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gyuswhore · 6 months

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Dahlia

🎁 Em Birthday + Dino Mixtape Special 🎁

PAIRING: lee chan x reader

SYNOPSIS: When Chan brings you a bouquet filled with promises and hope to begin your birthday, you're happy to accept them with the love they come with. Chan, however, is quick to remind you that the flowers were only the beginning.

CONTAINS: fluff, smut (MINORS DNI) bikerboyfriend!chan, fem!bodied reader, soaked chan (literally), tiny bit of crying (happy tears!!), loads of acts of service, making out, handjobs, breast play, clit stimulation, fingering (f. rec), penetration, chan wont let reader breathe kjgfnekfjn, these two are so in love it gets sappy at the end lmk if theres anything else

WORD COUNT: 4.4K

masterlist

[AN]: if yall didnt think that insane meltdown i had on the tl a while ago wasnt gonna spawn into this, you would be crudely mistaken. ANYWAY in honour of em day falling on dixtape release day i present to you this thing i wrote out of the worst brainrot ive had in a very long time. have fun with channie lol

“Thank you!” Chan yells behind him to the flower shop owner as he walks out, the small tinkle of the door chime making itself known despite the near midnight time. Chan checks his watch as he approaches his motorcycle that stands on the empty sidewalk: 11:38 PM.

He might be able to make it, swinging his leg over the seat as he thanks his luck that he was able to catch the last florist before she closed for the day. The owner sends him a smile as she begins her own trek to her car, lights out.

Revving his engine to life, he attempts to tuck the bouquet into his riding jacket, praying the delicate petals would hold up during the short ride to your place. His helmet is strapped on within seconds as he kicks up his stand to take off into the empty streets, making a beeline for your apartment. He stops at a red light, taking the chance to check his watch again: 11:47 PM.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, whipping his head around to check the ghostly empty streets of the intersection. He briefly wonders if he can afford a ticket when he sees the droplets fall on his gloved hands.

“No. No, no, no, come on!” The light turned green as the rain began to thunder down onto his helmet, seeping through the collar of his jacket and trickling down his skin. He pushes away a shudder, trying not to shiver in the now even colder November night, wanting nothing more than to get to your place as quickly as possible.

The rain grows nothing but stronger as he finds himself needing to wipe his shield every few seconds, his desperation increasing with the strong winds. By the time he’s kicking his stand and yanking his helmet off, the pour seems to have slowed itself to a drizzle, something he thinks he would’ve appreciated just a few minutes ago. In the few seconds it took him to kill the engine and inspect his flowers, the slow droplets infiltrated his hair, too.

The flowers are soaked, Chan finds out soon enough as he inspects the droplets that have collected on the short petals of the red dahlias he’s picked out. He dumps the bouquet upside down to pour out the accumulated water onto the pavement, watching the amount of liquid that continues to spill out.

So much for the flowers holding up.

“I think you need some flowers for your water,” Chan flicks his sopping wet hair off his forehead to look up at the sound of your voice, eyes meeting your delighted face over your low window.

He glances back down at the water-specked flowers, and hears a ghost of a chuckle escape him. Chan realizes in the moment how frazzled he looks, dripping wet with a thing of dejected flowers in his grip.

You’re still smiling at the sight, “Come up before the hypothermia sets in, idiot.”

He’s quick to oblige, bounding inside despite the droplets he leaves in his wake, checking his watch in a glance: 11:58 PM. You’re quick to open the door for him just as he reaches your place on the first floor, folds upon folds of bath towels in your arms.

“You look like a wet dog,” you snort, laying down a towel for him to step inside on.

“Wait!” he yells, and you freeze in your crouched spot. You’re slow to come back up, watching him stare intently at his watch.

11:59 PM… 12:00 AM.

His face breaks out into a big smile, causing you to mimic his elated expression. He grabs your limp hand and thrusts the bouquet into your hands.

“Happy birthday, babe.”

You can’t help but huff out a little laugh. The sight of dripping hair, sodden socks on a towel, his hand that pushes the flowers into your own, all complete with a stupidly accomplished look on his face.

You push forward, flowers in hand, as you wrap your arms around his neck in a tight embrace. Pushing your chest into his, you leave no room between what your clothing would allow. It’s wet. Really wet. You can feel your shirt grow warm under the retention, but you pay no mind as you continue clinging to him with all you have.

“Thank you, Chan.” He can hear the elation in your voice, and it’s enough to make it all worth it. He hugs you back, cautious at first, but relents when he realizes you don’t care about coming out of the hug as soaked as him. It isn’t until you feel the unnatural cold of the tip of his nose kiss your neck that you realize he’s probably freezing. So you pull away, albeit reluctantly.

He keeps his hands on your hips as you continue, “Let’s get you dried up first.”

Thus, a freshly washed and clothed Chan exits the bathroom, finding you in the kitchen huddled over the island. It isn’t until he’s engulfed you completely from behind, arms coming to pull you into his bare chest, that he sees what you’re doing. The crimson flowers had been tended to, placed into a pretty vase as you fiddle with the petals to spread them into a pleasing arrangement.

“It’s freezing, Chan, put a shirt on!” you gasp as you turn around to realize your boyfriend is sporting nothing but trousers and a towel around his neck.

“In a minute,” he mumbles as he drops his forehead to your shoulder.

Running your fingers through his wet hair, you attempt to comb them out. “Why didn’t you stop when it started raining? You catch colds so easily.”

“I was running late, and the flower shop fucked my order. It was my fault. Spent ages trying to find one open that had these ones.”

“You still could’ve stopped.”

“And miss being the first to say happy birthday? Fat chance.”

You sigh as you give in to him. “Thank you. For testing your immune system for me.”

He snorts at the comment, coming back up to face you, forearms resting on the counter as he pushes your body against the edge. He glances at the flowers briefly.

“This wasn’t the end of it. We still have another twenty-four hours to go,” he murmurs. “The rest of the surprises will be less chaotic, I promise.”

“It’s not you if there’s no chaos,” you comment with an undertone. “I’ll like anything you give me, no matter how chaotic or calmly you deliver it.”

He hums for a moment, and you sense the mischief coming from a mile away. The half-serious warning leaves you before you can help it, “Don’t make me eat my words.”

He barks out a laugh at that, coming in to capture your frown in a momentary kiss, giving you one peck after another. You stand in each other’s arms for a long while, barefoot in the kitchen, as you talk about your plans for when the sun eventually comes up. Most of which Chan refused to relay to you anyway, so you were really just making guesses.

His drying hair doesn’t leave your fingers throughout, combing through the strands as you massage his scalp along the way. He melts under the touch, moving the towel around his shoulder way so you can rest your arms on him. He falters slightly at the feeling as he continues to talk.

