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jobean12-blog · 11 months

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Easy Target

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (CEO!Beefy!Bucky)

Word Count: 799

Summary: No matter how tired he might be from running his company, Bucky always makes time for you and makes sure you have everything and anything you want.

Author’s Note: A friend shared his great TikTok video with me and I couldn’t help but write a little something for it. My twist is making it CEO Bucky because I just adore him. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: Fun fluff and sweetness :)

The moment you hear his key in the door you’re running for it and launching yourself into his waiting arms. He catches you easily and you slide down his body to land softly on your feet.

“Hiya doll face,” he murmurs as he buries his face in your neck.

“Hi Buck,” you whisper.

He curls his hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss. When he releases you he drops his keys onto the small table by the door and starts to take off his shoes.

“Do you want to have dinner first or should we eat after we shop?”

Your question catches him totally off guard and he looks up from his feet in confusion.

“It’s Thursday,” you state with a playful smile.

He stares, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Target day!” you chime.

“Oh right!” he replies. “Sorry baby doll. My brain is fried today.”

You walk back into his embrace and wrap your arms around his middle.

“You really don’t have to come with me Buck. I can go myself. You just got home and I know you’re tired.”

Taking your hands in his, he dips his head to whisper across your lips, “of course I do doll. I love our target trips.”

You give him a big squeeze, resting your chin on his chest. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you baby doll,” he croons before kissing your forehead.

“Should I change?” he asks as he loosens his tie.

“Only if you want to,” you answer, eyeing him appreciatively before reaching up to carefully untie the rest of the fabric and pull it from his neck.

He chuckles then asks, “can you grab me a hair tie please?”

You go the bathroom and get one returning to find him running his hands through his hair in preparation.

“Let me,” you say softly as you steer him toward the couch.

He sits with a plop and you climb up behind him then gently run your fingernails over his scalp as you comb them through his hair.

He sighs contentedly and closes his eyes, leaning into you.

Once you have his hair gathered together at the base of his neck you secure it in a bun with the black hair tie.

“All set.” Your lips meet his neck with soft kisses.

You remain quiet on the drive to Target, enjoying the music and the feel of Bucky’s warm hand resting on your thigh. He’s humming along to the oldies song, every so often glancing your way and throwing you a wink.

“You have your list right?” he asks with a grin.

“Sure do!” you reply and hold up your phone to show him the long list of things you want to get.

“How much am I going to be carrying this time?” he teases.

“Ummm,” you start, pressing your lips together. “It should all fit in the cart…I think.”

He gives your thigh a squeeze just before he pulls into a parking spot. “I’m just playing doll face. Don’t worry. Buy whatever you want.”

With a beaming smile you lean over the middle console and start to pepper his scruffy cheek with kisses, tracing the strong line of his jaw before moving down his neck. When you reach his lips you capture them in a sweet kiss and press yourself against him, letting your hands wander to his chest and the open buttons at the collar of his shirt.

You pull away, sighing happily and exclaiming, “OK! Let’s go shopping!”

His head falls to his chest and he grumbles out a curse.

“Buck?” you ask, suddenly feeling worried.

When he looks up to meet your eyes your breath catches at his expression and then his hand drops between his legs and he adjusts himself in his pants.

“I’m gonna need a few minutes doll.”

“Wait…did you? Are you…?”

You reach over and run your hand along the hard bulge in his pants, making him hiss out your name.

“Don’t,” he warns. “You’ll make it worse and then you’ll never get your Target shopping done.”

“But all I did was give you some kisses,” you giggle.

He pins you with a glare but you can see the mischief dancing in his eyes.

You lift your hand to touch him again but he gently grabs your wrist.

“Doll face.”

“Maybe we should skip Target.”

“Nope!” he says, popping the p. “We’ll shop, grab some take out and then when we get home you’re all mine.”

You nod as you nibble on your bottom lip.

“You better behave,” he says, narrowing his eyes as he studies you.

“Don’t I always,” you say in a sing song voice as you bat your lashes.

“No,” he says flatly but you can see his lips twitching with a smile.

@book-dragon-13 @sstan-hoe @justkinsey @laineyreads @randomfandompenguin @beccablogsthings @lookiamtrying @goldylions @flordeamatista @late-to-the-party-81 @buckysdollforlife @blackwidownat2814

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #ceo!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #beefy!bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #ceo! bucky x reader #beefy!bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan

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cameronspecial · 6 months

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Let Me Find You, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Summary: Finding Y/N is harder than Rafe thought. At least he has Sarah for help.

Masterlist

Rafe isn’t a teenage girl. He doesn’t have the ability to track people down on social media like an FBI agent, but he did have a teenage sister. “Sarah, I need you to track down a girl for me,” he orders into the phone. The squeal she lets out in excitement almost deafens him, “I have been waiting for this day. Tell me what you got.” “Okay, she has Y/H/C hair and Y/E/C eyes. I met her on Halloween night and she was dressed as an angel. I’m pretty sure she went to the party with someone named Daisy,” he informs her. Sarah wedges her phone between her shoulder and ear as she notes down everything she needs, “Got it. Give me like an hour and I’ll call you back.” She hangs up before he can answer. There is no way Sarah could find his Angel that fast when he has been asking around about her for a week.

——

Twenty minutes. It took Sarah twenty minutes to find who Rafe had been looking for. “Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She lives with Daisy King in the Alderman Residence Hall. She is a Biology Major and I just sent you her Instagram,” she lists off. He opens the profile and it is his Angel, “This is her. How did you find her so fast?” “It was easy. I asked Topper if he knew any Daisys and he told me about Daisy King. I could easily find Y/N after that.” Rafe’s eyes knit at the mention of Topper. Topper didn’t tell Rafe anything about knowing Daisy. “He didn’t tell me he knew Daisy,” he grumbles. Sarah lets out a giggle, “That’s because he doesn’t have a crush on you and he likes to watch you suffer.” “I’m going to kill him,” he threatens about to get up and do just that. Sarah protests, “Don’t. At least not yet. You’ve been looking for her for a week. You should go talk to her. From what it looks like on Daisy’s story, Y/N is studying at the library.”

Rafe has never run so fast toward an educational building in his life. He looks for her at every table before he finds her on the third floor looking for a book in the biology section. “Looks like we meet again, Angel,” he gloats, leaning against the shelf. She gives him a nonchalant look over her shoulder, “Mr. Fireman. What can I help you with?” “You let me find you, Angel. And I did. So when do you want me to pick you up for our date?” he asks, following her to her table with Daisy. Upon seeing Rafe, Daisy gets up from the table and excuses herself to the bathroom.

“I don’t know. How much work did you put into finding me? I really thought it would take you longer than a week.”

“I put in so much work,” he somewhat lies. She gives him a raised eyebrow, almost like she can see right through him. It’s an obvious sign they are soulmates. He shakes his head, “Okay, you caught me. I asked around for a week and then called my sister for help. She found you in like twenty minutes. But it isn’t my fault Topper lied to me about knowing Daisy. I would’ve found you sooner if he didn’t.” Y/N giggles. “Admitting to defeat takes a lot of courage. I guess I can let it slide that you cheated. I think it’s cute you asked your sister for help. You can pick me up on Friday at seven,” she instructs, resting her head on her hand. Rafe grins, “Great, let’s go get some Mexican food.”

“Perfect. I love Mexican food.”

“That must make you my other half then because I totally had a feeling you were going to say that.”

“Slow down, Tiger. We haven’t even been on our first date yet.”

“It’s a little too late for that, Angel. I’ve already fallen head over heels for you and I would be crazy to let you go.”

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ayyy-pee · 11 days

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𝔼𝕡𝕚𝕤𝕠𝕕𝕖 𝟘.𝟝 - 𝕋𝕠𝕠 𝕄𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕥𝕠 𝔻𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕜

Discord 18+ - Twitter

Pairing: JJK Men x Female Reader

Episode Summary: After a drunken night of binge watching your (least?) favorite show, you find yourself making a grave mistake.

STORY TWIST: READERS WILL VOTE AFTER CERTAIN CHAPTERS TO CHOOSE WHO GETS A ROSE AND MAKES IT TO THE NEXT WEEK. KEEP A LOOKOUT FOR THE VOTING LINK AT THE END OF CHAPTERS

Story Warning: DRAMA, lying and scheming, REVERSE HAREM, profanity bc I can only be me, arguments, fights probably, heartbreak and tears, (more to come)

Artist Credit: momoya348, Umbra3terna, ilameys,maoyaoyao519, _0_0219 Divider Credit: Cafekitsune (Tumblr)

A/N: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE! I hope you guys enjoy this ride (that you're in charge of in later chapters!!!) I'll put up Episode 1 tomorrow after proofreading!!! <3

“God, this show is so stupid,” you mutter, shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth while you get settled onto the couch.

“Please…It’s so bad, but I tune in to every season.”

You glance over when your friend reaches into your lap and dips her fingers into your bowl of popcorn and grabs a few kernels.

That was the perfect way to describe what was happening now. You’re currently huddled up on the couch, having spent the day binging the most recent season of The Bachelor until you’re all caught up. The new episode airs tonight and you’re eager to see who Joey ends up picking. Will it be Rachel? She’s gorgeous, funny, and her family seems to really get along with this season’s Bachelor. They have great chemistry. Or maybe it will be Daisy? Though you couldn’t see that working out. The girl is a total bore. Or it could be…what’s her name again? The one who looks a little bit like she could be his sister. Ah, whatever.

You’re not sure when you really began to even give a shit about this mess of a show. It’s corny. No one falls in love within a few weeks of knowing each other. And why does one man or woman need to date twenty people to find someone to marry? Are they that unlikeable in the real world? Not to mention, it’s totally unrealistic. Do these relationships even work out once the cameras cut off? Unlikely. You find the entire premise of the show downright stupid.

And yet, you can’t tear your eyes away as this season’s Bachelor takes each girl out on an extravagant date that…you can’t lie, you would love to be on.

