#there’s something terribly wrong with him <3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pretentious-blonde · 1 day ago

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for you? always

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: you’re unravelling—badly—but steve refuses to let you fall apart alone

warnings: toxic work environments, crying, SWEET STEVE OMG

a/n: i made a part 3 but can be read as a STANDALONE, and once again, it is hurt/comfort. i just love sweet steve!!

if people want another part i am down. pt. 1 pt. 2

It might be an exaggeration, but Steve Harrington didn’t think life could get much better than this.

He was standing behind the counter at Family Video, half-listening to Robin as she complained, not really giving her his full attention. She could have been ranting about his terrible sorting system, or the stain on the carpet neither of them had managed to get out since last week. He wasn’t too sure. His focus was more invested at the clock on the far wall, waiting for it to hit 6 p.m.

It was Friday night, closing time. Normally, he’d be stoked to clock out and get home, maybe lounge around or hang with the kids. But for almost four weeks now, his evenings had been filled with something—someone—more exciting.

He was aware of how annoying he had gotten. Hell, even Robin teased him about it, calling him the “lovesick puppy,” for the amount of times he was caught staring out the door wistfully, hoping you would wander in on your lunch break.

She wasn’t exactly wrong, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Plus, if he could put up with months of her pining after Vicky, she could put up with it for a little while longer.��

Four weeks—four perfect weeks since that first time you let him take you out for dinner. He brought you to Enzo’s, the fanciest spot in town, really trying to impress you.

He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face remembering it: the two of you tucked into a booth, your eyes lighting up when you tasted the pasta, holding it up for him to try it from your fork, your giggle when he got some of the sauce on the side of his mouth. He became acutely aware of your laugh, actually. It was quickly becoming one of his favourite sounds.

After he’d driven you home that night and dropped you off at your door, he’d stood there, wanting so badly to kiss you, but also not wanting to assume just because you let him before, he could do it again.

So, he’d leaned in awkwardly, maybe an inch too far, and you’d given him the sweetest little smile that told him to relax and pulled him in the rest of the way. That moment was etched into his memory, something he found himself revisiting over and over.

And from there, it had only gotten better.

The second date at the local diner (you’d shared fries with him and stole a sip of his milkshake), the movie night where he insisted you pick the snacks—any snacks, your call—and still ended up grabbing M&Ms halfway through the film, claiming it was for “variety.” Then there was the afternoon you invited him over to bake cookies—insisting it would be a fun bonding activity—only to end up with flour in your hair and half the dough on the floor, while Steve practically bent over double laughing at how grumpy you looked in your patterned apron.

And that perfect night at Lover’s Lake. God, he was happy you hadn’t grown up around here. He took full advantage of your lack of knowledge about the location. It was magical, lying on a threadbare blanket underneath the stars. You’d called him “a total sap” when he waxed poetic about constellations he barely remembered the names of.

He had caught you smiling at him like he’d hung the moon himself. He’d stolen a kiss—okay, maybe two, or three—when you’d turned your head toward him, and the surprise on your face melted immediately into something so soft. It made him sure you were feeling the same as him. By the time he was driving you home, hand resting on your thigh, you both felt like you’d just lived out a scene in one of those old romance movies he pretended not to like.

Then came your visits to his territory. He could still picture the day you stepped through the door, a shy smile on your lips. He tried to maintain some level of professional cool, but the moment Robin saw you, she took it upon herself to tease him relentlessly. “So you’re the one Harrington won’t shut up about.”

He’d glared but couldn’t hide the flush in his cheeks. You’d just grinned, leaning against the counter, and introduced yourself to Robin, who then spent the rest of the shift chatting with you while Steve tried to play it cool and failed miserably. Yet somehow, that failure felt okay—good, even—because seeing you click so easily with his best friend just made his day sweeter.

Yes, the last month had been a whirlwind—one that left him with a permanent giddy glow. He liked you, really liked you, in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever. And it wasn’t just because you looked great in every light—though, let’s be honest, that didn’t hurt—but because you seemed to get him. You found humour in his dumb jokes, shared your own stories with him, and let him into your life without any of the hesitations or expectations he’d grown used to.

Even Robin had mentioned how he didn’t snap at customers as much. He threw a glance in her direction, who was now tapping her fingers on a shelf impatiently.

“Dude,” she said, rolling her eyes, “if you stare at that clock any harder, it’s gonna melt.”

“Give me a break,” Steve smirked, flicking his gaze back at the time. “I’m just… in a good mood, okay?”

“You just want to get out of here to see your girlfriend,” she teased in a sing-song voice.

“She’s not my—” He paused, the flush creeping over his cheeks again. “We haven’t exactly— I mean, yeah, we’re kinda… I dunno, it’s been a few weeks. She might be my girlfriend.”

Robin laughed, smacking him lightly on the arm as she approached. “You’re so far gone, it’s painful to watch. Honestly, it's jarring watching you be all heart-eyed lately.”

He wanted to deny it, but instead he found himself laughing too. Was it that obvious? Judging by the glances from Robin and the kids—especially Dustin—it definitely was. But he couldn’t bring himself to care; if being obvious meant you were in his life, then so be it.

Finally, the clock hit closing time. Steve turned, circling the counter to the front entrance. He flipped the sign to “Closed,” already imagining what he might do for the rest of the night.

You told him to come over that evening at around half past, maybe order some late-night takeaway, or go for a drive, or just hang out on the couch, do nothing but talk about your days. It all sounded equally perfect to him.

As he began turning off the main computer, the store’s phone rang, shrill and unexpected in the quiet. He exchanged a puzzled look with Robin.

Who the hell was calling this late?

You arrive at your apartment with shoulders hunched. Your day at The Hawkins Post had been a complete train wreck. You’d expected to face challenges when you got into journalism—no one just handed out dream assignments on a silver platter—but you hadn’t expected to be treated like the office errand girl.

All day, you’d been fetching coffees, photocopying pages, and biting your tongue whenever they cracked jokes at your expense. You told yourself you could handle it, that it was just part of paying your dues. But this afternoon, when they were brainstorming story ideas for the week’s paper, you’d jumped at the chance to volunteer something—anything. Before you could even get more than a sentence out, they’d laughed it off, practically shooing you out of the room.

You clenched your fists, trying not to let tears burn at the back of your eyes as one of the senior editors—some balding guy who’d never bothered learning your name—actually said: “Why don’t you just get us another round of coffee, alright hun?”

