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my name is fig and i like to write about the djolings. here's some of my works ↓

Steve Harrington

is it wrong (that i wanna get right with you?)

say i love you, but i’m out of time

ordinary world

summertime spectacular

hey baby, won’t you open up?

wanna make you mine | oh me, oh my | got somethin’ special | i fell in love

Gator Tillman

big sore sweet tooth (current series in progress… kind of)

honorschem

i am NOT back but i needed to tell everyone that i just watched obsession and you should too if you haven’t already

if anyone wants to chat with me about it (or anything else) pls add me on my new discord @lavender.hatchet so we can stay in touch

mwah <3

configurre

possibly the funniest notif i’ve received this week so far

mendessi

robbers masterlist

summary: when you join the FBI, everybody on your team is so welcoming except for steve harrington. when your team is placed on an undercover case, you're partnered with the one person you can't stand. your ability to work together will be detrimental to the case to save as many lives as possible.

current word count: 11k

pairing: agent!steveharrington x femagent!reader

notes: i miss criminal minds and steve harrington so i put them together </3

warnings: no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, eventual smut, fake dating, forced proximity, some violence + graphic cases will be mentioned, core four <3, everybody is here, slowish burn, SO angsty, kind of mayfield!reader (she's adopted), will add more as i think of them

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

don’t worry my darlings i have not forsaken you all quite yet, i just randomly became obsessed with the pitt

parts 1.5 and 2 of hey baby, won’t you open up? coming in the next few days 😌🩷

on my list of things to finish and post

bsst chapter 3

the new and improved pt2 of popstar reader x actor steve

like 5 chapters of the party pjo fic that only exists on my ao3 and that has been crying for my attention for months now

bsst chapter 4

bsst epilogue

bsst in general

configurre

ordinary world

a reimagining of the project hail mary movie with steve as dr. ryland grace and dustin as rocky :) mentions of henderhop and stancy as a treat!! as always, warning that this is not the most canon compliant… sorry in advance

wc: 4.5k

All things considered, it’s not so bad to have an alien as a roommate.

Sure, Dustin knocks over almost everything on the Hail Mary in his stupid little glass ball and invades every last bit of his personal space and makes fun of basically everything he does. Also, the way he eats is really hard to watch—no matter how much he claims he looks much more beautiful than Steve when he eats, Steve’ll never quite get used to the way Dustin shoves rocks in his mouth with such gusto.

Still, it’s a hell of a lot better to have him occupying space on the ship than Robin and Eddie’s dessicated corpses, and more than anything, it’s useful to have him onboard. He’s a hell of a lot smarter than Steve and a way better engineer, which Steve is mature enough to admit out loud even though he has to suffer through the annoyingly smug tone the Eridian puts on every time he hears him say it.

They’re so close to finally being prepared to collect the astrophage’s predator from Tau Ceti. Dustin’s predator collector containers are built, the billion foot long chain is nearly done, and Steve is finally getting somewhere with piloting lessons.

In the downtime between their prep, though, he’s been teaching Dustin about Earth by showing him videos in the projection room.

He figures he should show Dustin the brightest and most beautiful things his planet has to offer, so first, he shows his friend the beach. Pulls up a video of a beautiful sunny day and plops himself down on the mesh decking like it’s actually the sandy ground he wishes it was. Dustin settles beside him in his glass sphere, humming faintly as he watches the video play with great interest.

“The beach is always changing,” he says, watching the slow, looping waves roll in and out. “You could go to the same spot every day and you’re always looking at a different beach.”

"Is not as fun as fishing," Dustin says, sounding bored. “Show something else.”

Steve rolls his eyes but acquiesces, reaching for his laptop and typing in the search bar until he finds the forest video he’s looking for. “Fine, how about I teach you how to climb a tree?”

The beach fades out in a wash of light, replaced by something greener, denser—sunlight breaking through a canopy of leaves, the air alive with the sound of birds and wind and footsteps of some kind moving just out of sight. Steve doesn’t bother easing into it. He just smiles at Dustin, stands up, and reaches for a branch that isn’t really there.

"So you climb," he says, pretending to brace his left foot against the trunk, "and you climb, and you climb, and—okay, ignore the part where you almost eat poop—” he huffs out a laugh as he hops around one-legged for a moment before finally righting himself, “and you get all the way to the top if you can.”

Dustin shuffles around a little as if trying to decide if he likes it or not. "Can't climb in ball. Too slippery,” he says after a moment, petulance coloring his voice.

“You’re so picky,” Steve sighs. “Fine. Next time I’ll pick something immersive that you can actually do next.”

Which is how he settles on the bird migration video a few days later. This one, Dustin actually seems to enjoy, if the way he immediately stills and watches with rapt attention as the forest dissolves into the view of hundreds of birds cutting through an endless stretch of blue sky says anything.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Steve says, tipping his head toward Dustin’s sphere with a crooked grin. "They do this every year, by the way. Fly thousands of miles south when it gets cold, then come back to their original homes when it warms up again. They don't need directions or a map or anything, they just know where to go."

Dustin makes an interested chirp, his sphere inching closer to the screen like he can’t help but be pulled in by the video. If he had a face like a human’s, his eyes would probably be wide with awe right about now.

Steve gets it, he really does. There’s something about the sheer number of the birds and the way they move as one that must feel particularly comforting when you’ve spent so long alone and in the dark.

Dustin doesn’t really like to talk about the crew he came with—which, fair, Steve doesn’t particularly enjoy thinking about waking up to find Robin and Eddie long dead either—but he’s not an idiot. He remembers the way Dustin lit up the first time they figured out how to communicate properly. The way he lingers now, even when they’ve run out of things to say, like he’s reluctant to leave the space they share.

He glances over at the Eridian and the way his sphere is about two inches away from falling completely off the deck. “Wanna fly with them, Dust?” he asks casually, trying to keep his voice calm and steady.

“Yes,” Dustin says immediately. “How fly, question?”

In response, Steve stretches out his arms out to either side, straight and wide. “Like this,” he says, giving an experimental flap of his pretend wings—shoulders rolling, hands tilting up and down in an approximation of the movement. It’s not the most accurate, but he commits to it anyway, leaning forward slightly as the birds take a sudden dive down.

Beside him there’s a soft clink as Dustin raises his two front limbs to mimic his motions. “Dustin flying,” he says with great pride, stomping one of his other limbs lightly against the glass in enthusiasm.

“Hell yeah, you are,” Steve says, smiling down at him. He dips one arm, banking with the flock as they sweep across the sky, then lifts it again in a slow, exaggerated beat so Dustin can follow.

Dustin tries to copy, but his sphere wobbles dangerously before he finally rights himself and tilts at an angle like he’s catching the invisible current. “I am good at this,” he insists, a bit defensively as he wobbles again.

“You’re good at everything, buddy,” Steve promises him, but slows his movements even more so Dustin can match them without tipping himself over again.

