[water-loos]

— be a part of the love club …

el ! twenty. sometimes writing, sometimes lurking, sometimes shooting film. my blog is 18+ only, minors DNI!! i love just chit chatting with people but my requests are also open!

i am also active on my photography / other account + djotwitter! find me here + here!

masterlist !!

everything will glow for you! —

gif credits to original creators… found on google!

[ikeuswrld]

hello my lovely oomfs !! after a short break i am back <3 i have so many new followers on here aaaa thank you for loving my work you all are so sweet

quick life update while i've been away — i recently graduated college with honors :3 i walked the stage a few days ago for a degree in english & poli sci, and on the same day i got accepted into a master's program!!! i also fly to visit my friend el (@water-loos) next week and i feel so elated and joyous and all the happy synonyms

i'm finishing up my last final for undergrad ever at the moment, and then i am free to write whatever my heart desires which is probably enhypen i can't lie i have insane off campus brain rot rn so i'm working up a series loosely based around that if anyone would want to read!

again thank you new & old readers i see all of your comments and you are so very lovely thank you x10000

[water-loos]

SAWYER IN TOWN!!! goat week incoming 😁😁

[ikeuswrld]

hello my lovely oomfs !! after a short break i am back <3 i have so many new followers on here aaaa thank you for loving my work you all are so sweet

quick life update while i've been away — i recently graduated college with honors :3 i walked the stage a few days ago for a degree in english & poli sci, and on the same day i got accepted into a master's program!!! i also fly to visit my friend el (@water-loos) next week and i feel so elated and joyous and all the happy synonyms

i'm finishing up my last final for undergrad ever at the moment, and then i am free to write whatever my heart desires which is probably enhypen i can't lie i have insane off campus brain rot rn so i'm working up a series loosely based around that if anyone would want to read!

again thank you new & old readers i see all of your comments and you are so very lovely thank you x10000

[ikeuswrld]

NONSENSE.

one afternoon, jake finds himself needing to get his knee wrapped after practice. after meeting you, he finds himself needing more tape. or— five times jake makes excuses to keep seeing you after his practices, and one time he doesn’t need to.

pairings — soccer player!jake sim x student trainer!reader

tags —  no use of y/n, afab character [depictions of appearance], college au, 5+1 fic, golden boy!jake if you blink, ramyeonz are best friends/teammates, mentions of: enha!friend group, technical soccer terms sorry i can’t help it i played for 16 years, jake being a bit of a loser, brief anxiety, hurt comfort but just barely, whimsy and fluff

now playing — nonsense - sabrina carpenter ; supernatural - ariana grande ; ladygirl - malcolm todd ; moonstruck - enhypen ; like a star - corinna bailey rae ; your eyes only - enhypen ; end up here - 5 seconds of summer ; satellite - harry styles ; comedown - luke hemmings ; i like me better - lauv ; slut! - taylor swift

word count — 8.4k

sawyer’s corner — my first enha fic!!!! welcome back sawyer to tumblr!!!! i wrote this before march 10 so i hope this makes someone’s day <3 shout out el for letting me constantly ramble about sim jaeyun 

one. —

In all of his collegiate soccer career, Jake Sim had only seriously gone to the trainer a total of five times. Those five times were for minor reasons, like taping an ankle or making sure his calf was properly stretched so it wouldn’t cramp mid game again. Sure, he was a frequent goer for ice baths or cupping, but Jake had never been hurt enough to need to go for more than that. It was a miracle, really, considering the amount of minutes he trained on and off the pitch, that he had never been seriously hurt, but Jake had always considered himself a lucky man. 

It was a Thursday evening that Jake felt his familiar luck strike once again. He had just returned from an away game at a university an hour away, one that the team had been looking forward to playing for some time ever since the season’s schedule was announced. Securing the win meant they remained first in the league and moved closer to regionals, and as both captain and starting center midfielder, the two things were important to the boy. A grin plastered over his face as Jake scored within the first fifteen minutes, and then again as his best friend, Heeseung, scored after him ten minutes after that. There was no reason not to smile when there wasn’t a single ball that got past his team’s defensive line, and his team had more morale than Jake had seen in weeks. The only time that cheeky grin faltered was when an opposing defender had overstepped and promptly kicked Jake in the knee during a slide tackle. Whether it was accidental or not, Jake would never find out, and though it didn’t seem to hurt him in the slightest, the purple and blue marks already emerging on the muscle on his skin had him sent to the trainer with a stern look from his coach and a shove from Heeseung. 

The crisp chill in the January air was a stark contrast to the warm buzz Jake was feeling as he walked through campus. The trainer’s office was halfway across the university, but it didn’t seem to faze the boy one bit the way his head bobbed to the music softly playing in his headphones, his hands stuffed in his puffer jacket to keep away from the cold. Jake was seemingly oblivious to the heads turning or eyes fixating on him as he treaded onwards in his worn down Gazelles. He could’ve been used to it—all the attention. Sunghoon always teased Jake about how people stared wherever he walked, like he was some soccer god. But then again, Sunghoon was nicknamed the ice prince of college with his outwardly figure skating skills, so he shut up before Jake could say anything in rebuttal. The truth was, Jake was aware that he was known, mostly because he agreed to do an interview with the university’s newspaper that left him with blushing red cheeks after all of the compliments they had thrown around during the duration of the hour-long conversation. He just didn’t see everyone staring, too busy in his own head thinking about his next training or the new calculus assignment he had to finish. So, onward he went to the portable building next to the soccer field that the university had come up with while they were doing repairs, unbeknownst to the eyes on his frame. Jake didn’t mind. The sports medicine department made it homey, anyway.

The boy knocked a total of three times, a soft rap rap rap against the cool steel door, before stepping inside to the dimly lit room. It used to be much brighter with overhead lights, but after Heeseung had his third concussion in two months—regional season two years ago, too many soccer balls to the head—, the trainers decided it would be better off with minimal harsh lighting. Instead of the disgusting classroom lighting Jake was used to in physics labs, the heads of the department replaced it with LEDs and candles, making it feel like a second home to Jake. And in a way, it was. He knew all of the trainers, even bringing them holiday gifts and restocking tape for them whenever he felt guilty for his team using most of their supply during the season. They had taken care of him, after all. Even since the beginning, when he was a scrawny first year with a point to prove. Even now, as a fourth year with nothing left but to improve.

“Hey, we’re technically closed—” An unfamiliar voice whipped Jake out of his thoughts, causing him to stand upright and blink rapidly at the figure now approaching him. The headphones once covering his ears now hung around his neck, allowing the soft sound of Justin Bieber to echo through the room. You, who were a few inches shorter than Jake with layers of hair down to the small of your back, only squinted your eyes with an amused look. The old Beatles sweater on your skin surely told Jake that you did not listen to Bieber the way he did.

He only cleared his throat, pressing pause on the song with pink cheeks that Jake prayed didn’t show in the dim light. “Erm. Hello.” He nodded. 

“Hello.” You repeated. “Did JB not let you hear me say we’re closed?”

“Closed?” Jake furrowed his brow. “You guys don’t close til—“

“Nine pm. It’s ten minutes past that now, easily.” You finished for him.

“Ah. I must’ve misplaced my time, then.” Jake responded, even though he didn’t. He never did that.

“No, you didn’t.” You replied, as if you could read his inner monologue. “Jake Sim, right?” You asked. Jake only nodded. “I figured at least one of your players might come after your game. Tough match.” You tsked and paused for a brief moment, as if you were deep in your own thoughts, before clapping your hands together. “Alright then, Sim. Sign in and I’ll take a look.”

“Really?” His head perked up, making eye contact with you.

You shrugged, meeting his eyes. “Why not? I only have to say we’re closed because I’m new. I know all the other trainers stay past.”

They do. Every single one Jake was familiar with stayed even hours past close, doing their homework and waiting for the team to show. A part of it was to write off working hours for resumés and requirements, but really, it was because the team genuinely enjoyed their job. There had been countless times Jake and Heeseung had stayed after cupping sessions just to hang out. Watch a football game that was on. Playfully argue—read: flirt— about the team’s lineups with the women’s team (Heeseung). Tutor helpless players in physics and calculus (Jake). Nonetheless, Jake shook this thought away and quickly scribbled his information down. Jake Sim. ID, sjaeyun02. Reason for visiting, bruised knee. He gave the clipboard to you, who seemed to be watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite read, before you scanned the messy writing. “Alright, Jake. Follow me.”

Jake followed you to one of the rooms full of beds and supply cabinets, where he usually got taped or stretched. “You can sit there.” You patted a bed in the middle. As Jake hopped the small height onto the bed, he noticed your eyes on him once again. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe even a smart remark or witty comment with his usual smirk, but you beat him to it once again. “Shit. That’s a gnarly bruise, Sim.”

The boy first tilted his head to the side in confusion before he looked down at his knee, seeing an array of dark purples and blues that hadn’t been there the last time he looked at it. “Oh.”

“Does this hurt?” You gently pressed your fingers against the skin. Jake paused for a second before he shrugged. “Oh my god. Put your pride aside, please.”

“I’m serious! I don’t know!” He began to laugh. You only shook your head in amusement, a quirk of a smile threatening to appear on your lips. 

“Well, it’s definitely swollen. Kick to the knee, right?” You looked up from where you were crouched, awaiting an answer, and Jake nodded half a beat too late, staring at you. “It should be fine to play on. But if there is any circumstance it’s not—and it does start feeling like you do know that it hurts—you come see me right away. I’m serious, Sim.” You glared at him before standing up, brushing your knees off before walking to the ice machine. Jake was the one watching you now, nimble hands securing and tying the bag of ice like you had done this so many times before. A pinch in your brow as you focused. A small pout in your lip as you grabbed the tape next to the ice. A confused look in your eyes as you noticed Jake’s gaze, and an even more unreadable one as you realized he wasn’t looking away. “It was, right?” You asked, placing the bag on his knee.

Jake hissed at the abrupt feeling of cold on his skin. “What?”

“A tough match.”

“Oh. I mean, we won, so not too bad, I guess. Could’ve been worse.”

“You’re never in here, so I assumed. It’s usually your friend I see a lot. The one with the ridiculous concussion history.” You mumbled, deep in concentration as you secured the ice properly.

“Heeseung.” Jake snorted. “Yeah. They make him come in every month for head checks.”

“He visits a lot.” You began to wrap tape around Jake’s knee. “More than you.”

“He knows everybody here. Better at socializing than me.” Jake explained, eyes closing at the tightness around his knee. 

“How’d you get the bruise?” 

“Slide tackle. Asshole kicked me while I was on the ground.” Somewhere, past the haze of Jake’s brain and the pain of the adrenaline wearing off, Jake knew you were trying to distract him from the possible pain he was feeling. Truthfully, it did hurt, but it wasn’t your minimal conversation that was causing his brain to think about something other than the soreness he’d definitely be feeling when he woke up tomorrow morning. It was you. Jake knew it deep down, even if he didn’t know why. 

“Do you always zone out this much?” You asked, tilting your head. You were standing up now, much closer than you had been the last time he looked at you. Jake only blinked rapidly, shaking his head as if it would put his brain back into place.

“Huh?”

You furrowed your brows. “Are you sure I don’t have to check you for a concussion?”

“Oh. No.” Jake shook his head again, a little faster this time, before carefully stepping down from the bed. “Probably just tired from the game.”

“This is my job, Sim. If I let you leave with a concussion—”

“—Then I will turn my ass back on my walk home and have you take a look at it.” He dawned a boyish grin, grabbing his soccer bag. “Don’t fret your pretty head. Mine is just fine.”

“You soccer players.” Jake heard you mutter as he walked toward the door. "You’re all the same.”

“Thank you for the ice!” He opened the door, shooting you one last grin.

“Don’t you dare go to lifting tomorrow!” You only replied. Jake just laughed, eyes crinkled, as the door shut.

Oh, he was fucked.

two. —

The five main symptoms of a concussion were as follows: extreme headaches, dizziness, confusion, nausea, and memory loss. It seemed as though every athlete that Jake Sim had met—including himself—had memorized those five components. Concussions were serious. Jake took them especially serious, considering his best friend had managed to be prone to getting them almost every soccer season.

Jake didn’t have a concussion. He knew that. He figured that out almost instantaneously. What he couldn’t figure out, though, was why he found himself walking back into the trainer’s room the next day. 

It was busy for a Wednesday afternoon, Jake immediately noticed, as he opened the door to see athletes sitting around on the couches and in the other rooms, some he recognized, some he didn’t. A loud cheer had erupted as some of the people noticed him, and Jake eased, sporting his usual grin. 

“Jakey!” That was most definitely Sunghoon in the other room getting an ice bath. He noticed Jungwon lounging in the corner with Jay and a few other friends, who had waved at him excitedly.

“I didn’t know you were coming.” Heeseung appeared in front of him, straight hair running amusk in different directions.

“Yeah. Lecture got out early. Head check again?”

His best friend nodded at him, trying to smooth out his hair. “I keep telling them I don’t need to do these anymore, but they keep saying—”

“—That you’re literally a research study for us in the kinesiology field.” You suddenly came into Jake’s vision, in all your strawberry and vanilla scented perfume and off the shoulder top glory. Jake had to mentally count to ten in order to come down to Earth at the sight of your collarbone. “Get back in the room, Heeseung.” You laid a stern look at him, who had glared back for a second, before sulking and retreating into one of the far rooms. “He gets three concussions in two months and thinks he doesn’t need to do any more treatment.” 

“I thought that was two years ago.”

“He gets one every season.” You reminded him with a tilt of your head. It caused the hair to fall off your shoulder, and Jake’s brain to short circuit. “I thought soccer was all about using your feet.”

“Heeseung’s… odd.” was all that Jake’s mouth could come up with in the moment, because you started to get closer to him as other conversations around you got louder, and Jake could only do so much with the smell of your perfume, really.

“You’re telling me.” You muttered before perking up, as if you remembered something. “Is that why you’re here, then? Concussion?”

“What? No.” Jake furrowed his brow.

“Are you sure? You seem to start your sentences with questions all the time.”

“I just do that.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah? I think so.”

“There you go again.”

“I don’t have a concussion!” Jake waved his hands in surrender. “I’m just here, for, uh— the knee thing.” Jake mentally palmed his face. 

This seemed to satiate you, though, only slightly. “Alright, then. I forgot about that.”

“You forgot about that?”

“Shut up, Sim.” You snapped, but there was no bite to it. “Go sign in.”

Jake only threw his hands up one more time, walking past you toward the clipboard. He tried to ignore how his arm brushed against yours. It was the usual scribble—Jake Sim, sjaeyun02, check up on bruised knee—that was normal for him. It was the feeling of you standing behind him, whether he could physically feel it or not, that was evidently not normal. He tried his best to feign a reaction as he turned around to face you.

“Alright, then.” You cleared your throat.

“Lead the way, captain.” Jake cleared his.

The outside noise and laughter began to fade away as the two of you entered the same room from the night before. Here, only a muffled buzzing from electricity and a few echoing laughs from others in the areas next door—Heeseung and Sunghoon, no doubt—could be heard. Jake was sure you could hear his gulp as he carefully climbed onto the bed, but you paid no mind. 

“It might be too soon for a proper checkup, since you just bruised it yesterday.” You told him, glancing at the boy once before returning your gaze toward his bruised muscle.

“Okay.” Jake let out. He stared at the ceiling instead of looking at you.

“Tell me if it hurts.”

“Okay.” He repeated. 

It was a few minutes before you began to speak again. “Why’s your ID name different from what everyone calls you?”

“Hm?”

“Your ID name. Jaeyun, right?” 

“Are you paying attention to me?” Jake’s lips twitched into a half smile, especially at the sight of you glaring at him. “It’s technically my name, too. My Korean name. But everyone just calls me Jake here. Only my family really calls me that.”

“I like that name.” You murmur before standing up fully. This way, you were standing over his sitting figure. Jake only blinked at you. “Your knee will be fine. Just sore for a while. Did you go to lifting today?” 

“No.” Jake shook his head. “I watched film instead.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you did. You’re free to go, then.”

Jake stepped down from the bed, getting deja vú almost immediately, but he didn’t move right away. He stood there for a moment longer, locking eyes with you, before willing his legs to start walking. “Goodbye, then.”

“Bye, Jake Sim.”

As Jake went to go see Heeseung, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

three. —

“What do you know about the girl that helped me with my knee?”

It was a week later that Jake finally brought up the question that his brain had been thinking for the past few days. It was like his inner thoughts were on a set schedule—before bed: think of you, and the way your hair fell off your shoulders. Wake up in the morning: wonder if he’d see you today. Even now, as he and Heeseung were sprawled on a random picnic blanket they had pawned off on Sunoo, basking in the sun as Jake attempted to study for his exam later, he was thinking about you. 

“Hm? Who?” Heeseung mumbled. His eyes were closed. He was definitely not doing his homework like he said he was going to.

“The girl that checked on my knee.” Jake repeated. “The trainer. I’ve never seen her before.”

“Oh? —?” Heeseung thought out loud. “She’s cool. I think she got hired, like a month ago or something. She’s usually the one that gives me my head checks now.”

“A transfer student then?”

Heeseung opened an eye at that, a faint smirk appearing on his lips. “Why, hm? Does my Jakey have a crush that I don’t know about?”

Jake prayed that it was just the sun that was making him feel warm. Definitely not the idea of you. “No, dude.”

“Uh huh.”

“I was just asking.”

“Mhm. Sure.” Heeseung stretched. “Well, I do know that she has a break for the next hour until her next lecture, and she spends it in the trainer’s room. You know. In case you needed to get that knee checked out again.”

Jake perked up slightly. “Really? Well, in that case…”

“In that case…” Heeseung echoed, but Jake was too busy already packing his textbook into his bag. By the time his best friend had opened both eyes to look at him, Jake was already standing up, brushing off any grass from his pants. “God, you’re gone.”

“Shut up.” Jake’s cheeks turned pink. “Finish your assignment before you fall asleep.”

“Too late. My brain’s already turned off.” Heeseung replied, closing his eyes. “Jungwon’s coming to save me soon.”

“Hey, how do you know that much about her, anyway?”

“I told you. Head checks. I can’t just do those in silence, you know.”

“Ah. ‘Kay.”

“And Jakey?” Heeseung opened his eyes again. “She thinks you’re cute, too, you know.”

Heeseung’s last words gave Jake the mental courage to walk the long path in the trainer’s room, uncaring of the fact it was all the way across campus. He glanced at his watch as he saw the building in sight—at this rate, you’d have forty minutes left before you had to leave. Depending on the lecture hall you were in, he’d have twenty minutes. Thirty, if he was lucky. Jake was a logical man, after all. A logical man without a single excuse of why he was going to the trainer’s room, but that was something he was trying not to think about.

The trainer’s room was much more quiet than the last time he had been in here. There was absolutely no one in the building, save for a stray hockey player or two that had obviously just come out of a long cupping or scraping session. The silence made Jake’s heart pound a little harder, and he wondered if anyone could hear how loud his body was buzzing at the thought of seeing you.

He saw you before you saw him. You were sitting in the corner on the old sofa the trainers had saved up for last semester, hunched over a thick textbook. You were scribbling onto a notebook that was balanced on your lap, long hair framing the book so he couldn’t quite see what you were working on. You seemed to be deep in thought, not fully noticing his presence until he stood in front of you. 

“I’m off the clock.” You mumbled, flipping the page of your notebook. “Available trainers are in the far left room.”

“But what if I want to specifically request you?” Jake replied, looking down at you. He watched as your head snapped up at the sound of his voice, and it took everything in him not to smile at you. “Do I have to wait for your thirty minute break to be over?”

That caused you to be the one to smile, a soft upturn of your lips etching onto your face. “No. That means you have to wait until tomorrow morning, when I have an actual shift to work.”

“No.” Jake jokingly slapped his hand to his chest as if he were hurt. “You’re telling me I have to wait a whole twenty four hours for my favorite trainer to fix me?”

“I check on your knee twice and now I’m your favorite?” Your eyebrows raised. “Low standards, Sim, I must say. Plus, it’s only nineteen hours.”

“Fixed my knee twice.” Jake corrected. “You have the magic touch, don’t you know?” At that, he found the courage to sit next to you, shuffling his bag on the floor next to yours. Despite your murmurs of protests, Jake took the textbook from your lap, looking at the pages with all of your different annotations. He noticed the way you only wrote in a light blue color, a pretty half-cursive scribble taking up the margins of the pages. “What’s this?”

“Studying. Exam in an hour. Anatomy 3010. It's why I clocked out early."

“Ah. So you should let me quiz you, then.”

You looked at him with a squint in your eyes. “You study sports medicine?”

“No, I study physics—” Jake gave you a sheepish grin. “—But Sunghoon had to take the class last semester for his kinesiology requirement and I helped him study all the time. So. Same thing.”

“That is not the same thing, Sim.”

“I basically took the class.”

“No, you did not.” You paused for a second. “But I would like the help, since you’re offering.”

There was that same boyish glint in Jake’s eyes—the one that appeared only around you. “Of course.” He maneuvered himself so he was laying on his back, his worn out Converse propped on your lap. Jake gestured for you to hand over your books, head leaning against the softened arm rest of the sofa. When you hesitated, gripping onto the already creased pages just slightly tighter, he only rolled his eyes playfully and grabbed the book. “Just let me help. C’mon, baby.”

Baby. The nickname came out of Jake’s mouth so easily that he didn’t even realize it, just flipping through the pages as if he were mentally reminding himself of the material and not of the fact that he just made your cheeks turn red and your mind spiral. You tried to concentrate again, but your eyes only focused on the way Jake’s lips murmured quiet words while he read, completely unaware of what he said. So you did what you knew best—shove down that smile that was always trying to appear around Jake, and ignore the butterflies that were swarming in your stomach. But you knew they would give away one day. Eventually.

four. —

It was raining. That should have been a bad omen of sorts for Jake. 

Because not only was it just raining, but it was pouring unusually hard for April. 

The game realistically should have been called off with the way the turf fields were beginning to flood ever so slightly, but even with Jake’s incessant arguing and his coach’s phone calls, the game was still set to be played at eight pm.

So Jake played that evening game even when the cold rain was sticking to his thermals and the hair on the back of his nape was starting to curl, taking control of his midfield and trying to act as if everything was normal. 

And to be fair, everything was normal. He was feeding in excellent balls to his strikers. Every corner kick he did was just near perfect. He could count on three fingers how many times an opponent got through his line, and even then, the boy was sprinting to chase them down and do his signature slide tackle, turf burns be damned. 

But there was one time that wasn’t normal, that Jake felt so completely out of his body that he didn’t know what to do. He had been running alongside Heeseung, the two doing a play that he knew would be clipped and added to his film highlights the second it got uploaded, when he felt something in his knee as he passed the ball back to Heeseung. A pop. A twinge. Pain. Jake could only bring himself to barely smile when Heeseung kicked the ball in the back of the net. Could only go on autopilot as Heeseung ran in front of him to do their celebratory handshake they always did when one of them scored. It wasn’t much pain, Jake supposed, but an injury now would ruin his career. And probably the rest of his life, if he spiraled too much. He knew that was probably in store for him at the end of the night.

Jake had no idea how he ended up here. His teammates had invited him out to the bars to celebrate their win, even offering to buy him drinks, but truthfully, Jake believed that he would throw up the second he attempted a sip of his usual rum and coke order, so he just politely declined. Said he was too tired. Threw in a lame promise of a next time. The guys thankfully believed him and just nodded, but Heeseung looked at him with a head tilt, but Jake only shook his head. Not now, was what Jake meant to say but couldn’t. His best friend only nodded and rubbed his shoulder slightly before walking off. We’ll talk later, was what Heeseung replied without needing words. 

