#Jonathan's would likely be easier and i love him more

[myers-meadow]

Fear and wonder: Jonathan Crane x reader pt. 2

Part one here

Summary: After your bad day, your boss up and quits. What a relief! Later during the week, you go to a concert and meet someone. Jonathan doesn't like that much, though.

This is a slice of life insight into life as Jonathan Crane's best friend - who he has a terrible, obsessive secret crush on.

Warnings: for this chapter, some jealousy starts setting in, some very 'protective' best friend shenanigans. Fem reader.

Divider by @saradika-graphics. Reblogs, comments and feedback are very appreciated! I'm so insane over the Jonathan x best friend reader - the intimacy of knowing each other so well, of his obsession just growing and growing, him controlling every aspect of your life, but how could you notice? He works from the shadows, he is a master manipulator. Ugh god I just love him ok

The Monday after that bad day, your boss didn't show up to work. It was weird, but it was too much of a relief for you to ask questions. Besides, you didn't know her well - and why would you? There were whispers in the break room, but you let it all pass you by, just glad to have her off your back. The intern who messed up apologised to you - they'd heard about the treatment you received on behalf of them the week before. All seemed well.

Later that week, a lot more relaxed, your friend Morgan invited you out to see her girlfriend's band play in a pub on Wednesday. She texted you the address and you went there straight after work, picking up some fries for Morgan and yourself on the way there. The band was great fun, and beside you in the crowd Morgan beamed with pride. After, you got to talking with the bass player, who bought you a drink or two, and put his number in your phone.

During work the next day, you couldn't help but think of what a great night you had, and you texted Morgan a 'thank you for inviting me, it was a great time!', before texting Georg the bass player that it was a great show and other formalities. His reply was immediate. If you would like to go out for a beer sometime? It had you smiling all day.

The only night he was available was on Friday, and he'd visit family in another state for the whole month after, so begrudingly, you called Jonathan that evening. After some small talk, you finally dared to get to the point.

"Something's come up for tomorrow, do you mind we meet another night? I'm free all weekend." It was implied the weekend would be at least partially spent with him already, as that too grew into your routine. The Friday night would often turn into a sleepover, as you'd have a glass of wine or two, or make yourself a mojito, and it was just easier to stay over, or let him sleep over. Some nights, when you missed your bed and looked forward through a relaxed morning sleeping in by yourself, it felt like maybe it had grown into too much of a routine. At least, that when you kept your drinks to non-alcoholic ones, and got up to leave at 1 am, that Jonathan's twinge of disappointment was just a hint too intense. It was too subtle to even consciously register, but here you were, treading lightly when cancelling your weekly Friday meet-up, as though you didn't meet up two times a week every week ever since meeting him.

The slight pause at the other end confirmed your suspicions. "Of course we can reschedule," he said, emotionlessly. "What's come up? Is it work?"

"No," you shook your head even though he wouldn't be able to see it. "Something social." Even through the phone, you imagined him frowning. "What would you like to do on Saturday? I saw adverts for a new horror movie in theatres, we could see that, if you're in the mood for a film," you suggested, hopeful that a subject change would work to distract him. 

"Who are you meeting?"

You hesitated before answering. Something about his tone, as impassionate as it was, felt off. "Someone new I met," you decided to go with the truth. Knowing him, he'd read you like an open book on Saturday anyway. 

"I see. Well, I'll see you Saturday then. I'll think on what I feel like, talk to you later. Goodbye." And he hung up without another word.

Even as you enjoyed your cocktail with Georg, you couldn't help but feel a bit restless. This indeed was you and Jonathan's night. But you weren't together. You've never had this kind of friendship before, this intense. It was hard to put your finger on what exactly it was, and you racked your brain on what it could be - thinking of the many times there were hints of possessiveness, of how he preferred you to see him as often as you could - instead of other friends. It made you space out a bit, but as soon as you zoned back in, you were taken with Georg's kind eyes. His gentle features, the softness of his features and his body, the strenght in his arms were all so different from Jonathan, Georg lacked the sharp edges and was all the more endearing for it. After two drinks, you reluctantly called it quits, citing having to get up early in the morning, although that wasn't necessarily true.

Georg wanted to drop you off safely, or perhaps he hoped to get invited in for a nightcap, but as you reached your door, he politely only kissed you. You looked at him for another moment, fumbling with your keys. He chuckled as he watched you, shuffling his feet. Was he as nervous as you were? God, it's been ages since you'd been with someone. Perhaps you should. Even if only because you wouldn't see him for at least another month. Live a little, you told yourself. Do what feels right. Every thought about consequence, about the morning after, all dissapeared as you wrapped your arms around his neck for a much deeper kiss. His hands groped you all over as you finally managed to get the key into the lock properly, and he was eager to get you to bed.

Jonathan didn't feel like the movies. Instead, he choose a quaint tea house. You'd been there before, just once. It was a little higher end than you'd prefer, but their tea selection was incredible and really high quality. Everything else, including the jam for the scones, was made themselves, as well. The café had no background music, so when you sat down at a table with him, the chatter of the people around you punctuated the slight discomfort you felt. A tension that was punctiated by how you still buzzed from last night. And fron this morning at the breakfast table - God was he good with his tongue.

"So," Jonathan started, leaning forward over the tiny table in between the two of you, "how was your date?"

"Date?" you echoed, stalling to buy more time.

He nodded, reaching out for the menu and flipping through casually, as though he wasn't eyeing you like a hawk, observing every microexpression. "You always dance around the subject of dating when you're with me. I wonder why."

You considered him for a moment, rubbing your lip. Of course he noticed. The downside of having a psychiatrist for a friend. How could you navigate this best? Coming off accusatory was a bad idea, as was being apologetic because that would admit some kind of guilt you didn't have. You mean, you felt a bit guilty, but only because it felt like one measly date soured Jonathan's mood to the point of ruining your day together. Honesty and vulnerability have so far proven to be the only cure for one of his moods. "I haven't noticed, I don't tend to date that much," you admitted. "Perhaps I'm private about that part of my life, even with you." The way he glanced up at you, just briefly, taken aback at your careful phrasing, you knew you had him. "My mom was very controlling while I was in uni - as you well know, so perhaps I still feel the need to 'hide' it, or pretend its something it's not."

His hand found yours, giving it a brief squeeze before returning to the menu. "You know you don't have to do that with me. Mask, I mean."

Was his use of the work 'mask' here a personal one, or professional? You gave him a smile. "Baby steps," you breathed, relieved. "Which tea are you getting? The 'orange bliss' sounds really good. It's a green tea though." You scrunched up your nose a little, not fond of how bitter green tea could sometimes get.

"The 'autumn spice' would be more your taste," he directed your gaze to a black tea further down the list. "Anise, orange as well, cinnamon, fennel, cloves..."

You pressed your finger to his suggestion. That did indeed sound wonderful. "Which will you have?"

He hummed, eyes scrutunising every option. "I choose this place for their variety, but now that I have to make a decision..."

"I can choose for you. And we can share, too, if you want."

With a look to you, eyes dancing over your face, he shut the menu suddenly. "Alright, you choose."

When the waitress arrived at your table, you ordered your autumn spice, and a peppermint-rose white tea for him. 

"No treats? No cakes?" Jonathan asked you teasingly, referencing the last time you two were here and you wanted to try everything they had.

"I'm sweet enough for two," you joked, glad it seemed he was back to his usual self. You wouldn't call him cheerful, but at least he wasn't being passive-agressive anymore. The two of you chatted idly, about your weeks and your it was still so strange your manager just disappeared like that.

"Well, not that I'm complaining," you said, wryly. The server came back and set the teas out for each of you. You thanked her and she was on her way. They let you have bigger pots of water, with smaller cups, and your own saucer of tea leaves. "God, that smells good."

Jonathan followed suit, pouring steaming water over the leaves after putting them in the sieve of his cup. He poured yours too, like the gentleman he was.

"I'm curious to taste what you choose for me," he murmured, inhaling the steam, watching the subtle colours of his white tea swirl in the glass. His glasses fogged up a little.

"You still didn't tell me how your date was," he said, gaze sharp behind his glasses. You swallowed. "You said it was someone new and special."

Some part of you sensed it, yet were too afraid to confront the thoughts surrounding such discovery: what if Jonathan's protectiveness hid... love? A crush? What would that mean for your friendship? Not to think of how much Jonathan didn't seem like the person to be relaxed about the topic of dating in the first place. He seemed to know obsession, and only that - if his work was anything to go by.

"I really like him, we had drinks at that place Vee likes to go to."

"Who is he? Anyone I know? A friend of a friend?"

You shook your head. "No, we met at a concert last week. His name is Georg, with the beautiful rolling r," you gestured as you spoke, unable to stop a smile from forming. "He plays bass guitar in Morgan's girlfriend's band. They're quite good, too. A heavier version of indie rock, with some post-punk influences."

He clicked his tongue, before leaning forward to take a first, careful sip of tea. "Do you think you can trust him?"

"You sound like my mother."

He looked at you, blinked and let the accusation slide. "I worry about you, considering your past love life. The last one ghosted you after you slept with him, it was painful." He raised an eyebrow at you. Ouch. "Will you see him again?"

"I hope so. He's in a rather different field work-wise, but I understand not having personal and professional intersect, and we had such interesting conversations about that. How's your tea?"

He decided to go along with you and let the subject rest for now, his expression softened a little. Even thought it's only been months, once you started paying attention, it was rather easy to read him. Perhaps it was around you that he felt comfortable, and didnt try to hide so much of himself anymore, you thought aimlessly. The idea of that tugged at your heartstrings as he combed a hand through his hair. He tried a good sip of tea. 

"Hot," he grimaced, but then smiled gently. "It's wonderful. The freshness and sweetness combine really well with the white tea. Here, give it a try."

The tension dissapated and you were more than glad for it. Eager, you took the tea glass from his hands, not failing to notice the way Jonathan looked at you as you tried his tea. It was warm on your tongue, indeed, the flavours were delightfully light and airy.

"It almost tastes like a floral tea. Is that lavender?"

He smiled, almost proudly. "Very perceptive."

"Here, try mine," and you let him have the first sip. He nodded after he tried it, pushing it back to you.

"Very strong flavour. It's good, you'll like it."

And you did. It was exactly the tea you'd been craving; sweet yet spicy, warming you all the way down as you drank. The smile was audible in your voice as you said: "You know me so well."

[shippy-from-apocalypse]

Ok im Very sleepy rn it's 2 am bare with me

What do we think Jon would think of How The fandom sees him? And I don't mean this in a pedantic "oh fandom bad because dumbed down and Insert Petty Headcanon Disagreement"

I mean this entirely in a "How would Jon, The man who believes himself to be an Irredeemable monster who is to blame for everything that ever went wrong, react to Just so so many people listening to his shortcommings and ultimately seeing his side"

Like yeah everyone agrees he's kind of an asshole sometimes but he is so beloved by The fans?

I'm sure some people did but I've never seen anyone doubting his humanity or blaming him for the horrors™ he Just clearly understood as his fault? Like yeah Martin tried telling him it wasn't but what I'm getting at is

I love to think about what Jon would do If he saw just the ocean of people who listened to (what he considers to be)

the most unsympathetic person in the world becoming a monster and making choices that brought the literal apocalypse upon humanity

and pretty much everyone saying "he did the best anyone could reasonably expect and he is not a bad person for being caught in the crossfire of an impossible situation with no good solutions"

remember that time in mag 187 a lady grabbed jon in fear and he shouted and presumably pushed her away? and everyone and their mother defended jon's humanity because that was a textbook trauma response i think he would break down crying if he saw that

[love-byers]

the first time i saw this, when i was NOT a byler shipper, i thought el was running TO mike. i thought we were getting a sweet moment where el runs to mike and he puts an arm around her or hugs her.

then i realized she was running away from him. 

and i was like, why?? they're supposed to be the couple why does she not want his comfort??

and even after will calls her out on doing mike wrong by lying to him, even after she sees that mike is attempting to talk to her and comfort her, that he's not angry at her, she still tells angela to lie to mike. more lies. that's how much she cares about keeping up the persona. had angela lied to mike, el would've continued lying to him the entire week. something she knows in her heart is wrong and not fair to mike.

this is a theme in s4. putting who you want to be seen as before being honest with your bf/gf. going above and beyond to preserve your lie, to be seen as who you want to be.

chrissy does that with jason. who she portrays herself as is completely different than who she really is and what she's really going through. jason has absolutely no idea chrissy is struggling and refused to believe chrissy would buy drugs, because chrissy didn't want to tell him. who knows how jason would've reacted if chrissy was honest, we don't know because chrissy didn't trust him enough to tell him. that's not love at all, that's sad.

this is a point in s2 as well. murray calls nancy out for being afraid to be her true self, and she stays with steve because she doesn't have to be her true self around him. she is her true self when she's with jonathan, and that's why they worked together. that's love.

the exact same thing happens with chrissy. the first time we see her genuinely smile is when she's with eddie. she's sweet and charismatic, and had she lived she totally would've gone to eddie's show, something you never would've expected from her, something her boyfriend, the person she pretends to love, would NEVER do.

robin and steve reinforce this too

you fall in love with the person who makes you feel accepted, the person who makes you feel like you can be who you are. the person you trust with your true self.

mike and el don't trust each other enough, they don't understand each other well enough.

they would have to change their behavior towards each other by leaps and bounds, and we're already at the last season. there is no time for that. stranger things isn't a multi season show about the complexity of romantic relationships and the healthy way to resolve problems. there is no time for that in just about any movie or show, especially a sci-fi show. you know what's way easier and way more likable? pairing your character with someone they naturally click with, who bring out the best in each other and for some reason can't help but be their authentic selves when they're with each other.

did it with jancy, like i said earlier

did it with lumax. when lucas and max talked on the bus max found herself spewing about things she'd never even said out loud before, and she had to stop herself. something about lucas just made her feel comfortable, like she could be herself and tell the truth. she trusted him.

"You're nothing like your brother, okay? You're cool and different, you're super smart, and you're like, totally tubular."

jopper too! joyce constantly had to hide things from bob, she was insecure about their family not being normal.

"This is not a normal family."

"It could be."

though bob had good intentions, the message of the show is not trying to be normal when you aren't. whatever it is about you that makes you weird or different, whatever you've been through that changed you, stay true to it. dont bottle it up and try to be someone else. all of vecnas victims in s4 were doing this, and it didn't end well for them.

they even did it with dustin and suzie. dustin constantly tries to impress max with his teeth, then in season 3 he says suzie thinks kissing is better without teeth. he doesn't have to be insecure about that or try to impress her. she likes him for him.

mike isn't comfortable being his true self around el either. he's insecure about his interests, he feels like he has to act older and cooler to impress her.

you shouldn't be with the person you feel you have to impress. you should be with the person who relieves that pressure, who makes you feel like being the authentic you is enough.

jonathan and nancy, lucas and max, joyce and hopper, dustin and suzie,

cough WILL AND MIKE cough...

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Simmer #3

CH.3 Sunny Side Up | The Menu [4.3K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

Talking to Eddie became a little easier after that night. Just a little. You greeted each other on morning shifts with tired nods, maybe a small ‘hi’ from you, a grunt from him that you’d learned not to take offence to. You’d watched time and time again as Jonathan brought his coffee to the kitchen, handing Eddie a mocha full of chocolate syrup and the boy received another grunt in thanks too. 

The diner became more familiar, as did your colleagues and it made your heart ache a little when you realised you melted into their routines, their little world as easily as they did with each other. Steve knew your favourite song, liked to turn it up when it came on the radio, pointing at you with enough fanfare to make you flush when he sang the lyrics into the end of a wooden spoon. 

Robin had invited you to hers, an unofficial girls night after a Sunday late shift that became a habit without meaning to. You shared her apartment space the way she shared yours, leftover pyjama shirts in each other's drawers, rented movies swapped between television sets. And at times, when she was home from college, Nancy would join you both, curled on the loveseat with Robin as they listened to your horror stories from Chicago. 

Argyle would offer you rides to work, always passing you on the days you missed the bus, pulling over his brightly painted van with a lazy grin and a yell of “jump in my ‘lil Chicago pizza.”

It was easy, comfortable, a slow kind of life that you craved in the city, the long days and quiet nights that you were more suited to. Hawkins was far from the white picket fence dream, but you loved your little apartment with its view of the cornfields, the long road out of town that you knew took you to work. And when the bus stopped on Sundays and you walked to the diner, you’d pass that old garage the same way you did on your first day in town and wave to Wayne. 

It was easy. It was simple. 

That Tuesday, you clocked in early after swapping a shift with Nancy, the heat rolling into the side door with you as the sun rose. It was the earliest you’d started and the diner was still quiet, a lack of customers between the midnight hours that the truckers frequented and the breakfast rush. The radio was up louder than usual, the smell of fresh bread coming from the ovens, a huge bowl of batter on the counter beside some chopped strawberries, glittering with sugar. 

“Hey! Hey what's the matter with you, feel right? Don't you feel right, baby?”

You could see Jonathan in the front of the diner, setting clean tables with new cutlery, Argyle trailing behind him - not necessarily helping, but definitely talking animatedly about something. Jim was in his office, groaning over receipts and copies of everyone’s vacation requests, two empty mugs of coffee in front of him. You weren’t sure where Ed—

“Jesus, watch it!”

You gasped on instinct as someone collided with your shoulder, a dull pain that wasn’t all that sore but scared you nonetheless. Eddie was glaring at you, holding a hot tray of morning rolls aloft with a dish towel. 

“I could’ve fucking burnt you,” he snapped, setting them down on his station with a clatter. 

You winced, an apology on your tongue, already tasting sour. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— I didn’t hear you say corner, or, or door or—”

You watched as Eddie’s frown disappeared momentarily, a soft drop of his expression that made you realise at the same time he did, that he didn’t give any of those warnings at all. You thought he’d apologise then, maybe back track with a rare smile but instead his scowl deepened and he set about pulling ingredients out of the fridge. 

“Stumbling ‘round like a baby deer, man,” Eddie huffed, his voice low, like you maybe weren’t meant to hear. But you did. “Gonna end up seriously hurtin’ yourself— or someone else. Not supposed to be in the damn kitchen, told you you weren’t made out f—”

Tears burned the corners of your eyes at the first sign of conflict but your heart pounded and you let yourself get wound up. You squared your shoulders, sucked in a breath and let the sting of your eyes and the lump in your throat fuel you. “Hey!” You snapped, only sounding a little watery, a little soft. “It wasn’t— it wasn’t my fault. You’re supposed to tell someone you’re coming if you’re holding something.” You blew out a breath, acutely aware of how Eddie was watching you with raised brows. “Especially something hot. And I don’t stumble.”