They fall into a rhythm after that—Steve flapping and swaying, Dustin rolling and hovering in small, enthusiastic bursts beside him—both of them chasing the rhythm of the flock as it shifts and turns across the projection.

When Dustin finally gets bored of it, which takes longer than Steve had anticipated given his horrible attention span, he maneuvers over and nudges his leg softly. “Show me what humans do.”

“That’s a pretty long list, man,” Steve says, letting his arms drop back down to his sides.

Dustin makes an impatient little trill, nudging harder this time.

“Okay, fine,” he relents, turning back to the laptop. “Why don’t we try surfing next?”

Strangely, Dustin catches on to surfing a lot faster than flying. It’s the same limbs and similar movements, but the emphasis on balance instead of lift is apparently doing great things for his center of gravity.

“Touch the wave, Dust!” Steve cheers, half laughing as he gestures at the screen. “C’mon, you gotta commit!”

Dustin tilts his sphere, adjusting with surprising precision this time, his limbs shifting in small, controlled movements instead of the wild flailing from earlier. “Touching the wave,” he says, focused, then starts throwing out all the other surfer lingo Steve taught him just minutes before like it's a laundry list. "Wiping out... hanging ten."

“Jesus, you’re a natural,” Steve laughs, watching him tilt and correct like he’s been doing it his whole life. “Give it, like, five minutes and you’ll be better than everyone on Earth.”

“Already better,” Dustin responds immediately, wiggling his little claw in Steve’s direction.

“Yeah, yeah, of course you are,” Steve snorts.

Dustin hums, pleased with himself, and gives one last exaggerated tilt before settling back down onto the deck with a soft clink. “More tomorrow, question?” he asks.

“Sure, why not,” Steve says with a shrug. “Beats making the stupid molds for the chain links.”

The next day, he gets the brilliant idea to show Dustin clubbing—or, well, a sanitized version of it. As soon as he hits play on the video, the projection room explodes into color and noise, the bassline of Heads Will Roll thumping loudly enough that Steve can feel it faintly even through the mesh decking beneath his feet.

“This,” he tells Dustin, who’s already rolling around enthusiastically in his glass ball, “is a club. Humans come here to dance, drink, and have fun. It’s one of the many forms of a party.”

The Eridian is too entranced with mimicking the way the crowd is jumping up and down to respond properly. “Partypartyparty,” he says, flexing his claws in excitement.

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “You know what, hell yeah. Partypartyparty.”

They stay like that for a while, dancing to the music until Steve’s breathless and Dustin’s sphere is knocking lightly against his ankles with every enthusiastic bounce.

“I like Earth!” Dustin chirps, spinning in circles around Steve while he braces his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath.

“Me too, bud,” he responds, watching in fond amusement as Dustin continues to spin himself dizzy, the flashing lights reflecting off the glass of his sphere in quick bursts of color.

The last thing Steve shows Dustin before they execute the plan to collect the predator is the beach again. This time, though, he picks the kind of weather he likes—thick fog rolling in low over the water, softening the horizon until the sky and sea blur together into one endless gray. The waves come in slow and steady, muted and quiet, like the whole world’s been wrapped in a blanket.

“I miss the fog,” he admits, leaning his head onto the side of Dustin’s ball. In response, Dustin trills softly and thumps his own carapace lightly against the glass. “What about you, Dust? What do you miss most about home?”

Dustin goes quiet, his sphere settling into a stillness Steve’s learned to read as thinking. “Hmm,” he hums at last. “My mate.”

Steve blinks, head lifting slightly from where it’s resting against the glass. “Wait, what? You got a mate?”

“Yes.”

He straightens up more, turning so he’s actually looking at him now. “I mean—okay. Yeah. That makes sense.” He scratches at the back of his neck, a little thrown. “I’m sure you’re, uh… what’s their name?”

“Name is—” Dustin produces an intricate series of trills and ripples that go on for way too long, waving around his front two arms with great feeling.

“Okay, I don’t know how we’re gonna translate that,” Steve confesses, chewing on his bottom lip in thought. “How about I call them Jane? Like Jane Doe.”

“What that, question?”

“It’s, uh… it’s a name humans use as a placeholder,” Steve explains. “For people when their real identity’s, like, unknown or can’t be confirmed or whatever.”

Dustin recoils slightly. “No want to conceal mate identity.”

“Hey, hey, it’s not like that,” Steve says quickly, scooting back a fraction so he and Dustin are properly facing each other. “Think about it this way, right? Your mate is everything to you, and Jane Doe is... everyone. It's like, universal.”

Dustin hums a soft, affirmative note, encouraging him to keep going.

“Plus,” he adds after a moment of thought, “until I can figure out how to actually say their real name without my tongue falling off, it’s a pretty solid stand-in.”

The Eridian considers it. Steve can almost see the gears turning in his big old head.

“...Fine.” he says after several minutes, rolling over to poke at Steve’s laptop. “You can translate name to Jane. Put it in portable Earth thinking machine now before Dustin change mind.”

Steve snorts, but does as Dustin says. “Thanks, bud.”

“You have mate too, question? Dustin hear Steve yell for person named Nancy when sleep.”

Steve sighs, because of-freaking-course Dustin heard that. “No, my mate’s name was Carol. And I say ‘was’ because she thought I was stupid and idealistic for wanting to teach middle schoolers instead of taking over my dad’s company.” He picks at a loose thread on his sleeve, eyes drifting back to the foggy ocean still rolling across the projection. “Maybe she was right, but I guess it doesn’t matter because she’s with Tommy now. And I’m here.”

“Dustin hate Tommy,” the Eridian says without skipping a beat, tone firm and decisive. “But if Nancy not Steve mate, then who is she, question?”

Dang it, he was really hoping he would’ve been able to distract Dustin from asking about Nancy.

“Nancy was never my mate,” he says haltingly. “But… maybe she would’ve been under different circumstances. Although I’m not really sure we ever would’ve met if the world wasn’t ending.”

“Tell me more,” Dustin says.

<3 <3 <3

Steve and Nancy have gotten into the habit of going for a walk together every afternoon. It’s nice to finally be on solid ground after far too long in the research vessel, so instead of doing their midday check-in inside of a stuffy conference room, they take it outside, following a winding path along the edge of NASA campus where the pavement gives way to grass.

Today, like always, Steve is late because he was busy getting them coffees as a pick-me-up. Nancy drinks a hot americano with an ungodly amount of espresso shots added and no cream or sugar. It's a drink so infamous that all Steve needed to do to order it was tell Lily the barista "the Wheeler, please," and she’d nodded in understanding, turning around to get the espresso machine started.

His own order is just as notorious, but for exactly the opposite reason. He likes his drinks to be overly sweet, drowning with vanilla and caramel and whatever syrups are currently being peddled as the seasonal flavors.

