I Love Your Whole Dad!steve Concept It Truly Makes My Heart Burst! Set In The Singlemom!reader Verse,

Hear me out…

It’s like one of those pet sweaters- if he tries to move he just tips over. 🌽

I love you Joe Keery. Thank you.

Such a great little story 😊🥺🥰

the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 5,163

warnings: swearing, cops, talk of jail/billy's abuse, neil, fluff and love

a/n: well, here it is. this is the very last part of my very first series. i am very proud of the ending i've created for these two. i like to think i've given billy what he deserved. i'm so grateful for all of the feedback and support you've given me on the previous parts. also, a part of this relies heavily on hopper’s letter from season 3, so that’s that, and then some of his other dialogue. i’ve found that it fit billy effortlessly. i really hope you enjoy this and maybe find some solace in it. i love you all <333

before you read, listen to: time after time by cyndi lauper and/or the promise by when in rome

————

The first night without Neil, Hopper sits in his car outside the house. He promised no one would hurt them. He means it.

Nicky went to high school with both Hopper and Joyce. In fact, she was suspended for dealing them weed under the bleachers at one point. She regrets nothing to this day.

Because of that, it really wasn’t too difficult to have a heart-to-heart with the man, to get him to sit down with Billy. And Max and you. Susan.

Hopper had shown up at the house to speak with Neil. When he arrived, he told you to keep Billy in his room, though that hadn’t mattered. The second Billy realized he might actually get out of this, that he might live without fear of his own father, he buried his face in your chest, tears wetting your collarbones, your t-shirt.

You’d let him get it all out, stroking his loose and frizzy curls, occasionally laying your hands over his ears to muffle any shouting. Billy squeezed you each time you did so.

Even if he was a little hopeful this might work, Billy couldn’t help but think about that night when he was a kid. When his mama left him with Neil.

He’d sat on his bedroom floor, trying to be quiet while his dad showered, pleading with her.

“Please mom, don’t do this. Please come home.”

“How long? How long?”

“I miss you.”

She was the last person he felt safe with, before you. And she’d gone, leaving her boy with him. Trapped. Part of him wasn’t sure this would work out. He’d hoped for so long that his mother would return, and she hadn’t. Neil had dictated everything in Billy’s life so far, so how was it possible for anything to change?

Hopper had given Neil Hargrove one option.

“You’re gonna sign these papers,” he’d said, gesturing at the divorce packet lying on the table, “and I’m going to quietly take you down to the station and expose you for the piece of shit you are. Lock you up for abusing your child.”

Neil had started screaming about how Hopper had no right to do any of this, to barge into his home claiming all of this.

“Sure, yeah, pitch a fit. Like that’s gonna change anything,” Hopper said, entertained by the fact that Neil was acting like the victim.

During one of the intervals where your hands were pressed to Billy’s ears, the hoop in the left one biting into your palm, you’d caught something Hopper said.

“I suggest you shut your mouth before you give me something else to report.” By the tone in his voice, you could imagine that he was inches from Neil’s face.

“You’re a coward,” Hopper had said. “Beating on your kid because your life didn’t turn out right. Well let me tell you something, that’s not his fault. It’s yours.”

There’d been a knock on Billy’s bedroom door followed by Hop’s gruff voice. 

“Y/N, kiddo can I have a minute with you?”

Billy had looked up at you, eyes puffy. “I’ll be right back baby, I’m not leaving, I promise.”

You’d pressed a kiss to his forehead, and he’d held onto your hand until it was too far out of his reach.

Shutting the door carefully behind you, you’d looked at him. “We’re taking him away,” he said.

You blinked. “Really?”

“Really. He signed, so Susan is good to go.”

Hopper considered letting Neil run away, making him just disappear, but he didn’t want to chance him doing this to someone else. He’d already done that once though, hadn’t he?

“I’m really proud of you for helping him through this, kid. You remind me of your mom.”

His hand had been warm on your shoulder.

“If you want me to be honest, he’s lucky this prison isn’t very big. But that doesn’t mean nothing will happen if others figure out what he’s in for.”

You nodded, knowingly.

“Powell and Callahan just got here. We’re gonna be quiet. No lights, nothing. I don’t want to make this worse for Billy. But if he wants to see, we’re going soon.”

“Thank you, Hopper,” you’d said, hugging him. He’d let you. He’d had his fair share of a shitty father as a kid. Helping someone like Billy is something he’d always wanted to do.

Back in Billy’s room, you’d taken his face in your hands.

“Baby, they’re taking him now. Do you want to watch or stay inside?”

His back had straightened. He knew what he wanted, and he told you as much, so you led him through to the back steps, holding his hand the whole time, Max behind you, resting her chin on her brother's arm.

Billy got to watch them shove his father in the back of a police car, hands behind his back.

He was finally free.

————

Susan pawned most of Neil's more expensive things, that way she'd have money to cover bills for a while and have something to put towards the house payment. She hadn't really been trusted with the financials when Neil was around, aside from basic spending. Now that she had two children to look after, she really didn't want to be in a bad spot.

She had a feeling most newly divorced women would use the money to buy themselves something nice, but she didn't see any point in that. This wasn't about her. This was about making a life where Billy and Max could feel safe.

Even if Billy had whined about it to you at first, having dinner with Max and Susan at least three times a week to start was helping. And he would never admit this, but Susan was actually a pretty damn good cook. Whenever she'd prepared food pre-inmate Neil, they'd been kind of shitty. Billy supposed this had been her tiny form of protest.

It's pretty late now, but Billy is sprawled on the couch watching reruns of whatever. He's really not even entirely sure what's happening on tv. He thinks this might be Cheers. It's the fact that he can be on the couch that he's doing it. He doesn't have any particular reason to hide in his room unless he wants to.

He's missed this couch. It's the same one he's sat on since he was a kid. Since his mother was still around. It was one of the few items that made it to Hawkins when they moved.

