I Have A Soft Spot For Fanfics Where Y/n Is Cheated On And Bakugou Takes Care Of Her 😭🥰

Suddenly remembered of Preacher, a good serie with a good season one. How it is now?

Ugh, I want my boyfriend to drive to see me so we can go home together 😫😫

Steve is the best! Loved the story. ❤️🥰

Make It Back for Christmas (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Make It Back for Christmas (Rated T)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 1.9k+

Warnings: Mild brief language, holiday fluff, pining Steve and Reader

Summary: It's the last week of the semester and you're dying to head back home to Hawkins for the holiday festivities. Not only that, but you haven't heard from your boyfriend in a week and you're already going through withdrawals. Will you be able to make it back in time for Christmas?

God, you hated finals week. 

This wasn’t like anything you experienced in your high school years. Or was it? Thanks to the last semester of all-nighters and unbelievable amounts of cram studying, the last four years all blended together. 

Three exams. You had three exams this week. Plus a term paper, a research project… one of your professors thought it would be fun to have an exam and a nine-page paper due the same week. Was it nine pages single-spaced or double? Hell if you knew. Your brain had already begun to hurt just thinking about everything you did to army-crawl your way through to break. Even though most of the hard work was done, you weren’t out of the clear yet— you still had a five hour drive home on Saturday and you hadn't packed yet. 

You just had to select a college five hours away. You hated being away from your home of small town Hawkins, Indiana. You missed your family, your friends. Some nights there was nothing you wanted more than to spend a few hours at the local arcade or the neighboring video store. 

The only thing that made everything seem a bit more bearable was your boyfriend. Usually, Steve would be the first one you would call and talk to after your latest exam or assignment, but you haven’t been able to reach him in days. The two of you had gotten together the summer before you left for college. It was a sweet summer romance story. You had known each other for years, practically growing up together. It was the typical cliche: two friends who had been skirting around their feelings throughout high school, mainly due to one garnering a reputation. 

Although, when you were with Steve, that’s all he was: Steve. Not overly cocky King Steve, not party keg master Steve; he was Steve Harrington, your best friend since preschool who always stole your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches because you hated them. The same Steve who would sit with you for hours in the backyard watching the clouds or the stars, listening to you talk about your superficial problems like they were an international threat of war. The Steve who was so terrified going out on his first date with Samantha Hollis in the sixth grade, he spent most of the morning excessively brushing his hair and gargling mouthwash in your bathroom while talking about his big first kiss plan — a conversation that later had your stomach turning and your dinner in the upstairs toilet. You hadn’t realized it at first, but you had fallen head over heels for your best friend. 

When you finally recognized and came to terms with your feelings for Steve in junior year, it had been too late. He had already started his “perfect” relationship with his dream girl: Nancy Wheeler. You had no malice toward the girl. In fact, you were both good friends. It was just hard to maintain that friendship when all the conversations ever gravitated toward was, well, your shared connection. 

“Steve and I were going to see that movie!”

“Oh, you’ll never believe what Steve said the other night.”

“Oh my god, isn’t he so clumsy? It’s adorable.”

Forced smiles and friendly nods became second nature for you. All you wanted was for Steve to be happy. If he was happy with Nancy, then you were happy for him. You had to admit they made an attractive couple. She was helping him in ways you never could, helping him succeed instead of just encouraging him to try and make a change. They were an unstoppable team. Steve didn’t need you anymore and you had to come to terms with it. You slowly began to distance yourself, just so you could sort through your feelings and not be awkward around them. It made things easier at first. 

Then Nancy broke his heart at Tina’s halloween bash. Suddenly you found yourself thrust back and immersed into Steve’s life once more. Only this time, you leaned into his touches a little more than usual. You two sat a bit too close at movie night. You split too many meals at the local diner. It was only when Dustin Henderson made a passing comment about how the two of you acted like an old married couple did you snap back to reality and attempt to distance yourself from Steve again. He didn’t need to lose the love of his life and another friend at the same time because you couldn’t keep your feelings in check. So you resorted to only hang around him with the kids when he needed to play carpool, taking them to the arcade, or the farmer’s market, or even the grocery store to pick up 

This only seemed to confuse your best friend. “Why aren’t you spending time with me?” he asked you when you brought El and Max to the mall over the summer. 

