Mistyy

I like to write lol

[mistykayyy]

Mistys Masterlist!

Last updated 1/11/25

Hey guys welcome to my page :) I like to write whenever I get an idea, feel free to request and leave feedback !

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington

Not so empty : Steve Harringtons house isn't so empty.

Capability : After sneaking out to investigate a dangerous Upside Down gate on her own, y/n gets hurt and sparks a heated argument with Steve.

DC

Clark Kent

Liability : You are fed up with Clark abandoning you.

[mistykayyy]

Not So Empty - Steve Harrington x Danielle Sinclair (OC)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Danielle Sinclair (OC) Summary: Steve Harringtons house isn't so empty. Content Warnings: Fluff, Established Relationship, Domestic Vibes Pairing: Steve Harrington x Danielle Sinclair (OC) Summary: Steve Harringtons house isn't so empty. Content Warnings: Fluff, Established Relationship, Domestic Vibes

A/N: The Idea of Lucas having an older sister who's with Steve is such a cute concept to me likeee... I might just continue pairing them together >:) Let me know if you guys have any requests!!!

Steve Harrington used to know exactly how his house sounded when it was empty.

He hadn’t realized how much he hated that sound until it was gone.

Now there were voices everywhere, laughter, arguments, footsteps, the hum of the television and somehow, every single one of them had found their way back to him.

It was a soft Saturday, the kind that felt like it was meant to be wasted slowly.

Sunlight spilled through the wide Harrington windows in lazy stripes, warming the living room and the massive couch Danielle Sinclair had claimed as her own.

She lay stretched across it, socked feet tucked beneath her, a book open in her hands, one she’d been meaning to finish for weeks but never quite managed to.

Not because she didn’t like it, but because Steve Harrington’s house had a way of filling itself with noise and people and interruptions that made reading feel secondary.

It hadn’t always been like this.

At some point quietly, without discussion Danielle had started spending more time here than anywhere else. Steve’s parents were almost never home, their presence reduced to framed photos and locked doors at the end of the hall. The house had been handed to him like an afterthought, a too-big gift wrapped in neglect, and Steve had learned how to live inside it alone.

Until he hadn’t.

Now there were her things everywhere. A sweater draped over the arm of the couch. A mug she always used, sitting abandoned on the coffee table. A toothbrush in the upstairs bathroom that no one had officially acknowledged but everyone accepted as permanent. Danielle didn’t remember the last night she hadn’t fallen asleep under this roof.

She turned a page just as the front door creaked open.

“Don’t tell me you’re still on chapter three,” Steve’s voice called, familiar and warm, carrying in from the hallway.

Danielle smiled without looking up.

“You talk like you’re not the reason I keep getting distracted.”

A beat. Then the sound of keys dropping into a bowl, the quiet comfort of knowing without even lifting her head that Steve Harrington was home.

Footsteps approaching, he leaned over and planted a sweet peck on the top of her head before making his way to the kitchen. 

Danielle had just settled back into the rhythm of her book when the first knock hit the front door.

It wasn’t polite. It wasn't patient. It was the kind of knock that assumed permission had already been granted.

Steve froze halfway through grabbing something from the kitchen.

“Absolutely not,” he muttered. “It’s barely noon.” The second knock came faster, louder.

Danielle lowered her book, already smiling. “That’s them.”

Steve sighed like a man resigned to his fate and headed for the door. The moment he opened it, the quiet Saturday shattered.

“STEVE–”

“We need help–”

“Dustin won’t stop talking–”

“Mike took my spot–”

They poured in all at once.

Dustin was first, backpack already sliding off his shoulder like he planned to stay a while. Lucas followed, shaking his head like he regretted coming but would’ve regretted not coming more. He stopped short when he saw Danielle sprawled on the couch.

“Wow,” Lucas said. “Did you move in or are you just committing squatter behavior now?”

Danielle finally looked up, unimpressed. “Please. Steve basically adopted me.”

Lucas snorted, reaching over to flick the corner of her book down. “Mom knows you live here now?”

She kicked his leg lightly without looking. “Do you know how to mind your business?”

He grinned anyway, ruffling her hair before she could dodge him.

Max walked in like she owned the place, Eleven close beside her, eyes flicking curiously around the room. Mike and Will trailed behind, mid-argument, until Will noticed Danielle on the couch.

“Oh,” he said, brightening. “Hi, Dani.”

She waved. “Hey, guys.”

Just like that, Steve’s house filled up again.

Someone turned on the TV without asking. Someone else raided the kitchen. Shoes were kicked off near the door, jackets tossed wherever they landed. Dustin was already talking to Steve, words tumbling over each other as Steve tried and failed to look annoyed.

“Why are you all here?” Steve asked, hands on his hips.

Dustin blinked like there wasn't a more obvious reason. “Because this is where we come.”

Steve opened his mouth. I closed it. Then groaned. “You know what? Fine. Whatever. Just no touching the VCR.”

Danielle watched from the couch as the kids spread out around the room like they belonged there. And maybe they did. Steve dropped down onto the opposite end of the couch, close enough that their knees brushed. He pretended not to notice.

“You’re smiling,” she murmured.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

Steve glanced around at the noise, the mess, the kids arguing over what movie to watch. He leaned back, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t already settled into it.

“They’re loud,” he said.

Danielle turned another page in her book, voice soft. “Your house hasn’t been this alive in years.”

