#Keith is kind of an idiot

[stevebabey]

it was supposed to be short n small and now its 3k & its unedited and u all have to just deal with it bcos it was supposed to be SMALL | ao3

The driver's side car window makes a resounding thunk when Steve’s forehead falls against it.

Through the glass, his keys glint tauntingly back at him.

Still tucked in the ignition, locked in on the inside. So close and yet so far from Steve who is, unfortunately, locked on the outside.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

He lets his head raise up a bit just to drop it back against the window again, this time more in punishment. Of course, of course, he coughs up the money needed for a warrant of fitness and then he goes and locks his keys in the car the next day. Like he needed one more cost added to his finances.

Steve steals a glance at his watch. Fuck, if he doesn’t get on the road in the next 10 minutes, he’ll be more than late to work.

His eyes glance across to Eddie’s van, parked beside his own car, outside the trailer home in Forest Hills. Then he looks back at the trailer.

He can ask. He can just go inside and ask Eddie for the lift— and explain that the reason he can’t take his own perfectly fine car is because he’s so goddamn thick between the ears that he’s locked his keys inside, like some kind of moron.

The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like his father.

Something thick grows in his throat. He swallows it to no avail. Embarrassment begins to flush down his neck, hot and uncomfortable.

No, no— he can’t ask Eddie because as far as Steve knows, Eddie hasn’t quite figured it out yet.

Even while Dustin and Mike make their jokes about him being a bit slow, even when Robin says at least you have your pretty face, Eddie brushes them off and laughs. Takes them as jokes with no merit to them. Steve knows though.

So what if he doesn’t want to burst his bubble just yet?

He knows Eddie will figure it out eventually— because they always do. When he asks too many stupid questions and needs things explained twice and— and it’s just inevitable, okay? He knows that.

Fixing his glare through the window of his car at the shiny pair of keys within, Steve wrestles with what would be worse; being late or accidentally tipping Eddie off when they’ve just gotten so close.

Close enough to share a kiss, two nights ago, under the covers. It was barely more than a peck. But Steve knew it had taken a miraculous amount of courage from Eddie to do it— to surge forward and grab Steve’s face, his rings cool against his skin, and press his mouth against his Steve's own.

Eddie’s lips had been chapped but his smile had been pure sunshine and Steve thinks he could’ve stayed forever under that blanket, memorising the shade of pink Eddie’s cheeks turn after a kiss.

They’ve been dancing around it ever since. Each interaction is more charged, more flirty, more gooey. Long lingering looks and pointed nudges that make Steve feel like a 14-year-old with a crush again, in the best way.

So, no. He exactly can’t go ask.

With a heavy sigh and glance up at the darkening sky, Steve is only glad he’s not supposed to pick up Robin today as he begins to walk.

—

One phone call to the auto-shop reveals exactly how much it’ll cost to get his keys retrieved. Which is, to say, entirely too much for one adult living on the wage of a Family Video employee.

And they won’t be able to get anyone out for another whole day.

Growing more and more frustrated with himself, Steve angrily jots the number down into his little notebook, the pen pressing down hard enough to leave indents on the page behind it. Keith is somewhere out the back, snacking no doubt, and leaving Steve to man the front.

Normally, it wouldn’t bother him— especially because he could discretely make the phone call he needed— but now it’s just him, the empty store, and the number in his notebook that stares back at him.

Oh, and it’s raining.

The darkening sky from earlier had transformed into something closer to a thunderstorm, rain lashing against the windows and driving any and all customers away. Which is fantastic— just what Steve needs now, really the fucking cherry on the top.

The phone rings, the noise unusually shrill in the silence of the store. The film playing amongst the aisles has been on mute as soon as he’d gotten his hands on the remote and Keith had disappeared out the back.

Steve stares at the phone, watching it ring once, twice, before he picks it up with a heavy sigh. He dredges up his customer service voice.

“This is Family Video, how can I help?” He greets, putting as much pep into his voice as he can manage—which turns out to be a meagre amount.

“Did you walk to work today?”

Steve straightens up at the sound of Eddie’s voice on the other end of the line. His free hand instinctively smooths down the front of his vest before he quickly remembers Eddie can’t actually see him.

“Eddie?” He asks, instead of answering the question.

“Your Highness, himself,” Eddie responds. His tone is that usual jaunty playfulness that Steve’s come to adore. “Now answer the question, Steve-o. I thought you were one of those smart guys who actually listens when the weather report comes on the radio. Why the hell did you walk?”

Steve’s shoulders curl in, just an inch, and his eyes seek out the open notebook with the quoted amount, underlined and circled, staring back at him. His throat grows a lump at Eddie’s unknowingly poor choice of words.

“Thought I would walk today.” He replies, his voice clipped. “You know, walking, exercise, good for you? Any of these ringing a bell for you, Munson?”

It’s supposed to be a joke but Steve can tell by the end of the sentence, it’s come out way too sour to land that way. He sounds mean.

Steve cringes, clutching the phone a little tighter and screwing up his eyes. He waits for Eddie’s response.

“You know,” Eddie says, sounding a lot duller all of a sudden. “I was calling to maybe offer you a lift through the rain—”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, that-“ Steve cuts in, that same strange embarrassment swelling in his throat. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“—But if you’re gonna be a dick about it, you can enjoy the walk.”

Steve grits his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose because this feels a little too much like a line from his Dad— but it isn’t because Steve is the one digging this hole all on his own. He’s the idiot who fucking locked his keys in his car and walked to work and snapped at Eddie and—

“No, I’m sorry.” He says, still a bit too tense.

Idiot, idiot, you’re being a fucking idiot, Harrington.

“A ride would be appreciated. Please.”

A pause. This time when Eddie speaks, he’s a little softer. “You off at five today?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at five.”

The dial tone sounds as Eddie hangs up but Steve stays where he is, phone pressed against his one good ear, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The rain begins to flood the parking lot.

—

Five o’clock comes around too soon.

The rain has let up, just barely, but enough that Steve can actually see Eddie’s van when it pulls up into the parking lot. It rocks about dangerously in the wind and Steve suddenly feels bad for making Eddie come out to get him.

He could’ve stayed here, taken the longer shift. Told Keith to take off early and just walked back home when the rain let up a little more— or just camped out the back on the couch in the employee room if it never did.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

He’d started doing it more and more when his parent’s visits to home became more frequent. It was easy to pull a few white lies out and Steve far preferred answering questions like: Where were you last night? than Why won't you come out to our event tonight? Show face for the Harrington's? It's not like you're doing anything with your life, right?

The only reason he’d stopped, actually, was because he had become good friends with Eddie.

Eddie, who loved his company almost any hour of the day. Who gobbled up each and every morsel of food Steve cooked up, whether it was good or partially burned on the sides. Who told him he had a place in the trailer, day or night, rain or shine.

Eddie who… was waiting outside at five o’clock exactly, pulled up to the curb so Steve wouldn’t have to walk through the rain for more than a moment.

There’s a sliver of surprise, deep within his chest; like he thought Eddie might’ve not shown up and forced him to walk through the rain, just to learn his lesson. It would make sense, Steve thinks. You reap what you sow.

He clocks out hastily, barely murmuring his exit to Keith who doesn’t look up in the slightest. Steve heads for the door and decides then and there, he’ll happily pay the number in his notebook if he doesn’t have to tell Eddie what a fucking moron he actually is.

Water splashes as he dashes down the steps and Eddie’s leaning across, pushing the door open so Steve doesn’t even have to wait to yank it open in the rain. He slides in, sprinkled with rain, slams the door closed, and instantly gets blasted with heat.

“God, you’re a lifesaver,” Steve sighs, sticking his hands out towards the air vents which are working in overdrive. They whir loudly in complaint. Eddie smiles, the apples of his cheeks glowing in the warmth, and twists the wheel, his eyes on the road before him.

The van groans and the bumper dips, kissing the gutter, as they roll out onto the road and head for Forest Hills. For a moment, Eddie focuses on driving straight before he flicks his gaze across to Steve.

“You know I wouldn’t have actually let you walk, right?”

Steve blinks, unsure of what to say in response, because he actually did think that was a possibility until about 2 minutes ago. He shivers as a stray drop in his hair sneaks under his collar, cold and wet.

“Right.” He answers, giving a hesitant smile back.

They’re driving slower than usual due to the rain. Steve lets himself sink back into the worn seats of the van, comforted by the familiar smells. A tang of tobacco, a stronger hint of weed, and that musky deodorant that Eddie swears by— even if Steve has never heard of the brand before.

But, well, it must be working in some sense because when Steve takes a deep breath, he smells it and feels a sense of calm. He doesn’t even notice he’s begun staring.

The strange weather has made Eddie’s hair frizzier than usual and paired with his rosy cheeks, Steve thinks he looks goddamn delectable. He gets caught up in a daydream about having a hot chocolate when they get back to the trailer, maybe even sharing a blanket on the couch and—

And then, Eddie turns and says, “So, wanna tell me why you walked? For real, this time?”

Something shrivels up within Steve. The tightness in his throat from this morning returns. He turns his head and looks out the window.

“I don’t get why you don’t believe me when I say I walked because I wanted to.” He grumbles, almost too low for Eddie to hear over the rain.

Why are they still talking about this? He thinks of the keys through the driver’s side window, thinks of the number in his notebook and the much smaller one in his bank account, and has to hold back from thumping his head against the glass again.

Something metallic jingles behind him.

Steve whips around, his eyes zeroing in on his keys dangling from Eddie’s hand— clearly just retrieved from his pocket. Something ugly and warm wakes up inside him, his stomach knotting uncomfortably, and his cheeks start to burn in embarrassment.

Idiot, Idiot, Idiot.

He knows, he already fucking knows how stupid you are.

Eddie’s eyes dart off the road to look at Steve. “Cos you’re clearly not telling the truth.”

Steve averts his gaze, turning his face back to the window and the wet pavement rushing by beneath the car. He swallows but the lump in his throat doesn’t move.

“Okay, look I don’t actually care that you walked to work,” Eddie continues, placing the keys down in the cup holder between the seats. “I just don’t get why you wouldn’t tell me that they were locked in your car.”

Steve can’t help it, the way his shoulders hike up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip meanly, nearly drawing blood. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get it— Eddie’s still trying to rationalise away what everyone else has already figured out.

“I just—” Steve starts, on the defence, but it comes out a bit too wet. He forces himself to swallow again, thankful there’s no sting of tears in his eyes. “I can fix that shit on my own. That’s all.”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie agrees.

Below them both, the hum of the van begins to dwindle and Steve realises abruptly that Eddie’s slowing down, pulling over to the side of the road. He looks to the side, at Eddie.

“Please, c’mon, I just wanna go home, man.” Steve pleads, not even caring that he’s referred so casually to Eddie’s trailer as his home.

“Wait, just,” Eddie waves a hand as he sticks the van into park, releasing the wheel and properly turning to Steve.

“I just want to understand. You know I can pop the door to most cars in, like, 5 minutes. Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Eddie,” Steve stresses, turning away with a pointed sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, latching onto the roots and tugging at it. “Just leave it, please.”

“Or asked for a lift!” Eddie continues, his hands gesturing out a bit wildly. “I could’ve given you a lift even.”

Steve's eyes slice across the van and he wills back every emotional outburst that wants to lash out of him, to poke the right spot that will hurt to get Eddie to back off.

But Eddie is just staring at him, brown eyes wide, a little furrow between his brows, and is just confused. Concerned.

“If you keep driving,” Steve murmurs, almost dejectedly. He ducks his head low and turns back to the window. “I’ll tell you.”

It works— the engine rumbles back to life and the wheels roll gently back out onto the road, just a couple more minutes from Forest Hills. Steve watches the road and tries to grasp for the right thing to say, each possibility dissolving like smoke. His eyes squeeze shut tightly. The rain dins loudly on the roof of the van, a song and dance of the elements.

By the time they’re entering Forest Hills, Steve still hasn’t said a word. The van crawls up into its usual spot, next to Steve’s own car, and Steve stares down at it. He can hear the soft click of Eddie’s seatbelt as he releases it.

He supposes it’s too late now, anyway. Eddie already knows. He keeps his eyes out the window as he speaks, his voice flat and dull.

“I just... I didn’t want you to think that I’m an idiot, too.”

There’s a questioning noise behind him, a little noise from Eddie’s throat that slips out, unbidden.

“Too?” He echoes. “Steve? Who thinks you’re an idiot?”

Steve huffs loudly and turns back, throwing his hands up. “Jesus, who doesn’t? Would you like a list?”

Eddie’s face twists into a meaner expression than Steve's ever seen before and for once, he properly matches the dark clothes and spooky tattoos he dons.

“Yes. And I’ll go door to door— wait,” He shuffles, shifting up onto his knees so he can stretch over the console and place his large hands on either side of Steve’s face, directing his gaze towards him.

It’s reminiscent of a kiss not too long ago. Despite all the burning self-deprecation that churns inside, the pleasant reminder dulls it significantly.

“I’ll go door to door to anyone who ever made you feel that way,” Eddie repeats, now face to face with Steve, their noses nearly touching. His brows are still pull tight into a furious frown. But it's not at him, Steve realises. “And I’ll do something— I’m not sure what yet, but it’ll be foul and like, maybe I’ll put instant mash potatoes on their lawn and— okay the specifics aren’t relevant but this— this is.”

He searches Steve’s face intently, eyes darting around, making sure the message is sinking in. His expression softens out, his eyes suddenly sweeter than before. “You’re aren’t an idiot, Steve. You aren’t an idiot for making a mistake and I’ve never thought that about you.”

Steve blinks. Swallows heavily and god fucking dammit, is the thickness in his throat ever going to disappear? This time it feels different though. He’s not sure how.

“You don’t think I’m an idiot, do you?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head, moving Eddie’s hands with them at the same time. It’s true, he doesn’t. Eddie is… goddamn fucking wonderful. He’s like a warm summer shower through the wretched seasons of Steve’s life. One of the reasons it was worth living through the entire ordeal of 86.

The rain outside continues, pitter-pattering on the roof, somehow softer than it was a second ago.

“Okay,” Eddie says, a small smile on tugging on his lips.

“Okay,” Steve says back. He tries for a smile and it’s easier than expected, though it wobbles at the ends. It doesn’t matter— Eddie is still gazing at him, brown eyes shining and Steve believes what he says.

“Okay,” Eddie says one more time, his smile turning closer to a grin. “Let’s go make some cocoa, yeah?”

He moves to retract his hands but Steve moves faster, his hands darting up to hold them in their place, palms against his cheeks.

“Wait,” Steve murmurs, watching how Eddie stills and keeps his closeness, their noses still a couple inches from touching— and Steve clings to the threads of courage in him tightly.

His hands slide off Eddie’s, grasping lightly at his wrists, and it’s easy to lean forward and connect their mouths in one swift motion.

Eddie squeaks— then melts.

It takes half a second before he remembers to kiss back, equally as enthusiastic and it’s nothing like the first kiss they shared under the covers. The rain dances around them and Steve swipes his thumbs over Eddie’s pulse soothing, feeling the barest jump of his rabbiting pulse.

When he shifts back, breaking the kiss, Steve keeps the closeness, the tips of their noses bumping together. Eddie’s hands feel blazing warm on Steve’s cheeks but when his lashes flutter open, catching sight of Eddie’s glorious pink cheeks, he thinks it might be his face burning up too.

They tumble inside through the rain and with all of Steve’s prayers answered today, they also share a blanket on the couch, ankles linked beneath the rumpled fabric. They make hot chocolate, Steve’s style, and sip it at, making googly eyes at each other over the rim of their mugs— until Eddie laughs too much and spits it down his front.

Steve doesn’t feel stupid again— unless that is, you count feeling stupidly sappy.

(He does not.)

#get it OUTTA MY SIGHT #god this ate up too many hours for the final product #resisting the urge to boo my own work #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steddie ficlet #hurt/comfort #technically it is tehe #steddie hurt/comfort #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington hurt/comfort #uhhhhhh that's all folks. #i just need a boost im having a week and its friggin. monday #okie byeeeeee

[munsster]

hii!! i'd like to request a steve harrington x fem!reader fic pls <33 reader confesses to steve, but he says he doesn't like her. then reader's all 'okay fine, i'm gonna move on' and when she actually does that, steve is 🥺 lots of angst please and some steve grovelling teehee <33

gut feeling

A/N: okay yes 😏 i screwed this up the littlest bit, but i hope it still tickles ur fancy. also i’ve seen this done for king!steve and i wanted to write it for s4 steven

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have big feelings for Steve, he’s just not sure he feels the same way. 3.6k words.

Warnings: angst, but it resolves into fluff, unrequited love trope, lots of feelings, friends to lovers?, CURSING!, italics, established friendship, feat. Keith 😑

"You think it would be gross if we kissed?"

Steve thinks you might actually sound hurt, but he also thinks the face he's making is hilarious beyond belief: kind of contorted and screwed inward, nose scrunched and trying really hard to batten down a grin. You glare at him from the passenger's seat, arms crossed tight over your green Family Video vest.

You think he's wonderful despite his naiveté. If only he knew how handsome you thought he was, all caramel locks and big brown eyes and the kind of smile that reaches his eyes before he's even thought of it. No wonder he has an ego up to the moon. No wonder he still manages to weasel his way into the creases and crevices of any living creature's heart. Even yours. Hell, especially yours.

"Yeah, duh!"—and he's so sure of it, you could cry—"You're like the little sister I never had!"

You chuckle but you look like you're about to hurl yourself out of the car or get yourself arrested for manslaughter. Thank God he's only a block away from your house, or he'd never see the light of day again. Does he really think of you like that? The soft laughter peters out into a grating silence that burns right down your throat and feels like hard metal settling in your lungs.

He doesn't dare glance over at you. He only bites down hard around nothing and grimaces, eyes set hard on the lines dashing beneath the grill of his car. Jesus Christ, he does not think of you like that. And he begs whatever stupid pride is keeping him steady in this nonexistent pissing contest to leave it be, but its jaw is set in the tender meat of the game.

"Don't have to be so jovial about it," you grumble.

"What?"

"Mine's on the left," you grumble, nodding out the window. Oh, he's definitely in trouble. You only ignore him like this when he's done something boyish to a fault.

"I know. I drive you home every—hey!"

"Bye," you coo, booking it up the steps to your door, refusing to turn over your shoulder for fear that you'll burst into tears upon seeing him smile or frown or crack the slightest look of confusion.

He watches you slam the door and rolls the passenger window up with a frustrated sigh. Where the Hell did that come from and why. All while you're sitting against the foot of your bed, chattering into the phone at Robin, still wearing your uniform and tugging at strands of your hair as expletives weave themselves between every three words.

