#ᝰ cece’s scribbles

[bcyhoods]

TO BE SAFE. EDDIE MUNSON

synopsis: you ask to sleep over at eddie’s for the first time, and he undoubtedly is head over heels for you

word count: 1.2k

authors notes: somebody requested this before i started my blog over! if this finds u, im sending you a cookie and a kiss, as promised x

warnings: fem!reader, use of gendered pet names (princess, pretty girl), dialogue is…….cheesy cringe a little😔, clueless eddie, kissing !!!

“Goddamit.”

Eddie hisses beside you at the jumpscare on screen. It was the quietest sound, drowned underneath the blood-curdling screams in the film. It probably would’ve gone completely unnoticed. Unluckily for him, it didn’t. Luckily for you, your legs were draped over his lap, so the mechanical jolt of fright sent your own legs jumping into the air.

His head is thrown against the back of his couch as he slaps his free hand over his eyes. You giggle as you watch his skin flush scarlet underneath your stare.

“Eddie, it’s okay,” you coo, voice shaky in between your laughter.

The embarrassment doesn’t quite subside, but the sound of your infectious giggle and the feeling of you moving into his lap to pry away his fingers is enough to have his chest rumbling with mirrored joy. He gazes up at you as you hold his hands.

“You scared, Eds?��

You don’t mean for it to sound like you’re teasing, but he laughs anyway. With a grin, he shakes his head wildly and clasps his hands around your back.

“Nope, I’ve got a princess to protect me.”

He pushes you down into the couch so that he’s hovering above you, and you respond with a squeal. Your legs are locked around his waist as his hands dig into the plush of the cushion beside your head. He leans down with a proud smile to press a kiss to your mouth.

The kisses are sloppy. He litters your face and neck in open-mouthed love bites, none hard enough to leave any mark. When he reaches your lips, it’s more smiles and spit than any real kiss, but neither of you seem to mind. Not when the smell of his citrusy shampoo wraps around your figure to make you dizzy. Not when your hands roam along his biceps and up to the nape of his neck like you’re the only thing keeping him from floating away.

It’s a mess of hushed teasing and giggles and clashing teeth, and it’s perfect.

As he pushes himself up for a moment of air, he looks off to the side before releasing a displeased sigh. “Shit, it’s getting late,” he observes solemnly.

He sits back on his heels, just far away enough for you to hold yourself up. You follow his line of sight and find that the digital clock on the shelf reads 11:15. Your shoulders deflate and your heart sinks.

“It is kinda late, isn’t it?”

Once you turn back to him, his eyes are stuck on you. Gorgeous, dilated pupils run across the high points of your cheekbones and back down to your lips. His gaze commands a rush of heat to caress your skin until your insides are set ablaze and your mouth is painfully dry.

The utter lack of urgency may as well have been a weighted blanket.

One of his arms snakes around your waist to pull you into him further. He leans forward, tilting his head ever-so-slightly to catch your lips.

This one is less playful than the ones you shared just seconds before. His movements are languid, purposeful. Like all the air had been stolen from his lungs and you were oxygen.

Your elbows threaten to buckle underneath your weight. Though, you’d happily sink back into the couch cushions and let them swallow you whole, if it meant you got to kiss him all night. And he’d just as eagerly take up the opportunity to have you underneath him for as long as he could entertain.

But he’s pulling away. Your foreheads rest together as you wear matching expressions of bliss: eyes closed, and slick, kiss-bitten lips parted. His thumb sinks underneath the hem of your shirt to dance across your skin. Another weighted blanket.

“I’ll drive ya,” he whispers reluctantly.

You watch as Eddie stands to stretch, and the warmth follows. A pensive wrinkle makes home between his brows as he slowly moves to grab his jacket. This, along with the nagging feeling in your chest, was routine whenever you spent the day at his place.

It’s not that he hasn’t offered for you to spend the night before, because he’s suggested it quite a few times. It was just so scary. The nerves bubble and spill over and it’s just all a mess inside your head whenever you want to ask.

Today is something different, though. All that occupies your mind is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie and suddenly, you think it’d be impossible to spend the night without him.

“Really? You’re not tired?” The questions run off your tongue without a second thought.

“Well, I’m wide awake now,” he jests, running the metal of his rings over his bottom lip. He pats the pockets of his jacket for his keys, and when he comes up empty, he searches the kitchen counter.

The fear creeps back into your head as you watch him rifle through drawers. It makes you shrink in on yourself as you trudge over to your shoes that lay haphazardly by the door.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to drive if you’re tired,” you ask softer.

Noticing a change in your demeanor, he looks up at you to see your teeth worrying at your lower lip. “I’m sure,” he insists sweetly, “Can’t let my pretty girl drive alone in the dark.”

He finally finds his keys and moves over to where his own pair of shoes rested beside yours. He sends you an easy grin and it makes it all the harder to swallow down your anxieties.

“It’s foggy out,” you mention faintly. You don’t know what the weather is like outside. It was merely you grasping at straws to freeze him in his motion. You’re sure it’s blatantly obvious at this point, expecting a light tease from the wavy-haired boy.

But oblivious as he is, Eddie peeks out the blinds anyway to scan the trailer park. He hums. It’s a little gloomy, but hardly anything to worry about. Just as he’s about to reassure you again, he pauses when he spots your fingers fidgeting with a loose seam in your sleeve. You’re staring down at your shoes — which you’ve purposely done a poor job of putting on, as they’re only halfway on your feet — with your tongue bitten between your teeth.

“Maybe…” you pause to take a deep inhale. “It’s probably better if I stay? If that's okay with you, I mean.”

Then, does Eddie freeze. And he feels like an absolute fool.

He feels like an absolute fool for being the one to get up first. For not getting the totally conspicuous hints you’ve been trying to give him for the past minute and a half. For being so focused on trying to find his damn keys that he hoped he’d lost in the first place. And for standing in shocked silence for so long that you’ve begun to frown and properly shove your ankles inside your shoes.

“Yeah,” he replies abruptly, reaching out for your arm.

“Yeah?” The hopeful rise in your inflection makes him gently squeeze your elbow.

“Yeah, of course you can stay. I want you to.”

You nod. You duck your chin to your chest to hide the shy smile on your lips, but to no avail. Eddie can spot your bright grin from a mile away and makes him go weak in the knees with a blush that he’s sure is making its way to his cheeks.

“Just to be safe, ya know,” you add before toeing off your shoes and pushing them closer to the wall.

“Right. To be safe.”

[bcyhoods]

WITH FIREWORKS! STEVE

synopsis : after a date at the carnival, steve gives you your first kiss! (prompt: “was that your first kiss?”)

word count : 1.6k

author’s note : repost from my old blog! i fixed her up a little bit, endured changing past to present tense just for you so….

“Those games were totally rigged,” Steve huffs as he prods at the small teddy bear clutched in his hands.

You’re situated on the hood of his car, smiley lips tinged blue thanks to the half-eaten cone of cotton candy in your hands. Steve stands in between your legs with a pout as his free hand rests beside your thigh, finger itching to graze your skin as it taps the metal of his car. The summer sun has just dipped below the horizon, but his face is illuminated by the multicolored lights of the fair behind you. Even with a sullen attitude, he just looks so pretty.

It was only your third official date — excluding the weekly, hour-long visits to Family Video, which Robin made sure to tease him for — and Steve figured it was time to rattle his feathers, so to speak. He wanted to impress you by showing off his athleticism, and carnival games provided an exemplary opportunity to do just that.

He envisioned your arms full and occupied by the array of giant prizes he won for you. You’d watch with an endearing grin on your face every time he beat a game. The night would end with your arms thrown around his shoulders and the perfect kiss that had you both swooning.

With fireworks in the background, obviously.

But luck had strayed far away from Steve Harrington’s side. Far, far away.

“Oh, they were, were they?”

“Definitely. ‘You can only throw it with an underhand,’” Steve mocks the game attendant with a husky voice — a terrible impression, really, but he knew it’d make you laugh. “That’s a made up rule. For sure. I’ve never heard that rule before. Ridiculous.”

The boy sighs defeatedly, letting you take the bear from his hand before running his fingers through his, now disheveled hair. The brown locks had endured the torment throughout the night as he increasingly became more and more stressed. And he didn’t want to admit he was embarrassed, it felt entirely dramatic and silly. But he was, and the way he avoided your gaze while his teeth worried his bottom lip was enough of a tell.

He laughs meekly at himself and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I was trying so hard to win one of those gigantic bears — too hard.”

You hum as your eyes scan over the stuffie. It was no bigger than the length of your hand. Its body was stiff and straight and a tuft of cotton spilled out from under its right arm due to a couple frayed stitches. The ribbon around its neck was barely being held together with a glob of hot glue.

“I like this one, it’s cute.” At his scoff, you double down, “I’m serious! It’s got a lot of charm to it. It’s perfect.”

You move your attention from the bear to Steve only to find that he’s already looking at you. His gaze is incredibly soft, smile lines decorating the corners of his lips as his tongue is coyly tucked into his cheek. His eyes are brimming with love, you think you might burst the longer they’re on you. He finally lets himself graze the skin of your thighs as a subtle thank you. The attention was all-consuming, it made it hard for you to focus. It was hard to do much of anything really, with him looking at you like that.

Quickly, you clear your throat and look up into the sky in abrupt thought. “I think I’m going to name him…Eve.”

“Eve? Eve the bear?”

“Mmhmm,” you affirm with the wave of the cotton candy, “Eve ‘The Bear’ Bearington.”

A huff resembling a short laugh leaves his mouth as he drops his chin down. Lowly, he mutters, “You’re unbelievable,” before looking up at you again with a doting grin. He moves to shake the bear’s hand gingerly, holding it between his thumb and his index, and bowing his head.

“Nice to meet you, Eve. You’re looking a little rough, bud. Bad hangover?”

You scoff and protectively pull Eve into your chest as if it were a child. The chuckle that reverberates through his chest encourages your heart to dither as heat rises to the tips of your ears. “That was very rude, Harrington,” you reply, feigning shock while trying to fight off the smile creeping onto your lips. It doesn’t work.