Steve didn’t answer right away. But he didn’t ask them to leave either.

Danielle didn’t bother pretending she wasn’t waiting for Steve to sit beside her. The moment he did, she shifted without thinking, tucking herself against his side like it was muscle memory. Steve barely reacted, just lifted an arm and let it rest around her shoulders, easy and unguarded.

The kids noticed immediately.

Max smirked. “Wow. Subtle.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “We’re sitting.”

“You’re cuddling,” Dustin corrected, already kicking his shoes off. “There’s a difference.”

Danielle grinned. “Do you want popcorn or not?”

That shut him up for about thirty seconds.

For a little while, it felt like life had gone back to normal. Graduation was ahead of them them, and the world had not ended like it almost had. Hawkins was quiet in a way it had not been in years.

They were just kids again, even if it was briefly. There was no Upside Down hanging over their heads and no fear of Vecna waiting around the corner, only trauma that everyone was slowly working on. The only conflict that mattered in this moment was what movie to put on and who got control of the remote.

Soon the living room looked like controlled chaos. Lucas and Mike argued over which movie to put on. Will sat cross legged on the floor, quietly sorting through the VHS stack. Eleven leaned against Max, watching everything with calm curiosity. Dustin somehow ended up on the armchair, narrating his own thoughts.

Steve pretended to be annoyed, muttering under his breath as he passed out snacks, but Danielle saw the way he kept glancing around the room. Counting heads. Making sure everyone had something. Making sure everyone stayed.

His house, his too-big, too-quiet house felt full in a way it never used to.

At some point, the movie actually started. People settled where they could. Someone leaned against Steve’s leg. Someone else stole half his blanket. Danielle’s book was forgotten on the coffee table as she curled closer, resting her head against his shoulder.

Halfway through the movie, someone paused it to ask Steve a question. Ten minutes later, someone else needed advice. Then someone spilled something. Steve complained every time, but he never once looked overwhelmed.

Later, when the kids were distracted and the room settled into comfortable noise, Danielle looked up at him.

“You good?” she asked quietly.

Steve nodded, pressing a kiss into her hair without thinking. “Yeah. Just–” He stopped, searching for the right word. Then shrugged.

“You know,” she said softly, “they feel safe here.”

Steve swallowed, eyes fixed on the screen. “Yeah. I know.”

“It’s loud.”

Danielle smiled. “You love it.”

He huffed, but his grip tightened just a little. “Don’t tell them that.”

And maybe that was the thing.

 Maybe this house didn’t feel empty anymore because Steve Harrington had finally filled it with people who stayed.

Danielle squeezed his hand, certain of one thing.

This was their family.

[themiserablechick]

Steve x his nerdy earthy gf

[mistykayyy]

Capability - Steve Harrington x F! Reader

Summary: After sneaking out to investigate a dangerous Upside Down gate on her own, y/n gets hurt and sparks a heated argument with Steve. Content warning: fighting, fluff, angst, make outs (But no smut) (MINORS DNII!!) Word count: 4352  a/n: Here to feed into the Steve delusions let me know who I should write for next

WSQK 94.5 FM barely looks like a radio station anymore. The place feels more like a bunker, soundproof foam peeling at the corners, the red ON AIR light flickering like a dying star, maps and radio equipment cluttered across every surface. Outside, another quarantine patrol rumbles by, making the walls tremble.

Steve stands behind the control desk with a headset around his neck, twisting the dial in tiny circles like it’s holding his sanity together. Robin sits on a milk crate near the table, tapping her foot too fast, her knee bouncing. You stand near the boarded up window with your arms folded. A sliver of winter light bleeds through the cracks in the wood.

“Can you not stand right in the open like that?” Steve asks without looking up from the control board.

“I’m inside the building,” you say quietly, still facing the window.

Robin looks between the two of you and lets out a nervous sigh. “Love the tension. Really brightens the vibe in here,” she mutters.

It isn’t a fight yet, but it feels like each day Steve gets more overbearing with the whole “being safe” thing. You are almost at your breaking point.

The atmosphere only thickens when the others start arriving an hour later. The station grows cramped fast as Nancy pushes the door open with her shoulder, Jonathan following with a crate of flashlights. Will and Mike slip in behind them, shaking off the cold. Nancy drops her bag onto the center table and immediately pulls out updated tunnel maps. Everyone forms a loose circle around her. Will perches on the arm of a chair, Mike crosses his arms beside him, and Robin stays near the broadcasting setup.

You end up beside Steve, your shoulders almost touching. The air between you feels tight, impossibly full.

Nancy circles an area on the map with her thumb. “This is the south maintenance tunnel. Hopper and El will sweep the field above it. Our job is to monitor this entry point right here.”

Everyone studies the map, but your mind is already moving, tracing paths and openings and exits.

“I can watch the maintenance gate,” you offer. “It’s isolated, but if anything comes through, I’ll see it first.”

Steve’s head snaps toward you. “No. That area’s wide open.”

“It’s a watch post, Steve. I’ll have a radio.”

“You’ll still be alone.”

“I can handle being alone. I’m not helpless.”

His jaw tightens, and heat rises up your chest.

Steve never questions Nancy the way he questions you. A small, ugly curl of jealousy twists in your stomach, no matter how hard you try to ignore it.

“Pick another spot,” Steve says.

You let out a sharp breath. “I’m trying to actually help. Every crawl, every sweep, every plan- I'm stuck on backup or radio duty or whatever job keeps me standing still.”

