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joaniscruzing · 14 days ago

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back to friends - h.c.

before we start; YES. i know this picture is actually kit tanthalos and NOT hazel callahan. i just thought this fit the request/story better. (thank you anon ily)

ALAS I AM BACK IN THE HAZEL CALLAHAN FIC WORLD. missed y'all, it's been a minute. per usual, requests are ALWAYS welcome, i love hearing what y'all have in your heads for fic ideas <3

if you're also following off the record, MY BAD GUYS, I'M TRYING TO WRITE CHAPTER 3 AS WE SPEAK!!

summary: your knight and childhood best friend, hazel, has to watch you look for a suitor, but does she keep her mouth shut?

contains: angst, some homophobia, 'back to friends' by sombr references, kissing, friends to lovers, knight!hazel, princess!reader.

You had known Hazel for years. Both of you had been best friends in your formative years, as you were both top-scoring students at the academy, and to your joy, when you were officially crowned as princess, Hazel was assigned to be your personal guard. Since then, you both had spent many hours together, and your friendship had only grown. However, you knew that your days with her as ‘best friends’ would soon be ending, for the fact that you mother had broken it to you over dinner that you’d be choosing a suitor soon.

“What?” you yelled, choking on the exquisite piece of chicken you had just taken a bite out of.

“The decision is final. You need to grow up and start preparing for when your father and I pass.”

You tilted your head for a second. You knew that what your mother was saying was somewhat realistic. But, on the other hand, it seemed nearly outlandish that you were to be married soon.

That being said, that night with Hazel was a somber one.

You sat there in your plain nightgown, handkerchiefs surrounding you as you sobbed about your fate.

“I just don’t get it, Hazel!” you exclaimed in between sobs, “Do I really need to get married like this?”

Hazel fiddled with the edge of the pink fabric of your canopy bed, deep in thought.

“Hazel?”

She snapped out of her deep thoughts, shaking her head.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing.”

“Hazel, I know that when you say ‘nothing,’ you usually have something going on. Talk to me.”

“I just, I want to help, but I don’t know how. And I’m angry because of that.”

You scooched closer to Hazel, brushing aside some handkerchiefs on the floor. You then rested your head on her shoulder, which caused her to put her arm around you and rub your arm with her thumb.

“I’ll figure it out, I promise.”

You knew she would.

💮

The next day, you woke up next to Hazel, who had offered to have a sleepover with you that night, so you could stay calm throughout the night. Your mother burst through the door, snapping her fingers and causing a ruckus.

“Come on, get up, both of you! We have the meeting of the suitors today, and both of you need to be there!”

You groaned and rolled over onto Hazel’s chest, where she pushed you over. You shot up and dramatically played an act of offense before your mother whisked you away to get ready. A whirlwind of hair, makeup, and pins being stuck in uncomfortable places left you even more nervous for the event about to occur.

To your relief, though, Hazel was standing at your throne, there to protect you in case any of the men you met got a bit too handsy.

“I mean it when I say that you need to pretend that Hazel is someone you’ve never met today,” your mother whispered in your ear, “the last thing I need is these men asking me if you’re some sort of plebian empathetic.”

“Hazel’s no plebian!” you whispered back, adjusting your dress aggressively.

“Just do what I say,” your mother retorted as you reached the throne.

You nodded in agreement as you sat on the throne, fixing your hair and dress.

“You okay?” Hazel asked, effortlessly reading the look of stress on your face.

“As okay as a bird who flew into a window!” you joked back, smiling.

“They’re beginning to file in!” your mother called, giving you a look.

Unfortunately, you now would have to be indifferent to any of Hazel’s comments. As if she was someone you never met.

For the five hours that you sat in the throne, no man interested you. All of them either had too-big egos, or were too nervous to speak to you. Even Hazel was beginning to feel your pain; she was beginning to dismiss the guys harsher and harsher.

Specifically, there was this one man who was an absolute troll.

“Well, when we get married, you can always cook for me, princess,” he said with a smug smile on his face.

