steveharringtonsbat

still not over steve harrington nineteen do you want the house tour 💌

[djolemodel]

hiii! your work is honestly beautiful

and i was wondering if i could request a reader×joe with some angst and comfort. so basically i was thinking maybe joe is readers boyfriend but he's also her only friend and maybe one day she just feels really lonely and she starts to cry and maybe joe comes home to find her crying and it takes her a minute but she finally explains whats wrong and how she feels and he just comforts her and stuff

if that's too much or you dont feel comfortable writing it i understand!

FELT SO ALONE

Joe Keery x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

NIA'S NOTES: Thank you for this request!! 💕 My heart goes out to anyone that's in this situation, I hear you!!! I'm only a message away. I'm so sorry this is so short, bad day at placement today, honestly just want to get into bed now 😓 Enjoy my lovelies! 💕

The apartment is holding onto something hushed that lingers when you’re on your own, vulnerable. It lingered in the air like a secret that was threatening to be spilled, when everything was quieter. You never told Joe about it, because then it would feel real, and you’d have to admit it to yourself too. As soon as Joe stepped out the door, everything came back to you, pulling you completely under, right back to the starting line.

When the quietness snuck up on you, you would keep yourself occupied, because learning to cover it up was the only thing that worked for you. Eventually it would all come crumbling down again, you knew that, but the few hours of silence in your brain was soothing, like you were getting a break from yourself, from facing it.

You’d catch yourself cleaning plates for a little longer than usual, even when they were completely stainless. You would reread the same line in a book two, three, trying to drag out time as much as you could because you knew that as soon as you set the book down, everything would come rushing back like a tidal wave.

Whenever Joe left to go record a song in the studio, or even to go on a ten-minute shopping trip, it became a loud reminder of how lonely it really felt. The silence completely absorbed you, and for an apartment so quiet, it was like all your feelings and thoughts were being projected. Sitting in the silence made you realise that there was no one else to talk to, and Joe was always there to fill the silence, make you feel noticed.

Time was uncomfortably dragging, in a way that it did when you were younger, begging for the day to go faster so you could go home. Home. The apartment felt less like home when Joe was gone, it was empty, like the air had changed without any notice, more tense, prominent. You found yourself glancing up at the clock more often as if time was going to jump ahead the next time you looked.

As soon as the front door softly clicks shut, you feel the tears threatening to fall, stinging your waterline. He walks in and lets out a quiet sigh, lowering the shopping bags to the counter with a soft grunt before walking over to you, and he immediately notices your glassy eyes. His face softens, in the way that it always does when he’s around you, it was sweet, something that only you got to see.

“Hey, baby, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” He whispers, settling down on the sofa beside you, close enough to feel his warmth wrap around you.

You weren’t sure if it was the question that set you off or if it was the way that he said it, but the tears spill anyway. Sobs left your lips before you could even fight back, and his arms wrap around you, gentle, soft, like any movement could break you even more. He gently guides your head to his shoulder, and you breathe in his scent, masculine, cedar, the aftershave that you bought him that he never fails to wear.

His hand combs through your hair, and he stays completely silent. He doesn’t tell you to be quiet, and he doesn’t tell you it’s okay, because when the tears are spilling down your cheeks, you’re definitely not feeling okay. It’s something so simple that you noticed he does, and that alone makes you feel heard, seen, like he has spent his time reading you, taking mental notes, silently in the background getting to know your ins and outs.

When you finally settled down, and melted against him, he leaned down to whisper into your ear. “Would you like to talk about it? Or you can have more time to think. The choice is all yours, baby.”

You slowly lift your head from his shoulder, blinking up at him. Seeing what his reaction was going to be worried you the most, the thought that he might think that he’s not doing enough for you has your hands trembling. He notices the hesitation, how your lips part but no words come out, like you’re physically holding yourself back from opening up to him.

“I’m listening, baby. Take all the time you need, there’s no rush.” He reassures you and uses the pad of his thumb to trace gentle patterns on your cheek, soothing, grounding.

He talks to you like you have all the time in the world, and he would give you that without any argument. His voice is careful, like he thinks over every word that leaves his lips, making sure that it’s right, not too pushy.

A shaky breath leaves your lips. “I feel really alone, and I don’t mean when I’m with you, I mean when I’m without you. Whenever I’m alone, it just forces me to remember that I have nobody else to talk to. It’s like I have no social life at all. Please, please don’t think that I’m ungrateful for saying this. It’s really been weighing up on me, for a while. I’m so glad that I have you, and I love you so much. Don’t take this as me saying that you’re not doing enough for me, because you do so much for me.” You ramble on, and he let’s you, taking in every word.

“I understand, baby. Well— I don’t exactly understand how you feel, but I understand why you feel this way.” He starts, eyes flicking over your face whilst he thinks of how to word what he wants to say. “I’m really sorry that you’ve been feeling this way, God, I wish I had noticed earlier.” He says, his voice wavering as if he feels guilty for not noticing.

“It’s okay, baby, really, it is. I wasn’t expecting for you to know how I’ve been feeling, I haven’t exactly been open about it, that’s on me.” You whisper.

“I know, but I hate knowing that you’ve been upset all this time, and I haven’t been able to comfort you, even help you through it.” He whispers, letting his forehead drop to yours. You can feel the slight tremble in his body, and his unsteady breathing. Your heart aches seeing him so disappointed in himself.

“You know now.” You say, gently brushing your hand through his hair.

“I want to take you out more, not just with me, but to see my friends, my family. We do that, but it’s not as often as it should be. I’m going to make sure that you know you have people who care for you, people that really do love speaking to you. I hate that you’ve been feeling so alone.” He promises like his life depends on it.

“Thank you, baby. That really means everything to me. I held back talking to you about this for so long. I was really worried that you’d feel guilty or feel like you weren’t doing enough for me, because you absolutely do so much for me, it’s insane.” You whisper, pressing a sweet, gentle kiss to his cheek.

“I’m just happy that you told me, opened up to me. You’re so brave, baby. I love you. I’m going to make sure that we have a games night again soon with my friends, and we can go for a meal out with our family. Also, you’re joining in with my shopping trips, whether you’ve just crawled out of the bed or not.” He laughs, practically beaming at you now.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” You laugh, shaking your head, but there’s no disagreement in your tone, because you’d love any opportunity to feel heard, noticed.

“Not at all.” He grins, pressing a slow, coordinated kiss to your lips. It’s sweet, a silent promise that’s louder than learning words in any other language is.

“I love you so much.” You whisper against his lips.

He slowly pulls away, looking at you with that sweet, puppy-like look. “I love you, baby, so much. I hate to switch the mood so quickly, but could you help me with the taking the shopping out of the bags before my back completely breaks on me?” He asks, laughing.

“Of course I can.” You laugh, brushing your lips over his cheek. “I’d rather not hear you complaining about your back for the next hour.” You grin, earning a playful roll of the eyes from him, and a soft kiss.

Thank you for reading!! 💕 Liking and reblogging is very much appreciated!! 💕 Last part of my exam tomorrow before my very last one in June, yay!

[oohgeminii]

daughter from hell

steve harrington x reader

desc - you and steve harrington never really liked eachother, you were simply just pushed together by your asshole parents. you did however understand each other, in more ways than one. miss daughter from hell and mr never good enough, the perfect love story. eventually.

val speaks - yes i got inspired by gracies new album name😋😋 ok also i realise this gets kinda crazy but just let me do my thingggggg like i took the idea i got and ran with it as u can see hehe okay enjoy i hope

word count: 12.9k

hawkins was the kind of place people got stuck in.

not physically at first. physically, there were roads leading out in every direction. highways stretching toward illinois, michigan, anywhere else. but somehow people still stayed. they grew up here, married here, worked here, died here. generations of families rooted themselves so deeply into the soil that leaving almost felt unnatural.

you used to think there had to be something wrong with everyone who stayed willingly because every time you looked around this town, all you could see was a cage.

the same streets, the same people, the same expectations.

hawkins high alone felt like proof that no one ever really changed. there were categories for everyone before you even walked through the doors freshman year. jocks. freaks. nerds. burnouts. girls pretty enough to matter. girls who weren’t. and once people decided where you belonged, that was it.

you’d been labeled difficult before you even turned ten.

your parents made sure of that.

“why can’t you be normal for once?”

that sentence followed you through your entire childhood like a ghost.

normal meant smiling politely at dinner parties while rich adults ignored you. normal meant accepting that your parents would leave for weeks at a time without calling. normal meant pretending not to notice when your mother looked at you with embarrassment instead of love.

you’d never been good at pretending and your parents hated you for it.

they hated your temper most of all.

because you argued. god, you argued about everything.

about them missing birthdays, about forgotten recitals, about the fact your father only ever touched your shoulder to move you out of the way.

you screamed and slammed doors and cried and fought until your throat hurt because some stubborn part of you refused to quietly accept being unloved.

your mother called it dramatics, your father called it disrespect.

eventually they both just started calling you the daughter from hell.

sometimes jokingly in front of guests, sometimes not joking at all, and somehow that became your reputation.

meanwhile, steve harrington learned very young how to survive differently.

he adapted.

that was the thing about steve, he could mold himself into whatever people wanted.

perfect son at business dinners, charming boy next door at school, funny life-of-the-party teenager on weekends.

he made himself easy to love because somewhere along the way he realised being liked was the closest thing he’d ever get to being wanted.

you noticed that before anyone else did.

probably because you recognised loneliness when you saw it.

your parents and his dragged the two of you to events together constantly growing up. charity galas. company christmas parties. fundraisers. country club dinners. endless nights filled with expensive perfume and fake laughter and adults talking over your heads like you were accessories instead of children.

you hated every second of it.

steve did too, he just hid it better.

when you were younger, the adults used to force you both to stand together for pictures.

your mother gripping your shoulder too tightly while hissing through clenched teeth, “smile.”

steve would already be smiling perfectly by then.

effortless.

practiced.

you used to hate him for that, for how easy he made it look.

but then one night when you were around sixteen, you caught him in the bathroom after one of those events staring at himself in the mirror with this exhausted expression you’d never seen before.

his smile dropped the second he noticed you standing there.

“what are you looking at?” he snapped.

you crossed your arms. “you looked human for a second.”

his jaw tightened immediately.

“go away.”

but you didn’t.

because there was mascara running down your cheeks from fighting with your mother twenty minutes earlier and your chest still hurt from the things she’d said to you.

and maybe misery just liked company.

“my dad threatened to send me away tonight” you muttered eventually.

steve looked back at the mirror.

“mine threatened to stop paying for my car if i embarrass him again.”

“that all?”

he let out a humorless laugh.

“guess so.”

that was the thing with you and steve. there was never warmth exactly, never softness, but there was understanding.

raw and ugly and uncomfortable, the kind that crawled under your skin.

you knew things about each other nobody else did.

you knew steve’s father had a temper.

you figured it out slowly over the years through bruises hidden beneath sweater collars and the way steve flinched whenever older men raised their voices too suddenly.

once, during a new year’s party at some stupid country club, you found him outside sitting on the hood of a car in the snow.

his knuckles were bloodied, there was a cut near his eyebrow, he looked furious.

“you look like shit” you told him.

he scoffed without looking at you. “always so nice.”

“what happened?”

“ran into a wall.”

you stared at him flatly.

“right.”

for a while neither of you spoke.

music echoed faintly from inside the building while snow drifted slowly around you both.

then steve quietly said, “sometimes i think he hates me.”

the honesty in his voice startled you because steve never said things like that. ever. he swallowed hard after admitting it, like he already regretted letting the words out.

you looked down at your shoes.

“mine definitely do.”

he laughed softly at that, but there wasn’t any humor in it.

“yeah,” he murmured. “i know.”

and god, that should’ve made you closer.

two lonely rich kids with absent parents and too much anger between them.

but somehow it pushed you apart instead.

because outside of those rare moments, you couldn’t stand each other.

or maybe you just represented everything the other person hated about themselves.

at school, steve was king.

there was really no other word for it.

everyone loved him. teachers loved him because he was charming when he wanted to be, girls loved him because he looked like he walked out of a magazine, guys loved him because standing next to steve harrington somehow made them feel important too.

he moved through hawkins high effortlessly, surrounded by noise and laughter and attention every second of the day.

and you despised people like that.

or at least you pretended to.

because truthfully, there were moments you envied him so badly it made your chest ache.

not because of the popularity itself because he belonged somewhere. hawkins fit him. he knew how to survive here.

you never did.

you spent most lunches hidden in the library with fantasy novels spread around you in messy piles while rain tapped softly against the windows.

tolkien.

cs lewis.

ursula le guin.

stories about hidden worlds and magic and people destined for bigger things than small dying towns.

you clung to those books like lifelines.

because somewhere deep down you were convinced your real life hadn’t started yet. that there had to be something else waiting for you outside hawkins. somewhere bigger, somewhere quieter, somewhere you could finally breathe.

people called you weird for it.

you didn’t care. well, that was a lie. you cared more than you wanted to admit.

you cared every time someone laughed when you answered questions too enthusiastically in class, you cared every time girls whispered about your clothes or your attitude, you cared every time teachers looked at you like you were wasted potential.

but mostly you cared because no matter how badly you wanted to leave hawkins behind, a small part of you worried maybe your parents were right.

maybe there was something wrong with you.

steve saw that part of you even when nobody else did and you saw through him too.

you saw the way his entire personality shifted depending on who he was talking to, how desperately he needed people to like him, how terrified he was of being alone.

you understood it because you knew what waited for him at home when nobody else was around.

just like he understood why you hated yelling, why sudden loud noises made your shoulders tense, why you looked halfway out the door all the time.

because you weren’t just dreaming about leaving hawkins you were surviving by believing you eventually would.

the strange thing was neither of you ever talked about any of this directly, instead you ignored each other almost completely outside those forced business events.

you’d pass each other in school hallways without speaking. sometimes your shoulders brushed accidentally while squeezing through crowds between classes, sometimes he’d glance at you from across the cafeteria, sometimes you’d catch yourself watching him laugh with his friends and immediately look away before he noticed.

there were no dirty looks, no dramatic fights, just distance. like the two of you had silently agreed that whatever existed between you only belonged in those late-night conversations at parties neither of you wanted to attend.

and honestly?

that invisible understanding between you almost made things worse because hating someone was easier when they didn’t know you.

but steve knew you. not fully, not completely, but enough. enough to notice when your parents had been home recently because your mood would darken for days afterward. enough to know your favorite coping mechanism was disappearing into books because reality disappointed you too much.

enough to know you were scared that maybe there wasn’t actually a place in the world where you belonged.

and you knew him too.

you knew his popularity wasn’t confidence, it was armor. you knew every party he threw was just another excuse not to be alone in that giant empty house. you knew he chased attention because attention felt close enough to love that he could almost pretend not to notice the difference.

you knew the scar near his ribs came from the night his father shoved him into a glass table during an argument. you knew because one drunken evening at a fundraiser he accidentally told you.

and after realising what he’d admitted, he looked horrified, like he expected you to use it against him.

but you never did.

just like he never repeated the things you confessed either.

the invisible string between you stayed tangled quietly in the background of your lives. unspoken, confusing, pulling tighter every year whether you wanted it to or not.

-

the invitation had been sitting on the kitchen counter for three days.

thick cream paper, gold lettering, your parents names printed bigger than yours like you were some afterthought attached onto the end of the family title. every time you walked into the kitchen your eyes caught on it immediately and your stomach twisted.

another business event.

another night trapped in a room full of rich people pretending they liked each other, another night of your parents pretending they actually functioned as a family.

you were already exhausted by it and it hadn’t even happened yet.

“i’m not going.”

your mother barely looked up from her wine glass. “you are.”

“why?”

“because we said so.”

you laughed dryly at that, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed. “great argument.”

your father sighed from the other side of the kitchen table, rubbing a hand over his face like speaking to you was physically draining. “do we really have to do this every single time?”

“well maybe if you stopped forcing me to go to these things-”

“they matter,” your mother cut in sharply. “whether you like it or not.”

“to who?”

“to us.”

there it was.

always them. their image. their reputation. their business partners. their social circle. everything always came before you, and somehow they still acted surprised that you resented them for it.

your jaw tightened. “you know everyone there thinks i’m insane anyway, right?”

“that’s because you insist on behaving like a brat every time we bring you anywhere.”

you stared at her for a second, something hot and familiar settling in your chest.

“right,” you muttered. “because god forbid i embarrass the family.”

your father’s expression hardened immediately. “enough.” his voice was louder than it needed to be and instinctively your shoulders tensed.

you hated that, hated how quickly your body reacted to raised voices even when you tried not to let it.

your father noticed too, but instead of softening he just looked irritated.

“you’ll attend the event and you’ll behave yourself for one evening. that’s all we ask.”

you almost laughed at that. one evening. like it was ever just one evening. like every single one of these events didn’t leave you feeling hollow afterwards.

instead you grabbed your walkman off the counter and headed for the front door before the argument could get worse.

your mother called your name once, annoyed, but you ignored her.

outside, the air was cooler than expected. the sun had started setting, leaving everything washed in that dim orange light that made hawkins look softer than it really was.

you shoved your headphones on and started walking.

music usually helped. not enough to fix anything, but enough to quiet your head for a while.

you walked without really thinking about where you were going, just moving through familiar streets while your thoughts spiraled somewhere else entirely, out of hawkins mostly. they always did eventually.

you wondered sometimes if other people felt this trapped in their hometowns or if there was genuinely something wrong with you. everyone else seemed so content here, they talked about their futures like they’d always include hawkins somehow. college nearby. jobs nearby. marriage nearby.

the idea made you feel sick.

by the time you circled back toward your street the sky had gone dark, that’s when you spotted steve.

he was coming down the driveway of his house, keys spinning around his finger while he headed toward his car. he looked tired in that specific way you’d gotten used to recognising over the years. not angry exactly, just worn thin.

you probably would’ve walked straight past him normally.

but the argument with your parents was still sitting ugly in your chest and before you could stop yourself you pulled one side of your headphones off and said, “you heard about the party?”

steve looked up quickly, almost startled to see you there.

for half a second his face was completely open before recognition settled in and his expression shifted into something more familiar.

slight scowl, slight annoyance.

“jesus,” he muttered. “didn’t see you.”

“clearly.”

he shoved his keys into his jacket pocket. “yeah, i heard.” then after a pause, “you’re going too?”

“unfortunately.”

he actually looked surprised by that. “huh.”

you narrowed your eyes slightly. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing,” he said, though there was already the beginning of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “just figured you would’ve argued the house down over it.”

“oh, i did.”

that got a short laugh out of him.

“didn’t work though” you added.

“shocking.”

you rolled your eyes but there was no real bite behind it.

for a second neither of you said anything. the quiet wasn’t awkward exactly, it never really was with steve, which was strange considering how little you actually spoke outside these random moments.

then he opened his car door and looked over at you again.

“can’t wait, freak.”

you immediately flipped him off.

“drive into a wall, harrington.”

he grinned at that before climbing into the car. “see you there.”

you watched his headlights disappear down the street before heading back toward your own house.

that night sleep came slowly.

you spent hours staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sound of your parents talking downstairs and thinking about leaving. not in some dramatic running away way, just leaving eventually. properly.

new york maybe. somewhere with little coffee shops and people who didn’t already have an opinion about you before you spoke.

you imagined yourself there constantly. working in some tiny bookstore, spending your days hidden between shelves and your nights somewhere quiet and anonymous.

and weirdly enough, somewhere in those thoughts, steve appeared too.

not with you exactly, you couldn’t imagine anything worse than willingly spending that much time with him, but still there somehow.

existing in the edges of your future the same way he always seemed to.

you imagined him hearing you got a job in a bookstore and immediately deciding to buy the world’s largest library just to prove he could.

the thought made you laugh quietly to yourself in the dark.

because honestly? it sounded exactly like something he’d do.

as much as you disliked him sometimes, you couldn’t really picture your life without him in it either. not fully.

he’d just always been there.

always somehow one step ahead of you socially, emotionally, or at least pretending to be.

part of you hoped he got out of hawkins too.

you never understood why he didn’t seem as desperate to leave as you were. this place felt unbearable to you most days, but steve had learned how to survive here in ways you never could.

or maybe he was just better at pretending it didn’t bother him.

the next afternoon after school you stayed late in the library mostly to avoid going home.

the place was nearly empty, quiet except for the occasional sound of pages turning somewhere in the back. you had a book open in front of you but you weren’t really reading it. your eyes kept drifting over the same paragraph without processing any of the words.

then suddenly the library doors swung open hard enough to make several people look up.

you frowned automatically.

steve walked in looking slightly out of breath, his hair a mess like he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. he scanned the room quickly before spotting you.

then, weirdly, he came straight over.

you watched him drop into the chair across from you.

“what happened to you?” you asked immediately.

instead of answering he leaned forward slightly and said, “did you know it’s out of town?”

you blinked. “what?”

“the event,” he said. “it’s not here.”

you stared at him. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

he rubbed both hands down his face tiredly. “our parents are flying out the day before, apparently they want us to travel there together after school.”

for a second you genuinely thought he was joking, then you realised he looked far too miserable for that.

“you’re kidding.”

“i wish i was.”

“no. absolutely not.”

“that’s pretty much what I said.”

you sat back in your chair slowly, trying to process the absolute disaster this was becoming.

the event itself was already unbearable, being out of town somehow made it worse, and now you had to travel with steve?

“i swear they want me dead” you muttered.

steve snorted quietly. “or me. being stuck in an airport with you sounds like psychological warfare.”

your head snapped toward him immediately. “i am not that bad.”

he just looked at you completely blank-faced.

you scoffed. “oh fuck off.”

“you’re mean to me constantly.”

“because you’re annoying constantly.”

“see?”

you shut your book harder than necessary and pointed toward the exit. “go away.”

he blinked once. “what?”

“go,” you repeated. “see you on the plane.”

a sarcastic smile pulled at his mouth immediately.

he flipped you off as he stood up. “can’t wait.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t.”

you frowned before you could stop yourself.

steve seemed equally surprised by what he’d said because his expression shifted for a second, something unreadable flashing across his face.

then he shook his head lightly and started backing away.

“whatever,” he muttered. “see you friday.”

and just like that he was gone again, disappearing back out of the library while you sat there staring after him.

fucking great.

-

the next few days disappeared faster than you wanted them to.

school dragged on like normal, your parents barely spoke to you unless it was to remind you not to embarrass them this weekend, and somehow friday arrived before you’d mentally prepared for it.

at exactly five pm, a car horn blared outside your house.

you stared at your bedroom ceiling for a long moment before groaning into your pillow.

perfect.

through the window you could see steve’s bmw parked outside your house. he was leaning back in the driver’s seat looking about as thrilled as you felt.

you dragged your suitcase downstairs slowly, little overnight bag hanging off your shoulder. your parents had flown out the day before without even bothering to say goodbye, not that you’d expected them to.

when you stepped outside, steve looked up from where he was drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

he looked exhausted.

hair messy. sunglasses on despite the fact the sun was already starting to set. expression flat in a way that told you he’d probably been arguing with his parents too.

“you know,” you said as you reached the car, “i actually can drive myself.”

steve just rolled his eyes immediately and got out of the car before you could stop him.

“yeah, and then our parents would lose their minds.”

“sounds fun.”

he ignored you, grabbing your suitcase from your hand.

“hey-”

“just get in the car.”

you watched him carry your stuff around to the boot with a scowl.

wonderful, even more time with him.

the drive to the airport was surprisingly okay though. quiet mostly.

you’d expected bickering within the first ten minutes, but instead steve just kept the radio low while you stared out the window watching hawkins disappear behind you.

the silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore, not really. it was familiar. comfortable in a strange reluctant way.

sometimes steve would tap his fingers against the steering wheel in time with whatever song was playing, sometimes you’d glance over and catch him zoning out completely before he noticed and fixed his expression again.

neither of you mentioned the event once.

by the time you reached the airport, you realised very quickly that steve got weirdly stressed there.

not outwardly panicked or anything dramatic just tense.

his shoulders tightened the second you walked inside. he kept checking signs repeatedly, running a hand through his hair every few minutes while looking around like the airport had personally offended him.

“you good?” you asked eventually while he aggressively stared at the departures board.

“fine.”

“right.”

he looked at you. “airports are annoying.”

“it’s literally just walking.”

“there’s too many people.”

you blinked a little at that.

huh.

after that you found yourself taking over most of the talking without really thinking about it. checking bags, talking to staff, figuring out where you actually needed to go while steve trailed beside you carrying both your carry-ons and looking increasingly irritated by the entire experience.

he never thanked you for it but you noticed how visibly calmer he got whenever you handled things first.

security was still a nightmare though.

you lost him for nearly ten minutes because he got pulled aside after forgetting he left coins in his pocket.

“you’re an idiot” you told him once he finally made it through.

“i was distracted.”

“by what? basic instructions?”

he just flipped you off while grabbing his shoes back.

by the time you got through to departures you were both already drained.

steve practically collapsed into one of the airport seats with a long sigh while you dropped into the chair beside him.

then the announcement came over the speakers.

“attention passengers for flight 247 to chicago, your flight has been delayed approximately two hours-”

you stared ahead blankly, steve slowly turned his head toward you.

“you’ve got to be kidding me” you muttered.

he sank further into his seat. “i’m gonna die here.”

“dramatic.”

“this place smells weird.”

“yeah that’s definitely your biggest issue right now.”

after sitting there miserable for another ten minutes, you eventually both gave up and started wandering around the airport instead.

which somehow ended up being… kind of fun.

there was one ridiculously expensive designer store filled with the ugliest clothes you’d ever seen in your life and you and steve spent nearly twenty minutes walking around pointing at things and deciding which of your parents’ business friends would wear them.

steve held up this horrible bright orange blazer at one point and went, “mr thompson would absolutely wear this and think he looks good.”

you snorted. “he’d pair it with those tiny little sunglasses too.”

“oh my god he would.”

then you grabbed some sparkly scarf thing off a mannequin. “this is very mrs patterson after two glasses of wine.”

steve laughed properly at that.

“that woman terrifies me.”

“she flirted with my dad once in front of my mother.”

“jesus christ.”

you were both still laughing quietly when you left the shop.

it felt weird, not bad weird, just unfamiliar.

after that you got food, wandered aimlessly through more shops, stole extra sweets from one of the airport cafés because neither of you wanted to pay airport prices, and before long the delay was finally over.

the flight itself was short.

thankfully.

your parents had booked first class though, which both you and steve immediately decided to take full advantage of.

“free socks” steve whispered dramatically after sitting down.

“don’t act too excited.”

“i’m taking everything they give us.”

“classy.”

the two of you ended up doing the stupid little facemasks from the amenity kits purely because they were there. steve looked ridiculous sitting there with a sheet mask on while reading the in-flight magazine and you made sure to tell him that repeatedly.

“you look terrifying” you informed him.

“you literally look the same.”

“no, i look elegant.”

he looked over at you slowly. “you look damp.”

you kicked his leg lightly under the seat.

they gave you hot towels too, which steve treated like some groundbreaking luxury experience.

“this is insane” he muttered, unfolding it carefully.

“you are so easily impressed.”

“they heated a towel for me.”

“you’re rich.”

“yeah but not like this.”

you were both genuinely offended when you realised they didn’t serve proper food on shorter flights.

“what’s the point of first class then?” you complained.

steve nodded seriously. “exactly.”

by the time the plane landed it was late enough that both of you were half asleep already.

you grabbed a car to the hotel together in silence, city lights passing outside the windows while exhaustion settled heavily over both of you.

the hotel was massive and cold and far too expensive looking.

your parents had already checked in earlier, of course. the receptionist handed over your room keys without much explanation besides, “your parents asked us to make sure you arrived safely.”

you almost laughed at that.

asked the hotel staff, not you directly.

neither of your parents had even called to check if you landed okay. not even a quick message. nothing.

it stung.

steve looked equally unimpressed by it all, though he didn’t say much as you both headed toward the elevators.

when you reached your floor he glanced over at you.

“guess i’ll see you tomorrow.”

you nodded lightly. “unfortunately.”

“there she is” he muttered.

you rolled your eyes but there was a tired smile threatening at the corners of your mouth anyway.

then you both disappeared into your separate rooms.

sleep came easily that night, the dread for tomorrow evening came easier.

-

you woke up to aggressive banging on your hotel door, for a second you genuinely thought the building was on fire.

you groaned into your pillow, half asleep and completely disoriented before the knocking came again, louder this time.

“alright” you croaked out, dragging yourself out of bed.

your room was still dim, curtains pulled shut against the morning light. the digital clock beside your bed read 8:12am which honestly felt deeply offensive considering the event wasn’t until tonight.

you stumbled toward the door still half asleep and pulled it open with a scowl already prepared.

steve immediately pushed past you.

you blinked slowly at the empty doorway for a second before turning around.

he was already halfway across your room running a hand through his messy hair looking irritated and stressed and far too awake for this time in the morning.

“morning to you too” you muttered, shutting the door behind him.

“my parents are looking for me” he said quickly.

you stared at him.

“…okay?”

“I know they won’t look in here.”

you were too tired to even begin unpacking how insane that sentence was, instead you just made a confused noise and crawled back into bed, pulling the blankets over yourself immediately.

“why are they looking for you?” you mumbled into your pillow.

steve dropped down into the chair by the window with a dramatic sigh. “something about making sure my suit fits properly.”

you cracked one eye open.

“the suit you already own?”

“apparently my dad thinks i’ve somehow changed shape overnight.”

you snorted tiredly.

“and you’d rather hide in my hotel room?”

“I’d rather die.”

after that the room went mostly quiet again.

you were too sleepy to fully process the fact steve harrington had barged into your room at eight in the morning just to avoid his parents. you could hear him shifting around occasionally trying to get comfortable in the chair, at one point he muttered, “this thing is fucking awful.”

you smiled into your pillow without answering.

the next time you properly woke up, sunlight was pouring through the curtains and steve was standing near the door.

“they’ll probably be off my back now,” he said quietly. “thanks.”

your brain still felt fuzzy with sleep. “mhm.”

he hesitated for a second like he was about to say something else, then just gave a small nod and left. the door clicked shut behind him.

you stared at it for a long moment afterwards, that had been incredibly random. but honestly? you were starting to get used to steve just appearing in your space unexpectedly.

a few hours later you deeply regretted ever getting out of bed at all.

your mother had dragged you and steve to the venue absurdly early because apparently the two of you were expected to 'help set up.'

which really meant standing around while adults barked orders at staff members already being paid to do everything.

the venue itself was obnoxiously fancy. huge chandeliers, polished floors, flowers everywhere. every table looked identical and painfully expensive.

you were stuck in some dress your mother picked out weeks ago while steve wore a dark suit that honestly fit him annoyingly well.

he looked miserable in it though.

which helped.

for the first hour or so you and steve mostly stayed near each other out of pure survival instinct while your parents busied themselves micromanaging everything around you.

“if one more person asks me to carry something,” steve muttered under his breath while adjusting his tie, “i’m walking into traffic.”

you glanced at him. “dramatic.”

“i’m serious.”

“you carried three boxes.”

“exactly.”

eventually guests started arriving and somehow things got even worse.

you lost track of steve almost immediately after that, swallowed into crowds of businessmen and fake smiles and endless conversations you didn’t care about.

at some point you got cornered by one of your father’s clients near the drinks table.

older guy. slicked back hair. smelled too strongly of cologne.

he’d been talking at you for at least ten minutes and you still had no idea what he was actually saying.

something about networking, something about presentation, something about how important connections were.

you nodded along half-heartedly until he suddenly said, “a girl like you should really listen carefully to this kind of advice if you want to get somewhere in life.”

your expression flattened immediately.

a girl like you.

there it was.

you rolled your eyes before you could stop yourself.

the man paused mid sentence. “excuse me?”

you didn’t even answer. you just walked away.

honestly, maybe it was rude.

but you were tired. tired of these people. tired of being spoken down to. tired of every conversation feeling like some performance you were failing.

unfortunately, apparently your father’s clients didn’t appreciate being ignored.

because less than twenty minutes later your mother appeared at your side looking furious.

“come with me.”

you frowned immediately. “what?”

“now.”

the tone alone made your stomach sink.

she led you down a quieter hallway and into one of the side rooms near the back of the venue.

your parents were already inside. so were steve’s parents, and steve.

confusion hit you instantly.

steve looked uncomfortable the second you walked in. his arms crossed tightly over his chest while his father stood beside him looking cold and unimpressed as always.

your father turned toward you immediately.

“you are embarrassing us.”

you blinked. “what?”

“don’t act clueless.”

“I’m not acting- what are you talking about?”

“you rolled your eyes and walked away from a client in the middle of a conversation.”

there was a brief silence then you stared at him blankly.

“oh my god,” you said slowly. “that’s what this is about?”

your mother looked horrified by your tone. “watch yourself.”

“he made a comment i didn't like,” you snapped. “what did you want me to do? kiss him?”

your father’s jaw tightened instantly.

you looked around the room in disbelief before gesturing toward steve and his parents.

“why are they even here for this?”

before your parents could answer, steve’s father spoke, and honestly, that alone made your chest tighten a little.

there was something about him that always unsettled you. maybe because you knew what he was capable of. maybe because he barely even looked at steve like he was a person.

“these people represent both our families,” he said calmly. “If you’re going to behave like an issue, we have a right to see it being addressed.”

you stared at him.

then he added, “steven is also here to learn how not to behave.”

ouch.

even steve looked slightly caught off guard by that one, though he covered it quickly.

you suddenly felt stupid for thinking any of this wasn’t a big deal because in your head it genuinely wasn’t.

you rolled your eyes. so what?

you rubbed at your forehead tiredly. “right. okay. whatever.”

you just wanted it over with at this point.

then steve’s mother sighed softly and said, “honestly, at some point people have to stop excusing this kind of behaviour as personality.”

the room went quiet.

it wasn’t even what she said exactly it was the way she said it. like you were defective. like everyone in the room had silently agreed on it already.

for once, you didn’t argue back. didn’t roll your eyes. didn’t snap something sarcastic. you just looked down at the floor because unexpectedly, horribly, it actually hurt your feelings.

and steve noticed immediately.

he’d felt uncomfortable since the second this started, standing there listening to all of them talk about you like you were some problem to fix.

truthfully, he’d never understood why they all came down so hard on you all the time.

probably because you actually said what you thought instead of swallowing it like he did but when his mother made that comment, even he looked shocked.

“that’s not fair” steve said suddenly.

everyone in the room went still.

you looked up immediately.

his father frowned. “excuse me?”

steve shifted slightly but kept going anyway. “she didn’t even do anything that bad.”

the silence afterwards felt heavy.

your mother looked stunned, your father looked annoyed, steve’s mother looked almost offended and steve himself looked like he regretted speaking the second the words left his mouth.

but you didn’t stay long enough to see what happened next.

because humiliation and anger were already burning hot in your chest and suddenly the room felt too small to breathe in.

so before anyone could say another word, you turned and walked straight out.

then faster.

through the hallway, through the venue, straight out the side doors into the cold night air.

-

you sat outside for a long time before you heard footsteps behind you.

at first you ignored them, assuming it was just someone leaving the event for a cigarette or a phone call or whatever rich people did when they got bored pretending to enjoy themselves.

but then the footsteps slowed, stopped.

you looked up slightly.

steve. he stood there awkwardly for a second, suit jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loosened, hair messier than before. in one hand he was holding a bottle of wine very clearly stolen from inside.

without saying anything he walked over and sat down beside you on the bench. the silence stretched for a moment before he held the bottle out toward you.

you frowned at it.

“did you steal that?”

“obviously.”

you looked at him for another second, confused more than anything, before he nudged the bottle closer. reluctantly, you took it.

“thanks” you said quietly before taking a sip.

the wine burned slightly going down.

steve just shook his head a little at your thanks like he didn’t really know what to do with it. then he took the bottle back from your hands and leaned back against the bench.

“about time i did something, right?” he muttered.

you glanced at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he stared ahead for a moment before answering.

“i just stood there.”

you stayed quiet.

“i always do,” he admitted eventually. “after the first time i talked back and got my ass kicked for it, i kinda stopped trying.”

your expression softened slightly.

“isn’t that a good thing?” you asked carefully.

steve scoffed quietly and took another sip from the bottle.

“doesn’t feel like it.”

you leaned back further against the bench, staring up at the dark sky above the hotel. and weirdly enough, for the first time, you realised how much you and steve envied each other in completely opposite ways.

he wished he could challenge his parents the way you did, you wished you knew how to stop fighting long enough for things not to hurt so much.

you spent your whole life screaming and kicking against everything while steve survived by swallowing it whole.

neither of you were happy.

for a while the conversation drifted into easier things, mindless complaints mostly. how awful the event was. how miserable everyone inside looked despite pretending otherwise. how one of your mother’s friends had definitely gotten too drunk already.

eventually the wine bottle was empty.

steve turned it upside down dramatically. “tragic.”

“you’ll survive.”

“debatable.”

you smiled faintly despite yourself. then after a moment you stood up, brushing your hands against your dress.

“come on.”

he looked up at you. “where are we going?”

“away from here.”

that was enough explanation for him apparently because he got up immediately.

the two of you walked aimlessly for a while through quieter streets surrounding the building, the sounds of the event fading further behind you with every step.

eventually you found a small patch of grass tucked behind a row of bushes near the sidewalk. there was a streetlight nearby that cast everything in a soft orange glow, enough to see each other without sitting completely in the dark.

you dropped down onto the grass first, kicking your shoes off immediately.

steve sat beside you with a tired sigh.

for a few minutes neither of you spoke.

then somehow you started talking properly, really talking.

maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was everything that happened earlier finally spilling over, or maybe the two of you had just been heading toward this conversation for years without realising it.

“i hate quiet houses” you admitted quietly at one point, pulling your knees up to your chest. “people always talk about wanting peace and quiet but i hate it.”

steve looked over at you.

“why?”

you shrugged slightly. “cause when it’s quiet you can tell nobody’s there.”

he looked down at the grass for a second before nodding slowly.

“yeah.”

there was understanding in that one word alone.

after a moment he nudged your leg lightly with his foot.

“i wish i liked reading.”

you frowned at him. “what?”

he shrugged. “you disappear into books all the time, seems nice.”

you laughed softly. “trust me, it’s less poetic than it looks.”

“still,” he muttered. “better than parties.”

you snorted at that. “your parties are lame, by the way.”

he looked offended immediately. “wow.”

“seriously. and you never even invited me.”

you smacked his leg lightly and he laughed quietly, rubbing at the spot dramatically.

“because you hate everyone there.”

“doesn’t mean i wouldn’t enjoy judging them.”

“fair point.”

the conversation kept unfolding after that, easier and easier.

you talked about childhood memories neither of you had thought about in years.

all the summer camps your parents shipped you off to every year while they travelled around pretending not to have kids.

“we spent like eight summers at the same camp and barely spoke” you realised.

steve nodded. “you bit a kid once.”

you looked horrified. “i was ten.”

“still counts.”

“he threw mud at me.”

“yeah honestly i probably would’ve done the same thing.”

you laughed quietly then the conversation softened again. deeper this time.

“the first time i saw you cry,” steve said suddenly, “it freaked me out.”

you looked over at him in surprise.

“what?”

he shrugged awkwardly, eyes fixed ahead. “you were yelling at your mom outside one of those christmas parties. then she left and you just…” he hesitated. “i dunno. i’d never seen you cry before.”

you looked down at your hands.

“you always seemed like the strongest person i knew” he admitted quietly.

something in your chest tightened unexpectedly because nobody had ever described you like that before. difficult. angry. dramatic. embarrassing. never strong.

after a long silence you said, “when you told me about your dad pushing you into that table…”

steve looked over.

you swallowed slightly. “it took everything in me not to go inside and say something.”

he let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost like a laugh but sadder.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“i know.”

and that was the worst part really, the helplessness of it all. the way you both knew exactly how awful the other person’s life could be sometimes but neither of you could actually fix it.

for a while you just sat there listening to distant traffic and the hum of the streetlight above you.

then steve spoke again, quietly this time.

“the real reason i came into your room this morning…”

you turned slightly toward him.

he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “i had a nightmare.”

your expression softened immediately.

“oh.”

“used to get them a lot when i was younger,” he admitted. “i always hated being alone after.”

he gave a small embarrassed laugh after saying it, like he regretted admitting it out loud.

“so instead,” you said carefully, “you came to my room?”

he shrugged.

“didn’t really think about it.”

but you both knew he had.

because somehow, without either of you meaning for it to happen, you’d become the person the other ran toward when things got bad.

you shifted a little closer without thinking much about it and rested your head lightly against his shoulder.

steve went very still beside you.