“What? No, Eve didn’t think it was rude. I’ve been there before, I’m sure he appreciates my empathy,” Steve argues, eyes momentarily flitting to the cotton candy that sat untouched in your hand for the past few minutes. As he nonchalantly stretches his hand out to pull a piece of the sweet, you move your arm out of his reach.

He glares at you with a tilt of his head. You raise your eyebrows to challenge him.

“Bullies don’t get sweets.”

A small gasp emanates from him before his lips are twisting into an impish lopsided smile. He tsk’s and takes a small step back. “Well, that’s too bad…because it just tastes so,” he looks away innocently, “…much,” he pauses.

”…Better!” He lunges forward earning a yelp from you as one arm wraps around your waist while the other moves to grab at the cotton candy. His fingers curl into your sides, eliciting a fit of laughs and giggles to fall clumsily from your sugar-coated tongue which makes it that much harder to fight against him.

Albeit, you don’t cease, pushing against his shoulder and still trying to stretch your arm as far away from him as possible. But it was no use as he slightly lifted you up off the car for just a moment to pull you flush against him. Your legs reflexively wrap around his hips and once you drop the bear, your unoccupied hand grips a handful of his polo for stability. The action had taken you by surprise, being too distracted to push him away when he ducks his head down to take a bite of the candy floss.

“Yup, just as I thought. Ten times better,” he preaches, letting it dissolve on his tongue to savor the flavor.

You’re sure you look a mess. Your eyes must be glazed over complimented by your lips still parted in shock. Your chest is rising and falling in a quick, inconsistent pattern as you try to collect yourself. Again, Steve has thrown your train of thought completely off course.

“You suck,” you manage to say. It was a lame attempt at an insult. But the words were practically dripping with adoration, all he could do was smile.

“Yeah?”

You nod meekly.

You’re certain he can feel your heart thumping wildly against your ribcage, certain that even through the background carnival noises and both your uneven breaths, he could hear it, as well.

And despite being so sure of your dumbfounded expression, Steve thought you looked so beautiful like this. In disarray, your sweater fell off your shoulders to hang loosely on your arms and your hand is holding his shirt so tightly like it was a lifeline. His eyes dart to your lips to trace over your cupid’s bow before glancing back up to find your eyes.

And you thought he looked just as pretty. His nearness was entirely disorienting. You could smell the saccharine hint of stolen cotton candy mingled with his ever-prized Calvin Klein cologne. His hair had fallen handsomely over his forehead. The moles and freckles scattered across his face are more fascinating than ever as you count them until you reach his lips. How soft and inviting they looked.

You’re so completely enamored, you don’t even register when he leans in, brushing his lips against your own in a feather-light kiss. Your breath hitches in your throat and before you can even bring yourself back down to earth, he begins to pull away.

“Sorry, I thought…”

He moves to step away from you, but your legs tighten around him to keep him in place as your fingers wrap around the wrist on your waist.

“No! I’m sorry, I…it was nice, it’s just I haven’t…I mean, I’ve never…” You swallow down a lump in your throat as you feel your eyes start to water.

The second you glance up to gauge his reaction, you regret it. You watch his eyes widen in realization and feel his grip on your waist go slack. Hiding your face behind clammy hands, you groan and drop your head to his shoulder. Your entire body felt like it was on fire and you wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

“Was that your first kiss?”

You nod timidly, dragging your hands down to your lap to wring out your fingers, your gaze immediately following. And Steve is not malicious, he’d never laugh at you, but you feel just a little mortified that you froze up.

“Hey,” he cooed, delicately cupping your cheek and lifting your head. “It’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed.” The words are hushed and soft, a sweet reassurance that causes your insides to melt.

“Was it…was it good?” he asks.

The question makes you giggle, “I dunno, I didn’t really get a chance to return the favor.”

He nods, the beginnings of a wide smile slowly making its way onto his blushing face. “Right…do you maybe, wanna try again?”

You mirror his expression before you’re the one leaning in this time, a kiss that he reciprocates feverishly. His lips slot against your own as his arm tightens around your waist once more. Your fingers dip into hair and he hums against you at the feeling before pulling away.

You giggle at the dazed look on his face and his kiss-bitten lips.

“How was that one?” he asks, eyes shamelessly journeying over your face.

“It was perfect.”

[bcyhoods]

hi! can I please request the prompt “caressing the other's cheek softly, hoping to wake them up that way” with steve and shy!reader? maybe it’s their first time waking up together and he’s just so in love?

thank you for the req nonnieeee <333 need him in my bed immediately, thanks! | 0.5k gn!reader

Steve can’t seem to put his finger on it.

Maybe you were born with some sort of super power. Like you’re able to induce serenity with just a touch of your fingertips, a timid press of your lips to his cheek. Or it could be something spiritual. Something about your souls being intertwined due to something living in the stars or the color of your aura or something.

He doesn’t really know. Waking up to you in his bed for the first time makes his brain all fuzzy.

The sun spills in through his blinds and covers every inch of your exposed skin in golden warmth. Your hair is wild, splayed out over his pillowcase — which he’s sure now smells like your shampoo. You’d slowly inched apart from each other during the night, but your hand still rests over his torso, accidentally bunching up the material of his shirt around your fingertips. The longer he lets himself look at you, the harder his heart thrashes around in his chest.

He doesn’t really want to wake you, but he so desperately wants to talk to you. With a tentative hand, he trails up your arm to cup your jaw. His thumb gently passes back and forth over the swell of your cheekbone, reveling in the softness of your skin. A blithe grin hijacks his mouth once he sees you beginning to stir.

“Hmm.” Your hand is gone from his torso to grasp onto his own hand, still just barely caressing your face. You blink a few times, adjusting to the brightness filtering in when you see his face. Warmth settles on his freckled cheeks and paints his skin pink, and it only gets deeper when you give him your own sleepy smile. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” he answers, voice raspy and deep.

He’s looking at you like he can find an answer in your eyes. You might have the entire universe hiding in your pupils. Definitely something akin to stardust shines in them, he swears.

His attention makes you feel lightheaded and your skin burns beneath his touch. You squeeze at his fingers and pucker your lips to fruitlessly keep your nerves at bay, but it produces a kind of upside-down grin that makes him beam and chuckle. You giggle and ask, “What are you doing?”

“Nothin’. Just wanna look at you.”

“Ugh,” you groan and roll your eyes, but the wide smile on your face reveals your secret. Steve Harrington makes your stomach flutter and makes your heart beat so erratically that you can feel it thump and shake against every inch of your body. That’s why you’re quick to shield your face with your hands, muffling your nervous giggles in your palms.

“Oh, stop.” Peeling your hands away from your face, he brings them up to his lips and kisses your knuckles, unceremoniously. The smacking sounds make you laugh, and when he notices, he makes sure to kiss them louder. He stops the assault on your hands to cup them together and press them against his chest.

His heart beats as quickly as yours does.

“I liked sleeping with you,” you tell him with a gummy smile like it was confidential.

“Yeah?”

You’re immediately recognizing the double entendre, but he’s too lovesick to notice. You consume his every thought, it’s impossible to get his mind working accurately. So instead of teasing you, he whispers

“I liked sleeping with you, too, honey.”

[bcyhoods]

could I please request steve and shy!reader and her first time staying the night at his place? lots of timid cuddling and just overall sweetness? I loved your first steeb drabble!

ohemgee yay i’m so glad you liked it!! thank u for for such a cute req, i hope i did it justice🫡 | 1k fluff, gn!reader

You were going crazy, without a doubt. You’ve already finished showering, but you’ve been locked away in his bathroom for 15 minutes. The pep talk you’re giving yourself in the foggy mirror does nothing to calm flutter in your stomach.

“Everything okay, honey?” You hear Steve call from down the corridor.

“Yes—Yeah, I’m okay!” The words are rushed and clumsy as the nickname runs through your head on repeat. And while you’re about to sleep in his room for the first time, it’s too domestic for your racing heart. You hope he doesn’t notice.

Giving yourself one final nod of scarce confidence, you pull open the door and softly let it close behind you. You’re practically walking on the balls of your feet so as not to make any noise.

When you peek into his room, you see the plain of Steve’s back facing toward you. You let your gaze shamelessly trace through the freckles and moles that grace his skin, then to the muscles that tense in his biceps as he fluffs one of his pillows. He’s mumbling to himself as he punches and pulls at the cushion.

Once you push past the door, he turns like he’s a child caught stealing the last cookie from the jar. He’s doe eyed with flushed cheeks and messy hair.

“Hey, there you are,” he sings with a gentle smile.

“Hi.” You timidly wave with a smile just as sweet.

“I was getting worried,” he starts as he meets you by the door, “Started to think you fell in or something.” Steve laughs it off, but there’s a small twitch in his eyebrows that threatens to expose his nerves.

Because while you were in the bathroom, Steve had been giving himself his own encouraging speech. One which also fell quite short, but he was better at concealing it. At least he thinks he is.

Your clammy hand reaches for his, a reassuring effort to soothe both your worries. “No search party necessary. I’m still standing,” you reply softly. He releases a hefty exhale — a mixture of a shaky laugh and a sigh of relief — and gives your hand a small squeeze.

“I’ll be right back. You can sleep on either side, I don’t mind.”

He’s quick to jog out, leaving you to roam every inch of his bedroom.

You’ve been in Steve’s room countless times before, you probably have every trinket and frame committed to memory. But every detail has somehow become more intimate since the last time you’ve visited. Every knick knack is a window into Steve Harrington’s being and by tomorrow morning, you’d become even more familiar. The thought only further warms your chest once your eyes land on an old love note you’d given him, preserved in a framed picture of you right on his bedside table.

By the time he returns, you’re already under the covers with a cheesy smile and patting the empty space next to you.

He uses some sort of excuse so that he can keep a dim nightlight on: Just so you can see everything in case you need to get up in the middle of the night. And Steve Harrington doesn’t have a secret aversion to the dark.

No, Steve Harrington is a romantic, and he just really wants to see your pretty face.

“Are you okay?” He whispers as he settles beside you. He moves to bring the blanket up to your chin and traces the underside of your jaw with his knuckle.

“Yes, I’m okay, Stevie.” You giggle at his concerned expression and reach up to smooth out the wrinkle in his brow before you convince yourself not to.

“Good. Good…just checking.”

