Here’s To The Fools Who Dream

[libralocket]

Adrienne’s navigation <3

Hi I’m Adrienne!!

This is my writing blog although so far all I’m really doing is reblogging fics I like.

Although I’ve been in tumblr for a while I’m quite new to posting and I’ve never really written before so please bare with me.

Note- this is a sideblog.

[bebx]

I’m sorry but all these plot holes in Stranger Things 5 were insane. They said the finale would answer all the questions but not only did it barely answer anything, it just created dozens more

Also RIP to all those pregnant women in the lab who were literally blown up

[yasministration]

ten bucks - steve h.

summary:for the first time ever, you decide to make a deal with your brother and his trusting (bribing) friend mike: if they can get you and steve thirty minutes of privacy, they get ten bucks. wc: 1.5k+ cw: byers!reader, smut

“Oh you’re not gonna want to go in her room.” Will announces when he sees Jonathan begin in the direction of your room, leaving Nancy at the dining table. Jonathan freezes, eyebrows furrowed, and turns to face his younger brother, who tries to sit with his friends as nonchalant as he can possibly be. “She said not to go into her room until she’s done with her report.” He continues, lifting his eyes up from the ground plans to glance at Jonathan.

“We tried it.” Adds Mike for effect.

“Got an unpleasant earful.” Sighs Lucas with a convincing shake of his head.

Nancy stands from the dining room, catching up to Jonathan. “Oh please, I’m her best friend.” She argues, pushing her boyfriend aside, but Will adds “Nancy, she even locked her door.” Nancy pauses, taking a few steps back to look at Will.

“Is she okay?” She questions in concern, knowing how you spiral when you shut everyone out to put yourself hard at work. Will purses his lips and nods, offering what seems to be a supportive shrug, and Nancy finally takes Jonathan’s hand and guides him back to the dining table. Will shoots the other three boys a half-panicked glance, trying to hide his reaction from Jonathan and Nancy.

It was only fifteen minutes ago that you had barged through the front door, dragging Steve alongside you. You had both been in such an obvious rush to reach your bedroom, with Steve’s free hand desperately clutching your waist to poorly keep your body close to his. His eyes had widened at the sight of your younger brother and his friends, but you had still encouraged him across the living room, stopping by your brother to tell him “Will, do not let anyone in my room.”

Will had smiled to himself, but more so because of the trust you were putting in him, and the lack of attempt to hide whatever was going on between you and Steve. You weren’t tiptoeing around him like everyone else often did. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m not kidding, Will. Just -" You cut yourself off with an exasperated gasp "-thirty minutes of privacy.” You insisted, letting Steve pull your back flat against his front. The four boys eyed the movement, the smirks climbing onto their faces annoyingly identical.

“Do you know how nosy the people in this house are!?” Mike asked, as though you didn’t live in that very house. You squinted your eyes at him in confusion, glancing back at Steve quickly. “Yeah, Mike, I know.” Will looked over at Mike confusedly, sporting the same expression as you. Mike shrugged, gesturing with his hand as though his point was obvious. “I mean, I just don’t know if thirty minutes of privacy is realistic.”

“Ten bucks. Thirty minutes of privacy, you guys get ten bucks.”

“Deal.”

Will’s eyes went wide, impressed at Mike’s tactic. But by the time he turned his gaze back to where you stood, the spot was empty. “Dude, you’ve got to learn how to bribe.”

The door had shut behind you and Steve immediately, and the lock on your door instantly clicking in place, even as your boyfriend had you pressed up against the door, lips locked with yours. He was rushing to fight your clothes off, moaning into the kiss when your fingers brushed against his bulge in your race to unbuckle his belt.

Now, he has you caged between his beefy chest and the warm mattress, movements much less rushed than they were moments before. He’s taking the time to listen to the melodic sounds you make in his ear, muffled by your bitten lip. Steve only wishes that he could tell you to be as loud as you want, the same way you always are when you spend the night at his, but he knows your house is busy in a way his parents’ will never be. He just hopes he doesn’t bump into Jonathan at any point on his way out.

Steve whimpers when you hook your ankles around his hips, pushing him deeper inside you. His cock drags against your walls, tip brushing against your cervix in a way that has your mouth dipping open dangerously. Steve hears the sharp inhale you take, and his eyes flit up to glance at your face. He watches in mesmerisation as you throw your head back into the pillow, back arching off the sheets, and Steve reacts quickly, bringing his hand to firmly cover your mouth just as you let out a loud moan.

He drops his head by yours, but can’t help his own moan when you snake a hand through his hair and scratch his scalp gently. “Fuck.” He curses, knees digging into the mattress as he snaps his hips against yours in a rough thrust. You tug at Steve’s hair to lift his head up, and he does, eyes boring into yours, clouded with pleasure. You remove your other hand from his shoulder, softly pulling his hand off your mouth. As soon as you do that, he understands what you’re telling him, and he immediately dips his head down to kiss you, tongue pushing past your lips to glide against yours.

A high pitched sound leaves you, and a chill travels up Steve’s spine, still fearful that someone might come knocking on your door and hear you. He brings a hand down to your cunt, two fingers jutting out to rub your clit. Your cunt squeezes him tightly, and a loud grunt leaves him, desperation building up inside him. He pulls away from the kiss just to let you know “Honey, I’m so close.”

“Fuck, me too Steve. Don’t stop.” The breathless desire in your voice almost has your boyfriend unravelling on the spot, but he only slams his lips against yours again and hikes your leg up to get a better angle as he continues thrusting in you. The change in your reaction is immediate, so Steve kisses you deeper to muffle your sounds. He takes a desperate breath that hitches in his throat when your nails scrape against the back of his head again.

You’re both blissfully unaware of Will’s fight for his life outside when the both of you cum, moaning breathlessly into each other’s mouths. Will and Mike are giving excuse after excuse, building an entire narrative that you came home crying from stress, work deadlines catching up to you. Mike waves his hands around as he animatedly describes the fictional way papers had slipped from your hands, and when you leaned down to pick them off the floor, books had fallen from your open bag. Joyce and Hopper stand in the living room with faces full of concern, all whilst you and Steve are catching your breaths, all worn out and sweaty and full of love between your sheets.

You’ve barely made yourself look presentable when a knock comes on your door. Steve straightens up behind you, and you gesture for him to get out of sight from the doorway before approaching the door. “Honey? I got you some food while you work.” You crack open the door with a smile and take the plate from your mother, thanking her softly. Her eyes get caught on something behind you, and Joyce’s face morphs from concern to mild amusement. “Oh hi Steve, I’ll get you a plate too.”

You spin around, rolling your eyes disappointedly when you catch your boyfriend’s reflection in the mirror, unable to hide from Joyce for even a minute.

She disappears into the kitchen again, calmly letting everyone know “Steve’s here” with a knowing smile on her face. Will and Mike curse in synchrony, so close to getting away with their elaborate story. “Steve!?” Jonathan echoes loudly, and from your bedroom, Steve straightens up with wide eyes. He gulps nervously, and you gratefully take the second plate your mom offers, immediately locking the door when she leaves to avoid having Jonathan beat your boyfriend up.

Steve chuckles nervously, but is happy to give you the kiss you reach for. “Come on, eat up. You’ll need some energy for when Jonathan decides to fight you.” Steve freezes, glaring at you when you burst into delightful giggles. “I’m joking baby, I’ll be right back.”

On the way out of your room, you slip your wallet into your pocket, but Steve notices, calling your name out. You turn to him again, tilting your head to the side when he pulls out his own wallet, extracting 10 bucks from it. You smile softly, squeezing his hand in thanks before treading into the hallway to glimpse into the living room. You pointedly ignore Jonathan, who sits grumpily in the corner of the room with an entertained Nancy, looking around for your younger brother. His eyes light up when he catches sight of you, and you jerk your head towards you, making him scramble in your direction.

Will smiles stupidly when you reach for your wallet, pulling out Steve’s 10, and then reach for an extra 5, handing it over to him. He raises his eyebrows up, and for the first time, has the bravery to tease. “Had a good one?” You blink quickly in shock, unable to help yourself from laughing at your younger brother’s words. “Yeah. You and Mike have fun, okay? Spoil yourselves.”

Will’s face goes red, and you chuckle, walking back into your room and slamming the door shut again before telling Steve “Yeah, you might want to lock the window too so Jonathan doesn’t get you.”

taglist: @bxuzi, @rory-cakes, @dlljdhsh, @aouoo, @fandomhoe101, @sharkers00, @joonbread, @paankhaleyaaar, @bearymuchso, @princesstiti14, @challengers4ev, @selenewowww, @iceyyhyeji

[mikeandwillsweddingofficiant]

“i asked chatgpt” well i asked s5 mike and he didnt say anything he just stood there

[luveline]

𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary steve likes you, eddie munson’s best friend, to the point of heart palpitations. you feel the same way about him [6k]

warnings fluff, getting together, mutual pining, first kiss, first date, eddie munson is a good friend, steve is hopeless, fem!reader, reader is hellfire club adjacent, reader is an overthinker and steve is a softie, pre-s4 post-s3, no s4 spoilers besides eddie + hellfire club existing

𓆩❤︎𓆪

The first time Steve sees you he’s smitten.

You’re sitting on the stoop of Eddie Munson’s trailer. Coolest girl he’s ever seen – and Steve doesn’t go for the edgy type. Crazy cool clothes, hair all messy pretty and your eyes edged in dark makeup, you’re fiddling with the cassette player in your lap, brows pinched in frustration.

Steve can’t look long. He’s dropping the lunch club off for some impromptu Hellfire gathering. The kids pile out, eager to see their new (no, Steve isn’t bitter) friend with a chorus of rushed, half-hearted thank you’s.

You push the headphones off of your ears as his kids approach.

“Hey, Y/N,” they say, one by one as they enter the trailer and disappear from sight.

Steve is two seconds from leaving, swears, when he hears Lucas ask how you are.

“You know,” you say, voice quiet and immediately intoxicating. Steve watches as you slowly push two fingers between your shiny lips and pretend to blow your brains out. You drop on your back and lie there for a moment, chest rising with easy, breezy laughter. The sound draws heat to his cheeks, worse the sight of your naked thighs.

He’s hooked. He has to leave quickly, before you sit back up and indoctrinate him with your looks alone.

The next time he sees you is similar and not. You’re sitting on the ground outside the movie theatre. Again, Steve is playing taxi cab for his doofuses, though this time the thank you’s are slightly kinder, louder - he’d blown off a girl he didn’t stand much chance with in the first place to bring them.

“Love you!” Dustin calls, slamming the passenger door.

You drop the cassette player in your hands and lean your head back against Eddie’s thigh. Steve takes a few seconds to realise you’re looking at him, head tilting this way and that to catch a glance at him through people’s legs.

“Who’s your friend?” he hears you ask Mike.

