Forgotten Realm Masterlist

Forgotten Realm Masterlist

You have been an archaeologist for years now but ushered into the darkest and forgotten corners of the museum. Your chosen specialty was in the once renowned City of Musutafu - which unfortunately for you has been seen as a farce, bordering on the make-believe and whimsical in high society. But you know the forgotten empire that was Musutafu was real, it just had to be with all the fragmented evidence found over the years, but several journals discredited its authenticity and cited that there was no conclusive evidence that Musutafu was anything more than myths and storytelling from much greater (and more realistic) societies. You never regarded these setbacks, even when they landed you in the basement of said museum, cataloguing donations and doing the linguistic legwork your superiors were far ‘too busy’ to do themselves. But when a strange journal turned up on your doorstep, outlining the archaeological find of the century, you embarked on the expedition of a lifetime. To bring back something to show that Musutafu really did exist. But you didn’t expect to actually find a forgotten world, thriving and hidden. Nor the crimson-eyed prince who ruled there.

Here you’ll find my drabbles in this series, inspired by archaeological adventure movies and more specifically Disney’s Atlantis: The Lost Empire. These will be updated as I have time, in short entries to build an overall story. Please bear in mind this will be a story that contains mature themes and sexual scenes further down the line.

◈ A Forgotten Realm (3.1K words)

◈ City of Splendour (2.0k words) NEW ENTRY! 

◈

Image taken from the Disney’s Art of Atlantis: The Lost Empire workbooks. Characters based upon the My Hero Academia series by Kohei Horikoshi. All written works belong to meatballhead-usagi and are not to be reposted, reuploaded or redistributed to external sites without prior permission!! Reblogs, likes and asks are always welcomed<3

the todoroki siblings then and now ;; 

The way you call me "Baby" - S.H 

Steve Harrington x female!reader 

A/n: Steve’s been so patient with his girl but he just can’t take it anymore and neither can she, soft!Steve, hopelessly in love, smut

Warnings: 18+, strong language, virgin!reader, penetration (unprotected), use of 'baby and good girl', light choking

Word count: 2.4k

She’d always been Steve’s girl, even when she wasn’t, that’s just what he would call her. He knew in his heart the second he met her he didn't want or need anyone else, he just wanted to be able to call her his. 

Steve had waited so patiently, waited so long for their very first kiss, he knew she wasn’t as experienced as him so he took everything slow but now he was starting to lose his mind a little bit. The weather got warmer which meant short skirts and flowy dresses that were tricking him into thinking about her all the time. 

It was another hot July day and he was just laying there, on her bed with her, her feet kicked up behind her, some book that was too heavy and Steve often carried for her keeping her busy. She was only wearing his shirt, she had said it was too warm to actually get dressed today so she just borrowed it. 

“Steve.” Her sweet voice broke him out of his stare. He looked rather flushed, his cheeks were stained red and he pulled at his shirt collar, she had opened a window but it obviously wasn't enough. “Are you okay?” She sat up, leaning over to press the back of her hand against Steve's head. He was sweating for sure, She pushed some of his curls back, smiling at how he relaxed into her touch. 

“I’m fine, just a little warm.” He took her head away, pressing a kiss to her open palm like he used to even before she was his girlfriend.

“Do you want to go to yours, we could swim.” 

“Baby?” Steve ran his hands up both her thighs. “I think I just want to stay here.” He fell on top of her crowding her completely, he gazed down at her, her pretty lip gloss still perfectly on her lips, not yet smudged by him. Her hair not yet touched by his hands. He didn't know why he didn't just smother her when he first got there, it must've been the damn shirt that distracted him from how beautiful his girl was today. 

“Stevie.” She placed her hands on his shoulders as he bent down to cover her neck in soft kisses, she tilted her head to the side to allow him better access, feeling her chest tighten at the feeling of him smiling against her skin.

He hummed something incoherent against her skin, refusing to give up on her bruising neck until he found that one spot that made her whimper. 

Steve's teeth grazed just under her jaw, feeling her hips lift slightly under him he knew that he had found what he was looking for. He attached his lips, sucking at the one spot that made her throw her head back. He loved how sensitive she was, it was like anything Steve did was too much, he loved making her feel good, it made him feel even better. 

He pressed his hips into hers, moaning against her skin at the friction his jeans caused. She took her bottom lip in between her teeth at the feeling. This is always when Steve would stop, when he'd pull back leaving her breathless and dizzy and he'd be so sweet with her but she didn't want him to stop. 

"Steve?" He pulled back,at the sound of her voice, leaving her skin sore and bruised. She sounded nervous, and Steve instantly worried that something was wrong. 

"Want me to stop." He held himself up by his arms, hovering above her with flushed cheeks and wet lips, he looked so dreamy right now she felt all her words catch in the back of her throat. 

"No." She practically whined, clawing at his shirt. "Want you." She nuzzled her nose against his neck, placing sweet kisses along his jaw. 

Steve struggled to keep upright, letting out a shaky breath he tried to control himself. "Baby, we don't need to do anything until you're ready." He didn't want her to think they had to do anything but then he opened his eyes, having shut them at the feeling of her lips on his skin, and he saw the way she was looking at him. She looked needy and it made Steve's head spin. 

"I'm ready Steve I swear." She pulled him down but the collar of his shirt to kiss him, reminding Steve of how sweetly she had asked to kiss him that first time. "I feel like I can't think straight around you anymore, I just need you." She whimpered, grinding her hips up into his, her words went straight to his cock, straining against his jeans. 

He wanted so badly to take things slow with her, to take their time but right now he wanted to give her anything she asked for.

He shook his head. "Baby-" 

Her chest tightened at the pretty nickname.  

"Please Stevie." She kissed him again, slipping her tongue into his mouth just like he had taught her. 

"Fuck." Steve's eyes were drowning in want, his pretty shade of brown only reflecting the lust between them. He ran his hands up and down her sides. "Now?" She nodded so quickly he almost laughed but he'd never be so cruel to her. "You're sure."

"I'm sure." She adored how Steve's gaze softened for a moment, wanting to make her feel as safe as possible.

"Just tell me if you want to stop okay, just say the word and we'll stop yeah." 

"Okay." 

"Can I take this off?" His hands gripped the loose material of her shirt, trying to ignore the way it had slipped up her thighs revealing her pretty lace underwear. 

"Please." She sighed with frustration. Steve couldn't really remember his first time but he knew what the frustration and pent-up feelings felt like, he had it all with her. 

Steve pulled the hem of her shirt over her head, he felt his jaw tighten when he saw that she wasn't wearing anything else. She'd been wandering around all day wearing nothing but his shirt. "Good girl." He muttered. 

His hands soothed the skin along her ribs, he wanted to touch every inch of her if she'd allow. His hands cupped her breasts, watching the way her eyes rolled back at the feeling, no one had ever touched her like this and it was making her a mess under him. 

He lowered his head, kissing the top of her breast, leaving wet kisses along her skin, biting just light enough to leave a mark. "So pretty." He mumbled, still kissing while his other hand began massaging her left breast. 

Her hand tangled in his hair, trying not to tug but also needing to hold onto something. Everything Steve did felt like heaven, he just knew how to touch her, knew exactly what to say. 

He lifted his head for just a second to remove his shirt, quickly reattaching himself to her body. She still got flustered every time she saw Steve without a shirt, her hands hesitated over his shoulders, feeling his hot skin under her touch.

"It's okay sweetheart, you can touch me." He knew she needed to hear that, her nails ran along the back of his neck and he bit down partially hard making her softly moan his name. 

His thumb brushed over her nipple, pressing his hand harder against her breast as his other hand slipped into the waistband of her underwear that sat on her thighs.

He pulled back, lips now swollen, kneeling between her legs, he pressed a kiss to her knee, then the other. His hand ran up and down her thigh comfortingly, while his other toyed with the tiny bit of lace surrounding her waist.

"Now these are about the prettiest thing I've ever seen, yet." He grinned as she covered her face with her hands. "Hey, none of that. Want to see my girl's face when I'm complimenting her." 

She pulled her hands away, watching as Steve played with the pink lace, he always said he liked her in pink. His fingers gripped the material, slowly pulling it down her thighs and then off her ankles. She didn't miss how Steve placed her underwear in his pocket before tugging his jeans off. 

She went to ask why, slightly turned on at the idea of him just needing to have them but then Steve removed his own underwear. 

She sat up and Steve instantly pulled her in for a kiss, kissing felt different now they were both naked, it made her heart beat quick and her breath shorter. 

Steve ran his hand over his cock, letting a few soft moans slip from his lips, he was kissing his dream girl and touching himself at the same time, it was impossible to be quiet. 

She whimpered against his mouth and Steve felt like he was going to pass out at any second. "Lay back down for me baby." He separated her legs further, biting his lip at just how wet she was. "So fucking pretty for me." 