And though you’re both laying face to face, sharing the same sheets, he’s entirely too far away for your liking. All you would have to do is extend your arms just a few inches until they reach his shoulders. But really, it’s a few inches too much.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again lowly, noting the pensive expression on your face.

Your stomach flips and your hand flies to pick at the skin of your lips. Now, you would just need to ask. But it’s so difficult when he’s staring right at you, practically oozing adoration. Now there’s a knot in your mouth where your tongue should be.

“Steve?”

He hums. The knot tightens.

“You don’t have to, but…can you, um—would you want to…” you trail off as the rest of your question dissipates.

“Do you…do you want me to hold you?” He finishes for you. He’s already moving to sit up before you can say ‘please,’ eager to wrap you up in his embrace.

You sit up the slightest bit so that he’s able to slither his arm underneath your head. He’s laying on his back while you’re curled into his side. You rest on his bicep, legs tangled with his own and an arm around his middle as you play with the fingers of his other hand.

“Is this okay? Am I hurting you?” You turn slightly so that you’re peering up at his face, chin resting on his shoulder. It’s an awkward angle and you know it’s going to result in a dull ache in your neck, but you can’t be bothered to care with his lips so close.

“No, no,” he’s quick to rush out, “This feels nice. I like this.”

It’s not until you see his wide smile that you notice the ache in your cheeks thanks to your matching expression. Without giving it a second thought, you push yourself up to kiss him, eliciting a sigh from the boy. It’s lazy, and it doesn’t last for more than a few seconds before you’re drawing back to hide your burning face in his chest.

He pauses to gather his bearings and gives you a kiss to the top of your head. “If you wanted a kiss, you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up, please.”

[bcyhoods]

🥁 DRUMMER ── send in a character + an au / scenario for a moodboard (might throw in a little drabble if i’m feeling particularly inspired)

oooooh how about eddie with losercore girlfriend ???

eddie x loser!reader

Eddie really likes when he comes home and finds you effectively buried in his sheets. You’re on his side of the bed, wearing your mismatched pajamas that you’ve worn for the past three days, and he really likes when your tired eyes light up at the sight of him.

“Hey, Ed,” you beam and throw the blankets off to meet him at the doorway.

He smiles radiantly, all teeth and all love, and opens his arms to welcome you into his embrace. You can still feel the warmth of the afternoon sun lingering on his clothes as you press into him. The smell of cigarettes and mint gum stick to his pale skin and comfortingly wash over your figure. Unknown tension is eased from your shoulders.

“Hey, stranger.” He pulls back, holding your face in his palms to angle your lips to his. They’re pressed firm against yours, full of purpose. The pressure has you humming and fisting the uncomfortable leather of his jacket. He’s pulling away slowly, dotting pecks to your lower lip on his way. “What’s my girl been doing all day, hmm? Watching movies?”

You shake your head. “Wallowing. Missing you. The usual.”

He makes a noise of acknowledgement and laughs while waddling you back toward the bed. You had been watching movies all day, cycling tape after tape to fill the boredom. But you also really did miss him. Your day always feels incomplete when he’s gone, like the last piece of a puzzle is missing. Even when he’s here, you need to be impossibly closer to him. And right now, when it makes you squeeze him tighter, he leans down to kiss you again.

“Busy day for both of us then.”

come celebrate with me!

[bcyhoods]

LOVEFOOL 💌 — ‘honey, i’m home’ with stevie please. no pressure at all and take ur time or feel free to skip it, idm at all. and congratulations again ml, ily xx

drew babyyyyy, i love u and i’m saur sorry this took so long!! i may have went overboard | 1.6k fem!reader

warnings: alcohol + one drunk steeb + undressing + shit ending

Robin is the first to insist that his party days are well behind him. It was supposed to be a lighthearted toast in some random corner of a vaguely familiar backyard. Keg King Steve has fallen from grace! Here’s to a sign of maturity!

The sentiment, much to Steve’s chagrin, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and it rivals whatever’s in his cup.

“So Harrington’s a lightweight, big deal! I still think you’re just as charming.” With a heavy hand and a tipsy grin, Eddie reassuringly slaps across Steve’s shoulders. The sheer force of it has his entire body jerking forward and his drink jumping over the plastic rim. It spills over his fingers, grossly sticking to his skin and foaming at the edge of his sleeve.

He’s not quite sure why it even affects his ego so much, but it’s feeling bruised and battered. Like something sour and unforgiving crept into his chest and delivered a hefty blow to his Pride.

It has him sputtering as he lamely pushes away the metal-head, “I can still—I mean, I'm not…a lightweight.”

Robin is usually pretty good at spotting his unease when she’s sober, but the cheap beer seems to make her hypersensitive to his changing mood. She shakes her head fervently and harshly swallows. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of!” She starts, “I’m just saying, you know…you’re not who you were in high school! Which is good! It’s a good thing. It’s just, like, your tolerance decreases as you get older and less athletic, everybody knows that. So it’s perfectly normal.”

He knows that she means well. It’s obvious in the way she attempts to soothingly rub his arm, the way she smiles at him as best she can. But he’s feeling like he just got all the air knocked out of lungs.

You’re not who you were in high school.

It’s loud. It echoes unkindly against his skull and penetrates the most vulnerable parts of his brain until the noise is smothered by something else. Something a lot less intelligible, almost barbaric.

The frenzied chanting over by the keg rings in his ears and grows louder with each weak breath he takes. Eddie’s trying to help now — says something about how Steve can still outsmoke half his regular customers. But his voice is static in the boy’s mind now as his attention is focused on a pair of ankles being held in the air in the midst of the growing crowd.

Just then, an old lightbulb flickers on in his head, his Pride is reanimated with a dizzying desire to prove himself. His chest increases in size, his shoulders are pushed back, his chin is held high, but the confidence doesn’t seem to reach his face. “I’m not a lightweight,” he mumbles before he’s striding across the grass and taking his place at the keg.

Steve is not a lightweight. He can certainly still hold his keg stand record. But he’s got enough alcohol in his system to fuel a garage full of cars.

It’s why he ends up hanging off your shoulders, humming some song by The Smiths, and making it entirely impossible to unlock your apartment door.

The warm skin of his forehead pushes into your cheek as he noses at the junction between your neck and your shoulder. Muscly arms are tightly wound against your middle, trapping your own arms underneath and pressing your keys into your thigh. His fluffy brown hair, uncharacteristically and boyishly disheveled, tickles the corner of your eye.

“Steve, I can’t…” You try to fight off his arms, but they only seem to tighten followed by a groan of protest from him. You huff before softly restarting, “I can’t open the door, Stevie.”

“Oh! Sorry,” he whispers. He readjusts himself so that one arm is around your back and the other lies limp at his side.

You’re finally able to unlock the door and push it open with the toe of your shoe before you’re helping Steve inside the darkness of your shared loft. As soon as he feels your hands leave his body, he frowns and slouches against the wall, mumbling something that you can’t quite make out. When you close the door and turn on the lamp, he’s abruptly jumping up and taking a harsh breath.

“Honey, I’m home!” His loud voice bursts into the empty apartment and reverberates against the walls.

He tries to stifle his giggle when he sees you flinch and consequently hit his chest. You press your index finger to your lips and glare at the boy, but he only snorts at the conspicuous smile you’re trying to suppress.

“Shh, Steve—”

“Shh! My girlfriend’s sleeping. Cool it,” he interjects lowly with his own finger wagging at you. Another snort and chuckle comes from him at his own joke before his shoulders slump again.

“Let’s go join her, then, yeah?” You coax him, gently pushing at his back so that he’s walking forward. His footsteps drag the entire journey to the bedroom until he lays eyes on the unmade bed that’s just screaming his name.

As soon as his hand reaches down to touch the mattress, his limbs turn to jelly and he gracelessly flops into the sheets. A groan of relief and exhaustion is pulled from his throat as he lets himself sink further into the pillows. Once you’ve turned on the light, you lean down to take his shoes off before you’re yanking him back up to you. He’s standing, but he’s slightly rocking back and forth on his ankles with his eyes closed.

You’re untucking his polo and pushing it up his torso, but his arms remain stuck at his sides. You sigh and pat against his chest to get him to look at you, which he does. “Steve, baby, I'm gonna need your help.”

Wordlessly, he throws his arms up and grabs at the hem of his shirt once you’ve pushed it up his arms. He flings it off and grabs at his undershirt to do the same, but freezes when he feels you unbuckle his belt. His face is burning up now as he watches you tug the leather out of the belt loops and reach for the button of his jeans.

“Woah, take me t’dinner first.”

A lazy smirk and glassy eyes are pointed your way and a laugh is pushed from your mouth before you can stop it. Every ounce of smugness is gone within a second and all he can do is stare at you with a big smile.

“If you behave, we’ll go to dinner tomorrow. Benny’s ‘cause they have your favorite burgers.”

He doesn’t even register what you say because he’s too focused on your laugh. The way your chest rumbles and the way these cute little wrinkles start to form by the corners of your eyes. Even when you dip your head away or cover your mouth to hide from him. The sound itself is enough to have him smiling, but you just look so pretty when you’re laughing, he’s practically starstruck.

When he comes to, you’re tapping at his calves to step out of his jeans. As soon as you’re upright again, he points out, “I’m making you laugh. Am I funny?”

“Oh, yeah,” you say it like it’s obvious, “This is supposed to be a secret, but…you make me laugh a lot actually.” The admission prompts a happy puff of air from him as he sits back down on the bed. He’s looking up at you with wide eyes.

“Good. I like when you laugh. When you’re laughing at me.”

You tug at his tank top to signal for him to lift his arms, and he happily obliges.

Scars run across his abdomen and glisten with each movement he makes. When he feels your fingertips gently kiss at the edges of the marred skin, a sobering feeling of vulnerability washes over him. A feeling that he’d tried so hard to get rid of tonight, hoping to drown it with a wave of something, anything else. And you seemed to bring it right back without even trying. Only it doesn’t feel suffocating like it did earlier. It feels safe.

“You’re so good t’me…” His voice is much softer now. He leans into your touch, shivering as you drag your hands up to his face, but his eyes are unmoving as they gaze into your own. “I love you.”

You beam down at him and push his wild hair back to leave a kiss on his forehead. “I love you, too, Steve.” And though you’ve said it a million times before, always teeming with warmth and fondness, his brows still pinch together.