Keep reading

[luveline]

hi gorgeous girl! hope you feel better! if you ever need someone to talk to i’d be happy to be there for you, ik it sounds a bit weird but i js hope you’re okay <3

anyways, i just got off work and ive been thinking about best friend eddie all day! probably because i keep re-reading your ‘day of the dead’ fic! i love best friend eddie with reader who had a hard time in school and who now is 100% into steve. this is very self indulgent bc school for me was hell especially in earlier years.

if you ever have time or want to, would you consider writing a drabble for them? maybe reader laying on eddie n just ranting about steve (im 100% a cuddler with my friends).

if this is out of your comfort zones dw! i just love eddie sm platonically :)

have a good day angel girl!

day of the dead besties (featuring background steve) | fem, 1.4k

Eddie Munson loves you very dearly but is exceptionally exhausted by the influx of Harrington he’s being subjected to. Every day, morning, noon, or night, no matter where you are or what it is you and Eddie have decided to do, somehow, it all comes back to Steve. 

He understands that this is what happens when people get boyfriends for the first time. He doesn’t even blame you. Steve Harrington is a tall glass of water, a loser disguised as a track star, with a fledgling summer tan and all those beauty mark moles on every damn inch. Oh yeah, Eddie can see why you’re going crazy. 

“Should I kill myself?” you murmur, and Eddie knows you’re kidding completely, but he still glares. “I can’t take much more of it.”

“Uh, no.”

You lean against his bedroom wall as you bring your leg up behind you to take off your boot, then swap your footing to do the same on the other foot. They each thud down on the ground hard enough to shake his glass of root beer on the amp by the bed. 

“Take much more of what?” he asks.

“Steve.”

“Oh, fabulous,” he croons, “let’s talk more about Steve. You know how much I love it.”

“He wants me to sleep over on Saturday, and he– he gave me a speech about, like, how I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do and that he’s only asking me because he misses me at night and he doesn’t wanna rack the phone bill up, but then he– like, he made this joke about safe sex–”

“Safe sex is not a joke, babe,” Eddie says, letting his voice go rough as he shuffles down the bed, most unflattering angle in the world for his bestest of friends. 

“I know that. He basically said he’d love to have sex with me as much as he’d love to wait until I’m ready.”

Eddie sits with this information. Steve Harrington the gentleman. This is… not as surprising as he’d thought. “That’s nice.”

“It’s evil! He’s putting all the decisions in my hands, I don’t want to decide! If he’s waiting for me to tell him I want to have sex with him, it is never, ever going to happen. I can’t say that. How do you even say that?”

Eddie can see that you’re actually overworked, not just kidding about it. Your eyes have that frazzled energy behind them, too wide, and you’re standing there all awkward like you haven’t been friends since before he had chest hair. “Babe, come and hug me or something.”

You groan long and subdued until you’ve collapsed on your knees in his bed. Eddie shuffles, making room, and you fall into the space he’s made with your arm thrown without care onto his stomach. He’s much nicer about hugging you back. He pats the base of your spine gently. 

“What if I take all the romance out of everything?” you ask quietly. 

“How would you do that?”

“By being so not spontaneous.”

“You’re spontaneous. You asked Steve to come see the movie with us out of nowhere.”

“Well, not really. He kept looking at me when he’d drop off your babies.”

“Sure, okay. Babe. It sounds like Steve was just making things super clear so you wouldn’t freak the fuck out until Saturday, and yet here you are, freaking the fuck out and freaking me out.” 

“Freaking the freak out.”

Eddie ignores you. “It’s okay if you’re scared of third base. It’s fine. It’s fine if the conversation felt like it was too fast for you, but I’m pretty sure he just wants you to know it’s a slumber party… He probably just misses you. I miss you.”

“You do?”

“What, like I don’t enjoy your company? I love you more than that dweeb ever could.”

“Yeah?”

“Duh.” He rubs your back briefly. “I do love you. If god were a righteous god he’d have made us a romantical match, but I’m left to suffer while you get the hottest boyfriend known to man, like, whatever, could’ve shared him,” —your laugh is a painful snort that makes him grin— “but you are the coolest best friend, and you’re probably a really cool girlfriend, and I doubt Steve’s playing mind games with you. Which I hate to say.”

You curl up into his side. “That’s surprisingly emotionally fluent.”

“You don’t have to worry about this, okay?”

“I worry about everything.”

“This isn’t some secret social experiment you don’t understand. Sex isn’t a game, like this. You’ve been going steady for a few weeks and it’s cool if that’s not enough time for you to get naked in front of him, right? You know it takes time.”

“What if I’m never ready?” you ask quietly. 

“Then that’s fine. If it’s not fine with Steve, it’s fine with me. We can get married and never kiss, it’ll be great. It’ll be just like this,” he says.

“How do you even… how do I even tell him what I want?”

“You can be all coy or you can tell him word for word. I know those movies you like are usually a little more… you know, sexy, but it’s totally okay to just tell him what you want. I actually, despite myself and everything in me that protests his general presence in my life, think he cares about you enough to make it work.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“You had to be serious. Know you hate that.”

“I have hives,” he sing-songs. 

“He’s just so– so pretty. He makes me feel like my nose is gonna bleed. It’s like pressure behind my eyes.”

“That’s disgust, babe.”

You giggle. 

“He’s a foul creature,” Eddie furthers. “Who likes foul things.”

“He kissed me yesterday and I ended up with one of those almonds in my mouth off of his bopper things.”

“Jesus Christ. And you’re still together?”

“It was one little flake. It’s not like he knew it was there.”

“What are you worried about?” he murmurs, feeling suddenly, amazingly fond of you as he strokes your back again. “Everything’s messy all the time, right? If his almond transference didn’t put you off, you’re okay.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop! No more sorries, Jesus. I don’t care. You could tell me you have crabs and it wouldn’t–” Eddie sits up suddenly to look down at you, fake-furious. “I love you. I hate Steve Harrington, but if he’s going to be my brother-in-law, then so be it. I don’t mind.” 

“You think he’d marry me?” you ask. 

The wistfulness in your voice makes him laugh, girly and endeared. “Yeah, he’d so marry you. But you don’t have to give him the chance.”

You offer a smile, soft now that Eddie has cordoned your panic. “You know, I’d marry you if you asked me to.”

“I’d marry you, too,” he says. He probably could’ve fallen in love with you, if things were different, not better or worse, just different, because Eddie sort of is in love with, in a way, like, entrenched in you. He hopes you’ll be his best friend forever, and if you wanted, he’d languish in a sexless marriage with you until your spines curved and your eyes went fogged. 

You hold your arms out. Eddie leans in for a hug. 

“You smell weird,” you complain. 

“You smell good. Your perfume is all inky, like a siren.”

“That could be a good idea for the next game. I’ll be a siren, we can lure the kids into a crystal cove by the Farmouth Woods.” You hum thoughtfully. “If you’ll let me play again.”

“You know I banned you out of love.”

“Jealousy. You’re mad I’m smarter than you.”

Eddie pulls away from you. He can see himself in your eyes, a quick flash of his own smile. “Yeah, you wish. Listen, did you eat before you got here or are you interested in making me a grilled cheese?”

“Uh, no, not interested.”

“Please? You make them better than I do,” he whines. 

“You’re such a child.”

“And I’m malnourished. Feed this poor, hungry soul, bud. Please.”

[formallery]

about: ted wheeler has never put his kids to bed a day in his life and neither has he made his family breakfast. steve harrington, however, does while you sit on his counter and annoy him. (part 2 to my original mike fic)

c.w. none just pure domestic fluff, you don't have to read part 1 to read this but it will enhance your experience

a/n: the love on part one was overwhelming so of course i had to write another, it’s a personable head canon that steve is a good cook, and finally vol. 2 made me feel a lot of things that i’m still sorting out

links: part one, ask box

Mike wakes up to the scent of fresh coffee and hushed laughs from the kitchen. The blanket is heavy and warm around his shoulders and Dustin is snoring in his ear. Normally that noise would have easily woken him up at any hour of the night but last night was the deepest sleep Mike had gotten in months.

Daylight pours in from the windows illuminating the living room in golden rays. Will is clutching his sketchbook into his chest like a teddy bear and Dustin’s hat slipped off at some point, or maybe Steve took it off his head. On the other side of the couch Max is leaning on Lucas’s shoulder while El clutches her arm.

Over in the kitchen, you’re sitting on the counter swinging your legs back and forth while Steve hovers over the stove gnawing his lip in concentration. You’ve both got damp hair and you’re wearing Steve’s old Hawkins High swim team sweater.

You crane your head to watch Steve pour what Mike has now realized is pancake batter into the pan. An amused smile tugs at your lips as he takes great concentration to make them as circular as possible. When Steve finally places the bowl down you immediately pick it up, lifting the ladle and letting some batter drop onto your finger before tasting it.

“It’s not sweet enough,” you complain, licking your finger.

“It’s not supposed to be,” Steve rolls his eyes and snatches the bowl back. “The kids are gonna drown it in syrup and butter, I should’ve put no sugar in it.”

“Can you make some with chocolate chips? Oh and some blueberry ones too?” you ask, completely ignoring his previous comments.

“What do I look like? Your personal chef?” Steve scoffs, flipping a pancake.

“Mhm, how about some cinnamon sugar ones too? Ooh what if we add cocoa powder to the batter?”

“You’re worse than the kids,” Steve sighs, taking a great deal of effort to sound annoyed, and turns his body to you. His arms cage you in on the counter and it’s obvious he can’t resist the smile emerging on his face. “That’s gonna cost you.”

“Five bucks?” you tease and wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Five of something,” Steve murmurs and leans in to kiss you.

Mike’s mouth goes dry, he should feel gross and look away but it’s hard when the sight feels mystifying. Like it’s something that defies the laws of nature and shouldn’t exist. His parents never flirt in the kitchen and his dad doesn’t help make breakfast. 

You only push Steve away when he tries to tug on your bottom lip with his teeth.

“That’s only one,” he complains.

“You’ll get the other four when the kids aren’t sleeping ten feet away,” you giggle and ruffle his hair. “Also you need to keep an eye on the food.”

“I put it on low for a reason,” Steve sighs, and turns to rifle through the cabinet next to you, pulling out ingredients. “Chocolate chips and cinnamon sugar?”

“Yes please,” you pick some lint off his shirt. “Oh and don’t make all of El’s waffles chocolate chip ones, she likes to–”

“Alternate in the stack,” Steve finishes. “I know, and move over, I need to get the waffle maker from the cabinet and your legs are blocking it.”

You sigh dramatically but scoot over to the side so Steve can crouch down and open the door. He pulls out one of those fancy Belgian waffle-makers that have four pieces and from what Mike can see it looks brand new.

“I can’t believe you actually spent your money on one of those,” you comment as Steve places it on the counter. He closes the cabinet door and tickles your ankle which causes you to squirm and lightly kick him.

“Cheaper to make them at home,” he comments standing up. “Also are those my socks?”

