~AnYtHiNg EvErYtHiNg~

c.w: mentions of sex but nothing explicit, billy being awful to women but again nothing explicit, soft fluff because steve is a girl dad, some canon divergence with how the fight with billy went in the s2 finale, angsty with a tooth-rottingly fluffy ending, no pronouns for reader but mentions of reader wearing makeup

a/n: max is my daughter i love her so much, i wish they elaborated more on her and steve’s relationship in the show because i just know she wishes he was her older brother instead of billy, divider by @cursed-carmine

Billy is weird with girls. Sometimes they call the house asking for him and Max hears Billy say crude words on the phone, words that would have her mouth washed out with soap if her mom heard her say any of them. More often than not there’s a girl in his passenger seat when Billy drives her home, very obviously displeased by Max’s very existence.

And sometimes her mom and his dad— not her dad because he’s back in California— go out late and Billy will bring a girl over, never the same one. He never tells her to get out or leave because he doesn’t care, but Max quickly realizes she should with the disgusting noises they make. She usually goes outside, skating up and down their street until the girl leaves.

He never drives them home and they leave the house with makeup ruined and walking funny. He never lets them stay the night either. Some of them look upset when they leave, others don’t really care.

There’s been a few girls who walk outside and cry on the curb in the dim streetlight. It’s never loud sobbing, just quiet sniffles as they hug themselves. Max never talks to them, she has no idea what she could ever say to them.

Today it’s one of those nights again. His dad booked a fancy dinner in some restaurant across county lines so he won't bring her mom home until the early hours of the morning. This also means whatever girl Billy brings over is going to be there for a long time.

Under usual circumstances this would be fine, Max would just skate downtown to kill time, except it’s the middle of June and a storm is rolling in.

The new reading teacher arrives across the hall, and Steve discovers that sometimes the hardest part of middle school isn’t the students— it’s admitting he wants to be around someone more than he expected. | MASTERLIST

⤷ Lunch in Steve's Room ›› Where you discover Steve’s secret snack stash and his big heart for students. 1.5k

The teachers' lounge teleports you back in time. Not because you went to Hawkins Middle, or even Hawkins High, but because your lunch hour reminds you very much of the school you did attend. It reminds you that everybody has a clique, a place to sit. You’re the newbie this year, and so far, you haven’t worked up the courage to ask to join anyone, nor has anyone invited you to their table. You’ve opted to eat lunch in your classroom, as many teachers do, and really, you don’t mind at all. It’s a nice break from all the talking you do during the day.

You’re on your way there, walking hip to hip with one of your eighth graders, Shelby Webster. She’s one of the many students you find flocking to Steve Harrington’s class for lunch. She’s a sweetheart. She’s always eager to raise her hand, polite when the rest of your class isn’t, and already well on her way to becoming a teacher’s pet. You know you’re not supposed to have favorites, but some kids make it harder than others. She reminds you a little too much of yourself at that age.

Shelby stops abruptly in the hall, catching your wrist to stop you, too. “Wait, one second,” she urges. She pops her head through Steve’s open doorway and shouts, “Mr. Harrington! Can she eat in here today? She always eats alone!”

While the gesture is heart-warmingly kind, it’s also incredibly embarrassing. Steve’s sunny smile only makes you want to melt into a hot puddle on the floor.

“Of course!” he beams. “Come on in!”

“Mr. Harrington is super nice,” Shelby whispers to you. “You’ll like him, I promise.”

She’s not wrong; you do quite like him. You’ve known Steve for about a month and some change, and since then, he’s been nothing short of amazing. He covers for you when you need a bathroom break, he lends you all the supplies you could possibly need. He even stayed late last week to help you rearrange all the desks in your room. He’s about the only person you’ve clicked with since you started. But even so, it’s early in the school year, and you haven’t had much luck with friendships in the past.

Alastor x Wife! Reader/ OC

3 • You hit where it hurts, ‘cause I gave you the bullets

Chapter 2

Word Count: 4k

Ao3

Content Warnings: light angst, arguing like an old married couple

The porcelain curve of her mask turned into her pillow, her only exposed brow furrowing at the memory.

At the glinting flashes of pointed teeth and warm mouths, of a cold train ride and the phone call that tore the world out from under her. Madison felt her legs tuck up against her chest, shifting under the warmth of a duvet that didn’t belong to her as a small, incidental sound crept from between her clenched teeth.

Slowly, like the gradual soak of rainwater seeping into the threads of her clothes, sensation crept through her veins. The sleep-addled leadening of her limbs parted from her muscles leisurely, and ever so gently, her mind departed from spontaneous recollection of the years before her death, and consciousness replaced hurtful remembrance.

The short sweep of a warm thumb over the newly awakened axons of her knuckles had her eyes shooting open, setting her nerve endings alight. It prompted the abrupt rise of her upper body, hand pulling away from the claws trifling with her fingers, and she twisted her neck in preparation to smite the wretch lounging beside her. In her room. In her bed.

An old and familiar fire lit by the need of self-preservation stirred in her belly, one that was doused by the cold realization of just who had snuck into her room while she slept. Of who was grinning smugly at her, head perched on his palm, elbow dipping into the plush of the hotel’s pillow. Hooves on the bed, she noted belatedly.

“Alastor!” She blared, her wide-eyed expression falling dangerously low into something perturbed and sour. The sheets pooled around her waist as she let out an irritated groan at the wisenheimer smile he greeted her with, and she flopped back onto the mattress.

“Good morning, my dear!” He announced cheerily, the hand not supporting his head swinging upward in a wide display of showmanship. She didn’t turn to glare at him, just fixed her heated stare on the litany of unnamed stains dotting her ceiling. He wasn’t deterred by her pointed ignoring of his unwanted presence. In fact, the glorious expression of her disdain towards his untoward approach to rousing her from her slumber only egged him on to niggle at her further. “Dreaming sweetly, I hope?”

“I was,” she spat.

He hummed, angling his arm so that he could lean closer to her, his grinning visage invading the corners of her vision whether she wanted it to or not. “Thoughts about me?”

“Yep,” she affirmed with a pop, tilting her head to squint up at him, a petulant grin crinkling the corner of her eyes. “Thinkin’ of all the ways I could snap your slutty little waist.”

And, divinely, that seemed to silence him, if only for a few short-lived seconds. She watched with gleeful satisfaction as he blinked slowly, his open-mouthed smile frozen in uncertain consternation. “…My what?”

Mentally, she had to stifle the urge to coo at his uncharacteristic doltishness.

“Never mind.” Instead, she groaned at his cluelessness, shooting a hand out to grab at his forearm and topple the pedestal he held his head on. He recovered quickly, head barely even dipping as his perch was ripped out from under him. His grin tightened when she rolled over to face her back to him, tugging the duvet tight over her shoulder, voice muffled by the thick fabric as she ground out through gritted teeth; “Don’t you have other guests to bother?”

He hummed in faux thoughtfulness, rolling over onto his stomach, legs swinging behind him as he rubbed his chin, eyes thrown to the ceiling.

“Not that I can think of,” he said after a moment of obnoxious and pretend contemplation. “This place is dreadfully boring.”

She untucked her face from the inviting warmth of the darkness beneath her duvet, eyes still closed and head turning slightly so that she could question him over the curve of her shoulder with a condescending air of sing-song haughtiness. “I thought you came here for ‘entertainment.’”

“Yes, well, when there's nobody here who’s actually trying to get redeemed,” his voice began from behind her, the fatigued drawl of his radio-filtered tone fading away as the familiar tingle of his shadows warped behind her bundled form. Then, closer than before, from in front of her, disinterested impassivity inflected the constant waves of static as he finished; “Then there’s nobody here to fail.”

“Aw,” Madison purred tauntingly, tempting the edge of the duvet down so that she could squint one eye up at him, her lip jutting out with faux sympathy as her patronizing tone cooed; “Is the poor baby not getting his sadistic fix?”

“That is precisely why I’m here right now,” he avowed with a merry swing of his elbow, pointedly ignoring the narrowed glare aimed at him as he began to pace the length of her bed, twirling his cane between his fingertips.

“You see, I was growing rather fatigued from this insipid little hotel,” he drawled, letting his shoulders sag dramatically as he spun on his heel to take long strides back towards the head of her bed. His shadow poured down over her face, blocking out the small sliver of Hell’s morning sun filtering through the small gap between the pulled curtains of her hotel room, claws pulling the duvet aside so that he could pinch her cheek between his fingertips, crooning down at her with a cheery timbre; “And then, lo and behold, along comes my favorite source of entertainment.”

Madison’s eyes widened into a sharp glare at the sudden rush of cold air blanketing her bare legs and arms, goosebumps skittering along her skin beneath the short coverage of silky fur as the duvet was yanked from her curled-up form. She dragged her darkened stare from the edge of her bedside locker to Alastor, still standing with a slight bend to his waist with his arm outstretched above his head, duvet beetling from his raised fist as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“You.”

She felt her mouth twist downward, the corners of her lips creasing as her brows furrowed deep above stormy eyes. She sat up suddenly, coming eye to twinkling eye with the demon grinning impishly down at her. “I’m not entertaining you.”

“Oh, but you already are,” he corrected quickly, emending his posture and standing tall over her. He tossed his cane from one hand to the other, letting it twirl between his fingertips before tightening his hold on the thin stem, bopping her lightly on the top of her head with the microphone.

“You’re ever so sour,” he declared, a short noise of broken static warbling through the interrupted quiet of Madison’s room when she smacked the microphone head away from her. And with a retaliatory and theatrical flick of his wrist, he lobbed the cushy weight of her duvet at her head, relishing in the muffled growl the action prompted. “And I find that just darlingly sweet.”

Reflexively, she ripped the cover from where it canopied a crown of messy hair and flattened ears. She rolled over with an exaggerated huff, cocooning herself in the plush cover, trying fruitlessly to retain the residual warmth enveloping the underside of her duvet.

“Well, I’m gonna be real boring for the next…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes lifted to the locker margining her bed, to the small screen of glowing digits highlighting the contours of her face. “Alastor, it’s seven in the morning.”

“That it is,” the deer demon affirmed proudly, claws hooking into the fabric wrapped tightly around her huddled form and dragging her into a seated position. And almost absently, like an age-old muscle memory that puppeteered his movements, he let his carmine eyes rove over the mess of loose, sleep-induced tangles in her hair. And when his bright eyes finally skimmed over the sleek porcelain of her mask, he was met with an expression that looked so foreign on her otherwise soft visage. So sharp and pointed, her only exposed eye shooting tired daggers up at him, her manicured brow arched skeptically.

The tight smile twisting his thinned lips twitched slightly, something ancient and buried threatening the ever-present grin plastered on his expression. He ignored the slow churning in his guts and instead rearranged the grip on his staff, using it to boop her on her nose and watch as it scrunched under gentle impact. “Your powers of observation are as sharp as ever, darling.”

He released his grip on her duvet, smirk broadening when, instead of flopping back down onto the cushion of her mattress, Madison only slumped with her duvet wrapped tightly around her slouching body. And though the shapeless silhouette of her bundled form didn’t allow for him to study the maneuvers of her limbs, he could tell by the slight jutting angles of the duvet and the petulantly pouting countenance of her face that she’d crossed her arms over her chest.

He could already imagine the habitual drumming of her fingertips against her biceps, could recall with all the clarity in hell every time she’d watched him with the same bodily positioning. In both human, and demon form. During their marriage, and long after they’d found each other in hell, after he’d pushed her far enough away for their union to be considered estranged.

He used to find it adorable. Used to thrill under the heat of her stare.

And a part of him still did, a hellish ember igniting in the darkest pits of his stomach as she stared up at him through her eyelashes, ire flaming in the demonic glow of her irises. He realized belatedly that he’d allowed himself to fall silent, and that Madison was outright refusing to bridge the gap between them, mouth twisted in an unamused scowl.

With a sharp intake of breath that went unnoticed by the woman before him, Alastor stepped away from her.

“As for the early rise,” he began, trying to distract himself from the familiar scent of vanilla and floral perfume that seemed to envelop the air of the room already, despite her arriving not even a full day earlier. He balanced the staff in the crook of his elbow, his hands rising to straighten the lapels of his coat, fingers smoothing the fabric as he stepped towards the curtained window. “How are you going to redeem yourself if you spend your entire afterlife in bed?”

Madison’s eyes squinted against the sudden influx of fiery light as Alastor flung his arms outward, throwing the drapes open as he crooned over his shoulder; “Sloth is a deadly sin, dear.”

With a low growl, Madison stomped towards him, duvet trailing behind her as she held the cushiony material over her shoulders with a clenched fist. He stepped to the side when she scowled up at him, head cocking to the side as the red glow of Hell’s burning landscape bounced off of the intimately familiar soft curves of the side of her face. “Did it sound like I came here for redemption?”

“No,” he hummed, tearing his eyes from her face so that he could pretend to scrutinize the sharpened points of his clawed fingertips. His half-lidded eyes swept over the bed-addled mess of her hair and sleepwear, snapping sharply back up to her face when they drifted low enough to find the white speckles of fur dotting the inside of her thighs below the hem of her shorts. He hurriedly stifled the small noise the sight conjured before it could ricochet its way up his throat. “But you look like an underachieving failure.”

He punctuated the condescending proclamation by pressing the pad of his thumb to the tip of her nose, making her head tilt downward and allowing her to glare up at him through her lashes.

“Now, darling, rise and shine,” he called cheerily, hand curling into a loose fist as he swung his arm in a wide, showmanly gesture, motioning to the orb of fire burning bright in the scarlet sky, the pentagram glowing red and casting the realm in a bloody shadow. He stepped aside, shadows morphing on the wallpaper behind him into the vague shape of a ladder, letting the casted shadows of his fingers move up the narrow rungs in a walking motion. “You’ve got an entire day of failing to climb hell's social ladder ahead of you.”

She skulked away from him with a bodily roll of her eyes, head lulling in time with the upward toss of her gaze, a low groan passing through her lips as she reached her bedside. Her hand smoothed over the bedsheets, stopping only when the side of her pinkie met the solid surface of her phone. “I’m not trying to be a soul-grabbing overlord.”