“Really? You love me? You’re not lyin’?”

Your expression mimics his. But you only get closer to him, reassuring him, “‘Course I love you.”

“But…even though I get like this? Even though I can’t—hicc—though I’m not Steve from high school?” He grimaces. The words from earlier in the night faintly resurface in the back of his mind and he’s feeling bitter all over again. But as quickly as they came, you’re just as quick to snap him out of it.

“Mhm, I love every version of you. I love you, now.” You drop a kiss to his cheek. “I love drunk Steve.” A kiss to his other cheek. “And tomorrow, I’m gonna love hungover Steve.” A small peck on his lips.

His eyes are slow to open when you pull away, and he reaches for your hips like he’s going to fall over. But he doesn’t. He gives you a gooey smile and juts his chin forward in a silent request for you to kiss him again. Even though he still has the faint taste of liquor lingering in his breath, you do it anyway.

“That’s good. Because I’m definitely gonna be that guy tomorrow.”

[bcyhoods]

lovefool — “you’re welcome to stay, if you want” w eddie!!

librarian!reader is always calling my name so i needed to do something before i combusted | 1.1k fem!reader

Eddie’s got his feet propped up on the study table and his chair teetering on its hind legs. The dull sound of his rings tapping the hardcover in his hands fills the immediate space. Despite the fact that he’s actually read this particular horror novel at least thrice before, today it only serves as bookworm-ish guise.

The boy aimlessly flicks through the pages, eyes reflexively leaping over entire paragraphs to peak over at the reception desk. With each glance, he feels his heart start racing, his stomach starts flipping. And it has nothing to do with Stephen King, everything to do with you.

You’re sitting behind the polished wood with a pair of deep auburn-colored reading glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. Every so often, they slide down and prompt you to scrunch the muscles in your face and wiggle them back up. Whenever you ultimately give up and push them back into place with your finger, Eddie smiles to himself.

The pair of you have spoken quite a handful of times, but it only took Eddie seconds within that first interaction to be smitten. You’d worn a pretty color on your lips, an even prettier smile behind it. Your eyes lit up upon seeing the tower of Tolkien novels he’d placed in front of you to check out, then you’d complimented his taste, then his hair. Then as if to seal the deal, you reached underneath the desk to retrieve a flimsy bookmark with a map of Middle Earth and placed it on top of the stack.

Now, he’s proud to be a frequent library-goer. Admittedly he feels a little silly about it, at first. But the flash of recognition that crosses your face before you wave at him makes him forget.

You float through the building, burning hot under his watchful eye, shutting off yellow desk lamps and bidding farewell to patrons with a sweet smile. The closer you get to him, the more the familiar aroma of cigarettes and his cologne seem to engulf you. It’s your turn now to have your heart beat erratically in your chest.

“Hi, Eddie.” Your saccharine voice cuts through the silence and has him immediately closing his book. He gazes up at you, big brown eyes boring right into yours. Like he knows you’re about to swat his feet, he grins and kicks his legs down onto the floor.

“Hey,” he sighs out.

“Carrie’s that good, huh? ”

Eddie’s head twists in confusion. It’s like your presence sent him face first into a stupor, and now he’s racking his brain trying to figure out what you were asking. Only when you smirk and point at him does he realize you’re talking about the book. The book that’s in his hand, that he was meant to be reading this whole time.

“Oh! Yeah, Carrie,” he confirms with a gummy smile as he waves the novel up, “What can I say? The lady calls to me. You finished it yet?”

You wince at the question. A few weeks ago you’d each recommended each other a book, per Eddie’s suggestion. He’d read your recommendation within the week, returning it with a broad smile that made you feel giddy. It’s taken you a little longer. He sees it all over your face and gasps.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t read it, yet? You’re really hurting my feelings here, sweetheart.”

The nickname makes your heart catch in your throat and stumble on your words for a second. “It’s—I just…I started it! I promise. I just haven’t had time to read the whole thing,” you explain through a shy smile.

Eddie chuckles at your suddenly bashful demeanor before an idea pops into his mind. Even thinking about it makes him blush. He doesn’t give himself much time to dwell on the idea of your rejection before he’s blurting it out.

“I can read it to you.”

You watch him, surveying his expression to find any hint that he’s joking. But he’s got a doe-eyed look on his face. He’s dragging one of his rings across the curve of his lips with uncertainty.

“You’d…? You’re kidding,” you decide matter-of-factly.

He vigorously shakes his head, hair flying in every direction as he throws his hand over his chest. A bright smile shines across his face. “Cross my heart. I’ve been told I got a shot in the audiobook industry. Might even hear me on one of those little cassettes in the future.”

The boy is lying through his teeth. It’s rare that someone indulged in a positive conversation with him, let alone complimented his voice. Though, it makes you huff out a laugh, maybe a little too loud for a library setting and he swears his heart is about to break out of his rib cage.

You nod at him rather emphatically and agree, “Must be your charisma.” Your hand drops to pick at the chipped wood of the table and your gaze drops with it to hide from him.

“Hey, your words.” He tosses his hands up in the air, smugness tugging at the corners of his mouth. He clears his throat before asking, “What do you say? Think it’d be good practice for me to have a live audience.”

He looks so genuine, a soft expression taking over rough features. His leg bounces under the table with anticipation. His fingers move to where yours are, and he hesitantly reaches his pinky to your own. It’s just a tap, but it sends a tingle up your entire arm and has you reciprocating the touch.

He’s making it so hard for you to say no. You glance up at the clock on the nearby wall and frown. “Well, right now I’m kinda supposed to tell you that the library closes in a few minutes.”

Eddie spares a glance behind you and realizes that he’s the last person on this floor, maybe the entire building.

“Oh. Yeah, well…some other time.” His shoulders sink just slightly before he’s standing upright and smiling at you. “I’ll get out of your hair, m’lady.” He bends at the waist to bow at you, waving his arms theatrically.

You’re smiling at him again, something warm and entirely too sweet. As he turns to the exit, you feel something tug at your chest. Like he’s taking a piece of you with him. It has you calling out before you’re able to stop yourself.

“Eddie?”

He twists back and hums.

“You’re welcome to stay, if you want. I mean I’d love to take you up on the offer, if you don’t mind following me around while I reshelve some returns?” A nervous laugh falls from your mouth as you hitch your thumb towards the non-fiction shelves. Eddie spots your other hand still picking at the chipped wood.

He beams at you with flushed cheeks and a puffed chest.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[bcyhoods]

LOVEFOOL 💌 ─── send in a character and a prompt from these lists for a blurb

peter parker + ❛ is that blood? is it yours? ❜

she’s been collecting dust because i’m insecure, but she will stay hidden no longer!! | 1.4k

warnings: blood, injury, r patching up his wounds, medically inaccurate information (we’re going to pretend it works for my sanity’s sake)

Peter doesn’t really know why he stumbles into the bodega. It’s closed, and it’s empty, safe for where you’re mopping the floors.

You move between the aisles, mouthing the lyrics to whatever song is flowing through your earbuds. He watches your silhouette through the windows, entranced as you make the most mundane chore somehow look so inviting. He knows the moment you see his face that you’d drop everything and throw your arms around him like you hadn’t seen him in weeks.

He supposes that’s why.

That, and the searing pain that shoots through his left leg is making his brain foggy.

Gripping onto his wounded thigh, he musters up the remainder of his strength to pull open the door and stagger inside. He grimaces at the shrill chime of the overhead bell. Even more so when it disrupts your bubble of peace.

“Sorry, we’re…” The rest of the monotonous statement gets caught in your throat. You stare back in his direction with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. The mop slips from your grip and bangs onto the floor.

Peter, clueless and delirious, is convinced it’s because he’s starting to stain the freshly clean linoleum. You’d just mopped and now he’s making a mess. He’s oddly expecting you to scold him before coddling him. Maybe you’ll even give him a kiss. His shoulders momentarily sag in relief.

“Spiderman?”

Shit. He’s still wearing the suit. He forgot.

“Yeah, hey,” he sings nervously, “Nice to meet you. Great establishment you’ve got here, you should be very proud.” He gestures toward the apple display before giving you a puny thumbs up.

You’re stunned, frozen in place. You don’t really notice the way his arm falls limp or the way he uses the nearby shelves as a crutch. You can’t even see the blood dripping down his leg from where you’re standing. Your mind is racing and jumbled because The Spiderman is in your store on a random Tuesday night.

Peter is never going to believe you when you tell him.

You’re abruptly ripped from your daze when he knocks over a can of tomato sauce, cursing under his breath. “Yeah…you’re here. Why are you here? And I don’t mean to kick you out, y’know, protector of the city and all—”

He laughs quietly at the wonder in your voice. He tries to take in your amazement, making note of the raised brows and the shy smile on your face, but he really can’t. His head feels heavy on his shoulders and the overhead lights are killer, even with the mask on. All he wants is for you to hold him, but he’s not Peter right now. And somehow that makes his leg sting even more.

He’s so out of it, he hasn’t even registered that you’d moved closer to him until he hears you gasp. Your expression is different now. You look mortified.

“Oh my god, is that blood?” When he jumps, you continue quieter, “Is it yours?”

“Huh? No, no, it’s not, it’s just uh…”

He utilizes the shelf to limp closer to you, but one uncoordinated shift of the hand makes his knees buckle and it sends him to the floor with a groan. A yelp involuntarily escapes as you rush to his side.

“It might be a little, yeah,” he admits defeatedly through clenched teeth.

“Here, let me help.”

He tries to protest, but ultimately surrenders to your fleeting touch as you push at his shoulders to lean up against the wall of freezers. You kneel in between his legs, ignoring the way heat rushes to your ears when he gently holds onto your forearm. It was so instinctive, so tender, like he’d done it a million times before.

Your fingers hover over the tear in his suit before you’re asking, “May I…?”

He nods. Careful of the wound, you pull and rip at the material to expose the severity of it. He makes a sound of ease, one that you’ve mistaken for worry and it shoots right to your chest.

Peter concludes it looks worse than it actually is. It’s definitely not deep enough to require stitches, but the cut crosses the expanse of his thigh. He’s fixed up worse in his dingy apartment bathroom. It’s not entirely unfamiliar, but he’s lost a lot of blood on the way here.