“I don’t see your name on them.”

“Very funny, you know I cleared out room in my dresser for a reason.”

“Yes and I appreciate that,” you reply, plugging in the waffle maker as Steve flips pancakes. “But you roll your socks.”

“So?”

“I like having rolled socks.”

“Roll your own damn socks.”

“I don’t like rolling my socks, also you buy the fancy compression ones.”

“Is this your way of asking me to buy you fancy compression socks?”

“Are you gonna roll them too?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve comments, as he’s standing there making cinnamon sugar pancakes all because you asked for them.

“I think that means I win,” you hop off the counter, kissing Steve’s cheek and nabbing two mugs to pour coffee. “Make some eggs and bacon too, the kids are gonna be hungry in two hours if we just give them sugar.”

“Yes chef,” Steve mockingly salutes you as you hand him a steaming mug. His mug has some football team’s logo on it and your mug is purple with little daisies. Mike figures it’s something that Steve never would have bought on his own.

Did he buy it so you would have a designated mug at his house, did you bring it over and “accidentally” leave it, or did you buy it together?

You gently blow on the liquid and take a few tentative sips. Then you just look over at Steve. Steve Harrington, who Mike once thought was just the popular teenage douchebag his sister had stupidly fallen for. Steve Harrington who took one hell of a beating from Billy Hargrove to defend Lucas. Steve Harrington who fought off demodogs with a baseball bat and would die before any of his kids got hurt.

You set the cup down and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his back. He stills for a moment before smiling and bringing his free hand to rest on top of yours.

“Thought you were gonna wake up the kids?” he murmurs, a gentleness in his tone that takes Mike right back to last night.

“In a moment,” you whisper and squeeze his hand.

“Okay,” he whispers back and brings your hand up to his lips to kiss your fingers.

You wake up the rest of the party five minutes later.

[formallery]

mike realized his parents didn't love each other when he was very young, and he rationalized this as all couples don't love each other. that's until he sees the way steve treats you.

c.w. none, a little angsty in the beginning but not really sad, mostly fluff, canon divergent bc i'm pretending the byers never moved to california and max is still hanging out with the party

a/n: wrote this instead of studying for finals, do not bring ship wars into the reblogs. this is me psychoanalyzing a sad teenage boy and writing self-indulgent domestic fluff

───────── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─────────

Mike Wheeler's parents do not love each other. Maybe they have some semblance of love between them, but they are not engaged in the act of love. He isn't quite sure at what age, or even exactly when, he realized this. He can't point to one exact day of his life but rather a blur of the hundreds of evenings he's spent the same way.

Sitting at the dinner table with his parents and two sisters while his mother puts out emotional fires and his father picks at his chicken then tells his mom it's over salted. Nancy has a teeth-cleaning on Saturday so she needs to move her date with Jonathan. Also how is her chemistry grade? Mrs. Sinclair recommended a great tutor. Holly's daycare closes early tomorrow so someone needs to pick her up. Does one of Mike's friends want to earn some cash babysitting? Oh and is Mike still going out with his friends after school tomorrow?

Somewhere in the middle of his mother's rambles his father will stand up muttering a "thank you," not to be polite but because it's expected, and walks over to the couch to watch TV without putting his dish in the sink. He'll watch whatever sports game is on and crack a beer while his mother cleans the kitchen.

There is no animosity or arguing between Ted and Karen, only tolerance and mutual existence.

Eventually, the idea of love becomes near repulsive to him. The idea of his parents engaging in any sort of affection makes him nauseous. It's not the childish disgust Lucas has seeing his father kiss his mother but a deep-seated discomfort. A part of him (smaller or bigger than he'd like, he's not quite sure) believes love doesn't exist. It's simply a pleasant lie society feeds one another, because the idea of being alone is terrifying.

That's until he finds himself half-asleep on Steve Harrington's living room floor.

He's been having a lot of sleepovers with his friends since the Starcourt Mall incident. None of them want to be the person who says it but they're all terrified of being alone. He's woken up quite a few times in a cold sweat with gory images in his mind, and he doubts he's the only one. Steve's parents are hardly ever in town so his house becomes the designated place for sleepovers.

The credits are rolling for whatever movie they watched, Mike can't remember because he fell asleep half-way through. His memory is hazy of what time they started but if he had to guess it's probably close to one in the morning.

Dustin is fast asleep next to him on the floor and Will's knocked out on the couch above them. They had been designing their characters for a new DND campaign, Mike's pretty sure there's pen on his cheek from falling asleep while writing the character details.

One of the other side of the couch Max is squished between El and Lucas, and he sincerely doubts she'll mind come morning. She'll probably be grateful considering she's been having some of the worst nightmares.

His eyes make his way over to the loveseat where you had been sitting with Steve. What once started as a respectable distance to avoid incurring any teasing has disappeared. You're leaning on Steve, curled into his side and he has an arm wrapped around you, rubbing your shoulders. You're trying to focus on the credits, dangerously close to dozing off while Steve stares down at you with something in his eyes Mike can't quite understand.

What he does understand is that his parents have never held each other like that.

"You sleepin' over there baby?" Steve's voice is a soft murmur, smiling as he looks down at you.

"Mmmm…" you let out a sleepy hum, barely acknowledging his words before burrowing deeper into his side.

Steve's smile widens in response and all of a sudden Mike's stomach twists. It's not disgust or repulsion but… embarrassment. He's intruding on something special, he should just close his eyes and go back to sleep. That's what he should do, but he can't bring himself to.

"Mmm…. need to put… the kids,” you mumble just barely comprehensible in your sleepy stupor.

“What about the kids sweetheart?” Steve whispers brushing hair out of your face.

“Put em to bed….” you’re practically in Steve’s lap despite the fact the loveseat was made for two. “Mike and Dustin are on the floor… and clean up…..”

“I’ll do it,” Steve murmurs gently and kisses your forehead, “but first I'm putting you to bed.”

“No…..” your brow furrows in your half conscious state.

“Yes,” Steve smooths out the crease with his thumb and kisses your cheek. Then in one smooth movement he’s standing up and hoisting you into his arms, all while making sure the blanket is still tucked around you. You let out a quiet giggle when he picks you up and he notices.

"Having fun over there?" he teases quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. It's almost a knee-jerk reaction, he can't keep his lips off you.

"I feel special," you whisper as if you're sharing a secret and Steve's face softens even more. Mike didn't know it was possible for someone to look at another person like that.

"You are special," Steve whispers in that same secretive tone and kisses your forehead. "C'mon pretty, let's get you to bed."

Your words fade into quiet indecipherable whispers and giggles as Steve carries you to and up the staircase and Mike finds himself staring at the empty loveseat. A million thoughts swirling in his head and none at the same time. He's about to sit up when he hears Steve coming down the staircase and immediately closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

He doesn't know why, he could just pretend he woke up now. He doesn't have to give Steve any indication that he witnessed their intimate moment, but for some reason a part of him believe that waking up now would ruin something. Something he can't quite put words to.

The older teen shuffles around a little, turning off the TV, before coming over to where Mike and Dustin are laying on the floor. Then before Mike knows it Steve is lifting him up and placing him on the couch. He feels like a little kid being carried to bed after falling asleep on the car ride home. Though that only happened once or twice at his mother's insistence, usually his father woke him up to walk inside.

He hears some more shuffling and then the couch dips presumably with Dustin's weight. He hears the sounds of Steve cleaning up trash and crafts, carefully organizing their DND papers as to not be scolded later. Just when he thinks Steve is about to head upstairs a blanket is gently tucked around his shoulders and a damp cloth is pressed to his cheek to wipe the pen marks off.

"Wheeler?" Steve whispers gently, and his body tenses but his eyes don't open.

Noticing the tension in his body, Mike hears Steve let out a huff indicating he's smiling. He tucks the blanket a little tighter and ruffles Mike's hair.

"Go to bed kid."

Steve tucks a blanket around Dustin before flicking off all the lights and setting the heater to a comfortable temperature. Then he quietly creeps upstairs and Mike can hear the soft murmurs of you two speaking. He doesn't need to be in the room to have an idea of what's being said.

He sleeps better than he has in months.

[buckyarchives]

You suck! / S. Harrington

Steve Harrington x f!reader

summary: Steve has a new work crush.

w.c: 4.7k

Tags: fluff, meet cutes, sorta alt!reader, Eddie is alive and working at Family Video because canon is my bitch, timeline is also fucky with the release dates of some of the movies. Who carrrressss

Read on AO3 | the archives

-

“Excuse me? Can you recommend a good horror movie? I’m pretty lost here and a little indecisive.”

Steve saw the bird's nest of light brown hair first, clipped up and styled upon the top of the girl's head. Bangles of bracelets knock against the counter of the Family Video. Steve noticed her eyes, shy smile—eh, cute. He thought for a moment.

“Well, what kind of night are you looking for?” Steve turned on the hollow charm he had learned over years of practice.

“I don’t know, what are the options?” She giggles, leaning against the counter. Steve’s practically pulled in with opportunity.

“Well,” Steve drags out, “if you want something yucky and gross, The Fly will have you grossed out and screaming. If you want something a little cuter, Gremlins is also a good choice.”

Steve spews out his minimal knowledge, learned from working here for the past few months; most of it he’s copied from Robin's rants to customers. And Eddie insists on needing to “know” the classics. He points to the cute plush of a tiny gremlin, forcing out the most charming smile he can, “See, cute.”

The girl smiles, she’s amused, at least. Steve takes it for now. She messed with her bangle bracelets, letting them clack against her nails. “Well, my boyfriend's sick on the couch right now so I don’t want him running to the toilet every few minutes.”

Steve leans back, the charm in his face drops, and his smile no longer reaches his eyes.

One more point for Robin.

Steve Harrington's journey to a date has led him down some scary, embarrassing, and borderline dangerous paths. What once used to be an easy feat has turned into a horrible and way overtracked challenge. The “you suck” sign had honestly started to plague his nightmares at night. Somehow the word “my boyfriend” followed by a giggle or smile had become a real-life trigger word for Steve.

So Steve felt his pride crumble for the 3rd time this week as he checked out Gremlins for the pretty girl with the bangle bracelet—who has a boyfriend.

“It’s just getting sad at this point, Harrington,” Eddie smirks from aside from him, leaning far back in a chair behind the counter. The Shining plays behind him as he fidgets with the homemade pins on his Family Video vest. “Your fall from the throne has just been, woof…”

“It’s not that bad, I mean, if she were single then I would have had that!” Steve defends himself. A stressed-out hand runs through his hair.

Then the jingle of the bell on the entry door echoes through his ears, Steve slaps on a smile and turns around to greet the incoming customer. “Welcome to—“

“Drop the script, dingus, I’m just here to clock in.” Robin waved him off as she sped-walked into the back, obviously reluctant to be at work today.

