M ᯓ★ @spacelew - Tumblr Blog

Here's a list of my favourite fics/fic recs!

These are some of the most talented writers!! <3

Warning: some of these contain smut!

There's a lot of fics here, it's a long post

⋆｡ ˚ the space sam left behind

summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ after sam leaves for stanford, dean shuts down so hard it feels like you lost him too—and one bad joke in the impala finally makes you snap. pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( gn ) wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 842 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ angsty warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ heavy angst, abandonment feelings, grief over changing dynamics, emotional shutdown, argument, no clean resolution

notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ

the impala is too quiet without sam.

that’s the worst part, maybe. not the empty motel beds or the way dean stops ordering extra fries out of habit, or how every hunt feels a little more hollow now that there isn’t a second voice correcting research from the other side of a diner booth.

it’s the car. it’s the miles of road stretching ahead while dean drives with both hands on the wheel and says almost nothing, jaw set hard, music turned loud enough to pretend silence isn’t sitting between you with its knees drawn up.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #fic rec

inbred-eater

── ⟢ POPE CODY SHOWING UP TO HIS EX GIRLFRIEND’S HOUSE

── ⟢ WARNINGS 18+ mdni. age gap (reader is in her 20’s) angst with a sweet ending. spoilers for season 4 of animal kingdom. popey cries. cuddling (pope is little spoon). reader calls him andy.

── ⟢ ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS gif creds: @/wesandresons | divider creds: @/s-silk

You don’t remember falling asleep - between the unbearable heat and the exhausting day you had, all you remember was getting out of the shower and flopping onto your bed, not even bothering to get under the sheets, your eyes closing instantly, drifting off into one of those deep sleeps that feel a little too close to death.

It’s why you don’t hear him; why you don’t hear Pope, your ex boyfriend, break in through your bedroom window; why you don’t hear him sniffling as he stands next to your bedside, his eyes trained on your sleeping figure, nostrils flaring with each laboured breath he took; why you don’t hear him panicking to himself as he processes the events of the day, needing to see you, needing to be near you.

Hours pass and Pope’s still there, simply just being near you calming him down, watching you twist and turn in your sleep, his fingers twitching by his side when you begin to stir more than what you usually did in your sleep - a bad dream, something disturbing plaguing your mind, jostling you awake with a jolt of your body, your vision still a little blurry due to the deep sleep - it’s why you don’t see Pope immediately upon waking up.

But when you do, you nearly jump out of your skin, gasping loud enough to wake the neighbours surely, clutching your rapidly beating heart with one hand whilst the other’s reaching over to your bedside draw on instinct, the gun Pope made you promise to keep when you started dating, lying there, only allowing yourself to take a deep breath when your vision cleared and your brain registered that it was Pope.

“Jesus Andrew.” You sigh out, inhaling and exhaling deep breaths, your body still on high alert as you take a moment to come to, only then realising just how indecent you were, reaching for the throw blanket at the foot of your bed and covering your bottom half with it.

“Sorry.” He grumbled out, brows set as he watches you do so, exhaling through his nose, looking like a kid who was just yelled at, “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He whispers, hovering at your bedside.

You swallow, rubbing the remainder of your sleep from your eyes, 01:30 flashing in a dark shade of red from the digital alarm clock on your desk.

“Andrew we talked about this.” You pause, keeping your eyes on the clock, fighting the urge to look up at him, you’d give in too fast if you did so. “It was - it was fine, cute even, when we were together, but you-you can’t keep doing this, breaking in and watching me okay? You just can’t.” You huff, running a hand down your face in disbelief.

Pope just nods, a knot in his chest, clenching his fists as the tears start prickling at the corners of his eyes again, the dull throb in his ear long forgotten, “I know I know ‘m-‘m sorry-I just I had to see you okay?” His voice cracks and then he’s inhaling deeply, throat gurgling as he tries to fight back the tears.

That catches your attention, brows furrowing as you finally look up at him, only then catching his worked up figure and tensed shoulders, the frown on his lips, the tears in his eyes and the drying blood on his ear, your eyes widening instantaneously, shooting up from your bed and gently reaching for his face, working on autopilot from all the previous times he’d come to you in a similar fashion, “Oh my god Andrew you’re bleeding.” You panic, your eyes flitting over his face for any other injuries, the words stuck in your throat as your eyes zero in on his devastated ones.

“Hey hey what happened? Talk to me c’mon you’re scarin’ me.” You coo, stroking his cheeks with all the love and care in the world, a wave of deja vu hitting you as you kept your eyes on his, searching them for an answer but finding nothing except heartache and anger.

Pope tried to fight it, tried to fight the swirl of emotions in his chest, he hated looking weak but with you in front of him, your sweet voice consoling him and your skin on his, he just broke - how could he not?

“She’s gone.” He coughs out, bottom lip trembling as he allowed himself to cry, the pretty image of you before him blurred as the tears came flowing, his body crumbling into yours - you’ve never seen him so small before, and it had your heart breaking all over again.

“Who’s gone honey?” You hummed, the pet name slipping without a thought, racking your brain for an idea on who he could be talking about, your own eyes stinging with tears, because even after months of separation, you still loved him, and you still hated seeing him hurt.

Pope sniffles, his hands shaking as they reach for your waist, your touch somewhat grounding him amidst the chaos and despair, bringing him back to that safe place he only found when he was with you.

“Smurf.” He eventually cried out, voice cracking as he does so.