“Just a paper cut,” he adds cheekily to make you feel better. It doesn’t, really. When he notices the way you stare at the wound and how your hands shake with worry, he reaches to hold them. “Hey, I’m okay. Happens all the time,” he assures softly.

The frown you wear looks entirely foreign. It makes his insides burn and all he wants to do is kiss it away. To make you smile at him again like you’d done so earlier.

“A lot of people don’t really like me that much,” he says. He’s barely coherent, the words are slurred together at this point. But he doesn’t really care when he hears you scoff. It’s good enough, he decides.

“Okay. Just…just wait here.” You’re gone before Peter can grumble some smart remark about how he couldn’t go anywhere even if he wanted to.

When you reappear, your arms are full with soaking wet wash rags, a box of wound cushions, and a cheap spool of gauze. His arm is lazily thrown over his head to provide some sort of shelter from the bright lights. The bleeding has slowed down just the slightest, but it doesn’t instill much confidence.

A timid exhale is pushed from your lungs and you warn, “I don’t really know what I’m doing. It might hurt.”

“Nothing I can’t hand—oh, mmm!”

You’re immediately pulling away, the rag in your hand tinged with crimson.

“It’s okay,” he’s quick to reassure you before you can even apologize. It comes out strangled. He’s sitting up straighter, his muscles are tense, his fists are clenched beside him, but he keeps whispering it like a mantra. You’re not sure if he’s saying it for you or for himself. Maybe both.

“It’s okay,” you repeat softly. He hums.

The mumbled phrase spills over your lips every time he flinches away from your touch. It spills over his lips whenever your brows pinch in response. It echoes through the store until the beige cloth becomes red and you’re wrapping the gauze around his thigh.

He selfishly wishes you knew his secret just so you could patch him up from now on. You’re so gentle, you’re doing a much better job than he usually does. It helps that even the thought of having you around makes every worry melt away.

You’re tying off the wound and smiling to yourself with a sense of accomplishment. It’s infectious, it has Peter smiling under his mask. “Done!” Clearing your throat, you stand up and reach your arms down in an offer to pull him up with you. “You need to learn to stop getting on people’s bad side, Spiderman,” you jest.

He chuckles and shakes his head. Taking your hands, he’s staggering up and once he’s settled, puts his hands on his hips. “I think some people are just too sensitive,” he argues.

He feels miles better now, but you’re beaming at him and it makes his brain feel all fuzzy all over again. You bend down to grab the leftover materials and stick them out towards him. “For your leg. On the house.”

“Thank you,” he replies simply. He takes them from your hands, with a smirk hidden away from you. It’s such a measly offering. The box of dressings is practically empty, the gauze is tiny and already unraveling in his hands. But he’s feeling an electric current rush through his limbs and spark a fire in his chest all the same.

“Yeah…” As if a lightbulb ticks on over your head, your eyes brighten and your smile is wider, if that was even possible. “While you’re here,” you start, turning away from him and towards the counter to retrieve your phone. “My friend Peter, he um…he’s never gonna believe me, but I wanted to know if—”

The sound of the overhead bell makes you whip your head back around to see the bodega is completely empty. No evidence of any wounded superhero barging in after hours besides the bloodied floor. Before you can feel dejected, the reality settles in once more.

You just saved The Spiderman from bleeding out in your store on a random Tuesday night.

Peter is never going to believe you when you tell him.

[bcyhoods]

could I request [ rest ] sender lays their head on receiver's shoulder and falls asleep there with shy!reader and steeb? 🫶🏼

posting this before the scary lady in my head tells me to delete it! ily thank you for the req <33 | 0.9k gn!reader

“I am not tired, Steve.”

It was a complete lie, and he looked at you with a poorly-concealed grin like he knew it, too. The inside of his cheek is bitten between his molars, lips still curling up at the ends, and it makes you want to sink into the cushions of the loveseat.

Steve never gets enough credit for how observant he is. It really only increases tenfold when it comes to you, so he knew you were sleepy as soon as you crossed the threshold into Nancy’s apartment. He noticed every abnormally slow blink, every stretch and readjustment of your posture, every swallowed-down yawn. He knows you too well.

An arm is thrown over your shoulders as he dips his head to speak quietly into your ear. “Are you sure? ‘Cause we can leave whenever you want.”

When you lean back to look at him, his eyes rake over every feature of your face. The pools of honey make the journey from your lips, across your nose and cheeks, to finally land on your own eyes. Any mischief you thought you’d find in his gaze is replaced by something much sweeter, softer. His arm slithers from its place around your shoulders so that he can cup the back of your neck, gently massaging the knots so that your shoulders relax.

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. You can smell the licorice candy still on his tongue.

It almost made you concede. Almost.

While you would’ve loved nothing more than to leave and spend the rest of the evening hidden underneath the covers with Steve, it felt too much like an imposition. It’s only so often that everyone’s free at the same time, you don't really want anyone to suffer at the hands of your lethargy.

And the implication that you were bailing on movie night for other reasons would earn groans and whistles that you don’t think you’d ever live down.

A nervous giggle bubbles up as you push at his chest with your growingly clammy hands. “I promise. I couldn’t be more awake.”

“Really? That true?”

“Mhm.”

He challenges you with a hum of his own, furrowing his brows to look more stern. But that same infectious grin from earlier threatens to crack and spill the fondness underneath the surface. When you nod, with a cute big smile on your face, he’s a goner. He leans over to press a kiss into your hairline and pull you closer into his side before turning back to the tv.

You think he’s given up. It was just one movie, it really wasn’t supposed to be that difficult.

But then his fingers kept brushing shapes and swirls into the exposed skin of your arm. In between the occasional forehead kiss, he’d whisper his commentary into your hair. At some point he’d picked up your legs and thrown them over his lap — something that lit a fire in your chest and had the flames licking your face. Then he’d started scratching your back, caressing your calves.

It was all his fault. Your head just inevitably became too heavy to bear on your own, and now you’re effectively drooling on his shoulder.

Steve is having a really hard time holding in the I told you so that sits so impatiently on the tip of his tongue. But he’s managing. Equal parts because he thinks you’re adorable and because he wants you to be fully cognizant when he says it.

“Baby,” he coos, pushing strands of hair out of your face. A quiet noise of acknowledgement comes from your mouth, but you only push further into his hold. Steve’s face starts to burn at the snickers from the kids that you’re blissfully unaware of. At the moment, anyway. He tries again, “Baby, the movie’s over. Ready to go?”

You stir, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your palms. “Huh?”

“The movie ended.”

“Oh,” you reply lamely, still disoriented. It isn’t until you see Robin and Eddie’s smirks of amusement from across the floor that an anchor of embarrassment sinks into your stomach. You lift your head up and immediately wipe at the dampness on the corner of your mouth.

“Good morning,” Steve pokes fun. He tries to rub soothing circles into your back, but it’s entirely too overwhelming, and it makes you move to sit properly and hide in your hands.

“I’m so sorry, Steve. I swear I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I was just so drowsy, and now you have drool on your shirt and it’s…it’s so embarrassing, I'm sorry.”

He chuckles, “Hey, no it’s not.” He decides to double down when you stay quiet, “I promise, it’s not. Don’t be sorry.” His voice is soft, touch gentle as his hand rests on your knee.

You turn to peek at him through the space between your fingers and just as you suspected. His smile is easy. Warmth radiates off of every bit of his being and it makes your embarrassment slowly begin to melt away. Your hands fall into your lap and reach out for his own, intertwining your fingers.

“You know I would’ve taken us home, right?” He asks. The word home slips from his mouth so easily that it makes your heart bang relentlessly against your rib cage.

You bite your lower lip to contain the smile that mirrors his own. “Yeah, I know…that’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“Wh…That’s fair.”

[bcyhoods]

🎤 VOCALIST ── send in a character + any prompts in this cool tag or a lyric prompt of your choice for a blurb (remember to tell me which list the prompt is from!)

dreamy (from different types of kisses) + angel baby steve <3

— ivy / @inkluvs

i am realizing now how difficult kisses are to write smoothly lolz. hopefully this is okay <333 | 1.3k gn!reader

“You know, I don’t think you’re actually supposed to aim for my toes when we do this.”

Your head falls to his chest in resignation, a groan of equal sentiment dying out in the cotton of his shirt. Even though his subsequent laughter is genial and bright, your face still burns against him. You’re sure if you stayed there any longer that the searing heat of your cheek would leave a discolored patch on the garment.

“You are such a jerk, I’m trying my best!” You argue, pulling back with your eyes squeezed shut and nose facing the wall to avoid his gaze.

He watches with a wide grin as your expression twists in embarrassment. And though he can clearly see that your eyes are closed, he still ducks and tilts his head to make sure they’re level with his own. His stare is stuck on your eyelids, frantically darting between the two to see if you’ll give him the pleasure of opening them any time soon. He laughs again when he sees your timid smile before you pull your chin to your chest.

“How am I the jerk? I’m the one with a broken foot, here.”

As dramatic as he is, the words carry no real annoyance. He’s fine; his foot is intact and he’ll most certainly live. Still, your palm grows sweaty where it’s clasped with his.

It was a silly idea that he’d proposed. Well, enforced to be more accurate. An off-handed comment — a little muddled by a handful of popcorn in your mouth — about having two left feet made him spring up from the couch and offer his hand. He was absolutely determined to help you practice slow dancing, hyping up his adequate sense of rhythm and decent coordination.

And he’d looked so eager, with fluffy hair and old clothes for pajamas, smiling down at you with a fondness that made it impossible to refuse. You take up his offer with little hesitation, figuring it would be easy enough. Plus, it might be worth it to be this close to him for a while, and he’s thanking you for it in his head.

But a couple of scratchy, romantic records later, and all you have to show for it is an imprint of Steve’s big toe on the sole of your sock-clad foot.

While he’s red in the face from laughter and joy, frustration is pulling the corners of your lips into a frown. Because what should be a romantic scene is a little more difficult for you than you want it to be and you might be getting in your own head about it. Admittedly, you’re taking it a bit more seriously than he is.

“I promise I’m trying,” you mutter under your breath, barely audible as you stare down at your feet to make sure you don’t step on him again.

