ugh holiday season is the gift that just keeps on giving đ sorry for the delay with date n dial & the one shot i released the poll about! it will all come soooo very soon đ«¶
summary â In an attempt to raise morale, The Squawk debuts Date 'n Dial, their new dating show. The only problem is that Nancy refuses to go on air, and Robin already has her hands full with the morning broadcast. So, who does that leave?
pairing â reader x steve harrington
content â slow burn, friends to lovers
"See, I think what they're not understanding is who I am," Steve concludes.
For the past hour, he's kept you on the phone, bemoaning about his responsibilities at WSQK. You didn't mind too much. It was a nice change from the monotony of nannying.
"Well, who are you then, Steve?" You twist the landline cord around your hand. The aged plastic crackles as it weaves through your fingers. "I thought you were Mr. Suave â has that changed?"
"Please, sweetheart," His grin is evident, even through the phone. "There's a reason they chose me to host. Not everyone gets on with romance the way I do."
"Then why are you so bothered by the offer?"
"Well, it's a little out of my league. I've always been in the background assisting Robin," Steve explains. "Besides, aren't these shows supposed to be hosted by women?"
You laugh. "What's wrong with staying in touch with your feminine side? You know, there's a reason why George Michael is such a hit."
"Whatever, I guess you're right." Steve sighs, going silent. "What are the brats up to?"
"Rude," you whisper into the phone. You look over your shoulder, checking that you're still alone. "It's nap time right now. They're out like lights."
"Oh, so you're alone?"
"Yep, for the foreseeable future."
"Say it slower,"
You grimace. "Don't be gross,"
Steve laughs on the other end. He sounds completely satisfied with himself. "Where would you ever get that from? I'm never gross."
"That's debatable," you say, shifting the phone to your other hand.
"Fine, I'll be good. Only because there's no one else I can bother right now."
There's a brief pause, and you can hear rustling on the Steve's end of the line. For as much as he whined about work, he seemed to have a fair share of time to waste.
"So," he starts. "When will I get to see you next? You know, outside of the thrilling phone calls and occasional run-ins at Henderson's?"
"I'll let you know when my schedule clears up," you pretend to think about when you're free. "But you know, you should just tag along the next time I see Robin. I don't understand what you and Dustin get up to that's so captivating."
Steve scoffs dramatically, as if you'd just insulted him. "What we get up to? Please, we bond with every moment we spend together."
"Over what?" you prod.
"Sports, movies, music. Important stuff."
You roll your eyes. "Dustin doesn't even like sports. And from what I recall, you hate the movies he likes."
"Whatever, our bond can't be explained with words."
You laugh despite yourself, inevitably fueling Steve's ego. "I'll see you soon, Steve," you finally say. "I promise."
"I'll hold you to it."
He waits for you to hang up, and you set the phone into the wall dock. You let the phone cord fall from your hand, and press your forehead against the wall. It's so stupid, honestly. You've known him way too long for a perfectly casual conversation to elicit a response like this.
You push off the wall and wander toward the living room, dodging discarded Legos and Barbies as you make your way the stereo. The quiet of the house feels louder now that Steve isn't filling it with his humor.
You're halfway to switching the dial when you hear the soft patter of footsteps hitting the floor. Wonderful, nap time was officially over.
"Hello?" a small voice calls from the hall.
You gently sigh, try to wipe the fluster from your face, and put on a smile. "I'm coming!"
Danny, the Jacksons' toddler, appeared in the hallway. His hair was smashed on one side, emphasizing the cowlick you already fought with when you got him ready each morning. He blinks at you, still stuck in that state between wakefulness and sleep.
"You're done napping already?" You ask, easily scooping him up.
He nods, pressing his cheek into your shoulder. Danny has a post-sleep warmth radiating off of him, and you pull him closer.
For a moment, you hold him and absentmindedly sway. Your eyes drift back to the landline, where the cord was still swinging from when you dropped it into its cradle. God, Steve. You can still hear him talking still, even moments after you hung up. Smug and funny and when his voice gets low it's like â
Danny yawns in your ear. "Can I have a snack, please?"
"Of course," you reply, bringing yourself back to Earth. "I appreciate you using your manners."
You start toward the kitchen, feet quiet on the worn parquet flooring. But your mind betrays you, still circling back to Steve yet again. There were plenty of things that you should be thinking about. Like the half folded laundry you have waiting for you in the basement, or the grocery list Ms. Jackson asked you to shop for by the end of the week.
