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dreaming-medium · 6 months

Text

No Contact

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort

Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.

A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3

—————————————————————

No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process.

No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None.

He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.

Hell, it might even make you worse.

It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward.

But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star.

It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?

You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did.

He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party.

He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.

But he wasn’t.

A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.

Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle.

For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.

He was the last to know.

After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.

Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup.

Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup?

You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible.

It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup.

Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing.

Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out.

He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn…

He never got to see you.

“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?

“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”

A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”

Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped.

Does that mean…?

No…

“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“

The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”

Chan was suddenly in a chair.

When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.

“It’s not forever, son.”

Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.

Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.

He gets it now.

The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly.

Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.

Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?

Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?

“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”

It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort.

You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.

It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him.

Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them.

God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.

How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?

5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift.

He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to.

Mice would get to it before you did.

His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin.

All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.

It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved.

Just like him.

It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces.

He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time.

Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.

Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of.

Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together.

There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his.

You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM.

This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return.

It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much.

Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now?

Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before.

Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago.

You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you.

To him too.

It’s the library where he first met you.

The same library Chan finds himself in front of now.

He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside.

Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working.

Absolutely not.

The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful.

There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet.

Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were.

His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves.

There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it.

On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face.

Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option.

When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head.

Your eyes met. He was a goner.

How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you.

Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.

Maybe you’re not working today?

No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere.

Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway.

He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here.

His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time.

Empty.

You-less.

If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks.

What a moment.

Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?

He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio.

Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.

“Can I help you find something?”

His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone.

Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch.

His throat immediately tightens.

There you are. You. Beautiful you.

Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger.

“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?

You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something.

Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”

No.

“Yeah.”

You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”

He knows.

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin.

Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows.

You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”

Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug.

He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.

But—

“If you need anything, let me know.”

You start to walk away.

Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please.

His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!

“W-Wait!” he says quickly.

You turn around with a curious look.

“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”

He knows. You collect different translations of it.

“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”

With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics.

He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months.

You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies.

Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you.

The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day.

Y/N, please.

“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book.

Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry.

“Thank you,” he whispers back.

You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower.

From foot to foot, your weight shifts.

You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?

“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”

It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you.

You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them.

Y/N, please.

“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself.

Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck!

Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world.

Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite.

He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks.

He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow.

Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it.

He knows everything.

“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained.

You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?

“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”

Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes.

“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out.

Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments.

After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper.

“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”

Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you.

Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”

Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him.

Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in.

Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.

“Chan,” he answers softly.

“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him.

Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.

“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth.

“You too, Chan.”

And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus.

—————————————————————

A bad idea was going into the library that day.

An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going.

And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him.

And the worst part? You said yes.

So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date.

How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how.

Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings.

His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother.

“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything.

“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone.

“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous.

“How are you? Is everything okay?”

“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”

Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth.

“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”

His jaw clenches. Now or never.

“It’s with me,” he blurts.

Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth.

“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”

He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you.

“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself.

“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused.

She’s right. What if you don’t?

“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”

Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”

—————————————————————

“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table.

Yes, you have.

“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water.

“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”

He looks back down at the old menu.

This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town.

The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late.

“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu.

He’s more nervous now than on the first date.

“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile.

A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”

It was your favorite.

“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu.

His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“‘Cause of your allergy.”

He stops.

You stop.

He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy.

His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”

Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”

You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”

He definitely did not say something.

Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before.

The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.

You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe.

A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you.

Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks.

You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully.

“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”

He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused?

“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out.

What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you?

“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick.

Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?

“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”

He licks his lips and opens his mouth.

Your phone rings.

A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest.

Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”

“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock.

A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet.

“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”

Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance.

—————————————————————

It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park.

“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”

You already have.

“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket.

“Changbin sounds like a blast.”

He was your favorite before.

“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”

And you have.

A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation.

Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it.

With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side.

You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.

“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings.

Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours.

The brightest smile stretches over your face.

God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.

He can’t help it.

He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk.

“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease.

He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”

Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now.

“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”

“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”

Another laugh from you.

“Shameless flirt.”

He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”

Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you.

Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe.

It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago.

He wants to kiss you so bad.

Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?

Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop.

“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin.

Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident.

It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago.

The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features.

Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch.

His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up.

Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that.

You’re always so enchanting.

Is this a good idea?

Is kissing you the best option?

But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?

Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop.

One look into your eyes quells that anxiety.

Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside.

He can’t take it anymore.

Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.

But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach.

He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers.

It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t.

He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips.

But he is.

He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss.

How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers.

Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again.

Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose.

God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good.

His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer.

He immediately stops.

Why is your face wet?

Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression.

You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?

Your eyes open and you look at him confused.

“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?

“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.

Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears.

“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”

Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused.

Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window.

Every muscle in your face is twitching.

What’s happening?

“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob.

Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident.

Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?

Please.

Slowly, your hand falls from his.

Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on.

He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.

You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.

Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own.

“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time.

He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore.

But you do.

“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You know him.

“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”

Chan. Not Channie.

He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation.

Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs.

“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”

Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over.

The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you.

You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.

“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”

You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared.

“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”

Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming.

“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.”

How is your voice so even?

Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck.

He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him.

“I—“ he starts but you cut him off.

“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.

“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest.

More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow.

“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”

Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest.

Him. You’re talking about him.

Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying.

Nothing has ever hurt this bad.

You know him. You just don’t know it’s him.

Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”

Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it.

You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest.

That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter.

“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”

A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling.

A sob tears from his throat.

You grip his hand tighter.

“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat.

“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”

Oh, god, Y/N.

“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”

He breaks.

He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm.

He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you.

Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist.

Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.

Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out.

You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline.

Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it.

Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you.

“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”

Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms.

“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.”

Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat.

“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”

Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs.

Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face.

“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Channie. You called him Channie.

He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair.

You’re still crying. Both of you are.

“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest.

All he can do is cry.

Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night.

The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over.

Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.

You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong.

“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.

“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”

He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently.

“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”

Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you.

"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."

His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.

The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.

It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.

But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.

The burn is soothed.

“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”

His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”

“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”

Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws.

You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it.

His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle

“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”

“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz x y/n #bang chan #bang chan fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #bangchan fanfic #bangchan x reader

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withlovemark · 3 months

Text

all of the moments that led me to you. (ii)

warning(s): steve's black eye (again), mentions of: gun, car crash, death.

pairing: steve x reader

words: 6.3k+

summary: a continuation of moments with steve harrington. takes place in season three.

an: first, thank u so so much for over 1k hearts on aotm pt 1 and to be loved. it’s unbelievable to me that that many people have read my writing. i’ve been writing and posting my stories on here a long time and this helps me feel like i’ve been growing, even just a little 🥹

second, i'm so sorry this took so long. i have no other excuse except the devil himself - mr. writer's block. thank whoever the hell is controlling my sim that they got rid of him (at least for now) and now i'm finally here to share this with you

hope you like it <3

yr. 1984

yr. 1985

i. robin’s game of you rule/you suck, intercepting russians and suzie

quickly walking into scoops ahoy, you finally catch up to the curly headed kid, just in time to witness your favorite boys reunite through a silly greeting.

you let them have their moment before finally making your presence known, “hey there sailor,” you greet steve with a quick hug, his frame enveloping you.

he whines at the nickname, knowing how much you enjoy the little blue sailor outfit on him, mind wandering back to when you first saw him in the get up.

“oh. my. god,” you gasp, a hand to your mouth, trying to hold your laughter in as he makes his way back into his room, after finally successfully putting on his “uniform.”

“don’t say a word,” he warned, hands on his hips.

“steve harrington. you are sooo…” he raises his eyebrows, lips morphing into a thin line, daring you to finish your sentence.

“…pretty,” you giggle, closing the distance to adjust the sailor tie around his neck. he could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat, maybe two.

“it's not TOO bad, girls LOVE a man in uniform,” you tease, sitting back down on the edge of his bed.

a playful smirk on your lips as his sailor hat comes in contact with your face in a matter of seconds causing a bubble of laughter to ring in his ear.

a sound that has grew to be his favorite.

“sorry we came unannounced,” your voice brings him back to the ice cream parlor.

“he got home from summer camp today,” you explain, motioning to dustin who was now seated calmly in a booth, “and immediately asked me to drive him here so he could see you,” you grin, steve returning the expression.

“i think you’re his favorite,” a pout grows on your lips, eliciting laughter from the boy who you now call your best friend. the two of you being glued to the hip since that night in 1984.

days with steve harrington included sneaking into movies, butter popcorn in hand; road trips to nowhere and everywhere all at the same time; late night conversations that lasted into the a.m., a judgment free zone.

“well, yeah, i think we’ve known that a while ago,” he teases, earning a playful shove from you.

“it’s ok though, i missed that little bugger too and there’s a new ice cream flavor i want you to try,” steve molds his hand into yours as he hurriedly leads you in front of the counter. the warmth of his hand disappearing as he made his way behind it.

you greet robin a quick hello and she acknowledges your presence by playfully saluting, making you smile.

“here, try it,” steve snaps your attention back to him, placing what seemed to be a cup of just plain old vanilla ice cream in front of you. upon further inspection you notice it has chunks of something in it.

“i don’t think ice cream should have that?,” you comment, eyeing it suspiciously.

“just try it!,” he says, nudging the ice cream closer to your face.

“alright, alright!,” you giggle, finally bringing the spoon between your lips. steve awaits your verdict, slightly bouncing up and down in excitement, eyebrows dancing.

“oh…wow,” your eyes widened, sparkling. tastebuds exploding at their new discovery.

he knew you’d like it.

“are those cookies?” you wonder aloud.

“mhmm, brand new flavor, cookies and cream, who would’ve thought huh?,” playfully raising his eyebrows as he stole the spoon from you, taking a bite out of your ice cream.

“how are things with laura?,” you bring up nonchalantly, stealing the spoon back from him.

“ugh, don’t even bring her up,” he rolls his eyes, grabbing another spoon from behind the counter while the two of you mildly attack the sweet cup.

“another bad date?,” you concluded, eyes focused on scooping up a spoonful of your newfound favorite ice cream flavor.

“we had absolutely nothing to talk about! i swear we just sat there and ate in silence the whole time,” he dramatically testified, shrugging his shoulders.

“was the sex good at least?,” you asked, his face cringing.

“didn’t have sex with her,” he shrugged, “i just went home after and crashed, i think i really am losing my game,” he jokes.

you know him well enough to know that he hasn’t been feeling as confident as he used to be. you think back to the night when steve confessed to you that he wasn’t able to get into the only college he applied to. on top of that, his dad cut half off his allowance and he’s now, as he would describe it, “stuck working at a job that pays $3 per hour.”

all in all, steve felt like he had hit rock bottom.

“how about you? how are things with isaac?,” steve smirked, changing the topic before you got to ask him if he was ok.

“eh,” you replied.

“ehhh?.” he mimics, urging you to go on.

“not gonna go anywhere, very cocky, talks too much…and he’s a lot better when he doesn’t speak,” you cringed, remembering the way the boy spoke about basketball and cars the whole time, not at all caring about any of your interests.

“maybe we should’ve switched dates?,” steve teases, head tilted.

you tuck away his golden locks that had fallen out of place and he finds himself holding a breath, eyes focused on your movements.

an action that was so familiar to him yet, lately, has been bringing up a weird feeling that he chooses to ignore.

“maybe we should have,” you playfully agreed, slowly retracting your hand, snapping steve back to reality.

“anyways, thank you for my new favorite ice cream flavor,” you approved of the cookies and cream.

“now, i have a favor to ask,” you grinned sheepishly.

“hm?” he hums, grabbing a napkin and wiping away the bits of ice cream that have stained your lips.

“can you watch dustin for the rest of the week? i have a bunch of cheerleading practices,” you explain, giving him the best puppy dog eyes you could muster, voice going a tad bit higher than usual.

“yeah, yeah, you don’t have to do that,” he shakes his head, smile on his lips, “i got it all handled here, go ahead and just leave me with the lil monster,” he teases dramatically, making you roll your eyes playfully before beaming at him.

“thank you, you’re the best!” you praised, lips planting a soft kiss upon his crimson cheeks, expressing your gratitude.

he ignores the way time slowed down for a second, that fleeting surge of electricity that danced within him, igniting a spark that he quickly brushes off.

“i know,” he winks as you swiftly turn around, grabbing your bag and making your way out of the ice cream parlor.

“stay safe!,” he shouts at your retreating figure.

“yes, dad!,” you tease, his face morphing into disgust. your laughter rings in his ears as you exit scoops ahoy right after lovingly messing up dustin’s pretty curls, an annoyed groan coming from the younger boy.

“i can’t believe it, harrington,” the sound of robin’s voice captures steve’s full attention, taking his eyes off of your retreating figure.

giving his coworker a pointed look, steve cluelessly wonders what she’s about to say when she pulled out her whiteboard and finally drew one tally mark under ‘you rule’

he rolls his eyes at robin, like he couldn’t believe what she just did, “hate to break it to you but i wasn’t flirting with her,” he defended himself.

“huh, you sure about that, loverboy?,” robin snickered, clearly not convinced with the golden boy’s answer.

“yes buckley, i’m sure,” steve deadpanned, “she’s my best friend alright so just…just erase that,” he mumbled, not entirely sure he believes his own words.

it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before…he has.

but falling for someone is never a good idea. he has firsthand experience that investing in love can be dangerous and if his worst fears happen, if the love unravels and crumbles down, he knows all too well that you will never get that same person back.

and falling for his best friend? it’s not a risk he’s willing to take.

he repeats to himself, ‘he must not have feelings for you. he simply doesn’t.’ these words continue to echo, living in his mind, until he believes them as truth.

“well i think she could be your suzie,” dustin pipes in, quickly introducing himself to robin.

“m-my what?,” steve inquired, the famous hand on his hip stance appearing.

“your. suzie.” dustin pronounced slowly like that was going to help steve understand what he was talking about, “like how i have my suzie,” he adds.

“and what the hell is a suzie?,” the older boy scoffed.

“my girlfriend,” steve’s eyes widened at the boy’s proclamation, refusing to believe what he just heard. there’s no way dustin henderson has it all figured out before him, especially in the ladies department.

“it’s not important right now,” dustin says, shaking his head, “i need to talk to you,” he says urgently.

“we’re talking right now,” steve points out the obvious.

“no,” dustin glares, “just you,” he continues, eyes glancing towards robin who just shrugged, not caring, as the two boy’s made their way back to dustin’s booth.

“i intercepted a secret russian communication,” he confessed to the older boy.

believe it or not, those words were music to steve’s ears.

‘finally, he’ll be of use again,’ he thinks to himself as they start decoding the russian’s riddles.

3 days later

the boys have vanished without a trace.

normally, steve would swing by after work, or when he was off – which you knew he was supposed to be, considering he gave you a copy of his schedule, – he would pick you up from cheerleading practices.

dustin was also nowhere to be seen and the uncertainty of their whereabouts fills you with growing concern.

there were no knocks at your window at midnight. no sound of an engine revving or the horn honking to greet you in the morning. not even the static sound from dustin’s talkie had made its appearance.

the last you heard from them was at the ice cream parlor. so after today’s practice, you were on a mission.

you rush to the mall, hoping to see both of them devouring ice cream, ready to hear their half-ass apologies on why they went radio silent only to be face to face with two unfamiliar employees behind the counter, robin also absent from the scene.

quickly, you drove to steve’s house, the maroon vehicle nowhere to be seen causing you to reroute your drive to dustin’s house - still nothing.

this puts an end to your speculations – the boys are in trouble.

and they left you here with nothing but silence and the fear that’s rising in the pit of your stomach.

you think back to where the kids usually were this summer and found yourself running down the wheelers’ basement, after mr. wheeler kindly let you in, only to reveal everyone else was already there…except for your two main culprits.

seven heads turn towards you, your entrance hushing their conversations, “have any of you seen steve and dustin?,” you ask as they all shake their head no.

“well,” max spoke up, hope glimmering in your eyes, “el and i saw him at the mall,” she revealed.

“when was that?,” you inquire.

“like, 2 days ago,” she quickly replies, making you groan in exasperation.

“hey,” nancy snaps you out of your despair, “they’ll be okay, it’s steve and dustin, they’re just probably out doing something ridiculous,” offering a smile, failing to comfort you.

bless her but the only thing you could think about was how the last time those two did something “ridiculous,” they almost died, making you sink deeper into concern.

“yeah, steve’s probably just helping him talk to his imaginary girlfriend,” mike chimes in as you remember the girl dustin briefly told you about when you drove him to starcourt mall.

‘that was plausible,’ you convince yourself, finally nodding and accepting their assumptions.

