#i was listening to piano while writing this

[giggly-squiggily]

Making It A Big Deal (Blue Lock)

Okay listen- I know I said I wasn't planning on writing anything this week, and normally I don't write character birthday fics (on their actual birthdays) cause your girl can't remember them half the time- but it's CHIGIRI! My literal son- my darling boy; my precious baby! I had to! Anyway happy Birthday Chigiri Hyoma! (December 23)

Summary: Chigiri fails to mention it's his birthday. His friends find out anyway.

Chigiri knew what was coming when he came in after his evening bath.

“Get his ass.” Barou growled.

He just didn’t think it would actually happen.

“Whoa- what? AH!” The redhead tried to run, but his exit was quickly blocked by Reo. Seconds later, he was ambushed, hurdled in by bodies as he was picked up and tossed gently onto the nearest bed. “Wait, wait, hold on- what’s happening?”

“You son of a biscuit eating bulldog!” Isagi growled, yet his eyes and smile betrayed any real anger. “Just how long were you planning on keeping today a secret?”

Huh? What- oh. Chigiri averted his gaze, cheeks warming up at being caught. “Uh..”

“Aha! You weren’t planning on telling us at all, were you?” Bachira cried, poking an accusatory finger into his cheek. “How cruel of you, Missy.”

“I’d say! Why wouldn’t you tell us today was your birthday?” Reo demanded from his spot overhead, pulling Chigiri’s arms up. “If I knew, I would have planned something! You know I’m really good at planning things. Even your introverted ass would have liked it!”

“It’s not really a big deal-”

“Not a big deal?” A chorus of voices cried out. Even Nagi sounded shocked at such a statement. “Dude, it’s your freaking birthday! You’re turning- hey how old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen! Dancing queen!” Isagi exclaimed, the rest of the boys around him nodding in solemn agreement. “You gotta feel the beat on the tambourine!”

“What…?” Chigiri blinked, suddenly lost. Nagi tsked, clicking his tongue.

“This is a hassle. Let’s tickle him.”

“Yeah!” A chorus of cheers drowned out Chigiri’s “Wait!” Before long the redhead was a mess, squirming the best he could with several hands on him. Isagi and Bachira poked and prodded at his ribs as Barou squeezed his thighs. Nagi snuck a few lazy fingers into his neck while Reo pinned his wrists with his knees, tracing his biceps with featherlike touches.

“Cohohoohohme ohohohohohon! Aheahhahahaha, thhiihihis is buhuhuhuhllshihihihihihit!” Chigiri pleaded through his squeaky giggles and laughs, trying to hide his face in his arm with little coverage. “Lehehehhet me uhuhuhuhp, my hahahahair’s stihihihill wehehehehehhet! Aheahhahahahaha!”

“It’ll dry by the time we’re done. Think of it as a new hairstyle- the tickle-tousled!” Isagi told him sweetly, playing his ribs like a piano. “Wouldn’t that look nice, Bachira?”

“Oo, I like it! Of course, Missy looks pretty in just about anything.” The dribbler agreed, digging a thumb into Chigiri’s hip and earning a squeal. “Oo, bad spot?”

“Nah, this is!” Barou called from behind, worming a few fingers behind both of Chigiri’s knees, mindful of his injury. “This’ll teach you for being such a brat!”

“It’s his birthday- let him be bratty.” Reo chided with a snicker, clawing at the redhead’s armpits and making him scream. “We can use it as a reason to keep tickling him.”

“Say Happy Birthday, princess.” Nagi gave up on tickling his neck in favor of taking a group selfie, making sure to get everyone’s smiling face in frame. “This one’s for the books.”

“Nohohohoho, dohohohohn’t tahhahake pihihihctuuuhuhuhres! Aheahhahaha, pleaheehahhahase!” Chigiri begged, lungs starting to ache from how hard he was laughing. His face felt so hot he swore steam must have been rising from it, yet he couldn’t say he wasn’t having fun. His birthday being so close to Christmas oftentimes meant a small yet quick celebration between preparing for friends and family visits. To have such attention on it was a rare yet incredibly pleasant experience.

“Hehe, okay okay- let’s give the birthday boy a breather, yeah? Can’t have him die before he’s old enough to drink.” Isagi signaled for everyone to stop, gifting the redhead much needed air. Chigiri hugged himself as he curled into a loose ball, giggling against the pillow as his friends laughed and cooed at him. “King- did you get it?”

“Of course I did, donkey. Who the hell do you think I am?” Chigiri didn’t know what “It” was- he was far too focused on the feeling of Bachira gently combing fingers through his hair, undoing any tangles. Reo and Nagi eased him into a sitting position to find..

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!” They chorused, singing off-key while a convenience store cake sat before him. On top of it was a slightly melted ‘17’, the flame dancing gently at the tip. “Happy birthday, dear Hyoma! Happy birthday to you!” They cheered, and Chigiri suddenly felt like crying for all the right reasons.

“Quick, blow the candle out before Ego-sensei finds out!” Bachira encouraged, earning a wet laugh from the redhead as he did just that. A series of spoons came next as they dug in, taking bites and bantering about with one another.

“Did you make a wish?” Nagi asked from his left, voice soft against the rest of their friend’s chatter. “Don’t tell me- it won’t come true if you say it outloud.”

“I did.” Chigiri nodded around his spoon, smiling when Reo threw an arm around him from his right. “I don’t need to worry about that- it already came true.”

“Awwww!” They chorused obnoxiously, making him blush and laugh in his hands.

He was so, so grateful to have friends like this.

Thanks for reading! :D

[mizzfizz]

MORNING LIGHT | -> leon kennedy

the morning light shines softly into the room, moving across the wall as the curtains sway to the wind's melody.

you lay awake, gazing at your lover, leon, who lays fast asleep upon your breasts. he looks calm and serene, his breath light as his chest rises up and down.

the light that ripples over his head makes his blonde hair shine, giving him an ethereal look as though an angel rests here in his stead.

you move your hand towards his face to lightly caress his cheek with the back of your hand, before tucking a lock of his silky hair behind his ear.

the right side of his face is cuddled between your breasts as his left arm lays over your body onto the bed.

you trace the length of his jawbone, the slope of his nose, the curvature of his eyebrow, and the shape of his lips.

you wonder how long the two of you will be able to stay like this before he leaves again.

almost like he can hear your thoughts, his eyelashes flutter open, revealing to you his cerulean blue eyes.

once his gaze lands onto you, a sleepy smile encompasses his face that seeps into his crow's feet.

he presses a kiss onto your sternum, before reaching out for your hand and interlocking your fingers together.

his hand is a lot bigger than yours, his fingers long and lean. you can feel the callouses that litter the tips of his fingers and the tops of his palm.

he brings your interlocked hands to his face, pressing a kiss onto the back of your hand.

you smile softly back at him, your worries melting away at the show of his affection.

with the warmth of the sun that shines on your skin and the breeze of the cool spring air, you fall back asleep, content that for now, leon lays here with you.

— all rights reserved © MIZZFIZZ 2022-2024. do not repost/redistribute to any other platform, copy, steal, or claim as your own post.

[freyafrida]

tagged by @gogandmagog, thank you! ❤️ was passingly familiar with most of your artists but hadn't given any of them a proper listen, so am having fun doing that :D they're on my 'to listen' playlist which i loop while playing the sims

tagging @cherryblossomsatsea @asymphonyofstarlight @casualoddities @librarylexicon and whoever else would like to! <3

[skzoologist]

I got another idea for a fic :]]

So one of the members (you choose who) are struggling. It could be they aren't feeling so good about themselves, or they are struggling with a dance move or anything that's just making them feel down they obvi try to hide that cuz they don't want the others to worry but Bae notices the small change in their behavior and comforts them :]]

(hope you don't mind me coming here randomly with fic ideas😅)

-🐿️

word count: ~1.7-1.8k

warnings: negative thinking, self-deprecative thoughts

genre: hurt/comfort

a/n: Hey-ho 🐿️ anon, hope you don't mind that I wrote this request of yours now, and not the other two you sent in earlier than this. I just think we all need a hug, so I wrote this one instead. Love your ideas, as always, and I hope you enjoy reading this!

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Bae woke up with a strange feeling in his chest. It gnawed away at his flesh and ribs, desperate to get out and do something. Albeit what, he did not know.

But it was concerning.