“Hey!” he calls as he jogs up to Nancy, being careful not to slosh either drink. “Sorry I was late.”

“I could have spent those five minutes doing literally anything else,” she says, but takes the drink from him with a sharp nod. “You need to move faster, and with much more haste.”

Steve brightens at that. “Hey, it was only five minutes today? I am moving faster.”

Nancy hums noncommittally before she starts briskly walking down the path, but he catches the amused glint in her eye and internally does a little fist pump as he hurries to fall into step with her.

“We ran the sampler simulation again this morning,” he reports, adjusting his grip on his drink as he matches her pace. “Shapiro and DuBois nailed it again.”

“Okay,” she says, nodding. “What about the others?”

“They’ll be ready,” he responds, taking another long sip of his coffee.

“I expect so,” she says. “They have a great teacher.”

Steve makes a face like she just insulted him instead of saying something nice about him.

Nancy sighs, because she can always tell what expression Steve’s pulling without having to turn to look at him. “Can you take the compliment, please?” she asks exasperatedly.

“No,” he tells her flatly, refusing to say anything else.

“It’s an order,” she insists, the corners of her mouth drawn down into a frown.

He huffs, long-suffering. “Okay, if it’s an order I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“Good.”

They walk in silence for a few moments before Nancy stops abruptly in front of the Hail Mary. It looms over the launch site, massive and impossibly real, all clean lines and white panels and scaffolding stretching up around it like something out of a fever dream Steve’s not entirely sure he’ll ever wake up from.

“So,” she says, folding her arms loosely as she takes it in. “What do you think?”

“It’s… it’s pretty impressive,” Steve admits, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You’re really good at what you do.”

“Thanks,” Nancy says, a tiny smile forming on her face.

They stand there in silence for a few moments, watching as the afternoon sun slides slowly across the hull and turns the white panels gold in places.

Steve takes a step closer, close enough that their shoulders brush. He hesitates for half a second—just enough to feel it—before lifting his arm and draping it around her shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” he says, aiming for light even as something in his chest tightens, “what are you gonna do for the next twenty years? You got a plan?”

Nancy considers this even as she leans into his touch, eyes still fixed firmly on the Hail Mary. “If no country tries to put me in prison immediately for all the crimes I’ve committed to get us here,” she says dryly, “I’ve got some ideas.”

She turns her head then, tilting her face up to look him in the eye. Up close, it’s easier to see the exhaustion and determination that lines her face in equal parts. Steve forgets sometimes that Nancy is human too, that she too feels the effects of the burden they've been carrying.

His breath catches, just a little. "Is that so?" he murmurs, softly so as to not accidentally scare her off.

Nancy’s gaze flicks to his mouth, then back up to his eyes.

"Yes," she says, amusement lighting up her eyes again. The world narrows down to this—Nancy, the warmth of her body pressed against his side, the steady weight of his arm around her shoulders, the distant hum of the launch site fading into something soft and indistinct.

Steve leans in, slow enough that Nancy could pull away if she really wanted to. She stretches up instead, meeting him halfway.

Their lips are about to finally touch when the building explodes.

Because Steve has the shi—crappiest luck in the whole wide world, the building that just got vaporized in front of him was the lab where DuBois and Shapiro had been testing some ridiculous one in a million scenario with the astrophage.

“It doesn’t make sense, though,” he says breathlessly, trying to keep up with Nancy’s pace as she takes the stairs up to the conference room two at a time. “One nanogram of astrophage just isn’t enough to blow up a whole building.

“The quartermaster gave them one milligram by mistake,” Rosa explains from behind them, voice tight but controlled. “Very easy error when the quantities are that small.”

“That’s a million times the heat energy that they’re prepared for,” he snaps, trying to not lose it on her and say something he might regret. “There should not be mistakes like that made, ever!”

“You’re telling me a measuring mistake killed my entire science team?” Robin demands, appearing out of nowhere at his side. Her voice is sharp and full of disbelief.

“Doesn’t matter,” Nancy says, not bothering to look back at the group of people that are now trailing her as she pushes through the doors. “We have to launch.”

Inside, the conference room is already filling up—chairs scrape against the floor as people take seats and conversations bubble up low and urgent, everyone’s grief shoved to the side in favor of figuring out the logistics of a replacement.

“If we miss the orbital window, it’ll set us back by months,” Dimitri says as he passes behind Steve, crunching numbers on his tablet even as he settles into his seat.

“But if no one’s trained for the mission, it won’t matter,” Steve says, dropping into his own seat a little too hard. The words come out more desperate than he means them to.

“Casualty projections go up exponentially if we delay,” Nancy replies immediately. “We launch on schedule with a replacement science officer.”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face, heart still racing from the explosion and the near-run up to the meeting. “Okay, but… who?”

When he looks up everyone is staring at him.

He glances at Nancy, silently pleading for her to say something—anything—preferably “just kidding, haha, I would never ask you to do that!” Instead, she meets his eyes with a scary amount of calm.

”Guys, I’m not an astronaut,” he points out.

“I don’t need an astronaut,” Nancy replies evenly. “I need an expert in astrophage who’s mission ready.”

“Alright, well, I’m not mission ready,” Steve shoots back, sitting up now. “I don’t have any training.”

Eddie waves a hand dismissively, already slipping back into something closer to his usual self. “You’ll pick it up," he says, not sounding at all like his friend just died. Assho—butthead.

“I am not an astronaut,” Steve says again, more urgently this time, hands coming up as if he can physically push the idea away. “I put the not in astronaut. I’ve never done anything—I’ve never moonwalked, or done the pool thing, or anything!”

“No, no, no, that’s just for pictures on social media,” Eddie says, shrugging. “We don’t actually do that.”

“I’m not heroic in any way,” Steve continues, words tripping over each other now. “I get sick on the elevator, for Christ’s sake.”

Robin lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Perfect. There’s no elevator on the ship.”

Steve turns to her, betrayed. “You are not helping. I can’t do this!”

“You’re smart,” Nancy says, almost like she’s coaxing a frightened animal out of a dark corner. “You’ll figure it out.”

He lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “This might be hard for you to understand, but some people are failures. Some people don’t rise to the challenge.”

“You’ve been present for every major scientific or strategic meeting we’ve had on this mission,” she counters immediately, still so calm. How can she be so calm? “You can definitely rise to the challenge.”

He leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling as if it has an escape route written on it. "Can I at least think about it?"

Nancy nods, a stiff little jerk of her head. “You have three hours.”

Not even an hour later, Steve’s sitting across from Nancy in her office. In here, the chaos from earlier—the blast, the shouting, the tense meeting they'd had immediately after—feels like it might have never happened. Nancy is nothing if not neat and organized, and the space reflects that perfectly.

He stares at the edge of her desk instead of at her. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, voice tight, shaking his head. “But I can’t do it. You need to find a different solution."

