so really, it’s your duty to-”

“Oh god, I need another shot!” Robin smacks her head against the counter several times, “Please, for my sake, would you just kiss and say goodbye so we can go already?”

Stepping onto your toes, your nose brushes Steve’s and he sighs as your lips hover over his, “Don’t have too much fun without me, okay?”

A clink of Robin’s shot glass hitting the counter makes your lips twitch. 

“Fun? Without you? Just misery with no company here.” Steve huffs and taps the tip of your shoes with his socked foot. Pouting his lips out dramatically in one last feeble attempt to get you to stay. You catch his bottom lip with yours, pressing a soft and over too quick kiss there. 

Robin bangs her head on the counter again as his fingers slip into your hair, cradling the back of your head. His tongue pokes out to lick across his top lip, citrus and salt lingering on it. 

Warm eyes dancing between yours as he whispers a plea, “One more?”

Desperate for a pillow to scream into, to kick your legs and giggle like the lovesick fool that you are, you just bite back a grin as he tilts your head further. Lips molding around yours, soft and lazy and making you feel like you’re the only two people in the world. Noses squished together, thumbs buzzing across your cheeks, Steve sighs into you and your foot practically pops like you’re in a black and white movie and the end credits song is going to start playing. 

The tap of Robin’s foot in impatience and a loud clearing of her throat makes the smile you were biting back win as you pull away reluctantly. Unable to help yourself, one more quick peck to his top lip before you untangle your heart and hands from his. 

Tugging Robin towards the door, you glance over your shoulder to find Steve with his hands running through his hair, eyes blinking open as you smile widely. A sing song lilt to your voice as you call back through the closing door, “Have fun with your misery!”

Robin’s voice echoes down the hallway, “You’re both disgusting!”

Your voice louder and exasperated, “You told me to kiss him goodbye!”

Steve’s forehead hits the now closed door as he groans, palms dragging over the wood before they form fists. He already misses you. He’s a chump. He’s in love. He’s pretty sure you’re the one. 

So, so, so fucked. 

He tries not to wallow, cause that would be pathetic. 

He’s pathetic.

Alone in his apartment trying not to think of you, except you’re everywhere. He cleans up your pregame shenanigans, despite you insisting you’d do it earlier before leaving - he was happy to do it so you could have more time with Robin. There’s a blanket you bought for his couch, your favorite coffee mug fresh out of the dishwasher and hung on a hook. The scent of your perfume and body wash in his bathroom and a toothbrush next to his. Clothes returned to half of a drawer that was basically just entirely yours now. 

Eventually, he’s tired of his own co-dependent self pitying and crawls into bed, curling into the pillow that now smells like you. Thoughts of you lull him into a restless sleep. Tossing and turning and desperate to reach out and feel your body clinging to his, legs tangled together and cheek pressed to his chest. 

Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t love the fact he woke up at almost 2am to his phone ringing loudly, your face filling the screen. A picture he’d recently caught of you, holding a giant burrito in your hands and staring lovingly at it like it was your child. 

Just the sight of it makes his chest ache and he takes maybe a second longer to answer since he’s caught up in staring at it. Clearing his throat before he answers, “Hello?”

“Oh, fuck, you sound…I…” your voice wobbles and a barely audible sigh falls into the speaker, not expecting the heavy sound of his voice. Not prepared for the deep gruff from his chest and sleep coated word to make your thighs push together like they do. 

He sits up straighter and flicks on his lamp, “Hey, everything okay?”

“Ye-yeah,” you hiccup and giggle and then continue, “Yes. You just sound so sexy, I’m - well he does!” You’re shouting to Robin who he hears grumbling in the background and his bottom lip pulls in, tugged between his teeth as he fights a smile. 

“Called just to tell me that, huh?” Purposely whispering so his voice sounds a little raspier, practically able to see you melting on the other side of the phone. 

“Fuck…no?” His smile breaks through at the sound of your sentence ending in a question before you keep going, “I…I called because….oh! Uber! There’s like no Uber’s around and well okay there was one but we’d have to share it with these guys and…”

Steve is already pulling on sweats and the black sweatshirt you were always stealing. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he slips on the first pair of shoes he can find. Locking the front door and spinning his keys on a finger as you continue on. Somehow your story turns from Uber to Robin having a rum and coke come out of her nose because of a joke you told and how you totally crushed her at ski-ball.

He could listen to you talk about nothing and everything, just enjoying the sound of your voice and the way you light up when you tell a story. It can’t be crazy to be so in love with you already. You have to feel this way too, right? 

“Anyways, I’m talking a lot and Robin is tapping her wrist.” You laugh and a snort comes out and somehow he falls even harder. “Like she’s ever worn a watch and been on time in her life - oh really? Name one time! Uh-huh, that’s what I thought, Buckley!”

“Babe,” Steve interrupts, rubbing his jaw to fight the aching smile he’s had on his face for the past few minutes. It’s a new name still, sticky in his throat and makes his heart speed up a little at the risk of saying it every time, but he loves the way you react.

“Yeah?” A little breathless, he can hear you smile through the phone. Easily able to picture the piece of hair twirling around your finger as you quietly tack on, “I like when you call me babe, Stevie.”

He breathes deeply through his nose, forehead pressing to the steering wheel. It feels like he’s drawing each word out of his brain painfully slowly because all that wants to come out is ‘I love you’ and he needs to say, “I’m in the car, where are you?”

“Oh! I’ll drop a pin! Thanks Steve I lo-” your voice cracks as it falls off before you quickly shout, “See you soon!” and then silence. 

The entire drive to you is unbearably long and filled with Steve telling himself you weren’t about to say what he thinks you were. 

Not that it would be a bad thing if you had said it, but he wants to be first. And he knows he feels that way about you, he just thought it was all too soon. Saying those three little words out loud has burned him before, but for some reason he knows it’s nothing like the pain he’ll feel if he says them to you and you don’t say them back. 

As snowflakes hit his windshield and disappear just as quickly, he comes to a stop at a red light, the barcade just on the other side of the intersection and he smiles. You’re out on the sidewalk with Robin who appears like she’s trying not to look amused as you cabbage patch and disco to a song that must be playing. Stopping suddenly, he can tell you shout that it’s snowing and Robin must say something sarcastic back because you wave her off and start to spin a little. Head thrown back with a wide smile, tongue sticking out to catch a snowflake. He pulls up to the curb and hops out of the car. 

Your head falls forward and his name leaves your lips behind the widening smile, the ‘E’ at the end trailing off and wrapping around his heart. 

Steve’s hair is a mess, carmel and honey, lazily askew and you ache to card your fingers through it. Can you do that yet? Is jumping into his arms and running your hands through his hair after only a few hours away from each other too needy? Your buzzed brain and body are toeing the line of not really caring if it is. Especially with his glasses falling down the slope of his nose, hands in his sweatshirt pocket and a smile on his lips. Gray sweats sitting low on his hips and you bite back a smile at the loafers he probably quickly grabbed. Lit up in oranges and yellows from the streetlight and neon green of the bar sign flashing overhead. You could jump his bones right there against the car. 

Falling into his arms with a low and content sigh, your fingers lock around his neck and toy with the ends of his hair in a sort of compromise with yourself. Nose pressing into his jaw, inhaling the familiar scent you’d missed in just a few short hours. Woodsy, maybe a little leather, and Steve and you could dare to call it home already. Swallowing the thought down, you whine a little and reveal a different thought, “Fuck, you are so handsome.”

Steve’s breath catches like you haven’t called him that before, taking in the way you blink and flutter your eyelashes, wet from snowflakes melting on your skin. Arms wrapping around your waist to keep you up right - or at least that’s his excuse. 

“I’m sure you say that to all the guys,” his voice still scratchy with sleep. He clears his throat, thumb rubbing against your skin just under the hem of your shirt. He’s lost in the feeling of you relaxing into his hold completely, like there isn’t any other place you’d rather be. Realizing that he can be a little needy with you, because you are with him. 

The warm pads of his fingers on the exposed skin of your sides threaten to draw all of your attention. Forgetting what you said, what he said, or why you were even there. All information gone from your brain other than the fact that his lips are right there and looking far too kissable. 

Pulling slightly away so you can stare into his eyes, you grin, touching your nose to his quickly, “Only you, Goose.”

Steve risks sliding his hands up your sides more, your shirt rising ever so slightly and his fingers buzzing over your skin. You love the way his lips quirk up at the nickname and he loves the shiver that runs through you and the way your breath hits his cheek sharply as he touches his forehead to yours and whispers, “Flattery will get you everywhere, Maverick.”

Rising onto the tips of your chucks, fingers finally pushing up and finding a home in Steve’s hair and you sigh. The neon lights could dim, a pop song could start playing and script scrawling across the screen announcing they lived happily ever after could all happen and you wouldn’t even be remotely surprised. It all feels a little like a dream, this thing with you and Steve, and you really hope you don’t ever wake up from it. 

Mouth hovering over his, the mint of toothpaste on his breath begging to mix with the alcohol on yours, but leave it to your mutual best friend to ruin the moment yet again. 

“Get a room!” Robin’s hands tap the side of the back car door, her plea echoing down the quickly emptying sidewalk. 

Steve turns to glare at her, her body half out the window and a wide grin on her face. The two old friends in a staring contest and silent conversation when your stomach growls and a giggle slips out of your lips. Tugging on Steve’s shirt as you request, “Hey, can we get chicken nuggets?”

Robin snaps her fingers and points to you, “Yes! Now that’s more like it! Oh! And fries!”

“And a shake!” You jump up and down and Steve rolls his eyes at both of you, his hands still on your hips giving a light squeeze though. 

He fights his amusement at your tipsy state and sighs dramatically, “Any more requests?”

“Nope!” spinning past him, he opens the car door and helps you in as Robin grumbles about her not receiving any help to get into her seat. 

Steve begins to stand and your fingers tug him down by the collar, “Wait! I thought of one more thing I want.”

Snow turning to rain on the back of his neck as you lean in closer and he whispers, “Yeah? What’ll it be, honey?”

“A kiss,” smiling as your lips hover over his. 

Steve’s cheeks turn pink and you’re so totally and completely in love with him it physically hurts when he whispers, “As you wish,” and presses his lips to yours. 

It’s not a sweet and quick kiss like he intended, you’re a little greedy with it. Fingers clutching his sweatshirt, mouth parting over his and he can’t help but hold your cheeks and pull you in deeper. 

“I’m seriously going to puke in your car Steven, and it’s not from the alcoholic beverages I’ve consumed tonight.”

Robin’s annoyed tone sends a giggle ripping through you, breaking the kiss and your hands release him and Steve takes a moment to take you in longer. Lips a little redder and glossier, eyes shimmering under fluttering eyelashes and his thumbs brush over your cheeks and he sighs, “You’re trouble, you know that?”

A grin and a kiss to his palm as your eyes look up at him innocently but your mouth forms a smirk tells him you definitely know. 

He releases you reluctantly and closes the door carefully before jogging around the front of the car. Absolutely worth the flick to his ear he receives from Robin as he brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before letting his hand rest on your thigh. 

The drive to McDonald’s is not long, just down a few blocks, but it feels like years to your tipsy state. Steve’s fingers brush your thigh back and forth, setting your skin on fire despite the layer of fabric between them. Aimlessly playing with his fingers, brushing over his wrist before a song on the radio catches your attention. 

Steve watches as you light up, turning the dial and proceed to belt out almost every lyric wrong, but somehow manage to try to sing along to the guitar and the drums at the same time. You end up leaning across the console, fingers playing with his hair, his ear, his jaw and it takes every ounce of his willpower to keep his eyes on the road. 

“Keep your hands to yourself until I’m out of the car please, I’m begging you,” Robin moans from her totally horizontal position in the backseat, eyes glaring at you. 

Your frown is amusing, like a kid told they can’t have their cookie until after they eat their vegetables and you pout. Your fingers trail back to Steve’s on your thigh as he orders for you all at the drive thru. Perking up as you tug on his sleeve. “Stevie, don’t forget-”

“Oh, can I get extra sweet and sour please?”

Your smile is brighter than the neon light from the yellow arches illuminating the car and he knows he really is a goner after you do a little dance in the seat as the fries and nuggets hit your lips. Peeking up at him as you sip your shake, wiping your lips before asking, “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, you’re just really cute.”

You duck your head down and hide your smile in your last nugget as Robin sighs around her fries. She leans forward as Steve pulls up to the curb outside of her place and wraps her arms around you from behind and squeezes, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

You start to turn, “What are you talking about, I’m staying the-”

Robin kisses your temple and starts to get out, “No you’re not. Have a good night lovebirds!” She calls loudly, saluting with fries in her hand before entering her apartment building. 

Snow that’s turned to rain fully and hitting the roof of the car mingles with the music playing softly and you smile at him. Voice suddenly shy and quiet as you ask, “Your place?”

Steve can't get you home fast enough. You’re all cherries and chocolate ice cream and salt - stolen kisses at every stop sign. Giggling as he tells you that you gotta stop or he’s gonna get a ticket, placating you with more fries and asking about your night. 

He’s driving himself a little crazy as he finally pulls to a stop in front of his place, fingers gathering yours and pulling you out of the car and up the front steps. Steve wants to let your hands wander, to keep that smile on your face, but he can see the food turned your tipsiness to sleep and it tugs on you, making your limbs heavier and your eyelids flutter more. He knows that as soon as your head hits the pillow, you’re going to be out. The responsible thing to do is to get you to bed. 

As the door closes, you lean in to kiss Steve like you’ve been wanting to all night. Desperate to disappear into each other without the impatient and annoyed eyes of Robin next to you any longer. Fingers tugging at the strings of his hoodie, pulling Steve’s body against yours. Your lips attach to his with no intent of ever letting them go. 

“Missed you,” a breathless pant against his lips as you continue your assault on them, hands sliding into his hair and scratching at his scalp. Smiling around his lips as he groans at the feeling, his hands landing on either side of your head to catch himself. 