"Steve." She whined again, pushing her hips up desperate for him to do anything. Steve stopped his movements on himself, smiling at just how worked up he'd gotten her, he placed both his hands on her thighs, pushing them aside so he could press himself against her. "What is it sweetheart?"

Her hands instantly tanged in his hair again, needing him impossibly closer. She tried to press her hips up again but he was pinning her down now. 

"Need you." She messily kissed him, teeth clashing as she struggled for breath. "Please. Do. Something." She spoke between desperate kisses.

She glanced between them, seeing Steve's cock pressed against her thigh, if she could just move slightly he'd be right against her cunt. 

"What do you want?" His hands gripped her hips tighter, he just needed to hear her say it. He needed to hear his sweet girl beg for him. 

"I-I want you to fuck me Stevie." 

"Good girl." 

Steve's hand reached between them, he ran the tip of his cock between her folds, she shivered at the feeling, hands tightening their grip in his hair. Her eyebrows furrowed together and Steve never thought she looked more perfect to him then she did right now. 

Steve's lips attached to her neck again, trying to distract her from the sting of pain he knew was coming, she gasped as he sucked at her skin again, rubbing himself against her cunt.

She felt a sharp sting as Steve slowly entered her, she tightly squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on Steve's lips against her neck. 

"I know, I know baby." He mumbled into her skin, feeling her body tense as he pushed inside her. "Relax, you gotta relax." He soothed his thumb over her hip bone, trying to not come at the feeling of her tightening around him.

His jaw tightened finally completely filling her, he let up on her neck, bringing a hand to her cheek to make sure she was okay as he let her get used to the feeling of him inside her. 

Her thighs burned, knees bent as his hips laid between her. She whimpered looking down to see Steve's cock filling her completely, how his patch of hair rubbed against her so perfectly, if he moved he'd hit her clit.

"Please move Steve, it hurts." She threw her head back, aching for him to move. He slowly rutted inside her, keeping himself deep in her cunt, brushing the same spot over and over that her fingers never quite reached. 

Steve didn't care about himself at this moment, all he wanted to do was make her feel good. "Is that good baby?"

Her soft moans and sweet whines mixed with Steve's heavy groans, his hand falling from her cheek to wrap around her neck. She tightened around him at the feeling of the light pressure he applied around her throat. 

Steve kept his eyes on her, watching how her face contorted in pleasure, watching her eyes roll back every time he brushed against her clit. Everything became hazy and all Steve could think about was her sweet moans. 

He continued to thrust himself inside her, slowly and steadily, letting himself feel every part of her against his cock. Steve pressed his forehead to hers and lowered himself onto his forearms, rolling his hips harder as she let out uneven breaths. 

Both of them began to sweat, bodies sticking to each other in the summer heat. It just made everything so much more intense, she felt like her body was burning all over. 

He lifted her leg around his waist, letting himself hit deeper inside her and brush her clit with every thrust. His body tensed at the sound of her soft moans that were turning into cries. 

He didn't look away from her, he couldn't. "That's it baby, I've got you, good girl." His words kept her eyes on him, she wanted to be good for him, hearing him call her a good girl sent all the blood rushing to her head. 

Steve didn't stop as her leg tightened around his waist, as she screamed out his name and clenched hard around his cock, letting herself cum around him so hard her eyes rolled back  

"That's it baby, that's it. Cum around my cock." He gripped the sheets beside her head, coaxing her through her own climax as he reached his. Cumming deeply inside her and pushing himself up until he knew she was full of him. 

His body fell into hers. Breathing heavily against her neck, she ran her hand through his sweaty hair as he kissed her shoulder. She kept her leg tight around him, wanting to keep him close.

"I love you sweet girl." He lifted his head to press a heavy kiss against her lips. She was still trying to catch her breath but she smiled against his lips anyway. 

He brushed his thumb over her lip, feeling her shaking breath against it, she kissed it softly. "I love you too Stevie." 

This picture perfectly captures what it's like to have a younger sibling 😭

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

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

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 10.6k

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

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

divider by firefly-graphics

Today is hot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s never stopped you, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did Debbie invite you?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

“Can you swim?” you ask.

He stares at you, blinking.

“What?” he says after a beat. 

“Can you swim?” you repeat.

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

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

His brows furrow.

“Because I can't swim,” you clarify.

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

“That’s good thinking.”

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

“How did you get here?” he asks.

“I walked.”

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

“Oh. I climbed the fence.” 

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

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

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

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

“Who's—they don’t have a triplet.”

“That’s good. Three’s bad luck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who doesn't?" 

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it. 

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

You shrug and kick at the water gently.

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

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

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

“Well, this isn’t her gate.”

“Yeah. I like your shorts.”

Steve’s cheeks flush pink. 

“Are you getting sunstroke?” you ask. 

That turns his cheeks pinker. 

“No, no." He coughs. "I’m fine.”

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

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

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

Steve smiles. “No, she’s a girl.”

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

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

“Robins are good omens. They bring luck."

“Huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Joan was at the bottom of the ocean?"

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

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

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

“My dirt?”

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

"Out of dirt?"

"Out of worms."

"Huh."

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

"Your hair is wavy," you observe. 

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

"Like what? Secrets?"

"No, like, gel. Product."

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

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

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

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

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

"Will do."

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

A smile creeps onto Steve's face. 

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

"Thank you."

"Do you want some lemonade?" 

"Is it poisoned?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve makes a weird noise in his throat. 

"Uh, th-thanks," he says. 

"You're welcome."

"So you, uh, know Lucas?"

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

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

"You don't have a car?" Steve asks. 

"No."

"You walked from your house to Loch Nora?"

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

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

"Debbie Wellerman has a car," Steve says. 

"Uh-huh. A Porsche."

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

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

"Shit. Not enough sugar?"

You swallow and open your eyes. 

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

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

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

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

"Nope. Definitely needs more sugar."

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

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

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

"Why would she pick me up?" 

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

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

Steve frowns deeply. 

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

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

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

You trace shapes into the condensation of your glass. 

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

"But what?" he prompts. 

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

Steve grimaces. “Sounds like a drag.”

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

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

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

“You have kids?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You want me to call you?” you ask.

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

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

“That’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Isn't that a good thing?"

You shrug. "Depends on your aspirations."

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

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

Steve caps the marker. You inspect the writing. 

"Good penmanship," you say. 

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

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

"Graphologist?"

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

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

You hum and finish your lemonade in one gulp.

“Thank you for not poisoning me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes dart from his chest to his face. 

“Yes.”

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

“Second time’s the charm,” you say.

“I thought it was the third time.”

“No. Three’s bad luck, remember?”

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Thank you for your hospitality.”

He grins. “Sure thing.”

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

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

Then you go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Maybe you mind a little.

"Hey, neighbor!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Undoubtedly," you say. 

"Are you his neighbor?" she asks. 

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

"I believe it," says Max. 

"What are you doing?" Lucas asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

Max squints. "Special plans? Like what?"

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

"A series of what?"

"Poems."

"Love poems are corny," she says. 

You wonder if Steve would agree. 

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

Max acquiesces with a hum. 

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

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

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

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

You follow her gaze and spot Steve. 

Oh. Steve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He scoffs. “Oh, really? Who?”

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

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

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

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

Max shakes her head at you.

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

“Oh. You’re doing great."

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

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

"Hi,” he says. "I can pay." 

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

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

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

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

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

Steve glances at her, mouth pinching. 

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

“Oh. Okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Steve whips his head around to hiss at her. 

"Robin." 

"She's my neighbor," Lucas says. 

"We know," Max tells him. 

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

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

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

"Princess Buttercup?" you ask. 

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

You mull that over. 

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

Steve's eyes widen. "Uh…" 

Robin snickers. Max smirks. 

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

"Shut—"

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

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

"I'm classy!" Steve insists. 

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

"Childcare is dutiful work," you say. 

Steve grins at you. Your stomach flutters.

“Is that a mud pie?” he asks. 

You nod. 

“Gummy worms?” 

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

Steve chuckles. “Lucky guess.”

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

“It’s obviously mango sorbet.”

“Sorbet isn’t ice cream!”

“Are they your kids?” you ask.

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

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

“How many kids do you have?” you ask.

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

“Wow. You must be some babysitter.”

“I’m alright.”

You lean in. Steve blinks.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“You have an eyelash.” 

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

“You have to make a wish.”

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

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

The numbers stare at you. Taunt you, really.

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

Now you have it taped to your dresser mirror. 

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

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

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

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

The phone rings. You rock on your toes.

“Hello?” Steve says.

You freeze. 

“Hellooo…?”

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

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

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

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

Relief floods you. He remembers.

“Yes. If you’re planning it.”