Dancing in Malta? Sunbathing on a yacht off the coast of Spain? Getting to see Niagara Falls up close? Sign you up. You don’t think you would stand a chance being the object of everyone’s affection, but you could definitely milk being a contestant for free trips and good food.

“Why can’t he see that Rachel is the best pick here? Ugh, annoying. You know he’s going to give what’s-her-name the last rose.” Your friend downs her wine in one swig and you don’t bother to hold back the laugh bubbling in your chest. She’s all red faced. You’re not sure if it’s from how passionate she is about the show or from the two empty bottles of merlot she’s managed to down practically on her own, but the glowing hue it gives her highlights the thick scar across her face. A product of her line of work, and said line of work being the reason she’s guzzling wine in the first place.

“Maybe take it easy on the drinks, Utahime.”

She hiccups next to you, slouching in her seat. “I haven’t even had that much to drink!”

“You’ve had most of the wine just on your own!”

“Oh my god, you have one or nine glasses of wine and suddenly you’re wasted,” she mutters sarcastically. “I’m fine.”

You roll your eyes, because you know there’s no going back and forth with her stubborn ass when she starts drinking.

The living room dims for about three seconds before it lights back up, the show now having gone on commercial break. The rose ceremony is next and despite shit-talking the show only ten minutes ago, you’re eager for the commercials to wrap up so you can see who goes home. It better not be Rachel. You use this brief intermission to go and get some water for yourself but mostly Utahime so she can sober up.

This has been your routine for the last few weeks. Every Monday night, Utahime comes over, peels you out of your bed and forces you on the couch to chug alcohol and watch this ridiculous show. While you find the entire premise of the show nonsensical, you’re grateful for the time it’s given you with Utahime.

You’re fairly new to the Kyoto area and Utahime was the first person you’d met on your first day at your new – how can you put this? – unique job. You see, you and Utahime both work in the field of Jujutsu sorcery. But there’s about where your similarities in the field stop.

Utahime is an active Sorcerer. She’s an instructor raising up the next generation of Sorcerers, building them up so that they can one day join the frontlines to protect the unaware non-Sorcerers of Japan. She’s strong– a grade 1 Sorcerer. Quite impressive. She could easily knock a curse’s head off if she wanted to.

But you? Well, while Utahime is at the top of the ranks of Jujutsu society, you are what some would refer to as a bottomfeeder – an unranked, unimportant, lowly Window. You’re someone who has just enough cursed energy to see a curse. But can you do anything about them? Not unless you want to end up in the nearest trauma center. So if you’re smart, you’ll do your job and whip your phone out to report it so that the real Sorcerers can handle it.

You’ve been in this field for several years now, but working outside of the major cities of Japan. Transferring to Kyoto was your idea of wanting something new and different. Utahime had quickly taken you under her wing. You were certain it was because she took pity on you. A weak, barely gifted Window. But as time went on, you came to realize that that was just Utahime. She was kind and funny, and had a good heart. Well, except when it came to –

“Hey!” Utahime calls from her spot on the couch. You can hear a slur in her words as she speaks and you know she’s opened yet another bottle of wine from who knows where. “Come here! Look at this!” You peer at the television from the doorway of your kitchen and see Utahime has it paused on a very ugly ad. It’s bright white with a background full of red rose petals across the screen. Your eyes roam over the words.

“THE SEARCH IS ON FOR THE ELIGIBLE WOMEN WHO ARE READY TO FIND TRUE LOVE! DO YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW HAVE THE CHARM, STYLE, AND PERSONALITY TO BE OUR NEXT STAR? IF SO, APPLY OR NOMINATE SOMEONE NOW!”

“Will you hurry up? Come look!” Utahime demands, messily pouring more wine into her glass. But it looks like a normal advertisement to you, so you’re not entirely sure what has Utahime’s interest so piqued.

She beckons you again, yelling “Come here!” So you quickly grab a couple bottles of water from your fridge and head back. Utahime is pointing insistently at the screen. “Look. Look really hard.”

You follow the path where her finger points, shuffling closer to the t.v. to get a clearer look. It takes a moment for you to see it, like really see it, but it’s definitely there. Underneath the last line, hidden from the eyes of those unable to see the horrors that you and those like Utahime can, is another message. You fall to your knees, eyes glued to the tiny additional message floating beneath, glowing with cursed energy that reads, “JUJUTSU SorcererS PREFERRED”.

Confusion slowly takes over your features, the corners of your lips turning down with a frown, a brow arched and skepticism in your eyes. Were you missing something? Was this some sick joke? Were Jujutsu Sorcerers huge fans of The Bachelor or something? You spin around to face your friend who has a look of mischief twinkling in her eyes. You know it all too well, mouth falling open and a finger pointing when you scream “NO” at the exact moment Utahime yells “YOU SHOULD APPLY!”

“Absolutely not!” You must be looking at Utahime like she’s grown two more heads because she looks just as confused as you.

“Why not?! You’d be great on there!”

Maybe she hasn’t grown two more heads. Maybe her brain was swapped while you were in the kitchen because why the hell was she suggesting this?

“Well, for starters, I’m not really looking to date.”

Utahime rolls her eyes, as if that’s just not a good enough excuse. You should just ignore her, snatch the remote from her hand and hit play so you can get back to the show and see who this guy chooses to potentially get engaged to. But for some reason (could be the single drop of wine your friend allowed you to have while she downed the rest), you feel the need to keep listing off reasons to not sign up. “Secondly, I– why would I even want to go on this show?”

Utahime sips her wine, eyes low as she falls into her drunkenness, but you can still see the sparkle of mischief in those brown hues…and it scares you. So you keep talking, chatting away and listing excuse after excuse to your friend, eventually finding yourself back on the couch trying to drive your final point home.

“Besides, they want Sorcerers.” This seems to get Utahime’s attention again, makes her set her glass down as she looks at you.

“I’m sure it’s fine. You are a Sorcerer.”

“I’m a Window.”

“Semantics. You can see curses, can’t you?” Utahime argues.

“...yes.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “But I can’t do anything about them.”

It’s not something you should be ashamed of, but there’s just the tiniest bit of you that is ashamed. Because being able to see these monsters and not having the power to do anything about them…well, it feels like a curse in and of itself.

To this, she sighs. “Sorcerers, Windows. They’re just terms used by the higher-ups to keep their stupid, fucked up heirarchy intact.”

You know it’s the wine that’s loosened her tongue. In public, Utahime would not dare to speak so freely. The Jujutsu politics in Kyoto were a lot stricter than they were in Tokyo. Not that that said much anyway. The politics were shit regardless. But Utahime worked closely with those connected to the higher-ups, so outside of this little bubble in your apartment, she kept pretty hush hush about her true feelings.

You watch Utahime closely as she fiddles with her wine glass. She really is beautiful. You think she’d be incredible on a show like this. Which gives you the idea.

“What don’t you apply?”

Utahime leans back, a cackle so loud and abrupt leaving her tiny body.

“No way. I would never date any of these Sorcerers.”

“And you want me to?!” You ask incredulously. You don’t know whether to be offended or not.

Your friend fixes you with a deadpan stare. “You don’t know them the way I do. The only good one out of all of them is Nanami Kento…and Shoko.” She mutters the last name quietly, like it’s a secret that she thinks so highly of her. And maybe it is a secret…the way she feels about the doctor in Tokyo who you couldn’t help but notice has Utahime’s cheeks glowing red whenever she’s mentioned.

“Besides,” Utahime continues. “If I signed up for this and got paired with Gojo –” she shudders at the mere thought of being near the man. “I don’t think I’d be able to keep myself from projectile vomiting just at the prospect of having to kiss him.”

It’s your turn to laugh obnoxiously now, because – “Why the hell would the strongest Sorcerer in a thousand years sign up for this shit? You don’t think he has anything better to do? Like, you know…keep all of Japan safe?”

“Satoru Gojo does whatever Satoru Gojo wants.”

You can’t argue with that. Utahime would know best. She did grow up with him after all. She knew him well. You’ve never met the man, being just a Window, you doubt you ever will. Out of all the Sorcerers, you’ve only ever met Utahime and Principal Gakuganji. You’ve never even met any of the students. You all run in different circles, but that doesn't mean you don’t keep up with the going-ons of the Jujutsu world. Everyone knows Satoru Gojo.

“You should really sign up, though,” Utahime suggests once more. “You might meet a good person. If anything, you’ll get a good vacation out of it.” With that, she stands. It’s clear that the wine is hitting her again, because she wobbles clumsily to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

If it’s anything like every other week before this, you’ll be peeling Utahime out of your bathtub because she will have inevitably fallen asleep.

Your eyes fall back on the hidden message on the television, reading it over and over before you finally just hit play and let the finale finish.

Joey chooses whatever that girl’s name is. You’re only halfway paying attention because against your better judgment, you’re actually thinking about applying to this. But you think the show is stupid, right? Why would you waste your time? But what if Utahime is right? What if you do meet someone? It’s not that you’re against dating. You’re just not actively in the market for romance because you’ve found that dating non-Sorcerers is more stress than it’s worth.

The constant obligation you feel to regulate their emotions so you can avoid the creation of a cursed spirit that you’ll have to call in and do paperwork for? Exhausting. Not to mention, if you ever grew to truly love this person, you’d be overwhelmed with guilt if a curse manifested and harmed them in any way and you couldn’t do anything but watch in horror as you made a phone call.

You’d never really given any thought to it, but perhaps dating a Sorcerer is what you needed. You could end up meeting an amazing man!

But also, semantics or not, you were not technically a Sorcerer. You were simply a Window. Why the hell would an actual Sorcerer want to be with you? Better yet, what were the chances of this show even choosing you as their next Bachelorette?

- - - - - -

Apparently, the chances were extremely high, because one phone call, four video interviews, a nearly five hour drive from Kyoto to Tokyo, and days of promotional video and photo shoots later, you find yourself standing outside of the Bachelor Mansion, donning the most expensive gown that money could buy.