Here, being the trainer’s room again. The rain was pouring even harder now, and Jake had forgotten his thicker coat in his locker, too lost in his thoughts to pay attention, so he was adorning an old hoodie that probably had holes in the pockets and his soccer shorts from the game prior. His Converse were soaked through from stepping in puddles and his hair was stuck to his forehead, but he was still standing here, knocking hesitantly on the door, even though he never did that.

Ten seconds passed before Jake decided that he should leave. He didn’t even know why he was here. His knee would be fine. He’d go to film tomorrow morning, and it would be fine. He’d go to lifting in the afternoon, and it still would be fine. In fact, maybe he just imagined it. It didn’t even hurt that bad now, it just—

“Jake?” The boy heard your voice before he saw you. He didn’t know when he had turned his back and began walking back into the rain toward his dorm, but he was stuck now, standing as the harsh drops of water splattered on his head. “What the hell are you doing in the rain?”

Jake felt his shoulders slump the minute he turned around. He watched as you looked at him with eyes wide as saucers and full of concern, and he wanted to run. You shouldn’t see him like this, really. But he didn’t. And you didn’t, either. You just walked toward him, grabbing his hand that he didn’t realize was chilled to the touch, and dragged him inside the familiar room. 

“I—uhm—don’t—” He tried to speak, but you only shushed him, grabbing a towel and a blanket and wrapping it around him.

“It’s okay.” You said softly in a reassuring tone he had never heard before. You must be in trainer mode. Go figure. “You don’t have to say anything right now.” You led him to the couch—the same couch the two of you had spent your afternoon just yesterday, studying for your exam with his feet perched in your lap and a smile on the both of your faces that you both desperately tried to fight off but failed. This time, there wasn’t anything of the sort. It was just the two of you. Jake, curled in on himself. You, watching the campus golden boy fight his inner demons in a way you knew deep down that no one had ever seen him do.

You only left his side for a second to one of the other rooms, pouring warm tea from the kettle into a mug before you immediately returned, passing the steaming cup into his cold hands. Jake tried to shake his head, refusing the kind gesture, but you only brought the mug up to his lips in response. “You’re going to get sick.” You said in that same soft tone.

“You don’t need to do this.” He replied.

“I know, Jaeyun.” You stared at him, but raised the mug toward his shaking lips anyway. He took a slow drink of it, meeting your gaze almost instantly. Whether it was because of the use of his Korean name or the way you paid attention to him in a way you had never done before, you didn’t know. “Just drink.”

It had been more than five minutes before you spoke again. “What happened?” You asked quietly.

Jake took a shaky inhale, pinching his eyes shut as if answering the question would cause him pain. The minute he started fidgeting with his fingers, you shifted closer to him, bringing his palm into yours. Your bodies were pressed close together at this point, the thick material of the blanket being the only barrier between your bodies, but the only thing you were focused on was him. Jaeyun, Jaeyun, Jaeyun. “My knee.” He finally managed to speak, the horror painted on his face matching the shakiness of his voice.

You tried not to look pained. “Jake.”

“I—uh, heard a pop. And then it just hurt. Everything. Yeah.” He continued, closing his eyes.

“When?” You insisted. You were a trainer, after all. “After Heeseung’s goal?”

Jake’s eyes barely crept open. “It was that noticeable?”

You only shook your head, brushing the tangled waves away from his forehead. “No. I’m just a trainer. And I know you.”

“Oh.” His eyes closed once again. “That’s good, then.”

“You played well, though. Even in the rain. Everyone was impressed.” You kept toying with his hair, going from twirling different strands in between your fingers to scratching your nails softly against his scalp. It seemed to be working—Jake’s breathing settling down to a normal pace, his fidgeting stopping altogether—and you let the silence sit between the two of you comfortably. “Do you think I can take a look at it?” You asked after some time. You waited before a weak sure came from his lips.

You knew Jake’s eyes were on you as you got up, moving swiftly in between rooms to grab the supplies you needed. It’d be better if he stayed on the couch rather than attempt to move somewhere else, even if it would be more convenient, so you instead did the moving for him. He watched with wide eyes as you quickly scribbled in the information you began to know by heart—Jake Sim, sjaeyun02, check up on knee—before walking back to the couch and bending down in front of him. The heavy pitter patter of rain was the only noise in the room as you gently prodded at Jake’s knee. You tried to be indifferent, tried to pretend like this was just another student and not the Jake Sim that quietly stole your heart throughout the weeks, tried to act as if you didn’t notice the wincing that overtook the boy’s face as you touched certain parts of the muscle. You figured you’d have a weak spot someday. You just didn’t think it’d be him.

You cleared your throat. “So.” 

“So.” Jake repeated, voice shaky.

“It’s not torn.” You announced, standing up from your crouched position. The sudden news caused Jake’s eyes to shoot open, as if he didn’t expect anything good to come from this. You didn’t know the boy was such a pessimist, but you’d been learning new things from him everyday. “It doesn’t seem to be broken, either. To me, it just looks like a strain, like you’d been pushing it too hard. Today was just a warning sign.”

Jake let out a heavy exhale that you knew he’d been holding in since he arrived. “That’s good. I think.”

“But listen, Jaeyun, at the end of the day, I’m just a student trainer. I’m not technically not even a professional. You should get this checked out in case I’m wrong.” You paused. “I don’t want to be the reason—”

“—You won’t.” Jake interrupted your spiraling thoughts immediately, not letting you finish. “I’ll go get it checked out tomorrow. Promise.”

You just nodded and slumped down in the creased couch cushions next to him. It was a tiring day for both of you—Jake more than you—but it was nice to exist like this, you supposed. Sitting next to each other, listening to Jake’s slow breathing, his head on your shoulder. Just existing in a quiet moment that was once loud.

five. —

“If you don’t walk in there right now, I’m seriously going to punch you.”

Heeseung’s voice boomed in the air, even in the outdoor hallway of the school. He stood behind Jake with his hands in his gray sweatpants, eyes squinting like he could see right through his best friend. 

To be fair, maybe he could. Jake had been standing at the door of the trainer’s room for at least seven minutes, if he looked at his watch on his left wrist close enough, and though Heeseung had been supportive for the first four, he supposed the boy was about ready to shove him through the corridor if Jake didn’t move soon.

“I’m going to punch you, and then you’ll have a black eye and a bad knee.” He continued.

“Hey, don’t talk about my knee like that.” Jake glanced down at his leg, where careful works of KT tape lined up and down his knee. You were right—it was just a bad strain, but even the doctor looked at him warily and described (in great detail) how it could have been so much worse. He was on day-by-day now, his coach forcing him to do physical therapy rather than worsen the muscle more. Jake was just glad he didn’t have to miss any games.

“How long has he been standing like that?” Jake heard Sunghoon’s voice behind him.

“How long is he going to stand like that?” That was Jungwon.

He knew Heeseung was shaking his head, despite the fact that he couldn’t see him. “You don’t want to know.”

“I’m going in!” Jake turned around, waving his hands as if he were surrendering. 

“No, you’re not.” The three of them replied at the same time.

“Okay, fine. Just give me thirty seconds.”

“More like thirty minutes.” Sunghoon replied, a grin appearing on his face.

“Nobody asked you, Hoon.” Jake sniped. He didn’t mean it. Sunghoon only laughed.

“I don’t know what you’re so worked up about, Jakey.” Heeseung rubbed his shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Actually, we know it’ll be fine, because it’s clear as day that she likes you—”

Jake only grumbled some sort of incoherent words as a response—perhaps a mixture of, “we don’t know for sure,” and, “please shut up.” The next few seconds happened as if Jake were in a movie.

Heeseung laughed at Jake’s grumbling, both out of fondness and disbelief.

Jungwon shook his head, concealing a smile.

Sunghoon, having enough of Jake’s brooding, opened the door.

Like most things in his life, Sunghoon was also unaware of Jake leaning on said door.

As a consequence of Sunghoon’s actions, Jake stumbled through the doorway and bumped into someone—

You.

You adorned a look of surprise, wrapping your hands around Jake’s shoulders to hold him steady. From here, Jake could see the faint dust of baby pink blush that was painted on your cheeks. You smelled faintly of your signature scent—strawberries and vanilla bean, Jake had come to realize the more he spent time around you—and your hair was curled into loose beach waves. You looked, well, beautiful. You never put this much time into how you looked, his brain tried to tell him, but he was short circuiting. It was easy to only pay attention to you, no matter the situation.

“Hello.” You spoke, lips twitching into an amused grin.

“Uhm.” Jake tried to speak. He mentally slapped himself.

“How’s the knee?”

“What?” Jake managed.

“Your knee, Jaeyun. The one you hurt.” You looked pointedly at his leg that was bundled in KT tape.

“Oh. Uhm. Okay, I guess.” 

You nodded. “Good, then.”

“Good.”

Jake took a moment to look around and realize that there wasn't a single soul in the trainer’s room. He half expected people to be staring at the two of them and trying not to laugh, but to his surprise, it was silent. Just as quiet as it was the last time he saw you. Jake’s brain refreshed the memories of the two of you sitting on the couch, his head resting gently on your shoulder as your own rested atop of his. He was wrapped in the fuzzy blanket you had given him, but it was your presence that had kept him warm.

The boy cleared his throat, looking around at the unusual vacancy. “Where is everyone?”

“Football game. I’m sure everyone’s pre-gaming by now.” You shifted a few inches away from him, releasing your grip on his shoulders. Jake wasn’t sure why he immediately missed your touch.

“Oh.” He had completely forgotten about the game.

You nodded. “You’re going?” 

“Uh—maybe. Not sure yet. Better not. Give the knee a break and all.” 

“Ah. Good thinking.” 

It had never been awkward between you and Jake. Even on the night that Jake had shown up past dusk, right at the time that you were going to lock up the room, to get his bruises checked out, there were never any stumbling of words or stuttering like now. Jake had never furrowed his brows or bit his lower lip raw the way he was doing at this exact moment, and you had never held back as many words as you were in the back of your throat. You hated it.

“Well, if that’s all you came here for, then.” You said it as if it were a statement. A conclusion, even. A finality to whatever had been going on between the two of you for the past couple of months. Jake only stood still watching you as you walked to grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “Heard you guys made it to the playoffs. Good luck, Jaeyun.” You said as you walked past, stopping briefly to look at him, as if you were memorizing him one last time. The feeling of everything ending made Jake snap.

“No.” He turned around, watching your hand on the door. 

He eyed as you faced him slowly, expression full of confusion and something else he couldn’t quite place. Anticipation. Hope, maybe. “No? Like, you don’t want good luck, or—”

“No. That’s not it. It’s just—” Jake sighed loudly, running a hand through his hair as he gathered his thoughts. “You can’t walk out like that. Like everything’s normal. Like everything’s going to go back to normal. You can’t walk out of here and pretend like we didn’t—like you aren’t feeling the same things that I have for the past few months.”

“What are you talking about, Jaeyun?” Your voice was barely a soft whisper.

“You know what I’m talking about.” He stared at you. “You know I didn’t just come in here to get my knee checked.”

“Then what’d you come in here for?” You stared back. When Jake’s throat bobbed, you stepped closer. “Say it, Jaeyun.”

“I came in here to tell you how much I like you.” Jake didn’t blink. Didn’t even miss a beat. He never had in his entire life, and he wasn't planning on it now. “You think I just come in here to see if my knee’s okay, or to keep Heeseung company during head checks? You really think I go out of my way almost everyday just for some ice or tape?” He shook his head. He was almost pacing at this point. His accent was getting stronger with each word that spilled from his lips, the way it usually did when Jake got passionate about certain things. Physics, hard calculus equations, you. “I like the way you challenge me like nobody else on this campus does. I like the way you don’t give me the time of day half the time. I like the way you’re the only person besides my own mother that calls me Jaeyun, and you say it like you don’t even realize you’ve got me by the heart.”

“Jaeyun—”

“Your perfume. The way you’re so smart and hardworking and you don’t give yourself even an ounce of credit that you deserve. Your stupid Beatles sweater. Your weird cursive handwriting. The way you remember everything, even my ID—”

It took five whole seconds before Jake could process your lips against his. He stood still until his brain could comprehend that the palm of your hand was cupping his cheek, and that you, too, were holding your breath. It was a countdown unlike any other sports game he had experienced in his entire lifetime, and yet somehow, it didn’t compare. Nothing in this world compared to you.

At the fifth second, Jake moved his lips. It was soft, of course, just like you. His hand ran through your curls until he reached the back of your neck, and then he pulled you closer. Close enough that he could smell that strawberry scent, and it was there he knew that this was better than any goal he could possibly score. 

“You’re stupid.” You murmured, lips brushing against his, but even still, pressed a chaste kiss against his torn bottom lip.

“But you like me.” 

“And I like you.” You corrected. Jake only grinned. 

“I’ll take it.”

Goal. 1-0: win for Jake Sim.

plus. —

It was a warm night for the end of April, a stark contrast to the chill everyone was used to for the past few months. The crowd welcomed the seventy degree night, no longer needing to sport hoodies and hand warmers that they kept in the pockets of their pants and sweaters. Cropped shirts and various designs of the school’s sports team were all over the bleachers. This was the regional final, after all. Better to show out than nothing at all.

But you? You stood on the sidelines, by the medical tent, wearing a jersey. It hung low on the hips of your baggy jeans, but the number on the back was easily identifiable. #7. And above it? Sim.

You watched the game closely, arms crossed against your chest. You kept your eyes on the boy whose last name was on the back of your shirt, and the way he jogged effortlessly like he hadn’t been playing on the pitch for the last eighty eight minutes without a break. His eyes darted around the pitch, completely immersed in the game. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him, no matter how obvious it was to the other trainers around you. It was just the effect of Jake Sim, after all. Eyes followed him everywhere. You were no exception.

Blood rushed in your ears as you watched Heeseung and Jake sprint up the pitch together, very clearly on the path to scoring a goal that would finish the current tied 2-2 score. You saw Heeseung lob a pass in the air to Jake. Jake jumped to meet the ball. This was it, you thought. But then a defender crashed into Jake, sending him rolling against the turf. Your hands tightened against your body. Even more so, when he didn’t get up. The golden boy—your boy—on the last of his collegiate career, on his way to a professional one no doubt, was on the ground.

“Come on.” A trainer murmured to you, handing you a bag. “Your time to shine.”

You jogged onto the field, trying to ignore the weak feeling in your legs. You pushed past Heeseung, who was telling off the player that presumably knocked down his best friend. A yellow card would be given, you were sure. But that didn’t matter now, not when you crouched next to Jake, who was attempting to get up with a groan.

“Jaeyun.” You warned.

“I’m fine.” He breathed heavily. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.”

You ignored the wave of relief that rushed through your body. “I have to run a concussion test.”

Jake groaned. “Come on, I’m not Heeseung—”

“—If not for your team’s sake of mind, then for mine.” You interrupted, staring at him with a hard look. The two of you had agreed to be professional around each other when it came to times like these. And you were. But Jake Sim had always been your weakness. You knew that now.

Jake hesitated before nodding. You ran through all of your concussion tests while his coaches came to Jake’s side, informing him that the game was on pause. There was only a minute left, and then it would go into overtime. The game would return with a penalty kick. The defender who hit him got a yellow card. So did Heeseung, which caused Jake to snort.

“This determines everything, kid.” His coach told him. “Whether we win regionals or not. Everything we’ve been working towards this past season.”

“No pressure.” Jake replied sourly. It was so unlike him. The older man only nodded before walking off.

He passed all of the tests you had given him. He didn’t present any of the concussion symptoms that should have been there. The boy was right. The wind was just knocked out of him. Jake Sim was a lucky man.

“Don’t listen to him.” You murmured, packing up your things. Jake’s head snapped toward yours. “Play for you. Nobody else. Just you.”

“I play for a lot of people, including you.” He reminded you.

“I know, golden boy.” You rolled your eyes, getting up. “But this time, play for Jaeyun. Just this once.” 

With that, you jogged back to your tent. Claps and cheers were heard around the field as Jake got up, shaking off his limbs. The referees announced the news that you had already heard. It was no shock that Jake would be taking the kick. He had a ninety nine percent success rate when it came to penalty kicks. Nearly a hundred percent—damn near perfection—and yet the sight of Jake setting the ball on the white patch of grass had you grasping your bottom lip in between your teeth in a bundle of panic and fear.

You watched as he rolled the ball three times before walking backwards. Jake did everything in threes, you noticed. Walked backwards three steps. To the left another three steps. Jumped three times.

The whistle blew, and you watched the boy that was slowly beginning to be the love of your life kick the ball with a perfect swing of his right leg. You watched as the ball hit the top of the crossbar and into the left corner of the net with an effortless ding. You watched as he sank to his knees while his team raced from the bench to crowd over him with cheers.

Golden boy Jake Sim won it. Both the game, and your heart.

The next few minutes came in a blur. Jake’s cheeks were simultaneously tear-stricken and pulled into an ear-splitting grin. You let him have the spotlight. Heeseung carried him on his shoulders, laughing wildly as Jake flung his legs around in protest. Jake held up the trophy above his head, eyes closed as he looked the happiest he had ever been. Maybe the happiest you had ever seen him. But then his eyes locked onto yours, and you knew then, that if Jake Sim hadn’t been it for you before, he was now.

The two of you pulled toward each other like magnets attracting. Jake jogged away from his team; you walked toward him without even realizing it. And suddenly he was pulling you into his arms, lifting you up and spinning you around. His boyish laugh echoed into your ears, and your yells to be put on the ground slowly turned into a melody of giggles that blended into the most beautiful song with him.

“If you don’t put me down right now, Jaeyun, I swear I’ll—” You let out through a fit of laughter.

“You’ll what?” He grinned, putting you down, inches away from him. His hands rested on your hips. Right where he wanted to be. “Hm? Tell me.”

“Give you an actual concussion.” Your eyes squinted at him in challenge, but you didn’t resist when he pecked a small kiss on the corner of your lips. “Then you’ll have to do head checks every month like your best friend.”

“Oh, an actual excuse to see you? Have at it then, baby” He murmured, pressing another kiss on the other side of your lips. Your cheek. Your forehead. Your nose. 

“You’re so gone, Jaeyun.” You laughed breathlessly.

“For you? Yeah.” He nodded. “It’s worth it. Everything about you. You’re worth it.”

Another goal. 2-0: win for Jake Sim. Even if he was just talking nonsense.

[water-loos]

eat up my enhapilled friends this one is delightful (i love being a beta reader for fandoms im not a part of)

[ikeuswrld]

a college au based off nonsense by sabrina carpenter where this jake is a soccer player and needs to go to the trainer once to wrap his knee only to find the new trainer awfully attractive... and he keeps finding excuses to visit her.... in this essay i will

[ikeuswrld]

my returning sign of life to tumblr is that this is almost finished and will be coming out this week eeeeek

everyone say thank you el for letting me talk their ear off about jake she’s a ni-ki bias btw

[water-loos]

hey btw this is propaganda and i don’t claim this blasphemy

[ikeuswrld]

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME. — teaser.

summary: when an abrupt circumstance causes you to move in with the person you hate most in this world, you think your life must be over. everything is doomed for you, because the man you swore to stay five feet away from at all times is now living just across the hall from you. and worst of all, you think you might not even hate it. or him.

pairings: artist!hyunjin x author!reader, enemies to lovers

tags: no use of y/n, afab character [some depictions of appearance], not canon compliant/non-idol au, set in the city, forced proximity, reader and hyunjin live together but not by choice, reader and minho are best friends, hyunsung r besties iktr!!!, hyunjin is kind of an asshole at the beginning i’m sorry, mentions of: minsung, chanlix if you squint enough, cheating (reader/hyunjin Do not cheat), found family...

word count: currently at 9k... but still in progress...

notes: i am officially back from the dead... hello tumblr... my beloved oomfs..... i've been working on this pic for genuine months on end (so sorry to my friends who have had to hear me yap about it...). butttt now that im nearing the end of writing it i figured i should post a lil snippet and see if anyone was interested :3 feel free to leave any comments u have i am curious what u think x

It seemed as though everything kept you from sleeping that night. The cars driving by that usually lulled you into a deep sleep instead had you staring at the ceiling, wishing for a wink of sleep to come. You stared out the large window from your bed, encompassed by your blanket enrapture, as you watched the city stay awake. You didn’t pretend like you didn’t know why you couldn’t fall asleep. You anticipated this. The only thing you hated more than change was the person that was living in the room next to you.

Your phone suddenly glowed with notifications, directing your attention to the lit screen. There were a few from your friends, mostly Minho, and one from your editor that you ignored hours ago, asking how your book is coming along.

You only gulp at the second message before sliding away from it, choosing to reply to Minho instead.

You sigh at that as you close your phone, resting your head back on your pillow. You watch the streetlights illuminate the ceiling, colors flickering from long periods of red to short amounts of yellow. It’s just comforting enough to almost lull you to sleep, until you hear a crash! and copious amounts of cursing coming from the room next to yours. You groan, turning over and burying your head in your pillow. It’s the same cycle— you almost fall asleep, and just as a snore is about to pass through your lips, another loud noise falls from Hyunjin’s room, followed by more grumbles. The third time this happens, you sit upright, a curse now falling from your lips as you stumble out of bed, striding toward Hyunjin’s room. Your knuckles hit the door with purposeful bangs before Hyunjin opens the wooden door on the third knock, frustrated glare taking over his expression.

“What?” He grits out. He opens the door just barely enough for you to see past the wood, taking in the mess of paints and artwork behind him, before you meet his face with a scowled look.

“Do you know what time it is?” You shoot.

“Did you come here just to remind me of the hour?” He replies, expression unwavering. “If I wanted a clock, I would just buy one, you know.”

You sigh in irritation. “Two in the morning. Actually, closer to three. Can you do me a favor and maybe be quiet? I would like to sleep for once.”

“I don’t do anybody favors, especially not you.”

“You’re impossible.” You roll your eyes.

“So I’ve been told.” He stares.

You sigh again. “I don’t know why I would even try to be nice to you—”

“That was you being nice?”

“—But now I’m here to tell you to shut the fuck up. I don’t care if you sleep— or really, I actually don’t give a damn about anything you do— but I want to sleep. Some of us have sleep schedules. Some of us want to be a part of society instead of hiding in their room all day.”

“You think I care about anything you say? Anything you do? You think I’m going to listen to you, out of all people?” Hyunjin scoffs. “I lived here first, not you.”

Your expression hardens. “The only reason I moved in was because I care about my best friend. I want this just as much as you do, trust me.”

“Let me tell you something, then.” Hyunjin steps closer, the space between the two of you dwindling. “I see what you do. What you’re willing to do for others. For Minho. Jisung, even. That.” He takes another step. “That love, that loyalty, will ruin you.”

“And what makes you so sure?” You squint your eyes.

“Because it already has.” He tilts his head slightly. “And it’s only the first night.”

You feel your spine straighten at that, taking a step back as if the minimal space that lingered between your two bodies sent a wave of electricity through your veins. You stare at Hyunjin, who leans against the door with a lazy smirk on his face, like he knows his words hit a nerve. “Just keep it down, would you?” You mutter, walking back to the comfort of your own room. “Asshole.”

“Always a pleasure talking to you.” He widens his smirk into a teasing grin before shutting his door.

Checkmate.

[water-loos]

if ur a kpop fan get hyped for this sawyer has been working on this 4 EVER

[wisehearttruther]

i hate when people talk shit about mike’s season 4 look like that’s my lesbian son leave him alone

[luveline]

𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary steve likes you, eddie munson’s best friend, to the point of heart palpitations. you feel the same way about him [6k]

warnings fluff, getting together, mutual pining, first kiss, first date, eddie munson is a good friend, steve is hopeless, fem!reader, reader is hellfire club adjacent, reader is an overthinker and steve is a softie, pre-s4 post-s3, no s4 spoilers besides eddie + hellfire club existing

𓆩❤︎𓆪

The first time Steve sees you he’s smitten.