It had nothing to do with himself, Bae was sure about it. He felt well-rested -as rested as you could get with their schedules-, his body was in a fine condition. Even his unruly hair was in an acceptable condition in the morning, something that was rare. It just confused him.

If it wasn’t about his own condition, then what was his body warning him about, endlessly ringing that alarm bell in his head?

With furrowed eyebrows, he got ready for the day, fully clothed in some loose clothing, the one he always wore to dance practice. He wanted to go over some older choreos, lest his body forget them, something that would be unacceptable. 

No one else was up when Bae sneaked out of his room, an unsurprising fact. 

Much like his dear leader, he was a workaholic, leaving himself with the bare minimum of sleep in exchange for more work. Which was why he was usually the first one to check on Chan if he wasn’t in his bed -or god forbid, the couch in the dorm’s living room-, finding the man in his studio with dark circles and a hunched back, fatigue clinging to him desperately. It would lead to the younger patiently waiting there in silence, just until his hyung’s eyes finally closed. Even with Chan’s well-built form, Bae didn’t have a lot of problems moving him over to the couch, leaving only after a blanket was draped over the exhausted man.

But that day Chan was in his bed, thankfully, allowing Bae to go straight to their usual practice room, where he could let the music take over and move his body to its own whims, only for the others to find him still dancing, hours later. Sweat dripped from him in translucent rivers, long locks of hair sticking uncomfortably to heated skin. His chest heaved up and down, the lack of air only registering in his mind then.

Danceracha didn’t hesitate to start berating him, talking his ear off about resting more while his water bottle was pushed into his hands roughly. He let them talk without saying anything, hungrily drinking the clear liquid from the bottle in his grasp.

Bae’d already done this dance of theirs hundreds of times, the others always finding him working and practising with little to no rest in that same room, nearly every morning. He’d learned that letting them scold him was the best route to take, the one where their worries for him took on the smallest possible form.

“Hyung, you really gotta rest more, that’s also part of a healthy lifestyle!” - Felix angrily told him, nose slightly scrunched up in frustration. “Felix, you know that he doesn’t listen, just let it go.” - Minho replied in Bae’s stead, who just stood there silently. “But then what should we do?!” “Take away his access to the room.” “Minho hyung, I could kiss you.” “Please don’t.”

The two chased after each other, Felix offended at the disgusted face Minho made at his comment. There was a playfulness in all of it, slightly easing that gnawing sensation in Bae’s chest.

Yet, the moment he looked over at the only other silent person in the room, it strengthened, making his brows slightly furrow and lips dip down.

Hyunjin looked different. Not in his appearance, no, there was nothing wrong or off about that. Those long, dark strands were pulled back in that oh so familiar hairstyle, his usual clothes loose on his skin. No, it was the way his lips were in a small, permanent downwards arch, eyes duller than usual, as if the moon was blocking out the sun’s radiant shine.

It didn’t sit well with Bae.

In a blink it was gone, a smile in its place as Hyunjin waved at the taller member, playfully looking at him with a questioning hum. It felt as if it was all a hallucination, the unavoidable consequences of his own relentless dancing. The more he looked, the more he convinced himself of that.

Hyunjin seemed fine.

Soon the four of them started dancing, working on their new choreography. It went much like it usually did, everyone throwing in their ideas for certain parts and beats in the music, the others voicing their opinion about it. Minho called the final shots, being the one with the most knowledge in the area. None of them had any problems with it, it only felt natural.

Once they had it mostly done, it was time to rehearse a different choreography for their future tour, making small adjustments here and there. Their dynamic was impeccable, everyone stayed in their own bubble and performed the moves perfectly.

And yet, yet Bae couldn’t help but frequently glance at Hyunjin through the floor-to-ceiling mirror that stood unshakeable in front of them. It took him several repeats of the song, but he caught more and more small things that were off in the way Hyunjin moved and behaved. A small tremble of an arm, a misplaced foot by only a few inches, that same downturned smile appearing for the split of a second.

Nobody else seemed to have noticed, based on their lack of reaction, only Bae.

The moment Minho announced that they were done and the two youngest collapsed onto the floor, Bae didn’t hesitate to throw a look at the older’s way. At his slight head tilt and concerned eyes, Bae subtly pointed at Hyunjin and the door, making sure the other two weren’t looking. Understanding flashed through those dark eyes, a slight nod letting the otter know about it.

“Huh? Bae hyung and Jinnie hyung, aren’t you two coming?” - Felix asked, confused as he was gently being ushered out by Minho. “No, we’ll go later. See you, Lixie, Lino hyung.” - Bae answered in a lighthearted tone, hoping it would ease the younger’s concerns and maybe even erase them.

The aussie only mumbled an ‘Oh, okay’ and animatedly waved, leaving the room with only one of his hyungs. It left just the two artists there, alone, one still laying on the ground, the other sitting down next to him quietly.

It was silent.

Bae didn’t need to say anything, he knew Hyunjin realised he’d failed to hide something from him. So, he patiently waited there, until the boy would open up to him at his own pace. Only a phone was in Bae’s hands, the chat with Hyunjin’s manager open.

It didn’t matter what Hyunjin had scheduled for the rest of the day, Bae would take on the consequences for cancelling and rescheduling them. Knowing this fully well, the manager didn’t argue at all and just did as he was asked. Not wanting to keep him out of the loop, Bae sent a quick text to Chan as well, knowing how the man could get when it came to his members and their wellbeing.

“Hyung, am I not good enough?” - Hyunjin’s voice was quiet, heartbreakingly so.

Bae instantly locked and pocketed his phone, his attention solely on his younger member and the way his voice trembled. Gently, the older took the hand that laid closer to him and grasped it, caressing the skin with his thumb. Not a sound escaped him, knowing fully well that it wasn’t the end of what Hyunjin wanted to say.

“It’s just, am I worthless? Is my dancing not good or precise enough? Is my voice too nasally and bad? Am I ugly? Is all my work really not enough? All I keep seeing online are people saying how I’m not dancing as well as I used to, how I should’ve gotten less lines and let someone else, like Seungminnie, sing more, and just how I used to look better like this and that, or how others look better than me. Should I even be here, in this group? Do I even deserve it at this point?”

By the end, Hyunjin’s voice completely broke, just like the dam that held his tears back. The crystal droplets endlessly fell from his eyes, running over the expanse of pale skin and carving a way for themselves down to the floor. Quiet sounds escaped his throat and through his fingers, a hand placed there, although useless in muffling any voice. The other hand that was held moved away from its place, its new assignment to hide those sorrowful depths and block out anyone from witnessing them, from letting the heartbroken boy acknowledge the fact that someone was seeing his broken and curled up form.

As gently as he could, Bae scooted over and took the trembling boy in his hold, letting him weep into his clothes and skin. A hand was carding through those dark locks soothingly in an unheard rhythm, the other holding onto as many pieces as it could, mending them together. A low hum left his throat, one that made Hyunjin move into the crook of his neck, hiding from the world and his gaze.

“You’re more than enough, Jinnie. You are beautiful and handsome, pulling off looks others couldn’t even dare to think about. Your voice is soft, taking anyone who listens to it into a cosy headspace, as if they were bundled up in front of the fireplace amidst the harsh weather of winter. The dance style you have is unique, your moves captivating and flowing together perfectly. You’re talented and hardworking, someone who undeniably earned their place in this band and industry. Besides, we all love you too much to ever let you go, you’re stuck with us for a lifetime.” - Bae’s voice was low and quiet, as if the winds themselves learned how to whisper for Hyunjin’s sake.

The sobbing decreased with every sentence that left the older’s lips, only quiet sniffing left behind in their wake. A few trembles remained, but the boy was relaxed in the other’s arms, comfortably laying there, sheltered from the grim world.

“I love you. I’ll tell you again and again, no matter how many times I need to.” - the words felt immovable, firmly settling onto Hyunjin’s form, along with the small kiss that Bae left on the crown of his head.

They sat there for a while, none of them knowing, nor caring how much time had passed. Both were content in their position, lazily drinking in the other’s presence as only soft humming could be heard in the peaceful silence.

Everything would be fine.

[bmpmp3]

i do think its kinda funny when i see someone in the year of our lord 2024 talk about vocal synth music like its all gone downhill since like 2010 because like dont get me wrong i love a good niconicodouga-ass 2008 ass vocaloid joint BUT also like. the past couple years have had the most fascinatingly creative and expressive uses of vocal synthesizers ive ever heard in my life DJFSKHJDFS dont write it all off just yet!!