“maybe,” you said quietly, “we should actually go to each other more.”

he didn’t answer immediately.

you could feel his breathing slow slightly beside you.

“why?” he asked eventually.

you stared ahead at the empty street.

“because you just know,” you murmured. “we both know how it feels.”

there was a lump in your throat suddenly.

“even if we deal with it differently… it still sits the same way in us.”

steve stayed quiet for a long moment after that then very carefully, almost hesitantly, he rested his head lightly against yours.

“yeah,” he said softly “i think it does.”

you kept talking after that, for so long that the night stopped feeling like part of the event at all.

you ended up telling him about the worst arguments you’d ever had with your parents, and once the alcohol really started to settle in, the stories got less careful. you told him about slammed doors, about being told you were ungrateful, dramatic, impossible. about the first time your mother looked at you in disgust instead of disappointment and called you the daughter from hell like it was funny. steve laughed at that, but only because it sounded so ridiculous coming out of your mouth.

“mr never good enough and miss daughter from hell,” he muttered, shaking his head. “that’s pretty bad.”

you scoffed quietly and nudged his leg with your foot. “don’t be stupid. you’re good enough.”

he looked at you for a second, softer than usual, and said, “and you’re not a daughter from hell.”

that made something in your chest loosen a little.

the conversation drifted again after that, less heavy for a while, until steve asked you quietly, “if you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

you blinked at him, a little thrown by how serious he sounded all of a sudden. “anywhere that’s not hawkins.”

he let out a small laugh through his nose. “yeah, obviously. but come on. i know you have some kind of plan.”

you leaned back on your hands and stared up at the sky, thinking about all the nights you’d spent imagining a life that didn’t have your parents in it. thinking about how often you’d pictured the same dream without ever saying it out loud.

and because you were drunk enough to stop caring how stupid it might sound, you told him.

“maybe new york,” you said. “some little bookstore, a place where nobody knows me. somewhere i can actually breathe.”

steve turned his head to look at you.

you huffed a quiet laugh and went on, “and probably you’d still be around somehow, buying the biggest library in the state just to annoy me.”

that made him laugh properly, the kind that made his shoulders shake a little.

“yeah,” he said, smiling at the ground. “new york sounds good.”

you looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time in a long time the idea of leaving didn’t feel so empty. not because you wanted to go with him, or because hawkins suddenly seemed less awful, but because for one stupid, beautiful second the future felt real enough to touch.

then steve leaned back on his hands and started talking about his own dream, a little embarrassed at first, like he wasn’t used to saying things this honest out loud.

he wanted a big family, he said. kids, noise, people always around. not the kind of house where silence meant someone was angry or gone or waiting to hurt you. he wanted a home where nobody had to feel alone. where nobody got left out. where annoyance only happened over stupid things, like whose team lost a game or who forgot to take the trash out.

you smiled before you could stop yourself.

it was so simple, the way he said it. so ordinary. but that was what made it hit so hard. it was everything neither of you had ever had. a place that felt warm instead of sharp. a life that didn’t always have to hurt.

for a while after that, you just talked and laughed and kept circling back around to the same kinds of things without meaning to. how tired you both were of pretending. how much easier things would be if other people would just say what they meant. how strange it was that you’d both spent so long thinking the other person had it easier.

and slowly, with every word, something in your chest started to feel lighter.

steve did too.

you could see it in him, the way his shoulders dropped a little, the way his voice got easier and less guarded. like being honest for once had done something good to him. like maybe he’d needed this just as much as you did.

which was probably why, when the quiet settled between you again, he looked at you for a second too long.

you didn’t get a chance to ask what he was thinking.

he kissed you.

it was brief. uncertain. almost hesitant.

you froze completely.

the second he felt you go still, steve pulled back fast, like he’d already decided it was a mistake. “sorry,” he said quickly, already standing up. “i think i’m just drunk and i shouldn’t have-”

you rolled your eyes before he could finish and grabbed his sleeve.

“sit down.”

he stopped, looked at you, then slowly sat back down on the grass.

you stared at him for one beat longer, mostly to make sure he wasn’t going to say anything else stupid, and then you kissed him.

this time he didn’t hesitate at all.

he kissed you back hard, like he’d been holding his breath for longer than he’d realised and finally got to let it go. his hand came up to your face, fingers pressing into your cheek as if he needed the contact to make sure you were real.

you kissed him back just as desperately, and for a second the whole world seemed to shrink down to the two of you and the rough grass beneath you and the streetlight humming overhead.

when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing a little harder than before.

you rested your forehead against his and smiled despite yourself. steve smiled too.

then, in a voice that was quieter than you’d ever heard from him, he said, “i always thought i kinda hated you.”

you gave a short laugh. “you definitely acted like it.”

he shook his head, still close enough that his nose brushed yours when he moved. “no, i’m serious. there was just something about you that always managed to piss me off.”

you laughed again, softer this time.

“that’s flattering.”

“i tolerated you at best” he said, though there was no real heat behind it anymore.

you tilted your head slightly. “thin line between love and hate, harrington.”

he stared at you for a second, then gave a low, disbelieving huff of a laugh. “i guess so.”

then his expression changed, just a little. more honest, more open.

“no, i definitely never hated you,” he said. “i’d have done anything for you.”

that made you go still for a moment, the words landed somewhere deep and warm and unexpected.

you looked at him for a long second before smiling softly. “me too,” you admitted. “even though we didn’t really, y’know… do that.”

he let out a quiet laugh, and you did too.

because the truth was, the thought had always been there. buried underneath all the snide comments and awkward silences and old resentment. neither of you had ever said it before, but maybe that didn’t mean it hadn’t been real.

after a while you both reluctantly got up, brushed grass off your clothes, and fixed yourselves as best you could before heading back toward the event.

the closer you got, the more the old dread started creeping back in. the same polished doors. the same expensive music. the same parents waiting inside like nothing had happened.

you and steve exchanged a look before going in. whatever came next, you weren’t alone in it anymore.

-

the weeks after that felt strange in the best way.

not different in any dramatic, obvious sense. hawkins was still hawkins. your parents were still your parents. steve’s parents were still his. school was still school, with the same hallways, the same faces, the same suffocating feeling that you were trapped in a place that had already decided who you were supposed to be.

but between you and steve, everything had shifted.

not into something neat or easy. not into a label. not even really into anything you could have explained to someone else without making it sound ridiculous.

it was just there.

he started driving you home from school without making a big deal of it, and after a while it stopped feeling strange to slide into the passenger seat of his car and let the silence settle around you both. sometimes he’d talk, sometimes you would, and sometimes you’d sit there with the radio low and the windows cracked just enough to let the air in. if you went on walks, you waited for him at the end of the street. if he was already outside, he waited for you. neither of you ever said it out loud, but you both knew the other would show up.

when something happened at home, you went to each other first.

that became the rule without either of you deciding it properly.

if your parents were home, steve would come over and climb through your bedroom window like it was completely normal, dropping onto your floor with whatever pissed-off expression he’d been wearing all day and immediately starting in on a rant about whatever fresh hell his father had put him through.

if his parents were home, you refused to crawl up to his window like some dramatic idiot, so instead you threw small stones at the glass until he finally pulled the curtain back and looked down at you with a deeply annoyed expression that meant he already knew. he’d disappear for a few minutes, then come outside claiming he was meeting a friend.

which he was, you.

the next few months passed with a kind of softness neither of you had known how to give yourselves before. you still argued sometimes, but it was different now. less mean. less sharp around the edges. more like habit than hatred. he still called you stubborn, you still called him dramatic, and somehow none of it mattered the way it used to.

for once, your life didn’t feel like a room closing in around you.

it almost felt like it was opening.

you even managed to graduate high school with decent grades and steve by your side graduating too. you wore your cap and gown because your mother insisted, stood with the rest of your class under the humid summer sky, and waited through the speeches with the kind of detached exhaustion only a teenager could muster at a school ceremony.

your parents didn’t come.

at first it stung, because of course it did, but then you heard steve clapping like an absolute maniac from somewhere behind you and turned just in time to see him grinning at you like you’d done something incredible.

it was so loud that people glanced over.

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too.

for one strange second, that was enough.

you thought maybe that was how life would stay for a while after that.

not perfect, just yours.

then one night, everything changed again.

your parents weren’t home. the house was quiet in that eerie way it only ever was when they were gone, and you were halfway through convincing yourself to make tea when you heard a knock at the front door.

you frowned immediately.

steve usually just came in through your window or let himself in if it was unlocked, so the sound of someone knocking like a normal person was enough to make your stomach twist before you even reached the door.

when you opened it, steve was standing there looking wrecked.

not angry, not annoyed, actually wrecked.

his hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, one hand shoved into his pocket while the other kept flexing uselessly at his side. his face was pale, and the second he saw you, something in it cracked a little more.

before you could even ask what happened, he said, “i need to go.”

you blinked at him. “what?”

he looked almost panicked now. “i’m leaving. i have to. i can’t stay here.”

your confusion sharpened instantly. “steve, what are you talking about?”

“can i come in?”

you stepped back without thinking, pulling the door open wider, and he walked inside like he was being chased. the second the door shut behind him, you turned and hugged him, partly because he looked like he might fall apart where he stood and partly because you needed a second to make sense of his face.

he went very still at first, then melted into it with a shaky breath.

you held on tighter.

even while his arms came up around you, he kept talking, words spilling out too fast and too messy to catch properly at first. then little by little it came together.

he had graduated, but not well enough for his father.

apparently that had been the final insult.

his dad had lost it.

there’d been a fight, a real one, loud enough that steve had thought for a second the walls might crack. his father had started talking about some business school a “friend” recommended, one of those miserable places full of boys who would grow up to be exactly like their fathers. he couldn’t go there. he refused. and once his dad realised that wasn’t going to change, he’d gone colder than angry.

so steve had done the only thing that made sense to him.

he was going to leave.

you pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still on his shoulders.

“leave where?”

he let out a humorless laugh. “i don’t know. anywhere.”

you stared at him.

“steve.”

“i know.”

“no, seriously. what is your actual plan?”

he looked at you like he hadn’t quite thought that far ahead, which was exactly the problem.

“i have some money,” he said. “enough to drive somewhere. we could get jobs. shitty jobs, probably. somewhere cheap, maybe a motel until we figure it out.”

you slowly lowered yourself onto the couch and put your head in your hands.

this was insane, absolutely insane.

and yet-

your parents were gone. they wouldn’t be back for days. if you left a note saying you were fine, just away for a little while, they probably wouldn’t even call. maybe they’d be annoyed. maybe they’d be angry. but they wouldn’t come looking for you. not really. not if it was inconvenient.

you looked up at him.

he was still standing there, tense and frantic and clearly expecting you to tell him he was losing his mind.

instead you said, “this is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”

he blinked, then he let out a short breath that sounded almost like a laugh, but it fell apart halfway through.

then he sat down beside you heavily, shoulders sagging.

“i’m sorry” he said quietly.

you turned to him. “for what?”

he rubbed a hand over his face, voice rougher now. “for this. for being crazy. for springing it on you.”

you looked at him properly then.

he wasn’t just scared about leaving he was scared you’d think he was asking too much, also scared of leaving you behind.

that hit harder than you expected.

“you didn’t want to leave without me?” you asked softly.

his jaw tightened once. “no.”

the honesty of it made something strange bloom in your chest.

“nobody’s ever really thought about me like that before” you admitted before you could stop yourself.

steve looked at you immediately.

the expression on his face changed, subtle but obvious. guilt, maybe. or sadness. or something heavier.

and after a second, you knew. you knew he was right.

you were graduated. he was graduated. there was nothing left here except the same houses, the same parents, the same dead-eyed future everyone else seemed content to accept. you could stay and keep being miserable in familiar ways, or you could do something reckless and terrifying and possibly stupid enough to become freedom.

you sat there thinking it through, silent for so long steve eventually looked nervous again.

then you said, “fuck it.”

his head snapped toward you. “what?”

you turned fully to face him. “if it doesn’t work, we come back and make up some excuse.”

“you’re serious?”

“as serious as i’ve ever been.”

he stared at you for a beat, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

then he said, “you’re fucking insane.”

you huffed a laugh. “this is your idea.”

“yeah, but i was kind of expecting you to talk me out of it.”

“do you want me to?”

he went quiet, rubbed a hand down his face again.

“this is stupid” he muttered.

“a little.”

“a lot.”

you nodded. “yeah. really stupid.” then you smiled slightly. “but what do we have to lose?”

his expression shifted when he looked at you after that, like he’d been waiting for someone to say exactly that.

“we can call our parents from wherever we end up,” he said after a moment. “or send a note. maybe.”

you shrugged. “sure. why not.”

he stared at you, then let out a disbelieving laugh.

“have you already packed a bag?”

his mouth curved slightly. “yeah.”

you looked at him sharply.

“steve.”

he shrugged, looking only mildly guilty. “it’s in my car.”

you just stared at him then you laughed once, breathless and stunned.

“so this is actually happening.”

he leaned forward then, hands landing gently on your shoulders as if he needed to steady both of you at once.

“this is our chance,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “now or never.”

there was something unbearably earnest in his face, something you’d never seen in him this clearly before.

you looked up at him, still half-convinced this was some absurd dream, and smiled.

that was all it took.

steve kissed you again, this time without hesitation.

it was softer than the first time. not less desperate, just more certain. like he’d been sitting on the edge of this moment for so long he was finally letting himself fall into it.

when he pulled back, he looked almost stunned by his own courage.

“i’ve been wanting to do that since the first time,” he admitted.

you blinked at him. “then why didn’t you?”

he gave a short, almost embarrassed laugh. “because i liked you too much. i didn’t want to lose you.”

your expression softened so fast it almost hurt.

“i think we’ve figured out by now that we can’t get rid of each other.”

he smiled at that, a real one this time. “yeah. i guess so.”

you stood up first.

then, because there was no point pretending anymore, you went to your room and packed a bag.

not everything. just enough.

clothes. toothbrush. your favorite book. a few other things that suddenly felt important because they proved you were real and not just some person who had been waiting to disappear.

when you came back out, steve was already by the door, keys in hand, looking at you like he was trying to memorize your face all over again.

you hesitated only once then you followed him outside, suitcase in hand, and got into the car.

the drive felt unreal.

quiet at first, almost too quiet.

the town blurred past the windows as steve drove, both of you too tense to speak much. every few minutes he’d glance at you like he was checking you were still there. every few minutes you’d glance back and realise the same thing.

you really were doing this.

two towns over, the weight in your chest started to ease just enough for you to breathe properly.

it wasn’t a plan yet, not really.

it was just motion.

and for the first time in your life, moving forward felt better than staying put.

what the hell.

-

the first night was exactly as miserable as it needed to be to feel real.

the motel was cheap in the most obvious way possible, with flickering lights in the hallway, a stained carpet that looked like it had seen things it should not have survived, and a bed that sagged in the middle like it had given up years ago.

still, neither of you complained much once the door shut behind you. you were too busy standing there staring at each other like you had to keep reminding yourselves this was actually happening.

you ended up on the floor with a pile of job brochures spread out between you, both of you trying to turn panic into a plan. the town you’d landed in was small enough to feel temporary but busy enough to offer a few possibilities, and that alone felt like a miracle.

you talked in circles for hours, jobs, groceries, all the practical things that had never really belonged to you before. it should have been terrifying. in some ways it was, but mostly it felt like the first time either of you had been allowed to choose your own life instead of inheriting one.

you argued about stupid things too, because of course you did. who showered first. who got which side of the bed. whether the horrible curtains should stay open or closed. the kind of pointless little fights that would have meant nothing anywhere else, but here they felt almost sweet.

you were exhausted, underdressed, too wired to sleep, and somehow absolutely thrilled to be hours and hours away from everything that had made you feel trapped for so long. the room was tiny and ugly and temporary, but it was yours for the moment, and steve was in it with you, and that made even the worst motel in the state feel like a beginning.

the next day, against all odds, you both found work.

it felt so absurdly smooth that you kept waiting for someone to come in and say there’d been a mistake. steve got hired at a corner store after a barely convincing interview and a smile that seemed to work on every adult within a fifty-mile radius. you landed a waitress job at a diner not far from the motel, and the woman who hired you barely glanced at your résumé before saying you looked like you could handle it. by the end of the afternoon, you were both standing outside with your new schedules folded in your hands, staring at each other in stunned silence.

“that was too easy” you said at last.

steve let out a breath, half laugh, half disbelief. “i know.”

“it feels fake.”

“yeah.”

you looked back down at your paper. “maybe the universe finally decided to stop being a dick.”

he gave you a sideways look “that would be a first.”

you didn’t start until the following day, so that night became a strange little bridge between the life you’d left and the one you were trying to build. and after dinner, after the two of you had sat on the motel bed talking quietly about schedules and bus routes and what little money you had left, you each called your parents.

your call came first.

you sat on the edge of the bed with the motel phone pressed to your ear while steve lingered near the window pretending not to listen. when your mother picked up, her voice was sharp with immediate suspicion.

you told her you needed time. that you were trying to figure yourself out. that you didn’t want to keep disappointing them by staying somewhere that made you miserable. you kept your voice as steady as possible, even when she started raising hers, even when she demanded to know where you were, even when your father got on the line and started talking over her.

you didn’t give them much.

just enough to make them furious and not enough to make them find you.

you told them you were safe. that you were working. that you wanted to make it on your own for a while.

with steve.

not that they deserved the explanation, but it felt important anyway.

his call went differently, though only slightly. his father was louder, angrier, more determined to pull him back under control. business school came up almost immediately, followed by threats, followed by that cold, brutal disappointment steve had spent his whole life trying to outrun. but this time he didn’t fold.

he stood by the window with his jaw clenched and his shoulders squared, telling his father no over and over until it finally stuck. his voice shook once, just once, but he didn’t back down. by the time he hung up, he looked like he might collapse.

which, a second later, he practically did.

he dropped into your arms with a long, ragged breath, and you held him up without even thinking about it.

“thank you,” he said against your shoulder, and his voice sounded wrecked. “for doing this with me.”

you tightened your hold on him and shook your head a little. “you’re doing it for me too.”

and that was the truth of it. neither of you had really done this alone. you were doing it together, and that was the only reason either of you had been brave enough to try.

the months that followed were hard, ugly in the way new lives often are. there were rude customers everywhere. rude customers at the diner who treated you like you were invisible until they needed a refill. rude customers at the store who tried to make steve’s life miserable because they could. there were broken plates and late shifts and sore feet and too many nights spent in the same cheap motel room with a wall that felt too thin and a bathroom that leaked if you were unlucky. there was even one especially memorable morning when some idiot smashed the back window of steve’s car for no reason at all, which led to a long chain of swearing, repair estimates, and him sitting on the curb looking betrayed by the universe.

still, you settled into each other.

slowly, then all at once.

you started to move through life like a pair of people who had already learned how to survive the worst parts and were now figuring out the rest as they went. you came home to each other. you kissed goodbye before work and kissed hello when the shifts were finally over. you started falling asleep tangled together without even thinking about it. you learned the shape of each other’s bad days and the things that fixed them. a cup of coffee. a quiet hug. being left alone for twenty minutes and then pulled back in when the world felt less heavy.

it was obvious to everyone but you, and maybe even to you by then, that what you had was more than just a way to keep from falling apart.

you just never named it.

not until steve came home one night looking half dead from a horrible shift at the shop, dropped his keys by the door, and froze.

there was a slice of cake sitting on the bed with a single candle in it.

next to it were two tiny wrapped gifts.

you were sitting cross-legged on the mattress, hair tied up, exhausted but smiling in that quiet way you got when you were waiting for someone you cared about. steve stared at the cake for a second like his brain refused to process what he was seeing.

“what’s this?” he asked, voice rough.

you blinked at him. “your birthday.”

he stared harder, then looked genuinely confused. “it’s my birthday?”

you laughed a little, because of course he hadn’t remembered. “apparently.”

he just kept looking between you and the bed like he couldn’t understand how this was happening. then something in his face changed completely, all at once, and you knew.

you knew he was remembering every birthday that had been treated like a transaction back home. the expensive presents. the forced smiles. the absence underneath all of it.

he’d never looked so helpless.

or so loved.

you patted the spot beside you and he sat down carefully, almost like the whole thing might disappear if he moved too quickly. you lit the candle with a shaky match and handed him the lighter before he could say anything else. the little flame flickered between you.

“make a wish” you said softly.

he smiled at that, small and almost disbelieving, and blew it out.

then he kissed you.

slowly at first, like he was trying to understand what it meant to be given something gentle and real. when he pulled back, his eyes were bright in a way that made your chest ache.

“you remembered” he said quietly.

you shrugged like it was nothing, though you both knew it wasn’t. “of course i did.”

the gifts were cheap, but they were thoughtful in a way that made them feel bigger than anything money could have bought. one was something he’d mentioned weeks ago and probably forgotten he’d said out loud. the other was small and stupid and exactly his kind of thing, chosen because you’d listened. really listened. not in the way people did when they were trying to be polite, but in the way that made someone feel seen.

his face crumpled a little when he opened them.

you let out a breathy laugh and reached for him immediately. “oh, don’t start. there’s no designer wrapping or whatever, i did my best.”

that made him laugh through the tears, which somehow made it worse and better at the same time.

“i’m not crying because of that,” he muttered, wiping his face and sounding embarrassed about it despite the fact there was no reason to be.

“i know.”

he looked at you for a long second, breathing unevenly, then said, “nobody’s ever done this for me before.”

that knocked the air out of you a little because it wasn’t just about the cake or the presents it was about how carefully you had remembered him. how naturally you had made space for him. how easy it had become for you to make his life feel lighter without ever asking for anything in return.

and maybe that was the moment he finally understood what had been sitting between you all along.

maybe it was the moment you understood it too.

because later, when the candles had burned and the presents were opened and the two of you were lying side by side on the bed in the dim motel light, steve turned toward you and said, very quietly, “be my girlfriend.”

you went still for half a second, then smiled so hard it almost hurt.

“yeah?”

he nodded once, looking a little nervous all over again. “yeah.”

you reached over and touched his hand. “okay.”

his whole face softened.

“okay?”

“okay,” you repeated, smiling at him. “officially.”

he looked almost stunned by how relieved he seemed, like something that had been hovering over him for months had finally settled into place.

because he wasn’t the sorry kid from hawkins with the perfect smile and the bruised ribs and the house full of silence anymore. he was steve. your steve. and you loved him exactly as he was.

and you, for once, didn’t feel like the daughter from hell or the girl who never fit anywhere. you felt like yourself, which was somehow better.

months passed after that, and eventually the money you’d scraped together became enough to take the next step.

you moved out of the motel and into a tiny apartment that was barely bigger than the room you’d once shared, but it had a kitchen of its own and a door that locked properly and windows that looked out onto a street neither of you had grown up on. it was small and cheap and not at all glamorous, but it was yours.

you loved it anyway.

more than that, you loved what it meant.

your parents barely kept up with you. you visited once, just once, and it ended exactly how you expected it to. they did not understand why you left. they probably never would. but that stopped mattering more than you expected it to. steve never once asked you to go back, and you never asked him to, either.

you both agreed, almost immediately, that neither of your parents were ever allowed through the front door.

“i don’t want their energy in here” steve said one night while unpacking boxes in the kitchen.

you laughed under your breath. “their energy?”

he turned to you with complete seriousness. “yes. this apartment only has room for one kind of emotional damage and it’s ours.”

you stared at him, then laughed harder because unfortunately, he was right.

living together was messy. there were fights over dishes and money and whose turn it was to buy toilet paper. there were nights where one of you got so overwhelmed you just cried on the floor for no reason other than being young and broke and terrified and free all at once. there were mornings when the ceiling looked too close and the world felt too big.

but there were also hands on your back when you couldn’t breathe properly. coffee made badly but lovingly. shoulders to lean on. quiet kisses in the kitchen. shared exhaustion. stupid jokes. plans that didn’t feel impossible anymore.

and slowly, over time, the future started to look less like a fantasy and more like something you could actually build.

steve’s dream of a big family didn’t seem impossible anymore, your dream of being far away from hawkins didn’t feel lonely anymore.

because the first step had never really been running it had been finding someone who would go with you.

and somehow, against all odds, you had.

-

@prettyfortucker @harringtondarling @katsallthetime @thichnhathanhh @keepdrlving @beth-mirrorball @powerpuffedbjtch @itzeeeee @ddenniiee-729 @teheblue @frozenpeanutbutterr @coldalpsmcu @b0nzey @xceafh @hearts4steve @swirledyouintoallmypoems @saintlaurentdiva @joekeerylice @blurrygir1 @songkangslvr @keerymylove @foreverserving @cciessuzi @livingblythedoli @toopypoopy @ellieluvercentral @evies4ngels @lattewirl @wolfiee10 @maevebloom @drunkedniallh @girlwithkaleidoscopeeyes777 @mabsters @i-got-the-cinema @batmanssssss @bluehexagon8 @magnificentcitadelcrest @pleasecallmeunhinged @purplequeen64-stuff @inherdiary77 @whispersoflost @yikesdrama @chronicstevelover @horanlover7 @ann-aatn @xoxocelestial @isatchl @angellmiaa @chalametpwk @soggycerealtbh @leaveonthelight29 @ahead-fullofdreams @maaaaaybebaby

[athenas-rose]

Hii I'm obsessed with ur writing can u pls do smthg like where steve would drop everything he's doing with the party or anyone just because reader asked for a kiss or hug in the middle of smthg.. flufff

Thank you for requesting!

Without A Doubt 𑣲

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 700 words

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff,

Steve always bends to your will, regardless of the situation

It had become second nature at this point—Steve had never expected to get into a relationship where he could love so openly and freely. And for the first time, it felt like he could take a deep breath without having to worry, in response, he showered you with all the affection you could imagine.

You hadn’t picked up on it at first, already used to Steve’s willingness to drop to his knees whenever you wanted. But the more you noticed, the more you used it to your advantage, you started small. When he was cooking dinner one night you had approached him in the kitchen, staring at him all dopey eyed and chin pointed downwards, using your most convincing hopeful tone. “Baby, can I have a hug?”

And Steve just couldn’t say no to that face, could he? So he immediately dropped the cooking spoon, almost falling into the pot—so he could bend down and wrap his arms tight around you, lifting you off the ground.

“Oh, I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He slowed his words into a syrupy voice that made you feel warm all over.

The next time had been while Steve was in the shower, you had just arrived home after a relatively exhausting day, and wanted nothing more than to see his handsome face.

Steve wasn’t a particularly private person, so it wasn’t a problem when you had simply opened the door, the view of him still blocked by shower curtains. It was also a normal thing in your relationship, sometimes Steve would sit on the lid-covered toilet seat while you took a bath, just to chat to you.

He heard the sound of muffled footsteps, and paused his motions momentarily. “Is that you, honey? You ok, baby?” He loudly asked over the run of the water.

You let out a defeated sigh, standing in front of the curtains, “I want a kiss. Please.” You added, a sign that you desperately couldn’t wait another second.

He peaked his head around the little space between the wall and the curtains, allowing you to lean forward and press your lips to his, the kiss lasting longer than it should’ve. You pulled back and observed the way his hair looked like a wet towel atop his head, sudsy from all the shampoo and you realized you had likely interrupted him during his prestigious hair routine.

“You look funny,” you couldn’t help the grin that pulled at the corners of your mouth.

Steve narrowed his eyes at you, reaching a hand out to flick you playfully with droplets of water, amused at your shriek and laugh.

It wasn’t only limited to just behind closed doors, others would groan annoyingly once their business with Steve was left unfinished because you had asked him for something.

Specifically, the party was who got the worst end of it—they never failed to comment on how disgustingly you were in love, though you could never deny.

Steve had been in deep conversation with Dustin, and the second he noticed you were near his radar—nothing else had mattered to him. He instantly caught your eye, but you didn’t come any closer, only tilting your head at him with a sly smile on your face, gesturing your two fingers in a come here motion.

His face brightened up, if he had a tail, it would’ve been wagging by how fast he was to cut Dustin off and sprint over to you.

“Dude—” Dustin called out but Steve didn’t turn his head back, only keeping his eyes focused on what mattered most.

You laughed at his eagerness, “kiss me.” You placed your hands on his chest and he didn’t have to wait another second, already closing the distance by the time you had finished speaking.

The rest of the party fake gagged in the background at the display of affection, but you two paid no mind to it. Steve pulled back but kept his hands settled on your hips. “That’s all you wanted?” He asked.

“Mhm,” you hummed satisfiedly. “Are you going to go back?”

He shook his head, making no move to leave you anytime soon. “I think I’m good right here.” He decided.

Because no matter what demanded his attention, he would always drop everything for you.

[oohgeminii]

uptowngirl

steve harrington x reader

desc - hawkins high started a new progam - speak up ! - a system where students can anonymously talk to each other to get help on projects and school work. when you eventually check it out, the first thing you see on there is a note from farrahfawcettspray asking for help on the chemistry homework. and, being the kind soul you are, you respond to them.

val speaks - WOOO after some pondering i ended up rlly loving this one guys i hope u do too ++ i also j realised there were a couple ppls that were on my taglist that i wasn't tagging so im so very sorry for that but its updated properly now!!

word count: 8.2k

the glow of your desk lamp was the only thing lighting your room by the time you finally looked up from your history notes. outside, the sky had gone dark hours ago, the faint sound of crickets slipped through your cracked bedroom window. your pencil rolled from between your fingers as you stretched your arms above your head with a groan.

you hated homework.

not because you were bad at school, you actually did pretty well, but because hawkins high suddenly seemed obsessed with making everyone miserable this year.

especially with that stupid new program.

speak up!

even the name sounded fake cheerful.

principal higgins had introduced it last monday during assembly, standing awkwardly behind the microphone while half the gym ignored him.

“students can anonymously communicate with one another for educational assistance,” he’d explained proudly. “it’s designed to encourage collaboration and improve grades schoolwide.”

translation?

people who were too embarrassed to ask for help could hide behind fake usernames instead.

at first everyone thought it was ridiculous.

tommy hagan had loudly called it “nerd tinder,” earning laughs from half the basketball team while teachers pretended not to hear him. even your friends spent lunch making fun of it.

you did too, honestly.

because seriously, who was actually going to use some weird school messaging board to ask strangers for chemistry help?

apparently a lot of people.

you stared at the chunky old computer sitting on your desk. it hummed loudly by the time it turned on, the screen flickering slightly before stabilising. your parents bought it for christmas years ago after you begged them for one, though now it was mostly used for homework and occasionally typing essays before the printer jammed for the hundredth time.

still, it worked.

eventually.

you chewed the inside of your cheek before leaning forward and typing in the school website address.

the login page for speak up! popped onto the screen.

you almost backed out immediately.

this was dumb.

you had friends if you needed help. normal people had friends. or classmates. or literally anyone else besides anonymous weirdos online.

but, you kinda understood the idea.

there were definitely people at school who acted too cool to ask questions in class. people who’d rather fail than admit they didn’t get something.

plus, maybe some kids just didn’t have anyone.

with a small sigh, you clicked register username.

after thinking for a second, your fingers typed:

uptowngirl

creative? no.

but the billy joel song had been stuck in your head all week and honestly you couldn’t think of anything else.

once you logged in, a long list of posts appeared on the screen.

and wow.

people were actually using this thing.

messages filled the page.

can someone explain algebra 3 page 52?

need help studying for bio test.

is anyone good at essay editing?

you blinked.

okay. maybe principal higgins wasn’t completely insane.

your eyes scanned lazily down the page until one username made you snort.

farrahfawcettspray: Need help with chem homework. Seriously desperate.

you laughed quietly to yourself.

there was no way that was a guy, right?

you literally had the exact same can of farrah fawcett hairspray sitting on your dresser.

for a second you considered logging off, but you had already finished the chemistry assignment. and it honestly wasn’t that hard once you understood it.

before you could overthink it, you clicked their profile and typed:

uptowngirl: hey, you said you need help with chem?

you expected to wait at least a few minutes for a response.

instead one came instantly.

farrahfawcettspray: Please

you smiled despite yourself.

dramatic.

you started trying to explain the worksheet the best you could.

uptowngirl: okay so for number 4 you have to balance the equation first

farrahfawcettspray: What equation

you stared.

uptowngirl: the one on the page?

farrahfawcettspray: Oh jesus christ

a laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

for the next twenty minutes the two of you went back and forth. you genuinely tried helping at first, but after realising they seemed completely and utterly lost, you finally gave up and just started feeding them the answers directly.

honestly, whoever they were, chemistry clearly was not their thing.

finally another message popped up.

farrahfawcettspray: You’re a lifesaver, thanks uptown girl

you frowned for half a second before remembering that was your username.

uptowngirl: no problem farrah

a response came immediately.

farrahfawcettspray: Don’t call me that

you grinned.

uptowngirl: goodnight farrah

you logged off before they could answer.

shutting down the computer took nearly five whole minutes, the thing whining dramatically as the screen slowly faded black.

you got ready for bed afterward feeling strangely… good. like you’d actually helped someone.

-

the next morning at school, you told your friends about it during lunch.

“wait,” your friend laughed around a mouthful of fries, “you actually used speak up?”

you groaned. “only once.”

“oh my god.”

“shut up.”

“was it romantic?” another teased dramatically. “anonymous study flirting?”

you rolled your eyes. “they barely knew what an equation was.”

that got another round of laughter from the table.

still, you found yourself smiling too.

the whole thing was kinda funny.

by the end of the day you’d almost forgotten about it completely.

hawkins high emptied fast once the final bell rang, students flooding into the parking lot in loud clusters. you adjusted your bag higher on your shoulder as you headed toward the front doors, already mentally preparing yourself for the walk home.

your house wasn’t exactly close.

but the shortcut you found through the side streets cut the trip almost in half.

the october air was chilly enough to sting your cheeks as you walked, leaves crunching beneath your shoes. the neighborhood was quiet this time of day, most people still at work.

you were halfway down the street when you heard a car slow behind you.

your heartbeat jumped instantly.

you turned slightly and immediately wished you hadn’t.

a familiar bmw rolled beside you.

of course.

steve harrington sat in the driver’s seat, one hand lazily on the wheel. tommy was leaned halfway across the passenger seat already grinning like an idiot while carol lounged in the back.

you rolled your eyes and faced forward again.

keep walking, ignore them. easy.

the car crawled beside you anyway.

“hey!” tommy called.

you kept walking.

“hey sweetheart, why’s a pretty girl like you walking home all alone?”

carol smacked the back of his head immediately.

“god, tommy.”

“ow-”

from the corner of your eye you caught steve shooting tommy some annoyed look before glancing at you briefly.

you just smiled sweetly then flipped them off without breaking stride.

there was a beat of silence then tommy barked out an offended laugh.

“bitch!”

the bmw sped off ahead of you with a screech.

you sighed heavily.

god, you hated those people.

tommy and carol were the worst, loud, mean, constantly acting like hawkins high revolved around them.

and steve harrington?

honestly, you didn’t know him enough personally to hate him the same way but the rumors definitely didn’t help.

every girl in school seemed obsessed with him for reasons you couldn’t understand beyond the hair and the stupidly perfect face. supposedly he’d dated half the girls in hawkins already, and every story made him sound more arrogant than the last.

definitely not your type, not even close.

by the time you finally got home, the sky had darkened into deep blue.

the house was empty.

your parents were both working late again.

you dropped your bag by the stairs, called out a halfhearted “hello?” anyway, then headed upstairs after grabbing a soda from the fridge.

you weren’t really hungry.

your room was warm compared to the chilly outside air, and you immediately sat at your desk with a sigh, pulling your homework toward you.

math first.

then english.

then maybe death.

after about twenty minutes, your eyes drifted toward the computer sitting beside you.

the screen was dark.

you hesitated then reached over and turned it on.

the machine groaned loudly in protest.

“c’mon” you muttered.

eventually the screen flickered to life.

you logged into speak up! mostly out of curiosity.

the second your profile loaded, a notification popped up instantly.

1 new message from farrahfawcettspray

your eyebrows lifted.

you clicked it.

farrahfawcettspray: I failed the chem quiz

you laughed before typing back.

uptowngirl: that sounds like a you problem

three dots appeared almost immediately.

farrahfawcettspray: Wow. Cruel.

uptowngirl: you survived though

farrahfawcettspray: Barely

you smiled a little without meaning to.

there was something weirdly easy about talking like this. maybe because you didn’t know who they were. no awkwardness. no trying to act cool.

just words on a screen.

another message appeared.

farrahfawcettspray: You got homework tonight?

uptowngirl: obviously

farrahfawcettspray: Wanna help me again?

you snorted softly.

hopeless, completely hopeless. and somehow, for some reason, you typed back anyway.

uptowngirl: fine. but this is the last time, farrah.

there was a pause.

then:

farrahfawcettspray: You really like calling me that huh

you grinned at the screen.

maybe this whole speak up thing wasn’t so stupid after all.

-

somewhere along the way, logging onto speak up! became part of your routine.

you’d get home from school, dump your bag by your desk, complain your way through homework, eat whatever leftovers were in the fridge, then eventually sit down in front of your computer with the quiet expectation that there’d already be a message waiting for you.

and there usually was.

sometimes it was something dramatic like:

farrahfawcettspray: I think Mrs o’donnell genuinely enjoys watching teenagers suffer.

or-

farrahfawcettspray: If i fail math i’m becoming a criminal.

other times it was just:

farrahfawcettspray: You there?

simple.

stupidly simple.

but somehow it always made you smile.

you didn’t really talk to anyone else on the site anymore. not because you meant to stop helping other people, it just.. happened naturally. every time you logged on, you found yourself clicking the same username first.

and apparently he did too.

you learned pretty quickly that “farrah” was definitely not a girl.

that discovery came after nearly two weeks of talking.

uptowngirl: serious question

farrahfawcettspray: Uh oh

uptowngirl: why the hell is that your username if you’re a guy

there’d been a long pause before the reply finally came through.

farrahfawcettspray: My sister was talking about hairspray when i made the account

you stared at the screen.

huh.

that actually made sense. kind of.

uptowngirl: still weird

farrahfawcettspray: You’re literally named after a billy joel song

fair point.

you didn’t learn much else about him after that.

not big things, anyway.

he wasn’t great at schoolwork, that became painfully obvious very quickly, but he didn’t seem stupid. honestly, sometimes he said things that surprised you. little observations that were funny or weirdly thoughtful in ways you didn’t expect.

mostly though, your conversations were random.

complaining about teachers, ranting about homework, talking about the absolute freaks wandering the halls of hawkins high.

without naming names, obviously.

farrahfawcettspray: Someone left their lunch in the locker room and it smelled like sweaty fish for a week

uptowngirl: what does sweaty fish even smell like

farrahfawcettspray: Death

or

uptowngirl: i watched someone trip over absolutely nothing in the cafeteria today

farrahfawcettspray: That might’ve been me

uptowngirl: honestly wouldn’t surprise me

you started looking forward to those conversations more than you probably should have.

it was weird.

because you didn’t know him, not really. you tried figuring it out sometimes, usually while lying awake at night after logging off.

you mentally ran through people at school constantly.

who had a sister? who hated chemistry this much? who wanted a big family someday?

who said they wanted to buy an rv and drive around the country because “hawkins is depressing as shit”?

who admitted they could only sleep on the side of the bed closest to the wall because they were scared something would grab their ankle from underneath?

that one had made you laugh so hard you almost woke your parents up.

uptowngirl: you are literally a child

farrahfawcettspray: You say that now until a monster grabs your leg

uptowngirl: from under the bed??

farrahfawcettspray: YES

uptowngirl: you’re insane

but the more you thought about it, the more you realised the things you knew about him weren’t really things that narrowed anyone down.

they were too personal, too strange.

you couldn’t exactly walk through school looking at people and think:

yeah, he definitely sleeps facing the wall because he’s scared of bed monsters.

or

that guy absolutely wants six kids someday.

it didn’t work like that.

maybe that was the point, maybe this was all supposed to be.

just some weird invisible string tying you to a stranger.

still, was it weird that you felt like you liked him? not even physically, you didn’t know what he looked like.

didn’t know his voice, didn’t know how he laughed or walked or what color his eyes were.

but after weeks of talking every single night, it started feeling like you did know him in a way.

you knew the version of him behind the screen. you knew he was dramatic. and funny. and kind of an idiot.

you knew he hated peas with an alarming amount of passion, you knew he procrastinated every assignment until the absolute last second. you knew he got attached to stupid things easily because he once spent ten full minutes ranting after losing a lighter he “connected to.”

you knew him.

just not who he actually was.

just not who he…

was.

yeah.

oops.