You glared right back at the boy, hoping you looked as intimidating as he did, throwing your hands on your hips for good measure until you felt too much like your mom and dropped them back by your side. You squirmed in the silence, pulling self-consciously at the hem of your uniform dress, still trying to keep your lips in an annoyed flat line, your brows as turned down as Eddie’s. Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes, throwing a pound of butter into a huge mixing bowl. It made the station shake with a thud and he turned his back to you before he spoke, shoulders stiff, a tattoo that curled up from his back to the nape of his neck just visible for the way he’d pulled his curl up in a bun. 

“Why are you always in such a bad mood? Huh? And I’m allowed in the kitchen,” you added, hating that you sounded haughty, but fuck this boy and his attitude problem. The hot and cold act was starting to wear thin. “I work here too.”

He turned then, the sleeves of his chef whites rolled up to his elbows, ropes of muscle and lines of ink curling around his forearms. His fingers were covered in butter and sugar, and when he took a few steps closer, brows raised at you in a challenge, he smelled like cinnamon. “That right, sweetheart?”

You didn’t back down, even though your stomach flipped. You lifted your chin higher, tried to give it back to him as good as he gave it out. “You think I come here for the good of my health?” You wanted to bite, you wanted to sink your teeth in and draw blood. You wanted to hurt. The taste of honey on fresh sourdough lingered on your tongue.  “I heard the food is shit.”

Eddie’s nostrils flared at your childish barb, but as immature as it was, the boy gritted his teeth and stormed back to the work station. The bowls clattered against each, steel on steel and the spatula he’d been using got launched into the empty sink. 

“Just stay out my way,” Eddie grunted. 

 The sharpness of his words made your throat tight, face scrunching unhappily because what had you ever done to him? You decided not to answer, pressing your lips together instead and hoping Eddie didn’t see your watery eyes when you stalked past his table. You ducked into the office, slamming your locker door as you shoved your bag inside, shouldering into Steve by accident on the way back out. 

“Oh, sorry— hey, hey,” Steve frowned, catching sight of your face. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer, just smiling and shrugging him off, already pulling out your pad and pen from the front of your apron, as if the quiet diner was suddenly full of people who were desperate for their orders to be taken. You didn’t look at Eddie as you left, disappearing between the table and booths, hoping for something to clean until a table filled up. 

You didn’t see it, you didn’t hear it, but Steve walked to Eddie’s station with a scowl that matched the other boy’s and stole the spoon that was in his hand. 

“Hey!” Eddie’s head shot up, eyes narrowed, ready for a fight. “Give me th—”

“Stop being a dick,” Steve scolded, holding the spoon over his head when Eddie tried to grab it across the bench. “You’re being an ass, man. And for what?”

Eddie glared, reaching for the stolen utensil and swearing when Steve rapped the back of his knuckles with it. “What’re you even talkin’ about?”

Steve scoffed, “don’t act dumb, Munson, it isn’t cute. What have you got against the new girl?”

Eddie didn’t answer, giving up and crossing the kitchen to rake through a drawer for another spoon instead. He stalked to the refrigerator too, still scowling, piling more ingredients in his arms as he went. He walked back to Steve with eggs and fruit, jars of spices that were all different colours. Steve was still standing, shirt sleeves rolled up, his name badge on upside down. 

“Well?”

“Steve, just—” Eddie let out a huff and set a pan on the stovetop, flicking on the switches until a blue flame appeared. It bloomed into red, orange and Eddie spooned some butter into the pan. “I don’t have anything against her.” His cheeks were hot, he could feel it. A pink flush that went across his nose and attacked the tips of his ears. He cracked an egg too vigorously, shell in the yolk, making it burst. He swore. 

“No?” Steve didn’t look convinced. He handed Eddie back his spoon. “Doing your damn best to convince her otherwise. Poor kid looked like she was about to cry.”

Eddie’s eyes shuttered closed at that, guilt gnawing a hole in his chest. He cracked another egg, watched it turn white over the heat. He really wanted a cigarette. 

The bell for the diner door rang, signalling the arrival of customers, a bleary eyed bunch of business men that looked like they were from out of town. Their suits were too sharp, close shaven beards and briefcases making them look like sore thumbs against the garish decor and sticky booth seats. Both boy’s watched you approach their table, smiling sweetly and nodding shyly as you scribbled down their orders. When you turned to head to the hatch, a piece of paper ready to be slapped onto the stainless steel bar, Eddie watched as the men eyed your behind, appreciative faces and shared whispers about the way your legs looked in your dress. 

He cracked another egg, eyes narrowed, chest tighter than before. 

“Say sorry,” Steve finalised the conversation with a friendly slap to Eddie’s shoulder as he passed him. You were only a few tables away, head ducked down, eyes hidden as you approached. Steve looked serious as he said, “fix it.”

—————

By the time the clock hit eleven am, Jonathan was coaxing you into going for your break, handing your orders to Steve as he cleared the table your customers just left. He waved away your protests, voice quiet and soft as he handed you the dollar notes that were left for you beside a ketchup stain. 

“I’ve got it,” he tsked. “Go on, go get some food or somethin’.”

So you smiled and pulled off your apron as you headed through the back, already sipping on a glass of lemon water you’d poured yourself at the bar. You could hear Steve greet a family at the front door, all charm and sweetness, and the radio in the kitchen was still playing. Breakfast was almost over but the place still smelled sweet, syrup and cinnamon, cooked pancakes and fresh bread, maple bacon that the diners always ordered an extra plate of. 

Argyle was at the sink, washing a pot and he smiled as you walked across the tiles. “Wassup Chicago town?” There were bubbles on his arms, a walkman clipped to the waistband of his chef whites and headphones around his neck. “You lookin’ for Eddie?”

You frowned without meaning to, wondering if you could get away with pinching some leftover breakfast without anyone realising. Jim didn’t mind, but Eddie was way too particular with his leftovers. 

“Uh, no,” you answered. “Should I be?”

“Think he was lookin’ for you.”

You didn’t get to ask anymore questions, or even laugh at the idea of the chef seeking you out, because Eddie was coming back out from the pantry with a new bag of sugar. His eyes flitted to you as he walked to his bench, cheeks a little pink and he sprinkled some of it over a bowl of chopped fruit before he said anything. He nodded to the stool he made you sit on the other day, the one at his station and it was only then you noticed there was a plate sitting. 

Two perfectly cooked eggs, sunny side up with a huge slice of orange that was arranged like a smile. There was a single blueberry in the middle of the plate, plucked from the bowl that Eddie placed beside it, finishing off the smiley faced breakfast. 

“You hungry?” Eddie murmured, his voice softer than it had been when you last ran into him. He kept his head bent, curls framing his brown eyes, lips twisted. “You didn’t have breakfast.” 

“Wh—?” Your lips parted, your apron still fisted in your hand and you rounded the station slowly, eyes on the boy like you were waiting for the joke to land. 

Eddie’s gaze shot from you to the stool and he tilted his chin once more. “Sit.” His demand wasn’t bossy, despite the bluntness. His voice was so much more gentle than you’d heard it before. The frown was still there, the stitch between his brows but his eyes looked softer, honeyed caramel, brown sugar, the stickiest kind of toffee. “Gonna get cold.”

So you sat, looking behind you to glance at Argyle, wondering if this was strange enough for him to take notice too. Sure enough, the boy had stopped scrubbing, his hands still in the hot water as steam rose up around his confused face. He was watching the both of you, eyes glancing between you and Eddie as he tried to work out what was happening. 

Eddie turned his back on you as you stared down at the meal he’d made you, eyes still wide and something inside of you sank at the idea of his walking away. But he spun back, a fork and knife in his hand, wrapped in a napkin. He didn’t hand them to you, but he slid them across the counter, his expression neutral - you couldn’t work him out. 

“Thank you,” you whispered and Eddie nodded. You wondered if Steve and Jonathan got their breakfast made for them when they went on break, if they came into the kitchen to a bowl of fresh fruit - mangoes and berries and brightly coloured slices of citrus. You thought it would be best not to ask. “Looks good.”

Eddie hummed and nodded, waiting until you picked up your cutlery and unfurled it from the wrapping. He made his leave then, cheeks pink, curls going a little frizzy in the heat and he ducked away, picking up a crate that he took into the freezer, the large door thumping behind him. 

The napkin fell to the table as you took out your fork, marvelling over the way the yolk burst perfectly as you dug in, golden liquid pooling across your plate. You picked up the blueberry nose before it got caught, popping it into your mouth and humming at the flavour. And when you looked down, there was a word scrawled across the napkin, faded black ink on white tissue. 

“Sorry.”

—————

Eddie made sure he waited long enough for you to be gone by the time he appeared from the walk-in, nose red with the cold, skin goose pimpled under his uniform - because fucking hell, why did he decide to hide in the freezer? He came back out warily, keeping his back against the tiled wall as he peered around the corner. You were gone from his station, your twenty minute break already over and he could see your empty plate and bowl stacked at the sink beside Argyle.  

He squared his shoulders and tried to act normal as he stomped back into his kitchen, frown set back on his face but his heart was thundering. It made him feel ill, the way his chest got right, the way his stomach flipped. His station was clear of your plates, but you’d left the napkin there, the corner of it tucked under a plastic quart container so it didn’t float away. 

There, in your much neater handwriting and the pink pen you liked to take orders with, was a reply to the boy’s scrawled apology. 

“Thank you.”

Eddie stared at the words for too long, until the rosy coloured ink went blurry and his cheeks turned the same shade. He wasn’t sure where you’d gone, but he could smell perfume he assumed was yours, lingering between the stacks of chopped strawberries, the halved mango on the counter. 

“You got a crush, my friend?” 

Eddie’s head snapped up, a scowl set back on his face instinctually. He liked Argyle, he didn’t mind him at all, but the boy was standing by the sink and was looking at him knowingly. Argyle grinned and raised his brows, waiting for Eddie to answer. 

“What? No.” Eddie slammed the napkin back down on the desk. Argyle was still grinning. “Shut up.” Eddie waited until the other boy returned to the dishes before he took the napkin and folded it up, tucking it into his pocket. 

He’d bin it later, he told himself. It wasn’t a big deal. 

—————

The day Eddie was scheduled off on the rota was a much busier day. It seemed like bad luck, the main cook’s day off coinciding with the monthly farmers market that was set up in Hawkin’s Main Street. The square was filled with stalls, fresh fruit and vegetables in crates, the smell of homemade soap, lavender and rose on the breeze. The tiny storefronts helped funnel the crowds in the direction of the diner, lines of cars driving to the restaurant for breakfast, their trunks full of fresh goods and Mrs Sinclair’s apple pie slices. 

It meant your day went too fast, the tips good and the chance of a break slim. Argyle was pushed to his limit, the freezer used more than ever as the full tables called for a quicker turnaround, the frozen burger patties being used instead of the way Eddie liked to make each one fresh. But Eddie wasn’t here and you certainly weren’t thinking about him, so he didn’t need to know. And when your shift ended at five, the dinner rush was just as crazy so you stayed on until six and helped Nancy clear a table of twelve guests, two families from out of town that had too many kids and there were lines of coloured crayon along the walls that just wouldn’t shift until you gave in and brought out a bottle of bleach. 

She was grateful enough that she split the table’s tip with you, something you tried to wave away but she insisted and stuffed the dollar bills into the front of your apron, not caring about the stains, the dryer grease, the spilled coffee there. Nancy looked just as undone as you. But it had been a good day - you missed the chance to eat, and maybe get something made for you by Eddie - but you had enough cash rolled up in your purse to start a new stack in your freezer at home and the bus back into town should be due any min—

The bus rolled past before you could get to the stop, the tires squeaking in protest as it passed you by, your feet not able to take you out of the parking lot quick enough. And it was still fine, there was still a little light in the sky, that navy-lilac kinda way that told you nightfall was coming soon, or maybe rain. Maybe both. 

So you pulled the strap of your bag across your chest and wished your uniform wasn’t as starchy and tight, ‘cause the heat still lingered even in the evening, warmth collecting in the shadows even as indigo coloured clouds rolled in above. The rain didn’t hit until ten minutes into your walk, a Misty drizzle that had you scrunching your face until it turned into a downpour. A heavy summer storm where thunder shouted at you from the distance, way out across the cornfields and making the sky flash white. You ran down the sidewalk where there weren’t many places to stop, to shelter and you suddenly wished more than ever that you still had your shitty old car that you barely needed to use when you lived in Chicago. 

But the garage was coming up, a familiar building with peeling red paint on its walls and a huge shutter that was already closed a third of the way. You hoped and prayed that Wayne was still around, wondering if it would be too cheeky to ask if you could finally take him up on the offer of that ride he once asked if you needed. Weeks of passing by and waving to him - and offering a snickerdoodle from the box you once took into work for Jonathan’s birthday - had built up a quiet sort of friendship. 

The garage was quiet and the bell sounded as you pushed open the door, the workshop floor stained with oil and paint, leftover footprints that would never clean off. Cars sat asleep, some with their hoods up, engines ripped out and dismantled on the floor, and thank god, there was still a light on in the office. A warm glow through a window, the outline of a man sorting through papers and his head lifted when he heard you bump into the side of a workbench, a tool you didn’t know the name of clattering to the floor. 

You winced and raised your hand in a greeting and an apology. “Sorry, hi— I just— it’s raining.”

Wayne laughed after he got over his surprise, beckoning you in with an oil stained hand. His tiny office smelled like gas and burnt tires but his smile was as friendly and tired as it always was. “Miss the bus?” He asked. 

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest. Out of the summer air, the garage was cooler and you were drenched, goosebumps trailing across your forearms. “Drove right by me.”

Wayne tutted, sympathetic and he pushed what looked like a stack of invoices into a tray for tomorrow. “That’ll be that Hagan boy, never should’ve been allowed the job. Doesn’t pay any darned attention to nobody.” The man patted down his pockets, searching for his keys. “Jus’ gimme a minute and I’ll drop you off, think the boy took my damn keys. Hey, son—”

Another figure appeared in the doorway, cutting off Wayne’s call. This man was tall and broad shouldered, with dark curls that weren’t tied back. They hit his shoulders, wild strands springing around brown eyes that quickly widened at the sight of you. 

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

“Hey!” Wayne snapped with a frown. He whacked the boy’s shoulder with a rolled up newspaper he grabbed from his desk. “That’s no way to speak to a lady. I raised you better than that, you little delinquent.”

Eddie looked astonishingly different out of his chef whites and your surprise showed on your face. Out of his uniform, you could see more skin, more ink. Tattoos curling around his forearms and creeping up towards his biceps, black leaking across lithe muscles that you didn’t get to see at work. He was all dark, black jeans with rips in the knees, a black T-shirt that was well worn, the band logo on the front unrecognisable from wear and from the fact that your music taste was wildly different. 

Jewellery he didn’t get to wear glitter on him, silver rings on almost every finger, skulls and orjer horned things around his knuckles, a silver chain peeking out from underneath his collar. There was a hole in the hem of his shirt, heavy scuff marks on his big boots. He was still scowling at you though, a familiar sight that made him look more like the Eddie you knew. 

You glanced at Wayne, still confused as to why he was scolding the line cook from your work. You looked back to Eddie, lips trying to wrap around an explanation. He made you feel like you weren’t supposed to be here. “I— the bus. I missed the bus.” You swallowed, an awful shyness coming over you, or maybe it was nerves. “It’s raining.”

The weather was making itself known as the storm closed in, heavy, fat drops of rain pounding on the tin roof of the garage, a deafening roar that only got heavier. 

“Yeah, no shit.” Eddie called back, raising his voice to be heard over the din and his cheek got him another smack from Wayne. 

“You better hope I don’t find out you talk like that in the kitchen, boy,” Wayne pointed an accusatory finger at Eddie, to which the boy merely rolled his eyes at. “I’ll ask Jim, he’ll tell me.” When Eddie didn’t reply, Wayne pulled on his jacket and set about collecting more sheets of paper. He asked Eddie for his keys and pocketed them before saying, “Ed’s, be a good ‘un and take my friend here home, yeah? I gotta finish up this mess.”

When Eddie raised his brows and dropped his jaw, you were pretty sure your expression was the same. Except you were burning, both at the embarrassment of Wayne being so sweet and the idea of having to spend time with Eddie alone. 

“Friend?” Eddie scoffed. “Since when?”

You wanted the floor to open up below you. “I can, I can just walk.” You jammed a thumb at the door, at the torrential rain that was still falling angrily outside of it. “I think the rain has stopped…”

Thunder bellowed from above. A leak in the corner of the work floor dripped onto an old tire. Wayne stared at you both, unimpressed. 

And that’s how you ended up in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. 

[skeletonsloverockcandy]

Man, each year I get to it, I love the May 5th entry and what it means. I take something new from it each time. Like last year I noticed the sacrifices and efforts the Driver and the other passengers made to try and save Jonathan, a stranger to them, by showing up early, by giving him gifts, by blessing him, despite the danger that puts them in. Especially when Dracula, as the driver, points it out to the Driver of the first coach, what he was trying to do, and scares him by pointing out what he said (despite it being heard far out of normal earshot and over the sound of horses galloping).

This year though, I notice that, but I see some of the smaller details too. Like how the mountains are full of blooming fruit trees, and how we are so used to the “gothic” aesthetic we almost forget it’s Spring. How Jonathan takes notice and comfort in the view, despite the growing unease he feels because of the people around him. He is trying to distract himself from how scared he’s getting based on their warnings. Warding him from the Evil Eye.

"No, no," he said; "you must not walk here; the dogs are too fierce"; and then he added, with what he evidently meant for grim pleasantry—for he looked round to catch the approving smile of the rest—"and you may have enough of such matters before you go to sleep."

I also take notice of this from the driver, as it’s almost a morbid gallows humor that he clearly knows to expect the wolves, and knowing what happens later, I’m sure the people here have a horrible fear of them, knowing what Dracula can do…and what he does to that poor mother later.

There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the mountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had got into the thunderous one.

We also get here what might be our first indication that the Count can control the weather to an extent.

They were driven by a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us.

All I can imagine is Dracula in a fake beard now lol.

"You are early to-night, my friend." The man stammered in reply:—

"The English Herr was in a hurry," to which the stranger replied:—

"That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift."

But God, this must have been terrifying for the driver and the passengers. What would Dracula do to punish them for trying to escape him? Would he dare make an example in front of the Englishman right now, or would he grant them mercy to say nothing else as Jonathan is unsuspectingly led to his doom, so they think.

"Denn die Todten reiten schnell"— ("For the dead travel fast.")

The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with a gleaming smile.

It feels like they’re all in on some sick joke that they know the punchline to, but Jonathan doesn’t, so with the dramatic irony, it feels like we the readers are the same peasants, trying to do anything to save or warn Jonathan but it’s already too late.

I also notice how quickly Dracula tries to shift the power dynamic with Jonathan, and have him doubt his sanity so soon, and he’s not even in the castle yet.

He drives him in circles to try and disorient Jonathan and make him feel even more lost, also keeping him out for far later and making Jonathan question if he’s dreaming or if what he’s seeing is real. I’d also bet more than anything that wine he offer Jonathan on the coach that Jonathan didn’t end up taking was drugged. Because it’s far easier to disorient an unconscious passenger in the dark than it is to disorient a conscious passenger. But he still does a pretty darn good job.