You’d never felt so small in your life.

Now, alone in your living room, the tears finally came. Hot, embarrassing, unwelcome. You kicked off your shoes and tossed your bag aside, your mind buzzing with memories of the condescending smirks you’d gotten. It felt like a punch to the stomach. Made you question what you were even doing there.

The clock on your bookshelf read 6:00 p.m. That meant Steve was probably about to close. You’d said something about grabbing dinner, or even just hanging out at your place to watch that cheesy horror flick you’d both joked about. Normally, the thought would make your heart lift. But right now? You felt too raw to face him.

Not that you didn’t want to see him—you did, desperately. But something inside you balked at the idea of letting him see you like this: tear-streaked, puffy-eyed, humiliated. It’s too soon for that, you had only known him for about a month. No point in handing him your emotional baggage just yet. Maybe that was a two or three month sort of milestone.

With trembling fingers, you picked up the phone and dialed the number he’d scribbled on a scrap of paper “just in case” you needed him. A part of you wished you had the strength to ask for him, to ask for comfort, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

It rang a few times, and your stomach twisted painfully. Then, his voice came through, warm and cheerful, exactly what you needed and exactly what you felt you didn’t deserve right now.

“Steve?” you asked hesitantly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve’s tone instantly made your eyes sting with fresh tears. “I’m just finishing up here. Shouldn’t be too much longer. You alright?”

You swallowed, forcing your voice not to crack.

“Uh… yeah. I mean—no, not really.” You cringed at how shaky you sounded. “I’m not feeling so great, so, um… I think I’m gonna have to cancel tonight.”

There was a moment of silence, and you could practically hear his eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, really? You sure you’re okay? Like fever or something? I can—”

“N-no, I promise, I’m good,” you cut in too quickly, wiping at your cheeks even though he couldn’t see you. “Just think I need some rest.”

“Right. Yeah, okay.” He sounded so disheartened. You didn’t like disappointing him. “If you need anything, will you call me? I can be there in like ten minutes.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, guilt gnawing at you. He was so sweet, and you were lying. Well, half-lying. You weren’t okay. But you couldn’t tell him that. At least not yet.

“I’ll be fine,” you murmured instead. “Just… sorry to cancel.”

He hesitated, that warm voice going even softer. “No, don’t worry about it. Feel better, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Steve,” you said, barely keeping it together. “Talk later.”

You hung up before your voice could betray you. The moment the line clicked, you tossed the phone aside, heart feeling heavier than before. God, you just hoped he wouldn’t be upset—or that he wouldn’t pry deeper. You didn’t trust yourself not to break down if he asked the right questions.

Still, a tiny part of you wished he’d come anyway.

Steve set the receiver back on its cradle, staring at the phone for a moment longer than necessary. His stomach did a little flip, the kind it did when something was wrong. He could usually read you pretty well by now—your moods, the subtleties in your tone. And that phone call? It screamed distress.

Robin, who’d been watching from across the store, raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, glancing at her. “She canceled.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Robin’s face immediately fell into sympathy. “That really sucks.”

He shook his head, grimacing. “No, I don’t think it’s… I mean, I hope it’s not that. She sounded off, like… said she wasn’t feeling well.”

Robin tilted her head. “She’s sick? Flu or something?”

Steve chewed on his bottom lip, trying to reconcile the tension in his gut. “She said she just needs rest. I offered to bring her something, but she shot it down.”

Robin gave him a long look, then sighed dramatically, piecing together the puzzle.

“Harrington, come on. You told me she just moved here, right? She’s got no family around? No close friends yet?”

“Yeah, she’s new,” he admitted, mind flashing back to the time you mentioned how weird it was living in a town where you barely knew anyone.

Robin folded her arms. “So, if she’s not feeling great, she’s gonna be alone.”

“Yeah,” Steve repeated, slower this time. A prickle of realisation stirred in him.

“Which might mean,” Robin continued in her usual exasperated tone, “that you, as the devoted whatever-you-are—boyfriend? friend? something—should maybe check on her anyway.”

His eyes widened. “But she said—”

“People say a lot of things,” Robin cut him off. “Sometimes they don’t want to feel like a burden. Or they’re embarrassed. You, of all people, should get that, right?”

A flicker of memory—Steve himself blowing off concerned offers because he didn’t want to look weak—made him swallow hard.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “You think the pharmacy’s still open?”

Robin gave him a small, genuine smile. “Definitely. Swing by, grab some tea or cough drops, or whatever else might help. And maybe the grocery store for soup.”

Steve nodded firmly, adrenaline already buzzing in his veins. You’re alone. You’re upset. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let you suffer through that. Not if he could help it.

“You’re a genius.”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here.” She waved him off. “And call me later—if you’re still alive. Just in case she actually has the plague or something.”

“Ha-ha,” he shot back as he flew around the counter, grabbing his jacket and headed for the door.

Steve hovered outside your apartment door, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet, an overstuffed bag clutched in one hand. He’d stopped at three different stores, grabbing tea, soup, your favorite candy, a variety of painkillers—everything he could think of to help you feel better.

Maybe he was totally wrong about the situation. I mean, hey, it wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe you truly wanted space. Maybe he’d overstepped. Maybe he’d come off overbearing.

But the memory of your shaky voice on the phone nagged at him. He couldn’t just stay away. You’d insisted you were fine, but your voice cracked at the edges. Better to let you tell him in person than for you to suffer in silence. So he took a breath, rang the doorbell, and braced himself.

When you opened the door, it was worse than he expected. Way worse. Every bit of resolve he’d mustered wavered.

You were still in your wrinkled work clothes, eyes red, cheeks blotchy. It was obvious you’d been crying, and the sight of it knocked the air from his lungs. Instantly, all of Steve’s doubts vanished, replaced by a need to do whatever he could to help.

“Hey,” he said softly, attempting a small, reassuring smile. You looked ready to apologise, but before you could say a word, your eyes brimmed with fresh tears. His heart clenched as he gently pushed the door open wider and slipped inside, letting the bag drop beside him.

“Hey, c’mon,” he murmured, pulling you toward him immediately. Not expecting to find you in this state, but nonetheless prepared to help. “It’s okay. Talk to me, yeah? Are you—are you feeling sick, or…?”

