I no longer take requests. I go where the hyperfixations take me.
Here’s my ASK BOX. Let me know if a link isn’t working, you have a question, or you have a request. If you want to talk about fanfiction, feel free to DM me!
Here are my MAIN | LEMON | PROMPTS | AO3 | KO-FI
Here are some more IMPORTANT NOTES.
DO NOT:
REPOST my works on other platforms
TRANSLATE without explicit permission
BOOKBIND without explicit permission
GIVING CREDIT IS NOT ENOUGH. If you see one of my works on another platform, MESSAGE ME IMMEDIATELY.
DO NOT FEED MY FICS TO AI!!! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED IMMEDIATELY!!
(Dude, it’s so fucking disrespectful. If you do this to anyone, shall you be excommunicated from fandom & walk on legos barefoot till the end of days)
THIS BLOG IS 16+
I occasionally reblog from blogs that are 18+ only. If a post or blog has this boundary, please respect it.
A FEW NOTES
All reblogs are considered recs here!
To view polls, use dashboard view.
This blog is first and foremost geared toward me and my interests. The navigation was made with this in mind.
You do NOT have to message me to follow. However, blank blogs & blogs that do not reblog/post are likely to be blocked.
I block liberally and often.
If I reblog from a bigot, let me know and I’ll delete it asap.
DNI LIST
This is not a full list by any means of people I block on sight, but DNI if you’re a:
summary | Steve has been hiding his scars from you for months. It’s not that big of a deal, he’s just in constant pain and can’t remember the last time he didn’t wake up with his skin screaming at him. (1.9k words)
content includes | angst, scars, injury, PTSD, demobats, unsafe scar treatment, blood, tears, hurt/comfort, body worship, kisses and love, post s4/before s5
notes | i think about how little characterization occurred in the last two seasons. and then i fight back. possible part two? let me know. all reblogs and likes are appreciated! my requests are OPEN and you can find my masterlist here ✩
Steve has scars.
Extensive damage adorns his torso, his marred flesh rarely thinning out in places. Mottled stripes span from one side to another. A collection of bite marks crown the center of deep scratches, making a twisted pattern. Bits of himself were torn away, too shredded to save, so they left small fractures along his sides.
The demobats truly did their best to make a meal out of Steve. He still remembers being forced to watch, struggling to breathe as they descended. Their teeth were razor sharp, thinner and longer than a demogorgon's petals. They didn’t let up, gnashing at Steve, even when help arrived. Each puncture wound oozed for weeks, nearly making Steve sick on more than one occasion.
He couldn’t exactly walk into Hawkins General with nasty lacerations fresh from a hell dimension without severe questioning. Hopper had to staple Steve back together in the back of his dingy cabin away from everyone. He had held out a small hope that the scars would heal neatly, but that was quickly extinguished. His skin couldn’t join together nicely, the contorted lines were either sunken in or raised.
So he hides them, no question.
He first thought maybe a bit of cover up would do the trick. He accepted his scars were there to stay but he could at least make them more attractive and dashing to look at. He raided his mother’s bathroom drawer at his empty house. All she had left behind was an old cream foundation. Steve stood in front of the mirror, trying to dab lightly at the darker red areas. Instead of evening out, it just looked like his skin had yellowed and it didn’t match his skin tone at all. He had to painstakingly scrub the product off which aggravated his skin even more.
He looked next for some treatment cream, but that was a complete dead end. The quarantine forced the short supply at the pharmacy to run out fast. Any hope disappeared in an instant as the doomsday hoarders struck. Once they set up a smuggling system, there was an opportunity to order some salve. But Steve would rather die than admit he needed something, there were bigger issues than this needling inconvenience.
So now he resorted to consistently layering. He tucks in his undershirt each morning, barely pulling it out to avoid give. He compulsively checked it throughout the day, thumbing at the fabric. Sweet Robin hadn’t picked up on the real reason, teasing Steve about his incessant need to preen. Steve laughed it off with her; “At least I care about what I look like, you muppet.”
The only problem with this solution was the tight binding that pulled against his new scars. He fought the urge to scratch at them daily, from pulling himself at the seams. They would constantly twinge or flare up with sudden movement, which wasn’t helpful in day to day life where he spent running around Hawkins. He tried his best to not to draw attention to the live wires that sparked each time he moved but was finding it increasingly more difficult each day. They would burn for hours on end. When the water heater finally gave out with no oil, Steve didn’t mind the freezing cold showers so much.
He would suffer in silence, just to keep some sense of normalcy, especially for you.
At first, you were confused. Steve never had a problem before with shedding all of his clothes when he was around you. Eventually, you got used to it. You decided to be patient with the fact that Steve suddenly felt better when he had a layer on. You would distract him from the pause he took every time you were alone, simply kissing at the furrow in his brow until he unfroze. He wouldn’t wear his usual sweat crop top to bed anymore or strip to his skivvies to jump in the lake come the summer time. You didn’t question it. You figured he would tell you when he was good and ready.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t when you finally saw him without a shirt on for the first time in months. You had snuck up on him, he wasn’t expecting you to come over after his Squawk shift for a few more hours. As you let yourself into the house, you heard his shower running and wandered upstairs. His clothes had been laid out on the bed so when he came in with just a towel draped low, he was shocked to find you sitting there.
Your eyes didn’t immediately fall to his sliced stomach area, you were too busy admiring the cold flush on his cheeks. It was only when Steve quickly raced to grab his clothes that you realized how exposed you had found him.
“Baby, what are you doing here?” Steve huffed.
“I got off my shift early, I figured we could get dinner.” Your eyes had fallen to his scars, then back to his face, sensing a change in the air.
“Well, I wasn’t ready yet, we said seven.” Steve yanked on his plain t-shirt and pulled up some boxers fast, almost an afterthought.
“Honey.” You slowly got up and walked over. You took the towel from his hands and let it drop. Steve barely looked at you, biting his lower lip and looking down at the floor. He knew he had been caught. There was no worming his way out of this. He couldn’t stop you from seeing him like this.
He took in a stuttering breath as you put your careful hands on his waist, your thumbs ghosting the beginning scars. “Hey,” you whisper quietly. “Is this okay?”
Devastating. Even when you wanted answers, Steve always marveled at your way of ensuring he was taken care of. He nodded numbly, eyes still on the ground.
“Why don’t we sit down?”
Steve let you lead him to the head of his bed, hyperaware of your hands hypnotically stroking his hips the whole way. He was surprised to miss the sensation as you drew your hands back to sit down next to him.
“What’s going on?” Steve focused on your hands, which were now wringing themselves in your lap. A nervous tick of your own that had developed over the past few months. He moved to put his own hands on top of yours, stilling your movements.
“I’ve hiding them from you.” Shame spills out of Steve, a tidal wave that’s been building for months let loose. “I don’t know what you’d think of them. I can’t stand them. Every time I look at them, I’m being torn to pieces all over again. I’m reminded that nothing will ever be the same, that these nightmares will follow me to the ends of the earth. And I couldn’t stand the thought of you looking at me with pity or disgust, each scenario was worse than the last.”
Steve still can’t look you in the eyes. At some point, his fingers threaded into yours and now he just studied them. How perfect they fit together. How he never wanted to let go of you.
“Steve Harrington.” Your voice has no shake to it. It’s quiet and simple. When Steve looks up, he can see your small smile holding back unshed tears. “I would never look at you like that. You’re my Stevie. You are perfect no matter what. I love you and every piece of you that you’ve shared with me. The good, the bad, and the ugly.”
You squeeze his hand tightly, before reaching up to brush a stray lock. “But I don’t think any part of you is truly ugly. Even the scary parts.”
Steve can’t begin to wrap his mind around lovely, thoughtful, beautiful you. He can’t believe how you immediately shoulder him, despite the hang ups and the nonsense he’s dragged you through. He allows you to push at his shoulder, letting him fall back against the pillows. You sit up on your knees in between his legs, looking at him with stars in your eyes.
You place your hands on the bed, bracketing either side of him, and catch his lips into a slow kiss. “I love you Steve. Nothing will ever change that.”
Steve pulls you in for a deeper kiss, his hands cradling your cheeks. He was surprised to taste the salt of his own tears mixed with yours. He felt this great weight leave him, this was the relief he had been denying himself for months. He pushes forward until you both need to pull back for air.
Steve takes a deep breath and makes a decision. He goes to pull his shirt off, but you stop him and his shaking hands. “Why don’t we start slow?”
You push the shirt up past his torso, exposing him but not far enough. “Let me know when you want to stop.”
You duck down and press a chaste kiss to Steve’s sternum, right before his scars start. Steve has to hold his breath and try not to squirm under your watchful eye. “Any second now,” a quiet, evil part of Steve’s brain goes, “she’ll pull away and leave you.”
But you soldier on, another kiss placed in a bitten part. Steve has to exhale or he might implode. He watches, transfixed as you take your time, mapping out the new territory. Your hands stroke at his sides again, feather light touches that send goosebumps all over. You look up with a sly smirk. “You are still gorgeous, pretty boy, don’t you worry.”
Steve’s brain has short circuited. You pay him no mind as you devote a careful eye to each scar; a kiss here, a light touch there. You blow a steady stream of air on the red areas that he can barely feel. Minutes go by and you don't stop, never pausing your endless care to examine all the brutal details. You're more focused on whispering little fragments of words- "gorgeous" "pretty" "my boy."
It felt strangely nice, having your attention on the most hated area of his body. He’s reminded of the first time you did this, before he was a mess. You held him with the same reverence here, committing each part of him to memory. This time, Steve can admit that with the relief coursing through his nerves, he can finally breathe.
He clears his throat. “Stop.”
You immediately draw back, hands going to his rucked up shirt to pull it down. Your eyes are full of concern. “Are you alright, sweetheart? Too much?”
“No, it was perfect.” Steve confesses, the flush on his cheeks burning. “I just want to kiss you.”
You break out into a smile and grant his request. It’s short and sweet, Steve has to pull back to look at you before he loses the nerve. “I can’t- I’m so grateful for you. I don’t know how you manage to deal with this.”
The tears are back but Steve continues. “I can’t imagine not doing this without you.”
