#st fandom

[purplewriter]

[fauxunraveling]

the unspoken side plot of mike spending the past 18 months finding a hobby in costumizing little figurines to better visualize their plans (and keeping them in a bag w his d&d demogorgon) is so adorable

[lin-art]

I really love their dnd au✨️

[nicothespy]

finally living up to the username but at what cost

s5 byler except i havent drawn them in ages and the last time must have been 2 or 3 years ago now. uhm

[happy74827]

Hang Tight

[Steve Harrington x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When a night goes wrong in the middle of nowhere, you call the one person you trust to come running—no questions asked. [Tagging: @ladybuggirl2002]

WC: 2556

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Distress, Protective!Steve, Comfort After Trauma [TW: Panic Attack, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault]

Actually insane how it has taken me till the END of the series to start writing st characters. Inspiration strikes when it wants to ig 😭

『••✎••』

The night air clawed at your skin like it had teeth, sharp and unforgiving, as you stumbled into the phone booth at the edge of the gas station lot. Your skirt was twisted around your thighs, streaked with dirt from the gravel you'd scrambled over, and your blouse hung open at the collar, one button popped loose in the chaos. Blood—his blood—smeared the cuff of your sleeve, sticky and cooling against your wrist. Your fingers trembled so badly you could barely grip the receiver, fumbling through your purse for quarters that scattered across the booth floor like spilled tears. The metal enclosure felt too small, the glass walls closing in, fogging with your ragged breaths. Outside, the junkyard loomed dark and twisted, a graveyard of rusted cars that mirrored the mess in your chest—everything broken, nothing fitting back together.

You snatched a quarter, jammed it into the slot, and dialed the number etched into your memory from a crumpled napkin. The rotary wheel spun slowly, each click echoing like a countdown:

Ring one. Ring two. Nothing.

"Please," you whispered to the empty line, pressing the receiver harder against your ear. "Please pick up."

A third ring dragged on, and then—finally—a groggy mumble, thick with sleep and irritation. "Jesus Christ—Dustin, it’s two in the goddamn morn—" He cut himself off. "What is it now? If this is about your radio again, I swear to—"

The voice stole your breath, but not in a bad way. It was him. And just hearing it, even pissed off and half-asleep, made the shaking in your hands ease a fraction.

"It's not Dustin," you managed, your voice cracking like thin ice. "It's me. I… I just—Can you come get me? Please, Steve?"

Silence stretched for a beat, the kind that lasted too long, and you heard the rustle of sheets, the creak of bedsprings as he bolted upright. Papers shuffled—his nightstand, you pictured it, the drawer yanking open with a bang. A pencil scratched frantically against something, probably that beat-up notebook he kept for work shifts.

"Whoa—hey, hey. Slow down. You’re freaking me out. Where are you?" His words tumbled out now, all the grogginess burned away, replaced by that edge you knew too well: worry, sharp as a switchblade. He was scribbling, you could hear the pencil scraping, the flip of pages. "Okay—okay. Tell me exactly. I’m grabbing my keys."

You rattled off the gas station name, the road number, the turnoff by the junkyard—your words slurring together in a rush, breath hitching on every other syllable. It wasn't coherent, just a jumble of panic spilling out, but he didn't interrupt. He just breathed heavily on the line, like he was holding himself back from yelling through the phone to come faster.

Before the line went dead, he assured you he’d be there within ten minutes, tops. You could tell by the way his voice dropped low and steady at the end, almost as if he was already halfway out the door, keys jingling in his fist.

"Don’t move. I’m on my way, alright? Just hang tight."

The receiver clicked back into place with a hollow thud, and you slid down the booth wall, knees buckling until you sat on the cold floor amid the scattered quarters. The metal bit into your back, but you barely felt it. Your mind went blank at first, then replayed it all in jagged flashes: his hands too rough, too sure, the way your shove turned into a swing that cracked something wet and final. The run through the dark, branches snagging your skirt like claws, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. You pressed your palms to your eyes, trying to push it away, but the tears came anyway—hot, silent, soaking into the knees of your hose.

Time blurred. The fog on the glass thickened, your breath coming in shallow pulls that did nothing to warm the ache in your chest. Everything felt heavy, like you'd left pieces of yourself scattered back there in the dirt.

