#/he's still wearing his mask btwww

[ghostspot]

open starter !!

     𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊. this is the seedy underbelly of new york dipped in satin, wrapped in leather, rolled in diamonds. shined and flossed so they glisten with the chandeliers. they are beautiful and they are brand-new, straight out of the factory where they manufacture vicious intents, and deacon needs to breathe air that isn’t contaminated with imported eau de toilette and corruption, so he slinks away to the back of the building where the grass is freshly painted and the flowers stuck-on. he walks a little further. the landscape is bigger than it looks from the outside and the farther he gets, the more he sees the cracks in its perfection -- caution tapes from unfinished construction, weeds growing in the balding ground, a small gazebo with holes in its roof and debris of its destruction scattered across its once ivory-white seats. deacon ducks under the tape, already with a joint and a lighter in his hand ( the vintage type, the one that still uses fuel ) and the flame it produces nearly melts the edge of his mask off. 

and he’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there, zoning out at the invisible particles of his chosen nostalgia, when he hears the shuffling of footsteps against the untamed gravel. he coughs, his hand quickly working to part the cloud of smoke surrounding him. “hey, this is area is restricted,” he announces, doing his best impression of someone who holds a grain of authority. “party’s over there.” and with the joint still in his hand, points to the direction from which they came.

[klaushargreevesofficial]

i'll crawl home to her

summary: steve & reader fight before the battle of Starcourt 

requests: Helloooo 😄 I saw your requests were open so could I request an angst/fluff fic with Steve Harrington who gets into a fight with his girlfriend right before the Battle of Starcourt and make up after? Thanks 😍😍 

Heyyyy could I request a steve Harrington x reader where steve shows up at the readers house right after all the shit of s3 went down and she just like takes care of him??? Like soft hugs and first aid and maybe steve being the little spoon??? Your writing is amazing btwww

title from hozier’s work song

warnings for cursing..

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“fuck off, steve.”

“get out of my car.” you cocked your head and crossed your arms, staring straight ahead as a sign that, no, you would not get out of his car. after a dramatic beat of silence, steve unbuckled his seatbelt, and swung his door open. stalking around to the passenger side, he yanked the handle and stood, feet planted, at your door. “get. out.”

“what the fuck steve, i’m not going to walk home!” delicately placing your feet on the dashboard, you turned to look at him, a defiant glint in your eye. you had the upper hand, you knew. steve wouldn’t touch you or physically make you get out of the car. he’d get tired of waiting, frustrated to no end, and eventually drive you home. the feet on the dashboard was just a little touch you had picked up to speed up the process. you & steve had been here before. 

the fights had started about a month ago. the honeymoon period was gone, worn off as soon as school ended and the two of you had found yourselves with nothing to do but argue. they were about different things, steve forgetting to call you after work, or you “flirting” with some other guy when you came to visit steve at work. they usually all followed the same format; the silent treatment, then steve would ask you to go for a drive and talk things out in his car. this almost never worked and ended with you guys getting into a big screaming argument. then, steve would ask you--nay, tell you---to get out of his car. it usually ended with him driving you home silently and you kissing him as you left. sometimes you’d invite him in for a nap. fighting took a lot of energy.

this fight in particular didn’t quite follow this archetype. there had been screaming matches all week leading up to this moment.  on Sunday, you and steve had walked hand in hand into church, dressed in your Sunday best, smiling at the congregation. you’d been pinching each other’s wrists and swatting at each other discreetly the whole service. Robin pushed you out of scoops ahoy on monday when you stalked in with an accusatory finger pointed at steve. (she had whispered in your ear, “this is for your own good.” you loved robin.) on this tuesday morning, steve called your house and charmed your mom when she answered, just to curse you out when you answered the phone.  (“I’m picking you up in my fucking car before my shift, and we’re gonna talk this shit out, and kiss and make the fuck up.” “what if i don’t want to, asshole?” he had already hung up and was on his way.)

