Young and dumb (Klaus Hargreeves x Fem!Reader)
FLUFF ❣️ FLUFFY AUGUST 🖇️
🎵 Inspired by the song “Young and Dumb” – Cigarettes After Sex
Theme: Late-night nostalgia, reckless love, emotional intimacy
Summary: You and Klaus were inseparable in your youth — rebels with no cause, hearts stitched together by impulsive decisions and whispered secrets in the dark. Years later, Klaus shows up at your door again, barefoot and bleeding and smiling like nothing’s changed.
The rain had started again — soft, slow, like it didn’t want to disturb anyone. The kind of rain that made your apartment feel like a postcard. Faded neon from the corner store bled into your windows. You were sitting on the couch, one leg tucked under the other, a half-finished mug of tea on the table, and a lifetime of silence in your hands.
Then: three knocks.
Not loud. Just… familiar.
You opened the door and there he was — Klaus Hargreeves, exactly as you remembered him and also entirely wrecked. Barefoot, bleeding slightly from the knuckles, eyeliner smudged, hair clinging to his face like a wet promise.
“Klaus?” you breathed.
“Hi, love,” he said, like no time had passed. “You still make that mint tea that tastes like summer, or did I dream that?”
You didn’t ask what happened. You never did. That was always your curse with him — you let Klaus Hargreeves in like gravity, like you didn’t know better, like being young and dumb still lived in your bloodstream.
He dropped onto your couch with the same familiarity as he used to drop acid: casual, careless, and with both eyes closed.
“You shouldn’t have come,” you whispered, handing him a towel.
“Yeah,” he said, accepting it with a grin. “But I did. Like always.”
⸻
You remember the nights you ran away together — not from anyone, really, just from the tight ache of being too much in a world that asked for less. You remember his hand in yours at 2am, your laughter bouncing off alley walls like fireworks. He used to kiss you like he was drowning and you were the only air he trusted.
“I missed you,” he says now, drying off his fingers, your towel now stained with little flecks of blood and eyeliner.
You should tell him to go. You should remind him of the last time — the words thrown, the promises broken, the long drives in opposite directions.
But instead, you say:
“Wanna stay the night?”
He blinks at you, lashes still damp. “I always wanna stay, sweetheart. I just never know if I’m allowed to.”
You sit beside him, legs touching.
“You never needed permission. That was the problem.”
He laughs quietly.
“You’re still so beautiful. That also… kinda the problem.”
⸻
It’s past midnight when you end up in your old T-shirt, the one he used to steal. He finds it on the corner of your bed and holds it like it’s proof that none of it was a dream.
Lying there, you speak into the dark.
“Do you ever think… maybe we were just young and dumb?”
Klaus turns to you, eyes heavy but honest.
“Maybe. But I’d rather be young and dumb with you than old and wise without you.”
You smile — soft, broken, real. And then he’s kissing you like the years didn’t happen. Like neon lights and rainy nights and bad decisions were still poetry in your veins.
And for the first time in a long time, you let him stay.
———