Susan has the day off tomorrow. She said so at dinner. Hence why she's still up.

Billy hears her footsteps and looks up when she walks into the room. She gives him a gentle smile.

"I'm making Max some hot chocolate. You feel like some? I have marshmallows too, if you want those."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks."

She smiles again and then disappears for a while before returning with a mug that has a six-year-old Max's hand print on it.

Billy sits up and takes a sip. He can't remember the last time someone made him someone other than you or Nicky made him something like this.

Susan sits down a little ways away from Billy in an oversized chair that Max usually claims as her own. The only time anyone else gets to sit in it are in times like these when she's being forced to do science homework with Dustin yapping in her ear. She'd asked for help, not an entirely new lesson. Dustin did not care.

Susan starts to read a book, and Billy almost forgets she's in the room when she speaks.

"Billy?"

His eyes rove across from the television to her over the top of his mug. She sets the book down.

"I just wanted to apologize. For not doing anything to protect you from your dad. I don't really have a reason other than selfish ones, like I was afraid he'd start on me, or Max. I guess I just thought if he got it out things would be okay." She buries her face in her hands.

"God, I'm so sorry, Billy. This is your home, and I came into your life and took you away from where you'd grown up, and I never stopped to think about what it was doing to you. I was only thinking about myself."

“I should’ve helped take care of you. You were just a kid. You’re still just a kid. And I’ve done nothing but let you down. I want to be better. I’m not saying I want to replace your mom or anything, but I don’t want you to feel unsafe or unwelcome here anymore.”

Billy keeps drinking his hot chocolate but he has to hold it with both hands because they’re shaking now.

“I feel like I don’t even know you. And maybe that’s because you didn’t want to know me, or maybe because I just avoided you.”

“I’m just so sorry, Billy. I want to try. I am trying. The both of you deserve so much better and you don’t have to accept this. I just wanted you to know that and that I care about you.”

Billy is quiet and for a moment it scares Susan, but she understands he might not have anything to say. He might not want to say anything. He might be waiting until he can afford to move out of this fucking house.

But Billy finally sets his mug down. It’s empty. He looks at Susan and he nods.

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “I understand. I don’t blame you and I appreciate that you want to try. I want to try, too.”

Susan nods back, a sweet smile on her face. It’s gentle, the look she’s giving him.

Billy does understand though. His being the target of Neil’s abuse prevented both Max and Susan from it. He understands that Susan was afraid of her husband and the man that she might not have known he’d unveil to be. She was scared. He understands.

He’s willing to try. To let her in.

She stands and picks up Billy’s empty cup. “Was it okay?” she asks, “It’s just the store bought kind.”

“Yeah. Yeah it was great.”

When she grins at him she looks young. She looks tired and upset, but maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it means change. Maybe it means she’s learning. She’s trying.

————

“Wear mine.”

Billy looks at you through the mirror in front of which he’s been primping. He claims he doesn’t like it when you say he’s “getting pretty.” His blush says otherwise.

“Yours?”

He rolls his eyes and puts down the hairspray he was holding. “Yeah. It’s fuckin’ cold tonight. Just put mine on. I don’t want you to walk all the way back to your house just to get something I have.”

You snort, making for his closet door. “All the way back?”

He bumps your hip with his, a common you-little-shit gesture.

“Because I live so far away.” You greet the pornstar taped to the thin wood before sliding it open.

“Should be on the right,” Billy says, ignoring your comment and shoving cologne down the front of his pants while you aren’t looking. It’s a habit at this point. Shit, he doesn’t even think about it, and he knows he doesn’t have to impress you.

You push around the clothing hanging in his closet, a couple button-ups, leather, a sweater you’ve never seen him in. It’s this cream color, thick and cable knit. You pull it out. 

“How come you don’t wear this?” you ask, holding it up to him. He unsnaps another button from his shirt and your eyes follow the movement even though you don’t mean to ogle. 

Billy looks the sweater up and down like it’s grossing him out. “I wore it once,” he tells you.

“Once,” you mock playfully, putting the shirt back into his closet.

Billy’s hands are on your hips in an instant, spinning you around. “I thought you were getting a jacket, not raiding my belongings.”

You stick your tongue out at him. It’s childish and you know it, but you do it anyway. He smacks your ass in retaliation, and you go to squeeze his but he grabs your wrist, pulling it to his mouth so that he can kiss your pulse point.

“Barf.” The voice makes you turn your head, and Max has pushed the door open fully where it had been cracked. 

“Hi, Max,” you say, pulling your hand from Billy’s grasp, even if he pouts, and moving to actually retrieve the denim jacket you’d been instructed to wear. 

You can feel Billy and Max staring at each other. “What do you need?” he asks her. 

“Just came to see if we were planning on leaving today or if I should maybe hitch a ride elsewhere.” She enters the room and sits down on the edge of her brother’s bed. 

Billy glances at his watch. “You said to have you at El’s by seven-thirty. We’ve got time.” 

She crosses her arms and Billy faces the mirror again. He thinks he’s finished. “Did you even finish packing your bag, shithead?”

You shove your arms through the jacket sleeves, looking at Max. She raises her eyebrows. No, she definitely did not. There’s a flash of red hair as she hops up, and then she’s gone, the sound of dresser drawers being yanked open and shut echoing down the hall. 

You start rolling up the cuffs, and Billy reaches for the collar, adjusting it for you. You’re focused on getting your hands free when you feel Billy’s finger lifting your chin up. He brings his lips to yours, kissing you once. He pulls away and you move back in, wanting one more. He obliges, albeit grinning at your eagerness. When you’ve gotten your fill, you kiss his cheek, and that’s the one that makes him blush. 

He moves away from you, pulling on his own jacket. “I’m gonna go start the car, okay?”

“M’kay.”

