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she/her 22

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter sixteen : absolution (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 4.6k

summary : the reader attends a ball

warnings, etc. : language, angst

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

There’s a visceral sense of dread when you wake up, for several reasons. 

The glaring obvious culprit of your discomfort would be the fact that today’s your husband's birthday. The much more subtle one being the fact that it still sounds like someones revving a podracer out in the main room, clearly indicating to you that the Mandalorian is still asleep. 

You should wake him. 

The last thing you need is the girls coming in to find him in your bed.     

So you sit up, trying to stretch as quietly as possible before getting up and making your way out.

There are a lot of questions milling about in our mind right now, the most prominent one regarding his memory of last night.

Will he remember what he said?

Will you tell him if he doesn’t? 

He seemed pretty out of it, and even if he did recall his words would he even address them?

He has to. He can’t just do that to you. It doesn’t matter how tired he is, he doesn’t get to toy with you like this.

So you step into the main room. 

How is it possible to look so serious while sleeping yet sound so ridiculous? 

You make your way to his side of the bed, gently shaking his shoulder. 

“Mando, you need to get up.” You mumble, still trying to wake up your own brain.

He’s unmoving. His snores are as consistent as ever as you reach down to grab both of his shoulders, shaking him much less gently.

“Get up, the girls are gonna be here any min-“

You don’t even get a chance to scream as you’re flipped onto the bed. In the blink of an eye he’s got you shoved into the mattress. The wind gets knocked out of you, on instinct your hands go to take a defensive position in front of you but they’re pinned into the sheets, his body on all fours hovering above yours. 

Neither of you speaks for a moment as he seems to still be waking up, your eyes wide as you stare up at him. 

“…It’s just me.” You manage to squeak out through your shock and his grip on your wrists immediately loosens. Before he has a chance to react further there’s a single knock at the door signifying that Elaine and Lysa have arrived and as the door swings open you both move too quickly and your forehead knocks against his helmet as you struggle to get out from under him which subsequently sends you off the edge of the bed.

You can’t help but think that this morning can’t possibly get worse. 

Of course it does though because you’re you and for some reason the Maker loves to see you suffer. 

You grab onto him for support before you go tumbling off the mattress and of course he goes off of it with you and of course he twists himself so he hits the ground first. 

Normally you’d be touched by the fact that his natural instinct was to protect you, but you don’t really have a chance to because the wind is knocked out of you for the second time this morning as your chest slams against his when his back hits the ground. 

The girls walk in on the scene you’ve found yourself in and their chatter immediately goes silent. 

Your first thought as you get your bearings is, at least you aren’t on the bed anymore. 

But you can’t help but wish you’d stayed like that as you realize the position you’re in now. Your thighs straddle his waist and he’s holding you against him as you both groan in pain. 

You both turn to look at the girls in sync, Lysa has a look of horror on her face and Elaine simply shakes her head as she grabs the other girl's arm, dragging her out of the room in silence before slamming the door shut. 

You stare at the Mandalorian underneath you once they’re gone. You must look like a tomato with how red your face has become.

Before you can make it any worse he silently grabs you by the waist and lifts you off of him, setting you down next to him, neither of you daring to move further until he clears his throat. 

“Are you alright?” He sounds as embarrassed as you feel.

“Yeah, just a little shaken up.” You whisper back. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“I didn’t mean to, I’m not used to being-“

“I know. It’s okay.”

It makes you a bit sad. What a life he must have known to have reacted like that when being woken up. To immediately be under the assumption that someone is going to hurt him.

He spends all of his time protecting you but who protects him? 

Before you have any more time to wallow in that realization he’s on his feet and pulling you to yours. 

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he’s already heading for the door and you don’t bother trying to stop him as he goes, leaving the door open for the girls to come back in. As they step back into the room cautiously you watch him lean against the opposite wall before Elaine closes the door. 

They both stare at you expectantly but you don’t have any words. No sense in lying and the truth sounds like a lie so you just keep your mouth shut. 

When they realize you aren’t going to explain yourself they sit you at the vanity, Elaine takes a brush to your hair as Lysa hurries off to the closet, she looks more mortified than you do. 

You frown at the mirror and watch as Elaine stifles a laugh.

“It isn’t funny.” You grumble as she continues brushing your hair.

“Of course it isn’t, my lady.” She dons an expression of mock seriousness as you turn around to glare at her.

“Nothing happened, he was just sleeping.” Before the words even leave your mouth you know they must sound absurd as she chokes back another laugh.

“I’m sure he was ma’am.” She turns your head back towards the mirror and you don’t bother arguing further. 

Lysa returns from the closet with a dress you’re sure you’ve never seen before and you can’t help but gawk at it. 

It’s gorgeous. You swear you haven’t seen it there before, it’s a beautiful champagne ball gown, she sets it carefully onto the bed.  

“Shall we go to the fresher? We’ve already drawn your bath my lady.” Elaine takes you by the arm and leads you out of the room. The Mandalorian looks like he’s managed to pull himself together as the girls lead you to the fresher down the hall. He follows closely behind, only halting when you arrive, thank gods he stays outside when the girls usher you in. 

They carefully strip you of your nightgown and Lysa leads you to the tub. Once you’re settled they prepare to take their leave. 

“You’ll need to see to it that you are properly clean, my lady, you’ll want to look your best for tonight, can I get you anything before we leave to continue your preparations?” Elaine cocks an eyebrow as Lysa hurries out, still not making eye contact with you. “Don’t worry about her.” Elaine winks and you frown at the implication.

“Just a book if I’m going to be here for a while I suppose.” 

She nods.

“Right away, my lady. And shall I send the Mandalorian in when I take my leave?”

“Elaine!” You shriek as she leaves, snickering until the door is shut, leaving you to stare, embarrassed, into the bubbles. 

After you have to sit in your shame for a few minutes she returns with a smirk, handing you some raunchy romance novel which you take with a scowl before she leaves without a word. 

You soak in the tub for quite some time. You get through a good third of the book by the time the girls come to get you. 

If you thought they spent too much time dressing you on a normal day that was nothing compared to today. Hours of doing absolute nonsense to your body. They rub unfamiliar oils into your hair and skin, pluck at stray hairs and spend an obscene amount of time deciding what jewelry would look best with the dress. 

You try to find a time to talk to Mando but everytime you think you’ll get the chance one of the girls whisks you away for another unfamiliar skin care regimen until you feel scrubbed and raw. 

They quite literally do this the entire day. By the time they’re done the sun is setting outside your window and you know the ball is going to begin soon. They lace you into the gown. It really is a work of art with its long flowing skirt and the way it hugs your torso. A beaded pattern runs up the front like vines. The color of it reminds you of the way Elaine makes your tea and caf, a light cream color. 

They decided on pearls. Simple and elegant strings of pearls around your neck and wrists. You stop them as they go to do your hair. 

“Can we leave it down? I like it the way it is.” You stare at yourself in the mirror. 

You look nice. Really nice.

Like you.

“It looks good like that.” Lysa speaks up, seemingly she’s recovered from earlier. 

“If you need anything at all, do not be afraid to call for us, my lady.” Elaine says as she smiles at you before they make their way out. 

“Elaine?” 

“Yes, princess?” She turns to face you, Lysa on her arm.

“Send the Mandalorian in please.” She doesn’t hide her smirk.

“Right away, my lady.”

They’re gone and you’re left alone for a few moments as you admire their work in the mirror until you hear the door softly creak open. He doesn’t speak as he enters, closing the door behind him, you smooth out the front of your gown with your hands before turning to face him.

“Can we talk about last night?” You try not to sound like you’re begging but in all honesty if that’s what it takes to get him to talk you’ll do it.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” His voice is cold and unfeeling. You hate it. 

“Please don’t do this.” You close your eyes. You give him a moment, a chance to say something, but he never speaks so you take a deep breath before marching towards the door, he’s hot on your heels.

“Princess, please, just wait-“ He tries to shut the door but you yank it open.

“I’m sick of waiting, I’m not doing this again, now let's go before we’re late.” You snap at him before taking off towards the main hall, the sounds of music and chatter already filling the castle. 

He doesn’t try to stop you again.

You walk until you see a line of people entering the hall, all of them clearing a path for you, as you step into the noisy, bright room you’re immediately overwhelmed. A man immediately to your left loudly announces:

“Princess Harand.”

You cringe slightly at the name as you stare out into the crowded hall.

There's way more people than you had expected. If it weren’t for his tasteless electric blue suit you wouldn’t even know where to begin to look for Kodo. Is it literally glowing? It looks like the jacket is literally glowing.

You have to shimmy your way through the crowd to get to him, eventually, once people see the Mandalorian they start clearing a path. He always stays just a few steps behind.

Get to Kodo, wish him a happy birthday, have a few drinks, make sure people see you, then get out. It’s easy enough.

When you finally make it to Kodo you can hear him saying something vulgar loudly to a group of men, many of whom you recognize from that terrible dinner a few moons back. A fair amount of them take a step back as you approach with the Mandalorian. 

It disgusts you to do so but you lean in to give Kodo a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Happy birthday, my prince.” You give him the best smile you can muster considering the fact that he repulses you and you’re already in a sour mood because of Mando.

“There’s my little mouse! I’ve been waiting for you!” He wraps the arm that isn’t currently nursing a drink around your waist as he pulls you in for a sloppy, drunken kiss. You manage to pull away from it quickly and resist the urge to wipe your mouth. He holds you at his side for a disappointing amount of time. Dragging you around like an accessory or perhaps a show dog for everyone to see, never even directly speaking to you. That is until about an hour and a half into your time at the ball, he leans in to whisper to you, his breath hot on your ear.

“Say, little mouse, what do you reckon the Mandalorians type is?” 

The abruptness of his question makes your blood run cold.

Married women? Princesses?

You struggle to come up with an answer for a brief moment until he drunkenly slurs in your ear again.

“I’d like to give him the night off, maybe give him a girl for the evening.”

The thought makes you sick. 

Of course, maybe the Mandalorian would want that sort of thing. But you want no part of it if that is the case so you give Kodo a weak smile as you eye Mando, still standing behind you, certainly listening in to this conversation.

“I have no idea, dear husband.” You whisper back. 

Almost as if on cue the doors are pulled open and you see exactly what Elaine meant when she said that this party would get rowdy as the night went on. What must be dozens of girls are ushered into the room and Kodo immediately releases his grip on your waist. 

“Run along now little mouse, perhaps go get yourself some refreshments.” He doesn’t even bother to look at you as he says it, his eyes trained on the women as they make their way over to him. Birthday boy must get to pick first you think as you roll your eyes, making your way over to a table with drinks, gulping down a glass of wine. As you look around the room you can’t help but laugh dryly.

It seems like all the other wives have been dismissed. 

You sip on another glass of wine as you watch Kodo pick out three girls.

Ambitious.

You want to laugh again but you don’t get the chance to as Kodo points behind him and see him leading one of the girls towards Mando.

You hadn’t even realized he wasn’t with you, Kodo must have told him to stay. 

She’s pretty. 

It makes your stomach churn as her fingers trace his chest plate and you can’t look anymore as she starts whispering to him. You look back to your husband whose tongue is already down another woman's throat.

That should bother you more, but you feel nothing as you stare.

Yet when you look at Mando simply speaking to the beautiful woman before him your heart clenches. 

So you stop looking, instead you shove yourself through the crowds until you make your way out of the party. 

Struggling to catch your breath as you stumble through the hallway, kicking your heels off and rushing towards the door you know will take you to the gardens. Desperate for air. 

You don’t hear his footsteps coming up behind you. You don’t even see him until you’re outside the castle, marching towards the forest trail. 

“Princess, please.” You hear the crackle of the modulator but ignore it as you continue stomping barefoot across the grounds. He catches up easily, he reaches for you but you swat his hand away.

“Go back inside, I’m sure that girl is waiting for you.” You snarl before continuing to make your way into the trees. You aren’t exactly sure what the goal is here but you just know that you need to get as far away from the castle as possible. 

“Don’t do that, you know I didn’t ask for that.” He pleads as you turn around to face him, hiking your skirt up a bit.

“You seemed bored and she seemed to be entertaining you just fine.” You hiss, before turning back around and continuing your hasty trek until you finally reach the gardens, settling near a few trees as you look up at the moon.

What’s the plan now that you’re here?

You’d kind of assumed that he wouldn’t follow you yet here he is, moonlight reflecting off of his armor. 

“Go back to her, I’m sure you’ll have a much better time there than you will here.” You grumble as he stands behind you, dutifully as ever.

“I dismissed her. Obviously.” His tone is snarky and his breath sounds shallow as you turn around to better assess him.

He’s panting. It’s a bit surprising considering he’s so rarely out of breath, he’s never struggled to keep up with you previously and in instances of stress he rarely sounds winded.

Yet right now his chest heaves under his armor and he sounds as if he has been chasing you his entire life and has only just now caught up.

“What is wrong with you? You sound as though you have followed me across the planet, not out into the gardens.” You scold him as you lean against one of the trees. Sick of playing this endless game with him as his head falls back in exasperation. 

“This is what happens when one aches as I have ached.” He growls back, taking a step towards you and pointing an accusatory finger in your direction. 

“You… ache?” Your brows are furrowed in confusion at his choice of words as you scoff. 

“Yes.” He drops his hand to his side as he sighs. 

“I don’t- I don’t understand.” You stand up straighter as your gaze softens a bit, he sounds so dejected.

His helmet faces you with such severity that it is as if there isn’t a layer of steel between you. It’s as if you’re staring directly into each other's eyes. 

It’s quiet. The only sounds are his heavy breathing and the occasional sound of bugs buzzing through the leaves of the greenery around you. The modulator crackles every so often like he’s trying to figure out what to say but just can’t seem to find the words. Every so often he’ll stutter out the start of a sentence and then stop.

You don’t walk away this time. 

And you don’t chastise him. 

Instead you let him figure it out as you stare at him, unable to keep the sympathetic look off your face as you try to come off as stern. 

You give him time, he watches you as you watch the moon. 

After several minutes he seems to settle into a calm so you look back into the visor. 

He sighs, and when he does speak his voice is low and hoarse.

“I ache. Day and night, my flesh, my bones, and my mind ache.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

He takes a step towards you.

“I ache in your presence, I ache when we are apart and the only thing that soothes the agony within me is to be the object of your attention. I cannot so much as breathe without being wounded by you. You have buried yourself so deeply within my very being that I cannot escape you. There is not a blade in this galaxy that is sharp enough to carve out the mark you have left inside of me.” His voice doesn’t tremble, he doesn’t so much as stutter as he speaks now. 

You have to look away. You don’t know how it’s possible for someone wearing a helmet to have such an intense gaze but you can’t bear to see it anymore as you stare at the ground. 

“You don’t mean that. You can’t possibly mean that.” Is all you manage to mumble, your mind racing almost as fast as your heart as he takes another step towards you, he’s within arms reach of you but he makes no move to touch you yet.

“I could leave right now. Pack up my things and fly to the furthest outer rim planet I can find, spend the rest of my days alone, and every second of my existence would still be spent wondering if you are okay, what you are doing, and if you are happy.”

He brings his hand up to rest under your chin, tilting your head up to face him once more before dropping it to his side again.

“They could drag me away right now, lock me up, bind me in steel in the deepest cell the castle dungeon has to offer. They could torture me for things I’ve done to you, for the things I yearn to do to you, and I would live out the rest of my days hoping that my imprisonment does not inconvenience you.” 

He takes one more step forward. You’re certain you’re trembling at this point, his voice drips with a level of devotion that you cannot begin to fathom. He’s close enough now that if you listen carefully enough you can hear his real voice behind the helmet along with the modulated version, unfiltered and raw.

“You could force me to my knees right now, make me renounce my creed, tear my helmet from my head, and lay me bare for your judgment. And all I would do is pray that my face is up to your standards.” 

His breathing is labored as he stares down at you.

There is no air of falsehood to his words yet you can’t seem to accept them. 

You want nothing more than to believe everything he is saying but you just can’t bring yourself to, as you stare right back up at him.

“Why should I believe that? Why should I believe a word that comes out of your blasphemous mouth when I don’t even know who I’m talking to?” You can feel your anger bubbling to the surface.

He doesn’t seem to have a response and you’re getting fired up so you don’t bother waiting for him this time.

“Why should I believe that this is not a trick? That you are not simply toying with me to get me into your bed?” You jab a finger into his chest plate as you say it. 

He doesn’t so much as move an inch.

“Every hour I find that I am speaking to a new version of you, why should I believe that this version, the version that aches will not be gone just as quickly as the others?” Your voice is strained as you continue to berate him, the part of you that longs to believe his every word is creeping into your mind as you try desperately to shove it away. “I don’t even know which one I’m speaking to now, so who is it Mando?” 

He takes another step forward and you shove him back this time. You know you aren’t actually strong enough to move him so you’re grateful for the fact that he takes a step back on his own. 

“I know I’ve been cruel to you and I’m sorry, you think it doesn’t bring me shame to know that I’ve hurt you?” His voice carries that gentle tone that always manages to soothe you, the one he reserves just for you, except this time it does nothing to put you at ease.

“It brings you shame? Imagine how I feel. You do not know what it is to ache as I have, you are one of the only good things I have left and I don't even know what you are. So tell me Mando, who have you decided to be today? My bodyguard? My lover? Perhaps you would like to be my rival today, or maybe even my friend?” You feel your eyes growing misty as you fight to keep what little composure you have left. “Spit it out! Which Mando have you decided to be today? I’d love to know who I’m talking to, which one have you decided to be? Who are you Mando?”

“Din.”

“What?”

“Right now I’m Din.” 

It takes a moment for it to register in your brain. And when it does there isn’t room for anger anymore, and there isn’t room for confusion. There’s only room for him, he’s taking up all the space. 

Din. 

“Is that okay?” His voice is barely a whisper.

Just Din.

You don’t want to be mad at Din.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

“It’s okay.”

“It isn’t though.”

“Din is enough, for now.”

You want to take his hand, something, anything to comfort him, to let him know that for now it’s okay, but before you get the chance you feel leather covering your eyes. His hand presses gently against the top half of your face and your vision goes dark. 

And then you hear the hiss of air. 

You let out a small gasp and as you do his lips are on yours. Warm, soft, and needy. 

You’ve read hundreds of kisses. Every one of your little romance novels has them. They’re always rough, desperate and electric. That’s always how they’re described. Like an electric shock.

This isn’t that. 

This is familiar, and sweet, quite literally his mouth tastes like vanilla. (If that’s even possible.) It crosses your mind that this is probably his first kiss but it certainly doesn’t feel like it. As his lips fit against yours like they were made to. As if he were forged just for you. His kiss feels like he wants to melt into you, like he’d be content to do just this for the rest of his life.

But most importantly, it soothes the ache.

He doesn’t pull away, he breathes into you. His mouth is persistent against yours, his stubble scratching against your chin. When you bring your hands up to cup his face you realize he’s holding his helmet up just enough to expose everything below his nose. You settle for resting them on his shoulders instead. 

He doesn’t ask for more.

Just this.

He doesn’t push for anything other than his lips on yours and it gives you a strange feeling of safety. 

And it’s over too soon. 

He pulls away and before you’re ready for it to end you hear air hissing again and his hand moves from your eyes to cradle your cheek.

You’re staring at Beskar, as if he never even took it off in the first place.

“Was that okay?” He sounds almost self-conscious and you can’t help but smile.

“More than okay.” You murmur as his thumb caresses your face.

“I will make it up to you. For everything I did, I will find a way to make it up to you.” 

“Okay, Din.” You say softly as he reaches down to take your hand. 

“No more days, no more rules, and no more games. Just you.” You let him bring your hand up to rest on the steel of his helmet. “I’ll make it up to you sarad.” He holds your hand there for a moment before taking a step back. “I have an idea.”

It feels too good to be true. All of this, and something in the back of your mind tries to remind you of that fact but you push it away. 

“I want you to know me, is that okay?” 

You nod.

He holds his hand out to you. 

You take his hand. You take Din’s hand.

“Would you like to see my cabin sarad’ika?” 

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[honey-and-halos]

His Jacket

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: After a night out, Steve gives you his jacket on a freezing street. (purely thinking of boyfriend!Steve in that slutty little jumper)

The night air hit you like a wall the second you pushed open the heavy bar door. Inside, everything had been overwhelming, the music pulsing through your ribs, the crowded room thick with heat and laughter and spilled drinks. But out here, the cold was immediate and unforgiving. It sliced right through the thin fabric of your dress, raising goosebumps across every inch of exposed skin. You sucked in a sharp breath, shoulders hunching instinctively as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

Steve followed close behind, letting the door swing shut with a dull thud that cut off the muffled bass still thumping from inside. The street was nearly empty now, just the occasional streetlight casting long, hazy glows across the pavement and the faint hum of the city in the distance.

You tried to play it off. Crossed your arms tightly over your chest, tucked your hands under your elbows, and started walking like the chill wasn’t already making your teeth want to chatter. But Steve had always been annoyingly observant.

“You cold?” he asked after half a block, his voice easy but laced with that familiar knowing tone.

You shook your head a little too fast. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad.”

Steve glanced over at you, one eyebrow raised in that very Steve way. The kind of look that said he saw straight through your bullshit but was giving you a chance to save face. “Really? Because your arms are practically glued to your body right now.”

“I’m just… walking briskly. For warmth,” you replied, lips twitching despite yourself.

“Uh-huh.” He nodded slowly, clearly not buying it. “And the fact that you’re doing that little shoulder-shrug thing every ten seconds? Totally normal walking behavior.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but another gust of wind came barreling down the street, rattling the leaves on the trees lining the sidewalk. This one cut deep. A violent shiver ripped through you, making your whole body tremble for a second. You pressed your lips together hard, trying to hide it.

Steve stopped walking immediately.

“Steve, don’t-” you started, already seeing his hands move to his jacket.

Too late. He was shrugging it off with that effortless, decisive motion he always had, like taking care of you was the most natural thing in the world. The white t-shirt underneath clung to his shoulders and chest, and you could already see the goosebumps starting to form on his arms in the cool air.

“You’re going to freeze,” you protested, even as your eyes lingered on the jacket he was now holding open for you.

“I’m fine. I run warm, remember?” He gave you a soft, crooked smile. “I’m basically a human furnace. Put it on before I start worrying about you turning into a popsicle.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. Part of you still wanted to be stubborn, to prove you could handle it. But the cold was winning, and the promise of his warmth was too tempting. With a small sigh, you stepped forward and let him drape the jacket over your shoulders.

God, it was perfect.

The fabric was still heavy with his body heat. You slid your arms into the sleeves, which completely swallowed your hands, the cuffs dangling past your fingertips. It smelled like him, clean laundry, a hint of cedarwood cologne, and that warm, masculine scent that always made your stomach flutter. You pulled it tighter around yourself and let out a quiet, involuntary hum of relief.

Steve didn’t move. He just stood there, staring.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head up at him with a small smile.

“Nothing.” His voice had gone quieter, a little rough around the edges. His eyes traced over you slowly, how the jacket hung oversized on your frame, the way you were burrowing into it, cheeks pink from the wind. There was something disarmingly soft in his expression, almost vulnerable. “You just… look really good in that.”

You felt heat bloom across your face. “It’s just your jacket, Steve.”

“Yeah, but it’s on you,” he said simply. He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost bashful for a second. “It’s doing unfair things to me.”

You laughed lightly and stepped closer, reaching out to tug at the front of his t-shirt. “You’re such a sap. Come here before you actually freeze to death.”

