Do Not Chastise The Dove (9) ✧ Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley

Day 1 of productivity

Well, I decided to make a "journal" of my days of productivity starting today.

I'm a Psychology student and I started at the college last year, but with the pandemic I didn't have the opportunity to get the true experience of being a college student. Actually I'm having online classes, but is not the same thing. It's more difficult to me to focus and to study, so I guess that making this will help me in some way.

Today I did read an article about feelings, because I need to do a presentation about it. Also I did organize my notes about Psychology History... So, yeah, I think that was a good day.

Fun (?) fact: I like to read or make paperwork while listing music or podcast. Today I listened to Six (the musical), Hamilton and a podcast about true crime.

Loved it so much. Hope that you continue writing. If you do, can I be tagged, please? 🥰

Sacrifice [Snippet]

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Y/n Byers and Eddie Munson were killed in the battle. Vecna had claimed their lives and murdered them right in front of their friends’ eyes. They died heroes, saving the town that hated them both. And now, months later, the first Christmas since Hawkins’ destruction had come around. But no one celebrates. Instead, they are entering hell to finally stop Vecna. They were prepared for everything. Or... so they thought…

[i've been working on a new series but i'm really not sure if it will be worth continuing. please feel free to let me know in the comments or in my asks whether or not you would like me to keep going or just to scrap it lmao. but, to be clear, this would involve kas!eddie...]

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of death, mentions of blood, mourning/loss

Sacrifice

[Snippet]

Present Day. North Hawkins.

“Merry Christmas, guys.”

Dustin’s voice calls out into the darkness and they all take in a breath. It was Christmas already?

Nine months. That’s how much time had passed since Hawkins became a town full of monsters. Since the battle, one they had miserably lost, their home had been destroyed by Vecna’s efforts and everything they knew was flipped upside down.

They would have given up. The party would have left when they had the chance, as would have Nancy, Jonathan, Steve and Robin. But they couldn’t leave, not yet.

Dustin remembered that night as if it happened yesterday. It haunted his dreams, danced around in his mind until he felt nothing and everything all at the same time. It consumed him, the thought that he had lost someone.

As he curls up into his sleeping bag, tears slipping down his cheek, his fingers gently brush against the torn fabric wrapped around his wrist, a familiar design tugging at his guilt.

He never even got the chance to take care of those little sheep.

March 1986. The trailer park. Upside Down.

Eddie led there on the ground, body slowly becoming numb to the feeling.

A few nights ago, he would never had imagined that this would be how it ended for him. Hell, he wouldn’t have even begun to thought that he, Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, would have done anything other than run away. But he didn’t this time.

Even as the blood drained from his body and his vision darkened, he was proud of himself.

You had been the one that always told him he was braver than he thought he was. His love, the girl that fell for even his weirdest characteristics, was the only part of his life he ever saw the meaning of. You were his, and he was yours. You were his reason to live. But, as it turns out, he had many reasons to die.

There was a split second of guilt when he stopped climbing that rope. He knew you’d be furious with him for even thinking about leading the demobats away. But Dustin was right there, calling out to him. And he adored the kid like a little brother he always wanted. And he knew that, even if you were mad at him for it, you’d understand why he did it.

“EDDIE!”

Eddie slowly opens his eyes just as Dustin crouches beside him, tears streaming down his face. He really wished he didn’t have to see this.

“Oh god, Eddie.” Dustin cries and Eddie chokes up blood, unable to meet his eyes.

“Bad, huh?” He attempts a joke, but the light inside him is already fading.

“No, no, no.” Dustin shakes his head, but his voice is thick with fear, “You’re gonna be fine. We just gotta get you to a hospital, okay?”

“Okay.” Eddie breathes out. His eyes finally lock onto Dustin’s and sadness floods in. Eddie knows he’s not going to make it. But he’s already made his peace. He made it as soon as those bats surrounded him.

So, after Dustin attempts to move him, he does the only thing he can. He smiles.

“I didn’t run away this time, right?”

Dustin lets out a soft cry as he beats against his chest lightly. “No, no. You didn’t run.”

“You’re gonna have to look after those little sheep for me, okay?” He begs, knowing that Dustin Henderson would be his only rightful successor. If he had to leave him, he at least wanted to let him know just how highly he thought of him.

“No, you’re gonna do that yourself!” Dustin protests with a sob and Eddie simply shakes his head, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“And…” His time is running out as another breath chokes from him. “… tell Y/n… I love her, okay? Please…”

Dustin struggles to speak. “I promise. I will look after them. And her.”

The sky above him was dark blue, crimson bleeding through the black clouds. A shot of burning light pierced through, highlighting the tiny white specs floating aimlessly above his face.

And, suddenly, death didn’t scare him anymore.

Eddie flashes one last smile before he feels himself slip away, muffled cries and whimpers fading into the silence.

There’s a flash of your face, your smile, your laugh. And then a flash of red before total, and complete, darkness.

Present Day. South Hawkins.

“Hey, guys? It’s Christmas Day.”

Robin looks up from her watch to stare back at her friends, a frown laced onto their faces before emotion takes over.

Nancy looks to Jonathan as his face drops, blood practically draining from his face. She gently reaches her hand out to comfort him. But he doesn’t want the sympathy. Instead, he stands, muttering something about taking watch before walking a few steps away and staring out at the red smoke in the sky just outside of their shelter.

She catches Steve’s eye, his own expression sorrowful before he cleared his throat and looked away. She felt helpless, unable to rid Jonathan of the pain he was feeling.

Nancy remembered every detail of that night, plagued by the memory anytime she looked at her boyfriend. She had lost a best friend, just as they all did. But Jonathan lost family. He couldn’t seem to make peace in any way, even knowing why his sister did it.

Y/n Byers died to save their lives.

March 1986. The Creel House. Upside Down.

All your life, you had been sacrificing your own needs for everyone else.

Usually little things, like driving Will to school even when you were going to be late for work. Or helping Steve and Dustin with a new-found theory when you were meant to be applying to colleges. But these things didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.

Not compared to Vecna.