Max let it slip once that Billy always went out to warm up the car before taking them to school. She wouldn’t have assumed it was for her right off the bat, but when she realized he didn’t do that when it was just him in the car, she figured out it was him being nice. Now he just does it for the both of you. You won’t ever say anything about it. 

You look at yourself in Billy’s mirror, listening to his footsteps down the hall and out into the living room. You put your hands in the pockets of his jacket, and to your surprise you feel something. It’s not spare change, or a lighter–anything you would’ve expected to find. 

It’s a sheet of paper. You pull it out, thinking it might be homework he tucked away or a receipt or something. It’s not, though. It’s notebook paper, and it’s been neatly folded like it was done with purpose. 

You sit on the edge of Billy’s bed, and unfold it. To your surprise, it’s a page covered in his handwriting, that pretty, sometimes faintly cursive scrawl. There are some lines scratched out because he used a pen and couldn’t erase. But the thing that catches your eye is the very first line. It’s just your name. It’s a letter. A letter for you. 

Your heart starts to race and you find yourself beginning to read, sinking further into his mattress. 

There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about, it reads. 

Feelings. Jesus. The truth is, for so long I’d forgotten what those were. I’ve been stuck in one place. In a cave, you might say. A deep, dark cave. And then I sat with you at lunch, and bought you a book, and suddenly you were part of my life. For the first time in a long time, I started to feel things again. I started to feel happy. 

But, tonight I’ve been feeling distant from you. Like I’m pulling away from you or something. I’m sitting here and I’m thinking about the way you looked at me that first night at the record store. The way you held on to me when I slept over for the first time. I’m not even sure if you remember it, but every time I tried to move throughout the night you whined like you were afraid I was going to leave you. Like you needed me. 

But you didn’t know about my dad or that I was falling in love with you then. And I can’t stop thinking about how I raised my voice at you when I came over today.

You pause, realizing when it was that he wrote this. The day he fought back. 

And I’ve been afraid for so long that I might turn out like him. That I might be just the same. And I’ve been scared that you might realize that too and leave me behind. But I didn’t feel that way today when you spoke to me like a human being and you wanted to work things out. I’m changing. You’re changing me. We’re changing. And I guess, if I’m being really honest, that’s what scares me. I don’t want things to change. Because there’s a part of me that worries you might still change your mind. The rest of me knows you won’t. 

So I think maybe what I’m saying is that when you didn’t know about how I felt or who I really am on the inside that it didn’t feel like I’d lose you. But now I’ve let you in and you can see all of me. And now that you’ve said you love me I really don’t want things to change. I don’t want to lose you or want you to go. 

But I know that’s naive. To think you’ll leave. That’s not who you are. I know you’d look at me and say that’s not how this is going to work. 

My whole life everyone has picked someone else over me. Left me behind. Left me on my own. And I know that’s how life works. It’s moving. Always moving and people change whether you like it or not. But you’ve taught me that change can be good. That it doesn’t always mean people changing their mind about me. About caring about me or that I’m good enough to keep around. 

And sometimes change is painful. Sometimes it’s sad and sometimes it’s surprising. 

Happy. 

So you know what? I don’t think change is bad anymore. I think I’m supposed to learn from it. I think that when life hurts, because I know parts of it are going to hurt and there will be things that always hurt, I should remember it. Because the hurt is good. It means I’m out of that cave. 

I just want you to hold my hand while I figure it all out. 

You finish reading and fold the letter back up, putting it back where you found it. You hadn’t realized you were crying, but you were, and you spend the next few minutes fixing yourself in Billy’s mirror. 

When he returns he thinks you’re the one primping. 

“Ready, baby?” he asks. “Max is in the car.”

You turn to him, and he smiles at you. That pretty, pretty smile. You kiss him on both cheeks and then shut off his bedroom light. 

“I’m ready.”

————

Billy pulls away from Hop’s cabin after dropping Max off, but he’s quick to stop the car again. 

You were quiet the whole way there. Sweet as always, no doubt, but it was clear something was bothering you. He doesn’t like it when things upset his girl. 

“What are you doing, Hargrove? We’re gonna miss the movie if you keep this up.”

He raises his eyebrows at you. “Well excuse the hell outta me, hon’.”

You slap your hands against your face, peeking through your fingers at him in hopes that he’ll go ahead and scold you.

“I want you to tell me what’s wrong, baby.” Billy doesn’t have to elaborate. You never seem to have to explain your feelings to him much anymore. It’s like he’s figuring you out, like he understands and knows when something’s bugging you or if you’re hurting. 

“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” you say.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to know.”

You nod, and reach into the pocket of the jacket, pulling free the paper. It’s seconds before Billy sees the striped sheet that he remembers what it is, what he’d left in there. 

It all comes back to him, his wrist hurting from pouring his heart out, the relief he felt at putting his feelings somewhere. 

You hand it to him. He unfolds it and scans it over. “You read it?” He knows you did.

“Yeah.” You smile shyly at him, and it’s the same smile you gave him that very first night that you came to check on him. Billy wants to kiss you, so he leans over the center console and does; he presses his mouth to your forehead, warm and sweet. His presence is all-encompassing: heady cologne, minty gum. So very Billy. So much like home. 

He hands the paper back to you. “Feelings, huh?” he says, his mouth pulling up at the corners. 

“Feelings.”

You sandwich your hands between your thighs, taking a deep breath. Your eyes start to water and you can’t help it.

“Billy, I would never leave you, okay?” You were hoping the tears wouldn’t spill over, but it doesn’t matter because your voice fails you. It wavers and you sound fragile, young. And then he’s taking your face in his hands, wiping under your eyes even though there isn’t anything to wipe yet, just soothing motions over the apples of your cheeks, calloused thumbs and warm skin.

He stares at you, his eye contact unbreaking. When he looks at you like that, blue eyes boring into yours, you can’t help but feel a little full. Because he’s looking at you like that. You. 