Pulling away despite your whine of protest, he kisses your neck, nibbling a little before pressing more kisses into your skin. Your back arches and he sighs, this is definitely going to be harder than he anticipated. Words lost in your skin between kisses up and down your neck, “Missed you too.”

Steve can’t believe the words he’s about to say, especially when you’re looking at him like that. Kiss swollen lip tucked between your teeth, skin flushed - glitter and sweat kissed, curls of your hair falling loose and framing eyes that seem to be reading his thoughts and hungry with an equal amount of want. 

Steve’s eyes warm, cinnamon and moss melting and climbing over you and you want to let him take every inch, want to tell him it’s all his. The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip as he swallows harshly. He pulls at it, letting it pop out in a pout that he kisses slower and sweeter than before. Steve sighs into your lips as you part further for him, fingers trailing down to his jaw to hold him closer to you. 

His forehead pressed to yours, his words are a breath against your lips, “Come on, time for bed, trouble.”

Is it the alcohol or is it Steve’s lips and words that make everything feel a little off kilter? He makes you dizzy, and giddy and he’s the one who’s trouble because you weren’t supposed to fall this hard for a boy like him. He can’t possibly want a girl like you. 

As your eyes flutter open, he’s pulling at your hands, thumb brushing over your knuckles and leading you down the hallway. Not stopping at the bedroom, but continuing on to the bathroom. Steve hands you your toothbrush, kissing your temple with the promise of a change of clothes. Leaving you to stare at your reflection and wonder why Steve saying ‘time for bed’ and actually meaning to go to sleep has your stomach alive with more butterflies than before. 

Steve cares about you. He’s not trying to sleep with you, he doesn’t care that you woke him up or made him get you McDonald’s at two in the morning. He let you leave and he cleaned up yours and Robin’s mess. Steve cares about you. 

He returns, setting you on the lip of the tub as he rummages in the medicine cabinet. 

“Aha! Found em,” he mumbles, pulling makeup remover wipes down and crouching in front of you. 

Instead of handing you one, Steve gently wipes at your skin whispering something about how you really didn’t need all of this stuff, you know that right? Every word and every pass of his thumb with the cloth over your skin knocks a stone loose in your resolve. A paper thin wall between your heart and his now. It aches, your heart pounds loudly in your chest, filling your ears. Palms sweating, fingertips itching, breath catching like you’re about to take a jump off of a cliff. 

Mouth dry as the words that yearn to come out sit ready on your tongue. Instead, your fingers catch his chin and you kiss him. Chaste and quick, eyebrows raised at him, “Why are you so sweet to me? What d’ya like me or something Steve?” 

Steve tosses the wipe covered in makeup, kissing your wrist before tugging at the same hand and pulling you up to stand. Heart hammering, denting and breaking the armor he keeps around it. He could say it. He wants to say it. 

But he doesn’t. 

He lifts your arms and you giggle as he pulls your shirt from you and slips one of his own over your head instead. Kissing each of your cheeks as your jeans drop to the floor and he helps you step out of them. He sighs, catching your jaw like you had just caught his. “Yeah, something like that.”

Rising onto your toes, hands on each side of his face, you whisper through a smile, “How embarrassing. You like me? Do you like really like me like me or-”

Steve presses his lips to yours, arms wrapping around your waist and you sigh, hands falling to rest flat against his chest. His lips move over yours languidly. Lazy and sweet kissing that has you melting into his body. He knows he needs to stop kissing you, that you should go to bed. But he can’t stop, like your lips have a love potion in them and he’s under your spell. 

Steve lifts you, carrying you to the bedroom and your kissing becomes a little sloppy, your smile forcing you to break apart for a breath. He lays you on the bed, arms on either side of your head as he hovers over you. You giggle into his lips as he pesters you with quick kisses over your face, “What’s,” kiss, “So,” kiss, “Funny?”

He nibbles on your bottom lip and pulls away and you’re eager to chase his lips, hands looping around his neck. Laughing into his smile and kiss as you sing, “You like me so much. You want to kiss me, you want to date me, you want to -”

Steve kisses your teasing away again, this time a little more passionately - like he’s trying to say all of the words he wants to with just a kiss. Stealing your breath from you, but then again he can’t really steal something you’re willing to give. 

He pulls away, cradling your jaw and relishing in the dazed look on your face. He whispers into your lips as he kisses you again, “I’m gonna go get you some water, Gracie Lou.”

Smiling to himself down the hall as you finally find your voice and shout, “I knew you liked that movie!”

Steve can’t be gone for more than a minute, but when he returns, your chest rises and falls evenly, puffs of breath leaving your slightly parted lips and your face relaxed. Water to your side of the bed, he lifts the covers and slips you under them, flicking off the lamp and sliding in next to you. 

Half asleep, you roll immediately. Leg slipping and tangling between his, hand on his stomach and cheek pressed to his chest. Steve lets his fingers glide over your spine, gently rubbing back and forth until his own eyes start to flutter closed. He’s going to tell you in the morning. He’ll make breakfast and coffee and he’ll finally tell you-

“I love you.”

It’s a breath against his skin, the words making goosebumps rise on it and his stomach flip. He feels you shift, your breathing heavy and your eyes still closed as far as he can tell. 

“What?” he whispers to you and you don’t respond. Raising his head to peek at you, making sure you really are asleep, daring to ask again, “Y/N, baby,” he licks his lips, fingers sweating, “What did you just say?”

Nothing but a soft snore comes from you and Steve smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. He pulls you closer, practically on top of him and kisses your temple. 

You love him. Arms wrapping around you tightly, he decides he’ll never tell you that you said it because he was going to be first. 

Steve Harrington is in love with you too. 

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought, and I hope you consider reblogging my work to get it circulated to new readers - thanks for being here 💛

Steve Tag List: @boomhauer @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @aftermidnightwriting

#STOP #OH MY FUCKING GOD #THIS WAS SO CUTE #THE FLUFF WAS KILLING ME #LOVESICK STEVIE OWNS ME #I LOVE THEM SM #OMG #SCRSAMING CRYING #THEY ARE SO CUTE #THEY ARE IN LIBE #steve harrington x reader #🪲 fic rec

[bug-fics]

Uncle Eddie

Fandom: Stranger Things

Relationship: Eddie Munson/ GN!Reader

Words: 4,056

Summary: When DJ Harrington's second-grade class needs another chaperone for their field trip to the planetarium, it's Uncle Eddie to the rescue. Lucky for him, one of the staff members is pretty cute.

Eddie Munson was not a violent man, but his phone was ringing first thing in the morning.

Okay, it was closer to noon, but you get the point. His head pounded with a particularly nasty hangover. The show last night was a major success. The largest crowd they ever played in front of, and they even managed to sell some merch. 

There were only a few people who would dare call Eddie this early after a gig. He picked up the phone, grunting into the receiver. 

"Munson, I need you." 

Steve Harrington. 

"I can't say I'm surprised,” Eddie said with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. “I knew this day was coming. How does your wife feel about it?"

Steve spluttered on the other side of the line. "Fuck off. DJ has a field trip tomorrow, and they need an extra chaperone." 

Eddie groaned softly. He loved his unofficial niece. He truly did. The brat was pretty sick for a seven-year-old. She liked dragons and heavy rock music. But Monday was one of his few precious days off. There was nothing he wanted less than to spend it with a full gaggle of snot-nosed kids. His precious niece excluded, of course. 

"Can't Robin do it?" he asked, already knowing the answer deep down. If Steve was calling him, he was truly desperate. 

"Not after the zoo incident," Steve reminded him. 

Eddie laughed. He forgot about that incident. Leave it to Robin to lead a revolt full of first graders demanding the zoo animals be released. The administrators were not too thrilled and Robin was banned from all future field trips. 

“Come on, man. I’m desperate. If they don’t get another chaperone they can’t go and DJ has been looking forward to this for months. I would if I could, but I have a big meeting tomorrow.”

“I don’t know…” Eddie trailed off.

Steve sighed. “I’ll owe you one, whatever you want.” 

“Well, when you put it like that…” Eddie grinned widely. “Tell Dustin Junior that Uncle Eddie will be there!” 

"For the last time, her name isn’t Dustin Junior, it’s-"

Eddie hung up before Steve could finish that sentence. 

~*~*~*~*~

“UNCLE EDDIE!” DJ screamed as trampled down the stairs. 

Eddie dropped the bag he was holding and held out his hands, just in time to catch the giggling bundle that crashed into his arms. 

“Deej don’t jump from the-” Steve cried out in exasperation but it was no use. 

Eddie only laughed and held his niece tight. “There’s my favorite monster!” 

She giggled as he swung her around. Even Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes fondly at the sight. 

“Uncle Eddie! Look look look!” She wiggled out of his arms and stepped back away from him to show him her shirt, chosen with him in mind. 

“Guns N’ Roses?” Eddie gasped, his voice perfectly dramatic to catch a child’s attention. “You should have told me! We could have matched.” 

Steve held up her jacket and DJ obediently slid her arms through the proper holes, letting her father finish dressing her. 

“A few ground rules, Munson,” Steve said, trying to keep his voice stern as he knelt down to tie his daughter's shoelaces. “No loud music, no driving fast, and no corrupting the kids! I mean it.” 

“Corrupting the youth?” Eddie asked, clutching at his heart in mock offense. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Stevie.” 

Steve shot him a glare before turning to DJ and handing her her lunch bag. “And you, be extra good for your teacher today. She’s going to be under a lot of stress, herding all you kids. Promise?”  

She nodded dutifully. “Yes, Daddy. I promise.”

Steve smiled at his daughter, all his sternness visible melting away. When DJ was born, Eddie made jokes about her having Steve wrapped around her little finger in no time, and Steve just kept proving him right. 

Eddie clapped his hands together. “Let’s hit the road! Don’t want to be late.” 

Steve handed Eddie the pink and sequined-covered backpack, which he took with only one dramatic grunt.

“Jesus kid, what do you have in here? A couple of phone books?” 

~*~*~*~*~

They arrived at the school for check-in, and after some quick introductions the students, staff, and chaperones were all filed onto the big yellow bus. 

Eddie politely and awkwardly smiled at the other adults, only to receive distasteful looks in return. Sometimes being an adult was worse than being back in high school. 

“Uncle Eddie! Come sit with me!” DJ said excitedly, patting the seat beside her on the bus. 

Eddie couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t you want to sit next to one of your friends?” 

She shook her head enthusiastically, brown hair flopping wildly. “I see my friends every day. I wanna sit next to you!” 

He pretended to think about it for a moment before flopping down in the seat next to her. She excitedly pointed out the other kids on the bus, catching him up on all the drama and happenings in her second-grade classroom. 

Only once the bus started moving, did Eddie realize he neglected to ask the most important question.  

“Hey kid, where are we going anyway?” 

“The planetarium!” 

“Uncle Dustin is going to be so mad he missed this one,” Eddie responded with a chuckle. “Speaking of Uncle Dustin…” 

She nodded before answering with a wide grin. “...If anyone asks, I was named after him. DJ stands for Dustin Junior.” 

Eddie held up his hand and high-fived DJ. “That’s my girl.”

What was the point of being an honorary uncle if he couldn’t use the kid to get on Steve’s nerves anyway?

~*~*~*~*~

You sighed as you looked out the window. “What time is it again?” 

“It’s only one minute since the last time you asked,” Vi, your coworker, replied. “9:59.” 

“I don’t see the bus,” you said as you turned away from the window. “What if they’re late? We have a tight schedule.” 

“Y/N, most school groups are late. We make it work. No problem.” 

You frowned. “I want the kids to have plenty of time for lunch and free play!” 

She only rolled her eyes and flipped the page of her magazine. “You should be enjoying the last few minutes of peace and quiet we’re getting until those kids leave.” 

You opened your mouth to argue when you heard the distinct sound of school bus breaks. A smile came to your face. “I see a bus!” You cheered as you skipped over to the window. “They’re here!” You waved at the children, grinning as they waved back. 

Vi closed her magazine and stretched. “Babe, has anyone told you that you were meant to work with kids?” 

You nodded, not looking away from the bus that was unloading. “Almost everyone I’ve ever met. Why?” 

She only chuckled. “No reason.” She walked over to join you at the window. “Ooh. Hot dad alert, and totally your type.” 

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, not bothering to look at the man in question. “You know I don’t look at the parents. He’s probably married.” 

She shrugged. “I don’t see a wedding ring.” 

“No way Jose,” you said just as the front door opened, showing a frazzled-looking teacher and a small army of children, already vibrating with excitement. 

“Showtime,” Vi said before plastering on her biggest smile. “Hello everyone! Come on in!” 

The two of you quickly shepherded the group into the private lunch room where they could leave their belongings. Once the kids removed their coats and were separated into their small groups, you walked to the front of the room. 

“Hello, Hawkins Elementary! We are so excited to have you here with us. My name is Y/N and this is Vi,” you started your welcome script. The one you said hundreds of times and could probably say in your sleep. You looked around the group, making sure you had everyone’s attention. “We have a fun day planned for you today, but it’s important we go over a few rules. The first rule is absolutely the most important and that is no-” 

Your voice cut out as you made eye contact with one of the parents. The one Vi tried to warn you about. In retrospect, you wished you had listened to her. Because she was totally right. 

Tight and ripped jeans, with a Black Sabbath shirt and leather jacket? Your type without a doubt. Not to mention the curly brown hair and the deep brown eyes. It was the eyes that did you in. Wide and like a deer caught in headlights, they drew you in and made you lose your train of thought. 

You cleared your throat, trying to will away the heat that was already spreading across your face and neck. “Excuse me,” you faked another cough before continuing, hoping no one would notice your pathetic display. “No running….” 

You continued your speech, making sure your eyes remained diligently in front of you. Unwilling to let them wander to your left and towards a certain DILF. 

~*~*~*~*~

Eddie raised an eyebrow as he tried to figure out what had just happened. You were so engaging and energetic, drawing the children in with your magnetism, then you locked eyes with him, and…that all changed. 

He watched as your delivery became stiffer and you stopped moving around the space so easily. The words tumbled out of your mouth faster and faster, as if you were trying to finish and hurry them along faster.