Fire was thrown at him in bottles, Steve and Robin aiming with all their might. Fire was the only known thing that could destroy the creatures from the upside down. But, as you stand there beside Nancy, and watch the flames simply dance along Vecna’s skin, you realise it wasn’t working as it should.

Guns were a back up plan. You had all thought for sure that the fire would take him out, make him weaker. But it only made him stronger.

Nancy must have blasted hundreds of shots before Vecna finally stumbled. She was running out of ammo already, and he was recovering from every bullet, and every scorch.

As you look to your friends with wide eyes, their breaths are unsteady. You clutch the weapon in your hand. It was only meant to be a last resort. None of you were meant to get that close.

Vecna was practically breathing the fire before someone made a move. Steve grabbed a knife and threw, aimed just right to pierce the monster’s heart. But he was prepared, arm outstretched to hold it in the air as the others gasped.

“Shit.” Steve mutters as the knife is slowly flipped, pointed edge staring back at him. Vecna was staring him down, building power to shoot it back at him. He wouldn’t be fast enough to dodge it.

They were just lucky that Vecna never got to the chance to attack.

In the distraction, you had gripped onto your spear tightly, moving around him and, at the very last moment, you jumped forward and plunged it into his chest with all your strength.

Sure enough, he screeched out in pain, the knife clattering to the floor as he struggled to pull the metal out of his body. The action caused him to stumble back towards the window, fire still burning in places as Nancy readied her gun once more.

But, to your surprise, Vecna slumped to the ground, eyes fluttering shut as something oozed from the mark you had made.

“Holy shit!” Robin exhaled after a minute of silence, a breathy laugh leaving her lips before you all felt grins of relief on your own faces.

You were all too busy in your premature celebration to notice the slight movement in his hand, or the way his eye twitched. In fact, you didn’t know he was still alive until his bony hand wrapped around your neck and pulled you towards him.

“NO!” Your friends screamed, fumbling for any kind of weapon.

Vecna had you in front of him, your body shielding his. And the only weapon worth using was the shotgun in Nancy’s hands, a force strong enough to tear through the wall he had put up. Strong enough to tear through you.

His claws dug into your skin, drawing blood, as your eyes met Nancy’s fearful ones. You could almost see the options guilting their way into her brain, dancing around as she tried to find another way.

But the sheer pain-inducing grip Vecna held you in made one thing clear; you were going to die regardless.

“Do it, Nance.” You nod with tear stained cheeks and her eyes widen, pooling over with emotion.

“No.” She shakes her head profusely. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“It’s okay.” You try to smile, Vecna’s hand digging further into the area just below your neck. It was excruciating to say the least.

You couldn’t ask Nancy to shoot you, to bear that guilt. You didn’t expect Steve and Robin to either. All you knew was that if you were going to die, it would be on your own terms. And it would take Vecna with you.

Red light blared through the window behind you, stronger than the flickering lights above your head. You squeezed your eyes shut, mustering up a silent apology. To them, to your brothers.

To Eddie.

His only ask of you, before you left him and Dustin, was to stay alive. That was his only request. And despite how you longed to see his face again, to watch as his cheeks dimpled over with his wide grin, messy hair swaying in laughter… to simply just hold him… you knew what you had to do.

You hoped he would forgive you.

A single tear trickled down your cheek as you made up your mind, looking back at your friends one last time.

Before they could even react, you pushed off from the floorboards, throwing all your weight back into the creature behind you.

Screams and yells echoed around you in slow motion as Vecna crashed through the window, his grip tight on you.

You fell backwards through the shattered glass, already falling from the attic before his claws finally released you.

Then, it came in flashes.

The feeling of air whistling past your ears as you dropped, your hair whipping at your face. The final moment of hitting the ground beneath you.

You felt your body break, the blood pouring from your mouth as you led there, staring up at the dark blue sky, crimson bleeding through the black clouds. A shot of burning light pierced through, highlighting the tiny white specs floating aimlessly above your face.

You weren’t afraid of death, not really, but the idea made you nervous. Yet, somehow, laying there, you were… calm.

The last thing you remember was your vision darkening, an image of Vecna leaning over you, hand hovering in front of your face.

And then, it all went black.

I confess that I cried my eyes out reading this 😭

ALSO STEDDIE ANGST IDEA: the reader is always super supportive of the boys endeavors, she goes to all the corroded coffin shows and steve’s basketball games whatever, but the one time she has something important, they accidentally sleep through it @mysticmunson

elora elora my beloved. this is for u i love u 🤍

— poly relationship, however they have their own bedrooms for this one! for the sake of the story, anyway. fem!reader

the boys' ears perk up at the sound of your bedroom door opening. steve turns away from the stove, eddie stops chewing and lets his spoon fall onto the cereal bowl and beneath the milk that he's too distracted to frown about it. they hear your heavy footsteps, which quite sounds like feet dragging through the floor and more like stomping.

when they see you emerge, it's nothing like they expected.

while your hair is combed and your clothes flattened, your eyes resemble the long hours of weeping; from the puffy eyes, the pinkish scleras, and the loud, long sniffing. steve's excited smile falls, eddie's shoulder slumps. it's sometimes amusing how they mirror each other's expressions.

"hey," steve turns the stove off and drops the spatula on the pan, a hand reaching out towards you with his lips into an upcoming pucker. but you dodge his hand, swerving, maybe even flinching with a stoic look. his heart swells.

eddie tries next. he moves away from the kitchen island, a hand hovering at your back to place itself there but you swerve away to take the decanter off the coffee maker to pour yourself a cup.

his hand falls disappointedly down his side, his lips twitching downward, looking at steve sadly and miserably.

you ignore them both, the octave sound of hot coffee falling onto the porcelain mug filling the silence that coalesces with the tv in the back and the muffled yelling of children outside of steve's house. out the corner of your eyes, you see steve swallow thickly before he takes a plate from the rack and tilts the pan until the eggs fall onto the middle, whereas eddie hesitantly goes back to eating his cereal.

when you place it back, steve sees you debate, whether you go back up with your coffee only, or sit down with a chair between you and eddie. he makes the decision for you, wanting to know what's wrong — he slides you a plate full of scrambled eggs and toast.

you stare at it for a bit, before you finally decided to sit down and look down at your food than at steve, though you speak your gratitude through a small 'thank you,'

they decide to settle in silence, both of them eating breakfast as you slowly sink into your corner, trying your best to eat your food faster so you could just go back into your room. you only wanted silence for now, anyway. you're still upset. too upset.

but eddie, poor boy can never stand the silence, looks at you and clears his throat. "so, what'd you do yesterday, sweets? don't think stevie and i saw you the entire day."

their cluelessness ignites the vexed incendiary inside your chest. your fingers tighten around your fork, shoving an egg inside your mouth, your eye twitching and your eyebrows furrowing together slowly as you reply,

"it was fine," you say curtly, sharply. both of them taken aback by your laconic reply. eddie senses something wrong, his mind racketing through countless memories, while steve tries to stop the bomb from exploding.