They both knew that. He’d tried to encourage her in his own rude and sadistic way countless times in the past. To haul her way up the mountain of Overlords and carve out a space of her own near the top of Hell’s hierarchy of power. And every time, she’d been forced to remind him that she wasn’t interested in enslaving souls that she didn’t require in order to satiate a heedless lust for power.

That she didn’t want to push people away so that she could sit solely at the top. Almighty, and terribly lonely.

That she wasn’t like him.

He needled at her further, letting the bones of his neck crack and his head rotate fully, a gleeful inflection bleeding into his tone. “Because you know you’ll fail if you do?”

“No,” Madison enunciated haltingly, fingers skimming over the glossy surface of her phone screen before the low volume of an upbeat melody broke through the speakers. “Because I don’t wanna be slain because of the Radio Demon’s threatened ego.”

Alastor’s ears flattened against his skull, her response going unheard as his attention zeroed in on the device emanating modernity in the form of undulating synths and poppy slang.

“One would think that your music taste would have grown more refined with age,” he commented flatly, not even looking at her as he plucked the offending device from her bed, pinching the emblazoned trinket tied to the case between his thumb and forefinger and holding it away from him. “What a shame.”

Madison snatched the phone from his disgruntled hold, unwilling to allow him the chance to crush her property with his shadows because he couldn’t move on from the era he’d met his end in. She turned away from him, increasing the volume, if only slightly, and stifling a smirk at the quick burst of static that sounded from behind her. “One would also think that some people would be able to move on from the past.”

He didn’t respond right away. And she almost turned her head to check on him, because her response had been tame. Because it wasn’t a concoction of words that should have tripped him up enough to leave him wordless.

She didn’t have to. Because he found the words before she could even think to question him.

“And having a replica made of your first wedding ring?”

Madison felt her limbs seize, breath hitching on the exhale as her finger paused over the screen. Her wide-eyed expression didn’t shift even as Alastor appeared in front of her with a slow twist of shadows, not until he took her hand in his and carefully bent it at the wrist to bring the glinting metal haloing her ring finger into her line of vision. She let her eyes twitch slightly, finding the gleaming gold band, as if it wasn’t a sight she had engraved in her mind. As if she was surprised it was there.

She was surprised, or perhaps disturbed was the better description, that Alastor knew about it now. That Alastor was willing to use it as a point of attack, mild as it was.

“That’s not being stuck in the past?”

It was the goading tone he’d always used, the same tonal inflections. But it ignited something old and aching below the slope of her sternum.

“Alastor.” She wrenched her hand away from him. “Get the fuck out of my room.”

“Defensive,” he nodded gleefully, before motioning broadly to the mess of bedsheets, pillows, and duvet. “Besides, if I leave, you’ll only go back to sleep.”

He poked her forehead.

“Lazy.”

She shoved his chest.

“Bane of my afterlife.”

He only laughed, using the backs of his knuckles to nudge her chin friskily. “I’ll endeavor to retain that title, darling.”

He only laughed harder when she swatted his hand away with an annoyed wrinkle of her nose.

“Now.” With a snap of his fingers, a pile of folded clothes appeared in his open palm. The clothes she’d worn upon her arrival to the hotel, she realized belatedly, and she recognized faintly that the garments smelled fresh and flowery. She stumbled to catch the pile in her arms, holding them close to her chest as Alastor’s claws furled along the curve of her shoulders. Throwing an arm over her shoulders with feigned friendliness, he corralled her towards the wall-length mirror aimed towards the bed.

Positioning her so that she was standing in front of him, her back to his chest, his face appearing over her shoulder in the reflective surface, he gave her an amiable clap on her back. “Up and at ‘em!”

Her lids drooped in tandem with the defeated fall of her shoulders, brows falling into a flat line, lips pursing as she watched his impish expression in the mirror. She gave him a moment. And his grin tightened the longer she let the silence prolong itself, the corners of his eyes crinkling as they flitted between her reflection and the pile of clothes he’d apparated into her arms.

With a curated slowness, keeping her gaze fixed on Alastor’s in their shared reflection for as long as she could, she craned her neck to meet the scarlet eyes of his real self. And with a bone-cracking twist of his neck, he peered down at her dubious expression.

Her mouth twisted into a skeptical pout, brow arching above a narrowed gaze, drawing out the single syllable of her one-worded inquiry when he met her gaze with a blank smile. “Well…?”

“Well, what?”

She blinked.

“I need to get dressed…” She enunciated slowly, gesturing with a dazed confusion at his near-innocent cluelessness to the clothes in her arms. The arch of her eyebrow deepened into a baffled frown when he failed to follow the overtone of her implication. “So you need to leave.”

“Oh,” he said, eyes widening just a fraction as realization settled over his bones. Heat fizzled over his cheekbones in a way he hadn’t felt for years, and he was eternally grateful that the grayish coloration of his demon form’s skin didn’t tint red. The momentary lapse in his usual lackadaisical grinning expression was masked almost immediately with an exaggeration of his smile. Invisible stitching pulled harshly on the corners of his mouth as he grabbed the hand Madison was pointing to the pile of clothes with, and raised it over her head, twisting her arm and forcing her into a slow spin so that she was facing him. “Now you have some modesty?”

Her lips parted in palpable offense, her tongue running over the whites of her teeth as a terse sound of indignation rumbled in her throat. Her chin tipped forward, resting against the fluff of her chest as she sucked in a sharp breath.

Whatever blazing response stood poised on the sharpened tip of her tongue was extinguished as Alastor threw an arm loosely over the sloped curve of her shoulders. He jostled her stiff figure with a sprightly laugh, avoiding her glare so that he could inspect the points of his claws as he added slyly; “Besides, it's not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.”

The bow of Madison’s shoulders drew tight, her arm falling by her side and dropping the stack of clothes to the carpeted ground with an annoyed huff. She ducked under his arm, and he let her, content with the exasperation rolling off of her in hot waves. She spun on her heel, hoof stomping with a muffled sound into the carpet as her arm shot out to point at the door to her room. “Out.”

He questioned her with a petty tilt of his head, using his cane to hook the corner of her bedsheets, an inquisitive hum punctuating the query. “And how can I trust that you aren’t simply going to disappear back under those covers?”

Madison watched him for a long moment, chewing contemplatively on the inside of her cheek as she wordlessly stewed on her acrimony. She glanced down at the pile of clothes he’d apparated for her to wear, eyes flitting between the neatly folded garments and the reflection of Alastor’s back.

At the prolonged silence, Alastor peered over the sharp angle of his shoulder, his tight-lipped smile parting slightly with the intention of breaking it.

Madison beat him to the punch.

“Fine,” she spat, teeth scraping her bottom lip as she bit the word out. A sanguine simper tugged at the corners of her mouth as something petulant and vindictive stirred in her gut. “Stay.”

Alastor turned to face her fully, smile fixed, though his brows dipped into a diminutive frown at her newfound acceptance of his presence. And Madison reveled in the moment that Alastor’s confusion morphed into flustered stupefaction when her hands crossed over her midsection, fingers curling around the hem of her t-shirt as she yanked the oversized garment up and over her head.

The sudden screech of stuttering static spoke a thousand distressed words.

And in the split second that Alastor disappeared from her sight, when the dark fabric slipped over her face and blocked out her vision, he also disappeared from her bedroom in a confounded cloud of shadow.

Madison was left bare-chested and satisfied, a wide grin stretching her face as she tossed the scrunched up ball of fabric into the residual plume of dissipating shadows, the shirt unfurling right where Alastor had stood just seconds before. “Coward.”

Arm still outstretched from the effort, the light Alastor had welcomed into her room caught on the edge of her aforementioned ring, the detailed curve of the golden band glinting innocently back at her as she brought her hand back to her chest. Abstractedly, her hooves brought her to the edge of her undone bed, and she let herself drop onto the plush material of the mattress with a weighty sigh, bright eyes fixed on the glaring metal as her other hand absentmindedly twiddled with the accessory.

A twinge, sharp and achingly familiar, plucked at her heartstrings as she ran her fingertips over the intentional detailing carved into gold. The rueful smile lifting her lips slipped into something flattened and down, her brow pinching as her teeth sank into the flesh of her cheeks.

A shuddering breath rattled her chest, and she drew her gaze to the doe demon being reflected back at her in the mirror. With an intentional flick of her wrist, thin red trails of magic twirled around her fingers down to her wrists. And in its wake, the satin white gloves she’d arrived to the hotel with concealed her hands once again, hiding the ring from prying eyes.

Though she supposed there wasn’t much of a purpose to them anymore. Not if Alastor knew that she’d had the symbol of their marital union while they were alive remade in the aftermath of her death. Not if he was content to make fun of her for holding onto the memory of the only period of her short life when she had been truly happy.

A teary sting tickled her waterline, and she blinked furiously against it, lifting her chin with a rib-clattering inhale.

Because of course he’d run away instead of actually talking to her about why she’d invested time and energy into having her ring replicated.

He’d made a longstanding habit out of that.

The thought echoed in her mind.

steve harrington x reader

In which! you’ve been in a coma for months after being cursed by Vecna, but Steve never gives up on you. He talks to you every day, sharing his life and his heart

warnings: This story contains graphic injury, including broken bones, coma and medical trauma, hospitals and medical equipment, panic and emotional distress, mentions of death and near-death experiences, supernatural violence related to Vecna’s curse, heavy angst, fear of losing a loved one, intense emotional scenes with crying, flashing lights and hallucinations, and loud heart monitor descriptions.

You’ve been in a coma for months now.

The kind of deep, unmoving sleep the doctors call “stable,”

but Steve calls “bullshit.”

They say you can’t hear anything.

Steve knows you can.

He talks to you anyway.

Everything changed the night Vecna got to you.

Your bones had snapped.

Your breath had stopped.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝟔,𝟏𝟏𝟔

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧. 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞’𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟! 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 + 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲!𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬!), 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐭, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧

𝐀/𝐍: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧! 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥. 𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲! 𝐗𝐎𝐗𝐎

Hawkins, Indiana is notorious for having brutal summers. When Starcourt Mall was announced, everybody got excited. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about its opening (even if I wouldn’t say it out loud). Opening the mall right before summer was perfect, finally giving everyone something to do other than going to the community pool everyday. Gaining a movie theater, stores, food. Namely, Scoops Ahoy. 

It’s hot in my car, almost sweltering. Janice, my younger sister, is sitting on the passenger side fanning herself. “Come on, can’t you roll down the windows or something?” 

I glance over, taking in the exasperated look on her face. “Do you want flies, mosquitos and possibly a wasp in here? What about the humidity? Do you think out there is-” 

“Any better than in here,” Janice cuts me off. “No. I don’t. But for God’s sake can’t we do something?” I look back at the road, “No. Not really. Besides, look up ahead. We’re finally here.” 

I pull into the parking lot, the mall already being packed. “Don’t kids go to the arcade or something?” I mumble to myself. 

“Not anymore,” Janice responds, snapping her gum. 

I roll my eyes, motioning for her to get out of the car. We make our way up to the giant building. Teenagers are giggling, kids are yelling, adults stand by fanning themselves with promotional pamphlets. I grab onto Janice’s arm so I don’t lose her in the crowd. I swear she grumbles in protest, but I can’t hear her over a crying baby as I push through the crowd, desperately trying to find the ice cream shop. 

It doesn’t take long. The giant neon sign, the faint sound of sailor music drifting out from the shop. Rather than me dragging Janice, she takes control, all but running into the shop. I feel my whole body tense as we step in. Not because I didn’t know what to do, because of who was behind the counter. 

Steve Harrington. 

It wasn’t that he and I didn’t get along while he had attended Hawkins High. I hadn’t even directly met the guy. It was the fact that he didn’t get along with anybody that wasn’t like him. I didn’t know how bad it had been until I heard he broke Jonathan Byers’ camera. I understood why he did it, I still understand it. But it made me wonder if he still would’ve reacted the same way if it was one of his popular friends. Like Tommy. Would he have thrown that camera down? Busted it without a second thought?

I wasn’t necessarily friends with Jonathan either. I felt for the guy. His younger brother goes missing, then he has the “King of Hawkins High” up his ass. I never fit in with the royalty of Hawkins High, but I didn’t exactly fall in with the Eddie Munsons either. I was nerdy, keeping my head down, getting my work done, helping out those who weren’t able to keep up. I was a popular loner. And while I didn’t know Steve, I was in an English class with Nancy. This resulted in hearing bits and pieces about their relationship and what Steve was truly like. And just from that information alone, I knew he and I would not mesh well. 

I snap back into the now, realizing that not only have I just frozen in the doorway, but Janice is incessantly tapping her foot at me. “If you got closer, you could get a better look at him,” she snapped at me. I shake my head, “Under no circumstances would I want a better look at Steve Harrington, Janice. Don’t be stupid.” I bite back, suddenly being defensive. 

While I know he and I wouldn’t ever get along, it would be plain silly of me to try and deny that he was (and sadly still is) attractive. Incredible hair, a nice smile, the ability to flirt with an ease that made it seem like it was second nature to him. While I find it hard to like the man, I did find him easy on the eyes. Too bad his personality sucks. 

We walk closer to the counter as a small gaggle of girls all leave with their ice cream. Looking at Steve more up close I feel my stomach knot. I look down at Janice mumbling, “Do you know what you want yet or do you have to think about it?” She looks over the case just as the worst possible thing could happen- 

“Ahoy ladies! What can I get for you?” Steve’s voice carries through the store loudly. I glance up at him, noticing the soft smile he has while looking down towards my sister. 

Janice orders her ice cream, smiling and blushing up at Steve. I can’t even pay attention to what’s being said because all I can think about is how Janice is soaking up everything Steve says to her. “Hey, Janice. Go find us a place to sit and I’ll meet you after I pay.” It snaps Janice out of her dreamy daze, rolling her eyes in annoyance before turning on her heel with a cone in hand. “Come back and visit me anytime,” Steve calls out, Janice not acknowledging it as she leaves in a huff. 

“You do realize she’s eleven, right?” I remark, pulling out my wallet. 

Steve looks back to me, the smile still on his lips. “I get along with kids. Even though I know I’d get along better with you.” 