You can’t help but notice the wonders the kitchen light seems to be doing for him, the blue-ish glaze illuminating the highs of his face and hair, the glowing lines moving past his neck to his shoulders, and undoubtedly casting the rest of the ridges of his body aglow — you aren’t sure if you can handle finding out if you gaze any lower. The little you can see of his eyes past the flop of hair that covers them is sparkling in the low light.

Chan doesn’t stop you as you slot your mouth against his, taking the way the light illuminated his lips as a sign. He’s equally as quick to reciprocate, moving his mouth against yours, almost more eager than you. His hands have left their place on the counter and move to grip your hips instead, pushing your lower half against him with a force that has you breaking away from his lips.

He doesn’t stop, moving his mouth down to leave his own open-mouthed kisses on your jaw as you grip his bare bicep, a content sigh leaving your lips.

“Have a really pretty thing waiting for you when you wake up,” he whispers delicately in your ear, placing a kiss on your earlobe. “The nice satin thing you’ve been eyeing for a while.”

Your breath stops short in your chest, the thought of the pretty piece of lingerie you briefly mentioned you liked a while ago.

“Chan,” you groan at the thought.

He continues to mumble with a slight chuckle, “Don’t know if that’s a present for me or you.”

His hands have migrated everywhere at this point, moving up to squeeze of your breasts in his hold, his other hand continuing to run over your ass and hips. It’s your own hands that drift past his abs to toy with the drawstrings of his pants when you begin to fall impatient, needing to feel him.

Feeling his hard-on through his underwear is easy, and you wonder how long he’s actually been horny with how defined you can already feel him to be. You watch as he grinds into your palm, groaning into your neck at the feeling. You continue your ministrations through his boxers till you feel him wrap his hand around your forearm to yank it out of his pants.

“I’m not fucking you on the kitchen counter,” he says, pulling you out of the blue fluorescent lights and into the hall to your bedroom.

It’s easier for him to discard your clothing with the space he’s given, yanking your shirt off to leave you in your barely-there sleeping shorts. Sparing no second, you watch him push off the soft plush of the mattress, moving away to get rid of his own clothing.

Chan’s lips meet yours once again as he hovers over you on the bed, continuing to feel up your sides as he shoves his tongue into your mouth, massaging it over your own as he continues to push you up the bed.

You arch your back, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra, only to find him beating you to it as he unhooks it, flinging the padding somewhere amongst the flown clothes on the floor. The cold hits your chest in a way that has you gasping, his hands immediately cupping over both your breasts before attaching his mouth to a nipple. His other hand toys with your other nipple, rolling the perked bud between his fingers before running his thumb over it repeatedly. It’s so easy to zero in on the feeling of his tongue gliding over the sensitive area, the contrast of his warm mouth, and the air that hits the glistening surface of your skin. You can’t help but hum, hands grazing over his own that pinch and press into your other nipple.

You realize soon enough that his knees are spread just wide enough for you to shove your own leg in between, bringing your knee up to grind it slowly against his crotch, feeling him through his underwear. The motion comes unprovoked, a vibrating groan escaping him as he cursed against your skin.

“Fuck, babe, you’re so impatient.”

Removing his mouth from your chest, he pushes your knee down in haste to give himself room to pull down your shorts, pushing your thighs apart when he’s done as he kneels back. His gaze wanders across your near-bare body, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip as he locks you in place. His eyes hover but choose to remain on the visibly darkened patch on your panties. You feel his fingers move slowly, ghosting over the insides of your thighs, moving ever so close to where you screamed for him.

Right as you’re about to say something out of growing frustration, he hooks his fingers under the waistband of the final obstruction, pulling them down your legs to expose yourself to him completely. His unprovoked compliance comes as a bit of a shock to you, but you assume he’s being nice for the sake of your birthday (not that you’re complaining – anything that gets him in your pants faster counts as an automatic win in your book)

You can feel him massage the skin of your thighs as he stares, making sure you keep your legs wide open for him. His gaze doesn’t wander, you find, locked in as he bites his bottom lip at the sight. His eyes hold a dangerous lace, one that you wish he’d unleash. He all but pushes your thighs even further to get a better look at your undoubtedly sopping wet cunt. It took a lot for you to not attempt to bring your knees together despite the embarrassment – you know he liked to look.

“Chan.” His name leaves your lips in a desperate attempt to get him to do something, anything. His lips all but lift into a curl of trouble.

“What is it, baby?”

“Please,”

“Please, what? I know it’s your birthday, princess, but I won’t know what you want if you won’t tell me.” His eyes graze over your contorted expression, urging you to say it. “Say it, my love.”

“Chan,” you whine. “Touch me. Please.”

His grin morphs into something downright diabolical as he taps your hips. “Get up, baby. On my lap.”

Chan pushes his back on the headboard as he invites you on his lap, your hips over his thighs as the rest of your body lays on the sheets.

It isn’t until then that he finally migrates his hand, placing his middle finger on your clit, spreading your lips apart with his pointer and ring finger. He grazes over it lightly as he moves down to your hole, feeling the pool of arousal that’s accumulated in the area. He gathers your arousal on his fingers, moving back up to pay attention to your clit.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” Chan’s voice comes out hoarse, and it somehow has you gushing even further.

The angle gives him perfect access to work on your cunt as he likes, pushing your legs apart when you’d close them subconsciously. His fingers are merciless as they take turns circling over your nub before rubbing through them up and down. He places open mouthed kisses on your thigh, the one he holds open against his bare chest.

You’re writhing at the feeling, trying your best to not move in his hold too much as you let out the most desperate streams of moans, only encouraging him to keep going. Your hands grope everything in your shaken state: your breasts, his thigh, his arm that holds your legs apart – anything to keep you tied to the feeling.

Chan’s fingers slow before coming to a complete halt, wet fingers trailing up your thighs, leaving a trail of your arousal in their wake. He brings them back, fingers now lower as he traces a lone finger at your entrance. You feel yourself clench at the feeling.

“Fuck!” You clamp your hand over your mouth, the profanity leaving your mouth before you can stop it. Chan pushes that finger into your tight hole, clenching around the digit. He pumps in once before pushing in another.

“Uh-uh,” you hear him tut. Yanking your hand away from your mouth, leading it away. “Let me hear you.”

His statement has you letting out another groan, the sound of his voice adding to the pleasure you’re receiving at the mercy of his fingers. He continues to pump in and out, his other hand moving to continue circling over your clit.

Your back is arching off the sheets at this point, hands desperately gripping the sheets as you throw your head back. The feeling is building to a breaking point, your pants growing louder as your jaw falls slack.

The knot breaks, and it has you fluttering your eyes shut, your mind going completely blank as the only thing that consumed your being becomes Chan’s godly hands. Registering absolutely nothing is easy when he refuses to stop his fingers, letting you ride out your high as far as it would take you. He doesn’t stop, even while you're squirming in his hold from overstimulation.