Then—a grip on your arm, firm but careful, yanking you from the haze. Your eyes flew open, a scream catching in your throat as you jerked back, hands flying up to shove whatever it was away. "No—get off—"

"Hey—hey, no, no. It’s me. It’s Steve. You’re okay."

Steve's voice cut through, low and urgent, his face filling the booth's doorway—pale under the buzzing light, eyes wide with his own panic. He was crouched low, one knee on the floor outside, his free hand raised like he was approaching a spooked animal. His hair stuck up wild from sleep, T-shirt twisted at the collar, like he'd thrown it on in the dark. You froze, the fight draining out as recognition hit, your body sagging against the glass.

He looked wrecked—brows pinched tight, mouth a grim line, scanning you like he was cataloging every tear in your clothes, every smudge on your skin.

"Jesus, you scared the shit outta me. I was yelling your name—you didn’t even move. I thought—" He cut off, swallowing hard, and squeezed in beside you, the booth too small for two. His hands found your shoulders, and he gently shook to pull you back entirely. "Hey. Look at me. You with me? C’mon—say something."

You nodded, jerky and small, but words wouldn't come. Instead, you lunged forward, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him down until he was half-sprawled on the floor with you. He grunted in surprise but didn't pull away—instead, his arms banded around your back, strong and sure, hauling you into his chest. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar mix of soap and faint cologne from his jacket, your fingers twisting into the soft cotton of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. He held you just as tight, one hand stroking down your spine in slow, soothing lines, his breath warm against your hair.

"Shh, I've got you," he murmured, voice muffled against your temple. He rocked you slightly, like you were something fragile he was afraid might shatter if he let go too soon. "You're okay. Whatever it is, we'll handle it. Just breathe."

You clung to him, the world narrowing to the steady thump of his heartbeat under your cheek, drowning out the distant hum of the gas station's neon sign. But his words—we'll handle it—twisted something in your gut. He thought this was bigger than it was. Thought it was monsters or curses or the kind of nightmare that came with glowing red skies and vines snaking from another dimension. Not this. Not some asshole with wandering hands and a smirk that made your skin crawl.

"Steve," you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. They were dark in the dim light, searching yours with that fierce protectiveness you'd seen a hundred times—usually aimed at Dustin or the others when things got dicey. "It's not... It's not what you think."

He blinked, confusion flickering across his face as he wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb, the touch so gentle it almost broke you all over again. "What do you mean? You call me at two a.m., sounding like the world's ending, from a goddamn junkyard payphone? And you look like—" He gestured vaguely at your disheveled state, his jaw tightening as his gaze snagged on the bloodstain on your sleeve. "Like you just fought off a demo-bat or worse. If this is some Upside Down thing again, you gotta tell me, okay? We’ll call Dustin, or Hopper, or—"

"No," you cut in, shaking your head, a watery laugh bubbling up despite everything. It sounded wrong, too brittle, but it eased the tension in his shoulders a fraction. "It's nothing like that. No monsters. No gates. Just a really shitty date."

He froze, his hands stilling on your arms. "A date?" The word came out flat, like he couldn't quite process it. His brows furrowed deeper, and he leaned back against the booth wall, pulling you with him so you were tucked against his side. "Wait, back up. You were on a date? Here? In the middle of nowhere?!"

You nodded, staring at the scattered quarters on the floor to avoid his eyes. Heat crept up your neck—embarrassment mixing with the lingering adrenaline. You'd been so excited earlier that evening. No one had ever asked you out before. Not really. High school had been a blur of awkward crushes and missed connections, and after graduation, with all the Hawkins weirdness, relationships felt like a luxury you couldn't afford. But when Mark—some guy from the video store down the street—had flashed that charming smile and suggested a drive-in movie, you'd said yes without thinking twice. You willingly dressed up, styled your hair... bought a new skirt, even. It felt like maybe things were finally turning normal for you.

"It was supposed to be fun," you mumbled, picking at a loose thread on your blouse. "He picked me up, and we went to the drive-in. But then he drove out here instead of taking me home. Said he wanted to 'talk.' But it wasn't… talking he wanted." Your voice cracked on the last word, and you swallowed hard, the memory flashing again: his breath hot on your neck, hands grabbing where they shouldn't, ignoring your protests until something in you snapped. Your fist connected with his nose in a sickening crunch, blood spraying as he yelped and reeled back. You'd bolted from the car, heart racing, not stopping until you hit the gas station.

