Creative Ash Productions @creativeashproductions - Tumblr Blog

Creative Ash Productions Masterlist

Welcome to my revamped masterlist! Below are the characters/fandoms I’m currently the most focused on.

Shadows of Haven

Reader's been a sleeper agent for Kronos longer than most campers have been at Camp Half-Blood. Patiently waiting for the last piece of the plan it's a pleasant surprise that that piece happens to be the boy who see reader as his haven.

“The Threads that Bind Us” Blurb Collection

A collection of moments that tied Hex and Luke together in the before, the during and the after the quest of Percy Jackson.

The Old Therebefore

Reminiscing with an ex is never a comfortable situation especially when that ex abandoned everything that mattered. But when Luke shows up on your doorstep years later it’s hard not to sit and catch up on everything including the interlude between the last time you saw him and now.

Constellations

Split River High School’s dead population finds new plasma, and fluctuating secrets with Wally’s rooftop ghost girlfriend in the middle of it.

Murder Mysteries and Afterlife Businesses | Part 2

Maddie Nears is unaware of one ghost at Split River High School with the connections to help. The issue? Well the reader hasn’t stepped in the school since 2013 due to a certain dead jock.

A Finch’s Journey

A gift from the kindest and warmest woman in a dark period of your life begins a decades-long journey to finding peace and love.

Coming soon!

Proceed with Caution

The reader doesn’t expect to become involved in a hostage situation with her fiance’s older sister, the older sister’s best friend and the best friend’s date from hell. With the addition of a SWAT member, how will the taking of dispatch change?

Streetdogs and Chest Compressions | Crossover with Julie and the Phantoms

Reader reconnected with her estranged younger brother in the cruelest of ways as the 118 is called the scene of three young men suffering after eating streetdogs. Unfortunately, this is how Buck meets the future brother in law he had no clue even existed.

Back to the 118 | Crossover with Julie and the Phantoms

Buck meets the firefighter he replaced as the reader transfers back to the 118. The reader never expected to fall for a co-worker the first day back at the 118 after two years spent at the 155 in Los Feliz.

#creativeashproductions masterlist #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson #jatp fanfic #evan buckley #911 imagines #911 on fox #top gun maverick #School Spirits 2023

hearts4steve

I’ve had this scenario running though my head for a while now where Steve thinks timetraveler!reader is hard of hearing but it’s really bc she’s wearing AirPods with noise canceling 💀 or he thinks shes poor bc she doesn’t have a cassette player or a VCR but she uses Spotify or Netflix and just hasn’t told him (idk the specifics of how internet will work tho)

omg i love this and i’m so so sorry for taking so long to write this !!!!

જ⁀➴ rewind x40

steve harrington x reader

i absolutely do not like the way this turned out but i am FORCING myself to stop being lazy and to finish my requests

time jumping isn’t an unfamiliar concept. not to your father and especially not to you.

hawkins, indiana in the 2020s is very different than hawkins, indiana in the 1980s.

especially regarding all things supernatural.

your dad moved to hawkins back in the mid 2010s. you were still young, but old enough to remember the tedious drive to indiana’s blandest town.

he never told you why he moved until you were 15 and your own powers were getting out of control.

he told you all about dr brenner and his experiments, and how your dads lab partner was trying to jumpstart it. your dad, ever the scientist, sacrificed offered you to be the test subject.

you were supposed to gain telekinetic abilities, not be able to manipulate time and space.

4 years of training and you were now 19 and ready.

years of teleporting around your father and his partners makeshift lab in your basement gradually turned into teleporting a couple minutes into the past and future until they deemed you ready.

they gave you a full rundown on everything they knew about the lab and all the people involved. they told you what group to approach and what to say and how to say it.

they needed all the information you could get.

you gave them a tight nod. “adios.”

you travelled 40 years back with nothing more than the clothes on your back and your beloved backpack with modern essentials you couldn’t dream of abandoning.

your father had been wary. how would you be able to play it off if someone saw a technological device from 4 decades into the future?

you assured him you’d be careful. and he reluctantly agreed.

you landed in your basement, just in 1986.

it smelled like if a cheeseball was rubbed in some teenage boys armpit—yup, there you have it.

the most crowded you’ve ever seen a basement.

all eyes on you.

“what the fuck.” a boy with curly hair spoke.

“we do not have time for this.” said an older boy.

“where the hell did you come from?” a girl with blonde hair spluttered.

“great.” a redhead muttered. “lucas, do you have something to do with this?”

the boy next to her blinked. “how could i have done anything!”

“are you lost or something?” a girl with brown hair asked.

you stared blankly at them. there was time to go back. they all looked sleep deprived, they could blame it on that. you could not stay here—

“helloooo?” the older boy snapped his finger in your direction. “the door’s that way—”

“steve.” said the girl with brown hair warningly.

“what? we can’t deal with this right now, not with max—”

“oh, yeah, because i’m just some big burden now.”

“what—no! i never said that!”

“nice going, steve!” the girl with blonde hair scoffed.

“dr brenner.” you blurted, shutting them up.

all heads turned to face you.

“what did you just say?” lucas blinked.

“dr brenner.” you repeated. your throat bobbed. “i need to know what you know about him.”

“are you… one of them?” the girl with brown hair asks cautiously.

“sure. yeah, in a way.” you shrugged. you weren’t necessarily wrong.

“in a way?” the boy with the curly hair asked.

“in a way.” you nodded. “listen, i know he’s up to no good. i know he’s been… problematic—”

“that’s one way to put it.” the older boy scoffed, earning a glare from you for interrupting.

“i know he’s involved in some supernatural bullshit and i need to know all about it.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“supernatural? what does that mean even?”

“blasphemy!”

“we haven’t heard of anything like that.”

“not involved.”

you rolled your eyes. “i know you guys know something, alright? the faster you tell me the faster i leave.”

“what do you want with dr brenner anyway?” the redhead, max, grumbled.

“he hasn’t only royally fucked up here, you know. more mess to be cleaned elsewhere.” you lied through your teeth.

“can’t you just… teleport to him?” the older boy asked, exasperated.

“she can’t just do that.” said the curly head immediately.

“why not?”

you pinched the bridge of your nose as the two boys went back and forth. someone else pitched in and now it was a full argument.

you sighed and sat down, discreetly putting your airpods in.

you sighed as your noise cancelling airpods did its job. their buzzing faded into nothingness.

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

inhale. hold. exhale.

repeat.

inhale. hold. exhale.

repeat.

inhale. hold—

“HEY!” the older boy clapped his hands in front of your face.

you peeled your eyes open, pretending to scratch your ear to take off the airpod.

“you deaf? we’ve been calling you over for the past ten minutes—”

“oh, that’s rich coming from you, steve!” cackled the blonde. “you can’t hear either.”

“i can hear.” he said firmly.

“sure.” she laughed softly.

“what was that?” he asked, immediately turning so his right ear was facing her.

“thought so.” she raised an amused eyebrow.

“look—we’re all tired right now.” the girl with the brown hair sighed. “how about we talk about this tomorrow morning? do you have anywhere to stay.”

you shook your head.

“that’s fine. you can sleep here.” she shrugged.

you nodded, trying to suppress any emotions of shock. you never thought you’d be given permission to sleep in your own house.

everyone parted soon after.

steve and max stayed.

“hope you don’t mind sharing the basement with us two.” steve gave you a hopeful smile.

you shook your head.

“not a talker, huh?”

you shook your head.

“well lucky for you, i’m an amazing talker.”

you had to use all your willpower to hold back the eye roll of the century.

he was just being so rude, why the change of heart?

“we picked up on the wrong foot.” he walked towards you and held his hand out. “i’m steve.”

you introduced yourself with a murmur. he repeated your name quietly, almost like he was testing it on his lips.

“soo,” he shrugged. “do you like to watch movies?”

that caught your interest. you loved movies. “yeah.” you nodded.

“i work in a video store! you can visit—i’ll give you the employee discount. what’s your favorite movie?”

fuck.

you absolutely could not mess this up and give him a movie that was only going to get released 5 years later.

“that’s a hard one…” you trailed off. “e.t?” you guessed.

“dustin likes that one.” he nodded. “the one with the curls.”

throughout this conversation, you realized how he’s speaking slightly louder and going the extra mile to enunciate each word carefully. almost like he’s making lip reading easier—oh my god, he thinks you can’t hear.

obviously he would; you hadn’t corrected him when he asked if you were deaf!

his eyes trailed over to your bag. “have anything good in there?” he pointed. “we’ve been carrying cassettes for max everywhere i half expect every bag to have one now.”

“cassettes.” you repeated. was that the music one or the movie one?

“yeah, cassettes.” his eyebrows furrowed. “you have any?”

“no.” you shook your head, hand clutching your bag protectively.

he looked deep in thought.

you were wearing washed jeans and the most scuffed converse he’s ever seen in his life all with a shirt with a collar you cut off so it could sit on your shoulder comfortably.

he didn’t know it was all deliberate. you bought the jeans like that, you made your friends step and jump on your shoes until the looked worn, and you cut your own shirt. all in the name of style.

maybe you should’ve dressed more like a girl in the 80s because now you just look dirt poor.

“that’s fine, i have a lot. i can give you some. what do you like to listen to?”

you can’t say djo, you can’t say doja cat, you can’t say dominick fike, because they don’t exist.

“abba.” you blurt.

“oh i definitely have abba tapes.” he nodded. his face went red. “uh—they’re my moms.”

you heard a snicker that was immediately followed by a cough.

you turned and saw max hiding her mouth behind her hand.

“i can bring some tomorrow if you’d like?”

“i don’t wanna be a bother—”

“you’re good.” he waved you off. “better than collecting dust, right?”

you nodded, a small smile forming on your face. “right.”

maybe you could survive the 80s

creativeashproductions

The concept. The potentials. I’m so excited for if you continue this into a blurb series.

yikesdrama

FOR ONE PERFECT MOMENT (i)

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋!𝖻𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗑 𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾-𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗅 𝖻𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗄, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝖾𝗋-𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍.

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝟨.𝟨𝗄, 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗅 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗈𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌!𝖻𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 (𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿), 𝗌𝖺𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝖽𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗄, 𝖽𝗈𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗈, 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒’𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍/𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺 (𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿), 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗏𝗂𝖻𝖾𝗌, 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 (𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀)

𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 | 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝟤

Pʀᴇsᴇɴᴛ Dᴀʏ, Aᴠᴇɴɢᴇʀs Cᴏᴍᴘᴏᴜɴᴅ

Steve Rogers looked across the table at you, arms crossed, brow furrowed in thought. The room felt warm and quiet despite the weight of the conversation, the faint hum of Stark Tech monitors filling the silence as your words lingered in the air.

Sam Wilson sat across from you, leaning back in his chair, one eyebrow raised in mild skepticism, but there was something softer in his expression—something almost amused.

“So, let me get this straight,” Sam began, tilting his head toward you. “Your brilliant idea for Bucky’s birthday is to—what—borrow Tony’s time machine, go back to the 1940s, and hang out with his family?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” You leaned forward, your elbows resting on the edge of the table. Your voice had a determined edge, but your eyes betrayed a flicker of nervous energy. “I mean… think about it, Sam. When was the last time Bucky had a real family celebration? A moment where he wasn’t running from Hydra or fighting for his life or—” you paused, chewing your bottom lip—“feeling like he’s some kind of burden on the people around him?”

Steve straightened in his chair, his sharp blue eyes shifting from Sam to you. There was a stillness to him, like he was processing your words as if they were mission intel. “You’re not wrong,” he said finally, his voice calm but measured. “But it’s not exactly simple. Time travel isn’t… well, it’s not just a weekend getaway.”

“I know that,” you said quickly, cutting him off before he could build up steam. “I know it’s not simple, Steve, but it’s worth it. You know what this would mean to him. To see his mom & sisters, Steve. Don’t you think he deserves that?”

Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as well, as a slow grin spread across his face. “Y’know,” he said, pointing a finger at you, “I thought this idea was crazy at first, but now I’m starting to think you’re just crazy enough to pull it off. The question is, how do you convince Stark to hand over the keys to his fancy time machine?”

“Oh, I’ve got a plan for that,” you said, brushing off Sam’s teasing tone with a wave of your hand. “Tony owes me. Big time.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“Do you really want to know?” You smirked, leaning back in your chair with a satisfied expression. “Let’s just say it involves a highly classified Avengers mission, a stray cat, and one very expensive pair of Tony’s sunglasses.”

Sam barked out a laugh, the sound echoing off the walls. “Okay, now I definitely want to know.”

“It’s not important!” you said quickly, your cheeks flushing. “The point is, I can get Tony on board. But I need you two to back me up. He’s not going to go for this unless he knows it’s not just some ‘sentimental whim.’” You air-quoted the words dramatically, your voice dropping into a passable imitation of Stark’s dry tone.

Steve’s lips twitched into a faint smile, the kind that said he was almost convinced but still holding out for the catch. “Let’s say you get Tony to agree. How exactly are you planning to make this work? The timeline has rules. You can’t just drop in on the 1940s like it’s a costume party.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know that. Look, I’ve been thinking this through. We’d be careful. In and out, no interference with the timeline. Just… a quiet visit with his family. Maybe a week, max. Enough time for him to have a real birthday celebration. I mean, wouldn’t you want that if you were in his shoes?”

Steve’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his gaze settling on a spot on the wall. For a moment, the room went quiet. Sam exchanged a glance with you, his humor softening into something more thoughtful. Steve’s voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but firm. “Yeah. I would.”

Your expression softened, and you reached out across the table, your hand brushing against Steve’s. “Then you understand why this is so important. He’s been through so much, Steve. We all know that. He deserves to feel important.”

Sam let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “You’re laying it on thick. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re whipped for the guy.”

Your face went red, but you didn’t back down. “Of course I’m whipped for him Sam, I’m in love with him. That’s why I’m doing this.”

Steve and Sam both froze, their expressions caught somewhere between surprise and something softer.

Steve blinked, his hand unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck. “Well,” he said, his voice low, “I can’t argue with that.”

Sam recovered first, his grin wide and teasing. “You’re really pulling the romance card, huh?”

“Shut up, Wilson,” you shot back, but there was no real heat in your voice. “Are you in or not?”

Sam laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m in, I’m in. You had me at ‘time machine.’”

Steve sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’ll help you,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “But we do this by the book. No cutting corners, no unnecessary risks. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you said quickly, your eyes bright with excitement. “Thank you, Steve. I mean it.”

“Alright, so what’s the next step? Do we just march into Stark Tower and ask Tony for a favour.” Sam clapped his hands together, the sound breaking the tension in the room. “Because I’ve gotta say, I don’t think the guy’s gonna go for it without some serious persuasion.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I’ve got a plan.”

Later that evening, the three of you stood in Tony’s lab, the soft glow of holographic displays casting blue light across the room. Tony Stark was pacing, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his expression equal parts amused and exasperated.