I nearly choke, swallowing thickly. There is no way in hell Steve Harrington is attempting to flirt with me right now. “I’m sure that worked on your previous customers, but it won’t work on me, Harrington.” I fish out a few dollars from my wallet. 

“Who said that I tried on the others? That I’m not just trying this on you?” 

I glance up at Steve as I hand him the money, “Because I’m not your type. Not at all. And the girls I just saw leaving were definitely up your alley.” 

Steve’s hand froze momentarily as he took the money from me. “Who says I have a type?” 

Just as I went to reply, the swinging doors burst open behind Steve to reveal Robin Buckley, standing there looking more than worn out. “Steve, can we switch yet? I’m dying back here.” Robin’s eyes meet mine. 

“Robin? I didn’t realize you work here,” I say, letting go of the money I gave Steve before moving away from the counter to the side to see Robin better. I hear Steve mumble something under his breath, but I don’t care enough to listen. Anything to get away from him quicker. 

“Oh hey, you, it’s just for the summer. Nothing long term,” Robin says, noticing the slight tension in the air. “Is he giving you trouble?” I glance between the two for a second, taking a moment to think. Do I admit that he was flirting with me, or just let it slide?

“No, I wasn’t,” Steve remarks, almost snapping at Robin. “Was just about to give her the change she’s owed.” Robin immediately raises an eyebrow at Steve. “No need to be all defensive, Steven. I was teasing you. Guess the heat has gotten to all of us.” Robin wanders over to me, leaning against the counter. “Did you bring Janice? You told me that she hadn’t shut up about this place since it was announced.” 

“Yeah, I had her take her ice cream out to find a spot for us to hang out,” I respond, not without noticing Steve sliding over to us to join in on the conversation. 

“Wait- do you two know each other?” Steve asks, glancing between Robin and I, his eyes full of wonder.

“Uh, yeah. Robin and I are in the same graduating class. We have taken a few courses together. Better to get them done together than alone,” I say, gently tapping my fingers on the counter out of nervousness. Why was Steve all of a sudden interested in my life? Why is he acting so odd?

“Steve, I’m taking my fifteen minute break. Can you please not burn down the shop?” Robin says, taking off her sailor hat before Steve has a chance to respond. “But- how can I do all of this alone? That’s so not fair,” Steve calls out as Robin loops her arm through mine, dragging me out of the shop. 

As we step out, I finally feel like I can breathe again. I see Janice down a ways at a table, having found her friend Erica from school. I breathe a sigh of relief, Robin dragging me to a table close to Janice and her friends, just to keep an eye on them. “How come you looked like you wanted to strangle ole Harrington back there?” Robin finally says as we sit down. 

“I don’t know Robin, you tell me. That man ran our high school, was a massive jerk to everybody, not to mention he was always too full of himself. He tried to flirt with me, Robin. Flirt. Why on God’s green earth would Steve Harrington flirt with me? He must be desperate,” I spill, running a hand through my hair. 

Robin stares at me in disbelief for a moment before speaking up. “Wait- you’re mad about how he acted in high school? And what do you mean he flirted with you? I mean, I get why he would,” she says while nudging me playfully, “I think you need to give the guy a second chance. I know that he wasn’t the best when we were in school with him, but he’s different now. Trust me. All he does is talk about Dustin Henderson and how he can’t wait till he’s home from summer camp. It’s like the guy has done a full one-eighty since he left.” 

I stare at Robin in shock. “You’re joking. There’s no way in hell that Harrington has changed that much,” I scoff slightly. “I think you’re just saying that so I will join your crew so it’s not just you two working.” 

Robin places a hand over her heart dramatically, “How dare you accuse me of such a thing? The pay is shit, the uniforms are stuffy, but you’d get to see our beautiful faces everyday.” I roll my eyes with a smile. “But in all seriousness, I think you might like the new Steve. Why not give him a chance? And if you hate him, I’ll never bring him up to you again. Scouts honor,” Robin continues. 

“That would mean a lot to me if you had been in the scouts, Robin.”

Robin smiled widely. “So is that a yes?” 

I glance out over Starcourt. Am I really going to agree with Robin? Let her talk me into letting go of my grudge? My eyes pause on Scoops. I see Steve already glancing out at Robin and I as he scoops out ice cream for a guy and what I’d guess was his girlfriend. Steve raises the scoop as if to say hi, and I look back to Robin. 

“If you’re wrong, does that mean I get to say I told you so?”

˚⟡˖ ࣪

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since I saw Steve Harrington. Two weeks since I allowed Robin to talk me into trying to move past my grudge. Two weeks since I had forgotten my change at Scoops Ahoy. 

Today was just like any other day, except for when my sister came busting down my door. 

“Can you drive me to the mall? Mom is busy and dad isn’t here. Oh, and don’t say you’d have to check if I can, mom said you’d take me already,” Janice said matter of fact like, leaning against my door frame.

“And why would you need to go to the mall? Do you have money?” I ask, turning to face her from my desk. 

Janice holds up a few dollar bills. I let out a sigh, “What are you going for?”

“Erica invited me. Stop being such a stick in the mud and come on.” I watch as Janice leaves my room in an irritated huff. I stand, following her downstairs. 

The ride to Starcourt is short, Janice and I soaking in the quiet of the hot car. I only had one thought swimming around in my mind- hopefully Harrington will be off today.

My wish is shown to have been useless as I watch my sister run off with her friends, only to look over and see Steve doing some sort of handshake with Dustin Henderson in Scoops. I notice Robin standing back in the door frame. Perfect. 

I make my way over to Scoops, silently hoping that since Steve is preoccupied, I won’t have to talk to him. I pass he and Dustin quickly, leaning against the counter. 

“You know, I had been thinking about applying,” I joke as I look at Robin. “But after seeing this display, I can see why no one else has.” 

Robin huffs, rolling her eyes at the boys. My comment doesn’t go unnoticed, Steve looking at me with this glint in his eye. Don’t say a word, don’t talk to me…

“Hey, you’re back!” Steve remarks, nudging Dustin. Dustin takes in my appearance for a moment before he says “Oh, hey, aren’t you the one Steve keeps-”

Before he can finish, Steve clamps a hand over Dustin’s mouth with a small, exasperated smile. “Ignore him. What brings you here?”

I take in the absurd scene in front of me for a moment. “I came to see Robin. I didn’t know I would be getting dessert and a show.”

Robin snorts from behind me, Steve dropping his hand from Dustin’s mouth finally. “Were you wanting something? I can dish it out for you before I take my break. You know, I do think we were mint to be,” Steve says with this confident smile that makes my stomach flip.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous, Steve Harrington.” I shake my head, trying not to laugh at his pun. “Besides, wouldn’t you rather spend time with your buddy here?” I ask, motioning to the seemingly impatient Dustin. 

“Don’t refer to me as if I’m some child. I’ll have you know-” Dustin starts in before Steve cuts him off. “If I get to look at your pretty eyes for even a minute longer, it’s worth it.”

Robin gags behind me, a huff leaves my lips and Dustin is glaring daggers at Steve. “Too far, Harrington.” “Did you just say you’d rather spend time with a girl over me?”

Steve’s eyes don’t leave me as I stare at him for a moment. “Fine then, get on back there. Let you have your little moment just to stroke your ego.” 

He slides back on his sailor hat, going back behind the counter. He has the same look he did when he tried to hit on me two weeks prior. “And what can I get the pretty lady?”

I lean against the counter, pretending to think. “You kind of put mint at the front of my mind now, Harrington.”

Steve hums, glancing down at the case, “Cup or cone? Actually- don’t tell me. I’ll surprise you.”

I watch him closely before stealing a glance at Robin. She’s looking between him and I as though we were in an intense tennis match. Her eyes lock with mine, only for her to mouth “you’re blushing.” I roll my eyes. There’s no way I would be blushing over such a small interaction. Especially one with Steve. I hear Dustin make a small noise behind me.

“Come on, Steve, I know you’re too busy flirting but I need to talk to you. Urgently.”

Steve grumbles before smiling and handing me a cone, two scoops of mint ice cream. He really did surprise me. “Free of charge.”

I look up from the cone at Steve, “Wait- seriously? Suppose you do that for every girl you hit on, right?” I say teasingly, following him with my eyes. He takes the hat back off, running a hand through his hair as he approaches Dustin once more. 

“Actually, no. I don’t. Guess you’re special to me,” Steve calls out over his shoulder as he follows an antsy Dustin out of the shop. 

Robin looks at me, slackjawed. “He’s not lying. He never gives anybody things for free. That bastard meant it.” 

I sit at a table closest to the freezer, crossing one leg over the other as I begin to work on my cone. 

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with Steve back there,” Robin quips as she wipes down the counter.

I scoff, “Me? You think I would flirt with Steve? Absolutely not. Have you forgotten that he and I have an unspoken argument going on?” I sit up slightly, giving Robin a look that says ‘really?’

“I think you mean ‘absolutely I was Robin.’ You aren’t fooling me. I haven’t seen you look at someone like that since that Richie kid our sophomore year,” Robin says, waving her wash cloth at me as she talks. 

“I told- no- promised you that I’d try to get along with Steve. Set aside my grievances. That is what I’m trying to do.”

“So setting them aside immediately means that you’d flirt back? I didn’t know you had it in you,” she responds, a knowing smirk on her face. 

“Robin, I may not like the guy, but I have eyes. It’s not hard to find something to say when he’s looking at you like that,” my sentence trails off at the end. Why was I suddenly softening up on him? He doesn’t deserve that. If he’s going to try and flirt with me, the least he can do is put more effort in than a smile, a joke, and free ice cream. 

A giant group of kids come marching into Scoops Ahoy. I sit back and watch Robin interact with them, waiting before picking back up our conversation. In the seating area right outside of Scoops, we hear Dustin yell something about a secret Russian message. We roll our eyes and continue on, even when the boys come back to talk more privately in the back of the shop. 

That was, until they started arguing. Robin motions for me to come back with her. I toss my napkin in the trash before following her to the back of the store. She’s already scolding the boys, making fun of the two of them for believing she was really speaking Russian. With a little more back and forth, everyone has come to an agreement that Robin and Dustin will try to crack whatever is being said in the audio. Meanwhile, Steve needed to get back to work. I sit in the corner, getting up when Steve gets up to go back out front. 

“Whoa now, slow down. Where do you think you’re going?” Dustin asks, now the three of them are staring at me. 

“Well, it seems to me I’m pretty useless in this scenario. You two have the code to crack, he’s got to get back to work-” I say while nodding towards Steve, “-and I don’t work here. I was moral support for about two seconds. Now it’s time for me to go.”

“What, you don’t think you could help?” Steve asks, blocking the door so I can’t go. “We’ve filled you in on what we know. You gotta stick around to see it through. I think you’ll be a great asset.”

I stop, staring down Steve as he blocks the door. “If you think I’m going to go tell anyone about your little code, I won’t. I have no one to tell.”

“Oh no, that’s not it,” Steve responds, now crossing his arms. Damn, if his arms don’t look nice- “I just think that you can help us out just by being here. Never know when we will need your expert advice.” 

Robin fake gags again, Dustin groans. I narrow my eyes at Steve, “Alright, Harrington. Say I agree to stay. What’s in it for me?”

“You mean besides spending time with me? You’d get to hang out with Robin. Not to mention that I may give you my number so we can keep in touch.” 

My eyes widen slightly, only for Steve to smile. “I’m just assuming, is that a yes?”

I roll my eyes, feeling my cheeks burn. “Knock that shit off, Harrington. I’ll stick around. But not because you asked me to.”

˚⟡˖ ࣪

By the time Robin and Steve are off of work, we recruited the help of Erica and Janice, not without me telling Janice exactly where she stood with the situation. “If mom finds out about any of this, both of us are dead. Do you hear me? If I go down, you go down.” 

And now, we’re all at a stakeout, watching over the building below to see what the Russians are bringing into Starcourt. Janice, Erica and Dustin are a ways down from us, swapping who looks out their binoculars while Robin, Steve and I all watch the building closely. 

Waiting for anything to happen feels like eternity. The proximity between me and Steve is almost more than I can handle. I keep reminding myself that I got myself into this mess, that I now have to deal with it. Even though all I can think about is how Steve’s arm keeps brushing against mine, too frequent to be accidental. That his cologne is intoxicating and I want to yell about it. This is Steve we’re talking about here. The one that would be a bully in school. That would hate me if he really got to know me. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Steve mutters to me from beside me, binoculars up to his face. 

“I’m not even looking at you, asshole. I’m watching the kids to make sure they’re safe.” A lie. I was totally, one hundred percent looking at him. 

“That would make more sense if the kids were over there. But they’re behind you.” He lowers the binoculars, a small smirk on his face. “I’m not mad about it. Just let me know and I can even pose.”

I roll my eyes, snatching the binoculars out of his hands. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Harrington.” I raise them up to my face, watching the street and door closely. 

I can feel Steve brush against me again, goosebumps raising along my arm. Fuck him. In both ways.

“Cold?” Robin asks in a teasing tone from beside me.

“Will both of you shut the hell up? I’m trying to focus.”

“On what? Steve in that sailor uniform?”

I glare at Robin as I hand her the binoculars. “I’ll remember that.”

I sit back for a moment, looking up at the sky. It’s currently raining, and the three of us gave the only umbrella to the kids. I run a hand down my face before looking back toward the building. I catch Steve watching me, so I raise my eyebrow. ‘Cold?’ Steve mouths, cocking his head slightly. Damn him, he looks like a puppy. I nod slightly, not fully committing to it. 

Steve opens his arm, a silent invitation to be closer. Body heat. Sure, it would keep me warm. But it would cause me to have a moment. I think for a second before Robin knocks into my side, pushing me closer to Steve. I glare back at her, Robin putting the binoculars back to her face with a smirk, a small ‘oops’ leaving her lips. Everybody in this situation sucks.

Steve’s arm rests around me, tucking me into his side. I accept my fate, even though my mind is fighting with itself. I’m too absorbed in the ‘I shouldn’t be allowing this’ and the ‘just let him, he’s being kind’ to hear Erica call out that there’s a truck quickly approaching the building.