"Oh my Fucking God, I'm so fucking embarrassed right now, Robs—Does he—? Does he think I'm some sort of fuckin' baby? I just don't—"

"He's just being Steve, okay? He probably didn't mean it—"

"The way he looked at me, Robin, I felt like a fucking imbecile. Of all the dickheads in the world I could fall for, my heart chose Harrington? Maybe I'm the idiot." You sigh and kick your feet out, the frustration winding up new nerves and letting them go like tight springs to fling out over your body.

She sighs and it rattles through the grainy speaker. "You're not an idiot; he has his moments. Don't beat yourself up, you know how he gets. He's probably not thinking straight, just... tell him? The worst he can say is—"

"That I'm like a sister to him? Oh, how delightful. That's even worse than just flat out admitting I'm unattractive."

"You're not unattractive, don't do that."

"I am to him," you groan.

"Hey," she hums after a beat of crackling silence. You close your eyes and grip the sickly yellow receiver a little tighter.

"I really like him."

"I know."

"And it sucks."

"I know." The other end rustles and you let out a curt sigh just as you move to stand. "I love you, and I'm here for you. Especially when dumb boys make you feel like shit. You'll always be the most amazing and most beautiful girl in my life, don't forget that."

"Thank you. I'll see you, Robs."

"Take it easy."

—

Steve wakes up to an ache in his neck and a soreness in his knuckles. You didn't call him last night. And he's assuming you didn't call him before school this morning because his alarm clock flashes eleven, first period starts at eight-thirty, and the tone his ancient landline emits is shrill enough to deafen a man. Let alone wake him up in a cold sweat. He concocts a sick feeling in his stomach of burnt orange shame and maroon guilt because he has to wait until closing shift tonight to explain himself to you.

But by then, he's feeling spiteful. You weren't home when he went to pick you up and he waited ten minutes and knocked on the door in bulk. Until someone who was not you answered and told him that you'd gotten a ride with some jerk from the Hawkins High football team. That's not how it was originally said, but that's how he heard it. So you're avoiding him? It makes him spit up a little in his mouth, and he's going about twenty over the speed limit the entire way to make it on time.

By the time he can fling open the glass door and hear the sound of the tiny bell, he spots you in the back corner with a stack of tapes under your arm. Listening to music. To drown him out. And it makes him frown. Six hours. That's how long he'd have to endure this, then he could go home and not call you and not be able to sleep.

The casette in your Walkman can only run for so long, right? But he watches you rewind it after an hour and a half and slumps against the front desk when you grab a new stack of tapes from behind him. He simmers down after the first half of the shift, and of course, the fact that you won't talk to him rubs him the wrong way, but what's even worse is that now you're bumming rides off of losers on the worst football team in all of Indiana.

He gets worked up thinking about that guy's motivation and how many times he probably tried to make a pass at you. Steve would never do that to you. Even if he wanted to, he's a gentleman at heart. He could beat that jerk to a pulp just imagining him giving you the look. God forbid that sucker puts his hands on you. Steve would get charged with battery before ever letting that happen.

It's not like he can say anything to you about it either. He's pissed, and he knows himself. He'd get all angry and confrontational, and you deserve better than that. It's his fault you got there first, and it's his fault you got to stocking, and it's his fault you're tuning him out. But he didn't think what he said last night would be worth all that trouble.

"If you keep up the optic blast, I'm gonna buy you a ruby-quartz visored monocle." And that droning voice could only belong to one overbearing manager.

"What do you need, Keith?" Steve grumbles, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches you looking to the front of the store to watch the encounter with a smirk.

"Duty calls, Harrington. Corporate sent us more shelf space. Need someone to unload it into the office," Keith murmurs, shooting a glance your way, "And, uh... it's kind of unwieldy, so get the kid to help you out."

It makes Steve's eye twitch because you're not some kid. And if you heard Keith refer to you as such, you'd unleash a fleet of curses on him. Only Steve is allowed to call you that. Because it's funny, duh. You're a year younger than him, obviously he's going to use that to his comedic advantage. Oh.

He lets out a sigh—"alright"—and leaves Keith to man the front while he skirts to the back of the store and leads you by the hand through the office.

"'The Hell, Harrington?" you hiss, but you keep your fingers locked between Steve's, abandoning the rest of the tapes on Keith's desk and jogging to catch up with his stride. As forward and demanding as his grip may be, you have to admit, the warmth of his palm is comforting and it makes your heart race because you've never held hands with Steve before. And in any other circumstance, you might've been able to enjoy it a little more.

"Keith told me to tell you that you have to help me bring a shelf in from the truck."

"Oh, I have to?" you bark, now pulling your hand away and putting your headphones around your neck once you exit through the back door with him. "And you didn't think to give me a warning before yanking on my arm?"

"Yes, you have to, and maybe if you weren't listening to that shit so loud, you would've been in the loop." It comes out far more harsh than he intended, and that was exactly what he was afraid of happening in a confrontation with you. His brow softens, and the tension in his upper back and jaw dissipates into his own self-pity party. "And I didn't yank on your arm. Or at least I didn't mean to, so I'm sorry for that much."

Steve hops up into the truck and offers you a hand you don't take as much as you both wish you would have. Because he looks like a kicked puppy, and you have to stop yourself from cheering yourself on. Maybe this will be your first literal step towards getting over him. Once and for all.

After about fifteen minutes of heaving and ho-ing, the two of you manage to haul the shelf into the office as per Keith's request. He was right: it was unwieldy. The awkward grip spots caused a lot of overlap, and you both flinched away from the physical contact in a matter of milliseconds. But Steve couldn't deny he felt bad, and you couldn't deny that you definitely still had feelings for him.

You grab your previously abandoned stack of tapes to scurry out of the office, but Steve stops you by the elbow. And you glare back at him.

"Sorry. The... yanking, I know"—he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down—"Look, I'm not entirely sure what happened last night in the car, but it clearly made you uncomfortable, and I'd like to apologize."

He can see the neurons firing when he looks you in the eye, but he can also see that his apology wasn't effective in the slightest. Because you're still anger-ridden and fuming at him. You put your headphones on and go back to restocking shelves.

He checks the digital clock above the door. Two hours till eleven. Great.

And they creep by like refrigerated molasses. Second by second. Every time he glances at the clock, only a minute has passed. Eventually, though, he starts cleaning up for closing: vacuuming, cleaning the windows, fixing the display. And he finds himself getting a little more efficient at checking tapes back in and rewinding them only so you'll cruise by the front—scowling at him, but nonetheless at him—to grab a new stack and shelf it.

Five minutes to closing and a sleek, blue sedan pulls into the parking lot, and you practically beam at it, grinning and skipping to the front. You grab your bag from under the counter next to Steve's hip and shove your Walkman into it.

"You know, my car works perfectly fine," he grumbles, "don't have to replace me with some football jerk." He knows that struck a nerve because your smile immediately flickers away into a squint.

"That football jerk is bilingual, a painter, and lets me listen to the music I like in his car."

"But that's not the rules," he whines, desperately defending himself against some sports guy who's probably taking advantage of you.

"Well, I like him and he's nice to me." You sling your bag over your shoulder triumphantly, marching towards the door.

Steve is aghast at the implication. He thought you liked listening to the radio. Plus he took Spanish and art for the required two years, it's not that great of an achievement.

Still, he sputters out, "Yeah, well—"

You wave over your shoulder. "Later, Steve."

Since when did he become such a loser.

He watches jerk-face open the car door for you then glance over to wave at him with a perfect smile and perfect hair and perfect manners. What an asshole. Steve does not wave back.

—

"That's the kinda guy she likes?" he fusses into the phone, palming his face while Robin chuckles on the other line. This whole time he thought for sure you liked the self-assured, cocky, college-age boy type. And now you're dating a high schooler. Come on, jerk-face is not even that good looking.

"First of all, they're not dating. Second of all, don't lie to make yourself feel better; even I can admit he's basically a Greek god," Robin says, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Third... why do you care? You’re acting like it’s your job to protect her, but it’s not. She’s an adult now, you know, she can take her of herself.”

He lets out a puff of air through his nose, blinking hard and leaning into the pale yellow receiver. Then mumbling: "She told you."

And she replies, cheerily: "Yup."

"Well—! I just... don't want to see her get hurt. I know that type of guy. I used to be that type of guy. He's bad news, I can tell."

"Right,” Robin scoffs, “It's definitely not because you love her.”

"I don't love her. She's just a baby, and we don't even like the same things. It would never work out between us, there's no connection." They both know it’s a lame excuse, but it’s worked up until this moment. It’s worked since the day you met. You’re too young, the end. Sure, you can be cute sometimes, but you’re also a pain in the ass and you two could never get along long enough to stitch together a real relationship.

But Robin sees through all of that shit. And she’s over it.

“Okay, maybe, but she listens when you talk about cars, and you buy the albums she likes even when she only mentions them once. Plus, you both love Dustin like he's an extra limb”—she’s right, you love that kid to death and Lord knows Steve looks after him like a son—“I think as much as you wretch and complain over her being too young and the connection not 'being there', it seems like you try an awful lot to get her to like you."

He immediately rejects the idea with a scoff.

"Of course I’d want a cool person to like me, old fuckin’ habits die hard. But that's all. She's cool and has a good sense of style and tells the best jokes and makes me feel smart and listens to me, and right now I'm feeling pretty crazy because maybe I do love her and I blew it because... because? Because I don’t know why—but she's probably sitting in some jerk's car listening to her favorite songs and watching him paint the sunset while speaking Spanish or whatever."

Robin closes her eyes, and Steve’s annoyed by the fact that he can hear her smirking. "Jesus Christ, I need to start charging you idiots for my time"—and she sighs—"Just... tell her all that cheese. And maybe throw in an apology or two. I don't know, do what you usually do when you pick up girls.”

He’s frustrated. And annoyed. But he throws a thanks at her anyway and stomps down the stairs and to his beamer. It’s not until he’s shrouded in the piercing light of the convenience store that he realizes three things: he’s still in his work uniform, it’s midnight, and he’s pretty sure he does love you. He grabs a bouquet, not even realizing it’s a bouquet of amaryllis and baby’s breath—he’d prefer roses, but ‘tis not the season, as the cashier told him.

Minutes later, he’s muttering under his breath like he’s mad, waiting for someone to answer your door. And thank God you do.

“Steve—?”

“Oh, shit, did I—were you—?”

“Oh, no, I was just…”—thinking about him—“nothin’. What’re you doing here?”

He pushes a furious hand through his hair, then tucks a chunk behind his ear, worrying at his bottom lip. More nervous than he’s been in his whole life. Then he flashes those soft brown eyes at you, and you’re toast. You step onto your doormat and shut the door behind you because he starts into his sentence like a blazing fire:

"I feel so stupid, and I’m sorry for saying you're like a little sister to me; I don’t believe that, and it couldn’t be further from the truth. You're not like a sister to me, you're like the only thing that matters and I feel like I wanna learn another language for you and take a cooking class for you and listen to your music with you. I just, I mean I’m trying to say you make me want to be a better person, and I feel like I’m already a better person whenever I’m around you. I... what I’m saying—and I promise I’m getting to it—is that I’m sorry for being so stupid and not seeing it before, but I think you're beautiful and I'd be honored if you'd forgive me and maybe consider letting me take you out sometime. Like on a date."

He’s breathing heavily, looking and feeling manic, and your eyes are wide as you slowly process his confession. It goes down like sweet wine, floral down your throat and settling in your tummy like candy. But still: what the fuck? Is he insane? Are you insane?

His hair is flopped to one side, and his work vest is snug around his shoulders. You step forward slowly, and the creases in his forehead seem to go smooth. And you point to the bouquet.

“For me?”

Steve glances down. "Oh, yeah, got em for you. Sorry they're not roses, it's not—"

"I love them, thank you."

He nods. And you smile. And despite how beautiful the soft pink and white flowers are, you’re not particularly focused on their safety when you hook your arms beneath his and rope him into a hug. It’s clearly just what he needed when he goes pliant and heavy against your chest, smiling into your neck as his hands wrap over your shoulders.

"I think we might both be stupid,” you whisper.

He chuckles. "Yup. Just a couple of stupids. Geez, what kinda pair are we?" You both pull away. Only to look at each other squarely. To see a smile creep and creep across the other’s face. And he cocks a brow and says, "By the way, worst twenty-four hours of my life—"

And that’s saying something after the last three years.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Steve, I was just so—"

"I know."

"So confused and disappointed, it was—"

"Torture, yeah, don't even think about doing that ever again,” he teases, pinching your side and scrunching his nose when you pinch him back.

"Yeah. Well, never tell me I’m like a little sister to you ever again.”

Gross.

"I don't plan on it"

With the slow bat of your lashes, and the tender curve of your lips, he can’t not think about kissing you. Not in this light. Not under the meddling moon, and not holding your waist like cupping pools of honey.

Then you look away. For all the shit you talk, he manages to make you far more shy than he ever anticipates. And it gives him butterflies to see you duck away.

"You know, I think you're pretty beautiful yourself, Harrington.”

Oh, he’s blushing now. The blood gushes hot to his face, he could sweat buckets right here and now. You can probably hear his heartbeat. Jesus Christ, what’ve you done to him? You can tell he’s nervous when he chuckles softly. "Does this mean I can start giving you rides again?"

You pretend to weigh your options. As if there would ever be a better alternative. "Only if you let me play my music sometimes.”

"Absolutely. I never liked the radio much anyway."

You let go of him only to cradle your bouquet in both hands, admiring the petals while Steve puts his hands back in his pockets.

"Then I'll see you later," he says. Grinning ear to ear, mind you.

"Yeah,” you coo, “I’ll see you."

With one hand on his shoulder, you plant a kiss on his willing cheek and let him go. But before he can make it to his car you holler, “Wait!” and he jogs back over to you.

"Did I forget somethin’?"

“Yeah,” you poke, "you forgot about our date."

He tilts his head a little, brows furrowed. "Our... our date? What do you mean our… Ohhhh”—he nods in understanding, suddenly hit with a wave of excitement and embarrassment—"Does tomorrow work? We could grab lunch or dinner or something and maybe stop by the arcade or—oh, the fair's in town, that could be kinda fun, unless you don't want to, I mean—"

"Steve?" you hum.

“Mhm?”

"I'd love to."

And suddenly his ego is miles through the roof; he's nodding and grinning and it’s like he can’t wait to wake up tomorrow just to see you again.

"Me too. Okay. Yeah! I'll see you then."

"Bye, Stevie.” You give him a small wave, and the shroud of plastic around the bouquet crinkles like the corners of his eyes at the idea of tomorrow.

masterlist

#steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #unrequited crush #stranger things #x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #fluff #steve harrington #st4 #stranger things 4 #x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #angst #best friends to lovers #friends to lovers

[sleepyangelkami]

TOUCH STARVED s.harrington

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 2.5K

STEVE HARRINGTON X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - you were too shy to speak up for what you wanted, even to your boyfriend for something so simple. fortunately for you, he always seem to know exactly what you need.

 ☆ WARNINGS - mention of pussy whipped, reader has hair, light insecurity, (1) use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

walking into family video, steve swore he'd never seen such a glum face.

your expression was saddened, not enough to look upset over something but just enough to tell steve what kind of day you'd been having. and believe me, he'd had his fair share of these kind of days.

"you doofus, that's not how you do it." robin argued, as she always was. nothing steve could do for her ever deemed to be the 'right way' however, before he could give back a snappy argument, he snapped his head towards you, the bells of the store giving a quick ring.

robin looked up confused as she received no snarky comeback before glancing towards you. she could have rolled her eyes, how pussy-whipped was this guy? "hey, y/n." she greeted first, watching as steve stepped away from the counter.

"hi, rob." you gave her a sweet, almost shy smile, she returned it in full. robin was very well used to you getting in these little moods, sort of where you shy into yourself. she'd never mentioned it, though, sort of assuming that was just how you were.

"hey, honey." steve was by your side in an instant, snatching up your bag from you so he could hold it. the sight of him had you leaning into him, almost fluttering your eyes shut. a sudden overwhelming feeling of tiredness fell over you. "you okay?"

he was craning his neck to look at you, you merely nodded. "tired." you answered before making your way behind the counter with him.

technically, you shouldn't be behind the counter and if keith were here, he'd surely have something to say about it. but he wasn't.

family video was having one of them slow days that consisted in hardly five customers an hour while steve and robin argued relentlessly on working the stupid computer that had been around way too long for anyone's liking.

you sat on one of the chairs with steve's arm around you. for as long as you could remember, he'd always been like this. touchy.

and truthfully? you were thankful. some days, all you needed was his touch and you didn't even have to ask, merely hold out a hand shyly and it was in yours. but on days like this, even an arm constantly around your shoulder wasn't enough.

your fingers had trailed up to mess with his. his large hand was relatively big in yours, you could lean against his shoulder all the while. in all of this, you could have fallen asleep.

though, that deemed hard with robin and steve's constant arguing. "you idiot!" steve yelled, pushing buttons at the computer and sort of dragging you as he did so. "you're gonna break it!"

"and what if i did?" she argued back. "not like it's worth anything." she would have kicked the computer, had she been right. unfortunately, the computer was worth something, her job.

steve sat himself back on the chair with a scowl before glancing to you.

even the mere sight of you was always enough to calm him down.

"sorry." he mumbled, knowing he was disturbing whatever peace you were getting. you merely waved him off before going back to playing with his fingers.

a couple more customers came in and fled all the same, renting movies that robin and steve would then gossip about as soon as they'd leave the store. oh yeah, horrible movie. i heard the sequels even worse!

it was best for you to leave them do this.

and by seven, it was time to lock up. you stood outside, waiting for steve who was using the key to pull down the store gate.

robin's head came out from underneath, holding her satchel bag. "night guys!" she called after you without turning around. she didn't even have a drivers license so you weren't entirely sure how she was getting home. nonetheless, you'd learned that it was better not to question robin.

"night!" steve called back before turning to you and rolling his eyes. "that girl." he only shook his head and shut his eyes, concealing his obvious irritation towards his best friend.

you only grinned back sheepishly, knowing they despised yet loved one another dearly.

it wasn't until you were sat in the passenger seat of his car, gazing out the window while your hands fiddled with his fingers that sat atop your thigh that he noticed something was wrong. earlier, you'd shrugged it off as mere tiredness and he supposed he believed you.

the night sky was dark and the hot air coming from the car was enough to lull anyone to sleep. yet still, he had a gnawing feeling that you weren't telling him the whole truth.

you weren't a liar, no. steve would say you were many things, never a liar.

however, you had the tendency to hide things from him. not overly important things like seeing someone else or something or other. you just had the tendency to not speak much about your feelings unless directly asked. you'd shy away and sheepishly shrug, not wanting to bother him.

you always had that fear of burdening him.

as the relationship progressed, he noticed this. he too had the fear of burdening. but slowly, you both began to break out of your shells. him undeniably much faster than you.

the stillness of his house told you it was home. the porch lights were on as he led you inside, hand on the small of your back. a couple lights were left on in the house too.

not the large, centre lights.

the warm lamps illuminating the entire house in a cozy aura.

you weren't too sure how you moved from the door to the couch so quickly. nonetheless, you relaxed into the material as the sound of you and steve's show began to play. a new episode every week. it was a ritual in the harrington house. and by that, i mean just you and him.

steve didn't miss the glances you kept shooting him. whether intentional or not, he could see from the corner of his eye, your head move to look at him and suddenly look back at the screen before he could catch you.

when he did, though, he caught exactly what he needed.

you were looking at him all doey, presumably tired however there was something else in your eye, something that gave you completely away.

a longing.

suddenly, everything clicked.

there was a reason you'd been leaning into him so much today, following him around silently like a lost puppy dog. not that he minded, no, he never minded. but he knew something had been wrong and that you didn't think you had voice enough to speak on it.