“You are my solution,” she tells him gently.

Steve lets out a short, disbelieving breath, dragging a hand over his face. “My place is in the classroom.”

“Stop pretending this is about your students,” Nancy cuts in. There’s an edge to it now that he recognizes as the annoyance she gets when people refuse to comply with her demands. He used to find that annoyance endearing, in a way. “It’s so insulting to them.”

His gaze drops further down, to the floor this time.

“We will lose a quarter of the world’s population in the next thirty years,” Nancy continues, relentless. “And that assumes the nations of the world work to ration food, which they won’t. So I’d double that estimate. If you actually cared about your students, or me, or anyone for that matter, you’d get on that ship.”

Steve swallows hard, blinking rapidly. “I understand the stakes, but I don’t have it in me,” he says, voice breaking despite his best efforts. “I really don’t.”

He makes to stand, grabbing his beanie and sliding it over his hair. “My mind is made up,” he adds, forcing the words out. “I’m sorry, but you just can’t talk me into it.”

For the first time, Nancy is the one to break eye contact with him. Delicately, she leans back and fixes her gaze onto the stack of papers on her desk.

“I’m not trying to talk you into it,” she says, and something in her tone makes him pause. "I’m trying to help you understand what I’m about to do next.”

The door opens behind him, and four men in black suits step into the room.

For a second, no one moves. Then the men burst into action.

“Hey—wait—what—” Steve stumbles back as they grab him, hands firm and unyielding as they force him down into the chair again. “What is this? What the hell is this?!” He struggles, adrenaline spiking, but it’s useless—they've already got his arms pinned to the back of the chair.

"Nance, what’s going on?" he asks, pleading.

She doesn’t look up. “Mission protocol suggested that we induce your coma early to maximize your safety,” she says robotically, like she's reading off a script.

“They’re—what?” Steve chokes, panic flooding in fast and overwhelming. “No, you can’t—you can’t do that, I didn’t agree to this, Nance—” He thrashes against their grip, heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to break his ribs.

There’s a sharp sting at his neck.

“No—no, no, no—” His voice breaks again, full of raw, desperate fear. “Nancy, please— I can’t do this, please don’t make me—”

His limbs are starting to feel extraordinarily heavy. The sedative is probably about to take him fully at any moment now. He has to use every last second of his consciousness to reason with Nancy, to make her look at him, to make her stop.

“Nance,” he begs, tears spilling freely down his face now, hot and humiliating and impossible to stop. “Please. Please, I— I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I just—” The words are starting to slur together as his jaw goes slack, muscles no longer responding the way he needs them to. His tongue feels too heavy in his mouth, like it doesn’t quite belong to him anymore.

Through the haze of tears, he sees her move. She crosses the room and drops to her knees in front of him, close enough that he can see the way her composure has cracked—the shine of tears in her eyes, the tightness in her jaw.

“Steve,” she says softly. "I'm sorry."

His head lolls forward, barely held up as he tries to focus on her and the way her hand feels against his cheek, warm and steady and grounding even as his consciousness slips away more and more by the second.

The last thing he sees before he blacks out completely is Nancy, crying openly as she apologizes to him over and over.

<3 <3 <3

There’s a soft series of clicks and whirrs, the translator lagging just enough to make the silence stretch before it finally spits out, “Dustin not hate Nancy.”

Steve snorts and rocks back on his haunches. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Nancy did bad things to hurt Steve. But if she not do them, Dustin no meet Steve.”

Which is true, but if Steve goes down that rabbit hole right now he’s probably going to cry. Time to end the conversation. “I think we’ve talked enough about my life now. We should probably get back to the chain,” he says, standing up and cracking his back. “Thanks for hanging out with me, bud. This was fun.”

“Yes, very fun,” Dustin responds, clearly noticing Steve’s distress and trying to think of a way to fix it. “Fist my bump, question?”

“That’s still not the right phrase,” he grumbles, but holds out his fist for Dustin to knock gently into anyway.

#hello i am here again can anyone hear me

10 movie tag game

i was tagged by lovely @keer-y 🫶🫶

RULES: post ten of your favourite movies (no giving away the title) and tag ten people…

…except i’m too lazy to figure out who to tag and mostly wanted an excuse to think abt my fav movies so once again if you wanna do it this is your sign

#i am a reformed cinephile and this post unfortunately shows it #PLEASE ask me about any of these i have so much to say

9 for the ask game!

okay so i almost definitely won’t be writing it but tillington challengers au would be sooooo good…….. love the idea of them forming this crazy toxic homoerotic relationship that lasts basically their whole lives

#asks

4 and 19 :)

4 ⧽. is there an au or trope that you haven't written before, but would want to try?

i don't think this actually answers the questions but one of these days i'm gonna write something that's actually 100% canon compliant #ibelieve

19 ⧽. give a hint/teaser about something you're writing without any context or explanation! tease us haha

#asks

3 and 7 !

3 ⧽. what's something you like about your writing?

hmmmm i enjoy a good internal monologue moment, i spend a lot of time in my own head pondering and i like to think it carries over into my work. also everything i write is a bit of a songfic whether or not i explicitly say so in the post and i have a lot of fun with that :]

7 ⧽. is there a fic you wish you received feedback on, but didn't get any/much? this ask game is asking someone else to then give feedback on said fic, pretty pretty please!!!

i actually don't know 😭 maybe ordinary world? but i also understand that very few people probably understood my vision for it so eh it's whatever

#asks

rowenaluvr

✶ . ၄၃ . FIC WRITER ASK GAME !

any [insert __] is for the sender to fill in :)

1 ⧽. if you could sit down and finish any one of your wips without anything stopping you (time, tiredness, etc), which fic would you choose? tell us about it if you want!

2 ⧽. if you could sit down and finish any completely new fic without anything stopping you (time, tiredness, etc), what would you write? tell us about it if you want!

3 ⧽. what's something you like about your writing?

4 ⧽. is there an au or trope that you haven't written before, but would want to try?

5 ⧽. is there a certain kind of fic that feels the most satisfying to finish? any reason why?

6 ⧽. if you were to write a part two/sequel to a fic, what fic would you want to write it for?

7 ⧽. is there a fic you wish you received feedback on, but didn't get any/much? this ask game is asking someone else to then give feedback on said fic, pretty pretty please!!!

8 ⧽. what part of [insert fic] is your favorite?

9 ⧽. tell us about a wip/idea that you're excited about!

10 ⧽. what genre is generally the easiest or most enjoyable for you to write? which is the hardest?

11 ⧽. if you were to rewrite [insert fic] with [insert different character/ship] how do you think it might change?

12 ⧽. what's a song or two you associate with [insert fic]?

13 ⧽. do you have any writing projects/goals/plans you're working on/want to work on?

14 ⧽. is there anything outside of your normal content that you want to write?

15 ⧽. if you wrote a fic called [insert title] with [insert character/ship] what do you think it might be about?