We watch as the truck pulls in, and suddenly Steve is on his feet, getting all of us to go down and sneak into the building while the door is open. Everything happens so quickly- one moment we’re sneaking in, the next we’re going down in an elevator, all screaming and panicking. It’s a miracle none of the Russians heard us all. 

Once the elevator comes to an abrupt stop, we all dizzily get off. We make our way down the hall in pairs. I had Janice and Erica walk in the back, Robin insisting she and Dustin walk together, leaving me and Steve in the front. I saw the teasing smile on Robin’s lips, happily looping her arm through Dustin’s, much to Dustin’s dismay. 

Walking with Steve is… something. Bumping shoulders, quiet apologies, the charged air. The mystery surrounding the situation. I hear the girls giggling somewhere behind us, Robin and Dustin whispering amongst themselves. But Steve and I? It’s almost too quiet. I can tell he’s nervous, hell, I’m nervous. 

“You know, that first time I came into Scoops, I forgot my change.”

Steve lets out a small laugh, almost a laugh of relief. “Yeah, you kind of ran out with Robin. Didn’t really give me the chance to give it to you.” 

A small huff passes my lips. “Well, when Robin needs something, she tends to go after it. Which in that case, seemed to be away from you.”

He looks at me, nudging my shoulder slightly, “Really now? You think she wanted out of there because of me? Maybe it was because she didn’t want your cheeks to get any redder.”

This makes me look at him, “What are you talking about?”

Steve lets out a quiet laugh, “When I tried hitting on you. Your cheeks got so red. I couldn’t tell if you were embarrassed or wanted to snap my neck.”

“Maybe it was both. I meant what I said. I don’t fall into your type. Must’ve been a fluke.”

“So you think that I just hit on you to what, exactly? Tease you? Push your buttons a little bit? Might be hard for you to believe, but I was flirting with you with no ulterior motives." 

I roll my eyes, looking back down the hall we’re still making our way down. “Sure, no ‘ulterior’ motives.”

“I meant what I said too, by the way. When all of this is over, I will be giving you my number. You know, in case you ever want to talk. Or go out,” Steve says the last quip quietly, almost a whisper. 

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, “What was that, Harrington?” Now it’s my turn to nudge him. 

Instead of responding, he takes my hand, walking close enough that no one walking behind us can see what he just did. I let him. I don’t hesitate, I don’t try to stop him. I squeeze his hand tightly, like a small ‘I’m here.’ 

˚⟡˖ ࣪

I hate this plan. More than anything else. Robin and Steve are going in after the Russians while I’m left with the kids. 

“This plan is shit, guys. Won’t you guys need help? Backup? What if everything goes to shit? Huh? How will you two-” 

“Enough,” Robin says, “We got this. They will listen to you. You’ll be a damn good babysitter.”

If only it had been that easy. The next time I see Steve and Robin, their eyes are bloodshot, they’re high out of their minds, and Steve. Poor, poor Steve. His face is beaten, bloodied. His eye is so swollen and red I can barely handle it, my own eyes watering just looking at him.

By the end of the night, I know it all. The mysterious girl, the monsters living underneath our town. Why everyone seemed to be holding onto a secret that they just wouldn’t let me and Robin in on. 

With the mall burning down, it means we all must go our separate ways. Tend to our own wounds, see those we thought we would never see again. It pains me to leave Steve and Robin that way, but I need to take Janice home. Assist her. Before leaving, Steve pulls me aside. While we hadn’t spoken much since I saw him, he looks tired. More tired than I had ever seen him. He pulls out a badly wrinkled napkin, a number written on it, small scribbling of his name underneath it. 

“Holding up my end of our deal,” Steve says quietly, a tired smile on his face. 

“How long have you been holding onto that?” I ask, tucking it into my back pocket. 

Steve hums, pretending to think. “I wrote it down when you and Robin were in the back room of Scoops. I wanted to slide it to you before we knew how serious this all was.” A small scoff left his lips. “I guess life had other plans.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “What matters is that almost everyone is alive. Even you, Harrington.” I think for a moment before looking down, “Please take care of yourself. Your poor eye is more than I can handle.”

He laughs lightly, taking a hand to tilt my head back up to look at him. “Aw, if I didn’t know better I’d say you care about me.”

I stare up at him, taking in the bruising and swollen parts of his face. “Maybe I do.” Behind me, Janice calls out for me, “Shit, I gotta go. Listen, please, take care of yourself. Promise me. No more hero stunts for a while.”

Steve nods, running his thumb along my jaw. “I promise. If you need anything, you call me. Alright?”

I nod, taking his free hand in mine, looping our pinkies in a promise. 

˚⟡˖ ࣪

It’s been two days since the Starcourt Mall burned down. It’s all the news has been able to cover. Repeating the story of finding the building up in flames, nothing is salvageable. Billy Hargrove’s body having been removed, the family planning a funeral. 

I had been taking care of my sister, even though she didn’t need me. “I’ve seen worse on TV,” Janice would say, trying to brush me off. Even though I noticed that she’d let me hug her for long periods of time. 

Not to mention, I had been checking in on everyone in the group that was there that night. Everyone except Steve. I want to, I really do. But I get halfway through punching his number in and I panic. What if Steve only gave me his number out of obligation to our deal? What if I had read everything wrong and made a fool of myself? Oh no, and what if I blow any shot at any sort of relationship with him?

My mom and dad have gone on some sort of business trip. Which meant they were actually taking a small trip without us. Janice left to go see Erica, check in on her and Lucas. Which leaves me home alone. I decide I need to face my fears. Hell, I somehow survived a giant flesh monster at the mall, calling Steve Harrington couldn’t be as painful as that. 

I make my way to my living room, sitting down in a chair. I take a deep breath before picking up my phone and beginning to dial. If I had been smart, I would’ve drank something before trying this. I actually dial the full number, pressing the phone to my ear, beginning to pray to God that no one answers. 

One ring, two rings. My prayers were answered. Third ring-

“Hello, Harrington residence.”

I let out a small laugh, “I’ve never heard you so proper, Harrington. What gives?”

“Well look who finally decided to call,” Steve says, his voice changing from posh to relaxed in a beat.

“It’s only been two days, man. Had stuff to deal with. Not to mention you had a little healing to do.” I lean back against my chair, relaxing. 

“All I’m hearing is excuses. What, too nervous to call?”

“What are you doing right now? Are your parents home?”

“What- no. They aren’t home. And I’m not doing anything. Why? What gives?”

“Oh, nothing. Give me five minutes and I’ll be over,” I hang up without waiting for a response. 

My drive over to Steve’s is short, silent. I turned off the radio so I could calm my nerves. I sit out front for a moment, looking up at his house. It’s huge, empty. Only holding one person in there for now. I give myself that final push and get out of the car. 

It only takes one knock before the door swings open to reveal a less swollen Steve. 

“Well hello there. Pleasant surprise. You didn’t have to hang up on me you know,” he says teasingly. 

“Didn’t want to give you a chance to change your mind.” It doesn’t feel long, but a few seconds without hearing either of us talking quickly began to bother me. “You look better, healing well?”

Steve shakes his head, smiling. “Cut the small talk and get in here.”

He steps aside, letting me in. Everything looks clean, almost too clean. 

“Did you tidy up before I got here?”

“Maybe. Maybe I wanted it to look nice for your first time over,” Steve remarks, sinking onto his couch. “Please, come sit. We need to talk.”

I sit down beside him, trying to leave a small gap. I didn’t come over for that. Okay, maybe at some point, but not this time. 

“Robin told me some things about you,” Steve remarks, settling into the couch.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like the fact that you hated who I was in high school. That you hated me when you saw me again. That you promised her you’d give me a chance.”

Fuck. I stare at Steve for a moment, slackjawed, stunned into silence. “I… I didn’t know-”

“I get it,” Steve cuts me off, placing his hand over mine. “I do. I was a dick in high school. A real asshole. But, I don’t think I’m that same guy anymore. And you can make that judgement, I wouldn’t do it for you. I just wanted you to know that I know, and that I understand your point of view.”

My eyes narrow slightly, continuing to stare at Steve. Holy shit. Instead of saying anything, I squeeze his hand with a small nod. A silent agreement, understanding. 

It’s quiet for a moment. Somewhere off in the house I can hear a clock ticking, Steve still gently holding my hand between the two of us on the couch. I roll my head to the side, taking a good look at Steve’s face. The swelling did certainly go away, the dark bruises now blue rather than deep purple. It takes a minute of back and forth in my head before I decide to go for it. 

I reach out and gently run my fingers over the bruise on his cheek. Steve tenses for a moment, I’m sure from the lack of warning. But he almost melts, leaning slightly into my hand. 

“Look so much better than you did,” I mumble, running my thumb under his eye where the worst of it had been. 

He hums, looking over my face. “Saying I was ugly?”

I laugh lightly, “No, no. Of course not. Just didn’t like seeing you hurt like that. It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“A man who deserves better than being all battered and bruised for doing the right thing. And maybe the fact that he has changed a hell of a lot from high school. And that I shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

A small sigh leaves Steve before he squeezes my hand again. “You don’t mean that.”

“Of course I do. I’m sorry for being too stuck in the past.” A beat. “Do you think we can try again?”

“What? Almost like we could actually be- mint to be?”

“Harrington, if you say that one more goddamn time, I will give you a black eye that would rival what the Russian gave you.”

Steve smirks, sitting up, moving just a tad closer. “What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

“I said, if you say that-”

I’m cut off by his lips on mine, gentle. Slow. Not begging, not desperate. A silent agreement, a silent plea. ‘Yeah, let’s start over.’ I run my thumb over his cheek, holding his face gently. He pulls back, resting his forehead against mine.

“I think we owe Robin a thank you for meddling,” Steve says quietly.

“Harrington?”

“Yes?”

“Forget about her for just one second and kiss me again.”

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Summary: Dustin’s disappointed by his sisters recent decline into loneliness, and after a new discovery that gives him an opportunity to unite his two favorite people—a certain light comes back into your life

w.c: 7.7k

Tags: set right before season3! Friends to strangers to sorta enemies to lovers, Steve is so self deprecative. Love confession!!!! gets a little steamy. I was way too poetic in this I’m sorry.

A/n: imma be so for real. This was soooo hard to get through and I’m honestly a little unhappy with it, but everyone’s encouragement and excitement for this part truly kept me going so thank you all xxx

Tunes to listen to while your read!

The archives | AO3 | part one

love at first... movie rental?

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary - your wedding day makes you think back to how you and steve fell in love.

warnings - fluff, nervous steve, cute steve, kissing. ummm yeah i think thats all, just like tooth rotting fluff!!

w.c - 2.7k

* * *

there was a slight chill in the air. it was a february morning and winter was still fading away into spring. your hair was being jammed into bobby pins, powder was being packed your face.

you couldn’t help but think back to how you got here. why everyone had gathered in this hall to celebrate you, why there was a white dress zipped safely in a bag, ready to be worn as you walked down to meet and marry the boy you loved.

the memories flooded as you remembered why this day was so special.

february 14th, 1986

the wind gusted angrily, the leaves making a skittering sound as the air pushed them along the worn pavement. walking across the parking lot to the front door of family video was an uphill battle. finally, you pulled the door open and stepped inside. your cheeks and nose were a shade of red from the cold.

steve was restocking shelves, his shoulders hunched over in concentration. the ring of the bell causes his head to shoot over to the door. his eyes land on you. his back straightens so fast he’s scared it might break.

his focus completely broken, now solely on you, like he was meant to only ever focus on the beautiful girl in front of him. his mind races, what do i say? how do i impress her? god, i have to impress her. play it cool, harrington.

his fingers brush through his long hair in attempts to clean up for you but the same pesky piece falls over his forehead into a little curl. he turns, facing you completely.

“hi welcome in,” he starts, his voice a little shaky. he hopes you don’t notice, you do. “can i help you find anyth-”

and the you smile. soft and sweet, your teeth barley visible. your cheeks still a light shade of red from the cold. his brain short circuits.

“-umm.. anything. ever. in the store, i mean. or the world, really.” he stammers. the silence is deafening. he’s blown it, hasn’t he? any second you’ll be backing away, so he continues to try and clean up his mess. he clears his throat, “what i meant is, if you’re looking for anything specific, i can help, ‘cause that’s my job. yay. movies!” he comes off a bit too enthusiastic.

you giggle softly, not in a mocking way, it’s just that you find him accidently adorable. “thank you,” your eyes glance to his name tag. “steve. i’m just gonna browse, thank you.”

the way you say his name almost makes his knees buckle. “cool cool, yeah i browse all the time, too,” he winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. “i’m going to stop talking now.”

he makes his way behind the counter and his head falls into his hands. robin snickers as she leans back against it. “yeah, that was pretty bad,” she starts. “but she didn’t run away screaming. that’s progress, romeo.” somehow robins words make him feel even more humiliated.

he lifts his head up and his eyes fall on you again. he watches as you read the back of a tape. your head is slightly tilted, your eyebrows slightly furrowed, your lips in a small frown as you focus on the words. his heart picks up again and he realizes that he can’t let you run away.

“i’m going in, again. this time maybe i can form a real sentence.” he makes himself seem busy. he grabs returned tapes and begins putting them back on the shelf. his head pops up every once in a while to make sure you’re still there. you always are. soon, his chance arises when you make your way up to the counter with a movie in your hands.

he’s quick to meet you on the other side of it. you place the movie down on the counter. sixteen candles.

“it’s valentines day, so why not some teeth-rotting romance?” you joke. his mind yet again, fails to work correctly. “might as well watch something cute, even if it’s just me and my popcorn bowl.” his heart does a flip and his stomach churns.

“it could be worse,” he shrugs. you tilt your head. “you could be working here on valentines day, with her.” he points back to robin.

“that may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” the girl replies, putting her hand on her chest.

you let out a soft laugh at the two of them and bite the inside of your cheek. you can’t deny your nervousness, either, but there’s something so comforting about the stuttering boy in front of you.

“have you seen it? sixteen candles? is it good?” you ask softly as he rings you up.