“I’m not that cold,” he insisted, but he let you pull him in anyway. His arms came around you slowly at first, careful, like he was still giving you an out, then wrapped around your back more firmly when you pressed your face into his chest. You felt him exhale, long and deep, his breath warm against the top of your head.

“Liar,” you murmured into his shirt. “I can feel you tensing up already.”

His chuckle vibrated through his chest. “Okay, maybe a little chilly. But worth it.” One of his hands rubbed slow, soothing circles over your back, the weight of it comforting even through the thick jacket. “I was trying to pull off the whole ‘cool, unaffected boyfriend’ thing tonight. You’re ruining my image by being this cute.”

“You don’t need to be cool all the time,” you said, tilting your head back to look at him. “I like you better when you’re just… you. Even if that means admitting you’re cold.”

Steve’s gaze softened, that particular blue in his eyes catching the glow of the streetlight above you. He brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face with gentle fingers. “Yeah? Well, I like taking care of you. Even if it means freezing my ass off.”

You rose up on your toes and kissed his cheek first, then the corner of his mouth. He turned his head just enough to meet you properly. The kiss was slow and sweet, tasting faintly of the whiskey he’d sipped earlier and the familiar warmth that was so distinctly Steve. When you pulled back, his eyes stayed half-closed for a moment, like he was savoring it.

“We should probably keep walking,” you whispered, though you made no move to step away. “Before your arms fall off.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, voice a little hoarse. He kept one arm draped around your shoulders as you started walking again, pulling you snug against his side. Your hand slipped into his, fingers lacing together naturally. The too-long sleeve kept slipping down, but Steve just smiled and adjusted it for you without comment.

After a minute of comfortable silence, you glanced up at him. “You’re still staring.”

“Can you blame me?” He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “My girl looks warm and cozy in my clothes, kissing me on a random street at night. I’m feeling pretty damn lucky right now.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder as you walked, the cold nipping at your legs but feeling distant now. “You’re freezing and you’re still flirting. Impressive.”

“Hey, priorities,” he teased, but his voice was warm. “Flirting with you will always come first. Even if my teeth start chattering in about five minutes.”

You laughed and hugged his arm tighter. “We’re almost home. I’ll make you hot chocolate when we get in. With the mini marshmallows you pretend not to like but always steal from my mug.”

“Deal.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there for a second. “And you’re keeping the jacket tonight. Maybe longer. Looks better on you anyway.”

The walk stretched on under the quiet streetlights, your steps in sync, the occasional car passing by and the distant city sounds fading around you. Every few paces, Steve would glance down at you with that small, private smile, the one he only seemed to wear when it was just the two of you. And even though the night was cold, wrapped up in his jacket, his arm, and his quiet affection, you’d never felt warmer.

Credit for dividers:; cursed-carmine

[iamaya03]

𝐌𝐑. & 𝐌𝐑𝐒. 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 part I part II

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ryland grace & fem!reader 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you're the medic on the hail mary and come across a photo that must've slipped from your personal supplies which changes the entire dynamic between you and who you thought was your co-worker. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.6k 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i CANNOT believe it has taken people this long to jump on the ryan gosling train. as always, i this nawt proof-read whatsoever #lewl. nerdy silly white boy with biceps, i want you.

you thought you had it all figured out.

well...most of it anyway.

you thought that you know who you are, why you're here, etcetera or whatever, but a single photograph you discovered that had slipped into a nook of the ship has single-handedly destroyed all of the progress you've made in terms of remembering yourself.

your breath shakes just as badly as your hands, and you feel a nervous pounding in your chest accompanied by a pattern of drums in your ears.

this photo can't be real.

you repeat your name in your head. you are an astronaut, and one hell of a doctor. you are on this ship to assist in completing a mission with your co-worker, ryland grace, the only other crew member to survive the journey's coma.

co-worker.

so why the hell are you staring at a photo of the two of you kissing.

there's a little more context to it though, which actually makes everything a hundred times worse.

there's an arch decorated with an array of lush white flowers that frames you both on a sunny spring day, grace is dipping you into the kiss, a beaming expression on each of your faces as he does so. he looks happy, so you look happy, and you're also dressed in a traditional white gown while grace is wearing a tailored suit, but not black, because—

"black is boring," ryland uttered, elbow propped up onto your dining table while his chin rested on his fist. you looked up at him from your laptop where you were browsing websites to get him a suit.

"then don't wear black," you giggled. he reached for your left hand to toy with your fingers, eventually brushing a thumb over your engagement ring. "i thought you said you wanted 'traditional'," he teased.

you scoffed, "i did not say that!"

"you did say that."

"ryland."

"honey," he mocked with a smile. you grinned and smacked his hand away, tending back to your laptop.

"obviously if you don't want to do something, you don't have to do it. and i agree with you, black is boring."

ryland sighed dreamily, tilting his face into his palm after settling his elbow up onto the table again. "i love us. we're so compatible," he hummed.

you smiled shook your head a little in amusement, eyes still on your screen. "you're ridiculous."

"yeah, well, you're marrying me. probably makes you the ridiculous one."

ryland then wordlessly took the laptop from you to scroll through the options, then clicked on one of the sites. he scrolled a little more in silence, squinting slightly even though his glasses were right there that he could've put on. ryland clicked on the touchpad once more before turning the screen to you, dead serious.

"i want this one."

you blinked at the screen. he had pulled up one of the site's photos of one of their models showing off a tacky purple suit and an ugly gold tie, all pulled together by a matching purple fedora. your eyes flicked to your groom-to-be.

"now you're really being ridiculous."

"what's wrong with it?"

"you'll look like a pimp."

"nothing wrong with that," he shrugged.

you snatched your laptop back and deleted the tab with another smile and shake of your head. this time, he smiled back.

"i love you," he uttered.

you looked up again, lingering in those three words. he slid his hand towards you, palm facing the ceiling.

"i love you too," you murmured back.

you slid your hand into his, and ryland laced your fingers together, giving you a squeeze.

you thought you would carry on from there, but of course ryland had to open his mouth again; "even if i dress like a pimp?"

"oh my god."

the memory ended in a flash, and you dropped the photograph. looks like grace settled on a brown corduroy suit with a burgundy tie for a pop of colour. your own voice echoes in your head again; 'the brown will look nice in spring.', as does ryland's; 'i do look incredible in brown, don't i?'

you feel like your wedding ring is burning into your skin.

both you and grace knew you were married via your rings of course, you just couldn't remember who to yet, and it never occurred to either of you that it might've been to each other because why would it?

you take a deep breath, closing your eyes, before picking up the photo again to go find the supposed love of your life.

you navigated your way through the ship with a sense of urgency, photograph clutched in hand. when you heard a crash and a clumsy ‘uh-oh’ coming from the lab, you stopped by the doorway. suddenly the urgency disappeared. maybe this could wait until tomorr-

“who goes there?”

grace’s chair creaks when he leans back to get a peek of you hiding behind the doorframe.

when you look at him now, it all comes together.

ever since the two of you woke up from the coma, there’s been a gravitational pull that brings you two together. in terms of the mission, you operate in perfect unison and create such a steady flow that it makes everything feel oddly domestic. grace flicks a couple of switches there, you repair a part of the control panel here.

every time you both finish a task, it’s tradition to wrap it up with a high-five. however, one time when the two of you got too lost in the work, your fingers ended up intertwined and fell to your sides in a ten second hand-holding session where neither of you flinched.

as soon as the both of you realised, you each recoiled and spent a few beats staring at each other, marvelling at how natural the encounter felt like it was a subconscious effort. all grace could do was clear his throat and walk off, saying something about lunch.

“well, well, look who decided to come back,” grace quips as he wipes down a piece of equipment with a cloth. his glasses are practically hanging off of his face as they so usually do.

“y’had me thinkin’ you were going for a space walk.”

“grace.”

“without a helmet.”

“grace.”

“yeah?”

he finally looks up to see you holding out the photograph.

ryland’s hands freeze before he gently sets down the XRF analyser which looks to be like it was dropped in ramen water.

he rises from his chair, eyes refusing to peel away from the picture as he steps closer. he carefully plucks it from your fingers and slides his glasses onto his face properly to look down at it. white flowers, white dress, and a brown suit, because black is boring.

his head lifts back up to meet your nervous gaze.

“we’re married.”

it sounds like he’s saying it to himself rather than you.

you nod, trying to see through the blank stare he’s giving. dr. ryland grace, possibly one of the smartest men from earth has had his brain turned to mush by a photograph.

“you’re my…we’re-”

“married, yes, i know,” you snap.

“oh my god."

he inhales.

"oh my god..."

he blinks.

he pauses.

"oh my god-"

"grace!" you plead.

"you're my wife, and we're-”

“yes, grace, we’re married. can you please say literally anything else?”

he takes a deep breath, then suddenly hands you the photo again to start pacing around in a circle with his hands on his hips.

“grace…?”

“yeah.”

“are you okay?”

he stops, facing away from you and rubs a hand across his face.

“um…” he pivots to you on the spot, “i think so.”

you remain standing with your feet together, slightly curled in on yourself as you hold the photograph in front of you with two hands.

“do you…remember anything?”

ryland settles both hands on top of each other on the back of his head, inhaling deeply. “i’m starting to,” he says with the exhale, “do you?”

you nod. “bits and pieces.”

you drag your feet over to one of the lab tables and sit on the surface, staring down at the photo.

what now?

“i proposed to you at the beach,” ryland says.

you look up, and in his eyes, you see waves and a bright grey sky. you smile.

“you did,” you hum, setting the photo down on the table next to you. “when you got on one knee, you were too close to the water and it washed up on you so your pants got soaked.”

you giggle at the sudden memory. ryland smiles, “i don’t think i remember that part…”

“yes you do, you’re just embarrassed,” you grin. “and you stayed on one knee to ask the question because you were too proud to admit you made a mistake even though i was laughing at you.”

you’re in a fit of giggles now, and ryland just chuckles as he approaches you. his eyes land on the two bands around your finger; your engagement ring, and the basic wedding ring that so clearly matches his now that he looks closer.

suddenly, he reaches for your hand, thumb grazing over the humble gemstone on the engagement ring. your favourite gemstone, he suddenly remembers.

he lets the tender moment pass, then carefully drops your hand to place his hands on his hips.

“looks cheap. you probably deserve better.”

you give him a look before your eyes drop to the ring on your finger. you twist it a little, observing the gem from different angles.

“no…it’s actually pretty perfect,” you decide.

ryland watches you over the rims of his glasses, his heart beating quicker when he catches the complete genuineness in your tone. his eyes flick back down to the photo next to you on the table.

“we're really married, huh?"

you lift your head, gazing at him with a fond curiosity. what else could you learn to remember about this silly man?

“i guess so,” you hum.

ryland gives a nod and glances down at his own ring.

“okay…” he murmurs.

then, louder; “then let’s be scientists and figure this out.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  @cloudedhouse @angelryex @loonylups @bluberrychampagne @stargral @alphabetically-deranged @patrickzweigsdefender @charmedntruer @severe-mental-illness @aemondsbbgx @challengers4ev @fthomas2 @yearsarewatchingyou 𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[iamaya03]

𝐌𝐑. & 𝐌𝐑𝐒. 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄: 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄 part I part II

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ryland grace & fem!reader 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 after learning that you and grace are married, you both decide to jog your brains in an attempt to remember who you both were as a couple before your memories were tampered with, leading to a recollection of why you're here in the first place. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.8k 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i did not expect the last part to be received so well!! low key thought it was ahh so i was ready to sweep it under the rug but nope so here's part two yippieee!

ryland sits on his favourite spinning stool with wheels as you haul over a large white board to prop up against the wall and two white board markers. he does a little twirl in the chair before you toss a marker in his direction.

before he takes it, he spots the marker you're holding.

"i want the blue one."

you glance over your shoulder at him as you get rid of the old equations on the board with a dry eraser. with a sigh, you toss him your pen, giving him the blue while you catch the black from him. he gives you a single exaggerated nod in thanks for the trade.

"alright," you begin, "i know we'll eventually get all of the memories back, but i thought we could try get them faster by coming up with questions for us to think about together that'll help us remember more about this relationship."

"marriage," he corrects.

you internally panic, then nod. "marriage. right. sorry."

you spin around to the board and write up a heading at the top; 'WHO ARE WE?'. ryland hums in amusement.

you wordlessly jot down underneath: ‘HOW DID WE MEET?’

ryland furrows his eyebrows.

“school.”

you turn to him with a befuddled look. “what?”

“i remember that one. my school reached out to the hospital and you came in to talk to the kids about what it’s like to be a doctor.”

your writing hand falls limp at your side. the memory hits you in the face.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“i thought you would’ve remembered!” he contended.

with a sigh, you throw the white board marker across the lab and sit down on the seat across from him. “this is stupid.”

he taps his blue pen on the table’s surface, thinking. then, he decides, “let’s just talk.”

you lift your head from being buried your hands.

“talk?”

he shrugs.

“talk. share what we each remember.”

you glance down at the wedding band on his left hand, letting out a deep exhale.

“alright.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“okay,” he gives a little smile, tossing the beloved blue marker in the same direction as yours. “i’ll go first. i remember you used to pants me whenever i was winning an argument.”

“what?” you laugh.

he leans forwards on the table with a sigh.

“yup. i recall one time where you claimed that mercury is the hottest planet. common misconception.”

“it’s the closest to the sun!”

as soon as the argument comes out of your mouth, the memory of this exact conversation rushes in.

it was a sunday night. you were both in the kitchen, ryland making two peppermint teas while you sat on the counter to keep him company. he was reaching into the cupboard for a pair of mugs while responding to your false statement.

‘okay, sweetheart, yes it may be the closest, but mercury just doesn’t have the substantial atmosphere that’s needed in order to contain that much heat.”

you blinked. ‘but…’

‘no. no buts. you’re a doctor, honey. you’re smarter than this.’

with that, you frowned, then suddenly hopped off the counter to tug ryland’s sweatpants down his legs. they fell into a bunch on the floor, leaving him in his plaid boxers.

he didn’t flinch, just looked at you over his shoulder mid-tea pour.

‘really?’

you folded your arms across your chest.

‘yup.’

“i did do that didn’t i…” you say after you recall.

ryland catches the look of recognition on your face, eyeing you over the rims of his glasses with an amused smirk.

“alright, your turn.”

he pushes his glasses up his nose. you sigh, scratching the back of your neck as you jog your memory. you glance up at him.

“d’you remember how we ended up here together?”

ryland stops to think.

“they…they made me. by force.” he clears his throat at this part, but when he tries to remember where you fit into the equation, he frowns, eyebrows bunching together.

“where were you?”

you chuckle, running a palm up your arm as a self-soother. you begin to blush at the memory.

“i was already with you on the boat by that point after you demanded for me to be flown out…” you tease. “when the lab blew up, i didn’t have to be told to know that stratt would put you on the mission,” you say softly before suddenly stopping.

ryland notices the avoidance of eye contact, the glassy eyes and the tense jaw in your expression. he reaches for your hand across the desk and gives your fingers a squeeze, listening carefully.

“i nearly let you go, grace…” you whisper.

you remember his crying, his attempt of running away to god knows where, and the way he pleaded into the dirt when he was held down.

when they were taking him to be put into the induced coma, you were crying alongside him, squeezing his hand and peppering kisses all over his face, saying that it was going to be okay. stratt had convinced you that ryland would be making a courageous sacrifice for the rest of the world, but when you lost grip on his hand and he was taken from you, you approached stratt and seized her by the wrists.

‘let me go with him,’ you sobbed.

she tensed in your grasp, already visibly upset. ‘dr. grace, i am afraid that is not possible-’

‘i’ve been glued to his side practically the entire time,’ you insist, cheeks wet with tears. ‘i know the science—the stars, the astrophage, and like ilyukhina said to him, i can pick up the other stuff as i go along!’

stratt stared at you for what felt like a long time. you knew it wasn’t that simple, but if you could just make her feel like she owed you this.

‘you do understand that you would be giving up your life?’ she asked simply.

you let go of her wrists, your throat bobbed as you swallowed another cry.

‘my husband and i had plans to grow old and die together, stratt.’

your voice wobbled with every word.

‘if we can’t have the old part, at least let us have the dying part. i won’t…’ your throat tightened. inhale. exhale.

‘i won’t let you take him from me,’ you finished.

you knew then as you know now that that sentence wasn’t fair. but, she looked truly sorry.

stratt paused again for a long time, then looked you up and down. ‘you are a physician, yes?’

‘yes, ma’am.’

‘then for the record you will be designated the role of medic for the project hail mary mission.’ she turned to carl who looked like he was still staring in the direction ryland was taken in.

‘officer carl, bring her to the team and explain the situation please.’

carl snapped his head back into your direction, gave stratt a nod, and you a reassuring smile.

before being taken away, you remember flinging your arms around the other woman, squeezing your eyes shut.

‘thank you.’

she didn’t hug back, but gave an awkward pat on the back. you didn’t see that she had closed her eyes too, embracing the moment.

‘good luck,’ she whispered.

your eyes start to water, ryland’s grip only tightens on your hand. his eyes are widened ever so slightly, lips parted like he has something he wants to say.

your eyes shyly shift back to him.

“grace…?”

he can’t peel his eyes away from you. then he clears his throat.

“that- that doesn’t count…if i wasn’t there then that’s technically just one of your own memories,” he tries to jest lightly.

when you don’t laugh, he holds your gaze again, then murmurs, “you’re here because of me.”

it’s not a question. he sounds like he’s processing it. all you do is give a little nod while anxiously chewing on your bottom lip.

“if it weren’t for you, i’d be alone. ilyukhina and yao…they still wouldn’t of woken up. it’d just be me.”

ryland has stood from his seat, letting go of your hand, though his eyes haven’t left you once.

you glance down at you wedding rings. your favourite gemstone standing loud and proud on top of one of the bands. your thumb twists it a little.

“i’m not dying alone because of you.”

you stop. this makes you look up at him. because i love you, is what you want to say, but neither of you are sure how to approach that part of this dynamic just yet. so, ryland makes the first move by circling the table and suddenly scooping you up from your seat into a tight hug.

his chin rests on your shoulder, glasses hanging off his face, eyes squeezed shut. you’re too shocked to process any of it, but you eventually wrap your arms back around him, closing your eyes and melting into his warm embrace.

the security of his arms takes you back—it was a weekday after a particularly gruelling shift at the hospital. you and ryland had plans for a date, maybe the fifth or sixth. he came to your place to pick you up like the gentleman he is so the both of you could walk to the restaurant (he was still too shy to admit that he only owned a bike at this point).

when you opened the door looking just as nice as him, something came over you to see so much effort being put in for little old you. a sob left your throat, ryland panicked and immediately came closer to place his hands on each of your upper-arms. ‘what? what’s wrong? is it the tie? i wasn’t sure about it either to be honest, i just-’

‘no, no, i’m sorry, it’s just been a day…’ you whimper. ryland’s heart cracked open ever so slightly. he had bad days as a middle school teacher, so he couldn’t imagine the amount of stress you’d constantly be under as a doctor.

‘okay…okay, c’mere…’ he spoke softly before gently bringing you into his arms, squeezing tightly. you let yourself cry into his chest, shoulders shaking with each sob. ryland didn’t try to hush you, he just held you, eventually running his fingers through your hair in an attempt to comfort.

that night you ended up ordering takeout despite the reservation he had made. you two lounged on your couch, still dressed up, watching finding nemo.

your head found his shoulder when marlin and dory started bouncing around on the jellyfish.

‘the tie is ugly,’ you muttered. he smiled, then lifted an arm to wrap around your shoulder.

‘i knew it.’

you both pull away from the hug, though ryland’s hands stay firmly planted on your elbows as he looks down at you. you’re both teary-eyed, and you laugh as you push his falling glasses up his nose for him with your index finger. he smiles.

“thank you.”

you smile back, and go in for another hug.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  @cloudedhouse @angelryex @loonylups @bluberrychampagne @stargral @alphabetically-deranged @patrickzweigsdefender @charmedntruer @severe-mental-illness @aemondsbbgx @challengers4ev @fthomas2 @yearsarewatchingyou @faistbaby @punkshyteee 𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[doveypearls]

Can you do “It’s too hot to hold hands.” With Ryland Grace. Please make sure he’s pouty about it cause I know he’d be such a pouter if he couldn’t hold his s/o’s hand.

HALTED AFFECTION // ryland grace

summary: a hot day and a field trip to the zoo don't mix well with public displays of affection. word count: 0.4k tags: gn!reader; established relationship (ryland and reader are married); fluff. a/n: not sure if you know this but apparently ryland is super pouty in the book?? and acknowledges it?? canon pouter!! so cute <3 anyway, enjoy!

prompt: (9) It's too hot to hold hands. (feel free to request a prompt + a character!)

Ryland is sweating through his shirt, much to his chagrin. He regrets choosing to wear his usual collared shirt over a simple (and much more appropriate) T-shirt, but he was hesitant to wear one of his embarrassing science pun shirts around a bunch of middle schoolers. He’s feeling the burden of it now.

“You look like you went for a swim,” you joke, bumping shoulders. Ryland groans, meandering through the zoo. He was hoping for a field trip to the (blessedly air conditioned) science museum, but his hopes were crushed in favor of the students collectively voting to go see stinking animals in the heat instead. 

“I’m all about letting the kids make decisions on their own,” Ryland starts, “but maybe I should ask them to consider the weather instead of the benefits of STEM education next time.”

With a laugh, you glance across the trail. A group of Ryland’s students are currently crowded around a fence, staring up at a giraffe. You smile fondly.

“Unfortunately for you, most kids prefer to have fun instead of, you know, having science shoved in their faces,” you remind him. Even though you’re in the same field as Ryland, you never forget to mention to him that you really, really hated science class as a kid. The revelation came late in life for you.

Ryland rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Let me complain, okay?”

His hand nudges yours, pinkie reaching out. You make a face when his clammy hand makes a grab for you.

“What are you doing?” You ask, wiping your own sweaty hands off on your shorts. “It’s too hot to hold hands.”

Ryland’s expression looks positively miserable when you reject him. His lip juts out in an instant.

“What? Come on. Don’t do this to me,” he whines.

You shake your head, face twisted in mock disgust. “Nuh-uh. You can’t complain about how hot it is and then get all grabby.”

“It’s just our hands! That’s not so bad!”

Rolling your eyes, you bump your shoulder against your husband’s again. “Big baby,” you snort, reluctantly linking pinkies with him — your compromise of the hour. A few of his students happen to pass by at that moment, whispering to themselves and giggling when they see their sweaty science teacher pouting at his spouse. You shoot the kids a look as if to say, Mind your business, and they run off with a laugh. You turn back to Ryland, swinging your arm. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go see the foxes.”

He’s still pouting, but this time, he doesn’t complain.

fancy some more?

> YES. > NO.

tag list . . . @electro-elemena @ashleyhart-34 @solaceblinks @qardasngan @shittyprofilebutfuckit @thecaptainsandy @salty-chips @kitdjarin1 @gamingdevil101 @ecclipsedd @360sentient-string-beans @star-maker-rain-dancer @dredgenbael @45silverwormsinatrenchcoat @maddie-only1 @shinynewrobin @cechey @lastminutescience 

[nothxbb]

Just aftercare

Das it

CUTE. I don't know why but I felt like i couldn't find the end of this one hahaha

He Reads ~ ryland grace x reader

1.3k words, fluff, immediately post sex

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

Ryland pulls you onto his chest, breath coming out in heavy pants as he tucks your head under his chin. Trembling arms wrap around your back, long fingers splaying across your skin and rubbing soothing circles into the muscle. Lips press into your messy hair, the sweetness of it a stark contrast to how intense everything felt a minute ago. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” His voice was soft, trying to not to disturb the peace that had fallen over you two. You nod and crane your head up, licking slowly into his mouth. There’s no hesitation from him - he meets your lips with a happy little noise, making you smile. You settled back against him, soaking in the haze for a few more moments. 