His brows crease in concern at the change in your demeanor. “I know,” he answers softly. When you don’t look up at him, his arm tightens around your waist to pull you against his frame. A reassuring squeeze is sent to your hand before he’s toying with the promise ring on your fourth finger, smiling as he recalls the matching one on his own. He finishes with a deeper cadence, still just as gently, “I know. I was just messing with you.”

There’s a beat of silence between you before he sighs and halts your swaying completely. He smooths his hand up your back, leaving a line of fire across your spine with his blunt nails until they end up at the nape of your neck. Meanwhile, the hand that’s wrapped in yours is guided to his torso, prompting you to hold onto him there instead. All for the greater purpose of cradling your face in his hands.

He knows you too well. A promise of love shines in his eyes as they catch the subtle annoyance hidden in the creases of your face. The softness of his smile, his touch, is a manifestation of that promise and it has you taking a particularly hefty breath to calm the chaos in your chest.

“Hey, you’re doing fine. Promise. Stop worrying that pretty little head of yours.” He looks you in the eye the entire time, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks to emphasize his final point. And maybe being this close to him was a bad idea because you’re afraid your knees are going to buckle at his attentiveness.

And the fear becomes even more prominent when you spot his eyes dip down to your lips just for a split second before returning. You can feel your heart jump into your throat and the gooey smile being pushed onto your face before you can restrain it. He mimics the same expression, as if it’d be any help to your current state. You’re so out of it, you barely hear him ask, “Wanna keep trying?”

“You make me nervous.”

He blinks. “Me? Why do I make you nervous?”

“Dunno!…’Cause you’re, like…you’re looking at me like that,” you try to explain. It comes out in between nervous laughter, pushed out through teeth glued together in a smile only he can seem to cause. And he decides to take full advantage of it.

“Hmm. Like what?”

His brow raises suggestively before inching closer to you. His mouth just hovers over yours, tauntingly tickling your skin with a smug grin. You swallow down your nerves, nudging his nose with the tip of your own.

“Like…”

You push closer, puckering your lips against his in a kiss that’s barely there. Tenderness seeps through his fingers as they cup your jaw, and scratch the nape of your neck to elicit a sigh from you. His breath hitches at the sound and he’s pushing into the kiss out of poorly constrained excitement. His lips drag slowly, like he’s savoring the taste of you and committing it to memory. He all but whines when you’re finally pulling away for air, resting your forehead on his.

His lips are slick and kiss-bitten, face flushed and ears bright red. His chest is heaving and his eyes are closed in bliss. He looks wrecked and you’re not doubting that you look the same, but looking at him like this makes your stomach flutter.

You giggle, this time a more deliberate sound. “You’re distracting me.”

He huffs in disbelief and pulls back to look at you. You can feel his hands grow warmer in your skin with each passing second, the blush on his face deepening. “You’re distracting me! I’m supposed to be teaching you.”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job,” you wince playfully, nudging his wounded foot.

As if it were possible, his smile widens and an airy laugh reverberates in his chest. “Yeah, cuz you’re looking at me like that.”

He dives in to capture your lips once more and hums at the contact. It’s notably more difficult this time around, your smiles getting in the way as your teeth clumsily scratch against each other. But it doesn’t stop either of you from pressing on, lips locking and clicking with every ebb and it makes your fingers twist into his tee. He pulls back with his lips comically puckered and placing them on your forehead for one final kiss.

“You're fine. You’re gonna get it, hmm?” He looks at you expectantly and you just about melt in his arms. It’s a silly thing, sure, but he sounds so sure, so confident in you. And his brown eyes are wide and teeming with ardor. You nod, a huge grin on your face.

“Let’s just hope you’re not in a cast by then.”

[bcyhoods]

LOVEFOOL 💌 — “you feel like home to me” with tasm!peter PUH-LEASE I ALREADY KNOW IM GONNA GET EMOTIONAL

muah ha ha. angsty spidey is my favorite spidey, how did you know | 0.9k

warnings: injuries, brief mention of reader being used as leverage but no explicit/graphic detail

“I don’t know if I can do this, Peter.”

Your hand hovers over the scrape on his cheek when your gaze drops to the mask that’s clenched in his hand. He sits on the edge of your bed, looking up at you as you stand in between his legs.

He’s bathed in the dull, orange glow of your lamp. It highlights every welt, every cut, every matted strand of hair that sticks to the damp skin of his forehead. It makes your eyes sting.

“What do you mean? You’re a natural,” he says. His hand settles on your hip to give it a gentle squeeze. The gesture makes you believe for a second that he’s genuinely clueless.

But his eyes refuse to meet yours. The smile that he wears is uneasy as he wrings his mask.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

He hangs his head low. Guilt tightens its grip on his throat making it hard to breathe.

You were already well aware of his secret identity before you’d started dating. He warned you of the risks and used them to try scaring you away before you could break his heart. But you stayed. You stayed and, god, he was so glad you did.

Though, he blames his adoration for what happened to you.

He would keep a close eye on you to make sure you were safe. His routine neighborhood watch would consist of making sure you got to and from work safely, occasionally dropping by on your lunch breaks to check on you. He was careless, but he didn’t anticipate things would go south so quickly.

The guy wasn’t a super villain, nor was he anything special by any means, but he was observant. And why would Spiderman be visiting some random bodega cashier so often unless you meant something to him?

It was practically over as quick as it started. The guy couldn’t even finish demanding his ransom before Peter had arrived to web him to the ceiling. You escaped with a few injuries, the worst being a palm-shaped bruise on your wrist. But Peter was fuming.

You were used as bait. You were leverage against Spiderman because he’d been so reckless. You got hurt because of him. You were lucky this time, but there was no telling if that luck would run out and the thought terrified him. Despite your gentle words of reassurance, he had made up his mind.

He would never forgive himself if he lost you. So he broke it off.

“I know.”

It would’ve been easier if you didn’t see each other after that. You think you’d feel differently if you weren’t frequently in his presence, nursing him back to health. Maybe if you didn’t exchange longing gazes and soft touches that were reserved for people that are more than friends. If he didn’t look at you like you held his heart in your hands, maybe you’d be stronger.

“Why do you keep coming back here?” He feels his chest tighten at the crack in your voice, even more so when you push his hand away.

“You leave your window open,” he whispers.

A scoff falls from your lips and you turn your back to him to wipe away the rogue tears that run down your face. He stares at your figure with a frown and hands that ache to reach out for you.

Peter Parker then decides he doesn’t want to be a hero. Heroes can’t afford to be selfish and put their own happiness above the wellbeing of others. Being with you would jeopardize your safety. It’d be selfish of him. He could never be with you like he wanted, craved, so long as he wore that suit. Can’t he have both?

He’s exhibited enough altruism to last him a lifetime, anyway. Certainly it was enough to hold you just for one night.

“I just needed to see you,” he sighs, voice meek.

“Peter, I think you should—”

“There’s never a day that I don’t think about you,” he interjects. He doesn’t exactly know when he started to cry. Suddenly his eyesight was blurry and he couldn’t breathe through his nose.

“Please.” The word pushes out like a sob. Your hand shoots to clamp over your mouth to hush the whimpers, but he can hear them.

“I’m serious, I…” He stands and moves to put his hands on your shoulders. His mask is forgotten on the floor. “Being away from you, it makes me feel crazy. Like I can’t breathe.”

“Don’t say that.” You turn in his hold to shrug his hands off, but you don’t try too hard. A sob racks through your chest once more when you see his pained expression. His nose is red and his cheeks are wet and his brows are sewed together. “Don’t tell me that, just go home,” you plead.

“You feel like home to me!” There’s a humorless laugh that accompanies the confession, it’s one of frustration. But the softness in his glassy eyes is unmistakable and it makes you melt under his stare.

“Please don’t cry,” he begs with a deep frown. He reaches to hold your face in his hands as he wipes the tears from under your eyes. The material of his gloves is rough and pulls at your skin uncomfortably, but you can’t help leaning into his touch.

He crowds your being. He towers over you so closely that you can feel his bated breath fanning your skin. You reach to hold onto his forearms, letting your eyes close to revel in the closeness. Peter presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, then to each of your cheeks, then your nose. He stops short of your lips.

“Say the word and I’ll leave. You know I will.”

“Don’t go,” you concede.

You’re not really sure what repercussions this will have tomorrow morning. You can’t really bring yourself to care when he kisses you.

[bcyhoods]

prompt: [ glass ] sender and receiver are separated by glass. sender draws a heart on the glass with their finger for receiver to see

with steeb harrington 🤞🙄🤭🤨

i may or may not have sent this to myself! …i guess you’ll never know! this really is just to help jumpstart my creativity, so it’s ruff beware <3 | 1.2k fluff, gn!reader

“That was cruel, I hope you know.”

You stifle a giggle as you roll over to set aside the novel that you’d been reading aloud beside him.

You think he’s talking about the book. And he is, partially. But he can’t help the way that he yearns for your presence as soon as you move away without a warning. You’d so rudely ripped away the warmth that he’d selfishly been holding onto for the past hour — warmth that made him believe he’d only ever known to be cold. And yet, he can’t be entirely upset. Once he sees your mischievous grin from where you stand next to your bed, the grouchiness dissipates.

“I have to leave it on a cliffhanger! Otherwise you’d have no reason to come back,” you jest and poke lamely at his chest.

The multicolored quilt you’d been sharing was still draped over his figure, one arm extending out to reach for you. His hair was unruly and stuck out every which way after raking your fingers through the brunette tufts for so long. The dim light of your lamp highlighted the dusty pink color that spread across his cheeks.

You thought he was practically half asleep, but the joke made his brows pinch. Suddenly, he looks wide awake as he sits up to slide closer to you.

“That’s not true,” he grumbles with a scoff, throwing his legs over the side of the mattress and grabbing your hips. Something equally mischievous shines in his eyes. “I can think of a few other reasons.”

He pulls you into him, quick enough to have you tripping over your own feet and crashing against him. The force is almost enough to send you both back onto the bed and it sends a rush of heat up your neck. The kisses that he leaves against the exposed skin of your shoulder certainly don’t help, either.

In an effort to hide your embarrassment, you joke again, “That’s so cheesy, Steve.”

“What? No, it’s not!”

You shush him and quickly glance back at your closed bedroom door. He chuckles and beams up at you, letting his hands run along your sides.