“oh um.. yeah of course. it’s romantic, cheesy, but the good kind of cheesy. you’ll like it.” he confirms. wow, a normal sentence. he messes it up, though. “i love cheese, so.”

you giggle at him again and you can’t seem to wipe the smile off of your face. “you’re cute.”

he swears his brain explodes inside his head. he stares at you as his mouth tries to form words. all he can manage is sliding the movie over to you. then he says, “happy valentines day.”

“you too steve,” you grab the movie and smile sweetly at him. “maybe i’ll see you around.” you turn on your heels and walk out back into the cold air.

steve doesn’t dare look away as you walk out, he stares in awe.

“you just successfully, okay well i won’t say successfully, but you flirted with a girl on valentines day and she didn’t back away in fear!” robin teases.

he snorts, but he doesn’t even take his eyes away from the door. he is absolutely beaming. he’s holding onto your last words and praying they come true.

maybe i’ll see you around.

he does. two days later. he’s talking to a customer who’s being entirely too difficult. the bell rings and he doesn’t notice at first. robin nudges his ribs causing a small groan to leave his lips.

“do you mind?” he scoffs, looking over at his coworker. her eyes are set on the front door, so his eyes make their way over, too. his brain fuzzes. “you got this, robin?” he doesn’t even wait for a response before he makes his way over.

“hey! did you enjoy the movie?” he motions to the tape in your hands.

“yeah! yeah it was good. very cheesy,” you nod. “but i like cheese, too.” you recall your last conversation and smile at him teasingly.

he laughs a breathy laugh and runs his hand through his soft hair. “good, that’s awesome. i’m really glad you liked it.”

“any recommendations for what i should watch next?”

he straightens up, trying to look professional.

“yes! yes totally. are you looking for funny? romantic? maybe switch it up and do some si-fi or horror?” he’s impressed by his absence of stuttering.

“funny, definitely funny, but i wouldn’t mind some romance.”

after a few moments, he finds a movie and checks it out to you. he slides it across the counter and you reach out to grab it. your fingers brush for just a moment and you both freeze. you quickly pull the movie back, your cheeks growing warm.

he decides to go for it. “hey, if you’d want to, maybe you could wait till after i get off to watch it? you could come by my place and we can watch… together?”

there’s a beat.

“i’d actually really like that.” you smile at him.

his heart melts inside of his chest.

-

steve sits next to you on the couch with a huge bowl of popcorn. you’re not sure you’d even be able to finish it with just you two. the movie begins, he chose back to the future. he wants to laugh and tell you about how he got drugged by russians and then watched this movie, but he refrains.

“how was your day? what else did you do rather than talk to me?” you ask, looking over at the boy.

he ponders for a second, “sorted movies, dealt with customers and honestly, thought about this, about you.” his eyes lock with yours.

you let out a nervous giggle and brush a strand of hair behind your ear. he watches and studies you as if you’re going to disappear.

“about me? well, i guess i can say i’ve been thinking about you, too.” you admit, sheepishly. “when i was watching sixteen candles, i was thinking about how valentines day would’ve been a lot sweeter if i had someone to share it with.”

his eyes scan your face as you talk, his heart pounding. “i’d argue that this is just as sweet.”

his words make your heart flutter, your chest flooding with heat. your eyes lock with his and you see a little sparkle in them. another smile tugs on your lips.

for the next thirty minutes, the movie is nothing but background noise. you guys talk about a little bit of everything. from work, to music, to the rude waiter who works at the dinner down the street. you are smiling so hard that you think your cheeks are stuck that way.

“i like talking with you… it’s easy.” you’re completely turned towards him now. you’re sitting crisscross and your knees are pressed against the side of his leg. his hands are fidgeting nervously in his lap.

“i like it, too.” he responds, softly. “i was struggling at first but i think i got the hang of it now.” he chuckles nervously. you smile and chew on your lip. your head falls to look at your lap and the hair that was safely tucked behind your ear falls.

when you look up to meet steve’s face again, his eyes are already boring into you. his hand comes up to move the hair back behind your ear. his touch is gentle, and his thumb brushes along your cheekbone softly. the touch makes your skin heat up immediately and your body leans towards him involuntarily.

his breath catches and he sits up to meet you.

“steve…” you whisper. you mouth falls open just a bit, your breath becoming heavier as your faces lean closer.

your noses bump and steve lets out a snort in response to his clumsiness. you smile but it’s short lived, because steve’s lips are already brushes against yours. your lips connect together in a sweet kiss. he feels you melt into the kiss as he presses his warm palm to your cheek. he sighs against your lips as your hair threads through his messy locks.

the kiss breaks naturally, but steve stays close, resting his forehead against yours. staring into each others eyes, just breathing.

“wow…” you breathe out quietly. your lips curl into a small smile.

steve is smiling like an idiot, his thumb stroking small lines on the soft skin of your cheek. “yeah, wow.”

you move to lay your head in his lap and his hands quickly tangle in your hair, massaging your scalp. he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. you turn your head to look up at him and he presses a quick peck to your lips.

you both watch the movie after that, but your minds are focused elsewhere.

-

steve’s fingers are tapping rhythmically on the counter as he tries everything to peel his mind away from you, from the kisses.

“can you please stop? i’m going to go crazy,” robin pleads, grabbing him by the wrist and moving his hand away from the counter. “did you really mess it up that bad?”

steve shakes his head. “the opposite, we had a really great night.” he smiles to himself, recalling the night before.

“so why are you acting so weird?” robin starts rolling the cart of returned movies to the comedy section, steve follows.

“she’s different, robin,” he starts. “i mean, i haven’t stopped thinking about her. after one date? there’s no way that’s normal. she’s just… so amazing.”

robin chuckles at him, “yeah, steve. which is why you ask her out again. it’s not a bad thing, it just means you might’ve found something really special.”

“you should’ve seen her eyes after i kissed her, man. that’s what i can’t get out of my head.”

the bell dings, and there you are yet again. steve can feel his heartbeat in his throat. your eyes find him quickly and you make your way over.

“hey steve, hey robin,” you smile at the pair. robin greets you, winks at steve, and makes her way to the other side of the store. there’s a moment of silence between you two, unsure of what to say. “i had a really good time last night, thank you for having me over.”

“anytime, seriously, i had so much fun. the company, the kisses, it was all really great.” he beams. a smile grows on your face, as well as a deep blush. “maybe we could do dinner next time?”

it doesn’t just stop at dinner. you and steve hang out almost everyday for a month. most of your free time, if not all, is taken up by the other. so many more movies are started and ignored for the most part. you learn his break schedule just to sneak make outs in his car. you become obsessed with each other in the most healthy way.

steve finally asks you to be his girlfriend. it was another regular movie night. he had picked out something random because you both knew you’d either be talking or kissing the whole way through, anyway.

“can you open this while i make us some popcorn?” he asks, handing you the movie case. your eyebrows furrow as you read the title. sixteen candles.

“steve, i’ve seen this already.” you complain, looking up at him with your bottom lip sticking out.

he smiles down at you. “open it, please?”

you look back down at the movie, a bit confused, but you open it anyway. sitting on top of the tape is a slip of paper folded up. “what’s this?” you take it out and unfold it gently.

the words written in steve’s perfectly imperfect handwriting, will you be my girlfriend?

you gasp and your eyes shoot back up to steve, who’s already beaming down at you. you stand up and swing your arms around his neck. his arms find your waist easily.

“what do you say?” he asks, tilting his head at you.

“of course i’ll be your girlfriend.”

his lips find yours in a passionate kiss. it makes you go weak at the knees, but he holds you steady. he always holds you steady.

february 14th, 1990

you’re snapped out of your daze when two hands are placed on your shoulders. when you come to, you look in the mirror and see robin standing behind you. she has a soft smile on her lips.

“i’m sorry, what did you say?” you ask. “i was totally zoned out.”

she laughs. “that’s okay, i was asking if you were ready to put your dress on?”

your eyes find yourself in the mirror. your face covered in light makeup, your hair twisted into a beautiful style. your eyes are quick to well up with tears. today was the day. you’d come back for the very thing steve was sure would ruin him: the clumsy, fumbling flirting that had enchanted you in the first place.

“i’m ready.” you said, convincing yourself that this was exactly what you had dreamed of from that very first kiss.

you couldn’t wait for the future, if it meant you got to spend it with him.

* * *

Too Little Too Late

——————————————————

Summary: Alastor didn't realize what he had until it was gone.

Warning: Angst, Violence, Abuse, mentions of racism/sexism

A/N: I understand Alastor is aroace. I don't really know how to properly convey the feelings or thoughts of those on the spectrum, but I tried to portray things in a way that fits in the story. Anyways, I actually tried this time. This is the shit I come up with when I don’t have writers block. I also learned that I like writing depressing shit.

——————————————————

They say life flashes before your eyes right before you die, but to Alastor, all that he could think about was you. When he recalls his childhood, there’s nothing sweet to reminisce about besides his mother and the way you constantly tailed him wherever he went. It was annoying, it was endearing, and it made him a little less lonely. He’d do anything to hear your voice one last time, the sweet voice that soothes all his insecurities and uncertainties. If only he could crawl to you now and reach for your soft hands that had once held him when he had killed his father. He did it to avenge his mother, that’s what he told himself, but he never admitted to himself that he was scared. He brought you with him to maybe have a celebratory dinner with his mother. He felt guilty for bringing you to a house that harbored a monster of a father; he was embarrassed that you had to witness such a grotesque scene. Most importantly, in that second, when his father had turned his head to you, he was absolutely terrified. He pictured your body lying next to his mother, and suddenly his body reacted on its own. 

He fought so hard, in both his career and his murderous impulses, and despite all that, his efforts are in vain. He lost you regardless. What used to be a nuisance of laughter dulled into a quiet hum of emptiness. 

“I’m supposed to get married,” You said beside him, a forced smile on your face. The sun dips slightly below the horizon, casting a dark orange hue on the city of New Orleans. The hilltop allowed a great view of the skyline. 

“Well, congratulations, dear! We only continue to get older,” Alastor cheers brightly.

You chuckle at his excitement, toying with the daisy flower crown you’ve made. “I don’t think I’m ready yet. After all, you promised to take me to New York,” You smile fondly, placing the crown on his head. “I don’t think I’m ready to commit to the married lifestyle yet.

Alastor shifts his body to face you and cups your face in his hands. He refuses physical contact, and yet it was always comfortable with you around. “Don’t cut yourself short.” His face falls into seriousness, a concept so foreign. It’s almost as if a performative smile has been stitched on his face, and yet when he’s with you, he’s just Alastor. “You are the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. You know how to make people smile. Your presence itself brightens the room when you walk in. Your laugh rinses away any stress and worries of the day.”

His words are enough to cast a soft, warm blush on your cheeks. His touch is short-lived as he starts going on a tangent about everything good about you, even if it's false. “I don’t know how to cook.”

Alastor was stumped for a moment, recalling the instances where he thought you were trying to assassinate him. “It may be questionable, but your efforts are admirable, and that’s all that matters,” He smiles brightly.

“The man may not feel the same,” You frown.

“Then he is blind and foolish,” He interjects.

A smile cuts through your face, admiring his passion. “I want to go to New York before I settle down.” You look back at the horizon, the sun almost gone, and the sky fading to a dark purple.

“I know I promised to take you before, but why New York?” Alastor pauses.

You stand up, fantasizing the sound of jazz never fading, the lights never dying, and all eyes on you. “It’s the Big Apple. The city that never sleeps. What’s not to like?” You ask with a smile, though your spark falters for a moment. “I want to be a star. A performer. I can dance and sing all I want down the streets, but I’ll never get my big break in this small well.”

Alastor listened intently. He had once made a promise that when he made it big, he would take you to New York. It was an empty promise, never believing it was possible. You and he were at a disadvantage when it came to pursuing dreams. He believed you had a better chance than him. After work, he’d stop by the jazz club and watch you sing and perform. He knew you worked hard, and a bit of him sits unease when men talk over your song, mock you, or straight up disrespects you. Still, the show goes on with a smile.

“Saturday will be my last night performing. My arranged husband doesn’t like too many eyes on me. Mother says it’s for the best. My- fiancé used to work on Broadway, and father said if I be good to him, he just might just take me.” You smile hopefully, yet it seems the idea was lost a long time ago.

Alastor didn’t know how to respond. There was no way he could just meddle with your life. It’d be wrong to. Alastor clears his throat, “I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.”

—————————————————————

Alastor is a man of his word, and he fought tooth and nail to watch your final performance. His bosses held him up, and how can he complain? He loves the radio. His face is made for radio. He’s made his mark in the industry, and he truly could not afford to jeopardize his moment. He also refuses to give anyone an excuse to replace him, because, despite knowing his worth, his boss won’t hesitate to replace him if he doesn’t hold to their standards. In this territory, he is nothing but prey.

He had arrived at the club, a good thirty minutes late, and you should have been performing still, because your show lasts hours if you wanted to. However, when he had asked around, you had already left early, which should have been the first warning sign, yet just like his feelings, he pushed it aside and assumed the best. You truly deserve the best, and it feels foreign to expect any calamity your way. You’ve had it set for you, compared to him. Though you worked hard to be where you’re at, he had to work triple that, because the world has yet to accept him because of the color of his skin. He left the club, disappointed, yet he pushed away that feeling as well, just like he does with any feeling involving you. 

Looking back now, it was love he was feeling, though it was such a foreign concept. The only love he ever felt was from his mother. If he had stopped ignoring his feelings, maybe he would’ve noticed how your eyes longed for him, yet you never reached out. You saw him like fine china, something to be kept within distance, to be looked at and admired. You longed to have him, and yet you knew he did not feel the same, and so you continued to admire, because getting any closer would have left a stain on the relationship you had. 

Alastor was still oblivious to his feelings, even as your house burnt to ashes. He watched helplessly as your mother sobbed. “She’s still in there! Save her!” Your mother pleaded with the firefighters as her husband held her back from running into the house herself. He cares for you, he truly does, and that’s what makes him so useless. Alastor watched as the fire roared, debating whether he should go run into the house himself, and yet he was cared of what it could be if he had to hold your lifeless body in his arms. 