“What else?” you answered, trying to maintain your composure.

“You can rub my back, and-”

“Alright, next!” Hazel called, pulling the man away from you, “she’s supposed to be your wife, not your servant.”

“And what are you supposed to know about marriage? You’re just a lowly knight,” the man spat back.

“I might not know everything about marriage, but I know that you’re not good enough for the princess.”

The man rolled his eyes in defeat and walked away with a swift push from Hazel. After, her snide comments began to meet every man that you met. And you couldn’t do anything, either, because your mother told you not to even acknowledge her.

“I’m sorry, was that your attempt at wooing?”

“Didn’t you fail mathematics at the royal academy?”

“You’re an adultery case waiting to happen.”

All of a sudden, this nearly-perfect man entered the room. He was clean-shaven, tall, confident, and everything else that the other men weren’t.

“How are you today, your highness?” he asked, kissing your hand. Although you felt nothing, you knew he was a good man.

You ended up talking with him the most out of any man you had met that day. He mentioned nothing about you serving him, made respectable compliments, and treated you with pure kindness.

“Alright, next!” Hazel called.

“We’re not done talking, is it okay if we have five more minutes?” the man asked to Hazel.

“No, you’re obviously not good enough for my princess.”

That was what forced you to crack.

“What?”

Hazel’s face reddened, finally realizing the weight of her words. “It’s- no-”

The man you had just been talking to had run away by now.

“Hazel, you know I need to get married. And he was a good guy!”

“He didn’t even make you blush! Don’t you want to love who you marry?”

“Oh trust me, I do, but that part’s been a bit rushed.”

“I don’t see how the loving part’s been rushed.”

“Hazel, you’re being ridiculous.”

“It’s nearly obvious that we aren’t just friends! I mean, how can we just go back to being friends when we just shared a bed last night?”

“What?”

“And then you come here, and it’s like I’m someone you’ve never met.”

“My mother told me I had to! You think I’d choose to be like this? Not speaking with you?”

“Just, be honest with me. Is it just me, or am I feeling something more than just friends lately?”

You looked down at your skirt, playing with the fabric. She had a point. Lately, there had been more lingering glances, and accidental touches, and longer hugs between the two of you.

You wanted to say that you had felt it too. That you were sorry for not realizing that maybe she was the person you wanted to marry, and that was why you had maybe been in shock when you were informed about the news.

Instead, you heard the words “you know that’s just how we are” come out of your mouth. You immediately regretted it. Just as Hazel fled out of the room, you exited, following her. Unfortunately, your heavy dress was a lot to run with, and you couldn’t catch up to her.

“Where’s Hazel?” your mother asked when you returned.

“Oh, she just had some stomach troubles,” you lied, returning to your throne. The rest of the night was a long one, filled with nothing but more boring conversations with average men.

That night, you hatched a plan. You decided to sneak into her sleeping quarters that night, tell her how you really felt, and figure out what to do about it with her.

Your plan was immediately foiled when you opened the door to Hazel sitting on your bed.

“Why are you here?” you asked, confused.

“I’m leaving.”

“Hazel!”

“Look, I know that this is going to ruin our friendship, but watching you with those other guys made me realize that I’m not going to be able to stand seeing you with another man for the rest of my life. I know that you don’t feel the same but-”

“Hazel,” you said, sitting down next to her.

And then you kissed her. The kiss was frantic and frenzied, as your hands struggled to begin holding each other during the exchange. After a few more kisses, Hazel finally pulled away.

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, “but whatever happens, I want it to be with you.”

That night, you and Hazel packed your things and escaped the castle, running like your lives depended on it. You both knew that your community wouldn’t accept you both in the kingdom, so why not seek somewhere where you were?

You started a life together, filled with moments as happy as the ones you both had shared growing up.