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

“I can walk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just a boy. He’s only a boy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max nods at you with a smile. Lucas waves.

“Hi, El,” you say. “Cool hair.”

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

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

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

“Yes, Mom,” Max mumbles. 

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

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

They're more energetic than you're used to; Debbie always prefers it to be quiet. 

But you don't mind it. You don’t feel lonely like you do when you’re with Debbie.

“Alright, please stay within this area,” Steve says when he parks and everyone gets out. “Within—”

“Shouting distance!” Max yells. “Yeah, we know!”

The park isn't crowded. Most of the paths are clear, so skating will be no problem. 

Max gets out two skateboards from the trunk. 

“Max is going to teach me how to do an ollie,” El informs you. “Would you like to join us?”

“Maybe later,” you say. “I want to master my yard skates.”

She nods and follows the others to the small skate park on the other side of the trees. 

You bring your skates to a bench and sit, lacing them up your feet. Steve is a few feet away, swinging his arms slightly.

“Aren’t you going to join them?” you ask.

“Oh, uh, no. I brought my own skates… I thought maybe we could skate together, if that’s okay?”

“Yes, I would like that,” you say. 

Steve beams. “Alright, cool. I’ll go get mine.”

You stand, about to take a step forward—and immediately slip.

Steve reacts instantly, lunging to catch you. One hand grabs your elbow, the other on your stomach. You squeal and cling to his shirt. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, helping you stand upright.

“I’m okay,” you say, breath caught in your throat.

You take a step but your foot wobbles. Steve grabs you again. You don’t try to take another step.

“I thought skating would be intuitive,” you say, rolling one skate to test.

“What?” 

You look up. Steve’s face is inches from yours. His hair is golden in the sunshine. His eyes lock on your own; his focus sends a jolt of electricity down your spine.

“You know, like how babies are able to swim for the first six months of their lives?”

“Uh…” Steve tilts his head. “No?”

“Oh. Because they were in the womb, they have that ability. ‘Cause they float around in there for nine months, you know? But then they lose it. That’s why we have to learn how to swim.”

“Wow. That’s a cool fact.”

Nobody ever thinks your facts are cool. But Steve does.

“Well, I thought skating would be similar,” you say. “I’ve watched other people skate, so I thought I’d just… do it. I guess I lost that at six months too.”

Steve’s smiling. It’s a gentle smile, though. Not a teasing smile. 

“I see,” he says. “I’m sorry for your disappointment.”

“It’s alright. Life is far more than disappointment. No use getting hung up on it.”

“Do you want me to teach you how to skate?” he asks. “I promise I’m good at it. Coach Collins said I could’ve seriously pursued it.”

“So skating for you is like avoiding death for Westley,” you say.

“Actually, I’m pretty good at avoiding death too,” Steve says. “And making grilled cheeses.”

“Triple threat.”

He ducks his head with a laugh, and you feel the warmth of it flow through your own body.

“Sure. Can’t make lemonade for shit, though.”

“I think your lemonade is perfect, Steve Harrington.”

His cheeks are scarlet again. It’s quickly becoming your favorite color.

“I would like it if you taught me,” you say.

“Okay. I’ll get my skates after you get the hang of it. Put your hand on my arm, right here.”

Steve pats his forearm. Carefully, you do as he says. 

“I’m nervous,” you confess. 

“I got you,” Steve says, cheek brushing your head. “I won’t let you fall, Buttercup.”

Saint Aloysius’ parking lot has the best rocks. 

You've never told anybody as much because you imagine the lot would get busy, and you like it empty.

Today, you're searching for a brother for Joan. Ever since that tragic day at Macinaw Island, Joan's been very lonely. It‘s hard being a sisterless sister. 

Joan is smooth and round, so you look for an equally smooth and round brother. Commonality is important. 

Your knees hurt from squatting, so you sit. The rocks poke your butt. 

You hear a car rolling up the hill, engine a soft purr. You stop and turn. 

The car is maroon and shiny, with only a couple slight scratches you can't notice unless you look really hard. You don't recognize the license plate, although you have yet to start your record of Hawkins plates. 

It putters to a stop in front of Giovanni's Bakery across the street. The car doors open. 

"I'm losing my edge, Robs! I made a damn fool of myself. I can't even—"

"Okay, first of all, I feel like we're glossing over the fact that you don't even know this girl. And what she did was technically trespassing."

"Do you know her name?" another voice pipes up. 

"No, Dustin, I don't know her name. I don't even know if she lives in Hawkins!"

Their voices disappear as they go inside the bakery. You find Joan a brother, Jack, and Jack finds a wife named Gwen. Gwen isn't smooth and round; she's sharp-edged and will be harder to clean, but she's a muted salmon color and you think she's pretty. You hope Jack will find her pretty too.

As you dig through the pile of rocks, your finger catches on the edge of a broken bottle. It slices your finger. Blood swells immediately. 

You put your new rocks in your plastic red pail with your other hand. Then you stand, joints popping as you do so. You stick your ribs out and bend your spine in a stretch. 

You cross the street to the bakery, pail in hand. The bell jingles as you enter. You hum the ding-dong under your breath. 

"Can I help you?" the man behind the counter asks.

"Hello. Can I have five baci di dama and five of the raspberry sandwich cookies?"

He goes to the display case with a paper bag. You rest your elbows on the counter, pail handles over your arm. 

"Anything else?"

"Yes. Do you have a bandaid? I'm bleeding."

The man purses his lips. "No bandaid, sorry."

"That's okay. Just the cookies, then." 

"Buttercup?"

You turn. Steve stands before you, wearing his Family Video vest. Robin is beside him, her hair piled into a windblown bun on her head. Another boy, shorter than both, younger, is with them. He waves at you, curls bouncing. 

You wave back. Robin squeals.

"Oh my God, what happened to your finger?" she asks, horrified. 

"There was a broken bottle in the parking lot."

"Jesus," Steve says. He takes your hand and inspects it. He's so close and warm. All you can do is stare at the freckles on his neck. 

“Why were you in the parking lot?” he asks.

“I was looking for rocks. This is the best rock spot in all of Hawkins. Well, after Lover’s Lake. But the pH has been abnormally high there. Probably because of the monsters. So I came here.”

"Hi, I'm Dustin," the boy introduces. “Is your finger okay?”

"Hi, Dustin. I think I’ll survive,” you say. “Dustin means brave warrior in Norse.”

Dustin beams. “Yup. I was named after my grandfather. He served in World War Two.”

"Names are important,” you say. “Joan agonized for days deciding what I should call her. Eventually, I decided for her. A name says a lot about a person. Steve has a warrior and good luck at his side."

"Yep, Steve-o here is pretty blessed to have us. And," he gestures to you, "You are?"

"Hungry," you say, taking your bag of cookies with your free hand. 

The bag crinkles as you open it. You hold it out to Steve. 

"Do you want one? I promise they’re blood-free.”

"Uh…” He glances at your hand. “Are you sure your finger is okay?”

“She’s a trooper. Survived ink poisoning and everything.” You wave the bag again. “Cookie?” 

Steve takes a baci di dama out and pops it into his mouth. He hums as he chews, nodding. 

"'S good," he says after he swallows.

"Baci di dama means lady's kisses in Italian," you say. 

His cheeks turn pink again. 

"You should drink more water," you add. "You turn pink easily."

Robin snorts. Steve holds a hand to his cheek. 

"Uh, thanks."

“You’re welcome. Robin, would you like a cookie?" 

"No, thanks,” she says. “I'm picking up a tiramisu for my mom's birthday."

"I want a cookie!" Dustin says. 

"Dude," Steve hisses. 

You hold the bag open to Dustin. He takes a raspberry sandwich cookie. 

"So," Dustin says, mouth full. "Are you Steve’s girlfriend or something?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” you say.

“Du-ude!” Steve says too loudly, voice climbing in pitch.

“What? You talk about her all the freakin’ time. I needed to know.”

You look at Steve. He rubs the back of his neck and half-smiles.  

“Anyway,” continues Dustin. “How do you know Steve?”

"I climbed over his gate by accident on the hottest day of May,” you say.

"By accident?" 

"Yes. All the gates in Loch Nora look the same. Except Steve's gate has climbing ivy and little red flowers. It's much nicer than the other houses. It looks like a person lives there. I mistook it for Debbie's gate." 

Robin tilts her head at you. You don't care what Steve says; she's a one hundred percent bonafide bird. 

Dustin points to your pail, crumbs all over his chin. "Why do you have rocks?"

"They're for Joan," you say.

"Joan? Is she your friend?"

"She's more like my confidante. She doesn't talk much, so I think it'd be presumptuous of me to call her a friend when I have no idea where we stand." 

"Navigating friendships can be hard," Steve offers. 

"Yes," you say. "They can be."

