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wlw-imagines · 4 months

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A Hunter By Trade - Ruby Lucas/Reader (Once Upon a Time)

prompt: "Could I request a Ruby(from OUAT) x reader one shot where R is a werewolf hunter and doesn't know Ruby is a werewolf and when R finds out Ruby is terrified that she'll leave her or kill her but instead the reader quits being a hunter and becomes a cop with Emma and David? Some fluff in the end?" - anon

a/n: these are from my old tumblr thefandomwritings from back in 2018 ! re-vamped and re-purposed!! hope u enjoy and forgive the 2018 me style writing

Having just finished your shift in the forest, hunting under Mr Gold's insistence, you were happy to finally be off work for another month and back with your girlfriend at Granny's Diner. Ruby's long hours of working there often meant you're schedules of night shifts and hers of day shifts would clash but for the next month you were free to spend time with her,

"Morning Y/N." Emma gave you a small wave as you walked into the Diner like you did every morning after work.

You sent Emma and Henry a tired smile, "Morning you two. Hot chocolate and waffles before school, Henry?" You asked the young boy who smiled cheekily and nodded, stuffing a forkful of his breakfast into his mouth.

You were going to stop for a chat before you realised you still had your hunting weapons on you and you should probably get rid of them. Your knife still strapped to your thigh and your silver gun still in its holster at your hip. Emma seemed to notice at the same time and was about to speak but was fortunately cut off by your girlfriend.

"Y/N! Good morning, how was work?" Ruby asked, wrapping her arms around you in a warm hug.

In an attempt to make your working life sound normal you simply shrugged and mumbled, "Quiet", which wasn't too far from the truth. You had never actually told Ruby exactly what your job entailed. All she really knew was that you had to work night shifts. However, she seemed content enough with your answer and pressed a light kiss to your lips.

Smiling, you pulled her close to you. You missed her when you were out working, you enjoyed the warmth and comfort just being in her arms caused you. Then that little moment was ruined by Emma inevitably speaking up.

"Need a gun for work, Y/N?" You turned to see her raising an eyebrow, looking at you intensely over her own steaming drink.

You rolled your eyes, "It's perfectly legal Swan." Justifying your actions as you sensed her legal conscience was starting to make an appearance.

Ruby's grip on you slowly loosened and you noticed her frown slightly, "You have a gun? How didn't I know you have a gun?"

"It's nothing Ruby. It was my mother's before she died," You smiled softly but Ruby still seemed unconvinced, "Mr Gold kindly made sure I got it a couple of weeks ago. Just before the spell broke."

Ruby shifted slightly, looking more uneasy by the minute, "But what's it for? Why do you even need it?" She protested.

"Originally it was just in memory of my mother but then Gold needed a favour so I thought I'd help him out and so more recently I've just been using it to keep the town safe, I guess. That's all he asked me to do. It's kind of in my blood to do it." You smiled proudly, now knowing that your mother and your mother's mother had both been Hunter's and now, in your own little way, you were honouring that.

"Keeping the town safe, isn't that my job?" Emma now joined in the inquisition, making your head spin slightly, "And you’re doing work for Gold?"

"Just as a favour, I patrol the woods at night, but I-" You stopped and took a deep breath, deciding that if they could just see how harmless your gun truly was then they'd give you a break. "I've never shot a person with it." You said, meekly as you carefully placed the gun down on the table.

"A silver gun?" You heard Ruby ask in an unusually quiet voice.

You were about to respond when Henry's cutlery clattered onto his plate, "You hunt werewolves? You're a Hunter? How didn't I see this before?" He asked incredulously, putting two and two together. "But-" He looked at Ruby but before he could continue you interrupted him in order to defend yourself.

"Woah, kid, no one said anything about werewolves." You shook your head, whilst having found out recently that that was in your blood, there were things that you couldn't bring yourself to do. Killing another human, in any form, was one of them. "I’d never- Look, Gold hired me to make sure that the wolves- that any animals don't create havoc or ruin his land o-or affect farmland." You clicked your gun back into its holster as it clearly wasn't being any use in calming anyone down. In fact, you were just getting more and more flustered as more questions were fired at you.

"Sure, that's what he told you." Henry got increasingly agitated, "You know you shouldn't kill anything. Don't you know who Ruby-" Emma quickly stood up and spoke over Henry.

"Okay, okay, enough chit-chat. Henry, let's get you to school." She gave him a look and left enough money to cover the food and drink on the table.

"But-"

"Henry, now." She clicked her fingers and Henry sighed in defeat before picking his bag up. He gave Ruby an apologetic look and just looked at you, contemplating what to say as he walked past. Whatever it was got interrupted by his mother as she practically pulled him out of the now empty Diner, "Faster, Henry."

You watched them leave in confusion before turning to Ruby, "Babe, I-"

"I don't want to talk right now." She turned away from you, clearing Emma and Henry's table. You frowned and reached out to your girlfriend's side, pulling her gently to you. She swatted you away and you swore she almost let out a small growl, "Y/N, just leave me alone!"

You shook your head, "I don't understand, I practically do the same job as Emma but just with animals rather than people. I found something I'm actually good at Ruby! Why can't you be happy for me, I-"

"Was your Mother a werewolf hunter? Back in the Enchanted Forest. Was she a Hunter?" She interrupted you, her voice increasing in volume before she slammed the plates down behind the counter. "Did she hunt animals?"

You hesitated before finally nodding, "Yes." You admitted and Ruby scoffed.

"So it's 'in your blood' to kill animals, is it? To kill-"

"No! I mean... yeah. But-"

"Then why do you need a gun, a silver gun? With silver bullets? Used to kill werewolves. Why do you need weapons if you don't kill?"

"Okay, well, on the odd occasion, I've had to-"

"Great!" She let out a loud sarcastic laugh and shook her head.

"But only when it's really necessary. And I told you I don't kill people! Okay? Whatever form they're in, I will not kill a person, okay? I'm not my mother, Ruby-"

She shook her head and clenched her teeth, "It turns out there is still a lot I don't know about you Y/N." She whispered, looking you dead in the eye as she spoke.

"No, that's not fair. There are things about you that I don't know too. There are still things about everyone I thought I knew that I don't know because of this stupid curse but we're working it out!" You reasoned, willing yourself not to think the worse about this situation. There was a horrible silence as you waited for her to say something. Anything. And when she finally did, it wasn't what you had expected at all.

"I don't think I feel safe around you, Y/N." She backed away from you ever so slightly and refused to look you in the eye. For the first time you've known Ruby, she genuinely looked frightened. Of you.

Your stomach dropped at her confession and you shut your eyes for a few moments and took a second to breath. "If this is about the gun then I only have it to protect you, Ruby. It's to protect everyone. I love you. I would never, ever do anything to hurt you. I just want to protect you."

"From what?"

You clenched your fists and slammed a hand on the counter, tired from repeating the same thing. If Ruby had been wanting your answer to change each time to something she would rather hear then she was out of luck, "From rabid animals." You cried out, getting angry at such a stupid fight over such a tiny thing.

"What? Animals like me, you mean?" She asked, contrasting your loud anger with a quiet fear. Whilst her eyes looked terrified she attempted to make herself look brave and confrontational by jutting her chin up slightly and staring you down but you knew her too well.

The anger inside of you quickly dissipated and you slowly approached her, treating her like one would a spooked horse or a trapped rabbit. "What do you mean by that?"

"Y-You said that there were things you don't know about me and that's true." You watched as she began to crumble, her eyes starting to become tearful. "I'm a werewolf. Your kind hunt me and my kind." She finally croaked out.

You both stood and stared at each other over the counter for a few minutes, not quite knowing what to do. There was a part of you that couldn't believe you didn't know, that she hadn't told you. A whole other part started to recognise the little signs that you had slowly picked up on but stubbornly ignored.

The tiny bell at the top of the door to Granny's rung, knocking you out of your thoughts and back into reality. Now that the diner was no longer empty you couldn't stay there any longer. You need an explanation but it couldn't be done there and besides, there was something more important you had to do first, "I have to go." You finally spoke up, not quite daring to look into Ruby's tear soaked eyes and instead keeping your head down and walking out the door.

Driving around for hours to clear your head eventually led you to the Sheriff's department, knowing Emma would be there by now. You ran in, throwing your gun on the table and crossing your arms as you stared down at the blonde woman. "How long did you know who my girlfriend was?"

Emma sighed and grimaced slightly, "She told you?"

"Mhmm." You flopped down in the chair opposite Emma and started chewing your lip. There was a long pause between the two of you, seeing as you were completely absorbed with your own thoughts.

Emma took a deep breath, eventually choosing to cut off the silence, "What are you going to do?" You shook your head slightly.

"I was born to be a Hunter, Emma." You noticed her raise an eyebrow slightly and so you hastened to add, "But I love Ruby. So much." You'd never do anything to hurt her, that much you knew.

"You're going to return the gun to Gold?"

"No." You shrugged, "I'll lock it up someone safe, I suppose. So no one can make use of it."

Emma put her hand on your shoulder and smiled fondly, "You made the right decision."

You sat in silence for a bit, Emma leafing through some paperwork as you tried to get your brain to absorb everything that had happened in the last few hours, "I won't miss the long nights, that's for sure." You eventually said, only just realising you were technically now out of a job. "Anyway, I should go. Thanks Em, for helping me figure out what's right."

Just before you made your way out of the door, Emma stopped you in your tracks by shouting after you, "Hey, Y/N, if you need a job we might just have an opening here for you. Can't guarantee you'll never work a night shift again, but you can keep on protecting Ruby and the town. You can just do it a bit more legally." You slowly turned back to your friend and smiled, shooting her a quick nod.

"You're on, Swan."

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It was gone noon once you were finished at the police station and you knew Ruby would have finished her shift by now so you swung by your shared apartment, hoping that she would be there.

You were torn between knocking and just walking straight in but ultimately chose the latter option, scared that if you were to knock then she wouldn't answer to you.

"Ruby?"

"I don't want to talk to you." A voice drifted from your left. You hesitantly licked your lips and followed her voice.

"Ruby-" You turned the corner to see her curled up on the sofa beneath a heavy red blanket.

She shook her head and you knew well enough to stop talking. "I just... I cannot believe you'd do this! That you would do something so stupid and so--"

"I quit." You shrugged and took a step closer to your girlfriend.

"What?" She asked, head turning to the side slightly. You clenched your jaw at the pain you had caused within her.

You paused, formulating what you wanted to say before plunging into it. "I'm not a hunter anymore. I quit. I want nothing but to keep you safe and if you don't feel that way with me then I'll change."

Ruby stood up and shook her head, "I don't understand."

"I'd do anything for you. I love you." You finally wrapped your arms around Ruby's waist and pulled her into you, hovering your lips close to hers, "I'm sorry."

The smile on her face grew as she gazed into your eyes and her hands hovered over your hips. She begun to place a trail of kisses from your jaw down your neck. Ready to take it further, you pushed her slightly towards the sofa and tugged slightly at her red shorts. However, before you had the chance, Ruby pulled away and took a deep breath.

"What?" You asked, fearing you had done something wrong.

"What are you going to do now?" She asked, and you could still sense a dash of emotion reappearing from earlier. You pushed to do anything to clear her doubt about you.

You hooked your fingers in the belt loop holes of her shorts and winked, "What do you think about me in uniform?"

Ruby bit her lip and smirked, pushing you down on the sofa, "I think I could get used to the idea."

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shelbgrey · 3 months

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-Ruby "red" Lucas aesthetic

#Ruby Lucas #Red #red riding hood #Ouat #Once upon a time #Aesthetic #Mood board #Ruby Lucas x reader #Granny's diner

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cloveroctobers · 7 months

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PART iii.

Here you’ll find all fall prompts written during autumn’s 2023 season 🪱🌩️ 🏚️🧡

MAKE MY DAY — Luca x the bear

TIPTOEING — Willie Jack x Reservation Dogs

DOPAMINE — Fezco x Euphoria

TRUST — Ruby Matthews | S*x Education

CITY IS A GRAVEYARD — Rio x Good Girls

PEARLS — Joe x Ginny & Georgia

METAMORPHOSIS — Carmen Berzatto x The Bear

TERRIFIED — Hector x Black Mirror

WE GET BY — Guero x Mayans MC

MUST BE THE PLACE — Leo Usher x TFOTHOU

IMAGINING — Evan Buckley x 911

LOOPING — Richie Jerimovich x the bear

TRUE ROMANCE — Tara Carpenter x Scream

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natashascars · 5 months

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Jealousy, Regret, Reconciliation

Pairing: Regina Mills x fem!reader

Warnings: none?

Word Count: 2k

Summary: In the midst of a lively evening at Granny’s Diner, Regina Mills becomes increasingly agitated by a misinterpreted situation between her secret lover (you) and Ruby, sparking a heated argument. The night brings a storm of emotions, keeping both you and Regina awake, haunted by the recent conflict.

A/N: Heyy, this is my first ever fanfiction and I honestly don’t know how to feel about it. I just wanted to try writing a jealousy fic of Regina because… why not? Also I’m not sure how to tag this because, again, I’m very new to writing fanfiction. Anyways feel free to leave any advice or criticism on how I could improve my writing (please be nice though, because I am sensitive af lmaoo). Oh, and the classic "english isn't my first language" applies to this

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The atmosphere at Granny's Diner was as vibrant as ever, filled with its customary chatter and laughter. Regina Mills sat in the corner booth, seemingly focused on her drink. Yet, her gaze intermittently drifted towards you, engrossed in what seemed like an innocent conversation with Ruby Lucas, your laughters blending in with the diner’s ambiance.

Despite the celebration for a milestone achieved in Storybrooke, Regina's attention remained elsewhere. She noticed the way Ruby's gaze lingered on you, and a flicker of unease sparked within her. Though typically composed, Regina couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy seeing Ruby direct playful banter at you.