16 ⧽. if you wrote a fic called [insert title] what character/ship would you want to write it for?

17 ⧽. are there any songs you want to write a songfic for?

18 ⧽. how do you want your writing to feel to your readers?

19 ⧽. give a hint/teaser about something you're writing without any context or explanation! tease us haha

20 ⧽. answer any one of the other questions that you want to!

#procrastinating my actual work rn so why not right

is it wrong (that i wanna get right with you?)

pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

summary: steve pops the question and reflects a little on your relationship

wc: 1.8k

a/n: was feeling nostalgic so i decided to write one last little thing for the is it wrongiverse 🥹🥹🥹

cross posted on ao3!

The Proposal

Maybe it’s presumptuous of him, but Steve starts designing your engagement ring not even a week after you officially start dating.

It’s not even a question in his mind that the two of you will eventually get married. Months before you’d ever even gotten together, you’d gotten wine drunk on one of your usual Friday night Love Island marathons—legs thrown over his lap, cheeks red and flushed as you rambled about how perfect Claudia and Austen were for each other—when you'd confessed that you wanted a big, splashy proposal and an even bigger, splashier wedding.

“Call me silly and shallow if you want,” you’d said, surprisingly coherent for someone who drank two entire bottles all by herself. “But they’re supposed to be some of the best days of my life. Why wouldn’t I want them to be extravagant?”

He laughed and reached down to poke your knee. "I'm glad you've thought about it so much, but I’m not sure why you're telling me of all people. Isn't that kind of Fred's issue to take care of?"

"Mm, yeah," you'd said vaguely, waving a hand. "He knows what he needs to do." Then, you quickly changed the subject back to Claudia and Austen, launching into yet another rant about how you were convinced they’d win.

At the time, Steve hadn’t thought much of it. He’d been far too preoccupied trying not to think about the weight of your legs draped over his, or the way your head tipped toward him when you laughed, or how easy it would be to reach out and—no, he couldn't go there. Not while you were still with Fred.

Fred’s not here now, though. Point to Steve.

It’s a stupid, childish way of thinking about it, and he knows that. Fred wasn’t entirely at fault for how the relationship turned out. (Although if Robin was here, she'd probably agree with him and crack a joke about how horribly boring Fred was. She enables him too much when it comes to your ex-boyfriend.)

Still, he can’t help the raspberry he blows at the other guy in his head at the memory of the way you’d dimmed your spark around him. He’ll never really forgive Fred for the way he made you feel small, no matter how unintentional it was.

You don’t talk about proposals now. Your relationship with Steve is still too fresh and new to be seriously discussing things like that. But he remembers everything you’d said in the past, and it’s those things he keeps in mind while he works with Benedict the jeweler to get the ring right.

It takes about three months of emailing back and forth and occasional meetings in person before he’s finally satisfied with how the ring looks. Benedict is probably sick of him by the end of the whole thing, but he’s determined to make the ring feel like you.

As soon as it’s finished, though, he realizes he’s made a grave mistake. Now that he has the ring in his possession, all he can think about is how beautiful it would look on you.

The images haunt him nearly every day. Your hands wrapped around a mug of peppermint tea, the ring glinting under sunbeams filtering in from the window. Your fingers laced with his, the white gold of the band warm against his skin. You gesturing animatedly while you tell him about your day at the museum, the diamond sparkling every time your hand cuts through the air.

He’s well aware that it would be insane to pop the question after less than a year of dating, much less under six months. You’d probably get the idea into your head yet again that he sees you as some kind of trophy to be won instead of the woman he’s been pathetically pining after for years.

So he takes the ring back to Benedict and asks him to keep it in storage until enough time has passed that it feels appropriate to propose to you.

The right time, apparently, is a weekend getaway to Lake Como a little after your two year anniversary. The two of you have traveled to Italy many times at this point, but you’ve been eager since forever to visit Como specifically because of its rich history in silk manufacturing.

Immediately after dropping your bags off at the hotel, he takes you to the Como Silk Museum. Out of habit, he doesn’t tell you where you’re going, but you figure it out anyway.

“Steven,” you say slowly, turning to him with narrowed eyes even as your mouth starts to pull into a smile. “Are you taking me to the Silk Museum right now?”

He shrugs, trying for casual and probably missing the mark entirely. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”

He most definitely is.

You spend what is probably way too long wandering around the exhibits, entranced by the placards that describe the history of silk and its production in Como. You ooh and ahh over the machinery, pointing out things to Steve eagerly and explaining to him which former processes are still being used now.

It reminds him of your Valentine’s Day outing not so many years ago, back when you still weren’t quite yourself and he was trying desperately to think of ways to bring you back. He still remembers the way you’d withdrawn in your heartbreak the night you and Fred broke up, your smile not quite reaching your eyes even when he’d done his best to cheer you up.

When he’d taken you to the Fashion and Textile Museum, it was the first time in a long while that he’d seen you properly light up at something.

Now, seeing the way you’re pressed up to a glass wall taking endless pictures of the textile samples displayed behind it, he feels like the luckiest man in the world to be able to bask in your glow.

Dinner feels like a callback to that day, too. You spend the entire time talking about the museum, about how cool it is that it encompassed the entire process of making silk, including unraveling silkworm cocoons and how beautiful the printed fabrics were, and he silently mourns every time he has to tear his eyes away from you to make sure he doesn’t spill his food everywhere.

He seriously considers sneaking away to the bathroom and calling Giuseppe to move the proposal plans up a day when you glance across the table at him and smile so big your eyes scrunch up a little, but it would be a dickhead move even by his standards to change everything so last minute. Instead, he suggests you order la cutizza for dessert and delights in the way you instantly agree like you weren’t just complaining about being too full.

The next day, before you wake up, he fills the room with orchids. It’s not the first time he’s done it, but you react the same way every time, eyes going wide and mouth dropping open every time you realize he’s gotten you your favorite flowers yet again.

“What the hell?” you ask, rubbing at your eyes sleepily as you push yourself up with one elbow and swing your legs off the bed. Being barely conscious usually makes you blunter than usual. “There’s so many of them.”

“Gotta get all the flowers for my best girl,” he says in response, leaning down to kiss your furrowed brow. “C’mon, sleepyhead. We have things to do today.”

The nickname earns him a pillow to the chest, which he takes in stride with a laugh. He knows you’re not really mad, otherwise you’d be scowling instead of admiring the white petals that fill the room.

The second day is spent sightseeing. Steve doesn’t really remember what specifically it is that you end up doing, even though he planned it, because all he can think about is the ring burning a hole in his pocket. He keeps checking for it like an idiot, brushing his fingers against the inside of his jacket just to make sure it hasn’t somehow disappeared.

(It hasn’t. Where would it even go?)

