#the shift part 2 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roanniom · 2 years

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The Shift - Part 2

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 9k~

Read Part 1 Here

Note: You can blame @millenialcatlady (lovingly) for the angst in this part. She is reminding me daily to appreciate a wider range of emotions in fic (i.e. more than horniness) and that spilled out big time here. You can also thank her for the length, because without the part that happens mid way, this part - as originally planned - would have been literally half as long lmao

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, PIV sex / Unprotected sex / Car sex / semi public sex, fingering, teasing, dirty talk, slight degradation, slight praise kink, kinda inappropriate PDA in a grocery store, brief mention of masturbation (m), mentions of food and food consumption, Angst with a capital A (you are pretty mean to Steve at a certain point but then we realize you might have intimacy issues), enemies to lovers continuation

Steve is fucked. He knows it from the minute he touches you that he’s crossed a line he’s not going to be able to uncross. But you just got under his skin so much and on his nerves so frequently and the heat in that back room had been so unbearable he wanted to rip his clothes off - and yours in the process.

And that’s what’s got him banging his head against the counter today, while he sits overly early for his morning shift. He almost could have gotten away with blaming the heat - both the heat of the moment and the heat in that damn back room. He almost could have been able to chalk it up to a mix of repeated-bad-date-blue-balls and a hyperactive sex drive in need of an outlet.

But then he’d called you sweetheart. And you’d reacted like that.

And he’d said what he said.

He’d called you sweetheart and you’d positively clenched around him. You’d moaned and opened up even more for him and suddenly he’d confessed to having always wanted to be sweet with you.

It wasn’t a false statement. He’d spent hours at home, especially after particularly long shifts, touching himself to thoughts of you. It always had the same pattern - it always started out with frustration. Fantasies of shutting you up with his cock in your mouth, or pushing you onto the checkout counter and fucking you where anyone could walk in and see. But they always melted into something different. Something slower. Deeper. Lips clashing and hands roaming. Harsh pants and expletives became low moans and whimpers.

And your face.

In his fantasies your face always opened up. Gone was the judgmental frown, the challenging quirk of your brow. Instead, you always gazed up at him in wonder. Lips parted in a silent gasp. Eyebrows knitted together in startled pleasure, like you were teetering on the edge of crying.

Intentional or not, that is what he had been alluding to when he said he wanted to be sweet with you. And your reaction was like a beat out of those fantasies. The only bad part about it was that he didn’t get to see your face when it happened.

Robin’s sudden presence had thrown a wrench in everything. The two of you had scrambled apart before he’d even had a chance to consider what you both had just done. Steve had never pulled up and buttoned his pants so fast in his entire life, and when he’d looked over at you your eyes were wide with panic, hands manically tucking your shirt back into your jeans.

The jeans he’d just admitted to getting so turned on by only minutes ago.

Your shirt, however, was ridiculously askew, but you apparently hadn’t noticed it because you’d moved on to smoothing your hair and attempting to arrange yourself in a casual pose next to the vending machine as Robin approached the door.

Steve had lunged forward and adjusted your shirt and you had glanced up at him, startled by his sudden action but then softening at the gentleness of his touch.

Your eye contact only had a moment to simmer though because he’d had to jump back again as Robin barreled through the door, launching straight into a lengthy description of every exchange, look, and breath that occurred during her date.

Steve was happy for his friend. He really was. It had been such a long time in coming and he was so happy Robin was finally on the path towards actual, tangible romance.

But currently Steve is too bogged down with his own actual, tangible - what even should he call it? Definitely not romance. A hate fuck? Couldn’t be that, not after what he said and how you’d reacted. Steve continues putting Family Video stickers on the boxes of the new shipment of tapes that had come in the night before. Every few moments his eyes flick towards the door, both desperately awaiting and desperately dreading your impending arrival. It’s Sunday morning - the shift you usually work together, the previous day having been out of the ordinary what with you covering for Robin.

More often than not these shifts aren’t memorable. The two of you orbit around one another on a wave of sarcasm and antagonism, but other than that the day usually passes by quickly. Perhaps because he spends all of his time and energy trying to think of new ways to annoy you and make the cute angry furrow appear on your brow.

But today will be different. Because now he’s been inside you.

Steve abruptly slams his head into the counter, letting the intrusive thoughts finally take over, but a voice interrupts his self-flagellation.

“How could something possibly be wrong with you already? The day just started.”

Robin’s voice rings out along with the bell as she enters the front door, shouldering on her Family Video uniform vest. Steve’s mouth goes dry.

“What are you…this isn’t your shift.”

“Nice to see you, too, Steve,” Robin says, patting the back of his hand over the counter before walking towards the back room to put her bag down. Steve jogs after her.

“Yeah, nice to see ya - but seriously. You don’t work Sunday mornings.”

Robin places her bag down and turns to Steve with her hands on her hips.

“I picked up the shift. That something you need to be made aware of? Should I have called you last night and informed you ahead of time?”

“Well I mean, first of all yes because I’m usually your ride,” Steve points out, rubbing the back of his neck. “How did you - ?”

“The bus. I am capable of public transportation, Harrington. There was a time before you graced my life with your presence, you know.” Robin breezes past him and walks back onto the main floor, grabbing onto the stocking cart and bringing it out to the shelves lining the far wall. Again Steve has to jog to catch up.

“But…the trainee usually works on Sunday.” Steve’s voice is low, almost speaking to him self as he realizes that this line of questioning probably isn’t going to get him an answer he will like. But to his surprise Robin turns on her heel abruptly, rounding on him with a finger pointed at his chest.

“Two minutes!” she cries triumphantly. Steve lifts his hands up in confused surrender.

“What are you talking about?”

“It only took two minutes for you to bring her up. You guys fucked, didn’t you.” It’s an accusation but a massive smile splits her face. Steve cringes away from her enthusiasm.

“What the fuck, Robin!”

“Was it good? Did you initiate it? Did she?!” Now Robin is the one to chase after Steve as he stalks back to the front counter.

“I don’t know what could possibly make you think - ,”

“Because she called me and asked me to cover for her today, dumbass.”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the counter.

“I don’t see what’s so incriminating about that.”

“The incriminating part was the fact that she didn’t call you an asshole once. Didn’t tell me to make your life miserable today or anything. Either of which would have been standard trainee behavior.”

“Did…did she say anything about me?” Steve asks, internally kicking himself over how pathetic the question sounds.

Robin’s face melts into a look of pouting sympathy.

“Bangs her once and he’s hoping she’s thinking about him. Steve Harrington’s a sap, ladies and gentlemen.”

Steve’s about to wag his patented stern babysitter finger at her when the bell on the door rings, signaling the entrance of a customer. Both Robin and Steve whip around, tense with the knee-jerk instinct to provide low-grade customer service. They both deflate immediately, however, when they notice it’s just Dustin.

