Wayne Thought Perhaps Eddie Had A Cold After The Third Sniffle Sounded From Behind Eddie's Closed Bedroom

omg. y/n doing an interview and they ask who their celebrity crush is and y/n’s like.

‘Joseph Quinn.’

Leaning against chair, ‘I mean have you seen him in Make Up? Or Les Miserables? everytime I see a picture of him I get butterflies in my stomach.’

‘Really?’

‘What if we said Joseph Quinn was here today?’

*Y/n.exe has stopped working*

‘What?’

‘Everybody Joseph Quinn’

*joseph Quinn walks out*

*y/n trying to keep themselves from fainting*

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

Niall performing Heaven | The Show Live On Tour in Düsseldorf, Germany (March 26th, 2024)

Hello, Ro!!! 🌻🌻🌻

Okay so I suddenly notice my hair is long enough to nearly my waist

so can I have a fluff one that reader is not aware of her hair became long, she only notice the dryer time became longer🤣🤣🤣

And Steve notices, he choose some beautiful hair tie and learn how to braid hair from Thor, and maybe Tony host a party, and Steve volunteers to braid her hair and she suddenly noticed her hair been so long.

Hehe need some fluff and sweet from this site became too... ppl step into other's territory and say stuff rude. I am tired of this😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Anyway, wish you have a good dayy friend!!

Yeah, I wasn't on for the toxic sh*t that went down yesterday, but I had the privilege of my husband (yes, that guy) shoving that news in my face. I know he did it to provoke me, but not because of the actual news. It was to accentuate quite a few terrible things that don't have to do with what I truly hope is a happy couple.

So let's have some happy couple fluff, shall we?

"It's not even dry yet."

"Ok, then I gotta start getting ready right after work."

"Why do these ties keep breaking? Is the elastic old? What the hell?!"

Your face smacks the pillow, and Steve can see but you can't...apparently.

Your hair covers your shoulders like a blanket, gets trapped when you go to turn over, encircles the column of your neck like a lacy choker, and you haven't figured it out.

Sure, he doesn't understand what you mean by 'crispy ends' or 'arm fatigue' when you're standing in the bathroom, open-legged and practically panting from the effort to do your hair for the night, but he hears the huffs and the sighs. He can understand feeling like losing a battle with your body when you're trying your best. He remembers that.

So one day, he's caught staring at Thor's hair, and that doesn't go unnoticed.

"Sorry, my dear captain, but two beefy blond alphas would not make a good pairing. I am flattered though."

Steve snaps back. "What? No. It's just...your hair, the--" he wiggles his hand by his head "--things."

Thor pulls a strand forward. "Braids?"

"Yeah, those. How do you do that?"

Thor quizzically regards the short crop atop Steve's head and frowns. "I do not believe--"

"Not for me," Steve corrects, "for my girl."

The beefier (is he though?) man lights up with understanding. "Ah, yes, I see. Of course." He then pulls Steve into a side hug and leans in to whisper. "I warn you though. This will be a different challenge than you are accustomed to. It will require patience and much practice."

Steve blanches. How bad can this be? Is braiding harder than sex? Good lord, what has he gotten himself into?

"DAMN IT," you grouch in the bathroom.

"Honey...?" Steve peeks around the doorframe. "Everything alright?"

"No. No, it is not," you whine, sitting on the toilet and burying your face in your hands, a curtain of hair blocking what little light could shine through your fingers. "My hair is too dirty, I don't have time to do it before we need to meet Bucky and Nat downstairs, and I just broke my last hair tie!"

You're on the verge of tears. The last thing you wanted was to bother Steve with this.

"I can help."

You almost laugh. What the hell is he gonna do? Tuck it up under a cowl?

"Come on," he offers, a hand sliding under your elbow, "come sit on the edge of the bed and take a minute."

But with each second that passes you are more and more aware of how the crown of your head will still be damp if you don't start soon, or how your neckline will curl onto itself when it's not properly set and leave an annoying crimp. You barely notice Steve's fingers in your hair.

