Comicnerd557

Hola. I have KPOP writing account. kpopwrites. follow. I like many things, too many to name. sorry. 22 y/o babyyyyy

[srenique]

⌑ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⌑ ⌇ @ 𝑠𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒 | ‌ | ‌ | 𝑤𝑤𝑤.𝑝𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘.𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒

𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑳, 𝑻𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑯𝑰𝑴 ???

WHERE :: your best friend hooked up with your boyfriend. so you hooked up with her ex.

SERVES : tatiana ( mdni! ), bsf goes low, reader takes it to hell, dick’s a willing and aware participant, he wants to get revenge too, riding, pussy eating, he’s a tits man, a you man, exhibition kink ( sorta ), heavy making out, humping, petty reader and we love to see it !! bsf cheated on dick with reader’s bf in this case, lipstick marking, hair tugging, fingering, making out hardcore, face riding, slightly buzzed but they’re lucid enough to give consent.

You thought your world would crash when your boyfriend sent a drunk picture of some girl in a denim skirt straddling his bare hips. Especially when you saw the butterfly tattoo on the girl's thigh that looked exactly like the one Vanessa got when you were both sixteen. You'd paid for the bitch's tattoo.

But nothing crashed.

You felt nothing. Killing two birds with one stone, your grandmother would call it. Was that what it was supposed to feel like? Maybe you should cry a little.

You tried. Didn't work. Hell, why should it? He cheated on you, that wasn't your problem, he couldn't keep it in his pants. It was more of a sign that he was a manwhore with no care for hygiene.

Usually in the movies, there'd be a crying ex girlfriend with the shining knight coming to wipe the tears and fuck the girl until she forgot about her dirtbag ex. You had no knight by you, so maybe that wasn’t your narrative.

You hadn’t rung up the girls from work for a vent session, hadn’t broken open the wine or the Ben and Jerry’s. Just carried on with the Friday tradition of unwinding with a couple of snacks while watching cheesy rom-coms about giggling, blushing girls and charismatic men with raging red flags.

“Run, girl,” You muttered when the male lead said some bullshit about ‘you don’t have to worry about her’.

About twenty missed calls from Carter sat on your phone. Fifty texts from Vanessa. You'd declined every single one, swiped on every text message. You were just watching Kill Bill now and munching on a bag of chips when your phone buzzed again. Your groan was muffled by the potato, fumbling for your phone. "Bitch, I'm not gonna— huh." You tilted your head to get a better look at the message.

Hey, it's Dick. Can we meet up to talk?

How the fuck did Vanessa cheat on this man?

You’d known Dick ever since he and Vanessa were in the early stages of dating around two years ago, and you hated to admit it, but he was one objectively sexy man. Who was sat there with a cappuccino in a local Blüdhaven coffee shop, looking the most tortured you’d ever seen him, over a girl who cheated, nonetheless.

You sipped your latte. “You look like shit, Dick.” Your voice was softer than intended. Maybe a portion of you felt bad. “What’re you thinking?”

He scrubbed his face. “I’m sorry, I— I didn’t mean to drag you out here to sit in silence, I’m just… confused. How could she— did I do something?”

You sat forward in your seat, raising an eyebrow, sighing. “Really?” You clicked your tongue noncommittally. “You’re gonna blame yourself for this? Dick, you got her expensive jewellery to ask her to be your girlfriend, you were pretty fucking perfect.” He’d done the research. Seen what colour jewellery she wore, if she preferred gold or silver, her birthstone, what cut, how long, and got it custom made. If he did anything wrong, you’d be surprised. “It’s her fault.”

He looked sceptical. He even let out a disbelieving scoff, like you were talking bullshit. “You don’t seem heartbroken. Like, at all.”

You shrugged, stirring your latte with a wooden stick. “If she can take him, she can have him. Carter couldn’t do anything without his mother’s approval anyway.”

His nose wrinkled. “Yikes. That sounds rough.”

"Why'd you offer to buy me coffee anyway?" His text had come out of nowhere, but he probably had his reasons. One or two at least.

His sigh was of defeat as he rubbed a sugar packet between his fingers, rubbing the back of his neck with another hand. “I just— you got caught up in my ex-girlfriend’s shit, and it felt unfair.”

You gestured to him. “You got caught up in my ex best friend and my ex-boyfriend’s shit, so arguably, I should be paying for this.”

“But I already paid.”

“So let’s go out for a drink sometime.” You shrugged. “I wanted to get wasted and forget about this anyway, might as well take you with me.”

His grin was blinding, the kind of thing Vanessa used to giggle about when she first met him. “A little too soon to go out for drinks, huh?”

“It’s a proposition.” You laughed, shrugging. “Drinks on me. Let’s go tomorrow.”

Dick had been used to fancy hotel bars, at least whenever Bruce had thrown parties with bars included. The ones where the bartenders wore suits and ties with top shelf liqueurs.

He felt a sort of thrill when you dragged him into a bar on the corner of 6th, one with dim, flickering warm lights that clashed with blue and purple ones. The bartender wore plaid, spoke in a thick Boston accent, had an unkempt five-o’clock shadow. The bar top was wooden and chipped, and on the makeshift dance floor were plenty of drunk people grinding on each other.

“Oh, this is amazing,” He couldn’t help but smile widely, turning to you. “There are places like this in Gotham?”

“Yes, Mr Trust Fund— Scott!” You flagged down the bartender. “Can we get a round of shot roulette?”

“Sure, sweetheart.” Scott flashed you a smile, wiping down a glass before heading to set up the shot roulette.

Dick turned to you, leaning on the bar slightly, tracing the wood grain with his finger. “So, you come here often?”

You perched yourself on a barstool, prompting him to do the same. Something that sounded like 50 Cent was playing on the speakers in the corners, bass thrumming in the back of your mind. “Oh, all the time. Best place in Gotham.” The shots were slid in front of you, and you both grabbed the glass and chucked it back, both of you humming. “Huh.”

“Kind of… fruity.” He mused, staring at the shot glass, putting it down. He glanced at you through his stupidly long and pretty lashes, clearing his throat. “How did you find out that… never mind.”

You chased the alcohol down with water. “I got a photo of a girl fucking Carter.” You scoffed lightly. “I saw a tattoo on her upper thigh that I’d paid for when we were in college.”

He ran a hand through his hair, huffing. “Fuck, shit, I’m so sorry— she just came clean to me. Maybe after you found out.”

“It’s not your fault.” You said lightly, waving your hand. “It’s theirs. They couldn’t keep it in their pants, Vanessa had a great, hot guy and she lost him, so…”

He couldn’t help his soft smile. “You’re gorgeous too, you know. Carter doesn’t know what he lost.” His eyes flicked down, to your lips, then to a barely working lightbulb like a moth would. But you caught it.

Your teeth snagged your bottom lip.

Vanessa made a huge mistake.

Dick’s hand was firmly on your jaw, leaned over the centre console of his Bentley so his lips could slot easily against yours. Your hand was carding into the floppy strands of his hair, swallowing each other’s heavy breaths. His cologne was deliciously clouding your senses, the hand not on your jaw reaching behind you to grab at your ass, squeezing, teasing your bottom lip with his warm tongue. His mouth separated from yours to burn down your neck, laving your pulse, pressure on your jaw gone in favour of tugging your shirt down over one shoulder to palm your tits over your bra.

“Your apartment is,” You paused to moan quietly, tugging his hair as a keep going, “literally right there. We can — fuck — get comfy.”

He nodded into your neck, brushing your skin with his lips one more time before looking you in the eye. “Good idea.”

You couldn’t remember how you actually got into his apartment, but you did remember stripping him of his clothes and pushing him down onto his bed, unclasping your bra. He hummed, biting his lip. “I have an idea.”

“I’m all ears.” You breathed, your breathing stuttering as you ground your panties-covered pussy over his boxers-covered cock.

His hand slid over the back of your neck, encouraging you closer. “Let’s send them a photo,” He murmured, pecking your lips, his nose rubbing against yours. “You know. Revenge.”

Your hand was already scrambling for your phone, switching to selfie mode just as he smashed his lips to yours, your thumb hitting the circular button and taking the photo. “Good?”

“Yeah, fuck, that’s hot,” He nodded, tugging you so he could kiss you, middle finger reaching down to rub at your entrance over your panties. “You’re soaked, shit, sweetheart,” He reached up and tugged, sliding down the lace covering your pussy with his pointer until they slipped off, lazily chucking your panties into the corner of his room. “C’mere.” He grabbed your hips and pulled you till your pussy was right above his mouth.

Wait what— fuck.

His mouth wrapped around your clit as two fingers pushed into your cunt, practically sucking his fingers in, dear God. Your head fell back, mouth dropping open as a surprised moan left you, hand shooting to grip his hair. He groaned, deep in his throat, other hand pressing on the small of your back to encourage you to grind your clit on his tongue that was circling and pressing on your clit.

“O—Oh, Dick—”

“Yeah, that’s right, give it to me, baby.” He moaned, yanking his fingers out, and just before you could protest at the loss of anything filling your aching pussy, he thrusted his tongue into you, flicking at your clit with his thumb, his nose bumping occasionally against you. The taste of you on his tongue made him want to sing your praises, but it came out muffled, the vibrations making your hips twitch and eyes roll back.

Repeated cries of “yes” punctuated by your broken moans fuelled his ego and his already painfully hard dick. With your walls fluttering around his tongue fucking into you, he’d say you were fairly close.

A lot of things were going through your head. Like how this was a stellar pussy eating. How Carter refused to let any part of his face touch your vagina. How Dick was so willing and drinking your arousal up like it was the gods’ nectar.

You were coming on his tongue soon enough, pulling at his hair to make him moan and lap at your cunt faster, slicking his lips and chin.

A minute later, he was still kitten licking you clean, and as much as the stimulation made you stroke his hair and whisper praise, you needed to get a move on. So you pulled yourself away from his mouth, pulling down his boxers while he whined and pawed at your hips to try and bring you back.

“M’ not done— fuuuuck,” His head dropped back into the pillows, giving way for the weight, as you sank down onto his waiting cock. Your warm walls wrapping around him, making his head spin before he snapped into reality. His hands took hold of your hips again, helping you move on him, thumbs kneading your skin as you dragged up and down his dick.

He hadn’t felt like this before. Your lips were on his neck, leaving kiss prints on his skin, from his chest to his jaw and around his lips. Raising your phone and clicking a photo of his fucked-out grin as you rode him, thumb hovering over send to Vanessa.

“You ok with this?” Your voice was uncharacteristically soft, circumstantially breathy, your nails raking down his abs and making him shiver.

He grabbed the phone, pressed send himself, propping himself up so he could take one of your tits into his mouth, sucking to stifle his shamelessly loud moans. Wasn’t working. “Mhm— ride my fucking dick, gorgeous,” He gasped between switching to your other tit, laving over your skin with his tongue. “Just like that, so perfect, honey.”

His mouth running away with him told you he was close, his thumb reaching to rub circles on your clit propelled you that much further, but you refused to come twice before he had even once, so you pulled his head away from your tits, bit his earlobe and sucked a mark behind his ear.

He shuddered and groaned your name, hot come spilling into you — morning after pill, here we come — and the twitch of his cock sent you straight after him, his mouth slamming sloppy into yours, gripping the back of his neck while his tongue slid over your lower lip and his lips following straight after.

You milked him for all he had, until you were both panting and he was staring up at you through his lashes like he wanted to fuck you on all fours. “Wanna go again?”

“We’ve got time.”

carter -> you carter : c'mon, baby, let's talk about it you know i love you she didn't mean anything i swear i can't live without you sweets you : she's busy. carter : doing what???? who is this ??? you : fucking me. it's dick, btw ;) carter : vanessa's ex? you piece of shit give the phone back to her [ blocked ]

vanessa -> dick vanessa : you're really gonna throw years away for that bitch ?you're mine i want you back let's talk about this i miss you so bad we can go to couples counselling, work on our problems together you weren't really fulfilling my needs, i had to look out for myself dick : for a guy who wasn't 'fulfilling your needs' nessie he sure was fulfilling mine vanessa : youre such a bitch to think you were my best friend fucking my EX ??? could you go any lower ?? dick : *you're vanessa : UGH

© 2026 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED : SRENIQUE. DO NOT MODIFY, REPOST, PLAGIARISE, TAKE DIRECT INSPIRATION FROM OR CLAIM MY WORK AS YOUR OWN WITHOUT PERMISSION OR GIVING CREDIT.

[ems-typewriter]

Late Night Dates

pairing: dick grayson x reader

summary: when reader has a bad date, she runs into dick on her way home

word count: 1.7k

warnings/tags: sfw, fem!reader, cursing, mention of sex (once), mention of reader drinking, fluff, no y/n

The stifling heat of Blüdhaven's humidity is starting to press against you and feel like it's seeping into your skin. Every step on the uneven concrete makes your feet ache a little bit more from your heels, but the promise of a warm bed and bottle of wine is the only thing keeping you putting one foot in front of the other. 

You should’ve known better than to go on a date with the guy you were talking to for a couple of days from Hinge. One would think you’d learn your lesson after multiple failed Hinge dates, but no, you kept trying. It all started okay—a nice restaurant, an easy greeting, but as time passed you started to see the red flags waving in front of your face. 

For close to an hour, you listened to your date talk and talk and talk. Never once did he ask about what you or your life, just kept droning on about himself to the point you tuned him out and just nodded along. At some point, you caught him talking about his ex-girlfriend and even going as far to compare the both of you. 

Then was the matter of the bill, which he asked to split, which would've been fine if he didn't tax you one dollar and fifty cents for trying a bite of his pasta—which he offered you to try—or telling you to split the price of the appetizer 75/25, since you ate seventy five percent of the mozzarella sticks.

And the cherry on top of the night: he asked if you wanted to go back to his house because he had such a great night, and when you politely told him you were pretty tired and just wanted to head back home, he claimed he lied and had the worst date ever before stomping off into the night. At least now you don’t have to worry about texting him to tell him you didn’t want to go out again. 

The walk to the subway is starting to feel infinite, and you’re getting ready to just call an Uber, when your phone rings in your purse. You grab it and quickly answer it after seeing the name Tim Drake, your best friend, calling you. 

“Hey, loser,” he drawls from the other side of the phone, “How’d the date go?”

“It was perfect. He brought me flowers, said I was the most stunning girl he's ever seen, had so much in common with me, and we finished it off by having banging hot sex in his car.” 

“Really?” 

“No. It sucked and he made me pay extra for the bite of his pasta that I tried.” 

“Shit. I’m sorry.” 

“It's fine.” You kick your foot against a rock. “I should’ve known better than to go on another Hinge date after swearing them off for a reason.”

“I don’t think I have patrol next Thursday. I could come down to Blüd and we could have a movie night?” 

Memories of the bad day movie night tradition pops into your head. Too many nights shared together watching shitty movies and eating take out after days would go from bad to worse.   “Yeah, I’d love that. Invite Kon too, I haven’t seen either of y’all in forever.” 

“I’ll make sure to let him know.” The quiet clacking of Tim’s keyboard pauses as he asks, “Seriously though, are you okay?”  

You take in the surprisingly quiet city around you as his question sinks in. “Yeah,” your voice is quieter than you’d like it to be, “I’m just a little lonely after moving, but I’m sure I’ll settle in here soon.” 

“You can always move back,” he hesitantly offers.

“You know I can’t. I wanted to start over and actually build a life for myself. I can do that here.  It's just… taking some time.” 

“Well, you always know there’s a couch for you to crash on if you are ever feeling homesick.” 

“I know and appreciate it, Timmy.” You pull the phone back to glance at the time. “I’m gonna go so I can keep heading home.”

“Text me when you’re home please so I know you didn’t get kidnapped.”

You say goodbye and hang up the phone, feeling that familiar weight pressing against you whenever you talk about how you still haven’t found where you belong in Blüdhaven after living here for 4 months. You’d thought by now everything would be perfect, but no, here you are walking back from a shitty da—

You're jarred from your thoughts as you watch your phone slip from your hand and align perfectly to slip through the gap of the metal grate on the sidewalk. You crouch in front of the grate to see the still lit screen mocking you from the dark pit it fell into. “No, no, no.” 

What the hell do you even do in this situation? Most places are closed this late at night, and even if they weren't, who on earth do you call to collect your phone? You’re so deeply stuck in your thoughts that you don’t hear your name being called out until the third time. You look up in the direction it came from just in time to catch a glimpse of a familiar three legged pitbull barrelling into you. 

Haley jumps into your lap, sending you falling onto your ass where you were crouching, but makes up for it as she greets you with such enthusiasm. You reach up to pet her head as she nussles against you. “Hi, Hales.” 

You glance over, catching sight of the all too familiar mop of inky black hair and piercing blue eyes that are now fixed on you. His mouth is tugged up in that perfect smile of his that pops the dimple on his right cheek, “Sorry. I didn’t think she’d literally knock you on your ass.”

Dick Grayson offers you a hand to stand back up, which you gratefully accept. Being best friends with Tim meant running into his long list of siblings often, and also forming friendships with them. Dick, however, was the only one you’d try to avoid as often as possible because you had the biggest crush on him. It started when you and Tim were 16, messing around with some of the gadgets you definitely shouldn’t have. You ended up falling, spraining your wrist and scraping your knees pretty badly. 

Dick had heard the commotion of crying and when he saw you there, Tim trying to calm you down, he stepped in. He was gentle as he moved your wrist around, coming to the conclusion it was a minor sprain, then used the first aid kit Tim brought over to clean and bandage your knees. You thanked him, gazing up at him as if he were your guardian angel, but after that narrowly avoided being left alone with him in fear you’d say something embarrassing. But now you're older and totally over it…

“It’s okay, I love seeing Haley anyways.”

He looks you over, finally seeing the formal outfit you wore for the date that now feels like it was weeks ago. “You look really nice,” he says as his eyes lock back onto yours. “Something special tonight?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m on my way back from a date.”

“A date! That's great…” He trailed off when he saw the disappointment that lingered on your features. “Not great?”

“It was an unforgettable date, just not in a good way.” 

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m glad it didn’t work out anyways because I doubt he was going to be my soulmate.”

“His loss for missing out on the incredible woman that was right in front of him.”  

You duck your head as the heat rushes toward your face. Definitely not over the crush. 

“Why were you crouched down here earlier?”

You’re brought back from your daze of running into Dick, that you remember why you were even stopped here. “My phone. It dropped down there and I don’t know what to do.” You gesture to the grate. 

He follows your gaze, “Ah.” He ponders for a second, “Hold this and let me try.” He passes you Haley's leash and you watch as he leans down and grips the grate like he’s just going to lift the hundreds of pounds that separates you from your phone. Your jaw drops in shock as the sound of metal clashing together breaks the silence of the night. You watch him lifting the grate and shifting it enough to fit an arm through the side, then reaching down and grabbing your phone.

You starstuck, “You just lifted that.” 

He laughs easily as he wipes the dirt from your phone with his shirt, staining in the process. “Yeah, I did.” He casually hands you your cellphone back and moves the cover back into its slot. 

“And here I was thinking I was going to have to fumble around like a fool trying to get my phone back, when you just swooped in and made it look like it was nothing.” 

“Swooping in, as you put it, is both my day and night job.”

“Showoff,” you mumble as you hand Haley's leash back to him. “Thank you, though.” 

“You’re welcome.” He glances around before his gaze falls back onto your date night outfit. “Are you doing anything for the rest of the night?”

“Besides going home to watch a movie with ice cream and wine?”

He laughs, “Yeah, besides that.”

“Then…” You jokingly check your watch, “No, I’ve got absolutely nothing to do.” 

“How about grabbing some food with me? There's this food truck with amazing tacos just down the street.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I don’t want your night to end on a bad note. Besides, I’m sure Haley wouldn’t mind getting some of our scraps of food.” 

Hope bubbles in your chest, “Only if you’re sure and it won’t take away your time from anything.”

He nods, “I want to cheer you up.”

“Okay then, yeah.”

He offers his arm, which you hesitantly loop your own through. “Let's turn this night from a bad date, to the best date ever,” he says as he starts guiding both you and Haley into the direction of the food truck. You can’t help but feel grateful that the date ended up how it did, because it led you to this moment.

authors note: i really dont know how i feel about this one, but any writing is experience to learn from soooo im posting it

[zinainblue]

june ✴ gator tillman

husband!gator tillman x reader - wc 3.0k

summary: when you bring your newborn home from the hospital, gator finally hits the point of freaking out. your baby has a way of calming her dad down.

tags/warnings: husband!gator x reader, no use of y/n, established relationship - marriage, soft!gator, girl dad!gator, domestic fluff, character study, gator tillman holding a teeny little baby

---

“Gator, watch her head– watch– hang on, let me get the door.”

“Okay– okay– okay, I’ve got her, I’m watchin’ her–”

“Okay, but watch the corner too!”

“I am! I am, I’ve got her!”

You take a full breath to try and quell your own panic as you watch your husband make his way into your house with your newborn daughter. It’s been two days since she was born, and he’s still holding her like she’s radioactive– with the kind of gentle trepidation that betrays how nervous he is about somehow breaking her. You’re not one to talk, though– you’ve been in a state of shock since you first heard her cry.

That’s how everyone’s told you it’ll be with your first. There’s been no end to the stories you’ve heard about how you and Gator are destined to fumble along blind in this. 

Gator rounds the corner, your daughter tucked tight into his chest in a hold that looks suspiciously similar to how you’ve seen him carry a football. “Baby– babe, where am I takin’ her?” 

You trail behind him, peering over his shoulder to check that your daughter’s face is still caught in that sleepy, contented expression you already adore. “Just– just go to the living room, I guess,” you offer helplessly. “I don’t know, Gator. She’s not asleep yet.”

“Okay. Okay,” he repeats, a renewed focus in his step as he ever-so-carefully treads toward the living room. 

Your daughter June was born at 6:14 on a Monday morning. June like June Carter, the one country artist you and Gator can ever compromise on; June like your favorite month of the year, sticky-sweet, playful, full of tall, emerald grasses and rope swings suspended over creek beds and barbecue smoke in the air. Gator had joked that she must have had the basics of life down already, waking your asses up right before the start of the week. Tillmans were always good at being difficult. 

When they make it to the sofa, Gator hesitates, looking back at you. “Here— sit down, mama. I’ll bring in the bags.” With the care of someone diffusing a bomb, he hands you your daughter, ushering you back toward the couch. You accept the baby and sit down, grunting a little at the strain on your sore body. “Forget the bags, Gate. Just come sit with us for a second.”

“I’ll be right back,” he promises, shaking his head. You frown a little at the speed with which he abandons the two of you, like he can’t stare at your daughter for too long or she’ll somehow combust. He’s always hated to feel like a coward, but he's fleeing the room right now.

When he finally returns, all the bags stowed in your bedroom for the two of you to bother to unpack later, his expression isn’t any less full of that humming, restless anxiousness. He shifts from foot to foot, wringing his hands a little, like he’s waiting for you to assign him another task. Like he needs you to. 

“Gate,” you say again, attempting to soothe him with your voice as you gently bounce your daughter in your arms, “Baby, I don’t think you’ve sat down since this morning. Why don’t you just take a breath– stop moving for a second.”

He shakes his head immediately, clapping his hands together. “Can’t. Can’t sit down.”

“Why not?” you press him.

“Too much to do,” he explains, looking around the living room like he’ll find some sort of chore there. But the house is clean, there's a casserole in the fridge to heat up if you get hungry later, and the only thing left to do is unpack the hospital bags, which shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. You made sure everything was settled before you left, and he knows it.

“There’s nothing to do,” you argue mildly. “She’s not even due for another feeding.”

Gator starts pacing, back and forth and back and forth. He’s not looking at you. “Think I forgot to lock the truck. I should go–”

“Gator,” you interject, your voice stern. “Why won’t you settle down?”

Gator finally turns to you, his lips set in a line. “Because if I take a second to think, I’m gonna start thinking about the fact I have a fuckin’ kid,” he hisses, like the low tone will stop her hearing him.

“Oh, and it’s just sinking in now?” you snap, wishing you could keep your temper even. Damnit, but you’re tired and still sort of in pain and you smell like a hospital. And you wish your husband could get his shit together so you could be the one complaining right now. 

“Yeah, kind of, baby,” Gator fires back, running a hand through his hair. He drops into a crouch suddenly, blowing out a breath. “I’m freakin’ out. I’m freakin’ out, mama.”

“Breathe, Gator,” you order him, grateful he's at least talking about it now. “You freaking out isn’t gonna make her any less… born.”

“I can’t do this,” he heaves. “I can’t be a dad. No fuckin’ way.”

“You’ll figure it out,” you reply dryly, unperturbed. “Better get with the program, cause she’s here.”

“I’m a fuckin’ idiot!” he protests, rising from his crouch to spread his hands and stare at you. “I can’t figure shit out. I’m probably gonna pass that to her.”

“You’re not an idiot.” you say firmly. “You figured out how to be a husband, didn’t you?”

“Barely,” he snaps.

“Gator,” you meet his eyes, turning your baby in your arms to show him her face. “Look at her.”

You watch as his eyes fall slowly to June, and his posture shifts almost imperceptibly— tension melting, expression softening. The panic fades little by little and then altogether.

“Shit or get off the pot,” you tell him. “If you’re gonna get on board and be a dad, now’s the time. Do you want her?”

Gator nods, stare caught on her sleepy face.

“Good,” you finish, eyeing him. “She wants you, too.”

He hesitates. “Can I—“

“Hold her?” you guess. “You don’t have to ask, Gate. She’s yours.”

With hands that you can tell are still shaking slightly, he lifts her out of your arms again, that tiny bundle of blankets and soft limbs, and tucks her into his own. His eyes are locked onto her, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “Hey, girlie,” he musters, his voice low and scratchy. 

Your lips pull upward, your brow knitting. “Is that better?”

Gator nods, biting his lip as he stares down at her. He starts rocking a little, side to side. 

You rise from the couch, getting close enough to peer into his arms and run a finger down June’s soft cheek. You mumble softly to her, “Your dad’s fucking crazy, just so you know.”

“Sorry,” Gator tells you, real emotion in the word.

You run a hand down his arm. “I’m gonna go to the bedroom for a bit. Just take a second with her and breathe, okay, baby?”

He nods again, looking a little lost for words. “You’re not worried I’m gonna break her, or something?” he asks, glancing up as you leave his side. 