“Ch-Chan, I can’t!” Your own hands attempt to grasp his arm, his wrists.

Your now blown out pupils catch a playful look on his face as he quit brushing his fingers on your spent cunt, letting you lay back for a breath. Your chest heaves as you attempt to come round from the feeling, vaguely registering Chan, setting your lower half off of his lap. He hovered above your frame, leaving pecks all over your face, neck, and chest, waiting for you to recover.

“Good?” he asks you with a smile once your breathing seemed to have evened out.

“Yeah,” you reply with a laugh, attempting to sit up from your position to kiss him. He lets you.

It isn’t until you’ve pushed him back on the headboard that he realizes what you’re trying to do. You’re legs that straddle him begin to wiggle lower as you detach from his lips, fiddling with the waistband of his boxers to pull them off. He obliges, letting you take the fabric off, watching you as you pump his hard length in your palms.

You doubt you’d ever get over the feeling of having him in your hands, the weight of him fitting into your palm like his dick was meant to fall straight into your hands. Chan is gracious in how he lets you have your way for a few minutes, using his precum as lube to begin pumping him faster and faster.

The feeling is overwhelming, considering how long his lower half has been waiting for this, for you. He reminds himself what he’s really here for and somehow finds it within himself to stop you, flipping you over on the mattress so he’s back to hovering over you.

“Not today, baby.”

“Chan, let me–”

He knows the only way to get you to quit insisting is by occupying your mouth, so that’s exactly what he does as he places his mouth against yours, kneading both your tits under his hands to get you all worked up again. It works as you let out the smallest whine against his mouth, all of that fighting drowning in your chest as you melt into putty in his hands yet again.

Chan continues to tease, bringing his tip to your entrance, circling it before dragging it up to your clit, spreading the mix of both of your arousal all over your cunt. Your hips buck and stutter at the feeling, still sensitive from your previous orgasm.

It isn’t long before he’s dragging himself back, tip pushing in hard as he continues his pressure. You’re both moaning at this point, mixing in profanities as he begins to thrust into your cunt, setting a pace for himself. You wrap your arms around his neck as he holds himself in a hover above you.

Soon enough, you feel him begin to brush against a particular spot inside you, one that has you moaning louder than you have all night. It’s almost like he knows what those sounds mean, angling his hips in a way that thrusts directly into that one spot that has you seeing stars.

“Chan, I’m—”

“I know, princess, I know,” he grunts out in response. “Let go, baby.”

And you do, hurtling into your second orgasm as you clutch the forearm he’s rested on the bed. Your back that arches off the sheets is met with his hand that runs over the expanse, coaxing the feeling out with the intimate touch.

You feel him pull out, moving away from you to let you breathe. You want to have the energy to tell him to come close to you again, but it sires difficult when you can barely breathe. You find yourself not needing to open your mouth, though, as you realize Chan’s mercy lasted barely a few seconds before you feel him push into your entrance again with no warning.

The gasp that leaves you is muffled by the mouth that’s put on yours as Chan fully engulfs you in his arms again. You take the opportunity to touch him, wrapping your arms around his torso, hands roaming as you feel up the expanse of his back and shoulders. He’s thrusting into you slower than before, his moans coming in directly into your ear now. The sound is enough to have you gushing around him again, your fingers finding his nape to tangle them in his hair.

“Fuck — you’re not keeping me in,” he groans, and you suddenly realize why he was going so slow.

It wasn’t like you could help it when you continued to clench around him like your life depended on it, but he didn’t seem to really mind it either when you felt his own cock twitch. Once he’s had quite enough, he pulls back momentarily to push your legs up against your body. Your thighs are pressing against your chest as you register that he’s basically folded you in half, giving him the room he so desired to properly fuck you.

“Keep those legs up for me, baby,” he orders as he helps, letting you rest them against his shoulders.

He slips himself out before going back in entirely, moving his hips at a pace that has you seeing stars. You feel him move his head to kiss the inside of your thighs, dragging his tongue over every surface he can reach. With his mouth occupied, the only sounds that encase the room are your own string of moans, paired with the absolutely lewd squelch that comes with every slap of Chan’s hips.

With the force he’s going at, you don’t doubt the bruises that’ll grace your lower half once he’s done. The fact that this wasn’t gonna be the end of it has you wondering how you’ll handle the next 24 hours with him. You decide you’ll think about that later as you let the feeling of him engulf you now.

“Oh, I’m so close,” he announces, and you can tell by the way his pace grows increasingly sloppier. He lets down one of your legs to free up his hand to bring back to your bruised clit, rubbing haphazard circles to make up for his also haphazard hip pace.

You can’t imagine minding, though, especially not right now when the desperation of it all has you building up your third high, “Me too, fuck, me too.”

Chan thrusts into you a couple more times before you announce that you're cumming, and the way you're clenching down on him harder than ever before has him letting out the loudest moan of the night as he begins to cum mere seconds after you. You can feel his hot liquid shoot into your walls, the slickness making your head spin even further.

You’re near passing out when Chan pulls out of you, flopping down on the bed next to you. Neither of you speak as you catch your breath for the nth time that night, somehow finding it within yourself to turn over to land your head on Chan’s outstretched arm. He doesn’t hesitate to bring you in as you curl up under his arm, head on his shoulder.

“Where do you get all that energy from?” you mumble into his arm.

He laughs a little at the question, dropping a kiss on your head, “Comes naturally when you have such a pretty thing to please.”

You snort in response, trying to hide the very apparent fluttering in your chest. Even after the amount of time you’ve spent having him all for yourself, you doubt the butterflies would ever leave – especially when he continues to drop his corny yet effective lines at any given opportunity.

“Shut up.”

“I don’t think you want me to,” he retorts, lolling his head to look at you, hair flopping on his forehead as he smiles at the sight of you.

“Fair enough.”

You both giggle a little, a little dazed at the cloud in the room. It falls into comfortable silence after, as you continue to gain your bearings after a session like that. Your mind begins to wander, thoughts landing you in the kitchen where the red flowers are now decorated.

“I know you’re a sap, which is why I’m asking you this,” you start, shifting to look at him. His face is glistening. “But what made you choose those flowers in specific?”

He thinks for a moment.

“The dahlia itself means… lasting grace. Beauty that remains, love to be declared.”

You stare at him as he licks his lips, “Red dahlias, those mean perseverance. Strength, power.”

He shifts so he isn’t on his back anymore, facing you entirely. “I don’t know much about flower talk, but I hoped both of those things together would tell you that… my love for you is stronger than the years. And I intend to prove it to you if you’ll let me.”

You’re tearing up now, and he can see it in the way your eyes turn from shiny to an overwhelming pool. Before he can say anything, you’re lurching forward to kiss him, smashing your mouths together in a way that you can only call dramatic, your tears dropping to hit his cheeks.

He brings a hand up to steady you, cupping your face to hold you there as you continue to peck his lips over and over.

