#dipshit derek

I realized that my vers of the apocalypse au takes place shortly after S4 which would make Holly around 7 yrs old.

Anyway more Mike and Holly doodles bc they’re everything to me atm

“Delightful Derek!”

Could you write a Caleb McLaughlin one-shot? I feel like he doesn’t get enough love. Maybe one where she’s an OG on Stranger Things and they’ve been together for years, like four or five, but they break up. The angst and yearning from Caleb are through the roof, and you can tell in interviews. They also have an argument where they basically give up and end up making out just to shut one of them up.

Forever it is

Pairing: Caleb McLaughlin x reader

summary: it takes horrible parents and an almost break up for you to realise you want Caleb to be your forever

a/n; i made it a little calmer cause i didn’t know how to work a heated argument into this cause i just can imagine Caleb shouting? I imagine he’d just sit there and take it rather than yelling at the woman he loves most

————————————————————-

it started with Christmas, your parents never did like Caleb. You didn’t know why you didn’t dare ask you always told him ‘they’ll grow to love you’ well you’d been together for four years now and they didn’t seem like anything close to liking him

They still called him that boy, like he was some temporary fixture you’d outgrow, like he hadn’t held your hand through every storm since college. Your mom would smile too tightly when he brought flowers, and your dad always found a reason to leave the room when Caleb spoke. You’d stopped trying to bridge the gap after the second Christmas, when your father made a joke about the neighbours son who was a lawyer being ‘available’ again

But this year, something felt different.

Maybe it was the way Caleb lingered in the hallway before you left for dinner, his coat half on, his eyes searching yours like he was waiting for a sign. Maybe it was the way he said “I love you” and you didn’t reply—not because you didn’t feel it, but because you were too busy scanning the driveway, hoping your mother would come out and greet him for once. She didn’t.

Dinner was awful, as always. Your mother’s passive aggression had evolved into an art form. Every comment was a veiled jab: “Some people just don’t understand tradition,” she said, when Caleb offered to help in the kitchen. “We like to do things a certain way here.” Your father was quiet, chewing methodically, eyes fixed on his plate like it might offer him an escape. And your sister—sweet, exhausted from years of playing referee—kept trying to steer the conversation toward safe waters. “Did you see the new exhibit at the museum?” she asked brightly. “I think you’d both love it.”

By dessert, the silence was louder than the clinking of forks. You excused yourself to the kitchen, hands trembling as you rinsed plates you didn’t remember eating off of. When you returned, Caleb was gone.

You found him outside, leaning against the car, his breath fogging in the cold. He didn’t look at you when he said. “I just don’t understand” he muttered “sorry they’re-“ you tried “no not them, your folks hate me I’ve accepted that. Why don’t you defend me?”

“I- what? I do”

“You used to, lately it’s like you’ve realised it’s just not worth it. That I’m just not worth it”

“Caleb don’t” you warn “this is what they want can’t you see that? They’re getting to you”

“It’s not just this it’s all of it y/n! You think i don’t notice you slipping away? You think i don’t notice you going to Sadie and Mille more often? You think i don’t notice you stopped giving me kisses goodnight? I’m not the one they’re getting to y/n!”

The silence between you was thick, heavy with all the things you hadn’t said. The nights you’d turned away in bed, too drained to reach for him. The mornings you left early, claiming call times and errands, when really you just didn’t want to face the weight in his eyes. The way you’d started laughing louder around Sadie and Millie, letting their warmth distract you from the cold creeping into your own home.

“I’m scared,” you admitted. “Of losing them. Of losing you. Of choosing wrong.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment you saw the boy who used to wait outside your trailer with coffee and a stupid grin. “I’m not going to make you choose between me and your family baby” he sighed “I’m going to stay with my parents for a little just—“ he swallowed “i love you yea?” He kissed your temple before finally getting into the car

You stood there, frozen—not from the cold, but from the sudden, aching emptiness that followed the soft click of the car door. The engine turned over, headlights flaring to life, casting long shadows across the driveway. He didn’t pull away immediately. For a second, you thought he might roll down the window, say something else, give you a reason to stop him.

But he didn’t.

The car eased into reverse, tires crunching over the snow, and then he was gone—taillights disappearing into the dark like the last flicker of a candle.

You didn’t go back inside right away. You stood there, arms wrapped around yourself, the cold finally sinking in. Behind you, the house glowed warm and golden, laughter echoing faintly through the windows. Your mother’s voice, your father’s low murmur, your sister’s soft laugh. The life you were supposed to want. The one you were terrified to lose.