Needless to say, you were forever grateful that you and Hazel chose to not just go back to being friends, despite the implications for both of your lives.

taglist - @havkjhdecs @slaytillieswooo @moesthoughts

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hawkinsindiana · 2 years ago

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here's 5.1k of the first time you see steve cry, some absolutely delicious hurt/comfort courtesy of madame @stevebabey and myself >:) PLS ENJOY

canon to almost paradise, pre s3

—

steve doesn’t know what to do.

his quads are starting to burn; he’s been crouched outside your window for the past couple minutes, but there’s no sign of you. not physically at least — he can hear the faint thump of some pop song echoing through the radio and an open notebook on your desk. you were here.

he should’ve just called. this is stupid. you could be gone for another ten minutes, maybe you’re not even home anymore. he’s drumming his fingers against the sill, praying that none of your neighbors see him as he debates whether to leave or stay. he wants to stay. he needs to see you.

thirty seconds pass before steve spots movement from inside — you enter your room with a cookie wedged between your teeth and another three clasped in your hand. steve can’t help but smile; it’s ridiculous how fond he is of you.

fond… that word doesn’t feel large enough to hold all his feelings for you, but the obvious one seems too damning—

the thought ends abruptly; the treat in your mouth helps to muffle a panicked yelp as you spot steve perched on the other side of your window. steve grimaces even though you’re beginning to laugh and you eat the entire cookie in one bite. he mouths a ‘sorry’ as you start to stride over, setting the other desserts onto your desk before lifting the window up. a burst of chilled, early march air sends a shiver down your spine. you still have crumbs on your lip.

but your smile is wide as you greet him, your posture awkwardly bent over so you can address him eye to eye, “we have to come up with a better system than this. you end up scaring me like… seven times out of ten.”

your teasing warms steve in a way that makes him never want to leave your side. he thinks you’d let him stay there, too.

before steve gets a chance to reply, you’re offering him one of your cookies. it looks like something that your mother made and knowing claudia henderson, he’s pretty confident that means it’s extra sweet.

“want one?”

your voice is just above a whisper, a quiet tone that won’t be overheard by the others inside. given his fragile mental state, steve has to resist withdrawing from your affection. the thoughts in the back of his mind are screaming at him; you’re so happy to love him and share your dessert, meanwhile you’re stuck with him — someone who can’t think about saying that word to you without feeling nauseous. not because of you, but because of what could come after.

maybe some part of what his father said has some truth to it.

but despite all of that, steve still can’t say no to you. he swallows his emotions as he takes your offering with a gracious smile — your eyes sparkle just a little bit more.

“you know i could never turn down a mrs. henderson special,” steve says with his classic charm. he sinks his teeth into the doughy cookie and nearly groans aloud; it’s still warm. this batch must be fresh. steve feels a pang in his chest thinking of your home, lively and bustling — someone’s baking, someone’s studying, music and noise in every room. it’s so starkly different from where he’s just come from.

the sweetness on his tongue isn’t enough to distract him completely from the reason he’s here, his heart desperately seeking you out. you push your window up a little more, just high enough so steve can climb through and he shoves the cookie in his mouth. bracing his hands on the sill to hoist himself up and over, he lands with a loud thump.

“shhh,” you hush, even though you still have that entirely enamored smile on. it’s impossible not to feel a little gooey whenever he does these things, no matter how much you try to contain yourself. your boyfriend sneaking through your window is just so normal and, embarrassingly, something you thought you might never get.

you smother down a laugh at steve’s crouched position, pausing like his quietness will make up for his previous landing. when there’s no reaction, he straightens and dusts off his jacket before eating the rest of the cookie.

“oh my god,” he says, or tries to. it comes out muffled as he chews. he swallows, taking a second to run his hand through his hair before he properly turns to you, “thank god for your mom’s baking, honestly.”

you agree with a quiet hum as your smile grows more smitten. you weren’t expecting to spend any time with him tonight, much to your dismay, so this is a very welcome surprise. cupping steve’s face in between your palms, you take a moment to greet him with a kiss that he graciously returns. the chill that had seeped into his skin is quickly banished with your touch; his ears flush a bright red at how sweet and effortless your affection is. he’s so glad he came to see you.

“hey,” steve mumbles when you pull away, your eyes twinkling upon seeing his blush.