This is not what you expected. Not at all. There is so much going on. You want to run and hide from every single camera you see being propped up. You want to curl into yourself when the lights come on and the director calls, “Action!” And you see some man you’re just meeting for the first time approaching as he speaks directly to the camera.

“...and she’ll be making history tonight as The Bachelorette’s first Jujutsu Sorcerer,” you hear him tell the camera as he stops just a few feet short of you. Tall, blonde and handsome. He looks like an American football player. “I’m Jesse Palmer, ladies and gentleman. Now, let’s meet our Bachelorette!”

He turns to you, wearing a bright smile. The cameras follow, moving closer to catch a close-up of your face, so you smile as naturally as you can and try not to flinch when Jesse moves forward to embrace you in a swift hug.

Jesse calls your name as though you’ve been friends for a long time. “So nice to finally see you. You look great.”

The camera pans down your body and back up to your face. “Likewise, Jesse.”

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

“I’m nervous! Definitely nervous, but feeling good! I’m so excited for this,” you lie. You’re dreading this process. But it’s too late to back out now. So you just hold your smile, conversing politely as Jesse makes small talk and gets to know you before the first contestant pulls up.

And you hope that if Utahime is watching, she sees the message behind your eyes screaming that you’re absolutely going to kill her.

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acowardinmordor · 8 months

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You Left Me - You Miss Me - 4

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Hi, time for more, arguably making things better, but also arguably making things much worse.

----

There was a diner a block and a half from their apartment. Steve found it when the sky opened up during his jog one morning. Snow, he could have handled, he was dressed for it. Slushy sleet mixed with hail was another matter. He ducked inside to hide until it passed, chatted with the owner for a bit, and brought Robin with him the next day because they had an amazing spread of waffle toppings, including crumbled bacon, and Steve knew she’d go crazy about it.

He was correct, and it was their go to spot, not just for breakfast.

At the end of January, Rebecca sat down to join them, and handed Steve an application.

Steve was already working at a JC Penny in the stock room, and picked up a few hours at a roller rink filling in when someone called out. They had enough money to live. Not decadently, but they could cover all their bills, and keep gas in the car, and buy supplies for Robin’s classes.

“Uh, Rebecca, I’m- thank you? But. My memory sucks, and my hearing isn’t great, and if someone starts getting rude, I’m going to get rude back to them, and --”

“This is a diner, hun,” she stopped him, “You write the orders down, you can always tell someone to say it again, and the fact you can shut down anyone that gives you lip is why I think you’ll be good at it. Like I said, it’s a diner. We don’t have to be all sunshine and daisies here.”

“I’m working at another--”

“Over at the mall and the rink, I know. And I know you’re free Monday through Wednesday mornings. And,” she stressed, “staff gets free meals and first dibs on the day olds.”

“Dingus!" Robin gasped and grabbed his arm. "Do it, do it. Stevie. Please, oh my god, please, you have to take it. You can bring me the brioche buns. And that apple butter. And that thing with the nuts! Steeevveee, don’t you love your soulmate? Please? I cou--”

So Steve took the job, and worked a few mornings a week. By the third week of February, he stopped feeling like he was going to fuck up any second. He understood why Rebecca liked his ability to get bitchy in the face of difficult customers, and he and Robin had cupboards well stocked with random take homes.

He liked it. Starting at five in the morning took some getting used to, but he was done by one, and traded off with a middle aged mom named Susan after the lunch rush settled down. Was it a ton of money? No. But he got more tips than he expected to, and the brioche really was delicious.

The last week of February, he was working alone on a Tuesday, at the start of the lunch rush, expecting Susan to arrive soon, and an easy day.

“Be with you in a minute,” he called to whoever just came inside, bussing half a dozen empty plates from table two after dropping off more creamer at table four. He looped back, ducking behind the counter to put the plates on the pass through for Nick to grab.

He dropped the entire stack before he got there.

His hands clenched down, his muscles locked, and even though it should have made him hold harder, everything slipped, and either shattered on the tiles or banged into his feet.

Jim Hopper winced from his seat at the counter. “Sorry, kid.”

The couple of other diners glanced up to check on him, and John looked around the window from the kitchen. Steve didn’t move. Couldn't. Could barely breathe.

“Is it back?”

“No.”

His exhale shook out of him before he shoved down the panic.

“Then whatever this is can wait.”

“I’m just here to talk.”

“And I said it can wait.”

He swept up the broken dishes, shrugged off John’s silent offer to throw Hopper out, and reminded himself there was no reason to think that the Upside Down was back. That meant this was going to be more awkward and less dangerous, and he was going to hate it, but it was still the better version of the day.

“What’ll you have?”

“Kid, I’m here to talk cause I didn’t think you’d want me at your place.”

“And I’m at work, and this is a diner, so what’ll you have?”

“Steve--”

“I’ll bring you coffee. I’m not talking about this while I’m working.”

“Coffee’s good. When are you off?”

Steve gave his bitchiest smile, didn’t answer, and went to seat the couple that just walked in.

The lunch rush was a mercy. Susan handled Hopper, and gave him the iciest service anyone had ever gotten under that roof. Hopper took it gracefully, but he didn’t shift, or push, or give any indication that he wasn’t willing to sit there til midnight if he had to.

Normally, Steve would get some lunch to go and head home. If the weather was bad, he ate at the booth in the corner to wait it out. With the way his stomach was twisting, unable to separate Hopper from what his arrival could mean, he wasn’t going to keep food down. He filled a glass of water, then silently gestured Hop to follow.

“Good to see you, Steve,” he said when they sat. “You and Robin doing okay up here?”

“We’re fine. Why are you here? If it isn’t something to do with, you know, then why are you here?”

“Maybe I just came up to check on you.”

“Did you?” Steve snorted into his drink when that question made Hopper’s face twist up. “So what is this?”

“I am here to check on you. There’s something else, but I came here because I’m checking on you. Me and you weren’t all that close, but you had Mrs Buckley give me your info so I’d know where you were.”

“Yeah, in case of an emergency. And you said there wasn’t any emergency. Plus, you had my phone number, so you could have called, which would be way less weird than showing up while I’m at work, you know?”

Hopper scratched at his cheek. “It’s not an emergency compared to all the reasons you wanted me to be able to find you, but if you ask those kids, this may as well be the end of the world again.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“Yeah, well. Henderson is gonna get himself arrested if he keeps trying to steal the mail and find something addressed to you. Max keeps pushing El to try and find you. The only reason they haven’t gone completely crazy is because of the Buckleys telling them that you’re fine. She gave me your address and number, and she talked for a little bit about the kids.”

Steve smiled at that. Mrs Buckley had never talked a ‘little bit’ about anything in her life. Either she was holding the line on being rude to anyone that might bother them, or Hop was pretending he hadn’t listened to a solid hour of rambling.

“Still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“Want to ask if I can -- shit, I don’t know. I can route mail back and forth so they never have your address or something. I’d rather give them your info so I don’t have to be involved, but I already know you won’t agree to that.”

Steve ignored the pause that Hopper left there. Conversation and good manners said he should concede to something so he wouldn’t inconvenience the man too much. The last month with Robin supporting his choice kept his mouth shut. She’d be pissed at him if he folded, and worse, she’d help him get through all the pain it caused if he did talk to the kids again. Then he’d feel guilty and sad.

“Alright,” Hopper grumbled, “Didn’t think you would, but you know how those kids can be. Can’t fault me for trying.”

“So, we’re done? You sat here all this time just to talk for three minutes?”

“Almost.”

“So….” At least Steve could enjoy the fact that neither of them were enjoying this. Hopper winced a bit before he spoke.

“I didn’t tell any of the kids I was coming up to see you. None of them knew, and none of them are gonna know. Didn’t even tell Joyce why, just that I was driving up to Indy. Already had a plan in case they tried to tail me up here. So, had a surprise this morning when I got to my truck. it might change your answer.”

“Didn’t know you were so dramatic about stuff.”

“Side effect of two hours with that surprise, I guess. Eddie Munson came up with me.”

Any of the kids would have hurt.

Henderson might have made him cry.

Eddie Munson? That didn’t make sense.

They weren’t friends, never had been. The Upside Down meant they were connected, but they were never more than acquaintances, even when Steve was desperately trying to keep them all close. Sure, he’d taken over as the chauffeur for the kids, and everyone’s new best friend, but that didn’t explain why he’d bother to come up to talk to Steve.

“What the hell? Why?”

“He asked.”

“And you said yes.”

“He said please.”

That was not the whole story. There was something getting skipped over, left out. Hopper tolerated Munson, but he wouldn’t do him a favor if there wasn’t some kind of monster involved.

“Wait, you’ve been here for two hours.”

“Yep.”

“Did you just leave him in your truck this whole time? That front came through overnight. The high is thirty four today.”

“Yeah, I did,” Hopper said flatly. “He told me he wanted to come up so he could talk to you. Told me a little bit about why. And I said yes and I let him come, but I told him that I was gonna talk to you first. If you said no, he was gonna stay in that seat clear back to Hawkins, and keep his mouth shut about this whole thing.”

“How’d he know what you were doing?”

“No clue.”

“What does he want to talk about?”

“Not gonna say it for him.” Hopper shifted towards the edge of the booth. “So, want me to tell him to buckle back up, or tell him to get his ass in here?”

A quick consult with the imaginary Robin in his head left him just as confused, but curious as hell. He agreed, and fidgeted with a napkin, struggling to think of any reason why Eddie Munson would want to talk to him, or what the hell he said that the kids hadn’t that convinced Hopper to drive him up.

Stuck in his head, Steve jumped when a mess of a man in denim and leather slid shivering into the seat opposite. The scars on his face and hands were less vivid than they were last time they saw each other, but they still worked as a thermometer. Steve's did the same.

“Why the hell were you sitting in the cold, man?”

Eddie blinked, and froze where he was rubbing his hands together trying to get feeling back. “Hopper took the keys.”

Steve’s turn to blink. This was the guy taking care of his kids.