You stood there, overwhelmed, arms shaking as you let yourself cling to him. Steve’s heart ached—the same way it did when he saw one of the kids upset, except this was deeper, more urgent.

Your lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you closed your eyes and sank further against him, your breath catching in a muffled sob.

It was all he needed to hear.

He readjusted his arms to fit you better, cradling the back of your head, letting you cry into his shoulder. He could feel how shaken you were, how close you were to coming completely undone. It made him want to bury you in every comfort he could possibly give.

“Shh,” he whispered, voice steady. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re alright.” He didn’t know if those things were true, but by the end of the evening, he would make sure they would be.

You pressed your face into his chest, holding him like he was the only solid thing in your life right now. He felt the tremor in your shoulders, the ragged rise and fall of your breaths, and it lit that familiar spark inside him—he needed to fix this. Except he didn’t know how yet. But he would try. So for now he just held you, gently running his hand across your back.

Eventually, he guided you away from the door, nudging it shut behind him with his foot. He decided it would be better to get you settled before trying to get you to talk.

“C’mon,” he murmured, leading you to the couch. “I…I brought a bunch of stuff—tea, soup, that candy you like…” He tried a tentative smile, but worry still ached in his gut. Those things seemed rather redundant now that he spoke them aloud. When he looked at you, it appeared you didn’t even register what he was saying. Whatever was ailing you, it certainly wasn't the flu.

“Hey,” he said again, voice hushed so as not to scare you. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” His gaze flicked over your tear-stained cheeks, and you could practically feel the genuine concern radiating off him. “I just… I want to help. I can’t help until you tell me what’s wrong. So… let me try, okay?”

His words hung in the air, soft and pleading. There was so much earnestness in his eyes, it almost hurt. He was trying so hard, and you could tell he was moments away from offering every solution under the sun.

That was who he was—a guy who dove in headfirst, wanting to protect and fix. And though part of you still felt hesitant, the rest of you knew you needed him right now. His soft, brown eyes begging you to let him in.

It would be cruel to tell him not to worry, especially since he already saw the state you were in. You took a deep breath as you tried to gather your thoughts.

“Work was… hard,” you start, voice trembling on the last word.

Steve nods, encouraging you to continue. “Yeah?” He scoots a little closer. “Tell me about it, angel.”

You bite your lip, hesitating. The humiliation still burns in your chest, but as soon as you see the concern in his eyes, the words begin tumbling out.

“All the guys at the paper,” you say, swallowing hard, “they basically laughed in my face today. I wanted to pitch an idea—I thought, maybe if I showed some initiative, they’d take me seriously.” You pause, a bitter laugh escaping your throat. “Turns out, they don’t.”

He inches forward, the couch creaking beneath his weight. “They laughed?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, blinking away tears. “The whole room, practically. They didn’t even let me finish. Just told me to go make more copies or bring them more coffee. I felt so stupid. Like I’m not cut out for any of this.”

Your voice cracks, and Steve’s expression tightens with empathy. He raises a hand to your cheek, carefully brushing away a stray tear with his thumb before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I know how you feel,” he says softly. Then he corrects himself with a small shrug. “Well, not exactly. I know someone else who went through that crap. I don’t know the full story, but from what I heard, it was awful.”

Nancy let slip here and there snippets from her time at The Hawkins Post. The incessant ridicule, the constant demeaning remarks. It irked him then, but now? He was vexed. Grown men picking on you all for a power trip? Unbelievable.

He had to school his anger before he said something regretful, he always did have a sharp tongue. What you needed now was comfort, not someone going on a rampage on your behalf.

“Really?” You ask.

“Yeah. But you know what I do know?” Steve continues, his voice dropping to a firm, truthful tone. “Those guys? They’re idiots, alright?”

“Maybe…” A shaky laugh escapes your lips, and you sniff, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand. “They made me feel like a complete joke.”

“No way. Not even close.” He shakes his head firmly, like he wants to banish that thought forever. He won’t allow you to linger in self-doubt. “You’re brilliant. Look, you picked up and moved across the country by yourself, found a place to live, and started a brand-new job in a town where you barely know anyone. That takes guts.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling the weight of the day pressing in again. “Feels like it was a dumb move,” you admit, voice quieter. “Like I’m playing dress-up in a grown-up’s world, and everyone else can see I’m an imposter.”

A flicker of protectiveness flashes across Steve’s face. He can’t stand the idea of you belittling yourself—he’s seen how you throw yourself into your work, how bravely you uprooted everything to move here, how determined you can be when you set your mind on something.

“Hey,” he says, tilting your chin so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “Don’t say that. You’re strong, you’re smart, and if they can’t see that, well…” He shrugs. “That’s on them. They’re the ones missing out. I swear half those guys probably haven’t stepped foot outside of Indiana.”

When you lean into him, relief flickers in his chest.

Thank God, maybe he’s getting through.

He tucks you closer against his side, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Whatever you decide to do, you’ll crush it,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “I believe that.”

“Yeah?” you ask, voice thick.

“Absolutely.” He gives you a little squeeze. “You want a new job? You’ll find one. You want to stay and prove those assholes wrong? You’ll do that too. Just say the word, and I’ll be right there to cheer you on. Or beat them up, if that’s easier.”

Despite the tears still threatening at the corners of your eyes, you let out a half-chuckle. “I’ve never really been much of a quitter,” you admit, the first spark of determination returning to your tone.

“Didn’t think so,” he says with a grin, admiration evident in his voice. “Strong girl like you? You’re gonna do just fine.”

You nestle closer into him, thankful beyond words that he’s here, that he understands in a way you desperately needed someone to.

Steve’s just relieved that you’re letting him be the one to help you shoulder the weight. Something else he realised this evening was that he hates seeing you hurt, but if being here—listening, comforting—helps even a little, then it’s worth every second.

You exhale a shaky breath and smooth down the front of your shirt, eyes still puffy from crying. You feel lighter, like a burden’s been lifted just from having Steve here. Even with a hint of embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say, voice quiet. “For making you worry, I mean. I should’ve just told you what was going on.”

Steve’s gaze flicks over your face. “You didn’t—well, okay, maybe I was worried,” he admits, a tiny wry smile tugging at his lips. “But I’d prefer it if you just told me when you’re sad. I mean, I can’t fix everything, but I want to help—when you’ll let me.”