[ughscara]

you know, my deadass be like "oh yeah i'm just going to be proofreading my wanderer kuni fic, post said fic then start writing chapter two for my kabuki series tomorrow" then suddenly have the urge of writing ( or making a series ) about reader and kuni who are involved in the classical music scene and, you guessed it, are rivals who must work together.

[coern]

I NEED TO BE PUT DOWN

[neverendingford]

.

[roaringroa]

flirting via mitski songs on insta story this is so ahlshslsi

[sexynetra]

13 for boxer au <3 wanna commit to the vibe hehe

13. What music did I listen to while writing/what do I recommend people listen to

Okay here’s the thing. I made a playlist for rawnsyf a long time ago. That became basically the only thing I listen to anymore? So more likely than not I listened to that. But I also do a lot of my writing at work which means that I’m listening to bad workout remixes of pop songs that were big in like 2019 😭 do NOT recommend listening to that it’s annoying as shit. But I should make a boxer au playlist. The universe is big enough to deserve that 😂

For now here is the rawnsyf playlist which absolutely has songs on it that have informed boxer au scenes, but keep your eyes peeled for a boxer au playlist sometime soon now that the idea has entered my brain!

[doitwrite]

From The 3 A.M. Epiphany

Exercise 16: "TWO PAINTINGS....Write a story that is an attempt to bridge two photographs or paintings...Choose two paintings or photographs that are very dissimilar. 600 words)

Limbo

The gentle melody of classical piano had always been a part of the landscape, as much as the meaty smell of burning flesh and sulfur or the plastic clacking of poker chips from the Overseers’ table. Somehow it made everything twice as awful, as if the radio of some unfeeling god had drifted down from heaven to mock the eternal torment of the wretched souls trapped forever in various eternal torments. That was the intended impression, of course. But Thornin knew that was wrong—God listened to rock music. Thornin had met him once, when he’d first started working in Limbo. The guy was terrifying in a quiet way, like the few seconds before a hurricane.

Thornin scribbled down another rash of names on the filthy parchment unrolled on the poker table, shivering as he felt the gaze of the Master sweeping down from on high. The Master took the form of a floating cat head big enough to swallow the Troll Hole (that was what they called the gigantic humanoid head that ate people like tiny, screaming candies). Like the music, it appeared beautiful in its own strange way, a patchwork of stained glass that offered the only splash of color against the dull orange and shit-brown landscape. The Master saw and remembered everything, acting as intermediary between God and the Overseers.

The paper was greasy under Thornin’s hand, just like everything else in this godforsaken place. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Jesus came down here too sometimes, doling out a little extra punishment for his dad for the extra-shitty ones. In fact, He was currently a few meters away, spearing down mass murderers with a glowing cross in the Trenches.

The ink glistened wetly on the page as Thornin recorded the names of the rash of souls that had just arrived. Did time even exist down here? Hell if he knew. He’s been writing names and playing Crackle with the others forever.

Something tickled at the back of his mind. Forever?

Jester leaned in over the table, waving his hands.

“Oi, Thornin. We’re gonna start the next round.”

“Sure, sure. Give me a moment.” The scratching of the quill was inaudible over the dissonant sound of gentle piano and throat-tearing screams. The list was surprisingly long today—he wondered if God had planned an earthquake or something. The moment he reached the end of the page, the letters faded as if they’d never been written, and he returned to the top of a blank sheet.

There it was…the barely-there uneasiness.

How…many times had he repeated these motions?

“Okay, ready.”

Jester nodded at Orgen, who scooped up the dice with one clawed hand, then rattled them. A screaming severed head suddenly flew onto the table, nearly scattering the pile of poker chips. One of the guards working the Funnel of Death ran over and grabbed it, then dragged it, still screaming, off the table.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Thornin stared at the smear of blood that had been left on the dirty felt. They’d play a round, then he’d write down the next slew of names, then another round, more names…

***

The Master appeared silently and suddenly. Led Zeppelin stopped singing.

“I think we might have a problem.” He blinked his sea-glass eyes.

“It’s unusual, isn’t it?”

“What would you like me to do about it?”

“Nothing, for now. It won’t change anything.”

“But—” A deep wave of terror rolled over it slowly, oppressively. The Master wasn’t familiar with the human concept of flinching, but it made a respectable attempt.

“Yes?”

“Nothing.”

Zeppelin started singing again.

There's still time to change the road you're on…

[katsu28]

home is wherever you are

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: secretly falling in love with your best friend is tough. secretly falling in love with your best friend who also happens to be your roommate is even less than ideal. the solution? move out! (hint: it isn’t a very good one.) (5k)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, a smidge of google translated french lol

a/n: CHARLES LECLERC!!! CHARLES LECLERC!!!!LECLERC!!! LECLERAUGHCOUGHCOUGH

“I still cannot believe you’re abandoning me.” 

Charles shoved another box of your things into the boot of your car rather huffily, as if to reiterate just how unhappy he was. 

“I’m not abandoning you, I’m moving out of your apartment.” You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully at him. You passed him the last box off the ground, wiping your hands off on your shorts before propping them on your hips. 

“That is quite literally the same thing.” He mirrored your stance in total seriousness, frown unwavering. “And it’s not my apartment, it’s yours now too. Your home.” 

You’d been living with Charles for a while now, having been suddenly evicted from your own place three, almost four years ago. With nowhere else to go, you’d turned to your best friend, and Charles had welcomed you with open arms, giving you a home when you’d needed it most. 

There were many good things about living with Charles—he liked to cook (which boded well with you, seeing as you were no master chef yourself. Except for when he’d gone through a questionable phase of combining cuisines that did not go well together.), he was respectful of set boundaries and agreed upon rules. You had the same taste in shows and movies, which made for little fighting when it came to deciding on what to watch. 

But most notably, he loved to play the piano. It was a hobby he’d picked up during long days spent staying at home, and he was good at it too. An electronic keyboard when he’d first started out, just to see if it was something he was serious about, but as he zoomed through the basics with ease, he’d splurged on a gorgeous white piano that stood proudly in the living room. 

Soon enough, it wasn’t unusual for the apartment to be full of music, beautiful songs of Charles’ own composing. 

He played whenever he had the feeling. Whenever he had something on his mind, whenever he was bored, anything, he’d spend hours at the piano, playing, playing, playing. Some might’ve called it annoying, but not you. You found it rather soothing. 

It had very quickly become a habit of yours to fall asleep listening to Charles play. Something about it seemed to always relax you just enough to the point where you could pretty much fall asleep anywhere if he was at the bench. 

Your favorite spot was on the sofa with a big blanket, watching him get lost in the notes until you drifted off. More often than not, you could rarely get a good night’s sleep without Charles’ accompaniment—your very own version of white noise. 

But truth be told, this past year of living together with Charles had been trickier than the first couple. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment things began to change, but something had definitely shifted between you. 

You’d been trying to write it off just the two of you being very close, but you’d been dancing on the line of close friends and more than friends for a long time. Falling asleep together cuddled on the sofa, lingering touches whilst you were in the same room and in passing, hugs that lasted a little too long to be considered normal. 

The more your feelings for Charles grew, the more worried you became. Worried about what, you weren’t exactly sure. All you knew was you didn’t want to lose the longest and best friendship you’d ever had because you went and fell in love.

“I know. But I think it’s well past time I get out of your hair and try being on my own for once.” You said softly, stepping in to fold yourself into Charles’ arms. 

Most of that was true. You did feel like you needed to live by yourself for a chance, to see what it was like to be fully independent in your adult life. You’d moved in with Charles when you were twenty two, and you were twenty five now. It was time for you to venture out on your own. 

But the uncertainty of falling in love with your best friend was definitely also a contributing factor. 

He made a displeased sound at your words, but tucked you under his chin nonetheless. “I don’t want you to get out of my hair. My hair likes it with you here.” 

“I live fifteen minutes away, Cha. I’m not moving across the country. You and your hair can come over anytime.” You scoffed, giving him a gentle poke in the ribs. “And I’ll come over here all the time too, you know that.” 

“Fine, fine. I don’t know what I am supposed to do with your empty room now, but I’ll figure it out. Maybe I will take up scrapbooking. Knitting. Needlepoint, maybe. Turn it into a craft room.” 

“Maybe you can turn it into a music room. Move the keyboard in there, your piano.” 

“Ah, bien entendu, my piano. How will you ever fall asleep without my sweet, sweet melodies?” 