When you roll to your back, Ryland climbs out of the bed and disappears into the bathroom. You hear the sink running and he comes back with a warm towel. He presses your legs open just enough to swipe up the mess, murmuring his apologies when you twitch a little. A kiss drops to your knee and he’s gone again. 

A glass of water and a bag of chips land on the nightstand and he’s reaching for your hands. “Drink this, I’m going to get the shower going,” he helps you sit up, ever the gentleman, and retreats again. You take a sip and follow him, wrapping your arms around his front and pressing your face into his back. He lets out a laugh, turning to see you.

“You’re so sweet, you know that?” Your arms loop around his neck. He rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance, and rests his hands on your rear. “I’m serious, you fuck me into the mattress and then immediately turn into prince charming.” 

He makes a strangled noise, closing his eyes and turning his head away. “I might have done some… research.. in my time,” he forces out. “What kind of research?” You jump on him as quickly as he expected. He’s bright red, “I might’ve read some books.” 

Your eyes go wide, smile breaking across your face. “What kind of books are we talking?”

“You know what kind of books I’m talking about,” he grumbles, biting back his own smile. “Ryland Grace reads romance, I’m going to need a minute to take this in,” you study his face, not wanting to push too hard if he’s really embarrassed about it. 

“I read a few right when we started dating, figured women were going to be the most reliable source.” He’s practically pouting, “it’s basically peer reviewed material.” He leans down, kissing you soundly before you can tease him. “Now, you pee while I go grab clothes,” he gives you a serious look with a point. “I’m serious!” and he steps out of the bathroom. 

He waits until he hears the toilet flush before coming back, knowing you prefer a little privacy. You’re already in the shower when he returns, letting the hot water soothe your tired body. Ryland slides in behind you, taking your loofa and scrubbing your back gently. He’s very well behaved the whole time, radiating his respect for you through caring touches and dreamy kisses. 

When you’re both clean and dry, he slides a big t-shirt over your head, laughing at the playful slap you land on his ass when he turns around for his boxers. “So forward,” he chuckles, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back to the bed. You slide under the covers and hold them up, patting the mattress beside you. He dives right in, nearly laying his whole body on top of yours. 

“Mm, love you,” his words are muffled against your neck. You return the words easily, fingers weaving through his hair. “So about those books,” you start, giggling at his groan. “I was just wondering which ones you’ve read!”

He raises his head and glares at you. He’s thinking again, you can see the wheels turning. The drawer on the nightstand slides open and he grabs his kindle, pausing before handing it to you with a shy look from under his lashes. “Ryland, I’m just teasing, you don’t have to tell me.” You’re suddenly worried that he feels real pressure, which is the last thing you wanted to do to the sweetest man you knew. 

“It’s okay,” he smiles, laying back down against your chest. “I’m open to your recommendations.” He takes the kindle and turns it on, letting you read the list of books. It’s a lot of genres - memoirs, fiction and non-fiction, lots of classics. “You have good taste,” you affirm, skimming your nails over his back. 

A few romance books are scattered through the list, they’re generally tame, he clearly reads the content warnings before picking one out. You huff a little laugh when you realize that he really only read sweet romance novels. 

“What?” He sounds anxious. “Nothing, nothing Ry! These are really good ones, I’ve read them all too,” you ask him for his thoughts on a plot twist from one of the stories, laughing as he launches into a tirade about how many bad decisions were made back to back by literally every character. “Like, if a single good choice had been made, the book would have been over. It was all so fixable!” His hands fly through the air, helping him articulate his thoughts.

You scroll back up the list, eyes going wide when you catch sight of a title you didn’t expect to see. “Heated Rivalry?” You didn’t mean to sound so surprised. It had the little checkmark on it, he read the whole thing. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, muffling a snort in your shoulder. “That’s a good one too!” You insist, running a hand over his hair again. “I wanted to know what the hype was about,” he chuckles. “Then the story got really good and I needed to know how it would end.” You both melt into giggles, “have you read it?” He asks, tilting to see you. 

“I’ve seen the show, haven’t read the book.” A nod from him, like he’s cataloging that information for later. He taps into the store on his tablet and waves it out to you. “Here, what should I read next?” He molds himself to you as soon as you take it, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you lower into the sheets. “This is a big responsibility,” you tuck a leg around his, distracted by how nice his weight felt on top of you. “Do you have a favorite?”

You think for a second, searching for something he would like. Oh, of course. You type in the title and let him read the synopsis, laughing when he reads out a review. “‘It’s everything I didn’t know I needed.’” 

He taps buy and downloads it, “I’m telling you, it’s peer reviewed!”

“No, you’re right. The data is there, I never thought of it that way,” you push him and he rolls, pulling you on top of him. You see him open the book and you grin, “you’re gonna read it? Right now?” He clears his throat.

“I’m gonna read it to you.” His fingers skim over your side, feeling the breath you pull in. 

And he does - he reads the first chapter in a low voice. He doesn’t notice that your eyes are closed and your breathing evened out until he gets to the last page. A small smile pulls at his lips, his eyes shining in a way that he knows would make you blush if you were awake. 

He reads for as long as he can, stretching the moment out. These were his favorite nights, he decided to tell you that too when you woke up in the morning.

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

i figured out that I struggle to write earth stories with ryland bc I know that he would be sent to space and that would be the end of it. I like Erid bc I can explore hope and grief and how they intertwine, knowing it's an objectively happy ending. any earth story is ultimately more heartbreaking than post hail Mary ones

[bibigo-lover]

eridian logic!

summary: your heart-to-heart with rocky leads to a lot of unnecessary teasing targeted towards grace. you can't help it—he just makes it so easy (based on this textpost // @viviennejinx!)

pairing: ryland grace x gn!reader

word count: 4.3k

tags: fluff and humor, not actually unrequited love, mutual pining, bad flirting, basically teasing to death, flustered!grace, developing relationship, platonic!rocky x reader, first kisses, gn!reader

cross-posted to ao3

Grace is off in the crew quarters trying to take a nap. He’s been all tuckered out, you think, since Rocky decided to start co-habitating with the two of you on the Mary. Though it’s probably the most efficient way to work altogether—instead of moving to and from the midpoint of your ship and Rocky’s—it’s clearly driving Grace crazy. Boundaries, he keeps telling Rocky, There’s a delicate line that’s being crossed. More than crossed. Hopped and skipped. And still, Rocky’s insistent on moving in. You don’t have any major objections, considering that Rocky is a positive change to your usual routine.

It isn’t the most convenient arrangement in the world, but Rocky is having you lug xenonite boxes and panes of glass into the Hail Mary from the connector tunnel. You have to wait a half an hour each for the materials to cool down before you can pick them up, so there’s a whole lot of get-to-know you time. After the first batch of belongings, Rocky is sure to ask you about the basics—what Earth is like, what humans are like, and your expertise on the project. The second batch is exponentially more personal. Rocky asks about how you came to be on the ship, where on Earth you belong to, and if you miss your loved ones.

And, on the third and last batch, you and Rocky are sitting in the connector tunnel on a pile of empty storage crates, effectively repurposed into seating. It’ll be a short break, now, for you to catch your breath. You’re trying to get a good stretch out of your arms and legs as you sit on the slanted crate. You’re certainly expecting to be sore after all the strenuous labor of carrying Rocky’s things. Meanwhile, Rocky is rolling back and forth, back and forth—still testing out the mobility on his new xenonite ball. He seems pleased with the development. Or, bored. You can never tell what he’s thinking when he gets all roll-y. It only becomes apparent here when he decides to ask you: “Is Grace mate, question?”

“Wow. Presumptuous,” you punch out. It’s a nice shock to your senses, the forwardness of Rocky’s inquiry. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it, but obviously, it seems that Rocky’s confident that he’s got it all figured out. “Where are you getting that from?”

“Grace make all effort to do bad science jokes. Is baaad.” Rocky says. “But laugh like Grace mate.”

“That could just be me being polite,” you test. “It’s really important for morale, you know, laughing.”

Rocky pauses for a moment, stilled in his xenonite casing. Then, he tries again: “Is it same for heart rate too, question?” He chirps in a repetitive manner, something akin to a chuckle. There’s not much you can do to disprove the physiological facts. Rocky’s as clever as you’d expect—and it isn’t like you’re trying to conceal the nature of your relationship with Grace.

What you’ve got with him is neither here nor there. It’s perfectly middle-ground, and really, you're satisfied with it. Grace is a decent roommate; he’s observant—knows what ticks you off, what pleases you, avoids the former and tries for the latter. You can already tell that he’s a little bit sweet on you, just by the way that he looks at you with soft blue eyes—corners of his eyes crinkling as he busies his hands with whatever prop he decides to pick up. Glass beakers, microscopes, xenonite models, you name it. It’s always the same.

And you’re always staring at him with your chin propped up on your palm, at once amused and enamored. You’d known you would feel a certain way about Grace ever since you’d both woken up on the Hail Mary. You’re attracted to him, of course, but there’s also something else. Even without a whole memory, your mind lingers on him longer than need be. It’s something like love, if not exactly that. “Well, we haven’t talked about it, but we’re as good as mates,” you decide to tell Rocky.

“Is unclear,” he mumbles. Aloud, it does sound like very strange terms to be referring to the current circumstances. A very human arrangement, you think. Rocky concurs with a stamp of his arm down on the plated floor.

“We live together, we eat together. I can tell I want to kiss him and he wants to kiss me,” you list off, counting on one hand. “We cohabitate in the same space like two mates would, but we haven’t had the opportunity to… have it out. It’s mission-first thinking.”

Rocky begins to roll towards a batch of glass propped up on the wall, a wordless sign for you to pick it up for him. Break’s over. Begrudgingly, you follow along, lifting the trapezoidal glass pane up with both arms. As you swing it into a more secure grip, he seems to speak more softly. “More Eridian than human.”

“Who? Me?” you say half-heartedly, still very focused toward your grip on the xenonite glass. It’s more difficult for you than it is for Rocky to carry the whole thing through the hatch door of the Hail Mary. Still, it sounds like a high compliment.

“Yes. Is Eridian thinking to view Grace in definite terms. Grace as mate, inevitable. Is beautiful!” Rocky raises a claw up, wiggling his little rugged fingers in a gentle sweep across the empty space in front of him. It’s reassuring, certainly, that Rocky views you in high regard. Even though you’re breaking a sweat trying to carry this weighted pane for your new shipmate, you still make a concerted effort to give him a wide grin.

“Thanks, Rocky.”

—

There’s a good mood going between you and Rocky after all the talking. Grace picks up on it quickly after his long nap, when he sees the both of you huddled in the lab working on one of the larger dry-erase boards. There’s a bunch of calculations scrawled neatly in black across the whole white surface, alongside a larger diagram of the ship’s engines. While he’s been sleeping, it’s clear the two of you have been wading through the more complex engineering issues. Hearing Grace’s footsteps approach, you turn to face him over your shoulder with a grin, “Morning.”

Grace looks straight out of bed, with his punny tee and his sweatpants—blonde hair sticking up in random directions. He seems to be stretching his back out as you greet him, eyelids heavy. “It seems like someone ignored the memo to pack light,” Grace grumbles, nudging his mug towards the corridor behind him. The stack of xenonite crates and glass you two amassed is generous, to say the least.

“Hey, I’m just the mover,” you hum, “You’re gonna have to take it up with the big guy.” You jut your index finger out towards Rocky, who’s tapping one side claw against the glass.

He merely buzzes, “Rocky need equipment to save Earth Erid stars. Don’t mind.” He rolls closer to the center of the room to get a better scan of the corridor, before returning to your side at the white board. “Same volume of mess as before Rocky arrival.” Rude. When you look back over at Grace, he doesn’t seem to have any major objections. It is true; the two of you were maybe a little bit slobbish before Rocky came along.

The three of you seem to fall back into routine easily. Grace is still trying to wake himself up with generous gulps of black coffee. You and Rocky continue on with your calculations and diagram. You’re trying your best to stay focused on the work—but the two of you have been working on these problems for the past hour and now, Grace is in front of you with his entirely sleep-ridden appearance. He just looks… perfect. And, out of the blue, Rocky shoots out an abrupt: “Why choose Grace for mate, question?” There’s a clatter to your left. Grace’s grip loosens on the handle of his mug, a sizable drop of coffee splashing onto the steel counter beside you both. He decides, at once, to place the mug down and away from himself, before wiping the mess up with the sleeve of his navy-blue hoodie.

Grace sputters, “What? Mate—we're not—that would require at least kind of—" He’s speaking so intermittently that he can barely get a full sentence out. You raise a brow just watching Grace mesh his hands together, fingers interlocking and coming apart. He’s not making it any better for himself.

The wide-eyed look that you give Rocky isn’t nearly as mortified as Grace’s. While it’s accompanied by shock, you’re very intrigued by the nature of Rocky’s question. You have no idea what he’s shooting for, but it’s clearly working. Grace is talking to himself, dazed as he fixates on soaking the coffee up with his sleeve. Rocky stays silent in his xenonite casing. He’s anticipating an answer out of you, and so you’re going to have to give it to him. With a rather astute tone, analytical in nature, you offer up, “Well, he’s passionate. That’s a plus.”

Grace’s brows furrow together. “Sorry?” He’s floored. You can’t possibly be talking about him, but Rocky’s asking and you’re answering. It’s really not adding up. Grace is looking at you over the frame of his glasses, eyes squinted in perplexity.

“The molecular biology, the teaching,” you note, “Gold stars all around.”

“Dedication valuable for Earth mate selection,” Rocky nods along. It isn’t anything he doesn’t already know. While Grace has been asleep and the two of you have gotten to talking, Rocky knows practically all the minute details of why you’ve “chosen” Grace. The point of hashing it out in front of him now is unclear—aside from the potential entertainment value. That makes sense.

“Okay. He learned humor while I was napping. I’m not offended at all.” Though he tries to laugh it off, Grace doesn’t sound at all sure of himself. He’s very close to pacing back and forth, not sure whether he should try to change out of his now coffee-soaked hoodie or question the two of you further. When you and Rocky turn straight back to work unaffected, you at the front of the board and him tracing his claw across the glass with a sort of contemplative silence, Grace is shell-shocked. He’s muttering under his breath, “I don’t think I get the joke.” Both of your backs are turned to Grace; he can’t see the growing smirk that’s cropping up on your face.

It’s a quick pivot back to work. “I have a feeling that we should make a few minor adjustments to the rear fuselage. There’s going to be a lot of strain on engines when we get to Tau Ceti-E.” You click your tongue, circling the lower right quadrant of the diagram in a red dry-erase ink. Once your little annotation is completed, you tuck the marker in your back pocket.

“Agree, agree, agree,” Rocky tips his body towards the white board. His texture monitor is showing a complex, grayscale copy of the board to a T. It’s as if neither of you have tried to tease Grace to death just seconds prior. He’s glued to the ground with a weary kind of expression on his face. Grace is frowning, truly and deeply, with his palm squeezing the back of his neck. You could almost feel bad if you weren’t so pleased to see Grace like this; rarely is he speechless.

A few minutes pass. Then, Rocky approaches the same question from a different vantage point. “Grace attractive by human standard, question?”

“Well, he's handsome by my standard, and I’m pretty sure a lot of humans would agree,” you admit. “He is a bit dorky, but I like ‘em that way. That’s preference, though. Not all humans are into dorky.”

Rocky returns your statement with a rushed out, “Yes, yes, yes—preference. Understand.”

“Okay. Hello?” Grace speaks outward towards the lab. His voice carries throughout the hull of the ship, and the two of you are still non-reactive. “We’re doing it again. I am in the room.” His old teacher’s voice is coming out again—one hand shot up in the air, trying to flag your attention.

You look at him over your shoulder with a soft “What was that, Ry?” You’re very pleased to see that his cheeks are glowing red underneath the white-gold frames of his glasses. You drag your gaze up and down his raised arm, with a particularly sharp grin hanging off your face. So toned. “Didn’t hear you,” you tilt your head. Grace lowers his arm slowly, turning back around to pick up his mug.

“Ha-ha,” Grace punches out. He’s trying to seem unbothered by this whole situation, but it really is bothering him. No matter how hard he’s trying to maintain his composure, Grace is flushed. You can practically see the steam rising off the top of his head. It’s an illogical conversation playing out in front of him and the effort’s no use. You and Rocky are absolutely impossible. “I’m going to go for a metaphorical breath of fresh air. I will… see you both shortly.” Grace is too nervous to push it any further, and it seems like he’s leaving you both to do a cool-off lap around the ship.

You can hear him talking to himself as he leaves the lab, as if possessed by his own confusion. “Handsome…? Is it April Fool’s? Mary, can you pull up a UTC calendar for me, please? What month is it back home?” Louder, the ship’s computer rings out a staticky, “The month is: June.” Grace’s muffled groan rings out towards the two of you..

You turn towards Rocky with a slow shake of your head. “You’re really mean. Did you know that?” you ask Rocky. He pushes closer to you. Like you’re any better.

“Grace not know you are mates when obvious. Grace fault,” Rocky says, with both claws pointed in the air. You think it’s supposed to be a sort of shrug.

—

After Grace’s little cooldown period, he’s back on his feet and wanting to teach you how to sample astrophage. Even though you’ll both be out there at the same time, spacewalking side by side, he wants you to be prepared. It’s best that you both know how to handle the equipment. You’re not completely convinced that he’s over your little bit with Rocky earlier, but he seems altogether unoffended enough to talk to you. While you and Grace are running through the sampler together, Rocky’s not far away. He sits in the corridor, sifting through his things—no doubt listening to the two of you working together.

Grace's fingers trace over the orange lining of the box before he slides it towards you. “You’re going to have this whole sampler rig attached to your suit. It’s supposed to be portable, so it shouldn’t be too much of a hassle for us to bring it out and set it up on the topside of the deck,” he explains. You’re nodding along; something tells you that you’ve heard this entire lecture before—that Grace is using the words that he might’ve before your launch—but it’s altogether pointless to point it out now.

You’re watching as his hands surround either side of the sampler; he pulls out, simultaneously, two metal grated plates. “Okay. These plates are supposed to intake the astrophage going towards Tau Ceti-E.” Grace closes the one set and opens another. “And these are supposed to grab the astrophage that’s leaving. We’ll grab input first. Then, output.”

Mindlessly, Grace grabs the off-white masking tape off the counter beside you, nearly brushing your waist; he tries to ignore the minimal contact, pressing the bar of tape onto the first set of plates. Then, the second. Grace discards the roll on the counter, before picking the dry-erase marker out of your pocket and presses it into the palm of your dominant hand. Grace flinches as his fingertips graze the surface of your palm. He’s still trying to keep a fair distance after your little debacle with Rocky earlier, but he just can’t help it.

“You want me to label it?” you laugh.

“It’s lab standard,” he insists. “If we mix them up, we’ll have to sample all over again—and that would mean we’d have to clean the plates. And if we do that poorly…” Grace makes a big show of making a miniature explosion with his hands. It’s difficult not to scoff at him. You know it’s lab standard, but he could easily label them himself. The apprehension worn on your face makes Grace sigh. You’re able to read him too easily, and he surrenders over, “And I like your handwriting more than I like mine.”

There—the root of the issue. You shake your head, “You’re a teacher, Grace. Legibility is, like, a job requirement.”

“If that were true, the staff at Grover Cleveland Middle would’ve been chopped in half,” he chuckles. As far as you’ve seen, his handwriting isn’t bad at all. To each their own, you suppose. You lean down to write on the open panels of the sampler, Grace watching carefully over your shoulder.

“See? This is part of the mating ritual, too, Rock.” It barely comes out as a whisper as you’re writing down “a1. input” and “a2. output” neatly across the tape for either panel. It’s sarcasm really, but you realize much too late that Rocky might not interpret it as such. Grace, somehow, is much more occupied at watching over your labeling technique; he murmurs back a distracted “Hm?” before furrowing his brows. He stands straight up, eyebrows furrowed. It might have taken a second to register, but Grace is fully aware of what you’ve said—

And suddenly, Rocky is practically shouting down the corridor with a hurried, “wait, wait wait!” You can hear the successive rapid thunks of him sliding into his xenonite ball, sealing it, and rolling back towards the both of you. The Eridian practically comes barreling in through the doorway, running into the white metal shelves of the Hail Mary with a childlike ardor. “Is initiating kiss, question?”

“Again?” Grace groans, pulling his glasses off and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. When he lowers his hand, you can see the blush spreading across his face, from the tips of his ears to his cheeks. “Okay. That’s it,” Grace huffs. “This has to end now. No more bits.”

“Graaace. Do not be mad,” Rocky whines in a low tone, “Is only kiss. Partial threshold for human relations.” Grace is tugging his hoodie off in a desperate attempt to keep a regular temperature. There’s a shelf hook close enough for him to toss up the garment haphazardly. Once it’s out of the way, he turns toward Rocky.

“You didn’t even know that word an hour ago.” Grace’s voice raises in tone and volume all at once, crackling with embarrassment. It’s unintentionally accusatory. Grace certainly didn’t code in <kiss>, and it’s not like Rocky can type into his own vocabulary bank. And Grace can’t seem to figure out why you’d code it aside from entertainment value.

“Kiss not bad word, Grace. Is normal,” Rocky explains calmly. “Now, do kiss. Please.” The begging tone that Rocky dishes out to Grace only makes him more and more impatient. Meanwhile, you’re simply watching the two of them bicker with one another—not interested in the slightest to stop the argument. Shamefully, you do want Grace to be pushed to his limit. And this happens much quicker than you would anticipate. Right about now, Grace has his hands locked together and resting just over his head. His face is still flushed, and he’s got his glasses hanging off his face.

Grace is trying to stay as calm as he can and failing. Every time the word is used, he’s getting deeply distracted by the thought of your lips on his. He can’t help the way his mind drifts to that very, very vivid fantasy of your hands balancing flat on his chest. Finally, he breathes out a heavy and burdened sigh: “No more kiss talk. We aren’t together, end of story.”

“I mean, we kind of are,” you say to Grace, who turns sharply mid-speaking to tilt his head at you.

“What?” he stammers softly. You’re not helping his case, especially with that tone.

Hands held behind your back, you repeat for Grace, “We are.” It's a matter of fact. Any semblance of sternness Grace was attempting prior crumbles at the drop of a dime. He’s pointing at you with his index finger, then at himself, then you again. “No, we’re not.”

You grab for Grace’s wrist, just over the red-band of his wristwatch. “Okay. Come on, we’re going up to screens.” Grace, still stunned, lets you drag him out of the lab and towards the corridor. As you look over your shoulder, you can see that Rocky is shooting you a strong thumbs-down.

—

The empty, numbered panels of the projection deck flicker to life into the backdrop of the river Seine. You’ve asked Mary to put on music—really, anything would do—and she decides to ring out some folk-rock song that you’ve never heard before. Something older, not too much ruckus when played loud. It’s a decent way to guarantee yourself a bit of privacy with your new, sound-attuned roommate. You’ll be lucky if Rocky can’t hear the two of you finally having this talk. Over the sound of the soft strumming guitars, you stretch your shoulders back. “I might have had a bit too fun teasing you. Sorry.”

“Well, I thought you were just… doing a bit. Like, ha-ha, ‘Ryland Grace dies alone in space,’” Grace mumbles. “Is it still a bit? You’re sending a whole lot of signals, and I don’t think I’m receiving—” Grace seems to quiet down as soon as you plant your hand down on his chest. He’s tracing his eyes from your hand, down your arm, and straight up to your face with his lips parted. “Or, I am receiving. A little bit.”