By some miracle, or maybe because you’re too entranced by all the sights in front of you, you don’t notice at all how nervous he’s getting. You’re too busy soaking up the beauty of the botanical gardens and the open water of the lake to see how he’s digging in his pocket for what must be the millionth time.

He manages to pull himself together enough to say something coherent when you’re finally out on a boat in the middle of the lake and Giuseppe’s conveniently making himself scarce.

You’re watching the sunset when he drops down on one knee, head tilted up as you marvel at the soft pinks and golds painting the sky. When you turn back to ask him to take a picture of you, the words immediately die in your throat.

“Uh,” you croak out, immediately zeroing in on the velvet box in his hands. For a moment, neither of you say anything, choosing instead to just stare at each other in wide-eyed shock.

Then, he breaks the silence with a laugh and a shake of his head. “I had this speech I wrote down and memorized,” he says. “But right now, I can’t remember a single line of it, so forgive my shitty improvisation.”

“That’s okay,” you reply, voice already watery. “You can just read the speech you planned to me later.”

Steve says your name with so much affection it nearly knocks the breath out of you again. “From the second you stomped into my dorm room to tear me a new one for being a horrible friend, to the first time I saw you again next to Byng Place after eight long years, to the moment you ran away from me in Camden Market, I’ve loved you desperately. And I know it hasn’t been that long, all things considered, but I’ve known since the very first month we started dating that this was it for me. That you were it for me.”

He glances down at the ring for a second, then back up at you, trying his damndest to not start crying so he can get through his speech without breaking.

“I spent a long time getting things wrong,” he continues, steadier now. “I missed the point a million times, but somehow, you stayed through all of it. And I don’t want a life without you in it. I told you two years ago that I chose you, and I plan to keep choosing you, every day of my life, if you’ll let me.”

A tear slips down your cheek. His own face is starting to get wet, even if he hasn’t fully realized it yet.

He opens the box to reveal the ring, the diamond catching the last streaks of sunlight between you. “So will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

“Yes,” you sob, leaning down to kiss him through the tears that are now streaming down your face before he can get up and slide the ring on your finger. “Of course I will.”

As the fireworks start to go off, you both realize it truly is one of the best days of your lives.

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#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #buckley!reader #inspired by little women

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i fell in love

the final part of the love island au where you finally confess your feelings to steve <3 in case you missed it, here’s part 1, part 2, and part 3!

steve x fem!reader ♡ 2.4k

For your second and final date on Love Island, you and Steve are dropped off in the middle of the Fijian countryside next to an ATV. The text messages you'd received told you that you were allowed to take it for a joyride along the winding path for a little bit, but that you needed to drive it to the top of a nearby cliff.

“Have you ever driven one of these before?” you ask, eyeing the thing skeptically.

Steve glances between you and the ATV, already reaching for one of the helmets. “Have you?”

You shake your head. “I’ve only ever been a passenger.”

“Perfect,” he says, popping on the helmet and snapping the strap into place like that settles it. “I guess we’ll find out how good I am at this.”

You giggle as you fasten the strap on your own helmet. “You know that’s really not reassuring, right?”

“It’s fine,” he assures you, swinging one leg over the ATV. “I’m great with cars and motorcycles. This can't be that different.”

He’s not entirely wrong, but you still roll your eyes at him as you climb on behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. On instinct, he twists around and leans in for a quick kiss, only to accidentally bonk his helmet against yours instead.

Laughter spills out of you, loud and uncontrollable, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as your shoulders shake. “Oh my god,” you gasp. “That was so unromantic.”

"I dunno, babe," he says, laughing just as hard as he reaches behind himself to squeeze your thigh in apology. "That was kinda the best thing that's happened all day."

When you've both finally had a chance to catch your breath, he turns the ATV on, and just like that, you set off down the winding path.

It's a simple enough route, but Steve insists on going as fast as he comfortably can, partly because he can but also partly because he knows exactly how you'll react.

“Steven James Harrington,” you shriek, tightening your arms around his waist as the ATV lurches over a dip in the path, “if you kill us on our final date, I’m actually going to kill you myself.”

He chuckles, entirely too pleased with himself. “We’d have to die for that to happen, and we won’t.”

“I’m serious!” you yell, even as giggles bubble out of you between the words, your cheek pressed against his back to keep from bouncing too much with every bump in the road. “Slow down!”

“Just trust me!” He calls over his shoulder.

You sigh, because you do unfortunately trust him more than you should. “Fine,” you shout back, and the answering flash of teeth that you catch before he focuses his attention back on the open road is blinding.

The wind rushes past you, warm and constant, tugging at your clothes as the path winds ahead. The world starts to blur at the edges, greens and browns melting together as he takes a turn a bit faster than necessary, and you let out another startled giggle, instinctively pressing closer to him.

Finally, he starts to slow down as the ATV climbs up the cliff the text told you to head toward, the engine working harder beneath you as the incline steepens. You watch in awe as the view starts to open up around you—glimpses of bright blue ocean peek through the trees and sunlight catches on the greenery in flashes that make you squint.

At the top of the cliff, you find a small table set up off to the side, draped in white linen that flutters softly in the breeze. There’s a charcuterie board laid out neatly with fruit, cheese, and crackers, and next to it a rolled-up scroll tied with a ribbon.

“It’s for you,” you say, nudging Steve lightly as you nod toward the little placard with his name on it next to the scroll.

He glances between you and the table, mildly confused, before stepping forward and picking it up. “I wonder what it could be.”

“Open it,” you tell him, already smiling. You don't know what's on the scroll either, but you think you might have a good idea.

He unties the ribbon and unrolls the scroll carefully, and immediately, his face crumples. He tries to hide it, but Steve has never been subtle with displaying his emotions—his eyes go glassy and his mouth presses into a thin line in a poor attempt at trying to hold it together.

“Hey,” you say quickly, moving closer so you can run a soothing hand down his back. “What’s wrong?”

He tries to tell you, but the words seem to catch in his throat every time he attempts to say something, so instead he tilts the scroll so you can see what's on it.

It’s covered in drawings.

They're messy, colorful, unmistakably drawn by little kids—some feature stick figures in oversized baseball caps and jerseys, holding bats while standing in neon green fields that must be an interpretation of a stadium, while others focus on lopsided scoreboards with scores that are almost definitely too good to be true and a group of people holding up what are probably meant to be golden trophies.

In nearly every single one, though, there's a stick figure that you immediately identify as Steve because it’s significantly bigger than the rest of them, with humongous hair that the cap barely covers and a huge smile drawn on in thick marker.

On second glance you realize there are little messages scribbled everywhere too, crammed into every nook and cranny of available space. Good Luck Coach Steev! they say. We miss you! Hit a home run!!

When you tear your eyes away from the page, you realize that Steve’s openly crying.

"My Little League kids," he says, sniffling miserably. "I told them I'd be gone for this year’s summer program, but I didn't tell them why. Hop must've told them I was… I don’t know, on some kind of competition or something.”