“Let me make sure I’m hearing this correctly,” he said, stopping mid-stride to look at you. “You want me to loan you my multi-billion-dollar time travel machine so you can throw a birthday party in the 1940s?”

“Not just a party,” you corrected, your tone matter-of-fact. “A family reunion. For Bucky.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You know, when I built this thing, I had slightly higher ambitions in mind. Like, oh, I don’t know, saving the universe?”

“This is saving the universe,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “His universe.”

Steve cleared his throat, stepping forward. “It’s important, Tony. For Bucky. He hasn’t seen his family since the war. This would mean everything to him.”

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You people really know how to tug at the ol’ heartstrings, don’t you?”

Sam smirked. “Comes with the territory.”

There was a long pause, and then Tony shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But if you break it, you buy it. And by ‘it,’ I mean the space-time continuum.”

You beamed, and for a moment, it felt like the entire room had brightened. “Thank you, Tony. You have no idea how much this means.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, waving you off. “Just don’t make me regret it. And keep Rogers out of trouble while you’re at it. Don’t want him to end up fighting someone in the alley.”

Steve raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He had a feeling this was going to be one birthday Bucky would never forget.

That evening, the living room of the Avengers Compound had never felt so cramped. Steve sat in his usual spot, his arms stretched over the back of the couch, trying to look casual while his stomach twisted with the weight of your not-so-secretive plan.

Next to him, you perched on the edge of the sofa cushion, your knee bouncing nervously as your eyes flicked between the TV and Sam. The movie playing on the screen was some action flick that none of you were actually watching—except maybe Bucky, who was obliviously sprawled out on the recliner, munching on popcorn.

Steve couldn’t help but glance at Bucky every few seconds, half expecting him to suddenly leap up and call their bluff. It was a ridiculous fear, considering how utterly relaxed Bucky seemed, but it didn’t stop Steve’s heart from racing every time Bucky so much as turned his head.

Sam, seated on the armrest of the couch, leaned over toward you and murmured under his breath, his tone just loud enough for Steve to catch. “So, what’s the next move, mastermind?”

Your lips twitched into a quick, nervous smile as you shot him a sideways glance. “We need to talk to Strange,” you whispered, your voice low but brimming with determination. “But we have to be careful. Bucky can’t know. Not even a hint.”

“Yeah, no pressure,” Sam muttered, rolling his eyes. He popped a handful of M&Ms into his mouth and slouched slightly, doing his best impression of someone who actually cared about the car chase on the screen.

“Can you two stop whispering?” Steve whispered yelled, though his voice lacked any real authority. He reached for the remote, fiddling with the volume button and turned it up. “If you’re going to conspire, at least don’t do it two feet away from him.”

You shot him a look, rolling your eyes. “What do you want us to do, Steve? Write notes and pass them like we’re in fifth grade?”

Sam smirked, leaning closer to you. “I mean, it might be safer. He’s got super-hearing. For all we know, he’s—”

“Sam,” Steve cut in, his tone warning, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Not helping.”

Bucky, blissfully unaware of the tension simmering behind him, let out a low chuckle at something on the screen. Steve froze, his eyes darting to you, and you looked like you were about to jump out of your skin. Your eyes flicked back to Sam, then to Steve, your expression screaming this is impossible.

“Alright, alright,” Sam said quietly, lifting his hands in surrender. “Let’s just get out of here before you two have a nervous breakdown. We can go talk to Strange.”

Steve nodded, grateful for the excuse to move things along. “Good idea,” he said, standing and stretching like he’d just remembered an urgent errand. “We’ll, uh, be back in a bit, Buck.”

“Where are you going?” Bucky asked casually, his eyes still glued to the screen.

You froze, your face an open book of panic, and Steve jumped in before you could flounder. “Oh, uh… just running an errand. These two are just tagging along for backup.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, finally turning his attention away from the movie to look at you. “Backup? For what?”

“Moral support?” you stated hesitantly.

Sam snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement before he covered it up with a cough.

Bucky gave you all a skeptical once-over but eventually shrugged, settling back into his chair. “Whatever. Just don’t die out there.”

“Got it,” you blurted, grabbing Sam’s arm and practically dragging him toward the door. Steve followed, his stomach knotting tighter with every step.

The three of you didn’t speak until you were outside and halfway to Steve’s SUV.

Sam finally broke the silence with a low whistle. “That was smooth. Real smooth.”

You shot him a glare, your cheeks still flushed. “You’re not helping.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Sam replied, grinning as he climbed into the back seat.

Steve rolled his eyes and opened the passenger door for you to get in & sit, his patience already wearing thin.

Once you were on the road, the tension in the car started to ease, though Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking a very fine line. You sat beside him, fiddling with the hem of your sweater as you stared out the window. You looked nervous but determined, your lips pressed into a firm line.

Steve studied you for a moment, his mind drifting to all the times he’d seen that same look on your face. It was the look you got when you were planning something big—something you believed in with your whole heart. He couldn’t help but admire you for it, even if it made him nervous.

“So,” Sam said, breaking the silence as he leaned back in his seat, “what’s the game plan with Strange? You gonna sweet-talk him like you did with Stark?”

You snorted, finally tearing your gaze away from the window to look at Sam. “I don’t think Strange is the ‘sweet-talk’ type.”

“Good point,” Sam said with a grin. “So what’s the backup plan? Bribery? Begging? Threats?”

“None of the above,” you said firmly. “I’m just going to explain the plan and hope he understands.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? No clever strategy? No emotional appeals? You’re really putting all your eggs in the ‘logic and reason’ basket?”

Steve cut in before you could retort. “She’s right. Strange isn’t the kind of guy you can manipulate. He’ll respect honesty.”

You gave him a small, grateful smile. You were stubborn, sure, but you were also smart—smarter than you gave yourself credit for sometimes.

When you arrived outside the Sanctum Sanctorum, you were the first to get out of the car, despite the nervous energy radiating off you. Steve followed close behind, with Sam bringing up the rear, muttering something under his breath about “mystical nonsense.”

Stephan Strange greeted you at the door, his expression unreadable as always. He stood tall, his arms crossed over his chest, the red of his cloak catching the door light in a way that made him look almost regal.

“This better be important,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind. “I don’t have time for casual visits.”

You stepped forward, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. “It is important. I promise.”

Strange raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and the two men behind you. “Alright. Come in.”

The inside of the Sanctum was just as strange and imposing as Steve remembered. You seemed unfazed, though he noticed you glancing around with a mix of curiosity and awe.

“So,” Strange said once you were seated in his study, “what’s this all about?”

You took a deep breath, your hands resting in your lap. “I want to use the time travel machine Tony built to take Bucky back to the 1940s for his birthday.”

Strange blinked, his expression carefully neutral. “That’s… specific.”

“It’s important,” you said quickly, leaning forward slightly. “I just want him to have a chance to see his family again. To know they’re okay. And I promise we won’t do anything to change the timeline. No interference, no big disruptions. Just… a visit.”

Strange studied you for a long moment, his fingers steepled under his chin. “You’re asking me to approve a plan that involves traveling to the past and interacting with people who are supposed to remain unaware of future events. Do you understand how delicate this is?”

“I do,” you said, your voice steady. “But I’ve thought it through. The only thing I plan to do is explain to his family what happened to him—why he disappeared. They deserve to know he’s okay, even if they never see him again. And when I bring him there, it’ll just be for a week. A chance for him to see his family once.”

Strange’s gaze flicked to Steve, then to Sam, as if gauging their reactions. “And you’re both on board with this?”

Sam shrugged. “Hey, it’s not my birthday, but if it makes Bucky happy, I’m all for it.”

Steve nodded, his expression serious. “It’s risky, but I trust her. She won’t let anything happen to the timeline.”

“You’re lucky I’ve seen weirder requests.” Strange said letting out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Fine. As long as you stick to your word and don’t try to rewrite history, I won’t stop you.”

Your face lit up, and Steve felt a wave of relief wash over him. Strange wasn’t exactly the sentimental type, but he’d clearly seen something in your determination that convinced him.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You have no idea how much this means.”

Strange waved you off, his tone dry as usual. “Just don’t make me regret it. And for the love of all things sacred, don’t try to save Barnes from falling of the train in the past. You’ll just make things worse.”

“I won’t,” you promised quickly. “This is about giving him something good now, not changing what’s already happened.”

“Good,” Strange said, standing and gesturing toward the door. “Now get out of my Sanctum before I change my mind.”

As you walked back to the car, your steps were lighter, almost bouncing. You turned to Steve and Sam, a wide grin on your face. “That went better than I expected.”

Sam smirked. “Yeah, thanks to your sales pitch.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t lose your smile. For the first time all day, you felt a genuine sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this plan was going to work.

Okay, see the thing was Steve had witnessed his fair share of devotion in his lifetime. He had seen love in wartime letters clutched tightly in trembling hands, in quiet glances exchanged across rooms, and even in the sacrifices people made for each other on the battlefield.

But nothing—not in the 1940s, not in the decades since—compared to the sheer, shameless fervor of your love for Bucky Barnes.

He leaned back against the counter of the kitchen, arms crossed, as he watched you chatter animatedly with Sam and Natasha, your eyes alight with that unmistakable spark. You had this way of talking about Bucky that made it impossible not to notice the utter adoration woven into your every word.

It wasn’t just love; it was full-blown, unapologetic obsession.

“And then,” you said, your hands moving wildly as you recounted some small, undoubtedly inconsequential moment, “he just sat there, all broody, like he was single-handedly carrying the weight of the world. And I said, ‘Bucky, you don’t have to pretend to be a tortured poet every time it rains!’” You grinned, clearly delighted with your own story. “He didn’t laugh, of course, but I swear I saw his lip twitch.”

Natasha smirked, sipping her coffee. “Sounds like a real charmer.”

“Oh, he is,” you said, beaming as though Nat’s comment had been an actual compliment. “You just have to get past the murdery vibe, you know? It’s all part of his charm.”

Sam snorted so loudly that Steve thought he might choke on his drink. “Murdery vibe? That’s the phrase you’re going with to describe your boyfriend?”

“It’s accurate!” you insisted, unbothered by the teasing. “You just don’t understand him the way I do. Beneath all that scowling and brooding, he’s—”

“A ray of sunshine?” Natasha interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly!” you said brightly, completely oblivious to the sarcasm, again. “He’s my sunshine.”

Steve suppressed a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. He loved you—he really did—but hearing you wax poetic about his grumpy, perpetually unimpressed best friend was almost too much to bear. It wasn’t the first time, either. In fact, it was a near-daily occurrence.

What astounded Steve the most, though, was how far you were willing to go for Bucky.

Time Travel.

Literal time travel, just so Bucky could have one good birthday with the family he’d lost decades ago. Steve wasn’t sure if it was romantic or utterly insane—probably a mix of both. Either way, he couldn’t deny that it was impressive.

“So,” Natasha said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs, “how’s the time travel plan coming along? Did Strange give you the green light?”

“Green as it gets,” you said, practically bouncing in your seat. “He said it wouldn’t mess up the timeline as long as we’re careful. I mean, no big hero moves, no trying to rewrite history, and definitely no saving Bucky in the past.” You paused, your face briefly clouding with thought. “Not that I wouldn’t want to, but you know… rules.”

Sam shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Man, you really would mess with the space-time continuum for him, wouldn’t you?”

You turned to him, your expression dead serious. “In a heartbeat.”

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle at that, the sound low and amused. “Y’know, I’ve seen people go to some crazy lengths for the people they love, but this…” He gestured vaguely, as if words couldn’t quite capture the enormity of your plan. “This might take the cake.”

You turned to him, your expression softening. “Steve, if you could go back and give Peggy one more dance, wouldn’t you?”

The question hit him harder than he expected, his chest tightening as the image of Peggy Carter flickered in his mind. He didn’t answer right away, but you didn’t push him. You just gave him a knowing look, your eyes full of understanding.

“Alright, fine,” Nat cut in, breaking the heavy silence. “Let’s not get all sentimental. You still have one problem, genius. Tony Stark. What’s the plan for getting him on board?”

“We already got Tony on board,” you said smugly, folding your arms as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You? You convinced Tony Stark to let you borrow his precious time machine?”

“Of course,” you said with a shrug. “I just told him it was for Bucky’s birthday, and he rolled his eyes and said, ‘Fine, but if you break it, you’re paying for it.’ Honestly, I think he secretly likes the idea. He’d never admit it, but you know how he is.”

Natasha exchanged a glance with Sam, her expression halfway between impressed and incredulous. “I can’t believe Stark fell for that.”

“Oh, he didn’t ‘fall for it,’” you said, making air quotes with your fingers. “He knows exactly what he’s doing. He just pretends to be all grumpy and detached, but deep down, he’s a big softie.”

Sam let out a low whistle. “Man, I think you’ve got a thing for grumpy guys.”

“Only one grumpy guy,” you said, your smile softening. “And he’s worth it.”

Steve looked away, swallowing the lump in his throat. He wasn’t used to seeing someone care about Bucky like this—someone who saw him as more than just the Winter Soldier or the guy with a past too dark to talk about.

You saw Bucky. The real Bucky. And you loved him for it.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and Tony strolled in, a cup of coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other. “What’s all this about me being a softie?” he asked, his tone dry as he leaned against the counter.

You didn’t miss a beat. “I said you’re a grumpy softie. Big difference.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re lucky I like you. Otherwise, I’d revoke your time-travel privileges.”

“Softie,” you said, waving him off.

Tony smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned his attention to Steve. “So, Captain Sentimental, are you ready to supervise this little field trip? Because I am not cleaning up any timeline messes.”

Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What choice do I have?”

Tony looked you over, his expression softening just slightly. “You’re really doing all this for Barnes?”

You nodded, your eyes shining. “He deserves it.”

Tony was quiet for a moment, then he nodded, his usual sarcasm melting away. “Well, good luck, sunshine. Try not to get too lost in the 1940s.”

As Tony left the room, the conversation drifted to logistics—timing, equipment, and all the little details that needed to be ironed out before the mission. But even as you talked, Steve couldn’t stop thinking about what Tony had said.

Sunshine.

Steve glanced at you, watching as you leaned over a map on the table, your brow furrowed in concentration. You might not have realized it, but Tony was right. You really were a ray of sunshine—Bucky’s sunshine, in the darkest corners of his life.

And for that, Steve couldn’t be more grateful.

A few hours later, Steve sat on a folding chair, leaning back slightly as he gazed at the clear night sky. The rooftop was quiet, save for the faint hum of the compound below and the soft rustling of the wind.

Beside him, Bucky nursed a beer, his metal fingers absently turning the bottle in his hand, the soft clink of metal on glass barely audible. Sam was sprawled out in another chair, his legs stretched long, an empty bottle balanced precariously on his knee.

