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munsster · 11 months

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best friends kiss

A/N: i LOVE oblivious pining/ yearning trope, see me running it into the ground for the next month give or take

Pairings: Best Friend!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: What’s a heartfelt makeout sesh between good friends? 1.0k words

Warnings: best friends to? lovers, established friendship, fluff, kissing!, denial of romance, obliviousness to the point of frustration, insecurity surrounding relationships, reader uses she/her pronouns otherwise character descriptions are gender neutral, reference to canon

“So… are you two dating?”

Perched side by side, legs intertwined, fingers locked, foreheads nearly touching as giggles pass through the limited space. You’ve got your hand wound into the hair at the back of his head, and his fingertips are digging into your soft and denim-clad thigh like he knows you that well. That intimately.

It’s movie night, and Mike Wheeler doesn’t understand how distinct the line between friends and lovers should be.

You look at each other like the question was outrageously offensive. Like even the thought is abhorrent. Yuck and gross and more laughter as you both vehemently deny any sentiment of the sort.

“Not even close, Wheeler.” His hand is on your thigh.

“It’s too hard to explain best-friendship to youngins these days.” He looks at you with a glimmer in his eye, and you push your fingers through his hair to his neck.

Just an hour before, chocolate fudge had melted down the side of your sundae bowl, coating your fingers in sticky-sweet sludge. Steve had noticed almost immediately—the two of you had been sharing a serving—and seized the cup from your hands, lifting your fingers to his mouth so he could lick the topping from your hot skin.

Everyone was ogling at the two of you. This again.

“Thanks, stud,” you had teased.

“Anything for my darling sweetums.”

A loud snort and a half-cackle later and you two were back to silently sharing a spoon and inching closer beneath your sherpa blanket.

And it wouldn’t be half as weird or awkward in your head if, back at your shared apartment, it wasn’t all silence and shy glances. Back at your shared apartment, there’s no sharing spoons or blankets or handholding or giggling. There is space between your seating arrangements, and your schedules are offset to avoid unwarranted eye contact. It’s awkwardly domestic like there’s something to be nervous about. Something unconfronted and unconfrontable.

Not like it’s ever been uncomfortable. No, the snack bowl is a safe divider for solo movie nights and there’s a diner down the road where the two of you opt to eat in silence and split the check. The silence is welcomed, of course, but different. Different from the hustle and bustle of the high school rascals and Family Video and house parties. Different and, at times, swell.

“Stevie…”

You coo it, and he glances over at you with a mouth full of popcorn, drunk on the gentle way you manage to command his attention like that. The light of the TV drenches your cheek blue and white, and he smiles when you wriggle beneath your blanket.

“Mhm?” There’s popcorn grease painted across his mouth, and it makes you laugh. He rolls his eyes. “Well, would’ya mind helping me out a little?”

“If you insist,” you huff, pushing onto your knees, abandoning the large bowl to the side, one hand firm on his shoulder, the other gripping his jaw. You lean in, and his heart stops when your tongue pokes out against his cupid’s bow. His eyes go wide when you pull back enough to realize what you’ve done.

But he’s already got his fist in the collar of your tee, tugging you into his space once more, mouths open and clobbering for a long-awaited kiss. Or kisses with the way your bodies hold each other closer.

Well, not as long-awaited as legend would have it; the two of you have kissed many times before. On the cheek, on the hand, on the forehead, Hell, even on the mouth. But this time, it’s more than a ‘hello’ or a new year’s eve, it’s without reason and without rhyme in your shared living room on your shared couch with the lights low and nobody but the two of you to bear witness. To breathlessness and close-contact that goes no further than a few needy kisses on a Thursday night.

The half heart necklace that dangles around your neck magnetizes to the matching one he wears. It’s from a theme park gift shop about two hours out of the way of Hawkins and it’ll crumble if you tug it hard enough, but you both convince yourselves it’s better that way. The kids don’t understand your interactions, and they’re in a constantly inconsistent state of ‘why’ and ‘ew’ and curiosity and waiting for something normal to happen. Something less platonic and more tangible, maybe.