Regina had always been protective, especially of you. The two of you had been friends for years, your bond growing stronger as time passed. Recently, however, your relationship had shifted, blossoming into something deeper and more intimate. You and Regina had been secretly dating for several months now, relishing the clandestine nature of your romance, keeping it hidden from the prying eyes of Storybrooke's inhabitants.

As the evening progressed, Regina found it increasingly challenging to ignore the growing jealousy that had taken root within her. Each playful exchange between you and Ruby fueled the flames of her simmering frustration, her jaw clenching with suppressed emotions.

Inwardly seething, Regina took a deliberate sip of her drink, a facade of composure masking the turmoil raging within her. The cool liquid did little to quell the storm of emotions churning beneath the surface as she maintained a poised exterior, concealing the inner conflict brewing within her.

As Ruby leaned closer to you—a gesture Regina interpreted as flirtatious—her jaw clenched further, the surge of jealousy nearly escalating. Her grip on her drink tightened, the glass threatening to shatter under the pressure of her clenched fingers. She had to look away, fearing that her emotions would betray her in front of everyone.

Ruby's laughter crescendoed, a sound that grated against Regina's frayed nerves. Each interaction between you and Ruby felt like a dagger twisting in her chest. Regina's mind raced with irrational thoughts and deep-buried fears. The ache in her chest had morphed into simmering anger, a blend of jealousy and frustration.

Eventually, the tension proved too much to bear. Regina abruptly rose from her seat, the sharp clicks of her stilettos echoing across the wooden floor of the diner, drawing your attention. Your eyes met hers, capturing a glimpse of something raw and untamed within Regina’s usually composed expression before she stormed out of the diner, her sole focus on escaping the suffocating atmosphere.

You watched her leave, a furrow forming on your brow, a mixture of confusion and concern evident. Sensing the tension that had soured the once cheerful atmosphere, you quickly excused yourself from Ruby's company.

Outside the diner, the cool night air failed to offer any relief as Regina briskly walked down the sidewalk, the echo of her heels punctuating the silent night with each determined step. The weight of unresolved emotions hung heavy in the air, evident in her gait and tense posture.

“Regina!” you called out, your voice cutting through the stillness of the night. Regina hesitated for a moment, the rhythmic click of her heels faltering before she continued walking, determined to distance herself from the scene that had stirred up a storm of emotions in her.

Desperate to bridge the growing distance between you, you quickened your pace, the echo of your own heels resonating as you tried to catch up to her. “Regina, please!” you called out again, the urgency evident in your voice.

Regina slowed down, hesitating for a fleeting moment before reluctantly turning to face you. Despite the distance, the streetlights illuminated the conflict etched on her features, a blend of hurt and frustration.

As you finally caught up to her, you were slightly taken aback by the look on her face. "What's wrong?" you questioned, worry lacing your voice.

"What's wrong?" Regina scoffed, her eyes flashing with suppressed frustration. "Can you not see it? How you entertain every flirtatious remark from Ruby as if it's some kind of game?"

Your brows furrowed into a puzzled expression. "Regina, Ruby and I are just friends." you defended, a hint of frustration creeping into your tone.

Regina's facade cracked, her voice rising with pent-up emotions. "Friends? Can't you see how she looks at you? How you laugh at her jokes and bask in her attention?

"I don't know what you're talking about," you retorted, a surge of defensiveness colouring your voice. "Ruby is just a friend, and you know that."

"Don't play ignorant!" Regina's words cut through the air like a knife. "I saw the way Ruby practically threw herself at you, and you seemed all too eager to indulge her!"

Confusion swept over you. "Indulge her? Ruby was just being friendly!"

"You don't see it, do you?" Regina's voice wavered between anger and hurt. "I've watched the way she looks at you, and it's not just harmless banter!"

Caught between Regina's piercing gaze and the unexpected accusation, you felt a surge of frustration rise within you. "Regina, it wasn't like that! Ruby and I were just having a conversation—"

"You can't be that naive!" Regina cut in, her frustration boiling over. "She was flirting with you right in front of me!"

You let out a scoff of disbelief. “Are you serious, Regina?” you questioned, eyebrows raising in astonishment. “Are you actually suggesting that? Or are you just fucking jealous?” you shot back, your disbelief now mixed with irritation.

Regina’s eyes widened, her initial frustration giving way to a mix of surprise and indignation. “Jealous?” she snapped back, letting out a breathless chuckle. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just pointing out the obvious.” Her words carried a sharp edge, her frustration still palpable.

“You’re overreacting!" you retorted, anger and hurt evident in your voice. "Sorry I didn't realise I needed your permission to talk to someone!"

The words hung heavily in the air, each sentence fueling the fiery argument. Regina's jaw clenched, her emotions unravelling with each passing second. "This isn't about me. It's about you and your constant need for attention from others!"

Her words cut deep, and you felt a surge of frustration mingled with hurt pride. "Is that what you really think?” you questioned, the words coming out with a mixture of hurt and astonishment.

Regina’s gaze hardened, the tension palpable in the charged air between you. “It’s not about what I think, it’s what I’ve seen.” she retorted sharply, her voice tinged with a mixture of exasperation and lingering hurt.

You stared at her, a lump forming in your throat. The air around you seemed to disappear, making you feel suffocated. “After everything—” you paused, struggling to contain the tumultuous emotions threatening to spill over. “Do you not trust me?” you whispered, tears threatening well up in your eyes as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

Before Regina could say anything, you turned away and stormed off, leaving her standing there in the chilly autumn night. Regina watched you disappear behind a corner before she let out a frustrated groan.

Regina got into her car, slamming the door shut with an echoing thud and driving away. Both of you retreated to your respective homes, leaving the echoes of the heated argument haunting the empty streets of Storybrooke.

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As the night settled in Storybrooke, both you and Regina sequestered in your separate residents, enveloped in the lingering aftermath of the argument. The thunderstorm raging outside seemed to match the intensity of emotions both you and Regina were experiencing, leaving you both unable to sleep.

Regina sat by the window of her dimly lit bedroom, the occasional lightning illuminating the shadows that danced on the walls. Her mind was a chaotic whirlwind, replaying the argument with you over and over again. Frustration mingled with regret as she pondered her rash actions. She knew her emotions had gotten the better of her, unleashing a torrent of pent-up feelings she had desperately tried to conceal.

Regina continued watching raindrops race down the glass pane, mirroring the tears she had refused to shed. Her thoughts drifted back to the moment she had stormed out of Granny’s Diner, her heart aching with the realisation that she might have irreversibly damaged something precious with her outburst.

Meanwhile, you sat in your own dwelling, the distant thunder echoing the turmoil in your mind. The argument replayed in your thoughts like a broken record. Confusion and frustration gripped you as you pondered the misunderstanding that had spiralled out of control.

Despite your best efforts to push the heated exchange aside, you couldn’t shake off the unease that lingered. Regina’s words cut deep, leaving wounds of misunderstanding and hurt. You hadn't anticipated this level of conflict, especially with someone as close as Regina.

As the night wore on, the storm showed no signs of relenting, as if mirroring the unresolved tension between you and Regina. Each raindrop that splattered against the windowpanes seemed to echo the unspoken words and emotions that lingered between you.

In a sudden surge of determination, Regina couldn’t let things remain this way. She couldn’t shake off the unsettling feeling of discord that had settled between you two. Despite the pouring rain outside, Regina made a decision.

Grabbing her coat, Regina dashed out into the storm, the raindrops pelting against her skin. She hurried through the deserted streets of Storybrooke, the only sounds being the rhythmic drumming of the rain and the occasional distant rumble of thunder. Each step towards your house felt heavier than the last, fueled by the urgency to clear the air and mend what felt irreparably broken.

Lost in your thoughts, you were startled by the sharp knock echoing through your home, interrupting the solitary brooding. You hesitated, puzzled by the unexpected visitor in the midst of such a storm. As you approached the door, the knock came again, more urgent this time.

Opening the door, you were taken aback by the sight before you—Regina stood there drenched, rainwater streaming down her face, making her usually impeccable appearance dishevelled.

"Regina, what—?" Your words were cut short as Regina closed the gap between you in an instant, her hands softly cupping your face and her lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss.

Your initial shock quickly gave way to a surge of warmth as you reciprocated the kiss. Despite the storm raging outside, this moment felt oddly serene—the only thing that mattered was the feeling of her lips against yours.

Regina pulled back slightly, her eyes searching yours, a mix of apology and vulnerability reflected in their depths. “I’m so sorry.” she murmured, the words tinged with sincerity. “I didn’t mean for things to escalate earlier. I just...”

Regina’s lips parted, but no words escaped. You reached out, gently brushing a rain-soaked strand of hair from her face. Your gaze held a silent understanding, an unspoken acknowledgment of the tangled emotions that had led to this moment.

“I overreacted.” Regina admitted softly. “I let my insecurities get the better of me. I never meant to hurt you.”

The sincerity in her gaze was undeniable. You could sense the walls she had meticulously built crumbling down, exposing her raw feelings beneath the surface.

You gave her a sympathetic smile before pulling her into a tender embrace. Regina’s arms wrapped around you and her breath hitched slightly as she buried her face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your familiar scent.

"I didn't mean to upset you either." you whispered into her hair. Regina’s embrace tightened slightly as a silent acknowledgment of your words.

You both lingered in the embrace, finding comfort in the closeness that transcended words. However, as if nature had its own timing, a sudden rumble of thunder echoed through the sky, reverberating around you. Regina instinctively pulled away, her eyes widening slightly in realisation.

You glanced towards the downpour outside, the intensity of the storm painting the world in shades of grey. The reminder brought a faint chuckle from both of you, a brief interjection in the midst of the emotional intensity.

"Come on, I don’t want you to catch a cold." you said softly, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you pulled her inside your home, away from the rain-soaked night. As Regina stepped over the threshold, you closed the door behind her, shutting out the storm and the chaos of the outside world.

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#regina mills #regina mills x reader #regina mills x female reader #once upon a time #once upon a time fanfiction #regina mills fanfiction #regina mills x you #ouat

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader[4.1k] that nick millar line that's like "stop being mean to me i'll fall in love with you." scoops!steve, record store!reader and some weird drabbles about how steve gets flustered i don't like this i'm sorry

Steve knew he was a goner when he spotted you stacking shelves at the record store. He’d asked Eddie your name and the boy had cackled, slapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Harrington, she’d eat you alive.’

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Steve had answered.

You wore boots with laces that were never fully tied, fishnet tights, bike shorts and too big T-shirts that served as dresses, gold rings on your fingers and ruby red lipstick on Saturdays.

You looked like trouble, like a whole lot of fun and Steve took Eddie’s warning as a personal challenge.

The first time he spoke to you, it was on his day off and he shoved some dollar bills at Dustin, Lucas and Max, told them to go to the arcade and stay in the arcade.

He found you behind the register, perched on a tall stool and flicking through records, cassettes littering the desk and your foot tap, tap, tapping against the wooden legs. Your store was quieter than the rest of the mall, so Steve tried to act casual, thanked everything holy that he wasn’t wearing his scoops uniform and browsed the boxes of music.

He kept letting his eyes flicker to you, the store dimly lit and smelling like old books and smoke, a stark contrast to the sweet sugar and bright lights of Scoops Ahoy.

It was nice, Steve noted, cosy, warm, a strange kind of quiet despite the music that played overhead. He didn’t even own a record player, not anymore, not since he’d been gifted a shiny new Walkman for his Christmas after his parents were out of town on his birthday.

But still, there was something calming about thumbing through the sleeves, some pre owned and fraying at the edges, arranged in their own box that was labelled ‘already loved.’ The handwriting was neat and romantic looking, big swirls and loops in the L’s and Steve wondered if it was yours, if you were sweeter than your big doc martens suggested.

But then he took his choices to the cash desk and you looked up from the price labels you were sticking to each record, a smile that was like sunshine and sin on your lips. You looked him up and down, one eyebrow raised and now that he was closer, Steve could see a gold hoop in one nostril.

He swallowed, tried to say something cool, something flirty, something alluring, but his throat was sticky like honey and he was suddenly speechless. Steve Harrington had lines, he knew how to flirt - sometimes it didn’t work, he could admit that now - but not a single word came from his mouth.

You were really something. A smirk rather than a smile, jewellery making you glitter, eyes lighting up at the sight of him and Steve felt like he had a neon sign above him, a shiny big arrow saying ‘fresh meat.’

He suddenly knew what Eddie had meant. He was out of his depth.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

God, scratch that, he was drowning.

Your voice was sweet, lined with a laugh, like you knew something he didn’t and Steve Harrington had never been shy in his life but your words had his cheeks tinted pink and he could feel the same heat at the tips of his ears.

“Did you find everything you needed?”

He stuttered, stammered, licked his lips and nodded instead. It was that magic kind of flirting, the kind where no one really spoke but the idea was heavy and thick and tension in it made your head spin. And maybe you weren’t as affected as Steve was, but the boy felt a little giddy with it, eyes nervously dancing between yours and your hands, watching the way you bagged up his records.

He didn’t even know what he’d bought.

But he took the bag from you with a smile that made him look really soft, hand warm as it brushed your own and he didn’t even wait for his change, he just backed out of the store with a dazed look in his eyes and the sound of your laughter following him.

—————

The second time Steve saw you, was half way through his lunch break, his hands full of soda cans and wrapped up sandwiches for himself and Robin, ‘cause there were only so many tubs of rocky road he could have instead of real food.

You were rounding the corner the same time as he was, barely managing to avoid colliding, shoulders bumping and a can of Dr. Pepper falling to the floor and making a break for it. It rolled enough for Steve to deem it a lost cause, telling himself he’d share his drink with Robin instead of trying to juggle it back into his already full arms.

But then you were catching it, wiggling it at him between a finger and a thumb as you carefully tucked it in the free space under his chin. He gaped, realising who he’d bumped into too late. You were a pretty painting, black lines above your lashes all cat like, lips coloured in a soft rosy shade. The sweater you wore was too big, bike shorts barely peeking out from the hem and you made music as you moved, necklaces catching against each other.