Steve's face went through a whirlwind—confusion melting into realization, then hardening into something darker, angrier. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle tick under his skin, and his grip on your arms tightened just a fraction before he forced it to relax. "A shitty date," he repeated, like he was testing the words, his voice low and rough. He glanced down at the blood on your sleeve again, and his eyes narrowed, piecing it together. "That blood… he didn’t…"

It took you a moment to realize what he meant, your eyes widening as you shook your head frantically. "No, no—God, no. It's his. I punched him. Broke his nose, I think." You flexed your hand experimentally, wincing at the dull throb in your knuckles, the skin split and raw. It hurt like hell now that the adrenaline was fading, but in the moment, it had felt like nothing—just survival.

Steve's expression shifted again, a flash of surprise cutting through the anger, followed by something almost like pride—though it was quickly overshadowed by concern. He took your hand gently, turning it over in his to inspect the damage, his thumb brushing lightly over the bruised skin.

"Jesus," he muttered, his voice a mix of awe and exasperation. "Remind me never to piss you off." But there was no humor in it, not really. His eyes met yours, searching, and whatever he saw there made his features soften. It reminded you of the day you befriended him—how he, beaten and bloodied after that altercation with Jonathan and telling Tommy and Carol basically to go screw themselves, found you sulking on a random bench near the park. You thought no one would notice you that day, but he did, as he did now.

Speaking of, you were glad Steve didn’t ask who you were on a date with. You knew he'd have the guy’s job at the video store by morning, but you also knew Steve tended not to think things through when it came to the people he cared about. And as much as you’d like Mark to experience some sort of cosmic retribution, you didn't want it to be at Steve's expense. Especially not after witnessing how "skilled" he is at throwing punches.

"Let's get out of here," he said, already moving to help you up. His arm wrapped around your waist, supporting you as you swayed slightly, legs still shaky. He grabbed your purse from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder along with his own jacket, then steered you out of the now quarter-infested booth and toward the beat-up BMW parked at the edge of the lot. The car looked lonely under the streetlight, driver's door still ajar from when he'd bolted out.

He opened the passenger door for you, waiting until you were settled before closing it and jogging around to the other side. The engine roared to life with a comforting rumble, and Steve fiddled with the heater, blasting warm air at you before settling in to drive.

Just as his hand went to grasp the back of your seat, eyes flicking over his shoulder as he prepared to reverse out of the spot, you grabbed his wrist. The world tilted for a moment, but then, as his eyes met yours in the dim light of the dashboard, it made you realize something you hadn’t before. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the fear, or the relief of seeing him, but you were seeing him. Really seeing him. Not just the high school jock he used to be, not just the babysitter for the party, but Steve. The guy who came when you called, the guy who held you while you cried, the guy who was ready to fight monsters for you even when the only monster was a guy from the video store.

You realized in this moment that you never needed to go out on that date at all, that you already had everything you were looking for when you said yes. He was right here the whole time. Sure, maybe he was just being a good friend, but as you watched him, the familiar lines of his face softening with concern, the way he bit his lower lip when he was worried—it was all right there.

"Steve," you whispered again, and he froze, his hand hovering just above the seat, his body half-turned toward you. "I—"

But you didn't know how to finish. How could you put into words the sudden, overwhelming realization that everything you'd been searching for, everything you'd foolishly hoped for on that disastrous date, was already sitting in the driver's seat of this car? That the safety, the care, the warmth you craved was in the touch of his hands and the worried lines of his face? So you did the only thing you could think to do: stare at him, hoping he understood.

His brows pulled together, confusion and concern warring in his expression. He must've seen something in your eyes, something beyond the fear and the aftermath, because his gaze softened, and he leaned in closer, the car's small space shrinking until all you could see was him. He let go of the seatback, and his hand came up to cup your cheek, before pulling you close enough that he could press a soft kiss against your hairline.