“Thank you for loving me,” you mumble against his lips in a nasally voice.

“Thank you for loving me. Thank you,” he kisses you again, “for being born.”

You laugh a little, wet cheeks and sniffles to complete the look.

Chan can only wipe your tears away with a brush of his hand and hope that those tears remain happy, with him, for the rest of your days.

#seventeen #svt #dino #chan #lee chan #dino fluff #dino smut #dino scenarios #dino x reader #dino imagines #dino fics #lee chan fluff #lee chan smut #lee chan imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #em.writes

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star-my · 1 month

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BTS Fic Recs ☆ Tumblr (i)

These are all available on tumblr as of April 2024. Some are likely crossposted on ao3 as well.

~Ao3 RECS HERE~ ~Recs (ii)~ ~Recs (iii)~

Almost all are complete works, those with “+” after WC are incomplete. Most are BTS x (F!)Reader.

Most of these are Mature or Explicit (usually because of smut) ~ mdni ~ italicized titles rated G or T ~ Please read responsibly

If any authors tagged here wish to be removed/untagged, please lmk! | Shoutout to @ggukkiereads who does an amazing job creating rec lists, which helped me find many of these fics

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☆ life eternal by @jungkookiebus | Fae AU | 9k

☆ hotter than hell series by @chateautae | Demon AU | 136k

☆ Hellblazer series by @jungkookiebus | Demon AU, Constantine AU | ?k

☆ agent of love series by @ppersonna | SMAU, Agent AU | ?k+

☆ strawberry kisses series by @kimnjss | SMAU, Brother's BFF AU, Tinder AU | ?k

☆ drag me down (to hell) series by @kimvtae | Mafia AU, Single Parent AU | 58k (abandoned)

☆ Concealed Weapon by @gimmesumsuga | Mafia AU, Husband AU | 10k

☆ hate sex by @yeoreos | FWB Pw/oP | 4k

Overall Favourite Authors (If I recc'd all their works like I want to/more than I have, I'd have to make this series even longer >.<)

☆ @bonvoyagenoona's masterlist

☆ @chateautae's masterlist

☆ @flowerwrites06's masterlist

☆ @here2bbtstrash's masterlist

☆ @hollyhomburg's masterlist

☆ @icyhobi's masterlist

☆ @jungshookz's masterlist

☆ @justcallmenikki7's masterlist

☆ @kpopfanfictrash's masterlist

☆ @ladyartemesia's masterlist

☆ @luxekook's masterlist

☆ @magicalsalamander's masterlist

☆ @yminie's masterlist

☆ @yoonia's masterlist

#bts fic recs #group: bts #type: fic #i think i did a pretty good job of hiding my yoonkook bias if i do say so myself :]

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byhees · 3 months

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study buddy ━━ ( 엔하이픈 성훈 ) ♡ genre fluff established relationship college au warnings not proof-read petnames : for vi～

thinking about college boyfriend sunghoon who claims nearly every second of the day that he can’t live another minute without seeing your pretty face; finals periods torment him— the reason isn’t quite the expected one though.. it’s simply because he’s unable to see you as often, especially with your meticulous study plans.

“baby, let’s talk till midnight, hm? i haven't seen you in a long while”, he’d suggest, racking a hand through his locks, thick-framed glasses perched atop his nose bridge; he’d feign the smallest of pouts towards the camera, as though to convince you that, yet again, park sunghoon’s ‘have to see my girlfriend’s pretty face, or i’ll actually shrivel up and wither agenda’ is a serious issue.

and with the pretty twinkle of his gaze, his bottom lip lightly jutted out, you can’t exactly refuse, especially not when your heart’s thumping for you to do otherwise— it’s not like a video call would affect your revision; his presence is but a mere study-buddy, is what you’d tell yourself, lightly nodding your head.

news flash, you wind up spending the next hour or two fixated on the screen, elaborating more about some ridiculous incident you witnessed on campus earlier today; note, park sunghoon isn’t exactly the most conventional study buddy.

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @nwjws @ibsysbsfsunsbs @rikisly @amyysfics @mixtape-racha @berry-and-kkami @rikislady @gweoriz @czlluvriki @okwonyo @okwons @kimsunoops networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

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Bad For Business: Level Five

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.7K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

Staff parties weren’t exactly illegal, per say, but they were definitely hidden from Murray and the plugs to the security cameras always accidentally got yanked out. It wasn’t breaking and entering if several of you had keys, right?

Those last on shift would open the back door after closing, the fire exit left ajar with a piece of broken brick, letting in the crowds of older kids that had nowhere else to let loose in small town Hawkins. It was almost perfect, no windows, the arcade room big and already dark, the neon glow of the machines providing dark corners for people to hide in and do god knows what.

The smell of old popcorn and Axe body spray was overtaken by smoke, tequila and too sweet perfume, weed and cheap beer. The cars that would no doubt be left overnight were hidden around the back, parked precariously close together, sitting waiting for a lucky make out session or more.

You were already there when Steve came in, a little before midnight, carrying crates and kegs with Argyle and Jonathan Byers, all of them laughing at something the pounding music was covering up. The front desk was covered in mixtapes, empty cassettes and random sets of car keys, a lighter or five, the beginnings of a rolled joint. Some people were playing on the machines, the coin slot jacked open by Robin so no one had to pay, others were in the spaces between the games, dancing, grinding, drinking. There were couples in the photo booths, lip locked and lovesick, hands under shirts and their intertwined legs visible from behind the curtain.

The stained carpet got sticker as the night grew later, spilled drinks making the air smell sweet, lukewarm beer in red solo cups forgotten about, a condom packet on the console of Mario Bros, some girls underwear hanging from the joystick of the Asteroids machine.

Maybe it was the bubblegum vodka Robin was pouring you, maybe it was the way Eddie was coaxing, teasing, pulling you into the circle. Maybe it was the way Steve hadn’t spoken to you all night but he couldn’t stop his eyes from finding yours in the low light.

“Truth or Dare, my dudes!” Argyle announced, tanned cheeks flushed under the lights, the small group of you gathered at the back of the arcade. “Join or forever be a pussy,” he declared.

The group groaned, nudging each other so drinks spilled over wrists, overheated skin, bodies pressed together in the hazy smoke. People lounged against the machines, girls against boys, hands around waists, cross legged on the old sofa that Murray had never had a chance to get rid of.

It’s where you were, perched on the arm of the cracked leather cushion, body leaning into Eddie’s shoulder as he laughed at the way you were pulling on Robin’s belt loops, vying for details about her and Nancy’s last date. But then the game began and suddenly Billy Hargrove was downing his drink and stripping off, hands cupping his junk as he made a sprint around the arcade, grinning at the whoops and cheers he received.

Robin had to raid the staff office, finding the grossest thing she could in the tiny kitchenette everyone forgot about, pouring three day old yoghurt into her drink to chug.