You were lovely. But your smile was dangerous.

“Thanks, uh, thank you- for that,” Steve managed, trying to gesture to the soda but almost losing two sandwiches and a bag of chips in the process. “Shit.”

“S’alright,” you told him softly and Steve had almost forgotten what your voice had sounded like, because after the first visit to the record store, he’d been too embarrassed to return.

He’d kept watch from behind the ice cream freezer, sighing over you as he refilled mint chocolate chip and scattered more sprinkles on floor than he did atop of cones. Robin thought it was disgusting.

“Lunch time?” You asked and it was obvious, the way you were making conversation, seemingly actually wanting to talk to him but Steve couldn’t wrap his head around why.

He nodded, too fast, hair flopping into his eyes and he had no free hands to smooth it back. Was he red again? He felt warm. You were smiling, eyes on his, scanning his face, taking in each of his features without any shame, bold in each of your actions.

Fuck. You were really pretty.

“Uh yeah, yeah,” Steve managed, “for me and uh,” he looked back, saw Robin leaning over the cash register with a grin on her lips as she watched on, more than amused. “And uh…”

“Your girlfriend?” You prompted. You sounded intrigued, voice still soft. “The pretty one in the hat?”

“Oh no, god no,” Steve replied and you grinned at how quick he spoke. He shook his head, fumbled another sandwich was still gazing at you from behind his messy hair. “I mean, fuck, she’s pretty and yeah, she’s wearing a hat but— no, not my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” you were smiling, arms crossed as you tried not to full on grin at the way the boy was floundering, trying his best to assure you that his co-worker was definitely not his girlfriend.

“I mean, we’re friends,” he was telling you, “best friends but like, super platonic. So platonic. I’m single.” Steve swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “So single.”

You didn’t miss the little ‘fuck,’ he whispered into the lunch he was still clutching to his chest and his cheeks went from rosy to ruby, a flush across the high points of his face that you would adorable.

You didn’t say anything, not yet, but you leaned a little closer and pushed yourself onto your toes so you could sweep a hand through the front of his hair, pushing back the locks that had fallen into his face.

Steve wondered if he had stopped breathing.

“That’s better,” you hummed and you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at his stricken expression. He looked panicked in the best way.

Steve nodded and you took it as a thanks because his lips were parted and his brown eyes were turning into honey and he looked a little wrecked. It was fun, you realised, watching the way he reacted to you.

“It’s Steve, right?” You tapped at his name badge, still standing too close for what some people would consider polite but Steve smelled like sugar and mint and the forest, like cedar or pine.

Steve cleared his throat, tried not to stare at your lips when you said his name and he nodded, “yeah, uh— Steve Harrington.”

Another grin from you, wide and bright and fucking magical, because Steve decided that every time you smiled at him he felt like he was turning inside out.

“Okay, Single Steve Harrington—” he cut you off with a groan and it was suddenly your new favourite sound. “—I need to get back to work, enjoy your lunch.”

“Right, yeah, shit,” he winced at the way his voice cracked and Jesus Christ, he thought to himself, what was he? Sixteen again? “Uh, do I get to know your name?” It was a lie. He knew your name. He’d asked Eddie weeks ago.

And you must’ve been thinking the same because you laughed, reallt fucking cutely, Steve noticed, nose scrunched and eyes bright as you said, “don’t play coy, pretty boy, I know who your friends are.”

You left him standing there, cheeks still flushed, soft hair perfectly rumpled from how you’d pushed it back and you couldn’t help yourself. You turned, a head over your shoulder, lashes lowered as you looked him up and down, doing the least you could to try and hide it.

“Hey Steve?”

The boy's head snapped round to you, eyes wide as ever. His pretty face was a question mark.

“Nice shorts.”

—————

The third time, Steve was almost confident enough to say you sought him out.

Because it was a slow Tuesday and the summer outside had reached its peak, the sun warming the mall through the glass roof like a greenhouse, the air stifling and hazy. It was too warm for even ice cream, most of Hawkins had seemed to decide, and even the kids had passed up on free samples in favour of spending a day at the pool.

But there you were, record store lanyard missing from your neck which told Steve it was definitely your day off. And besides, if he happened to have remembered your shifts, well, that was just a coincidence.

You swaned into Scoops with your usual confidence, a glint in your eye and a surprisingly bright sundress on your frame. You were still glittering with jewellery, chains and trinkets on your neck, delicate rings on each finger, tiny gold daisies hanging from your ears. Your dress was a startling red, cherry coloured and all the bare skin on show meant that Steve could see fine black lines of ink peeking out from beneath the cotton.

He smiled at the way you still wore your boots, laces undone and rolled socks peeking out the top. You had spent some time talking between shifts now, “accidentally” bumping into each other when the mall was still closed, early morning starts spent standing in line together for a coffee as Steve tried his damn hardest to remember how to speak in your presence.

It got a little easier and Steve could hold a conversation without his voice cracking, but every now and then he’d spot you already gazing at him and you had a look on your face that could take a man down to his knees.

And god, did you know how good you looked in that dress? Did you understand what you did to him? Steve thought that maybe you did because you were leaning over the counter on your elbows and invading all of his personal space with the smell of your perfume and cocoa butter body lotion.

You tapped out a beat with your fingernails, Ruby red to match your dress, hands dancing in gold, rings that Steve knew woild look so fucking pretty wrapped around his—

“Hey, pretty boy.”

The boy dropped his ice cream scoop and from an empty table behind you both, Robin snorted.

“Hey, hi… hi,” he settled on, ducking behind the counter to retrieve his scoop and he tried not to wince at how decidedly unsmooth he was around you.

He’d panicked to Robin more than enough times about it. How he managed to trip over his words, even his own feet, when he was around you. But, despite his friends usual teasing and unsupportive behaviour when it came to his dating like, she’d surprised him with:

“Well shit, Steve, she keeps coming back, doesn’t she?”

“Hi,” you repeated, grinning. “How’s it going?”

Steve smiled back, wider than he’d have liked, too happy, too pleased that you were here on your day off, in his store, standing talking to him whilst you looked like that.

The hem of your dress swung at your thighs as you tapped your foot to music only you could hear and you were looking up at him with the most wicked expression. Steve had realised you seemed to save those looks for only him, the rest of your time spent in the record store ignoring the boys who tried to chat you up with cheap lines and shit chat.

Steve sighed and looked around the empty store. “It’s going,” he replied. “What’re you doing here? Aren’t you… off today?”

“Keeping tabs?” You grinned and Steve flushed.

It was your favourite thing.

“What? No, no I—” if Steve could get away with volleying a ball of raspberry ripple at Robin right then, he could’ve. She was hiding her face in the pile of delivery notes but he could hear her laughter. “I just— yeah, shit, maybe I am.”

His admission made you preen, straightening up to catch the ends of that stupid, little sailor scarf between your fingers. You lifted one brow, looked at the boy through your lashes and wondered if you listened carefully enough, would you be able to hear the thumpthumpthump of his heart.

Steve was almost certain you would.

“That’s cute,” you mused, sighing dramatically, wistful almost, as you tugged at the scarf. Steve jolted closer, lips parted, eyes hooded as he tried his best to keep his gaze on yours. But your lips were right there. And so were your tits. “It’s a real shame you don’t use that knowledge to work out when to take me out on a date.”

Even Robin stilled.

“A date?” Steve asked and you were so close, closer than you’d ever been ‘cause he could tell your lipgloss was cherry flavoured, he could smell the artificial sweetness, could count the freckles on your nose.

You nodded, smiled, let your eyes flicker down to where he was licking at his lips and you felt the way he sighed. He had a knuckle white grip on his side of the counter, arms flexed as he leaned in, letting you hold him as close to you as you dared.

“Y’know… dinner, maybe a movie, a hot little fumble in the backseat of your car before you kiss me goodnight and go home to take a cold shower?”

“Christ,” Steve breathed and you watched the way he flushed, eyes drooping prettily as he seemingly thought out your scenario. “Yeah— yeah, I can do that, fuck, we can do that.”

The grin that took over your face was more than pretty and Steve was about done for when you finally let go of his sailors scarf, only to reach up and brush back his hair again. He let you, eyes full of sticky fondness, a little awe as your fingertips brushed across the top of his forehead.

“Great,” you told him, backing away, boots scuffing across the parlour tiles. “You can pick me up at eight on Saturday.”

—————

Steve had never been so nervous on a date.

The good kind, an excitement he’d almost forgotten about and he revelled in the way his stomach tumbled, cheeks flush and lips bitten as he waited for you to appear from your front door.

You’d smiled at his shyness, ducked your head in a similar fashion when he told you how pretty you looked and then it was a night of feet touching under the diner table, stealing the crispy fries from his plate and Steve pretending that he cared.

He eventually calmed down enough to talk about everything and anything with you, his job, education, his parents, his friends. And when he’d finished making you laugh like it was his new hobby, you both realised too late that you’d missed the movie.

But you didn’t seem to care, happy to walk shoulder for shoulder with the boy through the emptying mall, watching him with a smile as he worked up enough courage to hold your hand.

You let him, hands tangling, a finger gently prodding his pink cheek and he swatted at you with a smile, a fond roll of his eyes and then that was it.

You didn’t leave his side after that.

The windows of his car were rolled down as he parked up near the water tower, wheat fields and the forest hiding you both from the rest of the down. The summer air smelled sweet, like leftover barbecue smoke and wet grass and Steve had the radio on low as you teased him about his music taste, the way he’d bitten his bottom lip raw from being so close to you.

He could take it better now, your little mean streak, the one that liked to push his buttons and turn him pink. He still flushed when you called him pretty boy, heard his breath hitch when you stretched your bare legs over his, back pressed to the passenger door as you let the wind pick at your hair.

But he got a little braver and let his hands smooth over your shins, eyes flickering from yours to the way your sundress was played messily across the tops of your thighs. Steve was a gentleman about it though, listened when you spoke, asked you questions and got to know you, making those eyes at you, even if he didn’t realise.

“Did you come in that day just to buy those records?”

Steve snorted, let his cheek turn and press against the headrest so he could look at you with those big brown eyes, wild hair that you ached to brush away.

“I don’t even have a record player anymore.”

Your laugh was a whole other type of song and it warmed Steve more than the summer night did.

“You don’t?” You grinned, nudging a foot into his thigh. “Steve Harrington, you’re a damn fool.”

“If you keep bein’ mean to me,” Steve grinned, voice full of tease and sticky sweet affection, “m’gonna fall in love with you, you know?”

And he did.

—————

You didn’t grudge Robin for the way she rolled her eyes at you upon seeing you walk into Scoops. You couldn’t. She knew, she knew that you knew. So you just smiled.

“Is Steve….?”

“In the back,” she groaned good naturedly. “You’re lucky we’re dead.”

You grinned, blew the girl a kiss and slipped through the staff only door. The door to the walk-in freezer hummed and music came from the break room, quiet and crackling with static from the old radio. You found the boy at the table, feet kicked up on a stool as he played with his empty bottle of soda.

Steve lit up when he saw you, an unexpected visit as you were on a late shift at your own store, the chances of you both getting lunch at the same time slim. But you’d bartered with your boss, promising that all of the new stock that had been delivered would get done before close. He’d rolled his eyes and grudgingly agreed, muttering about your new boyfriend and how he was affecting your work ethic.

You hadn’t used that word yet. ‘Boyfriend.’ And neither had Steve, but that was okay. You were enjoying that inbetween stage that came with uncertainty and butterflies, second guesses and kicking your feet in your bed at night when he dropped you off, each new kiss feeling like another first.

And you were still making the boy blush, the prettiest pink across his cheeks, stealing reasons to touch him whenever you could, playing with the ends of his hair as he spoke, pressing a hand to the skin under his shirt when you wanted his attention.

Which was a waste of time, if you asked Steve - you always had his attention, whether your hands were on him or not. Not that he ever complained.

In fact, he looked downright ecstatic when you dropped yourself in his lap, pleated skirt hitching up your thighs as you grinned down at him, pink cheeks, messy hair and sailor boy uniform to boot.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

“Hello to you too, trouble,” he’d gotten better at that part, talking to you without falling over his own words, more flirt and confidence in his voice than the first time you’d met. “I didn’t think I was gonna see you until after work.”

“Sold my soul for you,” you pouted, lifting his little hat and placing it atop your own head. “Promised that a full delivery would be finished before close.”

Steve tried to pout back, but he couldn’t help but smile at how you bargained just to be able to come see him. The sailor hat was perched adorably on top of your head, a little squint and with a cherry ice cream stain on the side. His hands palmed at your hips, squeezing gently and you lifted a brow to gaze down at him questioningly.

“Robin already isn’t happy I’m back here distracting you,” you smiled, “don’t start something you can’t finish - or win.”

“Win?” Steve scoffed, “sweetheart give me a little cred-”

The boy’s words died in his throat as you stood only to swing a leg over his lap, straddling his thighs with your own, fishnet tights stretched over your skin. You brought your hand to his chin, caught it between finger and thumb and smoothed the pad of it over his bottom lip. You tugged a little meanly, let it fall back with a cute ‘pop’ and grinned at how he was already flushed for you, eyes a little glassy and unfocused, cheeks turning pink.

“You’re too easy, Steve,” you whispered, stretching your arms over his shoulders, fingers tugging through the messy curls at the nape of his neck. You leaned in as if to kiss him, turned before he could catch you and pressed your nose to his cheek instead, letting him feel your smile against his jaw before you mouthed at it.

“You smell so good,” you sighed, voice hitched a little higher than normal, a little breathier. “Could just eat you up.”

“You’re a demon,” Steve huffed, canting his hips up into yours, hands squeezing more tightly at your waist but he did nothing to stop you from tugging at his hair. He let his head fall back, exposing his throat to you and your mouth. “Baby.”