You kiss him fast. “This? Baby, this is for life. No question about it.”
You embrace him, pressing kisses all over until Steve can’t help but laugh. He flips you onto your back and launches an assault of his own. You’re both unable to stop giggling, both winded from the intense moment that's passed.
Steve’s scars pull like they always do but for once, it doesn’t seem to ache as much.
wc: 6,695
summary: after moving to hawkins, you experience selective mutism. thankfully, mike is your patient protector
warnings: bullying but not super serious, a misogynistic comment
me: i <3 mike wheeler
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
It took six months for Mike to hear you speak. You were new in junior year and apparently mute. The teachers didn’t say it or anything, but you didn’t even introduce yourself like they usually made new students; on the first day of classes, you’d just slunk over to an empty seat and started to take notes.
Mike stared at you across the classroom, immediately suspicious. He didn’t trust new people, and he didn’t trust that you couldn’t even introduce yourself. That’s why he observed you for the whole period, no other reason.
He was still thinking about you at lunch, sliding into the bench across from his friends.
“Have you guys seen the new girl yet? She didn’t say a single thing in first or third period.” Dustin nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich.
“She’s in my English class, didn’t talk then either. Mr Smith teed her up to introduce herself, and she just walked to the back of the classroom. Kinda badass.”
Max rolled her eyes like the boys were all idiots, a common occurrence.
“She’s probably just shy. I hated having to do the same introductions over and over again on my first day.”
Mike kept an eye out for you in the cafeteria to no avail. He didn’t know what he expected. If you couldn’t introduce yourself, how would you have somewhere to sit at lunch?
Out the window, he finally caught a glimpse of you. Sitting alone, your back was up against a tree as you lost yourself in a novel. It was too far for Mike to see what you were reading.
In an entire week of classes, Mike hadn’t heard you say a single word. His friends said the same, and it was becoming a bit of an obsession. They’d already hypothesised a hundred different reasons why you weren’t speaking.
After you’d been at Hawkins High for two weeks, Mike approached you for the first time. He had a bio test the next day and desperately needed some revision, and you happened to have the only remaining empty seat next to you in the school library.
“Hey,” He said, hovering awkwardly over your shoulder, “Can I sit here?”
You pressed your lips into a small smile, nodding and gesturing to the empty space next to you. Mike mumbled a thank you and set his things down on the desk.
“We’ve got class together, right? Calc and history?” You looked back up from your paper like you couldn’t believe he was talking to you and nodded slowly. “Cool.” Sensing he wasn’t gonna get much more, Mike quietened down and got on with his own revision.
After about half an hour, he was completely stuck on a problem. Looking around, he couldn’t find anyone else he recognised to ask for help. Reluctantly, he turned to you.
“Hey, um, I’m sorry to interrupt. You take bio, right? Are you any good?” You grimaced, holding your hand out in a so-so gesture. Mike laughed, internally elated when you matched his smile. “Do you know how to do this question?”
You dragged the worksheet over to your side of the desk, considering it with squinted eyes. Finally, you rustled around in your backpack, pulling out your bio notebook. It only took a few seconds for you to find the relevant page, but Mike watched you like a hawk, trying to analyse your movements. Who were you?
When he looked down at the notebook, he found a perfectly neat set of notes, complete with detailed instructions on how to answer every type of exam question.
“Damn, this is awesome! Thanks a lot,” Mike said, jotting down notes from your own. You just shrugged, waving him off lightly.
After that, Mike’s suspicion morphed into pure curiosity. He thought he was a pretty acute read of character, and he had decided you were good. Besides, he had experience with girls who didn’t talk; it was just something to work around.
He started going to the library more often to try and find you — study! He went to the library to study, it was just a bit nicer if he saw you there too. He didn’t try to make you talk, unlike some of the other assholes who wouldn’t stop bringing it up. Mike would just sit next to you, occasionally asking you for help or telling you something interesting about the teachers or students that you hadn’t discovered yet.
You liked it. Mike was different than so many of the guys at Hawkins High. You’d only been at the school for a few weeks and had already had multiple boys trying to ‘ask you out’, meaning making gross advances, almost all centred on your lack of speech.
Even his friends had made well-meaning questions over the condition — Dustin had stood in front of your desk in homeroom one morning, spouting out reasons he’d researched people might be mute in search of an answer. Innocent but panic-inducing. Mike had come to your rescue, yanking him away with a pointed “Shut up, Dustin!” You shot him a small smile when Mike looked back, entertained by the way he flustered and tried to play it off.
In the library, there was no pressure. You were free to do your work in silence, happy to listen while Mike was happy to talk.
One otherwise boring Wednesday afternoon, you and Mike were sitting in the library. You were both studying calc, preparing for a quiz on Friday morning.
“I’m gonna fail this,” Mike groaned, resting his head in his hands. He heard you huff a silent laugh, just a small puff of air, but it pulled a smile from him all the same. You tapped his forearm lightly twice, signalling that you’d help him.
Mike pulled away, shifting so he and his paper were angled in toward you, watching intently. You mirrored him, pulling your notes over to compare between those and his answer. You starred a few steps in his equation where things went wrong, preparing Mike to get a correct answer. When you looked up at Mike, you were only inches apart, leaned right in together at the desk, knees touching.
Your mouth parted in surprise at the proximity, eyes wide as they stared into Mike’s. Mike was a perfect mimic, looking down at you with his pupils blown out. An adorable shade of red graced his cheeks, pronounced because he was so pale. A strange new tension bloomed between you that had never appeared before, and you broke the moment first, coughing and turning back to your own work.
He didn’t mention it again, but you could feel Mike stealing glances at you whilst he was supposed to be figuring out calculus.
“Can I walk you home?” Mike asked when you were out in the parking lot. He’d never done this before, but you couldn’t say you weren’t keen. You nodded, pointing over to where your bike was parked, only a few down from Mike’s.
Mike talked the whole way home.
“Do you know what D&D is?” You gestured so-so again, “Great! So I’m thinking about running this campaign…”
You listened all the way home, nodding enthusiastically at the right times and encouraging Mike when he got embarrassed about his monologuing.
“Am I talking too much? You can tell me if I am. Or not tell me, obviously, but we could come up with some kind of sign for when you want me to shut up! Like this,” He made an action of zipping up his lips and turning the key. You agreed, repeating it back to him.
When you got closer to your home, Mike turned the conversation on you, perfectly accepting of your simple answers.
“So, are you liking Hawkins?” Yes — ish. “Have you made many friends yet?” No. You. “Do you like the house? It’s pretty.” Yeah, enough.
You busied yourself in parking your bike while Mike talked about the family that lived in the house before yours and how glad he was that the kid had moved away. When you were about to turn back up into the house, Mike stopped you.
“Hey, my friends are going to the arcade on Saturday and then maybe grabbing some food. Would you, um, wanna come?” You paused for a second, thinking it through. Would it be awkward? Probably. So far, Mike was the only one who understood you, who didn’t care that you didn’t speak. The hesitation must have been clear on your face because Mike rushed to placate the situation.
“You don’t have to! I completely understand if it’s too much or you don’t wanna hang around with them — or, or me — outside school. But I would really like it if you came.” You fidgeted with a ring on your left hand, head rushing with thoughts. Finally, you nodded yes, hoping your smile was convincing. Mike grinned, face alight with nervous excitement. “Cool! I’ll see you there — or, um, tomorrow. I’ll see you tomorrow in homeroom.”
You nodded, beaming brightly as you waved him off down the street, unlocking your front door.
The chaos started as soon as you walked through the door, your family already in full action.
“Who was that, honey?” Your mom asked over a cooking pot, stirring it slowly. You shrugged with upturned lips, enough to say just someone from school.
“Do you talk to him? Are you mute at school or are you just above talking to your own family who raised you and home you?” Your dad came in the kitchen, tone charged and arms already waving.
You closed your eyes to calm yourself down, before simply shaking your head no. No, you didn’t talk to anyone else. No, you didn’t think you were above talking to your family. You pushed past him, not stopping until you were safely in your room with the door locked.
Throwing yourself onto your bed, you let the tears fall freely. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t want to be the silent freak in a new high school, you didn’t want to struggle to answer questions or share your opinions. You didn’t want any of this.
It was just… impossible. Ever since you arrived in Hawkins, it was like there was an invisible hand squeezing your throat and cutting off your vocal cords. You wanted to talk, to have a chance of making friends in a new school, but it was like every time you had the chance to say something, a rush of panic that felt like acid in your stomach, pins in your throat and poison in your mouth threatened to send tears running from your eyes and the whole idea was scrapped. It was just impossible.
That weekend, you met Mike and his friends by the arcade just like you agreed. When they all stared at you like you were an alien, you felt like turning and running, but Mike just introduced you again as if that was the issue, and kept close beside you.
“What do you wanna play?” He asked, trailing behind the rest of the gang. “We all like DigDug, but Max has had the high score for so many years that it’s not as fun anymore. But we can play anything, it’s a pretty good spot.” You shrugged, pointing over to a Pac-Man machine. Something safe, that you knew how to play.
Mike was a faithful supporter, encouraging you with every game. “Yes! Awesome!” He cheered, high-fiving you when you did particularly well. You were grinning, happier than you’d been since the day you arrived in Hawkins. Even the rest of the party started to come around when they saw that you were competent in an arcade, bringing you into the games they were playing.
Two hours later, you were sitting in a park, gorging on french fries and sodas as the gang all chattered around you.
“So, where are you from?” Dustin asked, “If, you know, you can tell us.” You opened your mouth, then the same sick feeling came back and you snapped it shut. Instead, you reached for one of the napkins in the middle of your circle and took a pen from your pocket.
Seattle.
They all made impressed noises. Seattle was miles cooler than Hawkins. You agreed.
“Why’d you move?”
Dad’s work. He’s working with the new mayor. And then, when they all grimaced, you followed up I know.
Mike looked elated as you began to get on with the others, doing what you could to connect with them when your words died in your throat again.
After the party was convinced you were alright, you had a place to fit in. They didn’t like you as much as Mike did; that much was clear, but they let you sit at their lunch table and tried to make conversation where they could. You’d started carrying around a notebook just to communicate with them.