cut to being pulled over on the side of the road, with your feet up on steve’s dashboard. “I'm gonna miss my shift, y/n. just get out.” his tone shifted into one of apathy, and you felt the change.

neither of you had the energy to fight anymore, truthfully, but you were both still mad. you sighed. no way in hell you were getting out of the car. flatly, you replied, “if you care so much about this job, you’d better start driving. you’ve got to take me home before you go to the mall.”

steve let out a loud, exasperated groan and slammed the passenger door shut, making you flinch. as he made his way back around the car, your eyes filled with tears. you were tired of fighting. you missed your old steve, the one who would visibly light up when he saw you, or tell scoops ahoy customers “that’s my girlfriend,” when you sat at a table visiting at work. you missed when he was proud of you, when he craved your presence and would come over quickly before work just to kiss you and tell you he loved you. and this car, god, this car. you missed when it wasn’t a symbol of a fight. you missed drive-in movies and backseat makeouts and laying on the hood watching the stars.

the engine started up, and steve began the drive to your house. “aren’t you tired of fighting?” you asked softly, wiping your eyes. no response from steve.

and truthfully, this was just as painful for him as it was for you. he missed when you’d call him baby, or laugh at his dumb jokes, or calm him down after a family dinner. he missed sleepovers, you wearing his shirt and kissing his neck gently. he missed his girl, he missed feeling like he knew you well enough to call you his girl. he missed when you’d come in to Scoops and sit in the backroom, doodling on the white board that once held a single point with your name on it under “you rule.”

he was speechless. truly, he couldn’t answer you, and he felt like shit about it. you sighed in the spot that should’ve been his reply, and focused your attention out of the window until steve pulled the car into your driveway slowly. you turned to him as you unbuckle your seatbelt, waiting for what usually happened. you waited for him to turn to you, kiss you softly, and send you on your way.

it didn’t happen. eventually, you got out of his car with a quiet “love you,” which steve again didn’t return. he pulled out of the driveway as you stood there and watched.

that was tuesday. you hadn’t heard from him since. it was thursday, july 4th, and steve’s radio silence sent you a loud and clear message that your plans to stay home and watch movies with the word “America” in the title were cancelled. you would have called robin or the party to hang out, but you hadn’t heard from them either. calls to robin weren’t even answered, and after two times of calling the henderson house, you started to feel a little weird. it felt like the whole town of hawkins was either ignoring you or hanging out without you. you even went to joyce’s house with your bike basket full of ingredients to bake cookies with her, but no one was home.

so you spent the day in bed, sad, contemplating if you and steve were even still together. your parents were working, so you had free reign to lounge on any of the surfaces in the house without judgement. part of you hoped steve would show up, regret written on his face, and a bag full of greasy mall food. but 8pm came and passed, and there was no one. no one home, no one around. no one setting off fireworks in your neighborhood. and definitely no remorseful boyfriends here to sweep you off your feet.

after spending the day lounging and moping, you weren’t exactly tired, but the absolute failure of a day upset you to no end and you just wanted it to be over. as soon as you retreated from the couch to your bed and wrapped yourself up in the covers, there was a loud, urgent knock at the door. you should’ve checked, should’ve made sure who it was before running down the hall, socked feet pattering and swinging open the door. but you knew. you knew it was steve because you knew him. you knew he wouldn’t bail on plans without no call, even in the nastiest of fights.

and although you were expecting steve, you were absolutely not expecting him in his scoops ahoy uniform, bloodied and beaten. “come in, what the fuck, come in!” you ushered him inside, instantly emotional.

“hi,” he grinned.

“what the fuck, steve?” you asked, no malice behind your words, just genuine confusion.

he thought for a few seconds then sighed into a chuckle. “it’s a really long story, and one i owe you, but right now, my face is killing me, and i need you.” you’d been waiting for him to say he needed you for months now. no matter how mad you two had been at each other prior to this moment, this is what you both craved.

“well, go shower first, because you smell like piss, then i’ll patch you up and we can talk.” you paused. “really talk, this time.”