And you sure as hell didn’t look his way again. 

At first, Eddie felt offended. He knew he didn’t look like the other chaperones there but was his appearance really so off-putting that you couldn’t stand to look at him? Then he noticed it. 

“If you’ll please follow Vi, she will lead you all to the auditorium and give you a demonstration about the stars. Then after that, I’ll take you on a tour of our display about the planets,” you concluded your speech before pointing toward your coworker. 

As everyone began to file out of the room, you chanced another look in his direction, and this time you bit your lip before quickly looking away again. 

Holy fuck, you were attracted to him. 

Eddie told himself to relax, but his heart didn’t want to listen to him as it raced in his chest. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. He wasn’t the same freak in high school that acted out to reject others before they could reject him. He was a cool, mysterious, rocker type, and he’d been on plenty of dates. But, he couldn’t remember the last time someone found him so hot they literally choked on their own words. It was new and novel, and most of all….it was flattering as hell. 

He looked you up and down, taking in your appearance for the first time. You were cute. Dangerously cute. Even in your work uniform. You radiated a sense of enthusiastic joy, so there was no doubt that you truly loved your job. It was like you didn’t know how to contain that joy, so you wore it openly and proudly. Eddie could see himself falling for you pretty easily. 

“Uncle Eddie, let’s go!” DJ cried, tugging on his hand. 

Eddie chuckled slightly before letting himself be led out of the room. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

As he walked past you, he winked. He hoped it looked as smooth and carefree as he intended it to. Given the adorably panicked look on your face, it seemed to have worked.

~*~*~*~*~*~

After a fascinating demonstration about how stars are made, the kids were rewarded with a cool light show in the dome. Once the main lights were off, everyone turned their gazes upward. 

“I’ve heard this is cool to see after getting stoned-” Eddie said before remembering his company and cutting himself off. 

“What does that mean?” 

He stared down at DJ in horror. “What does what mean?” 

“Getting stoned,” she repeated too loudly for Eddie’s liking. 

Eddie saw his life flash before his eyes, and it ended with Steve beating him to death with the nail bat he still kept in the back of his closet. All in all, he thought he had a pretty good run. Maybe he wished he spent less time alone in his room memorizing guitar solos and more time out enjoying life. 

Nah. That was a lie. Those guitar solos were awesome. 

Suddenly, he got an idea. He sent a silent prayer up to whatever deity was listening. “You know when you go to the lake and throw stones? That’s what getting stoned means.”

DJ considered this for a few minutes. “That makes sense.”

Eddie sighed in relief and sent up another quick prayer. Thankfully, the show began and DJ didn’t have time to ask any more questions. Rock music played on the speakers and the show began. 

The kids clapped and cheered at the lights.  DJ, Eddie noted with pride, quietly sang along to some of the songs she recognized. As he watched his niece, a plan began to develop in his mind. You clearly loved kids, given your job. Maybe that was the best way to get your attention. 

He slumped down in his seat so he could whisper into DJ’s ear. “Hey, you love your Uncle Eddie, right?”  

“Yeah….why?” she asked, giving him a skeptical look that perfectly mirrored her father, that it was scary. 

Eddie continued. “You don’t want him to become a lonely, old man, right?” 

“I thought you already were a lonely, old man,” she replied bluntly. 

“Ouch, brutal Deej.” Eddie wasn’t even being dramatic when he gripped his chest in pain. Leave it to kids to absolutely tear you to shreds without even meaning to. “I need you to make me look good for Y/N today.” 

“Why?” she asked. 

“Because,” Eddie answered, already familiar with this game. 

“Why?” 

“Because.” 

“Do you like Y/N?” she asked. 

Eddie took a deep breath and relinquished a small piece of his pride. An act he was becoming accustomed to since becoming an uncle. “Maybe.” 

“Do you like like Y/N?” she asked, a quiet giggle on her lips. 

One of the other parents turned to the two of them and shushed them. Eddie subtly flipped them the bird before returning his attention to his niece. He probably wasn’t going to be invited back to chaperone another field trip but at that moment he didn’t care. 

“Maybe, and I think it would really help me out if you turned up the charm a bit. Really schmooze them. What do you say?” 

DJ thought about it, tapping her finger on her chin. “Will you take me to the lake this weekend?” 

“This is extortion,” Eddie sighed. “If your parents say yes, I’ll take you to the lake. Deal?” 

She stuck out her small hand and clasped his much larger and rougher one before giving it a solid shake. “Deal.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~

“It’s not that funny,” you huffed for the fifth time in as many minutes. 

“It’s very funny.” Vi wiped tears from her eyes, as she continued to snicker. “You, who refuses to even look at the parents, got tongue-tied over a hot dad!” 

“I’m pretty sure he’s an uncle,” you defended yourself weakly. “The kid he was holding hands with, she called him Uncle Eddie.” 

Vi’s eyes widened. “Uncle Eddie,” She repeated. “That sounds promising.” 

You ducked your head to avoid her gaze as you ate another grape. You didn’t mean for your lunch break to devolve into conversations about the hot chaperone. However, you probably should have known Vi would not be sympathetic when you complained to her about your slip-up at the beginning of the program. 

“You want to know what’s even worse?” you said with a sigh. “The kid he is with is such a sweetheart. During my program, she kept volunteering to help and asked so many questions.” 

“Babe, you’re a goner.” Vi teased with a wide grin. “I don’t know why you won’t go for it. Worst case scenario he says no, then leaves on a bus to never return.” 

“Worst case, I lose my job,” you protested. “Hitting on our visitors is extremely unprofessional.” 

“Please! This is a part-time job that pays nothing. If they fired you, I would have to quit out of solidarity, and no one is rushing in to fill our spots.” Vi rolled her eyes. “You need to lighten up and live a little.” 

You considered her words as you popped another grape into your mouth. Vi had a point. She usually did. However, you still weren’t sure. You loved your job, and despite Vi’s assurances you didn’t want to risk it. Especially on something that wouldn’t pan out. You weren’t sure if you could survive the double ego hit of being rejected and reprimanded.  

It just wasn’t worth it in your opinion. 

~*~*~*~*~

After a lunch break, the kids were released into the museum to wreak havoc. Eddie watched in amusement as a group of kids ran past him, despite their chaperone’s exhausted reminders that they needed to walk. 

Eddie turned to the small group he was in charge of, his niece and five of her friends. He was certain he could handle a group of six girls. Stereotypically girls were less rowdy than boys, so his afternoon should be smooth sailing.

DJ tugged on his arm to get his attention. “Can we play over there, Uncle Eddie?” She pointed to a mock space station play area.  

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he answered with a smile. He followed along at an easy pace as his group walked excitedly to their chosen target. 

This would be a piece of cake. 

~*~*~*~*~

You did your rounds as the kids explored the planetarium. It was your favorite part of your job, getting to explain the different exhibits and share fun facts with curious young minds. You loved to see the enthusiasm that some of the kids had for science, and it warmed your heart to be able to encourage that love. 

You were surprised by how well-behaved this group was when a sudden shout made you jump.

“DIE ALIEN SCUM!”

Your head snapped over towards the voice, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. A group of young girls were all sitting inside the fake rocket ship, using the controls as if they were weapons and pretending to target their chaperone, Eddie. 

To his credit, he made a convincing alien, stalking around and gurgling out “Take me to your leader” whenever one of the kids got too close. It was sweet and you felt your heart melt a little as he played with the kids. Most chaperones preferred to stand back and observe passively. Eddie seemed like he was having just as much fun as the kids. Even they were playing too rough. 

“You know, that’s not how the exhibit is usually used,” you said with a teasing voice. 

Eddie’s head snapped up, and a slight blush spread across his cheek. His wide brown eyes met yours, and you could have sworn your heart literally skipped a beat. 

“Sorry about that,” he chuckled nervously. “The girls wanted to play space invaders, and who am I to refuse them? I hope we aren’t in too much trouble.” 

“Well…” you trailed off as if you were thinking deeply. “I think I can let it slide. Just this once.” 

Eddie gave you a relieved smile, and you noticed how devastatingly charming he looked. “Much obliged.” 

You wanted to continue the conversation, as you felt a pull towards Eddie, but you had no reason to. Even as Eddie looked at you with those warm, big brown eyes, you could not find a reason to stay and keep talking to him. 

Instead, you cleared your throat. “Well, I will leave you to it.” 

“Excuse me!” DJ said, stopping you in your tracks. She ran up to you, looking at her uncle and then at you. “I have a question.” 

You could feel your shoulders relax as the tension melted from them. This was familiar ground for you. “What’s your question?” 

“Are you married?” 

You choked at her question, unsure where she was going with it. Eddie’s eyes seemed impossibly wider as he was also shocked by the sudden question. “Um, no.” 

“Why not?” She asked with all the innocent persistence that only a child could possess. 

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I guess I just haven’t met the right person.” 

DJ considered this before speaking again. “My uncle, Eddie, is also single. Daddy says it’s because he talks about dragons too much. But I think that’s a good thing. Dragons are cool.” 

You could only laugh and lean in to whisper to DJ, although you made sure your voice was loud enough for Eddie to hear. “Guess what, I like dragons too.” 

DJ’s face lit up. “You two should get married, then!” 

“Deej!” Eddie almost hissed, an adorably embarrassed look on his face. He looked at you, half apologetic and half mortified. “Sorry, about her. She’s just a kid.”

You grinned, feeling strangely confident. “I’m not looking to get married anytime soon, but could I give you my number? So we can talk about dragons?” 

Eddie stared at you as he willed his brain cells to resume their proper functioning. They barely managed to get him through high school and they were failing him now. “Sure-I mean yeah. Cool. That would be cool. I’d like that.” He felt like a goddamn teenager as he tripped all over himself. 

You chuckled and took out a pen before writing down your number on his palm. “Call me,” you said before turning to leave and continuing your walk through the exhibit floor. You hoped you looked more cool and mysterious than you felt while wearing a name tag.

Once you were out of earshot, Eddie whooped and fist-pumped the air. Truth be told, he was impressed that he was able to hold it in until you couldn’t see him anymore. He turned to DJ with an excited grin. 

“Deej, I don’t know how you pulled that off, but you are the best wingman ever!” He laughed as he picked up his niece and spun her around in a circle. 

Peals of giggles fell from her lips until he set her down again. “Does this mean we get to come back to the planetarium?” She asked. 

“Hopefully, kiddo. Hopefully.” He said before messing up her brown hair. “Now come on. We still have time to check out the gift shop.” 

~*~*~*~*~

“How did it go?” Steve asked once Eddie and DJ walked through the door. 

DJ ran in and hugged her father’s legs. “It was so much fun. There was a big dome and it looked like the night sky. There were all these stars…” She continued to recount the entire day, with a few additional details from Eddie. Steve listened with the same besotted smile he got on his face anytime any of his children did anything. 

The kinds that Eddie couldn’t even make fun of anymore because it just made him a good father. 

“Oh, and Uncle Eddie flirted with one of the teachers there,” DJ added at the end of her story. 

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise as Eddie blushed. “Did he now?” 

DJ nodded sagely before wandering into the kitchen, searching for a snack. 

Steve immediately turned on his friend, his shoulder silently shaking with mirth. “Please tell me you didn’t harass some poor employee at the planetarium.” 

“There was mutual flirting.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “And I wasn’t the one who started it.” 

Steve grinned. “Tell me everything! What happened?” 

“Oh no, Harrington.” Eddie shook his head. “I’m not gonna jinx this. All I’m going to tell you is that they gave me their number, and I’m planning to take them out this weekend. If that goes well, I’ll have details for you then.” 

Steve opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by another, younger voice. 

“But Uncle Eddie, you said you would take me to get stoned this weekend!” DJ pouted, crossing her arms from where she stood in the doorway. 

From the death glare Steve sent his way, Eddie figured he would be lucky to make it to tomorrow, let alone this weekend. 

“I-I can explain!” 

“Oh, you better…”

~*~*~*~*~

#eddie munson x reader #🪲 fic rec #PLS #THIS WAS SO CUTE #i love this dynamic #it’s just amazing #pure fluff it’s so cute #i’m so in love

[bug-fics]

classified | eddie munson x reader

summary at your wits end, you put an ad in the classifieds for a special kind of tutor. Eddie finds it and takes you up on the offer. (nsfw) [13k]

contains smut (18+ minors dni!) – p in v sex, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, virgin!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort. eddie's a sweetheart, fluff, first time turned something more (?).

author's notes this one's a long one! the idea made me laugh and then it took on a life of its own. I want to say this is meant to be somewhat lighthearted and is not a suggestion that anyone should be having sex if they haven't already – your body's yours, baby, do whatever you want! no one should ever make you feel rushed into anything!!! anyway Eddie is an angel and I want one. bye!

-

Eddie's not sure why he's reading the newspaper. Boredom, perhaps; he's been waiting for Wayne to get home from his shift for over an hour. He's thought about calling the plant, but the walk from the couch to the phone seems to be the perfect amount of time to convince himself that he's probably on his way home already.

It's the Hawkins Post. It gets delivered by a snot-nose boy on a bike every week, thrown far too hard at their tin front door. Wayne reads it some weeks, others it gets used to wrap his lunch. Apparently this one he'd read it, flicked through the pages half-heartedly before leaving it open on a centrefold about the local elections. Trust Wayne to get bored of small-town politics, Eddie thinks.

So he picks up where Wayne left off, slowly pulling the pages apart, skimming stories about the endemic of teen pregnancy, or columns about the rejuvenation plans for downtown Hawkins. 

Finally, he reaches the only bit of the newspaper that Eddie has ever found interesting: the classifieds (and, on the back of the classifieds, the call-girl ads).

He skims them, eyes brushing past ads for cleaners, dog walkers, nannies. Finds the ones hidden at the bottom – the letters written in code, ads for attractive female friends and women seeking younger men. He's never actually interested in them, but they provide a glimpse into the underbelly of Hawkins, a small town that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely normal. But nowhere is ever truly normal, and Eddie likes to seize the opportunity to pry into the scandalous goings-on of his boring hometown.