“Baby. Love when you call me that,” you cooed, planting a line of kisses along the column of his neck, nipping at his ear lobe as you pressed yourself against his chest. “Makes me feel so sweet.”

Steve groaned, barked out a laugh that ended in a hiss because you rocked yourself against him, grinding down and grinning. “Yeah? You’re anything but,” he lied.

“Mean,” you teased, bringing your mouth to hover over the boys, lips just grazing his. “You don’t think I’m sweet? That’s not what you said the other night.”

You were pouting, pushing your lips to Steve’s in a barely there kiss before pulling away, running a hand over the front of his hair, pushing it back so you could see the way his eyes glazed over at your words. He knew what you were referencing, of course he did. How could he forget?

“I distinctly remember you telling me that you thought I tasted real sweet in the back of your car,” you grinned, wicked, cupped the boy’s face and smoothed your thumbs over the high points of his cheekbones. “There is it,” you whispered.

A blush, pink and warm and rosy, just for you, even after Steve had spent countless times between you legs, lips sucking, mouth too busy to do anything but moan. He was pink even then. But this? Now?

“I think you’re the sweet one.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington blurb #stranger things fic #stranger things

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fyregrayfong · 23 days

Text

This Is How It Feels | Part 1

Pairing: Regina Mills x Reader

Warnings: none?

Word Count: 1k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary:

In a mystical town where dark magic intertwines with everyday life, the formidable and wicked Mayor holds sway over all. One rainy night, a mysterious stranger appears, a curious mind who slowly will uncover secrets and allure. As the Mayor and the stranger's paths cross, a forbidden attraction blooms, leading to a spark that both don’t understand. Can love and happiness be brought with danger, betrayal, and a battle between light and darkness.

Notes:

As I’m rewatching OUAT I have gotten the feeling to write this fanfic. Hopefully you all will like it. I will try to keep the gender of the reader neutral.

The rain poured relentlessly as you arrived in the quaint town of Storybrooke, your car broke down at the town’s entrance and you’ve been walking into town seeking a dry place to wait out the storm. You find the only place that’s open tonight, a diner by the name of Granny’s. Shrugging your backpack on you push the door to head inside the establishment. There’s some people in the establishment, a couple of young adults chatting and laughing over milkshakes and fries. You wipe the raindrops off your sleeves then find an empty booth in the corner.. You place the backpack in first then take a seat looking at the door, a little quirk you always do for safety. You hate having your back towards a door. Reaching down your pocket you pull out your phone to realize it has no power “crap, I forgot to charge it”. You mutter under your breath as a menu slide towards you “Welcome to Granny’s! Oh my, you're soaked!” a red haired young waitress greets you warmly.

You look up and give her a small smile then take the menu to give it a glance “thanks, um yeah my car broke down just at the entrance of town. Had to walk in the wait to find help”

“I'm so sorry to hear that! Let me get you a towel and a hot cup of coffee to warm you up.” She pours you a cup of coffee and look at you more intently as you look at the menu “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before”

“Uhh, yeah I’m not…from here. I was—“ you begin to explain but notice eyes looking your way. Ruby looks over her shoulders then turns back to you “don’t worry this town isn’t used to new people.” She kindly explains as she gives you a warm smile.

You sit up straight and tug on your sleeves as a defense mechanism “I see that. Um thanks for the coffee. I think I’ll just have this for right now” you give her a soft smile. Ruby returns the smile and turns to leave when you almost forgot “oh! I’m sorry. Do you have a phone I could use to call a mechanic?”

Ruby gives you a nod “yeah sure, but Billy's shop is closed for the day. We have lodging. You’re more than welcome to stay here until he opens. His shop isn’t that far from here” she gives you a sympathetic smile

You look at her and give a short nod “That sounds perfect. I'm grateful for your help.” Giving her a small smile as she turns back to head to the counter. You prepare your coffee then take a sip. The door opens and a dark haired woman steps inside heading toward the counter “Ms. Lucas can I get a coffee to go?” Her voice is short and direct as she pulls her dark gloves off her hands.

“Sure thing Madam Mayor”

She turns around to face the crowd as she leans against the counter to wait for her order.You glance around the diner when your eyes rest on the mayor. you gaze at her profile and feel a pull. You shake your head in disbelief as you take another sip of coffee. Sliding out of the booth to grab your backpack. You reach down into your pocket to pull out your wallet and take out a couple of dollars for the coffee and tip. You turn around when with a second to react you grab the person you almost collide with by the arms to prevent them from falling.

Time seemed to stand still as your gaze met the Mayor’s. In that instant, a torrent of emotions surged through your body. Your heart quickened its pace, aflutter with a mix of excitement and nervousness. A tingling sensation crept up your spine, sending shivers down your arms as if touched by an unseen force. Not understanding why you’re feeling like this.

“Watch where you’re going” the dark haired woman raised her voice. A flush of embarrassment tinged your cheeks, but you quickly regained your composure as you released her arms. "I'm sorry," you murmured softly, straightening up.

The Mayor looks you up and down in a quick glance. She quickly composed herself, her lips curved into a small smile as she spoke, "Well, you saved me a day at the cleaners, so no harm done." She raised her coffee cup in cheers, the warmth in her eyes matching the gesture.

Your smile mirrored hers, a chuckle escaping your lips. Her gaze lingered on you, curiosity sparking in her eyes. "You know, as Mayor, it's my job to know everyone in this town."

You shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. "I'm just a passerby. My car broke down just outside town. Granny's has been most hospitable." you reach your hand out toward her “I’m y/n.”

"Regina," she offered you a warm smile though her smile falters a bit "Welcome to Storybrooke. I should get going." With that, she made her way towards the door.

"Goodnight, Madam Mayor," you called after her, watching as she opened the door and stepped out into the night.

You stood there for a moment, the memory of her lingering presence still fresh in your mind, before finally making your way to the diner counter to inquire about a room for the night. The thought of seeing Regina again brought a flutter of anticipation to your heart, wondering what new encounters and connections awaited you in the charming town of Storybrooke.

The warmth of the diner and the kindness of the people in Storybrooke start to melt away the coldness you felt from the rain. You find yourself wondering about this mysterious town and the people in it. As you settle in for the night, the sound of the rain outside lulls you to sleep, your dreams starting with the images of the mayor, a soft smile appearing on your lips.

#regina mills #regina mills x reader #regina mills x female reader #once upon a time #once upon a time fanfiction #regina mills fanfiction #regina mills x you #ouat

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pearlywritings · 1 year

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Can we get a...

synopsis: twins’ seventh birthday is almost half a year away, but it seems that they already have a gift in mind. Though you surely did not expect this.

pairing: Diluc x fem!reader, your twin sons Rufus and Lucas

tw: fluff, pregnancy

word count: 3.5k+ words

Family AU Masterlist

What a peaceful February afternoon. The fire flickers and wood cracks in the fireplace, warming up the area around. In this peaceful noise you make out Adelinde's voice quietly discussing something with Elzer in his study, with a door left slightly ajar - a precaution so she can always hear in case you call for her. But you don't think you'll need her help anytime soon, feeling quite cozy at the moment - multiple pillows support your back as you are resting on the sofa, big comforter covers your body from stomach and down, two boys are snuggling under it from both sides of your body, providing additional warmth and contently squinting from your fingers threading through their thick locks and gently massaging their heads. Their teacher has just left not so long ago and you are letting them relax after the whole morning of studying. After all, a break for yourself was around the corner as well, so the trade papers you'd been reviewing were put on a coffee table aside. You'll have enough time to finish this little work Diluc still lets you do in your condition, while he himself is out to check on the tavern in the city and, as you are guessing, buy kids some treats for their good behavior as well.

You feel Rufus shift a little on your right, bringing your mind back to reality - for a moment the serene atmosphere lulled you into a slumber. It makes you aware of what the two redheads have been doing ever since they joined you in the living room to cuddle - silently exchanging glances over your six-(almost seven)-month pregnant stomach. They are up to something it seems, but there is no hint of mischief in the air, so it should be something harmless - you won't pry until they want to share it with you.

Which happens pretty soon, as the boys nod simultaneously and then two sets of ruby-like eyes glance up at your face and you see it as a signal for a conversation, drawing your hands away from their heads and resting around their half-turned to you bodies.

"Mama?" Rufus is the one who starts the conversation after a few more moments of silence. You tenderly smile and rub his back in reassurance.

"Yes, baby, what is it?"

"Remember how it's our birthday in August?" The boy continues as his brother fumbles with his fingers a little, giving out his nervousness. You know your boys, despite their quite creative and energetic nature they rarely ask for something overly crazy or something you and your husband couldn't afford for them, so this one must be really serious, if the younger of the twins fidgets at the prospect of it. Your fingertips slide to his arm and down to his hands, offering to hold them, and Lucas puts them onto your palm almost immediately.

"Of course I do, loves," your smile never disappears, if anything it gets wider - they will be turning seven, hard to believe it's been several years of your babies' lives already. "Oh! You have something in mind for how you want to celebrate it?" They shake their heads, so you try another, "presents?"

This time they confirm your guess with a nod and Lucas, playing with your fingers, hums.

"And what might it be?" You ask curiously, once again witnessing how the boys exchange glances, as if deciding who'll be the one to announce it. To your surprise they both take deep inhale, look back at you and blurt the question out together:

"Canwegetadog!?"

"Wha-" caught off guard you stare at them with wide eyes, though very quickly recovering. "I am sorry, could you repeat that? I don't think I heard it with all this speed."

Twins pout, as if saying it again offends them very much, but eventually Lucas shakes your hand a little, asking for your attention, which you direct at him.

"Yes?"

"Me and Rufus were wondering… Would you and papa let us get a dog?"

Oh. A pet? Wow, this is new and serious indeed.

"A dog?" They nod again, tense like bowstrings awaiting for your reaction, almost not blinking as they stare at you. A little bit caught off guard you keep your silence for a few seconds, thinking over their request. But it looks like the lack of response from you is concerning for the twins, as they become even more fidgety and avert their ruby eyes, thinking they did the wrong thing, after all, that's an almost life-changing matter. They nearly jump when your hands come to rest on their backs, comfortingly rubbing.

"What kind of dog? Do you have something in mind or you just decided you simply want a dog?"

As if by a wave of the magic wand their shoulders relax, gaze back on you and smiles once again plastered on their cute little faces. Rufus immediately starts untangling himself from under the comforter.

"Oh, we can show! I'll go get it, wait a moment, ma!" Finally free, he jumps off the sofa, swiftly turns back to tuck the fabric back at your side and quickly runs to the stairs and to their room. Lucas presses himself into you again, one arm wrapping around your stomach and his face tucked into your ribs.

"You are not mad?" You hear in a muffled question, which makes you chuckle and put your own hand on top of his.

"Of course not, Lu. An animal companion is a sweet idea, I love it. But before I, or your father make any decisions, we need to fully understand what you two want and how to operate it," and for you to know what to use when appealing the idea to your husband, because it happened so that there’s never been a conversation about pets, aside from his falcon, who is more of a companion to him, and the kids are still wary around her.

"Oh, you mean like, the size, the eating and walking habits, how it is with people?" The younger peaks up and you are amazed at how clever he is.

"Yes, that's what I mean…how do you know?"

"We read it in a book brother went to get. Dad let us use the library in his study and Rufus found an encyclopedia about dogs. There are pictures and all kinds of interesting stuff. We asked Addie to help us a little with the words we didn't know."

You hum in acknowledgement, not having time to say anything else, because you can hear your other son reappearing on top of the stairs and soon tapping his way down and back to you and his brother.

"Here!" He proudly presents you a pretty slim volume and this time you don't even need both hands to take it. Lucas patiently waits for his brother to climb back under the warm fabric and get comfortable and only then tells you to open page 56.

Placing the book partly on your belly, you start searching for the page and find it pretty quickly, as it appears to be the first one in the Snezhnayan national breeds section. While many domestic animals were bred and selected in their homelands, it's not strange to see some of them distributed to other regions as well, so, the non-Mondstadt-originated dog doesn't surprise you.

Seeing the name of the breed though makes you snort on the inside, imagining the look on Diluc's face when he hears about it.

"Snezhnayan Borzoi?" You ask, looking at the illustration of a very elegant dog with long slim legs, equally long curved body, long snout, long tail, long beautiful fur… yeah, everything about this dog is long, which in the end gives a very noble-looking complexion.

Boys nod.

"Yes, we really, really want it… Look how pretty it is!"

"And you both agreed on the same dog?" You ask a little bit in disbelief, knowing very well, how different some of their tastes are.

"Well…" Rufus trails off, staring at his brother, who returns the same kind of look to him.

"We wanted different," Lucas admits, "but when we told Addie, she said two dogs are too much."

Even if they don't elaborate, you understand the meaning behind it. Too much in general. And also there is soon going to be a new member of the family, which means your and Diluc's attention would be occupied even more, and if one dog (or a puppy, at first) is still manageable, two is hardly so.

Looks like your boys are growing so well, learning to make some sacrifices and be open to compromising, your heart couldn't be more happy for them.

"This beauty is pretty indeed," you say after their explanation and you can see how ruby eyes light up with hope. "And you came to an agreement, great job, boys!"

Two sets of arms wrap around your neck and both of your cheeks get a loud smooch.

"Thank you, mama! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

You laugh joyfully, turning head side to side to kiss their foreheads.

"Don't thank me just yet, we still have a game to play," ah, yes, the game the three of you practice before laying out some of the ideas to their father. It both helps to convince him faster and for the twins to develop the argumentative skills. And also works vice versa when they go to dad first with the matter where you have the final word in.

"Why don't you prove to me this sweet dog is the one for you and that generally it is a good idea," the smiles get wider, as they understand what you are implying, and by the confident looks on their faces you can guess they’ve already thought beforehand of what to say to you.

"Yes, mom! So," Lucas decides to not beat around the bush and start right away, "we do not ask for two dogs. We know it is a big deal," he says it so proudly, that you can hardly contain a chuckle.