“we have bigger things to worry about,” jonathan said, directing the group’s attention back to their previous topic as they fill you in on the mind flayer — a mrs. driscoll, a tom and bruce, and a billy hargrove acting as its host.

you just hoped to god that steve and dustin really are just looking for suzie because if they were in any kind of danger, you might kill them yourself.

for now, you’d just have to play on this team.

ii. starcourt mall and the TODFTHR

starcourt mall in its after hours has a tauntingly beautiful presence, its hallways bathed in the soft glow of neon lights that crackle with static, creating an ambiance that breathes an almost palpable energy, as if the very essence of the mall comes alive in the quietude of the night.

dustin finally radioed in a while ago with another code red, making goosebumps rise throughout your body. “code red” was definitely the last thing you wanted to hear.

all the group could make out from him were the words, “open the gate,” and you knew this was all connected to everything you’ve seen in the past couple of hours.

“where the hell is he?,” mike whispers as max shushes him and you silently thank her in your head.

the group is extra attentive, everyone looking around in hopes they’ll find something out of place.

finally, a faint click reaches your ears, followed by hushed footsteps. you think you’ve imagined it until nancy voices your suspicions, “what was that?,” she whispers. you feel the blood draining from your face, heart racing, afraid of the events that could transpire.

following the sound, the group ends up at the second floor — right above the food court.

you spot the four men first, each one of them with their arms raised, gun aiming at a food stall.

eleven immediately steps in making the car alarm go off then proceeding to throw it at the armed men. she leaves you stunned and amazed, like she's been doing the whole day, and you can’t help but send her a smile of gratitude.

after a second or two, the two familiar heads finally emerged, eyes finding the golden ones you’ve grown accustomed to, all beaten up and bruised.

rushing towards them, you pull dustin into a tight hug first, exclaiming “where the hell have you been?….i’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“i’m okay, i’m okay! i promise! im sorry,” he apologizes as you quickly look him up and down, your protective side kicking in, checking for any signs of injury until he finally slipped from your hold, reuniting with his friends. forcing you to look up at the beaten up, beautiful boy in front of you.

“steve-,” you whisper, before running up to him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling him as close to you as possible. the beating of his heart against your ears, and in that moment, you feel like you can breathe again.

he holds you just as tight, visibly relieved that you’re unharmed. as he exhales a sigh of relief, you pull away slightly, inspecting the mark around his eye. soft hands ghosting over the bruise that was already starting to turn purple.

“didn’t i tell you to stop getting into fights?,” voice laced with concern as you fought to hold back tears, overwhelmed by the rush of comfort having him by your side brings.

“i know it doesn’t look like it, but i actually won,” he smiled, tenderly brushing away the tears in the corner of your eye before they could spill.

“what happened?,” you asked.

a light cough from behind him breaks you out of your embrace, slightly pushing the boy away from you and finally taking in robin’s presence.

their matching appearance doesn’t go unnoticed.

“we found a secret lair, got drugged by russians and then they beat up pretty boy over here for some answers,” they share a smile.

for a second, you feel your heart twinge. you’re not too sure whether it’s because the information robin shared painted a disturbing image in your mind or if it was because she was there and you weren’t.

you can’t allow yourself to dwell on it as the group finally reunites, connecting all the pieces together and figuring out the next step.

—

“oh screw tod, steve’s her daddy now,” steve says excitedly, as he got into the driver seat of the TODFTHER.

robin and erica comment on his use of referencing himself in the third person and the word “daddy,” causing you to laugh as you sat in the passenger seat. robin, erica and dustin squeezing in the back.

driving off with the scoops troops, you make your way to dustin’s tower.

“suzie must be pretty special, huh? for you to make this tower just for her,” you finally get a chance to interrogate the young boy, earning an excited nod from him and a groan from everyone else, making you feel like an outsider in their very obvious inside joke.

“he described her as scientifically perfect and has yet to shut up about her,” robin fills you in, obviously tired of the topic at hand.

“i mean, nobody’s scientifically perfect but suzie’s about as close to being perfect as any human could possibly be,” dustin added, causing more annoyed groans to slip from everyone’s lips except yours.

“she sounds made up to me. she sound made up to you?,” erica sassed back, resulting in an eye roll from the young boy.

“steve, y/n, you believe me right?,” he says, sitting forward, glancing between you and steve.

“of course,” you quickly assured him while steve remained silent, before finally nodding his head along with you.

“you hesitated,” dustin points out, a pout on his lip, “why did you hesitate, steve?”

“i didn’t hesitate!” he defends himself, his voice reaching a higher pitch.

the older boy turned towards you, asking for your help but all you could offer him was a shrug, a smile playing on your lips.

dustin impatiently repeats his question, finally getting his answer, “i don’t know man, no one is hotter than phoebe cates!,” steve bursts, earning a look of confusion from you and a whine from the younger boy, giggles bursting from the two girls sitting in the back.

you definitely missed out on a lot. and you realize how much you hate it.

“left. turn left.” dustin said suddenly, prying you away from your thoughts.

“there’s not a road here,” steve points out the obvious.

“turn left! now!” the younger boy yells urgently.

“jesus! hang on!” steve yelled before finally making a harsh left, your hands immediately going up your face, acting as a shield against the tree branches coming in contact with the vehicle.

“oh my god, where the hell are we going!?.” you shout through all the ruckus.

“just keep going!,” dustin continues with his unreasonable directions.

“we’re not gonna make it!,” robin yells from the back and you see determination flash in steve’s face.

“yes we are!, come on baby!” he urges TODFTHER to go on until it finally hit its’ limit, leaving the group stuck in the middle of the woods.

“guess, we’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” dustin says.

“how far is this thing?” erica says, voicing everyone’s annoyance.

iii. dustin’s tower and an epiphany

it wasn't long until the group finally made it to dustin’s radio tower, finally being able to instruct murray’s next steps.

you were seated on the field with the rest – the calmness before the storm.

“hey, guys?” steve’s voice causes the group to get up and follow his line of vision.

starcourt mall’s rapid flickering lights causing panic to rise in the air, dustin immediately runs back to his talkie, trying to radio the others but all that was received was a loud, screeching, monster noise. the younger boy repeatedly tries to get a response but all that was left was static.

steve makes up his mind, immediately getting up on his feet, ready to run towards the direction of the mall, but before he could get any further, your voice makes its way to his ears, halting his movements.

“where the hell are you going?,” you shot, panic evident in your voice.

“to get them the hell outta there!,” he exclaimed, adrenaline running through him. you knew you weren’t going to be able to persuade him to stay here with you. but after the past couple of days of thinking you’ve lost him, there’s no way, in hell, he’s leaving you here.

“i’m going with you,” you announced, already walking towards him.

“no,” he says sternly, meeting you in the middle, “just stay here, watch the kids,” his eyes pleading with you to obey.

“robin can watch them,” you countered quickly, reaching out for his hand, fingers fitting in yours perfectly.

“y/n-,” he whispers desperately. hoping you could hear how much he wants you to stay here, where it's safe.

he can’t keep putting you in dangerous situations just because he wants to play hero.

“you’re not going without me! i won’t let you!” standing your ground, your hand tightening around his.

steve can’t help but think back to earlier that night, sitting in the tiled bathroom of starcourt mall, robin opposite of him.

“i just don’t get it,” robin says groggily, slowly coming down from the high and voicing her opinions.

“what?,” steve looks at her, eyes droopy, mouth slightly agape.

“you…going on all of these dates,” robin pointed out, “how you don’t realize you have the perfect girl in front of you,” she wonders aloud he knows she wasn’t talking about herself, especially after she trusted him with her little secret.

“you don’t think i know that?,” steve says, eyes closing, head slowly coming in contact with the wall behind him, defeated.

“why don’t you do anything about it then?”

“because….because- she’s y/n! and i’m…” he pauses for a second, trying to find a better way to explain it to robin but all he could manage to say was “i’m just steve.”

“well ‘just steve,’ i think you’re pretty cool,” robin compliments him, allowing him to fully strip away the walls, his hidden feelings coming to surface.

“she has dreams and goals and i know damn well, she’s going to make every single one of those things happen, meanwhile, look at what i’m wearing! look at where i am! sitting on a bathroom floor, drugged!,-”

“hey, what does that say about me,” robin interjects.

“please, i practically dragged you in here with me,” he continues, “all i do is drag people into chaos….i dragged y/n in this mess too, i can’t continue holding her back,” an exasperated sigh escaping his lips.

“hm, you don’t have to hold her back, y’know?” robin countered, have you ever considered being the one to hold her hand and support her through all her ‘dreams and goals’?,” she asks, hopefully giving steve a new perspective.

“she doesn’t want that,” he says defeatedly.

“have you asked her?” robin questions. steve lets out a sigh before shaking his head no.

“you’ll never know if you never try, but if you need a little push, if i were her, after everything i’ve seen today, i would’ve left a long time ago,” she says like a prophet.

those words echo in his ears now and he sees it all clearly.

you stayed.

you could have left, could have stopped talking to him and walked away forever. yet here you are, gazing at him with pleading eyes, hands in his, hoping he won’t let go.

that fact is evident to him now as he feels your hand tightening around his.

steve found himself nodding slowly, a blast of realization striking him. you mirrored his gesture, sealing an unspoken agreement – minds and bodies communicating before any words were uttered.

within the next second, the two of you made your way back to TODFTHER, headed to the mall - together.

iv. the car crash and neverending story

“holy shit, hoLY SHIT! STEVE-,” you shout, the boy’s foot not leaving the gas as the car continues to accelerate.

steve takes a quick glance at you, “PUT YOUR SEATBELT ON!,” he yells and you quickly obey his order knowing he has no intention of stepping on the brake.

as soon as he heard the little click, with both hands on the wheel, steve immediately stepped on the gas, the car accelerating at a speed you couldn’t even imagine. you can’t help but hold your breath, scared for the impact you know is about to come.

in a matter of seconds, TODFTHER crashes into the black car driven by billy hargrove — bursting it into flames. nothing can be heard but the ringing in your ear as you try to refocus. this wouldn’t be the first time the two of you had matching concussions because of billy.

“are you okay?,” steve immediately inspects you, unbuckling your seatbelt, warm hands gently cupping your cheeks, eyes finding yours. your chest heaving, trying to make sense of how the two of you were still alive.

as you catch your breath, you look up into his golden eyes, rapid breaths syncing. then, in one swift moment, his lips are on yours, in a quick, passionate kiss.

well, this is definitely not how steve imagined his first kiss with you.

he pulls away as soon as he registers his actions and you’re left breathless, not at all sure with what happened.

“sorry, i got caught in the moment,” he panics.

“it’s okay,” you nod still trying to catch your breath.

you don’t catch the way his eyes lose a little glimmer of hope. he’s about to take back what he said until the mindflayer makes an appearance on top of the building and you both very much snap out of the trance, being reminded that you were still in the middle of the battle.

nancy directs your attention to her, yelling for your safety. steve immediately jumps out of the car, his warm hands instinctively grabbing yours, making sure you enter the car first.

silence envelops the vehicle, everyone too afraid to say anything as the haunting size of the creature continues to taunt the group.

it wasn’t until dustin’s voice rang into the air followed by a young girl that everyone finally released the breath they were holding.

you look at steve with recognition, “suzie,” you say in harmony and he can’t help but be in awe.

“you’re going to have to say sorry for doubting him,” you tease, making steve chuckle.

he liked that. the fact that you guys can immediately joke around like he didn’t just kiss you after he crashed the car that could’ve caused your deaths.

suzie-poo and dusty-bun keeps the group entertained, especially when they start singing a duet to never ending story.

steve looks at you like this is the craziest thing he’s ever heard, the rest of group looking disgusted.

you can’t help but giggle, quietly singing along to dustin, for only steve to hear, making him shake his head in disbelief.

“i cant believe she’s real,” steve says after the musical that is probably in the top three most life changing moments in his life and the two of you break out in quiet giggles.

v. ambulances and “friends?”

the battle was bloody and not everyone came back unscathed. some didn’t come back at all. hopper made a huge sacrifice. billy was dead.

now everyone was seated in their own ambulances, near star court mall, waiting for clearance.

you’ve spent the last hour trying to comfort max in her grief. losing billy like that, right in front of her eyes, left her in her thoughts, refusing to talk to anyone.

the only reason she let you in was because you knew her brother in a different light, unlike the others who has always viewed him as the villain.

“is it bad that part of me is relieved?,” max quietly whispers like she didn’t even want you to hear it, almost like the guilt of saying it out loud was going to kill her.

you shake her head no, “grief can present itself in different ways, you don’t have to feel a certain way,” you reassure the younger girl, “just feel what you’re feeling now and take it day by day” you try to comfort her, hoping your words can somehow reach her.

meanwhile steve was with dustin and robin, sitting in a different ambulance.

“i kissed her,” steve confessed to the duo.

“you kissed her?” robin and dustin says at the same time. one with pride, the other, shocked.

“i. kissed. her.” steve repeats, more to affirm himself that it actually happened and it wasn’t just the drugs that had completely worn off at the time nor was it the concussion he surely had.

he really kissed you. he knows its true because if he closes his eyes and think about it hard enough, he can still feel the softness of your lips on his.

“well are you gonna go talk to her about it?,” robin breaks him out of his daydream and the question immediately causes bubbles to rise through his stomach.

he feels like he's going to throw up.

“what if i dont?,” he panted, “i did tell her it was just a spur of a moment thing,” he reveals.

“now, why would you tell her that?” dustin says like a father disappointed in his kid.

“i don’t want to ruin our friendship!” he defends himself, arms flailing in the wind.

“you already kissed her dumbass, thats like #1 on things not to do to ruin a friendship,” robin points out and he knows there’s no way he was going to win this two to one battle.

he was going to have to talk to you.

“hey,” steve's hushed voice breaks you out of your own thoughts.

max has left you on your own a while ago, saying she just wanted to be alone. when she was gone, you had a bit of time to process everything as much as you can at the moment.

“you okay?” steve asks softly.

giving him a small smile, you pat the empty space beside you, inviting him in your ambulance, “could be better, but yeah…i'm okay, are you?”

he nods, answering your question. “are you sure?... billy is gone,” he mentions cautiously, afraid of how you would react but prepared to offer comfort.

“well... i do feel sorry for max, she’s the one that lost her brother tonight,” he nods, understanding what you meant.

billy was long gone for you. surely, not like this — never would you have wanted it to be like this. but he no longer occupies any part of your mind and definitely not your heart.

“do you know what actually scared me?” you whisper, your breath coming in contact with the cold air. his silence urges you to go on.

“when i couldn’t find you,” you admit to him and to yourself.

steve sees everything that he needs to see in your eyes – love, fear, a hint of sadness.

he has the urge to pull you into him, to feel your lips like he did earlier that night. but before he does, he knows he has to come clean. he has to do it right this time.

“i have to tell you something,” he says urgently.

“if something like tonight ever happens again, god i hope it doesn’t, but if it did and i never got to say this, i would hate myself forever,” he rambles, trying to buy time. he knows that after he says what he’s about to say then things with you will take a turn.

“you're scaring me steve…what is it?” you ask, softly placing your hand on top of his shaking leg, hoping to somehow help him calm down. he takes a second to gather his composure.

to make sure he says the words the way you deserve to hear them – honest, sweet, gentle.

“y/n, i am in love with you,” he confesses into the night air, soft brown eyes locked on yours.

you stare at him, eyes slightly widening, registering his words.

for steve, time seemed to stretch endlessly, it could've been three seconds or three minutes but but it was unquestionably the longest silence he had ever endured.

when you still haven’t said anything, he realizes he has made a mistake and knows he has to fix it, immediately.

“a-and you don't have to say it back!, i'm not asking for anything!, i mean it would be nice but i'm totally okay with just being fr-” he fumbles over his words, hoping that dustin could find some sort of way to teleport back in time to prevent this confession from happening. but then he feels it — soft lips pressing against his own, shutting him up ever so sweetly.

his body responds instinctively, returning the gentle kiss, eyes fluttering close. this was how it was supposed to go.

“please don’t say you're okay with us just being friends,” you tease, finally easing his racing thoughts.

he chuckles softly, “i am… i am not okay with us just being friends,.” he admits, mirroring your expression.

“good.”

that one word was all it took for all of steve's worries to fade, happily pulling you closer until there are no spaces left to fill.

bonus: pretty privilege (3 months later)

walking into family video, you gently drop steve’s hand, immediately missing the warmth it provided and causing a tiny frown to appear on your boyfriend’s face.

“hey keith,” you greeted the boy behind the counter sweetly.

“h-hi y/n, what can i do for you?,” he was grinning from ear to ear and you knew this was going to be easy.

