Have you seen those videos of people wearing clothes from the 40s/50s out in public??
What would Bucky do if he’s out one day and sees a fine thang walk by in 1940s attire?
Love you long time! You the bestestestest! 💕
OH MY GOD YESSSS!
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You don’t think much of it when you get dressed.
It’s just a dress. A pretty one, sure—soft fabric that cinches your waist just right, skirt flaring gently when you turn, the kind of silhouette that feels like it belongs to another time. You’d found it tucked into the back of a vintage shop, all delicate seams and careful tailoring, something that looks like it’s lived a life before you ever slipped it on.
You pair it with low heels, swipe on a little lipstick—nothing dramatic, just enough—and twist your hair up in a way you’d seen in an old photo once.
You feel… good.
That’s all it is.
---
Bucky notices you before he realizes why.
He’s halfway down the street, mind somewhere else entirely—groceries in one hand, the steady hum of the city grounding him in the present—when something pulls his attention like a thread snagging.
It’s not logical. Not at first.
Just a flicker of movement. The sway of fabric. The unmistakable silhouette of something—
Familiar.
His steps slow. His head turns. And then he sees you. But he doesn't just see you, he stares.
Because for one disorienting, breath-stealing second, the world tilts.
The city noise fades. The cars, the chatter, the glow of modern life—all of it dulls into the background as his brain scrambles to reconcile what he’s looking at.
You walk past him like you belong somewhere else entirely.
Like you stepped out of a memory he didn’t realize he still carried so vividly.
The dress. The shoes. The way your hair is pinned just so. Even the way you move—there’s a softness to it, a rhythm that feels pulled straight from the 40s, like something he used to see on crowded sidewalks in Brooklyn, back when everything smelled like cigarette smoke and fresh bread and possibility.
And you—
God, you.
You’re smiling to yourself about something, completely unaware of the effect you’re having, completely unaware that you’ve just knocked the air out of a hundred-year-old soldier.
Bucky stops walking entirely.
He just stands there.
Staring.
Because you look like something he lost.
And something he never thought he’d get to see again.
And also—very abruptly, very viscerally—like the most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath.
You don’t hear him.
You keep walking.
And that’s what snaps him out of it.
Because no—no, absolutely not, he is not letting you just walk away like that.
He pivots on his heel so fast he nearly drops his groceries.
“Hey—!”
It comes out rougher than he intends. Louder, too.
You turn.
And that’s it.
That’s the moment everything fully clicks into place, because now he can see your face clearly—modern, present, undeniably you—paired with something that looks like it belongs in his past.
It hits him right in the chest.
Hard.
You blink at him, a little surprised, but not alarmed.
“Yeah?”
Your voice is normal. Casual. Grounding.
It helps.
A little.
Bucky drags a hand through his hair, trying to pull himself together, but he’s still looking at you like you’ve just walked out of a time machine.
“Uh—” he starts, then stops.
Great. Smooth.
You tilt your head slightly, the motion making the soft curls near your temple shift just enough to make his brain short-circuit again.
He exhales sharply through his nose.
“Where’d you get that?” he blurts out.
Your eyes flick down to your dress, then back up to him, amused.
“This?” you ask. “Vintage shop.”
Of course.
Of course it is.
He lets out a quiet huff of disbelief, shaking his head a little like he’s trying to clear it.
“You—” he gestures vaguely at you, like words are failing him completely. “You look like—”
He cuts himself off.
Because what was he going to say?
You look like every girl I ever noticed in 1943?
You look like something I used to dream about and never thought I’d see again?
You look like you don’t belong here and I don’t know how to deal with that?
Instead, he settles on something far less coherent.
“—you look incredible,” he finishes, a little quieter.
You blink.
Then smile.
And it’s not a shy smile, not really—it’s pleased. Warm. A little teasing, even.
“Thank you,” you say. “That was a lot of buildup for a simple compliment.”
His mouth twitches despite himself.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, shifting his weight. “Kinda threw me off.”
“I can tell.”
There’s something about the way you say it—llike you’re trying to figure him out—that makes him straighten slightly.
Because now he’s noticing other things.
The way you’re looking at him.
The way you haven’t brushed him off or hurried away.
The way you’re still here.
And suddenly, the disorientation gives way to something else entirely.
Interest.
“Didn’t mean to yell at you on the street,” he adds, a little more composed now. “Just—haven’t seen that in a while.”
You hum softly.
“I figured,” you say. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, low and surprised.
“Felt like it,” he admits.
There’s a beat of silence before you shift your weight, the skirt of your dress swaying gently with the movement, and he definitely notices that.
“So,” you say, glancing at the bag in his hand. “Did I interrupt something, or—?”
He looks down at his groveries like he forgot they existed.
Then back at you.
And makes a decision.
Fast.
“Nah,” he says, easy. “Can wait.”
Your brow lifts slightly.
“Groceries can wait?”
“For this?” he shrugs. “Yeah.”
Your lips press together like you’re trying not to smile too much.
“Bold.”
“Honest,” he corrects.
Another pause.
Then, softer, more intetional—
“Walk with me?”
He doesn’t know why he asks it like that.
Doesn’t know why it feels important.
Maybe it’s the dress. Maybe it’s the way you feel like something out of time. Maybe it’s the fact that, for the first time in a long time, something from his past doesn’t hurt to look at.
You glance down the street, then back at him.
“Okay,” you say.
Just like that.
Simple.
Easy.
When you fall into step beside him, your shoulder brushing his for half a second, Bucky realizes something quietly, steadily, and with surprising certainty.
You don’t look like the past.
Not really.
You just make him feel like maybe it wasn’t all lost.
Summary: Nancy is sick of Steve's crush on her— and she's about to confront him over it when she realizes that maybe she's misunderstood the real reason he's acting weird recently.
Warnings: Use of Y/N, Fluff, Cursing, Minor Miscommunication
Word Count: 2K
Masterlist
Nancy is going to give Steve a piece of her mind.
He’s been acting so goddamn weird lately— honestly, she thought they were past this! Yes, they had a good thing, but the keyword was had, it was a thing of the past. Nancy thought she had been pretty clear about her solely platonic feelings for Steve, but he clearly wasn’t getting the message. Every time they spoke he’d clam up and act all awkward, evading her gaze and practically stumbling over his words. Somehow, his stupid crush on her had evidently prevailed.
So, she set her sights on cornering him after today’s crawl, when he dropped off the keys to the WSQK van. It takes her a second to find him, he’d run off the second he arrived at the station again, but eventually she hears his voice from inside one of the storage closets.
Huh?
“How was it today?”
The other voice, she quickly realizes, is Y/N. Though Nancy confirms this by peering around the edge of the doorway to see the two of them. Y/N had stayed behind from today’s crawl, instead opting to sort through the rather large shipment Murray had brought earlier that day. A small clipboard is in her hand, a pencil in the other as her gaze flicks back and forth between the shelves and the inventory sheet that had been carefully curated in the past few months of quarantine.
“Fine.” Steve responds, hand coming to rest on the top of the shelf as he gazes down at her. The type of thing he does to seem cool, Nancy is pretty familiar with the move herself. The action gives Y/N a reason to pause, she looks up at him. “Nothing of interest.” Steve adds, feeling almost scrutinized under the girl’s gaze as he swallows nervously.
Y/N only hums, gaze returning to her inventory sheet, an air of nonchalance she doesn’t often wear, the type that seems almost unnatural and forced. “Well, I’m glad you made it back alright.” The words are sincere yet stiff, maybe a bit awkward. Bashful might be the better term by the way she avoids Steve’s gaze.
Nancy blinks at the sight, once, twice. Trying to discern what it all means. She’s seen the two of them interact before, they’d all gone to high school together after all. For the past few months, he and Y/N had been working nights at WSQK to keep the midnight radio station going. Sure, they’d gotten closer, but Nancy had never thought it was anything more than two good friends.
Until now, that is.
Steve nods absently, leaning a little closer. Close enough that it borders on something a bit more than friendly as his head just barely ducks down in a subtle effort to be closer to Y/N. It makes Y/N pause again, looking up at him. Nancy can see the way her gaze flits to his lips for just a moment and—
Holy shit, are they flirting? Or, more accurately, failing at flirting? The tension between them is easily explained by some sort of awkward pining now that Nancy thinks about it.
“Steve.” The way Y/N speaks is almost in warning, back of her pen coming to his chest to gently push him away. “I told you—”
Instantly he’s shaking his head. His hand came to gently wrap around her wrist. “I know.” He acquiesces. “And I told you that you’ve got the wrong idea.” His voice is soft, almost pleading as his gaze darts over her face.
See, Nancy had it all wrong. Steve’s odd behavior and awkwardness had nothing to do with a crush on her, it had everything to do with his stupid crush on Y/N. Because after confessing to the girl, she had instantaneously shot him down.
“Everyone knows you’re still in love with Nancy.”
The words had been haunting him ever since. And Steve had made it his personal mission to prove her wrong. He wasn’t still in love with Nancy. Yes, there was a point in his life where he loved her deeply, but that felt so far away now. Nancy had moved on with Jonathan, and maybe Steve had been vying for her affection at some point, but he wasn’t stupid. Nancy didn’t want him anymore. After a bit of sulking and wallowing, he’d realized there were better things to do with his time.
Y/N wasn’t a rebound. She was, admittedly, an accident. Though Steve had been going on dates left and right, he hadn’t been looking for love per se, he’d been looking for some form of validation. Proof that he could be loved at all. With each failed date, the blows to his pride only grew. The dry spell was neverending, and eventually he’d all but given up. Perhaps Steve Harrington really was unlovable, meant to die alone.
She was around a lot. And with proximity comes talking, and with talking comes knowing. Steve has found that there is nothing more intimate than knowing. To know someone like the back of your own hand, it brings a warm feeling to his chest and a word he’s a bit scared to say to his mind. Because he knew her, he’d memorized the curves in her handwriting on that god forsaken inventory sheet, the glee of her laugh, the furrow of her brows when she was confused. He knew.
Worse, she knew. It was the little things, the way she arrived for the 6PM shift with an extra cup of coffee made to his taste. Or how she’d always started the late night radio off with one of his favorite songs. Even the way she knew his movements as they navigated the all too small radio booth. She knew who he was and she was still his friend. A fact that made Steve think, even if only for a moment, that maybe he is not unlovable.
Eventually he didn’t just know: he wanted, he yearned.
With each late night shift together, the desire to be closer, to know more only intensified. The simple routine they’d fallen into was something he relished in. The banter, the type of flirting that is hardly there. Or at least, he had thought it was flirting. Robin had too, having grown tired of Steve’s lengthy rants on their interactions. Up until he’d been dropping Y/N off at home and just confessed. Hearing her say no because she was under the impression he still wanted Nancy hurt. So, he simply had to show her how wrong she was.
“I don’t like Nancy anymore.” The words are insistent, maybe a bit desperate. Because he needs her to believe him, he really does. The mere thought that this was the only reason he’d been rejected physically pains him. She could be his if they just cleared this up and moved on!
Nancy suddenly feels like she’s intruding, quickly realizing that Steve hadn’t been treating her oddly because he had feelings for her. But rather, because he’d been trying to prove he didn’t have feelings for her.
Y/N clears her throat, pursing her lips and looking up at him. “Steve—”
He shakes his head again, giving her wrist a gentle squeeze. “Y’know, I’ve been avoiding her like the plague for the past two weeks.” Steve explains, gaze flickering over her face in search of some sort of approval. Avoiding Nancy was an easy solution, people would stop talking about his non-existent feelings for her. “Hardly even a conversation.” He breathes out.
“I didn’t ask you to do that.” She responds softly, brows furrowing a bit. “And I doubt Nancy will take too kindly to that.”
Steve laughs, “I don’t care.” A pause. “I mean— I do. I don’t wanna be rude but I—” He sighs, “I don’t care about Nancy like that, that’s what I need you to understand.” Yes, Nancy was his friend, a good friend. But now, that’s all there was to it.
She sighs, gently tugging her wrist free from his hold. She puts down the clipboard and pen before returning her attention to him. “Steve.” She talks with her hands, he knows that. It’s one of the many things he knows about her, it's probably why she put those things down first. Because now he’s watching her gesture a bit wildly with her hands, starting some rant that he’s not entirely paying attention to.
“Do you like me?” He cuts her off, it’s a simple question after all. One that has her pausing, blinking up at him, surprised and confused.