You snort, roll your eyes, and don’t bother to reply. And when you glance back at him, that little action looks like it shocks Gator most of all. 

Gator Tillman is going to be killed by his daughter June. He knows it for a fact.

She’s staring up at him right now with that sleepy, wrinkled, barely-awake newborn face. She’s got that baby smell, like warm milk. And her black eyes, the ones that are just learning how to blink, are fixed on his. 

Gator has black eyes. He’s always hated his eyes. They’re too dark, like twin pits in his head, boring into other people’s faces, setting everyone on edge. And he gave them to his daughter. And they don’t look so bad on her, as a matter of fact.

June blinks up at him, her face blank. She’s scrutinizing him, judging his reaction– he can tell. Maybe she sees the softness in his face, the way he’s completely crumpled in front of her, and knows already what a loser he is for her. 

But that’s just how it is now– unavoidable. Gator Tillman is a loser. He’s lost. He cares too much, loves too hard, has altogether too many things to lose, and so he’s been defeated in the game he’s been fighting his entire life. The love swarming in his chest is so huge, so unshakable, that he knows instantly this is what his dad always warned him against feeling— devotion to the point of weakness. Loving something so much it could control you— could kill you, just like the look in his daughter’s eyes is. And right now, holding June, he’s struggling to remember why he ever bothered to fight it in the first place.

“You don’t say much, do ya?” he asks her, the words quiet enough that his wife won’t hear him from the bedroom. 

June blinks back. Doesn’t so much as babble. 

“Gonna be an easy baby?” he asks her, bouncing her a little. “No cryin’ all the time? Give your mama a little break?”

Another blink. 

“You’re quiet already,” he observes, jaw ticking. “I was always screamin’ as a baby. You must not be a Tillman after all.”

June’s mouth opens in a little O as she yawns widely– like his self-depreciation is somehow boring to her. She gets that from her mom.

“Bet you’re gonna be the best baby there is,” he murmurs. “Probably gonna beat all the other kids by a mile.” He shifts on his aching feet, his gut twisting a little as his own words ring an old bell in his head. “Aw, who am I fuckin’ kiddin’?” he complains, blowing out a breath. “I’d be fine with it if you were the biggest loser on Earth.”

She stares back up at him, making no move to struggle against her swaddle, the pinning of her tiny arms.

“You don’t know much ‘a anything, do ya?” he realizes. She might have his eyes, but she’s nothing like him– doesn’t have the capacity to be. Nothing’s learned or set in stone. Nothing’s infecting her the way it did him, passed down by each carrier of their last name, willed into being like it was a simple fact of who they were. There’s no evil in her– no cruelty. No violence. He’d see it in her eyes if there was. “That makes two of us,” he huffs.

Slowly, he shifts the baby slightly in his arms so she can see around her, then turns in place. “Chair,” he says, gesturing to the armchair that’s become cemented as his in the time he’s owned this house with you. “Couch,” he tells her. “You can have that seat if you want. Mom likes the left side.”

He goes on naming furniture like a lunatic, letting June’s eyes sweep over it, assessing. She must be smart, he thinks to himself– smart enough to already know what’s happening around her, to look into her dad’s face and read him down the blackened core of who he is. Smart enough not to have gotten her brain from him. 

He doesn’t know what to do about any of it. He doesn’t know what to do now– letting his baby girl judge him, going completely still under his stare, giving him that same look he’s so used to– the one that says, well, kid, you better not fuck this one up. Better be good for her. Better figure it out before he inevitably mars the first perfect thing that’s ever been put in his hands. 

But his panic has faded, pushed back into some crevice of his chest. He’s breathing June in, and that scent, the compact weight of that little bundle, is calming him completely. He stays like that for a long moment, his daughter inches from his face. She lets out a breath through her nose.

“Alright, fine,” he mumbles, softer than he’s ever said anything. “I’ll be your dad.”

He wouldn’t know the first thing about doing it right. When you’d told him you were pregnant in the first place, he’d barely made it through the hugging you and reassuring you and smiling like it felt like good news long enough to get you out of the room– just in time, ‘cause the second you were gone, he’d run to the bathroom and puked his guts up. And he’d spent the following nine months being out-of-his-mind terrified. And two days ago, watching you grip his hand as you bore down, he’d thought that maybe that anxiety attack bullshit you were always goin’ on about might be worth looking into. 

But he’s not thinking about any of that right now. His daughter is in his arms. She weighed 6 pounds, 4 ounces when she came out– so tiny. A fraction of what he’s been training himself for years to lift, and yet every time he holds her, she’s pinning him down. She’s a fragile, delicate little thing. She’s the heaviest thing he’s ever carried. 

And his breathing is even. And his throat has lost its tightness. And he’s staring back into her black eyes and promising himself silently that there isn’t a minute of an hour of a day of the rest of his life that he’ll waste not being the best father on the planet for her. He doesn’t care what it takes– promotions at the station or years of therapy or unravelling the screwed-up neurons in his brain one by one. He’d die for her, easy. He’d do it in a second. But he’d change for her, too. And there’s no violence left in him except for the magnitude of what he feels in his chest for her. 

Gator leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her cheek, fighting the sting in his eyes. “Love you, girlie.”

June blinks, as if satisfied by his words. And then her eyelids lower slowly, and she goes to sleep in his arms.

It’s later and dark outside when the three of you start getting ready for bed. 

June has been passed out since five o’clock, and you and Gator have been trading off holding her while she sleeps since then. You’re already getting rather good at doing things one-handed, to your own pride.

But now, you’ve been sitting in your bedroom for almost fifteen minutes, and you haven’t seen Gator since he left to go set June in her crib in the nursery. Slowly, you ease off the bed and make your way down the hallway toward the room. The door’s slightly ajar, the only light coming from the glowing nightlamp in the corner. You find Gator standing over the crib, his hands braced on the wood as he stares down at a sleeping June. 

You come up behind him and wrap your arms around his middle, pulling him close to you. His hand moves to cover yours, but he doesn’t break his stare.

“Come to bed,” you whisper.

He doesn’t respond. When you peer over his shoulder, trying to glimpse his face, you realize his jaw is clenched tightly, his eyes soft. Like he’s torn between fierce protection and gentle care.

“She’s not going anywhere,” you tell him quietly. 

“I know,” he murmurs back. 

You stay with him like that for a second, your fingers scratching lightly against his stomach.

“She’s so little,” he finally admits, eyes locked onto June’s sleeping face.

You hum in reply, a smile pulling at your face. He says it like it’s shocking to him– like it’s worrying him. Like he thinks if he looks away, that vulnerability that’s always felt like a curse to him will rear up and bite him again, and all the good things in this nursery will disappear. 

“Nothing’s gonna happen to her, Gator,” you assure him, the words soft.

He shakes his head. “It might.”

“The monitor’s on,” You remind him. “We’d hear her cry. You sleep light, anyway.”

“Something might happen,” he repeats, firmer. The way he’s gripping the wood tells you just how terrified he is. 

“You built the crib,” you go on. “You know how sturdy it is. And you set up the alarm system, too.”

He shakes his head again, unconvinced.

Your hands keep scratching at his abdomen, trying to calm him. “You need to sleep, baby. You’ve been up for forever. Come to bed.”

“Can’t.”

You keep holding him, understanding the paralysis that’s keeping him poised here— the protecting hes telling himself he needs to do. Gator had told you once that he’d never felt like he owned much— never had much that was his alone. And the things he did possess— the people he cared most for, his wife and his daughter—those were to be held onto with an iron grip. Those were to be safeguarded at any cost; one that outweighed his own trauma and hurt and self-loathing. That’s who Gator was— iron-fisted. Iron-hearted.

You see it now, in the set of his shoulders, the breathing your daughter has seemed to inexplicably steady. The determination in his stark face turned gentle, turned diligent, filled by devotion. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” you promise him. “We’re gonna be good, Gate.”

So many promises are wrapped up in those few words. We’re gonna be safe. We’re gonna do this right. You’re gonna be the dad she needs you to be. You wonder if he hears it, or if it’s another of the sweet nothings you sometimes attempt to utter into the abyss his father carved into him.

But Gator’s hand tightens over yours, and as he squeezes you back, he only says, “Okay.”

---

author's note: if you guys would let me know if there are errors in this that would be hella chill 'cause I do not have it in me to read this again right now

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

a sweet treat | steve harrington

fluff, firefighter!steve, baker!reader, meet cute, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader | request by @violatedvibrators (greatest username of all time)

wc: 1.1k

Steve Harrington had been kicking himself for almost a whole week for not asking for your number when he had the chance. In his defence, he had been working at the time and since he was making sure that your building didn't burn down after a baking recipe gone wrong, asking for your number hadn’t been too high on his priority list.

But man, he really regretted not asking for it anyway.

Because he knew there had been something between the two of you that night—that it wasn’t just gratitude for putting out the fire you had accidentally started in your eyes.

He wanted nothing more than to go back to your apartment and ask you out but he knew how insane and deeply inappropriate that was and so, Steve had decided to leave it in the hands of fate. He told himself—if it was meant to be, you’d find each other again.

And fate intervened one rainy Saturday morning just before his shift.

One of his colleagues, Sam, had recently moved and came into work the other day raving about a little independent bakery a few blocks away. He had said their cinnamon buns were to die for.

And so, Steve wanted to see for himself just how good Sugarplum Bakes was.

The bell above the door had barely rung all morning. Saturdays were usually your busiest day but with the rain hammering down outside, no one seemed to want to venture outside for a pastry.

And so, you hum to yourself as you finish a fresh batch of blueberry cinnamon buns, the quiet morning giving you some time to work on a new recipe.

You had been more careful this time since your last attempt at a new recipe had resulted in a small kitchen fire. You had naturally panicked about it but when the fire brigade turned up and the most gorgeous man you had ever seen put out the fire like it was nothing, you found yourself feeling flustered for reasons that had nothing to do with the burnt pastries.

You had been so deep in thought about said gorgeous fireman that you barely even notice how much icing you had been pouring over the cinnamon buns.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, eyes on the excessive amount of icing now covering the buns. It was definitely a little more than you would usually use on your cinnamon buns but they still looked delicious.

You suppose you could blame it on the gorgeous fireman who had been on your mind for the past week.

You were just slicing up the buns when the bell above the door sounded for the first time in over an hour.

“Coming!” You call, wiping your hands on your apron before rushing out of the kitchen to greet the customer who was carefully inspecting one of the displays.

You open your mouth to do your usual greeting, one that you knew like the back of your hand but you freeze when the man—who was wearing a Hawkins Fire Department jacket—look up and you see the eyes of the fireman who had prevented your apartment from burning down.

You stare at him with wide eyes, briefly wondering if you were dreaming or perhaps even hallucinating his presence.

But he smiles at you and says, “hey. You burnt any more pastries yet?” And you knew then that you were definitely not dreaming.

You laugh nervously as your hands hastily smooth down your apron like it would help you in this situation. Like it would stop your heart from racing or make the fluttery feeling in your stomach go away.

“Not yet,” you reply with a small smile, your cheeks feeling hot all of a sudden. “That was a one time thing, I assure you. No fires here.”

“That’s a damn shame,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting and amusement glittering in his warm eyes. “I’d love an excuse to see you again.”

Your stomach does something funny at those words. You decide to ignore it for the time being.

“Well, this is actually my bakery so feel free to stop by anytime,” you tell him, trying to keep the nerves out of your mouth. “On the house, of course. Since you—you know, stopped me from burning down my kitchen.”

The man laughs and the sound makes you feel warm inside, makes you forget about the rain pouring outside.

“I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Harrington.”

You tell Steve your name and his smile widens.

“Pretty name for a pretty baker,” he tells you. You pray he doesn’t notice how flustered that makes you feel, how those words seem to have rewritten your brain chemistry entirely.

You should say something smart, something that would make him feel as flustered as you feel. But you come up short and so, you say nothing.

“So—I’ve been told your buns are pretty good.”

You blink, something twists low in your gut. “Sorry, what?”

Steve falters, his face and the tips of his ears turning red as he realises the accidental euphemism that had slipped from his lips. The fact that he was now flustered makes you feel even more endeared to him.

“Your cinnamon buns,” he explains, cheeks still burning. “I just—I’ve heard good things. I didn’t mean—”

It was your turn to smile now, your turn to revel in his slightly flustered demeanour.

“I actually just made some blueberry cinnamon buns. New recipe I’m trying out,” you tell him. “Fair warning, I used way too much icing on them. But I’d love a second opinion.”

Steve pauses then smiles and says, “there’s no such thing as too much icing.”

You take extra care with the bun you pick out for Steve, making sure it was the best one from the bunch (for feedback purposes, obviously) and you pack some of extra blondies and a danish swirl in the takeaway box.

You hand it over the counter to Steve and there was a moment where your fingers brush against his and the fire in your gut burned so hot you weren’t sure that there was anything that could put it out, even the firefighter stood in front of you.

“Does this come with your phone number?” Steve asks, a hopeful edge to his voice. “You know—just so I can give you a full review on these over-iced buns.”

The question does nothing to help your heart ponding in your chest, in fact, it makes it beat even faster. Makes you feel a lightheaded.

“It does.”

You smile back at him before grabbing a nearby pen you use for noting orders and a napkin, which you scribble your number on.

Steve takes the napkin, barely able to contain his smile as he slides it carefully into his pocket.

“I’ll call you,” he promises, already planning on calling you the second his shift ends. “Until then—don’t start any fires. Or do, at least then I’ll get to see you again.”

You laugh as he leaves the bakery, thanking your lucky stars that Steve Harrington decided to stumble into your bakery.

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[harringtonsugar]

Break The Promise

summary: you and steve promised a long time ago to never go to sleep angry. imagine your suprise when he breaks that promise.

warnings: angst, arguing, steve is stubborn and a little mean, reader is also stubborn as hell, cursing, he doesn’t in fact break the promise, hurt/comfort, crying, kiss and makeup, happy ending! he still manages to be sweet

word count: 3.2k

Dating with Steve Harrington was bliss, it truly was. He was a kind man, always a loyal gentleman. He was protective and was always there for you – physically and emotionally. He was funny and so incredibly charming.

By definition, he was the perfect man.

But with all of his perfections, he had one singular flaw. His stubbornness.

Steve Harrington was as hard headed as a brick wall.

And you? Well, you could almost give him a run for his money.

Any normal day for you two was loving. Except for today.

Today, Steve seemed to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. He claimed you hogged the blankets all night, even though it was his monster feet who kicked them to the floor.

At first it felt like tired bickering. Once the sleep washed away from him and he got a little bit of food in his tummy, all would be well.

Wrong.

At breakfast, you argued about who’s turn it was to do the dishes. You told him everything in the sink was left by him the night before – he argued that your name was next on the chore list.

You argued about how he forgot to make the coffee for the morning. He argued that you could’ve done it too – even though he’s always done it.

You argued over his misplaced keys. Over what time Nancy said to meet at the station. Over who gets to drive – this one was entirely your fault considering you don’t even like to drive, but he was really pissing you off.

The car ride there was spent with your arms crossed tight and your legs tucked into the passenger door – away from his touch – and his fingers gripping the wheel so tight, his knuckles whitened. By the time you two made it into the station, you both angrily agreed not to talk to each other.

It’s pettiness and stress masked as arguments about nothing. The tension between you two was palpable and the group picks up on it quickly.

You’re all standing around the common room, ready to disperse into your own jobs. You and Steve always go with Dustin to monitor Hopper – leaving everyone else back at the station to take care of things.

You’re dreading the idea of sitting in the pre-existing  tension between Steve and Dustin, and it doesn’t help the fact that you’re now arguing with him too.

You move to grab your jacket when he speaks up.

“Not you.” Steve says, his voice firm but cold. You blink up at him. “Byers is taking your spot tonight,”  

You laugh incredulously. “Wha – Jonathan?”

He nods down at you, zipping up his own jacket. “He knows how to handle the navigation,”

Your face pinches at his answer. “So do I,”

Steve avoids your eyes as he gathers the rest of his things. It’s not because of shame or fear, but from annoyance. “Do you?”

Your eyes narrow and you can feel the fury bubbling in your chest. “Do I?” You repeat. “You know what Steve, you really have to get over whatever bug crawled up your ass today, alright? You’re acting like –.”

Steve cuts you off before you can finish.

“No, do you know what?” He slams his walkie down on the cushion of the couch. When his eyes meet yours, they’re dark and clouded. There’s not a trace of patience or love in them and for a moment, that scares you. “This isn’t about you. Who knows how many more chances we’re gonna get if this goes wrong and the last thing I need is you fucking up the navigation. So for once, I need you to listen to what I’m saying and quit nagging me, alright?”

Everything around you seems to still.

All that you can focus on is the irritation covering your boyfriends face and for the first time, maybe ever, it’s all aimed at you. For whatever reason, he seems to think you’re the root cause of his sour mood today.

So what if you don’t have the best track record with reading the map? Steve’s lived in his town his entire damn life, he should know the streets by now.

It’s not just frustration you feel anymore. Now it’s shame and insecurity and embarrassment. Shame because apparently, you nag him enough for him to remember. Insecure because you couldn’t even guess how long he’s been holding this in. And embarrassed because everyone around you has also stilled – now staring at the two of you like you’re a pair of animals in a cage.

That thought angers you even more.

Your jaw clenches so hard you can almost hear your teeth grinding against each other and you can feel the way your nails dig into the skin of your palms as a way to calm yourself down.

Steve stares back down at you and after a beat of silence, he seems to register exactly what he said. His eyes flutter shut and he sighs, raising his hand to gently grasp your hand.

Your face is steel as you take a step back before he can reach you. You won’t cause a scene and you also won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt you just now.

“You should go then.” You tell him. He grimaces at your cold tone and makes no move to leave.

He says your name gently. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just – just come with and we can –.”

You cut him off this time. “No thanks, I wouldn’t want to fuck up the navigation again.”

Steve’s shoulders deflate when you echo his earlier words.

It looks like he’s ready to say something else but before he can, you’re spinning on your heels and downstairs to the basement to meet with Joyce at the intercom. You can feel his eyes following you as you disappear but not once do you turn or falter.

It didn’t matter what was causing his sudden attitude change. You were done trying to be empathetic and understanding. He wasn’t about to use you as an emotional punching bag – if he didn’t want to be around you then you would give him that.

It’s hours later when Steve finally arrives back at the station. In that time, his voice cracked over the intercom a few times with updates about movements and any military activity. Each time you ignored the pang in your chest and let Robin respond.

The crawl ended up being just another tally mark under the dead end section and you all began to filter home, completely defeated.

Steve didn’t offer any words as you climbed into the car together, but neither did you. It was still tense but not as tense as when he left. His foul mood is still obvious but it’s no longer white hot anger. It gives you a little bit of hope.

When you finally make it home, it’s after 10. He still hasn’t spoken to you but he lets you shower first, and you take the opportunity to try and get rid of your own anger.

You weren’t sure if he really cared it wasn’t your voice he was hearing. It didn’t seem like he cared about your absence in the van, but then again it wasn’t the focus of the night. His earlier words rang in your head.

It’s not about you.

Yet here you were, making it about you.

You’re smart enough to realize his blow up had little to do with you. It was a culmination of stress of the crawls, stress from his newly strained relationship with Dustin, stress from everything. You were just the only constant in his life and it seemed like you were the best thing to take it out on.

It doesn’t make it right, but at least you understand.

Still, you’re annoyed at the very least.

But you two have made a promise years ago – to never fall asleep mad and with the way exhaustion is clawing at you, you’re ready to climb into bed and apologize for arguing all day. It’s nothing a few sweet words and a few more sweeter kisses can’t fix and the more you think about it, the more you crave it.

Fighting with Steve was one of your least favorite things in the world.

You quickly clean your mess in the bathroom and change for bed but when you step out of the bathroom and into your shared room, you freeze.

It’s not the darkness or the quietness that stops you. It’s the fact that Steve is already on his side of the bed, his back turned towards your side and asleep.

That asshole actually fell asleep.

You stand there, five feet away from him, in complete disbelief. It was his stupid idea to promise that and he’s the one who broke it first.

Your newly dissolved anger reignites and this time, it’s scorching. You have to fight the urge to abuse him with your pillow as you look at his sleeping frame. You’ve spent the last few hours trying to think of ways to make up with him and he’s just sleeping.

Your body is tense as you finally climb into bed. You make it a point to leave as much distance between your bodies you can without falling off the bed.

Steve is unmoving as you settle on your side and it angers you even more.

Now it’s not just the arguments from today. It’s everything.

It’s the arguing, it’s his careless words from earlier, it’s the coldness you’ve been getting from him all day, it’s the short temper he’s met you with.

You feel small and almost like you mean nothing to him. It’s a stretch considering all he actually did was fall asleep but damnnit, it’s the principle of it all.

Before you know it, tears are slipping from your eyes and soaking the pillow beneath your cheek. You bite your lip to keep the sounds as muffled as possible because the last thing you want is for him to see you cry.

For the first night in your entire relationship, you don’t want to be anywhere near him.

You’re not sure how much time passes when you finally stop crying.

You feel pathetic for it but it’s not out of sadness – because he didn’t hurt your feelings (he did) – it’s because you’re just frustrated about the whole thing.

He’s laid beside you, peaceful and still as he lets his body loosen and forget all its troubles. All the while, you’ve been lying here crying.

There hasn’t been a second where your frustration has even slightly dwindled. Instead, it keeps building and your exhaustion isn’t helping matters.

The sound of Steve’s slow and even breathing behind you is enough to make you break. You don’t take a second to rethink things before you’re shoving the blankets off of you and snatching your pillow in one hand.

You trudge into the darkness downstairs and throw your pillow against the couch. You pull the blanket that rests over the back cushion and settle into the couch.

It’s achingly lonely down here but somehow it feels better than trying to stay beside Steve. You know you’ll wake up in an even worse mood because of how uncomfortable the couch is. The cushions are lumpy, it’s almost too short for your body, it’s colder down here without the warmth of Steve comforting you.

Still, you force yourself comfortable and take another chance at sleep.

Upstairs, Steve’s subconscious has him flipping over in his sleep and his arms instinctively reach out for you. His hand slides across your side of the bed, ready to grab your waist and pull you into his chest but he feels nothing.

His eyes flutter open at the feeling of emptiness beneath his palm. It takes him a few seconds to adjust to the darkness of the room but when he finally does, he sees your side of the bed is empty and cold.

He leans up on his elbow then, taking a quick glance at the bathroom but the light is off and the door is shut. He scans the rest of the room but is met with nothing. It doesn’t really register for him until he realizes your pillow is also gone.

He feels his stomach twist with nerves before he pulls himself out of bed.

His feet pad against the hardwood floor of your shared home as he makes his way out of the bedroom. The rest of the house is quiet and dark – he almost worries you left entirely.

He makes his way down the steps, into the living room and that’s when he finally sees you.

Steve feels guilt hit him like a truck when he sees your small frame squished uncomfortably on the couch. You’re lying on your side, knees curled into your chest and a small throw blanket covering your body.

He hates seeing you like this and even more, he hates being the cause of it. He knows without a doubt it’s his fault. He knew what he said earlier was cruel and completely uncalled for – and he didn’t blame you for a second when you chose not to talk to him over the radio.

When he got back and saw how angry you still were, he felt like the best thing to do was give you space. He’d been blowing up over the tiniest things all day, the least he could do was give you time to yourself.

So when he climbed into bed, it wasn’t to break his promise – it actually wasn’t even on his mind. He just didn’t want to overwhelm or upset you even more.

Obviously that was the wrong choice.

His feet pull him towards you and he bends down so he can lift you up. He carefully pulls the blanket from you and slides one arm beneath your neck. He’s ready to slide the other under your knees when you begin to stir.

Your head turns, lashes fluttering against the skin of your cheeks as you try to focus on what woke you up. There’s a softness in your eyes, one personally reserved for your boyfriend and he feels his heart ache at the sight.

But just as fast as it appeared, it’s gone when you blink.

You pull away from his hold and Steve lets his arms fall to his sides.

“What?” Sleepiness laces your voice but he picks up on the anger beneath it.

He swallows and kneels beside the couch so he’s eye level with you. “Come back to bed,” He whispers.

“I’m comfortable here,” You lie easily. Your hands grab the blanket at your feet and pull it back up to cover yourself, just before you shift to turn away from him.

Steve stares at the back of your head for a moment, immediately missing the sight of your beautiful face.

“Baby..” He sighs. He’s ready to argue more but you cut him off.

“I don’t want to sleep next to you, Steve.” Your voice is detached and cold.

His heart cracks at your response.

His ego tells him to walk away. To leave you to deal with your temper tantrum and to enjoy the bed to himself.

He’s never ignored a thought so quickly.

“Then let me sleep on the couch. You go to bed, babe,” He offers softly.

Your anger aimed at him and your exhaustion has you groaning into the air. You twist your head just enough to face him.

“Just forget it, Steve. I want to sleep.”

Steve feels his own stubbornness filter back. “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.” He says your name firmly – like a parent scolding a child.

You glare at him, your eyes so dark, there may as well be daggers shooing out of them.

“Why not? You were sleeping so peacefully a few minutes ago. Go back and do it again,” You huff before turning your head to face the cushion again.

Steve’s jaw clenches, not from anger but from more guilt. He never wanted to make you feel like this – like you didn’t matter.

Carefully, he moves to sit on the couch with you. You grumble something like go away but he ignores it. He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, and you try to pull away but his hold is firm.

“I’m sorry, baby,” He whispers, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheeks. It’s a little damp and sticky from your earlier tears you didn’t even bother to wipe away. He watches the way you avoid his gaze and the way your jaw ticks. “I shouldn’t have spent all day arguing with you, and I definitely shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I was pissed off about these crawls and the way Henderson’s been acting lately and I took it out on you,” His voice is so soft and gentle – it’s a dangerous contrast to how he spoke earlier. “You didn’t deserve that, baby and I’m sorry.”

Your eyes gloss over again at his apology and you can slowly feel your resolve break. You’re so tired and all you want is to wrap yourself in his arms again.

But you’re still pissed.

“I’m not your punching bag, Steve.” You say firmly. There’s a hint of a waver in your tone but he doesn’t catch it. He nods, his eyes sad and regretful.

“I know you’re not,”

“And you don’t get to take it out on me every time you’re pissed off.”