-

one friday night, your friend convinced you to stay over at her house.

between movies, junk food, and listening to her complain about her ex-boyfriend for almost two straight hours, you honestly didn’t think about the weird little web page once.

not until the next afternoon when you finally got home.

your house was quiet when you walked in, duffel bag slipping from your shoulder onto the floor with a thud.

almost immediately, your brain went:

check the computer.

which was ridiculous, completely ridiculous. still, you headed upstairs.

the computer took forever to load like always, buzzing loudly while the screen slowly flickered alive.

you logged in and immediately saw two unread messages.

your stomach did a weird little flip before you could stop it.

farrahfawcettspray: Never guess what happened to me today

then, sent hours later:

farrahfawcettspray: Tough crowd

you smiled automatically.

god.

you typed back quickly.

uptowngirl: sorry! stayed at my friend’s house last night

uptowngirl: what happened??

the response came almost instantly like he’d been online already.

farrahfawcettspray: I got home and realised i left my window open

uptowngirl: okay?

farrahfawcettspray: There was a fucking fat frog sitting on my bed

you burst out laughing alone in your room.

actually laughing.

uptowngirl: you’re lying

farrahfawcettspray: Why would i lie about this

uptowngirl: because frogs can’t climb houses??

the typing bubble appeared immediately.

farrahfawcettspray: THEY CAN

uptowngirl: no they can’t

farrahfawcettspray: One was literally on my bed

uptowngirl: maybe it walked in

farrahfawcettspray: Through a second story window??

uptowngirl: good point

farrahfawcettspray: Thank you

for the next twenty minutes, the two of you argued about frog climbing abilities. twenty whole minutes. which honestly should’ve concerned you more than it did.

eventually you leaned back in your chair, smiling at the screen like an idiot.

god, he was stupid.

the thought came naturally now. comfortable. fond, almost.

and immediately after that came another thought.

was he?

you frowned slightly at the screen.

because really you didn’t know.

you didn’t know if he was tall or short, popular or invisible, funny in real life or just online.

you didn’t know if you’d even like him face to face and somehow that was the strangest part of all.

feeling this connected to someone whose face you couldn’t even picture.

-

more weeks passed so quickly it almost made you sick.

somehow talking to him had become the most normal thing in the world.

you’d wake up, go to school, come home, and somewhere in between all of it you’d find yourself thinking about whatever stupid thing he’d said the night before.

sometimes you caught yourself almost telling your friends about him before stopping at the last second.

because what even was he?

some anonymous guy from school you talked to every night?

it sounded ridiculous when you thought about it too hard.

still, the conversations never stopped. if anything, they got longer, easier.

and lately, you could tell you were both trying, very discreetly, to figure each other out.

not outright asking names or anything obvious, just little things.

tiny questions hidden inside normal conversation.

farrahfawcettspray: What were you wearing today?

you’d immediately narrowed your eyes at the screen.

uptowngirl: why

farrahfawcettspray: Curious

uptowngirl: that sounds suspicious

farrahfawcettspray: Or maybe i just care deeply about fashion

you snorted.

another time

uptowngirl: you said your shoes got soaked today. what shoes?

farrahfawcettspray: Nice try

you’d rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.

it became a game after a while.

you weren’t even sure if you wanted him to know who you were, that was the weird part. it wasn’t that you were embarrassed of yourself. you weren’t.

but after months of talking like this, what if he’d built some version of you in his head that didn’t match reality?

what if you disappointed him?

or worse what if he disappointed you?

it was stupid, completely stupid, but you couldn’t stop the thoughts anyway.

-

today had felt normal at first.

cold morning air, crowded hallways, just another day at hawkins high. then suddenly over the speakers came principal higgins’ voice.

“all students report to the gymnasium for assembly.”

the entire school groaned collectively.

you slumped back in your seat.

“if this is about safe sex again i’m leaving” your friend muttered beside you.

the gym was loud when everyone piled in, sneakers squeaking across the polished floor as students shoved into bleachers. you sat wedged between your friends half-listening while principal higgins adjusted the microphone awkwardly.

“i’ll keep this brief” he started.

already a lie.

you zoned out almost immediately until one phrase suddenly snapped you back to attention.

“the speak up! program-”

your head lifted.

“-will officially be shutting down at the end of the semester.”

your stomach dropped.

“…what?” you muttered under your breath.

around you, barely anyone reacted.

a few students laughed.

someone yelled “finally.”

principal higgins kept rambling.

“unfortunately, participation has remained low, and despite initial hopes, there hasn’t been a significant increase in overall grades-”

your friends looked entirely unbothered.

“knew that thing was stupid” one of them whispered.

“seriously who even used it?”

you forced out a little laugh along with them.

but honestly? you barely heard the rest of the assembly. because all you could think was the guy. how were you supposed to talk to him now? would you still talk to him?

would he even want to?

“the website will officially close four weeks from today” principal higgins finished.

four weeks.

shit.

-

that night, the first thing you did when you got home was turn your computer on.

you probably would’ve anyway but now it felt different.

the machine hummed loudly while loading, and for once you sat impatiently tapping your fingers against the desk waiting for it to hurry up.

the second you logged in, you opened your messages.

then typed quickly:

uptowngirl: were you in the assembly today?

there was a pause.

then:

farrahfawcettspray: Yeah. I was literally just gonna ask you that

you leaned back slightly.

uptowngirl: it’s so stupid they’re shutting it down

farrahfawcettspray: Right? Some of us actually use this thing

uptowngirl: exactly

then after a second:

uptowngirl: okay maybe not for homework anymore

he replied immediately.

farrahfawcettspray: Yeah we definitely stopped pretending awhile ago

you smiled despite the weird ache sitting in your chest.

the two of you eventually agreed to just keep talking normally and when the site closed, it closed.

that was it.

when it’s over, it’s over.

simple.

or at least that’s what you told yourselves.

and somehow, after awhile, talking to him like usual made you almost forget anything was wrong at all.

-

the next day at school, you were heading toward your locker when you heard familiar voices echoing down the hallway.

tommy.

carol.

steve.

you tried ignoring them.

really, you did.

but then tommy loudly said, “god, some people at this school are actually painful to look at.”

carol snorted immediately.

you glanced over just in time to see them both staring at some poor freshman walking away red-faced.

your expression soured.

same old shit.

steve stood beside them leaning against the lockers, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. he barely chuckled, more out of obligation than actual amusement.

still, he laughed.

you rolled your eyes and kept walking.

honestly, you wondered if they’d ever actually grow up.

-

that night, you found yourself ranting about it online.

without names, obviously.

uptowngirl: some people at school genuinely act like they’re still twelve

there was a longer pause than usual before he answered.

farrahfawcettspray: Do your friends ever piss you off?

you blinked slightly at the screen.

that felt random.

uptowngirl: how so

another pause.

farrahfawcettspray: Like in general

your brows furrowed.

uptowngirl: not all the time

uptowngirl: friends aren’t really supposed to make you feel bad constantly

there was a moment before the reply came through.

farrahfawcettspray: Oh

you sat up a little straighter.

uptowngirl: is it all your friends?

farrahfawcettspray: Kinda

you frowned.

uptowngirl: then make new ones

almost instantly:

farrahfawcettspray: Not that easy

you stared at the words for a second then shrugged it off.

he was right, you guessed.

maybe he was one of the quieter kids at school. the kind who got stuck with shitty people because they didn’t know how to leave them.

you knew people like that.

still, the conversation stayed in your head longer than it probably should have.

-

a week passed.

three weeks left.

three weeks until the website disappeared.

three weeks until mystery guy disappeared with it.

you tried not to think about it too much.

failed miserably.

that night, your room was dark except for the glow of the computer screen when his message suddenly appeared.

farrahfawcettspray: Will i ever know who you are?

your heartbeat stumbled slightly.

you stared at the sentence for way too long before typing back.

uptowngirl: i thought you said when it’s over it’s over

uptowngirl: why does it matter?

his response came faster than usual.

farrahfawcettspray: Screw that

you swallowed.

uptowngirl: why do you even wanna know?

another pause.

longer this time.

then

farrahfawcettspray: Why don’t you?

you froze.

because honestly?

you didn’t have a good answer. there wasn’t one big dramatic reason, just your own stupid thoughts. your own worries.

what if he expected someone cooler? prettier? funnier?

what if meeting ruined whatever this was?

you stared at the blinking cursor for almost a full minute before finally typing:

uptowngirl: i don’t know

for once, he didn’t joke.

didn’t tease you.

just

farrahfawcettspray: Okay

the simple response weirdly made your chest hurt.

then another message appeared.

farrahfawcettspray: What if we compromise?

you frowned slightly.

uptowngirl: how

there was a pause before his answer came through.

farrahfawcettspray: The day the website closes is prom right?

your stomach tightened immediately.

uptowngirl: yeah

farrahfawcettspray: We meet then

your eyes widened slightly.

farrahfawcettspray: Not a whole big thing

farrahfawcettspray: Just somewhere behind the school or something

farrahfawcettspray: So we know

your pulse had started beating noticeably faster now.

you read the messages twice. three times.

farrahfawcettspray: And if it’s awkward or terrible or whatever

farrahfawcettspray: We just go back to our lives

farrahfawcettspray: Deal?

you stared at the screen.

your reflection stared back faintly from the monitor.

this suddenly felt terrifying. and exciting. and horrifying.

all at once.

but maybe he was right. what could really go that wrong?

slowly, you typed back

uptowngirl: okay

almost immediately:

farrahfawcettspray: Okay

your heart thudded harder against your ribs.

in three weeks, you’d finally know who he was.

-

the last three weeks somehow felt unbearably slow and way too fast all at once.

every day dragged.

every night disappeared.

it didn’t help that exam season had officially started, meaning every teacher at school suddenly decided their class was the most important thing on earth.

you were stressed constantly.

your room became a mess of textbooks, loose papers, highlighters, half-empty soda cans and crumpled notes. your desk lamp stayed on until stupid hours of the night while you studied until your eyes hurt.

still somehow, despite all that, the thing making your stomach twist the most wasn’t even exams.

it was prom.

well.

not prom itself, the reveal.

you wouldn’t exactly call it stress. more like nervousness that kept sneaking up on you at random moments.

because holy shit.

you were actually going to meet him and every time you thought about it for too long your brain immediately spiraled.

what if he saw you and regretted everything?

what if you did?

what if it got awkward instantly?

what if one of you didn’t show up at all?

you tried not to think about it.

failed miserably.

honestly though, exams distracted you enough that the days still moved quickly. surprisingly, you actually thought you were doing pretty well too.

and apparently mystery guy was absolutely not.

somewhere during the second week, your conversations somehow circled all the way back to how they first started.

him begging for academic help.

farrahfawcettspray: I’m dropping out

you snorted quietly at your desk before replying.

uptowngirl: dramatic

farrahfawcettspray: Just failed so hard i saw my future

uptowngirl: you said after the first exam you were “done trying”

farrahfawcettspray: Yeah well now i’m scared

you laughed under your breath then spent the next hour helping him study anyway. again.

you honestly should’ve charged him tutoring fees at that point.

-

when exams finally ended, there was only one week left until prom. one week left until you found out who he was.

after that, the teasing started.

mostly from him.

farrahfawcettspray: You nervous?

uptowngirl: not even slightly

farrahfawcettspray: Liar

uptowngirl: you wish

farrahfawcettspray: You’re gonna see me and faint

you rolled your eyes so hard you nearly gave yourself a headache.

uptowngirl: keep dreaming farrah

he immediately sent back:

farrahfawcettspray: You still call me that after all this time. Cruel.

still, despite your constant denial, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

you were nervous. terribly so.

thankfully, dress shopping with your friends ended up distracting you for at least one full day.

you all made an entire event out of it. trying on ridiculous dresses just to laugh at each other, eating greasy mall food afterward, arguing over colors and shoes and hairstyles.

for awhile, things felt normal again.

easy.

you ended up buying a buttercup yellow dress that honestly looked really good on you.

it complimented your skin perfectly, hugged your waist just right, and made you feel prettier than you expected.

at least if everything went horribly wrong, you’d still look hot doing it.

-

a few days before prom, the two of you finally made a more solid plan.

simple, easy. less terrifying that way.

at 8:00, he’d go outside to the field behind the school.

at 8:05, you’d follow after him.

that way nobody would really notice you leaving together.

you appreciated that because honestly? the idea of everyone finding out about this made you want to die.

-

then suddenly it was prom night and you were nervous enough to throw up.

your hands shook slightly while fixing your hair in the mirror, your mom fussing over you while insisting you looked beautiful.

which, honestly?

you kinda did.

the yellow dress looked even better all done up properly. your hair sat perfectly for once, your makeup actually cooperated, and when you looked in the mirror you almost felt bad for mystery guy.

almost.

prom itself was exactly what you expected.

too loud, too warm, too many people packed into one room pretending the decorations didn’t look cheap.

still, it was fun enough.

you drank several unfortunately non-alcoholic punch cups, mingled with your friends, danced a little when forced to, and spent most of the evening pretending you weren’t constantly checking the time.

then suddenly 7:58.

your stomach dropped.

7:59.

holy shit.

8:00.

you immediately looked toward the doors.

five minutes, five minutes until you met him.

for a horrible second, you were tempted to stand there and watch the exit like a hawk. just wait and see who slipped outside.

but no. no, you’d waited this long. you could wait five more minutes.

probably.

another part of you briefly considered just not going at all.

seriously.

you could stay right here, pretend none of this ever happened.

but then what?

go home? never talk to him again?

the website would probably be deleted tonight.

this was it.

your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.

one of your friends noticed your weird expression almost immediately.

“you okay?”

“yeah,” you lied quickly. “just hot in here.”

“want me to come outside with you?”

“no!”

they blinked at your immediate response.

you forced a smaller smile. “i’m fine. seriously.”

it still took another minute of convincing and multiple be safes and don’t stay gone forevers before they finally let you leave alone.

the walk toward the field felt endless.

seriously endless.

you were convinced the path had physically grown longer somehow.

your heels clicked nervously against the pavement while your mind spiraled violently. was it that guy from health class? was it the one you once saw picking his nose behind the bleachers? was it that angry dude always getting into fights?

your heartbeat got faster with every step.

then you saw someone standing near the benches by the field.

just the back of them.

but honestly?

anyone would recognize that hair.

steve harrington.

your entire body stopped.

what.

the.

fuck.

your brain completely blanked.

there was absolutely no way. no actual way.

you must’ve made some noise because before you could even think about turning around and sprinting back inside, he turned too.

his eyebrows shot upward immediately when he saw you.

you both stared at each other in complete shock.

then at the exact same time:

“you’re-”

you both stopped.

silence.

then slowly, awkwardly, you both nodded.

steve let out a breathy huff of disbelief before a small smile pulled at his mouth.

and honestly?

you couldn’t stop staring.

because somehow it made sense now.

the humor. the dramatic texting. the stupid confidence covering up actual insecurity.

oh my god.

you squinted at him suddenly.

“you don’t have a sister.”

his face immediately changed.

“…what?”

“you told me you picked the username because your sister was talking about the spray.”

steve looked away, then back at you, then dragged a hand down his face with a groan.

“yeah, okay, i lied.”

you stared then barked out a laugh.

“you use farrah fawcett spray?”

he pointed at you immediately. “swear to god if you tell anyone-”

you laughed harder, holding your hands up in surrender.

“okay, okay!”

his expression twisted into embarrassed annoyance while you grinned at him.

god.

of course it was him.

steve glanced awkwardly toward a nearby bench before nodding toward it. you hesitated only a second before following him over and sitting beside him.

for a moment, neither of you spoke.

it suddenly felt so strange hearing the voice attached to the messages.

then steve looked over at you, squinting slightly.

“so…” he said slowly.

you looked back at him.

he pointed vaguely.

“uptown girl.”

you bit back a smile immediately because the expression on his face was so genuinely baffled.

you nodded once.

“…yeah.”

he huffed out another laugh.

for awhile, the conversation was awkward, not horribly awkward, just strange.

you’d spent months talking nonstop and suddenly neither of you knew where to start now that you were face to face.

still, eventually it got easier.

little laughs slipped in naturally. comfortable silences too. you found yourself relaxing without realising it.

then finally you admitted, “i was not expecting it to be someone like you.”

steve raised an eyebrow.

“someone like me?”

“yeah,” you said honestly. “i thought i couldn’t stand you.”

he scoffed softly, glancing away.

“fair.”

you smiled slightly.

then he looked back at you.

“didn’t expect you either.”

you grinned. “upset it’s not someone who’ll sleep with you?”

he side-eyed you immediately, giving you the dirtiest look imaginable.

it made you laugh.

then suddenly he smirked.

“who says you won’t?”

you stared at him flatly.

he laughed quietly at your expression.

god, there he was. the real steve harrington finally showing up.

after awhile, you sighed softly and glanced back toward the school.

“i should probably head inside.”

steve nodded a little.

“yeah.”

“but…” you paused, trying to find the right word. “thank you for being my…”

you trailed off, and when you looked back at him, there was something almost hopeful in his expression.

“…friend” you finished quietly.

his smile softened immediately then he held his hand out toward you dramatically. you laughed under your breath before shaking it.

“yeah,” he said softly. “thanks.”

you started turning back toward the school.

then

“wait.”

you looked back.

steve rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before speaking again.

“can this not be… like, the end?”

you blinked.

“huh?”

“i mean,” he said quickly, “i still wanna talk to you.”

something warm twisted in your chest.

you sighed dramatically instead to cover it.

“do you have paper?”

he blinked at you.

“…obviously not.”

you rolled your eyes.

“do you at least have a pen?”

“maybe in my car.”

you nodded immediately. “okay. c’mon.”

he looked confused but led you toward the parking lot anyway.

once you got there, steve dug around inside the bmw until finally finding a pen shoved somewhere in the center console.

“ha” he said proudly.

you snorted before grabbing his wrist.

he looked startled as you pushed his jacket sleeve up slightly.

then realisation hit his face.

“oh.”

before writing anything, you paused dramatically.

“if i do this,” you said, “you have to get your annoying ass friends to leave me alone.”

steve smiled slightly.

“i’ll see what i can do-”

you gave him a look immediately.

“okay, okay,” he laughed. “fine. i’ll tell them to lay off.”

“thank you.”

carefully, you wrote your number across his forearm. his eyes stayed on your face the entire time, which absolutely did not make your heart beat faster. not at all.

when you finished, you stepped back slightly.

then quietly, before leaving, you said

“you’re better than them, steve.”

his expression shifted immediately.

you smiled softly.

“much better.”

for a second he just looked at you, really looked at you. then slowly, he smiled too. and somehow it looked nothing like the smug cocky smiles you’d seen in school hallways.

this one felt real.

you turned then, heading back toward prom with your heartbeat still all over the place.

and for the first time in months, mystery guy wasn’t a mystery anymore.

-

walking back into prom after meeting steve felt strange in the best possible way, like somehow the whole room looked different now.

the lights hanging from the ceiling seemed warmer, the music sounded less annoying, even the sweaty overcrowded gym somehow felt easier to breathe in. your cheeks actually hurt from smiling by the time you made it back to your friends.

which unfortunately meant they noticed immediately.

one of them narrowed her eyes the second you sat back down at the table.

“okay. what happened.”

you grabbed your drink quickly to hide your smile. “nothing.”

“bullshit.”

“seriously.”

another one gasped dramatically. “oh my god she kissed someone.”

you nearly choked on your drink. “what? no!”

“then why do you look like that?”

“like what?”

“like you’re in love.”

you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, laughing despite yourself while they all continued trying to interrogate you. but honestly? you didn’t even mind.

because your chest still felt warm from sitting beside steve outside. from hearing his voice say uptown girl out loud. from realising that somehow, impossibly, the person you’d spent months talking to was him.

god.

if someone had told you months ago that the boy you couldn’t stand would end up becoming your favorite person to talk to, you would’ve laughed directly in their face.

yet here you were.

the rest of the night passed in this happy blur.

you danced with your friends until your feet hurt, got dragged into stupid prom photos you’d probably cringe at later, and every now and then you’d spot steve somewhere across the room.

sometimes he’d already be looking at you. every single time it happened, he’d smirk slightly. and every single time your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.

-

somehow by the end of the night you ended up at an afterparty. you honestly had no clue whose house it even was. someone said some girl from another school was throwing it, and suddenly everybody was piling into cars and driving there like it was the event of the century.

the house was packed. absolutely packed. music blasted loud enough to shake the floorboards, people crowded every room, and the air inside was thick with sweat, cheap perfume and alcohol.

actual alcohol this time.

which explained why after your third drink you started feeling significantly warmer and significantly less capable of making good decisions.

still, you were having fun. a lot of fun, actually. you laughed so hard at one point your stomach hurt, though later you couldn’t even remember what was so funny.

eventually though the heat inside the house became unbearable. your head felt fuzzy and your skin felt sticky and suddenly all you wanted was air. so, you slipped outside quietly, shutting the door behind you with a relieved sigh.

the cool night breeze hit your face immediately.

“oh thank god” you muttered dramatically.

then your eyes landed on someone sitting near the side of the porch.

steve. he sat alone on the curb, cigarette between his fingers, staring down at the pavement.

you smiled automatically, of course he was outside. but as you walked closer, your smile faded slightly.

he looked pissed. not angry exactly, more upset. his jaw was tense and his shoulders were tight in that way people got when they were trying really hard not to let something bother them.

you almost considered turning around and leaving him alone. almost. but you were already too close now. plus, liquid courage was a beautiful thing.

when steve finally noticed you approaching, he quickly dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his shoe before offering you a tight-lipped smile.

“hey.”

“hey,” you answered slowly, stopping beside him. “what’s up with you?”

“nothing.”

you stared at him.

“steve.”

“i’m serious.”

“come onnn,” you whined dramatically, nudging his shoulder lightly with yours. “you tell me everything.”

his eyes flicked toward you at that, something softened there for a second. then he sighed heavily and looked down at the ground before lowering himself onto the curb fully.

you sat beside him immediately.

for a minute neither of you spoke. music thumped faintly through the walls behind you while cars occasionally passed in the distance.

then finally steve spoke quietly.

“i hope you’re right.”

you frowned slightly. “about what?”

he rubbed his palms together once before muttering

“about me being better than my friends.”

your expression softened instantly.

“what happened?”

he laughed quietly. not in a funny way, more tired. “what didn’t happen?”

you stayed quiet, letting him continue.

after a second he sighed again.

“they were being assholes to some guy inside.”

you immediately knew who “they” meant.

tommy. carol. probably half the people they hung around too.

“just relentless,” steve muttered. “wouldn’t leave him alone.”

he picked absentmindedly at the label peeling off a beer bottle nearby.

“i told them to stop.”

you looked at him carefully. “and?”

“and tommy started calling me a pussy.”

your jaw tightened immediately.

steve shrugged like he was trying not to care.

“said i’ve gotten soft lately.”

you hated how casually he said it, like he’d heard things like that a hundred times before.

“so i left.”

he gestured vaguely around them.

“and here we are.”

you sighed softly. for a second you just sat there looking at him, really looking at him. and honestly? he looked exhausted. not physically, just tired of pretending. tired of acting like somebody he didn’t even seem to like anymore.

you nudged his shoulder gently.

“they’ll probably get over it.”

steve huffed out a small laugh. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you smiled slightly. “you are kinda the leader of the pack.”

that earned a real smile from him, small, but real. still, it faded quickly.

“that’s the thing,” he admitted quietly. “i hate that.”

you tilted your head. “then stop.”

“stop what?”

“being friends with them.”

he immediately gave you a look.

“you’ve literally said this before.”

“because i’m right.”

“i can’t just drop them.”

“why not?”

he opened his mouth. closed it again. then shrugged helplessly. “i don’t know. it’d be weird.”

you snorted softly.

“weird for who?”

“everyone’ll be up my ass about it.”

you shrugged lazily. “who cares?”

steve looked at you for a second like he genuinely wished he could think like that.

then silence settled again.

but honestly, your drunk brain couldn’t stay focused for very long. after a minute you suddenly stood up. “i’m going back inside.”

steve looked up at you from where he sat. then without thinking, you held your hand out toward him dramatically.

“c’mon, harrington.”

his eyes flicked down to your hand. for a second you thought he’d ignore it, instead he took it. you pulled him up with a grin.

“i’m gonna stay out here and smoke another cigarette first” he said.

immediately your nose scrunched.

“gross.”

he laughed quietly.

“then i’ll come in.”

you nodded once.

“okay.”

you and steve somehow never found each other again that night after that

-

break started almost immediately after prom.

suddenly there was no school. no exams. no teachers. just endless warm days stretching ahead of you.

and somehow steve became part of nearly all of them.

at first, it was mostly phone calls. almost every night.

which felt weird initially because now you knew who he was. you weren’t staring at a screen anymore waiting for little messages to appear. now it was his actual voice in your ear while you laid in bed staring at the ceiling.

sometimes you’d catch yourself smiling halfway through conversations for absolutely no reason.

you got used to it surprisingly quickly though.

you’d spend the day with friends or shopping or sitting around bored at home, and eventually every night ended the same way. talking to steve until one of you got too sleepy to keep the conversation going.

sometimes the talks lasted hours. about serious things, stupid things, everything.

one night you spent almost forty minutes debating whether cereal counted as soup.

it absolutely did not.

another night steve admitted he’d never actually learned how to cook anything beyond scrambled eggs and toast.

“how are you alive?”

then eventually, one afternoon, steve casually asked “wanna go out tomorrow?”

you blinked against the phone.

“…out?”

“yeah,” he answered quickly. “like, just us.”

your stomach flipped immediately.

“maybe the drive-in?”

there was this weird nervousness in his voice that made your chest ache a little.

“yeah,” you answered before you could overthink it. “okay.”

he picked you up the next evening at six.

honestly neither of you watched the movie. you tried, for maybe ten minutes, then somehow you started talking and never really stopped.

you learned steve hadn’t hung out with tommy or carol once over break.

that made you smile more than it probably should have.

because maybe he was finally realising he didn’t have to keep pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

at one point while absentmindedly eating popcorn, steve admitted quietly

“i think i like being just steve better.”

you looked over at him softly.

then he smirked slightly.

“or maybe i just like being farrahfawcettspray.”

you burst out laughing immediately.

god, you loved him.

well. not loved. probably, maybe.

okay maybe a little.

because after that first date, which neither of you actually called a date yet, things just naturally snowballed.

you and steve started hanging out constantly.

drives with the windows down and music blasting, shopping trips where he complained the entire time but still carried your bags, county fairs, late night fast food runs, movies, blanket forts. so many blanket forts.

once steve spent nearly an hour engineering one in his living room because apparently “structural integrity matters.”

his parents were never around, meaning his house quickly became your favorite place to be.

you’d never seen steve happier.

he laughed easier around you. acted softer, realer.

he didn’t have to be king steve with you, he could just exist.

and somewhere along the way, he realised he genuinely liked you more than anyone he’d ever met before which was terrifying.

on your side?

you were absolutely gone for him too. completely. hopelessly. but obviously you weren’t going to make the first move.

absolutely not.

you’d wait for when he makes the first move, if that time ever came.

-

surprisingly, it did.

it was nearing the end of the break, only one weekend left before school started again.

you already had plans with steve that night.

nothing unusual. a movie, some takeout.

normal.

but the second you got into his car, you noticed something was off.

he looked nervous, like genuinely nervous. you almost asked about it immediately but decided against it. still, the weird energy stayed the whole drive.

then he pulled into his driveway.

you reached to open the car door and suddenly his hand gently caught your arm. you turned toward him instantly.

he still looked nervous.

your stomach tightened.

“steve?”

he swallowed once before speaking.

“i’ve had some of the best conversations and honestly… some of the best times of my life with you.”

your expression softened immediately.

he laughed awkwardly under his breath.

“which is funny considering how we started.”

you smiled.

but before you could respond, he kept going quickly.

“and i want you to know i really like you.”

you stared at him.

“like really like you.”

he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“and i was wondering if maybe tonight could maybe be a date.”

your smile spread instantly, so quickly your cheeks hurt. but your silence lasted just slightly too long because immediately steve panicked.

“you don’t have to say yes,” he rushed out quickly. “i just wanted you to know-”

“steve.”

he stopped immediately.

you laughed softly.

“i like you too.”

his eyes widened.

“…you do?”

you laughed harder now.

“obviously.”

the smile that spread across his face right then honestly might’ve been your favorite thing you’d ever seen.

he squeezed your arm gently before grinning.

“c’mon then.”

then suddenly he looked ridiculously eager, which only confused you more when he immediately said

“close your eyes.”

you blinked. “what?”

“just trust me.”

laughing softly, you obeyed anyway.

he carefully led you inside while you tried not to trip over absolutely nothing.

eventually he stopped.

“okay.”

you opened your eyes and immediately melted.

the living room floor was covered in blankets and pillows, little lights hung around the room glowing softly, your favorite takeout sat on the coffee table and a movie was already waiting on the screen.

“steve…”

he shrugged immediately like it was nothing but there was a smug little blush sitting on his cheeks.

“it’s cute” you said honestly.

“yeah yeah.”

you grinned harder.

the two of you curled up together on the floor afterward, eating takeout and pretending to watch the movie.

mostly you watched steve slowly get sleepier beside you.

after the movie ended, his eyes were half closed already, hair messy from your fingers constantly running through it earlier.

you smiled softly then leaned over and kissed his cheek.

immediately his eyes opened.

before you could react properly, his hand gently cupped your face.

and then he kissed you.

properly.

finally.

and god it was everything.

his lips were impossibly soft.

the kiss started careful for about half a second before you both melted into it completely, finding rhythm naturally like you’d already done this a hundred times before. perfect. completely perfect.

when you finally pulled apart, steve looked at you with this expression that made you feel like your entire body might dissolve.

then he shifted slightly and pulled you down gently against his chest.

quietly, he murmured:

“i’m glad you decided to help me.”

you snorted softly against him.

“i’m glad you suck at chemistry.”

he laughed immediately and lightly smacked your arm.

eventually, somewhere tangled together beneath blankets and fairy lights, the two of you fell asleep.

and after that, everything naturally fell into place.

steve slowly drifted away from tommy and carol completely, he started hanging around different people. better people.

sometimes your people.

your friends met him properly and somehow immediately loved him, which honestly shocked you considering how much they used to complain about him.

but steve around you was different.

and now steve harrington, formerly known as farrahfawcettspray, was one of the most important people in your life.

and you?

you became his whole world.

-

@prettyfortucker @harringtondarling @katsallthetime @thichnhathanhh @keepdrlving @beth-mirrorball @powerpuffedbjtch @itzeeeee @ddenniiee-729 @teheblue @frozenpeanutbutterr @coldalpsmcu @b0nzey @xceafh @hearts4steve @swirledyouintoallmypoems @saintlaurentdiva @joekeerylice @blurrygir1 @songkangslvr @keerymylove @foreverserving @cciessuzi @livingblythedoli @toopypoopy @ellieluvercentral @evies4ngels @lattewirl @wolfiee10 @maevebloom @drunkedniallh @girlwithkaleidoscopeeyes777 @mabsters @i-got-the-cinema @batmanssssss @bluehexagon8 @magnificentcitadelcrest @pleasecallmeunhinged @purplequeen64-stuff @inherdiary77 @whispersoflost @yikesdrama @chronicstevelover @horanlover7 @ann-aatn @xoxocelestial @isatchl @angellmiaa @chalametpwk @soggycerealtbh

[graywrenhart]

pairing: Steve Harrington x f!Reader

summary: After coming off a date with a bad review, Steve sets out to prove that he really is good at going down on girls.

tags: MDNI!! [roommates/friends to lovers] [smut] [oral fem receiving] [mutual pining] [he just needs an honest review] [friends help each other...right?] 2k words

a/n: While brainstorming this fic, I couldn't decide whether I wanted it to be fluffy or smutty, so I had you guys vote. And you wanted me to write both. (Here is the fluffy sister fic if you want to read it!)

It is your deepest held belief that Friday nights are, indeed, best spent in. 

You’re on the couch, curled up with a book, basking in the soft lamplight as steam from your favorite tea reflects in the dark windows beside you. 

All is peaceful. All is quiet. It’s perfect. 

And then your apartment door opens. 

You jump, looking over your shoulder just in time to see your roommate, Steve, storm through the entryway. His dress shirt is untucked, tie loose, and his hair is a wreck, like he’s run his hands through it a million times.

That’s not a good sign for a man supposed to be on a fancy date tonight. 

He said, if things went well, he’d probably end up back at her place for the night. You thought that might be a little presumptuous, but hey, it’s Steve Harrington you’re talking about here. 

Steve looks around wildly, and when his eyes land on you, the intensity in them takes you aback. 

“I’m guessing things didn’t go well, then—?” you start, but he cuts you off, his words overlapping yours. 

“Take off your pants.”

You freeze. 

What the—

He must not register the utter shock on your face, because he’s already moving towards you. The silky tie snaps through the air as he rips it from his neck. God, he must really be wound up. He didn’t even take his shoes off at the door. 

“Excuse me?” You manage to choke out. 

“Don’t freak out, I just really need to try something,” he grunts, rounding the couch. “Just for a second.”

The moment his knees hit the carpet in front of you, your jaw goes slack.  

“Harrington!” You scramble back into your mountain of pillows, nearly knocking your mug off the side table. You reach out and steady it with one hand, suddenly very aware of how your tank top has ridden up with the movement. “What the hell are you—?”

“…can’t believe she said that,” he mutters, ripping back the blanket thrown over your lap. 

“Who said what?”

He doesn’t respond, eyes locked on your short sleep shorts. They’re a cute set you picked up recently at the mall. Navy blue with white flowers. Innocent-looking. Sweet. 

But he’s staring at them like he’s going to rip them off with his teeth. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks. 

While you can’t deny what that look is doing to you, there’s something else trapped in his gaze. Sadness? Not quite. Disappointment, maybe? You’ve only been roommates for six months, but you already know him well enough to know when he’s upset. 

Reaching down, you grab a fistful of his hair and tip his head back. His eyes snap to yours. 

“What did she say?” you ask again, firmer this time. 

Steve’s lips form a thin line before he sighs heavily. You drop his hair. 

“She said I was bad at sex. Specifically, bad at...this.” He gestures unhelpfully between your legs and your stomach swoops as his finger almost brushes the seam of your shorts. 

It takes you a second, but then your brows pull together. “She actually said that?”

“Not exactly,” he groans. “The date was fine. It was our third, so when she invited me upstairs, I figured…well, you know. And then we got to making out and it was hot. I guess…”

You swallow hard and gesture for him to continue, even if the thought of his lips trailing down some other girl’s neck feels like a knife in your side. 

“And then I went down on her and she said—” He cuts himself off with a miserable little huff before resuming. “She said it wasn’t doing anything for her. At all. Like it wasn’t good enough or something. Can you believe that? I could’ve lived if she said my thrust game needed work or something, if we had even gotten to that point, but this? This is, like, my thing.”

Oh. Okay. 

Yeah, you could’ve gone the rest of your lease without knowing that eating pussy is your hot roommate’s thing. 

That is not good for your little crush you have going on that you refuse to talk about. Or think about. Ever. 

You nod quickly and clear your throat. “S-so, what exactly does this have to do with me?” 

Steve just shrugs. “We’re friends, right?”

“Right.”

“Right.” He levels your gaze, brown eyes soft and playful in the lamplight. “So…”

The moment stretches between you, an invitation, an ask, and a dare all rolled into one. 

“So, because we’re such good friends, we just…give each other oral sex?”

Steve sighs. “Look. I just want a second opinion, okay? I mean, this is bad. Really bad. If Cindy didn’t like it, then what if other girls didn’t either? Then I’ve just been lied to all this time—”

Your gaze drops to his fingers digging into the couch cushion beneath you, and despite yourself, a smile creeps across your lips. “Oh my God, this really got to you, didn’t it?” 

“What?” He balks. “No! It’s just…I need to set the record straight.” He taps your knees with a knuckle, playful but firm. “Spread ‘em.”

You bark an unbelieving laugh that ends in a sound too close to a whimper when his hands come down on your thighs. 

You cannot let him do this to you. If you do, you’ll never be able to get over your secret-no-good-very-bad-crush on your roommate. 

You force yourself to breathe. “I…I don’t want thinks to get weird.”

 His eyes flick up to yours. “Weird?”

“Between us.”

Steve seems to take a second to understand what you’re saying, and you watch as an emotion you can’t place crosses his face. 

Suddenly, he moves to stand. “You’re right. Sorry. God, I’m an idiot. What am I thinking, I just—”

Panic spikes and you snatch his wrist before you even really know what you’re doing, cutting him off. “No, wait. It’s like you said. We’re…friends, right?”

He nods quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah.”

“So, we don’t let it get weird.” The words spill out of you before you can take them back. But you don’t want to. “I’ll give you an unbiased review. A one time thing.”

You watch as his lashes drop again to your legs, and his pupils widen as your knees fall apart a little on instinct. 

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice thick. 

In an effort to appear nonchalant, you shrug. But you’re salivating when his tongue darts over his bottom lip. 

 “Yes,” you breathe. 

He doesn’t waste a second dropping back down to his knees, and your legs widen immediately to give him space. 

“So, you’ll tell me the truth, right?” he rasps, eyes jumping between your face and your hips. “Be honest. I can take it.”

“Honest,” you agree, but the word comes out in a whisper as his fingers slip under your waistband. 

Your face burns as he pulls down your shorts and panties in one smooth motion, baring you to him. His hands gently ease your thighs farther apart, and you fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. 

“Steve! Stop looking at it like that,” you gasp.

“Why?” he asks without glancing up. “It’s pretty.”

Shit. 

You’re not strong enough for this. 

But when he finally looks up, you recognize the silent question in his eyes. He’s asking for permission. You could stop this right now, and he would let you easily. He’s probably never even bring it up again. No harm done. 

And you should. 

God, you should. 

But you don’t want to. 

So instead, you just nod, not trusting your voice to speak. 

As he leans in, you brace for the feeling of his tongue, but you’re surprised when he starts by just…kissing you. 

His lips are soft against your folds, and your breath catches at the tenderness there. His eyes find yours before he goes lower, and the moment his nose bumps your clit, your body jolts in his hold. 

He makes a muffled sound and his eyes drift shut, large palms moving to your hips, pinning them to the cloth couch beneath you.

 Then there’s that wet heat. 

His tongue slides over you with just enough pressure, starting slow and exploring your entrance. 

“Oh, God,” you whimper. 

His hair is so soft against your inner thighs, and when he makes a sound of encouragement against you, and his tongue swirls higher, catching the underside of your clit, your mouth drops open in a silent moan. 

He’s hardly done anything yet, but the way he’s doing it, so confident, and steady, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

“See? Good, right?” he mutters, the words muffled and slick against your core. “I know what I’m—mmm, fuck, you taste good.”

Before you can respond, his hands wrap up and around your thighs, and he hauls you closer. Your tank top rides up even higher as you slide down into the cushions, but you don’t reach up to fix it. 

Mostly because Steve Harrington is going down on you, and that thought alone is nearly making you lose your fucking mind. 

His lashes flutter shut as he makes out with your dripping cunt, his throat bobbing as sucks gently, swallows, and goes back for more. 

You’re surprised to find there’s no performance to his actions, but more of a genuine enjoyment. 

Steve eats pussy like he wants to. 

You watch, transfixed, and you can’t help but roll your hips once against his mouth, smearing your slick all over his pretty fucking face. 

Too pretty for his own good.

A sound escapes his chest, something caught between a moan and a whine, and he nods against you, peeking up from beneath his lashes. 

The carpet whispers as rises higher on his knees, mouth traveling up your mound and over the soft, sensitive skin below your belly button. 

But you whimper at the loss, pushing his head back down. 

His throat vibrates against you with a chuckle, but he follows you obediently. “Oh, yeah? So definitely doing something for you then.”

“Shut up,” you groan, but the sound dies out harshly when his mouth latches to your clit and sucks. 

Hard. 

You gasp, back arching as your core clenches instinctively. 

Then, without warning, he pulls back. 

You look at each other, chests heaving. Suddenly, you’re afraid he’s done. That you now have to give a report based on that. 

“Is that it?” You squeak. 

“What? God, you think I would just leave you like that? No, I was just thinking—” He draws in a breath, like he needs to physically rearrange his thoughts. “Well, I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

You just stare down at him, chest heaving, bare and slick from the waist down. 

He takes one look at your face and clears his throat. “Right. Later.” He leans in again, but pauses before glancing up at you one more time. “Yes?”

“Yes, Harrington, I will kiss you, later,” you whine pitifully, canting your hips into his hands. 

He seems pleased, and wastes no time picking up where he left off. 

And this time, he doesn’t tease you. 