You’re sitting on the stoop of Eddie Munson’s trailer. Coolest girl he’s ever seen – and Steve doesn’t go for the edgy type. Crazy cool clothes, hair all messy pretty and your eyes edged in dark makeup, you’re fiddling with the cassette player in your lap, brows pinched in frustration.

Steve can’t look long. He’s dropping the lunch club off for some impromptu Hellfire gathering. The kids pile out, eager to see their new (no, Steve isn’t bitter) friend with a chorus of rushed, half-hearted thank you’s.

You push the headphones off of your ears as his kids approach.

“Hey, Y/N,” they say, one by one as they enter the trailer and disappear from sight.

Steve is two seconds from leaving, swears, when he hears Lucas ask how you are.

“You know,” you say, voice quiet and immediately intoxicating. Steve watches as you slowly push two fingers between your shiny lips and pretend to blow your brains out. You drop on your back and lie there for a moment, chest rising with easy, breezy laughter. The sound draws heat to his cheeks, worse the sight of your naked thighs.

He’s hooked. He has to leave quickly, before you sit back up and indoctrinate him with your looks alone.

The next time he sees you is similar and not. You’re sitting on the ground outside the movie theatre. Again, Steve is playing taxi cab for his doofuses, though this time the thank you’s are slightly kinder, louder - he’d blown off a girl he didn’t stand much chance with in the first place to bring them.

“Love you!” Dustin calls, slamming the passenger door.

You drop the cassette player in your hands and lean your head back against Eddie’s thigh. Steve takes a few seconds to realise you’re looking at him, head tilting this way and that to catch a glance at him through people’s legs.

“Who’s your friend?” he hears you ask Mike.

Keep reading

[water-loos]

STEVE X ALT READER WELCOME HOME OH HOW I LOVE YOU

[water-loos]

so glad i wrote an au… it means the backseat of steve harrington’s beamer lives on!

[garrettswellsy]

Rip Steve’s beamer so many fics took place in the backseat of that car

[water-loos]

GUTS !

“god, love’s fucking embarrassing !„

steve harrington x fem!reader college au

masterlist ; playlist

cw: 18+ ONLY!! not canon compliant, alcohol mentions, swearing, smut & allusions to smut (*** indicated), no use of y/n, check individual chapter warnings

wc: 18.9k and counting

1: “ all-american bitch ! „ ***

2: “ bad idea, right ? „ ***

3: “ lacy ! „

4: “ ballad of a homeschooled girl ! „

5: “ get him back ! „

6: “ love is embarrassing ! „

(SPILLED !)

vol. #1 : “ we never dated ! „

vol. #2 : “ all my ghosts ! „

[water-loos]

also thank you everyone for the new love on guts! i’ll have fresh content soon i pinky promise <3

[water-loos]

yes i know steve harrington is so back yes i need to post the christmas chapter of guts before christmas yes i have the last two chapters planned out plot point by plot point… but school is consuming my life and i will not be back for another week :(

[starrvsn]

ꕮ ˚₊ ꒰ STEVE HARRINGTON ⁾⁾ A TAD ON THE NOSE

PAIRING ⠆steve herrington x gn!reader

CATEGORIES ⠆modern!au, college!au, radio-show-host!steve, fluff, meet cute vibes, this is so based off robin and steve manning the radio show for hawkins , no spoilers for s5 :)

WC ⠆5.5k (got a lil trigger happy with this one)

﹙ OVER THE INTERCOM ⠆ GUYSSSSS season five is finally out!!! well the first four episodes, how are we feeling?? steve is back finer than ever and how could i resist writing about him being a radio show host??? if you like this type of fic i am more than down to write more! or if you have any requests let me know! ﹚

this this such a bad idea.

the website opened on your laptop stares tauntingly at you. your fingers hovering over your keys as the cursor blinks, waiting- for a letter, or a word. anything. but you can't. the text box stays empty, waiting.

the text above does nothing to curve your conflicting thoughts.

'got a confession you can't say out loud? clear your thoughts and send it anonymously and work it through on 'good company with steve harrington' for some peace of mind with our starling host.’

it's a friday night and in an effort to unwind from a gnarly string of exams you've had this past week. you thought it was a good idea to relax with some cheap wine and a romcom movie marathon.

you don’t know if it’s the wine or the romantic antics in the movies you’ve been watching that has you doing this in the first place.

good company with steve harrington. a communications major turned radio personality after someone literally told him his voice is good for radio. of course, that’s all in speculation. you don’t know steve or what he’s like but people say he’s got the personality to be a radio show host– all the charm and punchy one liners that makes everyone laugh or how he’s a good listener and oddly gives good advice while playing good music in between.

you found him on a whim after being tired of your playlist rotation. in need of hearing something different you gave your schools recommendation radios a chance, most of them were local and a some broadcasted by your school.

then, you found a section of a few student run. that’s how you found steve’s. his voice clear and smooth over your speakers, he was rearing the end of the night where he read anonymous confessions. it ranged from truely unhinged to ones from people that really should seek help instead of venting to a radio show host.

you just put it on as background noise as you studied that night but as the days progressed you found yourself tuning in more than you’d like to admit. he was live in the evenings til midnight, conveniently the time where you found yourself to be the most productive. so you’d have your laptop open to his radio show when you were studying, doing homework, house chores, anything. sometimes you’d just listen. listen to his voice, the music he played where some songs found home in your playlist.

it was a strange connection, how he alone got you so hooked. how he’s voice, always warm and inviting and so expressive you always found yourself wanting more, how his stupidly witty one liners in between songs had you smiling to yourself while you were washing dishes, how his laugh always made your ears prick and tingle, it made it impossible for you not to like him, by just his voice and oozing personality alone.

but what’s even stranger is that you found out he was in your psych 101 class after reading his tangent about how music is good for the mind and soul on a discussion board one night. sure it was just his name above the text but the kicker was his profile picture right beside it, giving you a face to the man you listened to every night. and you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t end up stalking every social media page he had later that night.

so this is insane. what you’re doing right now. on his radios anonymous confessions page about to confess your feelings to a radio show host who you conveniently have a class with.

is this fate or pure insanity?

you don’t even know the guy.

so what! what do you have to lose? college is too short for ‘what ifs’

you swear if you were drunk right now this wouldn’t be happening. too much wine and romantic comedies is what got you here and what do you really have to lose?

your class is filled with up to sixty plus people and there’s no way he could find out it’s you.

and so what if he does, he can’t blame someone for shooting their shot, he probably gets fan mail all the time from people who listen so this wouldn’t be any different.

so what if he reads your confession and just brushes it off, that’s fine! at least you had the balls to do something about your feelings.

but maybe you’re going about it all wrong. you could befriend him like a normal person, talk to him after class and build up to the day you tell him you like him.

but none of your romantic comedies have that. there’s always an elaborate scheme or meet cute that get the two main leads together.

like 10 things i hate about you! or she’s the man! life is too short to live normally so why not shake things up? and this will benefit as some cool couple lore you might tell your kids someday.

so, you’re going all in.

with new found confidence and determination. you take a chug from your wine bottle you’ve been sipping all night (too lazy for dishes) and type away on your laptop. impulsively typing out your confession letter in a text box that might not even be read. but who gives a damn, you go back and forth, deleting and revising your confession. even scrapping a whole paragraph after you got carried away in describing how soothing (and hot) his voice sounded to you, finding it a bit creepy… it takes you a while ten minutes to get something your satisfied with and you barely reread if before hovering your mouse over the submit button and clicking it and closing out the tab, quicker than you have before.

it felt like you were finishing your exams all over again, relieved and glad it’s over with, a weight off your shoulders. no responsibilities to worry about anymore.

then, you start second guessing yourself.

what if he thinks i’m some weirdo and has a personal vendetta against me

what if he finds me and laughs in my face with how corny my confession was

oh god, what if people that listen find out it’s me and never let me live it down?

you will the thoughts of dread and regret away and find solace in the wine you've been nursing all night and resuming your movie marathon, thoughts of your previous decision falling away in your memory as you fall asleep after your tenth rewatch of cinderella story.

the weekend is over quicker than you'd like and you find yourself back in class, sitting in boring lectures, jotting down notes, mentally preparing yourself for the week ahead.

soon hours pass, classes are over and you're in your dorm doing your least favorite thing, homework. so, like second nature, without a passing thought you tune into your favorite radio show.

a song is playing when you tune in, you find a groove in writing and responding to discussion posts when the song slowly fades off and steve's voice slides right in.

"gonna have to cut this one early, with mid-term season coming up and everything," he starts, voice gentle and calm through your headphones, though you can hear a tad bit of disappointment in his voice, you're not sure how long he's been live but it's rearing ten pm and he usually ends at midnight at the dot. you couldn't help but find yourself a bit disappointed with his early departure, you halt your fingers at your keyboard and listen to his voice.

"which, i hope everyone listening is taking care of themselves and doing all the things to have the energy and strength to get through all the week of hell coming up." his comforting words making your heart stutter, slightly melting at his nod to everyone listening.

he clears his throat, steadying his voice. "with that being said, lets get through some confessions huh? to end the night before one last song."

his words make your blood run cold.

your confession.

you totally forgot about it after waking up with a pounding headache and dry mouth. you could only remember finishing the bottle of wine and watching movies all night that you didn't remember the confession you ended up submitting that night. you don't even remember what you wrote, let alone if he'd actually read it.

you hope to god he doesn't.

he starts reading some off. one about someone accidentally losing their roommates hamster, one about someone throwing up all over their date after the said they can't stand when people gag, it makes them want to throw up! (so real) and a few others you dont end up hearing because the pounding in your ears is too loud, your hand have run cold from your nerves and the pit in your stomach is twisting and churning like you're waiting for the worst to happen.

then, he pauses. his laugh from the previous confession dies down and he quiets.

a beat of silence, static blips. then he inhales a quiet “uh huh.” leaving him.

and you want the ground to swallow you whole because you know what’s coming.

“haven’t had one like this before.” he says in disbelief.

you can already imagine his face, eyes wide and brows jumped to his forehead. maybe he’s disgusted? or amused. you don’t want to find out.

“i have this insane hallway crush on a guy in my psych 101 lecture, he always sits two rows behind me and he just so happens to be a radio show host. he has a voice smoother than honey and i can’t stop listening… like how can a voice be so attractive? his voice definitely matches his face with how attractive he is…am i crazy?”

you cringe, letting out an embarrassed groan and ripping your headphones off, landing roughly on your keyboard.

you can’t believe you wrote that! and submitted it! what were you thinking? you definitely remember it being better than whatever that was. you can’t stomach to hear what he has to say, how would anyone even react to a kind of message like that? and he’s never gotten a confession like that before, just your luck! when you thought he had a whole fan club sending mail to him like that it turns out to be just the opposite.

he must think you’re a creep! thinking all those things without knowing him!

your hands fly to close the tab of his radio ready to end your suffering and deciding it’s better that you don’t know what he says next for your own well being. when you hear a laugh, high pitched and breathy. one of disbelief and underlying flattery.

“i wanna know who wrote this.”

your hands cover your face, leaning back in your chair. how could you go to your psych lecture now knowing he’s gonna be there and know you have this stupid crush on him?

he continues, his voice coming faintly from your headphone speakers.

“but seriously, uh thank you–“ he pauses for a beat, reading over your confession again. “a voice smoother– smoother than honey, huh? i- haven’t heard that one in a while, i always thought about what my voice sounds like to other people so thank you for that.” his voice sincere, you could almost hear the smile on his face as he speaks, you feel relieved and flustered all at once, your pit of nerves swirling into butterflies.

“and i-im really really flattered honestly, didn’t know my voice is just attractive as my face.” you cringe again, recalling what you wrote in your drunken haze. you were not thinking straight when you were writing. “that might be my favorite compliment yet.” he says, laughing softly.

what you don’t see is steve sitting in the studio, a blush burning itself up his neck and the way he’s fidgeting with his headphone cord as he speaks, a warm feeling spreading in his chest at the thought of someone regularly listening to his show and enjoying it and the fact you think he’s attractive, not just his physical appearance but his voice– something he was unsure about when starting, sure, he has the personality but did his voice convey that over the radio and was it tolerable enough for people to listen to? your confession alone eased his lingering nerves.

he’s grinning like a lovesick child at this point, curious to know who this person is, so he could kiss the ground they walk on because they just made his whole year. suddenly looking forward to going to his psych class tomorrow.

“well, whoever you are. you’re not crazy and you just made my night. thank you.”

with that, he transitions over to the last song of the night, bidding everyone good luck for upcoming midterms before his voice fades and instrumental replaces him.

you slump back in your chair, heart hammering like it’s trying to escape your ribcage. you ears are still ringing faintly with his voice, warm and fond, and for some reason it makes it impossible to focus on your discussion board.

you keep replaying the words in your head:

“smoother than honey, huh?”

“didn’t know my voice is just as attractive as my face.”

“you just made my night, thank you.”

you groan, burying your face in your hands. realizing what just happened, your anonymous confession about him that you thought was just going to sit in his inbox. actually, was read on live radio, for everyone to hear. and when you thought he was going to laugh and brush it off, ended up being the opposite. where you thought he had a chip on his shoulder and would say “tell me something i don’t know.”

but he didn’t, he appreciated it and completely flattered by your confession. it didn’t even cross your mind that he would react that way. and you liked it. you liked that he didn’t react the way your mind thought he would, chalking him up to be a man putting up a warm and comforting radio show host façade thats a douche in real life. but a man who is warm and comforting and cares about the space he creates on radio. you like that.

there was no way you could go to class tomorrow.

to see him sitting in the same seat, two rows behind you.

your stomach twists like a rollercoaster as you imagine walking in, trying to act normal, and seeing him.

seeing him, knowing.

knowing about your crush on him.

even if he doesn’t know it’s you, the thought of him just knowing made your stomach swirl with nerves and butterflies.

do you go to class and face him, or skip just because the thought of him actually being there is too overwhelming to bare?

you dont end up going to class that tuesday.

honestly, you barely go anywhere.

you woke up before your alarm, hours before. and you just lie on your back in bed, wide eyed glued straight to the ceiling. your mind consumed by the man himself. debating if you should get up and go to class. you don’t, the clock on your nightstand ticks past 10:00, then 10:15, then 10:45. the exact minute your professor always starts droning about cognitive theory. the same time steve usually gets up to use the bathroom, your ears piquing when you hear his whispers excuse me’s and carpeted footsteps to the door.

but you’re not there to hear it.

and as more time passes the more the regret seeps in.

and it hits you like a cement block:

you should be in class. you should be sitting two rows in front of him, attending class like a normal person. pretending like you didn’t send a confession to the man sitting behind you saying “his voice is just as attractive as his face.”

but what then? you hadn’t thought this far, were you just gonna go up to him and tell him ‘hey! so i was the person who wrote that confession about you’ what then? would you ask him out? be his friend? get to know him for who he is behind the voice?

you groan, grabbing your pillow and pressing it over your burning face.

this is insane. actually crazy of you to not go to class just because of some boy.

and worst of all, you do want to talk to him!

you want to know if he’s as charming in person as he is on-air, if his laugh sounds the same when it’s up close, if his voice is just as soothing as it is on radio. you want to know him for more than just his voice on radio.

you day passes just as any other, going though the motions of your mundane routine, regret lingering in your mind.

you don’t tune in that night either.

wednesday passes by too quickly for your liking.

now its thurday. you go through your morning routine like its a normal day. putting extra care in your routine with steve in mind. that that you would ever admit that, you're doing this for you, to make yourself feel and look good. not for someone else.

the dread in your stomach comes worming back when your walking up the steps to your first lecture, psych 101. you couldn't just bail twice over what happened earlier this week, it just would be idiotic- you don't know that he knows it's you, it could be anyone. but that somehow makes it worse. because now, instead of knowing what he thinks of you, you’re stuck imagining every possible version. him disappointed, him flattered, him laughing, him annoyed, him curious and all of it swirls together into one nauseating knot that sits right under your ribs.

you pull in a deep breath, before adjusting the strap of your bag and pushing the lecture hall door open.

there's already people littered across the seats. taking claim in their silently assigned seats. you hover at the doorway, eyes scanning over the rows of seats as if thinking about where to sit, you silently claimed seat untaken when you see him.

your stomach drops straight through the floor.

steve is already in his seat, directly behind yours, two rows away. his earbud dangle from his ears

and he’s looking at the doorway like he’s waiting for someone, someone specific. your breath hitches as your eyes catch for a brief moment and his gaze doesn’t stray from you for a moment. you can already feel the warm tingling feeling in your chest are you dart your eyes away, it was nothing more than a passing glance but it felt deeper than it should’ve. forcing yourself to move, you walk to your usual spot. hyper aware of every step as you enter the row, not daring to look back.

you slide into your seat, dropping your bag beside you and pull out your lap top, trying not to move too loudly or take too much space as the seats fill beside you. busing yourself with opening the class canvas and your notes tab, the cursor blinking mockingly at you– bringing you back to the events from last week, you gnaw at your lip at the thought finding more interest in the whiteboard in front of you willing the memory away.

then, you feel it. a shift in the air, subtle but fore coming.

you feel it in the prickle at the back of your neck, in the way your heartbeat stutters painfully.

you don’t need to turn around to know he’s looking. his eyes finding home on the back of your head and you can faintly hear the tapping of his pen against his notebook.

your ears prick and tingle at every sound, every conversation made as you keep your head forward, arms crossing desperately wanting class to start already.

the door opens, a muffled thud behind it and you glance back, in a force of habit. you see him staring at you over the curve of your shoulder. eyes wide and curious. he doesn’t even pretend like he isn’t staring.

your eyes meet again, this time lingering. searching, as if he’s already got you figured out.

his mouth parts, like he wants to say something, anything, the right things to not scare you away. like he’s finally put a face to the anonymous confession. but nothing comes and the booming voice of your profession bursts the bubble.

you spin back around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash, your face warm and hands tingling cold. tugging your sleeves over your hands as you straighten in your seat. fingers already hovering over your keyboard, willing yourself to focus on the lecture and the droning voice of your professor but you can’t.

all you can feel is him behind you. his molten gaze behind you. his eyes linger and you feel it. every time you shift, every time you breath, every time you hit backspace to hard when your hands fumble. you feel him.

he doesn't even get up to briefly excuse himself like he does every lecture. or he does and you try to miss it.

class drags by and by the time the professor dismisses the class, your nerves are shot. fumbling to get your things together and leave as quick as you can. slipping out of your seat only to be held up by the clamors of students that walk to slow up the steps, talking to their friends. you internally swear, wishing they'd move faster. your eyes hesitantly brush over the people walking out. you dont see the familiar head of hear, or feeling of his presence near you.

a breath leaves you, feeling relieved he's out of sigh tbut also oddly disappointed. your hand brushing the back of your head where he was staring the whole time. there was no way he knew it's you but the lingering staring and the way he looked like he was going to say something before class started made you believe, he knows... but how.

you round the corner, ready to go back to your dorm and wallow in your emotions when you hear a voice call out.

"hey,"

you head lifts before you can really process hoping, it's just a random person calling out to their friend.

it's not.

steve stands, leaned against the wall. making him look irritatingly suave and undeniably attractive. you falter in your step as you look at him.

he takes his chance.

he approaches you, eyes looking over like he's desperately trying to connect the dots you hoped he wouldn't.

“y/n, right?” your breath catches at the sound of your name leaving his mouth, soft on his tongue and gentle on his lips. you nod, eyes dropping instinctively to the floor, missing the way he smiles. relieved and disbelieving.

because he finally has a name for the person he’s been looking at in class for weeks. and you’re stuck wondering how he knows your name, knowing you’ve never interacted before this.

he runs his hand through his hair, brushing his hair back. before shifting his hands to his hips, licking his lips before continuing

“you, uh... didn’t come tuesday.”

your heart flips. tightening your sleeves under your hands, how did he know you weren’t in class? how did he know?

“oh, yeah. just wasn’t feeling well.”

“right.” nodding too quickly, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, like the dots he’s been trying to connect are drifting farther, out of reach. “right, yeah i don’t know why–” he cuts himself off with a strained laugh.

you blink looking up at him. he looks nervous, pink-cheeked, scratching his neck like he’s trying to buy time to pick the right words.

you’ve never seen him like this. you never imagined you could see him like this, because of you.

he collects himself before starting again, voice gentle and low.

“i don’t wanna sound creepy or weird– or anything,” his hand waving, as he searches your expression. you look at him curious, wide eyed. a little breathless from seeing him up close. the shock of hearing his voice in person, not through head phones or your computer speakers, but here. his voice familiar to your ears, it makes your skin prickle.

“but, we get analytics at the station, like rough numbers, how long people listen for that kind of stuff.” he looks at you again, to make sure you’re following and not weirded out. and when he sees you waiting for him to continue he doesn’t miss a beat.

“we also can see specificity students who tune in, and the station tries to recommend other radios you’d like.” rubbing his hands on his thighs nervously, trying to say his next words carefully.

“and well, your student email has been consistent until tuesday…”

you blink, stomach swirling with nerves. your arms crossing over your chest as if it would soften the blow on where he’s getting to.

he notices, taking a deep breath before stepping closer to you, voice low only for you to hear. careful and slow.

“that confession was on monday, you didn’t come to class or tune in on tuesday…so it makes me wonder if it was you that put in the confession.”

the hallway hums around you, students passing, doors opening and closing. it all blurs, muffled under the thrum of your heartbeat.

he waits. and the silence stretches.

your mind is a whirlwind, you don’t know what to say, what you could say. but you can’t look away from him, his expression patient and waiting, but can’t lie, make an excuse to get yourself out of it.

his voice breaks the tension, barely above a whisper:

“am i wrong?”

you shake your head, trembling.

“…no,” you whisper. “you’re not wrong.”

his chest visibly loosens, a stunned relieved laugh escaping him.

then, something blooms across his face. he smiles, the kind that curls slow and genuine at the corners of his mouth, spreads across his face. relief, joy almost.

“good,” he says quietly, swooping his head lower. looking up to you with wide big brown eyes laced with admiration. “because i was really, really hoping it was you.”

your heart stops. the nerves and dread build up into turning into something warm and hopeful.

your breath catches. “why?”

he smiles crooked and shy in a way you’ve never heard in his broadcasts. “because i really appreciated what you said, and seeing how you are in class so kind and easygoing. if you were willing to write something like that about me…” he shrugs, trying to play it cool but the blush on his ears say otherwise. “then maybe you’d wanna actually talk to me. not… anonymously.”

you swallow. “…are you asking me out?” you ask, wanting to hear him say it himself.

“yeah,” he confirms immediately like he’s been waiting to let it out. “i am. i wanna get to know you. without the radio show. without the confession box. Just… you.”

your pulse is a full drumline. a soft smile gracing your lips, eyes soft. “okay,” you nod. “yeah. i’d like that.”

he beams, perking up. bag pack almost falling from his shoulder from how elated he is, you find it very cute. the person behind the voice being hundreds of times better than what you’d thought he’d be.

“so,” he says, shifting his backpack, suddenly bright with nervous energy, “do you wanna go out for coffee? dinner maybe? or maybe something smaller, not to overwhelm or anything.”

you laugh, breathless, relieved and buzzing in a feeling completely new.

“coffee would be great, then we could see where things go from there,” you say, cheeks aching from how long that soft, fond smile has been on your face.

“sounds perfect” he grins, eyes shining with something brighter, fond and promising.

and just like that, something you thought was going to haunt you for life turned out to be the greatest moment instead.