Steve looks like he wants to reach for your hand but doesn’t. “I just want you safe.”

You look away, forcing down the ache in your throat. Something frustrated, something sadder, presses in on your ribs.

Nancy clears her throat and continues explaining the map. She pretends not to notice the tension, but everyone does. The argument hasn’t fully erupted yet, but it’s brewing, simmering under every breath.

When the meeting finally breaks apart, people scatter across the station. Will and Mike wander toward the back hallway, arguing about whether the south tunnel even connects to the power grid. Jonathan helps Robin sort batteries and label which ones are half-dead. Nancy slips out to meet Hopper with her rolled-up maps tucked under her arm.

You turn back toward the boarded window, needing space. Air. The station feels too small, too crowded with voices and fears and expectations.

Steve closes the door behind Nancy and hesitates. He could easily pretend to help Jonathan or busy himself with equipment. He could avoid this. But he doesn’t.

He walks toward you slowly, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. You keep your gaze fixed on the cracked wood until he stops a foot behind you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You don’t respond.

“Can you just… look at me?”

You turn, but your expression stays guarded.

Steve leans against the counter beside you, arms crossing. His shoulders tense like he’s bracing for impact. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you back there. I just–”

“You don’t trust me,” you say. Your voice isn’t harsh, just steady. True.

He freezes. His mouth opens then closes again, words stuck somewhere behind his ribs. “That’s not fair. I trust you more than you think.”

“Then why is it always me who gets sidelined? Every crawl, every sweep, every plan– you always make sure I’m the one furthest from danger.”

“Because I care about you,” he fires back, louder than he meant to.

Jonathan glances over, but Robin nudges him, and they both pretend not to hear.

You blink, trying to process that. “Everyone here cares about each other. You don’t stop Nancy or Robin or literally anyone else from volunteering for high-risk positions.”

“That’s different,” Steve says, stepping closer.

“Why?” You ask it gently, but you need the truth.

He drags a hand through his hair and grips the back of his neck like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “Because losing you is the one line I can’t cross. I know you’re brave. I know you’re strong. That’s not the point, im not risking your safety because of it.”

He moves closer until his voice barely carries. “I can’t think straight when you’re in danger. I can’t focus. Everything in me .. just… short circuits.”

Your breath catches. Hint of irritation still lingering.

“Steve… you can’t protect me by keeping me behind you,” you say. “That isn’t love. That’s literally fear.”

He fidgets like the words physically hit him. “I know.” His voice softens. “And I’m trying to get better at it.”

You look away, then back at him as your eyes soften just a fraction. “I don’t want to be your weak spot. I'm your girlfriend.”

Steve nods slowly. “You are baby. I just… have to learn how to show it without screwing everything up.”

The room grows quiet. Outside, another patrol rumbles past. The window shivers in its frame.

Steve swallows, voice dropping. “Please just be careful.”

Robin clears her throat loudly, reminding you both that she is definitely still there. Jonathan pretends to be fascinated by a stack of batteries, though he hasn’t touched them in two minutes.

You step back from Steve, the air still trembling from everything that was just said. Your heartbeat feels too loud in your ears. You nod once, stiffly, then move toward the equipment table so you don’t have to look at him a second longer.

“We should finish getting ready,” you say. It comes out thin, careful.

Steve watches you for a long second, like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. Instead, he exhales and grabs a walkie, adjusting the frequency.

Robin mutters, “Well, that was fun,” then hops off her milk crate and goes to check the outside generator with Jonathan.

For a moment, you stand alone beside the window. The flicker of the quarantine lights outside reflects off the cracked glass, and everything inside you twists. Because even after everything you just told Steve, after he admitted every fear in his chest part of you still feels useless.

Nancy’s map flashes through your mind. That maintenance gate. Wide open, yes. Exposed, yes. But important. And empty unless someone watched it.

Steve wouldn’t let you volunteer. Wouldn’t even let you try.

And it shouldn’t matter that Nancy never gets the same speech from him. It shouldn’t matter that she stands two feet away from him and he trusts her judgment instantly. It shouldn’t matter, but it sits heavy in your ribs anyway.

You swear you hate feeling that way.

Robin and Jonathan step outside to check the noise from the generator. Steve is distracted adjusting the control board. Will and Mike are arguing again in the back hallway.

For the first time in hours, no one is looking at you.

Your fingers drift toward the edge of the table where Hopper’s spare keys sit. You shouldn’t even be touching them. You know that.

But the frustration of being sidelined again sits like a stone in your throat. You aren’t useless. You aren’t fragile. And if the maintenance gate really is exposed, someone should be watching it before Hopper and El sweep the field.

You glance at Steve one last time. He is bent over the radio, brows knitted, muttering something to himself about interference.

He won’t notice you’re gone. Not for a few minutes.

Maybe more.

Your breath shakes once. Then your fingers close around the keys.

You slip your jacket on, tuck a walkie into your pocket, and move toward the back door as quietly as you can. The cold air rushes in as soon as you crack it open.

You whisper to yourself, “becareful, my ass.”

Then you step outside and let the door fall shut behind you.

The cold hits you instantly, sharp enough to bite through your jacket. The entire street feels hollow, abandoned except for the distant hum of patrol trucks circling Hawkins like vultures. You pull your hood up and start walking fast, staying low along the backs of buildings until the radio station disappears behind you.