“Do I…” Her face warms as she registers the question, and she looks away with a huff. “That’s not what this is about.”
“That’s the only thing this is about.” Steve responds, “cause I really like you. A lot. Like, way too much. It’s embarrassing if I’m honest.” He brings a hand to hover over her face, hesitant for a moment before cupping her cheek. “It’s not about Nancy at all. Or about what everyone thinks I feel. It’s about you and me. That’s it.” He says softly.
She swallows, suddenly feeling nervous. Her gaze goes down, trying to avoid eye contact. Though his hand slides to her jaw, gently tipping it back up to make her meet his gaze. She looks up at him through her lashes, eyes flicking over his face. When she frowns a bit, his free hand comes to smooth the crease between her brows. “Everyone says you still like her.” She repeats quietly.
“But do you like me?” He asks again, leaning forwards to rest his forehead against hers. “Do you?” He somehow sounds both shy and eager, looking for clues on her face.
He really wants her to say yes. If nothing else, he just wants to try. He’ll kick himself for the rest of his life if they don’t at least try. It doesn’t have to be anything more than a single date, but Steve just needs a chance.
She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and his gaze drops down to her lips at the sight of it. Oh god, she’s killing him. His thumb gently swipes over her bottom lip, tugging it free from between her teeth.
“I— I do.” She breathes out, hesitant. “But Steve—”
He’s already beaming, a dimpled smile on his face as both his hands cup her cheeks. A breathy laugh escapes him as he leans forward to nudge his nose against hers. “You do?” It’s endearing, how excited he sounds. “I like you too.” He repeats it, and she thinks she’s heard it a million times from him now but it still has the same effect. Her heart pounding a bit harder in her chest. “Like a lot.”
“I’m starting to think you don’t listen to the words I say.” She mumbles, a bit shy from the proximity.
Steve scoffs, nosing at her cheek now, she breathes out a little laugh. “I listen to everything you say.” He responds, almost offended she had even suggested otherwise. “Everything. All the time. I love your voice.”
A giggle escapes Y/N this time, though it’s quickly silenced when he pulls back to look at her, thumb smoothing over her cheek. “Hi.” Is all she can manage, and it has him laughing as well.
“Hi.” He murmurs back quietly.
It’s soft— he’s soft. Hushed whispers and laughs between the two even if things aren’t entirely resolved quite yet. Steve has always been a loverboy, but seeing him now, Nancy can’t help but feel a bit surprised. He’s gentle in a way she’d never really seen before. She finds herself stepping away from the small crack in the door, her own morbid curiosity is beat by the overwhelming feeling she’s invading on something deeply intimate.
Well, at least she didn’t have to yell at anyone today.
Note: laugh out loud!
feel free to tip ☕️ — always appreciated, never expected 💛
A thought came to me and I would like to share it with you. It’s angsty but with happy ending (depends on how you weave your story really)
How about an AU where Bucky married reader for convenience? Probably a mafia AU or a Bucky CEO AU! Every one whispers that Bucky married her to show his ex that he could do better and reader happened to come from thay powerful family that can be added to his resources. He slowly falls in love when reader got pregnant but she had already accepted the fact that her place in Bucky’s life was arranged. She won’t ask for anything other than what Bucky gives her and she thinks that he is such a good husband because, like her, he knows his role well. She avoids anything that would compare her to his ex but people finds anything to fault her with and she gracefully ignores them and simply do her best to aid Bucky.
I’m a sucker for one-sided but not actually one-sided love stories. And those she fell hard but he fell harder stories.
Thank you! Hope fantastic days awaits you!
The headlines had called it a strategic union.
James Buchanan Barnes, CEO darling of the financial world, married into old money only six months after his very public breakup with his longtime girlfriend. The whispers followed you everywhere—at galas, in boardrooms adjacent to the ones you were never meant to sit in, even in the careful smiles of people who kissed your cheek and congratulated you through clenched teeth.
He married her to prove he could do better.
She was convenient.
Powerful family. Clean reputation. Pretty enough not to embarrass him.
You learned early on that correcting them wouldn’t change a thing.
So you didn’t.
You learned your role the same way you learned everything else in your life—by observing, adapting, and never asking for more than was offered. You learned when to walk half a step behind Bucky, when to reach for his hand so cameras caught it just right, when to excuse yourself so he could talk business uninterrupted.
You were good at it. Too good.
Bucky was good too. Impeccably so.
He never raised his voice. Never humiliated you. He remembered your preferences—how you took your coffee, which charities mattered to you, the way you liked quiet evenings instead of loud parties. He made sure your schedule was protected, that staff treated you with respect, that you never wanted for anything materially.
He played the role of husband flawlessly.
And so you told yourself that was all it was.
When you found out you were pregnant, you didn’t cry. You sat on the edge of the marble bathtub, the test resting on the counter like a sealed verdict, and breathed through it. Children happened in marriages like this—heirs, legacies, proof of stability. You knew that. You had always known.
When you told Bucky, he froze.
Just for a second. Just long enough for you to catalog it away as something you weren’t meant to touch.
Then he nodded, slow and deliberate. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll take care of everything.”
We. Not I love you. Not how do you feel. Just we’ll take care of it.
And you smiled, because that was what you did best.
Pregnancy softened you in ways you hadn’t expected. You tired more easily. You stopped attending certain events, let yourself be absent without guilt. People noticed, of course. They always noticed.
They commented on your clothes, your posture, your lack of sparkle. Compared you—quietly or not—to her. The ex who had been sharp and dazzling and never seemed to fade under scrutiny.
You never rose to it.
You attended what mattered. You supported Bucky. You built a nursery in muted tones, never assuming he’d want to be involved, quietly grateful when he lingered in the doorway longer than necessary.
And Bucky… changed.
At first it was small things. He stopped scheduling late meetings on nights you felt unwell. He learned the sound of your breathing when you couldn’t sleep and started waking too. He brought you water without being asked, his hand resting briefly—carefully—on your lower back, as if touching you was a privilege he hadn’t earned yet.
He started looking at you like you were real.
Like you weren’t an arrangement.
You noticed the change, but you never reached for it. You had learned the danger of hoping for more than what was offered.
So when Bucky finally broke, it startled both of you.
It happened after a charity dinner, one where someone had laughed too loudly and said, “Well, at least James upgraded.” You had smiled, gracious as ever, even as something hollowed out behind your ribs.
Later that night, you stood at the window of the penthouse, city lights blurring through unshed tears. You didn’t hear him approach.
“I didn’t marry you for her.”
His voice was rough. Strained. Nothing like the smooth executive tone he wore like armor.
You didn’t turn around. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”
“I do,” he said. “Because I think I’m losing my mind.”
That got you. Slowly, you faced him.
“I thought I knew what this was,” Bucky continued. “I thought I understood the rules. But somewhere along the way, you stopped being convenient and started being… everything.”
You said nothing. You were afraid if you spoke, the careful balance you’d built would collapse.
“I wake up thinking about you,” he admitted. “I worry when you don’t eat enough. I imagine holding our child and I—” His voice broke. “I don’t know when I fell. I just know it was hard. And it was deep. And it scares the hell out of me.”
Silence stretched between you, fragile and trembling.
“You don’t have to feel obligated,” you whispered finally. “I never expected—”
Bucky crossed the room in three strides and dropped to his knees in front of you, hands trembling as he cupped your face. “I’m not obligated,” he said fiercely. “I’m in love with you.”
You cried then. Quietly. Finally. Years of restraint cracking open as he pressed his forehead to yours, holding you like something precious, something chosen.
“I fell harder,” he murmured. “You just fell first.”
And for the first time since the headlines, since the whispers, since the arrangement—you let yourself believe that love didn’t have to be earned by silence.
when steve harrington first heard of the extremely smart girl dustin and robin thought was next to god, he knew you were special. and he was more than intrigued.
for dustin henderson to say anyone was smart, let alone smarter than him, that is something that must be taken seriously.
steve genuinely thought he was having a stroke when dustin told him about you at family video.
“i’m telling you, steve! she’s smart, and so pretty it’s unfair she’s your age” dustin says with admiration evident in his tone, fiddling with the star wars tapes he has in his hands for the boy’s movie night. “she’s been helping us out with all my stupid questions”.
“and you’re saying she lives in hawkins, and i haven't seen her?” steve questions, moving around his desk fluidly, rewinding tapes with a frown and putting the correct tapes in the right cases.
dustin nods enthusiastically, “she can be a little quiet, and then you get to know her and she’s extremely feisty, it’s hot” dustin winks exaggeratingly.
steve narrows his eyes at the young boy, “ah..don’t do that” he says with a look of grimace on his face.
“so can i set you up?” dustin says hopefully, steve shakes his head immediately, “dustin, i can get girls on my own, okay?” he says confidently, adjusting his posture to stand up straighter, more confident.
dustin laughs, that type of laugh where you feel left out if you don't hear the joke. “what’s so funny, henderson?” steve grumbles.
“nothing man, it’s just been a while since i’ve seen you land a successful date, unless the ladies are flocking to you in secret” he says cheekily, “ha ha, get out” steve says simply, sliding the tapes to dustin angrily, ushering him off with a dismissive hand. the tapes left on the counter.
“what was that about?” robin smirks, steve groans dramatically, “he’s telling me about this girl he wants me to be with”
robin’s eyebrows raise, “oh? do i know the unlucky lady?” steve gives her a glare, “y/n” he can’t help but think the name sounds so pretty rolling off his tongue.
robin’s eyes widen a little, a pleasant smile on her face, “oh, dingus, she’s way too good for you” robin breathes out, a sympathetic pat on her friend’s shoulder.
“why do i not know this girl?” he rakes through his memory, the name sounds familiar but he can’t place your face. then again, he was a really big dick in high school sometimes.
“well she really cared about her studies, i know that. she is also so fucking pretty, man, like better than anyone you’re thinking and she’s super smart” she grins, “she didn’t really do the social events cause she was focused on the books.” steve nods, trying to place a memory.
and almost like a fucking sitcom, in walks a mysterious girl being dragged through the door with a cheeky dustin henderson.
steve and robin lift their gazes up to the sound of the bell attached to the door, steve’s mouth ran dry. he is fucked.
“dustin, i told you i’m on the way to work” you call out to the younger boy you’ve grown fond of. “come on, y/n, this won’t take long,” dustin gleams, dragging you further into the family video.
steve can genuinely feel himself freeze, how the fuck had he not seen easily the most beautiful girl in hawkins till now?
“henderson! you’re back” robin greets brightly, tapping the top of his hat teasingly, “yeah yeah, do you know, y/n?” dustin looks up at you beside him.
you're looking at the scene in front of you, a cheeky smile on both robin and dustin’s faces, and steve looking a little pale.
you smile at them kindly, “hey guys, how are you?” robin returns your smile “we’re great, right harrington?” she bumps his shoulder, steve snaps back to reality.
“uh, yeah, good thanks, how are you?” he stumbles, you nod smiling sheepishly, god this was awkward.
“so, y/n, what are you doing at the moment?” robin tries to ease the situation, “oh! well i’m currently a medical student so i just do some research assisting in the hospital and help out when they need me”
you feel so embarrassed for some reason, you’ve always had a little thing for steve, he’s gorgeous, you couldn’t help it. and you thought when you graduated, it would dissipate but you were so utterly fucked.
steve gives you an impressed smile, admiration tickling at his lips as he looked at you. he takes in your appearance, your scrubs making you look like a model in his eyes.
“that’s really cool” he feels himself ushering out, he wasn't even aware the words had left his mouth until you looked at him, really looking at him, that gentle pink tinge on both of your cheeks.
“thank you” you say softly, robin whistles, “god, y/n, i remember you being really smart but holy shit, dude, you’re a doctor” she says with genuine interest.
dustin looks at steve with that ‘i told you so’ look, and he hated when that little fucker was right.
“i’m not a doctor yet” you roll your eyes jokingly, feeling a little more comfortable in the situation. “you’re as good as a doctor to me” dustin nods, arms crossing over his chest like he was some proud dad.
“so you go to school around here?” steve says, feeling a little braver, you look at him surprised, feeling yourself accidentally forget to answer, dustin giving you a gentle nudge.
“oh, sorry!” you chuckle, the sound music to steve’s ears, “yeah, i go to the college in town and i work at the hospital” steve smiles at you, “that’s really great, y/n” he says earnestly and it makes your heart swell.