"what's wrong with you, huh?" he nudged you, voice ever so gentle. though he knew what you wanted, he sort of wanted you to tell him. "been quiet all day."

you leaned your head against the back of the couch, eyes travelling over his pretty features. and he looked especially pretty in the dim lighting of the enormous living room. "'m always quiet." you countered.

in a way, you were far from wrong. more often than not, steve would have to beg you to speak to more people, try get out there because he knew you wanted to. once again, you feared your voice was much too small. "fair point. but you're more quieter today."

you pursed your lips at him. "just quieter." he hummed in confusion. "it's just 'quieter', more quieter isn't the right grammer."

a roll of his eyes was paired with a pretty grin. "see? there's my smart girl. where was she all day, hm? head cloudy?"

truthfully, you didn't know what was wrong. everything just felt so off, all day you'd wanted to be surrounded by him. his embrace, his words, his scent, his everything. and that was becoming a little too much when the cruel world reminded you that it was, in fact, impossible to morph into another human being by hugging them hard enough. "i don' know." you shrugged, voice sort of small.

but steve had been in the game much longer than you.

it started with the simple feeling of his fingers tracing against your cheeks, grasping a strand of hair and curling it between his index finger. he always thought you looked pretty with your hair framing your face. though you were undeniably beautiful in all aspects.

"there something you want?" he didn't ask it in an accusing way that made you sheepishly look away. he spoke ever so quietly, as if careful of disturbing the peace of his rarely quiet house.

once again, you shrugged.

"sweetheart." he gave you this look. this convincing, knowing, look. steve always had a way of communicating to you, even just through his eyes. it was enough for your heart to quench.

he looked as though he knew exactly what had been troubling you, like he knew exactly how to fix it.

how is it that steve harrington seemingly knew everything in the world? sometimes, even he made you feel a little silly. i mean, he was more tuned in with your emotions than you were.

the show that was playing on the tv was low, barely heard as his eyes searched your own. "you know you can ask for anything, yeah?" you nodded your head while chewing your bottom lip. because you did know. steve always made it easy for you to come to him with anything. yet even then, your own shy nature still prevented you from saying all the words that sat against the tip of your tongue. the universe tended to be cruel like that. "c'mere, honey."

his outstretched arms looked like the heaven you'd been searching for.

without second thought, you found yourself climbing into them, breathing out a sigh of relief as your cheek sat itself against his sweater-covered chest.

this is what you wanted.

his legs were outstretched, somewhere for you to sit against while your own wrapped themselves against his torso. there was something so comforting about the feeling of him against you.

he let you relax your face against him, lips shut tight as one of your hands came beneath your chin. while watching the animations flash across the television, you could feel his own arms slinging loosely around your waist, one hand gently playing with the strands of hair while the other traced against your back.

you supposed you weren't morphed into him but this was as good as it was going to get.

perhaps, this was all you needed.

he was gentle, soft and welcoming.

everything you'd been hoping for.

"this all you needed, hm?" the shapes he drew against your back began to feel a lot like words, a lot like 'i love you'. you nodded, humming ever so softly. "should've just asked, baby."

"i didn't wanna bother you." you mumbled, suddenly feeling like the whole thing had been just a little silly.

you felt his hand against your chin, gently tilting it upwards so you could meet his eye. "you never bother me." and you could tell by the chocolatey swirl in his eyes. he wasn't lying.

perhaps two hours passed since that very moment. steve watched the show episode until it ended, flicking on the television programme that was simply on. he could feel your soft breaths against the nape of his neck, hands outstretched towards him.

you'd fallen asleep in his embrace.

he often told you not to watch the show so late if you would fall asleep albeit you always insisted that you wouldn't. low and behold, he was right. he was always right.

and when the final programme ended, and he deemed it was late enough, he decided it was time to get you into bed.

instead of waking you, he opted to pick you up, carrying you upstairs and surely almost dropping you a total of three times because he couldn't register where he was putting his feet. yet eventually, he made it towards the bedroom and placed you against the bed. the warm blankets soon were draped over your body.

and after all the rustling, the thing that stirred you was the creek of the door.

he watched as your eyes parted, obviously still slick with sleep, and cursed himself. he thought, who, as rich as him, would own a door that creeks so loudly? and made a mental note to get new hinges.

"you okay, angel?" he mumbled into the darkness of the room, slipping off his jeans and slipping into bed with you.

"mm." you hummed as he grasped your body again, holding you close. your arms hugged themselves around his neck, shutting your eyes closed. "wanna melt into you." you mumbled, obviously too tired to register what you were saying.

"yeah?" a chuckle fell from his lips, knowing you would never have the confidence to say such a thing while wide awake. nonetheless, he took it as a compliment anyway. "we should try turkey then."

"what's in turkey?" you questioned tiredly.

"i don't know. everything? i mean, if they can give you a new set of teeth, surely they have the answer to your problems too. we can like, melt ourselves together." he was talking nonesence, though it was lulling you back to sleep anyway.

the sound of your sleepy giggle had him holding his breath, wondering if this was all real. "let's go to turkey then."

"i'll put it on our bucket list, angel." you nodded your head, without response. "you goin' to sleep on me? hm?"

"can you..." you cut yourself off with a breath. then, you reminded yourself that it was steve harrington, the boy you loved more than yourself. and you could ask him anything. "can you keep talking?"

"careful what you wish for, i might not shut up." you only giggled gently before allowing him to continue. "did i ever tell you about dustin's girlfriend?" you shook your head. "oh god, you should have seen it..."

this, you were sure, is where you could actually die happy.

main masterlist/steve's masterlist

#steve #harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #steve harrington au #steveharrington #steve harrington headcannon #steve harrington fanfiction #sleepyangelkami

[steddieas-shegoes]

even on my worst days

for @steddiemicrofic's october prompt 'suck' (the first of many) rated: T (probably the only one not mature or explicit) wc: 480 cw: discussion of depression tags: a bad day, hurt/comfort, getting together

👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻

This day sucked.

He still had four hours left before he could be alone.

And two of those hours would be spent in therapy.

Because he was depressed.

According to the fancy doctor that was on call for the Hawkins crew, Steve had always been depressed, but now needed to learn to cope with the trauma he faced on top of that.

Or whatever.

His day started with his alarm clock not going off, making him late to work on the one day that Keith opened with him. After he got chewed out for 20 minutes about being responsible, he realized he forgot his lunch at home, and a dull headache was already starting behind his eyes.

Two customers in a row called him an idiot for not having the movie they wanted, followed by a kid knocking over their entire horror movie display because he got "scared."

By the time he cleaned up, his head was pounding, his stomach was growling, and Keith was yelling at him about Brent never showing up on time for his shift, as if that was Steve's problem.

Steve didn't get along with Brent, but he'd never been happier to see him when he did show up for his shift, replacing Keith.

"Steve?"

Steve's eyes focused back on...

"Eddie? What are you doing here?"

Eddie looked around, making sure they were alone at the counter before leaning in to answer.

"It's therapy day. Brought you a cookie."

Steve could kiss him.

He wanted to kiss him.

So far, the only thing about this day that didn't suck was Eddie standing in front of him holding a cookie like he did before all of his therapy appointments.

Instead of kissing him, Steve started crying.

"Shit, Stevie-" Eddie pulled him around the edge of the counter and against his chest. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Sorry. Just a shitty day. Probably making yours worse by crying about it."

"Nope, not at all. Kind of happy to be holding you, actually."

That was just unfair. Eddie was always just being way too nice and Steve didn't deserve it.

"You want me to stay with you until therapy?" Eddie whispered against his ear, sending a shiver down Steve's back.

"You don't have to-"

"I asked if you wanted me to."

Steve pulled back, but Eddie's arms remained around him.

"Will it help the day suck less if I stay?" he asked again.

Steve nodded.

And this time, instead of crying, Steve leaned back in and pecked him on the lips.

It was quick, it had to be since there was a customer still floating between aisles, and Brent was supposed to be back from his break any minute.

But it was something.

Eddie smiled at him, his eyes softening, losing the concern almost entirely.

It looked like his day might turn around, especially if he gets to keep kissing Eddie.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficoctober

[luveline]

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

Steve doesn't really like the holidays, but he likes you. So, he makes some concessions. Rainbow lit, tinsel-covered, pine tree-smelling concessions.

6k words, christmas centric, fem!reader who celebrates christmas, mutual pining, gingerbread houses, mistletoe, ugly sweaters, friends to lovers, idiots in love, allusions to s4.

❆

Steve hates Christmas. He doesn't want to get into it and he won't, not when you love it the way that you do — quietly, and yet every movement hints at your excitement. 

Your hands are basically shaking when he lugs the new box onto the desk. It's adorable. 

"Thank you for doing this," you say, meeting his eyes and sending him one of your too-nice smiles. Kind that makes him nervous and sick and excited all at once. 

"I don't know why you're so eager. They're the same cheese-fests this year as last year," he says.

You lean over the counter enough for him to smell your perfume. "That's not true. You said you have The Christmas Star, right?" 

"Ten whole copies." 

He pulls open the cardboard box and digs for your desired tape. The case is cardstock and crisp with newness, and it squeaks as he pulls it up and displays it against his chest. 

You beam. "Yes. How much? Expensive 'cos it's new?" 

"Not with the employee discount," he says, placing the tape down neatly. 

Your smile turns shy. Steve has always thought you were pretty, in the same way he thinks that grass is green and stars shine at night, but lately you've turned to a sweetness that has his teeth aching if he thinks about it, all manner of terrible emotions flooding his idiot brain. Jealousy, protectiveness, and — he shudders — affection. Even now he's tempted to round the desk and make up an excuse to touch your arms, or your hands. Your face. 

"Thanks, Steve," you say softly. 

"Of course. There has to be one pro to working in this dump, right?" 

"Is it a dump? It looks super clean." 

He hesitates. "We had to fix it up. Holiday decorations are coming in tomorrow." 

"Make that today!" 

You both turn to see Robin struggling out of the back room, two boxes held in her arms and hiding her face. She stumbles to the desk and Steve leaps to help her, unveiling her grinning face. There's a meanness to her eyes that Steve abores. 

"Well, yesterday. Keith says they got here last night, which means today is officially the first day of Family Video Christmas." 

"It's November," Steve says, narrowing his eyes. 

"Thirty first!"

Robin pries open one of the huge boxes and thrusts both hands in unafraid, pulling out streams of green and silver tinsel like festive innards. Her eyebrows jump up. "Nice," she says appreciatively. 

"I almost wish I worked here." 

"You can stay and help," Steve says. 

Your laughter makes his chest hurt. "I can't. I have decorating to do all by myself next door." You straighten your Palace Arcade polo and your black, plain skirt. "Do I look okay?" 

Steve has a terrible lapse in judgement wherein he thinks about telling you exactly how you look, lips pressed together ready to make a 'b' sound, but he stops himself in the nick of time. Friends don't really do that. 

"You look fucking adorable," Robin says, having wrapped the tinsel around her neck in a makeshift scarf. She sparkles as she turns to Steve. "Doesn't she?" 

"Adorable," he says tightly. 

You scratch under your ear. "Thank you.” 

You promise to come back at the end of the day for The Christmas Star and escape before Robin can poke fun at your shyness. 

The door closes behind you and Steve buries his face in his hands. His cheeks are hot. 

"That was pretty bad. Better, though," Robin says, an air of genuineness about her that he knows she doesn't truly possess. 

Steve scrubs a hand through his hair, temper welled to the surface quick and uncomfortable as usual. He pushes it down and turns away from Robin and the glaringly bright Christmas decorations rather than say something snappy that she doesn't strictly deserve. 

"Maybe by Christmas you'll be able to look her in the eye." 

"Maybe by Christmas I'll have friends I actually like." 

"Points for quickness," she cheers. Steve can feel her moving to stand beside him. "But ultimately weak." 

"It could happen." 

"Could it?"

He rolls his eyes and starts to log The Christmas Star under his name for you. Employees get pretty good privileges, like reduced rates and nulled late fees. You could keep it 'til the 25th, if that's what you want. 

Robin drapes tinsel over his shoulders. "I really, genuinely think that, despite your bad posture, your hair, your clothes," — Steve scoffs — "and your dismal taste in movies, she likes you." 

He's so distracted by her (mostly) joking insults that he doesn't quite hear the end. Then, when it sinks in, his incredulity lends itself to a new target. 

"What?" 

"Steve," Robin says flatly. 

"She likes me?" 

"I think so. She's not coming in here every day for me." 

"How should I know? I'm not exactly a good judge of it." 

Robin taps her foot against his. They're overly familiar if not overly affectionate friends, and he relents in his bad mood, pulling the tinsel from his shoulders with a dejected sigh. 

"I doubt it. She was excited about the new movies." Not me. He doesn’t think you'll be back tomorrow.  

"Why aren't you excited?" Robin asks.

"You know I don't like the holidays." His agitation is clear in his annoyed hand gestures, fingers furling and unfurling. "Weeks of torture. Cranky moms walking around like somebody shoved a candy cane up their-" 

"Steve, that's like, ten percent of the holiday season! There's a bazillion other things to like about Christmas." 

He snorts. "Like what?" 

—

Steve doesn't know how she managed it, but Robin has someone orchestrated the older gaggle of their friends to sit down anywhere but next to him. When you arrive, late and full of abashed apologies, the only seat empty is the chair to his right. 

You collapse beside him and the December chill outside follows you. Cold emanates off of your clothes. You peel out of your black denim jacket and press the back of your hand to his. 

"Cold, huh?" you ask. 

He swallows around nothing. "Cold." 

Your touch lingers. If he were your boyfriend, he'd take your cold hands in both of his and blow on them generously. He'd rub your stiff knuckles until they were loose and your fingers limp. 

Robin opens her arms and a half a dozen boxes clatter into the middle of the table, upside down and on their sides. Steve turns his head to read the font, and then promptly sits up. 

"No," he says. 

"Steve," Robin pleads, already turned away to retrieve a wicker basket full of candy. "Don't be a loser." 

"Too late," Eddie says, painted nails digging into the cardboard flap of his box. 

"You don't want to make one?" you ask Steve. 

"Gingerbread houses are a little elementary school, aren't they?" Steve turns to Jonathan imploringly. "You agree, right?" 

"No," Jonathan says with a laugh. "Me and Will still make them every year. El's getting good at them, too." 

"Will made one with a door that opens last year," Nancy says, pride for her boyfriend's brother clear in her pert smirk. 

Steve rolls his eyes. "That's good for him, and I mean it, but why are we doing this? Tell me there's beer, at least." 

"Yes!" Eddie cheers, slapping his thigh. "Harrington, you're finally saying something I can get behind. I have a little something extra in the van, just say the word." 

"There's beer," Nancy says emphatically. 

Eddie pretends to die in his chair. You giggle like crazy at his dramatics and set about opening your box, fanning gingerbread walls and roof panelling out over the table. 

Steve feels old resentment for Eddie bubble up like it never left. He wants to be the one who makes you laugh like that, all sweet and secret like you're trying not to make a fuss but you just can't help it. The resentment fades when you reach across from him and open a second box, laying supplies out in front of him one by one. 

"I think we should be a team," you tell him. 

"That's not fair," Eddie says.

"Can it, Munson-"

"We can all be teams," Robin says, returning with a blessedly cold six pack, three piping bags, and a handful of metal tips. "You two, me and Eddie, Nancy and Jonathan." 

Steve doesn't miss her suggestive eyebrow wiggle, and neither does anybody else. You turn to Steve in confusion. He shakes his head vigorously in a rapid and untrue show of I don't know, arm weaving under yours to bring your attention to the bigger piece of gingerbread. "This is the floor, right?" 

Steve’s surprised by how good of a team you turn out to be. Your gingerbread house takes shape slowly. Steve holds the pieces in place and you apply the icing seams like caulking, smoothing the lines out with your index finger and licking it clean. You’re a picture of happiness, happy jabbering interspersed between singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio and warding off insincere insults sent your way. 

"My grandma can decorate better than that, and she's pushing ninety. She has glaucoma."

“Cut the shit talking, Eddie,” you warn, flicking him with a jellybean. It hits his neck, and his retribution comes in five more aimed at your gingerbread house. 

The sides wobble unsurely.

Steve frosts the roof, assuming it’ll be easy. It isn’t easy at all, and soon any cuteness you’ve made is ruined by his ugly hatching. He winces, then frowns, then glares, eyebrows furrowed in agitation. 

Jonathan and Nancy are the ones to beat. Both nerds, both neat. Jonathan’s an artist and it’s obvious he does this every year, their house made up of pretty white swirls and gem decorated doors and windows. They're bantering quietly, insincere declarations that make Steve jealous — not of Jonathan, exactly, but of their relationship as a whole. They fit together in a way Steve and Nance never had. They’re effortless. 

Robin and Eddie make a good go of it, surprisingly. Steve had expected Eddie to throw the competition before he could lose, and hates to be proven wrong. Dorks combined with too much imagination, their gingerbread house has become a sort of macabre scene with a dead gingerbread man outlined in the snow surrounding, and icing stalagmites rise under the roof’s overhang.

You pull your chair in as close to Steve’s as you can, your knee pressed into his thigh and your elbow glancing off of his bicep every time you place a jellybean.

“There,” you say, pulling back. “That looks awesome, doesn’t it?”

It’s a hot mess. Unbalanced, too much icing on one side of the roof and not enough on the other, you lean back into Steve’s chest, your skin to his skin and your hair smelling of jasmine, appraising the work you’ve made just as it begins to fall apart. The weight of the roof becomes too much and the walls split either side of one another, in both slow motion and fast. Steve sees it happen incrementally, and it’s too quick to stop. 

Your gingerbread house collapses. 

“Fuck,” Steve says. “Fucking fuck.”

You get second place. 

“It looked good when it was actually standing,” Nancy reasons, her lies obvious in her raised pitch, her queasy shifting. 

“It did,” you agree. 

Steve’s self-loathing abates ever so slightly. 

“Pity win,” Eddie says with a cough. 

You laugh like crazy, and Steve decides gingerbread houses are for kids. 