He's reading one about swingers when the one beside it catches his eye. It's plain – whoever paid for it kept their costs to a minimum. All it says is:

WOMAN, 23, SEEKING FIRST TIME.

He stares at the bold ink, the statement in all caps that, despite being maybe the lowest cost ad in the whole paper – it's in a box about three inches tall in the very corner of the page – jumps out at him anyway. Underneath the title, it reads: young woman looking for judgement-free first time. Min. age 22, max. age 28. Must have experience. At the very bottom, in almost imperceptible print, is a phone number.

Eddie hadn't realised how close his face was to the page until he hears the familiar sound of Wayne's car pull up outside. He throws the paper down onto his lap and sighs before scrambling around to at least try to look casual, and not like all the blood has rushed to his face. In the few seconds he has between the sound of Wayne's car door closing and him coming up the stairs, Eddie tears the page out, folding it quickly and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands.

The door opens just as he gets to his feet, and Wayne comes trudging in with his steel lunch pail and heavy boots.

"Hey, Wayne," Eddie says, breathless, trying his best to sound level. Wayne eyes him as he closes the door, before turning to dump his stuff on the table.

"C'mon, kid, you promised me a burger."

-

The piece of newspaper stays in Eddie's pocket for three more days.

Wayne had been late getting home – something came up, but Eddie wasn't listening too hard, brain on that stupid ad instead – so their weekly trip to Benny's had run until the early hours of Friday morning.

And then Friday was work and Hellfire, which Eddie still leads despite having graduated two years ago, and this time the kids kept him going for hours. By the time he got home he hadn't even thought about the page before crashing into bed.

And then Saturday is family day, as Nancy puts it. Eddie had woken up late, rolled out of bed into the freshest clothes he could find, and into his van to act as bus driver for the morning. His little gaggle of unruly teenagers crammed into the back of it one by one, laughing and teasing and shouting. Steve's home became louder and still, Eddie relished in that feeling of peace he gets once a week with all these misfits he calls friends.

By Sunday morning, the newspaper had been long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans that he'd left in a pile on his bedroom floor. He's laid on his back on his bed, head dangling off the edge, puffing mindlessly on a spliff he'd rolled for himself two days ago that had also been forgotten. The room's a little fuzzy round the edges, just the way he likes it, the sunlight creeping warm paws up his arms. It smells funny in here, he thinks, so he turns over, pushes himself off the bed, and reaches up to open his window. On his way back to his bed, he trips on something, landing with a huff as his ribs hit the corner of the mattress.

"Fuck," he hisses, reaching down to pull the culprit off the floor. It's just an old pair of jeans, so he throws them into the corner, out of the way, and resumes his position, splayed out across the bed.

From this angle, with his head hanging upside down, he spots something by the pile of denim he'd just discarded.

His brain's ticking over slowly under the haze of being stoned, but after a second he realises what it is, and clambers all too quickly off the bed and across the room.

Maybe it's that haze, coating his brain with thick fog; maybe it's the fact that, in the year since he graduated, he's had to settle for quick fucks behind the Hideout after a gig; or maybe, just maybe, it's dangerous curiosity.

Whatever it is, something motivates him to move through his room, down the narrow corridor into the kitchen. There's something hijacking his limbs, and it reaches up to the phone on the wall. With eyes on the page in his hand he spins the dial, listening to the tone as it rings, rings, rings.

The longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes in his intoxicated miasma that this is some kind of prank; he's going to be met with a stupid kid on the other end, laughing at him for bothering to call at all. 

When he finally decides that this is just that, a practical joke, the line clicks. There's a low buzz on the other end, so low he thinks maybe the line just went dead, but then a voice.

"Hello?"

He's taken aback by the sound of it, but not so much that he doesn't notice the sleep coating it. Despite his stupor, he can't help but apologise.

"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"

"Who is this?" You're sharper now, coming to, and he kicks himself for fucking this up already.

"Oh, shit, uh, sorry. I called about… I got this number, uh, in the paper."

"Fuck," he hears you whisper. He's not sure if he was supposed to hear it. He feels bad.

"Sorry, I'll go, this was-"

"Look, I put that age range in the ad for a reason. I'm sick of gettin' calls from middle aged men, I-"

"I'm twenty-three."

You're silent on the other end for a moment, but he can hear your breath hitch.

"Well, shit," you finally say. "Y'don't sound it."

He laughs an awkward, stilted laugh, unsure what to say.

"Sorry, I've had so many guys – men, old men – callin' me up, tryin' to flirt with me down the phone, I just… The ad was a mistake, clearly."

He likes the way you talk. You've got a pretty voice.

"Uh, thanks," you say.

Shit.

"Fuck, sorry, did I say that out loud?" Moron.

You laugh, the sound fizzing down the telephone line, and it eases some of his insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he says, starting fresh. "I'll leave you be, have a good-"

"Wait," you bite, and he can hear you shuffling around. "Wait just a sec, I- fuck, where the fuck is it? I… Sorry, can you just wait for a second?"

"Sure, sure," he murmurs, trailing off when he realises you've set the phone down. He listens to the faint sounds of you rummaging around and swearing under your breath. He must look like an idiot, stood in his kitchen, smiling at his phone, waiting for a stranger he found in the paper.

He hears you coming back, footsteps getting louder, before you pick the phone back up.

"Y'still there?"

"Yeah," he laughs. You speak to him like he's an old friend and it keeps catching him off guard.

"Okay," you say. "Here's the thing. I put that stupid ad in the paper because I was sad, and my life has been a misery since then, because literally every guy who's called me has been, like, at least forty, which some people are into I guess but I'm not, and- Sorry."

You're rambling, stumbling over your words even though he can tell you're trying to be professional or something. He stays quiet and hopes you'll keep going.

After a beat, you say, "I guess, 'cause you called, you'd be up for it?"

"Uh, well," he stammers. "That's kinda why I called. Care to explain what it is you want, exactly?"

He's not sure where the sudden confidence has come from; maybe the weed's wearing off.

"Okay, yeah," you breathe. "So, uh, my plan, I guess, was that I'd… You'd take, uh, my virginity."

You almost whisper the last part, like it's some kind of slur, and Eddie can't help but laugh on the other end.

You start to sound exasperated, frustrated, so he tries to claw you back.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just so… frank."

"Well, bein' all coy about it hasn't really worked out for me so far."

Can't argue with that logic.

"Okay," he says, trying to ignore the excitement bubbling inside him. You're a stranger, he's a stranger, and this whole thing is kind of weird. Shit, he thinks. Am I a perv?

"How do you want to do this?"

"Well," you start, sounding like you've got this part planned out. "First I need to know you're not gonna murder me or something, so I'll give you an address near my house but not at my house, and we can meet there whenever… and, uh, what year were you born?"

"What?"

"Just… So I feel a bit more sure you're actually twenty-three."

"Hah, okay. 1965."

"Okay, sweet. You got a pen?"

"Shit, yeah, one sec."

His eyes dart around the room. With the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he moves as far as the cord will let him, to a drawer by the front door. At the back there's an old pencil and some scraps of junk mail.

"Got it!" he declares, too enthusiastic but it makes you giggle so he laughs too.

"Okay," you start, and you tell him an address he vaguely recognises, closer to the nicer side of town, halfway between here and where Steve's house is.

"It's a park, kind of. It's pretty public anyways, so if you were, y'know, planning to kill me or whatever, don't bother."

"I'll take that off the to-do list," he tells you through a smirk.

"Very funny," you say, your sentence half-formed like you can't find the words to finish it. "Wait, what's your name?"

"Eddie. Munson."

"Okay, Eddie Munson," you say before telling him yours and deciding that you'll meet him later that day. You tell him it's easier that way, that you can't bear to have to wait all week, sitting on the nerves that might make you change your mind.

That's exactly what Eddie does all afternoon. You'd decided on six that evening, when it's still light but late enough that you both have time to back out, and so he sits, stoned out of his mind on both weed and the phone call, feeling something he's rarely felt before.

It's like cola in his gut, bubbling and frothing every time he tries to move. Is this what people feel when they say they have butterflies? Because it doesn't really feel like that; it feels instead like the madness inside him is floating upwards, fizzing around his heart, prodding and poking at it at uneven rhythms. His mind is reeling, too; he hadn't really thought this through at all. What if, even after that call, you're still planning on playing some kind of trick on him? What if this is an elaborate scheme to publicly humiliate him? Maybe you get a kick out of that kind of thing.

There's another thing, creeping around at the back of his mind, lurking. It's that horrid hopefulness, the what if that feels so far from likely that if he lends too much time to thinking about it, he feels stupid.

What if you're great?

He shakes himself out, standing up off his bed. He'd been lying there for the past two hours, sobering up, dwelling on every detail of the call, lingering in particular on your voice and your laugh and the way you say sweet so often.

He doesn't know who you are. He didn't recognise your name when you told him, even though you're his age. He didn't recognise your voice either, but he likes it, and he wasn't lying when he (accidentally) told you it's pretty.

He looks at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers flicker as they change to 16:52.

One hour.

-

He's early.

It's ten to six, and he's early.

The sun's low but not gone yet, and the park you sent him to is actually kind of nice. He's in his van, waiting until it's a socially acceptable time to get out and wait for you. What is the socially acceptable time to get out and wait for the girl you've got an agreement like this with?

Before he can decide, he sees someone. They're in jeans and a jacket, red Chucks and hair lifting up in the breeze.

Without thinking about it too hard, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it a little too hard. The person looks over, catches his mop of hair over the top of the van, and stops walking.

"Eddie?"

He hears you call his name over the sound of his boots crunching on the ground as he rounds the front of the van. He looks over to find you, the person he saw walking over, looking at him with your hand at your brow, blocking the sun.

You're pretty – really pretty. He still doesn't recognise you, but he has decided that's surely for the best.

You don't recognise him, either, but he's hot. He's not what you expected; truthfully, you really had expected someone older, lying about their age to get in your pants, someone you'd have to turn down in this very public space, going back to your apartment alone and unsatisfied. This is not what you had in mind at all, but you're not mad about it.

As he comes towards you, you watch the way he walks, chest-first like he's exactly where he should be. His hair's long and a bit wild but it matches his style – ringer tee, messy black jeans, obnoxious denim jacket. He's got his hands in his pockets but when he lifts one out to wave at you awkwardly, you see the rings and know you're a goner.

You wave back, laughing lightly as he nears you. He's taller than you so you really have to squint to see him against the setting sun.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice is even nicer in person; he does sound older than he is, and he has an air of maturity about him, like he's too sure in himself to be 23, but there's also a boyishness somewhere underneath that endears you.

"Hi," you reply. "You're Eddie, right?"

He looks around himself, head whipping back and forth.

"No, doll," he says, looking at you with a blank face. "I'm Keith."

"Oh," you say, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks and the way your face drops, but then he laughs and reaches out to hold your shoulder.

"Sorry, that was a bad joke." He squeezes. "Yeah, I'm Eddie."

You choose to ignore the overly familiar touch and the way it sends your knees all funny, and instead you laugh, a little awkwardly, and hold out a hand.

"Nice to meet ya," you say, firm.

He looks down at your hand as he drops his own from your shoulder. His eyes move between it and your face, but he shakes it anyway.

"Well?" he asks, and you watch as he smirks, staring you down, his hand still in yours.

"What?"

"Do I look like a serial killer? Scared I'm gonna murder you?"

With those final words he pulls on your hand, bringing you closer to himself. His confidence is only making that funny feeling in your knees worse, but what you don't know is that he's bluffing; before you stands a terrified boy struck dumb by a pretty girl.

"Hm," you hum, dialling up the dramatics to ponder his appearance. You take the chance to scan your eyes up and down his body, taking in the scuffs on his shoes and the pretty silver chain around his neck. From here you can smell weed and cigarette smoke, pretty aftershave and something deeper. "I don't think so."

"Damn," he quips, finally releasing your hand to run his own through his wild mass of hair. "I was really tryin' to look scary."

"You didn't do a very good job," you tell him, laughing softly, and he looks at you with a smile.

"Oh well," he says. "Maybe next time."

Ignoring the way that makes you feel, you take his hand again. It's your turn to pull him, dragging him behind you. The move startles him and he drags his feet for a moment before catching up, refusing to let go of your hand when you try. He swings them between your bodies theatrically as you walk him across the park, through a line of tall oak trees and onto the street on the other side.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "We goin' to your parents' or somethin'?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head slightly with your eyes on the ground. You drop his hand and stuff yours back in your pocket. "I have an apartment, up by Main Street. This's just a shortcut."

"Oh."

You don't say much more after that. The walk is short; you were right, this is a shortcut to Main Street, one even he didn’t know about. It takes you past Steve's house, and Eddie prays he doesn't happen to be looking out the window at this precise moment.

You live above the pharmacy. You scramble with the lock for a moment, so he stands behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around; it's quiet, the usual lull of a Sunday evening, the sun lower than before. He looks at the back of your hair and the way the light catches in it, hears the low curses under your breath as you struggle with the door. And then it's open, and you're inside in the dark, and he has to bring himself back down to Earth.

Your apartment is small. Behind the door there's a narrow staircase, and at the top another door. It brings him into your living space, which is cramped but clearly well-loved. You offer him a drink and step into the kitchen when he says yes.

He lets his eyes pass over the room. The ceiling is low, reminiscent of his own home, though the walls are more solid than the trailer. They're painted a muted, pale blue, a colour he's sure you didn't choose because you've covered as much of them as you can in things: paintings, framed photographs, postcards. The furniture is more to your taste, he assumes. It's all soft, rich greens and pinks.

You bring him a beer as he sits on the couch, sinks into the cushions, toes off his boots.

"Thanks," he says as you pass him the bottle and take a swig of your own. You take your own shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging your jacket on a hook there too.

"So," you begin, padding back over to him and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know how this works."

"Well," he says, turning to you with one arm up on the back cushions, "I can talk you through it, but I need t'know where you're at."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, how far have you gone before? How far do you want to go today?"