“thank you, seriously” you fiddle with the ends of your scrub top, “so you guys work here together?” you ask, steve and robin both nod at you.
“yes, doctor, we do” robin says cheekily, you all share a laugh. “that’s actually really fun” you smile, a real one. dustin and robin look between you and steve, this looks promising.
steve swallows, adam’s apple bobbing in the process.
this is the first time someone from his high school comes into the video store without making him feel embarrassed.
the first person that’s come in and hasn’t made him feel like a complete loser for working at a video store instead of going to college.
“yeah, you should come in more often, y/n, steve is really good with recommendations” dustin grins at the older boy, winking at him.
steve’s eyes darken at his words, looking like he’s about to pounce over the table. “for sure” you grin at dustin, nudging his side with your arm.
steve’s gaze focuses on you, only you and it's driving you crazy. “oh uh, yeah anytime” you feel your breath catching in your throat, you need to do anything to avoid his gaze right now.
you look down at watch, gasping. “fuck! i’m so sorry, this is so rude of me but i really have to go” your eyebrows furrow in worry, clutching at your bag. steve looks disappointed.
“no no, go save lives, doctor” robin salutes you teasingly, “research assistant, buckley” you sigh, shaking your head with a smile.
“it was so good to see you guys, i’m sure i’ll see you guys around” you wave at steve and robin, they both smile at you, “bye, dusty” you pinch his cheek softly, grinning at him as you move past.
“bye” steve calls out, you turn back when you reach the door, “see you” you wave again and steve’s hand lifts quickly to return the gesture. you rush out the door, borderline running to work. your cheeks are burning, you’re sure of it. you're so grateful for the cold crisp outside.
“bye” robin mocks his voice when she sees you leave, dustin follows suit making kissy faces at him. “i hate both of you”
–
the minute steve harrington got home from work, he rushed up the steps to his room, reaching under his bed to retrieve his high school memorabilia.
he immediately got his hands on his yearbooks, flipping through the pages quickly until he saw your photo, his inhales sharply, his finger gently tracing over your photo.
“jesus..” he murmurs, you are so fucking beautiful his heart couldn’t take it. he curses himself for being so wrapped up in his dickhead ways. his head is full of thoughts by you.
he wishes he knew you sooner.
he’s determined to know you now.
–
it’s been about a week since steve had seen you, and he feels like an idiot for missing you.
he can’t admit how much he’s been thinking about you.
your gentle yet intriguing aura.
the way your smile curls on your lips.
the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed.
he was truly fucked and he didn’t know what to do.
all of the kids, and the babysitter teens noticed the difference in steve, the way he would daze between conversations, the gentle blush on his cheeks evident when it would be pointed out.
you were just coming off your shift at the hospital, heavy steps following you after a long day. and like clockwork, you ran into dustin henderson.
“y/n, what a small world!” he greets, you grin at him, “smallest world ever, dustin” you match his energy, bumping the fist he raised to you with your own.
“hey, i’m going to the video store, did you wanna come with me?” dustin proposes, you look at him a little surprised, stuttering with your words, the video easy meant steve. “uh, i don’t know, dustin” you scratch your arm, looking at him with a nervous expression.
“come on, please! it’ll be super quick, it’s friday and i wanna watch a movie and don’t wanna go in by myself ” he pleads, giving you those signature puppy dog eyes that unfortunately, always gets you.
“okay fine” you huff, walking in step with him. you pull out a little compact mirror from your bag, quickly checking your appearance. dustin gives you a shit eating grin.
“trust me, you look great” you give him a plain faced look, ‘shut up, henderson, hurry up and walk” you shove the mirror into your bag, though secretly hoping steve would think the same about your appearance as dustin said.
the jingle of the bell had both steve and robin groaning, friday was always their busiest day, especially at this time. that groan quickly disappeared when they saw who walked through the door.
“hey, bitches!” dustin basically yells, you wince at the volume suddenly feeling immensely embarrassed, why on earth were you here?
robin laughs, “hey, bitches!” she copies, making you chuckle lightly, letting dustin drag you by the arm up to the desk.
despite the laughter, robin receives a little slap on the arm from steve, “don’t call her a bitch” he hissed under his breath. robin gives him the cheekiest smile ever, “hello, henderson and miss doctor” she waves at you lightly.
you smile warmly, lifting your hand up, “hey robin,” your eyes flicker to steve, “hey, steve” you let out a slow breath taking in his appearance, how could he make that ugly green vest hot? steve smiles back at you, “hey, y/n” you smile back at him.
“y/n here wanted a recommendation for a movie” dustin says to steve, you whip your head to him.
“no, you wanted a movie” you correct, he shakes his head with a shrug, “i have no idea what you’re talking about” you could kill him.
“i can help you out if you want?” steve says softly, softer than he intended. he clears his throat quickly when your eyes meet.
“oh, okay” you nod, he cocks his head towards the shelf, gesturing for you to come with him, you give dustin a glare when he turns, flipping him off.
of course that’s when steve turns, seeing you flip off dustin cheekily, steve lets out a boyish laugh, one that you knew was gonna send you into a spiral for the rest of your life.
“he’s such a little shit” steve shakes his head, looking at you sheepishly. you smile at him, “he’s so annoying” you say with affection, following steve through the isles.
“so, anything in particular that you’re looking for?” steve says slowly, voice so smooth you swear you could melt into the carpet of the store.
“um, anything really” you respond, your slightly brushing his as he walked next to you. you both look down at each other’s shoulders at the same time, “sorry” falling out of both of your lips simultaneously followed by a gentle exchange of laughter.
“i mean, this is always classic” he says, picking up the breakfast club, you give him a surprised smile. “i didn’t expect steve harrington to watch something like this” he rolls his eyes with a smile.
“i’m not the same person i was in high school, you know?” you respond quickly, “i know” saying it in a way that made his heart flutter.
you were seeing him for who he was now, not solely on his past that he knew you had knowledge on.
“and do you cry at the ending?” you smirk, dustin was right, fuck you were hot when you had that cheeky glint in your eye.
“i mean” he shrugs, “do you?” he quips back, you look at him challengingly. “i asked you first” he grins, “and i’m asking now” he says low, making you shudder, you really hope it wasn’t evident.
you let out an uneasy breath and he seems to do the same, “yeah, i do” you say confidently, “and so do i” he matches you.
“i think i’ll take your suggestion, harrington” you're driving him up a wall.
“well, good, still employee of the month” he jokes, “do you have a little plaque with your face on it?” you giggle, “yes ma’am, i do” he smiles at you from his side.
you let out a laugh, “sorry, that’s just cute” you break out your fit of giggle. he looks like you just told him you stopped all the supernatural shit happening in the town. “it’s okay” you’d both reached the counter.
“soo, i had an idea” dustin said, “oh no” you gasp, steve laughs, you both look at each other, a sheepish glance.
“shut up, i was thinking you guys should come to mine and watch the movie you picked. all the kids are coming and i thought you guys should come too”
robin nods, “we’re in”, steve gives a look, “how do you know i don’t have plans, henderson?” steve scoffs, you smile at him and look to dustin.
“yeah dusty, i’ll come” steve’s eyes widen at your words, “okay fine, i’ll come” he looks at dustin to, dustin gives him the biggest smile you’ve ever seen from your time of knowing him.
—
you went home to change into more comfortable clothes, driving yourself to the henderson household. you knock nervously on the door, you can hear the kids yelling, and you can most definitely hear dustin pushing steve to answer the door.
“this is your house, dickhead” steve says angrily behind the door, you can't help but laugh, steve opens the door and all that anger quickly disappears.
he gives you a private smile, one just for you to see. you smile back at him, “hi, y/n” dustin says cheerily, “hey” steve greets after, “hey, guys, long time no see” you joke, it had been about an hour since you last saw them.
they both chuckle at your words, steve steps aside to let you in, pushing dustin from blocking your path.
“just letting you know, they’ve started with the sugar, they’re gonna be bouncing off the wall” he whispers to you softly, the butterflies swarm your stomach at the tone he uses with you. you sigh loudly.
“of course they did” looking at steve, hes already looking at you, he’s completely caught off guard when you glance at him. you both pause in the entry way, breaking eye contact when robin and the rest of the kids greet you.
“hey, guys” you smile, taking a seat on the couch, next to robin. steve sits on the arm chair next to you, you both smile at each other before robin gets in conversation with you. steve’s eyes flicker to you often, the breakfast club filling up the light hearted atmosphere of the friday night.
you look so beautiful with the glow of the tv on your face, your features softened in the dark room. robin catches steve looking.
“steve, can we swap seat i can’t see” she looks at him, you follow her gaze, steve looks confused “you’re in front of the tv” she nods, “yeah, i know, dingus, you’re closer to the tv though” she points out like it’s obvious.
steve huffs, standing from his seat, he sits next to you, though still a little far from being at your side.
you smirk at him, “harrington, i don’t bite, you know?” you whisper, he glances at you with a smile, shuffling over on the couch until his arm is almost pressed against yours.
“i don’t know, you seem like a biter” he flirts, you choke on a laugh. you’re so fucked.
“w-whatever” you scoff, pulling your legs up on the couch, bumping his knee in the process. he looks down, breath hitched at the sensation. you let out a hushed apology, he shakes his head immediately assuring it's okay.
you feel like you’re breathing loudly, you feel like you’re shaking, your head is completely hazy. steve however is convinced he’s not breathing, he can’t tell if he’s dreaming.
you’re sitting so close, your scent is deep in his lungs, every time he adjusts himself, your arms or knees brush against each other and it's driving him crazy.
you both watch the movie intently, and when the ending nears, you and steve both glance at each other knowingly, smiles exchanged knowing it was about to get sad. the kids are complaining about the movie choice, restless.
“shut up we’re finishing it” steve gives a look to the kids.
you and steve tear up at the ending, you wipe your tears quickly with your hand, steve using the collar of his shirt to wipe at his eyes. you both let out a quiet laugh, a comfortable feeling of intimacy washing over the moment.
he nudges your shoulder with his, urging you to look at him, when your eyes meet, he smiles softly, “you okay?” he’s so sweet.
you nod, “you?” he nods quickly, eyes flickering over your face in a way that literally made you flatline.
unknowingly, there was a left over tear on your chin, steve’s curled finger gently brushes the spare tear away before he has time to think about it, the gentle touch on your jaw making you slightly jump.
“sorry” he’s back to reality, you shake your head, “no no, that’s okay” you say quietly, his mouth is slightly agape, snapped out of his trance when dustin breaks the silence in the room.
“what a downer, i’m putting aliens on” the kids agree immediately. you roll your eyes, leaning close to steve to speak quietly.
“they have no taste,” you tutt, steve laughs, the sound going right to your heart. “agreed” he smiled, a real smile. a genuine one and to know it’s just for you makes you want to scream.
your moment quickly interrupted because it was way too good to be true.
“i want watermelon” robin says, the kids agree, all looking to steve, “what?” his eyebrow raised, “go cut it” dustin quips.
steve groans, “why do i always have to do it?” you laugh, and steve follows the sound, he can’t fight the little grin playing at his lips.
“because you do, go” robin smiles, steve throws his head back with exaggeration, head falling on the back of the couch leaving you with an extremely close up view of his neck. fuck. you feel hot.
steve gets up like he’s pissed, “well i’m not doing it alone, you’re my sacrifice” steve smirks at you, his hand extending to you.
you laugh, “alright, harrington, i’ll supervise you” you shot back with a smug smile, taking his hand gently as he helps you up. you hear some hushed whispers and giggles, you don’t miss the way robin winks at you.
he doesn’t let your hand drop until you reach the kitchen, you sit at the kitchen island, watching him move around the kitchen.
the domesticity of the situation is something the both of you could get used to.
“those kids, i swear to god” he laughs, beginning to slice the watermelon with diligence. you grin, “they’re cheeky” he chuckles, “more than cheeky, they’re little shits”
you laugh with him, “they can be like that, huh?” you rest your elbows on the island, your chin resting on your joined hands. he looks up at you, your face making him short circuit. the knife slips and he nicks his finger, gasping slightly. “ah” he hissed, shaking his finger as he drops the knife on the cutting board.
you sit up alert immediately, already moving the distance to stand in front of him, “shit, are you okay?” you ask concerned, grabbing a tea towel on the table and holding it around his bleeding finger, holding it up a little over his heart.
he nods, “i’m okay” he tries to reassure you, you shake your head, “no, you’re bleeding” your eyebrows are pinched, you’re basically pressed into him.
you look up at him worried. steve’s eyes meet yours, he’s stopped breathing.
