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forlix · 7 months

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𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 !・h.h.

— you’re just trying to do your job; your client has other ideas.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.3k 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・idol!hyunjin x gn!makeup artist!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・very suggestive so mdni, reader implied to be shorter than hyunjin 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・fluff, flirting, humor, big fwb vibes

𝐚/𝐧・this took me less than half an hour to write i am actually the biggest sucker for this trope. also, we hit another milestone recently!! i appreciate all of you immensely; look forward to more ♡

[!]・hi hey hello as of one month later a full-length fic based on this au has been posted!! here it is; you can read the two in any order. ok bye much love

“Five ‘til!” A crew member calls into a walkie-talkie, and you’re so surprised by this information that you stumble right over him, your heel ungracefully ramming into the poor man’s toes.

You apologize hurriedly, bowing yourself out of the awkward situation—and then you check your watch. 7:55 P.M. A quiet "shit" leaves your lips as it dawns on you that you'd completely lost track of time.

Briefly, you contemplate your predicament, drumming the palette of makeup you’re holding in your right hand against the palm of your left: do I have to? Is it really necessary? But you know your answer even as you’re asking yourself the questions. You’re damn meticulous—sometimes to a fault, but always to your own satisfaction.

You had a vision, and you’re going to see it through.

With impeccable timing, your coworker appears out of nowhere, and you fasten a hand around her arm. “Hey, where are the members again?”

“Stage left.” Then she registers your question in full, and snaps her eyes to your face; stylists were supposed to have finished up with their respective members nearly an hour ago. “Hang on, are you out of your mind—”

“I won’t be a minute!” You call, scurrying away.

“You won’t be employed!” She returns, but you’ve already disappeared into the curtains’ dense shadows.

You jog a short distance, turn a few corners, and finally spot the eight members clad in outfits of varying amounts of silver and black, every inch of them so sparkly that they’re reflective, even with how little light reaches this part of the stage.

You’re looking for one man in particular, though, and you single him out right away: long, black locks falling into his eyes as he adjusts his microphone, broad shoulders and tall frame flattered perfectly by an obsidian suit, looking like he fell off a Paris Fashion Week runway and into a wormhole that teleported him to Osaka.

All your doing, by the way.

“Hwang Hyunjin!” You shout, and he (along with several of the other members) whips around at the sound. And Hyunjin furrows a perfect brow when his stylist materializes before him, four minutes to curtain up, wielding a palette of makeup like it’s a baseball bat.

“Are you out of your mind?” He calls.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” You lift a pointer finger into the air and curl it twice. “Come here. Hurry."

Hyunjin gives the others an apologetic glance before hurrying over, and you are met with a blast of Byredo Blanche when he arrives in front of you, the expression on his face equal parts amused and confused.

“Down,” you say, flicking open the eyeshadow palette with one hand.

And then Hyunjin understands. A loud, uninhibited laugh leaves his lips, a sound you’ve become so accustomed to by now that you’re completely oblivious to the fact that only you bring it out of him.

“You really are something,” he says, spreading his feet apart until he’s brought himself to your eye level.

With that, you get to work, one hand gathering some eyeshadow on the pads of your fingers, the other moving to hold his shoulder. Brushes are luxuries you can’t afford right now.

“Close your eyes,” you direct, your voice softer now that your face is only inches away from his, and Hyunjin heeds your words obediently. You begin to dab the crimson powder against the curve of his lids, careful to avoid messing up the rest of his eye makeup. His lashes flutter involuntarily at your gentle touch.

“A shadow to match the lip,” you murmur absently. “I pictured it and knew it had to happen."

Hyunjin makes a sound of approval, and then there is that smirk on his face, the one you’ve learned only means trouble. “You’ve been thinking about my face the whole night, then?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about whether vegetables can feel pain,” you deadpan. “Yes, I've been thinking about your face. It’s my job.”

“Is that all?”

“Sure is.” You blow gently on his finished eye and move on to the other. “Now save your voice for the stage.”

He obliges, but that dreadful, self-assured expression remains on his face, and you're immeasurably grateful that he can’t see the blush that you’re well aware paints your cheeks.

“Done,” you say a minute later, straightening with a confident flourish. And you think you could squeal when Hyunjin opens his eyes, and you see that the exact effect you’d hoped for has been realized: a splash of maroon that is both subtle and seductive, sleek and suave; that not only accentuates the shape of his eyes but pulls attention to his lips, which are dyed a similar hue. Damn, you’re good at your job.

“I don’t have a mirror,” you say, looking around. “I can use my phone if you want to—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I trust you.”

You grin at this. “Good. Because you look sexy as hell."

Upon hearing your words, he straightens to his full height. You don’t think much of this at first, too busy re-examining the masterpiece you’ve created on his eyelids, but in the blink of an eye you’re suddenly aware that Hyunjin is standing conspicuously and intentionally close to you. You instinctively move away, but you’re too late; he’s already guiding your back to the wall behind you, his body enclosing yours against the smooth surface.

You send a panicked look over Hyunjin’s shoulder, only to realize that the two of you are completely out of anyone’s line of vision. That doesn’t stop the sharp hiss that leaves your lips: “Hyunjin, are you cr—”

But then there is a familiar gust of breath against your skin, a thumb over your cheekbone.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself when you get like this; all bossy and concentrated, an ambitious glint in your eyes, an air of confidence in your gait. He always thinks it’s ironic that your job is to make him look good when all he’s ever done is admire your beauty, so effortless and profuse that it feels timeless, like freshly bloomed forget-me-nots.

He knows he shouldn’t—but that makes him want to more.

When your lips meet, they move together with an ease and familiarity that reveal how many times you’ve done this before. He brings a hand to the small of your back, and you tangle your stained fingers in his luscious hair, the delicious pressure of his mouth upon yours rendering your reluctance (and the eyeshadow palette, which clatters noisily to the floor) momentarily forgotten.

As the kiss deepens, the bridges of your noses slide together; your every sense becomes overwhelmed by the slippery plush of his full lips and the warm caress of his large hands; you drink in the rosy musk of his cologne like your cells need it to live as opposed to oxygen. The tip of Hyunjin’s tongue teases the seam of your lips, as if requesting access, and you grant it to him with a light moan that is both blissful and thoroughly exasperated. When he hears the gorgeous sound, he has half a mind to scoop you up and leave the venue then and there.

Then, a voice bellows from not too far away: “One minute, everyone! Places, places!”

You’re so startled that you not only break away from him but jump a meter into the air, giving Hyunjin’s bicep a hearty slap on your way down. But he is entirely unbothered, dipping his head to press a trail of light kisses along your jaw instead.

“You’ll be watching the performance, yes?” He murmurs against the sensitive skin.

“Of course, what else—”

“—don’t take your eyes off me.”

And the words throw your heart against your ribs like uncooked French fries in a vat of oil.

He is just about to walk away when you realize how decidedly disheveled you’ve left him, and you yank him back to you with a fresh wave of panic. You wipe at his smudged lipstick with the cuffs of your sleeves; nitpick his hair until every strand is back in its proper place. Only when you’ve gotten rid of all the incriminating evidence do you permit him to leave.

“Thank you very much,” he says, bending into a gracious bow, the perfect image of professionalism. The facade is given away only by the upturned corner of his still-flushed lips.

“Break a leg,” you return drily.

The last thing you hear is that stupid, bright laugh before Hyunjin rejoins his members, and they step into the strobe lights together.

Even when the concert begins and the stadium is drowned in fanatical screams, the heartbeat in your ears remains the loudest sound of all—and you bury your burning face in your hands.

Hwang Hyunjin will be the death of you.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

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mintmatcha · 3 months

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tw: implied abuse, no curses au

"Can I ask a question?" Yuuji digs his heel into the wood chips as he swings, digging a growing trench behind him. "You don't have to answer."