“I know that. I know.”

You nod, and he nods with you, so much that it looks silly, the both of you nodding, and you start to laugh. 

“I made you feel that way? Really?”

“Of course you did,” Billy says. “My whole life I’ve felt like I’m like a black hole or somethin’. You don’t make me feel that way.”

Your heart aches for him. For this boy who’s had no one tell him how good he is. Who’s finally let you in. Who’s finally realized he can have better, and that he deserves to. 

“I love you, Billy.”

He kisses you on each cheek, your face warm against his lips. He grins and you can feel it on your face. 

“I love you too.”

When you get to the movie theater, you do pay for popcorn, and you do hand him the snacks you kept in your bag after you take your seats. Your mother said movie candy was getting much too expensive. 

You pop a handful of Sno Caps in your mouth, and Billy opens his mouth. You sprinkle some in his, and then reach for his hand. 

He looks down at your clasped fingers while a kid almost faceplants with a bucket of popcorn on the way up the stairs. Thankfully their father caught them first. 

“You did say you wanted me to hold your hand.”

“I did,” Billy says.

—————

“Sit still, I’ll be right back, I swear.”

Billy crosses his arms, but it’s hard for him to look entirely brooding when he’s got plum shadow on his eyelids. You stand. “Here, Max, supervise.” You hand her the brush between your fingers, and she snorts at her brother from where she lays across your bed. 

You make for the living room, suppressing a grin at the sounds of laughter emanating from the area. Susan and Nicky sit on opposite sides of the couch, watching The Golden Girls and talking about whatever it is that mothers-of-dating-children talk about. 

“Mom,” you say, coming to a stop in front of her. 

“Hi, honeybee. What’s the matter?” 

“Can I use some of your makeup? There’s some things you’ve got that I haven’t and–”

She smiles at you, adjusting the well-loved pillow squished behind her back. “You know you can. Whatever you need.”

Her grin is contagious, and you find yourself smiling back just the same. “Thank you.”

She nods. “Playing dress up?” Your mother gives you a knowing look, thinking about the idea you’d had in mind ever since you watched Rocky Horror with Billy that first time. 

“You could say so,” you tell her, and then you’re off to raid her bathroom cabinet, pulling free the large and full bag of goodies. 

You start to rifle through the corduroy pouch, but decide it’d be easier to take the whole thing with you to your room, so that’s what you do.

When you return, you settle on your knees in front of your boyfriend, still finding it odd that you get to call him that now, even if that is exactly what he is to you. Your pretty, pretty boyfriend. Your boyfriend who’s letting you do his makeup. 

Max hands you your brush back, raising herself up on her elbows so that she can watch the show better.

“Hi,” you say to him, pressing a kiss on the tip of his nose. 

“Hi,” he responds, his voice showing all signs that he’s both enjoying this, yet also grumping about the fact that he let you do it in the first place. He settles back on his hands, legs spread so that you can sit in between them and reach him. You pull free both the pencil of thick liner you’d been looking for, and a pot of blush you know to be much pinker than the one you’ve got. Yours has also been broken on multiple occasions so that now it’s just little bits of pink powder sliding around in the pan. 

You uncap the liner first, a warm brown shade, clearly freshly sharpened by your mother. “Close your eyes, pretty please,” you tell him. He obliges, lids fluttering shut. 

You reach out, and starting to drag the tip of the pencil across his skin, you realize your hand isn’t as steady as you’d like, considering the fact that you’re also half-focused on not kneeing Billy in a place you’re quite sure he’d prefer to not be kneed. 

You let out a frustrated sigh, and Billy blinks up at you. “What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t working. Just–” You shove the eyeliner pencil into his hands, and then move from between his legs. You grip his calves and move his legs together, then crawl forwards a little and straddle his lap.

He grins up at you, a cocky and mischievous look. “Comfy?”

“Shut up and close your eyes again.”

“Well you don’t want much.” 

You pinch the squish of his side and he swats blindly at your arm. You take Billy’s face in your hand, resting the pinky of your dominant one against his cheekbone. This go around you’re able to drag the liner effectively across his eyelid. A tap at his face signals he needs to look up, and when he does, you do the same to his lower hip. Afterwards, you take a super small brush that Max found and use it to smudge the eyeliner out some, that way the lines aren’t so harsh.

You finish and take Billy’s face in your hands again, turning it to face Max. “Thoughts?”

She taps her chin, though smiling all the same. “Very nice.”

With a little more manhandling, you get some mascara on those lashes of his, though not without a little pleased squeaking in the process. It’s at the blush that you get excited enough to make him laugh. You swipe your brush heavily across his cheeks, and then the tip of his nose, where you’re probably much too generous. You don’t care. He looks so, so pretty, all blushy like this. 

“Part your lips.” You say, thumb tugging at his bottom one. You put a gloss on Billy’s lips and almost lose it for good. He’s so gorgeous. 

When you finish, you wipe your hands clean on a towel and back up a little ways from him to survey your work. 

You clap your hands. “Max, help me. Would you look at this?”

She does, laughing gleefully. “Oh my god, this is so good.”

You look Billy in the eyes, and Max hops up off of your bed to get a better look. “You look so gorgeous, my love.”

He’s thankful for the blush in that moment, because without it you’d see the effect your using that name had on him. 

“Thank you,” he says.

“Wanna see?” God, you look so happy.

“Do I have to?”

You bite your lip and Billy pulls it free, taking the little handheld mirror from you. 

And, honestly, he thinks he looks kinda hot. You picked a good eyeshadow color, one that makes his blue eyes stand out even more, and he just looks pretty. Just as you’d said. 

“Do you like it?”

“Yes. You did a very good job.”

He goes to kiss you, but you stop him. “Nope. You’ll mess up my work!”

Billy rolls his eyes and flips Max a bird when he sees her giggling at your enthusiasm and his compliance. 