“What are you talking about?” you tried to appear nonchalant, like you weren’t doing this on purpose even if it killed you. Unfortunately, your poker face needed some much needed work. 

“No, no,” the look he gave you that day would haunt you forever. Steve looked like you had just kicked his puppy right in front of him. “Don’t bullshit me. You’ve been avoiding me all summer since we graduated. The only time I ever see you is with the kids and even then you spend more time with Dustin than me!”

It was true. After Dustin had oh-so-kindly exposed your emotions, you had somehow convinced the child to be your partner in distracting you from Steve. Well, it was less of a convincing and more of a “if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll lovingly end you” type of agreement. He stuck to you like Velcro when the three of you went out, making sure there were very few interactions that could lead into moments of longing. 

“It’s nothing, Steve,” you had tried explaining with no success. “Dustin just really wants my attention is all, I guess.” 

A frown on his face, Steve turned away mumbling something under his breath. You weren’t quite sure at the time, but it did sound oddly similar to, “he’s not the only one.”

It wasn’t until you found yourselves trapped in a Russian underground that you had to face more than one fear. Trapped in your own room, the soldiers tried to get you to admit how you found their base. They had even stabbed you with some type of drug, which you would only later discover its use. You couldn’t tell how long it was before you were released with the help of your best friend. Steve had looked so worse for wear, but even in the chaos, he was only concerned about your safety and well-being. 

“Are you okay?!” his slurred speech inquired as he ran hands up and down your arms before cradling your face. 

You weren’t sure if it was the stress or the inclusion of a truth serum in your system, but you did the only thing you could think of to answer his incessant questions: you leaned forward and kissed him. 

And he kissed you back. 

From that moment on, everything was different. You had gone from being best friends, to two people who went out to dinner, to being in an honest to goodness relationship. Just over a year later, you’re sat in your dorm room with a receiver broadcasting a busy signal in your ear. 

This was the sixth time this week Steve hadn’t answered the phone. He hadn’t called for his daily good morning or good nights. He didn’t call to check in on you during what he knew was going to be a stressful week. Concerned about his safety, you reached out to Dustin several times, who assured you that Steve was fine. He was just busy with all of the families renting out movies for the holidays. You knew you weren’t entitled to his time, but all the same…it had been a long week and all you wanted was to hear your boyfriend’s voice. 

Allowing a sigh to escape your lips, you dialed Steve’s number again, this time with the intent to leave a message. When the recording of his mother’s bored yet powerful voice played, you bit your lip to refrain from showing too much emotion over the phone. “Hey Steve,” you started. “It’s uh, it’s me calling…again. I just wanted to let you know that I, uh, that I miss you. Miss hearing your voice, seeing you. And I hope that you’re doing okay. Just a few more days until I can start my drive home and see you!” 

You let out a sad chuckle as there was a knock on your bedroom door. Your roommate, Allie, probably wanted to use the phone since you’d been hogging it for a few hours. “Oh, I gotta go. Call me back soon, okay? Love you.” As you hung up the phone, you moved to open the door. “Sorry, Allie. Just wanted to make sure-“

“Make sure I was doing okay?” A familiar voice cut you off and your breath caught in your throat.  You couldn’t believe it. Standing in front of you with rosy frost bitten cheeks, tired eyes, and the brightest smile you’ve ever seen was Steve. “I’d say I’m doing much better now that I’ve seen you, sweetheart.”

Without much thought, you ran into his arms and kissed him. And kissed him. And kissed him one more time, just for good measure. It was messy, all smiles and awkward breathing, but it was perfect. “What-“ you stuttered in surprise once you caught your breath. “What are you doing here? Why haven't you called?!”

