Frank Langdon x f!reader [1.5k]: one very drunk confession from Frank.
AO3 | the archives
“You’re the only person that makes me happy anymore.”
Frank Langdon was drunk, almost hilariously so. Pathetic, desperate, and close to needing a ride back to work.
The clock was ticking toward midnight; you weren’t even sure how Santos and Javadi had convinced half of the day shift to go out for a night of clubs and fruity drinks. Even Robby sat quietly and watched his attendees let loose and make a fool of themselves. Everyone here knew the technique of drowning sorrows in liquor very well.
It was mid-July, sickly humid, and almost a year since Frank came back preaching a new life. Yet, it hadn’t taken long for the heartless, ER Ken persona to come crawling back up on everyone like a disease.
And now everyone was watching it unravel sloppily under shitty dim lights of a bar Trinity had found on 5th Avenue.
Everything from embracing his divorcee life karaoke singing Single Ladies with Dana completely out of tune, suddenly gaining the energy of something akin to his own boys whilst he climbed the closest thing possible just because, and confessing some drunken affection to you in front of all your coworkers.
Frank Langdon was all boyish smiles and floppy hair once the alcohol hit him. Bouncing on his feet and acting nicer to everyone than the past year of shifts combined. Sometimes that kindness only extended to you on days, to your mystery. Maybe until now, yet the claims from him only confused you more.
You weren’t drunk enough for this, the words struggled to pass through your head, despite how easily they seemed to leave Frank's mouth. Whitaker's eyes went wide, sensing the tension, and he seemed to excuse himself, dragging Trinity away from the table with him despite how much she was obviously eating this up.
Frank swayed, seemingly distracted and almost immediately forgetting what he had just told you. Or it simply didn’t phase him in his current drunken stupor.
“Alright, Dr. Langdon.” You got up and gently grasped his shoulder, maybe for a clear sign of life. You searched for his eyes, “let’s get you home? Yeah?”
“Yes.” He slurred.
It was towards the end of the night anyway, you tried not to think about Robby’s eyes on the back of your neck while you grabbed your things and coaxed Frank out the door as you dodged his grasping hands as he stumbled out.
Your hands found his shoulders and Frank felt warm and way too alive under your touch, practically buzzing. Your hair stuck to your skin from the heat, and the air felt heavy once you found yourself standing in front of a Frank on the sidewalk of downtown Pittsburgh.
Frank looked freer than ever, his shoulders didn’t tense and his smile was real. It’s been over a year, but you worry about what this will do to his recovery. He looks happy, so you shove that gut-wrenching thought down for now.
Then he says it again: “You’re the only person that makes me this happy.”
He's borderline giggling under his breath, cheeks flush.
“Frank, you gotta stop saying that.” You murmur, trying to avoid his gaze that's set on you. That boyish charm cannot grab hold of you now, so you look at the skyline.
“It might be unfortunate to hear,” his feet shuffled towards you, “but it’s true.”
You looked up and all humor left his tone, expression was fixed with an earned gaze directed right at you.
It’s human nature to do what’s familiar when met with an uncontrollable and new situation. You were a doctor after all. Taking care of people at a distance is familiar and practiced. Boundaries. Safety.
“You're drunk,” you say, attempting to pull him out of whatever lovey bubble he’s in and get the man home.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t such a surprise as one may think. The practiced dance you and Langdon perform has been crafted over the years. The lingering touches, meetings in the fleetingly quiet halls over a Cliff bar in vending machines. The gaze worth a thousand words, the smiles, the banter.
You had been in deep and almost ruined by Dr. Frank Landon’s and it almost came to a head. Then he left for ten months and the reset button was hit.
But enough liquor could make the man address this unspoken thing like it was small talk. The elephant in the room stood right in front of you and was unmoving.
“You know I’m telling the truth.” Frank smiled, “Uh, what do they say? About the sober words—“
“Drunk words are sober thoughts.” You answered, groaning.
“Yeah.” The giddy smile just grew, if possible. “You’re so smart, always have been.”
“Come on,” you touch fell to his back to walk him to your car. Your hand tingled.
“You always take such good care of everyone, take good care of me.” Frank's words were almost incomprehensible. His shoulders swaying into yours, almost leaning into you.
“You have alcohol poisoning, Frank.”
The snort that left his mouth almost made you giggle, “and you're funny.”
“I’m being serious.” You whine.
“So am I.”
You can’t find the words to respond to him, any fight dies in your throat and you let a familiar feeling flutter through you and flip your lower stomach. Overly aware of Frank’s hands holding onto you as he shuffled down the sidewalk, he was a big boy who could stand on his own despite the shots, a part of you knew Frank didn’t need to lean on you as much as he was. Deeper down, it warmed your chest and you decided that you liked it.
The warm, almost orange streetlights flickered, you couldn’t not notice how gorgeous Frank was. He earned his nickname for a reason, it wasn’t rare for girls to want him, it seemed everyone did at one point. Despite the marriage but less now after the 10-month leave.
You used to be puzzled when Frank's eye found you first in the ER, even more when you noticed it became a pattern. Then you learned how to bathe in it, falling into step with Frank in every possible way at work, sometimes even outside. Always comfortable. Always unspoken.
Frank's hair was a tussled mess, his shirt unbuttoned to peak at the hair that decorated his chest. Frank knew what your gaze felt like on him, his head falling to find your eyes.
“You’re staring.” He said, finding your car and slowing to a halt. Frank's hands are still on you.
“Making sure you're still with us.”
“Okay, doc.” He jokes, but you can’t laugh. The air’s too heavy. Tension weighing down on you, or maybe that was just Frank. “So, you're coming home with me?”
You didn’t say anything, just shot him an annoyed look. A glare, even.
A sickly sweet smile grew on his face, “Oh, so that’s when your care stops.”
“Pervert.” You mutter.
The humid weather suddenly goes ignored once Frank parts from you, feeling unbelievably cold when he goes to lean against your car. You felt almost uncomfortable.
Frank's shoulder slack, dopey, boyish smile, and it all pointed at you. Looking at you like you held the moon and strung the star, in his mind you practically do every day for him.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, the welcomed breeze in the air as midnight hits, or the way it seemed you were glowing before him.
As easily as the whisky went down Frank's throat hours ago he said: “You love me.”
