#【 barb musing : this isn’t you.

[ofpar1ahs]

muse tag pt. 5

#【 barb hcs! : come on you’re not this stupid. #【 barb ic : you were saying? #【 barb image : i’m chill. #【 barb musing : this isn’t you. #【 barb aesthetics : you’re gonna be so cool now it’s ridiculous. #【 bob hcs! : shall i teach you french while I'm at it? how bout a little german? #【 bob ic : yeah? what’s at the x? pirate treasure? #【 bob image : bob newby. superhero. #【 bob musing : easy-peasy right? #【 bob aesthetics : bob the brain. #【 hopper ic : you don’t mess around with jim. #【 hopper image : mornings are for coffee and contemplation. #【 hopper musing : remember the hurt. the hurt is good. #【 hopper aesthetics : it’s something that’s kinda in-between. something like halfway happy. #【 hopper hcs! : i call them the don’t be stupid rules. cause we’re not stupid.

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond — s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Seven: Better Together

a/n: here’s chapter seven of my purely self-indulgent fun — a little later than i anticipated because i was sick and got a little derailed. modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, fingering, and a whole lot of praise. (7k words)

masterlist

——

Life returns to normal after the gala. Or—mostly normal. You wake in the mornings, greet your husband as he sips his coffee, and you…don’t kiss. And it’s not like you don’t want to; in fact, you do. Really, really badly. One time isn’t enough. Suddenly you’re addicted to the taste of him, and yet you’ve only gotten the smallest hint. A tease at what could be. 

When you returned to your home after the gala, Charlie greeted you both at the door with a bark and a demand for endless pets and cuddles. You’d curled up on the couch as always, you in your dress and him in his tuxedo, with Charlie sprawled out across both your laps. 

Both of you had taken turns looking at one another when you’d thought the other wasn’t paying attention. Would watch Steve’s profile, count the dots on his skin, wonder if he’d lean in if you traced them with your mouth. Wondered what sound he’d make if you ventured further, southward against his neck, and trailed the marks you knew were there as well. And as you’d look down at Charlie, Steve would look at you, watching as though you were far more entertaining than any movie he’d put on.  

Later that evening he’d stood by your doorway and thanked you for joining him that afternoon, leaned down and kissed your forehead, and you’d slipped into your bedroom and changed. When you returned, he remained at your bedroom door, mouth opened to speak to say something, anything, and yet no words had come out. Only the sounds of his struggle. 

So you stepped forward and curled your arms around his waist. Thanked him for a beautiful night, for dancing with you, for being there for you. And then you’d closed your bedroom door and listened as Steve called Charlie into his bedroom, your own hand reaching over your bed side table to shut the lights off, enveloping the room in darkness. 

It carried on like that for days. 

Then weeks. 

You wondered if Steve regretted it all. 

 ——

 Steve hated meetings. The endless meetings. Meetings that kept him away from home, away from comfortability, away from Charlie, away from you. 

It’s a reality that crept upon him slowly, and then swiftly all at once. This realization that he’d rather jump and fall with you than never have taken a risk and jumped at all. Found himself willing to do all of that with you. Trusted you enough to be gentle with him, even despite all your teasing, your jabs, your barbs. 

But now he wants to make sure you know just what this all means to him. Wants to make sure you don’t go a day without knowing that, even though his life is in a constant state of immediacy and pressure from those around him, you’re important. You’re deserving of feeling loved, appreciated, and valued every day. 

“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Harrington,” Hailey, his assistant, asks from behind her computer screen. 

“Can you have flowers sent to my address?”

There’s a knowing smile on her face as she asks, “For your wife?”

“For my wife,” he says, and though it’s been your title for months now, it makes his mouth run dry, because there’s the deeper meaning of possibly more now. 

What exactly that more might be is still to be determined, but more nonetheless. 

“Red roses are nice this time of year,” she muses. “Do you want me to have a card written out as well?”

 ——

 Honey, 

I’m sorry I’ve been so holed up with work. With the holidays coming up, things are extra chaotic. I know you’ve been really wanting a spa and nail day for yourself, so I made you an appointment for three tomorrow. Before you argue with me, you deserve it. Please. For me?

The card is signed at the bottom with ‘your husband,’ and you nearly crush the card stock to your chest, smiling down at the bouquet of fresh roses you’ve already set on your kitchen table. 

Charlie lifts his head, collar jingling as he clambers to his feet and stops near your hip. Dropping down to your knees, you rub at his floppy ears, grin still stretching your lips. 

“Charlie Boy, you really do have the best doggy dad.” He licks at your chin, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as you giggle airily. “We are pretty lucky, aren’t we?”

 ——

 By the time you return from your massage and nail appointment, and the private elevator leading to the penthouse dings, your home already smells wonderful. And the sight that greets you—even better. 

Steve’s frantically running around the kitchen, calling out, “Honey, you’re early!”

“What is happening here?” You walk into the kitchen, a little mystified as Steve rushes forward and brushes a kiss along your temple, your hand coming up to rest on his sternum in wide eyed shock. He’s already set up the kitchen table, wine glasses filled with red wine, candles lit, placemats set out and the dishes you got from your bridal shower on display. “Flowers and dinner?”

“It was supposed to be ready by the time you got home. But Charlie was acting up on his walk. I looked into those puppy training classes, but I want to go to one where I can be there with him.” He pauses, laying the towel he has draped over his shoulder onto the countertop, pulling you into your normal hug whenever you come home from quite literally anywhere. “I thought…well, I know I’ve been busy, and we haven’t exactly had a chance to spend much time together. So I figured I’d make us dinner and we could eat it, you know, together.” 

You glance up at him through your lashes, noting the hand that comes up behind his neck to rub nervously. “With candles?” 

“So I thought it could also—but only if you want it to—be a…date?” 

“We’re married,” you point out, wanting to watch him squirm just a little bit more. Because you know what he means. 

“We are, yeah. But…I figured after the gala there were some tougher conversations we might need to have. Unless you wanted to pretend it didn’t happen, which in that case I understand—”

He’s silenced by your hand gliding up and across his chest, curling at the nape of his neck, and dragging him flush against you, lips gliding softly over his own. When you pull back, his eyes flutter rapidly, tops of his cheeks staining the same color of the fresh tomatoes he has open in a container on the kitchen counter. 

Brow arching, your fingers still around the back of his neck, you ask, “Need further clarification?”

“Maybe?” 

He swallows, curling an arm around the small of your back. He noses at your cheek, your skin prickling in anticipation as he slots his lips over yours again. Warm, gentle, inviting. A sigh spills from you as your pocketbook drops to the ground, your other hand joining the one around Steve’s neck, chests closing in tight, hips flush together.  

“Steve…you made me dinner,” you muse, smiling as his forehead rests against yours, swaying you back and forth to the music he is playing from a speaker on the countertop. 