The silence was companionable, broken only by the occasional sip or the muffled sound of Sam muttering about how the stars weren’t visible like this back in D.C. Steve let himself relax for a moment, the crisp air cool against his skin. But, as usual, his thoughts wandered to you and your relentless energy over the past few weeks.

“You know,” he started, tilting his head toward Bucky, “your girlfriend is disgustingly obsessed with you.”

Bucky choked on his beer, shaking his head as he swallowed the wrong way. “What?” he said, laughing as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Steve smirked, taking a sip from his bottle. “I’m just saying. It’s impressive, honestly. I’ve never seen anyone so… determined to adore someone.”

“Yeah, man. She’s got it bad. Like, embarrassing bad.” Sam laughed outright, his deep chuckle rolling into the night.

Bucky leaned back, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a small grin. “You think I don’t know that?” He shook his head, the grin softening into something fonder. “She’s been like that since day one. But hey, I can’t say much—I’m just as bad.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” Sam said, raising his bottle in mock toast. “Two of you are a real power couple of mutual obsession.”

Bucky just chuckled, his eyes flicking up toward the sky as silence fell over the group again. Steve let it linger, his thoughts wandering to how Bucky’s face softened every time you entered a room, or how his mood lifted when you were around. It was a strange thing to see—the hardened Winter Soldier so easily disarmed by one person—but Steve couldn’t deny how much you had changed Bucky.

Maybe even saved him.

After a few minutes, Bucky spoke up, his voice quieter now. “She’s planning something, isn’t she?”

Sam, mid-sip, choked on his beer, his coughing fit loud enough to make Steve wince. “What?” Sam rasped, pounding a fist against his chest. “What are you talking about?”

Steve glanced at Bucky, keeping his face neutral despite the mild panic rising in his chest. “What makes you say that?”

Bucky turned to him, his expression amused. “Oh, come on, Steve. She’s been vibrating with energy for weeks. Every time she looks at me, she lights up brighter than the damn sun. She’s up to something.”

Steve fought to keep his expression steady, his mind racing for an answer. He couldn’t exactly tell Bucky the truth—that you were plotting a time-traveling birthday reunion with his long-dead family. Instead, he opted for the simplest approach: deflect. “Could be just a coincidence.”

Wow Steve well done, what a deflect. Idiot!

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, because her suddenly acting like a kid on Christmas has nothing to do with the fact that my birthday’s coming up.”

Steve’s lips twitched. He wanted to feel annoyed at how sharp Bucky could be, but mostly he was impressed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Buck. Maybe she’s just excited.”

Sam cleared his throat, raising his hands as if in surrender. “Listen, man, I love my life, so I’m not spilling anything. But if she’s planning something, it’s probably just a good old-fashioned birthday party. Cake, candles, maybe some embarrassing speeches. Nothing to worry about.”

Steve nodded, grateful for Sam’s quick thinking. “Exactly. Nothing big. She probably just wants to make it special.”

Bucky studied them both for a moment, his blue eyes sharp even in the dim light. Then he laughed softly, shaking his head. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But I know she’s up to something.”

Steve exhaled, letting some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Bucky didn’t know. Not really. And as long as they kept playing it cool, he wouldn’t find out until the time was right.

That was when they heard it: your voice, ringing out from somewhere below, loud and unmistakable. “Baby! Come down, I need your help with something!”

Sam froze, his bottle halfway to his lips, before glancing at Bucky with a grin that was entirely too pleased. “Baby, huh?”

“Unbelievable,” Steve muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She had to call you that now?”

Bucky’s grin stretched wide, his expression a mix of amusement and pride. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called back, his voice louder than yours. “I’ll be down in a minute, babydoll!”

Steve closed his eyes, willing himself to have patience. He couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. A six-foot-three super soldier—grumpy, broody, intimidating Bucky Barnes—was casually calling you “babydoll” in front of them like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Sam, predictably, couldn’t contain his laughter. “Babydoll?” he repeated, his voice cracking with amusement. “Man, I’ve heard it all now.”

Bucky shrugged, unbothered by the teasing. “What can I say? She likes it.”

“And you like her calling you ‘baby,’” Steve added, his tone half-teasing, half-exasperated.

“Damn right I do,” Bucky said, standing up and stretching. “You two can sit up here and laugh all you want, but I’ve got a girl waiting for me. Try not to get too jealous.”

As he disappeared down the stairs, Sam turned to Steve, still grinning. “You know,” he said, shaking his head, “for a guy who used to be Hydra’s deadliest weapon, he’s real soft now.”

Steve chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’ve got someone who loves you like she does.”

Sam nodded, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “Yeah. It’s good for him.”

Steve looked out at the stars, his mind drifting again. He couldn’t help but agree. For the first time in a long time, Bucky had someone who saw him—not as a soldier or a weapon, but as a man worth loving. And that, Steve thought, was the best gift anyone could ever give him.

Sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪɴ 1946, Bʀᴏᴏᴋʟʏɴ

The modest brownstone on Brooklyn’s east side stood in quiet defiance of the bustling world around it. Mrs. Winnifred Barnes—Winnie to her late husband and close friends—sat at the small kitchen table, her hands folded tightly together, a pot of tea growing cold on the counter. The house was too quiet now, emptier than it had ever been. Rebecca was at school, and though she tried to keep the chatter alive when she was home, it couldn’t fill the void left behind by James.

Her boy.

It had been several months since the letter arrived, stamped with the insignia of the United States Army. The words blurred in her mind even now, but the message was clear: Missing in Action. Presumed Dead.

Her James. Her troublemaker, her beautiful boy with his wide grin and steady blue eyes. Gone. And no one could even tell her how, or where, or if he’d suffered.

She exhaled slowly, her fingers curling tighter. Every time she thought she had no more tears left to cry, the ache returned, fresh and sharp as ever. But this time, something else lingered—a strange sense of unease, like the air had shifted. It was quiet, but not in the usual way.

Something was coming.

The knock at the door startled her. It was brisk, not hesitant like the neighbors checking in or the pastor bringing by a casserole. Winnie frowned, wiping her hands on her apron as she rose. Her steps were measured, careful, as though the visitor might vanish if she approached too quickly.

Opening the door, she was greeted by a sight that immediately threw her off balance. The young woman standing there looked as though she had stepped out of some dream—or perhaps a nightmare.

Your clothes were strange, fitted in ways Winnie couldn’t quite comprehend, and your hair was loose and flowing in a style that seemed almost scandalous. But it was your eyes that caught Winnie most—a peculiar mix of softness and urgency.

“Mrs. Barnes?” you asked, your voice steady but kind.

Winnie hesitated, her hand tightening on the doorknob. “Who’s asking?”

You smiled faintly, “I… I need to speak with you. It’s about James.”

Winnie’s heart clenched, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. “James?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“May I come in?” you asked, your tone gentle but insistent. “I promise it’ll make sense. I just need a moment of your time.”

Winnie hesitated for only a heartbeat before stepping aside. Something in your voice—or perhaps the way you said James’ name—demanded trust, though it made no sense at all.

The kitchen felt smaller with you standing there, your presence filling the room in a way Winnie couldn’t quite explain. She gestured toward the table, and you sat down without hesitation, your hands folded neatly in your lap. Winnie remained standing, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as though bracing herself.

“What do you know about my son?” Winnie asked, her voice firmer now, tinged with suspicion. “The Army already sent their letter. Unless you’re here with new information—”

“I am. There’s something you should know.” you interrupted, your eyes meeting Winnie’s with unwavering determination. “I know this is going to come as a shock but Mrs. Barnes, James isn’t dead.”

The words landed like a bombshell, shattering the fragile quiet of the room. Winnie felt her knees threaten to buckle, but she forced herself to stand tall. “What did you say?”

“He’s alive,” you said softly. “It’s a long story, and I know it’s going to sound… unbelievable. But I promise you, every word is true.”

Winnie sank into the chair opposite you, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain you could hear it. “You’d better start talking, young lady.”

You nodded, your hands tightening briefly on the edge of the table before you began. “When James fell from the train, he survived the fall. But… he didn’t come home because Hydra found him first.”

“Hydra?” Winnie repeated, frowning.

“They were… they are… a very bad group of people,” you explained, your voice tightening. “They were part of the war, working in secret. When they found James, they… they took him. He was badly injured—he lost his left arm—but they didn’t care about helping him. They used him.”

Winnie’s throat went dry, her chest tightening painfully. “Used him? For what?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of your words pressing visibly on your shoulders. “They replaced his arm with a metal one. And then… they brainwashed him. They erased who he was and turned him into someone else. They forced him to do terrible things—things he would never have done if he’d had a choice.”

Winnie stared at you, her hands trembling. “You’re telling me… my boy’s been alive all this time, and he’s been… tortured?”

“It’s worse than that,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “They put him in cryo-freeze, a kind of suspended animation. It keeps the body from aging. They would wake him up every now and then, make him do their missions, and then put him back on ice. He was never in control, Mrs. Barnes. Not once.”

The room seemed to tilt, and Winnie pressed a hand to her forehead. “I don’t understand. If all this is true, why hasn’t he come home? Why hasn’t anyone told me?”

“He couldn’t,” you said softly. “Not until recently. But now… now he’s free. He’s safe. And I wanted you to know that.”

Winnie shook her head, disbelief and hope warring in her chest. “How do you know all of this? Who are you?”

You hesitated for a moment before answering. “I’m from the future. From 2025.”

Winnie stared at you, waiting for you to laugh, to smile and admit it was all some elaborate joke. But your face remained serious, your eyes filled with an honesty Winnie couldn’t deny. “The future,” she repeated faintly.

“Yes,” you said. “I know how it sounds. But it’s true. I came back to tell you about James because… because you deserve to know.”

Winnie leaned back in her chair, her mind racing. None of it made sense, and yet something about your voice, your demeanor, made it impossible to dismiss you entirely. “If you’re from the future,” she said slowly, “then tell me something else. Tell me about… Steven Rogers.”

Your expression softened. “He’s alive too.”

Winnie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “No.”

“He is,” you said, your voice gentle. “He survived when he put the plane down in the water. They found him 70 years later, frozen in the ice, but alive. Just like James.”

Winnie felt tears welling up in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them. “They’re both alive,” she whispered. “My boys are alive.”

“Yes,” you said, reaching across the table to take her hand. “And they’re together. Living in Brooklyn. James is free, Mrs. Barnes. He’s been pardoned for everything Hydra made him do, and he’s a hero now. People love him.”

Winnie’s breath hitched, a sob breaking free from her chest. She clutched your hand tightly, the tears flowing freely now. “You’re sure?” she asked, her voice trembling. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“I’m sure,” you said firmly. “He’s safe. He’s happy.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Winnie allowed herself to believe it. Her boy was alive. And somehow, impossibly, everything was going to be okay.

Winnie’s hands, now resting limply on her lap, still trembled with the weight of what she’d been told. She didn’t know where to begin. What question could possibly make sense of the impossible? How could you, so composed and confident, sit there and tell her these outlandish, earth-shattering truths as though they were simple facts?

Her James.

Alive. Free. Safe.

But at what cost?

“Mrs. Barnes?” you asked softly, breaking the silence that had stretched too long. Your voice was patient, a warm balm against the storm raging in Winnie’s chest. “I know this is a lot to take in. If you need me to explain anything again, I’m happy to.”

Winnie blinked rapidly, forcing herself to focus. Her hands twisted together in her lap as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I—I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “You’re telling me my son’s been alive all this time… suffering, being used like some kind of—” Her breath hitched, and she shook her head, unable to finish the thought. “How could anyone do that to him?”

Your face softened, your expression filled with sympathy. “I don’t know,” you said honestly. “Hydra is… they were ruthless. They didn’t see him as a person. They saw him as a weapon. But he’s not like that anymore. He’s found his way back to himself.”

Winnie’s gaze snapped to yours, her eyes narrowing slightly. “How do you know all of this? You’ve never told me who you are, or why you care so much about my James.”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table. For the first time, you looked unsure, as though the question had caught you off guard.

Tᴏ Bᴇ Cᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

keerymehome

ˋ°•*⁀➷ Something Worth Fighting For

ˋ°•*⁀➷ Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: He shows you gold rings and Sunday mornings. He shows you Steve Harrington with laugh lines and a daughter with his curls. He shows you the life you'd kill to keep - and all you have to do is never wake up.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ Fluff and Angst, my new fav combo

A/N: Why... do I like making Steve suffer a little bit. Basically got inspired by the scene with Pennywise and Marge in Welcome to Derry where he's telling her about Richie.

Word Count: 2,981

The clock radio read 6:47 AM in soft, glowing red numbers that bled into the room like a becon.

You woke to the weight of a hand spread wide across your lower back - warm, possessive, fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin that made you shiver even in your sleep-drunk state. Your cheek was pressed against bare skin: collarbone, sternum, the steady thrum-thrum of a heartbeat beneath your ear that danced in synchronizarion with your own. You inhaled, and the scent was threw you off. Not the chemical sting of the Creel house or the rotting organic sweetness of the Upside Down.

Fabric softener. Coffee. Something warm and masculine and safe.

Steve.

You peeled your eyes open.

Sunlight filtered through linen curtains, dawn barely cracking. You were sprawled on top of him, skin to skin, the white sheet tangled around your hips but doing little to hide the fact that you were both naked and pressed flush together from thigh all the way to chest. Your left hand, resting against his pecks, shined with a simple gold band that caught the morning light.

Married, your brain supplied, sluggishly. We're married.

urhoneycombwitch

in good spirits

Steve Harrington x Reader frenemies to lovers Robin's two best friends can't stand each other, turning holiday parties into bickering prank wars. maybe the new year will have them in better spirits?

foreword: sometimes a bitch needs to write fic that’s part character analysis part fighting-friends-to-lovers. for my own mental health. thank you st5 art dept for bringing us that damn sweater. this is set in a nebulous pre-season 5 timeline but written with mid/late-twenties Steve in mind.

cw: frenemies dynamic between S + R, rivals, (mostly) Steve POV, petnames (incl. fem epithets for R), pranking, longing, secret feelings, bit of angst, mentions of bad parents (S+R), mentions of former partners, holiday parties, lap sitting, drinking, smoking, R referred to as 'girl' + she/her, R wears a bra, PTSD symptoms, oral (R receiving), fingering, oral fixation, mentions of birth control, unprotected PiV, multiple orgasms, Horsecock Harrington™️, secret hookups, mdni

wc: 9.4k

steve harrington mlist

Robin is pulling you by the elbow up the Byers’ shoveled driveway, boots stamping loud and impatient, porch lights glowing warm and inviting against the backdrop of snow.