﹙ MINI EPILOGUE! ﹚

it’s been two months since you crossed paths with a certain starling radio show host.

two months of casual coffee dates that turned into dinner dates, midnight drives where steve would show you his upcoming playlists for the radio, movie nights. of steve walking you to your lectures even when he didn’t have classes that day, holding your hand during your psych lecture where he upgraded himself to sitting next to you. endless nights filled with conversation talking about everything and anything, giving you a tour of his studio that’s looked just as homey as his title suggests, kissing you when he thought people weren’t looking, texting you good morning and good night and would get personally offended if you didn’t respond.

two months of something. something that has blossomed into a flower of real and warm, sanctuaries of butterflies in your stomach when you see him, be close to him. in his world.

but nothing has been made official yet.

not because you don’t want to, you would want other more but because steve is a romantic he insists he wants to do it right.

and that alone keeps you wanting more.

tonight, you've opted out of accompanying steve in the studio and settle yourself at your dorm, studying. hours and hours or reviewing, rereading, teaching yourself everything you've forgotten over the past few weeks. it was boring and driving you insane. you haven't been listening to steve's radio, worried you'd zone out and focus on the smoothness and softness of his voice and the music he'd play with some of your recommendations in between.

after hours of studying, on your break you tuned in. catching the tail end of a song, it fades out. trailing into a soft hum of static before steve’s voice eases through your laptop speakers. smooth, warm, and so him it makes your chest ache.

"alright everyone, thank you for the good company tonight."

a fond smile forms at the sound of his voice alone, warm and welcoming. you missed it– how his voice soothed you through tough sleepless nights, how his voice was soft and light when he complimented you. it eased every muscle in your body, a melody so sweet and poetic.

"before we end the night. you know what time it is, midnight confessions."

the final segment of the night you've come to enjoy, steve would always read you some he could never say live because of how unhinged they were. it made for good laughs and fond memories, knowing this is what got you together in the first place.

steve clears his throat on the other end, a bit stuttery and light, one he does when he’s nervous or trying not to laugh.

“we’ve got a special one tonight.”

special? the word makes you sit straighter, increasing the volume on your laptop before leaning in intently.

he laughs under his breath “to switch things up tonight, this confession isn’t anonymous. its from me.”

you freeze, hand coming up to your mouth. a confession from him? what could it be? you never talked about how it’d be for him to mention you on good company, it’s something you’d never be against- it be flattering if anything, but where could he be going with this tonight?

“so i don’t know if you guys remember but a few months ago there was this confession about me and it was flattering, sweet and…borderline flirty?”

you laugh, recalling the conversation you had with him about the confession. how it was a impulsive thing after you had a long night and drunk, it was embarrassing but steve found it cute and endearing. if it wasn’t for your romcom marathon and wine stupor none of this would have ever happened.

“she said there was this guy she liked. a guy in this very class she thought would never notice her.”

he pauses. a smile dancing on his lips, thinking about you.

“and one thing lead to another and it’s blossomed into something i thought wouldn’t be possible… but things have never been made official.”

your heart pulses, breath stuttering. eyes fogging.

“and i want to change that.

you chest tightens. your cheeks burn. you can hear the slight shake in his exhale, like he’s just as nervous as you are.

“so hey, sweetheart,” his voice soft and sweet. you melt because he only uses that one when he really means it.

“if you’re listening, which i know you are. i’d really like to be your boyfriend, if you’d let me. no anonymous confession needed.”

you don’t realize you’re crying until a tear hits your hand.

then he adds, quiet and earnest. “i’ll be waiting for your response.. even though i know it’d be a yes or im hoping it is.”

you’re in disbelief, laughing through your tears because the show is what put you into each others worlds, colliding. and it’s all coming full circle.

so as it turns out, steve harrington is some good company. and he is now yours.

﹙ ENDING SO CORNY BUT I LOVE ITTTTTT﹚ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.

[water-loos]

feeling so sick this is so cute :( radio!steve my sweet

[loveshotzz]

Nice to each other

steve harrington x fem!reader friends to lovers

Here we are, back again, fighting what’s in front of me.

summary: Despite being best friends for the past four years, you and Steve have never truly spent a Halloween together. Always at separate parties, separate dates. This year though, the two of you decide to keep it quiet both of you tired of the humiliation ritual that is dating.

The plans were simple: horror movies and pass out candy.

You’d be more excited if it wasn’t for the kiss the two of you shared drunk on a dare at Eddie Munson’s bonfire a week ago. A kiss the two of you have refused to talk about at all costs, A kiss you can’t seem to quit thinking about no matter how hard you try.

WC: 14k

warnings: 18+// Steve & reader are in their early to mid 20’s, stubborn idiots in love, classic we don’t want to ruin the friendship yearning, drinking, mentions of smoking, kissing, literally non stop tension, slight dry humping if you squint.

author’s note: This fic is inspired by Emily Henry’s People We Meet On Vacation, except for it’s in Hawkins with Steve, and revolves around their Halloweens over the years told between flash backs and current time. I had a lot of fun writing this, I hope you have just as much fun reading it.

Halloween - now.

“Sour candy or chocolate?” Steve asks deep in thought, he’s standing in the brightly lit Halloween aisle of the local Piggly Wiggly with two different ‘Family Size’ bags of each in his equally big hands. 

His eyebrows are pinched in the center of his forehead, marrying just below the swoop of hair that always fails to stay tucked behind his ear as he scans the shelves for a third, possibly better option with his full bottom lip tugged between perfect teeth. 

This was peak Steve Harrington concentration. 

“Sour candy, obviously.” You scoff, grabbing the neon Warheads bag out of his grasp, dumping it into the small cart that’s already full enough to make you regret not getting the large one Steve had suggested at the door. 

It’s fine, you were supposed to be practicing self control tonight anyway, plus you would never tell him that he was right about something. Not unless you wanted to hear about it for the next week.

Self control is a new concept when it comes to Steve, but you are good at trying to practice it, refusing to meet his eyes as you brush past him, and again when you ignore the glimmer of electricity that’s sparked between the two of you since your friendship’s conception. It’s a lot harder to pretend now though, because touching him feels like sticking a wet hand to a power grid these days, all because of a childish dare to prove Eddie Munson wrong. A plan that backfired in your face pretty quickly after drunkenly locking lips with your best friend at the metal head’s bonfire last week, because neither one of you can back down from a challenge. 

Or admit the truth. 

Your friendship with Steve has always been a series of ‘what if’s’. An unspoken tension that everyone in the room could feel when the two of you were in it, but honestly Steve had chemistry with everyone. He was just one of those guys, and your bond only intensified it, at least that’s what you’ve told yourself over the years. Kissing him though? That was always the kind of ‘what if’ you’d only ever dared to think about in the dead of night - alone, in your room, before shoving it back deep down into the dark crevices of your mind. It always happened after a movie night that got a little too cozy under a shared blanket, wandering hands a little too daring in the dark, cinnamon and clove clinging to all the fabrics of your clothes.  

Only now, it was a reality. One that hasn’t stopped playing on a loop since. 

“I think we should get both.” Steve finally decides like it’s been something that’s kept him up at night, coming up behind you so close that his chest brushes against your back as he reaches around to dump the chocolate in the cart. His cologne tempts your senses like the devil trying to make a deal for your soul, and you wonder if holding your breath would be too dramatic.

”We’re going to have so much left over if we get both.” You argue with a smile twisting up the corners of your lips, but you make no effort to correct the situation. The uneven wheels squeak as you keep pushing the cart down the linoleum floors.

”Or we can be the best stop on the block, let these kids clean house.” He suggests as if he were a coach coming up with a play, pounding his fist into his open palm for the words ‘clean house’ before pushing the dark green sleeves of his Hawkins Community College sweater up his arms. A galaxy of freckles reveal themselves to you, clustering and spreading along his permanently sunkissed skin. They stand out even more under the fluorescents. 

“I know you like winning, but I feel like I have to remind you that this isn’t a competition Harrington.” Grinning, you finally meet his amused eyes.

”Just getting into the Halloween spirit, that’s all honey.” Steve winks, pushing the wild strand back, just for it to fall across his face not even a second later. He ignores your protest when he bumps you to the side with his hip to take over pushing the cart. “Now the real question is what are we watching tonight?”

“I was thinking something along the lines of Army of Darkness, or Nightmare on Elm Street. Neither are very scary, I know how you get.” You couldn’t help but throw the little dig in retaliation for taking the cart from you, a giggle slipping past your lips at the side eye you get in return.

”I just don’t like being scared? Is that such a crime? You can go watch whatever you want with Eddie like the little weirdos you are.” He does a good job at keeping a straight face as the two of you get in line behind a family of five, but you catch a peek of his smirk when he leans over to put the divider on the black belt. 

“Do I need to remind you that you invited yourself tonight? I should make you watch The Exorcist.” 

It’s the genuine disbelief that paints his features that gets a full bellied laugh out of you, a big smile pushing up your glossed lips, and you can’t help notice how his gaze falls to them for a split second. 

Self control.

”Sorry I want to spend my best friend’s favorite holiday with her, sue me.” Steve scoffs dramatically, setting the bags of candy on the moving belt first, the family ahead of you wrapping up.

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms stubbornly, cheeks burning hot at the smirk he gives you.

”Listen, I don’t actually care about what we watch, what I care about is that you’re going to let those pumpkins we carved finally see the light of day.”  He pushes the now emptied cart ahead, leaning back against the wooden panel of the register, leaving just a few inches between you. An amused eyebrow arches at your annoyed groan in response.

”Steve, they are hideous.”

”Speak for yourself, I put my blood, sweat and tears into mine, he deserves his moment. He’s going outside.” He decides it with the kind of finality in his tone that you know means it’s going to be the first thing he does as soon as you get back. 

”No one is going to come to the apartment, it will look like serial killers live there.” 

“Or a couple of undiscovered artists. Who are also going to be the number one candy dealers on the block.”  He argues, completely unphased by your protesting.

“Steve!” You whine, despite the smirk that creeps up your lips, and it makes Steve’s face split in two. 

“Fine, but we’re watching whatever I want then.” You challenge, doing your best to ignore the flutter in your stomach when his foot brushes against yours and he keeps it there.

”Like within reason.” He succumbs with genuine concern, rubbing his palms nervously against his tight fitting light wash jeans at the thought of what you’re sure is the last movie Eddie made him sit through.

”I’m not a monster Harrington.” You wink, quietly thankful for the fact that the line starts to move, because like magnets you’d unconsciously migrated deeper between his spread legs. 

Seizing the moment, you put some space between you just in time for Delores, or as her name tag reads to greet you both, popping the bubble you’d unknowingly trapped yourself in with him and bringing you back to reality.

Self Control.

Halloween - Three Years Ago.

“I really can’t believe you’re choosing to go to Eddie’s Halloween party over Tina’s.” Steve yells over Eddie Money’s ‘Take Me Home Tonight’ from his bathroom.

”And I can’t believe you’re going on a date with Brenda, again.” You retort, recalling the last time he tried to date her six months ago, and how he had to disconnect his landline after he ended things.

Granted he was breaking up with her because the new foreign exchange student at the time was showing interest, and he’d rather have a semester of fun with her than spend the winter playing boyfriend with Brenda. So you definitely understood where she was coming from, in fact you constantly reminded Steve you were on her side every time he’d try and complain about the mess he made. Messes he always seemed to make.

You ignored the unreasonable pit of jealousy that formed in your gut then, just like you are now, cause in no universe are you going to allow yourself to have a crush on  your best friend. There was no way you were going to fall victim to the Harrington charm just like everyone else, you liked hanging out with him too much for that. It would be a cold day in hell if you ended up as one of Steve’s messes, because in an alternate reality where you gave in to the ‘what if’ and it didn’t work out, there’s no way you’d be able to go back to watching him do exactly what he’s doing right now. 

You wouldn’t be able to have movie nights where maybe you both sit a little too close, laughing until your sides hurt and snacking on whatever is in front of you. No more late drives to lovers lake, just so you can get a better view of the moon when it's full, and staying out till sunrise, stopping at Denny’s to share a grand slam on your way home. No more talks about the future and how much the uncertainty of it all scares you both. No more having someone you can be completely yourself around. Someone who won’t judge you for your faults, someone who shows up when no one else will. Neither one of you could lose that.

”Look, it’s been a few months. She seems over it, besides it’s not like it’s anything serious.” He tries to reason, finally stepping out of his bathroom to give you the first look at his costume. ”What do you think?”

You never thought Indiana Jones was hot, even when he made you watch all three movies in preparation for this, but Steve as Indiana Jones was another story entirely. 

His dark brown pants are tucked into black boots, fitting his waist perfectly with a chocolate colored belt wrapped around his hips only extenuating it more. The cream colored button up leaves little to the imagination since he only has the bottom two done, half hazardly tucked into the front of his pants. You notice the silver chain that you’d gotten him for Christmas last year hanging from his neck, the dog tag at the end of it getting lost in the thick thatch of hair on his chest and it leaves your body warm. He opts out of the fedora because according to him it would hide his “best asset” so that wild strand swoops across his forehead like it's on purpose.

Steve Harrington looked like a movie star. 

Brenda didn’t know what was coming for her, and you have to swallow that sour taste in your mouth for the second time tonight. 

“I’d say Stephen Spielberg needs to seriously consider recasting you as the lead instead of Harrison Ford.” You feed into his delusion, because that’s what best friends are for.

”Right? Right?” He spins around one more time, flashing that million dollar smile of his that devastates anyone he directs it at. You have to remind yourself of everything that you could lose again.

It’s Steve’s turn to take in your costume. Golden brown eyes sparkling with amusement and the kind of adoration that was hard to ignore. You’re a Venus fly trap from the Little Shop of Horrors, wrapped up in a dark green form fitting tube top dress that stops at the middle of your thighs with jagged cut ends you made yourself with a dull pair of kitchen scissors. The silk gloves that go up to your elbows are the same shade of emerald, along with the little paper mache fly trap heads that Robin helped you make sticking out of the top of your pinned up hair. Glitter covers every exposed inch of your chest, and shimmers in the corners of your eyes. You had felt confident enough to even reconsider going to Tina’s instead when you applied your red lipstick before leaving for Steve’s. His reaction only makes it soar. 

”What do you think?” You smile, taking your turn to spin. 

”Who are you trying to impress at this party again?” Steve quirks an eyebrow, a darkened gaze lingering over all the details of you, taking his time where a best friend shouldn’t and it makes you squirm.

”Jonathan’s friend that’s visiting from California. You know him, Argyle." 

He scoffs, waving a dismissive hand before moving past you to grab his cologne from the top of his dresser.

”Him? Why? He’s only here for like two more days anyway.” He challenges with his back turned, and you know it’s on purpose.

”Okay? And?” You snap, his hypocrisy quickly snuffing out the jealousy that seemed to get comfortable in your gut and turning it into anger. You prefer it. So you lean into it. “You’re the only one who get’s to fuck around with no strings attached?”

”He’s a stoner pizza delivery man, I don’t really know what you’d see in that. Don’t lower your standards just to hook up with someone because you look cute tonight.” 

Because you look cute tonight. 

It’s your turn to scoff.

“You’re being a complete ass, Harrington. Like working at a video store is any better. He’s nice, and makes me laugh. We already hung out the other night. Then guess what? He walked me home and kissed me at my front door. I don’t think I need to impress anybody.” Your nails dig into the soft flesh of your palms, hands balling into fists at your side. How dare he.

What makes you even more mad is that it feels like it’s Steve who’s jealous. Steve who’s getting ready to go on a date with someone else. Steve who didn’t ask you when you were always right here.

”Oh, so that’s why we didn’t hang out the other night, got it.” He raises his eyebrows, lips turning into a frown before nodding his head. 

“We hang out almost every other night Steve, I don’t say anything to you when you go out on dates, and you go out on a ton of them. I think you’ve dated almost every girl in my Liberal Arts Class. I’m not appreciating this double standard, or you questioning my judgment.” Your words carry the kind of venom that stings, and you can see it all over his face. The worst part was how you immediately feel bad, frustrated tears threatening to spill over the shimmer that covers your cheeks. 

Steve’s quiet for a moment, looking down at his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. He meets your eyes after a few seconds, soft and apologetic, traces of unmistakable regret in the dark pools of his irises.

”You’re right, I’m sorry.” He sighs, straightening up, shifting his belt buckle around. “I don’t know why I’m being so-, I just think, I just -“

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts and decide if he really wants to say what’s trying to escape from the tip of his tongue.

”I just don’t think anyone’s good enough for you.”

You let his words sink it. They make the anger that fueled you cool down to a low simmer so that jealous pit can come back to reclaim its rightful throne.

”Well I could say the same thing for you too.” You mutter, refusing to meet his gaze, you weren’t ready to yet.

The silence that fills the space between you is full of those what if’s and half truths. It stays there just long enough for you to finally look at him with the mask you’re used to wearing. 

”Apology accepted. The game plan then is for you to try and not to end up getting tied to Brenda’s bed, and I’ll try to make sure Eddie doesn’t burn his trailer to the ground.”

Steve stares at you for a while, like he knows the conversation needs to move on but he doesn’t want it too. Logic wins out no matter how forced it seems, because he follows your lead.

“He’ll need you, buddy needs to cool it with the lighter fluid. And for what it’s worth your costume looks amazing. You guys did great.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

He spots the whip at the end of his bed, playfully flicking the head of one of the fly traps with his fingers as he walks past, and you have to stop yourself from inhaling the cedar and honey that invades your senses from his cologne. It’s not the one with cinnamon that you love, the one he only wears in the fall, the one that he wears for you. 

“Come on, I’ll drop you off on my way.”

Halloween - Now.

“So what’s the game plan chief?” Steve grins, leaning over your kitchen island, long fingers digging through the freshly filled candy bowl for a pack of Swedish fish.

”There’s no game plan, we hang out, kids walk up, they ring the door bell, then we give them candy and they walk away.” You swat his hand from the treats, but let him keep the gummy candy he searched so hard for. “No good supplier eats his stash Harrington, and I can’t believe I just had to explain the concept of trick or treating to you.”

You don’t tell him about the pile you already set aside to share later.

“What? I’m rusty! And, you gotta test the quality of the product honey, I’m a professional, I know what I’m doing.” He argues with his mouth full.

”Eww keep your mouth closed please and you can’t be rusty and a professional at the same time.”

He sticks his tongue out in response with a whole mini bag of half devoured Swedish fish on it.

”I hate you.”

”No you don’t.” He smirks, chewing the rest before pushing himself up right with a big gulp, letting you admire the cozy attire he changed into after you got back from the store. 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone make grey sweatpants and a black crew neck sweater look so good. A sweater he made sure to tell you he wore just for you today, the only black top he owns. 

“I’m still mad you didn’t get me any Halloween socks.” Steve points to the fuzzy black ones with jack o lanterns on your feet.

You’d opted for a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater, Steve’s oversized sweater actually, he’d left at your place almost a year ago and never bothered to reclaim it. The dark burnt orange color of it reminded you of fall, and for a while it smelt like him too. You’d never admit that last part to anyone, or that you were excited at the prospect of getting that smell back after tonight.

”You could have easily grabbed a pair at the store earlier, it’s not my fault you don’t know how to be festive.” 

The roll of your eyes is hard, but the smile that twists at the corner of your lips is soft for him as you grab the bowls of candy, silently indicating for him to follow you to the living room.

”I’d like to think I’m pretty festive.” He scoffs, tube sock covered feet padding loudly against the old wood floors of your apartment. “This is the first year I’m not dressing up, actually.”

”Because you don’t have a girl you can do a couples costume with this year.” You retort, setting the candy down on the coffee table before lazily flinging yourself onto the blanket and pillow covered couch. 

“One, I could have very easily gotten a date for Tina’s party tonight, let's not pretend that you and I don’t both know that. And two, that’s not true either, the year before last I didn’t have a date, I went with Robin as Mario and Luigi. You were the one that had a date that year, it was that douche bag Ryan from your English Lit class.” He snorts at the memory and the boy you’d almost forgotten about, but clearly your best friend hadn’t. 

Dropping into the spot he always takes next to you, Steve lets himself melt into the familiar cushions. His knee bumps yours when he spreads his legs wide with an appreciative groan before leaning his head back against the headrest closing his eyes. 

“Ryan was not a douche bag.” He was.

Steve opens one eye, a lopsided grin pulling up on your favorite cheek dotted with two moles. 

“Yes, he was and you know it. He wrote you one poem and you were smitten, one shitty poem. I could’ve written you a better one.”

”Then why didn’t you.” 

Steve’s eyes shine, but he doesn’t answer you, instead the two of you just sit there in silence smiling at each other in a silent dare that's always there. His knee presses into yours harder, and the butterflies that’d you’d done a good job at keeping dormant flutter back to life. Then you see his gaze flick down to your lips again.

Self control.

”L-lets start the movie.” You stutter, unable to tell if you yelled the words or if it really was just that quiet. 

Leaning over, you grab the remote off the coffee table with a kind of quickness that would make you think there was a gun pointed to your head. Steve’s continued silence doesn’t help anything either, he just drapes both arms across the back of the couch, wiggling himself deeper into his spot. The movement has your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you press play, starting the VHS. You had finally settled on Nightmare on Elm street on the car ride back.

It’s second nature to lean over Steve to turn off the lamp, although after last week it feels taboo but it’s too late to stop by the time the realization dawns on you. The light disappears with a loud click leaving just the small one over the stove in the kitchen as your only source besides the TV and the porch light that bleeds through your blinds from outside.

Electricity sparks and fizzes in the air around you the moment the room succumbs to darkness, and your chest accidentally brushes with his as you plop back into your seat. Steve sucks in a sharp intake of breath from the unexpected contact, but still he doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up like he always does, long fingers wrapping around your knees to drape your legs over the top of his thighs. 

Tucked under his arm like this, it’s easy to inhale him, bask in him and the warm cinnamon that mixes into his usual amber in the fall. He’s wearing your favorite. You nuzzle your cheek into his chest becoming greedy, the cozy scent calming your nerves, you get lost in it, and if he notices he doesn’t show it. He squeezes you closer, the top of his chin finding a new home on the crown of your head, while the pad of his thumb rubs circles on the sore muscle of your calf with pointed pressure.

Secretly, you always knew this moment, the one right here, was the cheat code every time you had ‘movie nights’ just the two of you. The excuse to let yourselves have this one thing. A silent agreement to never ruin the friendship by giving in just enough to keep the temptation at bay. An equal craving for the kind of affection that only feels good with someone you love, but as the years go by, the bolder both your touches get under the cloak of a dark room and a blanket, you wonder if it’s more than that. If there’s a world where he thinks about risking it all too.

Halloween - Two Years Ago.

You weren’t supposed to end up at Tina’s Halloween Party, but Ryan wanted to make an appearance after the two of you left Reefer Rick’s. He’d offered to be the DD, but three group shots of pickle bombs into it, you and everyone could tell he wasn’t having a good time. So since your apartment was walking distance from Tina’s, it made sense to end the night there or at least that’s how he explained it when he told you he wanted to leave. 

The usual anxiety that tightens in your chest returns at the thought of seeing your best friend, somersaults in your stomach you refuse to call butterflies. In fact, you’ve done a good job at convincing yourself this is totally normal, because you can’t remember a time where it didn’t feel like this to see him.

Robin would be there too thankfully, because the two of them had entered Tina’s annual costume contest as Mario and Luigi. Costumes you watched them both make all week, sprawled out across Robin’s bedroom floor, pricking fingers till they bled trying to sew. The worst part about it though, was how cute Steve made the oversized mustache look. Some people really do have it all.