Then there’s the blue flames, which Jonathan doesn’t know how to react to as they seem supernatural and he doesn’t know how to rationalize it yet, so he takes it as if he’s dreaming.

This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose the general superstition about midnight was increased by my recent experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.

Jonathan also has already felt the fear and nerves associated with the supernatural and superstition after what all of the townsfolk have told him, and later he tries to brush this off and rationalize again, try not to get too scared, but a part of him already realizes something is wrong.

Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road—a long, agonised wailing, as if from fear.

I also want to point this out, as it’s right before the wolves surround the coach, but it’s the second time a “dog” has been mentioned howling in the night, and with this evidence, I bet Dracula uses the wolves as a threat to keep the peasants and townsfolk in line, as he can’t munch down on everyone. But it shows how powerful he is and what a threat he poses. I wonder who the wolves kill in the night.

Also how Jonathan, as an Englishman where there were no more native wolves, can’t even imagine that’s what they were and thinks they are dogs.

And it makes sense now that earlier when Jonathan was getting out his good ol’ polyglot dictionary, how the two words mean the same thing.

"vrolok" and "vlkoslak"—both of which mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either were-wolf or vampire.

As Dracula, as we see later, can transform into a wolf himself, and so there is probably less distinction between the two in this culture than we have tried to establish in the modern day.

Once there appeared a strange optical effect: when he stood between me and the flame he did not obstruct it, for I could see its ghostly flicker all the same.

Ah, I wonder if this is an early indication that Dracula cannot be depicted through traditional means? Like how he can’t be seen in the mirror. Certain lights just, pass through him.

I shouted and beat the side of the calèche, hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from that side, so as to give him a chance of reaching the trap.

We also see Jonathan taking an active and proactive approach, in this manner trying to be helpful and aid his (what he assumes human) driver. With these sorts of actions already, I can see signs of the man who will pick up a shovel to try and do what needs to be done. Who takes a knife and vows action, not hesitating.

He is polite right now, he’s on business. He doesn’t know what’s coming. But regardless, that person is still in him, and he’s capable of taking great action and doing great things for the sake of survival and doing what he thinks is right.

And Dracula commanding the wolves to stop as the driver, and the cloud passing overhead, I feel is like a subtle display of power and threat to Jonathan. He’s still playing pretend, but when Jonathan does figure out he was the coach the whole time, and he plays coy, the Count knows Jonathan will remember this threat, and it feels that much more sinister.

Jonathan still questions and thinks he fell asleep, as he doesn’t see how he’d have missed the approach of the castle otherwise, but I think he was awake because it was dark, and the count was intentionally taking him a winding and confusing path under a lot of fear. Though if he did fall asleep, I’m that much more terrified about how Dracula was driving him about, now secure in the knowledge that Jonathan would be thoroughly isolated and lost.

And the thing that nearly gives Dracula away twice as the driver is the strength of his grip on Jonathan’s hand, also lacing a subtle threat.

through these frowning walls and dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could penetrate.

Well this is just scary knowing how trapped Jonathan becomes later, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear the outside world, and how the outside world might not be able to hear him, and how he’s already acknowledging that.

The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding upon me. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked?

He already is expressing doubts and fears, he isn’t ignorant of what situation he might be in, and it’s only later when he tries to rationalize with the count and is given the comforts manipulation of food and sleep, that he tries to dismiss these fears and take the Count at his word.

Was this a customary incident in the life of a solicitor's clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor—for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now a full-blown solicitor!

Okay, this is just really cute. Mina said You passed the Bar, you Deserve to call yourself a Solicitor Jonathan <3

Also explains a lot that Jonathan is a fresh faced baby lawyer who just passed the bar and needs this assignment. He’s probably hoping that after this pay day he can marry Mina and have enough for them to start making a life together. Also says a lot for Dracula’s strategy to him to get someone young, inexperienced, and unfamiliar with the area, who might be seen as “expendable” so that Jonathan’s sudden “disappearance” might go unremarked by those in charge (though Mina would notice).

I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt in the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the pinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be patient, and to wait the coming of the morning.

Again, those early signs of doubt and fear from Jonathan, showing his unease already at the situation. We did not deserve to be clowning on him so much when this book club first started. It’s not his fault he’s not genre aware 😔 I’m sorry Jonathan.

And when Drac does show up to open the door:

"Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!" He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone.

I wonder if he’s like that because he needs to be invited into places to be there, so if it’s almost like a supernatural hold of importance for him to offer the same thing. Almost like a subtle joke or curse with the knowledge that after Jonathan enters, he won’t be allowed to leave of his own will

holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold as ice—more like the hand of a dead than a living man.

I also like how all the clues are there, and since Jonathan has written them down and taken note of them, the expression on them must be some of the things he’s piercing together about his own fears as well that he’s afraid to voice aloud or in his journal, because if he voices his suspicions, they might become more real to him.

The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking

See? He knows what’s up, he’s just afraid to say it.

I also didn’t pick up that Jonathan’s room is octagonal for some reason. I wonder if there’s any reason for that or symbolism with the 8 sides?

Also the letter from Mr. Hawkin’s feels very ominous in retrospect knowing what’s coming and how Dracula will treat Jonathan:

"I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to come; but I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters."

I feel like Dracula knew to take advantage of that, and also this feels like him basically reading the menu for an ideal victim once his business is said and done, so I get shivers, brrrrr.

Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine; but seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse—broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal.

I also like that while Jonathan is describing Dracula, he notice his hands. And I am also struck with how little it is brought up that he has hair on his palms, and I can see the more wolf-like nature of this vampire mythology. I wonder if Bram Stoker intended for werewolves and vampires to be the same thing in his novel? They are certainly compared and have similar powers and weaknesses, so it’s possible I guess.

Also Dracula has corpse-breath lol. Nasty.

I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything; but as I listened I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves.

Ah ha! Also the first foreshadowing we get for the importance of dawn and dusk in the novel, as we know later how important timing becomes for our protagonists, so seeing its affects already make me smile at the recognition of the signs so early.

"Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he added:—

"Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter."

And ah, an iconic line. Though I just get second hand angry and uncomfortable at Dracula’s insistence that he’s a “hunter” 🤢. God I just hate him haha.

I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!

And literally Day 1 of being in the castle and Jonathan is already questioning his sanity and piecing things together he’s afraid to even voice in his journal. This is the second time in as many days he has already wished that those around him find this journal and laments should anything bad happen to him. It creates the impression of one who knows they’re walking into danger but must go on anyway.

But I love Jonathan so much, and I definitely really like the May 5th entry, and it does so much work to set up what happens later.

[strangersteddierthings]

I'm thinking of leaving town.

The words bounce around Steve's head endlessly. Eddie had said them so casually. Like it wasn't going to be a big deal to anyone that he leaves.

And logically, it's not. It shouldn't be. Eddie's a high school graduate and no longer a wanted criminal, thanks to the shady government that fucked everything up to begin with. The logical next step is getting out of the town that still hates him, even if they're no longer actively hostile, and make something of himself.

And he's not even the first to go. Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan are all off to their chosen colleges and

And Steve doesn't want to stop him from going. He thinks it'll be great for Eddie. He plans to leave town, too, once the kids graduate.

He just thought he'd have more time. To figure out himself. And Eddie. And if they could be SteveandEddie someday.

So, the words continue to bounce around Steve's head for the next three days, until Robin calls him for their weekly catch-up. He asks about college, and her new crush, a girl named Michelle, and if she's still planning to come back for Christmas break. She asks after him, too, what's going on in his life, how he's liking working at hardware store and is it better or worse than Family Video (it's better), and of course asks after everyone left in town.

"Eddie's thinking of leaving," Steve says.

"Oh. Really?" She sounds confused more than surprised.

"Just thinking. He didn't say for sure, but it's on his mind."

"And how are you taking that?"

"I thought we'd have more time."

"How much more time do you need?" Robin's voice is filled with laughter and he can just imagine the playful eyeroll. "It's been eight months. It took you like five seconds to ask out any girl that flirted with you at Family Video."

"Eddie's different."

"I'm just... it's not like you, to not go after what you want."

"Eddie's important."

There's silence on the other line before, "Important enough to love out loud?"

Oh. Oh.

Robin always knows what to say to get Steve to see the obvious thing in front of him in a way that doesn't make him feel like an idiot. "Yeah. Important enough to love out loud. I'm telling him tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Quick turn around, Steve."

"Yeah, well, you're right. I always go after what I want, and I have to tell him before he goes. Even if he decides to still go, at least he'll know."

"Brave."

"No. Brave would have been doing this six months ago when I first looked at him and thought he looked kissable."

"No, that would have been stupid. You had a gay panic to get through and it was better that Eddie wasn't involved. Trust me."

And he does. Vickie was going through the same panic and had Robin and that... well, there's a reason he asks after Michelle and not Vickie.

"Right. Of course. Five months ago, then."

Robin laughs through the line and Steve feels resolve settle in his stomach.

-

Steve goes to the Munson house directly after his shift. Eddie's van is gone but Wayne's pickup is there, so Steve lets himself in, calling a greeting to Wayne.

"In the kitchen," Wayne calls back.

Steve wanders into the kitchen to see him with a rolling pin in hand and an empty pie plate nearby. "Baking?"

"Sometimes you just want a homemade apple pie," Wayne shrugs, "and there are two ways to do that. Woo somebody who will make it for you, or do it yourself. I'm picking the easier option."

Steve laughs, "alright. Need any help?"

"Recipes over there. Apples need peelin'."

Steve washes his hands and gets to work.

The pie is cooked and cooling, and Wayne has migrated to the couch with a beer since Steve offered to whip up supper. Wayne was going to make lasagna, so Steve starts pulling things from cupboards and the fridge and gets to work.

Eddie returns home as Steve is layering the lasagna in the dish.

"Wayne, I see you hired a chef!" Eddie shouts in the general direction of the living room before hopping up to sit on the counter opposite Steve.

Wayne laughs but doesn't say anything in response.

"Hey Eds," Steve flashes him a smile before getting back to dinner. He tops it off with more cheese and then shoves it into the oven. He grabs the dial timer from its spot in the cupboard and sets it before turning to give his full attention to Eddie.

"What brings you over tonight?" Eddie asks.

"I wanted to talk to you. Ask you something, really."

"Moi?" Eddie places a hand on his own chest, fingers spread and voice filled with fake surprise.

"Mmm, the one and only," Steve says, stepping into Eddie's space. Not close enough to touch him, but enough that he doesn't have room to hop back off the counter.

"And what could be so important that you had to make me dinner about it?"

"Would you go on a date with me?"

Eddie's eyes go wide and his mouth opens and closes a few times before snapping closed. He blinks down at Steve, but Steve's patient. He can wait for Eddie to process. "I- what, you're serious?"

"As a bat bite," Steve says, reaching a hand to rest it on Eddie's side, atop where he knows Eddie is scarred in the same way he is. "I thought I'd have all the time in the world to get there. To the asking. We'd get to know each other better. Deeper, I guess. But then. Well, you said you were thinking of leaving. And I realized I don't have all the time in the world."

Eddie's eyes roam Steve's face. Whatever he's looking for he must find because his legs fall open and he reaches for Steve even as he's already stepping into the space Eddie's created for him. "We can have all the time you want, Stevie."

Steve grins. "I don't want to stop you leaving, if that's what you really want. But, maybe we can postpone that? I want to stay close, until the kids graduate, but after that I'd follow you anywhere."

Eddie brings a hand up to Steve's face and before he's even made contact, Steve's shoving his cheek into Eddie's palm, nuzzling at him like a cat. "No need to be following. I'd rather you walk beside me."

"I can do that, too."

"Jesus, Stevie, I can't believe- I mean, I'd hoped, when you came out, but like," Eddie giggles and it's the sweetest sound Steve's ever heard, "like, it's hard to believe you want me back."

"Take it to the bedroom!" Wayne's shout from the living room startles both of them and they burst out laughing when they make eye contact again.

Eddie's other hand joins his first on Steve's face, and he pulls him into a kiss before they're even finished laughing.

[your-nanas-house]

Please give me a Jonathan Crane smut plsssss

I need this man to be OBSESSED with boobs pls

Yes....Yes. I love boobies and I love Crane so...YES!! *chefs kiss*

Those round pillows of hers

◇ Pairing: sub!Jonathan Crane x Girlfriend!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, just Jonathan fucking Y/n's breasts, pathetic Jonathan

◇ Summary: Jonathan is pretty eager to finally put his cock back between his girlfriend's boobs.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

Crane’s baby blue eyes remained fixed on his girlfriend, his dilated pupils and his slightly red cheeks, caused from the heat of the need he felt, just added something to his already noticeable state of submission.

His cock was still imprisoned in his pants, nearly begging him to free it by rubbing against the soft cloth of them, every time he moved slightly in his sitting position. That long and painful wait that Y/n was making him suffer was quickly becoming a kind of torture for him.

The young woman, standing in front of him; her focus not anymore on her usual skin routine but on her boyfriend, given the small whines and begs that Jonathan used just to make her give in to his self-centered needs.

Her shirt was thrown on the cold floor, near his feet. He was sitting on the edge of the sofa ready to obey the next order that Y/n could have given him, as soon as her teasing mood would fade.

"Pleasee—" Jonathan whimpered, sweet tears were forming in his shining eyes, clear desperation and visible arousal forming in them given his dilated pupils, which covered almost completely the color that enchanted Y/n every time she stopped to look at them.

After that something woke her up from her trance, she stopped admiring her boyfriend patetic self and finally moved her hands, taking the lotion she was using for her skin before lingering her y/e/c eyes back on Jonathan, opening his legs with hers.

"Get rid of your clothes, will you, baby boy?" she asked him with a voice between teasing and lust, her hands now busy massaging lotion on her tits while the bra was still on, covering enough to increase Jonathan’s feeling of need and eagerness.

"Please" he repeated, his breath getting heavier and his voice cracking softly, as Y/n lowered the fabric to reveal her breasts completely, slightly approaching him only to allow his warm lips to wrap around her now erect nipple.

As her hands continued to massage the soft flesh of her chest, adding a little more lotion from time to time to make them more slippery and ready to receive Crane’s throbbing cock, which stood straight against his stomach now, his balls full and heavy, in need of an imminent release.

The fourth little plea from the psychiatrist was enough to make her finally kneel down, putting her bra back before settling between his open legs— her hands firmly on his thighs almost like a message or an invitation to make him take what he wanted.

His hand wrapped around his cock, pumping it a couple of times as his eyes remained on her boobs; only his little whimpers and praises broke the silence that had formed before he aligned his length between her breasts, pushing up his hips to seek the pleasure he was wishing for, while they almost enveloped his cock completely.

Thanks to the lotion that Y/n had used before, the movements for Jonathan were way easier and pleasant, his hips moved almost automatically while she was still there, kneeled on the carpet of their living room, bouncing to meet his thrusts–- her lower lip caged between her teeth as she watched Jonathan’s desperate look, his eyes still staring and stable on her breasts, despite the movements of his hips and the shaking of his body caused by the pleasure he was feeling.

His desperate little 'yes' accompanied by heavy breaths and whimpers, warned Y/n of the imminent ending, which came like a train into Jonathan’s body— making him tremble and arch his back as he allowed himself to release his load on her boobs and her face before starting over again. Too fond of her boobs and the pillow-sensation they gave him to stop, despite overstimulation.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny, @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher, @sleepycreativewriter , @mrkdvidal1989

[steddieas-shegoes]

steddie fic request: due to some miscommunication Steve believes a night in with Eddie is a date. it's not and its devastating when Steve realizes he has read too much into things Eddie had said to him. maybe the feelings are requited at the end? tysm!

Honestly guys, this is probably the most likely scenario in how Steddie gets together. They're both fucking clueless. Sure, Steve was a lady's man, but only when he was popular enough that he didn't have to really try. Eddie probably has kissed one and a half people at most because he's fuckin' weird, okay? You think these two actually have a single clue how to do things normally? Ha. - Mickala ❤️

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

His hair was not doing what it was supposed to be doing and it was really starting to irritate him.

Steve had been trying to get ready for almost an hour now, and nothing was going his way, not even the shirt he wanted to wear.

That was another issue entirely, but one he was trying very hard to get over.

Tonight was his first date with Eddie.

He had to look perfect.

They weren’t even doing anything special really, just going to the diner for some burgers and shakes and then driving to the quarry to get high.

It helped to know it would be casual though, that it would probably feel like any other time they’ve hung out.

He still wanted to look good though. Eddie deserved his best.

“Steve?” Eddie called from the bottom of the stairs.

Shit. When did he get here?

Eddie, Robin, and Dustin all had keys to his house for emergencies or to make things easier if they were coming over. He hadn’t thought to ask Eddie to knock tonight, and Eddie apparently didn’t think it was any different than any other time.

“Be right there!” he yelled back, voice pitched much higher than usual.

Great start, Harrington.

He rolled his eyes at himself in the mirror as he tried one more time to get the flip in the front of his hair to do what it needed to do.

When it didn’t, he sighed, shutting off the bathroom light and walking into his bedroom, where Eddie was sitting on his bed.

Steve froze as he took in how relaxed Eddie looked against his headboard, his legs crossed at the ankles and arms crossed over his chest.

“You look…nice,” Eddie said, sounding almost confused.

“Thanks,” Steve blushed. “Uh. So do you.”

Which was true, but Eddie looked the same as he always did.

It was something Steve loved about him, that he didn’t really put effort into impressing anyone. He was who he was and you either liked it or you didn’t.

Steve loved it.

Eddie looked even more confused, but shook his head and stood up.

“Ready? I’m starving.”

“Yep, let’s go.”

Steve didn’t do his usual moves, didn’t try to reach over to hold Eddie’s hand while he sat in the passenger seat, didn’t try to put in his “First Date Mixtape,” didn’t even pull any lines out of his hat when Eddie so easily offered him the chance.

He didn’t want to be obvious that he was already head over heels for him, definitely didn’t want to make him uncomfortable before the date even really began.

He kept it up over dinner, kept it casual enough that it felt like any other time they hung out. Usually Robin or Jonathan or Nancy or the kids were with them, but he just pretended they had to cancel. It kept him from letting himself go too far in public.

They were still in Hawkins, after all. Two dudes holding hands at a diner might as well scream “beat me up!”

It was easy, which just further sent Steve spiraling about how perfect they could be.

When the waitress brought the bill, he stopped Eddie from reaching for his wallet.

“I asked you, I pay. That’s how this works, right?” Steve asked as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Um. I mean, sure. We can just split it, though,” Eddie said, that look of confusion back on his face.

“Nah, I got it. Maybe you can get it next time,” Steve winked before pulling out enough cash to cover the bill.

“Oh. Okay. Sure.”

He wasn’t paying attention to the way Eddie was suddenly messing with his rings nervously or biting his lip like he was trying to think of something else to say.