“I think I will manage just fine.” You chuckled. 

Charles held you at arms’ length, dark brows furrowing as he scowled. “What I’m hearing is you don’t love me anymore.” 

Oh, if only he knew. 

You smiled instead, patting his cheek good-naturedly. “Come on, you drama queen. I want to move in before the sun goes down.” 

Charles went full protection mode the second all your belongings had made it safely inside the apartment, intently checking every lock, window, door hinge, cabinet—not an inch of the apartment went uninspected by him. When he seemed fairly satisfied with his safety checks, he returned to where you were unpacking kitchen items over by the oven.

“Everything up to your standards?” You asked, pulling out a stack of plates wrapped in brown paper. Charles shuffled over, easing them out of your hands and unwrapping them to help put them up in the cabinet. “No one is going to break in through my window tonight?”

“Don’t even joke about that.” He grumbled, chucking the balled up paper at you gently. “Everything I checked is fine. You will be safe here.” 

Food was simple when it came time for dinner—takeout on the floor of your living room, because you hadn’t had the time to go shopping for a coffee table yet. Or a dining room table. Or even chairs, really. All you had were some pillows and an overturned cardboard box to put the food on. 

Charles had insisted on helping you furnish the whole place before you moved in but you’d declined, saying that you wanted to get a feel for the place before filling it with everything. The last time it would be this empty would be the day you moved out. 

He seemed a little quiet the rest of the night, but you didn’t press it until after dinner, whilst he was helping you with the washing up. Well, helping was a strong word. 

“You’ve been drying that plate for ages now.” You observed, tilting your head at him thoughtfully. Charles inhaled sharply, shaking his head like he’d been snapped out of a stupor. He glanced down at the completely dry plate, then back up at you blankly. “What’re you thinking about?” 

“You’re really going to be gone.”

“You say that like I told you I’ve only got days to live. I won’t be gone, Cha. I’ll be around.” You chuckled, flicking dish soap bubbles in his direction. Charles responded by flinging his towel at you, cracking a smile. You liked it when he smiled, hated it when he frowned. He was still unfairly attractive, but it wasn’t Charles’ scowl that made you fall in love with him. 

“We can spend the day together anytime, you can come over whenever you want, and if it makes you feel any better, I will give you your very own key.” 

That seemed to put him a little more in higher spirits. 

 “What will you ever do without me?” He wondered out loud, feigning a thoughtful expression. 

“Probably clean up a lot less. Be able to take a shower without running out of hot water halfway through. Oh! Have a bottle of shampoo last more than a month because someone—not naming names, of course, won’t use it because they’ve run out of theirs. Not have to fight for—” 

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Charles huffed, grabbing you by the shoulders and promptly shoving your face into his chest to stop you from talking. 

You grinned against the softness of his hoodie. “Shall I go on?” 

“No, no you shouldn’t.” His hold on you loosened, but you stayed right where you were, wrapping your arms around his torso. “Just admit it. You’ll miss me.” 

“I will miss you.” You said softly, pressing your cheek into the crook of his neck. If there was something Charles was unbelievably good at (besides literally anything he’d ever tried), it was giving the best hugs. Something about them made you feel safe, like nothing and nobody could ever hurt you as long as you were in his arms. 

“You already know how much I’m going to miss having you around.” 

“Yeah, I am pretty great.” 

A laugh rumbled through his chest. “You are.” 

“You’ve been the best roommate I could’ve asked for. Thank you for everything.” Your words were muffled between the two of you, and you were glad for it, because he didn’t seem to notice the waver in your tone. But he did squeeze you a little tighter, so maybe he did hear you. “I love you, Cha.” 

Charles’ voice seemed to waver just a bit too. “I love you too.” 

“Okay, okay, you really need to leave. Go before I change my mind and make you stay.” You blurted, pushing him away playfully. It was better than letting him see you get emotional. 

“Is that a promise?” 

“No, it’s a threat. Go home. I will see you soon.” You gave his hand one last squeeze, nodding reassuringly to rid him of the crease between his brows. “Don’t worry about me. Go, get some rest.” 

It was only then that he seemed satisfied enough to leave, but even then, he cast another backwards glance towards you on his way down the hall, as if he was waiting for you to beckon him back. You just smiled as best you could. 

You’d get over it. You had to. There was still a lot you needed to get done before you called it a night. 

It wasn’t until you were getting ready to go to bed that you started to feel lonely. You and Charles had your respective bedtime routines, but they always intertwined. 

You never liked being the one to turn off all the lights in the apartment because the switch was at the end of the hallway opposite from your bedrooms, so he knew to do it because you hated running back through the darkness after flipping the switch. 

He always filled a glass with water for late night sipping, but never remembered to actually bring it to his room until he was already in bed, so you always grabbed it for him so he wouldn’t have to make the trek back out the kitchen.  

The bathroom counter was where you’d find each other the most, terrible jokes and funny stories told muffled through toothpaste bubbles, even though you could’ve just waited until you were finished to tell each other. You’d flick water at him as you washed your face because he took up too much space at the sink, he’d turn off the tap in retaliation, things like that. 

Sometimes Charles would stay up later playing video games with his friends, or take some extra time to practice piano, so you wouldn’t get to do your well oiled machine routine, but he’d always take the extra second to pop into your room to say goodnight when he heard you bustling around, even if he was in the middle of something. 

The times you fell asleep on the sofa to Charles’ playing the piano, he’d camp out at the other end of the sofa for the night, or at the very least made sure you were covered with a blanket if he went to sleep in his own room. 

It was something you’d grown accustomed to over the years, oftentimes the well-needed end to a not so great day. Charles never failed to put a smile on your face, even with something as small and mundane as a bedtime routine. 

But there was none of that as you ran through your routine this time. 

You didn’t hear him shuffling around over in the other room, the muffled sounds of his shouts as he played his games, and most of all, you didn’t hear him and his piano. 

Because there was no Charles. Of course there wasn’t. You were in this new place that you hadn’t had quite nearly enough of a chance to get used to yet, alone, and it was finally settling in. 

Suddenly moving out and away from him seemed like the worst decision in the world. 

You knew it was only the first night. You had to give yourself a chance to reacclimate, and that would take time. So you inhaled a deep breath, trying to get as comfy as you could for a long, probably sleepless night ahead. 

It was nearing four in the morning when you finally decided to give up and call Charles. Part of you thought he might not even pick up the phone, because he was probably asleep. Any sane person would be sleeping right now. 

Much to your surprise, he answered on the second ring. 

“Why are you awake?” You asked, maybe a bit harshly. 

“Um, you are the one who called me? Why are you awake?” He replied, groggy voice still teasing. His accent always grew thicker when he was sleepy. You thought it was adorable. “You cannot sleep, can you?” 

“...No.” Your voice grew smaller. You felt embarrassed at the fact that you couldn’t even make it one full night without Charles around. “I just…I wanted to hear your voice, I guess. I miss you already, Cha.” 

Charles fell silent for a few moments, the only sound on his side of the line being his gentle exhales. “I miss you too. Do you want me to come over? I can stay the night, if you want.” 

“No. No, you don’t need to do that.” You said softly. “Can you just talk to me?” 

This was also something that had become somewhat of a ritual when either of you couldn’t sleep. 

You’d tiptoe into each other’s rooms quiet as a mouse, slipping into bed beside the other. Charles always stirred when he felt the bed dip under your weight, half asleep but still reaching out to pull you against his chest like it was second nature. On the occasions when he came into your room, you’d feel him tuck himself close to you, nosing against any part of you he could find with a content sigh. 

There was no rhyme or reason to the things you’d talk about in those moments, but eventually, somehow, you’d both end up asleep, usually fairly quickly. Maybe it was the extra added comfort of each other that helped, you could never tell. 

It wasn’t unusual to wake up a jumble of limbs tangled together, and neither of you ever addressed it either. Just went on with your business as usual, never talking about it because it was just something you did. To help each other sleep, of course. 

Another thing that really blurred the line between friends and more. 

Charles hummed a noncommittal sound, soft and fond like he always was around you. “I’ll do you one better. How about I play some music for you?” 

“Yes, please. Thank you.” You sighed, relieved. He knew what you needed without you even having to ask. 

You heard him get up, footsteps padding along until there was a thud and some shuffling coming from Charles’ side. A few warm up scales in and you were already feeling a little less anxious, letting yourself get comfortable. 

“Any requests from the audience?” 