"yeah?" steve spreads the butter on his toast, the rough scraping of knife against the toasted bread. "uh, where'd you go?"

he looks at eddie cautiously, who's eyebrows raise like a shrug. you stab the egg this time. "an event."

"an event?"

at this point, you're about to break the plate. you shrug, taking deep breaths. "yes."

steve wipes his fingers on a towel hanging by a knob, taking a bite of his bread. "what event? why didn't you tell us?"

maybe you could have bent the fork in half if you could. your eyebrows furrow, all of you dissolving into nothing but a vestibule of exasperation.

eddie sees it as clear as day; he knew that what steve said had struck up a mark, so he shoots him an wide-eyed 'what the fuck' kind of warning to him, the soggy cereal stopping on the left side of his cheek.

"wow, gee, i wonder why i didn't tell you," you snort, though despite that, it's absolute irritation in your voice. with a hint of sadness, eddie thinks. "maybe because i told you, like, everyday of the fucking week. maybe even the night before that event."

it clicks to steve, only then, that you actually did tell him. and eddie, who's expression has fell similarly to his when it comes to a realization.

"i was thinking maybe you guys would have remembered because you promised." you continue, barely looking at them in the eyes, like they're embedded between the hills of your egg. "but maybe, maybe you guys didn't remember. so i guess it's my fault that i didn't fucking tell you about it,"

"babe, i—" steve looks forlorn. you don't feel guilty about it at all. maybe a little, even though your voice had been soft yet somehow sharp, because you really are upset. you had every right to be.

eddie reaches out to hold your hand but you flinch and he thinks he could have just sobbed in his seat. "sweetheart, we must have slept in. i- we're sorry."

"no, you're not," you can't help but sniff and blink from something that stings your eyes, pushing the plate of eggs away.

"we are, baby, hey–" steve rounds over the counter so that he could kneel in front of you. eddie, who's got no clue how to deal with this situation, decides to kneel beside him. "baby, come on..."

you look away from them with a small whimper, your bottom lip wobbling. "i just thought, maybe, you guys would have done the same thing. come to this event and be there, y'know? and i just- i just kept waiting and waiting–"

"and we're complete idiots," you feel eddie take your hand. you know it's him because you feel the roughness on his ever-loving fingertips that dotes heat over your trembling hand. "we slept in, (y/n)."

steve nods. "we slept in and we're idiots." he rephrases. he doesn't like the way eddie had said their reason, and pinches his thigh. he winces quietly that you miss. "that's– that's not a good reason. in fact, we shouldn't even be reasoning at all,"

then, it comes as a jagged whisper. it's a blunt knife that pierces deadly through a heart. "i just thought that maybe i was as important as you said i am."

the two boys quiet down and stare defeatedly, both rocking back from their weakened knees.

"you are important,"

"steve—"

"punch me in my goddamn head if i ever made you feel like you're not important."

and eddie, ever the jest, knocks his shoulder against steve's. "in fact, do it now. now baby, he's an idiot. he deserves it."

"you're just as much as an idiot as i am,"

"just stop," you dig the heels of your palms on your eyes, your chest heaving.

none of it is helping; normally, a thing like this was something you were just gonna brush off. but they'd promised, and you expected, and then all you felt was disappointment and utter shame. and now you're mad, because you feel that way and because they'd been the one to make you feel that way.

you're mad because they made you wait for nothing.

eddie's whiskey eyes are sorrowful at his mistake. it's a sight that makes you cry abruptly, looking away from them and hiccuping into your damp palms. steve's hands reach up to tug on your wrists and wipe your fat tears with his thumb, eddie standing up to move behind you and to wrap his arms around your neck to keep you close.

"stopping, baby," steve leans up to kiss your forehead. "stopping. we're stopping, honey, i'm so sorry,"

"it won't happen again," eddie's lips move against the hair on your temple as he spoke, his mouth puckering to leave the faintest kiss ever. steve picks up a tissue somewhere above the counter and wipes your tears. "i promise you, princess,"

"we promise," steve wipes gently under your nose. you let him, clasping weakly onto eddie's forearm around you. "we love you, okay? you're important to us,"

you sniffle, the slightest scrunch on your nose. your proclamation is baulky as you say, "i still don't forgive you,"

"you don't have to," eddie swerves in front of you to face you again, placing his hands on your arms and massaging them. "not right now, at least."

the sigh you admit reassures them, even the small smile that paints your tear-stained face. the two boys come up to kiss each cheek, making you giggle; forgiveness is yet to be built, but you know they're willing to work for it.

The cuuuutest thing!!

dead wrong — steve harrington x reader

summary: steve harrington is down horrendous for you, his best friend since he was a scrawny pre-teen. turns out, his love is not as unrequited as he thinks.

contains: best friends to lovers, mutual pining (but mostly steve pining), steve’s pov, fluff galore, idiots in love, reader is good with the kids, reader is a skater like max, reader hurts her wrist and steve is a worried lovesick idiot. cw! descriptions of wounds/blood, mentions of hospital, reader wears steve’s clothes. she/her pronouns used.

a/n: first long fic yay!! I am extremely proud of this so pls love it 🤍

fem!reader 5.3k words

gif by @barneswayne

Steve Harrington is totally, most definitely, not in love with you. Just friends, he thinks, best friends. Best friends who hold hands and sit far too close together.