The maintenance gate isn’t far. 30 minutes at most. But the closer you get, the more wrong everything feels. The air is colder here. Quieter. Even the snow on the ground looks disturbed, like something dragged through it.

You swallow hard and grip the flashlight tighter.

A metal screech echoes from the far end of the fence. You freeze, heart beating up against your ribs. The flashlight shakes a little in your hand as you lift it.

“Hello?” you whisper before immediately regretting it.

There’s another sound. A low, wet shifting. Something moving just out of sight.

You step closer, pressing your hand against the cold chain link. The snow dips unnaturally near the gate, like the ground caved in. You crouch down, leaning in to inspect it, and that’s when you see it.

A tear. In the earth itself.

A thin, pulsing crack, glowing faintly red underneath the snow.

Your stomach flips. This wasn’t on Nancy’s map. Hopper didn’t mention it. El didn’t sense it.

This is new.

You reach out with your glove and brush away some snow to get a better look. The ground rumbles under you. Before you can move back, something beneath the surface shifts violently.

The crack pulses brighter.

And a tendril shoots out.

You stumble backward but not fast enough. The tendril whips across your shin, slicing through your jeans. Hot pain flares instantly. You fall onto one knee, gasping, clutching your leg as the burn deepens.

“Shit,” you hiss, teeth clenched. You press your hand against the cut. It’s shallow, but it stings like fire.

The crack pulses again. Louder this time. Deeper.

You scramble up and run, pushing through the snow as fast as your leg will allow. You don’t stop until you’re far from the gate, breathing hard, the pain throbbing with every step.

Your walkie crackles just as you lift it.

Steve’s voice cuts through, strained, sharp, panicked.

“Y/N, do you copy?”

You close your eyes. You knew this was coming.

You press the button. “I’m here.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then:

“Where the hell are you?”

His voice isn’t angry yet. It’s terrified.

“Steve,” you start, breathing hard, “I just went to check the maintenance gate for a minute. It wasn’t guarded and I thought–”

“You thought what?” His voice spikes, breaking over itself. “You thought you should go strolling into potential ground zero alone?”

You wince, not just from the cut. “I found something. There’s a crack in the ground and it’s– it’s glowing, Steve. It wasn’t there before.”

Another silence, but this one is electric.

Then the slam of a door.

Then footsteps.

Then Robin, faintly in the background, “Steve, wait–”

And Steve shouting back, “I’m going to get her!”

You swallow as your throat tightens. “You don’t need to come get me, I’m already on my way back.”

“No,” Steve snaps, breath ragged. “Stay where you are. I’m close.”

You don’t argue. You’re too tired and too shaken to. The cold wind stings your cut, making you grit your teeth.

Within minutes, his silhouette appears through the haze of falling snow. He’s moving fast, almost running. When he reaches you, he stops short, chest heaving, eyes scanning you from head to toe.

His gaze lands on your torn jeans. The blood seeping through.

His whole body goes rigid.

“What,” he says in a low voice, “happened to your leg?”

“It’s nothing,” you say. “I just got too close. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” he fires back. “You’re not fine.”

“I said I’m fine,” you repeat, louder this time.

“You’re not listening to me,” he snaps. “You never listen when it matters.”

“And you never let me do anything,” you shoot back.

The cold air crackles between you.

Steve doesn’t argue back this time. He just exhales sharply through his nose and moves, dropping to one knee in the snow.

He shrugs off his backpack, the one he always brings on patrols, and unzips it with quick, practiced movements. You recognize the contents immediately, a flashlight, spare batteries, a walkie clip, a half-crushed granola bar… and the small first-aid kit he never leaves without.

He sets it beside him without a word.

When his hands reach for your leg, they’re gentle—almost careful enough to hurt. He peels the torn denim away from your cut, and his jaw tightens when he sees how deep it actually is. “Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, not at you, but at the wound itself.

He grabs a wipe from the kit and cleans around the cut. The cold sting burns and you suck in a sharp breath. Instantly, his free hand lifts, fingers curling around the back of your calf, steadying you, not restraining, just anchoring.

“Easy,” he murmurs, voice low. “I’ve got you.”

You look down at him. His brows are drawn, lips pressed together in a line of worry he’s not trying to hide. Snow is caught in his hair, melting down the back of his neck. His thumb draws slow, unconscious circles on your calf as he works, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

He grabs a bandage from the kit and presses it firmly but gently over the wound, smoothing the edges with warm fingers.

Steve looks like he’s torn between hugging you and shaking you. His hands go to his hips, then drop, fists clenching and unclenching. His jaw tightens. “I can’t…” he mutters through gritted teeth, voice shaking with anger and fear. He swallows hard, struggling to keep it together, then points toward the car, voice snapping over the wind.

“Get in the car,” he says finally, voice tight.

The words hit you like a whip.

“Excuse me?” you say confused on the switch up.

“Get in the car,” he repeats. “We’re not doing this out here.”

You hesitate. Not because you’re afraid of him, never that. But because you’re afraid of what you’re both about to say.

Still, you walk past him, limping slightly, and head toward the car parked crookedly near the radio tower.

You open the passenger door. He gets in on the driver’s side, slamming it harder than necessary.

The engine rumbles to life.

The car ride home is silent.

The air is tense.

Hysteria by Dev Lepard plays quietly on the radio.

And Steve refuses to look at you.