“I knew she had a fight with her fiancé, but I didn’t expect it to be this bad,” Your father stresses, regret drowning him, knowing he had allowed this man into their home despite your protest.

“A fight?” Alastor asks, a spark of an uncertain feeling burning through his skin. Maybe it was anger, annoyance, or even possessiveness. He’s had fights with you, but they were minor, petty ones where one would give the other the silent treatment. It never really lasted too long, as the other one caves in so easily.

“We assumed if we left, they’d work things out on their own,” Your father says, diverting his gaze in guilt. 

“No, cut that crap. You assumed it would be fine. I never approved that man, but all you saw was money.” Your mother’s words grazed her husband like a knife. “I told you he’s a bad man, that he had hit our daughter, yet all you saw was a way to be rich. This is your fault.”

“We’ve got a deceased man and woman, both suffering stab wounds and burns,” Alastor hears a firefighter report to the other workers on scene, and it could only be assumed that it was you and that filthy man. His heart drops, and maybe your mother had overheard as well because her sobs cut through all the noise as she drops to her knees.

“Tell me she’s not dead! Please! My sweet daughter,” She sobs, and despite her husband’s attempts at holding her, she pushed him away. She’d continue to live her life knowing that her husband had led to her daughter’s death, and she wasn’t able to do anything to prevent that.

A few days later, your mother shared the police reports with Alastor. You fought with your fiancé, and during the fight, he threatened you with a knife, holding it to your throat. In self-defense, you tried to wrestle the knife out of his hands, and in doing so, a candle had been knocked down, setting the tablecloth on fire. You both were in a heated fight for the knife to even care about the fire. Then, according to the wounds, you were stabbed, deep enough to cause some internal damage to your organs, causing fatal amounts of bleeding. Based on how severely burnt your fiancé’s body was, and the remnants of fabric from the tablecloth on him, you had managed to take the burning cloth and throw it at him. This caused some minor struggle, causing the man to let go of the knife. You pounced for the knife, and despite how weak you felt from the loss of blood, as the man was struggling with the fire on him, you managed to stab him multiple times, some very fatal, before passing out from blood loss. Both you and your fiancé had gone unconscious from the stab wounds before the fire had spread to the house.

As for the content of the argument, the police could only assume that it had something to do with your performance cut short. The reason why your fiancé was so rich was that in New York, he had taken advantage of many girls, dreaming of being a performer. He had taken them in, made them do scandalous acts, and later the men would pay to spend the night with them. The girls, having left everything to chase their dreams and signing their names away in a contract, had no way out of their deals besides death. That man had tried to do the same with you, except the contract you had tied to him was the promise of marriage that your father offered on a silver platter. He didn’t know, but he is equally to blame.

The unsettling feeling in Alastor’s chest felt foreign and displaced. He didn’t cry at your funeral, as death is a natural thing, whether it was unwanted. He may be your friend, but he’s also a killer. Death is something he can control and manipulate whenever he wants. Maybe that’s why there’s a pit rumbling in his stomach. He should be feeling sad. He should be feeling empty. He should be mourning the woman he had lost, but the days go on just the same. He’d wake up, go to work, and indulge in his dangerous hobbies. Perhaps he’s grown desensitized to death itself that he no longer fears it. He still came back to that hilltop, and even if the sun felt cold against his skin, he still didn’t cry. His feelings are fizzling, begging to be let out, but he kept them at bay, and he continues to do so until he realizes too late.

His final moments were ones of realization. He avenged himself countless times for every wrong he’d been challenged with, yet he never sought to bring justice to your death. He knows how to kill, he knows how to manipulate, but there’s no one left. Your fiancé was dead, so he couldn’t even give the man a piece of his mind. Even if he blamed your father, how could he kill your family? You may have been wronged, but you loved your family dearly. If Alastor killed your father for the sake of justice, it would be like spitting at your grave. 

Alastor x Lucifer's Sister! Reader

Summary: Alastor is served a piece of humble pie.

CW: Alastor ragebaits you and faces consequences, Power Dynamics

Word Count: 3.7K

Prologue| Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5| Part 6| Part 7| Part 8| Part 9| Part 10| Epilogue

Chapter Two: Wrath

It had been a week. And still… nothing. Nothing from you.

Alastor had expected you to summon him almost immediately—after all, he had offered a deal of immense personal value. He had, in fact, lowered himself more than he had ever done for any being. He had assumed that alone would pique your predatory curiosity.

Instead, you treated the entire arrangement as if it were a pleasant little toy. A novelty. Something to fiddle with when boredom struck. The Radio Demon felt something twist in his chest.

Annoyance? Intrigue? A sour taste of being… ignored?

Tuned to the dead

A Alastor x writer!reader

Summary: There is no other choice...is there?

Masterlist XXIII --> XXIV--> XV

The fox’s breath fogged faintly in the cool green light. Her tail swished once, slow and uneasy, as she stared at the towering silhouette before her.

“Who are you?” she demanded—though her voice cracked ever so slightly.

The figure stepped forward, and the shadows peeled away from him like living silk. He was tall—unnaturally tall—lanky in a way that made him look like a marionette crafted by a sadist. Four lime-green eyes blinked at her, each glowing at a slightly different rhythm. His skin was a dark gray, smooth as carved stone, and the long pitch-black cloak he wore rippled as though something moved under it.

Tuned to the dead

A Alastor x writer!reader

Summary: I don't like this - But what other choice do I have

Masterlist

XXII --> XXIII --> XXIV

You run a quiet cafe in New Orleans, where one mysterious customer, Alastor, always seems to be watching. After you silently wish havoc upon a group of men harassing you, they turn up dead the next morning. Whispers of the Bayou Ripper terrorises the city, while you begin to realise your wishes may not fall on empty air and he might be the one listening. Has he always been the one listening?

part 4

♡ ♡ ♡

Pairing: Alastor x f!reader

Summary: Alastor and the reader were married in life. Then he got killed. They're reunited when the reader gets sent to hell but her appearance as a sinner eerily resembles angels in heaven. Read part 1 here. Part 2 here. Part 3 here.

NEW ORLEANS, 1933

The house was quiet when he stepped in, quiet in the way that made him straighten automatically, listening, reaching for every sound he could catch. After a day spent smiling too wide for patrons who tipped too little, bluffing men who wanted blood in the local station, and pretending he hadn’t caught the scent of rot on certain alleyways, the stillness of home hit him like a balm.

He hung his hat on the peg.

Then he saw your coat draped over the back of the sofa. He melted. He always did: pathetically, reliably, without resistance.

He loosened his tie in the hallway with a little sigh he would never allow another soul to hear. His shoulders dropped. His posture softened. The mask slid off his face like wax under warm hands.

He was just Alastor here. No smile he had to sharpen. No voice he had to hone to a clever edge.

Just a man coming home to his wife.

You were in the kitchen when he found you, humming, softly, absentmindedly, too sweetly for someone who had no idea their voice could unravel him like a loose thread. There was flour on your hands, a smudge on your cheek, and your hair pinned up haphazardly in a way that made his heart seize because you always did that when you wanted to concentrate.

You didn’t look up yet.

So he stared.

Shamelessly.

Pathetically.

He stood in the doorway like a man struck by something divine.

He touched the frame beside him, not leaning, not bracing, just grounding himself. You were rolling out dough. He could smell butter warming on the stove. He could see the little crease between your brows as you focused. And he felt that familiar, ridiculous ache in his chest.

The thought came to him the same way it always did:

He would kill for you.

He would die for you.

He would do anything, anything, just to walk into this room again.

“Chérie,” he finally murmured.

You jumped softly, then laughed when you saw him. “Alastor! I didn’t hear you come in.”

He smiled, his real one. Smaller, softer, not meant for the public. “I didn’t wish to disturb such a devoted chef.”

You huffed, amused. “I’m not a chef. I’m just making biscuits.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping behind you, “I would wager a month’s pay that your biscuits will be the best thing I taste all week.”

His hands slipped around your waist of their own accord. He always tried to pretend he wasn’t desperate for touch, but the way he pressed his forehead to the back of your shoulder gave him away.

You leaned into him easily. Naturally. Like you always did.

“You’re tired,” you murmured.

He exhaled. “Mm.”

“What happened?”

A pause.

He didn’t answer because the day hadn’t been bad, not by his standards. But it had been long. And loud. And he’d spent hours being charming and cunning and sharper than the people around him to get half of what they were handed, hours watching the worst of humanity and pretending it didn’t affect him.

But here he didn’t have to be anything but a man who’d missed his wife.

He shook his head. “Nothing of note, my dear.” Then, quieter: “I simply missed you.”

You turned in his arms, flour dusting his waistcoat as your hands slid up his chest.

He should’ve complained about the mess.

He didn’t.

You cupped his jaw. “You saw me this morning.”

“Yes.” He leaned into your palm like he’d been starving. “But it felt longer.”

Your smile softened. “Poor thing.”

He huffed, embarrassed by how relieved he felt at your touch. “Don’t pity me.”

“I don’t,” you whispered. “I adore you.”

His breath hitched.

He ducked his head just enough that his forehead brushed yours, embarrassed by how easily that sentence unmade him.

“You’re cruel,” he whispered, voice warm and frayed at the edges, “when you say things like that.”

“How is that cruel?”

“Because I never recover.”

You laughed softly, and he kissed the corner of your mouth.

And yet, even then, the fear lived in him quietly, hidden: that this was too precious to keep. That one day he’d come home and you wouldn’t be here, and the silence would swallow him whole.

But you never left.

And he pressed his face into your shoulder and held you tighter because of it.

The radio crackled as dusk settled over the house, the warm orange glow of the lamps softening everything into honey. You were curled on the couch, listening as the announcer’s crisp voice cut through the static.

“...residents are advised to remain cautious. The Bayou Butcher has claimed yet another victim. Authorities warn that he is armed, highly dangerous, and remains at large…”

You shivered. Alastor, seated beside you, did not. He leaned back comfortably, one arm draped across the back of the sofa, the other holding a small plate of pastries he’d brought home the previous day. The scent of powdered sugar and butter competed with the creeping unease curling in your stomach.

“…victims appear to be exclusively men over twenty found in isolated areas outside the city limits...”

“Here,” Alastor murmured gently, lifting a flaky piece of beignet to your lips. “Open.”

You gave him a look. “Alastor.”

“Open,” he repeated, amused.

Despite your worry, you obeyed, letting him press the pastry to your mouth. It tasted sweet, soft, familiar. Comforting.

Which was more than you could say for the broadcast.

You chewed, frowned, and finally set your hand on his knee. “You’re not even listening. The killer struck again.”

“I heard.” He offered you another bite as if that settled the matter. “And you, my dear, have nothing to fear.”

You pushed his hand lightly away, exasperated. “That’s not the point.”

Alastor tilted his head, smile warm, eyes half-lidded with affection. “Isn’t it? The Bayou Butcher only targets grown men. It’s very consistent. Organized killers often follow a pattern, and this one is nothing if not methodical.” He punctuated the sentence by brushing crumbs off your chin with his thumb. “You are quite safe.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re safe,” you shot back. “Why are you so calm about this? What if he goes after you?”

His smile sharpened a fraction, just enough for something glimmering beneath the surface to peek through.

“My love,” he said softly, almost laughing. “I can assure you, I’m in no danger.”

“You don’t know that.”

“On the contrary.” He leaned closer, voice dropping into that velvety murmur he used when he wanted to soothe you. “You’ve seen me hunt. You’ve watched me heft sacks of grain. You know I can shoot. I can track. I can handle a blade better than any man I’ve met.” He kissed your temple with gentle finality. “I’m hardly easy prey.”

You still frowned, unconvinced.

Alastor hummed and finally set the plate aside, choosing instead to pull you gently against his side. “You worry too much about all the wrong things, sweetheart.”

You crossed your arms but didn’t resist when he tucked you under his arm.

“Wrong things?” you repeated.

“Yes.” He brushed his fingers over your hair, slow and affectionate. “The killer on the radio is the least of our concerns.”

“Oh, really? And why’s that?”

His hand stilled briefly, just briefly, before he resumed smoothing your hair.

“Because there are far worse men out there than the ones they report on broadcasts,” he murmured. “Men who don’t make the news. Men who don’t follow rules or patterns or leave evidence behind. And those,” he tapped your knee lightly, “are the ones I want you to watch out for.”

A strange chill pricked your spine. You pulled back slightly to look at him.

He smiled at you with that familiar boyish fondness.

“I mean it, ma chérie. No talking to strangers. No wandering around alone after dark. If you need to go somewhere, you wait for me. Understood?”

“You’re acting like I’m the one in danger,” you said, confused.

“And you are.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, voice turning firm in that way he used when he wanted the topic to be closed. “I want you to be cautious. Promise me.”

You hesitated.

He raised a brow.

“…Fine. I promise.”

Instantly, he softened again, pleased, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Good girl.”

Heat flooded your face.

He pretended not to notice, though his smile said otherwise.

And as another grim warning echoed from the radio, he reached for a third pastry, lifting it toward your lips with a gentle hum, as if the world beyond your living room simply didn’t exist.

The mud was soft beneath his shoes, the smell of the bayou thick with pond rot and sap. Alastor wiped his sleeve across his brow as he tamped down the loose dirt over the corpse, his last corpse for the night, he told himself, and perhaps for a long while.

He was in a good mood.

An excellent mood, in fact.

The ritual with Rosie still buzzed pleasantly under his skin. That old devil of a woman was glad when he completed the summons correctly. The spirit had risen obediently from the hellmouth he’d carved into the dirt, and the deal had bound itself with a clean, efficient snap.

Power.

Guaranteed.

Upon death.

Not that he intended to die soon. He was far too young, too healthy, too careful.

But the world was ugly and full of idiots with guns, and he had no intention of leaving his darling wife unprotected should anything ever happen to him. No, if she ever ended up in that pit below…he would be waiting as the most powerful sinner hell had ever seen.

And if she ended up in heaven, as she deserved, well, then she’d never have to know anything except that he loved her.

He stepped back from the shallow grave, brushing dirt from his hands, mind wandering exactly where it always wandered when his work was done:

To you.