“Been working on anything new?” You yawned, nuzzling a little deeper back into your pillow. 

“I have, actually. It’s still—fuck, how do you say it…a work in progress?”

“Anything you play is perfect.”

“You flatter me.” He snorted. “Alright, here goes nothing.”  

He began to play. You knew jack shit about music, so there wasn’t much you could think of to describe how it sounded, but you could describe how it felt. You could almost feel the emotion pouring from his playing, even through the scratchy quality of the speaker. 

It felt like something you’d hear in the background of a movie montage, lilting and delicate and warm notes swirling together to create a bright melody, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. 

Memories of good times with Charles flashed through your head—all the long days and even longer nights you’d spent together because you thrived in each other’s company, cooking together, binging Netflix shows until you both passed out on the sofa. 

Hushed laughing during dinners at fancy restaurants that Charles could get into by flashing his name, soft conversations accompanied with expensive food and even more expensive wine. 

Day trips up the coast with the top down on the car, pushing the speed limit just to feel an ounce of the freedom that it could give you. Walking through Monte Carlo on late night gelato runs, switching flavors because you both enjoyed each other’s choice more than your own. 

Most of all, you thought of the love you felt for Charles, ever since you’d first met him. You’d never been one to believe in the concept of soulmates, but fuck, it was so easy to think of him as yours. Never had you felt as much for someone as you did for him. 

God, why were you even thinking of those things? 

It would never happen. Any love that Charles had for you would be strictly platonic, limited to however much one could love their best friend. 

Surely he’d drawn inspiration from something else when he’d composed the beautiful piece. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know. 

Soon enough, you’d drifted off like you always did when Charles played, coincidentally right before he came to a lingering stop. 

Had you been awake, you would’ve heard him say that the beautiful piece had been inspired by you. Instead you were fast asleep, still none the wiser to anything. Maybe it was a good thing. You might not have believed it if you’d heard him. 

-------

Charles was on your doorstep first thing in the morning, coffee and pastries in hand when you opened the door for him. 

“Hello, good morning, your savior is here. And with breakfast!” He chirped, coming to just enough of a halt for you to slide an arm around his shoulders in a hug and grab one of the drinks out of the tray before he swept past you.

Bright morning sunlight poured into the open area, washing the whole place aglow. A warm breeze floated in through the ajar window, rattling the shutters only slightly, and you could hear the all too familiar sounds of the city in the morning coming from the streets below. It was a gorgeous picture of peace; one of the apartment’s many fun quirks that convinced you to go for it in the first place. 

The only thing that might’ve rivaled the beauty of the moment was Charles standing at the window, leaning against the sill drinking his coffee while the breeze ruffled his hair. His back was to you as he checked out the view, but even the mere image of him here was nice. 

You sipped your own coffee, smiling to yourself when you realized Charles remembered exactly how you took it. You didn’t even need to look inside the bag to know they were your favorite pastries from the bakery down the street from your former apartment that both you and Charles loved. He was always thoughtful like that. Things like remembering your favorite foods and drinks, and going out of his way to get them as a little pick-me-up. 

It seemed wrong to ruin the moment, but you felt like you had to say something. 

“I’m sorry for waking you up last night.” You sighed, taking a cross-legged seat on a pillow. 

Charles turned away from the window, shaking his head quickly. He took a seat on the floor next to you, long legs stretching out towards your crossed ones to nudge a sneaker against your socked foot. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, I’m glad you called me.” 

“Right, but it’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it? First time on my own and I didn’t even last a whole night.” 

“Not pathetic.” He insisted, entirely firm in his words. He set his cup down as if it could strengthen his point. “It is a change, definitely. You can’t expect yourself to get used to such a big change immediately. It takes time, you know.” 

You messed with the lid of your cup, picking at the plastic with a scowl. “I know. But I can’t always come running to you whenever I need help. It’s not fair to you to have to keep rescuing me every time I need saving.” 

“Okay…” He trailed off, stretching out the last syllable in confusion. “I feel this is about something more than just last night. We can talk about it, if you would like?”

“I don’t know what it is.” You huffed. “I thought I was ready to be on my own, but maybe I’m not. Maybe I don’t know I’m doing and I’ll never figure it out, and—” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. Where is this all coming from?” 

“I don’t know,” You repeated, bordering on a whine. “But what I do know is that I can’t always keep relying on you for everything. It’s not good for me, or for you.” 

“You know, you could always just move back home if you’re truly not ready to do things on your own.” Charles offered, taking a casual sip of his own drink.

Home. He said it so casually, like home was with him instead of this new place you’d chosen to make yours. In a way, Charles was your home. Safety, comfort, love—all the things that made something home, you felt with him. 

That was the problem. You didn’t feel right relying on him for all those things, not without him being aware of how you actually felt about him. It seemed like too much of a burden to put on a friend, even one as perfect as Charles. 

His eyes met yours over the rim and he shrugged. “I still don’t know why you were so insistent on moving out in the first place.” 

You sighed, again. There weren’t many ways you could make yourself any clearer. Other than telling Charles one of the real reasons why you had to leave, which again, was more of a last resort (hopefully not at all) type of thing. “It was time—” 

“It was time for you to venture out on your own, yes, I know. But it doesn’t seem to be working out so well right now, does it not?” The last sentence seemed to slip out of Charles’ mouth before he knew what he was saying, because his mouth snapped shut right afterward. “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I don’t want to argue.” 

But what had been done was done, what had been said was out there for you to know. Your coffee suddenly left a bitter taste in your mouth, and the traffic from outside became glaringly loud. The once peaceful atmosphere had been shattered now that you knew Charles’ true thoughts on it all. 

You stood up, letting your feet take you across the room from him. “No. Tell me more, Charles. Tell me how you really feel.” 

His nose wrinkled at the use of his full name. You never called him Charles unless you were upset with him, which wasn’t that often. Even hearing it come out of your own mouth seemed foreign. 

That seemed to change his reaction, because he stood too instead, doubling down on his words. “Okay. Yes, that is how I feel about you leaving. You barely even talked to me about it, and the next thing I knew, you were packing all your things into boxes! I didn’t understand where this—this sudden desire to leave came from. I still don’t.”

“You don’t have to understand it. It’s already done.” 

“Did I—did I do something wrong?”

You almost faltered. Almost.

“Did you ever think maybe me wanting to leave had nothing to do with you?” 

“Honestly? No. It feels like it has everything to do with me. It feels like you moved out because you didn’t want to be around me anymore!” Charles exclaimed. “And I have kept my mouth shut, I’ve been trying to be supportive of your decision, but I think I have a right to know. Am I why you wanted to leave so badly?” 

“That’s…part of it.” You admitted. Charles froze, brows flying up towards his hairline. “But not because of anything you did. Not because of the reason you’re thinking of.” 

“I don’t really see any other explanation. And I am sorry, but that is a shit excuse. I would’ve thought that you of all people would tell me the truth.” He didn’t sound angry, just disappointed and a little hurt. Somehow that felt worse. You’d rather him be mad at you than hurt by you. 

“I didn’t want to move out.” You said firmly. 

“Then why did you?” 

“I had to! I—I couldn’t live there anymore.” 

“But why?” He sounded desperate, begging for you to clue him in to any reason, anything at all that would help him understand. And god, as scared as you were of changing things by telling Charles how you really felt about him, you were infinitely more scared of losing him for good if you didn’t. 

“Because I’m fucking in love with you, Charles!” You blurted, finally. “I couldn’t live with you any longer, keeping this huge secret all the time, because it truly made me feel like I was about to explode. I just couldn’t do it anymore—pretend like everything was alright when every time I looked at you, all I could think about was how I felt about you! How much I felt for you.” Your voice rose with every word, emotion lacing your tone. 

You could feel the tears burning your eyes, threatening to fall no matter how much you willed them not to. “I just thought, maybe if we lived apart, if we didn’t see each other all the time, maybe those feelings would go away.” 

Charles blinked at you slowly. He scrubbed a hand over his cheek, across his mouth, letting it disappear into the neckline of his hoodie as he continued the motion near his jaw. Still, he said nothing. You weren’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad one, but still you continued. 

“So no, it wasn’t because of anything you did. Or maybe it was, for making it so fucking easy to fall in love with you. I don’t know. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t say anything to me, but I’m not sorry for making the decision on my own. It was for the best.”

There it was, out there in the open at last. It felt like a proverbial weight lifted off your shoulders, but at the same time like a thousand rocks sinking to the bottom of your stomach, because he wasn’t saying anything. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how you’d fuck up the best friendship you’d ever had. 