“dustin, bring me your first aid kit” you yell out, your urgency in your voice made dustin bring it immediately.
“everyone okay?” dustin breathes, steve nods, you shake your head, pushing steve backwards to sit in the stool you were just on.
“i just have a small cut on my finger” steve laughs, you narrow your eyes at him, “he’s bleeding” grabbing the first aid from dustin’s hand.
dustin leaves the kitchen quietly after knowing steve was okay. oh steve was more than okay.
you gently clean steve’s cut, focused. steves focus however was on you, your soft touch, your slightly worried expression.
“hey” he says gently, you don’t look up right away, “hey” he repeats gently, even more softer than the first time.
you look up slowly, he smiles when your gaze meets his.
“i’m okay” you nod.
“i know” his smile only grows.
“it’s a tiny cut, sweetheart” you nod again.
“i know” you huff, wrapping a bandaid around the tip of his pointer finger.
“good as new” you smile, he returns it, “good practice for you hm?” he teases.
“oh yeah, best patient i’ve had” he gasps, hand on his chest, “what an honour!” you laugh.
“thanks for putting me back together” you pat his shoulder, “my pleasure” you know you were exaggerating, but hey, that was worth it in your opinion.
“let me finish this up,” you wash your hands, moving to cut the watermelon.
“okay but don’t cut yourself, i’m not a doctor” he grins at you, resting his forearms on the island, giving you a clear view of his biceps. you shake your head, “don’t start with me, harrington”
–
when you went home that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about steve. there was genuinely no other thought in your brain it was worrying.
as you lay on your bed, comfy in your pjs, freshly showered, the doorbell rang. you sit up confused, walking down the hallway to open the door, and there stood steve, not even an hour after he saw you.
“hey” he smiles.
“are you stalking me, harrington?” you cross your arms with a surprised smile gracing your lips, he looks down embarrassed before meeting your gaze again.
“i asked dustin where you lived and he gave it up straight away, not very trustworthy” he utters, you smile shaking your head, typical dustin.
“do you wanna come in?” you smile, he nods, stepping into your house, looking around with a fond smile.
“you gonna give me the grand tour?” he smirks, you roll your eyes guiding around the house until you reach your room. he steps in, looking around. he feels at home, it was so you, he was smitten.
you watch him from the doorway, “so what are you doing here?” you question, he looks at you, sucking in a breath.
“i don’t know, honestly” he shrugs, stepping a little closer to you, “i just..wanted to see you” he says earnestly, you look at him with an unreadable expression.
he moves closer, standing right in front of you. he’s breathing heavily, contemplation evident in his expression.
“y/n” he says simply, “tell me if i’m reading this wrong, please” his eyes bore into yours, you shake your head carefully. “no, you’re not” your breathing picks up.
you both just stand like that for a moment, feeling like it was hours just looking at each other. calculating the next move.
“can i?” he asks nervously, looking down at your lips, you chuckle, “yeah, stevey” he almost groans, his hand moving to the back of your head and the other completely wrapped around your waist, pressing himself into your body.
the moment his lips touched yours, you were both gone.
it was languid, soft and passionate all at the same time. your hand rests on his arm, the other cupping his jaw, thumb affectionately rubbing back and forth on his stubble. he shudders against your lips, tongue licking into your mouth with purpose and intention.
“you’re so” he mumbles into your mouth, kissing you again, you hum against his mouth curiously.
“beautiful” kiss, “you’re so beautiful” he whispers against your lips.
you inhale sharply, lips still moving against his. you pull away for a second, he’s chasing your lips immediately, a peck pressed on your mouth.
you smile, “you’re so handsome, stevey honey” you whisper, each word hitting his lips, a cool sensation.
he grins so brightly, pulling you back in for another kiss. he walks back clumsily as you push him further into your room, lips never leaving each other.
—
“so how is y/n?” steve asks dustin, the younger boy choosing to pester him at work. you and steve hadn’t told anyone that you two were official.
you were both choosing to keep it private as it's new. well..you tried to at least.
dustin smiles, “she’s good, i keep catching her smiling randomly at nothing though, it’s weird” steve smiles immediately, scratching the back of his neck.
“oh really, wonder why” he mumbles, dustin gives him a weird look, “yeah..” he goes back to scribbling things he needs for an upcoming campaign.
steve looks like an idiot, smiling a little too brightly while rewinding tapes, even though it's something that angers him immensely.
the bell on the door rings, and you walk in with a smile, steve knows its you before you even come closer.
you pause when you see dustin, “oh, dustin, hey!” dustin looks at you confused, “what are you doing here?” you shrug.
“wanted a movie” you smile at steve, he’s looking at you like you personally aligned each constellation with your bare hands.
“oh okay” he looks at you with intrigue, you clear your throat.
“hey, steve, mind recommending something?” steve nods way too eagerly. robin comes out of the break room, giving you both a look, you were both acting really weird.
steve walks ahead of you, ducking behind an isle. his hands cup your face and he pulls you into a kiss before you can say anything, you smile into it, your arms wrapping around his neck.
“i missed you” you mumble between kisses, he groans against your mouth, “oh, baby, you have no idea” he huffs, quieting your giggles with repeated kisses to your lips.
what you didn't know is dustin and robin followed, and screamed when they saw you locking lips behind an isle, looking anything but pg13.
“oh my god” robin exclaims, dustin is completely shocked. steve pulls away, resting his forehead on your shoulder with a deep sigh leaving his lips.
you look at both of them sheepishly, “hey guys, stevey just helped me pick a movie” he chuckles into your skin, lips kissing your collarbone, making you ticklish.
“stevey?” dustin marvels, eyes looking like they're gonna pop out of his head, he never thought his plan with robin would work.
steve stands up confidently, “yes, stevey. she’s my girlfriend and i’m taking her home now” he looks at them, dragging you by the hand to his car outside.
“you owe us an explanation!” robin calls after you two, steve shakes his head, “nope” he calls out, opening the door for you.
“bye guys” you say quickly, being pushed out by steve by your hips.
dustin and robin look at each other in surprise, watching as you two drove off.
in honor of st5 part 1 coming out tonight ….. steve harrington don’t make unnecessary journeys ….. steve harrington don't take risks on treacherous roads ….. steve harrington don't swim in the sea …..
— I'll tell you one thing, honey // I can tell when somebody still wants me, come clean // Standin' at the bar like something's funny, bubbly // Once you fix your face, I'm goin' in (Yeah)
summary: you were never really together. that made it worse when you suddenly drift apart. you see him a year later and you're wondering why you let him go in the first place. or rather why he didn't try harder to keep you. will you get him back?
pairing: bradley bradshaw x pilot!reader (callsign: denver)
a/n: AHHHH GUYS IT'S BEEN 5 MONTHSSS! I'm back after a LONGGG hiatus with a Bradley fic just because
They say situationships are worse than a break up. It haunts you with its unanswered questions, itd endless what ifs, and the dread of what could've been.
They also say that time heals broken wounds.
So yeah, in retrospect, you should've been fine. You should've not cared that the man that haunted you for a greater part of your life was now standing inches away from you, looking as good as the day you left him (maybe even better).
But no, of course you do. Because forgetting Bradley fucking Bradshaw wasn't some easy feat. He wasn't some guy you spent the night with after a drink too many, he wasn't a long-term boyfriend you broke up with who. Fuck—he was more than that. Worse or better, you couldn't decide.
Your heart was thumping out of your chest—it shouldn't—when he offers you a "hi" and a small smile of acknowledgement. His thoughts, you suspected, screamed into your face in red ink, "your absence pained me, but your presence now means nothing". You smiled and said your greeting. You wanted to dig yourself to an early grave.
Phoenix sliced through the awkward silence you didn't even realize you two both were holding. With a clap, "Seems like we're all working together for the next few weeks, huh?" she said with an awkward smile. Everyone seemed to sense the tension around you and Bradley even if half of them didn't even know the history you both shared.
"It seems so, Phoenix. I just wonder how long it will take for these two to break" Hangman started, straightening up from the pool table as he does. "Don't start now, Bagman" Phoenix tried. Key word: tried.
Hangman said as-a-matter-of-factly, "What? I'm just saying. If we're spending the next few weeks together, these two are bound to fuck it out." You wanted to punch him in the face. Breathe in. Breathe out. "Do you want me to rearrange your nose, pretty boy?" you sneered.
With a dramatic hand to his chest, "you think I'm pretty?" Hangman teased. Your eye twitched.
One.
Two.
"I'm just playing! You're way too serious, Den!" he mused playfully, pulling you into his chest with his arm like one an older brother would when play-fighting. Only this time it wasn't funny. You grimaced, trying to pry his arm away from you. "Come on, I'll buy you a beer!" his voice fades from the group of aviators as he drags you onto the bar. "Is he always like that?" Bob, staring at both of yours' figures, asked. "You'll get used to it." Cayote replied as he crosses his arms.
It was only then when they realiohzed Rooster retreated to the pool table, busying himself with Fritz. Phoenix turned to him knowingly.
"....So what's up with them?" Fanboy murmured to Phoenix, eyes fixated at Bradley.
Nat only glared at him.
.
.
.
.
.
The first morning was... weird.
You sat a row away from Bradley—which you were thankful for—but even so, for some reason, you still felt curious eyes burning at your head.
The instructor came in. And you were met with a rather familiar face. A pleasant one on your end—Maverick. You couldn't say the same for the man sitting a few chairs behind you. You shot your head towards Bradley as soon as Maverick started speaking. You caught him with an expression you could only describe as if someone's puppy just got stepped on. Your eyes narrowed on him. You may not be on speaking terms with Bradley but you know enough to know how he's thinking. Especially with Maverick.
You make a mental note to ask him how he is after briefing.
Because that's what friends do. That's what friends do.
"Rooster!" you cringe at the foreign sound. His callsign sounded weird coming from you. You were sure he thought the same from the way his body froze. As if he never thought it would ever come out from your lips. He stopped his tracked, turning to face you.
What are you doing? Fuck, turn back around!
"Denver," your heart skipped a beat at the sound of your callsign. It sounded unsure, as if he was trying how it projected from his mouth. "Uh...How are you?" seriously? what are you, fifteen? He nods. "I'm doin', great, how 'bout you?"
You nod awkwardly, your lips thinning. "Yeah uhm, same here..." there was silence for a moment. You didn't know what else to say. Why did you even talk to him in the first place? He looks at you from head to toe, the kind that makes your knees feel like jelly. "You uh, you look good." he said in a low voice that made you want to bang your head into a brick wall. Or his.
You nod, tearing your gaze from his. "You too." You murmured. Your mind wandered back to Bradley and Maverick. You stared at each other for a few seconds. You started, "So, you and Ma—" you didn't even finish your sentence as he cut through you. "You and Hangman seem close." His tone, laced with something you can't quite pin-point. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was jealous. But that's just ridiculous. You and Jake were friends. Atleast that's what Bradley heard you say.
His face twitched ever so slightly. Barely visible. He hoped you didn't caught it. Jake. Since when were you and Bagman on first name basis? Moreover—Rooster? Not Bradley. Not Brad. Not B. Fuck, not even Bradshaw. He composed himself, gave you a nod before excusing himself.
You watch him retreat in the opposite direction. You were confused. That went...Well? You guess?
.
.
.
.
Contrary to popular belief—by popular belief, you mean the rest of the squad—the next few weeks consisted of you and Bradley, well, co-existing. You'd dogfight in the same sky, serve punishments on the same tarmac, sit through debrief and lessons in the same room, eat lunch in the same cafeteria, go home your separate ways, and repeat.
Phoenix was walking next to you. The day just ended and the sun was setting in a pretty orange hue. "The squad's at the Hard Deck now" Nat mentioned as you trekked the tarmac.
You chuckled hesitantly, "is he going to be there?"
"Is he in the squad?" Nat cocked her head to you now with that glimmer in her eye that convinced you the pilot was up to no good. You faced her. "Touché." You kissed your teeth, nodding.
You stop your tracks just by where hers and your car is. "I'll think about it."