—

After the gingerbread house disappointment, Steve thinks things cannot get worse. He is swiftly proven wrong. 

It's his turn to host a party, Robin's idea, and Christmas crawls ever closer. When he closes his eyes at night he can see the faces of every annoyed mom asking for The Christmas Star. Carols play in his ears unbidden. He finds himself humming songs he hates out of nowhere and clamping his mouth shut hard enough to chip a tooth every time. 

You love decorations, and so he and Robin have spent the last hour making his big empty house something fit for a rom-com, wreaths and tinsels and rainbow flashing lights. You love Christmas music, and so the stereos dialled to a cruel thirty in preparation for your arrival. You love cookies, and so, to Steve's amateurish expense, plates of sugar cookies line the kitchen countertops, along with all the finger foods one could ever desire. 

Though in Steve's case, that's none. He hates Christmas parties, reminded of his parents' misaligned efforts to earn favour with equally pompous parents. He and Tommy would hide out in backyards with stolen booze, and when that got too cold they'd shuffle inside, warm in their chests and numb in their fingers. 

He frowns at the memory and wizzes it all away. Tommy was an asshole. Steve was an asshole, he still is. This party isn't for his parents. 

It's for you. 

Not that anyone can ever, ever know. 

"What do you think?" Robin asks, pulling at the edges of the sweater she's changed into. 

It's a movie reference he should understand, but doesn't. "I love it." 

She smiles. Rare for them to operate above dry sarcasm and quick wit. Christmas makes Robin squishy, like she's forgotten how shitty the world is, and Steve wants her to have a good time tonight. This includes being nice (which he should be more often, anyway). 

"Go change. She'll be here soon."

"Who, Nance?" 

Robin tips her head back. "Oh, yeah, Nancy. Definitely who I meant." 

He flips her the finger, putting an end to their Christmas niceties. She's still laughing as he climbs the stairs and barrels into his room. He doesn't bother closing the door even as he hears the doorbell ring. The pizza should be getting here around now. 

Steve doesn't rush. He’d left cash on the countertop. Robin can deal with it. 

He ducks forward and pulls his polo up the length of his back, hair puffed out like a cloud. He'd set aside his ridiculous reindeer sweater on the top shelf of his closet. Or, at least, he'd thought he had. He searches once, twice, and then gives in to his short temper and drops his face into his hands. 

Stupid Christmas. Stupid sweater. Stupid party.  

He hears your inhale like a whisper. Breath caught in your throat. 

"Steve," you say, sounding surprised. 

It's his room. He's not sure what's so surprising. 

You're standing in the doorway looking angelic, all things considered. Your features softened by powder, wearing a white Christmas sweater with dainty beaded snowflakes and a plaid skirt. You look pretty, and Steve's not one for dramatics but he wishes he was dead. 

"You look nice," he says pathetically. 

"You, too," you say. You clear your throat. "I mean. Uh-" 

"You okay?" he asks, pushing hair out of his eyes. 

Your smile falters. You look at his naked chest. Steve worries he's making you uncomfortable and turns as nonchalantly as he can to his closet again, says, "I can't find my sweater. It's…" He lifts a bundle of jeans up. "Horrifying." 

"I can help." 

You step into the room. Each footstep silent, you've already discarded your shoes. He looks down to your stockings and then up again, ignoring the blush that wants to emerge at the sight of your thighs. 

"It's brown, and it has a weird red thing hanging off of it. Rudolph's nose." 

You step close enough that he can feel the heat of your arm and run a hand down the shelves. It takes a couple of seconds at most and you've found it, pulling it from the pile carefully. He loves the way you move, each inch deliberate. 

You press the sweater into his chest. His hands come up, his fingers cover your own. 

When he's with you, Steve feels as though everything — every movement, every moment — is broken down into its finest details. He thinks he could draw your fingerprint if asked, each miniscule line embossed into his skin as you touch him. 

"Steve?" 

But that's ridiculous. 

"Thanks. I think I got tinsel in my eyes or some shit," he mutters, averting his gaze.

"You're welcome. Robin sent me to see what was taking you so long. I'll tell her it was a Rudolph related crisis." 

You stroke his arm. 

He loses his shit internally, hand reaching for your retreating figure as you turn your back. He doesn’t know why. Maybe he would’ve kissed you.

"Steve?" you ask, now standing in the doorway. 

He recalibrates, muddled. "Yeah?" 

"Get dressed,” you encourage. You give him a short smile, blinding, and laugh quietly as you leave. 

He's hopped up on hope as he gets dressed, a smile plastered over what had felt to him like a seasonal scowl. He's no idiot; arm-touching, your tinkling laughter. Maybe his crush isn't as hopeless as he'd thought. 

He smooths down his hair for much longer than necessary, listening as the door opens and closes and opens again, friends trickling in with happy hellos and complaints about the weather. It's cold but too wet for snow, and evidence of it trails in from the front door through the hallway where shoes lie discarded in clumsy pairs.

He picks over them and finds his friends, ones he made willing and otherwise, draped over his living room like old throws. Max and Lucas have stolen the couch where they sit laughing, clearly gossiping about something. The rest of the lunch club stick close by, bowls of snacks already claimed and in cross-legged laps. 

"Steve," Jonathan says, "what the fuck is that?" 

"Fucker," Steve says. He's the butt of too many jokes, then, and he glares at Robin even as she plates him some still-warm pizza. 

"Sorry," she mouths. 

You curl up on the couch next to Max. He appreciates the unlikely friendship you've formed, sort of a sistership. You only know her through Steve but he genuinely thinks you'd pick her over him, and that makes him like you more. 

That's all he does, lately. Finds new ways to fall in love with you. 

"That is the ugliest sweater I've ever seen," Max says.

Fucking Christmas. 

—

Steve's been in a bad mood since he came downstairs, and you're not okay with it. Despite your shameless meltdown in his bedroom at seeing him shirtless, you don't quit. You spend some time with Max on the couch, and when she seems a little less agitated you track him down. 

He's definitely hiding. 

"I think Max's glasses are hurting her nose," you say. 

Steve looks over his shoulder at you, and he smiles, the slopes of his face kissed by the open refrigerator light. "They'd hurt anyone. The lenses are like, five inches thick." 

“Poor girl,” you mumble, more to yourself than him. 

He turns back to the fridge and pulls out a two litre of coke. “You want a drink?” 

You shake your head. His hair looks incredibly sweet from this angle, and you don’t mean that in a condescending way. It curls toward the bottom of his neck, that tiny bit too long compared to his usual cut. His neck moves as his head swivels, and there’s ligaments, there’s muscle, the bump of his Adam’s apple, all of it commanding attention. You think about stepping forward to touch him, his neck, to curl your finger around the side of his throat and hold him in place. If there’s one thing about Steve lately, it’s that he’s always fucking moving. He can’t sit still. He looks between you and the empty glass in question, twice, a third time. 

“I don’t read minds,” he says eventually, near pleading. 

You decide some flirtation is in order. 

“I’m glad you can’t,” you say lightly, crossing what’s left of the kitchen tile between you to stop at his side. You pretend that you’d wanted a drink, taking a glass down from one of his cabinets so he can fill it for you. Something he could’ve done himself. You hope that’ll be clear enough for him — the blatant want to be close. 

It isn’t, unsurprisingly. 

“What’s that mean?”

“Well, I think…” You lower your voice,a private confession. “That sometimes what I’m thinking, it might be- Uh, telling.”

Poor Steve. That hadn’t come out anywhere as smooth as you’d anticipated. It’s harder to tell him now you’re confronted with him, his every detail. And Steve, sweetheart, angel Steve, he misses the mark. Forget different pages, Steve’s reading a separate chapter, and your flirtation reads as a deeply unromantic confession. 

“Is there something wrong?” he asks. 

“No,” you say. “Of course not.”

His eyebrows jump and his forehead crinkles. “You sure?” His protective tone melts into something softer. “Let’s hear it, whatever it is.”

Steve isn’t patient. You know that about him. His temper is short and fierce. You like how hot he runs, love his agitated pouting and his dark-eyed scowls — he’s handsome in every expression. 

He isn’t patient, but he tries. He’s kind, and if you wanted to sit and talk about the hypothetical that isn’t bothering you, he’d listen. 

“I actually wanted to ask if everything was alright with you,” you say gently. 

His hand wobbles, fastening the coke cap. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I’ve noticed you don’t really like Christmas.”

He smiles, and soon the smile catches, a shy lip bite that has you fighting with your hands to keep them where they hang at your sides. 

“You got me.”

Steve pushes the twin glasses of coke back and then turns around, resting the small of his back against the countertop. You step in front of him without thinking, head ducked to catch and keep his eyes. They’re such a lovely brown, light and earthy, potted with white dots from the fluorescent kitchen light like falling snow as his eyes slip down. You swear, Steve is looking at your lips. 

“Is there something I can do?” 

It’s a terrible time to ask because you genuinely mean it, you’re not just trying to cop a feel. He doesn’t smirk or laugh as you’d thought he would, he only smiles. 

“Thanks, but I’m good.” He tips his head back, criminal, neck arched and ever-enticing. “Fucking sick of this itchy straight jacket,” he groans, pulling at the collar of his sweater like he’s hot. 

He is hot. You’d both benefit from a sudden winter breeze. 

His head drops, eyes lit with confusion. “What? Something on my face?”

“Something,” you agree. 

You look behind you to check what you’d thought you’d seen was truly there. When it is, you turn back to Steve with a feigned concern. “Here, come step into better light.”

You hurry into the doorway, frowning. 

Steve frowns in turn and follows you. You give the game away without meaning to, looking up at the sprig of mistletoe pinned sloppily above you. 

He sees it. He lights up. The happiest he’s looked all month, Steve scrubs a hand over his face and into his hair, pushing it out of his eyes as he comes to meet you. Your stomach flips with excitement, because oh shit, he looks like he wants to kiss me. 

“Butler, I’m in need of one of your finest cokes, please.”

Oh, no.

Eddie bounces into view with a certified shit-eating grin, hair decorated with tiny metallic baubles. His sweater is surprisingly normal, a black and white knitted affair with reindeer and snowflakes. 

He comes to a stop beside you. “What’s happening?”

Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look-

“Shit, hey! Mistletoe.”

Eddie opens his arms. You sigh, to his delight, and lean in so he can give you a chaste kiss on the cheek. You try to look at Steve and find your view blocked by a mass of hair.  

“Wow, sweetheart. And I thought we were friends,” Eddie says good-naturedly. 

You scrunch your hand in his sweater to push him away, not unkindly. Guilt gets the better of you and you pat the place over his heart. “We are.”

He makes a kissy sound and dives in toward your neck. Startled, you squeal, stumbling away from his rabid affection and back into the kitchen. He follows, though he doesn’t try anymore kisses. 

“Harrington! I wasn’t joking about the coke. Can I-“

“Help yourself,” Steve says. 

He sounds miserable. 

—

There isn’t time or opportunity to smooth things over with Steve that night. Actually, a week becomes two, and neither do you kiss nor talk about kissing. You want to explain to him what he probably already knows — you really had been standing there for him, hoping for a kiss, a proper kiss. 

He’d looked crushed. You don’t use the word lightly. Steve looked as though somebody had stepped on his chest and pressed all of their weight against his ribs. Frazzled, unhappy. You can’t get the look out of your head, and Christmas doesn’t feel so cheerful with the gap that yawns between you, an icy crevice. 

You try to explain and things get in the way. At the video store, you show up with a plate of apology cookies hoping for a second chance and suddenly the radio breaks and gets stuck blaring ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’ like a storm siren. You meet up for games night with a twig of mistletoe in your purse hoping to be a tad more brazen about it and he sits on the opposite sofa, doesn’t take any pee breaks, effectively foiling your plan with inactivity. You ask him out for hot chocolate over the phone and he can’t come. 

“My parents are flying home. I gotta pick ‘em up from the airport.”

You don’t know whether he’s lying or not. His parents actually being home feels outlandish. If he is lying, he doesn’t want to see you, and if he doesn’t want to see you… 

He doesn’t like you. Not the way you like him. 

You worry you imagined the whole thing, his enthusiasm, his starry eyed smile. 

So you’re giving it one last shot. If it doesn’t work you’ll spend your Christmas heartbroken and sulking, but if it does you might actually get to kiss him. It’s a huge thing, and your hands are shaking with more than the cold as you bump up the small step to Steve’s front door. 

The green wreath hanging below the peep hole jitters as you knock, a fragrant twining of pine and cinnamon sticks. 

The door opens all at once.

“Hi,” you say, biting the tip of your tongue. “Hi, I’m, uh-“

The man who’s answered, who you summarise to be Steve’s father despite never having seen him, looks disinterested. “Steve,” he calls. “One of your friends.”

He walks away with nothing else to say, a dark brown liquid lapping at the sides of his small glass. You pull the wrapped box in hand closer to your chest, shifting from one numbing foot to the other as a small tumbling sound comes from upstairs. A pair of hinges squeal, and Steve is halfway down the stairs before he’s even looked up. 

He slows as he approaches the bottom. 

He’s in pajamas. Sweatpants, nondescript, but his too-tight shirt clearly of the Christmas variety. A snowman smiles over his chest. 

“It’s laundry day,” he says. 

“Sure.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t go out with you-“

“Steve,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is that… for me?”

The box in your hands is wrapped modestly. You hadn’t wanted to shove Christmas down his throat, trading reds and greens for a shiny silver paper pressed with fine glitter snowflakes. 

“Yeah. It’s for you.”

Steve stares at you. You stare back. 

“I’d invite you in, but…” He shakes his head. “Let me get my coat.”

Steve doesn’t close the door, to his father’s annoyance, deep grumbling echoing from the kitchen area. You watch him shove his socked feet into a pair of sneakers and scramble to grab his coat and a scarf. 

“Okay?” he asks, stepping out onto the path and closing the door behind him. 

You don’t answer, distracted by his hands suddenly held up, the scarf thrown neatly around your neck. He does a single knot and tucks it under your jaw. “Awesome,” he says. 

You walk down his street. Hawkins is half woods, and soon you’re weaving between naked trees, no destination in mind, not one unspoken feeling acknowledged between you. 

“Why do you hate Christmas?” 

It’s just dark enough for Steve’s clouded breath to show against the sky. “I don’t,” he says.

Your footsteps break over leaves so frosted they crackle. 

“I mean, I guess I do,” he says. “I don’t know. I think I want it to be better than it is.” He stops under a tree that’s clinging to its last handful of leaves and gives a low-hanging branch a playful shake. “I never enjoyed it, as a kid. Or, I don’t remember. I’m sure I liked it when I was still snot-nosed.”

“So, last year?” 

He chuckles warmly. “Exactly.”

You walk a little further, too awkward to hand him his gift. 

“I don’t hate it. But it’s cold, and everyone’s rushing, and the bad outweighs the good.” He sounds tired. 

He breaks your heart like that. 

You stop walking and Steve takes your cue, the two of you toe-to-toe, your sneakers dirty, his socks odd. One white and one grey. 

“I got you this because… um, I have something to tell you. I don’t think I can say it out loud, but- but I hope it adds something to the scale.” You extend the box slowly, your fingers stiff with the cold. “You deserve some good. You deserve a lot of good.” 

You laugh, flustered, and Steve joins in, chest lifting with it as he accepts his gift. 

He rips off the wrapping paper, at first carefully and then less so, shoving little pieces into his pocket as he goes. You take the bigger scraps from him so he can look at the box itself. 

Your gift is actually multiple gifts contained inside, and the first isn't technically a gift at all. The Family Video copy of The Christmas Star.

"Is this-" 

"I've been meaning to give it back to you. I'm sorry, I know it's not a real gift, I just figured- I mean, you've never seen it. I thought we should watch it, and that you'd like it if you did. Or maybe you'll hate it, and that would be fine too." 

He nods and moves to the next gift, lips twitching with an emotion he won't share. 

"That's your size, hopefully. I asked Robin but she didn't know. I kept the receipt." 

Steve smiles at you. "Would you hold this?" he asks. 

You put your hands out and take the box back, worried, but he's only unzipping his coat. Quick as a flash he's shrugging into the sweater head first. It's a simple thing, red wool, soft to touch. A Christmas sweater, though there's no decoration beside a tiny holly leaf embroidered at the collar in dark green. 

"This is fucking sweet," he says. 

You agree. He looks good. 

A shiver racks his spine. 

"Put your coat back on, you're gonna freeze," you say gently. 

He beams at you. "My dead body will be the best dressed in the morgue." 

"Don't joke about that!" 

He laughs and gets back into his coat, zip right up to his neck. He still looks cold. 

The third present is a gingerbread house kit. The fourth, a sprig of mistletoe. They're obvious now the sweaters in action, and Steve seems mildly confused by them. You leap to explain. 

"I thought, I mean- I want a do-over." You tilt your cheek toward your shoulder, scared and fond at the same time. "I wanted you to kiss me. I think you wanted to kiss me, and then Eddie," — you laugh loudly, cheeks burning with the cold — "was being himself. And Steve, I brought that stupid plant with me to Robin's house last week hoping we'd be alone, and to work the week before. But you're hard to pin down." 

You take a deep breath before continuing, eyes determined at his collar, "If you don't want to kiss me, that's okay. That's why I brought the gingerbread house, because ours was awesome before it fell apart, and I'm pretty sure Robin gave us a dud on purpose. We made something really cool together, and I think we can do it again." 

"I did want to kiss you. I do." 

You bite the inside of your lip, nose scrunched up in happiness. "You do?" you ask, and there's this feeling in your chest like you could burst, and all the cold shrinks into nothing. You're warm in your arms, your fingers, your fingertips. 

His hand comes up to his face briefly, shielding his eyes. "Am I obvious?" 

"Am I?" 

His exhale tickles your cheeks. "No," he says breathlessly.  "No, you're not." 

He says it like it's a good thing. A great thing. 

"Everybody else knows," you say similarly. 

"I know." 

He brings a hand to your cheek. It's cold, cold as your face, but he still winces and rubs at the apple with his thumb. "You're freezing," he says as he inches forward. 

His lips are warm. More gentle than you'd imagined, hesitant, and the box you're holding stops him from getting as close as you want him to get. He kisses you once, then he pulls away and kisses you again, his lips slightly parted. 

It's better than you'd thought it would be. His palm stroking your cheek, the pressure, the heat. Knowing he wants to kiss you now as he wanted to then. 

"No fucking way," he says, tilting his head back. 

You tip your head back too. Something wet falls in your eyelashes, a drop of rain. 

Not rain. "It's fucking snowing," Steve says. 

It's snowing. Because it's Christmas, and the powers that be are on your side. 

"Happy Christmas, Harrington," you say jovially. 

You're given another kiss in reward. Reward, or to shut you up. You're not sure. 

—

Steve is impartial to Christmas. He doesn't want to get into it but he will, because you love it. 