You nod, fingers picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “I still feel bad for lying earlier. Telling you I was sick.” You let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “You got me soup and everything.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, shifting with a touch of bashfulness. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t at least try to look after you?”

A beat passes, and then your eyes snap to his.

“Boyfriend?”

Steve freezes, colour blooming across his cheeks.

Shit.

“Uh… yeah?” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean, that’s—what did you think we were doing? I figured we were… you know, dating. I pick you up, I pay for stuff, sometimes we—uh—we kiss—” He falters, stumbling over his words. “Not all the time, but—”

You press your lips together, fighting a smile as you watch him ramble. Something tender wells up inside you. It’s like he’s laid himself bare—admitting out loud how he sees you, how he sees this. And it’s so damn endearing you can’t help the small giggle that escapes.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” you tease, reaching to gently poke his cheek.

He groans, cheeks going even pinker. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, covering his face with one hand. “I can’t believe—”

You place your hand over his, coaxing him to look at you. “I like the idea of you being my boyfriend,” you say softly, each word weaving comfort through the space between you.

“Yeah?” His eyes widen, and for a second, he looks almost boyish with relief. “You do?”

A small smile curves your lips as you lean in. “Yeah.”

You slide a hand to his cheek, guiding him into a kiss—slow, sweet, and laced with the warmth of everything you’ve been lacking back all day. He exhales against your mouth, shoulders easing with the gentle press of your lips. His thumb strokes lightly over your jaw as he returns the kiss, and you taste a hint of peppermint from the candy he’d been snacking on in the car. When he finally pulls back, breath a little unsteady, there’s a stunned happiness in his eyes.

“So…” he murmurs, voice catching in his throat. “I’m your boyfriend.” He tried to make it sound like a joke but you could see the question behind his statement. He wanted full clarification here. He wanted to hear you say it out loud.

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “Yes, Steve. You’re my boyfriend.”

“That’s—God.” He laces his fingers through yours, a giddy laugh bubbling from his chest. “That’s—yeah. Glad we cleared that up.”

You both end up in the kitchen soon after, unpacking the soup he brought. It’s nothing fancy—just store-bought chicken noodle—but it warms you from the inside out as you eat together, perched on stools by the counter. He slides you half the candy he picked up, and you pass the bag back and forth, bumping shoulders with quiet smiles. There’s something so normal about it—the day’s troubles left behind in another world.

Later, you curl up on the couch together, switching on the TV. Steve insists you get first pick after the day you had. You flick through the channels until you settle on some old sitcom that neither of you pay much attention to. You’re more focused on the weight of his arm around your shoulders, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Eventually, the clock inches toward midnight. The hum of the television plays softly in the background as you shift to look at him.

“Hey, are you working tomorrow?”

He winces a little. “Yeah,” he says, regret threading through his voice. “’Fraid so. Saturdays are insane. I tried to switch shifts, but Keith was being a total pain. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don’t apologise,” you shake your head. “I was just wondering if… you wanted to stay here tonight.” Your cheeks warm slightly at the invitation. “I live closer, and I’ve got a spare toothbrush somewhere. Plus…” You clear your throat, dropping your gaze momentarily. “I’d really rather not be alone tonight.”

Steve’s eyes flicker with surprise and then a rush of tenderness. “You—you want me to stay? I mean, I don’t want to impose. Not like in a—like we don’t have to—I mean—”

You cut off his rambling by resting a hand over mouth. “Steve.” Your smile is gentle. “Stay the night, please? I’m asking you to.”

He searches your face, seeing sincerity there, and his entire demeanour softens. You’re too damn sweet for your own good, he swears.

“Alright,” he breathes. “Yeah. I’ll stay.” Then he leans in, pressing a slow, grateful kiss to your temple. “Thank you.”

Eventually, the two of you shuffle into your bedroom, quietly laughing as you rummage around for that spare toothbrush you promised. You lend him an old T-shirt that’s slightly snug across his shoulders, which only makes you giggle more. By the time you both slip beneath the blankets, the mood has shifted from the sadness of the day to the tenderness of tonight.

He wraps an arm around your waist, and you snuggle into his chest, breathing in his soft scent. For a moment, neither of you says anything—it’s enough just to lie there, safe and comfortable, heartbeats syncing in the quiet.

“Night, sweetheart.” He murmurs and you sigh in agreement, already being lulled into sleep. It’s a happy sound—one that makes him pull you closer as you drift off.

You stir awake to the warmth of Steve’s arm still draped over your waist. Morning light filters through the curtains, illuminating the little dust particles swirling in the morning light. The alarm you set starts to go off and he lets out a quiet groan, burying his face in the curve of your shoulder as if he can hide from the responsibilities of the day. You can’t help but smile, tracing idle patterns on the back of his hand.

“I don’t wanna go,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin.

You push a sleepy chuckle past your lips. “You have to—Robin would miss you too much.”

“No she wouldn’t.” He sighs dramatically, rolling onto his back and turning off the blaring sound. “Probably count it as a blessing not to put up with me for a whole Saturday.” But there’s a small, silly grin on his face that betrays the fondness beneath all the complaining.

A short while later, you’re both in the kitchen, sipping hastily brewed coffee due to your shared reluctance to get up. You lean against the counter, watching as he rubs sleep from his eyes and nurses his mug like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. You don’t say anything about the state of his hair, enjoying the way it falls messily across his forehead.

“You sure you’re feeling better?” he asks, gaze flickering over you, still laced with concern even though you’ve assured him more times than you can count.

You nod, a softer smile pulling at your lips. “I am. Thanks to you,” you add, nudging his foot with yours, blushing with how sappy you’re both being.

He tries for a humble shrug, but the flush creeping up his neck is unmistakable. “Anytime, angel.”

Before long, the clock reminds him that time is up. He slips into yesterday’s shirt—grimacing a bit at the wrinkles—and heads for the door. You follow, hands clasped around your mug. At the threshold, he turns to you, pressing a gentle goodbye kiss to your lips.

Then another.

And another.

“Steve, you’re gonna be late.” You let out an exasperated laugh, placing a firm hand on his chest.

He grins like a kid caught stealing candy. “What—trying to get rid of me already?”

“You know I’m not,” you sigh, rolling your eyes as you gently shove him. “I’m literally seeing you after you clock out!”

His voice lowers playfully as he backs out the door. “Damn right you are.”