Ash falls from the end of Choso's cigarette. He leans against the anchor of the swing set, cheek against cold metal, and sighs. Twilight has passed and the streetlights have turned on, giving the playground a hazy, barely lit glow. Yuuji's guardian will start calling soon, but Choso decides the extra time together is worth the future ire.

"I already told you that I'm not giving you a tattoo."

"Aw, damn-" Yuuji clicks his tongue against his teeth. Ever since they met, he's been dying for a tattoo of his own, throwing out wild new ideas almost every day. One day, when he's eighteen and likes an idea for more than a month, Choso will bring him to his studio and comply.

But, not yet.

"That wasn't my question though," Yuuji says.

"Then go for it."

The younger boy takes a deep breath, then lets it out even slower, pulling the tension longer and longer until it snaps.

"Why weren't you... around? Like, when I was a kid and stuff."

Choso takes his own breath.

"Your mom-- our mom." The taste of that sits bitter on his tongue. He never called her mom, even back then. "She was different for me."

And for our other brothers, he adds silently. Yuuji doesn't need to carry that weight yet, the knowledge that he was the exception to it all.

"Why?" Yuuji pumps his legs a little softer, the back and forth motion of the swing slowly dying out.

"I dunno." Choso wishes he had the answer to that. "She was sixteen, did bad things. Don't worry about it."

Finding out about Yuuji wasn't a shock, somehow. Years after Ken had surrendered her children to the state, Choso had received noticed that she had died. The news felt overdue. No tears were shed, no love lost; the group chat of siblings had all agreed not to go to any service, but the day of, Choso had changed his mind.

He had put on his nicest outfit -some thrift store pants that didn't fit and a shirt he stole from foster dad three- and went expecting to be the only one there, the only one willing to say goodbye.

Choso hadn't known about her new family. They hadn't known about him either. It was typical of Ken to leave a mess in her wake.

Turns out, through a series of lucky breaks, the woman had clawed her way out of poverty and into the arms of a rich, but nice man. Her life was easy and sweet, filled with luxuries and love, including a son ten years younger than her eldest.

No one knows why Yuuji was different than the others, why she decided to be good to him and no one else. Mental illness is strange like that, picking and choosing how it pleases.

Yuuji huffs, gripping the metal chains tighter. "But-"

"Yuuji." Choso drops his cigarette and crushes it under his boot. Then, he thinks about the child that will play there tomorrow, shoveling wood chips into their mouths like idiots, and decides to pick it up. He jams it into his pocket. "You have good memories of her. Don't ruin that."

He used to resent how much Yuuji loved her. He was eight when she died, the same age Choso was when he first had to dial 911 for her. That anger had long faded, replaced with a strange amount of pity.

"But I want to know. What she did and stuff." Yuuji's voice jumps high with emotion. "I'm basically an adult, I can handle it."

"You're sixteen."

"Well, mom was doing this stuff at sixteen, so-" Yuuji is seething suddenly, brow furrowed and teeth grit.

"So?"

"So, she was old enough to be doing bad things and I'm not old enough to know about it?" He stands and the swing clatters behind him. He's stocky, yet tall, bunched with muscles that he's built from baseball. On one side of his cheek, there's a bit of chocolate stuck there, a remnant from the ice cream Choso bought him. Below it, there's a rosy hickey on his neck, a remnant of the boyfriend he hasn't told Nanami about yet. He thinks they're having sex, maybe, but doesn't know how to broach the topic without scaring his brother into never talking about it again.

"And you had tattoos at my age, by the way!"

Choso lets him stew in it, huffing and puffing. The blown out edges of first tattoo peek from under his sleeve, the image barely legible now. An older woman gave it to him at fifteen, in the basement of her house. It became so insanely infected that he ended up in the ER a couple days later.

"I'm not a kid. I can handle it." Yuuji states, calm and clear. "I'm not a kid."

A car passes, it's headlights stretching and pulling the shadows across the park. In the changes, Choso can see his mother in his brother, those soft eyes and thin lips and the same slightly crooked nose that Choso has himself. He thinks, maybe, if time was kinder and his father was better, they'd look more alike each other, but then the moment is gone and they no longer even look like siblings.

"Okay."

Yuuji untenses a bit. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Like, okay, this conversation is done, or okay, I'll tell you?"

"I'll tell you," Choso says, jamming his hands in his pocket. The cigarette butt is there, mushed and still warm against his knuckles. "But not tonight."

"What?!"

"Next time, I promise."

Choso doesn't understand why Yuuji insists on rushing away from innocence, but he knows that he can't stop him. Yuuji will find out about the abuse, the neglect, the other brothers, and the other horrors in some way or another and then things will never be the same.

"Stay a kid just a little longer." Choso resists the urge to ruffle his hair. "For me?"

"Yeah, sure," Yuuji sighs. "One more day."

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 month

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Could I request either “You’re always worrying.”“Yes, I am, because you're you.” or 'Their partner doing something and their clumsiness striking in a way that leads to good spirited laughter between the two.' with Steve please? Whichever you prefer 💚

I went with the first one, I hope that’s okay! 🧡

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

“You’re late.”

Your voice was a little mournful, your pout hiding your concern, your worry, but your eyes gave you away. Steve’s brows knitted together as his hand cupped your elbow, bringing you into him as you both began the walk to the pizza joint on the upper level.

His hand on your skin was soothing, a medicine you didn’t know you needed. It travelled up until his arm draped around your neck, the smell of Steve making your shoulders drop, tension forgotten, if only just.

Steve laughed a little, soft and not at all unkind, but you frowned anyway. “By like, three minutes, babe.” He didn’t say sorry - he didn’t really need to - but his voice was gentle enough that you heard the apology stitched between each word.

He tugged you into him, uncaring of the busy mall, the passersby, the onlookers. His lips found your temple, a kiss stamped there that was all adoration and love. “You’re always worrying, huh?”

You scoffed but leaned into him anyway, seeking out more of his mouth, lips lifting in the corners when his nose nuzzled at your hairline. “Well, yes, I am,” you mumbled, shy at being caught out, adored that he could read you so well. “Because you’re you.”

Steve snorted at that too, leading you through the evening crowds, the mall busier than usual as Hawkins residents made their way to the cinema, the new laser tag rooms that had opened up last week.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You tried really hard not to roll your eyes but Steve must’ve seen, pinching at your side with his free hand and making you squeak, batting him away. He grinned, letting you escape his hold only to catch your hand and pull you back into him. Your fingers twined with his, nose wrinkling as you glared up at him, playful, for the most part.

“You have a baseball with nails embedded in it in your trunk,” you reminded him, “plus another under your bed.”

Steve grinned, nonplussed and he bumped his shoulder with yours as the pizza counter came into view. “Hey now, lower your voice, there could be lingering Russians.”

You really were glaring now, because you truly didn’t know if he was joking or not. To be truthful, Steve wasn’t sure either. But he was still smirking, enjoying your pouty mood, knowing that once he got you alone, he could kiss it right out of you.

“You’re not funny,” you told him, joining the queue and pretending to look at the overhead menus, bright signs and flashing pizza cartoons making your eyes ache. Steve knew you’d get your usual, a slice of chicken and sweetcorn, like always. “You probably are on some CIA watchlist, you know.” You prodded at his ribs, eyes narrowing when Steve laughed. “A whole team of agents listening in to you and the kids dragon game meetings. That’s why I worry.”

“Oh my god, you’re like, totally in love with me, huh?” Steve was still smiling but his grin had turned softer, jokes turning lovesick. He bent a little at the knees, nose nuzzling your cheek despite the people around you. He didn’t mind a little PDA. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, the corner of your mouth, doting when you allowed one to your lips. “S’real cute, babe.”

You let him kiss you, once, twice, cheeks hot when the woman in front of you huffed but Steve just wrapped his arm around you again, bringing your back to his front as you both waited your turn in line.

“You’re so annoying,” you told him, head resting against his chest all the same. You didn’t sound annoyed at all, in fact, from over your shoulder, Steve could see your smile.