“Okay,” you decide, “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? I have. We’ve been living together for the equivalent of… what, a few months now? I’m comfortable with you, and you’re comfortable with me. It’s been like that ever since we got sent up. Maybe even before. I don’t remember. But we like each other.” Your fingers are dancing soft on his chest, and his breath is hitching.

“We?” Grace echoes. “I was under the impression that you were, you know, kind of uninterested in me. Besides, you know, as a co-habitant. Mission-wise, it’s crucial for us to get along.” He’s clueless, clearly, because it hasn’t been like that at all—for you, at least.

You’re trying to stir up another line of reasoning for him. You have to meet Grace at his level.  “There’s the, uh, Einstein quote. I know you know it, just… let me think.” You massage your temples with your fingers, trying to wrack your brain for it. It’s perfect. What is it, again?

It’s easy for Grace—the middle-school science teacher that he is—to pick up what you’re putting down. "When you sit with a nice girl for two hours, you think it's only a minute. But when you sit on a hot stove for a minute, you think it's two hours. That's relativity,” Grace nods, “But that’s a very crude explanation of the concept, and I don’t really—”

You shush him with a shake of your head. “Right. Eridians don’t have a conception of relativity. It isn’t necessary for them, because things are just… what they are. They’re literal and exact, and there isn’t any dancing around the facts.” you explain to Grace hurriedly. “So… you’re my boyfriend. You’ve been my boyfriend.”

It takes a moment for him to process your argument. It’s very… forward. He seems to look past you towards one of the panel-screens. The projected river is still glittering behind you, and you’re not going anywhere. Mary even put in the effort of mixing this ambient watery sound—boats and people, back on Earth whenever ago—with the music track. Somehow, your traveling abode in space has made the absolute perfect atmosphere for this. You and Grace.

“Well, that’s just…” Grace nods slowly, “peachy.” He drops his head down in absolute disappointment of his own incapability to speak. What is he saying?

“Peachy?” you repeat quietly. You’re astounded that that’s the choice of word he’s selected for this entire ordeal. It’s so like him. You can feel yourself shuddering out a breath. Your cheeks are already sore enough as is—and you don’t think you can take another hard laugh.

“Don’t,” Grace says, “I have had a long and emotionally tumultuous couple of hours.”

“Are you mad about the teasing?” you ask, stepping closer to Grace. He’s barely paying attention, eyes glazed-over in a dazed fashion. He’s having trouble focusing on your words. Too occupied with you.

“No. Never,” he murmurs, eyebrows knitted together. You’re reaching for Grace next, hands swinging around his neck in an effort to pull him in. He’s fumbling with his hands, unsure exactly where to place them. They’re steady only when they find grounding on your midsection. You give him one peck on the lips. Then, another. He leans into the contact, the rims of your glasses brushing against the surface of your cheeks. It’s casual, comfortable—as if it’s not the first time. You’re his, and he’s yours. It’s effortless. Grace seems to finally ease up.

There’s a few loud thuds down the hall—presumably, your Eridian counterpart. The folk-rock is no use. Rocky has obviously been listening through the entirety of your back-and-forth. “Finally, Grace act like real mate. Congratulate, congratulate, congratulate.” His voice rings out loudly towards the projection deck. Grace is muttering under his breath again, something about those boundaries. At least now, you’re both on the same page.

[jetblack4real]

he's my brother - steve harrington

summary: you shouldn't have had to watch your brother die, but life isn't fair now, is it?

warnings: torture, death, and references to da

requested! hargrove!reader

word count: 3.5k

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

billy had been acting insane all summer.

at first, it hadn't been different enough for you to care much. billy had been angry for half your life, none of what he was doing was exactly new. just a little harsher. louder. deadlier.

but now, seeing it, registering it for what it was? it almost crippled you.

you didn't understand fully what mike and lucas tried to explain to you as the mindflayer's control, trying to push it off as billy's choice but it wasn't. it was something in his head, messing with his mind, pushing his body to dangerous places just for this psychotic, supernatural creature to use hawkins residents to create a body for itself.

as this information set in, you became increasingly grateful that billy was not one of these melted, malformed bodies squelched together to create the beast you were actively trying now to kill.

until he walked into the room, angry and grunting and dragging el with him to feed her to the beast.

"no, no, no!" you yelled, eyes wide as the boys and nancy all began throwing fireworks at the massive, disgusting beast. "what the hell is he doing here?"

"throw the damn explosives!" lucas yelled, shoving one in your hand as el tried to fight against billy.

you grunted, obeying and lighting the small package up before chucking it at the mindflayer as hard as you could.

and as soon as it hit the thing?

billy dropped.

he writhed on the floor as you all barraged the mindflayer's flesh with fireworks, the inital sting knocking him down before he manage to work through it. after fighting himself up, trying to resist the pain that filled him at the mindflayer's own pain, he had el by the shoulders, holding her to the floor as dark veins spread across his skin.

it looked scarily like the first time he'd gotten angry with max, minus the supernatural aspects to his current strength, and you were racing towards the staircase in an instant.

"we're almost out!" steve shouted to dustin through the walkie-talkie as he looked to the boxes of fireworks. then, his eyes caught on your figure as you soared down the stairs to be at base level, moving quicker than anyone could've expected. "shit."

you could hear steve behind you, yelling at you to stop and following you quickly down the stairs, but you couldn't stop. all you could see was billy, on the floor, holding el as those furious black veins slowly disappeared. she was saying something to him, his eyes going glassy before they flicked to meet your matching ones.

"billy, stop!" you cried, stalling only when the mindflayer turned its attention to you. lucas hit it with another firework and it roared, looking away and allowing you to move once again. you swallowed harshly, walking slower towards the two and saying softer, "when this is over, you'll be normal again. okay? you'll be alright, we just have to stop this thing. let her go."

you approached him slowly, your name being called behind you as you simply held a hand up and slowed your steps.

he glanced between you and el, his features softening and his skin clearing even through the sweat and blood. his breath trembled as el continued, her voice soft and tears covering her cheeks.

you could finally start to hear what she was telling him, quiet murmurs about the beach and a beautiful woman with a long dress and a blue and red flower, surfing and sand and you.

you could see it too.

long, sunny days in california, before the divorce, before the abuse, before max even entered your lives. you were young and excitable, always at the beach with your angel of a mother who had taught you both how to surf at young ages. it was all you ever did, and you always did it together as she watched with a wide, encouraging smile.

everything had seemed so simple then. so easy.

his eyes met yours, two halves to the same whole, the only constant you had ever known, and el sobbed out,

"you were happy."

she raised a hand to his cheek as tears slipped down his cheeks, his breaths going from violent to soft as he regained his breath and his person.

he stood, stepping in front of el slowly as she pushed herself backwards in fear, the mindflayer turning to face them both. your heart raced, lunging forward as it reached for eleven with a tentacle of an arm -

but, billy was quicker.

when he lunged in front of her, it wasn't violent. it was precise, protective. it was the same way he used to get you behind him when your father's voice grew too loud.

he caught the arm, pushing it back with bared teeth and loud grunts. "no!" he yelled, crying out as he fought against it, boots scraping against the tile to keep himself in place.

you screamed, breath catching and heart seizing as you lunged forward like you could be of any help from such a distance. "billy!"

max and mike emerged in that moment, mike running to pull el away as max stood there with wide, red eyes. they flicked from billy to you to billy again, her breath catching and trembling all at once.

four more tentacle-like arms shot out, and you moved with them, all five racing to billy as you yelled out.

but, they were actually able to reach him.

you were grabbed by two strong arms from behind, wrenched backwards as billy was slowly lifted in the air, blood seeping from his torso as the tentacles cut into his skin, the boy grunting as he resisted.

"no!" you screamed, voice trembling with a pain that would be more expected from billy than you. you fought against steve even as he clung to you with all the strength he had left, groaning as you dug your nails into his arms. "no, let me go! let me go!"

you grunted, trying to find some purchase on the tile but realizing all too quickly that steve was much stronger than you. you shouted out, slamming your foot into the floor in an attempt to keep him from dragging you backwards but failing spectacularly.

"you can't help him!" he answered, his hold only tightening as he pulled you back.

you cried out, a choking sob slipping from your lips as he pulled you flush against his chest, arms securing your arms to your sides as he continued to walk backwards. something in you broke as his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his next words gentler.

"you can't help him, baby," he breathed out quietly. "i'm sorry."

it was almost worse, hearing him say it kinder. it carried that sense of truth that pissed you off, the kind that made you understand how ridiculous it looked for you to try to get involved when it would inevitably lead to your death.

you hated that steve was right, and you hated that you wanted to run to billy anyways.

you still tried to pull away like he was dragging you towards your death instead of away, but they could have been the same thing from what you could tell. your vision was blurry, and yet the focus was the same - the limp body of your best friend held up by fleshy tentacles that were literally draining the life from him.

his tank top grew red with his own, thick blood, and you let out a choking sob at the sight, steve's eyes softening even as his grip on you tightened.

your voice broke as you pleaded violently, "let me go!"

max was watching you instead of billy, her hands trembling and breath shaking as you tried to tear yourself away from steve. he was doing his best to keep you away, but the shear force you were applying against his already-sore body was almost impressive.

to you it was just desperation.

pure desperation that had you swinging and screaming and crying, hitting steve like you didn't even realize that it was him behind you, just that someone was holding you back when you needed to run forward.

but, even beyond desperation, it was instinct.

this wasn't new to you, billy getting stuck in some sort of adrenaline-inducing fight that had him broken and bleeding. max was convinced that he put himself in these situations on purpose, but you'd long since known that they just happened upon him instead.

you'd learned at a young age that if billy didn't hit first, he'd get hit harder. and you'd learned at that same age that when he inevitably ran, you'd always run with him.

that was the difference between you and max.

that was the difference between a little sister and a twin.

she ran from billy, while you ran toward him.

that was your job, your born instinct, your duty to always run to billy and he to you.

but, you couldn't now. you had two bloodied arms holding you in place even as you screamed and clawed and pushed him away.

up above, lucas was screaming into his walkie-talkie for joyce to shut the gate, but you couldn't hardly hear him. your bloodshot eyes were on your brother.

billy's life had always been filled with pain. you'd experienced it all along with him until you didn't. until he started keeping you from it. your whole life, billy had been both your shield against the danger and your access to it, never a knight, but forever a force to be reckoned with.

and you couldn't reach him. he was bleeding, dying, screaming, and you couldn't reach him.

you screamed his name, screamed it until your throat felt raw and your voice broke and it didn't even sound like you anymore. just over and over again like it was the only thing you could think to do, you screamed his name.

billy looked back at you, his eyes glossed over, mouth covered in blood and somehow he still had that same stupid smirk that always made you want to hit him. it was softer now, bottom lip trembling as tears made tracks through the blood.

his gaze met steve's then, a silent appreciation in his stare as he noted the grip in which the harrington boy held you. steve met it, intimidated almost, silently promising even more.

"let me go, steve!" you cried again, pushing against his arms.

in that moment, steve saw him as more than just the asshole from gym class.

"he's my brother!"

he's your twin brother.

the monster moved, everyone's breaths catching as another tentacle emerged.

your eyes were wide, too wide, every emotion reading on your face as pure instinct fueled your next moves.

you jabbed an elbow into steve's stomach, the boy's breath catching with a grunt and his grip loosening just enough for you to go flying forward.

but, you were too far. somehow, steve had managed to drag you far enough back in your squirming and pushing that you weren't anywhere near as close as you needed to be to be of any use. so, you ran faster, even as steve yelled and followed.

billy had turned back tot he beast and began screaming loudly, a final act of defiance against the thing that had stolen his autonomy from him in mind and body. it was a very billy thing to do. it almost made you want to smile.

and then the mindflayer stabbed an arm through his chest.

max screamed behind you, but you couldn't hear it.

everything went silent. everything went numb.

a quiet buzzing filled your ears, your arms falling to your sides as you froze. all you could do was watch, breath completely gone and limbs limp, heart barely pumping enough to keep you alive.

the mindflayer screamed, seizing and crashing to the ground as billy did, the gate obviously shut now.

realization crashed against you like a wave of ocean water, and you collapsed at his side, hands on his shoulders as you tried to meet his sullen eyes, yours wide and desperate and terrified.

"billy please," you begged, voice trembling and eyes filling with tears.

you patted his cheek like it would wake him from his blood loss induced trance, his eyes flickering and blinking too slowly in an attempt to see you.

you'd been here once before, when he wiped out at the skatepark when you were 12. he'd been trying to teach you, and instead he ended up on the concrete. but, he'd managed a smile, then. he wasn't smiling now.

"billy stay awake, please, people will be here soon. please, billy. seriously, billy, please." your voice was higher than normal, breaths shaking as you brushed his curls out of his face.

you shook your head, lip quivering as you said again. "billy, you can't, please," you cried quietly, shaking your head again and again. "you can't leave me. i can't lose you, billy, please." his breaths shook even more than yours, and your voice broke as you whimpered, "you're my brother. i can't lose you."

finally, his eyes flickered to you, unfocused. after another murmur of his name, they settled, and he knew exactly who you were, even now, even with blood in his eyes and life slipping from his fingers.

max was standing over your shoulder, her hands over her mouth as she stared down at him in shock. his eyes met hers for just a moment, enough to blink and twitch a simple nod, a silent reassurance that he saw her.

blood spilled from his lips, circling around his neck and sticking to his hair as he reached a limp hand to your cheek, eyes returning to your matching ones. you held it there, letting out a sob as he tried at a thin smile. he glanced between you both. "i'm sorry," he whispered, grip faltering as a breath slipped from his lips.

"no, no, no, no," you sobbed, patting his cheek before you choked, faltering as a desperate cry slipped by your lips. his eyes went blank, baby blues dull in a way they'd never been before, and you dropped your head to his shoulder, crying out, "no."

you sucked in a trembling breath, hands shaking as you placed his hand back at his side and turned to comfort your sobbing sister behind you, but lucas was already there, having raced down the stairs to be by her side. he hugged her close, his brows knitted in concern and shock as he ran a hand over her back.

"it's okay," he whispered to her. "it's okay."

but, it wasn't okay. it never would be.

it all hit you at once when you looked back at billy's limp form. soul-wracking gasps nearly split your throat as you fell back, hand coming to your mouth in shock and disbelief. his blood covered your clothes, your hands, and now your face, and you pushed yourself backwards across the wet tile.

"steve," you managed to whimper out, still not able to tear your eyes away from your brother.

he was there in an instant, dropping to his knees in front of you and pulling your attention to him as he tugged you securely into his chest.

his arms wrapped tightly around you, one hand smoothing over your hair as he kept your eyes off the body, face tucked into his stained uniform shirt. "i've got you," he told you quietly, pressing his lips to the top of your head. "i have you, sweetheart."

you clung to him like he was the only tether to life you had left, which was half true. it was odd, it wasn't grief that swept you first - it was confusion.

billy was the only constant you'd ever had in your life. you'd come into the world together, you'd faced the world together. somehow, through everything you'd been through, everything that he'd done to you, he still managed to be the only person to ever understand you to the fullest extent.

and he was gone.

that connection, that understanding, that innate, instinctual love that you'd never had to live without was gone. ripped away from you by a creature from the supernatural.

murdered right before your eyes.

you couldn't meet steve's eyes as the agents and soldiers from dr owens' lab came in to clear everything out and make it look like something it wasn't. make your brother's death look like an accident instead of a sacrifice.

he carried you to the ambulance, holding your hand and talking you through it as one of the emt's made sure that you were okay enough to go home. when they declared you alright to leave, he tried to get you to meet his eyes, but you just couldn't.

still, you wouldn't let go of his hand.

"let's get you home," he told you softly. "i'm going to find max, and we're gonna get you home, okay?"

you shook your head, biting the inside of your lip as tears welled in your eyes.

billy was supposed to be at home. he stayed in the room next to yours, with his stupid music playing all the time, those dumb swimsuit posters on his walls, dozens of colognes and hairsprays on his desk for all the dates he filled his weekends with, a dumb model of his own car sitting next to them.

the real thing was wrecked. it was on the other side of the parking lot, still sitting there from when steve rammed into it in a successful attempt at saving nancy and the kids.

you silently wondered if there would be a way to fix it. it was half your car anyways, you helped him pay for it.

half of most everything of billy's was yours anyways.

"okay," steve said slowly, squeezing your hand and waiting for you to meet his eyes again. you didn't, staring down at your swinging feet as he let out a heavy breath. "will you wait here for a second?"

that's when your eyes shot to his, brows knitting as you sat straighter. "steve-"

"you can come with me," he told you quickly, looking you over quickly as though something had hurt you in the two seconds he glanced away. "or i will be right back. i'm just going to talk to the kids."

you looked over his shoulder to see max still clinging to lucas, el rubbing her arm as mike stood next to them not knowing what to do. you met steve's eyes with a thin breath. "be quick."

he smiled small and nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple before jogging over to them.

you sat alone for a total of two minutes, counting each breath with a swing of your foot and trying to keep yourself from bursting into a fit of tears.

every time you blinked, you saw him bleeding out on the floor. every time you opened your eyes the outline of him stood beside your sister.

it was a losing game.

steve came back to you with the kids trailing behind him, his keys spinning around his finger as he offered you a small smile. "we're going to my house," he told you quietly. "i just need you to call your stepmom when we get there to let her know about max staying over." he dropped his volume, voice soft as his fingers ran gently over your knuckles. "she doesn't want to go home either."

you met max's eyes, hopping off the back of the ambulance and taking steve's hand in yours. she clung to lucas the way you clung to steve, the boys grounding you and holding you steady as you tried to deal with losing the single steadiest, most aggressive force in your life.

"you want to go to steve's?" you checked quietly, making a silent vow to go wherever she did, and pleading that she chose to go to steve's.

she gave you a nod, swallowing her grief to murmur, "lucas is coming too. and el."

you let out a trembling breath, glancing to steve who offered you a gentle smile. "okay, then."

the kids led the way, steve holding you up as you walked across the parking lot to his car. it was almost odd, seeing something as normal as steve harrington's beamer when the last 48 hours had been spent in russian bunkers and fighting supernatural monsters, but it was a relief to you.

as the kids climbed into the backseat, steve walked with you to your side. he grabbed the handle, keeping it closed for a moment as he met your eyes. "promise to tell me what you need," he told you softly. "i've got you, okay? promise to tell me."

your breath fell short again, staggering and catching in your throat as you tried to regain it. when you did you nodded, swallowing harshly and managing a thin murmur of, "i promise."

he nodded, his smile small and reassuring. "okay."

he pressed a kiss to your head before pulling your door open and helping you in.

your eyes found the radio instantly, muscle memory telling you to reach for an ac/dc tape, but there wasn't one. wrong car. wrong person.

steve got in, starting up the car with another sure look your direction before slowly leaving the lot. he held your hand over the gearshift on the way to his house, and you clung to his fingers as tightly as he'd clung to you back in the mall.

the same way he held onto you to keep you from death then, you were holding onto him to save you from death now. at least, what felt like death.

he pressed a kiss to your knuckles, never once telling you it was going to be okay or alright or that you were fine. steve wasn't a liar. in his words and actions, all he ever did was prove that he was here.

and that might've been the real thing that kept you breathing.

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@nobody00sthings

okay, i actually spent so long on this trying to get it exactly right, and it's not but i still like it. i kind of struggled balancing billy grief with steve comfort, so i hope you like it and this is what you hoped for!

to address one of your questions in the request, i think if billy had a twin she would just mourn him. i imagine she's spent her whole life coming up with excuses for him because that's just normal for her, that's like instinct for her, her way of protecting him, whereas max didn't have as much motivation to excuse his actions and that led to her inner resentment. his twin likely does have some of that resentment, but has shoved it so deep down in trying to help him that she refuses to let it surface

hmu with more steve requests, i love them!

masterlist!!

[firelilyfox]

the staff meeting

Pairing: teacher Steve Harrington x female reader

Summary: Steve notices how a creepy dude is making you uncomfortable. And he won’t let that slide.

Warnings: creepy dude (not Steve duh). damsel in distress. dating Steve. teacher Steve. reader being made uncomfortable. protective boyfriend Steve Harrington. no use of y/n.

____________________

The fluorescent lights are buzzing. Someone keeps coughing directly into the silence every thirty seconds. Principal Coleman has now been talking about “budget allocation” for what feels like seven consecutive business years.

And worst of all? Mr. Godfrey from the science department will not stop staring at you.

Steve noticed it almost immediately. At first he tried to ignore it. Maybe the guy was zoning out. Maybe it was accidental.

But then Steve caught the way your shoulders kept tightening every time the older teacher leaned closer during discussion.

The way you started avoiding looking in his direction entirely. And then came the smiling.

Too familiar. Too lingering. The kind that makes your skin crawl.

Steve’s jaw clenches hard enough to ache. Beside him, Robin scribbles something on a sticky note and slides it over.

your eye is twitching

Steve writes back instantly.

he’s being weird

Robin subtly glances across the room. Then immediately winces.

oh ew

Exactly.

By the time the meeting finally ends, everyone looks half-dead. Chairs scrape loudly against the floor while teachers gather binders and coffee cups.

You lean toward Steve briefly. “I forgot my bag in my classroom,” you murmur. “Meet you outside?”

Steve softens instantly. “Yeah, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks turn pink automatically every single time he calls you that. It’s adorable.

You smile softly before disappearing down the hallway. Steve watches you go. And unfortunately so does Mr. Godfrey.

Something cold twists in Steve’s stomach immediately.

The older teacher stands slowly, gathering his things with absolutely no urgency whatsoever before heading in the exact same direction you went.

Robin sees Steve’s expression. “Oh boy.”

Steve exhales sharply through his nose. “Tell me I’m overreacting.”

Robin watches the hallway for one second. “…I cannot responsibly say that.”

Steve mutters a curse under his breath.

Five minutes pass. Then seven. Too long. Way too long. You should’ve been back already. Steve’s stomach sinks instantly. Without another word, he pushes away from the wall and heads down the hallway. Fast.

His heartbeat starts thudding harder the farther he walks. Not panic exactly, just his instinct kicking in.

Because Steve knows you. Knows the difference between shy and uncomfortable. And he knows the look you had during that meeting.

The hallway near the history classrooms is dimmer than the others. Only a few overhead lights still glow. Steve rounds the corner and immediately sees him.

Mr. Godfrey stands far too close to you beside your classroom doorway. One arm braced casually against the frame. Blocking the exit.

Your bag is clutched tightly against your chest. And worst of all ... you’re doing that polite nervous smile Steve has learned means: I want this interaction to end immediately.

Something ugly flashes hot in his chest.

“C’mon,” Mr. Godfrey is saying with this gross low chuckle. “One drink isn’t gonna kill you.”

You laugh awkwardly. “I really should go"

“You’re too pretty to spend all your time working.”

Steve sees your shoulders tense. That’s it. Absolutely not. “Hey.”

The word cuts through the hallway sharp as glass. Both of you turn instantly. And Steve has never seen someone look more relieved than you do right now.

Your entire face changes the second you spot him. Mr. Godfrey straightens slightly. Steve walks forward slowly. Calm and controlled. But there’s steel underneath every step.

“Everything okay here?” he asks. His voice sounds deceptively casual.

You answer immediately. “Yep.”

Too fast. Too tight.

Steve’s jaw flexes hard.

Mr. Godfrey gives this lazy smile that instantly makes Steve dislike him even more. “We were just talking.”