Speaking of, you push further into Steve’s side, your scent washing over him. Your hand squeezes Steve’s, and he thinks, never mind. Maybe he is in love with you. So in love with you it fucking hurts.

A chorus of shouts erupts around him. You and Steve are watching Eddie, Robin and the kids play beer bong, only without the beer. It’s soda. Dustin starts doing a stupid victory dance while half of his peers laugh and the others cringe. Steve cringes. You laugh. All high and lilting and adorable. Steve has to remind himself to breathe.

He brings your joint hands to rest on his knee. Your rings push into his skin, almost like harsh reminders that he can’t hold you like he wants to. He frowns.

“Steve?” Your voice brings Steve out of his thoughts like it always does. You give his hand a shake. “You okay?”

Steve looks up and prays you can’t see the hopeless devotion in his eyes. You’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, with your messy hair and your eyes lined with glitter. Rosy cheeks, glossy pink lips that he stares a beat too long at. He’s known you for years, and yet he’s never gonna get used to how gorgeous you are. He swallows, forces his eyes up to yours.

“I’m okay,” he says, though he’s really not. He never is, because you never won’t look like that. “Are you?”

There’s another explosion of noise from the soda-pong players, but you don’t seem to notice. You frown like you don’t believe him. He’s being too obvious, he knows.

“Yeah, I’m good. Are you sure, Steve?” You stretch your free hand across your torso to touch his face. Steve heats like an oven under your hand as you press your palm to his forehead. “You’re not feeling sick, are you? You feel sort of hot.”

Steve grabs your wrist, harder than he means to. He loosens his grip guiltily when you give him an alarmed look.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, lowering your hand gently. He can feel your pulse, only just, underneath his fingers. It’s damn sure slower than his. “I— uh, no. I’m not feeling unwell. It is pretty hot in here though.”

A total lie. The only reason he’s burning up is you.

Your frown deepens, a push of your bottom lip that makes Steve want to kiss you. It’s such an overwhelming feeling that he has to blink multiple times to make it go away.

“Oh,” you say. You look around the room and then back at Steve. “Do you want to go outside?”

Steve has a bit of a dilemma. If he says yes, he’ll be alone with you. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. If he says no, he’ll have to stay in this stuffy room with yelling teenagers and ping pong balls flying at him every five seconds. He decides on the first option.

“Sure,” he says as nonchalantly as he can. Then, to make you laugh, “Smells like boy in here anyway.”

You giggle. Steve feels like copying Dustin’s lame victory dance.

“You’re a boy, Stevie,” you say teasingly.

He wrinkles his nose at you. “No, I know, but it’s like … adolescent boy.”

You laugh loud, your mouth pulled up in a staggering smile. “Oh, okay,” you say, as if anything he just said made any sense.

Steve is starstruck for a second before you’re pulling him up from his seat, your hand in his a familiar, heart-aching weight.

Steve finds himself sitting side by side with you on the hood of his car. He can’t exactly remember how he got here — on the way, all he could think about was your hand in his and the fact that your thumb kept brushing over his knuckles in very distinct lines. Whether you’d meant to or not, he doesn’t know. He hopes you did.

“Any better?” You ask quietly, stretching your pinky across the small gap between your hands to tap his.

Steve feels something like an electric shock where your skin touches his. It baffles him, how such a tiny touch can cause such a big reaction throughout his body. He stares at your hand when he answers.

“Much,” he says honestly. He looks up at you. “You didn’t have to come with me, you know. You can go back in if you want.”

Secretly he hopes you’ll stay here with him forever. But that would be selfish, and if Steve is anything when he’s with you, it’s not selfish.

“Eurgh, no.” You pull a disgusted sort of face that makes Steve grin. “I could barely stand it when you were there. Without you, I think I’d die from the smell alone.”

Steve laughs. Really laughs. The words without you, I think I’d die, float around his brain like fish in a fish tank. When he’s done laughing he catches your smile, all pretty and wide, and his heart does one of those funny backflips that he’s never gonna get used to.

Steve watches as you brace your hands on the edge of the car and push yourself up the hood, pulling your shoes up to rest on the metal. Your skirt is short enough that Steve can see half of your thighs, more when you shift yourself like that. He stares for two seconds too long and then feels so guilty he almost apologises.

Instead, he says, “Aren’t you cold?” He points at your skirt but doesn’t look.

You shrug. “No, not really.”

With a sigh you let yourself fall back against the hood of the car. Your skirt rises even more and a half inch more of your skin is exposed — Steve feels like the universe is out to get him. His only escape is to fall back next to you, his right shoulder brushing your left one. You smile when he does, head rolling to the side to look at him. Face to face now, Steve can feel every small breath coming from your parted lips.

“See any stars?” He blurts, because your face is much too close and he’s scared if you look at him like that any longer, he’ll kiss you stupid.

You look up at the dark, empty sky and wrinkle your nose. “No.”

“Wait, look, there’s one.” Steve lifts his arm to point at what he thinks is a star.

You squint in its direction. “That’s a plane.”

“What? No it’s— oh.” He trails off when he realises the ‘star’ is moving. It disappears behind a cloud a second later.

You laugh, breathless and pretty, and drop your head onto Steve’s shoulder. Your perfume fills the air around Steve and he has to stop himself from leaning closer. You bring a hand up to fiddle with your necklace, a cheap, plastic ‘S’ charm that sits directly on your sternum. The fake diamonds are falling off, half of them gone already, but you’ve refused to take it off after all these years. Steve has one of your initial, too. You got them from a dollar store when you were twelve and pinky promised to be best friends forever.

You slip your necklace safely beneath your top and then stifle a yawn behind your hand.

Steve gives your elbow a nudge. “Tired?”

You shrug one shoulder and then droop further into Steve’s side. Every point of contact between you burns.

“You’re tired,” Steve says matter-of-factly.

You make a noise that’s probably meant to be a sound of protest but comes out more like a tired moan. Steve chuckles lightly, reaches over and rubs your arm.

“Alright, sweet girl. Let’s go home.”