“Tell me about it,” Steve hummed, more than happy to be at the receiving end of your worrying, especially if you let him dote on you like this to make up for it.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington oneshot #Steve Harrington blurb #Steve baby blurb

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buckysegan · 2 months

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With all my gratitude, hope and returned adoration - Part Two

Summary: John writes back to his friend from home and we hear from our friend across the way. John x She. Word Count: 1.2k. A/N: we are def rolling with some historical inaccuracies in regards to letters here but sue me. he deserves it. pstttt also should we name her? do you all want to send me random john prompts. my baby isn't ok and i'm not ok. Part one linked here. Part three linked here.

John was sure he wasn't sweating a normal amount as he looked down at the piece of paper that Buck had offered him. It had taken two whole days of questions from the man for Bucky to even decide that he was going to reply. He’d been offered the hope, what more could he ask of her. Could he ask more? There had been a return address on the letter which Buck had insisted was there for a reason and she had opened herself out for a reply from him but the Major couldn’t help but be unsure.

It was an odd feeling for him, before the war he hadn't been unsure of anything and since he’d been here? Well he hadn’t been sober enough to doubt anything that he had done. These days though Bucky felt like he doubted every single thing. The thing was, he wasn't sure that he could afford to doubt this, to look past the life line that had been offered to him. Not when each day he could feel his mind draw a little further toward the edge no matter how much he or Buck tried to keep it in check.

With a sigh he pulled the pen into his hand, eyes locked on the page for a moment before he began to scrawl.

Dear Friend From Home

You’re gunna have to forgive me because I ain’t going to be as good as this as you are. I’ve written so many letters this war you would think that I’d have gotten a handle on it by now but I find myself at a loss when it comes to what to say to you.

I think the first thing I got to say is thank you. I don’t know if the words I can put on paper are ever going to really tell you how much your letter meant to me. See I was a certain type of man that didn’t think much to pen pals. I figured that I’d be ok, you know, that with my boys I’d have what I needed to make it through the hard days but watching the letters for everyone else roll in has been harder than I thought it might.

There are things that I can’t tell you cause I don’t know who might read these letters, and where I am I can’t get you no picture but I can tell you that my favorite dish is a meat and potato pie, simple I know but really I’m a simple hearty kind of guy. What makes me laugh, you asked? That’s kind of simple for me too, just good company, myself sometimes, Buck, he’s my best friend, he makes me laugh a lot. What makes you laugh? I’d like to know that.

May I know where you are? I know that might be a big ask but you said I could ask anything I know and if I get out of here…we get some leave, I’d like to know where I need to ask for me leave to be. Then I can show you what I sound and look like and know that in return.

If this letter doesn’t reach you for a while, know you’ve been with me the whole time.

With all my gratitude, hope and returned adoration

Major John Egan

“What if she doesn’t get it?” He found himself questioning quietly to Buck as he handed over the letter to make it out of camp. His best friend settled him with a soft look, one that always made Bucky feel like he had some worldly knowledge the rest of them had missed out on, that assured him everything was going to be alright. “You just gotta have hope she will John, she’ll get it.”

With a huff Bucky nodded, pulling his hat on as he watched his letter vanish from his view all together. “Alright well I can’t sit here and wonder, I’m off to play baseball or something.”

The letter that Bucky had so carefully handed over changed hands many more times, some fingers as rough as the pilots, some dirtier, some softer, but the last set of fingers to slide the letter from her post box had perfectly manicured fingers. Her flicking of her post was greedy as she looked for the same thing that she had every day since she’d posted her own letter.

At first, her hopes of finding what she was looking for had been unrealistic; she knew that, it hadn’t even been long enough for her letter to be received, let alone for him to get one back to her, then the other girls at the centre, they’d gotten letters back, notes, anything. That was when she had allowed her hope to return, for a moment at least. Days without anything had turned into weeks and then weeks had turned into months. Anything could have happened, that was what she tried to tell herself, he might not have gotten her letter, he might have thought it was weird and had chosen not to reply. That thought was enough to miff her, he could have at least said thank you. When she had decided no one could be that mean, her diminishing hope had turned to worry, what if he hadn't been able to receive her letter.

Flicking through each white envelope today, she almost missed it, how she didn't know because it was clearly different from the rest of them, maybe she hadn't wanted to look. "Not…" Trailing off she flicked back to the second to last letter, her eyes taking in the scrawling of her address, her eyes checking the postage before she was taring inside. "It's here, he wrote it's here." She called through the halls to the other girls that she lived with, all of which had been holding their breath with her. "Oh god I can't read it, what if he's telling me I was weird!" She cried, thrusting the unopened letter into the hands of her eager friend.

"Don't be dramatic, he's going to be throwing down his gratitude at you being a doll, you should have attached a picture with it I told you!" Meg beamed easily back at her, the same sense of reservation missing from her actions as she tore into the letter so that it could be read to the group. "Dear Friend From Home. You’re gunna have to forgive me because I ain’t going to be as good as this as you are. I’ve written so many letters this war you would think that I’d have gotten a handle on it by now but I find myself at a loss when it comes to what to say to you." That was enough, pulling the letter from Megs hands she was quick to scramble away from the group once more, locking herself into her room as re-read the opening line herself, the tears in her eyes only welling even further as she continued.

An ache in her chest formed as she read the words once more, taking in each strike of his pen where he had corrected himself or smudge from whatever he'd had on his fingers. The state of the letter was enough to make her wonder, but at least for now, she knew her friend was ok. He was alive, and he wanted to hear more from her. It couldn't have been normal, to feel this level of emotion for a man that she had never met, but she had found herself here regardless and in the middle of so much uncertainty, she wasn't going to question the pull she felt across the way to England.

Pushing from her bed she moved to her desk, paper pulled from her stationary pot, the quicker she could post this the quicker it could get to him.

"Dear Major Egan,

I'm delighted to hear I'm with you. I hope you know, that you've been with me too…"

#john egan x reader #john egan #master of the air #mota #mota drabble #callum turner #bucky egan

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studioghibelli · 3 months

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fade in to you- a joel miller x reader

summary: love can often times be unrequited... until it isn't.

warnings: tommys!girlfriend reader, kind of a jerk!tommy, pining!joel, soft!joel, 00's joel/era, implied age gap, some angsty angst, no smut this time y'all i'm in some sort of babygirl mood tonight or something idk.

notes: this is a short lil' somethin' for my sweet twizzy @ilovepedro <3 <3 <3

Cherry red lips stained the rim of the glass, the sides sweating beneath the heat of the summer moon. The lights on the back of the porch illuminated the grill, and the half busted radio in the corner crooned out whatever the radio was deciding to play that night. The canopy of stars twinkled down upon the bungalow, crickets nestled in the blades of grass in the backyard chirping and igniting the atmosphere aflame with the reminder that nature was all around.

Inside, a baseball game was flickering across the screen of the television, and people funneled in and out of the sliding glass door that whined and ached each time it was moved. Grabbing beers, swaying to the music, shouting at the game- anything they wanted to do, really.

Joel stood to man the grill, his broad shoulders stretching the seams of a heather gray shirt, tanned arms glimmering with sweat beneath them. The sleeves almost seemed too tight against his thick biceps, but that only made them more appealing.

As he flipped the burgers, steaming and sizzling against the grill top, Joel tried to remind himself not to look at those cherry red lips. He tried to urge himself to have enough resolve to not become intoxicated by your soft, plump, red mouth, that was just right there in the corner of his eye sight.

It was the least he could do, seeing as you were his brother's girlfriend.

When you walked in that night for the barbeque, he couldn't help but stare, couldn't help but take in your beauty. You wore a sundress the color of azaleas, accompanied by a floral scarf tied around your hair and those sticky, sweet looking lips.

Those lips that haunted him

Did they taste like cherries, too? Joel immediately shook that terrible thought away, it was gone almost as soon as it had entered.