“do you think,” you start, voice going an octave higher, an innocent glow in your eyes, “you maybe have two job positions open, right now?,” you finish, a hand placed softly, and very calculatedly on his arm. you were completely taking advantage of his “secret” crush on you.

steve glances between the two of you in disbelief.

meanwhile, the boy behind the counter was a blushing mess, mumbling a “god, y-you’re so pretty,” and steve has to physically hold himself back from kicking the air.

keith leans over the counter, “yeah, i’m-” he starts to say, but before he could end his sentence, steve’s hands wrapped protectively around yours, dragging you out of sight and in between one of the aisles.

“what are you doing?,” he quietly blurted once the two of you were out of sight. his arms crossing against his chest, biceps protruding, eyebrows going up.

“trying to get you and robin a job,” you reminded him of the reason why the three of you were even in this store in the first place.

“yeah but what’s with the cute voice and the eyes!,” he points out, “oh keith! do you have a job opening right now?,” he bats his eyelashes, mimicking you, completely appalled by the way you used your cute voice that was only supposed to be reserved for him.

“okay first of all, i do not sound like that. second, it’s pretty privilege steve and you have to know when to use it,” he rolls his eyes at your answer.

“yes, you do sound like that!” he whines like a five year old child, “...omygosh keith you’re so manly!, you have a job, you-,” he continues mocking.

“steve harrington,” you cut him off, “are you jealous?,” you accuse, holding back your smile.

“i don’t get jealous,” he scoffs, an absurd expression on his face like he couldn’t believe you even suggested that.

“really? because you’re looking pretty green right now,” you tease, a small smile playing on your lips.

“y/n it’s physically impossible for people to turn green,” he rolls his eyes. you ignore the use of your name.

“it’s a metaphor,” you tease.

“you're a metaphor,” he mocks and you can’t stand it anymore, he’s acting too cute.

“you're cute when you’re jealous,”

“you really shouldn't be though,” you continue.

“yeah i know...its just keith,”

“no, its because i’m all yours, steve harrington.”

in an instant, all annoyance melts away from him and you know you won. your hands instinctively thread behind his neck, grabbing a hold of his curls, a routine you’re now all too familiar with but could never get enough of.

the taste of strawberry chapstick mingles with spearmint. steve senses your smile against his lips, pulling you closer as his hands encircle your waist, deepening the kiss. soft moans escape your lips, audible only to him.

he craves more of you, currently wishing you were alone in the comfort of his room, his car, or anywhere but here, in the middle of all these vhs tapes.

“ehem,” robin’s cough breaks the two of you apart, making you jump.

quickly wiping your lips, you push steve away, taking notice of the lipstick that was now painted on him before sending robin an apologetic smile.

it’s all too easy to get lost in the boy beside you.

“are you lovebirds done or should i go watch a movie first?,” she says sarcastically. she was honestly over all the lip locking. it was cute at first but the honeymoon phase is now starting to tire the rest of the group.

“well, you could-” steve starts.

you quickly jab him in the stomach, shutting him up. “sorry,” you smile sheepishly at robin, “yes, we’re done.”

robin chuckles, “whatever, i got us the job” she states, ready to get out of there.

“how?,” steve asks, head tilting to the side.

“told him that steve’s a real chick magnet and he’ll attract a lot of customers...especially hot babes,” she shrugs like it didn’t take any work.

“ahh,” you nod slowly, agreeing, then redirecting your focus back to steve.

“see. pretty privilege.” you point out, making steve chuckle, his fingers naturally wrapping around yours as the three of you finally walk out of the store.

and no, you don’t miss the way he looks back at keith with a smirk.

an: i will not promise a next year this time because in all honesty, i got nothing but moment titles. if i do write one, it will just be randomly posted one day lol.

thank you for reading! and if you were here when i first posted part one (exactly a year ago), extra love to you<3

please feel free to drop your thoughts, comments, suggestions, etc, in my inbox <3 (anons are welcomed!)

#aotm #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #stranger things x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x y/n

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usedtobecooler · 1 year

Text

this must be the place

eddie munson x steve harrington x afab!reader | 8.6k words

summary: the summer of 1985 is only just beginning when a trip to scoops ahoy! unlocks some deeply hidden feelings you have swirling in your stomach for steve harrington. eddie munson won't let you live it down, and maybe that’s due to his own feelings too, but a chance encounter on a hot night at lovers lake sends you all down a rabbit hole you could never of prepared for.

content warnings: 18+ only minors dni, sexual content (threesome, piv sex, oral sex male receiving, dirty talk, van sex), porn with plot, eddie and reader are fwbs with feelings, gentle bullying and banter, eddie is canonically queer, mentions of past king!steve, brief homophobia mentions, a heartfelt conversation. feelings are felt on all three sides, if you don't like it look away <3 reader isn't explicitly described as alt/goth but it's implied.

Steve Harrington is staring at you.

In his silly little sailor uniform, eyeing you up whilst you silently pick at your banana sundae. It’s strange, truly, because Steve Harrington was a certified ladykiller, and had been for as long as you’d known him. You’d seen him lay on the signature moves one too many times during previous encounters, always making the girls blush and ogle at him dreamily as he told them exactly what they wanted to hear.

So, why was he looking at you like a classified moron? Like a little creep who had no idea how to interact with women?

He was unfairly attractive, even when he was watching you like a dumbass. Dark lashes fanning his cheeks when he blinked — freckled, tan skin and juicy, almost glossy looking lips. He was so pretty it was kind of hard to look at him. Nobody was immune to the Harrington charm, not even you, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself he didn’t have an affect on you.

You take longer than you care to admit to before you catch yourself staring back behind hooded lids, and Steve notices, gives you a small smile. You duck your head back down, a heat spreading over your cheeks – why were you acting like a schoolgirl?!

“Don’t turn around, but—“ you barely even get the sentence out before Eddie’s whipping his head around like an idiot, facing exactly where Steve is standing, the poor guy frozen like a deer caught in the headlights, a dark flush spreading on his shocked face before he’s turning away. He hastily retreats through the barn doors to the back room, and you’re almost positive you see a cartoonish puff of air that his disappearing act leaves in his wake.

“What the hell was that, Munson? I fucking said not to turn around,” you hiss through gritted teeth, leaning forward to smack Eddie’s bare arm with your sundae spoon. Eddie feigns a little hurt noise in the back of his throat, rubbing at the red patch of skin where you’d spanked him with the silverware.

“Hey! No hitting,” Eddie whines, leaning forward and stealing the glazed cherry from your sundae, popping it in his mouth with a delighted grin. You go to make a noise of protest, and he’s already butting in, “Nuh-uh, I think not, brat. That’s payment for the tyranny of abuse I have to deal with.”

You roll your eyes, digging your spoon into the melting ice cream, grimacing — you never liked the texture of ice cream once it began to heat, “Stop being such a big crybaby,” it comes out as a grumble, no menace behind it, as you pay even more unneeded attention to the dripping cream that spills from the lip of the spoon, “I swear Steve was like… staring at me.”

Eddie snorts, swiping the glass from your side of the table. You let him, too — you didn’t want it anymore, and Eddie was a creep who liked melted ice cream, especially when all the flavours swirled together and created an almost grey-like colour, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’ve got a giant zit on your forehead — I’ve been staring, too.”

“Oh, real cute, Eddie.” You roll your eyes, but your hand comes up to your face, fingertips gently running over your smooth skin to make sure there were in fact no pimples. Eddie chortles at that, too, knowing he’d got you concerned about the possibility of there being an actual zit that Steve Harrington was indeed staring at. The thought alone was mortifying.

You watch in disgusted wonderment as he tucks into the ice cream like a man starved. He always ate like he hadn’t had a meal in months, it bordered on gross. You grimace a little when ice cream dribbles out the corner of his mouth, though you catch yourself fighting not to lean over and swipe it away like the main character in a John Hughes movie.

“Remind me again why I suck face with you for fun?” You ponder, mostly to yourself, but Eddie’s looking at you with his stupid, big doe eyes and this goofy grin on his face, so you don’t even need him to tell you the answer.

You know why.

“Saw Harrington checking you out today,” Eddie says, almost conversationally, and you scoff — you’re literally riding his dick, what sort of fucking thing to say during sex is that?

“What?” You ask, bewilderment etched on your features as you stop your rhythm, planting your ass firmly on Eddie’s thighs and he groans, the tight heat of your pussy completely enveloping his length making him shudder.

“Shit, why’d you stop?” He whines, head landing with a small thump against your soft pillows, his big brown orbs rolling into the back of his skull. He grips onto your hips tightly, rucking up into you for emphasis, and you gasp.

“Why are you thinking about Steve Harrington when your dick is in me?” You counter, rolling your hips until your clit catches on the thatch of dark hair nestled on Eddie’s pubic bone, a shudder vibrating through your whole body from the sensation.

“I wasn’t,” Eddie argues, but it’s half-assed. He grows impatient quickly, slides an arm around your back and flips you over in one motion — it’s pretty smooth, especially for Eddie, who was mostly gangly and not in control of his own limbs at any given time. You keen into it, a shocked little moan escaping you when he bottoms out once more, ruddy head of his cock sliding against your front wall, “Jus’ think he wants to fuck you, is all.”

You narrow your eyes, a smirk playing on the corners of your lips, “Why do you sound jealous?” You cackle, sighing softly when Eddie ruts into you deeper, staking his claim without a single word, “You’re the one fucking me right now, not him. You worried he’s gonna steal me away? That maybe he’d be better? Bigger?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow at that, any sweetness in his glassy eyes vanishing when you speak. You’re in for it, truly. You’ve touched a nerve, and he’s wound up. You can’t help the way your chest tightens, a heat blooming in you that’s a mix of want and pride. It was so easy to rile him up.

“You’re gonna regret that, brat,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, gripping at the underside of your thighs, bruisingly tight, hauling your knees up to your ears. The new angle makes you cry out, his cock bruising into your cervix, “There you go, sweetheart. Cry for my cock. Beg for it.”

You can’t get Steve Harrington out of your mind. It’s not that you deliberately think of him, it’s just hard not to when he’s suddenly everywhere.

You watch from your bedroom window with a furrowed brow as said Steve Harrington climbs out of his ridiculously flashy Bimmer, dressed in too-tight faded jeans, a grey shell jacket and a plain white tee underneath. He’s so fucking tan, like he’s been out bathing in the heat of Indiana’s summer all day and not working under the harsh fluorescent lights in Scoops.

You bite at your glossy lip, wondering if there’s any tan lines there or if he’s truly that tanned all over. Wondering if his moles and beauty marks dip below the collar of his jacket, desperately wanting to trace them with your tongue and make him squirm.

Linda Curtis bounces out of her front door, adjacent to your own, permed blonde hair pulled back in a claw clip, dressed in the ugliest pink shirt you've ever seen. Linda was an ex drama club nerd, had vaguely run in the same circle as Steve used to during Senior year, once she got her braces off and Tommy considered her hot. Billy Hargrove drove her to school one goddamn time and that was it, she was hot shit everybody wanted. What Steve saw in her, you would never know, but it took all sorts. Or whatever Eddie said.

You watch curiously as the Harrington charm works it’s magic right in front of your very eyes, Steve steps in close to Linda, brushes a loose curl back out of her eyes — Jesus Christ, why was that doing something for you — and says something you can’t make out, but it’s enough to have Linda blushing and pulling nervously on the hem of her denim shorts.

Why were you jealous?

The telltale noise of an obnoxiously loud horn honking lets you — and probably the entire neighbourhood — know Eddie had arrived to pick you up, snapping you completely out of your daydream. Your lips curl up into a smirk when both Linda and Steve jump ten feet at the sound, Steve rolling his eyes and scoffing.

What a bitch.

Eddie catches you looking from your window and lets out an obnoxious laugh, grinning up at you with his annoyingly perfect teeth. You wanted to punch him, maybe, but Friday nights were for one thing and one thing only, and that was getting high at Lovers Lake in the flatbed of the van.

So it’d have to wait until you didn’t need him for the weed or the ride.

Summer meant the pretty sunset as a backdrop whilst you smoked the day's events away — it somehow made everything that little bit more relaxing, watching the swirls of orange, pink and purple melt together as your brain fogged with the drugs, a nice settling in your tummy as your high took over.

It was second only to the heavy September rain that you loved so much, you found yourself yearning for it all year around. The loud patter of the large droplets clinking on the tin roof of Eddie’s van, buried under a nest of blankets to keep the cool chill off your arms and legs. Eddie’s hot breath fanning over your neck as he kissed it, chest heavy against your back. Warm, solid and comforting.

Maybe you were in love with him, or maybe you weren’t. You didn’t want to think too much about that.

You glide out of the house as quietly as you can muster, not wanting to arouse suspicion about where you were going. Even in your twenties, your parents would still have a few choice words for you in regards to Eddie Munson, and you were in no mood for the lecture. You’d heard it too many times in the years you’d known him, since fifth grade when he pushed you in the playground and you pulled his hair in retaliation.

From that moment on you were inseparable, to the dismay of your parents.

You’re aware of two other sets of eyes watching you from across the street as you bounce down the driveway, all smiles as excitement thrums through your entire body. Eddie’s maybe looking at you like you hung the fucking moon or something, but that’s probably to do with the fact you’re wearing his shirt and looking the epitome of hot.

Okay, maybe you had a complex.

“So that’s where my shirt went,” Eddie hums, giving you an appreciative once-over as you wrench the passenger door open with a horrific sounding crunch of metal, “looks better on you, I’ve gotta say.”

You clamber into the van with a huff, laughter spilling into it, “Yeah, yeah. You don’t need to woo me, Munson. We’re gonna fuck anyway, don’t worry.”

Eddie laughs loud and so fucking obnoxious, as if for somebody else’s entertainment, and it does catch the attention of the lovebirds on the other side of the road. You look over just as Steve catches your eyes, and suddenly your chest feels kind of heavy as he stares at you with a kind of intensity that you can’t put a finger on.

“Take a fuckin’ picture, Harrington,” Eddie cackles, head basically out the fucking window and he’s grinning at them both, snapping you completely out of it, “that’s as close as you’re getting to her, count your lucky stars.”

Linda turns her nose up, like she’s disgusted at the fact that Eddie even so much as looked in her direction, however Steve flusters. His cheeks flush with something akin to embarrassment, and he turns his head to hide from you both, instead busying himself with grappling for Linda’s hands once more.

Eddie laughs almost maniacally as you take off, tyres squealing and kicking up loose stone chips in your wake, “Little Stevie didn’t know what to do with himself!”

“He looked mortified.” You agree quietly, sinking into your seat with a little grin. Something about Eddie having that effect on Steve from such a simple little sentence was almost entertaining, considering how things once were.

Eddie and Steve weren’t friends. In fact quite the opposite. Steve and Tommy were miserable assholes for years, made Eddie’s life hell at any given turn unless they needed him for drugs.

You think back, and truthfully the turning point was during Junior year. Steve had tripped Eddie in the hall, called him ‘queer’. Eddie didn’t stand for that, sucker punched Steve right in the jaw, hard enough that his skull hit the locker adjacent to him.

“That shit might hurt you when your daddy calls you it, but you’ve gotta do a lot worse than call me exactly what I am as an insult, Harrington.” Eddie had grinned, vicious and seething, as he watched Steve clutch desperately at his bruised jaw, wide eyed and hair askew from the force.

Steve never bothered Eddie again after that.

In fact, not long after, Steve never bothered anybody again. Maybe the knock to the head had quite literally knocked some sense into him, or something.

“You good?” Eddie’s voice, his large hand gripping your thigh knocks you back into reality, out of the daydream, and the grounding is enough to have your entire body melting into the simple touch.

“You ever think about what you’re gonna do if the band doesn’t work out?” You ask quietly, shoulders aching from where they dig into the bulky metal on the backs of Eddie’s front seats. The ringing in your ears drowns out the cricket chirps now, eyes hazy and no doubt bloodshot to hell, two joints deep and all that.

You can feel Eddie’s gaze on the side of your face, like he’s trying to bore a hole into your skull and rummage around in your brain, those wide dark chocolate eyes staring you down with a serious amount of intensity. You wriggle slightly under it, suddenly uncomfortable — wrong question.

“Honestly, no,” Eddie answers honestly, tearing his eyes away from you in an instant, letting you breathe again momentarily. His curls curtain his profile, the bulbous tip of his nose the only feature now visible, he picks nervously at a loose thread on his jeans, “I’ll probably go work with Wayne at the plant, they’re always lookin’ for workers. Still sell on the side too, I doubt Rick will let me out of this deal, I bring in the most revenue.”