Mike was always your favourite, though. He was patient with you, more gentle and understanding. He’d rephrase questions so you could answer them in yes or no, even when it was inconvenient for him. In class, he’d started defending you from asshole boys or condescending teachers.
“Have you ever thought that maybe she doesn’t speak to you because you’re not worth a single conversation?” He spat at one jock who tried to mock your condition. You’d hidden your smile behind your hand, looking out the window so no one could read your eyes.
“She knows the answer, you’re just not letting her tell you in her own way!” He fought back at your calculus teacher when he tried to deduct your participation points because you wouldn’t answer when he called on you. You’d just sat there with the correct answer in one hand, the other squeezing his under the table. Telling him it was okay.
His heroism didn’t come without consequences. There was renewed teasing for him; Frogface and the Mute Freak were a topic of much mocking. Mike didn’t care. He just kept sticking up for you, and waiting for you, being your protector. Even when his friends brought up the rumours, pointing out his ‘obsession’ with you.
They just didn’t get it; they didn’t know you. Mike wasn’t just a translator for you, he was a translator of you. In the weeks that he’d known you, Mike had discovered a key difference between you and El, the only other somewhat-mute he had experience with. You weren’t mute because you couldn’t talk, you just wouldn’t, for whatever reason. You were still kind, quick, and had other ways of expressing yourself. You weren’t learning the world like El was, you already knew it. Mike just had to figure out how to get on your level.
The answer just turned out to be paying attention. When people whispered about you across school, they said you were impenetrable, cold, a frigid bitch, even. But that wasn’t the truth at all, and Mike had only known you for a few weeks. His favourite part of his classes was quickly becoming the little looks you’d give, just to him or when you thought no one else was watching.
In calc, when you didn’t know the answers and your teacher was cold calling, you’d widen your eyes, so subtle you’d miss it if you weren’t watching. But Mike was, and he saw it. He noticed the flash of panic behind your otherwise neutral demeanour, and always made sure his paper was within your line of sight.
In history, when Caely went on a long-winded tangent about absolutely nothing and wasted all your time, you looked over at Mike for just a moment, a single second, and yet somehow your eyes communicated a complaint that Mike would need fifteen words for. He thought it was amazing, how you could tell stories with nothing more than a twitch of your eyebrow or a pointed look.
At the end of the day, Mike rode home next to you, but you had conversation of your own to provide. You passed him your notebook, covered in little notes, with one specifically circled.
Why are you so nice to me?
Mike just looked at it for a second, like he’d never seen something so ridiculous.
“What do you mean?” You shrugged, gesturing to your mouth. “Oh, it’s kind of a weird story…” When you made a face for him to go on, Mike took a deep breath. “We used to know this girl, El. She came out of nowhere and didn’t really know anything. Couldn’t speak very well, so I got pretty good at understanding non-verbal cues. You’re different, though.”
You locked eyes with him, cocking your head. Different how? Mike struggled to find the words, pedalling in silence.
“El was… in trouble. Her whole life. She didn’t have time to go to school and didn’t understand much. You understand everything, you just don’t say it. You’re like… a secret keeper.”
You shook your head, amusement alight in your eyes as you pedalled forth. You zipped your lips, turning the key as Mike laughed, rolling his eyes. Shut up, Mike.
When you arrived at your home, you sighed, visibly slumping.
“Parents?” He asked, helping you lock your bike to the front porch bannister. “I get it, mine suck too sometimes. My mom tries her best, but my dad…”
You just smiled, touching Mike’s shoulder lightly as goodbye. He waved awkwardly, stumbling down the porch steps.
“Wait!” He said, like the words had come out before he let them, “Do you want to hang out for real sometime? Just you and me?” Your grin stretched from ear to ear, nodding eagerly. Mike mirrored you, sneaking looks back as he pedalled off in a hurry.
Two weeks later, on a Saturday night, you and Mike were strolling the aisles of Family Video, searching for a suitable double feature. One film for you and one for Mike. He’d already chosen some sci-fi movie you’d never even heard of, and you were strolling the comedy and romance aisles to go afterwards. You grabbed The Princess Bride, and Mike had to hold back his wince.
“You’ve seen it?” He asked and you nodded furiously, “Your favourite?” He knew he was right from the gleam in your eye. It was a new release, only a few months old, but you’d gone to see it in cinemas four times back in Seattle. “Okay, deal.”
Twenty minutes later and you were back at Mike’s house, practically vibrating with feral anxiety as you met his family. He’d obviously prepped them because nobody said anything about your quirk, but it was clear they had no idea how to interact with you.
Mike’s dad barely blinked, just calling a distracted ‘hello’ from in front of the TV, and you hoped your wave was sufficient. Only his little sister was home, and she waved from the dinner table over some middle school homework, making a face when you didn’t say anything but not putting up a fuss. Karen was the most enthusiastic by far, bringing you into a tight squeeze and gushing over your outfit.
“Did you two have fun?” She asked and you tried to put the best foot forward, all things considered, nodding with enthusiasm. Mike grumbled something behind you, clearly embarrassed by her. “Well, I think we have some Jiffy Pop and soda, you guys go ahead and take whatever you want.”
You smiled in a way that you hoped was grateful, standing awkwardly as Mike buzzed around the kitchen preparing things.
“So, lovely, are you liking Hawkins much?” You nodded, maybe too enthusiastic for how you actually felt about the town, but you had to give her some leeway. No one could understand you like Mike could. Karen clearly got the message, clapping her hands. “Amazing! Is everyone being nice to you? Have you made some friends?” You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to say what you meant.
From the pantry, Mike scolded Karen for the convoluted question, but you waved him off immediately. Nervously, you gestured to the notepad lying on the kitchen counter. When Karen gave the go-ahead, you flipped over the current page of shopping lists, starting fresh.
The party has been really nice, some people not so much. And then, shyly, Mike is the nicest. Karen beamed, eyebrows high like she hardly believed it.
“Well, that is just lovely.” Mike arrived back with the snacks, practically dragging you down the basement stairs. You managed to wave goodbye to Karen, who was just watching the show like she knew something you didn’t.
Down in the basement, you sat on the couch while Mike fiddled with the VHS player, sneaking pieces of popcorn while his back was turned. Finally, the tape popped up on screen, ready to play. Mike sat down on the sofa, rigid next to you. He’d tried to be subtle, but you’d watched him try to calculate the very perfect spot to sit in. It wasn’t a date, so he couldn’t sit pressed up against you, but he also didn’t want to weird you out by choosing the very opposite end. So he was a good 12 inches away, close enough that if he shifted you might bump elbows, but out of any extremes. You thought it was sweet how much thought he was putting in.
It happened when you least expected it. You were halfway through Mike’s movie, and some stupid joke was told. It wasn’t even really that funny, just a dumb quip before they undertook the typical sci-fi mission. But you laughed.
Rippling out of you like someone had yanked it, your laughter disrupted the quiet in a rapid burst. Mike’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide and lips just apart as you slapped your hand over your mouth.
“Did you just..?” He trailed off and you nodded, smile appearing under your hands. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
You shook your head, eyes wide as if to say I didn’t either.
Mike had thought you’d be embarrassed. He still didn’t know why you didn’t talk, and had assumed it was a conscious choice. That didn’t align with the way you were grinning, like it was an achievement. Still, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or create a big deal out of it and scare you away from making any other noise. Mike wanted to hear you laugh over and over again.
When the film finished, Mike didn’t jump up immediately to swap the tapes. Instead, he just looked at you, willing himself to ask what he’d been thinking about for the last half an hour.
“It’s totally cool if you don’t wanna get into it, but why don’t you talk? If it’s not physical inability.”
Mike watched you struggle for a moment, trying to open your mouth, and battling it around internally as the words died in your throat. Finally, you got up and grabbed a piece of paper sitting on the table in the basement.
The doctors say it’s an anxiety thing. Mike watched you with furrowed brows, paying complete attention to you alone. It only started when we got to Hawkins a few months ago. I really didn’t want to leave Seattle and the whole thing was tearing me up as soon as we found out. Since we arrived, I haven’t been able to speak. When I try, it feels like I’m gonna throw up and cry and pass out at the same time. My whole body feels sick.
“Like a panic attack,” Mike mumbled and you nodded, tapping him twice to agree. “That really sucks.”
You just shrugged. Those were the cards you’d been dealt. Besides, Mike didn’t mind, so there was no reason to get upset about it now. You could save that for when you were at home with people who actually hated it.
“Well,” Mike said carefully, like he didn’t want to shatter any of the bond you’d created, “I’m sure people tell you all the time, but you don’t have to be nervous around me. There’s no way you can ever say anything weirder than some of the shit I’ve seen. But it’s also totally fine if you never talk, I don’t mind.”
A smile played on your lips and you let it sit between you and Mike for a moment, a better communication of your gratitude than any of your words. Still, you started scribbling.
It doesn’t really work like that I don’t think, but you’d be the first person I’d speak to if I could. Thanks, Mike.
Mike tried to play it cool and shrug it off, but you could see the light blush across his cheeks. He got up to put the next movie in to distract himself.
As the opening sequence played, production companies popping up one after another, Mike looked at you in the dark. You felt it, turning to meet his gaze with a curious eyebrow raised.
“Your laugh is really pretty, by the way,” He said, “I’m glad I got to hear it.” You beamed, and Mike thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Nicer than sunsets or high scores or neatly finished campaigns. He must have been smiling back, because he didn’t think he could look at you and not.
When the actual film began to play, you rolled your eyes playfully, repeating your mouth-zipping gesture. Shut up, Mike. Still, you let yourself get closer to him, breaking Mike’s self-imposed 12 inches and leaning against his side. Mike stiffened under your touch, but forced himself to relax so you could be more comfortable. Twenty minutes into The Princess Bride, when you were completely entranced and glued to the screen, Mike took a chance and put his arm around you, thumb gently caressing your bicep. You didn’t look at him, but let your head rest on his shoulder, the two of you against the world.
Later that evening, when Mike walked you to the door and offered to ride home with you (obviously you turned him down, that was ridiculous), you heard an unfamiliar voice in his kitchen that must have belonged to his older sister.
