#when i tell you a thousand i'm not looking at a ketchup bottle & saying there are 57 card-carrying communists in the us government

[deadpanwalking]

do you have a favorite short story?

I feel like I cycle through the same three answers every time somebody asks me because, having inhaled them for 30 years, in multiple languages, I can tell you that there are at least a thousand short stories that have surpassed every threshold of excellence and defy quantification. If you actually asked me to choose between Munro and Gallant, I'd probably die like Burdian's Ass. Anyway, I forget which one I said last time, but stream Willa Cather's “Paul's Case”.

#when i tell you a thousand i'm not looking at a ketchup bottle & saying there are 57 card-carrying communists in the us government #i am looking at multiple bookshelves devoted to short fiction—and i don't hoard books #my partner and i are both monsters of reading—but that's exactly why we don't have the floor space to spare for books we don't love #if it's here it's because at least one of us can vouch for it #anyway i've said it before but i truly don't see the point in ranking art the way people rank prize hogs at a country fair #why not paul's case? why not return of chorb? why not the dead? why not lady with the dog? #anonymous #assbox

[familyvideostevie]

Hi i just wanted to say thank you for writing 'no good at waiting. It was amazing and i loved every second i spend reading it! You are an incredible writer!! For the no good at waiting requests, can I request some established relationship fluff? I'd love to see it!

thank YOU for reading it and being so kind!! here's just like, a really small snippet of a sweet moment between steve and bee girl! i hope you like <3

bee girl and steve go out for breakfast | [0.6k] a no good at waiting one-shot, au masterlist ___

The sun has barely crested the treeline when the waitress tells you to pick any table. Sizzling and the smell of bacon float through the window to the kitchen as Steve pulls you by the hand to a corner booth. You slide in on one side and he sits across from you, fingers interlaced the whole time.

"I'm tired," you say with a yawn. He smiles at you, glasses askew and hair messy. You've been up almost all night at Sara's helping Steve with the barn cat's new litter. El and Mike took over and you suggested breakfast. So here you are, almost 6am, smiling at each other like idiots.

"Not cut out for farm life, huh?" he jokes. You roll your eyes and gently kick his foot under the table. He hooks his ankle with yours.

"Says you. Who was falling asleep on my shoulder just when it was getting good." He opens his mouth to argue with you but the waitress approaches your table.

"What can I get you?" she asks. She looks tired, too.

"Coffee, please," Steve says. His thumb runs over your knuckles. You haven't even looked at a menu but you both know better than to pretend that you won't be getting what you always get when you go out. "And scrambled eggs with bacon and potatoes, please."

"And we'll also share a stack of pancakes," you add.

"Be right up," she says, shoes clacking as she returns to the kitchen. You're not the only people in the diner at this hour. A few truckers, a stern-looking woman. But otherwise, it's quiet, peaceful.

Steve pulls his hand from yours to take off his glasses and rub his face. "Do you think Hop is gonna give 'em away?" he asks. The barn cat had birthed six kittens. You hum, mulling it over. He runs a hand through his hair and it sticks up in even more directions than before.

"Well, El's gonna demand one, he's gotta know that." The waitress drops off two hot mugs of coffee. Steve pours sugar into them both, adding milk to yours before he slides it over. You clutch it gratefully with both hands.

"At least one," Steve replies. "Bet Dustin will want one too. He always tells me how Mrs. Henderson really misses their old cat."

"What about you?" you ask him. He raises his eyebrows over the rim of his mug. He looks so pretty you have to touch him. So you do -- just a reach across the table to trace his hairline with your thumb.

"What about me?" His cheeks color at your touch, his mouth quirking up at one end.

"Do you want one?" Your breakfast comes at that moment, so you repeat the question as Steve rearranges the plates so they're between both of you, pours syrup over only half of the stack of pancakes and you put ketchup on half of the eggs.

"I don't know," he says. "I never thought about it." You clink forks before diving in. You go for the potatoes first and Steve tries the pancakes. "I never had a pet as a kid. Plus, I already have one girl hogging all the covers."

You kick him again. "Well, maybe we can get one someday. Or a dog, if you want." It comes out casually, though you know what you're implying.

"Okay," Steve says. "Someday." He looks so soft you think about leaning over the table to kiss him square on the mouth. But...you are really hungry. "Oh, hold on," Steve says. He reaches out and brushes his thumb along your lower lip. "Syrup."

"Thanks," you say softly. You want to take this moment and bottle it up, put a stopper in it and carry it around for the rest of your life. But at the same time you know that this is just one morning of hundreds, thousands, that you're going to have with Steve. That you've had with him already.

Love, for the rest of your life. Here, at the table, on an early morning. It's delicious.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #no good at waiting