Your head hips back, a moan tearing from your throat as two of his fingers spear deep inside and his mouth closes over your clit.

As you threaten to fall apart beneath him, Steve just watches. 

Every little whine and whimper. Every jerk and arch of your back. Every wriggle of your hips and curl of your toes. 

He studies you like a map, surveying everything that makes you soak his face, everything that makes you clench hard around his fingers, his tongue, and finding new routes to all those destinations. 

The tension between your hips pulls tighter, and when he reaches up to palm your breast, slipping his hand underneath your tank top, you wonder if he can feel it. 

The way your heart slams against your ribs. 

A silent, helpless confession. A call for him to see that this will not, in fact, be a one-time thing. 

That you’ve been thinking about this—about him—ever since the day you moved in. 

That ache builds like a tidal wave, threatening to break, and your fingers fly to his arms for stability. He’s warm, and strong, and his muscles shift under his dress shirt. 

It’s honestly impressive how quickly he responds, how easily he reads every subconscious signal your body gives him. Because when that breathy, urgent whine starts to leave your lips, his thumb replaces his mouth on your clit, rubbing firm, perfect circles that drive you higher. And then he dips lower, tonguing your entrance, devouring you in thick, broad strokes, pushing you to the fucking brink. 

“Yeah, you gonna come for me?” He slurs against your aching cunt. “Just like that. That’s it. I’ve got you—mmhm—”

The second his tongue spears deep inside, the tidal wave breaks. 

Your moan fills your quiet apartment, and you nearly come off the couch with the intensity of it. The rush is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You have no option but to surrender fully to it as it pulls you under, shamelessly riding your orgasm out on Steve’s tongue.

Steve’s ready for it though. He goes with you easily as your hips rise and fall, strong hands holding you to his mouth, unwilling to let you slide away. 

When the pulsing eventually fades to shuttering jolts, he pulls back, but his hands stay on your hips, caressing you softly, bringing you back down to earth. 

You bite your lip, looking down at him panting between your knees. Your body aches, but in a good way. Like you need more, but somehow, it still won’t ever be enough. 

“God, Steve—” you whine, but you’re cut off by him lunging up across your body and pressing his lips to yours. 

You laugh into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you eagerly. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” He murmurs, pulling back a little.

Something catches in your chest at his confession, and you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another kiss. 

This one is different. 

Deeper, and softer, and…meaningful. 

He sinks back down onto his knees, squeezing your thigh, your waist, like you’re something precious. 

“So, tell me , honestly, was it good?” He urged, gazing up at you.

You blink dumbly, throughly flushed. “Yeah, uh…no notes.”

He smirks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Five out of five stars.”

“I don’t know, Harrington. That literally means no room for improvement.” You’re not sure his ego is ready for that. 

“Oh?” His lips tilt in a crooked smile that makes you want to kiss him again. “What would you have me do to earn that fifth star, huh?”

His lids go heavy as you tighten your hold on his hair and urge his mouth back down where you want it. 

“You could do it again.”

a/n: It's my canon that his date, Cindy, was just hung up on her ex, and Steve was the unlucky rebound that night. Plus, Steve wasn't that into it. Because he was thinking about you, obviously. Also, here is the fluffy version sister fic if you care lol

ᥫ᭡ dividers by @cursed-carmine| steve masterlist | drop by my desk

[djolemodel]

hiii! wondering if you’d be willing to write joe x reader who’s a new actress and has to film an intimate scene and joe gets jealous? maybe a bit angsty since he’s filmed lots of intimate scenes before, whatever you want to do with it :) amazing work btw!!

BEHIND THE SCENES

Joe Keery x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.2K

NIA'S NOTES: Thank you for this request!! I actually wanted to write something like this, so it was good timing!! Enjoy my lovelies!! 💕

The conversation didn’t come easy, because logically, of course, you wouldn’t exactly be happy hearing Joe tell you that he had to film an intimate scene with someone else that wasn’t you either. Something in the air changed quietly, the way that things naturally do in the background when you don’t pay attention to it, it was almost unnoticeable, until it was.

He’s more distant, not in the physical way, but in a way that his answers are short, plain, or even just a soft hm if you’re extra unlucky, like he has no interest in carrying a conversation anymore. It didn’t happen all at once, it was slow paced, like he was trying to test how long it would take for you to notice.

It was when his eyes started to avert from your gaze when you reached your breaking point. He was sprawled out on the sofa, book in his hands, and you didn’t hear him turn the page once. Half an hour he had been ‘reading’ the book for, yet he was probably rereading the same line four, five times to drag time out, ignoring the problem that was progressively getting louder, more noticeable. It looked like he was going to burn a hole into the book with the way his brows furrowed staring at the page.

You tried to tell yourself that it was fine, and he probably just needed time to process things, but even you wouldn’t act this distant. If anything, you’d be around him more often, whispering sweet words and praises into his ear in the middle of the night, mostly trying to convince yourself that it was okay more than him. The lack of words that fall from his lips feels just as empty as the distance, like the space between words was pushing you further apart, quiet, uncomfortable.

The book settled on your lap was long forgotten about, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes flick over to Joe every second, checking to see if he’s looking up at you yet. By the tenth time you looked over at him, the frustration finally started to simmer. “Joe?” You say his name, carefully, gently, like simply saying his name could make him completely shut you out. The way his name felt on your tongue felt different, unfamiliar, because your words were coming from concern instead of instead of an actual question.

His thumb twitches over his page, like he’s considering turning the page instead of answering you. After a long stretch of silence, he lifts his head up, eyes finally flicking to you after what feels like days, when really, it has been a few hours. “Hm?” He hums, almost like he’s unaware, completely oblivious to the distance between words and each other. It’s the only word that really slips from his lips, so you weren’t necessarily shocked, more just frustrated.

You blink at him slowly, like you’re trying to savour a moment when he’s finally looking at you, paying attention. “You’ve been very quiet recently, baby.” You manage out, voice wavering.

He looks at you, really looks at you, the first time he’s actually tried to make himself look at least a little bit like he’s trying to acknowledge you. “Have I?” He asks, pausing before he continues. The pause is exactly what the distance feels like, too much, too far apart. “I haven’t really noticed. I thought I’ve just been myself, to be honest.” He says plainly, like nothing has ever changed.

The way his words fall from his lips feels like a personal attack. Like you’re going crazy and he’s been completely fine, you’ve just been overthinking into it, digging too far into every little detail. Except you’re not going crazy, because even sitting in the same room as him doesn’t feel enough, like even receiving something as simple as a hug wouldn’t solve the problem.

“You’ve barely looked at me, Joe. It’s like looking at me would be like committing a crime or something.” You laugh, though there wasn’t anything humorous about this, it was more bitter than anything.

No words come from his lips; he doesn’t even open his mouth. A hint of guilt washes over his face, like he’s realised you’ve figured him out.

“Is this about the scene I’m filming in a couple of weeks?” You ask, finally letting the question slip after days of holding back, not wanting to worsen the situation. “Is this why you’ve been so quiet with me, not even wanting to do so much as look at me in the eyes? I’ve been so worried with the lack of everything.” You say, letting the words spill, more harshly than you intended, but it got the questions across.

He shifts on the sofa slightly, like your words have physically affected him. “It’s not the most comfortable thing to hear.” He mumbles, and part of you feels a little guilty for being harsh, but in the heat of the moment, it feels right to do.

“I know it’s not, Joe, but you’ve had to film scenes like that too. Even though it was hard for me to hear, I never once thought to push myself away from you. I never thought to stop looking at you like you were something to be ashamed of.” Your voice cracks, finally letting yourself be heard.

His face softens, guilt-ridden. “I’m not ashamed of you, I just— I didn’t know what it would feel like to hear you say it until you did. It was different when I told you I had to film an intimate scene, because I was the one who had to film it, that’s a different feeling. Now that you’re in that position, it feels odd for me.” He says, slowly trailing off.

“Well, I’m glad that you’ve been able to put yourself in my position.” You say, more sarcastically than you meant.

He goes silent, and the silence stretches in the room, uncomfortably, for longer than it should be. “I didn’t mean to make you feel this way, baby, I’m sorry.” He mumbles, and the nickname normally would have you running into his arms immediately, but you hold yourself from it, not wanting to be known as the girl that gives in too easily. “I didn’t really know how to react other than to be—”

You cut him off, finishing his words for him. “Jealous?” You ask.

He blinks at you, his lips forming a straight line before he answers. “Yeah.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been ignoring me, making me feel like an inconvenience in your life, like I’ve done something that’s worthy of this.” You murmur, and your waterline starts to burn, sting, tears starting to form.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about how that would affect you.” He admits, eyes flicking over your face as if to search for an answer.

“That’s just not enough for me, Joe. You should probably think about things before you do it. Not even probably, you should, because you’re sounding really fucking pathetic.” You snapped before pushing yourself up, walking into your bedroom, leaving words that were begging to come out lingering in the air.

Even with the frustration coursing through you, you let the door click behind you softly. Laying down on the bed without Joe feels wrong, empty, adding to the space that you called out to hate. After wishing for the space to close up, you were suddenly on your own, sat with nothing but your thoughts, nowhere near listening to your own words. Maybe it was hypocritical of you, but the thought of letting Joe really feel the distance was calling for you.

It wasn’t out of anger necessarily, but if he wanted to keep his distance, you wanted to mirror that, remind him that you can feel things to. Understanding how he felt about filming the scene was simple, because you felt the same, but what you didn’t understand was the distance, emptiness that he was leaving you with. Leaving the room didn’t feel any emptier, because the gap was already there, always lingering.

You blinked into the darkness, head on the pillow as you let your thoughts completely consume you. It felt like you were waiting for answers, though you’d pushed yourself away from the opportunity to hear those. Time stretched, more uncomfortably than you imagined, and waiting started to feel like a chore. Seconds shifted into minutes, and they expanded, it was almost dizzying.

It had been twenty minutes, maybe even ten, but you were more focused on how you spoke to Joe then counting the seconds that past by. You were so deep into thought that you missed the sound of the door creaking open, and the slight slither of light that creeped into the room. Before you could even register the door opening, he slips into bed behind you, immediately filling the space between you, like he’s making up for the emptiness he left you in.

His hand lingers on your stomach, softly brushing over the hem of your shirt, almost hesitant, unsure. You couldn’t miss the sound of his breathing, it was unsteady, heavy, but it was real, vulnerable. His fingers slightly dip under your shirt, brushing against your skin. Before you could even open your mouth to speak, he’s already whispering.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He starts, pressing his lips to the top of your head like a silent promise. “I shouldn’t have responded that way. I should’ve communicated about how I felt about it instead of making you feel like you did something wrong, which you didn’t.”

You let out a soft hm, just like he has been doing with you. His heart drops at the sound, and it was almost like a reflection of himself, and he started to realise more how much his actions really did affect you.

A quiet huff leaves his lips. “I can’t take the silence from you, baby— When you left the room, all I could think about was how you felt when I was being so quiet, so distant. You never deserved me acting that way, I was really immature about how I handled it.” He admits, and you can hear how he breaks.

After a moment of letting the silence set, you shift yourself around to face him, squinting to make out the outline of him through the darkness. He reaches over you to turn on the lamp, wanting to be able to see your face. His eyes light up seeing your face, and he’s basically beaming.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice at you.” You whisper, eyes averting from his, letting the guilt take over. His face softens, written with concern. “There was no need for me to be so harsh.”

“There was.” He answers quickly.

“No, there wasn’t.” You shake your head. “You were actually trying to explain yourself and apologise, and I wasn’t taking it. There was zero need for me to do that. Your apology was enough.”

“About the whole scene thing, I don’t mind that you’re needing to film it, it’s not like it’s actually affecting anything. I just got all worked up about it and decided to be a dick and ignore you.” He huffs, letting his forehead fall to your shoulder.

“No, it’s okay, I felt the same when you told me you had to film an intimate scene. Well, I didn’t exactly have the same reaction, but close enough.” You say, and he can hear the smile in your voice.

He lifts his head from your shoulder, letting his eyes drift over your face. “I’m still insanely sorry for being so distant with you. I should’ve just told you how I felt about it.” He whispers.

“You’ve told me now. I’m just glad you aren’t ignoring me forever.” You laugh, brushing the pad of your thumb over his cheek, gentle, sweet.

“I would never do that, you know that.” He says, taking a moment to pause. “That’s never going to happen again. What I did was so insanely shitty of me. I made you feel like an inconvenience, when really, I was worried over you filming something as simple as a scene.”

“Baby, I promise, what you’ve said is more than enough.” You laugh breathlessly.

“I don’t want you to ever doubt me.” He says, blinking faster than usual.

“Joe.” You say, your thumb pausing over his cheek.

He blinks, once, twice. “Yes?” He asks, but it comes out more as a whisper.

“It’s okay.” You whisper. “I’m not doubting you.”

“Okay.” He nods, more to himself than to you. “Okay, thank you.”

A quiet sound leaves your lips. “I love you.” You whisper, a gentle promise that says more than any other word could.

“I love you, baby.” He whispers, finally letting his shoulders drop.

“Think you should make up the time you spent away from me.” You suggest, but it’s gentle, not harsh.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life doing that if it’s necessary.” He says with all seriousness, pulling a laugh from you.

The rest of the night is filled with soft kisses and whispers in your ear, promises, praises, ones that will last a lifetime. His hand glides through your hair, closing up the physical distance, making sure that you never doubt him.

Thank you for reading!! 💕 Liking and reblogging is very much appreciated!!! 💕💕 I'm so tired this week, but I've got one exam to go in June!! YAY

[of-apollo]

₊⊹ STARTING OVER

PAIRING: Robin Buckley x fem!reader.

SUMMARY: When Hawkins splits in two, your world and your house comes crashing down around you. The only thing that remains is Robin and, amazingly, the felines that you adore.

NOTES: Post season 4 setting, reference house collapse, loss of home and belongings, residual shock and trauma, established relationship, hurt/comfort.

REQUESTED BY: Anonymous.

NAVIGATION | S.T MASTERLIST | KO-FI

The worst part isn’t the noise. Not the screaming sirens, not the distant shouting, not the strange hollow groaning the earth sometimes makes like it’s remembering how to split open.

It’s the quiet. The quiet is where your house used to be.

You stand at the edge of the barricade with Robin’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders and try not to think about how the street used to smell like freshly cut grass and awful rose fertiliser. The air smells like dust now. Chalky and wrong.

Your house is gone. Not damaged. Not burnt. Gone.

The ground simply opened. Split like paper tearing too fast. The foundations cracked, the walls folded in on themselves, and everything you owned disappeared into the dark. Photos. Clothes. Books. Your childhood bedroom. The mug Robin always used when she came over. All of it swallowed.

Robin stands beside you, pacing in the agitated little half-circles she does when her brain is running too fast.

“Okay,” she says for the fourth time in ten minutes, voice pitched somewhere between determined and mildly hysterical. “So. Logistically speaking. We can figure this out.”

You watch a police officer string more tape across the street.

Robin keeps talking.

“You can stay with me. Obviously. That’s not even a question. My mum won’t care. She loves you. She said you’re the only person who laughs at her jokes.”

Your throat tightens.

She keeps going.

“Plus we already know we’re compatible housemates because you tolerate my music taste which, by the way, is extremely underappreciated by my mom.”

You manage a small sound that might be a laugh.

Robin immediately softens. The pacing stops. Her hand finds yours like it always does when she remembers to slow down. Your fingers are cold. Hers squeeze tighter.

“You okay?” she asks quietly.

No. Not even close. Your house is a hole in the ground. Every object that made up the ordinary shape of your life is gone. The world looks wrong, tilted slightly off its axis.

Still, Robin is looking at you with that careful expression she gets when she’s worried she might say the wrong thing.

So you nod.

Robin studies you for a second like she absolutely does not believe you. Then she sighs.

“Cool,” she says softly. “Great. Love that emotional repression.”

You huff a breath through your nose. Her shoulder bumps yours gently. “Come on,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you home.”

Home. The word lands strangely in your chest.

Robin’s bedroom has always been messy in a way that feels lived-in rather than chaotic. Posters half-peeling off the walls. A stack of tapes balanced dangerously on the bedside table. Books in crooked piles across the floor.

Tonight it feels impossibly full.

Your things, what little you managed to grab from the Red Cross table, sit in a borrowed backpack by the door.

Robin stands in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips, surveying the situation.

“Okay,” she says. You sit on the edge of her bed. She points at the mattress. “Sleeping arrangements.”

A pause. Then, quickly, “Not in a weird way. I mean, obviously in a weird way because we are in love and share a bed sometimes. That’s not the weird part. The weird part is the, like, adjustment period.”

Your lips twitch.

Robin presses a hand to her forehead. “I’m overexplaining again, aren’t I?”

“Just a bit.”

“Cool. Sorry.”

She drops onto the bed beside you with a dramatic groan. The mattress dips. Her shoulder presses into yours. Silence stretches between you.

Your chest feels tight again.

Robin notices immediately. She always does. Her hand slides into yours without looking. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay,” she says gently.

The words hit harder than you expect. Your eyes sting. “I know.” Your voice sounds distant to your own ears.

Robin squeezes your hand. “You can be a disaster if you want,” she offers. “I’m extremely experienced at emotional disasters.”

That almost makes you laugh. Almost. Your gaze drifts to the floor. Everything you own now fits in a borrowed backpack. The reality sits heavy in your ribs.

“I didn’t even grab anything important,” you say quietly.

Robin turns slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Everything’s gone.” Your fingers twist together. “Photos. My books. The stupid ceramic frog. My favourite sweater. All of it.” Your voice cracks a little. “I keep thinking about random things. Like… my toothbrush. Who mourns a toothbrush?”

Robin’s expression softens so much it hurts to look at. “You’re allowed to mourn a toothbrush, baby,” she says firmly.

You huff weakly. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Never.” She shifts closer. “You lost your entire house. If you want to cry about dental hygiene supplies I will personally defend your right to do that.”

Your throat tightens again. Robin’s shoulder presses gently against yours. The contact is grounding. Familiar. Still, your chest aches with a hollow feeling you can’t quite name.

“I feel stupid,” you admit.

“For what?”

“For caring about stuff.”

Robin turns fully toward you. “Hey.” You glance up. Her eyes are serious now. “Stuff is allowed to matter,” she says. “Stuff is where memories live.”

Your chest aches harder. Robin’s thumb rubs slow circles against your knuckles.

“Also,” she adds carefully, “we’re going to rebuild that stuff.”

Your brow furrows. “We are?”

“Obviously.” She gestures vaguely. “Friends. Community. Thrift store trips. I’m picturing a very beautiful ceramic frog replacement.”

You snort. “There is no replacing that frog.”

“Then we find one with even more personality.”

“That frog had the most personality.”

Robin gasps. “I will not be challenged on ceramic frogs.”

A small laugh escapes you before you can stop it. The sound seems to relax her instantly. Your shoulders sag slightly. The quiet returns, though less sharp this time.

Then Robin’s expression changes suddenly. Eyes widening. “Oh my god.”

Your stomach drops. “What?”

“The cats.”

Your heart stutters. “Oh my god.” Panic flares fast and hot. “They were inside when—”

Robin grabs your hands quickly. “Wait. Wait wait wait.”

Your chest is tight again. “They were inside—”

“No they weren’t!” Robin blurts.

You freeze. “What?”

She fumbles for the phone on her bedside table.

“Mrs Keegan!” she says urgently. “Remember? She was cat sitting this week while you were helping Nancy with the Hawkins High archives thing!”

Your brain scrambles to catch up. Mrs Keegan. Two houses down. A retired family friend. Obsessively fond of your cats. Robin is already dialling. The ringing feels endless. Your nails dig into your palms.

“Hello?”

Robin nearly shouts.

“Mrs Keegan! Hi, it’s Robin Buckley, are the cats okay?” You stare at her. Silence stretches. Then Robin’s entire body relaxes. “Oh thank god.”

Your heart pounds. “What?” you whisper.

Robin covers the receiver with her hand. Her grin is huge. “They’re fine.”

The breath leaves your lungs in a rush so sudden it almost hurts.

“They’re fine,” she repeats softly.

Tears sting your eyes again. This time from relief. Robin returns to the phone.

“Yeah,” she says warmly. “Actually that’s why I’m calling. Slight complication with the house situation…”

You barely hear the rest. Your cats are alive. Your chest feels lighter than it has all day. Robin finishes the call and sets the phone down. “They’re staying with us,” she says simply.

A laugh bubbles up unexpectedly. “All of them?”

“All of them.”

Your shoulders shake. Robin beams at you. “See?” she says proudly. “We already started rebuilding.”

You wipe at your eyes. The room still feels unfamiliar. Your house is still a crater in the earth. Still. Robin is here. Your cats are alive. The world hasn’t completely fallen apart. Robin nudges your shoulder.

“You wanna collect your roommates tomorrow?”

Your smile is shaky. “Yeah.”

Robin squeezes your hand again. “Good,” she says.

Her voice is soft.

“We’re gonna figure this out.”

The cats arrive the next afternoon.

Robin insists on coming with you to pick them up even though Mrs Keegan lives two houses away and Robin’s mom has already offered to carry the carriers herself.

Robin claims it’s for emotional support. You suspect it’s mostly because she wants to see the cats.

Mrs Keegan greets you at the door like a woman presenting royal guests. “They’ve been absolute angels,” she announces proudly, stepping aside.

You hear them before you see them. One loud, indignant meow. Your chest tightens instantly.

“Hi babies,” you whisper before you even reach the living room.

Two furry bodies sprint across the carpet. The impact nearly knocks the breath out of you as they collide with your legs.

You laugh weakly, crouching down. “Okay, wow, hi.”

One cat headbutts your chin with aggressive affection. The other circles you like a furry satellite.

Robin crouches beside you immediately. “Oh my god,” she breathes.

You glance sideways. She’s staring at them like she’s just witnessed a miracle. “They’re so fluffy.”

“You’ve met them before.”

“Yes but this is different,” she says reverently. “Now they live with me.”

One of the cats sniffs her shoe suspiciously. Robin freezes. “Oh my god she’s judging me.”

You snort. “She already likes you.”

“How do you know?”

“She hasn’t bitten you.”

Robin considers this seriously. “That feels like a very low bar for approval.”

Mrs Keegan watches the entire interaction with obvious satisfaction. “Well,” she says gently. “I’m glad they’re going somewhere familiar.”

Your stomach twists slightly. Familiar. You thank her more times than necessary before leaving.

The walk back to Robin’s house is slow. Both carriers bump gently against your legs. Robin walks beside you holding the bag of cat food like it’s important cargo.

“You realise,” she says thoughtfully, “that this means I’m now a cat step-mom.”

You huff. “Is that the official term?”

“I think legally it might be.”

“Legally?”

“Absolutely.”

The carriers shift. One of the cats lets out an offended little yowl. Robin peers down.

“Sorry,” she says immediately. “We’ll work on the road conditions.”

Despite everything, warmth settles quietly in your chest.

Robin’s bedroom becomes a temporary cat kingdom within ten minutes. Blanket nest in the corner. Food bowls carefully arranged. Litter tray tucked behind her desk.

The cats emerge from the carriers with cautious curiosity. One leaps onto the windowsill immediately. The other investigates Robin’s pile of tapes like a tiny detective.

Robin sits cross-legged on the floor watching them. Her expression is somewhere between awe and terror. “What if they hate me?” she whispers.

“They don’t hate you.”

“What if they’re just tolerating me?”

You sit beside her. “They are cats,” you admit. “Tolerance is possible.”

Robin groans quietly. “This is so much pressure.”

The bolder of the two cats hops onto her lap. Robin freezes. “Oh my god.”

You grin. “She’s chosen you.”

Robin looks at you with wide eyes. “Don’t make sudden movements,” she whispers.

“I’m not.”

“I think she thinks I’m furniture.”

“That’s probably the safest role.”

The cat begins kneading her jeans. Robin makes a small, startled sound. “What is she doing?”

“Making biscuits.”

“Why?”

“Comfort.”

Robin’s face softens slowly. Her fingers hover uncertainly before gently stroking the cat’s back. The cat purrs. Loudly. Robin’s shoulders drop. “Oh,” she murmurs.

Your chest tightens again. Not painfully this time. Something quieter. Something fragile.

Robin glances at you after a moment. Her smile is soft. “I think we’re bonding.”

“You definitely are.”

The room feels warm. Safe. Almost normal. Still, the thought creeps in quietly. You don’t belong here. Not really. Your house is gone. Your room. Your things. The space that was shaped around your life.

This is Robin’s room. Robin’s house. Robin’s family.

Your chest tightens again. You try to ignore it. Robin doesn’t. She notices the moment your shoulders shift.

“You’re doing that thing,” she says gently.

You blink, rubbing at your eyes. “What thing?”

“The quiet spiral thing.”

You stare at the floor. “I’m not spiralling.”

“Uh huh.” She nudges your knee. “Talk.”

You hesitate. The cats rustle softly nearby. Robin waits. She’s very good at waiting. Your fingers twist together.

“I feel like I’m… invading,” you admit quietly.

Robin frowns. “What?”

“This is your house.” Your voice is small. “Your space. I just showed up with two cats and a backpack.”

Her expression shifts immediately. Confusion first. Then disbelief. Then something warmer.

“You didn’t just show up,” she says. Your gaze stays on the carpet. Robin reaches over and tilts your chin up. Her eyes are serious. “You lost your house,” she says gently. “You didn’t choose this.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t ask for the earth to rip open and eat your living room.”

A weak laugh escapes you. “That sentence is insane.”

“Hawkins is insane.” Robin squeezes your hand. “You being here isn’t an invasion.”

You swallow. “It feels like one.”

Her expression softens. “Okay.” She shifts closer. Knees bumping yours. “Then let’s fix that feeling.”

You frown slightly. “How?”

Robin gestures around the room. “Firstly, this room is now fifty percent yours.”

“Robin—”

“I’m serious.”

“You’ve had this room your whole life.”

“And now I’m sharing it with my girlfriend and two emotionally complex cats.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Exactly.” She grins slightly. “Roommate upgrade.”

Your chest feels tight again. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” Her voice is gentle, “I want to.” Silence settles between you again. The quiet feels different now. Less empty. Robin glances toward the cats. “They already accepted me,” she says thoughtfully.

You follow her gaze. One cat is asleep on her pile of clothes. The other is still occupying her lap. “They’re very trusting.”

Robin nods. “Feels like a big responsibility.”

You smile faintly. “It is.”

She looks back at you. Her expression softens again. “You’re not alone in this,” she says quietly.

Your throat tightens. “I know.”

“Good.” Robin bumps her shoulder into yours. The contact is gentle. Familiar. “You can stay as long as you need,” she adds.

Your voice comes out soft. “Even if it’s a long time?”

Robin snorts. “You’re my girlfriend. I plan on keeping you around for a while.” Warmth spreads slowly through your chest. Robin glances down at the cat on her lap. “I might also be emotionally dependent on this tiny creature now,” she admits.

The cat purrs louder. You laugh softly. The sound surprises you. For a moment the heaviness lifts. Your house is still gone. The world still feels cracked open in places. Still.

You’re sitting on the floor with your girlfriend and your cats. Robin’s shoulder rests against yours. It’s not the life you had yesterday. It’s something new. Something uncertain. Still, it doesn’t feel empty.

The first night with the cats is chaos. Robin learns this immediately. “What is she doing?”

You glance up from the borrowed book in your hands. One cat is sprinting across the room like a tiny athlete.

“She has the zoomies.”

Robin watches as the cat ricochets off the wall and launches onto the bed. “Is that… normal?”

“Unfortunately.”

The second cat joins the chaos. Robin slowly lowers the bag of popcorn she was eating. “I fear we’ve created a monster situation.”

You laugh quietly. The sound still feels a little new in your chest. Like something you forgot how to do properly and are slowly remembering.

The cats tear across the room again. Robin leans toward you conspiratorially. “Are they fighting?”

“No.”

“They look like they’re fighting.”

“They’re playing.”

The bed creaks as one of them lands squarely between you. Robin startles. “Oh my god!” The cat flops dramatically onto its side. Belly exposed. Robin gasps. “That feels like a trap.”

“It is.”

Her hand hovers. The cat waits. Robin gently pokes the soft fur. Instant regret. The cat grabs her hand with all four paws.

Robin yelps. “Yep. Trap confirmed.”

You laugh harder this time. The sound surprises both of you. Robin turns toward you, smiling automatically at the noise. The expression softens when she sees your face.

Something quiet settles in the space between you. Your laughter fades slowly. The room grows calm again.

The cats eventually collapse into sleepy lumps at the end of the bed. Robin stretches her legs out across the mattress.

“You know,” she says thoughtfully, “this is the most roommates I’ve ever had.”

“You had Dustin in here that one time.”

“That was temporary. This is permanent.”

Your smile fades slightly. Robin notices immediately. Her voice softens. “Hey.”

You stare at the blanket. “I keep thinking I should be doing something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Your fingers twist in the fabric. “Fixing it somehow.”

Robin studies you carefully. “You mean the house?”

You nod. “I should be figuring something out. Insurance. Rebuilding. I don’t know.” A quiet breath leaves you. “Instead I’m just… sitting here.”

Robin tilts her head. “Honey, you went through a disaster yesterday.”

“It’s been two days.”

“That’s still extremely recent in disaster terms.”

Your chest tightens. “It just feels wrong.”

She scoots closer on the bed. “What does?”

“Being okay.” The words come out before you can stop them.

Robin’s expression softens instantly. “You’re not okay,” she says gently. You swallow. “Right now you’re in the weird middle stage,” she continues. “Where everything feels unreal and your brain hasn’t caught up yet.”

Your gaze drops. “That sounds accurate.”

She nudges your shoulder lightly. “You’re allowed to breathe for a second.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to rebuild your entire life by Thursday.”

“That would be efficient though.”

Robin snorts. “Very ambitious timeline.”

You stare at the blanket again. Your chest aches in a quiet, lingering way.

Robin reaches over and laces her fingers with yours. “You didn’t lose everything,” she says softly.

You glance up. Her eyes are warm. “You still have people,” she continues. “You still have your cats.”

A sleepy tail flicks at the end of the bed as if on cue. Robin squeezes your hand. “And unfortunately you still have me.”

You huff. “How tragic.”

“I know.” She bumps your shoulder again. “I’m extremely hard to get rid of.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Robin grins. Silence settles again. The kind that isn’t sharp. Just quiet. You lean back against the headboard slowly. Robin mirrors the movement beside you.

The cats remain curled at the end of the bed. Your eyes drift around the room.

The posters. The tapes. The piles of books.

Robin’s space.

Except it doesn’t feel entirely like hers anymore.

Your backpack sits near the door. Your cats are asleep on the bed. Robin’s hand is still wrapped loosely around yours.

Something warm settles in your chest.

Tentative. Fragile.

“I’m glad they’re here,” you say quietly.

Robin glances toward the cats. “Same.”

“They make it feel less strange.”

Robin hums in agreement. “Plus they clearly adore me.”

One cat snores loudly. You raise an eyebrow. “That’s adoration?”

“Obviously.” Robin shifts slightly closer. Her shoulder presses gently against yours. “I’m glad you’re here too,” she adds.

Your chest tightens again. Not painfully. Just full.

“Even if I showed up with chaos and emotional baggage?”

Robin considers this. “Especially then.”

You huff quietly. “That seems like poor decision making.”

She shrugs. “I make many questionable life choices.”

“You really do.”

“Dating you was one of them.”

You bump her shoulder. “Rude.”

Robin laughs softly. The sound fills the room.

For a moment, you forget the crater where your house used to stand. Forget the dust and the sirens and the strange broken feeling in your chest.

Right now there’s just this room. Robin beside you. Your cats asleep at your feet.

Life hasn’t gone back to normal. Maybe it won’t for a long time.

Still, something new is forming in the quiet spaces.

Robin squeezes your hand once more. “We’ll figure it out,” she murmurs.

You nod slowly. The words feel a little more believable now.

Outside, Hawkins is still broken in places. Inside the room, though, things feel steady. Not perfect. Not fixed.

Still, steady enough to breathe.

— COME AND JOIN MY TAGLISTS !

ALL ST: @luniimunii27 @r6ven @decadentreviewnight @lia-pitchiner

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[djokeydokey]

a trip to japan (part three) | joe keery x reader

hey! back with a part three of this series. I’ve decided to make it a little longer, so maybe 5-10 parts we’ll see how you guys like it.

read part two here:

https://www.tumblr.com/djokeydokey/815821688919982080/a-trip-to-japan-pt-2-joe-keery-x-reader?source=share

3k words

no WARNINGS (maybe light topics of child abandonment) + fluff enjoy!

The streets are quieter by the time you and Joe begin wandering back.

Most of the crowds have faded into restaurants and bars now, the bright rush of the city softened into warm lights and distant conversation.

You’re walking side by side, holding two warm drinks in one hand while Joe carries a little paper tray of snacks in the other.

Every now and then he bumps his shoulder lightly against yours for no reason.

“You’re stealing my drink by the way,” you tell him as he leans over for another sip.

“It’s our drink now.”

“You bought your own.”

“Yours is better.” He mumbles, as he looks over to his drink, untouched.

You roll your eyes, but let him steal another sip anyway.

Then suddenly, a sharp cry cuts through the street.

You both look up immediately.

A tiny little girl is standing near the edge of the sidewalk by herself, tears streaming down her face, yelling something frantically in Japanese.

She can’t be older than maybe three or four.

Your entire expression changes instantly.

“Oh my gosh.”

Before Joe can even react properly, you’re already hurrying toward her.

“Baby,hey, hey.”

Joe follows right behind you, nearly dropping the food from trying to keep up.

The little girl looks terrified, turning in circles like she’s searching for someone.

You crouch down quickly in front of her.

“Hi sweet girl,” you say softly, immediately trying to calm her. “Hey, don’t cry baby, it’s okay.”

The toddler just keeps crying harder, words tumbling out rapidly in Japanese between little gasping breaths.

You glance up at Joe immediately.

“Joe.”

He looks mildly panicked already. “Yeah?”

“What is she saying?”

“I don’t know!”

“You know more Japanese than me!”

“I know like six words!”

The little girl points desperately down the street, crying again.

Your face softens completely.

“Oh honey…”

You gently push some hair away from her face instinctively.

“It’s okay, we’ll help you.”

Joe’s standing there looking completely helpless, now holding your drinks and snacks while you somehow already look like a concerned mother.

He watches you rub small circles against the little girl’s back while trying to soothe her.

“Okay,” you say quickly, looking back up at him. “Translate mom or dad.”

Joe blinks. “What?”

“Mom or dad!”

“In Japanese?”

“Yes Joe, preferably!”

“I don’t know how to say dad!”

“How do you not know how to say dad?”

“I don’t know, it’s never come up!”

The toddler cries louder.

You look back at her immediately. “No no no sweetheart, it’s okay—Joe do something useful.”

“I’m trying!”

He awkwardly crouches beside you now, still balancing everything in his hands.

Then carefully, painfully slowly, he points down the street, as he drops the food, grabbing his phone to open the translate app.

“Mama?” he attempts.

The little girl immediately looks up.

Joe lights up slightly. “Okay wait, okay that worked.”

“Good, keep going.”

He looks at you helplessly. “That’s all I know.”

You stare at him.

“You know one family member?”

“I didn’t think I’d need a full vocabulary!”

“Use Google translate or something.” You utter.

“Okay! Okay.” He fumbles.

The little girl suddenly grabs onto your arm tightly again, still sniffling.

Your entire face melts.

“Oh baby…”

Without thinking, you pull her gently closer, letting her cling to you while you look around the street worriedly.

Joe watches the whole thing quietly for a second.

The way you immediately comfort her.

The way your voice softens completely.

How protective you look without even thinking about it.

Something about it gets him a little.

Then you look up again, stressed. “Joe, what do we do?”

He finally snaps back into it.

“Okay okay,uh-we look for parents?”

“Yes obviously, but how?!”

“I don’t know!”

You both look around frantically for a second.

People pass by, conversations blending together around you, but nobody seems to notice the tiny crying toddler clinging to your arm.

She sniffles hard again, little fists balled into your sleeve while her stuffed teddy hangs from one hand.

Your heart actually aches a little.

“Oh angel…” you murmur softly.

Then suddenly her eyes land on your drink.

She stares at it.

Then points.

You blink. “Oh.”

“She wants your drink?” Joe asks.

Before you can answer, the little girl makes a tiny grabbing motion toward it, still sniffling.

You glance down at your cup.

Almost empty.

Then over at Joe’s.

His is untouched.

You immediately reach over and take it from his hand.

Joe looks genuinely offended. “Hey.”

“She’s thirsty.”

“That was mine.”

“She’s a baby, Joe.”

He watches as you crouch back down slightly, carefully holding the drink toward her.

The little girl looks at you for half a second like she doesn’t fully trust it yet.

Then takes it with both tiny hands immediately.

Joe sighs dramatically beside you. “Unbelievable.”

You ignore him.

“There you go baby,” you say softly, pushing her bangs out of her face again as she takes a careful sip.

The crying quiets almost instantly.

Joe stares down at her in betrayal. “Wow. So she gets the fresh one and I get nothing.”

You glance up at him. “You’re a grown man.”

“She stole my drink.”

“She’s been through enough.”

The toddler takes another sip while still clutching your sleeve tightly with her other hand.

Joe looks down at her little teddy now. It’s worn down, one ear slightly bent. 

He can’t help but feel bad.

The little girl suddenly presses herself closer against you again when a louder sound echoes from farther down the street.

“Oh baby…” you soothe softly, rubbing her back.

She’s fully attached to you now, with one tiny hand gripping her teddy.

The other tangled into your sleeve like letting go would kill her.

Joe watches the whole thing with this weirdly emotional expression now.

Because you look so natural doing it.

Crouched there comforting her, talking softly, holding her drink while she sips from it between little shaky breaths.

Like you’ve done this before.

Your hair falls forward slightly as you lean closer to her.

Joe feels something warm hit his chest so suddenly it almost annoys him.

Then you glance up at him again, stressed.

“She might be hungry too.”

Joe immediately looks at the snacks in his hands.

Then back at the toddler.

Then back at the snacks.

He then immediately pulls out one of the warm snacks from the paper tray and holds it out slightly.

The little girl stares at him suspiciously, reaching for it.

Joe’s face lights up slightly when she takes it. “Okay wait, she likes me now.”

She takes a tiny bite while still glued to your side.

Joe watches her for another second before looking at you again.

Joe watches quietly while the little girl eats tiny pieces of the food, still pressed tightly against your side.

You don’t even seem to notice the way you’re comforting her anymore.

It’s instinctive now.

One hand rubbing slowly against her back, your voice soft every time she starts looking overwhelmed again.

“Good job,” you murmur gently as she takes another bite. “There you go baby.”

The little girl looks up at you immediately.

Completely trusting.

Joe feels something shift painfully in his chest. And suddenly, completely against his will, his brain betrays him.

He imagines this exact scene years from now.

You crouched down comforting your own little girl.

A tiny kid with your eyes clinging to your sleeve while you soothe them exactly like this.

You carrying snacks around because “what if they get hungry.”

You sitting beside a little bed late at night speaking softly like you are now.

The image hits him so fast he almost physically recoils from it.

Not because it’s bad.

Because it’s too good.

Because some stupid part of him instantly thinks…

Oh.

I’d want that.

With her.

Joe blinks hard, dragging himself back into reality while you keep softly talking to the little girl.

Terrible timing.

Absolutely horrible timing to be internally imagining domestic life while there’s literally a missing child attached to your girlfriend.

But he can’t help it.

Especially when you glance up at him again with genuine worry all over your face.

“She’s still shaking.” You whisper softly.

Joe just stares at you for a second.

God.

Then he clears his throat quickly, trying to act normal.

“She’s okay,” he says gently. “You’re helping.”

You look back down at the toddler immediately.

Joe watches the interaction quietly.

And unfortunately the thought comes back even worse this time.

You’d be such a good mom.

Then you look over suddenly.

Joe immediately straightens slightly like he’s been caught doing something illegal.

“What?” you ask suspiciously.

“Nothing.”

The toddler looks between both of you now while holding the pastry.

Joe points at her quickly. “Focus on the child.”

You narrow your eyes slightly but don’t push it.

Still, you smile a little to yourself before looking back down at the girl.

Joe watches you again almost immediately.

Helpless, honestly.

 A few more minutes pass with the little girl practically attached to you.

She’s calmer now, small hiccupy sniffles replacing the full crying, but she still refuses to let go of your sleeve.

Every time someone walks past too quickly, she presses closer again.

Joe’s crouched beside you now too, quietly holding the empty drink cup she demolished like he’s accepted his role in this situation.