“That’s weird, right? Like, does Mike have a kink for girls who can’t speak?” You and Mike looked at each other, him mortified and you amused.
“Nancy!” He yelled, humiliation and frustration clear in his tone. Nancy made a squeaking sound, evident she didn’t think she could be heard. “I don’t, by the way. Obviously. It’s just a coincidence.”
You laughed again, quiet enough that he was the only one who heard you, that same blush creeping up his neck. You didn’t tease him about it, the poor boy had been through enough. Surprising both of you, you hugged him tightly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Mike had only just returned it, hands resting nervously on the small of your back, when you pulled away, looking anywhere but him.
You held your hand up in a small wave before skipping steps down to where your bike lay on his front grass, hurrying to get home in the dark. Mike watched you go, calling out a weak “Bye!”
Mike didn’t tell anyone what had happened. It was a secret, something special between you and him. And how could he explain it? If he told his friends you’d laughed in his presence, would they start expecting it in theirs, too? It wouldn’t be fair to you. So, he was the only person in Hawkins who’d heard you laugh.
You’d started hanging out together more often, at least once a week outside of school time. Sometimes with the party, mostly without. He showed you parts of Hawkins you hadn’t discovered, but mostly you just hung out at the Wheeler’s house together, where there was no pressure.
It didn’t matter what you did, you and Mike just enjoyed each other’s company. Studying, watching movies, helping Mike plan his campaigns, you just enjoyed having someone to be around who had no expectations.
One rainy Sunday afternoon, you and Mike were playing board games, deep into a competitive game of Monopoly. He was losing, badly, and you couldn’t stop giggling. It was only quiet, especially with the music Mike had put on, thinking you might be more comfortable if you thought his family couldn’t hear you.
Usually, when Mike lost a board game, he was somewhat of a sore loser. He didn’t throw tantrums or anything, but he was competitive, frustrated. Not with you. Even though he’d lost most of his properties and was severely low on cash, every time you laughed, Mike’s gaze softened, any bitterness draining from his face.
You tilted your head in question at his changed demeanour, and Mike stalled like a faulty video.
“Nothing,” He bought himself some time, “I just like this song.” You nodded slowly, disbelief written in your knitted brow.
You let him off the hook, returning to considering your next move. Meanwhile, Mike was having an entire internal crisis. He liked you, and it had only hit him that moment, over a Monopoly board and whatever tape had been left in the player.
Your lightbulb moment came a week later. Some jerk from your social studies class — the only one you didn’t have any of the party in — had followed you out to your locker. You were trying to ignore him, but he was extremely persistent.
“C’mon, babe. You’d be the perfect wife. Women should be seen and not heard, and you’re good for both.” It was allegedly a compliment, but you just felt bitter and sick inside. You tried to busy yourself in your locker, but he didn’t let up.
“Go away, asshole.” Mike appeared behind you, glowering at the guy. The dude laughed, maliciousness dripping from every second.
“Sorry, didn’t realise you were unavailable,” He looked Mike up and down like he was the scum of the earth. “Figures. Frogface would need someone too stupid to talk to put up with him.”
A single fat tear finally escaped you, rolling down your cheek and landing on the exercise book you’d been holding.
“Leave her alone, Richardson,” Mike repeated, flipping him off behind you. The guy finally took his leave after another mean jab, and Mike covered you from the rest of the student body, neck craning down to be closer to you.
“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, creating a safe bubble around you both. You just looked up at him, your expression saying everything. Eyes already puffy, lip quivering, you looked frankly pathetic. “Hey, hey! You’re okay, he’s just a jerk, just trying to hurt you.”
You nodded weakly, clearly not believing him.
“Okay, come on. How about we skip last period? Go get some ice cream or something.”
Your eyebrows creased together, hope and devastation making a strange mix on your face.
Mike walked you through the corridor, hand resting firm on the small of your back as he encouraged you to walk with purpose out the front school doors. The touch was comforting, grounding as you tried to stop crying.
Thirty minutes later, you were sitting in the ice cream parlour across from Mike, all thoughts of the jerk from before gone.
“And then, my Mom got all badass and totally slammed the door in his face!” Mike gestured wildly, all limbs and joints as he recounted what had happened with his family a few nights before. You listened along intently, nodding and laughing as you tucked into your sundae. Mike had bought it for you with his own money, and it tasted better than normal.
“Hey,” He said after a moment’s silence, “You know all of those assholes are worth nothing, right? They’re nothing. They’re just jealous that you’re so much better — smarter, cooler — without having to bore everyone with extra words like they do. They all just take up space and oxygen. You’re… so much cooler than they could ever hope to be.”
You smiled, feeling those tears burn the back of your eyeballs again, but in a much better way. You pressed your lips together, nodding like Mike hadn’t just said the nicest thing you’d ever heard. In an attempt to lighten the mood, you brought back your secret code: zipping your lips shut and turning the key. Shut up, Mike.
“I’m just saying! It’s not fair that they get to make you feel like shit when you’re cooler than every stupid jock combined.”
You giggled softly, shaking your head to tell Mike he was being dramatic. Slowly, unsurely, you reached over the table to squeeze his hand in gratitude.
Mike flushed red but didn’t dare pull away, trying extremely hard to not let you know how flustered he was. It didn’t work, but you let it go without drawing any attention.
Mike was the perfect gentleman all afternoon. He’d paid for your food, held the door open for you and been touchier than usual, but always polite. Just a hand on your back or waist as you walked together, or fingers brushing for longer than usual if your hands dangled next to each other.
You thought it would be a big, earth-shattering moment to realise you liked Mike. The only person in Hawkins who understood you, or cared enough to try, your faithful friend in a new town. It wasn’t. You just looked up at him whilst he was walking you home, explaining a new movie he’d watched with a million words a minute, and felt your heart clench, warmth pervading every inch of it. Oh you thought, I like Mike. It was simple as anything, it just made sense to you.
Six months after you met Mike, almost to the day, you woke up like any other morning. Something had changed, though. It wasn’t physical, nothing you could feel, but you knew somewhere deep down that today was the day you would talk to Mike.
You’d been trying since that day you laughed with him for the first time, and sometimes you thought you were almost there, but it hadn’t happened. Mike never minded, never gave any indication of frustration or impatience. If you never spoke again, you had no doubts that Mike truly wouldn’t mind.
Maybe that was why you thought you could do it. There was no pressure, no fear of judgement. You didn’t feel like you could let him down. The more you thought about it, the more your body unlocked, padlocks and passwords letting your limbs relax and your chest open up for the first time in months.
You didn’t have plans with Mike, but it felt like one of those things that probably shouldn’t wait. It felt vulnerable to a sudden wave of overthinking and panic, and you wanted to move past it already.
It was raining outside, but you just kept pedalling, rushing to get to the Wheeler’s house. Your mind was racing, trying to get a good grip on what might happen. Would he freak out? Would he care? Would Mike even want to be friends with you if you started to talk, or was it just the novelty of a silent girl that brought him to you?
You shook it off, pushing through it as you knocked on the front door. Karen answered, surprise and joy written on raised eyebrows.
“Hi, honey! I didn’t know you were coming over today. Here to see Mike, right?” You nodded dutifully, letting her hang up your dripping raincoat.
Mike was in the basement, hunched over his DM book when the steps creaked under your weight.
“Oh, hey!” He said, standing at once. “What are you doing here?” You shrugged, trying to open your mouth, but Mike clearly didn’t catch it. “Actually, it’s really great that you’re here. I’ve got something kind of important to talk to you about.”
You gestured for him to go on, thoughts of your own achievement sitting on the back burner.
“I don’t know, um, we’ve been hanging out a lot lately and I’ve had a lot of fun, and I hope you’ve had fun too, you know, because, um… I really like you. I know that maybe that’s weird and, like, totally no worries if you don’t feel the same way—”
“Mike.” Mike didn’t clock it, lost in his own words as he paced around the basement.
“Your friendship is obviously the most important thing to me, but I just think you’re, like, incredibly cool and funny and smart, and maybe, you know, if you feel the same way, we could—”
“Mike,” You urged again, watching in real time as his eyes widened to saucers, words crumbling on his tongue.
“Holy shit,” He breathed, “Holy shit! When did this happen? Congrats! Oh God, I can’t believe it. Wow, um, that makes my whole thing sound pretty inconsequential now.” He’d made it right up close to you, both hands grasping your arms like he could hardly believe you were real.
“Mike,” You grinned, bringing back your code, though you didn’t need it any more, zipping your lips and turning the key. Shut up, Mike. He followed your instruction dutifully, mouth falling shut as he looked down at you, pupils blown out as he breathed erratically.
“You like me?” You asked softly, your voice foreign even to your own ears, hands creeping up to cup his cheeks. Mike leant into your touch, eyes heavily lidded as he nodded down at you.
You kissed Mike first, raising to your tiptoes to reach him. He reacted immediately, pushing back with greater fervour, like he’d been waiting for it for months. Maybe he had.
Your bodies fused into one, wrapped around each other as Mike held you close and stole the air from your lungs. He walked you blindly over to the sofa, both of you tumbling onto the cushions in a mess of limbs.
You pulled away with a breathless laugh, millimetres from his face. Mike beamed back at you, admiring you like he couldn’t believe you were real.
“You’re talking,” He said, one hand caressing your cheek reverently.
“Yeah,” You laughed, “I guess so.”
“Since when?”
“Today. Woke up and came straight here.” You beamed, hands in Mike’s hair.
“Why me?”
“Are you kidding?” You pressed your lips to his again, softer this time. “You’re the only person in Hawkins I feel safe around, Mike. You’re the only person who doesn’t want something from me.”
“Well, I kinda want something from you now,” He teased, kissing you slowly. You let him for a while, succumbing to the pleasure.
“You’re such an idiot,” You giggled, letting him steal kisses between your words.
“Come on,” Mike pulled you back into a sitting position, your legs draped over his, “I wanna hear about you, in your own words.”
You’d shown up to Nancy’s around 6pm, expecting to run into your little brother, Will, once you arrived—but you weren’t there for him. Nancy and you always planned to watch your favorite TV shows when they aired, and the Wheeler’s had cable. It worked out well.