“Can I take a picture?” you ask. 

Billy holds up his hands. “Oh hell no.”

“Billy, she needs to document her masterpiece,” Max says, though really she knows it’d make great blackmail. That and she loves how happy the both of you seem. She’d like to remember this too. 

“Please?” You give him your very best puppy dog eyes, making sure they’re watery and everything. You know he’ll give in. 

“Fine. But you show this to anyone, and you’re both dead.”

You laugh, grabbing for your Polaroid camera. “Who the fuck do you think I’m gonna show? Everyone I know is in this room.”

Billy’s smiles then, and you’re just quick enough to catch it. You get another after you kiss his sparkly forehead. And when you’ve finished, you stick them in the frame of your mirror so they’ll always be there. 

That night, after Max and Susan have gone home, you sit in the bathroom to help Billy wash the makeup off, but only when you’d let Nicky see, and she thought he looked stunning. Showstopping, she’d said. 

And it’s then, as you wipe the rosy tinge from his cheeks, revealing his freckles once again, that you realize months before this you’d been so alone. You’d ached for a moment like this. 

And here you were. So even if the journey to get here had hurt, even if it’d been hard and pushed you to your limits, it’s okay. Because that’s how life works. It hurts sometimes. And that’s okay. 

Because the hurt? The hurt is good.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

Just a little thought for your sweet Sunday prompt, don’t worry if it’s not the sort of thing you want. Kind, soft old fashioned gentleman Steve looking after the reader when she’s having a particularly bad time of the month. I love that man so much and I adore how you write him.😍

Fair warning: this gets sweet but sooooooooo deep after the feels. I went overboard on the semi-angst because periods and (my) life sucks. Steve's just so magical, that bastard....

Hour seven of cramping and you contemplate just giving up and heading to bed. You look over to the clock.

20:23

No way. Too early. You can wait one hour more until another dose of painkiller.

Except now you're out of snacks and either have to watch only half a movie or search for a TV show.

There's a knock at the door, and why someone checking on you makes you want to cry is beyond you. You just do want to cry. You don't want to explain WWIII in your uterus; you want ice cream, dammit.

"I bought three kinds," Steve announces, using his foot to close up behind him, arms covered in grocery bags like a pack mule. "Four if you count the sandwiches."

When he finally looks up, he stalls seeing you curled into the couch, covered in thick blankets, a pillow squished harshly to your chest, and tears brimming in your eyes.

His eyes soften. "Hun," he whines, dropping his arms, "you could have texted me."

You shake your head before tucking it into the pillow. "Not gonna bother you," you mumble through fabric.

"That bad, huh?"

Steve doesn't need an answer though. He's speedy in the kitchen while you scroll absently through Netflix. You still have no clue what to watch.

He returns to your side with a bowl: one scoop of every flavor capped with an entire ice cream sandwich...minus one bite.

"Sorry," he winks, "boyfriend tax."

Steve's cute when he's cheeky, and he knows it.

"That's a big bite, mister."

He shrugs, simply adding, "inflation."

Another sharp pang hits you above the hip, one so brutal and deep you hiss. He asks about medicine, if you'd like hot tea or chocolate, and what else he can do. There's nothing. Just another pang before the other even recedes.

Concern falls off his face suddenly, and Steve holds up a finger before hurtling over the back of the couch.

He comes back but sits on the floor with his hand out. "Foot, please," he adds, brandishing a pair of your fuzziest socks.

"One sec," you groan and clutch the bowl tighter. You can't lift your leg until the cramp stops. You watch Steve school his face with patience instead of sadness.

Some months are worse than others, and Steve doesn't like unpredictable things. Even though he's patient. Even though he rolls with the punches. He will never get used to seeing his best girl in pain, and so most of the time, you hide it from him. You've trained yourself to play it off like it's nothing more than a temporary stomach ache, but this one is bad. You cannot play off this month.

You drank as much water as you could handle. You peed every twenty minutes and cleaned up every time as if it would matter. You want to shower every hour, but that would be just as useless. You'll feel gross and bloated no matter what.

You should feel so pampered and loved when Steve gently slips the soft sock over your heel. You should be happy beneath his gorgeous, blue, adoring gaze. You should not start crying into your confection. It's not salted caramel, for christ's sake. Get it together.

Which, of course, you can't do.

You can't stop any of it, and then you're happy you can't stop it because then he might stop. Somehow Steve only becomes more doting as you shovel ice cream in like air. He sneaks another bite of sandwich to make you smile. Somehow smiling makes the tears come faster. He peels away some blankets and the pillow, politely waiting until the spoon clinks against empty china. Somehow he wrestles you into his lap and hugs.

The firm grip he puts you in is soothing like a weighted blanket, tighter than you can wrap against your own gut, and it feels so good. He curls around you as you were curled in the cushions, a universal pressure, a universal peace.

"You want to watch a comedy or a nature documentary?" His voice rumbles against your back.

"Neither."

His chin pokes your cheek with a questioning hum.

"Tell me about your day," you reply, sighing, letting your whole self lean into Steve even though you feel swollen and grumpy.

He squeezes a little firmer around you, waiting to feel more tension drain from you. "Well, Sam complained that I was heavy again."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he had to lift me ten stories higher between buildings."

You scoff. "My god, how hard can it be?"

"I know, I know," he mutters, "I'm light as a feather. Practically lean."

"Yeah," you finally smile. "Go on. Have another ice cream sandwich, you skinny boy."

His chuckle rattles behind you. "Only if we can share...then I'm thinking a hot bath and more of this--" he cuddles up closer "--if you're game."

"Just a minute longer," you beg in a whisper before adding with more strength, "you still haven't told me about Sam and Bucky's latest tiff."