When they got to the car, Steve turned the radio on, smiling to himself when Head Over Heels came through the speakers.

“This is my favorite song right now,” Steve said as he turned it up a little, smiling over at Eddie as he drove towards the quarry.

“Not surprising,” Eddie snorted. “Do you like anything that can’t be heard on mainstream radio?”

Steve knew he was just teasing, but it still kind of hurt when he thought about how quick Eddie was to judge his music taste.

He liked a lot of genres, he just liked what was easy and fun most.

In fact, most of their group had similar taste, but for some reason, Steve got the brunt of his teasing.

It was fine, though. He didn’t want to ruin the night with something so trivial.

“I like plenty, but sometimes it’s nice to just have something fun to listen to.”

And then Steve reached a hand out and set it on Eddie’s knee, squeezing once before letting it rest there while he continued to drive.

Only a few seconds passed before Eddie spoke and Steve’s heart almost instantly shattered.

“Uh. What are you doing?”

It was the tone of someone who didn’t like what was happening, and Steve immediately pulled his hand away and bit back the tears he felt pooling in his eyes.

He had the sudden realization that they’d never actually called this a date.

He’d run with his own assumption that when Eddie asked him to hang out with just him he shared the same feelings, and that clearly wasn’t the case.

“Sorry. I-”

“Steve, did you think this was a date?” Eddie asked, not harshly, but serious enough that Steve felt the first tear fall down his cheek.

He tried to subtly wipe it from his face, but Eddie saw.

“Okay, pull over please.”

“It’s fine. I can take you home. Forget it ever happened,” Steve rushed out.

He didn’t want the night to end like this, but he knew he couldn’t look at Eddie right now, or maybe ever again.

Robin was going to make fun of him for years over this.

“Steve. Pull over.”

So Steve did.

He had blurry vision from the tears anyway, so it probably wasn’t safe for him to try to drive at dusk.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you thought this was a date. I guess it kinda explains the looking extra nice and paying for dinner, but I just thought you were excited to hang out,” Eddie said quietly.

At least he was letting Steve down easy.

“Yeah. I should have asked I guess,” Steve said, still looking down at his lap instead of at Eddie.

“Did you want this to be a date?” Eddie asked.

Steve considered lying. But what could he lose at this point? He’d already embarrassed himself beyond redemption, he might as well go all in.

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for months. I was pretty excited when I thought you’d finally done it for me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

They sat in silence, the radio playing a song Steve didn’t recognize.

And then rain drops slowly started pelting the windshield.

Of course they did.

Steve sniffled and then looked up, watching as the rain started falling heavier with every second, a bolt of lightning lighting up the sky for just a moment.

“I guess we should get to my house before it gets worse,” Steve said, voice barely above a broken whisper. “If it gets too bad to drive, you can take the guest room.”

“Steve-”

“It’s fine, Eddie. I get it.”

“Do you?” Eddie asked. “Do you get why this is so shocking to me? I didn’t even know you were into guys! I didn’t think I could ever be an option for you, man. I didn’t let myself feel that way about you because I couldn’t deal with you not feeling the same.”

Steve finally looked over at Eddie, who was watching him with wide eyes.

“I thought you were there when I told all the adults about being bisexual?” Steve asked, wracking his brain to remember that night not too long ago. Robin had held his hand the whole time, Nancy and Jonathan and Argyle all giving him hugs after. He couldn’t remember where Eddie was.

“Was that the night I was helping Will DM?”

Fuck. He really thought Eddie had been there.

“Shit. I think so.”

Eddie reached his hand out, placing it against Steve’s jaw as he turned completely towards him.

“Stevie, if I had known, I would have been taking you out every night. You have no idea how much I care about you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie teased, finally giving Steve a smile.

“So you do like me?” Steve couldn’t help confirming, his stomach in knots, his heart racing in his chest.

“So much, sweetheart. You have no idea,” Eddie said as he leaned in closer.

Steve knew what was going to happen, he wanted it to happen.

But something made him stop Eddie when his face was only an inch from his.

“Wait.” Eddie pulled away a few inches and looked at him, concerned. “This is gonna sound so stupid, but,” he looked outside at the rain pouring down. “I’ve always wanted to have a big romantic kiss in the rain.”

“And you want that to happen with me?” Eddie smirked.

“If you’re up for it.”

Eddie didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the passenger door and got out, almost immediately getting soaked.

Steve didn’t make him wait. He pushed open the driver’s side door and rushed out, meeting Eddie halfway in front of his car.

Eddie wrapped his arms around his waist, making Steve melt against him.

He barely noticed the rain as Eddie closed the distance between them, his lips meeting Steve’s in a surprisingly soft touch.

It wasn’t exactly a passionate kiss, but it was still perfect.

It lasted a few seconds, their lips moving together slowly, not pushing for more yet, just appreciating the easy glide.

“I’m sorry our first date kinda sucked,” Eddie said as they rested their foreheads together.

“We’ll just have to have another one,” Steve said before placing another quick kiss to his lips. “Wanna watch a movie at mine?”

Eddie searched his face for a moment, before looking around at the completely empty road they were on.

With the rain like this, it was doubtful anyone would drive down it for a while.

“How about we dance first?” Eddie asked, gleam in his eye.

“Dance? To what?” Steve giggled.

Eddie started to sing Head Over Heels quietly, rocking them back and forth in something barely resembling a dance.

“I thought you hated this music,” Steve looked at him in awe.

“No, I just like to tease you for being so stereotypical. I don’t mind any music. And I like anything that makes you light up the way you do when this song comes on,” Eddie admitted.

They were absolutely dripping wet, and Steve knew this was probably a stupid decision without having something to protect the seats of his car from getting wet.

But as he rested his head against Eddie’s shoulder, listening to him sing his favorite song while they kind of danced in the rain, he couldn’t give less of a shit about anything else.

[withacapitalp]

Reasons

I wrote this for the STWG daily prompt today which was "Joyce" and uhhhhh I'm sorry haha thank you for @stevethehairington and @hairstevington for beta and encouragement and generally being the best of the best!

Read it on ao3 here

The thing Steve had always loved most about the Byers home was the clutter. 

There wasn’t a single surface that was bare. The tv stand was filled to the bursting with scratched up VHS tapes, the bookshelves crammed with dimestore paperbacks. There were always dishes on the kitchen table, magnets holding up dozens of drawings on the fridge, even the hallway was littered with picture frames. It was a complete contrast to the house he had grown up in, with bare cream colored walls and perfectly immaculate rooms. 

It was a mess, and none of the things in the Byers home were worth much, but every item in the home was treasured, important, valued. Everything in their home mattered. 

Now there was nothing left in the house. Nothing but boxes and empty air. 

Boxes.

And Steve. 

And Joyce.

“Where’d Jonathan and the kids go?” Steve asked when the silence had finally grown to be too much, looking around the barren space that used to be the living room. 

Joyce had always apologized for how uncomfortable the couch was. Every single time he had ended up on her doorstep late at night, after every midnight mug of hot cocoa, every midnight conversation where Steve finally finally let some of his anxieties slip out, she had led him over to that couch and wrapped him in a hand me down quilt that smelled old and worn and loved and apologized to him about how lumpy the couch was. 

Steve had never known what she was talking about. He had never slept anywhere that felt more comfortable. 

But the couch was gone now. Probably tucked away in the big box truck outside, or sold at the garage sale they had held last week. Or maybe Joyce had just thrown away like the trash it had always been, finally getting rid of the dead weight of a couch she didn’t really like all that much. 

She probably wanted a new couch for their new house. Something better.  

“They’re all at the Wheelers. Jonathan snuck out around three in the morning to go stay with Nancy tonight, and all of the kids slept over in the basement,” Joyce explained, a wry little smile falling on her lips as she fondly rolled her eyes at her children’s antics, “One last campaign before we hit the road.” 

Steve hummed, acting like this was fresh news to him when he already knew. He was the one that had driven Dustin, Lucas, and Max there. Hell, he had stayed to watch part of the campaign, and to give El and Will one last hug when it was just him and them. 

He wasn’t exactly sure why he was playing along, why he was continuing to pretend, but it was easier than just staring at the place where the couch used to live in complete silence. Better than Joyce knowing exactly how little she knew about Steve’s life these days. 

“I’ve missed seeing you around,” She tried, creeping just a little bit closer to where he was standing, “We haven’t really talked much since…”

Joyce trailed off but they both knew what she was talking about. 

Since the realtor's sign had appeared at the end of the Byers driveway. 

Since Joyce had finally had to admit that she was taking Jonathan, Will, and El away. 

Since their big fight. 

“I’ve been busy,” Steve said shortly, turning away from the living room and towards the kitchen, hoping that would take the spike out of his heart.

No, now the pain was worse, because the kitchen table was gone too, whisked away like it had never existed in the first place. Like Joyce had never sat him down there and patched him up after Billy’s fight, both of their eyes drooping with exhaustion but her fingers still sure and steady. Like Steve had never leaned against it, trying to understand his homework while Joyce did her best to explain why the color of curtains in a story mattered. Like there had never been breakfasts, or dinners, or midnight cups of hot chocolate that were only ever for the two of them. 

Like Steve had never had a place here at all. 

“What do you need from me? You said you needed something,” Steve asked in a rush, turning away from the kitchen as nausea began to bubble over in his stomach. He wanted to run, to break free, to escape Joyce and the house and all of the feelings that came along with it. He just wanted to give her whatever last thing she wanted to take and get away before too much of him broke. 

“I did. I mean is there something else you’re doing today?” Joyce asked, startled by Steve’s sudden shift, “I thought you might want to be here when-”

“Robin and I are going to an interview,” Steve said, interrupting her in a flash. He definitely did not want to be here when they left, and he did not want to be here to say goodbye. He had already done that. He had already said his piece to Jonathan and Will and El. 

Steve had nothing left to give to Joyce.

So why was he here? What could she want from him? 

“It’s a big interview for a job for both of us.” He continued, laying it on thick when they both knew how thin the excuse really was. He and Robin could have done this any day, at any time. Now that the mall was gone, they had their pick of the litter for shitty jobs in town. 

But Steve had purposefully asked Robin to plan the interview for today. He had done it the second Jonathan had told him their moving date. And Robin, saint that she was, had done it without asking why. 

He made his bed, just like Joyce had made hers, and now they both had to lie in it. 

“That’s…that’s great,” Joyce said, crossing her arms over her chest, her fingers twitching like she wanted to go for a cigarette. 

“Besides it doesn’t look like you need me,” Steve said, unable to help himself. He looked around, a bitter smile on his lips, “You’ve got it pretty well handled.” 

“Steve, honey…”

“Don’t,” He said immediately, stepping back when she tried to come forward to console him. That wasn’t her job anymore, it had never been her job in the first place, and Steve wasn’t going to fall for it again. 

He was stupid, but he learned. Eventually, he learned. 

“You already know what I think, and I don’t want to argue.” He said woodenly, the words coming out short and full of static. 

He didn’t want to argue again. Not like last time. 

Steve and Joyce had at least waited until Jonathan and Nancy had ushered all of the kids out of the house before exploding, but once it was just the two of them, it had been a supernova. Steve could barely remember what they had said, but he knew it was bad. That he had claimed she never cared about him at all, and she had told him that he wasn’t her responsibility. 

Steve knew she had called him an entitled brat at some point. 

Steve knew that he had called her a selfish bitch too. 

And he had no way of knowing if Joyce actually thought he was an entitled brat, but he didn’t want to hear it. Not again. It had been hard enough to forget the way it made him feel the first time. 

“It’s not an argument.” Joyce said softly, her voice as fragile as glass as she slowly lowered her hand down from where it had been reaching out to bring him into a familiar, warm, hug, “I just need you to know that it’s over now. I don’t want you looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, trying to find monsters that aren’t there.” 

“Do you really believe that?” Steve asked, finally looking Joyce in the eye, “Really?”

“Yes,” She said immediately. Steve could see it in her eyes, in her voice, in the way she held herself. 

She did believe it. Joyce really thought it was over. Or, at the very least, she had made herself believe that she believed it.

“Then stay,” Steve whispered, loathing himself for saying it. He had promised himself he would never again beg for someone not to leave, but now he had done it twice in just a month. Twice. Because the first time apparently hadn’t been humiliating enough. 

But Steve’s hope had always been more powerful than his shame, and he couldn’t help but pray that she would listen this time. Joyce would see what leaving was doing to all of them and change her mind. It didn’t matter that the house had already been sold and the truck was already stuffed to the bursting with their belongings, it could all be undone. 

Steve would carry it all back in himself, even. The couch, the kitchen table, the hand me down quilt, everything that had made this house the first place he had actually felt at home. 

She could undo it all. She could put their lives back together, back to the way they had been before, and Steve wouldn’t have to think about it ever again. He wouldn’t have to agonize over how Will and El would adjust to high school without the rest of their friends, or worry about Jonathan being alone in his senior year. He wouldn’t have to think about his own empty house and the bare cream walls that hated him just for existing. 

He wouldn’t have to wonder why he wasn’t enough to care about. Why everyone eventually always left him. 

“If it’s gone, then there’s no reason to leave,” Steve muttered, his eyes burning as he turned them downward to the floor between them, feeling like he was eight instead of eighteen. A child instead of the adult they both knew him to be. 

An adult. Soon to be the last adult left in Hawkins that knew about the Upside Down. The last adult the rest of them had to rely on. 

“There’s a thousand reasons,” Joyce sighed, pulling out her most beloved weapon, “And I have to protect my kids,”

Her kids. Her kids. Not her boys anymore, now her kids, because of El. 

But what about Steve’s kids? What about Max and Dustin and Lucas and Mike and Erica? How was he alone supposed to protect them when the monsters came? 

What about Nancy? What about Robin? They were older, but they were still kids, weren’t they? They still needed someone to be the adult. 

And a quiet, almost silent part of him, couldn’t help asking

What about me?

“From what? If it’s really over, then what are you protecting them from?” Steve asked, a question he had already pressed her to answer in their last argument. 

Joyce didn’t have an answer, because they both knew the truth. This wasn’t about the kids. Not Jonathan. Not Will. Not El. 

It was about Joyce. What she wanted, what she felt like she had to protect herself from. 

And the worst part was Steve understood. He got why she had to leave, why she couldn’t bear to stay here any longer than she had to, but what he couldn’t understand, what he would never understand, was the need to hide behind a shadow. 

“You don’t have to say the truth, but, please, don’t tell me a lie,” Steve said quietly, Joyce sucking in a sharp breath as he carefully threw her own words back in her face. 

She had said it to him dozens of times over the last year, and dozens of times he had caved and told her the truth. 

But Joyce was not Steve. 

“Steve, it's too late to go back on this.” Joyce said firmly, as if her tone would be enough to spontaneously change Steve’s mind. He scoffed, shaking his head and turning away from her to stare out the front window. He welded his lips together, planning to keep his mouth shut and ice her out until Joyce finally got annoyed enough to cut him loose. 

It wouldn’t take long. 

It had only taken her six weeks to pack up their whole lives and completely tear apart Steve’s. 

“I want you to come with us.”

“What?” Steve said, the shock of Joyce’s words enough to make him speak without meaning to. 

“That’s why I wanted you to come here before everyone else,” Joyce said, trying to walk towards Steve again. This time he was too startled to stop her and she entered into his space, a soft smile on her face. The same smile she used to give him when she would push his hair away from his face at night, and tell him that he didn’t need to stay awake. 

That she would be there, and nothing was going to get between her and her boys. 

She had always said it, and they had always both known that she meant more than just Jonathan and Will. 

“I wanted to ask you to come with us,” Joyce repeated, laying a soft hand on his arm. 

“I don’t understand,” Steve said helplessly, his heart starting to race, the bare walls beginning to close in. 

“The house we bought has a little condo next to it that’s free, and I’m sure that Doctor Owens would be able to get it put in your name the way he got mine,” Joyce explained, a plan laid out neatly, too neatly, “There’s lots of jobs out in Lenora, or you could even go to the community college there. Take some classes while you figure out what you want to do?”

This was not a spur of the moment offer. Joyce had to have thought about it before this morning. More than once. 

“You want me to move to Lenora with you guys?” Steve heard himself ask, a spring blossom blooming in his chest without his permission. A little seed of hope that had no reason to exist at all. 

Joyce nodded, her smile growing, and for a second Steve let himself think about it. Truly and honestly think about it. 

He let himself imagine a world where he didn’t go to his interview with Robin this afternoon, and instead stayed here. Packed up the rest of the boxes, hopped in the van with Joyce, and went out to California. Where there was never any snow to shovel, no Mother and Father to disappoint, no dead end job to hate. 

No monsters waiting to jump out of the shadows. 

A life that was only about what he wanted, what Steve thought would be best for him. A life that came with a family that wanted him. 

“It’s over and done and nothing is holding you here anymore,” Joyce pressed, looking around the empty house, “There’s no reason for you to stay.”

And the dream was gone. 

Crushed into bits, shattered like a plate against a skull. 

Steve had reasons, seven of them. Seven people. Seven people who had gone through hell three times for a town that didn’t care and didn’t notice. Seven people who  

Seven people who deserved someone to protect them. Someone who would put them first. 

Steve had never been enough of a reason for anyone to stay, never been enough to put first. Not enough for his parents, not enough for Nancy, and now not enough for Joyce. 

But he would never let his kids think the same about themselves. 

“No, there’s no reason for you to stay,” Steve spat out, hating how bitter he sounded, but hating even more that he had let himself fall for the same trap again. Somewhere along the way he had let those walls down, let another person in, and let her put herself where she didn’t belong. 

That was the truth wasn’t it? They both knew Joyce didn’t fit where they had put her. She was never going to be his mother, and Steve had never fit into her life, but he had played pretend anyway. Ignored all the signs, ignored all the little whispers in his head that told him he was getting too close, trusting too much. He had let her brush his hair, and help him with his homework, and say the words her boys like she meant to include him. 

And now Joyce was just reminding him exactly how much he meant in the grand scheme of things. 

And, really, Steve only had himself to blame for the way his heart was starting to break into tiny impossible to put back together pieces. His mistake. His stupidity. 

He just never fucking learned. 

“At least there no reason to stay that actually ever mattered to you,” He added with a laugh that did not sound at all funny, walking out the door before he could hear another one of her lies. 

[afewproblems]

Angsty dialogue prompts 👀

Number 13 - "Why would you say that?"

-@strangersteddierthings

Ahhhhhh thank you for the request Jess! @strangersteddierthings I hope you enjoy, I took this into a bit of a different direction than even I expected!

***

It takes Robin's foot connecting with his ankle to make Steve realize he was starring.

At Eddie, yet again.

Something that he had been doing a lot over the last few months since everything with Vecna and the Upside Down. Since Steve and Robin had managed to drag Eddie back from the brink, fighting off inky tendrils of death as Dustin led the way while Nancy brought up the rear, shot gun in hand.