“Y/N! You’re just in time for dinner!” Karen cheerfully greeted you when you wandered into the kitchen, you never had to knock on the front door anymore. “Nancy’s not home yet, but I’m sure she’ll be back any minute.”
“Hey, kid. You here to kick me off the TV?” Ted snarked, flipping his newspaper. “Nothing good on, anyway.” Karen rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Men.” She simply said while plating each of her family’s and guest’s meals. And in the nick of time, you heard the front door open and laughter of Nancy…and Jonathan? You peeked around the corner and saw the two closer than ever before, and it clicked right then and there. They were dating.
“Hey, what’s going on?” You asked and the two went wide-eyed.
“Oh, my God. Is it Thursday?” Nancy gasped and Jonathan went red in the cheeks. “Y/N, I can’t believe I forgot. We—we had—it’s okay. It’s not even 6:15 yet, we didn’t miss it.” She hung up her coat and tried to ignore that your older brother was standing right behind her.
“Hi, Jonathan.” You said.
“Hi, y/n.” He replied.
“How long?” You asked.
“A few weeks.” Nancy sighed, releasing her tension. “I was gonna tell you—”
“It’s okay, Nance. Just as long as he doesn’t crash our dates.” You joked and they both laughed along, whether that be from relief or trying to keep on your good side. Either way, “your mom’s got dinner ready. I’ll get Mike and Will.”
hii!! i was hoping to request some jonathan byers x reader something, maybe a little bit of angst with fluff?? whatever you're open to!! thank you!!
yay i love this!!
Alone Now - Jonathan Byers x Wheeler!Reader
The Wheeler house is full.
Not in a cozy, holiday way.
In a there are too many traumatised people and not enough square footage way.
Jonathan's camped out in the basement with his family - well, "camped out" implies sleep is happening. It's not. He's been awake for hours, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to the universe.
Will's soft, uneven breathing comes from beside him. Joyce is peacefully sleeping near him too. Ted's snoring can be heard from the basement. Again.
And Jonathan is...running on fumes, actually.
After tossing and turning for 5 minutes he pulls the sheets back and creeps up the basement stairs to your room.
He knocks gently on your bedroom door - three soft taps, your signal.
You sit up instantly and crack the door open.
"Hey," you whisper.
He tries to smile, and it's the saddest thing you've seen in weeks.
"Didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't," you lie, because he absolutely did. You felt something was wrong - the way you feel storms before they hit.
You tug him into your bedroom and flick on a lamp. It casts everything in a warm gold glow.
He stands stiff, arms crossed like it's the only thing holding him together.
"Jonathan," you say softly. "Talk to me, please. I'm right here."
He shakes his head.
"I can't," he whispers. "Not right now. Not with everything going on...not when Mom is..." He swallows, voice cracking. "I'm supposed to be the one keeping everyone together."
Your heart drops. "You've been doing that for years."
"Yeah, well," he breathes out, "somebody has to."
You step closer and he leans toward you like a plant finding sunlight.
"Jonathan," you murmur, "you're shaking."
He is. Barely, but you feel it when you take his hands in yours.
"I'm fine," he says automatically.
"You're exhausted," you counter, squeezing his fingers.
His eyes close and his shoulders sag. It's the first real sign that his guard is slipping.
"I don't know what to do. Everything feels like it's falling apart."
"Jonathan," you whisper, resting your forehead against his, "you don't have to be strong all the time.
He inhales sharply - that broken, shaky inhale that means everything he's been holding in is about to spill out.
And then it does.
Jonathan pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your waist with desperate force, burying his face into your shoulder. His breath stutters against your skin. You hold him tighter. You run your fingers through his hair. You feel the tremors ease, slowly, like he's finally letting himself breathe.
He whispers something against your collarbone - so soft you almost miss it.
"I'm just...tired."
"I know," you say, voice warm and steady. "You've carried too much for too long. Let me take some of it."
He clings harder. Not rough or panicked, must needing.
After a long moment, he pulls back, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy but clearer.
"Sorry," he mumbles.
"Nope," you say instantly, thumb brushing his cheek. "Not allowed. You don't apologise for being human."
A small smile tugs at his lips. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You're not going to find out," you promise.
You tug him gently toward your bed.
"C'mon," you murmur. "You're sleeping in here tonight. With me. And you're actually going to sleep."
"Yeah," he whispers. "Okay. Yeah."
And for the first time in a long time, Jonathan Byers lets someone else be strong for him.
Pairings: Dustin Henderson x Gn!reader (the reader is not specified here but female is in mind while making)
Summary: In which your nerdy boyfriend becomes surprisingly smooth, you grow curious, and discover he’s been researching how to love you properly.
Themes&warnings: fluff, coming of age, teenagers in love, dustin being adorable, non-explicit make out, sets around season 4
Notes: I'm officially a dustin fanfic account/blogger (I love it)
Request prompt | Masterlist
Words: 1.2k
When Dustin Henderson officially started dating you, he took it very seriously. Maybe too seriously.
Whenever you walked close enough that your hands brushed, he froze—eyes wide, breath caught—before carefully, almost ceremoniously, intertwining your fingers with his. His hands were always a little shaky, but he never let go first.
When you kissed his cheek at the end of lunch because you had separate classes, he froze again. Completely. Like his brain needed a second to reboot. Then he smiled, a wide and dorky and utterly uncontrollable. And then spent the rest of the day grinning at absolutely nothing.
So when you said one afternoon, half-teasing and half-curious, “Hey… you still haven’t taken me on a proper date, Henderson.”
It hit him. Hard.
“Proper—?” he echoed, pushing his hat back. “I mean—I thought—”
You laughed softly. “Sorry— I’m not mad. I just think it’d be nice.”
Dustin nodded too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, totally. Of course. Dates are—dates are great.”
But the truth was… he had no idea what he was doing.
His entire dating experience consisted of a girl he met at summer camp. They’d spent their time building radios, stargazing, and talking late at night. Then came the long distance. Calls over the radio, and static-filled goodbyes. Eventually, it faded—no drama, just distance doing what distance does best.
This was different. You were right her. You've always been.
So after your first real date—where he tripped over his words, almost knocked over his soda, and apologized probably more than seventeen times—it ended with a kiss.
Dustin’s first kiss with you.
And in his head, it was horrible. Not because of you— never because of you. But because of how he did it.
He walked you up to your front door, heart pounding so loud he was sure you could hear it. You leaned in at the same time he did. Your noses bumped. Then your foreheads knocked together in a quiet, clumsy collision.
“Oh—oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Dustin blurted out immediately, hands hovering like he didn’t know where to put them. “I didn’t mean to—are you okay? I swear I’m not usually this bad at—”
You laughed, soft and warm, and tried again—gentler this time. The kiss was quick, sweet, and gone far too soon.
Still, all Dustin could think about afterward was how awkward it had been.
So after apologizing again, he biked home, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed onto his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, replaying every second of the night on a ruthless loop.
“Smooth, Henderson,” he muttered to himself. “Real smooth.”
And somewhere between embarrassment and determination, he decided something had to change.
He will start a mission. A secret mission. To be the best boyfriend ever.
Then within a week, his room looked like a strange combination of a middle school bedroom and a college library. Stacks of books sat on his desk, his nightstand, even the floor by his bed. Titles ranged from The Science of Attraction to A Beginner’s Guide to Kissing— which he’d hidden under a notebook, just in case.
He wasn’t being weird. He was being prepared.
Because the idea of being a bad boyfriend of disappointing you in any way— kept him up at night.
That concern eventually led to having to meet an expert.
"Steve," Dustin hissed, cornering his mentor at Family Video. "I need to know the physics. The mechanics. I’ve read the literature, but the data is inconclusive."
Steve leaned over the counter, squinting. "Dustin, are you talking about kissing? Just... mash faces and hope for the best, man."
"I can't just 'mash faces,' Steve! This is Y/N! I want to be special. I want to be a legend," Dustin whispered frantically.
“So,” Steve sighed slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you want kissing advice because you love this this person so much, huh”
Dustin nodded, earnest. “Please, you’re like—objectively good at this stuff.”
Steve blinked. “I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered.”
“Please,” Dustin added quickly. “Hypothetically.”
Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Rule number one: stop overthinking it.”
Dustin immediately wrote that down in his notes.
Meanwhile for you— you noticed him acting... differently. He was more deliberate, his eyes darting to your reaction every time he held your hand or leaned in for a quick peck. It reached a peak during a rainy Saturday at his house. You were curled up on his bed, supposedly a movie but it had long since it become the background noise.
Dustin was kissing you with a level of focus that was, frankly, intimidating.
It wasn’t just a kiss—it was good. Confident. His hand rested perfectly at the small of your back, just like Steve had muttered once under his breath. His other hand cupped your jaw, guiding you closer, grounding you there with him.
But he didn’t rush it. And somehow, he didn’t overthink it.
It was slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that made your toes curl without you even realizing it.
When you pulled back for air, you whispered, “Dustin?”
He didn’t answer. He just kissed you again, softer but firmer this time, and you sighed into it, kissing him back for a few more seconds before pulling away for real—breathless, dazed. You stayed close, foreheads resting together.
“Dustin,” you breathed again.
“Yeah?” he squeaked, his sudden crack in pitch betraying him immediately.
You laughed softly, brushing a curl away from his forehead. “Where did that come from? You’ve been… weirdly smooth lately. Did you get struck by lightning and gain romantic superpowers, or have you just been hanging out with Harrington too much?”
Dustin turned bright red, eyes darting anywhere but yours. “I—uh—I’ve been doing some independent study.”
“Independent study?” you repeated, curious, pulling back just enough to look at him.
“I read six books, Y/N!” he blurted, arms flailing. “And then I had to interview Steve for, like, three hours! I just—Suzie was always so far away, and I realized I didn’t actually know the physical mechanics of being a great boyfriend. I didn’t want to mess it up with you. I wanted to be… special.”
Your heart melted instantly. You grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him back toward you, grinning. Your voice dropped into a teasing whisper. “Dustin Henderson… you are a giant nerd.”
“I prefer highly prepared,” he corrected, beaming, his breath warm against your face as his eyes flicked down to your lips again.
“Well,” you whispered, leaning closer, “your research was very thorough. But I think it needs more… field testing.”