You sit stiffly in the passenger seat, jacket still damp from frost and dirt. Your fingers won’t stop fidgeting. Every bump in the road feels too loud. Every breath feels like it’s echoing.

Steve grips the steering wheel with both hands, jaw flexed. His eyes stay glued to the road. He hasn’t looked at you since he found you at the maintenance gate– hurt, cold, and trying to downplay the way your leg shook under you.

Your eyes drift out the window. The winter trees blur past, tall and dark against the dying light. You open your mouth once, but nothing comes out.

Steve beats you to it.

“What the hell were you thinking.”

His voice is low. Controlled. Too controlled. Like he’s holding the edges of something sharp.

You swallow. “Steve, I– ”

“No,” he cuts in. Still not looking at you. “Don’t do that. Don’t make excuses. Just tell me.” His voice cracks once. “Why did you go out there alone?”

You wrap your arms around yourself. The warmth of the car suddenly feels suffocating.

“I wanted to help,” you say quietly feeling childish. “You wouldn’t let me–”

“I told you it was dangerous,” he snaps. “I told you to stay inside. I asked you to. I begged you to.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Then stop acting like one!”

The words hit like a slap. 

“You could’ve died,” he continues, voice rising. “Do you understand that? Do you get that I thought I lost you? When you didn’t respond on the walkie– when you didn’t answer– I thought–”

He breaks off, breathing hard.

You stare straight ahead. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t just scare me,” he says, voice shaking now. “You broke my trust.”

Your chest tightens painfully. “I wasn’t trying to break anything.”

“Then what were you doing?!” he demands. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like you decided your hunch was more important than the plan. Than your team. Than your own safety.”

Silence drops heavy. You stare at your hands.

“You don’t trust me,” you whisper.

Steve lets out a bitter laugh. “Are you serious? That’s what you’re going with?”

“You don’t,” you insist. “Every time there’s a mission, you keep me on the sidelines. You hover. You shut down every idea I have. It feels like you think I’m fragile.”

Steve looks at you then. Really looks at you. His voice softens, but not in a gentle way– in a wounded way.

“I do it because I care about you.”

“You don’t do it to Nancy.”

The words fall out before you can stop them.

Steve freezes. The air disappears from the car.

Hysteria keeps playing softly like a cruel joke.

He blinks. “What does Nancy have to do with this?”

You look out the window, cheeks burning with shame and frustration. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.”

You pull in a shaky breath, your chest tight. “You trust her. You don’t question her judgment. You don’t stop her from taking risks. You don’t look at her the way you look at me when I even breathe wrong.”

Steve’s face twists. Hurt. Conflicted. Frustrated.

“Are you jealous?” he asks.

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. The silence answers for you.

Steve drags a hand over his forehead and exhales hard. “Y/N, Nancy and I are friends. That’s it. She has her own life. I have mine. I’m with you.”

“I know,” you say quickly. “I know that. But it doesn’t stop how it feels. I hate that I get weird. I hate that I feel small next to her. I hate that when you two talk strategy, I feel like I’m not even in the same league. Like I’m the weakest one in the room.”

“You’re not weak,” he says immediately, voice sharp with certainty.

“Then why do you treat me like I am?”

“That is not what I’m doing, baby– I'm trying to protect you.”

You turn to him fully, eyes stinging. “I don’t want protection, Steve. I want you to believe I can fight. I can help. I dont have to hide behind you.”

“You think I don’t believe in you?” he fires back. “You think that’s what this is?”

“Isn’t it?” you snap.

He freezes for half a second, jaw clenched and tired of arguing.

“So thats why you went into the woods.” “You went into the woods alone to prove something?” he asks quietly.

“I went because no one else was covering that gate,” you say. “I went because I’m part of this team too. I went because I’m tired of feeling like the only thing I contribute is giving you anxiety.”

The tires crunch over snow as he pulls the car onto the shoulder and shifts into park. Steam fogs the windows as he leans forward and presses his forehead into the steering wheel. His breath shakes.

You wipe your cheek, hating the wetness on your fingertips.

When he finally speaks, his voice sounds like something cracked open. “I’m scared,” he says. “I’m scared all the damn time. And when it’s you in danger… it’s worse. Everything in me just shuts down except one thought.. get to you. Make sure you’re breathing.”

Your chest tightens.

He sits up slowly and turns toward you. His eyes are glassy and raw. “I know protecting you the way I do isn’t fair. I know I can’t make every decision. But the thought of losing you… that’s the one thing I don’t think I could live through.”

You swallow, trying to breathe past the lump in your throat. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re terrified. I want to be someone you fight with. Not someone you have to save.”

The words drift in the quiet, trembling like they might break.

Steve closes his eyes for a long moment, like he’s steadying himself. When he opens them again, the anger is gone. Just softness. Understanding. And fear.

He reaches for your hand again, not gently this time, desperately. His fingers wrap around yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

“We’ll figure this out,” he says, voice low but certain. “I’ll figure this out. I promise.”

“Im so sorry, baby.” He looks at you.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out at first. Your throat feels tight, raw from everything you said, everything you didn’t mean to say but needed to.

You whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Steve shakes his head instantly. “No. Don’t apologize for telling me how you feel.”

“But I snapped at you,” you say. “I shouldnt have said things like that.”

“So did I,” he replies softly. “I should’ve listened. I shouldn’t have yelled. I shouldn’t have made you feel like you don’t belong on the team. Or like Nancy outshines you. That was never true.”