The snow — the snow, which had fallen thick and fine as powdered sugar, which you adore, and which makes coming to see you in the days leading up to Christmas near impossible. It's something out of a movie, Steve, seriously, and you need to appreciate what's happening. 

The music you play when he comes to see you, records on your record player and cassettes in your tape deck lying on your chest, knee to knee and thigh to thigh with him. Your quiet humming; you won't sing, but the small sounds alone are enough to make him want to kiss you (though everything does now). He can't hate Here Comes Santa Claus when you hum along under your breath, lips skipping over the skin of his bicep, your hand scratching a rhythm into his hair. 

Everybody knows Santa's coming, I don't see why they have to have a whole song about it. 

Are you jealous? I'll write a song about you. Or maybe I can steal one. You ever hear Santa baby? We can make it Stevie baby. 

Christmas music? Not his thing. You calling him baby? Fine, he can get behind it. At least until January. 

Christmas sweaters! He fucking hates them. They're ugly, they're scary, he doesn't wanna walk around with a pom pom on his chest thank you so much, but he has to allow them. Has to. If only so he can watch you get dressed with one eye hidden in your pillow and the other wide open. Thank little baby Jesus in the manger for Christmas sweaters so you have something to tuck into your skirt, so you have a reason to wear a skirt at all, and a reason to take one off. 

Christmas snacks he can get behind. Or, he can get behind this. You on the couch, a needle threaded in your hand. A bowl of popcorn in his lap, and your face as you lean back. 

He throws a kernel and it lands in your open mouth. 

You both holler, twin expressions of unadulterated joy, popcorn spilling over the sides of the bowl. You just look so happy, he climbs on knees to steal a kiss. A smiling kiss, the very best kind. 

"Aren't you supposed to do this stuff before Christmas eve?" he asks. 

"I've been a little busy." 

Steve digs his face into your neck so you won't see him blushing, hands curling around your waist in an impromptu hug. Yes, he supposes you have been. 

You kiss his temple sweetly. 

"Merry Christmas," he murmurs. He really, really means it. 

❆

thanks for reading! im so out of practice but hopefully this is okay!! i meant to post it yesterday but anyhow, i hope you enjoyed <3

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[chirp-a-chirp]

Ikemen Prince: Oxymorons

Jin: Peaceful Warrior

Chevalier: Icy Hot; Deafening Silence

Clavis: Organized Chaos; Definitely Maybe

Leon: Original Copy; Genuine Imitation

Yves: Unbiased Opinion; Sweet Sorrow

Licht: Mournful Melody; Bittersweet

Nokto: Calculated Risk; True Lies

Luke: Calm Storm

Sariel: Working Vacation; Zero Tolerance

Rio: Open Secret

Keith: Gloomy Optimist; Simply Complicated

Alt Keith: Wickedly Kind

Silvio: Brilliant Idiot; Blunt Diplomat

Gilbert: Benevolent Dictator; Friendly Takeover

#ikemen prince #ikeprince #ikemen prince chevalier #ikemen prince gilbert #ikemen prince clavis #ikemen prince keith #ikemen prince silvio #ikemen prince rio #oxymoron #ikemen prince leon

[badsongpetey]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The Water Guardian: Part 6

The question wasn’t would Lance come back, it was simply how soon. How soon turned out to be very not soon enough in Lance’s considerable estimation. School, work, and family obligations conspired upon him in a clearly targeted and evil scheme to keep him from gaining internet fame through an exclusive friendship with a reclusive cryptid. All of which led to Lance standing by Keith’s pool nearly two weeks after his last visit.

It’s just as beautiful and serene as the first time he saw it: water splashing gently down the rocks; birds and frogs chirping their songs; trees rustling in a gentle breeze. The kind of place that could instantly relax a person — that is if the person weren’t a Lance person currently standing around waiting on a very conspicuously absent dragon.

“Um, Keith?” Lance hesitantly asks the forest. He feels like an idiot. If there were any other people around he’d die of embarrassment, but fortunately or not, he seems to be completely alone.

Is Keith here? Is Keith even its name? Keith seemed like a pretty bland name for a cryptid, maybe he’d heard it wrong. Maybe it was really like “Kyitth” or something more magical, and now he was offending the dragon by mispronouncing it. Or maybe he really had been poisoned by contaminated pond water and had hallucinated the entire exchange. The longer he stands there, the more he worries. Dammit Hunk, why weren’t you faster getting out that test kit? Sure, yeah, maybe he could’ve waited to dive in…

“You’re late.”

Lance spins to see Keith up to his chest in the water, glaring daggers at him.

“Whoa, dude, maybe give a guy a head’s up or something before popping up outta nowhere?” Lance only half jokes, trying to cover for the near heart attack he just experienced.

“You’re late.”

Lance huffs, “Look, we didn’t exactly put this little get together in our calendars or anything. Things were crazy, I came back as soon as I could.”

In response Keith sinks up to his nose in the water, and squints with ferocity in Lance’s direction.

“I really tried.” Lance throws his hands up in the air in exasperation, how did he forget how annoying Keith is? “I TRIED. I was BUSY. But, look, I’m here. I came back. Isn’t that what matters?”

At this Keith disappears beneath the water completely, leaving behind only a few delicate bubbles which dance across the surface.

Lance sighs audibly. Like what does Keith expect him to do? Instantly give up his entire life to be at Keith’s beck and call? Figures he’s somehow managed to find the world’s most entitled cryptid.

Loud splashing draws his attention back to the water as Keith vaults effortlessly out of the pool and onto the surrounding rocks, and, yup, naked again. But this time Lance has come prepared. Looking away, because again, his mama raised a gentleman, he reaches into his backpack and tosses some clothes in Keith direction. He hears a satisfying thump as the bundle clearly hits its target — he always had impeccable aim.

“Lance?”

Lance figures that’s his signal that it’s safe to look. Keith stands before him wearing black sweatpants and an old grey t-shirt he was willing to part with. And it’s, fuck, it’s cute, okay?

“You’re really attached to the clothing huh?” Keith is smirking again.

“People wear clothing, Keith. It’s just polite. If you’re gonna look like people, you gotta cover up. It’s non-negotiable.” Lance is dying on this hill.

Keith shrugs, “If you say so.”

“I do. Say so. Yes.” This is gotta be the one of the more ridiculous demands Lance has ever made, telling a cute guy to cover up, but Keith isn’t a guy, even if he’s cute. What he needs is a subject change, immediately. “So, ah, what do you do around here for fun?”

Keith frowns, “Fun?”

“Yeah!” Lance smiles, “I mean, I know you’ve got the whole guard duty thing, but it’s pretty quiet around here, you must do something to pass the time.”

“This water is my sacred responsibility, and my life-force, it’s not just a job.” Keith growls.

Ok, open mouth insert foot, Lance didn’t usually have such a hard time starting up a conversation. “Hey, I didn’t mean that what you do isn’t important. I mean, this waterfall, it’s beautiful. You do a good job taking care of it, I’m sure it’s a lot of work.”

Keith softens a bit at the praise, “It is. But I do what I can.”

Lance decides to come at the question from a different angle. “Does watching over this leave you any time for anything else?”

Keith cocks his head, thoughtful. “I patrol, swim, take care of the animals, repair damage to the land, and sometimes…”

Lance thinks he can hear Keith end that sentence, but it’s so soft he can’t make it out. “Sometimes you?” He prompts.

Keith looks away. Embarrassed? “Sometimes, when there’s time, I, read.”

Lance’s eyebrows shoot all the way up past his hairline. The cryptid, READS?! “You read?? Like, books?”

“What else do you read?” Keith fires back.

“Hey no,” Lance backtracks, “I didn’t mean… I just, I didn’t expect you to have books out here?”

Keith scowls, “Why? Because I’m just some monster to you?”

“What? No!” Crap, were all dragons this touchy or did Lance just get extra lucky? “I didn’t mean that, it’s just that you live out here in the middle of absolute nowhere. It’s not like there’s a library. I didn’t figure you’d have, I dunno, human stuff.”

Keith looks away. “They… were my father’s.”

Oh shit. Did that mean there was some even bigger and grumpier dragon around? No, Keith said they were his father’s, that means… Keith has turned almost completely away from him. This is definitely not a bear he should poke.

“Uh, sorry.” It’s a lame response, but Lance isn’t sure what the protocol is on consolidating a cryptid on the loss of a family member.

Keith shrugs, “I didn’t know him.”

In the awkward silence that follows Lance becomes convinced that Keith can hear the sound of the gears grinding in his head trying to come up with a way to salvage the conversation, because he quietly adds, “Would you like to see them?”

“I’d LOVE to!” Lance practically shouts in relief before attempting to regain his cool. “I mean, sure, if you want to, it’d be cool.”

Keith glances back at him, and, yep, there’s the eye roll again. But also a tiny smile? Lance will take the win.

#klance #voltron #keith kogane #lance mcclain #vld #water guardian au #dragon keith #klance au

[damnlance]

hello pls enjoy this random klance blurb idea that’s been rotting in my brain..

so keith is a truck driver and is usually on the road at aaaalllll hours of the day/night. he’s always tired and exhausted and sometimes doesn’t even get to go home because of where he’s delivering to, resulting in him resting in crappy hotels (paid for by his job), and only getting a few hours of sleep if he can. he’s a very careful truck driver even if he’s surrounded by other reckless, idiot drivers, and takes his job very seriously. although he misses home, he enjoys life on the road and has traveled to some cool places all over the country. and sometimes, he gets to take his giant wolf-dog kosmo with him for company. he brings back cool souvenirs for his friends/family when he does return to his small but cozy home in the desert and doesn’t have too many complaints.

until one morning, as he’s driving on a busy highway, he runs into ‘before work traffic.’ he’s stuck in front of some fancy blue car and the owner is driving like he’s under the influence or something. the owner keeps swerving to the left, sometimes getting honked at, and keith has to drive so slow, most of the time not at all, because the guy stops moving and it’s pretty hard to break when keith isn’t prepared for it AND can barely see the tail of this blue car in his big, tall truck. so keith stays on high alert, praying for anyone to get in between him and this possibly intoxicated weirdo who’s going to cause an accident! things begin looking up when the traffic starts moving smoothly and the a-hole in the blue car starts driving like he means it. and keith can finally begin his cruise to his destination that’s 2 hours away so he can get back home. all cars around him are driving like they should be and keith feels a little of his nerves start to dissipate.

but of course that quickly goes out the window because the fancy blue sports car suddenly slams on their brakes and keith is nowhere near prepared for it. he rear ends the blue car, not too hard but definitely not gentle, which causes him to slam on his own brakes to prevent anymore damage. he hits his forehead on the steering wheel in the process and nearly blacks out.

everything horribly wrong runs through keith’s veins and he proceeds to get over onto the shoulder lane of the highway, following the banged up sports car. keith takes a deep breath and when it’s safe to do so, opens his truck door and climbs out of it. he walks around to the front of his truck, too afraid to look at the damage to the sports car. his truck barely has a scratch.. but it does have the sports car’s goddamn license plate stuck to it..

before keith has the chance to form any kind of apology, a figure is slowly getting out of the sports car. keith’s eyes hesitantly float to the figure. and he’s tall, dark, and handsome. he’s got silky bronze skin and sapphire blue eyes that leave keith hypnotized. great. he feels even more guilty now. wiping his sweaty palms on his dark jeans, keith goes to approach the good looking guy but is immediately stopped by him.

“holy crow!” the guy shouts. keith winces, assuming the obvious. fancy car dented like a can of sardines, license plate damn near glued to keith’s truck like a hood ornament. goodbye job, hello lawsuit. but when keith opens his eyes, he realizes that this godlike guy is staring.. at him. he straightens his posture, and when he goes to speak, the guy speaks over him. “are you alright, man!?”

“m-me?” keith asks like an idiot because of course he’s talking to him. who the fuck else is around!? butterflies ravage around keith’s insides because this sexy piece of art is walking towards him and boldly gripping him by the shoulders, keith has no time to think because this guy’s elegant, angelic scent enraptured keith like a long overdue hug, leaving him infatuated.

“oh dude, you’re bleeding!” the gorgeous guy with the piercing sapphire eyes exclaims. keith can’t be bothered by it though, he’s too busy being shot by cupid’s arrow. this guy has the most perfect skin keith has ever seen, it shines so radiantly in the sun that keith swears he can see his own reflection. getting a good look at him, keith notices how faultless his face is. this guy has the most symmetrical face ever. his nose is long and pretty, and freckles dance along the bridge going from one springy cheek to the other. with a piercing through his septum, decorated with diamonds, keith nearly melts into a puddle. peach fuzz sits just underneath that freckled nose, resting on his plump, pink upper lip and if keith inhales, he can smell the faintest bit of cinnamon, most likely a balm of some sort. his lashes are long and satiny and the way he bats his eyes, keith swears he can feel a tiny breeze coming from them. his hair is a light brown, resting just above his chiseled jawline, extra curly and bouncy from the way the subtle breeze is blowing through it. and those eyes. keith could die in those eyes. he wishes he could wake up to those eyes. there isn’t the slightest bit of imperfections on his godlike face anywhere. no wrinkles or crows feet or old scars. no moles or beauty marks. just.. heaven.

“dude!” a pinch to the arm has keith snapping out of it, dragging him back to the harsh reality that he just rear ended this angel’s expensive ass sports car.

“h-huh?” he says because he doesn’t know how long he was under this guy’s spell and because what are words?

“i said you’re bleeding!” the guy reaches up to keith’s forehead, slightly moving keith’s long, shoulder length hair out of his face, and touching his hairline with two fingers. he pulls them down to keith’s view and low and behold. red. that just about snaps keith back to their current situation and he jumps back, away from the angel.

“jesus!” he yells, holding himself. “i-i’m sorry!”

“for bleeding?” the blue-eyed guy speaks, his voice raspy and deep. “yeah, dude, it’s cool.” he smirks in a devious, yet playful way. keith’s heart sinks to his stomach.

“uh,” keith swallows hard, “f-for hitting on you! i-i mean-!” he babbles, he stutters, he hiccups, “y-your car!! for hitting your car!”

the guy says nothing as keith yaps on and on about insurance and paying for the damages and even apologizing for getting his blood on the guy’s fingers. he can’t stop himself from the word vomit but somehow, mystery man doesn’t seem to care. he just smirks even more until it blends into a smile that keith can’t bother to look at.

his heart falls to his ass now.

“dude?” the guy says, shushing keith. it works. of course it does, keith would shut the fuck up a million times if this guy said to.

“hm..” keith swallows hard.

“i don’t care about the car.”

keith’s mouth falls open. “you don’t!?”

the guys smiles again, so unearthly that keith’s heart is now between his feet.

“no. i only care about the gash in your head.” he chuckles. fuck. “it’s pretty deep. i can go with you to the hospital..”

keith is at a loss for words! this gentleman sent from god just had his fancy, million dollar sports car crushed by keith’s 7,000 pound truck filled with useless mattresses (his delivery this week), and all he cares about is.. keith’s bleeding forehead!?

ain’t no fucking way.

“no!” keith yells and the guys kinda flinches. “i mean! y-your car!! i-! your car is-! i didn’t mean to..”

god, here he goes babbling again. like seriously? it gets the guy smiling AGAIN and keith can’t handle it. who the fuck put this man on the planet???

“sir?” he says. fucking sir. he reaches for keith’s tensed shoulders and keith melts. literally. “relax.” their eyes lock and keith swears he will never look at anything else again because there is nothing on earth that is more captivating.

“o.. kay..” keith nods, looking up at his angel. he’s about 2 inches taller than keith, but that’s alright with him. a light blush fills his nose and soon his cheeks when he realizes how close they are again.

“you seem really distraught by the whole thing. allow me to introduce myself. my name is lance.”

keith nods again, unable to speak because his angel has a name and it’s just as beautiful as him.

“and yours?” lance asks.

“k.. k-keith..” keith forces out.

lance smiles AGAIN for fucks sake, keith is going to be reduced to ashes if he keeps doing that.

“it’s nice to meet you, keith.” lance moves his hands from the top of keith’s shoulders down to his forearms, giving them a gentle, reassuring squeeze. keith would like to step out onto the ongoing traffic that’s still going on beside them because all of this is literally happening on the side of the fucking road!

“mhm.” keith squeaks. like actually. lance removes his hands and keith gets so cold. he moves over to keith’s truck to assess the (nonexistent) damages and almost laughs.

“you know, you really did me a favor,” he says, placing his slender hands on his taught waist. keith squeaks again.

“oh.. how so?” keith walks over slowly, looking from the sports car to his truck that barely has a dent in it.

“i’ve been wanting to get rid of this car since i got it three years ago.” lance says. “my fancy rich parents got it for me for my twenty-third birthday and i’ve always hated it.” he looks over and finds keith’s eyes.

keith goes beet red.

“i got into a fight with said parents about it a few days ago and kinda prayed that something bad would happen to it.” lance continues, crossing his arms over his chest. “guess that makes you like my angel or something?”

what. the fucking. hell.

keith goes all the way red, so red that the blood from his gash blends into his face almost perfectly. lance just smiles wide and cheekily like he knows what he’s doing and keith knows he does.

“kidding.” lance says with a laugh and a smirk. he walks away to his car and proceeds to open the drivers side door, grabbing a backpack and a rather large duffle bag from the small backseat. he grabs a few more things from the cupholder, the armrest, and reaches over to the passenger side for the glove compartment, shoving all those items into his duffle bag. he grabs the keys out of the ignition and closes the door, pressing the lock button twice. pulling his phone from his back pocket, he takes a picture of the damages to his car and nods his head. “alright, sent.”

“what??” keith’s eyes grow wide. “you just-!”

“i just sent a pic to my annoying parents. yeah, man.” lance is smiling and keith is falling hard. he reaches over to the front of keith’s truck and peels off his license plate, smiling at it. “this will make a great mantelpiece above my parent’s fireplace. what do you think?” he smiles at keith and raises one of his perfectly arched eyebrows.

keith can’t help but smile back. this man is devious. “i.. think it’s badass.”

lance’s eyes do this thing where they light up like a christmas tree and keith can’t fucking feel his jelly legs!

“that’s my boy.” lance fucking purrs and okay yeah keith is 100% sure he moans.

a lot happens in those next few minutes because words are exchanged and the next thing keith knows, his drop dead gorgeous angel is in the passenger seat of his giant truck and they’re driving to the nearest hospital for keith to get stitches. after a good look in the mirror and the adrenaline leaving his veins, keith realized that his gash was actually that. a deep one. it was bleeding down his face and crusting and he concluded that he needed to get it checked out. at least he could play the hurt card and get out of work for a day, maybe two. after he finished his delivery, he’s not that hurt.

as for lance? well.. let’s just say that he was pretty happy holding keith’s hand while he got stitches. and talking up the cute nurse at the front desk to lower the bill for keith’s stitches. and paying said bill for keith’s stitches. and finishing the delivery with keith. and even driving all the way home to some fancy gated community full of giant mansion-like houses with big swimming pools and porcelain fountains.

it’s about 2pm when they finish their little adventure as keith parks his truck just outside of the gated neighborhood. he reaches up to touch the gauze on his forehead and receives a slap to the hand.