“hey yourself,” you reply, feeling your own face heat up.

you take a couple steps backwards until your thighs hit the edge of your mattress. as you sit down, you continue playfully, “so… what did i do to deserve a visit?”

it’s an easy way to ask. not that steve ever really needs a reason to come see you — you’re that sweet on each other. but something churns uncomfortably in your gut; steve’s not the type of guy to show up without a phone call first. with your words, steve’s face darkens and it’s definitely not the last time you’re going to be disappointed about being right.

it’s now that you realize how he’s dressed. a crisp white collared shirt sits beneath his jacket and a pair of dark slacks hang from his hips. he’s forgone his usual sneakers for some dress shoes. as far as you know, he didn’t have anything this fancy after tonight’s basketball practice. your brow shifts into a minuscule furrow, small enough that it goes unnoticed — so where was he?

steve clears his throat, shoving away the tightness that formed with your question, “my, uh, my dad’s back in town.”

“that’s a surprise,” you say, shifting on top of the comforter, “i thought he wasn’t coming back until next month.”

steve doesn’t speak, but instead acknowledges the similar confusion he had felt with an annoyed expression. you cross your ankles, “and your mom?”

biting his lip, your boyfriend shakes his head.

oh.

steve’s father is not known for being an overwhelmingly caring parent, but rather on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. he’s extremely authoritarian and blunt, with a healthy scoop of entitlement on the side. while you’ve only met him a handful of times, that man has always left you with an aching feeling inside your chest and a wrinkle between your brow; you can’t imagine how steve feels. and considering his mother isn’t here, you know his father’s abrasiveness will be ten times worse, not that her presence has ever stopped him before.

you pray that steve’s night went better than expected, but you can already tell that thought is in vain. there’s a defeated look in his eyes and a familiar weariness in his posture. he looks lost.

like a flashlight in the dark, you extend your hands out to him, beckoning steve to come closer still. he slides his palms into yours almost instantaneously, as if waiting another second would’ve been too difficult for him to bear. he swears the place where your skin meets glows like the evening sun, golden and overwhelmingly warm — a feeling that grows as you gently guide him to your bed. you offer a small and comforting smile as the mattress dips under his added weight; he keeps one of your hands in his.

steve knows you don’t expect him to say anything — he could sit here in silence and you’d gladly indulge him. but he decides that’s not the reason why he came here.

“he was in a rush when i got home. he made dinner reservations for tonight and barely got here in time after his flight,” steve begins, regretfully pulling his eyes from you to focus blankly on the floor, “think i had maybe ten minutes to shower and get dressed.”

he sighs, dragging his hand down his face as he tries to focus on your warmth beside him, “he was just… worse. angrier, louder, more…”

he pauses to try and think of another word to describe his father’s demeanor but finds himself distracted by your grip on his hand, soft yet firm. constant. he gives up, moving his free hand through the air in a dejected motion but you understand perfectly — more of everything.

you tut softly, using your fingers to brush some hair behind his ear before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“i’m sorry, steve,” you pout, “that sounds awful.”

steve hums a thank you, relishing in the combination of your touch and soft words. having you in his life has made such a difference; it’s hard to imagine what it’d be like without you. the loneliness he would feel… he can barely comprehend it.

you know steve well. there’s a restrained rage that hides just underneath his skin. he’s not telling you everything.

“how…” you trip over your words a little as your fury begins to build. not because of him, but because of how insistent steve’s father is with being cruel. he’s the one who taught steve to doubt himself. it makes you blood boil to think the fire may’ve been stoked tonight.