Your chest aches, the insecurity loosening but still fragile.

“I just… I hate feeling like second place,” you admit quietly.

Steve shifts closer across the seat, the cold air between you finally breaking. He looks at you like he’s memorizing every inch of your face  the frustration in your eyes, the hurt in your shoulders, the way your breath hitches just slightly when he leans in.

“You’re not second to anyone,” he says softly, but the words land with the weight of something he's been holding for far too long. “Not to Nancy. Not to anyone. You hear me?”

Your chest tightens, heat spreading under your skin.

Steve moves even closer, slow and intentional, until you can feel his warmth through your jacket. His voice drops to something rougher, something truer.

“You’re the one I think about,” he murmurs. “The one I worry about. The one I…” He swallows hard, eyes flicking to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your gaze again. “…the one I’m in love with.”

Your breath catches.

The car suddenly feels too small, too warm, too charged. His cologne- that soft cedar-and-mint mix wraps around you, familiar and dizzying. The faint chill of the winter air still clinging to his clothes makes the heat between you feel even sharper.

You don’t move.

Neither does he.

Steve’s fingers lift, just barely brushing your jaw, then tracing down to your chin like he’s asking a question without saying a word. You lean into the touch before you can stop yourself, your pulse pounding.

“Tell me you believe me,” he whispers, his forehead almost touching yours now. “Tell me you know I choose you. Every time.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You want him– want this.. more than you want to breathe.

His thumb strokes your chin, gentler now, eyes searching yours for permission.

You tilt your head up. A silent answer.

Steve lets out a shaky breath, one that sounds like relief and want tangled together. He leans in, closer, closer, until his nose just brushes yours, until you can feel the warmth of his breath ghost over your lips.

You swear your heart stops.

He whispers, voice wrecked and reverent, “Come here.”

His hands slide to your hips before you can even think, guiding you onto his lap in one fluid, desperate pull. The movement forces a breathy gasp out of you soft, startled, and embarrassingly needful. His fingers settle firmly at your waist, careful not to touch your wound, not rough, but claiming, grounding, like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he loosens even a little.

Your knees bracket his thighs, the car seat dipping beneath both of you. The warmth of him hits you instantly– radiating through your jacket, seeping into your skin, flooding every place you’ve felt cold all night. And then he kisses you.

It’s not gentle.

It’s relief breaking open. It’s fear bleeding out. It’s everything he’s been holding back.

Your hands slide up the front of his jacket, trembling, then dive into his hair. He groans into your mouth the second your fingers tighten, pulling you closer, crushing you against him like he needs you there– needs this to keep breathing.

His thumb strokes your waist, slow but possessive, while his other hand slips up your back, dragging you impossibly closer. Your lips move against his like you’re trying to drink him in, like you finally have permission to want him this much.

Every exhale mixes mint, cold air and the faint trace of his cologne– and it hits you all at once. The way he whispers your name between kisses, breath warm and shaky against your mouth. The way his heartbeat slams through his chest, syncing with yours like it’s trying to crawl into your skin.

Your breath stutters as he angles his mouth against yours, kissing you deeper, hungrier, like he’s making up for every second you two spent hurting instead of holding each other.

His hands slide up your sides, fingertips brushing under your jacket, and you melt– completely, helplessly. The car, the argument, the cold, everything disappears beneath the heat curling low in your stomach and the way Steve keeps kissing you like he never wants to stop.

His lips trail to your jaw, your pulse, then back to your mouth, and the sound you make is barely a whisper.

“Steve…”

He kisses the word right off your lips.

And then-

The walkie explodes to life between you, crackling loud and sharp:

“STEVE? Do you copy? We’ve got movement at the south field– repeat, movement at the south field!”

Steve doesn’t pull away at first. His eyes open slowly, dark and blown wide, staring at you like the universe personally wronged him.

Then he breaks the kiss with a sharp, frustrated exhale.

He drops his forehead against yours for half a second, jaw tightening, breath shaking with a very clear you’ve got to be kidding me kind of annoyance.

When he finally turns toward the walkie, he does it reluctantly– his hand still gripping your waist like he’s refusing to fully let you go.

His voice is rough, breathless, and undeniably irritated as he grabs the walkie.

“On it.” he mutters, glaring at the radio like it murdered him in a past life.

------------

(Thanks for reading guys and please give feedback !

[mistykayyy]

The concept of Jonathan Bailey yearning in as long as your mine I feel a fic loading

[mistykayyy]

Hey guys what should I write about next😍

[mistykayyy]

Liability - Clark Kent x Reader

Summary: You are fed up with Clark abandoning you. Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader Warning: Minors DNI!! Arguments, Making out, intimacy, Reader is insecure, Clark is a little ignorant. (I usually don't write fics so let me know how I did or if you have feedback!)

Being with Clark Kent felt like something that was too good to be true. You love him, but there's always something in the back of your mind

Insecurity.

 So you did what you do with things that are complicated, pushed it away.

His fingers felt heavenly against your scalp, melting your worries away with one simple gesture. While you were basking in his heedless habit he was smiling down at you as you lay on his chest, admiring how peaceful and dazed you looked scrolling on whatever was taking up your attention on your phone.

Some might call this perfect, comical even, the way that you two are in his apartment tangled up in his sheets, burning candles of some sort and, finally, the soft ambience of the city at night filling the air, after a long day at work.