“no!” lance yells, “don’t touch! you gotta let it heal properly.”

“right,” keith nods nervously, fidgeting with the dark leather gloves on his hands. lance seems to notice them and points.

“aren’t you hot in those?” he asks. “it’s like eighty degrees out.”

“nah,” keith shrugs, staring at his hands, “i pretty much lived in the desert, so im used to the heat.”

for some reason that makes lance smile. not too much but enough to make keith realize that he would do anything to make him smile over and over.

“yeah, being used to the heat must be nice and all,” lance shrugs, “considering how hot you are.”

an actual jolt of electricity runs up keith’s spine so hard that he has to subtly arch his back away from the leather seat because he’s pretty sure it’s getting hot in his truck and he doesn’t mean the temperature.

lance seems to notice because his smile doesn’t falter. it hasn’t faltered all day. not after the accident. not at the hospital. not at keith’s delivery site or the long drive back to lance’s home. he’s been smiling all day considering his precious car being totaled and his wealthy parents most likely being furious with him.

“i apologize for being so forward but,” lance sighs like he’s been dying to get this off his chest, “can i.. get your number?”

keith chokes on air. “m-my… number??”

lance nods. “yeah. like, your phone number.”

“.. why?” keith fucking blurts out like a goddamn idiot!!! his face seems to match the screaming voice in his head because lance continues to smile, chuckles even. he’s so beautiful.

“so i can text you for your insurance information, duh?” lance smirks. when keith takes his sarcasm seriously, lance rolls his eyes. “oh my god, so i can call you sometime!.. m-maybe..”

“me!?” keith can’t believe this. “you want to call me?”

lance nods, turning his body towards keith so he can face him. “yeah. is that.. cool?”

“yes!” keith nods rapidly, “i mean.. sure.”

“cool.” lance bites his lower lip as he reaches for his phone in his lap. they exchange phone numbers and lance goes as far as to take a picture of keith for his picture in his phone. when keith tries to hide stating that his long hair is messy and the bandage on his head looks dumb, lance reassures him that he looks cute and how he wanted to remember keith just like he is now. ‘sexy, yet adorable’ he said. keith literally can’t keep being tortured like this.

it was keith’s turn to take a picture of lance. his hair was a perfect kind of messy and his lips glossy with cinnamon lip balm, a scent that filled the air in keith’s truck. he smiled big, so big that his eyes kind of closed and turned into crescents. he was just so insanely gorgeous that keith didn’t know what to do with himself!!! he saved his name as guardian angel lance with a blue heart emoji to match those hypnotic eyes. his favorite eyes.

as their time came to an excruciatingly sad end, they said their goodbyes. lance opened keith’s hand and placed something inside before reaching over and planting a scorching hot kiss to keith’s cheek, thanking him for the eventful day. keith was a stone cold statue as lance happily made his way out of the truck and into his gated neighborhood, putting in some kind of PIN code before the rather large gates opened up to let him in. he turned to wave goodbye to keith before he disappeared down a hill.

when keith came to, he looked down in his hand to see the cinnamon lip balm sitting in the palm of his hand, waves of exhilaration and adoration swimming along the insides of his stomach. his heart did a small little pang and he had to clutch his chest at the unfamiliar feeling.

is this.. love?

to be continued..?

part 2

#klance #lance #lance mcclain #lance (voltron) #keith #keith kogane #keith (voltron) #vld #voltron legendary defender #voltron #tw bl0od mention #vld lance #vld keith #lance vld #keith vld #lance (vld) #keith (vld) #lance voltron #keith voltron #voltron lance #voltron keith #writing #blurb #pining #keith x lance #klance blurb #voltron blurb #rae’s klance blurbs #damnlance #damnlancewrites

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Jan 25th

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1. I'm begging to know if you have this fic. Years back, I read a fic where Wei Ying is exiled from the Lan clan and in the process becomes mute kind of (?) by choice. Years-ish later the Lan clan would beg him back to teach the juniors dark arts, and after something he would comply. It's a lot of Lan Zhan trying to apologize and Wei Ying not taking it afterwards, but I do believe it has a good ending. Do you perhaps know what this fic is? I've been trying to dig out the name for a month or so now. @sunshines-child

FOUND? Wei Ying's Destroyed Heart by Belladonna01234 (Wattpad)

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2. hi!!! im looking for a genderbend fic( i think ?) where wwx is set to marry jin guangyao (theyre each others beards) and lwj is the florist, or maybe the other way around. i didnt read it, i only remember those specific things bc of the tags and the summary, but most definitely one of them is the florist at the other's wedding, and they meet and such is life. thank you so much!!!

FOUND! Widow's Weeds by travelingneuritis (E, 18k, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, Gardens & Gardening, Wedding Planning, wedding thwartin, grich people are terrible, Light-Hearted, Smut, Gender Changes, Getting Together, offscreen deaths played for laughs, this is meant to be silly don't worry about it, Scheming, Plotting, wwx and jgy are accidentally-on-purpose bearding each other but i keep it PG, wwx running laps around the entire jin sect)

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3. Hello! I am looking for a fic which I am 90% sure is a WWX/LWJ fic, but there is a 10% chance it might be Keith/Shiro from Voltron (oops, ehe, if so please disregard this ask!). It is a modern au where WWX looks like a rough guy, maybe from a motorcycle gang, and LWJ is a lovely put together businessman. The office where LWJ works begins to notice their boss (LWJ) meeting with tattooed WWX and they think WWX might be up to no good! But WWX is actually a cop or fireman, and he just looks a bit like a road rat. They eat pastries together on their lunch break. Does this ring a bell? I have been looking for ages! Thank you!!!

3 is definitely a Voltron fic if the other blades of Marmora are Keith's fellow cops.

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4. Hi! For fic finder, there is a fic that i only read the summary and a snippet of the story. I didnt read that fic at first because it is not something i usually read, but now its haunting me. Its ice skating au. I think there are "madam yu bashing" In the tag (im not sure). And the snippet i read is NHS beat up WC in secluded place in revenge for WWX. There are no CCTV and NHS said to WC that no one will believe him that NHS beat him up. I know its short, but i really dont know the story. Thank you!

FOUND! enough, for me by doodlebutt (T, 1k, Modern AU) which takes place during chapter 7 of All the shine of a thousand spotlights (M, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, figure skating, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Major Character Injury, Recovery, Getting Together, background relationships - chengqing; xuanli; xiyao, Background Pregnancy, the mortifying ordeal of Talking About Your Feelings, sexually tense pair skating, There Was Only One Bed)

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5. WWX and LZ are flabbergasted to see the other alive: WWX was burning paper money at LZ’s funeral as LZ died protecting him and LZ was attending WWX’s funeral as LZ failed to protect WWX during a nighthunt. The universe did some weird shit that merged the two timelines so now they’re both alive and with each other. I can’t find it anywhere @selena10180

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6. There was this fic, i don't remember, wwx was single and pregnant and his family (i think jiangs or wen? ) was with him? If u could find this fic and more like it?

FOUND? All I Want by Selenay (E, 47k, WangXian, Modern AU, No Powers, Mpreg, Post Holiday Romance, Consequences, Reunions, Idiots in Love, Teacher WWX, Rating earned in later chapters, Handwavey Biology)

FOUND? Nothing but your heart by airinshaw (E, 21k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Implied Mpreg, First Time, Getting Together, Angst and Drama, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anal Sex, Whump, Breeding Kink) could also be this

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7. hi!! im looking for an unfinished (as of when i read it at least!!) accidental baby acquisition fic where wwx drops a baby (lsz i believe!) off at lwjs door in the middle of the night and disappears — i know thats vague but i dont remember a lot of details? it was a lot of introspection and confusion on lwjs part, kind of OH SHIT i have to look after this baby now n wwx is vanished n idk whats going on. n to my memory in the next chapter or so wwx comes back and is still rlly weird n mysterious n frustrating abt the babys origins n theres wx vibes but lwj is real confused. sorry i dont have more detail but i really hope i can find it!!!

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8. Hi! :D I really hope you can help me find this fic! I have been looking for weeks! it's driving me nuts!

I remember that WWX doesn't die and LXC help him live hidden in CR using the identity of a Lan that has died, WWX is taking care of LWJ/is LWJ's servant, there is a scene where they are in Lanling (I think) and WWX has befriended some of the servants there, him and one? of them are talking about WWX's feelings for LWJ/if LWJ love WWX/or something like that, and then LWJ is there, I'm pretty sure they go somewhere else and confess to e/o

FOUND! Unbreakable Heaven, Luminous Earth by carolyncaves (M, 96k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Secret Identity, almost to the point of uncomfortable identity theft, Sharing a Bed, Literal Sleeping Together, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Suicidal Thoughts, that's for WWX after Nightless City and is not pervasive throughout the fic, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Caretaking, Sexual Content, Domestic Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Power Imbalance, mainly between WWX and JGY in an entirely nonsexual manner, this isn't really a kid fic but the kids are there, as are some yunmeng sibling feelings, JYL lives, Not Everyone Dies AU, some COVID parallels, this is not a quarantine fic, but thematically WWX deals w things like face-covering for safety and loss of control, also assume all canon warnings, this AU is gentler than canon but isn't a complete fix-it)

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9. Hi hi! Thanks for your wonderful recommendations always! I’m looking for a wangxian fic where WWX has a breakdown in the lotus pier courtyard and the vibes are like “I’ve tried so hard for so long and for what; I can’t anymore; I’m so alone” and the Jiangs are like “… oh shit” and then treat him better after that and help him bear the burdens. (I can’t remember if WWX is a dragon also?) @vi-sky

#9 while the suggestion is great I don’t think this is the fix I was looking for. I don’t think the Jiangs find out about anything until WWX has the breakdown in the courtyard, and I think he kept it to himself for awhile as opposed to his breakdown being chapter 1 in the recommended.

NOT FOUND! 🧡 (Un)Hidden truth by Sarah_R (M, 198k, WIP, WangXian, Suicide attempt, Time Travel, Hurt/comfort, Angst, Self-Harm)

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10. Hello! I can't remember much details but I think lan zhan lands on an unfamiliar planet, there he meet wei ying. Wei ying appearance is different, his body i think is color pink? or blue or like galaxy (눈▽눈) I 'm not really sure but he is not human , also wei ying is shy at first and then warm up eventually. Wahh thank you in advance!

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11. Hello! For fic finder: I am trying to find a fic I read recently (within the last 6 months or so) where Wei Wuxian cultivates a resentful energy core but it was held outside his body in the Yin Tiger Tally. Lan Wangji doesn’t know that, so he convinces Wei Wuxian to give up the Tiger Tally as a gesture of peace. Everyone gathers around to watch and are horrified when as Wei Wuxian crushes the Tiger Tally in his hand and the Tally crumbles to dust, Wei Wuxian keels over in terrible agony at losing his core a second time. I think Wangji rushes over to help but Wen Qing pushes him away. It wasn't Decay by antebunny (although that is a good fic!!). Any thoughts? Thank you!

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12. hi I just remembered a fic in modern verse where Wei Ying boarded a flight that disappeared mid air and landed after 10+ yrs and Lan Zhan comes to pick up from the airport once he gets the news. I can't seem to find it can you please help and thanks for your efforts its bought me across many amazing fanfics

FOUND! 看客散去唯你我不忘 | the world forgets but i still remember you by prettyxianxian (T, 11k, wangxian, Modern, Flashbacks, POV Multiple, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives AU, Insecurities à la WWX, manifest au, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Good Parent YZY, Good Parent JFM)

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13. Hello!! I'm looking for a fic that I was sure i had reblogged but now I can't find it anywhere 😔 It was on tumblr not ao3. LWJ is sex-cursed and he has to be touched by the person he loves. It was during the burial mound days and WWX is isolated from the cultivation world, and also LWJ refuses to ask him for help for that, he'drather die. LXC finds out and takes an unconscious LWJ to the burial mounds and gives him a day to tell WWX on his own or LXC will do it, and LWJ only agrees because he intends to run away before WWX finds out why he's there @kokobabee

FOUND! Tumblr Fic by @jingyismom

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14. Hello! I badly need help. I've been looking for this fic. I think it was like 5+1 or something where other people learn that Sizhui is Hanguangjun's son and that one time that Wei Wuxian did. I remember some of the 5+1 was a scene with a vendor, another scene with Ouyang-zongzhu in a nighthunt and I'm not sure if Jiang Wanyin was also one of them. But yeah, I've tried all keywords I could think of but I just can't find it. I hope you can help me. Thank you so much for all your efforts.

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15. Hello I am looking for a fic where the world agrees to not kill Wei Ying if he marries and dual cultivates with someone and it's LWJ @calamityisalve

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16. I am looking for a fic where wangxian invite the cultivation world to their wedding but wei wuxian and Lan shizui get badly hurt during the hunt before the wedding. The wedding is postponed and I think it had a scene where they fell down a waterfall? Please find it for me🙏

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17. Hiiii!!!! I’m looking for a Twitter thread fic about a Warprize Lwj ABO Au where he became a consort to wen zhuliu? I think it was him, anyway, he gave birth a-yuan but a-yuan was actually Wwx son. I remember there was quote retweeted art of the thread fic where Wwx was standing over a-yuan’s cradle.

If you actually manage to find it a million thanks!!! @silent-taco

FOUND? Twitter thread by @cerbykerby, art by @hellinglaozu

FOUND? 🔒 Poison series by Cy_an_Blue, NiceElsa (E, 30k, wangxian, Gods & Goddesses, God WWX, God LY, A/B/O, Alpha WWX, Omega LY, Pre-Relationship wangxian, Implied/Referenced Forced Marriage, Implied/Referenced Bottom LWJ, Omega LWJ, Alpha LXC, Married WangXian with kids, Dark, War Prize LWJ, Forced Pregnancy, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Not by WangXian, Adultery, Cheating, Threats of Violence, Threats of Child Abuse/Murder, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Gore, Smut, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Endgame Wangxian, Post Mpreg, post pregnancy, Protective LQR, Gūsū Lán Elders Bashing)

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18. Hello! I hope you can help me find this one, because I’m not having much luck; Wei Ying agrees to do what the sects want in exchange for the Lan sect taking in the Wen. He is basically imprisoned in the Unclean Realm and can’t practice demonic cultivation, and over time Nie Huaisand and Nie Mingjue start to warm up to him.

I think the one scene I remember most is a scene where Lan Huan asks Wei Ying if he can play for Nie Mingjue but Wei Ying says he can’t and admits that he has no golden core after making Lan Huan promise to keep it a secret. Hope this helps?

FOUND? Always walked a very thin line by tucuxi (T, 22k, WangXian, NHS & WWX, JYL & WWX, Depression, Anxiety Attacks, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Self-Worth Issues, Slow Burn, Oblivious WWX, Golden Core Reveal, WWX Has No Golden Core, Chronic Pain, Chronic Illness)

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19. 你好! I've been looking for a fic with mute wei ying? (mute by choice, I believe). I cannot remember much, but I do remember that Wei Ying is exiled by the Gusu Lan clan, led by Lan Zhan himself. He's later called back to teach the juniors lessons on Demonic cultivation, where they found out after many years of choosing not to talk, he's kind of lost his voice. I don't know if you could find this fic, but it's been plaguing my brain for awhile now.

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20. Hi! Searching for a fic where omegaxian is the assistant physician of Wen Qing and then Emperor (not sure if emperor or just a prince) Alphaji want him immediately as his consort. Wen qing and other people protested and told alphaji that omegaxian is not available because he is only a physician.

I remember it being a threadfic in X (twitter)

Thank you so much

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#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

[ill-skillsgard]

No Distractions - AU Keith (Barbarian 2022)

Title: No Distractions Warning: 18+ smut, coarse language, alcohol consumption, and mentions of a toxic relationship. Summary: A woman escaping her past finds herself in a double-booked Airbnb, unsure if she can trust the kind stranger she meets there. Note: I won't elaborate on my absence from the fandom in this note, but after watching Barbarian, I absolutely HAD to write the scene we all wished for. This piece has no horror elements and no spoilers for the movie. So, even if you haven't watched it, you may still enjoy this smutty little one-shot I whipped together super quick. A like, comment and mostly, a reblog would really make my day. Come on, Bill fandom. I know you're still breathing!

The flight was one of the worst 3 hours of her life, and the last few weeks had already tested her limits. There was not one but two screaming children on board, her seatmate was a flatulent chatterer, and the frequent turbulence reminded her that she was suspended above the clouds, at nature's mercy.

But those weeks were behind her now. All that remained between her and a clean, warm bed was a keypad which clicked and blinked green after she punched in the 6-digit code.

The apartment was a chilly 66 degrees—much cooler than any place should be in the fall, but the space was larger than the photos on the booking app, so she forgave the frigid temperature and kicked off her shoes. She dropped her bags on the floor and flopped onto the plush, grey sofa. A laminated sheet on the table outlining the renter's rules, the wifi code and a few nearby restaurants hooked her interest just as her stomach rumbled.

Though a hot meal after bland, overpriced airline food sounded like heaven, the fluffy throw pillows and steam-cleaned cushions of the sofa beckoned her. She laid down and soon fell asleep to the sound of sweet, sweet nothing.

As she sank into a dream, the bedroom door opened, and a tall man stepped out into the hall. He entered the living room, first spotted the bags next to the sofa, froze, and looked around for other irregularities. The vibration from a phone startled him, and he peered over the back of the sofa and found a young woman very much asleep. Her mouth was open, a trail of drool seeping from her lips and onto the throw pillow. The phone rumbled and rumbled.

"Um... Hello? Miss? Uh, hey. Wake up."

The girl snorted but did not wake. He leaned over, tapped her on the shoulder once, and then stepped back to avoid flailing limbs. Her eyes rolled under the lids, and when she realized what was happening, she jolted upward with a yelp.

"Who the fuck are you?" She asked.

"Uh, I'm Keith. But um, I think I should be the one asking who you are and why you're in my Airbnb."

"What are you talking about? I'm renting this place."

"That's impossible."

"No, it's not impossible. Look," she said, grabbing her phone off the table and ignoring the several missed calls. As she fumbled for a confirmation email, she dismissed another call. Keith grimaced at the small print on the screen.

"I can't really read that without my glasses," said Keith. "But I believe you. There's obviously been some kind of mistake."

"No shit," she said.

Keith held his hands behind his back and went quiet. She deflated on the sofa with a groan.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I've had a hellish few days, and it's just my luck something like this would happen."

"Let me call these idiots and see what we can do."

She stood and gathered her bags in a hurry. "No, no. I should go. I mean, you were here first. You have dibs."