"Uh-" You shuffle, squirming into the couch, clearly looking for the right words. "I've never… This is as far as I've ever got."

He breathes a gasp though he's trying to hide it, trying to stick to the agreement of judgement-free. "You've never been kissed?"

You just shake your head and the way your face creases, brows turned down, makes him ache.

"Okay."

"And I want to go all the way," you say quickly, all in one breath, finding your words. "Not too far, no extra shit, like, kinky shit, but the standard."

"O-kay," he says again, smiling this time. "So you know it's not as easy as… As in and out, right?"

"Yes," you spit. He flinches. "Sorry, it's just… It's hard not to feel a bit, like, insecure about all of this. Makes me a bit defensive, I guess."

"It's okay," he soothes, and his tone really does make you feel better. "No judgement here. I'm not new to sex, but I'm just as new to this whole… situation as you are."

"Okay," you sigh.

"Why don't we just chat for a bit? I'm not in a rush if you're not."

"Yeah," you agree. Eddie is easy, you're finding; no dancing around the point, but you feel you're being handled gently. Exactly what you want.

"So did you grow up here?"

Okay, so maybe the 'chatting' suggestion was a bit of a façade for the fact that Eddie has found himself fascinated by you, even in the short time he's known you. Sure, it's only been ten minutes if you're not counting the phone call, but there's something about you that piques his interest. And, if he's honest, he's not sure why he wouldn't recognise someone his own age in Hawkins.

"No, no," you say, leaning over to put your beer on the table. You wipe your mouth quickly with the back of your hand. "I'm from Illinois."

"Why are you here then?" He takes your que and puts his own beer down too, deciding that being intoxicated probably isn't the best idea.

"I dunno," you say, sighing again. Your shoulders go lax as you let yourself sink backwards and look up at the ceiling. "I wanted to go somewhere new, but not somewhere big. And the middle school here was hiring a tech assistant, so I applied."

"And you got the job?"

"Uh-huh. I start in September, figured I'd just move here early, try to find my feet."

"How's that going?"

"Alright, mister questions." You laugh as you say this and sit up, looking at him again with a smile. "It's going okay so far. People are friendlier here, but I haven't exactly found my people yet."

He hums, nodding, and you say, "My turn."

He looks up at you. "Do your worst."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Kind of. Somewhere near here, til I was eleven."

"Why'd you move here?"

"Hah." He goes all rigid and awkward at your question, shrugging his jacket off with his eyes on the ground. You take note of the ink you can see crawling up to his neck under the collar of his shirt. There's something else there, too; something pale and stretched, like a scar.

"It's complicated." That's the answer he settles on, keeping his cards close to his chest. "But I moved in with my uncle when I was in middle school. Been here since then."

"Is that why you're still here? Your uncle?"

"Kind of, but that's also complicated."

"Wow, okay, is everything complicated with you?"

"It doesn't have to be," he says. It throws you for a loop, the way his voice has dropped, fried and kind of… sexy?

You find him looking at you, and suddenly he feels really close. You feel this urge to climb out of yourself, away from this situation that isn't for you; it's never for you. No one has ever wanted to get this close.

"You okay?" he asks, his friendly tone back.

You're grateful he seems to be able to read you so quickly.

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's okay. If you want to, y'know, stop this at any point, just let me know, okay?"

"We haven't even-"

"Will you?" he presses.

"Yes," you promise him. He looks back at you like he's waiting, yearning for something and you don't quite know what.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Mm-hmm."

"Why are you so far away right now?"

He's gone soft, leaning forward toward you, his arm still up on the back of the couch. Your eyes flicker to his fingers and the rings on them, the way they're sparkling slightly in the dipping sun coming through the window.

It fills your mouth with glue. The combination of his proximity and the question leaves you breathless.

"I just…" he continues. "You're hiding from me over there."

He's got a sticky smirk on his face, like he knows the answer and knows you don't want to tell him. He shuffles forward ever so slightly, letting you breach into his space if you want to.

You do, you really, really do – he's a kind stranger, doing a kind thing for you, even if it is a bit odd. You want nothing more than to relinquish yourself to him, and yet you can't.

There's a momentary staring contest between the two of you. The couch feels miles long and yet he's closing in. You feel suffocated.

"I'm gonna come to you," he says after a minute. "Is that okay?"

All you can do is nod at him. It's like your body's on fire, affronted at the idea of being touched by him and yet harbouring some primal urge, deep under the surface, to let him do it anyway.

He pushes his jacket onto the floor with his elbow as he moves himself down the couch toward you. Your eyes follow his arms and the way they stretch, and then the way one of them lifts. He plants his hand firmly on your knee and it burns through the denim of your jeans. You can't tear your eyes from it, staring blankly at his fingers, the way the tendons flex when he squeezes.

"We don't have to do anythin' you don't wanna do, okay?" he tells you. He's watching you, how you're watching his hand, how your hair still lights up in the sun. You're sweet, and pretty, and most of all he longs to know more.

"I'm gonna talk you through it," he continues, "kinda like a teacher, if that's what you want."

When you don't reply, he calls your name softly, and says, "Is that what you want?"

You look up at him and nod again.

"I need to hear it, sweets."

You tell him yes, that is what I want, trying desperately to keep your voice as level as possible, not letting on that it kills you every time he uses a petname like that.

His fingers dance up your thigh and back down to your knee, a repeating pattern that sends you dizzier the closer he gets to you.

"Eddie?"

His hand stills and he looks at you.

"Yeah?"

When he responds, you feel his breath on your face. He's close enough, now; you can really look at him, at the crow's feet by his eyes, the freckles across his cheek, the bend in the bridge of his nose that looks like maybe he broke it once. His eyes are really pretty, browned sugar and syrup, flitting around as he tries to read you.

"I've never been this close to anyone before."

He's watching your eyes as they move over his face, admiring the slight sense of awe in them.

"That's okay."

There's a sudden absence on your leg where his hand leaves it and it aches, like the bone is realigning. You swallow a whine and close your eyes when his hand finds your cheek.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers. "That okay?"

You nod again and he lets the pads of his fingers smooth backwards into your hair where they take root, his thumb beside your eye. You feel him pull you in and his breath on your nose and then the strange sensation of his lips.

It's new but not unwelcome. He's soft with it, light as anything and quicker even, gone before you really know it's happened. Some kind of sudden urge takes over, though, because you don't like how quick it was, so you chase him. You plant your lips back on his, firmer than he had, your nose nudging his as you get the angle right. This one's longer and it startles him; you have to pull back when he starts laughing.

"Alright, alright, slow down," he says as you sit back, deflated. "You liked that, huh?"

You nod, giddy, desperate to feel it again.

"Can I show you somethin'?" His hand is on your neck now, burning its fires once more, and you can barely concentrate on him.

"Yeah," you breathe, a sigh of relief as he comes closer again. But as you close your eyes, expecting his mouth on yours, you can't help the whine that escapes when he misses, landing beside it. You feel him chuckle, a puff of air out of his nose, before he dots more kisses along your jaw. It feels nice, gentle and slow, like he's scared to break you if he goes too fast or comes on too strong.

The whine, lingering in your throat, moulds into something like a sigh – or even a moan – when he makes it onto the column of your throat. You swear you feel his teeth graze the skin there, lips following them over your pulse. His kisses turn hotter, heavier, and you can't help the way you keen into him. Without thinking about it, you paw at his shoulders and let your back arch as you breathe thick pants into the air of your living room.

When he pulls back again, you whine his name, gripping tighter where you've pulled his shirt into your fists. He laughs at you, head tipped back, as he smooths his hands up and down your arms; the gentle touch makes you relax and your hands unfurl.

"Good, huh?" His words are viscous, thick with want, but he daren't go too fast.

"Mm-hmm," you agree, nodding, breathing quick. Now that he's stopped, you have time to consider that, actually, you might be a bit overwhelmed; without thinking about it you sit back, returning to your comfortable distance by the arm of the couch, watching as his face falls.

"Sure you're okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I just-"

"Yeah, take a second."

"Mm-hmm, just need a minute."

You watch him stiffen, awkward in the wake of the moment, and take the chance to admire him a bit more until you sense his eyes are back on you, and suddenly you feel very small.

"You alright?"

You nod, looking back at him, finding his face all soft and concerned, turned down so it makes you twinge.

"You're being so nice to me," you say. It comes out more as a breath, a string of words tied together with insecurity, all in the same exhale. You're not even sure you said it at all, but his face twists into something like shock.

"What do you mean?"

You sigh. "I dunno, I… You're just being very… kind. Are you always like this?"

He seems taken aback by the question. His hands are in his lap where his left fingers toy with the rings on his right. He looks away from you to stare instead at the beer on the table and the drop of condensation running a race down the neck of the bottle.

"You've really never done this before, huh?" he asks you, and now it's your turn to be taken aback.

"I'm not lying, if that's what you're getting at," you say with perhaps a bit too much venom.

"No," he responds, stern. "I'm just… Finding it hard to believe. I'm sure it's true," he says quickly when you open your mouth to fire something quick at him again, "like, I know you're not lying, but it's so surprising."

"How so?"

He sighs this time. He twists in his seat to face you, bringing one leg up under himself, the other dangling off the edge of your couch. "I'm gonna be honest with you right now, if that's okay."

"Okay."

"'Cause I feel like that's the best way to do this whole… thing, right? Nothin' in it for you, really, if we're not honest, or whatever…"

For the first time since you met him in the park, he's showing his nerves. It gets him all wound up, stumbling through sentences like the words are quicker than he can keep up with. It's endearing, really; nicer in some ways than confidence.

"When I saw that ad it obviously caught my eye, I mean, I called, but I just didn't know what to expect, obviously, and you're… Well, you're… normal? So far, anyway." He huffs the last three words out in a laugh, but you don't return it.

"What does that mean?"

"I just think I expected someone who puts an ad like that in the paper to be weirder, or something."

Your gut twists. Red flares of anger lick up your insides, popping and wheezing in your throat.

"What the fuck, dude?" 

You stand, backing away, feeling that familiar creeping isolation; distance, walls up, get away. His face has dropped to something wider, fear in his big stupid brown eyes and mouth agape.

"I didn't-"

"I'm not weird for being a virgin. And just because you think I'm 'normal' doesn't mean this-" you gesture between the two of you with both hands, "-should be surprising."

"No, shit, sorry," he pants, desperation oozing, "fuck."

"I think you should go," you finally say. Your arms are across your middle, hands gripping your forearms. You don't dare look at him, even when he says nothing.

You flinch when you feel him come nearer. He steps over the threadbare rug on your floor and over to the corner where you've parked yourself.

He calls your name and you despise the way you soften at the sound of it.

"I'm gonna touch you, 's'that okay?"

You scoff, turning away from him.

"Stop fucking patronising me, Eddie."

"I'm not patronising you. You wanted me to talk you through it."

"Yeah, that. Not this."

"This is part of that."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Well this isn't getting me very turned on," you spit, turning back to look at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and the rising fire of anger flares when you find that cocky smirk on his face.

"Will you come sit down with me? Please?"

His hands are hovering awkwardly between the two of you, forbidden to come any closer but refusing to give up completely. You offer him an olive branch, dropping your own arms and taking his hand in yours.

He walks you back to the couch and sits beside you, turning your hand over in his on his lap. You both watch it, the way his thumb grazes your palm, tracing the lines up and over.

"Sex isn't just sex, you know," he says frankly. "Even when it's like this."

"I know," you whisper, eyes transfixed.

"It's about all the emotional shit too, and I'm gettin' the feeling there's a lot of that to get through."

"Mm-hmm." It irks you, the way he seems to know you without really knowing you. "You sound very wise."

He laughs at that, and you find yourself grateful for the reprieve, for the way the tension seems to lift just a little.

"I'm just being honest," he admits through a laugh. And then he turns to look at you, dipping his head to meet your gaze because you won't look up. His gaze on you is oppressive, unfamiliar, but you don't dislike it.

"You're really pretty, you know."

You just look at him.

"Hm?" he tries, dipping even lower to catch your eye properly. "It's true."

"A boy's never called me pretty before," you admit, words too quick for you to call them back. This is dire, this hole you're digging; after all this time, being honest is still so difficult, though it seems to come so easily to him.

"That's a crime" he says. And then he does that thing, the one you've read about in books, daydreamed about, thought about late into the night. He brings his hand to your face and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a light pressure but enough to move you to look up at him, sat upright, with your mouth dropped open in shock.

It's just as electric as you'd imagined; more so, even. Two points of contact. Who'd have thought it?

"I'm sorry I said something stupid," he tells you. "It was dumb."

You giggle as his fingers shift across your skin. Soon enough he's holding you in his hand again and you feel yourself leaning into it, again.

"Thank you for apologising," you say. "I think I can forgive it for now."

"Good," he says. And then, more coy, the act dropped for a moment, "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, but…"

Just like before, the words stall in your throat.

"You can tell me what you want, you know. It's why I'm here." Christ, his voice is like honey when he's this close to your face.

You pull a long breath in through your nose and close your eyes.

"I have this… fantasy," you begin, and you hear (and feel) him chuckle.

"Go on."

"I guess it's not really a fantasy, just something I've always wanted to try…"

"That's the definition of a fantasy."

"Hey," you scold, opening your eyes and swatting him on the arm softly. "You wanna hear it or not?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing again. "Continue."

"Can I sit on your lap?"

"Is that it?" he asks, laugh lingering, threatening to fire up the heat in your cheeks.

"Yes," you say pointedly. "I wanna try it."

"Go for it, baby."

He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the nickname; in fact, he smiles, grins almost. He moves his hands down, leaving your face for now so he can hold your waist as you move onto your knees and lift one over him.

It's funny, you think, how hard all of this feels; really, this is a very normal thing for two 23-year-olds to be doing, and yet something within you makes it feel mechanical, intentional. Perhaps you just need practise.

"Okay," he says as you settle, your hips halfway down his thighs. "You gonna get any closer, or am I gonna have to lean over an' break my back?"