“I need you to pull it together for, like, one hour, max,” Robin is saying as she ferries the reluctant weight of you plus the two quiches in your arms up to the front door. “And then you can make a polite exit and smoke with Eddie or whatever in the backyard. And-”

Here she turns, pointing as serious a finger as she can wearing fuzzy mittens and a knit bobble hat.

“-you will not. Start. With Steve. I’m serious. Do you understand me, Sweetest?”

You plaster an appeasing grin with only ten percent maliciousness attached to it and respond, “Sure do, honey pie. I won’t start if he won’t.”

Robin sighs. Then she raises her fist to knock at the door. “Mother Mary, help us all.”

___

For two people who’ve never slept together, you and Steve sure act the part of contentious ex-partners.

The worst thing that happened in 1985 actually wasn’t the mall fire and Upside Down chaos that rocked your small town, disrupting your big-city college dreams and forever anchoring you to Indiana.

No, the worst thing to happen to you that year was one Steve Harrington forging a Russian-basement-trauma-friendship with one Robin Buckley.

The worst thing to happen to Steve, in recent years? Contending with the fact that his best friend has a best friend.

thedepthsoffandomminds

Stranger things - reader insert story

Episode list.

ongoing series,

stevexreader slow burn

Reader is Johnathan's twin sister. On the night Will taken the Demogorgon injured y/n. Now she's connected to everything in a way no one expected.

Begins to deviate from script in season 4

series 1 series 2 series 3 series 4 series 5

one one one one one

Two Two Two Two Two

three three three three three

Four. four four four four

five five five five five

six six six six six

seven seven seven seven seven

eight eight eight eight eight

__________Nine. Nine

Trigger warnings-

Ptsd

General stranger things moments.

creativeashproductions

Eek I love this.

#caitsy’s tbr

d4ughtersgrave

USED TO BE ONE OF THE ROTTEN ONES | CHAPTER ONE

⌞PAIRING ⌝ steve harrington x fem! reader

⌞SUMMARY ⌝ in which you and steve harrington meet again years later at the hawkins middle school dance he's chaperoning for, now a baseball coach and sex ed teacher. to reconnect, he voluntarily agrees to be your fake fiancé to bring home to your family. only problem is the bottled up resentment and feelings between the two of you since your fallout in high school.

⌞WARNINGS⌝ 18+ mdni one year post epilogue, steve pov, childhood best friends to strangers to lovers, fake dating/engagement, steve has a complicated relationship with his parents, dual timeline, steve is 24 & reader is 23, make up/apology sex, angst, some fluff/humor, steve being an absolute asshole in the past, king steve, jealous steve in present timeline, alcohol, smoking, eventual smut but majority is plot, p in v, fingering, soft dom! steve, sub! reader, happy ending

⌞WORD COUNT ⌝ 5.3k

⌞A/N ⌝ hello! first chapter done & out the way. overall, more of a intro, setting the scene chapter. this chapter was written from my phone and laptop depending if i was writing at home or not, and for some reason tumblr differentiates the font of the quotation marks depending on the device i'm using? i WILL be fixing this and 'study strip later' to fix it because i'm the biggest perfectionist.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

July, 1973

For the past year, Steve Harrington had been begging for a bike. It'd been a morning at the breakfast table, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth, when his eyes had laid on a yellow deluxe Schwinn Stingray for the first very first time in his seven years of living.

His big brown eyes had lit up when he has flipped through the Sears catalogue, already conjuring up several images in his head of him pedaling through the streets, hair mussed up for once, and knees scraped up.

Almost immediately, he’d pointed to the picture and pleaded to his parents. In response? It’d been an immediate no.

“I really want it! I’d look so cool like the kids from school!”

His bottom lip had trembled, eyes watering the more he had asked and had only gotten a harsher response every time.

“Stuff like that is for children with no home training, Steven.” His father had chided, the wrinkle between his brows furrowed.

“But—!”

‘Enough! Clearly we spoil you too much. Now go get yourself ready. I have that dinner with my client tonight.’

Steve stomped off not knowing whether to cry or hurl one of his toy cars. He just didn’t understand! A bike didn’t mean he’d turn into a rebellious kid with no manners, if anything it just meant he’d have more opportunities to explore. He was sick of being cooped up in the large empty house all the time, always left alone with his nanny Matilda while his mother accompanied his father on his business trips.

The months that passed had been filled with long sighs and not so subtle hints to his parents every time a bike was shown on television, on display while he’d been dragged for shopping with his mother, and every time the paperboy had pedaled by the house. Steve had felt green with envy when stupid Tommy H. had been showing off his brand new bike at school, the exact one he wanted except in red. He’d felt the urge to grab a rock and hit the freckled boy upside the head with it.

Until the morning of his 8th birthday, when he’d gone down for breakfast, table quiet as his mother, father, and he ate the breakfast served to them as always. Steve had been about to say his thanks to Elizabeth and offer to wash his own plate when his father had left the room before coming back to pull in a yellow deluxe Schwinn Stingray alongside him.

Steve had gasped, eyes welling up when he’d witnessed the very object of his wildest dreams. His mother’s lips had even twitched into a small smile as she sipped her coffee, a rare sight truly.

His mother had spoken up, “You wouldn’t stop asking, so I suppose we just went ahead and gave in. You’re…old enough now to be responsible with things like this. Happy birthday, Steven.”

Steve had been grinning ear to ear, mouth already opening to thank his mom when she shook her head, “Oh no, thank your father, it was actually his idea.”

Surprise had hit him, his eyes flickering to his father who stood stiffly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. His father? He’d been the first one to always deny him of this wish in the first place! Steve wondered what had caused him to have a change of heart. In the end, he didn’t have it in him to think too hard about it, all that mattered is that his father had finally listened.

He lunged forward.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He’d exclaimed, arms tight around his father.

His father had stilled, almost awkward as his hands slowly wrapped around Steve in return, giving a couple pats to his back, “Yeah, er- you’re welcome, son.”

The weeks that followed had been Steve constantly biking the moment he had a chance, which was a lot considering his parents were mostly gone all the time. He’s been instructed only one strict rule: don’t drag dirt into the house.

These were instructions Steve easily followed, always making sure to leave the bike in the garage every time he returned home from pedaling around Hawkins. It’d been a new sense of freedom he’d never felt before. He’d been pretty lonely, no friends except maybe Matilda. But even then, your own nanny doesn’t exactly count as a friend. Now, even if the days were still lonely, he had something new to do that was actually fun, unlike being restricted to home.

Little did he know though, was that his bike would be the reasoning for meeting you.

It was an afternoon when Matilda had opened the fridge, clicking her tongue. It’d been empty and she’d forgotten to go to the store the other day. Steve, toy car in hand among the other ones scattered across the floor, had looked up at her. He noted the small frown and how it looked as if she was desperately trying to find a solution. Her car had been broken down for quite some time, desperately needing to get fixed. It’d been his mother who’d been taking the family car for once to grab the groceries, except she’d left earlier this morning with his father to New York for business. Clearly, she’d forgotten to stock up on ingredients while they were gone.

Matilda sighed, “I’m sorry, Steve. I have no idea what on earth what we’re going to eat. Is it alright if I just order a pizza?—”

Steve stood quickly, already abandoning his toys, “I can go!”

Matilda blinked in surprise, a softly laughing, “That’s sweet of you, Steve, but it’s alright, you don’t have to do that.”

Steve shook his head, already racing to slide on his sneakers, “No, no, I can! You can still order the pizza, but I can just go get what you need so it’s ready tomorrow.”

“Steve…”

“Please? I can do it, really, I can!”

One thing about Steven Harrington people seemed to always learn was how selfless and sweet he was. He’d been practically born willing to give and help people, always wearing his heart on his sleeve.

A beat passed before Matilda shrugged, pulling a piece of paper from a notepad and scribbling names of ingredients, “Well, okay then, but be careful, I mean it Steve.”

Steve profusely nodded, grabbing the note before he was racing out the garage door, “Don’t worry, I will!”

It took twenty minutes to bike to the grocery store, and fifteen to go through the entire list and find everything in the store. He’d gotten lost for a bit until an employee, a boy who looked around sixteen had helped him. Eventually, he paid with the money Matilda had given him and bagged everything into one paper bag.

Afterwards, he’d tossed it into the basket of his bike, already making his way back home, smile on his face as the wind fanned him. The only thing on his mind was picturing how relieved Matilda would be knowing she didn’t have to stress about yet another chore his parents constantly threw on her.

Steve was making a right turn when something had suddenly hit the tire of his bike, a rock perhaps. The bike jerks, and before he knows it, he’s letting out a cry as he’s sent flying off the seat.

A burning sensation had ignited through his knees and the palms of his hands as they drag across the black asphalt. A whimper leaves him once he comes to a halt, immediately turning over to sit and look at the catastrophic scene before him.

His bike is fine, a bit scraped though, and laying on its side as the wheels resume spinning. Nearby, the grocery bag had thrown out as well, the groceries rolling along the street.

“No, no, no, no…”

He couldn’t help but think of how he failed Matilda at such a simple task, just like how he’d always been failing his parent’s expectations. Attempting to get up by pushing himself up with his hands, he stops and lets out a loud hiss.

Finally, he looks down to see the state of his skin. His palms and hands are cut up, blood seeping through, and his skin is torn and tearing back in flakes.

Biting his bottom lip, he wills himself to not cry. Crying was only for people who were weak, and he was anything but weak. But, he couldn’t help it, he’d always been a sensitive boy, his heart too big for his body.

Despite trying to hold back tears, he fails, droplets already falling from his cheeks. Curling into himself, shoulders hunched, he lets out quiet sobs from both the physical and mental pain.

“Are you okay?”

He stopped, head snapping up to the owner of the voice that interrupted his thoughts. Steve's vision was blurry, but he was still able to make out the figure of the younger girl standing in front of him.

There you stood, in lilac overalls and colorful hairclips. You couldn't have been that much younger than him, maybe by a year or two if he had to guess. Your bike lay abandoned on the the lawn nearby, pink streamers fluttering from the handlebars. Your eyes were wide with concern as you gestured towards his injuries.

"Are you okay?" You repeated, unsure whether or not he heard you the first time.

"I—" His voice cracks, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

You don't wait for an answer and crouch in front of him, your eyebrows knitting together, "Oh no! You're reallyyy hurt."

Oh god, he wasn't sure what to do in a situation where some random girl caught him in a humiliating situation out of nowhere. Pridefully, he harshly drags the back of his hand across his cheek, " 'M fine."

You tilt your head, "But you're crying and bleeding...?"

Steve stares at you, debating if it was even worth it to continue the lie. I mean, it wasn't like he was very convincing anyways with evidence at the scene of the crime. "Jus' messed up. I think my bike hit a rock or something and...bam. Y'know."

You looked over your shoulder to the spilled groceries, "Oh."

"Yeah, oh." He sniffled. Poor Matilda, she'd used her own money as well to pay.

"Well," You start, turning back at him to give a gentle smile. "I don't think that's messing up, accidents happen! That's what my daddy tells me at least."

Steve processed your words, face scrunching up. No one had ever said something like that to him before. It was always something that involved complaints of why he couldn't do anything right. "Huh? I don't think you get it...I was supposed to bring those home."

"Yeah, but you fell? 'S not like you did it on purpose, right?"

"I mean— um, yeah I didn't, I guess..."

Instantly, you stand straight and grab the paper bag to gather up anything that can be saved. "My house is right here," You nod to the house in front. "I was just about to leave, but saw you. Anyways, my mommy has bandaids. Ooo, and ice cream too."

Steve stands, wincing slightly. "Are you sure? I don't wanna annoy anyone."

"Yup! Don't worry, my mommy's nice."

He hesitated for a moment, knowing Matilda would scold him about how worried sick she'd been with his absence. But...his gut couldn't help but push him to go with you.

"Sure, I'd...like that."

You beam, revealing a missing tooth. "C'mon then! Ignore my older brother though, he's loud and stinks."

A wet hiccuping laugh bursts out of him before he can stop it.

December, 1990

The gym smelled of floor wax, cheap cologne, and hairspray. It was filled silver tinsel, glittery blue streamers, and snowflakes cut from printer paper that were attached to string that were hung up. Above the gym doors, a banner that red, ‘Hawkins Middle 1990 Snow Ball,’ was taped up sloppily.

Near the bleachers, Steve stood with a clipboard clutched in one hands and a plastic cup filled with fruit punch in the other. He stared at the crowded room of pre-teens who shouted over the blaring music coming from the speakers, voices cracking with excitement but also something that was definitely puberty.

Being the official coach for the boy's baseball team for a year now had it's upsides and downs, but honestly? Steve loved his job. He wouldn't trade it for the world if it meant he got to wake up everyday knowing he was actually doing something that mattered to him for once. Even if that meant being begged by his boys to come chaperone, which also meant him having to break up fights over who got to slow dance with who.

Steve lifted the rim of the cup to his lips, scrunching his face at the taste. This shit was probably made out of eighty percent sugar, but it's not like he hasn't had something worse for his health.

He scanned the crowd one more time, thankfully, no kids were bleeding or thinking they were grown enough to sneak in alcohol they stole from their parents cabinet. Yet.

"STEVE, STEVE, STEVE, STEVE, STEVE, STEVE, STEVE, STEVE!" A familiar voice cuts through the crowd.

Steve jumps, turning just in time to see Derek Turnbow barreling toward him, his tie already loose, and his dress shirt's sleeves rolled up.

"Derek-- Man, the hell are ya doin'? And what did we say about calling me by my first name?" Steve

Derek halted, trying to catch his breath, not even bothering to apologize, "Coach! You gotta come see this."

Steve narrowed his eyes, "Kayyy, well, that sentence has literally never ended well for me." He recalls how Dustin, though grown up now, used to drag him into every problem that involved interdimensional creatures. Steve fights the urge to shudder.

"It's nothing bad! Actually, it's really funny. Like, really funny." Derek insisted. His grin of mischief said otherwise.

"I don't know if we have the same definition of funny, Turnbow." Steve replied, full of skepticism.

Derek retorted, not caring enough to speak properly to his authorative figure, "Whatever, don't be such a kill joy, Coach Steve."

"Hey!—"

"So, Trevor thought it'd been a good idea to lift this girl he likes during one of the slow songs." Derek started, pointing to the far end of the gym where a group of eighth graders attempted to dance, arms flailing ridiculously.

Steve closes his eyes, already in disbelief, "I know damn well where this is goin' already, knowing that Trevor isn't even strong enough to carry his own bat."

"Yeah!" Derek nodded enthuisiatically. "Anyways, he dropped her. Funny, right?"

His eyes snapped open, "Excuse me?"

"Oh, well, she's fine though!" Derek quickly added. "It's Trevor who isn't, he pulled something I think. The idiot is kinda stuck so, I came to tell you because it's funny but also he needs help."

Jesus christ.