He's comforting you. That's nice. He does love running his fingers through it, and he's probably trying to prove the point that if it's good enough for him, it's fine to go out with. That's not the point. You want to look good, but a prominent feature on you is unruly and feeling more and more out of control.

His fingers continue gliding through your hair at your temples. Well, no, just one temple.

Then you feel a very delicate tugging instead of his fingers at your scalp.

Then the tugging repeats methodically.

"What are you doing?" You turn to see.

Steve blushes, already down past your shoulder so you can see the braid weaving in his hands.

You look up into his eyes, repeating your question silently.

He shrugs. He simply shrugs.

"I wanted to take care of you," he finally says, and it's at that moment you notice he is still going on that one braid. He's been twisting strand over strand this whole time, sitting with his leg bent on the bed between you, and he doesn't have to lean forward anymore.

It's so damn long.

That's it. That's the moment. When was the last time you got it cut? You can't even remember. There's been so much going on, and you're lucky you've been drinking water much less scheduling outside appointments for personal care.

"I love it, you know," Steve mutters as he pulls out a tiny string of leather, deftly affixing it to the end of the braid, and starting a new one just above it. "I love it every single day. Long or short. Washed or unwashed."

He pointedly smirks and leans forward to kiss that closest temple.

"And if I love it that much, I should help you love it, too."

When he's done with the second one, he pulls out another leather tie.

"Thor?"

Steve nods and then stands. Before he sits on the other side of you though, he rummages through his side of the closet to produce a Target bag, sheepishly handing it over.

"I bought you some things, too, but those were all he taught me with."

Inside the bag is clips and elastics, big and small. Headbands. Scrunchies. Two head scarves. Bobby pins with decorations and plain ones the color of your hair. It's quite the stash.

You see the receipt at the bottom, probably kept to return anything you don't like. "Steve, how much did this all--"

He snatches the paper out of your hand. "NOTHING," he shrieks a little too loudly.

And now you really have to laugh. Yes, Steve has an artistic side. Yes, he likes all his variety of pencils and charcoals.

But this?

He can't use this skill on anything but you.

He spent time learning and shopping for only you.

You sniffle at the end of a relieving belly laugh, sighing one more time but in pure contentment.

"Ok, coiffure," you announce, angling yourself away to present your loose locks. "Better finish up."

He sits down happily, keeping the bag open for you to choose from.

"Stick with the leather--" you shrug "--I have some boots to match."

There you have it, Notoriously Lovely Nana! I hope you enjoyed it, and I'm rooting for us all to have more positivity today and beyond.

Thank you for trusting me with the feels.

🥰

Love me Tender // Eddie Munson

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Per request from the beautiful darling herself @ladyeslspeth "Chronically Ill reader x Eddie Munson, bad pain day"

At first, I had no idea what illness to incorporate, nor did I know how to without seeming insensitive...before I realized that, hey, I have Chronic Migraines. Literally been diagnosed and I'm on special medication for them. My lack of intelligence scares me sometimes smh... So, for this request, I'm going to go with Chronic Migraines, yay *cue bored clapping*.

Warnings: chronically ill!reader, soft and charming!Eddie, mentions of drug use (medicinal!!!) gn!reader!!!

Word count: 776 (she's a shortie!)

Whatever god there was, they weren't on your side today. The second you woke up, there was a throbbing in the base of your skull, forcing your to shut your blinds and cover your head with a pillow. These headaches weren't new, nor random, constantly consuming you at least 15 days out of the month. You were lucky to go more than 4 days without one, having high spirits when you woke without immense pain.

Today, was not one of those days. The entire morning was spent in bed, the pain in your stomach from hunger not hurtful enough to mask the fatigue you'd been faced with anytime you attempted to sit up, although not a second was spent sleeping. You couldn't, so there you sat, from 8 am until the clock struck 1 in the afternoon.

However, on the other side of town, your boyfriend was growing worried, anxiety clipping him in the heart each time the dial tone of his phone all but smacked him in the head. You weren't answering, and it had been hours since he'd heard from you. He knew that you got migraines, countless days spent on your living room couch proving that to be true. But, he couldn't lie and say that sometimes, your condition worried him. He was fearful of you passing out and not waking up, witnessing many of your fainting spells on occasion.