Eddie had to admit to whether or not those Prince Albert piercing rumours were true. (They were and he announced this into his can of beer with red cheeks, overwhelmed at the sudden attention Chrissy Cunningham was giving him.)

You had to steal some screws from Murray’s desk chair, the outcome unknown until Monday but you already knew the creaky, old thing would collapse to the floor if anyone even touched it.

And then Eddie was calling Steve’s name and asking him, “Harrington, truth or dare?”

Maybe it was the way Steve was frowning at Eddie’s arm over your shoulder, maybe it was the way there’d been a red headed girl lingering by his side all night, but suddenly, all your attention was on him.

He looked unfairly good, hair soft and messy, a blue crew cut sweater rolled up to his elbows, jeans on the edge of too tight. He was cocky about it, eyes glancing lazily to Eddie, a small smile on lips that he hoped told the other boy he wasn’t intimidated by him. Or the arm he had around you.

Steve took a slow drag of the joint Argyle had handed him before answering, chin tilted up, blowing out the smoke to the painted black ceiling, his gaze still on Eddie, like he was sizing him up. From beside you, Eddie smothered a laugh, leaning into your shoulder only to whisper, “you’ll thank me one day.”

Before you could ask what the fuck that meant, Steve was passing the joint to Jonathan and grinning at Eddie, that same wide, pretty smile he gave you when you were doing your best to piss him off.

“Dare.”

Eddie beamed, dimples on show and looking too smug. He pulled away from you, slouching back into the couch cushions, thighs spread wide, making a show of it all. You rolled your eyes, wondering what had happened between the two of them that was causing such a stand off.

“Feelin’ brave, lover boy?” Eddie asked, eyebrows raised. Steve narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. “Kiss the girl you’re most attracted to.”

The room rippled with amusement, soft laughs and sniggers, tittering from the girls who hoped they had a chance. Steve tried to play it off, head tilted as he appraised Eddie, still leaning against the Dig Dug machine. The lights made him glow peach and sunshine yellow, the loading screen had your name still at the top, Steve’s just below.

“What?” Steve asked and something told you that he was trying to stall. You watched him lick his lips, a nervous habit, a hand running through the front of his hair.

“I think he wants you to kiss the girl you think is the prettiest,” Argyle decided to clarify, eyes reddened and another joint rolling between his fingertips. “Lucky for you, my brother, you got plenty of options.”

Eddie grinned as Steve faltered, eyes locking once more. Eddie shrugged, teeth flashing. “You heard Rapunzel, who’s got your panties in a twist Harrington? Why don’t you show her some love, huh?”

The group tittered again, whispers floating between the smoke and the lights, bets exchanged and several girls dug around in their purses for their lip glosses. The redhead who’d been keeping close to Steve the whole night set her cup of wine down on top of a machine, readying herself.

Instead, everyone fell silent when Steve took a few steps towards you. The music was still playing, a faint pop hit from the boombox someone had sent up on the front desk. You stared at the boy, wide eyed and incredulous whilst Eddie let out a low whistle.

“Damn, would you look at that?” He tutted, smiling wide. “Harrington is feeling brave.”

You were frozen, bewildered as he came to stand in front of you at the couch, your knees pressed to his thighs. You stared at him, lips parted as he seemed to hold his breath, wary.

“What’re you doing?” You muttered, far too aware of the eyes on you, Eddie grinning, Cheshire catlike beside you, Robin gawking from behind Steve.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Steve mumbled back, gaze flicking from yours down to your lips and back again. “You heard what your friend said.”

“You think I’m the pret-”

Steve groaned, eyes rolling, like it pained him to admit to it. “God, shut up,” he said gruffly, but his cheeks were tinged pink and he placed his hands on the tops of your knees, a more gentlemanly touch than you’d expected.

His hands were warm, ridiculously large, spanning your entire kneecap, fingers and thumb curling around the sides of your thigh. You watched him swallow, his breathing short. Someone whistled, a low, playful sound that had you feeling too warm, like you’d been caught in the playground, behind the bike sheds with your crush.

Steve squeezed slightly, body burning under his touch, but you brought your gaze back to his and you saw him lift his brows, just a little, just enough. You got the meaning, brown eyes steady on yours.

‘Can I?’

You tried to ignore everyone around you, the way their breaths were held as the tension in the air crackled and fizzed. It’s as if there was an electric current running round the circle, wires ripping through ribs and hearts, starting and ending with you. It made your skin buzz, a tingle you wondered if Steve could feel too.

His thumb pressed into the inside of your knee and you thought that maybe, he just might.

You nodded, your heart in your throat.

It was like the music had stopped as Steve leaned in, your legs spreading just slightly, enough for him to edge closer, one hand skimming a little bravely up your thigh. You heard someone swear, a shocked thing, just as your eyes closed. Steve's nose nudged yours, his breath a little shaky and smelling like smoke and spearmint gum as it landed on your lips.

You tilted your head up, chin lifting, just a little. Just enough for your top lip to catch Steve’s bottom, a shocking touch, a barely there thing but it made your heart jump and your lips part, expecting more. Wanting more.

Steve’s hand squeezed your knee, bracing himself, holding onto you before he could take the next step and dip his face closer to yours, pushing his lips against—

The front door banged against the wall as it burst open, flashlights shining through the low light, cutting into the haze of smoke and neon as the music was abruptly cut off. Hopper, chief of police, and some of his officers were standing in the doorway, framed by the flashing lights of their patrol cars parked out front.

Blue and red flashed over the walls and someone found the light switch, killing the atmosphere as the yellowing overheads flickered on, buzzing from age. People groaned, stubbed out joints kicked under arcade machines, half empty bottles clattering as those underage tried to hide them behind the desk, in their bags and between machines.

Hopper looked less than impressed, moustache twitching as he took in the sight. He swept his flashlight over the wide eyed faces, sighing heavily.

“Okay, party's over,” he announced. “Everyone line up.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington one shot

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skylarsblue · 1 year

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✦Random Sinclair Headcanons✦

(I was bored and I have nowhere else to put them)

Lester's got a slight allergy to certain citrus fruits. It's not terrible, but it did get stuff like orange juice banned from the house when the brothers were younger. But that's Bo's favorite. So he always has a jug specifically for himself in the house since Lester's no longer living with them.

Vincent's hair is well kept in turns of how he washes it, but their lifestyle ruins it constantly. Some parts of Vincent's hair is a lot shorter than the rest cause he got too much wax caught in it, so they have to snip a strand. It's like terrible layers.

All the brothers have bad teeth, Bo's looks the best on the surface, but mans got at least 8 fillings in the back.

Bo is shit at telling people's accents, Vincent's decent at it. But Lester? Somehow he's the gibberish translator. Someone could come through with the most unintelligible accent and he'll somehow know what they're saying.