Steve exhaled sharply, already walking to the direction where one of his supposed baseball boy's had a muscle envoking hell. They weaved through the clusters of kids, Steve already having to issue warnings as he pushed through, "Hey! Hands to yourselves! Yes, you too! And if I catch either of you doing that shit again you're gonna find yourselves scraping gum off the bleachers Monday morning!"

The two girls who had already been ready to go for the others hair had gasped, immediately straightening. Steve rolled his eyes as he reached the corner of the gym.

Trevor is currently leaning against the wall at and uncomfortable angle, one arm braced above his head. The girl he'd been trying to impress hovers nearby, mortified.

"I'm sorry Coach! I was trying to do do thing! Like— in the movies!"

"And what the hell is the thing you wer—? Nevermind, I don't wanna know."

Steve motions for Trevor to sit down, crouching down in front of him as he assesses the situation, "Does it hurt when you breathe?"

"Nah."

"When you move?"

"Yes..."

Just what he expected: broken arm. "Great, looks like this is something for the nurse and a call home to handle."

Trevor simply nodded, disappointed. Derek on the other hand, snorted. Steve shot him a look, "You're next if you keep it up, Turnbow."

Derek paled, "Hey, I didn't lift anybody!"

Steve waved a hand in dismissal, "Yeah, yeah. Go and dance or...whatever it is you like to do. Just don't go breaking any bones like Trevor."

Derek saluted before jogging off, nearly colliding with a teacher on his way, the sound of him being lectured heard from feet away. Steve watched him go with a fond, exasperated shake of his head. Man, he was difficult, but Steve did care about the kid. Even if at one point three years ago he was tying up his family in a barn...

He directed his attention back to Trevor, "Alright, I'm gonna go ahead and call the nurse now, yeah?"

"But, maybe—"

"Nuh uh, no buts." Steve said firmly. "This isn't something easily fixable. Plus, you're walking like you're sixty years old or somethin'."

Trevor forced a frown, attempting to stop his mouth twitching, “That’s not very nice, Coach. I didn’t say that to you after you slipped and fell on your butt last practice.”

Steve despite himself laugh, reaching a hand out to ruffle his hair, "Mhm, sure. Feel better, alright bud?"

A couple minutes had passed by until an aid sent down from the office rolled in a wheelchair for Trevor, pushing him away once he was seated. Steve waved a hand, offering a smile to the boy before his shoulders relaxed.

Only a couple hours left, then he could go home and crash.

The lights dimmed slightly, the DJ transitioning the music into, 'It Must Have Been Love," by Roxette, the ballad echoing throughout the gym. Students split off into pairs, moving into motion for a slow dance as Steve made his way to get another refill on his drink.

He couldn't help but think back to his days in middle school, the awkwardness of it all and how he transitioned from it into the infamous king Steve of Hawkin's high school. Steve quickly pushed the thought away into dark depths at the back of his mind.

Arriving at the table covered in white cloth, he placed his cup down and cleared his throat, "Another one, please." He asked whoever was working at the stand, not bothering to look.

"...Steve?"

His head shot up, at the sound of your voice, shock coursing through his body. Every memory of your voice, your laugh, your tears, your boiling anger, all of it had played through his mind like a movie reel.

Except now, you were no longer fifteen years old and heartbroken by his actively dumb decisions. You stood here now at twenty-three, beautiful, most definitely wiser, and different.

'You're fucking dead to me, Steve Harrington.'

Steve felt absolutely sick.

"Oh- oh, shit. Hey! Um—" Words were lodged in his throat, unable to come free.

You blink at him with wide eyes, paused in the mid action of previously scooping the red liquid. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What does he say, hell, what does he even do? He'd never exactly planned running into you again one day, if anything he thought your ice cold words spouted at him all those years ago would be that last he'd ever hear from you before you up and moved with your family to Oregon.

"Uh, wow." You let out a huff, an awkward smile gracing your face. "I didn't—?"

"Expect to see me here? Yeah, didn't think really think I'd ever..." He trails off, debating whether to pinch himself to see if he's dreaming.

Silence fills the gap between you two, so much left unsaid during eight years of distance. Finally, he breaks the ice, unable to stand the suffocation of his own mind and guilt, "So! You're back in Hawkins, or what?"

You look shocked that he even dared to start conversation as if you’d been on good terms.

"Pft, no, not at all. Lots of memories, but I hate it here," You cross your arms, shrugging. He doesn't know why but the words sting. "I'm only in town to visit Joshua."

Right, your older brother. Steve had always admired the boy, well, man now. In his mind he still remembered him as your awesome big brother with his easygoing energy and how he'd offer you both piggyback rides the way his father had never did. He wondered if Joshua hates him, if he'd curl his lip in disgust if he'd saw him now.

"Man," Steve whistled. "Been a while. How's he doin'?"

"Him and Cheyenne are still going strong," You smile softly. "And Elijah's gotten big now, which explains why I'm here. Josh asked me to chaperone for the formal since he couldn't get off work tonight and Cheyenne's getting closer to her due date for baby number two."

"Wait— wait, huh?" Steve's jaw dropped. When things had been normal with your guy's regular hangouts, Elijah had been three years old. Now he was what-- eleven? Going to the same school he worked at? Fuck, and Cheyenne was pregnant?

To his surprise, you laugh, "Yup, time sure does fly."

There was something unsettling about how your life had moved forward without him. Your family had moved forward without him. Shit, at some point he'd been considered a part of it. There'd always been a version of him that he believed would be a part of things like watching nephews, brothers, sister in laws, and parents growing older. Being a part of important milestones...

Meanwhile, Steve felt like he was still trying to catch up to someone he should've been years ago.

He not so subtly changed the subject, "What've you been...um, up to?"

"I mean, nothing interesting I guess? I graduated at the University of Oregon with an English degree, but...I was miserable at my job."

Steve knows he has no right to be concerned about you years too late, but can't help it. "Oh. Everything okay?"

You nod, "Yeah, no worries. Here's where the good part comes in: I own a bakery now."

He can’t help the smile fighting it’s way on his face, “You’re kiddin’, really?” You were always bringing over experimental dishes to him, sheepish when he ate whatever you handed to him. Steve had always praised your baking, tempted to see the pleased look on your face when he told you it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“Mhm. Grandma told me to just do it. Take the risk. So, I did. It’s small, but it makes me happier, that’s for sure.” You say as you remember his empty cup, taking it to refill it before handing to back to him.

He thanks you quietly, taking a drink as you ask, "Do you work here now?"

He nods, "Yeah, I coach the boy's baseball team and teach sex ed on the side. Didn’t picture myself teaching others how to properly use a condom, but hey, that’s life for ya."

"Huh. King Steve to Coach Steve." A jab. He decided to ignore it. For once, after years, you seemed…somewhat willing to even speak to him. You strangely weren’t angry. Or rather, you were trying to keep a level head.

"I teach a bunch of little shits, but I guess it was always my calling to play caregiver.” He joked.

You just hum, averting your gaze away to the crowd of slow dancing middle schoolers, “Did you finally decide to settle down? Knowing you, you were pretty popular with women.”

“Nah, I mean, I want to. Jus’ been hard past couple years, nothin’ seems to work out.”

Your brows pinch together, “Really? You? settling down? No offense, but that’s surprising.”

“None taken. I get it, last time you saw me, you saw a version of me that wasn’t too honest.”

You just stare at him, seemingly making judgements of him in your head that made him squirm at the thought. Thing is, he knew what you thought, he just didn’t want to think too hard about it because he knew it hurt knowing how you viewed him as a person.

He clears his throat, “You? Any lucky guy?”

Breaking out of your trance, you scoff, “Nope. It’s getting ridiculous at this point, you won’t believe the luck I’ve had with men.”

“What, you’re seriously not with anyone? You’re so—” Beautiful. Funny. Kind. Extraordinary. The loss of his life.

“I dated this one guy for two years, didn’t last. He wanted to move out of Oregon, but…I just wasn’t ready for that. Other than that, I’ve gone several failed dates where some guy fake emergency ditches me or tells me straight up he’s not ready for a relationship despite dragging it for two months.”

An ugly part of him deep inside the pit of his stomach churned at the thought of you with another man who knew you just as deeply at some point same as he did, even if you both had only been just friends. No, it was deeper than friendship, something so intimately sacred.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He opts for, instead of straight up expressing his horrible thoughts. Get a grip Steve.

“It’s fine. Just going to be embarrassing going back to Oregon next week.”

“Why? You need a relationship license to live there now or somethin’?”

“No, idiot.” You snort. “A bunch of my extended family is flying in for a reunion party.”

“I’m failing to see the problem here…?”

“The problem is they’ve been all making bets on whether i’m going to be single another year or have had another failed relationship short term or not.”

“The hell? You’re only twenty-three. Why’re they acting like you’re on a time limit or somethin’.”

“I have just as much as a clue as you do. They’ve been doing it since a couple months after me and Cameron broke up. Every family meet up or reunion now.”

Cameron. The supposed ex. Steve didn't even know the guy, but he already hated him.

“So what? They’re just expecting your love life to be trash every time they see you?”

“Pretty much.” You’re trying not to show it, but he can tell the subject upsets you. “I mean it’s not like close family does it at least. It still hurts though when the others joke and remind me just how hopeless things seem to always turn out for me.”

From everything you'd recapped to him, Steve assumed Cameron was your first boyfriend, first everything. Back in high school you weren't necessarily focused on dating like he was. Instead, you

“What if you didn’t have to go home alone?” He blurted.

“…What do you mean?” You say cautiously.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what is he doing?

Steve swallows, hands curling at his side, nails digging into his palm, "I just--" He lets out a shaky exhale. "You said your family's been rough with you...about relationship stuff y'know."

You don't answer, so he see's that as permission to continue, "So, you wouldn't have to go to your reunion thing or whatever the hell it is because--"

"Steve." Your voice grows agitated, wanting him to get to the point.

“Let me finish." He's rambling now, heart picking up pace, the room feeling ten times more hotter than it was before. "I know it sounds ridiculous, hell, I feel like a god damn idiot even saying this."

Silence.

Finally, he lifts his eyes to you. "I could pretend with you. Like, uh, fiance, boyfriend, whatever you need."

You blink at him.

Your laugh is sharp and disbelieving, "You're joking, right?"

Well, it was nice while it lasted. He knew it'd be too good to be true if your reasonable hatred for him had suddenly gone poof.

"I'm not!" He says quickly. Too quickly. "I mean, shit, it's fake obviously, but I'd take it serious for you. I wouldn't make ya look stupid or or or--" He stops himself and looks at you with sincerity. "Embarrass you."

The words hang their with heavy implication, words that were definitely on the verge of sending you into a mindless rage.

Embarrass you.

Embarrass.

Embarrassembarassembarrassembarrassembarrassembarrass

"And why," You ask slowly, voice dangerous. "would you do that?"

Because he owes you.

Because he let you walk away and never fixed things with you.

Because he feels fucking sick every time I think about it.

Instead, Steve shrugs casually, forcing a smile on his lips, "Because it seems like the least I can do."

Nononononononono. Stop it! Stop! Stop talking!

That's when your expression hardens. "The least you can do." You repeat, voice incredulous.

Steve frowns, "That's- that's not—"

"So, let me get this straight." You cut him off, folding you arms across your chest. "You think you can swoop in and play my devoted fiance for a weekend, to what? Feel better about yourself?"

He argues, "No! That's not why—"

"Because from where I'm standing, that's what it pretty much sounds like, Steven."

Steve shifts uncomfortably, the hole in his chest growing increasingly bigger and bigger. He lets it, he doesn't deserve the feeling of relief from every negative emotion that's consumed him whole in almost a decade.

"I just wanted to help..." He murmurs.

"You don't get to help." You snap. "Matter of fact, you don't get the right to act concerned and waltz back into my life like some kind of hero after—" You stop, trying calm yourself. "After everything."

Trying to figure out the right words, he says, "I know I screwed up, I know I hurt you. I've known that."

"So? That just undoes it?"

Maybe it could, maybe in some way he'd make it up to you.

He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, "I'm not saying that!"

"Then why are you doing this to me!" You demand. Some heads turn towards the both of you, causing you to wince, shoulders hunching slightly.

Because saying 'I'm sorry,' feels like it's not enough for what I did.

Because doing nothing feels so so so much worse.

Because I miss you.

"Because— fuck, your family. I just— I know what it feels like, bracing yourself to be judged about something."

You look like you don't know whether to laugh or jump over the table to tackle him and rip him to shreds.

“And you think doing this fixes it?”

“Maybe, I dunno.” He didn't know what he was saying at this point, trying to tiptoe around the details you'd also been avoiding.

“Are you messing with me?”

“No.” It hurts to breathe. "I swear. I'm not asking you to forgive me or anything but I don't want you to think I never cared."

Throat bobbing, you whisper, "That's the problem. I don't know if you ever did.

He flinches.

Steve wanted to tell you, no that's not true at all! To pour out every single thing he's thought about for the past eight years, how the guilt had been eating him inside out. But, he couldn't, he just couldn't. His teeth bite down on his bottom lip, on the verge of drawing blood.

“Look, I might’ve been playing ‘nice’ with you the past couple of minutes, up until you offered that, but I can only do it for so long.” Your voice is trembling, a mixture of rage and unpackaged devastation.

"Let's just talk about this. Please." Steve pleaded, but you raised a hand.

"No- no. I'm sorry. I just can't do this right now. Not with you of all people. Excuse me." Before he can get another word in, you're leaving the punch stand, pushing through as you call out to another chaperone if she can cover for you while you use the restroom.

Then, you're gone, disappearing into the crowd like eight years ago when life had lost all it's meaning.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He curses under his breath, shoving his hands in his pant pockets.

Suddenly, the sound of loud slurping sounds out next to him. Steve raises a brow, turning to see Derek, soda in hand.

"Damn, Coach Steve! I thought you were good with the ladies!"

"Shut it Derek."

as always, if you want to be added to a taglist, you may comment, inbox, or dm me. also if I forgot to add you to a taglist, please let me know, i'm a stressed out college student and can be forgetful lol.

divider creds; mieluno

#caitsy’s tbr

lesservillain

Now that the end of the world is over…

ii. It doesn’t take much.

Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: steve gets a glimpse into what parenthood is like before he even knows if he’s a parent.

cw: fluff, mild angst?, medical testing (not reader and non invasive), readers mom sucks, dad!steve harrington x mom!reader

wc: 8.5 k

a/n: i yearn for this man can you tell?

Two days have passed and you haven’t heard a thing from Steve Harrington.