“Not now, Henderson,” Steve calls out across the length of the store. The curly headed boy throws his hands up defensively.

“How can I already deserve this hostility? I just got here!”

“Steve’s having a crisis,” Robin says, as if it is a holistic explanation. Dustin leans against the checkout counter.

“Did he run out of that mousse stuff he puts in his hair?” Dustin asks, nodding sympathetically. Steve's head shoots up with a frown.

“What? No!”

“Really?” Dustin asks. “Cuz it kinda of seems like it’s got less va-va-voom than normal.”

Robin cocks her head to the side and surveys Steve beside her, making him scowl.

“You know, now that he mentions it, you’re a little less shampoo-commercial-ready than you usually are,” she agrees. Steve runs a hand through his criticized locks in frustration.

“I was a little distracted this morning. Maybe I didn’t pay as much attention getting ready, alright? Lay off, guys.” Steve pushes the stock cart back to the counter to pick up the next set of returns to shelve.

“What’s got you so distracted, buddy?” Dustin asks, resting his elbows on the counter and his chin on his hands. He looks so genuine that Steve’s heart pangs and his usual instinct to yell at the kid is dulled. He opens his mouth to respond but then Robin speaks up from behind him.

“Steve’s got a lady love.”

“Another flavor of the week or is this like an actual thing?” Dustin asks, his eyes lighting up.

Steve rolls his eyes and feels the moment of sincerity pass. He grabs the next stack of tapes with a little too much aggression.

“Dude, grow up, don’t say ‘flavor of the week.’ And women aren’t ‘things,’ dumbass.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Steve,” Dustin points out.

“That’s because your question is stupid and not worth an answer,” Steve dismisses, pushing the cart back onto the floor. Dustin watches him retreat quietly for a second before turning.

“Robin?”

Robin runs over to the counter and opens her mouth to respond but Steve throws up a hand from across the room.

“NO!” He interrupts. “No. We aren’t having this conversation.”

“Ooo he’s mad mad. That means this is an actual thing,” Dustin says, shoving a candy display off the surface of the counter and hopping over, landing ungracefully behind it.

“Not again, Henderson damn it!” Steve yells, covering his eyes with a hand. “And what did I say about calling women things!”

“It’s the other girl who works here, isn’t it?” Dustin asks. He directs the question to Robin who’s nodding and smiling before Steve can stop her.

“Why the fuck would you assume -,”

“It is her! They had…a moment, it would seem,” Robin says, catching herself before she says anything inappropriate but wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“You guys had sex?!” Dustin cries out, this time whirling around to address Steve. Steve’s hands fly to his head and he ducks, as if he could dodge out of the way of Dustin’s out of line comment.

“Woah. WOAH. You are a child. You are not allowed to ask me that!”

“I’m fifteen, I think I can handle -,”

“Robin, you’re a bad influence. You lose your babysitting privileges,” Steve says, speaking over Dustin and grabbing Robin by the shoulder to drag her away from the boy.

“I mean I never really wanted to babysit your kids in the first place, Steve, so that’s not really a punishment...”

“But I don’t get it, if you had sex with the trainee, why do you seem so mad?” Dustin pipes up, clearly confused.

“WAY out of line, Henderson.” Steve cries out with a glare.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Dustin again puts up his hands defensively. “I mean, if you ‘made love’ with the trainee, then why - “

“Jesus FUCKING Christ!” Steve covers his ears and stomps to the back room.

“What did I do?” Dustin asks Robin, shocked. Robin shrugs.

“I mean to be fair, ‘make love’ is absolutely gross, dude,” she says before running after Steve. Dustin remains alone in the front of the store, defeated.

“Well then what can I call it?” he calls out after them both. “The horizontal tango? The beast with two backs?”

“HENDERSON!” Robin and Steve both scream from the back room.

“Yeesh. Puritans.” Dustin rolls his eyes and jogs to join them.

~*~

Later that evening you find yourself dragging yourself through the entrance of the local grocery store. You’d spent the whole day in bed, flipping through radio stations with shitty static and thumbing through magazines and books you’d long since finished. Doing anything and everything to keep Steve Harrington off your mind.

Fuck Steve Harrington.

Well…you had.

Fucked Steve Harrington that is.

And it had been good. You slap a hand over your tired face in front of the bananas in the produce section as the memory of his hands on your hips comes rushing back. It’s been like this all day. A nonstop highlight reel of every second of your sexual encounter with your archnemesis. But can you even call him your archnemesis anymore after what happened yesterday?

Was calling him your archnemesis ever even accurate to begin with?

You’d spent hours revisiting conversations and arguments and blow ups in your mind, trying to piece your way through the memories to make sense of the way your body had reacted to his touch and his words. The more you thought about it, the clearer it became.

You’d had a thing for Steve when you first started working at Family Video, Robin hadn’t been wrong when she told him that. You’d always been intrigued by him from a distance back at school, and being up close at the same job just intensified things. He was pretty and cocky and funny. And that first week he seemed genuinely kind and welcoming. But as you traced your memories back, you realized exactly where your favor started to darken. It was the way he flirted with any girl who stepped over the threshold of the store, turning on a charm that shot so much electricity through the place that it could probably blow a fuse. The girls often ranged from neutral to interested in response, but their presence and his behavior around them infuriated you.

You’d always chalked it up to the fact that it would be against your feminist nature to accept such flagrant hounddog behavior. You’d lied to yourself that you felt bad for these girls and that you were annoyed that Harrignton couldn’t keep it in his pants long enough to do a second of his job right.

But today, in the cold hard light filtering through the window of your shitty apartment it dawned on you that jealousy was the root of your problems. You didn’t hate Steve for going after women. You hated that you weren’t a woman he was going after.

After this earthquake of a revelation rocked your world around midday, you had barely enough strength to drag your ass to the kitchen until the sun started going down and your stomach screamed in protest. Upon opening your fridge, however, you’d come to the sad realization that you had little more than a half empty jar of jelly and a few pickles. Money had been tight since you’d defiantly moved out of your parents’ home after graduation. You probably shouldn’t have skipped your shift today. If only the fucking sex god with beautiful hair and an infuriating personality hadn’t also been scheduled.

And that’s how you find yourself poking at tomatoes and trying to figure out what food will land squarely in the center of the venn diagram of stuff you can afford and stuff you can bear to eat.

“You know if you bruise them they make you buy them.”

The voice coming from behind you makes you jump, sending several tomatoes rolling down to the ground in the process. You drop down to your knees and busy yourself with picking up the spilled produce, doing your best not to look over at the person who had spoken.

As you reach for the last tomato, however, your hand touches another hand reaching for the lumpy little fruit. You wrench your arm back and whip around to look at Steve Harrington.