"Being straightforward can help a lot," he continues. "It, uh, at least helped me. That way the other person knows what you mean. No room for miscommunication."

You nod. "That's good advice. I'll have to try that with Joan. Sometimes she can be kind of hard-headed."

You roll up your bag of cookies and reposition your pail on your arm so the metal doesn't dig into your skin. 

"It was nice to meet you, Dustin," you say. "Goodbye, Steve and Robin."

"Wait!"

Steve holds the door for you and follows you out. He still smells sweet, like pineapple, and also a little woody. He touches the small of your back, sending a bolt of electricity down your spine.

"I have a first aid kit in my car. Let me wrap your cut."

"Oh." You'd forgotten about it. "Okay."

You follow Steve to his car. He pops the trunk and rummages. You spot a bat with nails. 

"Very inventive," you say, pointing at the bat. 

Steve laughs shyly. "Yeah, uh, the monsters."

"I definitely wouldn't want to fight you if I were a multi-dimensional monster."

He smiles and takes out a small spray bottle of disinfectant. 

"This is gonna sting, okay? But we need to make sure nothing gets infected."

"An infection would be unfortunate," you say. "I'm quite attached to this finger." 

He sprays and cleans your finger. You wince and Steve squeezes your wrist in apology. Then he pulls out bandaids. 

"Any preference? I have rainbow, Star Wars, 'cause they're all a bunch of nerds, cats… oh, I have flowers! ‘Cause you’re, uh, Buttercup, you know?" 

"Flowers," you say, because Steve's so excited about it. 

He nods and opens the bandaid. You hold out your finger and Steve carefully wraps it. He rubs your knuckle. 

"Thank you," you say. 

"You're welcome. Be careful, okay?"

"I will."

He closes the trunk, swinging his keys on his finger. 

"Sorry if that was awkward, by the way," he says. "Dustin, I mean. He can be… blunt." 

"It wasn't awkward."

“It wasn’t?”

“No,” you say. “I’m happy you tell people about me. I tell Joan about you all the time.”

"Oh." He nods. "That—that’s good. So… we’re both… uh—”  

"Do you want another lady's kiss?"

"What? Oh—" Steve clears his throat. "N-no, that's okay. Thanks."

You take out a raspberry cookie and bite into it. 

"Your hair has product," you observe. 

"Yeah. No secrets, though."

"Everybody's hair has secrets."

"Even yours?" he asks. 

"Especially mine." 

Steve rubs the back of his neck. You open your bag and take out another cookie. He looks like he's trying to find the right words to say. You don't mind waiting. 

"Hey, do you like barbecue?" he asks. 

"I like it as well as anybody else."  

"Well, um, I'm having a barbecue this Saturday. Lucas won a big championship game and so we're celebrating his win."

"That's nice," you say. "Congratulations to Lucas."

"Yeah! So, um, did you maybe want to come too? It'll be at my house. You could bring a friend if you wanted. Like Joan."

"Joan is a vegetarian," you say. "But I'm sure she'd enjoy the company."

Steve smiles. He has such a pretty smile. 

"We're ordering pizza too, so Joan can have some of that."

"You're a very thoughtful host.”

Then you have a terrible thought. But you have to ask it because if you don't, you might be breaking some kind of invisible expectation. You do that a lot. 

"Does Debbie have to come?" you ask. 

Steve blinks. "Uh, no? It's not a requirement."

"Some people ask me to parties because they want Debbie to come." 

Steve frowns. "That's rude. I wouldn't do that."

"Okay. What time does the barbecue begin?"

"You can stop by anytime. But we'll probably start eating around six."

You nod. "Joan and I will be there at five thirty."

Steve's answering grin is blinding. He must be really excited to meet Joan. You get it; Joan's the life of any party she attends. 

"Great, that's great. I'll see you then."

"Bye, Steve," you say. 

"Bye," he answers like he's out of breath. 

Even the way he breathes is pretty.

Every month, Miles Stanwick throws a party. 

Miles is a celebrity in Hawkins, his father being a state senator, and Miles is, according to a drunk Debbie, “the Gatsby to her Daisy.”

You're pretty sure Debbie hasn't read the book. Or maybe she's a living tragedy. Either is possible. 

It had been just you two in her room, without the Other Debbie she pretends to be to impress the people of Loch Nora, when she'd told you what it meant to be in love. 

"You just know," she'd said, her breath reeking of tequila.

You'd turned your head. Tequila made your nose itch. 

"But you love Brett," you'd said. 

"Brett is who I'll marry," she'd corrected. She’d sounded so sad. "Miles is all I've got."

Then she'd thrown up all over her carpet. You'd helped her into bed and made a mental note to find her a friend like Joan to keep her company, for when you weren't around. 

You don't like parties. They're loud and smelly and usually filled with people you don't like or don't know. And at a party, people you don't like and people you don't know are one and the same. 

You would leave, but Debbie is your ride tonight. So you're stuck here until midnight, maybe even later. 

Someone plugs in a karaoke machine and that gets most of the party's attention. The music is horribly loud and is the kind that’s just a lot of synthesizer. 

A guy jumps onto the Stanwicks' coffee table and knocks over the potpourri dish. Dried petals and orange peels scatter across the carpet. 

Debbie appears in front of you, a red Solo cup in her hand. 

"What did I bring you here for?" she asks, mouth curled. "To slump on the couch?"

"No one here wants to talk," you say. 

Debbie rolls her eyes. "Parties aren't for talking. They're for drinking and making out. Someone's rolling a blunt in the den. Go suck on that, will you?"

The people in Loch Nora are so good at making you feel two inches tall. You wish you'd brought Joan. She'd know what to do. 

You've tried alcohol before. Champagne at a wedding. A sip of rum from the Wellermans' liquor cabinet, back when Debbie wasn't so caught up in being just like everyone else. 

Maybe it's your fault, too. Maybe you're too good at standing out. 

You go to the kitchen. It's already trashed. You step over a spill on the floor. Then you turn around and lay down some paper towels so no one will slip. 

There are various bottles of strong liquor strewn across the counters. You decide to try the punch and fill your cup to the top. You sniff it and your nose wrinkles at the whiff of alcohol. 

You so badly want to have fun. You want to know what makes all of this worth it. You want your friendship with Debbie to be worth it. 

You down the punch in one go. It makes you cough and you scramble for water at the sink. You wonder if the punch is poisoned. 

You wobble out of the kitchen a couple minutes later, head already woozy. A girl stands with a drink, one arm folded. 

"Where's Debbie?" you ask. The girl winces and steps away from you. 

"She went with Miles and some other people to the lake."

Your eyes widen. "No, they can't. There's monsters."

She looks at you like you might be an insect splattered on her dashboard. 

"You're Debbie's weird friend, aren't you?"

Weird doesn't make you feel good, like Steve calling you strange did. Weird makes you feel like when a boy in sixth grade stepped on your heels while going up the stairs because he thought it was funny. 

"Debbie would've told me," you say. 

The girl shrugs. "Guess she ditched you. She can't score with Miles if you're killing the vibe." 

Weird tastes like poison in your mouth. 

"Debbie was my ride," you say, but she’s already gone.

Your head aches. You try to think on what to do next. It's nearly midnight. No one is awake, and you have no idea how to call a cab. 

You find the Stanwicks' phone in the hall and dial the only number you know, besides your own, and the local pizzeria. 

"Hello?" 

You lean against the wall, phone in both hands. 

"Uh, hello? Who is this?" 

"H-hi, Westley." Your voice cracks. 

"Hey," Steve says, unbearably gentle. "My favorite rock girl. Jesus, it's… midnight."  

"I'm sorry," you say. 

"No, no, it's alright. I'm just—is everything okay? Are you okay?" 

"Debbie ditched me."

Silence. For a moment, you panic that the line's dropped.

"Steve?"

"Where are you?" 

"I'm, um, at Miles Stanwick's. The address is… well, I don't remember, but I'll go outside and look for the house number—"

"I know it," Steve says. "Stay right there. I'm coming to get you. Don't drink any more."

Your lip wobbles. "'Kay."

"It's okay," he soothes. "Drink some water. Don't take anything from anybody." 

"I just wanted to be fun," you blurt. 

"You are fun, Buttercup. Way more fun than anybody at that house, I guarantee it. I'll be there in ten minutes, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you, Steve," you say, no longer feeling so small. 

You hang up and go to the kitchen to get more water from the sink. Then you return to the hallway and sit, back against the wall, knees tucked into your chest. 

You doze, lids heavy from the alcohol. The next thing you know are two hands on your arms. 

You jolt awake. One hand cradles the back of your head so you don't thump it against the wall. 

"Hey, hey." Steve kneels in front of you. He brushes your cheek with a cool knuckle. "It's me, it's Steve. Are you okay?"