Charles was silent for the longest time before he replied, and when he did, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it before. It felt unnerving. “You could’ve just told me.” 

“Told you?” You had to fight the urge to let out a bitter, watery laugh. “Telling your best friend you’ve fallen in love with him isn’t just something you mention at the bathroom sink one night.” 

“It is, if he feels the same way about you.” 

A coldness crept down your neck, shooting through your veins like you’d just had a bucket of ice cold water dumped over your head. 

“No you’re not—you don't...you can't.” You whispered, disbelieving.

Charles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “What, do you want me to prove it?” 

You couldn’t give him an answer even if you wanted to. You weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to say a damn word, just in case this was all a dream and you'd wake up any second, still alone, still without him there.

He must’ve taken your silence as a yes to his question, because he crossed the room in three strides, took your face in firm hands, and he kissed you. 

Despite your utter shock, you managed to kiss him back clumsily, fingers curling into his hoodie tightly. Charles kissed you like he was afraid to let you go, like you’d slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful enough.

A guiding hand curled around the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss, but only for a few seconds before he broke away, panting. His forehead stayed pressed against yours, soulful green eyes boring into your own in total seriousness.

“Do you believe me now?” 

“Maybe.” You breathed, letting your nose bump against his gently. This was not a dream. Charles was real and here and one hell of a kisser (just as you suspected).

“I am in love with you.” He murmured, stroking his thumb over your cheek fondly. “I have been for a long time. And I never thought you would feel the same way.” 

“I love you, Cha.” You were suddenly brought back to last night, when you’d uttered the same words to him. Only this time, they had a whole different meaning to them. 

This time, you knew Charles loved you in the same way you loved him.

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[steddieas-shegoes]

pop goes metal

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'alternate universe'

rated t | 964 words | cw: language | tags: famous corroded coffin, pop star steve harrington, flirting, getting together

🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤

"No fuckin' way are we working with him," Eddie argues with their manager. "You're always so worried about our image and then you go and have us doing a song with a fuckin' pop artist?"

The manager, Anthony, rolls his eyes. "It'll broaden your fanbase. You know who spends money on shit? Women. You know who likes Steve Harrington? Women."

"Does he even write his own shit?" Gareth asks.

"Does it matter?" Eddie turned to him with a glare. "Even if he writes it, it's not our style."

"Maybe we could at least hear what he's trying to work with us on?" Jeff, always the calming presence, asked towards Anthony.

"He sent over a sample before we sign any agreements."

Eddie sat down in the chair furthest from everyone else, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now, this isn't an official recording. Just what he did on his phone on his tour bus with his acoustic guitar. He arranged the bass already for Frankie, too, but said he's open to whatever Gareth feels is right for the drums." Anthony pressed play on his phone and the room was filled with strumming and a surprisingly raspy voice singing what was clearly a chorus.

Eddie could pretend he hated it, and maybe the guys would agree with him and they'd never have to speak of this again.

He couldn't hide his reaction fast enough, though.

His jaw dropped as he listened to the lyrics, surprised to find that they weren't just about going to a club and dancing or being in love.

Steve's voice broke at the end before there was shuffling and the recording stopped.

Eddie felt everyone's eyes on him. He closed his mouth and looked down at the floor, tapping his fingers against his arm.

"It's not bad," he finally said. "Not sure why he needs us, though."

"Apparently, his brother is a huge fan of you and suggested he try to work with you."

"I think we should do it." Jeff said, a note of finality in his tone that Eddie knew he wouldn't try arguing with.

"Yeah, can't hurt." Frankie shrugged.

"If he's giving me creative freedom on the drums, how can I say no?" Gareth smirked.

"Guess we're working with the pop diva, then."

****

Steve Harrington was nothing like what they expected.

He showed up to their studio in sweats and glasses, holding a tablet and a bottle of Tylenol. They started to introduce themselves as he found a spot on the couch.

"I'm really glad you guys were willing to work with me," he said after he shook everyone's hand.

Eddie stared.

"My uh, my brother, Dustin, he's kinda why I wrote this song and I know it means a lot that you agreed to be on it," Steve continued. "So, thanks. Hopefully it doesn't ruin your vibes or anything."

Eddie felt every wall he built crumbling with every word Steve spoke. God dammit, this man just had to be sincere and hot and talented, didn't he?

"Nah, we're gonna sound great together." Eddie smiled at Steve's wide-eyed look. "You wanna show us the whole song?"

Steve nodded, pulling something up on his phone. Another recording, this one more professional and included an electric guitar.

"Robin was the stand in for the electric while I did bass."

"So you can play bass?" Frankie asked, leaning in.

"Yeah, but my preferred instrument is piano. I just don't do a lot of slow songs. Guitar is what gets the women interested, or so they tell me," Steve smiled awkwardly. "But feel free to change some things up. I'm totally open to suggestions."

But really, it was damn near perfect as it was. Frankie made one tweak during the bridge, but Steve ended up loving it more than the original and told him so with a grin.

"You're a fuckin' genius!" He exclaimed.

Gareth started messing around on the drums while Steve and Eddie worked on the first couple of lines.

"Something still doesn't feel right," Steve mentioned.

"Maybe we change the rhyming pattern?" Eddie suggested. "You've got ABAB. Might work better to do AABB. Some of these words can be moved around to make that work."

Steve stared at the notes app for a moment, then looked back up at Eddie, beaming smile making his eyes squint.

"I could kiss you!" He shouted. As soon as he realized what he said, he blushed, looking back down at the phone. "I mean, thanks. That's a great suggestion."

Eddie searched Steve's face, coming to the conclusion that there was probably a good reason why Steve didn't care about what women liked when it came to his music.

"I have a pretty strict rule about kissing people I work with," Eddie said slowly, quietly so they wouldn't be overheard.

"Yeah, no, that makes sense. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or-"

"But we won't be working with each other for long, right?" Eddie continued, letting his hand rest on Steve's thigh. God, he was muscular.

"Um. No I guess not."

"Rain check, then. Until we've finished our professional relationship." Eddie couldn't believe he was suggesting this. Showing interest in a pop star. What's next? Dating one? Marrying one?

"Are you saying you wanna kiss me, Munson?" Steve suddenly sounded more confident.

"I'm saying we've got work to do before I can get my hands on you." Eddie tapped his thigh before pulling away. "So let's get to it."

"Dude! I got it!" Gareth yelled, interrupting their moment.

"Be right there!" Steve yelled back, not looking away from Eddie. "Might break a record for fastest recording time ever just so I can kiss you," Steve added quietly to Eddie before standing and walking over to Gareth.

"Well, fuck." Eddie sighed, smiling to himself.

[sundropflowerr]

Trace Your Constellations | Steve Harrington

★ Warnings: no use of y/n, post s3 before s4, fluff, mutual pining, awkward tension, idiot duo in love, light teasing, longing glances, emotional vulnerability, quiet moments, quiet comfort, moments of personal growth, slight self-doubt.

★ Summary: After everything Hawkins put you through, you and Steve find yourselves on the roof of Family Video, stargazing and toeing the line between friends and something more. It’s quiet, it’s soft, and maybe—just maybe—he’s finally seeing the stars the way you do. 2k

★ Pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

★ Fic Inspiration: “Constellations: Piano Version” - Jade LeMac

★ Author's Note: thank you to @enchanthings for the star divider, it’s greatly appreciated and i love love love it. this is my first writing piece, i can’t believe it! though it might be messy and only a one-shot, i hope you all enjoy it.

You and Steve Harrington were stuck together like glue.

Not by choice at first, but that didn’t seem to matter now.

Somewhere between the Byers’ house, where Steve first swung that nail-studded bat like a maniac to protect everyone, and the tunnels beneath Hawkins, where he grabbed your shoulder and told you “We’re getting out of this. Just keep moving,” something shifted. After Starcourt—after fire, smoke, and holding his hand in the parking lot while you stared at the wreckage—it stopped being just survival.

It was the last-night drives when neither of you could sleep, the lazy afternoons when he’d lean on the counter at the music store you worked at, flipping through cassette tapes just to annoy you.

Steve still insists he just hangs out with you because your music store is “conveniently” across the street. He’ll pop in during his shifts at Family Video, lean against the counter like he owns the place, and pick apart the stack of cassette tapes you’re organizing. “What’s this? Too cool for a little Springsteen?” he’d say, tossing you his signature smug grin. You’d roll your eyes, toss it right back, and remind him he only listens to what you tell him to.