Scrolling on your phone a news notification takes over your screen and you didn't have to look up to see Clark squinting hastingly reading the headlines before you sense a shift in his breathing, something so subtle yet, you have lived this very moment numerous times, you knew what was to come next.

The headline reads "League Responds to Alien Species Attacking Metropolis."

You knew it was selfish of you to want to keep your fiance here to yourself when the world could need him, but you couldn't help yourself. Clark has been in and out of this apartment for days. You can't remember the last time you had time to spend  with him, all you did was share him with the rest of the world. 

Tonight all you wanted was his undivided attention. 

Was that so hard to ask for?

You swiftly switched positions from the one you were in, now Clark was now halfway up, a sense of urgency in his face.

“Everything is going to be taken care of, the Justice gang got it covered.” You smile whispering against Clark's neck in an attempt to reassure your panicking Fiance.

While Clark was still visibly tense, you were now peppering kisses along his collarbone to get him to loosen up a little.

The man of steel caved at the feeling of your lips on his bare skin, he tried to distract himself, remind himself that he needed to be out there helping the others. “Honey, I know they ‘got it’, but what if they need hel-”  Clark swallowed a sigh as he felt your lips attacking a “specific” spot on his neck.

“Mm? , did you say something?” you grinned against the side of his neck now, licking the sensitive area.

“H-hon-” you could feel his thoughts going elsewhere. Deep down you knew it was selfish, but how could you feel selfish when the world gets so much of him?

You continued to attack that same spot because you knew it would distract him from whatever he was thinking about. 

Good. Keep him a mess until he forgets he “needs” to leave.

The man of steel then slid his hands under the familiar worn out t-shirt from his highschool that you were now wearing, lowering his hands to grip your waist as his lips searched for your own.

Clark then peppered sweet kisses to your lips, he smiled into the kiss as you deepened it, the sight of his dimples making your stomach flutter.

“Sweethear-” You cut him off with a kiss. “Hon-” Kiss. “Baby” He began to laugh against your lips, not being able to catch up with your eagerness.

You were now looming over him, admiring his dazed flushed face, swollen lips and tousled hair, proud of your work, you’ve kissed him silly.

“I’m really sorry, but I really do have to go.” He cupped your face in his palm.

The mood was officially ruined.

“You don’t have to..just say that you want to go.” You shifted, a little hesitant at first but irritated none the less.

“Baby, that's not fair. You know I have to make sure the city is safe.” Clark's eyebrows furrowed, searching your face for a response.

A slightly uncomfortable silence accompanying a rise of tension filled the air.

“What..?” Clark sat up, breaking the silence not satisfied with your reaction.

“Nothing.” You said, leaving his lap to go reach for your phone.

“It’s not nothing, you clearly look upset,” he replied.

All that could be heard was a faint noise coming from your phone, as his words lingered in the air.

“Hey..” he called out. No response. “Y/n.” 

You looked up from your phone, unamused.

“Yes?”

“Are we doing this again?” Clark now adjusted his position, seemingly a little more intimidating You looked back down at your phone.

 “Doing what?”, you asked the rhetorical question. 

This irritated Clark even more.“C’mon Y/N, You know what I'm talking about.”

Sounds from your phone continued playing 

“The city needs you, what are you waiting for?” You retorted, standing up and making your way out of the room.

Clark didn't hesitate, trailing after you, watching as you silently took ingredients out of the cabinets. He could sense you were clearly frustrated, but he hated not communicating.

“Y/N, you know that the people need me, and I can't just abandon them.” Clark tried to reason with you.

“Clark, I’m not begging you to stay.” You began to cut vegetables, dismissing him.

It felt shitty, always being second to everything, all you wanted to be was selfish for one day, you knew he was busy with a lot on his plate.

The Daily Planet, Superman, hell even Lois saw him more than you, not that you were jealous of her.

Definitely not jealous about how close their relationship is, or how Clark would drop everything to help her on a case, and especially not jealous that she knew his secret identity, even though it took months for him to tell you.

Clark just stared at you for what felt like forever, noticing how your eyebrows began to furrow. A mix of confusion and frustration creeped up inside him.

“Why are you blatantly lying to me right now?” He ran his fingers through his hair, his face now scrunched up in confusion.

You finally set the knife down from cutting the vegetables, now looking up at your fiance, tired.

“Clark. What do you want me to say to you, do you want me to tell you to choose me?, do you want me to tell you that I'm tired of being your last option for everything?”

“Y/n, you're the most important thing in my life, but I have a job. I have to protect Metropolis, you're being silly!” he let out a dry laugh.

“Silly?” you scoff.

“Honey-” He tried to reason with you. The shrill ring cut through the air, sharp as the tension between you, making you both jump. 

you sigh, rubbing your temples as the ringtone blared on. A bitter laugh slipped out. “Wow. Guess I’ll wait my turn. Your phone clearly comes first.”

You  turned away, walking back to the table. The knife scraped against the cutting board as you picked up where you’d left off, each chop landing harder than the last.

He shot you a quick glance before lifting the phone.

“Hey, this really isn’t a good time.”

A pause.

You watched his face change, watched his shoulders tense and his jaw lock. That look, the one where his attention shifted somewhere else entirely. You’d seen it enough times to recognize it instantly. You didn’t need to hear the voice on the other end to know.

Lois.

Your stomach sank, the realization hitting you like a bag of bricks. The way his brow furrowed, the way he leaned forward slightly, the way his tone softened even in irritation, it was her. Always her.