His hands are cool against your overheated skin. He smells like lemon shampoo. 

"My knight," you say. 

"I thought Westley was a pirate."

“He was only pretending." 

You let Steve ease you up. His car keys dig into your hip.

"Ow," you say dazedly. 

"What? What hurts?"

"Keys."

"Oh." Steve shifts you to his opposite side, hand on your back. "Sorry, honey." 

"Honey never spoils," you say. "Did you know that? You could dig up honey from a tomb that's thousands of years old and as long as it was stored in an airtight container, it's good to eat."

"I love that you know that." 

"Do you really?" 

"I really do," Steve says. "C’mon, let's get you home." 

Outside, the moon is a dot of cream in the purple sky. The neighborhood is quiet. Most of the houses are also dark. 

"I'm sorry for calling you so late," you say. 

"Don't be. I'm glad you called me. These parties can get out of hand."

"Debbie left. She went to Lover's Lake with Miles—"

The panic returns, flooding your body. You squirm and Steve tries to keep you steady. 

"Whoa, what's—"

"The monsters! There's monsters down there, Steve. I don't like Miles, but I don't want him to be eaten!"

"No, no, no more monsters," Steve assures you. "They can't come through there anymore."

You still. "Promise?"

"I promise."

He helps you into the passenger seat of his car. Steve leans in and pulls the seat belt over you.

"Comfy?" he asks. 

"I like you so much, Steve Harrington."

It's too dark to tell, but you suspect he's got another case of sunstroke. 

"I, um, like you too, Buttercup. You're really cool."

"Me?" You wave your hand. "No."

"Really," he insists. "You are. The coolest."

If you were Debbie, if you weren't weird in the wrong way, if you didn't go to parties to talk, and if you fit a million other criteria you never will, Steve would kiss you right now. Or maybe you'd kiss him. 

But you don't know how to go about that. You don't think it's your right to do such a thing. 

So Steve shuts the door and walks around to the driver's seat. You stare at your flower bandaid.

"Four three's," Steve says as he turns the ignition. 

You turn your head. "Hmm?"

"The house number. Four three's. That's gotta be, like, astronomically bad luck, right?"

"Without a doubt."

Except you're here with Steve Harrington, and he calls you honey and thinks you're cool. And that doesn't seem like bad luck at all. 

"I'm going to a barbecue," you call out. 

There's no reply. You close the door behind you.

Joan sits in your pocket. You've tied a purple ribbon around her head, right above her googly eyes. You don't know what the dress code is for a barbecue, but you hope she's not underdressed.

You haven’t spoken to Steve since Miles’ party. You’re not sure what you should say, and you can’t bear the thought of calling him to hear silence. 

Even if he doesn’t like you the way you like him, you hope he’ll still be friends with you. Steve and his kids have grown on you. You don’t know if you can go back to who you were before the hottest day of May. 

“Material Girl” plays from inside Steve's backyard. You mouth the words as you fling your flip flops over the gate. 

"What the fuck?" someone says from the other side. 

You climb the gate and shimmy down. It's a good thing you're wearing shorts under your dress.

A boy, lanky and tall but probably Lucas's age, holds one of your flip flops. He stares at you and shakes the shoe. 

"Is this yours?"

"Both of them are," you say. "Does Steve like Madonna?"

He grimaces. "Unfortunately."

"Cool."

You spot Steve sitting on one of the deck chairs with Robin and a boy your age with big, curly hair and a Led Zeppelin shirt with cropped sleeves. 

"Venus" plays next and you wobble in time with the music as you walk over to Steve. 

"Her weapons were her crystal eyes," you whisper. The pavement is warm under your toes. 

"Making every man mad." 

Steve turns just as you reach him. He stands so fast he shakes the chair. 

"Hey!" he says. He sounds out of breath again. "Hey, you came."

"You invited me," you say. 

"Yeah, yes." Steve nods. "I did. I'm glad you're here."

"You play good music."

"Ha!" Steve whips his head to look at the curly haired boy. "Suck it, Munson."

"She's obviously biased." 

"Munson," you say. "Eddie Munson?"

Eddie freezes under your gaze. Robin and Steve glance at you. 

"Yeah, uh, that's me." Eddie smiles weakly. "Look, you might've heard some stuff abou—"

"You helped fight the monsters," you interrupt. "You're very brave." 

Eddie's eyes widen. "I—"

"Most people just like to ignore monsters. It takes a really good person to fight them." You turn to Steve. "Do you have orange Fanta?" 

"Yeah, sure. I'll get you a can. Feel free to sit… where are your shoes?"

You point behind you. "Your bodyguard had to screen them after I climbed your gate. You have very tight security."

"After you climbed my… wait, Mike? God, I’m sorry about him. I'll get your shoes back."

"It's okay. Flip flops are dangerous weapons. It's only a matter of time before the airport bans them." 

Steve tilts his head, eyes warm. "Right. I'll be back. That's Eddie and Robin… you know them."

"I know their names, and that's about all you can know about anybody."

Eddie giggles. You look at him. He doesn't seem to be laughing at you, so you sit where Steve was sitting, across from Eddie's chair. You point at his shirt. 

"I like Kashmir."

"Thank God! Somebody with decent tastes."

"I'll listen to anything," you say. "It's important to be a good listener."

Eddie grins. "Words of the wise."

"Where's Joan?" Robin asks. 

"Right here." You take Joan out of your pocket and set her down on the edge of the pool chair. 

"Sick," Eddie says.

You nod. "The ribbon was my pick."

"I like it," Robin says. 

"Thank you."

Steve returns with an orange Fanta for you and a root beer for Robin. 

Robin points to Joan. "Steve, this is the famous Joan we've heard so much about."

"That's a rock," says Steve. 

"Yep."

"Oh." He nods in understanding. "Joan is your pet rock?"

"Confidante," you correct. "’Pet’ is demeaning."

"Got it. And was Joan's sister also your confidante?"

"No. Joan's sister didn't like me much. She thought I was a bad influence on Joan. But we shouldn't talk about it now. Joan gets very sad when I bring it up."

You open your can. The carbonation hisses. It's itchy and sweet on your tongue. 

"I like your hair," you say. "It's fluffy. Like it was on the hottest day of May."

Steve pushes a couple strands behind his ear.

"Thanks. The gel is too much on hot days like these. Weighs me down."

"At least you won't float away." You look at Eddie. "Is your hair full of secrets too?"

Eddie ruffles his hair. "Not as many as Steve's, but I've got a couple in here. 'S what gives my curls volume." 

"Hm. Just as I suspected," you say. 

"Ste-eve!" Dustin whines from across the yard. "You promised burgers!"

Steve rolls his eyes. "You'd think he's never been fed in his life."

Eddie pats his shoulder. "You've got this, Harrington."

"Oh, no. You wanna eat, you've gotta earn your keep. Come on."

Eddie groans, flinging himself off the chair. "Save me, Buckley!"

"Already did that," she says, pulling her sunglasses onto her eyes. "Never again." 

"You should tie up your hair so it doesn't catch fire," you suggest. 

"Well, at least somebody cares about me," Eddie declares, pulling his hair into a ponytail. 

Steve turns to you and smiles softly. 

"Are you hungry? You can have the first pick of the burgers."

"Won't Dustin be annoyed?"

Steve shrugs. "Kid could use some manners. Besides, pretty girls always get the first pick. It's the law." 

You follow Steve and Eddie to the grill, pretty girl echoing in your brain the whole time. 

Eddie's hair doesn't catch on fire and Steve makes you a perfect burger. The sun sparkles on the pool surface. The kids come out to eat and, predictably, Dustin complains about not getting the first burger.

"Not fair. Just 'cause she's your girlfriend," he mumbles as he goes off to search for the mustard. 

You check to see if Steve had heard the comment. He doesn't seem to have; you can't decide if you're relieved or not. 

The chairs are all taken by the time you finish fixing up your burger. Steve stands immediately as you approach.

“Here, take my seat,” he says.

“We can share,” you offer.

Steve lets you take the back of the chair, settling at the foot. “You Make My Dreams Come True” plays on the speakers. 

“Whoever made this mixtape is a genius,” you announce.

“You like it?” says Steve. “I actually made this one. Robin and Eddie think my taste sucks, but—”

“It’s spectacular.”

He hums, ducking his head shyly. “Well, speaking of spectacular: I made more lemonade, if you want to test it before I unleash it upon the masses.”

“I’ll happily drink your lemonade,” you say. “It’ll build my iocane tolerance.”

Steve grins. “I rented The Princess Bride, by the way. I know you meant to get it a few weeks ago. We can watch it tonight, if you want.”

“You remembered I wanted to watch it,” you say.