Then finally a woman appears farther down the street.

Walking quickly, but not panicked.

More irritated than worried honestly.

The little girl notices immediately though.

Her tiny grip tightens around you.

The woman approaches, speaking quickly in Japanese the second she reaches you all.

You blink immediately, looking at Joe.

Joe blinks back. “Don’t look at me.”

The woman sighs dramatically at the little girl before switching into slightly broken English.

“She ran away again,” she says casually.

Again.

You pause.

“Oh…”

You glance down at the toddler still glued to your side.

The little girl immediately buries herself closer into you the second her mother reaches for her hand.

Your expression shifts slightly.

The mother laughs lightly like this is normal. “Always wandering.”

Joe notices your face immediately.

You look concerned.

Trying not to look concerned, but still, definitely concerned.

The little girl still won’t let go of you.

One tiny fist holding her teddy.

The other wrapped tightly around your sleeve.

“Baby,” you say softly to her, “that’s your mama.”

The girl shakes her head slightly against you, lower lip wobbling again.

Joe’s eyebrows lift immediately.

Okay.

That feels a little sad.

The mother doesn’t seem angry exactly, just exhausted, already trying to gently pull her daughter away.

“She always does this.” She says with another tired laugh.

You glance at Joe quickly.

He catches it immediately.

That tiny silent look between you both.

The one where neither of you says anything out loud but you’re thinking the exact same thing.

The little girl starts whining softly again when her mother tries to pull her back fully.

Your whole face melts instantly.

“Oh sweetheart…”

Without thinking, you crouch a little lower, brushing hair carefully away from her face again.

“You gotta go with mama, okay?”

The little girl just stares at you with watery eyes.

Joe feels his chest ache a little watching it.

Especially because you look genuinely emotional about leaving this random toddler you met ten minutes ago.

The mother says something else in Japanese, reaching for the little girl again.

This time she lets herself be picked up, but still stretches one little hand toward you while clutching the teddy.

You smile softly despite yourself, touching her tiny hand once.

“Bye sweet girl.”

The toddler looks devastated about it.

Joe actually has to look away for a second because somehow it’s upsetting him too now.

The mother nods politely toward both of you.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”You say quickly.

Then they start walking away.

The little girl keeps looking back over her mother’s shoulder the entire time.

Still clutching the pastry Joe gave her.

You stand there watching until they disappear down the street.

Then silence.

Joe looks over at you.

You still look sad.

“You okay baby?” he asks softly.

You exhale slowly. “I don’t know.”

“You got attached huh.”

“She was just so little.”

Joe steps a little closer.

“She really liked you.”

You look down at the ground for a second before quietly mumbling,

“I just don’t get how someone could leave their baby alone like that.”

Joe’s expression softens immediately.

Without saying anything, he reaches over and gently pulls you against his side.

Your head rests against his shoulder automatically.

And for a second neither of you move.

Just standing there in the quiet street together while the city glows softly around you.

You both start walking again slowly after that.

somehow.

You keep glancing back over your shoulder even though the mother and little girl disappeared minutes ago.

Joe notices immediately.

Your hand is still tucked into his, but your grip feels different now.

You sniff softly once, trying to play it off.

Joe looks over. "Baby...”

You shake your head quickly. “I’m fine.”

“Mhm.”

“I am.”

He watches you for another second.

Your eyes are a little glassy again.

You’ve been emotional the entire trip.

Softer than usual.

Tearing up at random things.

Getting weirdly attached to moments.

Holding onto him more.

And Joe’s noticed every single bit of it.

Right now though, he just thinks you’re tired.

Or overwhelmed.

Or maybe just emotional from travelling.

Still, the way you looked at that little girl did something to him.

You glance back down the street one last time.

“She looked so scared,” you mumble quietly.

Joe’s expression softens immediately.

“I know.”

“And she was so little.”

“I know, baby.”

Your throat tightens a little unexpectedly.

You hate that you feel close to crying over this.

It’s embarrassing honestly.

Joe slows down slightly beside you, gently tugging your hand until you’re closer to him.

“C’mere.”

Before you can protest, his arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you into his side while you walk.

You let yourself lean into him instantly.

Your cheek presses against his shoulder.

Joe presses a soft kiss into your hair without thinking.

“Baby, come on,” he murmurs gently. “She’s okay.”

You nod slightly, but your chest still feels weirdly heavy.

“She just held onto me so tight.”

Joe smiles faintly at that.

You sigh softly, still leaning into Joe as you walk.

The night air feels cooler now, your fingers tucked tightly between his.

For a second neither of you say anything.

Your mind keeps drifting back to the little girl.

The way she held onto you.

How scared she looked.

And annoyingly, your eyes sting again.

Oh my God.

What is wrong with you lately?

You’ve been emotional this entire trip.

Actually ridiculous levels of emotional.

You nearly cried over Joe bringing you breakfast.

You got emotional in the bookstore.

You almost teared up watching an old couple earlier crossing the street holding hands.

And now this.

A random toddler in Tokyo somehow nearly has you crying again.

You press your lips together hard, trying to stop it before Joe notices.

Unfortunately, Joe notices everything.

You groan softly, hiding your face against his shoulder for a second out of embarrassment.

“This is actually getting concerning.”

Joe laughs quietly. “What is?”

“I don’t know why I’m emotional about everything.”

“You’ve always been emotional.”

“Not like this.”

Joe smiles slightly to himself.

Honestly, he’s found it kind of adorable all trip.

The way you keep softening over tiny things.

The clinginess.

The random affection.

How much more you’ve wanted him near you lately.

Not that he’s complaining.

At all.

Still, you shake your head slightly against him.

“Seriously though,” you mumble. “I’ve cried like six times this week.”

“You cried because I bought you pastries.”

“They were such thoughtful pastries though.”

Joe laughs properly at that.

“And flowers.”

“They were beautiful.”

“You cried over flowers.”

“I was overwhelmed!”

Joe’s shoulders shake slightly with quiet laughter while he pulls you a little closer into his side.

“You’re cute.” Joe looks down at you fondly as you continue aimlessly walking around.

[lisbondollxox]

“saltwater kisses”

☆ joe keery x fem!reader ☆

hi !! hope u guys like this one! happy mother’s day to anyone celebrating <3 english still isn’t my first language so sorry if there are any mistakes or weird sentences !! requests are open btw :)

summary: joe, reader, and their son luke spend the day at the beach near carmel, where joe can’t stop taking pictures of them while luke causes chaos the entire time.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: fluff, kissing, reader and joe being overly affectionate, luke almost eating sand and seashells, luke getting slighly hurt, no use of y/n

Joe had been trying to take a picture of you for the past ten minutes and every single one kept getting ruined by Luke launching himself directly into the frame at the last second.

“Okay, no, seriously,” Joe laughed, lowering the camera for a second while Luke clung to your leg proudly. “This kid has actual timing.”

“He just likes attention,” you said, running your fingers through Luke’s messy blonde curls while he leaned heavily against your knees, still sticky from sunscreen and ocean water.

Joe looked at him. “You get that from your mother.”

“You literally carry a film camera everywhere you go.”

“Yeah, because I’m an artist.”

“You took a picture of your breakfast this morning.”

“It was a visually compelling breakfast.”

You rolled your eyes while Joe lifted the camera again, squinting slightly through the lens as wind pushed his curls across his forehead for probably the hundredth time that day.

The beach had gotten colder over the last hour, enough that you’d stolen Joe’s hoodie earlier after coming out of the water shivering, and now it hung loosely over your swimsuit while Luke sat between your legs digging aggressively through the sand with a plastic shovel he’d already almost hit Joe with twice.

Still, somehow, Joe looked completely relaxed.

Tired, definitely.

His hair looked insane from the humidity, there was dried saltwater on his jeans from when a wave hit him earlier, and he’d spent half the afternoon chasing Luke across the shoreline because apparently your son had no fear whatsoever.

But relaxed.

Happy.

Every few minutes he’d either kiss your shoulder absentmindedly while passing by or lean down to press a quick kiss against Luke’s head while he played in the sand.

At one point Luke tripped trying to run away from the water and immediately started crying like his life was over.

Joe got to him first.

“Hey, hey, buddy, c’mon,” he said softly, crouching down in the sand while brushing wet hair out of Luke’s face. “You’re okay.”

Luke sniffled dramatically.

Joe looked down at the tiny scrape on his knee. “That’s it? Dude, you scared me.”

You laughed quietly from the towel while Joe scooped Luke into his arms anyway, even though he was covered in sand and seawater and sunscreen.

Luke buried his face into Joe’s shoulder immediately.

Joe kissed the side of his head without even thinking about it.

Then, once Luke calmed down enough, Joe looked over toward you while still holding him against his chest.

“Stay there for a second.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “No.”

“Please.”

“I look awful.”

“You literally don’t.”

“My hair feels disgusting.”

Joe adjusted the camera slightly. “That’s kinda why I like it.”

Before you could answer, he took the picture anyway.

Click.

“You’re annoying.”

Joe grinned. “Yeah, but you love me.”

Luke immediately copied him in the smallest voice possible.

“Wuv you.”

Both of you went completely silent for a second.

Joe looked down at him so fast it was almost funny. “What did you just say?”

Luke only laughed into Joe’s shoulder, suddenly shy now that he realized both of you were staring at him.

“Oh, that’s evil,” Joe muttered. “You can’t just say life-changing things and then act mysterious.”

The sun started setting not long after that, turning everything gold around the cliffs while the air got colder fast enough that Luke eventually stopped running around and let Joe carry him back toward the car.

Joe had the towels thrown over one shoulder, the camera around his neck, and Luke balanced on his hip while the little boy played sleepily with the strings of his hoodie.

You walked beside them quietly for a while before Joe reached over and grabbed your hand without looking.

It felt automatic with him.

Like he was always trying to stay connected somehow, even in small ways.

Dinner ended up being at some tiny restaurant overlooking the water because neither of you felt like driving all the way back to the house yet, and by then all three of you looked completely exhausted from the beach.

Your hair was still tangled from saltwater.

Joe’s curls had dried into complete chaos.

Luke’s cheeks were pink from the sun and he kept blinking slowly between bites of fries like he was trying as hard as possible not to fall asleep.

Joe sat beside him in the booth instead of across from you because Luke had apparently decided he needed to physically touch both of you at all times.

At one point while you were talking, Joe leaned over and kissed you softly just because.

No reason.

Just because you were there.

Luke watched the entire thing very seriously while holding a french fry in one hand

Then he leaned toward you too and kissed your cheek dramatically.

Joe actually laughed into your shoulder at that.

“Oh, cool,” he said. “I’m getting replaced.”

“You were never the favorite.”

“That’s crazy. I literally carried him for like two miles today.”

Luke immediately pointed at Joe and repeated proudly, “Da-da.”

Joe placed a hand against his chest. “Okay, never mind. I’m back.”

By the end of dinner, Luke had finally fallen asleep against your chest with his tiny hand tangled into the sleeve of your hoodie while Joe sat beside you scrolling through the photos from the day on his camera.

Most of them weren’t even posed.

Just random moments.

You laughing with your eyes closed.

Luke covered in sand.

A blurry picture of your hand in Joe’s while walking back from the beach.

One of Luke asleep against your shoulder while the sunset lit everything orange behind you.

Joe stopped on that one for a second before smiling quietly to himself.

Then he leaned closer, one hand resting gently against your jaw while he kissed you slowly, tired and warm and still tasting faintly like saltwater and lemonade.

When he pulled back, he stayed there for another second anyway, forehead resting lightly against yours while the restaurant buzzed quietly around you.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” he murmured softly.

You smiled immediately, tired enough that it came out smaller than usual. “You too, kinda.”

Joe laughed quietly through his nose before glancing down at Luke asleep against your chest.

Then he looked back at you.

“I love you,” he said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Luke stirred slightly at the sound of Joe’s voice before mumbling something completely incoherent into your hoodie.

Joe smiled instantly.

“Yeah, you too, buddy.”

aahh okay this was actually really fun to write 😭 luke might be my favorite character ever now. hope u guys liked this one !! pls send requests because i genuinely don’t have ideas<3 happy mother’s day again to anyone celebrating 🫶

[oohgeminii]

i’m a sucker for “fangirl” behavior sooo since you write for tucker, could i request a tucker x fashionista / fashion student!reader who goes to all his concerts in outfits designed by herself and inspired by his albums / album covers

idk maybe it gets him all giddy because it’s a surprise for him everytime and she’s like his #1 fan

pretty

tucker pillsbury x reader

val speaks - i luuuuv this req alsoooo first time writing for tucker on here how fun

word count: 930

you spent all week on the shirt.

between classes, late nights in the studio and with scraps of fabric scattered across your apartment floor.

it slowly came together exactly the way you pictured it in your head. soft white cotton, slightly oversized, cropped just enough to sit perfectly with your jeans and across the front, in your own hand-drawn lettering, the words slipfast get carried away curved gently across the chest in washed blue ink. beneath it, stitched delicately near the hem, was a tiny little design, a pair of wings wrapped around a star.

that was your thing.

every show, every city, every time you went to see tucker, you made something new.

sometimes it was lyrics, sometimes it was little references the fans would understand and sometimes it was artwork inspired by melodies.

tucker loved every single one.

more than loved them, honestly.

he waited for them.

it had become a quiet little ritual between the two of you, one that made his heart race in the stupidest, sweetest way. no matter how packed the venue was, no matter how bright the stage lights burned in his eyes, some part of him was always searching the crowd for you. not just for your face, though god, he could find that anywhere, but for your shirt.

he always wanted to know what you'd made, what lyric you'd chosen, what piece of him you'd turned into something beautiful with your own two hands.

and tonight was no different.

the venue was electric, bass humming through the floorboards, lights flashing silver and blue, voices screaming every word back at him, but somewhere in the middle of it all, tucker caught sight of you.

front left, just where you always somehow ended up.

his breath caught for half a second.

there it was.

slipfast get carried away.

and even from stage, he could make out the little design on the front, could see the careful detail. he smiled mid-lyric, soft and helpless, and shook his head to himself, laughing quietly because of course you'd somehow outdone yourself again.

of course you did.

suddenly the whole show felt lighter, warmer.

he played like he always did, poured everything into it, but there was this little glow tucked right beneath his ribs the whole night, this giddy little feeling that made him feel sixteen and ridiculous, because his girl was out there wearing something she made for him, inspired by his music, proudly loving him in the most thoughtful way anyone ever had.

it made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

backstage, when the show finally ended and the adrenaline was still buzzing through his veins, he barely had patience for the usual post-show chaos. he was distracted, eyes flicking toward the hallway every few seconds, waiting.

waiting for you.

and then you walked in.

your cheeks were flushed from singing, hair a little messy, eyes bright, still glowing from the concert, and there was your shirt up close, somehow even prettier than it looked under stage lights.

tucker's entire face lit up.

"baby" he said immediately, like the word had been sitting on his tongue all night, warm and full of affection.

he crossed the room in seconds.

his hands found your waist, pulling you close, and he leaned back just enough to look properly at your shirt, fingertips brushing lightly over the lettering, over the little stitched wings near the hem.

his smile turned soft. the kind that reached his eyes, crinkling at the corners.

"you made this?" he asked, even though he already knew you did.

you laughed quietly. "yeah."

he looked at you like you'd hung the moon.

"it's so good" he said, voice full of genuine awe, shaking his head like he couldn't believe you were real. "seriously... you always do this n every time i think there's no way you can top the last one, then you show up wearing something like this."

his thumb rubbed gently against your side.

"you have no idea what this does to me."

you smiled. "what, embarrass you in front of your whole crowd?"

he laughed, that warm honey laugh that made your chest ache.

"no," he said softly. "makes me ridiculously happy."

his eyes dropped to your shirt again before lifting back to your face, lingering there, full of that unmistakable tenderness he only ever seemed to have for you.

"and you look all pretty in it," he murmured. "always so pretty."

then, because he couldn't help himself, he leaned down and kissed you. big and lingering and full of affection.

one hand cupped your cheek, the other still resting at your waist, pulling you just a little closer like he wanted to memorise the feeling of you there.

when he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours, grinning like a fool.

"already excited for the next one" he admitted.

you laughed. "the next shirt?"

"yeah."

he kissed you once more, quick and sweet.

"but mostly seeing you in it."

and the way he said it made it clear that it had never really been about the shirts at all. it was the thought.

the love tucked into every stitch, the way you listened so carefully to what he created and turned it into something tangible, something beautiful.

to everyone else, it was just a shirt.

to tucker, it was proof, over and over again, that someone loved him enough to make art out of the pieces of him he left behind in songs.

and every single time, without fail, it made him fall for you all over again.

-

@prettyfortucker @harringtondarling @katsallthetime @thichnhathanhh @keepdrlving @beth-mirrorball @powerpuffedbjtch @itzeeeee @ddenniiee-729 @teheblue @frozenpeanutbutterr @coldalpsmcu @b0nzey @xceafh @hearts4steve @swirledyouintoallmypoems @saintlaurentdiva @joekeerylice @blurrygir1 @songkangslvr @keerymylove @foreverserving @cciessuzi @livingblythedoli @toopypoopy @ellieluvercentral @evies4ngels @lattewirl @wolfiee10 @maevebloom @drunkedniallh @girlwithkaleidoscopeeyes777 @mabsters @i-got-the-cinema @batmanssssss @bluehexagon8 @magnificentcitadelcrest @pleasecallmeunhinged @purplequeen64-stuff @inherdiary77 @whispersoflost @yikesdrama @chronicstevelover @horanlover7 @ann-aatn @xoxocelestial @isatchl

[steveharringtonsbat]

UGH NEED DATTTT

[oohgeminii]

omg i swear i send you the request it was like 3 weeks ago lol, well it was something like the bay only wants to be with joe, and one day joe was busy or something like that so he left the baby with reader but the baby didnt stop crying, so reader calls joe but he was so stressed so he snaps at her and she ends crying and giving the silent treatment to joe and he regrets instantly, sorry it’s so long, but it was something like that , sorry my english too im still not good with it hahah

fussy

joe keery x reader

val speaks - ugh dad joe yes pls

wordcount: 2.8k

the apartment had felt too quiet the second joe left.

not actually quiet, because the baby had been babbling in your arms while joe pulled his jacket on, tiny fingers grabbing for him immediately the second she noticed him moving toward the door. but quiet in the way the air changed after he was gone, like something warm had been pulled out of the room.

“i’ll be back later,” he promised softly, kissing your forehead before leaning down to kiss the baby’s chubby cheek. “be good for mama, okay?”

she immediately burst into tears the moment he stepped outside.

at first, you laughed.

not because it was funny exactly, but because this had become normal lately. she was attached to joe in a way that was almost ridiculous. the second he walked into a room, her entire face lit up. she reached for him constantly, cried when he left, settled instantly in his arms. everyone said it was just a phase. babies did this. it didn’t mean she loved you less.

still, after weeks of barely sleeping and constantly feeling like you were somehow doing everything wrong, it was hard not to let it get to you a little.

“i know, sweetheart,” you murmured, bouncing her gently against your chest. “daddy’s gone. i know.”

and for a while, she was okay.

fussy, but okay.

you sat with her on the couch, rubbed her back, turned on some kiddy show neither of you were watching. she eventually calmed enough to suck lazily on her pacifier while blinking sleepily at you.

you thought maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.

then an hour passed and something shifted.

it started small. little whines. squirming. her tiny face screwing up unhappily every few minutes before she let out another cry.

you checked her diaper. clean.

you made a bottle. she barely drank any of it before crying harder.

you walked her around the apartment until your arms ached. bounced her. rocked her. sang softly against her head even though your throat felt dry and scratchy from exhaustion.

nothing worked, her cries only got louder.

more desperate.

and after a while they stopped sounding like normal baby cries and started sounding painful. sharp. heartbroken. each one clawing its way right into your chest.

“please,” you whispered at one point, voice trembling. “please, baby, i’m trying.”

you sat on the edge of the bed with her against your shoulder, tears stinging your own eyes while she screamed into your ear. you tried another bottle. another diaper change. you gave her a warm bath, hoping maybe it would soothe her.

she cried through all of it.

hours passed like that, hours.

the apartment slowly darkened around you while you paced from room to room with her in your arms. your hair stuck to the back of your neck. your shirt had spit-up on the shoulder. your head pounded from the constant crying and lack of sleep and the awful growing feeling that maybe she really didn’t want you.

every time she cried harder when you held her, your chest tightened more.

because what if you were doing something wrong? what if she could tell you were tired? frustrated? overwhelmed?

what kind of mother couldn’t calm her own baby?

by the time you looked at the clock again, your hands were shaking.

you stared at your phone sitting on the counter for a long moment.

you didn’t want to call joe.

you knew he didn’t want to be at this meeting in the first place. joe barely slept either. he looked exhausted when he left that morning, dark circles under his eyes, stress sitting heavy on his shoulders. you knew work had been nonstop lately. interviews, meetings, calls. he was stretched thin.

and the last thing you wanted was to make his day worse.

so you tried one more time.

you dimmed the lights, held her against your chest, walked slow circles around the living room while quietly humming.

she screamed harder.

your vision blurred instantly.

before you could stop yourself, you grabbed your phone and called him.

it rang twice.

then his voice came through, hurried and slightly breathless. “hey- is everything okay? i just stepped out of my meeting.”

the sound of his voice nearly broke you immediately.

you opened your mouth, trying to explain calmly, but the words came out tangled and messy instead.

“i- she won’t stop crying,” you said quickly, your voice shaking. “joe, i’ve tried everything, i don’t know what to do anymore. she won’t eat, she won’t sleep, she just keeps crying and i think she wants you and-”

the baby let out another sharp wail in the background.

you swallowed hard.

“she always cries with me lately,” you whispered, voice cracking completely now. “i don’t know what i’m doing wrong-”

there was a pause, then you heard joe exhale sharply.

not tired, annoyed.

your stomach dropped instantly.

“what do you want me to do?” he snapped.

you froze completely.

your grip tightened around the baby automatically while your mind struggled to catch up with the sudden harshness in his voice.

“i-” you started weakly.

“i’m in the middle of something right now,” he said, frustration bleeding through every word. “i don’t have time for this.”

your throat tightened painfully.

the baby kept crying.

you couldn’t say anything, could barely breathe, and then his voice came again, sharper this time.

“you have to figure it out yourself, okay? i have to go.”

the line went dead.

silence.

not real silence, because the baby was still crying in your arms, but the kind of silence that rang in your ears anyway.

you slowly lowered the phone from your ear.

your face burned hot instantly, tears filling your eyes so fast you could barely see. it felt stupid, honestly. pathetic. you knew he was stressed. knew he was exhausted. knew he probably regretted snapping the second he said it.

but it still hurt.

god, it hurt.

especially because you already felt like you were failing.

the baby cried harder against your shoulder and you sucked in a shaky breath before locking your phone and setting it down carefully on the counter.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, even though your voice barely worked. “it’s okay.”

you weren’t even sure if you were talking to her or yourself anymore.

you held her close against your chest, one hand cradling the back of her tiny head while you walked slowly through the apartment.

back and forth.

back and forth.

your tears slid silently down your cheeks while you rocked her gently.

“i know,” you whispered shakily into her hair. “i know, sweetheart. i know.”

eventually, somehow, her cries started softening. little hiccuping sobs replacing the screaming. then quiet sniffles.

your own breathing trembled as you kept walking, too scared to stop in case she started crying again.

but she didn’t. instead, her tiny body slowly melted against yours, warm and heavy with sleep.

you looked down carefully.

her eyelashes rested against her cheeks, her little fist curled loosely against your shirt.

finally asleep.

a broken sound nearly escaped your throat from pure relief.

“okay,” you whispered weakly. “okay.”

you carried her into the nursery carefully, terrified every creak of the floor might wake her. your arms ached as you leaned over the crib, lowering her down inch by inch.

for one horrible second, she stirred, you froze completely, but then she settled again with a soft sleepy sigh.

still asleep.

you stood there for a moment, staring at her then your knees finally gave out.

you slid slowly down the side of the crib until you were sitting on the floor beside it, arms wrapped around yourself tightly.

and the second you were down there alone in the quiet, you started crying.

silent tears at first, then shaky breaths. your hand covered your mouth immediately so you wouldn’t wake the baby, shoulders trembling as you cried into your palm.

because you were exhausted. because you missed your husband even though he’d only been gone a few hours. because his words kept replaying in your head no matter how hard you tried to push them away.

you have to figure it out yourself.

you squeezed your eyes shut hard. you knew he hadn’t meant it, you knew joe loved you, knew he was tired and overwhelmed and probably stressed out of his mind, but sitting there alone on the nursery floor, cheeks wet with tears while your baby finally slept above you, it was impossible not to feel painfully alone anyway.

-

after a while, you forced yourself to stand.

your legs felt stiff from sitting curled up on the nursery floor for so long, eyes sore and heavy as you wiped at your cheeks one last time before looking down at the baby sleeping peacefully in her crib.

you watched her for a second just to make sure she was really settled.

then you quietly left the room.

the apartment was still a mess.

bottles in the sink. tiny baby clothes draped over the couch. blankets tossed everywhere from pacing around with her for hours. the whole place looked as exhausted as you felt.

so you decided to clean.

mostly because you didn’t know what else to do.

you kept the baby monitor beside you at all times, volume turned high enough that every tiny shuffle came through the speaker while you moved around the apartment picking things up quietly.

you folded laundry, washed bottles, wiped down the counters, anything to keep your mind busy. anything to stop replaying the phone call over and over in your head.

you kept hearing his voice.

i don’t have time for this.

you knew joe. knew he hadn’t meant it, but it still sat heavy in your chest anyway.

after cleaning for a while, you checked the time and realised it was getting late enough for dinner. you weren’t really hungry, honestly, but you knew you had to eat, so you made pasta.

nothing fancy. just something quick and easy because you barely had the energy to stand upright anymore. the pasta boiled quietly while you heated up a jar of ready-made sauce on the stove, eyes flicking toward the baby monitor every few seconds automatically.

you even made enough for joe too.

despite everything, despite still feeling hurt. because loving him was annoyingly easy even when you were upset with him.

the sauce was finishing heating when you finally heard the front door unlock.

your whole body froze instantly.

you stared down at the stove for a second, fingers tightening slightly around the wooden spoon in your hand while the sound of the door opening echoed through the apartment.

then silence.

you could practically picture him standing there listening.

probably waiting for crying, waiting for chaos. instead, the apartment was quiet.

you heard him slowly take his shoes off then the soft thud of his bag hitting the floor, and suddenly all the emotions you’d barely been holding together all evening came rushing right back up your throat again.

your eyes burned instantly.

you blinked hard, trying to stop it, but tears spilled over anyway.

god, you were so tired.

you quickly wiped at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie just as footsteps approached the kitchen.

then stopped completely.

you turned slightly and saw joe standing in the doorway. his eyes landed on you immediately. on the stove, on your trembling hands, then finally on your face.

his expression crumpled.

completely.

“oh, honey” he said softly.

the guilt in his voice was immediate.

he walked toward you carefully like he was scared you might pull away from him, stopping beside you while his eyes searched your face.

when he noticed how red your eyes still were, his whole face fell.

his heart visibly broke right there in front of you.

“i’m really sorry for how i spoke to you”

you swallowed hard but didn’t answer.

couldn’t, really.

instead you just reached over and quietly switched the stove off.

and before either of you could say anything else, soft crackling noises came through the baby monitor.

little sleepy fusses.

tiny whines.

you instinctively moved immediately, but joe gently spoke first.

“i’ll get it” he said quietly.

you stopped, then looked at him, and before you could stop yourself, the hurt slipped out anyway.

“no,” you said softly. “i have to figure it out by myself, right?”

the second the words left your mouth, guilt flashed across his face so hard it almost looked physical.

“baby-”

but you were already walking past him toward the nursery.

it was petty, you knew it was. and honestly, a part of you already felt bad because you knew he was exhausted too.

but he’d hurt your feelings and right now you couldn’t fully pretend he hadn’t.

the nursery door creaked softly as you pushed it open.

the baby was awake now, squirming slightly in her crib with sleepy little noises leaving her lips.

“hey, sweetheart” you whispered immediately.

you leaned down and lifted her carefully into your arms. the second she settled against your chest, her fussing eased. completely.

your chest tightened instantly with relief.

“there we go” you murmured softly, kissing the top of her head.

you held her close while gently swaying back and forth around the room, humming quietly under your breath.

and somehow no crying, no screaming, just sleepy little sighs against your shoulder. you could’ve cried from relief all over again honestly.

you checked her diaper quickly before realizing she was probably just hungry.

so you turned around and froze slightly. joe was standing quietly in the doorway holding a bottle.

his eyes were glassy, watery enough that your chest immediately ached at the sight.

he held the bottle out toward you silently.

and god, you hated seeing him look sad.

you sighed softly before nodding toward the chair in the corner.

“sit.”

he obeyed instantly.

you walked over slowly, still holding the baby close to your chest while joe sat heavily in the chair.

then, without really thinking too hard about it, you carefully lowered yourself into his lap.

the second you did, his arms wrapped around you tightly, like he needed to hold you, like he’d been waiting to breathe again.

you took the bottle from him and guided it gently toward the baby’s mouth, smiling faintly when she immediately started drinking sleepily.

joe buried his face against your hair.

his arms tightened around both of you.

“i love you so much,” he whispered shakily. “god, i’m so sorry.”

you stayed quiet, listening.

“i regretted it the second i said it,” he continued softly. “i swear i did. i tried to leave early and come home but the meeting just- fuck- it was important and-”

you sighed quietly before turning your head enough to press a small kiss against his neck.

he melted instantly.

when you pulled back slightly, you noticed his eyes still looked watery.

“i hate seeing you cry,” he whispered. “i feel sick knowing i made you do it.”

your own eyes stung again immediately at the honesty in his voice.

joe lifted one hand carefully to your face, thumb brushing softly across your cheek before he leaned down and kissed your forehead gently.

then his hand moved lower, resting softly against the baby while she drank her bottle.

he looked down at both of you for a long moment.

then smiled weakly.

“you two are my whole world.”

your heart squeezed painfully.

you smiled a little too, looking down at the baby.

“you guys are mine too”

joe huffed a tiny laugh before resting his chin lightly against your shoulder.

“no matter what, i love you, okay?” he murmured quietly. “even when i’m grumpy as shit.”

you immediately frowned slightly.

“don’t swear in front of the baby.”

he rolled his eyes tiredly and you couldn’t help smiling a little more this time.

the room finally felt soft again.

you looked back down at the baby still sleepily drinking her bottle before speaking quietly.

“i’m sorry i called-”

“never.”

joe interrupted you instantly, firmly.

you looked up at him in surprise, his eyes were serious now. completely serious.

“never be sorry for calling me,” he said softly. “you always call me when you need me. always.”

your throat tightened slightly.

“joe-”

“i mean it,” he whispered. “i’m sorry for reacting how i did. i was stressed and tired and i took it out on you and that wasn’t fair. but i need you to promise me you’ll still call me first. every time.”

you stared at him for a second before nodding slowly.

“i promise.”

he held your gaze another second longer, making sure you meant it, then finally nodded too.

his head rested back against yours again while his arms stayed wrapped tightly around you and the baby, holding both of you close like he never wanted to let go again.

-

@prettyfortucker @harringtondarling @katsallthetime @thichnhathanhh @keepdrlving @beth-mirrorball @powerpuffedbjtch @itzeeeee @ddenniiee-729 @teheblue @frozenpeanutbutterr @coldalpsmcu @b0nzey @xceafh @hearts4steve @swirledyouintoallmypoems @saintlaurentdiva @joekeerylice @blurrygir1 @songkangslvr @keerymylove @foreverserving @cciessuzi @livingblythedoli @toopypoopy @ellieluvercentral @evies4ngels @lattewirl @wolfiee10 @maevebloom @drunkedniallh @girlwithkaleidoscopeeyes777 @mabsters @i-got-the-cinema @batmanssssss @bluehexagon8 @magnificentcitadelcrest @pleasecallmeunhinged @purplequeen64-stuff @inherdiary77 @whispersoflost @yikesdrama @chronicstevelover @horanlover7 @ann-aatn @xoxocelestial @isatchl

[steveharringtonsbat]

lovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelove

[velvetciders]

right here

۶ৎ back when you were little, you went missing in the upside down. now that you two are older, he panics whenever you don’t answer.

𖦹 childhoodbestfriends then dating

lowk a little sad but it gets happier :( mentions of death

words: 1.3k+

Steve could feel the dirt between his fingers.

It always lingered, always dusted, always reminded him of how it was like. How it was like to hold your lifeless body in a different world unknown to him. He still wakes up in the middle of the night, feeling the pressure of your small body in his arms- unable to do anything about it.

The way he found you when he went down there. Wrapped, tangled, and lifeless amongst vines that made him want to throw up. Seeing the face of the girl he loved so dearly, pale with the warmth taken away.

He remembers everything, sometimes he wishes he didn't. But thinking about it only made him realize just how grateful he was that you were back. It consumed him daily and every time he saw you- and he felt sad for you whenever you said it was all in the past.

Being dead for 3 minutes wasn't "just the past". Being his best friend and then suddenly gone wasn't something to never think about.

You two met in first grade, and from then on, Steve was convinced that that is when life truly started to shine for him.

He remembered the feeling of always wanted to talk to you, but he was to shy to do it.

Seeing you in the fields of the playground, picking at the tiny flowers while the others played. The way your hair blew in the breeze like water- fanning over your small face.

It was until you two were assigned a poster project together- where it required tons of colorful markers and tons of opportunities for him to become friends with you. He still remembers the night you were at his house, in his living room, with marker smudges all over the two of you from playing.

From then on, you two were a pair. Unspoken words that automatically made you two mesh into one. Like the stars and sun.

He was so in awe of you- so in love with this little girl before he even knew what love felt like.

But it felt like everything.

----

Steve remembers how cold it was that morning when he woke up. 5th grade happened in a blink of an eye- but you were there. Always, every morning in the classroom with the warmest smile on your face, running to hug him.

He went downstairs to the smell of nothing. Not like bacon or coffee, not like home.

He peered his head, his mother whispering to his father. Her eyes were red and glossy eyed all around, her breath slightly wobbly as she talked. He blinked and walked into the kitchen, not wanting to get into his head that something terrible happened.

It did.

Last night as you biked home from his house, an "accident" happened- the only trace of you left being your precious pink bike. You must've fallen and went into the woods, lost, trying to find home.

And you haven't been found since, not since 9am that morning.

He felt that feeling then, a sense of not wanting to live on this Earth anymore- a feeling no young boy should ever experience.

His girl. He knew you weren't his, but it was clear you were- judging by the look on his parents when they told him. They knew just how much you were his, and he was yours. His sun, his life and back, his promise, his glow. Best friend.

Those later nights went terribly slow. Slow in a way that it felt like he was crying in his bed for a restless amount of hours.

He was.

Every morning, evening, and night- he went to your house. He sometimes slept over in the coldness of your bed, falling asleep to the sobs of your parents who tried to stay strong in front of him.

But he knew he was experiencing something similar to them. A loss of someone they loved. And oh, did he love you.

When the cries died down- he would lay in your bed, gently tracing your walls and posters with his fingertip. Whispering your name, prayers, confessions, a picture of a future he wanted with you.

There was no life without you, and he felt that absence so deeply and painfully in his soul- like you were some part of him. Such a young age must have seemed silly to others, but for you- he was tied.

He felt sick at the reminder that the tie was cut. Gone. Forever. You.

It was until one night, he was sitting at your desk and quietly playing with the toys you had- his mind somewhere else.

He hadn't been home in over 3 days or gone to school in over a week.

He couldn’t step into the classroom and not see the way your eyes sparkled when you said hello to him. At school, all he stared at was you. He had nothing to look at now.

But his parents understood, shockingly so.

He sighed and rested his head against his palm, eyes fluttering to look outside the window. A soft red glow peered just outside your windows where it faced some of the many trees in Hawkins.

On the ground, opening and opening and waiting to be discovered.

He discovered.

Four times. He’s on his fifth call and the phone keeps ringing with no reply.

It was already too rainy and too cloudy for him, especially when the days inched to the date when you were taken. It made him feel sick all over again- the risk could be higher, or worse. He could lose you again.

That's why he was already grabbing his keys and heading to his car- trying not to think of any possible scenarios.

Yeah, that night happened years ago. When you were quietly his, in the small moments when you two were kids. But now you truly were Steve’s, his girlfriend, his future.

He couldn’t lose the only future that made sense.

He didn’t even have to use his brain when driving to your house, like his car could drive on its own from routine. The rain pattered louder onto his windshield, the water dripping down like blood.

He felt like his stomach was flipped, hit, and sucked out of him. He couldn’t help it.

But he was already exhaling at the sight of your perfectly intact car sitting in the driveway. Your moms car was gone- telling him it was just you.

You were home. You were okay. Still his.

His fingers fumbled with the key to your house as he pulled it from his jacket- not even bothering to cover his hair up from the rain. He looked up to the window of your room.

Curtains open, a warm yellow glow peering inside. He sighed again and stepped towards the front door.

——

Once he was inside, he melted at the tidiness and calmness of your home. It was still the same kitchen, living room, another place where he could be himself.

It was so very quiet, the kitchen smelling like pumpkins. He heard the soft music coming from upstairs and he smiled to himself as he recognized some of the songs. A cassette he spent two hours making for you.

He quietly headed upstairs and knocked on your door with a pattern. 2 1 1.

The music got turned down and that was his signal that you knew he was there.

He called your name in a shaky voice as he peered inside He didn’t know why he was nervous or scared. His true soul would finally rest if yours was too.

“Steve?” You ask so gently that he wanted to cry.

You opened the door fully with a small smile, your eyes lit with innocence. Despite everything, it was still you.

“Oh, thank god.” He exhales, melting to hug you. He was soaking wet, cold, the water dripping down onto your carpet. Your feet lifted off the ground.

You let out a breathless laugh since his arms were so tight around your waist- only wearing his shirt and tiny shorts.

“Thank god? For what?” You say lightly.

He exhales- the air from your room slowly starting to dry him off. His face buries into your neck.

“For being… okay. You weren’t answering the phone and it actually scared the crap out of me.” He pulls away to cup your face.

Warm, firm, there.

“Oh shit.” You giggle, and it seemed like you were to obvious to see the real worry in his eyes.

“M’ sorry, I totally didn’t hear.” You kiss him as an apology, your lips pressed firmly to his.

Hands slide beneath your hair as he inhales through his nose, smelling your perfume and just you alone. Usually you always felt a small smile against your lips, one that always stayed there no matter how many times you’ve kissed.

You slowly pulled away with a sad smile, your thumb sweeping across the mole just under his lip.

“Hey.” You whisper with realization, “did I actually scare you?”

He was so exhausted from the fear of losing you again that he simply nodded. Your eyes flicked back and forth- his hazel eyes now so worn out. You could understand his side, so clearly and vividly. If he went missing like you did- you’d go just as crazy as he did.

“Steve.”

“It just-“ he takes a shaky breath, “it still messes with my head. That fear of not being able to say bye.”

You felt like your whole world collapsed at those short words. You couldn’t bear all that he went through, no matter how terrible your experience was.

It hurt how you knew the importance you layed in his life. Like he knew you better than yourself. You think he did.

“Oh baby.” You shake your head and sit down of the edge of your bed with him, the rain outside growing louder and your blankets turning wet.

“…I’m so sorry I didn’t hear the phone, I swear I would’ve picked up at the first ring.” Your fingers slowly trailed along the curves of his hair, something you were only allowed to do.

“I know.” He says weakly.

Your touch effected him like how it was for any man who had his hair touched. Completely worn down. His eyes crinkled close to hide the gloss behind it, soft sobs escaping and imprinting onto your shirt as he curled against you.

“I s-still remember it so well.” His voice cracked against you and you shattered.

You always tried to retract that night whenever it was mentioned. Steve knew it as well- but sometimes he was so desperate for reassurance that he simply had too.

“I try so hard to forget.” You whisper. “But I’m here, yeah?”

Never leaving.

You manage to dig your fingers gently under his face, cupping it and tilting it up to look at you. His breath hitched when your lips pressed against his nose, his top lip, and then his bottom.

“M’ right here.” Your hand rests over his.

A second later, his fingers trail under your shirt and directly over your breast. But it wasn’t like that. His hand dusted over the warmth of your skin, over the feeling of your heart peacefully beating.

“Here.” He whispers like a little boy. He felt like that now- like he’d lost you all over again.

It stayed like that for a long time. The only noises being the steady sound of your heart against his ear, and the soft music being played in your room. You kept your cheek squished to the top of his head, your hand sliding up and down his tense back.

