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#apple cider old fashioned

stayatsam · 7 months

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ugh did i ever share the story when i was out to dinner in the fall, where i ordered an apple cider old fashioned. when it came it tasted absolutely awful but i didn't want to inconvenience the waitress so i fucking drank it.

she comes back like ten min later in a panic apologizing going "oh my god we accidentally put apple cider vinegar in it, another table just pointed it out - did you drink it?"

#sam crying #she brought me back the actual one after and it was really good but also im like #oh god i know ive become one of the Restaurant Stories of being *the guy that drank the apple cider vinegar*#my brother was laughing at me he will not let me live it down

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mangoisms · 10 months

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come back to bed, my love, my light is low

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ summary: Tim gets dosed with fear toxin and you are there to pick up the pieces.

━ word count: 3.3k

━ contains: established relationship, emotional hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy

━ a/n: technically takes place as an extension of my other tim fic, i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute), but prior reading is not required! title is from this song

━ you can read this on ao3 as well

Gotham has always had a fairly impressive rogue gallery.

You have limited knowledge of the other cities and their various rogues but you think Central City and Keystone City, the Gem Cities of the midwest of which the Flash is in charge of, are some who can match up to it.

But in the end, Gotham’s will always beat them out.

You have the Joker, indiscriminate in his havoc, truly, truly unpredictable and for no reason other than he simply wants to. You have Two-Face, fates decided upon the coin toss. You have Mr. Freeze, Black Mask, Poison Ivy, Mad Hatter, and so many more.

The Joker is the worst of them, though. That is the general consensus in the city.

But for you?

You have always found Scarecrow particularly unnerving.

Sure, the Joker has his clown thing going on but…

When you were a kid, during the fall, the town over from your own would host a Halloween festival. You could come down and pick pumpkins straight from the patches, take hay rides, drink apple cider, gorge on candy apples, and roam their corn maze.

At the shy age of seven, you ended up getting lost in the corn maze. Separated from your parents, from any other parents or remotely responsible figure, you wandered for some time, crying, terrified, thinking, in typical seven-year-old fashion, that you would be lost forever as the sun set, plunging you into darkness.

You remember accidentally stumbling into a Scarecrow, just a decoration for the maze, but it had seemed so lifelike with its hay-stuffed limbs and mean face scowling down on you.

That would be your boogeyman for a long while.

Eventually, the fear faded and you forgot about it.

Moving to Gotham gave it a little more life.

But it’s never been an issue.

Still isn’t. Not technically.

After all, you think, perched on your couch, anxiously watching the news, it’s not you currently barricaded in the water treatment plant with Scarecrow and a new batch of fear toxin, fighting to make sure he doesn’t release it into Gotham’s waters.

No, it’s Tim. The others.

But the fight is over. Cameras showing police officers with gas masks emerging from the warehouse with Scarecrow tucked between them, hands cuffed. His scarecrow mask is creepy as ever, scowl etched permanently in the rough material of the mask.

“Still no word on whether Scarecrow was able to contaminate Gotham’s water supply but we do see the few workers he had hostage are now being escorted out. Little is known about this new strand of fear toxin but tips to the GCPD say that it is able to be dispersed either as a liquid or a gas. Previously, the toxin was dispersed only as a gas, but it seems Scarecrow has upgraded to another venture of chaos.”

You drum your fingers on your thigh, eyes intent on the flatscreen. Trying to pick them out in the background. But Bruce does his best to keep Batman and the others out of media eye. At least here in Gotham. When it comes to the Justice League and the Titans, they have little choice. They’re officially sanctioned teams by the UN. Batman can’t be an urban legend there. None of them can.

Pictures here are blurry, though. Nothing more than grainy, shadow figures in the night. No stopping for interviews, no stepping into the light.

Outside? Well, you’ve seen literal Getty Image photos of Batman at a UN hearing with Wonder Woman and Superman, looking none too pleased about it all.

You’re not going to find them, is what you’re saying. But you try anyway. Amidst the sea of police cars, blue and red lights flashing in the night, reporters perched several feet away, debriefing their audiences.

Just another night in Gotham.

But not for you.

Your fingers itch to grab your phone. Tim assured you it would be fine as he unlocked the hidden room in your walk-in closet, the room reinforced by multiple layers of lead (Bruce insisted; Tim, annoyed, relented) and only accessible by fingerprint and retinal scans from him and you, as it is the room that holds his Red Robin gear, private servers, and other confidential items. The room you could hide away in if enemies ever managed to breach your stiff security protocols (installed and programmed by Tim this time) and the thick walls and bulletproof, bomb-proof, and heat vision proof windows of the apartment.

You’re safe as can be.

You don’t think the same can be said for Tim.

Even if he told you he would be fine. That Bruce and Damian are constantly mixing antidotes to the new strands of fear toxin and Joker venom that pop up. That Duke and Steph, both of whom have slowed in their vigilante duties like he has, are coming back on for this one. In addition to Cass and Bruce and Damian and Kate and more. The Birds were on standby, too.

You can’t help but worry anyway.

Just a feeling. A bad, bad feeling in the pit of your stomach.

The phone call you get in the next minute affirms it.

Caught up just as Scarecrow unleashed the toxin… Had given his own mask to another worker trapped there… Didn’t yet have an antidote… Only received one a few minutes later… in very fragile condition…

Your name jars you from the cold, petrifying fear inside you.

“Are you alright?”

“Sorry, Alf,” you mumble, standing and shutting off the TV. Your hands shake as you do it. You feel jittery and restless. “I’ll leave now, I don’t know how fast I’ll be able to get to the manor, though, I’m sure traffic is just crazy right now —”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“But —”

“Master Tim has insisted on returning to you. Miss Stephanie agreed and so, it is next to impossible to get them to change their minds.”

“Right,” you say, sitting back down, flexing your fingers, which have gone cold, despite the apartment being well-heated for December in Gotham. A little voice like Tim’s matter-of-factly says, You’re stressed. Blood doesn’t flow as well to the hands and extremities because of it.

You try to regroup. “Are the others okay, then?”

“They all had their masks, so yes, they’re alright. A few scrapes and bruises but nothing we aren’t used to. Master Tim and Miss Stephanie are on their way now and I imagine you’d like to prepare for his arrival.”

“Right, right, yeah, thanks, Alfred.”

“I should thank you for taking care of him. There is a reason he wants to be with you there rather than with us. It is most likely self-explanatory, but it should still be said.”

Of course.

After so many years, he is your home. The harbor to your tempest. And it is the same for him.

“Thank you, Alfred. I appreciate that.”

“Of course.”

You bid your goodbyes and hurry to prepare for their arrival.

A hot meal sounds in order but you don’t think he’ll be up for it immediately, so you grab a pack of crackers. You ensure you have water, as well as some Sprite. You don’t know if he showered there, he probably didn’t, so you grab a fresh change of clothes for him, leaving it on the counter in the bathroom and grabbing him a new towel, too.

You go back to the living room to turn the TV back on, changing it to Ice Age, then lighting a candle you like to turn on every now and then, lavender and vanilla scented. Something familiar, something to ease him. You don’t know if it’ll work but you have to try.

After that, it is simply a waiting game.

You keep a close eye on your phone, where you get notifications from your security system.

Fifteen minutes later, you get an alert — not about movement on the balcony, but at the front door, camera feed showing you Tim and Steph’s figures in heavy thick coats — appropriate for the weather and to hide their suits, since their usual masks are gone. You guess he wasn’t in good enough condition to grapple with her. The thought makes your heart clench. Dismissing the message, you hurry over to open the door.

“Yeah, there you go, sweetie, you’re home now,” she’s murmuring to him, voice softer and gentler than you’ve ever heard.

She glances up at you as the door opens, shooting you a sad smile, then nudging Tim gently.

Your throat tightens painfully as you see his face, paler than usual, eyes glassy, gaze far, far away from here.

“Timmy?”

His eyes shoot to you.

Then he’s moving, strength and vigor seemingly renewed at the sight of you, and his arms are wrapping around you, tight, like steel, painful, hurting, cutting off your breathing, but you don’t care, don’t say anything, you just hold him back, as tightly as you can.

The pain is just a reminder that he’s here, with you, once again. Like it should be.

Steph leaves silently, mouthing Thank you.

You mouth back Be safe.

She shoots you a thumbs-up, then slips out, door clicking closed behind her.

Tim is shaking, you realize, body trembling against yours.

“You’re okay,” you whisper and his hold tightens painfully again but you push through it. “We’re okay, honey. We’re okay. You’re okay.”