“I can handle this, thanks,” you snap, lumbering to your feet with an armful of floor battered tomatoes. He straightens up holding the one he’d managed to snag and he watches you as you dump your own back onto the display. Your heart is beating out of your chest but you bring your eyes up to meet his.

“Hey,” he says. It’s anticlimactic. It almost makes you laugh. But you don’t. Instead you continue frowning.

“Why are you here, Harrington?”

“Um…getting groceries?” He quirks an eyebrow. “Because it’s a grocery store.”

You shift awkwardly from one foot to the other while grabbing onto your shopping cart.

“I guess that makes sense.” You’re searching for something - anything - that you could say to transition out of this conversation so you can run home and throw yourself under the covers. Before you can make a hasty exit though, Steve speaks up.

“You weren’t at work today.”

“Congrats Sherlock. That means you can tell Robin and I apart.” Your words are biting, but you see a smirk play at the corner of his lips at your familiar antagonism. “And here I thought anything with boobs looked alike to you.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck and seems to contemplate his next words carefully which annoys you, so you continue.

“That was a softball, Harrington. I assumed you’d say ‘well now I’ve seen your boobs so I’d know them anywhere,’” you challenge.

“Technically I only felt them. I was behind you, remember? I didn’t actually see anything,” he challenges with a sheepish grin. You feel your stomach drop. The urge to reply with “well do you want to?” is so strong you literally have to bite your tongue.

You need to get a hold of yourself.

“I do remember. But I was pretty sure you were going to claim amnesia,” you answer casually, pushing your cart onward. Steve puts his hands in his pockets and kicks the corner of the tomato display lightly before deciding to follow you.

“And why would you think I’d do that?”

“Mr. Steve another-date-every-week Harrington? Pretty sure blacking out experiences is what makes it easier to move on, right?”

Your flippant comment wounds him harder than he would have liked, and you would have been able to see it on his face if you were looking at him. But you’re not because you’re turning the corner and starting to walk down the frozen foods aisle.

“You really think you’ve got me all figured out,” he says bitterly. It’s a statement, not a question. You wrench open a freezer door a little harsher than you intend. Let the icy chill from inside waft over you and hopefully help calm your frazzled nerves at his biting tone.

“I know I do,” you reply simply without looking at him. You peruse the frozen dinners, trying desperately to remind yourself that there is a goal to this grocery trip. You hadn’t dragged your ass out of bed and all the way here just to be grilled by an asshole with amazing hair.

You try not to think about the fact that his hair seems more disheveled than usual today. You also try not to think about the fact that you like it that way.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” Steve counters, leaning up against the freezer door next to the one you have open. You tear your eyes away from the rows of unappealing lasagna and fix him with a glare.

“And you don’t know the first thing about me.”

Steve lets out a bark of a laugh and you raise a brow at him.

“I know some things now, sweetheart.”

Steve doesn’t miss the way you involuntarily shiver. At his words, not the fog that starts to accumulate from the freezer chill mixing with the warm grocery store air. He pushes himself off the freezer door and moves towards you. In a panic you try to step away but he’s quick, and suddenly you’re pressing yourself up against the inside of the freezer door as you try to keep space between your bodies.

“You’re such an asshole, Harrington.”

“Yeah. And you’re…a slut.” He whispers the word, conscious of the fact that you’re in a public place. A deserted aisle. But a public place nonetheless. Again a ripple passes over your face and your eyelids flutter closed, only for a second. Steve chuckles and leans a forearm against the interior freezer door right next to your face. “I saw that.”

“We’re in a damn freezer. It’s f-fucking cold.” Your lie sounds weak even to your own ears.

“That’s a shitty excuse and you know it,” Steve reprimands. His tone goes straight to your core and you shift from foot to foot. His eyes search your face, so you do your best to lift your chin in defiance.

“So you know some things that make me horny. It’s 1986, not the Victorian era. I’m not, like, ashamed.”

“So you admit I make you horny,” Steve points out, a grin on his stupid handsome face.

“UGH! I said ‘things’ that make me horny.”

“A little dehumanizing to call me a thing, to be fair, but hey if you want to use me like one, baby…”

“You are IMPOSSIBLE,” you whisper-scream, fisting your hands in the front of his shirt. Steve’s eyes go wide at the contact and he takes a lurching step forward due to the force of your grasp. The hand of his that’s not braced on the door behind you lands on your hip to steady himself.

“I’m impossible?” Steve asks incredulously. “You’re the one who’s both pushing and pulling. I’m getting fucking whiplash over here, babe.” His eyes glance down at your hands on him and back up to you pointedly.

“You make me so mad, Harrington,” you say, your voice low. He sees something other than anger in your eyes, however. If you hadn’t pulled him this close, maybe he wouldn’t have been able to notice it. But it’s there, just under the surface.

“Yeah? And I think you like that.”

“What?”

“I make you feel something,” Steve says, like it’s a cold hard fact. “None of those other assholes ever make you feel anything. You’re so fucking desperate not to be numb that you pick fights with me just to get your blood pumping.”

Your fists tighten in his shirt, nails pinching his skin through the fabric. Steve hisses.

“Well if that’s true about me, what about you? Those bimbos not stimulating enough? Can’t get your dick hard if you’re not getting yelled at?”

That statement pinches one too many nerves and suddenly Steve is pressing up against you, chest and pelvis flush to yours, your fists trapped between your bodies. Your back pushed hard up against the condensation wet interior of the freezer door. The door strains on it’s hinges from the force, threatening to hyper extend past its 90 degree limit.

“And you get off on being an absolute bitch. Being mean to me makes you wet, huh? I bet you’re soaked under that skirt right? Dropped those tomatoes earlier because you hoped if you bent over I’d fuck you right there in the produce section?”

Your gasping inhale is so loud both of your eyes widen, the sound ripping the two of you out of the lust-filled haze of aggression in which you’d been wrapped. You turn your head to break eye contact, blinking and taking a few centering breaths while Steve tosses a look over his shoulder to make sure nobody’s walked up.

You’re still alone in the aisle.

And Steve’s still got you pressed up against the inside of the freezer door.

You wait a few more stuttering heartbeats before you allow yourself to look at him again. When you do, your heart palpitates even more. He’s abandoned his grasp on your hip to run an agitated hand through his hair again, making himself even more disheveled than before. His lips are wet and red from nervous biting and his eyes are sheepish as he gazes back at you. You give yourself only a split second to think before you’re ducking under his arm and peeling yourself out from between him and the door.

“Hey, I didn’t - ,” he starts to call after you, but you grab his wrist and yank him to follow you. He stumbles but recovers, breaking into a brisk walk to keep up with the way you drag him. Out of the frozen food aisle, abandoning your empty cart. Past the empty row of checkout lanes and the bored cashier who doesn’t look up from filing her nails to perceive either of you. Through the open door and into the wall of heat and humidity of the Hawkins summer night air. You stop abruptly when you step off the curb outside the store and Steve’s still moving body collides into yours.