‘Home’ really means Steve’s house, because you’ve left your car there and because you’re over so much it’s become your second home. By the time Steve is pulling up the driveway, you’re so dead beat he doesn’t even consider letting you drive yourself home. You practically hang off his waist as he walks you both inside.

“M’tired,” you mumble as you pass the living room.

Steve has to bite back a laugh. “Uh-huh, I can tell.”

You look up at him and squint like you know he’s laughing at you. Then you say, “Can I sleep in your bed?”

Steve’s heart skips. Sure, you’ve slept in his bed before, but every time you have Steve lay awake for at least half the night. He’s not above admitting that he’s watched you sleep more than once. He’s seconds away from telling you to take the guest bedroom when you pout dramatically.

“Please? You’re so warm.” You push into his side, your arm tightening around his waist like you don’t ever want to let go.

Steve hates himself for nodding, but he can’t help it. “Yeah, okay.”

He drags you up the stairs and into his room. Your makeup and stray jewellery is strewn across his dresser — you’d gotten ready at Steve’s before the party. If you could even call it that, Steve thinks. He plants you on his bed and you fall back immediately, eyes shut tight as your hair splays across the sheets.

“You’re like a zombie,” Steve says amusedly, his gaze all fond and mushy as he looks down at you. “From like, Day of the Dead or something.”

You pull a face, faux offended but your big grin gives you away. “Ew. I’m not that ugly, am I?”

Steve hums long and high like he’s thinking about it. This makes you gasp and throw a hand to your chest like he’s wounded you. Before Steve can get half a laugh out a pillow is hitting him straight across the face.

“Hey!” He exclaims, glaring at you. You’re still lying down, eyes screwed tight like you’re pretending you didn’t just brutally attack Steve. He laughs because you’re fucking adorable. “Zombies don’t throw pillows, Y/N.”

Your words are plagued by a yawn as you say, “This one does.”

Steve sighs at your antics, picks up your murder weapon (his pillow) and replaces it on the bed.

“Oh no,” you groan suddenly, like you’ve remembered something awful, hands flying to your face in despair. “My makeup, Stevie. M’too tired to take it off.”

Your words stick to each other like taffy in your tired state. Steve remembers the last time he let you sleep in your makeup. He didn’t hear the end of it for days. He’d rather avoid your wrath this time round.

Steve sighs, knowing full well he’s about to put his foot in it. “Well, will you let me do it?”

You open one eye blearily and look at him. “Would you?”

Steve shrugs, though the thought of being that close to you makes him feel nauseous. Luckily, you’ve closed both eyes again so he can blush all he wants. Plus, he’d do anything for you. Even endure the overwhelming urge to kiss you breathless.

“Sure thing, babe. I’ll get the stuff.”

Steve ends up sitting on his bed with you across from him, crossed legs pressing up against his. You’re sitting so close you’re almost in his lap. He ignores this for the sake of his dignity.

You’ve got your eyes shut and your hair up in a clip. A lock of hair has tumbled out of its knot and Steve pushes it away from your face, fingers hooking behind your ear and lingering. He keeps his hand on your jaw as he raises his other hand, a wet cloth ready to clean your sparkly makeup off.

“You sure about this?” He asks hesitantly. He’s dead terrified he’ll do something wrong, like get glitter in your eye.

You smile softly, your eyes staying firmly shut. “Yes, Steve, it’s fine.” Your tone is half reassuring and half exasperated.

Steve bites the bullet and goes right in, pressing the wet cloth to your cheekbones first. You’ve got blush and glitter there, sprinkled on your cheeks like fairy dust. He smooths the cloth along your skin and it comes away sparkly and pink.

“Okay?” He asks, pausing worriedly.

You nod slowly, your head starting to droop in his hand. “Yeah, Steve.”

Steve grins fondly at your face, screwed up in exhaustion. He tightens his grip on your jaw to keep your head steady, thumb hooked under your chin. Carefully, he begins to dab at your eyelids, also painted with silvery glittery eyeshadow.

Your face dewy and makeup-free, Steve thinks you’ve never looked prettier. So pretty it drives him mad. He stares, really stares, for far too long but he’s worried if he opens his mouth, breaks the silence, he’ll never get to see you like this again. Your hair all messy pretty, your eyes shut and eyelashes kissing, your pink lips turned in a half smile.

He’s not surprised when your soft voice drifts into his thoughts.

“You done?” You open your eyes, eyelids heavy and head heavier.

Steve snaps out of it. He lets go of your face quickly, slides off the bed even quicker.

“All done,” he says, almost tripping over his own feet.

You smile, seemingly oblivious to his clumsiness. Or maybe, it’s just happened so often that you’re not surprised. Either way, your smile is sickeningly sweet. Steve is torn between the desire to kiss you or run as far away as possible from you.

Your voice matches your honey-smile when you say, “Thank you, Stevie.”

You reach out to touch his forearm, your hand a heavy weight on his skin as you wrap your fingers around his arm and squeeze.

He grins lopsidedly, and he’s sure he looks like a lovesick idiot but he can’t find it in himself to care. “You’re welcome.”

You drop your hand and Steve’s arm suddenly feels cold as ice. He wants to touch you again but knows he shouldn’t. He strides to his bedroom door and pauses to turn and look at you.

“I’m gonna get you a glass of water,” he says. Your eyelids are drooping again. He laughs fondly. “Get in bed while I’m gone, zombie-girl.”

Your giggle follows him all the way to the kitchen.

When Steve gets back, a glass of water in each hand, you’re still as a statue on your self-appointed side of the bed. You’ve swapped your outfit for a grey t-shirt that you totally stole from him but deny every time he asks about it, and the shortest shorts known to mankind.

He switches off the light and shuts the door with his heel. Pointedly avoiding looking at your bare legs, he rounds the bed and sets the water down, then bends over you.

“Y/N?” He whispers.

You hum softly, though Steve can’t tell if it’s a hum of acknowledgement or just a sound you’ve made in your sleep. He leans closer, listening to your breathing. You’re awake, only just.

He brushes his hand over your upper arm, touch as light as a feather. He thinks he feels goosebumps on your skin but doesn’t have time to wonder why. You’re lifting your chin slightly, lips parted.