Words spoken as easily as breathing, gaze softer than he’d ever given you. You were frozen. You wanted to melt. All the air was sucked from your throat as Frank broke the one unspoken rule between you too. The tension is crashing down on your chest.
“Maybe.” You swallow, you bite a grin.
Frank adores you, anyone could tell by how his eyes glistened right now. “I’ll take it, now take me home?”
“Yes, Langdon. Home.” You click your fob and he already goes for your passenger seat. Dramatically flopping onto your leather seats, a dramatic sigh escaping him as he falls limp in your seat, smile not fleeting for a moment.
“I’m too inebriated to buckle, I need assistance from a doctor.” He slurs.
“You’re impossible.” You groan through a grin, reaching across him to buckle him up. “And perfectly capable.”
“But you love taking care of me.” Frank's tone fell to a whisper and you realize how close his face is to yours, nose to nose. Your body betrays you when you glance at his lips for a moment, he still looked giddy but his smile fell and he put up a more serious front.
“I’ll tell you how I feel when you’re awake tomorrow, and sober.”
He grins once more, “Does that mean you're staying over?”
“If you don’t puke in my car.” You’re finding it hard to pull away from him and just get in your seat and drive. “Then, sure.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Everything in you wants to kiss him, to grasp at his dark hair and warm, flushed cheeks.
But Frank Langdon is drunk and confessing to you. So you tell yourself you’ll kiss him if his story stays up once the buzz leaves his body and you get in your driver's seat.
Your back is against a row of books, books that are hidden deep in the library where no one else can see them. It is here that you have your leg swung over his shoulder, your dress hiked up, and your cunt laid bare as Valarr pleasures you in a way that Daeron never could
He is on his knees below you, his lips wrapped around your pearl whilst his fingers pump in and out of you at a steady rhythm
Quiet moans are leaving your lips; not too loud because you don’t want anyone to hear, but they’re just loud enough for Valarr to hear you chanting his name
It falls from your lips like a prayer, repeating over and over until it is the only thing you are capable of saying. You are unable to help yourself as the pleasure builds up, chest rising and falling rapidly whilst you whimper
“Valarr.”
Your peak is on the horizon and you try to warn him, digging your hands in his hair and tugging at it. Your fingers find themselves tangled in his white streak, and Valarr hums smugly against your cunt. He can feel it by the way your body is trembling beneath him, by the way your sounds are getting louder that you’re close
Your eyes are closed and you look as heavenly as you always do when you come apart for him, body so weak that he has to hold you up. Afterwards, Valarr presses his mouth to yours so that you can taste your release on his tongue
It is sweet, and when Daeron later asks what the sweet taste on your lips is when he kisses you, you just smile and shake your head
“It is nothing that you will ever taste, husband,” you tell him honestly, and you are lucky that he is drunk, because he thinks only that you are talking about wine
Maekar Targaryen
He’s so gentle, you think. So much gentler than Aerion is and so much more experienced, too
It shows in the way his hips rock against yours, his cock expertly dragging across that one spot that drives you wild
Every time you feel the tip of his cock brushing against it your eyes roll to the back of you head, and the steady rhythm that Maekar sets behind you only intensifies it
He’s got his hands on your ass, gripping it tightly whilst you moan and whine into the pillows beneath him. Your face is pressed firmly against them, hiding the sounds of your sins together and Maekar grunts behind you
You can feel his cock tightening inside of you and the walls of his restraint tumbling down. He’s close, you notice, and once his grip on your hips falter there’s nothing stopping you from fucking yourself back on to him
Your hips meet his cock in a steady rhythm, your whines and his grunts merging together. All at once, the two of you reach your peak together and afterwards Maekar collapses beside you
He’s a mess of sweat and white hair, looking utterly fucked out and you know that you’re no better. You know that you’ll have to clean yourself up and make yourself presentable for dinner that night with Aerion, but for the time being you stroke his father’s face and smile at him
“Let’s hope the seed sticks this time,” you hum lightly
Maekar presses a chaste kiss to your shoulder and hums as well, looking optimistic as he says, “Yes. Let us hope indeed.”
Baelor Targaryen
You should feel bad
No, you do feel bad every time Baelor’s cock splits you open, fucking your pretty little cunt and filling it to the brim with his seed
He is your uncle, after all, and you know that your father would be absolutely furious if he ever found out
Maekar scarcely wished for your hand to be given to any man, and you shivered to think of what he would do if he knew that Baelor had already taken your maidenhood. He would try and see you both hanged, no doubt, but all of the guilt, all of the terrible things that you felt just…went away when you laid with Baelor
There seemed to be no room for those feelings amongst the pleasure, the cloudiness of your mind making it impossible to think past it
Every time his cock slid into you, you could barely think about anything else, too wrapped up in your own bubble of desire
Like now, with your legs wrapped his waist and your arms thrown over his shoulders, you were seeing stars as Baelor fucked into you over and over again
You had lost count of how many times it had been, but it might have been three since the ending of the council meeting
He had snuck out in earnest to find you, eager to release the tension he had been holding in all morning. It had been hard to pretend that he wasn’t fantasizing about you as the dreadful meeting went on and on. Baelor had never found it difficult to keep his composure before, but after becoming entangled with you, it was nearly impossible
He could not wait for the moments where he was inside of you again, and though he felt guilt for betraying his brother, that was nothing compared to the feel of you wrapped around him
It consumed him, momentarily clouding his head and replacing duty with desire. You made him come undone to the point where Baelor had completely forgotten there were other things that he needed to do, one of them being attend another meeting that day
So entangled with you, the usual level headed heir was only reminded when his brother—your father—came to get him
The moment that the two of you moaned and came undone again, a heavy knock sounded on the door
“Brother? What the fuck are you doing in there? Lord Beesbury is waiting for you!”
You both froze as Maekar’s voice sounded out, and your hand flew to your mouth as Baelor motioned for you to be quiet. He pressed a cautious finger to his lips before glancing at the door, calling out, “I shall be there in a second! A moment, if you will!”
Silently, you watched as Baelor got dressed, struggling to keep yourself quiet and hiding under the covers when he finally opened the door
You felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest when you heard your father’s voice, curious as he asked,
“Why the fuck do you need that many pillows?”