Ryan keeps you close to his side when the two of you enter the packed house dressed as Frankenstein and his bride. Monster Mash blares from the speakers so loud you wonder how much time you have left before Hopper comes knocking on the door to shut it down. You scan the crowd for the familiar red and green in a sea of witches, mermaids, and Top Gun characters, finding the two of them in the corner closest to the kitchen. Closest to the booze.

You can’t fight the way your face lights up when Steve’s gaze meets yours through the crowd, his own smile growing so big that half his mustache falls off. Suddenly coming to Tina’s was the best idea Ryan’s ever had. You tug at his arm, leading him towards the two Mario brothers that wave eagerly at you.

”Oh, great. Steve’s here.” Ryan mutters, sounding less than thrilled but you choose to ignore it, and the very obvious tension between the two men that’s existed since they met.

”Finally you come to the superior party!” Robin exclaims hugging you tight, before giving Ryan an awkward side one.

”She’s aliiiiive!” Steve who is clearly feeling very good yells over the music, before scooping you up in his arms. 

He gives you the kind of hug that’s usually reserved for the long goodbye after a self indulgent movie night. The kind that has his big palms splayed across your back, pulling you flush against him, the thin material of your ripped white dress and his ramshackled overalls leaves little to the imagination. His lips find their way to the shell of your ear, tequila and lime warm on his breath, pebbling goosebumps along the back of your neck. He’s wearing your favorite cologne.

”You look beautiful, honey.”

He lets you go with that, and you catch the smug way he looks at Ryan over the top of your head. The smile on Robin’s face is awkward as you meet her gaze with a silent plea for help, you don’t know what exactly you want her to do, but your body is on fire and someone needs to put it out. You stare a little longer as if to communicate this delima to her telepathically even though you would never admit it to her with your words, only giving up on your dead end mission when you feel Ryan tug you back to his side by your hip.

”She does, doesn’t she.” Ryan agrees, fingers threatening to dig bruises in your side unknowingly. Steve always did this to him, but tonight the alcohol intensified it.

“Seriously, literally always so stunning.” Robin agrees on your beauty nervously, giving you an apologetic look that she couldn’t think of anything better.

”Let’s get some shots!” You try with mock excitement in a desperate attempt to remind Ryan why you came here and that it’s not to punch Steve’s teeth in with a squeeze of his hand. It’s a fruitless effort to try and ignore the growing heat that warms under your cheeks and churns deep in your gut where your body always seems to betray you.

”Great idea!” Robin exclaims doing her best to copy your tone, it seems to be enough to shake the boys out of their silent dick swinging contest.

”Tequila or rum?” You ask your date, laying a hand on his chest doing your best to ignore the heat of Steve’s stare on the back of your head.

“Tequila.” He answers, placing his palm on the top of your hand, bending down, his eyes flick towards your best friend before kissing you. Marking his territory.

You’d think it was hot if your body had any kind of reaction to him, but it’s still practically humming for the one behind you and you hate yourself for it.

”I’ll be right back.” You wink, giving Ryan’s fingers a squeeze before slipping through the crowd towards the kitchen without looking back. 

It’s quieter in the yellow light of Tina’s kitchen, the music a low thump instead of overpowering all your senses at once. A shaky breath slips past your black painted lips, while uneasy hands half hazardly read the labels on the cheap bottles of liquor. The bold letters that spell Tequila finally catch your eye on the most generic looking bottle. You grimace at the thought of the hang over that seals your fate tomorrow, but then you remember the way the lime smelt on Steve’s breath.

“You look beautiful honey.”

Fuck it. You take one straight from the bottle for good measure. No salt, no lime, just regret. 

“Your boyfriend’s a little insecure isn’t he?”

As if thinking about him makes him appear, Steve walks through the kitchen pointing a thumb over his shoulder towards the direction Ryan’s in.

“He’s not my boyfriend yet, and he won’t be because you keep egging him on,  Harrington.” You sigh exasperated, ignoring the way he chuckles not taking you seriously at all before turning around to face him, your palms finding purchase on the kitchen counter behind you. 

“Maybe, just a little.” He pinches his thumb and index finger together with a devious smirk that looks even more absurd in his costume. At least his oversized mustache must’ve been left with Robin. “I just don’t like him is all.” 

“You don’t like anyone I’m interested in, Steve.”

You want to ask him why. The alcohol almost starts to make you brave enough to do it too. Why does he do this every time it’s your turn to date around? Why does he always have a list of issues on how they simply aren’t good enough? Why is it always a competition? Sometimes you wonder if it’d just be easier to hear him say it out loud instead of doing whatever this is. 

“Well, that may be true, but you also have terrible taste.” He closes the space between you, mimicking your stance on the kitchen island across from where you face him. The tips of your shoes are close enough to touch. 

“Who would you like me to date then?”  Your question is supposed to sound snarky and mean, not quiet with weight wrapped around it like it does

The look in his glossy eyes steals the air from your lungs, like he’s daring you to say it. 

You both know you won’t and he changes the subject.

“I can’t believe I caught you doing a tequila shot without salt and lime. Especially that tequila.” He tsks, pushing himself off the counter and invades what little is left of the  space between you. You can smell the cinnamon again.

“Well I needed a quick stress reliever, no thanks to you.” You should be embarrassed by how breathy it comes out, but when he holds your gaze like this, like he wants to eat you alive, it’s hard to care. 

It's just the liquor you tell yourself, Steve’s been drinking all night. 

He mutters a ‘hmm’ under his breath, long fingers wrapping just tight enough around your wrist that you could pull away if you wanted too. You don’t though, instead you bite your bottom lip, too selfishly invested in what he might do next.

Steve reaches behind you, grabbing the salt shaker that dwarfs in his grasp, lifting your hand up to your mouth. 

“Lick.” He smirks devilishly, and you realize you’re getting the full force of his charm. 

“Steve.” You whisper, just barely audible over your heart thrumming out of your chest. You can feel it in your ears.

Thump, thump, thump, thump

“We’re gonna do a shot together, the right way.” He reasons like this is a completely normal interaction between two friends while the gold shimmering in his eyes darkens. 

You don’t say anything, searching his face for any sign of this being some kind of prank just to see how you’d react. But the way he licks his lips tells you pretty quickly that it’s not. 

So you do it. Holding his eyes the whole time, and you swear they turn onyx. 

It’s his turn to stay silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he taps the shaker over the corner of your hand before doing the same to his own, and now it’s your turn to stare as his pink tongue licks a perfect straight line. All the stories you’ve heard about him flood to the forefront of your mind, the endless pillow talk about Steve Harrington that fills the college halls. 

You hate that the motion has your thighs pressing together, especially with Ryan just outside waiting for your return, but you can’t bring yourself to care enough to leave. Your eyes trace the veins in his neck, silently counting the freckles that explode across his skin as he pours up two shots. 

“Here honey.” He whispers, like he’s scared for this bubble to pop too. 

The two of you cheers, glass clinking loudly in the silence, eyes staying trained on each other like you need to memorize every detail of this moment. Like this was never going to happen again. 

The tequila doesn’t taste as bad followed up with the salt and the lime. Steve does it like a pro, like a boy who’s been to every party this small town has to offer. He doesn’t even take that ‘this is disgusting’ suck of breath through his teeth, he just smiles at you setting the shot glass down. 

“Hey, is everything okay? Do you need help? Oh.”

It’s only fitting that it’s Ryan who pops your carefully crafted bubble, and you know it will be another fight about Steve on the walk home. Another night to get buried with all the others just like this, and a night that has you and Steve avoid being alone together for a week.

Halloween - Now.

It’s hard to concentrate on Freddy terrorizing a young Johnny Depp when the tips of Steve’s fingers move from your calf to the top of your thigh, a motion he’s repeated for half the movie. A move that gets bolder, higher, pushing the boundaries with every swipe. He has to feel the way it makes you squirm, in fact, you think it’s spurring him on. Especially when he gets dangerously close to the soft outline of your underwear, a quiet gasp escaping past your lips.

Luckily, you're saved by the sound of your doorbell, the first trick or treaters of the night making you both jump.

“Finally!” Steve exclaims like he wasn’t just actively tempting you to cross the line for the second time this week, like he didn’t already know what your tongue tasted like. 

The bonfire comes back in flashes, teeth scraping, nipping, the whistles that got drowned out when his hand came up to your cheek opening you up more when it was just supposed to be a peck.

”Hello? Are we just going to keep them waiting?” He snaps you back to reality, standing over you with his hands out for you to take. “I don’t really want to beat you at your own game.”

”Again Steve, this is not a sport, you can’t win at something when there’s no prize.” You groan, refusing to meet eyes but slide your hands into his. 

“Sure you can.” He winks, letting you go the moment you get on your feet, extending his arm for you to lead the way. 

His playful demeanor has you feeling like maybe you just imagined the last thirty minutes. Was he not affected the way you were? Has it always just been you? Did the kiss not make him question everything?

”Whatever you say Harrington.” Sighing, you try for the hundredth time this week to push the thoughts of your bottom lip between his teeth down where they can’t see the light of day.

So distracted by the man behind you, the lack of candy in your hands has you stopping dead in your tracks without thinking, the domino effect slams his hard chest right into your back.

”Foul ball.” Steve huffs, steadying you both with hands on your hips. The warmth of them bleeding through the thick fabric of your sweater. “I thought you said this wasn’t a game.”

What you hated most about Steve Harrington was that he always knew how to make you laugh even when you didn’t want to.

”Well if this were a game, we’d be losing.”

Genuine panic paints his features like a truly serious offense has occurred. 

“We forgot the candy.”

He groans, running a hand through his hair that you wish was your own. 

”Wow, total rookie mistake, we gotta get it together or we’re gonna get benched.” Clapping loudly he turns on his heel to grab both bowls, “I do not wanna get on the coach's bad side.”

”You don’t have to bring both.” You try your hardest to fight the smile that wants to twist up the corners of your lips. “And who’s the coach?”

”We’re not going to be under prepared this time sweetheart, and I need to see who picked the better candy, if they’re even still there!” Steve tutts with a shake of his head gliding past you. “And you’re the coach, duh.”

”Why do you always like to participate in competitions you know you’re going to lose?” Crossing your arms, you light up at his narrowed gaze, his long fingers wrapped around the door handle, “I mean, we might as well take a poll of the ugly pumpkins you made us put out too while we’re at it.

“Sounds like a great idea.” He grins smugly, “I love how much you lean into intimidation tactics when you know you won’t win by the way.” He doesn’t give you any time to respond, swinging the door open with the kind of excitement that would rival a kid on Christmas morning.

Then you watch it drain from his face almost instantly, quickly replaced by pure annoyance. 

“What’s going on? What are you doing here?” Steve, stacks one of the candy bowls on top of the other, leaning on your door with a hand on his hip.

”What does it look like we’re doing?” You hear Mike Wheeler’s voice before you see him, but when you meet Steve at the door, you realize it’s all four of his ‘children’ and you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles past your lips because they’re all dressed as The Cone Heads. 

“It looks like legal adults going to strangers' houses asking for candy, instead of being at a party, meeting girls. Will you’re excluded in that last part, obviously.” Your best friend runs another irritated hand through his hair.

“I’m not sure they’ll be able to chase tail dressed as Beldar Conehead, Steve.” You can’t stop giggling. “Just give them some candy.”

”Yeah, listen to your girlfriend, Harrington.” Dustin antagonizes, shaking his empty pillow case in front of him. “Give us the sour candies and we’ll get out of your hair.”

”One, she’s not my girlfriend, dip shit, and two, what's wrong with Snickers?” 

“Sour candy’s just better.” Lucas shrugs, “Now hand over the Warheads.”

She’s not my girlfriend.

It feels like an expected punch in the gut. The final nail in the coffin your last shred of hope lays in. You should have known better, but the kiss made everything fuzzy, the self control you prided yourself on waning in a way that you weren’t sure you could ever get back. 

“You guys can have as much as you want.” You say ignoring Steve, snatching the bowls from his hand. 

“Seriously? They can buy their own!” He groans, leaning his back on the door crossing his arms over his chest.

“She’s not your girlfriend, huh? You seemed pretty whipped to me,” Mike laughs knowing just how much this is getting under Steve’s skin.

You know it’s supposed to be somewhat of a compliment but it just adds salt to a wound that won’t stay closed.

”Shut up, that’s enough,” Steve smacks the back of Mike’s head hard enough to get an ‘Ouch! Asshole!’, the cone on top wobbling. “Get out of here and go to a god damn party.”

The boys take half the bowl of Warheads, walking away arguing about who can put the most in their mouth without spitting them out. They only took a few pieces of Steve’s chocolate, leaving you the clear winner this round, something you’d be more excited about rubbing in his face if you weren’t trying to actively avoid it. The taste of disappointment is bitter on your tongue, but you do your best to swallow it down. A hard lesson learned, but one your heart can’t bear to repeat again. All you know is that you can’t go back to being best friends with wandering hands in the dark.    

Self control. 

The Bon Fire - Last Week

Eddie Munson’s filter always disappeared when he was drunk, it was part of the fun of drinking with him. Except for when his unfiltered thoughts were about you.

”Oh give me a fucking break!” Eddie yells at you from across the flames that lick the night sky violently. The excessive amount of lighter fluid he’s sprayed into them should be illegal. A half smoked cigarette dangles from the side of his mouth, dangerously close to falling out as he finishes.

“The only reason you and Steve are still single is because the two of you refuse to acknowledge the fact that you’re clearly in love with each other!”

”Fuck. Off. Munson.” Steve glowers from the lawn chair next to you, taking a swig from his 5th beer of the night.

”What? ‘Fuck off’ because I got your ass?” Eddie adjusts in his seat, saving his cigarette, fully prepared for this debate like he’s been waiting for it all his life.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You argue weakly, following Steve’s lead and taking another “sip” of your empty beer.

The metal head guffaws.

“Please, I’ve been watching the two of you for the past four years. Steve scares off any guy you try to date and you let him, which makes me believe you feel the same way, and Steve only dates girls he knows he’ll never have a connection with!” Eddie claps his hands every few words to really drive his point home, and it leaves your argument a jumbled mess on the tip of your tongue.

The vicious cycle of you and Steve Harrington. 

”One, she dates horrible guys -“ Steve starts but immediately gets cut off by Eddie’s sarcastic “Sure!” And your “Hey!”

“Are you going to let me finish?” Your best friend narrows his eyes, polishing off his beer with an apologetic glance flashed briefly in your direction.

”You can if you want, but it’s not going to change my mind or anyone else’s at this party.” Eddie eggs him on more, taking a deep inhale of his cigarette and blowing the smoke out of his nose like a bull. Taunting you both.

You look around the fire for help foolishly thinking your friends were going to be on your side only to realize literally everyone is avoiding your gaze, even Robin.

”Robin!” The gasp that escapes you shouldn’t sound so surprised. She spends the most time with both of you.

“What?! I’m not Eddie! Yell at him!” She exclaims defensively, but her eyes are still everywhere but yours.

”Then look at me.” You cross your arms, arching a brow with a tilt of your chin.

She mumbles something about killing Eddie under her breath, messing with the empty beer bottles next to her like she’s looking for something. She was procrastinating.

”Oh my god! Seriously?” 

Eddie chuckles victoriously and you swear you hear Nancy giggle from the spot next to Robin. Sinking into the hard plastic of your chair, you dare to sneak a glance at Steve who’s face is entirely unreadable. This was worse than your worst nightmare, this was reality. 

”Look,” Eddie starts again, leaning forward in his chair like some sort of evil mastermind from a bad action movie, “If it’s all in our heads like you keep saying it is. That she really does have terrible taste in men and that you’ve really just exhausted all your options in Hawkins. Kiss then.”

Robin gasps dramatically.

”Are you really doing this right now, Munson?” Steve glowers through gritted teeth before shooting Robin a look so harsh she covers her face.

”Why not? What’s it going to hurt? I’m sure you’ve both thought about it before.” He shrugs, a cheshire smile poking dimples into both his cheeks. “Unless you’re too scared to do it, which would then make me continue to believe everything I just said was true.”

God, Eddie Munson knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how to press Steve’s buttons. He knew exactly how dug in both your heels were, holding up that invisible line that’s saved you for the past four years. And you couldn’t figure out if you wanted to kill him, and dump his body into the lake or be eternally grateful for someone finally ripping this old bandaid off. You just didn’t know if there was going to be a scar underneath.

”And why’s that?” You chime in finally finding your voice, snarky and rude. You’ve decided to lean into the anger, and ignore the heat of Steve’s stare warming the side of your face.

“Guys, this is getting a little weird.” Robin tries to intervene, the rasp in her voice uneasy, holding both her arms out like both boys might jump through the fire at each other soon.

”I dare you both to prove me wrong, and then I’ll let it go.” He sits back in his chair, a cigarette put out by his combat boots, and folds his hands in front of him. ”Just a peck.”

”Eddie, come on-“ Robin starts but Steve cuts her off.

”No, no, no it’s fine Rob.” 

That’s when he does it, he turns to face you because Steve Harrington never backs down from a dare. Even if it means throwing a boulder at your glass house. Eddie was playing chess while Steve played checkers, and you start to believe all the drunken stories he told you about the campaigns he wrote for his DND club in high school. Your best friend will unfortunately always be an easy target.

“It’s fine, if this freak wants a little show to get off to later, we’re perfectly capable of a peck. My Mom gives out pecks like they’re candy! N-not like to me alone specifically,” He clears his throat awkwardly, “Like the rest of my family too.”

You grimace at the idea of Steve kissing you like his Mom and Eddie’s eyes sparkle.

”Okay,” Steve waves his hands, eyes closing tight in frustration, “This is coming out wrong! All I’m trying to say is, no big deal Munson, if it’ll get you to shut up, we’d love to prove you wrong, right?”

Wait, was Steve really agreeing to this? Were you really going to have your first kiss with him in front of all of your friends? A kiss you’ve shamefully thought about more than you should. Did he actually want to kiss you? Is he really doing this to shut Eddie up?

”Yeah, not a big deal. You’ll see, and then I’ll be expecting free weed for at least a month.” You try to over compensate with a brave face, but Eddie sees right through it.

”Sure.” He grins, utterly pleased with himself.

”Well what do I get?” Steve glares at his friend expectantly.

”You don’t get anything Harrington, shut up.” 

“Wow, doesn’t seem fair, but whatever.” He mumbles, before finally focusing on you, and you aren’t sure you’re ready.

It feels kismet the moment your eyes meet, the sounds of the party fading around you, leaving only the crackling fire and your heart beating so loud it rings in your ears, and thumps through the tips of all ten of your fingers. The bubble you’ve carefully made together, the one that’s kept you safe for this long comes out like a shield. The last defense.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.  

Steve licks his lips, eyes silently communicating with you to make sure this is really okay, that you guys were actually going to do this and all you can muster is a nod. He scoots his chair close enough for the sides of your hands to touch, amber and cinnamon wrapping around you like a spell.

”Just me and you okay?” He whispers loud enough for your ears only.

”Yeah,” you agree, hooking your pinky with his, “me and you.”

Steve smiles that smile he doesn’t give anyone else, and suddenly you don’t care about the answer to any of those questions swirling around loud in your brain. You want this. You want him. Even if it’s just for right now.

His nose brushes against yours, miller lite and mint hot on his breath. It makes your lashes flutter against the tops of your cheeks, your skin warming as if you were standing in front of the sun. It’s so gentle when his bottom lip connects with the top of yours, it almost tickles. He exhales a deep breath through his nose, mouth hovering for what feels like an eternity.

Thump, thump, tump, thump. 

When the soft silk of his lips finally meets yours, you swear the earth shakes, and after a few seconds when he pulls away with that dazed look on his face you wonder if he felt it too. He blinks a few times, slow and bewildered, something shifting behind his brown eyes that you can’t figure out. Steve doesn’t give you much time to try before his lips are on yours again, that big hand of his finding your cheek, tilting your willing chin up just enough to open you up. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip asking for more and you give it to him without question tasting him for the first time.

Steve Harrington was kissing you, really kissing you. 

“I hope those aren’t the kinda pecks your Mom’s handing out like candy, Harrington!” Eddie gloats loud enough to break through the haze, causing both of you to remember where you are.

Steve’s in no rush to pull away though, in fact, he takes his time, perfect teeth nipping gently at your bottom lip for good measure. He lingers like stopping this is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. The tip of his nose runs along the length of yours, and for a second you think he might keep kissing you. His eyes are already fixated on yours when you meet his stare with fluttering lashes. He holds your gaze like he’s desperately trying to read your mind, the pad of his thumb swiping against your bottom lip not once but twice before finally letting you go. 

”You happy now, Munson?” Steve huffs flopping back into his chair with rose colored cheeks. He leans down to grab his beer, running a hand through his untamable hair before taking a swig like that didn’t just change everything.

Oh no.

“Literally couldn’t be happier, Harrington. I think I’m going to start charging double for my eighths now, actually.” Eddie grins winking at you, only for his face to soften meeting your unreadable expression. 

Frozen in your seat, your fingers press against your lips. You could still feel his teeth.

“What do you mean?” Steve interjects, refusing to look in your direction.

Oh no.

“What do you mean?” The metal head challenges, with a confused raise of his eyebrow. “There’s witnesses Harrington.” 

He waves his ringed finger in a circular motion reminding you both of the still very much ongoing party around you. It’s hard to feel the familiar ache of disappointment when your bones won’t stop buzzing. They don’t get it, they don’t realize they bore witness to the kind of moment that moved tectonic plates for you. The kind of moment that you know is going to change everything no matter how hard you try.

”We did your dare, she gets free weed.” Steve continues like it’s obvious.

“Yeah, no. You two were practically eating each other alive. I actually think people started to feel awkward, that’s how insane it was.” Eddie’s disbelief furrows his brows together, head cocking to the side. “So, clearly, I was right.”

At least he’s got the balls to say it. 

“When I win, I like to win big, okay?” Steve smirks with his kiss bitten lips, making the next thing he says sting even more. “You’d never let it go if it was just a peck.”

Oh no.

Your eyes meet Robin’s, and the expression on her face makes you wish you hadn’t. 

”Right?” It takes you a minute to realize Steve is talking to you, in fact it’s not until you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder from the hand that was just cupping your cheek. 

He’s asking you to agree that it meant nothing, that you both got Eddie, that you two are only everything you’ve ever said you were. Everyone stares at you, and for the second time tonight you wish this was a nightmare. You wonder if you should just pinch yourself to see.

”I’ll take my first free eighth tonight.” You finally manage, giving Eddie a weak smile.

Oh no.

Halloween - Now

Steve feels miles away on the other side of the couch, a conscious choice you made after his teenage children left, after he made it abundantly clear where he still stood with you. It’s a choice you’re going to dig your heels into no matter how much your body physically aches to be close to him, or how his knee hasn’t stopped bouncing almost three movies and a whole lot of trick or treaters later. 

The clear pink digital clock on your mantle reads 12:18 AM in bright red numbers, A Nightmare on Elm Street: Dream Warriors lights up your TV and despite the distance, Steve still hasn’t left. You know he wants to ask why you’re so far away, why you’re not wrapped up in his arms like it doesn’t matter, like last week never happened but then he would have to talk about it. Acknowledge it.

You fucking hated, ‘It’, and maybe Eddie Munson too.

Shadows dance across Steve’s face, eyes intent on the TV with knitted brows that meet in the middle of his forehead. Those hands that had wandered your body under blankets woven with secrets and what if’s for the past four years sit propped behind his head as he leans back into the cushions. His legs are spread wide, in a position that looks uncomfortable, letting you know he’s lost in whatever argument he’s been having with himself since the second movie after you had grabbed your own blanket. 

You were going to break the vicious cycle of you and Steve Harrington, right here, right now. While you still had a shred of willpower left. 