“Goodnight, Stevie,” you whisper, so quiet he barely hears you. Steve’s heart swells. “Thanks for … everything.”

A few moments later you fall silent and your breathing grows steady, and Steve wonders how the hell you always fall asleep so fast.

He rubs your arm, kisses your forehead because he knows you won’t remember this part. His lips buzz as he pulls away. “Goodnight, sweet thing.”

-

You’re outside Family Video. Steve emerges from the back room and spots you so fast it’s like he’s got a third eye. He’s both shocked and pleased — he hadn’t expected to see you until after his shift.

You’ve got the kids with you. You and Max are zooming around the carpark on your skateboards while Dustin and Lucas are poised on the hood of your car, poring over comics.

He watches you skate with Max. Like some lame rom-com cliche, your hair is blowing in the wind and Steve swears you’ve moving in slow motion. You’re laughing and joking with Max and Steve stares and stares. Stares until Robin sidles up next to him.

“What’re you— oh.” Steve can hear the smirk in her voice even though he refuses to look at her. “What’re they doing here?”

Steve shrugs and makes an ‘I don’t know’ sound, moving to the counter to put down the box of videos he’s carrying. Robin follows.

“You’re not gonna go say hi to Y/N?” Robin asks slyly. Steve can hear in her voice what’s coming. “You’ve been staring long enough.”

Steve blushes furiously despite himself. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Oh, sure.” Robin hoists herself onto the counter, peers into the box of videos and picks one out at random. “Just like you weren’t holding her hand on Tuesday night?”

Steve can’t exactly get himself out of that one. He snatches the video from Robin with an annoyed tsk, slotting it back into the box. Her laugh is devilish.

“You are hopeless, Steven,” she says, whacking Steve over the head as she hops off the counter.

Steve rubs his head and glares at Robin. If looks could kill she’d be dead meat. “That’s not my name.”

Robin gets this look on her face that Steve knows all too well. He wants to pummel her before she’s even said anything.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, all sarcasm. “What is it, then? Stevie?”

Steve’s blood boils. Only you’re allowed to call him that.

“Y’know what, Robin?” He says loudly. He turns on his coworker, seething. She’s totally nonchalant, a stupid smirk on her lips. “Why don’t you just leave me—?”

“Steve!”

A shout of his name from the door. He turns and finds Lucas standing there, looking panicked.

Steve’s brow furrows. Then he notices you and Max are no longer whizzing around the carpark. “What—“

“Y/N fell,” Lucas says, out of breath. “We think she hurt her wrist.”

Steve’s heart drops. “Shit.”

He goes flying out the door and into the parking lot. You’re sitting on the concrete, one knee pulled up to your chest, your skateboard dormant next to you. Max is kneeling over you, and Dustin has graciously abandoned his comics for your sake.

“Y/N!” He damn near shouts. He runs over to you and Max and gets on his knees. He’s probably just ruined his jeans on the concrete — he doesn’t give a single fuck.

“Y/N,” he says frantically, a tentative hand landing on your shoulder. Both your knees are scraped something awful and a nasty gash blooms on the outside of your wrist. Steve’s worry is loud and his heartbeat twice as much. “Y/N, are you okay? What happened? What’s—“

You look up. Your eyes are shining but you’ve got a dopey smile on your lips.

“Steve,” you say breathlessly. You blink and a tear falls from your eye and over the bump of your cheek. “Hi. Good to see you.”

Steve stares at you in horror. How can you be making jokes at a time like this? You laugh wetly and Steve looks at Max, totally alarmed.

“What happened?” He demands.

Max is much calmer than he is. “She went over a bump or something,” she says. She’s rubbing your back and Steve feels a rush of gratitude for the younger girl. “Fell on her left arm. Her wrist might be sprained or broken, but—“

“Broken?” Steve repeats. He’s pretty sure his soul just left his body.

“I said might,” Max says through her teeth.

“Y/N?” Steve slides his arm around your shoulder, carefully avoiding your left wrist, which you're cradling in your uninjured hand. “Y/N, baby, can you get up?”

You make a noise like a scoff but it’s muffled by your sniffly nose. “‘Course I can.”

Steve helps you anyway, Max on your other side keeping a firm hold on your jacket. You hiss as you straighten your legs, knee-wounds sprouting fresh blood. Steve bites down on his lips so hard he almost bleeds himself.

“Are you gonna take her to the hospital?” Max asks. There’s genuine worry in her eyes that Steve barely sees. Dustin, Lucas and Robin appear, looking equally worried.

Steve puts on a brave face. “Think so. What do you think?” He asks Max. “You’re the skateboard expert.”

She grins so quick Steve almost misses it. It disappears when she looks at you in your bloody and bruised state. “Yeah. Just in case.”

Steve walks you over to your car, half dragging you. Not that you need him to, he just can’t bear for you to hurt any more than you already are. He deposits you in the passenger seat, ducks his head in to pull your seatbelt across your torso. He’s seconds from ducking back out when you stop him, your uninjured hand on his chest, right over his racing heart.

“It hurts,” you say, quiet enough that only Steve can hear. Your eyes are welling up again. Steve feels like crying himself.

“I know,” he says, nodding vigorously like it will make a difference. “I know, sweet girl. It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be okay.”

At this point he’s talking to himself as well as you. You nod in an exhausted sort of way and Steve presses a kiss to your cheek. Slow and soft and as close to your lips as he’s ever kissed. He has to take a few seconds to compose himself before straightening up and turning to the others.

“I gotta take her,” he says, sending an apologetic grimace in Robin’s direction.

Robin nods once and surprisingly, doesn’t say a word. She looks about as sympathetic as Steve has ever seen her. He turns to the kids.

“Help Robin,” he says. He’s trying desperately to make his voice sound normal but falling short of the mark. Everyone notices but nobody comments. “Don’t mess up the store.”

He gives a grateful smile to Max and then rounds the car, hopping in and starting the engine.

-

You’re half asleep on Steve’s couch, your head in his lap. You’re wearing his yellow sweater — the one he bought only because you’d said he’d look good in yellow. You’ve just woken up from a post-hospital nap and Steve’s hand is in your hair, brushing slow strokes over the side of your head.