A soft, chaste kiss. Not like the one you had tried to push away earlier. This one was gentle, respectful, and filled with a warmth that spread through your chest, chasing away the last of the chill from the night air. And as he pulled back, his eyes searching yours, you knew. You knew he felt it too.

"Let's get you home, yeah?"

[nataliehearts]

ᴀʟʟ ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ ᴡᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ (ᴛᴏ ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ : you and dustin have been distancing as of lately-- especially after eddies passing. you figure the best way to force him into talking with you is to ambush him at the one place he's always at; his house. but, even though he hasn't shown it, it's clear that he missed you. a lot.

ᴄᴡ : intense kissing / making out , mention of death , depression

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ : slight angst ? & fluff !!

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄɴᴛ. : 2.4k (sorry)

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ : i hope u enjoy !! my AO3 is evergrass

It’s been a month since Eddie’s passing. An entire month. And yet, every day seems to be getting harder. Well, it’s not like you expected it would get better. It’s just … hard. Hard watching Dustin push everyone away– hard watching him get his ass jumped every week. It's hard not being around him anymore.

You and Dustin used to be inseparable—before Hawkins split in two. When Dustin refused to let you through the gate at Eddie's trailer, you were cut off from the plan to kill Vecna. Of course, you were worried sick about your friends; their lives would be in danger, and you could do nothing about it. Then you heard it: faint screams of panic from Dustin and Eddie on the other side. You acted fast. Dustin came crashing through onto the mattress, and together you tried pulling Eddie back through. But it was no use—Eddie walked away, muttering nonsense about "being a hero."

Dustin tells you to stay—he'll go back for Eddie. You pace, anxiety climbing with every minute they don't return. Finally, you decide it's your turn to flip upside down. You throw yourself through the gate and land hard on your back. Running through the chaos, screaming Dustin's name, you find him hunched over Eddie's lifeless body. You both sobbed there, holding each other's hands. It felt like hours. Hours of pain. Hours of crying. You had to tear Dustin off of Eddie’s body to get him to return back home. 

So, yeah, Eddie’s death has been destroying you too. But nothing compared to Dustin. You’ve tried to talk to him. Tried to get him to talk to you. You’ve tried talking to Lucas, to Will, to Mike– anyone– but no one understands like Dustin does. 

After a full week of no contact; no phone call, no walkie-talkie activity, not even a glance in the hallway, you figure it’s time you go to him. Somewhere where he can’t run away, or make up an excuse to stop talking to you. 

His house. 

You bike through the dark neighborhood, only the streetlights lighting your path. You race against the wind, counting the blocks until you make it to Dustins. Once you arrive, you notice a warm light peering through Dustin's curtains. You lean your bike against the corner of his house and tiptoe towards his window. Praying he’s home, you knock softly on the window. No response. Your heart hammers against your chest as the suspense builds, wondering if this is the right thing to do. You knock again, your knuckles softly hitting the glass three times. 

Budump. Budump. Budump. 

The curtains from inside fly open, and there he is. Dustin. God, it’s been so long. Too long. You gesture at him to open the window to allow you inside. He rolls his eyes, fidgeting with the lock before the window opens. 

“What’re you doing here–?” He mumbles, as you struggle to get the other half of your body inside.

“Shut up and help me–!” You hissed. 

He doesn’t hesitate before pulling the rest of you inside. He closes the window as you adjust yourself, fixing your shirt that was lifted up. It feels warm inside– a cozy, familiar feeling that you missed oh so much. A single warm, yellow-toned lamp casts a soft glow across Dustin's room, casting just enough light to see his face. 

You look up at him, your eyes locking. You notice his maroon crewneck and black plaid pajama pants. But his face– his poor face is slightly beaten up. There's a fresh slit across his eyebrow and the bridge of his nose is slightly bruised. Your heart suddenly aches, as if it was broken apart like Hawkins itself. You reach a hand out to his face, caressing a thumb over his cheek. He reverts his eyes away, almost ashamed. 

“Are you– are you okay?” your voice was soft, laced with worry. 

He doesn't respond—but you don't need him to. Your hand slides from his face and finds his palm instead. You pull him behind you toward his bathroom, opening the cabinet without bothering with the light—you know where everything is. Bandages, cottons, and disinfectant in hand, you lead him back to his bed. He keeps quiet, following your every move like a lost puppy. 