You’d been tired lately. The bed squeaked. Every toss, every turn, every shift in the night woke you, and then, of course, woke him, because he always woke when you did. You had mentioned it absently while brushing your hair that morning:

“I know it’s silly, Alastor, but I can’t sleep through the noise anymore.”

He’d kissed the back of your neck and told you he’d think about it. And he had.

He’d need to set aside some money. Replace the mattress. Maybe replace the whole frame. Perhaps he could pick up a second radio narration for the upcoming week, though the thought of dealing with those smug incompetents at the station made his jaw clench.

Still…for you, it was worth it.

He smiled at the thought of slipping into bed beside you later, your warm body curled against his chest. Maybe he’d get home early enough to see you before you drifted off. Maybe...

Crack.

A twig snapped.

Alastor froze.

The distant rustle of underbrush.

The harsh pant of dogs.

Boots pounding earth.

His fingers twitched toward the revolver holstered under his coat...but too late.

A lantern beam cut through the mangroves.

“Thought I saw somethin’ movin’ out here...”

“There! In the trees!”

Alastor stiffened, weight shifting, not panicked, but annoyed.

Men. Hunters.

Idiots every one of them.

He’d avoided them for years, slipped by unnoticed. But tonight his mind had been elsewhere, full of mattress springs and your sleepy sighs and the promise of coming home to you.

A grave mistake.

“Hold on, what is that? A buck?”

The lantern swung, its light catching on the curve of his silhouette, his tall frame, the slight shape of his hair the wrong shadow at the wrong angle.

“What the hell...? That’s gotta be the biggest damn deer I ever...”

Alastor opened his mouth to speak.

To correct them.

To mock them.

To step out and show them exactly who they were pointing their cheap guns at.

He should’ve ducked.

He should’ve moved.

But he hesitated, just one fatal heartbeat, because he was still half in the world of peace.

Just half a second.

But enough.

BANG.

The shot cracked through the bayou like lightning.

Alastor jerked...and then stilled.

He would've liked to say that his last thought was of your face. But no. It was just annoyance. At hunters. At himself, for forgetting how the world worked. Kill or be killed.

Then everything went black.

HELL: 1933 (to Alastor)

He woke to heat.

Not the swamp’s humid press, not the wet warmth of Louisiana summer air, but a dry, smothering heat that tasted like iron and smoke.

Alastor inhaled sharply and sat up.

He wasn’t in the bayou.

He wasn’t in his own skin.

He wasn’t alive.

He blinked, trying to force the world into focus. Mist curled through the barren landscape. The ground was cracked, glowing like veins of magma. A hiss of distant screams echoed like wind.

Hell.

He was in Hell.

The thought didn’t frighten him.

It irritated him.

He stood, dusting dirt from his vest. His clothes were clean. His hands…different. Clawed. His fingers tapered into elegant, alien shapes. Something heavy sat on his head, horns. Tall, sharp. His shadow twisted on the ground like it was dancing.

Death had changed him.

Fitting, he supposed.

He looked around: no bodies, no hunters, no grave, no swamp. The entire affair was finished, cleanly and without his involvement.

Which made one thing hit him like a hammer.

He hadn’t finished burying the body.

His pulse, whatever passed for it now, skipped.

The corpse.

Half-covered.

Fresh.

They’ll find it.

A low static hiss filled his ears, his own breath, unnatural now, like a broken radio searching for a station.

“They’ll find it,” he muttered aloud, voice sharper than before. “They’ll follow the trail. They’ll…”

They’d know.

The authorities.

The townspeople he’d lived among.

The coworkers he’d tolerated.

The neighbors he’d politely smiled at each morning.

They would know exactly what he had been doing at night.

And you...

His stomach twisted, a dry, hollow lurch.

She will know before anyone else. They’ll knock on the door, won’t they? They’ll knock and ask where I was that night. They’ll tell her the body wasn’t cold when they found it. They’ll ask why the grave was in the woods. They’ll ask her about my late hours, my absences, my “odd hobbies.” They will tear her apart.

His breath hitched, static warping around him again.

People would talk.

People would sneer.

People would whisper.

The killer’s wife.

She must’ve known.

She must have helped.

What kind of woman lives with a monster and doesn’t see it?

And you, sweet, trusting, gentle-hearted you, would face all of it alone.

While he was here.

His hands curled into fists.

He imagined you sitting at home, the radio helplessly buzzing warnings that now named him, his face plastered across news bulletins, posters, police reports.

He imagined the knock on the door.

He imagined your expression when they told you your husband had been killing men in the woods. That he’d died like one of his own prey, shot through the skull. That they’d found the body he was burying.

He saw you crumble.

He knew you would.

He knew you’d blame yourself.

knew you’d think you should’ve noticed something, knew you’d think your love had made you blind.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He would give anything, anything, to be there. To shield you. To lie if he had to. To take the blame with his own, living hands instead of leaving it to strangers.

But he was dead.

And you were alive.

And you were left to drown in the wreckage of what he’d done.

A voice cackled behind him.

“Well, well. You’re early.”

Rosie stepped out of the shadows, all soft curls and wicked smile, parasol resting on one dainty shoulder.

Alastor’s eyes snapped open.

“You,” he said, breath shaking with something that wasn’t fear. “You didn’t say anything about this.”

She shrugged lightly. “Darling, I told you the deal would take effect upon your death. I never said you’d have any control over when that death occurred.”

His jaw clenched.

His shadow twitched like a snare.

“I need to go back,” he said.

Rosie raised a brow. “Impossible. You’re rather permanently here, sweetheart.”

“My wife is alone,” he forced out. “They will accuse her. They will tear her reputation to shreds. She’ll suffer for my sins when she didn’t...!”

He stopped.

Rosie’s expression softened, not kindly, not sympathetically, but knowingly, the way someone watches a man finally realize he has lost something that mattered.

“She’ll manage,” Rosie said. “Humans break. But they also bend.”

He ground his teeth.

Rosie stepped closer, tapping his chest with the tip of her parasol.

“And you, dear Alastor…you will learn to live with what you’ve done to her.”

He stiffened.

“You wanted power in Hell,” she mused. “And now you have it. But power never fixes the mess you leave behind.”

Alastor’s voice dropped to a razor-thin whisper.

“She deserves heaven.”

Rosie smiled faintly.

Almost sadly.

“Then pray she gets there when her time comes.”

He looked away.

He didn’t pray.

He wished, a fragile, trembling thing he’d never allowed himself when alive, that you would be spared any punishment for loving him.

But wishes didn’t change reality.

And the reality was this:

You were alone in the world above.

He was trapped in the world below.

And both of you would pay for the life he’d carved out with blood.

Alastor adapted to Hell quickly, almost suspiciously quickly.

His deal with Rosie held strong. Power built upon itself like a house catching fire. Sinners whispered his name before he even introduced himself. Overlords learned it the hard way, when their territory cracked beneath his heels and their shadows bent to his.

But it didn’t matter.

It didn’t fill the ache.

The ache was constant.

Like something tugging at the place where his heart used to sit.

Like phantom pain.

He missed you in the mornings.

When he would have woken to the smell of coffee and the soft sound of your humming in the kitchen.

Hell didn’t have mornings.

Hell didn’t have you.

He missed the domestic softness he used to step into when he came home exhausted, your hands pulling him to sit, your laugh filling the room, the warmth of your body against his.

Here, when he came “home,” there was only silence.

And static.

And shadows that twisted like restless limbs.

He missed your questions.

You always asked about his day, even though he lied through his teeth about half of it. You asked with such sincerity, such sweetness, as if every word mattered.

No one in Hell asked about his day.

No one cared.

They were too afraid.

He missed your voice most of all.

Your gentle chastising when he tracked mud into the house.

Your worried tone when he came home late.

Your warm laughter when he teased you.

You’d scold him when he forgot to eat.

You’d nag him to fix the squeaky bedframe.

You’d talk to him about the most ordinary, mundane things...

...and he would give every soul in Hell to hear them again.

Because above all else, you had been his dearest friend. Someone he could trust would never betray him. So even though he never shared his nightly activities, he considered you the one who knew him best, his favorite person.

You never pried, never tried to seduce him, didn't go around town asking your girlfriends how to ignite attraction in a man over tonic water and gin, didn't assume he was cheating. You simply let him be. Accepted his affection when he offered it, didn't question why he'd insist on sleeping in the same bed but wouldn't perform the marital act.

Nothing of the sort. He'd kiss you somewhere other than your lips before bed, and he enjoyed laying his head on your chest while you rubbed the back of his neck which sometimes felt stiff from leaning over the script and microphone at the radio station all day.

The radio helped. A Little.

He built a station from nothing, a tower of bone and metal and stolen tech. He broadcast his voice across Hell not for fame, not even to terrify the masses, but because talking into a microphone was the closest he could get to imagining you were listening.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he would croon in that velvet-murderous tone.

Sometimes, in the quiet moments between songs, he pictured you curled by the old radio at home, listening proudly.

But then he'd remember.

You weren’t home.

You weren’t listening.

You were alive, human, grieving the monster you’d married.

He’d freeze.

Static would buzz louder.

His claws would tremble against the controls.

And he’d turn the volume higher to drown his thoughts out.

He avoided looking at his reflection.

One day, he caught a glimpse of himself in a shattered mirror, horns tall and sharp, eyes glowing, a predator’s smile stitched into his face.

He flinched.

You would have been frightened of this.

You would have touched his face anyway.

He lifted a hand to the glass, touching the monstrous outline.

“Would you have followed me here, my dear?” he whispered, voice cracking just once, barely audible.

The mirror didn’t answer.

So he smashed it.

Rosie always noticed.

“You’ve been awfully quiet lately,” she’d say, twirling her parasol. “Unusual for you.”

Alastor would smile politely.

“I’m simply…thinking.”

She’d laugh. “Thinking about your wife, you mean.”

He stiffened.

Rosie sighed, softly, almost pitying.

“She isn’t coming here, darling.”

He knew.

He knew that better than anyone.

You were good.

Too good.

Almost angelic, his only divine thing in life.

You weren’t meant for Hell.

You weren’t meant for him.

But knowing didn’t stop the longing.

So he kept killing.

Not for pleasure.

Not for sport.

But because every battle, every hunt, every overzealous overlord he tore down and absorbed power from helped keep him from thinking too hard.

He needed to keep moving.

Because the moment he stopped…the grief caught up.

His shadow would curl tightly around him and he’d stop breathing (if breathing even mattered anymore), and he’d think:

She must hate me now.

She must be terrified.

She must think I lied about everything.

I’d give anything to tell her it was only the killing I hid, not the love.

But Hell didn’t let him say it.

Hell only let him grow more terrifying.

More monstrous.

More alone.

Some nights, when the room felt suffocating, he’d speak into the dark.

As if you were sitting in your reading chair.

As if he hadn’t ruined everything.

“I hope…” he murmured one night, shadow curling around him like a blanket, “I hope they treat you kindly. I hope you’re not afraid.”

He laughed once, quiet, empty.

“You always said I needed to talk more about my feelings.”

A pause.

Static flickered.

“Well…that opportunity has passed, hasn’t it?”

But sometimes, before drifting into Hell’s version of sleep, he whispered the same thing every night:

“I miss you.”

HELL: PRESENT DAY

The decision not to think about it, redemption, heaven, leaving, had been mutual, quiet, almost contractual in the way your fingers threaded with his. You saw the tension leave his shoulders in increments, like a radio dial being turned down from static to something gentler. His shaking had eased. The room was dim and warm. The red-glow lamps cast soft halos across the floorboards. For once, Alastor didn’t bother turning on the radio. He didn’t need the noise.

You sat on the edge of the bed first. He hesitated a beat, an old nervous tic, that flick of his ear, the second of uncertainty, but then he lowered himself beside you with an ease he seldom possessed. He didn’t always understand what it meant to rest, but tonight he tried.

His tail flicked once. Twice. Happy, subtle, betrayed by the soft rustling sounds it made against the quilt.

You lay down, turning on your side. He followed instinctively, as if pulled by a magnet buried under your ribs. His hand settled at your waist, tentative at first, then firmer, curling around you with a kind of reverence he tried not to let show.

“There,” he murmured, voice lower than usual, radio-static softened to velvet. “Comfortable?”

You nodded, and he hummed, pleased.

A moment passed before he spoke again, quieter still. “You…won’t mind if I stay close, I trust?”

He said it breezily, as though it were a joke. It wasn’t. It was a request.

“Stay,” you whispered, tugging him closer by the lapel.

His breath hitched, barely perceivable, but you felt it where his chest pressed to your back. And then all his careful restraint broke, not dramatically, but in the deeply domestic way he buried his face into your shoulder. He wrapped around you with long arms and longer legs, a tangle of warmth and sharp angles that somehow held you perfectly.

You could feel him smiling against your skin.

A real smile. Not the manic showman’s grin. Not the one that meant violence or theatrics or threats dressed as pleasantries.

A tired, relieved, utterly besotted smile.

“Ah,” he breathed, almost sheepish, “I should warn you, my dear, I may very well be…insufferably content right now.”

You laughed softly. He pretended not to melt at the sound.

His fingers traced idle, affectionate patterns along your hip. Every so often, he’d nuzzle your shoulder or your neck, small, instinctive touches, as if making sure you were real. As if you weren’t going anywhere.

“Al?” you murmured sleepily.

“Yes?” He perked up immediately, too eager, too obvious.

“You’re happy.”

An embarrassed rumble vibrated in his chest. “…Nonsense.”

“Alastor.”

A pause. Then, a tiny, involuntary kick of his hoofed foot in the blankets: pure, unmistakable deer joy.

“…Perhaps,” he conceded.

You covered his hand with yours. He squeezed once.

He did not think about heaven. He did not think about redemption. He did not think about losing you.

He thought about your warmth beneath the blankets. About how you breathed. About how, for the first time since the bayou, since life, since death, since hell, he was going to sleep next to the woman he loved.

He tucked his forehead to your shoulder, sighing like someone finally home.

A happy deer.

For once.

And god, he clung to the feeling as tightly as he clung to you.

You woke up first.