Your eyes widen, lips parting in utter disbelief, your hands hovering over his cheeks for just a second before you snap out of it, immediately wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing him into your chest, his face tucking into the crook of your neck on instinct, strong arms encircling your waist.

You couldn’t believe it, the bitch finally kicked the bucket.

You swallowed as you consoled him, one hand in his curls and the other stroking his back, shushing his cries, “I’m so sorry Andrew.” You whispered, turning your face slightly to press a kiss to his temple, slowly guiding him to sit with you on the edge of your bed.

You hated Smurf with every fibre of your being - she was the main reason for your and Pope’s break up, that and the horrible way she manipulated and used him, you couldn’t stand the woman and she knew it, threatening Pope with your life if he didn’t leave you.

But she was still his mother - so you held him, reassuring him that you were there and you weren’t leaving, whispering hushed “I’m sorry’s” and “I’m here sweet boy,” into his ears, keeping him close as he clutched onto you, resembling a kid who’d just lost his favourite stuffed animal.

You stayed like that for some time until Pope snapped out of it, his eyes bloodshot, sniffling as he pulled away from you, too afraid to even look you in the eyes, his hands sliding from your waist to his own jean clad thighs, reminding himself that you weren’t his anymore and that you probably didn’t want him there. itching to hold you again.

“She-she had cancer, didn’t wanna end up sufferin’ in some hospital bed so she started a shoot out and it went bad - she tried to force me to do it,” he rushed out through clenched teeth, finally breaking the silence, adam’s apple bobbing as he did so, looking toward your window to gather himself before trying to speak again, “put a gun in my hand and told me to do it, and when I wouldn’t she shot at me, bullet grazed my ear but I still couldn’t, couldn’t do it - then-she was just gone, J shot her before she could shoot me again.” He dry heaved, face twitching as he looked up to you, those hazel eyes you loved so dearly, looking as broken as ever, a salty tear travelling down your own cheek at the ordeal.

“Fuck why am I even telling you this - I’m sorry - I know I shouldn’t have come, but I-“ he paused again, brows pinched at the centre, briefly looking away when he felt your soft hand on his calloused one, grasping it and bringing it to your lips, placing the gentlest kiss you could muster, to the back of his hand, “I’ll - I’ll leave but I just had to see you, couldn’t go back home, everything reminds me of her, didn’t know where else to go.” He hiccuped, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he kept watching you.

You shook your head faster than your mind could keep up with, keeping his hand in yours as you reassured him, “No hey, don’t do that-stay, please? You don’t need to go, you shouldn’t be alone right now-I meant what I said, I’m here okay?” You hummed, squeezing his hand to place emphasis on your words.

That’s how you found yourself half watching some shark documentary, Pope in your shower, a change of clothes waiting on your bed, his thing about outside clothes on your bed sheets bothering him too much, cleaning the day away and the graze on his ear before he walked into your room, towel wrapped low on his waist as he awkwardly hovered, feeling out of place due to how long he’s been gone.

Your mouth went dry at the sight, cursing yourself for looking at him in such a lustful manner considering what he’d just went through, turning around when he got closer, “Right sorry.” You stammered, rolling your eyes and shaking your head to yourself, trying to give him a semblance of privacy.

Pope smiled faintly, chewing the skin on his bottom lip as he crossed your room, purposely moving into your line of sight, “It’s nothin’ you haven’t seen.” He huffed, reaching for the clean clothes, your brows raised as he dropped the towel to slip on a clean pair of underwear, and some sweats before sitting down next to you again.

He looked at you then, in that way that was uniquely Andrew Cody, so much left unsaid after you two ended things, yet you still let him in despite how much he’d hurt you.

Before you could overthink it, before you could hesitate and chicken out, you reached for his arm, bringing him down onto your bed with you, the sheets crumpled under the weight of your bodies, spooning him from behind as you wrapped your arm around his middle, tucking your face in his neck.

Pope stiffened, breath caught in his throat - he hadn’t felt this since you both ended things, and god he missed it dearly, he missed you dearly. Missed seeing your beautiful face each morning, missed the special way you looked at him, as if he hadn’t done any wrong in the world before, missed how you were never scared of him, missed the stupid things you’d say to get him to smile - he missed having your love all around him, and having it now, after such a horrible day, it brought tears to his eyes again, sniffling as quietly as he could, reaching for your hand, intertwining your fingers and pulling it to his warm chest, keeping you there.

A comfortable silence swallowed you both, your breaths matching one another, lying still for a moment before pressing sweet kiss after sweet kiss to his freckled bare back, mumbling a barely audible, “I’m so sorry Andy,” against his skin, your legs tangled with his.

He exhaled a shaky sigh, turning his face slightly to peek over his shoulder, catching your attention, “I missed you.” He murmured, voice deep and gravelly, clearing his throat as his eyes searched yours.

You sat up slightly to see him better, your smaller hand still in his, covered in each other’s warmth’s, just like it always should’ve been (suck that Smurf).

“Missed you so god damn much, never stopped thinking about you.” He repeated, using your hands in his to bring you closer, your face hovering over his.

“I missed you too honey.” You whispered, lips inches away from his, your forehead leaned against his, breathing the same air until your lips slowly touched, the kiss soft and desperate, feeling like home, conveying just how much he still loved you.

“I shouldn’t-I shouldn’t have let her talk me into breakin’ up with you - should’ve protected you and I hurt you - I’m sorry.” He hiccuped, but you shushed him, shaking your head.