Your head looks out past your lace curtains and at the dark sky- filled with so many reminders of the past. Your parents were gone of a business trip, and so were his. Being alone with Steve always calmed you down, even on the bad days. Even as children, in the crowd at the playground, it was always him.

“Stay tonight.” You hum, kissing his forehead in another form of reassurance.

He stayed quiet as a yes, his arms tight around you.

“I have cookies in the oven?” You smiled.

“…They smelled really good when I got here.”

“I know they’re your favorite.” Kissed his nose, “and after being the best boyfriend in the whole whole world, you definitely deserve them.”

“That’s a stretch.”

There was always a part of Steve that felt like he did too much. That his worried state was overwhelming for you, that he only was a reminder of the past.

“Definitely not.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, gaze so very gentle.

His lingering frown slowly made its way up and you rubbed your thumb over it. That’s when he finally allowed himself to lift up and kiss you deeply. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration to stable you. He savored the feeling of your lips moving against his, the noise clicking. You were here. Lips to his, body to body.

“Is that a yes to staying over?” You mumble against his lips.

You could see the dried tears danced all around his cheeks, kissing the last of them away that stayed on the corners of his eyes.

“You got me at the cookies.”

“So your only in it for the cookies? Your not worried about me anymore?”

He rolled his eyes with his fingers sliding into your hair, bringing your head down so he could kiss it. So naturally, so right. Alive. He kissed your forehead all the way down to your chin, feeling the warmth from your skin.

It wasn’t cold like how he remembered it from so long ago. It was there. You were there. In your bed with his shirt, smelling like vanilla, kissing him like the world had no end.

His hands looped with yours as you two stood up, kissing behind your neck as he walked behind you.

“‘Course I’m still worried.” He hums. “But your here.”

He repeats the very words you said out loud, and then over and over again in his head. Because even with what happened, you were right. There was no chance in the whole universe that he would ever let you go again.

He spins you around, kisses you tenderly, and strokes your cheek.

“I love you.” He whispers like he’s always done with you in moments like these.

“I love you too Steve.”

You two smile.

“Always.”

He realizes that just because what happened to you was in the past, didn’t mean it was going to happen again. He had you in his arms, physically and mentally- grasping onto another piece of his life that had always lingered.

You became a simple friend during childhood, his crush, his girl. Souls were intertwined and now he knew that you were okay- and you were his.

[vader-anakin]

busy right now | Steve Harrington

Summary: The phone isn't enough to interrupt you and Steve in the middle of sex. Little does Eddie know what both of you keep doing on the other line.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!reader

Warnings: SMUT (+18 DNI), p in v (unprotected), slight fingering

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

The rhythm of your hips doesn't falter as you bounce on Steve's thick cock, your pussy grips his shaft with every slam as you lift and lower your hips. His length buries deep into your cunt, stretching your slick walls, the wet sounds of your bodies fills the room.

Steve's hands press into your ass cheeks, spreading them as you grind down, his balls pressed tight against your perineum. Both your juices of arousal coat his length, making each thrust feel smoother and faster.

Suddenly, the nightstand phone rings with a shrill that breaks the atmosphere. Steve's eyes jolt wide open and he glances at it, but you don't slow, rolling your hips to swirl the head of his cock against your cervix. The sound cuts off, then starts again immediately – insistent, relentless. It rings a third time before silencing, only to ring again once more.

Steve groans with frustration, still high in his pleasure.

"Ignore it," you murmur, lowering your hips hard enough to make him hiss.

But it keeps going, the fourth ring pierces through the air and Steve's eyes meet yours, pleading.

"It's Eddie," he pants, thrusting into you and grunting. "He won't stop until I answer."

He knows it's Eddie because the metalhead is the only living person who won't take hanging up to his face as an answer.

You smirk, lifting high so just his tip ghosts into your entrance, and then dropping fully, forcing a choked moan from him.

The phone rings a fifth time, and your eyes roll with the disturbance.

"Fuck, baby. Slow down," he whines.

You pant, digging your nails into the skin of his chest. "Just answer the fucking thing."

He stretches his arm for it with a curse, snatching it up as you resume your punishing pace. It's deliberate strokes that make his thighs tremble. He brings the phone to his ear.

"Hey, man," he manages with a strained voice like he'd ran a marathon.

You lean forward, bracing on his chest, and pick up speed, your breasts swaying as you fuck yourself on his dick. The headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall. Steve clears his throat, disguising a whimper as a cough.

"What's... uh, up?"

Eddie's voice anxiously crackles through, sounding a little rushed. "Steve, dude, I need advice. This date tomorrow... Chrissy's friend, you know? The one with the killer legs. What if I fuck it up? She's way out of my league, man. Rehearsal's got me wiped, and now I'm overthinking every riff I play."

Steve's free hand clamps your hip, trying to still you, but you swat it away and clench your pussy around his hard length, milking him deliberately.

"You'll be fine," Steve says, his abs contract as you slam down extra hard, grinding your clit against his pubic bone.

A soft whine escapes from him, and he turns it into a high, brittle laugh.

Well, he tries. But to no avail.

"Just... play it cool. Chicks dig confidence." His cock throbs inside you.

His thick veins pulse against your fluttering walls. Sweat beads on his forehead, dribbling down his temple.

Eddie continues, oblivious to the situation on Steve's end.

"But what if she hates metal? Or thinks I'm a freak for the whole Hellfire thing? I mean, last date ghosted me after I mentioned demodogs. Should I tone it down? Wear something less... me?"

The phone nearly slips from Steve's grip as his sweaty, shaking hand tries to hold it.

You hold his knees and bend them, changing the position, now his cock drags directly over your g-spot with every plunge. Your arousal soaks the sheets. Steve bites his lip so hard enough to draw blood, his hips bucking up involuntarily to meet your pussy.

"N-no, own it," he forces through clenched teeth, the words hitching on a gasp.

You cover his mouth with your hand, muffling the noise that follows as you ride him viciously, your ass cheeks rippling from the impacts. His eyes roll back, muffled moans come out against your palm. He removes your hand off gently, panting.

"Eddie, she's into you. Trust me. Just... don't overthink the kiss or whatever."

"Kiss? Shit, what if I go for it too soon? Or my breath is bad after practicing? I got mints, but..." Eddie's rambling intensifies, words tumbling fast and you roll your eyes again, in annoyance.

But you don't stop riding him.

Steve's replies start to break.

"Hmm, yeah, timing is key."

You twist your hips as you bounce, stirring his cock deep inside, and he coughs violently to cover the sudden groan, pounding his chest with his fist. His balls draw up tight, slapping wetly against you. Pre-cum floods your cunt, mixing with your slick walls.

You rake your nails down his hair, your nipples nearly brushing his mouth. Steve's back arches, driving his dick even deeper.

"Dude, you're golden," he rasps with a shredded voice. A whimper escapes between his ragged breath. "Gonna... crush it."

Eddie pauses. "You sure you're okay? Sounds like you're dying, man. Working out or something?"

'Yeah– dumbbells. Brutal set." Steve is lying through his teeth.

His face contorts in ecstasy as you speed your pace, your pussy spasming erratically around his throbbing shaft. His free hand sneaks between you, bringing his thumb to find your clit and rubbing furious circles.

A retaliation that sends sparks up your spine. You retaliate back by squeezing your inner walls in circles, from base to tip.

Eddie sighs. "Alright, thanks man. Owe you one. Talk tomorrow?"

Steve nods frantically, though Eddie can see it. It's desperate. "Y-yep. Later."

He shoves the phone into the cradle aggressively, both hands squeezing your waist. "Fuuuuck, baby"

Then, it bursts. You slam down relentlessly, chasing your peak. Steve thrusts up savagely, his cock battering you deeply. Your orgasm hits like lightning. Pussy convulsing, walls clamping his length in pulses, gushing hot fluid down his balls.

He roars, hips snapping as ropes of thick cum blast into you, filling your pussy with creamy rivulets leaking out with each aftershock.

You collapse onto him, chests heaving in sync, his softening cock still twitching inside your cunt. Steve's arms wrap around you, and he brushes his lips against your ear.

"That was torture... best fucking torture. Eddie's clueless ass almost ruined it." He nips your shoulder.

He manages to push off of him, only to throw you against the mattress, turning you over. "Your turn to beg next?"

[sweetlikenonsense]

Kisses, please loverboy & his clingy girl ♡ • fluff • established relationship

♡ 9:12 p.m. — Hawkins Radio Station, definitely not FCC-approved behaviour You go to visit Steve at work—with only one thing on your mind.

You know you’re not helping. You know you might be a little annoying—at least to anyone else.

Not to your Stevie.

You’ve learned that quickly. You’re honestly not sure what you could do that would annoy him. You like that. You like feeling wanted—like you’re not too much for once. Not only seen, but reciprocated. 

That’s why you swing your legs over the desk, one hand fiddling with a pen, the other drifting into his hair as he leans over the controls, focused in that way that pulls a crease between his brows.

It makes you want to smooth it away.

So you do.

Your fingers slide from his hair to his forehead, brushing over the line between his brows, soft and absentminded. Steve smiles at that—small but no less sincere—without ever really stopping what he’s doing. 

You adjust his glasses slightly where they’ve slipped down his nose. Then, without thinking too hard about it, really without thinking at all, you lean in and press a soft kiss right between his brows. If you needed an excuse, you’d say you were just smoothing the crease—but it’s long gone now, and you never have to explain yourself to Steve.

“…you trying to distract me,” he murmurs, leaning into your touch. His voice warm, a little amused, a faint flush sitting high on his cheeks.

In place of a proper answer, you lift your hand, brushing a piece of hair back behind his ear, your fingers skimming along his cheekbone and down to his jaw.

“Never,” you mumble, soft, not even trying to sound convincing.

Steve laughs under his breath, shaking his head a little—he already knows he’d lose any type of argument with you. It never takes much with you. Just one smile and he’s done for.

His hand finds your knee where it’s hooked over the desk, squeezing lightly—thumb dragging once before it slides up to your thigh, settling there without a second thought.

“You’re trouble,” he says, but there’s not an ounce of weight to it. No warning; just pure, unfiltered fondness.

You lean in again, closer this time, your nose brushing his cheek before your lips hover just at the corner of his mouth.

“Kisses,” you pause, mouth pulling into a small pout, “please.”

Steve doesn’t even pretend to hesitate.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, already turning toward you, his hand sliding from your thigh to your waist to steady you where you’re perched. “C’mere.”

The kiss is soft, easy, wonderful. His thumb brushes your side absentmindedly, keeping you as close as possible. When you pull back, it’s barely anything, just enough to look at him before you lean in again.

And again.

Oh, and again.

Steve lets out a quiet whine into the next one, barely there, a little helpless—like he knows exactly how this is going to go, after all, this isn’t his first rodeo with you. “Y’know I’ve got, like, actual work to do,” he says, not moving an inch away from you.

You nod, already pressing another quick kiss to his mouth. “I know.”

You linger for a second after, just looking at him, the way he’s trying to look serious—brows slightly drawn, mouth set—but it doesn’t quite stick, not when he’s still this close to you, still a little flushed, still soft around the edges for you. 

You press your lips together in a small, expectant pout, eyes wide, head tilted slightly. You know exactly what you’re doing. Steve knows exactly what you’re doing. Neither of you care.

Steve lets out a soft exhale, half a laugh, his forehead dropping briefly against yours. “You’re lucky I like you,” he mutters, even as he leans straight back in.

You smile a little at that, because you already know.

That’s the whole point.

“Just like?” You tease, fingers playing with the collar of his sweater.

You lean in impossibly closer, nudging your nose against his before he murmurs, breath fanning across your mouth—

“Love.”

The smile that breaks across your face is immediate. Soft. Impossible to hide.

Steve’s expression shifts the second he sees it, fondness melting straight through whatever was left of his attempt at composure.

“Sorry, honey,” he mumbles. And then he’s kissing you again.

“I.”

A kiss lands at the corner of your mouth.

“Love.”

Another against your cheek.

“You.”

One more, right over your smile as your laugh finally spills out properly, bright and breathless. You push lightly at his chest like you’re trying to stop him, but your hands are still twisted in the front of his sweater, keeping him just as close as he’s keeping you.

“Steve—” you giggle, ducking your head when he leans in again.

“I love you,” he repeats, gentler this time, punctuated by another quick kiss. “So much, honey.”

You’re still laughing softly by the time he finally slows, both hands warm at your waist, his forehead resting against yours while he grins in that helpless, completely gone way that’s become so terribly familiar.

And then—

A loud, aggressive chicken squeak blasts through the station speakers and out to the thirty or so late-night listeners.

You both freeze.

Steve’s eyes close instantly, already knowing exactly what that means—and somehow, you know he’s less worried about the listeners and more worried about Robin.

There’s a beat of silence before—

“Guys,” Robin’s voice crackles over the intercom, flat and deeply unimpressed. “Do you mind?”

She punctuates the question with a sharp knock against the glass separating the rooms.

Unfortunately, that’s what breaks you.

A helpless laugh slips out of you as you immediately hide your face in Steve’s neck, shoulders shaking against him. His own laugh is quieter, more embarrassed, but no less fond as one hand slides up to the back of your head, smoothing your hair down comfortingly.

“Hey, hey, it was a-” he mumbles, failing miserably at sounding serious, getting cut off by a less than impressed Robin.

“Steve, why is the chicken sound effect live right now?”

“It was an accident!” he calls back instantly.

“You literally only press random buttons when she’s around.”

“That is not true.”

“It is completely true.”

You’re still giggling into his neck while Steve absently pats your hair down again, holding you close even as he argues back.

“I can multitask.”

“Clearly not!” Robin shoots back. “You’re one make-out session away from broadcasting a car crash sound effect.”

Steve groans while you laugh even harder, and the two of them keep bickering through the station as the scene slowly dissolves into static, teasing, and Steve’s hand still warm at the back of your head.

loverboy steve masterlist ♡

P.S. wanna see more clingy reader or loverboy Steve? send in some ideas! ♡

[levanswrites]

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰?

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x reader 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriend loves you with his whole heart. and sometimes, you’re not sure what to do with something that big. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, established relationship, touch/love-starved reader, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, brief smut, implied past trauma/abuse but nothing explicitly mentioned, heart-aching fluff, character analysis 𝐚/𝐧: flipping my favorite trope onto reader. this one's for all my peeps who have a tough time with physical touch and emotional intimacy

♡ · · · ♡ · · · ♡

Your boyfriend loves easily.

Affection stitched directly into the lining of him, inseparable from the rest of his body.

Touch, to Steve, is instinct before intention.

Automatic and unthinking, his hands find you the way roots find water.

Waiting in line at the fall fair, he hooks two fingers through your belt loop and sways you gently side to side while the Ferris wheel spins overhead in smeared red and gold light.

The air smells like fried dough and cinnamon sugar, cold autumn wind carrying bursts of laughter through the crowds. Steve stands behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder, warm chest pressed loosely to your back while he argues passionately about kettle corn versus popcorn.

Once in a while, he'll slide his thumb beneath the cuff of your sleeve mid-sentence, stroking the pulse point at your wrist, completely unaware that your heart is beating itself raw under his fingertips.

It’s impossible to explain it.

How overwhelming it feels to be loved by someone so thoroughly.

Because Steve never hesitates.

Never acts like affection is something shameful.

Love pours out of him, as naturally as body heat.

If your hands are cold, he interrupts himself halfway through a story just to catch your fingers and tuck them into his jacket pockets alongside his own, rubbing warmth back into your knuckles while continuing his sentence without missing a beat.

If you yawn during movie night, his arm is around your shoulders before the sound can finish leaving your mouth. “C’mere, sleepy girl,” he murmurs automatically, pulling you sideways against his chest.

If your shoelaces come untied in the middle of the sidewalk, he drops immediately to one knee with a distracted, “hang on, baby.”

Rainwater hisses along the curb while he reties the bow tighter this time, fingers quick and practiced, one hand steadying lightly against your ankle. His knuckles brush your skin through your sock and you have to stand there, holding your breath until your lungs ache with it, staring down at the concentration pulling his brows together.

Wondering what it must be like to love someone with your whole heart and not feel like it’s going to break you open.

He’s warm everywhere, your Steve. Warm hands, warm mouth. Warm stomach pressed against your back beneath blankets. He smells like laundry detergent and faint cedar cologne rubbed into the collar of his jackets. Sometimes vanilla chapstick, sometimes mint gum. Always Steve.

And the kisses are constant too.

Quick, thoughtless ones, born entirely from fondness.

The corner of your mouth while waiting for the microwave to beep. Your forehead when he passes behind you in the kitchen. Your shoulder while you lean over the sink brushing your teeth side by side. The back of your neck when he reaches around you for orange juice in the fridge, mumbling a sleepy, “morning, honey,” against your skin before kissing beneath your hairline.

Sometimes he just looks at you for a second. Expression softening imperceptibly, like some private thought crossed his mind, and then he leans over and kisses your cheek with this quiet little hum in his throat.

Like loving you tastes good.

And god, the neck kissing.

It’s terrible.

And right now, in the middle of a museum gallery so quiet you can hear shoes squeak against polished floors, he’s doing it again.

You’re trying to read the plaque beneath some enormous renaissance painting—something about divinity and grief, oil on canvas—but Steve is behind you, arms folded around your waist while he scans the museum brochure one-handed.

One of his hands has slipped beneath your cardigan, warm palm spread low across your stomach.

“Okay, so,” he murmurs near your ear, voice low enough that the sound vibrates through you, “there’s the Greek sculpture thing upstairs, or... there’s apparently a room with these like, tiny dollhouses?”

You wrinkle your nose. “That sounds horrifying.”

“Right?” His lips brush the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Like what if one of them’s haunted?”

Then his mouth finds the hinge of your jaw.

One lazy, distracted kiss.

His lips are soft, slightly chapped from the cold outside. Warm breath spills across your skin afterward, making your pulse jump beneath his mouth. He lingers there, nose nudging lightly against your neck while he keeps mumbling off different sections of the museum.

You feel the shape of his smile against your skin when he finds another ridiculous exhibit.

“Apparently there’s a room that’s just chairs.”

“That can’t be true.”

“No, I swear to god.”

Then his mouth drifts lower.

Open-mouthed kisses this time.

Slow enough that warmth blooms beneath every press of his lips. You feel the faint scrape of his teeth catch your skin playfully before he smooths over it with another softer kiss, his thumb stroking across your stomach.

Your entire body tightens around the feeling.

The worst part is knowing that he isn’t trying to fluster you.

Steve isn’t performing intimacy.

He just never second-guesses affection.

Unlike you.

For you, every touch feels catastrophic.

The second Steve touches you, awareness crashes through your body all at once—your pulse, your breathing, the weight of his hand, whether your hair smells okay, whether your stomach feels too soft beneath his palm, whether someone across the gallery can see this.

Whether you deserve to be loved this openly at all.

“....and Robin said there’s some painting of a guy eating his own son which honestly seems kinda—”

He stops, hand stilling against your stomach.

“Babe?”

You blink hard, staring at the plaque without reading a single word.

Steve leans back, concern creasing immediately between his brows.

“Hey,” his hand slides higher, rubbing gently over your ribs. “You okay?”

“Hm? Mhm.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Another lie.

Your skin still burns where he kissed you.

And underneath all the panic is something worse.

Fear and hunger, knotted so tightly you can’t separate them anymore.

Wanting him closer, wanting him to keep touching you forever. Wanting to crawl inside every warm, gentle thing he gives you and stay there.

Not knowing what you’d do if he ever stopped.

Because as terrifying as it is to be loved this softly, you think losing it might actually destroy you.

“You wanna sit down for a sec?” Steve asks quietly. “I think I still have that granola bar in my bag if you’re hungry.”

You almost laugh, because of course that’s where his mind goes.  

Care.

Always care.

“No, I’m okay,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “We can keep going. The uh, Greek sculpture thing sounds good.”

He watches you for a beat longer than comfortable, thumb rubbing against your hipbone through your jeans.

“Okay,” he says finally.

His hand slides up your arm, gently fixing the cardigan slipping off your shoulder. His fingers brush your neck in the process, absentmindedly smoothing your hair back into place too.

And then, because he’s Steve—because affection lives inside him so naturally he doesn’t know how to love except with his whole body—

He reaches down and interlaces your fingers with his.

Warmth immediately fills the spaces between your knuckles, his callused fingers curling around yours with steady, secure pressure.

He keeps holding your hand the entire walk toward the staircase, thumb stroking across your skin while he talks about haunted dollhouses and ugly marble babies and whether you think ancient Greek people had chest hair.

And isn’t it terrifying, how quickly your body has learned what safety feels like in someone else’s hands?

...

It isn’t just the touching.

You almost wish it was.

Because that would be easier to understand.

A touch can be explained away:

Steve’s just naturally affectionate. Steve likes physical contact.  

But it’s not just that.

It’s the way he loves you without condition. Without making you earn it first.

A few weeks into dating, he showed up at your apartment carrying a bouquet so enormous it nearly blocked his entire face.

When you opened the door, all you could see were flowers.

Soft cream roses crowded against pale pink delphiniums, petals curling delicately at the edges like silk ribbon. Deep burgundy dahlias bloomed low in the arrangement, velvety and dark as spilled wine, white baby’s breath drifting between everything like tiny bursts of snowfall.

And hidden right in the middle were your favorites.

Blue hydrangeas.

Dusty-blue petals clustered together like storm clouds at dusk, edges fading lavender where the light caught them.  

You had pointed them out exactly once while passing a florist downtown.

Three seconds, maybe.  

You remembered slowing briefly in front of the shop window because they looked beautiful beneath the warm yellow display lights. Rain had just started misting softly against the sidewalk and Steve had been halfway through ranting about some middle schooler trying to rent an R-rated horror movie with a fake ID. You’d smiled at his story before murmuring, almost absentmindedly, “Those are so pretty.”

That was it.

You hadn’t even thought he heard you.

But Steve Harrington has a habit of holding onto the tiniest details about you like they're something precious.

“Baby, I swear to god,” Steve was saying now as he stepped inside your apartment, nudging the door shut with his foot, “I had the craziest day today. This guy at work tried to return a tape completely melted.”

The bouquet landed in your arms before he shrugged off his jacket.

“Melted,” he repeated, horrified, running a hand through his hair. “Like, fully warped. Looked like somebody cooked that thing in a microwave.”

You stared down at the flowers.

The bouquet was heavy enough that you had to support it with both arms. Thick stems pressed cool and damp against your palms beneath layers of cream florist paper, the wrapping folded slightly unevenly around the flowers and tied together with rough twine that looked suspiciously hand-done.

Not florist-perfect, but Steve-perfect.

The flowers smelled dizzyingly alive: sweet rose perfume softened by rainwater and the cool, earthy scent of freshly cut stems.

“…um, Steve?”

“—and Keith asked me if I did that,” he huffed, toeing off his shoes. “I mean, can you believe that shit? What does he think I do at work all day, destroy tapes for fun?”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

You blinked at him slowly.

“What’s…” Your throat tightened strangely around the words. “What’s this for?”

He looked down at the bouquet like he’d genuinely forgotten he walked in carrying it.

“Uh…” His brows lifted slightly. “Flowers?”

He laughed softly after saying it, confused.

But you didn’t laugh.

Because your brain was already doing what it always did: rummaging frantically for conditions. For expectations and hidden meanings tucked beneath kindness.

Your heartbeat started creeping unpleasantly high in your throat.

Was it an anniversary?

Oh god.

Had you forgotten something?

Your stomach dropped, dates scrambling uselessly through your head too fast to follow. One month? Six weeks? Was there something couples were supposed to celebrate this early? Had Steve done something thoughtful and now you were standing there empty-handed like the worst girlfriend alive?

The cellophane crackled beneath your tightening grip.

“Did I…” You cleared your throat quietly. “Did I forget something?”

Steve’s forehead wrinkled.

“Huh?”

“The flowers.”

“What about ‘em?”

Your voice came out impossibly small. “Why’d you get these?”

“Uh, ‘cause I…” He huffed a tiny laugh through his nose, head tilting. “’Cause I wanted to?”

His confusion only made your chest tighten more.

“Is it our anniversary or something?”

His frown deepened. “What? No.”

“Then… why?”

Steve stared at you for a second, slightly open-mouthed now, the soft amusement on his face fading into gentle concern.

“Baby, they’re just flowers.”

You stared back helplessly.

“But why?” you asked again, quieter this time.

“Well, I…” He shrugged one shoulder slightly. “I saw them. And I thought about you.”

The apartment suddenly felt very quiet.

You looked back down at the bouquet in your arms.

The hydrangeas were even prettier up close, petals shifting between pale blue and soft lavender depending on how the light hit them. Tiny sprays of baby’s breath caught between larger blooms like stars scattered through clouds.

A single sunflower tucked near the back, drooping sideways because Steve probably had the bouquet strapped into the passenger's seat on the drive over.

Your throat burned.

“That’s it?” you asked quietly.

Steve let out a soft breath through his nose.

His socked feet whispered against the floor as he stepped closer, one hand rising to cup your cheek.

Big enough to hold the entire side of your face, his palm enveloped you in warmth. Your lashes fluttered at the feeling of his thumb sweeping beneath your eye, brushing over the apple of your cheek, soothing something there without even knowing what hurt.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s it. I saw ’em and thought you’d like them.” His mouth tugged into a small smile. “You stared at those flowers for like, ten minutes.”  

You huffed weakly. “It was not ten minutes.”

Steve’s smile widened, encouraged by the sound of your laugh.

“There was this whole wrapping station thing too,” he added, gesturing proudly toward the bouquet still overflowing from your arms. The cream paper rustled softly as he touched it, uneven folds bunching around the stems where the twine had already started slipping loose on one side. “The lady kept trying to help me but I told her I could handle it.”

He tipped his head, inspecting his own work. “Pretty good, right?”

You looked down again.

The wrapping really was crooked. One corner folded inward strangely while another flared too wide, baby’s breath poking free through gaps in the paper.  

It couldn’t have been more beautiful.

Steve’s grin turned sheepish, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, I think she stopped helping 'cause I was stressing her out.”

A quiet bubble of laughter escaped you, and the second it did, you noticed the way his face changed. Grin softening, eyes gone warm at the realization that he’d made you smile.  

That was the other unbearable thing about him.

How carefully he watches for your joy, waiting for the next chance to do it again.   

He really had done all this just because he wanted to.

No special occasions—he just saw something beautiful and immediately thought of you.

You blinked quickly, staring down at the velvety rose petals before he could notice the dangerous sting gathering behind your eyes.

Nobody had ever remembered little things about you before.

Not enough to act on them later.

Certainly not enough to drive across town carrying an absurdly oversized bouquet because of one passing comment you barely remembered making yourself.  

But Steve noticed everything.

The tea you always reach for when you’re sick. The songs you hum in the car without realizing. Which side of the bed you like to sleep on. Which sweatshirt you wear when you’re sad. The way you peel pepperoni slices off pizza before eating.  

The flowers you paused to admire for three seconds on a rainy sidewalk weeks ago.

Your fingers tightened carefully around the bouquet.

“Thank you,” you managed quietly.  

Steve smiled, stepping closer until the bouquet crushed lightly between your bodies, cellophane crinkling in the quiet of the apartment.

“Yeah. Anytime, baby,” he hummed, bending down to press his smile into the curve of your mouth, as natural as breathing.

...

You don’t know why you get like this.

Why your body reacts like it’s bracing for impact when all he’s doing is being gentle. Why his affection makes your chest ache the way it does.

Why your first instinct is always to freeze.

Body going stiff whenever Steve wraps himself around your back in grocery store checkout lines, chin hooked over your shoulder while he complains about magazine prices and rubs his thumb beneath the hem of your shirt.

Sometimes he brushes your hair behind your ear mid-conversation and keeps talking without even realizing he did it. Sometimes he reaches for your hand in his sleep, eyes still closed, finding you beneath the blankets when his body notices your absence before he does.

And you wonder why, in all those sweet, wonderful moments—when he kisses your forehead while waiting for the microwave to beep, when he pulls you against his chest during movies, when he drops to his knees on dirty pavement because he doesn't want you to trip over your laces, when he holds your face in both hands like it’s something precious—you feel this horrible urge to apologize afterward.

Sorry I’m difficult. Sorry you picked me. Sorry you don’t realize yet there are easier people to love.

Love had always arrived transactional before him.

Conditional.

Dependent on being easy enough, pretty enough, quiet enough, useful enough.

But Steve loves you without condition.

And being seen that intimately by someone so good—someone as warm and earnest and sincere as Steve Harrington—feels unbearable sometimes.

Maybe that’s why nights like this overwhelm you so badly.

A fancy dinner downtown stretches long past sunset, candlelight flickering gold across Steve’s face while he steals bites from your plate despite insisting twenty minutes ago he was “seriously so stuffed.”

Wine leaves his cheeks faintly pink by the time you leave the restaurant. His tie hangs loose, crooked around his throat, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled to his elbows. Summer heat still clings to the sidewalks even this late at night, thick with blooming jasmine spilling from flower boxes outside storefronts. Somewhere farther downtown, music drifts through open bar doors, muffled bass and laughter carried through the warm air.

Steve's hand never leaves your lower back, fingers flexing gently against you whenever the crowd thickens, pulling you instinctively closer to his chest.

By the time you drift into the park, your heels are dangling from one hand and your body feels pleasantly heavy from the wine.

The grass is cool beneath your bare feet. Damp earth presses between your toes as you wander deeper along the meadow paths, fireflies blinking through the dark around you like floating embers.

Steve is halfway through retelling some ridiculous story his students had told him earlier that day, pausing every other sentence because he keeps getting distracted trying to kiss you.  

Grass stains smear across the knees of his expensive slacks when he finally pulls you down beside him into the field.

“Steve,” you protest weakly, glancing at his pants.

“What?” he asks innocently, tightening his hands around your waist.

“Those are gonna stain.”

“Mm.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, grin lazy. “Worth it.”

You lose track of time there.

Talking between kisses, lying shoulder-to-shoulder in the grass while Steve points out constellations he names wrong on purpose just to make you argue with him. His fingers comb slowly through your hair while your head rests against his shoulder, skin sticking together in the humid night air.

And by the time he gets you home, you’re half-floating.

Steve crowds you against the apartment door before the lock has even clicked shut.

Both hands on your waist, lips sealing over yours. The force of it nudges you softly into the door, his body fitting against yours as he grunts low into your mouth like he’s been holding himself back all night.

Sweet burgundy wine still lingers on his tongue when his lips part against yours.

He’s warm everywhere.

Warm hands sliding beneath your dress, warm mouth against your throat. Warm breath ghosting over newly exposed skin every time he pauses to look at you.

And he does pause, constantly.

Heavy-lidded hazel eyes drag across your face, your throat, the curve of your body beneath his hands, lips gone slack from that third glass of Merlot though his smile tells you he’s drunk on more than just the wine.

His palms skim along the back of your thighs while he kisses down your neck, the soft scrape of his stubble pulling a shaky breath in the shape of his name.

He smiles against your skin, feeling your fingers clutch tighter at his shoulders.

“C’mere,” he murmurs softly.

The bedroom lights stay low when he walks you backward toward the bed.

Blue comforter wrinkling beneath you when he eases you onto your back, following you down, kissing over every inch of exposed skin while your heartbeat stutters harder with each press of his mouth.

Broad palms smooth upward beneath your dress while his lips trail lower, the slow descent of it dizzying; his mouth dragging across your collarbone, the center of your chest, down your stomach, your ribs, each kiss separated by warm breaths and playful nips that make your muscles jump.

And when he kneels at the foot of the bed—nudging your legs apart carefully, lovingly, thumbs stroking slow circles into the soft skin inside your thighs as he settles himself in between—he lets out this quiet little sigh.

Like nowhere else on earth could possibly compare to this.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs against you, pressing the words directly into your skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

His fingers hook beneath the waistband of your underwear while he glances up at you through heavy lashes, tongue darting briefly to wet his lower lip.

You reach for his hair quickly, panic flaring.

“Steve,” you whisper. “Wait.”

His hands still immediately where they rest on your hips. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow hard. “Nothing, I just...”

Your head spins pleasantly and horribly all at once from the wine and the heat and the sweet boy kneeling between your thighs looking at you like you hung the moon.

“I should shower first.”

His brows pull together. “Why?”

“Because,” you laugh weakly. “I’m sweaty.”

Steve smiles at that, like it’s the sweetest thing he’s heard all day.

He leans in even closer, nose brushing over your clothed mound before he presses a slow kiss there.

“Baby,” he murmurs against you, “I don’t care.”

“Steve...”

“I mean it.”

His hands glide upward along your waist, warm and heavy as velvet, fingertips grazing your ribs on the way up.

“I like you like this,” he says softly.

Then he takes in a breath.

A deep, deliberate pull through his nose, the warm drag of air against the damp fabric making your thighs twitch around him.

“You smell good,” he murmurs, kissing you there again. “Like summer.”

Your face burns, but Steve only smiles wider, already halfway gone.

“Just stay,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you. We can take a bath after, promise.”

He turns his head to the side, nose nudging affectionately along your inner thigh before he closes his lips around the sensitive skin there. The suction is soft at first, teasing warmth into you before the pressure deepens just enough to sting pleasantly.   

A new love bite starts to bloom, petal-soft and tender, like a flower kissed awake by rain. His mouth traces over it, soothing the flush of it back into softer color with gentle, unhurried pecks.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss over the bruise-tinted skin. “My perfect girl.”

To be loved this intensely feels like it could swallow you whole.

Like the warmth of it could burn straight through you.

You don’t even realize you’ve started crying until your breath catches sharply in your chest, a raw, jagged gasp tearing from your lungs.

Steve’s head snaps up instantly.

You jerk your face away in horror, both hands flying to cover your eyes before he can see.

God.

Oh god.

Not now.

Why now?

“Baby, are you—”

His voice cuts off the second your breath stutters again, louder this time.

The mattress jolts beneath you as he pushes upright, fast enough that the bed frame gives a small protesting creak.

“Hey, hey—what’s wrong?”

You can feel him at your side immediately, his quick, uneven breaths brushing against your hands where they're pressed tight to your face.

“Baby, what happened?”

His fingers curl around your wrists, firm but impossibly gentle.

Always gentle.

“Did I hurt you? Did I do something?”

“N-no,” you choke out immediately.

“Then what?” His voice starts to break slightly, turning sharp with worry. “What is it? Honey, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head helplessly, unable to form the words, unable to explain.

The lamp clicks on beside you. Warm amber light spills across everything at once: rumpled sheets and discarded clothes, Steve kneeling beside you, shirt open at the collar, belt buckle undone and tie hanging loose around his neck.  

The flowers from dinner are on the dresser.

Slightly uneven in their vase, waterline crooked, the hydrangeas beginning to open wider in the warmth of your apartment.

Embarrassment crashes over you like a wave.

Perfect.

A night he’d planned so carefully—reservations at the candlelit Italian place downtown, your favorite wine already waiting at your table, flowers arranged before you’d even walked through the door—

And now you’re crying halfway through sex because your brain can’t handle something as simple as being loved.

You turn your face away again instinctively, shoulders curling inward, but the tears don’t stop. They come harder, messy and humiliating, gasps of air ripping through your chest no matter how hard you try to swallow them down.

You feel Steve’s hand slide up your spine.

Slow, slow passes between your shoulder blades, fingertips pressing gently.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to hide, okay? You don’t have to hide from me.”

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, wiping at your face uselessly. “I-I don’t know w-why I’m—I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry—”  

“No, hey, don’t apologize, baby. Don’t say sorry.”

You resist him weakly when he tries to gather you in his arms.

You can’t look at him.

Can’t stand the thought of seeing the concern on his face after ruining this.

“I just—” You let out a shaky breath, voice cracking completely. “Fuck, I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Steve stills at that.

Then slowly, carefully, he takes your wrists fully in both hands.

You let him this time. Arms trembling the entire way down as he lowers your hands into his lap. You still refuse to meet his eyes, staring instead at the heavy rise and fall of his chest. His crisp white shirt is wrinkled, open at the collar, a faint pink bite mark just above his collarbone where you kissed him during the taxi ride home.  

His gaze presses into you, heavy and intent, trying to read what you can’t say.

“I need you to look at me,” he says quietly.

“I can’t.”

“Yeah,” he answers immediately. “You can.”

Another tear slips down your cheek. He catches it without hesitation, wiping it away with the pad of his thumb.

“Please,” he whispers, softer now. “Look at me.”

You finally do.

Steve’s hair is a mess, chestnut strands falling across his forehead where your fingers had been tangled moments ago.

His eyes—warm honey and green and amber all blurred together beneath the low light—are pained, tight with worry and unbearably expressive.

“There's nothing wrong with you,” he says, unshakably certain. “Nothing.”

His lips are swollen from kissing you, parted slightly with how hard he’s breathing.

It’s so painfully clear, how panicked he is.

Steve’s face never hides anything

It doesn’t know how to.

When he’s happy, it shows in the soft wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

When he’s worried, it gathers in his brows, in the tight set of his mouth.

And when he loves, it radiates from him so naturally it feels endless. Like sunlight.

You wonder what that must feel like.

To love someone without fear.

To offer tenderness without expectation, without the quiet dread that grows the more there is to lose.

He reaches up slowly, clearing tear-sticky strands away from your temples, thumb brushing beneath your eye. Still trying to read what hurts, the furrow in his brows asking without words.

You want to tell him.

For him, you’d try.

But the truth feels monstrous once it reaches your throat.

How do you explain that being loved by him feels unbearable sometimes?

That every touch lands somewhere deep inside you that still expects pain?

That he gives and gives and gives, asking for nothing in return, and yet some terrified part of you waits for the bill to come due?

How do you explain that it makes you feel broken, not knowing how to take something he gives so easily?

You part your lips, throat dry and aching.

Steve waits, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your wrists.

Patient.

Always so fucking patient with you.

“I just...” Your voice shakes. You stare at his mouth instead of his eyes, because it’s easier than being seen.

“...I just really love you.”

It rushes out so quickly.

And in a horrifyingly beautiful moment of clarity, you realize it’s the first time you’ve ever said it to anyone.

Ever.

Steve goes still. His brows soften, eyes drooping at the corners. His lips part soundlessly for a second.

“Oh,” he breathes.

You feel his hands twitch against yours, squeezing your fingers unconsciously.  

“I love you too,” he says, immediate and certain. “I... I love you so much it’s kind of insane.”

He watches you for a moment, thumb rubbing slow over your knuckles.

“Is that... is that why you're crying? 'Cause you love me a lot?”

A small, startled laugh breaks through your tears; it sounds so simple when he says it like that.   

It isn’t simple.

But maybe it also is.

So you nod, watching him visibly come back to himself, drawing out a shaky breath, shoulders dropping heavily like he’d been bracing too, just in a different way.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay. C’mere.”

This time you don’t hesitate.

You fold into him, feeling his arm wrap securely around your back, the other cradling the back of your head.

And what you always used to brace against—tonight, you sink into willingly.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into your hair.

You let your eyes slip shut, burying your face in the crook of his neck, fingers crinkling his shirt as you hold on tight.

“I love you,” you whisper again, the words pressed softly against his skin.

Thank you, you mean.

Thank you for being gentle with me. Thank you for waiting. Thank you for loving me like it’s easy.

Thank you.

♡ · · · ♡ · · · ♡

[urhoneycombwitch]

something cosmic

robin buckley x childhood best friend!reader the stars align after your rooftop gathering. Robin takes you by the hand and finds there's a whole other world to your presence.

foreword: for the sweethearts and girl kissers <3

cw: Robin x Reader, childhood best friends, sapphic/lesbian pairing, R wears a skirt, R referred to as ‘girl’ once, R is implied fat/plussized, R has breasts + a vagina, autistic4autistic vibe, pet names (incl. ‘Buck’ for Robin), weed and alcohol mention, hand kink, praise kink, flirting, making out, oral fixation, dry humping, thigh riding, oral (R receiving), soft service top Robin, body worship, overstimulation, aftercare, smut and fluff and feelings, MDNI

wc: 5.7k

Robin steals you away, after the sunset rooftop gathering draws to a close. 

Tugs at your sleeve while everyone is hugging their goodbyes in the gravel lot of the Squawk and whispers, low at your ear- “Wanna stay behind an extra hour with me?”

With me, she’d said. Like it was a secret party and you’d been chosen. 

Of course you said yes. 

Scrunched your nose at her over your shoulder and delighted in her responding giggle. Followed her through the maze of the dark, quiet radio station while she led you with a brave face and a flashlight all the way to her favorite spot in the whole building. 