You sit side by side on the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping beneath you in front of the window you just crawled in through. You face one another, your knees slightly brushing. You grab a cotton ball, swabbing it with the disinfectant. 

“Will you at least tell me what happened?” Your voice was softer than you intended. 

Dustin’s expressionless face doesn’t change, “It’s pretty clear what happened.”

You sigh at his sarcasm, brushing away stray curls from his face. Bringing the cotton to his eyebrow, you press lightly against the open wound. He tenses, eyes squinting from the pain.

You notice his watery eyes, “Does that sting?” 

He groans in response when you swipe the cotton away from his face, leaving a stain of blood. You feel a wave of pity, almost as if you feel his pain. You open a fresh bandaid, placing it on top of where the slit is. 

You pause before speaking, “It was Andy and his goons again, wasn't it?”

He nods. 

“God– I’m so fucking sick of them.” your fist bundles in anger, “I hate how we have to pretend that he was the monster. Pretend like he didn’t save us!”

You look up at him, his face full of exhaustion and pain. 

You bring your hand to cup his face, and he leans into it. “It’s okay. I know you’re tired.”

You awkwardly bring your hand down back into your lap, Dustin's eyes still fixated on you. 

You and Dustin were never dating, but you two were always … close … to say the least. Always stuck together when plans fell into place. When he found Dart– you were the first he told. When you guys cracked the Russian code, you guys went down there together. ‘Shared trauma’, they all say.

You try to shake the feeling that you like him more than just a friend, because if anything, that’d just destroy the bond you two have. But it’s so hard not to think about it, when Dustin is such a great guy– and how good of a boyfriend he could be. 

“Are you okay?” Dustin's voice is crooked and low. 

You realize you’ve been spacing out, staring at your fidgeting hands placed in your lap. 

You sigh, “Yeah. Yeah– I’m okay.” 

You flop onto your back, legs hanging off the side of the bed, “It’s just– different.” 

He flops next to you, your shoulders almost touching, “Yeah.” 

“It’s like– no one cares.” you feel a gut wrench of sadness wave over you, thinking of Eddie’s face. “Mike, Lucas, Steve– they all … seem so quiet about it. It seems like it’s only us who are mourning him.” 

Dustin exhales, “I know. I’ve noticed.” 

Silence stretches between you and Dustin as you lay there, staring at his blank ceiling. The faint smell of old books lingers in the air. 

“I wish I could’ve done more.” Dustin spits out.

“What?”

“I wish I could’ve done more. For Eddie.” 

“Dustin– you did all you could. You broke your ankle– risked your life– you did all you could. This is not your fault–” 

Dustin's voice slightly raises, “Sure, but, I keep telling myself that if I was just … faster … I could’ve made it. Or if I never left him– he’d still be here.” 

 You turn your head toward him, grabbing his hand that rests beside you. “This is not your fault.”

The moonlight bathes in from the window, highlighting Dustin's glossy eyes. You squeeze his hand tight, feeling his warmth. You lean on your side to face him, eyebrows furrowed in worry. He follows, leaning on his side to face you. You both lay there for a moment, eyes locked on one another. 

You wince, “Don’t blame yourself. Please.”

He glances down for a moment, the gears in his head turning. 

“Have I ever told you how grateful I am for you, Y/N?” Dustin whispers, almost too quiet to hear. 

You smile, “I’m grateful for you too, Dustin.” 

You both lay there, spacing off in each other's eyes. The dim light just barely reaches his face, allowing you to admire every texture on his face. His curls are messy against the pillow, and you resist the urge to reach out and twist one around your finger. Dustin softly caresses his thumb over your hand that he’s still holding, which makes this way too intimate than it should be.

Neither of you speak, letting a comfortable silence sink in. It allows you both to admire one another; something you guys haven’t done in weeks, if not months. You accidentally catch yourself glancing down at his lips, but when you glance back up, he’s already looking at your lips too. Your breathing suddenly speeds, and a heat creeps up into your cheeks. When he catches your eyes again, a knowing smile spreads across his face. 

“Is it bad that I want to kiss you right now?” Dustin breathed. 

Your eyes widen. Were you hearing things? Your lips part to say something, but nothing comes out. Suddenly, everything is too hot. 