The door slammed shut, and you didn’t get to hear Baelor’s reply, but you imagined that his reaction would be much like yours—amused and slightly relieved that your father mistook your body as simply an extra pillow
Ser Duncan the Tall
Perhaps Ser Arlan was right about him. Perhaps Dunk really was stupid, thick as a castle wall and his head as hollow as the moat surrounding it
That would be the only thing that could explain this, that would explain why he would allow himself to dabble in such forbidden desires when he knew that it would only lead to trouble
You see, when Dunk had entered Lyonel Baratheon’s tent he hadn’t meant to get tangled up with his daughter. The Hedge Knight had only meant to visit him and thank him for the food and drink from the night before, but instead of Lyonel, he had stumbled upon you, a smirk on your lips and hunger in your eyes as you stared up at him
Unbeknownst to him, you had taken interest in him the night before, but you never had time to approach. Between your father hogging him up and too many people around to show him affection, you had suppressed your…desire for the tall man until it was more appropriate
A part of you thought that you were going to have to sneak out of your tent and hunt him down if you ever wanted to see him again, though you really hoped that you wouldn’t have to go through all of that
You had hoped that Dunk would simply come back to you instead. And what do you know, the gods had answered your prayers
No sooner did Dunk stumble into the tent, noticing that it was much emptier than the day before, did you begin your advances
You touched his arm, batted your lashes, and accepted his thanks with a sweet smile and an offer of more wine
It had seemed innocent enough at first, but now as you lay on top of him, straddling him as you sank down on his cock, there was nothing innocent about the situation anymore
It was all lust and skin and pleasure, Dunk moaning as you pushed yourself down and whined at the stretch
“It’s so big, Ser,” you told him, lip jutting out and your thighs trembling. “I’m not sure if it’ll fit.”
You words seemed to stir something inside of Dunk. Something dark, something that he had repressed for a long, long time. In the freedom of your empty tent, with the the tip of his cock being squeezed by your cunt, he snapped
“S’alright. You can take it, ‘mlady,” he grunted, and then in the next moment he was grabbing onto your hips, guiding your cunt as you whined and took him balls deep
He was fully sheathed inside of you and fuck! His head immediately clouded over with the pleasure of being buried in your cunt, barely able to breathe as you rocked and bounced on top of him
As the tent filled with lewd sounds of skin sticking to skin, Dunk swore that he was in heaven, his eyes rolling back at the feeling. His lips, when they weren’t occupied by yours, kept thanking any God that had granted him this favor. He didn’t exactly know the words but he tried, stuttering out what he knew
To you, it just sounded like gibberish; broken moans with the occasional sound of your name. You savored it as it fell from his lips, clenching harder around him and rising to your knees
In a firm rhythm, you bounced on your feet and rode him until you were both seeing stars
Dunk was so big that it was easy for him to bring you to pleasure, his cock hitting all of the right spots without even trying
With a broken moan and strangled cry, the two of you came together, reaching your peaks in a string of prayer and curses
Afterwards, when you lay beside him with your head on his chest and your hands playing with his massive ones, Dunk did at least have the decency to look guilty
He started to apologize—the oaf—actually apologize for taking you. He was stuttering so bad and stumbling over his words, but you just waved your hand and laughed it off
“There’s no need to apologize Ser Duncan. That was the best fuck of my life,” you said brashly, and you reckoned that he could have rivaled a tomato from how red the blush was on his face
Aerion Targaryen
“I didn’t know Lord Ashford had another daughter,” were the exact words Aerion had uttered before it all went down hill
You see, the prince hadn’t meant to stumble across you. As he had told that great oaf who called himself a knight, the only things he had been looking for were wine and a pretty woman to warm his bed. Luckily for him, Aerion had found both
Ever the gracious host, your father had sent you to look after the prince, making you be the one to deliver the wine instead of the servant. He thought it would make you seem like better hosts, and how does Aerion thank him for this?
“Fuck, that’s it,” the Prince nods in approval as your lips wrap around him, sucking and worshiping his cock like you had done this before
You had insisted that you hadn’t, so Aerion chalked it up to him being a good teacher and a thorough one at that
In such a short time, he had taught you exactly the way to take him, humming in approval when you used your mouth correctly or yanking on your hair when you didn’t
He enjoyed the little whines that would leave your lips, the way that you would look up at him with such big eyes for his approval. It made his cock ache in a way that whores could never fully satisfy, and there was nothing that could’ve ruined Aerion’s pleasure—save for your Lord father walking in during the middle of it
Just as Aerion came, the door swung open, and both of you could not scramble fast enough before your father walked in. He had been all smiles, eager to see how you were…pleasing the prince, and pleasing him you were
Aerion, to his credit, did at least try to cover you. He removed your mouth from his cock with a soft pop! just as your father looked down, but he was too late
All at once, your body burned with mortification and your father let out a strangled sound that might have been a scream. You couldn’t tell because he was frozen in shock, and quickly you scrambled to your feet as you wiped your mouth
“Father—”
“My Lord—”
You and Aerion spoke at once, the combined shock in your voices seemingly breaking your father out of his. He stepped forward at once, charging towards the prince, but Aerion was faster. He easily stepped passed the man and smirked with laziness, as if the action had taken nothing out of him at all
You were horrified when he then began to chuckle, deciding to goade your father even further rather than smooth the situation
“Well. That is no way to welcome a guest. Your daughter was much more…inviting, I must say.”
A few moments later, more shouting could be heard from all around the castle. By the time someone had come running in, your father was rushing at Aerion again and had to be held back from killing the prince by several guards
To add even more to your horror, one of the people that had come rushing in was Prince Maekar
He had looked concerned at first, but then he took one look at your father, at the tears running down your face, and at Aerion’s lazy smirk, and all the older prince could do was simply twitch in annoyance, his shoulder sagging in defeat
Steve beats himself up over the fact that you’re Eddie’s type, and Eddie is totally your type as well, and absolutely not Steve’s.
w.c: 6k
Tags/warnings: Jealous!Steve, Oblivious!Steve, brain damage Steve, alternative reader (Jesus Christ I was so self indulgent she’s literally me) slight dry humping, dialogue heavy? Niche punk politics, Eddie is alive and canon is my bitch. Not proof read LOL
AO3 | THE ARCHIVES
-
“This-this–this is all just shit!” Eddie is one more cassette away from a meltdown. His pretentious music taste protrudes from his pores and he’s currently making it everyone’s problem. “Seriously? Please tell me you are not actually playing Rick Astley on your radio?”
“Are you the DJ here?” Robin asks, not like it was an actual question, swiping the tapes from Eddie's hand and putting them back where they belonged. “Yeah, thought so.”