Steve steps directly beside you. Close enough that your shoulder brushes his automatically. And only then does he realize how tense you actually are. Your fingers are gripping your bag strap so tightly your knuckles are pale.

Protectiveness floods him instantly. “Cool,” Steve says evenly. “She was just leaving.”

The older teacher laughs softly. “She can answer for herself, Harrington.”

Steve smiles. But there’s absolutely no warmth in it. “She already did.”

Heavy silence spreads and he could see that his words made Godfrey very uncomfortable. Good.

Mr. Godfrey’s expression tightens slightly. Steve doesn’t move, he doesn’t back up. Just stands there beside you solid as a wall. It becomes very clear very quickly that he is not leaving you alone with this man again.

Finally the older teacher scoffs quietly. “Alright, alright.”

He grabs his briefcase. But before leaving, his eyes flick toward you again. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Steve’s temper spikes so fast it nearly makes his vision blur.

But you speak first. Soft voice. Firm words. “I won’t.”

The older teacher finally leaves. And the second he disappears around the corner your entire body deflates.

Steve turns toward you immediately. “Hey you alright?”

You exhale shakily. “I’m okay.” But your voice wobbles slightly around the edges.

Steve’s chest aches. “You don’t have to do that.”

You blink. “Do what?”

“Pretend stuff like that doesn’t bother you.”

Your eyes drop briefly to the floor. And Steve suddenly realizes something that makes his heart hurt:

You probably spent years convincing yourself discomfort was something you had to politely survive.

His voice softens immediately. “He was being creepy.”

You laugh weakly. “Little bit.”

“Little bit?” Steve repeats incredulously. “Sweetheart, he was one cardigan away from becoming a true crime documentary.”

That startles a real laugh out of you. Thank God. Steve’s shoulders loosen slightly at the sound.

Then his expression softens again when he really looks at you. “You sure you okay?”

This time you hesitate. Then quietly exhale. “I didn’t know how to make him leave without sounding rude.”

The sadness in your voice makes Steve furious all over again. Not at you. At the fact that you even had to worry about that.

“Hey.” He steps closer carefully. “You never owe politeness to someone making you uncomfortable.”

Your eyes lift to his slowly.

Steve reaches up gently, brushing a loose strand of hair back from your face. “So next time?” he says softly. “You tell him to back off.”

A tiny smile appears. “That would be very scary of me.”

Steve grins. “You’re terrifying. I’ve seen you explain the French Revolution to eighth graders.”

You laugh again. Better this time and warmer. And God, Steve loves that sound.

His thumb brushes lightly against your cheek before he even realizes he’s doing it. “You scared me a little,” he admits quietly.

Your expression softens instantly. “Why?”

Steve nods once. “When you didn’t come back.”

The honesty in his voice wraps around your heart immediately. You step closer without thinking, your hand sliding gently into his sweater near his waist. “I’m okay,” you whisper.

Steve exhales slowly. Then presses a soft kiss against your forehead. Protective. Tender. Relieved. And when he pulls back, his brows knit slightly again.

“What?”

“You’re walking to your car with me forever now.”

You smile helplessly. “Steve ...”

“Nope. Too late.” He grabs your bag dramatically. “I’m in full protective boyfriend mode now.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Correct.”

But he still keeps one warm hand settled carefully at your lower back all the way to the parking lot. Just in case.

____________________________

Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙

STEVE HARRINGTON MASTERLIST

[jetblack4real]

top drawer - steve harrington

the house isn't empty installment! can be read alone

requested!

summary: a perfect saturday goes a little bit wrong when the party witnesses a loud misunderstanding between you and steve

word count: 3.4k

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

no one had to work today, which literally never happened, so of course they were all in your living room with a heap of board games and snacks they'd brought themselves, back to the future playing in the background as mike and lucas argued about mike cheating at monopoly and dustin, erica, steve, and jonathan passed around a bop it! way too nervously. nancy, el, and robin sat back against the couch, watching the movie as they waited to continue monopoly.

you'd run upstairs to put a couple things away, wanting to get the house cleaned up the best you could before an early morning shift tomorrow.

a few minutes later, steve wandered into the room, not bothering to shut the door even as he tugged his shirt over his head.

you looked up with an amused smile, raising your brows teasingly. "i mean, if you're not worried about them hearing, i'm not opposed."

he laughed, shaking his head as he tossed his damp shirt into the hamper, followed quickly by his jeans before he made his way to your dresser for a new set.

"in the chaos that is bop it," he started with a sigh, pulling out a simple gray tshirt and shoving the drawer shut, moving to grab a new pair of levis. "mike knocked his coke off the coffee table and straight into me."

"did it get on the carpet?" you asked, brows knitting as you glanced at him. you dropped the car magazine karen had sent over for him into his nightstand drawer, watching it fall on top of the few boxes and knickknacks he kept inside.

he buttoned his jeans, letting out a laugh as he shook his head. "of course that's your first question. no, all it got on was me."

you smiled, shutting his drawer and crossing to him as he turned to face you finally, hands coming to squeeze his arms. "i'm sorry that mike spilled his coke on you."

"it's okay," he sighed dramatically before chuckling and leaning down to kiss you gently. you leaned into it, smiling slight as his hands found your hips and squeezed a little too eagerly. when he pulled back, grinning, he glanced over your shoulder at his side table and noticed the top drawer was slightly open still. instantly, his smile dropped and his brows knitted. "did you go in my nightstand?"

you hummed in question as you looked over to it, nodding. "yeah. karen sent over that car magazine we were talking about with mike, so i just threw it in there for you to look at when you have time."

he let out a thin breath, eyes glued to the drawer as he nodded slowly. "okay, yeah. just, uh, next time you can leave it on top. don't put it in the drawer."

"what?" you asked, knitting your brows as he stepped away from you and pulled the drawer completely open. you stayed facing the wall for a moment, staring at it like it would have an answer to his weird request, and missing his movements behind you.

he pulled the magazine out, glancing at you quickly before grabbing a thin, cheap ring box and shoving it in his front pocket. you turned as he shoved the drawer closed, dropping the magazine on the top of the small desk with his glasses and chapstick.

you raised a brow as he turned back to you, his breath a little quick for your liking and asked, "why?"

"i just don't like keeping things in that drawer," he said quickly, shrugging with a lame smile. "and the things i do keep in there... maybe you shouldn't look in there. i mean, i hardly do, so you don't really need to be in there."

you snorted, a small smile pulling at your lips. "what? do you have playboys in there or something?"

he didn't. you knew that and he knew that, the drawer only littered with little boxes and lame trinkets that you hadn't cared to question. trinkets that you weren't sure needed to be hidden from you.

"no, just things," he said. he fumbled for a better answer, the disbelief on your face stressing him out even more. he shoved his hands in his pockets, fingers curling around the small box in an attempt to conceal it better. "personal things."

evidently, that wasn't the right answer.

you faltered, brows knitting slightly.

your mind was running too quick for your liking, going through the few things you'd caught sight of when you'd opened the drawer and struggling to come up with why they would be so personal.

and why he felt like he needed to hide them from you.

everything seemed normal, nothing peculiar, but that didn't mean that there was no hidden meaning or history behind them. things he didn't want to share.

you thought you shared everything.

"personal," you repeated slowly, nodding even though you didn't understand. your tone was a little ironic and very disbelieving as you abandoned the basket of clothes you'd come here to put away and moved towards the door. "right, of course."

steve's eyes widened and he followed you quickly down the hall. "woah! sweetheart, what just happened?"

"i don't know, it's personal," you answered, biting the inside of your lip as you hastily padded down the hall and towards the stairs.

a deep furrow drove itself between his brows as he grabbed your arm, "wait," but you just pulled away and started down the stairs. "baby-"

"it's fine," you said, waving him off. "i won't go in your nightstand. even if i've been in it a million times before-"

his eyes widened even more, speed picking up as he followed you. his feet hit the hardwood as you turned sharply towards the kitchen, voice raising slightly as he ran a hand through his hair. "wait, how many times? how recently?"

in the living room, the bop it game had ended abruptly in dustin's hands, his eyes following steve as he rounded the corner towards the kitchen.

"seriously?" erica exclaimed, hands falling to her sides as she stared at the flashing game.

jonathan followed dustin's gaze, sighing as he caught the tail end of steve's words. "just leave them be."

dustin's brows knitted and he dropped the game onto the carpet, standing and moving to the entryway to peek in on your little argument.

you were staring at steve incredulously, eyes wide and brows raised as you faced him from across the island. "how many times?" you repeated. "i don't know, steve, why does it matter? it's a nightstand drawer. i throw your things in there when you leave them on the counters, i'm not snooping."

"no, i know you're not snooping," he sighed, shaking his head. "it's just - if something needs to go in there from now on, just leave it on the top. please."

this made no sense to you.

there was plenty of space in the drawer, he always threw random things in it, and from what you'd seen, it didn't seem to be hiding some terrible thing. what had changed?

you frowned. "why?"

"why?" he echoed, brows raising. he breathed out a laugh, glancing away as the box in his pocket just grew heavier. he knew it wasn't nearly as big as normal ring boxes, that's what happened when the military put your town on lockdown, but with how much he could feel it against his thigh, he was shocked you hadn't noticed it by now. "can't you just trust me? just don't go in there."

you raised your brows at the accusation. "i trust you, steve, i just don't understand what about that damn drawer has changed in the last week."

well, it wasn't a week. it'd actually been sitting there for several weeks, untouched by steve and evidently unnoticed by you, but he wasn't willing to take that risk he'd apparently been taking every day again.

he sighed, shaking his head. his voice raised in frustration. "nothing's changed, okay?" he caught himself, blowing out a breath and lowering his tone again as he tried not to yell. "i just want that drawer shut."

neither of you noticed, but the entire party had gone silent in the living room. all they could hear was marty mcfly on the television, and you asking a loud, "why?"

when steve got frustrated, he yelled. they'd all heard their fair share of babysitter steve freaking out on them in the midst of a fight or a game or even just dinner. but, they'd never heard him even raise his voice at you.

he raised his voice. much louder than before.

his laugh that came before it was dry, disbelieving, and then he shouted.

"stop asking why! damn it, just keep the drawer shut!"

the entire house went still, breaths catching as steve's voice echoed in the quiet.

he was breathing a little too heavily, shoulders dropping in immediate regret as he realized what he'd just said.

well, more the way in which he'd said it.

"oh," robin muttered quietly, her eyes finding dustin's immediately. his widened dramatically, knuckles going white as he gripped the doorway. "oh no."

"what's happening?" el whispered, brows knitting in concern as she glanced between robin and nancy.

nancy didn't seem too affected, sure that in the next minute they would hear an apology, steve would give you a kiss, and all would go back to normal. so she just shrugged, looking back to the tv screen. "they're fighting."

"um, they don't do that," erica pointed out, looking around the room. "i mean, i know i'm not here all the time like you dorks are, but i've never seen them fight."

"we've only seen it like once," will told her, brows knitting as he pushed onto his knees to see past dustin into the kitchen where you were staring at steve with intensely raised brows and hands crossed over your chest. the boy winced, looking away.

lucas went to stand by dustin, concern evident in his furrowed brows as he nodded, agreeing with will. "and that was just because steve forgot to pick up ranch. it was over in two seconds."

mike snorted. "you remember that?"

"it was memorable," lucas defended lamely.

"this one will be too," dustin muttered, his frown deepening as he turned back to watch the chaos in the kitchen.

you let out a dry, incredulous laugh. "i thought you didn't like yelling, steve."

well, damn.

he ran a hand through his hair, faltering even as frustration continued to burn in his chest. he shook his head, sighing heavily. "i - i don't. i'm sorry, just... stay out of the drawer."

"because it's personal?" you said then, raising your brows again even as your voice evened out.

he nodded, sighing again. "yes. exactly."

your lips pulled into a thin line, eyes dashing away as you tried to level yourself. "i didn't realize we were pulling away now."

robin and dustin looked at each other again, eyes widening, and nancy finally looked away from the movie, her breath catching in surprise. "oh, shit."

steve was at a loss, his eyes wide and his hand twitching towards the box in his pocket. he reached his other hand towards you, voice even more strained and nervous than it had been before, "sweetheart-"

"no, it's fine, steve," you said quickly, shaking your head and rounding the island to pass him.

he didn't let you, hand catching your upper arm and holding you in place. he glanced over your head, spotting dustin and letting out an exhausted, frustrated sigh. "just wait here," he told you breathlessly, shaking his head.

you rolled your eyes, letting out a deep sigh. "i'm not going to raid your nightstand."

"no, shit," he sighed, shaking his head again and stepping in front of you. "that's not what i - no. raid the damn thing, i don't care. i got upset for no reason, and i see that now. give me one second, okay?"

"why?" you asked, still frustrated.

his eyes flicked past you and he nodded down to the living room where lucas and dustin were still standing in the entryway and the rest of the gang was still listening with wide eyes.

instantly, your cheeks went hot and you faltered, glancing away as your chest tightened. "shit."

he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before stepping away. "i'm just gonna clear this up real fast, okay?"

"yeah," you breathed out, all too happy to step back until you were in the corner of the kitchen, out of sight from the party as steve rushed towards them.

he smacked dustin and lucas in the backs of their heads, pushing them back into the living room. "you ever hear about privacy?"

"you were being a little loud for that," mike pointed out, which only earned him a well-deserved glare from steve.

he turned back to dustin, shoving his hand in his pocket and dropping his voice to be almost imperceptible. "you don't lose this, alright?"

dustin's eyes widened, but he accepted the box as steve dropped it into his hand. "where do you want me to put it?"

the rest of the group, minus robin, stared at the box with knitted brows. it wasn't velvet or square or massive - just a thin red box with a large SH scrawled in metallic sharpie on the bottom.

lucas frowned, "what is that?"

he got ignored, steve still anxious and intense as he kept his eyes on dustin. the boy put it quickly into his vest pocket, zipping it shut for safe measure.

"put it in the center console of my car," he answered, running a hand through his hair. "but, only when i tell you to, which will probably be right before i do it. got that? can't have it ruining my relationship in the meantime."

"meantime?" erica echoed. "what the hell are you-?"

robin smacked a hand over her mouth, smiling lamely at steve as he shot them both an incredibly frustrated look, eyes wide and very pissed.

"go back to your games, okay?" he said, voice now at a normal volume as he backed out of the room. "we'll be back in a second and i want all of you to be normal."

will nodded quickly. "yeah, of course."

"sure," el agreed with a slow nod, still confused, but willing to comply.

jonathan and nancy just shot him a thin, supportive smile as he nodded, turning and leaving back to the kitchen.

immediately, they all turned to robin and dustin, brows raised in question.

steve pretended not to hear the violent whispers as he walked away.

you watched him with wide eyes, arms tight around your stomach as he walked back up to you. "did they hear that whole thing?"

he breathed out a light laugh, nodding as his arms wrapped cautiously around your middle. when you didn't push him back, he stepped closer, pulling you towards him just slightly. "yeah, they did," he answered quietly. then, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "so, how about we just forget it and go back in there like nothing happened? it's alright."

you wanted to do that, you did, but his secrecy still bothered you.

"is it?" you asked gently, looking up at him with a slight knit in your brows. "steve... i don't like that you're pushing me away."

he furrowed his brows, shaking his head quickly. "i'm not pushing you away. this wasn't me pushing you away, okay? i could never. i'm, like, physically unable to do that."

you cracked a small, disbelieving smile, and he knew he had to come up with a better answer quick. he sighed, pulling you into his chest and resting his cheek on the top of your head. relief filled him when you didn't pull away, but instead wrapped your arms around his torso.

he wouldn't be able to give you a fake excuse if he had to look you in the eye.

"it's a control thing," he told you quietly. "there are very few things that i have that are mine anymore - and that's nothing against you at all. i much prefer that all of this is ours, seriously. i like having things be ours instead of just mine. mine is lonely."

he was starting to make some sort of sense to you, and maybe that was because a bit of truth was slipping into his overarching lie.

"but?" you asked, voice a mumble against his shirt.

he sighed. "but," he continued. "the things that are still just mine... i guess i'm a bit protective of them. like my nightstand, i guess. my car. my bat would probably fall into that category too."

"your bat?" you echoed with a laugh, pulling back to meet his eyes.

he shrugged, a smile finally settling on his lips as the tension eased between you both. "yeah, my bat. that's like my baby." you laughed again and he just pulled you that much closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "i'm sorry for freaking out like that. if it helps, you're also one of my things that i get protective over."

you snorted, squeezing his middle gently. "that helps." you paused, letting out a thin sigh. "i'm sorry for being a brat too. i guess i just got scared you didn't trust me. felt like you were pulling away."

he shook his head, running a hand over the back of your head and squeezing your waist with the other.

"never," he promised. "you and me? this is a forever sort of deal, whether you like it or not."

"just don't go into your nightstand," you joked lamely, peeking up at him with a small smile.

he shrugged, shaking his head. "nah. you can go into my nightstand. i'll stop being a freak." his smile grew slightly. "just don't steal my bat."

you laughed. "that's the dealbreaker?"

"that's it," he said, shaking his head again as he grinned at you. "you touch that bat, you're dead meat."

"oh, i'd like to see you try," you teased. "but, if i go into your nightstand?"

he shrugged. "it'll be fine. like you said, you're in there all the time anyways."

"i'll try to leave it alone," you promised, giving him a compromise that technically wasn't even needed anymore. his heart melted slightly, his hands running over your sides as his smile softening lovingly. you hummed. "maybe."

"maybe," he echoed, laughing as he kissed your forehead again. he tugged you into another hug, eyes catching on four eavesdropping fifteen year olds by the doorway as your arms went snug around his waist again. he glared, waving them away before telling you, "i love you."

you huffed a quiet laugh, "yeah, i love you too, harrington."

as dustin turned away, shooting everyone left in the living room a thumbs up, steve's eyes caught on the outline of his ringbox in his vest. his smile softened even more, hand running over your back as he imagined a day not too far off where he'd be able to echo the same thing back to you. word for word.

after another minute of just holding one another, he pulled you into the living room.

"how embarrassing of us," you mumbled quietly as you stepped out of the kitchen.

"it'll be fine," he promised with a teasing smile, dragging you the rest of the way to the living room.

they all looked up at you, bright, knowing smiles on their lips as robin chirped, "welcome back. finished cleaning?"

right. the basket of clean clothes upstairs that you'd abandoned in favor of arguing with your boyfriend.

"no," you admitted, letting go of steve's hand to fall on the couch next to her. "but, it's our day off. can i join monopoly, or should i wait until the next round?"

"mike is cheating anyways, so it doesn't really matter," lucas said, earning an instant objection and a smack to the arm.

noise filled the room again as the bop it! began to be passed in a circle, michael j fox screaming in the tv, and el secretly stealing her boyfriend's monopoly money as he argued with lucas.

you tossed steve a smile as he breathed out a laugh, accepting the bop it! and passing it quickly to jonathan, erica shrieking for them to move faster.

robin tapped your arm, nodding to the board with a smile. "your turn."

you nodded, glancing away and reaching for the dice as steve watched you, silently thankful that you hadn't noticed the box in dustin's vest quite yet.

because what was inside that little red box?

a diamond ring.

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

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i love all the requests, send me more, i love to hear your ideas and inspo, and thank you SO MUCH for all the love!!

masterlist!!

[dameronspector]

Challengers: Avengers Edition (Part 7)

Pairings: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Stark!Reader (Established Relationship); Bob Reynolds x Fem!Stark!Reader

Summary: Apologies, Cuddles, some more apologies, Leader Bucky and Divorced Parent Bucky working in full swing. And Joaquin being unserious.

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Cuddles Fluff, Typical love triangle tension (for now), Brief talks of Bob's bipolar and addiction and homelessness, Joaquin and Bob love Reader sm, Joaquin being a cutie, SO much Yearning and Longing from Bob, Simp, Assertive and Jealous!Bob, Jealous!Joaquin, Reader is fiercely protective of Joaquin and has a short fuse + is tony coded obvi.

That's all, i think! Let me know if i should add something else!

( divider by @strangergraphics )

The air in the car was so thick, you could’ve cut it with a knife.

Joaquin had brought the car so he was in the driver’s seat, Sam opting to take the back seat for a moment of peace, but also subtly hinting at wanting to give the two of you some space after whatever had transpired at the party.

Sam had eventually fallen asleep after the car had left the parking space of the Tower, too tired to even protest the nap like he always does.

And after that, the car had fallen quiet.

Joaquin hadn’t said a word.

His jaw was clenched, hands gripped the steering wheel too hard and his eyebrows were so furrowed that you were worried he’d give himself a headache.

You watched on from the passengers seat inquisitively, eyes roaming across his face, admiring how beautiful he looked under the passing streetlights reflecting off the windshield, silently analysing everything that you must’ve missed for Joaquin to be so…tensed.

“You okay?”, you prodded gently, twisting the clasp of your bracelet in anticipation.

It felt like a switch had gone off in him, his hands and jaw relaxing at the same time, his brown eyes brightening up suddenly when he heard your voice.

"Yeah-yeah, angel. Why?"

You shrugged before leaning closer, wanting to feel him close to you without disturbing him while he drove. "You looked like you were going to break the steering and your teeth at the same time."

He slouched, then. The quiet, low tone of your voice had made him feel less agitated and more doting towards you, well aware of how good you were at reading people so he couldn't lie to you either.

Not that he'd ever lie to you, but that's another story.

"No-It's--", he fumbled before letting out a sigh, running his hands across the steering wheel before releasing one of them to rest it on your red clad thigh.

You looked at his hand silently, the guilt from lying to him still tugging at your chest and yet you automatically rested your hand back on his warmer one, thumbs running circles over his knuckles.

"It's not you, let me make that clear", he accentuated it with a squeeze to your thigh, "I just don't understand how to act when...when Bob is around."

Your fingers stopped their movements before sighing, already preparing yourself to reassure him when he spoke again, "I know, I know. I-I should just ignore him if it bothers me so much. And I did that today, you know?"

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

He stressed on the skin of his lips, smacking them after as he felt the sting of the skin breaking, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he thought back to the way Bob had acknowledged him. "But today....today, he nodded at me."

Your eyes snapped up in a flash, hands completely still on top of Joaquin's, mouth falling open as a tiny, shocked sound left your now slightly dry lips. "What?", was all you could manage to say, because the man who had been insulting Joaquin in front of you, was nodding and being friendly tolerable to Joaquin behind your back?

"Yeah. It was so odd. I didn't react, obviously. I looked away immediately."

You looked out the window before breathing out a sarcastic laugh.

Joaquin turned to look at you inquisitively.

"He's got some nerve..", you shook your head in disbelief before continuing, "He was literally shit-talking about you in front of all of us before you walked in."

Joaquin made a face.

"Yeah. I didn't wanna tell you this but this is so odd like, I'd just fought with him in front of the others, they had to stop us from giving the entire media a front row show to the drama, and there he goes trying to earn brownie points from you, as if I wouldn't tell you all this."

Joaquin paused for a moment, sneaking a glance at you and biting down a smile at how cute you looked all angry like this. He couldn't resist and cracked a joke, at last. Just to hear you tell him to shut up or groan his name in that giggly way you do.

"You guys fought? Over poor old me? I'm honoured, but damn I didn't know I was so high in demand, angel. Might have to mitosis myself into another part now."

There was that mischievous lilt to his voice that you were so accustomed to. Your Quino, always looking for ways to effectively calm you down without controlling you. He was thoughtful like that.

He glanced again and saw the way your face relaxed before you thumped your head back on the head rest.