And thus began his usual routine when you were around. The cold shoulder, the short responses, the purposefully-trying-to-avoid-you maneuvers that he had become quite masterful with. Despite this, there was still that tug deep in his belly, that draw towards you and your aura.

"Joel?" Your sweet voice filled his ears.

"Hmm?" He winced at how curt he sounded.

The sinking tone of your voice made him swallow thickly with guilt. "Do you... do you have anymore of that margarita mix?"

"Above the kitchen sink." Joel explained, his voice now a bit softer.

He couldn't turn around to look at you. Not when your hips swayed so femininely against your dress, not when your dewy skin glistened beneath the dusty golden light, not when those lips looked to tantalizing, so delicious.

Joel was so lost in thought, he burnt one of the burgers.

The night went on, smooth and happy, everyone chatting and talking amongst themselves. Joel had sat himself on a patio chair farthest from you, eating the burnt patty with furrowed brows. His eyes were glued to the ground, his mind once again, for the millionth time that June evening, wandering with thoughts of you.

The backdoor slid open with that familiar creak, and he heard Tommy exploding with excitement at the ongoing baseball game.

"Hi, baby." Your voice rang through Joel's ears. He looked up, watching Tommy give you a quick, uninterested kiss. His stomach churned.

Tommy went to the beer cooler, grabbing a fresh bottle of Modelo. At the same time, the radio cranked out an all too familiar song.

I want to hold the hands inside you

I want to take the breath that's true

I look to you, and I see nothing

You gasped, jumping to your feet with eyes wide, cheeks thick with your sticky sweet smile. "Oh, Tommy! This is my favorite song. Dance with me?"

He shook your hand away, turning to you with a scrunched up face. "You know I don't dance, woman. I got a baseball game to get back to." Joel felt his jaw clenching with annoyance, but before he could say anything, Tommy spoke once more. "You comin' in to watch it?" He asked his big brother.

Joel's eyes followed you. He traced over the fallen expression that had sunk into your cheeks, he watched the way your eyes fell with embarrassment, the way your lips pressed into one another.

"No." Was all Joel said, before he glued his eyes back to the ground. He knew Tommy was rolling his eyes, and before he knew it his brother was stomping back inside, leaving him alone with you.

An awkward silence hung in the air, before Joel stood up so quickly, it caused you to jump. "I, uh-" He was rubbing the back of his neck now, taking notice of the incredulous look that had grazed across your face. "I'll dance with ya."

Your smile, sunshine and flowers, ignited the dark air around. "Really?"

He nodded, holding a hand out for you. "It's now or never, darlin'. This is a short song."

An angelic laugh escaped your throat, and you took his hand, standing to your feet. You weren't an oblivious fool. You knew Joel was handsome, and you knew every woman in town was pining after him.

How could they not?

His umber curls, thick shoulders, curved nose- he was a work of art. Tommy was handsome, it ran in the family, but there was something about Joel that was so gripping, so hard to forget. You had noticed his eyes the first time you met him. Those chocolate eyes, so deep and mysterious. They had pulled you in the moment you saw them.

And when Joel had seen you for the first time, he experienced what could only be described as a religious experience. He felt the kind of emotions that one felt when looking upon Van Gogh's Starry Night, or Monet's Poppies. The kind of awe that struck your chest hard with a kick, the kind of awe that settled upon your soul with no hopes of ever letting out, the kind of awe that a man could never forget.

Each time he saw you, you only grew more beautiful. Perhaps that was just a symptom of him falling deeper in love.

"I didn't take you for the dancing type." You whispered as his hands found the curve of your waist, strong and sturdy as they wrapped tightly around you. When your hands moved to his shoulders, you felt a breath of air get stuck in his throat.

"I'm not." Joel's eyes looked down, peering in to your own. You cursed the butterflies which erupted within you.

"Then why are you now?"

There was a short moment of silence, the kind that made your skin crawl with anticipation. You had no clue where this quiet would lead.

"Because I can't stand seein' my brother treat you like that." Joel's voice was earnest, genuine, and you saw those hardened eyes cross over with a feeling you had never seen on him before. Softness. Gentleness. Love.

You live your life, you go in shadows

You'll come apart, and you'll go black

Some kind of night into your darkness

Colors your eyes with what's not there.

"Treat me like what?" You whispered, voice barely there against the backdrop of the radio.

"Like you ain't the most beautiful girl in the world." Joel's grip tightened around you, and he instinctively pulled you close. "Like he ain't the luckiest bastard I know, gettin' the chance to be with you. To kiss you, feel you."

With furrowed eyebrows, you closed your eyes tight, too scared, too unsure of what to say next. You had spent months trying to stop it, you had spent months trying to swallow that horrible, awful feeling that crept inside every time you saw Joel. Despite this, you knew. You had always known.

You were with the wrong brother, and you always had been.

The quick glances, the hidden smiles, the wandering eyes- Joel thought he hid it well, but he could never fool you.

Both of you knew you were in deep shit, both of you knew the water was rising, heating, but you were both helpless, unable to stop it.

And stop it, you had tried. Many, many, many times.

When Tommy was on top of you, moaning your name, feeling your skin, you couldn't help but think of Joel. When Tommy ignored you to watch his baseball games, you couldn't help but daydream about Joel, and how you knew he would dote upon you more than a stupid sport. When Tommy stayed out too late with his raucous friends and came home drunk, you wondered what Joel's arms would feel around you, behind you in bed as his mouth planted kisses on your shoulders, blanketed by the sweet cover of nighttime.

Finally, you spoke. "I don't think that I know what to say, Joel."

Joel took in a deep breath of air, and you felt his chest vibrating against you. "I know. I don't expect you to say anythin'. Just knew I had to tell you sometime."

You swayed together slowly, beneath the canopy of the summer sky, eyes fluttering shut with every movement of your bodies. Joel tensed when you pressed your cheek to his chest, your bodies molding together in harmony.

He liked this. He could get used to this.

Your chest rose and fell against his, your hands moved up and down his arms, caressed his shoulders, felt his body. You touched him like you loved him, you ignited something deep within him. Joel felt wanted, he felt loved, he felt appreciated.

Your tenderness reminded him that he was alive, that he was worthy. You had lit a flame deep within him, a new appreciation for the beauty of the world, a new outlook on life.

He would fight for you if it came down to it. Anything to keep that dazzling smile and those perfect eyes in his life.

Strange you never knew

Fade into you

I think it's strange you never knew

"Do you love me?" You asked abruptly, voice caught in the back of your throat. You don't know what came over you or why you felt the need to ask, but you couldn't help yourself. Your gut had always told you something was there resting between the both of you, and tonight you were going to find out.

Joel's fingers gently dug into your sides, and you felt the beating of his heart quicken against your cheek. You wondered what he was feeling, you wondered if he had ever felt this way before, if he was even feeling what you were. An inexplainable feeling that washed over you wordlessly, a feeling you were unable to express with words.

"Yes." His fingers crawled up your back, tangling into the ends of your hair. "More than I probably should."

You nodded against him, arms digging in to his shoulders tighter.

You craned your neck to look up at him, eyelashes fluttering against your rosy eyelids. Those cherry lips sparkled in front of him, and Joel wanted nothing more than to lean down and feel them, taste them, explore them.

Joel had never seen a more beautiful woman.

If there was one thing for sure he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, it was that he had never seen anything as beautiful as you in the entirety of his life. Not even the sunsets above the ocean or the wild flowers in the valley, not even the stars at the Grand Canyon or the clear water of a river compared. You were prettier than them all. Serene, celestial, ethereal- he had never known a face like yours, nor had he ever gazed upon a beauty quite like the one you owned.

His thumb slowly traced the height of your cheekbone, and your eyes darted to his adams apple that bobbed up and down with the breaths he was swallowing. No doubt nervous, you thought.

"I-"

"You don't have to say anything." His thumb moved down the length of your cheek until it was resting on your jaw. "It's okay. I know."

"Kiss me."