"Alright, let me know, okay?" she noted before getting in her car. You offered one last smile before you do the same. "I will. Bye Nat, drive safe."
"You too!"
.
.
.
.
.
You were going.
And no—you’re not going for Bradley. That’s what you keep telling yourself. You’re going for your friends. Because you refuse to be that petty almost-ex-girlfriend of the friend group who disappears just because he’ll be there. You are an adult. You can coexist with Bradley. You can handle this.
You pull up to the Hard Deck and switch off the engine.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
The moment the car door swings open, the cool California breeze washes over you. It hits differently than it did this time last year. Everything does. Back then, the same air felt warm—weightless—like something held you. Now it feels sharper, almost like a slap. A reminder instead of a memory.
And because your brain fucking hates you, you’re back again—the crash of waves. The late-May heat. His scent settling over you like it belonged there.
His hands at your waist. The brush of his mustache against your skin—had he always been planning to leave?
Those road-trip nights, the whispered promises, the half-kisses in the dark—were you never worth the risk?
But maybe you're fine like this.
Maybe pretending works.
Maybe pretending you didn’t happen is the safest option for both of you.
You shake it off. Shoulders back. Mask on.
You push through the bar doors.
Phoenix straightens when she spots you first. “Denver’s here,” she announces like it’s a weather alert. Suddenly, half the aviators are rotating like satellites.
The low buzz of laughter rushes into your ears. The squad is already there—Phoenix waves you over. Jake whistles loudly, six beers deep already, waving like an idiot. You manage a smile.
Then your eyes betray you.
They go searching.
And they find him.
Bradley’s leaned against the pool table, beer halfway to his mouth, curls a little longer, biceps a little bigger, his classic Hawaiian shirt rolled at the sleeves in a way that should be illegal. He looks up at the exact moment you do.
A spark.
A jolt.
An oh, fuck—look away.
You try.
He doesn’t.
His gaze lingers like smoke—slow, warm, territorial. It’s the look of a man who remembers everything your mouth ever did and hates that he still does.
You swallow and force your legs to keep moving.
“Denver!” Jake’s voice erupts across the bar before you even take three steps inside. “Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence!” He throws both arms open like he’s about to hug you—
You catch him by the collar before he fully commits. “Don’t you dare,” you warn with narrowed eyes.
He cracks a laugh, "Need a drink?” He’s already halfway to the bar without waiting for an answer. "Why is it everytime I come here he's always offering me a drink?" you say, shaking your head with a smile as the aviator struts his way to Penny.
Bob gives a small, polite wave from his seat—posture perfect, eyes flickering between you and Bradley like he’s monitoring air traffic. Coyote nods in greeting. Fanboy elbows Payback, whispering way too loudly:
“Thought she wasn't coming—”
“Maybe don’t narrate?” Phoenix hisses, smacking the back of his head. You laugh under your breath, the tension loosening—until instinct drags your gaze over your shoulder.
Rooster hasn’t moved from the pool table.
Jake returns with a beer, sliding it into your hand.
“There she is,” he coos dramatically, slinging an arm around you like he’s claiming territory he absolutely shouldn’t be claiming. Especially not when Bradley's sround.
Bradley’s grip on his pool cue tightens so hard his knuckles bleach white.
You should step out of Jake’s hold.
You don’t.
Not immediately.
Not until the new guy appears—tall, stupidly pretty, and confident in a way that feels both charming and dangerous.
“Lieutenants, good evening,” he greets with a crisp nod.
The squad responds with their greetings. You offer your own polite smile. “Hi.” He smiles back, directed entirely at you. “Lieutenant Walton,” he introduces, though his eyes say Call me something better. Jake actually groans under his breath. “Great. Another sailor with a jawline.” You elbow him. He pretends it didn’t hurt.
Walton shifts closer—a little too close. “Haven’t seen you around before,” he says. "New to North Island?" “Technically,” you reply, shrugging. “Just got in a few weeks ago."
“Ah. Fresh meat.” His grin widens.
Behind him, Bradley misses his next shot by a landslide—ball ricocheting off the table like it’s personally offended. “Wow,” Phoenix mutters amusingly to Bob. “He never misses that shot.” Bob nods slowly, eyes darting between Rooster and Walton. “This’ll be… something.”
Walton keeps talking—asking about where you trained, what you fly, what brought a pretty girl like you to the Navy—and you’re surprised by how easy he is to talk to. He’s funny. He’s clever. He’s clearly interested.
But what’s even funnier?
Bradley’s glare.
Sharp enough to slice steel.
Deadly enough to sink ships.
Every time Walton leans in to say something, Bradley’s posture changes—shoulders squared, chest out, jaw locked so tight a muscle jumps beneath his mustache. The squad is absolutely watching this unfold like it’s their nightly entertainment. “Rooster looks like he’s about to commit murder,” Fanboy whispers. “Bet Hangman twenty bucks he’d snap by eleven,” Payback replies.
“You’re gonna lose,” Nat predicts, sipping her beer.
And she’s right. Because suddenly it’s 2200—two hours of conversation you didn’t intend to have—and Walton is still right there. Leaning in closer every time you laugh.
His stories are amusing enough. But the real comedic highlight of your night?
Every single time Walton touches your arm, Bradley’s face twists like he’s watching someone drown a puppy. Walton leans just a bit closer now, voice soft. “So… you got plans this weekend?” Casual. Smooth. Interested.
You freeze for just a second, beer halfway to your lips.
You can feel the weight of Bradley’s stare scorching into the back of your neck.
He’s no longer pretending to play pool.
He’s not even holding the cue anymore.
He’s just staring—like he can’t decide whether to punch Walton…
…or drag you out of the bar.
Phoenix sighs dramatically. “And there it is,” Coyote crosses his arms, smirking. Jake leans into you with a low whistle. “Careful, Den. Rooster’s gonna pop a blood vessel.” He looks at Bradley, calling out with a wide grin, “You good over there, Bagman #2?”
Bradley doesn’t answer. Doesn’t blink.
And when Walton places a hand—light, casual—on your waist to shift closer…
Bradley moves.
Slow. Deliberate. Dangerous. Everyone went still—like they're holding their breaths. The music doesn’t stop. But your heart does.
Because everyone knows:
He’s done watching.
Done biting his tongue while some other guy stands where he used to stand. Done pretending that this silence between you hasn’t been choking him out slowly, day after fucking day. It’s been weeks of playing it cool—weeks of acting like not having you under his hands doesn’t make him want to put his fist through the nearest wall just to feel something besides missing you.
He’s done pretending he doesn’t see the way you look away the second you meet his eyes—like you’re scared you’ll fall straight back into him. Pretending he doesn’t ache every time you pass him in the hall and pretend not to notice the electricity snapping between you.
The truth?
He’s starving for you.
He wants to pin you back against the wall and kiss you the way he was never supposed to—hard enough to steal every breath from your mouth until you’re gasping his name like you used to. He wants his hands on your jaw, on your hips, everywhere they don’t belong anymore. He wants to relearn the sound you make when you break under him, the way you used to soften, melt, open for him like it was inevitable.
He wants all of you—
the parts he had,
the parts he lost,
and the parts he never got to keep.
He’s done pretending like the absence of your touch hasn’t been killing him.
He’s done pretending.
And now?
He’s not hiding it anymore.
Because if Walton doesn’t remove his hand in the next three seconds…
there’s going to be a problem.
Walton doesn't. Not even when he could feel six pairs of eyes on him.
A hand lands on his shoulder—
—and shoves.
Not enough to start a bar fight. Just enough to say back off. The guy stumbles half a step and turns, pissed. “The hell, man?”
Bradley’s voice drops low, lethal. “She's not interested.” Your heart slams against your ribs. The guy glances at you for confirmation. Your lips part—silence.
Because you’re not sure what you are.
Not with Bradley.
Not without him.
Jake immediately steps between them, arms out like a chaotic referee. “Okay! Boys, let’s not ruin Penny’s bar, yeah?” Phoenix drags a hand over her face. Fanboy whispers, “Called it.” Bob looks ready to flee. Coyote just mutters, “Here we go.”
Bradley ignores every single one of them. His eyes—only on you.
“That what you’re doing now?” he asks quietly. A hint of hurt under the fury. “Letting random guys put their hands on you?”
Something snaps in you.
Maybe pride.
Maybe pain.
“Why do you care?”
His nostrils flare. “You know why.” he says, voice cracking around the edges.
It’s terrifying, the way the room seems to shrink around you two. The music fades. The lights blur. It’s just him—standing too close, smelling too familiar, looking like he’d burn the world down before he lets you walk away with someone else.
“I’m gonna grab some air,” you say with a tight expression, leaving Walton hanging and Bradley nit less in peace. It’s not a lie, exactly—you can’t breathe in here.
You turn away before you do something stupid, like stare into Bradley’s eyes long enough to remember things you should’ve already forgotten.
The night air hits you as you step outside. Cool. Sharp. Real. You lean your palms against the railing overlooking the beach, eyes squeezed shut.
You don’t hear footsteps.
You feel them.
“Denver.”
His voice. Low. Rough. The one that used to whisper against your neck. You don’t turn around. Not yet. Not when your stupid heart still responds to him like a command. “Denver!” he says louder this time. "Shit," he calls ot your name this time. His hand twitches like he’s one second from grabbing you—from staking a claim he forfeited.
You snap.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” you spit out, spinning to face him, chest heaving, every nerve screaming. "He wasn't even doing anything!" you yell at him, it comes out more aggressive than you wanted it to be. Bradley doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. "I didn't like the way he was with you." He stands there like he’s been starving—and you’re the feast he walked away from. You scoff, "You're unbelievable, you know that?"
“What, so now you're tell me you’re jealous?” you hiss, venom dripping from every word. “Now that I’m finally moving on?”
His jaw tightens. “What if I say I am?"
“Well don't! You don't get to be jealous, Rooster! There's no us, and there was never an us!” You step closer, rage sharpening your voice.
“That’s not—”
“Oh, shut up,” you cut him off. “You left. You ran. And now you’re pissed because someone else actually wants me?”
Bradley’s eyes flare fire. “Is that what you think happened!?” His voice drops low, thick with frustration. “I left because you made me! Every time I tried to stay, you shoved me away. Every time I reached for you, you pushed me out. I left because that’s what you wanted!”
You want to yell. To slap him. To shove all this fury into him. But the moment he steps closer, your knees weaken, and it’s infuriating. You ball your hands into fists, trembling. “I was trying to protect you from myself! You think it was easy for me to let you in?”
“Protect me from yourself?” His voice cracks, ragged now. “You were not protecting me, you were afraid of somebody actually staying. I know you were afraid,— fuck, I was too! But I wanted it to be you, and I wanted you with me!”
For a heartbeat, you just stare. His eyes glint with something raw—rage, hurt, and a pull that twists your insides.
“You’re impossible,” you whisper, voice shaking.
“Yeah,” he breathes, dangerously close. “And so are you.”
The air between you burns suffocatingly. Every look ignites another memory, every breath is a reminder of everything that went wrong. The tension is a living thing, clawing at the both of you, daring one of you to break first.
He drags his hands down his face, shoulders collapsing like he’s finally run out of fight. That sight alone steals the breath from your lungs. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to love someone who won’t let you stay?” he murmurs, small, wounded, the kind of soft that hurts worse than screaming.
Your throat closes, the truth spilling through clenched teeth.
“I tried,” you fire back, not angry at him, but at yourself, every word dripping with self-loathing. “God, I tried so fucking hard to let you in!” Your fists curl at your sides, nails biting into your palms. “But every time I did, every time I let myself believe you were real—I panicked. I pushed you away first. I told myself I was protecting us but really…” you shook your head no. You weren't gonna admit defeat, he your stubbornness that much. In the first place, it's one of the qualities that made him fall for you. Your voice fractures, tears welling hot and furious. Your breath stutters, a choked whisper slipping free. “—And then you ran, Bradley, you always ran.”
You meet his eyes, your scowl faltering, shame bleeding through—like you’re finally admitting the thing that’s been tearing you apart all this time. “I ran because you told me to,” he fires back, but the anger in his voice keeps trembling, like it’s barely holding itself together. “I left because you looked at me like I was the problem. Like everything would finally be okay if I just disappeared.” His chest rises and falls in uneven, frantic breaths. His voice splinters.
“Not because I wanted to,” he says, quieter now, broken. “I never wanted to. I never stopped caring.”