His eyes widened, that signature toothy grin breaking free. “Copy that.”
This time, he pulled you in by the back of your neck, fitting your body against his like he’d always known exactly where you belonged, and picked up right where you’d left off.
Later—after what might’ve been the best make-out session of your life—you finally murmured that Dustin had always been the best boyfriend. Not because of how he kissed, but because of how he loved—carefully, earnestly, in his own wonderfully Dustin way.
The night ended with him rambling happily, telling you stories, laughing too loud, sneaking in a few more kisses when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
Hellfire was running later than usual, Eddie slightly panicking as you said you were sneaking over to his trailer tonight. When the session was over he practically threw everything in the bag and bolted out the door, apologizing as he bumped into Mike and Dustin as he ran to his van.
——
When he finally got to the trailer, he found you on the couch asleep. He quietly went into his room and put away his bag before returning to you. After shaking you a bit, he managed to wake you up.
“sorry I’m late sweetheart. The session ran longer than excepted… but I’m here now and I’m willing to make up for it.” He gave you his teasing smile, which made you laugh.
You opened your arms, resulting in him falling into you. In the end you both fell asleep on the couch, and praying neither of you fall off in the middle of the night.
stop tagging yall’s non-fic posts w the character x reader (or putting a character fic in tag that it doesn’t belong to) when you’re just posting memes or thoughts. not trying to be mean, but nobody cares bc that’s not what we here for. and if your fic isn’t getting traction, please do not post it in a character tag that it is not for just because of that cos it’s still not getting read 🤷♀️
Summary: Alina finds out that you’re feeling upset, so she decides to make you feel better.
Alina Starkov x Fem!Grisha Reader.
Warnings: None.
———
It was a plain little winter evening at the Little Palace.
While your peers either practiced or hung around with their friends at dinner, you were shockingly alone. As the Palace’s social butterfly, you did have many friends, but they often made you feel disposable, which was very difficult to look away from or ignore.
So, there you were, sitting by the lake with your knees to your chest as your e/c eyes watched the stars come up from the horizon, and the moon rise up in the sky, reflecting on the water’s still surface. The breeze rustled the leaves of the trees behind you, and from somewhere there came the call of an owl.
Far in the distance, you heard the faint sound of boisterous laughing, presumably from some group sitting at the terrace of their room, talking about something amusing.
You inhaled deeply, the cold air hitting your nose, and exhaling through your mouth, generating a puff of condensed air.
You didn’t hear anyone behind you, so you were startled out of your wits when someone’s strangely familiar voice greeted you brightly, her hands on your shoulders.
Alina Starkov. Always there to lift your mood, and somehow always able to sense it.
“Good evening, my love,” she grinned, sitting next to you. “A little bird told me that you’re feeling upset.”
“A little bird named Nadia, I assume?” You chuckled, leaning your head on her shoulder.
“Yes,” she replied with a kiss to your head. “Now, what shall we do to lift your low spirits? A trip to the kitchen for some snacks? Maybe a prank on Zoya? Or,” she nudged you with a sneaky grin, “A good, long, tumble?”
“Are you seriously offering to drown my sorrows in sex?” You snorted. “As appealing as that sounds, I am not in a very tumble-y mood.”
“Atleast it made you smile!” She laughed, poking your side.
“Very smooth, Sol Koroleva,” you shook your head, smiling, “Very smooth of you.”
She jokingly flipped her hair over her shoulder and said, “I know.”
“But, I will take you up on that offer for a tumble later,” you smirked. “But for now, let’s just go back before my toes freeze off.”
“My room or yours?” She asked, standing up and offering you a hand.
“Yours,” you said. “My room is a disaster right now.”
Alina laced her fingers with yours and you both walked up the pathway to the palace.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked, looking at you with concern as the fingers of your free hand fluttered at your sides.
“No,” you shook your head. “Atleast, not now.”
“Whenever you’re ready, my love,” she smiled.
In her room, you lay down on her bed with a ‘thump’, face down, screaming into the sheets, “HUMAN BEINGS ARE EXHAUSTING CREATURES OF HELL,” but looking up, you added in a more gentle tone, “Except for you, obviously.”
“Naturally,” said Alina, handing you a glass of water. “What can I do to help?”
You sat up, opened your arms, and grinned, “Love me.”
Alina laughed and sat up against the headboard, after placing the glass on the bedside table. She pulled you atop her, so that your back was resting against her front, your body between her legs.
She kissed the top of your head and held your hands tightly, keeping you from fidgeting.
“You are worth all the love in this world,” she whispered, leaning her cheek against your head, rubbing circles at the back of your hands with her thumbs. “I am so proud of you, my Y/n.”
At her words, you started to cry silently, feeling appreciated after a long, long time. She noticed your tears and wiped them away tenderly, letting go of your hands.
“Ssh…” she whispered, cuddling you close as your tears fell on her skin. They were warm, and heartbreakingly so.
“Thank you, Lina,” you sighed softly, after having cried everything out. “I love you so much.”
Though they were only words, Alina felt the weight of them in each syllable, and allowed a warmth to bloom over her cheeks, which she hid by burying her face in your hair, playing with your fingers.
So there you both lay, Alina’s arms wrapped around you, as your exhausted body slept soundly in them, and the Sun Summoner drifted off to sleep, dreaming of only good things with you.
———
Hi, its me, Anne! I hope you enjoyed this imagine! Feel free to request any imagines <333
Steve was a little surprised when you pushed your way onto his lap. Not that he minded. He never minded.
But the movie was half way through, the popcorn had been long finished, butter sweet fingertips barely touching yours across the couch cushions. You’d been curled up, almost asleep and Steve had been happy to leave you be, turning the volume down on the TV when the dramatic explosions on screen seemed louder then before.
And then, you were awake, barely, sleep softened and still bleary eyed as you shuffled awkwardly across the sofa to him, knees digging into the cushions until you could drape yourself over his lap. The boy accepted it at once, arms opening immediately, smiling when your head found his shoulder, your cold hand sneaking up the front of his shirt.
Steve felt a swell of affection for you, his nose nudging along your hairline before sweeping a kiss there too, grinning when you hummed.
“She lives,” he joked, pulling your legs into him too, letting you curl around him the way you both liked best. “Your side of the couch not comfy anymore?”
“I got lonely,” you mumbled, words softened by his shirt collar, threadbare flannel that smelled like him.
“Lonely?” Steve tsked, his own hand sweeping up the inside of your top, palm flat your to skin as he bumped over each curve of your spine, goosebumps in his wake. “Shit, we can’t have that.”
You smiled as you peered up at him, cheek resting on his shoulder. You didn’t need to ask for one, you just blinked, slow and sleepy still, humming when Steve ducked his chin down to kiss you soft.
He barely pulled back, lips grazing over your own, his words on your cupids bow.
I totally didn't search up a random word generator for this 🙄😁 buuuuut, what about the word: "Tomorrow".
For future references; I know you said "hopefully cute" but would you be expanding your genres to angst or smutty for these blurbs? It's okay, if you're not. I was just curious 💖 Good luck on the prompt.
You groaned, heels of your palms pressed meanly to your eyes. You rubbed, too hard, making you groan even more.
Hands found your wrists, much more gentle than you were being to yourself. You let out a sigh, soft and tired, letting the hands drag yours away.
Steve came into view, hunkered down next to your desk chair, elbows on your legs. He smiled, a little tired too. He was ready for bed, cotton shorts pulled across his thighs as he crouched, threadbare shirt showing off broad shoulders and arms you wanted to crawl into.
“Baby.” It was a soft warning, coaxing and gentle.
“I know,” you started, voice wheedling, turning back to gaze at your computer screen. The green numbers were still there, flashing almost mockingly. “I’m almost done though.”
Steve laughed, leaned down even further to press a kiss to your knee, through his sweatpants you’d stolen after work, the cuffs of them trailing past your feet. “You said that two hours ago.”
“Baby,” you pouted, the pet name coated in affection and a hint of negotiation.
“Baby,” came the reply, firmer and annunciated with another kiss, this time to your cheek. Steve’s hands found yours again as he stood, pulling you up and into him. He was warm from bed, smelling like spearmint toothpaste and mango body wash. “C’mon. It’ll still be there tomorrow.”
You wrinkled your nose, a soft sound of protest leaving your lips but Steve was right snd the clock on the wall told you it was passing one am.
“It will won’t it?”
The boy nodded, already leading you down the hall, towards your shared bed, the pretty glow of the candle you’d lit earlier still flickering within.
hi jade ! is this too early to request ? can i pretty please ask for some jonathan byers x shy!reader who is about to meet will for the first time but they really get along ? thank you so much !!💛💛
thank you for your request! jonathan x shy!fem!reader <3
You’re frozen in the car, staring down at your lap. You’re about half an hour early in the parking lot of the diner you and Jonathan agreed on for a kind-of date. There’s a scagged thread on the side of your pant leg. Jonathan probably won’t notice, and his younger brother Will certainly won’t, but it’s another small disaster to weigh the scale down. Today is a failure, and Will is going to hate you.
A gentle knock against the window. It scares you senseless, so highly strung that you flinch into the console and almost wind yourself. Jonathan waits for you to recognise him on the other side of the window so as not to scare you further, pulling open the driver's door.
“What happened?” he asks, generous considering he’d seen the whole thing. “I didn’t mean to freak you out, sorry. Here, let me help.”
You take his offered hands and he practically pulls you out of the car and onto your feet. When you’re standing on firm-footing, his hand strays to your side, though there’s nothing he can do. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“I’m fine,” you breathe. “You’re early.”
He laughs. It’s charming enough to calm you down, his warm cadence. “I’m early? No, I told you the wrong time so I could come and rescue you from overthinking city.”
You stiffen.
Jonathan checks you over quickly. His eyes find that tiny scagged thread on the outer side of your pant leg, and he takes it between two fingers, snapping it off sharply. His gaze tracks back up to your face. He smiles fondly at your horrified expression.
“I left him inside.” He takes your face into his hands. “Everything is fine. Everything will be fine. Will’s just like me. Well, mostly.”
“Teenagers are mean,” you say.