But Caleb had been your home too. The quiet kind. The kind that didn’t need to be loud to be real.

And now he was gone.

Not forever—not yet. But you knew the clock had started ticking. And this time, it wasn’t just about whether your family would ever accept him.

It was about whether you’d finally choose to stop waiting for them to.

You didn’t tell anyone—not Sadie, not Joe, not even Maya, though she gave you that look more than once. The one that said I know something’s wrong, but I’m waiting for you to say it. You couldn’t. Because what would you even say?

That Caleb left but didn’t leave you? That you still wore his hoodie on the plane to Berlin, tucked beneath your coat like a secret?

The press tour for Stranger Things 5 went on as planned. Smiles were painted on. Jokes rehearsed. You laughed when Gaten teased you, rolled your eyes when Joe made some ridiculous pun, and leaned into Millie’s shoulder during interviews like nothing had changed. Your friends weren’t the only ones who noticed. The fandom did too—and in the way only they could, they noticed everything.

It started with a clip from the São Paulo panel, just a few minutes into the Q&A. Gaten had made some ridiculous joke—something about Joe’s hair routine being more intense than Vecna’s skincare regimen—and the whole cast had burst out laughing. You and Caleb, seated side by side, had doubled over at the same time, your laughter echoing in perfect sync. It was the kind of laugh that came from years of shared inside jokes and late-night set antics, the kind that made your eyes crinkle and your shoulders shake.

And then it happened.

Caleb turned toward you, still laughing, and his hand moved—just slightly—toward yours. It was instinctual, automatic, like his body remembered what his mind was trying to forget. His fingers reached out, hovered just above your hand on the armrest, and then… stopped. He caught himself. Pulled back. Not abruptly, not dramatically. Just enough. Just enough to make it clear that he remembered where the line was now.

You didn’t notice it in the moment. But the cameras did.

The clip hit Twitter within the hour. Then TikTok. Then Instagram. It was slowed down, zoomed in, set to sad music, dissected frame by frame. Fans posted side-by-sides of old interviews where he had held your hand, where you’d leaned into him without thinking, where your fingers had found his under the table like magnets.

The next time you saw him was New Year’s Eve. You had nothing planned. Just you, your fluffy socks and a big bottle of champagne. Then the knock on your door, you walked over to it slowly “hello—Caleb?”

“Hi-hi uh happy new years?”

“Get in it’s freezing”

He stepped inside, brushing snow from his shoulders, eyes flicking around like he was half-expecting someone else to be there. You weren’t sure if that made you feel better or worse.

“You look cozy,” he said, nodding at your oversized hoodie and the ridiculous pink socks with tiny ducks on them.

You shrugged. “Didn’t think I’d have company”

“Right—uh” he bit his lip “truth is i really don’t want to start a new year away from you. I really want to be with you, just forever”

Your breath caught. Not because it was unexpected—Caleb had always worn his heart too close to the surface—but because of how quietly he said it. Like it wasn’t a grand declaration, but a truth he’d been carrying for months, waiting for the right moment to set it down.

You blinked at him, heart thudding in your chest. “Forever’s a long time.”

He gave a soft, breathless laugh. “Yeah. I know. But I’ve done the last few weeks without you and it felt longer than the four years we were together.”

You looked at him then—really looked. The dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders curled in like he was bracing for rejection. He wasn’t here to win you back with flowers or speeches. He was just here. Cold, nervous, and still in love with you.

The sun was still high and merciless, the sky a perfect, mocking blue that refused to acknowledge the shadows creeping at the edges of the trees. Holly had tugged at her sleeve in the kitchen after the other kids had spread throughout the house.

“Come with me,” Holly had whispered, eyes huge and urgent. “Please. Now. While he’s gone.”

She hadn’t questioned it. The hollow ache in her chest had been growing all day, Derek’s words looping in her headSo she’d followed Holly out the back door, across the pristine lawn, past the flower beds that never wilted, into the thin line of woods that bordered the property. The air changed the moment they crossed under the canopy, cooler, heavier, smelling of damp earth and pine instead of vanilla and cut grass.

Holly moved fast, small hand gripping hers tight. “Max is waiting. On the other side. We’re getting out. All of us. Together.”

They broke through the trees into a small clearing. Max was there,red hair bright against the green, face pale and determined. She looked older than she should, shadows under her eyes, but her gaze softened when she saw them.