It has been three days since Eddie Munson got back from LA, attempting to seek out new music and a new scene, yet somehow he's back in his hometown—Hawkins has a strange pull. And after everything he's gone through with these people, being apart really made him feel like something was missing.
And there has been constant terror at the WSQK since his return.
“Are you going to be like this all the time?” Steve asked, annoyed and swiveling around in a chair. Just wanting to get back to work so they'll be prepared for the next show.
“Until you guys start playing some real music.”
Steve sighs, both palms running over his face. “Jesus Christ."
Robin laughs to herself, organizing a bin of records, "Steve's just annoyed because he thinks you're gonna take his job.”
Eddie's eyebrow arch, barely visible behind his mop of curls. Sending Steve a look, a cheeky look. Before the metalhead goes back to the shelves of music, his finger grazes over the spine in search of this so-called real music.
Then suddenly, a shriek leaves Eddie's mouth, grasping the cassettes as if the secret to the universe was written along the spines. “Where in the hell did you get this rockin’ Robin?”
The girl's head shoots up, stepping over to see what Eddie was looking at. Her head cocked to gaze over his shoulder, Eddie handed over a tape from a cardboard box left on the desk.
“See, this is real music! Minor threat, Descendants, Bad Brains… Why are you hiding this gold?”
Robin clicks her tongue, “Not mine, theirs a girl who runs a late-night alternative station down the hall. She goes up to DC, New York, and Chicago a lot and gets them at shows. She is super, really nice.”
Steve not-so subtly perks up at the mention of you. Trying to play it off by looking over at the tapes like he hadn't looked at them over a million times before, Steve couldn't afford adding any more suspicion Robin had about Steve's not-so-secret infatuations.
“Where are you hiding this chick?” Eddie asks, putting the tapes back into the cardboard box.
“She's out of town,” Steve responds a little too quickly, sounding almost snippy as he has his arms crossed, still swiveling in his chair. Trying hard not to grumble at the fact you've been gone for a week now.
“Hopefully getting more good music, you'll have to introduce me.” Eddie gawked, Steve rolled his eyes at the implication.
On cue, the loud echo of the front doors of the Squawk rang through. Steve popped out of his chair on instinct, brain kicking himself after, to see who it was. Well, he knew who it was.
“That might be our neighbor,” Robin noted, getting up to smack your tapes out of Eddie's hands. “Put those back, I’ll return these and introduce you two.”
“Sweet,” Eddie grinned, his various metal accessories clanking against each other as he headed for you. Steve's stomach suddenly felt like it was caving in on itself.
Steve felt too eager with his steps towards the hallway, trailing behind an even more eager Eddie Munson, Robin leading the two to you.
The sun was shining through the windows, casting a gaze upon the narrow room. You took big, confident strides down the hall. A box in hand, your hair fell in that effortlessly messy way Steve has tried to accomplish his entire life, outfit adorned in political or band buttons. You presented yourself with this soft edge that Steve couldn’t help but think about late at night.
Your eyes found the group, Steve swears they found his eyes first—before bouncing to the unfamiliar metalhead. Of course. A large smile spread across your face, “I’m back! Hopefully I didn’t miss anything awesome while I was gone, and oh, who is this?”
Eddie put his hand out to shake yours, you had to quickly shift the box you held to your left hand and balance it against your hip.
Steve almost scoffed out loud, did Eddie not see that your hands were occupied? He could have reached out and grabbed the box from you, like a gentleman, but that tug inside him held his hands down—body unmoving.
“Eddie. Nice to see someone else who listens to real music.”
You shook Eddie's hand, smiling and introducing yourself. Eddie's smile matched yours and it just made Steve want to wipe the smugness off his face.
“Whatcha’ got in there?” Eddie's head tipped to look inside the box you held.
“Oh! Some tapes I got from New York this past week, some punk and youth crew stuff, you ever been to shows there?” You asked him.
Eddie's curls shook with his head, “been meaning to.”
You met his eyes, “I can always show you around if you want.”
“I’d love that.”
God, Steve was going to throw up.
Some other words were exchanged, Robin cut in and asked about your trip, Eddie asked about “real” music, again. Steve just stood there like an idiot, swaying on his feet. Mostly because he genuinely did feel like he was going to hurl. His vision fuzzed and his head spun, that loud and annoying ring that had been plaguing his ears for over a year now kicked in.
Then suddenly Steve was in your booth, the warm room with the familiar copy and paste flyers that covered your wall. Steve doesn’t really remember moving his feet to get here, but he was.
“Steve?” Your voice muffled behind the ringing, but he heard you enough to snap out of his daze. “Are your ears and head doing that thing again?”
Steve's mouth felt dry, “Yeah, the ringing.”
You stood only a few feet from him now, leaning against your desk while Robin and Eddie rummaged through your records. It was just you and him now.
“I told you to go to the doctor for that,” you told him. Looking him up and down and checking for any other concerning signs.
“It’s fine. I’m fine, really.” Steve said, not to worry you, despite the vertigo still possessing him most days.
“You’re so stubborn, Steve.” You mumbled, bending over to search through a messy junk drawer.
Your booth was a stark contrast to rockin robins. It was messy, records and tapes stacked everywhere. Your clothes and belongings were scattered around like you lived here, which was partly true. A few instruments leaned up against furniture. It was comfy and warm, paper flyers and posters covered every inch, and overlapped each other. You had been here for many more years than Steve and Robin had, so of course it was more lived in.
Steve watched your hands switch from a second drawer, brows adorably furrowed together, not even realizing he was smiling at the sight. You found what you were looking for, turning back to Steve, “You should start wearing these when your ears ring, or just go to the doctor as I told you.”
You held out two earbuds in your palm, “I wear them at shows, I switched out the rubber part so—no cooties.” You laugh to yourself before dropping them in Steve’s hand. “They're expensive ones, so don’t lose them or I’ll kill your entire family”
“Thanks.” He croaked, vision still hazy. He liked the dimness of your space. Steve brought the buds up, trying to shove them into his ear canal. Yet, he was only met with more discomfort, already in a bad mood, his face only grew more sour.
And you noticed. Of course you did. Tipping on your toes to check his ears, laughing to yourself. It brought Steve's mind back down to earth a little.
“Hey, you got 'em’ upside down.” You spoke gently, brushing his hair from his face and adjusting the buds to fit comfortably. Relief washed over him and his body was incredibly warm from your sudden closeness.