Steve grinned sheepishly, head bent down to stare right in your gaze. A few strands of his perfectly unruly dark hair fell directly in his line of sight and you automatically moved your hand to brush it away. “I knew if I picked up the phone it would be really hard for me to keep my mouth shut. Did you really think I’d let my baby drive home alone for Christmas?” he said with mock disdain. “I don’t think that would make me a very good boyfriend, do you?”

“I have a car.”

“Yeah,” your boyfriend nodded in agreement, “but why waste gas if you’re not going to use it in Hawkins.” 

You frowned. What was he talking about? 

“Baby, you’re with the Harrington car service,” Steve’s smooth voice rolled over you like honey. “It’s door-to-door service, even during your trip.”

“….so you’re kidnapping me and not letting me drive my own car.” 

Steve gave a small huff, shoulders slouched. “Gee, when you put it like that…you really sucked the romance out of it, babe. You know I did just drive five hours-“

You silenced him with a gentle kiss to the lips. While not as rough or as passionate as the first reunion, it was just as loving. Your fingers curled around the soft fabric of his white Henley top and pulled him closer. He stumbled a bit from the action, but soon rested his hands on either of your hips, a low hum vibrating his throat. 

“I love you,” you whispered. 

The smile on Steve’s face stretched out to be a mile wide. “I love you, too, baby,” he replied, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Now come on. Let’s get you all packed up.”

You laughed at his dramatic hand gestures before he crossed his way into your room. “Your chariot awaits, my dear,” he mused, turning his head to glance back at you over his shoulder. “It’s time to get you back home for Christmas.”

====================

Author's Note: So this is happening. Is everyone excited?! To say I've been looking forward to this event for the last month plus now. I just want to give a small shout-out and thank you to two very amazing people, @bakerstreethound (for encouraging me to keep writing) and @upsidedownwithsteve (for inspiring me to try my hand at this -- so sorry for the tag!).

Writing this and some of the other fics for this event have me convinced Steve would be the perfect boyfriend around the holidays, even if he may be a bit of Scrooge sometimes. The number of times I've smiled writing these pieces...I've lost count. But stay tuned because we have a lot more headed your way (including some dad!Steve...)!

If you liked this post and want to see more like it on my blog, please make sure to leave a comment and reblog it! While likes are appreciated, it's these two things that really help spread the word about my writing and motivate me to keep making new content! Until next time, my little sparks! <3

This is so awesome!!!

THE BEST INFINITY WAR FANART EVER!

I usually refrain from posting fan-made posters, but this was just too awesome! Job well done, ‘themadbutcher’, this could pass as the official poster! Clearly inspired by the classic “Infinity Gauntlet” comicbook, and rightfully so!

Stephen Strange viewed 14,000,605 possible futures to the confrontation on Titan. He answered, “one” when Tony Stark asked him how many of those possibilities ended in victory. It was a lie of good purpose.

He saw 8,204,456 possible paths to take that would lead to Thanos being defeated before he could fulfill his short-sighted dream. 2,982,014 of those would stop Thanos before he could even get his hands on the Mind Stone.

The problem was what happened after.

He watched the stones fall into various hands. Governments, military organizations, religious groups; the world burned no more than three years into the future. Private hands and public faces, curious hands and insatiable genius, good hands and even better intentions. The end came within eight months at the utmost.

Captain America.

Tony Stark.

Himself.

Stephen flinched the visions away and moved on.

The stones left Earth. She still crumbled. The stones traveled from realm to realm. Worlds were left charred in their wake. The stones scattered to the furthermost edges of the universe. A being with a vision began to gather them together again. Sometimes it was even Thanos.

Stephen threw away 8,204,456 victories and began to consider 5,796,149 defeats. He threw away 5,002,795 possibilities in which Thanos tasted victory, and peace, and was remembered as one who had done that which could not be undone.