“We don’t have to-we can talk about us later okay? It’s about you right now.” You hummed, pressing another chaste kiss to his trembling lips before sliding back down, cuddling into his back, your forehead resting against the back of his shoulder.

And for the first night in a long while, Pope had managed to fall asleep, Smurf’s death at the back of his mind now, with you wrapped around him like a koala and surrounded by your warmth and love.

He was going to be okay.

𓈒⟡ ׅ ݁₊ . thank you for reading 🩰

𓈒⟡ ׅ ݁₊ . tags: @beausling @eyve-5 @avasarchve @pascalsryissa @prettygirl321 @peaceandcrackers @aoi-targaryen @thatbitchatesblog @deansdeer @dumbbandpoetic @flwer555 @filthgf @h9ktyy @gojoswhkre @n3ssm0nique @tsivi @madprincessinabox @elflake @lovethatformoi @nameless-necromancer @callsignmagnolia @bunnysoon @noysisasimp @spencerreidsshoelaces @tempestfawn @mlileigh @rufles2 @3-smi @shadowzena43 @lo-l1t4 @lilyyexe @blair0707 @sophiek222 @itlivesinbox5 @momdancingtomcr @emmilynsblog @kbakery @abbotsrabbit @i-love-boobs0 @stevesstranger @formula1-motogpfan @loveslight-blue @teenage-iridescence @sittinginthegarden @zoeautumnspage @pinkitty97 @luvfreaks2 @beauty-andthe-geek @ilyfood737373 @vikisvendetta @coffeeblackandcomfortablynumb @cinnamoncunt

𓈒⟡ ׅ ݁₊ . want to join my taglist? — taglist for shawn hatosy + characters is closed 🪽

𓈒⟡ ׅ ݁₊ . all likes, comments && reblogs are greatly appreciated 🦢

ʚɞ shawn hatosy + characters m.list

#andrew pope cody x reader #pope cody x reader #pope cody angst #fic rec

barnesdreamcatcher

There's only me and you

jack abbot x f!reader

summary: what is supposed to be the happiest day of your lives leaves jack in complete frustration. you assure him that you love him just the way he is and that he isn’t any less for needing to take a break.

cw: loss of a limb and how it affects someone even years later, insecurities (jack), just lots of angst but so much fluff and comfort too!! wedding day troubles

wc: 1.7k

a/n: almost made myself cry when I came up with this idea

now playing: Coming Up Roses – Harry Styles

Dressed in white silk and delicate lace, you were grinning ear to ear. You had practiced your soft smile in the mirror a million times, wanting to look gracious and delicate in your wedding photos. But now that the vows have been exchanged and you’ve danced yourselves into the night, the happiness practically spilled out of you.

Jack’s face almost mirrored yours—just with tiny differences. While the moisture dampening your hairline stemmed from your carefree twirling on the dancefloor, sometimes in your husband’s arms, other times surrounded by your friends and family, sweat pearled down his temples from pure exhaustion. The light that lit up in his eyes when you walked down the altar has dimmed a little with every passing hour, just as the muscles in his jaw had grown tighter.

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbot fluff #jack abbot angst #fic rec

lavender-wolfie94

Me looking for fics but they’re all smut

spacelew

like why is there a fluff only fic in the angst tag or a smut only fic in the fluff tag??

deathreverse

APARTMENT SEVENTEEN — SERIES MASTERLIST

★ indicates smut / 𖤓 indicates fluff / ♡ indicates angst

SUMMARY: Jack Abbot is not an overly-neighborly person. He has secret nicknames in his head for most of the people on his floor and actively avoids any and all types of neighbor politics. However, he can’t deny his growing fondness for the single mom and toddler in apartment seventeen. (Nor his burning hatred for your baby daddy).

WARNINGS: this series includes a very chaotic reader with an even more chaotic toddler, mentions of abandonment, parent death, Jack's inability to consider anything good and worthwhile for himself, eventual smut, friends to lovers, mentions of previous abusive relationships, mentions of mental health struggles, miscommunication, age gap (reader is around 27 and Jack is in his 40's), medical inaccuracies and more.

A/N: I am very very excited to share this series and bring it to life. It started as a very random idea that quickly transpired into a huge story in my head within a matter of minutes. It does touch on some potentially triggering topics but warnings will be given in each chapter!

PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader

STATUS: Ongoing

#jack abbot #jack abbot fluff #jack abbot angst #jack abbot smut #fic rec #my favourites

very-merry-birthday

Mistaken Mornings

The room smells of vomit- that's always a bad sign.

The light floods in like poison, Dean rolls over, trying to avoid it's gaze. It's still too early to try and remember the mistakes of last night, but they beat down on him anyway as his legs tangle in the sheets.

There's a tenderness around his eye, where his face is smashed against the pillow. The black eye from the hunt, he thinks, before realizing his mistake. That was last month- this must be from the bar, that guy he tried to hussle at pool- he remembers the punch now.

There's also a pain radiating from his jaw- he has a foggy memory of stumbling into the bathroom, his face colliding with the toilet as he doubled up over it, throwing up the last half bottle of whiskey. That explains the smell, at least.

He's been struggling, recently- more than he'd ever let on. He doesn't think Sam's noticed how bad it's got, though the stench of vodka sweating through his skin is difficult to scrub off. Sam's smart enough not to mention it.

But you've been looking at him differently, in a way he doesn't like. Like you know he's already on the edge of drunk by the time he slips behind the wheel in the morning.

He hears a knock at the door, it's quieter than Sam's- which can only mean it's your turn to sort through the wreckage.