He nods again. “I won’t, I promise.”

Your eyes narrow, but it’s not as angry this time. “And you’re not allowed to go to bed without me again.”

Steve breaks a smile at your words but quickly tries to cover it, worried you’re not ready to joke with him again. It technically was meant to be lighthearted but the sentiment was serious.

“I’ll stay awake forever if you asked me too, baby,” He responds, his hand gently stroking your skin.

You roll your eyes at his theatrics, but he doesn’t miss the ghost of a smile on your lips.

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. He doesn’t try to deepen it – just lets you both feel the other close and intimate. When he pulls away, he leans his forehead against yours. “I really am sorry, baby.” He whispers.

You nod gently. “I know,” You bring your own palm up to his cheek this time and he plants a kiss to your palm before letting himself lean onto your hold.

It’s quiet for a few seconds as you hold each other before you speak up.

“Can you carry me to bed now?” You breathe out, a smile plastered across your face. Steve grins down at you and within seconds, you’re in his arms bridal style. You gasp in surprise from his swiftness and he’s easily carrying you up the stairs.

He plants kisses across the skin of your face the entire way back to bed and once you’re finally settled in, he doesn’t let you go for a second.

[j-buchanan]

@feralaquamoonchild “I needed this like a cigarette after a long day” is actually poetry and the absolute best way to describe this

beautiful and gut punching all once, an absolute stunner!!

[meadowscarlet]

Oblivious — S.H.

gif from @rhaenyratargeryen

steve harrington x fem!reader.

summary: steve has been in love with his best friend ever since they met at tina’s halloween party. from that night on, she became the one constant he could hold onto, the bright spot in the middle of hawkins’ endless chaos. every sweet laugh, every word, every small gesture from her felt like a lifeline, something he had quietly cherished for years. he longed for her in ways he couldn’t admit, craving more than just her friendship… unfortunately she’s oblivious as hell.

warnings: steve being a blubbering lovesick fool to the reader & making out (we love you yearning harrington).

author’s notes: i had to.

STEVE HARRINGTON IS ANNOYINGLY IN LOVE WITH YOU. Everyone with working eyes—hell even a person with one blind eye can tell that he was head over heels for you. From the moment he saw discomfort gracing your pretty face when a guy was touching you like he had the privilege to do so at Tina’s Halloween party and punched him, you with your soft eyes and sweet smile thanking him, Steve knew he was gone for.

Ever since that moment, you and Steve became inseparable. You were there when he got roped into Dustin and his band of nerds’ chaos, watching in barely concealed amusement as Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High, was gradually, inevitably, reduced to a glorified babysitter.

And a pathetic yearner.

“Earth to Steve Harrington,” Robin waved a hand in front of his face, bringing him out of his daze. “You’ve probably been in Heaven for a while now, buddy.”

Steve gave Robin a confused, annoyed look, one brow lifting. Robin said nothing, only turning her attention to you. You were perched on the couch with a magazine in hand, brows adorably scrunched in deep focus, a detail Steve always noticed no matter how hard he tried not to.

You bit your bottom lip between your teeth, a quiet, unconscious habit that made his thoughts stumble. He hadn’t kissed you, not yet, but he imagined it anyway; imagined how sweet your lips would taste if he ever got the chance. The thought lingered, soft and maddening. Even with everything falling apart around you, you looked calm, serene, painfully pretty. It was unfair. You drove him absolutely insane.

Ah. This was the “Heaven” Robin was talking about.

He peeled his eyes away from you, although albeit reluctantly and turned instead to a far less pleasant sight: Robin grinning at him, eyes bright with unmistakable mischief.

So this is probably the Hell side now.

“You really can’t go a minute—scratch that, a second—without getting all gooey-eyed over her. It’s pathetic,” Robin said with a dramatic sigh, before her mouth curved into a smirk. “And kinda cute.”

Steve gave her a deadpan look. “I don’t go all gooey-eyed.”

He was, of course, lying. Ever since he’d picked you up earlier and you’d stepped out of your house in that goddamn white skirt he loves, Steve had been fighting for his life the entire day. The sight of you had nearly short-circuited his brain, heat rushing straight to his face, his thoughts scattering in every direction at once.

God, you were so so beautiful.

The only thing that kept him from completely losing it was your bright, sweet smile and the way you’d greeted him with that soft, “Hey, Stevie,” like it was nothing. Like you hadn’t just undone him with a single look. The moment had lodged itself deep in his mind, replaying over and over, refusing to let him forget just how badly he had it.

Okay, maybe he was actually pathetic. Pining over a girl for years who only sees him as her best friend. But nobody could blame him. Every time he looked at you, it felt like the rest of the world softened and blurred at the edges. You were the one steady thing he clung to whenever thoughts of the crawl crept into his mind or worry for Dustin tightened his chest. Just knowing you were there was enough to ground him, a quiet reminder that he didn’t have to carry all of it alone.

You were solace wrapped in beautiful skin and an angelic face, and Steve still couldn’t believe he’d been lucky enough to earn even an ounce of your affection; even if it was only as a friend. He wouldn’t risk it. He couldn’t. Somewhere along the way, he’d accepted the quiet ache of it, choosing your laughter, your trust, your presence over the chance of losing you entirely.

Wanting you as something more hurt, but losing you would hurt worse, and so he held his feelings close, content to love you quietly even if all he wanted to was to scream how much he loves you.

Robin groaned. “You’re doing it again. It’s getting creepy now.”

“Doing what?” Steve asked, completely unaware that, in the middle of his wandering thoughts, his gaze had drifted back to you, settling there like it always did, natural and unthinking, as if his eyes knew exactly where they belonged.

“Going gooey-eyed over her,” she replied with a snort. “Can practically see hearts forming in your eyes.”

“You’re so annoying,” he muttered, but he caught the way Robin wiggled her brows when he very much didn't deny it. He flipped her off. “You’re way worse with Vickie.”

“Touché,” Robin shrugged, looking far too pleased with herself. “But, hey, at least I can do that to my girlfriend. You? You’re over here staring at Y/N like a sad puppy and doing absolutely nothing about it.”

“Touché,” Steve shot back with a glare, then let out a long, exhausted sigh, like this was a conversation he’d been hoping to avoid all day—which, honestly, it was. “It’s complicated,” he said flatly. “You know that.”

“You’re a coward, Steve,” Robin beamed.

“I know that,”

“An absolute down bad loser,” she added.

Steve rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Mhm.”

“A lovesick puppy,”

“This is the second time you referred to me as a puppy—“

Robin shushed him, holding up a finger. “Wait, I’ve got another one…” She clicked her tongue, eyes lighting up like a lightbulb going off. “A miserable, pathetic, yearner.”

He scowled at her. “Are you done?”

“Do you want me to list more of your characteristics?” Robin asked, genuinely curious.

Steve pointed an accusing finger at her. “You need to shut your mouth.”

“Who needs to shut their mouth?”

It felt like Steve had just gotten whiplash. His head snapped toward where you now stood beside him and Robin at the radio station table. Amusement sparkled in your pretty eyes, your glossy lips curving slightly, almost into a smile. He didn’t even realize how his whole body relaxed, how a breath slipped free from his chest, before he flashed you that easy, charming grin without a second thought.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted.

You giggled. “Hey Stevie,”

“It was—um, Robin was just—“ he rambled, hands going through his hair, a trait he does when he’s nervous and endearingly, whenever he talks to you.

“You’re such a lost cause,” Robin whispered to him and Steve prayed, actually prayed that you didn’t hear what she said.

Steve shook his head. “Robin’s just being annoying as usual.”

Robin rolled her eyes and stepped away from the both of you to check on the radios instead.

“Shit it’s 2pm already,” Steve cursed as he looked at his watch then back to you. “Let’s get you home, angel.”

You chuckled, a sound that shot straight through him like electricity, something he always wished he could bottle up and keep to himself. “Since when did you start listening to my dad?”

“Uhh…” He hesitated, then gave you a sheepish grin. “Since now?”

Your smile widened, pretty and effortless, and Steve felt himself drawn in like a moth to a flame. Were you a witch or something? That smile could bring any man to his knees, and Steve wasn’t exaggerating. He knew all too well about the assholes you’d dated before, the ones who’d melted at your charm. He clenched his jaw, recalling them with a mix of irritation and longing, and as Robin would constantly remind him, he was a jealous asshead—especially whenever he remembered the chances you’d given those guys that he would have killed to have himself.

You really had no idea what you’re doing to him.

“You’re such a gentleman,” you teased him.

He does not feel like a gentleman right now.

Seeing you with your hair loose, cascading in a dazzling wave over your shoulders, wearing shorts that only reached your thighs and a lacy top that hugged your figure perfectly, Steve couldn’t help but stare. You looked completely at ease in your own room, effortlessly beautiful, and every detail of you seemed to pull him in, making it impossible to look away.

Jesus Christ.

Steve swallowed audibly, his cheeks burning as his fingers itched to bridge the space between you. A fierce, almost desperate need surged through him to touch the soft, inviting skin that had been calling his name for as long as he could remember. He felt feverish, consumed by want and desire. Watching you sit cross-legged on your bed, looking up at him with those dangerously captivating eyes and soft, plump lips he ached to taste, he wanted nothing more than to burn this moment into his memory forever, unable to look away.

“—and he was being a complete, total jerk,” you rambled, frustration flickering across your face as you glanced at Steve, who was still staring at you like he hadn’t heard a single word. You cleared your throat, a little sharper this time. “Stevie?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” he replied automatically, shaking his head as if to clear the fog of his wandering thoughts.

“Were you even listening?”

“Yeah, yeah, I was—” He started, but trailed off the moment he caught your incredulous, are-you-kidding-me look. With a defeated shrug, he admitted, “No, not really, angel. Sorry.”

Worry creased your eyebrows. “Are you alright? You’ve been… weird today. Is it because of the crawl? Or Dustin?”

“No, no,” Steve spluttered, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “I mean, yeah, this crawl shit is freaking me out and I’m worried as hell about Dustin, but I just… I think he’s a complete asshole.”

You gaped at him. “Dustin?”

Steve swore under his breath. “Not Henderson, sweetheart. The guy you were just talking about. Jake? John? Ja—”

“It’s Jared,” you supplied.

“Yeah, whatever. Him,” Steve said, waving a dismissive hand. “He’s an asshole. And he doesn’t deserve you. At all.”

You let out a halfhearted laugh, shaking your head. “You say that about every guy I’ve ever dated, Steve.”

Steve stared at you like you’d just said something outrageous. “Yeah, because it’s always true,” he shot back, completely serious. “They don’t listen to you, they don’t look at you the way they should, and they sure as hell don’t appreciate you.” He stopped himself, jaw tightening, then softened slightly as he met your eyes. “I just… I don’t like seeing you waste your time.”

You blinked at him, clearly caught off guard by the intensity in his voice. “Steve…” you said softly.

Steve didn’t know where the sudden surge of confidence came from, only that seeing you like this did something to him. Your pretty eyes were fixed on him, all attention and concern, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you worried at it absentmindedly. You looked so effortlessly beautiful it almost hurt to take in.

He moved closer, slowly, until he was crouched in front of where you sat on the bed. Even like that, he still loomed over you, and he didn’t miss the way bashfulness flickered across your face when you noticed just how little space remained between you.

You looked up at him through your lashes, breath a little unsteady, and for a moment the room felt too quiet, too small for everything sitting between you.

His voice came out softer than he expected when he spoke, careful, like he was afraid to startle you. “He’s a dickhead.”

You couldn’t help letting out a small laugh, the sound easing the tension between you, the kind that had begun to feel almost dangerous. Steve had always been good at that, at making you feel comfortable without even trying, and the realization left a faint bitterness in your chest.

No matter who you dated, you always ended up comparing them to him. Steve was your best friend, someone off limits, someone safely labeled as just a friend. And yet, the way he was looking at you now, with quiet reverence, like you held all the comfort he had been searching for, made that label feel suddenly fragile.

You swallowed, breaking eye contact first, your fingers twisting in the fabric of your shirt. “You don’t have to hate every guy on my behalf, you know,” you said gently, trying to sound light, normal.

Steve huffed out a breath, something almost like a laugh, but his eyes never left your face. “I know,” he replied. “I just… want better for you.”

The words settled heavy between you, unspoken meanings threading through the silence. You looked back at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time the thought crept in uninvited and terrifying.

What if better had been sitting in front of you all along?

“Like who, Stevie?”

The words landed softly, but they unraveled him all the same. Steve went still, breath catching in his chest as he looked at you, sitting there with that open expression that had always undone him. For once, he didn’t look away.

“Me,” he said quietly.

Your eyes widened, and Steve rushed on before fear could stop him, voice trembling but sure. “I mean… I know I’m your best friend, and I know I’m not supposed to feel this way, but I do. I have for a long time. Since Tina’s party. Since before I even knew what to do with it.” He swallowed hard, hands curling into fists at his sides. “I try to be okay with just being your friend because having you like that is better than not having you at all. But it’s killing me, Y/N, actually killing me.”

You didn’t speak right away. The silence stretched, heavy and fragile, and Steve braced himself for the worst, forcing his hands to stay still even though every instinct told him to pull back. His chest felt too tight, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

To his surprise, you reached out hesitantly as if you were second guessing if you should touch him, then cupped his jaw.

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, your thumb brushing lightly against his skin.

Steve leaned into your touch without thinking, his eyes fluttering shut for half a second as if he’d been waiting for this his entire life. “Robin and Dustin said I was too obvious.”

You laughed, bringing his face closer to you. “I’m sorry, I’m stupid.”

Steve let out a quiet, breathy laugh, eyes opening as he looked at you like you’d just said something impossible. “Hey,” he murmured, lifting a hand to rest over yours, grounding but gentle. “You’re not stupid. Just… a little oblivious.”

“A little?” you sheepishly smiled.

“I take that back,” Steve retorted fondly. “You were so oblivious. My oblivious girl.”

The words hung between you, warm and intimate, and something inside him shifted. You leaned in, fearless this time, and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, exploratory, and Steve froze for a heartbeat, eyes wide, before closing them and melting into it.

He groaned softly into your lips, the sound low and unguarded, and immediately knew he was addicted. You tasted impossibly sweet, like everything he had wanted for years distilled into a single moment, and it sent a jolt straight through him.

His hands tightened gently on your waist, pulling you closer, desperate to feel every inch of you.

“This is driving me insane, baby,” he murmured between heated kisses, his other hand brushing up to tug lightly at the strap of your lacy top. “You drive me fucking insane, god.”

You squealed as Steve suddenly lifted you by the back of your thighs, carrying you effortlessly from the bed. Without breaking the kiss, he sat down and brought you with him, your legs wrapping around his waist as you straddled his lap.

A quiet moan escaped you, and Steve swallowed it like a man starved, his own breath hitching in response. Your lips were soft and warm against his, sending shivers down his spine, and every brush of your mouth against his felt like fire sparking through him. His hands moved instinctively, resting on your hips and pulling you closer, as if he could finally make up for all the years he’d held back.

He broke away from the kiss, eyes trailing hungrily to your dazed eyes, flushed face and swollen lips. “You’re mine now, sweetheart.”

You grinned and pecked his lips. “All yours, Harrington.”

[colouredbyd]

Breaking In

steve harrington x reader

summary: after a rough fight and days of being ghosted, steve decides he can’t wait any longer to apologize. sneaking into your house at 2 a.m. sounds romantic in his head. in reality, it goes horribly wrong when you mistake him for an intruder.

word count: 1.9k

tags: reader almost kills steve, mild gore, implied violence, serial killer references, weapons (nail-studded baseball bat), accidental near-death,panic/terror, crying, arguments/fights, fluff overload, steve being down bad.

You cannot sleep, no matter how hard you try.

You keep rolling from one side of the bed to the other, sheets twisting around your legs, the clock glowing far too brightly every time you glance at it. Your thoughts refuse to settle, looping back again and again to the same fight from two days ago that now feels so stupid it makes your chest ache. 

In hindsight, it really was not that bad. Just another argument, the kind you and Steve have had before, about how he has a talent for getting himself into trouble. 

You had told him he was irresponsible, that he scared you when he acted like nothing could hurt him. He had snapped back, defensive and wounded, accusing you of not trusting him, of trying to cage him in when he was just trying to live.

It should have ended there. It usually does.

Instead, it spiraled. Voices raised and words sharpened. Things said that were meant to hurt rather than fix. By the time he walked out, both of you were hurting in ways neither wanted to admit. 

Now it has been two full days since you last saw him or heard his voice, and the silence feels heavier than anything you yelled at each other that night.

With a frustrated sigh, you sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Sleeping is clearly a lost cause, so you decide you might as well eat something. 

A midnight snack feels like the only reasonable solution left. You pad quietly into the kitchen, the house dim and familiar around you, and reach into the cabinet for a bag of salted pretzels.

You are halfway through pulling it out when a sound cuts cleanly through your thoughts.

It’s faint at first, just enough to make you pause, but unmistakable once you focus on it. The crunch of boots shifting against gravel. The soft scrape of something brushing wood. A breath, heavy and close, coming from the other side of your front door.

Your heart slams hard against your ribs as you freeze, pretzels clenched uselessly in your hand.

Slowly, you move toward the front window and peel back the curtain just enough to look outside.

What you see makes your stomach drop straight through the floor.

A tall figure stands on your porch, shoulders broad beneath a black hoodie pulled low over his face. His hands move to the doorknob, twisting it once, then again. Panic floods your system so fast it leaves you dizzy, every nerve screaming at once.

Fuck.

Your first thought is a sharp, almost painful longing as you wish Steve were here, sprawled somewhere nearby, ready to handle this without a second thought. 

You wish you had not fought. You wish he had stayed. You wish his ridiculous sense of preparedness were enough to protect you right now.

Steve thankfully, was a weirdly resourceful boyfriend. For months, he had kept an extra pair of shoes outside your door, planted like a warning sign. He even bought them two sizes bigger, convinced any potential intruder would take one look and assume a massive, jacked man lived inside. 

You have a fleeting, hysterical thought that if you survive this, you are absolutely telling him that his little trick in fact did not work for shit.

The doorknob stops rattling.

For one brief, foolish second, hope flares in your chest.

Then you hear the sound of metal working against metal as someone starts picking the lock, and fear wraps its hands around your throat.

You don’t have time to think, let alone call the police. Your body moves on instinct, fueled by pure adrenaline, as you rush to the kitchen closet and wrench it open.

Your hands close around cold wood, heavier than you remember.

You drag it free and almost laugh at how obscene it looks, a baseball bat studded with nails hammered into it at uneven angles, something straight out of a horror movie. 

Steve had jokingly given you his nightmare of a weapon to protect yourself, like the idea of you ever needing it was a joke. Right now, it feels terrifyingly real.

You grip the bat with both hands, knuckles turning white. You are not going down without a fight. 

Your brain, unhelpful traitor that it is, immediately supplies a crystal clear image of Ted Wheeler with next week’s newspaper as the headline screams Girl Dead at 2 A.M. in Brutal Home Invasion, Killed with Her Own Weapon, and you think distantly that this is a truly terrible legacy to leave behind.

You swallow hard and plant your feet in front of the door, the bat slick in your palms as your heart pounds so violently in your chest, loud enough that you are convinced whoever stands on the other side of the door can hear it. 

For a brief moment your gaze flicks to the kitchen counter where a scrap of paper sits abandoned, and the absurd thought hits you that you should write something, anything at all, some final note so you do not end up as just another small town tragedy whispered about at the diner for years.

Except there is no time because the lock shifts and a sharp metallic clink cuts through the air.

The sound is unmistakable.

Someone is opening your door.

You tighten your grip, knuckles burning, muscles screaming as you swing the bat with everything you have, throwing all your body weight behind it with the singular intent to survive.

Whoever dared break in is about to have their brains redecorating your hallway—

Except they’re not.

Because Steve has exactly less than a millisecond to react.

You miss, or more accurately Steve reacts fast enough to duck, pure reflex saving him as he drops out of the way.

The nailed bat rams into the doorframe where his head should have been, close enough that he can picture his brains all over your stupid fuzzy front door rug.

Steve hits the floor hard, scrambling backward, eyes blown wide as he stares up at you like he has just come face to face with death itself, which, frankly, he has.

For a second, the two of you just stare at each other.

You, standing over him like a woman fully prepared to commit manslaughter. Him, flat on his ass, breathing like he just outran death itself.

“Holy—shit,” he pants, running a hand through his hair with a disbelieving huff. “I mean, I know I said some real shitty things during our fight, but goddamn, baby, I didn’t think you were gonna go all Freddy Krueger on me.”

The sound of his voice cuts through the haze and your focus snaps into place all at once, because it is Steve, alive and very much real, sprawled on your floor and staring up at you with an expression that sits somewhere between sheer horror and admiration.

“Steve!?” you shriek, the weight of what almost happened crashing down all at once. “Oh my god, I almost fucking killed you!”

He exhales slowly, pushing himself up on shaky legs while wiping sweat from his forehead, glancing back at the bat lodged in the doorframe. “Yeah,” he mutters, still a little breathless. 

“You’ve got insane aim, y’know that? And some terrifying follow-through. Remind me to never surprise you again, ever.”

The adrenaline drains from your body just enough for the anger to rush in. “What the hell were you thinking?” you demand, words tumbling over each other. “Sneaking into my house at two in the morning like some psycho, are you out of your mind?”

He exhales a shaky laugh as the bat comes loose, eyes flicking from the nails to your face and back again. “Okay, so in my defense, I was thinkin’ of a romantic apology, not a near-death experience,” he says, voice still breathless. “Also, good news is if anyone ever breaks in here for real, they’re not makin’ it past the welcome mat without their brains all over your walls.”

“You fucking idiot,” you snap, words spilling out now that the dam has broken. “You couldn’t knock? Or ring the bell? Or use your spare keys like a normal being instead of breaking into my house dressed like a serial killer?”

He winces, rubbing the back of his neck, his grin turning sheepish and a little guilty.

“Yeah, about the keys…” he starts carefully.

“I lost ‘em,” he admits quietly, the grin fading as he steps closer instead of backing away. His hands come up, hesitant for half a second before he cups your face, thumbs warm against your jaw. 

“And I didn’t wanna wake you up, and I didn’t wanna leave without sayin’ anything.” His voice drops, rougher now, honest. “I–i really didn’t wanna go another night with you mad at me. I couldn’t stand it.”

“I’m here ‘cause I wanted to apologize,” he says, quiet but trembling, his hands brushing against yours almost involuntarily as if afraid you might vanish.

“I didn’t want us ending like that, not over something stupid. I hate fighting with you. I hate not talking to you. Every minute without you felt like—” His voice cracks, and he swallows hard before continuing, “—like I was losin’ a part of myself. I picked the worst way to show up, I know, but I wasn’t thinkin’ straight. I just… I couldn’t wait any longer.”

You don’t answer right away, your throat tight, your heart hammering in your chest. The fear, the adrenaline, the relief, it all crashes over you, and you can’t stop the sting of tears blurring your vision as you slowly hiccup sobs out.

Steve notices immediately. “Oh,” he murmurs, soft as silk, stepping into your space. “Hey–hey, baby.”

Before you can react, he gently cups your face, leaning in so your foreheads brush, his thumbs sliding across your cheeks as if memorizing the curve of your skin.

“Look at me,” he whispers, voice low and urgent. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

And then he pulls you into his arms, holding you close like he’s been holding onto this moment for days, letting you press your face into his chest while a shaky sniffle escapes you. 

His hands slide up and down your back, warm and steady, and he begins to speak again, softly, words tumbling over each other like he can’t contain them anymore.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he says, voice breaking slightly. “For the fight, for making you worry, for… for not being better. I just—” He hugs you tighter, as if trying to make up for all the lost time. “I just needed you to know how much I need you. You’re… you’re all I’ve been thinking about, and I swear, I’ll do better. I’ll take care of myself. I’ll take care of us.”

You lift your head slightly, meeting his gaze through your tears, voice trembling as you whisper, “I missed you, Steve.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a week, lifting your chin so he can wipe the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. “Missed you too, honey,” he murmurs.

You pull back just enough to glare at him, voice still shaky but firm. “Next time, don’t sneak up on me like that wearing criminal hoodie clothes.”

He chuckles, brushing his nose against yours. “Aww, I’m sorry for scarin’ you.”

You glare at him, still holding onto him. “You didn’t scare me.”

“Oh yeah?” he teases, pointing at the bat you’re still gripping. “You sure about that?”

“Watch it, Steve. If you keep it up,” you mutter, a small smirk tugging at your lips despite everything, “I will bash your brains in for real this time.”

He laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’m so proud of you for taking care of yourself, though,” he says, voice soft. 

“By the way,” he adds, suddenly brightening as he digs comically into his hoodie pocket, pulling out a slightly crushed pack of your favorite Lindt chocolates, the Back to the Future VHS, and then—carefully, like they’re sacred—two folded tickets which you immediately recognize.

Your breath catches. “Oh my god,” you whisper, eyes widening as you take them from his hand. “Are those—”

“Mhm,” he says, grinning and impossibly proud. “Bon Jovi concert tickets. Front section. Only the best for my girl.”

You don’t even think about it, just surge forward and kiss him hard, hands fisting in his hoodie.

“You really are the best,” you murmur against his mouth, pulling back just enough to look at him. “And… I’m really glad I didn’t accidentally kill you.”

He snorts, forehead dropping to yours. “Yeah,” he says lightly, eyes softening in that way that always gets you, “me too, sweetheart. Though I gotta say—”

He shrugs, eyes looking at you with so much adortion.

“—if I had to go, I’d take goin’ at your hands over anything else.”

a/n: this was so fun to write! i hope the idea i had in mind was well executed ;)

steve harrington masterlist

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated <3

[colouredbyd]

You're Screwing My Sister ?!

STEVE HARRINGTON X HENDERSON!READER

synopsis: sneaking around with your brother’s best friend isn’t ideal, but it’s hard to stop when steve keeps showing up.

- or alternatively; the (4) times you successfully hide your relationship from your brother and the (1) time dustin catches you with steve.

word count: 6.5k

warnings: secret relationship, almost getting caught, kissing, suggestive language, implied sex, angst, mention of blood injury, nightmares, slight ptsd, jealousy, hurt/comfort, protective steve harrington, long emotional talks, steve is whipped for reader, background byler, happy ending.

1.