He nods. “Well, uh, yeah. Do you still want to? If you don’t, I can—”

“I do,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.” Steve stands, hand outstretched so you’ll give him your empty plate. “I’m going inside. Anybody want anything?”

“Doritos!” Robin shouts.

“Napkins, please,” El says.

“Cherry Coke!” Mike calls.

“Beer!” Eddie whoops.

“Doritos, napkins, got it. The cooler is right there, Wheeler, and are you kidding, Eddie? No drinking by the pool. Have we not learned our lesson from the last four years?”

“Bold of you to assume I’ve learned anything, Steven.”

“Can you bring us popsicles?” Max asks. “Lemon and grape.”

“Ooh, popsicles sound good,” says Robin. “Bring me one too. Fruit punch.”

Steve sighs, lifting his arms.

“Two hands, guys. Only got two.”

“I can help,” you offer.

“Now that’s a great idea,” Robin says. “The two of you in the kitchen, alone. Really brilliant, don’t you think, Steve?”

Steve glares at her. Then he turns to you, expression softening.

“That’d be great, thank you.”

You follow him into the kitchen. It looks exactly like the last time you were here, except for the food. Steve opens the freezer and digs through the box of popsicles. Then he takes the pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge and sets it on the counter.

“Can you get the Doritos?” he asks. “They’re up there.”

You open a shelf over the stove. The chips are at the very top. You try jumping; all that does is bang your ribs into the counter.

"Whoa, whoa.”

Steve’s hand rests on your back. Your stomach swoops. 

"Easy, Buttercup. I’ll get it, sorry ‘bout that."

You frown. "The Doritos have eluded me."

"They’re a tricky bunch," he says, reaching and successfully grabbing the chips.

"I knew you’d best me and succeed."

"Best you?" 

"Yes," you say. "Like in a duel."

Steve tilts his head, a tiny crinkle forming in the center of his brows. 

"Are we going to duel? Like Inigo and Westley?"

"Not if I can help it," you say. "I'm terrible with a sword."

"I would never try to sword fight you." 

"I appreciate that."

His hand slips from your back. You watch it fall to his side.

“Feel free to help yourself to whatever you want,” Steve says as he takes a glass out of the cupboard. “You can also take food home.”

You exhale through your nose and wiggle your fingers a little, trying to stave off the nerves. You wish Joan was in your pocket right now, but you left her on the deck chair. 

“Buttercup?” 

You look up. Steve has a glass of lemonade in one hand. The top button of his polo shirt is undone. Was it always undone? You can’t remember. 

Anyway, he’s beautiful. And you’re so damn strange.

“Yes, Westley?”

Steve smiles. You don’t think anyone has ever smiled at you as much as Steve does. 

“Everything okay?” he asks.

He puts the glass in front of you. You glance at it, then back at him.

“Everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure? I won’t force you to drink my crappy lemonade if you don’t want to, y’know.”

“You called me strange,” you blurt. “When we first met.”

Steve’s eyes widen. 

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he says softly. “But I won’t call you that anymore if you don’t like it.”

“No, I–I know you didn’t mean it in a bad way. But…”

He nods, encouraging you to continue.

“I’m not like Debbie,” you say. 

“I know.”

“I’ll probably never be like Debbie.”

“I much prefer you as yourself,” he says.

“Oh.”

You sip your lemonade. Your lips pucker but you smile all the same.

“Damn,” Steve says with a chuckle. “I really can’t nail that lemonade, huh?”

“It’s wonderful,” you whisper. 

He takes a step forward. You set the glass on the counter.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“I would very much like that.”

Steve’s lips are slightly chapped. You taste like lemonade and he tastes like Coke and God, you like it so much.

You loop your arms around his neck like you’ve wanted to do for weeks. He returns in kind, both hands slipping to your waist. 

It’s not just a boy kissing you. It’s Steve.

The sliding glass door whooshes open and you jerk your head back in surprise. Max and Dustin trod in. 

Dustin shrieks. 

“Seriously? This is what was taking you so long?”

“If you were gonna do that, we would’ve gotten the popsicles ourselves,” Max says with a huff, grabbing the popsicles and chips from the counter. 

“Told ya they were making out!” comes Eddie’s voice from outside. “I warned you, kiddies!”

They clear out, with one last stink eye from Dustin. Steve shakes his head, nose pressed to your cheek.

“Again, very sorry about them.”

“They wanted to check in on their favorite babysitter,” you say.

Steve lifts his head and rolls his eyes. “I need a padlock or something.”

You hum and lean over to unwrap a popsicle. 

“Oh,” you say. “Three left.”

“Three popsicles?”

“Mmhm.”

“Well, that explains it. Astronomical bad luck, right?”

“Actually,” you say, leaning in for another kiss. “I think my theory was wrong.”

Tied Down (Part One)

Cowboy!Bakugou x AFAB Reader

Summary: You've been trying to become number one for so long, but just when you thought you would become a Champion Reiner, Bakugou Katsuki steals the spot from beneath your nose and becomes your number one rival. While on your way back to the top you find out there's more to Bakugou than meets the eye.

Hi friends, back again with Cowboy!Bakugou! I'm pretty excited about this one :) It's got some good tropes rivals to lovers, sort of a love triangle, and some good old drama and spice lmao I'm not sure how long this will be, but I guess around six or seven parts! This first part is a little short, just to get the ball rolling lol think its about 5k?

Warnings: Alcohol, mentions of an accident, someone becoming paralyzed, dub-con, only a little bit of grinding lmao kind of a love triangle

Part Two! Part Three!

Part One

There was something brewing in the air the night you saw him. The wind had stilled, the air grew thick with moisture, and the smell of rain tickled your nose. Tension was high and you could feel it and the horses could too. 

That night was an important one, probably the most important one of your career. It practically determined if you would be able to keep your family's ranch or not. You were in the final champion show for reining horses and the pool of riders was small, just you and about twenty others. Apparently, you were expected to win, at least so you thought.

That all changed when he showed up on his big blue roan stallion and you instantly knew that you had lost. He got a perfect score and a standing ovation from the crowd, that night his horse had become the number one reining horse in the whole country. 

You ended up having to pull out before you ran, his horse had kicked yours in the knee, hard, on the way out of the arena in a scuffle you thought had to be fate. Both stallions never even acknowledge each other until you locked your gaze with his. He didn’t even apologize, all he did was turn his nose up at you and told you to “get a better hold on that damn stud, its a fuckin’ wonder you even made it this far.”

Those words lit a fire under you that would burn hot and bright for three years and for three years you worked hard to climb back up to the top of the ranks, and along the way you would never forget the face of Bakugou Katsuki, the man that took everything away from you.

------------------------------ Three Years Later—------------------

His face was everywhere you turned and so was that fucking blue roan. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the magazine in your hands, staring into the red gaze of Bakugou Katsuki.

“If you keep glarin’ at that magazine any longer it’s gonna catch on fire,” Toshinori’s deep voice sounded from next to you.

You sighed, drawing your gaze away from your number one rival, well at least in your mind he was your number one rival. “I know,” you answered with a sigh, “it’s just why does everyone kiss the ground this guy walks on? He’s not that great.”

“He’s number one,” Toshinori answered loosely.

“Well I’m gonna be number one too,” you seethed, “just wait, this year it’s gonna change.”

Toshinori looked at you, his expression was soft, yet it held mild concern. He had always looked out for you, being your father’s best friend and all. Once your father passed away, and you lost the ranch, he stepped up and tried to make sure you would fill your dad’s boots, but it proved to be harder than he thought. You had the potential for sure, but you were hot-headed and stubborn.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that, Toshi,” you sighed as the announcer told the crowd that the competition was about to start.

Toshinori sighed as he ran a hand through his straw colored hair, “I know, but kid, you’ve gotta cool off, that horse of yours gets too riled up when you do and you mess up. Both of you can’t be too hot out there or you’ll keep gettin’ second.”

“I know that,” you said through gritted teeth as your gaze cut to your stallion. He had gotten older, probably older than most stallions in the show, but he was your pride and joy, a big dunskin with four white socks. He was a good horse, mean as hell when he needs to be, which you liked, that meant he was smart. 

However, you did acknowledge you both were too hot in the arena. Too insync with each other needs to go, to be number one. So you nodded and sighed, letting your shoulders relax as you reined in your anger. 

Today you would be calm. Nothing could even go wrong really, this was just a qualifying bracket and an early one too. Your horse was way too good to not get first right now. If you won this bracket you’d move up and then you’d be three shows away from competing with Bakugou. 

“Go get on, you’re about to run,” Toshinori’s voice cut into your thoughts.

You glanced up at your uncle and nodded, deciding to keep quiet as you got on your horse and made your way into the arena. You were the first one to go. The crowd was sparse, but that didn’t matter to you, you weren’t there to impress, like a certain someone you knew. 