"Dean?" You murmur through the door.

He doesn't reply, turning over and pulling the pillow over his head. Maybe he'd be better if you two would just let him fucking sleep.

There's another small knock, "You in there?" a pause, "You don't have to get up- I just- tell me if you're in there, huh?"

He grunts out a response that sounds something like 'Go away.'

Dean wants another drink. He wants pills and cocaine and a quick fuck and whatever else will numb him for a bit. He can feel like someone else when he's slurring his words and drilling into a girl whose name he's already forgotten. That's easy.

What's not easy is having to talk to you, see your face break a little bit when you spot the bruises on his body. You've always thought too highly of him, always admired him more than he deserves.

Maybe that's why he doesn't like those looks you've started giving him. Maybe you're finally realizing what he actually is.

#dean winchester #dean winchester angst #fic rec

gxtitobxby

langdon telling reader all the cool procedures he got to do at work while she rides him...

"— so I realigned his spine," he laughs breathlessly, shakes hair out of his eyes and squeezes at the fat of your hips while you ride him. "his spine, baby. without neuro."

"that's so hot,” you gasp into his mouth, “you’re so hot.”

“had his head in my hands and then i j-just—snap,” his laugh is more delicious this time, and then it gets cut off by a moan when you squeeze around his cock. “fuck, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

“better than a spine realignment?” you smile n bite his lip while he chuckles.

“i don’t know if I’d go that fa—” the rest of his sentence is muffled by a pillow over his face while you gasp in faux outrage through a fit of giggles :’)

#frank langdon smut #fic rec #i need him bad #fuckkkk

jacksrabbkt

abbot request:

him and reader are exes but are not over each other. they broke up on good terms but he’s determined to win her back

stranger in you: part 1

summary: years ago, she wanted a sort of connection that jack wasn't ready for. to this day, he feels the deep ache of regret in his chest when he thinks of the night of the breakup. now that they're working at the same hospital, he wonders if forced proximity will allow him to win her back now that she's had years to heal.

content warnings: f!reader/afab, angst galore, happy ending, the cutest dennis whitaker x reader friendship -- SOLELY platonic!!, a lil bit of hucklerobby😄, flashback(s), endless yearning, reader is depressed and it's mentioned like once (but will come up more in later chapters), jack's a bit of a dick in the flashback, age gap (jack is 49, reader is 29 in present day. jack is 47, reader is 27 in flashback), y/n used, NOT proofread

author's note: i fear this may become multiple parts! i LOVE writing angst. part 2 here... -> coming soon!

2 years ago...

"what?" your voice was quiet, louder than a whisper but softer than a typical conversational volume. the disbelief in your tone was clear as day, even to jack, whose stomach lurched when he was forced to repeat the phrase he'd just tossed out mid-argument.

things were heated. snapping tones, biting remarks, your cheeks flushed with the heat of anger. the softness of your small "what?" broke that tension, and jack couldn't tell if that made this worse or better.

"i said," he repeated, "maybe its about time we split up."

#jack abbot angst #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot #the pitt #fic rec

seewhoyouwanttosee

DON’T SMILE – JACK ABBOT X READER

☆ WORD COUNT: 4.5K

☆ SUMMARY: A week had passed since the end of your relationship and while you were slowly falling apart, Jack Abbot seemed to be doing just fine for himself. You didn’t want him to feel happy to have been with you– you wanted him to mourn the loss what could've been.

☆ CONTAINS: Angst, Younger, fem!reader. Mohan catching strays (England I know how you feel, I lost my queen too.) Mentions of jumping off a roof? Part two of SUGAR TALKING, but can be read alone!

☆AUTHORS NOTE: Okay, sorry this took some time– I’ve been in school and have only really been able to write at night. I genuinely didn’t expect the kind words and people wanting a part 2, so I’m sorry for the delay, folks. Also! In the last fic reader is on the day shift, but for the sake of continuity, let’s just say she was covering for someone and is originally on the night shift. Please leave your thoughts in the comments– the nice ones– or if you’d like more fics, and don’t forget to send any requests to my inbox!

☆ PAGE DIVIDERS BY: @angeliicide

Your heart feels heavy in your chest as you sit in the booth, wedged between Trinity and Parker.

The sound of the bar and low music filling the air is muffling the rest of the table’s conversation, but it’s not like you were paying attention anyway.

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbot angst #the pitt #fic rec

mcybank

Those Days Are Over (Don’t Worry, Baby) — Steve Harrington (2)

pairing — ex!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count — 16.9k

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

warnings — (18+ Minors DNI!!!) sexual content, no intercourse, fingering, me also being really bad at writing smut, heavy making out, crying, SO much crying, both of them, multiple times, breakdown during intimacy, ongoing emotional trauma, public emotional moments, alcohol mention, intimacy while intoxicated, breakup scene, second chance romances, he fell first AND he fell harder (eventually), right person wrong time -> right person right time, small town, forced proximity (??), jealous steve. yearner steve. like so badly yearning i’m sorry i got so carried away.

author’s note — this was probably the worst Almost Hookup aftermath. i also got so carried away writing this and i know i’ll look back on it and realize how bad it was lmao but steve is such a yearner in this. i also would loveee to write an epilogue or something for this + drabbles because i’m thinking so much about them and don’t wanna let them go just yet so lmk if that’s of any interest !! ♡

part one

"Hi," he breathed against your lips.

"Hi, Steve." Your hands found the hem of his shirt, fingers slipping beneath to find warm skin. He took in a sharp intake of breath he tried to hide.