Joel's eyes darted to your mouth, and he let out a quiet sigh. "I wish I could."

"You can."

"I can't do that. Not to Tommy."

You smiled a sweet, ever so saddening smile, your soft hand creeping up to cup his cheek. The bristles of his patchy beard scratched against your palm, a feeling you wanted to get used to.

There were lots of things you wanted to get used to with Joel. His arms wrapping around you from behind in the kitchen, his arms around your waist as you slow danced to music, his beard pressing in to your skin as you held one another.

Maybe in another life.

"You're a good man, Joel Miller."

"I ain't." He mumbled, shaking his head. A dry laugh crept past his lips. "You don't know half the things I've thought, all the things that make me a shitty brother just for thinkin' 'em. All the things I'd do to you if you were mine."

"I can be yours." You whispered, lip catching between your teeth. "I can be."

"You can't. Ain't how this works. Believe me, darlin'.... you don't know how bad I want things to be different." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

Your throat hitched around itself, the feeling of his kiss on your skin igniting a volcano of yearning which erupted within your chest. All you could do was hold on to him tighter.

A stranger's light comes on slowly

A stranger's heart without a home

You put your hands into your head

And then smiles cover your heart

"That's all I'm gonna get from you then, Miller?" You asked with a smile, your fingers tracing out the outline of his jaw. His kiss still lingered on your forehead.

"For now." He responded, and you watched the ghost of a grin plant itself upon his lips. "Who knows, maybe the world will end and we'll get our chance."

And Joel, as he so often was, was right.

The world would end in three months time, and perhaps your own time together would soon follow. But until then, you both returned to the shadows, eyes colored with what wasn't there.

#joel miller x reader #studioghibelli #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fic #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller au #joel tlou #joel the last of us #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fandom

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trensu · 11 months

Text

It's Will that gives him the idea.

"we don't really celebrate father's day anymore," he had said awkwardly, "but I can't hang out anyway."

"why not?" Dustin demanded. He was gonna end up bored and alone because he didn't celebrate the holiday and everyone else had plans. he had been counting on Will to keep him company.

"I'm gonna get Jonathan a new record and I want to listen to it with him," he said.

"can't he get his own records? C'mon, we could go to the arcade or something."

"no, Dustin," his tone took on a stubborn edge that made Dustin pause. "He's my brother and I love him, and he's the only guy besides Bob who's ever even tried to look out for me. So I'm sorry but I'm gonna be busy on Sunday."

Dustin didn't argue after that but it did get him thinking which is why on Sunday morning he biked all the way over to Loch Nora and started banging on Steve's door.

"what do you want, Henderson?" Steve sighed the most dramatic put upon sigh Dustin had ever heard.

"you're not my dad--"

"wow you really are genius!"

"shut up, shut up, listen to me!"

"okay, geez, I'm listening."

"you're not my dad and I don't want you to be my dad. I don't even really want a dad! Lots of dads aren't even that great and my mom already has the single parent thing down. But you taught me how to do my hair and how to talk to girls - even though that advice sucked, I didn't need it to get Suzie at all - and you're gonna teach me how to drive--"

"woah, hey, no I never said I'd do that, wh--"

"--and you've saved my life but I think we're even because I've saved your life too."

"Henderson don't you have anything better to do than harass me in my own home?" Steve said. he was using that exasperated tone he got when he knew he wasn't keeping up with what was going on but didn't want to admit it.

"actually no I don't but I'm here for a reason," he reached into his backpack and took out the gift he clumsily wrapped with scraps of brown paper bags. He shoved it into Steve's hands. "You're basically the only adult male figure in my life. And I appreciate you."

Steve squinted at the gift and then at Dustin and at the gift again before he said fussily "is this a prank? If something gross explodes from this, I swear to god, I'll--"

"Just open it, Steve!"

"Fine, fine, keep your shirt on," Steve said and tore off the paper. He blinked and in a softer tone said, "Oh."

"I don't know if you even like making models but I know you love cars and this kit looked just like yours, so yeah."

Steve stared at the kit some more. Dustin started to fidget. It was always better to be honest with your feelings but maybe this was too much for Steve. Maybe Steve didn't like him as much as Dustin did. Steve was not as enlightened about these things as Dustin.

"I've never made a model before."

Dustin hunched his shoulders and tried not to feel stupid or hurt. He should have expected this. They weren't even related. This was probably too weird. He reached out to take the gift back.

"it's fine, I can return it, whatever."

Steve raised the kit out of Dustin's reach.

"Hey, this is mine," he said.

"you don't even like it!"

"I never said that! I'm just gonna need a dweeby little nerd to help me build it. You know anybody like that?" Steve asked, batting his eyes innocently.

"you're such a dick," Dustin grumbled, fighting back a grin.

"watch your language!"

"shut up, you're not my dad."

Steve laughed as Dustin shoved his way into the house. Hours later, after much shouting and ribbing and one incident of spilled paint, a small model of the beemer was left to dry while Steve forced Dustin to watch the baseball game on TV with him. It wasn't the worst thing ever, and after Steve mentioned the statistics involved, it got way more interesting ("of course you'd like the math part, you weirdo" "you don't understand the stats do you" "shut up and watch the game, Henderson"). When the paint was dry, Dustin followed Steve upstairs and watched him carefully and deliberately place the model between a couple of sports trophies.

"yeah, I guess it looks pretty cool," Steve said with exaggerated nonchalance. "Now beat it, kid. your mom's gonna freak if you're not home when she gets back from work."

"can you give me a ride?"

"ugh, fine."

Dustin grinned. This had been, hands down, the best father's day ever. From the look on Steve's face when he placed the model, Dustin was pretty sure he agreed.

#stranger things #steve is an honorary henderson #steve harrington #dustin henderson #trensu tells stories #i almost forgot i had this in my drafts!!#i wanted to wait to post on actual father's day but i was busy all day #(went to a cubs game with my dearest friend and it was so good omg)#(definitely worth the headache that hit me when i got home)#the smart thing would've been to schedule the post but why would i do that lol #anyway there's still an hour's worth of father's day left so it counts

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himbeaux-on-ice · 6 months

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country roads, take me home... to the place, where i belong...

#'oli thats not what the original caption says' yeah well the original caption was depressing #and the whole country roads walk-up song thing makes me feel shrimp colours #ash enjoy your REVENGE gav i'm sorry you're gonna get caught in the crossfire again lol #first time making one on an ipad!! it's an adventure!#sorry the alt text function on the ipad version of the app is HORRIFIC i will try to come back on a computer and add it later #seattle mariners #jarred kelenic #mariners #in my defence ash started it #my edits #a softer world #a softer baseball #i hope the resolution on this doesnt come out total crap but i also know how tumblr can be #mlb #(original caption said 'wait for time to run out.')

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softerbaseball · 7 months

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[1225] right and wrong are just guidelines to hotter sex

#I'M IN THE CORNER WATCHING YOU KISS HER #we are not immune to the philadelphia phillies #garrett stubbs #brandon marsh #bryce harper #et al #philadephia phillies #baseball #mlb #a softer world remix

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noose-lion · 5 months

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Maybe it was just my childhood special interest in martial arts and combat, but the bsd fandom drives me absolutely crazy on how they talk about the characters.

Specifically in combat abilities, fighting 'stats', body builds, ect. ect.

I mostly blame the anime, because it made everyone into twigs, but still. Some of my fellow fans out there are sometimes outright drawing lines over a character in a manga panel and going 'Look at this snatched waist' all the while ignoring basic perspective and forshortening rules. Chuuya is victim to this a fuckton.

For a starting example I'll talk about Kunikida. (Because if I start with Dazai or Chuuya I'll get the "He's petite it's not a crime to call him that" hecklers again).

Because remember folks, no need to get heated about fictional characters that were made up to tell a story.