The backs of his knuckles brush the line of your temple, your cheek. “I’ve made you dinner before.”

“But not like this. With all the wine and candles.”

“Well, I was trying to make a grand gesture.” 

“Just like with my little spa day?” Your heart kicks up at that. Threatens to grow wings and fly away. Because he’s gone out of the way to do this. For you—for you. 

“Yes,” he admits. “I’m—I haven’t done this in a long time. I had to ask my assistant for some tips, so I hope you’ll go easy on me.” 

He’s laughing, but you know Steve. You know he means his words. Know enough about him to tell that when he makes a decision, he commits to it, wants to go above and beyond, and works his hardest at it. So when he says he wanted to make a grand gesture, that he even sought out outside advice, you know he’s sincere.

And you know whatever this is, whatever is brewing between the two of you, is delicate. It needs the space to grow, to be nurtured and tended to, if only so it can bloom into all it’s meant to be. If it’s meant to be. 

“Well, you’re doing amazingly,” you tell him, hands sliding down from the back of his neck to rest against his chest. 

The rapid thump of his heart beats beneath your fingertips, not wholly unaffected by the newness of touch, of…whatever new shape your marriage is beginning to take on. His fingers slide over the back of yours, brushing over your knuckles, his eyes lingering on your face with an intensity that has your throat running dry. 

That is, until Charlie notes your presence and barrels into the kitchen, paws slamming into your hip, demanding a proper hug. There to oblige him, you brush at his floppy ears, your side to Steve’s chest, one of his arms around you, the other also ruffling Charlie’s floppy head, pink puppy tongue lapping over unassuming fingers. Once the little guy is satisfied, you maneuver around Steve and tug your rings free from your finger, quickly washing your hands before sliding them back into place. 

Steve watches you intently as you wiggle the stones into place on the digit, admiring them for a moment. “You look beautiful, by the way.” 

“If I’d known we were having dinner by candlelight, I’d have worn something a little nicer,” you tell him, waving a hand around your figure, to the pair of dark wash jeans on your thighs and the slouchy knit sweater that hangs a little loosely off of one shoulder. All gifts from your mother-in-law’s business. 

He's still wearing his slacks, having had to go to a job site despite it being Saturday and your favorite powdery blue button up he wears. Brings out the greenness in his hazel eyes, a fact you only know because that spill you’d taken on the treadmill some weeks ago now, and the kiss at the gala, where you’d gazed into them long after he kissed you, marveling at the man.  

“You look perfect,” he reassures you, gripping your shoulders and leading you into the living room. “Dinner should be ready in about thirty minutes, so you kick your feet up, I already put out your slippers and some of your cozy socks you like. And give me one second and I’ll grab you your glass of water. Oh—and here’s a blanket.”

“Steve.” You laugh as your husband whirls around you like a storm, gathering all the things he mentions as he goes. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” 

“No, no.” He rushes back over with your water and places it in your hand. “You just relax.” 

And you’re not about to argue with your husband. Not when he looks like this, hair windswept, facial hair freshly trimmed, forearms on full display because he’s spent the better part of the afternoon preparing a home cooked meal for you. For your date night. 

True to his word, your meal is ready a half hour later, his form appearing before you, one hand outstretched for you to take. He helps you to your feet, making room for you at his side, and walks you the distance to your kitchen table. He’s dimmed the lights a bit more, the candle on the table bathing the room in an orange firelight. The man in question slides your chair out and gestures for you to sit despite your protesting, and pushes you in closer to the table once you’ve sat. 

He then rushes around to the other side of the table and sits across from you, gesturing to the various things he has strewn about on the table. 

Your bowls are already full of fresh spaghetti, sauce just the way you prefer. There are meatballs in one glass container, and cheese in another bowl beside. He’s even made garlic bread, which rests in a little basket you’d received for your bridal shower. Everything smells delicious, makes your mouth water as you lift your wine glass and raise it in the air, waiting for Steve to clink his glass against yours. 

“This all looks and smells so amazing, Steve. Seriously.” 

Grateful. You’re immensely grateful as the two of you start to dig into your meals, quiet chatter about your days shared over glasses of wine, spaghetti, and delicious garlic bread. He talks about the newest build on a property, and you explain your week of clinicals ahead, and the desire for your Thanksgiving break to finally approach so you can have some real time to simply relax and just be. 

“That reminds me,” he begins, sipping his water. “My mom is doing Thanksgiving at her house this year. It’ll be a small event. Just my grandmother and Theobald, Cami and their kids. Unless we wanted to go back to Hawkins? It’s really up to you…I haven’t told my mom our plans.”

“My dad and Caroline are actually going to spend the weekend with my grandmother. I figured we would be doing something with your family, so I told my dad we’d be around for the holidays at some point—if that’s okay.” 

“Absolutely,” he says, brushing his fingers over yours where they lay interlaced in the middle of the table. “Splitting the holidays. That was easy enough.”

“We’re getting good at this, Harrington,” you tease. 

“That was my next…topic of conversation.” The status of your relationship. The questions as to what this is and isn’t. The decisions of where you go from here. 

“Right.” You place your fork down against your bowl, swallowing thickly. “So there was the gala.”

“That happened.” His fingers brush yours again, a comforting sweep. Back and forth, back and forth, like a sweet little metronome. “So I guess the question is…what do we want it to mean? Because I want to start by making it clear to you that I do, uh, have feelings for you.”

Chest tightening, you grip his fingers tighter, feeling the corners of your smile tick upwards. “I have feelings for you too. So…now that we have that out of the way…”

“I want to do more of this. Buying you flowers and going out together alone. On real dates. No business obligations attached. Just spending time with you, getting to know you, exploring this.”

“I’d like that.”

“And I want to do this,” he says, squeezing your fingers. Then, he leans over the top of the table to brush your lips briefly with his mouth. “And that, if you’d like to.” 

Your eyes flutter open, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’m…very open to all of that.”

“We don’t complicate it with more labels.”

“We just let things happen the way they’re meant to.”

Let the pieces fall where they may. Without the pressure of placing any expectation on it. Exploring the parameters of your relationship while legally married, knowing either way at the end of it all you can go your separate ways. It’s a terrifying risk, but you know in your heart it’s worth it to at least try.

“Exactly.” 

“Sounds like a deal, Mr. Harrington. We should shake on it.” He holds out his hand between the two of you jokingly, but you’re leaning in once more, breath teasing along his lower lip, and he knows you’re not interested in sealing this deal with a mere handshake. Instead, you seal it with a kiss, resting in the warmth of his skin against your own. 

A little breathless when he pulls away, Steve whispers, “Pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Harrington.” 