"Joaquin", there it was. That whiny groan followed by a giggle that warmed him from head to toe, the shimmer of your gloss faintly visible and your perfume wafting around the space as you leaned closer to slap him gently on the shoulder with the back of your hand. His chuckles followed soon, his body language much looser and livelier now.

"I'm glad you find it funny, Torres. Except next time, I'll be punching Reynolds in the face for talking shit about my boyfriend. You know how good I am at making the headlines", you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest like a petulant child, still mad about the audacity of the blonde haired man and your mistake of letting him in too easily.

You had no idea how you were going to contradict your statement once again in the future, but that's a conversation for later.

"Aw, thank you for defending my honour, baby", Joaquin cooed, removing a hand from the steering wheel to cup your chin in his hands before putting it back, that dopey smile permanently plastered on his face.

You felt your lips quirk up slightly.

You were just glad that it was normal between you two.

For now, at least.

"Okay, what the hell was that?"

Bucky called out while walking over to where Bob and Yelena sat on the lounge chairs on the deck, Bob's tall body slouched over as he sat with his elbows resting on his knees, while Yelena paced next to the railing of the deck, her neatly gelled back hair now messy from the wind billowing it away. Her face was grim, eyebrows furrowed and lips tugged into a frown like she was mentally running some calculations.

The blonde haired pair looked up as Bucky walked towards them, hands perched on his hips, face slack with no emotion, which meant he was either irritated or unsure about how to react to whatever happened.

"Bucky-", Yelena tried to placate him, probably hoping to have this conversation in the morning when they were all sober and awake, but it seemed like Bob's courage had not dimmed down, yet.

"I don't know what're you talking about", Bob shrugged, bringing his veiny hands up to comb through his curls. He turned his head to look at the rush inside the room, the dark shadows of figures moving around and talking acted like a grounding visual for him, instead of the bright lights of the skyline of New York, which made his eyes overwhelmed and mind drift away to when you were the one standing in place of Yelena, just a few hours ago.

"Don't do this with me, Bob. We all saw it. You provoked her. For what? She was being nice to you. She told Sam and I that you guys had a good conversation. I'd told you not to--"

Bob wasn't focusing on Bucky's rant anymore. His ears were fixated on one part solely.

'She told Sam and I that you guys had a good conversation.'

"She said we had a good conversation?", Bob parroted back, blue pupils shining bright like water under the yellow lamp next to the chairs, his pupils dilated with something akin to a daze, body automatically sitting up straight as he was giving Bucky his full attention now. He needed to know what else you said about him.

Bucky blinked. "What-that's not the point. I told you, clearly, not to do something that will provoke her or cause the others to be suspicious of you. If--"

"Bucky, please, tell me what did she say about me", Bob was almost pleading now, his voice coming out as scratchy, hands picking at the threads on his pants in anticipation as he looked at Yelena for help.

Yelena noticed the desperation and curiosity and squeezed Bucky's elbow, gesturing him to just let Bob know about whatever you said about him, in order to make him listen to whatever Bucky would say next.

Bucky looked at her and sighed in exhaustion. He was too old and impatient for this shit. "Okay. She said you were a good conversationalist."

Bucky and Yelena watched, stunned, the way Bob’s body relaxed, a faint, content smile stretching his lips, the nervous twitching of his hands suddenly stopped to calmly rest against his thighs.

It was a bit concerning how much power he let you have over him. Bucky was once again grateful that only the three of them were witnessing this.

“Wow. She really said that?”, Bob asked in a soft voice, looking up at Bucky with all the hope in the world. The super soldier simply pursed his lips and nodded in confirmation.

Bob let out a disbelieving chuckle, his eyes landing straight on Bucky before clearing his throat.

“Okay. You can continue now.”

Yelena narrowed her eyes at how easily he agreed to listen to Bucky now, even though he knew full well he was about to be told to be careful again. They really should end this as soon as possible before it becomes something that none of them could deal with.

Bucky didn’t say anything for a moment before shaking his head in resignation, “You can’t be doing this, Bob. If there’s any kind of news about the two of you, it’ll be way easier for her to get out of it. She’s experienced in how to deal with legalities and media and they’ve got tons of positive PR”, he let out a breath before looking out towards the New York skyline, his voice strained as he continued, the dent between his eyebrows growing deeper as he thought about their situation.

“That’s not the case for us. If she wants to, she can, and will, make sure that she wins that battle. And we’ll be back to square one because we’re nothing but pawns for Valentina to play around with. One wrong publication about us, about you, and we’re done from both sides. You’re done. Valentina won’t think twice about sending you to some place where you won’t stand up again. Do you understand?”

Yelena crossed her arms, clenching her jaw in thought while keeping her eyes trained on Bob, who was looking at Bucky in surprise, instead. This might’ve been one of those rare times he’d seen Bucky fully put his ‘leader’ role on, and he wasn’t going to lie and say he wasn’t intimidated.

Bucky was usually very quiet and observant. They were used to his dry humor, sarcastic quips and silent care. But it’s moments like these when they were reminded that this man was a soldier, a super soldier, a Hydra agent and now, an Avenger. He’d been around for decades and had seen too much shit. His experience and wit was heard in the way he spoke with care and facts, without sugar coating his words.

It was something that they could never relate to or comprehend, no matter how shit their life must've been as well. But Bob respected him. Yelena too. Which is why none of them interrupted him.

He pushed his hair back before continuing, "Look, she's the sweetest and most giving person in this world, but I also know she's scary as hell if you try to poke her too much or hurt her family. I don't want you guys to be on opposite ends because she's very important to Sam and I. Okay?"

Yelena nodded sincerely, Bob following absently as he mulled over his words. He already knew all that about you, and Bucky's words had just given him a sense of clarity.

Well, he already knew he was poking her out of jealousy towards Joaquin but something about hearing it from Bucky, her close friend and the person whom he looked up to as well, made his eyes open. His brain was already devising a plan to apologise and get back on your good side again. Not just for the plot or your power, but because he knew he'd regret this the moment he came down from the high in the coming few hours or days.

And because he genuinely felt like shit for how he'd behaved.

"I'm...I'll try to fix this. Just don't interfere. I want to explain myself to her without any disturbances. And please keep Torres away. He talks too much", Bob proposed to Bucky, rubbing his hands in anticipation, that same borderline authoritative, yet polite, tone gracing his voice that he'd talked with when he first revealed himself as Sentry.

"Are you sure about this? You think she'll meet you?", Yelena furrowed her brows. From what she'd observed, you held yourself with pride and stubbornness, the same stubbornness she sees in herself at times and she knew, that it won't be easy to talk to you yet, not when you're still simmering with anger. And she knows both of the men standing with her knew this too, which is why Bucky was already shaking his head in disapproval, having experienced first hand how you'd given Steve a rough time before he left.

"She won't-"

"She will. Trust me. I'll make it happen, don't worry. I won't...disappoint you all again", Bob cut Bucky off, voicing his other fear that he'd been dreading as his brain was already telling him that he's a fucking disaster for ruining everything, again.

All Yelena and Bucky could do, was look at Bob in worry, because they weren't sure how you'd react and how would Bob handle the aftermath of a possible escalation between the two of you.

Bob had spent the entire night tossing and turning. It's not that he's slept peacefully before, with his addiction, and later on the withdrawals that came with it, a good night's sleep was never on his roster. But this time, instead of the usual self loathing and nightmares, he was plagued by the unwanted, and quite frankly, painful memories of the previous night.

He had gone over Bucky's words so many times that his ears had started ringing from it. The rational part of his brain vehemently agreed with every word and the irrational, depressed part was too busy calling himself all sorts of distasteful names the entire time.

He had tossed and turned, covered himself fully with the blanket until he suffocated, thrown the blanket away immediately after his high body heat made him sweat through his night shirt, then he stepped out of his room and into the kitchen to drink three full glasses of water, while spilling some of it all over his front because his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

He eventually decided on sitting on the deck chairs again, just to feel the fresh wind on his flushed skin, hoping to get some clarity. Although, Bob was crystal clear about one thing-he wanted to apologise.

He may have been stubborn at first, but he couldn't risk losing you or hurting his friends again. He knew the mania was slowly subsiding when he felt the fog in his brain dissipate, as he started to think of any solutions to resolve this situation.

The first thing he thought of was calling or texting you from Bucky's phone.

He immediately cringed at that. He's not had a phone in such a long time that he's sure he was going to be ten times more awkward over a call or a text. Scraping that idea he moves on to the next, brushing his messy curls back, gray eyes sweeping across the tiny lights in the distance.

The thought of sending you a letter was tempting, but he's not sure about his writing skills anymore, either. Plus that felt oddly intimate and he'd rather not think of that now.

The next idea was a risky one, but it felt like the safest and most socially acceptable idea, based on whatever movies Yelena had shown him in these recent days.

Flowers. And a card hidden in them.

Now, that was also crossing a line that he wasn't even close to, but it was a fool proof, anti-embarrassing and honestly, convincing apology.

As Bob had admired you for long, he'd managed to read glimpses of your interviews when he was on the streets. Some food wrapped in a glossy paper of a magazine had turned out to be your interview. He remembers, through blurry memories, that he'd stared at that stunning picture of yours in one of your cars for too long and had ended up dropping some of his food in the daze. Next to that photo of yours was an excerpt from the interview. It went like:

'We asked the Stark Heir what would be her choice of flowers for the photoshoot. If you think someone of her status to have expensive, out-of-the-world, difficult-to-pronounce-or-procure-tastes, you'd be wrong.

She smiled shyly as she surprised us with her reply.

"Sunflowers."

She sensed the surprise in the room and chuckled, a nostalgic look crossing over her face. "It was the first flower I ever received in my life. My dad got it for me after he came home from being kidnapped. He's-", she paused, clearing her throat before continuing, her hands busying themselves by twisting the cap of her chapstick, "He used to get dozens of bouquets for me on my birthdays. I've never looked at another flower since", she finished with a wistful smile.

She was her father's daughter, through and through, and her love for the flowers--for Tony Stark--shone through the way she handled the petals of those yellow suns with so much care, her tears landing on a few of them as she helped arrange them in the car meant for the shoot.'

He frowned as he remembered that, heart squeezing in empathy for you, though he had his answer right away.

You squinted against the light heating up your face, groggy mind half registering the time of the day and a certain heaviness behind you.

Groaning, you brought a hand up to cover your eyes, a big yawn escaping your mouth as your free hand traveled down and settled against your stomach. It brushed against another hand, the protruding veins a welcome sensation against your sensitive palms, an involuntary smile already pulling at your lips as you came to awareness.

Joaquin was draped behind you like a protective blanket. HIs face was buried in your hair, warm breaths billowing behind your ear like a gentle summer breeze, his strong arms coiled around your stomach as if he was afraid you'd walk away mid sleep. He'd been clingier than usual last night, and that is saying a lot because one of Joaquin's personality traits was to be clingy. You could see through the facade easily. It had all been due to whatever had transpired between him and Bob, but you didn't say it out loud because you didn't want to embarrass him.

Besides, you secretly loved his clinginess too much to complain.

Rubbing a palm across the soft skin of his forearm, you tried to wake him up slowly, stretching your toes in the meantime and sighing in relief as you felt your feet pop. The sound echoed in the quiet room, Joaquin stirring just the slightest bit, one of his hands travelling up your sleep shirt, splaying flat over your soft stomach.

And that's how you knew, he was about to wake up.

Tilting your head just so you could press your lips to his cheek, you murmured a "Good morning", into his skin.

Joaquin hummed, squeezing you closer to his chest. "Go back to sleep", he rasped, nuzzling his nose into your cheek and groaning in protest when you slightly pushed away to get up. "Angel, come on-"

"We have a team meeting with Jen. Get up before Sam or Shang-chi blow your phone up", you replied with a teasing giggle, trying to escape his grip but he fluffed the blanket up, tucked it around you tightly like a burrito and trapped you into the warm cocoon.

"Quino, please-"

"I know you're Sam's star student but please, just five more minutes, I promise. You'll be busy the whole day and I'll be away from you...we might not even have lunch together...let me hug you longer, please", he whined before laying his head on top of yours. You could almost hear the jealous, petulant tone in his voice because Sam considered you his best mentee yet. He definitely loved Joaquin like his own, but he’s known you since you were a child. He had a special soft spot for you.

And even though Joaquin thrived on being the apple of Sam and your eyes, what can he ever do when the love of his life is his idol’s star student?

Pout like a toddler, apparently.

You could feel yourself losing the fight immediately, not that you could ever say no to him, but the way he said that you'd be away the whole day tugged at your heart and you gave up, laying your head back down on the pillow and sighing in resignation.

"Okay. But if Sam calls-"

"—I'll talk to him. Don't you worry your pretty head", he ended the sentence with a loud smooch to your head, relaxing completely against you, his legs tangled up with yours and lips pressed just below your ear, against your pulse point.

"Love you", he breathed against the skin and nuzzled it with his nose, making you smile sleepily and letting your body go completely lax, bending your arm to scratch at his scalp in adoration.

"Love you too, idiot."

And the two of you quickly drifted off to sleep in each other's comforting embraces, unaware of the surprise awaiting you later.

"Bucky, please, I swear it'll work!"

It was the third time Bob had repeated this sentence as he nervously followed Bucky around the gym. The older man had been lifting weights when Bob walked in, his eyebags intensified, hair messy as ever and hands fidgeting with the long sleeves of his sweatshirt.

Bucky knew right away he was trouble.

He could feel Bob’s nervousness roll off him in waves, his feet thudding across the mats in uneven motions, as if he was overthinking his next step or already preparing to leave.

Bucky had simply raised an eyebrow in question, putting the weight down before pushing his sweaty hair back. The moment Bob had asked if he could buy him a bouquet of sunflowers, Bucky knew what was it for.

Because he only knew one person who loved sunflowers and who could receive a bouquet of them through Bob.

You.

He immediately shook his head and went back to lifting, turning around and checking his form in the mirror while Bob loitered behind him, in the same jittery manner except this time he’d asked him and justified himself over and over again.

“I swear, it’ll make it easier to talk to her. She loves those flowers so much. I remember reading about it in a magazine, they remind her of her dad, and they’re as bright as she is—”

“Bob”, Bucky deadpanned.

Bob paused mid rant, staring at Bucky through the mirror with wide eyes.

“I know.”

Bob blinked at the statement. Yes, of course, he knew that. He just needed to justify himself.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. It’s just—”

“I know what you’re thinkin’. And I can’t guarantee you if it’ll work. But I can guarantee you that if someone other than her receives those flowers? Mess. Huge mess”, Bucky huffed out.

“I’ll take the responsibility. Just—Let me try? Once? You can ban me from doing anything after this. I’ll-I’ll stop talking to her in public spaces!”, Bob rambles on, quickly realising that he was putting his own foot in his mouth but he couldn’t care less about it right now.

Bucky narrowed his stormy eyes. Bob could practically see the gears turning around in his head, like he was going through endless possibilities and outcomes of this.

A beat passed before the super soldier groaned, wiping the sweat off his brow and resting his hands on his hips. “Okay.”

Bob instantly brightened up before Bucky’s voice cut through the excitement.

“—But. I’ll give her those flowers. Not you, not some delivery service. Me. Alone. That clear?”

Bob nodded vehemently. He knew he had no other option as he was not cleared to leave the tower unsupervised yet nor were they supposed to talk to your team unless you had a lawyer between you all.

So he said yes. He just put forth one condition.

“Just..I’ll be writing a note. You’ll have to attach that to the bouquet. Please, Bucky, it’s the only thing I ask of you”, he was almost begging now but he didn’t care. He must get a chance to defend himself before external pressure and interferences make it difficult to.

Bucky sniffled before nodding in agreement.

He couldn’t handle seeing the boy anymore disappointed or sleep deprived than he already did. He then looked over Bob with his sharp eyes and turned around to grab his preferred weight again.

“Okay. Deal. Now, go get changed and join me. We’re gonna meditate for sometime and then you’re gonna shower and have brunch. I know you didn’t sleep all night.”

Bob let out a sigh of relief, his fingers smoothing over the wrinkles on his sweater before flashing Bucky a sheepish smile, one that confirmed that he had indeed not slept all night. He felt his heart swell with emotion because Bucky actually paid attention to him. He had a friend other than Yelena, and it was this amazing man.

This amazing man who had practically brought you up too. And Bob was sure he’d help him gain enough confidence to win over you, Sam, your family,

…And Joaquin.

Bucko: I am at the reception.

Bucko: Please meet me.

Bucko: It’s urgent.

You furrowed your brows as the three texts popped up on your screen one after the other, momentarily tuning out whatever Jen was saying about press appearances.

“What the hell?”, you muttered to yourself in confusion as you saw that it was Bucky who was texting you.

What was he doing outside the Cap HQ at this time? And he’d said it’s urgent. Your first thought was to spiral—thinking Valentina had done something stupid again but stopped as another name flashed across your mind.

Bob. It had to be related to Bob.

You almost groaned before your phone buzzed again as Bucky sent another message.

Bucko: Please be quick the receptionist is looking at me like I have three heads.

Rolling your eyes, you excused yourself from the meeting, squeezing Joaquin’s shoulder as a way of saying that you’d be back, and quickly exited the room, eyes looking around sharply in the hallway for Bucky.

“Doll.”

The name echoed in the otherwise empty lobby, your eyes eventually landing on a big bouquet of yellow, beige and green.

Sunflowers.

Who’d send you sunflowers? That too on a day when there was no celebration to be had?

And then you remembered that someone had called out ‘Doll’. Your eyes then noticed the feet peeking under the paper wrapped around the stems, two mismatched hands holding it from behind.

“Bucky?”, you called out.

And his big, stupid, awkwardly smiling face peeks out from behind the flowers, lips pressed into an uncomfortable smile, like he always did whenever he was in public.

“Hi”, he replied and walked over to where you were standing with a confused expression and hands raised in question.

“What's going on? What’s so urgent that you came to the HQ after months of no contact? What about your contract with OXE?”, the raised eyebrow and sass in your tone caused him to laugh in embarrassment.

"Alright, don't chop my head off yet, doll. I came here to deliver a package."

You blinked in surprise. "James Barnes, delivering a package for someone other then Samuel Wilson?"

"Yeah, well, you'll understand once you read the note inside. If anybody asks, tell them it's from Yelena and I as a 'thank you' for attending the party", he answered lowly, his cheeks flushed at your comment, and presented you the flowers, your eyes catching the crisp white paper peeking out from the leaves.

Now you were even more sure that this was all related to Bob. Bucky's liking towards the boy wasn't missed by your observant eyes. He definitely feels protective towards him and would do his best to protect him or keep him happy.

Taking a look at the man and the bouquet in his arms, you slowly approached him and looked at the flowers closely.

It was a beautiful bouquet, there's no doubt. The yellow of the flowers against the dark green leaves and the soft white of the baby's breaths, the arrangement wrapped in a beige colour paper that made the flowers look even more regal. You automatically smiled at that, a hand reaching up to gently touch the petals before landing on the paper tucked inside, the name squiggled out on front making you frown.

"Did he send this?", you asked with furrowed brows.

Bucky shrugged and tucked his hands inside his pockets. "Yeah. He was quite persistent. Couldn't say no to him. Plus...I think he deserved a chance to explain himself--I know, I know what he did was unnecessary. I've talked to him about it already. He just asked me to deliver this and the note to you, saying it's important that it reaches you."

There was it again. That odd feeling your chest. You boyfriend was sitting inside, eagerly waiting for you to join the meeting, and here you were, dumbly smiling and accepting flowers from a different man.

But...Bucky said he wanted you to hear him out. You could do that, right? He wasn't even face to face anymore. And besides, you believed in second chances too much to not grant Bob one. You gave your dad a second chance after his many self sabotages. You gave Steve a second chance after the Accords. You gave Clint a second chance after his departure. You even gave Bucky a second chance after his 'betrayal.'

Bob deserved one too. Not only because it's what you believed in, but because of what he's been through and going through.

No matter how much you kept telling yourself that this is for the team, for the PR, deep down you knew that you'd already grown to care about the blonde haired man. It was going to get trickier to avoid contact with him if, gob forbid, the two teams require to be in the same room. And because you couldn't handle being the reason why he feels guilty and talks down to himself.

Why not just mend it now, before it festers?

So you let out a breath and nodded, hugging the bouquet close to your chest as the sight of the flowers put you in a good mood again, and flashed a timid smile in Bucky's direction.

"They're really pretty", the sincere compliment left your mouth involuntarily, as if it was second nature to you. And it was, because whoever remembered about your favourite flowers and put this much effort to make them presentable, was directly on your good side. It was too sentimental for you to ignore.

And something about the fact that Bob--sweet, shy, awkward, anxious Bob--had remembered something so intimate about you even after going through so much shit himself?

Oh, it was going to be easy to forgive him.

You'd convince Joaquin too, because you could see the potential between the two of them to become the best of friends. They just needed to suck it up and have a normal conversation with each other.

Probably without you around.

Bucky raised an eyebrow and let out a snort. "You've just given me a weapon to use whenever you're mad."

You bit your cheek to stop the laughter. "Not for you, Barnes. I'm your number 1 hater."

Bucky shook his head and chuckled at the mild threat.

Though he was trying really hard not to dwell on the pleasant smile on your face when you saw the flowers because Bob was right. A bit too right.

And he knew that was trouble.

Part 8

AN: oh my goddd im so sorry for making yall wait... im in the trenches fighting for my life :( BUT WE R BACKKKK

pls like, reblog and comment how you feel about it!

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[jetblack4real]

alone time - steve harrington

the house isn't empty installment! can be read alone

summary: you've done a fantastic job at making your home a safe space for the kids, but unfortunately that means your alone time has taken a hit - until you remember you have a secret weapon to getting them away

word count: 2.3k

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you'd messed up.

like, terribly.

you had made your home such a safe space for all the kids that they had made raiding your place night and day a daily routine. and that, you weren't sorry to admit, was exhausting.

"i think it's time to change the lock," steve told you, shaking his head as you laid out on the couch, the outsiders playing on the television in front of you.

you sighed. "we'd have to leave a key so they could get in if it's an emergency. i'd feel so bad if something happened and they weren't able to get in."

"but, then they'd just use it all the time," he countered, which was fair.

"good point," you mumbled.

you groaned loudly, rolling over until you were flat against him, legs tangled together with your face pressed into his chest and your arms almost too tight around his middle. his chuckle that followed shook your whole body, his arms winding around you and his fingers finding your hair upon instinct.

"what do we do?" you huffed, relaxing a bit as steve's fingers combed over your scalp, sending shivers down your spine.

he sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "no clue."

you should've known they would come storming in then; it was 3:15. school was out.

the lock twisted, and then all at once they came falling into the entryway, earning a loud, simultaneous sigh from you and steve as you pressed yourself even closer to him. your voice was muffled and whiny as you mumbled into his shirt, "tell them to go away."

"go away!" steve yelled as they dropped their bags and kicked off their shoes by, but of course not on, the shoe rack.

their attentions snapped to the living room, noses instantly scrunching at the sight of you two completely tangled together on the couch.

"dude," mike said, shaking his head. "gross. there are people here."

"people who don't live here!" you yelled, not moving an inch.

"which makes us guests," lucas pointed out like the smartass he was. "you shouldn't behave like that in front of guests."

steve glared at them all. "guests shouldn't be letting themselves into other people's houses, then."

"you have a spare bedroom for us to stay in," dustin reminded.

"in emergencies," steve retorted.

"and it's for anyone, not just you," you mumbled.

dustin clicked his tongue, shaking his head quickly. "not what you told me when you fixed it up. now can you please sit up? we rented indiana jones."