What must he have seen?

Fear. Jonathan Crane’s greatest motivation — to master fear itself and to push those boundaries by using his fear toxins on others.

Your greatest fears, convincing you that they have become reality.

For you?

Losing your family. Losing your friends. Losing Tim.

For him?

He has already lost so much.

Been through so much.

You can surmise that you must’ve been part of it. Of course. Of course.

“We’re okay,” you whisper again, squeezing him.

He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. You run your fingers through his hair, not caring about how sweaty it is, Gotham clinging to him even now. You hate it. Can’t he get a break? Can’t he be free of it for even a few hours?

But that’s why you’re here.

To help. To ease the burden. This monumental burden put on him when he was a mere fourteen-years-old.

You two stay there for a little while. You feel him toe off his boots at one point, which makes you smile.

He keeps his face in your neck, despite you knowing the angle must start to bother him. But the contact is what he needs so you’ll give it to him. Whatever he wants.

“Are you up to eat something?” you ask softly, fingers still running through his damp hair.

He shakes his head. You guessed as much.

“How about a shower?”

Quiet for a minute. You feel the rise and fall of his shoulders and the tickle of warm breath against the sensitive skin of your neck. Then he nods.

It takes longer for him to let go. You don’t rush him. And even then, he doesn’t let you go far, holding onto your hand as you lead him into your shared bedroom and then into the adjoining bathroom.

Large and ridiculously luxurious, it has a jacuzzi bathtub, a large walk-in shower with a rainfall shower head, two for the body in the wall, then one detachable head, and it’s controlled by a waterproof touchscreen. Definitely a step-up from the bathtub shower you two had at Rose Oaks.

You turn on the shower, making it hot, then turn to Tim, reaching for the coat.

Underneath it is his suit. Most likely, he and Steph rode here by motorcycle, then she put them both in coats for the walk up here. It’s a bit of a silly image, especially since his cape is longer than it, and you smile to yourself as you pull off the coat.

“What?” he asks quietly, voice raspy. The first time he’s spoken so far.

“You’re cute, that’s all,” you murmur, dropping the coat onto the floor, then reaching up to unsnap the cape.

He doesn’t say anything else. Just looks at you. By this point in your relationship, the intensity of his gaze, taking you in fully, no details missed by keen eyes, does not fluster you. It just warms you. You feel seen in the best of ways. Wanted. Loved.

You love him, too. So much more than you thought possible. Sometimes it feels like you might burst with it. You hope he knows that. You’ll show him.

You take care of the rest of his suit. Fingers finding hidden zippers, carefully unlatching his utility belt and setting it aside, slipping off his compression shirt and the rest of it.

By the time everything has been taken off, the bathroom is muggy with steam.

You step back but he grabs your wrist, saying your name, blue eyes pleading.

“Stay. Please.”

“I am,” you soothe. “Just let me get out of this, okay?”

You strip, too, much more quickly. He steps in and you follow him, gently guiding him underneath the stream of hot water. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps, a little bit chilly from the sparse water touching you, but you ignore it.

Everything seems to fall away. Tim’s eyes slide shut, head tilting back, letting the water run over his face, thick chunks of dark hair sticking to his skin, the water washing away the terrors of the night. You sigh, hand slipping to his cheek, rubbing the skin there gently.

When he pulls his head away from the stream, you reach up to comb his hair away from his face, fingers stroking over his skin idly, tenderly. He leans forward, arms coming around your waist, pulling you into him.

You go easily, hands sliding over his shoulders as he closes the distance between your bodies, dropping his head against your chest this time, right over your heart.

When you think of the reason why, your throat squeezes.

“We’re okay,” you whisper, fingers tracing odd circles on his back, running through his wet hair, gently detangling the knots that formed during his work tonight.

“I know,” he whispers. “I just…”

The fear toxin is effective in what it was conceived to do. Even for Tim, as analytical and logic-minded as he is. When you live this kind of life, the threat of loss is a real one. Janet Drake’s death was entirely accidental. Not for any rhyme or reason other than misfortune. Jack Drake’s, however, was intentional. The list goes on and it’s hardly limited to loss by death. There are so many things that can happen. Things that can happen to you. Either because of Tim Drake or because of Red Robin. Or both.

But you don’t care about that. You never have. The danger is real but what you would lose in that trade-off is not worth it.

It doesn’t help, you think. Not now. Not when he knows, vividly, how he may lose you, because saying that now is as good as saying you’re okay with dying and he doesn’t need that.

He just needs assurance that you’re here now. And you’ll give it to him.

“I love you so much. You know that?”

You feel his breath stutter, arms tightening, chest pressed so closely to yours you can feel the unsteady beat of his heart pounding against you, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips so hard it’ll probably leave bruises. But you don’t care.

“And I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur. “Not in a million years if I had a choice in it.”

A small sniffle. “That’s not physically possible. Unless you’re secretly Kryptonian.”

Your lips quirk. You reach for his shampoo, squeezing out a dollop, then smoothing it into his hair. He sinks further into you, letting out a small noise of pleasure.

“Not Kryptonian. Just human. And very dedicated to those I love.”

A sigh. “I know.”

“Whatever you saw tonight,” you murmur and he tenses sharply but you keep going, keep massaging shampoo into his hair, soapy bubbles spilling over your palm, “it wasn’t real. I’m here. We’re all here. And we aren’t going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s quiet for a long while. Enough for you to rinse out the shampoo and rub in the conditioner.

You reach for his body wash. Your body wash, really. He hasn’t used his own in a long while.

His hand wraps around your wrist, though. Stopping you. He pulls back to look at you.

“Tim?”

His eyes are on your face. Soft. But still a little hard to read.

He turns you, switching your positions. You jump at the first douse of hot water but don’t fight it, allowing him to push you under the stream. You close your eyes to keep the water out. His hands come up to your face. Stroking your cheeks. Pushing your wet hair out of your face. You lean into his touch.

“I love you,” he whispers. “More than anything.”

“More than anything,” you echo, leaning into him. He wraps his arms around you. Hugging you. Tightly but not painfully.

You think you might hear him whisper Thank you but above the sound of the shower, you aren’t sure.

Slowly, you get him cleaned up. He insists on returning the favor and you let him, even if you already showered earlier. It’s a small thing to ask, after all.

After, you step out and dry yourselves off. You help him into his clothes and he helps you into yours. Insistent on reciprocation. Wanting to do something for you. But also just wanting to be near you. Touch you. Helping you gives him assurances, you think, of your presence. The thought makes your heart ache.

His hair is wetter than you’d like it to be, so you grab a towel and lead him out into the room. He sits on the edge of the bed and you stand between his legs, taking the towel to his hair, gently drying it.

Tim holds onto you all the while.

You comb through it afterward, gently taking out the tangles.

He has a distant look in his eyes when you finish, tossing the towel and comb to the side for now, not wanting to be too far from him.

“What are you thinking?” you prompt gently, sitting next to him, taking his hand in yours.

“That I think the last person who did that was my mom.”

You pause. “Was it… I’m sorry. I didn’t ask —”

“No,” he says, looking at you. “No, it was… it was nice.” His voice is small. A little embarrassed. A little bashful. Red stains his cheeks and you smile at the sight.

“I’ll do it anytime you want,” you promise. “In the meantime…”

You leave it hanging, for him to fill.

He sighs. “Let’s just go to bed?”

“Sure. Can I get you to drink some water first maybe?”

He acquiesces, drinking a glass of water, then sliding into bed. You clear the security system — with him peering over your shoulder, making certain for himself, too — then turn out the lights, curtains automatically drawing over the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Tim keeps you close underneath the covers, settling low, laying his head on your chest like he did in the shower. You press a kiss to his head, running your fingers through his hair, feeling sleep start to tug at your senses.

By the way he relaxes into the memory foam of the bed, you know it’s not far off from him, either.

You stay awake to make sure of it.

Feeling his body go lax, his breathing even out. Hoping, praying, his dreams are peaceful tonight. To whoever will listen. The universe, some higher being, you don’t know, you simply want to give him a break. A break from all of this.

It’s just a bad day. You know that. A bad day that stands out in a sea of so many good ones. But bad days for him, for you, are something so different from others’. Unforgiving trauma. Potential loss of life.

But honestly? If changing that meant leaving him… you wouldn’t change a thing.

God, you hope that as the time goes on, he’ll fully step back.

Until then, you’ll be there to pick up the pieces. To tend to the aftermath.