793,354 paths that began with Thanos’s victory, but did not end with it.

Stephen saved as many as could be saved, then frowned at the number of options he had left, still. He looked again at the primary pieces on the board; who they were, why they fought, what they wished for. He watched Natasha Romanov bleed out, stand up, fall down, and hide. He watched T’Challa die, over and over again. He watched Bruce Banner laugh at his enemies and at himself, and cry in the half-shadows under a table like a frightened little boy.

He watched Captain America fight, and fight, and fight. His eyes tightened under a frown.

He watched Tony Stark sacrifice himself, over and over, for someone, anyone, everyone. His jaw clenched against nausea stirring low in his chest.

He watched himself misdirect and manipulate and make decisions for other people just as he was doing in this endless moment. Well…that was as it was. He shrugged that off and considered.

Fourteen million futures; he’d gotten to know the key architects rather intimately, albeit in an abstract way. Stephen threw away the paths in which Bruce Banner lived as a hunted animal. The good doctor deserved better. He granted James Barnes safety as well; they would have need of him later. The same for T’Challa, and then eighty-two others of importance to the future he was attempting to secure.

248,720.

Stephen was down to small variations on a theme. One Ross getting shot in the shoulder and being forced into retirement. Another Ross suffering from hemorrhoids five years down the road. He saved Everett and left Thaddeus to his fate and doughnut-shaped cushions. He reviewed the heroes and dreamers and fighters and lovers again, and chose to give them what health and happiness he could, because why not? He’d always enjoyed playing God.

42.

He had to narrow it down to one. Forty-two paths, each one as good as the next in the grand scheme of things, but they could only follow one. He had to say that there was only one, so that they’d listen to him. He might as well choose a happy ending for himself, too.

There were eighteen invitations to dinner that he’d find the opportunity to extend, and twelve would be accepted. Nine restaurants that would lead to a moonlit walk, and six conversations that would end in bed. Five mornings after that would secure him a second dinner date. Two proposals that would be shot down, and one that he would accept with a surprising humility making his hands shake anew.

Stephen opened his eyes.

[Stinger: Imagine Stephen pointing at the Avengers like Scarface in Half Baked. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool Tony, and fuck you in particular, Steve Rogers. I’m out!” *throws Time Stone and hits Thanos between the eyes*]

do not chastise the dove (4) ✧ steven grant, marc spector, jake lockley

do not chastise the dove ✧ a royal moon knight au | ao3 | pinterest board

pairing: knight!steven grant x fem!princess!reader x knight!marc spector x knight!jake lockley

series summary: you were a princess who would rather be anything but a royal; he was the knight her father forced her to marry—a true match made in hell if there ever was one. but, as the wedding inches closer and closer, it seems that, perhaps, your father had finally done something right by you. 

chapter summary: things get much, much worse. 

word count: 4,028

warnings?: royal au, arranged marriage, mention of affair, mention of illegitimate child, mention of assassination attempt, mention of demonization of did, pet name (dove), not proofread

Continuar lendo

I did read this one a while ago and it's one of the best Sherlock fanfic I have read. One of my favorites too 😍🥰

𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞 — 𝐬.𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐬

𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦. sherlock holmes x fem!reader (requested)

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲. a little bit angsty, fluff, mentions of violence and blood

𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲. the reader is sherlock’s soulmate and has the ability to take her soulmate’s pain and heal his wounds. she’s been taking sherlock’s pain since the day she found out he was her soulmate, but there’s one problem: he doesn’t know. until the day she gets hurt.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤. i’m so sorry it took me so long to write, but I truly hope you like it! i may have changed some small details while writing this fic, nothing major though. And i hope oididn’t misunderstand anything in your request. if so, i sincerely apologize, love! @tom-hlover

𝖫𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖧. 2.631 words

MASTERLIST

Continuar lendo

These are the most precious pictures that I ever have seen

© @clashpistols

tony stark + evolution

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

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trying to prove a point to my dad