So, with a lead foot and pounding heart, he sped his way to your house, dodging red lights and ignoring stop signs. He was surprised but ultimately thankful he hadn't gotten pulled over.

"Y/N!" he called out into the quiet of your home, stepping over your fluffy pet and making a beeline toward your closed bedroom door. he lightly rapped his knuckles against the wood, about to speak when he heard the sound of your groggy voice moaning out in what sounded to be pain, he wasn't all too sure.

Opening the door, he was met with the sight of your nearly pitch-black room, attempting to stumble his way to your bed. There you lay, blankets pulled up over your head and a stack of pillows resting on top. He nearly cooed, if it wasn't for the fact that you were wincing at the sound of your bed creaking.

"You scared me, my love, didn't know if you were okay or not," he whispered, chuckling softly as you groaned and pulled him down to lay next to you. You didn't respond, attempting to block out the pain in your skull to fully appreciate your boyfriend's presence.

You found it sweet that he was here, although you would've been fine on your own, his concern was endearing.

"Sorry, I heard your call," you trailed off, pulling the blanket off your head to rest below your eyes. You squinted at the sunlight peeking through your blinds, attempting to make out the soft shape of your boyfriend's face. Although it wasn't too dark in your room, you could barely make out his features, "you look handsome today."

He laughed, straight from his chest and caused you to wince at the volume. He immediately retracted, softly brushing your messy hair out of your face and placing a kiss on your forehead.

"I'm gonna go grab your meds." you nodded, holding onto his hand until it fell from your grasp at the distance, tears brimming in your eyes as your head felt like someone was kicking at it.

Eddie made quick work of rifling through your cabinets. His hands knocked over multiple items he could care less about, letting out a quiet "yes!" when he found the orange pill bottle he'd been looking for. Shaking the bottle sideways, he clutched 2 pills in his palm whilst grabbing a bottle of water out of your fridge.

"Here ya go," he handed you the items, helping you sit up properly, "why don't we take a nap, yeah?" he knew you'd most likely lay there, eyes clenched shut but not actually sleeping. He still offered.

"Okay." your response was quiet, setting the water bottle down on the nightstand and scooting further into the bed for him to climb in. You lay patiently, watching the metalhead peel off his jacket and vest, setting them gently down on your desk chair. After slipping his shoes off, he moved to lay next to you.

Tugging your body close, he pressed a kiss to the back of your head, the two of you snuggled into each other's embrace. Although your head was pounding, your chest was swelling with adoration. You couldn't believe how lucky you were to have found a man like Eddie Munson.

no words. just this. imagine papa munson. *heart eyes*

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

Just Eddie Munson swearing for almost 2 minutes 😌

panic attack

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Summary: When you have a panic attack at one of your movie nights with the party, you ask them to call the one person who can help.

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

Warnings: panic attack, soft,protective!Billy, concerned!party, fluff

a/n: okay, so this one is another from the old account. i wasn’t really sure if i was going to repost this one, just because i’m not as fond of billy as i used to be, but a lovely anon asked me to repost this one so here it is! i made a few edits and billy is definitely very ooc but i hope you enjoy nevertheless <3

NOT MY GIF! CREDIT TO THE OWNER!

You let out an amused snort at something Steve had said as you sat on one of the couches in Mike’s living room. Max and El were tucked under each of your arms, snuggled into your side as they shook against you with laughter. 

You were having your bi-weekly movie night with the party, Steve and Robin. You were currently on your third movie and, surprisingly, everyone was seated and watching the movie instead of running around or arguing like usual. 

You looked around the room, smiling at the people you got to call family, however your smile faltered slightly as you wished your boyfriend could be here too. You and Billy had been dating for a few months, secretly, and contrary to popular belief, he was a real gentleman. He treated you like a princess and he’s been there for you through tough times, especially your frequent panic attacks.

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