Between the four of them, Eddie had actually made it. Torn up and missing about two liters of blood, but alive.

Of course, navigating the aftermath of the earthquakes and the loss of half the town had actually made it easier to avoid the murder charges that had been lobbed at Eddie.

Especially with the way Lucas, Erica, and Max had sworn up and down that Jason had been the one responsible for all of the murders, that they had narrowly escaped becoming his final victims.

And who could argue with the evidence, certainly not Jason after the surge of white hot energy that split the earth had finished with him.

So with Eddie's newfound freedom and the inability to argue with Dustin's insistence that he had been officially adopted into the party, his presence in their lives had become something that Steve looked forward to.

It was nice having someone else his age in the group. Robin was his other half of course, his soul mate, but it was nice having another guy to hang out with, and of course it wasn't because of anything else, Robin.

He let it slip one time that Eddie had nice eyes and was easy to talk to and, do you think he's seeing anyone Bobby, and suddenly Steve is accused of having a crush. Of all things!

Steve feels two fingers suddenly pinch at the outside of his thigh and has to suppress a loud yelp as he bats Robin's hands away from his leg with a glare.

She rolls her eyes and gives him a knowing look before turning back to the conversation.

"Take Stevie over here," Eddie says around the joint between his lips. He takes a long drag before passing it over to Argyle and Steve can't help but watch, transfixed, as the smoke billows out from his nose like a dragon.

"I can guarantee you that he's seen the ocean before while the rest of us land-locked lubbers will probably never get the pleasure," Eddie continues with a wink and kicks his leg up onto the coffee table in Steve's basement.

Argyle blows out a long puff of smoke, he's leaned back against the couch with his head tipped up towards the ceiling, "thats wild man," he says with a laugh in his voice, he doesn't react when Jonathan snorts and takes the joint from his hand.

"Seriously?" Jon asks after a minute, "dude, we lived in California, we literally went to the beach all the time?"

Robin and Nancy both laugh at the noise of recognition that Argyle makes while Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Okay but for everyone else who didn't have the benefit of local geography," Eddie says, gesturing at the girls and himself, "we will be cursed to never feel the sand between our toes and all that shit".

Robin quirks an eyebrow and takes a swig of beer from the can in her hands, the sleeve of her denim jacket brushes against Steve's arm as she moves to set the can back on the coffee table.

They're the only two seated on the floor, Steve having given up the couch so everyone else could be comfortable and Robin couldn't, in good conscience, let her best friend sit by himself.

God he loves her, Steve thinks as he shoots her a soft smile.

He's never had someone that loves him so openly, so unapologetically as Robin does.

Not even when his parents were home for more than a few days a year did they show him the same kind of care that she had in their short time of knowing one another.

Sure, they teased each other, Robin had even made a new scoreboard for his failed attempts at flirting at Family Video --this one with a new section after Steve quietly admitted to her that they had even more in common than they had realized earlier.

But Robin was there, in a way that he hadn't really had from anyone else in years.

"I don't know how you deal with it Buckley," Eddie huffs. He's grinning widely at Robin and Steve, reaching to take the joint back from Jonathan.

"What," she says dryly, "Steve? He grows on you".

"He does," Nancy insists loudly from Jonathan's other side, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes a little glassy. Jonathan lifts his arm to tuck her against his side with a fond grin, he meets Steve's gaze after a minute and mouths, 'still a lightweight,' which makes Steve snort.

"This!" Eddie barks out, lifting a ringed hand to gesture around the basement sitting room, "look there's a fucking Linn LP12 sitting right beside you and a God Damn pool outside".

Steve frowns, looking from Robin back to Eddie. He feels an uncomfortable thrum roll over his skin as Eddie stands up to make his way to the sound system he pointed out.

"Jesus, I think this whole collection cost more than my trailer," he picks up Steve's mothers Joni Mitchell album, turning it in his hands, "must have been nice to have mommy and daddy's money huh? This is like 'fuck you' rich".

Steve feels a faint nervous laugh tumble out of his mouth, even as his stomach rolls at the words.

"Oh my god," Robin laughs, knocking her shoulder into Steve's own, "yes! If I had a nickle for the number of times he asked me why I don't have my own phone line yet whenever my mom answers first, I'd be as rich as Steve!"

Eddie puts the Blue album back and pulls out a copy of The Beatles and now Steve is sweating.

Because Eddie isn't wrong, this is his parents music collection and yes it did cost them a lot of money over the years. But, more importantly, it was off limits to Steve.

The last time his dad had caught him flipping through the vinyls, Steve had been sent to his room with large purple hand prints on the offending arm and two broken fingers.

"Okay, that's my dad's, put it down," he says, hiding the tremor in his voice as he gets to his feet.

Eddie rolls his eyes again but does set the record down on top of the collection. He raises his hands in surrender and raises a mocking eyebrow as he steps back towards the couch, dropping down on the end as Argyle scoots closer to Jonathan to make more space.

Argyle and Jonathan speak quietly to one another seemingly uncaring about the strange tension that begins to bleed into the basement. It's Nancy who is watching Steve, Eddie, and Robin, her mouth set in an unhappy frown.

Nancy had only met Steve's parents once during a very uncomfortable dinner, years back when they had dated. While she may not know the true extent of Steve's relationship with Richard and Cynthia Harrington, she knows it wasn't all sunshine and roses.

"Man," Eddie snorts, shooting Robin a wicked grin, "I knew your parents had spoiled you pretty rotten but I didn't think they needed to buy you a new sense of humor".

"Yeah Steve," Robin pats the carpet beside her, "it's just a joke, lighten up and come sit down".

And that, well, that hurt a bit more than Steve anticipated.

"Why would you say that?" He whispers, the words falling out of his mouth like vomit before he can stop it.

Eddie scoffs from the couch, but Steve isn't looking at Eddie. He's looking at Robin.

Robin who meets Steve's gaze with a slight frown between her eyes, she looks back at Nancy with a laugh in her smile that disappears at the frosty glare Nancy fixes her with.

She slowly turns to look back at Steve, confusion and concern in her blue eyes.

"Oh come on Steve," Eddie takes a drag of the joint, which has dwindled into something resembling a roach before stubbing it out in the brown ashtray on the table, "we're kidding, come on Byers, you get it right?"

Nancy leans up to whisper something in Jonathan's ear and whatever it is, it's enough to make him stiffen slightly and give Steve a long look before he shakes his head, "I think we're going to head home actually".

Steve nods and breathes out, ignoring the way his chest tightens as he refuses to meet Robin's worried gaze.

Eddie slowly stands to follow Nancy and Jonathan, he says something quietly to Argyle that is met with a simple serene shrug

Eddie hangs back as the other three make their way up the basement stairs. He chews his lip and clenches his fist as he looks between Steve and Robin with a frown.

Eddie stands awkwardly beside Robin, spinning one of the rings on his left hand as he looks between Steve and the stairs that the others had used to beat their hasty retreat.

Robin gets to her feet slowly, her gaze never wavering, "Steve?"

Steve winces at the way she says his name.

He knows it was just a joke, he knows he's overreacting, that neither of them could have known about his relationship with his parents.

He knows it's unfair of him to be so upset, but he can't help it.

Because Eddie mocking him, that he could deal with. He could get over it, let go of the fantasies of Eddie's crinkling eyes and warm smile that made Steve's heartbeat quicken.

But Robin?

The way she had laughed, dismissed his discomfort, it was as though he had been transported back to Tommy's basement just a few years back, listening to him and Carol tear him down.

It's just a joke Steve.

He reaches up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, flinching at the sharp intake of air from Robin who immediately makes her way closer.

"Just," he manages to say with an even tone, shaking his head. He closes his eyes and clears his throat, taking a step back from the pair.

"I'm going to bed, got a shift tomorrow, so," Steve says quietly with a shrug. He opens his eyes but drops his gaze to the carpet, knowing if he made eye contact with Robin, he would inevitably ask her to stay.

Robin opens her mouth to argue, a fierce glare in her eyes and a bright flush on her face, he hasn't seen her this upset since the Creel House.

"Steve--"

Robin jumps as Eddie reaches for her arm, pulling her back, hard enough that she stumbles slightly into Eddie.

Steve curls his arms around himself, shying away from Eddie's dark evaluating eyes. He doesn't need to see the judgment there, it's embarrassing enough feeling like he's ruined the evening because of his hangups. He doesn't need the reminder of how ridiculous it is to be angry with them over something so silly.

"Come on Buckley, I'll drive you home," Eddie mumbles as he gently tugs at her arm once again.

Steve hears a harsh sigh, but she doesn't say anything this time. He can feel her staring, as though trying to read his mind like she normally could. But Steve keeps his eyes trained on the floor, until he hears two pairs of feet finally make their way up the stairs, until the front door closes, until Eddie's van roars to life on the Harrington driveway.

Steve eventually makes his way upstairs in a daze, half heartedly getting ready for bed.

He brushes his teeth, washes his face, doing everything he can to ignore the words that echo in his head over and over. He finishes in the bathroom and takes off his jeans, swapping his sweater for an old ratty t-shirt he often used for bed.

It was just a joke.

Steve rolls over until he's facing the window, ignoring the tightness in his chest as he closes his eyes.

Maybe it would be funnier in the morning.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crushed 19

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, cheating, sleazy behaviour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your next door neighbours hook up, bringing to surface deep-seated feelings.

Characters: Colin Shea, Jonathan Pine

Note: it's hump day, let's get humped.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like my dog loves belly rubs (that’s a lot). Take care. 💖

Jonathan doesn’t drive you back to your building. Instead, you walk with him through the halls to his condo. You stop outside the door as he slips the bags up to his wrist and unlocks the door. He holds it open and waves you inside. 

You enter, rubbing your arm nervously. It’s been a long day. A long few days. You’re exhausted. You catch a yawn in your hand as you hug yourself with one arm and peer around. 

“I’ll have to go into the office tomorrow. Can’t be avoided much longer,” he explains as he puts the bags on the side table, “you will stay here. To be safe.” 

“Oh, uh, right,” you sway back and forth as you press your palm to the side of your neck, “um, I don’t mind--” 

“I mind,” he interjects, “I can’t trust that animal not to act as what he is. Darling, you must think, yes? Learn from your mistakes. We both know he’s dangerous. I wouldn’t put you in such danger and I would hope you wouldn’t walk right into it.” 

“I know, I wasn’t... I just... I wouldn’t want to impose,” your eyes drift away meekly, “that’s all.” 

“Impose? Have I not made my feelings clear?” He approaches you, brushing his knuckles up your arm, “I cannot get enough of you, fawn.” 

You smile but it’s hard. You feel weak. The day is only half done and you could keel over. He brings his hand up to cradle your cheek, “what is it?” 

“Just tired,” you shrug. 

“Mmm, how about... I’ll run you a nice hot bath. You can relax. We’ve done rather much today... you have been through even more,” he gives a doleful look, “you let me worry for everything. All will turn out, I’m certain.” 

“I guess,” you purse your lips. It’s easy enough for him to say. He still has a job, you’re not so sure you do. 

“Darling,” he brings a bent finger under your chin, tiling your head, “I will take care of you.” 

Your lips part but you quickly close them. You don’t want to argue right now. You don’t want to point out that everything is still fresh and new. Or that he might not feel the same in a month or two. Or a year. Especially if you’re unemployed. 

One day he’ll see how worthless you are. 

“So let’s get that bath going,” he bends to kiss your forehead, “I’ve some bath salts which may help ease the tension. I’ll light a few candles...” he rambles as he turns and strides down the hallway. You follow after him reluctantly, as much as the bath sounds nice, you already feel like a burden. 

You stand in the doorway as you watch him remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves. He fusses over the tub as of you’re not there. The water spills out into the deep porcelain basin and he stands. He turns and gestures to a towel on a silver bar. 

“That is clean,” he says before he opens the tall cupboard near the sink, “bath salt... rose.” 

He reads the canister before he uncaps it. He turns to add a sprinkle to the water, the floral aroma rising with the steam. He sets it aside and beckons you into the bathroom. You cross the tile as you play with the hem of your shirt. 

He brushes past you and you turn to watch him go. You face the tub again and pull up your shirt. You let your pants slip down your legs and as you straighten, you hear him return. He places a three-wick candle on the ledge above the tub and lights it. 

He looks at you, his eyes roving up and down, and he smirks, “I’m almost tempted to join you, darling, but alas, I do have a few things to tend to.” 

“That’s... okay,” you murmur, hugging yourself as you stand in panty and bra.  

He scoffs, “why are you playing shy, eh?” He nears and tickles along your collar bone, sending a shiver through you. 

“I’m not, I’m... cold,” you lie and turn your attention to the tub. 

“Mm, if you need any help warming up,” his fingers flutter up your neck before he retracts his touch, “should you need me, you need only call my name, fawn.” 

“Alright,” you eke out. 

You wait until he’s past you but don’t check to see if he’s gone. You strip down the rest of your clothes and near the tub. You lift your legs over the edge and sink into the water. You sigh as the warmth seeps into you. 

You close your eyes as the water continues to lap down by your feet. You try to let the tension out. You’re thinking too much.  

💔

You button up the shirt Jonathan left for you. You still feel uneasy as you slip into bed but you’re too tired to care. You might be invading his space but he doesn’t seem to mind much. Besides, the hot water has finished you off. You just want to sleep forever. 

Your eyes roll back and you hide from the world. It doesn’t quite fade away, still vaguely present on the other side of your eyelids. That hazy itchiness settles in your head but the fog just won’t thicken to darkness. You’re awake, barely, kept conscious by the nerves rattling in your chest. 

In your stupour, you remain vaguely aware of your unusual surroundings. Despite the threat that lingers on the other side of the walls, you can’t help but miss your apartment. It’s the first space that was truly your own. All that’s ruined.  

You hear a dulcet tone, a low hum that’s soothing a much as it is stirring. You roll onto your side and grumble, peeling open your eyes as your ears prick. Jonathan’s voice precedes him into the room. You blink at him from the bed, curled up under the blankets as your warmth keeps you in place. 

“Yes, I will have her there, never you worry,” he says breezily, “mm, yes, I’ve the time. I’ll add it to my calendar. Shouldn’t be any issue.” As you watch him, he meets your gaze and his brows flick up as he grins, “thanks, Eugenia, can’t wait. Yes, you have a wonderful night.” 

He pulls the phone away from his ear and you recognise the case and the cracked protector. It’s yours. What the heck? You sit up and reach instinctively for him. 

“Hey, that’s my phone,” you accuse. 

“Yes, it was ringing and I thought you asleep. It was only your mother,” he drops the phone on the bed next to you. “I could hardly answer between messages from that pest you call a neighbour.” 

“What?” You grasp the cell and slide it closer. 

“She only wanted to confirm the time for the engagement party next weekend. You can wear one of your new dresses,” he explains as he goes to the wall mirror and checks his reflection, smoothing his hair before he unbuttons his collar. He works a path down the row and the fabric slackens around his shoulders. “I’ve made certain to make record of each message that creature sends. We may just need to consult authorities.” 

“Colin? I—I blocked him.” 

“Please do not say his name. It’s absolutely hideous, isn’t it?” He faces you as he shrugs off his shirt. “It seems he has found an alternative, that chit he keeps around.” 

“Ally?” You wonder. 

“Mmm, is that her name,” he drones as he dumps his shirt into the hamper. “Well, we needn’t worry about them much longer.” 

He continues to undress as you pull yourself up against the pillows. Things just keep happening and you can’t keep up. You look up as he wears nothing but his short cotton boxers and nears the bed. You peek down at your phone and put it on the night table to right of the bed. 

“I do think you should call your landlord and give notice sooner than later,” he climbs onto the foot of the bed. 

“Notice?” You echo in confusion, “why--” 

“You cannot go back, darling, it’s not safe,” he tugs at the blanket, pulling it away from your body, “I cannot in good conscience let you return.” 

“But I—we can just let things mellow out, right? Colin will get over it--” 

“I told you,” he grabs your ankle, “do not utter his name at me.” 

He pulls you so you fall flat on your back. You throw your arms out and gasp as your head bounces onto the mattress. He separates your legs and perches between them. You lift yourself on your elbows, breathless, and stare at him. 

“I can’t stay forever--” 

“Did I ever say that?” He challenges, his blue eyes blazing up at you. 

“No, but--” 

“I understand things have escalated quickly, fawn, but we will figure it all out. I will be certain to clarify everything at the office, let them know it was simply not your doing,” his eyes cling to your face and narrow before slowly descending. 

He glides his hands up your legs, crawling closer on his knees. He slides his touch beneath the loose shirt and tickles your naked skin. He sends a chill through you that speckles hotly. He feels your body, running his hands up and your torso as you quiver. 

He slips his hands above the fabric as he kneels between your thighs. He unbuttons the shirt to your belly button, unveiling your chest and bending to dote on it. He cups one side as his mouth explores the other; nipping and nuzzle. You let out a pathetic noise as you cradle the back of his head. 

You arch your back as his warmth draws you in and chases away your doubts. His long fingers soothe you and his intensity overpowers you. As much as this man has you uncertain, you cannot resist him. It feels nice to be wanted even if it isn’t who you wanted. 

💔

Once more, you fall asleep in the afterglow of Jonathan’s attentions. How easily he can obfuscate your fears and doubts. How his touch can so easily distract you from the things that might keep you awake.  

The weight of his arm settles over you, holding you to him, his hard long body coiled around yours. He keeps a leg curled between yours as his hot breath seeps into your scalp. You’re content, you’re safe. 

Your sleep is only disturbed as he untangles himself carefully from you. You don’t rouse entirely, clinging to the pillow and dregs of fatigue. He tucks the blanket under your figure and the bed shifts with the absences of his weight. His scent lingers behind him. 

You sink back down and fall flat on your back, spreading out across the mattress. The late night lull settles over you, lulling you down as the distant drone of Jonathan’s lilted voice further coaxes you. You moan through your slumber and roll onto his side, longing for him to return. 

You blink and the blue digits of the clock have changed. Twenty minutes and he’s still not back. You shiver and flutter your eyelashes, rubbing your cheeks as you force yourself awake. You sit up dizzily, you can still hear him. 

You shimmy to the edge of the bed and stand. You hug yourself as a shiver washes over your naked flesh. The button-up is lost somewhere in the bedding. You put your feet down softly as you pad across the room, following his timbre as it come between sharper tones. 

You creep out into the hall, a bluish glow drawing you in. You follow the cool hardwood to the front room and hide in the dim as you squint. Jonathan has his phone in hand, the screen alight as his profile is limned in its shine. He watches it intently as you recognise the voice chirping from the speaker. 

“That’s so lovely, dear, hope we can see you soon,” his mother chimes. 

You waver on your feet. Oh, you shouldn’t listen. 

“Will she be coming?” His father’s gristly accent comes through. 

You pause before you can back up. Jonathan clicks his tongue, “yes, I think so.” 

“Jon,” his mother titters, “oh, that’s so exciting! That’s... big.” 