"Secondly," Rufus points into the book and you glance at the numbers presented there, "this dog is big."

"And why is that good?" the older twin furrows his brows for a moment in thought, pursing his lips. You patiently wait, before he comes up with something.

"I think a small dog is hard to notice and if it barks, the sound is too, um…" ruby gaze darts to the side for help.

"Disturbing," his brother offers.

"Yes, disturbing! And you'll soon have a baby…" both boys look at your belly and Rufus gently pats it, which brings a bright glint to your eyes. They are so considerate.

"Besides," Lucas chirps again, "they are quite lazy while inside and won't be too noisy. When outside they love to run a lot and we have a lot of land around for it. I think we can easily go for a walk three times a day with it."

"Hm, but it says here that each walk should take at least an hour. Sure you can handle it?" You point at the paragraph with the descriptions and boys start thinking. "You should understand that this will be your dog and it will listen to you."

"Yeah, we read that borzoi do not really listen, and to the people who are not their owners…" Rufus sighs, and you see the understanding that maids will be of little help sink in. "But we will try very hard! We can walk after breakfast… ah, wait, the classes…" at that you chuckle, and reach to ruffle his hair.

"Don't worry, I am sure your dad won't mind rearranging the beginning of your classes to start a bit later," their faces beam with a smile again.

"And then we can easily walk in the afternoon and evening!"

"That's great, loves," the praise encourages them even more and by the time it's lunch hour, the twins have laid out some more proving points, making you believe Diluc would be easily swayed.

"You really want this dog, aren't you…" you muse, finishing reading the article the book offered. They eagerly nod. From the corner of your eye you notice Adelinde, who has come out to check on you three and the fireplace. Suddenly she chuckles.

"Sorry, My Lady, I happened to overhear your conversation."

"Oh, that's fine," you offer her a reassuring smile, which she returns with a sweet one of her own. "But what made you laugh, Adelinde?"

"Just remembered how animated young masters have been for the last couple of days, when talking about this beautiful dog in my presence."

"Is that so?" The boys sheepishly giggle, starting to make their way out of the comforter's embrace. "Ah, nevermind," shaking your head and passing a book back to Rufus, you move the comforter completely off of you, and, with some assistance from Adelinde, rise to your feet.

"It's time for lunch, isn't it? Let's go have it, and when dad comes home in the evening, you'll talk to him, alright?"

"Mhm!"

"Good. Now go and put the book back into your room, wash your hands and be ready to dig in," your sons disappear as quickly as you finish your speech. The woman next to you offers you her arm and you thankfully lean on it, even if it's just mere meters to the dining table.

An opening door draws your attention from the book and instantly the bookmark is placed between the pages as your eyes connect with your husband's vermillion ones. The jacket has probably been taken away by the maids to clean and dry and he also lacks a cravat and a vest. What he isn't lacking is a small smile brightening up his whole face and reflecting in the burning fire of his soul.

"Good evening, my flame," the greeting is sweet on his tongue and the almost unnoticeable sprint in his steps is an indicator of how much the Master of the Dawn Winery has been craving to be back with you, his wife. The bed dips under his knee and the gloves are swiftly taken off and thrown to the side. Big scarred warm palms cup your cheeks and a kiss is pressed against your lips, sealing his words like a barrel of dandelion wine.

Diluc cradles your face in his hands so delicately, so gingerly, you start thinking he is back to viewing you as a glass piece that can easily break, which was proved wrong many times before. You kiss him back with a little more force to remind him you are not fragile and the man seems to chuckle, drawing his face away to gaze at you lovingly. Only for his eyes to widen a little when you peck his nose and rub yours against it.

A rich laugh is born within the confinement of his chest and a few more fleeting kisses are placed all over your cheeks.

"Missed me this much?" You murmur quietly, afraid to break the atmosphere. Your husband hums, rubbing his thumbs over your cheekbones.

"Yes…missed you so much," then his gaze flits down to your stomach and the next moment the palms are pressed against your rounded belly, with lips following soon after.

"Missed the little one too, love."

Instantly your fingers go into his flaming hair, releasing them from a high ponytail and carefully running digits through the heavy locks. You let him have his moment, lovingly staring at the back of his head, listening to the softest murmurs offered to the baby in your belly, your third child, your soon-to-be-joy. Just two more months.

"Do you feel sore?" His burning gaze is back on your calm one, worrying about you overworking your body - you are carrying a big weight on your midsection all the time, he knows it's hard.

"Luc, love, have you forgotten? You literally increased payment to my maids to take care of me whenever you can't. Soon I'll get addicted to all these nice massages."

"That's not a bad thing."

"Yeah, I am aware, and you could use some too. I can feel your tense back under my fingertips"

"Love," he groans but you know, it's not of annoyance, just him being playful. "Besides you know our staff adore you. Helping you in any way possible, especially now, is no trouble for them."

“Your ability to convince me of anything in the sweetest ways possible scares me,” you laugh, when he gives you an unamused glance, and poke his cheek with a finger.

“Speaking of convincing, have boys already gotten to you with one?”

You bring your hands from his hair to your stomach when your husband draws himself back and off the bed to properly undress and change while having a conversation with you. By the sound of him lightly chuckling you know they have.

“Oh, when I tell you I got worried when they met me at the front door and urgently asked to go to my study - you better believe it,” he grabs the gloves he threw away minutes ago and walks to put them in a drawer.

“So, how went the discussion of their desired birthday present?” You really are curious - after all that’s such a big decision and, by the looks of it, means a lot to your sons, who, as it now becomes clear to you why, have even spent the last week being on their best, borderline perfect behavior.

Diluc grabs a hanger from a wardrobe and puts it on the bed, starting to work on his shirt. A concentrated look on his face doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and the need to know his thoughts stirs impatience inside.

“Tell me. Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“Well,” a fond look of his crimson eyes graces your somewhat displeased expression, quickly making you melt, earning a smile from him as well, “it went very well.”

“For you or for them?”

“What if I say both?” he teases and you almost roll your eyes. If the bed wasn’t so big you’d reach out and kick his leg.

“Come oooon, I am intrigued!”

“I know you are,” a chuckle.

“You know and yet you keep it a secret? Unbelievable. Your brother’s antics rub on you it seems. Don’t look at me like that, we both know you were even worse in your teens.”

“One day he won’t see the light of it,” Diluc promises without malice and, finally changed, climbs onto the bed to settle by your side, only to be attacked by your loving kisses and a big hug, which he accepts eagerly, encouraging your affectionate clinginess.

“Tell meeee, did they do well?”

“In their game of conviction? Of course they did, you are their teacher,” at that you giggle.

“So… Does that mean you told them you’d get a dog? The exact one they want?”

“I didn’t say I’d get them a dog, but I promised to think.”

“Only to get it as a surprise?”

“You know me too well, my flame. And though their choice surprised me, I don't have anything against it.”

“Though the land of origin has it against you?” The man sighs at your joke, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“It’s going to be hard, but I’ll put someone from my people in charge of that. After all, borzoi aren’t popular in Mond, it’s probably been years since the last time some noble adopted a dog like that as an,” he twists his fore and middle fingers, “ ‘exotic pet’.”

“True,” you agree, reaching out to take his hand and put a head on his shoulder. “You think we'll handle it on top of everything?"

"I think we will. I suppose we'll have some time to get adjusted to having the baby here. Then I could help Ru and Lu train the puppy. Borzoi are quite temperamental, after all, they’ll need assistance."

"And once again you are ready to go such lengths to make our babies happy. You are a great father, you know?”

He doesn’t even need to respond, because you both know the answer to this question. Diluc leans to rest the cheek against your head and intertwines your fingers, gently squeezing to tighten the hold. Your words, this exact admittance brought a bigger smile on the man’s face and caused butterflies to dance in his chest, caressing his heart with the soft trembles of their wings. Yes, he’d do many things to assure his family’s safety and happiness, as it became his life purpose after meeting you.

Besides, birthdays happen once a year, right? And getting a dog isn’t all that extraordinary, - knowing his boys and their wild imagination he could’ve expected something mind-blowing (like that time when they saw Klee using her bombs and begged you two to install those instead of the fireworks. Obviously you two declined, letting Albedo take care of that part, so in the end Rufus and Lucas still were entertained and content with the fire show).

So, yeah, Snezhnayan Borzoi it is.

Maybe he could teach it to bark at Kaeya. Just because he can.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #diluc x fem!reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #dadluc #genshin oc #genshin impact fluff #pearly family au

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hawkinsindiana · 1 year

Text

we won’t be like them

ALMOST PARADISE: PART FOUR - CHAPTER EIGHT OF NINE

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 10.4k

a/n: gulp. thanks to ms ruby @stevebabey for helping me w the early stages of the shower scene ehheheheheh. YES THERE’S A SHOWER SCENE!!!!!!! warnings for descriptions of blood/wounds, general nondescript nudity, major character deaths, and loooooooooots of physical touch pls enjoy!!!!

masterlist

Steve says your name, breaking through the haze of dread and anxiety that’s overtaken you in the last several minutes. His palms grip your face intently as he finally gets you to focus on him, your wide eyes locking onto his. Despite being back in Hawkins, his palms are still slightly chilled from the freezing temperature of the Upside Down; the longer he spends with his skin on yours, you can feel yourself warming him up. He looks scared, panicked even.

Steve’s voice is firm and a bit stern with every ounce of his conviction pouring out into his words, “He’s a smart kid, okay? We’re gonna find him.”

All you can manage is a small nod. Your throat is dry. You can tell Steve’s desperate to keep a level head, but he’s bursting at the seams, emotion showing even though he doesn’t mean it to.

The one time you weren’t with the teens and this happens.

You two agreed that they’ve grown more capable; if there was anywhere your skills would be needed, it was with Nancy. It wasn’t her who you should’ve been helping.

You wished her luck as she landed on the sidewalk outside the RV with Creel House a few yards ahead. If either you or Steve had been there to protect them, this never would have happened. Whatever it was that went wrong may have been prevented; the plan wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible. That doesn’t matter anymore.

You left her to die. You swore to yourself that you’d keep her safe and you left her to fend for herself.

Your brother’s missing. He’s not at the RV like he promised he’d be.

A gentle tap on your face brings you back — you hadn’t noticed you’d fallen into your thoughts once again. Steve’s eyes continue to bore into yours although you’re unable to give any further acknowledgement. He swallows harshly; you’re in shock. He can’t help you any further right now.

Regretfully, Steve removes his hands from you and rises from his knees. He doesn’t want to leave you.

“Just… just stay right here, okay? Don’t move,” He says, his fingers reaching out to the axe in the dirt beside him, “I’m gonna help them look. I’ll be right back.”

Steve presses a firm kiss to the skin above your eyebrow and vanishes around the corner of the RV, leaving you to sit alone on the steps that lead inside the vehicle. In his absence, you can hear the sporadic shouts of your brother’s name from Robin and Nancy; Steve’s voice joins theirs. Emergency sirens grow in the distance.

You can’t pull your gaze from the red glow. The crack in the earth shredded the landscape with ease, destroying many of the trailers in its wake. You wonder if any of those families survived — it’s not likely they did. The sky, while dark from the late hour, fades into a maroon haze that rises from the gate and the surrounding tree line. What does the rest of Hawkins look like? Is your mom safe? The Wheelers? The Sinclairs?

The Munson’s is gone. You imagine it splintered to pieces and was sucked into the gate as it appeared, torn apart in the same way Creel House did with the four of you inside. You barely escaped with the others. The chimes of the grandfather clock didn’t sound how you expected, but rather like haunting bell tolls from Hell, marking the end of so many lives. It was an awful sound; it’s one you’re not sure you’ll ever forget.

Lucas and Erica were inside Creel House too. Dustin and Eddie would’ve been in his trailer.

More tears burn your eyes. Your hand rises to your forehead; the spot Steve kissed feels warm. There’s pressure in your chest. You’re still loved. Someone still loves you. You’ve done terrible things and you’re still loved. You left her to die.

A ragged sigh is pushed from your lungs when your lip begins to quiver. Far too many tears have already been spilled, but you can’t seem to find the will to stop. Your feelings have always been big — strong enough that it used to feel like a superpower to experience emotion so deeply. But now, after all you’ve been through, it feels like a curse. Everything feels too big. This level of grief and regret… you’ll have to learn to tolerate it. A section of your heart will need to be carved out to make room. Your failure has cost lives. More blood stains your hands; your palms are already spattered. Maybe this is a feeling you’ll need to get used to.

You’re still loved. You left her to die. Your head hurts.

Despite the thoughts fighting for dominance inside your mind, another voice cuts through the air like a knife through silk — Dustin’s voice. You wonder if it’s a dream or some sick trick of Vecna’s as you see him emerge from the edge of your periphery, a long shadow cast over the ground. It takes you a moment to register him as tangible, then you notice his limp. Immediately, you rise to meet him. You sprint a distance of fifty feet in mere seconds.

Dustin’s the first to go in for a hug; you’re more worried about the state of his injury until you see the tears that track down his face too. You gladly welcome his embrace, your arms settling around his shoulders. Your brother cries harder and some semblance of relief washes over the pair of you — the Hendersons made it out alive. Selfishly, you’re glad others were killed and not him. You instantly feel guilty for that thought.

The thought of another crosses your mind. You’re almost afraid to ask.

“Where’s Eddie?”

Dustin’s breathing comes in disjointed heaves. His voice is clogged from his sobs.

“I h-had to… I just…”

As he struggles to speak, Steve jogs over to the pair of you. A myriad of emotions are etched across his face — relief, fear, and perhaps a hint of anger. You lock eyes as Dustin pushes through his stutters and confirms what you thought.

“I had to leave him there. His body’s s-still in there.”

His body.

More guilt washes through you. Steve’s mouth presses into a firm line and he casts his gaze down towards the ground. A hand smooths over the crease in his forehead, the other still holding the axe tightly. He curses under his breath.