“Can come work at Sam Goody with me,” you sing-song, resting your head on his shoulder. You pretend not to notice the way he instantly melts at the press on his side, seemingly grounding him just as he’s beginning to panic about things like the future, “it’s a pretty good gig, and we get discounts on cassettes!”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, pulling a drag from the joint that briefly laid forgotten at his side, ash falling onto the scratchy blanket you both laid on top of, burning holes into the material, “That code for ‘and we get to watch Harrington’s juicy ass in those shorts!’?”

You cackle, all seriousness from the conversation vanishing in an instant as Eddie turns on his usual class clown persona, mocking you with his silly tone and grinning like an idiot, “Scoops is literally across the landing! I can’t see that far.”

“I can’t believe he got to you,” Eddie’s teasing tone continues, he shuffles on his bony ass and accidentally shoulders you in the temple in the process, causing you to whine quietly, “sorry, shit, sorry, sweetheart. I guess I just — didn’t ticket you as being the type to like what he had going on.”

“I could say the same for you,” your voice is barely a mumble as you drag your heavy head from his shoulder, looking at him properly.

Eddie hisses a sharp draw of breath in between his clenched teeth, passes you the joint that you take happily, sucking in a drag like a desperate woman. The silence sits heavy between you both for a long moment, weighs on you like a fucking shackle to your ankles, pulling you down into shark infested waters.

“He was always everything I wasn’t and I hated that shit,” Eddie mutters, fidgets — can’t look you in the fucking eye, “to begin with I was jealous and angry, he had it so fucking easy and people just fell at his feet, worshipped the asshole no matter how much of a prick he could be.”

You nod, extend your hand to pass the joint back to him — Eddie shudders when your cold fingers connect with his, and you allow them to linger for only a split second before you pull them back once again.

“Remember when I punched him in the hall, once? Think it was junior year or something,” Eddie recalls, and you have to pretend like you’re not two halves of the same whole for just a moment, like you weren’t just reminiscing on the exact scenario hours earlier, “he called me queer. And at that point I didn’t really know what I was, but him saying it just — fucking solidified it, or something. I said something mean, but I confirmed to him and myself what I sorta knew all along.”

“I remember,” you breathe, chest tightening, “I think you hit close to home, when you said his dad called him the same thing.”

Eddie laughs, mirthless, canines sharp as he smiles so wide, yet it doesn’t reach his eyes — he looks manic, “Yeah, well. I’d heard shit, and I used it to my advantage at that moment. Was wrong, I know. He had it fuckin’ coming, but after that I realised… I didn’t hate him. I thought I was jealous of how easy he had it with chicks and how they fell for it, but then I guess I realised I maybe wanted to be his conquest of the week.”

It tugs at your chest, and you’re caught between feeling relief and feeling utterly devastated that Eddie spent all this time pining and having to hide it from the world, when you could openly ogle and gawk at Steve without so much as a second glance from passersby.

You’re too high to truly comprehend it, and maybe you just chose to ignore the signs, but now it makes sense as to why Eddie would bring Steve up and use him to mock you, how his eyes would be ablaze with something that wasn’t jealousy, but wanting. He wanted you to bring him up, wanted you to tell him your sordid fantasies. Maybe even wanted to be a part of them, and yeah. That makes your tummy flip.

Your head thumps against the backing of the passenger headrest, a loud breath escaping you that you didn’t even realise you were holding, “God, we really are too fucking alike, Wayne was right maybe we were separated at birth.”

“Birds of a feather, sweetheart.” Eddie laughs, means it this time. He crowds into your space, plants firm hands on your bare thighs and leaves a chaste kiss on your chin, “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll always be my number one.”

You had wondered if Steve’s date had gone poorly when your designated smoke break on that following Monday had been infiltrated by Robin Buckley – the poor girl sighing frustratedly, claiming she just ‘needed a breather from Harrington’s excessive whining’, to which you’d both shared a cackle. You had offered her your cigarette that she declined with a wave of her hand and a small smile, ‘trumpet player and all’ she’d grinned.

You saw Steve on Tuesday, on his lunch break as he wandered into Sam Goody to pick up an order that Dustin Henderson had put in before he went off to Summer camp for six weeks. A Wham! album from late 1984 that had you raising an eyebrow.

“Kid kinda wants to be like me,” Steve had shrugged, cocky as he rolled his eyes, leaned his arm on your counter. Flashed you the goddamn Harrington smile that momentarily had you forgetting that his taste in music was vile, “the chicks love George Michael.”

“You’re setting the poor guy up to fail by recommending he listens to this shit,” you quipped, handing the plastic bag holding the cassette over to Steve, heat prickling up your spine when your fingers brushed over the handles, “I promise you it’s not George Michael that ‘the chicks’ are interested in.”

“And what exactly are they interested in?” Steve asked, quirking a brow and smirking at you, giving you a once over with those wandering hazel eyes.

The little shit was flirting.

“I think you and I both know what they’re interested in, Harrington.” You flirted back, your glossy lips smacking together, catching his eye immediately.

“Are you?” Steve breathed, focused solely on your lips, and you could almost see the second his upstairs brain shut off and his downstairs one took over for him, “Interested, I mean.”

“Oh, honey. I think you know the answer to that.”

Eddie had appeared on Wednesday, conned you into using your staff discount for the Armed & Dangerous EP — you didn’t even like Anthrax, and Eddie didn’t have a damn record player, yet you still got it for him.

Steve had been wandering past, hands stuffed deep in his shorts pockets as Eddie left with his bag of goodies and the most ridiculous grin on his face. So engrossed in pulling out a rolly that he slammed right into Steve’s side, sending the poor guy straight to the floor, unable to pull his hands from his pockets in time to stop himself.

You’d watched anxiously from your perch on the stool behind the counter as Eddie crouched into a squat to help Steve up, extending an arm that Steve took with a flush of colour on his cheeks and an embarrassed smile. You couldn’t see Eddie or the expression on his face, but you already knew he was saying something stupid, maybe even cracking a joke, because Steve laughed. Head thrown back and hearty enough that you could hear it faintly, their hands still clasped together even though he was already back on his feet.

Your heart fluttered, beating overtime as you watched the interaction with curious eyes, a nervous wave of butterflies in your tummy. They parted ways, and if Eddie asked, you pretended that you didn’t see him looking over his shoulder once Steve turned away, half buried behind the waves of his hair as he blushed red, his doe eyes soft and fond.

And if by some sort of confusing act of God, Steve was ever to ask you that same question, you never saw him do the exact same thing, just seconds later.

You were screwed.

Steve doesn’t arrive at the Curtis family home on Friday evening, and you can’t even pretend that you don’t let out a sigh of relief. Just as you had suspected, Robin had indeed been talking about the date during your short conversation, and Steve’s latest conquest was no more.

It’s raining lightly, thunder and lightning cracking in the distance, amplified in amongst the trees as you and Eddie pass a blunt back and forth between your bodies. You’re laid top-to-toe, his head basically hanging upside down out of the back door of the van, you in the resumed position up against the rock hard front seats.

“There’s somebody out swimming in the lake,” Eddie says, breaking the peaceful silence with his dulcet tones, words deep and heavy from the cotton mouth. His hand halts its movements on your bare calf, “did you see another car here?”

Your eyes narrow, catching a head bobbing in and out of the water at a far distance, way too far away for you to recognise who it was, though swimmers in the lake weren’t uncommon especially during the Summer months, “No, I didn’t. Could’ve walked here, I guess.”

Eddie’s head whips up at that, and he gets up on his elbows as if it’s going to give him a better look at you, “We’re about ten miles away from civilization, dummy. Nobody's walking out here unless they have a death wish. Maybe they parked in the trees.”

“Why do you sound so nervous? You think Hopper or his knucklehead deputies are out here taking a dip in the lake whilst undercover trying to catch a couple of shitheads smoking a joint on a Friday night?” You cackle, and Eddie rolls his eyes, lets out an annoyed huff and plucks the joint from your relaxed fingers.

“I’m on my final strike, asshole.” Eddie grunts, sitting up properly and craning his neck to get a better look as the person swims closer and closer to you both, the ripples of water as they glide along the only giveaway, as they keep their head underwater the entire duration.

You find yourself drifting off, hazy and blissed out, the noises and visuals a cacophony of brain scratching senses. Your eyelids go heavy, drooping, and before you know it Eddie’s fingers are brushing your skin and helping along, adding to the sanctity of your mind. You doze peacefully, sighing contentedly.

Footsteps closing in knock you out of your unconscious state, your brain alerting you to another person who certainly wasn’t Eddie approaching — panic creeps in momentarily, until the figure appears at the open door of the van, knocking the breath from your lungs in a mixture of relief and desperation.

Steve Harrington is in front of you. Dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts and a fucking cropped vest, exposing his toned stomach, his happy trail glistening as droplets of water clinging to the dark hair that disappears into the low waistband of his pants.

It’s. Sobering, to say the least. You’re suddenly conscious of how you’re sitting, legs spread wide in your own shorts, slumped down like an absolute slob. Eyes bloodshot from the weed, your shirt askew.

Okay, cool. Steve’s going to take one look at you and decide you’re in fact a completely disgusting creature that he absolutely does not find attractive. Great, just great.

Eddie breaks the silence, his voice knocking you out of your trance so quickly you startle yourself, jumping in your seat, “Steve Harrington, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Eddie smirks, shuffling back into the bed of the van until he’s propped up against the side, kicking his legs out flat right across the bottoms of your feet.

“Just thought I’d come say hi, thought it was your van from back there,” Steve’s nonchalant, shrugging, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet, trying and failing to not watch Eddie’s every move as his gangly limbs manoeuvre, “you got anymore?”

Drugs, he means drugs. Could probably smell them a mile off, could tell you were both high just by looking at you, remembered Eddie was a dealer and wanted his own.

You try to hide your disappointment, though your face always had a way of talking for you, and you feel your nose scrunching in distaste before you can stop it. Steve fails to notice, dumbstruck bambi eyes watching Eddie like he wants to — you don’t even know, but it’s almost like he wants to ask something else.

“You want in?” Eddie asks tentatively, seemingly asking the question for Steve like he knew exactly what he wanted to say, holding a fresh rolly up in between his thumb and forefinger like an offering, “We were just about to spark this one up, and I’m sure you could do with the… relaxation after that show you just put on.”

He’s mocking, grinning like the Cheshire cat as Steve flounders, flushes a deep shade of red across his cheeks, but climbs into the van like he’s meant to fucking be there or something, sliding down right next to Eddie close enough that their thighs are touching roughly, the rivulets of water on Steve’s leg clinging to the material of Eddie’s jeans and soaking them in the process.

Eddie’s eyes widen like saucers, like he expected Steve to tell him to fuck off, yet there he was pressed against Eddie like it was the most normal thing in the world. Steve produces a lighter from the pocket of his shorts, plucks the joint from Eddie’s hand like it’s nothing, and presses it between his cherry red, plump lips. Sparks it up and inhales deeply, eyelids fluttering shut, thick eyelashes fanning his cheeks.

Your thighs clench as you watch Steve’s adams apple bob up and down, the vast expanse of his tan neck stretching as his head thumps back, whole body slumping as the sudden nicotine hit relaxes his body. You connect the moles and freckles with your eyes, fingers itching in your lap, resisting the urge to lunge forward and mark him up, connect the beauty marks with your mouth, suck bruises into his skin until he’s whining and begging.

The air lies heavy between you all, nobody saying a word as you pass the blunt back and forth, your high settling in once more, enough to have you light headed and itching to touch more and more and more. Ten minutes or maybe an hour go past, you’re not too sure which.

You can tell Eddie is starting to feel the same, from the way his thigh begins jiggling up and down — usually by this point he had a lapful of you, grinding against him and gasping for release as your drug-addled brains melted with the need to touch and to kiss and to fuck.

Steve wiggles in his place next to Eddie, his large palm coming out to slap Eddie’s thigh and keep his leg still, like he’s annoyed by the constant jerking movement, yet his flushed skin and agape mouth tell you otherwise. Somebody whines, needy, and you’re not too sure which one of you it is, but the sound goes straight to your core, has your cunt fluttering.

Eddie breaks first, pulling you into his lap unceremoniously, your arms instinctively wrapping around his pale shoulders to ground yourself as you’re flung like a ragdoll, his hands digging into the fat of your ass, fingertips pressing almost bruisingly, yet you keen into it, desperate for more.

Your bare calf touches Steve’s thigh, and he’s looking at you like a deer caught in headlights — pretty hazel eyes staring up at you in awe, watching as your body rocks against Eddie’s own, though you don’t dare settle down on his crotch properly, waiting for Steve’s confirmation that he’s good with this.

“Are you okay with this?” You ask, just to be sure, making it clear that you’re not adding two plus two and getting five, needing to know for certain this is what he wants, “Tell me what you’re thinking, Steve.”

Eddie’s own gaze lands on Steve now, soft and gentle, no teasing on his features anymore, pure sincerity. Steve looks back and forth between you both, bites that fucking lip of his as he ponders.

“I think-” Steve starts, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, “that I just… really wanna kiss one of you right now.”

If Eddie’s surprised, drawn back or even nervous, he doesn’t let on, as he leans into Steve’s space with parted lips, a stupid lazy smirk tugging at the corners, enough to make your core ache for him.

You watch with hazy eyes as they share breath back and forth, two pairs of deep set brown eyes locking and conversing without words as you heave desperately, rutting gently against Eddie’s thigh. His rings bite into the soft skin of your waist, grounding you, letting you know he’s still aware of your presence.

Steve closes the gap first, slots their lips together and startling a desperate whine from the back of Eddie’s throat — a noise you weren’t even aware he could make. Steve’s large hand runs up along Eddie’s rosy red cheek, fingers splaying and nails raking into Eddie’s scalp as their mouths move together like ripples of water.

It’s beautiful to watch, you can’t look away (as if you even fucking wanted to), your hands bunching into the bottom hem of Eddie’s shirt to help you sway your hips back and forth. Eddie’s sharp tongue peaks out to swipe along Steve’s bottom lip, and Steve surges forward to deepen the kiss, their tongues dancing together as they pant breathily and moan quietly.

You’re not sure when it happens, but Eddie’s rough hand on your waist begins to guide you against the starchy material of his jeans, like he’s paying just as much attention to you as he is to Steve.

You take your opportunity, leaning forward to latch your mouth onto Eddie’s exposed collarbone, biting and suckling like a woman starved as you finally, fucking finally let yourself rock against Eddie properly – grinding against his half-hard cock until he’s whining breathily into the kiss, clinging onto your waist.

Maybe you’re feeling ballsy because of the drugs, or maybe it’s because you’ve just waited forever to get your hands on Steve Harrington, but soon enough your hand is ghosting up his inner thigh, pressing hot and heavy against the sizable bulge in his ridiculously short shorts.

“Y’r both gonna fucking kill me,” Steve groans against Eddie’s lips, breaking the kiss momentarily only for Eddie to surge forward once more and reattach their mouths, and your pussy flutters – hearing Steve so fucked out from the simplest of touches sends a hot, prickly flush up your body, settles in your core.

Your hand presses more firmly onto Steve’s cock, hips rutting against Eddie’s and they both roll their hips at the same fucking time, pressing into your hand and cunt respectively. Your brain short circuits, lips detaching from Eddie’s collarbone so you can moan, wet and panting against his damp skin.

“You wanna fuck her, Harrington?” Eddie asks, bites at Steve’s bottom lip and Steve keens into it, grunts and fucks his hips up into your hand again. Eddie releases his lip, trails kisses down Steve’s chin and to his jaw, rough and sucking, sure to leave a mark, “She wants you to, I know she does. Fantasises about you wrecking her, think you’re up to the task?”

Steve nods, feverish and almost pathetic, and you have to question if he’s always like this during sex or if Eddie really just has that effect on him, has Steve reduced to nothing more than a mess as you both finally lock eyes once again, “Please, nggh, please. Wanna fuck you so bad, baby, please? Will you let me?”

The begging does something to your insides you never would’ve expected, and you’re throwing yourself into Steve’s lap. His hands grab onto your waist, replacing Eddie’s and it’s noticeable, he’s gentle, almost unsure of how to take you – he looks up at you, leans up to press your lips together and you’re unravelling in his arms.

He kisses like a fucking boyfriend, lips gliding against your own just roughly enough to have you melting into it, tongue swiping your bottom lip the same way Eddie did to him just minutes earlier, licking into your mouth and gliding his tongue against your own in this perfect rhythm that has you rutting down into his lap. The thick length of his now fully hard cock nestles perfectly in the cave of your pussy, only covered by three thin layers of clothing.