“how was it? did he say something to you?”

there it is again — the tickle in the back of steve’s throat that he can’t seem to get rid of no matter how hard he tries. it grows after hearing the concern in your tone, the anger on his behalf. he nods once, voice far weaker and wobblier than he would like, “yeah.”

the word sinks into your chest, a deep claw right between your ribs. it aches, all from the way he says it. you’ve seen steve upset before but this… this is something bigger than that. this is a deep wound, one that isn’t easily healed.

but you’re willing to try. you’ll do anything to help him.

giving your palm a quick squeeze, steve reaches for his collar with his free hand as he tries to get his thoughts in order. it’s something you’ve seen him do a thousand times when he’s growing uncomfortable or upset — fiddling with the neckline to give him space to breathe. but it’s only when he tugs on something else do you notice he’s also wearing a tie.

it’s twisted and messy and you wonder if he’s been yanking on it all night. as he tries to work the fabric free, it’s fruitless, his rough motions only succeeding in rubbing the fabric cruelly against his neck. steve grows more frustrated every second, his voice low, “god, fuck—this stupid thing, fuck—”

“hey, hey. here, let me help,” you interrupt, grabbing his wrist to rescue himself from his futile efforts. he’s far too worked up and his fussing is only tightening the knot. steve huffs loudly and surrenders, emotions still running too high and you guide his hand away.

his focus turns to you and steve visibly softens, his shoulders slumping enough that he shrinks a whole inch. he blinks rapidly, his eyes turning away from you again; you decide to focus on the tie.

it’s twisted up, you realize, because it hasn’t been tied properly in the first place. steve knows how to knot a tie — you’d seen him do it many times before. you ignore the worry this fills you with and steel yourself. it’s a fickle thing but you manage, pulling at the tie until the knot finally comes free. the fabric slithers down his chest and you follow it with your palm, a soothing touch.

when your eyes drift back up to his pout, you watch as a single tear falls onto the swell of his cheek. your hand reaches for his face before he gets a chance to move; the tear is quickly removed by the pad of your thumb without a second thought. steve bows his head, hoping to obscure some of this emotion from you, but you won’t let him. you shift as well, eyes desperately searching his face.

“what happened?” you whisper, a gentle coax to see if he wants to talk. if he shakes his head, you’ll leave it. your heart aches profusely as you watch a deep sadness work its way across his face but worst of all, you can tell he’s holding back. it’s almost like he can’t bear to look at you, as if seeing the worry in your expression would push him over the edge. you care about him so much it’s nearly overwhelming; steve can’t remember a time when he mattered this much to someone — where even the hint of a cry was met with an outpouring of love.

you return your hand to his, squeezing gently. your voice is so soft he can barely hear it, “it’s okay, steve. you can— you know i won’t…”

you drift off, struggling to find the most eloquent words. how do you tell your boyfriend he can cry around you without having to actually tell him that?

you swallow the lump in your throat and move your eyes to his hair, taking your fingers and running them through the brunette strands. suddenly, you feel quite nervous yourself.

“i’m still gonna love you.”

a whimper slips out of his throat.

a noise has never broken you so quickly. instantly, you’re kicking your feet up onto the bed to lean into him properly, winding an arm around him and resting your head on his shoulder.

as another tear falls, it seems like it’s followed by hundreds. years of anger and complicated emotions come pouring out into steve’s hands, his face buried in his palms. the only thing you can think to do is sit here and let him cry, a comforting touch placed on both his back and his thigh, reminding him that you’re still here with him. you’re not planning on going anywhere.

“he always says the same stuff so i’m used to it now,” he finally says, pulling his hands away from his face to see his skin wet and stained with tears. he shakes his head in disbelief, relishing in the feeling your warmth brings beside him, until it reminds him of something else. with a clenched jaw, he sniffles, completely defeated, “it’s the shit he said about you that just… pushed it over the edge. i mean—”

steve manages a small laugh, “it’s you. how… how could i not let that get to me? you’re everything and i—”

you try not to let his words affect you but there’s no helping the ripple that shudders across your face, a whirlwind of the worst of your ugly emotions. inside you, there’s a part that wonders constantly about just how much trouble you’re worth — first it was billy and all the shit he’s brought with him, and now steve’s father. you’re ashamed how strongly you feel that perhaps steve would be better off without you, no matter how much he swears it’s worth it, which he does even now as he sobs in your bedroom. the common theme of you, ill-fitted to be in his life, is beginning to wear down on your soul. tonight, it chafes particularly meanly.

but you’re tough. this moment isn’t about you. inhaling sharply, you swallow and it feels like it’s full of nails — the lump instantly regrows when you notice steve stopped speaking and watched your reaction closely. his wet eyes grow mistier and misery seeps into his face, a choked noise forcing its way up his throat. steve smothers it into his hand.