Because Steve is treating you like a girlfriend. Not only that, but he’s doing a damn good job at it. He surprises you with hand-picked dandelions and buys drinks for you and gives you discounts and drives you everywhere.

But he’ll deny it.

“Nah, I’d be no good at it”—the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing—“I’ve tried it. I think I was made for the friendzone.”

And as delightful it may be to imagine, you’ll find it unnecessary.

“We’re just good friends. We already do most of the couply stuff, so why try and put a label on it?”

Dustin felt so out of the loop at one point, he decided to conduct his own mock-interview. Set up a stolen borrowed camera from the audio-visual room and hung a sheet up behind his desk chair to act as a backdrop. You had laughed when he called Mr. Steven Harrington into the studio.

“Do I love her?” Steve had laughed and gone a little pink at Dustin’s third question, the first and second being on the subject of favorite colors and ideal first dates. “‘Course, I do. We’re best friends, aren’t we?”

“Aw, c’mon, do I love him? What is this, preschool?” It had made your heart flutter in a moment of unexpected vulnerability. “We’re mature adults, we obviously ove each other.”

Would you ever date each other?

“…”

“Hadn’t thought about it.”

“Hmm, that’s a hard question.”

But Steve still thinks about the way you pressed your tongue to his upper lip, and you still think about the way he looked at you when you pulled away.

masterlist

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #x reader #best friends to lovers #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things #fluff #x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #established friendship #friends to lovers

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dhampling · 3 months

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one mine, both yours bard gn!reader, 1.6k

‘Is my resident corvid lacking ample opportunity to thieve elsewhere? Surely not.”

His gaze wavers slightly, but his own smile remains firmly wide. He wants information. By right of him finding these pages, he sees himself as entitled to it.

astarion's habit of visiting your tent leads him to your hidden pile of sonnets. your secret is out.

word count: 1,675

a massive THANK YOU to the beautiful anon who sent this my way - 'bard reader writing countless sonnets about Astarion, and him finding them' - I had a lot of fun figuring out the dynamics here, so hopefully it's something a little different!

as always, read the tags and decide your fate!

“How long have you been here?!”

You, wholly aghast, pinned at the mouth of your little tent by those playfully accusatory eyes. Loose ink-laden pages in both hands as he flickers them in the air. White scintillates against the amber of the fire outside.

He sits cross-legged in the corner by your keepsake pack, grinning ferociously; tongue denting with the tip of a fang in pure salacion.

“I’ve found your little stash, sweetling! How far back do all these go?”

You look to him with a hint of unease you’re aware needs to go. Offer up your own coy grin and straighten your sagging shoulders.

Astarion coughs with the flare of an announcement as you fail to respond.

“Beneath the moon, we weave a tale,

In weighty whispers, light as lead,’

A magistrate working a courtroom. The quirk of a brow. Not once do his eyes leave you.

‘A silent yearning, a hidden trail,

Those labyrinthine corridors, we now tread.”

“You’re rifling through my things, now?’

Your churlish grin rivals his. Arms fold over your chest.

‘Is my resident corvid lacking ample opportunity to thieve elsewhere? Surely not.”

His gaze wavers slightly, but his own smile remains firmly wide. He wants information. By right of him finding these pages, he sees himself as entitled to it.

You and Astarion have - remarkably - been as thick as thieves since the moment he held a dagger to your throat beside the wreck of the nautiloid. Through your time on the road so far your own banter often supersedes general group conversation, with his quick wit and deprecating humour delighting you in their scathing execution. He gives you a sounding board to tread against whilst out in the relative wilderness of the Sword Coast and for that, you thank the stars each evening.

You know little of his own background. You know he worked in Baldur’s Gate as a magistrate long ago. You know you offer him your own blood whenever he needs it, and that those who were displeased with his condition were told in no uncertain terms by yourself that they were welcome to leave the party.

He continues boldly on. You watch his performance with silent glee, moving from the mouth of your tent to sit lazily astride your bedroll.

“His raffish laughter, euphony so sweet,

Resounds within, stokes passion's fire’

He stops and holds a finger in the air. You lean in with mock enthral.

“So we know it’s a him.”