Pregnancy Pillow vs Captain America

Pairings: Dad-to-be Steve Rogers x Pregnant Reader. Themes/Summary:Light-hearted. Steve is feeling lonely on his side of the bed, and it's the pregnancy pillow's fault. A/N: I haven't been giving Steve some love lately. . . so here a cute little oneshot of how he will react when y/n brings out the pregnancy pillow. I don't own any of the images ya'll credits to their owners.

tags: @mrsevans90 @haruvalentine4321

Steve comes out of the ensuite after his shower, his white t-shirt clinging to his body and hair damp. He throws you an easy smile, the kind that makes his blue eyes crinkle at the corners, as he heads towards the bedroom. But the moment he steps inside, he halts mid-stride, staring at the bed like it’s personally offended him.

There it is again: the pregnancy pillow. An immovable, unforgiving barricade that now divides your once-cozy bed like a dam, stretching from one end to the other. Steve tilts his head, squinting at it as if that might reduce its size.

He throws his hands on his hips and sighs dramatically. 

“You know, I fought Hydra,” he says, voice dripping with exasperation. “I’ve been through hell and back. But this—” he gestures to the pillow, “—is the one enemy I can’t seem to defeat.”

You burst into laughter from your side of the bed, propped up by a series of other pillows meant to cushion every conceivable ache or discomfort. “Steve, it’s a pillow.”

“It’s a monstrosity,” he argues. “It’s like the Great Wall of China, but made out of—” he pokes at it cautiously, like it might snap back at him, “—fluffy foam and… whatever this is.” He groans, flopping down onto his side of the bed with a huff.

“Pregnancy pillows are supposed to be supportive,” you say in an exaggeratedly sweet tone, rolling your eyes.

“Supportive?” He scoffs, attempting to squeeze his hand through the tiny gap between the pillow and your hip. “It’s so supportive I need to make an appointment to get within three feet of my wife.”

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh as you watch him contort, his long arms flailing. “I know it’s not ideal, but I need it, Steve.”

“Why does it have to be so big?” He sounds like a sullen child, tugging at the end of the pillow like he’s considering wrestling it out of the bed entirely. “Can’t they make a smaller one? One that doesn’t make me feel like I’m living on the opposite side of the planet?”

You shake your head. “Trust me, if there were a way to make it smaller and still work, I’d be using it.”

Steve finally manages to get a bit of his arm over the pillow’s edge, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder. He lets out a soft noise of triumph, and then—he leans in close, his forehead almost bumping the pillow’s fabric. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, as if the pillow itself is an eavesdropper. “Wanna come over to my side?”

Your laugh breaks out fully then. “Are you trying to seduce me over a pillow, Rogers?”

“Absolutely,” he deadpans, his face all faux-seriousness. He wiggles his eyebrows and purses his lips. “I’ve got ‘plenty’ of space over here, you know. Might be a little lonely, though. Could use some company.”

You lean back into the pillow, giggling at the sight of this fully-grown super soldier pouting at a piece of fabric. “I’m not crawling over this thing. You’ll just have to wait until the baby’s born.”

Steve blinks, his face crumpling in over-the-top shock. “Wait. Until the baby is born? That’s months away!”

“Yup.” You nod solemnly, enjoying the way his mouth drops open.

“Months?” He repeats, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I’m supposed to be a dad in a few months and I can’t even get a hug?”

You finally give in, shifting to face him. 

“C’mere, you big baby.” With some maneuvering, you manage to reach over the pillow, clasping his face between your hands. He grins triumphantly and leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed as if it’s the greatest victory he’s ever won.

Steve kisses your palm, peeking an eye open at the pillow. “We’re not done yet, pillow,” he mutters dramatically, earning another peal of laughter from you.

He straightens and stares at the pillow again, rubbing his chin like he’s trying to come up with a strategy. “Maybe… I can find a way to make this work.”

“Oh really?” you tease. “You’re gonna outsmart a pillow?”

“Absolutely.” He nods firmly. “If I can’t get past it, I’ll just have to—” With sudden determination, Steve heaves his leg over the top of the pillow, straddling it awkwardly like he’s mounting a wild horse. You raise an eyebrow, biting back a grin.

“Steve—”

He shushes you, waving a hand. “Shh. Let me have this.”

You watch, thoroughly amused, as he tries to maneuver his entire body over the pillow without crushing it—or falling off the bed. He flops, shifts, and mutters curses under his breath, but finally—finally—he makes it to your side, lying beside you with a triumphant smirk.

“See?” he pants, a little out of breath. “I did it.”

“Wow,” you say, clapping lightly. “Captain America, conqueror of pillows.”

“Damn right.” He beams at you, his face flushed from the exertion. “Now…” He reaches for you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close, despite the awkward angle. His hand, large and warm, comes to rest gently on your rounded stomach. His thumb makes slow circles over the fabric of your nightshirt, brushing against the small rise. The smile that spreads across his face is soft, almost reverent. 

“Hey there, little one.”

The teasing, playful glint in his eyes fades to something softer, more intense as he gazes down at your belly. His palm splays wide, covering the bump entirely, and he rubs with a featherlight touch. You feel the familiar flutter of movement beneath his hand, and Steve’s entire face lights up.

“Did you feel that?” He whispers, eyes wide with wonder, his breath catching.

You nod, your hand covering his, sharing the moment with him. “That’s your baby, Steve.”

He swallows hard, blinking away the sudden moisture in his eyes as he continues to trace gentle patterns on your skin. “I can’t believe it,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I can’t believe… this is happening.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion he’s never been able to hide from you. “You’re going to be a wonderful dad.”

He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Only because you’re going to be an amazing mom,” he murmurs against your skin. His hand lingers on your stomach, his fingers spreading as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of it.

The baby shifts again, and Steve lets out a soft laugh, a sound filled with awe. “I’m pretty sure this little one already loves you more than anyone else.”

“And what about you?” you tease, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

He shrugs, eyes still fixed on your stomach. “I’ll just have to win them over.” He glances up, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “Starting with getting rid of this pillow.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Nice try, Captain. It stays.”