Steve just hoped you didn’t notice the tips of his ears growing hot pink.
“Better?” You asked, the ringing stopped and he could only comfortably hear you. No background noise. Steve could seriously get used to this.
(Steve definitely couldn’t hear Eddie and Robin in the corner, watching the interaction from afar with a teasing giggle on their lips.)
“Better.” He forced out a thin-lipped smile, you deserved better than that but his brain was still a little fuzzy.
You hesitated for a moment, watching over the brown haired boy attentively. Before you awkwardly gave him a pat on the back, rubbing the red sweater-covered shoulder for a moment before parting from Steve. Cold. Steve’s head fell to the floor when you turned your back to go join whatever the other two were doing.
You were unfortunately too quick to fall into mindless chatter with Eddie, you two conversed about music genres and instruments that Steve had no clue about. Not a single guess. Even Robin had half the mind to know what you were talking about. And Steve had never felt more out of the loop. Biting his cheek and standing awkwardly off to the side, god, why was he even here?
Steve felt pathetic, grasping at straws for your attention around Eddie was going to just push him further in the friend-zone that—in full honesty—he never had a chance to climb out of.
Despite, being in your own world. Every few minutes when Eddie had his head held back laughing at something funny you said. Your eyes would find Steve instead, an unspoken expression of worry, one Steve could only see at pity.
“Would you wanna go out tonight? Theirs a dive bar uptown called the Hideout, you been?” Eddie asked you, catching your attention once more from Steve’s pitiful state.
Your face scrunched up, “That place where all the washed-up drunk old heads hang out at?”
“Okay, it’s not appealing, but my band plays there now and then. Just a few hours, maybe a few drinks?”
Steve's ears started ringing again, the more Eddie spoke the more it sounded like he was asking you on a date right in front of him and Robin. Real subtle, real classy Eddie Munson.
What made it even worse is that you said yes.
“I don’t drink, but I’ll hang for a little. I got a curfew of 9:15 though, gotta get back here for the show.” You beamed, overjoyed by the offer. Steve's knuckles went white, and that same dizziness took over.
So he excused himself to the Rockin’ Robin booth.
-
Steve bit his cheek hard. Lips swollen and bleeding from picking at them. His eyes glanced at the clock ticking again. Foot bouncing.
Steve didn’t really have life outside of work, or the chaos of the children that followed him like a cult. So despite Rockin'Robin's radio time being over multiple hours ago, he still chooses to laze around off the clock. Better than the ghost of a home he lives in now.
Check the clock again, it was 8:47. You were probably still out on your date with Eddie. Telling him his eyes and curly hair are pretty or probably sucking face in that dive bar after talking about how good his band sounds. It was gonna drive Steve to insanity.
Steve checks the clock again.
“Oh my god, will you spit it out?” Robin yelled.
“What?”
Robin dropped her pen on her notebook, turning her head to glare at Steve from her place on the couch. “I can hear you thinking yourself into a hole, much less the way you’re acting like you’re going through withdrawal from her.”
Steve mentions your name, slipping from his tongue without thought like a prayer.
“I knew it.” Robin shook her head proudly, just satisfied to figure out the main issues of Steve’s worries. “You’re jealous.”
“What?” Steve choked out, offended at the accusation coming from his best friend. “Why on earth would I be jealous of her being on a date with Eddie right now?”
“Oh my god!” Robin sprang from her couch, almost excited. “Is this room filled with truth serum?”
“Besides the point, I’m not jealous.” Steve shook his head, as if the motion would convince himself, slumping further in his chair.
“Okay well—besides the point—you have no reason to, by the way,” Robin adds.
“Why’s that?” Steve asks quickly, completely throwing out the I’m not jealous “ act. “Are they not, you know, on a date?”
“Steve.”
“What?”
Robin felt fuzzy with this oblivious straight male in front of her, feeling the exact way she felt in that mall bathroom high out of her mind on Russian torture drugs.
A part of her wanted to keep Eddie's secret under wraps, it wasn’t necessarily a promise and Steve had done more than enough to keep up his promise with her.
So she bit the bullet to spare Steve’s misery.
“Eddie is very gay,” Robin whispers.
“Oh.”
The Déjà vu hit them both like a freight train. Steve shook off the feeling.
“Okay, well, hypothetically.” Steve started, trying to keep his eyes away from Robin’s intense stare.
“Sure, hypothetically.”
“Hypothetically, if Eddie wasn’t gay, you know, he’d be the type of guy she'd go after, right?”
Robin rolled her eyes, not even believing this conversation could have possibly become this juvenile. “I don’t know, maybe you can ask her?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you look at her with googly eyes.” Robin threw it out there. No hypothetical.
“I do not!” Steve defended.
“Yes. Yes, you do!” Robin yells, “It’s honestly insufferable sometimes!”
“No, it’s not!”
“Steve, I’m going to throw this chair at your head.”
Steve sighed heavily, running his head through his hair, contemplating letting Robin throw the chair at him to just take him out of his misery.
“Either way, if I did look at her with googly eyes, or whatever you said, it doesn’t matter,” Steve said, with little fight left in him. Which was unusual for Steve Harrington and it ached Robin’s heart
“Why not?”
Steve opens his mouth to speak, but only a croak is heard. Looking around at his surroundings and hoping a message would just pop up for him on what to do, what to say, and how to feel.
“I like her a lot, Robin. But I’m not what she wants and-and that’s okay! I’m not gonna try to be the person she wants so I’ll just be around for when she needs someone… like me.”
“You’re so self-deprecating, it’s going to kill you,” Robin mutters into her hands, frustration evident on her face. “What do you mean you are not what she wants? Did you ask her?”
“No, but I mean, I can assume,” Steve spoke with a laugh lingering on his words, self-deprecating, as Robin said. Confused by the obvious in front of him.
“Assume what?” Robin asked.
“Look at me, Robin!” Steve motions to himself, from the top of his head to his worn-down Nikes. “I’m ex High School royalty, mind you, a piece of shit High School royalty. Who also fell off before graduation, that is like the exact opposite of who she would be attracted to.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna throw this chair at you.” Robin huffs, pacing now. Stressed out from Steve’s own stupidity. “You graduated what? Over two years ago? And you are still using High School politics to define your life?— Oh my god, that little shithead was so right.”