“Eh, yes, don’t think you ever let us meet one of the birds,” he father chides. 

“Father, she’s not... don’t call her that,” Jonathan rebukes. 

“I’m teasing, yeah?” The elder Pine chortles, “you’re gonna have to warn her about us. If that place has made you so soft, I shouldn’t want to scare the girl.” 

“Father,” Jonathan utters once more, “she’s... not... She’s perfect.” 

His mom squeals and giggles. You gulp and press yourself against the wall. What is he talking about? He’s talking about taking you somewhere. To his home? That’s a far way. Something he should probably ask you first. His mother is entirely correct; that’s big. His compliments cannot counteract the shock of his one-sided decision. 

You sidle along the hallway, careful not to place your feet too heavily. As you near the bedroom, your elbow hits the frame and the thump casts silence through the apartment. Shoot. 

You peer toward the front room and see Jonathan’s shadow closing in. He must have heard your misstep. You quickly flit into the room and ease into the bed. You pull the blankets over you and turn your back to the door. Your heart is racing. 

You sense him in the doorway, watching you. Silent. 

“Everything okay, son?” His father asks. 

“Yes, it’s... fine,” Jonathan answers, “I’ll let you go. Wouldn’t want to wake her.” 

“Oh yes, get some sleep,” his mother insists, “love ya.” 

“Night, son.” 

Jonathan crosses the room and you hear his phone meet the table on his side of the bed. The mattress dips as he climbs in and pulls the blanket over himself, nestling in close to you. He sighs and hums as he hugs you to him once more. 

You lay, frozen and silent, praying he can’t feel your pulse. 

“Did I wake you?” He whispers and kisses your crown. 

You force a groan from your throat and feign grogginess, “hmm, oh, no...” You wiggle into the mattress and yawn, putting your hand over his. 

“Back to sleep, darling,” he purrs as he nuzzles you.  

[abibliophobiaa]

For the Steve prompt - Whisper

rock the boat

18+, and yea inspired by those pics. forbidden romance (kind of); reader is argyle’s step-sibling; slight voyeurism; unprotected p-in-v intercourse. thank you @loveshotzz for giving this a look-see and also always encouraging my unexpected steve ideas. steve harrington x afab!reader. music insp: rock the boat — aaliyah. (4.2k words)

-

The grounds were set early on and were simple enough: no dating within the party. The ‘rules’ created by your own step-brother, Argyle, who insisted it was for your benefit and protection when Vecna had finally been vanquished and you both moved to Hawkins to be closer to your new found family, and life returned to some semblance of normal.

Which you’d understood—at first.

But no one, and nothing, would have ever prepared you for Steve Harrington. Impossibly handsome with those dark eyes and his perfectly imperfect head of hair, ridiculously charming, and the kind of humorous personality that had your sides shaking and cheeks hurting long after he’d dropped you back off at your shared apartment on the nights you spent together.

The intention hadn’t been to fall into a forbidden romance, and yet you had. It was easy, really. He’d become friends with Eddie, who had then become friends with Argyle and Jonathan who occupied your apartment often. They’d smoke and drink together, laughing over their silly stories and inside jokes, while you snuck glances at the boy.

He noticed quickly. Caught your gaze where you stood in the hallway, in the shelter of shadows within your home, from the armchair you often dropped into on nights Argyle invited you to partake.

Soon enough those imploring stares shifted into more. Turned into gentle touches in the kitchen when he’d offer to grab beers for the guys. A whisper of an almost-kiss against your bedroom doorway at the end of the night, always seemingly interrupted by one of your friends. The glide of your fingers at the nape of his neck while the boys watched a movie and you went to work for the afternoon.

It persisted for months, until one afternoon he worked up the nerve to ask you out properly. You met him in the parking lot after his shift, he tossed your bike in the back of his trunk, and took you to a drive-in after picking up some smoothies from the local diner. You made it approximately five minutes before you’d babbled that you really liked him, and he made it another two before he curled his hand around your cheek and kissed you until your thoughts screamed his name, until every other boy who came before him evaporated into nothingness within your mind.

After that it was months of whispered affection. It was running out of your apartment after Argyle had passed out for a nap, clambering over the center console, and curling your fingers in your boyfriend’s hair. It was riding him in the back seat of his car, your thighs on either side of his hips, gasping as he rolled up into you, urging you onward, his voice singing your praises. It was rushing up the stairs to his parent’s home while they’d gone on another business trip and tumbling into his bed, your underwear on his floor and his mouth hot against your cunt. It was confessions of ‘we shouldn’t be doing this,’ and yet never stopping, because soon they became hushed ‘you’re mines’ and earth-shattering ‘I love yous.’

Yet no one knew. It was your secret, forged in the darkness, and kept close to your heart. A relationship that meant the world to you. But you kept it hidden for so long that it seemed easier than to tell the truth—to not shake the very foundations of the friendships of “The Party” presently seated about the boat you all were perched on.

The same boat Argyle had purchased with the hush money funded by the government after everything that occurred with Vecna. You suggested he do something practical with it, and he insisted bringing a little bit of California to their life in Hawkins made sense. So he docked it at his family home in California, and pretty much demanded that the adults make a road trip.

The weekend away had been…frustrating to put it lightly. The house you all rented on the beach held so few bedrooms, and though you wanted to slip into Steve’s, you couldn’t because he had been pushed into sharing with Eddie. Your step-brother’s brilliant doing. Argyle himself shared with Jonathan, which left the girls to share the largest room.

Which also meant an endless cock-block for the duration of the whole weekend getaway.

The first night you’d cracked the door just the slightest and Eddie had shot up like he’d seen a ghost to launch a pillow at your head. Barked your name so loud you threw yourself onto his bed and clapped a hand over his mouth. Those dark eyes shifted to your face, then darted to Steve’s and he knew. When you’d pulled back, a newfound glint was there, as well as an endless well of blackmail you’d never recover from.

“You two,” he said, dragging his finger along the space between the two of you. “Would be dead if your brother found out. How long has this been going on?”

“Six months,” Steve said, eyes trained on the floor. You tossed a pillow at his head for telling Eddie. Traitor.

“Six months?!” You clapped your hand over his mouth once more, earning a quick thwack to the inside of your wrist. “Wait—you came in here…to hook up, didn’t you? While I was sleeping?!”

"Don't act like you've never snuck around with anyone," you hissed. "I saw you slip away at the bar last night with that girl. Where'd you go off to?"

"That's none of your business. Plus she wasn't a party member. You are," he grumbled, rolling over and knocking you onto the floor in a heap. Steve's arms reached out to grab at you but you shoved free, glowering at the metalhead. "You two need to tell him before he catches one of you with your pants down, just saying."

Not gonna happen, you thought.

Though you often dreamed of coming clean, of being out in the open, of loving Steve in the light. And you knew he wanted the same. But every time you opened your mouth to tell your step-brother, every time the words formed on your lips, you pictured his disappointment and you tampered it away.

Filed it away for another day, for a maybe, or a never.

-

Sunlight gleamed over the water's surface. Bright and crystalline, staring up at you mockingly as waves crashed against the boat's exterior. Before you, Eddie glanced on with a smirk, poised at you where you sat beside Steve.

Everything about the boat ride was loathsome. Steve’s hip barely brushed yours and your fingers itched to reach out and touch him. To curl around Steve's palm and put an end to the sneaking, hiding, and endless lies. To put an end to the sneaking in after dark, the telling your step-brother you'd merely been working extra hours, to having to watch as the guys all lingered in your living room and wait until Argyle later slipped into his bedroom when they'd all left to let Steve back in. If only so he could crawl into your bed and your arms.

All around you, friends talked about their day. Lived normally, without harboring secrets—no deceit to plague their consciences. Conversed about the happenings of their lives, snacked on bags of chips with colorful labels on the fronts, sunglasses glinting in the daylight. Robin laughed in the distance at something Nancy had said, and Jonathan snapped photo after photo of the skyline, the group, the captain at the head of the boat commandeering the whole thing. He'd had his sights set on the restaurant appearing before you now. Close enough that you could see it, smell the barbecue food cooking, hear the chatter of patrons at the bar, their jovial laughter.

At least some people are having fun, you thought, glancing up at the sky as a particularly strong thump against the boat sent you careening into Steve's lap.

"Sorry about that, my dudes. Still a little rusty," Argyle shouted over the water, head turning over his shoulder to where you were sprawled over his best friend's thighs. "Are you two okay back there?"

"Just fell!" You shouted back, hating the way you pulled back quickly from Steve like he'd burned you. Because he never had, never would.

'Tell him,' Eddie mouthed when Argyle pointed his attention back ahead, eyes narrowed at the both of you. But you only ignored him. Instead you focused your attention on sea-foam and the dock appearing on the water's edge. On quieting the thump thump of your heart in your chest, dulling the desire roiling in your gut, and the frustration over the fear you harbored that could also very well free you if only you'd will yourself to just do it once and for all.

Some time later, after Argyle docked the boat, you leaned up and brushed your lips over Steve's ear. A soft and whispered, "Pretend you're feeling seasick. Trust me."

It was enough for Steve. He needed no further convincing and splayed a palm over his abdomen, leaning over the back of the boat like one would should they need to expel the contents of their stomach. Your hand came up and rested sympathetically against his shoulders, eyes rounded in worry as everyone around you peered over to inspect the scene.

“Are you okay, honey?” Robin asked, her palm curling over Steve’s neck, just above your own.

“‘M okay. Just need a minute,” he moaned, lowering his head further to hide his face. “Go on ahead, I’ll catch you all later.”

“Hey Arg?” Your voice raised high above the other worried prattling around you. His eyes darted your way, nodding. “I’ll stay with him.”

“Right…” he said, voice trailing. “You practically grew up on boats. Makes sense. Alright dudes, we’ll grab a table; you two meet up with us whenever Harrington’s done expelling his breakfast.”

-

“Missed you,” you whimpered against the column of his throat.

Alone at last, you licked a long stripe against the curve of his neck, nipping and sucking. Paid attention to the birth marks you knew were one below the other, teeth grazing delicate flesh, jolting beneath your affections as you went. Steve was all coconut sunscreen lathered skin against his golden skin and broad arms wrapped around your lower back. Fingers that eventually drifted further and clutched at the dough of your ass, confined in the jean shorts hiked high on your thighs where you now sat, thighs draped on either side of his hips.

“Yeah, baby?”

He rasped the words in the shell of your ear, his cheek pressed to yours, rocking you against his jean-clad lap. Made sure you could feel him and the hardness that kicked up in his jeans when you ground down just right over him.

“Touched myself to the thought of you in bed last night,” you admitted.

Heat pooled in your chest, and downward. The bikini you wore beneath your jean shorts was already embarrassingly slick with your arousal.

“Honey, with the girls around?”

His smirk indicated he liked it. Very much so. Practically purred the words, nosing along your collarbones, pressing kiss after kiss into your skin.

You hummed idly. Combed your fingers through his long tresses. “Waited till they were asleep.”

“Missed me that much?” Teeth grazed an earlobe and released it with a pop, a shudder wracking throughout your body.

“Uhuh.” A pinched whine fell as you rocked against his lap, relishing in the heat of him straining through the confines of his jeans, wanting to be freed.

“What did you think about?” At your silence, he continued. “Come on, baby. Use your words for me.”

“Your fingers.”

“Where?”

A finger slid up between you. Brushed along your lips as a start, eyes connected to his when you trailed a path down the line of your chest. Over your sternum where your heart thrashed wildly. The lines of your abdomen, the softness of your flesh, the button on your shorts. Then lower still, dragging a slow circle along your clothed cunt, bottom lip pinched between your lips.

“What else?”

“Your c-cock; how g-good it feels when you’re inside me—mmm.” Another pinched whine as he tugged down your shirt to bare you to him, as well as the small triangle of your bikini, tongue swirling your sensitive bud of flesh.

His fingers released and your bikini snapped back into place. Desire burned behind Steve’s eyes, dark and round with want. “How long do you think we have?”

Normally, Steve would have had you on your back first, with his mouth buried in your cunt. He’d spend hours there if he could, teasing you. Alternating between suckling your clit and trailing delicate figures, fingers curled deep within you until your foot would eventually tremble against the middle of his back and you’d arch up involuntarily into his awaiting face. He’d toss a forearm over your hips, would press you harder into the mattress, floor, couch, or the back of his car. Would coax you through your orgasm until you grew limp within his arms, and his name was the only word uttered by your lips. But you didn’t have the luxury of time on your side now.

“Few minutes,” you whispered, leaning down to claim his lips, gasping into his eager mouth as fingers worked to free you from your shorts and slide them down your thighs. “Maybe ten. Make ‘em count, Harrington.”

“Bend over the side of the boat for me then, baby.”

Heat rushed throughout your body at his words. The scandal of it, the way nervousness immediately manifested itself in the worrying of your bottom lip. You clambered over his thighs all the same still, knees knocking against the padded cooler presently used as a bench, hitching forward slightly at the waist. A palm came up to rest between your shoulder blades, a strong, comforting chest following suit. Another skirted up and along your waist, over your chest, cupping beneath your ribcage gently.

“What if someone sees, Steve?”

Your eyes trained ahead on the rock formation partially obscuring the boat from the public eye. But you wondered how much it protected you from prying stares—from those who might enjoy the spectacle of a summer tryst. That fear soon quelled, the thrill of being wrapped up in Steve erasing any other thought from your mind.

“We’re good,” he soothed reassuringly against your ear, hand sliding back down over your stomach, then further still to brush against your center, finding you soaked through your bikini bottom. “This is all for me, honey?”

You swallowed your reply, shuddering as he shifted behind you, hips grinding against your ass so you could feel what you’d done to him. Faintly, you overheard the sound of his zipper sliding down. The tinker of his fingers moving to unbutton his jeans. The fumble to push fabric down far enough to free his cock. Your head turned just enough over your shoulder to take him in. Fingers curled around himself, tip already leaking for you, free hand coming to curl around the fabric separating you from him at last.

“Open up wider,” he prompted with a smack to your ass. Immediately rubbed it affectionately to smooth the ache away as soon as it came. You shifted as requested, swallowing a choked moan as his head nudged at your entrance. “Ready for me?”

Head nodding, he pushed in slowly, your breath shaking on a stuttered exhale as he sank in inch by inch. The initial stretch of him had always left you breathless—even after all the times you'd been with him. The kind of breathlessness that had your eyes rolling back, a forearm pressed into your mouth to keep yourself from altering those around you of what you’d gotten up to.

Behind you, Steve started to move, one hand curled around your hip and clutching tight to your flesh, the other between your thighs, rolling perfected circles into your clit, listening to your sighs and moans as you clenched down around him. He moved slowly. Short, practiced movements as you adjusted to him. A gentle ebb and flow, almost devastatingly slow. A delicate drag along your inner walls. Rocked against the swell of your ass, thumb kneading your flesh, parting you for him. In your impatience, you pushed back against him, palms leveraging you enough to force him deeper. Harder. Trying to chase that peak—to reach the euphoria you craved for days now, subdued by the endless prying eyes on you both at all times.

“Love you,” you rasped, forehead dropping down onto your forearm. “Love you so much, Stevie.”

“I love you, too.”

A mantra. A whispered mantra that punched you in the gut as he thrusted into you over and over and over again. Until he slid back. Inched out completely and cool air flowed over your cunt, chilling your slick skin. A whine spilled from your parted lips, choked off only by the delicate brush of Steve’s fingers at your center, slipping and sliding against the wetness there, circling it into your flesh, pushing it inside. He made a mess of you like that. The dirty squelch of his fingers meeting your slick making your breath hitch, chest rising and falling swiftly. Needy, you felt needy, hips wiggling into emptiness as he chuckled behind you.

Delicate fingers clutched at your ass, palmed you open for him, teeth nipping against skin tauntingly. He nudged at your center once more, pressure applied only just, skittering over where you wanted him most. Where you wanted him to sink into, to force the breath free from your lungs, to pound into you until you screamed his name and quivered around him, boneless in your release.

“Steve…” The name came out as an elongated whine. “Stop teasing me. Please. Fuck—just fuck me.”

“So impatient, baby.”

He cooed the words, no malice imbued his tone. And yet you wanted to turn around, to grip him by the neck of his shirt and drag his mouth against yours. To crush him to your breast, biting down into his lip until he groaned.

He laughed again, lifting you up just enough so he could settle your back against the lines of his chest. You relished in that heat, the ridges of his abdomen flush with you, the weight of him with every inhale and exhale. Fingers curled around your chin, thumb prodding at your bottom lip. The other palm, the one that lingered between the two of you, curled around himself. Pushed back into you in time with the lips that descended upon your own.

Too much. It was too much and not enough all at once, mind a whirling haze of colors as he started to set a relentless pace. Held you through it as your body danced closer and closer to your climax, knees trembling upon the bench, the sounds of fleshy smacks against your backside and the fingers circling your clit drowning out the rest of the world.

“Come on, baby. Come on my cock. Wanna watch you fall apart, pretty girl.”

“Steve—!”

You fell apart together. Warmth spilled within you as you trembled and shook in his arms. Your body nearly pitched forward from the weight of your orgasm, held upright only by the arm that looped around your waist to keep you tethered to reality. Bodies tangling, you rolled over onto the bench. Steve slipped free from your body, bathing suit bottom sliding back into place. A sigh followed. Forehead resting against his, you tried to catch your breath. Gasped heat from parted mouths pooled and filled the spaces between the two of you, quieted only by the melding of his lips against yours.

That…and the sound of footsteps against the dock. Heavy thuds that had you jolting upright and thankful you’d only removed your shorts and Steve had enough time to tug his pants back on and loop the button through the hole before your visitor was ever the wiser. The visitors being none other than Argyle and Jonathan, who presently stood, wide-eyed and absolutely not at all shocked to be seeing what they had.

Which…terrified you more than you ever thought imaginable.

“We’re fucked,” Steve muttered beside you.

And yeah, he was probably right.

-

“Look, Arg, I can explain!”

Steve lingered behind with Jonathan. And probably for the best, what with the way your step-brother looked at you like he’d been betrayed when you immediately rushed forward to try and hug him. Your always joyful step-sibling, though not quite surprised looking, held a certain unfamiliar sadness in his expression that shattered your heart. This dawning realization you’d done something to hurt him.

“I know he’s your friend, but I-I—”

“You love him,” he finished, turning to face you where you stood on the sandy ground. “Look, sis, I know you two have been sneaking around.”

“You—you what?”

“I’ve known. For months, actually. Did you think you were really that good at sneaking his giant head through your window? Also, he’s like…stupid loud when he comes in the front door at night, man. Harrington has two left feet.”

“I mean…” Frustrated, you pouted. “I thought we were doing fine. The sneaking around part, I mean.”

“Nope,” he said, hair blowing in the gentle breeze. “The two of you giggle a ton. And the walls are paper thin in our apartment.”

You…definitely didn’t want to unpack that one.

“Then why are you mad at me?”