"Am I okay to get closer?" you ask, not taking much notice of how your fingers are dancing around his chest, toying lightly with the chain around his neck. Maybe it does come naturally after all.

"'Course you are, here-"

His big hands pull you in by the waist so that you're seated on him, hips to hips. Your faces are closer now, too, so you can admire those lovely crows feet again and the bend of his nose.

"Gonna kiss me, Munson?"

"O-kay," he says, smirking again. "I like the attitude."

"Oh, for fu-"

He shuts you up with a kiss, takes your breath away like they all say in the magazines; this kiss brings the fire up to the hilt, pulls on the smoke and the kindling and sets everything ablaze. His lips move against yours like molten gold, hot and rich and bright, quick but tender all the same. You feel the heat of his stuttering breaths on your cheek and lean inwards, arching your back slightly, until you feel him moan.

It's a sensation you could get used to, for sure. It's fizzy vibrations on your lips, makes them tingle, all electric. And then, before you can really know it's happening, you feel his tongue on yours.

You're not even sure when you opened your mouth for him. But it's there, the new feeling. It feels wetter, less familiar, but it pulls an involuntary moan out of you and you arch your back even more without thinking.

You get into it, into the rhythm, and let your mind wander to the friction between your hips and the pressure of his fingers under your ribs. They're skirting the hem of your top, his ring finger dipping beneath it onto the skin of your waist. And then you think about it too much, take notice of it too acutely, and you're pulling back and panting, looking down at where his hands are.

"All good?" he asks in a voice that's new to you; it's lazy, his words fuzzy, like he's just woken up. You look up at him and his eyes are hooded, lids low, and he's wearing a dopey half-smile.

"Yeah, just… Feeling lots of things," you say; it's all you can think of to explain this.

"That's kinda the point," he reminds you, and then he's doing that thing he showed you earlier, kissing slowly across your jaw and down onto your neck. It feels just as nice the second time; nicer, even, because you're letting him do it and you're letting yourself enjoy it.

His fingers venture upwards, more of them sliding under your top, until he pulls back and says the fateful words you knew would come soon: "Can I take this off?"

His lips are still on your throat, so he doesn't see the way you wince. When you don't reply he comes back up to look at you. You turn away.

"Hey," he coos, one hand leaving its treacherous territory to hold your head again. "What's up?"

You huff. "No one's ever seen me… naked before."

He smiles, which vexes you. "I'm here 'cause I wanna, baby."

The fucking nicknames.

"I know, I just… Can you just-"

You hold his hand in yours and move it away from your skin, hold it in both of yours to keep it away from you. He breathes an apology but you continue.

"This whole thing, me never doing this before or whatever, I think it's probably got a lot to do with me not really liking this-" you look down at yourself as you speak, "-very much."

You see him take this in, how it melts his features and widens his eyes.

"Okay," he finally says. "We can take this slow, yeah? You wearing a bra?"

"Yes, Eddie, I'm wearing a bra."

"So let's start there. Top off first, and you can see how you feel."

"Okay."

You let go of his hand and he takes your shirt in both. You close your eyes as you feel him lift the fabric, bunch it around your breasts, your que to lift your arms. You do it for him and he pulls up, tugs it messily over your head and throws it somewhere across the room.

"Shit," he hisses.

"What?" you say in a panic, worried something somewhere has gone horribly wrong.

"Look at you," he croons. "So pretty."

The insecurity evaporates, coming off you like a heavy mist, as he dips his head to kiss your collar bones and across the swell of flesh beneath. He takes his time, sometimes pulling the skin between his teeth but never for long enough to leave a mark. At some point he nudges you back and reaches over his head to pull his own shirt off; before he commits, he looks at you. You nod.

This is the most flesh-on-flesh you've ever felt before. It's nice; you're both warm, and he hasn't once mentioned the eighteen thousand different flaws you know are on your upper body.

His is covered in ink – pretty, often in swirling patterns and on his arm there are bats. But between them, there's confirmation of your earlier suspicions: he's got scars everywhere.

You trace them with gentle fingers.

"Don't ask," he says, laughing awkwardly.

"Okay."

You lean back in to kiss him. You’re a lot less confident than he is at initiating, but soon enough you get the hang of it, and he lets you. He doesn't take the reins; instead, he gives himself to you, lets you find your feet by yourself.

You attempt to copy him, kissing his jaw and then his neck, and you enjoy the way he sighs and relaxes under your lips.

As you move further down, teeth grazing his collarbone, he says, "you wanna move? Couch isn't exactly ideal."

You finish your work with a peck to the bump of his shoulder and say, "Sure."

There's some awkward shuffling, and standing in your bra and jeans is somehow more vulnerable than sitting on him, but nevertheless you take his hand and lead him through the door to your bedroom.

He doesn't have as much time to take this room in as the last one, because he wants you on the bed more than he cares to admit. When you flick on the bedside lamp, finally acknowledging how dark it's become now the sun's started going down, all he really notices is how warm the room is.

"Here," he says, manoeuvring you as he pleases. "Lay back, yeah?"

You do as he says, sitting facing him and pushing yourself back so you can lay down with your knees up. 

And then it happens: one of the many cataclysmic revelations of the evening.

"Good girl."

Again, you gasp, looking up at the ceiling.

"Good?" he asks.

"Really good," you tell him. You haven't really noticed that your hands have laid themselves across your chest, but he can't stop staring.

"That's it, see? Love when you tell me what you like."

One of his hands joins one of yours where it's fidgeting with your bra, and the other smooths down one of your legs, urging you to straighten them. You do, and again he says those fateful words: "Good girl. Gonna take these off, yeah?"

"Wait," you snap, sitting up and letting his hand fall so you can lean back with your weight on yours. "Can we do it together?"

"'Course."

"And can I… Can I undo yours?"

"Shit, sure you can."

You sit up and he takes your hands in his bigger ones, moulding them so you're tracing your fingers down the plain of his chest and stomach. You follow the dips and creases, the taught skin of his scars, and finally reach his belt.

He's mumbling nonsense at you, too caught up in everything to keep up the teacher façade, pinching your fingers between his so you can pull the leather through the buckle and get to his zipper.

When you unzip and brush something hard, he drops his hands and tips his head back in a sigh. It's an unfamiliar feeling under your tentative hands but it's not unknown.

"Wow," you breathe, not really meaning to say it out loud.

"Shit, gotta get these off-" He pulls back from your wanting grasp to shuffle out of his jeans, leaving his boxers in place for now. One step at a time.

"Your turn," he declares, smiling, jeans and socks gone. He reaches over to you again to return the favour, undoing buttons and the zip and his wide hand on your hip urges you to lift off the bed so he can pull the denim down your legs.

There's no turning back now; you can never again wonder what will happen the first time someone sees you (nearly) naked.

You've thought about this before, turned an infinity of possibilities over in your mind, but this was never one of them. Not one of them included a pretty boy, standing before you, just as exposed as you are, pawing at flesh and telling you you're beautiful.

His lips ghost over you, beginning at your shoulder and creeping lower. When he reaches the middle of your chest he looks up at you, the angle a little awkward. You nod.

"What're you doing?" you ask him, moving backwards again as he crowds you.

"I'm gonna take this off," he says, tugging lightly at the band of your bra, bringing himself level with you so he's breathing the words into your ear. "And then I'm gonna eat you out."

He may as well be a fire-breathing dragon. His words claw at your scalp like flames and fill your lungs with heat, pulling a sigh from within. You lean back, lying flat on the sheets, and let him have his way with you.

But he doesn't move, first admiring the way you respond and then waiting, lingering above you, too far away.

"What?" you hiccup, looking at him, confused.

"Need you to tell me this is what you want," he tells you.

"This is what I want," you repeat back to him. And then, taking the plunge, you add, "I want you to eat me out, Eddie."

You relish in his response, the way you can almost see him shiver, bare shoulders twitching and chest deflating with a shuddery exhale.

"Christ, yes, okay."

His fingers inch around your back so you arch it, letting him toy with the clasp of your bra. He gets it undone quicker than you expected, and you can't bring yourself to focus on where it goes once it's off because he's got his mouth back on your skin and now he's biting marks in places that would make your past self blush.

You feel his teeth on the swell of your boobs, first the left and then the right, and the rough pads of his fingers over your nipples.

"Shit," you hiss, and then, "no, shit, don't stop," when he halts for a second.

"Feel good?" he asks, muffled with his teeth grazing the stretch of skin across your ribs.

"Yes, yeah."

Gripping the sheets, you arch again, keening into him, chasing the buzz of his lips and the goosebumps they leave.

His fingers leave them, too, especially when they dance over your sides, that bit that makes you feel hollow if you drift over it the right way.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, lifting his head to look up at you from where he's sunk to his knees. You're staring at the ceiling, too preoccupied to meet his eye, and the sight makes him huff a laugh.

"Yes," you respond too quickly.

As you feel his fingers curl around the elastic, he says, "Okay, you're gonna have to give me a hand, alright? Tell me if it feels okay or if you want me to move. Or if you want me to stop, obviously."

"Yes, yeah, fuck, please Eddie-"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling the material down over your knees and feet. At this rate, your bedroom floor must look like an explosion at the laundromat; dirty laundry everywhere, clothes all over the floor.

You're not sure why you're thinking about the logistics of tidying right now, though it doesn't last long, because the cool air on your core is a shock that jolts every limb.

Although he's wedged between them, you seem to have an instinctual reaction to the sensation of being exposed, your legs trying to close around him. His firm hands pull them apart, his fingers grasping the fat of your thighs, and then his lips.

They're on the softness between your legs first of all, nipping and pulling the skin between his teeth as he moves upwards. And then you feel them, the strange, wet contact. There's a feeling, something you think must be his tongue, licking upwards, before it makes contact with your clit.

The pressure is a thunderbolt to the centre, a shock that sends you arching off the bed with a gasp. Your grasp on the sheets tightens for a moment until you feel the roughness of his hair instead; without thinking, you've moved both hands to claw and pet at the crown of his head, earning a muffled moan when you tug ever so lightly.

He calls your name, pulling back, his words heard through cotton wool ears. "You're sure you haven't done this before?"

"Fuck, yes, Eddie I'm sure," you pant in response, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on you again. He obliges your unspoken craving, licking upwards again before settling comfortably at your clit. His firm hands dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs until one of them doesn’t, and before you can think too hard about it, you feel it just beneath his mouth.

The new feeling of his rough fingers on your cunt sends your eyes rolling back; you can't help but squirm and it's driving him wild, the way you're listening to him, the way you can't help but move, the way you're tugging at him without realising.

The gnawing tightness in your core nosedives when he slips, warm breaths replacing his mouth and fingers. You whine like a petulant child, making a noise you didn't know you could.

"I'm gonna use my fingers," he tells you, the distance between him and your cunt not enough to save you from the maddening huffs of breath as he talks. "Have you ever had anything inside before?"

It's funny, how nervous he sounds despite the fact he's knelt the way he is between your knees. His mouth was just all over you, and yet he's still a boy, turned stuttering by sex talk.

"No," you pant, "no, never."

"Okay, it might hurt, alright? You just gotta tell me to stop and I will."

"Okay," you agree.

He settles back into position, his weight rested on his elbows and his face and hand inching closer. You feel it, the stiffness of a finger, but the feeling is unusual and a little uncomfortable.

"You gotta relax," he tells you. "You overthinkin' it?"

"No," you bite defensively.

"It's okay."

You huff and lie back, dropping your shoulders.

"Do you ever…"

Another sigh.

"Do you ever touch yourself?"

There's a momentary flush of embarrassment, a conditioned response to being asked about this kind of thing, but you're here, in this position, naked, so you may as well be honest.

"Yes."

"Okay, what do you think about? When you do?"

"I, uh…"

"It's okay," he says quickly, "don't tell me. Just- just think about it now, right? Somethin' that turns you on."

Something that turns you on? What's turning you on right now is the handsome guy between your legs. His pretty inked skin, the stretch across his shoulders and the ripples in his back. His wide, firm hands, those obnoxious rings, the way he keeps telling you you're a good girl.

It swims in your mind, the vision of him cooing sweet praises, the fizzling memory of those words in his voice.

"That's it, you got it," you hear him tut, as though he can see inside your mind, read your thoughts. It pulls apart the tension in your core and across your shoulders, and then it's back, that feeling, the warmth and the fire, and you sink deeper into the pool of euphoria.

With one finger already half-way inside, he adds a second, his eyes trained on your face in case it's too much. But it's not; of course it's not. He knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's made a girl this happy in his whole life.

You feel it soon enough: there's a fizzing current that licks up from your cunt and into your gut where it lights your nervous system on fire. It runs laps around your body, pinpricks in your fingertips and behind your ears. You grasp at the sheets again, pulling, pulling, pulling, reaching for whatever you can to keep your body from floating away, because it really feels like that's about to happen; either that or you're going to implode, pulling the room and everything else with you like a black hole, hungry for more.

You barely notice the pants, your whiny moans and the repeated prayers of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, before you're coming apart. He's still going, riding you through it, basking in the sound of his name as it crawls from your mouth. So far he's kept his composure, ignored the searing pain under his boxers, but he doesn't think he'll hold out much longer.

"That's it," he coos, slowing down, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. You're panting, your breath hot and skin even hotter, and you can barely hear him when he speaks. The words carry, though, somehow; his praises of you did so good, and you're driving me wild, and, worst of all with the way it slaps you silly when it comes, I need to be inside you.

You sit up at that, holding yourself up on wobbling elbows to look at him. He's still knelt between your knees, hands resting on them, looking back at you with eyes turned dark and glistening skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it takes you a minute to understand that he's waiting for your answer.

"Right," you breathe. "Yeah, okay." You scramble to sit up and twist yourself so you're lying the right way but he laughs and it makes you go cold.

"Chill out, take a minute, yeah?"

His hand hasn't left you; it's on your ankle now, rubbing those same circles over the bone.

All you can say is, "That was insane."

He laughs again, a softer noise this time, and says, "It was, huh?"