 ——

 You’re no expert on Steve Harrington. Not by any means, even after the five months you’ve now been married. Since the moment you decide to begin a real relationship, you start to really explore the intricacies of your husband. He’s a morning person, he likes things a certain way, and he can tend to get flustered easily—though he won’t let it show. You can still sense it in the tension in his shoulders, the furrow of his brows, the clench of his jaw. And today, as you sit on your living room couch with Charlie’s head resting on your thigh, and a book on the other, you sense it in the way he walks into your home with a hollow stare. 

The way he buries his face in Charlie’s neck as he enters the living room and the puppy knocks him onto the ground. The way his eyes are red rimmed as he finally extricates himself from the flailing set of paws on the ground and makes his way over to where you sit, kissing you in greeting. Your hand slides up to cup his cheek, tilting his head to look at him—to really look at him. His cheeks are damp, and your heart nearly cracks down the center at the implication there. 

Briefly, you imagine your husband’s forearms straining as he grips the steering wheel in his car. Imagine the tears he must have hid in his car before coming up to see you. Because he hadn’t wanted you to see. Not really. Always so bright and loving, always so strong for you. 

“Steve?” It comes out as a whisper, and he’s turning his head from you, his breath a shaky inhale as he tips his head to the ceiling. “Are you—”

“I’m going to go get ready for bed. Long day, I just want to get to bed early. Rain check on our movie?” 

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, frown growing. “Sure.”

He’s gone. Disappears from the room without another word, leaving you in the solitude of the unknowing. The wondering if he’s okay, what he’s thinking, if there’s anything you can do to help improve his mood. With the click of his bedroom door in the distance, you try to focus on your book, on the television playing in the background, on Charlie’s breathing. But the longer you go without him, the more you fret. Wanting to be near him, if only to be there as a presence, as something who cares for the brooding man down the hall. 

Resolve settling into place, you toss your things into the kitchen sink and make your way down the hall, gather some clothes to change into for bed, and pause when you arrive in front of Steve’s bedroom. Nervous knuckles hover over the doorway, knocking twice—and then linger. Wait as silence drapes over the room, leaving your heart to race within your chest. 

“Steve…?” You call out his name into the silence, voice a little wobbly. Nervousness ebbs and flows as the silence prolongs. As you’re met with nothing but your own breathing to keep you company. 

And then, very quietly, “Yeah, baby?” 

The newness of the title sends a shiver of pleasure down your spine. You push it away, wanting more so right now to comfort the man inside than anything else. Fingers curl around the door handle, pushing it open just enough to see the man laying there in a pair of sweatpants, room chilly from the central air, bare chest on display. His hair is in disarray, face freshly washed, hair still damp from his shower. There’s the slightest hint of his vanilla shampoo in the air, a comforting sugary sweetness synonymous with your husband. 

“Can I…can I come in?” The door opens a little wider, leaving room for Charlie to prance on in, settling himself on the doggy bed in the far corner of the spacious room. 

Steve lets out a long sigh, fingers curled around his phone moving to place the device on his bedside table. He slides his glasses off his face next, popping them into his glasses container, before settling back down against the fluffy pillows and offering you the slightest hint of a smile. 

“Sure,” he says, a little softly, a little strained. 

Heart dropping into your stomach, you glance down at the small heap of clothes in your hand, and then to the adjoined bathroom. “Do you mind if I—”

Processing your question, he shakes his head, seemingly a little faraway from you. “No, yeah. Please.” 

Without another word, you slip into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a gentle click. A long exhale spills from your lips. Dressing quickly, you take in your reflection in the mirror. Thin sweatpants, a comfortable hoodie, face freshly washed and dried. Satisfied, you toss your clothes into the nearby hamper and slip out of the bathroom, wandering over to the side of the bed. Brows raising imploringly, Steve lifts the edge of the comforter in answer, allowing you to crawl into the space he’s created with his body. 

You choose the pillow beside him. Close enough where you can feel his heat, can run your fingers along the side of his body if you wish, could lace your fingers through his. But you’re not crossing the proverbial pillow wall unless he gives permission to do so. As much as you want to.  

“Did something happen at work?” you ask him, smiling as his hand reaches over and brushes along the back of your forearm. 

“Just the usual. People think I’m…too young to really know what I’m talking about. Anything that goes wrong is thrown at me, and I get those looks of disappointment. And I just think if only my dad were here. If only he were here, I’d know what to do. But I don’t. I don’t and then Theo looks at me like he’s so happy to see me fucking it all up. Because that will have meant he was right.”

“That he was right?” Your head shifts on the pillow, eyes flickering up to his as he angled his head a bit and takes in the sight of your face in the dimly lit bedroom. 

Shifting, he rolls over onto his side, head resting on the pillow mere inches from yours. His hands settle beside yours, his fingers brushing along the backs of yours, gently lacing them together after a moment, squeezing tight. “That I’m not ready. That I wasn’t ready. That the company should have gone to him.” 

“But that’s not true, Steve. You’re a hard worker. I know you are. You sacrifice so much for everyone, even me, and they have to see all of that. They have to. No one is perfect—not all the time, anyway.” He leans into your touch, your free hand having come up in the middle of your speech to rest over the stubbly cheek of your husband. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, turning just enough to press a kiss into the center of your palm. Your skin tingles in answer, smile warming your cheeks. 

“Always, Steve. Always. You’re there for me, I’m there for you. It’s an even exchange.” 

“You know, Theo hates me because he spent years training under my father. He spent all that time thinking the company would be going to him one day. And…I honestly thought that, too. I was shocked when I saw my name.” He pauses, mouth flattening into a straight line. Your thumb glides over his stubbly cheek once more, encouraging him to continue. “The company should have gone to him. But it didn’t. So I thought maybe my dad saw something in me that I didn’t. But every time I fuck it all up, I can just picture the face he always made when I did something wrong, and I always hated when he looked at me like that.”

“When he looked at you like what?”

“Like I was a disappointment.”

And there it is. The words that immediately wedge a knife into your heart for him. The thought of a younger Steve, wanting his father to see him for him. Not for what he could do for the company, not what he lacked, but merely for being his son. The youngest Harrington. A child to a man who expected so much of him. Placed him on a pedestal he’d never been meant to stand on, only to watch him fail time and time again in the eyes of someone who never would be happy. Not really. 

“You are not a disappointment.” The vehemence in your voice shocks you. But the anger brimming in your blood is not for the man lying beside you. No, it’s for the man who no longer resides on this side of earth, and yet has engraved years of doubt within your husband’s heart. 

“You’re biased.” He sighs, breaking off into a laugh. At the quick shake of your head, he continues, “It’s silly, maybe, but I thought maybe if I could just do right by the company, my father would finally be proud of me from wherever he is now.”

“Steve…” Your body burrows closer to his, sighing as an arm slides low along your waist. Pulls you closer. Close enough where you can wrap your arms around him and press your cheek into his collarbone. 