“Where’s your car?”

“What?” he asks, still a few seconds behind, physically and mentally. You bounce on the balls of your feet impatiently, scanning the sparse smattering of vehicles spread out in the lot.

“Where is your fucking car, Harrington!”

“Um it’s that one,” Steve rushes to say, pointing to the maroon BMW parked a couple spaces from the front of the store, mercifully to the side on the row furthest to the left of the lot. You drag him by the wrist over to his car as his confusion continues. “Why do you need my car?”

“Because I suspected, and it appears I’m correct,” you say, sizing up his car as you approach it. “That your back seat is bigger than mine.”

“My back - hmph!” his response is silenced when you shove him in front of you and slam his back into the side of his car. You get right up into his space, pushing him against the door and getting up on your tiptoes as you reach up and wrench him down by the hair at the nape of his neck.

And suddenly you’re kissing him with a ferocity of which you didn’t know you were capable. Your other hand pushes against his chest, fingers splayed and palm pressing, feeling his muscles clench and tighten.

Despite the surprise nature of your attack, Steve doesn’t miss a beat. He’s kissing you back and matching your intensity head on. His hands grip at your waist and he hauls you against him, helping you press him harder against the car and making sure your bodies are fused as tightly to one another as physically possible.

You’ve never been the one to press someone against anything before, and there’s a heady rush that hazes your mind as the dynamic sinks in. Sure you’ve had men press you up against walls or doors before, but you’ve never been the instigator. Never felt the need to exert control over someone else’s body so bad that you have to take it. Have to ground them against a hard surface to ensure they feel the weight and pressure of your touch. The power trip sends you reeling and have to pull away, gasping for air before you can get so lightheaded you do something stupid like pass out.

“Harrington.” His name sounds desperate with your jagged voice. Steve seems utterly out of it, staring down at you dumbfounded with drooping eyelids and wet lips parted to facilitate a heavy pant. When he doesn’t respond, just staring at you, you pull at his hair, making him hiss. “Harrington, open the fucking car.”

It takes him a beat to comprehend what you’re telling him to do, but then his hand is digging in his pocket and he’s scrambling to unlock the vehicle. You step back to give him space to do as you told him, trying not to think too hard about the heartbeat hammering away in your chest and between your legs. You throw a glance over your shoulder at the entrance to the grocery store, but it still seems quiet. A quick scan of the parking lot gleans a similar silence. When Steve’s got the car unlocked he opens the back seat and turns back to you, leaning heavily on the open door.

“Um…did you…what…” he’s blinking at you, suddenly unsure. The streetlight overhead illuminating this section of the parking lot has him looking younger than he ever has before, and there’s a softness in his eyes when he looks at you that doesn’t match the mood of what you’ve been doing. You swallow the emotion threatening to climb through your throat and you step forward briskly, ducking into the backseat and pulling him in along after you.

Steve clambers into the car to find you laying yourself out along the bench seat. Your hands grab at the front of his shirt again and drag him to climb over your body. He barely has the wherewithal to pull the door closed behind him before your lips are attacking his once more. You’re greedy and grabby and you wrap yourself around him like a boa constrictor. Arms wind around his neck and shoulders. Legs come up around his hips, ankles locking against his back. Steve feels suffocated and overwhelmed and turned on and agitated and -

“Fuck just - easy. Easy!” Steve’s loud words in the close confines of the car rattle you, as does the vibration of his raised voice against your body. You freeze and he is finally able to pull away a bit, propping himself up with his hands on the leather seats on either side of your head.

“What? What is it?” You seem confused. A bit dazed even. Now you’re the disheveled one. Steve takes in the way you look beneath him - clothes askew, eyes too bright if a little hazy, lips kiss bruised and wet. You blink up at him with a furrow deepening in your brow, becoming more and more uncertain with every second that passes of him just looking at you.

“You just…” Steve exhales in frustration and goes to sit up abruptly, slamming his head on the car ceiling. He yelps and grips his skull, but looks down quickly when he hears a giggle erupting from beneath him. You have your hands covering your mouth to try and contain your laughter, but the mirth is evident in your squinting eyes, crinkling at the corners. Steve can’t help but chuckle along, trying to ignore the zing of fondness that burns behind his eyes along with the pain from the bump.

He lurches forward and grabs your hands away from your face, dropping to support himself with his elbows on the seat either side of your head and pinning your wrists against the door behind you.

“You think that’s funny?”

“A little,” you admit, biting your lip in a continued attempt to contain your laughter.

“Of course you think my pain is funny.” He rolls his eyes and your eyebrows shoot up.

“You squealed.”

“I shouted,” he corrects. You shake your head.

“You went very high pitched there. Sounded like it hurt,” you say cheekily. “If it still hurts don’t mind me. Feel free to whimper if you’d like.”

Steve chuckles low and you feel the vibrations in your abdomen where his is pressed to yours. It makes you squirm against him and he notices.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” When you nod with another uncharacteristically light giggle he smiles down at you. “I’d like it too, you know.”

“You whimpering?” you ask. Steve shakes his head and dips so that his lips are a centimeter from yours. You hold your breath.

“No, you.”

Just as you lean up to try and make your lips meet, he ducks his head down and latches onto the skin of your throat. You gasp out, disoriented by the sudden switch and thrown off by the pleasurable sensation.

“You seem to like getting your own way,” he says gruffly, shifting your two wrists into one of his hands so his free hand can hike your legs higher up around his hips. “But so do I.”

Steve rolls his hips into you, starting a steady rhythm out of nowhere. The friction of his hard on against the apex of your legs is delicious and immediate and you find yourself squeezing your eyes shut and biting your lip to keep from reacting too dramatically.

“You really should open your eyes, sweetheart,” Steve coos, gripping onto the flesh of your outer thigh. Your eyes snap open and you find him smirking over you, watching. “You’re the one who dragged me in here. Be fucking polite.”

“You don’t know anything about being polite, Harrington.” Your response floods out on instinct, words not even matching tone because they aren’t even congruous with what you’re currently feeling. You’ve just got such extreme muscle memory of being combative with Steve that you can’t help it.

Steve gasps in mock surprise before tsking at you, his eyes dropping to your lips which part wide after a particularly good roll of his hips.

“We’re not doing that. You’re not going to fight me. Not when I’m on top of you.”

“Why…why not?” Your jaw tenses and he nips at it with his teeth.

“Because we’re doing it my way this time,” he replies definitively. His hand slides from the outside of your thigh up to your hip, flipping your skirt up in the process and exposing the comfortable pair of cotton panties that you’re wearing below.