You’re delirious with it, hands on his cheeks, fingers buried into his hair as you suck face like you might die if you stop. You can feel Eddie’s intense gaze on you both, his hand slipping in between Steve and your own torsos to tug gently at your loose shirt, pushing it up your chest to expose your tits to the cool air.

His fingers are everywhere, rubbing and pulling at your nipples, hardening them and sending shockwaves of want and desire down your entire body. Steve disconnects your lips with a string of spit, his eyes hazy and darkened with lust as he bends down to latch onto your tit, sucking and licking it into his mouth like a desperate thing.

You’re so turned on you might fucking die, rutting against Steve’s clothed erection fast and hard, desperate to feel that catch and drag rough against your clit.

“Feel good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, breath hot against the side of your face, mouthing at the sensitive skin below your ear, “Harrington as talented with his mouth as you hoped?”

“I know now why the ladies love him,” you squeak, unable to contain it when Eddie’s fingers finally leave the swollen bud of your nipple and dip down below, hand hot and heavy as he pushes the offending material of your shorts away so he can press against your cunt, swiping over your clit with two fingers, the back of his palm digging into Steve’s cock in the process.

“Oh my fucking god,” Steve grunts pathetically, bites down on your nipple and punches his hips up into Eddie’s hand, rocks against him for a moment before settling back down again. He pulls off of you with a wet pop, chooses instead to trail kisses up your chest and to your neck that have you moaning unabashedly, “you sound s’fucking pretty, can’t believe it.”

You can hardly focus on a single thing, ears ringing as pleasure takes over your body. Eddie knows you inside and out, pushes with a perfect pressure on your clit, swiping over it in fast circles as he mutters sweet nothings, coaxing moans and gasps from you with every touch. Steve’s attacking your neck, biting and kissing, leaving a mark in a way that you’d practically wished for for too fucking long.

“Shit, Harrington,” Eddie’s voice raising a little knocks you out of it, his fingers slipping through the wetness of your folds and off of your clit like he was caught off guard, “like it a little rough or somethin’?”

Your half lidded eyes watch as Steve’s hand grips at Eddie’s thigh, ghosting closer and closer to the inside seam until Eddie breaks, uses his free hand to pop the button on his jeans and shuck them down his thighs, finally allowing his cock the damn release from those tight pants.

Eddie resumes his motions on your clit properly once he’s done shuffling, “Sorry, sweetheart.” He apologises, swirling the tips of his fingers over the bundle of nerves fast enough to have you seeing stars, “Know you well enough to know it won’t take you long, anyway.”

He’s right. The slick noises of your pussy being worked over invade your ears, the deep blooming in your core rising quickly as Eddie sets an almost brutal rhythm, desperate to get you there. You cling onto Steve’s biceps as he sucks another bruise just below your jaw, hot mouth leaving your skin finally, letting up so that you can breathe, if only a little.

You’re not sure why it shocks you when Steve spits into his palm like it’s nothing, wraps a firm hand around the length of Eddie’s cock like he’s done it a million times before but it does, and suddenly you’re flushing hot all over, the visual of Eddie’s eyes shutting and mouth falling open in a grunt the last thing you see before your eyes squeeze shut, your orgasm wracking your body with such force that you slump into Steve’s front — head on his shoulder, hips stuttering as Eddie works you through it.

“That’s it, honey, oh shit,” Steve’s voice sounds strained as he watches you stain the front of his shorts with your release, his hand heavy on your waist as you ride Eddie’s hand, his wrist glistening in the light, “you’re both so hot, fuck me.”

You flush at Steve’s words, whining in the back of your throat, “Sensitive, Eds,” you squeal, hips jerking back and away from Eddie’s hand – you get why he’s slow to move, when you see how Steve’s jerking his cock, how Eddie’s hips are fucking up into it, the dark red head leaking down his shaft and coating Steve’s fingers.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie’s apologetic as his hand moves, though he’s so breathy and fucked out that you can tell he’s hardly paying enough attention to care, “get your fucking dick out, Steve.”

Your trembling hands do it for him, and Steve willingly lifts his hips up to let you pull the offending material down. His cock springs out and — oh, oh fuck.

He’s so fucking big it makes your mouth water, so heavy under it’s own weight that it sits flush against Steve’s toned, heaving belly as he sucks in sharp breaths, slightly curved to the side and cut, the head almost purple with need, soaking wet with his own precum.

“Of course you’ve got a monster cock,” Eddie grunts, rolling his eyes, no heat to his words when Steve squeezes him tighter, jerks the head, flicks his thumb over the slit, “would’ve sworn you’d touched a hundred dicks with how good you are at it, fuuuck.”

“You’re gonna give me a goddamn complex,” Steve moans, stripping Eddie’s cock faster until the other man is literally shaking in his spot, hips vibrating, and you’ve seen this a million times — Eddie is close.

“Stop— mmph, stop, gotta stop,” Eddie pants, scrambling to halt Steve’s motions on his dick, which Steve does without a second thought, though his hand still lays loosely on the base as it pulses, slit weeping, “I’m gonna blow my fucking load if you keep doing that shit.”

There’s a heavy silence between you all for a moment, exchanged looks that say more than words probably could in such a highly charged situation — it’s like Steve was always here, the way he slots in and understands exactly what’s going on like he’d been with you both before in this way. It makes your heart clench, makes your tummy do flips.

You climb from Steve’s lap, rid yourself of your shorts and soiled panties whilst Steve and Eddie shuffle themselves around – Steve lying down, head propped up on the two sad looking pillows Eddie always kept around, and Eddie on his knees at Steve’s side.

It’d be truly ridiculous to look at from an outsider's perspective, like a bad porno movie, but you’re all so turned on that you can’t see past the want to care enough, as you climb back into Steve’s lap and resume your position.

“Want you to fuck me now,” you murmur, doe eyed and desperate as you cling to Steve’s shirt, rocking down onto his dick again, spreading your wetness over his shaft, “please, Steve?”

Steve whines pathetically, grabs a hold of his dick by the base, hazards a guess at where your opening is and fails miserably, unable to see anything at this angle. You try to help, wiggling your hips until the fat head catches on your clit — you both groan, a slight tinge of laughter in yours from the absurdity of it all.

“Damn Steve, can’t even find her pussy when it’s right in front of you,” Eddie huffs impatiently, yet his words are full of arousal you swear you’ve never heard, licking his wet, plump lips as he leans over to grab the base of Steve’s cock, slides the head against your wet cunt until you’re both whining and gasping for it, “sit on him then, sweetheart. Take his big cock like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Steve grips onto the meat of your thighs as you sink down, gasping at the sheer stretch — Steve really was bigger than Eddie and nothing could’ve prepared you for the intrusion. Your cunt leaks down his shaft, down Eddie’s hand until he’s removing it so you can sink down completely, adjusting to the stretch by wiggling your hips.

You can tell Steve is trying to keep his composure and failing miserably, if the way he’s grunting through his clenched teeth is anything to go by. You seize the opportunity, clamp your walls down around his length deliberately until he’s sputtering, grappling onto your skin even tighter, “D-don’t, can’t do that — I’ll come so fucking quick,” he gasps, staring up at you with wild eyes.

Eddie barks out a laugh from the side of you, and you can tell it’s from the sheer satisfaction – knowing that even though Steve’s cock is bigger there’s no way he’s going to be as good at fucking you as Eddie. Of course that’ll feed his ego, the town freak being better at fucking than Hawkins’ own certified slut.

“Go on, sweetheart. Show him what your pretty little cunt can do,” Eddie’s encouraging you, one hand loosely holding the base of his own cock, the other now placed on the small of your back, a grounding movement that keeps you from losing it all together.

You grip onto Steve’s broad shoulders, nails biting into the skin as you use your knees for leverage, take the first aching drag up the length of his cock. You feel like you’re being split apart from the inside, the dull hurting so fucking good that you’re sick with it.

“Oh fuck, that’s it, baby,” Steve’s eyebrows marry together as he watches you take him in fucking awe or something, unable to tear his eyes away from where you’re sinking up and down on him.

It’s torturously slow whilst you adjust to him, a tentative bounce and rock motion until your pussy is soaked from the constant press on your gspot.

You speed up your movements and Steve is all but wailing and begging beneath you, Eddie looming over the top of him and tugging lazily at his own cock, almost like he’s not entirely sure what he wants to do — or what he’s allowed to do.

Steve looks up at him, ripping his eyes away from your pussy sucking him in, leaving behind creamy rings of release on his shaft. He’s wide eyed and almost manic, watching as Eddie fucks his fist, “Put it– put it in my mouth, I wanna. Wanna suck you off.”

Eddie chokes on his own tongue momentarily, eyes bugging out of his head at Steve’s request, “You – I, what?” He laughs incredulously, though he’s already shuffling up next to Steve’s head, and Steve moves with him, craning his neck to the side and opening his mouth wide, tongue lolling out. Eddie fists a handful of Steve’s hair, sliding his cock into Steve’s mouth with an obscene fluidity, “You really are a fuckin’ slut, huh?”

Steve moans around his mouthful, nods what little he can manage as Eddie begins to rock in and out, building a slow rhythm, the loud slurping noises of Steve’s saliva adding to the noise of your soaked pussy fucking down onto him. You’re so turned on it hurts, the sight of them both together has you closing in on your second orgasm quickly, with a lightning speed.

The sound of wet skin, from sweat and ungodly amounts of body fluid is so loud you’re sure anybody within a five mile radius could hear you all, and that does something to your insides that you don’t think you could admit to out loud. Steve’s large hands move your hips, help you along as you bounce quicker on his cock, chasing your high, and you have to hand it to him that he’s a seriously good multitasker.

“You’re fucking — God, can’t believe you’re sucking me like this,” Eddie cries, ever the one to be so fucking vocal, and it’s clear as day he’s close to the edge already, “so fucking talented with that mouth — oh fuck, keep doing that. Yeah, yeah, oh fuck.”

“I hate you both so fucking much,” you gasp, arching your back and crying out as you bounce up and down on Steve’s cock in short, snappy motions. Steve grunts, fingernails biting into your hip, a clear sign that he wants you to keep doing that, and you do, “I’m-I’m, shit m’gonna cum –!”

It hits you like a goddamn freight train, your thighs trembling, hands gripping and nails biting at Steve’s abs as you come, gushing wet and walls fluttering as the feeling settles deep in your stomach. Your legs give up on you, body turning to jello within seconds.

Eddie can’t take his eyes off of you, watching you with such intensity that you feel his eyes basically burning holes into your head. You’re sure he doesn’t even blink as you rock through it, tits bouncing and mouth agape in the most delicious moans.

Steve’s patience wears thin, his hips fucking up into you from below, hands moving you on and off of his cock as if you’re a fucking ragdoll, but he’s not even really paying attention to you — he’s focused on Eddie, mouthing heavily at the other mans dick, taking and taking it as Eddie feeds it to him with nothing more than a few moans and grunts.

“Need to cum, let me cum on your face,” Eddie begs, tears his eyes from you finally to ask Steve the damn question, rutting into his mouth jerkily, practically sobbing as he reaches the end, “wanna ruin you so bad, fuck, please?”

Steve’s so far gone, nestled so tight in your pussy and drunk on it that he’d agree to anything, nods what little he can and Eddie takes barely a second to slip from Steve’s mouth. Tightens his fist around his own cock as he jerks it messily above Steve’s face.

“Your pussy is like heaven, fuck,” Steve grunts, voice worn and fucked out from being stuffed full for so long, and you’re so overstimulated you barely register what he’s doing, brain fuzzy. His fingers dig into your hips tight enough to bruise as he fucks you so hard you’re seeing stars, “cumming, I’m fucking cumming.”

Steve forces you down so hard on his cock that you wail, clinging onto him for dear life as he pulses deep inside of you, coating your insides with his release. You swear you’ve fucking died and gone to heaven or something, with how good it feels.

Eddie grunts from his place in front of you, “so fucking hot, shit, shit, oh fuck,” blurting from his mouth as he comes, his load shooting so far it kind of misses Steve’s face all together and instead spurts down his neck and chest.

A long wave of silence washes over you all as you all come down, a mess of sweaty limbs, coated in each others sex. You know the van had ought to fucking reek of it, the sheets below you all soaked and soiled. None of you find it in you to care as you pant heavily, hands all over each other as some weird form of aftercare, stroking and touching.

“Steve, where’s your car, man?” Eddie asks, breaking the silence yet again from where he’d finally slumped back on his ass next to Steve’s head.

Steve looks at Eddie like he’s stupid, furrowing his brows, “My car? Dude, I ran here. It’s only, like, six miles or something from my house, it’s not exactly far.”

You cackle loudly from your place in between Steve’s legs, “And you called me stupid for insinuating somebody walked out here!”

Eddie rolls his eyes, flips you both the bird, though there’s a little quirk on the corners of his lips.

You’re not sure what’ll happen from here, if anything at all, but the comforting aura you feel is enough to have you guessing that maybe it’s far from the final time.

to anybody who read this and took a chance on it, thank you all so much! this has been a little labour of love and i actually started on it before christmas, it was meant to be nothing more than a quick little smut fic but i felt it needed more. thank you all in advance for any likes, reblogs and sweet comments you leave, it means the absolute world.

#eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut #steddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #my fanfic #mine #x reader #steddie

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loveinhawkins · 2 years

Text

i’ve recently become aware of this starcourt mall commercial & i’m dying at the thought of Eddie seeing it, bored out of his mind, until Steve appears on screen with that stupid sailor’s hat and the world’s most awkward, “Ahoy!”, and, oh, Eddie’s grin is evil.

“Why did you tape over Dallas?” Wayne asks that night.

“Wayne,” Eddie says solemnly, “I needed to record the best moment of my life.”

Of course, Steve finds the tape later, because the universe likes to laugh at Eddie, apparently.

Spring Break of ‘86 is a few weeks away—thanks to one distracted moment, Eddie unknowingly puts the wrong tape in the case before returning a rental to Family Video, then speeding off to band practice.

Steve doesn’t notice the mixup until a few hours later, when he routinely opens the VHS cases to check that the tapes have been rewound. When he sees the tape devoid of any movie sticker, he can’t resist watching it; his shift is dragging by.

He gets 20 minutes into Dallas before it cuts off, and the commercial plays.

His jaw drops, and he groans in embarrassment, but he’s laughing when he calls for Robin in the back room, and then they’re watching it together, cracking up. They both remember filming it, remember looking at each other and swearing to never speak of it again, but they’d never actually seen it, and well… it is pretty funny.

Steve gets an evil grin of his own when he sees that the rental account is in Eddie’s name.

When he calls, he gets Mr. Munson on the phone, and because Steve can also be a meddling little shit when the conditions are right, he makes up some story about the store having new forms, that he just needs Eddie to sign one quickly.

The next day, Eddie strolls in, and Steve looks him right in the eye.

“Ahoy, Munson,” he says, deadpan.

Eddie freezes in place. He briefly considers turning around and walking into traffic.

“Harrington,” he says stiffly.

“Hey, man,” Steve says, relentlessly chipper, “so we’re kinda down on one copy of—” He glances over to the computer. “—Life of Brian, and up one copy of, uh…” He lifts Eddie’s tape off the counter, smirks. “I guess, half of Dallas.”

Eddie stalks over. “It was… for school,” he blurts out unconvincingly. “Recording Hawkins history. Nothing personal, King Steve.”

Steve lets the venom in the nickname bounce off him. “Starcourt was pretty, uh, historic,” he says mildly, fighting another smirk.

“Whatever,” Eddie snaps, losing what little patience he has left—despite all of his performances to the contrary, the thought of people laughing at him still makes his skin crawl. “Let me get out of your massive hair, Harrington, and I’ll bring your fucking video back.”

Steve raises one hand, palm out. “Woah, chill,” he says, and as Eddie’s nostrils flare, he feels a little twinge of guilt; he didn’t actually mean for all of this to come across as mean-spirited or anything. “Sorry, man. I’m not trying to be a dick, I swear.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.” But he looks a little calmer, raises an eyebrow. Well?

“Here,” Steve says, handing over the tape, and he doesn’t react when Eddie snatches it back. “Oh, and I extended the rental on your movie.” He shrugs. “Saves you a double trip, y’know?”

“Thanks,” Eddie says, after a pause.

“No biggie.” And when Eddie makes to leave, Steve calls, “Hey, Munson?”

Eddie turns at the door, no longer quite as cagey. “What?”

Steve shrugs again. “Thanks for the mixup, I guess?”

“You’re kidding,” Eddie says flatly.