He exhales deeply. “We never had a close relationship. My parents were a bit older when they had me. His form of love was a stern yell when I got a C in class instead of an A. Or pointing out every bad swing in baseball, because ‘Harrington’s are winners.’ It was only when I got older we talked more, and I think that was more so because once I was old enough to, he expected me to work for him. So I was more a worker than a son.”

“You just wanted him to notice you.” And that breaks your heart. Makes your eyes burn in a way that has you sniffing loudly. 

“Silly, right?” His chest shakes with the rasp in his voice, and you grant him the privacy of his emotions, keeping your face pressed tight against his chest as he heaves with the weight of it all. 

“Not at all. You shouldn’t have ever had to fight for his love. No child should. You’re his son. That should mean everything. I’m so sorry.”

“My mom and I really only got closer when he passed. I think she realized I’m really all she has left. And I wanted to resent her for it, be mad that it took him dying for her to notice me, you know? But I couldn’t.”

Sighing, you run your hands up and down the lines of his hard back, smiling to yourself when he relaxes further into your embrace. “It’s not a bad thing to want to be loved by the people who should love you the most.” Leaning back a bit to look in his eyes, you catch the softness there. Note the way his eyes flicker from your eyes and downward to your lips, then drift back up again. “We crave it as humans. And you have such a big heart, Steve. I’m not surprised you were able to be open to her, even after all the years of hurt you must have experienced.”

Huffing, he leans his forehead against yours. “You’re being too nice.”

“I am nice, Steve. I’m only partially serious when I joke about killing you in your sleep.”

That has him smiling. And though it’s only been gone a little while, you’ve missed it dearly. 

His next question has you stilling within his arms. “Will you…stay?”

“In your bed? With you?”

“No, with your other husband.” He chuckles, shifting you so you sprawl out onto his blankets beneath him, giggling as his nose nudges yours. 

“I have another husband?” you ask, just as his lips ever so softly coast over yours, breaking off at the first wiggle of his fingers along the span of your ribcage. Like this, you wriggle and writhe beneath him. Like this, you feel every inch of him along every inch of you. Hard lines against your softer ones. His hips against yours, his lips at your shoulder, your sides jolting with your laughter, limbs kicking out wildly to try and stop him. “Stop, stop—yes! But no pillow wall like in the Maldives.”

He leans down, and you reach up enough to kiss him. “No pillow wall. I might cuddle you, if that’s okay?”

“I'm kind of hoping you do,” you tease, rolling over onto your side as he reaches over and shuts the light, shrouding you both in impenetrable darkness.

Steve settles in beside you. Unlike in the Maldives, he doesn’t begin stacking an endless row of pillows to create a divider. No, this time he comes in close, his chest along your back. Arms looping tight around your waist, pulling you in as close as possible. Legs tangle together beneath bed sheets, fingers twine over where they rest along your midsection. 

It’s quiet for a time. And then, “Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah, honey?” He lets you know he’s awake with a kiss at your shoulder. 

Giving his hand a quick squeeze, you whisper. “You’re a good man. I’m proud of you, and I know that might not count for much, but I am so proud of you.” 

“No. No. That does mean a lot.”

“Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.”

There’s another pause. Then, “Hey, Steve?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“I'm tired.” He practically moans it in your ear, face pressing into your neck. Your cheeks warm from the proximity. 

“Guess no kiss before bed then.” A pout lines your lips, though you know he cannot see it.

“Fine, fine, fine I’m up.”

“Nope, now I’m tired,” you sigh, nuzzling deeper into the endless pillows on your husband’s bed. 

“Get over here.” He grunts, shifting up onto his elbows. There’s barely a moment to argue, for his fingers curl around the base of your cheek and bring your face closer to his. 

His mouth is warm, welcoming, and lovely before bed, you decide, eyes fluttering closed. 

“Mmm,” you hum, cheeks hurting from how hard you smile as he flops back over onto his side and makes himself comfortable once more. 

“Goodnight,” he says, and you can feel his smile against the curve of your jaw.

“Goodnight.”

 ——

 With Thanksgiving about a week away, your husband becomes nearly nonexistent. He’s there, in your home, but only in the early mornings and late at night when you’re already about to fall asleep in his bed. 

His bed, because that’s where you've slept for the past however many days have passed since the first time. It’s been this unspoken thing between the two of you. Be it drawing comfort in one another, wanting the nearness of another human, or just purely wanting to be held—you don’t argue. 

In fact, you quite like waking up in his arms. Two people who fold themselves so tight around one another in their sleep. Bodies that seek comfort and warmth, crave it, and hold it close. 

But that’s truly the only time you’ve seen him as of late. Those fleeting moments when he kisses you while you’re still in bed in the morning, and then at night just as he’s about to shut the light out for the night. 

Which is why when you find him sitting in his office before work one morning, his elbows on the desk, head in his hands, you decide to take matters into your own hands to spend time with the man. Upon clearing your throat, his head tips up, eyes catching on the long tee shirt that covers your cotton shorts beneath. The hem line brushes the tops of your thighs with every step closer to him, hinting at skin that lingers beneath, coaxing him backward in his chair. His glasses are a flash of gold in the light as you clamber down onto his lap, resting your hands on his biceps, beaming down at him. 

“Hi,” you whisper, biting at your bottom lip. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs, thumbing at the curve of your hips, pads of his fingers against delicate flesh. 

“Been working long?” 

“Few hours, yeah,” he grumbles, hooking his chin over your shoulder as you wrap your arms around his waist and press your forehead into his neck. The fingers on your hips slide up your back, trailing up and down gently, eliciting chills along your frame. “Sorry if I woke you.” 

His head shifts, mouth teasing at the curve of your throat, lips tilting upward into a smirk at the little sigh that spills out on his own volition from your lips. Curious hands trail down your back, sliding over the curve of your thigh, the hinge of your hip, the soft of your tummy. Another sigh fills the quiet room, and those fingers tease at the edge of your ribcage, the sides of your waist, the curve of your sports bra. 

“You’re being sneaky,” he says, breath hot against your ear, fingers spread over the dip of your waist. At your questioning hum, he chuckles, “Distracting me from work.”

“I did nothing of the sort,” you huff out, leaning back in his arms, fingers toying with the hem of his thin sweater he’d fallen asleep in. “I just wanted to spend some time with you before you went to work. Come on now, let me get some coffee for you before you go into the office, Mr. Harrington.”

His eyes roll at your teasing nickname, hand curling around your own as you rise from his lap and lead him out of the office. As you enter the kitchen, Charlie’s sleepy head raises from his paws, before he plops back down in a sleepy heap, legs and paws splayed out in front of him. 

Steve remains nearby as you get to work on making your coffees, slipping in and out of the living room just long enough to gather some of the things he’ll need for his work day. Yours iced, caramel drizzled on the inside of the cup in preparation, and Steve’s ‘Dog Dad’ mug laid out on the counter (a gift you’d gotten him as a joke, but he loved it so much he kept it and insisted on using it every morning).  