You waved your hand in front of his face, outlining the dejected expression on his features. Hated the way he looked at you; like he’d been disappointed in you. You reached out to touch him, catching on the sleeve of his button up tee with palm trees littered all over it. When he didn’t flinch, you stepped closer.

“I’m not mad,” he admitted softly. Reassuringly. “I’m just…upset that you didn’t tell me yourself.”

“You told me I couldn’t date him! No Party on Party macking—you said it!” Jonathan and Steve paused at that, the sounds of their footfalls skittering to a hard stop. “And I didn’t mean to, okay? It wasn’t like I told myself to fall in love with the guy. It just happened.”

“Look—it’s my fault, too. Don’t just be upset with her. I…” Steve appeared at your side, hand at your lower back. Familiar. Affectionate. It dropped as Argyle’s eyes drifted south, watching you both intently. “I love her, man.”

Jonathan whistled in the distance. Argyle’s eyes darted to him, his answering response a shrugged pair of shoulders, and then returned to Steve. “You love her?”

“I love her,” he said fiercely. “I…I really do.”

“And you love him?”

You nodded, curling yourself into Steve’s side. “I’m sorry, Arg. I should have told you. I was scared, and there was never the right moment, and then too much time had passed and I—”

“Are you happy?” he asked you, and your eyes glittered with unshed tears, because yes, yes you were. “Just wish you’d talked to me. You know you can talk to me about anything. We’re family.”

Rushing forward, you curled your arms around your step-sibling, clutching the back of his shirt in your palm. A warm palm, his palm, glided up to rest at your middle back. Hugged you closer as you whispered over and over again to his cheek, now presently against yours, that you were sorry.

“Can’t believe you really thought you two were doing a good job sneaking around.” You slapped him playfully in the stomach, and he pushed you back just enough within the circle of his arms to smile at you. “I love you, sis. And you too, dude. If you both are happy, then I’m happy. Just, uh, next time the two of you have some sort of secret—maybe don’t wait six months to come clean about it, yeah?”

“Ditto,” you laughed, surging forward to hold him again. “Love you.”

A relaxed sigh rattled your bones as you gripped Steve’s hand openly now on your way toward the restaurant, now with Argyle’s blessing attached to it. You didn’t miss the way your step-brother smiled, actually smiled, at your interlocked fingers. Smiled at the way Steve always made sure you were close, be it a reassuring word in your ear, or the brush of his lips at your forehead just as the rest of your friends appeared at the table you’d been assigned.

Brows arched all around upon your arrivals. Thoughts unspoken filled each and every face, stares halting on the hand presently held within your own. Argyle and Jonathan settled down, while you and Steve remained at the head of the table, smiling weakly.

“Okay so…” you began, swallowing thickly. “We wanted to just clear the air and say that…”

“We’re dating,” Steve blurted out, couching at the end. At the unphased expressions all around you, he continued. “Have been for a while now, actually.”

Bracing for impact, you squeezed Steve’s hand tighter.

He squeezed yours back.

And yet nothing prepared you for the resounding, “We know!” from everyone around you.

When you met Eddie’s gaze, he wore a shit-eating grin. Liar pretended he hadn’t known.

“W-what?” you rasped, heart thundering away.

“You’re both not exactly known for being subtle,” Robin expressed, and the pitying gazes all around the table confirmed their agreement.

Your face turned into Steve’s neck, mortification hidden in the shelter of his awaiting body. “Oh my gosh.”

“Well,” he said softly into your hair, laughter shaking his frame. “At least the cat is out of the bag. I love you.”

But gosh, you loved him too.

-

-

[crochetedblorbos]

"I am not now, nor have I ever been, adorable."

Character Name: Jonathan Sims, a/k/a The Archivist, a/k/a The Ceaseless Watcher’s Special Little Boy, a/k/a Snoop God’s Favorite Kid

Fandom: The Magnus Archives [Podcast]

Voiced/Written By: Jonathan Sims

Yarn Used: Shoes: CraftSmart Value - Dark Almond Trousers: CraftSmart Value - Taupe Cardigan: CraftSmart Value - Olive Shirt: CraftSmart Value - White Skin: CraftSmart Value - Coffee Hair: CraftSmart Value - Dark Chocolate, CraftSmart value - Grey Glasses: Ashland Decorative Wire - Black, 12 gauge

Basic pattern here.

Look. How can you NOT love this pathetic wet cat of a man. (And like most cats, he is also a bastard at times.) He really went through the wringer over the course of the podcast, both physically and emotionally. Thank God he had Martin there for him.

Jon differs from the base pattern as follows:

Shoes: I actually remembered to do the soles in a different color this time! Other than the color, they were done the same way as Joseph’s.

Trousers: I accidentally shortened them. I did not mean to shorten them, but frankly, I miscounted on the first leg and only realized it halfway up the second, so I stopped them at R27 instead of R29, so he’s just a tad bit shorter than normal. (Which is fine, and fits my headcanon for Jon.) I also…well, I’ve finally thrown my lot in on the Great Archival Ass Debate on the side of the Assless, so in R32 (what would normally be R34, but again, everything is two rows lower than normal), I put the decrease in the very back, rather than on either side of R41 as usual. Other than that, they’re the same as Joseph’s.

Cardigan and Shirt: I more or less used the same technique I used for Hux, except that I started a round lower (I think) to make the V deeper. I switched fully to the white for R50 (R52 in the base pattern), then did three stitches on either side of the center stitch of R51 in back loops only to give myself something to hook onto. I then went back later and stitched a collar by making a simple triangle in the front loops of those stitches. I also skipped what would have been R54 in the base pattern and, when I switched to the skin color, I went straight for the decrease to 12 sc around. I was hoping this would make his head less floppy.

Head: I used the loop method again. It’s just easier at this point, especially since Jon canonically has enough grey in his hair that he looks older than thirty. I gave him long hair and left it loose, but at least I got it the right length this time (sorry again, Hux). I was going to give him ears, but honestly, I made his glasses small enough that I didn’t need to. I didn't necessarily plan on giving him buck teeth, but I was in the middle of a D&D session while I was working on his face and white yarn was the only thing I had to hand, so rather than run back to my room for black or dark brown I just went with it.

Arms: When you’re crocheting a character who canonically has a very nasty burn scar on one hand, you have three choices. You can ignore it, you can attempt to replicate it in variegated yarn, or you can crochet a hand and set it on fire. And, well...

...I have a lighter and very poor impulse control. [Side note: I mentioned this to an IRL friend who also listens to TMA, and they said brightly, “Just like the Archivist!] (For the record, burning acrylic yarn doesn’t actually smell as terrible as you might think.) I also decided to cut out the final increase in his hands to make them long and thin. This also means I didn’t decrease for his wrists, which was fine, because I gave him shirt cuffs folded over the end of his cardigan as follows: R9: Join shirt yarn, ch 2, dc in outside loop of each st around, sl st in first dc (10 dc). R10: Ch 1, sc in outside loop of each st around, sl st in first sc (10 sc). R11: Join cardigan yarn, ch 2, hdc in back loop of each stitch in R9 around, sl st in first hdc (10 hdc). Continue rest of arm as normal.

Glasses: These definitely did not turn out like I expected, but eh, they work. I bent the wire into square spectacles and stuck them on. As mentioned, I did them tight enough (accidentally) that I didn’t even need the ears.

Bonus: I deliberately did Jon’s hands so he can hold hands with Martin, or tried to anyway. I realized only after he was complete that I matched the magnet in Jon’s right hand to the one in Martin’s right hand, and there’s not really room to turn them around. I might try pulling Martin’s arms off later and switching them around, but for now…well, at least they can hold hands the other way around.

[serial-serializednovelreader]

It's crazy to me that people call Jonathan a himbo, he's so methodical and clever! It makes sense that Mina would be attracted to someone bright too

Yes, anon, you’re so speaking my language!!! I do wish people would stop calling Jonathan a himbo because — nothing against himbos — but Jonathan is not one of them! And yes, it totally makes sense that Mina would attracted to someone as clever as him, and since she’s also so smart, I’m sure the feeling is mutual.

Before y’all come shouting in my inbox “what do you have against himbos??” and “Jonathan is totally a himbo, what are you talking about?” Let me clear things up:

First of all, I love himbos!!! Kronk from Emperor’s New Groove — peak himbo, imo — is one of my favorite characters. Am I attracted to them? Well…no. As you can probably tell from my last Nova’s Notes, I’m more the kind of person who’s attracted to cleverness or when people nerd out. BUT I cherish himbos for all of their wonderful qualities and if I ever get the opportunity to meet one in real life, I would love to be friends with them! <3333

Secondly, for anyone who’s still saying Jonathan is a himbo…

Himbos have to embody all three qualities equally to be considered himbos! If they are not kind? Not a himbo. Not strong? Not a himbo, I’m sorry! I do make the rules of himbo, I simply follow the rules.

Now on to our good friend Jonathan Harker’s case.

He is undeniably kind. From what we’ve seen so far (not to mention later), he is not only loving to his fiancée, he is kind to strangers as well. He takes gifts from the villagers, even if he does not understand them. Just a couple of entries ago, he was willing to risk his life over a child he didn’t even know (and the same night after he had screamed running away from the women, too). Some of the Dracula Daily book club on here suspects (as do I) that some of the reason he’s so eager to spring into action the next day is to put a stop to Dracula’s evilness for other people, not just for himself. Heck, he’s even talked about Dracula’s good qualities after finding out he’s a prisoner!!! So, kindness? Yes! ✅

As for strong, there’s not as much evidence here, but I would call him somewhat strong because not just anyone could successfully scale a castle wall twice in one day like that! That takes a lot of strength in your core, arms, back, etc. Sure, Dracula can do it — but Dracula is also a vampire with super strength. Maybe it’s easier than I think it is, but I’m not exactly going to look for a castle to try it!! So for Jonathan to crack his knuckles and go “yeah, he can do it, why can’t I?” is both hilarious and shows that he must know something of his own strength. However, he’s also a solicitor and I doubt he’s built like a bodybuilder. So, strong? Maybe not as much as a typical himbo, but let’s give him the check mark because Lizard Fashion is nothing to sneeze at. ✅

Now for the ditzy part….I’d have to say no to that. Himbos are meant to not be “the sharpest tool in the shed” (yes, I did have to hit you with a Smash Mouth reference, sorry not sorry) and Jonathan is farrrrr from that.

Everything he has done so far has been methodical and smart. I covered this in my other Nova’s Notes (you can look under the hashtag on my page if you want to see more :D) so I really don’t want to go through too much I’ve already gone through, but the arguments I’ve seen for him being a himbo — based on the entries we’ve already read — are that he’s not smart because he:

Doesn’t heed villager’s warnings

“Let’s” himself become a prisoner

Is nice to Dracula after he knows he’s a prisoner

Talks about his fiancée a lot (???????)

For the first point, we’ve gone over this, but here we go again — he doesn’t heed the villager’s warnings, no. But keep in mind none of them actually say “The Count is a super dangerous man!! Don’t trust him!!!” Here’s the passage:

“When I asked him if he knew Count Dracula, and could tell me anything of his castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves, and, saying that they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speak further. It was so near the time of starting that I had no time to ask any one else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means comforting.

Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and said in a very hysterical way:

‘Must you go? Oh! young Herr, must you go?’ She was in such an excited state that she seemed to have lost her grip of what German she knew, and mixed it all up with some other language which I did not know at all. I was just able to follow her by asking many questions. When I told her that I must go at once, and that I was engaged on important business, she asked again:

‘Do you know what day it is?’ I answered that it was the fourth of May. She shook her head as she said again:

‘Oh, yes! I know that! I know that, but do you know what day it is?’ On my saying that I did not understand, she went on:

‘It is the eve of St. George's Day. Do you not know that to-night, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway? Do you know where you are going, and what you are going to?’ She was in such evident distress that I tried to comfort her, but without effect. Finally she went down on her knees and implored me not to go; at least to wait a day or two before starting. It was all very ridiculous but I did not feel comfortable.

So here’s the thing: you can see that the only thing the innkeeper’s wife explicitly warns him against is going to the castle that night because it’s a day in their culture where evil spirits are considered to have full sway.

The innkeeper’s wife does ask him if he knows “where he is going and who is going to” — he says no, but she does not speak further on the matter. When he asked about the Count before this, they just refused to speak! I know that may seem like an implicit warning — and it is — but some people on here act as if Jonathan was supposed to have known why they were crossing themselves and immediately have left? Like, he obviously feels uncomfortable, but as he states before and afterwards: he has a job to do. If you were in his position: a newly-appointed lawyer (or position of your choice), and you went to a place where the locals told you not to visit your client that night because it was a night where evil spirits would come out: would you honestly believe them? And if you asked about what your client was like and they just crossed themselves and refused to speak on the matter, would you simply leave the town and tell your boss “nah, sorry, the villagers warned me against him. I decided this client’s not for me”? I guess that honestly depends on you, but I would think not if you want to keep your job!! I know that’s not ideal, but to be fair, he also is not given a fair warning before going in.

There is also that incident in the carriage where he hears those villagers talking and he picks up bits and pieces (including the words werewolf and vampire) but a) they’re not talking to him and b) he doesn’t pick up enough to even indicate who they’re talking about!! In fact, he thinks they’re badmouthing him!!! (Which is understandable, he can only hear a bit and he’s translating on the fly). Again, how he is supposed to automatically know: “oh, Count Dracula is a vampire and I must flee this place immediately.” We know that because Dracula has been a pop culture icon for 100+ years, but Jonathan doesn’t have that kind of knowledge. I feel it’s kind of ridiculous to call him not smart for not knowing this.

However, and this is important, he does take some of this warning to heart. He does take the crucifix and the other vampire-repellent gifts the villagers bestow upon him, despite his skepticism and ignorance of the culture (thanks, English colonization /s). He feels uncomfortable and anxious before he even goes into the castle, literally saying goodbye to Mina in his diary in case he doesn’t make it back!! He keeps the crucifix in his room and uses it to ward off bad dreams and for safety against Dracula (which is not really how he’s supposed to use it, but he wasn’t really told how, so I don’t really blame him for that).

I don’t think a himbo would’ve picked up that something was amiss at any of these points, not until it was too late at least. I think for this test, just picture Kronk (or your fav himbo) in this situation. Would they even notice something was up? Or would they go cheerfully towards the castle?

As for the second point — this is kind of unrelated to the himbo question but — what kind of victim-blame mentality is this????? I have seen people unironically (at least I’m pretty sure it is?) post that Jonathan deserves the abuse he’s getting because he didn’t heed the villager’s warnings (which I already talked about above) and/or he’s “rude” to Dracula. I’m sorry — WHAT???? So if you’re rude to somebody they’re to allowed to lock you up in their castle???? That’s a fair trade? I beg your pardon?! Just…ok. Believe what you want, but maybe let’s not blame the guy who’s been a prisoner in a random stranger’s castle for a month and is sure he’s about to die? Yes, this is fictional and not that deep, but still — weird take.

Back to the himbo question, I mean, he doesn’t really let himself become a prisoner. He’s at Dracula’s castle for a job. Once he’s done with that job he’s ready to leave, but Dracula makes him stay because he literally locks him in!!! He then explicitly tells him he will stay longer and Jonathan has to accept because he is there in place of his boss, and saying no would be like speaking (negatively) for his boss — and Jonathan is not going to do that. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think a himbo would be able to see all of that subtext within that conversation. I actually don’t know this kind of interaction between a true himbo and Dracula would go, but I imagine not well. Dracula thrives off of interesting conversation and wit, as well as being able to maintain a facade of host and guest. I just don’t see if someone like Kronk could maintain that for long because he would probably be like “but I don’t want to stay longer, let me go” or something, which would end the “game”.

Moving on to the third point, he is nice to Dracula after he knows he’s a prisoner for a reason. When he realizes he’s locked up (which he realizes super fast, by the way), he sits down and has a good, long think about what he can do. More passage evidence!

“I am thinking still, and as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Of one thing only am I certain; that it is no use making my ideas known to the Count. He knows well that I am imprisoned; and as he has done it himself, and has doubtless his own motives for it, he would only deceive me if I trusted him fully with the facts. So far as I can see, my only plan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyes open. I am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my own fears, or else I am in desperate straits; and if the latter be so, I need, and shall need, all my brains to get through.”

So he knows Dracula is up to something (or he’s jumped to conclusions) and either way, talking about it is a bad idea. The only way through is to act like nothing’s wrong for now and try to get information out of Dracula. Other than that, he’s going to need to use his brains! Yes, he does talk to Dracula and acts nice — but it’s with a plan and a purpose. Dracula has creeped him out from the start, but he has always been able to maintain good cheer around him. Now, he will put that to use.

So for this himbo test, it’s kind of similar to the second one. Were Kronk in this situation, he would make it by for a while because he probably wouldn’t notice the doors are locked. But once he did…I’m not sure if it would be like the second point where he’d immediately tell Dracula “hey why are all of the doors locked” and the game is up or if his shoulder angel/devil characters would come out to help him. I guess it depends! And to Kronk’s credit, he has figured things out before (e.g. figured out who Pacha was and in relation to Kuzco) *but* it took him like 12 hours after the fact and that’s not how Jonathan operates. Jonathan figures out things pretty quickly. Does he need time to think sometimes? Yes. But he’s pretty much always thinking and trying to figure out more once he’s at Castle Dracula. I just don’t see these two in the same vein here.

For the final point, I haven’t seen much evidence for this, but it needs to be addressed. I think sometimes people tend to equate WifeGuy with “no thoughts, head empty only for wife” and that can be true!!! There are definitely characters like that and I do love them so. Jonathan is undeniably a WifeGuy (and Mina’s not even his wife in name yet), bringing her up anytime he gets a chance. I would argue though that just because he’s in love and brings her up a ton doesn’t mean he’s also not clever and methodical. You can be in love and smart: these can coexist. Mina is a very smart character from what we’ve seen already and she’s in love too!

I don’t really have a Kronk case study for this one, but like anon said — I think Mina is attracted to Jonathan for his smartness and it goes both ways. They love each other for many other reasons (there’s a lot to love!), but I imagine that’s kind of the cherry on top for them.

Why does this matter? I think calling Jonathan a himbo is reducing his character a bit here. Again, I’m not saying being a himbo is bad, but it does discredit his methodical ways and strategy he has in the castle. His methodical nature is part of personality and pretending that doesn’t exist erases his character, in my opinion. Additionally, it raises the question: could a himbo become a lawyer? I…don’t think so…but maybe? Find me a himbo who’s a lawyer and prove me wrong I guess! Wait is Phoenix Wright a himbo…? Question for another time.

In conclusion, Jonathan Harker only passes 1 part of the himbo test (kindness) with flying colors. The strong test he only passes by the tail of his lizard fashion, and as for ditzy? He fails miserably. Recall that for someone to be a true himbo, they have to possess all three traits equally. Even if you could make the case for one, you’d still be missing another. So, no, I don’t think Jonathan Harker is a himbo. You can maybe argue with me that he has himbo moments (if that’s a thing, idk), but overall? No.