“Was you fucking me from behind in the break room not ‘your way’ enough?” you challenge, though your voice is losing its edge. Steve’s hand slides horizontally from your hip, over your abdomen and down to cup your mound, fingers pressing into the wet spot on the fabric lower down between your thighs. “You always get your own damn way, Harrington.”

“Can you just fucking…” Steve closes his eyes for a second and hums out a frustrated exhale. When his eyes open back up he looks serious and it makes your stomach swoop. “I’m going to stop if you keep fighting me.”

“Why?”

“Because I won’t fuck someone who doesn’t want it,” Steve says definitively. He lets go of your hands and sits back on his heels between your legs, this time remembering to stay low enough not to bang his head on the ceiling.

Panic floods your system from the decrease in physical contact and your newly freed hands scrabble to clutch at his shirt.

“What - no! I want it!”

Steve shakes his head and grips your wrists gently but firmly, getting you to unhand him.

“You seem angry with me and I…that doesn’t work. I need like…enthusiastic consent or whatever the fuck they call it.” Steve passes a stressed hand over his face and slides it up to ruffle through his hair distractedly. Your chest moves up and down frantically as you try to think of what to say to reroute from this disappointing new trajectory.

“I’m the one who brought you here. Obviously I -,”

“There is nothing ‘obvious’ when it comes to you, sweetheart.” Steve sighs. “Pretend I’m stupid, like I know you already think I am. Spell it out for me.”

“You and I argue. It’s what we do…” you try to reason.

“We argue, yeah. But it’s usually fun. Teasing.” His hands finally drop back down, resting on your thighs, albeit closer to your knees than the apex. His thumbs begin smoothing circles into your skin. “But today you’re mad.”

You swallow harshly and try to look away but there’s nowhere to go. You’re in a car. Underneath him still. In the place where you wanted to be. Where you dragged him. Emotion wells up inside you and you shiver from discomfort this time.

“I’m not…mad. I just…” you struggle with your words and Steve seems to take pity on you, stroking his hands back and forth on the length of your thighs.

“You just what?”

“I don’t…god damn it.” You turn your head to blink rapidly in the direction of the passenger seat. “I don’t know how to…be sweet.”

“What?” Steve lets out an incredulous laugh. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said,” you mumble, still not looking at him. Steve’s fingers gently grip your chin and he turns your head back to face him.

“Now I know that’s bullshit because I’ve seen you be sweet plenty of times.” Steve lowers himself slightly. Not fully back on top of you, but removing some of the distance he’d place between your bodies. “You’re always sweet to kids who come into Family Video. You’re very nice to your friends. Robin fucking loves you…”

“Robin isn’t very discerning, to be fair,” you say with a self deprecating snort. Steve gives you a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, she keeps me around, doesn’t she? Points against her taste.”

You laugh in response but then you screw your eyes shut and put your hands over your face.

“See! Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t even pretend not to say something mean.”

“Hey hey hey,” Steve says to you, prying your hands off your face. “You’re not the one who said the mean thing about me, I did. And we’re laughing. This is okay.”

“This is okay?” you ask uncertainly, squinting up at him through one open eye.

“As long as you’re not frowning up at me as if I kicked your hypothetical puppy, we’re all good.”

“Well good then. Just make sure not to kick my hypothetical puppy then, Steve,” you say, cracking a hesitant smile. Steve’s answering smile is radiant. You’d called him Steve, something you don’t often do.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

Then he’s leaning down and pressing a kiss to your mouth. A proper kiss, firm and sweet. Unlike the aggressive ones that had passed between you when you’d first toppled into the car. You breathe him in and when your lips open his tongue seeks refuge, which you welcome.

Steve settles back down over you. Your arms wind back around him and pull him close, making him chuckle against your lips in response. He breaks away only to pepper kisses across your cheek, around the curve of your jaw and back down the side of your neck. His attention to the skin of your neck makes you hum, so Steve hums right back at you.

“See? Sweet.” Steve kisses your collarbone as his hands return to where they had been before your emotional intermission. He begins to rub his finger over your dripping slit through the fabric of your underwear while his other hand begins to push up at the bottom hem of your top. “I like all of your flavors, to be honest. But right now this just…this works for right now.”

Your breath catches in your chest as he lifts your shirt up to expose your naked breasts. You’d left the house in a rush for what was supposed to be a quick trip to the grocery store (what a lost cause of a goal), so you had just left wearing what you’d slept in. Steve bites his lip at the sight before him.

“Fuck. Yeah…” comes his inarticulate assessment. His hands grips your sides over your ribs, thumbs sweeping up to swipe slowly at the bottom curves of your breasts. You chuckle at his reaction and reach up to push his hair out of his face like you’d been wanting to do.

“Yeah?” you prompt. Steve shakes his head.

“Committing these to memory. So next time I can say ‘I’d know them anywhere’.”

The call back from the produce section has you full on laughing. His grin is obnoxiously wide as he takes in your relaxed body language and open, happy features.

“You know you’re so fucking pretty,” he says quietly. Your laughter calms down a little and you shrug. “Shut the fuck up,” he adds, rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t say anything!” you gasp with mock offense. His hands slide up higher under your arms so his thumbs are now rolling over your nipples. You let out a sigh.

“You’re pretty and that’s a fact. Not an opinion, so don’t you shrug at me, sweetheart.”

“Pretty sure an aesthetic assessment can only be opinion, so -,” you begin to argue, but Steve puts a hushing finger up to your lips.

“Ah ah ah,” he interrupts you. “We’re doing this my way, right?”

“Right,” you agree quickly, not about to let things backslide now that his hands are making you feel so good. The hand on your lip returns down to your abdomen, tiptoeing back down to your panties. But this time it slides under the elastic, coming down to rub through your waiting slick. Almost like a reward for cooperating.

“According to me, you’re fucking pretty.”

“Okay, Steve,” you say, testing your theory about whether or not he rewards you for cooperating. Immediately two fingers of the hand between your legs sink deep inside your pussy, just ask his other hand closes fully around your breast for the first time. “Oh god…”

“Say that again.”

“Oh god,” you repeat, this time more of a moan.

“No not - christ,” Steve laughs, breathless. “Say my name again.”

“Steve,” you whisper. His middle and ring fingers have begun to move in and out of you while his thumb rubs circles into your aching clit.

“I like that,” he says, his honesty unmistakably vulnerable. You get a fleeting urge to make fun of him for it, but then your heart pangs, taking in the way he blinks at you, eyes dark.

“Steve,” you repeat.

He’s on you then, back to kissing and sucking and biting. Now that there’s more exposed surface area with your shirt pushed up, he has more real estate to mark and explore, which he does diligently with his mouth.

His preoccupation leaves you beside yourself with want and need. Your hips have begun to rut up into his hand to meet his thrusting fingers and your moans become more substantial.