Always.

reblogs are appreciated!

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #dc comics x reader #tim drake imagine #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x you #red robin x y/n #red robin imagine

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whumpster-dumpster · 11 months

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Hi Red! I hope your day/night is going well! I was wondering, what would be some good ways of trying to lower a whumpee's fever when they live in a less modern setting?

Hey, hope you're having a good day/night too! A few old fashioned home remedies include:

Herbal tea with elderflower, yarrow, white willow bark, Echinacea, lemon and honey, basil, ginger, etc.

Apple cider vinegar soaked cloths on the forehead, stomach, wrapped around the soles of the feet, or in the bathwater

Peppermint, ginger and cinnamon oils warming the circulatory system to better sweat it out

Wet sock treatment: soaking the feet in hot water, then putting on thin socks that have been in cool water

Wet blanket treatment: soaking a sheet in cool-ish water and bundling up in it until it warms

#whump #fever #time period #answered ask #sypy-cup

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thedroneranger · 1 year

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Daggers on Draught: Open Bar 🍻

Daggers and your requested drink combos! Shoutout to @gretagerwigsmuse @roosterforme @sylviebell and @beyondthesefourwalls for inspiring Open Bar 🥂

The bar is CLOSED. Drink up the OG Daggers on Draught, Drinking Drabbles and Craft Edition.

Also follow @love-in-light as she crafts cocktails based on this series!

Amelia

• Cherry Limeade (na) | Cherry Crush

Bob

Coyote

Cyclone

• Brooklyn | Checkmate • Gin & Tonic | Everything is Blue • Sazerac | Night Moves • White Russian | Heart of a Cyclone

Fanboy

Hangman

Hondo

• Mojito | Minted

Iceman

• Bourbon | Puff, Puff, Pour • Vesper | GoldenEye • Belvedere | On Ice • Whiskey Sour | Old Friend

Maverick

• Boulevardier | Twice as Nice • Tom Collins | Old Time's Sake

Payback

• Midori Sour | Solo Session • Paper Plane | Wingman

Penny

• Bloody Mary | Hair of the Dog • Martini | Shaken Not Stirred • Mimosa | Sail Away

Phoenix

Rooster

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gabessquishytum · 1 year

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Listen. Hobs a shameless Slut. He'll do anything in front of anyone. But I love the idea of Hob being shy about being courted and Dream being soft with him. He doesn't know how to react other than blushing and swooning bc any time hes been in a relationship it's been him chasing. I just really love sweet shy hob being courted and not knowing how to respond.

I love this bc my body is Very Sick today so my brain is naturally gravitating towards softness <3

I feel like Hob has so rarely experienced being courted and chased and desired in such a public way! He loves being the one to make the first move, of course, but it’s so refreshing when Dream basically takes him by the hand and says I Am Courting You, I Want To Love You. It’s like. All the horrible bits of his brain that tell him he’s undesirable and basically not good enough just have to shut up for a minute because Dream doesn’t lie, and he doesn’t do things he doesn’t want to, so Hob knows that he is wanted.

And Dream is an old fashioned lover. He’s sending a dozen roses to Hob’s flat. He’s taking Hob out to brunch and paying for it?? Somehow?? He’s kissing his hand and offering up his jacket when they get caught in the rain. Hob is constantly shocked by these small gestures and he often finds himself at the point of tears. It’s just a lot. And especially with Dream in a male presenting body, it’s overwhelming that they can do these things together in plain sight and it’s safe. Safe to be in love.

There’s nothing sexual in the world that can make Hob blush. He’s done it all and he’ll do it all again. But when Dream kisses his forehead and calls him beloved and makes Hob’s favourite hot apple cider drink specially for him after a long workday,,, THATS when the blushing starts. Hob just buries his face in Dream’s coat and allows himself to have A Moment. He’ll get used to being so loved eventually.

#the sandman #dreamling #dream x hob #it’s all about love my dudes

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aurumacadicus · 7 months

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Stony and something with apple cider/pumpkin spice?

Love spices <3

Steve was hit with cinnamon as soon as he walked into the apartment. He took a moment to just stand there, eyes fluttering closed, letting the warmth of the spices just sink in. Cinnamon, of course, on top--but there were also cloves, and ginger, and nutmeg. Something else, too, a little sweeter? He couldn't quite put a name to the scent.

Under it all was apples. He wondered if Tony had baked an apple pie. He liked to tease him with them, sometimes--an American icon for The American Icon, he'd always chortle. It was charming, enough that Steve had never had the heart to tell him that his favorite pie was actually strawberry rhubarb. He inhaled deeply one last time, but he couldn't catch a whiff of baked pastry.

Cider, he realized, eyes flying open, and charged into the kitchen.

"Hey!" Tony exclaimed, slapping his hand away from the crock pot. He hid it with his body as Steve backed off. "That's for tonight."

"Aw," Steve complained, then frowned, brows furrowing together. "What's tonight?"

Tony raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed, and crossed his arms over his chest as he slowly reminded him, "We're having that Autumn-themed movie night to celebrate the first crisp day of Fall? You said you'd make old-fashioned popcorn balls."

Steve blinked, then quickly turned to look at the clock. Popcorn balls didn't take a long time, but they could be a little tedious. "Fuck, I forgot that was today. I need to shower after that mission."

"I already popped the popcorn," Tony offered, glancing at the clock as well. "I put it in the oven on low because the recipe I found said it needed to stay warm. If you tell me how to make them into balls, I can do that while you take your shower."

Steve immediately started rolling up his sleeves. Popping the popcorn was the most tedious part. He could make the syrup and get the balls started to show Tony how big they needed to be. "Did you get the candy thermometer?"

"Yeah," Tony answered, pulling it from the utensil drawer for him.

"Great. I don't need the syrup to get that hot, so this'll be quick, if you don't mind finishing for me once I show you what to do."

"Always," Tony answered, going up on his toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "Just for that, I'll get you a cup of cider."

Steve turned, catching Tony's chin in his hands. "No need," he said, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips before Tony could question him. He ran his tongue over Tony's bottom lip, urging him a little closer, and Tony obediently let his mouth fall open with a moan.

He tasted like apples, and cinnamon, and a little bit of caramel. He liked to line the rim of his cups with it like a margarita, dip it into a cinnamon-sugar mix. When the hot cider ran over it, it added an extra depth of flavor and sweetness to it. It added an extra depth of flavor and sweetness to Tony's mouth, too.

Tony carefully grabbed his shoulders and eased him away, eyes fluttering at his own reluctance to stop. "We should get the popcorn balls finished," he said, frowning at the pot still in Steve's other hand.

"If we work together, we can finish quickly, and then we can shower together to save time," Steve offered.

"You're cute," Tony teased, leaning up for one last, quick kiss. "Natasha threatened to rip the seams on one of my suits and I'd only know which one when it fell off me if she found us getting handsy again."

"It's our fucking home," Steve complained, but Tony laughed, walking over to ladle out a cup of cider as consolation.

#aurumacadicus answers #stony #autumn meme

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grapenehifics · 6 months

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Trick or treat! I have a costume on but you can't see it because I've got a giant snowsuit over top in true Canadian Halloween fashion

Ah, in that case I will offer you a steaming mug of hot chocolate or apple cider, your choice, I have both, and also this plot bunny I've had running around my brain for the past couple of days:

Anakin moved to (city housing large university) to attend (said large university) but after a semester or two discovered that formal schooling wasn't doing it for him and he was both making good money with and getting more enjoyment out of his side hustle, custom carpentry, than from his classes and quit, but he still lives in (city). He's had insomnia his whole life and some nights just gives up on sleep and goes out to his backyard/garage converted workshop. There's an old transistor radio out there - maybe it got left behind by the last owners - and he turns it on just to have some background noise while he works.

He's scrolling the dial past all the commercials for personal injury lawyers and lands on some real banger of a song, which he's never heard before but he's into it so he pauses the lathe or whatever he has running and waits to listen for the station to tell him the name of the song so he can look it up later, but after the song ends it pivots straight to some spoken-word poetry thing, and now Anakin's intrigued because, what the hell is this station?

Finally the dj comes on and says okay, folks, that's the end of the show, I'm Ben Kenobi and this has been Guiding Light, thanks for staying up with me. Anakin looks at the dial and realizes he's been listening to the local university student station.