You catch him slipping on a button down shirt out of the corner of your eye, his necktie already hanging limply around his shoulders. Noting his struggle, you wander over to stand in front of him, grappling with the fabric, stilling him in his movements.

His forehead brushes yours, your voice quiet as you say, “You feeling okay? You’re feeling a little warm.” 

“Just tired,” he says, thumbing at your bottom lip. “Just a couple more days and then I’ll have some time off.” 

“Let me?” you ask, fingers winding in the tie. 

He dips his head, watching you with those dark eyes as you maneuver the fabric around, twining this way and that, before pulling it flush against his throat. His neck bobs as you linger there, holding him nearer to you, tugging teasingly. He leans down, breath skittering across your lips as he asks for your permission. 

In answering, you tug onto the tie and pull him down to you, your backside thumping against the kitchen counters as he crowds you against them, hands on your hips, gripping tight. Hot. Fervent and heated is his mouth as he claims your lips in the middle of your kitchen, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, tongue gliding across your bottom lip until you part for him with a pretty sigh. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, lips and teeth coasting down your cheek, along your neck, against your shoulder as you hop up onto the kitchen counter with his help, ankles curling around his waist to pull him flush against your center. “Baby…I have to…I should…”

But he’s gripping your thigh. Sliding it further open so he can press himself closer, fingers trailing along bare skin, eliciting shivers in their wake. Up and down, up and down, he trails them. Watches your face the whole time, catches the pinch of your bottom lip between your teeth, the whimper you let out as those fingers roam dangerously close to where you ache for him to touch. 

“Is this what you want?” he asks. Breathes the words along the hollow of your ear. Presses a kiss below it a moment later as you nod, nearly bucking into his hand as his fingers toy with the hemline of your shorts, then along the cotton panties. “Honey, I need your words. Do you want me to touch you?” Another kiss, this time along the curve of your neck, tongue lathing sensitive skin. Heat burns low in your belly; throbs lower still, where you can already feel yourself embarrassingly wet for the man. “Want my fingers, sweetheart? Is that what you want?”

His eyes are molten as they meet yours. Liquified honey and caramel as you nod, his lips swallowing your moan at the first slide of his fingers through your slick center. “Steve…ah…work,” you pant, eyes halting on the clock staring at you across the way, and then dropping down to the forearm you’re presently clutching tight, watching the muscles there ripple as he circles your clit, testing your reactions, learning what you like. And he’s an expert, and you want to go back in time and erase every other partner who may have come before in a momentary burst of jealousy, before catching on his ringed finger where it lays against your other thigh, holding fast. 

“You're gonna be a good girl and come for me then so I’m not late?” he asks, groaning into your open mouth as you tug him closer by his necktie, hips rolling against his fingers as one slips in, before quickly being joined by another. “Fuck. Just like that, baby. Doing so good for me.”

It’s almost obscene, the sounds he draws out of you. The squelch of your slick where he pumps his fingers between your thighs, the harsh staccato of your breath as you inch closer and closer to your tipping point—like he’s been doing this for years. Like he’s known all along exactly what it takes to have you falling apart, crying out his name. And that’s exactly what you do, inner walls clenching down around his fingers as your thighs tremble low around his hips, his left hand curling around the back of your head to claim your mouth as you whimper into his skin, chanting his name like a mantra—like a prayer. 

“I hate you.” You don’t. Not when he looks at you the way he is looking at you now. Watching your chest rise and fall, eyes on yours, tongue swirling around his slick digits. “Fuck. So much.” 

“I’m sure you do,” he practically sing-songs, sliding your panties back into your place, followed by your shorts. Draws you closer to the edge of your kitchen counters, hands on the swell of your hips. He noses along your cheek, kissing you softly this time. “As much as I want to stay here, and I really really want to stay here, I have a very important meeting this morning.”

“Boo,” you whine, ear resting over his chest where you can hear his heart thrashing wildly behind his sternum.

“I’ll text you,” he promises, dropping a kiss on your lips as you lean your head back and look up at him through your lashes. “Send me pictures of Charlie?” 

“I will,” you laugh brightly, watching out of the corner of your eye as your fur child lifts his head at the mere mention of his name. “Although I’m pretty sure you already have about a million of them by now. Are you sure you have to go?”

He kisses your pout, chuckling softly. “Yes. I wish I didn’t have to, but I do. You’re so beautiful.” 

A smile grows on your lips as his fingers run along your cheek, eyes on you, marveling. Never before have you felt so singularly the focus on a partner’s mind. The way Steve looks now…with reverence and appreciation that makes your heart soar…there’s nothing like it. You want to bottle it up, stow it away, keep it safe from the rest of the world. Keep it here, within the walls of your home, where it’s only you, him and Charlie. Your little makeshift family, but the one you both chose. 

So you allow him to help you down off the countertops and onto the floor below, your still-trembling thighs groaning beneath you as your cheeks burn hot. He drops a final kiss down onto the crown of your head and squeezes your shoulder tight, snatching his phone from where it’s resting behind you. Sliding it into his pocket, he calls Charlie’s name and hugs the excited puppy once before stepping into the elevator and reassuring you once more he’ll text you just as the doors slide shut. 

He makes it about two minutes before your phone pings. His text illuminates on the screen, the message liquifying your insides all over again.  

Husband: You coming like that on my fingers is going to be the only thing I’ll be able to think about for the rest of the day, I’ll have you know. 

Your stomach tumbles and swoops low in your belly as you type out your reply. 

You: Hurry back soon because I’m already thinking of how I’m planning on returning the favor. I know that’s all I’ll be thinking about until you get home. 

He types and stops. 

Types and stops again. 

A wicked grin curls your lips. 

And finally.

Husband: You’re cruel. 

You: See you later, handsome.

You: xoxo. 

——

please please as always let me know what you think! 🩷

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington x you #steve Harrington x reader #fake husband!steve harrington #modern!steve harrington

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Then just for fun you take your tongue and run it over my lip | And gotta love the way she does it for the hell of it | We're in positions that most people only say they know | Rub it right up, against my body | You got your hand on a landmine, ready to blow |But the devil can hear you when you say... | C'mon and get up (get up), move your body |Use your body, lose control. |Use my body, make it yours (So get up) | We're gonna light this room on fire | Ya, you and I will burn it up tonight (so get up) | The two of us will fuel this fire | No way in hell we're slowing down tonight

And! Belly button shots with that slutty ass tattoo.

Smut? Implication? Sex dancing?. Edging? That's up to you. I am here to just proved a muse not a direct request.

Well, well, well, Lorde! Thank you so much for giving me the in for write for Darry Jenner for the first time! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it! And now this is officially the last fic of my 20s! A weird and fun smutty fic of an underrated character, how on brand! Let’s get into it, yeah?