Eddie jumps up from his seat, “thank god, that means—“ he checks his watch, breaking out in a sing-song voice, “I am free!”

Steve flips him the bird as he walks around the counter and heads to the door like a bull out of the gates.

Eddie's back hits the door, “Good luck, Harrington. I mean it, one day… one day.”

Steve plucks a pencil from a cup next to the register, promptly chucking it at the curly-headed boy. Eddie smiles and laughs when it hits his shoulder before he’s out the door and on the way home, or to the bar, or band practice. Steve couldn't keep track anymore, spending all his time in the VHS-covered hellhole. Even if he could score a date from any living-breathing woman that walks through those doors, he’d probably never have the time. Steve is practically halfway to store manager at this point.

“How bad has it been? How many marks are on the board?” Robin says, shrugging her sickly green vest on. It was noon yet, and she looked as if she had just woken up, which was probably true.

“Ya’ don’t gotta mark anything!” Steve protested.

Yet, Robin still pulled the whiteboard from under the desk. As she marks another tally under “you suck” it’s like a deep cut on his skin. It almost physically burned him.

Robins tsks Steve, shaking her head and letting her already messy hair fall in her face. “It’s tragic, truly.”

“It’s not. You guys are just so focused on my love life it’s honestly getting obsessive,” he grumbles, slipping into his chair. “I’d like to see you or Eddie try and pick someone here instead of teasing me for my failures.”

Robin laughs, “Well, as you should know, my so-called best friend, my mind is occupied. And well, Eddie's options are pretty slim—I mean, how many people come in here wearing black handkerchiefs?”

“Excuses…” Steve mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes.

The door bells jingle again, and Steve pops his head up in an instant. His eyes find the body that walked in and his breath hitches. Thank god for his stubborn nature, truly.

Maybe it’s the lighting, the way the sun is shining on your face, outlining your body like you were a goddamn angel. Walking in with strides of confidence and a smile that men used to go to war for. Your eyes find him, and instead of anywhere else you walk towards him. To hopefully ask him a question that doesn’t end with “for my boyfriend.”

You're only a few steps from the counter when your eyes shift and they light up, “Hey, Robin!” You’re holding two VHSs in your hands, dropping them on the counter to the left of him as Robin greets you. “I meant to drop these off yesterday, hopefully I’m in no trouble.”

“Never.” Robin smiled at you, taking the film from your hand. “How ya been? Did you enjoy Blue Velvet for what? The 3rd time now?”

“I can’t help it. I’m in a seriously committed relationship with David lynch.” You say.

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with Kyle Maclachlan." Robin teases, her head cocking to the side knowingly. Her words pull a hearty giggle from you.

“Shhhh…” you shush her, a lighthearted joke between two seemingly close friends, except Robin is his best friend and you have never been mentioned before. To Steve’s very unfortunate knowledge. “Well, anyways, I gotta run but I’ll be back, yeah?”

“Oh, you know I await you every week!” Robin dramatically declares as you're backing up to leave already.

“I'm truly touched. Be still my heart!” You laugh, clutching your chest before slipping out the door.

Already gone. Away from Steve’s grasp and Robin had completely stomped on any chance he had to turn on that charm. Her title as wing-women had been officially revoked, as if it wasn’t a few weeks ago when Robin out loud cackled behind a shelf after a badly worded flirt from Steve. Either way, not even an introduction to possibly the most beautiful women who walked through those doors.

“Steve. You’re drooling.”

Steve snaps out of his gaze, seeing Robin gives him that knowing smirk she loves so much.

“Who was that?” Steve asks, wiping his chin just in case.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Robin teased with a dramatic head shake, walking away from him to put away the two VHS tapes you had just dropped off.

Steve stumbled around the corner to follow after, only seeming a tiny bit desperate. Pathetic and desperate had been his defining traits recently, why not own it?

“Yes, yes, I really would.” He affirms, despite that obvious teasing manner. Steve didn’t care, he just needed a name and a relationship status.

Robin turns to him, pushing a tape to his chest, “Put this away and maybe I’ll tell you.”

The Elephant Man, it read, Steve found the ‘el’s’ on the shelf (where Robin could not reach.) and set in there. Shooting Robin a look, eyebrows twitched up, “Is she single?”

“Yes, Harrington.” She says and Steve's heart leaps in hope. “But, you have no chance.”

“What? Wha- why? Why not?” Steve stumbles over his words, trying to keep Robin's attention when she turns around to actually do her job.

“Because she’s cool.”

“I’m cool.”

Then, Robin laughs. A genuine laugh. As if what Steve had just said was the funniest joke to ever be thought of. “Stop laughing, I am!”

“King Steve, you are high school cool. She is real-life cool.” Robin says, and Steve should honestly be offended.

“That’s just rude.”

Robin shakes her head, donning a light-hearted smile, and goes to the back to bring out the new releases.

-

Steve had to stay late for his shift on Wednesday, someone had thrown up their lunch in the men’s restrooms and Robin had called nose goes with the job as an excuse for it being the men’s.

Steve had a permanent scrunched-up face, convinced the smell of vomit was lingering on his clothes. More than ready get the hell home and in a shower.

It’s only when he’s shrugged off his vest, put back the mop and bucket, holding back a gag from the lingering smell. When Steve hears that familiar voice, the one he shamefully hasn’t stopped thinking about. His full body stops, hearing you and Robin talking from the front of the store.

In the most cool, calm and so not overly eager fashion, Steve is at the front in only a few strides. Playing is so, so cool. Biting back a giddy smile when he sees your smile from your conversation with Robin.

Steve has noticed that you existed with a thin-lipped smile and overjoyed eyes, or you just really enjoyed talking to Robin. Either way, it charmed Steve and knocked him off his feet in a way he’s never experienced. It was borderline shocking, his pull towards you came from curiosity. You were a stranger to him but he needed more.

Steve crashed into the counter, almost pathetically bumping Robin’s hips away from you. So much for not being overly eager. But the smile on Steve’s face was infectious, unrelenting.

“Hey, need any help?” Steve says, as if you weren’t in full conversation with Robin already. Who in fact did work there.

You cover your mouth to giggle, and Steve is hypnotized instantly. Your smile reaches your eyes as they turn into crescents.

“She’s already helped, and you're off the clock. So scram!” Robin comments, looking between him and you.

“Are you sure she doesn’t need any extra assistance?” Steve says, it’s stupid and not even remotely smooth. Coming out more as an overbearing coworker than a flirt.

“I’m all taken care of, thank you—“ you say, peering at his nametag, “Steve?”

“Don’t wear it out.”

Steve can’t feel Robin's gaze on him, the second-hand embarrassment hitting her harder than Steve could comprehend. Who is currently immune to his own pathetic flirts, too busy amused by the giggle it pulls from you. If only you’d stop covering your face with your hand.

You bid Robin goodbye, excusing yourself for an appointment you were already late to. Steve was a gentleman, he wasn’t going to hold you with more definitely not over-eager conversing.

(If that’s what you wanna call it.)

Right before you leave, turning your back to press against the glass Family Video door. You brought your hands up to do the slightest finger wave at the two, a sly grin on your lip as you said, “Goodbye Buckley.” Then your voice almost drops an octave, dripping like honey, “bye Steven.”

Steve’s brain short-circuits for so many reasons. The proper name, the grin, the way you spoke like you had a hold of him. As if you knew you already had him wrapped around your finger. Steve's knees went weak.

“You’re drooling again, dingus.”

-

Approximately 2 hours into Steve’s Thursday night shift he had decided the first thing he was going to do after closing was to look up a good masseuse. Still, that didn’t stop him from his frantic checking of the door at every person who walked through it. Hoping to see you.

And with every nerd and old dude that walked in, his dreams got smaller.

The bells jingle. Steve tears his eyes away from the inventory list he was told to update, his hair wiping in his face as the speed in which he glances over it. A mother and father with a pair of toddler twins trailing in front as they race to the kids’ section.

“Holy shit, Harrington, you’re gonna give yourself whiplash. Expecting Jesus to walk through those doors.” Eddie teases, in his usual chair, feet propped up against the counter as he lazily watches another random movie showing.

Steve opens his mouth to excuse his behavior, but instead, Robin beats him to it. “Close enough. Steve has a new crush.”

Eddie shoots him a wide-eyed look, one that Steve doesn’t even want to know what torturous tease comes next.

“Barely. I don’t even know her name.”

Robin walks up to the two boys after restocking the foreign film section, “Well, you won’t figure out your true love's name tonight. So spare your neck pain”

Steve's eyebrows furrow, “What?”

“She comes in every Sunday and Wednesday, dingus. You’ll have to wait.” Robin tells him.

And suddenly Steve wants to pound his head on the desk until another concussion arises. Maybe he’d be close to brain-dead and wouldn’t even worry about finding love at that point. Because of course the universe would put the hottest girl in Hawkins and give her a movie schedule that completely avoids his work schedule.

“Those are my usual off days…” Steve whines, utterly hopelessly.

“Once again, tragic.” Eddie sighs.

Steve shoots a glare, and Eddie returns with a cheeky grin. God, Steve just wants to wipe that off his face.

Maybe it was fate, Steve thinks—hopeful as ever, that whatever caused you issues last Sunday that made you come in on a Monday. Or the vomit on Thursday. That maybe those issues were a sign from the universe to bring you in his direction. Just maybe…

Eddie groans, "Alright, Buckley. What’s her name?”

“Huh?”

“I’m tired of the hairringtons sighing and groaning from his pathetic loneliness,” Eddie says, pushing his wheeled chair over to the computer. “We are gonna get a profile on this girl so maybe he has some action in getting a date.”

Once those syllables of your name left Robin's mouth, Steve spoke them under his tongue, testing out the way it sounded when it left his. He sounded borderline whipped, gazing off in the distance whispering your name.

Eddie's finger made quick work of the customer files, finding your name. Steve was hovering over his shoulder in an instant.

A hum left Eddie’s mouth as he went through your rental history, it was extensive from what Steve would see. “Eraserhead, Possession, Carrie, Labryinth…”

“What? What does that mean?” Steve impatiently asked. Out of the three, Eddie was by far the most cultured when it came to movies. His ability to read people and recommend niche movies based on how a person dressed or walked was impressive, and it made up for his horrid work ethic.

Eddie was silent, studying the movie titles.

“Eddie.” Steve tries to get his attention again.

A dry laugh leaves him, “You’re hopeless, Harrington.”

Steve ignores the way Robin snickers from afar, “You can tell that based on a movie list?”

“She watches movies like Suspiria and Nosferatu, this girl is not your type and probably would eat you if you tried to turn up that king Steve charm.”

Defeat hit him like a freight train, his shoulder slumped. “Really?”

“I mean, if she’s as hot as you make her out to be I might even make a move with this movie list…” Eddie says, Going back to check your history. Steve throws another pencil at his back, and it falls to the ground going unnoticed.

The clock ticks above Steve, impossibly slow. He truly was hopeful.