"and we brought kettlecorn this time," will said brightly.

steve just stared at him for a few moments, hand running over your back as you stayed facing away from the tornado that was the party. dully, he asked, "kettlecorn?"

"microwave kettlecorn," will answered with a nod, holding up the thin brown package with a grin.

"make it in your own microwave," steve told him, eyes flicking to dustin when he approached the vhs player. stopped your movie and popped the tape out, steve's mouth dropping open as one hand rose in immediate retaliation. "hey, henderson! we were watching that!"

"we're watching indiana jones," dustin said again, slower this time like it would help steve understand better.

you groaned, finally pushing off of steve's chest and glowering at them all. "go home."

"no."

it was a collective response, and one that sent you into an instant coma as you yelled through gritted teeth and dropped back onto steve.

"don't your parents ever ask where you go all day?" your boyfriend asked with a sigh.

"they do, and when we say here they're completely okay with it," mike answered with a nod.

"unfortunately for you, your girlfriend is very good friends with our moms," lucas told him.

unfortunately, he was correct. between the shared trauma of the upside down with joyce, gushing over magazines with karen, quilting lessons with sue, and thursday afternoon baking sessions you liked to call 'cooking with claudia', you had effectively won over each of their moms. they trusted you more than their own children, which was valid, but that also meant they were always allowed at your place.

"i'm ghosting all of them," you muttered, steve's following sigh surprisingly comforting as it moved through your whole body.

lucas grinned, knowing how much both you and his mother looked forward to your sewing days. "no, you're not."

you sighed way too heavily for how good of an afternoon it had been only minutes before. "no, i'm not."

"okay, now that we've established that you have mom friends," dustin said, rolling his eyes, "good for you, i guess - can you please sit up? i'd like my spot back."

oh, this boy was going to be the death of you. or, if he kept running his mouth, you assumed steve was going to be the death of him.

he had never glared harsher at the boy, you were sure, frustration radiating from him. "you don't have a spot. none of this is your spot. all of this, this whole couch, this whole house, it's all mine. all my spot."

"and mine," you chimed in dully.

"and hers," he agreed with a stiff nod. "it's ours. our spot."

dustin just stared, lips pursed slightly. "right. i'd like to sit in your spot, then."

all the boys, even will, snickered at that, even as they took their own spots either on the floor or in the loveseat adjacent to the sofa as the movie started.

"i miss when you guys played dnd," you said then, sitting up and frowning. "when you were little and cute and nice to us. when you would go to the basement and stay there the entire day long and not raid our pantry."

"i miss when you loved us," mike quipped back, earning a huff.

he was always more annoying when el wasn't around, and unluckily for you, she usually didn't show up until around 5 when she was done with training.

"it's a two way street, buddy," you answered dully.

steve sat up then, a defeated sigh slipping from his lips as he took your hand. "come on. they're not leaving."

"could've guessed," you said, following him anyways as the boys laughed behind you. he pulled you up the stairs towards your room, and you let out a frustrated breath. "you were right, i should've listened to you. i shouldn't have let them stay over every freaking night, it's a thing now, and they're never going to leave!"

"no, but you know what we can do?" he asked as he shut the door behind you, a mischievous grin on his lips.

you quirked a brow. "what?"

"we can leave," he said.

your heart stopped, a sense of excitement filling you on instinct.

but, then your mind caught up and you faltered.

that was a terrible idea.

a terrible idea with a lot of potential and a lot of pros, but a terrible one anyways.

you shook your head quickly. "and leave them here? alone? steve, they'll wreck the place!"

"no, they won't. they'll stay on that couch all night and eat all our food, but they won't break anything," he said with a shake of his head. he paused, eyes flicking to the ceiling in thought for just a second before he said, "i think. but, they'll stay here, and we can go somewhere else."

"this is our house," you reminded, annoyance still threading your tone. not at him, of course, but at the invasive children in your living room.

"well, yeah," he agreed. "but, we have something else too."

you raised a curious brow, hesitating. "what?"

fifteen minutes later, you pulled up to the wsqk building, way too ready for a night to yourselves.

"stevie," you said, shooting him a grin. "i hate to say it, but you're a genius."

he smiled, leaning over to you. "yeah, i am. you should say it more."

he kissed you slowly, unbuckling your seatbelt with one hand as the other held you in place by your waist. by the time he pulled back, your heart was pounding and you were a little desperate for more, and the smirk on his lips told you he knew it.

"look a little hazy there, sweetheart," he teased.

you rolled your eyes, reaching for the door handle. "let's go."

he clung to your hand as you entered the building, spinning his keys around the pointer finger of his free hand absentmindedly. you pulled the book off the shelf to reveal your little hidden bunker, heading down the stairs with a pep in your step.

when you reached the floor, he came up behind you, hugging your waist and pressing a kiss to your neck.

you smiled, turning in his hold to raise your hands to his neck and tug him that much closer. "finally alone."

and then your name echoed through the dark room, the voice high pitched and surprised.

shit.

"nancy?" you asked dryly, letting out an unimpressed and unsurprised sigh.

"don't turn on the lights," she advised from the dark.

steve's forehead dropped onto your shoulder, the boy letting out a low groan. "seriously? you guys live together."

"with our whole families," jonathan reminded, sounding a little too breathless for your taste.

"actually, no," you said. "your brothers are at our house."

nancy let out a thin breath. "i can see where that would be a problem."

you could hear the cushions beneath them shifting and let out another sigh. "yeah, well, i guess we'll have to deal with it. have fun you two."

"bye," nancy said, obviously relieved as you dragged steve back up the stairs and through the little secret passage.

"looks like i'm not the only one with that idea," he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"apparently," you said, shaking your head. your eyes caught on the bright red phone hung up on the wall, a slow grin pulling at your lips as an idea came to mind. "you know what?"

he hummed in question, raising a brow. "what?"

"i'm calling in the big guns," you said, bee-lining it to the phone.

by the time you got home, the boys were all getting back on their bikes, muttering to themselves and staring you down as you pulled into the driveway.

"seriously?" mike asked as soon as you got out of the car, earning grins from both you and steve.

"what?" you asked, tilting your head as if you hadn't just called all their mothers from the radio station and asked them to call the house and demand their boys go home.

will sighed. "our moms? really?"

"you guys said it yourselves," steve said with an amused smirk. "they love her."

dustin huffed, getting on his bike. "whatever. seems like you really don't want us here, so we won't see you tomorrow."

"yeah right," you scoffed, rolling your eyes at his attitude. "you'll come back."

"but, feel free not to," steve added, nodding as he pulled you past them to the door. "i'll probably change the locks. have a good night, kids!"

he pulled you inside before lucas could say whatever he was about to, slamming the door shut and locking it as if that would do anything and grinning triumphantly.

as soon as you heard the bikes ride away, the boys yelling things you couldn't quite decipher back at the house, he pushed you against the door by your waist and kissed you deeply. "you," he hummed, kissing you again. "are a genius."

you smiled into the kiss, arms circling his neck. "i do my best."

he pulled you into his arms, scooping you up like it was a normal thing for him and walking back into the living room. he dropped you onto the couch, bending over you to press his lips to yours again before going to the vhs player and putting the outsiders back in.

"do you want a snack?" he asked, to which you shook his head, smile too bright as you watched him.

he returned the smile, nodding and pressing play before returning to you. he pulled your shoes off for you, kicking off his own before scooping you into his arms again just to slip beneath you, settling you on his chest in the same position you'd been in before the boys tried to steal your evening away from you.

"now that i know it works, i'm always gonna call their moms when we need a day off," you told him quietly, smiling up at the boy.

"oh, always," he agreed, leaning down to kiss you once more before you both just relaxed back into each other again.

his eyes stayed gentle on you as you turned your head to watch the movie from where you'd left it, your fingers running soothingly up and down his arm.

"i love them, but i love when it's just us too. so, maybe we kick 'em out a little more frequently from now on," he added quietly.

you glanced back up at him and nodded. "way more often." you dropped your head back to his chest and sighed. "but, we did do this to ourselves, didn't we?"

he huffed a laugh. "yeah. we did."

you knitted your brows, fingers pausing on his arm for just a second. "does that make us good babysitters or bad babysitters? i mean, we just shoved them out of our home."

steve snorted softly, arms tightening around you. "that makes us great babysitters," he said. "just really bad at saying no."

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[jetblack4real]

spare room - steve harrington

the house isn't empty installment! can be read alone

summary: when dustin's nightly stays become more frequent, you finally convince steve to clean out the spare bedroom he's been avoiding

word count: 2.3k

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

"he's not just going to stop coming," you point out, thumbing through a house decor magazine that karen wheeler had bought for you the other day. you were quickly becoming obsessed with the idea of decorating your own house the way that you wanted to. it was starting to get steve a little nervous. "he has a key and some major trauma. i'm glad he feels safe here, and i just want him to know how much he has a space here."

steve stared at you like you'd just said the most absurd thing he'd ever heard, a hand on his hip incredulously. "you want to give him a room?"

honestly, you didn't expect steve to be as opposed to the idea as he seemed to be now. you knew that they'd been arguing for a bit, especially with dustin getting into some bad trouble at school, but you were awfully surprised at his reaction.

you peeked up at him over your magazine, brows knitting slightly. "sort of. is that so terrible?" he sighed as you sat up, tossing your magazine on the cushion in front of you as you crossed your legs beneath you. "look, the spare bedroom has been a mess and loaded with boxes since way before we even got together. it's about time we do something about it."

"it's all my parents' shit," he said, rolling his eyes.

"yeah, and we'll do what we did with the garage," you told him. "take a guess if it's sentimental and throw it out or donate it if it's not. if they really cared about all that stuff, they'd have taken care of it by now, but they haven't."

"is that really our problem, though?" he asked, collapsing on the couch next to you as his hand came naturally to rest on your knee. "it's their crap, not ours. we can just leave it until we move out. whenever that is."

you tilted your head, brows raised. "'whenever that is'? steve, we have no clue when that's going to be. when will everything that's going on just suddenly stop? when will the military get out, and even if they do, will your parents even want to move back?" you shook your head. "i'm not gonna live with 'i'm moving soon syndrome', okay? i refuse to. i want that room cleaned out so the kids can stay in there and it stops stressing me out."

he stared at you, brow slowly raising. "it's stressing you out?"

"well, i can't go in there, can i? it still feels like i'm not allowed," you answered with a frown.

even steve could see why; the janky doorknob that made it a fight to get the door open in the first place, the boxes covering the floor, the dust creeping into the corners and covering the furniture, old picture frames from when his parents first got married covering the walls like a graffiti tag screaming, 'NOT YOURS'.

you sighed, hand coming to cover his own. "look, if not for dustin, then for the rest of the kids too. and my sanity."

he contemplated it for a moment, thumb running over your skin before he let out the most dramatic sigh you thought you'd ever heard from him. "fine."

you grinned, sitting up and leaning over to give him a quick, chaste kiss, hand on his cheek to turn him towards you. you pulled back with a small smile. "thank you," you said, kissing him quickly again before climbing off the couch.

his eyes widened as he watched you approach the stairs. "right now? seriously?"

"it's sunday," you told him. "our only day off. come on, let's do it."

with another dramatic sigh and a grunt as he pushed off the couch, he followed you, muttering about, "henderson," and, "your stupid soft spot for the kids."

you only grinned.

it was an all day ordeal.

for the first few hours, you were both sat on the hardwood floor going through boxes and deciding what needed to be kept and what needed to be donated. you kept a pile in the corner of old decorations that you thought would be cute around the house or in this room, smiling a bit to yourself as steve eyed it knowingly.

"so, do you really want the kids staying here, or do you just want a room to decorate?" he asked, raising his brows your way as you tossed another poster into the decor pile.

you smiled, shrugging as you went back to digging through the rubbermaid bin in front of you. "both, i guess."

"the other night you were complaining about them being here all the time," he pointed out, not accusing or judging, just wondering.

"yeah, well, they are kind of annoying sometimes," you admitted with a laugh, smiling down at a baby picture of steve and setting it to the side. "and they eat all our food, and they never clean up after themselves. but, i love them, and after everything they've been through... i don't know. i just think it's important that they know they have a space here."

his eyes stayed on your for a good long time, which wasn't abnormal for him, and the small smile that pulled at his lips wasn't either. "you're good at that."

"good at what?"

"making people feel invited. making people feel loved."

you paused, meeting his eyes with a bit of surprise in your own. "oh."

"coming from someone who's never had that before," he said quietly, "it's a real special thing."

you smiled small, settling back on your knees as you looked back to the box. "well, you and all those kids deserve to be both invited and loved. we're a strange sort of family now, and everyone should know that." you glanced up at him with a teasing smile. "you definitely know that. you're their damn mother."

"what?" he laughed, shaking his head. "i am not. if anything, i'm their dad."

"no chance," you disagreed, grinning now. "dads are protective and everything, but they generally just let the kids do what they want and don't have much to say about it. moms, on the other hand, are always in their business and getting on them about things. that's you."

"you get on them too," he defended lamely.

"no," you laughed. "i tell them to be nice and then i let you handle the rest. you are the only reason they've stopped leaving their wrappers everywhere."

he scoffed, getting worked up about it again. "well, yeah, because it's ridiculous! they're fifteen years old, they should know how to-"

he stopped, holding your eyes as you smirked. he held up a finger, shaking his head.

"that is not the same," he told you.

"oh, it so is," you teased. "and it's not a bad thing. i appreciate it, actually."

he frowned. "so, what? you're the dad, then?"

you giggled as you shrugged. "in behavior, sure."

"well, that's dumb," he mumbled, almost pouting as he went back to his box.

you smiled small, glancing down at the frame of baby steve and wiping the dust off of it. "well," you said, catching his attention again. "when we have kids that look like this," you held up his picture with a smile, "the roles will reverse. no need to worry, babe."

he glanced between you and the photo of his younger self, heart pounding as he realized what you were saying.

you'd spoken about it before, of course, but this was a definite agreement, sign, and acknowledgement that it wasn't just an idea, it was your future.

and that had him smiling way too brightly for just cleaning out a spare bedroom.

"i'm holding you to that," he told you surely, laughing a bit as you tossed the frame into the decorations pile.

you finished up the room by the next afternoon after your shift at the diner and steve's at rockin' robin's monday morning show. once the six hour track to finish out the day was set, he bolted home to help you finish the room.

you were already decorating.

steve had taken all the boxes out to the garage the night before, and you'd just dropped everything off at the donation center to get it out of the house.

everything except your decorations, of course.

the desk that had been in the room before had been shoved against the wall opposite the bed, away from the window and the door. you'd put up little hooks in front of it, a couple old hats hung on them with a variety of books lined up on the desk beneath.

the walls were covered with different 70s movie posters that his dad used to have hung in the basement, and the bed was now covered in the red and tan quilt sue sinclair had helped you make. there was also now a shelf next to the bed that had a few knickknacks you'd found on it - a miniature globe, vintage model cars, two coke bottles from 1967 with the first ever superbowl ad on it.

when he pushed the door open, eyes wide as he took the room in, you turned with a bright smile. "you like it?"

he nodded, eyes catching on the open closet doors just waiting for a backpack to be unpacked and shoes to be kicked off into it. "yeah, babe. i love it."

you smiled, pushing the last corner of the star wars poster onto the wall with some rubber glue before moving to his side. he immediately tucked you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as his eyes flicked over the room again.

"i think dustin will like it," you told him quietly.

"we'll see in a bit," he answered.

you looked up with knitted brows, humming a confused, "why?"

steve just grinned, nodding to the small clock on the wall. "school just got out. he'll probably be here in like ten minutes."

you snorted, nodding. "exactly why he should just have a room."

your boyfriend wasn't wrong, the henderson boy using his stolen key to push his way into your house only fifteen minutes later.

"hello?" he called, glancing into the living room and not seeing either of you. he waited for a reply and didn't get one immediately, shrugging then and pushing the door shut behind him.

he thought he'd seen your cars outside, but apparently not.

he moved to enter the kitchen, in search of an after school snack of course, but was shocked into stillness by a yell from the upstairs.

"dustin! come here!"

he furrowed his brows but followed instructions, turning and heading up the stairs towards your bedroom. he stopped there, even more confused as he grabbed the handle. "guys?"

"not in there, dude," steve said, coming out of the spare with a disappointed shake of his head and reaching for the boy's arm. "never in there. over here."

he pulled dustin along as you slipped out the doorway and held the door shut behind you, your grin way too wide for dustin's comfort.

he frowned deeper, looking between you both. "what's happening?"

"we did a little project and we just wanted to show you," you chirped, smiling as you gave him a small shrug.

"okay..." he said, dragging the word out with another judgmental glance between you two.

steve came to your side, nodding for you to open the door, and so you did.

you stepped inside, holding your arm out and exclaiming, "ta da! we cleaned out the spare bedroom."

dustin walked in, glancing around the room with an impressed nod. "cool. it looks good. but, why-" he cut himself short, eyes widening way too much as his eyes shot to you and steve, you tucked into your boyfriend's side all too snug and close. "are you pregnant? oh my-!"

"woah, buddy!" steve said, holding his hands out. "we're not pregnant. at least-" his eyes darted to you and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. he looked back to dustin, "no, we're not pregnant."

"then, why do you need a guest room? it's not like anyone's visiting hawkins anytime soon," dustin said, a furrow forming between his brows.

"actually, we get visitors all the time," you hummed then, smiling gently at the boy. it didn't register for a few seconds, and then his shoulders dropped slightly, expression softening. "you're here almost every day, so we thought that you should at least know you have a bed to sleep in if you need. if you want to stay, ever."

in the last year, he'd put up walls beyond what you thought was possible for the sweet boy. it had made things difficult with the party, and with steve, and even, sometimes, with you. he had rough edges now, and had grown a bit restless and hard and rude.

but, he was still dustin. and you both still loved him beyond comprehension.

and for a few seconds as his eyes scanned over the little hat collection, and the star wars posters, and the homemade quilt on the bed, he looked exactly like he had before vecna had ruined your lives - sweet, soft, and appreciative.

he cleared his throat, smile thinning as he tried to get a handle on himself once more and looked to you both. "thanks."

"no problem, bud," steve answered, his smile soft and almost relieved as dustin walked further in.

he dropped his backpack on the closet floor, kicking his shoes off before moving to examine the collection of objects on the shelf. "wait, 1967? no way, this is sick!"

and you and steve just exchanged smiles, you leaning further into his side.

"i told you it'd be good," you whispered to him.

steve didn't answer, just pressing a kiss to the top of your head and turning back to watch dustin examine his new room.

but, as his heart warmed even more, he knew you were right.

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

steve taglist! hoshhhiiiii , @readinf , @silentnights28 , @starsmoonn , @ultrviolncs , @lovelycurls , @leahfaith , @maymo0 , @dirtymargaritaa , @cheetoscmj , @chillspritecranberry , @marvelousstorm

thanks for reading! leave a request in the comments or message me privately! i love writing, so if you've got an idea you need fleshed out on paper i'd love to be the one to do that for you

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[luusygoosey]

No Secrets With Friends Like This - Steve Harrington imagine.

(Steve Harrington x female reader)

Summary: Hanging out with your friends is usually easy—until you and Steve start a secret relationship. Then it gets a little more complicated.

Warnings: brief mention of cigarette's, "secret" relationship. but it's all fluff.

A/N: sorry I haven't posted, I've been a little busy with school stuff and finals. this is lowkey ass and so not proof-read or fixed but idk I am in a writing slump and just so lazy. also to my last request I promise I'm working on it right now, sorry it's taken me so long 😭

*.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.*

The storm starts around seven. Nothing unusual for Hawkins in the summer, but still—what a waste of a perfectly good Saturday night. At first, it wasn't anything dramatic. Just distant thunder rumbling somewhere beyond town, low and heavy, like furniture scraping across the sky. Rain freckles the windshield as you pull into the Wheeler driveway, the wipers dragging back and forth in an uneven squeak.

The basement lights are already glowing when you pull up, which can only mean the chaos is well underway. Honestly, you wouldn’t want it any other way. Maybe it was a little pathetic that your favorite way to spend a Saturday night involved a bunch of fifteen-year-olds crammed around a card table in Mike Wheeler’s basement but you and Steve had fun, and it sure as hell beat chain-smoking terrible cigarettes in the gas station parking lot with Tommy and Carol pretending you actually liked them.

You barely get the front door open before Dustin Henderson comes hurtling into the foyer in socks that nearly send him eating shit across the hardwood. “You’re late,” he says accusingly.

You blink at him. “Hi to you too.”

“You said six-thirty.”

“It’s six-thirty-two,” you scoff, glancing down at your watch like the evidence might somehow prove your point.

“That’s late.”

From downstairs, you hear Mike Wheeler yell, “DUSTIN, HURRY UP!”

“COMING!” Dustin shouts toward the stairs before turning back to you with a look that’s way too knowing for a 15 year old. “Steve’s already here, by the way,” he adds, like it’s just casual information and not something he’s clearly weaponizing. Then he gives you a strange smirk—slow, deliberately. 

Oh no. 

You and Steve had been secretly dating for the past two months. Not because you were trying to hide it, but rather just because you weren’t sure how everyone would take it yet. And right now, with Dustin’s relentless teasing in full swing, that hesitation is feeling very justified.

“Oh my god,” you mutter immediately. “Don’t do that with your face.”

“What am I doing with my face?”

“That face. It’s… weird. Stop,” you say, scrunching your nose as you make an exaggerated, disgusted little “eww” sound just to drive your point home.

Dustin grins wider. “Oh, you mean the Steve face.”

“There is no Steve face.”

“There definitely is.”

Thunder cracks louder this time, rattling the windows hard enough to make Holly Wheeler squeal somewhere in the living room upstairs.

Dustin points at you like he’s solved something. “See? Nature agrees with me.”

Before you can even try to argue your way out of this stupid conversation properly, the basement door swings open.

And there he is.

Your beautiful boyfriend in all his glory.

Steve leans halfway through the doorway with a pizza box balanced against one hip and the second he sees you his expression shifts in a way only you ever really notice. It’s subtle but real, that softening like his whole body just eases up at the sight of you.

“Hey,” he says.

Your stomach betrays you instantly. Even though you’ve known Steve for a while and you’ve been dating for a while too, you still get all giddy like you’re a nervous fangirl meeting Tom Cruise for the first time.

“Hey.” He gives you a soft smile, only making you weaker in the knees. 

Dustin makes the loudest fake gagging noise known to man.

Steve doesn’t even look away from you when he says, “I can still throw you into a wall, Henderson.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would.”

“Violent,” Dustin says sadly before disappearing back downstairs.

Steve sighs deeply, already exhausted by the chaos these kids manage to create in under the five minutes he’s been here. 

You laugh before you can stop yourself and just like that being around Steve is easy again, warm and familiar in a way that makes everything else fade out for a second. Rain hits the roof a little harder now, steady and loud above you.

“You made it before the roads got bad,” Steve says, taking your jacket automatically before you can even shrug it off all the way. His fingers brush yours briefly. “The storm's supposed to get worse later.”

“Yeah, my mom practically shoved me out the door before it hit.”

“She’s smart.”

You narrow your eyes at him immediately. “Are you calling me stupid?”

“I’m calling you stubborn.”

“Rude,” you giggle, even though it comes out softer than you mean it to.

Steve just grins like he’s pleased with himself, like he always is when he gets under your skin in a way that doesn’t actually feel bad.

God.

Your chest feels weird in that good way, like something warm has settled right behind your ribs and refuses to move. The basement hums around you, voices overlapping upstairs, the rain hitting harder now like it’s trying to talk over everything else. And Steve is just there in front of you, relaxed and real and looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth focusing on.