No, you think about Steve. His voice, specifically. The way it kinda dipped when he asked when he'd see you next. The way he joked when he told you talk slower. It made you flush like you did when you first met him, back when you were only sixteen. But you were older now, and you had a job, responsibilities, and no time to be dwelling on a man who thrived on attention.
You open the pantry with one hand, fishing out a box of fruit snacks while balancing a half-asleep Danny on your hip.
"This is so stupid," you mutter under your breath.
"What's 'stupid'?" Danny mumbles out against your shoulder.
"Nothing," you slowly reply. He was never the type to talk much, let alone ask a follow up question. "It's just boring grown-up stuff."
Danny accepts your answer and turns his attention to the fruit snacks you place in his hand.
If only you could distract yourself that easily.
Because, plain as day, the truth was sitting right in front of you. You could lie to Steve, tease him, roll your eyes in protest as much as you wanted. It didn't change that he was getting under your skin.
And it didn't change that you liked it.
look at me committing to something for once!
feel free to leave a comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist, and my inbox is always open :)
summary â In an attempt to raise morale, The Squawk debuts Date 'n Dial, their new dating show. The only problem is that Nancy refuses to go on air, and Robin already has her hands full with the morning broadcast. So, who does that leave?
pairing â reader x steve harrington
content â slow burn, friends to lovers
author's note â can we please bring back radio dating and do away with pop the balloon
"Good evening, Hawkins - how are we doing tonight?"
You roll your eyes at Steve's introduction, but you turn your bedroom's stereo up anyway. It's 4pm, though the lowering sun and chill seeping in from your window say otherwise. It's only September, but summer already feels so far away.
WSQK, the beautiful and ever entertaining local radio station, just hired Steve and Robin. They seem to love it, and most nights they recount their day to you as if you weren't listening to the entire thing throughout your day.
But tonight, it was a special occasion. Friday evening at 4PM, prime time for traffic hour, none other than Steve Harrington had scored the role to host a new radio show. Of course, he claimed that he'd protested endlessly, but was pushed into it despite his objections.
Steve resumes his introduction, clearing his throat through the static on-air.
"Tonight," he begins, "is the start of something unforgettable. Something so daring, so out of the box, so-"
Robin sighs, cutting him off.
"Something so yawn inducing that I literally can't keep my eyes open as he rambles, am I right, folks?"
A cheap badum-tss plays after Robin's interruption, sparking a chuckle from your lips. The space heater you haphazardly placed on your dresser clicks to life, showering you in warmth as you settle on the edge of your bed.
"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, welcome to Date 'n Dial!" Steve cues the jingle, the iconic intro to Let's Get it On by Marvin Gaye. He lets the instrumental continue as he speaks, "Here, we take calls from our listeners, the beautiful folks of Hawkins, to discuss everything from the sad to the glad."
"Tell us your woes and wins, even share about your late night plans if you dare," Robin says, lowering her voice. "And every week, at 4:30 on the dot, we'll be pairing two very lucky souls up to have a live speed date!"
As the jingle swells, you lay back onto your bed, ready to start your Friday evening.
im sooo excited you don't even understand! this idea has been soaking in my head since i started listening to live radio again last spring, and wsqk was literally a sign that it was meant to be released from my brain
summary â Every year, once all the leaves start to turn, Jess thinks back to what you shared. After all, you're the only girl he's ever truly wanted.
pairing â reader x ex!jess mariano
content â angst, yearning
author's note â letter home by childish gambino </3
"It's stupid, really," you scoff. Your scarf covers your chin, itching your skin. You tug it down just enough to speak clearly, trying to ignore the tremble in your fingers.
You roll your eyes like this â whatever it is â is nothing. Like you haven't been laying awake at night trying to figure out what's wrong and fix it before it gets worse.
"What are we even doing, Jess? I thought you were ready."
"Ready for what?" Jess quickly spits out. He's nothing if not defensive, and he looks away from you. His eyes won't meet yours as he feigns ignorance, pretending he doesn't understand what you're asking from him.
"Ready for something real. I want it." You glance up at him. "I want you."
Jess licks his lips, letting a silence fall between you. It's long and glaring, with the harsh blowing of the wind cutting in.
"Well," Jess starts.
'Don't say it,' he thinks. 'Just stop while you have the chance.'