“i’m sorry,” he croaks.

your heart weeps. what is he sorry for? the hand on his back sweeps up, a gentle touch on his head. you brush back his hair, thumbing softly beneath his eyes to brush away the stray tears.

“what’re you apologizing for?” you say low and soft, willing away the wobble in your voice as steve searches your face almost desperately. his eyes look lost. his curled form resembles a child, awoken from a cruel night terror. you ache to help him, to ease the burden.

“s’not your fault,” you assure him in a whisper, pressing closer. your words have the opposite effect, worry hiking a mile high when steve crumbles again — he sags, burying his face in the curve of your neck.

“i’m sorry, i— i’m so sorry,” his words come out all hiccup-y, his breathing too fast and ragged. your arms are around him in an instant, grounding and safe as you pull him in closer. your chin rests on top of his head. steve’s arms shift, wrapping around your middle desperately — his fingers grip tight like you might slip away if he loosened his hold for even a moment. twisted together, steve cries and cries, an endless stream of apologies. you refuse to let it deter you; one hand settles on the back of his head, soothing the hair on the nape of his neck. the other rubs up and down his back, all while you murmur soft assurances for him to hear.

“s’okay, you’re okay,” you say over and over again, working diligently to sooth him, “i’m here, it’s okay.”

steve wishes he knew what he was apologizing for, but part of him understands he’s saying sorry for everything. i’m sorry for mentioning my father finds pleasure in despising you, the only thing that’s ever brought me true happiness. i’m sorry for arriving unannounced. i’m sorry i can’t say ‘i love you’ yet. for the rumors. for your nightmares. for being less than you deserve. for everything we’ve been through together. all of it — a culmination.

several minutes pass before steve’s breathing reaches a regular rhythm and the tears stop all together. his grip on you relaxes over time, slowly understanding that you stayed despite his outburst; his fingers unfurl from the fabric of your shirt. steve sniffles once more, now noticing how tear-stained your clothes have become — more guilt climbs up his throat. it never comes to fruition; instead, he finds himself focusing on the soothing pressure of your touch. the feeling melts away. you shift to press a kiss into the crown of his head. with your nose still buried in his hair, you speak.

“stay here tonight. please.”

your hold on him tightens a bit more, your eyes watering as you think of him returning to his father and away from any comfort you can bring him, “i don’t want you going back there. not tonight.”

somehow, steve manages to burrow deeper into your skin, his arms around you squeezing comfortably. more light blooms in him as the intention behind your words trickles down into his heart — you are his home now. he nods weakly, swallowing the pain for another time. right now, he simply feels like resting in your embrace.

“okay.”

“yeah?” you ask, slowly beginning to unfurl yourself from him; you want to see his face. with a bit of coaxing, you gently guide his head away from his hiding place and smile softly, wiping the leftover tears from his cheeks. upon seeing the care for him in your eyes, he can’t help but confirm, his hands smoothing down along your back in appreciation.

“yeah.”

he's beautiful, even when he's a mess. the tip of his nose is a ruddy red and it's running terribly. tears cling to his eyelashes, sparkling beneath the low-light lamp of your room. you press a quick kiss to his temple, same as you've done a thousand times before, and lean backward. your touch never leaves him as you locate your tissue box, steve sniffling loudly as you grab a dozen.

in an attempt to either make him smile or feel extra loved, you hold one in front of his nose and say, "blow?"

"gimme those," steve guffaws, his free hand coming up to snatch them from your grip. he blows his nose and it toots noisily like a trumpet, making you laugh. he sounds a bit nasally when he speaks again, his eyes fond as he looks at you.