---------------------------------------------

“I call bullshit. Russians? no way.” steve was perched on the closed toilet seat, eyes closed, as you tried to clean his wounds to the best of his ability. “would I lie to you?” you thought for a second. through everything, no, steve had never lied to you.

“I suppose not. but also, being trapped in a secret russian elevator seems like a pretty sick excuse for not calling, if it wasn’t true,” you replied, and steve laughed, opening his eyes to look up at you.

“I thought about you the whole time, y/n. I missed you.”

“you missed me when you were trapped in a russian base camp? noted.” you gave him a soft kiss over his eyebrow and closed up your first aid kit. “I missed you when i was sitting at home, doing nothing.” you grabbed some of steve’s emergency hair product from under your sink and began to work some into his still-damp hair.

“nothing? you didn’t watch our ‘america’ movies?”

“without you?” he hummed in response.

--------------------------------------

an american in Paris was playing softly on the tv when steve turned to look at you in his  arms. “I'm really sorry, you know? I was a dick. I hate fighting with you. you know that.” you nodded, prompting him to continue. “I thought I was going to die down there, baby. I was drugged, tied up---don’t look at me like that, i know---” you tried to mask your incredulous expression. “--and I truly thought I was dead. and I didn't wanna die knowing that we were fighting. it tore me up. and, like,” he paused to sigh, '' I could die at literally any moment. I could've died on tuesday on my way to pick you up, and my last memory of you would’ve been you being escorted out of scoops by robin because you were inconsolably angry with me.”

you let out a little chuckle and pulled his arms tighter around you. “sorry about that.” there was a lingering moment of comfortable silence as you came up with your response. this healthy communication was something you weren’t entirely sure how to navigate yet, clearly. steve’s entire body was engrossing you, physical contact you had been longing for. you had his full attention, and you weren’t sure what to do with it. “i think...i think that we need to talk more. and if we get mad...just, talk rather then instantly resort to screaming or silence. we need an in-between.” you turned to face him, your hands cupping his cheeks. you let your thumb ghost over his lips, narrowly avoiding the still swollen cut on the side. “this can be our in-between. i love you, i love you so much. i hate wasting all of our time together fighting. i’m tired. i want to be able to come over and just love you, nothing else to it. so maybe, stop being so infuriating all of the time.” he gasped and stuck his tongue out at you. “just kidding.”

“i missed you, baby,” steve murmured. you knew he wasn’t just referring to his time trapped under the mall. you and him both realized that his conversation was one that you both desparately needed to have, and that this marked a new dynamic between the two of you.

“i missed you too,” you sniffled, sticking out your bottom lip. he kissed it gently, making you tear up.

“why are you crying?” he laughed softly and rocked you back and forth in his arms.

you let out a watery chuckle and wiped your eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. “i just missed you!” steve pressed his lips to the top of your head and let them rest there, humming along with the movie. after a few seconds you gasped and pulled away. “steve! stop comforting me!” he gave you a weird look and lifted his hands up in surrender slowly. “you’re the one who was literally tortured by evil russians tonight, and fought a….”

“the mind flayer,” he supplied

“a mind flayer!” you continued, “get up.” steve furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to figure out what your plan was. you stood up and gestured for him. “get. up.” when he stood up reluctantly, you laid on the couch and opened your arms for him.

“stop,” he whined, pulling out the p.

“this is happening, steve!” you grinned and he slowly lowered himself onto the couch and into your arms. this had been a subject of many conversations between the two of you. steve’s aversion to being the little spoon is something he doesn’t like to pinpoint, but you know it’s because he’s so conditioned into being the primary caretaker for people, that it’s hard for him to soften and let that care come in for himself. you figured that being tortured by russians and interdimensional creatures should be an exception to steve’s “big spoon only” rule.

“relax, stevey…” you kiss above his ear and you feel him physically untense in your arms. he sighs, the exhaustion from his week finally hitting him. “go to sleep, patriot. i love you.” he smiles.