"They love you a lot," you tell him softly, because it's obvious that they do. Every uneven letter, exclamation point, and depiction of him oozes with adoration.

Steve lets out a shaky laugh, dragging the back of his hand under his eyes to wipe away his tears. “Yeah, well, they're still gonna give me so much crap for ditching them to find a girlfriend,” he mutters, voice wrecked.

"Hmm, I don't know about that," you say with mock severity. "You haven't asked me anything, so technically when you go back you won't have a girlfriend just yet."

"Right, semantics," he huffs, but there's a grin tugging at his lips now and the sparkle is returning to his eyes, so you decide to count it as a win.

The rest of the date is as easy as breathing.

Technically you'd had lunch not long before production had called you to come out for your date, so you both pick at the charcuterie board while he tells you stories about his team. You laugh until your stomach hurts while he tries in vain to explain how one of the kids tried and failed to get the others to storm the field with him when they lost.

“He was so serious about it,” Steve says, shaking his head at the memory. “Even gave a whole speech about needing to stand up for themselves, but everyone else wanted to get Capri-Suns and go home.”

You dissolve into giggles again, reaching out to steal a piece of fruit off the board, but you’re not really paying attention to what you grab. The only thing you can really focus on at the moment is everything you feel for him.

It would be so easy to tell him right now that you love him. You could take his hand in yours, look him in the eye, and just say the words that have been burning in the back of your throat since the moment you realized you'd fallen for him.

But tomorrow you're supposed to stand under an arch and give each other your final speeches. It's the kind of big moment you know Steve loves, because he's always been a huge romantic at heart.

You owe him the fireworks he wants so badly. So you swallow the words back down, even though they press insistently at your ribs, begging to be let loose.

You've waited this long already. What's one more day in the grand scheme of things?

A day later, you’re in the dressing room going over the speech you’ve carefully written one last time. Behind you, Robin is pacing back and forth as she mutters lines under her breath while Eden tries to calm her down.

When the producers call you to walk down toward the firepit, your breath catches in your throat at the sight of Steve standing there waiting for you.

The suit alone would’ve been enough—it’s tailored within an inch of its life, the dark fabric crisp and clean in a way you're not used to seeing on him. But it’s the details that end up getting you.

Knotted at the center of his collar is an emerald green tie that perfectly matches the silky dress you spent far too long picking out this morning. You hadn't known that he noticed that you’d slunk away after breakfast to dig through your closet, much less figured out how to find out what color dress you’d picked.

Then again, he has told you multiple times that he loves paying attention to you.

“We're matching,” you say softly when you finally reach him, unable to keep the smile from tugging at your lips.

He exhales, something a little sheepish flickering across his face for just a second before it settles back into that easy confidence you know so well.

“Yeah,” he admits, glancing down briefly at his tie before looking back up at you and returning your smile. “I asked Robin to help me find out what dress you were wearing for this. Figured it’d be nice.”

"It is nice," you say, pulling him in for a kiss. Behind him, there's a chorus of whoops and cheers as the boys and Vickie egg you two on, clearly pleased at the way both of you are clearly laughing into the kiss.

By the time everyone’s come down to the firepit and the producers have guided you over to the area where they want you to give your speeches, your nerves have settled.

Steve stands across from you under the heart-shaped arch, eyes fixed firmly on your face like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of this.

You take a deep breath and begin.

“Before coming to Love Island, I was starting to shut myself off from the world,” you say, your voice soft but sure. “I was tired of getting hurt over and over again, and coming on here felt like my last chance to try and open my heart again.”

There’s a murmur somewhere to your right, but you ignore it, hands gripping your notecards tighter.

“And if I’m being honest, my experiences in here weren’t really changing my mind… well, except for Eds, but that’s different,” you add, smiling faintly as a quiet laugh ripples through the group.

“I genuinely thought before you walked through the villa doors that I might be closed off to romance forever. But then you showed up, and you gave me no choice but to love you.”

Something shifts in Steve’s expression when you glance up from the notecards to look at him, and your chest tightens.

“I’ve never felt this way in my life. You make me feel loved, you make me feel seen, and… well, somehow, it made me fall in love with you.”

Your throat catches just slightly, but you push through it. “Steve, I’ve loved you since the moment you sat by the pool with me on one of the quietest nights in the villa and let me cry my eyes out without any judgement.”

The other islanders still at that, zeroing in on the confession, but you continue talking through the lump that’s slowly forming in your throat. You need to get it all out before you start sobbing uncontrollably.

“Thank you for your generous heart, your patience with my moods, and for always choosing me in this experience.” Your voice starts to tremble on the last part, but you pause to gather yourself before saying the last piece.

“I didn’t think I could love anyone the way I love you, but somehow, I do. And it’s the best feeling in the entire world.”

You’ve barely finished your speech before he’s moving to crush you in a hug so tight it knocks the air out of your lungs. He buries his face in your shoulder, and you realize then that he’s shaking.

“I meant every word of that, by the way,” you say wetly, tilting your head down to kiss his hair. He sniffles and tightens his grip around you.

After a few moments, he pulls back just enough to curl a hand around your jaw and pull you in for a messy kiss. It’s definitely not either of your best work and probably looks awful on camera, but neither of you care very much, not when the islanders all spring to their feet and start cheering as soon as your lips touch.

You’re still a little dazed when he breaks away, his forehead dropping against yours as he lets out a shaky breath.

“I love you too, for the record,” he whispers. “I can’t believe you fucking beat me to the punch.”

Your lips curve up, soft and disbelieving even as tears blur your vision. “Okay, well, you snooze you lose,” you say, scrubbing furiously at your face.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, but you see the exact same disbelief mirrored on his face as he reluctantly steps back and tries to pull himself together so he can give his own speech.

In the end, you place second.

Robin and Vickie take the win—something that feels right the second it’s announced. They’re not the first lesbian couple to come through Love Island, but they are the first to make it all the way to the finale, and the villa erupts around them as soon as the host says their names.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you didn’t really want to win the show anyway. The idea of standing up there and picking envelopes, having to go through the whole love or money ceremony in front of everyone makes your stomach churn in displeasure.

Second place, or any other spot really, is exactly where you’re meant to be.

Because when Steve’s hand finds yours and you lift your interlocked fingers to press your lips gently to his knuckles on instinct, you know in your heart of hearts that you’ve won what matters most.

#icymi <3

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got somethin’ special

a quick little continuation of the love island au.. in case you missed it, here’s part 1 and part 2! don’t worry, part 4 aka the conclusion is gonna be posted later today so stay tuned 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

steve x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k | find pt 4 here!

The last eight days of the show go by in a blur. Everything already feels like it’s been moving too fast and too slow at the same time for most of the summer, but after Carol and Tommy's elimination, it's more conspicuous than ever that you're getting closer and closer to the end.