“I-I want…want…” you keep trying to speak but the words get trapped on your tongue.

Steve pulls away from your wetted skin long enough to check in.

“What do you want, baby?”

“I want…you.”

You’re not asking him to fuck you. You’re not demanding he get inside you. You’re just asking for him. It makes his throat tighten and he’s nodding. He props himself up on one hand and uses the other to unbuckle his belt and jeans but he fumbles so you reach up frantically to help him. Together you manage to yank his jeans down far enough to expose his boxers and you slip your hand against him to massage through the fabric. You feel the aching emptiness now that his fingers are no longer inside you. Now that their much better replacement is in your sights.

Steve pulls his cock out and pumps it a few times while you admire the pearlescent precum that’s collected on the tip. Subconsciously you lick your lips, causing him to laugh.

“You’re something else, sweetheart.”

“No you are,” you mutter with a smile.

“Nope, just you,” he shakes his head and rubs his nose against yours while settling lower between your legs, pushing your panties to the side to line himself up with your entrance. You laugh.

“Are we now being argumentative over compliments?” you tease.

“Sounds on brand for us,” he agrees. He slides in with little resistance. Just a slow, agonizing stretch that has you both moaning. Your heels dig into his lower back from where you legs lock around him and he buries his face in your neck.

“Oh my fucking…christ, how are you…” Steve struggles with speech for a second before nipping at your shoulder, making you squirm. “Not sure how I forgot how good you feel.”

“There’s that amnesia,” you joke hesitantly. Not sure if it is too soon to bring up the mean spirited thing you had said earlier but wanting desperately negate the intent you’d had in the first place. Steve’s answering chuckle calms your nerves and you relax, melting down against the leather seat as he begins to move inside of you.

“I think it’s less amnesia and more that I blacked out from how fucking amazing this pussy is.”

“Jesus, Steve,” you admonish, but it holds little weight because with the crescendoing pendulum of his hips Steve is already well on his way to undoing you.

“God, I wasn't exaggerating. You sound really good when you say my name,” Steve says with a moan.

“Mmm, Steve,” you hum. His face pulls away from your neck and he looks down at you with a renewed intensity in his eyes.

“Just one thing missing,” he says. Your brow furrows in confusion.

“What?”

“I meant it when I said I want you to whimper for me.”

Before you can react, Steve has your legs hoisted higher, pushed so that the tops of your thighs are pressed further toward your stomach. You take in a hasty inhale as he begins to pound into you with vigorous intent now.

He’s steady and persistent with it. Rocking into you - pulling in and out and adjusting to hit different angles until he finds the one that has you throwing your head back against the seat, back arching.

“Oh we like that? Yeah?”

“Th-that the royal ‘we’?” you laugh breathlessly, making fun of his word choice.

“Yeah I guess,” he answers, but he’s distracted.

“Makes sense. You are King Steve, after all.”

He rolls his eyes and punishes you by reaching down and pinching your clit, making you spasm.

The windows are way past fogged up by now. The heat coming off your bodies makes the air thick with sex and tension and Steve is sweating above you, but so are you. The wet slap of skin on skin has never sounded better. Your head thrashes from side to side, stopping only when Steve descends down upon you again, kissing up the hollow at the base of your throat and migrating around that sensitive expanse of skin.

“Where is it…” he mutters against your skin under his breath. You barely hear it, as if the statement isn’t intended for you. “It’s here somewhere.”

“What?” you ask, biting your lip and squeezing your eye shut from the sensations. Your hips are slamming up to meet each of his thrusts by now, teetering closer and closer to bliss. Steve’s lips suck and his teeth nibble at different patches of skin up and down your throat, around to the side of your neck.

“There’s a spot here that fucking wrecks you,” he says by way of explanation. You scoff even as your fingers knit through his hair and tug, toes curling.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” he doubles down. You can practically hear the honeyed smirk on his lips as they continue to kiss and search. “It was a spot that had you convulsing, baby.”

“I don’t seem to remember convulsing,” you contradict, despite the way the coil in your belly tightens impossibly tight. Your eyes are halfway rolled to the back of your head and you’re panting openly. Steve snorts against your shoulder.

“So maybe your memory isn’t as great as you claimed? Huh, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know, all I’m saying is - .” You’re about to continue challenging him when suddenly he’s sucking on a spot just below your left ear and your back shoots right off the seat.

“St-Steve!”

“Bingo,” he gloats against your skin like a fucking nerd before sucking on the spot again. Hard.

“Oh my-oh my god.” Your voice is high pitched. It’s a certifiable whine, tapering off into a whimper. “Steve.”

“There it is baby, that’s all I wanted from you.” His voice is teasing, but it’s considerably huskier than before. He’s close. You can feel him throbbing inside you, though it’s a miracle you can feel anything beyond your own pulsing, aching need. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You can’t respond to him, though, and he knows that. Which is why he doubles down by reaching between you to rub again at your neglected clit. You let out a choking sob which seems to please him even more.

“So god damn good. That’s right.” His words are more rambling now. His face hangs right over yours, eyes staring into your unfocused ones, watching your brow pinch and your lips part in an unending gasping pant. “You’re so pretty. So fucking sweet.”

“I’m…sweet?”

Your words come out garbled and he almost feels like he’s hearing things, but you’re staring up at him with as much focus as you can muster. Expectant. Waiting for a confirmation that you seem fearful might never come. So Steve nods.

“So sweet, baby. Always knew you were,” he affirms through gritted teeth. You roll your hips up into his arrhythmically. Desperate for release now that you feel worthy of it.

His praise breaks you and suddenly you’re a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him, hurtled over the edge with a flurry of spasming muscles. He fucks you through the imact, holding onto you for dear life.

The car must be rocking by now, if it hadn’t already been for a long time. You think in some distant coherent part of your brain about the fact that anyone could have walked out of the grocery store at any point since you first entered the car. A working mom who’d gone out on a late night shopping trip. A broke college kid not unlike yourself who needed a TV dinner. Any of the many people who you had known your entire life growing up in small town Hawkins, Indiana.

But none of that matters with Steve driving into you with abandon. With Steve’s hot, sweating body bearing down on yours, heavy and solid and wanting. He pumps into you long after it’s beneficial to your orgasm, finally chasing his own release. In answer you tighten your grip on him. You go back to meeting him thrust for thrust, even through the achy feeling of overstimulation. He buries his face back in your neck and you coo into his ear things you never would have imagined you’d say - to anyone, let alone Steve Harrington.

You hadn’t exaggerated when you’d said earlier that you didn’t know how to be sweet. You’d never truly settled into anything like sweetness with any previous hookups. Your past ‘boyfriends’ had really only ever been long term flings, with little to no actual vulnerability shared. Sure, you knew how to flirt. You knew how to tease. But usually that was the extent of it. Your inability to meet Steve on his level initially had been part of a deeper problem, one you were probably only just beginning to acknowledge.