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.1K. Darry Jenner X GN! Reader. No Pronouns Or Parts Specified. Warnings: Teasing. Alcohol Consumption. Partying. Body Shots. Mild But Playful Slut-Shaming (Darry Is The Slut Here.). Making Out. Grinding. Hand Job. Blow Job. Throat Fucking. Edging. Sex. Riding. Banter. Reader Is Kinda An Asshole But It’s Fun.

—

“Who’s The Real Slut Here?”

—

It’s Friday night, you are in college and so naturally you are out at a party, decently full of people, music playing at a healthy volume and your classmates drinking and making merry, excited the school week was done. You were of course among them, with the same idea in mind, of cutting loose and forgetting your stress, and you were well on your way to do that. You’d been here for around an hour, hadn’t really run into anyone you knew super well, but that was fine, you were enjoying milling and mingling. 

Currently making your way to the living room, looking around distractedly at the goings-on, people dancing, mingling, talking, in the early stages of hooking up, Hell, who knows, maybe you’ll find someone to grind up against yourself. 

That train of thought is quickly abandoned as another body collides into yours, shoulder to shoulder, and sharp contact with a small jolt of pain sends your body turning expectedly and unfortunately makes you drop your drink. You were drinking out of the natural party classic, a red solo cup, so broken glass wasn’t a concern, but the sticky and sweet mix of fruit juice, carbonation and alcohol spills over your shoes all the same. 

Eyes drop with a disgusted sound, your shoes are fairly waterproof so your socks getting wet isn’t a concern, but your shoes are going to be tacky and gross, you just know it. You feel annoyance and anger bubbling until you hear the frantic and rushed, “Oh my God, I am so sorry.” 

You had a response on your tongue, ready to snark out something close to, “Yeah you better be!” with a healthy amount of venom, but when your eyes raise to look at your assaulter in the face that quickly proves to be a difficult task. You become distracted by dark brown eyes and soft looking black hair, his face tinged with worry and what looks like genuine remorse, pink lips parted and hands up, it makes what was meant to be a bitchy barb melt into, “Yeah, you’re okay, I mean, it’s okay.” 

“God, no it’s not, looks like that was full-” You cut him off with a smile, anger was forgotten, “Really, it’s okay.”

“At least let me get you another drink? For my conscience if nothing else.” He is very sweet, reads as honest, earnest. You agree and say, “Yes, okay, I can let you do that.” 

He finally smiled, slow and more beautiful than it had any right to be. You and he make your way to the kitchen and once in there and in front of the drink station you both notice that there are no cups. He says, “I think there are some on the top shelf of this cupboard, hold on-”

“How do you know that?” You ask, and he says as he opens the doors, “Oh, my friend lives here.”

He reaches up to the aforementioned top shelf, rooting around for the cups, and you are just watching him, eyes move down his body and in the process of him stretching. His shirt rides up and you of course stare at the newly revealed skin, what you find there makes you gasp before laughing out, “Woah! Slut alert!”

He pulls the cups down, jaw dropped open as he says, “Excuse me?”

You respond enthusiastically with a point to him as you say, “You! I just realized, you’re a slut.”

The cupboard doors are closed, an eyebrow raised as he asks, “What makes you say that?”

You take the two strides forward to be within touching range, and you reach out, fingers hook in the hem of his shirt, and you yank it up and point to his tattoo with your other hand. “This! Look at this shit, guys who aren’t sluts do not have little whoreish rose tattoos like this!”

“Christ! You’re being awfully forward for someone I just met.” He smacks your hand away and smoothed his shirt back down into place, and you laugh again, “I notice you aren’t disagreeing with my assertion.”

He argues with you as the package of new red solo cups was torn open and one was retrieved, “Didn’t think I had to! I think it’s obvious I’m not a slut.”

You watch as he plucks up one cup and sets it down ready to finally make you that drink, but you aren’t concerned with that anymore, instead you asked, “Oh yeah? Wanna bet?”

“Seriously?” Was his deadpanned reply. 

“Yeah, let's ask ten people, if more than five agree with me that you are a total tart based off your tattoo, I win, and if less than five agree that you are not a slut, you win, and I’ll drop it.” You explained quickly, a wide grin overtaking your face.

He looks considering for a moment before asking, “What do you want if you win?”

You push his shoulder playfully as you ask, “C’mon, where’s the fun in that if I tell you upfront?”

A roll of his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest, the small smile on his face as well as his tone tattles on the fact he is amused however, attempt to fix your drink abandoned, consumed in the current ridiculous conversation, “If you don’t tell me I won’t do it.”

You groan and kick the kitchen island you were next to, “Fine. Spoilsport. How about…” You look him over and then grin lewdly as the thought comes to you like lightning,, “A body shot.”

He laughs with a shake of his head, eyes drop to the floor as he shrugs and says, “Fine. You’re on.”

You shake on it, eye contact reestablished, and the game was on. 

Your hand on his wrist, you start to lead him around the party. The routine went as follows, you walk up to a person, ask if they are down to participate in settling a bet you were both in, if they said yes, you would be showing him off. You would lift his shirt excitedly, or he would be reluctantly tugging it up himself to show it off until ten people later you were saying positively giddy, “Seven out of ten college party goers agree! You are a slut.”

He sighs and asks quietly, “What shot are you doing off me?”

To you, there was only one answer possible.

“The classic naturally. Tequila.” 

Soon enough he is splayed across a table that is normally used for beer pong, currently in between games, and you are setting him up. He’d taken his shirt off before laying down, you rubbed the wedge of lime on him, the space of his belly button now slick and salt sprinkled, your other hand gripping the bottle of tequila you’d already taken the cap off of, you tip it and poured the liquid into the hollow of his belly button. He shivers and squirms slightly, some spills, overflows, and you chide him, “Fuck, stay still!” 

Before he can retort, you’d taken that same lime wedge and placed it in his mouth, rind side down towards him, flesh of the fruit upturned. The bottle is set down and you make your move.

You lean down, one hand on his jean clad thigh, higher than it needs to be, fingers curling over the curve of his thigh, your mouth is close enough. Your lips latch, and you drink from him, tongue dips in, and you eagerly lap up the burning alcohol before you swirl along the perimeter and over that same tattoo that set this bet in motion. Next your tongue turns upwards, passing over warm skin and his firm toned stomach, catching the salt you sprinkled before. 

Afterwards you are pulling up and with one smooth stride, fingers trailing up his bare torso as you go, your other hand descends onto his forehead. Your fingers run through dark hair, a and you leaned down, you give him a ghost of a kiss as you steal the lime wedge, you linger longer than necessary, if he wanted and responded fast enough he could have kissed you, but he was too shocked. You are pulling back up, your fingers come up too, and you bite down, sucking the acidic delight back. Clean rind is pulled away, and you look down at him, stomach wet and lips shiny, staring up at you, and you say, “I realize something.” 