“Not Will. I’m sorry for lying to you. I figured it would be easier if you didn’t have time to worry about what could go wrong. But you don’t have to do this if you aren’t ready.”
Jonathan squishes your cheeks gently.
“No, I am. I’m not–” You pull the brakes, comforted by the warmth of his hands as they fall to your shoulders. “I was in my head, that’s all. And I’m excited to meet him, I promise.”
“Okay, good. He’s excited to meet you.”
You smooth one of his hairs away from his eyes without thinking. He noticeably melts, flustered by your rare but easy affection.
You and Jonathan make your way inside of the diner. You spot Will without instruction, a mop of mousy brown hair against the red velvet of a corner booth. He’s bigger than you thought he’d be — Jonathan always calls him his ‘little’ brother, but Will looks firmly within his late teens. He’s smiling as soon as he sees you.
He’s like me, Jonathan’d said without hesitation. He must be lovely, in that case.
“Hey,” Jonathan says, greeting his brother. They share a smile, and you have the peculiar feeling that they’d talked about how this moment would go before you arrived. “Will, this is Y/N. Y/N, Will.”
“Hi,” you say, not weak so much as meek, trying hard to be a grown up and missing the mark.
“Hey,” he says back.
Jonathan ushers you into the booth and sits beside you. His hand doesn’t go for your thigh but your wrist, pulling your arm into his lap so you can’t pick nervously at your nails. He knows you too well sometimes.
“It’s really great to meet you,” you say. You sound, regrettably, as terrified as you look.
“You, too. Jonathan doesn’t shut up about you, it’ll be nice to picture your face while he waxes.”
You turn to Jonathan. He shakes his head in bemusement. You know he doesn’t mind being the punching bag while you break the ice, because that’s the kind of guy he is. You slip your fingers between his and stroke the back of his hand with his thumb, looking down at his pale skin for a stolen, steadying moment.
You look up. “He doesn’t shut up about you, either. He told me about your club? Art for the disadvantaged? I was really impressed, do you…”
Talking to Will isn’t as hard as you feared it would be. Jonathan makes it easier, diving in to save you from any social faux pas you might make now you’re getting older. Teenagers speak in tongues, but Will truly is as kind and funny as his brother described, and you never once feel like he’s looking down on you.
Talking to people is hard. You don’t really enjoy putting yourself out there, or making conversation with unfamiliar people, but Will is such a big part of Jonathan’s life that you’re more than glad to do it. You fight your shyness, and you’re still awkward, disjointed, under-versed in social norms, but you make do.
You get along. By the time his friends swing by to grab him for the roller derby, you’re feeling downright overjoyed.
You smile and wave at Will as he leaves. A weight falls off of your shoulders.
You haven’t half turned to Jonathan when you’re being apprehended. He pushes you down into the booth seat, lifted off of one thigh with his hands in your hair.
“You. are. amazing,” he praises, dotting kisses all over your face.
Your giggle are slow as thick honey, breathless when his fingers slide behind your ear. He anchors you in place; there’s no escape for you, your face perfectly tilted to receive his slow, appreciative kiss. You lavish in his tenderness, but soon remember where you are and duck away from him.
“I knew you’d be amazing,” he says, hand falling from the curve of your neck to clasp your forearm. He’s almost insistent in his praise. “Thank you, honey.”
You nod bashfully. “No problem,” you mumble.
Jonathan kisses your hot cheek. His affection makes it all worth it.
Mini blurb idea is so cute!!! How about “headache”?
The Munson’s trailer was never quiet.
There was usually noise of some kind, a revving engine, protesting some sort of repair, music, guitar, two men talking - one that didn’t know how to be quiet.
But the trailer seemed eerily quiet, blurry in the shadows cast by the sun behind the trees, almost empty.
You found a boy shaped lump under Eddie’s duvet, a mess of curls peeking out from underneath and you couldn’t help the frown on your face at the sight, the concern in your voice when you asked:
“You okay?”
Eddie appeared, bleary eyed and groaning, squinting against what little light came in through the slats of his blinds. He looked ready to hiss at the audacity of the day outside.
“Headache,” he managed to utter, voice croaky from what you assumed was an accidental nap. “Maybe a migraine, I dunno. Hurts.”
“Baby,” you affection was thick in your throat, as was worry. You were hesitant about approaching the bed, scared to accidentally kick a stray godknows what that usually littered the floor. “Can I get you anything?”
You needn’t have been worried about coming too near, ‘cause Eddie simply lifted the covers and made a noise, something close to a chirp that was supposed to signal you to get into bed with him.
So you did as asked, slipping off your shoes to join him, seeking out the bed warmth from his bare chest, smiling into his curls as his face sound your chest. A few nudges with his nose and your shirt collar was pushed out of his way, his lips against skin. He hummed.
“Better?” You whispered, lips skirting along his temple, your fingers working out the tangles in his curls.
But it didn’t take a genius to come to the conclusion that you were more than tired. Eddie barely had time to look up from the pasta he was stirring on the stove as the door slammed open, before you were suctioned to him.
Your cheek pressed to his back, arms around his middle and you made a soft sound, a pleased little hum that vibrated against his spine. And when he brought one hand down to cover your own, both resting against his stomach, you sighed, deflating.
“Long day?” He asked you knowingly.
You nodded, nose pushed to the space between his shoulder blades.
“Bad day?” Eddie hedged, keeping his voice gentle, low and soft. The pasta was abandoned, the stove top turned off in favour of turning to face you. “You okay?”
You kept your face to his chest, inhaling laundry detergent and smoke, whatever cologne he’d sprayed the night before. You nodded again, answering yes to both and you wriggled when Eddie squeezed at your waist, a silent question.
You looked up, chin to his sternum, eyes a little unfocused. “I’m tired,” you told him, talking awkwardly through a smothered yawn. “I’m really tired.”
Eddie snorted, fondness leaking into the sound. One hand, big and warm, caught your chin, a thumb tapping over your bottom lip. “Yeah, no shit, sweetheart. C’mon, dinner can wait.”
Frowning, you still let him lead you from the kitchen to the couch. “It can?” You watched as Eddie threw aside the remote, a newspaper Wayne had read that morning, a hoodie that could’ve been yours, maybe Steve’s, possibly Dustin’s.
“It can,” Eddie confirmed and he only let go of you to stretch himself across the couch cushions. He held out his arms, grinning. “Couch nap first.”
You didn’t hesitate and Eddie didn’t complain when you threw yourself on top of him, using his chest as a pillow. He played with the ends of your hair as you went slack against him, his lips brushing over your cheek now and then, an almost kiss that was meant to not wake you.
you were going to gala, you felt bit nervous as you walks around and you bump to someone and it was Tolya, he hold your waist to be careful, you apologize, you two look each other, he asked to take you for walk, you two talk about his homeland, you really like to know him more *fluffiness*
(hope you will write it, thanks and have a good day)
The Gala
♡ Summary: Tolya catches you before you fall at a gala, and offers to take you on a walk to calm your nerves. You find he's a rather interesting man.
♡ Pairing: Tolya Yul-Bataar x Fem!Reader (ambiguous, please read indented)
♡ Fandom: King of Scars, Grishaverse
♡ Warning(s): None
♡ WC: 2.1k
Hello!! Thank you for your request!
I wrote this one ambiguous on purpose. It could either be taken romantically or platonically. I personally think Tolya is aromantic due to a line he says in the KoS series, but I know other people don't take it that way. So feel free to take this however you wish <3
Hope you enjoy it and that you have a good day as well!!
Please excuse any grammar and spelling mistakes
∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘
To make a long story short, you feel incredibly grateful and attractive. Which is perfect to mask the sheer anxiety you feel.
King Nikolai was in attendance at this gala. And while you had no intention of meeting him, fate could have other plans for you.
It could send you tripping over your own silk gown and into him, his guards mistaking you for an assailant and killing you on the spot. You could make someone else bump into him, throwing the imported wine all over his first army garb. Hell, he could even choose to make conversation with you, to which you'd embarrass yourself by rambling about the intricacies of jewelry making and metalsmithing.
Saints, you need to calm down.
If you're not mistaken, there's a table around here with finger foods and drinks that could help.
The crowd, however, is incredibly unforgiving. People remain where they stand, almost as if they're completely unaware you're trying to make it last them. You put hands on shoulders and backs, apologize when you have to tilt your body to squeeze between groups of people, and all you get are glares and judgemental up-and-down looks.
People really need to be kinder, more considerate. They're not the only people that exist in this room. How are the servers supposed to go around and serve the alcohol? What if there was an emergency? Is it really that hard to consider moving one step to the left?
Your annoyance makes you distracted. You step on someone's shoe, throwing you completely off balance and sending you falling to the floor.
The only thing that could make this more humiliating is falling into someone. Which you do.
You feel yourself flush, embarrassment rushing through your brain as you try and correct yourself.
"Oh saints, please forgive me!" It takes a moment to realize just how big the man who caught you was. His arms are rather large, but he's also just plain tall. He easily stands a good couple centimeters above every person in this room. "I really have to be more careful."
You realize now he's one of the Kings guards, but its more or less irrelevant seeing as he's so far away from said King. The stoic look on his face cracks a little, a small smile forming on his angled face.
"It's alright, It's only right I apologize as well. Forgive me for bumping into you." He slips his arm away from your waist once you get yourself balanced within your heels. "You aren't hurt, are you?"
You fix the gloves around your wrists. "Oh, no. Not at all. For as big as you are you're incredibly gentle."
"That's good to hear."
It takes you a moment to realize the words that slipped past your tongue. Mortification pummels through your system.
"I didnt mean- im so sorry once again. That wasnt the best choice of words."
This is just so wrong. This isn't how anything was supposed to go. And now you feel so hot, face even prickling at the increase in your internal temperature. The man eyes you, squinting when you begin to fan yourself.
"Truly, I dont take offense. Would you like to go on a walk? Its much cooler outside."
It's definitely not a smart to follow a man you just met to a secondary location. But with the way he's dressed, and the way he carries himself, he isn't all that threatening. The Soldat Sol tattoo on his arms also does well to quell any lasting fears.
"That would be lovely, thank you."