"We don't always get what we want, do we?"
And with that, your face crumples in a way that lets Jess know that he's officially broken your heart. The tears welling in your eyes betray your attempts to look unbothered, and you absentmindedly chew your lip.
"Wow," you slowly say. Jess's words replay, and you turn them over and over again in your head. "I see."
He seems cool as ever, hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets as he watches you. Jess had never made you cry before, never seen you make that dejected face. That stupid cowlick of his blows around in the wind, tousling with every stray gust. You used to tease him about it, smooth it down with your hands, kiss the spot underneath.
You shake your head in disbelief, a look of pity casting itself over your face. "I mean, come on Jess. We were doing fine until you got all scared."
And really, what was he so scared of?
The softness of your cheeks when he held them in the cold? The way his insides turned to pudding when you smiled at him with that stupid, cheeky grin â like you already knew he was undeniably yours?
It wasn't your fault. As cliche as it sounded, Jess wanted to tell you, It's not you, it's me. You're perfect. Don't let me stain you, ruin you, hurt you.
But he doesn't. He shrugs in that noncommittal way he does to others, to people who don't matter.
You scoff, trying to force yourself to feel any emotion except sorrow. Jess watches as you leave, still and silent. Your scarf billows behind you, and the hectic wind swallows the last traces of your presence.
Four years later, and Jess found you again. Tucked behind his battered paperbacks and forgotten CDs was a simple photo. Your tilted head and crooked grin bring Jess back, back to when you made him want to be an honest man.
He stares at the picture longer than he probably has the right to.
That night, Jess sits at his counter, photo of you in hand. He's studied it enough in those hours to close his eyes and still be able to see it perfectly.
With the image of you in his mind, Jess rounds up a spare pen and sheet of stationary. Neither are hard to find in his cluttered apartment, he's an author after all. But as he writes to you, grammar and the rest of the conventions he's been trained to follow fall by the wayside.
----
You're the only girl that I have ever wanted. Every girl I know is trying to be you.
I realize now that I didn't know how to hold a good thing without crushing it. I couldn't let something be soft without letting my roughness get the best of it.
You asked me what I was so scared of, and I played dumb. But I know now, and I've known since before I picked that stupid fight.
Everything. Everything brought fear into me. Kindness, patience, vulnerability. I used to blame the hell out of everyone around me, but what did they matter?
There comes a time in everyone's life when they realize that they reached their peak. You, and every moment we spent together, were mine. Every waking moment since then has been downhill in ways that words could never fully communicate.
How could I have let you go because I was scared? How could I let go of what made me strong and willing? I'm tired of the regret, of the sleepless nights wishing I'd just grabbed your hand and asked you to take me back.
I'm writing this because I need you to understand that nothing matters. I don't care about what I should have by now, because I don't have you. I don't care about who you're with, what responsibilities you have â none of it.
If you'll have me, I'll give myself to you. You could realize today, tomorrow, I don't care. I'll wait another 4 years if it means you'll consider me. Even if I'm just a thought late at night, right when you're on the edge of dreaming and wakefulness. Just tell me, and I'll wait.
You're all I've ever wanted.
â Jess
it's fall, which means gilmore girl season is here. i actually meant to write this as soon as october started, but life happens to get in the way.
this is something short to start with, but i really want to get back into the swing of things with writing. send me any requests you'd like to see :)
summary â After a reckless night changes the entire sphere of your life, your parents send you to live with your aunt in North Carolina. In a setting far from your old, glittering life, youâre left to confront your guilt and the secrets youâve been running from. Things seem like theyâre going uphill after your auntâs pool boy, JJ, helps you settle in, but will you be able to keep yourself from slipping into your bad habits?
pairing â kook!reader x jj maybank
content â slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers
Aunt Vick is more excited to see you than you ever expected her to be.
"My girls!" she shouts, her voice bright and high, as if she hadnât just torn herself away from a Southern Living magazine on the swing bench. The magazine flutters to the wooden steps, forgotten.
"Hi, Vick," your mother sighs, her words more tired than affectionate as her sister sweeps her into a tight hug. The Southern twang in your momâs voice starts to emerge, partially unmasked after years of living in Manhattan. "Thanks for watchin' her. We'll have her back by December at the latest."
Vick grins at you over your momâs shoulder, her eyes mischievous. She was the last person your mom would have chosen for you to stay with, and everyone knew it. But after your grandparents died, and your father, an only child, had no siblings to lean on, Vick was the only choice.