Keith grabbed her shoulder, and she flinched. He withdrew his hand immediately and stepped away, palms open.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. But we should work this out. And, it's rather late," Keith pointed at the balcony doors and the blackness beyond the pane. "I can't put a lady out on the street. That would be terrible. Let me make the call, and maybe we can figure something out. Or at least get your money back."

"That will still leave me without a place to stay. So, I should probably find a hotel before it's too late."

"Please, I'd like to make this right. Let me at least call. You can take the bedroom if anything, and I'll sleep out here. Just for tonight."

She clutched her bags, eyes searching for anywhere to land except Keith.

"I swear I'm not a creep," he said.

"I don't know if you saying you're not a creep helps at all."

"You're right... Fuck, this is not good."

"Nope," she said.

As the awkward silence deepened, her phone vibrated in her hand.

"Uh, do you need to answer that?"

She swiped the caller away again and dropped the device in her pocket. "No."

"Just 'cause I noticed you were getting lots of calls as I came out here and found you. Not that I was out here for long! That'd be weird. I was just... Well, I wasn't sure if I should wake you, but then I thought, of course, I should wake her, and your phone was just ringing and ringing. Maybe someone was trying to get ahold of you for something important. I don't know. I'm totally rambling now, and you probably think I'm a psycho."

Despite his unforeseen presence, Keith was not a man she would classify as creepy. He had big, kind eyes and seemed concerned for her well-being.

But that's how serial killers find their prey, she thought. However, there was something about his demeanour that denounced any kind of predatory inclinations. He stood with a slight hunch, perhaps because she was significantly shorter than him, tripped over his words, and fidgeted as he spoke. But would she recognize a violent criminal with these disarming behaviours at the ready? She had watched too many documentaries about killers to absolve him of all suspicion.

"I don't think you're a psycho, but this is still a weird situation."

"Hold on," said Keith. "Let me grab my phone."

He left the living room, and she peered down the hallway, hoping he didn't come back with a gun. When he showed up with his phone in hand and nothing else. she sighed with relief. Keith had no pockets in his sweatpants to conceal a weapon, and he moved toward the balcony to peer outside as he called the apartment's owners.

"Voicemail," Keith sighed. "Says they're on vacation in Hawaii. Must be nice."

"Yeah, guess so. How convenient."

"Look, I have this place booked for the next week. I don't mind leaving for the night and giving you the space so you can at least rest up. Then tomorrow, we can figure something else out."

"That's not fair," she said. "Plus, if you were going to do anything, you still have the passcode."

"True, I guess. Shit. Well, my initial offer still stands. You can sleep in the bedroom—it's nice, and I barely even touched the bed, so it's not like... dirty, er anything. And um, I'll take the couch."

She giggled. "You're like seven feet tall, and that couch isn't even big enough for me to sleep comfortably."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm adaptable. I grew up in a huge family with limited space. I'm used to squeezing into tight places."

"I don't know, Keith."

"Barricade the door if you want. I promise on my dog's life that I won't do anything to harm you," he held out his phone to show her an image of himself and a golden retriever with its tongue lolling to one side. Keith looked elated in the photo with a wide, toothy grin. She set her bags down.

"The problem is, I booked this place for three days."

"I'll find somewhere else to stay tomorrow. You can have the place. Hell, you can have my whole booking if you want. Stay until the end of the week, on me."

"Then you waste your money," she pointed out.

"That's fine. I can get a credit. I'm sure I can work something out with the booking app. And money isn't a big deal anyway—I mean, it's all good."

She studied him, noting all of his prominent features in case she had to provide a physical description. He was well over six feet, with unruly brown hair, light green eyes, and a half-inch horizontal scar on his cheek. He had no tattoos or other discerning marks, but his strange eyes were enough to set him apart from anyone. Most of his features were remarkable in some way; full, deep pink lips, an upturned nose, a dimple on his chin that only showed when he spoke or smiled. There was no forgetting Keith's face.

"Everything about this is a bad idea, but strangely enough... I trust you. Although, maybe I'm too tired to judge the situation properly."

"You can take a photo of my ID and send it to someone you trust. Does anyone else know you're here? If not, you should give them the address."

"No, nobody knows I'm here, but I'll take you up on your offer."

Keith retrieved his wallet and pulled out his driver's license, library card, gym membership and every other piece of identification he had with his name on it. She chuckled at his rigour and handed him back the cards after she finished snapping shots.

"Your library card expired," she said.

"I guess I should get that renewed, huh?"

"Expired four years ago. You don't do a lot of reading anymore?"

"Oh, I read. I just use a Kindle now. I feel bad about it, though. Kinda miss going to the library every couple of weeks."

"Me too."

Keith presented her with a burrito shop loyalty card. "Take a picture of this one. It's got my phone number on it. That's traceable, right?"

A blush crept over her cheeks. There was still a nugget of worry sinking in her chest, but Keith seemed genuine, and his awkwardness buried her apprehension as they worked out the details of how the night would play out. Keith surrendered the bedroom and helped her move her bags while repeatedly promising there would be no funny business. She accepted, and once she retired behind the master bedroom door, she changed into pyjamas and fell asleep without a moment to decompress from the odd situation in which she had found herself.

The next morning, she dressed and made her way into the kitchen, where Keith was busy flipping bacon and tending a pan of scrambled eggs. When he noticed her, his concentrated face slackened, and he waved with the greasy spatula.

"Morning. I wasn't sure if you were a coffee or a tea person, so I made both."

There was a full French press and a steaming teapot on the table beside a bowl of sliced oranges. She sat down in the warm beam of light shifting in from the window and pretended not to watch the man in the kitchen cooking and whistling like nothing about their encounter was peculiar. He brought her eggs, bacon and toast, then sat across from her, poured himself coffee and dug into his food. She picked up her fork and analyzed the meal before her.

He could poison me. He could drug me and...

"Not hungry?" Keith said.

"Very. It's just..."

"I promise I didn't lace your food with cyanide or anything. Wanna switch plates?"

She laughed as he presented his already half-eaten portions, and he shrugged. "Sorry, I guess I didn't think about how this could be risky."

"Sorry, Keith. I don't want to suspect every little thing could be a trap. It's all the true crime documentaries. You never know."

"I get it. Hey, you don't have to eat. I promise I won't be offended."

She prodded a slice of bacon, decided it was too tempting to ignore any longer, and took a bite. Keith smiled around a mouthful of buttered toast.

"So, what are your plans for the day?" He asked.

"Well, I'm kind of on vacation."

"Kind of?"

"It's a long story."

Keith looked at his watch. "I have time. I have to head out in about an hour for a meeting."

"I just needed to get away, which is why I booked this place for a few days."

"Wouldn't have something to do with the person whose calls you've been dodging?"

She picked at her nails under the table and sighed. "It does."

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me. You have that air of a person on the run from something."

"I do?"

"You have an awful lot of stuff for someone only staying for a few days. I know ladies like to travel heavily, but that suitcase is massive. Also, the phone calls."

"It's that obvious?"

"I can piece it together. And I don't mean to pry, but there's a tan line on your ring finger."

"Okay, detective."

"Sorry. Am I wrong?"

"If only you were."

"Hey," Keith reached across the table and touched her wrist for a second. "It's okay. I'm a safe person to talk to. Or you can tell me to shut the hell up, and I will."

"It's fine. I just didn't think it was so obvious."

"Call me over-observant."

"Well, thanks for being so nice and letting me stay the night. I guess we should discuss what the next move is?"

Keith gulped down his coffee and took his empty plate to the kitchen sink. "How about later? I'm going to hop in the shower and go to my meeting. I'm sure you'd love some time to yourself."

"Sure, I guess."

"Just promise me one thing," Keith said. "You won't just up and leave while I'm gone. Okay?"

"All right."

"Promise?"

"Sure," she laughed.

"Great. So, I'll see you later then?"

"I guess you will."

Keith nodded, and his chin dimple flashed with his smile.

They both made good on their promises; Keith returned after work with four different types of corked wine, and she didn't vacate the apartment. He came back with abundant energy, striding all over the apartment, setting the bottles on the table, and whipping open the curtains. She watched him fluff the couch pillows, retrieve wine goblets and rattle on about how busy the day had been.

"You hungry? Maybe we should order in for dinner. Also, I don't know what wine you prefer, so I bought red, white, rosé and pinot noir. Oh, shit. Are you a chardonnay girl? Shit, I should have gotten some while I was at the store—"

"Keith! It's fine. I don't really drink wine anyway."

He smacked his forehead with a groan. "God, I'm such an idiot. I should have called you before assuming. Wait, I don't even have your phone number. Wow, I'm dropping the ball all kinds of ways."

"I thought we were going to talk about our, um... Temporary living situation?"

"Yeah, we will. I just figured it'd be more pleasant to do so over dinner."

"How about you sit down? Might make talking a little easier."

"Yeah, sure. You're right."

She joined Keith on the sofa, and the proximity made her feel terrible for having made him sleep there the previous night. Guilt crept over her, and she felt like an intruder all over again. Keith assured her that her presence was welcome and offered to buy dinner despite her many attempts at convincing him otherwise. Soon, they were eating Thai food, the subject of one of them leaving the apartment long since forgotten under flowing conversation and laughter. Keith popped open the red wine, and she decided to take a small pour in the heat of the moment.

His charm wore her down throughout the evening, and she decided she wanted neither of them to leave the apartment. Keith returned the sentiment, and they agreed on one more night of him on the sofa and her in the bedroom.

At ten o'clock, after they had showered and mostly sobered up from splitting a whole bottle of wine, she tiptoed into the living room, but Keith was not in sight. She circled the sofa and found him sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands relaxed in his lap, eyes closed, wearing only sweatpants.

"Uh, whatcha doing?"

Ten silent seconds passed before Keith opened one eye. "I'm meditating. You should join me."

"Really?"

"Yes. Come."

She sat across from Keith and mimicked his position. "So, what does this help with?"

Keith drew a long breath through his nose without opening his eyes and expelled it steadily. "Mindfulness. Calmness. Decluttering the brain."

"Okay, what do I do?"

"Close your eyes," he said.

"Done."

"Now, think of nothing."

She nodded, unsure of how to stop thinking. At first, she wondered how silly they must have looked sitting on the floor with their eyes closed, then wondered if this was part of Keith's nightly routine and chuckled at the thought of the man sitting in silence for extended periods. He hushed her, and she bit down on her lip to keep her reactions under control.

"Can I be honest?" She asked. "I don't know how to stop thinking."

"Talking doesn't help. And it's not that you must stop thinking; it's about trying to find your inner quiet. Turning off the voices in your head that feed you lies throughout the day. Those who say you're not good enough, not smart enough, or worthy of love or respect. Purge the junk thoughts. Dismiss the lies you tell yourself. They aren't coping mechanisms, just trash. And breathe deeply through your nose."

She took in a long breath.

"Don't keep it in. Release it. Slow and steady."

Keith grabbed her hands and arranged them palms up on her knees. He held them there and continued his long inhalations until her breaths fell in sync. Her nose made a whistling sound, and they both giggled.

"Clean out the worries. They don't serve you. Recognize the control you have of your life and decisions. You make your own happiness. Concentrate. Breathe. Don't let the pretty girl distract you."

Her eyes popped open while Keith's remained closed. His mouth twitched. He squeezed her hands, urging her to shut her eyes again.

"No distractions."

"Keith."

"No. Distractions."

She had had enough and flipped their hands to pull him closer. The wine still lingered in her blood, and the absurdity of the situation bolstered her bravery enough to kiss him. He smiled against her mouth, released her hands and shuffled his fingers through her hair, clutching her head at the right angle for him to take over when her nerve wavered.

"I said. No. Distractions." Keith kissed her between words, his own claim unconvincing. Her lips were as soft as he imagined, and his chest fluttered. Fated they were to end up like this, he thought to himself. From the moment he saw her asleep on the sofa, he had battled urges to flirt with her. Now, she had come to him, and the room grew hot.

Keith pulled her until the only thing she could do was climb over and settle in his lap with her legs wrapped around him.

She pulled away in mid-kiss, expecting him to flash his silly grin, but his eyes had grown heavy, and his mouth sought hers again. The weight of his desire had squashed all traces of giddiness. They kissed until she felt a twinge between their clothed groins. Finally, Keith looked down, breathless.

"I want to... You know. But I don't want you to feel obligated."

"I don't."

"Like you don't feel obligated or don't want to?"

"I want to, silly."

"Okay," Keith nodded. "Good."

She shimmied off of him, and he climbed onto the sofa backwards to not break eye contact. Once settled, she shifted between his knees and ran her hand over his hardness until he bristled with arousal and his sweatpants did little to conceal him. He blushed as she tugged his waistband and helped her remove the article. He sat naked, legs splayed, wonderment wide in his eyes. There were dozens of things he wanted to say, but before he summoned the courage to speak, she grasped his length, stood it up and licked him from base to tip, stifling all but a long moan. She did this a couple more times, then surrounded the head with her lips.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," said Keith.

She kissed his thigh, his groin, the drop of precum collecting at the tip of his cock, and giggled. "You're beautiful."

He grinned sheepishly and watched with an open jaw as she slathered his length with saliva and made him disappear down her throat a few times. When she came up for air, she pressed her lips to his frenulum and hummed.

"Your cock matches you perfectly. So long and pretty."

"Come on," Keith chuckled, cheeks pink. "I'm not pretty."

"Okay, you're gorgeous then."

"You are."

"And you're so nice. Please tell me nobody out there thinks they're dating you."

"Nobody thinks that. I'm really and truly single. Why else would I be letting you—oh... Oh, wow."

She clouded his thoughts again with one hand surrounding his shaft and the other massaging his balls while she circled her tongue around and around the head.

"For the record, I wasn't being nice hoping to seduce you," Keith said.

"No, you're just very polite, aren't you?"

"Of course."

"Are you gonna come soon?"

"Hell no," Keith sat up and urged her to stand. She shed her clothes, took his hand and climbed over his lap again, knees sinking into the plush cushions. "Oh, yes. Fuck me, pretty girl."

He pressed into her slowly, and she gasped from the sudden fullness. Clinging together, he rocked his hips forward once, letting her get used to the sensation before he settled back, marvelling at the naked body perched atop his. Keith let her find a rhythm, having no complaints about how she wished to move. He gorged on her body and whimpered as she swivelled her hips.

"You look so good riding me."

She accepted the compliment and pressed her arms against her breasts, squeezing them together until he latched onto a nipple. He gripped her hips, stroked down her back and gave her a light spank. When he drew back, his teeth had his bottom lip in a violent hold. She noticed the dimple on his chin, the scar on his cheek, and the eerie green eyes glazed over with lust. Unforgettable features contorted in pleasure, and she felt wanted for the first time in too long.

Keith placed her on all fours and gave a few gentle strokes before he increased his pace. He didn't want her to feel as though he was jabbing her, but a wave of fierce desire spurred him, and he pulled her in to meet his thrusts every time until she gasped.

"Does that hurt, baby?"

"No, it feels amazing."

"Okay, just let me know if I'm doing it too hard."

"You can go harder."

Keith scoffed. "Really? You want it harder?"

"I like it a little rough."

"Wouldn't wanna hurt you, gorgeous."

She twisted around and nodded. "Fuck me real good, pretty boy."

His cock twitched as she turned away and watched their reflection in the balcony window. The mirrored show didn't last long, for Keith flipped her and pressed down with all his weight. His stubble tickled while he kissed and nuzzled her neck and found her opening again. He sank in with a sigh. The lull was short-lived, and soon, he pounded into her with most of his strength. Though she had requested it, he hadn't the heart to make her wince, but what he did give her made the most beautiful sounds leave her lips, and he had to kiss her again.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come soon. I don't wanna make a mess."

"Come inside me," she said.

"You sure?"

"Yes, Keith."

He locked his elbows and closed his eyes, focusing on the tightness surrounding him, the slick noises, the little mewls and whimpers she made. When he looked down at her breasts bouncing from his motions, he groaned and pulled air through his teeth. She was so beautiful the way she looked helpless yet delighted to have him inside her.

"M'gonna come so hard inside that cute little pussy, baby. You ready?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

"Yeah, you like it when strange men fill you full of cum? You like that shit?"

"I love it," she moaned.

"Oh, that's so nasty. Letting someone you don't even know blow inside your slit. Fuck, I don't think I can take it anymore."

True to his word, Keith's muscles flexed, and a shuddering orgasm ripped through his body, spasming in his legs and dripping out of him as he groaned and his eyes rolled. There was no time between him pulling out and forcing her back onto her stomach. He lifted her hips and watched the cum dripping from her hole, making glistening streaks down her thighs. He lapped her clit with a curled tongue as she stuffed her face into the cushion to muffle her moans.

"Now it's your turn to come for me," his breath was hot on her backside, convincing. "I'll lick your pussy until I have you coming on my face."

Keith rubbed his tongue back and forth against her clit while he clutched her open and let the warm fluid flow. What he gathered in his mouth he spat back on her. He growled and nipped her in several places, replacing his tongue with his fingers so he could catch his breath and rearrange her yet again.

On her back, legs spread, Keith gorged on her pussy until her thighs shook, and he had to cover her mouth to ensure the neighbours didn't hear. He nodded, tongue flickering, eyes on her face.

"Come for me. Come on my tongue, baby. Can you do that for me?"

Her response came muffled under his palm, but she nodded and squeezed her eyes shut. He had found the sweet spot, the exact motion needed to make her orgasm, and when she did, her pelvis jostled, and she tried to pull away. But Keith pinned her and didn't stop until she climaxed and came up to another.

"Yeah, come on my face again. Keep coming for me, pretty girl. I want it all."

She lay on the couch, ears ringing and heart thumping as she gasped for breath. By the time Keith released her, she had lost count of how many times the unbearable wave of pleasure had come and gone. Keith offered his hand, and she took it, unsure of what might happen next. He led her to the washroom and motioned her to enter.

"Go pee, and then meet me in the bedroom."

"I... can't keep going."

Keith kissed her on the cheek, chuckling. "I know, sweet thing. I'm not gonna fuck you anymore. It's time for bed. But you should pee first. It's important."

"Oh," she said dazedly. "Right."

She did as suggested and met Keith in the bedroom, where he was already in his boxers and under the covers. He drew back the corner of the duvet and patted the mattress. Once under the covers, they snuggled up close, their noses an inch apart. He kissed her forehead and sighed.

"I just wanted to say... I don't normally do this kind of thing. It goes against what I believe in," said Keith.

"What do you mean? Were you saving yourself for marriage?"

"No, silly. I'm not really a one-night stand person. I don't usually have sex with girls I just met. So, this is a bit strange for me."

"Are you saying you want to do it again?"

"It's not that simple. Of course, I'd like to do it again. I just hope this wasn't a one-off thing for you. I mean, if it is, I'll respect that, but... I don't know. I like you, and when this week is over, I'd like to keep seeing you."