Kunikida is a martial artist. He has a strong center of gravity, and a great deal of muscle mass. He's shown, (even in the anime mind you), to be competent against opponents who have both the height and mass advantage (that one time he swapped with Dazai mid fight, doing the cool grappling hook switch thing). He's a tall guy and he's drawn in the main manga as very broad shouldered and thick limbed. He's your average combat driven male. Built like a boxer.

He's not really the main talking point I see though. He's usually never called petite or delicate or any of the, quite frankly, ridiculous descriptors for a man of his size and build. It's usually Chuuya and in extension Dazai.

First off, ripping the bandaid off quick and easy. Chuuya isn't petite. (Sure technically petite only means short, but ancient also technically only means old. It's about the connotation.)

Chuuya is also a martial artist. Unlike Kunikida, who relies heavily on grappling technique and using his opponents own momentum and mass against them (a defensive fighter) Chuuya is almost purely offensive (most defense being left to his ability). His center of gravity is less stagnate, more fluid. He's acts quickly, crushing his opponent with efficient and well calculated brute force. Chuuya's body build reflects this. He's got a strong torso and thick limbs, strong shoulders that are lined with cords of muscle that absorb the impact of his attacks. He uses his legs a lot, kicks and jumps, and there is muscle concentration in his thighs and calves as a result. In the main manga, he's drawn with a lean torso, broader shoulders and thicker thighs. He's got a baseball player or a mixed martial artist build. (Broad shoulders and large thighs paired with his choice of suit cut is what creates his 'hourglass figure' so many of yall are obsessed with.)

Second bandaid I'm ripping off. Dazai isn't weak or delicate or whatever, but he is not buff or a tank either. And against men built for combat like Kunikida and Chuuya he's at a fairly large disadvantage.

Most of the athletic ability we've seen Dazai exhibit is evasion based. In the main manga he's drawn broad shouldered and thin, usually cloaked by his coat. Dazai has lean, muscle concentration in his shoulders, upper back and core. He doesn't have the thicker limbs of a boxer or martial artist. He better resembles a swimmer, gymnast, or even rock climber. He's not a stick, as flat as he may be. He's also probably a good deal softer then his martial artist counterparts, not living the stricter healthy life style most martial artist adhere to. Dazai doesn't do well against large heavily muscled opponents, he just doesn't have the needed mass for it. If he doesn't get the upperhand quickly he will loose. Evident in how he struggled so much against that one guy he did the cool grappling hook swap thing with Kunikida.

All this to say, almost every individual in bsd is built for their combat filled life, specialized to fit their fighting styles. It's not a big deal, but I find such thinking and analysis fun.

#inkedmyheart's recent post had me once more thinking on this #bsd #my stuff #screaming into the void #and the void screams back #bungou stray dogs #bungou gay dogs #bsd kunikida #kunikida doppo #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #soukoku #jester thinks #bsd meta #bsd analysis #bsd headcanon #bsd headcanons

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loveshotzz · 8 months

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All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader epilogue - a slow burn series of blurbs

Heaven Knows You Better ~ epilogue

summary: A glimpse into the future.

wc: 1.7k

warnings: none, just pure fluff 🧡 a slight mention of drinking a margarita.

authors note: I know you’re tired of hearing me say it, but thank you 🧡 writing this story and sharing it with you will always hold a special place in my heart.

🌆 <- chapter ten

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:

Three summers later - Beginning of May

The sun hangs bright in the deep blue sky, the air a little crisp from the last bit of the chill still leftover from spring. The heat of summer is just barely on the cusp of breaking through, you can feel it in the way the city starts to come alive again. The red ‘TEAM ALS’ banner blows in the wind as your shoes and Bandit’s paws cross the white finish line. The clapping of strangers on the side lines fills your ears, tugging a smile onto your slightly chapped lips, before you turn around to look at your fiancé.

Steve can’t help his grin back, the whites of his teeth showing when your smile stretches wider at the sight of him. The bottoms of his black running shorts flap in the breeze, revealing more skin at the tops of his thighs that still lights a match deep inside your gut. You don’t think you’ll ever be immune to him. The white socks on his feet are pulled up to his shins, the color of his On Clouds matching the banner above you. The polyester of his dark gray Nike running sweater fits tight across his chest, the zipper on its high neck being tugged by a set of golden blond puppy paws.

“I told you Molly wasn’t gonna make it all the way,” he huffs, a laugh threatening to bubble past his lips when the rambunctious labrador starts licking his stubble covered cheek, pushing up the bill of his black Nike baseball cap.

God, you’ll never not want to kiss him.

“She made it more than half way, give her some credit Steve.” You roll your eyes and he’s proud to say that’s the third one he’s earned today. The first being in your barely unpacked kitchen when he snuck up from behind to blow a raspberry on your neck while making coffee in the morning.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You weren’t the one who had to carry the extra ten pounds the last two miles, were you?” He reminds you with a smirk, setting the wiggling puppy down now that she’s regained most of her strength back.

Bandit whines for Steve’s affections, pawing at him when he’s eye level, getting the scratch behind both ears he wanted. The German shepherd wasn’t the only one wanting his attention, and it takes everything inside you not to pout yourself when he stands back up and doesn’t immediately kiss you. Despite the chill, there’s still a sheen of sweat that coats his permanently sun kissed skin, the spice of his cologne becoming more pronounced because of it.

“Thank you for doing this with me baby,” the teasing edge to Steve’s voice is gone, replaced with something softer - made even sweeter as he pulls you closer by waist, his nose bumping with yours when you stand on your tippy toes hooking your free arm around his neck. Your fingers twitch to be in his hair, you hate his hats.

“I’ll do them all with you,” you whisper because it’s just for him, it’s always just for him. His cheeks dust pink like he knows it and his hold on you tightens.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” the words come out soft against your lips, his eyes meeting yours from down the bridge of his nose.

“Three months.”

The reminder makes him close the space that’s left, smiling into the kiss. It still feels like a hundred butterfly’s wings flutter against your rib cage when your lips slot together like they were never meant to be apart. It’s hard to get lost in him the way you want to with hundreds of people around and two dogs that can’t seem to stop their play fighting, tugging harshly on their leashes at your feet. That doesn’t keep Steve from tracing your bottom lip with his tongue when the tips of your fingers find the flyaway hairs sticking out of the bottom of his cap. You giggle against his lips and he can’t find it in himself to be disappointed when you pull away, like he knows you both should because of it.

“Careful, might have to take you downtown right now if you don’t stop,” he teases, biting his bottom lip to stop from kissing you again.

“I don’t think Eddie would ever forgive you for taking away his opportunity to finally be your best man.” Running your hands down his chest, you can feel his groan vibrate under your palms.

“Don’t remind me.” Steve lets you go, finally taking his hat off to reveal a dirty golden mess on top of his head, long fingers running through it.

Bandit whines, nudging Steve’s knee with his snout before rubbing the side of his face against his leg, ignoring the way the puppy jumps and paws at his side.

“I think someone wants to switch.” You grin at the way Steve’s face softens for his favorite boy, offering you Molly’s leash in exchange without a word.

“Someone missed daddy, huh?” Steve asks in the kind of baby voice you know he picked up from you, but the reference to himself still has you clenching like your second date.

Bandit barks in response, tail wagging a mile a minute as you untangle the unruly puppy from around him. You give up quickly on letting her walk, picking her up just like Steve had, the wiggling weight of her in your arms has you biting your tongue about how heavy she really is.

“I think we’ve earned a margarita when we get home, right molly?” Hinting at Steve with a smirk tugging at your lips when you kiss the puppies restless snout - it's his turn to roll his eyes.

“Honey, we still need to pack. We leave for New York tomorrow at like nine A.M.” He runs another hand through his hair before putting his hat back on his head and you have to resist pulling it off as you both make your way through the crowd.

“Okay, we can pack and then a margarita… although packing might be a lot more fun after one. Just a thought.” You shrug with fake nonchalance, finally getting a grip on Molly in your arms.