He shuddered, the tremor beginning in his shoulder and rolling down through his chest, his stomach. His hands left your face and slid down to your waist, then lower, fingers digging into your hips so hard you’d feel it tomorrow as he hauled you against him.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #fic rec

mcybank

The Space We Stop (2)

part one part two

pairings — jack abbott x fem!reader

summary — Jack has already decided what he can survive losing. You didn’t realize you weren’t on the list until you weren’t.

content warnings — 8k words. hurt/no comfort, breakups, talk of pregnancies & the decision to have children, partner who doesn’t want children, age gap (reader’s 30, jack’s 50s), power imbalances; reader’s a nurse, jack’s her attending, workplace settings; working with ex, anticipatory grief, mourning a future, references to patient death, five-year-old patient (no serious injuries), pediatric medical case (forehead laceration, suturing, child is okay), blood in medical context, obliquely referenced that jack’s a widower, this is just sad tbh, mentions of eating habits (reader mentions not being able to eat and eating habits)

author’s note — i kind of realllllyy don’t know how i feel about this so i’m sorry if it’s bad 🫤🫤 thank you for so much love though

It was childish, you knew that, to have yourself temporarily placed only on day shifts. The correct protocol would have demanded you go through your attendings, but given that one out of the two attendings was the man you didn’t believe you could’ve stood in the same room as without completely breaking while the other half was his best friend, you took it straight to Dana.

You’d written it on the back of a discharge instruction sheet because a Post-It felt too informal. You’d written ‘days?’ and crossed it out. You’d written ‘can I be moved to’ and crossed that out too. You’d settled, finally, on ‘days only, for now?’

That was acceptable, for the time being, considering you’d framed it as temporary. If it did end up having to be permanent, for you were sure night shifts would have to be pried away from Jack’s cold, dead hands, then you’d deal with it then.

#jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot angst #the pitt x reader #the pitt #fic rec #my heart hurts omg

earth2starkey

₊˚⊹ where you fit | steve harrington x reader

summary: you learned a long time ago how to take up less space. steve harrington promised you would never have to do that with him. when he breaks that promise, even by accident, the fallout is quiet and unbearable. robin buckley, who is not paid enough for this, eventually forces him to stop being an idiot and go get his girl.

tags/warnings: post s4 no spoilers, hurt/comfort, emotional angst, abandonment fears, miscommunication, idiots in love, steve harrington being painfully in love, reader has a soft heart, robin buckley saves the day, brief crying, comfort ending

wc: ~6k

cutie lace divider by: @uzmacchiato

Steve notices the smell before anything else.

Heat trapped in carpet fibers. Dust warmed by the sun. The faint, lingering sweetness of your shampoo, the one you always forget at his place, clinging to the air like evidence you spent all of your time there. It hits him all at once, settles low in his chest. The fan hums from the corner of his room, rattling the posters taped crookedly to the walls, pushing around warm air that sticks to his skin. Outside, cicadas buzz relentlessly, loud and unbothered, a constant pulse beneath the quiet tension slowly tightening around his ribs.

You stand near the foot of his bed, arms wrapped around yourself. Not angry. Careful. Like you are holding each word up to the light before deciding whether it is safe to let it go.

The desk lamp casts the room in amber, softening everything it touches. Softening the edges of the furniture, the shadows, you. It makes this feel like a place where nothing bad should happen. Like this room should be safe.

“You’ve been distant,” you say gently. “I can feel it.”

Steve leans back against the dresser, the wood pressing into his spine. His shirt clings to him with sweat. He smells like soap and summer and the faint metallic tang of grease from the car he worked on earlier. He crosses his arms, a habit he falls into when he does not know where to put his hands.

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind,” he says.

“You always do,” you reply, soft but steady. “But lately you disappear into it.”

His jaw tightens. He hates that you can tell. Hates that you see straight through him even when he is trying to hold everything together with sheer force of will.

“I’m allowed to think,” he snaps before he can stop himself. “Not everything has to be a conversation.”

Your shoulders tense at that. It is small, almost imperceptible, but he sees it anyway.

“I don’t need everything,” you say. “I just need to know you’re still here.”

That should have stopped him. It usually does.

He loves how openly you want him. Loves that you never pretend to need less than you do. Loves how easily you reach for reassurance now, even after a past that taught you to fold yourself smaller to survive. He knows where that instinct came from. Knows the cost it once had. Knows how long it took for you to unlearn it.

Fear makes him careless.

“You’re always checking,” he says, frustration rising before he can swallow it down. “Always needing to know where I’m at, what I’m feeling, if I’m okay.”

You blink, lips parting slightly, like the words caught you off guard.

“It gets exhausting,” he adds, the truth twisted sharp by his panic. “I can’t even breathe without you asking if I’m alright.”

The cassette clicks loudly as it reaches the end of the tape, cutting the music off mid note. The fan hums. Cicadas scream. The air thickens until it feels hard to breathe.

Steve sees it the second it lands.

The way your posture folds inward, instinctive and familiar, like your body remembers this feeling even if you wish it would not. Like something old has been woken up inside you.

You do not argue. You swallow hard, eyes shining, lashes clumping together as tears gather despite your effort to stop them.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve says quickly, panic creeping in.

But then he exhales, stubbornness digging in, fear winning over instinct.

“Maybe you could give me some space,” he mutters. “You don’t have to be so much all the time.”

The word settles between you.

It has weight. History. Teeth.