Which was impressive, because Alastor had practically fused himself to your spine sometime during the night. One arm under your waist, the other draped over your stomach, one knee wedged between your legs, cheek pressed between your shoulder blades like he intended to hibernate there.

You tried to shift.

He only tightened his hold.

“Al…” you whispered, tapping the hand across your waist.

A groggy hum vibrated against your back, low, warm, and unwilling to move. His antlers bumped lightly into the pillow as he nuzzled closer.

“Five more minutes, my dear,” he murmured, voice still sleep-rough. “Or five hours. I am flexible.”

You turned in his hold, and that woke him up properly. His eyes snapped open, pupils dilating, ears perked. He looked thrilled, embarrassingly thrilled, to find you staring back.

“Good morning!” he said, possibly too loud for someone who usually didn’t breathe.

You blinked. “…You’re in a very good mood.”

“Am I?” He arranged his face into aloof neutrality. It lasted two seconds before he broke into a wide, toothy grin. “Splendid!”

He sat up abruptly, pulling you with him so fast your head nearly whiplashed. He was arranging your hair before you could fix it yourself, straightening the hem of your sleep shirt, brushing a thumb across your cheek like polishing a gemstone.

“You look radiant,” he declared. “Positively divine.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I always look like this.”

“Yes,” he said, absolutely smitten. “And it continues to ruin me.”

He reached for your feathers, instinctively grooming them the way he did every time he was anxious, affectionate, or both. This morning it was both. He fussed relentlessly, muttering things like, “Out of place, terribly undignified, I won’t have it,” even though nothing was wrong.

“Alastor,” you said gently, catching his hand. “Are you trying to charm me?”

“Always,” he replied immediately. “It’s a lifelong endeavor.”

“You already won.”

A dangerous thing to tell him.

Because he stopped. Completely froze. Blinked at you with a stunned expression like you’d just handed him the keys to heaven.

Then a violent tail wag. He tried to hide it behind a cough. Failed miserably.

“Well!” he said, voice cracking on the first syllable. “Breakfast!”

He practically teleported out of bed, straightened his suit, and held his arm out for you with the enthusiasm of someone presenting a marriage contract to the sun.

Everyone was already gathered, Husk already drinking, Angel sprawled over two chairs, Niffty darting around with a platter. Charlie and Vaggie whispered over coffee.

The moment you and Alastor walked in, still arm-in-arm, the room fell into silent speculation.

Alastor pulled out your chair for you like he always did, but today he practically bowed over it.

Angel choked on nothing. “Since when is Bambi the gentlemanly type? What, did you two...?”

Alastor slammed his hand on the table and smiled politely. Too politely. “Angel, darling, do finish that sentence. I’m positively riveted.”

Angel clamped his mouth shut.

You sat, amused. Alastor immediately shifted your plate half an inch to the left, for optimal placement. He adjusted your napkin. He poured your drink. He hovered behind you just enough that if you leaned back you’d bump into him.

Husk grumbled, “Why’s he bein’ weird?”

“This is normal,” Charlie whispered.

“No, this ain’t normal.” Husk pointed a claw at Alastor. “He’s glowing. Look at him. He’s like…like a happy swamp cryptid.”

Alastor, still beaming, replied, “I simply slept well.”

Angel cackled. “You look like you got...”

“Angel,” Vaggie warned.

Angel leaned back. “Alright, alright. But seriously, what’s got you all…cuddly?”

Alastor’s smile twitched. He did not want to say, My wife stayed with me.

He did not want to say, She didn’t run.

He did not want to say, I’m indescribably relieved and pathetically in love.

So he said briskly, “Nothing of concern!”

You rested your hand on his knee under the table.

He jolted like he’d been tasered.

Husk stared. “Oh yeah. He’s gone.”

You hid your smile in your cup.

Alastor pretended he didn’t notice.

a/n: In the next part, Alastor has to leave to go to an Overlord meeting. The Vees, still baffled by the brief announcement of Alastor's marital status and seeing his wife, attempt to dig deeper. Chaos ensues.

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Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Description: Alastor has owned so many souls, they all blur together. He does not remember the names, the faces, the act of deal making in regards to them. That is, except for one.

Warnings: Inspired by the Mitski song of the same name. ANGST.

Word Count: 2,816

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A/N I am feeling kinda uninspired atm and this is an idea I came up with forever ago but never wrote (like, literally years ago).

Alastor had made many deals in his time. Many souls had been given into his ever open, ever grasping, hands by many an unwilling sinner.

Most of them hadn't lasted long. Alastor used people. They were nothing but nuisances, things to be dealt with, unless he owned them. When he owned them? They were tools.

Husk and Nifty were the only survivors, the only souls in his power that really mattered. He kept them safe from harm because he needed them, they each had better uses then to be wasted as fodder for war.

Alastor did not hold on to people, he did not care about the souls under his command. There had been so many, he could barely remember them all now.

The discussions, the competitions, the wins blurred together. They lived, he took their souls, they died. Names were unimportant. Faces were unimportant.

Nifty and Husk were different. He did not throw them into battle. He did not send them into certain death for his own amusement as he had done with so many before. Alastor remembered their names, their faces, their deals.

Not to say they were special or he particularly cared about them in any way, they just had better uses. They weren't just souls, what he had gained through their contracts, they were Overlord souls. They were powerful and his control over them displayed his power.

So no, Nifty and Husk did not matter, they were just more useful than the others. There was only one soul he had taken that Alastor had even come close to thinking mattered, and it certainly was not either of them.

Loving His Rival

Part 9

Alastor X Fem Reader Warning ⚠ ⚠ reader is an android/robot sinner, Vox is her older brother (no incest-ew), torture, robotic gore, BOLD CAPS ITALICS= SOUND EFFECTS!, Italics= thoughts, CAPS ITALICS= INTERNAL SYSTEM, cussing. ⚠

You were standing near the operation table, messing around with the angelic blade in your hand.

The t.v. Overlord was strapped down, but you left the gag on the floor. As you listed off all of the tools on the tray, your brother tries to convince you to let him go.

"Come on! I wasn't being serious! You know that, right? Ha ha.." He jerks, trying to loosen the straps.

You ignore him and turn on the large light above him.

"Shit! Veronica! Veronica! You're my sister! Come on! We can talk this out!" Vox squirms, sweat marks forming on his screen.

Cutting his sleeve, you open it up and grab his personal IV fluid, hooking it up on the pole nearby. Quietly going through the motions you saw the doctors do when they first operated on you.

"What-? FUCK! DAMN IT VERONICA! TALK TO ME!" He starts to really struggle.

IV needle in hand, you punch the t.v. demon in the gut to stop his movements before stabbing the needle into his arm, taping it down.

"Oh-fuck!" He hisses out. "You bitch."

Finally, you speak.

"You know...I did look up to you once." You started. "But that was a long time ago. Everything changed when..." Lifting up a scalpel, the blade glinting under the light. "Our parents started paying more attention to me."

You started to cut into his side, not too deep, watching as the blood ran down.

Vox grits his teeth.

"I didn't understand why you were such an ass." You continued. "And then they died, right before my birthday." Then a hum escaped you. "That was around the time you got that weather man job."

You change the hold that you had on the blade before stabbing down, more blood and a few electrical shocks spill out.

"AH! FUCK!" He yells.

"I don't know why you did what you did." You say, twisting the blade a bit. "But I did see a pattern."

"CUT IT OUT! AH!"

Then you lift up the blade.

"You are insecure."

STAB!

"Pathetic."

STAB!

"Unoriginal."

STAB!

"Attention seeker."

STAB!

"Who's not as smart as he thinks he is."

STAB!

You pause.

"Also, I've always hated how much of a ass you are. Seriously. You're a racist white man who thinks he's better than anyone else." You ignore his gasps and shouts of pain. "Typical for a piece of shit from the fifties, but did you need to keep it in Hell?" You scoff and roll your eyes when he cusses at you again.

STAB!

"And another thing! Did you really think I wouldn't turn against you? God, you're so stupid." You laugh. "Is your brain that simple? I mean, come on Vincent! No one would want to stay trapped in a prison when freedom is so much sweeter!"

STAB!

"So, I'll do what those doctors did to me at the asylum~" You sing out, lifting the blade to his neck, pressing it down lightly.

"WAIT! WAIT! I WANT TO MAKE A DEAL WITH YOU!" Vox shouts.

You pause, keeping the blade where it was.

"I'm listening."

.

Alastor felt blood run down his cheek, his suit a bit cut up, and his hair slightly a mess.

The other two Overlords weren't looking their best either, but he knew that it wouldn't be a problem. All he had to do was wait for a signal.

"Este maldito imbécil de dientes amarillos." Valentino scowled. (This fucking yellow toothed asshole.)

As the Radio Demon lifted his staff, he paused to see his canary walking out of V tower, slightly covered in blood.

"Hey Al!" You waved with a smile. "I got it! Thanks for the help!"

"What the fuck?" Velvette mumbled, looking at the android walking over.

"Where the hell is Vox!?" The moth demon shouted, glaring at the singer.

You stopped in front of the two V's and pointed at the tower with your thumb. "He's still inside. After making a deal, he let me out." Then you giggle. "I cut open his stomach! And I pulled out all his wires and these weird tubes, oh! Then I-"

"You bitch-!" Valentino raises his hand, swiftly bringing it down.

But then something pulls his arm back.

A blue chain appears on the pimp's wrist, and he stares at it surprised.

"vȺł-"

Glancing back, you see Vox holding a hand to keep the loose wires from falling out of his stomach as he limps out of the tower.

"Łɇŧ ŧħɇm łɇȺvɇ."

The moth demon frowns. "What do you mean let them leave? You think I'm gonna-!"

"ɈᵾSŦ FᵾȻꝀƗNǤ ŁƗSŦɆN!" The t.v. demon shouts. "Wɇ'łł ŧȺłꝁ łȺŧɇɍ." He sighs, scowling as he stared down at the ground.

"A bit worse for wear, aren't you?"

You turned to find the deer demon looking as if he almost got hit by a car.

"Let's go!" You say to the red dresses man as you happily made your way over. "I want to go relax at the hotel!"

Then you are surprised when the deer pulls you close.

"I'd like to cash in one of those favors." He says.

"Huh? Oh, sure-" You blink but then are cut off by the Radio Demon giving you a deep kiss.

Ä̤́̂̚Ä̤́̂̚Ä̤́̂̚Ä̤́̂̚Ä̤́̂̚Ä̤́̂̚Ä̤́̂̚Ä̤́̂̚Ä̤́̂̽̒̂̑͗̚ͅH͈̫͓ͭ͐̽̒̂̑͗ͅH͈̫͓ͭ͐̽̒̂̑͗ͅH͈̫͓ͭ͐̽̒̂̑͗ͅH͈̫͓ͭ͐̽̒̂̑͗ͅH͈̫͓ͭ͐-!?

You ignore the rest of Hell, eyes fluttering close and kiss him back, moving your arms to circle around Alastor's neck to get more comfortable.

Velvette's jaw is dropped, but she automatically pulls out her phone and snaps a picture, and posts it.

"vɇłV€Tŧɇ WħȺŧ FᵾȻꝀ!?"

After breaking the kiss, Alastor moves you both to the hotel with his shadows.

~

When arriving to the hotel, specifically the Radio Demon's hotel suite, you feel like your thoughts are cotton candy fluff.

You stare in a daze, eyes going blue.

BABE.EXE_CRASH_ERROR_HOLY_SHIT

ERROR CAUSED BY FILE ALASTOR.EXE

PLEASE UPDATE FILE OR REBOOT TO STOP CRASH_

"Darling?"

You feel yourself start to shut down.

"Sweetheart? Say something." The deer demon cups your cheek, thumb gliding across it.

"Ꭵ'м gØƗ𝐍𝕘 𝐓Ø 卩𝐚s丂 Øย𝐓." You warn before everything goes black.

Time passes.

You're not sure how long but a familiar set of text greets you as you start to wake up from your reboot.

REBOOT COMPLETE_

SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL_

FILE ALASTOR.EXE REQUIRES AN UPDATE_

LOADING....

Blinking your eyes open, you feel a little out of it. Sitting up, you notice you're in Alastor's hotel room, on his bed.

"You're awake."

Alastor sits on the edge of the bed and places a hand on yours.

Everything still feels a bit off, like you took a nap longer than usual. Reboots always felt weird like that, but you only use it for emergencies.

"What happened? I thought you were fine." He asks. "I didn't see any injuries or anything that would cause you to crash."

"Crash?" You mumble, looking at the deer demon.

And then you remember exactly why you crashed.

"Y-you.." The hand on yours tightens a bit. "You kissed me." Hot air escapes your filters.

The Radio Demon's smile softens.

"I cashed in a favor." He says. "And I'd like to cash in the other."

You sit up a bit straighter as he holds your face with his other hand.

"Is that alright?"

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod.

"Yes."

😺 Hehehehe

~Seline, the person.

Next >: Part 10 Taglist@ @th3-lady @sxgacxbe @persassy9843 @fries11 @qardasngan @lillyinfandoms @yvanill4 @fandomgoddes05 @alastors-real-tail @darling-eos @zoleea-exultant @socialmess-jery @asura-rose @mindyourown77 @oopsitswonton @caroline-the-cat @thegreatabaddon @sakurasannan @dumbfuxker @frost20026606 @artisticbishoujorin @wat4r @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa444 @tmrs-basilisk @actuallyshard @+?

Alastor ML II🎙️ | LHR ChL🎭

A/N: this is my first one in almost two or three years! I appreciate your request and I hope you enjoy it! Apologize if I didn't elaborate on certain things as you wanted I felt a little rusty!

___________

‘’Alright ladies and gentleman we are at that time of day,’’ Robin's voice floods through the radio speakers. ‘’This one is for a special friend.’’ She says somberly. 

 The music took over your small hospital room and Steve turned it up slightly hoping you could hear it at all. Steve already had one hand holding yours and brought the other hand down resting his head against your combined hands. Every day he did this saying a silent prayer you’d show a new sign you were still with us. Steve didn’t even know what he believed anymore, if there was a higher power who would decide this as your fate? He contemplated a lot about what he use to believe since last year when you started showing the signs of Vecna’s curse.