But pressed against the leather backseat of his car on a hot summer night, held in his arms, you find it in you to be sweet for Steve.

“So good. Yes Steve. Yes. Please.”

He groans against you and you feel his hips begin to stutter. He’s so close and you want this for him more than you wanted your own release for yourself.

“Please, baby. Come on, Stevie.” Your hand smooths his sweaty hair away from his forehead comfortingly, just as the walls of your pussy squeeze down on him, your pelvis tilting to cradle him down against you.

And at the warmth of your words and your touch Steve cums. His moan is loud and low in your ear and you hold him through the orgasm as it rocks his body, his hips pushing against yours once, twice, a final time before seizing, his hot cum spreading within you.

If the air inside the car had been thick with sex earlier, you can’t even fathom what it’s like now. You feel your nerve endings buzzing as Steve shudders on top of you. Your fingers mooth soothingly on the skin at the base of his neck, helping him come down.

A few minutes pass where there’s nothing but the sound of breathing - his ragged gulping breaths mixed with your more even ones. When he pulls away from your neck to look at you, his eyes are lighter. More clear. He stares at you and the intensity should make you uncomfortable but it doesn’t.

You want to ask him something - anything. What does this mean? What happens next? A nagging feeling in the back of your head reminds you that this almost didn’t happen because you’d almost fucked everything up. Another nagging feeling worms it’s way in too, reminding you that you’d previously convinced yourself that this - he - isn’t something or someone you wanted in the first place.

Your warring thoughts must be visible on your face because his nose nudges yours and he speaks for the first time in a while.

“What’s going on in there?” he asks, eyes darting up to your forehead indicating your mind.

“I -,” you go to speak but your voice is hoarse, so you swallow thickly and go to start again.

Maybe you were going to be honest or maybe you were going to make something up. Even as you opened your mouth to speak you still didn’t know exactly what you planned on saying.

But you never get a chance.

Suddenly there’s a timid knock on the window of the front door. Both of your heads snap up to find the shape of Robin hazy through the foggy glass, body angled away with a hand covering her eyes. Steve sighs and covers his face with his own hand as if just remembering something for the first time.

“Sorry to, um, interrupt guys but Steve…you drove me here and…”

“I thought you said you could handle public transportation Robin. Fuck!”

~*~

Tag list (tbh I’ve lost track of who wanted to be tagged so I am trying my best lmao, will try to add more people later): @millenialcatlady @theoncrayjoy @sacklerscumrag @boomhauer @copycatkillerfics @theshoehanger @zegrasbabyy @notafinalgirl @amelialupin-black @wroteclassicaly @peeaachyyyyy @thegirlwiththatolduglybookshelf @marvelwomen3000 @miraclesabound @thatstoomuchman

#the shift part 2 #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington/you #stranger things smut #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x you

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enhanced-operatives-division · 28 days

Text

Junicrane/Starstruck Ramble

I will not be brief, all under the cut

To clear some things right off the bat:

No corpse, no proof with Juniper. Obligatory this is set in a canon where he's alive and adjacent to the agency in some way.

Reggie & Juniper are just gay to me, but I don't mind any interpretation of their sexuality

The games are set in 1967/68 to me (based on a couple bits in game) which is before it was legal to be gay in America at least (1971), which is relevant to how I interpret canon as being somewhat grounded in reality, despite unrealistic elements.

This is just an insane amount of headcanons/elements of and AU all culminated into one post. I will talk about some headcanons like they're just facts because they are established in my head, and it saves me over explaining literally everything, however I will explain some parts a little bit for clarity.

Alright. Actual beginning of the ramble:

Juniper is a character to me who had gotten so lost in his job as an actor and a social presence that in the end his whole life revolved around that 'role'. Because of this, by the time he's put into the situation where he's around the Agency, he basically knows nothing about himself, though he doesn't realise at first. Furthermore, what little identity he had has changed in so many ways. He's no longer a beloved famous actor in the prominence of public light, he's legally dead and he tarnished his career just before he was supposed to die, with the bonus of that making him lose the majority of his estate. From that, he also has horrific facial scarring from the electrical burns from literally having his face fried. I believe a friend of mine made a post about this a while ago (I also think they were the first to think it up also), but, to me, Juniper has a permanent trimmer in his right arm (aka his dominant hand) from the electrical current and it is messing with his nervous system.

All in all, he's not doing great, but he's too proud to admit that he's not doing great, because if anything, what's left of his ego is all he has as a defense since he's deep in unfamiliar water.

Before ending up around the agency (I have multiple interpretations of this, so I'm just going to bring it up generally), he'd never actually seen Reggie, and his only impression of him is a single voicemail, which was his only reference he had to later impersonate him. Juniper probably has very little feelings other than the ones he projects onto him because of Phoenix and that, at the very least, he's physically attracted to Reggie to some degree (that's like the beginning of how everything else would tumble into place in this sort of interpretation at least).

And on Crane's side? His feelings towards Juniper are probably very intense and muddled. On the one hand, he adores musical theatre, and that's his now ex-favourite actor. The thought of just casually being around him blows the bit of fanboy in him away at first because THAT'S the GUY, plus the inklings of a celebrity crush which still poke at him. And then there's the rational side of him, which knows Juniper has committed absolute atrocities on the side of Zoraxis, and hates him for that. Then there's how much Juniper comes off as an asshole at first because he refuses to cooperate with anything the Agency tried to put in place. He finds Juniper endlessly frustrating, and yet he's stuck working with him since, afterall, he's the one who knows the Agency's history with Juniper the best. I imagine him acting a lot like how he does IEYTD 1 around Juniper.

At this point, I'm just describing the pitch for a romcom.

I think the start of their relationship with one another largely started with Juniper trying to wind Crane up. It was a way of getting his attention, and I don't think Juniper knows why he's so dead set on that at first, because I don't think he realises he has a crush on 'this grump' at first. (I think that's actually the fun part about these two, because it's almost like a role reversal of the celebrity crush dynamic. This ex-big name actor has a TERRIBLE crush on an average joe and it is KILLING HIM.) But of course the Agency keeps them together because Juniper is at least conversing with Crane, so it's a start.

Through one way or another, they actually get talking casually, at least mildly at first. It takes Juniper a long time to fully deconstruct the wall he's built, and the thing is, Crane isn't the one trying to deconstruct it, at least at first, because yeah, Juniper realises if he wants Reggie to actually like him in any way, he can't keep winding him up. So they talk. Small talk at first, something rhythmic and almost easy to keep to a script. And over time that turns into actual conversations. Genuine ones in which Reggie rips out the occasional one of his jokes which Juniper is endlessly endeared about. The way he smiles just before he makes them, like he wants to chuckle at what he's about to say before he says it. That's probably when Juniper realised that he does have some vague crush on him, and that it wasn't going away.