“Dustin?—Hey, no, no, he is not. Don't say that.” Steve shook his head wildly, offended.
“Uh-huh, yes, he is.” Robin nodded aggressively in response. “Either way, have you stopped to notice that she didn’t know you in high school? And that you have also changed a lot since the whole ‘King Steve’ era”
Steve went silent, not really taking a moment to remember that. God, he was so self-absorbed. You weren’t even in his and Robin’s grade to witness the peak of his assholery that constantly haunts him, that was his constant reminder to be better every day.
“So yeah, Dustin is right.”
“Well, you don’t have to add that in to make me feel like shit,” Steve mumbled, arms crossed and practically pouting.
“Stop putting yourself in a box and stereotyping your girlfriend. Just talk to her.”
“She not—“
“Steve.”
“Whatever, I’ll talk to her.” Steve mentioned, “But, what do I even say?”
“How many times have you hit your head—actually don’t answer that. Do what you would usually do with a girl, confess! Ask her out!”
“I haven’t successfully asked a girl out since junior year. My charm is dead.” Steve said, A slight panic is rising. Understanding now he’s actually confronting his infatuation with you, never having talked about it out loud. Robin fell into this information like it was a known fact already and Steve tried not to dwell on that too long.
“You’ll think of something, Harrington,” Robin said, giving him a small pat on the back and walking away from the conversation. Leaving him alone right when his panic set in. No advice. No support.
Steve was fucked now, especially when his brain decided to rely on Robin Buckley for dating advice.
Then, he heard the door slam closed, truly leaving Steve alone with his thoughts.
He could just ask you out, but the embarrassment of you rejecting him and thinking he’s weird would be worse than having to witness you dating Eddie Munson. Maybe.
Steve could test the waters with you, throw out some cheeky compliments, and make a request to hang out on one more. See how you take that and go from there. Steve thinks, every time he's done that he’s fallen more into the friend zone. His pride was too defeated for that route.
The ringing was back and his head started to pound. Steve’s hazy eyes found the clock again. That special time he found himself looking forward to, maybe something would come to him.
9:30
With a heavy sigh and even heavier shoulders, Steve walked himself to the radio booth and switched to your channel. Getting comfortable in his seat to mull over how he can get you to fall for him despite everything.
The soft wine of a guitar rang through, “hello my night owls, this is Waiting Room radio with your host, back from her treacherous journey to the big apple for that oh-so anticipated Youth of Today show… I brought back some souvenirs and it’s not just the Sharpie stains on my fist… here is “Take a Stand” by Youth of Today”
Steve didn’t love some of the music you listened to. It was angry and fast-paced and messy. Yet for some reason, he tunes in most nights that you are live, even if it’s just to hear your smooth voice introduce yourself and the music. It was enough.
-
It had been a few hours of busying himself at the station enough so that thoughts didn’t protrude into his mind. It was getting late and your radio time had ended a while ago, a yawn escaped him and Steve decided it was better to leave now before getting too sleepy to drive. He’s crashed on the stuff couch too many nights recently and his aching back was evidence of it.
Steve knew he’d be back tomorrow, not caring enough to be thorough with packing his stuff up before he headed through the hallway and out the door.
He kept his eyes to his feet until they passed your studio, his gaze betraying him as he glanced at your door and the dark-tinted windows. Steve’s sneakers squeaked on the tile when he noticed the lights still on, the outline of you still lingering.
Which wasn’t unusual, common actually. You spent a lot of overnights here abusing the radio system and coffee machine. Steve only knew this because he found hanging out with you on your overnights was a good excuse not to go back to his ghost of a home.
It was the start of this friendship between the two of you, despite the differences in background. He didn’t meet you through fighting monsters or cracking Russian code, no trauma bonding through bruised eyes and drugs.
You just saw Steve for more than his family or reputation, he didn’t really understand how and why you spared him your time and care. But it was something he had to learn to appreciate and—obviously after some reflection and confrontation with Robin—to even notice.
Steve's body and feet betrayed him as he stood inches from your door, hand held high and knocking. It was only a few moments before you were standing before him, sweatpants and band t-shirts that looked a few sizes too small and hugged in the right places.
“Late night?” You asked him, unsuspecting, just open.
Steve nodded, “You too?”
“Always.” You grinned, “wanna come in and hang? Or are you gonna try to pester me to go home?”
Despite his worry and anxiety, a smile grew on his face that he couldn’t fight, “not tonight. and yes, I’m all yours.” Steve slid into your space, the flirt escaping his lips before he could realize.
Maybe something about confronting his feelings made it more real. In his hands. Attainable. Steve could only dream.
You found your chair as usual, and Steve moved a cart of records to the floor and sat on your couch-part-time-bed. It looked like you were in the middle of organizing with papers and tapes spread out everywhere in front of you. And you didn’t stop even with Steve’s present in the room.
Steve always liked that he could just live in your space, you never expected anything from him. Just a steady breath and sometimes an opinion of a flyer you’d drawn up.
“How was your date with Eddie?” The words slipped from his mouth before he could realize where his brain was.
Your face instantly scrunched up, almost a look of embarrassment painted on you. Yet, you still scoffed at Steve’s question, “That was the farthest thing from a date ever.”
“It go bad?” Steve asked, no usual sarcastic, just honest.
“Uh, yeah. Well, no—um, I don’t think it was a date to begin with anyways… but I hung out for a little, Eddie's scene is all very nice just… not my usual crowd.”
“Really?” Steve genuinely sounded surprised, finding himself getting more comfortable on your couch as he gazed at you. “You and Eddie seem pretty similar though, like your type. Thought that would go well?”
Steve tried not to let his bitterness linger in his words. You had teased him for his attitude problem before. But you just smiled at him, for no real reason, but you did. “I’m sure Eddie and I will be good friends, but there is a difference between punk and metal.”
Steve could ask about it, never understanding anything about music politics and the differences from what. More often than not he’d ask and barely comprehend much, sometimes he just needed an excuse to listen to you talk or have you look him in the eyes. Steve was just silent tonight.
“And Eddie…” you trailed off, laughing, “…definitely not my type.”
“You got some New York guys that are more your type?” Steve said, his brain too tired to even filter his words. Bitterness wasn’t even laced in his speech anymore, but defeat. Steve didn’t even want to know yet, but he still asked. Bracing for the information that’s only going to kick him further down.