"Yeah." You flop back, head in the pillows and eyes on the ceiling above you, your own fingers tracing up and down your stomach.

He watches you from the floor. You're all flushed, glowing something rosy and sprinkled with dewy sweat. And then he watches your fingers, their absentminded journey up from your belly to the dip between your boobs, and back down. You repeat it over and over, and though it's an innocent, repetitive stroke, it's not helping the pressure between his legs.

"I'm gonna take these off," he tells you, giving your ankle a comforting squeeze and tugging his waistband with his free hand. "That okay?"

It dawns on you, as you look at him, that not only are you lying naked in front of a stranger, but that you are about to see that stranger's dick. A stranger who responded to your stupid ad in the paper, who's agreed to this for some stupid reason, and who is stupid handsome and stupid nice.

"Uh, yeah, okay."

He says your name again and it sounds so pretty when he does, and then he says, "We can stop if you want, you know. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."

"No, I want to," you say. "I just… This is a lot."

"Yeah," he says with a smile, that one that drips with charm and tugs at your gut. "But you're all good. Done so well so far."

Your body keens at the praise, your back lifting off the bed and it's then that you notice the feeling of want biting ugly marks into the pit of your stomach. You look at him, and he looks back at you, and all you can feel is a gnawing emptiness, a need to be full.

"Let's do this," you declare, sitting back up on your elbows and watching him with needy eyes. He sees it, the darkness that has settled in your irises, the itchy fidgeting of your hands on your sheets.

"Yes, ma'am."

Slowly, he stands and tugs his underwear down his legs and onto the floor. It all feels very real, now that he's stood before you like this.

He laughs at your wide eyes, trained on the straining erection he just let loose. You've never seen a dick in person before, and to be truthful you're not sure you've ever really seen one in a photograph or a video – the adult section at the rental store isn't exactly somewhere you often find yourself – so you have nothing to compare this to, but objectively it looks quite big.

"Will it fit?" you say before you can stop yourself. It comes out a squeak and makes him laugh yet again.

"Yes," he tells you, "it'll fit. But thanks for the ego boost."

He's on his knees on the bed beside you now, moving towards you until he can use his hands to move your legs apart. He settles himself between them and sits back on his heels, leaving one hand on your left leg and using the other to take one of yours. He intertwines your fingers, squeezes, and pulls you to sit up.

"Here," he says, bringing your hand to sit flat on his ribs. He's controlling his voice as best he can, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels right now. He can't help but stare at you, at how you're looking at him. 

"I'm gonna show you how to touch me, okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe. His hand moves yours down until it reaches patchy hair and then he curls your hand around his dick, his own hand still holding yours.

It's a new feeling, sure, but you're mostly enjoying the short hisses of breath he's letting out. When you move upwards without his help he almost moans, and you decide you'd like to do whatever it takes to make him do it again, and louder.

"Shit, okay, wait. Here-" He brings your hand away and lays it flat, palm up. "Spit."

You look up at him and find his wide brown eyes looking down at you, waiting.

So you spit into your palm, and he brings it back to himself, and moving is easier now.

"Fuck, okay… Yeah, just like that, that's it, shit-"

He drops his hand from yours and leaves you to find your own way, so you copy his pattern of up and down, slowly, twisting your hand as you go.

"Here, move your thumb over the- Fuck-"

You do as he says, perhaps too eager to please, and watch in awe as the muscles in his abdomen tense and he leans forward, resting his weight on one hand planted right beside your hip.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," he says, taking your wrist and pulling you away, ignoring the way you whine.

When he says, "We can worry about me another time," you try to ignore the brief fluttering it elicits deep within your chest somewhere. Dwelling on things said in the heat of this moment isn't fair, you decide; he surely doesn't mean it.

With warm, now familiar hands, he helps you lay back down.

"You got condoms?"

"Oh." You don't, and the truth you're about to tell him is mortifying. "No. They all expired a few months ago."

"That's fine," is all he says, and the fluttery feeling returns when he doesn't ask any follow up questions. No judgement, as promised. "Just wait here."

His hand leaves you at the last possible moment. As he moves off the bed it runs smooth down your leg and over your foot, like he's scared that if he lets go you'll disappear. You watch him hop awkwardly across the room and into your living room, the sight a refreshing injection of humour, helping you relax into the mattress again. He comes back with his jacket in one hand, which he drops on the floor after rummaging in the inside pocket and pulling out a red foil square. 

He pulls it open with fingers that you realise are shaking slightly, and you wonder if he's really nervous, and if so, if he's as nervous as you are.

It takes a few seconds but soon enough he's rolled it on, breath stuttering and dry, and then he climbs back to you and his hands return to your body almost as quickly as they left.

He's hovering over you now, his long hair tickling the sides of your face and the tops of your shoulders, all the places the sun hits on hot days. You're too caught up in watching his every move, too keen to really realise what you're saying before you ask: "Will you kiss me again?"

He smiles and dips down wordlessly, letting his lips slip against yours. It brings back the fluttering and the fizzy feeling, the craving for him. As your tongues move as one, you feel his hand by your thigh, and when he pulls back he says, "You ready?"

You nod, and then, remembering what he said earlier, cement it in words: "I'm ready."

"Alright, I'm gonna go slow, okay? It's gonna stretch more than earlier, but you just keep me clued in, yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's a new sensation at your core, of wetness and something rigid. He's moving against your folds, finding no purchase in the remnants of earlier on, but then he nudges your clit and you jolt upwards and that's when he finds what he was searching for.

He nudges in quickly at first, enough to make you whine a pained sound. He matches it with a low grumble, a vibration right by your ear.

"You okay?" he's quick to ask, head rising to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah, just- slow, please."

"I've got you."

He doesn't move for a beat, eyes trained on the scrunch of your nose. He kisses it and feels you relax, so he keeps kissing, quick flashes over your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Each one brings new relief and as your back hits the bed again, he eases himself in a little more.

The stretch is definitely different; more. There's a burn, but it doesn't completely hide the wave of pleasure you get in the fullness.

"Gonna go a bit more," he tells you, and he does just that, going half an inch further, still watching for any sign of discomfort.

When you bring your knees up by his hips, he knows you're past the worst of it. He chants praise, telling you that you're doing so well, taking me so well as he keeps going, all the way until he's seated inside you, up to the hilt. You breathe in a gasp, filling your lungs, realising you'd been holding your breath for too long. And as you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with concern and something else.

"You good?" he whispers with his face so close you feel the words as they settle on your cheek.

"Yeah."

"Good girl."

He punctuates this with a kiss, and then another, over the hill of your jaw and onto your throat. Your hands claw up his back, pulling him in until you're sure that if he were any closer, you'd fuse into one.

"Okay," he finally says, lips against the peak of your shoulder. "I'm gonna move. I'll go slow at first."

"Okay."

The feeling of him pulling out is new and nice, but it's nothing compared to the opposite. The combination of the two, the repetitive motion he picks up, is something you want to chase forever.

As he moves, he quickens, trying his best to keep his eyes open and attentive; it's difficult, though, when you feel this good.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' tight, shit-"

"Eddie, this feels amazing, uh-"

Your stomach twists into a coil again, quicker this time, and tightens as he picks up the pace. Above you he's all guttural moans and pretty groans, his lips grazing your cheek each time he moves, and soon his thrusts become too much. You're panting his name and he's panting yours, and along with the sound of skin on skin, that's all you can hear until he speaks gravel-churned words into your ear.

"Shit, 'm so close, fuck- Gotta get you there, baby, huh? C'mon, need you to come for me."

His words are joined by sloppy fingers between your bodies. They fumble in the dark, prodding your belly before finding slippery purchase on your clit. Sparks light up your body and all you can do in response is let it arch into him with a yelp of his name.

"You close?" he asks.

"Yes, yeah, shit, yes," you splutter back. It's like a chase, and you're catching up, quickly, quickly, quickly.

All of a sudden there's a white-hot flash that burns every inch of your insides. You tense, your body yawning open for him, wide and wanting; he doesn't relent, thrusts harder than ever, chases you in return as he feels you tighten around him. You release, the coil snapping, and he brings the pace down to see you through to the end.

There's cotton wool in your ears again but you make out his praises: "That's it, that's it, atta girl… C'mon, I've got you, you did so well."

When your breathing turns regular and your eyes ease open, you feel a warm knuckle on your cheek. He's still going slow, rutting in and out of you with ease now, and when you finally look at him he asks, "Gonna keep goin', that okay?"

You nod, throat closed for the time being so you make it as certain a nod as you can muster. His thrusts become quicker again, and the more he speeds up the sloppier he becomes. You feel sensitive, too warm but also too desperate to see, hear, feel him come undone inside you. It's not long until your wish is granted; soon his groans turn to whimpers and whines, and he calls your name as he shudders to a violent halt. It's intoxicating, experiencing this from underneath him; if this is what everyone's been talking about all these years, you understand why.

The room sways and whistles as he rests his weight on you. His breath, right beside your ear, is like a hot, damp rag, pulling at your sticky skin and the thrum of rushing blood. You hear him groan and then the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. The bed bounces gently as he huffs and flops down beside you, and, god, you wish so badly that you could keep those flutters under control because his clammy hand finds yours between your bodies and it's nice to feel the affection he's so devoted to giving you.

Sighing, he says, "Shit."

You laugh, scrunching your face.

"Yeah," you agree, "shit."

He squeezes your hand.

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah. Really liked it."

"Okay for your first time?"

"Yeah." You turn onto your side to face him, looking up at his face. There are a few curls stuck to his pretty pink face, and you admire the bob of his throat as he swallows and the squeeze of his hand in yours.

"You're really pretty," you tell him. You're not sure if this is the post-O haze the magazines talk about, or if it's some kind of clarity, or if it's just that you have this boy in the palm of your hand and you suddenly can't bear the thought of letting him go. Instead you want to plant anchors, heavy lines that will keep him right where he is.

He turns his head to look at you and you see him flush even more.

"So are you," he whispers, with another squeeze and a kiss to your forehead.

There are a few minutes of quiet after that. The light outside is gone for good, so he's glowing a low golden in the light of your bedside lamp. He kisses you again with a fondness that surely shouldn't come with this exchange, which you had rationalised as just that: a transaction, a mutual agreement to get something done.

You see him open his mouth, as if to speak, but close it again, so you reach a tentative hand up and brush some hair from his eyes and trace your knuckle down his temple, urging him.

"My friends," he begins, hesitant, "they're having a party, next weekend. Steve, he only lives round the corner, we passed his house on the way here... You wouldn't wanna come, would you?"

"With you?" you whisper into the fizzy darkness.

"Yeah." He smiles, eyes fluttering shut under your sweeping fingers. "With me."

"Is it a date?"

"It can be, if you want. Or we can just, y'know, go as friends, or whatever."

"No one's ever asked me on a date before."

He smiles, and it's soft and curled with an affectionate pity; one that says I'm sorry, that's not fair, it's nothing to do with you.

"Well, wanna come?"

"I'd love to."

He pulls your hand up and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses your knuckles. Goosebumps raise across your thighs and arms, and you realise you're cold.

He seems to sense your discomfort because you feel him shift beside you. He pulls you up with him and helps you climb off the bed on wobbly legs.

"I should pee," you tell him, heeding the warnings of girlfriends past.

"You should," he says, a little deflated.

You don't move, though. To move would be to acknowledge the end – the end of the transaction, of the favour. It's not something you want.

"I, uh," you begin, stumbling, "Don't- Do you want-"

"I can go now, if you want-"

"No, no, it's okay, I mean, you can go if you want, that's fine, I just-"

Your eyes are darting all over the carpet, skimming discarded clothes, so you don't notice him reach up until he's touching your face, holding it in his palm.

"I'll stay, if you want me to."

"Yes, please."

He smiles at you, sticky with fondness and you can't help but smile back.

"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, leaning further into his grasp.

"I'll be here."

-

"Munson! You made it!"

In the middle of the busy room, there's a tall guy, broad and burly, like all the jocks you went to high school with. He's startlingly pretty, with golden hair and honeyed skin, a wide, bright smile plastered across his face.

He steps on unsure feet over to Eddie, who is stood partially in front of you; you're cowering behind him, willing the courage to lift you and push you into the arms of strangers. For now, holding his hand will do just fine.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie greets, meeting him in one of those boyish embraces. You look around, taking in the faces; it's not the level of the high-school parties you used to go to, and definitely not the circus of the frat ones you've sometimes found yourself at, but it's busy enough. Where the guy – Harrington – came from, in the living room, there's a circle of people who are all smiling in your direction.

"Who's this?" The guy is looking at you over Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie tells Steve your name, and then turns to you. "This is Steve."

"Hi," you say to him, smiling, trying your best to hide the cruel nerves.

"Nice t'meet you!" he beams back. It's infectious; your smile turns firm and genuine in return. "Here, come meet the gang."

"C'mon," Eddie whispers to you with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you through the entryway, into the large living room, following Steve. He drops your hand to give and return hugs, saying hello to each person. You stand and watch, unsure of what to do, until one of the girls – the first one Eddie greeted – appears by your side.

"Hey," she says, perhaps a little too close.

"Hi."

"I'm Robin." She sticks her hand out and you shake it clumsily.

Eddie's back, with his hand in yours again, on your other side. He calls her Rob and tells her your name, and then does the same for each person – Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Dustin, El – too many for you to remember tonight, but you have a feeling you'll see them again.

"Hi, guys," you return with a wave.

Everything settles after that. You take a seat next to Eddie on the couch, legs up and over his own, making conversation with Robin who you like a lot. Nancy comes over and introduces herself again and you find you like her, too.

And then Steve appears, having disappeared twenty minutes before. He's a little drunker, and he hands you and Eddie a can each. You take it gratefully and open it, taking a swig.

"So," he begins, sitting on the opposite side of the circle to yourself and Eddie. "You from Hawkins?"

"No," you tell him, and repeat the story you told Eddie.

"Sweet! So how'd you meet?"

You turn your head to look at Eddie and find him having done the same thing. His eyes are wide, just as wide as you're sure yours are.