Eddie makes an abrupt sound, a ha-zah even. Catching both Steve and Robin's attention. Steve awaits whatever information Eddie found as Robin leans over the other side of the counter, curious.

“Well, Harrington.” Eddie's smooth voice echoes through, mouse still clicking at the screen. “We may have hit the jackpot.

“Tell me.” Steve springs from his seat to check the screen. Eddie meets him halfway, rotating his chair to face him.

“Well, based on her past rentals of Grease, Valley Girl, and The Great Gatsby. Our girl is a romantic—“

“Don’t say our.”

“Already being possessive, wow,” Robin says.

Steve opens his mouth to bite back, but he’s interrupted.

“And our possible saving grace, drum roll please….” Eddie announced like a dramatic performance. Always over the top.

On cue, Robin rapidly drums her hands on the counter. An echo through the store, and despite Steve’s stolen attention he still spares a glance around the store in hopes no one was in earshot of the ruckus his coworkers were making.

“In the last 6 months, she had rented and returned Pretty in Pink 10 times. Which is…. Honestly, a little unhealthy but we all have our vices, who am I to judge?”

Steve tries to come up with an answer to his problem with this information, completely lost. Even more so when Eddie and Robin share a knowing look. “Oh, Steve Harrington, you are so in there.”

He smiles, hopeful, and grateful that the intensive negative teasing from his two friends had suddenly turned positive. That at least someone believed in him and his slowly dying charm. “That’s great! Uh, what does that mean?”

“Well, obviously a few points just got docked for never seeing Pretty in Pink, which is honestly criminal.” Eddie starts on his rant.

“Get to the point, Munson.” Steve snaps.

Suddenly, Robin is behind Steve, holding up a VHS she had quickly grabbed from a few shelves away. “Ta-da!” she announces, holding the tape next to his face.

Steve’s still sincerely lost, even more so when a further knowing look grows on Eddie as his eyes glance from Steve's face to the cover of the VHS.

“I’m lost, what is this?” Steve snatched the VHS from Robin's hands. Looking at the cover.

Robin pointed finger hovering on the man on the far right of the cover, “That is Andrew McCarthy, and the majority of the reason people watch that movie is for him—to my disagreement—yet, he has a specific appeal.”

Eddie pushes himself closer to Steve, the wheels rolling over the floor's carpet, “the same appeal our dear Steve The Hair Harrington shares.”

Slowly the cogs in Steve's head turn and grind against each other, connecting the dots that his coworkers were laying out for him. “So you are saying… I’m in?”

“We are saying, you have a chance.”

-

It was Sunday.

Approximately 10 minutes before getting off last night, Steve had begged Keith to let him work today. Offered to cover his shift or whatever part-time teenager he had hired since Robin was not budging on getting the day off. Insistent on seeing what trick Steve Harrington pulls to try and knock your panties off, or just ask you out. Depending on how well this goes.

Finally, Keith let up, agreeing and grateful in the end since a new shitty space adventure movie shipment had come in that day and he’d been wanting to sit down and watch that.

So Steve woke up that morning, put on his best pair of pants, and cleaned up his old and worn pair of Nikes. Spent 20 more minutes on his hair routine. Showed up maybe an hour early to work and waited, that familiar strain in his neck already arising.

Steve had talked to Eddie, and he never thought he would say this, about advice. You obviously liked movies and had a similar taste to his (and thank god Eddie was on a masc kick recently or Steve would have lost you to the metal head before he could even think of a pick up line.) So Steve sat and listened to Eddie go through the options to recommend to you, since Robin had informed him that Sunday was your movie rental day.

So Steve studied over the titles, the summaries, and any fun facts we had to convince you to just listen to him. Kept them top of mind while pacing around the store like a stir crazy maniac.

“Hey dingus, are ya trying to make a track in the carpet?” Robin asked, watching Steve walk between the 4-foot radius he had mesmerized. “I think if she walks into you doing that, she is more likely to run for the hills than fall head over heels.”

Steve flipped Robin the bird, huffing and puffing like a dramatic child. Finding his place back behind the counter, Steve went to fix his hair for the 10th time.

“You got it bad, Harrington.” Robin shakes her head in pity. “If you’re gonna waste energy pacing around, can you at least pace the entire store and maybe put some tapes back?”

Steve almost whined, to protest something about greeting customers. But then Robin shoved a box of put-backs in his face and he knew he wasn’t winning. Reluctantly clutching the cardboard in his hands, a pathetic frown on his face, he started to drag his feet around the aisles of the store.

Somewhere between the G’s and I’s of the action/adventure section, Steve’s dragging feet slowed even more, his fingers dragged on the spines of the VHSs. He thought of you, of your pretty smile and defining confidence. What you did with your day before and after visiting the store, how you knew Robin, if you went to Hawkins, and how he could have missed you?

It was a mystery Steve was determined to figure out. Like some sort of prayer, he heard the shuffle of feet on the carpet next to him. It was you, perusing the aisles with a slight pout to your lip. Steve must have missed the sound of the doorbell.

Your neck slowly twitched in his direction, shamefully Steve’s gaze flinched away, just in case that drool problem kicked in like Robin keeps commenting on. Not too eager. Right, right. Stew kept his eyes upwards.

“Steve?” Your voice called out, and he was a second too long to turn to you before you continued with an edge of humor, “Is that exit sign super interesting?”

God, that smile. Steve could barely breathe. To hell with trying to actually converse.

“What, um no! Well, uh, I mean the fluorescents... Super interesting…” Steve choked out, he might as well have had his foot in his mouth as well.

“Oh, I'm sure.” You teased, “totally not looking for the closest exit route from me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” the words left his mouth before he could think, instantly looking to see if it landed, or if you thought he was creepy—running for the hills, all that.

Instead, Steve was gifted with a shy smile, he focused on the way the edges of your lips curved up, the way they met your eyes, and practically sparkled. Your eye faltered from his for a moment, just to look back at him once again—a certain curiosity, amusement, maybe adoration if Steve would allow himself to think such things—had crept up your gaze towards him.

You bit your lip, “You’re cute, Steve Harrington?”

He always passed out, “yeah?”

“Very,” you nodded. “But can Cute find me a good movie to watch this week?”

Steve's brain scrambled, too giddy with a smile to think, “of course.”

He looked back at what letter he was on, what genre. Trying to rack his brain on the inventory, new releases. Fuck, Eddie gave him options for if this came up, Steve had practically studied for this moment.

“Follow me?” He offers you.

You just nod, and he sets off. You close behind him, catching glances at his perfectly curled brown hair, which looked soft, you thought.

(Off to the side, Robin almost broke her neck, back, and the chair leaning backwards to watch you trail behind Steve with stairs in your eyes. A knowing, and proud grin on her face.)

Steve found the ‘W’s and plucked a movie from the shelf, placing it in your hands. His finger lingered on your palms for a moment, warm and soft. The feeling shot up his arm and buzzed in his chest.

You scanned the front, flipping it over to inspect what Steve recommended. “The Witches Of Eastwick… I like Cher… Susan Sarandon… hmm.” You hummed, before clicking your mouth to look back at him. “Maybe pretty privilege didn’t get you the job.”

You winked at him, and Steve’s nervous laughter that followed was uncontrollable. You had him down bad, absolutely whipped.

Steve remembered something suddenly, taking a few steps to grab a tape he had set aside for you. Just in case. “Oh, and this one.”

“The Princess Bride?” You read, scanning over the cover. “Do you take me for a romcom girl, Steve Harrington?”

“Just a feeling.” He breathed.

You looked at the two choices in hand, a smile creeping on your lips. You looked satisfied. “I’ll take both, thank you.”

“I’ll check you out then.” Steve started towards the register.

“Getting rid of me already?”

Steve almost fell face-first with the way he halted, stumbling on his feet to come back to you, and as far as he could from the register. “Wha— no, never—“

“I’m kidding, Steve.” You laughed, “I’m ready.”

“Right. Yes.”

Steve slipped behind the counter as you rounded the corner to the front of the register. Steve was beaming with success, but not enough to practically shove Robin out of the way.

“Move. I gotta check out this very beautiful customer I oh-so graciously helped out.” Steve said, more bark than he intended. Not missing the way your hand covered up the heat rising to your face.

“Whoa!” Robin held her hands up in surrender, shuffling out of the way, “Well, excuse me, dingus.”

“Dingus?” You asked.

“Let’s not.” Steve smiled at you.

“Aye, aye.” You saluted, setting the tapes on the counter. Then quietly under your breath, “dingus.”

Steve pretended not to hear you while biting back a grin, despite the annoyance of that stupid nickname he was just overjoyed to pass the customer service talk with you.

You watched him intently as he bagged up your movies and handed them to you, his finger brushing against yours again and that familiar buzz of warmth found his chest.

You got him a confused look, eyebrows furrowed, “What’s the charge?”

“No charge.” Steve beamed at you. “It's on the house, employee discount.”

“Oh, thank you.” You smiled, a shot straight to Steve's heart. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, in that case.” You reach over behind the register to grab a notepad, plucking a pen while you're at it. “Since you so graciously paid for me,” you scribbled down those ten glorious numbers, Steve's eyes practically sparkled. Sliding it across the counter and in front of him. “Give me a call if you're free and you can watch them with me.”

Steve takes it from your hands, holding it as if it were glass. Rereading the numbers a few times in his head, to not forget, just in case. Because god forbid he lose this now.

“If you want.” You add, a little shy now.

Steve perks up, “I will— I mean, of course, of course I’d want to.”

“Great.” You nod, “See you soon, hopefully.”

“Of course,” Steve repeats himself, overly giddy, nodding like his life depends on it.

You waved that flirtatious finger wave, a sweet smile covered your face and then your back turned and you were gone. Steve's eyes lingered on you from behind the glass window, watching you walk off and into your car. In a not-so-creepy way, hopefully.

Steve's heart beams with hope. Not even believing himself to find a girl he was actually interested in. It sounded hollow and shitty, but it was true. After Nancy, his decline in social status and charm, this stupid competition to pick up a girl at work had started just offhand. A silly joke, a hollow thing to keep him distracted.

But Jesus Christ, Steve Harrington had never been more excited to see a girl before in his life.

Steve's hand slammed down on the counter in victory, a loud bang echoing through a hopefully empty store. Steve narrowed a pointed finger at Robin, “Put a fucking mark under “you rule” and then throw that goddamn whiteboard away, Buckley.”