He sounds just a little out of breath as he asks, “What’s that?” 

“I never got your name.”

He realizes that’s true. A small cock of his head as he tells you,  “Darry. My name is Darry.”

You toss the rind of the lime wedge aside, and you tell compliment him, “Well, Darry, I have got to say, at least you are a man of your word. You have follow through.”

He sighs and holds one hand out, “Gee thanks, wanna help me up?”

You do so, gripping his hand and pulling him to sit up and get off the table. He goes to put his shirt back on, but grimaces, “I feel all sticky now.”

Taking in the sight of the hardwood and sturdy table that was covered in a million rings from never having seen a single coaster but cups upon cups of drinks and who knows how many spills your expression mimics his, “Yeah, that table was not clean, c’mon, let’s go to the bathroom, I’ll help you clean up.”

Soon you are standing in the ensuite bathroom attached to the master bedroom. You aren’t supposed to be in here, it is supposed to be off limits, but you’ve always been a rule breaker, haven’t you?

You are cleaning him up, warm and damp wash cloth running over his back, and you say, “So why don’t you think you’re a slut?”

“Cuz I’m not one?”

“Are you sure? Letting me parade you around the party like I did, letting me do a body shot off you like that, I mean fuck, dude, I tongue fucked your belly button before you told me your name. Seems pretty whore like to me.” You teased playfully, and he laughs shocked, seemingly speechless. 

You asked, “What do you think?”

He takes a deep breath before, sighing out, “I think no matter what I say, you are gonna think I’m a whore.”

You finish cleaning him and are wringing out the cloth into the sink and shrug, “Maybe, maybe not.” He catches your eyes in the mirror. He is staring. You stare back. 

You turn and there is this tension. You break it by dropping the cloth and flicking some water onto his still bare chest, a challenging raise of your eyebrows asking, “What are you gonna do about it?”

And you get what you want. 

He wants to put you in your place, wants to shut you up, but mostly you think, he just wants to, and so he makes the first move. His hands on your arms, pulling you closer and taking that single step, and he kisses you. 

The make out is speedy. 

A brief thought flits through your mind, that you were getting just want you wanted out of tonight, fun, relaxation, a few good drinks and getting to hook up with someone. You are feeling bold, and you think he wants it, you test the waters, you feel him up, hands over bare and exposed skin, and he doesn’t shy away, no he leans in closer, eager.

You suppress a smile as you deepen the kiss, one hand is on the back of his neck, the other running over the expanse of his chest and one leg hooks over his hip as you grind on him. He gets hard pretty fucking quick. 

The speed is enough to make his head spin. Two minutes ago, he had his hand in your underwear, touching you, but you made him stop and were now on your knees, pants open and pulling him out. You work him over, hand locked onto his shaft, and you stroke, firm grip, a squeeze whenever you get to the head, a twist of your wrist on the down stroke of his shaft and a steady move back upwards to repeat the process all over again. 

He is leaned against the counter when you lean in, your tongue flicking over the tip, and that has him moaning, head back. The view is fantastic, pants and underwear low on his hips, shirt still off, hands gripping the counter edge so hard you can see the flex of tendons in his forearms, it encourages you to wrap your lips around his head. You suck indulgently and keep your hand in motion, he tastes very fucking good, salt and tang, delicious and when you feel him start to throb in your palm you pull back. His head drops, chin tucked into his neck, to look down at you. His expression is crestfallen, he looks sad and confused as he asks, “Why’d you stop?”

You remain on your knees, tongue licking up the pre-cum on your fingertips before you say, “Because I want you to say it.”

More confusion as he asks, “What?”

Pressing him, you say, “I want you to say it, admit it.”

“Admit what?” Asked Darry, still not getting what you were driving at.

You smile and say it as if it were as simple as two plus fucking two, “That you are a whore. Nothing more than a needy slut. Say it and I’ll keep going.”

He looks shocked again. His mouth opens and closes, but he can’t say much more than, “I-...” before you start again, he moans anew, how cute is he? How stupid and gullible? This will be fun. 

You work quickly, hand and mouth serving to wreck him in short order. He is moaning, panting, hips rocking forward, and you can tell, nearly there, he is close, and you stop, he curses, and you tease once more, singsonging out, “You aren’t finishing until you say it.” 

“I’m not gonna-” 

Well, that won’t do. You don’t let him even finish saying that he isn’t going to do it. Your hands on his hips you lean in, and you make one swift move and you deep throat him, take him to the root, and he lets off the best sound he has all night, a choked off moan with shattered breathing, utterly close to ruin. He looks so pretty like this. He had run his fingers through his hair, bit his bottom lip so hard trying to stay quiet you think it might bruise and bleed, his chest and neck is flush, he is unreasonably hard and leaking pre-cum at a steady rate. 

You are relentless. You work him perfectly, swallow around him, suck, lick and more until he is about to burst. “Please, please, fuck, don’t stop, s’ good-”

He sounds fantastic when he begs, you feel yourself in need and aching. You almost want to give in, you are sure he will moan with the utmost gratitude, will sound hot enough that it might get you halfway there on its own without you ever having to touch yourself.

He is still begging, “So close, God, yes, ah-”  He sounds so fucking hot, amazing, he is all but whining, but he didn’t say the magic words you wanted and so, you then pull off of him. Remove his thick cock from your throat and mouth, the wet strings of saliva break apart, the leash that bound you and he no more. You stand up and pull away, are ready to fully leave the bathroom, fixing yourself up in the mirror, and he grips your wrist. He is painfully hard, dripping, breathing is laboured as he asks, “Please, fuck, please don’t leave me like this?”

You give him a nearly apologetic smile, one thumb wipes some stray spit from your chin as you prompt him, “Then just say it, Darry. You say it and admit it, and I’ll get you off.”

A pause, a beat, and he finally relents. 

He says it shockingly smooth and confident, maintaining eye contact with you, he states as if he truly believes it, “I’m a whore, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I’m a fucking slut.” 

“There you go. Good boy.” You step away and your hand locks onto the doorknob, you open it and asked him over your shoulder, “Wanna go dance?” 

He sounds shocked and calls after you, “Wait! I-I thought if I said it that you’d-”

You turn, eyes meet again, and you tell him, “Oh I’m going to take care of that-” And a nod down to his still raging erection, “-but I was thinking we can go take a break, let you calm down a bit and then maybe you’ll be able to fuck me without busting in two strokes. No offence, by the way, I didn’t make it easy on you, I can make an experienced guy bust in two minutes with some serious effort.”

That is a lot to take in all at once. His mouth opens, another unsure sound before as he asks, “You want to-”

You fill in the blank. “Fuck you Darry. I want to ride you into oblivion.”

He was so caught up he hadn’t noticed you were holding his shirt, you threw it at him and said, “Now c’mon you still owe me that drink from earlier too.” 