“If you wanna hear something cheesy, though, I have a bunch more up my sleeve.” His voice is hushed and low, emphasized with a suggestive quirk of his eyebrow. “Maybe I should stay over so you can hear them.”

“Tempting. I’m not sure my parents would appreciate seeing you in my bed in the morning as much as I would,” you respond just as quietly, sparing another glance over your shoulder. He sighs at your apprehension and gently pushes you a bit away from him before standing.

His fingers dance lightly from where they rest on your waist, up your arms, and across your collarbone until they’re cradling your jaw. The touch leaves goosebumps in their wake, and when he sees you shiver, his boyish smile gets wider. He’s leaning into you and crowding your space with his eyes stuck on your lips. Just when he’s close enough for you to close the gap, he swerves instead to kiss the sweet spot just under your ear.

“Who says they have to know? I can be quiet. Can you?”

“Steve,” you warn as you lightly press your hands to his chest. Really, you’re all bark and no bite, there’s not even a little bit of edge. Steve is more than aware. Even if he wasn’t already looking at you, he would still be able to hear your smile in the way you sing his name.

He feigns innocence, lifting his hands from your face. “What?”

There’s a beat where you’re both quiet, staring right back at the other with grins that bring a welcomed ache in your cheeks. It makes your nose crinkle and makes your eyes widen and brighten. And it makes a delighted snort and giggle erupt from the pair of you before you can contain it.

That familiar burn in your face makes you hide in his shoulder and he laughs when he throws his arms around to embrace you. Your hands glide from where they’re trapped between your bodies to wrap around his back and hold him closer. Maybe if you hold him tight enough, time will stop.

Steve seems to think the same thing. His face is smooshed against the side of your head and his eyes flutter closed.

A minute passes before you muster up enough strength to pull your head away just enough to look at him. That giddy feeling is back the instant your eyes meet. The way that he shamelessly drinks in every feature of your face makes your stomach dip. You bite your lip to keep your smile at bay.

“You’re coming by again tomorrow?”

“Well, yeah.” His hand moves under your jaw, thumb pulling your lip from where you’ve held it prisoner. “I have to know how the book ends now.”

As if to soothe the punishment your bottom lip has endured, he kisses you with a softness that sends you into a tizzy. The same softness that extends to his hands as they cup your face and caress your cheek, like you’re so delicate that you might break.

You respond just as gently, letting his touch and cologne overwhelm you until the need grows in the pit of your stomach. Your hands grip onto his jumper to pull you closer, pressing your lips a little rougher against his, more sure. He sighs against your lips, and though it was a welcome change of pace, he exhibits some self-restraint. His lips part from yours, just barely, foreheads still pressed together.

“You’re making it really hard for me to leave,” he murmurs, lips still a featherlight touch against your own.

“Sorry,” you whisper in return, even though you don’t mean it.

He shakes his head with a soft laugh. He kisses you again, something quick and chaste before he’s pulling you into his chest again. The uninterrupted times the two of you get to spend together are so few and far between that he’s learned to be greedy with your touch. Not a second to waste.

Steve trudges to the window with you close behind him, pinkies interlocked until he’s climbing out and helping you pull it shut. The yellow street lamp just behind him creates a halo, illuminating the worsening pink of his nose and cheeks due to the cool November night. Before he walks back to his car, he gets an idea that makes his face light up.

He cups his hands around his mouth and moves in closer until he’s pressing against the glass. Right as he makes contact with the window, he huffs a breath to create a small circle of fog. He looks at you before drawing a heart right in the middle with his index finger. A sense of pride fills his chest and makes his heart beat faster when he sees you laugh.

Walking backward, he points at you and winks, like something out of a ridiculous rom-com. And though you’re rolling your eyes, a mere second later you playfully blow him a kiss.

He makes a show of it. Looking up into the sky, jogging backward, and jumping up to catch it, he almost stumbles into the bushes that separates your lawn from the neighbor’s. He puts his fist to his chest and holds it there, mouthing I love you. It’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You mouth it back nonetheless.

[bcyhoods]

hi miss cece babe! love the new blog, very cutie! i do come to you with a request if you like <3 shy!reader getting steve harrington flowers on a bad day of his <3 been obsessed with shy!reader, just too soft <3

u are so cute and u sent this a while ago SORRAY. this is just a short little thing to help get out of a writing rut!

talks about migraines (brief allusion to vomiting but nothing more than a sentence)

Steve could be extremely prideful at times.

He’d jump into action headfirst even if it meant a swift blow to his temple or a demobat bite to the abdomen. More often than not, he’d reap the consequences days later in the form of a dull headache or a singing pain in his bones, in addition to the scars and bruises painted on his freckled skin. Whenever you’d ask about it though, he’d give you a charming smile with a quick, “I’m fine. You should see the other guy.”

It was usually enough to quell anybody’s concerns, safe for your own ever-worrying mind, but even then, it would soothe you just enough. He never did it out of spite or malice, he just didn’t want to worry you. Plus, he wasn’t weak. He could handle it.

Today just wasn’t his best effort, he supposes.

The pair of you were supposed to go out today, but this morning he woke up with a particularly nasty migraine that wasn’t letting up any time soon. And no witty remark was able to save him from your doting presence (which he was quite grateful for).

You’re sat beside him on his bed, pushing away the strands of hair that stick to his forehead.

“‘M sorry,” he says meekly. His complexion is pale, face screwed up in discomfort, and a sheen layer of sweat coats his skin. Any food that he was able to get down would just fight it’s way back up.

The apology makes you frown. Your hand hovers over his stomach, a featherlight touch out of fear that it’d make matters worse. “Don’t be, it’s not your fault,” you reply softly.

He reaches for your hand with his own, gently bringing it down to fully rest on the swell of his stomach and sighs in relief. The gesture gives you goosebumps. You remain this way for awhile, your other hand combing through his hair, until he’s able to drift off.

The first time he wakes up, you’re laying a warm, damp rag on his forehead and placing a delicate kiss to his cheek. You’re telling him something, but he’s not awake enough to understand. Though his headache seems to have dulled.

When he awakes again, the throbbing sensation in his head is thankfully nothing but a memory. Faint hums and the whistling of a kettle motivate him to get out of bed when he sees new items sitting on his bedside table.

You’d gone to the store to get some aspirin, which now sits on the wood beside a cup of water. But it’s not that he’s interested in, not really. Beside the medicine, with a blue ribbon around its neck, sat a vase filled with daisies. A flimsy piece of paper rested against the glass that read For Stevie :) in your handwriting.

With a gooey smile on his face, he pads into the kitchen to find you. Your back faces him as you pour liquid from the kettle into a small mug. He calls out your name, and the second you turn around, he feels his insides turn to mush at the way your face brightens.

“Oh, you’re awake!” You recoil at the momentary loudness in your voice. “Are you feeling okay?”

Steve nods and pulls you into his arms. His thumbs dip under the hem of your shirt to caress the skin of your waist. “Better, now. Thank you for taking care of me.”

You hum in response as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“And thank you for the flowers.”

Suddenly, you feel heat rush to every swell and curve of your face. You didn’t expect him to explicitly mention a few flowers. And now you’re embarrassed.

“They’re feverfew. They’re supposed to help with migraines,” you reply into the cloth of his t-shirt in an effort to hide your nervous, lovesick grin. But the silence that follows makes you queasy.

That is, until he moves to cradle your face in his hands to deliver a firm kiss to your lips. The kind that makes you feel lightheaded, the kind that makes you grasp tightly onto his biceps to prevent you from floating away. You sigh once his soft lips move away from yours and you feel his breath fan your skin as he breathes out a laugh.

“Oh no, you’re running hot. Do you have a fever?” He teases.

[bcyhoods]

LOVEFOOL 💌 ─── send in a character and a prompt from these lists for a blurb

ohemgee what about eddie brock + ❛ how about a kiss before i go? ❜ I feel like that’s so him. giggles

same universe as this au because i’m obsessed, i fear. also rivals with benefits…and i don’t know if that’s okay but we ball! | 0.8k

warnings: suggestive themes, implied smut (nothing explicit but 18+ pls)

You aren’t so much angry as you are annoyed.

Because normal mornings in your apartment were relatively tranquil. You would usually wake up early enough to not feel rushed for work, sometimes you’d even get some writing done beforehand. The mornings were quiet and smelled of freshly brewed coffee while the rising sun kissed your skin.

This was not a normal morning. The shrill sound of a shattered vase was quick to remind you of such. And so was the half-naked man that produced the sound.

Eddie, with his jeans halfway up his legs, grimaces down at the broken porcelain and holds onto one of the walls in your bedroom for stability. “Oh shit. Was that expensive? Hope not.” He huffs and tugs his jeans the rest of the way up.

You roll your eyes at him from your bathroom doorway, also half-naked and with your toothbrush hanging from your mouth.

Your annoyance isn’t really about the vase nor about how you’re late for work, though you don’t doubt you’ll find time to be upset about that later. It’s more about the fact that he’s even in your apartment in the first place. Cunning as you are, you’d invited Eddie over in the guise of a truce of some sorts. You’re an amazing journalist blah blah blah I need your help on this article blah blah blah. You just needed him to give up some sources for an article that you’d both been writing.

And while it was a hit to your ego to compliment him even if you were only feigning sincerity, it was worth it if you got to publish the piece before he did.

It was going accordingly at first. Sure, you had to share some notes of your own to get him to trust you, but you kept the more relevant information close to your chest. You guys had actually been getting along.

Then the drinks came, and you guys were really getting along. He started throwing compliments at you, his eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips as you sat next to him on your couch, his large hand settled on your knee. He had such a soft smile. You pulled him in for what you thought would be one kiss.

Then he ended up in your bed. Which was not a bad time. At all. The memory makes something flutter in the depths of your stomach. You were annoyed about that, too.

You swipe his button down shirt from off the floor and fling it towards his broad chest. “Would you hurry up? Jesus…” you mutter, the toothpaste impeding your speech before you spit into the sink and run back to your room to get dressed.

Eddie watches with a sly grin as you hike up your own pair of pants, shamelessly letting his gaze wander over your frame. He lets himself remember the way your body felt underneath him and how your lips felt on his neck and how your nails dug into his shoulders and

“What?”