Robin called it weeks ago. “You guys are, like, weirdly close.” Eddie had chimed in too, smirking like he knew something you didn’t: “You two ever gonna admit you’re basically one soft moment away from a rom-com montage?” You brushed them off every time—what did they know?

But it’s harder to brush them off when you’re here, on the roof, the quiet of the summer night pressing in around you. It’s the kind of quiet you only get after midnight in Hawkins, where the cicadas buzz in the distance and the stars shine brighter because half the town’s lights don’t work right. The air smells faintly of asphalt and cut grass, warm but with the promise of cooler hours ahead, and everything feels still—so still it’s like the world’s holding its breath.

It had been Steve’s idea, though he acted like it wasn’t a big deal—like he didn’t spend half his shift thinking it up. Earlier that afternoon, you’d walked into Family Video, the bell above the door jingling like it always did, announcing your presence. The store smelled faintly like stale popcorn and cleaning spray, and Steve was leaning back against the counter, his green vest rumpled, hands shoved in his pockets. Robin, crouched on the floor with a stack of tapes, only glanced up long enough to mutter something sarcastic before diving back into organizing the horror section.

“Finally,” Steve said, pushing himself up with exaggerated relief. “Someone who’s not Robin to keep me entertained.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m here for you,” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips as you perched yourself on the counter next to him. The surface was cool against the back of your legs, and you kicked your feet slightly, heels bumping the cabinets beneath.

Robin, without looking up, waved a hand in Steve’s direction. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s been staring at the clock for twenty minutes.”

Steve groaned loudly in her direction, rolling his eyes before turning back to you. “Slow day. Feels like we’re in some kind of weird dead zone where no one in this godforsaken town likes movies anymore.”

“Or maybe they just don’t like you.” Robin’s voice was muffled as she slid another tape onto the shelf.

Steve ignored her, squinting at you like he was trying to gauge your mood. “What are you doing later?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That depends. Why?”

He scratched at the back of his neck, looking down like he was embarrassed to even ask. “I was just thinking…” He paused, tilting his head slightly to the side as if he’d decided to go for it. “It’s a nice night. After my shift, you wanna hang out? On the roof.”

“The roof?”

“Yeah. Of this fine establishment.” He knocked his knuckles lightly against the counter like he was showing off prime real estate, a little smile tugging at his lips. “You can see the stars better up there. Plus, it’s quiet. Robin and I go up sometimes. It’s… nice.”

You tilted your head at him, watching the way he shifted his weight slightly, like he wasn’t sure you’d say yes. “The stars, huh? No thrilling Steve Harrington monologue about life and the meaning of the universe?”

He groaned, throwing his head back in dramatic exasperation. “Forget it. Invite taken back.”

You laughed, nudging his arm with your shoulder, feeling the soft warmth of his skin through his vest. “Relax. I’ll come. It sounds nice.”

He looked back at you, his face softening into a crooked smile, his eyes lingering on yours for a beat too long. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And now, here you were. Hours later, the summer night stretching endlessly above you, blanketed by stars that seemed impossibly bright. Steve had climbed up first—grabbing onto the edge of the roof like it was nothing and pulling himself up before leaning down to offer you a hand. His fingers were warm and solid when they wrapped around yours, tugging you up with more strength than you’d anticipated. You’d stumbled slightly when you landed, but Steve’s other hand shot out, steadying you with a muttered, “Careful there.”

The roof wasn’t the most comfortable place in the world, but Steve had brought a blanket—some old, ugly checkered thing that smelled faintly of fabric softener and the inside of a car that’s been baking in the sun. You sat shoulder to shoulder, your knees bent, elbows resting against them as you both stared at the sky. The gravel beneath the blanket shifted slightly every time you moved, the crunch of it loud in the otherwise perfect stillness.

Steve stretched his arms out behind him, fingers splayed against the gravel as he leaned back to look at the sky. The muscles in his forearms flexed slightly, catching in the faint light from the streetlamps below. “Told you the roof was a good idea,” he said, breaking the quiet.

You tilted your head, glancing over at him. His hair—wild as ever—stuck up slightly, the edges catching the faintest breeze. The light shadow of stubble along his jaw was more noticeable from this angle, and you caught yourself lingering on the sight before you could stop.

“It’s alright,” you said, teasing. “Not as magical as you made it sound, though.”

Steve turned to you, lips parting into a look of mock offense. “Not as magical? What more do you want? I brought you here, gave you a prime stargazing spot—this is, like, peak effort.”

You laugh, stretching your legs out a little, the soles of your sneakers scuffing against the gravel. “Peak effort would’ve been snacks. Maybe a soda.”

“Oh, sorry I didn’t roll out the red carpet for you.” He shook his head with a dramatic sigh, though there was a smile pulling at his lips. “Next time I’ll bring a waiter.”

“Next time, huh?”

His shoulders froze for half a second, like he hadn’t realized he’d said it, before he relaxed again. “Yeah, well… if you’re lucky.”

You smiled faintly, looking back up at the stars. The quiet slipped back in, the kind of quiet that feels like a blanket wrapping around you—soft and warm and perfectly still. The cicadas buzzed faintly in the distance, their hum mixing with the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees far below. The sky stretched endlessly above, a wash of navy and scattered constellations, and for a moment, it was easy to forget about everything else.

And when Steve shifted beside you—just barely, so his shoulder bumped yours—you felt yourself still, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of space between you.

Steve stretches his arms behind his head, breaking the silence. “You know, I still don’t get constellations.”

You look over, amused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” He tilts his head back, gesturing vaguely at the sky. “They say that’s a guy with a sword, or whatever? That’s just dots. Someone’s connecting invisible lines, and we’re all supposed to be impressed.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s Orion’s Belt, and you just have no imagination, Harrington.”

Steve turns to you, his mouth twitching into that lopsided grin he always gets when he’s ready to argue with you. “I have plenty of imagination, thank you very much. I’ve survived monsters and alternate dimensions. I just think stars are trying a little too hard, you know?”

“Stars are trying too hard?” you say, incredulous. “What does that even mean?”

“It means…” He pauses, looking up at the sky again, brow furrowed like he’s actually trying to make sense of it. “I think people try too hard to make them something they’re not. Can’t they just be stars?”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “Or maybe you’re just too stubborn to let yourself see them.”

Steve doesn’t answer right away. The quiet slips back in, softer this time, and you watch as he exhales slowly, his gaze lingering on the sky. “Maybe,” he finally says, almost too low for you to hear.

Something about it makes your chest ache a little. You don’t know when it started—this feeling you get when Steve’s around—but it’s been there more and more lately. It’s in the way he drops by the music store to kill time, like he doesn’t have anywhere better to be. It’s in the way he always lets you pick the music, even if he pretends to hate half of it. It’s in the way he remembers the tiniest details about you—like how you can’t sleep without white noise, or how you take your coffee with exactly one and a half sugars because two is too sweet but one isn’t enough.

And now it’s here, in the way he looks so at ease next to you, like there’s no place he’d rather be.

“Do you ever think about leaving?” you ask suddenly, your voice breaking the quiet. “Like, leaving Hawkins?”

Steve hums in thought, eyes still on the sky. “Yeah, sometimes. I mean, how could I not? This place is cursed.”

You huff out a quiet laugh. “No kidding.”

“But…” He trails off, turning his head to look at you. His voice is quieter when he continues. “I don’t know. I think it’s different now. Before, I wanted to leave because I didn’t have anything here. I thought I’d find it somewhere else. But…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, and for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to ask him to. You’re pretty sure you already know what he’s trying to say.

The air between you shifts, subtle but noticeable. Steve’s looking at you now, really looking at you, and it makes you hyper-aware of every inch of space between you—how close your hands are on the blanket, how his knee bumps yours every time he shifts.

“What?” you ask softly, because the way he’s staring at you is starting to make your heart do stupid things.

Steve shakes his head, smiling faintly. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, fine.” He sighs, tipping his head back against the gravel like he’s trying to play it cool. “It’s just… nights like this, you know? When it’s quiet, and you’re here. Makes me think maybe Hawkins isn’t so bad.”

You freeze, your breath catching in your chest. He says it so casually, like it doesn’t mean anything, but you know Steve. You know when he’s being flippant and when he’s saying something real, and this? This is real.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment, your voice quieter now. “I get that.”