[ftm-peepeepoopooman]

i usually don’t reblog fanfics(sorry authors i am aware it’s unhelpful) but the david lynch references made me feel so seen <33

[supercutszns]

me having no inspiration for like a year vs me right now trying to eat 1037392 full-course meals with jimmy olsen now you see me stranger things and pjo returning…. not to mention it’s angus tully season and josh o’connor plays a boxer turned priest in my fav film franchise where do i even start

[marauroon]

Hi!!! Do u think u could write a fluffy humour james potter x fem reader fic about the reader being the commentator for the quidditch matches and james has a crush on her and keeps pulling stunts to impress the reader and shes having none of it and keeps making comments on the speaker like "oh for the love of godrick potter stop showing off and fly properly" and "I think that move is called the "look at me I'm pretty" maneuver" and it just makes james carry on to annoy reader aswell as impress them

u obviously don't have to do it but I think it would be funny <3

𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗘──𝗝𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗦 𝗣𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥. masterlist.

synopsis | james has the massivest crush on the quidditch commentator, and so naturally tried to keep your attention on him at all times.

AN | sorry for taking the longest break ever oops im still alive promise— 1.3k fluff

You’ve been told, more than once, that you have a very expressive voice. Some would call it dramatic. Others might say sarcastic. Professor McGonagall calls it “concernedly unprofessional.”

But the Quidditch commentator’s booth needs someone who can fill silence, identify plays, and not faint when someone plummets forty feet in midair. That someone, apparently, is you.

You enjoy it. Truly. There’s a thrill to narrating every loop, dive, and risky manoeuvre. The crowd always cheers. The professors pretend not to. And you… well, you get the best view of everything.

Unfortunately, that includes James Potter.

James, as in Gryffindor’s golden boy, resident menace, captain of ego-inflation, and currently the reason your voice is hoarse.

James, who has decided that your voice is the voice. The one he must impress at all costs.

And oh, Merlin bless you, he has not stopped trying.

---

The Match of the Century (if you ask James) begins, like all things involving James Potter, with far too much enthusiasm.

“And we’re off!” you announce, tapping your quill against your clipboard. “Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw! Quaffle immediately in the hands of— oh, naturally— Gryffindor’s team captain James Potter,”

There’s a cheer. A roar, really. James soaks it in like a plant that's never seen sunlight.

“He’s heading down the pitch with— is that a wink? Yes. He is winking. Merlin’s beard. Potter, if you crash because you’re busy flirting with the audience, I refuse to take notes for the hospital wing,”

A few people laugh. You don’t look at James, but you know—you know—he heard.

He puts on an extra surge of speed.

“Oh for the love of Godric, Potter,” you groan into the microphone, “fly properly.”

Beside you, Professor McGonagall sighs loudly. “Perhaps fewer editorial remarks and more commentary.”

“Yes, professor. Apologies, professor. Potter still flying like someone told him his reflection is on the pitch, professor.”

McGonagall pointedly looks away.

James does a barrel roll that is entirely unnecessary.

The stands erupt in cheers.

You close your eyes and breathe.

“He calls that move the 'look at me, I’m so handsome' manoeuvre,” you announce dryly. “Very advanced. Requires absolutely no regard for one’s spinal integrity,”

James beams. Actually beams. He is delighted. Which is terrible, because now he’s encouraged.

—

Later that day, when you foolishly think you’re home free, you’re sitting at a courtyard table, quill behind your ear, trying to do homework. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Your bones feel soft.

This feeling lasts exactly nine seconds.

James swings into existence beside you like he was fired from a catapult.

“You think I’m handsome?”

You close your eyes. “I think you’re insufferable.”

“But handsome,” He grins.

“No.”

“But you said—”

“That you think you’re handsome.”

“Well, yes,” he admits, folding his arms. “I do,”

You open your book wider, as if you could hide inside it. “Then congratulations, you have self-awareness. Most wizards can’t manage that until at least their third divorce,”

He laughs, loud and bright and warm—much like him, annoyingly.

“You’re funny,” he says.

“Yes. Tragic, isn’t it?”

His grin softens just a little.

You do not look at it.

—

You’re not meant to be at Quidditch practice. You know that. But you had to return something to Marlene, who is currently refereeing drills.

You’re not even near the pitch for one minute when you hear it:

“You’re here!!”

James shouts it like a battle cry.

Instantly, his flying becomes… dramatic. He dives. He spins. He does a move that looks like he’s trying to court gravity in a duel.

You cup your hands around your mouth like a makeshift megaphone.

“Potter,” you call, voice echoing, “if you die attempting something stupid while I’m present, I will not be emotionally responsible!”

James performs a complicated flourish mid-air that looks like a swan having an existential crisis, then looks—very briefly—like a kicked puppy when he realises you weren’t watching.

—

By the third match of the season, the entire school has realised James Potter is performing for your commentary.

And they love it.

“Gryffindor leading by ten points,” you narrate. “Potter approaches—no, he poses—over the goal hoops. Very intimidating. Yes. Terrifying. A real threat to structural seriousness,”

James blows you a kiss.

You drop your forehead onto the microphone with a loud thunk.

McGonagall places a hand on your shoulder. “Deep breaths, dear,”

“I can’t,” you whisper. “He’ll hear them and think I’m swooning,”

McGonagall makes a sound dangerously close to a laugh.

Meanwhile, James somehow manages to score while backwards.

“That goal brought to you by James Potter’s astounding ability to multitask,” you announce. “He can be both deeply irritating and annoyingly skilled at the same time. A gift, truly,”

The Gryffindors cheer.

James winks.

You vow to bury yourself in the Forbidden Forest.

—

It’s the final match of the season. The stands are packed. The air hums. James is vibrating with excitement or nerves, you can’t tell.

The whistle blows.

And—for once—James does not show off.

He flies well. Brilliantly, even. Sharp manoeuvres. Clean passes. Perfect precision. No theatrics.

You’re stunned.

“And Potter—well. That was… professional. I don’t know how to commentate when he’s behaving normally. Someone send help.”

People laugh.

But James doesn’t look at you.

Not once.

Your stomach does something that feels suspiciously like disappointment.

He plays beautifully. He scores. He leads.

But every time you expect him to look up—he doesn’t.

You should be relieved.

You are not relieved.

When Gryffindor finally wins and the stands explode into cheers, James lands on the pitch and is instantly mobbed. You pack up your notes. You leave the booth. You walk slowly.

And then—

“Hey!”

You freeze.

You turn.

James stands there, hair wind-mussed, chest heaving, smile soft. Not big. Not cocky like “hey I just won the quidditch cup again for the third year in a row”. Just… hopeful.

You blink. “You didn’t show off today,”

“No,” he says. “You didn’t like it,”

You stop breathing for one very stupid moment. “Oh,”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I… might have been trying too hard,”

“James,” you say, and his eyes snap to yours. You haven’t called him James before.

You step closer. “Don’t change for other people,”

His breath catches.

“I just…” You gesture helplessly. “You were going to fall off your broom, you knob,”

He laughs. Soft. Real. Warm.

“So,” he says, “if I promise not to die tragically—”

“Yes.”

He blinks. “Yes…?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “Yes. I’ll go out with you.”

There is a beat.

Then James Potter—brilliant, ridiculous James Potter—lights up like you have handed him the sun.

He steps closer, grin alive again, but this time softer.

“So… can I, like— kiss you then?”

You pretend to consider.

“Well,” you say thoughtfully, “only if you promise not to perform an aerial backflip while doing it—”

He kisses you.

The world goes quiet.

And when he pulls away, he says, “Keep watching me, okay?”

Like you’d do anything else.

★ ── thank you for reading ! if you enjoyed this fic, please consider buying me a coffee <3

[siriusly-jo]

“Oh for the love of Godric, Potter,” you groan into the microphone, “fly properly.”

Beside you, Professor McGonagall sighs loudly. “Perhaps fewer editorial remarks and more commentary.”

“Gryffindor leading by ten points,” you narrate. “Potter approaches—no, he poses—over the goal hoops. Very intimidating. Yes. Terrifying. A real threat to structural seriousness,”

“And Potter—well. That was… professional. I don’t know how to commentate when he’s behaving normally. Someone send help.”

i didn't know i needed a lee jordan!reader. i love you lee jordan!reader.

“I just…” You gesture helplessly. “You were going to fall off your broom, you knob,”

He laughs. Soft. Real. Warm.

“So,” he says, “if I promise not to die tragically—”

“Yes.”

He blinks. “Yes…?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “Yes. I’ll go out with you.”

“So… can I, like— kiss you then?”

You pretend to consider.

“Well,” you say thoughtfully, “only if you promise not to perform an aerial backflip while doing it—”

He kisses you.

The world goes quiet.

i loved this. it was like the sweetest thing ever and the banter was top notch. love commentarist!reader. love tumblr user marauroon <3

[luveline]

I always see people writing for a very shy/subby Jonathan, but I’d love to see shy!reader staying over at his for the first time (doesn’t have to be sexual!) & our girl being reassured by him & all of the cuddles

thank you for your request! jonathan x shy!fem!reader arriving for your first sleepover ♡

You think you might have lucked out. Your first boyfriend being Jonathan feels like a storybook tenderness you don't deserve, he's just… so lovely. It terrifies you even though he never could, because you're desperate not to fuck it up. You call him your sweetheart, internally, and not solely for pet names sake — he has a sweet heart. He's unbelievably kind, adorable, funny and smart and level-headed. It doesn't hurt that he's your favourite kind of handsome. 

He's waiting for you as you park your car, standing in front of the closed door with a smile already in place. You know he'd made sure he was the first person you saw to alleviate your nerves. If you knocked the door and his mom answered, you probably would've tripped over every word, giving a terrible first impression in the process. 

"Hey," he says happily. How lovely is that? He's happy to see you the second you're in view. "Is that all your stuff?" 

"Is this not enough?" you ask, looking down at your jansport, suddenly worried. 

He finds this super funny and starts laughing his awful golden laugh. He reaches for your bag, fingers brushing yours as he takes it, and leans down to close the small gap for a kiss. You're not used to kisses, and you don't turn your head up right away. He uses his free hand to encourage you. He doesn't make you feel stupid for it. Just murmurs, "There," and kisses you again. 

He smiles against your lips and pulls back. "It's only two days, so you'll be fine. And I'm not holding you hostage. You can leave if you need something." His hand rubs down your arm. He squeezes your fingers. "But you won't need anything." 

He opens the door and you follow him inside, stiff as a board expecting his mom and his brother, Will. 

It's totally silent. Your lips part in confusion. 

"They went to the store. My mom wanted to make sure there were 'ladies things' in the bathroom." 

"She didn't have to do that." 

"I know. She doesn't mind, she wants you to feel welcome. That's what I want, too." His knuckle bumps yours. "Can't murder you if you never let your guard down." 

He starts down the hall toward what you assume to be his room. Your laugh comes out in a gross little snort that he adores, you can see it in the way his shoulders roll and the smile he shoots you confirms it. 

"Jon, you can't joke about stuff like that," you chide, catching up. 

He pushes open his bedroom door. "I'm not gonna murder you," he assures you. "You know how long it took to clean in here?" 

He puts your jansport on the bottom of the bed and looks at you in the doorway. His cheeky smile turns genuine, and his eyes go soft. 