He winks, then sets off, leaving you with a warm, tingly feeling long after he disappears from sight.

When Steve finally strolls into Family Video, he finds Robin already at the counter, re-shelving tapes. She glances up, raises an eyebrow, and greets him with a lazy wave.

“Hey. So… how’d it—” She stops mid-sentence, narrowing her eyes at him. “Wait a second.” She points accusingly at his shirt. “That is the same outfit from yesterday. You did not—”

“Whoa,” Steve lifts both hands defensively. “It’s not like that, okay?”

Robin sets down the tapes, folding her arms over her chest. “Then enlighten me. Because it sure looks like you had a fun night.”

“Ugh,” he groans, scrubbing a hand across his face. “It was—look, it’s not what you think. She was having a rough time, I went to check on her, and… well, I stayed over. Nothing crazy.”

Robin cocks her head, curiosity replacing her initial look. “So she’s okay?” She may not know you as well as Steve did, but if you were important to him, you were important to her too.

“Yeah. She will be.” He nods, and a small, proud smile graces his lips. “My girl’s tough.”

Her eyes light up. “Your girl, huh?”

He bobs his head, trying to hide the giddy surge that washes over him. “Yeah. Officially.”

Robin squeals—actually squeals—and Steve flushes, glancing around to make sure there are no customers to witness it.

“We have to do a double date!” she says, practically bouncing on her heels. “We’ll get Vickie—”

“Rob,” Steve pleads, fighting to keep the corners of his mouth from curving up too high, “let’s not scare her off, okay? One step at a time.”

“Fine,” Robin huffs, but she’s beaming at him. “But soon. I’m serious.”

He rolls his eyes, yet there’s no denying the warmth in his expression. The truth is, he’s never felt so content. The memory of your smile still fresh in his mind, and the knowledge that, yes, you’re his girl. Officially.

“Yeah, we’ll figure something out,” Steve says quietly, stocking a few tapes behind the counter. His voice is softer than usual, carrying a note of contentment Robin hasn’t heard in him for a long, long time.

She shoots him a conspiratorial grin. “I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, thinking of how you looked in the morning light, how sweet it felt to hold you close and kiss you goodbye. He looks out the window toward your apartment, knowing you’re going to be there when he leaves in a few hours. “Me too.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you

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lonelierthanu · 2 days ago

Text

Penmanship

Satoru Gojo x Gender-neutral Reader

series: incomplete

words: 4.9k

warnings: cursing; funny; meet-ugly; no mentioned female or male anatomy; no spoilers; no curses; slow build; slow to update; college au

summary: your new boyfriend has a fiancé? But now you’re the fiancé. Of course you don’t know what the fuck to do.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 …+

Before departing the questionable safety of your apartment, you were nervous to venture out of it. It was the realization that you and Satoru spending so much time together that had given the wrong impression that caused the sudden anxiety. You weren’t being treated terribly, per say, but it was the whispers and snickers, maybe even a light shove at your shoulder that had you convinced the torment would only get worse once the break was over. It was like you were waiting for the bomb to drop.

You went through your entire school career since you were eight avoiding any sort of drama. Seeing the things your older sister went through was evidence enough. From being bullied to being cheated on, you saw the misery drama brought upon her and others, and you made it your life’s mission to avoid it.

Your head was on a three-sixty swivel the entire walk to the bakery you were meant to meet your project partner at. Though, it wasn’t as bad as you thought it’d be. With the encounters you’ve had with Kaiya and her entourage you thought it’d be much worse. You thank the stars it wasn’t.

When you concluded last night that the amount of time you and Satoru have been spending together is a problem, you decided you want to broach the idea of keeping your interactions to a minimum. You really want that, honestly ridiculous, rumor to die off so the paranoia of getting pelted with tomatoes or something can also go away.

If he shows up.

It’s been twenty minutes since you’ve arrived and still no sign of him. You tried to order something to pass the time, but the prices here are out of this world. Makes sense as it was Satoru’s recommendation. Getting increasingly impatient, you’re about to shoot your project partner a text letting him know you won’t wait much longer. Then you notice the man is already walking towards you.

“Hey babe, I’ve got a surprise for you” he says with a saccharine tone that makes you cringe.

“I told you not to call me that,” You go to put your phone in your pocket while your other hand swipes a finger across the mousepad to wake your sleeping laptop.

“You said not to call you baby,” He plops himself and all of his crap onto the booth across from you, “Nothing about babe,”

“Well don’t call me that either,” You go to reach for your bag.

“M’kay sweetie~” he teases. You pause to glare at him.

“Gojo.” You warn, tone stern.

“Last name?” he places a hand against his chest in faux hurt, “It’s Satoru to you pumpkin,”

“ugh, stop.” You reach into your bag again to grab your notes and resume typing, “The nicknames are getting worse.” Satoru laughs.

“About that surprise, cupcake,”

“Please—“ you begin to plead, not looking away from your screen.

“I think you’ll really love it,” he interrupts.

“I don’t really care for any surprise,” from you, you wanted to tack on, but felt that might be too mean.

“But I know you’ll love it~” he sang.

“I don’t care~” you sang back, mocking him.

“C’mon love muffin,” he pouts.

“If I indulge this will you stop calling me stupid nicknames?”

“Yes,” You know he’s lying.

“What's the surprise?” You stop typing to cross your arms and level with him.

“Before I tell you that, I need you to come somewhere with me tonight,”

“Hell no,”

“You didn’t even let me finish,” he whines.

“I don't need to. No surprise you have up your sleeve is worth it,” it’s silent between the two of you and, for a moment, you think you might’ve hurt his feelings, then you see his fat ugly (not really) smirk begin to form on his face.

“You don’t like me,” he states; it wasn’t a question. Your brows furrow as you look away. You feel a little embarrassed that you don’t like him for seemingly no good reason to anyone but yourself, but you don’t deny this claim either, “which is perfect,” he adds after a beat. The furrow in your brows deepens when you look back at him.

“Huh?”

“I just need some harmless company for a thing I have to go to tonight.”

“And what does not liking you have to do with that?”

“That’s how I know you won’t try to sleep with me,” your expression goes blank as you blink at him. “If I ask anyone else they’ll assume that I am, and cling to me for the rest of the year. I already have enough desperate people trying to win my favor, I don’t need another one.” What? He’s so fucking popular that he knows any other rando he asks will immediately bend over backwards for him? As if anyone can fall for this egotistical prick. Your expression must have conveyed your disgust because suddenly the prick in question was laughing. “See? You’re perfect,” he says in between giggles.