“Very perceptive, Astarion. Pray tell - you have considered a career with the Fist, yes?”

He playfully taps you on the leg. You roll your eyes.

‘In friendship's dance, a heart starts to beat,

As adoration emerges, a burning desire.”

Whilst notoriously catty, he has a depth to him which allows for enjoyable discussion. He’s a natural performer - with which you resonate - and yet he has layers that you haven’t quite been able to penetrate yet.

It sometimes feels almost like he’s a little surprised that you want to. That you care enough to show interest in his blatantly miserable background to press him on it. Compassionately, but still insistent.

He jokes about it. You and your ridiculously unfounded want to listen to him. To hear his thoughts, rattle them about in your own head and give a considered response in return. A gift, he’ll smile and reassure with mirth in those late night discussions; cupping your face in one hand as you bat him away in laughter.

“Are we quite done?” You interrupt with a smile. He senses your want to move on.

Astarion drops the page from his face and rests back on his palms.

“Did you ensnare him in the end?”

“Hm?”

He picks up a chalice and looks across to you.

“The subject. Did you beguile him? Love unrequited no more?”

A beat of silence.

“I haven’t, no.”

A noncommittal shrug, but a hopeful look in your eye. You’re whimsical, ever-the-optimist; you can survive this.

“You haven’t?”

His eyes are awash with scandal. Leans back, swirls his wine and purses his lips with an impish tut. Scans over the page once more from afar.

“Tentative hearts paired on the floor,

One loosely mine, but both now yours.”

Another beat of silence.

It’s been a fraught time so far, but his company has made it easier.

You’ve enjoyed multiple messy nights under the stars together, come undone at his hand more than you’d care to regale him with; laughed in the early morning sunrise as he basks in the light and continued on as the closest of wayward friends. Drunk bottles and bottles of fine wine (finessed from Gale’s tent, obviously) all the way from the Emerald Grove to Moonrise, and now back again.

“Well. I liked it. The last full stanza was a little messy, but-”

“Is that why you omitted it?’

He sniffs.

"How long have you been sat in here?”

You’ve caught him out, just as he has you, but there’s no urgency in your voice. No judgement nor malice. He has seen your secrets now. You’d intended on sharing them eventually, but a forced hand is better than an empty one.

“A small while. I came looking for you, realised you were elsewhere; and just found your pack open.” He smiles a little, wiggling his fingers.

“Read it to me, then. The last stanza.” You rest your chin on your palm, elbow on your crossed leg.

Astarion looks at you and surprisingly, there’s no guard.

No triumph, no teasing in his discovery. Inhales.

“If I read it, then it’s real. Or it isn’t, but you’ll know I’ve read it.’

He sighs, muttering.

Oh.

“Go on! Read it.”

He looks at you. Really, carefully looks at you. Inhales once more.

“In twilight's embrace, where secrets reside,

In the quiet, ardour awoken,

A subtle shift, devotion now bides,

Astarion and I, our bond unspoken.”

“Brilliantly told. You’re a natural.” You smile, tilting your head to him.

Astarion sits and watches you for the longest of moments. Meets your eyes with his own.

“That’s it? You’re not mortified?” He queries.

You frown.

“Why would I be?”

Astarion looks at you like you’re insane. Completely and utterly insane. His tone remains temperate but his eyes are almost frantic.

“I’ve just found your sonnets - pages upon pages, no less - all regaling our bond. Read one, aloud; to your face. You don’t recoil. You’re not ashamed?”

All bravado drips from his face like a wet cloth. His shoulders sag a little.

You loll your head back as you sit, reaching for his chalice and taking a big sip as you ruminate. The wine steeps your teeth and tongue in a deep heady nectar. It’s good.

“You’re a good muse, Astarion. I’m fond of you.’

You lean in and whisper.

‘I may even go as far as to call you my favourite travelling companion, but don’t tell the others.”

His lips quirk softly. He’s slow to speak.

“I was looking forward to teasing you about this, you know.” He tuts and shakes his head, face statuesque in the low light.

“Then why don’t you?”

A genuine question. You still nurse his goblet of wine.