You don’t look at him, but you feel his hand brush against yours—barely there, just his pinky against your knuckle. It’s so small you could pretend it didn’t happen, but you don’t. Instead, you let your hand relax, let your fingers rest just close enough to his that you know he can feel it.

Steve doesn’t say anything about it, but you can tell he notices. You can tell because his breathing changes, because he’s suddenly so still next to you.

“Hey,” he says after a minute, voice soft.

“Yeah?”

“I see it.”

You blink, finally turning your head to look at him. “See what?”

He grins, barely there but still so Steve, and nods toward the sky. “Orion’s Belt. The dots.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Took you long enough.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

And you don’t seem to mind.

thank you so much for reading! please like/reblog or comment if you did, it would be greatly appreciated. have a great day!

[the-original-skipps]

|| Relationship Headcanons || Sunday x Reader || Honkai Star Rail ||

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 0:07

PLAY!

in celebration of sunday’s release I decided to write something for him. after waiting forever for this man he finally came home!!! oh happy day

❥ Sunday is true gentleman through and through. Courteous and virtuous are two words used to describe this man after all. He’d treat you with the upmost respect and to always put your needs above his own. Besides being your lover, he could in a way be your butler as well. If there is anything you’d need of him, all you have to do is just ask. He’d be sure to complete your request with great care.

❥ Sunday is shy to admit it but he is very fond of your touch. You could almost say he’s touched starved. He is. At first, he’d finch in surprise at your sudden touch, not used to it. However, gradually he’d learn to accept it. It’ll get to a point where if you didn’t show any physical affection toward him that day, he’d desperately crave it. Though, he is shy to ask for it. So, you’d have to look out for his signals, his body language that he’s in need of physical affection right now.

❥ Sunday is very inexperienced when it comes to the matters of the heart. So, you’d basically be his first everything. You’ll have to take the lead and show/teach him things. He’ll be reluctant and shy at first but eventually he’ll warm up the idea. Giving you gentle surprise hugs from behind, or placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

❥ Sunday, when it comes to physical affections is fond of two things. Hand holding and hugs. He also likes to place a kiss on the back of your hand as a greeting and a farewell. He’d always have a hand on your back or waist when walking together. They’re all very soft and subtle in nature.

❥ Sunday has pretty sensitive wings. That’s why he doesn’t like anything touching them. Though, you’d be the exception. Your gentle and soft brushes igniting delightful shivers down his body. Sometimes you can’t fight the impulsivity to carefully and softly “nom” them. Which has him shooting up from his seat. Leading him to lightly scold you with a blush on his face and wings fluttering. While you try and control your laughter.

❥ Sunday likes to play the piano for you. It’s been a secret hobby that he rarely had time for. However, now with you here - you’ve ignited his passion for playing again. From classical pieces to romantic ballads or even your favorite songs! He’d learn it and play it for you! If you know how to play too, he’d love to do a piano duet. If you don’t, he’d be elated to teach you. Regardless, he likes having your presence beside him when he plays.

❥ Sunday has a beautiful voice and you’re not afraid to let him know. He could be reciting the philosophies of Xipe and you’d happily listen despite the words going through one ear and out the other. That is why you like to ask him to read to you. You’re particularly fond of having him read romantic novels to you, his face glowing red at the more intimate scenes. His voice breaking and stuttering all the while you have grin on your face. Sometimes you’d catch him humming a song you made him listen to. Let’s just say the talent for vocals runs in the family.

❥ Sunday suffers from frequent nightmares. You’d know because you’ll wake up from the sensation of him clinging onto you tightly, quiet mumblings leaving his lips. You’d try to gently wake him up and when he does, you can tell from the slight shivering of his hands and unsteady voice that he’s not as okay as he wants you to believe. At moments such as these, he’d find your presence most calming. As you wrap your arms around him in a gentle hug, humming a song in hopes it’ll calm him down. When you do this it reminds of the times his sister used to comfort him when they were younger. It never fails to soothe him.

❥ Sunday has an affinity for dessert and sweet things. He likes to share them with you. Though he can finish a cake on his own, he’d be much happier to share them with you. He’ll even be delighted if you ask him to feed you or if you want to feed him. A couple of your dates can be comprised of visiting various cafe and bakeries to try out their deserts.

❥ Sunday likes going on different kinds of dates with you. His favorite being star watching. Just him, you and vast starry sky. He likes having you sit in front of him as he wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your head or your shoulder. He’d even point out which stars are what, explaining the origins of their name. While you’re looking towards the different stars, he secretly takes a peek at your face which fills him in awe more than the brightest star above. The skies are vast but he’s happy to be able to share the one you’re under.

“Though I am much undeserving of your kindness. I thank you for choosing to remain by my side, my love.”

[xoxochb]

— here comes the sun ꣑ৎ‧₊˚.

warnings: just headcannons pairing: riordanverse boys x daughter of apollo

percy jackson loves how good you are with your bow and arrow. he sucks majorly at archery so when you found this out you did everything in your power to teach him to be just as good as you were. this took four months. but! the good thing was that he learned eventually. it took this long solely because every time you were explaining something his eyes would trail down to your lips and he’d zone out and one thing leads to another now he’s kissing you and now you’re kissing back and now you’re not even in the archery field anymore— it’s a whole thing. during the fourth month you got sick of his nonsense and forced him to finally listen to your words and he ended up finally learning basic archery (he later earned a reward for his obedience). besides your great archer skills you’re also skilled at painting. like usual, percy loves to fool around. you’ll have your canvas out and paint sprawled along your pallet but this dumbass takes a finger of paint a spreads it over your face. you both end up covered in paint and your work long forgotten. you made a mental note never to let him paint with you again, but knowing percy and his gorgeous sea green eyes you had no choice but to let him join you again. though you do warn him not to play around with your paint or he’d wake up blue (he probably wouldn’t mind this though)

jason grace is utterly obsessed with your singing voice— most to all nights this is the only thing that can soothe him to sleep. but not even just during the evening, it’s basically mostly throughout the day when you’re singing to him. sometimes you even play a variety of musical instruments to add onto the factor (he ended up learning how to play piano thanks to you). and!! another thing he loves about you is your poetry, especially when the poems are about him, those make his knees go all weak and his cheeks flush pink and he’s such a school girl, it’s ridiculous. but he loves your poems regardless if they’re about him or not, he likes listening to your sweet-like-honey voice and your extremely high vocabulary (gods, he loves your high vocab). along with your love for poems you also share a love for reading, often you’ll find old books to read together, whether it’s together, or separately then you talk about them later, he adores talking about nerdy books together. and since writing is something dear to you and your siblings you wrote your own novel some day with the help of your boyfriend (he’s your number one supporter), including a sweet dedication to him as a thank you and an I love you

leo valdez takes advantage of your healing abilities. every hour he shows up in the infirmary with a new injury whether it’s a small cut or something serious. after a while you started to realize he was purposely hurting himself so he could see you during your work. you scolded him for this and told him you’d much more appreciate his visits if he wasn’t hurt all the time. so after you told him this he started spending less time with his trinkets and getting hurt and more time bothering you in the infirmary (additionally bothering your patients). you’ve found, though, it’s not so easy to care for your patients when your boyfriend has permanently attached himself to you, you eventually had to restrict him from seeing you during your working hours. but do you think this would stop him? no it did not. every day he would wait for you outside as you work, your siblings scold him and tell you to take care of him so that resulted in you getting kicked out of the infirmary too. though with this new free time and all your siblings busy you were able to get the cabin all to yourselves!!

luke castellan is pretty sure every room you walk into instantly brightens up with beams of sunshine (not even figuratively, he really does believe this). your aura is enough the blind the regular man— but lucky for luke he is no regular man, he’s your boyfriend. unfortunately, this does have its downsides, which includes you waking up at the literal ass crack of dawn watching as the sun rises. slowly and carefully you slip yourself from his arms to sit on the porch of cabin eleven as you watch the sky switch from a dark purple/black hue to various colors including orange, pink, or yellow (sometimes all three if your dad is feeling generous enough). over time, though, luke realizes you aren’t in his arms anymore— the first time this happened he was confused and searched frantically for you, but eventually he gets used to you waking up early. on some mornings he will sit outside with you (he loves the way your irises get all bright and yellow at this time of day), he likes how everything is quiet and tranquil and this is one of the only times he’s able to spend alone time with you. he savors these moments over anything else in his life