“I-I think I saw a full moon out there earlier.” His voice breaks through everything like it always does, hoarse from its lack of use, he clears his throat turning his head to look at you biting his nail.

The warm red lighting from Freddy’s boiler room illuminates his features in a way that dares those butterflies to wake back up from the eternal rest you banished them to. His sharp jaw, those high cheek bones kissed with freckles and moles. The dark pools of his irises beg you for something, surrounded by sparkling brown and gold. You couldn’t look away even if you tried. Movie star. 

”Yeah?” You manage, voice coming out quieter than intended, it softens his features almost instantly, like he missed the sound of it.

”Do you maybe wanna go for a drive?” 

You make him wait for an answer to a question you could never say no to even if you tried, doing your best to hang onto your fleeting self control for just a little bit longer before giving in with a,

“Let's go.”

Steve was right, there was a full moon tonight. It sits half hidden in the clouds but it still manages to shine bright enough to coat the sleeping town of Hawkins in an incandescent opal. He cranks the heat all the way up so you can rest your head on propped up hands along the open passenger window. Strings of orange and violet bulbs wrap around trees, twinkling off fences and front doors, lighting the dark spots that the moon can’t kiss. Flames still flicker and dance inside jack o lantern mouths that sit on front doorsteps, and you can’t help but inhale the bitter crisp fall air that hits your face. It even smells like Halloween outside. You can faintly hear the sound of Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ spill from his speakers, and it curves up the corners of your lips. Closing your eyes, you let yourself bask in this moment, including the unmistakable feeling of Steve’s gaze.

The thing about Steve’s car is that it feels like you’re completely surrounded by him when you’re in it, wrapped up in him, consumed by him. The warm leather underneath you always smells rich, especially in the summer after it bakes in the sun. It’s soft to the touch, freshly lotioned by him at least once a week to prevent cracks, while the amber of his cologne permanently clings to the threads in his carpets, and soft chenille lining of his doors. Some days, you’ll catch hints of that Farrah Faucet spray he used in high school, but that was usually after a date. Loose change jingles in his cup holder, along with the stick of gum you almost always inevitably steal from it, and despite the internal battle you’ve been having with yourself, tonight was still no exception. Steve’s car felt like home.

Neither one of you talk as he drives the familiar path towards your favorite spot by the lake. His headlights illuminate the fog that wraps up the base of the trees, crawling up slowly to the dying leaves in a way that makes everything look like magic as you pass town lines. Including the boy next to you. It takes you a few minutes to work up the courage to steal a glance in his direction, but when you do he’s already looking at you too. His soft laugh after you both get caught makes your cheeks ignite, the corners of your lips twitching. 

”Eyes on the road, Harrington.” You manage, fighting the losing battle with your growing smile. You don’t look at him again, not until the BMW slowly rolls to a stop. 

Still, you waste no time jumping out of the car parked on the secret cliff you’d both discovered lost on a drive a few summers ago. Wind hits you in a heavy gust, free from anything that can slow it down up here, pebbling goosebumps along your skin. The cold ground cracks underneath your slippers you didn’t bother to change out of, while cinnamon and crimson leaves flutter in the trees. Crickets chirp in the distance, creating a melody with the wind howling through the dense forest that feels fitting for the holiday. Your heart swells from the feeling of nostalgia, filling you with the kind of joy something that a party could never do. 

“Spooky.” Steve whispers in your ear, coming up from behind you. The warmth of his spare jacket he keeps in the back seat drapes around your shoulders. It smells different than the one he wears regularly, but it's still him, so you selfishly pull it closer.

“Mmhmm.” You agree, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of his breath against the soft skin at the back of your neck before his arms wrap around your waist like they belong there.

Steve pulls you close, mumbling something about being cold too and how you need to share. The tip of his nose traces the shell of your ear before burying his face into the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, openly, like an addict that’s been denied his favorite drug and he’s finally got his hands on it. So just as quickly as they were banished, the butterflies come migrating back and you don’t have the energy to stop them, or to practice that new concept of self control because this feels too good right now. Maybe you’re an addict too.

Thin clouds spread out in wisps along the dark night sky, messily painted there by an invisible brush, the stars twinkle around them, shimmering bright even underneath it all. Your gaze traces the invisible lines of the Big Dipper, and it reminds you of the time you’d spent nearly twenty minutes trying to get Steve to see the formation sprawled out on a blanket at this very spot. You would’ve spent the whole evening if you had to. 

“Are you having a good Halloween?” He whispers, voice vibrating deep inside your bones while his cold fingertips trace along the waist band of your leggings under your sweater. You don’t remember when they got there.

You roll the answer around in your head with a thoughtful hum, admiring the orange glow of the town below. An owl calls out into the darkness and Steve’s lips curl into a grin pressing into your neck at the noise.

”Yeah, this is pretty perfect.” You start, thankful he can’t see your own smile that pushes up your cold cheeks, “Especially after getting the confirmation that I do have better taste in candy than you. I love when I’m right.”

He snorts loudly, and it vibrates against your skin making you giggle, his grip on you tightening playfully before pulling you deeper into his chest.

”I threw the game, I felt bad, you know, I didn’t want to outshine you on your favorite holiday. I purposely picked the candy no one would like.” His voice comes out right next to your ear, the baritone of it going straight to your legs threatening to turn them into jell-o.

“Mmmhmm.” You manage, voice cracking with nerves as the palm of his hand finds the plushness of your stomach and keeps it there. You wonder if he can feel the butterflies too. “Whatever you have to say to yourself to sleep better at night, Harrington.”

Steve laughs into your shoulder, the blunt end of his nails scratching lightly over the soft skin of your navel. Neither one of you try to fill the quiet after that, letting the million things that need to be said hang over you in the eerily beautiful silence of the canyon. They cling onto every swipe of his fingers, and the sighs that come from the back of your throat. The two of you stay wrapped up in each other like this for what feels like an hour, swaying back and forth, too scared to pop your favorite bubble. It’s not until a shiver runs up your spine, the frost in the air numbing the tip of your nose.

”We don’t have to leave, but we should at least sit in the car with the heater on for a while.” Steve breaks the silence with a slight chatter in his teeth, the pad of his thumb swiping against the smooth skin of your hip before untangling himself from your clothes. This was starting to feel like a sunrise kind of night.

”Yeah, that’s probably smart.” You clear your throat with a small smile, already missing the feeling of being surrounded by him, for once you don’t push it down.

You follow him to the car, letting your gaze greedily trace the outline of his shoulders in his crew neck sweater. His hair whips around wildly in the wind, the little product that was left in his hair standing no chance. He walks past the passenger door to open the back one instead of your usual spot in the front. The change makes you pause, you’d never really hung out in the backseat together, always using the center console as a barrier to stop you from doing the unthinkable. Everything always seems more romantic in the dead of night. 

“I had an idea earlier when I saw it was going to be a full moon tonight, I- uh, brought us a blanket.” He explains before the question even has a chance to leave your mouth, pink dusting his cheeks that you aren’t entirely sure is just from the cold.

It almost goes over your head, but the bashful way he won’t meet your gaze catches your attention. This wasn’t just some coincidence he saw the full moon from your front door, he had already known, probably with the help of the very kids that showed up dressed as Coneheads. 

Steve Harrington planned something for you. 

”I uh, stole this blank tape from Henderson too and recorded the re-run of Radio Mystery Theater, Eddie had told me about. Thought it might be something you’d like.”  

Your heart swells, threatening to burst in your chest with the unmistakable feeling of wanting to kiss him again.

“I can’t believe you did this Steve, I’ve always wanted to listen to an episode.” You practically beam, taking a few steps closer, looking up at him from under your lashes. “You remembered.”  

The crimson that deepens in the apple of his cheeks this time is definitely not from the cold.

”We’ve had a lot of shitty solo Halloweens, and since this was our first one together, I just wanted, I- I guess I just wanted to make this one special. Maybe we can start a new tradition or something?” he shrugs, muttering the last part with a scratch at the back of his neck pretending to be nonchalant but you can always see right through him.

”Yeah, I’d like that.” Your admission is quiet, but the smile he bites back threatens to be megawatt before reaching out his hand, ushering you into the car and out of the two am chill

”I’m gonna go grab the blanket.”

He closes the door gently after making sure you’re comfortable, and you watch him with hungry eyes from the back window pull out a down comforter from the trunk. It’s the one from his bed, the fabric a deep plush deep burgundy with a black trimming around the edges, it looks so warm in his grasp as another chill rattles through your bones. He comes around to his side, opening the door to hand it to you with a grin that only grows wider when you snatch it eagerly before popping to the driver's seat to turn his car on. The heat starts to blow through the vents instantly, sending another shiver up your spine and a chatter of your teeth. Your gaze falls on the sliver of skin that reveals itself to you where his sweater rides up his back as he leans over the center console to grab the cassette tape from his glove compartment. Of course there’s another cluster of moles and freckles there that make you want to explore where the rest hide.

He pops it in with ease, pressing play and waits until he hears the opening crackle through the speakers, a quiet ‘yes’ slipping past his lips. A gust of cold air follows him when he opens the passenger door again as he slides into the leather seats next to you, knees knocking into yours before shutting it. He wastes no time finding you under the covers, torturing you with his cold hands by slipping them back underneath your sweater.

”Steve!” You jump, scolding him with a giggle without pushing him away, and he takes this opportunity to pull you back into the position you were in on your couch at home before you tried to find some semblance of boundaries.

He keeps his hands under your sweater, even when they’re warmed back up, the pad of his thumb rubbing soft circles along your rib cage. His cheek rests on your forehead, full lips tickling your skin when he talks. You can feel his heart beat against your palm, and how it speeds up every time your fingers curl into the cotton of his sweater whenever you laugh, instinctively pulling him closer. He doesn’t fight it, instead his grip tightens on the soft dough of your thighs draped over his knees, making sure every inch of you stays pressed firmly against him.

This doesn’t feel like best friends. This feels like something more, but it’s always felt like something more.

In fact you think you’ve known you were in love with Steve Harrington long before you ever admitted it yourself. Burying it so far deep, the fleeting idea just didn’t exist to you anymore, but tonight in the soft glow of the moon sitting in the back seat of his car, you were sure of it and its existence. 

It feels like he can read your mind when his fingers curl under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. The stars twinkle in the gold of his auburn eyes like he plucked them from the sky and hung them there. So close, you can see those freckles you’d discovered the last time he looked at you just like this. That one badly behaved swoop of hair tickles the top of your forehead, and your fingers twitch to push it back for him. Movie star.

The tape stops with a loud click, leaving nothing but the low whistle of wind outside, and it mixes with your heavy breaths, electric currents stinging at your fingertips. His heart thumps wildly against your hand, like he was working himself up for something big. The notion sets a fire ablaze on every inch of your skin in anticipation.

”I want, I want to talk about something.” He says just barely above a whisper with a gaze so intense, it makes you want to look away. You don’t.

“What about?” Your voice comes out somehow even quieter, eyes falling to his lips on their own accord. He catches it, kicking his heart rate up even more. 

Was he going to do the unthinkable? You try to push the thought down, but it fights back this time. Refusing the denial exile you’ve shoved it in for the past four years. 

“Last week, at um, at Munson’s.” His eyebrows pinch together, visibly swallowing his nerves, as the tip of his nose dares to brush against yours. “God, I-I can’t stop thinking about it.”

The last part comes out like he’s being tortured by it. At least it’s not just you.

“If we’re being honest though,” He continues, his palm running up your thigh to squeeze at your hip, keeping you close, “I don’t think I ever stop thinking about you.”

His words crack your chest open, shining light on all the dark places that you’ve kept him in, just like the sunshine Steve Harrington is made of. 

”Really?” You manage to say, after fighting with the words that keep getting tangled up on the edge of your tongue, desperately trying to give him more than a one word answer but failing miserably. Years of daydreaming about this moment in silent shame freezing you up. 

He nods, pressing his forehead against yours, yearning eyes searching inside the dark pools of your pupils down the slope of his nose. 

“You just, you brushed it off so easily, I thought -“ You start, replaying the way he’d rolled back into his seat, sipping his beer so casually like nothing happened. The confidence in his voice bragging about how Eddie got it wrong, that he wasn’t in love with you.

”What’d you think?” He encourages gently, the hand on your hip coming up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing along the bone. 

”I just thought I was the only one.” You confess, that same defeated feeling from that night creeping back in despite the way his gaze softens all of your edges. 

“That night at Eddie’s, I freaked out. Robin told me it was pretty obvious that I have feelings for you and it got me in my head that I was secretly making you uncomfortable because if she noticed it, surely you did too. So I completely overcompensated after I lost control at the bonfire, there was just no way I could stop kissing you, and then I panicked again earlier at your house-“

“Steve.” You say his name like it's something romantic, successfully ending his rambling with another brush of your nose against his. .

”Yeah?” He breathes, the tension leaving his shoulders like hearing your voice was enough. 

You meet his heavy stare from underneath your lashes, the foggy glass of the windows creating a halo around his head from the soft glow of the moonlight. 

“I dare you to kiss me again.” There’s confidence in your voice you don’t recognize, and the corner of his mouth quirks at it. 

“What if I just wanted to kiss you because I wanted to?” Steve whispers, closing more of the little space that’s left between you.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

“Then, I’d say…” You brush your top lip against his bottom one, a low simmer starting to boil in the pit of your gut, spreading warmth between your thighs at his sharp intake of breath, “what are you waiting for, Harrington.”

His lips are curved into a smirk when he presses them to yours, his thumb finding the corner of your mouth to open you up just enough for him that your lips move like they were made for this, for him. He handles you differently in the back seat of his car than at the bonfire, he’s gentle, taking his time without prying eyes, savoring you. Your fingers curl into his sweater, pulling him closer because of it, like he can never be close enough, nose pressed into his cheek. He hums in response, and you can feel his smile return before his hand moves to the back of your neck, the pad of his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the soft skin behind your ear. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip begging you to finally let him in, and when you oblige, you both moan at the taste of each other.

It feels like Steve is everywhere, surrounding you with all of the little details of him embedded in every inch of his car. He’s in the leather underneath you that squeaks with your movements, in the amber and cinnamon that warm the air around you, comforting your nerves that threaten to fizz and burst like a live wire. His tongue explores every inch of your mouth like he’s hungry for it, like nothing else could satisfy him, massaging against your own in a way that earns a moan from the back of your throat. One you have no control over, but you’re starting to realize that maybe you never really had control when it came to Steve.

He breaks away just enough to whisper the word ‘perfect’ with a swipe of his nose against your own before pulling you onto his lap. You gasp at the feel of him as your knees press into the seat on either side of his hips. The effect you never really knew you had on him pressing into your heat with only the fabric of each other's pajama pants as a barrier, a feeling that only ever existed in your day dreams. But this was real, and he was closer to you than you’d ever allowed each other to be, dark wild eyes staring up at you like you were the one who painted the moon and the clouds in the sky. That swoop across his forehead has an extra curl to it from the sweat that beads at the top of his head, auburn hair turning into a wild untamable mess. His big hands grip the tops of your thighs, bringing you out of your thoughts and back to him.

”You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” He confesses with an exhausted laugh, as if carrying the burden of ‘what if’ had been weighing him down. “I’m going to be insufferable now, I hope you know.”

His teeth shimmer in the white glow as his kiss bitten lips pull up into the kind of smile that’s contagious, even getting a giggle from you that cuts through the tension like a knife making Steve pull you closer. The tips of his fingers return to their favorite place under your sweater where they trace like a whisper against the warm skin of your lower back, and it makes your eyelids grow heavy. You slump more of your weight into him burying your head into his neck, your own hands traveling up his sweater, finger nails scratching against the rough trail of hair there before your palms rest on the thick thatch on his chest. Your lips press a kiss the two moles that had been begging you to do it for four years just below his ear, and he hums squeezing you closer despite running out of room to physically be able to.

”I want to do this with you all the time,” Steve whispers, lips brushing against your ear, “not just tonight, not just this.”

Hearing Steve say it out loud, confess the one thing you always had to pretend didn’t exist blooms something deep in your chest that you didn’t know could grow there. Shining light on all the darkness and doubts that had made themselves a far too comfortable home. Why keep denying something you both clearly want so bad?

”D-do you feel the same? Please tell me you feel the same.” You can hear the doubt creep into his voice from your misperceived silence when he whispers the plea hot against your lips, begging you to turn your head and meet them.

You almost want to laugh at the idea that Steve Harrington had reservations that you might not feel the same way about him. Wasn’t it obvious?

”Listen, Harrington.” You sigh, meeting his gaze from under your lashes, his heart kicking back up against your palm, his fingers going still. “If you think you’re going to be insufferable, you clearly have no idea who I really am.”

It takes Steve a minute to absorb your words, but when he does, the deep bellied laugh it earns you vibrates against the windows of the car and wraps around your heart. He pulls one hand from under your sweater, fingers curling under your chin again to get to what both of you want more of. A lopsided grin pushes up the vampire bites on his cheek, full lips hovering just over yours and it feels like the first time all over again. Part of you thinks it might always feel this way with him. 

“Don’t underestimate my capacity to yearn, baby.” His lips brush against yours with every word, a shiver running up your spine.

Baby.

“What if I dare you to show me?” You whisper, teeth nipping at his bottom lip enjoying the feeling of the blunt end of his nails digging into your back.

“Careful, you know I can’t say no to that.” He huffs with a grin, warm breath against your skin, silently offering up his own dare for you to close the rest of the distance and give in.

”I’m counting on it.”

You take the bait without giving him any time to respond, accepting his challenge by pressing your lips to his that match your energy almost immediately, meeting you hungry and ready. It’s easy to get lost in him again, and you let it consume you even when the soft pink glow of the sunrise shines through the fog on the windows like a kaleidoscope. Because finally, here, in the back seat of his car, you are in love with Steve Harrington, and it doesn’t have to be a secret anymore. 

[water-loos]

OHHHHH COZY FALL YEARNING STEVE COME HOOOOOME

[ghost-proofbaby]

sit next to me (please) [eddie munson x fem!reader]

you've always hated touch, avoided it ardently - until he came along.

warnings: use of she/her pronouns for reader, touch-avoidant reader, lots of yearning, talk of personal boundaries, readers becomes touch-starved for one (1) man, consumption of alcohol and weed, very slow burn.

word count: 11.2k+

a/n: this was originally titled "would that i" and i believe that i wrote it while listening to the hozier song, craving some super soft eddie all those moons ago. sorry that i tried to bury this one in the graveyard, y'all. i self-projected like all hell onto this reader as well lmao

dividers by @saradika-graphics

How one person can be such a walking contradiction, no one knows.

There is a softness to you. It bleeds out of you, endless and endearing to all those around you. The way you’ll converse with friends with shining eyes, the way you close doors with care, the way you treat your favorite novel like a newborn babe. With both all the inanimate and animate objects around you, your touch is ever warm, ever tender. Like the sweep of a thin curtain sheet in a summer's breeze, or plush grass beneath calves in a verdant spring. Your touch is something to experience, and that was where the dichotomy came into play.

Your touch was deeply sought after, and was a rarity all on its own.

You were amongst the softest people in your friend group, and yet, rarely did you find yourself to be particularly physical. Your petal affections were usually restricted to affirmative words and acts of kindness. Your friends knew that if they needed words of encouragement, you should be the first person they ran to. If they needed a hug, however, you were not. 

It’s not because you were cruel or against the displays of physicality. You were just awkward with them. You would turn frigid over the brush of another’s skin against your own. You’d tried to change over the years, offering more goodbye hugs, more spontaneous playing with Nancy’s hair or high fives exchanged with Steve when you kicked one of the younger boys’ asses at the arcade. You tried. But it was hard — something had rooted itself in you long ago that continued to choke you and limit just how much you could handle when it came to another’s touch. 

When Robin joined the group, she tried to warm you up more to it. Despite warnings from the group, whispers of she doesn’t like that, she’d continued to offer you her friendly physical affections as long as you reassured her it was fine. It worked, to an extent. You would now at least return the hugs received (even if it took you a few moments to do so), and you wouldn’t hold your breath at a friend’s head on your shoulder or lap. It was all baby steps — timid movements in the right direction, an accomplishment of letting your softness flow through your fingertips as you tried to adjust. 

Argyle also tried to wear you down. A casual arm around your shoulder in greeting, frequently sitting close enough to you on movie nights that your side would press into his as you both enjoyed the pizza he’d brought. You still froze, still struggled to thaw, but you never shooed him away. You’d only exchange a secret smile with him, a private acknowledgement between you two that you knew what he was trying to do, and it was okay. Maybe it would work. Robin had, after all, made some baby steps. Maybe Argyle could help you take fuller strides. Maybe, just maybe, this could propel you. 

The night you drunkenly braided Argyle’s hair had been a memorable success, but it never progressed past that. The roots remained, the timid natured reigned, and so your friend group simply celebrated what little victories they’d earned and moved on.

They’d accepted you may never be a touchy person. And that was fine — all that you lacked in physical touch, you more than made up for in every other avenue in expression of your fondness. 

Until Eddie.

The moment he’d joined your circle, Argyle and Robin were already exchanging knowing looks. Eddie was touchy; the boy was practically starved for it. Overexcited hugs as greetings and the way his hand would reach for the nearest shoulder when he was overcome with joy for the small things. He couldn’t sit alone during movie nights, he’d often lounge with his legs stretched out over the nearest laps, he’d jokingly cuddle into people without a second thought.

And even more than that, his touch was wild and burning. Embers never to be contained. He was overwhelming, they all knew this and so did he, and they feared that if he attempted to embark on the same journey that they had that he may scare you away. That all the baby steps in the right direction would become leaps backward, sending you right back to where you started. 

They couldn’t have been more wrong.

You’d first noticed that Eddie treated you differently, more restrained, during a movie night. Argyle on one side, a small empty space on the other. You’d witness everyone endure Eddie’s cinematic cuddles on multiple occasions, and amongst your roots had bloomed buds of wistfulness. A strange yearning every time he’d tuck his face into the neck of whichever friend was nearest, jokingly squealing how he needed them to protect him. They saw him as a pest (a lovable one, but still) — and you’d never wanted to be pestered more in your life. 

That small space beside you was the last open seat. You thought surely, he’ll sit here. You were optimistic at the likelihood of Eddie sharing your space, of feeling his curls tickle your cheek and neck, at his breath on your shoulder. For the first time in your life, you were painfully giddy at the prospect of someone touching you. When he entered the room with Jonathan, carrying bowls of popcorn and loudly telling everyone to turn on the horror movie chosen for the night, your entire body had buzzed. You would have leapt off that couch and crawled inside his chest right then and there if it wouldn’t have been so startling to not only him, but your entire circle.

He took one look at the empty seat, a pitiful excuse for space, and had paled.

Please sit next to me. Please, please, ple-

“Spread your legs, Harrington,” Eddie had suddenly bursted out, throwing himself on the floor in front of Steve at the opposite end of the couch, “I’m using your knees as collateral from Krueger.” 

He chose the floor over sitting at your side. And it ached. 

You were unaware of the spiel that Robin and Argyle gave him, the staunch warnings from Nancy, the (sort of) joking threats from Steve and Jonathan. Eddie Munson had been warned off from touching you, was obeying those warnings, and it just left you miserable. 

You didn’t get it. You didn’t understand — his choices nor your feelings. 

But that night, the burn of Argyle’s arm brushing your shoulder from where it laid along the back of the couch became overwhelming. Until you’d scooted yourself into that space you’d carved out for Eddie, and pouted, like a goddamn child.

Argyle assumed it was just a bad day for touch.

No one realized the yearning blooming within you. You’d never wanted to take a baseball bat to Steve Harrington’s shins more than when you watched Eddie Munson wrap his fingers around them and bury his cheek against them. 