He walks through the crowd with you trailing very close behind. People part to make room for him, and make a look of disdain when they see you trailing behind like a duckling.
But the moment that fresh cool evening air reaches your skin, it feels worth it. Like you can breathe.
You allow yourself to walk to the edge of the wrap around patio that surrounds this whole place. The garden has plants beginning to close, no longer needing to open their petals now that the sun is setting.
The flowers are red, and butterflies are making their last rounds to the buds that are still open.
"There's a flower, in Shu Han, that looks similar to this." He takes a step off the porch and approaches the flower.
He's incredibly gentle, fingertips barely grazing the petals and slotting the stem between his fingers. He encourages it up towards his face as he bends down to smell it, a smile adorning this face.
"What's it called?" You ask, picking up your dress and stepping down to join him.
"The one in Shu Han is called Datura Meloxia. It's incredibly poisonous. This one... I'm not sure."
You hook a finger around one of the stems, bringing it toward you.
It seems tropical, which is strange given that summers aren't all that hot here and Ravka has a winter season. The stigma reaches far out beyond the confines of the petals, and almost seems to have a cloud of surrounding the end.
"Do you know a lot about Shu Han?" You ask.
He let's out a chortle. "I should hope so. It's where I grew up."
"Listen, people are everywhere these days. I didn't want to assume you knew everything about there just because you look like you're from there."
"Thats very open minded of you."
You shrug. "Doesnt do us any good to be close minded, does it?"
He let's go of the flower, putting his hands back behind his back. "No. It doesn't."
The air feels a bit tense, weighing on your shoulders. The way he keeps his eyes trained on the flowers makes you feel as if you may have made him uncomfortable.
"Do you know anything about Shu Han you specifically enjoy?"
If there's anything you know about people, is that broad questions are usually the way to go. From there they can get as specific as they want or stay broad.
"Poetry." He says, going specific. "Epic Poetry, specifically. There's quite a few poems from both Ravka and Shu that are quite interesting."
That, ironically, piques your interest. "Like what?"
And it's like you opened up a dam, water spilling out in the form of languages you don't understand but find incredibly alluring. He's like an encyclopedia, citing poems that date back hundreds of years and reciting the lines as of he has the material right in front of him.
In a way you think he does. His eyes will get glossy and it's almost like he's turning the page when he talks with his hands, staring far into the distance at something you can only hope to see.
He does his best to translate the text, but you can tell it pains him that there isn't a direct translation that will allow you to appreciate the beauty of the poem.
But he does his best all the same, and you give as much encouragement as possible, smiling wide when he says something particularly grand. He even cites romance every once in a while, and you feel yourself cataloging the lines to digest later.
Because it really was interesting. You've thought about poetry maybe three, four times in your entire life when your mom brought home a book filled with them for her entertainment. But never did you think it could be this interesting.
Or maybe it's just because he makes it interesting, adding bits of history from both Ravka and Shu Han when he can.
It's also nice to see his face light up just a smidgen when you express your own knowledge, telling him you do actually know about that piece of history and jump into your own session of info dumping.
But as all good things do, they come to an end.
He's in the middle of explaining a poem from liturgical Ravkan (who /knows/ that?) when he becomes distracted.
"Everything alright?" You ask, raising on your toes but staying off the side as you try and capture his attention again.
"I'm fine, yes. However, it's time for us to part ways."
When he looks at you, you swear you see his lips turn down just a bit.
"Ah." You don't bother to hide your sadness. "That's alright. Would you like to pick this up a different day?"
He hums. "Only if you live near the Palace."
"Actually, I do." That gets his attention again. "I work at this little shop in the city just outside the gates in Os Alta in the market area. Its-"
"The bookbinding shop." He interrupts. "I remember now. I see you almost everytime I walk by there with the King."
You smile, wide and feeling better than before. "Yeah. We make journals and restore books."
He's silent for a moment, eyes flickering back and forth between you and whatever has his attention.
When his eyes settle on you, he's kind. Which isn't saying a lot since during this entire interaction he has been nothing but, but still. He's kind. "When I have a moment to spare, I will visit you again."
You clap your hands together, then hold your hand out for him to take. "Ill see you then."
His rough and warm hand shakes your own. And with a nod, he's gone.
You watch him leave, walking briskly past hoards of people who part for him like he's dangerous or purposefully bump into him.
Once he's out of eyesight, you allow yourself to calm your heart.
It's mostly leftover anxiety from before he caught you. When you look at the shadows on the ground you realize you and him hadn't actually talked for that long. You just don't want to make a lasting horrible impression on anyone, and you hope you didn't make him feel awkward talking with you.
But, you think he enjoyed it. He relaxed a little while talking to you, yet still kept to his duty as the Kings guard and never looked away from the mansion.
You feel satisfied.
"Hello there."
A woman's voice gets your attention. She looks similar to Tolya, and you remember she's also a part of the Kings personal guard. Perhaps they're taking turns? That would make sense.
"Hello. How are you?" You ask.
"Splendid. My names Tamar." She wraps an arm around your shoulder, which you immediately grab to steady yourself. "Im Tolya's older sister. I just wanted to take a look at the girl thats got my brother in such a good mood."
You perk up immediately. "Oh, how lovely! Tolya mentioned you a few times while he was talking about poetry."
Immediately she groans, which gets a giggle out of you. "I beg your forgiveness. Once he starts you have to kind of yell at him to get him to stop."
"Oh, don't apologize!" You slip out of her grasp, folding your hands neatly in front of you. "I quite enjoyed our talk. I never knew how much history could be stored in something as simple as a poem."
Her eyebrows nearly shoot into her hair, a look almost like incredulousness passes over her face. She snorts.
"You may just be the only person who can handle that."
That, you have to admit, makes you happy.
"What else are you interested in?"
Tamar was a little harder to talk to for the rest of the night. She's not as straight forward as her brother, but you can find the little similarities that make her feel almost familiar.
Once you have to part ways, the King possibly getting what he came here for, you waved goodbye to Tamar, and began to head to your carriage yourself.
Tonight was remarkably eventful. And as you watch Tolya and Tamar head off into the distance with their King in tow, you hoped that every once in a while they would stop by.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he whispered, wincing when you pressed the cotton to his split lip, the antiseptic seeping into the wound and making the air smell like a hospital.
Eddie was perched on the edge of a dining chair, mismatched from the rest that sat around the Munson’s old table. He’d made enough space for you between his spread legs, his warm hands cupping the backs of your knees to hold you close to him, despite the pain you were inflicting.
“I know,” you murmured softly, using your fingers to tilt his chin this way and that had you cleaned up the drying blood. “I know you don’t start fights, Teddy.”
“Wayne’s still gonna be pissed though,” Eddie muttered, eyes downcast, lips twisted into a sad frown. You wanted to kiss it away. “Poor man must think I’m nothin’ but trouble by this point.”
Now you were frowning. You tapped at his bruised cheek with your thumb, soft enough for it not to ache, just enough for him to put those big, brown eyes back on you. His fingers curled around your legs a little tighter.
“You stepped in to stop Dustin getting hurt.” You recalled the fight that you’d seen break out after school, a scuffle that started with some nasty name calling, one that ended with a boy you knew hung around Jason Carver getting a black eye ‘cause Eddie taught him how to pick on someone his own size. “I don’t see anything wrong with that, not really. You were helping a friend.”
Eddie laughed softly, turning to press a kiss to the hand that was still holding him. “Hope Wayne sees it that way.”
“He will,” you promised. “I’ll make sure he does.”
“You gonna argue with my uncle, sweetheart?”
You grinned and shrugged, knowing you would if you had to. Wayne could be as stubborn as his nephew. “No, I won’t argue. Won’t need to. I’m just gonna tell him that you’re a good guy, Eddie. He knows that anyway.”
Eddie paused, lips parted. “You think I’m a good guy?” It was a sincerely earnest question, filled with hope and a little awe.
You pushed back a curl from his face, dragged a finger under the soft skin of his poor, bruising eye. You nodded. “Of course I do. You’re the best. And you’re so good Eddie, no matter what anyone says.”
The boy was silent.
“You don’t need to listen to the opinions of people who don’t know you.” You moved then, sitting what little medical supplies the Munson’s had on the table before dropping yourself into Eddie’s lap. You poked at his chest and tapped, moving so your nose was close enough to nudge his own. “Whatever’s in here? Your heart, your soul — it’s good, Eddie.”
Eddie thought whatever was inside of him was about to burst out. “Yeah?” His voice cracked and he was thankful you didn’t comment on it.
“Oh yeah,” you nodded sagely. “You got the prettiest soul going, babe.”
“I can’t dance,” you were dramatic about it, hands over your face as you said it, knees pulled to your chest as you rolled back onto Eddie’s bed.
“Neither can I, babe, but who gives a fuck?” The boy grinned down at you, an uncharacteristically soft song playing from the record player he’d stolen from Wayne. “C’mon s’just us. Lemme dance with my girl, Christ.”
It was hard to say no to that, especially when you peeked through the gaps between your fingers to see Eddie bathed in sunlight, that early morning kind that was still a little golden, hazy and showing off the dust motes that floated in the air.
He was still shirtless, soft from sleep, a pillow crease line across his bare chest, curls piled onto his head with a hair tie he’d snuck from your wrist.
Eddie held out a hand and grinned when you took it. He helped you stand, bare feet kicking the clothes on the floor, the ones he’d taken off of you the night before. His missing shirt was on your frame, bare thread and smelling like him. Despite your bare legs, he was a gentleman about it, humming as he took one hand in his, the other on your waist, pulling you into him.
He was warm like the summer outside and the song was crackling, static between guitar chords, rays of light between broken blind slats. Wayne must’ve been in the kitchen, ‘cause you could smell pancakes, maybe waffles, bacon and maple syrup, coffee over the smell of Eddie’s aftershave.
“Dance with me,” he whispered again, even despite the fact he had you against his chest, both of you swaying clumsily to the music. A kiss, dropped pretty to your head, another smacked to your cheek, sealed the deal.
“Fine,” you sighed, pretending you weren’t smiling, that your cheeks weren’t warm and you didn’t want to push onto your toes to kiss him.
Eddie’s answering grin was brighter than the whole month of July.