“After we pack and drop off the dogs at Nancy’s.” Steve chuckles, moving to the other side of you so his free hand can find the small of your back, the blunt ends of his nails scratching against the soft fabric of your oversized sweater. He could never go too long, he always had to be touching you.

“Deal.” Grinning, pleased with your promised drink, you push up on your toes to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, heart swelling at the pink that dusts tips of his ears because of it.

9:15pm 🌃

The first sounds of cicadas buzz low in your ears, another reminder that summer was just around the corner while the two of you sit on the porch swing. Steve had set up on the small deck in your backyard. It wasn’t big like the ones in the suburbs but it was just enough for Bandit and Molly to stretch their legs without a leash. The citronella candle that you swore to Steve would work, burns lemon and lavender into the matching dusk sky, still too early in the season to prove yourself right. The stars are still half hidden by the big tree in the corner of your yard that has started to sag from the humidity. Though a lingering chill still nips in the breeze and it has Steve pulling you deeper into his side. The pine of his body wash from the shower you took together just before this mixes in the perfect blend to make your eyes heavy and your heart full.

“You think Nancy’s going to be okay with both of them for five days?” Your question comes out quiet in the calm, your cheek pressed to the cotton of his white shirt. The hard muscles underneath twitching from the warmth of your breath. The ice in your half drank margarita clinks against the glass when your wrist starts to get lazy.

“I think we’re going to have a very well behaved puppy when we get back,” Steve chuckles before relieving you of your hold, setting your cup down next to his on the deck.

You giggle to yourself at the thought, humming in agreement, when he takes the opportunity to really cuddle you now. A big arm wrapping around you while his hand finds yours so he can do his favorite thing. His chin hits the top of your head, and the tips of his fingers tickle while he twirls the diamond ring around your knuckle. You can feel the way his cheeks pull up against your hair, his lips a ghost against the crown of your head, always losing himself in the fact that you said ‘yes.’

“Did you pack the Cubs shirts I got for Gwenny?” Steve asks like he’s trying to think back to the mess of a packing session the two of you had in between stolen kisses and heated touches that always led to more.

“That was the first thing you packed, handsome.” You squeeze his hand, the smirk on your face widening at how obsessed of an uncle he was for the newest addition to the Munson family.

“Oh yeah, I remember now. They are under my dress slacks,” he mumbles, while the pad of his thumb rubs small circles under your ribs where his fingers curl around your side.

Cuddling deeper into his chest a comfortable silence falls between you, the cicadas buzz louder, mixing with the sounds of the city and you wish you could always stay like this, wrapped up in him and the glow of the moon that leaks through the shaking leaves on the tree above you. The silver band he twirls around on your finger makes you realize this is what he’s asking for. A forever of moments just like this one tonight, of first, of lasts, of fingers intertwined, soft touches, stolen kisses and whispered sweet words in the moonlight that feel even sweeter when he says them again in the sunshine.

This is what forever looked like with Steve Harrington, and you always want to be his tough girl.

beta’d by @superblysubpar

dividers by @chechelia

#my writing #all i really want us you series #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington series #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagines

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keerysfreckles · 5 months

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reunions — steve harrington

pairing: steve x hopper!fem!reader

summary: during spring break of 86, y/n hopper flies back to hawkins indiana (dustin's request) and isn't surprised when dustin tells her the world might end again.

warnings: bit of angst (ends with fluff), use of y/n and she/her pronouns, a couple curse words

a/n: for my love :) @keerysbrowneyes

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

getting a call from dustin henderson was probably the last thing that y/n thought would persaude her to go back to hawkins after her father died.

after a pretty normal sounding phone call, dustin told y/n that a curse was back in hawkins. y/n knew that could only mean one thing, which explains why she was quick to find a taxi in the busy indiana airport.

the ride to the henderson household was quick, maybe twenty minutes, and y/n knocked harshly on the faded door.

the freshman with a curly head of hair and a baseball cap was the one to open the door, and y/n's worries subsided slightly as dustin smiled up at the girl.

"y/n!" dustin exclaims, before pulling her in for a hug, which y/n gladly agrees to. "i can't believe you're here!"

y/n chuckles, "well yeah, you called, why wouldn't i be here?"

after saying hi to claudia henderson, and petting the new cat of the household, y/n was sat on dustin's bed as he explained to her everything eddie munson told him the previous night.

"so what are we doing about it now?" y/n asks, once she takes in all the new information.

"steve's going to pick us up in," dustin pauses to look at his watch, "four minutes."

y/n's voice is softer than before and her heart beats faster in her chest, "steve's still helping?"

"yeah he is, why?" dustin's oblivious as he's packing multiple things in his backpack.

y/n and steve didn't leave each other on a bad note after the mind flayer situation from the fourth of july the year prior. the pair just haven't talked much since the byer'd moved to california.

dustin and max were really the only two to call the older hopper from time to time.

just as dustin said, four and a half minutes pass and steve's horn could be heard from outside the henderson house. y/n and dustin head to his bedroom door, but dustin stands in front of the girl.

"maybe you should stay here," dustin suggested.

y/n tilted her head in confusion, "weren't you the one who called me and asked me to fly out here to help you again?"

dustin nodded, "well uh- yes, but no one else knows your here. plus we're getting food for eddie right now. i promise after we can pick you up."

y/n thinks for a moment, and dustin's puppy dog eyes aren't helping her situation.

with an eye roll from the girl, she agrees, "fine, but you better come back after you deal with eddie."

with a quick goodbye, dustin's fast to neet steve, lucas, max and robin by the familiar red bmw. steve asks dustin what took him so long, and he just brushed it off by asking which store they were getting food at.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

an hour and thirteen minutes pass, and y/n couldn't be more bored out of her mind. she was able to help claudia bake cookies, clean dustin's very crowded desk, and halfway solve a rubix cube. dustin barged back into his room, making y/n jump from the sudden noise.

"come on y/n! we don't have any time to lose!" dustin practically yelled. "i had to beg steve to come back here since the others are back at the trailer park."

y/n was quick to grab her jacket off dustin's bed and followed him out the door.

steve looked to his passenger side door once he heard it open, but was slightly confused once dustin wasn't the one in the front seat.

"y/n?" steve questions, his eyes as wide as they could be while y/n and dustin were fastening their seat belts.

"hi steve," y/n smiles and catches her breath from the previous running.

dustin pipes up from the backseat, "lovebirds, we don't have time to chat right now. drive steve!"

steve and y/n both ignore dustin's remark as steve pulls out of the henderson's driveway. the drive to back to the trailer park is silent besides the tears for fears song playing on the radio.

the only thought going on in steve's mind is why the hell y/n hopper is in his car. he took notice of the familiar flannel he's seen jonathan wear many times from the past three years, and the faded ac/dc shirt steve recognized from his own closet. how y/n stole it in the first place? steve couldn't question that right now.

after steve parks besides the table with the four other familiar faces y/n missed, steve pulls dustin aside.

"what is y/n doing here?" steve asks.

dustin shrugs, "we need all the help we can get steve, and she's joyce's favorite so of course she was able to come back here in such last minute."

steve's demeaner changes once he turns and sees y/n in a group hug with lucas, max, robin and nancy.

"i can tell you don't totally hate her being here," dustin smirks up at steve.

"hey, no!" steve's quick to dismiss dustin's idea, "okay it's not like that henderson."

dustin laughs and shrugs, "like what?"

steve just watches dustin walk over to the table, and after a moment the harrington boy follows suit.

as everyone sat at the table tries to figure out what's going on in hawkins, steve can't help but look at y/n. of course he's missed her, how can he not? he's kicked himself in the ass everyday for not calling her like he promised. as dustin's in the middle of explaining something to max, steve stands and grabs y/n's wrist.

"can we talk?" he whispers, and is grateful once y/n nods in response. the two walks over to his car and y/n leans against the side while steve paces back and forth.

"why do you seem so worked up?" y/n asks him.