He’s feeling a lot of things. Relieved, for starters. The doctor had said it was only a sprain, they’d bandaged up your wrist and you’d left the hospital in far better conditions. Steve was in far better conditions, too.

Steve looks down at you, at your bandaged wrist and the huge bandaids on your knees and thinks, fuck. He thinks his heart is about to claw its way out of his chest. He doesn’t think he can take this love thing any longer.

You stir and take a long breath, turning your head in Steve’s lap to look up at him. Your eyes are tired but you’re smiling.

“You okay?” Steve asks softly. He doesn’t want to break the silence. It feels good, to sit in silence and comfort with you. He runs his fingers through your hair again.

You nod. “Mhm. I’m good.”

“Hurting?”

You shift in his lap. “No, not right now.”

You fall silent and Steve doesn’t know what to say. He wants to tell you how worried he was about you, but you could probably tell. Anyone with a pair of eyes could tell he was nauseous-level worried. Then he thinks about telling you he loves you. It’s a stupid reason, really, but it was all because a nurse had asked if he was your boyfriend. He’d wished he could say yes.

“Steve?”

Steve hums and meets your eyes. You move to sit up and Steve helps you, knowing you won’t let him stop you. A firm hand between your shoulder blades, his palm sliding down your back as you straighten yourself. You shift so you’re facing him, your legs crossed beneath you and your injured wrist resting in your lap. Steve is careful to avoid your wounded knees.

“What is it, babe?” Steve asks quietly. He brings his hand up to caress your cheek, dragging his thumb over a spot where your tears had smudged your mascara earlier.

You melt into his hand, eyes falling shut as a long, deep sigh falls from your lips. You raise your good hand to cover his, holding it to your face. Your hand burns stars onto the back of his.

“Is it your wrist?” Steve asks. You’re acting strange. He puts it down to your injured state. “Your knees? Do you want more ice? New band-aids?”

He’s being a total worrywart, he knows, but who can blame him?

You shake your head, eyes open but cast down. “No.”

“Just feeling bad?” He asks through a frown. In a strange parallel to a couple of days ago, he lifts his free hand to press his palm to your forehead. You feel warm but not hot.

“It’s …” you start, then trail off. Both yours and Steve’s hands fall to your lap.

Steve’s concern spikes. You’ve never been one to hide anything from him. “Yeah?”

“Um, it’s … it’s silly but—“ You take a deep breath and let your eyes raise to Steve’s. You get a look on your face Steve doesn’t quite understand, but it makes his heart leap to his throat anyway. “You know today, when that nurse asked us if you were my boyfriend?”

Steve laughs embarrassedly, too loud and too sudden. So you’d been thinking about that, too. He pulls his hand away from your lap and rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, that was kinda weird, wasn’t it?” He says, though it wasn’t really. Almost every new person he meets thinks you’re dating him. “I was—”

“I wanted to say yes, Stevie.”

Steve stops talking abruptly, his mouth slamming shut. He hadn’t really known what he was about to say, anyway. He searches for words but all he comes up with is a garbled, “What?”

You laugh, all soft and slow and distorted by fatigue. You raise your hand to rub your neck, a mirror of Steve only a moment ago.

“I wanted to say yes,” you repeat, like it’s obvious. Even the second time, Steve doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. His chest feels like it’s on fire, worse when you say, “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

For once in his life, Steve has nothing to say. He gazes at you like you’re some sort of angel on earth. Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe he’s in some cruel dream and he’s about to wake up with his chest aching.

“I …” Steve‘s voice catches on the words. His throat burns so he mustn’t be dreaming. He tries again. “Y-You … you do?”

He’s not even embarrassed by the stuttering. Just when he didn’t think he could be any more in love with you, you giggle. He was dead wrong. His heart grows about three sizes too big for his chest.

“Yeah, Steve,” you say, fondness smothering your fake exasperation. “Do you … do you want me to be your girlfriend?”

What Steve wants is to kiss you. He wants to kiss you til you can’t breathe and then some more after that. Silently, he takes your injured wrist in his hand and gently shifts it so it’s out of the way, resting on the couch cushions. Then he grabs your face, fingers splayed over your jaw and neck. He can feel your pulse. It’s almost as quick as his. He leans so close he can hear every breath you’re taking.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. “That okay?”

You laugh a giddy, breathless laugh, surprised at his suddenness. “Please do.”

He slams his eyes shut, darts forward to kiss you and fucking misses. Your noses bump. A surprised giggle bubbles from you and Steve goes red.

“Wait, I’m sorry—“ He tries again, tilting your head to one side and angling his head to the other. This time it works perfectly, and your giggling is swallowed up by Steve’s mouth, lips fitting together like they were made for each other.

You sigh and go all melty and Steve’s heart skyrockets. It feels like everything in the world is falling into place. It’s years of longing, eternities of lingering touches and offhand compliments and longing glances all rolled into one life changing kiss. Your good hand has jumped to Steve’s chest, first bunched in the material of his t-shirt and then spreading over it, palm atop his wild heart. He thinks he might die on the spot. Or like, catch on fire or something.

Steve is losing breath but he won’t stop just yet. He drops his hands to your shoulders and pulls away a hair’s breadth. Then he dives back in for one, two, three kisses that you respond to with all the eagerness in the world. Your kisses are so lovely they make him light-headed.

When Steve pulls away (for oxygen, nothing less) you chase his lips with yours. He laughs, all fondness. He’s dizzy with love.

“Woah, hold your horses, cowboy,” he says through a woozy laugh. He’s finding it hard to speak. He barely hears himself. For all he knows, he’s talking in an alien language.

“Sorry,” you whisper, not sounding very sorry at all. “So … was that a yes?”

Steve has to laugh. He can’t help it. “Are you kidding? Yes, Y/N. That was a yes. I—“

He’s rudely interrupted by someone banging on the door. He thinks he knows who it is. Only one person he knows knocks that hard.

He sighs morosely but he can’t keep the grin off his face for very long. “I’ll get it.”