You're expecting it but still squeal in shock as he rushes you and hugs you so hard your feet lift off the ground. He bends under your weight, digging his nose in your neck. 

"You look so pretty today," he says, like he's mad about it. 

"Jon," you laugh, glad when your feet touch the ground again. "Don't, please, I don't wanna be all sweaty when your mom comes home, she'll think we were doing gross stuff." 

"You don't wanna do gross stuff?" he jokes, before amending, "She won't think that. I've already told her you get flustered at everything." 

"You… talk about me to your mom?" 

His turn to clam up. Jonathan widens the gap between you and avoids your eyes, a nervous, endearing smile on his lips as he says, "Whaaat?" 

He's not very convincing. 

You watch him until he meets your eyes again, your smile soft as warm toffee. 

"I talk about you all the time," he says finally. He breathes out, his shoulders rising and falling. "C'mere." 

He raises his arms. You take the half step required to be back in his embrace, hugging him automatically. He settles his arms over your shoulders, a more casual embrace, and looks down at you. He's quiet. 

"What?" you ask. 

"Sorry. Just… like seeing you here. And I have something to say to you, because I know you'll worry about it, but– it's–" His arm curves up and hooks you in. He fights off his own shyness to accommodate your own, and you hope he knows how valuable that is to you. "Okay, my mom, I'll spare you a rehash of most awkward conversation of my life, but she doesn't expect us to, uh, sleep with the door open." 

You go rigid. "Oh, my god," you say, lips barely moving. 

"I'm sorry, but I just wanted you to know now, I don't expect anything from you, okay? And we could leave the door open if that was what you wanted–" 

"What?" you ask, shocked. 

"Not like that!" He looks like he's midway between laughing and crying, his face a fuzzy shade of pink. "I want you here because I want you close, not because I want– well, I do want– I want what you want," he says, promptly shutting his mouth. 

You take a nice, deep breath, squeezing your arms from between your touching chests to cup his face carefully. You thumb his jaw. 

"You're worse than me, sometimes," you sympathise.

"Yeah," he says. "I am." 

You wrap your arms around his neck with a pleased smile, forcing him to grasp at your shoulders. You aren't expecting to do anything you aren't ready for tonight, but the fact that he'd know you were worried about it, that he would brave such an awkward stepping stone so you didn't have to, means the world. He squeezes you. 

"Shit," he mumbles. "I'm sweating. She's definitely gonna think we were doing gross stuff." 

It's funny until you hear the front door open.

[luveline]

dare i ask for a little snippet of post have you seen her?/ so fine and pretty but pre kbd? is this allowed? I love you sweet thing

“So…”

You hum from the bed. “So.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

Your legs hurt from his last brilliant idea, a long hike in the woods followed by less strenuous but certainly exhausting swimming. The worst part was that it hadn’t been at all sexy —you didn’t skinny dip, you played horse and let him dunk you. For the record, you can hold your breath for longer underwear, but he’s the better handstander. Anyways. “Steven?”

“What?”

“No more thinking today.”

He likes your teasing. You watch through tired eyes as he abandons the pocket sketchbook he’d been doodling in on the floor, pages of you and your days fluttering by as it shuts with its own weight, dragging himself in his pyjamas to the edge of the bed, where he hooks his chin. “You’ll like the idea, maybe.”

You like him.

“Steve, just tell me. You know I always wanna hear what you’re thinking.”

This is the boy who introduced you to love. To being looked after, to good sex and good hugs and the best naps you could ever take, wrapped in his right arm with your nose stuck sharp in his armpit. You didn’t know what it was like to be loved for everything. You couldn’t manage it alone. But Steve loving you is like being in his company, all of the time. Like, even when he’s not around, he loved you so much before he left that he might as well be, until his absence starts to irk you.

“Are you worried about something?” you ask when he doesn’t answer.

“Not really. I guess. I don’t know?” He lets his face crinkle with a grimace. His eyes are almond and light in the warm kiss of the lampshade.

You shuffle forwards and down, tipping your face to his, spurred on by the longing in his eyes and their quick dash to your lips, like a kiss is all he wants. A soft noise leaves you unbidden when your lips touch, like a ‘mwah’ without the comedic smack.

“I love you,” he sighs.

You scratch a hand through his hair. “I love you,” you say, far quieter but just as sincere. “What have you been thinking about?”

“This might be a stupid idea… it might sound insane, actually. Just. It could be great, we’re great, you’re great, you’re so pretty, I think we have a really good thing here. Right? We’re a good thing.”

You rest your face in your hand, turning gently to the side to watch him curiously. “We are.”

“I know the condo’s yours, and the house isn’t mine, so I have no right asking you this. You don’t have to say yes, I mean, maybe we can go somewhere new? But I think we could do it. We’d save a ton on utilities and I’d get to show you that I’m not a total waste of space–”

“I don’t think that.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are filling with soft colour. “I know that. So. Yeah, what do you think?”

You stare at him. “About what?”

“About moving in together?”

“Is that what you’re asking me?”

Steve plays it cool. “Yeah. It could be, like, kinda fun. Don’t you think?”

You know he’s not saying fun because he’s stupid. He’s trying not to show his full heart and he’s failing spectacularly, because Steve’s never been any good at hiding the way he loves full-throttle.

You happen to enjoy the way he loves. You love him in similar ways, embarrassingly vulnerable with him, insecure out loud in want of being known, and in the endeavour of another sunny kiss each day. You lay down flat again on the bed with your chest to the sheets to level your height, putting you and Steve face to face without kissing. His eyes are shiny. His teeth are peeking out from a waiting smile.

“Yeah, baby, it will be.”

“You want to?”

“Of course I do. You’re moving in with me, right?” You tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. “Dustin’s never gonna leave you alone.”

“That would be okay?” he asks.

You lift your chin in want of a kiss. He gives you a peck, still waiting for you to reassure him.

You take your sweet time, letting him sweat as his fingers run up behind your shoulders to press into the muscle there.

“Steve, where else would I want you?” you ask.

[luveline]

Jade!!! Pls can we have a movie au fic, where it’s a quiet place (the movie) with Steve, he and the reader are established together and learning to be quiet where they need to be? thank you!! 

luveline’s 51k halloween party!

ty for your request <3 fem, 1.7k

The grass out here is greener than anything you’ve ever seen. Like the core of a pencil, or the deepest pigments in a tube of oil paint, everywhere you look is just green. 

Steve lays silently within it. 

You step over worn patches, feeling thick grass and spongy earth under your toes. He hears the shifting, sitting up on his elbows. 

Coming back soon? you sign. 

Steve struggles a little with sign language and he wasn’t paying attention. It frustrates him considering he’s hard of hearing in one ear, and he’s making a face as he signs back, What? 

You gesture to the house with a hopeful smile and sign again. 

Steve’s eyes drift over your shoulder. Too tired to move. Lay down with me? 

He rubs the grass as though you’re a cat in need of enticement. You move with as much urgency as the circumstances allow, letting out the slightest sigh as he catches your arm. Steve covers your mouth with his hand. 

You kiss it softly. 

That lights him up. 

Who made you beautiful? he signs. The beautiful is emphatic, a big grasp motioned at his own face. 

Just lucky I guess. 

Luck is not true. 

Who made you so beautiful? you sign. 

Steve pinched the hinge of your jaw in a big hand. Your lips part, his eyes shining, pupils wide and dark against honey-brown irises. He kisses you slow, not clumsy, but unpracticed, maybe. Kisses between you both are rarer than they ever were before, too afraid of that wet smacking sound it’d make when you part. 

You climb away from his lap before you can miss anything deeper, offering your hand, smiling hard when he pantomimes a sore back. He hobbles the first few steps out of the field, but he’s tall and proud again by the time you reach the house. 

Inside, Dustin and Mrs. Henderson are engaged in a sign battle of the ages. What Mrs. Henderson lacks in proficiency she makes up for in enthusiasm; none of the adults in the house are very good at sign language besides you and Robin, but you’d had a head start. If Steve hadn’t been reluctantly coming to terms with his developing disability before landfall, you wouldn’t have known how to communicate now, and you wouldn’t have been able to teach the others. 

You catch flashes of words. Dustin’s saying This is ridiculous, I’m almost seventeen, I’m not a baby! so you can guess that Mrs. Henderson is arguing how untrue that last bit really is. You’re my baby, and you’re not going!

Dustin scowls. 

Steve waves a hand. 

Dude, you know you can go again, just not today. We’ll take you next week.

Dustin’s scowl deepens. I don’t need a babysitter. 

Nobody thinks that. It’s just not safe. Steve offers a rare, vulnerable smile, soft at the edges. We need you safe. 

Dustin shoves at Steve. Steve catches his hands, mirthful now, pretending to knee Dustin in the stomach. They can’t rough house today, the weather too quiet, the house too far from the lake, so they sort of fizzle out into a noogie that’s far too gentle. 

Thank you, Mrs. Henderson mouths.

Steve whispers something right into the shell of Dustin’s ear. 

Dustin turns back to his mother, slouched. Sorry. 

She looks like she could cry. It’s okay, baby. 

You step around Steve and Dustin to peer into the kitchen. There are only six of you living in the house. Some of Steve’s other friends (or family) are living in another two further down the lakeside. You’d all stayed together at first, but the risk of having so many in one place got to be too much for Chief Hopper. You live with Steve, of course, Dustin and Mrs. Henderson, as well as Robin and Max Mayfield. 

Max is sitting on the couch nestled in the long end of the kitchen, away from the stove, beside the patio doors. The stove is awake and hot, a loaf of bread proofing under a paper towel on top of it. She looks up when you come in, giving you a quick smile. 

You love Max Mayfield. Maybe it’s living with her, knowing she doesn’t have anybody else, not her mom or her other friends (she and Dustin get along better now they have only each other for company, and are obviously still friends), nobody to give her the love she must sorely crave. You’re going crazy wishing you had your loved ones with you, even if you're lucky enough to have Steve. 

Hi, beautiful, you sign, what are you reading? 

She holds up the book. It’s Finders Keepers by Stephen King, battered and taped together. 

Any good? 

You cross the room and sit yourself down beside Max. She wears her grief without knowing it, affecting like it doesn’t bother her, and not realising that her showful indifference to it only makes it more obvious. Max is fine, if you ask Max. 

She doesn’t realise how brilliant she is, either, spinning a little summary for you in sign that rivals you for speed and competence. She’s more animated than she would be writing it out. 

You nod along to her explanation, before sliding into the first pause with a, Did you eat? 

Not yet. 

You can’t help yourself, reaching up to wrap your arm behind her neck, her hair soft and curled under your mouth. She hugs back with her empty arm. 

“Okay?” you utter. 

She nods slowly. 

“Promise?”

She pats your back. You take it for a Duh, but struggle to pull yourself away from her. Max probably knows that these hugs are for you, sometimes more than they’re for her, and she’s a kind, brave girl, so she doesn’t rush it along. 