I've said Bo can play piano, and so can Vincent, but they're more adept with the violin. Lester can probably tear shit up on the harmonica

Vincent's art mediums are; wax sculpting(duh), painting, and charcoal.

Bo's art mediums are; photography, musical(though he dropped that one), and he used to be pretty good at pen doodles(but he dropped that too, fuckin' thanks Trudy)

Lester's art mediums are; scavage-crafting, wood/bone carving, and scrapbooking.

Bo had a phase where he was really good at producing poems/poetic song lyrics. But he stopped doing it because he got made fun of once. Basically anytime he does anything artistic, he drops it, because he gets made fun of or told Vincent is better.

Bo & Lester bond over old cars and Lester knows a good amount about cars because of it. By proxy, Bo knows a lot about Lousiana wildlife thanks to Lester.

Lester & Vincent bond over sculpting & carving. I think almost everyone agrees Vincent's dual dragon knives were carved from bone that Lester found.

Lester wasn't good in school but mans was fantastic in woodshop. He outdid everyone. Without even trying! Fuck a bird house, get a bird MANSION.

Vincent's an insomniac, Bo's got night terrors, and Lester is the type to wake up every hour. What's funny is that when they were younger, Bo was the insomniac, Lester had night terrors, and Vincent was the one who woke up every hour. They all switched problems somehow.

They all have two matching moles on their lower ribs and right beside their belly button.

Bo's first job was at a mechanic's shop, Vincent's was at a music shop, and Lester's was at a gas station. Bo was fuckin' trash at customer service, Vincent silently judged people's music choices, and no one talked to Lester(sadly).

Lester makes all his food too damn spicy. He adds spice to already hot things. Both his brothers think he's a demon as they watch him add chili flakes to things.

Bo hates reality TV, but in the way that he'll stick around to watch it and yell at the TV if he sees it on. It's actually pretty funny.

There is one mixtape in Lester's truck, it's the only one he listens too, and it's an old one he stole from Bo when they were teens. Bo still wonders where it went but Lester refuses to tell him.

Bo says he hates hugs but somehow gives the best ones. They're like, engulfing dad hugs with the perfect amount of pressure. Lester's hugs are a bit too tight but it's cute. Vincent's are soft and delicate, like a blanket.

If Bo's had a night terror and he can't calm down, he'll look for Jonesy. And she'll lay on top of him on the couch until he calms down. Vincent's found them a few times, but chooses not to comment on how Bo holds the dog he swore he didn't want like a teddy bear.

Vincent had a Greek Mythology phase, Bo had a WW2 History phase, and Lester had a Dinosaur phase.

Vincent's favorite colors are beige & lilac, Bo's are midnight blue & charcoal black, & Lester's are fern green & dandelion yellow.

Lester's house is cleaner than the twins, ironically. It's cluttered, yes, but he actually keeps a decent living space. There aren't even coffee rings on his tables, he made his own coasters. He's got a messy job so he likes his house to be clean.

Bo & Vincent don't know how to load a dishwasher. They wash their dishes by hand, but, they also don't cause they hate doing it When the sink is too full, they do rock, paper, scissors. Bo tends to lose.

#bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #house of wax #slasher headcanons #slasher #slashers #slasher community #slasher fandom

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storiesbyrhi · 6 months

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Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: It's time to wake up. 2292 words.

1986

Eddie remained still as he watched over your spell-induced sleep. Your eyes were darting back and forth behind your eyelids and your lips parted to allow fast shallow breaths to pull in and out. After twenty minutes, Eddie moved from under you so he could scoop you up and take you to the bed. He laid you upon it like a knight with a princess, then crawled in next to you.

He remained vigilant. Vigilant and hopeful.

Precisely one hour after you drank the rosemary potion, your eyes fluttered open. He didn’t know what he had expected exactly, but it was not nothing. You said nothing. Did nothing. Just stared up at the peeling paint of the trailer’s ceiling.

As softly as he could, Eddie said your name but gained no response. A second attempt, cooing, “My little witch? Are you there?”

You blinked hard a few times. Slowly you pushed yourself into a sitting position, the movements so heavy it looked like it hurt. With some hesitation, your gaze settled on Eddie.

He took one of your hands in his and while it was grounding, it wasn’t enough. He watched as you crumpled, face twisting with sadness and body curling in on itself. You sobbed so hard your body shook as if it was the epicenter of an earthquake.

Between the cries and the hyperventilating, you couldn’t catch your breath. You pushed away from Eddie and tried to stand, but fell to the floor. Eddie was immediately at your side, but you forced him away again and stayed where you were on all fours.

Body convulsing, brain short-circuiting, you were a mess quickly deteriorating into something worse. Once well-trodden neural pathways that had been gated away were suddenly walked. Old emotions were raw and new. Knowledge that felt dangerous when only a hypothesis was now proven and true, and it was like poison in your veins.

You threw up on the carpet, then backed away, scurrying into a corner and hugging your legs to your chest. As you began a self-soothing rock, everything got louder and louder until you could no longer process any of it. The cup was running over. The volume could not be turned higher. There were too many colours and now all you could see and feel was white hot white.

When you went still in the corner, Eddie was relieved for only a moment before the fear set in that you’d not recover from this. He stood and got to work cleaning the puke from the floor as a distraction. You didn’t watch him, your eyes glazed over and unfocused. Dead, almost.

The glass of water Eddie brought to you did nothing to stir you. When he took your hand, trying to get you to at least hold the thing, he found your body was limp and pliable, like a sad ragdoll.

With one of your mixtapes on, Eddie sat by your side and held your hand. A human would have given up earlier, not out of a lack of will, but by the demand of their body. Sitting still for hours on end was not natural. Eddie, though, could play statue well.

…

The day had been long – grieving teens in the morning and spellcasting in the afternoon. Now, a little before midnight, Eddie was swallowing the feeling of panic. You’d been catatonic for a little over five hours.

With no words spilling from your mouth to tell him how you felt, Eddie had to make do with other hints. He could hear your heartbeat. It was steady, calm. At least you were not in the fits of a panic. However, the rhythmic pulse was an uneasy thing – too normal in an entirely abnormal situation.

Your skin did not feel any hotter than usual. No fever setting in. Similarly, you weren’t shaking anymore. No trembling hands.

It was your scent that told him the most. Almost overpowering your baseline of sweetpea and black birch was the smell of fear. It was a sad kind of fear. Nectar from a melancholy flower. Then, the sharp smell of urine. Any power you had over your own body was gone.

Eddie clenched his jaw and swallowed a whining sound of misery. “I’ll run you a bath, my love,” he whispered to you before leaving you alone.

Out in the night, Eddie picked wildflowers and collected leaves from a sassafras tree. He returned in minutes, filling the tub with hot water for you as you once had for him. He brewed a bath of petals and Epsom salt.