Dustin lets go of your hand, “Shit–I’m sorry. That was stupid.” 

You pull his hand back toward you, “No–no. It’s not stupid.” 

Your eyes are locked with his, unsure of what action to take next. You shimmy closer to him, your face inches away from his. 

“Is it bad if I want to kiss you right now?” You whisper, glancing at his lips.

His hand moves away from your hand, sliding up your arm and resting on your waist; a small grip that keeps you still. Your heart hammers against your chest at his touch, and you can tell he’s equally as nervous. 

Dustin's never been great with flirting. Or girls. So this? This was something new. Something you craved to discover more of. Something you swore you’d find out more about tonight. 

You turn your head slightly, leaning in an inch closer. You hesitate, looking down at his lips one last time before pressing into his lips. His lips are soft. Warm. And just the slight, usual stubble on his bottom lip. But it’s nice. So nice. Dustin’s hand that’s placed on your waist tightens. You pull back, creating a distance between your faces.

Dustin's face is flushed, his eyes wide. His heart flutters as he remembers your taste– how soft your lips were on his. His breath is a bit shaky, as if he forgot how to breathe. He was not expecting that.

“What?” You whisper. 

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he moves his hand that was once on your waist, further down your back, moving your body closer to his. You’re taken by surprise– which makes you nervous. You slip your hand into his hair, feeling the thick curls between your fingers. 

This time, he tilts his head, aligning with your lips. He crashes his lips into yours. Hungry for more. It takes a few minutes for you guys to find the correct rhythm– but once the pace is matched, the kisses start to get more deep. More passionate. More messy. 

You can slightly taste him through the kisses– a hint of toothpaste as if he was ready for bed. His hand finds your waist again, his thumb digging into your hipbone, but in a pleasant manner. 

The heat between your two bodies continues to grow, making you dizzy. Dustin kisses you more open mouthed, almost driving you insane You tug gently on a few of his curls, earning a soft sound from the back of his throat that makes your heart race even faster. 

You pull back in order to catch your breath, and once you look at him, you notice how dazed he looks. His gaze is soft, but desperate. His lips are a darker shade of pink from before; worn out from the previous kissing. 

“I wish I did this sooner.” Dustin mumbles, his lips finding yours once again. 

Without breaking the kiss, Dustin gently guides your body on top of his, enabling the use of both of his hands. This new angle allows much more movement– more space for Dustin to cover. One of your hands holds your weight, digging into the comforter under him, whilst the other hand finds its way back into his curls.Your hair drips down over him, his fingers making a tangly mess. 

But this isn’t nearly enough for Dustin.

He sits up, catching your body into his hands. The sudden position catches you off guard, so you slightly yelp into the kiss. You’re now sitting on his lap as he sits on the edge of the bed, keeping you balanced. 

This was more than perfect.

Your arm swings around his neck, whilst the other hand tangles itself into his curly, brunette hair. Both of his hands find your waist, keeping you still on top of him. Dustin gently sucks your bottom lip, making your heart skip a beat. Jesus, where the hell did he learn this?

His hands lower to your hips, straddling your body closer to his, your chest pushing up against his. This was enough to drive him crazy. Dustin's breath was hot and shaky against your face, his lips parting to taste every bit of you.

Dustin takes your lip between his, his tongue brushing against it. He’s desperate. Desperate for entry– desperate for you. Like this was all he needed all along. Dustin nips at your bottom lip, teasing you just enough for you to go mental. His hands drift towards your ass, his hands gripping softly. He slides one back up to your waist, the other cupping your cheek. 

He pulls away.

His lips are bright red, and so are yours. There’s a trail of saliva dripping from his mouth– which leaves you smiling. Your foreheads lean against each other, as you both catch your breath. 

“Have I ever told you how much I’m in love with you, Y/N?” Dustin says, in between breaths. 

You shut him up with a sweet kiss, smiling against his lips. You move your weight into him, his body falling back onto the bed, taking you down with him. 

“I’ve loved you for so long.” you reply. 

 After a while of him admiring you and complimenting you freely, you change into one of his shirts– a few sizes too big. In bed, his arms are wrapped around you tight as if he’s going to lose you.

Finally, a night where you can confidently say you two are on good terms. 