He heaves himself off the couch and makes for the front door. You stop him before he gets very far, a hand in his bicep.

“Wait, Steve.”

Steve turns, puzzled. “Yeah?”

You’re lifting your chin up, lips parted. Steve knows exactly what you want.

His grin grows impossibly wider as he bends at the waist to kiss you once, chaste and slow and just as perfect as the kisses shared moments ago. When he pulls away you’re smiling so big he’s worried you’ll get stuck like that forever. He wouldn’t mind.

Another round of banging from the door. Steve sighs, squeezes your good shoulder once and then marches to the front door, just about ready to kick the intruder off his front porch. He opens the door and finds his suspicions were correct. It’s Dustin.

He’s holding a handful of flowers that look suspiciously similar to the ones that grow in Steve’s mom’s garden.

“Those for me?” Steve asks. He shoots his arm out to stop Dustin from barging in, hand gripping the door frame.

Dustin pulls a face. “Ew. No, they’re for Y/N.” He steps aside and more kids appear, plus Robin and Eddie. Eddie’s van has been parked haphazardly in Steve’s driveway. “Can we come in or are you gonna stand there and guard the door like that all night?”

“She’s tired.”

“But we bought chocolates.”

“Well—“

“Dustin?” You call from the living room. Oh, great. Now Steve’s gonna have to let them in. “S’that you?”

Dustin beams and gives Steve an expectant look. Steve drops his arm with a defeated sigh and Dustin goes marching in like he owns the place. Max, Lucas and even Mike follow. Mike, who never shows up to anything. Though Steve shouldn’t be surprised. You’re Mike’s favourite, out of the older ones.

Eddie comes next, then Robin, who stops to give Steve a grimace.

“Sorry,” she says wryly. “They really wanted to see her.”

Steve shrugs good-naturedly. He’s on cloud nine and much too happy to care all that much. He follows Robin into the living room and finds everyone crowded around you, Max on your side and Dustin getting down on one knee to present you the probably-stolen flowers like you’re the Queen of England. You look the same as Steve feels — kiss bitten and with your head in another world. But you’re pleased by the company, he can tell.

Dustin moves to give you one of his bone-crushing hugs and Steve goes all panic mode.

“Please be careful with her!” He says urgently, his panic obvious under the usual demanding tone he takes with the kids.

But you’re laughing under Dustin’s hug, and Steve can’t stay mad when you look like that. You meet his eyes over a mop of curly hair and your gaze goes all mushy and sweet. Steve’s legs feel like jelly. If he keeled over dead right now, he wouldn’t be surprised.

He’s sure someone will see but he doesn’t really care. Grinning from ear to ear, he mouths, “Love you.”

He’s said it before, of course he has, you’re his best friend in the whole entire world. This time though, it’s all the more different. It’s better. You flush, oblivious to the noisy chatter around you.

“Love you too,” you mouth back.

Steve can’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

thank you for reading! feedback is appreciated!! reblog this and I’ll kiss you on the mouth mwah

I got really bored at 4am this morning and started making Queen As Tweets™ lmao who am I

I'm loving all The Last of Us fics.

Can't wait for the next chapters. Can I be added to your tag list?

Tess really have courage to sleep next to y/n's husband, make heart eyes on him and yet dare to blame y/n for all of it. Y/n really is a better person than me, because I would have slapped her so hard... 😡😡😡

I'm loving all the interactions between Ellie and Y/n. So precious 🥺🥺

“Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you, darlin’….” MASTERLIST

[Part one] -HAPPY BIRTHDAY- You, Joel and Sarah just want to have a birthday party for your husband, but unfortunately, luck isn’t on your side.

[Part two] - CONTAMINATED ZONE DO NOT ENTER- twenty years later, and you and Joel are working your ass off. Problem is his business partner is problematic

[Part 3] -FLIES ARE BETTER CAUGHT WITH HONEY- you and the group take off to get Ellie to the state building. You learn more about her and you and Ellie actually get really close

[Part 4] -“PASS.”- you find your way thru the hotel and into a museum. Ellie and Joel seem to be warming up to eachother. If not begrudgingly

[Part 5] - NO ONE MOURNS THE WICKED - making your way through the museum, Ellie learns what a clicker is. Tess gets intimately acquainted as well.

TO BE CONTINUED….

—————————————

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I just can't with this! You make me cry! I miss Freddie so much and this imagine make me feel so next from he. Absolutely thank you for this! ❤

Dear Freddie

5 September 1946 - 24 November 1991. 

In memory of Freddie Mercury, I wrote this imagine. It’s not your traditional sort of imagine, nor is it a Freddie x reader sort of thing. Rather, it’s everything I’ve always wanted to say to Freddie in an interaction with him if I could travel back in time to. 

Freddie is one of the best things to ever happen to me and I felt as though I needed this to celebrate it. It was rather cathartic to write and I do hope you enjoy. I’m sorry if he’s a little out of character in this but he’s truly his own and this is my version of him.

Word Count: 5.4k.  Warnings: None. But I miss Freddie and this may make you miss him too. 

- 

“You’re not funny.”

In the middle of her flat in present-day London, you roll your eyes at your best friend. She had called you to schedule a dinner on November 24th and explained that you had to dress nice because she was going to announce something important to you.

You secretly scowled at the thought of having to celebrate something else on a day that was Freddie’s, but she is your best friend and so you complied with her wishes as the night seemed to matter to her.

What you didn’t expect, however, was the audacity of her announcement. She leaned over in a low voice, almost as if she didn’t want anyone to hear even though no one else was in the room.

“I can time travel.” She said, which brought you to where you are now in claiming she was not amusing.

Continuar lendo

“There is a war inside of Butcher, and to get to the dawn, you must first travel through the night. Butcher has both the tendency to be the villain and the hero, which makes him a hell of a lot of fun to play.” – Karl Urban for GQ Magazine.

Everyone who reblogs this post by 11pm EST on Saturday June 22 will get a Good Omens headcanon in their ask box

Yes, e v e r y o n e

REBLOG IF YOU THINK MARVEL IS FOR GIRLS TOO

trying to prove a point to my dad