Steve was not a good liar. He tried. He really, really tried. But for all the effort he put into hiding things, he still failed miserably at it. 

His face gave him away every single time. Feelings lived on him like fingerprints, obvious and unavoidable, especially when romance was involved. Every girl he had ever dated became public knowledge within a week, sometimes even less. 

Hawkins was small like that, and Steve was pretty much bad at keeping his love life private.

So yes, Steve sucked at keeping secrets. Making the fact that he was hiding something, something big, from Dustin Henderson of all people felt like a sick joke. Like the universe was daring him to fuck it up.

Because this wasn’t a fling. This wasn’t some temporary, easy thing he could shrug off when it got complicated. It was you. 

Yet Steve couldn’t find it in himself to end whatever had started between you both, bcause dating you was somehow the easiest thing he had ever done and the hardest thing he had ever survived.

Easy, because being with you made everything lighter. You slipped into his life without force, without noise, and suddenly he wasn’t so tense all the time. He laughed without thinking. He breathed without bracing for impact. The constant knot in his chest loosened, replaced by something warm that stayed with him long after you walked away.

Yet, it was so hard because it had to stay hidden.

Steve did not entirely hate the secrecy, and that fact made him feel like a bit of an asshole. There was something selfishly intoxicating about it, about having you all to himself, about the way your smiles and touches belonged only to him in stolen moments and half-lit rooms. Still, the logistics were a nightmare. 

Timing everything down to the minute, picking places that were quiet enough to be safe but not suspicious, constantly looking over his shoulder like he was doing something criminal instead of just falling in love.

All of that made it hard, yet the worst part of it all was Dustin.

Dustin was the one person Steve hadn’t lied to yet. Which was impressive, considering he was your brother and more than capable of beating the living shit out of him if he found out about your relationship.

So yes, in short, Steve hated lying about your relationship.

Though unlike Steve, you were an exceptional liar.

It was a talent you wielded effortlessly and oh so smoothly, never hesitating and never overexplaining. You could look someone dead in the eye and spin a perfectly believable story without your pulse so much as fluttering. 

Steve did not value dishonesty as a character trait. He really didn’t. But you were devastatingly good at it, and watching you lie with that calm, confident ease was — if he was being honest with himself— a huge turn-on. Which probably said more about him than it did about you.

Which was how he ended up now knocking quietly on your bedroom window at 8:30 in the evening.

You opened the window almost immediately, already grinning like you had been waiting there the whole time. Steve barely had time to step inside before your hands were on him, fingers curling into his jacket as you kissed him. 

He was about to say I missed you, baby, but it came out muffled and stupid as your mouth moved against his, sounding more like “I miffed you” than anything intelligible.

You pulled back just long enough to smile at him. “Missed you too, Stevie.”

He laughed under his breath, hands finding your waist automatically as he nudged you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed. He pushed you down with gentle insistence. “You called me over like it was an emergency,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “What’s going on?”

You pouted dramatically. “What, I can’t wanna spend time with my boyfriend?”

Steve rolled his eyes fondly. “You can, but you were very ominous about it.”

“It’s boring here,” you complained, propping yourself up on your elbows. “All Dustin does is run around with his friends doing weird shit. I swear, if I hear about another goddamn radio one more time—”

“Yeah,” Steve cut in, grinning, “exactly. Which is precisely why I should not be here right now.”

You waved him off, completely unbothered. “Relaaax. He’s across the hall and deeply invested in something grossly scientific. We’re fine.” you said, dragging out the words.

Steve glanced toward the door anyway, nerves prickling despite your confidence. “You say that, but I am one unexpected door opening away from ruining my entire relationship with your brother.”

“You’re dramatic,” you said, reaching out to tug him closer by the collar. “Sit.”

Steve leaned back against the headboard while you talked, filling him in on your day in a rambling, animated stream. He listened the way he always did, half-lidded and indulgent, kissing your neck like he had all the time in the world as you complained about something Stacey–or whatever her name was— from gym class did.

“She actually said it was my fault,” you scoffed, waving a hand. “Like I tripped her.”

“Mhm,” Steve hummed, lips brushing your skin again. 

You snorted. “You’re not even listening.”

“I am,” He finally looked at you then, eyes hazed and heavy-lidded, that familiar warmth darkened into something lazier, hungrier. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, fingers curling just enough to pull you back against him.

Then, softer, almost amused against your skin, “You know… I don’t think you realize how unfair you’re being right now.”

You hummed, a quiet sound that made him smile into your neck. “Unfair how?”

“These shorts…” he said, kissing just beneath your ear, lingering there. “You look really good in them. Like distractingly good.”

You laughed softly, fingers curling into the collar of his jacket. “They’re literally just pajamas, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and amused, “and yet somehow they’re ruining my ability to think straight.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling, cheeks warm as you leaned forward to kiss him properly this time. He kissed you back without hesitation, familiar and easy as his hands slowly started to trail lower until they slipped past the waistband of your shorts.

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets and the faint sounds of the house settling around you.

Then there was a loud thud from across the hall.

Steve stiffened instantly, hand pulling away from you as you pushed him away. You froze too, heart jumping straight into your throat.

Footsteps followed, quick and careless, moving closer.

“Oh shit, shit, shit!” Steve whispered, pulling back completely.

“Window,” you hissed.

He scrambled off the bed, movements suddenly frantic as he headed straight for it, fumbling with the latch. He had just shoved it open when the door flew inward.

“Hey, I was just gonna ask if you—”

Dustin cut himself off.

He stood there, a bunch of wires in his hand, staring like his brain had completely short-circuited.

“…Steve?” he said slowly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Steve turned around, caught mid-motion, hair messy, nerves written all over his face. For half a second, he genuinely looked like he might faint. His mouth opened yet nothing came out.

You stepped in immediately.

“Oh,” you said easily, swinging your legs off the bed and standing up like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Steve’s fixing my window.”

Dustin blinked. “Your window?”

“Yup,” you said, nodding toward it. “It’s been rattling for days. You just don’t notice because you’re always blasting that weird static crap in your room.”

“It’s not static,” Dustin said automatically, then frowned. “Wait. Since when does Steve fix windows?”

You didn’t hesitate for a second, the lie slipping smoothly. “Since he fixed his car window last week. Remember? When it got stuck halfway down and he couldn’t roll it back up?”

Dustin glanced at Steve. “You fixed that yourself?”

Steve nodded quickly. “Yeah. I mean—car windows, house windows… glass goes up, glass goes down. It’s all the same at the end of the day..” he laughed nervously.

That seemed to satisfy him. Dustin stepped further into the room, peering at the window inspecting the damage. “Huh. That’s actually kinda cool. You should’ve told me you knew how to do this. We could use that at Cerebro. The latch keeps sticking.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, forcing a smile. “Totally. I can look at it sometime.”

“Does it really rattle?” Dustin asked you.

“All the time,” you dragged out the words. “Especially when it’s windy. It’s annoying as hell.”

Dustin nodded thoughtfully. “Weird. I’ve never noticed.”

“That’s because you’re never in here,” you shot back.

He shrugged. “Fair.”

You grabbed your hoodie from the chair and headed for the door. “I’m gonna get the screws from the garage. I think they’re in the toolbox by the washer.”

As you passed Steve, he glanced down briefly, then back up at you, eyes wide and desperate. His expression screamed that this situation had become deeply inconvenient in more ways than one—mostly thanks to the very obvious bulge in his pants from your previous activities.

Steve desperately hoped he could pray this boner away (fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, amen).

“So how long is this gonna take? Mom said dinner’s in like twenty minutes and—”

“Uh,” he said, voice strained as he tried to angle himself away, hiding his little (but apparently not-so-little) friend, “not long. Just gotta… make sure it’s secure.”

Thankfully, Dustin seemed convinced and retreated back to his room, not even slightly suspicious. Steve let out a huge sigh of relief, knowing he would have been absolutely fucked if Dustin had noticed he had a boner while fixing his sister’s window.

2.

“Honey, you want butter or salt on that popcorn?” Steve called from the counter, holding a bucket that looked way too big for what you asked for.

“Is there caramel?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, I’ll get that,” he said, and you heard the familiar shuffle of his shoes on the tiles as he walked toward the popcorn dispenser.

You followed behind, pretending to look around but really just watching him—Steve, who somehow looked like the absolute model of a gentleman right now, carrying your purse and filling up two massive buckets of popcorn. You’d asked for a medium, but of course he insisted on spoiling you, like he hadn’t just ripped your dress off a few hours ago in his car. God, you really had it bad for that man.

“Two tickets for E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial ,” he said, grinning at the cashier. He added, just for good measure, “The best seats, please.”

After getting the tickets and ordering, yet again, two large slushies, Steve turned, and started walking toward you. He leaned in, presumably for a kiss until you both were interrupted by a round of laughter.

A very familiar, very annoying, very fucking loud laughter.

You both froze. Slowly, you turned.

Dustin, Lucas, Will, Mike, Eleven, and Max were all marching into the theater like they owned the place. Max’s eyes locked on you two first as she saw you both standing right at the ticket counter. 

“Steve… and Y/N??” she asked, voice rising in shock.

Steve sighed, a long defeated sigh. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, as he tried to figure out how the hell you’d all just become the center of attention without even knowing.

Dustin’s mouth hung open for a second, then he leaned forward, pointing a finger at Steve. “Why are you two…here?”

“Oh, hello everyone!” you laughed nervously and very much annoyed at the aspect of your date being ruined.

Steve gestured vaguely around the lobby. “Uh. We are here to watch  E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial.”

Dustin blinked. “Together?”

Steve laughed. “What, no. No, man. Jesus. We just came here because—” 

Before Steve could finish his horrible half-assed excuse, Mike suddenly stepped forward, voice cracking just slightly as he blurted, “I invited them!”

Every head snapped toward him.

“You did?” Dustin asked.

Lucas frowned. “You did?”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Why didn't you tell us?”

Mike nodded nervously. “Ehm–yeah! Thought you guys would enjoy the movie. Y’know, fun group outing. No big deal.”

You shot Mike a look, half confused, half relieved.

Dustin let out a long, dramatic “Ooooh,” instantly forgetting his suspicions. “Well. I mean. If Mike invited you...”

“Then you’re welcome to join us! We are also watching E.T!” Will exclaimed after Dustin.

“Yeah,” El added. “You’re welcome!”

Steve exhaled through his nose as the tension eased and the kids started drifting toward the ticket counter, already arguing about seats. He leaned closer to you, lowering his voice. “Well, our date is ruined.”

You snorted, slurping your slushie. “Be thankful it’s only ruined. If Mike hadn’t jumped in, you’d be six feet under once Dustin put the pieces together.”

Steve grimaced. “Fair point.” He watched Mike for a second, still baffled. “But I don’t understand…why the hell did he do that?”

You took another slow sip as the sound of the slushie left a grrrrr sound, eyes following the group. “Let’s just say I caught him a few days ago in a… similar predicament to ours.”

Steve frowned. “With who?” He paused, then frowned harder. “El?”

You shook your head, nodding toward the counter instead.

Steve followed your gaze. Mike and Will were standing too close, shoulders brushing, heads bent together like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Something clicked behind Steve’s eyes.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “He’s screwing Byers?”

You laughed, nearly choking on your slushie. “Lower your voice, Jesus.”

Steve stared, stunned, then let out a breathy laugh. “Holy shit. That explains everything.”

“Exactly,” you said, smirking. “He owes me one for keeping his secret.”

Steve shook his head slowly, a grin creeping onto his face despite himself. “This town is insane.”

“Tell me about it.”

3.

Dustin knew Steve was hiding something.

It was obvious, painfully so, even to someone like him. Dustin liked to think of himself as reasonably perceptive, and even if he wasn’t some kind of psychic genius, his best friend was not subtle.

Although Steve had many talents. Secrecy was surely not one of them. The signs were everywhere. The constant disappearances, the excuses that made no sense if you thought about them for longer than five seconds, the sudden inability to hang out because he was “busy”. Everything was pointing at one obvious conclusion.

And then there was the glow.

Dustin usually didn’t buy into that whole love makes you glow bullshit. It sounded fake, like something Shakespeare would’ve thrown into a sonnet just to sound deep. But Steve had been walking around lately with this stupid look on his face, like his brain had short-circuited and decided to replace all higher functions with glitter and rainbows.

Which was really pathetic, if one asked Dustin.

He was smiling at nothing, laughing under his breath like an idiot, and generally acting like someone had slipped something into his morning coffee that Dustin was starting to reconsider his stance about the whole glow thing.

Dustin was currently slouched in the passenger seat of Steve’s car, watching through the windshield as Steve stood at the counter of the gas station’s grocery shop loading up on sodas. 

The cashier rang everything up at a painfully slow pace, and Steve just stood there tapping his fingers against the counter, completely zoned out, grinning at absolutely nothing in particular.

“Jesus,” Dustin muttered under his breath. “Get a room with your own thoughts, man.”

Steve didn’t hear him, obviously, too busy living in whatever fantasy world had apparently taken up permanent residence in his head. 

Yeah. No question about it. Steve was in love, and therefore, almost definitely dating someone.

The realization did not make Dustin mad. If anything, it made him weirdly relieved. Steve deserved good things, deserved someone who made him smile like that instead of wearing that tight, exhausted look Dustin had gotten used to over the year. 

Still, there was a dull, uncomfortable tug in his chest that he could not quite ignore. Because Steve had not told him.

And Steve told Dustin everything. That had always been their thing, right? So why the hell was he suddenly holding something back now, of all times?

Steve was still inside, taking his time, so Dustin shifted in his seat. eyes drifting around the car. The car was a mess, as usual. Empty wrappers, crumpled receipts, a couple of cassette tapes shoved haphazardly into the compartment between the seats.

Dustin leaned forward, absently opening the little storage drawer built into the dash. He wasn’t snooping, not really. He was just bored, and that was a perfectly reasonable explanation to look around.

His fingers brushed against something small and solid in the drawer. He frowned, then pulled it out.

It was a box; red, neatly packaged, tied with a thin ribbon that had clearly been adjusted more than once. Dustin stared at it for a second, his curiosity getting the better of him. Slowly, he undid the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Inside was a golden, delicate necklace with a small heart pendant resting against the velvet lining. Definitely did not look cheap in any means. 

“Ohhh” he murmured quietly.

That settled Dustin’s suspicions; Steve was definitely dating someone, and the idiot was clearly head over heels.

He closed the box immediately and retied the red ribbon, and slid it back into the drawer exactly where he’d found it. 

Steve climbed in seconds later, arms full of junk food, that stupid, soft smile still firmly glued to his face. He dumped everything in the space between the seats and tossed a soda toward Dustin without looking, who caught it out of instinct.

“Got your favorite,” Steve said easily. 

Dustin cracked the soda open but kept his eyes on Steve as he leaned back in the driver’s seat, humming quietly while he sorted through the bags. “You’re in a good mood,” he said, keeping his tone casual.

Steve glanced over. “Am I?”

“Yeah, man,” Dustin said flatly. “You’re glowing. It’s gross.”

Steve scoffed. “Must be the new face wash I’ve been using then. Glad to know it works ‘cause that shit cost me 20 bucks.”

Not that kind of glow, Dustin thought.

“You spent a good three minutes smiling at a bag of chips back there,” Dustin shot back. “So either you’re in love or you’ve finally snapped.”

Steve froze for half a second, his panic showing through. It was subtle, but Dustin caught it anyway.

Interesting.

“In love? Nah man. Where the hell did that come from.” he laughed nervously.

Dustin said slowly, eyes widening. “You have a girlfriend or somethin’?”

“What?” Steve laughed, and far too quickly. “No, I don’t.”

Dustin tilted his head, unimpressed. “Steve.”

“I don’t,” Steve insisted, shaking his head as he started the car. “I’m just, y’know, in a good mood.” he shrugged.

“Gosh,” Dustin said, rolling his eyes. “You suck at this. You’re actually terrible at lying.”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay. Fine. Yes!”

Dustin grinned. “Yes, you have a girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Steve admitted. “I have a girlfriend.”

Dustin let out a loud, undignified noise, twisting in his seat so fast he nearly smacked his knee against the glove compartment. “Holy shit,” he said, grinning like he’d just been handed front-row tickets to something incredible. “That’s amazing. Seriously. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

Steve hesitated, his hands tightening on the steering wheel like it might give him guidance if he squeezed hard enough. “I just… I’m keepin’ it on the low right now, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

Dustin snorted. “You? Steve Harrington? The guy who once announced he had a crush to the entire video store after one date? You’re doin’ ‘low’ now?”

“Okay, shut up,” Steve shot back, but the words were undercut by the way his mouth curved into a smile anyway. “I mean it. I’m just… takin’ my time with this one.”

Dustin’s eyes lit up immediately. “Oh, this is serious then.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was about to be let in on a state secret. “So who is she? Do I know her?”

Steve shook his head without missing a beat. “I’m not sayin’.”

“Oh, come on,” Dustin groaned, dropping back against the seat. “You can’t drop that on me and then clam up. I’m happy for you, Harrington. This is huge!”

“I know,” Steve said, quieter now, eyes fixed on the road. “I just need a little time, alright? That’s all I’m askin’ for.”

Dustin studied him for a moment, and whatever he saw there seemed to soften his hurt. He nodded once. “Alright. Fine.” Then his grin came back. “But for the record, I fully expect details eventually. Also, congrats on finally having consistent sex.”

Steve nearly swerved into the next lane. “Jesus Christ, Dustin!”

“What?” Dustin asked, it wasn’t like the topic of sex was taboo between them. 

“You’re clearly happy. And besides, it’s kinda comforting to know you’re finally screwing someone on a regular basis. So honestly, you might as well spill some details.”

“Fuck no,” Steve said immediately, horrified. “Absolutely not. I would rather drive this car into a ditch than talk about that with you. And I’m pretty sure you don’t wanna hear it either.”

“Oh please,” Dustin shot back. “I have heard all the details about your hookups. Tammy Thompson, Carol Perkins, Emilia from—”

Steve winced. “Okay, first of all, you were not supposed to hear about half of those, and second of all,” he added quickly, “you really wouldn’t wanna know about this one.”

“Whatever, I’m just happy for you.” Dustin shrugged.

4.

There’s a saying that goes: even when life takes so much from you, it also gives a lot back. Time heals all wounds, but that was hard to believe when your nights were haunted by the things you’d seen in the Upside Down. 

Even though it had been over a year since the painful experience, the monsters, the screams, there were nights—far too many nights—where the images came back, vivid and cruel. 

Which is exactly how you found yourself lying on the cold kitchen floor at one in the morning, phone pressed to your ear, body curled slightly as though curling into yourself might make the world feel safer. That old wired phone—the one that belonged to your parents—was pressed just so, and your nose was red from quietly sniffing.

“No, Steve, it’s fine,” you whispered, voice tight. “You really don’t need to come over. I… I’ll be okay.”

There was a pause on the other end before Steve’s voice came, tight with worry. “Are you sure? You’re sure you’re okay? I don’t care about the time. It’s a ten minute drive, maybe less, and I can be there before you even blink.”

You sniffled again, blinking against the tears you didn’t want to admit were falling. “I… I just want to hear your voice,” you admitted softly. “That’s enough.”

“No, that’s not enough,” he said, frustration and concern threading through his words. “Y/N, you woke up from a horrible nightmare all shaken up and you’re telling me you’re fine? I don’t think so. I’m coming over. I can’t not.”

You let out a soft laugh, barely audible. “Steve…please. I don’t need you to drive over. Just—just talk to me for a minute. I’m too tired to deal with…everything else right now.”

There was a long pause, then the faint sound of him running a hand through his hair. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll stay on the phone. But if you change your mind, I’m out the door in ten seconds.”

You shivered slightly, clutching the phone closer. “I’m… trying. I’m tired, Steve. I just… the nightmares won’t let me sleep.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured softly. “I know. And I’m sorry you have to deal with that. It’s not fair. You didn’t ask for any of this. You didn’t ask to see all that shit, to go through all of it. But I’m here. I’m right here. And you’re not alone, alright?”

You sniffled again. “Mhm. I just… sometimes it feels like it’s back, y’know? Like it’s all around me, and I can’t… breathe.”

Steve’s voice came soft, almost a whisper, like he was leaning over you even through the phone. “Hey… shhh, hey, it’s okay, baby. I know it feels heavy right now, I know it does. But you’re still here. You’re safe and I won’t let anything harm you. I’ve got you, alright? I’ll stay right here on the line as long as you need me.”

A quiet tear escaped, and you pressed the phone harder to your ear. “You really mean that?”

“Every word,” he said. 

“I… I’m really tired,” you whispered, eyelids heavy. “But… thank you. For staying on the phone.”

“I’ll stay as long as you need,” he said. “You hear me? And tomorrow, if you want, we can hang out, eat some junk food, and watch some dumb movies, how’s that sound?”

A soft laugh broke past your exhaustion. “Okay,” you murmured. “Tomorrow sounds… good.”

“Good,” he said, smiling through the phone. “Now close your eyes. Try to rest and I’ll be right here. I promise.”

You yawned, the sound muffled against the phone, and whispered, “I’ll try.”

You were too drowsy to notice the quiet shift on the staircase. Dustin had stopped midway, listening to the faint conversation after he woke up from the sound of rustling downstairs only to find you on the phone. 

His heart twisted hearing your soft, shaky voice. He couldn’t hear Steve's side of the conversation—only your side. But from the way you spoke, he could tell Steve was there comforting you and keeping you safe.

The alarm bells went off in his head, but he shoved them aside. If Steve was the one who could help you through the nightmares, then Dustin didn’t need to dig any deeper for answers or suspicions tonight. 

With a quiet sigh, Dustin crept back upstairs, leaving you to your whispered reassurances and the fragile sense of peace settling over the kitchen floor.

He was, after all, too sleepy and exhausted to think too much of it.

+1

If there was one thing you hated more than anything, it was fighting with Steve.

And somehow, against all odds, he was currently sitting in the living room of your house with Dustin, like this was totally normal and not driving you completely insane. 

Worse, there was nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t exactly kick your secret boyfriend out in front of your brother. You also couldn’t scream at him, or throw something at his head, or do any of the other deeply satisfying things you’d been imagining for the past two days.

Steve hadn’t even been subtle about it. He’d shown up under the excuse of “hanging out with Dustin,” which was bullshit, because Dustin was busy ranting about some new gadget and Steve hadn’t been listening to a word of it. 

He kept glancing toward the kitchen like he was waiting for you to look back at him, like that would somehow fix everything.

It wouldn’t.

You were in the kitchen, cutting watermelon into uneven slices, jaw clenched so tight it ached. You told yourself you were being efficient, but really, you were being petty. Every slice you set aside for Steve had as many seeds as you could stuff in there—a small, vindictive way to get back at him for the kind of shit he’d pulled.

You didn’t even feel bad about it. He deserved to suffer a little after pulling the kind of shit he had.

You dragged the knife through the rind harder than necessary. And then it slipped.

“Shit,” you hissed as pain flared across your palm, sharp and immediate. The knife clattered onto the counter before you could even process what happened.

Before you could grab a towel, the knife was gone.

You looked up, heart jumping, and there was Steve, standing way too close behind you in the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing,” you snapped, instinctively pulling your hand back. “Why are you following me in here? Isn’t it enough that I have to pretend we’re fine in front of Dustin?”

He didn’t argue or even joke. He just sighed, long and tired, like this had been weighing on him for days too.

“Let me see your hand,” he said quietly.

“No.”

“Don’t do that,” he replied, gentle but firm, already reaching for you. “You’re bleeding.”

You hesitated, then let him take your hand. His grip was careful, thumb brushing lightly against your skin. He grabbed gauze from the drawer without even thinking, muscle memory kicking in, and turned the faucet on low.

“This is exactly what I mean,” you muttered. “You act like this and then expect me not to be mad.”

Steve cleaned the cut slowly, eyes fixed on your palm. “I know. And I fucked up. I know I did.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk. The kitchen felt smaller than usual, the sound of running water filling the space between you.

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel hidden,” he continued, voice low. “I just… every time I thought about telling him, I pictured his face. And the questions. And the way he never shuts up. And I panicked. That’s on me. Not you.”

He wrapped the gauze around your hand, careful not to pull too tight. “You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to feel like I’m ashamed of you, because I’m not at all. I’m just an idiot.”

You swallowed, throat tight, still not looking at him.

“I should’ve done better, but I—” 

“What’s going on in here?”

Both of you froze up. You turned just in time to see Dustin standing in the doorway, eyes locked on your hand in Steve’s, on the gauze, on how close he was standing.

You both turned around quickly, trying to act casual. You held your hand up like nothing happened. “It’s fine,” you said, forcing a shrug. “I’m not, like… we’re not holding hands or anything. Steve was just helping me because I cut myself.”

Dustin raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You rolled your eyes. “I mean it, Dustin. It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” he said with a shrug. Then, without warning, he held up a necklace in his hand. A delicate gold chain with a heart-shaped locket dangling from it.

Your stomach dropped. “Oh. Where—where did you find that?”

Dustin turned toward you, raising the locket so you could see it better. “I went to your room to look for that Indiana Jones DVD you mentioned,” he said casually, “and well… this was just sitting on your dresser.”

Your jaw went slack. “You went in my room?”

He ignored the mini-panic in your voice and glanced at Steve with a sigh that could’ve crushed the both of you. “And you, Harrington…”

Steve straightened, trying to look casual, and opened his mouth. “Listen, it’s not—”

“—so, this is not the same necklace I saw in your car a few weeks ago that was meant for your secret girlfriend?” 

Steve froze for a second, hands halfway raising in defense. “Woah, okay. Uh, I don’t think we should be talking about this like that.” he said, voice cautious.

You jumped in, waving your hands. “Dustin, wait—you need to calm down, okay?”

“Calm down?” Dustin repeated, narrowing his eyes at Steve. “You mean the part where he's been screwing my sister and I find out by a fucking necklace?”

Steve threw his hands up. “Okay, okay, I get it! Look, I wasn’t trying to hide it, not exactly. I just… didn’t know how to tell you. I thought you’d get mad. And I didn’t wanna risk our friendship, man. I swear, I was gonna tell you soon, like really soon. It just… happened. And, things kinda happened.”

Dustin tilted his head, holding the necklace up again like it was evidence in a murder trial. “ Steve, you’ve been sneaky and going around hiding stuff, and I get it—you’re happy—but come on!”