“I’m glad you find this funny,” You continue to type on your laptop. “My answer is still no.”

“Pleeeeeease? I promise I'll make it worthwhile,” he attempts to give you puppy dog eyes over his sunglasses. You roll your eyes.

“What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you out of my own free will,”

He shrugs, “I’ll pay you,” And again, he has pissed you off. Because this spoiled brat seems to think he can do whatever he wants and buy whomever he wants just because he has the money to do so. You know he has money, but you don’t give a single fuck.

“I don’t care,” you almost groan, your patience running thin at his insistence and, frankly, ignorant behavior.

“I can make those girls leave you alone,” he tries. You keep your eyes on your laptop screen, your brows furrowing once again out of annoyance. As much as the thought of hanging out with this pampered highlighter outside of obligation gives you a headache, the thought of being able to walk through the halls peacefully again does make you want to consider it. And even though you were initially pissed off at his offer of money you know damn well you aren’t walking out of this heavily compensated. With those factors in mind, and the added bonus of a “ surprise “, you're growing more annoyed with yourself for actually contemplating this.

Though, how bad could it really be? As much as his confidence and ignorant comments piss you off, that’s really all it is. As painful as it is to admit, Satoru actually has this…charm about him. A vibe that could make anyone feel like they’re his friend. Even though you don’t think of yourself as such, you don’t think he’s terrible. Everyone is frothing at the mouth to sleep with him or at least to be within his inner circle so that must count for something. So, you reason, whatever he’s asking couldn’t be worse than what you’ve gone through with him already.

“What would I have to do,” he flashes you an excited smile before he schools his expression into that damn smirk.

“Just dress up fancy and be ready by 8,” You scoff and shake your head.

“I swear to god if this is another frat party trap-“

“It’s not I promise,” he extends a hand towards you, as to solidify this odd deal. You look at it, then at him, and you completely ignore it, going back to typing on your laptop.

“Thirty minutes. Three hundred dollars.” you state, without looking away from your screen.

“I thought you didn’t care,”

“Clearly you don’t need my company that bad—,”

“Okay, hour and a half, one hundred dollars,” he bargains. You glare at him, pissed that he genuinely thinks so much of your time is worth so little.

“I can still say no,”

He laughs, “An hour it is. Will two hundred be alright?” you roll your eyes, starting to type. He takes that as a form of agreement and starts taking out his laptop and notes. Finally beginning to get some work done.

It didn’t take you long to get ready. You only owned one fancy-ish thing and it was your prom outfit. You only wore it that one time and you brought it with you to college just in case. You had asked Gojo later on what thing he was asking your company for and he told you it was a small gathering at a hotel. Something his grandparents threw together. At first you were worried he was having you meet them or his parents, which you were terrible at, your nerves making you act awkward leading to parents thinking you were rude. He reassured you that you weren’t, but didn’t mention much else as to who was also attending or if you were going to meet other individuals.

You threw on the thickest cardigan you could find over your outfit in an attempt to appear fancy. You had other coats and plenty of sweatshirts but nothing that would fit the occasion. Then put on a scarf that sort of matched. It was crocheted so it kind of looked a little juvenile in comparison to what you were wearing, but it was all you had. You’re still kind of annoyed at yourself for agreeing to this. Especially with how vague Satoru was being when you were trying to ask him more questions about the impending night. You’d kill him and then yourself if this is anything nearly as uncomfortable as the frat party disaster.

Your phone dings, alerting you of a message. You take it out of the pocket of the cardigan to confirm it was Satoru letting you know he’s here. You brace yourself to feel the cold night air as you open your front door. You don’t immediately see any cars as you descend the stairs from your shabby little apartment. A gust of a strong wind cuts through you, your coat not thick enough to block it. A violent shiver and a wave of irritation washes over you at the same time. You’re about to freeze your ass off and this idiot texted while he’s around the corner, making you wait in the shivering cold.

You finally see his Lexus pull up after what felt like five minutes, though it was probably only forty-five seconds. When seeing Satoru emerge from the driver’s side of the car, your eyebrows raise for two reasons.

One, he was dressed in a really nice suit and a thick long windbreaker that you were envious of. He, unfortunately, looked really good. On a regular basis it’s easy to ignore how attractive he is, considering the moment he opens his mouth it kills any sort of attraction you might have had. But in this moment you had to actively tell your brain not to think about it. Which lowkey surprised you.

Two, that he stepped out of the driver’s side. You had assumed he was going to pick you up in the same impersonal way he had done when you first went to his (real) house. You didn’t know he knew how to drive. The thought that he has a chauffeur just because he doesn't feel like driving bothers you, but you know you’d do the same. It just seems so typical of him that it’s annoying .

“Well,” he sings, “Don’t you dress up nice,” He looks at you over his sunglasses.

“I’d say the same, but your ego is big enough for the both of us,” you cross your arms in an attempt to fight off the cold.

“So you’re saying you think I look good too,” he smirks. Your lips press into a thin line, deciding to hold your tongue. Then you step forward to try to get in the car. Tired of him and the cold. He stops you before you take a second step. “Nuh uh, I’m a gentleman tonight,”

“You pick and choose when to be a gentleman?”

“Yes,” he feigns remorse, placing a pale hand on his chest, “but that’s only because very few people deserve my kindness,” he opens the passenger door for you, “You’re one of the few people that do,” he smiles, definitely teasing you.

“I feel honored,” you reply dryly.

“You should,” you scoff before plopping down in the passenger seat and yanking the door from his grasp, slamming it closed. You see him laugh more than you hear it, as you watch him walk to the drivers side. You look out your window and angle your knees to the door before he gets in, trying to convey through body language that this arrangement is purely out of obligation. You aren’t receptive to his charms and refuse to let any of your actions be confused for friendship. You’re acquaintances at best.

The ride is surprisingly smooth. You had half a mind to peek over and see what he looked like driving but decided against it, in fear you would look interested. You were, but you didn’t want him to know that.

After, what you know was five minutes, you start to grow a little antsy. The silence stretches unbearably with no site to an end soon. You cough into your fist to hide your unease, still stubbornly refusing to look at Satoru. Then, from the corner of your eye you see his long fingers toggle with the buttons on his radio. He switches through a few stations before finally landing on something. You’ve never heard the song; it sounded like it was some sort of japanese pop song for kids.