Your eyes glass over completely now, hazel gone distant and wet. Steve feels sick watching you try to hold yourself together, like you are bracing for something you recognize too well.

You nod once. Slow. Careful.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice breaking right down the middle.

You turn away, grabbing your shoes, then his hoodie from the back of the chair. You pull it over your head, drowning in the fabric, sleeves swallowing your hands. It smells like him. Familiar. Comforting. Cruel.

You pause at the door, just for a second, like you are waiting for him to say something. Anything. Like you are giving him one last chance to stop you before you disappear.

Steve thinks about crossing the room. About pulling you back. About saying anything to undo what he has just done.

He does not move.

The door closes softly behind you.

The house feels hollow immediately.

The next morning, the quiet is wrong.

Steve stands in his kitchen with a piece of burnt toast in his hand and the radio murmuring low on the counter. Sunlight spills through the window at the wrong angle, too harsh, too bright. The air smells stale, like it has been holding its breath.

You usually sit on the counter while he eats, legs swinging, stealing bites off his plate. You usually leave your mug in the sink even when you swear you will wash it.

The counter is empty.

He tells himself you just need a day.

By the second day, the absence presses in on him, heavy and unrelenting.

Your toothbrush is still in his bathroom. Your shampoo still fogs the mirror after his shower. The hoodie you took is gone, and that absence hurts more than he expects.

He replays the fight while he drives. While he showers. While he lies awake staring at the ceiling fan.

You do not have to be so much.

Each time, the words rot a little more.

He thinks about the way you love. Openly. Without apology. He thinks about how brave it was for you to relearn that after someone taught you love was conditional.

And how easily he crushed it.

By the third day, you stop showing up entirely.

Not at Family Video. Not at the diner where you always wait for him after shifts. Not at the radio station, where you usually sit cross legged on the floor, flipping through magazines while Dustin rambles and Lucas debates song choices with Robin.

Max does not ask where you are, but she notices. Mike notices too. El asks once, quietly.

Steve has no answers.

Robin notices most of all.

She leans across the counter, squinting at the door for the sixth time that hour.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “Where is she?”

Steve keeps his eyes on the tapes he is stacking. “She’s busy.”

Robin hums. “That’s funny. Because she has never been busy when you’re on shift. Ever.”

He shrugs, jaw tight. “Maybe she just wanted space.”

Robin watches him carefully now. He has been pacing between songs, snapping at callers, rubbing at his chest like something hurts there.

“She didn’t wave yesterday,” Robin says. “And she always waves.”

Steve swallows.

By the fourth day, the guilt becomes unbearable.

It settles in his chest, heavy and unmoving. He smells you everywhere. In his car. In his room. In the space beside him in bed that stays cold.

Robin corners him when he has worn a path into the floor.

“No,” she says. “You do not get to keep doing this. Spill.”

He breaks.

Tells her everything. The fight. The word he used. The way your body folded in on itself like it had done this before.

Robin’s face softens, then hardens.

“You knew better,” she says quietly.

“I know,” Steve whispers. “I love that she needs me. I love being the place she comes to.”

“Then go prove it,” Robin snaps. “Because right now she thinks she was wrong for trusting you.”

That does it.

Your room smells like clean laundry and salt.

You are curled on your bed, knees tucked tight to your chest, Steve’s hoodie wrapped around you like armor. Your arms are crossed over yourself, shoulders rounded, like you are trying to take up less space in the world.

The knock at your door is tentative.

You do not answer.

Another knock.

“Y/n,” Steve’s voice says, quiet and wrecked. “Please.”

You open the door slowly.

He stands there holding a small bouquet of your favorite flowers, the ones you once said reminded you of late summer evenings. His hair is messy. His eyes are red. His chest rises and falls unevenly.

The moment he sees you, something inside him caves in.

You look smaller. Tired. Wrapped in his hoodie, arms tight around yourself like you are afraid to reach out.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Honey.”

You say nothing.

Steve steps closer, careful, giving you space even as the ache in his chest twists tighter. He sets the flowers down on your nightstand and places his hands over the fabric of his hoodie’s sleeves, hands lingering for a moment, brushing against your arms like he’s memorizing your shape. And he starts talking immediately, words spilling out like he is afraid silence will swallow him whole.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I am so sorry. I was scared and overwhelmed and instead of being honest, I took it out on you. I said things I never should have said.”

You nod faintly, eyes fixed on the floor.

He crouches down slightly to your level, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to take up less space with me,” he whispers. “You fit right here. You’ve always fit.”

Tears continue to slip freely down your cheeks as he speaks. You lean into him, forehead resting against his, and he wraps you up immediately, holding you like he’s been yearning for this moment since the last time you spoke—and in all honesty, he was. His chest presses against yours, heartbeat steady, grounding. His hands drift over your back, slow, soft, like he’s tracing the outline of every worry you’ve ever carried and promising to hold them for you.

“I love how much you care,” he continues, voice breaking. “I love that you want to be close to me. I love that you choose me. And I hate that I made you feel like that was too much. Like you were too much. You’re not, you’re everything to me.”

You hesitate before speaking, voice barely an octave above a whisper. “I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”

His heart breaks clean in two.

“You cannot say the wrong thing to me,” he says softly. “Not like that. Not ever.”

He pulls his head back to see you better, his pleading gaze taking in your broken one. Reaching a gentle hand up, he brushes a strand of hair from your face. He presses a kiss to your temple, then the curve of your cheek. His lips linger, gentle and reverent. He sighs into you, a long, shaky exhale that carries every word he doesn’t speak.