“No, I mean it, dude. Like, once I got over the, well, embarrassment of, um, everything, it was actually kinda… nice to see it.” He nods to Robin in one of the aisles, guiding a customer over to a movie. “Me and Robin, we—it was nice to have something about Starcourt that we could laugh at.”

Eddie considers him. “Were you in the fire?”

Steve smiles, and if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d say there’s more than straightforward sadness on his face. “Yeah, got caught up in it.”

Eddie slowly, thoughtfully, opens the door but doesn’t leave, leans against it. He looks Steve up and down. “Damn shame you don’t have a hat in your get-up here, Harrington.”

Steve mock scowls, ruffles his hair. “I’m not suffering through that again.”

Eddie finds himself smiling without meaning to. “You poor thing. I guess once is enough.”

And Steve rolls his eyes this time. “Yeah, yeah, once. You’ve goddamn immortalised it, Munson.”

Eddie snorts. “Oh, but I had to,” he says, tucking the tape under his arm, “for posterity. In a hundred years, there’ll be sonnets written about your sailor outfit, Steve Harrington.”

And, whoops, that wasn’t planned, Eddie thinks. Laying it on a bit thick there.

Steve laughs, but not at him; Eddie can tell now. “Go enjoy your Saturday, Munson.”

Eddie gives a lazy salute. “Ahoy.”

And as Eddie leaves, he spots a note on the counter, next to the usual Be kind, rewind reminders. It’s handwritten, with a cartoony winking face: And check what’s inside!

#this was meant to be a shitpost and become a fic woops #pre steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie

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laundrybiscuits · 1 year

Text

(Continued from this snippet! Content notes: police interrogation, homophobia)

“You don’t look gay.” The detective gives Steve a very obvious once-over. Steve tries to look gayer as subtly as he can.

“Sorry,” he says. “Guess I’ll have to let my boyfriend know you don’t think I look gay enough to fuck him.”

The detective’s face twists slightly, like he’s smelled something bad. “No need to be like that. I’m just saying, I bet a good-looking guy like you could get a girlfriend pretty easy.”

“You’re not my type,” says Steve. He smiles with his teeth, even though his heart is going fast and he can feel his palms starting to sweat.

The detective’s hands tense, and Steve wonders if he’s about to get hit, but they relax again and the detective sits back.

“Just doing my job,” says the detective. “Because, funny enough, we asked around with all your little friends, and it seems like you used to be a bit of a ladies’ man.”

“Things change,” says Steve.

“In fact…seems like none of your friends ever even saw you talk to Munson before. Moved in different circles and everything. I remember what high school was like.”

The detective leans close.

“So why would the captain of the swim team, a nice normal boy from a good family with a string of pretty girlfriends, ever—ever—stick his neck out like this for some murdering scum like Munson? That’s what I’m trying to figure out, here.”

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that,” says Steve. His mouth is dry. His pulse is thundering in his ears. “He didn’t kill anyone. He was with me the whole time. He’s—he didn’t kill anyone.”

“Hm,” says the detective.

It takes a while for them to stop interrogating him. They keep asking him the same questions over and over, trying to trip him up. He asks for water and doesn’t get it. In the back of his mind, a hysterical little voice is shrieking Scoops Ahoy! I work for Scoops Ahoy!, but he manages to keep it locked down. Doesn’t let himself get baited, just keeps repeating that Eddie was with him the whole time and neither of them know anything.

It takes a while, but it’s over eventually.

When he leaves the station, Eddie’s standing outside with Hopper and Joyce Byers, wearing a shirt and jeans that definitely belonged to Jonathan at some point. Eddie’s got his hands tucked into his armpits, looking antsy and tense, but he’s free and standing on his own two feet. It’s a pretty big upgrade from when Steve last saw him about a week or two ago.

It’s almost too easy to go straight over to him, wrapping him up in a tight hug like they’ve had their arms around each other a million times.

“Oof. Easy there, tiger,” laughs Eddie. “I’m, uh, still a little fragile.”

“Sorry,” says Steve, and loosens his hold. He doesn’t let go all the way.

“Come on, boys,” says Joyce. “I’m taking you two home. Steve, Eddie’s been staying with us, but we’re a little short on spare beds and it’s not great for his recovery. We’re moving him to your place until we can figure out something better, okay?”

———

Joyce drops them off and helps carry in a few garbage bags full of Eddie’s stuff. There’s not that much.

And then the door closes behind her, and Steve’s alone with Eddie for the first time since—actually, maybe ever.

“So,” says Eddie. “What…the fuck, Harrington.”

“Is that an actual question?” Steve says. He rolls his shoulders, trying to get some of the stiffness out. “I mean, didn’t Hopper and Mrs. Byers explain everything to you?”

“Kind of? I mean, I still think this is probably the worst idea of all time, but they told me—anyway, what I meant just now was a much more personalized and individual what the fuck. As in, why the fuck would you agree to any of this? You know you’re never gonna get another girl in this town to look at you now.”

“Dumping me already? Ice cold, man.”

Eddie groans and actually throws his hands in the air in frustration. Steve hadn’t known people did that in real life.

“Jesus christ.” Eddie wheels around and grabs two of the garbage bags. “I can’t do this right now, I need to take a fucking nap. We will be discussing this later.”

“Still don’t know what there is to discuss,” says Steve, but he picks up the last garbage bag and leads the way to the spare room.

Eddie pitches forwards onto the bed, arms outstretched and face mashed into the pillow. “Fuck yes, I am going to marry this goddamn mattress. Hit the lights when you leave,” he says, slightly muffled.

For a second, Steve finds himself stepping forward with a hand outstretched to—do something. He’s not sure what. Touch Eddie’s hair, or something dumb like that. His face warms. He’s really glad Eddie isn’t looking at him and doesn’t see how he’s kind of just standing there with a hand out for no reason.

He turns around, flicking the light switch on his way out, and doesn’t look back.

#steddie #the document title for this is literally “2 cakes”#bc again...there is already a fic with this premise. by bonitabreezy. as I have already said: please go read that instead!#this is like the writing equivalent of a figure study #don't know where it's going or if it's going anywhere. I truly am just vibing with increasingly dubious historical accuracy.

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anqelbean · 3 months

Text

SVSSS finished fic recs

Weeeeeee, I have so many bookmarks, I gotta do something with 'em, hope you enjoy! Most are gonna be BingQiu/Yuan

two lonely souls at sunset by lilacbuddy

Rating: T; Words: 38,049; Main Pairing: BinggeYuan

“Who are you?” Luo Binghe asked coldly. Shen Yuan wanted to bury himself in the dirt. He couldn’t have made a bigger fool of himself. “I- This one is Shen Yuan, Lord Luo,” he hastily responded, dropping into a low bow to properly greet the emperor. Even after seven years in the palace, Shen Yuan still struggled with the formal speech of scholars and nobility. “Shen…” Luo Binghe whispered. Shen Yuan winced. Of course, Luo Binghe wouldn’t know who he was by name alone. “This one is Lord Luo’s fifth husband,” Shen Yuan answered. --- Or, Shen Yuan wants life to feel like an adventure, Luo Bingge wants someone to truly love him, and a magical road-trip will somehow solve both of their problems

The Employee of the Month is Actually a Virgin? by glowingreverie

Rating: G (though I'd argue it's T); Words: 2,993; Main Pairing: Bingqiu

"Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!" parody with Bingqiu. In which Luo Binghe is a sad virgin on his thirtieth birthday and Shen Qingqiu unknowingly makes him fall in love with him.

i'll be your boy backstage by nyoomerr

Rating: M; Words: 8,369; Main Pairing: BinggeYuan

Do obsessions from other worlds form a basis for a healthy relationship? Asking for a friend.

affections touching across time by miss_coverly

Rating: T; Words: 2,616; Main Pairing: BingYuan

At first glance, the most reasonable explanation was that Shen Yuan had transmigrated into some web novel set during the Feudal Era, but a quick pat down of his intact clothes and beating heart had confirmed that he was still alive. Alive—and still in his own body. He earned a lot of stares from villagers, who endlessly muttered about his odd clothes, his odd haircut. One comment always cut above the rest, though, something about looking so much like the old Peak Lord, it’s a bit unnerving. Shen Yuan wasn’t sure what to make of all that, and furthermore, the only thing he found truly unnerving was how Luo Binghe couldn’t stand him. (Inuyasha au)

Proud Immortal Dragon Way by glacierdust

Rating: T; Words: 7,408; Main Pairing: BingYuan

The day Shen Yuan found a dragon on the balcony of his apartment, surrounded by burnt vines and fire roasted tomatoes, was the day his life changed. In other words, the local disaster millennial who can’t even take care of himself adopts an injured dragon.

The Way I Dreamed Of You by straightforwardly

Rating: E; Words: 3,397; Main Pairing: BingQiu

The one in which Without A Cure turns out to have another side-effect as well. Cat ears, ahoy! Or: while trapped inside the Holy Mausoleum, Shen Qingqiu goes into heat.

Top Notes of Violence by zarasu

Rating: T; Words: 3,679; Main Pairing: BingYuan

Luo Binghe has been born with a scent defect; no matter his mood, he always smells aggressive. In a world where everyone relies on their sense of smell, this means Binghe can't catch a break. Until he meets Shen Yuan.

and in dreaming, I know you by PandaFlower

Rating: M; Words: 3,548; Main Pairing: BinggeYuan

Shen Yuan blinked, in the manner of a dreamer being both reeling with shock yet also numb to it. “Well, of course you are!” “Of course I am?” Luo Binghe parroted, arching one of his regal brows. “You’re exceedingly handsome,” Shen Yuan nodded sagely, this whole encounter made sense now, “and Luo Binghe is said to be the most attractive man in existence; naturally you must be him.” (In which Shen Yuan has a very strange dream.)

right from the start, I gave you my heart by nex_et_nox

Rating: T; Words: 11,322; Main Pairing: BingQiu

"Bro, you know how many words I wrote per day, and how many plants I created!” Shang Qinghua whines. "I can't remember them all, it's impossible." Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes. "It was used with Wife #418.” "That doesn't narrow it down any further. I'm not going to be able to guess it, so stop punishing me and just tell me how the flower nerfed you." Shen Qingqiu grits his teeth. Obviously he wants to draw this out to punish Shang Qinghua, but it kinda looks more like he's punishing himself. There's a muscle flexing in his jaw, and if he puts any more pressure on his fan's guard, it's going to snap. Uh, actually, Shen Qingqiu kind of looks like he's in pain— “A false dragonhead is also called an obedient plant. It’s in the name—the flower forces you to do whatever you're told," Shen Qingqiu spits out.

or: Shen Qingqiu runs afoul of one of Airplane's stupid wife-plot devices...just before a mission to Jinlan City.

The Short Way Home by zarasu

Rating: T; Words: 4,008; Main Pairing: BingQiu

After leaving the Abyss and joining Huan Hua Sect, Binghe decides to take a little trip to Qing Jing Peak. He puts his recently learned shape-shifting skills to good use and assumes the form of Ming Fan to just get a little peek at Shizun. What he finds there isn't quite what he expected. Shizun, a grieving widow?

Truly The Best Worst Timing by AceOfDivineChlorophyll

Rating: M; Words: 9,962; Main Pairing: BingQiu

So maybe taking a bath in a plague ridden city late at night after meeting up with your former disciple turned vengeful protagonist out to kill you wasn’t the brightest decision. Mu Qingfang insisted it would help relax him though! And in a way it did… just… after being jump scared by the vengeful protagonist.

Catboy Blues by posthumous_vigor

Rating: E; Words: 11,403; Main Pairing: BingYuan

Shen Qingqiu has a pet cat. The disciples dote on it, jokingly calling it “Shizun” because of the haughty way it carries itself and the green ribbon around its neck. Chief among its admirers is Luo Binghe, who treasures every moment of kindness shown to him. And the cat, with its sharp green eyes and human-like intelligence, is very kind to him. Meanwhile, Shen Yuan has some complicated feelings about being a catboy.

Cold Hands, Warm Heart by Zizzani

Rating: T; Words: 16,274; Main Pairing: MoShang

“If the body can’t warm up, then things get uh, b-bad?” Mobei-jun cuts him a look that’s made for slaughter. “What does that mean?” “A-ah, it’s called hypothermia, my king.” “And you die once it happens.” Again, not a question. “You can.” When Mobei-jun makes an absolutely terrifying face, Shang Qinghua hastens to add, “But not instantly! Y-you can actually recover from it, if the hypothermia doesn’t progress too far.” “How far?” Mobei-jun growls. “There are f-f-f-five stages,” Shang Qinghua shivers out, lips numb. “The fifth stage is death.” - Shang Qinghua and Mobei-jun have their spiritual powers sealed before getting dumped in a white-out snowstorm. Mobei-jun quickly learns that humans are far more susceptible to the cold than he thought.

so you have a bad day by tagteamme

Rating: E; Words: 30,999; Main Pairing: MoShang

Shang Qinghua is not stupid. It does not take a genius to know what it means when you ask a servant where your lord has left to and they readily supply the name of an exclusive brothel in between the two realms. Especially when it's after your utterly disastrous first time together. So he goes away for a bit to clear his head. And promptly gets kidnapped.

it's you I find like a ghost in my mind by nex_et_nox

Rating: M; Words: 20,751; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Luo Binghe doesn’t mean to reach out to Shen Qingqiu. It’s a combination of instinct, the force of habit, and sheer agonized longing that causes him to do it anyway. His physical body is safely ensconced in his rooms at Huan Hua Palace, where he has recently been accepted as a visiting disciple, but his mind— His mind is on Qing Jing Peak. He doesn’t even realize it isn’t one of his own dreams at first.

or: while at Huan Hua, Luo Binghe keeps sharing dreams with his shizun, and it doesn't take long to notice that there is something very, very wrong with Shizun's dreamscape

Immortal Lamb Crusader Way by Mikkeneko

Rating: T; Words: 15,181; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Shen Yuan finds himself transmigrated into the last video game he played before his death -- the dungeon-delving, cult-building anthro hit game of the year, Immortal Lamb Crusader Way. Much to his dismay he finds himself in the role of the BBEG, the God of Death, He Who Waits -- Shen Qingqiu! Is there any way he can guide the protagonist, Luo Binghe, to level-up and victory without falling victim himself to the Lamb Crusader's blade? And why does he want to pet the Lamb's fleecy head so badly? He's not a furry, okay! He's not!

The Black Lotus Lounge by honeylotus

Rating: E; Words: 10,633; Main Pairing: LesBingYuan

“I’m Luo Binghe. This is my place.” Shen Yuan’s eyes widen. Of all the people to take interest in her, ah!

continued by AMereDream

Rating: T; Words: 13,926; Main Pairing: BinggeYuan

> ... and also, you've started reusing old text again. Kudos to you for almost making it six chapters without using the copy/paste button! The way you described Luo Binghe reacting to AU!Shen Qingqiu is almost exactly the same as the way you described the wife of the Pale Moon Arc, Chapter 3425 to be specific. Is it really that hard to come up with another turn of phrase, or are you just that lazy? And furthermore... (Read More) >> O.o what if its deliberate tho... >> "...the same as the way you described the wife..." Uhhh Airplane? That was an accident, right? Airplane?? (or, several weeks after Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had posted what he swore was the last chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way, a new chapter was uploaded to the site.)

Liquid Truth by zarasu

Rating: T; Words: 5,217; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu have been married for almost four years, and Shen Qingqiu decides it's high time he told his husband his little secret. Binghe doesn't quite react as expected.

Can’t You Just Believe Me? by AceOfDivineChlorophyll

Rating: T; Words: 6,928; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Luo Binghe finally had Shizun where he couldn’t escape, tied up and at his mercy and still the man wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t answer any of his questions and instead kept accusing Binghe of things he didn’t do. Fine, Shizun doesn’t want to talk, Luo Binghe can fix that. He doesn’t want to believe Binghe, he can fix that too. After all, this truth serum was strong enough to work even on Heavenly Demons.

Life is (not) a Hallmark Movie by mellicindi

Rating: T; Words: 143,334; Main Pairing: BingYuan

Shen Yuan isn't lonely. He's just overseas in a new city, trying to muddle his way through a business degree, and dealing with the side effects of his stupid intestines trying to kill him. So, maybe he sometimes watches ASMR to cope with his too-quiet apartment. Maybe he has a little bit of a parasocial-relationship-thing going on with one particular cooking ASMR channel. It's 2016, who doesn't? The point is, he's content with his quiet life. And then Shang Qinghua strong-arms him into watching one Hallmark Christmas movie, and it all goes to hell. Or: Shen Yuan is a Hallmark movie protagonist, Luo Binghe is a Lifetime movie protagonist, and somehow they make it work.

instructions unclear, ghost husband obtained by aksnevv

Rating: T; Words: 25,449; Main Pairing: BingQiu

To make things clear: Shen Qingqiu doesn't believe in ghosts or spirits. At least, he didn’t. But alas, it all started when a strangely suspicious blog posted over ten years prior was read to him on one fateful day. Who knew that just five hundred poorly-typed words written in comic sans on a clearly outdated website would lead to Shen Qingqiu dragging around a living (questionable), handsome (unfairly so) ghost that happens to be the subject of the most notorious urban legend-- following him around like a lovesick puppy, cooking him breakfast and ironing his clothes? Definitely not Shen Qingqiu.