The second time, it stung even more.

Months passed and the yearning never faded. You told yourself, over and over, this will pass. This is temporary, and it will pass. 

But it didn’t. The more time you spent with Eddie amongst your friend group, the more you craved the same casual touch from him that he extended to everyone else. He wouldn’t even brush past you in enclosed spaces — he treated you like a traumatized dog, bound to snap and bite him if he made the wrong move.

You fucking hated it. You hated that you hated it.

You’d gone years without needing touch, so you cursed that unexpected sting in your chest that night at the bowling alley. When Eddie rolled his first strike (and reported it was his first ever), he’d hugged everyone.

Everyone but you.

When it came to what should have been your turn for a bear hug, your mind was buzzing with adrenaline. This was it. You pictured him wrapping his tattooed arms around your chest, lifting you at least a little bit, swinging you a little due to the force of his affection. You were convinced his high off of the strike was going to make him forget his mission to never touch you. Maybe he’d be embarrassed after. Maybe you could finally offer a small smile that said it’s okay, I’m okay with it.

He only stopped dead in his tracks, arms freezing for a second before they dropped, his lips pressing tightly together before he let them spread back into a smile, and only lifted his brows at you excitedly. 

That’s it. That’s all.

Fuck. 

“That was pretty metal, Eddie,” you tried to egg him on, bouncing on the soles of your shoes a little, practically begging him with your eyes to just hug you. 

He’d been bashful, grinning and hiding his face behind a random curl, nodding, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it was.” 

If you’d known of the talks behind your back then that had ruined that moment, you would have wrecked absolute havoc on your friends. The need, the yearning, the want became impossible to handle. You used his strike as an excuse for him to cover your turn, saying he was on a roll right after exclaiming that if you didn’t go to the bathroom right that second, you’d piss yourself.

When you were alone in the stall, you’d silently screamed and tugged at the roots of your hair. 

You wanted him to touch you. You wanted him to catch you off guard in larger than life hugs. You wanted to feel every emotion that thrummed beneath his skin and you wanted to breathe in his cologne, to finally know how sturdy his chest felt beneath his shirt and if his rings really were as cold as Nancy always complained. 

You’d finally returned to the group, not able to have a full breakdown in the bathroom without worrying your friends with your absence. Subtly, you’d tried to tuck yourself into Robin’s side when you returned, sitting down a bit closer than you normally would have, just to fill the void. It was almost as if you were encouraging her to reach an arm around you, to let you curl up and press a cheek to her collarbone. Try to alleviate the need for human touch clawing its way through you.

“You okay, babe?” she questioned suspiciously when she felt you squished entirely up against her. There was plenty of space on the bench, there was no reason for your proximity.

No, you wanted to scream, I’m not okay. There is an itch beneath my skin right now that can only be scratched by the affectionate touches of the metalhead sitting across from us who’s joking with our friends, completely unaffected and unaware. He won’t even look me in the eye. And so now I’m trying to get you to just touch me, to just put a goddamn arm around me, to do anything to fill the gaping hole inside of me. But you can’t. 

It was an unfair situation to every single party and bystander involved.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied. 

You can’t, because the only person who can fill this gaping void inside of me is Eddie.

You were the farthest from fine. You were in flames. And no one would understand it, least of all you, because this wasn’t like you.

You didn’t crave touch. You didn’t need it to survive. So, what the hell was this that you were feeling? 

The craving for Eddie’s touch evolved into something more, and that’s when you knew that you were surely in trouble. 

Audible denial only worked for so long. Festering, longing, and yearning could only be withheld for so long until suddenly, with your mind on fire and your bones aching to the core, you realized that it was more than wanting Eddie to reach out for you. The want became a two way street. More often than not, you find your hands to be fists at your side, shaking with the effort to not bridge the gap. 

After a year of friendship, he had had no choice but to occasionally brush past you. Touches that must have been fleeting to him, but lingered for you. They’d settle into your skin, tender like a fresh bruise, ghosting over you at night when you couldn’t sleep. It was more than just touch, at this point. You wanted everything from Eddie. The denial of his touch had led to you missing out on more than just hugs and movie night cuddles — Eddie didn’t joke with you as much as he did the others, didn’t always turn to you in crowded rooms for comfort, wouldn’t call you up if he was up late and bored like he would Nancy, Steve, Robin, Argyle, fucking everyone in Hawkins except you. The distance was unbearable.

Because you did. You did look for him at every quaint hang out. You did seek him out in every room you entered and you did resist the urge to call him when sleep evaded you. You could imagine his voice over the line, a lullaby over the receiver as he’d ramble about his day. It was like a poison, infecting those roots you’d long since made friends with rather than try to dig up. 

You were fucked. Plain and simple. You had a big, fat crush on Eddie, and for once in your life, you’d learned of the panging hunger to be touched. 

“Does Eddie have a girlfriend?” you asked as you sat with Robin at a diner, having completely zoned out with the conversation between her and Steve, lost in your daydreams, “Or boyfriend? Just- Is he single?” 

Both of your friends went dead silent, staring at you in awe.

Robin cleared her throat, but remained choked up until Steve spoke, “Uh, yeah. He’s single. Why?” 

The way your eyes darted down to the table of the booth you three occupy gave it away.

Robin suddenly squealed, “Oh my gosh! You have a crush on him!” 

“Do not!”

“Oh, you so do!” she grinned wildly, leaning in close, “Tell us everything — now.” 

“Eddie?” Steve’s nose scrunched up, “Really?” 

“I don’t have a crush on him!” you uselessly defended yourself, “I just- Look, no, I know that look. You can’t tell him or meddle, Robin.” 

“How would I tell him or meddle if you don’t have a crush on him?” 

Steve was still confused, and Robin’s eyes glittered with mischief. You would have been better off keeping your mouth shut. 

You noticed the way Steve had gone silent, pointedly sipping on his coke rather than looking you in the eyes. As if he had something to say.

“What is it?” you asked him, furrowing your brows, already defensive. A stark contrast to the light-heartedness you usually treat your friends with, “You’ve got something to say. Say it.” 

“I just…” Steve sighed, looking off into the distance, “I don’t know. It’s a weird pairing, y’know?”

Your stomach threatened to sink. “What does that mean?”

“You two are just… different,” he continued on, and your stomach really did sink. Right along with your heart, “I mean, he’s really big on physical touch — it’s definitely his love language. And you…”

You don’t like being touched. You actually hate it. Avoid it ardently.

The unspoken ending to that sentence could have shattered your bones that day. You knew. You knew.

You stayed silent, unsure of what else to say. You couldn’t find the words to explain the yearning that invaded your chest all those moons ago, you couldn’t physically bring their hands to your chest and force them to feel the hunger that had begun to eat you alive. You couldn’t scream at your friends, I can change! I can change! I can change!

“I think they’d make a cute couple,” Robin finally broke the tense silence. Steve looked a bit regretful, but you both knew he was right, “Besides, touching is overrated.” 

To emphasize her point, she scooted away from Steve until she sat on the very edge of the vinyl seat they shared, a narrow air of separation between them. 

You smiled and laughed, and so did Steve, but the fact of the matter still remained.

Your roots have been there since the beginning of time. And maybe, they ran so deeply that you were a fool for thinking you could ever excavate them. 

“I need your help.” 

Robin looks up at you shocked. You’d never looked quite so determined, so one-track minded as you did in this moment, right in Steve Harrington’s kitchen. 

“You need my help?” she nearly yells, fumbling with the empty bowl she was about to fill with chips, “Are you sure you need my-“

“Positive,” you cut her off, “I need your help because you didn’t laugh in my face when I said I liked Eddie.” 

Her shock fades, an awful trace of pity in her eyes as she looks at you, “Oh, hon — Steve wasn’t laughing at you. He’s just a dingus, y’know? Doesn’t always think before he speaks, but he has the best of intentions-“

You wave a hand, physically dispersing her words into the air. That conversation at the diner last week didn’t phase you anymore. In fact, it fuels you the more you think about it.

“I know, I know,” you reassure her, walking closer so you can lower your voice, “But he was right. And I’ve been thinking a lot about it.”

“That sounds dangerous. Whatcha’ been thinkin’ about?” 

This is it. Now or never. Once you say it outloud, even to just Robin, it was cemented in fact.

“It’s not that I don’t like being touched,” you blurt out, heart racing at the admission, “I just… I don’t know. I’m not used to it. It wasn’t something normal growing up. And… okay, no, this is not meant to be a depressing deep dive into my childhood,” you pause and scowl at the way her face contorts with even more pity, “I’m fine. There’s nothing to be done to change what’s already passed. My point is, I don’t want to stay this way. I don’t want people treating me delicately. I’m tired of you guys not feeling like you can just- fuck, I don’t know, hug me. Like you can throw an arm around me while we joke around like you do Jonathan. Like you can’t take the seat beside me at the booth instead of Steve. Like you can’t be clingy and beg me to play with your hair like you do Argyle when everyone’s smoking.”

Throughout your speech, the pity transforms. With each word, you only grow more passionate, because it dawns on you just how much you miss out on. Your friends love you, you love them — that’s not up for debate. But sometimes, you see those small touches between them, and you feel like an outsider looking in. 

“I know I freeze up and I know I get awkward,” your voice finally chokes up, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to silently curse yourself for finally letting all these larger than life emotions wrap around you, “I know you guys think I’m better off if you leave it be. But I’m not. I’ll never get over it if you guys don’t push me. I’ll never get used to it if no one ever touches me.” 

“We know!” Robin starts enthusiastically, reassuredly, “We know that! And me and Gyle really do try, but we just don’t want to make you uncomfortable-“

“Do it,” you stop her in her tracks, eyes not wavering from hers, “Make me uncomfortable. Put your head on my shoulder, even if it makes my breathing stop for a couple seconds. Grab my hand when we cross a street, even if my palm’s clammy. I can’t grow without a little discomfort, Robs.”

There’s a standstill in the air. A realization settles deep in your bones — growth. That’s what you were craving. Eddie had opened up something entirely new for you, cracked open an age old wound in your chest you’d been unaware of. It left behind a hole, and you’d been so preoccupied with yearning to fill it, you hadn’t seen that the solution was the most obvious one: you had to outgrow the hole. Not fill it with others, but with yourself. You couldn’t live forever as nothing more than roots, buried deep beneath soil and always hiding in their solitude. Eventually, you had to bloom. 

“Okay,” Robin nods slowly, taking in your words and the deep breaths that are following. It’s obvious how much this means to you, how much it’s been bothering you, “You’re right. But… you’ve just gotta promise us, if we get overbearing, that you tell us-“

“Not just you and Argyle,” your mouth goes dry. Because this is where the road was leading the entire time, this was the end destination in mind for the entire drive of this conversation, “I want… everyone to do it. I know Nance, Jon, and Steve aren’t as big on the whole touchy thing as you and him but…” your voice finally breaks, and you can’t look her in the eyes now as you whisper, “Eddie is.” 

There’s a light behind Robin’s eyes that you’ve never seen before, but you can’t even bear witness to it, eyes zeroed in on the shiny packaging of the chips on the counter, “So this really is about Eddie?” 

You could keep denying it. Pretend like the boy hadn’t watered the first sprout that caused this entire revelation, like he hadn’t been the first to shine a light on all the things you’d ignored for years. But he was. He had built a fire inside of you without even realizing it, just by tending his own embers. 

You take a deep breath, “It’s like it burns him to touch me. Even just shuffling past me. I don’t think he’s ever sat beside me when we all hang out. I don’t… I don’t even know what he really smells like, Rob. Besides the weed and cigarettes when he smokes with you guys. How fucked is that? I’ve known him for a year and I couldn’t even tell you what kind of cologne he wears. Isn’t that… that’s weird, right?” 

“You know the things that matter, though, don’t you?” 

It hadn’t occurred to you, that perspective on the matter. “I… guess?”

“Tell me about him. Tell me about Eddie.” 

The others will be worrying about how long you two are taking in here soon. Eddie will probably be arriving with Argyle soon. But Robin waits patiently until your eyes finally find hers again, and she lifts her brows, encouraging you to tell her about your mutual friend as if she’s never met him. 

And so you do.

Once you start rattling off the minute things you noticed, they pour out of you, watering away at that once withered crush. You tell her about his favorite music, an easy thing to know about Eddie when he’s so loud and passionate about it. You tell her the first song he ever learned on guitar, Little Things by Willie Nelson. It had been encouraged by how much his Uncle Wayne enjoyed the singer. And he’d learned it on a worn acoustic guitar from his uncle. He’d never even performed it in front of the man, always either too choked up or too embarrassed for an audience. You tell her how his favorite subject in school was history, because it always gave him ideas for his DnD campaigns. His favorite color is red, deep and pulsing and eye-catching. The same shade of his electric guitar, lovingly nicknamed Sweetheart, but actually named Elvira. He’s a picky eater, probably the pickiest of your group, and yet also will eat just about anything the moment you propose it as a dare. He knows what he should do to take care of his curls, he just doesn’t, probably due to preferring to take his showers at night. He’s complained of falling asleep with wet hair more times than you can count. He had a lisp as a little kid. He buys a new mug for Wayne every Christmas, and the man acts surprised every year, as if he never saw it coming. He likes sour candy best. He hates movies where the dog dies. He loves musicals, and he would sooner die than admit that to the rest of the group. 

All devilish details that Eddie had revealed to you at some point or another, over drinks and over quick cigarettes. Over random bursts of trust and rare moments alone.

By the time you’re done with your rant, Robin is just smiling.

“God, you really like him,” she murmurs, looking across your forlorn face, as if each piece of him that you’d handed over willingly had actually been forcibly torn from you. As if it hurt to share him. 

You take another deep breath, and you can breathe a little bit easier, but you still feel the wisps of your roots still dug stubbornly into surrounding ground, “Yeah. I really like him.” 

A plan is devised. It turns out Robin was the perfect person to approach about this, because she has no shame — she’s willing to seem like a ‘bad friend’ for the sake of helping you reach your goal.

The first step is to guarantee that no matter what, Eddie sits next to you during the movie. 

The best way to accomplish this is to not make it a seat only beside you as you had that first time he’d rejected you, but between you and another person. Because then, if Eddie was still adamant on not indulging you, he’d have someone else to cling to. For now.

The second step would be for you to leave for the bathroom right before you all started the movie. Leave the room, leave all your friends to be gathered without you so that Robin could make an executive call with them all. She would bring up the fact that they all should try to push you a bit more with the entire notion of physical touch, that it’d be good for you, that you’d brought it up casually rather than as dramatically as you really had. 

During her explaining of this part of the plan, you discovered the conversations already had behind closed doors about this topic and you. 

You couldn’t even blame your friends. You were irritated, but it would pass. They couldn’t change it now, but Robin could help undo what those seemingly beneficial conversations had done. The distance it had created between you and Eddie.

“Who should be on the other side of Eddie?” you ask once you two have your plan and full bowls of snacks. 

“Me,” Robin declares, “I have a plan there, too. We’ll sit side by side at first, take up enough space on the couch so that Eddie thinks he doesn’t have a seat. Just trust me and play along when the time comes, yeah?” 

You nod.

There’s a knock at the door, perfect timing as you and Robin sat down the bowls of snacks on the table, ignoring Steve’s expected complaint of how long you two took. He runs off, going to let Eddie and Argyle in, as Robin takes her seat on the couch. 

Nancy and Jonathan are curled up on the loveseat. Steve had been sitting at the end of the couch that normally could easily seat four. Argyle’s favorite recliner was wide open, and you both knew he’d be jumping into it once he came to the basement. Everything was set perfectly.

Robin manspreads, an entertaining sight but one that forces you to try and do the same, lounging across the remaining space of the couch as casually as possible to make it seem as though another person could absolutely not fit.

You pray to God her plan works.

“Hello, brochachos!” Argyle yells as a greeting when he bounds down the stairs, immediately tossing a box of snow caps in Nancy and Jonathan’s directions before doing exactly as you and Robin had predicted, “Oh, fuck yeah! You guys saved my favorite chair for me!”

He specifically winks your way, as if you had been the one to do so. And you had, technically, but you appreciated that small effort to greet you specifically. 

You smile at him, shaking your head lightly as he throws himself down roughly. You can only imagine how on board he’ll be with Robin’s suggestion.

Argyle’s energy had you wondering if the boys had even smoked as they usually did before arriving, his eyes hardly pink rimmed and his smile not quite as dopey as usual. It became clear that they had smoked, but one of them had likely babysat their shared joints, when Eddie descends into the doorway behind Steve.

He’s all half-lidded eyes, lazy grin, comfort wrapped up in a worn band shirt and sweats. 

Yes, you wanted to break this stubborn boundary of yours with all your friends, but as you earned your first glance from Eddie, you knew that he would be the greatest reward. You don’t even care if the crush aspect of the entire ordeal never comes to fruition; you’d just like to imagine burying your face into his warm chest like you are now, and not feel weird about it. Not worry if he’ll push you away or be uncomfortable, or taken off guard, by it.

“Hey, losers,” he greets in a rough voice, no doubt gravelly from how much he might have smoked. 

You share a quick look with Robin, worried. High Eddie was always extra affectionate, but wouldn’t it be wrong to use that against him? Maybe you two should try another night, postpone the plan for another movie nigh-

You hadn’t even noticed that Steve had taken his original seat back and Eddie was glancing around the seating arrangement, seemingly lost, until Robin was suddenly shoving at you, “Babe, I love you, but scooch. C’mere, Eds. I’m in a cuddly mood.” 

And oh, that hurt. Which is why you suppose she didn’t tell you what exactly this part of the plan was. That hurt needed to break through your face, even if only for a moment, so that when you left the room, it made sense to discuss. 

Argyle catches that micro-expression the moment it graces your features. Even furrows his brows in response. Eddie even opens his mouth to argue, but you move too quickly for anyone else to comment.

You fumble with pulling up your body, scooting over as she requested until there was an Eddie-sized space left between the two of you. When Robin opens her arms wide, Eddie has no room to argue. 

“Well, if you insist, Buckley,” he teases, stepping carefully, hesitating for a second as he glances back down at you. Even through pink tinged eyes, you catch a flash of concern. “I’m always down for some cuddles with my favorite girl.”

And that also stings, reverberates like a slap to the face that had landed just a little too harshly. 

Robin scoffs, muttering a stern correction of, “Platonic cuddles, dipshit,” just as Nancy also laughs from where she’s tangled with Jonathan.

“Didn’t you say I was your favorite when I bought you a coke last week?” 

He probably did. He constantly made those jokes with Robin and Nancy. He never made those jokes with you. 

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t about respecting boundaries for Eddie. Maybe he just didn’t like you-

“You both wound me,” he sighs out as his body lands directly in that space you and Robin had organized, clearly favoring being close to Robin so that his thigh wouldn’t rub against yours, “I’ve officially changed my mind.” 

It almost happens in slow motion. Slowly, carefully, he lazily turns his head towards you, lips half lilted as his eyes sparkle in your direction, tongue darting out between his teeth before he drawls, “You’re my favorite, now.” 

For the first time in a year, you’re very clearly smelling his cologne, and the look in his eyes is setting you ablaze. The softness you are so used to bargaining out is being returned, an expression so delicate being aimed at you that you don’t know what to do with it. Senses overwhelmed with something woodsy, something musky, and something yearning. 

“How charming,” Nancy muses, leveling you with a soft and amused look. Not nearly as gooey as the look Eddie had given you, but still adoring, “Don’t listen to him. Clearly, he says that to everyone.”

“Yeah, but I mean it this time,” he argues. 

“Sure, you do,” Steve laughs from his end of the couch, “She’s not gonna go grab you a soda just because you’re kissing ass.” 

“Hey, you know what?” Argyle sits up in his chair, leaning towards you and pointing his finger in your direction, “You really are my favorite, and I’m a man of my word.” 

“I’m not getting you a soda, either, Gyle,” you flatly joke, narrowing your eyes.

He pours briefly, but shrugs, “Fair enough. I meant it, but fair enough.” 

On a limb, you stretch out a hand, and deliver a gentle smack at his hand still hanging limply in the air between you two. Robin is watching on proudly as Argyle looks taken back.

“Shut up,” you giggle, shimmying in your seat to get more comfortable. 

Eddie looks wildly around the room, completely stunned, wearing a look of betrayal, “What, you guys don’t believe me? She really is my favorite!” 

Lord only knows you were melting into the cushion of that couch. You weren’t used to this amount of attention, certainly not from Eddie, and certainly not so clearly in front of your friends.

If you could hardly handle his words of affection, how would you handle his touches of affection? 

“I believe you,” you finally say. Something in your mind screams at you, tells you now is your chance. All you’d have to do is shift your knee, and you could bump it to his in a joking manner. The perfect excuse. The perfect guise. You stare at your two knees for an eternity, though, and before you know it, the moment has passed. 

The ache echoes out across the hollow of every bone inside your body as he smiles, satisfied with your response before everyone moves forward with conversation.

You hate yourself. You should have bumped your knee to his. 

You don’t hear a single word exchanged amongst your friends. All you can hear is the roar in your ears that scorns you for another missed opportunity. 

Now is as good as ever to enact the second phase of the plan. 

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom before we start the movie,” you announce, standing a bit suddenly but trying to keep your voice even so it doesn’t seem to Eddie that his words had made you uncomfortable. They didn’t. They’d only fed that hunger, making you suddenly need more. It was your own stupid indecisiveness, what you didn’t do, that was upsetting you. 

Robin looks up knowingly, “Sounds good. Don’t miss me too much, babe.” 

Babe. Another thing your friends sometimes didn’t include you in — all the pet names, all the terms of endearment. It makes you smile. 

If anyone thought you might be rushing out due to the entire conversation that had just taken place, that smile would erase all their fears.

“I always miss you, baby,” you cockily reply, making a joking kissy face in her direction to seal the flirtatious manner of the interaction. 

Steve looks pleasantly surprised, Argyle is clearly mentally cheering you on, and Nancy looks plainly proud. 

But Eddie is looking up at you, doe eyes almost… sad. 

You try not to think of it too hard. 

You try to take your time once you reach the top of the stairs, rushing up but slowing as you walk to the bathroom.

You didn’t really need it, obviously, and you highly doubt anyone will be listening in on your footsteps above once Robin proposes the entire debate of it treating you so fragile anymore. In the middle of the hallway, your mind is made up. Instead of continuing on to that bathroom, instead of hiding away and feeding into the panic attack currently brewing despite your full faith in Robin, you retract to the kitchen.

This is what you wanted. You want more than to just offer soft words and soft motivation, you want more than to be seen as the friend with a heart of gold, as the pedestal Argyle constantly puts you up on so eloquently. You want to be felt as it, too. 

To give Nancy well-deserved hugs when another one of her publications receive recognition, to give Steve’s hand a firm squeeze when he’s confiding in you about his home situation and the loneliness that follows. You want Robin to hide her face in your shoulder for safety during jumpscares and you want to occupy that recliner with Argyle when you both decide to succumb to snacking while your friends endlessly debate where you should all have dinner, making whispers of commentary jokes before Jonathan would decide to sit on the arm and join you two in the audience as he gave up the battle for Nancy’s sake.

You want Eddie to touch you. You don’t even care how at this point. You want brushing shoulders and knocking knees, you want knuckles bumping into each other on the street and you want him to cling to you when it gets late and he’s tired, but not too tired to keep himself surrounded with his favorite people. You want to truly be his favorite. Favorite person, favorite hug, favorite conversation. 

God, you want it so bad that your seams nearly burst. Your composure nearly breaks. 

What if he doesn’t want that? 

The moment your footsteps on the stairs have vanished, Robin springs into action.