“Don’t make me say it, you brute.”

You look at him with a quiet mischief settling across your features. His gaze remains narrow.

“You already have.’

A quiet sip. A smile.

‘Our bond.”

Gods. He is beautiful. Eyes foxlike in their stasis, defined by thick dark lashes; lingering on the strewn page in contemplation. Hair perfectly coiffed. Lithe fingers frozen in midair as he exhales.

A few beats of silence.

Outside the tent, insects chirp and the fire crackles. The river floats languidly on.

“I don’t know how to do this.” Astarion speaks quietly.

“What?”

“Gah- I don’t know. This. Any of it.” He confesses, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I think we’re doing a good job as we are, no?”

His gaze turns to you, hands reaching to eagerly grasp your wrists in affirmation.

“Yes! Yes. We are.’

He grimaces.

‘I didn’t expect to… I didn’t expect I’d meet someone like you again in my life. Now that I have you here, I’m rather reluctant to let you go.”

“It’s a good job you don’t have to. Provided I never catch you rifling through my things again.’

You take one last sip of your pilfered wine as your eyes meet his in the low amber.

‘I love you. There’s no rush.”

He takes his chalice from you and downs the remaining contents.

“Minus the very real possibility I’ll watch you succumb to ceremorphosis, or vice versa; I suppose.” He mutters through closed teeth.

You shove him with your shoulder and sigh.

“Now then. I’ve just been absolutely humiliated by my closest friend in this whole camp. I’m tired, my back hurts, and I need to rest. Can I help you with anything else?”

Astarion’s eyes linger on yours momentarily before skimming over your lips. You swear your heart skips a beat.

“Can I?”

“Gods, yes.”

Your first shared kiss unfettered by the marrings of carnal pleasure alone is beyond anything you’d hoped for.

He cradles the back of your head as his lips press softly against yours, over and over; until he’s verging on hungry with his movement. His tongue tastes of wine and he smells so overwhelmingly of him - herbal with sweetened clinical notes of brandy - that you want to bury your head into his shoulder and spoon him until the sun rises once more.

“Oh songbird. I couldn’t tire of you if I tried, could I?” His voice heady and deep, forehead pressed to yours,

“Can I test that theory?” You tilt your head, leaning in for another small kiss.

“Hm?” His eyes are heavy lidded, burning in the low light.

“Stay here tonight. Let me hold you.”

He stops for a minute.

“Just… hold me?”

You hum and nod, bringing a hand to his hair and carding through it softly.

Astarion smiles.

“I’d love nothing more.”

#astarion x reader #astarion #fluff #bard!tav #my writing #request #established friendship #friends to lovers #gn reader

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elmundodeflor · 1 month

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And just like that, she’d fallen for him.

Spring. Summer. Autumn. The world had its cycles. There had been peace before war, and peace would come after bloodsheds and battles.

Katara looks at Zuko, at how he stares out to the width in the horizons. The curves of his nose and lips are soft, much like the colors of the leaves around them. The lines of his jaw and cheeks are sharp, in contrast.

He’s a beautiful man; she’s always thought so, even when they were enemies and he’d sworn he’d kill them. She likes it better this way, though— being friends, confidants, long-time companions. Kindness suits him more, either way. She likes how his face looks when he’s calm, — when there’s no rage to contort his scar, no scowl furrowing his brow.

She also likes that he knows her. That they can stand, silence pending between them, and it’s never too tense or uncomfortable. Zuko is just that good to her. He never puts too much pressure on her shoulders, — she’s had enough of that already. Instead, he soothes the rough edges. Lets her make her own choices and never judges her for them.

He looks back at her. An easy smile grazes his features; baffling, tortuous, beautiful. Katara has to fight the urge to freeze some water from her bottle and smash it across her searing face.

“Do you wanna…”, his voice cuts through the wind, raspy as it ever was. When he talks, it’s evident that he’s nervous. That he’s been circling around his thoughts and can’t seem to find the words. “I mean…”, he tries again. “Do you wanna stay here until you decide what to do?”