“Susan?” He called, gesturing for two when she lifted the coffee carafe in a question.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Dude, I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here or why you care or what the hell is happening, but I’m not gonna let you sit there shaking cause you’re a dumbass who doesn’t know what gloves are.”

Steve watched packet after packet of sugar pour into Eddie’s, while he stirred a splash of half and half into his own cup. Eddie took a gulp, hissed at the heat, and clutched at the mug, eyes glued to the nicked surface of the table.

“I’m sorry.”

“For rotting your teeth out? That’s your choice, Munson.”

“No,” Eddie insisted, voice hoarse, “I’m sorry about the kids.”

Steve took a breath, took a sip, took another breath. “Look, man, that’s not on you. You play D&D with them, and you like all their nerdy shit. I was -- They grew up. We got through everything, all of that, we won, and they grew up. It’s not your fault that they like you more than they liked me. So, thanks, I guess, but--”

“Steve. No. They didn’t. They -- those kids did not suddenly grow up and decide they didn’t like you anymore. You are their favorite person anywhere, ever, you will be for the rest of eternity, and they don’t understand why no one will tell them how to reach you. They put on a really good show about being mad about it, but, come on, you know what they’re like. They want to apologize cause they know they hurt you, and they want to fix it, and just, you gotta let them try, Steve. You gotta let them talk to you. They miss you so fucking much.”

“Look, I know how they get, and I know how dramatic they are, but it’s still not your fault--”

“It is. Steve. It is my fault. That’s - That’s why you have to talk to them. Cause they didn’t grow up and get over you or decide they didn’t care about you. Those kids are crazy about you, and they never stopped, and they’re hurt right now cause they don’t understand why you left them, and you gotta fix it with them, please.”

Something pinged weird in his ear when he heard the way Munson’s voice cracked. Not just worry, not just helping, not just caring about the kids. Guilt. He was taking the blame for it, even though that didn’t make any sense. The kids were - brats, gremlins, terrors, the most stubborn people he’d ever met, and he knew Nancy Wheeler. If they wanted to be around him, they would be around him.

It wasn’t Eddie’s fault, or anyone’s fault. It hurt like hell, and Steve wished it wasn’t true, but this was just life. Kids grew up, their interests moved. Friendships changed and ended.

But that crack of guilt…

“How is it your fault and not theirs that they stopped wanting to ever see me?”

Eddie’s hands stopped shaking from the cold before he got the coffee.

His hands were shaking again.

Trembled in the time between Steve asking, and Eddie managing to respond.

“I, uh, I asked them to.”

----

Don't be too mad at him yet. He has a lot more to say.

Part Five >>>

#You Left Me - You Miss Me #my writing #steddie eventually #focus on the eventually today

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daisythegreat · 2 years

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easy out now :) hope u love it 💔

#daisy the great #daisythegreat #easy #dtg #dtg easy #daisy the great easy #easy out now #💔

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auteurdelabre · 18 days

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CODE BROKEN EPILOGUE Joel!Miller x f!Reader

rating: 18+ (youngin's scram!)

tags: established relationship, p in v, dirty talk, romance, LOVE LOVE, soft Joel.

a/n: To @ halseyquinn666 who asked in the A03 comments:

“Would you ever do vignettes for them? This is one of my all time fav stories <3”

Well Halsey, turns out yeah, I would. Let's call it an epilogue.

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

CODE BROKEN EPILOGUE

The night is drizzly and quiet. Most folks in Jackson city are in their homes drinking warm cocoa and reading before the fire. Some are playing board games with their families. Others bake bread, their cheeks warmed from the oven.

But not you and Joel.

No, the two of you stand shoulder to shoulder outside The Tipsy Bison, protected by the overhang of the roof.

His large hand holds yours tightly, fingers lacing. He smells like the cologne he uses sparingly and the laundry you brought in from the line that afternoon before the rain began. His shoulders are dotted with a few raindrops, a darker green than the rest of his jacket.

Joel's eyes dip to the color on your lips, lingering on the cohl around your eyes. You dressed up for tonight, wore your nicest dress and did your hair and makeup. You don't normally go to all this effort but tonight felt like you should.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you look?" Joel rumbles next to you, a soft look in his eyes.

"Once before you ripped the dress off and took me back to bed," you say with a playful grin. "And twice more after we got re-dressed."

The last month with Joel has been idyllic. Not one night has been spent without his arms around you. You take turns going from his bed to yours, give and take on the positions you fuck each other in, who makes the coffee.

Nights are dreamy and spent talking about past life lived, about dreams for the future. Over fingers of whiskey you tell him about your dream of writing a book about the inhabitants of Jackson. Joel doesn't laugh or challenge this. He just nods as if it's a natural conclusion, as if you were always meant to do it and he was always meant to support you in it.

Joel glances over to see your profile, the concern in your eyes. You feel his gaze and return it with a wobbling smile.

"Still wanna do this?"

"Mhm."

It was decided last week that tonight would be when you two made things public.

Official.

You'd thought you were ready for it, but now looking at the chipped wood door and hearing the low murmur and occasional laughter coming from behind it you tense.

There are so many people inside. So many faces you know, Mark and Tess and the rest of the usual Friday night crowd.

The Bison is always busier on dreary nights when many patrons don't feel like returning to their quiet homes. You think that the stillness must still unsettle people who are used to running.

Perhaps that's what has you stalling.

Thoughts of all those eyes on you both the second you walk into the bar. The hushed judgments and confused stares. Joel and Tess made sense when they went out. Both hard and abrasive when they needed to be. Both with those steely gazes and infrequent smiles. So opposite to you with your stitched daisy dresses and easy laughter.

While Joel goes to great lengths to avoid people and connection you seem to welcome it. From the way you greet everyone on your way to breakfasts or how you're so quick to lend a hand to your neighbor. People still come up to commend you on Trish's wedding.

His palm goes to the back of your head, stroking down your hair and spine. You melt into the contact until he reaches the base of your spine, hand sliding from your body.

"What're we waitin' on, pretty eyes?" he rumbles, mouth at your temple.

"Nothing," you answer quickly.

His large hand finds yours and holds tightly, fingers lacing once more. He pulls you to the side of the bar, giving you a moment to breathe. You feel the rough of his calloused palm as he tugs you under the roof to avoid the light droplets.

It takes you back to last week in your bed, Joel's hips rocking up into yours, the sound of his gravely groans as his head tilted back in the pillow.

The headboard smacked into the wall, your hands gripping the wood for support as you rode him furiously. Your bodies were drenched with sweat; it had been a lazy morning of enjoying each other's bodies.

His calloused hands held your hips in quite the same fashion he holds your hand now, something gentle that borders on possession.

"So fuckin' beautiful," he groaned, eyes shuttering as he gripped you, watching you bounce on his lap. You moaned, body arching as you chased your high. Your hands were on his chest as you raised and lowered yourself on his length, your skin slapping obscenely in the quiet bedroom.

"Uh huh just like that," Joel crooned as you shattered around him moments later, a small curl of his lips at the sight. "That's my girl."

You preened at his honeyed voice tinged with grit.

His girl. Joel Miller's girl.

You loved it.

Before you could say anything more Joel had gripped the back of your neck and the low of your back, rolling you both over until he was on top of you, his biceps caging you in on either side.

"Gonna let me give it t'you, pretty eyes?"

You could only moan, nodding as you urged him deeper inside of you. You both groaned lowly at the sensation, even though it was far from the first time you'd done it. His mouth found yours as it always did when you two were in this position.

There had not been a day since Joel's confession that he hasn't kissed you so soundly your knees went weak. Arms wrapping around your waist from behind as you waited for the coffee to brew, soft mouth at your jaw. Joining you in the shower, mouth damp and searching yours as he fucked you senseless against the tile. The lingering kiss he gives you each night before bed, accompanied by the sweetest sigh.

Your arms went around his middle, fingers dimpling the flesh of his muscled back as he licked into your mouth, savoring the way your tongues dabbed, the way you let his tongue thrust into your mouth the same way his cock did into your pussy.

And then he drifted back, starting a slow and measured pace as he braced himself above you.

"That's my girl," Joel rasped, his dark eyes fixed on your face. Your hands went to his cheek, thumbs on his jaw as you locked eyes. "My sweet fuckin' girl."

"I'm your girl," you assured him, peppering kisses there before giving out a small whimper, hands falling and fisting the sheets as his thumb came to slide along your clit. "Only yours."

Joel's mouth pressed gently to yours, his elbows bracing him up as his fingers smoothed the hair back from your face.

"Lemme take you out," Joel rasped as he began to fuck you in earnest. "Want everyone to see us so they know you're mine."

You shouldn't have been so turned on at the possessive nature of what he said, but you were. The thought had thrilled you at the time.

You'd agreed, heart beating as Joel's face broke into an eager smile and his mouth found yours again.

But now you're here in front of the Bison and all that excited certainty is replaced by something far less appealing.

"Cold feet?" His voice is concerned.

"Just taking a moment," you mutter. "Wanna enjoy these last few seconds when it's just us. Before everyone has opinions."

"Fuck their opinions," Joel says. "I don't give a shit about what they think."

You know he's being sincere. Joel doesn't suffer fools.

"I only care about what you n' me think about it," Joel assures you. You feel warmth flood your entire body leaving you tingling.

"And that's why I love you."

You snap your mouth shut, feeling your eyes blow wide as you realize what you've just said. Despite your stress about this evening you feel your heart suddenly pick up again at your choice of words.

The topic of love is tiptoed around in your homes. It's felt in every loving action you perform for one another. From the way Joel washes your hair at your request to the way you massage his sore muscles. It's in the way he strokes your cheek when you rest your head in his lap while you read and the way you hold his gaze when you ride him.

But you've never said it. The words seemed too big, too monumental.

But now they slipped past your teeth and lips, exposed to the air and the tall man who looks down at you with an amused curl to his lips, seeing the way your cheeks flame and your eyes drop. You feel yourself falter, a strained smile on your face.