Tears fill his eyes faster than he can blink them away. His hands curl into fists at his sides—not in anger, but in desperation. “And when I saw you again…” His throat closes around the words. A single tear slips free, and he squeezes his eyes shut, like he hates the weakness. “God, everything inside me just collapsed. You were right there—so close—and all I wanted was to hold you like I used to. To kiss you like you still wanted me.”
He forces himself to meet your gaze, even though his chin keeps shaking. “But I didn’t. Because what if touching you just reminded you how much better life is without me? What if you forgot what it felt like to be wanted by me… like you were the only good thing I ever had?” His voice shatters on the last part. “What if you forgot how much I missed you?”
You're staring at him like you don't recognize this version of him—this unguarded, unraveling mess. Your scowl hasn’t fully disappeared, but it’s cracking at the edges and your eyes are shining, tears threatening to spill despite the fury still tightening your jaw. Your breath stutters, but still, you refuse to look away. Because now you see it—how devastated he’s been. How every word is costing him a piece of himself.
The words hang between you. Heavy. Explosive. Electric. Your lips tremble. His jaw tightens. You want to close the space between you, but you also want to run. You want to hurt him, but you also want him to hold you.
“You think I’ve forgotten?” you whisper. “You think seeing you again wouldn’t…?”
“Wouldn’t what?” His voice is hoarse. “Burn you up inside? Make you insane?” He steps closer, dangerously close, enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. “Because guess what? It’s burning me too. Every second without you. Every day after I left, I was dying.” Your chest heaves. You feel the sharp, piercing truth of it, mingled with fury and something unnameable. For a long, searing moment, the world falls away. Nothing exists but the two of you—anger, regret, longing, pain, and a fire neither can control.
Then, just when the tension is unbearable, he steps back, breathing hard, eyes glinting with everything unspoken. “You make me insane," he says your name.
He closes the space between you in two steps. You freeze—fury sparking with heat that terrifies you. His tongue presses to the inside of his cheek—wow, you piss him off. Good. “But i’m not walking away again,” he says, low and lethal. “So yell. Hate me. Hit me. I’ll take every bullet—but I’m staying right fucking here.”
You hate how your heart sprints. How your fingers shake. How he still knows exactly where to aim. “You don’t get to just decide that,” you whisper—sharp but cracking. Bradley leans in closer, crowding your space, but he doesn’t touch you. “You don’t want me to go,” he says quietly. “Say you do, and I’m gone.” You open your mouth—and nothing comes out. Because you don’t know how to kill a truth that’s still alive.
His voice drops, rough. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
You turn away. Because if you keep looking at him, you’ll break. And you refuse to break for him again. You take a step. Then another.
The wind is cold. The night is loud. You tell yourself this is good. Distance. Escape. But just when you think you’re free—
His arms are around your waist. Too large for you. Too warm. Too damn familiar. He's locking you back against him like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You gasp, shock and betrayal and something dangerously close to relief all tangled up. His forehead drops into the crook of your shoulder—like that place was made for him. You're mad you know it was.
His voice comes out wrecked, "please don’t walk away from me.” Your eyes squeeze shut. “Rooster—”
It’s a warning. A plea. A lie.
His grip tightens—not enough to hurt, just enough to bold on. "My name, baby. Say my name." It's soft, his lips even softer when he presses a kiss to your neck. You hate how it's making you weak. You hate how you're giving in.
"—Bradley, please let me go." you say softly. He shakes his head. “I know I don’t deserve to touch you,” he whispers, breath trembling against your skin, “but I can’t stand here and watch you walk out of my life again.”
Your fingers clench uselessly at your sides. He’s shaking. Bradley Bradshaw—unshakeable, unflappable Rooster—is shaking.
You turn around, pulling him just enough you look up at him, his eyes are brimming with tears, lips pressed tight in a scowl. Your chest heaves, fists clenching at your sides, a mixture of anger, hurt, and disbelief radiating from you like heat.
“You think you’re too much sometimes,” he starts, voice low, rough with emotion. “Too loud. Too stubborn. Too reckless. You think people get scared of you, scared of how much you feel, scared of how much you fight to protect yourself.” He let's go, not entirely. He has his hands on your waist.
You flinch, but dont look away.
“You think you’re not good enough,” he continues, each word jagged with honesty, each one a hit you can’t dodge. “That no one could ever want you the way you want them. That every mistake, every misstep, every word you didn’t say… makes you less. Less than anyone else. Less than me.”
Tears spill over now, streaking your face, but you keep your stubborn scowl, defiant. Your voice shakes, barely a whisper, “I… I’m not—”
“You think you’re broken,” he interrupts, eyes softening with desperation. “You think you’re too complicated, too impossible to love. You think I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t care, shouldn’t even want you…”
Your scowl falters for a fraction of a second, and he seizes it, stepping closer, until the space between them is electric, charged with everything unspoken. He places his hands between your tear-stricken face.
“And…” His voice drops, trembling, gentle but fierce. “…I love you. All of it. Every flaw you think makes you unworthy. Every fear, every crack, every messy, impossible piece of you. And I love you. Because that’s you. Every part of you, every fire, every jagged edge, every storm you think pushes me away—it’s what I want. I want it all. I want you, baby."
You blink, tears sliding down your cheeks as the scowl softens into disbelief, pain, and something deeper she can’t name. Your chest heaves, words caught somewhere between a sob and a scream.
“You… love me?” You whisper, voice breaking, voice raw.
“I love you,” he repeats, voice low, unwavering. “I’m not apologizing. I love you—all of you—and I always will. I love you.”
Your knees feel weak. Your chest feels heavy. Your scowl remains, but it’s softer now, more fragile, a shield cracking under the force of everything he just said. And for the first time in forever, the storm inside you seems to quiet… just enough to let the truth sink in.
Bradley just watches you, eyes dark, intense, burning with everything he’s felt and held back. “Stay,” he breathes, soft but firm. “Just… stay here. Look at me.” you refuse. "Baby, please look at me."
Your scowl has completely fallen now, replaced by tears, trembling lips, and a heart hammering so violently it hurts. Bradley’s eyes are dark, soft, and intense, every ounce of emotion he’s held back for months radiating from him.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers, voice ragged, trembling. “Just… stay. Let me stay.”
Your chest heaves. You want to push him away, to run, to scream, but every instinct in your body betrays you. And he knows it. He sees the fracture in your armor, the raw, bleeding part of you that only he has ever known.
Slowly—painfully slow—he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, breath mingling, hearts hammering in perfect, agonizing sync. He murmurs your name against your lips, soft and trembling. “Please.”
You don’t respond. You can’t. Your hands fumble at his chest, your fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt as if touching him could anchor you in reality.
Then, finally, he closes the distance. His lips are soft, desperate, claiming. The first brush is light, testing, and it steals your breath in an instant. Your eyes squeeze shut. He doesn’t stop. He presses closer, tilting his head, lips moving against yours with a fevered urgency that shatters every wall you’ve built. His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks through tears, holding you like he’s afraid the world will rip you from him if he lets go.
You try to fight it—try to push him back—but the fire in his kiss, the raw ache in every movement, the desperate pleading behind every touch—it breaks you. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your body trembling against his. He groans softly into the kiss, ragged, broken, full of every thing he’s felt and every thing he’s denied. Every flaw, every doubt, every heartbreak, he’s kissing it all into submission.
And in that moment, all your walls fall. The scowl, the anger, and fear melts. You cling to him, trembling, sobbing against his chest, feeling every ounce of his love crash into you. He pulls back just slightly, forehead resting against yours, lips brushing, voice low and raw. “You’ve always been mine,” he breathes. “Every impossible, infuriating, beautiful piece of you… mine. I love you so much.”
You blink through tears, trembling, trying to form words. All you can do is whisper back, breathless, raw, “I… I love you too.”
And this time you were letting him. You were letting your guard down, and you were letting him love you like he'd always intended. And this time, he's staying.
steve harrington x reader
word count | 1.9k
warnings | henderson!reader
˗ˏˋ masterlist ˎˊ˗
You hadn't been home from work for five minutes before there was a knock on your bedroom door. You had your shirt off, so you answered with a "One second."
You slipped a tank top over your head and then cleared your throat, walking over to your bed. You sat on the edge, sitting criss-cross facing the door. It opened to reveal your younger brother Dustin, his backpack still on.
"Hey."
"Yeah, hi," he said quickly, as if he had something to hide. "What're you up to?"
Your eyebrows dipped for a second in confusion. "Uh... nothing. Just got home from work. Why? Why are you being weird?"
"Weird? I'm not being weird."
"I beg to differ. What's going on?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. I'm fine."
"Dustin. Seriously. You're making me nervous."
He groaned. "Alright. I'm not supposed to tell you this. It's supposed to be a secret. But I have to. Because it cannot happen."
"What can't happen?"
"Okay. Steve is coming to pick me up right now. We're going to a movie. But the thing is... He's planning on asking you out." Your furrowed brows sprung upward, and your jaw dropped a bit. "I don't know when. Maybe after the movie. But he told me he's gonna do it. And he can't. I tried to talk him out of it, but he won't listen. He likes you."
"Wait, hold up. Even if he does, and even if I was interested, why can't it happen?"
"Because. You're my sister. You can't date Steve."
"Why?"
"Because! It would be weird. It would ruin our dynamic."
"What dynamic? Me third wheeling you and your much older friend to dinner?"
"Yes!"
You tilted your head as if to say 'Really?'
"You have to say no. Please, Y/N."
"Jeez. Fine."
"Thank you," he said exacerbated. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"Would you? Say yes? If he asked."
You shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe."
"Soooo... that's a yes, right?"
After a deep breath, you answered, "Yes. I would. He's a nice guy. Treats me different than a lot of guys in Hawkins."
"Well you can't!"
"Jesus, Dustin. Fine. I'll say no. God, you're such a buzzkill."
It was then that there was a knock at the door. He looked at you with wide eyes. "Don't come out there. Just stay here. I'll get him to leave before he can come in."
And with that, he was out of the doorframe and you could hear him insisting they leave right then.
-
It was supposed to be just you and Dustin that night while your mom worked a night shift, but it was kind of nice to have some alone time after work to unwind.
They got home after it got dark, Dustin coming in alone. He gave you a satisfied smile. "I talked him out of it."
"Thanks," you said sarcastically. "Get to bed. It's a school night."
"Yeah, yeah."
When he was in his room with his door closed, the front door quietly pushed open, Steve's head poking in.
"Hey," he said quietly. You adjusted your posture, not expecting to see him tonight."
"Oh. Hey. What are you doing here?"
"Can we talk? Maybe out here?"
After a second of hesitation, you nodded, sliding your slippers on your feet and following him out. It was a bit chilly so you crossed your arms, sitting on the steps outside the front door.
"You need a jacket or something? You have goosebumps."
"Oh, no, I'm fine. I don't mind the cold. Thanks, though."
"Yeah."
Knowing what he was probably going to ask, you acted clueless.
"So what's up?"
"Not much. Just, uh... We've been friends for a while now. You know."
"Mhm."
"Well, I realized I like having you around. A lot. Sometimes it feels like we're missing someone when it's just me and Dustin. And sometimes I wish we could hang out more, you know?"
"Yeah. Me too sometimes."
"Really?"
You nodded. "You're nice to have around, too." This conjured a smile from him. "You're asking to hang out more?"
"Well, kind of. I thought maybe we could hang out... alone... sometime. Y'know. Without Dustin. Just the two of us."
"Without Dustin? Like... as in... a date?"
"Sure. Or... I mean, if you're good with that."
You looked at the door behind you, then back at him. "I have to confess something." He motioned for you to continue. "Dustin told me. That you were planning on doing this." He groaned. "He said I had to say no. That it would ruin our dynamic or something."
"What? You tagging along while we do stuff?"
"That's almost exactly what I said," you chuckled. "Look, Steve, I like you. I do. But I told him I would say no." He looked disappointed. "So, on the record, I said no. But... off the record exists, too."
His eyes lit up. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying... Pick me up Friday. Before eight. That's what time Dustin will be home. We'll figure out what to do then."
"Sounds good," he said, visibly nervous. "I'll see you then. Thursday."
"Calm down, Harrington. It's like you've never asked a girl out or something."
When he looked away to hide his blush, you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before getting to your feet and scurrying back inside.