She hums, then turns her gaze back to the gardens. Aang had asked her to travel the world along with him, — to be by his side and help other people, from other nations and villages. She had yet to give him a proper answer.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to— go on missions, hear the masses’ suffering and be present in whatever way she could. Maybe, it was that she simply had pictured something different for herself. She could be so much more than just the “Avatar’s girl”! She could go home, lend a useful hand to Sokka and her dad advocating for their tribe. She could be an ambassador.

She could be with Zuko.

She can imagine the whole thing all too well, actually, — being on the palace, with him, until she could confront Aang about what to do. They could go for an evening stroll, feed turtleducks by the lake. Zuko’d make tea way past dinner time, and she’d laugh along with Suki when he’d burn his tongue by the first sip.

“There’s nothing I’d like more.”, she tells him, then. They are in one of the many balconies, staring out at the sun. The last scraps of summer have flushed with the breeze, and now the trees look all kinds of reds, yellows, oranges. Almost like they’ve caught on fire.

Zuko smiles at her again. A shy, wonderful thing that makes his eyes glint. His hair’s shaggy and overgrown, and falls limp between the honey of his irises. His cheeks burn a bright pink that, Katara deduces, might be from the gentle light warming up their faces.

“Okay.”, he says. He likes this, as well, — having her around. That he can open up to someone he can share his scars with, both the physical and the ones that lay underneath.

Katara inches close to him, just enough so that their elbows nudge together. The world has its cycles, she believes. Blue skies bleed into the darkness of the night. Ice defrosts when heated-up. And just like that, she’d fall for Zuko— delicate, and raw, and over and over. Helpless, like the moon that carries down the tides. Hopeless, like the autumn leaves that fall, ever so slow, and now gather at their feet like sea-foam.

“Okay.”

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im-not-a-l0ser · 28 days

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"Hey, uh," Richie said, sitting down at their table. "Do you think Max, possibly, would go into engineering?"

"Yes! Absolutely!" Ruth immediately screamed, making Steph flinch.

"Loud," Steph muttered. "But I'd say maybe? He could, but I don't know if he knows he could."

"Max is not smart enough to go into engineering," Grace spat. Ruth, Richie and Steph snickered. Pete sighed.

"I really don't know Max well enough to make a call on that," Pete said, shaking his head.

"Make a call on what?" Max asked, sitting down too. Everyone froze except for Grace.

"Whether you'd go into engineering," She said. "It sounds like an easy question, I don't know why Richie seemed so confused."

"You think I could go into engineering?" Max asked, half genuine and half humorous.

"I-If you let yourself," Richie said, looking down at his hands.

"Oh," He breathed.

"Yeah, I changed my mind. He absolutely would go into engineering," Pete said.

"Oh my god, shut up!" Richie exclaimed, shoving his face into his hands.

And that's how Max decided to go into engineering

(He and Richie started dating two months after)

#if you dont get the joke #engineering is a common gay trope in thailand #like gays will major in engineering #its like a thing #steph watches thai bl drama fite me #starkid #nerdy prudes must die #richie lipschitz #max jagerman #michie #steph lauter #peter spankoffski #pete spankoffski #stephanie lauter #ruth fleming #grace chasity #grace chastity #established friendship

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simp-nerd-16 · 1 year

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Drunk!yn- do you or do you not feel bonita...?

Kaz- i feel bonita... '_''

Drunk!yn- Wonderful! 'coz you look bonita!

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x y/n #incorrect quotes #shadow and bone #freddy carter #freddy carter x yn #six crows #drunk yn #oockaz #established friendship #established relationship

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solariswrites · 3 months

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I Tasted You Once ✂️

“I said, stay away from him.” Babe growled out slowly as the pressure increased from Babe’s hand. That wasn’t the only pressure pressing against Way and Way’s mind was clear enough to understand what Babe didn’t realize was. This was Babe using not his special abilities but his alpha thrall. He was ordering Way to stay away from Paris like he was owned by Babe. Like a mate not one his Bliss boys or the three from the Keys. Way also hadn’t missed the pressure of Babe’s desire pressing against him. The pants didn’t hide anything.