As your mother and aunt exchange pleasantries, you stand off to the side, your fatherâs arm wrapped around you like a safety net. Heâs always seen you as his angel, even when your actions had been anything but. Now, though, the illusion is shattered, and thereâs nothing left for him to say. "Please, be good," he implores, his voice a whisper full of desperation. "I'd love to have you back by the fall."
You donât mention that your mother said you would be home in December â you know that if heâs aware of her plan, heâll only lose the inevitable fight to have you back earlier, and youâd be at risk of not being home until the new year. You just let yourself breathe him in, feeling the warmth of his embrace as the finality of it all settles. If heâs right, fall is only three months away. You can survive that, youâve been through worse.
When itâs time for your mother to say goodbye, thereâs an awkward tension that you canât shake. The last few months have strained your bond, and the guilt is like a heavy stone in your chest. Itâs no secret that in the last year youâve continued to disappoint her more and more. You brace yourself for something coldâa handshake, maybe, something transactional. But instead, she surprises you, her arms opening to pull you close.
The scent of her perfume, gentle and familiar, envelops you as her hand gently strokes your cheek, like it used to when you were little. "You know that all Iâve ever wanted for you was the very best," she whispers, her voice tender, but filled with the weight of the unsaid truth. The unspoken frustration that you wonât let her give you the world.
You nod, pressing your cheek into her palm. The warmth of her touch is a fleeting comfort.
"You've got to want it too, my love," she says softly, and then she pulls away, her gaze lingering just a moment longer before she steps back.
As they climb into the rental car, your mother behind the wheel, your father wipes away tears that are already halfway down his swollen face. The car drives off, its soft grey outline fading into the distance, leaving behind a silence that feels permanent â thereâs no going back now. When their flight lands, Vick is supposed to be updating them on your every move, a constant presence in your life, whether you want it or not.
Vick breaks the silence first, as if she can't stand it anymore. "Well, kid. Lemme show you around." She grabs one of your duffels off the brick walkway and heads toward the front door. "Things are a little different after the remodel, so make sure you pay attention."
â
The first few days on Figure 8 pass in a blur of isolation. Youâve spent most of your time holed up in your bedroom, too embarrassed to face the worldâor anyone. The silence here is deafening, and the loneliness gnaws at you in ways you never imagined. Youâve reached out to friends from home, of course, but no one is responding. Not that you can blame them. After the mess you made, it feels like you've been shut out for good.
Vickâs attempts to lure you out of your self-imposed exile are relentless. She whispers promises of Pink Whitney and trashy movies. The mention of alcohol makes it clear that she hasnât quite caught wind of your fall from grace in Manhattan.
By the fifth day, Vickâs patience is wearing thin. Itâs 10 a.m. and youâve barely stirred from your bed, except to push around the plate of French toast she made you earlier. The dining room, pristine in white, feels foreignâan eerily quiet reminder of the last time you were here, more than a decade ago. Back then, your grandparents had been alive, and Vick was 18 and fully ready to leave the nest.
Now, everything has changed. The dining room, once coastal and cluttered with shells and driftwood, is sleek and minimalist. Your aunt inherited the house after your grandparents died, and she had transformed it into something entirely different. "I'm sick of the old coastal asshole look," she had said when the renovations started. "I see those all the time in the houses I list. Gimme class. Gimme modernity." The only thing that remained unchanged was the antique dining table, solid oak, polished to perfection.
Your plate sits facing the newly finished backyard, Vickâs pride and joy. Sheâd been texting you and your parents updates about the remodel, sending pictures of the work as it progressed, but you hadnât really paid attention.
The silence between you and Vick stretches on, thick and heavy. Sheâs practically bouncing in her seat, eyes wide with impatience, waiting for you to speak. But you donât. And she doesnât either.
"So..." Vick finally breaks, her voice soft but teasing. "Whatâd you do?" Her smile is crooked, giving it a boyish charm. "You know you can tell me. I used to be pretty wild back in my day."
You raise an eyebrow, offering nothing but a half-shrug in response. If you're the only one on the island who knows the full story, you'd rather keep it that way.
Vick huffs, clearly starting to lose her patience. "Come on, spill it. Did you kill somebody? Have a pregnancy scare?"