Although it came as no surprise, it still hurt to find you exactly how he’d left you. There was no resistance as he began to undress you, but Eddie still asked for permission and told you what was happening. He didn’t know if you were conscious, if you were there behind those unfocused eyes. So, he narrated it all.

“I’m sorry. We are almost done,” he said. “I’m going to take these off then we’ll put you in the bath. Does that sound good?”

Eddie peeled your underwear off with a clinical sort of tenderness. He picked you up like a bride and brought you to the bath. Before lowering you into the water, he checked the temperature again. If it was too hot, you would probably boil before crying out.

He watched your face for micro expressions and checked your skin for heat. When he was sure you were okay, Eddie began to talk.

“I believe you would be proud of me,” he started. “Salt and yarrow to help you heal. You had those stocked in your little apothecary. The flowers are all fresh. Both the woundwort and vervain are healers too. You once told me that plants have many names, but often their use finds its way into the names too. Heal-all is another name for woundwort, and vervain is the holy herb. Lastly, the leaves. I forget the name of the tree, the one that smells nice. You said it was good that it grows easily, for its usefulness is endless.”

Eddie was struck by his ability to remember these details. He felt as though he could hear your voice, your lessons, come through his own as he recalled knowledge of the natural world.

“I left them whole,” he said, picking up one of the sassafras leaves and twirling it by its stem. “They’re a nice shape. And, if they do nothing to help, at the very least they have provided some coverage.” Eddie glanced down at the water where your body was mostly hidden beneath the green.

After some time in silence, Eddie carefully pulled your body back up from where you had slipped into the water a little too much. The water was lukewarm, and he considered what he would do next.

“I wish I was powerful like you. I wish I could recite a spell and bring you back.”

When the water lost its heat, Eddie took you back to the bedroom. He gently dried you with the softest towel he could find, then dressed you in what he had observed you wearing to bed. Under the covers, Eddie pulled you close to him, holding your back to his chest and keeping you safe.

At 3:00 am, the witching hour, your eyes closed and you fell into an exhausted sleep.

…

The light was blinding. You instinctively closed your eyes, raising a hand to shield yourself from the brightness. Someone said your name, but it sounded like all the names you’d ever had. From the first – to Amabel – to the one you wore now. Then, the light was blocked by a figure standing before you.

When you dropped your hand and looked at them, they looked like every witch that had met a fate riding a white horse. The Witches Who Came Before. All of them, all at once.

“You cannot stay here,” they said. It was strange to hear their voice. Voices. A chorus of women singing a singular note.

“It hurts,” you told them.

“Of course it hurts. Still, you cannot stay here.”

You looked around. Where was here? You could focus on any one thing, your gaze fuzzy and the light obscuring your view of your surroundings.

“This changes everything,” you tried to explain. “I didn’t know there could be this kind of… betrayal.” If a witch did something bad it was usually brutal but simple. Black magic. Conspiring. It changed the fabric of your understanding of the world to know a witch could do to their sister what had happened to you.

“Are you to abstain yourself from guilt and agency?”

“I… I never meant…” but your argument trailed off. No, you had not intended to hurt anyone by spending time with Eddie in 1836. Yet, had you been wrong about him, your coven and the humans would have been put at an even greater risk than they were already at. Regardless of your intentions, you did lie to your coven.

“And they only meant to protect, as is a witch’s calling,”

“If I had gone to them from the beginning. If I had told them there was a vampire who was not like the others. That he could love and be loved. That, in the war, he could be an ally… Do you think they would have listened?”

“We are not to know what may have come to pass. It is done. History will not-”

“Repeat itself. I know. You’ve said,” you interrupted them. “And lore will be rewritten,”

“And so, you must leave. You cannot stay here.”

For a moment, you gazed in awe at the ever-changing face. Monstrous and magnificent. Then, it slowed and stilled to a recognisable image. “Penelope?”

“Amabel.”

You genuinely didn’t know what you wanted to do more – throw a punch or a hug.

Like she could see the internal fight written all over you, she smiled and said, “I know, child. We are not to know what may have come to pass. But in our duty to learn from history, we concede error. The Witches were not consulted in 1836. This was an error.”

Before you could say anything, Penelope was just another face in the mix. You figured that was as close to an apology as you were ever going to get.

“I miss you,” you told her. “I miss you all so, so much,”

“You cannot stay here,” they said again. “There are loose ends to thread.”

In a split second, the bright had gone dark and you were left in the cold.

…

The first thing you sensed was a heaviness holding you in place. Eddie. You were in a vampire cage, enclosed in his arms as he held onto you for dear life. Then, the bedroom, as you had left it. Everything seemed normal. As if you had simply woken up on a normal morning with your normal boyfriend in a normal life.

You took a sharp breath in, deliberate and controlled. It propelled Eddie to action. He said your name once, twice, then a third time as he let you go and flipped you to face him. His eyes darted across your features, searching for signs of recognition.

It was an uncanny feeling, laced with malaise. There was a part of you that naturally went to react as you would have before you recovered your memories. You were just a witch who came to Hawkins to help. He was just a lost vampire you saved. The other part of you though, the one who could feel herself becoming whole again, she wanted to react very differently.

You didn’t act on either impulse though. Instead, you let Eddie hold your face and pat your hair and make that big wet eyed look at you. He said your name for the fourth time.

“Are you there?” he asked. “Are you with me?”

You nodded.

His worried expression broke out into a grin then he kissed your forehead. “Yes? Yes. I… You…” He didn’t know where to start. Couldn’t work out what was vital information. What were the easy questions?

Your throat was scratchy, your mouth dry. Although you felt a small headache coming on and some achy muscles, a calmness washed over you.

Finally. Finally, you were where you ought to be.

“My sweet, lonely vampire.”

Eddie whimpered and pulled you into another tight embrace. “Little witch? My little witch? Are you-”

“I’m here,”

“You’re here?”

“I’m here.”

It happened so differently from how you would have guessed. How you would have written it, if your life had been a story in a book about witches and vampires. There would have been a deep and passionate kiss. You would find yourself in the taste of Eddie’s lips. Maybe, he’d bite down and speak the binding words, blood of my blood, into your red mouth. And, if the story was for adults rather than children, which you certainly hoped it would be, you would curl naked limbs around each other. You would find equilibrium in the space between fucking and making love.

But it wasn’t like that.

With your foreheads pressed together, you both closed your eyes. Eddie had one arm wrapped under you. His free hand found yours, threaded fingers together, and held them between the two of you. That’s how you stayed for a long time, nuzzling against each other, quiet and happy.

There would be time for words and sex and action. Supernaturally sweeping lifespans and eons to spend together. In the wake of the newly understood 1836, all you wanted to do was simply exist with him. With Eddie, your uncursed creature of the night. Your soulful vampire. Your star-crossed lover. Your blood. Your heart. Your home.