This keeps happening, and Anakin kind of becomes obsessed with Ben Kenobi and Guiding Light. He's only on two or three nights a week, for only a couple of hours at a time, in the middle of the night, and he seems to have no oversight at all because he plays the weirdest mix of stuff - classical, film scores, comedy albums, half of an audiobook, one night he played a Robert Johnson song and then for the next hour nothing but cover versions of that song, the show before Halloween he played the entirety of Orson Welles' War of the Worlds and then one of those 'spooky sounds' albums while reading Edgar Allen Poe short stories on top of it - one time he even said he'd been really caught up in this book he'd been reading and he didn't want to stop long enough to do the show so he was going to give a synopsis of what had happened so far and then read the next chapter out loud on the air. Anakin has no idea what to expect but he knows that he feels less lonely, when Ben is there, and somehow even though Ben has no idea he exists it feels like they're the only two people in the world, out in Anakin's workshop in the middle of the night.

Anakin Googles him, because he's kind of worried that if he's on the university radio station then maybe that means he's some university kid and Anakin has a crush on a nineteen-year-old (even though he doesn't sound anything like a college student), and all he finds is the radio station website, which has a huge page for all their other shows but Guiding Light gets exactly one sentence: "Ben Kenobi has been hosting Guiding Light since 2004". So, probably not a kid, then, but he's got no social whatsoever, no pictures or online presence at all, and Anakin considers driving down to the station but dismisses that as too creepy so he just resigns himself to listening to Ben when he can.

And then one night Ben gets on the air and says, 'I've got nothing planned for tonight and I feel like chatting. Here's the number of the station. Anyone want to talk?'

Anakin swallows, picks up his phone, and dials the number.

#wip wednesday #obikin #wolfman jack AU #that's a joke; I'm not really going to call it that lol

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retrodreamgirl · 1 year

Text

seasons of becoming: fall | steve harrington x fem!reader

spring | summer | fall | winter

summary: fall is the way the leaves slowly begin to color into pretty warm tones, floating from branches to carry you into the cozy season. it's the way the wind seems to carry secrets in the way it weaves between the trees and coaxes you into warm sweaters and knit scarves. it's a season for carving pumpkins and bobbing for apples, homemade costumes and bags filled with candy, holidays with family and friends, frightful movies to send a chill up your spine. for you it's girls nights filled with pizza, pitiful villains, curiosity, and sudden apologies, last minute bonfires and the return of an age old friend, and an unprecedented moment of weakness. [5.8k]

warnings: fluff, angst, smut (it's not really graphic but i do describe it ig? it's nothing obscene i just make it clear that they were being smutty i'll just say that), fem!reader, slow burn, friends to lovers, mutual pining, confused reader, not edited or proofed sorry bout it

full disclosure...this might be trash 🤍

⤜♡→

Fall is like a wreckoning.

Perhaps the cruelest season in the way it slowly eats you alive.

You’re so easily taken by the festivity, crisp air and the twisted turns of corn mazes, carving pumpkins with shared seeds sprinkling the sticky newspaper beneath. It’s a time of warmth cradled in a mug of cocoa or the apple cider you love best of all, freshly harvested from the mills stretching the flats of Indiana. The frightening faces of jack-o-lanterns and bedsheet ghosts haunting the streets with abandon.

You’re perpetually covered in pastry, your hands sanded with flour to keep up with the demand for rolls flavored like pumpkin and the pies that line the display case. The smell of fresh baked gold mixing with the dying movement of autumn that filters with the open and close of the door meant to tease the white stillness waiting in winter.

Your favorite thing about this fall is the soft connection.

“So, are you and Steve dating?” Max scoffs, covering the quirk of her lips freshly painted with a tube of gloss she’s scavenged from your vanity. It’s light and sweet, it suits her well with the sassy updo she’s fashioning this evening.

You can’t remember the last time you had someone over for fun, your last sleepover was with Nancy Wheeler and Barb Holland before you realized all too quickly just how easy it is to grow out of such an artificial liking of someone.

How delightfully juvenile that you should be having a much better time with teenage girls just toeing into their sophomore year.

“No, we are not dating.”

“We wouldn’t care if you were.” You glance over your shoulder, El’s nails half painted where your attention was previously focused. It seems a silly thing to be so affected when she says something like that, but it makes you wonder if ‘we’ means the group has discussed the idea of you two dating like it’s some conspiracy they’d have to get on board with.

You’re not sure if you like it at all.

You decided after that night laying out in the open, teaching Steve about the stars, that you like being his friend. It doesn’t erase the lines of attraction entirely, it’s still shavings coating the page, wiped away but somehow an abundance muddling your next few lines of thought when you look too closely.

But there’s something about the two that just don’t merge so nicely in your head. Like rivers steadily ebbing and flowing, they come together at times but flow in opposite directions on most occasions.

“Well that is awfully kind of you, but I promise we’re just friends. What about you guys? Max, how are things going with Lucas?”

“Surprisingly, the best they’ve ever been. I think it might have something to do with you and I being friends.” She laughs, bashful about the whole thing. Seeing them lately it’s hard to imagine a reason Lucas would need to visit you so much.

You thought it was a bit strange at first to be jealous of them, but you can’t find it in you not to be when they’re so sweet with each other. It gives you hope that everyone has that person who will make them tick the perfect amount.

“Oh please, he is so smitten with you and obviously you are too.”

“Smitten.” El affirms, but still tilts her head like she’s trying to recall what it means. “Yeah, you like each other a lot.”

“And what about you, Miss. Hopper?” El reddens, laying her cheek on her perched knee like you’ve asked her something horrible. She looks everywhere but at you and you can tell Max is about to spill something extra juicy. El is too sweet for that and you don’t want her to think you’re teasing her.

Just then you wonder what’s taking Robin so long, though you can’t decide if she would back you up or gang up on you with the two younger girls. By your watch, a dinky little thing with flowers decorating the lavender band, she should’ve gotten off work an hour ago.

“I’m starving, where’s Robin with the pizza?”

“She’s always late now. I swear Steve holds her hostage to talk about their problems for at least twenty minutes before they even leave the parking lot.” Max advises, lifting her head where she’s poking through your dresser for something to try on.

“Yeah, they complain a lot.” El posits, blowing at her nails. She offers up her fresh hand, paying close attention like she’s trying to absorb every movement you make with the small brush.

You almost jump at a hollow knock on your front door. You thank goodness that you don’t, unable to think of the look on El’s face should you accidentally coat her skin in the dark red color. You relinquish the bottle to Max hastily finding the front door in an unattractive half jog.

“God, I thought you’d never get here-” You pause momentarily, met with Steve standing tall over Robin’s shoulder, two pizzas stacked in his palms, beaming. Robin looks to be harboring a vague annoyance, apologetic to a fault when you find her miffed gaze. “Sorry, Harrington, no boys allowed.”

“But I brought pizza.” He scoots past Robin who rolls her eyes but trails him into the apartment.

“You loaned me two bucks!” She groans, her tone begging him to turn back. You track them to the kitchen and Steve’s already snagged a slice of pizza from one of the steaming boxes and you’re so starving you almost leave him be in favor of savoring the sticky cheese of your own slice.

“Steve, this is an invitation only event and you don’t have one.” You deadpan, attempting to usurp him by grabbing at the sleeve of his polo. He doesn’t budge an inch and by now you can hear shuffling from the other room, Max and El quickly filling the kitchen arch.

Max is holding El gently at the wrist, probably having forced her from the joyous occasion of having her nails done when they heard the commotion. While El’s eyes are focused on the room like she’s trying to decipher why she should care, Max is immediately annoyed and you flinch when her brows crease.

“Hello ladies.” Steve nods, shoving the rest of his pizza into his mouth, obscene the way he unhinges his jaw to fit the entirety of it.

While usually your mind would be filled with something euphoric like how nice he looks under the lights of your kitchen or the rise it gives you when his eyes lazily scan the room, you can’t conjure up a single thought about his presence that sparks joy.

You think if you were feeling just a little more unhinged you might want to strangle him.

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be on babysitting duty or something?” Max charges, eyes rolling to the back of her skull.

When you first met it wasn’t hard to believe that Max must absolutely despise Steve’s entire being. Always throwing jabs and silent looks with that deathly edge no one seems to know how to navigate. But the more you look and experience them, you realize Steve’s taken up residence as something only the two of them could ever fully comprehend.

You’d heard stories about her family, she filled you in on the nitty gritty one night when it was just the two of you, and you think Steve must’ve taken over somewhere without either of them realizing it. Now you can’t see them as anything more than an overbearing older brother who knows the right way to get under his sister’s skin enough to make her just a little cruel.