How many lives did this failure cost?

You squeeze your brother even tighter, one of your palms slipping to cradle the back of his head. You want to take this feeling from him and carry it instead. Dustin sighs a rather deep breath, his words muffled against the fabric of your vest, “Max is gone too, isn’t she?”

At the mention of the girl, your resolve crumbles. Your shoulders sag from the weight of her name, now burned into your mind as a reminder of what more you could’ve done. More tears pool behind your eyelashes; you blink and they fall, pouring down over your face. Your reaction is enough of an answer for him, but not for you. You inhale, knowing that your actions, or lack thereof, took one of your brother’s best friends away from him. You left her to die.

“I’m so sorry,” You mumble. It’s unclear who you’re saying it to, or which death you’re comforting him over. Maybe it’s for everything.

A weight lays across the line of your shoulders; not another moment passes before Steve’s brow is pressing into your temple, his nose nudging the swell of your cheek. His other arm wraps firmly around Dustin as you instinctively lean into his touch, beckoning him closer without retreating from your brother’s embrace. It’s a bit of an awkward position but no one has the mind to care, especially as the three of you come to terms with what’s happened and what’s to come. This is a weight you’ll carry forever.

—

Steve has a pretty strict ‘no-dust-in-my-car’ policy; tonight, it is completely disregarded. He doesn’t particularly care that Dustin doesn’t wipe his feet off before entering, or that your pants are probably depositing dirt in the passenger’s seat. It is a major sigh of relief to be somewhere familiar — in this case, Steve’s BMW parked in the Maple Street cul-de-sac. You abandoned the Winnebago one street over.

Exhausted doesn’t begin to describe what you’re feeling. Your mind is blank and your body is sore. Everything hurts in one way or another. You can’t tell if you’ll be able to sleep or not, but you know you need rest, preferably with your love curled up beside you.

It takes a few minutes longer than normal to reach the driveway to your home. Roads have already been closed off by police and detours made around the damage. People are hastily packing up their families and clogging up the streets as they abandon their homes — you wish you had the luxury.

You pull the spare key from its usual place in the light fixture on the porch. The second you insert it into the lock, the door opens from the opposite side; your mother stands before you clad in an obnoxiously fluffy pink robe. She appears to be bouncing between worry, anger and relief, which blooms into unmistakable concern. There’s fresh bruising on your neck and Dustin’s arm is thrown across Steve’s shoulders to keep him balanced.

You imagine the three of you clad in military green and protective attire must be quite a sight. You feel pathetic. You feel like a child.

“It’s a…” You pause to clear your throat, which has only grown raspier since your experience at Creel House; you can still feel the tendril constricting your airflow.

“It’s a long story. I promise we’ll tell yo-”

Before you can finish, your mom pulls you into a tight hug, effectively silencing the excuse you had conjured up on the drive over. Right now she doesn’t care what it was that kept you away so long, she’s just glad you’re safe. It takes a bit of effort to hide your wince as her hand smooths over the wound on your back, but more than anything, it feels good to be home and welcomed by the comfort of your mother’s touch.

She doesn’t know the things you’ve done; you hope it stays that way.

As she pulls away, her hands shift to hold your face for a moment before switching her attention.

“Oh my boys,” She mumbles, reaching out to greet Dustin and Steve next. She does the same, pulling them both into a tight hug and plants a kiss on each of their cheeks. After they break away, Steve gently leads Dustin back into his bedroom, per his request. All he wants to do is sleep.

You manage to convince your mom that food can wait until the morning, so she nervously darts off to help your brother in whatever way he needs. As Steve exits Dustin’s room, your tired eyes meet and your outstretched hands follow. Instantly, warmth spreads through your veins at his touch; you need more. You lead him along the familiar path from the hall and into your bedroom.

It’s sparser than it used to be, but it’s still a relief to be greeted by the wallpaper you picked in your youth. This space exudes nothing but comfort — even more so when Steve scoops you into his hold the second you enter.

The moment you’re settled with your arms slung around his shoulders and his firmly clutching your ribs, it’s like the both of you melt. A deep cleansing exhale somehow pulls you closer until you’re fairly confident there’s no place where your souls begin or end. For everything that went wrong today, thank god the love you share has endured.

“I’m so fucking exhausted.”

You hum in agreement at Steve’s words, muttered from deep in the bend of your neck. You can feel his tiredness, evident in how he’s practically leaning against you to stay upright. His fingers are slightly trembling against you — a side effect of adrenaline threaded through his veins for too long. Now that it’s finally beginning to wane, all that’s left is the desire to rest.

You bury your face deeper into his clothes, greedily taking in every ounce of solace you can. While his touch is soothing, you unsurprisingly find yourself hungry for more, craving skin against skin after all these heavy garments have been stripped away. The longer you spend here in each other’s embrace, the more of a necessity it becomes.

“Stay with me tonight. Please.”

Steve huffs a tiny laugh, “You’re crazy for thinking I was going anywhere else.”

You allow the hint of a smile to crack your solemn exterior; it’s stupid how good it feels to hear a bit of humor fall from his lips. Instantly, you feel guilty for enjoying a spark of happiness.

He shifts his hold and pulls away enough to meet your eyes. His exhaustion would be easy to miss if you didn’t know him better than anyone else. A small frown creates that crease between his brow as his hand rises to ghost over your cheek; it’s hard to keep the shiver at bay that comes from him lightly skimming the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone. Your skin is ashy, coated in a layer of dust and splatters of blood, belonging to you and those disgusting creatures. He wants to wipe away all reminders of these horrible few days. An awful knot forms at the bottom of his stomach as he remembers not all of them are going to disappear.

Steve drops his hand to your shoulder before smoothing his palm down the side of your arm, “Go get cleaned up, yeah? I’ll bring your spare clothes.”

You nod once and say a silent thank you in the form of a kiss, gently pressed to the skin above his jawline; your lips prickle against the stubble that resides there. For a moment, you spot the hint of a blush beneath the grime that flecks his face. You smile a bit, for something so simple as a kiss from you still earns a reaction as sweet as your love.

With that, Steve removes his hands from you and disappears out the bedroom door. The sound of his car keys echoes through the dark living room while you shuffle down the hall; through the walls, you catch the muffled voice of your mother and the quiet sobs from Dustin. That golden feeling in your chest dissipates.

It takes a few seconds for the temperature of the shower to shift from freezing cold to comfortably warm. Before you have the chance to make any additional adjustments, a knock on the door steals your focus. It’s Steve; a case of déjà vu clouds your mind.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” He whispers as he passes you a small stack of folded clothes. They turn out to be nothing more than one of his long sleeved tees, as well as a fresh pair of socks and underwear. The emergency outfits for situations just like this, hidden away in the back of Steve’s trunk, don’t have comfort in mind. Your eyes meet as you thank him, your voice even softer than his.

You feel the need to comfort him building up inside your chest, like a compulsion you wouldn’t dare try to defy. He’s done such a good job of protecting and caring for you — you’d like to return the favor. You place your free hand onto his forearm and begin gently guiding him into the room with you; your touch, as well as the delicate gaze that accompanies, serves as a silent invitation he understands through all his weariness.

As Steve shuts the door behind him, the steam from the shower immediately begins to enhance his exhaustion. Sluggishly, he sets his own bundle of clothes onto the counter beside yours. Before he can reach for you, you’ve already sunk down to the tile, your nimble fingers tugging at the triple knotted laces of his boots. Once you’ve managed to loosen the shoes, he steps out of them with ease; they’re a size and a half too big. The boots are discarded by the door with a heavy thunk.

Steve’s kneeling as soon as he can and repeats the same action on you. He works quickly to undo your laces and with a hand pressed to the back of your calf for support, he pulls each shoe off. Another heavy thunk near the door.

A tired silence falls over the pair of you as Steve straightens back up to his full height, minus a heavy sag in his posture. His fingers come to tug on the side of your vest, zippers and velcro ripping as he gingerly eases it off you. He can feel the relief roll through your body in a wave, one less weight on your injured shoulder and before he can continue, you’re repeating the action on him.

Steve’s chest heats with love as you begin removing his own vest with care; the jacket follows soon after and they’re both discarded onto the tile. He briefly wonders what to do with them — he’d love to have a stupid bonfire and burn it all, along with the terrible memories of the past few days. But your voice in his head reminds him that can’t be done, that there’s a chance you’ll need this armor again. He grows even wearier with that thought. As if you can sense it, because of course you can, your hands press into his skin and bring him back out of his head.

The skirting touches are against the skin of his waist, just below the sweat-soaked gauze your warm fingers placed there not long ago. But now, your hands are calloused and on the brink of blistering, worn from weapon use. Although the sensation is slightly different than he’s used to, Steve would recognize the curious intention beneath those palms anywhere. It’s still you, even if a bit jaded.

Steve lets you work the fabric of his shirt off him. He winces when he twists too far to the side; pain splinters off in all directions from his stomach wounds, irritated and angry after hours of strenuous movement. Your worried eyes dart up to study his expressions, intent on putting him through as little discomfort as you can. Gently, he manages to pull his arms through the sleeves and tugs it over his head with a small hiss. It’s tossed into the pile with everything else.

He’s glad you don’t protest when he begins the same process on you. Once the zipper of your suit is down its track and you start to remove the clothing, a particularly pained whimper escapes you. Steve stills in an instant, waiting for your face to relax before he continues to guide your arms out of the thick sleeves. It takes you a moment to slip out of the fabric now bunched around your thighs; one of Steve’s hands grips your uninjured shoulder for balance as you slide the suit down to the floor. Goosebumps erupt over your bare legs as your skin is exposed to the air, which grows warmer by the minute due to the steam from the shower. It makes it more difficult for you to stay awake, your eyelids drooping even further as you step out of the clothing, pulling your socks off quickly as well.

Both of your gazes are much different than they normally would be in similar circumstances to this. You’re far too upset, far too angry, far too exhausted to even allow yourselves the luxury of such thoughts. Neither of your eyes carry a single hint of that type of warmth, but a different one instead — the kind that comes from fierce trust and overwhelming love.

Rather than beginning to remove any more clothing, you kneel back to the ground and open the cabinet beneath the sink. After a few seconds of clattering plastic hidden from Steve’s view, you emerge with a rather large first aid kit. Without getting up, you place it onto the countertop and root around for a box of bandages — all shapes and sizes. It pains Steve to think you had prepared for this, knowing that someday you could come home with a wound so terrible that it must be treated with this amount of care, including sutures and hospital grade gauze. He wonders how long it’s been down there, packed away from the prying eyes of your mother so she'd never stumble upon it while cleaning.

When you finally rise once again, your fingers ghost over his abdomen and the bandage you placed there earlier. Both of your wounds need to be flushed with water and gently washed in the shower, now that you have the proper time. As you begin unwrapping the gauze across his stomach, trying not to focus too intently on the deep shade of maroon that’s seeped through the fabric, Steve exhales deeply in preparation. His eyes screw shut and he blindly reaches behind him to grasp the lip of the sink, a cold sweat starting to trickle down his spine.

“That’s it, Stevie,” You mumble as you continue your tedious work, “You’re doing so good. Last layer.”

What was once alabaster white is stained — hues of red and brown from dried and fresher blood. Steve swears it’s fused to his skin, a whimper breaking past his lips as you lift a scab off when you pull. An apology is already out of your mouth.

You’re frozen, stuck a moment too long scanning the wounds on his abdomen. From the bob in your throat as you swallow, Steve can feel the guilt, sadness, and pain that radiates from you; seeing your lover in this state never gets easier, no matter how used to it you might be. You sniffle quietly.

A soft brush of Steve’s fingers across your cheek forces your eyes upwards. You’re able to blink back the tears as he swipes his thumb over your skin. It’s a silent act of reassurance, but how much it actually does to soothe you, neither of you know.

He shifts his hand to your shoulder, accentuating the movement with a nod of his head and muttering softly, “Turn around.”

You spin on the cool tile at his request, wincing as you begin hiking up the fabric of your tank; the motion angers your shoulder unbelievably so. The sound immediately forces Steve’s hands to rest on top of yours, urging you to stop. He pulls them away, carefully watching your reaction to ensure you go through as little pain as possible while he takes over, sliding it up your torso. The wounds begin to show themselves the higher it rises.

With a tense jaw, Steve grimaces at the sight of your scratched skin, which had been left to rub against your clothes. He wishes there was more he could’ve done for you earlier. He wishes he could’ve taken as much care with your wounds as you did his. The raised marks appear agitated, fresher blood clotting in some areas; Steve stretches the shirt to move your left arm through easily, guiding it over your head so he can slide it off the other without hurting you. He doesn’t want to look at the worst part but it calls to him like the world’s cruelest temptation — the wound is finally exposed to the air as he discards the tank top somewhere behind him.

Briefly, Steve pinches his eyes closed before forcing them back open; you hear him sigh dejectedly as his gaze lands on the bandage covering where the Demobat had burrowed into your skin. You’ve bled through it over the past day or so, leaving most of the fabric inked red. The only plus side to this is that the adhesive gives much faster when Steve takes a corner in between his fingers. The other hand is holding your hip steady as he peels it away, thumb brushing comfortingly until the bandage is removed; he places the soiled piece on top of his discarded in the sink.

You haven’t realized how tightly you’ve been gripping the countertop until Steve pulls your hand away from the stone, lightly massaging your palm as he remains intently focused on the deep wound punctured into your skin. Then he finds his eyes roving over your back, eventually landing on the stained band of your bra, now splotched with red from your blood and gray from the parallel dimension. It used to be one of his favorites — he doesn’t know how many times he’s seen this one; the color flatters you so, but now he’s pretty certain he’ll never be able to look at it again. A part of him hopes you feel the same way and toss it out later. He’ll buy you a million more if you do.