The announcer called your name and number and you set off, going through your course pretty smoothly until you came to your last sliding stop. As your horse slid across the arena dirt you suddenly locked eyes with the last person you were expecting to see at your show.

Bakugou.

In fact, he was sitting right next to Toshinori, listening as your uncle rambled about something, but he was watching you. He had his legs crossed at the knee, showing off his fancy new boots that you could tell cost him a pretty penny. 

You narrowed your eyes and backed your horse up before patting the side of his neck. He was breathing hard, and so were you. The fire inside of your belly got hot with anger as your rival lifted his lips up into a smirk. 

You turned your horse away from him and made your way out of the arena and back towards your trailer and truck that were parked. Some voices sounded from behind you and you didn’t even bother to look back, you knew whose voice that was. That deep timbre accented with a country twang that had all your girlfriends raging. 

With a disgruntled sigh you stopped your horse and got off, still keeping to yourself as you led him up to where his halter was tied at the trailer. 

“Did good out there, kid,” Toshinori said as he patted your horse's bum, “Cowboy is easily gonna take the win on this one.”

“Didn’t keep your hands soft though,” Bakugou quickly added in before you could say your thanks to your uncle.

“Don’t talk to me about soft hands,” you hissed as you took off your horse's bridle and placed his halter back on, roughly tying the rope by the side of his cheek while he started to grab at his hay net. 

“Bakugou does have soft hands, darlin’,” Toshinori gently said. Even though he knew you hated Bakugou’s guts, he also knew that he’d be a great teacher to you. Teach you patience and how to cool off, something he had to teach Bakugou himself. Granted he had to admit your temper was much more fiery than the blond next to him.

You clenched your jaw, muttering something venomous under your breath as you undid the girth of your saddle.

“What was that?” Bakugou asked, lifting an eyebrow as he moved up next to you, and easily lifted the saddle from your horse's back.

“Nothin’,” you snapped, watching as he easily placed your saddle back on its rack in the tack section of your trailer. “I had that.”

“Y/n,” Toshinori hissed quietly from behind you, “let the poor boy help ya, okay? He’s trying to extend - wadda you call it?- an olive branch?”

“Olive branch or not, he’s full of it,” you sneered, eyeing Bakugou as he snooped through your tack, “you and I both know he’s just sniffin’ out the competition. Does this every year, it gets his rivals unnerved. You saw what happened to Izuku last year? Yeah, you and I both know Izuku doesn’t just fall off his horse during a spin, Bakugou got all up in his head.”

Toshinori’s lips flattened into a flat line, he seemed displeased that you brought up his favorite student, practically his other adopted son besides Bakugou. “Katsuki isn’t like that, don’t you dare blame him.”

“Yeah fuckin’ right, Toshi. You just can’t see it cause you love him like he’s your own, but I can. He’s a snake, plays dirty as hell to get what he wants. Even to his best friend, Izuku, and he’ll do it to me too. Your actual family,” you said, feeling your anger flare as you turned on your heel heading towards Bakugou who was looking at your horse's stifles.

“These look a little sore, probably need to get them injected,” he said, lips quirked up again at the sight of your deepening frown.

“Yeah? Are you a vet?” you scoffed as you kicked his knee, prompting him to stand up. He was tall, you'd give him that. Probably around 6’4 without his boots on. You knew he liked to use his height to intimidate people, but that didn’t work on you. Not anymore. “Get the hell out of here, I know what you’re doin’ and it’s not gonna work.”

“And what would that be, princess?” Bakugou drawled as he leaned against your trailer.

“You’re trying to get in my head, make me mess up,” you answered while folding your arms across your chest. “It’s not gonna work this year, Katsuki. I’m gonna take that number one spot from you.”

Bakugou’s playful dememour instantly turned dark at your threat, he laughed, it was deep and mocking. “I highly doubt that. You can try, but just like all the years past you’ll mess up. Get all tangly in that head of yours,” he said as he flicked you in the forehead.

“Ouch!” you hissed, rubbing your forehead as you glared up at him. “That supposed to scare me? C’mon Bakugou, you can do better than that,” you hissed glancing back at your uncle who was on his phone and not listening, which allowed you to lean into Bakugou closer, “I know what you said to Izuku last year, don’t think that’s gonna work on me.”

An emotion flashed across Bakugou’s face that you couldn’t place, but you quickly guessed it might have been guilt, which was strange. However, it was quickly replaced with a smug smirk, “you think so? Then you better watch out, princess, you’ll be next.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, “alright, sure. Go and get, I’m tired of lookin’ at you.”

Bakugou huffed, glancing up at your uncle who was now watching you both, “yeah whatever, work on your hands? I want to have some actual competition this year, ya know?”

You snorted and shook your head as you watched him turn on his heel and walk towards his obnoxiously large black truck. Well, you both had the same truck but yours was better. “Let’s go home,” you said aloud.

—-----------------

“Don’t you think you should listen to him?” your friend Tsu asked as she rode past you on her large warmblood gelding. 

“My hands are soft,” you said with a huff as you loosened your reins.

Tsu shook her head as he cantered up towards a high jump. You could hear her counting her strides before her horse leaped over the jump and landed perfectly on the other side. She rode back up to you and came to a stop, “he’s right, you extend your shoulder too far out, I think you’re just being nice to Cowboy. He’d do better with more contact on his bit.”

You frowned as you grabbed your reins and adjusted your arm so you weren’t letting it hang too far over the saddle. It’s not like you didn’t have soft hands, you did, but that’s when you were riding English. Which is where you met your friend Tsu. Both of you met when you were younger and learned everything you knew about riding.

“That’s better,” she said as she watched you trot around her. “I hate to say it, but maybe you should let Bakugou give you a lesson?”

Tsu!” you almost screeched causing her horse to jump at the shrill tone of your voice, “you did not just say that!”

Tsu laughed, “just kidding, Y/n, but maybe go watch him ride?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you mulled over her suggestion, “I guess I could. Maybe get inside his head.”

“Sure sure,” Tsu said with another chuckle as she glanced down at her watch, “look I gotta go, but text me if you’re going to that bar tonight with Ochako and Momo?”

“I will, just be ready by ten just in case,” you said as you watched Tsu head back to the stable. You were currently working as a ranch manager on Toshinori’s ranch which allowed Tsu to board her horse at his stable for cheap. It was a nice gig and Toshi paid you well, despite you being his niece. 

Granted he needs the extra help anyway. You swallowed thickly as a memory flashed in your eyes. You took a shaky breath before heading back to the stables and watching Tsu peel out of the driveway in her green car. 

You dismounted Cowboy and began untacking him again and let him loose around the stable so he could graze. He was good for a stallion, you trained him well, so you didn’t have to worry too much about him getting to the mares or the other horses. You’d still put him up before you left anyway.

“He’s always been a good one, hasn’t he?” a gentle voice said from inside of the stables.

You squinted as you watched Izuku wheel out of the stable with a solemn look on his face. “Yeah, Cowboy is a special horse.”

“I know, you’ve trained him up pretty good, Y/n,” Izuku said with a small smile as he stopped his wheelchair in front of you.

You smiled down at Izuku. What had happened to him was tragic. He was neck and neck with Bakugou during last year's championship competition. You thought he was better than Bakugou actually, he had raw talent and a work ethic that was insane.

Although during his run last year something that seemed impossible happened, Izuku came out strong but once he got to his last spin his horse slipped and landed right on Izuku crushing his lower back and paralyzing him almost immediately. 

You knew Bakugou had been taunting him before, telling him not to hold his reins too tight, don’t press his heel too hard into his horse's side, relax in the saddle or something would go wrong. All things to unnerve Izuku and for Izuku to have a fall like that, whether it was his fault or his horse just slipped, you would always blame Bakugou for trying to get into Izuku’s head, mess with him. It wasn’t right. 

You’d never forget the cry that Izuku let out when his horse landed on him or the shock in his voice when he shouted he couldn’t feel his legs, it was horrifying. 

“You okay?” Izuku asked, tilting his head as his green curls fell to the side of his face.

You nodded and plastered on a smile, “yeah, and hey we got first yesterday. Gonna knock Bakugou down from the top this year.”

Izuku smiled, “I’m sure you will, Y/n.”

“Thanks Izu,” you said with a smile as you placed your hand on his shoulder.

“Y/n,” Izuku began as he gazed out into the open arena, “I know you blame him, but he didn’t do this. I just want you to know that, it was just an accident.”

You curled your fingers into Izuku’s shoulder, “He shouldn’t have been telling you all of that before your run. He got into your head, made you nervous Izu.”

“He did do that, but I’ve made peace that it was an accident,” Izuku said, even though there was a small hint of anger in his voice.

“If you think so,” you said quietly, watching your best friend gaze out across the field to where some of the horses were grazing, including his now gelded stallion.