“I broke my promise,” he whispers. “I told you that you would never have to make yourself smaller with me. And I broke it. I am so sorry.”

Your tears are quiet and unstoppable as they continue to slip free.

You lean into him again, this time forehead pressing into his chest. His strong arms slip back around you, holding you like he has been starving for it.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “I am not leaving. And I am sorry it took me this long to come say that.”

After the tears slow, he makes you tea, letting the steam curl around the room in lazy spirals, warm and gentle. He sets it carefully on the nightstand and sits on the edge of the bed, giving you some space but still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. You curl into his side, small and tentative, letting your head rest against his chest without a word, an arm holding you in close to him. Your own arms are folded around yourself, like you are afraid of asking for too much, but he doesn’t comment on it. He just lets you be. He lets you exist exactly as you are, small and fragile and exhausted, and it is all he wants to hold.

You sip the tea quietly, the mug warm in your hands. The room smells like him—his soap, a tinge of sweat, the faint tang of summer air clinging to him—and it is enough to anchor you back to this moment, back to safety, back to him.

When you finally lie down, he moves slowly, deliberately, as if he could break you with a single careless motion. He carefully slides under the blanket beside you and draws you close to him. Your knees brush then, and it feels impossibly intimate, ordinary and profound all at once. He adjusts his side to fit yours, letting your head rest on his shoulder while your arm drapes over his chest.

“I’m here, sweet girl,” he whispers, his voice low and steady, a tether to the present. “I’m not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

You breathe him in, the scent of him comforting and familiar. Warm cotton, the safety of home. Slowly and carefully, the tension in your body begins to ease with every pressing moment.

Your hand finds his shirt, slow and afraid at first. He freezes for the barest moment, as if he is scared you will pull away, then softens, pressing a little closer and letting you fully anchor yourself to him. The motion is gentle but deliberate, full of unspoken apologies and the ache he has carried for days.

“You can need me,” he murmurs, voice gentle, steady, and full of a promise he’s said out loud before the incident. Before he hurt you. “I want you to.”

Your eyes finally lift to meet his. In his brown irises, you see the weight of everything he feels—the guilt, the love, the desperate need to hold you close to him—and it makes your heart ache in equal measures.

“I missed you,” you whisper, still small and raw, like you’re scared to speak any louder. As if it’ll break the fragile bubble surrounding the two of you.

“I missed you every second,” he replies, pressing one slow, chaste kiss to your forehead, then the curve of your temple, then the soft line of your cheek. With each one, his lips linger just enough to reassure you and to let you know he is entirely here.

You curl closer into him, letting the warmth of his body fill the spaces where fear and doubt had been festering for days. His arms wrap around you a little tighter but still careful, pressing you into him as if he can hold the ache in his chest at bay by holding you instead. He hums quietly against your hair, soft and low, and it is enough to make your eyelids heavy, to let you finally relax.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucks it behind your ear, and then presses another tender kiss to the crown of your head. He whispers your name softly, just above the sound of your steady breathing. Each and every small gesture is full of the quiet, unshakable love that he feels for you, and didn’t show you in the few days you spent apart.

The blanket is tucked snugly around you both. Your fingers thread through his, and he gives a single, grounding squeeze. He rocks you ever so slightly, a subtle motion meant to calm, meant to soothe, meant to show that here, in this moment, you are utterly safe.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his cheek resting lightly against the top of your head. “All of you. Every part, baby. I’ve got you.”

You exhale slowly, letting your body melt into him. The weight of days, of tension, of fear, slips away, replaced by the simple certainty that he will not let you go again. And you finally fall asleep tucked against his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, the warmth of his body around you, and the softness of his touch lingering everywhere you can feel it.

This time, he does not let go.

#steve harrington #steve harrington angst #fic rec

grimgasm

i reach for you (but you're not mine) | j.a.

✶ pairing | jack abbot x f!reader ✶ word count | 5.2k ✶ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; fingering, biting, squirting, dry humping, mildly dubious consent, fwb, unrequited love but not really, idiots in love, hurt/comfort, mild angst with a happy ending, you attended college with jack who is older than you, unspecified age gap, pining, porn with plot, realization of feelings, pet names, jealous jack, possessive jack, praise kink, manhandling, simp jack abbot, miscommunication/misunderstandings ✶ summary | Loving Jack is the same as loving the ghost of a long-forgotten memory, and you are not content to warm yourself on hollow bones and cinders of affection. ✶ notes | un-betaed atm. i snuck in a reference to animal kingdom as well as some greek myths and a musical lmao 🤭 edit: OMFG i forgot to update the summary ffs. should be fixed now.

masterlist | ao3 | inbox | requests, taglist, submissions: open

The text comes through.

Blunt.

Biting.

No explanation offered or false platitudes found in the lifeless string of black letters. Simple and straight to the point - as expected from Jack Abbot himself. He wasn't known for his verbosity, and even less so for his love of texting.

Hell, it took years of pestering before he finally caved and switched from his dinosaur of a flip phone to something made within the last five years.

Whatever, it's fine.

Except as you chew on the fat of your cheek, re-reading it over and over again to glean some hidden meaning that isn't there, you admit to yourself (privately) there's no more avoiding the truth. It's been hovering over your shoulder for weeks like a shroud; an unwelcome guest no longer content to be ignored.

Jack's avoiding you. Has been for a while now, in fact.

Honestly, it was only a matter of time.