That's when you were greeted with Dustin, in his pajamas, standing with his arms crossed.
"I thought I told you to get to bed."
"What were you doing?"
"We were talking about the movie you guys saw."
"Is that all?"
"Yep."
"So he didn't ask you out?"
"No. He didn't. I guess you got through to him. Or he just got too scared."
"Probably the second one."
"Yeah, probably."
"You swear he didn't ask you out?"
"Yes. God."
"Good. Now I'll go to bed."
-
Friday night came slowly. And it was torture keeping it secret from Dustin. You told each other everything. So it almost felt like you were betraying him - which was probably what he would think if he found out.
You decided to just wear what you normally wear - a hand-me-down flannel and jeans. It was nothing fancy, but you didn't feel pressure to dress up.
And you were glad you didn't. He wore about what he normally wears too, although he smelled of laundry detergent and dryer sheets as if he put his clothes on immediately after taking them out of the dryer.
"What about your car?" he asked as you got into his.
"I'll just tell him one of my friends picked me up."
He backed out of the driveway and you sped to a local diner for your date. It really did just feel like a hangout, like you didn't even need Dustin there for the energy to be the same. It felt like it was the two of you who'd been friends for so long, not that you met through Dustin.
And it was such a relief. You were used to first dates being awkward, but there wasn't even a hint of that between you. Although you did jokingly insist he pay for dinner, whereas you normally paid for yourself and he covered himself and Dustin. He agreed without arguing, but you did feel a bit bad having him pay.
You got back at around midnight, having just sat in his car and talked for a couple of hours before you realized the time.
When he pulled up to your house, you just looked at each other.
"I'm really glad you said yes," he said softly. "I was worried I'd mess up our friendship or something if you said no."
"You couldn't even if you tried."
You just looked at each other for a few seconds before he leaned over and kissed you. You accepted happily, kissing back and even placing your hand on the side of his face.
He tasted like his dinner, and you were sure you did as well. It was a nice kiss, soft and tentative. His hand nervously cupped your face to mirror yours.
Before you could break the kiss, you heard a voice.
"Seriously?!" yelled Dustin, who stood in front of Steve's car, illuminated by the headlights. Steve basically fell back into his seat, he pulled away so quickly. Dustin had his hands on his hips and you giggled at how immediately nervous Steve got, wiping your mouth with your thumb.
Dustin stormed inside and slammed the front door behind him. Steve looked at you with wide eyes and you grimaced with your teeth, barely able to contain the laugh that wanted to erupt from your chest.
"I guess we should probably go in and talk to him," you suggested.
"Both of us?"
"Yes, you big baby. Come on."
He would never admit it, but you calling him playful names always put butterflies in his stomach.
You knocked three times on Dustin's door, Steve next to you as you leaned your shoulder against the doorframe.
"Dustin? Come on, I know you're not asleep."
"Go away."
"Just let us come in. Please?" You used a tone you knew would work on him.
A few seconds later, you heard a "Fine."
You slid his door open and saw him sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of his bed. He was fixing his walkie talkie, screwdriver in hand.
"You alright?" you asked, Steve following you into the room. You sat on the floor in front of Dustin and motioned for Steve to do the same.
"You swore."
"I know."
"You broke a swear. You never do that."
"I know."
"I begged you to say no. You said you would."
"I know. But Dustin, look... Me and Steve, we like each other. And we're both adults. I don't pretend to be your mom. You shouldn't pretend to be my dad."
He sighed. "I don't want my sister and best friend dating."
"Why not?"
"Because! It's weird."
"Why?"
"It just is. What if I started dating one of your friends?"
"Well, I'd probably ask what happened to Suzie, and then smack my friend for dating my underage brother."
"You know that's not what I mean," he mumbled.
"Is it really that bad? I mean, what if Steve winds up being your brother in law?"
"You had one date and you're thinking of getting married?"
"That's not what I mean, Dustin. I'm just trying to get you to be a little more optimistic."
"Well what if you guys break up? And then we can't all hang out anymore?"
"You don't think it would've been awkward if he asked me out and I'd said no? You were talking earlier about 'ruining the dynamic', but I think that would've ruined it, too." He looked at you like he'd never considered that. "At least right now if we're dating it'll stay the same."
He sighed. "I just don't want what we have to go away."
You reached over and grabbed his hand. "It won't. I swear."
"You swore earlier and broke that."
"Yeah. One time out of, what, hundreds? All I'm asking is that you keep an open mind. Please."
He looked over at Steve, who still looked very nervous.
"No more kissing my sister in front of me."
"Yep. Got it."
Dustin sighed again. "Fine. I'll keep an open mind."
You smiled. "Thank you."
Steve leaned in and stole a quick kiss, making Dustin yell out a "Hey!" You and Steve both chuckled, which even put a small smile on your brother's face.
Simon Riley and his iconic skull mask, but it’s dark romance and the reader has no idea why he even wears the mask.
The reader likes the mask anyways because obv. But just imagine….
Things have been on the rocks for a while. You and your boyfriend moved to this new apartment to try and save up some money, but it was in a shitty unsafe part of town. Not to mention the fact that your boyfriend has some god-awful spending habits and couldn’t seem to care less.
“This is way past our budget.” You said, trying not to growl the all too familiar words. You stared down at the receipts from his “grocery” trip. He went a hundred-fucking-dollars over budget buying shit that was not only unnecessary, but was stuff that only he liked.
“I’m telling you,” he whined from the couch, his eyes not leaving the tv. “I just forgot. Baby, I work so hard, I know we’re saving but I need some indulgence every now and again.”
Indulgence? Was indulgence worth a hundred bucks that you couldn’t afford to spend? A hundred dollars of your hard earned money. You hadn’t gotten your hair cut in nearly a year. You hadn’t bought yourself a sweet treat or nice thing in months. You haven’t indulged in cravings. You’ve refused to even eat out if it meant saving a few dollars. You hadn’t indulged in nearly a year. And he was wasting money every week on six different bags of chips, alcohol, and ice cream sandwiches?
“I know that things have been hard but you can’t keep doing this,” you murmured, feeling anger burn in your stomach. “We simply don’t have the money to sustain it, and if we keeping overspending then we will never have the money to get to a point where we can.”
“I don’t know why you are so worried about it. We’re fine.” He answered, his eyes finally flicking up to meet yours. “Once I get my paycheck in it will all work out.”
“But that’s the thing! You’re spending money we don’t even have yet!” You could feel your voice rising, even if you didn’t want it to. Even if you just wanted to push this problem aside.
“I don’t know why you’re being so harsh on me!” He shot back, while his voice rose to meet yours. “You’re acting like we’re living on scraps.”
“One of us certainly is!” You growled in return.
There was a long pause, and then it was like something in your boyfriend had snapped. Like a moral wall he had been leaning on had finally crumbled. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”
Your anger swelled, burning white hot until you barely realized the possible danger when he stood and started to step closer to you.
“I fucking spoil you rotten,” he snarled, his face starting to burn red. “I work my ass off so you can live happily and be provided for-“
“Yeah, and that would be great if you didn’t spend all that hard earned money on chips and bad beer!” You retorted but quicker than you could have imagined he was in your face with an angry counter.
“Maybe if you weren’t such an ungrateful bitch then maybe I’d be more willing to share my money.” He shouted, his breath was hot on your face, and he was as so close that the tip of his nose was nearly brushing yours. With the way you were position, you were locked between him and the countertop.
“Get out of my face!” You pushed your hands into his chest, trying to at least get enough space to get away from the countertop. In response, you expected any number of things: more shouting, maybe some cursing, or maybe some deescalation. What you didn’t expect was for his palm to crack down on your cheek, sending you toppling over in shock. On your way to the kitchen floor your head slammed down on the edge of the counter, sending your world into a spin.
Holy shit, he had just hit you. That realization ran through your mind like a damn mantra while you struggle to do something as basic as regaining your bearings. For a moment, you thought your boyfriend was going to apologize. His mouth was moving but you couldn’t quite hear him.
SLAM-
Your front door flew open with so much fury that it nearly fell off its hinges entirely. And on the other side stood a giant, wall of a man. He was wearing all black, but not even dark clothes could fully hide his bulk. His size wasn’t the only thing that grabbed your attention through the haze of pain, there was a skull balaclava that concealed everything but his nearly blackened eyes.
Simon’s perspective…
Simon’s life on leave was a life of patterns. Get up. Make coffee. Go for a morning run. So on and so forth. By no means was it exciting, but it was comfortable. There were no surprises, no unexpected changes. That was until his angel showed up with her boyfriend.
He had been coming back from his run when the two of them were moving their boxes into the apartment next to his. She hadn’t even seen him, but he saw her.
Maybe it was wrong, she had her boyfriend. But Angel clearly wasn’t happy. The week they moved in Simon sat in his chair and listened to them go through the most unspoken argument he had ever heard. Her boyfriend was dense at best, dismissive at worst, and Simon knew he could do better than that jackass.
But Angel did have a boyfriend, so Simon settled for looking out for her and listening if her boyfriend got out of line.
Angel had patterns too. In the morning, she would get her coffee, but based on the creaks from her bedsprings she would go back to bed to enjoy the caffeine. Simon figured that his bedroom must have been lined up with theirs, otherwise his war torn hearing wouldn’t have been able to pick up all that. And the longer he listened, the more he learned.
When she was cleaning, she liked to play a podcast. She worked part time, trading off between hours in the morning and hours later in the day. Her boyfriend barely spared time for her; when he wasn’t working he was in front of the tv or he was fucking her like an amateur.
Oh the number of nights Simon had laid awake listening to her moan his name, only to then hear the hum of a vibrator long after her boyfriend had gotten into the shower. On nights like that, Simon felt the most guilty for his little… fascination with Angel. Even when his rough hand coiled around his aching cock, even as he pumped himself to the sound of her muffled whimpers. This was wrong on so many levels, but something deep within her had to know that there was a connection between them.
Simon had been reading some book that Johnny had sent him when he heard raised voices through the wall. His whole body tensed. This wasn’t the first time he had overheard a fight, but how many times would they argue about budgeting?
“I fucking spoil you rotten~” That boy didn’t know a damn thing about spoiling a woman.
Simon’s knee anxiously started to bounce as he strained his ears to hear more. Surely Angel knew she didn’t have to put up with that shit, right? She could do so so so much better.
Then, there it was- “get off of me!” CRASH-
Simon snapped into action as quick as he would have done on the battlefield. His angel needed him, and he be damned if he let her suffer. Faster than he could think, he grabbed his balaclava and slipped in on as if it were a piece of armor. Then, he was in front of her door, kicking down the final barrier between the two of them.
There she was, on the floor with a cut bleeding on her temple. God, she was beautiful.
And there was her boyfriend, his face as red as a cherry and his voice a high pitched screech as he cursed down at her.
It felt like time itself had frozen, because Angel’s eyes were finally on him. At last, she was looking at him, seeing him. Now, it was his turn to step up and protect what had always been his.
please, please, please. stop writing only smut i'm so tired of this, i'm begging y'all.
don't get me wrong i LOVE writing and reading smut just as much as the next person but you know what i also love? writing and reading STORIES. i love me a good smutty storie but i'm just so sick and tired of looking for something to read and stumble upon a thrizillion of blurbs of pure and plain generic smut.
bob and birdie watching a scary movie and she’s totally not scared but it might help if they cuddle closer…
Bob knows for a fact that you aren't scared. You told him earlier that you'd seen Hereditary three times already - and while it's scary, it's certainly not scary enough to warrant jumping out of your skin at every jumpscare.
Each time you flinch, you shift closer to him, your hand curling a little further round his bicep, until eventually you're almost on top of him.
He begins to press soft kisses to your temple - feather-light and barely there.
After a few, you tilt your head, catching his lips in one movement.
It takes all of ten seconds to deepen, adjusting so you're braced across his lap. "Thought you wanted to watch the movie," You breathe, lips trailing along his jaw.
"Kind of hard when I'm so distracted, honey."
The smile you give him could light up the entire world, as you reach for the hem of his t-shirt. As if on instinct, your hips start to roll, drawing a groan from his lips.
"Hang on, just a sec-"
You pause, brow furrowing. "What?"
"Puttin' the movie off. I'm not having sex while there's weird cult shit goin' on. Bad karma, and all that."
You let out a laugh, shimmying downwards to allow him to shed his jeans.