"oh i don't know, maybe because it's another year with this stupid upside down shit. maybe it's because this year's even more stressful than the last. maybe it's because my parents haven't been home in six months. or maybe it's because you're here, and i can't see you getting hurt again from all of this."

steve finishes his rant and runs his fingers thorugh his hair. y/n's gaze softens at the state of the boy in front of her. y/n knew what steve meant by the last statement. steve was the only one able to keep her grounded once she found out hopper was dead, and that she was moving to california.

"steve," y/n voice is soft, in comparison to steve's quick rant. "are you okay?"

the boy's quick to shake his head, "no- no shit i'm not okay." he holds his head in his hands as he leans besides y/n against his car. y/n moves her arm to his shoulder as she stands in front of him.

"the only reason i'm glad you're here is because you're the only one who knows how to deal with me like this," steve gestures to himself. y/n also knew what he meant by this.

after every incident with the upside down, y/n and steve were always in y/n's room as they both calmed down from the events that happened.

"do you want a hug?" y/n asks, while holding her arms open.

steve nods before wiping any tears that could've fallen from his rambling and heavy breathing, and his shoulders instantly relaxed at the feeling of y/n in his arms again.

y/n took in the all too familiar scent of steve. she's missed him, everything about him. his smile, his kindness towards the kids, his hair, his jokes, did she mention his smile?

the two slightly pulled away, but didn't let go of each other.

"i'm sorry i didn't call you a lot since you moved," steve talked softly.

y/n shook her head, "steve you don't have to be sorry about that."

"no, i do have to be sorry y/n. i've been a complete dick to you since you left. i- i didn't call you like i promised. i wasn't able to comfort you when you probably needed it. i've basically ign-"

steve's words were cut off by y/n leaning up and kissing him. once she noticed he wasn't kissing back, she pulled away with a hint of concern filling her eyes.

"you kissed me," steve points out.

y/n nods, her hands not leaving steve's arms, "i uh- i did."

"why?"

"i know it um- calmed you down before. so i thought maybe to try it again. god, i'm sorry. i don't even know if you wanted it," y/n pulls away from steve, as a million thoughts fill her mind, "you could have a girlfriend. you might not even like me anymore like that. shit, i'm sorry."

y/n stops her rambling once she feels steve grab both of her arms, making her face him again after she started pacing back and forth.

"who says i didn't want it?" steve says softly, before pulling y/n back towards him as he's the one to kiss her on the lips.

y/n immediately melts into steve's arms. the pair couldn't care less about the stares and whistles they were getting from the others still sat at the wooden picnic table. steve only flashed his middle finger towards the group before running his hand through y/n's hair.

"as much as i don't want to pull away, we kind of need air," steve chuckles. he lips over his lightly swolen lips as y/n fixes her hair.

"are you guys done sucking face? we have an actual interdimensional being we have to fight," dustin has his hands on his hips, making y/n and steve laugh from their place besides steve's car.

"guess we should get back to them now?" y/n questions.

"mm, just one more," steve pulls y/n in for another kiss, to which the girl happily obliges to.

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington stranger things #stranger things #joe keery #joe keery imagine #joe keery x you #joe keery x reader #joe keery x y/n #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things imagine

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luveline · 8 months

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first of all CONGRATS ON YOUR AMAZING MILESTONE!!! Wowwwwwww I’m so happy for u 🥺💘💘💘 you deserve all the love and praise in the world!

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 + 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞

plsss I beg 🥺 either for tasm!peter or miguel o’hara or even joel miller 😭😭😭 I’d think about idiots in love… both pinning for each other but too oblivious to the others feelings. everyone can see it but them. if you can make it super fluffy I’d dieeeeee. I’m obsessed with all 3 of them but tasm!peter will always have my heart <3

hope u have the loveliest of days sweet ! 💘💘💘

luveline's 40k party ☆ thank you so much baby!! have a good day too ♡ shy fat fem!reader

"I look weird," Peter says.

You bite your lip in surprise. Peter reaches for you like he might take your face into his hand, but you bow out of his touch. "No," you say, hissing at the sudden pain, "you look nice, you don't look weird."

"A haircut was a bad idea. Now you're injured," he says with a laugh.

You bring your hand away from your lip and find it unsullied. Peter wants to look anyhow, fighting you for a hand on your cheek. A couple of months ago you would've squirmed away from him, worried he'd feel the soft line of your jaw and drop his hand in disgust, but these days you let him do whatever he wants.

"Pout at me," he demands.

You, reluctant, poke your lip out. Peter has the gall to touch it with his thumb, seemingly unaware of the shiver it prompts. He smells like cherry gum today, a little wedge of it between his molars as he strokes your face and pushes you gently back into your chair. He's a sick individual, he doesn't even know what he's doing. Peter's joking and doting is done as your friend.

"What inspired the haircut?" you ask. He hasn't gone too short with it since his first year of college, but the cute little flicks under his ears have been chopped.

"Kept getting stuck in my hat."

"What hat?" you ask.

"My baseball cap."

"Since when do you wear a baseball cap?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Peter croons, to the outrage of the women sitting across from you. They shush simultaneously, two pit vipers.

You put your head down, sheepish. Peter rolls his desk chair closer to yours as he chuckles under his breath, to copy your notes no doubt, which is ridiculous. He's the smarter of the two of you. He speaks in mathematics like it's English, chemistry something innate.

You knock your pencil into his hand, "Do your own work."

"But you've already done it for me." Peter moves your hand aside, his naked arm rubbing up against yours, rigid cord against softer fat. "Thanks, beautiful."

You roll your eyes at him but let him copy your work. After a few minutes you swear you can feel eyes on you, glancing up to find the pit vipers talking behind a laptop screen. They look at you at the same time and then quickly look away, spelling out for you what it is that's so interesting. People do this all the time, puzzling at you and Pete like it's insanity. The majority of people aren't as judgemental, but you can guess exactly what it is that they're thinking. Why is he spending his time with her? Handsome, muscled Peter and meek, chubby you.

It's not the most important thing in your life, but it is a constant. Some people think fat is unlovable, and the rest love without qualm. Peter hasn't ever once been mean to you since he met you; your weight can't bother him. If anything, you'd think he quite likes the way you look. Peter's always calling you beautiful, pretty girl, telling you to get changed before you put other girls out.

It's a shame he doesn't like you as anything more than a friend.

"I think those girls are looking at us," Peter whispers, pulling you toward him by the shoulder. It's not unlike him to touch you suddenly. "Is the haircut that bad?"

"It looks nice, Pete!" you insist.

He wraps his arm around your shoulder, rubbing his cheek against yours quickly. You choke through a laugh. "Daww," he says, "you're just saying that."

He giggles as you push him away, "Get off me, you loon," you say.

"You're the loon, loon," he says back. His cheeks are pinking. His sweater must be hotter than it looks.

"Can you just accept it, Peter? Your hair looks nice, you look great, stop worrying about what people think." You look away as you say it, startled by your own brazenness.

He gasps at you. "Hypocrite! You're the worst hypocrite ever, you're always worrying about what people think, and it's stupid because you're so pretty." He shakes his from side to side, eyes dramatically downcast. "Breaks my heart. A babe in denial."

"Stop kidding around, we have too many assignments for this," you beg, tapping your pencil under the remaining questions you've yet to answer.

"A babe in denial and distress."

You give up. He's overwhelmingly affectionate, homework sucks, and you're ashamed to know that if you flop down in defeat, he'll hug your arm. He always does. Diving into your space, Peter breathes cool cherry at your cheek as he says, "You know I'm gonna explain them to you until you get them, sweetheart. Don't stress."

You put yourself in this position, but his closeness has your heart skipping. "I'm not stressed."

"You're too cute to stress."

"Pete…"

"Sorry, I'll stop, I'm stopping. Pass your notebook, I'll fix your equation."

You pass him your notebook without looking up. You need a few seconds to collect yourself. "Thank you, Peter."

He sounds dangerously fond, the kind of tone that feeds your delusion, as though he could like you as you like him, "You're welcome."

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