The room felt too small all of a sudden. Steve opened his mouth again, clearly ready to keep apologizing and explaining himself, but Dustin didn’t even look at him this time.

His eyes flicked to you instead, sharp and searching in a way that made your chest tighten.

“Can we talk alone?” Dustin said, already turning toward the hallway. It wasn’t really a question.

Steve hesitated, glancing at you with eyes full of worry. You squeezed his fingers once before letting go, a quiet reassurance, and nodded. He stepped back, lingering near the counter.

Dustin led you out into the porch where you sat on your mom’s fluffed up garden couches.  For a moment, neither of you spoke. He stared at the floor, the necklace looped around his fingers now instead of held up like a weapon.

“I’m not mad,” he said finally, voice lower than usual. “Okay, maybe a little mad. But that’s not what this is about.”

You waited. You knew better than to rush him.

He glanced at you then. “I just wanna know if you’re… happy. Like, actually happy.”

You leaned back into the couch, shoulders brushing his. “I am,” you said honestly. “Steve makes me happy. He makes me feel safe. He listens to me, even when I’m being stubborn or when we argue. And yeah, we fight sometimes—but I am happy.”

Dustin was quiet, picking at the chain in his hands. “He better,” he muttered. “Because I swear to God, if he ever—”

“I know,” you said softly, bumping your knee against his. “And I wouldn’t be with him if I thought he’d hurt me. I promise.”

That seemed to ease something in him. He let out a slow breath and leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. “So why hide it? I mean… I’m annoying, yeah, but I’m not, like gonna sabotage your relationship if you’re both happy.”

You huffed a small laugh. “I know. It wasn’t about not trusting you. It was just… complicated. You’re my younger brother. He’s your friend. And I didn’t know how to tell you without making it weird or feeling like I was crossing some invisible line. Plus, we wanted to keep it private for a while. Just… us.”

Dustin nodded slowly. “You could’ve told me,” he said, quieter now.

“I know,” you replied softly, voice a little tight. “And I’m sorry I didn’t. I didn’t want the first time you found out to be like this.”

He glanced at you, lips twitching despite himself, a reluctant little smile tugging at the corner. “Yeah… well. Finding out via incriminating jewelry isn’t exactly ideal,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You let out a small, rueful laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder for a moment. He didn’t pull away, and you let yourself stay there for a beat longer than you should have. “I’m really sorry, Dustin,” you whispered, tone earnest. “You’re my baby brother. I shouldn’t have kept this from you, especially since I know how much Steve means to you. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Dustin’s fingers flexed around the necklace in his hand, and he let out a long, slow sigh, finally pushing himself to his feet. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said quietly, voice calmer now. “I get it. I just… I wanted to make sure you’re actually happy. Not just saying it because I asked. I needed to know that he… that you’re good with him.”

You smiled, warm and a little tender, and stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. 

He froze for half a second, then awkwardly hugged you back just as tightly. 

“Awwww,” you teased softly, pulling back just enough to peek up at him. “My little baby brother, all protective and worried about me.”

Dustin groaned, rolling his eyes but smiling despite himself. “Shut up, Y/N,” he said. “I’m not your baby.”

“Sure you’re not,” you said, still smirking, giving him a playful squeeze before letting go. “Now go. Go tell Steve what’s what before he freaks out even more.”

Dustin muttered something under his breath, tugging the necklace off his fingers, then straightened and strode toward the door. 

You couldn’t help laughing quietly to yourself, watching him go, knowing that underneath the eye-rolling and teasing, he really did care—and that you were lucky to have him in your corner.

Dustin slipped back inside. He found Steve standing near the couch, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing in particular. When Steve finally noticed him, his gaze sharpened, and it was full of regret and worry.

“Uh… hey,” Dustin said slowly, shifting from foot to foot. He swallowed, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “Can I… can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied immediately. “Anything.”

Dustin swallowed. “Were you ever friends with me just because you wanted her?”

Steve’s stomach dropped at the question.

He straightened, brow furrowing. “What? No. Dustin—”

“Because if that’s the case,” Dustin rushed on, voice tightening despite himself, “I just wanna know. I can deal with it, I just— I don’t wanna be the idiot who thought this meant something if it didn’t.”

Steve took a step closer without thinking. “Hey. No. That’s not—” He scrubbed a hand over his face, searching for the right words. “Man, I didn’t even know she liked me when you and I started hanging out. You were just… you. And you mattered to me before anything else did, you were—are my best friend before anything else.”

“I just—” he hesitated. “I keep thinking maybe I was stupid. Like maybe you were always here for her and I just didn’t see it.”

Steve stepped closer, shaking his head. “You weren’t stupid. And I wasn’t using you. I swear.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “What happened with her wasn’t planned. It wasn’t a thing I decided to do.”

“Then what was it?” Dustin asked.

Steve exhaled. “You know how people say you fall in love?”

Dustin nodded slowly.

“Sometimes it’s not like that,” Steve said, voice low, almost careful, like he was trying to measure every word. “Sometimes it’s not this lightning strike or a moment that hits you and knocks you off your feet. Sometimes…it’s more like…you walk into it.” 

Dustin seemed stunned at Steve’s words, not expecting this amount of vulnerability. 

“You walk into it slowly, one step at a time. And at first, you don’t even notice. You think it’s just…life. Just…routine. You don’t realize it until you’re already in the middle of it, completely surrounded, and there’s no going back without losing something you didn’t even know you had.”

Dustin’s voice dropped, small and uncertain. “You couldn’t…help it?”

Steve shook his head, a short, humorless laugh escaping. “No. I couldn’t. Not at all. I thought I could, you know? I tried. I tried to keep it at a distance. I told myself it was a really bad idea.” He stopped, his jaw tightening. 

“But it wasn’t. It was everything. Little things. The way she laughed at the stupidest jokes, even when I was barely funny. The way she listened when I rambled about shit that didn’t matter. The way she could look at me and make me feel like I was enough, even when I wasn’t sure I deserved to feel that way. It’s all those moments, one after another, stacking up quietly until suddenly…it was overwhelming.”

He paused, and his hands flexed against the counter, knuckles white. “And I kept telling myself I was imagining it. That it would pass. That I could step back before it got too…real. And then one morning I woke up and looked at her, really looked at her, and I realized I had it so bad, Dustin. So completely, hopelessly bad. And by that point, it wasn’t a choice anymore. I didn’t even know how to stop. I didn’t want to stop. And I was terrified—terrified that if I stepped away, I’d lose both of you. I’d lose my best friend…your sister…everything.”

He swallowed, eyes glimmering. “And that’s when I understood that I couldn’t help it, Dustin. I didn’t want to.”

Dustin’s shoulders sagged a little. “You were scared.”

“Yeah, terrified.” Steve admitted. “I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want you thinking I crossed some line on purpose. I was just… trying to figure out how to be honest without blowing everything up.”

For a long second, Dustin didn’t say anything. Then he stepped forward suddenly and wrapped his arms around Steve’s middle, hugging him hard.

Steve froze, then hugged him back just as tight.

“I don’t like it,” Dustin muttered into his shirt. “But I get it.”

Steve let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Dustin said, pulling back and wiping his face with his sleeve. “Just—don’t screw it up.”

“I won’t,” Steve promised. “I swear.”

Dustin dug into his pocket and pulled the necklace back out, the gold chain glinting under the kitchen light. He held it out to Steve, not like evidence this time, but like an offering.

“For the record,” he said, tone almost shy now, “it’s a really nice necklace.”

Steve blinked, then let out a breathy laugh as he took it. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks.”

There was a pause as Dustin leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, eyes flicking toward the front door.

“So,” he said casually. “Why were you guys arguing before I caught you?”

Steve’s stomach dropped.

“Oh. Shit.” He looked at the necklace in his hand as he realized he forgot about the argument you both had.

“Oh shit, I—fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair, panic setting in fast and unfiltered. “I gotta go. I really screwed it up. Fuck, man, fuck.”

And before Dustin could even respond, Steve was already moving, shoving the door open as he hurried outside.

Dustin watched him go, lips twitching. “I’d say get a pair of earrings this time!” he called after him, laughing when Steve shot him a frantic look over his shoulder and kept going.

He stayed where he was, drifting toward the window without really meaning to. Outside, Steve was already rambling, hands flying as he talked, apologizing in that messy, earnest way of his, clearly trying to fix whatever dumb thing he had managed to screw up.

You stood there with your arms crossed, weight shifted to one hip, expression unimpressed in a way Dustin knew very well. The bratty attitude of yours was all there.

Not even halfway through Steve’s frantic explanation, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Steve froze for half a second before melting into it, relief written all over him as he broke the hug to clasp the necklace around your neck, murmuring something Dustin couldn’t hear. 

Then he leaned down and kissed you.

Dustin immediately turned away. “Gross,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Still, he smiled.

Because even if he wasn’t ready to watch it, even if it was weird as hell seeing his best friend kiss his older sister, he knew it was right. He knew you were happy.

And he knew, deep down, that Steve had somehow managed to stumble into exactly the person he was meant to love.

steve harrington masterlist

a/n: for some reason this fic took me a whole 40 days to write, but nonetheless it was a very fun and cute experience <3 i enjoyed exploring more of steve and dustin's dynamic, so hopefully i did it all justice!!

reblogs, comments, and likes are so veryyy highly appreciated <3 <3

[harringtonsugar]

How Love Is Supposed to Be

summary: every terrible memory comes rushing back to you after you accidentally break one of steve’s plates.

warnings: mentions of past abuse, domestic abuse (not including steve), glass breaking, minor injury, ptsd, anxiety, panic attack, little angst, crying, steve is so sweet, fluff, happy ending of course

word count: 2.1k

Sometime you felt like being with Steve was too good to be true. He was unlike anybody you’ve ever known. He was loyal and kind, always affectionate and respectful beyond words. He understood you in ways you weren’t even sure you did yourself.

As achingly sweet as he was, you practically lived in anxiety. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. You waited, shoulders tense, for his kind hearted demeanor to finally switch on a day you upset him – maybe even only inconvenienced.

But he never did.

Steve never raised his voice – never raised his hand to you – he never dished out silent treatment when he was upset. He never demanded unrealistic expectations from you. He never asked you to change yourself or try to stuff you in a box.

It should’ve felt good. Safe.

It just made you feel more on edge. Like his inevitable blow up would be worse than anything your mind could have ever conjured up.

None of this was his fault, not even a little bit. You had your disgusting ex-boyfriend to thank for it. He was the one who littered your skin with bruises and wounds. He was the one who would kick you to the ground over and over and over again for saying the wrong thing at dinner. He was the one who told you you’d never deserve anything more than what he gave you.

And even though you were years out of it, and you did most of the work to unlearn every cruel word he instilled in your brain, it was hard to let it all go.

Steve knew about your past and not once did he let it affect the way he saw you. He didn’t see you as fragile or weak – he saw you for you. Strong willed and determined.

But was it really enough?

Today was Steve’s first day as head coach for the middle school baseball team. His promotion from elementary school to middle had been something he worked the past year for.

You couldn’t have been more proud of him but words didn’t feel like enough. So while he was at practice, you spent the day fixing up your shared apartment. You paid attention to every detail as you cleaned, you hung adorable baseball decorations around the room and you put every ounce of love into the dinner you made for him.

You had three pans across the stove at any given time, your fingers raw and numb from all the chopping. Your back ached from leaning over the stove but you knew it would all be worth it to see his face when he walked in.

He spent so much time making other people happy, you wanted to do the same for him.

Dinner was just about finished, you made him his favorite dish of yours – pot roast with some mashed potatoes and veggies on the side. The last thing was to plate it and fix the table.

In the cabinet, there was a set of beautiful glass dishes you and Steve were gifted by his mom. They were old china – beautifully hand painted with blue and white. You never had the chance to use them yet, but today felt like the perfect opportunity.

You carefully pulled two plates out and perfectly placed the food across the glass. You set his side of the table and then yours and with a quick glance at the clock, you had just enough time to yank your apron off to reveal the pretty red dress Steve bought you a few weeks ago.

Only a few minutes later, Steve walked through the door. Dressed in his blue and white coaching polo, paired with his khaki pants. His brown hair was floppy atop his head, his stubborn curl leaning over his forehead.

He looked tired – undoubtedly from the warm sun, but his eyes lit up the second they saw you. He gently shut the door behind him, but paused in the doorway as he took in the sight around him. The smell of food hit him first. His eyes danced around the room – taking in the decorations, the cleanliness, the beautiful table you set with candles and flowers alongside your dinner.

Then at you.

Your ridiculously gorgeous frame standing beside the table, wearing the dress he bought you. Your hands clasped in front of you, a shy smile ghosting on your lips.

“Hi Steve,” You murmured at him and he didn’t even try to bite back his grin.

“Hey baby,” He replied, finally finding his strength to move. He tossed his keys on the dish beside him and in a few short steps, he ended up right in front of you.

His hands found their home at your waist, his thumb stroking over the fabric there. Your arms follow, wrapping around his shoulders.

“What’s all this, hm?” His voice is so gentle and full of love. You smile up at him and quickly peck his lips before pulling away from him. You easily steer him to his seat across from you. You find your own seat immediately after, a smile still coating your mouth.

“This..” You gesture towards the plate in front of him. “Is to show you how proud I am of you, Steve. You worked so hard for your promotion and you’re gonna do great,”

Steve felt his chest warm with adoration as you stared at him. He was almost at a loss for words.

You were too damn sweet.

He smiled back at you and raised his hand across the table to grab yours.

“It’s beautiful baby, just like you,” His words make your cheeks heat up and he chuckles. “I love it honey, thank you.”

Your smile widens and you gesture towards the food “Now eat, it’s gonna get cold,”

Steve nods quickly, his hand slipping from yours to dig in. The two of you ate together, talking about how his first day went and how much he loved it already.

He told you about the kids on the team and some of the parents he was able to meet. He told you what he planned to focus on first with them and you could see that twinkle in his eye every time he talked about it.

It made your heart feel like it was going to burst.

When you finished dinner, you stood to gather the dishes but he stopped you before you could.

“Nuh-uh,” He hummed, rising to his feet and easily stealing the glasses from you. “I can do this,”

You frown up at him. “But it’s your day, Steve,”

He stacks the plates over each other, holding them with both hands as he presses a sweet kiss to your temple.

“You cooked all of this. The least I could do is wash the dishes,”

You fight back a smile as he walks further into the kitchen and to the sink. He places them down before his fingers begin to unbutton the sleeves of his shirt, carefully rolling them up to his elbow.

You bite your lip to suppress the grin threatening to make it’s appearance.

“Okay, but I can still help,” You declared. Steve says something from the sink that you can’t quite catch as you grab the drinking glasses from the table.

Both of them sit in each palm as you turn to walk back to the sink. What you didn’t account for was the chair pushed closer than you thought and before you can stop it, your foot catches on the wooden leg. Your knee buckles and in an attempt to keep yourself from falling, the cup slips from your grasp and shatters across the hardwood floor.

Your ears ring.

In an instant, you’re on your knees, huddled over the broken glass. Instinctively, your hands reach out to grab the pieces of glass as if you could somehow put it all back together before Steve turned around.

Suddenly, it was like you were no longer with Steve and instead, you were back in that awful house. You could feel your body trembling as your mind echoed with nasty thoughts, all by the sound of your ex boyfriend’s voice.

Look at what you did.

You can’t do anything right.

Do you even know how much that cost?

Your eyes stung with tears and your breathing hitched. This wasn’t just a cup – this was gorgeous art Steve was gifted by his mother and you ruined it.

You heard the sound of plates clattering in the sink and Steve’s footsteps getting closer.

This was it. This was when it was going to happen.

Your stomach was in knots as your hands quickly grabbed pieces of the glass. You couldn’t stop your hands from clenching around it but the fear pumping in your veins had you unable to feel the way it pierced your skin.

You could just barely see his shoes enter your vision. The sound of him calling your name was almost clouded.

“I’m – I’m so – I’m so sorry, Steve. It was an accident, I – I swear,” Your stuttering voice was all you could focus on.

Then Steve bent down and you physically braced for the impact. You didn’t really know what kind – from his hand, his shoe, his elbow – whatever he chose really.

But that didn’t happen. Of course not.

Steve gently wrapped his palms around your arms, pulling you upright until you were sitting in the chair furthest from the broken glass. Your hands still clutched the pieces tight, little specs of blood spilling from the sides.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve cooed, gingerly raising his palms to cup your cheeks. “Are you okay, baby? What happened?”

You don’t dare to meet his gaze. You keep your eyes locked on your trembling hands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to break it. I’ll – I’ll fix it. I can – I can fix it,” You say frantically, tears streaming down your face in rapid succession.

Steve frowns and pulls your face upwards to face him. He says your name gently but firm. “Hey, I don’t care about the cup,”

Finally, you look up at him.

Your vision is clouded from the hot tears lining your eyes but you can see him. His face is twisted in confusion, his mouth pulled down into a frown and his eyes swirl with concern.

He looks almost relieved that you’re looking at him again.

“It’s just a cup, okay? It’s not a big deal,”

You shake your head, lip wobbling. “But it was from your mom. It was important and I – I broke it,” You sobbed.

Steve held you tighter. “Baby, breathe,” He says softly. “I promise you it’s okay. It was an accident.”

Your shoulders shake as more tears pour from you. Steve glances down at your hands and sees the way you’re clinging to the glass pieces. He mutters a curse before grabbing a wet towel and carefully forcing your fingers away from your palm.

He winces at the sight of your nicked skin and begins to clean up the skin. He keeps his eyes on his task as he begins to talk again.

“Baby, I need you to understand something,” His voice is firm but so tender. You blink through your tears and look back at him. “I will never hurt you, and I will never yell at you, especially not over a broken cup,”

Steve carefully plucks the pieces of glass out of your hold and throws them into the pile of the rest. He places the towel over your palm and uses both of his to interlace your fingers. His brown eyes meet yours.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, baby. Accidents happen and it’s okay to get scared but I want you to know that you never have to be afraid of me. You’re safe baby, I promise you that.”

By the time he finishes, a new wave of tears have washed over you but not from anxiety – from love. From the love you’re overwhelmed with for him. From the aching difference in the way he treats you than anybody else.

You want to believe him so much – you do believe him, even when it’s easy to fall back into your bad spot.

He looks up at you from where he kneels in front of you. He’s careful in his movements, hyperaware of anything they could set you off. You suck in a shaky breath and wrap your arms around his neck.

His arms wrap around you easily, caging you into him and his warmth. He whispers sweet things in your hair, lips grazing across your temple.

“I – I love you,” You whimper against the skin of his neck.

“I love you, sweet girl, so so much,” He murmurs.

[beasbrain]

Outlaw

description: when eddie munson and the infamous blackwater outfit ride into town and rob your family farm blind, you're determined to settle the score. eddie, however, loves a challenge and will settle for nothing less than winning your angry ass over.

pairing: bandit!eddie x fem!reader

tags: outlaw!eddie x fem!reader, farmers daughter!reader, western au, small frontier town, enemies to lovers asf, slow burn, flirting but make it murder attempts, 1880's domestic fluff, readers a badass, they kiss eventually i promise

TW: mentions of deceased parental figure, robbery, old-timey western dialogue

WC: 5.7k

A/N: helloooooo everyone! this was requested by @goofy-cat11 i hope you enjoy<33 request-palooza is among us, so i will be mainly prioritizing requests for the time being. HOWEVER at the request of my beloved @spacejjunk the final part of as above, so below will begin to be drafted and posted within the week. GET EXCITED! or nervous, idk. reblogs are always appreciated my lovelies <33 enjoy!!! xoxxo

Night had settled over the valley hours ago. The kind of darkness that swallowed the prairie whole, broken only by scattered lanterns glowing in farmhouse windows.

Then, suddenly, the church bell rang three times. Not for Sunday service or for a wedding, but for them.

Immediately, the town went into lockdown mode. Lanterns were snuffed out one by one, doors bolted, and curtains drawn. Dogs that had been barking suddenly went silent, dragged inside by hurried owners.

Somewhere down the road, another bell answered the first, then another, until the whole valley echoed with warning.

Your mother didn't waste a second.

"Inside. Now."

She had already begun blowing out the oil lamps before either you or your little brother could move. The warm glow that had filled the farmhouse disappeared one room at a time until only moonlight filtered through the windows.

"Mama..." your little brother whispered, clutching the hem of her dress.

"It's alright," she lied, pulling him close. "Just stay quiet."

You had heard stories about the Blackwater Outfit bandits for as long as you could remember. Every ranching family within a hundred miles had. They rode wherever they pleased, took what they wanted, and were gone before the sheriff could gather enough men to trail them.

Some claimed they only stole from wealthy cattle barons. Others swore they'd rob anyone unlucky enough to cross their path. Whatever the truth was, no one wanted to find out firsthand.

The sound of hoofbeats grew louder with each passing second until they were just beyond the front fence. Against your better judgment, you crept toward the front window and peeled back the curtain just enough to see the lanterns.

A dozen of them, maybe more, swayed from saddle horns as riders passed through the darkness. Their faces remained hidden beneath the brims of their hats, little more than silhouettes against the pale moonlight. The only sounds were the steady rhythm of horses' hooves and men hollering.

Your hand instinctively reached for your father's Winchester, still resting above the hearth where it had remained since the day he died. Before your fingers could wrap around the stock, your mother caught your wrist.

"Don't be a fool, girl," she whispered, her grip surprisingly firm. "One rifle ain't stoppin' twenty men."

"They're on our land."

"And they'll still be on it after they bury you."

You clenched your jaw, your eyes never leaving the riders outside. Every instinct in your body screamed to do something. To scare them off or to fire a warning shot, just to prove that this farm wasn't defenseless just because your father was gone.

Your mother stepped in front of the window, forcing you to look at her instead.

"Your pa knew when to pick a fight," she said quietly. "That's why he lived as long as he did."

You swallowed hard.

"Tonight ain't one worth dyin' over."

When dawn finally broke, the sun began painting the fields in soft shades of gold that would've been beautiful under any other circumstance. The farmhouse still stood, smoke lazily curling from the chimney, and the rolling pasture stretched just as it always had.

Then you noticed the silence. No rooster announcing the morning. No impatient bleating from the goat pen. No low, familiar call from the pasture beyond the barn. You were out the front door before your mother had even finished tying her apron.

The gate to the pasture hung crooked on one hinge; the latch splintered clean in two. Deep hoofprints had churned the earth into thick mud, leading away from the property in a trail so obvious it was almost insulting.

"No..." you breathed. You broke into a sprint then. The heifer was gone, and so were both milk goats.

You rushed toward the chicken coop, throwing the door open so hard it slammed against the side of the shed. Only a handful of hens scattered at your feet, squawking in protest. The rest had simply vanished.

They hadn't taken everything, though.

The old mare remained in her stall, too lame to fetch much at market. A stubborn old rooster strutted across the yard as if nothing had happened, accompanied by a few scrawny hens they'd apparently deemed not worth the trouble.

They hadn't stolen blindly; they had taken exactly what would hurt the most.

The heifer your family had planned to sell before winter. The goats that supplied milk, butter, and cheese. Nearly every laying hen that brought in enough money each week to keep flour in the pantry and to pay taxes on time.

You crouched beside the broken gate, running your fingers through the fresh hoofprints pressed into the dirt. They hadn't just stolen livestock, no. They had stolen the coming winter.

Behind you, your mother stepped onto the porch, one hand covering her mouth as she looked across the empty pasture. She took in the empty fields, the splintered fence, the open barn doors. Everything your father had spent a lifetime building.

She didn't say a word. Her shoulders sank almost imperceptibly before she turned and walked back inside, quietly closing the door behind her.

Anger carried you into town faster than your horse ever could.

The reins were barely tied outside the sheriff's office before you were shoving through the front door, boots thudding across the worn wooden floor. Sheriff Hopper looked up from the stack of papers spread across his desk, his spectacles perched low on his nose.

He regarded you for a long moment before leaning back in his chair. "I was wonderin' when you'd come."

"You knew?"

"I knew they rode through last night."

"They cleaned us out." Your voice was tight enough to snap. "They took the heifer, both milk goats, and nearly every good hen we had."

His expression hardened, though not with surprise. "I'm sorry to hear it."

"'Sorry' doesn't put food on my family's table."

"No," he admitted. "It doesn't."

Finally, Hopper rose from his chair and wandered toward the window overlooking Main Street. "They knew your father was gone."

"They knew that the farm lost its backbone the day he died. Figured it'd be an easy mark."

Your jaw clenched. "So what're you gonna do?"

"Nothing."

"They're the Blackwater Outfit," he sighed. "Outlaws, sure. But they ain't the sort that burns towns or leaves bodies behind just because they can. They take what they're after and keep ridin'."

"They still robbed us."

"They did."

"And you're just letting them?"

Hopper met your gaze. "I've got five deputies and a town full of families I'd rather not bury."

You looked away, shaking your head. "So that's it."

"Sometimes," he said quietly, "keeping folks alive means knowing which fights not to pick."

"Where are they?"

His eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't advise it."

"Where?"

Another sigh. "They rented the rooms above McCready's Saloon. They'll likely leave come morning."

You didn't say another word. You simply turned on your heel and walked out, the door slamming behind you hard enough to rattle the windows.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, your mind had already been made up. If the sheriff wasn't willing to do anything, you would.

You stood in front of the small mirror hanging beside your bedroom window, smoothing your palms over the nicest dress you owned. It wasn't extravagant by any means, just a deep blue cotton dress reserved for Sunday services and the occasional town social. Your mother watched quietly from the doorway as you pinned your hair back.

"You're headed into town."

You nodded, fastening your father's silver necklace around your neck. "I'll be back."

"Just...come home."

By nightfall, McCready's Saloon was alive with music spilling through the open doors, piano keys carrying into the street alongside bursts of laughter and clinking glasses. Horses lined the hitching posts outside, and every window glowed warmly against the cool prairie evening.

You tied your mare outside and climbed the steps. The moment you stepped through the swinging doors, the familiar scent of whiskey, tobacco smoke, and sawdust washed over you.

"Evenin', miss."

You smiled at the bartender, an older man named Walter who'd known your family since before you were born.

"Evenin', Walt."

He looked you over, eyebrows lifting ever so slightly. "Don't think I've seen you in here dressed like that."