"can blow my own nose, thank you."

you nod with a soft hum just to tease him. he blows his nose once again, clearing it all out and takes the other tissues when you offer them, scrubbing at his waterlogged face. he smiles gratefully at you and then heaves a great big sigh, shoulders rising and falling, before he slumps backwards to lie back on your bed.

"who knew crying was so exhausting?" he mumbles, the question meant more to himself.

you scoop up one of his feet and plant it in your lap, beginning to undo his laces. you can’t say you like his fancy shoes.

"i did," you jibe back. you poke his ankle, aiming for one of his moles, "why'd you think i'm always napping in your arms after i bawl my eyes out?"

steve watches your hands, sliding his shoe off and moving onto the other dutifully. you're making him more comfortable and you do it without even being asked. another wave of tears threatens him again because you love him like it's easy — steve has spent most of his life being told the exact opposite.

"thought that was more to do with my, y’know, rugged arms than the crying part..." he admits jokingly, thankful when it makes you giggle a bit. you shrug, faking indifference but it earns you a smile.

after you finish taking off his other shoe, you place his feet down so you can crawl up to him. you stop and settle with your chin on his chest and steve has to put a hand behind his head to prop himself up to properly see you. you're quietly in thought, staring at him intensely. steve feels his heart quiver — you're awfully good at reading him. at seeing him and knowing him.

"d'you wanna talk about it? what… what he said?" your words come out soft again, low as a whisper, even though it's just the two of you here.

another sigh leaves steve, your head on his chest moving with the exhale. he glances up to the ceiling as he contemplates whether or not he wants to continue this conversation. upon meeting your eyes, he knows you'll do nothing but listen. his free hand drops to your arm, fingers lovingly curling around your bicep.

"it was mostly the same shit, like i said," steve shrugs in both acceptance and defeat, "so usually i can just stay quiet. it doesn't get to me as much if i don't try to fight it, y'know?"

you hum softly in understanding, gaze still locked on his expression as he pauses to nibble on his bottom lip.

"except this time, he uh..." steve expels another deep breath as he thinks back on what was said and his reaction. he scoffs, "well, he's definitely figured out what we are, that's for sure."

he ends his sentence with a slight laugh and a squeeze to your muscle. adorably, you grin and roll your head to the side; steve swears he can feel you blush with your cheek pressed to his chest.

"that's one less person we gotta tell i guess."

steve chuckles and you do too, both of you happy to find some humor in this god awful circumstance. but the joy is short-lived as he recalls the dinner; the delight in his father's eyes at finally finding his son's breaking point, how steve's food grew cold as his appetite quickly left him. he could eat another ten of your mom's cookies. then the familiar anger begins to bubble up again — he clenches down on his teeth.

"i could've punched him, baby. i... fuck, i should've," he mutters, his head shaking slightly in disbelief, remembering the absolute fury that controlled him in those tense moments. it's just like it was that night at the byers — maybe worse than that, if it’s even possible.

first, there was a comment about how you’re his only friend now. it was said with such a disgusted tone that steve had to take offense — his father made it sound like befriending you was somehow affecting his reputation. apparently the henderson name doesn’t carry enough weight around town, and what it does carry isn’t something the harringtons should be associated with. as if it matters to steve — he’d rather be accepted by your family than anyone else in this stupid town.

but as steve finally fought back to defend you, it became clear what steve’s true feelings for you entail. he’s never defended anyone from his father’s wrath.

halfway through you being compared to nancy wheeler — “now she comes from a good american family” — steve realized that his father knows.

he’s not sure who told him or how much he heard, but it hit steve harder than billy’s punch did. one little comment about your ‘promiscuity’ was all he needed to confirm the suspicion. it took every ounce of willpower steve had in him to not choke out his father with the tablecloth.

something steve's learning is the intense grip you have on his emotions — both the positive and negative ones. he's sure that's not entirely healthy but he could care less. he never wants that passion for you to disappear.

steve continues, "and yeah, yeah, i know he's just trying to get a rise outta me but jesus christ..."