“Holly,” Max breathed, dropping to one knee and pulling the girl into a quick, fierce hug. Then she looked up, straight at her. “You came.”

She nodded, throat tight. “I… yeah.”

They talked fast, voices low. Max laid it out: the gaf they’d found, the plan to slip through before Henry realized they were gone. Derek was supposed to stay behind and buy them time.

Holly’s fingers tightened in hers. “We have to go now. Before he comes home.”

They ran.

Through brambles that tore at their trousers, over roots that tripped them, the perfect sunlight fracturing into dappled patches that felt wrong now, like cracks in a painted ceiling. She kept up at first,heart pounding, lungs burning but her legs were heavy. Branches snagged her jumper scratching her arms. She stumbled once, twice.

Max glanced back. “Keep up!”

“I’m trying—”

Holly pulled ahead, small and determined, disappearing around a thick cluster of pines. Max followed. And then—

Silence.

She stopped, panting, hands on her knees. The forest had swallowed them. No footsteps. No voices. Just wind in the leaves and the distant call of a bird that sounded too cheerful for this place.

“Max?” she called, voice cracking. “Holly?”

Nothing.

She turned in a slow circle. The trees all looked the same. The path, if there’d even been one was gone. Panic clawed up her throat. She started walking, any direction, just moving, until the ground sloped down into a shallow ravine. She slid, caught herself on a tree, and when she looked up.

There he was.

Steve.

Standing at the top of the rise, hair mussed, shirt torn at the shoulder, a smear of blood across his cheek. His eyes found hers and widened.

He ran.

Down the slope, boots skidding on leaves, arms open. She froze for half a heartbeat then ran toward him, crashing into his chest so hard it knocked the air from her lungs.

“I’m here,” he whispered, voice rough, arms locking around her like iron. “I came to find you. To save you.”

She buried her face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of hairspray, leather, faint sweat. His hands roamed her back, urgent, possessive, sliding under her sweater to press hot palms against her bare skin. He kissed her temple, her jaw, the corner of her mouth, murmuring against her skin.

“I looked everywhere. I never stopped. God, I missed you so much.”

Tears burned her eyes. She clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Steve… how did you get here?”

He pulled back just enough to look at her,really look. His expression shifted. The softness hardened into something colder, sharper. A slow, bitter smile curled his lips.

He went still.

Completely still.

A beat passed. Then another.

A low, soft laugh slipped out of him; quiet, amused, almost fond.

“I knew you were smarter than that.”

The voice changed on the last word.

Deeper, smoother, colder.

She jerked back.

The face in front of her rippled like heat off pavement. Steve’s features blurred, softened at the edges, then sharpened again into something sharper, more elegant. The blood on his cheek dissolved. The torn shirt mended itself into crisp fabric. The messy hair smoothed into pale, perfectly parted strands.

Henry.

He was stood there now, close enough that she could feel the coolness radiating off him instead of warmth. His eyes those pale, endless eyes held hers with quiet triumph.

“You think Steve would want you back after me?” he asked softly, almost gently, like he was explaining something obvious to a child.

He reached out, slow, deliberate, and cupped her cheek. His thumb traced the path of her tears, smearing them across her skin.

“You think he’d touch you the way I do? Kiss the places I’ve marked? Touch you till you can’t remember your own name?” His voice dropped lower, intimate, cruel in its tenderness. “You let me inside you. You came apart for me while he was out there breaking. You moaned my name. You begged for more. You’re not the girl he loved anymore. You’re mine. Ruined for anyone else.”

She tried to pull away, but his hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her in place, not bruising, just firm enough to remind her there was nowhere to go.

“Look at yourself,” he murmured. “Still trembling. You let me wear his face and you still opened for me. Still cried for me. Still wanted me.”

His other hand drifted down, fingers grazing the inside of her thigh through her trousers,light, teasing, a promise of more.

“Steve would smell me on you and walk away,” he continued, voice velvet over steel. “He’d see the way your body remembers mine instead of his and he’d hate you for it. Because you chose this. You chose me. Every time you spread your legs, every time you whispered yes when you should have screamed no…you chose me.”

Tears burned fresh tracks down her cheeks. She shook her head, but the denial felt weak, hollow.

Henry leaned in until his lips brushed her ear.

“And the worst part?” he whispered. “You don’t even hate it anymore. You crave it. You crave me.”