"No!" You almost laugh, though it sounds hollow. You fiddle with your fork, taking a quick glance of the backyard. At this point, anything is better than entertaining Vickâs curiosity. A guy is out there, netting leaves from the willow tree and fishing them out of the infinity pool. You donât want to talk about it. Not yet, at least.
Vickâs gaze follows your line of sight, and her smile widens. Just like that, her previous line of questioning vanishes into thin air. "See something you like?" she teases, her tone full of mischief.
The sun has crept high, beating down on anyone caught in its rays. This guy? No shirt, sweat glistening on his bronzed skin as he hauls the net over his shoulder, muscles flexing in a way that makes you feel suddenly very aware of your own discomfort.
"Yeah, pretty cute," you offer, trying to sound casual, though youâre sure your voice betrays you. 'Cute' doesnât even come close. But youâve sworn off boys until at least a year into college. So you force your attention elsewhere. Your syrup has congealed into a thin skin, and you twirl your fork in it absently, trying to focus on anything but the man in the backyard.
Just as you do, you notice the way his eyes flick to you through the glass door, the briefest glance that sends a flush rushing to your cheeks.
Vick leans in with a grin that says she knows exactly what youâre thinking. "Thatâs JJ, my new pool boy. Heâs your age, Iâm guessing." Her eyes dance with amusement, clearly relishing in your sudden discomfort. "I could totally set you up, if you want."
You shake your head quickly, your heart picking up speed. "No," you mutter, hoping JJ didnât realize youâd been staring. "Iâve got bigger things to worry about right now." You push the plate of untouched food aside, suddenly realizing how childish you must look, poking at your breakfast like a kid.
Vick laughs and grabs your plate, tossing the food into the trash. âOh, I love some forbidden action," she teases, nudging you with her shoulder. "Besides, romance isnât dead, kid."
You canât help but roll your eyes, though part of you wonders if sheâs right.
thank you for all of the support on the intro đ„č sooo excited to be writing again & iâll likely be making a separate blog so i can interact w everyone đ«¶đœ
01. iâm 18, but i wonât necessarily write 18+ content! if you request anything past my comfort/skills, iâll deny it. right now, itâs just not what iâm interested in :) things change tho, so who knows what iâll be comfortable with later down the line.
02. iâm a full time student! there will likely be waves of inactivity on my blog, but please donât take it personally if i donât answer your request or message right away
03. pls be kind lol. this is seriously just a hobby for me, so any rude, unkind comments or messages will be deleted!
04. my inbox is always open, so if you have any questions, requests, etc. donât be afraid to send them in!
summary â After a reckless night changes the entire sphere of your life, your parents send you to live with your aunt in North Carolina. In a setting far from your old, glittering life, youâre left to confront your guilt and the secrets youâve been running from. Things seem like theyâre going uphill after your auntâs pool boy, JJ, helps you settle in, but will you be able to keep yourself from slipping into your bad habits?
pairing â kook!reader x jj maybank
content â slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers
âYou know,â your dad starts. âThis is where your mother and I met.â
From the backseat, you resist the urge to roll your eyes. Youâve heard this story before, and right now, with everything thatâs floating around regarding your future, the last thing you want to hear about is your parentsâ past.
When heâs met with nothing but silence, he continues. âYep, back in â95.â He looks at you in the rearview, taking in your faraway look.
âHoney, you could at least act a little interested.â Your mother snaps.
âWell, excuse me for worrying about bigger things.â
âDonât you take that tone with me,â she glares over her shoulder. âWith the way weâve stuck our asses out for you, the least you could do is slap a smile on your face.â
Your father is suddenly quiet, staring forward at the road ahead of him. Silence overtakes the rest of the ride, and you start to feel slightly guilty.
After all, it was your fault that any of this happening. As your mom had so eloquently put it when you were packing, âmaybe the distance will help clear the coke from your nose and put some thoughts in your head.â
Despite the fact that you wouldnât touch drugs with a 10-foot pole, you couldnât argue that she was slightly right. You knew your lack of direction was a topic of conversation between your mom and her sister, Aunt Vick. If you didnât get your act together during your gap semester, you were as good as cut off.
As you ponder the very real possibility of being penniless, you decide to leave your parents (at least your dad) with a positive last impression.
âSo, has Figure 8 changed much?â
this is my christmas gift to the world, i hope itâs adequate đlmk if youâre interested in updates/joining a tag list!
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