It shouldn't be surprising - shouldn't hurt. Maybe Robby's seven week itch finally rubbed off on him (though he never seemed capable of anything less than heart stopping loyalty).

But there's an ache that shouldn't be there roosted beneath your ribs, a rotten tangle of roots, and the backs of your eyes burn as you stare down at his text thread, the blinking cursor another insult to add to the injury.

This little arrangement is supposed to be casual.

A little fun between good, albeit lonely, friends. Nothing more, and nothing less. Besides, you've known Jack Abbot forever and a day; having met back in college. The pretty upperclassman with an infectious smile who made you laugh.

Your best friend once upon a time, and then he'd graduated.

Last you'd heard, he was a field medic while you roughed it in bumfuck Ohio - struggling to make ends meet as you tried to sort out your life after everything went sideways.

It wasn't until you'd moved back to Pittsburgh a lifetime later - a little older, wiser, and jaded - you ran into him by happenstance. Who knew the both of you were drawn to the same shitty little bar you used to haunt in your youth?

Almost like fate, you reconnected and it was as if no time had passed; slipping back into the same dynamic as one would slip into bed at night. Comfortable and easy.

Much had changed (the scars of war and the grief of a lost love leaving their scars), but beneath it all he was still the same Jack Abbot.

Nothing but a gangly boy whose future stretched its fingers out before him, limitless and undaunted. Who held your hand when you were scared, and took your first kiss when you asked.

But now...

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbot smut #jack abbot angst #fic rec #the pitt #the pitt x reader

keerymehome

જ⁀➴ ♡ Side Effects

જ⁀➴ ♡ Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Your Valentine's day is rudely interrupted by a desperate phone call from you best friend claiming a medical emergency. But it may work out in your favor.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, drug use (Viagra), p n v, no protection (wrap before you tap please), hand job, multiple rounds, cream pie.

જ⁀➴ ♡ Yeah no, this one's pure smut, barely any plot

A/N: So I actually ditched my original work I teased for Steve, just wasn't vibing with it and then adjusted this one instead. Happy Valentine's day Steve fan's.

Word Count: 3,529

There's a massive problem with being Steve Harrington's childhood best friend was that you were expected to handle situations like this.

"You're my best friend," Steve whined through the phone, his voice pitched higher than usual, slightly breathless in a way that made your stomach tighten with concern. "My best friend. That means you have to help me. It's in the code."

"There's no code, Steve."

"There is! I looked it up!"

You pinched the bridge of your nose, pacing the inside of your bedroom as much as the cord would allow, watching excited kids outside your window on the way to their dates. A sad record still playing on your turntable - trying to drown out the fact that you didn't have anyone to share the day with.

"Fine," you sighed. "What's the emergency? Did you fail another test? Can't work out what outfit to wear for your date tonight?"

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #fic rec

loveshotzz

If you’re too shy, let me know (part one)

steve harrington x fem!reader part one of two

I pretend I don’t care about her stare, while she’s giving me a tough time.

summary: you’re an observer of sorts, a wall flower, and the last hire made by the infamous runaway Jimmy ‘fast hands’ Lee. It was a job you took on a whim, a decision made without much thought. You weren’t expecting to ever share a room with Steve Harrington again, but when it starts to happen five days out of the week, you certainly weren’t expecting the now quiet and brooding former king to take up so much space in your mind.

WC: 17k

warnings: 18+ slow burn, soft soul touching smut, takes place a few months after season five not exactly canon accurate (he still has his beamer), steve is picking up the pieces of his life, reader has no knowledge of upside down, moved back after the military disappears, touch and love starved steve (reader is similar), mild angst, lots of yearning, mentions of holiday sadness, smoking, one bed trope, p in v van sex, scar kissing & touching (steve has scars).

authors note: well this was originally supposed to be a long one shot but it grew legs and became too long. so enjoy part one of two of the story i’ve been writing since volume one. Writing this got me through a rough holiday season and it started to feel really special. I hope it feels that way when you read it and thank you for waiting so long. I wouldn’t call this a holiday fic at all, its used as more of a backdrop. also i have no idea how things at a radio station work so if it’s not accurate beyond what I googled I apologize! don’t hate me! Thank you to Andy, Candy and Jelly for listening to me ramble and read snippets over the course of the last few months, couldn’t have finished it without you!

Three Weeks Before Christmas - A Monday Morning.

Steve Harrington was an anomaly.

spacelew

This is the best thing I’ve ever read, the yearning and soft yet buzzy tension at the end is SO GOOD

Plz I can’t stop thinking about this

#steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #i love yearning #oh i love this so much

loveshotzz

If you’re too shy let me know (part two)

steve harrington x fem!reader part two of two

I don’t want to be your friend, I want to kiss your neck.

summary: What happens after secrets reveal themselves in the dead of night?

WC: 12.6k

authors note: I don’t how how to express how happy everyone’s reactions and sweet words have made me. I started this the week after volume one aired in a really bad place and spent the last two months writing it and I’m sad and happy to finally let it go. I hope you enjoy it as much as part one 💕✨

✨<- part one // master list

A flash of brown catches in the corner of your eye as you put the Billie Holiday album back on the shelf. Freezing, your heart thumps wildly as all the worst episodes of America’s Most Wanted you’ve ever watched come rushing back. You try to mentally count how many seconds it would take to lock the door from where you’re standing before gathering enough courage to turn around. Dramatically preparing for death, you aren’t expecting to meet the hazel eyes you haven’t stopped thinking about on the other side of the glass.

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #my favs #fic rec

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