SUMMARY: She’s always been the good one until she snapped. She dropped out, left her toxic boyfriend, and went wild in Vegas… only to wake up as Mrs. Verstappen. Now she’s caught between who she was and who she’s becoming.
PAIRING: max verstappen x reader
W.C: 1.1K
SERIES MASTERLIST
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She was serious. Deadly serious.
Before the sun had even dared to peek over Monaco, she was moving through the apartment like a storm.
Bags were open, clothes tossed with deliberate chaos, documents and notebooks stacked neatly ready to be taken somewhere else, anywhere else.
Each movement carried a weight of finality, a determination that Max had never seen before.
Max was losing his mind. The look on his face when he realized she actually meant it when he realized she could, and probably would, just leave was worth a pause. He knew her.
Knew that once she made a decision like this, she wouldn’t bend. She had struggled, yes, and he understood more than he probably let on, but a divorce barely a month in? That would be a scandal. A headline. A disaster in every imaginable way.
His manager had tried to calm him down earlier, telling him it was all part of some convoluted, manipulative plan to make her fall for him “really,” that she’d eventually come around. But right now, it didn’t feel like a plan. It felt like a ticking clock. And Max was the only one staring at the fuse.
He needed to stop her. But… where was she even going?
She hadn’t planned that far. Home? She refused. France? Close enough, and she knew people there, maybe a hotel, maybe a temporary start. She had savings. Enough to survive. Enough to start something, anything. Maybe a barista job, a cashier, something small to give her space before she made the big leap. And she had a plan. A real one. One she hadn’t voiced yet.
Max didn’t know the half of it.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Her hand froze over the zipper of her bag.
She didn’t answer.
Another knock.
“Open up,” Max said, voice carrying a calm she didn’t feel. “We need to talk.”
She exhaled sharply, but stepped aside. He entered anyway, scanning the chaos of half-packed bags, the scattered notebooks, the trace of determination written all over her face.
“You don’t have to do this now,” he started, stepping closer. “You can wait. The divorce papers… they don’t have to be signed today. We can… figure something out. One week, that’s all. A week.”
She raised an eyebrow. “One week to what? Change my mind? Pretend this marriage isn’t a nightmare for a few more days?”
“And your plan?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “You have a plan.”
She didn’t answer immediately, just looked at him. “I have options,” she said finally. “I know people. I can work. I can live. I can do everything you think I can’t. And I can do it without… without this.” Her hand gestured vaguely around the apartment, the city, their entire staged life.
Max stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not saying you can’t. I’m saying… maybe wait a little. Just a week. Let things calm down. You stay here, I’ll… I’ll handle everything else. One week.”
“You lied,” she said softly, almost a whisper. “You don’t plan to file the papers.”
“I hope you’ll change your mind,” he admitted, his eyes dark, serious. “Just give me one week to… try.”
She stared at him, weighing, calculating. She could argue. She could storm out. She could pack and disappear and let the world figure out her story without her. But the raw honesty in his voice, the rare vulnerability something flickered inside her.
“And the rent?” she asked, breaking the silence. “I’ll pay for it. You know… since I stayed here in the last month. I don’t want any favors.”
Max shook his head immediately, exasperated. “No. If anyone should pay, it’s me. You did your part… more than anyone could ask.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly. She exhaled. “Fine,” she said, almost reluctantly. “One week. Until the divorce papers. Then I go.”
He nodded slowly. That was all he could take for now. One week. A week to make her reconsider. A week to stall, to negotiate with fate and stubborn hearts. A week… that felt simultaneously long and painfully short.
***
Somewhere down the hall, behind a closed door, her lamp was still on. He could see the faint glow spilling across the floor, a thin, golden line under her door proof she was awake, probably overthinking everything he said.
Max couldn’t sleep either. His brain wouldn’t shut up. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the look on her face when she told him one week. Like a clock had started ticking right then, and each second that passed pulled her further away.
He didn’t want to wake anyone, not even himself, but he needed to think and he needed to do it where she wouldn’t hear.
So he grabbed his phone and slipped quietly into the laundry room. It smelled faintly of detergent and warm air, the washing machine humming lazily in the corner. He sat down on top of the dryer, the metal cold under his palms, and called his manager.
“You need to make her stay more than that,” his manager’s voice came from the other side, calm but sharp. “I know this whole thing started because you were drunk, but now you have to make it real for her. One week isn’t enough.”
Max let out a dry laugh, leaning against the counter. “Make it real? You make it sound easy. She’s packing her things like I told her I’d just killed her dog.”
“Then fix it,” his manager said simply. “Buy her something. Take her somewhere. Make her see the good side of this. Max, how hard can it be to make her fall for you?”
“I don’t know, man,” Max muttered, "You think I can buy her a bag and she’ll suddenly melt? She offered to pay rent for the time she stayed here."
His manager chuckled, clearly not understanding the weight of that detail. “Sounds like she’s responsible. That’s a good thing.”
“It’s insane,” Max hissed. “She’s impossible to read. One second she looks like she hates me, the next she’s quiet and... I don’t know, sad? She’s not doing this for attention. She’s really done.”
“Then make her undone,” the manager replied. “Whatever it takes. You care about sponsors, right? Because a one-month marriage isn’t a good look, Max.”
Max sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He knew that. He knew this was bad. He didn’t care about what random people said about him he never had but this time it wasn’t just about him. Sponsors, contracts everything was tangled in this mess.
He looked around the empty living room, her half-packed suitcase open near the stairs. Damn it. He needed a plan. Something that would make her stay.
What did she even want?
***
Max tapped the pen against the notebook. One week. Seven days. That was all he had to make her feel something for her to hesitate, to falter, to question if walking away was really what she wanted. That was the start. The spark.
He scribbled furiously, jotting down ideas, contingencies, scenarios. Every encounter, every conversation, every tiny gesture had to be deliberate. Subtle. Untraceable. Organic. Nothing forced. She had to think she was choosing to stay, even as he was quietly steering her closer.
Gifts wouldn’t work not the ones his manager suggested. Dinner dates? Too superficial. Every move had to feel real, earned, personal. He would need to watch, anticipate, react. She was a riddle wrapped in clarity and contradictions, and Max loved a challenge.
He exhaled, leaning back in the empty living room, the notebook spread across the counter like a battlefield map. One week to make her feel . And he knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing worth having ever was.
But he would do it. And he would make her fall for him. Hard.
The plan was born in silence, in shadows, in scribbles that no one would see. And Max smiled faintly, knowing the game had just begun.
Going back in time in this little story, a bit before Alfie and his treacle's wedding, when Thomas was already a terrible brother, even if he's trying, in his own way.
The proposal had arrived a few weeks before the wedding, and Y/N had looked her brother in the eyes, straight in the eyes, ready to refuse.
For his part, Tommy had continued smoking his cigarette as if everything was normal, as if he hadn't just asked something horrible of someone he was supposed to love, about someone she loved.
"Before you say no, you need to think about the consequences."
"I'm thinking about the consequences if I accept. Thomas, I'm getting married to him in less than a month. Hell, we'd already be married if you hadn't pushed the date back three times."
"I don't remember pushing anything back."
"Funny, because every time Alfie and I sent out invitations, it fell during an important deal, and so at least one of my brothers unfortunately couldn't make it. And I'd like all my brothers to be there."
"It's your choice," Tommy said calmly, stubbing out his cigarette.
"To get back to your ridiculous proposal, I obviously refuse."
"Of course. So I oppose this marriage."
"Thomas !"
"I'm not asking for the earth, though. I have to meet someone important tonight. Mr. Solomons has also been invited by our mutual friend. He mustn't come, find a way to distract him."
"I'm not a whore."
"No. I never said that. You're my sister, and his fiancée. For now."
"… I hate you," Y/N muttered as she left the office, slamming the door behind her.
She could have stuck to her guns, going against her older brother's plans and deciding to get married even without his approval, even without her family around. With any luck, they'd still come, considering Tommy was acting like an asshole.
But they could also be too scared, torn between love and need, and she didn't want to put them in that situation. It had been hard with Ada. There was no way she was going to do it again, only worse.
The problem was, she also didn't want to lie to her future husband. It wasn't a good start to a marriage. Even though he seemed completely blinded by his mad passion for her, Alfie Solomons probably had his limits.
Y/N weighed the pros and cons for the rest of the day, until the time of the meeting approached.
With slow, uncertain steps, she went to the Bakery to find her fiancé finishing his accounts before jumping into his car. Her visit surprised him, and even though he was always happy to see her, he seemed to sense something was wrong. He always felt that.
"A problem, Treacle ?"
"Can't I just want to see you ?"
"Hmm. Nah. That would be a sign of dementia, and you're still too young and strong for that. Come here."
With the gentleness he only used for her, he guided her to sit on his lap, placing a hand on her forehead before checking for a fever. If she was hot, it was probably only because her conscience was boiling.
"Hmm, you don't seem sick. So there's another problem."
"I want…" she stammered. "I just want to be with you."
"Unfortunately, I have some business to attend to first, love. But I can join you afterward if you're so interested in spending time with my old carcass."
"… I know."
"That I can join you ?"
"No. That you have business."
Alfie frowned, realizing there was a message here, but unable to decipher what it was. Of course she knew he had business; he had some, all the time. She rested her head on his shoulder, trying to hide her shame between his neck and the collar of his shirt.
Decision, decision. Her brother, or her love. As always, Thomas hadn't explained the whole situation to her. Who he was meeting with.
Whether Alfie would be in trouble if he didn't come. Whether he'd be terribly furious, or whether it didn't matter to him at all.
She let out a sob, which set her bear of a lover in motion, wrapping his arms protectively around her.
"Don't get angry."
"I can't make any promises, Treacle. You know I don't like seeing you like this."
"You have to stay with me tonight."
"Love…"
"Please," she whispered, clinging to him. "I want to marry you. And I don't want to lose my family. Stay with me."
"… All right. For you."
He didn't ask questions. No need. Alfie Solomons wasn't stupid.
So the night passed, and he stayed with her, holding her close, placing kisses on her forehead. Nothing else. Not until marriage. He may have been a gangster, a thief, a killer, a blasphemer, but he respected certain things. He respected her.
In return, he didn't like her being disrespected.
It was for this, and this alone, that he broke Tommy's nose the next day.
He entered the Birmingham bookstore without a word, without a violent gesture, his steps leading him directly to Thomas's office, where he entered, ignoring his secretary, and still without a word, he smashed his fist once in the middle of his future brother-in-law's face.
The latter offered no resistance. He signaled to his brothers not to intervene, lighting a cigarette as if everything was normal.
It took several more days for Y/N to finally understand what had happened. Because after checking, the famous meeting was of no importance to Alfie, but even more so to Thomas, who hadn't even gone.
Never acting like everyone else, the leader of Peaky Blinders had clearly thought of a nice wedding gift for his sister and her fiancé. A welcome-to-the-family card.
Yes, he used his sibings sometimes. Yes, he asked them to lie. Yes, he could be heartless.
But if that happened with Y/N, which never did, she wouldn't do that to her husband. She would find a way to help her family without turning against him, because she loved him. And in return, Alfie, who loved her even more, would come and bash Thomas's head in for daring to treat her like a common girl who worked on the street.
She didn't thank Tommy for the gift. She didn't tell Alfie about it, even though she guessed he understood too, otherwise he wouldn't have stopped at the face. After all, he hadn't promised not to get angry.
They sent out the new invitations, stating that no excuses would be accepted this time. All the Shelbys replied that they would be delighted to come.
And later, if their brother-in-law ever dared to doubt their sister's love for him, Thomas would take the liberty of reminding him of that moment, in addition to making stupid bets.
I'm not the first person to say this and I know I won’t be the last: some of you are getting way too comfortable fetishizing certain topics.
I should not open this app and have the first thing I see under a character tag be "sexist!character X Reader" What the hell is that? There's nothing cute or funny about fantasizing misogyny.
I should not have to dig through tags to find content that doesn't have r*pe, stalking, ect.
There's also a huge difference between playing with idea such as "age-gap" and "first-time" and straight up making your character into a fucking child. It's disgusting.
As someone who's been in fandom for years, I can tell the difference between people that post darker content and people that genuinely need to take a step back and reevaluate what the hell is going on inside their head.
And I can guarantee that if any of these things actually happened to most of you, you wouldn't be fantasizing about it like it's cute.
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