At first you think, surely, the man who judged you for your choice of pen two weeks ago can not be into this upbeat funko pop tune. But when you chance a peek at him, not only is his finger tapping to the beat against the steering wheel, he’s also mouthing the words.

You’re more surprised at yourself for not being upset at his hypocritical nature. Instead, you find amusement in the thought of him working out at the gym while this is blasting through his headphones.

Once the song ends you see that the car was beginning to come close to a grandiose white building with incredible gold detailing. The building was skyscraper height and had a glow that lit up at least a five foot radius of its surroundings. The architecture had you believing it was something straight from heaven.

He pulled closer to the plaza of the hotel, decorated with an abundance of white roses, marble columns with string lights circling around them. A giant water fountain in the middle spraying water in intricate patterns. It was intimidatingly gorgeous. As was the black marble valet you seemed to be pulling into. You see Satoru park in front of a black podium and a man in a black and gold uniform fancier than your own attire. Your jaw is properly on the floor.

Satoru gets out of the driver seat and makes quick work of getting to your side to open the door for you. You blink away all forms of shock as he does. Once the door opens he extends an open hand for you to take. You do so reluctantly and remove your scarf to leave it in the car. Now having seen the place you feel too embarrassed to take the scruffy thing with you. You’d take your cardigan off too if it wasn’t so cold. He adjusts his sunglasses before he tosses the keys to the Valet man without a glance in his direction, who bows and thanks Satoru for coming, as he begins to guide you inside.

You, on the other hand, are completely lost. And beginning to regret agreeing to go with Satoru anywhere. You were right the first time: No surprise is worth this.

You didn’t think much of the invite when you first agreed to it, just assumed that maybe he needed company for a small gathering at some semi-fancy restaurant. You were wrong. A large part of you suspects the reason Satoru was being so vague was because he knew that if you knew where he was taking you, you would have said no in a heartbeat. You grab Satoru’s (hard) bicep roughly. The only sign he acknowledged the action was the slight head tilt in your direction.

“I thought you said you needed harmless company for something your grandparents threw together? This doesn’t look thrown together at all,” you whisper aggressively, “I asked you if it was something fancy and you dodged the question. Why didn’t you tell me?” He just smiles at you softly as he guides your hand to his forearm and places his atop yours to keep it there.

“You’d’ve said no,” he hums sweetly at you. You feel a vein in your forehead pulse.

The inside of the building was even more grand than the outside. The ceilings are high enough to dangle a diamond chandelier three times the size of your apartment. Illuminating the foyer in a soft golden light. You see people wearing thick fabricked coats, garish leather boots, smooth manicures, trimmed mustaches and fancy up-dos. You feel entirely puny in this luxurious place, walking among lavish people, on the arm of an opulent idiot. You frown at the situation you’ve found yourself in and hope that whatever the fuck Satoru just dragged you to is quick and you can hide in a corner somewhere.

Satoru drags you to a set of glass doors further down the large foyer, off to the side across the bathrooms. The doors are wide open and a doorman, in a cream and gold uniform, holds a list but doesn’t even check it as he happily moves to the side and thanks Satoru for coming. The action makes you wonder who in the world this guy carrying you around like a purse is. But before you could think further on that question, you’re being swarmed by people of all ages.

Well, you’re not being swarmed. The idiot is. And, actually, they all completely ignore you. You somehow get detached from Satoru’s arm. When that happens, a sea of people come between you, then suddenly you can’t see him anymore.

Instead of trying to push your way through you decide to wait by a nearby wall. You don’t want to stray too far from the only person you know here. On your way to the wall you’ve marked as good enough, someone, a young woman that seems close to your age, meets you halfway. She grabs hold of your arm like the two of you are familiar. You bristle against the contact.

“Hello,” she begins, curtly, “I see you came here with Satoru, why is that?” She cuts straight to the chase. You are unsettled by this. Her aura gives off mean girl vibes already. You want to ignore her but the grip she has on your arm is vice-like. You wouldn't be able to shake her off without drawing attention. You try to crane your neck over the large headdress the woman is wearing to try to find the man you came here with, but she expertly spins the two of you around so your back is towards Satoru’s direction. She starts to guide you to the bar and leans in close. To anyone looking on, the two of you look like good friends. “He can’t help you,” she giggles. You frown, “He’s busy fending off his suitors and their parents,” Your confusion is evident on your face. So he wasn’t just being cocky about having desperate suitors.

“Who are you?” she now asks. Before, she didn’t seem the least bit concerned about who you were, just more upset at the fact she saw you walking arm in arm with Satoru. You tell her your name, but this answer is apparently unsatisfactory. She just hums, and doesn't offer her name back. The two of you finally make it to the bar but she still has an almost painful grip on your arm. “Who are you to Satoru?”

Your first instinct is to tell her to mind her business, but then you remember that you’ve been invited here by Satoru. He knows way more people here than you so this girl might be someone important. Though, you’re most likely never going to see this girl again so who cares. But also, if she is important she can probably get you thrown out of here with the snap of your fingers. You don’t want to have to shiver in the cold waiting for Satoru to pry himself from his entourage to try to find you. However, if you keep taking too long to answer her she might have you escorted out anyway. You wouldn’t even know how to answer the question though.

Luckily, the stars decided to smile upon you and cease your anxious thoughts, cause you hear his voice come up behind you.

“What are doing Yumi?” He questions the woman as he physically pries her away from you. She lets go easily and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“I was just getting to know your friend,” she says innocently. Your face scrunches in mild disbelief at her sudden change in demeanor. Satoru catches it, slowly becoming accustomed to reading your facial expressions well.

“I doubt that,” he says before grabbing hold of your hand and walking away. The woman, Yumi, quickly catches up with the two of you though.

“Are you going to introduce us? I want to get to know your friend,” She spits out. Clearly not interested in actually getting to know you.

“No.” he grits through clenched teeth.

“C’mon Satoru~” she whines. It makes the both of you cringe. “You have to be nice to me now ‘Toru,” Satoru stills, turning on Yumi, your hand still clutched in his.