You offered a small shrug. "Figured I deserved a drink."

"Hell of a day for one."

"You could say that."

Walter poured your usual without asking, sliding the glass across the polished bar.

"On the house."

You thanked him quietly before letting your eyes drift across the room. It wasn't hard to find them.

They occupied nearly an entire corner of the saloon, boots propped on chairs, cards spread across a table littered with whiskey bottles and coins. Laughter came easily between them, drawing more than a few curious glances from the locals, who were careful not to linger.

And in the middle of it all sat the man you assumed was Eddie Munson. He looked nothing like you'd imagined. You'd expected someone older. Meaner.

Instead, he couldn't have been much more than a few years older than yourself, his dark curls spilling beneath a black hat as he laughed at something one of his men had said. Rings glinted beneath the lantern light as he shuffled a deck of cards with practiced ease, entirely at home in a town that had hidden from him less than twenty-four hours earlier.

As if sensing your stare, his head lifted, his eyes meeting yours from across the room. He smiled slowly, almost confidently. You looked away first, lifting your whiskey to your lips.

Walter caught the exchange immediately. "Oh, don't tell me."

You feigned innocence. "Tell you what?"

"You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The one that says you're about to do something that'll have me patchin' bullet holes in the wall."

A laugh escaped you despite yourself. "I'll try not to make a mess."

"You never do."

Across the room, Eddie murmured something to the man beside him before pushing back his chair. He crossed the saloon with an easy confidence that suggested he'd never once questioned whether someone wanted him nearby.

By the time he reached the bar, you could feel Walter trying very hard to look busy polishing the same glass he'd been holding for the last minute.

Eddie rested an elbow against the bar. "Evenin'."

You took another sip before finally looking at him. "Evenin'."

"I don't reckon I've seen you around before."

"I reckon you haven't been lookin' in the right places."

That earned a grin. "No?" he asked. "Seems I've been missin' out."

"So I've heard."

He chuckled softly.

"They also tell me you've got a soft spot for pretty women."

"I've got a soft spot for interesting women."

You let the corner of your mouth twitch upward. "And which am I?"

He looked you over; not crudely, but with unmistakable interest. "I haven't decided yet."

"Well," you said, setting your empty glass on the bar, "I suppose you'll have to buy me another drink if you'd like the chance."

Walter's eyes flicked between the two of you.

Eddie smiled, already reaching for his coin satchel. "I was hopin' you'd say that."

Walter disappeared down the bar to tend to another customer, leaving the two of you alone beneath the warm glow of the hanging lamps.

Eddie slid the fresh whiskey toward you. "You always this hard to impress?"

"I haven't seen much worth impressin' me."

"Ouch."

"You asked."

"I did."

He rested one forearm against the bar, turning toward you with an easy grin that would've made most women blush.

You simply took another sip.

"So," he said. "You got a name?"

"You got enough names to remember already."

"I'll make room."

"I doubt it."

He laughed under his breath. "You've got quite the sharp tongue."

"So I've been told."

"I like it."

"I'm sure you do."

"You don't seem surprised."

"I imagine you say that to every pretty girl that walks through that door."

He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. "You wound me."

"I was aiming lower."

That earned a genuine laugh, loud enough for a few of his men to glance over from their poker game.

"There it is," Eddie said, shaking his head. "Knew she was hidin' in there somewhere."

You looked at him flatly. "You always talk this much?"

"Only when I'm bein' ignored."

"I can fix that."

"Oh?"

"Beneath this bar..." you said quietly, keeping your eyes on your glass, "...I've got my father's Colt pointed right at your ribs."

The smile never left his face. If anything, it grew.

"I know."

Your fingers tightened around the grip beneath the counter. "What?"

"I said I know."

For the first time since he'd wandered over, Eddie's expression lost some of its teasing edge. His voice stayed low enough that only you could hear.

"I recognized you the second you walked in."

A knot formed in your stomach.

"I wasn't entirely certain at first."

His eyes drifted briefly to the silver necklace resting against your collarbone.

"Then I saw the necklace."

Your hand instinctively brushed against it.

"Your father's."

You stared.

"Folks in town talked."

"They've got nothin' better to do."

"They said there was a young woman out on the Miller place." His gaze returned to yours. "Long black hair. Pretty enough to turn heads. Mean enough to break 'em."

Despite yourself, your brow furrowed.

"They said after your pa passed, you worked that ranch like it was your own."

"It is my own."

"I stand corrected."

"You also weren't supposed to be home last night."

Your pulse skipped.

"We figured it'd just be your ma and little brother."

Rage simmered beneath your ribs. "You figured wrong."

"I reckon I did."

The music carried on around you. Glasses clinked, and someone cheered from the poker table. It felt as though the rest of the saloon had disappeared.

Finally, Eddie smiled again. "I gotta admit...You've got nerve, walkin' in here alone."

"I figured you'd appreciate it."

"Oh, I do." His grin widened. "I just didn't expect to."

Your thumb eased back the hammer beneath the bar with a soft, unmistakable click. His eyes flicked downward for only a second before meeting yours again.

"You really are pointin' that thing at me."

"I told you I was."

"I know."

"And you're still standin' here."

"Course I am."

"...Why?"

"Because," he said with a crooked smile, "you're the first woman who's ever threatened to shoot me before askin' my name."

You rolled your eyes.

"Not worth the ask."

His laugh came easily, warm enough to earn another curious glance from across the room.

"See?" He leaned in just enough that only you could hear him. "Now I'm even more interested."

The click of the hammer settling back into place was almost louder than when you'd pulled it. Slowly, you removed the revolver from beneath the bar and tucked it back beneath your skirt.

Eddie's eyes followed the movement. "Changed your mind?"

"For now."

You slid off the barstool and set a few coins beside your untouched whiskey. "I've lost my appetite."

"You just got here."

"And I've already had enough."

Without another word, you turned toward the swinging doors.

"You leavin'?"

You didn't answer.

Behind you came the scrape of Eddie's chair, then footsteps. The cool evening air hit your face as you stepped onto the boardwalk, boots carrying you down the quiet street without so much as a glance over your shoulder.

"You always walk this fast?"

You sighed. "You always this annoyin'?"

"I've been called worse."

"I can think of a few."

"I don't doubt it."

You kept walking.

"So," Eddie continued, hands tucked lazily into his pockets, "you got a habit of pointin' guns at every man who buys you a drink?"

"Only the thieves."

He laughed. "I was wonderin' when we'd get back to that."

"You robbed my family."

"I did." There wasn't an ounce of shame in his voice.

"You don't deny it?"

"What good would that do?"

You shook your head. "You're unbelievable."

"I've heard that, too."

"You ever stop talkin'?"

"I was hopin' you'd tell me more about yourself."

"I'd rather tell the undertaker where to bury you."

"You've given that some thought."

"You've earned it."

He smiled to himself. "You know...I usually have to work a little harder to keep a pretty girl thinkin' about me."

You stopped so suddenly that he nearly walked into you. "You listen here. I don't like you."

"I know."

"I don't think you're charming."

"I figured."

"I think you're a thief."

"That one ain't up for debate."

"And if you follow me another step, I'll put that Colt to better use than I did in the saloon."

For just a moment, the grin softened. "I believe you."

You turned and continued walking. He fell into step beside you anyway.

"You ain't much for discouragement, are you?"

"Nope."

"You oughta be."

"I've never been particularly good at takin' advice."

"You'll get yourself killed."

"Maybe."

"You oughta worry about yourself."

"I am."

You shot him a look.

"I'd hate for you to miss your chance to shoot me."

You groaned. "Lord, you're insufferable."

"So I've been told."

"You keep repeatin' yourself, Munson."

"I've noticed you keep listenin'."

Before you could fire back, his hand reached out, fingers closing lightly around your forearm.

"Hang on—"

You caught his wrist, twisted hard, and stepped beneath his arm, using his own momentum against him. In one smooth movement, Eddie stumbled forward until his shoulder met the hitching post with a dull thud, your hand still firmly controlling his wrist behind his back.

He blinked. "...Well."

You released him immediately, taking two steps back. "Don't."

He rolled his shoulder, more surprised than hurt. "I was just tryin' to get your attention."

"You had it."

"I can see that."

For the first time all evening, Eddie wasn't smiling while flirting; he was smiling because he was downright impressed. And a little turned on, but hey, can you blame him?

"You learn that from your old man?"

You said nothing, and that was answer enough. He rubbed his wrist absentmindedly before looking back at you.

"I've gotta say..."

You sighed. "What now?"

"I was interested before." He flashed that crooked grin again. "Now I'm downright fascinated."

You shook your head, muttering something about him being hopeless as you started back toward the road leading home.

This time, Eddie stayed where he was. He watched until you disappeared into the darkness beyond the last lantern on Main Street, grinning like a goddamn idiot.

The sun had barely cleared the horizon by the time you were already out in the barn.

The old Jersey stood patiently in her stall while you worked, her hide mottled with age and her hips more pronounced than they had been even a year ago. She'd given good milk once. Now, you were lucky to coax half a bucket from her.

It wasn't enough to keep a family afloat, not by a landslide, but it was something. You rested your forehead briefly against her side, letting out a slow breath as the steady rhythm of milk hitting the pail echoed through the quiet barn.

That was when you heard it, the sound of another horse.

You frowned. Your mare was already tied outside. The hoofbeats slowed, stopping just beyond the open barn doors.

"You know," a familiar voice called, "I was hopin' for a warmer welcome."

You closed your eyes. "...Of course."

Setting the bucket aside, you stood and turned. Eddie leaned casually against the fence, one hand resting on the reins of a chestnut heifer.

Your chestnut heifer.

Your heart lurched. "What're you doin' here?"

"Mornin' to you, too, Sweetheart."

You ignored him, brushing past to the animal instead. The heifer gave a soft, familiar low as you ran your hands over her neck, checking for injuries. She looked healthy, fed, and untouched.

"You brought her back."

"I did."

You looked up at him, suspicion settling in almost immediately. "Why?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Felt like it."

"I don't believe that for a second."

"Didn't expect you to."

You folded your arms. "So what's the catch?"

"No catch."

"You expect me to thank you?"

"I'd settle for you not threatenin' to shoot me before breakfast."

A reluctant huff escaped your nose before you could stop it, causing Eddie's eyebrows to lift.

"What?" You snapped.

"Nothin'. Just didn't know you had it in you to laugh."

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost hurt. "You're unbearable."

"And yet..." He gestured between the two of you. "Here we are."

You shook your head, leading the heifer toward the pasture.

"You know, most folks would've sold her by now."

You paused. "What?"

"The old Jersey."

His gaze drifted toward the weathered cow still standing patiently inside the barn. "She's got maybe another season left."

Your shoulders stiffened. "My pa raised her from a calf."

"I figured."

"You don't sell family."

You reached over the fence to scratch the heifer between her ears, smiling softly when she nudged your shoulder in return. "You gave me quite the scare, didn't you?"

Your voice had lost every ounce of the sharpness you'd used on Eddie. It was quiet and gentle, almost affectionate.

The heifer bumped your hand again, causing you to laugh under your breath. Only then did you realize someone was watching.

You glanced over, and Eddie hadn't taken his eyes off you.

"What?"

He shook his head slowly. "Nothin'."

"Mhm."

"I was just thinkin'."

"Dangerous pastime."

"It can be."

A crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I don't think you're nearly as mean as you pretend to be."

You snorted. "Are you forgetting I had you at point-blank range a day ago?"

"You did."

"I threatened to kill you."

"You sure did."

"I still might."

"I know." He pushed himself off the fence.

"But..." he said, nodding toward the heifer happily grazing beside you, "...I've got a feelin' you've got too soft a heart to actually pull the trigger."

Your smile vanished. "You don't know a damn thing about me."

"Not yet." He tipped the brim of his hat. "But I'm workin' on it."

Before you could think of another retort, he swung easily into the saddle. "I'll see you around."

"I sincerely hope not."

His laugh carried across the pasture as he turned his horse toward the road.

Your mother and little brother had left before sunrise, the wagon loaded with fresh bread, preserves, and the few eggs your remaining hens had managed to produce. They'd make the trip to the next town over, hoping to bring home enough money to stretch another week.

You'd stayed behind to mend fencing. The morning air was cool against your skin as you knelt beside a split fence post, hammer in one hand and a fistful of nails in the other.

You heard the horse long before you looked up. You smiled to yourself despite every intention of not doing so.

"Thought you were leavin'."

Eddie guided his horse through the open gate, a crooked grin already waiting for you.

"I was."

You drove another nail into the fence. "So what happened?"

He swung down from the saddle with practiced ease, dusting off his coat. "I found a reason to stick around a little while longer."

You snorted. "I can't imagine she's very bright."

"She's stubborn as hell."

"Sounds exhausting."

"It is." He looked directly at you. "I kinda like it."

You shook your head, trying very hard not to smile as you stood and brushed the dirt from your skirt. "So."

"So."

"You just wander onto people's property whenever the mood strikes?"

"Only pretty girls'."

"You've got a death wish."

"I've been told."

"You repeat yourself."

"I've noticed."

You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you this time. It was barely audible and so barely there, but Eddie caught it anyway.

"There it is again."

"Oh, hush."

"I knew you could smile."

"I smiled at the thought of hittin' you with this hammer."

"I'll take what I can get."

You rolled your eyes. "You're impossible."

"And yet you haven't asked me to leave."

"I've considered it."

"But?"

You looked around the farm. "You can stay awhile."

His smile softened. "I appreciate that."

The two of you wandered without much destination after that. He followed while you checked fencing, refilled the water troughs, and gathered what little produce the garden had managed to offer.

"So..." Eddie glanced toward the weathered barn. "Your pa built all this?"

You nodded. "Every bit of it."

"It shows."

You looked over at him. "What d'you mean?"

"Nothing's fancy." He reached out, running his hand along one of the fence rails. "But every board's where it's supposed to be."

"He always said if you're gonna build something, build it once."

"He sounds like a smart man."

"He was."

Eventually, you wandered farther out into the pasture, where tall grass swayed with the breeze. Eddie bent down suddenly.

"What're you doin'?"

He plucked a tiny yellow wildflower from the ground. "Hm."

"You stealin' from me again?"

"This one's legal."

"I'm fairly certain it's still my field."

"I'll pay taxes on it."

He stepped in front of you, twirling the flower between his fingers before carefully tucking it behind your ear. "There."

You stared at him. "...What?"

"It matches."

"The flower?"

"No." He smiled. "The attitude."

You shoved his shoulder. "You are so full of it."

He stumbled back dramatically. "I've been assaulted."

"You'll live."

"I don't know..." He clutched his chest. "...That one might've cracked a rib."

"It barely touched you."

"I bruise easily."

"You're an outlaw."

"And?"

"And somehow a little shove's what does you in?"

"It's tragic, I know."

A laugh burst from you before you could stop it, so loud and so very real that Eddie could help but beam at the sound.

"What?"

"Nothin'."

"Mhm."

"I was startin' to think that sound was a myth."

Heat crept into your cheeks. "You aren't funny."

"I wasn't tryin' to be."

Embarrassed, you reached up to flick the flower from behind your ear. Before you could, Eddie caught your wrist. This time...gently.

"You can leave it."

His thumb brushed absentmindedly against the back of your hand before he seemed to realize what he was doing. He let go almost immediately.

You looked down at your hands.

"So..." you said quietly. "You really oughta get goin'."

"I probably should."

"You know," Eddie said after a moment, "I don't remember the last time I stood still this long."

"That because you're always runnin' from the law?"

"Nah."

He looked out over the pasture. "...Just never had much reason to stop."

You folded your arms across your chest, eyeing him with mock suspicion. "What a charmer you are."

"I've been called worse."

"Oh, I'm sure." You nudged a loose rock with the toe of your boot. "I reckon you find a pretty girl in every town, throw around that smile, tell her she's different, then ride off before sunrise."

Eddie let out a quiet laugh. "So that's what you think of me?"

"I think you're an outlaw."

"Fair."

"And a flirt."

"Guilty."

"You've probably got women waitin' on you from here to Montana."

He scratched at the back of his neck. "...Can't say I do."

You raised an eyebrow. "Really."

"Really."

"I don't believe you."

"I know."

You started walking again, expecting him to fall into step beside you. He, in fact, did.

"I've danced with girls," he admitted after a moment. "Bought a few drinks. Shared a kiss or two."

"A kiss or two," you echoed.

"Maybe three."

You laughed through your nose. "My, aren't you the heartbreaker."

"Nah."

"No?"

He shook his head. "I don't stick around anywhere long enough."

"Hard to court somebody when you're wanted in half the territory."

"You could always stop robbin' people."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Oh, right."

He smiled again. "Exactly."

The two of you walked in silence for another minute before he spoke again.

"I meant what I said yesterday."

"Which part?"

"'Bout you."

You looked at him.

"I don't usually notice people."

You scoffed. "I find that hard to believe."

"I notice if somebody's dangerous."

His eyes met yours.

"Or interesting."

"And I'm both?"

"I think so."

You looked away first.

"You don't know me."

"I know enough."

"Oh?"

"You work harder than anyone else on this farm."

You frowned.

"You talk to the townsfolk more than you let on."

"I listen."

He shrugged.

"They all said the same thing."

"And what's that?"

"That after your pa passed..." His gaze drifted toward the barn. "...most figured your family would sell the place."

Your jaw tightened.

"They also said you'd never let that happen."

A breeze stirred between you, carrying the scent of fresh hay.

"I saw you mendin' that fence this mornin'."

"So?"

"You didn't replace the whole rail."

"There wasn't enough lumber."

"You carved a new notch and made the old one fit."

You blinked.

"You noticed that?"

"'Course I did. I notice a lot of things."

He smiled softly. "I noticed you've got calluses on your hands."

You instinctively tucked them behind your back.

"I noticed you always look over your shoulder before you leave a room."

You swallowed.

"I noticed you still wear your pa's necklace every day."

His voice had lost every trace of teasing.

"And..." he said quietly, "...I noticed you talk to every animal on this farm like they're old friends."

Heat crept into your cheeks. "I do not."

"You called that old Jersey 'sweet girl' this morning."

"I did not."

"You scratched her behind the ear and said, 'C'mon, sweet girl. Give me just a little more.'"

"...You heard that?"

"I was standin' ten feet away."

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. "That's mortifying."

"I thought it was adorable."

"It was not adorable."

"It absolutely was."

You peeked at him through your fingers. "You really don't quit, do you?"

He smiled that crooked, lopsided smile that somehow looked more sincere than cocky this time. "Not when I find somethin' worth stayin' for."

Word had spread quickly after the Hollow Creek Gang rode in late one autumn evening, expecting an easy score. By sunrise, they had turned tail and disappeared over the state line with fewer horses than they'd arrived with.

Nobody in town had missed who chased them out. It became something of an unspoken arrangement after that.

Sheriff Hopper remained the law, collecting taxes, settling disputes, and locking up the occasional drunk who got a little too friendly after payday. But whenever strangers with bad intentions started asking too many questions about the valley, they were met with a much simpler warning.

"Munson's territory."

It wasn't official; Hopper would've rolled his eyes if anyone suggested it was, but it worked.

The Blackwater Outfit still rode where they pleased. They still robbed railroad payrolls, wealthy cattle barons who squeezed every last penny out of smaller ranchers, and the occasional card game if Eddie was feeling particularly lucky.

Funny enough, the valley never seemed to lose another cow. Your farm changed, too. Not all at once, but little by little, day by day.

A bundle of fresh lumber appeared beside the barn one morning. A week later, Eddie showed up, claiming he had "accidentally" bought too much fencing and needed somewhere to put it.

Then, he painted the new chicken coop a bright shade of blue before realizing he'd used house paint instead of barn paint.

Your mother had stopped asking questions sometime around the third delivery. Instead, she'd simply shake her head whenever Eddie rode up the lane.

"That boy's impossible."

"He is," you'd agree. Then you'd walk outside to greet him anyway.

It became just as common to see Eddie's horse tied outside your barn as it was to see your own. Sometimes he'd help mend fences.

Other days, he'd spend hours pretending to help while somehow accomplishing very little besides distracting you from your work.

"You missed a spot."

You glanced over from where you were whitewashing the side of the barn. "I ain't painted there yet."

"Oh." He nodded thoughtfully. "...Carry on."

You laughed. "I've never met a lazier man."

"Lazier?" He pressed a hand against his chest. "I am deeply offended."

"You've been sittin' on that fence for near an hour."

"I've been supervisin'."

"You've been napping."

"They're remarkably similar."

One evening, you found Eddie sitting atop the split-rail fence overlooking the pasture, lazily spinning your father's old pocketknife between his fingers.

"You know that's mine."

"I was holdin' it for you."

"You stole it."

"I borrowed it."

"You've got a funny definition of borrowing."

"I've got a funny definition of lots of things."

You climbed onto the fence beside him, and after a moment of appreciating a day's work, he cleared his throat.

"I been thinkin'."

"That sounds dangerous."

"It usually is."

He smiled to himself before growing uncharacteristically serious. "I don't much care for ridin' anymore."

You turned to look at him. "What?"

"I used to think if I stayed in one place too long..." He shrugged. "...I'd become someone easy to catch."

"And now?"

"Now..."

His eyes wandered across the fields, the barn, the farmhouse. Your mother hanging laundry across the clothesline, your little brother chasing chickens he'd never catch.

Then, they found you. "...Now I think I'd rather be easy to find."

"Eddie..."

"I ain't sayin' I'll stop bein' me."

"I wouldn't ask you to."

"I know." He reached over, absentmindedly taking your hand. "I just..."

He laughed quietly. "...I like comin' home." Home.

You looked down at your joined hands before squeezing his fingers. "I've got somethin' to tell you."

"Oh?"

"You were right."

His grin appeared instantly. "I usually am."

"I did smile in the saloon."

He laughed. "I knew it."

"But..."

You leaned over just enough to kiss him, slow and soft, sweet enough to stop every clever remark he'd been about to make.

When you pulled away, he looked genuinely speechless. "...Well."

"Speechless?"

"You might've finally managed it."

"I'll cherish the moment."

He laughed again before pulling you back for another kiss.

eddie fr.

i hope you all enjoyeddddd<33

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[chapterswritten]

Description: Eddie Munson has a crush, the only issue is he can’t even look you in the eye nevermind talk to you face to face. His solution? Taking advantage of your makeshift therapy clinic that you run in the abandoned toilet block round the back of Hawkins High School.

Request here! Hope you enjoy this.. ♥️ w/c: 6k

Pairing: Shy!Eddie Munson x Outcast!Reader.

Tags: Strangers to friends to lovers, romance, mystery.

⚠️: Mentions of Disordered Eating! Death, grief, Two cuties, fluff, angst, bullying, issues with self worth and confidence, loneliness.

Fluff, angst and a happy ending. My blog is 18+ MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE

Authors note: I am currently using Ellipsus to write and oh my god trying to transfer my work over is a nightmare! Anyways, rant over… Re-blogs and comments are ALWAYS welcome in this house and I thank you for your time xoxox

Almost.

One of the more unfortunate words to exist within the English language.

I almost made it. I almost kissed you. I almost told you.

For Eddie, it was gutting. He almost made it out of this hellish tomb. He almost flew but the sun had other plans for him. So, he fell, and when his plummeting body hit that concrete he wasn’t sure if he could get back up.

He almost didn’t….

Until he met you.

The quiet girl who often only existed within the realms of his daydreams. The girl who radiated light, not in the harsh way of the beating sun but like the comforting glow of the full moon at night. The one person who made Eddie’s palms sweat and his throat swell. He couldn’t even manage a meek ‘Hello,’ in passing, too shy. Too undeserving. So, his eyes would glide along the floor until he caught only a glimpse of your feet and even after you were long gone he was unable to look back over his shoulder at you. He could smell you though, the freshness of your perfume mixed with your shampoo if you ad washed your hair that day. Little things that kept the wheel of his imagination churning on.

It’s not that you were popular, actually, you were quite the opposite. An outcast, just like him, only prettier and a hell of a lot better at avoiding their loathsome stares and targeted brutality. You hid it better, suppressed it until you could walk over it, whereas Eddie couldn’t help but be ridiculously vocal about it. He didn’t care, not entirely, and he was nearly out of this shit hole any ways. Make waves or drown, right?

The only way Eddie was able to pluck up the courage to talk to you was through the thin wall of a bathroom stall where you would meet every Wednesday just as the final bell blew to dismiss everyone home. Over the last few months you had started a somewhat therapeutic clinic in the abandoned bathroom block hidden at the back of the high school. Now the forgotten space was used for the occasional smokers and substance takers. You claimed the middle stall as your own, cleaning it up slightly and treating it as your office. Sometimes you’d eat lunch there if you were feeling particularly vulnerable that day. The cheerleaders could be mean sometimes. Especially if provoked.

Outwardly you were overlooked and trodden on by your peers, but this separate identity of yours was praised and championed. It was strange, living both lives apart from the other, but you liked the anonymity. The shadows felt safe.

Some visited you regularly and when they couldn’t afford the $5 fee they would bring you other items of value like a fresh pack of ballpoint pens or something they had baked at home and brought for you to try. A lot of them were sweet, truly, but quite a few couldn’t handle the truth. You’d been yelled at numerous times, spat at through the walls and rattled to the core. They came around, eventually, all they needed was time and acceptance came with that.

For example, when you explained to Chrissy Cunningham that her reasons for feeling ill after eating wasn’t something necessarily physical but something punishing her mind. You suggested that she looked into the disorders of bulimia and anorexia and encouraged her to identify what caused her flare ups and triggered her illness. She had wailed, cursing your bloodline as she fled the building in tears. The following week she returned with a new outlook and a readiness to try to get better. You had helped her to reach out to a professional councillor for treatment and that’s what your message was. Healing took time and effort but it all started with opening up to someone worth trusting.

You slowly became that person for the students of Hawkins High.

—

Eddie was mistrusting at first. A nervous clam that was hard to crack open. At the beginning, your sessions together consisted of weighty silence with the occasional breath as one of you felt the urge to talk. More often than not people just need to sit with someone nonjudgmental. To know they are there and they aren’t alone. You liked those moments too, you felt allowed to exist as yourself with him. Unmasked.

“Hey…” The word left Eddie’s heart scrambling in his chest, as if he had done something wrong. He knew he was nervous over nothing but he couldn’t shake his need for control. If he opened up to you he would be totally exposed. Naked and willing. Unable to take it back. Unable to hide anymore.