All We Can Do Is Try by corduroyserpent

Rating: G; Words: 2,962; Main Pairing: TianXi

Su Xiyan has no trouble taking deadly poison…it's parenting she's worried about.

How to Catch a Mer-Snake (No Net Required!) by corduroyserpent

Rating: G; Words: 7,522; Main Pairing: GongZhi

Zhuzhi-lang doesn’t get close—wary as he is of strangers—but he does gather the courage to sneak a tiny peek above the waves. He makes sure not to show too much of himself, only the very little needed to see what’s happening. And what he sees is…well…it's a boy. Slightly older than Luo Binghe, with long dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck. A human. - Was anyone going to tell Gongyi Xiao there was a whole boyfriend hidden under the ocean or was he just supposed to save a mer-snake's life and find out himself?

a touch of honey by goatpunch

Rating: G; Words: 5,366; Main Pairing: GongZhi

Zhuzhi-lang is trying to make it as a writer, but his life is interrupted by a certain (annoyingly handsome) barista at his favorite coffee spot. It doesn't help when his friends and family seem intent on setting the two of them up.

grow beyond by AMereDream

Rating: T; Words: 5,790; Main Pairing: QiJiu

It all began when Shen Qingqiu brought a baby to the twice-yearly Peak Lord Meeting. Or, perhaps it all started nine months before that, when Shen Qingqiu stumbled upon a very special plant.

some little nothings by tagteamme

Rating: E; Words: 6,986; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Luo Binghe has been acting a little strange. Well— not strange in the traditional sense. He’s not been acting moody, nor has he been acting irritable or rude or secretive. Instead, he’s been… respectful. In the way he talks, in the way he touches, in the distance that he keeps. And the fact that he’s keeping distance to begin with. While Shen Qingqiu theoretically should appreciate the breathing space, in reality it’s been sort of irritating. More than anything, he wants to know why Luo Binghe has stopped properly taking him to bed.

From the Heights by any_open_eye

Rating: E; Words: 9,222; Main Pairing: BingYuan

"Are you here to watch me bathe? That's rude." The dog huffs out a breath, sitting down in front of the bath. Shen Yuan can't resist reaching out to pat it on the head. It really is a handsome beast, once you get over the teeth and the rumbling growls. The strangely intelligent eyes. "Where do you come from, anyway? I've never seen anything like you." The dog licks his fingers. (Shen Yuan finds an injured monster high on the mountain. He brings it home.)

The Dumb Teacher Self-Saving System by Fluffy_Nightmare

Rating: G; Words: 4,263; Main Pairing: BingYuan

Luo Binghe had a hard time reading Shen Yuan. The youth's face appeared to be forged from pure and cold jade, not flesh and blood, as he never showed any emotions. From time to time the peak lord could spot disgust or contempt when the demon-king-to-be looked at him, but nothing beyond that. Shen Qingqiu never smiled, never shed a tear, but it was to be expected. After all, he was a scum protagonist of “The Bloody Path of the Immortal Demon” - a web novel written by a user Frost, the one containing more backstabbing, revenge plans and dead bodies than a history of the last hundred years of humanity. For him to show his weaknesses was unthinkable. Soon, it would change.

Welcome To My Table (Bring Your Hunger) by SpiritOfFox

Rating: M; Words: 50,442; Main Pairing: BingYuan

Shen Yuan died, woke up, then almost died again. Afraid for his life as a demon in the spirit caves of Cang Qiong he runs as far as he could... Only he didn't count on Peak Lord Luo chasing him down. AKA a role-reversal fic where Luo Binghe's secrets have secrets and Shen Yuan is in no way ready to live as a demon in the world of the hit stallion novel he transmigrated into.

the hands by which he fell by airplanelanding (TheCourtSorcerer)

Rating: T; Words: 7,513; Main Pairing: BingQiu

But he didn’t run, and maybe that was more devastating. More devastating, more soul-crushing, more heart-shattering—because he flinched. The moment Luo Binghe lifted a hand to his face, inches from touching him, his shizun, Shen Qingqiu, poised and aloof and composed and fearless Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu, flinched. And, oh, if that didn’t hurt. Or Jinlan City but Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe actually talk.

residue of yesterday by el_em_en_oh_pee

Rating: E; Words: 8,928; Main Pairing: LesBingQiu

It took Shen Qingqiu an embarrassingly long time to realize that Luo Binghe was literally there in her dreams. Her first thought was, 'This didn't happen in Proud Immortal Demon Way?!' Her second thought was, 'Luo Binghe's clearly been practicing a lot... and making quite a bit of progress.' Her third thought was, frankly, embarrassing. But as a noted fan/hater of Proud Immortal Demon Way, it was just so cool to see the protagonist acquire new skills! Skills that, when fully blackened, would no doubt lead to Shen Qingqiu's undoing. Whoops.

A Guilty Conscience by Underworld_Melon

Rating: T; Words: 1,882; Main Pairing: BingQiu

“Shizun should know,” Binghe says, smoothly caressing his hair with the bloodied hand and a voice rich like honey, “that this heavenly demon knows ways to find out if one is lying.” or Shen Qingqiu is in the Huan Hua Palace. Binghe reads his mind. It all goes very well.

wonderstruck (blushing all the way home) by sweetdreamers

Rating: T; Words: 10,143; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Luo Binghe wants to combust. His professor should be illegal. Or at least labelled with a warning. Too much exposure to one (1) Shen Qingqiu will cause spontaneous combustion. Approach at your own risk. - or, slytherin!binghe pining after oblivious potions master!shen qingqiu

dirty imbecile by plutoisgay

Rating: E; Words: 11,559; Main Pairing: LesBinggeYuan

Shen Yuan never asked questions when customers came seeking her out, even as they increasingly asked for targeted death spells or life-long, horrid curses. It wasn’t any of her business, and she needn’t get involved with the carriage-wreck that was those revenge plots. Even when she had to etch the same words ‘icy river’ again and again into beautifully carved cutlery and plates and vases, as red-faced women reached her shop in swarms as the months passed by, asking for monstrosity inducing curses, for seals that cause the downfall of kingdoms, for targeted attacks against a woman who had a better life than any of those that slithered their way into Shen Yuan’s business. Shen Yuan became experienced in carving ‘Luo Binghe’ into the tiny spots of her work, hidden by a neat handle or painted design. She didn’t ask questions, even as word reached her city that a new demon had risen to power, quickly taking control of the two demonic realms and coming for the final one left untouched. - A mysterious cultivator stumbles across Shen Yuan's home, in dire need of nurture and care. Shen Yuan calls BS. Luo Binghe, as things will have it, is not a force to be trifled with.

Marriage By Proxy by x_los

Rating: M; Words: 5,464; Main Pairing: BingQiu

Peak lord Shen Qingqiu has been officially betrothed to the demonic prince Su Binghe via an intermediary. Prince Binghe's chamberlain is attentive, comely, and absolutely not the man Shen Qingqiu should be falling in love with.

murder cat sword only likes its wielder's boyfriend by PandaFlower

Rating: T; Words: 5,039; Main Pairing: BinggeYuan

Instead of being found by Huan Hua Palace disciples, Luo Binghe meets a Wan Jian disciple who instantly falls in love with his sword. No, not that sword. Xin Mo.

It's Just A Matter Of When by ritualist

Rating: T; Words: 4,326; Main Pairing: BingYuan

“So I’ll need to be direct,” Binghe says. “Got it. What else?” “I’m not helping you,” Shang Qinghua says. “You haven’t even got his number and you’re already being unbearable about this.”

#anqels ramblings #eva.link #svsss #fic recs #svsss fic recs #bingqiu #bingyuan #moshang #qijiu #gongzhi #mxtx #y'all better appreciate this!!!#i spent hours upon hours editing this monster #if you're wondering in what order these are it's reverse chronological from the time I bookmarked them #there's more but uhh...I'd rather keep the filthier smut to myself because god I have an #Interesting Taste

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dragaliareferencearchive · 4 months

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Model references for Sailor Apprentice / Yokohama? I Predict Good Food♪ (Hatsune Miku) - Project Sekai: Colorful Stage!

#art references #art reference #model references #project sekai colorful stage #hatsune miku colorful stage #project sekai edit #prsk #pjsk #hatsune miku #more more jump #MMJ miku #Sailor Apprentice #Yokohama? I Predict Good Food #One Small Trip Before a Big Journey #Bon Voyage! Friendship Ahoy!#dragaliaarchiveprsk

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radiosteve · 11 months

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Call Me At Midnight

Summary: Your friend Steve invites you over for a late night movie. But you don't really like each other that much, right?

Note: Here's a shorter fic based on the song Apple Cider by beabadoobee. Hope you like it!

Warnings: No use of y/n, friends to lovers, a curse word or two?

Pairings: Steve Harrington x reader

Word count: 3.1k

The wind rattled brutally against your bedroom window, although you were none the wiser. Instead, you were lying face down in your bed, arms cradling your head as soft snores exuded from your lips. It's not like you meant to fall asleep when you got home from work, but the hours of standing on your feet and making coffees really did you in. So, when you toed off your shoes and laid back in your bed at 6 p.m., you couldn’t help but lose your ongoing battle with consciousness and let your eyes flutter shut. It was nice to get some shut-eye after a long day, even if it was short-lived.

The telephone on your nightstand rang out, reverberating off the walls and waking you from your slumber. Your hand shot out on instinct, grabbing the receiver to quell the incessant ringing. It finally stopped as you peeled your eyes open and brought the phone up to your ear.

“Hello?” you asked, voice strained and groggy with sleep. You were met with a chuckle on the other end of the line as you ran your hand over your face, attempting to rub the drowsiness from your eyes. It was a warm sound, like a blazing roar in the fireplace that encased the entire room in heat.

“Sorry grandma, didn’t realize you went to bed so early,” the smooth voice of Steve Harrington echoed through the phone. You and Steve had been friends for a while, meeting through Robin and the insanity that was working at Scoops Ahoy. Your eyes drifted to the alarm clock on your nightstand, its face reading 12:01 a.m.

“Don’t grandma me. It's after midnight, which is a perfectly reasonable hour to be asleep,” you defended yourself, throat still hoarse as you slowly withdrew from your sleep-induced haze. “Why’d you call anyways?” you asked bluntly, wanting to cut to the chase and wondering why you were awoken.

“Wanted to know if you’d come over and watch The Princess Bride. I know you’ve been dying to see it and I finally snagged a copy from work,” Steve said, brushing his sweaty palms against his jeans. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about asking you to come over. It's not like this would be a date, and he didn’t even like you that much, right? You considered his offer, going back and forth between how late it was and how much you wanted to watch The Princess Bride. The latter won.

“Alright, I’ll be there in ten. But just know, I’m coming over for the movie, not you,” you shrugged on a sweater, struggling to keep the phone to your ear as you did. It was your favorite sweater, a forest green cable knit that was soft to the touch. Steve had complimented it once, said that it looked good on you, and from then on you found yourself wearing it more and more, though you didn’t like to read into why.

“Noted. See you soon, grandma,” Steve spoke through the phone, a smirk that you couldn’t see dancing on his lips. He hung up just in time to hear your groan from the other end, which only encouraged his smile to stretch further.

The drive to Steve’s house never took very long, usually the duration of a song and a half from whatever pop station your radio was tuned to at the time. Steve’s house was dark when you arrived, no light seeping through the cold, empty window panes. It almost made you question if he was actually home, though you knew he was. The driveway remained empty too, save for Steve’s car, indicating that his parents were off on another business trip without him. Your car pulled up behind Steve’s in the driveway, the sound of some Tears For Fears song cutting off as you came to a stop and turned off the engine. You took a moment before getting out, trying to control the butterflies that suddenly bubbled up in your stomach. It’s just Steve. A loud thump startled you from your thoughts. Turning towards the window you found Steve knocking on it with a blanket wrapped around his head and shoulders.

“The hell are you doing?” you asked, getting out of the car and closing the door behind you. He looked like a baby swaddled in a blanket, the soft material obscuring his voluminous hair.

“E.T. phone home,” he outstretched his hand with his index finger jutting out towards you. It was his typical goofy Steve antics and you couldn’t let him know how much you enjoyed it. It’d go straight to his fluffy-haired head.

“Fuck off,” you smacked his hand away with a smile, walking towards the steps that led to the front door. Steve trailed behind you snickering to himself while his eyes drifted down your figure. He’d moved the blanket down from his head, letting it hang over his broad shoulders instead. His hair was disheveled, brown locks wildly out of place. It made you want to run your hands through his hair, tug on its strands, and bring him closer, hovering your lips close to his. But you didn’t.

With the turn of the knob, you opened the door, snapping your thoughts back to their regularly scheduled programming. You migrated to the couch across from the TV, taking a seat on its soft cushions while Steve disappeared to the kitchen.

“Want some apple cider? I just got it from the farmers market this morning,” Steve called out to you, catching the nod of your head that just barely peeked over the couch. The two of you bonded over your shared love of apple cider, ignoring Robin’s protests of how it was too appley, whatever the hell that means. You stood up, inserting the tape into the VCR and prepping the movie while Steve grabbed the snacks. He returned as the previews began to play, setting two glasses of apple cider and a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

You’d expected him to sit down then and join you on the couch. But he didn’t, wandering off back into the kitchen. You refocused your attention on the TV, watching a preview for a movie that you’d already seen so you seemed less interested in what Steve was doing. It was then that his head popped up next to you. Steve’s face was close to yours, only inches apart, as he leaned over the back of the couch to face you. You could smell his shampoo, its distinct scent reminding you of fruit punch.

“Left or right?” he asked and your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” you questioned, unwilling to comply with whatever he was doing until you knew more.

“Just choose,” Steve insisted and you rolled your eyes. You studied him, searching for a sign of which one to choose. After a moment, you gave up and turned your head back towards the screen.

“Right,” you spoke confidently and a pack of Skittles dropped in your lap no more than a second later. Steve hopped over the back of the couch, landing in the spot next to you with a thump. He had a pack of Reese’s Pieces in his hand, tearing the wrapper open and shoving a handful in his mouth. You raised a brow and Steve chuckled, the sound made you want to laugh too.

“You chose the right side. That’s what was on the right,” Steve shrugged, looking away from you, unable to maintain eye contact while he lied. The Skittles were originally in his left hand, but Steve knew they were your favorite, so he switched them at the last second.

“Thanks, Stevie,” you nudged him with your shoulder, a small smile encasing your lips as you opened the candy. It was as if the world had stopped when you smiled, or at least it did for Steve. He’d do anything for you if it meant he got to see the wide stretch of your mouth pointed in his direction. Steve let his gaze linger on you for a moment, only redirecting his eyes away when the movie started.

The movie played, invoking giggles and gasps from both of you. As you swooned over Westley and Buttercup’s romance, Steve couldn’t help but swoon over you. His hazel eyes never strayed from you for too long as he pushed down the overwhelming urge to brush your hair from your face and kiss you. To live out a fantasy romance of his own where he could spend his days trying to save you. Steve could deny it all he wanted, but it was getting harder to hide that he did like you, that he always liked you.

The credits rolled and you immediately knew that The Princess Bride was your new favorite movie. It was perfect and everything you could have hoped for. The fact that Steve had been the one to watch it with you in no way affected that decision, right? Steve stood up, distracting you from the pull of your thoughts. He ejected the VHS tape and put it back into the case. It was then that you noticed how late it was, catching sight of the clock on the wall behind Steve and the television.

“Shit, it’s late. I should probably go,” you rose to your feet, shuffling to grab your empty glass of apple cider and discarded candy wrappers.

“Wait,” Steve stopped you, his voice almost panicked. He didn’t want you to leave, didn’t want the night to end. “You could stay over. I don’t think you should be driving so late,” he suggested, hoping it would convince you to stay. Truthfully, you didn’t want to leave, so when Steve made his offer you easily accepted. Steve led you upstairs where you dug through his dresser drawer to find a shirt and a pair of sweatpants you had left the last time you stayed over.