“You know, I’ve actually got the night off.” Steve sobers only a bit when Max growls under her breath. “Oh what, are you guys gonna do girl talk? I can girl talk!”

“We don’t want your girl talk.” El tuts, gravitating toward the pizza. She looks at her nails, then at you with a look that’s shy, unsure whether the paint is dry enough to gorge herself. You can tell she feels a little dull for asking, on the verge of forgetting it.

You don’t torment her, the idea of waiting for her to pluck the courage to ask is far too mean. You reach for her hands, testing the paint delicately enough that if they were still sensitive you wouldn’t mess up your handiwork. You glance up and she’s staring at you in awe, like she’s impressed she didn’t have to say anything.

El has a way of making you feel a little too proud of yourself for basic human decency.

“You’re good, babe, just be a little careful.” She holds you a little longer, a silent thank you on behalf of the stillness that settles in the room. “Steve, why don’t you go and hang out with Dustin? I’m sure he’d be happy to have you.”

“But I wanna hang out with Robin.”

“Take her and go.” Max says mildly, taking half a step forward so her shoulder is shielding you from the towering figure like he’ll pounce any second.

“What?! I don’t wanna hang out with Steve!” So he’s a plague on all of you this evening then. You feel a little bad, the way he’s looking between the four of you, obviously offended that you’re blatantly kicking him to the curb.

It’s nothing personal, but you’re constantly hanging out as a group and you could tell by Max’s rapidly flaring temper and El’s tendency to sidle near the edges lately that they needed some time away.

You hadn’t intended his presence to be a constant side effect. He’s not likened to a diseased thing most times, but it can be irksome the way he comes and goes as he pleases.

“Steve, we just need a night away. It’s really nothing personal, I promise.” He considers you, shifting on his tennis shoes, hand slipping into his jeans. You can see the way his shoulders dip, suddenly too grumpy to put up much of a fight.

A formidable foe he is not, his defeat proving himself harmless.

“Fine. Walk me out?” You think he must be talking to Robin, but in your heroic defeat of the less than harrowing villain set out to ruin your evening, the rest of your fearful foursome has wholly occupied themselves with pizza.

“Come on-” You shepherd him to the door that seems further somehow, Steve easily falling into stride beside you. “You know, a night to yourself might be just what you need.”

It’s hard to imagine him all alone. The time you’ve been allowed to be close to him has mostly been filled with the kids running you in circles. You’ve never bothered to ask if he minds, but maybe you should because the sour twist of his lips is not what you’re expecting when you playfully carve his shoulder.

“Trust me, I have plenty of nights to myself.” There’s nothing to say, so you don’t, giving him space enough to think it over on his own. You can feel it when he looks over at you, weighing his options. “Are you glad Eddie’s back?”

You’ve done it, finally forced Steve to resort to someone he only seems to tolerate. You stumble a little, his hand reaches out to steady you on your feet, saving you from faceplanting right into the peeling wallpaper on your floor’s hallway. You can hear the news buzzing low on the other side of your neighbor’s door and you don’t think it could possibly be anything good.

All of the things you don’t want to hear are on the news, it’s something you only force yourself to stomach because so many bad things seem to be happening in Hawkins. Maybe that’s what’s got Steve so confused.

You feel stupid because you realize it’s been nearly thirty seconds and you haven’t answered his question. He probably thinks you’re ignoring him, a childish thing to do but you’re certainly not above it.

You settle your stomach and the anxious ignorance that’s suddenly bubbling in your gut before you call the elevator, leaning against the wall, legs crossed at the ankle.

“Oh yeah, my fridge has never been emptier.” It’s true, Eddie’s stomach always bigger than he’s willing to budget for so he’s prone to taking advantage of your hospitality. You don’t mind it because he’s good company, but it grosses you out some of the things he can make out of food you actually enjoy eating. “I haven’t seen him much though, already preparing to get on the road again.”

“Can I ask something a little personal?”

“I can’t stop you. The correct question is, will I answer?” You nudge him, throwing your arms toward the open elevator. You hadn’t intended on walking him the entirety of the building, three floors down and to his car in the parking lot, but you’re curious.

“Are you and Eddie a thing? Or were you a thing?” So is he, it seems.

“That’s what you wanna ask me?”

“You don’t have to answer, I just well-” He’s chasing every syllable far too quickly to actually form something coherent. You can see the heat rising to his cheeks, probably regretting the question entirely.

“Look, Eddie and I are friends. That’s really all you need to know.”

“Fair enough…can I try again?”

“I can’t stop you.” He doesn’t ask anything immediately, you’re already stepping onto the night soaked asphalt when he lightly grabs your wrist. He glances at you beneath his lashes, stepping to the side where his car is parked. You think he might kiss you the way his emotions are carved so heavily under his eyelids.

“Well, I guess this is me.” Steve stops near the driver’s side door, hand warming the handle. You think there must be another reason he’s so eager to spend the evening with a bunch of girls, half of them more than willing to pin him down and make him suffer because of it. The way he lingers almost gets you.

Instead you laugh, his choice of words reminiscent of the end of an uncertain first date.

You imagine what it would be like if you’re the one who suddenly yields forward, bracing your hands on the apples of his cheeks. If you push up on your toes just enough to ghost over his lips, see if he wants it as badly as you think you could. The awkward pause when you pull away, waiting for him to take you in or say goodnight leaving you to stand absolutely mortified on his doorstep.

You realize you've been standing here too long, you think Steve is hopeful you’ll let him stay. He hasn’t quite leveled his keys in his palm, still half in his pocket where he stands yanking the locked door.

What he says is more surprising.

“Was I…a dick to you in school?” He tilts his chin, a rapid movement like he’s not sure that’s the right word but he can’t think of one that’s less harsh to say out loud.

He doesn’t hold the same false confidence he had just five minutes ago, shifting every so often on his feet. He tussles with the band of his handsome watch. It looks like his fingers are fighting to break free of the fancy leather, like it’s a bad habit he can’t quite kick.

“Are you soul searching? At this point it hardly matters, right?” Your attempt to lighten his suddenly dreary mood doesn’t work. You almost ask if this is why he doesn’t wanna be alone, but it doesn’t have to be a bad thing, coming to terms with everything.

It seems rather pervasive to be caught in that moment of self reflection, turning your nose at the person you were and trying to decide how much of them is left.

“No, I’m serious. I was just thinking about when we really met a few months ago. I actually didn’t recognize you at first because…well I mean-”

“I was a little nerdier in high school? Trust me, I’m still exactly the same. I think you’re just different now so you don’t notice. That and I’m not always running around in club t-shirts.”

It was an old habit, your horrible sense of style. One you developed when you realized your parents didn’t have the money to keep up with the latest trends, you thought no one could make fun of you as much for advertising extracurriculars.

Not true, if anyone were to ask.

“You’re not saying no…”

“Honestly? I think you were a little mean to everyone you didn’t wanna sleep with and I’m confident enough in myself to say that I wasn’t one of those girls.” You shrug, long since forgetting those days entirely.

The ones where you’d dream of a boy like Steve Harrington skipping stones off your window and climbing up on the nearest tree, clinging to the branches for dear life while he begged you to let him in.

“I guess it doesn’t mean anything if I apologize?” He asks sardonically.

“Steve, what’s really going on here?”

“Nothing…I should let you get back to your girls' night.”

It’s not nothing, it’s clearly not, but you don’t have the tools to coax it out of him just now. Not standing in the parking lot, lowering your voice a half step when you spot one of your nosier neighbors slowly taking the groceries from her car.

“Are you sure? Because I can—”

“Yeah, just…sorry if I was ever a jerk. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later, Steve.”

~*~

“Thanks for helping me shop for the bonfire.” Lucas drops an abundance of graham crackers into the cart to match the stockpile of marshmallows and chocolate, you sneak a pack of rods for fear the kids think it’s actually okay to shove the marshmallows over splintered wood.

The whole thing is horribly last minute.

You thought they’d been planning this for at least a couple of weeks since that’s when they thought to invite you. But when you opened your door mid-afternoon to Lucas with a nervous ache in his muscles you couldn’t well say no to helping him set everything up.

It’s obvious you’re the most forgiving of their friends with a license and you obviously have a soft spot for Lucas.

It’s a small punishment, but you warned him you wouldn’t be dolling yourself up for a quick trip to the grocery store. He grimaced when he saw the animated characters on your pajama bottoms and the fuzzy socks stuffed into a pair of house slippers.