“Steve.” You breathed out, your usual voice thrown away. Replaced with something new, a tone Steve never heard from you, he wasn’t even sure how to describe it.
“What? Do you not have a type? Are you one of those girls who don’t have a type, ya know, that kinda just…” Steve couldn’t stop the word vomit. Curse this comforting feeling that has grown too impossibly strong—built on late nights yearning to not be anywhere but here in this studio, to not be anywhere but with each other. Steve’s chest ached and he just couldn’t shut up. “..just think they don’t have a type but then they go after the same kind of person that’s just like them, they just won't admit it.”
“Steve.” You laughed, amused by the spill of utter nonsense leaving him. The self-inflicted and honestly ridiculous madness he’s driving himself into. “What’s gotten into you?”
He felt like a kid again. Lips pouting and shrugging his shoulders, mumbling a barely audible, “I dunno.”
You almost gave him a wary look, turning away and avoiding his gaze to busy yourself with anything else. Goddamit. Robin was so wrong and Steve was so going to wring her neck tomorrow.
“Where’s the sudden interest come from? Trying to set me up on a date, Harrington?” You teased.
Steve scoffed.
“That's funny?”
“No, it’s—it’s just, no, it’s nothing.” Steve shook his head, you still couldn’t look at him.
It was silent for a while.
The tension in the room grew heavy all of a sudden, awkward. Any of you could have left at any point, Steve could have excused himself home. You could have gotten up and explained how late it was getting and kicked him out.
But you both stayed put, sitting in the heavy air.
“I have an unfortunate history of falling for jocks, ya know, the boy next door type.” You said, a peace offering that Steve didn’t really deserve disguised as information.
“Unfortunate?” Steve spoke softly, turning his head to try and chase your face that still stayed turned away.
You laughed, it was cut short and self-deprecating, “I’m always chasing after boys that would never spare me a glance, it sucks but, I can’t fake attraction.” You sighed deeply, dragging out a confession that weighed you down sore and tired. “So I just stopped, no point in trying, right?”
Finally, you turned to him.
“Right.” He whispered to himself, an almost silent agreement as his brain went haywire. Sweaty fingers fiddling around themselves in his lap. Because, yeah, you are right. Steve looked at you and understood.
He swallowed down his pride, a ball of hope replacing it. “What if you did try, just one more time?”
The weight in the room was unbearable, you'd have better luck cutting the tension between the two bodies with a knife. A slow realization played on your face, you might as well be half scared, a buzz rising up your back. An unspoken understanding.
“Steve…” you said his name again, not followed by a giggle or snarky comment. It was barely above a whisper, your breath suddenly stolen from you.
“Would that be so bad?”
Your eyes found his, trailing up from where he slumped into your couch. His shirt bunched up in awkward places, the constellations of moles painted his neck and face, and the unruly brown hair from the day’s activities. Full of boyish charm and hesitant courage. You wanted to melt into him.
“I guess not…” You said, watching Steve finally move. Stepping up from his seat and closer to you, with every step closer your heart pounded, brushing your chest. Barely a foot stood between you, despite how the world seemed to be in slow motion, Steve wasn’t stopping. He couldn’t even if he tried. “Steve?”
Steve Harrington was going to die right here in Studio C of the Hawkins WSQK Squawk building if you kept up the way you were looking at him now. You are still sitting pretty in your chair, as he towered over you, a man possessed. Your eyes were wide, pupils dilated with hope. Just staring, searching.
“You gotta give me a chance or I’ll just embarrass myself.” He said, not even realizing his hand was rising to your face. Ghosting against your cheek, then you leaned in slightly, it was enough for Steve to finally cradle your soft skin. “Come on, just one chance.”
That tense rubber band that stretched thin between you two snapped, you were breathless.
“I’ll give you as many chances as you need, Harrington.”
It was a final spell of a confession before you rose quickly, almost dizzy. Finding Steve’s lips like it was second nature, he had stayed cradling you, guiding you once his body caught up with yours. It was electric, two buzzing bodies finally connecting. Leaning, melting. Both your hands grasp at each other's faces and necks, your fingers twisting in the strains of hair on the nape of his neck.
Steve swears he must have slipped and fallen in the hallway, died, and gone to heaven. Your lips parted for him and he didn’t think twice before swiping a lick in between your lips, he didn’t realize how hungry he was for you until now, maybe he could have guessed this feeling was incoming when he got a migraine thinking of you doing this with the metalhead.
But you weren't.
No, you were in Steve Harrington's arms after months of late nights in this studio. After being his sole escape from this whole fucked up world. ‘Cause Steve didn’t need to know these walls were soundproof to know everything went quiet when he was with you. You were the peace that settled after the dust, you were warm. You were the smell of nostalgia and lavender, cotton and sugar. You tasted like it, too.
“Tell me I’m wrong.” Steve parted from you, an audible click of your spit-covered lips, he felt breathless, wild. “That you don’t want this, you don’t want me, that I could never do it for you.”
It almost pained you to think Steve could ever believe that. “God—Steve, you are so, so fucking wrong.”
Steve literally shuddered, like a spike of cold air had run up his spine. But it was just you, grasping him and knocking him down all at once. You leaned back a few steps, leaning against the corner of the soundboard. Steve followed, kissing you again like you were his oxygen. Needy. Hungry. Pushing his body against yours, caging you in.
All Steve wanted was to be closer, because his tongue in your mouth wasn’t enough. His hands roamed and his knee slotted in between your legs. Pushing against your core, pulling a sweet, surprising sound from you. Vibrating his lips that lit a fire inside of him.
“Want you, Steve.” You breathed, “always have.”
“Yeah?” Steve couldn’t believe this, after silently and hopelessly pining for you. For it all to come to this so suddenly. “Tell me.”
You kissed him, pulling away just as quickly as you leaned in. “When I first met you, you and your stupid—,” you kissed him again, “messy hair and your.” Another kiss. “Charm that made me feel dizzy.” Kiss. “Your stupid blue jeans that fit too well and” another breathless kiss. “Your smile, these pouty lips-“ kiss. You kept your eyes on him now, “and the way you care for people when they aren’t watching.”
“Sweetheart..” The name left his lips like a prayer.
“Since the beginning I wanted you, I didn’t know how obvious I could make it… so I just assumed you weren’t into it… into me.”
Steve’s finger rubbed your cheek, he tried not to get too lost in your eyes, “Robin says I give you googly eyes.”