And then, on what feels like the millionth sunny afternoon in Fiji, you hear your mother’s voice calling your name.

You’re stretched out on a towel with your head pillowed on Steve’s chest, half-listening to whatever story Eddie’s in the middle of acting out. Argyle and Robin are heckling him from across the pool like they always do, blowing raspberries and throwing up thumbs downs to provoke him.

It’s just like any other day in the villa, so when you first hear what sounds like her calling to you, you ignore it. People shout your name all the time here—producers, other islanders, voices carrying weirdly across the courtyard. You probably just mistook someone else’s voice for her. If you’re actually needed for something, they’ll eventually come to you anyway.

But then her voice rings out again, closer this time, and you realize with a jolt that you hadn’t imagined it at all. Instantly, you scramble up and follow the sound across the courtyard, heart hammering so hard in your chest it drowns out the sound of everything else.

You don’t even register the way Steve calls your name behind you or the hush that falls over the rest of the villa as people start to realize something’s happening. You just keep running until you suddenly collide with her.

“Hi, baby,” she says, voice already thick as she wraps you up in a tight hug.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, the sound breaking somewhere in the middle as your eyes sting. “Hi—what are you—how are you here?”

You don’t let go of her. You can’t, not when she’s in the villa, standing in the middle of this place that’s felt so separate from the rest of the real world for far too long.

Your dad steps in a moment later, pulling both of you into his arms. You missed him so much during your time here, and you tell him as much while shoving your face into his forearm.

For a second, it doesn't feel like the cameras are there, or that all of you are hooked up to microphones recording every single thing you’re saying. The only thing that exists is you and your parents, holding each other like you'll disappear if you let go.

To no one’s surprise, your parents love Steve. When he steps up to them and introduces himself with a small smile on his face, they take to him immediately. Your mom pulls him into a quick hug too, and your dad gives him a very manly pat on the shoulder.

But before they can ask him too many questions, there’s another commotion near the entrance of the villa and a burly man with a mustache is suddenly striding directly towards you like he’s on a mission.

Steve sighs, like this is normal. “Here we go,” he mutters under his breath, already stepping slightly in front of you like he knows exactly what’s coming.

The man—who must be Jim, Steve's father, you realize distantly as he stalks toward you—doesn’t slow down as he approaches. His eyes lock onto you immediately, sharp and assessing. Then, just as abruptly, he breaks out into a warm, crooked grin.

“Well,” he says, stopping right in front of you and scanning over you one more time like he’s double-checking his first impression. “You’re definitely too good for him.”

Steve groans next to you, turning around so he can hide his face in your shoulder. “Jesus Christ, Hop—”

"Kid, it's true," Jim says, watching Steve with one eyebrow arched perfectly. "Jane's been watching the show at home enough for me to see what's been happening. You're a lucky son of a gun to have found her and you know it."

You can’t help it, you laugh. The tension that had coiled in your chest earlier loosens instantly at the way Steve lets out another noise and burrows deeper into your shoulder in response to his dad’s commentary.

"Yeah, I know," he mutters, voice muffled into your skin. The sincerity in his voice makes you beam in delight.

Jim snorts, clearly satisfied with his answer. "Good," he says before turning to you. "He treating you right?"

You don't even need to think about your answer. "Yes," you say, lifting your intertwined hands to press a soft kiss to Steve's knuckles.

“Good,” Jim says again, nodding like that settles everything for him. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

From behind him, a girl with long brown hair that has to be Steve's sister Jane steps forward hesitantly. “Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi, Jane,” you say in response, smiling at her. "It's nice to meet you."

Steve detangles himself from you to give his sister a little wave. “Hey, sis.”

“You’re not gonna hug me?” she asks, raising her eyebrow in a way so similar to the way Hopper had done not even five minutes ago that you have to stifle your laugh into your hands. From the way your dad snickers behind you, he notices it too.

Steve groans. “He's turned you into a monster. Why are you making the exact same facial expressions now?”

“Excuse you,” Jane says, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips as she steps forward anyway with her arms opened expectantly. “I have always been a monster.

He rolls his eyes, but pulls her into a hug anyway. You watch fondly as they bicker with each other over whether or not Jim’s influenced Jane too much while Steve’s been away, something warm settling in your chest when you see the way they both smile when they think the other isn’t looking.

All in all, Family Day ends up being a success. It feels more than surreal to see your family interact with his, but it becomes clear after a few minutes that everyone's getting along so well with each other, and as you watch them mingle with each other, the fear that lingers in your chest over things not working out for you and Steve on the outside dissipates a little.

Not only do your families approve of you individually, they approve of each other. There’s not much else you could really ask for.

Another few days pass and Billy and Heather get eliminated too. You’ve never been particularly fond of Billy, especially because of how brash he tends to be, but Heather is sweet and you desperately wish that she made it to the end with you. Still, you can’t be too upset at the final four couples because it’s you and all your friends who end up being left on the island.

After the brutal elimination, none of you really feel like doing much of anything. There’s a strange, engulfing quiet again—with the loss of yet another couple, the villa has shed a layer of noise you didn’t even realize you’d gotten used to.

Eddie takes one look at the group of miserable little faces and immediately announces that the villa simply must have a s’mores night to celebrate making it to the final four.

"C'mon, up, up," he says, pulling at Vickie's arm from where she's curled up on one of the daybeds. "We need to take advantage of the firepit before they put it out for the night."

Vickie groans, trying half-heartedly to squirm out of his grip. “Eddie, I’m grieving.”

“Which is why we should make s’mores,” he shoots back. “You can’t possibly be sad with a toasted marshmallow in your hand.”

Before she can say anything in response, Argyle plants a kiss on Eden’s cheek and makes for the kitchen. “I definitely saw graham crackers in the pantry the other day," he calls over his shoulder. “Sit tight, brochachos.”

Within ten minutes, you’re gathered around the firepit again, only this time you’re armed with a supply of ingredients for s’mores. Somehow, Argyle managed to find everything you needed, even little wooden skewers for you to stick the marshmallows on so it almost feels like you’re out in the real world when you start roasting them over the fire.

You lean forward to hold your marshmallow over the fire, watching as it begins to soften and swell. The heat from the flames warms your face, light flickering across everyone’s expressions as the mood slowly but surely lightens.

Steve cracks some stupid joke about how he’s glad Tommy never found the skewer sticks before he left the island because Eddie would have about a thousand splinters right now, and everyone bursts out into laughter, clamoring over each other to say what Tommy probably would’ve done to Eddie. The sounds—everyone talking over each other, laughing too loud, the fire crackling in the background—fill up the space that had felt so empty earlier.

Tomorrow, you’ll go on your last dates, and the day after that, you’ll give your speeches and find out who won Love Island. But tonight, your fingers are sticky with melted marshmallow and chocolate, your heart is impossibly full of love, and in this moment, you are eternal.