#caitsy’s tbr

familyvideostevie

𝕟𝕠 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘: 𝕤𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣

a farmer's market steve harrington x reader au part 1 [7.2k] | part 2 [8.3k] | part 3 [13.3k] | part 4 [4.6k] | au masterlist

SEPTEMBER

You haven't called home in two weeks. But then again, no one has tried to reach you, either. It took one to drive here and the other you’ve spent settling in. The main house is quiet most of the time, except when Bob turns up the radio as he cleans. If you try really hard you think you can hear the gentle hum of the hives, a soothing buzz that never ceases. Bees are like that: always working, always caring for their queen. Never unsatisfied to do so forever.

creativeashproductions

I gotta come back to this.

#caitsy’s tbr

moonstoneandmoonlight

PEOPLE WATCHING | Steve Harrington

You're so busy people watching, that you don't notice the way Steve Harrington looks at you.

pairing: steve harrington x reader words: 5.1k contains: seaon four steve, fluff, friends to lovers, steve harrington pining, workplace romance, flirty steve, use of y/n, suggestive language, reader is oblivious, steve drunkenly calling reader a pet name, robin being a menace, very small amount of reader x eddie munson (platonic!!) mention of being sick from alcohol (emetophobia warning). authors note: first Steve fic! teeth rooting fluff to dip my toes in but believe me, the smuts are brewing

to be added to my taglist

“I think they’re on a first date,” you observe quietly as Steve taps on the table top across from you.

“Hm?”

You roll your eyes. Steve was definitely checking out the girl a few tables away—Tracey McEvoy with whom he had went to school with, apparently visiting for Spring Break—and not paying attention to the conversation.

“I said,” you begin, looking at Steve pointedly before nodding your head towards a couple on the other side of the diner, “I think they’re on a first date.”

Steve looks over then.

“What makes you so sure it’s a first date?” He asks, looking back at you, brows furrowed, “they’re like fifty.”

You shrug, a wistful smile on your face, “I just know.”

lesservillain

i. After the smoke clears.

Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: some desperate searching pays off when you find who you’re looking for.

cw: takes place in January of '88, your daughter's name is Lily, dad!steve harrington x mom!reader, unintentional hiding of a pregnancy/child, accidental pregnancy

wc: 3k

an: sorry this is so short, but its just to set everything up!

“Shit, it’s cold in here.”

Cold enough that you can see your breath. With haste, you made your way to the thermostat and check it. You curse when you see that it's turned off and act quickly to rectify that. It takes a few minutes, but you hear the heat kick on and almost drop to your knees from happiness that it still works after not being on for god knows how long.

”Guess we’re not taking our coats off for a bit.”

mcybank

Those Days Are Over (Don’t Worry, Baby) — Steve Harrington (1)

pairing — ex!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count — 17.1k

summary — Four years ago, Steve Harrington had chosen his future and it wasn’t you. You’d chose to leave Hawkins entirely and that worked out fine until it didn’t. Now you’re sleeping in your sister’s guest room and picking up your nephew from baseball practice where Steve Harrington is teaching kids how to slide into home. Some things, it turns out, you can’t outrun.

warnings — high school sweethearts gone wrong, rekindling, reader and her sister have a 10 year age gap, small town romance, implied past emotional cheating on reader by steve, no demogorgons or veca or anything supernatural but there are still mentioned dynamics canon to the show, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, jealousy, referenced past breakup, alcohol consumption, semi/public makeout, quarter-life crisis, reader’s implied to be mean in the past, cheerleader in high school, job hunting, referenced childhood dance training, friends to lovers to exes to (??), sexual tension, making out, heavy heavyyy petting, cliffhanger ending

author’s note — this got so much longer than intended but i promise the second part is coming so soon. robin and vickie are still together bc i love them!! and eddie and steve in my mind are besttt friends with them and the entire group and everyone is alive! please let me know what you thought feedback is truly the most rewarding part of sharing a fic. i hope you enjoyed this ! ♡

The baseball diamond at Hawkins Middle School looked just the same as it had when you were twelve, which was comforting or depressing depending on how you wanted to spin it. You were going with comfort today because depressing required a lot more energy than you had, and you’d already spent most of it smiling through your sister’s overly-concerned questions about job applications over breakfast.

Your nephew—Carter, age eleven, gap-toothed and a little shorter than his age—was easy to spot in the cluster of kids near the dugout. He looked exactly like your sister, Devon. He was the one trying to balance the bat on his palm, which seemed counterproductive to actual baseball but probably made sense to his eleven-year-old brain. You told your sister you’d pick him up. Easy favour that took out forty-five minutes of your afternoon in exchange for continued free housing and the implicit agreement that you were trying to get your shit together.

You leaned against the chain-link fence, going through the mental list in your mind of possible next ventures. Three retail positions, two receptionist jobs, one assistant manager role at a mattress store that required "three to five years of customer service experience with a passion for the product." You wouldn’t consider yourself particularly passionate for mattresses nor did you have three to five years of customer service experience.

"Alright, bring it in!"

The voice cut across the field, and it was so familiar that it made your stomach drop before your brain could catch up. You looked in the direction.

Steve Harrington stood near the pitcher’s mound in a faded Hawkins baseball tee and a backwards cap, whistle around his neck, gesturing at the kids to huddle up. For a second—one stupid, depressing second—you thought you were hallucinating. Were you in some weird time-slip situation? Because that was Steve. That was Steve-fucking-Harrington from high school, from makeout sessions in his BMW and terrible milkshakes at Bennys. That was Steve who used to kiss your shoulder while you were sleeping, and that was the cutest possible thing you thought could happen to your sixteen-year-old self.

graywrenhart

the real deal | steve harrington x f!reader

Summary: You need a boyfriend for Christmas. So, your best friend Steve Harrington agrees to fake it with you only to help get your parents off your back after a string of failed relationships.

The rules are simple: no sharing a bed, no kissing , and no catching feelings.

Until they’re not.

CW: Smut. Lots of it lol. MDNI. Some mentions of family problems. Drinking.

Read chapter one ♡ Read on ao3

chapter one - no big deal

chapter two - not yours

chapter three - just once

chapter four - snowed in

jellyfishsthings

hiiii!! i love your writing!! can you please do a steve x henderson reader? but very angsty?!- reader isn’t invited to things- hell she doesn’t even know what’s going on in hawkins- dustin is being so mean to her, steve is pulling away- literally. reader reaches for his hand- he pulls away- she begins to notice the way he looks at nancy - the same way he used to look at reader 💔💔 maybe they don’t even notice reader has been taken by vecna until it’s too late

this was fun to write... i hope this breaks all your hearts... i mean

The Art of Disappearing

navigation

requests are open

The first time you realized something was wrong was when Dustin came home with a black eye and wouldn't tell you how he got it.

"It's nothing," he'd said, pushing past you to his room. "Just leave it alone."

"Dustin, I'm your sister. If someone's bothering you at school..."

"I said leave it!" He'd slammed his door in your face, and you'd stood there in the hallway feeling like you'd been slapped.

Dustin never talked to you like that. You were close, always had been. When your dad left, when mom worked double shifts, you were the one who made sure Dustin ate dinner and did his homework and had someone to talk to. You were more than siblings; you were best friends.

Or you had been.

That was three weeks ago. Now Dustin barely looked at you. He spent all his time with his friends, Mike and Lucas and Will and Max, and whenever you asked what they were doing, he'd snap at you to mind your own business.

"It's just friend stuff," he'd said yesterday when you'd asked why he was going to the Wheelers' house again. "You wouldn't understand."

"I could if you'd explain..."

"Just drop it, okay? God, you're so annoying."

You'd watched him bike away, that familiar ache settling in your chest. The ache that had been growing steadily worse since Steve started pulling away too.

Steve. Your boyfriend of eight months. The boy who'd kissed you for the first time in his car after driving you home from work. The boy who'd held your hand and told you that you were the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Except now he barely touched you at all.

You'd noticed it starting about a month ago. Small things at first, he'd make excuses not to come over, would be distracted when you were together, would pull away when you reached for his hand.

Like yesterday, when you met him at Family Video during your lunch break. You'd reached for his hand across the counter, an automatic gesture, something you'd done a hundred times before, and he'd pulled back like you'd burned him.

"Sorry," he'd said, not meeting your eyes. "I just... I need to restock these tapes."

Robin had given you a look that might have been pity, and you'd left feeling small and confused and increasingly certain that something was very, very wrong.

The headaches had started around the same time.

Nothing major at first, just a persistent ache behind your eyes that Tylenol couldn't touch. But they'd been getting worse, accompanied by strange visions, flashes of things that couldn't be real. Your father, whom you hadn't seen in years, was standing in your room. The wallpaper peeling away to reveal something dark and twisted underneath. A clock chiming in the distance.

You'd mentioned it to Dustin once, asked if he'd been having weird dreams too. He'd looked at you with something like panic in his eyes and said, "No. And you shouldn't either. Just...just ignore it."

Then he'd left before you could ask what he meant.

You tried talking to Steve about it. Called him one night when the headache was so bad you could barely see, when you'd sworn you heard that clock again, chiming impossibly loud.

"Steve? Can you come over? Something's wrong and I..."

"I can't. I'm busy."

"Busy with what?"

A pause. "Just stuff. Look, maybe you should call your mom or something."

"My mom's working a double. Steve, please, I'm scared..."

"I have to go. I'll call you later."

He didn't call you later.

You spent that night alone, curled up in bed with the lights on, trying to ignore the feeling that something was watching you from the corners of your room.

The next day, you went to Family Video. Steve looked surprised to see you, which hurt more than it should have.

"Hey," you said, trying to smile. "I thought maybe we could do something tonight? We haven't hung out in a while."

"I can't. I have plans."

"Plans with who?"

"Just... friends. It's a group thing."

Your stomach dropped. "What group thing?"

"It's not... look, it's complicated."

"So un-complicate it. Steve, what's going on? You've been avoiding me, Dustin won't talk to me, and I feel like everyone knows something I don't."

Steve's jaw tightened. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?"

"It's... " He stopped, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "There's stuff happening that you don't need to worry about."

"Stuff involving my little brother? Stuff that has you acting like you can barely stand to be around me?"

"That's not... I'm not acting like..." Steve stopped again, and this time he looked at something over your shoulder. "Nancy. Hey."

You turned to see Nancy Wheeler walking into the store, looking beautiful and confident in a way that made your chest tight. She smiled at Steve, and you watched something shift in his expression, a softening, a warmth that you hadn't seen directed at you in weeks.

"Steve, we need to talk about... " Nancy stopped when she saw you. "Oh. Sorry, I didn't realize you were busy."

"I'm not busy," Steve said quickly. Too quickly. "What's up?"

And just like that, you'd become invisible.

You stood there while Steve and Nancy talked in low voices by the counter, their heads close together, and felt something crack in your chest. The way Steve was looking at her, God, you recognized that look. That's how he used to look at you. Like she was the most important person in the room. Like nothing else mattered.

When had he stopped looking at you like that?

Robin appeared at your elbow, her expression sympathetic. "Hey. You okay?"

"I'm fine," you lied.

"You're really not a good liar." She glanced at Steve and Nancy, then back at you. "Look, I know this is weird... "

"Weird is my boyfriend apparently having secret meetings with his ex-girlfriend while he can't find time to see me?"

"It's not like that. They're just... there's stuff going on that..." Robin stopped, looking frustrated. "I can't explain. But it's not what you think."

"Everyone keeps saying that." You grabbed your bag. "But no one will actually tell me what's really going on."

You left before Robin could respond, before Steve could notice you were leaving, before you started crying in the middle of Family Video.

That night, Dustin came home late. You were in the kitchen, nursing your third cup of coffee because sleep had become impossible with the headaches and the visions.

"Where were you?" you asked.

"Out."

"Out where?"

"Does it matter?" Dustin opened the fridge, not looking at you.

"Yes, it matters. You're my little brother. I'm supposed to know where you are."

"No, you're supposed to stop treating me like a kid." Dustin slammed the fridge door. "I'm not a baby anymore. I don't need you hovering all the time."

"I'm not hovering. I'm trying to make sure you're safe."

"Well, maybe I don't need you to keep me safe! Maybe I have other people for that!"

The words hit like a physical blow. "Other people? Like who?"

"Like Steve and Nancy and everyone else who actually..." He stopped, looking guilty.

"Everyone else who actually what?" Your voice was shaking. "Who actually cares about you? Is that what you were going to say?"

"I didn't mean..."

"No, you meant it. You meant that I'm not... that I don't..." You couldn't finish the sentence around the lump in your throat.

Dustin's face twisted with something like regret, but he didn't take it back. "I have to go to bed. I have plans early tomorrow."

"More secret plans?"

"They're not secret. They're just none of your business."

He left you standing in the kitchen, and you finally let yourself cry. Big, ugly sobs that hurt your chest and made your headache even worse. When had you become the outsider in your own family? When had your brother decided he didn't need you anymore?

When had Steve decided the same thing?

Your nose was bleeding when you finally went to bed. You wiped it away, added it to the list of things that were wrong, and tried to sleep.

The clock chimed all night long.

The next day, you saw them all together.

You'd gone to the store for your mom, taking the long way past the arcade because you'd thought maybe Dustin would be there. Instead, you found them in the parking lot: Dustin, Steve, Nancy, Robin, Max, Lucas, and Erica. All of them standing in a circle, talking in urgent voices, looking like they were planning something big.

Something you weren't a part of.

You stopped your bike just out of sight, watching. Steve had his arm around Nancy's shoulders, pulling her close as they looked at something Lucas was holding. Nancy leaned into him, comfortable and familiar, and Steve smiled at her the way he used to smile at you.

Your hands tightened on the handlebars. When had that happened? When had they gotten close again? And why hadn't Steve told you?

Dustin was laughing at something Max said, looking happier than he'd been around you in weeks. All of them together, a united group.

A group you weren't invited to join.

You started to bike away before they could see you, before they could know you'd been watching, before the hurt could show on your face. But as you turned, you heard Nancy say something that made you stop.

"... spreading. We can't wait much longer, or more people are going to... "

"We should tell her." Steve's voice, and your heart leapt. He was talking about you. He wanted to include you.

"Absolutely not," Dustin said immediately. "It's too dangerous. I'm not putting my sister at risk."

"But she's already..." Robin started.

"I said no!" Dustin's voice was sharp. "She doesn't need to know about any of this. We keep her out of it. That's the whole point of doing this... to keep people like her safe."

"Dustin's right," Nancy said softly. "The fewer people who know, the better. And she's been through enough without adding... this."

Been through enough? What did that mean? What didn't they think you could handle?

You biked away before you could hear more, pedaling hard, trying to outrun the hurt and confusion and the growing certainty that everyone in your life was lying to you.

The visions got worse that night.

You were in your room, trying to focus on homework, when the wallpaper started peeling. You watched, frozen, as it curled away to reveal that dark, twisted something underneath, vines, maybe, or veins, pulsing with a red light that made your head throb.

Your father stepped out of the corner, exactly as he'd looked the day he left. "You're not enough," he said in that flat, emotionless voice. "You've never been enough. That's why Dustin doesn't need you anymore. That's why Steve doesn't want you."