Even after all these years and miles apart, the rhythm established between the two of you in high school has somehow transitioned seamlessly into your young adulthoods. 

You fall back into it so fluidly- laughing at the same jokes, inventing new ones, striking up that familiar language that was invented around school bells and sleepovers and folded notes passed between fingers. 

Robin is still finding ways to make you feel special, wanted- like maybe you’re still bumping hips in the two-pea pod of life. Even after all these miles apart, and all this time.

Another thing that hasn’t changed? 

Robin’s hands are just as captivating and distracting as they were in your youth. 

The shape of them, the way they twiddle in the air when she talks, black nail polish glinting in the lamplight- it’s like she’s mesmerizing you from the other end of the couch. 

“-and technically, this is the greenroom, for, like, ‘radio guests of high esteem’, or whatever.” 

Her fingers hook around the phrase, then flit back to toying with the rings on her right hand. “But I guess we never got anyone cool enough to actually put it to use, so… mostly Steve and I just used it to smoke contraband.”

“Oh my god.” You laugh at the idea, eyes dropping to watch the spin of the red garnet rock in a loop around her middle finger. “You didn’t.”

Robin gives you one of her turned-down grins, shrugging, going for innocent but missing it by a mile. 

“What? There’s no smoke detector. It was a perfect room for lighting up some hash and coasting through a boring shift of ad reads and Steve’s questionable record choices.”

She shudders in mock horror, muttering something about too many Bee Gees as you laugh, again- this humor is easy, too. Comfortable and intimate. 

Just like your sleepovers of long past, the ephemera of your lives come together again. 

Your black kitten heels tangled in her combat boot laces, tipped over on the carpet by the door. Her earrings on the coffeetable- a longsword and, in proper Robin abnormal fashion, a tiny dinosaur- settled in the loop of your necklace you’d cast off earlier. 

Your sheer tights are in a heap, too- you’d peeled them off the moment you were alone, feeling better with the cool air against your legs which are currently tucked beneath you. The tartan skirt you chose for graduation today has kept its pleats, spanning over your bare knees, just shy of too short which doesn’t really matter now that it’s just the two of you. 

Robin’s hair is longer than when you last saw her. It falls over her shoulders in honeyed waves as she leans across the couch cushion separating your seats, whining playfully as she makes a grabby gesture in your direction. 

“Come closerrrrr. I’ve missed you all night! Well, all year, really. We saw each other at Steve’s barbecue but that was last summer and it’s been too long and phone calls just don’t cut it and I’m gonna start singing Stayin’ Alive at you in the most off-key voice you’ll ever hear if you don’t get closer, right now-!”

“All right, all right!” 

You giggle at her dramatics but obey the request, scooting towards the middle cushion and into the space of her waiting hands.

Apparently, Robin has gone away to college and learned how to be more assertive. To ask for what she wants. 

There’s still that distinctive lilt to her words- all dorky humor, fast rambles, sentences that seem to cut in line and jump each other to get out first- but there’s something specific about it, now. 

Something that makes your tummy flip. 

Something that sends up a warning signal, because, oh, shit- you should definitely not be getting turned on by the way your childhood best friend is ordering you around, and pulling you into her side with those hands of hers like it’s where you belong. 

“Better,” Robin sighs, happily, the leg of her denim overalls pressing fully against the stretch of yours. The frilled collar of her blousey shirt pokes at your upper arm. “You know what else is better? My palm reading skills. Here, I’ll show you-”

Robin picks up your left hand, settling your forearm across her lap while her pointer finger traces the lines in your palm. She hmms and deliberates, really hamming up her own focus for your benefit, until she seems to find what she’s looking for in the line branching from the webbing of your thumb.

“Ah-hah. See this? It’s your heartline. And based on the pattern alone, I mean, my god- something big is going to happen to your love life soon. Believe you me.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, that shudders through your shoulders and bumps against hers, palm feeling itchy under the sudden attention. “Come on, Buck. We both attended Steve Harrington’s Flirting 101 seminar back in the day. I used this same trick on Jimmy Miller in ninth grade.”

“Did it work?” Robin asks. Gaze still fixed on your hand in her lap. The tips of her fingers petting and mapping the lines. 

She’s not acting like a woman whose jig is up in the slightest.

You swallow down a shiver at the feeling of her touch. “No. But you already knew that. Are you flirting with me?”

You’d meant it as a joke, a light tease, but it comes out sideways. A bit too intense, too questioning. 

Robin’s eyes lift to yours. 

There’s something cosmic in those pools of blue. It reminds you of the surface of Lover’s Lake, how it looks at night reflecting the vastness of Hawkin’s starry sky. 

“What if I was flirting with you?” Robin asks. Something cosmic but something cautious, too, like she’s charted a course that can’t begin without your permission. “Would that… freak you out?”

“No!” You answer much too quickly and now you’re the one verbally scrambling. “No, I mean- I mean it’s nice to be flirted with, I like it, especially if- if it’s from you, I just-”

The sentence dies in your throat when Robin’s touch trails further, up to your wrist, the soft pads of her fingers pressing gently to where your pulse beats erratically. As if she’s reading you as easily as a book.

“I thought-” you make another attempt at foisting off the wave of feverish thrill that threatens to flash through your body. “Is Vickie not, sort of, y’know… your girlfriend?”

In the last few months of phone calls with Robin, she spoke about Vickie less and less. You’d noticed, but hadn’t brought it up. For a number of reasons. 

Robin’s still looking at you, even as her touch climbs your arm and settles into the ditch of your elbow. Her head shakes slowly, gently, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Nope. Not since the barbecue.”

Air hisses through your teeth but even you’re not sure if it’s an expression of sympathy or a reaction to this new information. “That’s… shit. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Robin’s voice pitches lower, silky even with the rasp around her consonants. “S’okay, I don’t really think about her too much anymore. Got other people on my mind.”

You can’t bear to watch the path of her touch anymore so you shoot her a sidelong glance, taking in the fine slope of her nose in profile, the way her lashes sweep as she blinks down at your arm in her grasp. 

She glances back up at you, fingers stilling, the awkwardness to her charm shining through. “Uhm. The other people- it’s you, if that wasn’t, like. Totally clear.”

Something between a gasp and a strangled hah escapes your throat. The heat of a supernova is expanding in your stomach, stardust dripping southwards and upwards and everywhichway, making your tongue feel foreign in your own mouth as you trip over the words, vaguely- 

“And- Nancy…? You never- with her?”

Robin’s thumb slips to the side of your elbow, drawing you in closer, gravity realigning and unfolding as your blood sings hot for her, just beneath the surface. 

“I had a crush on Nance, sure. But nothing like the one I’ve been harboring for over a decade for my best friend.”

The straps of her overalls have slipped down the gauzy neckline at her shoulders. She looks like a painting- one from an old French master of the arts that you’ve studied in class before; Bouguereau, maybe. All soft cheeks and long limbs and light buffed into every pore until she’s glowing with it. 

Robin leans in close enough that you can see she isn’t wearing a bra underneath the thin cotton of her shirt. Your pulse is frantic for her touch, hand twitching in her lap when her rings kiss cold at your cheek. 

She cups the side of your face, eyes half-lidded and dancing between the curl of your mouth and the soft shock of your lifted brows. 

“Can I kiss you?” Robin asks. 

You’re leaning in to close the distance before the question is over. 

Your mouths meet and it’s so gentle, so tender that you could cry from it. Her lips are soft as a peach, a perfect fit as they slot between yours, closing over your cupid’s bow like it’s what she’s wanted to do all along. 

“Robin-” 

You breathe into her space and she takes it into her own lungs. Nose pressing to the side of yours as she kisses you again, this one hungrier, more seeking, the tip of her tongue testing the plush of your lower lip. 

Your hand finds her waist and hers slides past your ear, holding you in place and to her as your tongues slide against each other’s. She tastes like sweet mint and the hoppy beer you’d shared earlier, and also like spit- like Robin. 

The groan travels from the depths of you all the way to her lips that open to take it, to suffuse the noise against the wet waiting of her own mouth. 

Robin makes a noise, too, answering like an echo for a canyon. 

It vibrates through you, tightening your fingers around the denim at her waist. Robin doesn’t detach from your mouth as she tips you backwards, slow but insistent, shifting until your shoulders lie flat on the couch cushion and she can kneel at either side of your hips. 

“Jesus christ,” you pant, feeling a little delirious as her hands run along the length of your sides, your own reaching to cross over her neck as she dips down to kiss you more. “Buck-”

This isn’t like it used to be, when the two of you would kiss for practice under the covers of adolescent longing. 

Or maybe this is exactly like that. Maybe all that practice with the right person has finally paid off. 

Robin says your name, an equal catch to her voice as she kisses it back into your mouth, and then she’s drawing back just far enough to ask- “Can I go down on you?”

You pet the nape of her neck, feeling nerves alight alongside the longing. Robin shifts a hand to brush just at the hem of your skirt, a suggestion of touch over the fat of your bare thigh, waiting for your answer before she goes any further. 

Your head feels foggy with lust but there’s a hesitancy that refuses to budge, so you tell her honestly. “I- yeah, yeah, you can, it’s just- I don’t usually- I mean, I’ve never come from it. Oral. I mean. Um. I don’t know if…”

“It’s okay.” Robin is so soft in her reassurance, thumb sweeping over the skin beneath her palm. Dragging the tip of her nose up the side of yours like a nuzzling animal. “We don’t have to, at all, I just- I’d really like to taste you. And feel you. And- and make you feel good.”

A confession and a plea rolled into one. 

Robin’s always been like this- mouthy.

Always talking or shouting or moving, in some capacity. Always seeking stimulation, always something shoved between her lips- gum, a hairclip, the eraser of a pencil, the ends of her own hair.

And now that perfect mouth- your best friend’s mouth- is moving down your body. Kissing between the valley of your clothed breasts, the bare skin of your stomach where the hem has ridden up, one brief press of her mouth to each of your knees- 

you prop yourself on your elbows to watch, breath punching in and out. 

Robin flips the pleats of your skirt up and you think her hands might be shaking but then you see the moment she sees you, the wetness seeping from your core, the patch that is surely stained a darker pink than the rest of your panties.

“Fuck,” Robin breathes. In awe. Fitting her thumb to the beat of your clit through the fabric and just holding the pressure there. 

Your jaw slackens. She hasn’t even properly touched you yet and it feels so good, just the pad of her thumb where you need her most. You have to make a conscious effort to keep your hips level with the couch and not have them snapping up into the touch. 

Robin kisses the inside of your thigh, trailing her mouth closer, grazing her teeth along that arch of bone that runs into your pelvis. 

“Shit.” Your grip on the couch cushions sinks in. “Buck, please-”

“How come you’re so wet?” She asks, as if you hadn’t just begged. 

Her hands are moving again, settling under the band of your skirt to take hold of the padding that spans your hips, fingers digging in when you whine. “Hmm? S’it all for me?”

“Jesus, Robin.”

Your curse is confirmation enough, and Robin grins, that clever, devastating mouth dipping down again, this time to fit right over the wet gusset of your panties. 

You’ve been aching and dripping for her all day, really- it’s been building up since this morning, since she’d touched you for the first time in a year. Folding you into a big hug before the carpool caravan left, smelling like cardamom and parchment and fresh spring blossoms.

And now she was moaning into the space between your thighs like you smelled just as good, her tongue running up the seam of you through the fabric, eyes rolling backwards at the taste she discovers. 

The breath leaves your lungs in a rush, then fills again with sharp, short gasps as she hones in on your clit, laving over it with the flat of her tongue. 

Robin fits her lips over just the right spot and sucks hard enough to make her cheeks hollow. Your thighs tense and tremble at either side of her ears and then you can’t bear to watch any more, the crown of your head tipping backwards to the armrest while she pulls more noises from your throat.

“Taste so good,” she’s murmuring, in between long licks and pointed suckling. “So sweet, so good for me-”

Good is the word that fills your chest, that makes you ache even more- you like being good, if it means Robin will praise you. 

“Gonna take these off,” she says, into the joint of your thigh, fingers tugging at the elastic of your underwear. 

You lift your hips without having to be asked, and Robin kisses your knee again as she peels the fabric from your body, calling you perfect once more before stretching low against the cushions. 

This time, Robin eases your thighs over her shoulders, your sock feet fitting to her low back. You don’t have time to wonder or ask if the weight of you is too much because Robin is already pulling more of you into her orbit, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip as she stares openly at your pussy. 

The intimacy has the potential to feel embarrassing, but- it just doesn’t. 

Robin’s pupils are so blown there’s barely any iris left. They’re like two glittering voids that bend to consume, to take more of you in. 

The heat of her mouth is finally, finally on the bareness of your skin, your wetness- there’s an obscene slurping when she laps at your entrance, and warmth courses through your body at the sound, at the feeling. 

Her tongue explores your outer folds, paying each side equal attention- something that would strike you as humorous in its distinct Robin-ness, except your head’s too full of pleasure to make room for any emotion other than oh, fuck. 

“Oh, fuck!”

Robin’s tongue sinks inside the tight, wet channel of your cunt, and it’s like she’s got your spine on a string; it pulls up from the cushions beneath your body, arching you further into her mouth, and in turn her tongue. 

Her nose brushes against your clit and when you gasp, again, she learns to keep that pressure up with every forward movement of her head. 

She’s working you up in a shockingly short amount of time, pleasure beginning to bleed into every fiber of your being. Your hands fly from the couch when Robin curls her tongue against the front of your walls, fingers burying themselves into the roots of her hair. 

It’s like holding the sun between your thighs. The heat pours from her scalp to your palms, an exchange of energy on a loop. 

The fingers at your hips dig in again; you can feel the indent of her rings and hope there will be marks leftover. Proof that you were touched, that you were worshipped, by this woman. 

Robin’s tongue flexes, hits again and again at the spot that’s making everything swell into a chorus, your toes curling at her back, your fingernails biting at her scalp as you swear, as you beg-

“Fuck, Robin- oh, my god- please- like that-!”

She holds tighter and fucks her tongue into you quicker with brutal, perfect accuracy, and then you’re coming with a waving bend to your spine, a pleasure that crashes into you with the force of a falling star, streaking gold behind your eyes as they slam shut.

There’s a long, sonorous moan that spills over as she works you through the peak of it, as she moans in response, the vibrations filling you from the inside out.

The pleasure still spirals with each pass of her tongue but it’s verging on too much, too good, your stomach under her palm tensing and releasing with the feeling of overstimulation as she continues to suck at the new wetness that spills from your core.

“Okay- hah, Robin- tha’s good, s’enough- please-”

Your words slur and feel mushy in your mouth, weak in the aftermath as your thumbs push at her forehead. 

“Wow.” Robin emerges from between your thighs with a smile, wide and obscenely wet, covered in your release from the chin down. “Holy shit. Good job.”

This makes you laugh, emotion pitching about like a boat in a storm; Robin’s palm is soothing on your tummy, thumb rubbing circles like she wants to capture the kinetic feeling of your joy. 

“Thanks.” Your hands drop to cup her cheeks, and then Robin is untangling herself from the drape of your legs to crawl up your body for a kiss.

She tastes earthy and sweet as she passes the slickness of your own release back into your mouth. Breathing heavily into the kiss before resting her forehead against yours.

“That was- wow. So hot, and so- so pretty, and- you came, right? I mean, you- you enjoyed yourself-?”

You can’t help but laugh again, and Robin joins you this time, smiling against your lips as you reply- “Yes, Buck, I enjoyed myself very much. Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Smith babes,” Robin says, sarcastic, and with a nip to your lower lip. “But really, they were all just practice. For you!”

“My god, you’re so suave now.” Your sarcasm comes out far too fond for any real bite. “Y’know, we used to ‘practice’, too.”

The feeling that rises in you isn’t jealousy, exactly- more adjacent to lurid curiosity. 

How is she, with the college girls? Does she take them out for coffee? Bring them back to her dorm and touch them, like this, on her tiny twin bed?

You don’t have time to ask. Robin’s still looking down at you like you hung the stars, moony with awe as she murmurs, “I didn’t even put my fingers in you. And you- you came so hard.”

You feel squirmy under the intensity of her gaze, inhaling sharply at her words- “Yeah. I know. I want your fingers, next time.”

“These fingers?” She teases your bottom lip with the pads of her ring and middle digits, grinning and wolfish. 

You could bite her. Instead you reach for her overalls, wiggling them down her shoulders until she gets the memo, sitting up to help your cause. Robin strips out of the denim and returns to your lap in just her droopy-sleeved shirt and a pair of baby-blue underwear printed with the word Tuesday.

“It’s Friday,” you chide, playfully snapping the elastic band at her skin as she fits a knee to either side of your left thigh. 

“I know.” Robin wrinkles her nose in exasperation. Her hands plant just beside your shoulders, sinking more of her weight against you and the cushions. 

There’s an uncoordinated bump of your noses and then she's kissing you again, strands of her long hair tickling at your cheeks, tongue lapping against the roof of your mouth. 

Robin’s thighs are so soft around your own and with the next kiss, you prop your knee further up to slot more firmly between her legs.

“Oh, fuck, yes.”

There’s heat radiating from her core, sinking bone-deep into you. She goes clumsy with hunger, hips rolling forwards as her mouth fumbles another kiss to the side of your lips. 

“D’you want- my fingers?” You offer, wondering if she’d prefer more stimulation. 

Robin stumbles over the words to get them out faster. “No- no, no, please- honey, st- stay like this. Please. I wanna- I’ve dreamed about this.”

Her hips roll, your lashes flutter. “You dreamed about kissing me?”

“No- well, yeah,” Robin admits, breathily. “But I meant- your thighs. I dreamed about your thighs.”

You feel temporarily mute with surprise but manage to ask- “My thighs?”

“Yes, god, yes.” Robin chokes back another whimper, tip of her nose tracing down the side of your face to nestle into the crook of your neck. “Was thinking- about your thighs all day, during the ceremony- the rooftop, fuck, I- I thought for sure you’d noticed, that I was being so- so obvious-”

She pants ragged breaths into your skin, arms trembling while she holds her weight to grind against you. 

“I was too busy looking at your hands,” you whisper in reply. “Always so distracting. Turning me on- seriously, Buck, you are so, so beautiful-” 

Robin’s hips judder, her teeth skimming against the muscle of your neck. You can feel her eyes squeezing shut, eyebrows drawing together in the hollow of your shoulder.

You don’t ever want this to stop. You’re half helping her, half letting her simply take. 

On the next motion of her hips your hands settle at either side of her jaw, and you gently coax her head from the comfort of your shoulder. Her hair makes a curtain around the both of you and while you love the feel of it and the smell of her rose petal shampoo, the urge to see her face is overwhelming.

You tuck the lengths of silky strands behind her ears and let your fingers slide into the roots, cradling her skull at either side. It’s so hot, so intimate and intense, seeing her like this- there's a deep flush of pink across her cheeks, orangey freckles over the bridge of her nose and under her eyes standing out in contrast.

“That’s it, Buck,” you whisper, encouraging. “Whatever you need. Take it from me.”

Robin whines again. Another grind of her hips and you can feel the wetness she’s spreading into your skin, even through the cotton barrier of her undies, a slick glide with every forward movement. 

“You wore these- these goddamn shorts, in gym class-” Robin’s talking through the panting rhythm of her breaths, eyes flickering back in her head before they refocus on you beneath. “-red ones. Sophomore year. I’d go home and- and put a pillow between my legs, just like- like this- imagining it was you-”

“Fuck, Robin.”

You keep one hand in her hair while the other goes to the low neck of her shirt, tugging it down to expose the round of her breasts, shuffling your shoulders down just slightly to reposition your head. 

When your mouth closes around the peak of her nipple, Robin cries out above you, working herself faster over the seat of your thigh. Your tongue laves over the stiff peak and you can feel the tremors it creates in her, a ripple effect in all the muscles of her legs. 

Robin lets out this string of rasping ah, ah, ahs. The cushioned slope of her stomach nudges against yours with every down stroke.

Your teeth edge around the tender skin and Robin swears again, so raw and throaty that you moan in response. Her thighs are beginning to snap tighter around you, squeezing with every grind.

“Buck-” It comes murmured around the fat of her breast, nipple shiny with your spit as your grip in her hair draws taut. “Will you- I wanna see you, when you come- please-”

Robin doesn’t deny you this, even though you know she’d rather hide her expressions in the curve of your neck. She lets you lift her head and you get to see every minute detail, every tiny tremor and scrunch and line of her face that gives away how much she loves this, how much she’s getting off on you.

“Feels so- god- so good, baby-” She whispers, a broken sentence cleaved in two by a gasp. Her stomach tightens against yours in small, undulating waves. “I’m not- not gonna last- oh, fuck. Fuck. So close-”

Robin’s jaw is open around the shape of her noises, lips parted- on instinct, your hand in her hair slides to cradle her face, thumb pressing like a question at the corner of her mouth. 

“Fuck,” Robin moans, taking the length of your finger against the wet pull of her tongue. Sucking the salt from your skin and groaning at the taste, the feeling of you inside of her. 

You feel the dull flash of her molars against your knuckle, and then Robin is coming with the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard. 

The sky-blue of her eyes rolls backwards as the heat between her legs intensifies, as her muscles lock in place and the orgasm spirals through her frame, shaking with the force of it. 

Robin grinds herself against your thigh as you hold her in place with a single finger until every little bit of pleasure is wrung out, until there’s a line of drool coursing from her mouth and an equally slick path kissing at the skin of your leg. 

“Oh my god.” Her voice is faint with exhaustion but tinged with humorous disbelief as her eyes shut again.  

Robin makes as if to move herself off of you but at your noise of protest and coax of your arms, she lets her spent body collapse comfortably into yours. 

Her nose tucks to the slope of your neck again, limbs rearranging in a cozy tangle as you hum happily with her full weight pressing into you from all sides. 

In the afterglow, you’re pleasantly shocked to find that those sticky, strange feelings that usually accompany the comedown of sex just simply aren’t around this time. 

Maybe it’s the familiarity you already had with Robin before this, or the way she seems loath to do anything but trace the outline of your throat with her lips in the quiet aftermath; whatever the reason, this moment feels like a perfect little pocket of time, shared with your favorite person in the world. 

Robin is still holding onto you like you’re the only thing that makes sense. It’s easier to coast the dip of hormones with the sweet-sweat smell of her scalp and her breath coasting beneath the collar of your shirt that didn’t have a chance to get peeled off. 

Robin sighs deeply, content and worn out. Then with a light flinch of realization, she groans. “Oh fuck.”

“What?” You’re already half-giggling at her tone, blinking lazily up at the ceiling while your hands stroke down the length of her back. 

The side of her cheek squishes against your collarbone as she speaks, sounding mournful even as she slides back into her usual rambling way of speech. 

“I owe Steve thirty bucks. He said I wouldn’t be able to wait a whole day to make a move on you and I said ‘What do you think I am, some sort of hussy?’ And then he laughed and I cussed him out and threw money into the mix and it seems my lack of will power has screwed me over yet again.”

“Screwed me, you mean.” Your hands have found the end of her shirt and slip beneath, feeling for the scattering of raised freckles at her low back. “How about this. We wait to tell Steve until tomorrow, after we’ve had sex again, and this time I’ll give you a bunch of hickeys so he can’t deny the proof.”

You feel the apple of Robin’s cheek round into a grin against you. “Neat. I love tricking Steve, it’s my favorite hobby. Well, besides my new one of having sex with you. My favorite girl. I don’t ever wanna move again.”

Her head lifts and re-affixes itself to your chest, the shell of her ear pressing firmly over your heart. 

“-see, stuck. Like a limpet. Or maybe… something more sexy than a mollusk. I dunno. I just orgasmed so hard my brain melted. Please don’t ask me to explain any further because I literally, truly cannot.”

Your fingers find the half-inch scar raised parallel to the base of Robin’s spine, running over the twist of tissue with remembrance. 

She’d been eight at the time, and had taken a fall from the low boughs of the sycamore tree in her backyard. A stick had snagged in her side with the impact, and after a trip to the emergency department Robin boasted three whole stitches to show for the whole ordeal.

You can still remember her toothy smile a week later, braids swinging as she pawed with clumsy eagerness at the collar of her shirt to show off her wound. In the familiar stretch of her freckly back, there was a row of neat black thread and two butterfly bandages. 

Gravity had pulled, and you’d leaned in to kiss the edges of the sutures- as if pure magical will and childish intent could bring your girl healing with a single brush of your lips.

You use those same lips to kiss at the crown of her head now, smiling with fondness. “You don’t have to explain a thing, honey. Or let me go, for that matter- but I wanna see the stars one more time, before we leave.”

Robin kisses her way up your neck, over your jaw, movements sleepy but no less keen. Her lips press to yours again- once, twice- and the bands of her rings are cool against your cheek as she holds your face with expansive tenderness. 

“Let’s go sweep some stars. But only if you promise to hold my hand the whole way.”

It’s a promise easily made and mostly kept, save for the moments you need to separate in order to clean up a bit and re-dress. There are more kisses stolen and given between the motions, more giggling and teasing and Robin’s sparkling gaze laid plain on the side of your face as you dip to wiggle back into your shoes.

Your hands interlace, and this time, neither of you let go. Robin leads you back through the station, palm warm against yours, taking the steps to the roof one at a time to make sure you’re following close behind. 

There’s a brick wall separating the roof access door from the rest of the space, with a roughhewn wood bench built into its side. It faces the vastness of the night sky and has a perfect lack of armrests to be able to fit both you and Robin comfortably. 

Robin pulls you into her chest, chin fitting snug to the top of your head as your arms automatically wrap around her middle. 

The night is clear, and the stars are everywhere. Anywhere you look: pinpricks of light, clusters and constellations, the world holding steady as you hold each other. 

You pour your thankfulness into the universe, for whatever stars have aligned to bring you and Robin together again. 

afterword: thanks so much for reading! reblogs are never required but always so appreciated by me <3

robin buckley mlist

[robinbuckleyloverrr]

STILL YOURS / robin buckley

cause the sign on your heart, said it's still reserved for me.

summary- this town isn't the kindest to those who are different. they shut down the mere idea that lacks normalcy. but you and robin still find a way to make your relationship work. you go to pick her up from work, a habit written into routine, but it turns into a greater adventure. and it's certainly a challenge to conceal your relationship...

word count- 11.2k

contains- talks of homophobia in the 80's (no direct homophobia towards characters, but fear of it arising), fluff, heated moments, kissing, robin just being the best person ever, let me know if anything was missed!

author's note- i had soooo much fun writing this!! it was based off a request i received! and also yes, i know build-a-bear wasn't established in 1985, but we're gonna ignore that, kay? if you're seeing this, PLEASE help a girl out and send me requests for a robin buckley au! if you'd like to see more about this, see my recent posts!!

꧁☆꧂

The bell above the door jingles for what has to be the hundredth time in the last ten minutes, and you don’t even look up anymore.

You’re not here for ice cream.

You’re here because Robin Buckley cannot drive.

Which means—like clockwork, like a routine that started when she first got the job, like something that’s become a quiet constant in your life—you’re here to pick her up.

You don’t mind it in the slightest. If anything, you like these trips to come pick her up from the mall. You love to hear about her day on the way home. To hear her complain about customers who “just have no etiquette.” 

You love how she over explains and talks with her hands and with an animated face. It’s what makes her so incredibly Robin.

You lean against the side of the counter, arms folded loosely, pretending to be invested in the brightly colored menu above the registers. The air smells like sugar and waffle cones and something faintly artificial, and the place is still buzzing with the last stretch of evening customers.

Behind the counter, Robin is mid-ramble. Steve looks like he’s only half-listening to what she’s saying.

“…and I’m just saying, if a kid asks for three scoops, minimum- and on the smallest cone possible -there should be a law that I get to refuse service. That’s not a dessert, that’s a cry for help—”

She turns slightly as she talks, gesturing with the scooper in her hand, and that’s when she spots you.

Everything about her shifts.

It’s subtle—anyone else probably wouldn’t notice—but you do. You always do.

Her shoulders drop. Her expression softens. The mild annoyance she’d been carrying around all shift melts into something lighter, something warmer.

Something that feels a little bit like it’s just for you.

“Oh,” she says, like she didn’t know you’d be here. Like you haven’t been picking her up after shifts for months now. “Hey.”

You push yourself off the counter, stepping a little closer, resting your elbows against it instead.

“Hey, sailor.”

She rolls her eyes immediately, but there’s no bite to it.

“Don’t start,” she mutters, turning back to scoop one last portion of ice cream with dramatic force. “I have been subjected to that all day. I’m one nautical-themed joke away from walking into the ocean and not coming back.”

“We’re in Indiana.”

“I’ll find a way.”

You smile, watching her finish up, watching the way she moves—quick, a little clumsy, always just on the edge of chaos. There’s a smear of something—ice cream of a sort—near her wrist, and her hat is slightly crooked. She looks tired in that way that makes her quieter when she’s not talking and softer overall.

She sets her scooper down, mutters something to Steve, and then she’s ducking under the counter, disappearing for a moment before reappearing in front of you, already tugging her hat off and running a hand through her hair—

—and it’s unfair, really, the way something so small can feel so intimate.

Her fingers slip into the roots like she’s done it a thousand times without thinking, pushing through the soft tangle, lifting it, letting it fall back into place in a way that’s messier than the neat little uniform Scoops Ahoy tries to force on her. It springs back with a quiet kind of rebellion, loose strands catching the light, framing her face in a way that makes her look more like herself—less like the version she has to play for everyone else.

You watch the movement more closely than you mean to. The slight hitch of her wrist. The way her shoulders loosen, just a little, like she can finally breathe again. It’s not just fixing her hair—it’s losing her performative layer. The stupid hat, the act, the careful edges she keeps on in public. For half a second, it feels like she’s stepping back into the version of herself that belongs to you.

And maybe that’s why your chest tightens.

Because you know you can’t reach out and tuck that strand behind her ear. You can’t let your hand follow the path hers just took, can’t linger there, can’t say anything about how perfect she looks, how you want to memorize the exact way it falls every time she does that.

But God—you notice.

You notice everything.

The way her fingers hesitate at the ends, like she’s considering doing it again just for the feeling of it. The way a few pieces fall into her eyes and she doesn’t bother moving them right away. The way she exhales, quiet and unguarded, like she forgot for a second that anyone else exists.

And when she looks up at you—

it hits all over again.

Like you’re the only one who gets to see this version of her, even in a crowded room. Like that small, absent-minded gesture is a secret being handed to you, disguised as nothing at all.

You have to look away first, just for a second, because if you don’t, you’re pretty sure it’ll show—written all over your face, in the way your breath catches, in the way your heart trips over itself like it always does when she lets herself be this soft, this real, this hers.

And when you look back, she’s still there, still a little undone, still watching you in that way that makes it feel like maybe—

just maybe—

you’ll make it out of this.

“Okay,” she exhales, like she’s shedding the entire shift in one breath. “I’m free. Emotionally damaged, but free.”

You hum, glancing at her wrist. Because that little smudge of chocolate on her skin hadn’t slipped your mind. Nothing about her ever really slips your mind.

“Hold still.”

She pauses mid-motion, blinking at you.

“What—why—”

You reach out without thinking, gently catching her wrist. Your thumb brushes over her skin as you wipe away the smear of chocolate fudge with the edge of a napkin you grabbed from the counter.

It’s quick. Quick enough to go unnoticed by anyone else around. Not that anyone was really looking.

Casual. Casual enough to pass as just two good friends sharing a simple interaction. One merely helping the other.

But your fingers linger for half a second longer than they need to.

Robin goes very still. Because of course she noticed. Of course she noticed how softly your fingers brushed over her wrist. She notices everything you do. No matter how little. It all means the same to her.

“…thanks,” she says, quieter now. Just for you.

You drop her hand like it didn’t mean anything.

It meant more than most things do.

“C’mon,” you say lightly, nodding toward the door. “Your chariot awaits.”

“My chariot is a slightly concerning sedan that makes that noise when you turn left.”

“Don’t disrespect her like that. Has she ever failed you? No.”

Robin snorts, falling into step beside you as you head for the exit. The bell jingles again as you push the door open, the evening air cooler against your skin as you step outside.

For a second, neither of you says anything.

It’s quieter out here. The distant hum of the parking lot, the fading light of the sky, the mall glowing just across the lot like it’s still wide awake.

Robin kicks lightly at the pavement as she walks.

Then, a little too casually—

“Do you… um—”

You glance at her.

She’s not looking at you.

“…do you wanna, like… walk around the mall for a bit?” she finishes, words tumbling out faster toward the end. “I just—I don’t really feel like going home yet. And it’s—y’know—it’s still open. Obviously. Because it’s a mall. And—”

You smile, just a little.

“You just don’t want to stop hanging out with me.”

She stops walking.

“Rude,” she says immediately, glaring at you. You can tell it’s not a real glare. Then, after a beat— “True. But rude.”

You laugh, bumping your shoulder lightly into hers as you start toward the mall.

“Come on, dork.”

She falls into step beside you again without hesitation.

Your arms brush as you walk.

Neither of you moves away.

Neither of you reaches, though. That would be far too risky for the town that is Hawkins. They aren’t ready to handle something they aren’t familiar with.

And just like that, you turn back toward the glow of the mall together.

꧁☆꧂

The rest of the mall is louder than Scoops, somehow.

Not in the same way—less chaotic, more constant. A steady hum of voices, footsteps echoing against tile, the faint overlap of music spilling out from different stores at once. Bright lights reflect off polished floors, everything glowing in that artificial, never-quite-dimming way that makes it feel like time doesn’t really move in here.

Robin walks just a little too close to you.

Not enough for anyone to look twice.

Just enough that you feel her there.

Her shoulder brushes yours as you pass a group of kids running by, and she doesn’t pull away right away. Neither do you. It lingers—just for a second longer than it should—before she shifts like it didn’t happen at all.

She’s talking again.

Of course she is.

“And then Steve has the nerve—the nerve—to tell me that I’m being ‘too harsh’ on the children. The children,” she repeats, gesturing wildly with both hands. “As if they are not actively waging war against me with sticky fingers and poor decision-making skills.”

You glance at her, smiling.

“Sounds rough.”

“It is rough,” she insists. “I am underappreciated. Underpaid. Emotionally targeted.”

“Emotionally targeted,” you echo.

“Yes.”

You bump your shoulder into hers lightly.

She bumps you back.

It turns into a quiet rhythm as you walk—small, barely noticeable touches that could pass as accidental but never really are. Her elbow nudges yours when she gets particularly animated. Your hand brushes the back of hers when you reach for the same thing on a display table you weren’t even actually interested in.

Neither of you acknowledges it.

Neither of you stops.

A couple passes you—hands intertwined, fingers laced together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You look away first.

Robin talks louder for a second.

Not obviously.

Enough for you to notice, though.

“…and I’m just saying, if there were an award for surviving the worst shift imaginable, I would win. No contest.”

You hum, but your attention lingers somewhere else. On the space between your hands. On the fact that if you just moved yours an inch to the left—

Robin’s hand brushes yours again.

This time slower. More deliberate.

Your fingers almost catch. Almost.

But then someone walks past, and she pulls away like it didn’t happen, like it was nothing, like it didn’t send something sharp and warm straight through your chest.

You swallow it down.

You always do.

It’s not that she doesn’t want it. You know she does. It’s all she ever talks about when you’re together. And when it’s just you—only the two of you—she’s the most affectionate person you’ve ever met.

It’s just too risky in public like this.

“Hey,” you say after a second, glancing at her. “You’re being dramatic. Doesn’t Steve have the same shift?”

Her head snaps toward you.

“I am never dramatic. And sure, Steve has the same shift, but he spends the whole thing trying to pick up girls! I have to do all the real work.”

“You just said you were being emotionally targeted by children.”

“I was.”

You laugh softly. She watches you when you do. Very intently.

And something about the way you’re smiling—something small, something unguarded—makes her falter for half a second.

“…okay, but you’d defend me in court, right?” she says, a little quieter now. “Like if I did get arrested for banning children from Scoops.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Depends. Did these children deserve it?”

“They always deserve it.”

“Then yeah,” you shrug. “I’d defend you.”

It wasn’t much of a question to begin with. You’d defend her from almost anything.

Robin smiles. Not her usual one. Softer, quieter.

The kind she doesn’t give to just anyone.

“Good,” she murmurs.

You don’t realize how close you’ve both drifted until your hands brush again—and this time, neither of you pulls away immediately.

Your fingers slide just slightly against hers.

A question.

A maybe.

Her pinky hooks around yours for the briefest second.

It’s so quick you could pretend it didn’t happen.

But it did. And it means everything.

The moment passes like it always does.

Not gone—never gone. Just tucked away, folded carefully into all the other almosts you’ve collected with her.

The rest of the mall stretches out in front of you like nothing just shifted between your ribs.

Like Robin’s hand didn’t just find yours in the smallest possible way and undo you completely.

She keeps talking anyway.

Of course she does.

“And I’m just saying,” she continues, gesturing vaguely at absolutely nothing as you walk, “if Steve Harrington gets one more compliment from a stranger while I am actively suffering in the background, I might lose it. I might actually become a villain.”

You hum, but you’re barely listening.

Because she’s still close enough that you can feel her warmth every time she moves.

Close enough that every step feels like a decision you’re both quietly agreeing to make again and again.

Your shoulder brushes hers.

She doesn’t move away.

You don’t either.

It’s almost unbearable how normal you both try to make it look.

Like you’re just two friends walking through a mall in Hawkins, Indiana, in a world that doesn’t notice the way you keep orbiting each other.

Just two friends, but she’s looking at you like you’re the only thing she sees. Like she’d kiss you even if people were watching. 

Because when it comes to you, Robin just can’t help herself. Her eyes trail to your lips, something shifting within her pupils. 

She looks away almost instantly.

“You make it really hard to behave in public, you know that?” You mutter to her, quiet enough to go unheard by others, loud enough to cut through the chaos of the mall so she can hear you.

She stops talking.

And when you look at her, she’s already looking at you like she’s decided something without telling you.

“Come here,” she says.

Soft.

Immediate.

And before you can even ask what she means, she’s grabbing your wrist—gentle but certain—and pulling you toward the side of the hallway where the arcade noise is louder and the lights are slightly dimmer and there’s a photo booth tucked between machines like it’s trying not to be seen.

You blink.

“Robin—”

But she’s already tugging the curtain aside.

“You started it,” she mutters.

“I absolutely did not start anything.”

“You did and you know it,” she says, and then she’s pulling you inside.

The curtain falls behind you with a soft whoosh that suddenly makes everything outside feel like a different world entirely.

It’s smaller in here than you expect.

Always is.

The bench is barely wide enough for one person, let alone two, but Robin is already sitting, already pulling you down with her like there’s no question about it.

Your legs bracket hers, knees on either side of her legs. Your thighs press together, her hands finding your waist to hold you on her lap.

And suddenly everything outside the booth feels impossibly far away.

For half a second, neither of you speaks.

“Mind telling me what we’re doing in here?” You whisper to her, brushing back her hair as she looks up at you with what may be the widest eyes you’ve ever seen.

Robin exhales.

“Okay,” she says, like she’s been holding her breath since Scoops. “I couldn’t— I couldn’t do the whole walking-around-like-that thing anymore.”

You blink at her.

“What thing?”

She looks at you like you’re being difficult on purpose.

“That thing,” she says, softer now, eyes flicking down to your mouth and then back up again. “Where you exist next to me and I’m supposed to pretend I don’t want to—”

She doesn't finish it. Doesn’t have to.

Because she’s already leaning in.

The first kiss is quick. Almost careful.

Like she’s testing whether the world will punish her for it.

It barely lasts a second, just the soft press of her mouth to yours, warm and a little uncertain at the edges, like she came in expecting to pull away any moment. But she doesn’t. Not immediately.

Instead, she stays there.

Close enough that you can feel the way she exhales through her nose, a quiet, shaky thing that doesn’t sound like her at Scoops or in front of anyone else. Close enough that the space between you stops feeling like space at all and starts feeling like a held breath.

It’s not rushed, not really—it’s just restrained, like she’s been holding something back for so long she doesn’t quite remember how to let it go gently.

Her hand tightens slightly at your waist, not pulling you closer so much as anchoring herself there, like she needs something solid to prove this is real. The photo booth hums faintly around you, fluorescent light flickering somewhere above, but it all feels distant, softened at the edges, like the world outside got turned down to a whisper.

And then—barely, barely—she shifts.

It’s small. A tilt of her head, a second attempt that isn’t hesitant anymore. The kind of movement that says she’s stopped asking permission from her fear. 

Her mouth meets yours again, and this time it lingers—just enough for the shape of it to settle in, for the warmth of her to stop feeling like surprise and start feeling like intention.