After a moment, the padding of feet alerts you to another presence. 

Two strong arms wrap around you, his hands sliding along yours to spread out over Max’s back. 

You can almost hear Max rolling her eyes. 

The hug is over much quicker, then. Max’s cheeks blush pink as Steve crouches down in front of you both, hands already poised to sign, Did you have food?

Not yet, mom. 

He touches her knee. You better be nicer to my girl than you are to me. 

Max is always nice, you sign. 

No, I’m not.

You have to fight not to laugh aloud. 

After everyone’s done ribbing, you eat a small dinner with fresh bread and salted fish. Then you and Steve saddle yourselves with supplies and begin the trek to the Hopper house to retrieve your Robin. 

The Hopper house is next to a mouth. Water from the rivers rush into the lake, creating a light roaring sound that covers the sounds of a bigger party. Four Wheelers, three Sinclairs, three Byers, and the Chief and Eleven all stay together, though Jonathan and Will have to sleep in a shed that’s been insulated and padded with pillows in want of a mattress. The shed is where you find the older ‘kids’ Jonathan and Nancy sprawled out over a blanket, Robin in the middle, a deck of cards scattered by a plate of cut veggies and what looks to be Mrs. Wheeler’s best attempt at hummus. 

“Hi,” Steve says. 

Nobody’s stupid enough to shout, but talking here is usually alright in the day.

“Hi, Steve,” Nancy murmurs. 

“You ready to go?” he asks Robin. 

“You don’t wanna stay a while?” Jonathan asks. 

“Dustin’s angry enough that we wouldn’t bring him to stay the night.”

“You could’ve,” Nancy says. 

Steve shakes his head. “Mrs. Henderson…” He shrugs. Signs, She’s anxious after the last time it came. Doesn’t want him leaving the house. Knows he won’t be careful with the boys. 

Poor boy, Nancy signs. 

Something outside makes a great noise. 

Nancy's hands stop. 

Steve grabs yours in a vice like grip. 

Then, again, another great sound, one you don’t recognise until a flash of light bangs from outside. Then the heavens open, and the rain begins. 

“Oh my god!” Robin whisper-yells, grinning. “I knew it was gonna rain.” 

–

Steve races back to the house to collect Dustin. You aren’t sure Mrs. Henderson will let him come —there’s no way to know how long the rain will last, it could be over by the time everyone’s back— but they arrive quickly, soaked to the bone and beaming. Max is with them, less happy to be wet, but happier when El rushes down the stairs in the main house to squeeze her in a tight hug. The kids corral their way into the main room with Will’s huge Dungeons & Dragons manual, leaving you and your sopping wet Steve in the hall. 

Steve smiles at you. Really smiles. 

“I love you.” 

You nudge him with your elbow. “Love you, too.” 

“I like getting to say it out loud,” he says, hooking you by the back of your shirt to draw you in. “I miss your voice all the time.”

You hate how shy his affection makes you, turning your head from him. It usually works. If he’s signing sweet nothings at you that border saccharine, you can look away, but the rain gives him license to pester you. 

“I love you,” he says, the tip of his nose under your ear. “So much.”

“I’m gonna let the runners eat you if you don’t stop.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“No, but you should still stop.” 

He kisses your cheek. “I can’t.” 

“Steve.”

“Stop acting like you don’t like me and kiss me already.”

You turn your head up to be kissed, and you bite his lip as penance for teasing you. The sound he makes– you could cope with dying for it. So stupid. He can see it on your face, and the kisses only get louder from there, three, four playful smackers pressed to the apple of your cheek, then moving down, so many kisses that they start to tickle. 

[plushworldz]

trust i got yall fr 💯💯💯

[aurora-sadprose]

put down that c.ai thing and read y/n fics like god intended.

[jamesdeanbby]

────۶ৎ not a drill

or... the boys finding out their dear Toddy-bear had been hiding a girl from them!! how dare he!!

warnings : tooth-rotting fluff!!!!!

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: RAAAAAH IM KICKING MY FEET AND GLIGGLING LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL THIS IS SO WHOLESOME OMG I LOVE THEM SM.

( 🏷 @callme-holly , @unknown-axxount , @johnnycadesslut )

♱ *ೃ.⋆

The study session in the common room had been winding down for the past ten minutes, it smelled faintly of wood polish and faintly burnt coffee from Pitts’s sad attempt at “afternoon fuel.”, the lamplight pooling over open textbooks and half-finished notes, the boys’ banter gradually replacing any actual academic productivity.

Mr. Keating’s poetry assignments had left everyone in unusually good spirits—everyone except Cameron, who insisted they needed to focus if they wanted to keep their grades up.

Todd had excused himself earlier, murmuring something about the 6 p.m. intercom calling his name for mail

“Mail call. Todd Anderson—please report to the front desk.”

. It wasn’t unusual—mail for Todd arrived with uncanny regularity on Tuesdays and Fridays. The others, naturally, had assumed it was his mother again, or maybe some distant aunt who remembered him just enough to send the occasional letter. None of them had ever asked outright who wrote to him, though. Todd was… Todd. Private, shy—at least, he had been when he’d first arrived at Welton.

Now, months in, he was different. Still quiet, yes, but in a way that felt deliberate instead of suffocating. The Dead Poets Society had coaxed something alive in him. His voice no longer cracked from nerves every time he read aloud in Keating’s class. He was even capable of teasing Neil back now and then. But he still had secrets, that much was obvious.

By the time the study session fizzled out around 6:30, their study session having devolved into Charlie making jokes about the headmaster’s eyebrows, Neil had convinced everyone to come hang out in his and Todd’s room. “Just for a bit,” he promised Cameron, who was already muttering about tomorrow’s Latin quiz. They spilled into the room in a tangle of books and laughter, Charlie immediately claiming Neil’s desk chair and Knox flopping dramatically onto Neil’s bed.

The door was slightly ajar, lamplight spilling into the hallway. Inside, Todd was on his own bed, cross-legged, leaning over his notebook, scribbling something in that small, neat handwriting of his. His pen moved quickly, his gaze fixed on the page, brow slightly furrowed in that way of his that meant he was concentrated.

He looked up at the noise, a quick, shy smile lighting up his face. “Hey,” he said, voice soft but warmer than it had been at the start of term. “Did I miss much?”

Neil grinned. “Not unless you count Cameron’s lecture on metaphor analysis. You’re safe.”

“Yeah, we didn’t even get through half of the poem before Pitts started complaining about hunger,” Cameron confirmed, rolling his eyes in that affectionately exhasperated way of his.

Todd ducked his head, brushing the back of his hand against his cheek in that unconscious way he did when he was embarrassed. “Right.”

That’s when Charlie’s gaze drifted toward Todd’s desk. Lying there, partially tucked under a folded Latin assignment, was an envelope: cream paper, handwriting that was definitely not Mrs. Anderson’s sharp, joyless script. And there was something about it—maybe the faint smudge of lipstick on the corner—that made his eyes gleam with the promise of chaos.

Charlie was next to the desk in an instant, snatching up the letter with the speed of a seasoned troublemaker. “Hey—” Todd’s voice shot up half an octave as he lunged for it, but Charlie was already holding it out of reach.

“Well, well, well,” Charlie drawled, turning it over in his hands. “What do we have here?”

“Charlie!” Todd’s face flushed so fast it was like someone had lit a match under his skin. He made another desperate grab, but Knox had already leaned over to get a look.

“Fancy stationery, Todd-boy. And is that perfume I smell?”

Todd’s ears flushed crimson. “Give it back.”

Pitts, catching the sight from where he leaned against the wall, let out a slow whistle. “Oh, this is interesting.”

Knox’s eyebrows shot up as he read over the first lines while Charlie showed him, and then he grinned like Christmas had come early. “Todd… is this from a girl?”

Neil blinked. “Wait, what?”

Cameron looked up from where he was setting down his books, frowning in confusion. Pitts and Meeks both turned to stare at Todd, eyes wide.

“Don’t tell me…” Charlie said, his voice rising in mock scandal. “Anderson’s been hiding a girlfriend from us?”

The room erupted.

“You—?!” “Since when?!” “You—Todd—you have a girlfriend?” Meeks blurted, sounding half delighted and half baffled.

“How?” Cameron asked flatly, brows raised. “No offense, Todd, but…”

Todd was still trying to grab the letter back, muttering something incoherent. Charlie danced away from him, reading the return address aloud before Todd tackled him in an uncharacteristic burst of boldness.

Knox snatched the letter in the hand-off, holding it above his head. “Gentlemen, this is not a drill—Todd Anderson has a girlfriend!”

Todd’s entire face was red now. “Yes.” He squeaked out. “Yes, I do. I have a girlfriend. Are you happy now?!?” He made another grab for the letter.

“Ecstatic,” Charlie said, handing the envelope to Steven while blocking Todd's path again.

Neil’s face lit up like Christmas morning. “Todd, that’s—Todd, that’s wonderful!”

“If you say so,” Todd hissed, clearly referring to the current situation, finally wrenching it back with his ears blazing as Neil openly chuckled.

“Yes!” they chorused, grinning like wolves.

“God, Anderson, this is—this is huge!” Charlie laughed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, peace—just let us see what’s got you all red-faced.”

Todd clutched the envelope to his chest for a moment, looking like he was deciding whether to bolt from the room entirely. But in the end, maybe some small part of him liked the pride curling under the embarrassment—because yeah, he had a girlfriend, and none of them did.

“Oh, admit it, Todd,” Knox said, flopping back onto Neil’s bed. “You’re smug as hell right now, and you should be.”

“Fine,” he huffed, trying to hide the proud smirk curling at the edges of his lips, handing it over to Neil. “But—don’t—just—ugh.”

Neil’s grin softened into something warm as he unfolded the letter. “This is adorable,” he said after only a few lines. “She’s telling him about a new Elvis record she bought…”

“A girl who likes Elvis? Keeper,” Charlie declared.

“…and how she’s learning to bake butter cookies and might send him some.”

“Oh, come on,” Cameron groaned good-naturedly. “Now I want a girlfriend who bakes cookies.”

Steven muttered in agreement, while Knox elbowed Cameron. “Bet you’re jealous, huh, Cam?”

Cameron crossed his arms, trying not to smile. “I’m not jealous. Just… cookies are nice, that’s all.”

Then Charlie spotted it—the faint lipstick mark at the bottom. His jaw dropped theatrically. “Is that—? It is! She kissed the paper!”

The room roared with laughter.

“God, she sounds so sweet,” Pitts said.

“She is,” Todd blurted out before he could stop himself.

Neil looked at him then, his smile crinkling his eyes. “I’m happy for you, Todd.”

“I’m happy for me, too.”

And that proud little smirk stayed on his face for the rest of the night, no matter how much Charlie teased or Knox recited your words in an overly high-pitched voice. Because for once, Todd Anderson felt like he was allowed to have something—someone—worth being proud of.