You shut the door to Steve’s bathroom, ignoring the jitters that ran through you. It’s just Steve, why were you so flustered? Granted, Robin was usually there too when you stayed over at Steve’s house. So the idea of staying alone at Steve’s felt new and exciting. It was like finally being allowed to do whatever you wanted, no watchful eyes lurking over your shoulder.

Steve was sitting on his bed when you emerged from the bathroom in your makeshift pajamas. Even in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, you still stole the air from Steve’s lungs, momentarily ceasing his breathing. Steve had changed too, his pajama pants hanging low on his hips and bare chest exposed to the cool night air.

“Where am I sleeping?” you asked, setting your clothes down on top of Steve’s dresser and hoping you wouldn’t forget them in the morning. You restrained yourself from letting your eyes drift to Steve’s shirtless figure, his chest hair taunting you with its curling tendrils from across the room.

“There’s a guest room down the hall,” Steve couldn’t help but notice the twinge of sadness that encompassed your expression when he spoke, one that he shared internally. “Or you could sleep in here. The house is kind of creepy at night,” Steve added, giving you a way in, an excuse to share a bed with the brown-haired boy.

“I’ll uh, I’ll just sleep in here then if you’re okay with that,” you spoke approaching Steve’s bed to join him where he sat. He nodded, ensuring you that he was indeed okay with sharing his room with you for the night. Honestly, he’d be more than okay to share his room with you every night.

The two of you laid back in Steve’s bed, making no argument about one of you sleeping on the floor. It was no use, and you both knew you’d just end up sharing the bed anyway. Steve flicked off his lamp as you pulled the bed sheets up to cover your shoulders.

It was late and you were tired, but the warmth that radiated off of Steve kept your mind alive, incapable of drifting off. He was like a fire that burned just for you, flames flickering in the cool night to make your skin slick with sweat. It didn’t help that the fruit punch smell from Steve’s shampoo was laced into the fabric of the pillowcase underneath your head, filling each inhale with the overwhelming scent of the boy that you tried to deny liking.

You turned to Steve, unable to feign sleep any longer, eyes searching his side profile. It was unclear what you were looking for, even to yourself, but you still felt drawn to him. Steve, who couldn’t sleep either, felt your eyes on him, invoking a smirk to uplift the corners of his mouth as his eyes opened.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Steve teased, turning to meet your gaze, his hand laid under his cheek, flat against his pillow. You let out a sarcastic laugh at his joke, eyes narrowing in faux anger.

“It’s kind of weird being here without Robin,” you spoke softly, still letting your gaze drift over Steve. His brow furrowed at your words, worry washing over him. Did you not want to be here with just him?

“What do you mean?” Steve shifted in his spot, tucking an arm under his pillow, smoothing its edge to better see you.

“She fills in the gaps with her little rambles,” you answered, unable to hide the fond smile that stretched your lips at the thought of your talkative friend. Steve hummed in agreement, reminiscing over Robin’s inability to stop talking when she should.

A silence settled over the two of you, only accentuating your point. But it was comfortable and pleasant, leaving you to swallow the air that passed between the short distance from each of your lips. Steve glanced at your hair then, admiring the way it spread across the pillow, his pillow.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you shot back, repeating Steve’s own words from earlier after noticing his prolonged stare. You expected Steve to shift his eyes then, settle his gaze on some object across the room. The last thing you expected was for him to reach out, to run his thick fingers through the tangled strands of your hair. You sunk into his touch, feeling the gentle scratch of his nails against your scalp. A sigh fell from your lips, soft and shallow as if you were barely breathing at all.

“Have I ever told you how much I like your hair?” he asked, voice calm and quiet, hardly audible despite the silence in the air. You shook your head, suddenly incapable of forming words. “Well, I do,” his hand rested there for another moment before dropping down, finding your hand that rested on the mattress. Steve laced his fingers with yours and you could’ve sworn that your skin tingled at the feeling. The brush of his hand against yours, ridged fingerprints pressed to the back of your palm.

“Steve,” his name escaped your lips in a whisper, the silence emphasizing the crack of your voice. You said his name like it was your favorite word, like you’d never speak any other name again. He simply kept his gaze on you, unwavering and surprisingly calm given how fast his heart was beating in his chest. “What are you…” you began, letting your question hang in the air. You didn’t want to break the moment, but you were desperately curious about Steve’s sudden shift in behavior.

“I just-” Steve breathed out, his voice shaking with nerves. “I just really like talking to you,” he finished, and your heart swelled within your chest as a feeling of anticipation filled you. You read between the lines, taking Steve’s words for what they truly meant, not just what he said. It was like seeing the sun peek through the clouds, making your first friend in kindergarten, hearing the final ring of the bell on the last day of school. It was the hope, the realization, that maybe Steve liked you too.

“I like talking to you too, Stevie,” you inched closer, Steve’s hand still wrapped around yours. You looked up at him, doe-eyed and hopeful. If there was ever a chance, then this was it. Steve observed you, admiring the flutter of your lashes as you blinked, the plush of your lips, the curve of your cheeks.

He wanted to kiss you, and he was starting to get the feeling that you wanted to kiss him too. So he put on a brave face, leaning in ever so slowly, giving you a chance to pull away if this wasn’t what you wanted. God, Steve hoped you didn’t pull away. You didn’t, meeting Steve halfway as his breath fanned your face, his lips ghosting over yours.

A gasp expelled from within your chest as Steve finally closed the gap, brushing his lips fiercely against yours. He swallowed your gasp, relishing in the feeling he craved since he first met you. His lips were soft, the lingering taste of apple cider invading your taste buds as he slipped his tongue against yours. You melted into Steve, your body now flush with his. One of his hands cradled your face while the other untangled from yours, snaking around to pull your hips closer to his. It was a bruising kiss, one you never wanted to pull away from.

But then you started laughing, your teeth bared in between kisses with the uptick of your lips. Steve couldn’t help but reciprocate your giggles until the two of you broke apart, foreheads pressed together as your chuckles broke through heavy breaths.

“What’s so funny?” Steve finally managed to get out, his hands still caressing your skin. His soft gaze held you comfortably in place, keeping you right where you wanted to be.

“Didn’t think I liked you that much,” you spoke with an air of levity in your tone. The repressed feelings you had for the boy beside you, your friend Steve, finally coming to light. Steve’s smile only grew, his fingers dancing across your cheeks in a gentle stroke of your skin.

“I didn’t think I liked you that much either,” he shrugged, and you wanted to laugh. You were two fools, hopelessly and desperately pushing aside your feelings for no good reason. Steve liked you and you liked him, it was as simple as that. It made you think about all the time you both wasted, all the kisses you could’ve shared. So you dove back in, sinking into the plush of Steve’s lips once more. And he welcomed you warmly, swallowing your shallow moans as he thought about how lucky he was that you accepted his midnight invitation.

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animeweeb115 · 4 months

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“This way! I think we can make it!”

#project sekai #ichika hoshino #One Small Trip Before a Big Journey Event #Bon Voyage! Friendship Ahoy! [GACHA]#Escape By Sea #4 Star card

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badaziraphaletakes · 1 month

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Aziraphale literally and metaphorically doesn't drink coffee. He doesn't even know that espresso doesn't calm you down, for goodness' sake! Coffee virgin ahoy.

The writer of the show (whoever that may be... I assume there was a writer, but I seem to have forgotten his name, oddly enough 💀) practically tripped over himself to show us that Aziraphale is not "on the side of coffee".

#good omens #badaziraphaletakes #goodomens

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sidekickjoey · 1 year

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In the summer of '86, fresh off of saving the world, Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler get blonde highlights.

Be it a coping mechanism after handling the hell that was spring or simply a mutual need for change, the decision is made without nervousness from either party. They enter the salon together, swear up and down to their assigned hairstylists that, yes, this is what they want and no, they do not care that their hair already looks perfect as is, thanks, and leave donning notably different looks.

Steve's signature chestnut ends up woven between streaks of gold, giving him a sort of distracting glimmering effect when he walks out into the sun. Nancy's waves, though still shoulder length and crimped to perfection, sway almost completely and utterly blonde in any light.

Needless to say, their new looks quickly make them, the former it-couple of Hawkins, the talk of the town once more - including that of their two closest friends, Eddie and Robin.

They, unlike the general public of Hawkins, have spent the past few months slowly building massive crushes on Steve and Nancy, entranced by their might after surviving the horrors of the Upside Down. While to most a change in hair color for Steve and Nancy is merely an oddity, to them? It's like someone hit the panic button and left them to scatter in a secluded room.

Robin has only been over her gaga-for-Vickie phase for a few weeks now. The wound is still fresh, and she knows she should not be looking once again into a possible unrequited love situation until she is better healed emotionally. She also knows he has a weakness for blondes that goes beyond all reason, i.e. Tammy Thompson and her muppet singing voice. She shouldn't act and possibly jeopardize one of her most sincere female friendships over a silly little weakness like that.

However, Nancy looks like a vision in blonde.

Robin thinks it's her big doe eyes that do it. They pop when the blonde meshes with Nancy's fair skin, and it makes her heart swoon in the most debilitating of ways. Not to mention, the softer cut she got along with the lighter coloring frames her face so well. Robin swoons over it. If not for her fear of rejection, she probably would have already taken the leap and done something stupid, like confess how Nancy's scrambled her brain.

Eddie's not doing much better himself with Steve.

He had been there in the early days, when Scoops Ahoy's newest worker showed up in his first edition of golden highlights. Like any good Hawkins resident, he had handled it with poise, class, and lots of extra trips to Scoops Ahoy whenever he happened to be at the Starcourt Mall, along with frequent whisperings of 'what the hell' expressed in the confines of his room where no one could hear him freak out. T'was standard™.

This look, though...it blows Scoops Ahoy Steve away by miles.

It's bright. It's golden. It's like he slipped and fell into some kind of radiant daydream, only to emerge like a ray of sunlight to distract Eddie Munson and Eddie Munson alone, and Eddie can't shut up about it.

Seriously, Wayne has heard enough.

The issue is, he has next to no idea what to do about these feelings. His mind is screaming to make a move on the guy, because you only live once and, well, he's already on his second try. However, his little worried heart loves Steve's newfound companionship and whatever odd-couple friendship they have going on right now. He doesn't want to lose that because of some dye job and a trim. It's too important, too good.

So, like Robin, he finds himself refraining.

They both refrain, and over the next week or so, the decision to do so eats at them like mad. They stumble over their words when speaking to Steve and Nancy. They actually stumble physically, in Robin's case, when Nancy walks by one morning. They tell anyone and everyone they can about it aside from Steve and Nancy, and by the end of that week, it all hits a breaking point. Word slips for the sake of everyone's sanity to Steve and Nancy.

It should mark the beginning of havoc and betrayal.

Instead, it breeds two plans.

Because, here's the thing: Steve and Nancy are not dumb, contrary to what some might think. They are wildly observant people. They know what their friends are up to, and Robin and Eddie are high on that friend list after spring. They've seen their behavior and, though Nancy had to spell a little bit of it out for Steve, both have come to the conclusion that something is definitely up in the crush department. If they want to capitalize on it, they know there is no better time than now while their haircuts are still new and their own crushes are seeking an opportunity to spill their feelings.

Nancy's plan to handle Robin, to the untrained eye, is simple. She's known for carefully thought out strikes when people least expect them, and the last thing she's going to do is stop using that tactic to her advantage now.

So, she invites the other girl on a trip to the mall for new bracelets. She claims it's on account of Holly taking hers hostage (not a total lie) and needing time out with someone her age (also not a total lie), and Robin buys it in seconds. A day later, they meet up at a boutique mall just outside of Hawkins and roam for a few hours together. It's simple. Casual. Subtle enough to be innocent from afar yet just intimate enough for Nancy to make her move when the time is right.

The time becomes right when they're sitting at a booth in the food court, chatting about Holly's other jewelry-related crimes. Nancy accidentally knocks the fork for her salad off the table, catching the attention of them both. Robin is quick to say she's got it, but Nancy is faster. Ready. She reaches down, picks up the fork, and in a fit of bravery, makes damn sure she holds eye contact with Robin the entire way back up. Robin swallows and looks away, clearly flustered and trying to behave over such a small thing as eye contact. But, Nancy doesn't want her to ignore it this time. So, she pulls a cheesy line from Steve's old book (that she totally did not rehearse with Steve, not at all) and misbehaves, just to get the ball rolling.

Batting her eyes, she asks in her most casual drawl, "Sheesh Robin, do blondes always make you this nervous?"

Robin chokes on her milkshake. 'Accidentally' knocks over her own fork. Goes down beneath the table to - not subtly - whisper-scream about what the hell that just was, because what the hell was that? Hello?

Nancy finds it incredibly endearing. She kind of wants to tell her about it.

She joins Robin on the floor to do so and giggles, freakin giggles, at Robin's shock and awe over her being there. Robin, panicked, reaches for the fork she dropped and holds it up to Nancy for her to see like it's some kind of explanation for her huddling under the table a full minute after it fell. She then stutters out a small 'got it,' despite Nancy being a goddamn journalist who notices things for her job and is fully capable of using her own two eyes to see, what the heck Robin??

Nancy still finds it all so endearing, though she doesn't think saying it out loud would be the best course of action anymore. Her last words sort of sent the poor girl into a spiral, and as fun as it is sharing this cramped space with her, she kind of wants to get off the gross tile if at all possible. So, instead, she does the next best thing and expresses her fondness physically.

With a kiss.

On the mouth.

Hidden by the table but all-too-real and seen to Robin, who forgets how to breathe because oh my gosh. Oh my GOSH.

It's perfect. It's effortless. It's everything. It's hands-down worth the hours of waiting Nancy had to do under a hairdryer in foils to get her here, and even more worth Robin's adorably rushed confession after the fact that she's always liked blondes, just a little bit.

~~~~~~

Steve's plan is a lot different than Nancy's.

He is a tried-and-true passionate romantic after all, and Eddie is about as dramatic as Shakespeare. A casual outing or demure kiss under a table is just not going to cut it in terms of a confession for either of them. Steve knows this. He tells it to Nancy. Repeatedly.

After hours of back and forth over the phone, he eventually finds himself at a music store, equipped with a wad of cash and his eyes set on an, admittedly, badass looking guitar. It has blue flames along its black exterior that rise to its very top and are lined with a reflective silver, making it glimmer even in the dim light of the shop. Eddie's been moaning about losing his sweetheart to the Upside Down for weeks -- no, months at this point. Steve thinks this blue beauty would be a perfect replacement for her. He also thinks it might just be what they need to stop dancing around each other's feelings too, if he's lucky.

He purchases it and stows it away in his bedroom before calling Eddie over the following day. The boy is all nerves when he finally arrives. Steve doesn't help ease them by running his hand through his hair more than once, but what can he say? It's a tough habit to break, and he's been doing it ever since he's hand anything more than a buzz cut. Sue him.

After pleasantries about their day are discussed and Eddie appears to be more calmed down, Steve invites him upstairs for a 'surprise' that just about undoes all the poor boy's progress at once.

Because Steve didn't just place the new guitar in its case and put a bow on it to surprise Eddie. No, he propped that sucker on its stand, bought a small light to illuminate the silver and blue, and placed a little card on the case that said, 'To Eddie, from your sweetheart.'

Steve watches as Eddie physically has to reboot upon seeing it all. He then rushes to cover his ears as Eddie returns to consciousness with a full-blown yell, running over to his gift with repeated 'no way's that get higher and higher in volume with each utterance. All noise ceases when he finally reads the card, though. That's when Steve feels safe enough to drop his hands to his side and make his approach, a shy grin on his lips.

"Like it?"

"Y-You're my sweetheart?"

With a shrug, Steve once again cards a hand through his hair. "If you want me to be. I-I mean, I assumed you would want me to be with all the looks you've been giving me, a-and everything with the Upside Down. But if I've got that wrong, if...shit, maybe I should just-"

Their first kiss is messy, wet, and way too enthusiastic.

Eddie's all teeth from how wide he's smiling into the kiss, and Steve nearly falls over from the sheer force of the guy barreling into him. He grows a bit dizzy, too, from how firm Eddie's grip on his hair has him, and that does little for his already frazzled balance. But, it's perfect. It's so stupidly them and perfect and wild like Steve had hoped it to be, like Eddie hoped it to be.

Later, when Steve leaves Eddie to enjoy his guitar in peace and breathe because, yeah, he finds himself making a mental note to call Nancy when he's home. If this is what one round of highlights gets him, he'll be damned if they don't plan another round for touch ups soon.

Stepping inside, Steve catches sight of a blinking light on his answering machine that tells him Nancy'd be damned, too.

He smiles.

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