Izuku nodded and gave you a small smile, “have fun tonight, don’t let Ochako talk to any other guys,” he teased.

You snorted, “she’s only got eyes for you, Izu.”

Izuku’s cheeks flushed and he looked away from you trying to conceal his grin.

You grinned and ruffled his hair before heading inside to get ready to have fun with your friends, but the nagging voice in your head told you that Izuku should be with you too. 

—---------------------

The bar you were in was a bit interesting, but it was your favorite. There was a big dance floor in the middle, lots of places to sit, some places to play pool, and a mechanical bull. However, the best part was that off to the far right there was a small indoor arena where there would be bull riding at midnight.

It was pretty entertaining and it helped you loosen up a bit. Which you needed, you were acutely aware of the stick up your ass right now.

The music was loud as you chugged down a whiskey sour before reaching for another one, feeling your body become buzzed with the alcohol. It felt nice to be feeling so light for once.

“Ooh! Look! They’re about to ride the bulls,” Momo shouted as she dragged you across the bar and towards the arena where you both climbed onto a table to get a better look.

“What about Tsu and Ochako?” you slurred as you fixed your crop top.

“They’ll catch up!” Momo shouted as the lights turned on and the announcer started to hype up the crowd as the guys in the pen got the first bull ready.

“First up we’ve got Eijirou Kirishima or better known as Red Riot! He’s well known around here, never seen a guy take as many horns to the side as him, dude’s built like a boulder!” the announcer shouted as the crowd went wild.

Your eyes widened as you watched the largest guy you’ve ever seen get on his bull, which was huge too. He had a mass of wild red hair and laughed as his buddies slapped him on the shoulder. 

“That’s like your dream guy, Y/n,” Momo said loudly as she watched your face, you were in utter awe.

“I know,” you said as you mindlessly took a sip of your drink. 

“Better go get ‘em before the other girls do,” Momo said with a giggle as she nudged your arm, “you gotta let loose for once.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes glued to Kirishima as his ride started. He was good, hanging on tight as he kept one arm up while the bull bucked wildly around the small arena. You let out a gasp as the bulls head slammed back into Kirishima’s face causing his mask to fly off, but he held on until the timer buzzed and then let go. He landed rather roughly but managed to scramble to his feet and climb the fence.

In a brief moment you caught his scarlet gaze and he grinned and wiped the blood off his face from his nose. 

“Did he just smile at you?” Momo asked, glancing between the two of you.

You nodded, a slow grin growing on your face as you watched Kirishima hop off the fence and towards the back after his bull exited the arena. “He did.”

—----------

Across the bar, Bakugou was nursing a warm beer as Denki continued to ramble on about how he breaks in colts to the girl snuggled into his side. 

“Look who's here,” Shindo said from next to Bakugou as he set his beer down, “Y/n’s up on that table with Shoto’s girl, yeah?”

Bakugou turned his gaze towards you to see you standing on your toes, dressed in something he doesn't usually see you in. He then watched as you hopped off the table and practically sprinted towards the arena. “The hell is she scurrying off to?”

“Who knows,” Shindo said with a yawn, “that one is trouble though, mean as hell, just like that stud she has,” he added as he rubbed his arm, there was a small scar there from when your horse bit him.

Bakugou huffed, cutting his gaze to Cami who had come back by his side and placed her hand on his chest, “got your drink?”

She nodded, grinning as she took a sip of her drink, “yup, thanks for paying, Kats.”

He nodded, giving her cheek a small pinch between his fingers as he turned his gaze back towards you. To his surprise you were talking with one of his close friends, Eijirou Kirishima. He was a bull rider and did some ranch work on the side, pushing cattle and such.

“Oh she’s talking to Eijirou,” Shindo said with a snort, “he better watch out, sure she bites too.”

“You’re just jealous,” Sero finally spoke up from the other side of the booth, “she’s rejected you like four times, Shindo.”

“Yeah whatever,” Shindo said with a snort as he took a heavy sip from his beer.

Bakugou furrowed his brows as he watched his friend tuck some of your hair behind your ear, and he felt something heavy settle in his stomach like lead.

—-----------------

“You’re really good,” you said rather awkwardly to Kirishima who had just tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

“You think so?” he said with a chuckle as he let his hand drop down next to his side again.

You nodded, “yeah,” you trailed off, feeling your face turn hot.

Kirishima laughed, “you’re cute, you wanna dance?” he asked as he held his hand out for you.

Your eyes widened, “um okay, I’m not very good though."

He laughed again as his hand engulfed yours, “that’s okay, just follow my lead. I’ll take good care of ya.”

You smiled as you let him lead you onto the dance floor and he immediately pulled you in close. He was tall, pushing 6’6 and you were level with his chest, which meant you had to look up to see his face. 

Kirishima placed his hand on the small of your back and held your hand in his as he began to pull you along to the music, making you laugh.

“Gonna twirl ya, ready?” he asked, his scarlet eyes shining under the multicolored lights.

You nodded, grateful that the alcohol was making you more relaxed and definitely looser, or you knew you’d be stiff as a board in his arms. A small shout escaped you as he twirled you and then dropped you down into a dip, making you scramble to grab onto him.

“You’re just too cute sweetheart,” he cooed, giving you a wide smile and exposing a set of perfectly white teeth.

You nearly melted as he pulled you back up flush against him. He smelled good too, like spice and just a little bit of alcohol. It was almost addicting as he pulled you close to him again, and ran his thumb over the back of your hand as he led you both around the dance floor.

The song soon ended and you found yourself back in a secluded booth sipping on another whiskey sour as Kirishima told you about his day job of working as a ranch hand at Crimson Ranch. 

“So what about you darlin’?” Kirishima asked as he pulled you closer to him and rested his big hands on your thighs.

“Oh I work as a ranch manager for my uncle’s ranch now, but I rein,” you answered as you felt yourself lean into him.

“Really?” Kirishima drawled as he inched his hands up further on your bare thighs, “well, believe it or not, I’ve seen you ride before, you’re talented.”

Your eyes widened, “you have?”

Kirishima nodded, “yeah, one of my friends does reining too, he’s pretty good, but I’d reckon you’re better,” he said with a wink.

If he hadn't already won you over with the smooth talking and dancing he sure did now. “Yeah?”

Kirishima nodded, as he helped you settle onto his lap. He gazed up at you as he placed his hands on your hips and hooked his thumbs into your belt loops and pulled you flush against him, “oh yeah, you and that dunskin make a good pair, you gonna bring home the championship this year?”

“Now you’re just tryin’ to butter me up,” you said, trying to keep your cool as you resisted the urge to grind down on him.

Kirishima almost purred, “nah, just tellin’ the truth darlin’.”

You lifted an eyebrow, “dunno, not sure if I believe ya.”

“No?” Kirishima teased as he watched you lean over, you both were so close that your lips were just barely grazing his.

“No,” you answered, letting your eyes close as he pressed his lips to yours. A soft sigh escaped you as you kissed him. He tasted like whiskey and a little bit of blood, but that didn’t bother you. All that you could think of was his hands on you and the warm feeling starting to spread into your limbs from your tummy.

Kirishima nipped at your lip making you whine as you tangled your hands into his mane of hair and pressed yourself closer against him, so close that you coud feel the planes of muscle through his flannel and the bulge in his jeans.

You broke away to catch your breath as he pressed open mouthed kisses to your jaw and down the side of your neck as you rocked your hips against his, gasping into his ear as the buckle of his belt pressed aginst your core just right.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Kirishima groaned as he squeezed your sides and spread his legs more, he was fixing to run his hand under your crop top, but he caught sight of someone marching up towards him.

“Kiri,” you muttered, voice needy as he pressed his hand to your lower back making you whine softly.

“Hold on sweetheart,” he whispered sweetly into your ear, “Katsuki, what’s up dude?”

You froze, Katsuki? Dread filled your veins like ice as you stiffened in Kirishima’s big arms.

“The hell are you doin’?” Bakugou’s deep voice cut through your syrupy haze like a hot knife.

“What I want, mind your own business, yeah?” Kirishima said with a large smirk, which only grew as he felt you stiffen even more, “look ya scared her.”

You gulped and turned your head to look at Bakugou over your shoulder.

Bakugou held your gaze, trying to avoid looking at your swollen lips or the red marks on your neck, or the fact that he could see Kirishima still grinding up into you. He swallowed thickly and narrowed his eyes at you before finally speaking, “better not miss your lesson tomorrow, princess.”

“Lesson?” you asked, raising your eyebrows in shock.

“Your uncle set it up a few hours ago, don’t be late, it's at eight tomorrow morning,” Bakugou said while rolling his eyes as he turned on his heel and headed out towards the front door, reaching his hand out for Cami to grab.