Your face scrunched up, “I used to think you were looking at me funny.”
“What?” Steve's face dropped at the information, like he was personally offended by your words. “No, oh my god, no, never.”
“Really?” You asked, unbelieving.
Steve didn’t respond, he didn’t need to. Only smiling at you, all giddy and full of nerves like a boy during his first kiss. Steve's hands held you steady as he brought you in closer.
Your legs intertwined as you leaned farther into the soundboard behind you, Steve’s leg slid up further, nudging in between your legs. A heat rose up you quickly, Steve’s hands still roaming further down, holding gently on your neck.
Maybe you leaned down first, or Steve's leg hitched up, you weren’t sure who moved first. But Steve's knee had pushed up enough to send a shiver up your spine, a surprised gasp of pleasure running from your mouth. You felt Steve smirk against your lips, kissing down your jaw and neck.
Then he did it again, rubbing his thigh against your sweatpants-covered core, the sweet spot that kept pulling sweeter sounds from you he had only dreamt of hearing.
“Steve..” you whined, lips brushing his messy head of hair as he found that ticklish spot under your ear.
“Yeah? ‘That feel good?” He mumbled against your skin, vibrations down to your thighs. “Just tell me to stop if that’s what you want, hmm?”
Steve hesitated for a moment to wait for your response, hands hovering above your waist.
“Keep going,” you ached for him. And Steve obliged, because he’s realizing he'd do anything for you. Absolutely ruined. And he was going to return the favor.
Steve’s finger found the skin underneath the hem of your tiny, tiny t-shirt. Spreading his grasp across your hips and stomach, wanting nothing but to feel you more. Pulling you into him, against him. Drawing more sounds from you.
You ached, you squirmed under his hold. Feeling the giddiness radiating off the boy like sunshine. Your hips bucked against his thigh, and an overly intense sensation struck you.
“Come on, sweet girl.” Steve cooed, and you practically melted into him. “Let me hear you, I always wanna hear ya’”
Steve's hands pulled you down again, guiding your hips to cross the larger part of his thigh, pushing you to slowly drag your covered and aching clit onto him. Giving you that permission to let yourself use him to feel good, to keep making noise. Steve wanted to drown in it.
“Mhmm,” you wined, a hitch in your throat as you kept moving your hips, Steve's hands practically doing all the work. “Ah—Steve, oh my—“
Steve swallowed your moans with another kiss, letting his hand reach further down, toying with the elastic waistband around your lower lips.
He needed you more than oxygen. Closer. “Keep going?” He said against your lips, pausing at your pants, because a part of him still felt like this was a dream, a sick joke. That you in his arms, literally aching for him, could never be real.
You nodded, pulling at his neck. Shifting your hips higher and Steve moved with you, one hand pushing past your pants and the other bracing hushed behind you.
With the make-out frenzy, both of you far out of mind, Steve's hand slips on some switch, some button, who knows. The loud noise or high-pitched guitar and fast-paced drums made you both jump, literally. You even yelped.
“Ah, fuck.” You scrambled to move off of Steve, the sudden departure from your body made him feel cold, but it was more than enough to watch you completely flustered and seemingly forgetting how to work your whole system. “Goddamnit, shut up!”
Steve was laughing, and by the time the shouting from your speaker turned off. You were too. Still practically on top of each other, you had turned back from pausing the disruption.
“Sorry…” Steve applied with a boyish, lopsided smile. His hair a wild mess after what your hands did to him. His eyes wild, possessed by lust and darting to your every inch, he just wanted to soak in the sight of you and everything more.
You shared a look, and you both laughed. Steve's head falls into your chest, as you knock your head back to let out more giggles. Because, of course the exact makeout swag you’d been yearning for would take place here, where you’d always imagined, just to be interrupted by an accident switch on the soundboard. It was ridiculous, you couldn’t help but laugh, it was everything you’d ever wanted these past few months.
Steve's shoulders shook with joy, until you pulled him back up to face you. His irises were dilated and shining at the sight of you, satisfaction pained him.
“You wanna keep this going where Ian McKaye can’t interrupt us.” You asked, a slight bite to your lip after you looked down and still found yourself slotted into him. Like a perfect puzzle piece.
“I don’t even know who that is but, yes.” Steve grabbed you suddenly, taking you somewhere, anyway, you didn’t care. “Oh my god—yes, please.”
…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.
you pull to the side of the road on a long drive. the sun is hot, your mood is terrible, and the radio has only been playing foo fighters for the last hour. you want to get a drink of water but stumble upon a meager fruit stand. the shopkeeper, a young woman, offers you some fruit with your water. each fruit has been blessed, she promises. they will provide you different things. so you decide to choose…
so eons ago I did a 1k celebration and then tumblr deleted accounts so I lost followers but now we’re so back until tumblr deletes accounts again so yeah. anyway, this is for everyone! thanks for following me and for listening to my writing and rambling. kinda wild.
✮ rules:
+ must be following me
+ send one fruit at a time to my ask box. you can send as many as you want just make them seperate asks.
+ check my fandoms before requesting please :)
✮ end date: July 31st (approximately)
✮ apple: send a character and a scenario and I’ll share some headcanons
✮ orange: give me a character or fandom and I’ll make you a wittle playlist
✮ papaya: give me an aesthetic or tell me three sentences about yourself and I’ll make you a moodboard
✮ mango: give me the name of a playlist and I’ll make a playlist cover
✮ watermelon: tell me your big three and/or greek parent w/ a fandom and I’ll ship you
✮ dragonfruit: [moots only] same as watermelon i just give you more detail and also a little kiss 👀
✮ kiwi: [moots only] give me a vibe and I’ll make you a playlist + cover
you can always share appreciation by liking, reblogging, or commenting on my work! I love hearing from people, please feel free to ask me questions about anything or just come into my inbox to yap.
You are so good at writing dialogue !! So quick, and witty, and flirty, I love it !! Obvi you aren’t obligated to answer but do you have any tips? 💗 You are a great writer!
Omg, thank you so much! I really appreciate it. Some tips I’d give you: try reading your dialogue out loud as you write. I always play out the scene in my head and listen to how everything sounds before typing it. I also study dialogue in books and movies to understand how it flows and feels natural. Another thing, pay attention to how people talk around you, and how you speak with others. In many ways, writing dialogue is like having a conversation with yourself, using the voices of the characters you are writing for.
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