End Note: Thank you to @jo-harrington and @munson-blurbs for helping with this chapter. So.... THOUGHTS? FEELINGS? What do you think she wants to say to her coven now? What would you want to do, if you were in her position?

Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16

#Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Reader Insert #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Vampire!Eddie Munson #Witch!Reader

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stuismybf · 11 months

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goodbyes - s.h

summary: Byers!reader is moving away to California and leaving behind their partner Steve Harrington.

a/n: this has been in my drafts since last summer lolll it was supposed to be a multiple characters with this idea but i just never got around to it, this is super short btw im is trying to clear my drafts <3

gn! reader

His breath shutters while he’s looking at you, his hand holding yours tightly.

All of your stuff was packed now, and this was it Steve couldn’t deny it anymore. You were moving. He wouldn’t see you at the video store anymore, no more sneaking into your house at midnight to see you, he wouldn’t be meeting you at your house for study sessions at the library.

“i guess this is it” he sighed closing the trunk and looking over at you.

Nancy and Jonathan were hugging each other saying their goodbyes along with Max and Eleven and Mike and Will.

You could tell Steve was holding back tears while looking at you. His hand was on his shoulder and he looked down and ran a hand through his hair. “i uh…this just doesn’t feel real”

“i know i mean i’ve always lived so close and now i’m gonna be-”

“2,000 miles away” he said and looked up at you.

“yeah” you whispered with a sad smile.

“i mean i think it’s for the best. Your family’s been through so much” he said.

You nodded and then there was a silence between you.

“i’m just really gonna miss you” he said and then he wrapped his arms around you, “i know” and you could feel his tears on your neck.

“i’ll write you every night” you said

“promise?” he asked

“of course” you confirmed

“I love you” he said, his forehead pressed onto yours.

“Y/n honey do you wanna ride in the u-haul with me?” Joyce called out.

“i guess i should go”

“uh yeah i guess so…oh wait! one more thing. Just wait really quick”

He sprinted back to his car and came back with a tote bag.

“i uhm put some of my stuff in here, nothing big just like a few of my shirts and a mixtape i made you”

“steve” you whispered, your face wrinkling up as you started to cry and wrapped your arms around him.

“i love you so much” you cried and he chuckled and intertwined his fingers with yours.

“come on i’ll walk you to the u-haul”

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goldenmorningglory · 2 years

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will centric headcanons if the byers hadn't moved to california

- first day of high school eddie sees mike, dustin and will (lucas dips saying he had a doubt in a class but really he wanted to sign up for the basketball team) and immediately pulls them to their table.

- surprisingly, will is the one who's most conversational. eddie is like jonathan but in gothic font. louder and bolder about not fitting in. he gets jonathan and so yes, he gets eddie too.

- when eddie tells them about hellfire, mike is the reluctant one. something about eddie makes him nervous. but dustin is almost going to pull out a model supported presentation of why they should join the club. it's actually will's well concealed excitement that makes him agree.

- when the club members tell them that eddie is the best dm ever, will unthinkingly says that for him mike is the best. mike stays claiming that the redness in his face is heat for the rest of the day.

- it's actually eddie that mike approaches for advice on el. he isn't sure he really wants anything more than friendship anymore, seeing as how a relationship had put more strain on their bond than anything else. eddie is the one who advices him to extend the 'break' and try being friends. both mike and el find it much more comfortable after that.

- max and will grow close since el and max are close. they bond over music and exchange mixtapes.

- will is the one who figures out that lucas is trying for basketball. he actually finds lucas borrowing books on exercises and that tips him off. that and the newly purchased basketball lucas thinks he's hiding very well in his backpack. he helps lucas tell the party and while mike an dustin are on the fence about it, will threatens to withhold character sheets if they didn't agree to be supportive. mike and dustin fold like wet tissue.

- eddie notices will doodling one time in the middle of planning a campaign he was co-dming with mike. he asks and before will can respond, mike goes off on a rant about how will makes these character sheets for them and how they're just amazing. after that, eddie asks will to design a logo for hellfire. that's the logo they get on the shirts. will almost tears up seeing his design be loved so much that even people uninterested in dnd ask for shirts.

- dustin drags steve and robin to hellfire one Friday when they'd both taken the day off. eddie spends the whole time entertaining them by driving steve up the wall.

- lucas finds himself unsure of whether anyone would turn up for his games. he's shocked to see the whole party, with el and max standing next to erica. he does leave the bench that game, just as a sub for a while, and he does score a point. the cheers from his friends ring around the gym.

- one day will comes in far more subdued than normal and mike is prickly and overprotective. dustin fills eddie in and tells him about the bullying will still goes through (it's reduced, because will isn't small and helpless anymore and he snaps back now but it still weighs on him) and so the next day at recess, eddie loudly tells will to simply tell him if he encounters trouble and that he knows people who'll set the troublemakers straight (he winks at will when he says "straight" and will realises that he's probably not the only one who feels that unique brand of detatchment). will isn't bothered at all after that. mike approaches eddie later and thanks him quietly because there's somethings even he can't stop from hurting will no matter how much he tries. eddie pats his back and says "of course. you're our kids, we take care of you." and mike feels himself tearing up.

- will extends his artistic skills beyond canvas and paper. first is max, who quietly asks is he could design her skateboard so rather than the yellow and orange that reminded her of cali and Billy's eyes, he paints it a midnight blue with galaxies. it comforts max to look at far more than visits to the therapist.

- el asks will if he could cover her 011 tattoo. he grabs some permanent markers and doodles over the numbers. every two weeks he refreshes it with something new.

- they invite erica to join hellfire. el and max would join sometimes but they never got very invested. erica on the other hand had a clear cut idea of who she was and how she played.

- erica's favourite party member after the girls was will. mostly because he'd draw just about anything she asked and he's the only one who didn't laugh when she introduced the concept for her character.

- will gets the habit of pins and badges from eddie and starts making and wearing his own. mike has a box full of discarded designs that will wasn't satisfied with but mike couldn't bear to throw away anything will created.

- will makes el a badge with a police cap and now el wears it wherever she goes.

- dustin dares will to make the cheesiest one for him so will just traces the boundaries of Utah and adds a heart. dustin wears it proudly.

- will starts making potraits for everyone in their birthday. el is the first one who gets a potrait, followed by nancy, his mom, lucas, mike, max, dustin and jonathan. on 13th Feb they're hanging out at family video and he hears steve bemoan how single and lonely he is, so he makes a sweet lil postcard with a picture of all of them to remind him that he has them. robin later tells will that steve sobbed like a baby and the postcard has taken permanent residence in his wallet. the next day he brings one for robin too as a thank you for being the one who understood him and was there for him besides eddie. steve tells him that robin sobbed too.

#stranger things #stranger things headcanons #will byers #mike wheeler #el hopper #eleven jane hopper #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #joyce byers #byler #steddie #lumax

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