The sound of denim rustling and a lightweight chain chiming hit your ears as Eddie fidgeted next to you, evidently uncomfortable and searching frantically for something to ground him. You expected this session to be no different to the previous.

“Please, don’t feel pressured to speak. We can take this at your own pace.” In front of you your eyes spotted a small beetle scuttling across the dirty tiled floor and you internally squirmed at the small creature.

“Sorry…” He choked as he dragged his hands through his hair, pushing his dampening fringe back and away from his sweaty forehead, “This, uh, this is new to me… I’m sorry.”

Instinctively you wanted to reach out and comfort him, “Don’t worry, me too. Sort of…” A soft smile found your face as Eddie released a sigh of relief into the still air.

“I cant imagine this is fun for you,” He shifted against the closed toilet seat lid, settling into his newfound welcome, “Listening to people bitch and moan must exhaust you.”

“Well, in a weird and self-indulgent way…” Momentary silence captivated you and you contemplated if you should show this side of yourself. You, more than anyone, knew the meaningfulness of relatability and how it only takes one thing to spark a deep conversation between two people. So, in a second of brave stupidity, you shared, hoping that the person on the other side of the wall felt a sense of belonging, “It makes me feel better about my own life. Knowing now that other students here struggle similarly to me makes me feel less of a target. I can ignore their taunts and eye rolls… I can see the human in them. Even when they don’t feel the same about me.”

Although Eddie couldn’t see you nor you him, his eyes slumped with appreciation and little by little his body relaxed into your presence, “Your empathy amazes me. Wish I could be as considerate.”

“Has high school been kind to you?” Deep down you knew the answer, your body could sense when someone like you settled down beside you. It’s like the souls spoke before anyone managed to open their mouths.

“Was hell kind to Satan when he first arrived?” A rhetorical question he expected you to laugh at but you remained unswayed, “No… high school has not been my best years. I’ll admit that good shit has came from my time here but… everything else is memorable in the worst way.”

“That’s why we focus on the good. Acknowledge the bad but don’t let it consume you.” He smiled then and rested his head against the adjoining wall. Through his nose he breathed your scent until it captivated him fully, lodging the breath until he was ready to reply.

His eyes watered, “I’m a little angry… no, fuck that. I’m really fucking angry. I’m so angry and I have been for years.”

For the first time in hours you were genuinely taken aback by this confession. But you remain voiceless, allowing him to vent.

“I’m not a bad guy,” He said it like he was trying to convince himself, “I look after people… I try to make sure no one feels the way that I have and yet you have people like douchebag Carver who treats people like they’re dogshit and he is worshipped like a God. Why is that? Why do people just… hate me..” It broke your heart to hear the croak in his voice and after allowing the emotion to level only then did you choose to respond.

“People… they often disregard what they don’t understand. They fear the unknown and the strange,” You searched for the words, chewing your bottom lip, “Jason is what they know, they find comfort in him because they have been brainwashed to believe that’s what the ‘norm’ should be. Surprisingly, not everyone has a kind heart. Not everyone cares.”

“They should…” He grumbled to himself, his polish chipped nails coming to pick the skin around his cuticles, “If people were more like you I think I would’ve actually gave a damn about school.”

The compliment seeped into your brain and you banked it there for a later visit, trying to remain as professional as possible and stay within the tender moment, “I’m sure you have people that cherish you and what you do for them. Like the people you have adopted. They may not treat you like a God but they treat you like a human being.”

Eddie bit back a loud chuckle then, his memory flickering to his role as Dungeon Master and how his little sheepie’s did treat him as a God during his meticulous campaigns. More importantly, though, he realised how right you were and he respected your way with words. Under normal circumstances he would be tongue tied right now and walking away in the opposite direction of you. He knew he'd be making the effort of returning to see you again.

Eddie slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees and using his fist to hold up his tired head, “I feel like I could tell you anything.”

You sung a happy hum, “You can, if you feel comfortable.”

A moment of suspense passed, “Can I ask you something?”

“Okay.” Your stomach fluttered with uncertainty.

“Has high school been kind to you?” There was something special about this stranger. Something that made you feel unveiled and safe. No one had cared enough to ask you questions, but here you two were, defying the odds.

“Not as kind as it has been to others and not as brutal as it has treated many more unfortunate than I. I’m sort of in a grey area… I know people but I don’t particularly have many friends. I guess I’ve survived high school but not conquered it.” The truth left you feeling lighter but with a sourness lingering on your tongue that made you frown. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie was also saddened on the other side of the stall.

“Don’t lose hope, there are bound to be many quiet admirers that lurk these halls looking at you…” Him being one of them.

“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t want to be admired. Besides, only a few months left before graduation and in a couple of years none of this will matter. I’ll forget about it…” This time it was you that was trying to convince yourself of that statement. Maybe with time the memories of the torment will fade but the scars will remain. You’ll never look at skirts the same way and your hair won’t be pulled up into a ponytail for at least seven years. White sneakers will make you grimace and vanilla will always smell foul to you.

You’ll move on from Hawkins High but you wouldn’t recover.

“Unfortunately, our time is up… I’m sorry I spoke so much.” Eddie shook his head, alarmed at your discomfort.

“Trust me, you have no idea how much I enjoyed today. And hey, we actually talked this time. Progress.” You could hear the grin on his face and you couldn’t contain the heat spreading across your cheeks and nose as you smiled down into your notebook resting on your lap. The page open but blank. How charming.

“I’ll see you soon?” You asked, unsure.

“See ya next Wednesday, Doc. Oh, and here.” Beneath the cubicle, just at the small gap above the floor, his hand reached through with a $10 bill and as he hovered the money there you took notice of the unique silver rings adorning his fingers and the black watch strapped around his wrist.

“Oh, that’s too much—”

“Consider it a deposit for next time.” After ensuring the money met your fingertips Eddie exits the stall promptly, leaving you alone once more but this time with a amused grin ghosting your face and longing for more time.

You were growing fond of this client.

—

The sides of your ribs were in stitches, sore from laughing at countless sloppy jokes. You weren’t sure how you ended up here, spending hours after class with the same client twice a week now, but here you were. Tears streaming hot down your cheeks that also ached from your prolonged smile.

“Honest, these sessions help me get through the day… I look forward to them every time.” Talking was easy now, carefree with him and yet you still were unsure of his identity. Only hints of him existed in your mind. His staple rings, his black watch and the fresh minty smell of… shaving foam.

“Glad I could be of some assistance, Sweetheart.” His new nickname for you. He’d call you it constantly, the same adoration radiating from it each time. You’d never grow tired of it, never stop thinking about it or dreaming about it…

You’d miss him when you’d leave for home. Things would happen that you desperately longed to tell him about; like how your favourite mug had sadly lost its handle during a ferocious battle in the kitchen sink or how every time you thought about him you decided to write it down in your notebook. Those tallies went from once and turned into twelve times and twelve times turned into twenty-four. You had to know his name… you wanted to know him more.

Eddie was no different in comparison. It pained him to walk away from that stall, every time his feet would falter beneath him and stick to the tattered floor. He contemplated waiting there for you on the other side wearing nothing but a huge smile and a wild mop of hair. But, like a coward, he would run— not walk, but run to the parking lot and hurl himself into his van. You had come to know him more than anyone. You were burrowed beneath his skin now and there was no escaping you. He would see you in morning clouds on his drive to school. He’d search for you in every crowded room and supermarket isle. It was unbearable… he needed to know you.

“Y'know, I’m not taking your money today. Or anymore, for that matter.” You teased and your ink covered fingertip drew little circles on your thigh.

Eddie huffed, “Listen, it’s either you take it or I’m leavimg it on the floor for the roaches. You decide, Sweetheart.” His thumb toyed with the flint of a lighter, flicking the mechanism and occasionally lighting the flame.

A gasp escapes you, “That isn’t fair! I consider us friends now… you don’t pay friends for their time.” You chew the inside of your cheek as Eddie hums teasingly.

“Hmmm, I dunno. You still listen to my crap, which there is a lot more of, by the way. Wouldn’t feel right letting you take on that burden for free.”

A burden. He could never… not you.

“I like you— I like talking to you! I mean… uhm. It's nice, talking to you. I don’t mind it…” Your skin erupts in a warmth comparable to lava and you slap a palm to your forehead repeatedly.

Silly girl. Silly, silly girl.

You felt like screaming.

Eddie, however, has frozen to the spot. His restless limbs now like concrete as he processes what you’ve just said slowly. He couldn't believe it, but regardless, he beams and responds with a foggy brain, “I like you, too. I… I like this.”

The rigid moment dissolves into something diffused and for a long pause you both sit there. Basking in it.

“I… I nearly left last year, y’know? It’s hard to believe that I could’ve missed out on this.” Eddie’s gaze is trained on his clasped hands and his voice had a sombreness to it.

“Missed out on what?”

“You. This…” Your eyes flicker to the wall separating you, almost expecting to meet his eyes, but all you’re offered is old graffiti done in thick black sharpie.

‘Michelle is a whore! Yuck!’

Poor Michelle….

“What happened?” You quiz after your train of thought decided to take a detour.

He gulped, his mouth suddenly dry, “I met this girl at one of my gigs… she was an intern at one of the bigger labels and God, I was so close to getting a CD to her. But…” He punctured his bottom lip with his two front teeth, the memories rawer than they were seconds ago.

“But…?” You try to coax him in a way that was supportive.

“My uh… my Dad showed up. He fucked it… he fucked everything. Plus, Paige, the girl… she went off grid. Must’ve changed her number, or something.” Your jaw ticks and you blink away the water from your eyes. Of course there was another girl, how could you have been so foolish to believe this could be anything than what it is.

As if he could read your mind Eddie interrupted your self destruction, “It was strictly business. I hardly knew her… even now, I can't really recall her face.” You smoothed down your sweater, something you done often when you needed comfort. To self soothe.

“Your Dad… you haven’t really spoke about him.” Eddie now chewed on his thumb nail, picking off the polish and flicking it away with his tongue.

“He’s a total asshat. He was holed up for most of my childhood for petty crime and shortly after I moved in with my Uncle Way.. My Uncle William.” He regretted it as soon as he said it. Why didn’t he tell you the truth? Why didn’t he tell you about Wayne?

“Your Uncle? Why not your Mom?” The air shifted instantly to something tangible, you could feel it in the seconds it took Eddie to respond. Clearly, it was something not many people had asked him about before.

“She… she uh…” He almost couldn’t say it, “She died when I was young… terminal illness. It was a bit easier because I was only six but man did I miss her.” The frog jumped in his throat before he could conclude his sentence and you gave him a few moments to collect himself.

He still missed her. Every day….

“Tell me about her? What was her name—”

“Elizabeth.” He answered instantly through a teary smile, “Beth, for short. What my Dad called her…”

“I bet she was beautiful.”

“Oh, you’ve no idea,” He exclaims through a pant of a laugh that was equal parts love and loss, “Life with her was so… bright.” He remembered her as if it was only yesterday he had lost her…

He chuckles, “I remember this one time, after they had been to the grocery store, my Mom and I played a trick on my Dad,” He sniffled, his sinuses clearing, “I had asked for a bowl of cereal all the while my Mom had hid the milk in the cabinet. We watched my Dad search for the carton for a whole five minutes before we told him.”

You giggled, able to see the scene play out in your mind. Only the characters were faceless and slightly blurry…

“He was unimpressed but we laughed and laughed…” His giggles faded, “If I could go back I would in a heartbeat. There’s so much I wanna say to her…”

You could only imagine the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders. How he has carried that with him through his formative years into early adulthood. If anyone had an excuse to be an asshole, it was him. Yet, he remained kind even after being beaten and bruised.

“I feel guilty sometimes… because sometimes I forget about her. I.. forget my grief.” He breaks down then, a sob strangling his throat that he violently tries to swallow.

“That’s normal. That… that happens. Grief ebbs and flows… it comes in waves. Some stronger than the others.” The palm of your hand rests against the cubicle wall, reaching out for his touch and your temple follows to lean against it.

“I wonder if life would’ve been different with her here… I question if I would've turned out somewhat normal.” Eddie was calmer now, letting his emotions wash over him and away again.

“Normal is overrated.”

“It is. I'm sure she’d agree, too,” Suddenly exhausted he collapses back on the covered toilet seat, letting his back collide with the water tank, “I swear I can still smell the pancakes she’d make in the morning. Only on a Sunday as a treat before the school week but wow… best fucking pancakes I’d ever had. Nothing compares.”

You laughed softly, “Sounds like you need to learn how to make a mean pancake.”

“I definitely do.”

“Maybe you’ll let me taste test one…” A desperate attempt of yours to drive the friendship further.

“Maybe I will, Sweetheart. Maybe I will.” His voice drops low, insecure and pensive.

“Next time… can we ditch the stalls? I’d really like to meet you—”

“You have met me.” He fires back.

“Fine! I'd like to see you. Know you…” Now it was your turn to shell up. Terrified of what he might say.

“…Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, yes. Okay. But don’t look too disappointed when you discover who is behind this charm and raw sex appeal.”

You chuckled, “I don't think you could ever disappoint me.”

We’ll see about that…

“I have to head on home now, but I’ll see you on Friday? 3.30pm at the… bench?”

You knew the place, It’s where all the jocks and the cheerleaders met for their not so discreet drug deals and tasteless hookups.

“I’ll see you then.” You tried not to sound so excited though it proved impossible.

“It’s a date.”

—

Wednesday evening through to Friday was nothing short of tortuous and when Thursday night eventually rolled around, after many anticipated hours, you couldn’t will sleep with all the noise parading around in your head. Trumpets of doubt and drums of triumph.

You stayed up late into the early hours of dawn, tossing and turning and rehearsing the perfect conversation filled with witty one liners and blushing cheeks. Giddily you pictured a kiss... slow and sensual. And a embrace that blanketed you in fulfilment. It had you smiling up at your darkened ceiling, your eyes watching the blades of the fan swirl around slowly. During that girlish moment you also found yourself reminded of the other way which this could go. You tried to prepare for the worst outcome; the disappointment.

What if it was him riddled with regret on his face?

What if he was repulsed by what he saw?

These lonely thoughts became the downward spiral that robbed you of any rest at all. In fact, it inspired you to leave the warmth of your bed at 5:00am and begin getting ready for the day ahead. Classes weren’t until 9:00am but you couldn’t stop yourself, you had to do something. Shave your legs, pluck your eyebrows and scrub your skin until smooth.

From an outside perspective you look utterly insane in that bathroom, doing the unthinkable at that hour in the morning, but you struggled to find reasons to care. You’d show up at that bench today looking your absolute best if it was the last thing you did.

Walking down the traffic stricken hallway you met each fleeting face with suspicion and a quirked eyebrow. Your brain rushing around to string the pieces of the puzzle together before the end of the school day.

It was one of your many flaws, your need to know the future before it presents itself.

Frustration found you in your first class of the day when you couldn’t focus on a single thing spewing from the sub teachers mouth. Your pupils too busy darting to the clock above the door every five seconds and watching the minutes tick by.

9:30, 9:45, 9:47, 9:50, 9:53, 10:00…

Pathetically, you wanted to scream at the mechanism to hurry up.

After discovering that your wishful thinking wasn’t going to make the clock hands move any faster you slumped your body down over your desk, using your open textbook as your pillow as your eyelids sunk over your eyes and you drifted to sleep for a short while.

Eddie was unable to contain his excitement and even without an ounce of sleep he was still able to climb the walls with buckets of energy possessing him. Whenever he would see you he’d nearly combust into flames, he felt like a little kid in a candy store, grinning at your choice of outfit and the makeup around your eyes. You did that for him and he was absolutely enthralled by it. The party commented on his ridiculously good mood at lunch and how out of character it was for a campaign as gut wrenching as today. Then, they thought the worst when Eddie revealed that Hellfire was postponed that evening.

“Who died? Was it Carver? Are we celebrating?” Gareth investigated with a michevious smirk across the cafeteria but Eddie said nothing. He wanted to keep you a secret for now. Until he was sure… until he was certain that you wouldn’t run away as soon as you saw him.

“None of your business, ladies.” He chomped into the side of a red apple, his eyes scoping the canteen as he searched for you. Sure enough, he found you with ease near the lunch ladies where you chatted away with them. The older women smiled and laughed with you and you picked away at the slop on your plate. Pushing the mush around before you decided dessert was due.

His heart picked up to a record breaking pace and he felt like he could run a mile right there and then with the adrenaline flooding his blood stream.

“Jesus, Eddie, nervous much?” He hadn’t noticed that his bouncing leg was shaking the entirety of the lunch table. Jolting lunch trays and sodas as if they were experiencing an earthquake.

“No? I’m excited… for the campaign tomorrow.”

“If you were that excited we would be doing it today. What gives?” Dustin really could get on his nerves sometimes.

“Like I said, Dusty-Bun, it’s none of your—”

“Is this another Chrissy Cunningham special?” Gareth wiggles his eyebrows and Eddie flinches, disgusted.

“What? No. Ew, that was a one time deal and nothing happened—”

“Then who is it you’re meeting later?” Jeff asks, leaning in closer to Eddie, “You can tell us. Promise… we’ll be nice.”

“Okay. That’s it. Fuck you guys, I’m leaving,” He kicks out his seat, the metal legs screeching across the floor, “You,” He singles out Mike, “Through my lunch away.”

Mike meets him with a nod and an eye roll and Eddie shoots off from the table, fleeing away to somewhere more private where he can collect himself and his thoughts. His excitement was slowly starting to twist and expand into anxiety and the longer he waited for the end of the day to arrive the more difficult it got.

He started to picture your face, contorted with terror and disgust when you realise after all this time it’s been him on the other side of that stall.

It was funny, actually, because now more than ever he wanted to sit in that cubicle and talk to you about it. About his raging feelings for you.

He couldn’t, he knew that and it drove him fucking crazy.

When the final bell sounded, signalling the weekend, you weren’t the only person eager to make it out of the bloated hallways plagued with mild B.O. and booming voices. Instead of the main entrance at the front of the school that undoubtedly would be mobbed with a stampede of students you opted for the quieter side door that lead straight out towards the woods.

After fighting your way through the whipping branches and soft ground you were a whole twenty minutes early when you arrived at the table, too jittery to wait for him to meet you there. You needed time to prepare, to pace around and sort through your earlier thoughts and ideas.

What was good enough to say? What was totally unusable and lame?

These were the things you needed to know.

In the time it took for the twenty minutes to pass you had already talked yourself out of leaving on four different occasions and around the picnic table you had paved an evident path through the leaves in a huge circle. You spoke to yourself aloud, losing track of all time and meaning. You were calmer now but you also hadn’t even stopped to question if he were coming or not.

That’s when you decided to pace in the other direction which drags a unexpected yelp from your throat and causes one of your hands to fly up and clutch at your pounding heart in your chest as you nearly collide into someone at full speed.

“Oh god, Sorry! I didn’t see you— Oh, Eddie. Hi! Are you… are you meeting someone here?” You knew he used this spot regularly for quick visits with his clientele and through avoiding his gaze you shift down to admired his hands, “I can totally leave and come… back… wait…” You trail off, your eyes clocking the black watch on his wrist and the rings decorating his fingers.

“Eddie?” Your blown eyes find the shy smile teetering on his lips. If he didn’t know any better he may mistake your surprise for horror.

“Surprise, Sweetheart…” There goes all his confidence, out the fucking window.

“Wait—” you squint at him, “Your Uncles name isn’t William.”

Slowly, the hornets in his chest dissolve, “Correct.”

“It’s Wayne. Wayne Munson—”

“Which is exactly why I couldn’t tell you. You’re too smart, you would’ve figured me out instantly.” You beamed up at him, getting lost in the depths of his eyes.

“You’re… taller than I remember.” Eddie shrugs his jacket from his shoulders, tossing it onto the bench.

“It’s been a long time since we spoke, and possibly forever since we were this close to one another,” Suddenly coy you take a small step away from him but Eddie matches the step towards you, “That wasn’t a complaint. Just an observation…”

Like how he observed the the pink in your face that definitely was unrelated to the makeup touched gently onto your features.

“Are you… disappointed?” You couldn’t look at him. Why couldn’t you look a him? He may be the most handsome man you’ve laid eyes on in this dump of a town and you couldn’t muster the strength to look at his perfect face—

“Me?” He chuckles lightheartedly, “Sweetheart, I was about to ask you the same question.”

With caution his fingers tilt your chin up until he can see the mesmerising colour of your eyes, “You have got to be the textbook definition of perfect If I've ever seen one.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m serious!” He exclaims, “Don’t give me that sass, y’hear? I might grow to like it too much.”

He was relentless, like the prickling warmth scorching your entire body, “I.. I’m so relieved that it’s you.” You confess and Eddie melts, nearly succumbing to gravity.

His Cheshire Cat smile goes straight to your head, “Yeah?”

“Definitely. If it was anyone else I think I may have ran for the hills by now…” You gnaw on the inside of your check.

“Hey, me too… me too,” All too quickly his fingers tuck a fallen strand of hair behind your ear before his touch is gone again. Leaving you yearning for more, “Shall we sit down?”

Your thighs settle against the warped wood of the bench, cold against the blazing skin through your jeans, “So… Eddie Munson.”

“In the flesh.” He fidgets with his arms, crossing them and uncrossing them over his chest.

“Did you know it was me? Through the wall.”

“The whole time.” He said it so casually it made your head spin at x2 speed.

“No way, you couldn’t have—”

“Mhm, I did,” He smiles down at his clasped hands outstretched on the table in front of him, “Did you suspect it was me? Did you have any ideas…?”

“Nope. Not a clue… only reason I knew it was you right now was because of your rings. And your watch,” You nod down towards the items, “When you’d pass me money through the stall I would see them. Catch glimpses…”

He clapped, “Very good, Detective. Very good…”

You bow where you sit, angling yourself forward from your hips and tipping you’re imaginary hat towards him, “Thank you, kind sir.”

Fuck, Eddie was smitten.

“Next time we hang out we should hit Benny’s diner… not as good as it once was but I think the pancakes are decent enough…” Your body stills for a moment, not rigidly but motionless enough to peak concern from Eddie, “What? Do I have something on my face—”

“Are you asking me out? On a date…” This time you took great pleasure in watching Eddie’s face glow in a colour similar to a tomato.

“Possibly… maybe…” He grabs a piece of his hair, hiding part of his face behind it, “Yes.”

“Well… I’d also like to add to that invitation, if I may?” Sitting here with him felt so natural. So… meant to be.

“Please do.”

“Pancakes at Benny’s and a movie later in the night?” The sunlight peeks through the trees and illuminates your eyes in a luminosity Eddie can only describe as ethereal.

“Sounds great—”

“The catch is, though… next time you have to make the pancakes. And I get to eat them.” Your posture straightens and Eddie nods whilst he chuckles.

“Okay. Sold, to the pretty girl with the remarkable eyes.” His attempt at an English accent catches you totally off guard and you burst into laughs, your hand shooting up to cover your open lips.

“Where on Earth did that come from?”

“I don’t know! You make me so nervous… next I’ll be pulling a rabbit out of a hat.” The giggles continued at an alarming rate and you feared you may run out of breath soon.

With a huge sigh, “I love this.”

I love you…

You thought but didn’t say.

“I love it, too. Love our time together, Sweetheart. Wish I could spend every second here with you…” Your brain doesn’t register his hand holding yours until after he ceased talking and looking down at the limbs intertwined had your heart leaping and singing with joy.

“Maybe this can be our new spot… amongst many other places.” The suggestion is punctuated by a soft squeeze from Eddie’s fingers.

“I think I’d really like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah… I’d like that a lot,” He pauses and you see in his eyes the gears turning, “Fridays are campaign days, though… is that cool with you?”

“Perhaps you can teach me the ways of Dungeons and Dragons…? I’d love to see the master at work,” God, you knew just what to say, “Once I’ve learned the ropes I could possibly join the club? Maybe we can have some solo adventures together, too.” You’d winked.

And his brain nearly exploded.

“Deal.”

“Deal?—”

“Yes, yes! Deal! Say no more because I am all in, pretty girl.”

And for those incredible remaining hours together you giggled and snorted like there was no tomorrow. No one else existed but you and him and slowly, then all at once you came to realise that….

High school was kind to you, after all.

[5lutforeddie]

"Hey, babe! Take this picture for us?" 🤣

[athenas-rose]

Are You An Angel?

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 1k words

warnings: concussion, memory loss trope, fluff, injuries,

When your boyfriend wakes up with a concussion, with no clue who you are, he immediately starts flirting with the pretty girl sitting beside his hospital bed

The first thing Steve heard when he woke up was your voice. “Steve?” Spoken soft and carefully, like you were afraid speaking any louder would scare him.

His eyelids fluttered open, the fluorescent lights overhead made him squint before his gaze slowly settled on the person sitting beside his bed.

It was a girl, a really, really pretty girl at that. He blinked once, then twice to confirm he wasn’t in some dream. “Hi.” He exhaled.

Your face immediately lit up, leaning just a bit closer. “Stevie.”

You reached for his hand, but Steve instinctively pulled it back an inch, more confused than frightened. “…Do I know you?”

The room went silent, Robin who had been leaning against the wall with crossed arms let out a squeak. “Uh-oh.”

You stared at him for a second, before a laugh bubbled out of you. “Are you joking around with me?”

He frowned apologetically, everything in his mind just felt so fuzzy. “I’m sorry, I feel like I should know you.”

You shook your head, still smiling despite the slight concern sitting in your chest. “Obviously you know me, Stevie.”

He studied your face like he was trying to solve the worlds hardest puzzle. Your eyes that held something almost similar to affection, your contagious smile, the way you looked at him like you’ve known him forever.

Even after racking through his memories, the ones that still remained at least, nothing came up. Then his eyebrows slowly lifted. “Are you an angel?” He blurted.

You blinked, mouth agape. “What?”

“I mean,” his cheeks flushed, for a second he had thought he was dead, that was the only explanation as to why a beautiful girl like you was standing above him. “You’re really pretty.”

Robin groaned, this was a romantic movie she had not signed up for. “Oh god.”

Steve ignored her completely. “I think I’d remember someone as special as you.”

Your smile only grew, ducking your head shyly. “You think so?” You whispered.