He sighs dramatically but leans down to kiss your belly one more time. “Okay, okay, you win,” he mutters, though the smile on his face is nothing short of blissful. “For now.”

You lean back, resting your hand atop his, and the two of you stay like that for a while—Steve murmuring quiet promises to the baby, his fingers drawing lazy circles over your belly. Even with the pillow still stubbornly wedged between you, it’s one of the most intimate moments you’ve ever shared.

Steve might be fighting a losing battle against the Great Pillow, but right now, with his hand on your stomach and your laughter filling the room, he’s never felt closer to you.

He’s very cool and mysterious, he’s not a sad boy at all, he swears.

[While decorating the Christmas tree]

Steve: Why is everybody using these tiny little lights nowadays? I remember when people used to use big lights.

Natasha: That's a good story, Grandpa.

“bella ramsey plays ellie, i call her bellie and she’s my blessing”

please pedro thats so fucking cute

Eddie Munson x Reader

Mechanic

Summary- When Y/N's truck breaks down on the side of the road in Hawkins, she calls a mechanic, who happens to be Eddie Munson, and he comes to her rescue.

Trigger warnings- talk of injury, cussing

Word count-2.3

"No, please no, not now!" Y/N cries as her truck comes to a sputtered stop. She drops her head onto her hands that rest on the steering wheel, willing herself not to cry. Her day could not get any worse. A strange noise made the girl raise her head from her hands, seeing the engine emitting black smoke from under the hood. Spoke too soon, Y/N thinks to herself.

The upset young adult throws her truck door open, stepping out of the vehicle, but not before popping the hood open. She walks to the front of the truck and opens the hood to look at the damage. She props the hood on the hood strut, waiting for the smoke to clear so she can get a better look at the engine.

The girl has some knowledge of cars, only learning how to fix some problems because of her truck. The truck was older than her, meaning she got it from her parents before they moved halfway across the world, but not before mentioning all the problems the old vehicle has, just as they were walking to the plane, stunning the poor girl.

"Stupid piece of shit! Shoulda scraped you with the rest of dad's shit vehicles!" Y/N yelled at the truck, kicking the tire while she ranted. In turn, the truck let out a whine, almost as if it was replying to the flustered girl.

She went back to looking at the engine, sticking her hand down into the heart of the truck, but quickly pulled it back when the hot metal burned her hand, leaving a nasty red mark on the back of her hand. The girl kneeled down, her hand still sitting on the truck where the hood sits. Her left hand rested over her eyes as she took deep breaths, trying to figure out what to do.

Deep in thought, the girl didn't hear the sound of the hood strut snapping in two, causing the heavy metal hood to fall, landing on her burned hand. Y/N cried out as she shot up from her kneeling position, opening the hood as fast as she could to get it off her hand. Once it was finally off, she cradled her clearly broken hand to her chest, letting a single tear fall down her face.

Y/N slammed the hood closed, cussing under her breath as she got back into the cab of her truck, cranking the key with her left hand, seeing if by some miracle the vehicle would start, but to no avail. The truck sputtered slightly before going silent, refusing to turn on. Y/N sighed, looking at her surroundings, and seeing a gas station not very far up the road. She grabbed the keys out of the ignition, picked up her wallet, and exited the truck, slamming the door with force, making the metal groan when it hit the frame. Y/N didn't even care, she just started her walk to the gas station, cradling her hand to her chest.

When the angry young woman got to the station, she saw a pay phone, walking into the building to ask the clerk a question. "Welcome to John's quick stop gas station and cafe, how can I help you?" The older clerk asked from behind the counter when Y/N stepped up.

"Yeah hi. Do you have the number for a mechanic in town? My truck broke down, then decided it wanted to break my hand with the hood. Someone reliable would be preferred, please." She said, resting her hand on the counter. The sixty-something-year-old clerk gave her a worried smile, before she wrote something down on a sticky note, handing it across the counter.

"This is the best shop we have in Hawkins, but ask for Eddie Munson, he won't charge you an arm and a leg to fix your car. Payphone is right out there. Come back inside when you get off the phone and I'll get you something for your hand darlin'." The sweet clerk said to the younger woman, smiling sympathetically at her. Y/N smiled at her, walking out to the payphone to call the number on the paper.

Y/N dialed the number, putting the phone up to her ear, waiting for someone to answer.

"Greasy hands car mechanic, this is Eddie speaking." Y/N heard a deep voice say on the other end.

"Yeah, is this Eddie Munson?" She asked in her best phone voice.

"Sure is, sweetcheeks. What can I do for you today?" The guy said on the other end.

"Yeah, my truck broke down and I need a mechanic. I was told you're the best in town. Do you think you could come out and tow my truck for me?" She asked, hoping the clerk was right about him not charging tons for a fix.

"Sure can. I just need your location and name and I'll be out with a tow truck in no time." 'Eddie' said to Y/N, causing her to sigh out in relief. She proceeded to give him her location, thanking him before hanging the phone up. Y/N then walked back into the gas station, smiling at the clerk as she disappeared into the back, only to emerge a few seconds later with an ice pack for her hand.

"Go on and get yourself a drink and something to eat, it's covered darlin'." The clerk smiled at Y/N, shooing her to find something she liked in the store.

"Thank you so much. You're so sweet." Y/N said when she found what she wanted. As the older lady turned around, she fished some money out of her wallet, placed it on the counter for her, and walked out the door to sit and wait for this 'Eddie' guy to show up.

"Oh, you sneaky little thing!" The clerk said once she turned around and saw the money on the counter, but nonetheless put it in the cash register.

~*~

Y/N sat on the tailgate of her truck, eating the sandwich and drinking the soda she grabbed, watching the different cars drive by.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but in reality was only half an hour, she saw the tow truck pull up, backing up to her truck to hook it up. The driver's side door opened, and out stepped a guy not much older than Y/N, walking over to her. He had long, curly hair that just hit his shoulders, framing his face perfectly. He wore a grey uniform, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing a bat tattoo on his left arm.