You stare at him, dumbfounded as you finish buttoning your top.

He clears his throat and gestures to you. “Nothin’. You look good.”

“With or without the clothes?” You tease.

“They’re mutually exclusive?”

You’re trying really hard to bite back the smile that threatens to expose your smugness. You finally walk out into your living room with Eddie hot on your heels as he fixes his sleeves. Both standing by the front door, you take in the appearance of the other. His hair is disheveled, his shirt is wrinkled, and there’s a love bite peeking just below his collar. You’re sure you look the same.

“So…uh, that was a very informative business meeting,” he jests as he works to buckle the belt around his hips. You hate the way it makes you pause to watch his fingers. You have to remind yourself that you find him annoying.

“I agree. Very educational.” You stick your tongue into your cheek and rip your eyes away from his hands to his face which is a mistake. He’s smiling down at you and it makes you roll your eyes. You open the door and start to push him out. “Okay. Bye, now.”

Before you can close the door, he presses his hand against it.

“How about a kiss before I go?” His tongue darts out to wet his lips once his gaze drops to your own. His grip tightens on the doorway as he itches to touch you. Your face, your hips, anywhere.

A smirk graces your features as you lean up until your faces are centimeters apart. You see him close his eyes and part his lips, his breath fans across your face.

“I don’t think you’d be able to handle it.”

[bcyhoods]

BLUSHING🫀 ─── send in a character au and a scenario for a drabble or headcanons !

omg okay I need ur thoughts on fake dating with rockstar!eddie. this is a threat (I’m kidding. mostly)

BYE I NEED. musician!reader annnnnd mean eddie. (well as mean as i was able to convey, it’s barely there im sorry LOLZ)

super cool 100 celebration

fake dating with rockstar!eddie

it is absolutely, entirely a pr stunt at first.

mr. munson’s reputation is a little worse for wear at the moment. his devilish good looks can only get him out of so much trouble

and you’re an up-and-coming artist with a new single that you want to release so badly buuuuuuuuuuut

marketing! you need more outreach, more publicity, so that it can actually sell and so your label doesn’t lose money

and hey, what do ya know? you and eddie are signed to the same label! hey, they have an awesome idea

eddie is dismissive at first. he can’t make eye contact with you for more than two seconds at a time and when you’re alone he looks so grumpy

the first outing is at a diner and you’re trying to ask him questions because you’re gonna be stuck spending time together for who knows how long (and he’s also very attractive. sue you for wanting to get to know him)

“so how’d you get into music :)))”

and he kinda frowns. it’s more like a wince than anything else, like he has a splinter. and he’s like “does it matter? the faster we eat, the faster we can leave.”

and boy, does that set the mood for the rest of the evening. you’re sitting there eating a meal with someone who gives off the impression that they hate you

but as you’re walking out, he’s quick to grab onto your hand and lead the way out. and you’re like ??? until you notice the mob that stands outside

it’s so overwhelming. there’s a sea of paparazzi that you have to fight through, everyone is yelling, the camera flashes are blinding, and eddie is walking way too fast for comfort that your fingers are starting to slip from his grip

he’s glancing back at you and he notices all the lenses being shoved in your face and the really creepy whistles

so he starts shoving, elbowing, shouting expletives — which is really counterintuitive considering the terms of your relationship — in order to wrap an arm around your shoulders and guide you to the car

“are you okay? did any of em touch you? >:(”

and it gives you whiplash because this man was ignoring your existence like 10 minutes ago

i mean you don’t know that it’s because he’s disappointed. first date with somebody that is way out of his league and it’s a damn pr stunt. and you’re kind, and you make good music, but there’s no way you’re actually interested

so he keeps you at arms length because he doesn’t want to get his feelings hurt. after that day, he eases up a little though

he knows more about the industry than you do, so he’s giving you pointers, spilling little secrets

he suggests that they include a sound bite of your voice on the band’s next single and the label is eating it up

whenever you go to parties or events together and you’re wearing something that hugs your figure or shows skin, he is drooling. he cannot focus on anything anybody is saying

it’s really not hard to pretend to be in love with you cough because he’s not pretending cough

he is always touching you. even when you’re alone, his hands are holding yours, his arm is around your shoulders, his thigh is pressing against yours

obviously, he makes a show of it in front of the cameras, pulling you in so close that you’d think someone super glued your sides together. a big smack of his lips against your forehead (forehead kisses are so hard to dismiss because they’re so affectionate)

but when you’re alone, he becomes really gentle? and you didn’t think eddie munson was capable of soft touches but it’s sooooooooo

his hand rests on your lower back whenever you enter a room, it’s very light and timid though, like he doesn’t want to push any boundary. he holds your elbow too

you both think of a really sick “photo bait” that the paps can take pictures of like feeding each other grapes or pouting at each other and you guys laugh and cringe at it

on the inside though you’re both like “wait a minute why do i like this rn”

then the label catches on and they suggest that you guys need to kiss on camera when your single releases

and you’re so nervous because you guys have shared cheek and forehead kisses before, but the lips are a whole new territory

so at the release party, right at midnight, he’s beaming down at you with a smile that looks so real and genuine and his eyes are glowing

but when you lean up to kiss him, he stops you. his hands are holding your jaw and he leans over to whisper in your ear

“i want our first kiss to be in private, because we both want it. not because someone’s taking a picture.”

and your brain goes to mush like ?!?!????!!

and you discover pretty quickly that he really is a damn good kisser

[bcyhoods]

can I request steve taking care of a sick shy!reader?

the universe knew i needed inspiration and they said BAM, now ur sick :P so essentially……..this is self-indulgent, i apologize in advance | 1k fluff, fem!reader

You’d first assumed that the itch in the back of your throat was trivial. The cold morning air had irritated your lungs before and it would usually go away within the first hour of being awake. But something about this particular itch could not be satisfied, no matter how many times you’d cleared your throat or how much water you drank. Then your nose started running.

A few harsh, involuntary coughs and an empty tissue box later, you’d reluctantly accepted your fate. You were sick.

When you called to tell Steve, you didn’t expect him to make a big deal about it. You severely underestimated just how tight you had him wrapped around your finger. Not even half an hour later, he was at your doorstep with a giant paper bag full of cough syrups and other remedies. He sported a cute frown upon seeing you answer the door with a chapped nose and a blanket draped over your shoulders.

He was here to bear witness to your sickness in all its raw glory. You’d feel more embarrassed if it wasn’t Steve. Nonetheless, you shrink into your pillows as he dotes on you.

“Hmm.” He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. He’s sitting on the edge of your bed, right beside your legs as you sit up against the headboard. His nose scrunches and makes his wire frames slip slightly down his nose.

“You feel a little warm, but I don’t think you have a fever,” he deduces. He hauls the paper bag off the floor to sit in his lap while he digs through to find the proper medicine bottle.

You see, Steve had no idea how sick you felt when he was speeding over to the general store. He didn’t want to get you something that’d be completely useless. So with the help of Joyce Byers, he practically raided the aisles and purchased as many daily capsules and herbal teas that he could get his hands on. Your medicine cabinet will be stocked for at least the next couple years.

A sound of satisfaction pulls your attention to the bottle of cough syrup in his hand. The bright orange liquid taunts you as it sloshes against the plastic when he pushes it your way.

“Do I have to?” You whine, lips beginning to curl at the mere memory of its offensive taste, “It’s gross, Steve.”

“I know, honey, but it’s just one spoonful. You can do a spoonful,” he tells you so confidently that it makes you hiccup.

Upon seeing the twist in your expression, he sweetens the deal with the promise of homemade chicken noodle soup and a few kisses — the latter you begrudgingly refuse so as to not pass the cold.

He pours the syrup into the shallow bowl of a spoon, chuckling at the grimace that’s still present on your face. You push yourself to sit up straighter and sniffle as he moves the spoon closer to you. Your stomach dips when you see him smile and nod in simple assurance before you’re opening your mouth.

Your lips wrap around the metal and you’re immediately recoiling at the foul flavour.

“See? I told you, you could do it. Look how easy that was.”

It makes your chest flutter. He’s reaching down into the bag again to grab a water bottle and your arms spring for it. Steve chuckles at your eagerness as he watches you quickly unscrew the cap and chug. The remnants of the medicine burn the back of your throat and your eyes briefly water at the sting.

“You okay?” He caresses your calf over the thick comforter when he asks. It makes your shoulders droop — you ache to feel his cold hands in your warm skin. You nod sheepishly and avert your eyes from his stare.

“Thank you, doctor,” you say without much thought.

Steve perks up. There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he hums and takes the bottle from your hands.

“Doctor, huh? Are you into that? Doctor Harrington?” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

A cough of surprise pushes out past your lips and you can feel your heart beating wildly against your rib cage. Your leg burns where his hand rests and the sensation rushes right to the top of your head. His taunting gaze makes your hands fly to your cheeks and a shy grin fights its way onto your face.

“What? No, I…” Steve’s brow jumps up to challenge you. You attempt to steel yourself, but eyes dart everywhere but his face. “I’m into being healthy,” you reply, voice shaky.

“Right, yeah. Totally. But you’re also into me, right?” He scoots closer to you as his hand slowly inches up toward your thigh.

“Steve,” you scold him and shut your eyes.

“Oh. You’re so into me, it’s making you sick, my poor girl,” he teases before leaning over to kiss your jaw down to your throat. You giggle as tufts of his hair tickle your cheeks and then you’re pulling him back. His lips drag up the column of your neck until he’s reaching your lips. It’s feather-light before you’re pulling back.

“I’m gross right now,” you mutter with a frown, referring to your cold. But Steve takes great offense. He pouts.

“This bug got you good. Making you delirious.” He dives back in for your lips. It’s firm this time, like he’s proving a point. It makes you sigh and grab at his biceps as he’s pushing you up against your headboard. When his hand moves to cup your cheek and pull you closer, you start pushing at his shoulders.

“Steve,” you whine into his mouth, “I’m gonna get you sick.”

“Come on, I have a solid immune system,” he insists, “I’m basically superhuman. I think I can handle a few kisses.”

Steve thinks he’s just about the luckiest person in the world when you smile and laugh. And also because he’s got you to take care of him when he inevitably gets sick the following week.