"Sorry," you say in a rush. "I didn't mean-"

His mouth covers yours, pressing a full lipped kiss there and stopping you from saying more. There with the rain pattering down on the tin roof, you cling to Joel as his arms wrap around you, holding you tightly to him.

You sigh against his mouth, letting his arms wrap around your waist as you fling your arms around his neck. He kisses you unhurried, not caring if patrons are coming or going. All he cares about is the soft sensation of your lips working against his.

"Nothin' to be sorry about," he murmurs against your temple as he drags his mouth from yours moments later. "Never have to be sorry about that, baby."

You still have a hard time not feeling embarrassed. "It's just I never.... I've never said it to anyone before."

It hangs there between you both, this heavy admission. Joel had a daughter, a life before all of this. He's known love, declared it. But you? It's never felt right until Joel.

You feel his forefinger brushing your chin, urging your face up.

"I love you," he tells you plainly, no frills, just truth. "V'loved you for a long while now. Every morning I wake up and you're there I fall in love all over again. I love you so damn much, pretty eyes. I still can't believe you're mine."

Your eyes are brimming with tears, so much that Joel is now a watercolor blur. Knowing it and hearing it are so different.

"How long?"

His brows knit together in concern. "How long what?"

"How long have you loved me?"

Now it's Joel's turn to look shy. His boots scrape against the dirt on the ground. You hide a grin as he clears his throat before finally answering.

"Realized it the day at the bookstore."

The day he chased after you with the copy of Jane Eyre. Many many months before now when you yourself weren't even sure how you felt about him.

"That's an awfully long time," you tease gently before you wrap your arms around his middle, tucking yourself up under his chin. "Waited a long time to tell me."

"Didn't want to scare ya," Joel murmurs into the crown of your head as his arms encircle you.

"You could never."

You mean it. Joel is your safe harbor, your light in the darkness. Your hands lace around the back of his neck, urging his face to yours.

You kiss him again, a tender, soft thing before you glance back at the closed door of the Bison and then back at the man who looks at you with stars in his dark eyes.

"Joel?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"I'm ready."

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #dad joel miller #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #joel miller #dark!joel miller #dark!joel #dark!joel x reader

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augustjustice · 6 months

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Pretty in Pink

AO3 Link

I am still firmly on my Stevie Harrington agenda this week, so please enjoy below Eddie's thirsty-turned-sappy thoughts about his favorite girl, inspired by @getlost0p's absolutely delightful art as well @cherrycolasteve's very cute tags.

Eddie taps the pen against his front teeth absently, eyes flitting uncomprehendingly over the various multiple choice options of his practice test. With his brain already feeling fuzzy and unfocused, it’s easy to let his gaze drift away from the page over to the girl currently sprawled out beside him–Stevie Harrington, curled up reading the X-Men comic Dustin had strong-armed her into picking up.

And, look–who could really blame him for getting a little distracted? There's a hot girl in his bed which is, admittedly, a rare enough occurrence–until shit went sideways last spring, at least–to still feel a little notable. Even if she is only there for moral support while he studies, his GED test date circling ever closer.

Stevie's wearing a striped white and pink polo with the buttons undone all the way to the bottom of the neckline and tight stonewash jeans. The absolute preppiest of prep attire, completed by the cherry-flavored chapstick shining red on her lips.

Eddie wants to kiss her stupid.

The jeans are high waisted, pulled up snug over the curve of her ass, and with Stevie rolled onto her stomach reading the comic, Eddie's getting quite the view.

Then she shifts, flopping over onto her back beside him, the movement followed by the sound of pages turning. The new position offers a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage, a further hint of what her clingy polo is doing such a great job of highlighting.

Eddie looks. Of course he looks.

Estrogen has taken to Stevie’s figure like a duck to water. In the plush spread of her hips, making her pert ass even rounder, which Eddie would have thought was damn near impossible. And in the plumpness steadily gathering at her chest, her once defined pecs softening, giving way to the gentle swell of her breasts, which grow fuller by the day.

It’s become something of a problem for him lately–the staring.

That was true, to some extent, even before she started to transition. Stevie's always been gorgeous, and Eddie's always been aware of that fact, harboring a hopeless, from afar crush on her since they landed in the same impossible English class his first senior year and Eddie had become painfully aware of what all the Hawkins High girls were on about. Not that he would have admitted that, at the time, not even under threat of painful, agonizing death–no, the coming terms with it came later, during his spring break from hell spent realizing that Stevie Harrington was not only surprisingly sweet but a totally badass, bonafide hero.

…The whole ripping that bat apart with her teeth thing certainly didn't hurt, either.

The point is, he's always looked at Stevie, flirted with her. Probably been too obvious about it, too.

It's just that since she started to transition, it feels like he's gotten so much worse, like any subtlety he was holding on to by his fingernails has been ripped from his hands. Eddie can’t stop staring at her, the heat of embarrassment prickling his face, tongue-tied like a school boy with a crush each and every time he gets caught.

And that's the worst part of it–he does get caught, far more often than he'd like.

It’d been months, now, since the first time Stevie explicitly called him out for it–a warm Saturday in the summer when they had dragged the kids down to the arcade, trying to beat the heat with the dark, air-conditioned interior of the local nerd haunt.

Stevie had been watching Erica beat her own high score at Duck Hunt, leaned over the machine in her Daisy Duke cutoff shorts and a cropped pink jersey, ponytail swinging against her back and the scars littering her sides unashamedly on display. That’s something they had both been working themselves up to, together–not hiding their war wounds, fighting off the anxiety that came from people’s stares.

But Eddie had been staring for an entirely different reason when Stevie caught him.

As Erica ran off to ‘pummel’ Dustin after his latest Dig Dug win, Stevie propped an elbow on the abandoned game, shooting Eddie a knowing look.

“Like what you see, Munson?” she asked coyly.

Eddie’s entire face flamed with heat.

“I was just–your top!” he blurted. “I was just admiring your top, my lady. It’s…it’s cute. The pink–think that might be your color, Harrington.”

Stevie’s cheeks burned her own pretty pink to match it, then, which Eddie couldn’t help but preen about.

And if he noticed she started wearing a lot more pink around him after that, well…he tried not to read too much into it.

Just like the pretty pale pink she’s wearing today, attracting his eye and forcing Eddie to hold back a twitterpated sigh as he watches her, wrapped up in the bright primary colored pages of the X-Men

…This bullshit of his is definitely gonna get his ass kicked by Robin or Nancy, one of these days, he’s sure of it. Possibly both of them at once–Buck may just hold him down while Wheeler does what she does best.

But the truth is, it's not just about how Stevie’s figure has steadily filled out. He's not gonna lie, that's definitely part of it–but also…she just has this glow about her, now, like she's settling so happily into herself. It’s like that contentment beams out of her, radiant, in every little gesture, every giddy smile. He's drawn in by it, like Icarus with the sun, like a moth to a flame–too entranced to turn away, even if it might end up burning him in the long run.

The thing is, Stevie's beautiful, and she takes his breath away.

She’s become such an intrinsic part of his life, since everything that happened, he’s not entirely sure what he would do without her. Hell, they still share a bed, some nights–fighting back the nightmares together is always easier. And in the intervening months since that started, she's grown steadily softer beside him, curves pressing against his body where there were once hard planes and sharper angles. Her presence is no less warm and comforting than it had been from the beginning, though, her weight and smell familiar, the steady rhythm of her breathing when it finally evens out the same.

Eddie wonders if they were supposed to have stopped doing that, somewhere along the way–the sleeping together part, even though they're only doing it in the most platonic, just-friends sort of way possible. Then again, he's never put all that much stock in it, what he is and isn't supposed to be doing. Besides, how much difference could stopping really have made? Not a whole hell of a lot, in his opinion, considering they've both been bi as fuck the whole damn time.

Sharing a bed all the time doesn't really help his other problem–the staring, the thinking about Stevie's plush curves and soft skin–but that's his own shit to deal with and work out. Stevie shouldn't have to suffer through the nights alone just because Eddie can't keep his hard on for her in check.

So, yeah. He thinks she’s a knockout–of course he does–but the truth is, that’s all secondary to the way he feels about her. She’s steadily grown into one of his best friends, in the time since he’s finally gotten to actually know her. And if all he ever gets to do is look–and better yet, talk to her, bicker and joke and tease, share popcorn at movie nights crammed too close together on the Harrington’s couch and laugh at all the same stupid inside jokes–well, he considers himself honored for the privilege of it.

“What, Munson?” Stevie laughs suddenly, drawing him out of his reverie–during which he had, of course, still been staring–by smacking him lightly on the arm with her comic book.

That had been another secret, shared between them–Stevie liked the X-Men, she’d confessed, even if she couldn’t resist pretending otherwise to Dustin. She said the Mutants made her feel…seen, in a way she really hadn’t ever before.

"I know exactly what you mean, sweetheart," Eddie had agreed easily when she told him.

"Kinda figured you might, Eds,” she had shot him a soft smile, which he returned in kind.

That feeling of being seen–understood–stretched out beyond the pages of the comic book to encompass them both, the way they just fundamentally got each other.

"Mystique's got nothing on you, though," he had added with a wink, falling back on his old routine of borderline flirtation just for the pleasure of seeing her blush yet again, ducking her head as she gave his shoulder an exasperated nudge.

He blinks back to reality, finds himself looking into those same mesmerizing eyes now, big and brown and staring back at him expectantly. A smile plays at the corners of Stevie’s mouth as she puts her comic aside. Scooting closer, she reaches to give one of his test booklet pages a quick shake.

"You're supposed to be studying, you know. Believe me, I get how hard that can be, and I wasn't exactly the best in school…but I'm still like 99% sure you at least have to look at the page before you get it,” she teases. “And I haven’t got the answers to this question secretly penciled somewhere up my sleeve, promise. So, not really sure how staring at me is gonna help you here."

Eddie studies her face–the amused pink curve of her mouth, the cute little moles that dot her cheeks and throat.