[limetameta]

I don't know why more fic writers don't utilise the Wayne Gardens Halfway House for criminals and then the consequent Wayne Enterprises employment like Bruce Wayne is out here doing his darndest do give the Rogues a safer and easier transition into the real world post Arkham and yet I don't think I've ever come across a Halfway house fic once. (This is me begging for fic recs about this BTW feel free to gimme)

Like this concept is from the btas episode Double Talk where Arnold (Scarface's ventriloquist) is well enough to leave Arkham and he gets to the House, and he has a job in the Wayne Enterprises mail room. It's a very sad episode for other reasons but it's still so touching how much Bruce tried to make this difficult period of house finding and job searching all but done for them already.

So what I'm getting at here is what if more of the Rogues got to this point.

Ideas under the cut

Harley decorating her room however she wants and putting Ivy's plants in there because she doesn't have to worry about if doctors or guards will make a fuss about it. This is her space. She has a job now, too. A paper pushing job, but she's in a programme to get her licence back and everything is looking up for her! Thanks Bruce!

Edward making a dnd campaign group with his fellow Halfway House rogues because Harley commented that once curfew sets in she doesn't know what to do with herself. He shows up at work at Wayne Enterprises on the dot every morning, having set like 7 alarms so he doesn't sleep through because he isn't going to waste his one chance. He's the game developer in their suspiciously newly minted game department.

Plus, he has Temple Fugate to wake him up, who lives right next door and is up before everyone else. Man knows how to bake. He bakes and says that it's a calming activity with a set schedule that if he deviates from it will be catastrophic. Besides, it's nice to have hobbies.

At this point, Jonathan Crane, also in a programme to get his licence back, comments about how he'll probably be back in Arkham sooner than later. Harley laughs. "You can't SERIOUSLY be thinking of applying as a doctor there AGAIN?" And Jonathan, with the biggest shite-eating grin, just says: "Oh who's to say. Maybe just to see the reactions."

Gimme a fic where they break away from the cyclical status quo. Where you can feel the hope . Where they all treat this as seriously as they can because Bruce Wayne truly believes in them. And that's so rare. After everything that's happened.

Pamela who works in a botanical garden funded by Wayne Corp. Mr Fries who is allowed to research with scientists employed by Wayne Enterprises on how to cure his predicament. His wife Nora (Post movie) supporting him every step of the way (maybe she and Grace (Harvey's fiancee) are friends and helping each other as well as the men they love)

Harvey getting the operation finally and having a chance to recuperate. Though him, I think they might pull him quickly out of the Halfway House because he's a high profile man and some might think that being in a Halfway House would be beneath him. Maybe this works for him. He works as a lawyer in Wayne Enterprises and all he can say to Bruce, when he sees him is this: "Thank you for never giving up on me, old friend."

Though Harvey does get hooked on dnd and he does come by to play once a week. Edward is looking forward to a promotion to head of department.

They all know that sooner or later they'll need to leave the Halfway House and find different accommodation but they all tentatively agree that they won't push themselves before being fully, truly ready for it.

Harley points at Edward and tells him: "I'm gonna miss you guys so much! Why don't we all live together or get apartments in the same building like in a sitcom?"

And Jonathan is the only one who says he hates this idea, though it's very half-hearted and they know he isn't fighting the idea of that.

Waylon gets a job as a fisherman. Man is living out those A perfect Storm dreams of his. He gets paid the most from all of the Rogues because he's always been very materialistic and money means very little to Bruce Wayne.

Mary Dahl and Matt Hagen respectively get jobs working in a theatre group in Gotham. It isn't that visited, but they aren't ridiculed for being who they are. Romance because I ship them and I think this makes more sense than Waylon/Mary lmao. They're in counseling anyway so it's not like they can be that toxic to each other.

Speaking of romance~

The only one who's never gotten as far as the Wayne Gardens Halfway House is the Joker. But you see, that man can do whatever he puts his mind to. He's bored so he might as well speed run his way out of Arkham.

And everyone is worried about this. Because if there's one person who can undo all of their careful progress just by being his loathsome clown self, it's the Joker.

But he, just like all of them, winds up his alarm to get to his Wayne Enterprises job. He is nail bitingly saccharine to them. One time, he even washed the dishes that weren't his in the communal kitchen space. Something's off.

Once confronted, the Joker just smiles and says airily: "Oh pish-posh! I'm just in a good mood is all. I can finally see my boyfriend on a regular basis. Mon amour, Mon petit chou-fleur. Mon âme!"

Something is definitely off because Edward says that the Joker got a nicer job than all of them. He works CLOSELY to Bruce Wayne as his assistant. And that doesn't make sense. Why would Bruce Wayne let that happen? Surely he'd want to avoid someone like the Joker.

And it's Jonathan that sighs: "Do you think that his boyfriend IS Bruce Wayne?"

"No??? Why?? God??? God no???"

"Think about it. Bruce Wayne is the 1%, they're all very weird people with kinks that us in the psychology department would relish in untangling. What's some clown fuckery on the side? If anything, that's a lot tamer than what most of his contemporaries are doing behind closed doors."

Immediate horror from everyone. Harley is the first one to shout: "If that good for nothing clown fucks up this good gig we got by breaking Bruce's heart I'm going to kill him!!"

So they confront the Joker by knocking on his room in the middle of the night. And maybe they shouldn't have done that because he's supposed to be out cold, having been prescribed sleeping pills and all that. But they knock again, nonetheless.

They hear a bang. And a crash from the inside. And half of the Rogues just kind of take a step back. Harley and Pamela are the ones who stay closest to the door. Pamela shouts: "Open up, clown!"

Jonathan narrows his eyes as he cranes his way towards the door, trying to make out the sounds on the other end. He coughs to swallow down a laugh: "There's a lot of moaning in there."

"Hey, hey, you're going to get us all in trouble if you've brought folks over! It's past curfew!" Harley yells.

And it's at this moment that the moaning kind of stops. There aren't any crashes. Someone grips the door handle from the inside and turns it open.

The Rogues all take yet another step back, this time all of them.

It's Batman. The portion of his face visible from the cowl is covered in red lipstick. He sighs, and his voice doesn't quite manage to lose that post make out tinge: "Nobody's going to get in trouble. I'll talk to Bruce Wayne and clear anything up. Go ahead and play your dnd. Thank you, goodbye." And just as he closes the door, the Joker erupts in a fit of laughter on the other end.

"I'LL TALK TO BRUCE WAYNE, HE SAYS! HA! OH!! OH, THAT'S SO FUNNY!!"

[strangersteddierthings]

Shovel Talk(s) Part 3

Part One 🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four

Steve wants to be self-sabotaging. He wants to give Eddie a reason to break up with him. To end this before Steve ends up hurting him. Yet he's also helplessly in love, so instead of being ten minutes late for their date, he's fifteen minutes early.

He forgot he was going to just honk the horn until Eddie appeared and only remembers he was going to do it after he's already knocked on the front door. Eddie answers, looking as beautiful as ever even though he wore that shirt yesterday, but the jeans are clean, and his hair is brushed. Steve does manage to hold himself back from opening the passenger door for Eddie like he usually does, instead sliding himself into the driver's seat.

Eddie does shoot him a curious glance but Steve's careful about not looking at him as he starts the car and heads towards the bowling alley.

Jonathan, Nancy, Argyle, and Robin are also at the bowling alley. It's not exactly a coincidence they run into them because Steve knew they would be here. (Sabotage was the goal. Turning their three-month-aversary into a group hangout might do the trick.) But Eddie likes bowling, and their friends, and also seems to be using the group atmosphere to hang off of Steve more than he would if they were bowling just the two of them.

And if Steve's being honest with himself, part of him knew that would happen, too. That Eddie wouldn't mind the group because their friends cover for them wordlessly. Eddie wraps his arms around Steve and suddenly Jonathan is standing between them and anyone who could see. Eddie leans in to give him a quick cheek kiss and Robin is at Steve's other side doing the same thing. Argyle and Nancy spread out across the seating, leaving barely enough room for Eddie and Steve to sit, so their close proximity looks forced rather than wanted.

And Steve's bad at not wanting Eddie. He finds himself reaching out and having to snatch his hands back. He plays hot and cold all night and it does have the desired effect. He can see Eddie's patience waning, can feel a shift in their dynamic and his stomach twists with shame.

He keeps conversation with Robin, and Jonathan, and Nancy, and Argyle. But not Eddie. He doesn't outright ignore Eddie, though. When Eddie talks to him, he answers but he doesn't initiate conversation. Uses as few words as possible to answer before rushing to take his turn.

He should apologize.

He can't say anything.

He's in love with Eddie, so Eddie has to leave him.

He's in love with Eddie, so Eddie leaving will ruin him forever.

Eddie should hate him, so this would be easier.

Eddie should love him, so this would be easier.

Steve's a goddamn mess all night, and no one calls him on it.

Why would they? They think he's going to hurt Eddie anyway.

-

"Did I... do something?" Eddie asks. Steve feels a little sick to his stomach as he puts the car in park in front of Eddie's house but doesn't turn the key. After tonight it's not likely he'll get invited in anyway.

"What?"

"You've been distant all day, dude," Eddie says and Steve can hear the frustration in his voice. He also notices that Eddie called him dude, which he hasn't done since their first date. "Distant for a while now, actually."

"Sorry. I didn't realize," Steve lies, staring straight ahead. The voice in his head keeps chanting 'just break up with me already' because Steve knows it needs to happen, but he can't do it. But also he's thinking 'tell me you love me so I know we're in this together' and also 'I want to love you but I'm scared'. His whole mind is a contradiction right now.

Eddie looks at him, face carefully neutral, "What did I do?"

"Nothing," Steve is quick to say, because it is true and he doesn't want Eddie to think this is his fault somehow. "You didn't do anything."

"So, is it something I haven't done?" Eddie asks.

"No." Yes. But also no. Tell me you want this as much as I do. Tell me you hate me.

Eddie looks down to his hands, which are fiddling with his rings. They sit in silence because Steve doesn't know what to say. After what feels like an eternity, Eddie must decide something because he nods to himself and says, "right." before he climbs out of the passenger seat and slams the door shut.

The slam sounds so loud, so clear, so final, that Steve feels something inside him crack, echoing the slam. He rips off his own seatbelt and climbs from his car quickly, the need to reach Eddie before he closes himself behind his front door suddenly very important, suddenly overriding any other thought he's had. Steve just knows that if Eddie gets his door closed, then Steve really will have proven everyone right.

And he doesn't want to.

He feels it in his bones that if Eddie makes it into his house, and gets his front door closed before Steve says anything, that it will be with the thought that Eddie somehow fucked up their relationship and Steve will not be able to live with himself if Eddie believes that.

"Eddie, wait!" Steve shouts as he rounds the front of his car, beelining for the door.

His shout works, because Eddie, hand clasped on the doorknob, twists to look over his shoulder instead of opening the door. Eddie doesn't hide the hurt on his face, or the pain in his voice, "What, Harrington?"

Steve doesn't know what he's going to say, hasn't planned for this. He had never wanted either of them to hurt in this relationship, not in a way they couldn't fix (he'd promised Wayne three months ago-), yet he let his mind take him down the road of self-destruction. Self-sabotage. He'd fucking planned to ruin their date. Eddie should leave him.

And yet.

Steve might feel he's not good enough, or nice enough, or changed as a person enough to deserve Eddie, but in the end, Steve thinks, realizes, it's not his decision if Eddie finds him deserving or not. That's on Eddie.

And now, seeing Eddie, who always looks beautiful but now looks hurt, Steve doesn't want to just give up because everyone he cares about thinks he's not good enough. He doesn't want to have ruined this. If he can just be open, and honest, then Eddie will at least hear him out. He's just got to say something true. He opens his mouth and- "I love you."

Eddie's hand drops from the doorknob as his whole body turns to face Steve. His eyes are wild and wide as he asks, "What?"

That wasn't what Steve had thought he would say, but now that it's out he doesn't want to pretend he didn't say it. But he's possibly also having some sort of manic episode because he just starts talking and can't stop. "I'm in love with you, Eddie, and it fucking scares me to death, because no one seems to think that I can, or that I deserve to, but I do and I want to. I've just been spiraling thinking about it and about how everyone thinks I'm just going to hurt you, because that's the last thing I want to do, ever. But then I just spent this entire night trying to make you hate me which just means that I am hurting you. And, also, if more than one person makes a point to like, bring it up to my face, that I'm just going to hurt you, there's got to be some truth to what they say, right? Multiple people aren't usually wrong and now I've proven them right anyway because I've been an asshole to you this whole day, whole week if I'm really honest, and I hate myself for that beca-"

Eddie shuts Steve up by grasping both his shoulders and shaking him like a ragdoll. Steve didn't even register that he'd left the porch and had walked up to him. "Stevie, Steve, shh. You gotta slow down, sweetheart. That's a lot to take in."

"Right. Right, sorry," Steve's voice sounds watery to his own ears, and also Eddie looks a little watery, which is odd and- oh. He's crying, he realizes, when one of Eddie's hands moves to swipe a tear from his cheek.

"Go inside, sweetheart," Eddie nudges him towards the door, "I'm going to turn off your car and I'll be right in."

Steve obeys because he's pretty good at following instructions. Unfortunately, it does mean he just stands anxiously in the entrance hall waiting for Eddie to come in behind him because the only instruction was 'go inside'. Steve's not even aware that he's worried Eddie might not follow until he comes back into view and a wave of relief washes over Steve.

Eddie leads him down the hall to his bedroom before making Steve take off his shoes and clamber into the bed. Eddie fusses and arranged them so that Eddie is sat up against the headboard and Steve is cuddled up between his legs, head tucked under Eddie's chin. Steve worms his hands behind Eddie's back to hug him, and Eddie wraps his arms around Steve to return the embrace.

"Stevie, I got to be honest, I thought you were wanting to break up with me today," Eddie says.

Steve tightens his hold just a bit, "No. And yes. But also never?"

"That makes no sense."

"The thought of breaking up... I'm not going to lie, Eddie, I have thought it. But not because it's what I want. It's because there were moments when I thought it was what would be best, for you."

"How the fuck do you reckon it would be 'best for me' to break up with me?" Eddie is rubbing soothing circles on Steve's back, so he doesn't think he's in too much trouble.

"I let... I just got into my head about things. Your uncle gave me the shovel talk, which yeah, okay, fair. He's basically your dad, he's supposed to be on the lookout for people who would hurt you. But then, he wasn't the only one. And no one straight up said I would, for sure, end up hurting you, but then I learned that no one had given you a shovel talk and I just- Fuck. This all sounds so stupid! I don't want someone to threaten you. That's not what this is about but it's just- it feels like- why doesn't anyone care that I might get hurt, too? And then everything spiraled."

"Oh, sweetheart," Eddie presses a kiss to the top of Steve's head. Steve doesn't deserve this comfort.

"I just- I found myself thinking that like, if I just broke my own heart first, by breaking up, then they wouldn't be right. But also like, they wouldn't be wrong, because breaking up would hurt you, too, and then they'd pick sides and they'd pick yours because they were right about me but also, they're wrong because you have the power to fuck me up, too. 'Cause I love you."

"That's the third time you've told me," Eddie says.

"You don't have to say it back," Steve is quick to say, "I just- Now that I've said it, I can't seem to stop but you don-"

"I'm in love with you, too, you know," Eddie whispers, cutting Steve off as one of Eddie's hands comes up to play with Steve's hair. That thing that cracked inside him early, the feeling that made Steve call out to Eddie, settles back together somewhere deep within him.

Eddie plays with his hair for a bit before he says, "It's super fucking shitty of our friends to put that on you. And I'm sorry for not noticing that you were hurting. If it helps, Robin has given me a shovel talk. Kinda. I think she also gave one to Nancy at the same time? But for like, past you." That gets a chuckle out of Steve. "And Erica threatened to slash my tires if I hurt you, not even a full two weeks ago. And I don't think she even means like a breakup hurt. I think if she learns about today, she'll slash my tires even though we talked it out. Or, will have talked it out, by the time she finds out. Which I hope she doesn't. Because she'll slash my tires."

Steve is a little amused at the end of Eddie's speech because Eddie does sound, just a little bit, afraid of Erica. He tilts his head up and presses a kiss to the underside of Eddie's jaw and then freezes, because he's not sure he should have. Not after how he's treated Eddie this past week, and today especially. But Eddie doesn't react like he's upset. His fingers still glide through Steve's hair and his other hand rests on Steve's back in a half embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Eds," Steve says, shoving his face into Eddie's neck. "About today, this whole week, for- for everything. I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry, too, sweetheart," Eddie whispers back, "I let myself think things of you, you know. Shit I know isn't true, and wouldn't be, because I was scared, too. That I'd fallen for you. I didn't let myself believe you'd love me back, so I thought some really awful things."

"Well, I acted on my thoughts, so you don't have to apologize."

"Yes, I do. And I accept your apology."

Steve huffs, breath warming his face along with Eddie's neck. "I don't think you did anything wrong, but I accept your apology, too."

They lay for a few moments more before Eddie's shoving softly at Steve, to get him to roll over, onto his side. He does, facing Eddie, and Eddie rolls onto his side to face him. Immediately Steve's hand seeks out Eddie's, he can't stand to not be touching him in some form right now. Steve slots their fingers together, and Eddie curls his fingers down to grip back. Steve brings their joined hands to his lips, placing a kiss on Eddie's knuckles before he says, "So, where do we do from here?"

"I don't know the where," Eddie gives him a soft smile, "but I do know that I want it to be together. So, I guess we just, go forward, together. With more talking. You have to let me know when you're hurting, babe. I can't help if I don't know."

"I know," Steve nods, "I know. And I'll try. I promise, I'll try my best but I don't- what if I can't?"

"I think you can," Eddie says. "You did, today, just now. And I guess, on nights we're really mad at each other, we go to bed mad but together. Same bed. Because I'll need the reassurance of you being here."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll do that," Steve says before pressing one more kiss to Eddie's knuckles, then letting their hands drop back to the bed. There's more talking to be done, Steve's sure. He wants to explain himself better, more thoroughly, but Eddie is content to let him lay here so Steve's going to take it for now. "Can I stay here tonight?"

"Yeah, sweetheart," Eddie says, soft smile on his face. "You work tomorrow?"

"No," Steve says, "why?"

"Redo date. Make it a whole day thing. Just us," Eddie explains with a shrug, "Not that the bowling wasn't fun. Just-"

"Yeah," Steve is quick to agree, both because he wants a redo, too, and because he doesn't want to hear the rest of Eddie's sentence. "How about we go to Indy for the day?"

"Sounds great. Now, let's get some PJs on and channel surf until we find something tolerable," Eddie leans in, giving Steve a quick kiss before rolling himself off the bed and beginning the search for pajamas. Steve's happy to watch him bend over the various piles of clothes around his room.