You silently turn in his hold and your gaze is already cast down to meet with his own injuries once more. You want to make it better right now, you don’t want to wait however long it’ll take for him to heal. Why is it seeing them right now that makes your throat ache so much?

You’ve collected your own reminders of what you’ve survived; you’ve learned to accept them as both a blessing and a curse. The thought of Steve looking over his body and seeing twisted skin left behind from one of these nightmares, and being reminded of what left them there, makes your heart crack. You know how painful it is to relive these traumatic moments from your life day after day. You hate the idea of him doing the same, especially when this time was significantly worse than the others.

Now, you’ll have matching scars given to you by the same awful creatures. For the rest of your lives, they will remind you both of how neither of you could save each other from them.

Steve’s seen you go through this before — watched your body heal after one of these horrific moments in time. It’s incredibly difficult to know there’s nothing more you’re able to do except change the bindings and flush them with water. Twice he’s witnessed a traumatic event indent itself on your skin, as if it isn’t already wired deep into your brain, now unforgettable.

He knows how terrible this feels, seeing what will be the first scars on his body. Now you’ve got yet another reminder torn into the fabric of your back — the back Steve has run his hands over more times than he can count. Nevermind that you’ve lost it yourself thrice now, you’re still mourning what he should be grieving: the normalcy of his own skin.

Your face pinches, mind running over the events of the Upside Down, looking for a moment where something could’ve happened differently — a moment where you could’ve saved him from this. But every time, it happens the same way.

It’s like he can sense everything you’re feeling, almost as if the uncertainty and sadness swirls in the air between you. Your fingers are lightly skimming over the skin of his stomach, absently lost in these terrible thoughts. You need to fix this.

“Sweetheart,” Steve murmurs gently, his large hands covering yours as he pulls them away and coaxes you towards the shower. Stitches and gauze don’t matter until it’s clean.

“Shower first, yeah?”

He doesn’t wait for your response, finally beginning to work off his cargo pants that feel a million times heavier than when he put them on in War Zone. Stripping off the final fabric from his body, Steve lets you follow suit, testing the temperature of the water with his hand. Just like the billows of steam that cling to every surface suggest, it’s grown hotter. He adjusts it slightly, the stream warm instead of scalding and he steps in, knowing you’ll be right behind.

The water cascades along his shoulders deliciously, each drop heating patches of skin he hasn’t realized were frigid until now. Steve was worried that the warmth would send him straight to sleep, so he’s relieved that some of his exhaustion washes down the drain as his body is soothed. It’s a deep breath he can finally take.

Naturally, as you enter after him, Steve shifts back and ushers you under the stream; he’s desperate to let you get some reprieve from the aches of your body. His hands settle on your face, thumbs swiping away the grime and dirt as water spills down your skin. As softly as he can, Steve tilts your head to rinse your hair, his fingers massaging along your hairline for additional comfort.

The water that swirls around the drain starts to change color the longer you spend beneath the shower head; it shifts deep red, then pink, sometimes a brownish gray. Your wounds sting each time the water hits them, discomfort showing on your face with a quick squint of the eye, but it’s a pain you can bear — you’ve felt far worse. With hair now wet enough for his liking, Steve gently spins you with a hand on each arm, letting the stream hit your chest instead. He takes a red bottle from the small shelf and lathers a bit of your shampoo in his palms, the familiar scent mixing with the steam billowing around you.

His fingers move expertly to work the suds through your wet strands, taking extra time to ensure the shampoo gets to your scalp. You’re practically putty in his hands, sighing lightly as Steve continues washing your hair, head falling backward in bliss from his touch. He’s washed your hair before, but never with this much care and dedication to a deep cleanse. A part of you wishes it didn’t take another encounter with the supernatural to experience it… or any of the significant moments in your relationship you’ve shared recently.

As he finishes lathering your hair, Steve’s eyes drift to your neck — a bruise has begun to form against the smooth skin, wrapping the entire expanse of your throat in splotches of purple and deep red. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sight of your face without all its warmth and life. His right hand rests at the base of your neck between your shoulder blades, his fingers gently caressing the injured flesh with a dark gaze, irises holding a restrained rage within.

A shiver — a direct contrast to the steam that envelops you — rolls down the length of your spine as Steve’s cheek brushes yours. His other hand splays out across the expanse of your stomach, keeping you still as his head ducks lower and settles in the crook between your throat and collarbone. Instinctively you lean into him, pressing your face to his hair as Steve stays here for a moment, gratefully taking in the feeling of you standing in front of him. It’s so featherlight that you almost miss it — a kiss pressed to the mark on your skin that he had left there, the only sign of his love on your body. He’s tempted to leave more, to outnumber the other bruises a million to one and make you understand just how thankful he is to have you here with him.

It doesn’t take very long for you to spin in his hold, your hands seeking to find purchase on him wherever you can. You settle for sliding your fingers into Steve’s hair as his grip on you shifts, his rough palms slipping across your waist to keep you close. His forehead rests against your shoulder as you continue to wet the dark strands as best you can, intent on helping him unwind too. When it’s time to add some shampoo, you have to twist awkwardly to reach the bottles on the shelf. But before you get the chance to, a sound nearly drowned out by the rushing water catches your attention — a small sniffle.

Instantly you snap back to Steve, whose face you take between your wet hands. He doesn’t fight as you gently tilt his head up to see his eyes are rimmed with red. You swallow harshly. You can only imagine how surreal this must be for him; just a couple of hours ago, he was clutching your dying body in the same hands that caress you now. That’s a memory he’s not likely to forget, no matter how much longer he lives for. You hate he has to carry that.

You don’t have any words to comfort him and quite frankly, you’re not sure anything you say right now could be helpful. What he needs is just you — your presence, your touch, and your love.

Your noses brush as you press your forehead to his and you shut your eyes, taking this quiet moment to do nothing but be present with him. He’s done the same for you so many times it’s hard to keep count. In the darkness, while both the water and Steve warm you from within, he shifts even closer. His lips find yours.

You’ll never grow tired of kisses like this — ones where there’s a swoop in your stomach and every emotion he’s feeling presses into your skin. Through both his hands and his kiss, you understand it all in an instant. The adoration is almost overwhelming, pouring over the edge until you are firm in your belief that it’ll never run out. But the ridiculous amount of affection for you is eclipsed by an unwavering fear. It’s louder than anything else, told by the way his fingers gently dig into the depressions of your ribcage and his lips, which cling to yours until the moment his oxygen runs out.

Most people wouldn’t associate Steve with being afraid. They couldn’t be more wrong. Steve Harrington is terrified.

There’s a soft desperation that lingers, which you blindly follow into another kiss. Though diluted from the water that glides down your face, the familiar taste of tears hits your tongue; it takes a moment to realize they’re coming from you too. You’re not sure of the exact cause as a deep sadness takes root somewhere in your heart, too far to be inspected further but ever present. But upon understanding the depth of emotions Steve has felt recently, you realize it’s more grief. Grief that for a brief period of time, there was nowhere for his love to go.

It’s not right to say he deserves the world because that doesn’t seem like enough; there’s far more that you want to give him. You want to give him a gift as imperfectly beautiful and impractical as the moon, for someone who holds you this delicately should be rewarded. You’re drawn to him with your tides, even with shipwrecks and skeletons hidden in the darkest parts of your mind. He knows your deepest secrets and he’d still beg to reflect his love in your ocean, even if you’re clouded with storms or calm and clear.

It’s all meaningless anyways. If you tried to hand him the moon, he’d shrug it off in an instant and give it to you instead.

When you pull away, both the tears and water are streaming down your faces in a seemingly endless river. Steve feels like you’ve exchanged pieces of your souls. You place a final kiss on the corner of his mouth before you turn in his hold and reach for the shampoo. He presses his lips to your shoulder as you lather the suds in your palms.

This routine continues until you’ve both rinsed and scrubbed the other until all of the grime is washed down the drain. While your bodies may feel clean, your minds don’t have the same luxury. The pair of you retreat with the medical supplies to your room, where there’s no rush to care for your love properly. Steve’s thankful that patching you up goes significantly smoother than last time, even though he does have to stitch your wound closed. It’s rather nerve wracking work, but after a quick refresher from you, he completes it with more confidence. You place large bandages over the bites in his abdomen rather than a continuous piece of cloth so he can be more comfortable. Nearly an hour has passed by the time you’re finished.

—

Under normal circumstances, you’d prop the window open to let the spring breeze filter through the room and cool off your bodies from the warmth of the shower — you decide against it when your ears catch the endless echo of sirens from the town beyond. You should be out there helping, offering your assistance in any way you can to attempt to make up for what you’ve done, but that can wait.

Steve desperately wants to hold you close, fully envelop you in his arms and pull you on top of him so he can feel your heartbeat thudding along with his own. He needs to feel every inch of your body against his — a reminder that you’re alive, laying here with him in the darkness of your bedroom. His wounds, on the other hand, have a different idea.

With every movement, his stomach aches; pain shoots through his muscles and forces his face to pinch as he carefully crawls beneath the covers. Even through his pain, he shifts the blankets so you can slip in beside him. The cotton is cool against your skin; it’s the reprieve you’ve been craving ever since finding Eddie holed up in that boathouse last week — the relief of knowing it’s over, that you’ve survived, the same one you’ve felt four times now.

Even so, it’s not the same. It’s not over. Vecna’s still out there somewhere. Hawkins has been destroyed. It’s only a matter of time before you’re called back into the fray; the pile of battle-worn gear in the corner says as much.

Steve’s mind is running through the same thoughts as he finally settles on his back, eyelashes fluttering closed when he stills. He’s overthinking, worrying obsessively about what’s going to come next and whether or not he has the strength to do this again.

The thoughts shift when your hand rests in the center of his torso, palm pressed over the dip in his ribs where his sternum ends. You crave the closeness too; you wish you could crawl into his arms and sleep forever in his embrace without a care in the world. As you press your forehead to the outside of his arm, Steve removes your hand to clutch it in his, your intertwined fingers now resting against him — his grip is firm and gentle.

As you two lay here, the time on your digital clock passing midnight, Steve finds himself reflecting on what’s to come, more specifically for the two of you.

If he’s honest, a lot of what he said is a complete blur. Only a few details come to mind if he thinks hard enough. What he does remember is that everything he said was the truth — he can feel it deep in his chest. He wouldn’t have lied to you about any of that, not that he’d ever lie to you about anything.

You said yes to it all, too. You said yes to the future, to the-

Oh god.

Suddenly, Steve wonders if you said yes to everything because… well, of course you did. You thought you were gonna die. It would’ve been pretty shitty to turn down something like that from the one you love before charging into battle. He may have accidentally chosen the worst time to spring all that on you.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t want that life with you anymore. On the contrary, he’s certain there will never be anyone else. But wanting to share your future is a big commitment, no matter how in love you are. You’re the one with some semblance of a plan for your life… is he intruding by asking for so much so soon?

Sometimes Steve forgets that he hasn’t known you his entire life. It often feels like he has. In reality, it’s only been a couple of years. You’ve been together for a shorter period of time than that.

His expression immediately creases in embarrassment. You seriously told your girlfriend of fifteen months that you want her to have your kids?

“Y’know that uh… all that stuff I said? In the woods?”

You raise your head to rest on his pillow, intently studying the anxiety as it forms over his face. The streetlight outside your window lightly washes the pair of you in a yellow hue, even behind the drawn curtains.

You feel your face heat as you recall his beautiful words. You nod once, your damp hair mussing against the pillowcase, “Yeah. What about it?”

He steals a quick glance at you out of the corner of his eye; the thrum of his heartbeat increases in your intertwined hands.

“It’s okay if you… if that’s not what you really want. We thought we were gonna die, y’know, so if you agreed to everything back there and you didn’t really mean it, that’s fine. Okay? That’s perfectly fine because I still wanna live with you and I still love you a-”

“I did.”

While you could’ve let him ramble on and on until his brain was empty, you can’t listen to him doubt himself like this for much longer. Confusion shutters across his face with your interruption, his brow pinching as he turns his gaze back to you. He doesn’t have to speak for you to understand.

An easy smile pulls at your lips. You remove your hand from his and rest your palm on his cheek, your thumb lightly stroking his skin; his lashes flutter from the contact. His fingers curl around your forearm in response.

“I meant it. All of it, baby. I want that too, and I want it with you.”

To reinforce your words, you lower your head and press a kiss to the bare skin of his shoulder. When you pull away, a strange feeling spreads from the imprint of your lips. It travels down his arm and across his chest until his entire body is bathed in what can only be described as pure love, far stronger than anything he’s ever felt, including fear. As terrified as you make him, he loves you much more. Warm relief curls around his heart. You meant it.

He can’t stand it anymore.

“C’mere,” Steve mutters gently, sliding his palm down to your elbow. He lifts the arm trapped between you so you can scooch closer; he doesn’t particularly care about his wounds anymore, not when he needs your skin against him like he needs oxygen. He’s convinced your touch will heal him. With your hand secured against his ribs, you pull yourself flush against him and tuck the other beneath the pillow. Once you’re settled, Steve winds his arm around your waist to avoid your own injuries. It’s awfully snug, but exactly what you’ve been craving.

You think you could gaze into his eyes forever — endless galaxies of rich browns and flecks of amber stars with a black hole right in the center. A pocket of space only meant for you, until the end of time.

Steve smiles as he tucks his hand beneath the hem of your shirt, his fingers tracing aimless lines along your hip. He’ll never quite understand how a young boy’s disappearance brought him the love of his life, the future mother of his children, his soulmate — he decides not to question it too much. His life would be so ridiculously boring without you.

His voice is sincere, “You’re my best friend.”

“Well I hope so,” You tease, somehow scooting even closer to him, “You never stopped being mine.”

Steve’s heart swells tremendously. Beneath all the endearment and fondness, you’re still those two lonely idiots who found a friend in the most unlikely of places. Although he never wants to lose your love, losing the innocent friendship that first tied you together would be catastrophic. Before he gets a chance to come up with any sort of equally gooey reply, your eyes are widening slightly — like something’s just dawned on you.

“Wait, does this mean we’re… like… married now?”

The idea of getting to call you his wife makes his head go fuzzy. As much as he’d love to, that does seem like too much too soon. Last week you were planning on moving in together and now there’s talk of marriage and children and the rest of your lives. He’s got you, he knows that now. You’re not going anywhere. He can wait a bit longer.

“Hm…” Steve briefly turns his gaze to the ceiling, the hum in his throat playful as he acts like he’s deciding, “Not yet. Think I still wanna ask you properly.”

A bit of relief leaves you in the form of a scoff — a small taunt that humors his banter, “You gonna get me a ring, Harrington?”

Gingerly, Steve takes your right hand from its place on his chest and holds it out in front of him, carefully twisting your wrist to get a better look. A few seconds of silence pass.

“Steve?”

“Hold on. I’m picturing it.”

You have to hold back a chuckle; you don’t have the heart to joke about it being the wrong hand. Instead, you join him in the endeavor. A delicate silver band molds to the column of your ring finger. It’s nothing fancy — no gems or diamonds perched on the metal but it’d still be yours. Steve grins stupidly as he imagines the feeling of the silver, cool to the touch, pressing into his skin.

He guides your hand to his lips, where he presses a kiss onto the place a ring would sit between your knuckles: a promise. He rests your clasped hands back onto his chest, “I think a ring sounds nice.”

You smile just as sweetly, knowing that there’s no reason for something material to signify your love. Steve could ask you to marry him while tangled together on the couch and you’d be just as eager. But for all the chaos you’ve experienced, a slice of normalcy and a traditional proposal doesn’t sound so bad.

“I think so too,” You mumble as you tuck your face into the bend of his neck, your warm exhale fanning out over his skin. Steve welcomes the feeling and rests his cheek against your hair, his arm tightening around you.

Marriage… god that’s a heavy word. The more you think about it, the more you realize how you barely understand the definition. Nothing positive comes to mind, only failure and unhappiness with a side of regret. You don’t know how anyone could regret love. You’ve found someone who’s willing to learn and adapt with you, who will stick beside you even on your darkest days, who will dish out extra affection on the days where you don’t feel like you deserve it. You’ve been very lucky; perhaps it’s the universe apologizing for all the hardship and scars. It sent you someone with hundreds of constellations across his skin and a golden touch to comfort you in times of great stress.

Steve doesn’t have experience with loving marriage either, yet he’s still willing to jump off this cliff with you.

“We won’t be like them.”

Filled with so much mistrust and contempt it’s hard to imagine there was once kindness for the other. Desperate enough to have a son in the hopes he’d fix everything that went wrong. No, it doesn’t take much to understand you and Steve will change the Harrington name into something synonymous with compassion and love. The massive difference between you and his parents is your desire.

You want a family. You want a home. Your children won't be brought into this world for any other reason than to be an extension of your love. They’ll be cared for and comforted, celebrated and cheered on. You’ll take pride in the mundane that his parents found so disinteresting. You’ll have the weekly movie nights and sit on the bleachers at their sports games. You’ll hang their art projects on the fridge and make their stuffed animals have silly voices. You and Steve will show your children the best parts of yourselves and hope they become even better.

Steve didn’t realize becoming like his parents was something he was concerned about until you said it. It’s a fear that’s quickly squashed. Instead, he worries about what reassurance you might need.

“I won’t leave you.”

Out of everything Steve’s said over the past few hours, he means this the most. Sure, he can’t promise there won’t be bad times or stressful situations that cause an argument or two. He can’t promise there won’t be mistakes made or conflicting ideas. He can’t promise that this addicting feeling of young love will last forever. One thing, however, that he can promise is that he’ll be true to you. He can’t imagine a day where he could meet someone better for him. The thought of having to explain what he’s experienced to someone else makes him want to break out in hives — rather than you, who can see a blank stare or a balled up fist and just know, no explanation required. Taking care of Steve is second nature; he hopes you understand he feels the same for you.

He thinks you might assume this is in reference to your own parents, which he supposes is true as well. He’d never force you to raise your children alone just because he got bored, which he can’t picture either. How could he ever grow tired of the Harrington/Henderson kids? They’re almost guaranteed to be the craziest, most adorable little rascals the world has ever seen. But he wants that life, which he hopes is a comfort in itself.

No, Steve will never leave you. He doesn’t think he could, if he’s honest. Even if you were to grow to hate him through years of marriage and parenting, he’d never initiate anything that could take you from him. How could he? You’re the first person that’s ever loved him. He’ll never give that up willingly, no matter how stupid that may sound.

When you shift your head back, Steve does the same — he can’t stand the thought of going another moment without sealing your soft words in a proper kiss. The only word that comes to mind as you slot your lips against his is safety; he’s never felt as safe and secure as he does right now, receiving your love and cradling you in his arms. You’re going to take care of each other.

The passion builds as you sigh against him, suddenly feeling a bit too warm for your skin when his palm curls up around your jaw to keep you near. Although the press of his mouth is gentle, he is fierce in his intent.

“I love you,” Steve whispers against you, pausing for a moment as he allows himself to bask in this wonderful feeling. It continues to grow as you deliver a light peck to his lips; he opens his eyes to peer into yours, a bit dazed by everything. Your response is simple.

“I love you too.”

Steve would kiss you again if you two didn’t burst into a pair of brilliant smiles, like pure happiness emanating from within. He pulls back slightly to get a proper look at you — a smile that he hopes he’ll see in more than one face.

“I think our first is gonna be a girl.”

You scoff, your voice switching into something playfully stern, “Steve. You don’t know that.”

“Well I do!” He pouts, almost offended that you would doubt him on a matter as serious as this. As his focus returns to your ceiling, his hand moves from your cheek to wave through the air in front of him, “Just call it… father’s intuition, okay? It’ll be a girl.”

Another noise reminiscent of a laugh is pulled from your throat at his insistence. You’d be lying if you didn’t find him insanely endearing — talking about your children like they’re already here. Your heart flutters as the image of Steve doting on a baby girl materializes inside your brain.

You shuffle down the bed a bit to rest your head on his shoulder, “Alright then. What do we name her?”

Steve hums curiously. He hasn’t thought about that part yet. Although it doesn’t have to, he feels like her name should have meaning. Something important to the both of you, something that signifies a fresh start.

He inhales as it comes to him — a name he’s been repeating to himself over and over again, accompanied by a handful of numbers.

“Marcie’s a cute name, don’t you think?”

Tears nearly pool at your lash line with his admission. The street name for your little apartment in Chicago. Steve would want to name your daughter after the first symbol of your future together. Your smile returns, but far more sentimental than it was before.

“I like that a lot,” You confirm, tilting your head up to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. As you do, another idea forms, this one far more upsetting than the other.

“That or… or Max, maybe.”

Steve sighs, closing his eyes at your suggestion. His free hand runs across his brow in an exasperated motion — not at you, but at the outside world he was having a blissful time ignoring. He eventually nods, exhaling once again, “Yeah. That’s a good option too.”

He hates how quickly sadness crawls between you; he can feel you retreating into yourself and away from him, your arm curling back near your body rather than draped out across his chest. While he knows addressing the trauma you both experienced is important, right now doesn’t seem like the best time. Not while all the wounds are still fresh.

“Y’know we don’t have to worry about a name right now,” He mumbles, leaning down to press a kiss into your hair, “We don’t even have a kid yet.”

A small smirk pulls at his lips, “And I don’t know if you’re aware of this Henderson, but I heard that making the baby’s supposed to be the best part.”

His plan works; you let out a chuckle against his skin, “Did you really?”

Steve grins at your playful tone, his hand beneath your shirt shifting tantalizingly higher. He relishes the smattering of goosebumps that he leaves behind and he leans down to nuzzle his nose along your hairline. He hums in response and uses that familiarly flirtatious lilt in his voice that you have a hard time refusing, where you feel desired by him.

“Too bad that’s years away, hm?”

Damn him for being so good at distracting you. You shift against him once more, hooking your leg around his hips, “That’s alright. Gives us plenty of time to practice.”

Your answer earns you a genuine laugh and another kiss to your head.

—

Determined to keep your mind from wandering too far, Steve ends up reciting all the movies available to rent at Family Video, in alphabetical order no less. It’s another one of those stupid skills he’s learned through his tenure there, as well as how to change receipt paper in under five seconds (yes, he and Robin had a competition to see who could do it faster and no, Keith did not think it was very funny). But it ends up working wonders for you, and you make mental notes of those that sound interesting enough to watch for yourselves. As he starts the N’s — “Nighthawks… Nightmare on Elm Street” — Steve recognizes the slowing tempo of your breath and realizes that you’ve drifted off.

Your head’s tilted back now. You had been watching him adoringly as he rambled, giving him an unrestricted view of your sleeping face. For a moment, an emptiness fills his chest. Although he can feel the rise and fall of your torso, you look awfully similar to how you did as you were losing consciousness, also while in his arms. Briefly, he feels a wash of cold come over him at the memory and the tips of his fingers prickle, almost like they’re going numb. Then, he decides to match his breathing with yours; your deep exhales in time with his keep him from completely succumbing to the anxiety. You’re still here with him. There’s nothing to be afraid of right now. Maybe tomorrow, but not right now.

He’s not sure how long you’re out for, but it couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes. Although your body’s grown more tired, you can’t help but feel like you’re being watched, even while lost to a world of dreams. Adorably, you open one of your eyes.

“You staring at me?”

It’s more of a rhetorical question, because it’s incredibly obvious that Steve is. It’s crazy how comforted he is upon the sight of your irises peering back at him. He doesn’t even try to deny it.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

Your mouth begins curling into a small smile. Steve jokingly rolls his eyes, “Don’t sa-”

“That’s dangerous.”

He scowls and shakes his head as best he can. Steve leans forward to press his lips to your cheek, leaving quite a few kisses indented onto your skin. Your nose scrunches up at the feeling and a tiny giggle escapes when he doesn’t relent, propping himself up above you so he can continue his attack all across your face.

Although you had expected more sleep to come tonight, it’s hard to complain when it’s replaced by a golden haze, as if both of you were dipped in pure honey; it’s all slow and soft movements and even sweeter words to keep you stuck together. It’s nothing and everything all at the same time.

“Steve.”

“I’m not done,” He whines as he peppers what feels like another one hundred kisses onto every square inch of your forehead and along the bridge of your nose. A chaste peck to your lips seems to satisfy him.

Suddenly, his expression shifts to something far more stoic; that crease in his brow begins to make a reappearance, as well as the firm clench of his jaw. His eyes go sad, almost like he’s looking through you instead. When your hand rises to caress his face, Steve cracks.

“I’ve never been so scared.”

Creel House — you know it instantly. You can hear it in the tremble of his voice. You did this to him. You gave him the most traumatic moment of his life.

“M’sorry I scared you,” You mumble, gently running the back of your index finger along his cheek, “I can’t… can’t even imagine…”

You get choked up thinking about if the roles were reversed, if you had been clutching Steve’s dying body in your arms. It’s possible you would have been too frozen to do anything other than sob, just wail into his chest as he slipped away from you.

You tut softly, remembering that the stubbornness of the man above you is the only reason you’re still here. His love for you saved your life.

“You’re so strong, Steve.”

It takes every ounce of self control he has not to break. He’s not sure anyone’s ever said that to him before. He shakes his head, biting down on his bottom lip as he wills the tears away. He swallows harshly when your eyes grow watery.

“I’m not. Thought I was dying too. Would’ve torn out my own heart right there and given it to you.”

His brow furrows, “That’s a… little bit dramatic maybe but… you know what I mean. You always do.”

As his left hand rises to cradle the top of your head, you allow the hint of a smile to grace your features, “I like when you’re dramatic.”

Steve smiles too.

“It’s not your fault, baby,” He answers lightly, wishing to absolve you of any guilt you might harbor over this, “Just glad you’re with me now. That’s all that matters. Never letting you go.”

As you melt over his words, you notice the exhaustion is starting to make a home in him. You know Steve takes the role of your protector very seriously, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t get time to recharge. He’d argue you deserve all the sleep you can get, so it’s only fair he gets some too, especially as your body grows sore with every passing minute.

“You can get some rest too, Stevie,” You card your hand through his half-dried hair, pushing his natural waves back from his drooping and tired eyes, “My love.”

“My love,” He laughs lightly, his voice a bit teasing, “That’s a new one.”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“Actually, I love it,” Steve replies. His voice is as sincere as his touch, which shifts away from your hair. Beginning at the divot below your cheekbone, he traces the back of his index finger along the line of your jaw. His thumb lightly skims your bottom lip when he reaches your chin — caramel eyes study the path along your skin, like a golden line has been tattooed into your skin.

“My love.”

After a kiss to your forehead, Steve shuffles beneath the blankets to drape himself over you, almost like you’ve swapped places. His legs tangle with yours as he tucks his head into the bend of your neck, while one of your hands cups the back of his and your fingers drift into his hair. He sighs happily when he throws his arm across your chest and finally relaxes against you.

Although his body is tired beyond all reason, his thoughts are running over themselves endlessly. He raises his head to sleepily peer at you, blinking slowly.

“Do you have any of your books here?”

You nod against the pillow, “Yeah, why?”

His hesitation is spoken in the silence that follows. He licks his lips nervously, “Can you…”

You nod again when he doesn’t finish, “I can read something to you, yeah. Of course.”

With a comforting kiss placed to his forehead this time, you reach over to your nightstand, careful not to anger any of your wounds. You stumble upon one of the old blue-spined Hardy Boys mysteries you’ve had since your childhood; it might not be as sophisticated as some of the other books you’ve read, but this has always remained one of your favorites.

You both fall asleep shortly after you start the third chapter — the book is slung across his back when you doze off. Steve snores lightly against you. Rest has finally found you both.

—

#steve harrington x henderson! reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #almost paradise

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