"You must be Y/N?" He asked, receiving a nod from said girl. "I'm Eddie. What seems to be going on with this thing?" He asked, walking to stand in front of Y/N to talk.

"I'm not sure. It just died on me. I just replaced the carburetor and fuel line less than a month ago, so it's not that. I'm not sure what it could be, to be honest." Y/N said, looking at Eddie as he nodded his head.

"Well, let's get it back to the shop and I'll have a peek at it for you." The long-haired man said, smiling lightly at Y/N. She nodded her head, letting him do his stuff.

Once the truck was hooked up and in position on the back of the tow truck, Eddie told Y/N to get into the passenger side. She did as told, closing the door and buckling her seatbelt. Eddie got into the driver's seat not long after, starting the vehicle up and putting it into gear.

Neither Eddie nor Y/N talked for a while on the way to the shop, sitting in silence, the only sound coming from the tape Eddie had put into the tapedeck on his drive over. Y/N sat, still cradling her injured hand to her chest, trying her best to stop the throbbing pain she felt in it. Eddie noticed this, and questioned her about it.

"What'd ya do to your hand?" He asked, taking a quick glance at the girl next to him.

"Oh, I'm pretty positive I broke it. I was looking in the engine earlier and stuck my hand down into it, but got burnt so I kneeled down with my hand still on the truck, and the stupid hood strut snapped in half, causing the hood to fall on my hand. I shoulda scrapped the piece of shit a long time ago." Y/N replied, snorting softly at the end.

"Well, are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital or something to get that looked at?" Eddie asked, concern lacing his deep voice.

"Nah, I'm fine. I can wait a while." Y/N simply countered, gently resting her hand down on her jean-covered thighs.

~*~

"Well, it looks like the alternator and a few spark plugs went out. I took a look at the rest of the engine and the oil filter and water pump are going out. The engine looks like it's about fifty years old, so everything is running on its last legs. I would suggest a whole new engine at this point." Eddie said to Y/N, gauging her reaction.

"What happens if I don't do the whole new engine?" She asks, standing at the counter, looking at Eddie, who stood on the other side, behind the counter. She was watching Eddie with interested eyes, her eyes scanning his face, down his neck then back up, looking at the bun he had thrown his hair into when he got back to the shop.

"Well, if you don't replace it, everything is just going to keep going out, giving you problems, making it harder for the truck to run until it just stops altogether like it did today." Eddie explained, waiting for the girl to reply.

"If I replace it, how much are we talking it'll cost?" She questioned, scared of his answer.

"We're lookin' at around three grand. But that's with new everything. The whole engine will be brand new, right from the factory." Y/N eyes widened, a heavy sigh falling from her lips. She rubbed her left hand on her forehead, thinking everything over. "But, I can make a couple calls, see where you can buy a new engine at the best price here in town. I know a few people that will give me a good price on one." Y/N nodded her head, Eddie pulling out some papers from a filing cabinet behind him, and starting to write on them

"Alright, I guess we'll have to do that, I don't have much of a choice here. When can you start on that?"

"I'll have to call a few people and as soon as I do that, and determine where the engine will come from, it will take about a week, two at the most to get it in, swap the engines out and tune the new one to your truck. I can work fairly quickly once the engine gets here. I can start today, pulling the engine out and seeing what I can save from it to maybe sell, get you a little bit of cash from what is salvageable, scrap the rest of the engine and get money off of that too. Let me finish this paperwork and I'll do that. Do you have someone that can pick you up, take you to get that hand looked at?" Eddie asked, pointing his pen at her bruising hand.

"Um, no I don't have anyone. I was just moving here when my truck broke down. I don't know anyone here. Do you have a phone book I could use to call a cab?" Y/N asked, rubbing the back of her neck.

"No, I'm not gonna make you call a cab. It's actually passed quitting time for me, this is all overtime. I can take you to the hospital and take you to your place after." Eddie explained, smiling up at Y/N, making butterflies erupt in her stomach. Said girl nodded her head, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks.

~*~

"Alright, what's your new address so I can drop you off?" Eddie asked once Y/N got back into his van from the hospital, a dark blue cast on her right hand.

"Um, you can just drop me off at a motel, I don't actually have a place to live yet." Y/N said, a blush once again creeping up her cheeks.

"What? I can't let a pretty girl like yourself stay in a random motel here! You can stay with me. My uncle works nights so he's not home at night and sleeps through the day when he gets home, so he won't mind."

"No, I can't let you do that. I'll be fine in a motel, you've already done so much for me." Y/N said, giving Eddie a very faint smile.

"Please, I insist. It would make me feel better knowing such a beautiful girl like yourself is safe at my place, not in some creepy ass motel in the middle of town. Just let me take care of you. I mean, after all, you're making my paycheck with your broken-down truck. It's the least I can do. Please?" Eddie begged, trying to convince the girl in front of him. If he was being totally honest with himself, he just didn't want to let Y/N go, he found her incredibly beautiful and sweet. He wanted to get to know her more, maybe take her on a date. But he wouldn't admit that out loud.

"Okay, I'll stay at your place. But you have to let me cook for you. It will be my way of saying thank you, even though it's not much. And I won't take no for an answer!" Y/N said, a smile pulling on her lips. Eddie nodded his head, agreeing to what she said, deciding it wouldn't be so bad to have a homecooked meal instead of the same microwave meals he has every night.

"Yeah alright. I can live with that. Now, if you're going to be living with me, I need to know a bit about you. Tell me about yourself, pretty lady." Eddie said, looking over at the girl next to him, a smile of his own on his lips. Y/N looked down, her smile widening as she shook her head, starting to tell Eddie about herself.