That wistful sigh finally escapes him.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologies on autopilot, and then, the confession rolls off his tongue before he can stop it, “you’re just so…fucking pretty.”

As soon as the words have left his mouth, he cringes, preparing to blurt out yet another apology–and then Stevie’s finger presses against his lips. When he glances at her, he finds that her whole face has lit up.

Well, fuck. If she’s gonna look at him like that, he can’t even be sorry for his big mouth.

Then, surprise of all surprises–he feels a jolt as she leans in and pecks him once on the cheek, lips smooth from her cherry chapstick.

“Thanks. You’re sweet, Eddie,” Stevie murmurs, quietly, as she pulls back. Then, her smile turns mischievous, pretty eyes giving one of her patented, exasperated eyerolls. “And good of you to finally say something about it.”

Eddie barks out a disbelieving laugh before he can help it, hiding his face for a moment between his fingers.

“Seriously, Harrington, you know you’re a total babe.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stevie agrees, a glimmer of that overconfidence she’d carried herself with in school shining out. Eddie can’t even lie–he loves it. “But a girl still likes to hear it, now and again.”

“Shit, Stevie.” Head still ducked, Eddie reaches out slowly and takes her hand, twiddling with her fingers as he looks up from beneath the fringe of his bangs. “Now that I know you want me, too–I’ll tell you anytime you want.”

Reaching forward, Stevie tucks a tuft of hair behind Eddie’s ear, not letting him hide behind the curtain of it. Then, she leans in, and this time she presses a soft kiss to his lips.

Eddie sucks in another sharp, surprised breath, finally tasting that cherry flavor for himself.

“I’m totally gonna hold you to that one, Eds,” she says, leaving their foreheads pressed gently together even once she pulls back, “so just get ready for it.”

But, then, a mere moment later, Stevie is bouncing backwards on the bed, giggling when Eddie leans in, trying to chase after her lips again. He groans as she picks up his booklet and presses it against his chest.

“You can check me out all you want later, stud,” Stevie shoots him a wink, flipping open to the page he had left off on. “But, for now…you’ve gotta get back to work.”

When she settles down beside him this time, though, she stays close, hooking her chin over his shoulder.

“And, I’ve got an idea. A tried and true method for studying. Works every time.”

“That right?” Eddie tilts his head to face her, cocking an eyebrow. “Well, lay it on me, then, sweetheart. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

He taps a finger lightly against her temple. The playful twinkle in Stevie’s eyes as she grins at him makes Eddie’s heart skip a bit.

“How about…I give you a kiss for every question you get right?” she murmurs, close enough her warm breath ghosts over his skin.

Eddie lets his eyes drop down to the red shine of her lips, and feels giddy, for once, knowing he can look his fill. After a long, loaded pause, he gives a sharp nod, clapping his hands together.

“You know what, Stevie? Studying never sounded so good.” Snatching up his pen again, he settles back with the test now spread across both their laps. “I’m in.”

And, this time, whenever Stevie distracts Eddie from his studies–well. At least he can tell himself it’s all in the name of a good cause.

#stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #transfem steve harrington #steve harrington #stevie harrington #my writing #my stuff #my things #bi eddie munson #bi steve harrington

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Heroes vs. Villains : Pomefiore [Part 3]

Gender Neutral Reader x Pomefiore vs. Neige Leblanche Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Pomefiore Version

ie. In which no actor alive is apparently able to comprehend the expression ‘too much.’ Or, Neige sends you far too many flowers and Vil reacts about just as well as you would expect.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

Everything was going great.

Sure, Rook had nearly assassinated you through the power of embarrassment alone and Vil was still commandeering nearly every spare moment of your free time, but overall it was good. The House Warden had slipped back into his usual not entirely self-destructive haughtiness, and you had tucked his subordinate’s betrayal into the deepest recesses of your mind in hopes you might one day just black it out entirely.

And then one morning you woke up and there were flowers on your doorstep.

At first, you genuinely thought it was a prank. Because they were white lilies, and lilies were toxic to cats. And obviously Grim had yowled at you immediately about how he was “NOT A CAT, HENCHMAN!” But you tossed the bouquet in the garbage anyways, just to be safe. Part of you figured that it might be Jade. He certainly seemed the type to dabble in poisoning house pets, and he went on enough nature walks that procuring some of those nifty little blossoms would be an easy feat. So you casually penned ‘Threaten Azul With Octopot Blackmail Until He Can Learn to Control His Demon Spawn’ into your planner and carried on with your day.

And then there were more flowers the next morning, and something cavernous and foreboding in your gut told you that this wasn’t Jade Leech. This time it was a pleasantly wrapped bouquet of mixed white and red carnations—all tuft-like and fluffy. There was a small square of cardstock tucked into the stems. Maybe there had been one in the lilies too, but you hadn’t even bothered to check before dunking them into the trashcan. The paper was embossed with something that looked a bit like an insignia—a teeny, round, sparrow made up of curling silver swirls and little, scratchy, tufts that you assumed were meant to be feathers. The real damning part of all of it though was the elaborate, cursive, N.L. tucked beneath the bird’s spread wings.

Ruh-roh.

“Huh? What are those?” Grimm yawned as he padded down the stairs on his teeny, black, paws.

You tossed the bouquet into the coat closet and slammed the door. “Nothing. Jade’s just trying to poison you again.”

Grim puffed up like a little lion. “You should poison him back! Or stab ‘em!”

“Right,” you nodded, walking bravely into the winter morning with no coat, because the evidence was with your coat, and you immediately wanted to shrivel up and die. “I’ll just do that then.”

The next morning, there was a knock at your door—bright and early. You cracked it open cautiously and peeked through the slit like a ghoul creeping out of its dark lair. It was a person you didn’t recognize, and you opened the door more fully.

“Can I help you…?”

“Yes!” the guy chirped. You realized then that he was wearing a delivery uniform. “I’m just here to drop these off for you,” he smiled, and pressed a bundle of daisies into your arms. “I guess it was noted in the delivery request that it wasn’t a certainty if the last orders had ended up with you or not.”

“Is that so,” you droned, trying not to sound like your soul was actively attempting to vacate your body. “Well. Thank you. Goodbye—”

“Oh!” he called, before you could retreat back into your hovel like a wounded animal. “There are a few more actually!” he said, pointing to another delivery man headed in your direction—weighed down under an entire armful’s worth of blooms. You couldn’t even make out the poor guy’s head beneath the forest of pale pinks and yellows consuming him.

“Right,” you nodded, horrified. “Of course. Anyways, is there a way I can go about returning these, or…?”

The poor dude being eaten alive by all those flowers just laughed good-naturedly and dumped the wagon’s worth of tulips, and camellias, and even more carnations at your feet. You could feel something in your jaw tick.

And then another pair of delivery men came sauntering over the hill and you wanted to scream.

That day at lunch, you felt like a convict in a lineup.

You were seated at Vil’s left, as was the norm, and you were having to actively fight the raw survival instinct tugging at every muscle in your body as it demanded that you flee from the room post haste. A part of you felt like the intuitive beauty would just know somehow. Like he could smell the goddamn flowers on you. You were practically vibrating out of your seat. Every time he brushed up against you, you’d jolt like you’d been electrocuted. All of the moments where he’d shift and his knee would bump against yours, or when he would reach for something just a little off center and his arm would tuck up against your side, or how he’d rest his hand on the table just close enough to yours that even the teeniest fidget would push your pinkies together. It was like the universe had decided that today you were going to be a lightning rod, and that it was oh so fun to just zap-zap-zap you endlessly.

“Are you feeling alright, Mon Coeur?” Rook called from his spot across the narrow table. “You look a bit grey.”

You grit your teeth, because Vil sitting less than a foot away or otherwise, no way would you be telling anything to this snitch. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

“No. He’s right,” Vil asserted, stern, and turned to face you more fully. “You’ve been miserable from the moment you sat down. What’s the matter?”

“I’m fine,” you tried again, and Vil’s eyes narrowed irritably at your bold-faced lie. He leaned closer, as if chastising you from three inches away instead of six would make any sort of difference. But then something odd flickered across his expression and you experienced the very distinctive and horrifying sensation of being marched to the gallows.

Vil reached out and the featherlight touch of his fingers brushed along the curve of your jaw and down your throat before settling heavily at your collar. He plucked a small, pink, petal from a fold in the fabric.

“What’s this?” he asked, with the inflection of someone who already knew perfectly well what ‘this’ was.

“I fell into a bush,” you replied, deadpan.

Silence.

“A bush, hmm?” he mused blandly, and rolled the petal around between his fingers.

Epel and Rook exchanged pointed glances.

“It was an ugly bush,” you added. Because, sure, it was a lie. And Vil clearly knew it was a lie. But maybe hurling around insults at Neige the bush would help.

Vil snorted, and thankfully it sounded more amused than enraged. The petal disappeared in a puff of dark, purple, smoke and he returned to poking at his salad and your posture in equal measure. Safe. For now.

That evening, you approached the only other person on campus that you could think of who would benefit more from helping you keep your horrible, little, secret than in just selling you out at the first opportunity.

“Epel, you lived on a farm,” you tried, conversational in perhaps the way a hostage may try to sound casual to avoid panicking the SWAT team listening in from just outside the door. “You know how plants work.”

He arched a lavender eyebrow at you.

“Yeah?”

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool,” you chirped, steepling your fingers. “So, anyways. Can I get your help then. With a plant problem I’m having?”

“Uhm, sure?” he agreed, face scrunched up in bewilderment.

When you walked him into Ramshackle’s foyer, Epel made a noise like he was choking. You couldn’t blame him—shock aside, the petals floating around were becoming a real hazard.

“Where did these even come from?” he gawked.

“Neige,” you winced, scuffing your toes against the carpet. Or at least in the general vicinity of where you assumed the carpet was. The entire floor was blanketed in loose leaves and bits of ivy.