His expression hardened, voice clipped. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose, masking the sting in your chest with a bitter laugh. Of course you will. You’ll always be there.

You  froze mid-chop. “I’m your fiancée,” you said quietly, your voice trembling but sharp.

“Why do I have to beg to be with you?”

He lowered the phone slowly. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” You spun to face him, knife still in hand.

“Lois calls, and you run. I call, and you’re never here.”

His eyes widened, taken aback. “Lois? What does she have to do with this?”

You laughed bitterly. “I’m not stupid Clark. She says jump, and you’re already in the sky. I can’t even get you to sit down for dinner.”

He shook his head, confusion flickering into frustration. “That’s not fair you’re twisting this.”

“It’s the truth!” You snapped, slamming the knife against the board. “You’re always at her beck and call and everyone else's, but never at mine!”

His jaw tightened. “Because lives are at stake, not because–”

“I don’t care!” she shouted, chopping furiously again. “I’m done feeling like the other woman in my own life”

Your words broke into a sharp gasp as the knife slipped, slicing your finger. Blood welled instantly. You winced, clutching your hand to your chest. The knife clattered to the floor.

He dropped the phone. “Y/N!” he shouted, rushing to your side. “You’re bleeding- let me see.”

His voice was tight, half worry, half anger. “You have to be more careful!”

You turned away, cradling your hand. “I can handle it-”

“No, you can’t,” he snapped, reaching for your hand. “You’re hurt. Stop being stubborn.”

You  jerked back, trying to push him away with your shoulder. “Don’t act like you care now. Go answer Lois. Go save the world.”

His jaw clenched, frustration flashing in his eyes as he grabbed a towel anyway, pressing it toward your bleeding hand.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. His hands stayed firm against the towel at your cut, but your chest ached far worse than your hand. Then the words slipped out before you could stop them, soft, cracked.

“I don't think this is working, Clark…” Your voice trembled, your eyes swimming. “I can’t keep begging for scraps of you. I don’t even know if I’m what you want anymore.”

The words nearly destroyed you as they left your lips. Tears spilled over as you watched the love of your life before you, because even imagining giving him up felt like ripping your heart from your chest. But the ache of being invisible…of never being chosen first…was unbearable.

Clark went still, His throat worked, his jaw clenched, and when he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, raw. “You’re enough,” he whispered desperately. “Baby, you’re more than enough. You’re the only thing in this world that keeps me going.”

His hands trembled as he held the towel against your bleeding finger, and you watched his composure unravel. “I just-” he broke off, shutting his eyes tight before forcing the words out. “I don’t know how to stop every danger before it gets to you. I don’t know how to keep you safe. And the thought of losing you-” his voice cracked, breaking completely, “I couldn’t survive that. And look, I couldn’t even protect you from this.”

“Clark..” You couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

Then the towel slipped from his grasp. His large, calloused hands came up to cradle your face instead, thumbs brushing at your tears as his own fell freely. “If you walk away… if you leave me…” His voice shook.

And before you could speak, Clark dropped to his knees in front of you. The Man of Steel, the strongest man alive, kneeling in desperation. His forehead pressed to your stomach as his shoulders shook violently, his arms clinging to you like a drowning man begging not to be pulled under.

When he finally looked up, his blue eyes were filled with anguish.

You helped your fiancé up from his knees. He stayed close, his hands still gripping yours like a lifeline.

 “You’re not behind Lois. You’re not behind the world. You are the reason I keep fighting. Please… please don’t leave me. I’ll spend every breath I have proving it if that’s what it takes.”

His lips brushed across your skin in frantic, reverent apologies. Your brow. “I’m sorry.” Your wet cheeks. “I’m sorry.” The bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry.” And finally your lips, his kiss trembling, desperate, tasting of salt and regret.

“I love you,” he whispered against your mouth, forehead resting on yours, his chest heaving as tears slid down his face. “More than the sky, more than the earth, more than anything I’ve ever known. Please… don’t ever doubt that again. Don’t ever doubt you.”

Your own tears blurred his face, and your hands shook as you cupped his cheeks. Because even after all the hurt, the thought of letting him go destroyed you more than anything else ever could.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t want to leave you. I love you, and I know you want to help. I understand you’re scared.” Your breath shook as you tried to hold yourself together. “But I can’t bear being alone anymore. You’re never here.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was heavy with everything unsaid. Then Clark reached out, slow and unsure, his fingers brushing the edge of your hand before curling around it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking on the words. “I thought I was protecting everyone, but all I did was push you away..”

You closed your eyes, a quiet sob catching in your throat. “I just needed you,” you whispered.

“I know.” His thumb traced circles over your knuckles, a silent plea for another chance. “I’m here now, I want to learn how to fix us. I want to fix it now.”

You looked up at him then really looked and saw the exhaustion behind his eyes, the sincerity, the fear. It wasn't just Superman, it was Clark Kent, the man you fell in love with.

Your hand found his chest, feeling the steady thrum beneath your palm. “Then stay,” you said quietly. “Just… stay.”

He nodded, then cradling your head to his chest as he continuously kissed the top of your head and mumbled to himself, still afraid of almost losing you. The world outside faded until there was only his breath, his warmth, and the faint tremor of his voice.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

And when his lips met yours, it wasn’t desperate like before. It was slow, searching, a promise made in the quiet. The kind that didn’t erase the pain, but softened it enough to breathe again.