“Firstly, don’t ever call me that.” He bites. “Secondly, nothing is ever going to happen between us so leave me alone.” he spins back around to continue walking. He starts to pick up his pace in order to shake Yumi off, and if he wasn’t holding your hand he’d shake you off too. It was hard to match the stride of his long legs with your shorter ones. It’s when you almost fall a second time, barely catching yourself before face planting on this nice marble, that you say something.

“S-Satoru, my ankles are about to snap,” you huff. Suddenly he stops. He looks at you through his thick sunglasses —seriously, does he ever take them off?— and watches as you try to catch your breath.

“Sorry,” he sighs. Still holding your hand, he guides the two of you to an empty table, secluded next to the stage that’s in the front of the room. Curtains frame the stage, so once you get to the table, you’re perfectly hidden from everyone else.

“What the fuck?” You immediately ask as soon as you’re out of view.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again, “I didn’t know she was going to be here,”

“What did you bring me here for? What even is here?”

“Satoru?” Both of your heads snap to the person speaking. You don’t know this woman, but you would bet your first born child that it’s someone related to the white haired idiot as she also has blindingly white hair that cascaded well past her waist.

“Mom-“

“Who is this?” The woman, his mom, asks. Not even sparring you a glance. Satoru opens his mouth to say something but his mom cuts him off before he gets the chance to, stepping closer to where the two of you are standing to jab a finger at his shoulder, “How dare you bring a date to the meeting your grandfather arranged for you,”

“I didn’t ask him to do that,” Satoru grits his teeth, getting pretty worked up from what you can tell.

“Still, this is extremely disrespectful.”

“No, what was disrespectful was putting this meeting together behind my back and springing it on me the day before. And on top of that you didn’t tell me she would be here.” he juts his chin out to gesture to the rest of the large room. You think he’s talking about the unsettling woman he saved you from.

“You need to take your guest out of here and apologize to your grandfather,”

He scoffs. “You’re not even fucking listening to me,”

“What do you want me to say Satoru? You made a mess of the whole night and he won’t even speak to anyone until you apologize,” Satoru places his sunglasses on his head to scowl at her.

“That’s not my problem,” he gets closer now, standing right over his, pretty tall, mother. She looks up at him with a twin scowl on her face.

“This is too much Satoru. What are you even doing all of this for? Hm? You’re not dating anyone so-“

“Yeah I am,” His mother raises her thin brow.

“Oh really? Who?” she scoffs out.

“Who else?” Then her brows furrowed together, confused. Satoru then intertwines his fingers into the hand he was still holding. You have half a mind to rip your hand out of his grip, just now realizing he was still holding it, and ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. This is not what you signed up for! You look from your hand to Satoru’s mother and you see the confusion melt from her face as she looks at your hands and she crosses her arms. Her thin brow raised again.

“I don’t believe it,” Satoru rolls his eyes at her.

“Either way, tell that woman, her parents, and grandfather that I'm not doing this shit. And if they still don’t get it, tell them to kiss my ass,” You and Satoru’s mother’s jaws drop simultaneously, maybe hers a second later because it took her brain a second to really register what her son had just said to her. Either way, you’re both equally dumbfounded. And it seems the reaction pleases Satoru. His infamous smirk returns as he brings your hand to his lips and places a chaste kiss to the back of it. He begins to stride away, your hands still interlocked.

Then you hear a banshee scream.

“Satoru! Wait!” The man in question doesn’t even look back and picks up his pace, your legs moving before your brain can catch up as Satoru pulls you along. You look back to see a fuming Yumi trying her best to catch you two in her tall heels. Satoru rushes through the door, the door man barely even bending at his waist to bid him goodbye. Your palm is sweating against his, and you’re hyper-aware of every set of eyes burning into your back.

“What the fuck.” you hiss under your breath, but Satoru doesn’t stop until you’re both back in the lobby, away from the thick air of scrutiny and rich propriety. Only then does he slow his pace, turning to you with that infuriated grin. Your confusion grows into anger at the sight of it.

“That went well, don’t you think?” You snatch your hand from his grasp and resist the urge to smack him upside the head.

“What the hell was that? You wanna explain why I got roped into pretending we’re dating?” Satoru rubs the back of his neck, but there’s no shame in his expression. If anything, he looks amused.

“Well, I needed an excuse to get out of a forced engagement setup,”

You gape at him “Engagement?” He shrugs like it’s nothing, adjusting his sunglasses.

“Yeah. My grandad’s been trying to marry me off to some rich family’s daughter for ages. Thought I’d make my thoughts on the matter more clear,”

“So dragging me into your family drama was the best idea you could come up with?” Satoru grins wider, leaning in slightly.

“If i'd told you the truth would you have gone along with it?”

“No!” you snap. “Absolutely not! And now I’ve probably got a bounty on my head because these weird rich people think I’m your fiance or something!” He pats your shoulder, like he’s congratulating you for completing a marathon.

“Relax. You’ll probably never see them again. And if you do, just tell them I broke your heart or something. Should be easy to believe.” You close your eyes, inhaling deeply in an effort to stop yourself from committing murder.

“I swear to god, one of these days—“

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off playfully. “You’ll smother me with a pillow, push me down a flight of stairs, shank me in an alleyway. I’ve heard it all before.” He strides ahead of you, out to the valet. You glare at his back, but your anger slowly turns into exhaustion. You begin to follow him.

“So what now?” He checks his watch.

“Well, since we’re already dressed up and out, wanna grab a bite to eat?” You blink at him, incredulous.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know.” he sing-songs, placing his sunglasses back on.

You hate that that makes you laugh.

With a resigned sigh, you wrap your cardigan tighter around yourself, trying to firm the cold. “Fine. But you’re paying. And I’m getting the most expensive thing on the menu.” Satoru beams, placing a hand over his heart.

“My dear, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You roll your eyes, already regretting your life choices, but as you watch his car pull up to the valet stand, there’s a tiny—very tiny—part of you that doesn’t mind the chaos as much as you should.

And you hate it.

(･ω<)☆

i’m always thinking, “why don’t i ever write series?” This. This is why. I run out of creativity to write anything for like three months then randomly get an idea. but then when i go to write the idea i suddenly dont know how to write anymore and have no idea where to start 😭

also i’m thinking of starting a taglist? should i?

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#jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo saturo x female reader #gojo saturo x gender neutral reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x black reader #jjk x chubby reader #jjk x poc!reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jjk x plus size reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x gender neutral reader #jujutsu kaisen x plus size reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x fanfic

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