He whistled low under his breath, and something in his gaze went a little hazy—a little spooked. “When Vil finds out about this…”

“He won’t,” you declared, with as much determination as you could manage.

“He will,” Epel grumbled. He looked like he was having war flashbacks.

“If he does,” you sighed, defeated, “you might as well just shoot me and put me out of my misery.”

“The shotgun is back at grandma’s,” he mumbled, his pale blue eyes still clouded and very, very, faraway.

You blinked. “What.”

“What?”

“…Nothing. I just. Please,” you begged. “You have to help me.”

Epel seemed to take your pleas seriously at the very least (or maybe it was just his own sense of self-preservation kicking in), and he gently raised a finger to tap at his chin as he pondered. After a moment, he made a little ‘ah-ha’ noise and turned back to you with a firm nod.

“You ever lit a bonfire in a dumpster before?”

You blinked. Once. Twice. A third time.

“I,” you began, slow, “have never. Set a dumpster on fire.”

Epel reached out to thump you squarely on the shoulder. “Well, you’re gonna today.”

“What were you thinking?!” Crewel snarled at you, cracking his pointer across his palm.

You coughed, sending a cloud of garbage-and-petal-scented soot into the air of his otherwise very pristine office.

“I wasn’t?” you tried.

The alchemist looked like he was ready to put his head through the wall or maybe yours, but instead he just reached up to dig his fingers into his temples.

“Detention,” he snapped.

“Understandable,” you nodded—another wave of dusty, black, ash falling to the carpet beneath your feet.

And then all your arson was for naught, because the very next morning there was a fresh mountain of pink roses crowding your entryway.

You kicked them into the back of the coat closet and hurried off to class, making sure to double and triple check your clothes for any damning evidence before you did.

You made it all the way through the rest of the day without any other flower related nonsense, and maybe all that success had made you cocky, stupid. So when you realized you’d forgotten your little notebook full of reference numbers and stage cues for the Drama Club’s newest production, making a pitstop at Ramshackle only seemed sensible. And when Vil offered to walk you there and back, you agreed without any consideration for rationality.

You could just see the pointed rooftop of your dorm coming into view over the hill when your companion final spoke up.

“This path is ridiculously undermaintained,” he hummed. His purple gaze slid pointedly in your direction. “I suppose I can see how you were you so easily felled by a bush.”

“An ugly bush,” you repeated, just to see his lips quirk into a smug little smirk.

But then that satisfied expression froze on his face, and his mouth curled downwards into that venomous sneer of his that made each and every hair at the back of your neck stand on end.

Because standing in your doorway, a delicate bouquet of sunflowers and sweet peas tucked under his arm, was Neige LeBlanche. With that goddamn purple scarf wrapped around his neck.

“Oh! Hello!” he chirped, his doe eyes wrinkling at the corners as he smiled. “I was hoping I’d be able to catch you!” A fetching shade of pink bloomed across his cheeks and along the bridge of his nose, and he fidgeted nervously with the soft wrappings in his hands. “I was starting to think I had the wrong address…”

There was a steadily increasing pressure around the meat of your upper arm, and it took you a beat too long to realize that it was Vil and his ever-tightening vice grip and not just your clothes trying to strangle you. You could feel the blunt crescents of his fingernails digging into the fabric of your coat—sharp little pinpricks that didn’t exactly hurt or anything, but reminded you just a little too much of a big cat flexing its claws before it pounced.

Neige seemed to notice his one-sided nemesis for the first time, and his expression lit with genuine mirth.

“Oh! Vil! Hello to you too!” he beamed, a merry laugh working its way past his lips. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other! Though if you both go to Night Raven I suppose that makes sense…” He mused.

“Of course,” Vil ground out past his gnashing canines, with about as much civility as you were expecting. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

At this inquiry, Neige went pink all over again—from the tip of his gently pointed chin to the edges of his neatly styled fringe. He shifted nervously back and forth on the balls of his feet and his fingers clenched into the velvet bow of the bouquet. When he spoke up again, he was addressing you and you alone.

“I, uhm…” he spluttered. “Well, I… I was worried you weren’t getting any of my flowers, because I never heard anything back from you. Not that I was expecting you to thank me or anything!” he hurriedly rushed out. “I just—Ah. Well… I-I’ve never really done this sort of thing before, and I wanted to make sure I was doing it right, and Dominic said that if you weren’t responding then maybe I should be doing this in person, so… I…” he trailed off, his face practically glowing with the crimson heat radiating off his cheeks.

“You never actually gave me any way to respond,” you tried (which was entirely true), aiming for as middle-of-the-road as possible. Clearly it wasn’t neutral enough, because Vil’s glower swiveled to you and became a tangible force against your skin.

“Oh!” Neige gasped. “Oh my goodness! You’re right!”

Maybe that would be the end of it. Maybe he’d be like you, and wind up so encumbered by his own embarrassment that he’d have no other choice but to run away.

But instead, he soldiered on.

“Well…” the brunette murmured, clearly fighting an intense urge to fidget. “I was wondering then, if I—if you—if we—could. If you want to—”

This poor, lost, boy was so sweet and endearing. And as much as you could not comprehend how saving him One Time in a crowded mall had turned into weeks of pining and near hero worship, you felt for the dude. And you felt even worse knowing that you were going to have to absolutely cut him down if you wanted any hope of coming out of this alive with an even marginally stable Vil at your side. Neige was kind, but Vil was totally not the object of your miserable, unrequited, affections your friend. And if you had to sacrifice Squirrel-Sweater-Boy and his crush to keep the House Warden from falling into another spiral of self-flagellation and despair, then so be it.

“A-Actually!” you cut in as fast as you could. “I was just…”

Your eyes flickered to Vil, panicked, and you hoped he wouldn’t eviscerate you for this.

You placed a hand atop the one he’d wrapped around your arm and gave it a gentle, blatant, squeeze as you leaned heavily into his side. “The two of us were just planning on going somewhere! Together!” You shot him a pointed look that you prayed he’d be able to interpret past the veil of red fury muddling his gaze. “Weren’t we?”

“Oh! Like a friendship outing!” Neige chirped, and clapping his hands together enthusiastically. You wilted. “Do you mind if I come along too then? I’d really love to spend more time with you if I can, but obviously I don’t want to step over any of your preexisting plans! I’d love to be able to hang out with Vil again too! It could be like a field trip!”

Your stomach dropped, and you were genuinely worried for a moment that you were going to have to just honest-to-God turn around and book it before you could be indicted as an accessory to murder.

But then the twisting resentment melted from Vil’s face and the hand at your shoulder snuck around your back to settle firmly at your hip. He hauled you flush against his side and you barely managed to swallow your squeak.

“No, actually,” Vil crooned, a wickedly smug grin splitting his crimson lips. “Together, as in together. Partners,” he continued, perfectly chipper. “Involved. Entangled. Romantically linked. Whatever you’d like to call it.”

Neige’s expression immediately fell into something terribly dejected, before bouncing almost just as fast into mortification.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” he gasped. “I had no idea! If I had known, I—I mean, I would never have tried to—to—Oh, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable!” he rambled, so red and embarrassed that you were back to feeling bad for him all over again. “Please forgive me for overstepping!”

“I suppose,” Vil sighed, dramatic. And you were officially done feeling bad for him and all his crippling self-worth issues. He turned to you with this demure little pout that you just knew he’d probably had to practice in front of a mirror at some point. “And how about you, darling? Are you feeling magnanimous this afternoon?”

“You’re forgiven,” you grit out, and there was bit of a terrible moment where Neige clearly assumed your spiraling vitriol was aimed at him and not the smug bastard pinning you to his side.

“Th-Thank you!” he squeaked, before darting forward to press the bouquet into Vil’s hands. “Here! Have these! As a—As an apology bouquet instead of a, well…” He buried his face into the plush fabric of his scarf and took a very long, very loud, breath. As if he was trying to center himself. “Anyways! I should be—I’ll get going then! Enjoy your date!”

And then Neige was scurrying off as fast as his legs could carry him, and Vil smirked proudly throughout the entire retreat and beyond. The sunflowers sat in his hands like a trophy.

You took a moment to remind yourself that you were not always a terrible person, and that surely something like this was outweighed in the grand scheme of things by all the Overblots you’d stopped, and how many murders you’d prevented. You sighed, bone deep and weary, and were just about to start making the last leg of the trek into your dorm when Vil pulled you in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” you asked, confused. “We still need to get my notebook for the club meeting, and—”

“I thought you just said something about me taking you out for the evening,” he interrupted, arching a finely shaped brow. “Or did you already forget.”

“But that was…” you trailed off, hesitant. Something warm and eager swirled in your belly, and you tamped it down as fast you could. There was no way he meant what your fluttering pulse was assuming he’d meant. I mean, you were ‘the potato.’ That’s it. “You don’t have to feel like you need to take me somewhere. I know that was just…”

Vil scoffed. “Oh, please. I assumed you knew me better than that. Do I seem like the sort of person who would be willing to fake a relationship to avoid any kind of fallout—within the media or otherwise?”

“…No?” you said after a moment.

His hand flexed at your waist. “Correct. Now. Let’s get going. We’ll stop at my dorm first—you’re not going out dressed like that.”

The world was tilting on its axis. Hell had frozen over. Deuce had aced an exam.

“Are you—did you just ask me out?” you gaped.

Vil sighed. “Technically, you asked me. Or, well, demanded.”

“Oh,” you rasped, dazed. “I guess I did.”

And so began the journey back to Pomefiore. Or, well, Vil’s journey. You were just being carted along like a useless sack of vegetables. Your head was spinning, the rest of you barely able to catch up to its frantic swirling. Amidst all your emotional vertigo, you did catch Vil glaring frostily down at the bouquet in his hands. You wondered idly why he didn’t just throw it to the side, and then remembered that ah yes. A trophy.

“Sunflowers,” Vil scoffed under his breath, and the contempt there helped ground you back in reality.