“Okay, group meeting,” she says, clapping to garner everyone’s attention. Eddie jumps slightly at her side, Steve offers her a side-eye, and Nancy shifts her entire body in Jonathan’s arms to look at her fully, “We need to talk about her.” 

She doesn’t even have to say your name.

Unfortunately, Argyle takes it the wrong way, nearly leaping out of his chair, “Her? Nah, dude, we need to talk about you. Why would you shove her around like that? I bet if you had just asked politely, she would have cuddled yo-“ 

“Oh, I know she would have.” 

Everyone’s attention is now sharper on Robin.

“Yeah? Then why did you just toss her to the side for Ed-“ Argyle starts up again, and once more, Robin is quick to interject.

“Because she needs the push,” a slight lie, but small enough in the grand scheme of things, “We’ve gotta stop treating her like she’ll shatter if we touch her.”

Nancy finally moves to full sit up, face full of concern, “Robin, I get what you’re saying, but she’s never been the touchy type. And that’s okay. We’ve never minded.”

“What if she minds?” Robin persists. She hasn’t failed to notice Eddie’s silence, and turns to him, focusing her attack and determination, “Have you ever even sat beside her before tonight?” 

Eddie’s eyes widen, “You guys told me to take it easy at first! And I did, but I- it would just be weird now to change, wouldn’t it?” 

It’s in the way he says it. Not just as if he’s keeping your best interests in mind, but as if it pains him to say it. As if the worst possible thing would be to admit that things should stay the same.

It’s Robin’s in. A falter in his cool guy exterior he only seems to care about maintaining for you.

“She wants it to change,” Robin quietly confesses. Another half-truth, “Me and Argyle never fully got through to it, but we also… we just gave up on it. Like he was saying, if I pushed tonight, she would have said yes. But Eddie has never pushed her.”

“Where are you going with this, Robs?” the one person who could blow this speaks up. Steve, the man who had been there at the diner and heard your practical confession to liking Eddie.

Don’t blow this, Dingus.

“I think we take the leash off of wolf boy, here,” she jabs a thumb in Eddie’s direction, “Lay him on her.”

“I don’t want to make her uncomf-“

“You won’t. And if you do,” Robin remembers your speech from earlier. Those wet eyes and the way your voice cracked at the prospect of growth, “It’ll be good for her.”

He’s not convinced.

So Robin pushes, because she made a promise to you to aid in this self-gardening journey, and damn it she was going to keep her promise, “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. You being the dog in this metaphor might be the wrong choice, considering how she looks like a kicked puppy every time you don’t sit next to her.” 

A bit harsh, but the truth. You were always brimming with such hope when Eddie entered the room, only to wilt when he kept up the same exhausting routine of avoiding you. 

“She does?” he’s clueless, a goddamn blinded fool, “I- Gyle, does she really?” 

Eddie looks to his friend for backup, but Argyle only shrugs from his seat, “If you don’t give the poor dudette a hug tonight, I am. If Birdie here is being honest, and she wants it, then I’m first in line. She’s way gentler on my scalp than all of you.” 

“You just want your hair braided by her again,” Jonathan pipes up finally.

“So?” Argyle defends, “That shit stayed. My little skittish friend does not come to play when it has to do with hair.” 

They all fall silent, holding their breaths and listening for a moment if you’re heading back down to them. 

The house is a ghost town from above.

“I’m just saying,” Robin finally whispers, keeping her tone low and gentle, almost defeated, “We can’t put her in a box. She told me she’d like the change, so I’m changing. She’s a big girl. She can handle it. Besides, she smells really good.” 

Robin gives Eddie a pointed look at that, and sees the pink that rushes over the bridge of his nose and up his neck.

You had no idea. No fucking idea. But she did. She’d watched Eddie withhold himself, she’d caught the longing glances, and she’d listened to his endless rambles about you. 

“Okay,” is his quiet reply just before your footsteps sound on the stairs. 

When you appear in the doorway, you’re holding three cans of coke.

“I bring gifts for taking so long,” you offer, holding up one of the cans as you cradle the other two in the ditch of your arm, extending it to Argyle as you pass by him.

He takes it greedily, appreciation loud and unfiltered, “Thank you dudette! At least someone here loves me.” 

You turn your eyes wide as moons, almost comical, fighting back a smile, “Oh? Were they being jerks while I was gone?” 

“You have no clue.”

A warning glare comes from Robin.

Even if you were in on the plan, it was dangerous territory. 

When you approach the couch, Robin sees the first sign of the plan working when Eddie doesn’t shift out of the comfortable position he’d sunk into. He isn’t jumping to leave an entire cavern for you. He’s leaving just enough space for you, enough that when you sit, you’re closer to him than you were before the bathroom.

Baby steps. Silently, she is screaming at him to keep it up, all while your brain bursts into flames.

He didn’t flinch away. He didn’t shift to be further from me.

Whatever Robin had said was working.

“Movie time?” you ask as you settle into that comfortable space, the unfamiliar yet indulgent warmth of Eddie’s body heat now wrapping around you. 

Your roots stretch, apprehensive, but desperate for that sunlight. 

It’s one of your group’s usual scary movies. You enjoyed horror, and could handle your own pretty well. If you ever got too scared, you’d usually cling to pillows or blankets that you were left with rather than another person as the rest of the group would. But there were no pillows, no blankets, no security cushions aside from the boy sitting between you and Robin. 

When you hand him his coke, his fingers brush yours, and you don’t pull back immediately. Baby steps.

When the first tense moment appears on screen, Eddie mutters a soft “shit” and jumps a little, leaning more into your space rather than Robin’s, lifting some of his curls to curtain his eyes.

You glance at him rather than the screen, narrowing your eyes in the dark, “Does that really work?” 

Eddie looks at you quickly at your whisper. Normally, everyone scolded him to be quiet during movies, never entertaining his small comments.

You weren’t the only one taking baby steps tonight.

Tentatively, he drops the curl blocking his vision, before grabbing a thicker one, boyish grin as he offers it to you shyly, “Wanna find out?” 

“She’s here!” Argyle shouts as he opens the front door to you, hardly giving you warning before he’s leaping forward and gathering you into his arms, nearly crushing you into a hug.

Warmth. Tender. Softness.

Argyle’s hugs are always bone-crushing, and always welcome. And they always linger as he leaves his arm around your shoulder to guide you into the foyer and shut the door behind you two.

“She is?” another voice shouts as she comes barreling out into the entryway, greeting you with an excited squeal as she rushes forward to pull you out of Argyle’s arm.

Robin. 

She’s dressed up for the night — an impressively well put together Robin outfit, complete with yellow spanx and a black mask across her eyes.

“Jesus, Robs,” you laugh as she tightens her arms around you, almost as if she was trying to crush any bones that survived Argyle, “I can’t breathe.” 

“Don’t care,” she mumbles into your shoulder before pulling back, “Nice costume.” 

A bat onesie. Cheesy, but comfortable, and warm enough to battle against Hawkin’s autumn chill. It’s even complete with a headband that has two small, perky ears attached to it, peeking out between tufts of your hair atop the crown of your head. 

“Thanks. Wait till you see the killer fake teeth I packed.” 

“Eds will be pissed if your fangs are better than his,” Argyle notes as he starts to walk into the living room. You follow, Robin close behind, to find the rest of your friends all waiting.

A scary movie is already on the TV, a classic slasher revealed by the high pitched scream that rings out into the room from it. There’s a few indoor decorations about — plastic jack-o-laterns and fake webs that will no doubt give Steve hell when he tries to take them back down — and you can see a punch bowl on the counter by where Nancy and Jonathan reside. 

And the man of the hour is lounging on the couch, a high mountain of pile already in front of him on the table as he munches on a family pack of candy corn. 

“Eddie, isn’t the candy supposed to be for trick or treaters?” you question teasingly as you make a beeline for him. His previous focus on the movie vanishes, full attention now on you.

He’s dressed like a vampire. If the cape didn’t give it away, that small blood line marked from his lower lip in a shade of lipstick you would guess he borrowed from Nancy does.

“I am a trick or treater, sweetheart,” he retorts, popping more candy into his mouth for emphasis, “Besides, Harrington has full-sized candy bars.” 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

He snaps his jaw closed jokingly, the clicking of his teeth making you huff out a laugh as you collapse next to him. 

That woodsy cologne is there, one you’re so happily familiar with these days. 

Unlike Argyle and Robin, he doesn’t greet you with an overwhelming hug, or palpable excitement. His way of greeting is more subtle. His arm slowly lifts, going to rest on the back of the couch behind you, but quickly falling to your shoulders when you waste no time scooting closer into the space he’s opened up in his side.

You fit kind of perfectly. Like a void always meant to be filled. 

“So, Dracula,” you hum, warning your beating heart to slow from its racing when his palm cradles your shoulder farthest from him, “What are we watching?” 

Baby steps were a thing of the past for most of the group. They had become great leaps of faith after that fateful movie night. The way Argyle and Robin had crushed you was normal now. Passing touches and flirtatious jokes were regular between you and your friends. They had seen your boundary for what it really was, a roadblock, and bit by bit, they had broken it down. 

Eddie’s hesitation isn’t because he can no longer touch you. His hesitation whispered of something more, something different, something still delicate. Just as delicate as the fragile wings of the butterflies in his stomach that fluttered to life every time you entered a room. 

They weren’t new. And you still didn’t know they existed — that they had always existed. From the first moment he’d met you.

“One of the Halloween movies,” he tells you, leaning down to keep the conversation more private.

You felt his breath on your ear.  A new touch that happened more frequently now. One you sought after almost as vehemently as you had those first few points of contact. 

“Oh?” you play along, staying hushed, “How fitting.” 

“Very.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t make them put on a vampire movie. You know,” you cut off, and motion to his costume. You bump your knee to his as you do it, “Given your attire.” 

“Zee night iz ztill young,” he puts on an obnoxious accent meant to mimic Dracula himself, pronouncing all his ‘s’s as ‘z’s.

You only smile, wide and generous and soft and tender, before you lift a hand to punch at the flared collar of his cape. You don’t even hesitate, not even when your knuckles brush the side of his neck.

“Pretty killer, right?” he jokes, trying to ignore the warmth flooding his cheeks.

“Very,” you hum in approval, hand dropping as you lean back into the heavy warmth of his arm around you. You almost reach the hand up to his bottom lip to trace that makeup there, slightly smeared and edges rugged already from his snacking, but you do withhold yourself at that line, “I like the makeup.” 

“Yeah?” he lights up with pride, “You know, I did the eyeliner all by myself.” 

You squint pointedly, leaning in just an inch closer to inspect the feathered charcoal on his waterline, “Really? Very impressive, Eds.” 

“Stop flirting,” Steve demands as he leaves the kitchen, “You’re going to give him a bigger head than he needs.” 

You both break apart slowly, letting space settle between you two and slowly fading back into the real world and out of that little bubble between you two. Eddie’s arm remains — his palm never leaves you, going so far as to give you a playful squeeze as his finger trails down your bicep.

A pathway of spring roses feels as though they bloom along that trail. Vibrant, full of life, open to possibility. When it came to you, Eddie had one Hell of a green thumb. 

“Stop ruining the fun, big boy,” Eddie looks up at your friend, poking his tongue out as his nose scrunches. Adorable. Painfully so.

Steve is dressed as Batman. His mask is discarded somewhere on the counter beside the punch bowl.

“We have plenty of time for fun,” Steve waves off the comment, coming to stand in front of the TV with his hands on his hips, “Am I forgetting anything? I have candy for any kids that come knocking, we’ve got punch thanks to Nance, I ordered our pizza-“

“You better have ordered one with pineapple,” Eddie interrupts, tilting his head sideways in your direction, temple brushing against one of your fake ears, signaling how it was your favorite. You burrow yourself deeper into his touch.

Steve subtly ignores him, “-I have the big speakers set up if we wanna listen to any music in the backyard. Am I missing anything?”

Predictably, he wasn’t. Steve always thought of everything.

The last few months had been nice. Finally getting to enjoy Eddie’s touch had been more than you ever planned for, reveling in the way the boy was so gentle with you even as he finally gave in. Once he started, it was as if you both could finally breathe. A weight had lifted from Eddie’s shoulders just from the simple adjustment of now getting to sit beside you at every function, his bouncing knee always pressing into yours. It had become a silly tradition for him to offer to share that wild head of hair during scary movies, demanding if someone else tried to sit beside you during horror movies in particular that you needed him and his curls to protect you. 

You had gone from yearning for touches, yearning for that contact, to your friends arguing over who would be indulged that night. 

They had taken it slower than you thought you wanted (save for Robin), but in the end, it had all worked out. You didn’t freeze anymore. Your aversion to touch had slowly, slowly, withered away with each hug, with each clasp of their hands on you, with each casual cuddle session they pulled from you. You no longer felt like an anomaly. And it wasn’t that your friends had ever meant to make you feel like an outsider, but it felt like finally being let into a club you’d mourned being left out of for years.

The day that Eddie had grabbed your hand during a casual conversation amongst everyone while out for lunch, letting his thumb trail back and forth over your knuckles in a soothing motion, you’d nearly cried.

Something so delicate yet so telling. A quiet action of affection you’d spent so long telling yourself you couldn’t have. Back rubs during hugs, letting Argyle braid your hair in return, resting your head onto Robin’s shoulder instead of only vice versa. They were all things you’d denied yourself of for so long. You regret it, but you couldn’t change anything in the past, only the now.

And now, you had the boy who had first sprouted such affectionate want within you wrapped up against you, leaning into you for comfort as he started to ignore Steve again.

“Wanna go out back and smoke while he mother hens?” 

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. 

You both slip away out the back door unnoticed, a new banter sparking up between Robin and Steve being enough distraction to allow it. Eddie wastes no time digging into his jean pockets once he’s outside, throwing the cape out widely before he pulls out his pack of cigarettes. 

“Want one?” he offers, flipping it open in your direction.

You just smile, shaking your head, “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.” 

You’d never really said that before to anyone in your group, only politely declining up until now. A small detail, but Eddie looks pleased to learn it all the same.

“Huh,” he curiously hums, pulling his own cigarette from the carton before tucking it back away, “I never knew that.” 

“I’ve never really told anyone,” you shrug.

“It is some big secret?”

“Nope.”

“Hmph.” 

This hum is muffled by the tip of the filter in his mouth, his hands now busy patting down his body for his lighter. 

“What?” 

His lips struggle to stretch around the tip of the cigarette without dropping it, solely from how wide his smile is, “I like learning new things about you.” 

For every thing you had once spewed at Robin that night, Eddie had learned of you tenfold. 

It was far past learning how your fingers fit between his or the smell of your perfume. He’d wanted it all; to know the inside workings of your mind, to be privy to all of your beautiful thoughts. The softness set in stone inside of you bled far past what could be felt in your fingertips or the care that shook your hand when you’d brush back stray curls out of his eyes. It fed deeper into you, into parts of you that Eddie could spend hours exploring without once growing bored. 

“You say that like I’m interesting,” you murmur half-heartedly, suddenly reaching out beneath his cape and tucking into his back pocket he could have sworn he already checked. His breath is the one that catches at your arm brushing against his waist from the reach, his body is the one that freezes up entirely just from proximity. A change of roles that you had never seen coming, but he’d always figured existed. You never understood the effect you had on him, and that was in part his fault. 

You produce his lighter like magic.

“You are interesting,” he insists as he plucks the lighter from you, flicking it three times to get a steady flame to burn the tip of his cigarette to life, “Don’t sell yourself so short, batty.” 

“Batty?” you snort, not moving away from him, even as he blows a thin and ghostly stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

He can only shrug, wrinkling his nose, “Yeah, I didn’t like it either. Had to give it a chance, though.” 

In the quiet solitude of Eddie nursing his cigarette and you watching the trees rustle with the last remnants of daylight, something sharper invades the soft space you two seem to brew whenever together. Between your innards that are gentle by nature, and Eddie’s silken attitude not only in actions but attitude towards you, the spaces occasionally left between you two were always something dulcet. Calm. Welcoming. You’d come to discover that maybe, that’s why you’d always yearned to burrow yourself so deeply into those spaces. It was a feeling of comfort and a feeling of home that you had always seemed out, but never found that fit quite as right as these moments.

“Hey Eddie?” you ask aloud as he finishes off the cigarette, stomping it out on the ground with his boot.

“What’s up?” he answers, making no move to go back inside.

You always liked these moments alone best. From the very beginning. Even before he felt comfortable enough to step closer to you, shoulder to shoulder with you now. He’s trying to squint and see what you’re finding so interesting in the array of colorful leaves in the distance, slowly being covered in blue shadows rather than golden light, without asking. 

You liked that. You liked it a lot; the way he always seemed to seek out your perspective on things. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did-“

“Fuck off,” your hand flies up, and smacks his shoulder. You never would have done that before. But you do now, relishing that contact even in the briefest of moments. The freedom to reach out and touch.

Once he stops laughing, clearly amused with himself, he turns to face you. Whatever he had been searching for in the trees is long gone, and your focus has moved onto him now, so it’s futile.

“Ask away, sweetheart.”

A deep breath for bravery, and you’re blurting out, “Did you really only avoid touching me when we met because... the others… they told you not to?” 

He wasn’t expecting that question. The crease between his brows makes that clear. You almost take your thumb to it, try to smooth out the worry. But you’re not quite there yet. Maybe one day you would be. 

It’s not as loaded of a question as he thinks it is. It’s cute to watch him assume it is, though. 

“I mean,” he starts his words slowly, carefully, “I guess.”

“You guess?” 

“I guess,” he repeats.

Your smile is sending him into a tornado of emotion. He almost curls his hands into fist, just as you used to do. 

When you broke down your boundary, it had split a crack through his dam. He knows he can reach out and touch you. He knows you’ll accept his physicality without complaint now. It doesn’t make it any less scary. 

For the same reason you don’t press your thumb into his eyebrow crease — having a crush just makes you hesitate like that. 

“I’m obviously a touchy guy,” he throws his arms out, aimlessly, and when they return his side, they almost nick yours. You wish they would brush yours, “But… between you and me, I always get nervous around pretty girls.”

The world slows. It doesn’t stop, it can’t stop for two youths who are trying to explore new and giddy feelings — but my God, can it slow to an absolute crawl, if only for the two of you.

“You think I’m pretty?” you tease, swallowing down just how much those words mean. You always have to remind yourself it’s worth it; being just friends is worth it now that you’ve learned the exact brand of cologne he wears and recognize the weight of his arm around you. 

“The absolute prettiest,” he breathes out, “I always have. Even if they hadn’t told me to hold back, I would have- Hell, I still do,” the Autumn air makes him honest, makes him brave, “I am- I would be- I just- It’s terrifying, the thought of fucking it up because you turn my brain to… mush.” 

Your eyes lift up to his forehead blanketed in his bangs, squinty and entertained, “You’re telling me it’s all just soup in there right now?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

Your friends are inside. There is candy to eat until your stomachs ache, and hugs to partake in until your bones have been crushed and pieced back together by threads of platonic affection.

Right now is anything but platonic. And it is time for something else to break, not your bones and not your boundaries. Something more. 

“I’m pretty sure your hand on my shoulder when we first met would have ended my entire world,” he confesses, starting the first crack.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If you had hugged me every time you saw me, I don’t know if I would have ever found the nerve to leave my house.”

Another crack.

“And if I sat next to you every time we went out for dinner?”

“Wouldn’t have been able to eat a bite, I’m afraid.”

A spiderweb of cracks, all widening.

“And if I had laid my head on your shoulder during movie nights?”

“What the Hell is a movie?” he jokes, chuckling a bit nervously now, “Who knows? Certainly not me, certainly not when my favorite girl is curled up next to me.” 

One more crack, and the entire thing will finally shatter. You’re begging it to shatter. 

You bite your tongue on any remark about still being his favorite, because since that goddamn night, he’d never said Robin or Nancy were his favorites again. Never. He’d meant it. You were his favorite. 

“And if I just…” you pause as you step forward, leaning in slowly, and it takes everything in Eddie not to turn and run as your lips brush over his cheek as you whisper, “Kissed your cheek? Right here, right now?” 

He doesn’t respond, your lips press together and then press down. 

It shatters with a resounding snap that must be heard across Hawkins. Across Indiana. 

One moment, your lips are on his cheek, and the next, they’re on his lips. He turns his head quickly before any doubt or nerves or roots can interrupt the moment. 

Endless. Endearing. Warmth. Tenderness. Soft.

His lips are soft. So goddamn soft.

His hands are foreign things for a second, as if he’s in shock that he’d actually done it and kissed you. But they come back to life when your own lift to his neck, wrapping behind his neck and beneath the collar of that cape, pulling him in even closer to you. 

He kisses you. And kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you. Till you’re both dizzy and it doesn’t matter that the earth won’t stop spinning long enough for you two to live in this moment. 

It should be unfamiliar, especially to you, but it isn’t. It’s as if the two of you have done this dance before. In another life, in another world, on another Earth far away from here. Your lips know his in this lifetime, and they will know his in the next — this first meeting only allows for a sigh of relief in the Universe, and in you. 

He paused the kisses briefly, palms cradling your face with care and intention, “Do you know,” he places his lips onto yours one more time, as if fearful that spending too much time apart will let you vanish, “how often,” another kiss, deeper this time, “I’ve wanted to do this?” 

A final peck. A period to the end of a sentence that the two of you had taken your time writing.

“No,” you laugh earnestly, fingers digging into the soft skin at his nape, reveling in the slip of his curls between your knuckles, “Maybe you should tell me about it.” 

“Tell you about all the times?” he’s leaning back in, lips brushing against yours. Just a touch, but it shakes you to your core, “All the times I wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss you?” 

You capture his lips in yours, unable to resist anymore. You’ve spent months resisting — his lips and kisses, his touches and brushes, his warmth and sunshine. You’re done resisting.

“Every,” you pull back and catch the glint in his eyes. He’s done, too, the rubble of the shatter, “Single,” you peck one cheek, “Last,” you peck the other, now rosey, “One.” 

You finally kiss his lips again. Your fingers tug harshly on his curls, and his mouth falls open at the unexpected sensation. Instead of taking this any further and starting something you’d never want to end, you do the adult thing — you nip at his bottom lip, a bite of adoration that leaves him with a sting to remember. 

“Fuck,” he sighs out, chasing after you, but your hands press into his chest to keep him into place, “I- Sorry, was that too much?” 

“Too much?” you laugh breathlessly, shaking your head immediately. Once upon a time, it might have been too much. But now, it wasn’t enough. “No such thing, not with you.” 

“Careful,” his hands came up to cover your fists balled into the front of his shirt, moving so that his cape brushes against your sides now, “I’m known to be quite a handful, sweetheart.” 

You snort and grip his shirt even harder. “God, I sure hope so. You’ve been holding out on me, dracula.” 

“Oh, have I?”

His smirk and your smirk are perfect mirror images of each other. 

“You have.”

[water-loos]

oh ghost i feel so sick this was so sweet :( 🫠🫠 he is sooooo

[ikeuswrld]

in case you’re wondering what the sawyer / elliott tumblr dms consist of

[clarktologist]

sawyer wants me so bad send message

[ikeuswrld]

can u at least read the fic before we start throwing accusations around reidswrldville

[clarktologist]

all 10k words are gonna read as "sawyer sent this to you sawyer sent this to you sawyer sent this to you"

[ikeuswrld]

CAN WE GO BACK TO THE PART WHERE I SAID I DIDNT READ THE TAGS

[clarktologist]

no we cannot <3

[water-loos]

are you guys done being gay on the dash

[water-loos]

canvassing for… reasons… what do we prefer friends

love interest for next series? maybe?

rockstar / indie star steve harrington

rockstar eddie munson

Voting ended onAug 24, 2025