"You're not real," you whispered.

"Aren't I? Or am I just saying what everyone's too kind to tell you?" He moved closer, and you could smell his cologne, could see every detail of his face. "You're ordinary. Forgettable. The kind of person people don't notice when they leave. Dustin's moved on. Steve's moved on. Soon your mother will too, and you'll be completely alone."

"Stop."

"They're all together right now, did you know that? Planning things, saving the world, being important. And you're here. Alone. Like always."

The clock started chiming.

You pressed your hands over your ears, but the sound just got louder. Your father's voice mixed with it, listing every way you'd failed, every reason people left you, every proof that you were forgettable and ordinary and not worth keeping.

When you finally passed out, you were bleeding from your nose and your head felt like it was splitting open.

You woke up in your bed with no memory of how you got there. It was morning, Saturday morning. You had plans with Steve. An actual date that he'd agreed to, probably out of guilt, but you'd take what you could get.

You got dressed carefully, covering the dark circles under your eyes with makeup, trying to look like someone worth loving. The headache was still there, a constant presence now, but you ignored it.

Steve was supposed to pick you up at two. At 2:15, you called him.

"Hey, can't talk right now. In the middle of something."

"We have plans," you said. "You were supposed to pick me up fifteen minutes ago."

A pause. "Shit. I forgot. Look, something came up... "

"Something came up," you repeated flatly.

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, but I can't make it today. Rain check?"

"Steve, this is the third date you've cancelled."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but this is important."

"And I'm not?"

Another pause, longer this time. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean? Because from where I'm standing, it seems like I'm the only thing in your life that isn't important anymore."

"That's not fair."

"You're right. What's not fair is my boyfriend ghosting me. What's not fair is my brother treating me like I don't exist. What's not fair is everyone in my life acting like I'm too fragile or too stupid or too something to be trusted with the truth!"

"It's not like that... "

"Then what is it like? Explain it to me, Steve. Please. Because I'm losing my mind trying to figure out what I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong." His voice was tired. "It's just... everything is complicated right now."

"So un-complicate it. Let me in. Let me help with whatever's going on."

"I can't."

The finality in his voice made your chest tight. "Can't or won't?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes!" You were crying now, couldn't help it. "Yes, it matters! You matter! We matter! Or... or we used to. Did we stop mattering? Did I stop mattering?"

"Of course you matter... "

"Then act like it! Stop pushing me away! Stop looking at Nancy like..." You stopped, but it was too late.

"Like what?" Steve's voice had gone quiet.

"Nothing. Forget it."

"No, say it. Like what?"

"Like you used to look at me," you whispered. "Like she's the one you want to be with instead of me."

Silence on the other end. Long enough that you knew it was true, that your worst fear was confirmed.

"It's not... I'm not..." Steve stopped. "I should go."

"Steve..."

But he'd already hung up.

You sat on your bed, phone in hand, and felt something fundamental break inside you. The headache was so bad now that you could barely see. The visions were constant: your father, your empty room, everyone you loved walking away and never looking back.

The clock was chiming again.

You should call someone. Tell someone that something was wrong. But who would you call? Steve, who didn't want to talk to you? Dustin, who'd made it clear you were annoying? Your mom, who was always working?

There was no one.

You're alone, the voice in your head whispered. You've always been alone. They just finally figured out what you knew all along, you're not worth the effort.

You lay back on your bed, closed your eyes, and let the darkness take you.

It was easier than fighting.

They didn't notice you were gone until Monday.

Your mom assumed you'd left early for school. Dustin didn't check your room... why would he? You'd been avoiding each other for weeks.

Steve didn't call. Neither did anyone else.

It wasn't until your mom came home Monday evening and found your bed empty, your school bag still packed, that anyone realized something was wrong.

"Dustin!" she called. "Have you seen your sister?"

Dustin looked up from his homework, annoyed at the interruption. "No? She's probably at work or something."

"She's supposed to be home for dinner." Your mom's voice was worried now. "And her boss called asking why she didn't show up for her shift on Saturday."

Saturday. The day Steve had cancelled on you. The last time anyone had seen you.

"Maybe she's at Steve's?" Dustin suggested, but something cold was forming in his stomach.

Your mom called Steve. Steve said he hadn't seen you since the week before, when you'd come to Family Video. His voice sounded panicked when he asked, "Why? What's wrong? Is she okay?"

"I don't know," your mom said. "She's missing."

Steve was at your house in ten minutes, Nancy with him. They'd been together when your mom called... planning something, strategizing, doing all the important things that didn't include you.

"When's the last time anyone saw her?" Nancy asked, already in investigation mode.

"I saw her Saturday morning," your mom said. "She was getting ready for a date with Steve, but... "

"We didn't have a date," Steve interrupted, then stopped. "Wait. No. We did. I cancelled. I forgot about it, and then something came up and... oh God."

"What?" Dustin demanded.

"She called me. She was upset. We fought about..." Steve looked at Nancy, then away. "We fought. And I hung up on her. That was Saturday afternoon."

Two and a half days ago.

"She hasn't been to school," your mom said, checking her phone. "The school called today asking if she was sick. I thought... I thought she'd just left early this morning and..."

"Her car's still here," Steve said, looking out the window. "And her bike."

They all turned to look at Dustin, who was still standing in the doorway, his face pale.

"When's the last time you talked to her?" Nancy asked gently.

"I..." Dustin swallowed hard. "Friday night. We fought. I said... I said some things I didn't mean."

"What things?" Steve demanded.

"I told her she was annoying. That I didn't need her. That I had other people who..." Dustin's voice cracked. "Oh God. Oh God, what if something happened and it's my fault?"

"It's not..." Steve started, but he couldn't finish because he knew it might be exactly their fault.

Nancy's face had gone white. "The headaches. She mentioned having headaches, didn't she?"

Steve nodded slowly, remembering. "She called me one night. Said something was wrong. I told her to call her mom."

"Did she say anything else? Anything about visions or hearing things or...."

"A clock," Steve interrupted, his heart dropping. "She said she heard a clock chiming."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"No," Dustin whispered. "No, no, no. She can't be... we would have known! We've been watching for signs!"

"We've been watching other people for signs," Nancy said, her voice tight. "We never thought to watch her because..."

"Because we were too busy keeping her away from everything," Steve finished. "Too busy protecting her to notice she needed protecting from something else."

Robin burst through the door, out of breath. "I got here as fast as I... is it true? Is she really... "

"Missing," your mom said. "For two and a half days."

"Oh God." Robin looked at Steve. "The nosebleeds. She had them at the store last week. I thought it was just... I didn't think..."

They'd all missed it. Too caught up in keeping you away from the Upside Down to realize the Upside Down had found you anyway. Too focused on protecting you to see that you needed help. Too busy with their plans and secrets to notice you were falling apart right in front of them.

"We have to find her," Dustin said, already moving toward the door. "Now. Before he... before it's too late."

"Where do we even start?" Max asked. She'd arrived with Lucas, both of them pale and scared.

"Her favorite places," Steve said immediately. "Places she'd go to feel safe. The library, the park, anywhere she... "

He stopped, and everyone turned to see what he was looking at.

Your music. Your Walkman, sitting on the kitchen counter where you'd left it. The one defense against Vecna they'd all been using, the one thing that could bring someone back.

And you hadn't had it with you.

Steve grabbed it, his hands shaking as he pressed play. Your favorite song started, the one you'd made him listen to a hundred times, the one he'd pretended to find annoying but secretly loved because it made you smile.

"We'll find her," he said, but his voice was shaking. "We'll find her, and we'll bring her back, and I'll... I'll tell her everything. I'll explain about the Upside Down and Vecna and why we were keeping her away. I'll tell her I'm sorry and that she matters and..."

"And that you love her?" Nancy asked quietly.

Steve looked at her, then nodded. "Yeah. That I love her. That I never stopped, I just... I got scared and stupid, and I pushed her away because I thought I was protecting her, but all I did was..."

He couldn't finish.

They spread out across Hawkins, searching desperately. The library was empty. The park, the arcade, the movie theater, all empty. No trace of you anywhere.

It was Max who found you.

She'd insisted on checking the old cemetery on the edge of town...the one you'd told her about once, how you used to go there to think when everything got too loud.

You were there, lying in the grass between headstones, your eyes rolled back, your body seizing, blood running from your nose and ears.

"I FOUND HER!" Max screamed, and within minutes the others were there.

Steve dropped to his knees beside you, grabbing your hand...the hand he'd pulled away from so many times in the past weeks. "Princess, please. Please wake up. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He put the headphones over your ears, turned the volume up as loud as it would go. Your favorite song poured out, but you didn't move, didn't respond.

"It's not working," Dustin sobbed. "Why isn't it working?"

"She's too far gone," Nancy said, her voice breaking. "He's had her for too long."

"No." Steve was crying now, clutching your hand. "No, she's going to be fine. She has to be fine. I can't...I can't lose her. Not like this. Not when I never told her...."

Your body arched, bones cracking audibly, and everyone screamed.

"DO SOMETHING!" Dustin shouted at no one and everyone.

But there was nothing to do. They could only watch as Vecna broke you, piece by piece, while your favorite song played and Steve held your hand and whispered "I love you, I love you, please don't leave me" over and over like a prayer.

They were too late.

They'd been too late the moment they'd decided to push you away, to keep you in the dark, to treat you like you were too fragile to handle the truth.

And now, watching you die in the grass while Steve finally said all the things he should have said weeks ago, they understood: they hadn't been protecting you at all.

They'd just been making sure you faced the darkness alone.

The way you'd always been alone.

The way they'd made sure of it.

#caitsy’s favs

gigiohvanna

table for three ! — s h

summary — you went to the squawk to get through a hard time and came home with more than help. steve harrington was supposed to be a babysitter; a temporary solution, nothing permanent. instead, he learned your daughter’s routines, your hearts, and made space for a future you hadn’t dared to imagine.

single mom!reader x steve harrington & daughter ivory (ivy) modern au, aged up characters (early twenties), five acts

act i.

the squawk always smells faintly like coffee that’s been reheated one too many times and dust warmed by electronics. it’s comforting in a way you can’t exactly pinpoint why. robin sits cross-legged on the rug covered floor, animated as always, gesturing wildly as she talks about something you’ve already lost the thread of, while your daughter sleeps curled into the couch cushions behind you.

ivory, or ivy since her tongue can’t yet formulate her 'r’s' properly, is a soft weight of balayage blending warm brown into honeyed blonde curls and warmth. her tiny toddler fingers twitch occasionally, like she’s dreaming in small, important bursts.

you’re half listening, half thinking about next week. hospice paperwork, signatures, rooms that smell like antiseptic and endings. you don’t say much about it, but robin knows, she always does.

losing your grandfather is the most heartbreaking event that has ever happened to you. he was the constant in your life, someone you fell back and leaned on when things got rough. he raised you and nurtured you throughout your twenty-three years and your daughter‘s very short life.

having to let go of him felt like letting go of a part of yourself.

„i despise seeing you like this,“ robin frowns, „i‘d take my little angel of a goddaughter in a heartbeat to give you space to handle all this shit, but,“ she drags out dramatically, „you know i’m best in short bursts, crisis mode, or backup. not extended care during emotionally heavy weeks.“ she concludes her rant, taking a deep breath.

it was honestly self aware.

that's when she mentions steve.

she talks about him the way people talk about something reliable; how he babysits sometimes. how he's good with kids. how he doesn't get weird about difficult things. how he’d kinda, may have, perhaps, adopted a party of six kids and has been a role model in their eyes for years despite being a bachelor.

"just,“ she shrugs, „meet him. no pressure. but i think you'd like him." robin speaks tenderly. something about the way she says it makes it feel less like a favor and more like a hand extended to stabilize you.

the next afternoon, the squawk is brighter. later sunlight slants through the windows, catching dust specks and turning them gold. robin is on the floor again, dismantling something with intense focus.

as you step in, low heels clicking softly on the ground while a baby carrier bumps against your leg with a soft, rhythmic thud, you lure the gaze of a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a hair commercial, sitting on the leather couch. the brunet stands when you walk in, immediately, like he's been waiting for that exact moment, and God, he's taller than you expected. softer, too.

"hi," steve says, smiling kindly, with a gentleness in the way he holds himself. at first his dark hazel eyes met yours, then subtly shifted to the tiny person beside you.

ivory peers at him from her seat, one hand clutching her pink baby blanket, the other half-raised like she's unsure whether she's waving or hiding.

"this is ivy," you say, crouching a little as you set down the carrier, preparing to set her free. "she's a babbler."

steve crouches too. not all the way down, just enough to meet her where she is. "that's okay," he tells her, glimpsing at you briefly. "i‘m used to blabbermouths." he gestures to robin obviously so that your daughter could catch on.

that gets him a look with big eyes of curiosity. she giggles, sudden and bright, like she surprised herself.

steve gazes at you once more with a grin that made your stomach do a subtle, traitorous flip. "my name’s steve. i’ve been told by a certain blabbermouth that you like hanging out here from time to time,“ the brunet murmurs as if it were a secret. „how 'bout you spend some time with us?“

ivy didn't answer with words at first , instead, she reaches out a chubby hand and pats steve’s stubbled cheek, her fingers lingering on his jawline as if testing to see if he was real. steve doesn’t pull back, rather, leans into the touch as his expression melts from a cool grin into something devastatingly soft.

„wan‘ spend time, seef.“ she giggles.

"seef, huh?" steve repeats, proudly accepting his adorably mispronounced name, letting out a breathy laugh. „you got a deal, ivy.“

as you freed her completely, he straightens up, but he doesn’t break the connection with her. after a quick look at you to see if it was appropriate, he reaches out, offering a single finger for her to grab onto, and she wraps her entire small hand around it.

the contrast was striking of his large hand held captive by her tiny, soft grip.

later, she's sitting on a wooden counter by him, pressing buttons on the off-air soundboard with serious concentration. steve narrates it like it's the most important job in the world and when she presses the wrong thing, he doesn't correct her, just adjusts around it.

robin disappears into the background to handle some small task, and you settle in on a loveseat nearby, observing.