“What’s wrong with sunflowers?” you asked in a huff, no longer feeling the need to cater to his bruised pride now that he was so obviously riding high on a wave of self-satisfied vindication.

He snorted. “You clearly have no grasp on floriography.”

“And you do?”

“What exactly do you think poisons are made of? Or most natural cosmetics?”

You sighed. “Fine. Then if sunflowers are so awful, what kind of flowers would you give me?”

“Roses, naturally. Scarlet Sage.” His lips quirked. “Coriander.”

“Coriander isn’t a flower. It’s what you cook with,” you sniffed, indignant. “Sage too!”

Vil laughed under his breath and reached out to take your hand, threading your fingers through his. You felt warmth spread from your cheeks all the way to the tips of your ears, and you hoped more than anything that your palm wasn’t too sweaty.

“Is that so?” he hummed, amused.

“Well what do they mean then?” you conceded, that furious heat still working its way along your skin.

He glanced down at you out of the corner of his charcoal-lined eyes—the purple there brilliantly sharp and fond. He gave your hand another firm squeeze.

“I suppose you’ll just have to do your best to figure that out.”

🌸FLOWERS🌸

White Lilies = Virginity, Purity, Heavenly Red Carnations = ‘Alas for my poor heart, my heart aches,’ deep romantic love White Carnations = Innocence, pure love, sweet love Daisies = Innocence, Loyal love Ivy = Affection, Friendship, Fidelity Pink Camelias = Longing For You Pink Rose = Happiness; innocent romantic love Yellow Tulip = Sunshine in your smile; hopeless love Sweet Pea = kindheartedness, Blissful pleasures Sunflower = Adoration; Pure Thoughts

Red Rose = Love, ‘I love you’ Scarlet Sage = Forever Mine Coriandor = Lust

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

@destinationdesignation @the-dumber-scaramouche @starchilll, @juulranch, @kalims, @theneurodivergentdummy, @honey-deerling, @thenyxsky, @vasiliki-koshka, @cassidycampfire, @youaskedfurret, @asimpleazur, @iwannabeacrow, @fuckingfaraway, @ambievert, @cerisescherries, @mys-harmony, @queenaveryrules, @smokebell, @alextheknight707, @hermiona18, @paintingeels, @rebloging-everything,

@nexxy-is-lonely, @akuri-shinsou, @nebulabunni3, @hermiona18, @alextheknight707, @crockercorpbakers, @sillyhummingbird, @loxi546-blog, @blackrose8425, @paranoiac-666, @alexpeaches, @cinnamontimecrunch, @cupid3m, @iamnotwiddle, @coloursplash666, @smokebell, @dreamingjirachi, @existingcurrently, @littlemusicfox25, @spaceyrunes, @un-petit-peu-confused, @medleycharm, @chocolateduckdinosaur, @barryatsumu, @ttwinrytwo, @imaginedfantasies, @cleos-stuff, @whathappenedtobees, @5sos-wdw, @trixeraptops, @obaniori, @thededly2, @kttyfngs, @reconcy, @patimiet, @itsmarlsworld, @fae06, @nowwhat-runlikehell, @kinglion03u, @catgirler, @anonymouscandy, @hatsunemiku2025, @clappincobracheeks, @horcrux-alchemist, @crypticbibliophile, @nyotnyota, @ally-glow, @yourimaginaryfriiendd, @hamdehlesmis, @scarapeep, @https-casanova, @niki-chan15, @insomnia-space, @rabioa, @ailynyan, @posionapplecider @pen-observing @afternoon-read, @marvelous-maxi, @inkeddreamz, @ai-dev, @anasianplate, @scarlettqueen190

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil x Reader #vil shoenheit #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Pomefiore x Reader #neige leblanche #neige x reader #My Writing #Heroes vs Villains #Heroes vs Villains Pomefiore Part 3

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rogueddie · 8 months

Text

Part one, Part two, Part three

El wakes him up, the same way she did the previous day; softly.

"Good morning, Steve," she says, with a quiet voice and gentle hand on his shoulder. She smiles small, but genuinely, when he blinks his eyes open. "We are having eggos for breakfast."

"Again?"

"You do not like them?" She sounds concerned. "I can ask-"

"No, I like them," he quickly corrects.

"Great! Come on!"

As soon as he's out of bed, on his feet, she gently grabs his hand and leads him out to the kitchen. Hopper is already awake, cooking, and greets them with a wide smile.

"Any plans for today?" El asks.

"Not today," Hopper says, plating their breakfast. "After yesterday, I thought it better if Steve stay home. If that's alright with you, kid?"

"Sure," Steve nods.

"I can hang out with him?" El asks, perking up.

"If that's what he wants."

"Steve?" El asks, turning to him with wide, pleading eyes.

"What we be doing?"

"Oh! I have a lot of ideas! Max let me borrow some of her stuff, too. Although, she thinks you might not like some of it and that I should try something else if you do not want to try, so I have backups."

"And... that's ok?" He asks, glancing between her and Hopper. "If I say no?"

"Kid," Hopper starts. His voice is low, serious- the way Steve always hears adults get when he's said something wrong. But he looks worried when he slowly sits down, turning so he can face Steve. "Why do you think that wouldn't be ok?"

"I dunno," Steve lies, shrugging. "Grown ups are weird."

"They are," El agrees, nodding solemnly.

"Steve, you can say no," Hopper says, gently grabbing his shoulder. "Doesn't matter to what, or why. You can always say no. Ok?"

"Ok."

"Good. Eat up, before El steals it."

"I would ask first!"

It's nice, Steve thinks. How easy, comfortable, they are. She's not scared to talk back, and he understands that it's playful. They try to encourage Steve to speak up, join in, but he's happy to watch them.

"You know where everything is?" Hopper asks El, as he prepares to leave. "And what to do if-"

"Yes, I know," she quickly says. "We will be ok. I will make sure he is ok."

"Don't doubt it," Hopper ruffles her hair. "I'll be back for dinner."

"You better be."

El holds up a hand, waiting, listening. And, as soon as the sound of Hoppers car is too far to hear, she grabs his hand again.

"He will be late," she says, shutting the door to her room behind them with a flick of her wrist. "It's fine though, I know where he hides things, and it gives us more time to have fun."

She pulls a bag out from under her bed, tipping it upside down and dumping the contents out onto the bed.

"We can talk about what you don't want to try first, if you like?"

"Um... ok?"

"Great!" She lifts up a small bottle first. "I was thinking we try painting nails first. Max recently showed me how to do patterns with it. I'm really good at daisies."

"I like daisies," he offers.

"Me too!" She grins, putting the nail polish to one side.

El, Steve is quickly discovering, is perfect. She is more than happy to skip the things Steve is uncertain about, reassuring him that they could try again later if he wants. She's only interested in finding the thing that they both enjoy.

He only ends up with one daisy, painted on his thumb, but El doesn't care.

"You let me paint a base," she reminds him, when he asks. "And it matches your sweater that I got from Robin!"

"What sweater?"

The sweater is yellow, matching his nails, just like El said. It's massive on him- almost ridiculously bigger. Even with the sleeves scrunched up, he can't get his hands free. But it's soft, bright, comfortable. Something about it makes him feel safe.

"You got this from Robin?" He asks.

"Yes! She brought a few things over that she thinks you might like. She wants you to feel safe and loved."

"Oh."

"Are you ok?" El takes half a step closer, hands raising, uncertain and panicked. "Are you sad?"

"No, I'm fine," he chokes out, rubbing his face. "Everyone is just so nice to me. I didn't even do any special things that get rewards."

"You don't need to do special things. We are your friends and we care about you." She grabs him, pulling him in for a tight hug. "And we are going to do lots of nice things together because you deserve it."

And they do.

It's easy to get lost in it, after that. Easy to forget why he should be avoiding certain things, easy to forget that he would usually get in trouble for trying on "girl" things or wearing make-up.

It's easy to let himself enjoy himself. It's easy to let himself enjoy spending time with El. It's easy to be... happy.

By the time Hopper gets home, only a little late, Steve feels almost drunk with how happy he is.

"You kids have a good day?" He asks, only pausing for a minute when he spots Steve. "What did you get up to?"

El follows him to the kitchen, recieting their day, excitedly explaining which things they both enjoyed and what they had to scrap.

Steve is only confused for a moment- Hopper truly isn't phased by all the "girl" things that he'd done with El. He barely even spares a glance at the frilly, pink socks that El has lent him. He seems, like El, happy that Steve had a good time and nothing more.

"Are you guys, like... real?" He has to ask. "Why are you so nice?"

"Would you rather us be cruel?" Hopper counters.

"Well, no..."

"Then what's the problem?" He raises an eyebrow, nodding to himself when Steve can't think of a response. "Good. So for dinner..."

part five

tag list for those who asked (if you want taking off lmk x) : @songbird-garden @str4wb3rry-guy @badcaseofcasey @lioniheart @irethsune @starry-eyedlune @newtstabber @messrs-weasley @vesme @penny00dreadful @ratboybubs @ocapmycap @ellietheasexylibrarian @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @little-trash-ghost @lazyavenuewhispers @paintsplatteredandimperfect @mightbeasleep @anaibis @sleepyboosstuff @thesuninyaface @morpheusmunson @notfrogsunderatrenchcoat @novelnovella @tartarusknight @spectrum-spectre @hotluncheddie @malicia62 @tencents121 @lightwoodbanethings @steddie-steddie @dragonmama76 @weirdandabsurd42 @lenathegay @theequeervibes @7shrewsinatrenchcoat @g4ys0n @subversivecynic @bleedingoptimism @eyesofshinigami @disrespectedgoatman @skiddit @chaoticlovingdreamer @estrellami-1 @chrystal-lovee @m-owo-n @fandommaniac123 @jackievsn @greekgeek24 @ajeff855

- idk why some peoples tags aren't working, sorry if yours is missing + I'm pretty sure we've reached the limit for how many tags tumblr is willing to let me add to a post 😅

#stranger things #steve harrington #eleven hopper #jim hopper #ficlet

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