“I know so.” He nodded seriously. “There’s absolutely no chance I’d forget a girl like you.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing, Robin snorted so hard she nearly doubled over. Steve looked between you two confused. “What?” He still didn’t understand what was so funny.

You tilted your head at him mischievously. “So, what do you think we’re doing here?” You randomly asked.

He glanced around the hospital bed before turning back to you. “Are we on a date?” He guessed.

You couldn’t hold it back anymore, losing your cool as laughter flowed out of you. “It’s a…pretty weird place for a date though,” he mentioned.

You wiped a tear from your eye. “They’re not exactly romantic.” You added.

Steve smiled sheepishly. “But did it work?”

“Did what work?” Your brows pulled together.

“The flirting.” He finished like it was obvious. Even while concussed, he still fell back into his player ways.

He really was putting on a show for you. “Yeah, Stevie. You’ve still got it.” You reassured.

He quietly celebrated with a tiny fist pump against the blanket. “Nice,” he praised himself. You finally reached over and gently took his hand, this time, he only stared at you with wide brown eyes.

His fingers immediately curled around yours before he looked down at them. “So,” you started, knowing the reveal would send him into an absolute frenzy. “I’m your girlfriend.”

His mouth actually fell open, features frozen with shock. “No way.”

“Mhm,” you hummed back, not bothering to hide the amusement from your face.

“You mean to tell me,” Steve backtracked. “That I’m—” he pointed at himself. “Dating you?”

“Last I checked, you’re my boyfriend.” You shrugged.

Steve’s gaze studied your face, looking for any hints that you were fooling him, then landed on your joined hands again, then back to your face. “I’m your boyfriend.” He repeated. “I asked you out?”

“And you were very nervous in doing so.” You stated. “But I accepted anyway.”

Steve looked at you with an astonished smile. “I must’ve been the luckiest guy alive.” He shook his head.

“You still are.” He smiled so brightly at your words, it made your heart ache.

A minute later, after the nurse finished checking his pupils and stepped out again, Steve quietly scooted over in the small hospital bed, wincing only a little.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Making room for you.” He pointed out, peeling back the blanket.

“It won’t fit the two of us.” You sighed, even though you wanted nothing more than to cuddle up to him.

He patted the mattress, still not convinced. “I might not remember you.” His voice softened. “But I know I feel better when you’re close.”

There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in his voice, only clear, honest certainty. You carefully climbed onto the edge of the bed beside him without another word, trying not to jostle his shoulder.

The second you settled, he made a happy noise of contentment. “Yup, this feels right.” He nodded.

You rested your head lightly against his shoulder. “It does?” You whispered.

Steve intertwined your hands again, the touch was more comforting this time than surprising. “I don’t remember loving you.” Your heart squeezed.

“But,” he murmured. “I remember what it feels like to love you.”

You looked up to find him smiling at you with the same hopelessly in love expression he’d always worn. Lifting yourself slightly, you press a gentle kiss against his forehead.

The memories would come back soon enough, but until then, Steve was enjoying falling in love you all over again.

[beasbrain]

eddie is always being written as the dominant type but istg this is how i see him

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTScbsEd6/

WAIT YOU ARE SO RIGHT…eddie is so eric forman coded

[my-love-all-mine]

۶ৎ You don’t like his motorcycle!

Jason Todd x fem!reader

summary: Jason had finally asked you out, he had planned everything, though one thing seems to get in between your date…

warnings: based off of this request, fluff, one shot, down bad!jason

The first time you agreed to go out with Jason on a date, he was beyond excited.

Jason planned everything meticulously. From the little restaurant he picked out, to the necklace he got you as a gift in his pocket. But the real star of the night would be his motorcycle. Yeah, maybe Dick’s words might’ve gotten to him, and maybe he was trying to impress you a little too hard with that bike.

All he could hear was Dick’s voice saying, “Chicks dig motorcycles, Jay.”

To which Jason cussed him out for saying, of course. But he’s honestly too desperate right now to not try and give it a shot.

You came out of your building just on time, all dolled up with your hair made and wearing your favourites dress.

He stopped dead in his tracks, admiring you in awe.

Oh god he really can’t fuck this up.

“Hey. You look- I mean you’re-” he breathed in. “You’re beautiful.”

You giggled and gave him a hug.

“Thanks Jay. And thanks for taking me out.”

“No problem.” He smiled at you. “Shall we get going?”

You nodded as he turned back, bending over to pick something up.

You let out a confused laugh when he handed you a red helmet.

“What’s this?”

He chuckled, “Don’t want anything happening to you, right?”

Jason gestures to the, what you now realised was a motorcycle, bike behind him. And your face dropped.

Not seeing your sudden disarray, he started rambling on about your guys plans, “And after the restaurant, we could maybe-”

“I can’t go on that.”

He immediately stopped talking.

“What?”

“I can’t go on that bike.”

He looked back at his motorcycle, and then at you- and back at his motorcycle.

“Oh… that’s fine. I mean- if you don’t wanna go on a date with me, I understand…I’m just gonna-”

“Woah.” You sounded taken aback, “When did I ever say that? I just meant I don’t like motorcycles, I don’t like getting on them.”

One of his hands came up to drag down his face as he let out the biggest exhale ever.

“I thought- you-”

You brought your hand up to your mouth, letting out a small chuckle.

God, he was a nervous wreck.

“Well,” he huffed, “I don’t really have a car…”

You both stood there a few seconds, lost in thought.

“Oh!” You jumped, “Isn’t Dick in town? Doesn’t he have a car?”

Oh no.

“I’ll call him!” You were already pulling your phone out, no use stopping you now.

The whole ride to the restaurant was horrible. Jason was dreading his existence every single second of that car ride.

“Did you know Jason had a stuffed animal he took everywhere as a kid?” Dick laughed as his hands gripped the steering wheel.

“No way! That’s so cute Jace!” You turned back to look at him, having sat in the passenger seat as Jason was shoved in the backseat.

He forced himself to let out a small smile at you before grumbling something under his breath. Probably a death threat for Dick.

“Yeah anyways how have you been?…”

The conversation blurred as you all arrived at your destination. Jason flew out of the car in an instant, opening the door for you before you could even think about doing it yourself.

“Bye Dick! Thanks for driving!” You yelled before Jason led you away from the car.

“Jason, did you buy… a car?” Bruce barged into the manor living room, computer in one hand and his other clicking away at a file.

Jason kept his gaze fixed on the book he was holding, turning a page. “Yeah, why?”

That caught the others attention, ears perking up as they suddenly went quiet and tried to (not so) subtly eavesdrop on their conversation.

“No reason, just… didn’t expect it from you.” He said firmly before walking back out the room.

Jason’s face twisted in confusion before he shrugged it off, going back to reading his book.

He suddenly felt the presence of Duke, Steph, and Tim on the couch, all containing the same smug smile on their faces.

Jason groaned, letting his book fall to his side. “What?”

“Nothing.” Steph said, “Just… your motorcycle wasn’t good enough for you?”

He rolled his eyes. “No.”

“Really Jason?” Duke cut in, trying to hold back a smile, “Don’t I remember you saying that you’d rather jump off a roof than give up your motorcycle?”

“Jumping off a roof would be the least dangerous thing I could’ve done at this point.”

“Oh really? It’s not that you got a car because of your girlfriend.” Tim finally cut in, his voice laced in taunt.

“Who. Told. You. That.” He snapped his head up at him.

“A little birdie told me your girlfriend doesn’t like motorcycles.” He snorted.

“She’s not my-” he groaned as he pushed Tim out of the way. “Whatever.”

“Where are you going?” Duke said.

“To kill Dick.”

Ty for reading! Reblogs and comments are very appreciated<3

a/n: kinda short sorry</3

Taglist: @starl1ghtgr4yson (if u wanna be added to the taglist, just ask ;)

[luviery]

YOU CALL HIM AS YOUR HUSBAND

summary: you call him as your husband when you are still dating. pairing: Jason Todd x reader tags and warnings: talks of marriage, haven't written for Jason in a while so here it is! Maybe OOC, also cooking and food mentioned, art by @/ciricearts wc: 1.1k Jason Todd mlist

It's a quiet afternoon as you sit on the marble counter, legs swinging side to side while Jason slices some tomatoes next to you. Golden streaks of sun seep in through the window, casting circles of yellow across the linoleum flooring and wooden shelves stacked with cutlery.

You had been explaining to him the plot of a 90s TV show you had stumbled upon while browsing during the late hours of the night.

"So the female lead, she decides to go to his house — ugh, I keep forgetting his name "

"Jerry." Jason murmurs, eyes focused on the bowl of ingredients in front of him. Regardless of what work Jason was doing, he always listened to you when you spoke. It almost felt like it was his duty to catalogue every word that left your lips. And he performed that duty to the best of his abilities. It did not matter if he was in the middle of a mission or doing the mundane tasks of living  — Jason listened.

Always listened.

"Ahh yes, Jerry, " you repeat, looking up at him with a slight smile that curves into a scowl as you gather your thoughts about the plot. "now Gabriela should dump Jerry's ass, right?"

"Yes," Jason affirms as he takes in your face, painted with annoyance.

Cute.

"But instead she begs him, like what the actual fuck ? Why do these directors even —" the vibration of your phone against the counter cuts your rant short, a wide smile replacing the frown on your face.

"It's Zara."

A few minutes into the conversation, Jason can see you hunched over, giggling about something that your best friend told you over the phone. Meanwhile, Jason had finished making the paste and, almost as a reflex, scooped a spoonful of the paste and brought it to your mouth.

His hand is under the spoon, making sure the red doesn't fall on any of your clothes. He had already made sure it was not too hot by blowing over it multiple times. You open your mouth as the stainless steel presses against your tongue, coating it with red. Jason looks at you, eyes wide with hope and lips pressed into a line.

You hum, squeezing your eyes before kissing your fingertips and moving them away towards him with a spread of your fingers accompanied by a dramatic flair.

Chef's kiss.

Jason huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he starts prepping the pan on the stove. The sudden sound of sizzling onions next to you has Zara asking whether you were at some street food corner.

"No, It's just my husband —"

You wished he hadn't listened to the slip of your tongue over the sound of his cooking but Jason always listens and you knew he had heard when you saw his entire body going still.

His back is turned away from you, broad back covered in black cotton with a spatula in hand as it remained stuck in the air, just a touch from the pan. You don't do any better as you get off the counter and scamper into your shared bedroom, all the while Zara is giggling in your ears.

It was not that Jason did not want to be your husband.

No, it would really be his honor.

But Jason Todd was not completely beyond his insecurities.

Why would anyone want to be with him for a lifetime out of their own will?

You were not one of his siblings who were obligated to be with him as a reason of familial relationship, nor were you part of his team of outlaws who possessed a shared goal.

You had been someone he had fallen in love with at the bookstore.

Was he even worth everything?

"Jason."

He turns at the soft whisper of his name. There you were, standing with your hands rubbing against each other as those angelic eyes of yours refused to meet his. You had cut the call short once the panic had morphed into fear. Zara had understood and reassured you, but your heart wanted the answer from only one person.

"I-I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, " you murmur, eyes blinking rapidly at the tears forming along your waterline. Both of you had only been dating for a year now but it would be a lie if you never thought about the prospect of marriage with Jason.

They say you know the one when you meet them.

He was the one for you.

But you never voiced it. It had been a slip of the tongue, something you wish you could take back if it had made him even a tiny bit uncomfortable.

"No angel," He takes your hands, rubbing smooth circles onto your skin over the back of your palm. "I-You want to spend the rest of your life with me?"

Jason almost doesn't let the words slip out from him, throat dry like all the moisture had been sucked. His green eyes gleam like those of the vast forests under the soft golden light of the sun. They murmur to you of peace, of love, of eternity.

"I would gladly spend every minute with you Jason. Every waking moment with you," you vowed as you peer at him, "and every non-waking moment too in my dreams." Jason chuckles, a faint glow surrounding him like love emanating from the previously filled crevices of nervousness.

Jason envelopes you, the softness of your cheek pressed against his beating heart. His chin is on the top of your head as you see the slight movement of his Adam's apple, almost like he was trying not to cry.

For the first time, someone who had no moral duty to Jason wanted to stay with him forever.

For eternity.

All because you loved him for him.

He presses a small kiss against the top of your head, gently pulling you even more closer, like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly.

"I will gladly spend a lifetime with you too, my love"

Jason could feel the curve of your smile, tracing against his black t-shirt. The both of you stay wrapped in each other's presence like a warm blanket accompanied by the smell of something burning — burning?

"Jason, I think something is burning, " you say, trying to peek through the gaps of his muscled arms, but to no avail. He only lets out a contented sigh, still blissfully bathing in your warmth. You pinch his skin, a sharp yelp resounding from his mouth.

" SOMETHING IS BURNING."

Finally, Jason lets you go as you both turn towards the source of the smell. The once sizzling onions were now burnt to a crisp.

"Fuck"

A/N: Comment on this post to join taglist.

[athenxt]

For the first time, someone who had no moral duty to Jason wanted to stay with him forever. For eternity. All because you loved him for him.

and you know what? this is EXACTLY what the fans wanna see

The once sizzling onions were now burnt to a crisp.

man they mustve been standing there for a while, caramelizing onions take forever as it is

[llovelygood]

Mr. Goodreads and Miss Letterbox || Jason Todd x reader

— Both of you just shared your love for books/films in social media, but your followers saw the potential of an amazing power couple. What happens when you find out about the ship and decides to check Jason's account?

!!: smau + a narrated part. fem!reader. not use of y/n. bookstagramer!Jason x cinephile!reader. Pictures are from Pinterest. enemies to lovers-ish (not really???)

[dc masterlist]

yourusername

liked by 101.344 people

photo dump of the last week of June 🌷 Watched Obsession yesterday. You guys know I don't usually watch horror movies in the cinema, I prefer to watch them at home, safe and cozy, but I've been hearing lot of mixed opinions about this film and I couldn't wait to finally watch it myself. I would rate it with 4 stars because it was really good and extremely disturbing. As always, you guys can find my complete review (with spoilers) in my letterboxd!! -💋

comments:

user1 Just came from reading your letterboxd review and I agree with everything you said ♥︎ liked by the author

user2 Haven't watched the movie and never will, because I hate this genre, but I loved reading your review ♥︎ liked by the author

user3 If she has a boyfriend, he either has to be another film-obsessed freak or someone who is the total opposite of her, like someone who argues the book a film is based of is way better, even if it isn't

⤷ user4 there's this guy here whose user is @/j.todd who makes content about books and I believe they were made for each other, even if they haven't met yet 🙂‍↕️ ⤷ user5 OMGGG JASON YESS THEY WOULD BE PERFECT TOGETHER ⤷ user6 now this gotta be my new favorite ship

j.todd

Liked by 412.802 people

Normal People by Sally Rooney. 3 stars. I can't deny Sally Rooney is a very talented author, and the start of the book was very powerful and entertaining. However, the ending disappointed me (complete review in my Goodreads). I can't consider Normal People a bad book, it was beautifully written and didn't feel boring, but it's not one of my favorites.

comments:

user1 Normal People is one of my top 3 favorite books but I agree with some of your points in your Goodreads review

user2 ONLY 3 STARS???

user3 love me a man who reads, is he single?

⤷ user4 get in line ⤷ user5 hope he is so he can date my beloved @/yourusername

user6 I'm finishing Normal People, but I kinda agree with you, It's a really good book, but I can't give it more than 4 stars

yourusername

liked by 98.864 people

Can you guys believe I never got to watch Wuthering Heights in theaters when the movie came out? (I still did the trend with the poster and my husband Jacob Elordi). Either way, I watched the movie yesterday night and I have a few comments on it. Over all the movie gets 3 stars and I'm being generous. I haven't read the book but the film was... something else... I have a lot of things to say about this so you guys can go read my review in letterboxd (contains spoiler) -💋

comments:

user1 I loved the movie wdym 😭😭

user2 kinda weird for you not to watch a movie the second it's out on theaters

⤷ yourusername I know right? but I was very busy when the movie came out, and when I finally got time to go watch it it had already been removed from theaters

user3 Jacob Elordi the man you are

⤷ user4 idk he gives me weird vibes

user5 I love your reviews, they are so complete and so well written ♥︎ liked by the author

user6 nah guys have you seen Jason's post? This can't be coincidence

⤷ user7 this can either be coincidence or they know each other ⤷ user8 maybe they know about the ship and are just messing around with us

user9 you should read the book

⤷ yourusername not my thing lmao

j.todd

liked by 726.997 people

Haven't had much time to read this past weeks, so I figured I could talk about a book I read a while ago, that I really enjoyed, and never posted my review here. Wuthering Heights gets five stars from me. It's impossible to sum up everything I love about this book in here, so I suggest you all to go and read my review in Goodreads. But it's darkness, and poetic story has made this book one of my ultimate favorites. P.S: I don't usually mark classics, so I just decided to post some photos I took this month.

comments:

user1 WE GOT JASON'S FACE REVEAL BEFORE GTA VI

user2 blah blah blah proper name place name backstory stuff

user3 que sí quesito que sí

user4 whatever you say handsome

user5 just here to say that @/yourusername just posted her review of the movie

⤷ user6 idc if they know each other or not, they're my parents ⤷ user7 They would be the perfect couple istg ⤷ user8 mr. Goodreads and miss letterbox, straight from a romcom ⤷ user9 they're married in my head

yourusername

liked by 101.344 people

photo dump of this week before I got sick Rewatched one of my favorite movies because I couldn't get out of bed and I'm so happy I finally get to talk to you guys about it. Dead Poets Society is my favorite movie of all time, hands down, no hesitations. A masterpiece. It's poetic, it's beautiful, it moves you and it's genuinely the only movie that has made me cry. As always you guys have my complete review in my letterboxd (with spoilers, just in case there's people that haven't watched it yet, in that case I'm so sorry). -💋

comments:

user1 get well soon queen ♥︎ liked by the author

user2 so you got sick, that's why you were so active on social media lately

⤷ yourusername I'm so bored

user3 Dead Poets Society really is THE film

user4 getting sick in July, what's in Gothams air?

⤷ yourusername the real question is: what isn't in Gotham's air? ⤷ user5 WAIT are you from Gotham??? ⤷ user6 one step closer to her and Jason meeting each other and falling in love

j.todd

liked by 611.135 people

Found the Dead Poets Society book in my local library and, since I never watched the movie and the book is short, I decided to read it. It gets 3 ½ stars. I found it quite plain and, although I think the story is moving, I'm not sure the book captured the feelings that well. Also, some of the characters were quite questionable. Either way, you guys can find my full review on Goodreads. P.S: I think I like this photo dump thing, I might keep doing it.

comments:

user1 I think the same as you Jason, now lets kiss

user2 @/yourusername and him using their post's captions like letter, they're made for each other. She sings it with a kiss, and he uses P.S.

yourusername is this the guy chat??

⤷ user3 ariana what r u doing here???? ⤷ user4 you really don't know the meaning of being nonchalant, don't you ⤷ user5 so this is the level of boredom you reach when sick

yourusername You should really watch the movie, you would rethink those 3 ½ stars you've just gave to my favorite story of all time

⤷ j.todd I don't think the movie would be much more different from the book, taking into account that the book came out after the film.

yourusername

liked by 99.056 people

Pride and Prejudice. 1 stars. Review in letterboxd. -💋

comments:

user1 okay she's mad

user2 miss ma'am are you alright?

user3 Jason and her might not be dating after all

⤷ user4 idc this has potential for a enemies to lovers ⤷ user5 I think they should kiss, that would fix everything

user6 idk what happened, but please come back and be normal

j.todd we both know that movie is not 1 star movie

⤷ yourusername have you watched it? ⤷ j.todd no, but I've read the book and I know pride and prejudice is not a 1 star story ⤷ yourusername adaptations aren't always loyal to the original source ⤷ j.todd you really are annoying ⤷ yourusername I suggest you read my review on letterboxd ⤷ j.todd I did and it only says "fuck you Jason" ⤷ yourusername fuck you Jason ⤷ user7 this is like seeing my parents divorcing again

When did you think this was a good idea? Maybe when you saw an opportunity to prove you were right about your favourite movie. That the story changed completely by watching it rather than reading it. 

You knew Jason hadn’t liked that one star you had given to Pride and Prejudice. You saw in his goodreads that it was one of his favourite books and decided to watch the movie and give it a low rating just to piss him off. Surprisingly, it worked, because he talked to you after seeing your post. 

And now, waiting for him to arrive at your house, you kept checking the time, fixing yourself, walking around—doing anything to calm yourself down—because you had invited a handsome man to your house without thinking it through first.

Of course you had stalked his account. It hadn’t been until recently that he had started posting pictures of himself, at first all of his posts were the cover of the exact book he had read and then photos of some phrases highlighted. The man was truly a romantic. He mostly read romance novels, but his favourites were the classics. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if he had checked your account too. You posted photodumps more regularly, your account was almost your online diary, so he knew how you looked.

While you were drowned in your own thoughts, Jason had arrived at your building. It was a funny coincidence that you lived in the building right across from Jason’s, and somehow you hadn’t known about each other’s existence until you decided to appear in his comments section. 

Jason swallowed hard before knocking on your door. You opened it, with your hands shaking and your heart pounding aggressively on your chest. Jason was tall—way taller than you had imagined—and he looked like he had come straight out of Fight Club. His leather jacket, a worn black cotton t-shirt, and dark jeans were a very simple outfit—but combined with his piercing greenish-blue eyes, a fading bruise near his right eye, and a white streak on his hair? That man was breathtaking. 

From Jason’s point of view you were a sight too. He had seen your posts, he knew how you looked, but in person you had a magnetic energy that no one could ignore. The only reason for him accepting your proposal, of coming to your house to watch a film, was because he found you attractive. He saw the opportunity, took it and he didn’t regret anything.

“Hi,” he said. 

His voice woke you up from your trance. You moved to the side, letting him into your apartment. 

“I’m Jason, I thought we should introduce each other properly. You have a nice house by the way.” He looked around, scanning your living room and kitchen with detail, like he wanted to find something. “You have a lot of movie posters.”

“Ah! yes. If you ask the correct people that work in the cinema they give one to you for free,” you explained, guiding Jason to your living room.

The movie was already paused on your TV, ready to be watched. Two bowls filled with buttered popcorn sat on the tea table, one for Jason and the other one for you. Once you were settled in the sofa you pressed play.

You couldn’t deny that the first few minutes of the movie were awkward. Jason sat rigid on one end of the couch, looking attentively to the TV, paying attention to everything that happened in the movie. You, on the other hand, kept drifting your gaze from the movie to Jason, to see his reaction, to make sure he liked it. 

And when the scene of the party came, you whispered: “Now look at Knox, poor boy, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jason looked at you, smirked, and then turned his attention back to the film. “Well yes, but he still kissed her, and she has a boyfriend,” Jason remarked.

“He kissed her on the head,” you defended.

“Still, that’s not cool and she’s unconscious, I would’ve reacted the same way Chet did.”

And that started a friendly discussion between the two of you. You never stopped talking since then, commenting on everything about the movie, Jason criticizing it—just to see your offended expression—and you refuting everything he said, like you were the director herself. And when the movie ended, you kept talking and talking, until it was past midnight and Jason got a message from someone and told you he had to leave. 

“It’s not a three star story,” you insisted, walking Jason to the front door of your house.

“Four stars,” he rated. You opened your mouth offended.

“Four and a half,” You suggested.

“I think I’ll have to watch it again to see if you’re right,” he smirked, walking out of your apartment. “Thanks for the date, it was nice.”

“It was not…” But Jason had left before he could hear what you had said. 

It might not have been a date, but you had enjoyed Jason’s company, and something inside of you told you that you were going to see each other again, very soon.

six months later

j.todd

liked by yourusername and 457.901 more

Sorry I haven't posted in a while, I've been re-reading Pride and Prejudice with my girlfriend, and she's a slow reader, but it was fun to see her reaction to everything that happens in the book. You guys already know this is my favorite book and my review has been up on Goodreads for a while, but you guys have my review of the movie in letterboxd, if you would like to read it.

comments:

user1 HES GOT A GIRLFRIEND

user2 I'm the girlfriend guys chill

user3 his girlfriend just won in life

yourusername I'm not a slow reader????? classics are hard ♥︎ liked by the author

⤷ j.todd whatever you say doll ⤷ user4 THEY'RE TOGETHER ⤷ user5 MY PARENTS ARE BACK TOGETHER ⤷ user6 this means they're now officially dating right? ⤷ user7 the ship became reality ⤷ user8 war is over

yourusername

liked by j.todd and 400.874 more

Yes, Pride and Prejudice did not deserve that 1, I'm sorry. My annoying boyfriend insisted on updating my letterbox review and on writing one in Goodreads about the book, so I forced him to download letterboxd, and he has written his very first review there!! -💋

comments:

user1 the hardlaunch is crazy

user2 they both posted the same quote 😭

user3 they're perfect

user4 which book will be your next review about?

⤷ yourusername none 😊

user5 do we get an invitation to the wedding for introducing you to each other thanks to our ship??

j.todd ❤️

⤷ yourusername don't ❤️ me, you told me you weren't coming with me to the cinema this Friday ⤷ j.todd I promise I'll make it up to you ♥︎ liked by the author ⤷ yourusername good boy ⤷ user6 he's obsessed with her

© llovelygood

Jason Todd taglist: @farahdrawzz @princesstrunkz @currentblasphemy @yukibana-fs @astraeasworld @profoundgreenturtle @andraax2 @e1ectraaheart @ilocuras24 @fluffalorianflash @sugurushairstylist @rosieposiediditagain @theworldscalamity @little-mini-me-world @missmontiopath @demonslover @timdrakesfoot @mruizsworld @whispershell @rosimmmm @geekonaleash @starrydustedwinter @jellydianetyu @vanilla-bean-18 @jt0ddlvr @adangerousbalance @wyuovvia @amourrangel @gigglingandwiggling @mattm1964 @lecoinde-dan4 @xsupermanxx2 @missmillivanilli @jmmarlo @schwi2u @k2cowgirlup @bingbongsupremacy @alixthepigeon @burningwiitches @selina0226 @xxjesshuxx @jetlag07 @onlyfeng

[vianawaits]

THE CUTEST SMAU IVE EVER READ OMGGGG

[starl1ghtgr4yson]

I’m so fucking single oh my goodness

[wiishies]

normal people mentioned