"this one makes the 'boing' sound, ivy,“ steve explains, then encourages with, „wanna try it out? it’s fun.“

boing.

the sound echoed through the studio monitors, followed immediately by your daughter’s high-pitched, bubbly giggle. she lets her head fall back against steve’s chest, her small body relaxing into him.

said man looks up, catching your eye across the glowing equipment. his thumb moves in a slow, absent-minded circle against ivy‘s sweater-clad arm. „perfect comedic timing, ma’am. we might have to hire her and give robin the boot.“ steve murmurs, a low, prideful hum vibrating in his chest that seemed to soothe the toddler even further.

by the time the shift hit nine p.m., way past the toddler‘s usual bedtime, the "on air" light was off, and the studio was bathed in amber lowlight. ivy had finally succumbed to the rhythm of the room, curly head of her lolling against steve’s shoulder.

he doesn't move her, just shifts slightly and makes room for her cheek against his chest. one hand settled steady at her back, his body rocking slow and instinctive.

you notice how careful he is not to wake her. how he breathes shallow, like he’s fraid to disturb the moment.

when he finally notices you watching, he doesn’t speak. steve harrington just offers a small, lopsided smile; one that seemed to acknowledge the sacredness of the quiet. he inclines his head toward the baby carrier, silently signaling that he was happy to help you get settled to go.

your slightly glimmering eyes showed him appreciation.

act ii.

the week leading up to the hospice visitation was filled with a folder of text messages. it started simply but quickly devolved into something more.

steve h. what time does she usually nap?

steve h. these videos about changing diapers are not helping in the slightest…

steve h. i mean, should i even?

steve h. i guess it would be child neglect if i didn’t

steve h. are you okay with that?

steve crisis averted! found the pink care-bear hiding under your couch :) sneaky thing huh

when the day finally comes, steve arrives at your door looking suspiciously like a man who is ready for an apocalypse, equipped with a backpack filled with snacks and a spare set of 'bitchin’' sunglasses for ivy.

inside your living room, the morning light feels too bright for the heavy task ahead of you. while you stand by the counter, fingers trembling as they nervously flattened your dark capris every few seconds, steve is already down on the rug, taking over.

"alrighty," said man murmurs, his voice animated and low. "first, we need to park your toes. beep beep!"

ivy let out a delighted shriek, her tiny finger shooting out to poke the tip of steve’s nose as her feet are put in her ballerina flats. "beep beep, seef!"

"atta girl, perfect parking," he praises, smile wide and genuine, but as he glances up and catches sight of you, the playfulness in his expression shifts into something profoundly empathetic.

standing in one fluid motion, crossing the room to bridge the gap between you, steve approaches closely and you are suddenly enveloped in his scent, something spicy and woodsy.

"hey," he whispers, resonant and grounding. then he reaches out and his hand hovers just near your arm as if waiting for permission to anchor you. "take all the time you need to do what you have to do. don’t rush back for us.“ steve looks down at ivy, then back at you, „i'll send you updates every time she does something even remotely genius, which, let's face it, is every five minutes."

the corner of your glossy mouth twitches in a ghost of a smile, the first bit of warmth to hit your chest all morning.

"i can’t thank you enough, steve. really."

"don’t mention it," he replies, thumb grazing the back of your hand for a fleeting, electric second.

act iii.

the squawk becomes neutral ground and ivy knows it now.

she toddles through the bustling space like she owns it, waving at robin, tugging at steve’s hand.

he lets her.

throughout the passing week, you took care of the legalities. the funeral had passed, the house was sold, and the weight of the grief had settled into a dull, manageable ache. you did what you needed to do, but still, there’s a quiet pride in that, even if it aches.

ivy is sitting in a small yet tall stool steve had clearly brought from home, placed right next to his. he was teaching your daughter how to sign ‘thank you’ after watching many videos on the internet to further expand her already established tiny genius status.

robin spots you from across the room and waves you in with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "lookey," she sighs, leaning against the soundproof glass. "i’ve been officially replaced. by my goddaughter and my best friend.“

you giggle lightheartedly. steve looks up then, his face lighting up with a heat that was meant only for you.

„— he doesn't even want to go to the bar with me after the shift anymore, just wants to watch videos all day to learn what he can teach her next."

as robin continues her rant, steve stays right where he is, one hand steadying the back of ivy‘s stool as he took you in. his eyes searches yours, cataloging the relief in your expression.

"everything handled?" he asks in a low rumble.

you breathe deeply while nodding, low heels stepping to stand beside them.

steve reaches out, his hand finding the small of your back in a gesture that feels less like a greeting and more like grounding. "good. then you can finally stop being a legal expert and go back to being a person." he leans in closer, thumb grazing your waist.

looking deeply into his eyes, you smile sincerely for the first time in weeks.

act iv.

the transition from the babysitter to whatever he is to you happened so gradually that you almost didn't notice the shift in the atmosphere.

steve a voice message of ivy‘s melodic, high-pitched laughter followed by steve’s pretend-outraged: oh man, not again, bubba. the ivy-waffle-tax has to end! i don’t have any more left!

steve harrington had become a fixture in your phone’s notifications and, increasingly, a presence in your doorway.

at first it started with 'dropping off' things your daughter had left in his car; a hairband, a jellycat. then, it became picking up dinner because he happened to be near that italian place you mentioned you liked.

each visit stretched a little longer than the last, the conversations moving from toddler milestones to the quiet, personal details of your own lives.

on a late night , everything shifts even more.

steve doesn’t make a move for his jacket, check his watch or mention the evening he had at the station. instead, he moves through your space with a practiced silence.

he is on his knees, large hands gathering the stray wooden blocks you’d stepped over a dozen times. and you, well you observe him from the kitchen island, a glass of water held loosely in your hand, completely forgotten.

the sight of his broad shoulders hunched as he carefully tucks a toy into the wooden chest so as not to clatter the wood hit you with a sudden, striking clarity.

he didn't look like a favor from your daughter‘s godmother anymore. steve harrington looked like he belonged in the frame of your life.

"you don't have to do that, steve," you whisper, the sound cutting through the serenity.

said man pauses with a blue triangle in his palm, and looks up at you. the amber light of the floor lamp catches the gold in his hair and the sheer, unadorned sincerity in his eyes. „it’s no trouble, sweetheart. gives me a legitimate excuse to stay for another ten minutes,“ he grins boldly, “fifteen if i move extra slow."

then, steve stands up slowly, white and green nikes squeaking against the tiled floor under his weight as he crosses the room to where you stand. the kitchen is quiet, the only sound the steady hum of the dishwasher as it churns through the evening's mess. steve’s gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second in yearning trance before his dark hazel eyes meets yours again.

he reaches out, thumb brushing against the back of your manicured hand where it rests on the counter. it isn't a bold move, just a tentative test of the waters, his skin warm and slightly rough against yours.

"i was thinking," steve starts, his voice dropping into a low, private murmur that feels like a physical touch. "maybe next time i see you, it doesn't have to be because you’re busy or because i’m watching ivy. i’d like to take you, both of you, on a proper date."

the invitation is simple, but the way his fingers linger against your knuckles feels so much heavier.

steve harrington is asking to be woven into the fabric of both yours and your daughters lives.

"i'd like that," you reply, your voice devastatingly honest.

that night, when he finally makes a move to leave, he doesn't just give you a yearning smile by the door. steve stops, reaching for your hand one last time, squeezing it.

act v.

steve picks you and ivy up at six on the dot, looking devastatingly handsome standing by his maroon beamer in a forest green button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. he gives ivy a huge hug, hoisting her high into the air until she squeals, before leaning into you and kissing your cheek.

"you look breathtaking," steve whispers to you, his eyes lingering on yours with a warmth that makes the evening air feel still. then he drives to enzo's.

enzo’s is the kind of italian place that feels expensive but smells like home. the restaurant feels like steve in the most quiet, unexpected ways; it’s polished and classic on the surface, but beneath the white linen and mahogany is a heart that is deeply inviting. it has that same paradoxical charm he carries, where the atmosphere is upscale enough to feel special yet comfortable enough to handle a toddler’s curious messiness.

he doesn't sit across from you, rather, choosing the side of the table that allows him to sit right next to ivy’s high chair, determined to make this evening, and many more, as stress-free as possible for you.

"okay, babblebug," steve says, opening the heavy, evergreen leather-bound menu and propping it up so she can see. "big decisions tonight. do we go for the spaghetti, or are we feeling brave to try something new?“

ivy pokes a picture of the ‘salmon al forno’. "pink fish, seef!" she giggles.

you watch from across the table, your chin resting on your hand, feeling that traitorous flip in your stomach turn into a brighter glow.

"that is a pink fish," steve nods solemnly, his voice thick with a genuine respect that makes your heart ache. "very observant. does that look yummy, pipsqueak?"

you track the way his thumb absent mindedly strokes the edge of the dark green leather, his focus entirely on her. he waits for her answer patiently, absolutely focused on the tiny toddler. the amber candlelight catches the gold in his hair and the softness of his expression, and for a moment, your breath is taken from you.

he catches you staring and gives you a small, loving wink.

as the night progresses, you find yourself relaxing, the constant tension in your chest finally dissolving as you give yourself permission to recognize what your heart has been trying to tell you all along. it isn't just about the way he handles the ‘pink fish’ or the effortless way he wipes a smudge of olive oil from ivy’s chin. it’s the realization that for the first time in years, you don’t have to carry a cross by yourself.

"is it yummy, ivy?" you ask, leaning in to catch her eye, your voice finally losing that edge of exhaustion.

said toddler nods vigorously, her mouth full of salmon. "yummy, mommy! seef made it small!" she holds up a tiny forkful of fish as if it’s a trophy. "you wanna, seef?"

steve laughs, a rich, genuine sound that vibrates in the small space of the booth. he leans his head down toward her, letting her ‘feed’ him the tiny scrap of fish, beaming, and the look of pure pride on his face makes you tear up. he looks up at you, catching your expression. "what’s wrong? is there sauce on my face already?"

"no," you laugh softly, reaching across the table to briefly squeeze his hand. "you’re just incredible, steve."

said man’s eyes lock onto yours, the playful energy in his face settling into something profoundly steady. he doesn't pull his hand away, instead, he shifts his grip so his palm is flat against yours, thumb tracing the line of your wrist.

"being with you is the most natural thing in the world." steve admits.

his voice is a low, grounded rumble that cuts through the noise of the restaurant. gaze shifting to your daughter, his expression softens into something raw and unguarded as he watches her explore the texture of the white linen with a focused frown. "she’s curious about everything. i love that," he says, his voice dropping into a quiet confession.

"i spent a lot of years not asking enough questions. just going through the motions, you know? i like seeing her figure the world out. it makes everything feel new again."

the honesty in his admission forces a tear to flee your eye. he isn't just watching her grow, he’s letting her curiosity heal parts of him.

ivy looks up at the sound of his voice, offering him a blurry, tired smile before her head finally thumps against his shoulder, her energy spent. steve doesn't miss a beat, his arm instinctively curling around her to hold her steady as his lips mouth ‘bedtime’ quietly.

he looks back at you, the candlelight reflecting in the warm, deep brown of his eyes. "i think i've spent my whole life looking for this," steve murmurs.

"i think we have, too."

a look of profound, quiet yearning crosses his face as he looks from the toddler to you. it’s a look that says he’s envisioning a thousand more moments just like this.

"she has your eyes, you know," steve says, his voice barely audible over the restaurant’s soft jazz. "especially when she’s happy. it’s kind of dangerous for me. i’m a goner."

"steve—" you giggle, though the weight of his honesty makes your heart beat firmer.

"i mean it, baby.” he says, the endearment slipping out as naturally as a breath.

steve looks down at ivy, who is now fast asleep against his side, and then back at you, his expression raw and unshielded.

"i'm here for as long as you'll have me," he murmurs, his eyes searching yours with a quiet, burning intensity, "and i hope that is a long time."

you can't find the words to tell him how much that promise means, so you just squeeze his hand back, letting the silence say it for you.

the ‘goner’ he mentioned isn't just him.

as you watch him carefully shift his weight to keep from waking your daughter, you realize:

you’re right there with him.

#caitsy’s favs

white-wolf-buckaroo

The baby name incident

Summary: Steve and his girl talking about baby names way too early in their relationship

Six Little Nuggets Masterlist

Family Video, early 1986

The fluorescent lights hum overhead, the radio murmurs something vaguely synth-heavy from behind the counter, and the bell on the door only jingles every once in a while when a customer wanders in, looks confused by the organization system, and leaves with Risky Business.

Robin is sorting returns at record speed — aggressive, almost — because she has noticed something deeply irritating happening two feet away from her.

Steve’s girl is perched on the counter like she’s always been allowed to do that, legs swinging, sneakered heels tapping lightly against the wood. She’s holding a VHS case, gesturing animatedly as she talks.

“I’m just saying,” she says, smiling, “if you already know you don’t like movies where everyone dies at the end, why would you recommend it to me?”

Steve is leaning over the register, chin propped in his hand, elbow dangerously close to the buttons. He’s watching her like she’s explaining the meaning of life, not lightly roasting his taste in films.

“Because,” he says, grinning, “I thought maybe you’d like… grow as a person.”

She laughs — actually laughs — and nudges his arm with her knee.

“Wow. Bold words from a guy who cried during E.T..”

“That alien dies,” Steve protests. “And then comes back. It’s emotional.”

#caitsy’s favs

geminiwritten

all yours ; tyler owens

fandom: twisters

pairing: tyler x reader

summary: after being best friends and chasing storms with tyler for years, one night changes everything... now you're staring at a pregnancy test with two pink lines—and just as you're working up the nerve to tell him, tyler announces to the world that he never wants to settle down or have kids

notes: i'm sorry? i want to say i have no words but apparently... i have nearly 15k of them right here!!! i don't know who this is for, i lowkey feel like it will flop because it's long and angsty, but please let me know what you think if you read this!!! i've been working on it on and off for a while, so i am very glad to finally get it posted!

warnings: swearing, angst (but happy ending), pregnancy, a lot of crying, very brief mention of abortion, very brief discussion about the possibility of losing the baby, talk about sex (18+ ONLY PLEASE), a bit of horniness, and just a lot of emotions!!! (please let me know if i missed anything)

disclaimer: i am not pregnant and have never been pregnant. all this information comes from quick google searches, and things i've read in books. so i'm very if it's wrong or dumb. please don't come for me!

word count: 14818

You’ve known Tyler Owens since you were ten.

You’ve been chasing storms with him for nine years, and hopelessly in love with him for eight.

You’ve laughed as he lost seven cowboy hats to tornados, and helped him replace six shattered windshields.

You’ve loved him through five of his lousy girlfriends and four of your own doomed boyfriends.

You’ve tried—and failed—to tell him how you feel three times.

You’ve kissed him twice.

And you’ve slept with him once.

Once. Exactly three weeks ago.

You were both drunk—though you were probably pretending to be more gone than you really were—and lonely. Sure, you’d kissed before that night—once, years ago, on a dare. But that night, the second kiss happened as you stepped out of the bar. It was misting lightly, streetlights casting a glow, and Tyler looked so damn good as he—drunkenly—told you that you looked beautiful. How were you supposed to resist that?

Back at the motel, you tried to go your separate ways. You even made it to your room alone. You were just about to reach for your vibrator, hoping to ease the ache low in your belly, when there was a knock at the door.

You knew who it was before you even opened it.

Tyler.

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