This is what kickstarts John I can't-buy-you-things-to-impress-you-so-acts-of-service-it-is Juniper to do little things for him. It mostly starts off as him trying to make Reggie his tea how he likes it. However, the nerve damage in his arm makes that hard, as the weight of the kettle and trying to pour is hard all of a sudden. And he refuses to accept that, so he tries for a very long while. Long enough that Crane would go to investigate what was going on. And when he does see Juniper leaning over a cup with the kettle as he uneasily tries to pour it, and when Crane asks Juniper responds so matter-of-fact that his intention is nothing but genuine. And it catches Reggie off guard because Juniper hadn't done anything like that up to that point, and his very apparent vulnerability is so clearly on show.

It shifts something between them.

From that point on, conversations are longer, more familiar. Both of their attitudes soften, and Reggie makes more jokes. Juniper learns how to better use his left hand while strengthening his right back to a point where it could be used again. Slowly, they're both spending time with one another not because they have to, but just because they can. Little bits at first, not too far outside what they already were doing, but those little bits turned into long bits to a point where the other person's company was genuinely desirable.

As time passes, Juniper probably realises that he doesn't genuinely know much about himself or what hobbies he's into, because he never really had the time when he got big, and his home life in his youth wasn't bad, but it wasn't picturesque. I think Reggie would pick up on it, and absolutely try to introduce him to some things he's into. Some things stick, other things don't (corn husking very much stays Reggie's passion, and John will go with him sometimes because it's him, but it's not something he strongly cares for). Crane introduces him to a lot of music, and it's something that becomes a staple between them, with tracks they listen to more than others (tragically, I know relatively little about 60s music so I couldn't really say what). Occasionally they dance, never anything intense, think slow dancing, but the closeness is nice.

Through all of it, Juniper is battling the worst crush of his life, and he can't stand it, because I think he struggles to read people since he doesn't have anything like a script or a director to refer back to, so he has no idea if Reggie likes him back or if he's just desperate for that to be true. I think because of that any sort of confession between them would be incredibly raw, not only because of the time they live in making it hard for them to be truthful about how they love, but because it's a complete show of Juniper who's worked to be this better person. I don't exactly know how that would go, mainly because I don't have one set version of their dynamic, this post is just a generalisation of main consistent points.

Reggie does like him back, because he's gotten used to Juniper being just this guy, not a figure in the public eye, not a Zoraxis lackey, and not any sort of Agency operative (despite being under their care to some degree). He's someone he genuinely cares for, because they've given one another the time of day to learn one another, and I think because Reggie was a field agent, he was a lot better at reading Juniper than Juniper was at reading him. Eventually Juniper's company becomes something he could see around him for the rest of his life, and I think he accepts that he likes Juniper a lot more gracefully.

I think any affection directed at Juniper would at first be met with him feeling a little muddled. Reggie was a very physically affectionate person when he could be, and sure the initial flirting with one another came with the occasional little touches, but everything now was so deeply intentional. I also don't think Juniper would almost ever get over the novelty of being able to kiss him, or many other gestures, because it made the fact that they were together so very real, and it was great. I do think it comes easier to Reggie, and it's a big way of showing how much he cares, so it's important for Juniper to try and show it back because he knows how much it means to the other.

I like the idea of them eventually living with one another, too. I think Juniper would have always had a quiet little daydream of sorts where he does just live a domestic quiet life, and he can with Reggie (well, as close as they can get between the Agency and Zoraxis always being at odds), and he loves that, and he loves him, and it's immense.

I think they cook for one another a lot, it helps Juniper work on his dexterity in a controlled environment, which means a lot because it's a huge point of insecurity (that and his scars). He does improve, and Crane is proud of that and shows it and it's great. I also think they'd probably cook together too, because they can deal with being in the kitchen together and they work well with one another. It's probably a good way for them to unwind because over time they can do it in relative silence.

As I said before, I also think music is a staple in their household, and that Reggie listens to things on vinyl almost all of the time because he likes the background noise. Sometimes Juniper will catch him chuntering along to the music which he finds endlessly endearing. I wouldn't put it past his dramatic ass to also join in to fluster Reggie, but I also don't think Reggie would mind that terribly because Juniper has listened to the music enough to know the lyrics, and that's huge to him.

I don't think they are without rough patches, no relationship is, but I think the good part about them is that they're willing to talk about it (... eventually). They're used to long conversations, and while they're often less fun conversations, they're needed and they know that, and it works out.

Alright. I think I'm done for now. I haven't mentioned everything, but this definitely got the worst of it out of my system. If you ever want to hear any specific thoughts my ask box is open but other than that, behold my general dynamic for these two which has been festering in my head for years. I think they're great

#ty right-agent for explicitly telling me that this would be welcomed you a real one #i had a massive babble to my friend abt what if they all feed me to the hounds for speaking #and he said “girl that fandom is like 12 people big they need you to speak” and yeah that also helped #i have a hard time talking if I'm not asked/prompted to that's why i adding tags is great for me. that and i like the format #anyways.#THESE TWO.............dear lord can you tell I have been unwell abt them forever..#this is propeganda (/j) for them. btw. please you have to understand the potential here. it's so good.#it's slowburn <- my (probably) demiromantic ass cannot handle romance without a build up and this set up is perfect (it will never happen)#also i find it easier to write ANYTHING between these two from Juniper's perspective because i find it easier to get into his head #idk reggie is like the gay version of the: what is he thinking of? i could take a bear in a fight. audio ive heard.#whereas with juniper i have him trapped under a microscope #im going to tag this now so i can use the remaining tags to RANT #ieytd #john juniper #reginald crane #junicrane #starstruck #i expect you to die #<- being BRAVE!!!#when I get really excited i start getting like this internal shaking feeling and uh. yeah this rant started that #the worst part abt that is it also triggers my tourettes so like. double whammy. excited about blorbos? jail :(#but. yeah I uh. yeah. sorry this IS so long..I did warn but . AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHHHHHHHHHAUUUUUUAHHHHHHHHHHHHH #also i did this rant in 2 parts. last night and this morning so yeah uh. yeah.#god im so messed up about these two #make me a boat by the family crest came on while wroting this and while it's mainly a roxanix song to me......AUUUUUG.....#i struggle to find music for these sillies because they have such a specific vibe to me amd I've not quite managed to find something which -#- genuinely feels correct for them and it drives me up the WALL #GOD NIGHT SHIFT JUST CAME OF SHUFFL.....all my ieytd songs are coming out to drive me up the wall.......#FINISHED I've been adding tags as I've gone alonga #thank you for reading hope you enoyed and if you didn't im sorry

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