"Uh," you begin, drawing out the sound to buy yourself time. 

"I did her a favour," he says, to your surprise, turning back to look at Steve with a sickly smile. "Just somethin' she'd put in the paper."

"That's so cute," Nancy says from behind you, her words chased by Robin adding a sarcastic, "Adorable."

The conversation moves on after that, and you turn around to Eddie again. He's looking back at you, his face pink and a smile tugging at his mouth. Before you can stop yourselves you're laughing, bursting into happy noises, bent double giggling.

He gives you another kiss, on the cheek this time, and quickly you settle back into conversations. The night is long and for the first time in a long time, it isn't lonely.

-

Hello! This is SO long - it really did take on a life of its own. I considered splitting it but couldn't find somewhere to do it, so I hope you enjoy this absolute beast nonetheless. I love you!

#eddie munson x reader #🪲 fic rec #eddie munson smut #screaming crying etc #this was so cute #their dynamic #the yearning #the end scene was so cute

[bug-fics]

S.H x reader

Just a short little blurb about summer and Autumn, and how you and Steve fell in love when love wasn't supposed to happen. A summer fling turned forever. Hopefully this gets me out of my writers block. 

I didn't edit it that much, so bare with any spelling mistakes. 

Warnings: nsfw themes, insecurity but no angst. No dialogue or anything like that, just 600 words of me rambling and trying to be poetic when I am not

Summer was warm, it was beautiful and soft. It was sticky skin, fireflies glowing after the sun went down, it was yellow and orange, and all things pretty. Summer was for fun, it was the season to forget your worries and focus on the good times. Summer was all skin and sweat. It was clear waters and flickering campfires. Fluffy marshmallows, and melty chocolate. Summer was freckled shoulders and burnt cheeks. Steve Harrington was summer, he was beautiful.  But just like Summer, he wasn’t meant to stay with you forever. Why would someone like him to stick around for someone like you?

When the air hit your face, it smelled like the truth. You loved summer, you loved Steve Harrington. It's the season everyone missed when it was gone. It was comfortable, he was home. The warmth bleeding into Autumn was a reminder that he didn't love you, you were the one who fell, and you feared no one would be there to catch you. Because you weren't summer, you weren't Nancy, and you weren't warm. 

The balmy lake glistened, it was where you and Steve spent most nights, the sloppy kisses, lake water dripping from your lips to his. You loved how he sipped you gently and chugged you hard. It was never repetitive love with Steve Harrington, he made life enjoyable. He made summer worth it. Your favorite place was in his bed, curtains flowing with the breeze that swam through the open windows. Being with him made the heat of the world seem cool, bearable. 

Steve's home was in between your legs, cherry slushies and plush skin. The sweat was different, this heat was pleasurable, he devoured you. Peach lip gloss was his favorite flavor, the liquid seeping from your lips onto his skin, sticky and shimmery. You coated his fingers in milky love, the taste of summer had never been so delicious. 

You were Autumn, cool and crisp. Autumn was a time for family, it was pumpkin carving and apple cider. It was county fairs and funnel cake, the sugar reminded him of your taste. The days get shorter and colder, an excuse to get closer. Layered clothes to hide away from the cold, like you wanted to hide away from summer. Steve Harrington loved fall, he loved you because you weren't summer, you were home. Autumn represents change—the changing of the leaves, the changing of hearts. The warmth bleeding into fall was a reminder that he loved you, he was the one who fell and he wanted you to catch him. Yet, you weren't Summer, and you didn't love him. How could he expect someone like you to stay for someone like him? 

Fall was the time of the harvest, it brought fruit in from the land. Fall meant summer was blooming, it meant that summer had fallen in love. Because it was never just summer and never just fall. The seasons go hand in hand, they need each other to thrive, like you needed Steve Harrington's warmth and he needed your cool air to breathe. The deal was no strings attached, but the roots grew bountiful fruit, the juices spilling from your heart to his. Because you weren't summer, you weren't Nancy, you weren't warm, but you were his. He wasn't Autumn, he wasn't cool and crisp, but he was yours.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #stranger things x reader #stranger things blurb #🪲 my work #🪲 blurb #steve harrington x you #steve harrington

[bug-fics]

Could you write a little something where Robin convinces the reader to go skinny dipping in Lovers Lake?

And reader just finds herself completely mesmerized by Robin because she had a crush on her for the longest time? Love your writing by the way 💗

𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

(𝐫.𝐛. 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

robin buckley x female!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when robin mentioned the "fun idea" she had in mind, this surely wasn't what you had imagined. but there's no turning back now. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2124

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: non-sexual nudity, mention of alcohol and reader drinking, maybe the slightest bit of internalized homophobia, no beta read lmao (let me know if i missed anything!) 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: my first request yay! please send any and all kinds of requests i lowkey get so excited about them. also, tysm anon i hope this is what you had in mind <3 (there are some references to the rebel robin book in this one: i want to address one of them: obviously robin does not have a crush on a boy! in the book she talks about how she lied about it to get out of an uncomfortable situation and that's the scene i'm referring to!! ) . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

when you dip your toe into the water of lovers' lake, your entire body shivers in response. it's not as cold as you thought it would be, but your body is still damp from the heat of the day. and even though the sun has set long ago, the air still feels unusually warm, leaving a thin layer of sweat on your body. out of all the things you could be doing right now, this is most definitely not at the top of the list. "i have a great idea" robin had said when you asked her about the plans for the evening. as far as you were concerned, it was supposed to be a fun sleepover/movie night in robin's basement. her parents weren't home so you would have the whole house to yourself. but as soon as those 3 words had left her mouth, you knew you could forget about the chill night you had imagined.

the girl with the freckled skin and beautiful strawberry blonde hair has been your best friend ever since you can remember. and ever since you can remember, her "fun ideas" always ended up with either one of you getting in trouble. though, with robin grinning at you like that, you simply can not tell her no. so, with both hands raised in defense, you nodded and asked about that fun idea. you can't recall the exact day when things between the two of you began to change: it could have been in 8th grade, when robin confessed her crush on matthew manes at wendy dewan's halloween party. or maybe when everyone started dating halfway through 9th grade. when everything was about boys all of a sudden, for everyone but you. you never understood what about steve harrington's hair or matthew manes' mere existence had such an effect on everyone around. you couldn't imagine being with either of those, you couldn't even imagine kissing a boy, let alone being with one. you just wanted to be around robin to forget about all those things: to lay in the grass in summer and laugh until your belly hurt and your lungs ached for hair. to braid each other's hair and put flower chains around her neck. to be the girls you had been in childhood and to be that together. back to when there was no worry in the world big enough to really get to you. one night you even told her about it but it hadn't seemed much like she wanted to talk about it. she just blushed and turned away. you put the blame matthew manes and switched the lights off.

that same night you had laid wide awake next to a peacefully snoring robin. it was when you picked up the habit of counting her freckles for the first time. it was also when you wanted to kiss her for the first time.

it was when you finally understood what about you had always been so different from the other girls your age. and why you couldn't see what they saw when they looked at boys your age.

because you had seen it in robin all this time.

ever since you have tried to think about that situation as little as possible.

you still count robin's freckles sometimes. and you still want to kiss her all the time. even after years of trying not to.

"perfect temperature for a bath" robin grins while withdrawing her toes from the water. her hair has grown ever since that night back in highschool. shortly after she'd cut it all off. it has grown back ever since, medium-length blond curls framing her face in the pale moonlight. "i- uhm- I'm not sure this is a good idea" you look around, trying to make out the edge of the woods in the darkness of the night. "what if we get caught?" "by who?" she laughs. "come on y/n, this will be fun. soon we will be out of hawkins anyway...to god knows where! remember? even if we get caught -which won't happen- a couple of years will pass and soon enough no one is gonna remember anyway" this is not the robin you remember from highschool. you'd like to blame it on the bottle of whatever-that-was that you have shared on your way to the lake but maybe this is just the way she is around you? the carefree, joyous robin that no one else but you gets to see?

still not convinced, you grimace at her. "okay look...i'll go first"

and before you can hold her back, she grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head. her painted nails shimmer as she puts them up in the air, her shirt tugged between her fingers as it comes off. you change in front of each other all the time, but you try to look away from her whenever she does. you wouldn't want to make her uncomfortable. if she knew what you are, she would never do this in front of you, is what you tell yourself. now, it's almost like she wants you to look. she unbuttons her shorts and drops them to where she has previously thrown her top, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. you visibly gulp, because if you got robin right, she is not done yet and her next movements prove that to be right. she reaches out and unclasps her bra and it lands on the floor, on top of the growing pile of clothing. your eyes dart down to your own feet and you rock back and forth, unsure of where to look now. you wrap your arms around your body, a soft blush creeping its way onto your cheeks.

her back is turned to yours now, and you dare to look up from the ground. her skin is soft and the way the moon shines on her makes it look almost porcelain-like. a part of you wants to reach out, wants to run your fingertips up and down her spine and see the goosebumps rise bene maybe if you were someone else, somewhere else, you would actually do it. anyone but yourself and anywhere but here in hawkins, indiana. robin is stepping out of her panties, while you're still lost in your own thoughts, leaving her completely naked. "and now watch me" she speaks. and then, before you could do anything to stop her, she runs, right into the water of lovers' lake. the downpour of the water splashes on you, leaving wet patches on your skin and clothes. she screams and yelps but her legs carry her further in, until she drops herself and dips down. she remains underwater for a couple of seconds before her head breaks through the surface. there is a wide smile plastered on her face. "come on y/n! don't make me do this all alone"

you shake your head, more in disbelief than disagreement. just a couple of seconds later, you're in nothing but your underwear: a light pair with a floral pattern. you feel unusually exposed, with robin watching you from the water. this is such bullshit, you think to yourself, she has seen you naked so many times already. what difference does this make?

so, without further undo, you strip out of your last clothing pieces and step into the water. the moonlight is reflecting on the surface and on robin's bare shoulders. the little bit of water that's left on her is glistening in the darkness. "see?" she smiles as you wade towards her. you wrap your arms around your chest, partly to keep yourself warm and partly to cover your breasts, all while walking in robin's direction.

"robin" you whine when the girl starts swimming backward. you feel almost childlike as you reach out again to get to her. "almost there" she mocks with a playful smile, her arms still paddling to get her out of your reach. she kicks her feet out of the water, a good amount of water pouring down on you.

"fuck you" you reply and finally throw yourself fully into the lake. it's cold against your damp skin, but the longer you're in it, the more your body gets used to the feeling. robin lets out somewhat of a squeak when she feels your hand around her wrist. she shoves a handful of water right into your face and wiggles to get out of the grip you have around her. you try to hold onto her but her wet skin offers nothing that could give your fingers a better hold of her. as soon as her arm slips away from you, she screams and swims away, with you being hot on her heels. you've completely forgotten about the lack of clothing, your mind too focused on catching robin to care. with one especially strong stroke of your arms through the water, you reach robin and immediately grab her by the shoulder to prevent her from fleeing again.

she laughs and tries to get away again but there's no way out of your hold. "got you" you smile, while you try to set your feet onto the ground. unfortunately, you haven't even realized how far from land you are now and your head dips down as you put all of your weight on your feet. "wow, wow, wow, y/n" robin reacts quickly, she is tall enough to stand on the ground of the lake and pulls you up by the armpits. you let out a mix of a cough and a laugh. "careful" she smiles.

only when you catch your breath, do you realize how close robin has pulled you to her. she is still holding you, but her body is pressed up against yours now. you stare down at your intertwined bodies. the darkness of the night doesn't allow you to see past both of your shoulders, but you can feel her. every curve of her body, every inch of soft skin leaning against yours. silence falls upon the lake when you look up again your eyes meet hers. they are a beautiful greyish blue, remarkable even in the darkness. to your own surprise, you can feel her chest rising and falling just as quickly as your own.

there is irritation in her expression as if this is something she doesn't fully understand...as if she didn't expect this from you... feeling bold, you reach out and wipe a strand of wet hair out of her face. you can see the freckles, even with the little light you have. 118, the last time you counted them. when you pull away your hand, she reaches for it. somehow, though you don't have much time to comprehend it, she still manages to hold you upright with just one of her arms. robin exhales shakily and places your palm back on her cheek.

"y/n..." she whispers. "can i- is it okay if i- i mean..."

robin looks away shily. and suddenly, it all falls into place and you understand. "kiss me?" you breathe and her gaze shoots back to meet yours. you shift in the water, the silence ringing in your ears like sirens. a thousand thoughts at once race through your mind. "i- uhm- sorry i just-" "can i?" she blurts out.

you immediately nod. "yes please" and with that, you close your eyes and she leans in. the first thing you notice is the softness of her lips. softer than anything else you've ever known. they taste like summer; it's almost like you can taste the sun and the soft breeze of the day on her. she brings her hand up to your cheek, every line of her precious fingerprints sending shivers down your spine. she traces your jaw, featherlight touch lingering while her lips meet yours -again and again. you wrap your arms around her neck loosely, caging her in between your arms. water splashes up your shoulders as she pushes further against you and you have to lean back.

so this is what it's like to feel truly loved. this is what all the talk was about. this is what you've missed out on. you aren't even thinking when you wrap both of your legs around her belly, but she doesn't mind. she just picks you up and lifts you further out of the water, so that you have to lean down to reach her lips. "robin" you laugh airily. she leans back, her forehead pressed against yours. "y/n..." she whispers. you smile widely. "i've wanted to do this for a while now" "really?" the rasp in her voice is even more present now. "yes" you nod and bite your lower lip. "for a long while" "you should've said something" she mumbles and adds shily: "can i kiss you again?" "you don't have to ask robbie" and she does. . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . comments and reblogs are always appreciated 🫶🏼

#this was so perfect #robin buckley x reader #like genuinely it was so well written #and I love them sm #Robin is so pretty #im screaming

[bug-fics]

Omg literally kas!Eddie x reader pls this would be such a cute fic I mean it’s literally a book plot so obv it would make a good fic but you know why I mean

#Eddie Munson #kas!eddie #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader