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[gothhdoll]

jade i was wondering if i could request smth where steve and his gf are out and he leaves really quick to go do something and when he comes back he see his girl crying, so he gets all worried and protective, but later realizes she’s crying happy tears?

i hope that made some sense. tysm!! i LOVE your writing

“You’re not close enough,” Steve says. He’s annoyed, just a smidge, but nothing with malice as he wraps his arm around you to tug you into frame. “I’ve only got so many.” 

“Stop complaining,” you say, shuffling as flush to his side as you can be. 

Steve smells like heaven. He has nice arms, a better smile, and he’s pressing a grin to your cheek as he turns the camera to take your photo. It’s hard to do it back to front, but nobody’s around to take the photograph for you. 

It flashes. The Polaroid pops out with a chug, though the picture has yet to develop. 

“Camera’s should come with more film,” you say, blinking the shock of the flash from your pupils. A white ring stays floating in the air, kissing his nose as you turn toward him again. 

“Camera’s should have unlimited film. How the fuck am I supposed to take enough photos of you if every one costs ten cents? I’ll be broke by August.” 

Steve puts the camera down. He’s in sweatpants and a hoodie, your favourite outfit on him. You fell in love with the idiot who wears tight jeans and polos, but you stay in love with the guy he is in the evenings, when he gets on the line begging you to come over, to move in, to see yourself to his hip and stay forever. It’s more than encouraging to be liked loudly. I love you’s are new between you and he doesn’t seem to notice, he passes them out like candy. Broke the dam and can’t stop saying it. 

“And it’ll be okay,” he says, taking your fave into both hands. “‘Cos shit, I love you.” 

“I love you,” you say softly. 

He grins. A tender kiss is interrupted before it can occur, shocked out of happening by the landline ringing on the wall. “Shit, that might be Robin. I’ll be right back,” he promises. 

He tumbles off of the couch to rush to the kitchen where the phone rings, and you sit there with your heart pounding, wondering how you got this lucky. You always thought you’d never be loved, that there was something fundamentally wrong with you that stopped affection in its tracks. Then you met Steve, and he’s been unapologetic about how much he wants you. He asked for a date ten minutes after you met, another one when the first was barely over. Things went so well he didn’t have to ask you to be his girlfriend, he just sort of stuck to you like he’d been glued on, but he did ask eventually, and the answer (undoubtedly a yes) had seemed to shock him anyway. 

Steve’s just crazy for you. 

He’s so pretty, so sweet, so funny. He doesn’t get how much of a catch he is, all that fake confidence hiding a loser who loves like breathing. 

You’re as happy as you’ve ever been in your whole life. The tears come naturally, small, warm beads that slip down your cheeks unhurried. 

You take the photo you’d just posed for and hold it up to your eye level. It’s a cheesy couple’s picture —Steve looks like he adores you, and you look like you’re burning up with joy. 

You sniff and hold the photo primly in both hands against your lap. 

“Baby?” 

You sniff again, wiping your cheeks as you turn to Steve’s concerned voice in the door. “Hey. Sorry.” 

“Don’t cry,” he says, sitting down where he’d been, couch cushion dipping under his weight. “Hey, please don’t.” 

“No, sorry.” You pass him the photo. “It’s just a really good photo.” 

He pauses. His eyes flicker between you and the photo, your wet cheeks and the frame of you with your face leaning into his kiss. 

“It’s great,” he agrees, arm behind your shoulders. “Happy tears, right? I don’t have to beat anybody up?” 

You tip your head to encourage a kiss that he gives immediately. Insanely happy tears. “You’d have to beat yourself up,” you say. 

“You think I wouldn’t? For you?” 

You laugh wetly and slouch into his arms. “Don’t be stupid.” 

“That’s my middle name. Right before Lover.” 

Steve ‘Stupid Lover’ Harrington? You laugh and demand more kisses, the kind he probably shouldn’t take a photo of. 

[gothhdoll]

hii! I was wondering if you could write a fic with reader and any marauder (they all fit) and maybe helping or becoming protective over the reader after a concert or party after a creep follows the reader? 😭

I went through a similar experience with a guy following me around after I went to the restroom after a concert, and it ruined my night if i'm being honest, I was scared 😞 I'm not the most shy of people and usually I can handle myself but it was pretty dark and idk the adrenaline from feeling happy to scared shifted pretty quickly. Luckily I found my friends and let them know and we quickly went back to our car (along with a few dirty looks from my friends god bless lol). I swore I could go to the restroom by myself- will not be doing that again :(

you can ignore this request if it makes you uncomfortable!

thank uu

i’m so sorry that happened to you! “(they all fit)”= poly marauders!

There’s something about post concert depression, especially when you’re with the band.

Your glitter eyeshadow is smudged, eyeliner untouched. You’d been shaken around in the pit of your boyfriends fans, and yet the paint hasn’t budged. God bless water-proof makeup. The world seems prettier like this, touched by alcohol and the feeling of soaring pride for your boyfriends. The glittery lights and signs of time square never fail to dazzle you, even now as you lean against Sirius morosely.

“M’hungry.” You frown, toes tipping up towards Sirius, though you fear the mumble may have been more for yourself.

His attention is diverted towards the boys as they discuss what to do now. Plans of how to get home and where to eat. His finger taps your cheek slowly, his focus paying you no mind. Words like Uber, hotel, room service echo throughout their very repetitive conversation.

“Sirius.”

He looks down, a little shocked and sorry at his own attention. “Yes, lovely?”

“M’hungry.”

“Hungry?” He asks, cringing. You’re about thirty minutes from the hotel, and even then, room service will take another thirty.

“So hungry.”

He sighs, unsure of what to do.

“There’s a hotdog stand over there.” You grab his tattooed bicep to balance yourself as you point to your right.

He thinks, peering down at you. “This won’t ruin your dinner?” It’s midnight, but still.

“No,” you sing, reaching up to cup his cheeks. “I really want a hotdog.

He flushes, looking away from your wandering eyes. Normally he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. They would never let you out of their sight in a place like this. But the cart is in eye view of the boys, and he has faith in you not to stray, even in your inebriated manor. It’s not that they don’t trust you, they just prefer to keep you safe themselves. Is that okay?

“Okay,” He murmurs, pulling out his wallet, handing you his card. “At least get the good toppings.”

“I always get the good toppings.” You pull away.

The walk is short and the cart is colorful. Red and white stripes, curvy calligraphy. It shines in your inebriated vision. Beautiful. The queues not long, just an older man waiting in front of you, but it feels like forever as the generous man (with the toppings as well) takes your order and wraps it in warm aluminum foil.

You take the hotdog eagerly. “Thank you.”

It’s heavy in your hands, warm too. You yell Sirius’ name excitedly, waving the hotdog above your head for him to see. He laughs, thumbs up until you bump into a man, smile fading, concern etching his brows.

“Oh,” you murmur, looking up. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” he smiles. It’s uncomfortable, not the smile of a friendly civilian.

You laugh. It’s polite, anyone can see that, but he leans closer. He smells like liquor, a disgusting discovery that has you subconsciously leaning away.

“You new around here?”

An actual laugh stumbles out of your lips. “London? No.”

He takes this as an entrance. “You should show me around.”

“No, thank you.” You try to walk past him. Towards Sirius who’s already walking over. “Goodnight.”

“Wait,” he grabs your arm, pulling you back. His fingers dig into your elbow painfully.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, pulling your arm away roughly. “don’t touch me.”

“C’mon,” The man slurs, fingers reaching for you again. “Don’t be-“

“Hello?” Sirius walks up, all stock. He grabs your forearm pulling you to him firmly, getting in between you and the man. He’s not much taller, but more intimidating in demeanor. “Do we have a problem?”

“No,” the man scoffs.

“Cause it looks like you put your hands on her.”

He scoffs again, clearly inebriated. “We were just talking.”

“Well, conversations over now.”

“She can make her own decisions.”

“Fuck off, bro.” Sirius waves his hand dismissively. Quickly, he walks you towards the boys who are peeking their eyes up from the Uber app.

“She was asking for it.”

Sirius reels back, dropping your forearm to shove the scary stranger in the chest. He pushes hard, the man losing his balance as he falls to the ground in a sickening thud. You gasp loudly, the unexpected conflict startling you. Vaguely you hear Sirius say something to him, but you’re too focused on the way the man looks up at you.

James and Remus are there in seconds, quick on Sirius’s heels. They pull at him, up and off the man. There were no real punches thrown, no real injuring blows, it wasn’t even enough to form a crowd. But still, you’re shaken. You shiver like a leaf under your James’ leather jacket, suddenly not feeling the warmth of the alcohol you’d consumed before the concert.

Slowly, you stumble back and way from your boys, to the bench next to the shitty bar you’d passed on your way home. That had been scary, but you’re safe; that had been scary, but Sirius dealt with it. You bring your hand up to your chest, setting the hotdog you had been eager to buy down next to you.

“Hi,” Remus pushes aside the hotdog to sit next to you. “Are you okay?”

You look up to the boy, blindingly beautiful in the streetlights and advertisements. “Yes.”

He pushes some stray hair from your face. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“I think it was more startling.” James sits on the other side of you, kissing your temple firmly. “I’m sorry he did that.”

“It’s okay, I’m okay.”

“She’s okay.” Sirius gruffs from where he walks over.

He sounds cooler than he thinks he looks. He’s not bruised, bloodied, or bandaged, if he were he thinks he’d look cool enough to breeze over. But then again you look mad, so maybe he doesn’t want that.

“Don’t be upset,” Sirius crouches to your level. You’re in the arms of a solid Remus. “he was a creep.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” He laughs roguishly. “I thought I looked good tousled.”

He does, and you know he’ll look good on the tabloids tomorrow too. Sirius black gives black eye? You sigh at the thought.

“You do.” James feeds Sirius.

“At least someone in this relationship cares for my ego.”

“You look good.”

“Oh, now you tell me.”

You laugh, letting Sirius stare at you like you hung the moon.

“Kiss em?” He pushes his knuckles in front of your lips. His fingers throb lightly, you can feel it on your lips.

“That was stupid.”

“C’mon,” Sirius’ eyes roll as he pulls you up. “You’ve got a hotdog to eat.”

[gothhdoll]

Poly!Marauders x Slytherin!Reader

part two here three here four here five

“Tell me why I have to go to this godforsaken Gryffindor party again?” You bugged Regulus.

He sighed in annoyance as you two roamed the halls. “Because my godforsaken Gryffindor brother is forcing me to. And if I have to go you do too.”

You rolled your eyes. “Because that’s what best friends do. Torture each other.”

You were dressed casually, black sweater hanging off of your shoulder. You wore a green crystal necklace, as well as various rings and earrings. The walk to the Gryffindor commonroom was quiet, the halls empty as you and Regulus reluctantly made your way.

“Aren’t you worried we’re going to get caught?” You continued to pester Regulus.

“No.” He answered shortly. “Sirius has got Filch’s monitoring down to a perfect science. Well, maybe not perfect, but a science nonetheless.”

You arrived to the Fat Lady’s portrait, huffing as Regulus gave the password.

As you walked inside, your sensed were overwhelmed by the bright strobe lights, loud music, and lingering scent of weed.

“Reggie!” You heard a voice call out, and you looked around to spot no one else other than Sirius Black. 

He was dressed in tight black skinny jeans and a band shirt, eyeliner smudged with a wicked smile on his face. He had his arms around his boyfriends, Remus Lupin and James Potter. Remus was dressed in his Hogwarts uniform, his white button up unbuttoned a few at the top, revealing his chest. His tie hung loosely around his neck. James was dressed in ripped jeans and a Gryffindor Quidditch sweater. All three boys had smiles on their faces, each paying attention to different things. Sirius was beckoning Regulus over, James was chugging a drink, and Remus was in a heated conversation with Lily Evans.

You tried not to grimace. Egh, Gryffindors. 

Regulus grabbed your arm as he weaved the two of you through the crowd towards his brother.

Sirius flashed you a cheeky smile as you made eye contact. “Brought another snake with you?”

“Not willingly.” You retorted. 

Regulus sighed. “You’ll get over it.” 

“Hey!” James announced rather drunkenly. “You’re in my Transfiguration class.”

You nodded, crossing your arms. “And Potions.”

That perked up Remus’ attention. “You have Potions with us?”

Before you could answer, Sirius answered. “Yea, she sits next to Snivilus.”

You let out a chuckle at the nickname for your classmate. Remus also let out a small laugh as he got up from his seat.

“She laughs?” Sirius quipped.

“On occasion.” Regulus answered before you could snap back at him.

You glanced around the party, letting the brothers bicker between each other. 

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to find Remus Lupin. His hair wisped over his eyes as if just swept by the wind, and his honey eyes seemed to glow under the different lights the common room had shining. You blinked a few times. 

He smiled at you, holding up a cup. “Care for a drink?”

You took the cup from him, not letting yourself smile as big as you wanted to. “What is it?”

He seemed to be looking at you in adoration. Before he could tell you, Sirius interrupted. “Think we’re trying to poison you, darling?”

Regulus quipped back. “Don’t hit on my friend, Sirius!”

“You think that was hitting on her? Please, I-”

“I think that’s enough, honey.” Remus walked forward to put his hand on Sirius’ shoulder. He huffed and leaned into Remus’ touch. You felt fire light in your chest. Were you jealous?

You took a large swig of your drink, ignoring the harsh aftertaste it left in your throat. Remus looked at you in amusement, while James looked at you impressed.

He got up and grabbed your wrist, looking into your eyes. His eyes were brown like melted chocolate. He pushed up his glasses and spoke excitedly. “Wanna do shots?”

Before you could answer, he dragged you away from the group and towards a table that had an assortment of drinks on it. The drink Remus gave you must’ve been pretty strong, because your mind had no qualms with taking shots with Gryffindor Quidditch coach James Potter. Your body was starting to feel it after two or three shots, and you allowed James to put his arm around you as he guided you back to the group.

You felt heat in your face as James proudly announced, “Little snake took shots with me!”

Regulus looked at you in shock. “I am not dragging her drunk ass back to the dungeons.”

“I’m not,” You hiccuped. “I’m not drunk, Reggie.”

He sighed and pinched his nose, then glared at Sirius for introducing you to the nickname. 

“Don’t worry, she can stay with us.” Remus suggested, taking note of how you clung to James.

Regulus nodded. “I’m out of here.”

He looked at you, grabbing your head with both of his hands to force you to make eye contact with him. “Don’t drink anymore.”

James pssh’ed and held you tighter. “Dolly can do what she wants, even if that’s more shots.”

Regulus looked at Remus for help. Remus waved him off.

“I heard that Sirius is stashing some drinks up in the dorm,” He raised his eyebrows.

“I am?” Sirius asked, getting a nudge from Remus. “Right, yea, I may or may not be.”

“Upstairs!” You demanded. “The lion’s den!!”

James snorted as he stumbled with you. “This way little snake!!”

[gothhdoll]

Hi! Do you do requests? If no you can ignore this! If yes,

I was thinking, since I’ve seen you write for Joel miller also, the reader gets into some sort of romantic relationship with Joel. They have some intimate time but she panics and they have to stop, which confuses Joel but it turns out the reader has been s*xually assaulted in the past, which was traumatic for her. The reader thinks Joel will leave her now bc a) she’s a fair amount of heads younger, and b) she panicked when they were intimate. Besides that Joel is not so good at talking about his feelings and stuff. Although he isn’t good at it, he surprises the reader by being sweet and staying with her?

I hope you don’t mind me asking anonymously, I’ve been through something similar and am not comfort with it yet. Anyways, thank you so much in advance if you’d want to write about this ❤️

Breath Joel Miller x Reader Warnings: panic attack, mention of sa, hurt/comfort

Summary: You are not ready for the next step and it's fine.

A/N: I'm sorry you had to go through it. I hope you will find some comfort in my story and thank you for your request. If I wrote something wrong/hurtful or anything similar please tell me and I will correct it. I didn't write anything specific, so it can be before or after the breakout, whatever you want.

You don't notice it at first. Your mind is too busy with Joel surrounding your every sense to see the obvious signs until it's too late.

You fall too fast and too hard.

"J-Joel," you say his name. Your voice is barely louder than a whisper and not nearly enough to make him stop. He is still on top of your, kissing down your neck and the soft curve of your shoulder. His lips are gentle, but it doesn't bring you comfort anymore. Even though he keeps his weight on his arms, he still becomes too heavy to the point you can't breathe. The air gets stuck in your burning lungs with every inhale and exhale. Your palms are warm and sweaty. Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt. You want to push him away, but your muscles don't obey your command.

Panic presses against your ribcage.

"Joel!" You gasp. "Please, stop!" The words feel heavy as they roll down your tongue. Your kiss-swollen lips tingle with every syllable you form. Hearing your pleas, the man on you immediately pulls away until he is at your side, watching your trembling form with a mix of frown and confusion. "What's wrong, Y/N?" He asks. He doesn't know what to do. Your whole body shakes, and sweat rolls down your temple. Your gaze is glassy and terrified. "I'm sorry," you choke out. Tears escape your eyes until you feel their salty taste on your lips. "No," he says, sitting up. "Tell me what to do." "I-I don't know," you sniff. "I don't know." "Okay, okay," he breathes out. "Can I hold your hand? Can I touch you, Y/N?" After your nod, Joel intertwines his fingers with yours. Your hold is weak on his hand. "Breath, Y/N," he says. "Close your eyes for me, sweet girl, and breath." Your eyelids fall shut on their own accord. "That's right," he praises. His voice is a soft, warm rumble in the quiet house. "And now breathe in. Keep it in. That's right. Good girl. And out. Do it again for me. Breathe in. Good. You are doin' so well, Y/N. Don't stop. And out." You follow his every word obediently until you relax. Your muscles lose their tension, and the stretching feeling in your chest slowly but surely disappears. You still shake, but you don't care. Joel makes sure your focus is on him and on him only. "You are doing so good, Y/N," he says. "Don't stop, okay? I will go and get you some water. Don't open your eyes and continue breathin', okay? I won't go far. I leave the door open so you can hear me, but don't stop breathing, okay? In and out. Good girl."

In.

And out.

In.

And out.

In.

Out.

"Good girl," Joel hums. "How are you feelin'? Can you sit up?" You move slowly and carefully as the world comes back to you. You are still on the bed. Your back is against the wooden headrest. The cover is wrinkled around your legs. Your shirt is on the floor. "Do you want your shirt?" Joel asks when he follows your gaze. "Or do you want one of mine?" "Can I get yours?" You croak. "Of course, love," he says. "But drink it first, okay?" He adds, holding out a glass of water for you. "Thank you," you gasp between two gulps. "Do you want more?" He asks after a few seconds, exchanging the empty glass for a shirt you put on immediately. The soft fabric cocoons you into his familiar, musky scent and warmth. "No," you reply. "Thank you." "Don't thank me, Y/N," he says, putting down the glass and sitting down on the edge of the bed. He is far enough, so you don't feel crowded but not enough to make you feel bad or alone. "Do you need anythin' else?" "No," you shake your head with another deep breath. You feel tired but much better than a few minutes ago. Your chest is light, and you can move your limbs again. You are fine, you remind yourself. "Can you tell me what happened?" He asks carefully, watching your every reaction. "Did I do somethin' wrong?" "No," you shake your head. "Not you." "Then? What happened?" Joel has a guess, a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he doesn't want to bring it up if you don't. Whatever you tell him or don't is your choice. "I-" your breath hitches. "Uhm- Something happened… I-" The gears in your head creak and turn as you try to find the right words, but whenever you want to say it out loud, something stops you. The back of your eyes starts to burn, and your throat tightens. Joel moves closer, still watching your reaction. "Can I hold your hand?" Without answering, you reach out for him, holding onto his fingers. "I'm sorry." He frowns. "Why? You have nothing to be sorry for." "But-" You knew when you met the man in front of you that maybe you weren't ready for a relationship with intimacy, but you couldn't help yourself. You wanted his warm brown eyes, soft smile, and everything that came with him. "No buts," he says stubbornly, but you are stubborn too. And your fears are too big not to tell them. "But maybe you would be better with someone else," you tell him. Even the thought of Joel being with someone else breaks your heart, but you want to give him a chance. You don't want him to stay with you because he thinks you are too young and vulnerable. You want him but not his pity. Hearing your words, he scoffs, and the frown deepens between his thick brows. "I don't even want to hear about it, Y/N. Do you understand? I want you. And everything that comes with you." "Are you sure?" You ask, blinking the tears away from your eyes. Silence follows your words, but you know Joel better than misunderstand it. You know he has some trouble with words sometimes, and you don't hurry him. "Can I hold you?" He asks after a while, and when you nod, he crawls up next to you until he can curl his arm around your shoulders, and you rest your head on his chest. His scent fills your nostrils, and his heartbeat under your ear helps to keep your calm. "You have the reins, okay?" He asks after a while. "You dictate the pace. If you want to tell me somethin', I'm here, and if I do somethin' you don't like, you tell me, and I stop, okay?" "Thank you," you tell him, sliding your arm around his middle to hug him tighter. "Don't thank me, Y/N," he murmurs. His breath fans over the top of your head. "I'm here for you."

[gothhdoll]

𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫? | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary steve finds out that falling in love can be really, really easy. you find out what it’s like when somebody wants to take care of you [10.5k]

warnings fem!reader, fluff, mutual pining, getting together, dustins next-door neighbour!reader, sick fic, hurt/comfort, reader is implied to weigh more than nancy, you’re upset one time and steve goes overboard, small s4 spoilers no major plot details, post s3 pre s4, feat. the lunch club, karaoke, rollerblading, sunbathing

𓆩❤︎𓆪

A vast green jungle, so damp the forest floor bathes your ankles in rainwater runoff. The air is thick with humidity and smells green. Earthy, the sweet scent of petrichor tickles your nose, and- 

A shadow distends over the yellow pages of your paperback, dark, eating up the image of the amazon and replacing it with reality – a normal summer's day in Hawkins. 

Steve Harrington stands in front of you, his body blocking the sun and its warm glow. The light throws a halo around his head and turns the ends of his brown hair golden. 

"Watcha reading?" he asks in lieu of ‘hello’.

"Ever read Journey to the Center of the Earth?" you ask him, leaning towards him invitingly. 

You love to mess with him like this, watch his cheeks slowly pink as you bend towards your knees with a demure smile playing on your lips. 

"Yeah, I did. In middle school," he says, trying his best to play it cool, hands pushing deep into the pockets of his pants. 

"Well, it's nothing like that." 

The grin he gets when he realises you're messing with him is adorable. He chuckles warmly and pulls a hand through his hair, looking down at the ground and then up at you again with a bashful pinch to his thick eyebrows.

"You're looking for Dustin?" you ask. You haven't seen your young neighbour since this morning. "He ran off earlier with his huge radio thing." 

Steve rolls his eyes. "Typical. I paid him fifteen dollars," he says, his frustration clear, "fifteen dollars, Y/N, to fix my Walkman like three weeks ago. Every time I come by he's out. Little shit probably hasn't even looked at it." 

You like Steve. He's a great looking guy who's more than nice when he sees you even though you're always pushing his buttons, and his poorly hidden fondness for Dustin is something you find heart-squeezingly attractive. You don't think twice about your next move. 

You stand up from your lounger and have to shield your eyes from the sun, tucking your book under your naked arm. "If you want… I have a cassette player I'm not using. I got a Walkman for my birthday." You don't give him an opportunity to say no as you start for the front door. 

"Are you sure?" Steve asks. You hold the door open for him, standing at the threshold with a grin. 

"Positive. It's collecting dust, at this point." 

"I mean, sure, if that's cool. Just until Dustin gets his act together," he says, pushing past you. His hand brushes your hip. 

"That's cool," you confirm, walking behind him through your open kitchen and living room. "It's on the left." 

Steve pushes into your bedroom. The window's open, breezing around the smell of fresh linens and the hydrangeas in the planter on your sill, shifting the gauzy white curtains. 

The suncatcher hanging from the window sprays rainbow kisses over your walls and posters, your laundry basket full of summer dresses and discarded night shirts. The carpet is freshly vacuumed and plush underfoot as you beeline for your desk. Steve hovers by the door before leaning his weight against your bookshelf, eyes taking it in curiously. 

"Cyndi Lauper," Steve says, eyes on a big poster of said singer with her iconic orange hair and hat. You raise your eyebrows at him, pleased, and he shrugs. "She's famous." 

"You like her?" 

"Nah," he says. "But I'll listen to anything. Except Depeche Mode; sharing a player with Robin all summer has sailed that boat." 

"Yeah?" you ask, kneeling down in front of your desk to dig through the cabinet underneath. You frown, up to your elbow in bric a brac and forgotten trinkets. "It's in here somewhere." 

"Yeah. I mean, maybe not anything. I don't think I have the palate for some of those rock and roll bands. Dustin made me listen to Black Scabbard in the car last week and…"

"Black Sabbath," you correct lightly, pulling out of your cupboard with a relieved huff. 

"Right," he says. 

You look over your shoulder to find him perusing your bookshelf, his hand running lightly over the shiny glass paper weight you use as a book end. He teases the spine of a hardback book curiously but must feel your gaze, turning to you with a sheepish smile. 

"Do you like to read?" you ask. 

Steve wrings his hands held at his hip. "Sure, I don't mind it. Bigger fan of movies." 

"Right, Family Video must get pretty distracting," you say, walking towards him on light footing to offer the dinged-up cassette player. "She's well loved but she works, I swear." 

He takes it from you, fingers brushing the backs of yours. "Thank you." 

You shift from one foot to the other — because oh my god there's a boy in my room — before smiling with teeth. You stop. "You're welcome. Want a drink?" 

"Uh…" 

"I've got pink lemonade." 

"Oh, then definitely." 

You lead him into the kitchen and install him at the kitchen table with two empty glasses. The carafe of lemonade is beautifully cold from the refrigerator with slices of lemon and strawberry bouncing around the top as you pour it. The condensation wets your fingers. 

Steve looks handsome and maybe slightly silly behind your homely oak table, all clean cut and well dressed. You feel bare beside him in your tank top and flowy midi skirt, too much skin. 

"Are you hungry? I make a mean BLT," you say, bringing your feet up onto the chair, knees digging into the table. 

"I'm good, thanks," he says. 

"Are you having a good time of it at FV? They denied my application, but that's 'cos Keith has a vendetta against me for wiping out his score on the Palace's Tempest." 

"You're a Tempest girl?" 

"Everybody plays Tempest," you say. 

Steve gives you a look. "Nerds play Tempest." 

"Fine, every nerd plays Tempest," you allow, rolling your eyes. "Lemme guess, you're a Centipede guy. No, worse! You play Pac-Man. I can tell."

His silence is enough to make you giggle in triumph, elated to have sussed him out so quickly.  

"How did you know that?" he asks finally. 

"You called Black Sabbath 'Black Scabbard'. You're not a nerd." 

"I could be." 

"But you're not." 

You share a steady look over the table. His eyes are bright with mirth, a sleek brown like fresh brewed coffee. You love the shape of them, deepest with the round under eye blanketed in straight black lashes. A red polo stretches across his chest. You find your eyes drawn down the length of his arm to his hand where he's drawing circles around the rim of his glass. He takes it into his hand and you watch his wrist bend, his arm flex as he brings the cup to his lips and a drop of condensation drips onto the table mat. 

"I don't look the type?" he asks after a rough swallow. He sounds almost incensed. 

"No, of course you don't. King Steve," you croon. 

He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back, looking you up and down showfully. "Neither do you." 

He's all charming smiles as he raises his chin and shakes his head, lips stretched up in an open-mouthed smile. 

"Tempest," he mutters in bemusement.

You burst into laughter, quick to defend yourself when there's a pounding knock at the door. You're still laughing as you stand, calling to Steve as you walk to the door, "Tempest isn't even that nerdy! It's the Dragon's Lair dorks you need to watch out for. Oh, hi baby. What's wrong?" 

"You haven't seen Steve, have you? His cars outside," Dustin announces, standing under the porch with his wild curls stuffed under a hat, his pulley cart ditched halfway between your yard and his.

"He's in the kitchen. You want some lemonade? You look frazzled," you offer, brushing your hand over his sunburned shoulder lightly as he scoots right past you.

"Thanks, Y/N." Dustin strides into the kitchen with purpose, glaring at Steve pretty heavily as he takes your seat at the table. "Why are you here?" 

"Fucking charming. I came to see you, Henderson, but you're never home. Too busy finding secluded knolls to radio your girlfriend and play karaoke." 

"Dick," Dustin says, though he defrosts as you fill a glass for him. 

"What do you want?" Steve asks him. 

"Why do you assume I want something?" 

"Don’t be coy, you're not Madonna. It's tacky." 

"Dick," Dustin says again, glaring. 

"Dustin, do you want something to eat? You shouldn't go out in the sun all day by yourself, you know? What if you get heat stroke?" you ask. 

Steve gives you a strange look like he's puzzled with you. You smile back at him, hand coming down on the back of Dustin's chair easily. 

"Steve, I need a ride to Mike's," Dustin says, completely ignoring you.

Steve kicks him under the table. "Manners." 

"Can I please have a ride-" 

"To her, dipshit. Jeez, what's wrong with you? She asked if you're hungry." 

Dustin beams at you innocently, soft cheeks rounding. "No thank you Y/N you're a godsend and I appreciate you very much," he says all in a rush, turning back to Steve, the act entirely dropped. "Now can we go?" 

"Christ, fine. I'm gonna get you one of those rewards cards for being a shithead. This incident would be a double stamp, by the way." 

"Uh-huh," Dustin says. 

The younger teen chugs his glass of lemonade and spins off, calling a thank you over his shoulder. Steve gets up to follow him, your old cassette player held carefully in his hands. 

"I'm sorry about him." 

"Don't be. I've known him his entire life. He's in a phase," you inform him with a small grin, shrugging as if to say, what you gonna do? 

"Long phase. Thank you. For the player and the lemonade." 

"You're welcome," you say warmly, walking him to the door. 

Dustin's already in the passenger seat, having taken his pulley cart back inside. He makes a hurry up motion from behind his window and Steve mutters expletives to himself, giving you one last smile before he trudges off. 

The two boys wave at you through the windshield. You wave back.

When Steve's car has winked from view you take your lemonade and paperback outside again to lie under what's left of the sun. You try your best to fall back into the jungle and conjure its sights and sounds, only you keep finding your thoughts wrapped up around a certain boy's laugh and the face he makes as he does, that startled grin, a fist half raised to his mouth. 

-

"Y/N!" A familiar teen voice accompanied by battering knocking at your front door. 

You pull it open, still in your pajamas, hair a mess. His knocking had woken you up. You'd had about ten seconds to check you hadn't drooled too violently in your sleep before he was calling your name, and so you hadn't bothered getting dressed. 

You wish you had. Dustin stood at the door with Steve Harrington behind him, a happy smile on both their faces. 

You try not to flinch as you throw an arm across your chest subconsciously. "Hi?" you ask. "Is everything okay?" 

Dustin's dressed for the beautiful weather in shorts and a shirt with sleeves so short it may as well be a tank top, a hat perched familiarly over his cute curls. Steve is dressed in a tormenting pair of jeans paired with a denim jacket. Double denim. He looks hot, physically and figuratively. 

"Do you wanna come skating?" Dustin asks urgently. 

You blink at him, pulling the edges of your strappy vest down to cover your navel, plaid bottoms low on your hips – you're a mess.  

"Skating? I don't have one." 

"A skateboard?" Dustin asks, shrugging. "Bring your rollerblades." 

You err at the door, leaning your weight against it as you think. "When?" 

"Now!" he says.

"I don't want to hold you up," you say, aimed more towards Steve than Dustin. 

Steve smiles, hooking cheeks pink with the heat, and is about to talk when Dustin says, "He made me come ask you, he's fine to wait." 

You bite back a smirk at Steve's deer-in-the-headlights expression and nod happily. "Alright. Twenty minutes and I'll be ready. If that's okay?" 

"Totally," Steve says. 

You close the door most of the way and catch a look over his shoulder, finding his pretty friend Robin in one seat and a gaggle of Dustin's friends in the back.

You hear a sharp thwarping sound as you spin away followed by a "What the fuck, dude?" from Dustin and hope that he hasn't tripped over one of your flower pots. You get ready and spend at least ten minutes worrying after your appearance in the mirror before grabbing the skates and jetting into the kitchen. You gather as many impromptu snacks you can find and shove them into a grocery bag, struggling to lock the door behind you in want of a free hand. 

Steve jumps out of the driver's side to open the side door for you. You smile gratefully and dump the snacks and your skates in the footwell before climbing in, an empty seat between you and Dustin’s redheaded friend.

You're saved from the awkwardness of seeing people you've met but don't quite know by their ongoing debate, something about which Bruce Springsteen song is best. 

“It’s obviously Dancing in the Dark. I don’t really know why we’re still talking about this,” Robin says from the passenger seat.

“You’re just saying that because it’s his most popular,” the girl next to you says.

“Things are popular for a reason.” Robin shrugs. 

“Yeah, Max. Plus, popular or not, it’s his best.”

Max scrunches up her entire face. “Better than I’m on Fire?”

There’s a long pause where each child deliberates. Dustin and Mike dissolve into fierce looks. 

“Nobodies talking about Born in the USA,” Steve says into the quiet, eyes on the road but head tilted back.

“Shut up, Steve,” Mike says, looking as exhausted as he usually does when you’ve seen him coming in and out of Dustin’s. Though it's been a while, he hasn't changed. Perpetually done with people's shit. 

“Disrespectful,” Steve murmurs. His eyes flash to the rear view, catching you red-handed as you stare at him. “What do you think?” 

“About what?”

“About Springsteen."

You consider him, his smile, his gaggle of cruel children. “I like Born in the USA,” you say nonchalantly.

“That’s two points,” Steve says triumphantly.

The skatepark is pretty busy because of the good weather. You and Steve end up unpacking your snacks onto a blanket Robin lays out whilst the boys go look for their friend Lucas, who's supposedly already here. 

Max doesn't seem pleased with this revelation, sitting down heavily by Steve's picnic basket. Steve offers her a PB&J from the basket and a cold caprisun and she perks up, but not a lot. You want to spend time with Steve, you're not disillusioned into thinking you're anything but a flower under his attention, blooming and wanting, but Max's sad eyes get the better of you. 

Too late for introductions, you dive straight in. “What’s in the Walkman?” you ask, nodding at the player sticking out of her jacket pocket, the foam padded headphones around her neck. 

“Wild Things Run Fast, Joni Mitchell.” It sounds like a question. 

You’ve struck gold immediately. “I love Joni Mitchell! Have you heard her new stuff?”

Max seems alarmed and happy at once, red messy braids swaying as she lifts her chin. “I mean, only what they’ve played on the radio.”

“Her album came out this October, Dog Eat Dog? I have the cassette if you wanna borrow it. It’s amazing.”

“Really?” she asks. She’s peeling the crusts off of her sandwich, one side at a time, dropping them into the small pile of discarded Saran Wrap. 

“For sure. You’ve heard Shiny Toys?” Max nods. “It’s all as good as that one. Seriously.”

“Awesome,” she says, taking a huge bite of her sandwhich. 

You realise you might’ve come on a little strong and try to backtrack into cool territory again, hand brushing Steve’s ankles as you lean away from the poor girl, smiling sheepishly. 

“My mom loves Joni Mitchell,” Robin says.

“Robin," Steve chides lightly.

“What?” 

You and Steve share a look that’s so familiar it gives you pins and needles in your hands, something small between the two of you clicking into place. Or at least that’s how you feel.

Max has almost finished her sandwich by the time Mike returns. “Are you ready?” he asks her.

She clambers onto her feet and grabs her skateboard from behind Steve. The two walk away, a distance from Dustin and Lucas, who both seem to have acquired a pair of skates each. Dustin in knee pads and a helmet, Lucas without. 

“Why would you say Max listens to mom music?” Steve asks incredulously once they’re out of hearing distance. 

Robin shakes her head, similarly incensed. “I didn’t say that.”

“There were so many other things you could’ve said, Robs.” He sounds less mad and more pitying. 

"I didn't say that! I said my mom listens to her. She does!" 

"Don't take offense. Robin got dropped as a baby," Steve says to you offhandedly. 

You know the best course of action here and you take it – in what world would you make an enemy of a boy you might like's best friend who is a girl? Not this one. Plus, Robin seems super nice. 

"I'm not offended. My mom loves Joni too," you say cheerily, smiling at Robin, unabashed.

You're slightly disappointed when she looks away towards her lap, until she says, "Projections a bad look on you, Harrington. He has, like, a flat head," she tells you.

Steve starts yammering loudly. "Shut up! My head's perfect, you're being ridiculous. Perfectly round and ordinary, thank you." 

"Yeah, I'd definitely say your head's perfectly round," you agree through giggles, reaching for your skates.

You have a funny feeling that a silent conversation is happening as you slide off your shoes and into the skates, lacing up tight, but when you look up Robin's sifting through the accumulated snack pile and Steve's looking the opposite way, towards the kids. 

You clear your throat. "Are you guys gonna skate too?"

"Steve is." 

"I didn't bring-" 

"He's borrowing mine. It's too hot, I can't skate. And I don't have the coordination, anyway."

Steve looks at Robin, at you, Robin again. "I'm not good," he says. You take it for yes. 

Steve gets on his skates and straps out of his denim jacket, exposing the distracting lengths of his arms. He's better than he gives himself credit for, steady on his feet. He knows how to stop and start, and you smile to yourself when the two of you skate off towards Dustin and Lucas, following their journey around the skate park, careful to stay clear of the bowls and rails. 

"You're good! You said you weren't good!" you say to him. 

"I'm not good." 

"You're doing great!" 

He smiles gratefully, the expression at home over his warm features. He's not really a very smiley guy, you've realised, his lips often pulled up into a grimace or a cruel approximation of a smile, sarcastic. It suits him. You go to say as much, eyes eating up every little detail of him. 

"Hey Steve? You should-" and your foot pops over a rock. 

You shriek and throw your arm out towards him. Steve catches you with impressive strength and speed as your leg buckles. You've quickly righted yourself and he brings you to a slow but not quite stop. Stopping on skates is easier said than done, especially old skates with the front guards already worn down. 

"Are you okay?" he asks. 

You've taken his hand without thinking, the two of you widening apart and then coming together like the eclipse of a blinking eye. 

You pull your hand away apologetically, the warmth of his palm lingering. 

"I'm sorry!" you say. 

"Don’t be. Last thing I wanna do is have you crack your head open on my watch. I’m glad you didn’t wipe out." 

"Thanks to you." 

You slow and stop. Steve does the same, the two of you clumsy for different reasons. He watches as you calm your racing heart. 

"Shit, I really thought I was gonna fall. You're a lifesaver." You stare straight into his eyes, their sunlight honey brown, smiling with complete genuineness. He's more than pretty. "Thank you." 

Steve swallows and his smile is warmer, somehow, impossibly warmer. Maybe it's the beautiful weather, maybe it's the beautiful boy. You suddenly feel very, very hot. 

"I think I might need to sit down." 

"Oh, shit," he says, reaching for your arm. You're about to correct his touching – you're not dizzy, just a little nauseous. Only, his hand. His fingers clasped around your elbow, his face fiercely protective. 

You let him guide you back to the picnic blanket. One hand around your elbow, the other behind your sun-warmed back, and somehow his hand is the hottest spot. 

"Are you okay?" Robin asks, shielding her eyes from the sun. The book in her lap slips shut as she straightens. 

"She's okay," Steve says. “Too hot. Budge up." 

Robin moves over on the blanket and throws the basket open. Steve reaches in for a capri sun and passes it to you. It's lukewarm, though the day is so hot it's a relief to drink it. 

"Steve's really good," you tell her after a noisy suck, the orange plastic straw stabbing your lip. You frown down at it.

"I saw you guys whizzing around. Public menaces, both of you," Robin says, though she smiles as she does. You know she's joking. You don't want to think it in case it's not true, but you feel like maybe she wants to be friends. 

"We prefer speed demons," Steve says easily, still kneeling at your side. 

"They should lock you up." 

You snort and almost squirt juice from your nose, spluttering and coughing as you bend at the waist. Steve pats your back less than gently and then more so as you move your hand towards him. 

"I'm okay," you cough, embarrassed at how you must look hacking your lungs out. 

Steve's hand, again on your back, rubs a stern line. "Chill out, Y/N. You can't die before dinner." 

"We're getting McDonald's," Robin supplies. 

"Don't tell the kids," he says, smirking. 

He's still rubbing your back. You suspect you might agree to anything while he's this close. 

"You sound like such a dad when you say shit like that." 

Steve scowls at Robin's words and pulls his hands away, crossing them over his chest. "Don't say that. Babysitter is more than enough, don't you think? Y/N?" 

"An older brother?" you suggest to Robin's extreme delight. 

She laughs. Steve scrubs at his face with both hands until his eyes are red. 

-

Robin's sick and Steve's going crazy by himself, manning the desk at FV with almost no energy and even less enthusiasm. A week since he'd held your hand and he can't seem to stop thinking about it. 

He catches himself staring at his own empty palm and clenches his fist, bringing his eyes back to the door in case someone walks in and he has to pull off the headphones of your borrowed cassette player. 

Steve had discovered a forgotten cassette inside, listening to it out of curiosity the night you'd given him the player and then every night since then. He felt guilty about keeping it without saying anything but he was only borrowing it, he reasoned. He'd give it back when Dustin fixed his skipping Walkman.  

The tape was Van Halen II. And Steve's not stupid, he knows who Van Halen are, but he's never sat and listened through any of their full albums. Now he can't stop, constantly rewinding back to the same song, over and over. 

He does so now, fingers clumsy and too big over small buttons until the first line kicks in, powerful and high energy like a burst of fresh air. 

Have you seen her?

So fine and pretty.

He grins as it plays, thinking of you instantly. Your smile and your legs, the wind whipping at your skirt and exposing stretches of skin he can't stop remembering. You on your rollerblades, the second time after an emergency PB&J, skating in front of him without looking behind you. 

"Don't let me crash into someone, okay?" you'd asked, swaying from one side to the other as you shifted your weight. 

"It'll be too late to stop you if I see someone! Turn around!" he'd demanded, though his fondness had peeked through. 

You'd thrown your hands out. "You'll have to steer me!" 

And so he'd grabbed your hands and you'd laughed like a fool as you skated together, squealing through close calls and bumpy ground. 

He thinks of your hands in his, their weight and size, the magnetic pulse he'd felt between them, how happy you'd seemed to be with him. 

He was harbouring a crush on you. Too old to deny what it feels like to want a pretty girl, Steve wonders if this is entirely a good idea – letting himself like you when the possibility of rejection feels high. You are, as Dustin had promised him, out of Steve's league. "Don't try your luck, dude." 

Steve thought for a second that his thinking about you had summoned your image, your easy walk and the elegant way about your hands and how you held them, in a blue dress with matching strappy mary-jane's, white socks with the ruffle tops. He blinks. No way he could think up anything as pretty. 

You push open the door and grin from across the room, a large tupperware of some type in your hands. His eyes move up from your fingers where they clutch plastic, your wrist, your arms. The puff sleeves of your dress are short and cuffed, similar to the matching ruched neckline that shows enough to make him swallow. A necklace lays in the valley of your chest, a silver chain with a blue flower at the end, small but thick. Five round petals, a cutout missing that shows a circle of your chest beneath. 

"Steve," you say, like you'd been in mid conversation. "Please tell me you have a sweet tooth."

He pulls the headphones from his head and leaves them around his neck, fixing his hair as casually as he can when he says, "Sure, I like candy." 

You set your container down on the counter and crack it open, the rich, buttery smells of its contents quickly filling the room.

"I made penuche for Dustin's mom's birthday, but I made so-" you drag the word out, lips a gloss-sticky 'o', "much of it. I can't eat it all. And she said I wasn't allowed to give it to Dustin 'cos he keeps using the f-word." 

His laugh is startled but genuine. "Not the f-word." 

The fudge is a light brown, almost pink in the neon tinted lighting. It smells divine, and he's saved from an internal debate about what's cool when you push the tub towards him. "Do you like fudge?" you ask him.

He takes one and you take one, and he tries not to look at you as you eat, or when you scratch gloss and a crumb from the corner of your mouth. 

"You’re a modern Martha Stewart," Steve says happily.

"Only on special occasions. Where's Robin?" you ask, elbows braced on the counter and leaning in. 

"Sick. Apparently." 

"Apparently," you repeat, grinning. "What, she didn't look sick?" 

"She talked to me on the phone. She sounded sick," he concedes. "Good things it's Thursday." 

You look around the completely empty store. "This is what it usually looks like on a Thursday?" 

"It's Hawkins. Half the people here get their VHS from the library, the others drive out to Blockbuster. We get about as much foot traffic as an ice cream stand in September." 

"It's 'cos you take too long to get the new ones,'' you say. "No offense." 

"The tone of someone personally victimised by a Family Video wait list." 

"You got me. I've been trying to get the Breakfast Club for two months!" you complain, scratching your chest lazily. 

Steve crosses his arms over his chest until his hands are hidden, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so this is bribery penuche." 

You blink at him and then your lips part in horror, pretty eyes widening. "No!" 

"It totally is. You're trying to butter me up," he says, suave tone disrupted by the need to giggle at his own pun. "Y/N, how could you? Here I thought we were starting to be friends and you're using me for my video store?" 

His mock horror puts you eat ease when you realise he's joking. "I really wanna see that movie," you say dejectedly. You reach for another piece of fudge and bite it in half, your chewing morose. "It feels like everybody saw it at the movies but me." 

"Of course they did. Why didn't you?" 

You glare at him. "I was busy!" 

"For the month it was in theatres?" 

"Yes!" you defend yourself from his teasing. "I have things to do!" 

"Like what?" 

"Like school!" 

"Everybody has school." 

"You're picking on me after I brought you candy. This is so cruel." You don't sound like you've suffered any cruelty. Steve might say you're really enjoying yourself. 

"Sorry, sweetheart."

You glare at his insincere pet name. "Whatever. Oh, hey, how's she treating you?" you ask, eyes on the cassette player. "Steve, you have my Van Halen tape! Thank god, I thought I lost it."

"Right. Sorry, I meant to give it back," he lies. 

You shrug your shoulders. "Keep it however long you want to. It's good, right? Which one's your favourite?"

He pulls the headphones out and rewinds back before setting the player in front of you. You raise your eyebrows at him but click play, and the audio starts abruptly, loud and mid quality. 

Yes, it's love in the third degree. 

You grin, head bobbing, eyes flitting to his with approval written all over your face. You don't seem to hesitate before you sing along under your breath, high pitched but quiet.

"Ooh, baby baby. Won't-cha turn your head my way?" 

He feels a little enchanted by you, that same magnetism he'd felt between his hands, can't believe how pretty you are and how sweetly you move. You laugh at yourself as you sing the next line, an intense, almost theatrical look upon your face. Like you're swooning.

"Ooh, baby baby. Ah come on! Take a chance, you're old enough to-" You flare your eyes at him and nod, mouth open encouragingly. 

He won't join in, no matter how electric he finds you. You roll your eyes and your shoulders roll in a half-dance as you hum along to the chorus. 

Dance the night away. 

"You're no fun, Steve," you complain, giggling. 

"You're enough for the two of us." 

You peer over the counter, still moving with the music as you ask, "What were you doing? Before I came in?" 

"Looking through the computer at what's late being returned. Riveting, extremely hard work." 

"Do you get, like, secret intel on what new movies are coming in?" 

"Sure we do. Wanna see?" he asks. 

You creep around the counter and stand by his side. He scrolls through the system and translates acronyms for you. "This is the coming in," he says, drawing a line down a list of movie names. "These are what's being moved back to the headquarters."

"Headquarters," you repeat, leaning in to see the screen more clearly. You browse the new titles idly, slipping closer and closer to the computer. 

"You'll burn your retinas." 

"Invaders from Mars, Youngblood, Black Moon Rising," you list thoughtfully. You turn on your heel. "I don't know any of those. You got a chic-flicks section?" 

You're really close. Steve looks at you, this close, this pretty, his hands itching to touch you. He leans in and your arms fall to your sides, the space between you growing ever smaller. 

"We do," he says slowly, eye to eye, almost daring you to look at his mouth instead. He wants you to. He wants to look at yours. 

You're steadfast, not impassive but certainly unreadable as you say, "Show me?" 

Steve reaches for the mouse behind you like he was always intending to, hiding any smugness he feels when you exhale noticeably. You turn back around, his arm brushing over yours as he sorts through the tag system to show you "ROM-COM INCO". 

"These are all the ones we have coming in. You know any of those?" 

"Hannah and Her Sisters. I saw that one." 

"Finally had some free time?" he asks wryly. 

"Shut up, Steve." 

"You know… I can keep the Breakfast Club for you. Next time it comes in." 

The smile you give him is blinding. "Thanks, Steve." 

"Yeah, no problem." He hopes the sudden increase in temperature is mutual. 

-

Your backyard is a field of flowers. Maybe dramatic, but Steve's never seen so many, a heavy green spotted in chartreuse, vermillion, bright oranges and pink-white. You lay on a towel in the grass surrounded by them, the sun lighting you up, your skin glowing and perfect. 

You're in black, spandex type shorts and a bikini top. Steve feels like a perv for looking, so he clears his throat. You don't budge. 

He creeps closer. You're in headphones listening to your Walkman. He can hear the music from where he stands at your backdoor, so it must be loud. He stands over you and hopes his shadow will wake you up. When it still doesn't he gets concerned, kneeling down carefully with his knees digging into your towel. 

"Y/N. Hey," he says. 

Still nothing. 

He pulls your headphones off gently, looking over your face in worry. You must be sleeping. 

"Y/N, you shouldn't sleep out here. You'll get sun stroke," he says. He strokes your arm though he shouldn't. He can't help himself, his fingers pressing into the crook of your elbow.

You blink awake and then slam your eyes closed. Steve adjusts himself to block the sun from your face and you manage to pry your eyes open, confused.

"Hello." 

"Hey," he says. He can't help the fondness that plays over his smile.

"Shit." Your eyes go wide and you cover your chest with your arm. "I'm naked." 

"You're not naked," he says. 

"I'm naked. Stop looking at me." 

Steve turns away obligingly. 

"Stop laughing at me, Harrington." 

"Is there anything I'm allowed to do?" he asks, though he does stop laughing.

"I'm so embarrassed. I was sunbathing and I must've fallen asleep." 

Steve lets his eyes stray to your naked thigh. He stares at your skin, follows a stretch mark upwards and then swiftly peels his gaze away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a total perv. I can go wait in my car." 

"You're not a perv. I'm being a priss. Sorry. I know I'm not, like, a model and I wasn't expecting to have this much skin on show. I don't look like Nancy Wheeler."

You sound more nervous than Steve has ever heard you. Worse, you sound dejected, though you've tried for nonchalance. Steve stares at you until you raise your chin, your fingers pinching meanly at your thighs. 

"You're messing with me," he says.

"What?" you ask, incredulous. "I'm not messing with you." 

"You gotta know you're beautiful. That's, like, a stone cold fact. A hard truth. You're beautiful. Who cares if you don't look like Nance?" 

You sigh, though it's not very believable when you're smiling so much. "She's really pretty." 

"So are you." 

"You know what I mean, Steve. She's… small." 

"She's a small woman," he agrees. "That doesn't make her prettier than you." 

"You're sure?" you ask quietly. 

Steve means it a hundred percent when he says, "I'm sure." 

The two of you sit there for a few seconds. He can hear your breathing and he's wondering if you can hear his. 

"What are you doing here?" you ask. 

Your hand is still held across your stomach but you're thankfully looking more relaxed. Steve meant what he said, you're beautiful, he couldn't care less that you're taller or that you weigh more than his ex. You're fucking pretty, and seeing you all laid out and sun kissed has made him kind of crazy. 

"Steve?" you ask. 

"Oh. I brought you The Breakfast Club. Just got it back in this morning," he rushes to say, grabbing the VHS tape from where he'd left it on the ground. The Family Video spine is glaringly ugly compared to you and your flowers. 

"Woah, thank you!" 

"You're welcome. It's under my name though, so don't keep it late. Can't disprespect the FV name. I'm going for employee of the month." 

You giggle. "You are? Are you the top contender?" 

"Nope." 

You laugh some more, the sound delicate and sweet as spun sugar, in Steve's humble opinion. 

"Not that my fellow employees try any harder, but Keith just picks himself every month for the free credits." 

You rub your fingers across the front of the box. "I won't be late. I mean, I'll watch it today, I've been so excited to see it." 

Steve stands up. "Sorry to disturb your idyllic sunbathing." 

"Idyllic," you murmur, smiling. "You're good, Steve. Thank you for the movie." 

"You're welcome. I'll see you later?" he asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, slowly backing away. 

"No," you say. He raises his eyebrows and you look sheepish but not shy when you continue, "Do you wanna stay? Watch the movie with me? I have stovetop popcorn and soda and everything." 

"What about the great weather? You don't wanna waste it." 

You force your hands between your thighs and hunch forward slightly. "I do wanna waste it. I mean, I've had enough for today, don't you think? I'm a half hour from heat stroke." 

"You're looking pretty warm," he says. Anything to take you up on your offer without sounding too interested. 

-

You're trying not to give Steve the side eye. Trying, but he's very attractive and very close, and he keeps making funny jokes. It's annoying how hot he is. 

Steve has slouched back and his jeans have slowly edged down, exposing the flesh of his hip. Not that you've noticed, or anything. 

You cram a big handful of popcorn into your mouth and flick your eyes back to the screen. You'd really wanted to see this movie but Steve keeps capturing your attention, again and again, over and over. You can't believe you'd asked him to stay and he had, can't believe he brought the VHS for you in the first place. 

That's a dedicated employee right there. 

You shuffle closer to him under the guise of sharing your popcorn. Your shoulders touch. 

"Thanks," he says. His thigh hits your thigh as he takes a handful. 

"Steve," you say softly. 

"What?" 

"I don't feel well. I think the sun killed me." 

He throws his arm around the back of the couch and twists, careful not to upend the popcorn bowl as he looks over you searchingly. You've seen Steve play caretaker before, but being under his watch is different. He's almost a different person as he checks you over. 

"You feel sick?" he asks. He holds his hand out between you, his knuckles at your eye level. "Can I?" 

You tilt your head back and close your eyes. Steve presses the back of his hand to your forehead and pets down softly, feeling for your temperature. 

"You're still really warm. Let's get you cooled down." 

Steve springs up and knocks the bowl. You blink, slightly disoriented as he disappears into the kitchen, picking up spilled popcorn off of the couch and eating it with slow chews. Now you think of it, your arms hurt, too.

Steve returns and sits on the edge of the sofa, a bag of peas in his hand. "I raided your freezer. Lean your head back." 

"I'm fine," you say, but tilt your head back anyways, gasping when the cold hits you.  

"You might actually get heatstroke. Do you know how dangerous heat stroke is? You need to cool down. Where's the A/C?" 

"It's on." 

Steve feels along your cheek gingerly. "I can't believe you fell asleep outside. What's that about?" He pauses. "Are you sleeping okay?" 

"I'm sleeping fine." 

"Are you sure?" 

His wrist turns and you feel the pad of his fingers rather than the back, the palm of his hand as he cups your face. 

You peek through your lashes at him. His eyebrows are pinched and his bottom lip juts out in a concerned pout. 

"You can tell me." 

The way he says it – well, you imagine you could tell him anything. He sounds warm and worried. This close you can smell his cologne, something heavy with sage, a little bit of lilac hidden under unmistakable bergamot. It's all so comforting and the sun has loosened your tongue. 

"Maybe not so much. It's… it's hot. You know? And…" 

"What?" he murmurs. Your heart skips as his thumb rubs over your cheek. 

You close your eyes like your confession might take form. "I'm kind of lonely, lately," it sounds like a question, "and it's- it keeps me up sometimes. I don't know, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud." 

"It doesn't sound stupid." 

"No?" 

"No, I get it." He pulls away but doesn't move too far, his hand still holding the freezing peas to your forehead, the other brushing against your arm as he drops it in his lap. "These days Dustin doesn't leave me alone. I don't want him to, either. The same with Robs." 

You let your head loll to the side. Steve doesn't look shy or scared to tell you, talking almost matter of fact. "But my parents were never home when I was in high school. They still aren't. I felt it more back then." 

"Yeah. I don't know. I never see anybody. Besides Dustin," you say. "We have him in common." 

"You see me." 

"When I'm annoying you at work." 

"You don't annoy me." He's stern though he abruptly turns into a conspirator whispering secrets. "Robin's fuse gets shorter with me everyday." 

"How come?" you ask, co-conspirator. 

"I can't stop watching the door." 

You lift your head. Steve takes back his bag of peas and feels along your forehead, now cold enough to ache. 

"Here, hold these to your chest. I'd do it for you, but…" 

You take the peas and hide a terrible smile, heart racing between your ears. Your nausea has flipped  completely into butterflies and they're rabid, knocking at your abdomen insistently. 

You're trying to think of a way to make him say nice things again when there's a knock at the door. 

"Dustin," you both say. 

"Jinx, buy me a soda," Steve says. 

You glare at him and he laughs all the way to the door. 

"Why are you always here? Where's Y/N?" 

"She's got heat stroke." 

"I don't!" you call hoarsely. 

"You sound like you do," Dustin says. "Can one of you give me a ride?" 

"She has heat stroke." 

You climb onto the back of the sofa to look down the hallway. Dustin stands at the front door with a huge piece of engineering in his arms that you don't understand, wires and ciricuits and things. 

"Remeber when you used to bike everywhere? What happened to that?" Steve asks, sounding majorly pissed. You can't work out why he's so frustrated but it makes you laugh again. 

The two boys turn to you with twin looks of confusion. 

"I can't bike there, genius. This won't fit in the basket." 

You laugh again, twice as loud. 

"What's wrong with her?" Dustin asks, shaking his head. 

"What don't you understand about heat stroke?

"Potential heat stroke," you interject.  

"She fell asleep in the sun. I don't know how long she was out there her brain might be totally jellified, dude." 

"You should take her to the hospital."

You clamber onto aching limbs and walk until your behind Steve, reaching for his elbow automatically. "I'm fine, babe. What's your doohickey?" 

Dustin smirks and pulls the weight closer to his chest. "Prototype." 

"For what?" 

"Top secret." 

You giggle some more, wobbling with the force of it. Steve sighs and wraps his arm around your back, his hand under your arm to grip you at the ribs. 

Dustin gets wide eyes like a looney tunes character. "What's going on here?" 

"Nothing," Steve hisses. "Look, let me set Y/N up with the works and I'll drive you where you want to go, you brat." 

Dustin drops his suspicion, having got what he wants. "I'll wait in the car. Feel better!" 

"That's three stamps on the shithead card, shithead!" Steve calls after him. The two of you watch his retreating figure and then Steve is manhandling you (not too roughly) down the hallway and back onto the sofa. 

"I'm not dying, Steve." 

Steve puts your popcorn bowl in your lap and the frozen peas back on your chest. He fills your glass either the warming carafe on the coffee table and then bends down to talk to you, entirely too intense. 

"Are you good?" he asks. 

"Perfect. I don't even feel hot anymore." 

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Listen, I'm gonna go drop Dustin off, and then I'm gonna call you to make sure you're not dead." 

"You don't have to do that, Steve," you say, moving down into the couch, a cushion falling over as you do. He straightens it out, cups your face in his hand so fast you think you've imagined it and then squints at you. 

"Don't die of heat stroke." 

He starts to walk away and you're startled. Unfairly, you don't want him to go, and you call, "Steve?" 

"Yeah?" 

"What about The Breakfast Club?" 

He grins at you, a lazy, King Steve kind of smile. "I was always gonna leave that here. So you can come 'annoy' me at work when you return it." He pulls a hand through his hair and gives you a once over and then spins on his heel. "Make sure you answer when I call!" 

You lose sight of him as he leaves, the couch backing too tall. He shuts the door kindly and you can just about hear the crunch of gravel as his car pulls away. 

"He was definitely flirting with me," you say to yourself, pouring a sweet handful of popcorn into your mouth. You're smiling so wide it's hard to chew. 

-

Dustin bursts into Family Video with his small entourage, Mike and Lucas, and an urgent look on his face. Steve quickly stops his facade of being busy when he clocks them.

"What? Need to borrow ten dollars?" he asks, rolling his eyes. 

"Actually, it's about Y/N," Dustin says. 

Steve stretches across the desk on his elbows. 

"What about her?" he asks, suspecting a waste of time.

"She was crying her eyes out in her backyard last night." 

Steve blinks, feeling a pit open up in his chest. "What? Why?" 

"Well…" Dustin says. "I didn't ask." 

Steve pictures your pretty face crinkled with tears, sitting on the paving stones outside your house. He wonders what would make you cry, sob, whatever it was. You'd confessed to being lonely though he sort of hopes that the feeling has ebbed now that he's calling you every day. At first, under the guise of checking up on you, but, I don't think I'm at risk of heat stroke anymore Steve. It's been a week and a half. 

Better safe than sorry. 

"Nancy said she saw her outside outside Bradley's Big Buy last night looking miserable," Mike adds, in one of his worst outfits, a mismatch of colours and long socks, a visor that Steve once tried to bribe Dustin to destroy on a hot day with his magnifying glass. The small burned spot perseveres at the caps edge. 

Steve feels weirdly proud at their concern and better, their detective skills. The three of them look like they could solve crimes, a mystery gang. Lucas is the only one dressed well in Steve's opinion, though that might be because he's in similar fashion, a nice polo and blue jeans. 

"You don't know what's wrong with her?" Lucas asks.

His pride wanes. "Oh, you guys are here for gossip?" he asks scathingly. 

"No!" 

"You're her boyfriend, right?" 

"Not-" Steve swallows, "exactly." 

Robin, who had been listening from her stool a few feet back, strides over and falls into place by his side, braced by her elbows. 

"If Steve were her boyfriend, we'd know why she was crying," she says, earning a round of boyish chuckles. 

Steve nods and then understands her meaning, feeling stupid for assuming Robin would say something that wasn't mean while at work. "Fuck off, I'm a good boyfriend." 

Four sets of eyebrows raise. 

"I am! I'm romantic." 

"You smashed our trellis and dislodged a drain pipe," Mike says. 

Steve pins the dark haired boy with a smarted look. 

"Sorry, is that not romantic? Sneaking out to see a girl?" 

"Sneaking in to a young woman's bedroom," Robin says dryly. 

"Pervert style," Dustin agrees sagely.

"Jesus Christ." Steve turns away from his band of adopted heathens and takes the phone into his hand. "I'm gonna call her." 

"And what? Tell her we were spying?" Dustin says. 

Steve holds the cold plastic to his neck. "Were you?" 

"Girls lie about their feelings, anyway. You're never gonna get a straight answer," Lucas says morosely. "Trust me." 

He slams the phone down. "What am I supposed to do?" 

They stand in a heavy silence. Steve can feel a headache clipping his heels, approaching fast, stress and a sharp worry for you. He really doesn't see why he can't call you and check in. 

"Something nice?" Robin suggests, picking at her nails. 

"Like what?" he asks. Though, as soon as he says it, he already has the beginnings of an idea. Whether its a good one or not is anyones guess. 

-

Somebody knocks the door and all you can think is, oh god why me? 

You're in a bad approximation of pajamas - your comfiest and yet your sloppiest, old and worn and unattractive. Fresh out of a stress-cry shower, you've only just managed to catch your breath. 

It's like you told Steve, everything lately feels so lonely. You'd gone grocery shopping by yourself and had known without a doubt that you were moving unseen through the world. Something about deciding between TV dinners. Nobody knew where you were, what you were doing, or where you were going. The only people seeing you were the storegoers of Bradley's Big Buy and your disgruntled cashier. You doubt you'd made a good impression. 

It was maybe a silly thing to feel overwhelmed by, but you felt it anyways. Sick with loneliness and then panic. A thousand what ifs had filled your head; you couldn't stop thinking, what if it's like this forever? 

What if I feel this lonely forever? 

You'd finished grocery shopping with a peculiar numbness weighing you down and then you'd gone home to cry in the garden, comforted and horrified by your flowers. They were pretty and you'd planted them and it didn't matter, you were still alone. A ladybug had crawled over the nearest planter and you'd watched it until you calmed down, knees crossed and elbows digging into your thighs, pins and needles in your hands. 

Another insistent knock. You consider ignoring it and curling up into a ball. Something hooks you out of it. What if it's Steve? 

If it's Steve, you're gonna feel very embarrassed about your appearance. You check your reflection in the sheen of a photo frame and sigh, rubbing your face with one hand as you open the door. 

Steve stands a few feet away, leaning against the side of his car with a pair of shades slipping down his nose. He takes them off.

You're so happy to see him you forget your rumpled outfit. 

"Hi," you say, half-shouting to cover the distance. 

"Hey beautiful!" Steve shouts, properly, loud and unabashed.

The door digs into your tummy. You don't know what to say. His compliment flusters you from the get go. 

"Hi," you say again, laughing under your breath. 

"Hey." 

"What are you doing here?" 

"Somebody told me you weren't feeling well!" 

You frown, thoughts racing, and suddenly summon the image of your nosey young neighbour. You take a step back instinctively and Steve must see it because his face goes stony. 

"I'm sorry, I know you probably didn't want me to know. But- when I found out you were upset, I couldn't ignore that. You'll have to forgive me." 

You try pushing the smile off your face with your hand and stand there scratching your top lip. "No. No, it's okay." 

He raises his eyebrows and takes a few big steps towards your house. You step out onto the porch and he closes the space between you, holding his hands out. You take them and he envelopes you, warm hands pulling you along and up the path. 

He walks backwards. "Don't let me crash into someone, okay?" 

A memory. The two of you hand in hand, ground flashing under your skates. 

"Okay," you say weakly. 

He squeezes your hands and drops them, a foot from the car. "Stay," and he doesn't finish, turning away from you. He opens the passenger door, the door behind and then the trunk. 

The smell is beautiful. A floral wave. 

The sight is something else. A carpet of bunches, bell-shaped freesias and carnations, roses in darkest red, chrysanthemums, dahlias, tiny orchids and irises; gorgeous purple irises with white centred petals buffeted by frilly sweetpeas. 

"They didn't want to give me the buckets but I told them I had a really pretty girl waiting for me, and if they suffocated in the heat then I was gonna drive right back and complain loudly." He stands by your side and nudges you. "Break out in tears." 

"That's a lot of flowers," you mumble. 

"Half the store. The other half's on standby." 

"Standby?" 

"I worried you might not have the space." 

"I won't." 

Your gaze flits over soft petals and light green stems, thorns and leaves and greenery, baby breath tucked in by plastic wrapping. 

"Why did you do this?" 

"You…" he laughs at himself. "Okay, so. The day you had heat stroke-" 

"I didn't have heat stroke. I had heat exhaustion." 

"Semantics. You were lying in the backyard. Just… sleeping. I was waiting for you to look up and see me, and I couldn't- I still can't get the image out of my head. You looked unreal." 

You feel hot all over as he searches for words. He's smiling wide as he talks, like he can't believe how happy he is. It's infectious. 

He shakes his head. "Anyway, I know you like flowers. Obviously. So." 

"So you got me a florists?"

"Half." 

You hug your torso. The idea that somebody would do this for you, that Steve would do this for you, is so alien you can't comprehend it. 

"They're for me?" you whisper. 

"For you. All of them." 

You look at him, the flowers, him again, and start to laugh. You throw your hands up to your cheeks and giggle like a little kid. 

"Why are you laughing?" he asks, an undeniable affection in his curiosity. 

"Why would you do this for me?" you ask in a similar tone. 

He purses his lips and shrugs. "You could've called me. I want you to know that." 

You scrub your hot cheeks and shift from foot to foot. "I was being silly." 

"It's not silly. It's not stupid. And even if it was, I still want you to call me. These are 'call me' flowers. Call me first." 

You wrap your hand around the top of the door and lean in for a look at the sea of flowers. Pollen sticks sweet in your nose. 

"Do you like them?" 

The smallest hint of insecurity. You can't stop laughing, joy warping every word. "Yeah, I love them," you say over your shoulder, feeling as though you've become nothing but a vestibule of breathless wonder. 

"I didn't know which one was your favourite." 

All of them, you think. Not sure you could pick one, your eyes bump from bouquet to bouquet. 

You try to blink them away but tears form quickly, lashes heavy with them as you stand up straight and wipe under your eyes with the back of your index finger. 

"Thank you, Steve." 

"You're welcome." Steve comes up behind you and takes your shoulder into his hand, thumb rubbing roughly over your shirt. "C'mon, don't cry. I got you all those flowers because I don't want you to cry, not to make it worse." 

"They're really pretty," you say, strained, pushing the bottoms of your palms into your eyes to stop from sobbing. That would be dramatic, you argue with yourself, so dramatic, but this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you. 

"Shit," he mutters. 

You tense up as his hand moves across your back to grip your other shoulder and he hugs you to his chest, left hand stroking the length of your upper arm, encouraging your hands from your face. 

"You're okay, baby," he says. 

You sniffle as his right hand climbs your shoulder to cup your neck. He pulls your face to his mouth and presses a kiss into your temple, warm and tingling, firecrackers under the skin. You turn your face to look at him and he pulls back, his chin jutting down. 

The shape of his lips lingers on your forehead, a burn. White hot.

Steve wipes the tear tracks from your face with the side of his hand.

"I know what'll cheer you up," he says. 

You miss his touch as soon as he's gone. He leans over the passenger seat, the chair and its footwell both bursting with flowers, and turns on the radio. You watch him click to the cassette player. He turns the volume up high and then pulls out. 

Slowly, the song builds into a zinging guitar. 

"Oh my god." 

"Have you seen her? So fine and so pretty," Steve sings with no hesitation. You're startled by his confidence.

"Fooled me with her style and ease," he continues, holding out his hand. 

You take it, listening to him fight his way to the right pitch, his voice cracking.

"And I feel her from across the room-" He takes your second hand, gaze electric. "Yes, it's love in the third degree." 

He tugs at your hand, nodding until you join in.

"Ooh, baby, baby," you sing weakly, searching for footing. 

"Won't-cha turn your head my way?" he begs. 

"Ooh, baby, baby," you both sing, Steve with more passion, pulling your arm one way and another in an awkward dance. 

"Come on, take a chance, you're old enough to," and here's where you both go weak and high and enthused all at once, glad the stereo's up so high you can't really hear it when you both shout, "dance the night away!" 

It's not quite night yet. You've a lot of dancing to do if you're gonna listen to Van Halen's instructions, the sun a half-disk of gold on the horizon, the sky raspberry pink bleeding up into darkening indigo. 

Steve grins at your growing enthusiasm and twirls you around. You only allow him this, too afraid to step on his toes as you come to a stop. 

He hums along and you clutch his hand. You covet the other where it's held to his chest, pushing your fingers through his. They fit together perfectly. 

"Am I ever gonna get that tape back?" you ask. 

"No," he says, laughing loudly. "No way. I love this song." 

"I love this song too. That's why I bought the album." 

"You said however long I wanted!" 

"I didn't think you'd stick around this long," you confess. 

"I did," he says. He leans down, stops. "Can I kiss you?"

You nod and beat him to it, hand at his collar as you step on your toes and press your mouth to his. You're both smiling, your eyes closed tight and your lips tight together until he pulls back, pulling his hand from your brushing grip to stroke the side of your face, rough in his rush. 

When you come back together it's slower, your lips parted mid-giggle as he moves in. You sigh, a high-pitched and embarrassing sound from the back of your throat that's quickly swallowed by his ardency. 

"Stop laughing at me," he admonishes playfully. 

"I'm not! I'm not, I'm really happy," you defend yourself, setting back on your heels. 

You've forgotten all about your pajamas and the icky feeling in your chest. With Steve's palms to your cheeks like this – like you're something worth being cradled in careful hands – you can't feel anything but happy. 

"I don't have enough vases for your flowers," you apologise as he chases you down, dropping kisses over the corner of your mouth and the apple of your cheek. 

"Good thing I begged for all those buckets," he says, brown eyes squinting with the force of his cherubic smile. His pert nose flares with a silent laugh. 

"Good thing," you agree. 

He holds you by the shoulders. "Good thing," he says again. 

You descend into another round of laughter that leaves you panting for air, your head dropping into his chest. "A really good thing." 

"I didn't go overboard, did I?" he asks, petting the nape of your neck.

"You did." 

"Sorry, I-" 

You wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him as hard as you can. He groans lightly as he encircles your shoulders, the tip of his nose a butterfly's wing against your forehead, impossibly light and skipping, back and forth and back again. 

"I'm gonna make you flower shortbread," you say eventually, soaking in his warmth, his closeness. 

"Yeah?" 

"I swear. And more penuche. What's your favourite? I'll make you whatever you want. What do you have a sweet tooth for?" 

"Could I get another kiss?" he asks quietly.

You tilt your head back and wait. Steve isn't quite smiling though his eyes boast an emotion you're afraid to name, unbearably fond. 

"Are you gonna kiss me again?" you ask into the gap. 

"In a sec, just… let me look at you," he says, hand cupping your cheek. 

You blink back a stinging wave of tears and smile, tracing over his features greedily.

"You're beautiful," he says. 

It’s funny. You were thinking the same thing about him.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thanks for reading!

[gothhdoll]

Friday, I’m In Love [Eddie Munson x Reader]

Title: Friday, I’m In Love Summary: Eddie Munson is a metal head and certainly does not like The Cure. Not even a little bit. Not even for you. Warnings: Smoking (cigs + pot), probably swearing, angst, jealously, fighting (angst because of a misunderstanding, with a happy ending) Request: Eddie x Goth!Reader, who likes The Cure (among other bands) and teases Eddie about being close minded when it comes to listening to goth music, and they bond over being weirdos/outcasts. Basically a timeline of Eddie and the readers relationship- first meeting, first fight, first break up

A/N: I’m aware The Cure didn’t release Friday I’m In Love until 1992, and Eddie is in high school in the mid 80s, but suspend some disbelief here because I just think this is a cute idea <3

A/N 2: Takes place a year before Upside Down stuff and Season 4

Keep reading

[gothhdoll]

Before, you were asking about ‘our daughter’. It’s crazy. But… it really got me thinking… what if… you had come with me all those years ago.  You want to know what would have happened? ‘What if?’ We’d wake up everyday… in a tiny apartment… over a failing laundromat.  EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE ALL AT ONCE (2022) dir. Daniel Kwan, Daniel Scheinert 

[gothhdoll]

- Hanya Yanagihara

[gothhdoll]

you would be the one to rescue me

dreamwastaken x reader

tw: crying, use of dream's real name

A whimper cuts through the crisp air of the bedroom. Outside, the world is quiet and ignorant of the comfort you’re not feeling. Flipping over once again, you open dry eyes to glare at the clock on the bedside table. 4:34 am. It taunts you, just sitting there with it’s red numbers blazing. It’s too bright. It amplifies the feeling of wrong encompassing you. Sheets lay uncomfortably across your bare legs, hair sticking to your neck, even your breathing feels tight and forced. You’re about to lose your mind. Annoyance bubbles up in you.

Face pinching, you let out a sharp breath and make your decision. Throwing the blankets away from your body, you scramble to stand up. The cool air flows over you, goosebumps appearing along open skin. You send a glance over to your companion, whose thankfully still sleeping. Some of the tension in your shoulders melts away at the feeling of no longer being trapped.

As quietly as you can, you make your way through the house. Avoiding floorboards that creak and pieces of furniture scattered around is much harder when it’s pitch black, but slow and steady wins the race. Stepping into the kitchen, as gentle as you can, you restrictive a cup and fill it up with water. Trudging to the couch, you let yourself fall with little glory. The silence envelops you as you take small sips from your cup, trying to will yourself to sleep. The longer you sit there, the more frustration creeps up on you, making your lips wobble with force to keep in your emotions. Maybe the chilly early morning air will help, you hum in thought.

As gently as you can manage in your harried state, you set your cup down and make your way to the back door, slipping outside. A small breeze greets you making a shiver wrack your body and forcing you to huddle in on yourself to conserve body heat. Before long, you can’t even really feel it anymore. It’s just numb.

You stare at the cracks in the pavement by your frozen toes.

A noise breaks you out of your thought, whipping around to meet the face of your lover. You frown.

“Why are you up?” You ask with a quiet voice, trying to preserve the quaint atmosphere. Clay’s face is scrunched up and riddled with sleep, eyes barely open. One hand is gripping his shoulder, a frown set on his face. You turn to your original pose, facing forward towards the beginning rays of the morning. It doesn’t surprise you, but your breathing still stutters when warm hands touch your shoulders and slide down your cold arms, wrapping themselves around your waist until your back is sufficiently mushed against his chest.

“Wha’ you doin’?” comes the slurred response, voice reverberating through your body. The beginnings of regret lick at your insides, but you melt into his embrace anyways.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply. You turn your head towards his head resting on your shoulder and press a kiss into it. “You should be asleep though,”

You make way to remove his arms but they only tense and keep you in your spot. You huff in amusement, exhaustion making all your emotions feel dulled. Rolling your eyes, you press your nose into his temple. Despite feeling guilt for waking him up, you couldn’t help but be grateful he’s here with you.

“Clay,” you mumble, “Go to bed, please,”

He only hums and starts to gently sway from side to side. “Not without you,”

In spite of yourself, you smile. “What time is it anyway?”

He kisses your shoulder. “Just past six, I think,”

You pull back out of surprise. Clay opens his eyes and squints at you, confusion painting his face. Open-mouthed, you turn to see the sun has crept out over the sky rise. “Oh,” you breathe, “I hadn’t… I didn’t realize,”

Large hands turn you around. He seems more awake now, brows furrowed and green eyes alight with concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, “I’ve just been up longer than I thought,”

Your frustration from earlier comes back at full force, hitting you so hard you practically face plant into Clay’s shoulder in a hurry to seek any semblance of comfort. You wrap your arms around him, squeezing tight in hopes to calm down. It doesn’t work as well as you hoped. Clay’s started to sway again but you’re too caught up in your emotions to really notice or care. Your fists clench and you press your face more forcefully into his neck, gasping breaths escaping you. Tears burn your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. You don’t even know why you’re crying. God, this is so stupid.

Hiccuping, you try your best to explain yourself. “I’m sor–ry, I’m sorry, I don’t, I don’t even know why—” you cut yourself off to try and intake a breath. A soothing hand rubs your back as Clay gently shushes you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “It’s okay, you’re okay. You can cry, honey, I promise it’s okay,”

The reassurance does nothing to stop the tears, they only add fuel to the fire. At one point, you lost control of your muscles, falling limp into waiting arms. Clay just patiently waits, whispering sweet nothings and pressing kisses into any surface available. Eventually, your tears dry up, replaced by bone deep exhaustion. Warm rays of sunlight hit your back, chasing the chill of darkness away.

Clay slowly pulls back, keeping you at arms distance as he searches your face for something. He must not find what he wants, because he’s frowning and brings a hand to your cheek, which you immediately press into. “How are you feeling, honey?”

You hum noncommittally, staring into his eyes. “Better,” you whisper. You take a hold of his other hand and swipe your thumb across it. “You should go back to bed,”

He scoffs. “And leave you here? Fuck no,”

You roll your eyes. “I’m fine now, okay? You’re probably tired,” you try to argue. Clay doesn’t take any of it, promptly sweeping you off your feet. Instinctively, your arms fly around his neck before you realize exactly what he’s doing. He’s able to step through the threshold of your home and close the door before you start to wiggle.

“Let me down!”

He shoots you a mischievous grin. “No!”

You giggle as he starts to speed up, bursting into your bedroom. His hands leave you and you become weightless. Eyes wide and breath caught in your throat, you make eye contact right before you squeeze them shut in preparation. You hit the bed with a whump! and bounce a few times. Quiet cackles reach your ears and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, crawling under the covers. When you’re not immediately joined, you raise your eyebrows and pat the space next to you. Clay breaks into a wide grin and flops next to you. The next several minutes are composed of you two trying to get comfortable, with several jabs to the ribs and snorts shared between you.

You nuzzle your head on his chest and breathe in deeply. You stay there, hand idly drawing patterns across his abdomen while his breathing slows down.

When it’s been far to long, in the safety of your room, you whisper, “Thank you,”

You don’t have to look up to hear his smile. “You don’t need to worry about waking me up, okay? I care about you,” he mutters back. Fondness overcomes your entire being and you don’t know how to expel it in a way that shows how truly grateful you are. You settle for a kiss to his chest, a small I love you. Clay only squeezes you in reply. I love you too. Here, wrapped in love and comfort, your eyes slip shut to greet a blissful sleep.

fin.

[gothhdoll]

Mcyt with a clingy s/o who loves kisses and hugs but like is super shy?? If that makes sense lol

mcyt with a clingy but shy s/o

⋆｡˚ including: cc!dream, cc!george, cc!sapnap, cc!karl, cc!quackity, cc!wilbur, cc!niki, cc!awesamdude, cc!punz and cc!foolish

⋆｡˚ warnings: reader uses they/them pronouns

⋆｡˚ note: ahhh this was such a cute idea I'm so glad you requested this I was totally blushing writing this, hope you enjoy it!!

Dream

you have hit the jackpot with this one

streaming without a face cam means you can plop down in his lap whenever you like

still, it doesn’t stop you from getting a bit shy, especially with Dream’s teasing nature

it doesn’t help that he’ll mention you’re with him 24/7

whether he’s just on call with some friends or streaming in front of thousands of people, he sneaks in comments here and there that make your face heat up

but it’s not like he’d let you leave, of course not

“Chat you should see them right now, all snuggled up against me. No no, where do you think you’re going, baby. You’re staying right here on my lap.”

George

he may not be the most touchy boyfriend, but there is nothing he loves more than a good cuddle sesh

he can never resist when you lay down on the couch and make grabby hands at him

but if he ever mentions it, you’re as embarrassed as could be

if we’re being honest, he enjoys making you flush just as much as he likes taking naps with you

you’ll 100% accidentally find out that his lock screen is a picture of you curled up against him in bed and he’ll never let you live it down

“Look at you, sound asleep on my shoulder, all snuggled up... I think you’re drooling a little.”

Sapnap

he definitely feels the same as you

he’s not always confident enough to make contact first, but he absolutely revels in the moments you’re together

after the first couple of dates, he finally musters up the courage to kiss you when he drops you off for the night

and to be quite frank, he wasn’t the only one blushing afterwards

he tries to act cool afterwards, but he’s grinning like an idiot

you’re not much better, doing the whole ‘run inside and slide down the door’ thing like you’re a movie star

he definitely texts you that night

“I think we should do that more often, honey. Even if you get all shy”

Karl

Karl is well known for his love of physical touch and you couldn’t be happier with it

but the trouble comes when he gets too bold with his love

one minute he’s having a chill stream, just talking to chat

and suddenly it’s chaos, because you’ve walked into the room and Karl finally has someone to shower in affection

he’s got his hands wrapped around you, holding you close, before he pulls back and plants a kiss right on your lips

“Karl you can’t just kiss me on stream!!!” “But you liked it :)” cue flustered silence from you

Quackity

not necessarily the type to be super outward with his feelings but adores your presence

so as long as you’re in the room with him, he’s happy

still, you just feel the need to be as close to him as possible

you’re watching a movie, nothing out of the ordinary for you two

what isn’t normal is you climbing on Q’s lap and wrapping your arms around his shoulders

when you do muster up the courage to lean back, he’s a blushing mess

which of course, makes you a mess as well

“W-what was that for. You can’t just jump on me out of nowhere. Ugh... I’m gonna melt.”

Wilbur

another one who loves when you get shy

in fact, he actively seeks it out because he thinks it’s adorable

never does it in front of chat though, he wants to be the only one who sees you all shy

first thing he does in the morning is draw you up against him and give you kisses all over your face

he’ll pull your face back with his hands and just wait to feel your cheeks heat up against his palms

he does that annoyingly cute laugh when you dive under the covers to escape him

“Ok, ok, no more hiding. Let me see that beautiful face of yours darling.”

Niki

Niki is very similar to you in the sense of clinginess, takes every opportunity to drape herself over you wherever you are

but the second the two of you realize just how sappy you’re being...

both of your faces are heating up, total tomato fest

she’ll get all blushy if you snuggle up next to her

you push through the embarrassment just to chase her around the room for kisses, to which she pleads for her cat’s help

“Noooo Zuko save meeeee! They’re going to smother me with kisses!”

Sam

this big teddy bear can’t deal with how bashful you get

of course, he still can’t deny you when you give him puppy dog eyes and ask for a kiss

this in turn gets him shy and suddenly you’re both giggling like high schoolers

loves cuddling with you at night because you’re too tired to deny him

buries his head in your shoulder because he can feel your whole body heat up

“You’re not gonna slip away in the middle of the night, are you honey? Nahhh, you like me too much to do that.”

Punz

omg this cocky mf would love to show you off, even if you get embarrassed

would full on make out with you on stream if you didn’t stop him

still, that doesn’t put an end to him flustering you in public

holding you hostage on his lap while on call with friends, sneaking kisses in public and always having a hand on you

he likes to call it “exposure therapy”, but it’s very obvious he just likes seeing you kiss drunk

“Babe, how are you ever gonna get over your shyness if we don’t do anything. Then again, you are pretty cute when you’re flustered.”

Foolish

he can not get over your blushy face

just breaks into a smile whenever he sees you get all flushed

doesn’t seem to understand why that makes you even more embarrassed, though

will 100% wrap you up in a blanket burrito so you can’t escape

sits you on his lap during a long stream, every once in a while, he gives you a kiss on top of your head

puts up a little sign on stream that says ‘cuddle time, don’t mention the burrito’ because he doesn’t want you to leave because of chat

“What? No chat, you can’t mention them! They’re gonna get all shy!”

[gothhdoll]

I’ve been watching d20 and I’m obsessed!!! about to start fantasy high sophomore year and I’m very excited!

[gothhdoll]

Thinking about Sandra Lynn (inspired by this edit!!)

[gothhdoll]

idk, like the reader is dating someone and the fans love her and she just sticks her hand in the stream or shows up every now and then

anon!! i hope you enjoy this <3 i tried my best to write what you wanted, also you didn’t specify who you wanted this for so i just did drabbles for all the crew boys and i hope that’s ok :) let me know what you think!

APPEARANCES

cc!crewboys x gn reader (seperate)

— DREAM ༉‧₊˚✧

this was dream’s first face cam stream in a while.

it was for a special event, a charity live stream.

his goal was to stream as long as possible. and your goal was to be a supportive partner and encourage him as much as possible!

this meant you had to a variety of things.

make sure no one bothers him.

bring him sustenance in the form of food and affection.

and lastly, just be an overall cheerleader!

you were excited. you had done charity streams with him in the past throughout your friendship and now relationship but this was his first one where he was actually visible.

eventually dream texts you.

food pls? and maybe a hug too? :(

you make him a quick sandwich and open the room to deliver it.

“hey, i have food!”

“oh thank god,” dream sighs, “i thought i was about to starve for a second.”

and that’s when the chat goes wild.

the majority of his fans had been supportive of you and your relationship and seemed to love you. but this was… something else.

it might’ve been because they hadn’t gotten “ynwastaken” content in a while but they were absolutely smitten with the two of you.

AAA Y/N LOOKS SO COOL TODAY

y/n supremacy y/n supremacy

i am a y/n stan first and a human being second.

you giggle while reading the chat.

“hey guys! i’ll be popping up in this stream now and then to make these sorts of deliveries. and to make sure that dream is still alive.”

“and i’m incredibly thankful,” dream says, “but you did forget something.”

“hm?”

“my hug! i asked for one and am in desperate need!”

you roll your eyes and he grabs your arms, pulling you towards him into a tight bear hug.

“there there, are you good now?” you tease.

he beams, “definitely.”

— SAPNAP ༉‧₊˚✧

sapnap was just doing a regular valorant stream when you walked in off camera.

“hey. sorry to interrupt but i think your phone’s off. i was wondering if you’d seen my keys? i lost them.”

“don’t worry about it, and yeah they’re on my b- woah chat, calm down!”

the chat exploded with comments about you,

mostly positive thankfully.

y/n!!

SKSHDJGJD ARE THEY HIS PARTNER??

tell them to come on face cam!!

you laugh and walk over to stick your hand in frame and wave.

“hey everyone! how are you guys doing?”

the chat blows up again.

“what are they saying?” you ask your boyfriend.

“oh just th-“

that’s when he gets a dono.

“starting a petition to get y/n to replace sapnap!”

you look at him and burst out laughing.

like bad. you haven’t laughed this hard in a while. you’re afraid your lungs will stop working.

when your laughter dies down he speaks.

“someone definitely clipped that,” he says to you.

wiping the tears off your face you tell him that you hoped they did.

(they did in fact and the clip was trending on youtube plus twitter lolol)

— GEORGE ༉‧₊˚✧

george and his fans had deemed you as the hand.

your hand would commonly make an appearance on his streams to give him anything he demands. usually food or water.

one day when he was getting ready to stream some lore, your hand appeared delivering him a water bottle.

“thank you,” he says giving you a soft smile.

the chat becomes even more active than before, spamming about your hand.

AHH I LOVE YOUR NAILS THEYRE SO PRETTY

omg shdgksgd stop their hands look so?? soft???

y/n hold my hand challenge

“chat, they’re mine! calm down!”

“ooo is someone jealous that their partner is more popular than them in their OWN chat?” you smirk.

“of course not, actually mods! post a poll asking who’s more loved!”

the mods do and the votes start flooding in.

“if i win, you have to do the dishes for a week,” you tell your boyfriend.

“oh you play dirty… if i win then you have to do a stream with me.”

you fake shock, “you’re sick.”

the poll is done and you both check the votes.

you won.

“YES! shoutout to chat for not forcing me to do chores.”

“i feel betrayed.”

you come on screen for a quick second to give george a kiss on his cheek, “sorry love, better luck next time?”

— KARL ༉‧₊˚✧

karl was doing a chill QnA stream when you appeared in the doorway which was in frame.

“hey, what do you wanna do for dinner?” you ask.

“i’m cool with whatever, you can pick.”

“oh nice, i’ll jus- wait oh my god i totally forgot you were streaming! sorry!”

he laughs, “it’s fine, plus i’m pretty sure chat is psyched that you made an appearance. come here and read it,” he waves you over.

you walk by his setup and lean down to read the chat.

y/n better be taking good care of our boy

Y/N IS SO EPIC

their style omg i want it

you laugh, “thanks guys for the compliments!”

“you can pull up a chair and answer some questions with me if you’re not busy,” karl tells you.

“really? i don’t have anything going on so i guess i will.”

you both stay there for a while, answering various questions about your guy’s relationship and just about you in general.

it was nice. his fans were beyond sweet and karl constantly reassured you that you were doing okay.

finally, it was time to end stream and you said your goodbyes.

once you guys went offline, karl turns to look at you.

“hey, you did really good! the fans loved you!”

“hopefully they did.”

that’s when your phone starts blowing up with notifications from your friends.

“LOOK AT TWT YOU’RE TRENDING!!” one of them says.

you blink and immediately go to check the app.

and there you and karl are. trending like they said.

“hey!” karl points at your phone, “we look good in this thread.”

you scoff, a smile on your face, “what do you mean? we always look good.”

— QUACKITY ༉‧₊˚✧

“yo chat! what should we do if we reach our sub goal by the end of the stream?”

he starts reading the chat. most of whom are saying to do a hair reveal.

“chat… no hair reveal ye- wait, this one’s a good idea. CHAT, what if we invited y/n for a little bit,” he giggles, “they’re in another room but i can facetime them real quick and ask if they’re fine with it.”

YESS Y/N CONTENT

we won

so no hair reveal? :((

the phone rings and you pick up.

“OOO Y/N!!”

you laugh, “yes alex?”

“what if you came on the stream for a bit if we hit our sub goal in time!”

“i’m down,” you reply. you had nothing better to do so why not?

“you heard them chat! if we reach our sub goal in time you get free content of me and my beloved!”

fast forward 30 minutes and he finally reached it.

“woah guys! this is insane, we got here so quick. anyway as promised, i’ll text y/n to come in!”

you read the message and walk into his filming room.

“hey guys!” your voice can be heard off camera.

“come on face cam, don’t keep the people waiting,” he jokes.

“fine fine, hold your horses,” you walk into frame and pull up an extra chair.

AHHH Y/N LOOKS SO GOOD

guys i’m in love.

big q lucked out

you beam. you could get used to this.

[gothhdoll]

Happy New Year [roommate!dream au]

Roommate!Dream x Reader

summary: the moment you’ve all been waiting for aaaaaaaa

w/c: 803

a/n: thought i’d finish the year off right with the moment you’ve all been waiting for. this is not the end of roommate!dream, i promise, you can all still send in your mutual pining etc blurbs because lord knows i eat that shit up. happy new year my loves, thank u for everything <3

—

“Happy New Year!”

You hear in the living room in your apartment. You should be out there with your best friends, but instead, you sit on your bed nursing some drink Dream made you at the start of the night.

You aren’t too sure why you’re sitting alone, but there was always something about the new year that sits funny in your stomach. That and the heavy feeling on your shoulders and in your heart to do with a certain someone.

You know Dream is wondering where you are, he always is, and you know that. You’re waiting for your bedroom door to creak open and for his face to pop around the corner—he’s quite predictable.

“Y/n?” There he is.

“Yeah, Dream?” You reply, turning towards the door to see his pink cheeks and bright eyes.

“Why are you in here alone?” He asks, stepping into your room. You sigh and shrug. Dream nods in understanding and closes the door behind him, coming over to sit next to you. The beer bottle he holds is still full, but there’s no condensation on the outside.

“You’re not drinking?” You point at the bottle. Dream shakes his head.

“Uh, no. Not really feeling it,” He says. There’s usually never small talk between you two, but there’s something hanging in the air that makes it harder to speak.

“It’s 2022,” Dream states, tilting his head and glancing at you.

You nod, feeling your face heat up at the sheer awkwardness. “Yeah, I heard.”

Dream cracks a smile and shakes his head, looking at you through his lashes. “Why are we talking like this?” He laughs.

A grin sneaks its way onto your face and you laugh too. “I don’t know.”

You both continue to giggle at each other before Dream throws his arm around your shoulders. “We’ve had a good year, haven’t we?”

Sighing again, you nod, resting your head on his shoulder. “It was alright, I guess.”

Dream lets out a wheezy, easy laugh. “Yeah, you’re not so bad.”

The air is thick and you both know it.

You inhale sharply and pull away from him. “Dream, I have to tell you something.”

He only nods and furrows his brows. You take a deep breath and compose yourself, placing your cup on your bedside table.

“I’m only gonna say this because I have a feeling you may feel the same way. And if you don’t, then this will get really awkward really quickly,” You smile nervously, lacing your fingers together in your lap as you avoid his eyes.

“Go on.”

“Okay, um, for the past, like, year, I’ve liked you… as a roommate—“

“You’re not kicking me out are you?“ Dream jokes, ignoring the way his heart sinks at the latter half of your sentence.

“No! No, never. Um, I’ve liked you as a roommate, but it’s hard to see you every day and not have you the way I want to.”

Dream tilts his head, both in confusion and realisation as his lips part and his eyes widen. “You…” He pauses. “You like me?”

You fold your lips between your teeth and barely nod. Toying with your fingers in your lap, you try your best not to pull at the hangnail on your pointer finger.

Dream’s stare burns into your forehead and you really want to pull the hangnail just to distract yourself from the growing pain in your chest. Surely the pain in your finger will overbear the pain of a broken heart, right? Just for a second?

“Uh, um,” He stutters and you screw your eyes shut. Fuck.

“Dream,” You whisper. “You don’t have to say anything, okay? I just want you to know because I can’t keep it in any longer and I just had a smidge of hope that maybe you liked me back? But the idea of my feelings being unrequited is almost as painful as not telling you at all and then watching you fall for someone else would have really—“

You stop mid-sentence. You stop because instead of moving your lips to talk, you are kissing Dream. The blonde’s right hand cups the back of your head as he keeps you close and you are still frozen in your spot.

Sure, you’ve kissed Dream loads of times. Many of them when you’re both drunk, but this time, you can tell it means more than those ever did.

Finally, you run your hands up his chest to rest your fingers on his shoulders. You pull back slightly. “Dream?” You mumble, eyes trained on his red lips. All he does is nod. “I take it that this means you like me back?”

He doesn’t respond and instead places his lips back on yours. He only pulls away slightly to mumble ‘Happy New Year’ against your lips.

[gothhdoll]

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

“Just close your eyes. I will still be here when you open them again.”

“Sure, you can use me as a pillow.”

“I’d come for you. No matter what, when you need me, I will be there.”

“Can you walk? I’d be happy to carry you.”

“This is not who you are. I know you better than that.”

“I know, it hurts. I’m so sorry, but we have to get this out.”

“You can hold my hand.”

“The nightmares are just an illusion. I’m really here.”

“Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me.”

“It’s okay to be afraid sometimes.”

“Just keep breathing. In and out. You’re doing great.”

“You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

“It’s alright. I’m not going to let go.”

“Show me where it hurts.”

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

“You can go to sleep now. I will keep watch.”

“Hey, listen to me. You’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you.”

“I want you to know that it’s okay to cry.”

“Take all the time you need.”

“If you feel safer with me being there, you know I will always be there.”

“Just look at me. Forget everything else.”

“They won’t take you away from me ever again.”

“You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer.”

“Don’t let your fears dictate your life.”

“I’m going to ask you how you are and I would like you to answer me honestly.”

Part II

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee! 🥰

[gothhdoll]

hello! i just wanted to make a post to let people know i’m now writing for the following people as well as the characters i’ve always written for!

cc!dreamwastaken

cc!georgenotfound

cc!sapnap

cc!quackity

cc!karl jacobs

cc!corpse husband

send me any requests you have!!

[gothhdoll]

masterlist

who i write for

send requests here 

MOVIES/TV SHOWS

harry potter:

scorpius/albus:

➵ i’m the light blinking at the end of the road, blink back to let me know

1.9k | friends to lovers | scorbus secret santa 2017 gift for annciel7

stranger things:

will/mike:

➵ such a pure heart lost in the madness (i’ll stay awake to make sure that you never break)

1.5k | friends to lovers | four times will byers stared at mike wheeler and the one time mike stared back