You can feel it in the way she breathes your name against your mouth without saying it out loud, in the way her fingers flex once at your waist like she’s grounding herself in the fact that you’re actually here, actually real, actually choosing this with her in a space too small to pretend anything else is happening.

When she finally pulls back, she’s smiling like she forgot how to do anything else.

“We should go. Someone might catch us,” you say immediately, even though you don’t move. You’ve got no intention of going anywhere, but you know you should.

She looks around quickly, eyes grazing the curtain and space behind the two of you.

She reverts her gaze to you.

“I don’t see how anyone would see us,” she says, like it’s obvious. “We’re literally covered.”

You let out a quiet breath that turns into a laugh before you can stop it.

“Robin.”

“What?” she asks, completely unbothered, already leaning in again like the idea of stopping is purely theoretical.

Her lips move from yours.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Not like she’s rushing anywhere, not like she’s trying to prove a point anymore—like she’s learning. Learning you for the hundredth time at the least. Like she’s memorizing you in real time, letting the urgency drain out of her in favor of something quieter, something that feels almost reverent in the small, humming space of the photo booth.

You feel it before you fully understand it—this shift in her. The way her breath changes against your skin, the way her hold at your waist steadies instead of tightens, like she’s finally stopped bracing for impact.

And then she’s not kissing your mouth anymore.

She’s kissing the corner of it first, so gentle it almost doesn’t feel real, like she’s checking if you’ll disappear if she’s too soft. When you don’t, when you just sit there breathing her in like it’s the only thing keeping you steady, she drifts lower.

Her lips brush your jaw next.

Slowly. Carefully. Like she’s tracing something she’s only ever been allowed to look at from a distance until now. Which is true in public. But when you’re alone, her lips are everywhere.

It makes something in your chest pull tight—not painful, just overwhelming in the way it always is when Robin forgets how carefully she’s supposed to exist around you in public. Because as fragile as this is, it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Another kiss—your cheek this time. Lingering just a second longer than the last, like she’s getting braver without asking permission from herself.

And you can feel it building in her, the way she pauses for the smallest fraction of a second between each touch, like she’s collecting courage in those tiny gaps. Like every place she kisses is a place she’s been thinking about when she’s supposed to be scooping ice cream or talking to Steve or pretending she doesn’t look at you the way she does.

Her breath stutters faintly when she moves lower again, and it hits you all at once that this isn’t just affection for her.

It’s relief.

It’s want she’s been folding in on itself for so long it’s practically bruised.

And when her lips finally reach the side of your neck, it’s not rushed. It’s not careless. It’s soft in a way that feels almost disarming—like she’s placing something there instead of taking anything at all.

And God, you want it. Of course you do.

But it can’t happen. At least, not now. Not in public.

“Rob—Robin,” you whisper, voice breathy and soft, but still trying to stop her. “You can’t.”

She pauses instantly.

Looks up at you.

All innocence.

“What?”

She’s utterly confused at your words. But her expression carries a hint of worry. Like she’s afraid she hurt you, or crossed a line you didn’t want crossed.

“You can’t leave marks,” you whisper, like saying it quieter makes it easier. “Not here.”

Something shifts in her expression.

Not frustration.

Something warmer.

Something that makes your stomach twist in a way that feels dangerously close to wanting everything at once.

“Can’t we break the rules just this once?” she asks.

And it’s not teasing.

Not really.

It’s almost pleading.

You shake your head gently, fingers brushing her wrist where she’s still holding you.

“Maybe some other time,” you say, lower now. “When literally anyone else could be a suspect. But not when it’s just you and me.”

You see it land.

The way her shoulders drop just slightly.

The way she exhales like she’s letting something go she didn’t realize she was holding.

“…fine,” she says.

She’s about to lift you off of her lap, her hands gripping your waist to pick you up. But then, like she’s bargaining with fate itself—

“One more kiss.”

You huff a laugh.

“Robin.”

“Come on, please?” She whispers, looking up at you. Some combination of those eyes and that voice convinced you.

You let her.

She kisses you again.

Soft.

Longer than “one more” implies.

When she pulls back, she’s already smiling again like she didn’t just completely forget her own promise.

“Okay,” she says. Then again, softer— “One more.”

You shake your head, laughing now for real.

“Robin.”

“What? I said one more. That was technically not long enough. So I need to reset.”

“You are making up rules as you go.”

“That’s how rules work,” she says confidently.

She kisses you again.

You’re smiling against her mouth now.

“Okay,” she mumbles afterward, forehead briefly resting against yours. “Okay, now we go.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Do we?”

“Yes,” she says immediately. Then, after a beat— “Probably.”

You laugh softly, finally pushing the curtain aside.

The mall rushes back in.

Too loud.

Too bright.

Too normal.

Robin steps out first, then turns slightly like she’s checking if reality noticed anything.

It hasn’t.

That’s the thing about Hawkins. It doesn't notice as long as you lurk where no one can see you. You can get away with things if you're careful.

But the second you gain that confidence in public? Everyone hears about it.

She offers you her hand like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

You take it. There’s enough teenage girls around that replicate the closeness between you too. Enough that you’ll pass as just friends.

Good friends.

And just like that, you’re both walking again—too close, too soft, too careful.

Like nothing happened.

Like always.

꧁☆꧂

The mall keeps moving around you like it doesn’t care what just shifted between your ribs.

People pass. Laughter echoes somewhere near the arcade. A coin clatters into a machine and disappears into noise.

And Robin is still right there beside you.

Still too close.

Still acting like her entire existence didn’t just temporarily forget how to be normal in a photo booth five minutes ago.

She’s talking again almost immediately.

Of course she is.

“And I’m telling you,” she says, gesturing vaguely with her free hand while the other still brushes near yours like it hasn’t decided what it wants to do yet, “Steve’s entire argument about ‘customer service charm’ is fundamentally flawed because charm implies I have to be fake nice and I refuse—”

You’re listening.

You are.

Mostly.

But it’s hard when she keeps glancing at you like that. Like she’s still half stuck in the booth with you, like part of her didn’t fully come back out into the hallway.

You bump her shoulder lightly.

“Don’t you dare call me dramatic again because I am not.” she immediately says.

“You so are.”

“I am right,” she corrects you, like that’s somehow different.

You smile, shaking your head a little.

And that’s when she stops.

She’s gone completely still.

It’s subtle, like everything with her always is when it actually matters.

Her voice trails off without her realizing it. Her hand, mid-gesture, slowly lowers.

And then she’s looking across the mall.

Not at you.

Past you.

Like something just pulled her attention somewhere else and forgot to ask permission.

You follow her gaze.

At first, you don’t see what she’s looking at.

Just storefronts. Bright colors. Passing people. The usual blur of mall life.

And then you notice it.

A tucked-away shop wedged between a clothing store and an arcade cabinet wall.

Soft lighting. Plush displays in the window. A bright, slightly worn sign that looks like it’s trying a little too hard to be cheerful.

Build-A-Bear Workshop.

Robin goes very, very quiet.

Which is… new.

You glance at her.

“Robin?” 

She doesn’t answer right away. She’s still staring at it like it’s personally offended her. Or like it’s personally called her name.

Then—

“We have got to go.” she says, almost to herself.

Her hand catches your wrist without hesitation and she’s already pulling you with her before you can even process the shift.

“Wait—Robin—what are you doing?”

But she’s walking like she’s on a mission.

Like she just found something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Robin.”

She doesn’t stop.

She just says, very simply:

“We’re going in there.”

You blink.

“…what?”

Now she looks at you like you’re the confusing one.

“We’re going in there.”

You slow your steps.

“Robin, that place is for kids.”

That finally makes her pause.

She turns slightly, still holding your wrist, eyebrows raised like she’s offended on principle.

“Well,” she says, very matter-of-factly, “we’re not over eighteen, so we don’t qualify as adults.”

You blink.

“Robin—”

“And,” she continues, getting more confident now, like she’s building a legal case she absolutely did not think through beforehand, “according to my standards, that means we technically count as kids.”

She nods once, like that settles it.

“If you squint.”

You just stare at her.

“…that’s not how any of that works.”

Robin tightens her grip on your wrist slightly and starts walking again.

“Shut up and come on.”

That’s it.

No further argument.

No additional logic.

Just immediate confidence in a completely unserious opinion.

You let out a breath—half laugh, half disbelief—but you’re already following her again anyway.

Because of course you are.

Because she’s still holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And because she looks weirdly excited now.

Like she just decided something important.

Like this matters more than she’s admitting.

The closer you get, the brighter the store feels.

Soft lights spilling out onto the mall floor. Rows of half-finished stuffed animals sitting in little bins like they’re waiting to be chosen. Music that feels overly cheerful in a way that makes your chest ache for no reason you want to name.

Robin slows only when you reach the entrance.

She glances at you once.

Quick.

Checking.

Like she’s making sure you’re still with her in this ridiculous decision.

And then, softer than before:

“Just… trust me, okay?”

You exhale through your nose, shaking your head a little.

But your fingers squeeze hers back anyway.

“Yeah,” you say. “Okay.”

And that’s enough for her.

Robin smiles—small, bright, entirely too satisfied for someone about to drag you into a store full of stuffed animals.

And then she pulls you inside.

꧁☆꧂

The air inside hits you first.

Warm in a different way than the rest of the mall—softer, almost. Like everything in here has been designed to feel safe. Bright lights, but not harsh. Music playing overhead that’s cheerful in a way that borders on nostalgic, like something you’re supposed to remember even if you don’t.

There are bins everywhere.

Rows and rows of unstuffed animals, all slightly slumped in on themselves, waiting. Little fabric bodies with flat limbs and soft, expectant faces. It’s almost unsettling for half a second—like they’re all holding their breath.

Robin, however, is immediately focused.

Her hand slips from yours without ceremony—not because she wants to let go, but because she’s already stepping forward, already scanning the displays like she just walked into the most important decision of her life.

“Oh my God,” she breathes.

You blink at her.

“Robin—”

“Wait,” she cuts you off, holding a hand up like you just tried to interrupt a life-or-death situation. “Give me a second.”

And then she’s gone.

Not far—just two steps ahead—but fully gone in the way she gets when something grabs her attention completely. She crouches slightly by one of the bins, picking up a floppy, unstuffed bear and turning it over in her hands like she’s assessing it.

You cross your arms loosely, watching her.

“…you’re kidding,” you say.

Robin doesn’t even look at you.

“No,” she says, completely serious.

She lifts the bear up, squinting at it.

“This one…” she starts slowly, like she’s about to deliver a diagnosis. “…has potential.”

You press your lips together.

“It’s a stuffed bear.”

She finally looks at you then, offended.

“It’s a life partner,” she corrects. “Be respectful.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself, turning your head slightly like that might hide it.

“Oh my God.”

“I’m serious,” she insists, standing up now, still holding the bear carefully—carefully, like it matters. “You can’t just rush into this. This is a long-term commitment.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“To a stuffed animal.”

“To our stuffed animal,” she says, like that clarifies everything.

And—

It does something to you.

Small. Quiet. Immediate.

Your breath catches just slightly, like something in your chest wasn’t prepared for the way she said that. Our. So easy. So natural. Like it didn’t weigh anything at all when it lands square in the center of you.

You don’t say anything about it.

You just look at her.

Robin, completely unaware—or maybe just pretending to be—keeps going.

She sets the first bear back with a soft little shake of her head.

“No,” she decides. “Not right.”

You tilt your head.

“Not right,” you repeat.

“It’s lacking depth,” she says.

You stare at her.

“It’s fabric.”

“Exactly,” she says, like that proves her point.

You huff out another quiet laugh, shaking your head, but you step closer anyway. Close enough that your shoulder brushes hers as you look down into the bin with her.

She doesn’t react.

Not outwardly.

But she shifts just slightly toward you. Just enough.

Like always.

You reach down, picking up another one—this one a little smaller, lighter in color.

“What about this one?” you ask.

Robin leans in immediately, shoulder pressing more firmly into yours as she peers at it.

Too close.

Not enough to draw attention.

Enough that you feel it everywhere.

She studies it, serious.

“…hmm,” she hums.

You glance at her, trying not to smile.

“Well?”

She tilts her head.

“It’s… fine.”

You gasp, mock-offended.

“Fine?”

“Fine,” she repeats. “It doesn’t—spark anything.”

“You’re insane.”

“I have standards.”

“You’re picking a stuffed animal, not a soulmate.”

Robin looks at you again.

Dead serious.

“This is a soulmate.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling. You can feel it in your cheeks, the way it won’t go away no matter how much you try to play it off.

“Robin, just pick a bear.”

“No.”

“Robin—”

“This is our child.”

That one lands differently.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just—

there.

You still.

Just for a second.

It’s stupid, you know it is. She doesn’t mean anything by it—not in the way your brain immediately tries to twist it into. It’s just Robin. Dramatic, over-the-top, attached to everything she decides matters.

But still—

Our child.

Something soft blooms in your chest before you can stop it. Something that feels dangerously close to imagining things you don’t let yourself imagine. Something that looks like quiet mornings and shared spaces and a version of the world where you don’t have to pretend you’re anything less than what you are together.

You swallow it down. Gently. Carefully.

Like you always do.

“…you’re ridiculous,” you say, but your voice is softer now.

Robin doesn’t catch the shift.

Or maybe she does, in the way she always does—without saying anything.

She just nudges your shoulder with hers.

“You love it,” she says.

You don’t answer that.

Because you do.

You absolutely do.

She moves to another bin, and you follow without thinking. Of course you do. You always orbit her, just like she orbits you. It’s instinct at this point.

She picks up another bear—this one a little bigger, a soft brown color, simple. No bright patterns, no gimmicks. Just… soft.

She pauses. You notice it immediately. Because she’s gone quiet again.

“…this one,” she says, softer now.

You step closer, looking at it with her. And something about it—

You don’t know what it is, but it feels right. Not because it’s special.

Because it’s simple. Warm. Familiar in a way you can’t explain.

You reach out without thinking, your fingers brushing hers as you both adjust your grip on it at the same time.

It’s small.

But it’s there.

Your fingers resting against hers, both of you holding the same thing like neither of you wants to let go first.

Robin doesn’t pull away. Neither do you.

“…yeah,” you say quietly.

She looks at you. Not at the bear. At you.

“Yeah?” she echoes.

You nod once. “Yeah.”

Something in her face softens. Not dramatic. Not obvious.

Just—

right.

“Okay,” she says.

And that’s it. Decision made. No more overthinking. No more inspecting every option like it’s a life-altering choice.

She holds the bear a little closer to her chest, careful again in that way that makes your chest ache for reasons you don’t want to name.

Like it matters.

Like this matters.

You watch her for a second longer than you mean to. The way she looks at it. The way she doesn’t look at you, but somehow still includes you in the moment anyway.

And without thinking—

you reach out.

Not obvious. Not something anyone else would notice. Just your fingers brushing lightly against the back of her hand where it holds the bear.

A quiet little squeeze.

Gone almost as soon as it’s there.

Robin’s breath catches. Just barely. She doesn’t look at you. But she leans closer.

Just a fraction. Enough that your shoulders press together again. Enough that it feels like a secret.

“Okay,” she says again, softer this time.

꧁☆꧂

Robin doesn’t let go of the bear.

Not once.

Even as you both drift further into the store—past racks of tiny clothes and shelves of little accessories and bins of hearts in every color imaginable—she keeps it tucked close to her chest like it might disappear if she loosens her grip.

You walk beside her, close enough that your arms brush every few steps.

Close enough that it feels like something more, even when it can’t be.

There’s a small line at the stuffing station.

A couple of kids, a parent or two, someone laughing too loudly somewhere behind you. The soft whir of machines hums in the background, steady and mechanical in contrast to how quiet everything feels between you.

Robin shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

Not impatient.

Just… thinking.

You watch her from the corner of your eye.

The way her fingers absentmindedly smooth over the bear’s unstuffed arm. The way she presses her thumb into the fabric like she’s grounding herself in it. In this.

It’s such a small thing.

But you feel it anyway.

When it’s your turn, the employee gives the same speech they probably give a hundred times a day—warm, practiced, bright.

“Okay! So before we stuff your bear, you get to make a wish.”

Robin glances at you immediately.

Of course she does.

You raise an eyebrow slightly, like you’re bracing for commentary.

But she doesn’t say anything.

Not this time.

“…and then you give the heart a kiss,” the employee continues, placing a small, soft fabric heart into your hand.

It’s lighter than you expect.

Simple.

Just a little red shape sitting in your palm.

You don’t overthink it.

You don’t hesitate.

You close your fingers around it, bringing it up without making a show of it. No dramatic pause. No second-guessing.

Your eyes close for just a second.

The world doesn’t disappear—but it softens. The noise fades just enough that you can focus on the feeling of it. The weight of something small that’s supposed to hold something bigger.

Your wish isn’t loud.

It isn’t complicated.

It’s simple. A simple wish that a girl who wants nothing but to be able to be happy with her girlfriend in public would make.

You press the heart gently to your lips.

Quick. Soft. Like it’s something you’re not supposed to linger on in public.

And then you open your eyes again. Robin is already looking at you. Not casually. Not like she just happened to glance over.

She’s watching you.

Like she’s trying to memorize it.

The way your expression softened without you noticing. The way you didn’t make it a joke. The way you treated something small like it mattered.

It does something to her.

You can see it.

You hand the heart back without comment, like it didn’t mean anything more than the instructions said it should.

But when you glance at her again, she’s still looking at you like it meant everything.

“Your turn,” you say quietly.

She blinks. Like she forgot for half a second that she was next.

“Oh—yeah.”

The employee places another heart in her hand. Robin takes it.

And for a moment—

she freezes.

It’s small. Easy to miss. But you know her.

Her fingers curl around the heart, but not confidently like yours did. There’s a slight pause in the movement. A hesitation that wasn’t there before when she was analyzing bears like they held the meaning of life.

Because this—

this is different.

This asks for something real.

And suddenly the world outside this moment feels closer again. Louder. Watching, even if it isn’t. The weight of what you are, what you can’t say, what has to stay quiet—

It all brushes up against her at once. She looks at the heart. Then at you.

Just for a second.

There’s something in her eyes—not panic, not exactly. Just… uncertainty. Like she’s standing on the edge of something she doesn’t know how to hold in public.

You don’t say anything. You don’t push. You just look back at her. Steady. Soft.

Like it’s okay. Like I’m right here.

That’s all it takes. Her shoulders drop just slightly. Not all the way. Just enough.

Robin brings the heart up slowly. Not dramatic. Not performative.

Careful.

Like it actually matters.

Her eyes flick to yours one more time—quick, almost instinctive—before she presses the heart to her lips. And it’s softer than you expect.

Not rushed. Not joking.

Soft in a way that feels almost… private.

Like she’s putting something into it she doesn’t have words for. Her lips linger there for just a second longer than necessary.

And when she lowers it again, her voice barely exists when it slips out—

“…don’t let me lose this.”

It’s so quiet you almost miss it. Almost. But you don’t. Because of course you don’t.

Your chest tightens. Not sharply. Just enough to remind you how much is sitting unspoken between the two of you.

She doesn’t look at you right away after she says it. Like maybe she’s not sure if she actually said it out loud.

Like maybe she’s hoping you heard it without having to acknowledge it.

The employee takes the heart back, smiling like everything is normal, like this is just another step in a simple process.

The bear gets placed under the machine.

The stuffing starts—soft whirring filling the space as it slowly comes to life, filling out, rounding into something solid and real.

Robin watches it like it’s important. Like she’s watching something become.

And without thinking—

her hand finds yours.

Her fingers brush against yours first, like always. Testing. Then settle.

Just for a second. Just enough.

You don’t look at her. You don’t react in any way anyone else would notice. You just let your hand shift slightly so your fingers press back.

Quiet. Certain.

And then it’s gone. Like it never happened. Except it did. And it meant everything.

꧁☆꧂

The transition from the stuffing station to the clothing section feels like stepping into a completely different kind of chaos.

Soft chaos.

Color everywhere—tiny hangers lined up in rows, racks packed too tightly with miniature outfits, shelves stacked with shoes no bigger than your palm. Bright fabrics, glittery fabrics, absurd fabrics. Little plastic sunglasses. Hats. Shoes with laces that are purely decorative.

It’s overwhelming.

And Robin—

Robin absolutely thrives in it.

“Oh, this is dangerous,” she says immediately.

You laugh under your breath, following close behind her as she drifts toward the nearest rack like she’s been here a hundred times before.

“Dangerous?” you echo.

“Yes,” she says, already flipping through outfits with quick, decisive movements. “Because I have no self-control and this is clearly a situation that requires a lot of self-control.”

You lean slightly against the rack beside her, arms loosely folded, watching her.

“You’re dressing a stuffed bear.”

“Our stuffed bear,” she corrects instantly.

You don’t even argue this time.

She pulls something off the rack with a little gasp. “Oh my God.” You already know.

“Robin—”

She turns to you, holding it up with both hands like she just discovered something revolutionary.

A tiny sailor outfit. White and blue. Little collar. Miniature hat.

You stare at it. Then at her. Then back at it.

“…no,” you say immediately.

“Yes,” she counters, stepping closer—too close, not that either of you acknowledge it. “Look at it. Look at this. It’s perfect.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s iconic,” she corrects.

You can’t help it—you laugh, shaking your head. “You just want it because it matches your Scoops uniform.”

She gasps like you’ve deeply offended her.

“That is not the only reason.”

“It’s the only reason.”

“It’s a bonus,” she amends, already turning back to the rack like the argument is over. “And also, it’s important for bonding.”

“Bonding.”

“Yes.”

“With the bear.”

“With our child,” she says, like you’re the one being unreasonable.

You press your lips together, trying not to smile again. Failing.

She grabs a second outfit. Then a third. And suddenly her arms are full.

“Robin,” you say, reaching out instinctively to steady one of the hangers before it slips. Your fingers brush hers.

Neither of you pulls away immediately. Just for a second. Just long enough to notice.

Then you take the hanger from her like it’s the only reason your hand was there at all.

“You cannot possibly be serious,” you continue.

“I am completely serious,” she says, nodding once like that settles it. “This is a critical moment.”

You glance down at what she’s holding.

“…sunglasses?” you ask.

“Essential,” she says.

“For what?”

“Protection.”

“From what?”

“The sun.”

“We’re inside.”

“Preparation is key.”

You laugh again, softer this time, shaking your head as you hold up another tiny outfit from the rack.

“What about this one?” you ask, mostly just to see what she’ll say.

Robin leans in immediately. Too close.

Her shoulder presses into yours, her arm brushing along yours as she angles herself to look at what you’re holding. Her hair shifts slightly as she moves, and for half a second—

her breath is right there. Warm against your cheek.

“You have terrible taste,” she says quietly.

You turn your head just enough to look at her.

“You didn’t even give it a chance.”

“I didn’t need to.”

Her voice is lower now. Not intentionally. Just… softer under everything else. And you feel it anyway.

“Rude,” you murmur.

She hums like she doesn’t care, but she doesn’t move away. Not right away.

She lingers there for a second too long before pulling back just enough to grab another outfit.

It keeps happening like that. Little things.

You hand her something—your fingers brush.

She takes it—but slower than necessary. Her hand lingers just a fraction too long before letting go.

She leans in to show you something—her shoulder pressing into yours, her voice dropping slightly like it’s just for you even in a store full of people.

It’s soft. Too soft.

Almost dangerous in a place like this. And neither of you stops.

“Okay, but this—this is non-negotiable,” Robin says, holding up the sailor outfit again like she’s making a final ruling.

You sigh dramatically.

“Robin—”

“It matches me,” she says, like that alone should win the argument.

“That’s exactly why we shouldn’t get it.”

“That’s exactly why we should. Come on, you’d have something to remember me by if those kids ever kill me for Scoops sample.”

You look at her.

Really look at her.

The way she’s standing there, so earnest about something so small. The way she’s holding it like it matters. The way her eyes flick to you—not to win, but to share it.

“…you’re impossible,” you say, softer now.

She smiles. Not big. Just enough.

“I know.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward.

Just—

full.

And then—

“Are you two sisters?”

The voice comes from behind you. You both turn slightly. A worker stands there, smiling warmly, completely unaware of the way the question lands.

“Or best friends?” she adds.

And for a second—

everything stills.

It’s small. Barely noticeable from the outside. But it’s there. The pause.

You feel it in the way Robin doesn’t answer immediately.

In the way your fingers, still loosely holding one of the hangers, suddenly feel too aware of where her hand is next to yours.

You glance at her. She’s not looking at the worker. She’s looking at you. And something in her expression—

it softens.

Not hidden fast enough.

Not covered up with humor or deflection like she usually does.

Just… honest.

Open in a way that feels too big for a simple question.

“Yeah,” she says after a second.

Quiet.

“…something like that.”

Her eyes don’t leave yours when she says it.

Not for a second. It’s not defiance. It’s not a joke. It’s just—

the closest thing to the truth she can give out loud.

The worker smiles, nodding like that makes perfect sense.

“Well, you two are doing great,” she says warmly. “I love the choices of outfits.”

She gestures to the sailor outfit. Of course she does.

Then she moves on.

Just like that. The moment passes. But it doesn’t really pass. It settles.

Somewhere deeper.

You let out a small breath, shifting your weight slightly before bumping your shoulder into Robin’s.

“Something like that, huh?” you say lightly.

Robin immediately looks away.

“Okay, I didn’t— that’s not— I just—” she stumbles, words tripping over each other in a way that’s so completely her it almost makes you laugh again. “It was the easiest explanation!”

You grin. “Mm.”

“Don’t—don’t do that,” she mutters, ducking her head slightly like she’s trying to hide the fact that she’s smiling.

“Do what?”

“That.”

You laugh softly. She huffs, but it’s not real irritation. Never is with you.

Her hand shifts slightly as she adjusts the clothes she’s holding.

Your fingers brush again.

Neither of you moves away.

Not this time.

It lingers.

Just a second longer than it should.

Just long enough to mean something.

Robin clears her throat, like she’s trying to reset herself.

“Okay,” she says, a little too quickly. “Sailor outfit. Final decision.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“No more emotional depth analysis?”

“This one already has it,” she says firmly.

You shake your head, but you’re smiling again.

“Of course it does.”

And just like that—

you both keep standing there. Too close. Too soft. Too careful. Like everything is balanced on something neither of you says out loud.

And neither of you wants to move away first.

꧁☆꧂

The decision, once it’s made, feels final in a way neither of you questions.

Robin clutches the little bundle of clothes and the now-stuffed bear like she’s afraid someone might take them back if she loosens her grip for even a second. You stay close as you make your way to the checkout, instinctively matching her pace, your shoulder brushing hers every few steps like it’s something your bodies decided on without consulting you.

The line is short.

Two people ahead of you.

A kid bouncing on their heels, a parent trying to wrangle them, the soft beep of the register scanning items one by one. It’s all normal. Mundane. The kind of thing that should ground the moment back into something simple.

It doesn’t.

Robin shifts beside you, adjusting her hold on the bear. Your eyes track the movement without thinking—the way her fingers smooth over the fabric again, absentminded, gentle. Like she’s reassuring it.

Like she’s reassuring herself.

“You’re holding it like it’s fragile,” you murmur.

She glances at you.

“It is fragile,” she says quietly. “It just got born.”

You huff out a soft laugh, looking away for a second so she doesn’t see how much that lands.

“Right. Of course.”

She nudges your shoulder lightly.

You nudge her back.

The line moves forward.

You step up together—close enough that your arms press from elbow to wrist for a second too long before either of you shifts. Not away. Just… adjusted. Enough to look normal.

Not enough to actually create space.

Robin sets everything on the counter carefully. The bear first. Then the little sailor outfit, smoothing it out like presentation matters.

You lean your elbows lightly against the edge of the counter, watching her.

She’s focused.

A little too focused.

Like if she looks busy enough, she won’t have to think about anything else still sitting between you from the last ten minutes.

The cashier smiles, scanning the items one by one. The soft beep echoes in the small space between you.

“Did you have fun today?” they ask, casual, warm.

Robin answers immediately.

“Yes,” she says, a little too quick, a little too bright. “Very educational experience.”

You bite back a smile.

“Educational?” you echo under your breath.

She elbows you lightly.

“I learned a lot about responsibility,” she mutters back.

“Mm. I’m sure you did.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real bite to it.

The total comes up.

You both reach for your wallets at the same time.

Pause.

Look at each other.

“No,” you both say at once.

You laugh.

Robin huffs.

“I’m paying,” she insists.

“You are not.”

“I am.”

“You picked it out.”

“Exactly,” she says, like that’s proof. “It’s my responsibility.”

“Our responsibility,” you correct softly.

That stops her.

Just for a second.

Her expression flickers—something warm, something quiet—and then she looks away again, shaking her head slightly.

“…fine,” she mutters. “We’re splitting it.”

You don’t argue. You don’t need to.

The cashier finishes up, hands you the small bag with the bear tucked carefully inside, along with the folded outfit.

Robin takes it as soon as he sets it down.

Of course she does.

“Thank you,” she says, softer now. And then you’re moving again. Out of the store. Back into the mall.

The difference hits immediately. It’s quieter out here.

Not actually quieter—the mall is still full, still humming—but it feels quieter. Like stepping out of something contained and into open air again.

Like you can breathe a little easier.

Robin slows just slightly as you walk, her shoulder brushing yours again, automatically finding that same closeness without either of you acknowledging it.

You match her pace. Of course you do.

For a few seconds, neither of you says anything. You just walk.

The bag in her hands, the soft noise of footsteps around you, the glow of the mall lights stretching out ahead.

There’s something lingering. Not heavy.

Just… warm.

Like you’re both still inside that store in some small way. Still holding onto something you don’t want to name out loud.

Robin shifts the bag to one hand. Her other hand drops to her side. Close to yours.

Not touching. Not yet.

Your fingers brush first.

Light.

Accidental—enough to pass that way.

She doesn’t pull away.

Neither do you. It happens again. This time slower. More deliberate. Your pinky hooks around hers for a second—testing, the same way it always is.

She inhales softly. Then her fingers turn.

Interlacing with yours fully.

Quick. Subtle. Like she decided before she could talk herself out of it. Your hand fits into hers like it’s supposed to be there.

Natural. Easy.

You don’t look at her.

You don’t react in any way anyone else would notice. You just let your grip settle. Warm. Certain.

Robin exhales quietly beside you. Not tense. Not nervous. Just… softer.

She starts talking again after a second.

But it’s different now.

Quieter. Less performative. Like she’s not trying to fill space anymore—just sharing it.

“And I’m just saying,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing lightly against yours in a way that feels almost absentminded, “if this bear ends up having better emotional stability than me, I’m going to be deeply offended.”

You smile faintly, eyes still forward.

“I think that’s a very real possibility.”

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

She nudges your shoulder with hers again. You lean into it just slightly. Not enough for anyone to realize.

Enough that she feels it. Her hand tightens around yours for half a second. Then relaxes again.

Neither of you lets go. And the mall keeps moving around you.

People passing. Voices overlapping. Lights reflecting off the floor.

But you stay in your own little pocket of it. Close. Quiet.

Fingers laced together like it’s the most natural thing in the world—

as long as no one’s looking too closely.

꧁☆꧂

The mall doors slide open with a soft mechanical hum, and the world outside greets you differently than it did earlier.

Cooler.

Quieter.

Real.

The artificial brightness of the mall fades behind you, replaced by the dim glow of parking lot lights flickering on one by one as the sky dips further into evening. The air feels softer out here, like it’s not pressing in on you the same way.

And maybe it’s just that no one’s really looking.

Robin walks beside you, the bag swinging lightly from her wrist. Every few steps, it rustles—the faint crinkle of tissue paper inside—and she glances down at it like she needs to check that it’s still there.

Like it could disappear if she doesn’t.

You smile a little to yourself.

“You know it’s not going anywhere, right?”

She looks up at you immediately.

“I know,” she says, quick. Then, softer— “I just… want to make sure.”

You don’t tease her for that.

You couldn’t, even if you wanted to.

Because there’s something about the way she says it that feels like she’s not just talking about the bear.

Your shoulders brush as you walk.

Neither of you moves away.

The parking lot stretches out in front of you, rows of cars catching bits of yellow light, the distant sound of someone starting an engine somewhere far off. It feels bigger than it did earlier. Emptier.

Safer.

Robin's free hand still rests comfortably in yours, fingers interlinked, her thumb tracing little circles on your knuckles.

She wouldn’t dare let go.

You squeeze her hand once.

She squeezes back immediately.

And neither of you lets go. No one’s watching, anyway. What’s the harm?

Your car comes into view, sitting under a flickering light that hums quietly overhead.

Robin lets go of your hand only long enough for you to unlock it, and even then, her fingers trail against yours for as long as they can before slipping away.

You open the passenger door for her.

She pauses.

Looks at you.

There’s something soft in her expression—something quiet and full all at once.

“Thank you,” she says, like it means more than just the door.

You just nod a little, smiling.

“Anytime.”

She climbs in, immediately placing the bag carefully on her lap like it’s something fragile. Something important. She opens it just enough to peek inside, adjusting the bear slightly, smoothing down its tiny outfit like she’s making sure it’s comfortable.

You walk around to the driver’s side, sliding in, the familiar feel of the seat grounding in a way everything else tonight hasn’t been.

For a second, neither of you starts the car.

It’s quiet.

Just the faint ticking of cooling metal, the distant buzz of the parking lot lights, the soft rustle of tissue paper as Robin adjusts the bear again.

“You’re gonna wear it out before we even get home,” you murmur.

“I am making sure it is properly situated,” she replies immediately, serious. Then, after a beat— “It’s had a long day.”

You huff a quiet laugh, starting the engine.

The car hums to life.

Robin finally settles, placing the bear gently between you on the center console, one hand still resting lightly on it like she’s not ready to let go completely.

Like it belongs there. Like it’s always belonged there.

The drive starts slow.

The headlights cut through the dim parking lot as you pull out, the radio left low—barely there, just soft background noise blending into the quiet.

Robin leans back in her seat. Exhales.

The kind of exhale that feels like the end of something. Or maybe the beginning.

“You know,” she says after a moment, voice softer now, “that might have been the best decision I’ve ever made.”

You glance at her briefly.

“The bear?”

“Yes, the bear,” she says, like it’s obvious. Then—quieter— “And… everything else.”

Your chest tightens a little at that. You don’t say anything right away.

You just reach over, hand finding hers. Simple. Easy. Allowed now that no one can see you. The privacy of the car envelopes the two of you.

She takes it instantly, fingers curling around yours, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles like she needs the contact just as much as you do.

The bear sits between you, silent.

A witness.

A few minutes pass like that.

The road stretches out ahead in long, uninterrupted lines of asphalt and light, streetlamps sliding over the windshield in steady intervals like a quiet pulse. Inside the car, everything feels softened at the edges—the hum of the engine, the faint rattle of movement, the distant world outside you both thinning into something that barely exists.

Robin shifts beside you.

It’s not sudden. Not restless. More like she’s finally letting herself settle after holding too much tension for too long. The seatbelt creaks faintly as she adjusts, shoulder brushing the door, and then she turns just slightly toward you like it’s the most natural thing in the world to stop facing forward.

Her other hand—free now—finds you without hesitation.

It comes to rest on your thigh with a kind of quiet certainty that makes your breath catch before you can stop it. Not gripping. Not grabbing. Just there. Warm through the fabric, grounding in a way that feels almost startling in its simplicity.

Like she’s decided, without saying it, that she doesn’t need to pretend anymore.

You don’t move. You don’t look at her right away. It feels too fragile for that, like even acknowledgment might shift something out of place. But your fingers, still loosely intertwined with hers, tighten just slightly in response anyway—an instinct you don’t bother hiding.

She notices.

Of course she does.

There’s a small pause, barely a heartbeat, and then her thumb moves over your hand again. This time slower. Deliberate in a way that feels like her earlier hesitation has been replaced with something steadier, something more sure of itself.

It drags once over your knuckles, then again, like she’s tracing a language only the two of you understand. Not rushed. Not trying to lead anywhere. Just… staying. Learning the shape of you in the quiet.

Her leg shifts a fraction closer in the narrow space of the car, not enough to announce itself, just enough that you feel it—enough that the contact between you stops feeling like an accident of proximity and starts feeling like a choice she keeps making over and over again.

And when her thumb pauses for a second, pressing a little more firmly into your hand before easing again, it doesn’t feel like silence.

It feels like she’s speaking anyway.

“You’re staring,” you say after a moment, eyes still on the road.

There’s a pause.

“…I am not.”

You glance at her. She is. Completely.

Her head tilted slightly toward you, her expression open in a way she only ever lets herself be when it’s just the two of you.

You raise an eyebrow.

She looks away immediately.

“I was not,” she insists, but there’s a smile tugging at her mouth.

“Mmhm.”

“I wasn’t,” she repeats, weaker this time.

You smile. “Okay.”

A beat. Then, quieter—

“What?”

She looks back at you, cautious.

“What ‘what’?”

“That look,” you say softly. “What was that for?”

She hesitates. Just for a second. Then—

“…nothing.”

You don’t buy it. You don’t push it, either. Instead, you just glance at her again.

Smile a little.

“Just me, or something?” you add, gently.

And that—

that gets her.

Her entire face changes in an instant. Flustered. She lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, turning toward the window like she can hide it.

“That is not fair,” she mutters.

You grin. “It’s true.”

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. Really smiling. The kind that lingers.

When stopped at a red light, you feel her shift closer to you.

She lifts the hand she had long since intertwined with yours, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. Her lips meet your skin with a gentleness you’d never expect to receive from such a casual, familiar gesture.

She’s kissed your hand before. Kissed far more than your hand, but it feels different each time.

You don’t think you’ll ever really get used to it. To any of this. Because Robin Buckley is the most perfect girl you’ve ever met.

And she’s yours.

She doesn’t look at you right away. Like she’s giving you a second to process it. 

When she does, her expression is soft. A little shy.

“…hi,” she says quietly.

You let out a breath that turns into a small laugh.

“Hi.”

The light turns green. You start driving again. But your hand stays in hers.

The rest of the drive feels like something suspended. Like time slowed down just enough to let you sit in it.

Robin keeps talking, but it’s different now. Quieter. Softer.

Stories that trail off into small laughs, into comfortable silence, into moments where neither of you says anything at all.

Just… exist. Her hand never leaves yours. Sometimes her thumb traces absent patterns against your skin.

Sometimes she just holds on, like she doesn’t want to risk losing it.

The car eventually turns onto your street. Familiar to the both of you. Quiet.

The kind of quiet that feels safe.

Robin shifts again, her hand tightening around yours just slightly. Like she’s holding onto the last bit of something.

The bear sits between you, still carefully positioned, its tiny outfit slightly wrinkled from being adjusted too many times.

You pull into the driveway. The engine idles for a second before you turn it off.

And suddenly—

it’s very still.

No music. No road. Just you. And her. And the quiet.

Robin doesn’t move right away. Neither do you. Your hands are still intertwined between you.

Her thumb brushes yours once more. Slow. Soft.

“…today was really good,” she says quietly.

You nod. “Yeah.”

A beat. Then, softer—

“I like this.”

You glance at her.

“What?”

She shrugs slightly, but she doesn’t look away.

“This,” she repeats. “Us. Doing dumb things and… not having to pretend as much.”

Your chest tightens again. In a good way. You squeeze her hand.

“Me too.”

She smiles. Small. But real. That smile that it seems Robin reserves for you and only you.

And then, after a second—

“I love you.”

It’s quiet. Simple. Like she’s been holding it in all night and finally let it out where it feels safe to exist.

You don’t hesitate.

“I love you too.”

Her breath catches just slightly. Like it still surprises her every time. Even after months and months of being together.

She leans over the console a little, just enough to press a soft kiss to your cheek.

Then another. Closer to your jaw, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

You turn your head slightly—

and catch her lips with yours. It’s gentle. Slow.

Unhurried in a way nothing inside the mall ever was. No risk. No hiding.

Just warmth. Just her.

When you pull back, she’s smiling again.

Of course she is. She always is when it’s you.

“Okay,” she says after a moment, like she’s convincing herself. “We should… go inside.”

“Probably.”

Neither of you moves. She laughs quietly.

“Okay, seriously.”

“Yeah.”

Still—neither of you moves.

Finally, she pulls back, grabbing the bear carefully, holding it against her chest like it’s something precious.

Like it means something. Like you do.

You both get out of the car. The night air wraps around you again, cooler now, quieter.

Robin walks close beside you. So close your arms brush immediately.

And this time—neither of you even pretends not to notice.

The door closes behind you. The night settles.

And the world fades quietly around the two of you—

still soft, still warm, still yours.