He must be just as forgiving as you because he didn’t try very hard to get you to change, though he could be banking on you being the embarrassed one because he’s been walking a decent stretch ahead of you since you walked in.

“No problem! I love bonfires, they’re so cozy and the smell of burning wood in the crisp autumn can’t be beat.” You sigh, ignoring it entirely when Lucas looks at you differently. It’s just the two of you at the moment, Dustin came with but he suspiciously split from you as soon as you walked in. “What else is on your list?”

It was a stupid question really.

Why should you believe that a bunch of know-it-all teenagers thought to write a list when they could be doing anything else? Especially when they couldn’t even be bothered to think of it further than fire and friends until now. As if to prove your point, Lucas glances off to the side, patting his pockets like there should be a slip of paper somewhere that he’s missing.

“Ok, let me try that again.” You clear your throat, tracing the length of your teeth like you’re thinking it over. You don’t want him to feel so bad for coming unprepared. “Do we want to bring more food, hot cocoa, apple cider? Do we need extra chairs or blankets?”

“Oh, food! We definitely need more food and maybe an extra flashlight and some batteries.” He seems suddenly confident in his lack of a list, rubbing his hands together, stoking mischief. You sidle between aisles, paying close attention to the things Lucas picks up, nothing concerning catching your eye just yet. When he sees you scrutinizing he shrugs. “Can’t have a bonfire without scary stories.”

“True…”

“This is pretty unbelievable.”

One of your favorite things about Eddie is his ability to suddenly pick up a conversation like you’d already been having it. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it’s his penchant to dip into his supply, smoke usually drifting hazy just above your parallel heads on his bedroom floor. But you do know better so you know he just has a thought and speaks it immediately no matter what.

“I’m gone for what, three months? And Harrington steals my girl.”

You’d be heated like crazy if he said this a few years ago, both of you tangled beneath your bedsheets and far too giggly to have done something so serious. Now you shove at his cheek, forcing it to one side. He takes it in kind, snapping back with the force of a friend when he finds your fingers with the pointed edges of his canines.

“He hasn’t stolen anything, he’s just a friend. Much like you might I add.”

It was never anything serious with Eddie, but there was something about revelry that drew you to him in high school. Watching him antagonize jocks by day and lounge in the darkened corners of wild parties by night, waiting for the desperation of a momentary high to peak someone’s interest beneath the clouds of smoke.

It was a pleasant surprise when you realized he’s just a big dork, more than willing to have a little fun, easily navigating the strings.

Master of puppets indeed.

You came away with a camaraderie far more preferable than a tryst in the sheets and the moment it was one of your mugs lining the walls of his trailer it was unspoken that you both quit while you’re ahead.

I can’t sleep with you with that mug on the wall, it’s blasphemous.

“You’re a horrible babysitter by the way.” He’s got Dustin by his collar, an obscene amount of sparklers in his arms. Your lip twitches at the corner, but you don’t dare give away your amusement. “Better leave it to Steve-o.”

“Dustin, we don’t need all those.” You wonder how he made it back to you with that many. Surely someone in the store had seen him with a flashing sign over his head begging to be apprehended.

“Yes we do! Ultimate bonfire!” He tosses them into the cart, already halfway to his killer explanation. At least you’re sure that’s what he thinks and the look on Lucas’s face isn’t the most promising because he’s counting the boxes like he doesn’t think there are enough. “Come on, we’ll be in Will’s backyard so it’s totally safe and we could make a sick obstacle course with these!”

“Dude, yes!” The two of them high five, you look at Eddie whose amusement is palpable.

Still, he lets Dustin go, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, the scent of smoke an immediate comfort where your cheek is squished into his t-shirt. “Guys, how about two packs of sparklers, no obstacle course, and I’ll throw in a bonus campaign before I jet off again.”

If it’s wrong to play on their emotions like this you aren’t sure you care too much at the moment.

“A full campaign.”

“Deal.”

Things are much easier with four heads, the three boys coming up with a steadily unattainable list of things and you molding their requests into something remotely possible. You’re relieved when Eddie offers to take the boys and their sizable haul in his van.

“Hey, could you check on Steve?” Dustin asks you suddenly, peeling the flaps on one of the boxes of sparklers open. You’re trying not to make a comment because he’s Eddie’s problem now. “I’ve been calling him all day and he hasn’t answered.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like you anymore.” Eddie suggests, lighting one of the sticks with his lighter to trace something derogatory with the smoke.

“Maybe he’s just busy. Did he have work?”

“Or a date.” Lucas makes a valid point, Steve’s availability rather slim as of late.

It was odd to you because he wasn’t so fast and loose this summer. It was nice to see him so alone, not always looking for the next pair of legs suitable to shove himself between.

He even made excuses to hang out with you at the bakery and pretended he didn’t have better things to do when you got especially active deliveries of soil or fresh ingredients so he could help you stock your inventory because you were always too stubborn to ask for it.

“Yeah, he’s not your actual babysitter. He has a life.”

You don’t tell him that you haven’t heard from Steve in a while either. Not since he interrupted your girls' night and apologized for things that never really mattered to you. Maybe you should’ve checked on him sooner but there’s still a small sliver of you that isn’t sure the two of you are as close as you think.

It’s the part of you that curls in on itself everytime he smiles in your direction or makes a comment in jest.

It’s created a character separate from the two that already seem in a constant battle about your feelings for the boy, so suddenly thrust back into your life. Not to say he was ever a part of it to begin with.

You’re just so far removed from your immediate adolescence that it feels like years since you worried about someone like Steve Harrington when in reality he was only ever a few blocks away and so much different than you remember in every way.

“I’m. telling. You.” Dustin enunciates every word, the way he does when he thinks you’re too stupid to get what he’s saying. “He’s not fine. I think I know him a lot better than you guys do.”

“Then why don’t you check on him.”

“Because he needs a gentler touch.”

~*~

“Steve?” You knock for about the tenth time. You’d think he wasn’t home if his car wasn’t sitting so proudly in the driveway. Still you think it might be better if you just try him later, maybe a call instead of standing beneath the clouds, overcast with darkness and the daunting threat of an autumn storm.

So much for a bonfire.

The sky is already electric, flashes of lightning in the distance putting you in a bit of a tizzy. You aren’t scared of storms, but you’d rather not be caught standing in the middle of one because everyone is so sure there’s something wrong with Steve and somehow you’re the one sent to check on him.

You think he could’ve gotten a taste of the bug, the relaxation of having some time to himself.

He probably didn’t know what to do with it in high school, a decent rager always the first thing on his mind when his parents went out of town. You only attended a few at Eddie’s insistence, but it was obvious peace and quiet was the last thing you’d be finding.

And by the time he graduated he’d already inherited an entire family who made it their business to be under his skin as often as possible.

“Steve, come on!” You’re a little vexed. It feels petulant for him to make you stand out here if he hears you knocking. He could have the courtesy to tell you to go away or even mime a gesture through the window canvasing the door.

You ignore the portion of your brain reminding you that no one’s forced you to come here. Certainly not to be standing here this long.

You wish you’d been a little more thoughtful in your attire. It was cute when you first thought of it, a black dress with tights and worn boots mimicking the famed Wednesday Addams. You think you might have her entire demeanor down by the time Steve opens the door.

The wind is picking up and your toes curl in your boots.

You pound against the wooden barrier with your fist another time, this one much harder than those previous because it’s started sprinkling and for some reason you’re still standing here worried about Steve.

Why are you standing here worried about Steve?

You’re turning on your heel when you hear a commotion inside, the front door swinging swiftly on its hinges.

“What the hell are you doing?” You nearly forget it yourself, Steve looking at you like you’re insane with a towel slung low on his hips, another hanging limply in his hand where he’d been drying his hair.

Instead of actually answering him you think it’s fair to ask an obvious question. You’ve been knocking for so long.

“Why are you naked?”

“I just got out of the shower and you were down here banging on the door like a cop! Sorry I didn’t take the time to make myself decent.” He shifts, glancing cautiously at the steadily worsening downpour you’re standing beneath. You still haven’t quite sobered, eyes hardly avoiding the bare expanse of Steve’s chest, his shoulders looking far broader without the padding of a crisp polo or his denim jacket. “Get in here.”

You glance at your car, a wasted effort if you’re honest, the stubborn part of you, the one that’s been knocking on his door for the past thirty minutes already decided. You sidle past him, careful not to brush too closely for fear of a realization you’re not prepared for.

Steve locks you both in, turning toward you with his free hand resting in the sculpted slope of his hip. It’s gross how handsome he is like that, you think you might be getting a little sick.