silence follows as he trails off, refusing to tell you any more. you don’t deserve to hear any of that repeated. you're still studying steve, eyes drifting along the slopes of his face to catch any sign of another tear. thankfully, he seems fairly composed this time around — frustration taking the place of his sadness. but when he meets your gaze again, it softens back into gratitude and affection. neither of you are able to look away.

steve's hand moves up to your face, his fingers deftly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear; his voice is overflowing with fondness, "pretty sure you're my carbonite."

you, however, do not react as he expected. your face instantly wrinkles in confusion, propping yourself up as you try to decipher what he means. some mixture of a scoff and a laugh leaves your lips as you realize what he meant. he's lucky you find it endearing.

"steve, it's kryptonite, not carbonite."

"that's the same word."

you giggle again, “no it’s not—”

“they end with the same sound, it’s close enough,” steve bickers back, “besides, you understood what i said anyways.”

a sigh leaves your lips as you meet his eyes, your cheeks aching from how wide your grin is, “i did, but how about i be the one who makes the nerdy references in this relationship.”

steve raises his hands, “hey, you’re not gonna hear me complain’.”

another laugh from you. steve’s expression shifts back to one of affection, “i mean it though, y’know. you have this… hold on me that i’m still trying to figure out. it’s crazy. you know any non-nerdy words to describe that?”

you hum and nod, your smile wistful. your chest tightens.

“yeah, i think i do.”

the look in your eyes gives away the answer. steve swallows — his mouth suddenly feels extremely dry.

to combat any awkwardness before it begins, you immediately get up to grab the other cookies you’d forgotten about. you share them between you, careful not to get too many crumbs on your bed. while steve dutifully watches, you take another twenty minutes to finish your physics homework before you begin your typical bedtime routine.

coming back after your shower to see your boyfriend shirtless and comfortable beneath your blankets is not a sight you will be forgetting anytime soon. as you crawl into bed with him, it takes a ridiculous amount of self control not to stare at the thatch of chest hair that’s been growing over the past couple months. he’s so warm and has a pink tint in his cheeks that makes you swoon; you decide that he looks positively adorable.

as you settle in beside him after adjusting the pillows and turning out the light, you can’t help but pick at his thoughts.

“you gonna be okay?”

steve nods, his hair mussing against the pillow, “yeah, i don’t give a shit about what he says.”

now that his emotions are back to their regular balance, he’s much more indifferent. he can see it clearly and understands that none of it is his fault. there’s nothing steve can do to prevent how his father feels; that isn’t a burden he needs to carry.

he shifts beneath the covers, his leg finding yours. your feet are chilly. he smiles as he reaches out for you, tucking one of his arms beneath the pillows so he can pull you in closer. steve curls the other around your torso, his palm laying flat against your back while you tangle your legs together. it’s awfully snug and you’re sure he can feel your heart pounding.

“i’ll be alright as long as i have you,” he mumbles, taking a moment to let his eyes gently rove over your face. you force yourself to hold back your smile so you don’t look like a total dork, but it’s awfully difficult. you figure you probably look positively in-love regardless.

“well, it’s a good thing i’m not planning on going anywhere, hm?”

steve seals the sentiment with a kiss — the best way he knows to ensure you’re confident that he feels the same. he lets the tips of your noses touch after pulling away and brings his palm up to your face. his eyes are almost jet black in the dark; only a sliver of chocolate brown remains, thanks to the streetlight outside your window.

“thank you,” he whispers, “for everything.”

your body heats up from both his touch and his words. it’s almost too much for you to handle. but you answer him all the same and with a genuine smile, “of course. any time.”

with a final kiss to your forehead, steve properly cuddles you in close to him, his nose buried into your hair. as you curl your arm around him, inhaling the scent of his cologne, rest finds you both soon after.

#i had the best day of my life seeing taylor swift and then i immediately was like hey ruby i wanna make steve cry wanna join in?#and she said yes :)#ANYWAYS I HOPE THOSE OF YOU THAT VOTED FOR THIS LIKED IT OKAY ILY!!!!!!#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #almost paradise #almost paradise blurbs

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