It should honestly be illegal how pretty he looks doing that. His hair’s damp already, probably from running through the rain with the pizzas, and he’s wearing this stupid gray sweatshirt that looks soft enough to ruin your life.

“Okay,” Nancy says suddenly, appearing from the kitchen like a woman moments from losing her mind. “Thank god you’re both here.”

You straighten immediately. “What happened?”

“Holly had too much cake frosting, Mike and Lucas almost broke a lamp sword fighting with wrapping paper tubes, and Robin taught Erica how to play blackjack.”

“Educational,” Robin calls from somewhere upstairs, her voice echoing down the hallway like she’s announcing it on purpose.

“It is NOT educational!” someone shouts back immediately.

Lightning splits across the windows and turns the whole foyer white for half a second, like the house itself has been erased and drawn back in. The thunder hits almost at the same time, sharp and heavy enough to rattle the glass.

The lights flicker once.

Twice.

Everyone goes quiet in the split second between the third flicker and whatever comes next. Then the power just dies completely. The house drops into full darkness so fast it feels like someone physically pulled a blanket over everything. For a second there’s nothing but the storm outside and the sound of everyone realizing at the exact same time what just happened.

And then the chaos detonates. Someone yells in surprise, something clatters to the floor, a chair scrapes hard against wood, and somewhere upstairs Robin laughs like this is the funniest possible outcome.

“Oh my god,” Robin immediately bursts out laughing, loud and unhinged.

“Holy shit!” someone else yells over her, voice cracking with panic.

“MIKE TOUCHED THE TV LAST!”

“I DIDN’T EVEN DO ANYTHING!”

Nancy exhales through her nose like she’s physically holding herself together by force, the kind of tired breath that says she’s one second away from losing it.

Steve just starts laughing, not the polite kind like he’s trying to make a bad situation feel lighter, but real laughter that comes out sudden and helpless and warm. You stare at him for half a second too long before you even realize you’re doing it. He catches it. Of course he does.

His laugh softens at the edges like he’s suddenly a little more aware of you than the chaos around him.

Then, totally interrupting the moment, another crack of thunder shakes the whole house.

Upstairs, Holly bursts into tears. And just like that, the babysitting disaster fully takes over.

—

Three candles and one flashlight later, the Wheeler basement looks like the setting of a low-budget horror movie. The rain continues its lashes violently against the tiny basement windows. Wind rattles tree branches hard enough to scrape against the siding outside.

Dustin claims mother nature sounds “scientifically concerning” tonight, which absolutely does not help Holly’s already escalating panic. If anything, it makes it worse. Robin claims they’re all going to die, so that's a nice addition. Erica steals the flashlight and shines it under her chin to tell ghost stories, and surprisingly she’s freakishly good at it. But then again you’re not surprised. 

“You guys are the worst babysitters,” Max says randomly, bored out of her mind, like she’s been stuck in this house too long and is running out of patience for all of them. 

“We’re not babysitters,” Robin argues, like she’s delivering a verdict in court.

“You’re watching children,” Max says flatly, not even looking up. “That’s babysitting.”

Steve points at her immediately, like he’s been waiting for exactly this moment his entire life. “No. Absolutely not. We are not babysitters.”

Max finally glances at him, unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Mom.”

Dustin makes a strangled sound—half laugh, half cough—as if he’s physically trying not to lose it. Steve looks personally offended by the entire existence of the conversation. He grabs a pretzel from the bowl without breaking eye contact and flicks it at Dustin with perfect aim. It hits him square in the chest.

Dustin fully breaks. The room fills with overlapping noise after that—Robin laughing into her hand, Max rolling her eyes like she’s already bored of all of them, Lucas muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “this is so stupid” and it all blends into the familiar chaos that somehow always happens when they’re together.

You sit curled into the far corner of the couch, knees pulled in, soda can cold in your hands. You watch it all unfold like you’re half inside it and half just observing from a safe distance, trying not to smile too obviously when Steve starts acting like he’s the victim of a coordinated attack.

It doesn’t really work because the truth is, you’re smiling anyway. And through all this chaos…Steve keeps looking at you.

Not in a way that anyone else would notice. Just in fragments. In flickers. A glance when someone says something funny, like he’s checking whether you’re laughing too. Another when you shift slightly on the couch, like he’s silently registering whether you’re comfortable as if it’s his job to make sure you are. One more when the room gets loud enough that it almost feels like it’s pressing in, like he’s making sure you’re still okay in the middle of it.

It’s subtle. Automatic. Like muscle memory. Like his attention keeps drifting back to you without permission. And the annoying part is—you notice every single one.

Which is probably why you notice when he slips away upstairs. No announcement. No explanation. Just Steve, suddenly gone from the room like a thread being pulled loose from fabric. The absence is immediate.

The basement doesn’t get quieter exactly. It just feels different. Wider. Looser at the edges. Like something steadying has stepped out of frame and left everything slightly unbalanced.

You take a sip of soda you don’t really taste and try not to think about how noticeable it is.

“How long until he comes back complaining about something?” Robin asks, breaking the lull that follows his exit.

Max shrugs. “Five minutes. Ten tops.”

“Where’d lover boy go?” Robin adds, grinning like she already knows she’s going to get a reaction out of someone.

Dustin immediately looks up. “I feel like that’s not a—wait, who are we talking about exactly?”

You nearly inhale your drink wrong. “Robin.”

“What?” she says innocently, which is never a good sign. “I’m just asking a question.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh my god,” Max says, instantly perking up like she’s just been handed entertainment. “You guys ARE into each other.”

“We are not,” you say too quickly. The truth is… you haven’t exactly told everyone about your guys’ relationship, some know, some guessed and others like Max, are just piecing it together right now. It’s not that you’re hiding it, it’s rather that you're just scared of everyone’s reactions. Hence this whole conversation. 

Robin’s grin sharpens like she’s found something worth picking at, suddenly the most amused she’s been all night. “You literally looked sad when he left the room,” she says, leaning back into the couch like she has all the time in the world. Of course she already knew about you and Steve’s very “secret” relationship, but she would never miss the opportunity to tease. Never. 

“I did not!”

“You did,” Erica cuts in without hesitation.

Traitor.

“I—no I didn’t,” you insist, but your voice lands somewhere between defensive and flustered, which is objectively the worst combination.

Max looks thrilled. “This is amazing. We should’ve started teasing you two way earlier.”

“There is nothing to tease,” you say, though it comes out weaker than intended.

Robin hums. “Sure. Okay. Then explain the whole… tragic staring situation every time he looks at you.”

“I do not—”

But you stop.

Because unfortunately, that is not a lie you can confidently finish. Before you can recover, the basement door swings open again. The sound cuts through the room like a reset button being pressed.

Steve steps back inside carrying an armful of blankets, stacked unevenly against his chest like he’s one wrong step away from dropping the entire thing. His sleeves are pushed up a little, hair slightly messier than before, like he got distracted halfway through whatever mission he went on upstairs.

He pauses in the doorway. The room goes weirdly, almost offensively quiet. Like everyone has suddenly agreed to become extremely normal for no reason at all.

Steve’s eyes move slowly across the group. “…Why does it feel like I walked into something?” he asks.

There’s a beat. No one moves. No one breathes right. Then, in perfect unison—

“Nothing.” Six voices all blend together super fast. Way too fast. Way too synchronized. Good to know your so called “friends” would make terrible interrogation officers. 

Steve narrows his eyes. “That was suspiciously immediate.”

Robin coughs into her hand. “We’re just… excited about blankets.”

“Yeah,” Dustin jumps in, a little too loudly. “Blankets are great. Huge fan of blankets. Love ‘em.”

Steve stares at him for a second longer, clearly unconvinced, then slowly shifts his attention back across the room like he’s scanning for evidence in a crime scene.

It lingers. A beat too long on Robin. Then Max.Then Dustin, who immediately straightens like that will somehow make him less suspicious.

And then—

It lands on you.

Just for a second.

A little too precise to be accidental. A little too familiar to be nothing. Like he’s checking something only he can see. Like he’s trying to piece together what changed in the ten minutes he was gone. The basement feels weirdly still under it. Not silent exactly, Dustin is breathing too loudly for that, but everything kind of pauses anyway, like the room itself is pretending to behave.

Steve squints.

Robin responds with an overly sweet smile that has absolutely no innocence in it whatsoever.

“You people are evil,” Steve mutters, like he’s diagnosing them.

“Correct,” Max says immediately.

Then his gaze flicks back to you again—automatic, like a reflex he doesn’t bother hiding—and softens without him seeming to notice he’s doing it. That one shift changes the air in a way you definitely do notice.

He walks over with the blankets bundled against his chest, the stack slightly uneven, like he made it exactly three steps before deciding this was good enough and gave up on physics.

Without ceremony, he drops one right into your lap. “You looked cold,” he says.

You blink down at the blanket like it personally offended you. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” he replies instantly, already turning away like the conversation is over.

“You didn’t even ask me.”

“I did,” he says, completely unbothered.

“You did not.”

“I looked at you,” he corrects, like that settles it.

You pull the blanket up anyway, because your hands suddenly don’t know what else to do.

“It’s the biggest one,” you point out, trying for casualness and landing somewhere near suspicious.

“I know,” Steve says again, too easy.

Like that was the plan. Like there wasn’t even a debate.

From the couch, Dustin makes a sound that is half realization, half betrayal.

“Oh my god.”

Steve doesn’t even turn fully this time. He just reaches over his shoulder, grabs a pretzel from the bowl, and throws it without looking.

It hits Dustin anyway.

Perfectly.

“Stop narrating my life,” Steve says.

Dustin coughs dramatically. “I’m not narrating it, I’m— I’m observing it.”

“That’s worse.”

Robin leans back, grinning like she’s watching a show she’s already decided is her favorite. “This is insane.”

Max nods. “Romantic tension is crazy in real time.”

“There is no—” Steve starts.

But he pauses.

Because his eyes do that thing again.

Quick. Unthinking.

Back to you.

And then away, like he caught himself doing it too late.

“…Nothing is happening,” he finishes, slightly louder than necessary.

And somehow, nobody believes him even a little.

Steve stares at him for a second longer, then slowly shifts his gaze back to the room again.

It lingers.

Just a little too long on you.

Like he’s trying to figure out what he missed.

And for a second—just a second—it feels like the whole basement is holding its breath around it.

—

By midnight, the storm has stopped bothering with anything like restraint. The rain doesn’t fall so much as it collides with the Wheeler house—hard, uneven bursts that rattle the windows and blur the world beyond them into something indistinct and grey. The kind of weather that makes everything inside feel too warm, too close, like the house has quietly decided it doesn’t want anyone leaving.

The basement light is low, stretched thin across the room in a way that softens edges and makes shadows feel less like shapes and more like suggestions.

Holly is upstairs with Nancy, long asleep. Mike and Will knocked out halfway through the movie marathon, twisted across the floor in a position that would probably kill anyone over twenty-five. Luckily, they’re fifteen and therefore basically immune to back problems. Erica is curled into an armchair under an unreasonable number of blankets, fully claiming them like a territory she intends to defend if necessary.

Robin and Max are still awake, though only in the sense that their eyes are open. They’re whisper-arguing over card rules with the intensity of people who would absolutely take this to court if given the opportunity.

And Steve—

Steve is asleep beside you.

Kinda. 

His head has tipped back into the couch cushions, mouth slightly parted, one arm folded loosely over his chest like he fell asleep mid-thought and never got around to finishing it. His legs are stretched out in front of him, one socked foot barely touching the floor, the other angled slightly inward like even his body couldn’t fully commit to comfort.

At some point during the movie, the distance between you stopped existing in any meaningful way. Not suddenly. Not noticeably. Just… gradually, until your shoulder ended up pressed against his, warm and steady under the blanket like it had always been there. And neither of you moved it.

The storm flashes outside in uneven bursts, turning the basement white for half a second before dropping it back into shadow again. 

Steve shifts beside you in his sleep. Barely anything, really. Just a quiet movement against the couch cushions. Still, your attention drifts back to him before you even realize you’re doing it. He looks different asleep. Not in some huge, dramatic way. He’s still Steve. He just seems less like his usual guarded self and more vulnerable. 

His hair has fallen messily over his forehead, flattened in places from the couch cushion. His face looks looser somehow, the usual tension gone from it. One arm rests warm against yours beneath the blanket, solid and heavy enough that you can constantly feel where he is without looking.

It makes your chest feel a little too aware of itself.

Suddenly thunder cracks overhead. It’s sharp, close enough that the windows seem to hum with it.

Steve startles awake instantly.  Not panicked. Just rather immediate. Like something in him is always half-ready for impact. His eyes snap open, scanning the room quickly, too quickly, like he’s checking for something wrong he hasn’t identified yet.

They land on Robin first. Max. Dustin on the floor. Erica untouched by reality.

And then on you.

His shoulders loosen a little. Not noticeably unless you’re looking frevor it. And you are.

Steve blinks a few times, still halfway asleep, eyes unfocused for a second before they settle properly. “Oh,” he mumbles. His voice is rough with sleep.

You smile a little despite yourself. “Hi.”

“…Did I fall asleep?”

“Yes.”

Steve frowns slightly. “That’s embarrassing.”

“You were snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You do.”

“That’s—” he starts, then stops, like he’s too tired to properly defend himself. “That’s fake.”

“It’s very real.”

He exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face like he’s trying to reset his entire existence. Then, as if remembering something important, his gaze drops to the blanket situation. “You’re freezing,” he says immediately.

“I’m fine.”

“You feel like a corpse, Jesus.”

“How would you even know what a corpse feels like?” you mutter, laughing a little despite yourself, even while you’re freezing your ass off under the blanket.

Steve gives you a tired look. “Pretty easy comparison, honestly.”

Before you can argue further, he’s pulling the blanket higher around your shoulders, tucking it in slightly like he’s done it a thousand times without thinking. His fingers are careful, but not hesitant. Like he trusts the motion more than the moment. It’s only when his knuckles brush your jaw again. barely, accidental—that both of you pause.

Steve pulls his hand back a little too quickly afterward, like the touch registered a second too late. Not because he minded. More because the two of you are still stuck in that strange, awkward space where neither of you fully knows the rules yet. What counts as casual, what counts as too much, whether touching each other like that should feel natural yet or not.

Which, unfortunately, means every accidental brush of hands suddenly feels very intentional.

“…Sorry,” he says quickly, though it doesn’t sound like he’s actually sure what for.

“It’s fine,” you reply, softer than you mean to.

The storm outside fills the gap between words, loud enough to make the silence feel intentional.

Steve looks at you again. Longer this time. Not searching. Not checking. Just… there.

“You tired?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You nod once.

He shifts slightly, turning into the couch cushions, one arm lifting without hesitation.

“C’mere,” he says.

Your brain does a brief, unhelpful pause.

“What?”

He lets out a quiet, sleep-heavy sigh like you are actively making this more complicated than it needs to be. “So you can sleep. Obviously.”

“Oh, okay.” That is all you manage.

You move carefully, like there’s still time to reconsider, and settle into the space beside him. The warmth is immediate, steady, like it’s been waiting there longer than it should have.

Your head ends up against his sweatshirt without much negotiation from either of you.

His arm comes around you automatically.

No pause. No adjustment. Just instinct.

Like your presence in that space is not something he has to think about.

The room doesn’t change, but it feels like it does anyway. The noise from Robin and Max fades into something distant. Even the storm seems farther away, like it’s happening in a different place entirely.

Steve’s hand starts moving slowly, absentmindedly, up and down your arm through the blanket. Neither of you speaks for a while.

Then, just barely above the rain:

“Hey,” Steve murmurs.

“Yeah?”

A pause stretches between you. 

“I like this,” he says finally. Like it’s not a confession. Just a fact he noticed.

Your chest tightens in a way you don’t fully know how to respond to. “Yeah, me too” you say anyway.

Outside, thunder rolls again, but it feels distant now. Muted. Like it’s happening to someone else’s night.

From across the room, Robin’s voice cuts through everything like a thrown match.“This is disgusting, get a room losers!”

You both react on instinct—pulling apart slightly, like distance could undo evidence.

Too late.

Max is already folding into herself laughing, one hand slapped over her mouth like that’s somehow containing it. “Oh my god—”

Dustin jerks upright from somewhere on the floor, hair flattened on one side from sleep. “I KNEW IT,” he yells immediately, voice cracking halfway through it. “I literally knew it this whole time.”

“Oh, please,” Robin says, pointing at him from across the room. “You figured it out, like, twenty minutes ago.”

“Still counts!”

Steve lets his head fall back against the couch cushions with a long, exhausted groan, eyes squeezing shut like he’s trying to leave his own body. “You people are insufferable,” he mutters.

“You’re cuddling during a thunderstorm,” Robin replies, deeply unimpressed. “What did you think was gonna happen?”

You laugh helplessly into the blanket, warm-faced and completely incapable of recovering whatever dignity you had left.

Max is still cackling. Dustin looks like he’s watching the final scene of a movie he’s been predicting for months.

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, but there’s no real heat in it.

And somehow, despite everything, despite the storm still rattling the house, despite the noise and the teasing and the fact that everyone is watching—

Steve is still laughing too.

Right beside you.

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, but there’s no real heat in it.

And somehow—despite everything, despite the storm still rattling the house, despite the noise and the teasing and the fact that everyone is watching—

Steve is still laughing too.

Right beside you.

It should be embarrassing. It is embarrassing, technically. There’s too many eyes, too many voices, too much awareness of yourself in a way you can’t really hide from. But when you look at it properly…at the chaos of it, the noise, the warmth of the blanket still pulled up around your shoulders, Steve’s arm still there like it never fully left—

it doesn’t feel like something you want to escape from.

Not even a little bit. 

*.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.*

[paper-mario-wiki]

do not forget the patron saint of these weeks that we celebrate ourselves proudly and openly in the streets

her name was Marsha P Johnson, and we have her to thank for so much.

remember, the first Pride was a riot, and she was one of the brave souls who endured it to help carve the path which so many of us walk today. she helped found several activist groups regarding LGBT safety and wellbeing. and she was absolutely radiant, too.

thank you, Marsha. we remember you.

[firelilyfox]

Mr. Harrington Has a Crush

Pairing: teacher Steve Harrington x female reader

Summary: Steve is trying to keep his cool around you but fails in every way possible.

Warnings: flirting. secretly dating Steve. fun. kissing. yearning. no use of y/n.

__________________________

The problem starts with the kids noticing. Middle schoolers are horrifyingly observant when they want to be.

And unfortunately for Steve, his students have apparently decided his emotional downfall is this semester’s group project.

It begins during fourth period.

Steve’s halfway through explaining baseball drills to a group of deeply uninterested seventh graders when the gym doors open behind him.

You step inside carrying a stack of folders against your chest. “Sorry,” you say softly. “Front office said Coach Wilson left these in here?”

Steve turns around automatically and immediately smiles. Not even on purpose. Just instant and warm.

“Oh, yeah.” He walks over quickly. “I can take those.”

You hand him the folders with a grateful little smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

There’s a tiny awkward pause. Not uncomfortable, just the kind filled with things neither of you has figured out how to say yet.

Then you brighten suddenly. “Oh! I finished that documentary you told me about.”

Steve lights up instantly. “Seriously? What’d you think?”

And that’s it. That’s the fatal mistake. Because suddenly you’re both standing there in the middle of the gym talking excitedly while thirty middle schoolers stare in dead silence.

You’re animated now, hands moving while you ramble enthusiastically about historical inaccuracies and costume design.

Steve watches you like you personally invented happiness. And behind him ... a thirteen-year-old whispers: “Oh my God.”

Another kid gasps quietly. “Mr. Harrington has a crush.”

Steve nearly chokes to death.

You blink. “What?”

Every student in the gym suddenly becomes fascinated by literally anything else.

Steve whips around. “Okay! Wow! Everybody run laps immediately!”

Groans erupt instantly.

You stare at him suspiciously while he avoids eye contact with the intensity of a wanted criminal. Then slowly very slowly - a smile starts pulling at your mouth.

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

Steve points at the students dramatically. “Children are evil.”

Your smile grows wider. “You have a crush on me?”

Steve’s face goes bright red instantly. Several students audibly lose their minds. “RUN LAPS,” Steve yells desperately.

You absolutely do not let him live it down. Not even a little.

The next morning Steve walks into the teachers’ lounge and nearly drops his coffee when he sees a sticky note attached to his thermos.

Hope your crush has a nice day :)

He whips around immediately. You’re sitting at the table grading quizzes while trying very hard not to smile.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re dramatic.”

Steve pulls the sticky note off with exaggerated offense. “You weaponized office supplies against me.”

“You survived.”

“Barely.”

You laugh softly into your coffee cup. And Steve ... God. There it is again. That warm aching feeling. Like his life got brighter the second you walked into it.

You’re still shy in crowded rooms. Still quieter around other teachers. But with Steve? You soften more every day.

You start stealing fries from his lunch without asking. He starts bringing you coffee every morning exactly how you like it.

You wait for him after staff meetings. He carries your grading boxes without being asked.

And every single person at Hawkins Middle School notices. Especially the kids.

One rainy afternoon, Steve finds you in your classroom sitting on top of your desk while a group of students crowd around listening to you tell some dramatic historical story.

“And then,” you say intensely, “Napoleon literally crowned himself.”

The kids gasp. “No way.”

“Yes way.”

“That’s kinda iconic.”

You point at the student immediately. “Thank you.”

Steve leans against the doorway smiling to himself. You spot him instantly and your whole face changes.

Softening immediately, like your heart recognized him before your brain did. It hits Steve so hard every single time.

“Mr. Harrington,” one student says loudly, “are you here because you miss her?”

The classroom erupts instantly. You hide your face in embarrassment.

Steve places a hand dramatically over his heart. “You know what? I try very hard for all of you and this is the respect I get.”

The kids laugh. And while they’re distracted you glance at Steve again with a tiny smile and fond eyes.

Something gentle and certain passing quietly between you. Home.

That’s what this is starting to feel like.

Later that evening, the school empties slowly around you both. Rain taps softly against the classroom windows while you organize papers at your desk.

Steve sits in one of the student chairs watching you. Completely lovestruck.

“You know,” you murmur without looking up, “staring is weird.”

“I’m appreciating.”

“You’ve been appreciating for like ten minutes.”

Steve grins lazily. “You’re cute when you organize things.”

You laugh softly. “You’re cute when you bother me for attention.”

His chest does that stupid warm thing again. Then you finally glance up. And your expression softens immediately when you see him looking at you. Not lustful, just deeply, terribly admiring.

“What?” you ask quietly.

Steve shrugs one shoulder. “I dunno.” His voice turns softer. “I just really like you.”

The sincerity in it makes your heart stumble. You set your papers down slowly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Rain hums softly outside. The classroom glows warm gold in the evening light.

And suddenly Steve looks almost shy. “I think…” He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I think meeting you made me happier.”

Your eyes sting unexpectedly. Because he says it so simply. You walk toward him slowly until you’re standing between his knees. Steve’s hands settle automatically at your waist. Warm and familiar.

“You make me happy too,” you whisper.

His face softens instantly. Then he tilts his head up slightly. “Kiss me?”

Your heart absolutely melts. It's not demanding or assuming, his words are just sweet.

You smile. “Okay.”

And when you kiss him this time, slow and smiling and warm in the middle of your empty classroom Steve kisses you like someone grateful life surprised him with something good.

_________________________

Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙

STEVE HARRINGTON MASTERLIST

[wandaapologistsblog]

Just watched the finale of Euphoria and hated it (I sobbed hysterically)