“What are you doing here?” He sounds more confused than anything, probably because you’ve never come over unannounced. Actually you haven’t been to Steve’s house since those summer nights long since dead with the wilted trees whose leaves still linger in previously polished yards.

“I came to check on you, Dustin said you haven’t been answering his calls.” His head tilts, he looks like a puppy that doesn’t immediately recognize they’ve been asked to sit or they heard a funny noise. It would be cute if you weren’t realizing a slew of things right this instant. Your jaw slackens. “Dustin never called you.”

“Not unless calling me suddenly means not calling me.”

“God…I’m sorry, I’ll go.” These kids are brutal, and the worst part is you don’t know who was even in on it. They make it impossible to tell the way they’re all so different, near scolding you for thinking about Steve one moment then telling you they don’t care either way the other.

Brutal.

“No.” Steve subtly blocks the door with his frame, water still coating his chest where it drips from the ends of his hair. It’s an exercise of willpower not to place your hand right there on his chest and chase the droplets all the way down. Just friends. “I mean, it’s getting pretty ugly out there. You should stick around until it dies down.”

You wonder how long it’d take him to get sick if you gently ushered him out of the house and onto his front porch. It’s something you’re seriously considering. You were just starting to get used to the idea of being friends, resisting the natural attraction you have to him, and now he’s standing in front of you with no regard at all for the shred of self control you’ve been wielding so expertly.

“Steve, I should go. Make sure the kids are okay.”

“They’re at Joyce’s, they’ll be fine.” He ushers you a little further, but you don’t care how awful it's getting outside or that you’ve been waiting to come inside for so long, you need to leave because you’re positive his voice is lower than usual. A rasp like he’d just woken up or it’s been a while since he used it for anything.

“You haven’t been around much.” You sidle backward, swiping an irritating strand of hair from your forehead to focus on anything that’s not Steve being naked.

“I’ve been around, just not around you.”

“At least you’re honest. Did I do something? Is this about–”

“No! No you didn’t do anything, well you did a lot of things, but you didn’t do anything wrong.” He’s tripping over himself again, you miss his careful steps toward you. Even still your body is taut, unable to move any further away if you wanted to.

His scent is fresh from the shower and you almost think he’s done this on purpose, like he knew you’d be waiting outside when he opened the door. He was always a little sneaky, but in a way that only ever came off as accidental and charming.

Just friends.

“Well…what did I do that wasn’t wrong?”

“You made me want you.”

A stupid thing that broke you so easily in hind sight.

Never bothering to ask what he meant by it.

You barely remember trailing him to his bedroom, your breath trapped and labored in your chest. The only thing you recall is the way your limbs are thrumming with something hot and heavy. It’s easy when he closes the door and teases you with his lips, large hands capturing your cheeks and stroking the uncertainty away, making sure you want him as badly as he wants you.

You do.

The moment he began gently removing your clothes, chasing your skin with the ghost of his lips, felt like an out of body sort of thing. Like you could see and feel everything he was doing but it wasn’t totally in your control. You even helped him when it got a little awkward and your dress stuck at your hips and you both laughed.

How dreadful when you realized you fit together so perfectly. It’s like you weren’t even trying but everything just fell into place. The haunting reminiscence of your name on his lips like litany, the way your hands drug lightly from the width of his shoulders down the length of his back.

You held him in with your hips, like he’d dream of being anywhere else.

It feels like you would let him spend an eternity filling you completely. In that moment you would have, in that moment you would’ve done a lot of things.

It’s the end bit that got you.

The moment he rolled off, a kiss left lingering in the crook of your neck, something silly rolling off his tongue before he buried his face in his pillow. You listened to him doze off, breath evened out, and you suddenly felt lousier than you have in a while.

Because you’re just friends.

You feel lousy knowing the only thing he’ll wake up to in the morning is empty space and he’ll be completely fine with it.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader series #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic

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beanieman · 1 year

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pray tell, what do you think everyone's favourite drink/beverage/cocktail is?

Sara Chidouin - Orange Juice

Joe Tazuna - Capri Sun

Gin Ibushi - Apple Juice

Keiji Shinogi - Old Fashioned

Alice Yabusame - Strawberry Milk

Reko Yabusame - Black Coffee

Nao Egokoro - Lemonade

Kazumi Mishima - Oolong Tea

Q-taro Burgerberg - Red Gatorade

Kai Satou - Green Tea

Kanna Kizuchi - Vanilla Milkshake

Shin Tsukimi - Mulled Cider

Dolls

Ranmaru Kageyama - Water

Naomichi Kurumada - Red Bull

Anzu Kinashi - Cherry Limeade

Mai Tsurugi - Sweet Tea

Shunsuke Hayasaka - Sparkling Water

Hinako Mishuku - Hot Chocolate

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blessyourhondahurley · 7 months

Text

Suptober day 2 - Great Eggs-pectations

A fluffy little epilogue to last year's Fowl Play series, in which Dean and Cas take a big scary exciting step together as husbands and farmers.

Suptober prompt: Pumpkin Patch

(Read on AO3)

“Son of a bitch,” Dean hisses, careful to keep his voice too soft to reach the ears of his son, who's happily engrossed in killing some video game demons in the next room. He sighs and tosses his pen across the kitchen table. The terrifyingly official form laid out in front of him is pristine, untouched.

“Do you really think we can pull this off, babe?” he asks his husband for the fifth time in an hour. “We've been gettin' by alright just doing the farmer's market every week, and the pumpkin patch and the hay rides and stuff here every fall. What if we go all in on opening up this store and it flops?”

Even though he would be well within his rights at this point to roll his eyes or snap at Dean to just fill out the damn form already, Cas simply takes his hand and gives him a soft smile. “I never said it would be easy, darling,” he murmurs. “There are no guarantees for us in this life, of course. But we've gotten nothing but encouraging feedback about our plan from our customers at the market, the loan manager at the bank, our family, friends, loved ones... People are excited for us to open. I'm ready to make the leap. Will you leap with me?”

Dean looks into fathomless blue eyes and feels his world wobble on its axis. It's a familiar sensation, the dizzy wash of love and abject gratitude that he feels whenever he realizes once again that this is his life now: his gorgeous husband, their wonderful son, this thriving farm. It's been over a year since he's touched a gun, and even then he was using it to ping empty soup cans out back with Jack. The last time he bought a bag of rock salt, it was for their old-fashioned hand-cranked ice cream maker.

He's a retired hunter. He's a loving husband. He's a father. He's a farmer. He's alive, and he's here, and he's happy, so fucking happy. It feels dangerous to try for more, greedy. And no matter how hard he works to bury them, those old feelings of being a fraud refuse to lay down and stay dead. Does Dean Winchester deserve to thrive like this? Surely not.

He gulps, feeling the hot sting of tears behind his eyes. Cas stands, then tugs on their still-joined hands to pull him to his feet as well. Then he's being held, snug and warm in his beloved's strong arms. He rests his head on Cas's shoulder and breathes out as his tears begin to flow.

“Don't worry,” comes a whisper in his ear. “I've got you.”

“I know, baby,” he replies hoarsely. “I've got you,too.”

He pulls away just far enough to plant a soggy kiss on his husband's cheek.

“Thank you for putting up with me,” he says. “It's gotta be rotten work.”

“Not to me,” comes the reply with a quirk of those full lips. “Not if it's you.”

Dean huffs a laugh and swipes at his eyes with his free hand. “Okay,” he says firmly. “We're doing it. This is happening. We're gonna open our own little store. We're gonna sell honey and eggs and flowers and preserves, and your knitting and Jack's pipe cleaner spiders with the googly eyes and my hand pies, and it's gonna fucking rock. We're gonna pay back our small business loan and the mortgage on the storefront, and we're gonna put money aside for Jack for if he decides to go to college in a few years. And in the fall we'll have pumpkins and apple cider donuts and horseshoes and hay rides and the corn maze and make-your-own scarecrows. We're doing this.” As he speaks, he feels his own words buoying him up, filling him with a surge of confident energy. He sees this energy reflected back to him in his husband's gaze.

“Yes, love, we are,” comes the certain reply. The expression on Cas's beautiful face is resolute. He looks every inch the avenging angel he once was. Dean can never resist teasing him a little bit when he gets his serious face on like that.

“It's gonna be take a lotta elbow grease, though. You know?” Dean says with a grin. “We're gonna have to... work around the cluck.”