Hopefully, from here, it goes up. 

------

hope you enjoyed <3 reqs open

[dustins-wife]

YES LETS GOOOOOO A PEAK DUSTIN ACCOUNT!!! ahemm, may i request dustin golden retreiver hcs pretty plz? like she's a total sweetheart, literal sunshine in the flesh but gets super threatening if her loved ones are in danger?

love this omg

DUSTIN X GOLDEN RETRIEVER FEM!READER

featuring my headcannons 𝜗ৎ

⋆˚꩜｡ pairing ; dustin henderson x golden retriever fem!reader

⋆˚꩜｡ tags ; fluff, eddie’s death mentioned once, reader being an absolute sweetheart, dustin behind enamored

⋆˚꩜｡ author’s note; THANK YOU!! also got a lil confused writing this but i THINK you meant golden retriever reader, if you mean you wanted dustin golden retriever please please please tell me and i’ll rewrite this🙏🙏

back to my masterlist? — follow my spam @dustins-wife2 !

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

✦ dustin would be obsessed with you. Aside from your beauty — he gravitates towards people that are naturally kind and a little extra on the daily, so your energies would match so well!

✦ you’re the kind of girl who smiles before thinking about it. Dustin notices immediately and loves it.

✦ brags about everyone to you (ALL the time)

“She’s so sweet, and intelligent, she loves [singer name] and—“

“Dustin just roll the dice dude.”

or even

“My girlfriend said she’s proud of me.”

“Nice. What’s your order, sir?”

✦ you listen to his science rambles, like actually listen, nodding your head, asking questions with bright eyes like if it were the most interesting thing ever. He falls so hard for you

✦ you’re affectionate without even realizing it, leaning into him, resting your head on his shoulder, holding his hand, grabbing his arm. Dustin always blushes but never pulls away

✦ “you’re really smart you know that” Boom. Made him more confident

✦ you’re the person he searches each room for, you’re the first person he hugs and he smiles to. He loves being your person

✦ you called him “Dusty” once, he acted offended but absolutely loved it

✦ if like a golden retriever, your love is shown through gifts; whether it’s homade, store bought, dustin does not care. He has a box full of your letters, drawings, gifts, whatever in his closet and looks at it every time he’s feeling sad

✦ you’re able to find the positive side in everything, so whenever Dustin is feeling down, you just caress his cheeks or hug him and comfort him so well he’s convinced you have magic powers

✦ you laugh at his jokes before he even finishes them and he notices. Every. Single. Time.

✦ he talks faster when he’s excited and you always wait for him to finish, never rushing him.

✦ if you two met when you were children (pre-s1) Dustin would gravitate towards you because you have this energy of making people feel welcomed without even trying. Whenever he would get bullied on the kindergarten playground you’d protect him with your LIFE. Just pure puppy love.

✦ he runs to you whenever he needs comforting or someone to yap to, he relies on you and you’re definitely an important person for him.

✦ after eddie’s death he spends hours in your arms crying his eyes out, you just play with his curls gently and rub his back

“It’s okay my love, let it out. It wasn’t your fault”

✦ whenever you even remotely HEAR someone talking shit about dustin, you make them wish they were never born; wether it’s verbally or physically, you beat them up. And Dustin absolutely adores that in you.

“YEAH! THAT’S MY GIRLFRIEND SUCKER!”

✦ for example, if you walked in on andy’s gang beating dustin up at the grave yard, they would’ve PISSED themselves. They always took you as this innocent girl and mocking you for it, so when they find you defending your boyfriend and become super threatening, they’d scatter away like cockroaches. Dustin would be so impressed he couldn’t even speak.

✦ after you defend him, while you were patching him up, he’d joke around with a tired smile on his lips

“Remind me to not get on your nerves, yeah sweetheart?”

✦ “Y’know you didn’t have to do that, right?” “I wanted to.”

✦ and with that, you’re the only person during season 5 who he’s not completely sarcastic to, or doesn’t push away totally, because you’re nice to him and you’ve never find him weird for grieving. You always stay by his side.

✦ in fact, you play an insanely important role for dustin in s5. Even though he’s considered an “asshole” you never stop being nice to him, and he’s literally in love with you for that.

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