"My life is very complicated at the moment," she admitted. "I want to see you again—I mean keep seeing you—it's just that I'll be going through some big changes."

"That's fine. I'll be here for you."

"Thank you," she whispered.

Keith kissed her and tucked her head under his chin. She pressed her face into his chest and tried not to think about how odd it was to feel this way about someone she had just met. But there was something special about Keith. He was warm and welcoming, and she needed warmth now more than ever.

#bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgård

[silentwillowwhisperer]

Alright I need to write something 'bout Lance because I haven't yet, and that is not ok. (Though it still has Keith in it... oops.)

This is one of my favorite headcannons.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

When people are sad, Lance uses pet names.

Like full-on lovey nicknames.

A few weeks ago he found Hunk sitting in the corner of the kitchen with his head hidden in his knees. That absolutely COULD NOT stand.

"Aw baby, what's wrong? Do you need a hug, love?" he said, and immediately got crushed in Hunk's arms. (Cuz they're wholesome beans)

And it's not just him. He once accidentally yelled, "You good Darling?" from across the room to Shiro when he was thrown into a wall during training. Yeah, that took some explaining. (But it was kind of worth it to see the flaming blush across Shiro's cheeks.)

Anyway, the planet they are currently orbiting is a lot like Earth, and the homesickness is getting to everyone.

But Lance is still shocked when he hears soft sniffling coming from Keith's room. Keith of all people. Mr. Lone Wolf™!

He quickly puts in the door code that he knows for completely not-stalkerish reasons.

Keith looks up at him from his bed with teary eyes. He rubbed at them aggressively when he sees Lance.

"What are you doing here Lance? Does Allura need us?" His voice cracks terribly.

"Cariño! Are you okay? Never mind don't answer that, you're obviously not."

Without warning, Lance wraps his strong arms around Keith. His heart swells with adoration when Keith buries his head in Lance's shoulder. Of course, being the oblivious idiot he is, he does not notice Keith's flaming blush.

He gives in to the urge to touch Keith's hair and ends up rhythmically gliding his hand through it. They stay like that for a couple hours. (Keith may or may not have fallen asleep, and who was Lance to disturb him?)

They both silently agree to pretend the whole thing never happened.

A few months later and they are now on a diplomacy mission. The planet they are on is home to the Kragzots. They are giant neon-pink glow worms with faces. Lance has to do breathing exercises to keep his laughter from bursting out.

Their host, an alien named Vav'eol, is a... how can Lance say this nicely? He's a turd. Not literally of course, but he on everybody's nerves right now. Even Hunk has a grimace on his face whenever the pig-colored alien speaks.

Keith of course is absolutely shaking with anger.

1 hour into the stifling meeting and Vav'eol decides to comment on Shiro's arm. "Well I'm grateful and all that for you lot being here, but I'm not sure if you're trustworthy seeing as that one was reckless enough to lose an arm. How do you even manage to do that?" he scrutinizes.

Shiro opens his mouth to respond, but before he can the screeching of a chair interrupts him. They all turn to see Keith stand ramrod straight with fury etched into his face.

"Say that again you dirt-eating piggish son of a BI-"

He is interrupted (quite rudely) by warm arms wrapped around him.

"Come on babe, we're supposed to be peaceful right now. Calm down, hun."

Keith relaxes slightly, but still breathes heavily into Lance's neck.

"...Are they dating?" Vav'eol interrupts.

"I wish," both Shiro and Pidge sigh at the same time.

The hugging boys turn red as tomatoes.

----------------------------------------------------------

Ew. Dialogue. That was painful. But the vision had to be fulfilled.

#klance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld #shiro ships #takashi shirogane #hunk vld #keef is a protective baby bro #tawny post

[theroundbartable]

Can I ask from this ask game : https://www.tumblr.com/toomanyfandomsthings/749729499738996736/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-tell-you?source=share

No. 2, 10, 11, 12, 15 for Merthur, Klance and Drarry....Thanks 🌻

I don't mind being asked :). @comingfromastatechampionasshole, I hope this is alright with you, since it's your post. ^^ 2. What their love letters look like

Merthur: I imagine that Arthur would be the one writing love letters. Merely because Gwen told him he was unromantic and that Merlin WOULD do it. Merlin doesn't do it, however, because Arthur keeps calling him a girl. Besides, giving him flowers does the job just fine. So Arthur writes and writes and doesn't ever dare to give them to Merlin because of how much he himself cringes. Merlin finds the attempts between tax reports and the drawings Arthur sometimes makes of him. Merlin never mentions it either but they both know he's seen them.

Klance: Lance writes a DOZEN letters all the time for Keith. He makes a full show of it. But he also gives friendship love letters to Hunk and Allura and Pidge and everyone who appreciates it. Once in a while, Keith would give him one back and every single time, Lance starts to cry when no one is looking.

Drarry: Draco. But it's not love letters, it's HATE letters. It's little pictures of Harry getting electrocuted or sending goblins with insult poems at Harry. Once, he accidentally mixed a drawing of them holding hands up with one where he slapped him and when he noticed, he nearly obliviated Harry.

10. What TV shows they watch together, and which ones they hide from the other

Merthur: They watch Disney movies and specifically King Arthur movies together. Arthur hides that he's watching BBC Merlin though because he loves seeing Merlin use magic and wants to know what he's done the entire time. Merlin keeps that very show from Arthur, unsure how Arthur would react. Unbeknownst to him, Arthur keeps gushing about him every single episode.

Klance: They watch - I would say anything together. From documentaries to soap operas, they watch everything together. Keith hides that he's watching Mamma Mia though because he knows Lance will be insufferable when he finds out.

Drarry: When I say they watch everything, I mean EVERYTHING. Draco doesn't like to admit it but he's really fascinated with muggle technology and especially the effects, so he watches it all and then talks about how "shitty" those effects are, even though he's secretely amazed. Harry knows and teases him about it all the time.

11. What their first impression was of each other Merthur: instant attraction. Have you seen the episode? They were flirting. Merlin =brave idiot, Arthur = kind pratt Klance: Lance was amazed at first, completely focused on him which then turned into jealousy and an awkward crush. Keith didn't notice Lance at first, then slowly got to know him as Lance wiggled his annoying habits into Keith's life and Keith never wanted to let him go again.

Drarry: Draco had always wanted to meet THE Harry Potter and be friends with him, from the very day he learned they were the same age. When they met, he was shocked to find Harry to randomly antagonize him for reasons Draco couldn't fathom. Harry just saw a blond guy who reminded him all too much of his bullying cousin and instantly disliked him.

12. What they do for their anniversary Merthur: Arthur would absolutely forget about it until Merlin reminds him. Then Arthur would make Merlin plan a picnic, which Merlin has long planned anyway. And then they ride out and end up in trouble. It happens every year, the bandits are basically family by now.

Klance: Stargazing. But like, in the black or blue lion on a different planet. Lance really likes water planets and Keith likes deserts, so they switch it up every year.

Drarry: Draco would be OBSESSED with anniversaries. He makes monthly anniversaries and he keeps annoying Harry with it all the time. Like, "It's our 34th monthly anniversary, I GOTTO call at the Ritz to get a table!" Meanwhile, Harry is like: "He just loves going out and I like when he's happy." Anyways, Draco sometimes REALLY blows it out of proportion and arranges a meeting with the queen or something.

15. What they would change about each other

Merthur: ... "I don't want you to change. I want you to always be you."

Klance: At first it was the Mullet, but when Keith came back from the abyss, Lance is furious that Keith is now taller than him. So it's that, the height. Keith however, he's the jealous type, he's make Lance flirt with him more often. And yeah. MORE. Just so Lance doesn't flirt so much with everyone else anymore.

Drarry: Draco has a list. A very long, very detailed, very annoying list. He means absolutely none of it. Harry wishes Draco would stop writing that list. This was very fun to do haha XD I hope it was fun to read, too ^^

#bbc merlin #merthur #vld #klance #Harry Potter #Drarry #ask #answer #concepts #ask game

[dualityvn]

How exactly would Keith beg us to not break up with him? 🥺 what kinds of things would he say?

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't think before speaking, I was an idiot. Please don't go, I promise it won't happen again. I'll do anything."

#duality game #yandere #dating sim #visual novel #duality keith

[piggycyberwarrior]

Alone without you //HC

Summary: Lance x fem!Reader; Keith x fem!Reader What happens when the Paladins had to leave their s/o and see them years later on earth again?

a/n: here is a reminder that I love youuu!! Also my friend requested this sooo lets gooo

warnings: Lance is a little bit OCC, No proof read

Lance: 

Okayyy so we all saw that Lance was very homesick, am I right?

He missed his family and of course his S/o. 

You were the best thing that happened to him

when he felt like the fifth wheel, he wanted to be in your arms again

my poor bby

He never gave up hope coming back to you

But then stupid slav told him the percentage chance his girlfriend probably has someone else since she thinks he's dead

That shattered his whole world

He thought all the time: do you have someone else, why should you wait for him

his self-esteem was in the basement. way down deep.

 As the years went by, the pain became a little more bearable. His broken heart was covered with fake smiles

when he was on his way to earth with the others, he was nervous. he hadn't even said goodbye. would you still accept him? 

Please do it, my heart 😭 

you in turn had hope again since holt came back to earth. but now it's about war. 

you as a medic had to rescue injured people. that was your job at the garrison. you had to accompany dying people day and night. had to comfort families.(poor you)

when the paladins finally arrived with the alien ship, you went straight for Lance. but you couldn't go to him as he had to go straight to a meeting 

(again poor you)  

when the meeting was finally over, he saw you. his eyes wide open. tears in them 

„Y-Y/n" he stuttered with a shaky voice. immediately you hugged him "i missed you, you idiot" you whispered into his shoulder. 

All these years he was afraid that you had left him, but you waited for him. He didn't deserve you.

Now he was tearing up again but dont let him know I said that..-

lance buried his head in your neck "i missed you too y/n" 

He definitely had to spend this day with you. 

And all the other days 

And the rest of his life. 

Keith:

Soooo..

Keith is a "tough" guy who is kind of, well brash with everyone. 

Shiro had tried for a long time to get that out of his thick skull but without results.

So when THE Keith got a girlfriend, Shiro couldn't believe it at first.

You made Keith weak - the man could see that very clearly.

So he also saw the gentler Keith turn back into the old Keith when they were all together in space.

The mullet head seemed to miss you, even if he didn't show it. 

Shiro tried to talk to him about it, but he didn't go in for that kind of talk.

He could hardly hide his happiness when the earth was in sight again. cough cough The right one this time..😶

will you notice that he has grown? Would you be happy to see him again? He was sure you'll like Kosmo. No, didn't you have an allergy to dogs? Well, Kosmo was a space wolf after all...

he thought as he flew with the others into the milky way

Panic spread across his face when he saw what the Galra had done to the people on Earth.

You weren't a cadet on the garrison, were you dead? Or captured?

Just like Hunk, he wanted to find his family- you

At some point, a radio message reached Garrison. A faint voice announced that many people were being held as slaves in a Galra cruiser. They had to build devices and their schematics.

Keith would have recognized the voice anywhere. It was yours. Immediately he wanted to start a rescue maneuver

But! Of course, the commissioner first had to have more information from the unknown voice.

mhmp! I dont like her

you had actually managed to build a communicator, clever you

At some point, the Paladins were allowed to go on the rescue mission!!!! Yayyyy

It was loud and many screams of frightened people. 

you yourself crouched in your cell and waited for the Garrison to arrive, not knowing that your boyfriend was back on earth.

When your cell opened, you tried to squeeze yourself even further into the corner

"y/n?" whispered a familiar voice. You slowly looked up. Your eyes grew wide in shock. 

“Keith?” you said with a hoarse voice

Quickly he ran towards you and crouched in front of you. Thick tears ran from your still shocked face. 

"You, you...how- what?! you're missed! Why are you here! I-"

You stumbled over your words

“Shhh. Shh I’m here Y/n. You are fine, I’m here muffin.” He said lovingly squishing your cheeks.

I know it's a lot. I'll explain when we get out of here. Oh god I missed you." he said as he gave you a kiss on the forehead.

“I missed you too.”

#keith kogane imagine #lance imagine #Voltron imagine #Voltron headcanons #fluff voltron #fem!Readet #Voltron Wrtiting #Voltron Paladins #Voltron Red Paladin #Voltron Black paladin #keith kogane x reader leaving on earth #lance x reader leaving them on earth

[thekeythief]

talk abt your ronance thoughts

you mean my one single braincell running around in my very empty skull like a chicken with its head cut off? sure lets do it

There is in no world, no realm, no reality, in which Robin Buckley makes the first move on Nancy Wheeler. There's the obvious logistics here: Robin thinks Nancy is straight. Duh. But the truth of the matter is, Robin loves Nancy as a friend and is petrified of losing that, especially over something that could potentially drive Nancy away forever. Meanwhile, Nancy is in full gay-panic mode every time Robin is within 12 feet of her and the absolute only one to NOT notice is Robin Buckley.

Max clocks it before anyone else. Steve is soon to follow. They both tag team trying to set these idiots up. Dustin thinks they're up to something, has no idea what and tries to spy on them, who are trying to spy on Robin and Nancy. Eventually Dustin joins the "Gonna Get Robin and Nancy Together" club.

Max is their adopted child. End of story there.

Robin and Nancy exchange rings. Robin wears some of Nancy's tiny golden ones that are so dainty and fine that Robin worries she'll break them in her clumsiness but they're surprisingly sturdy (much like Nancy) Nancy loves the feeling of Robin's silver rings (albeit only one or two at a time since she's not used to larger rings) and they bring her comfort when she's anxious.

The two of them definitely go on detective jaunts together now. The bug was caught when they were in the library, sifting through nonsensical yet intriguing (and harebrained) ideas of aliens, ghosts, and possessed celebrities. Nancy's journalistic instincts are no small matter, and who better to indulge in this insane goose chases than Robin, who believes most if not all of them are true. (x-files au now please)

Nancy steals Robins clothes, finding them more comfortable when they're out running around. Her style is important to her, though; and she keeps this up for herself and no one else. Robin is a huge fan of Nancy's wardrobe.

Robin is obsessed with this artist she found featured in a magazine she definitely was not meant to look at at a gas station named Keith Haring (concept taken from Alen on twitter) She can't explain why but she loves everything about his style and form and color and she's not an artist by any means but that doesn't stop her from painting crude versions of his work on t-shirts and even painting one for Nancy on a periwinkle shirt.

Nancy is extremely protective of Robin on a visceral level. She thinks its because Robin can't see a threat if it's a bear staring at her in the face but its also that she's never felt this kind of protective instinct before and she's leaning into it. She's been protective of Mike and Max and the rest of the gang but with Robin, well Robin has a piece of her heart (her whole heart) so it goes without saying that if someone looks at Robin wrong its Nancy Wheeler and her shotgun they've got to worry about. (Robin is a puppy and notices nothing)

Anyway-- there's a few thoughts for ya ✨

#Ronance #Robin Buckley #Nancy Wheeler #Answers #xoxo dont ever think I won't write you an essay if you ask a question like this cuz lmao #jokes on you im neurodivergent #aka feral

[autisticlancemcclain]

fic rec friday 37

hello and welcome to fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

1. Fade to Black by @yokohogawa

Things between Keith and Lance are changing but Keith is restless, especially with Shiro still weak, and ends up taking a bad decision: he leaves Lance alone in the Castle with a Lion he cannot pilot. Unable to form Voltron without the newly appointed Red Paladin, the four Paladins left struggle against the sudden attack of a Galra ship and later on take damage from the explosion of a star in close proximity. Lance, on the other end, is left to defend the Castle by himself and has little time to succeed: without energy, the Lions have only 6 hours of breathable air. Beyond that point, his friends will be dead.

okay yes technically this series is unfinished. HOWEVER the first two works ARE finished, and they are amazing showstopping incredible etc. tbh im not much of a black paladin lance fan, i genuinely think solo leadership is not what he is suited for, but this fic made me way more open to it. the way he handled severe crises was as fear stricken as it was awe inspiring highly recommend

2. once again i am a child by @lilaclavenders

“You’re not a spare tyre,” Adam interjects.  “I know that,” Lance says, too unsure to sound completely defensive.   “That almost sounded like a question.” “No... it didn’t,” Lance says.

Lance and Adam talk.

i have always been a fan of lance and adam even tho its the most evidence lacking fanon thing in this fandom. its truly just so interesting. and to have lance as a young cadet getting slammed so badly just in so many different directions being given at least one grownup in his corner...its a good read.

3. Lance the language man by @irish-vampire-blog

Lance didn't really try to learn a language. He just, kind of, picks up the basics and then works from there. Its usually unintentional. Ish.

He isn't stupid though. He isn't an idiot. He just isn't the same kind of smart as his friends are.

this kind of smart for lance is so REAL bc no he cannot do like quantum physics or whatever probably but the way he seems to have a pretty innate ability to successfully do many things that he tries. he just can u know?? thats the autism with the gay audacity i would imagine but i love seeing fics like this

4. my boyfriend's back (and you're gonna get in trouble) by teacupfulofbrains

hey la, hey la, my boyfriend's back

Keith Kogane has never heard of Vine. Lance McClain takes personal offense to this, and makes it his personal mission to teach his boyfriend to meme. Keith is confused, mostly.

(OR: several instances of Keith not getting the meme™ and two times he did)

I LOVE THIS FIC SO BAD I CANT BELIEVE I HAVENT RECCED IT BEFORE. yes i am a cringe zillenial who still finds vine funny and quotes it on the internet but truly idc idc. this fic is funny. this fic is cute. established klance my love and light. also keith comparing lances eyes to the star of bombay is some of the gayest shit ever and also the only time i will entertain blue eyed lance

5. The Most Dangerous Thing is to Love by running_downn

Last time something like this happened to Lance, Keith wasn’t there. He’d thought he would have been able to do something if he had been there, or at least if he was, the guilt wouldn’t be so heavy on his chest. But this time he was there. He was right fucking there and he decided that it was infinitly worse.

~

Basically there's a new threat after the Galra and it almost kills Lance. Desperate making out ensues, but it's okay to recognize when it's not the right time for it. Keith cries a lot cause he's older and grizzled and therefore not as emotionally stunted.

green sock reality? team still out fighting as adults and lance isn’t a fucking farmer while the rest of the team isn’t? keith��s abandonment issues treated with respect and dignity and also the acknowledgement that he’s older and therefore mature enough to handle those issues in a way that doesn’t risk a relationship that is important to him? lance understanding all this and using the supportive nature he is known for??? yes yes yes. stellar fic that should have way more hits than it does

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

#more than one author this week lol #and sorry it took forever and it’s rushed!! #summers almost ending and i’m burnt out and also wary of change as always #i’ll mellow out soon #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #klance #established klance #bamf lance #black paladin lance #langst #keith angst #klangst #adam & lance #fic rec #fic rec friday #longpost