Cas does roll his eyes then, and shove him away. Dean goes with the push and pivots back into his seat at the table. Reaching for his pen, he fills out the top line in neat caps: FOWL PLAY FARMS MARKET.

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fluff #suptober23 #day 2

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with-love-from-hell · 6 months

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🎃 trick or treat for diavolo?

Hi Anon! Here's your treat!

🎃 - A random Halloween Headcanon

Diavolo is the type to go WAY over the top for any Halloween celebration- and its made even more of a demand because it's his damn birthday, so it's usually a town-wide event lol. I'm talkin' the whole 9 yards - Haunted houses, apple bobbing, spiked cider cocktails, carnival games, scare actors galore, various horror movies played in theaters around town, the most elaborate costumes, all of the food being Halloween themed, maybe even circus acts that are themed around the holiday! His excitement around the holiday is very child-like and cute to observe, and he is definitely the type to go door-to-door trick or treating and freak out all of the demons in the process, but he's just so excited he can participate in this stuff since he became ruler of the Devildom, he's gotta make up for lost time! (side note, I definitely think that his dad was way too old fashioned to let the man have a childhood, so that contributes to why I see him as a big ole' toddler sometimes lol)

He, of course, forces all of the brothers to participate, whether they want to or not, and is very fond of group costumes- especially if he's able to match with Mc. He will come to them with about 40 different couples costume ideas, from a bottle of ketchup and mustard, to a famous couple from a movie or show, to something so obscure that it needs explaining. Good luck trying to come to a decision on it, because he can barely make up his mind on what would be better. You may have to go through a couple costume changes throughout the night if he cant decide!

Ask Box Trick or Treating (click the link for rules and to see what characters are available for headcanons

#obey me!#obey me #shall we date: obey me #OM!#obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me: shall we date #obey me diavolo #diavolo #ask game #ask box trick or treating

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oncasette · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐔…

✷ my mood themed spotify playlists

ABSINTHE. dad rock $15.63

ARNOLD PALMER. lost & drunk on the beach $1.20

BLACK COFFEE. he’s an older man $40.50

BOURBON TOSCANO. smoky $5.21

BUBBLEGUM SODA. girly bubblegum pop $0.56

CEREAL MILK. just a girl in a coming of age film $7.13

CLEAR SALINE. grief $0.98

CRYSTAL PEPSI. live life like it’s an 80s movie $1.25

DIET MTN DEW. pretentious indie bitch $3.78

EGGNOG. christmas beats $13.12

GINGER SHOT. in love with a women in the 70s $8.08

GINGER TEA. lo-fi & movie quotes $7.21

HOT CHOCOLATE. warm $5.00

JACK AND COKE. permanent wave $20.56

JELL-O SHOTS. the era, the icon, the 2000s $13.31

LAVENDER LEMONADE. vintage love songs $0.99

LONG ISLAND ICED TEA. dancing w/out a man $42.37

MARTINI, DRY. mom, i am a rich man $1,843.00

MEAD. living in the mud $0.00

MILLER LITE. generic beer & truck country $21.00

MONSTER ENERGY. emo $15.21

MOONSHINE. country love songs $20.59

NEW COKE. my 2018 editing 80s era $1.99

A NICE CHIANTI. stuck in a horror movie $19.88

OLD FASHIONED. slow dancing to vinyl $19.54

ORANGE JUICE. lost love $14.70

PEACE TEA. relaxation $0.78

PROSECCO. songs that buzz $24.70

PEACH TEA. country for the plains $19.90

RED RED WINE. classic rock n roll $54.32

SALT WATER. cry your eyes out $0.15

SANGRIA. that woman’s the devil $10.55

SPARKLING APPLE CIDER. pretty princess $25.55

STRAWBERRY DAQUIRI. feminine felonies $12.30

SUNNY-D. growing up $1.49

TAP WATER. sad, but a bit drowsier $0.00

TWISTED TEA. summertime $20.99

VODKA REDBULL. 2000s tramp anthems $14.35

WATERMELON MARGARITA. hot girl shit $14.29

#spotify #playlists

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words-etched-in-her-skin · 2 years

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Hey Theo! Really excited to see your captain Alcina post and all the naughty stuff sent in for kinktober, so I wanna start this off kinda sweet and wholesome.

Ladies favorite candy(yours and your partner’s included if your ok with it. Mine is butterfingers and Twix ice cream bars)

Favorite seasonal treat(mine is apple cider from hubers winery).

Hope you have a safe and fun Spooky Season!

Hello, dear 😊 I'm glad you're looking forward to it! It's just about done lol Just waiting for the motivation for the last scene to kick in 😅

But alright! Let's do this 👻

***

Alcina: Favorite Candy: Alcina's not one for most candies, but the Countess will never say no to some finely made dark chocolate. And if she's in the mood for something extra decadent, she'll gladly indulge in some imported cherry cordials. Favorite Seasonal Treat: I don't think it's a surprise to anyone that the Lady's favorite treat is her homemade seasonal wine 🍷

Bela: Favorite Candy: Much like her Mother, the eldest Dimitrescu is not overly big on sweets. She tends to go for more simple candies - peppermints, fruit slices and old fashioned ribbon candy being her favorites. Favorite Seasonal Treat: Pumpkin pie, especially traditional Moldovian ones 🎃🥧

Cass: Favorite Candy: The middle daughter loves anything sour. Lemonheads.. sour gummies.. the more sour the better. Her particular favorite being a candy called War Heads. Favorite Seasonal Treat: Unlike Alcina, Cass's favorite Seasonal treat is a spiced apple mead that only comes around in September and October 🍯🍂

Daniela: Favorite Candy: Needless to say, the youngest loves sweets entirely too much! So much so, that she would have a different answer of what her favorite was on any given day. She's always up for a packet of pop rocks, though! Favorite Seasonal Treat: Much to her family's dismay, Dani loves candy corn! 💥✨

Donna: Favorite Candy: Donna usually prefers to make her own candy. Her famous strawberry compote delicious surrounded by any type of chocolate. She does have a fondness for a certain amaretto trouffle that Alcina gets for her every Christmas, though. Favorite Seasonal Treat: Homemade pumpkin caramel affogato 🎃🍦

Sal: Favorite Candy: Sal is a fucking whore for gummy candies! But she will go absolutely primal over some gummy sharks. She finds them both humerous and delicious. Favorite Seasonal Treat: She loves, loves, loves to make her own pumpkin cupcakes each fall! Especially with a fresh cream icing 🦈🧁

Miranda: Favorite Candy: Fucking hot balls. Straight up, no buffer. Favorite Seasonal Treat: She finds anything pumpkin flavored repulsive. She may occasionally have some hot apple tea made for her, but that's about as festive as she gets 🔥🍵

And as requested!

Me: Favorite Candy: This is hard because I'm a slut for candy 😅 But here we go.. sour patch kids strawberries, Twizzler pull n' peels, old fashioned (soft) red licorice, neon gummy worms, tootsie rolls, and caramel m&ms. Favorite Seasonal Treat: Brach's mallowcreme pumpkins, Little Debbie's pumpkin delights, warm apple cider, and Cheeto's Bag of Bones!

My Partner's: Favorite Candy: (keep in mind, they're from Germany) Happy Hippos, crumbling fudge, and sherbert lemon. Favorite Seasonal Treat: Federweißer (basically a sightly alcoholic, lightly carbonated fruit juice that only comes out at the end of September/beginning of October in parts of Germany)

This was fun, dear! Thanks for requesting it! 😊♥️

#depravity answered #hoodedkitten144 #resident evil village #alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #donna beneviento #genderbent sal #mother miranda #demonofpuns #kinktober #softober #this was so wholesome and fun 😊#halloween 🎃#re8 headcanons #re8 asks

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emesis-blue-scout · 2 months

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JEREMY!!! my man my guy!!!! (i am so sorry i fucking forgor to ask you i am a cruel MEANIEHEAD) ahem... I COME BEARING QUESTION!! A SINGULAR ONE!!!! what's your favourite icecream flavour? if you don't have one,your favourite beverage or snack? ... thats two questions shrugs

Hey pal! I must not remember ya, sorry about that one. Anyways, joke's on you IM ANSWERIN' ALL OF THOSE

Favorite ice cream? Obvious. Vanilla, perfect on apple pie.

Beverage? Alcoholic: old fashioned or cider dependin' on the occasion. Non alcoholic? Apple juice

Snack: I love popcorn pal, like, ya don't have a CLUE how much I love popcorn

#emesis blue scout

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