Way hated to put space between them because if he was honest. He wanted this, Babe to want him like that. To stake his claim so that he didn’t feel so damn lost. Way moved his hand between them, pressing it against the warmth of Babe's chest where his vest had fallen down exposing practically all of it. He didn't use his ability. This needed to be real between them. If the truth wasn't what he wanted then he would work through it. Babe's love couldn't be a lie between them. “Are you commanding me as your best friend?”

Babe’s lips parted but Way continued before he could answer. “Or as your lover that you want submission from?”

🏎️🚨 My Chaos Theory AU can be found on AO3.

#solaris snippet #Chaos Theory AU #WayBabe #Canon Divergence - Way doesn't sa Babe #During their early times before Charlie #Blurred Lines #Established Friendship #jealousy #pending being fully posted on AO3 but enjoy the rest of the au XD

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whoopssteddiefeels · 9 months

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If you think the CC boys aren't looking for Eddie, you're wrong

----

Steve opened his trunk and placed the groceries inside, Eddie’s special requests next to his usual staples and the excessive number of snacks he had grabbed for this week’s check in at Hopper’s cabin. Eddie was probably just being cute, requesting the same thing they had brought him in the boathouse, but Steve figured it would be just as cute to refill the request anyway. Anything to make Eddie smile and call him a sap in that overly sweet way he had.

He closed the trunk, pulling his keys out of his pocket. Already excited to get home to that amused smile and twinkling eyes.

“Where the fuck is Eddie?”

Steve jumped about a foot in the air, spinning on the spot, fumbling his keys in an embarrassing 3-part scramble that still ended with them clanking to the ground. He’s effectively trapped against his car, three boys glaring at him from a few feet away. How the hell did they sneak up on him in tandem like that?

They stood in a V-formation, arms crossed and eyes angry. The one in front, a black boy with braces and close-cropped hair who was doing his best to stare down at Steve despite their roughly even height, spoke again. “We don’t know what is going on, what happened, but you and Henderson are definitely involved.”

“I… I don’t…” Steve looked around quickly, hoping something would appear and save him from this conversation. Nothing did, the parking lot was empty except for them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit, man!” the smallest of the three exclaimed, pointing angrily in Steve’s face. “Whatever the fuck happened involved your stupid basketball team and our freshman members and god KNOWS what else but there’s no way Eddie would ever-”

“He didn’t do anything to that girl,” the first boy interrupted, Jeff, Steve’s brain slowly supplied, based on stories he’d heard from both Dustin and Eddie. This must be the rest of Corroded Coffin. Jeff, Gareth, and… shit what was the third kids name? Doesn’t matter, he needed to come up with an exit strategy fast.

Steve raised his hands, painfully aware that his keys were still on the ground. “Look, guys, I don’t- I don’t know what you want from me. Yeah, I don’t believe Eddie did anything to Chrissy. Henderson is at home, I haven’t even seen him in days. I don’t know where Eddie would’ve gone after the earthquake, you’d know better than-”

“You’ve got his battle jacket in your back seat.” Unnamed member cut in, voice hard.

“You just bought honeycombs, yoo-hoos, and camel cigarettes.” Gareth, the little one, chimed in.

Jeff took a step forward, making sure Steve was looking at him before he slowly reached forward and carefully pulled on the chain around Steve’s neck, drawing the guitar pick out from where it had rested under his shirt. The younger boy just raised his eyebrows, emphasizing the implication.

Steve sagged against his car, and Jeff let the necklace slip from his fingers as it was pulled back with his movement. It fell against the outside of his shirt, the red and black guitar pick stark and damning against the light blue of today’s polo.

Steve rubbed at his face, refusing to meet the trio of accusing glares. These were Eddie’s friends. His brothers according to the metalhead in question. There was no reason for Steve to be wearing that necklace other than what it was: a claim. They would know that, better than anyone. There was no getting out of this.

“Jesus H. Christ, okay. Okay. He’s… at my place. Just, follow me, I guess.”

#steddie #ficlet #established relationship #friendship #Eddie has FRIENDS damnit #he's popular in his own way #friendship is important they wouldn't let it go #the CC boys would burn shit down to find him

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