He caught the shirt and was putting it back on as he asks, “The one you hoovered off my body doesn’t count?”

You lean against the door as you watch him stuffing himself back into his jeans and closing his pants off his still obvious erection as you say, “Not even close.” 

He got you that drink, you did dance and later on in on top of the coats in a guest bedroom you kept your promise. Only afterwards, the sound of him whimpering while he came still ringing in your ears while you remain perched on top of him, heaving and sweat slick, coming down from your own orgasm, you tease him and say, “Was that so hard?”

He huffed out with a weak and satisfied smile, “No, suppose not, it was pretty great.”

You hum out, “I’ll say. And hey, Darry, you know this is all in good fun, right?”

He hums unconvinced and shifts under you, and you say, “No really, think about it Darry. I fucked you without ever telling you my name, I’m a slut too.”

The laugh he let out is the second-best sound you’d heard all night, when he sucks down a deep breath and the laughter subsides, he tells you warmly, “You fucking suck.”

“You know it.” 

#Darry Jenner x reader #Jeepers Creepers x reader #Final Boy x reader #BHF writing #BHF asks #WE GOT IT IN #AN HOUR BEFORE MY BIRTHDAY #WE DID IT

[lorelune]

(soft, light angst, kaveh overworking)

“you need to rest.”

you drape yourself over kaveh’s shoulders and press your cheek against his neck. blow a shock of a cold air over his collars bone and he shivers with it.

“once this draft is complete.” kaveh can’t hide the withered tone from his voice. his bravado has always been weak, laced with a mix of perpetual fatigue and insecurity that’s terribly easy to pick out. even easier for you to hear and see with the intimacy that you manage to share with him.

you hum, unconvinced. you hand slides over his sides to his chest, and cross to settle over his ribs, “you can finish later.”

“my deadline—“ kaveh begins to speak and you cut him off with a gentle pinch to his side.

he squeaks, something high and cute. his quill drops to the desk. there’s a shake in his hands, and a strain you can see pulling at his dominant hand. you frown and nip at his neck.

“isn’t for a few days. besides, i’ll reason with the client if you need an extension.” you assure him (that you’ll be there to help him, unwaveringly, even if he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.)

“you need to take care of yourself to do your best work. i’ll help you.”

you already have onions and garlic sliced for a meal.

kaveh sighs, fidgeting. uncomfortable. “i don’t need you to coddle me.”

“i’m well-aware of that.” you placate him. “reminders don’t hurt, do they?”

“when you speak to me as if i’m not aware of my own overworking, they do.” kaveh’s voice goes sharp. “i’m perfectly self-sufficient and don’t need you to hover when i’m attempting to work.”

kaveh gets harsher with this words, the more vulnerable he feels. you know the rhythm of it well and your frustration with it varies, depending on the day. today, you understand. he can be as barbed as you want, and you will not allow it to hurt you.

“i don’t mean to hover.” you tell him, dragging your lips up to his cheek and kiss the words against the soft skin there. “i just worry.”

“well, you don’t need to.”

“… you saying that won’t stop me from doing so.” you squeeze him. “at least step away to eat something. i’ll make that ginger tea you like— i have candied lemons too.”

kaveh chews his cheek. appealing to his stomach, and is love of sweets, is perhaps a bit dastardly, but you forgive yourself. when kaveh’s warm and fed and has slept more than a cumulative six hours, you can muse on better ways to goad him into accepting a break.

“in a few minutes. if i can finish this sketch, i can start doing conversions—“ he rattles off the steps of his process, winding and complex, entirely his. genius burns a candle fast and low, and kaveh has always been a prodigy.

“fine. then let me sit with you.”

kaveh concedes to that much. a victory, however pyrrhic.

you slip to the ground near his feet and rest your back against the legs of his chair. you smother your face into his leg, and his hand instantly presses over the top of your head. kaveh mindlessly plays with your hair as he continues working. easily absorbed back into his work, chasing whatever inspiration and subsequent design that he’s crafted. kaveh has grand visions and the skills and talent to actualize them. his biggest enemy is his own festering self-deprecation.

you don’t blame him. you never could.

kaveh mumbles to himself, stroking over your forehead, and worrying the little wrinkle between your brows. you know he’ll take more than a few minutes before remembering you’re at his feet, patiently waiting for him to relent just enough that you’re able to shove him full of whatever care you can. you like to imagine you’re whittling away at him through keeping his belly full and his bed warm. he enjoys having you on his arm— you know this well. he likes you. (he just hates himself, and there’s nothing you can do about it.)

you don’t dwell on it. you’ll give him what he takes and prod him until he takes more. you take his hand by the wrist and drag it to your lips, pressing kiss after kiss to his fingers tips.

when he shudders with it, tenses all through his body, you feel nothing but smitten.

#lore writes #kaveh x reader #kaveh x you #drabbles #kaveh makes me feel some type of way #self destrutive and wretched #ILLLLY

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

Hi I was wondering if you can write the Can you please be civil?" "No." "Just this once?" "Also no. I have a reputation." With Melissa Schemmenti x reader please

I was a little unsure where to go with this one, so the lines aren’t quite said between Melissa and the Reader, but they do feature!  Also, sorry that this isn’t as reader-centric as the other one shots I’ve done, but my muse wasn't cooperating!  One final apology -  having watched precisely one game of baseball where the nachos and beer were my favourite parts and when playing rounders my sole job being home base (essentially, sport isn’t exactly my bag) please excuse anything that doesn’t sound quite right. 

*

“Can you please be civil?”

Melissa looks up to where Barb stands at the end of the bench, eyes pleading.  The first grade teacher no longer took an active roll in the elementary school soft ball game, but she still wore her jersey and acted as cheerleader and coach.  “No.”

“Just this once?” asked the older woman, giving it one more try.

“Also no.”  The red head stood, swinging the baseball bat in her grasp.  “I have a reputation to uphold and a trophy to keep.”

Barb fixes her friend with an exasperated look.  To say that Melissa was competitive was an understatement and reasoning with her in the midst of a competition was nigh on impossible.  She could only hope you arrived soon to help soften her sharp edges before she cut someone too deeply.

“You could always try throwing them off their game by being super nice?” suggests Janine, rocking back and forth on her heels.  “They wouldn’t expect that.”

Melissa slowly turns to look at the young woman, shifting her grip on the bat and looking positively menacing.  “Or I could just beat their asses?”

*

Jacob slumps down on the bench, suitably cowed by another of Melissa’s outbursts.  She didn’t just reserve her no nonsense attitude and catty comments for the other team.  No, her own team got it just as bad, if not worse. 

“Damn girl, you gotta calm down!” called Ava.  “The game hasn’t even started yet and you about to blow your top!”

“Well maybe if anyone on this damn team could hit the damn ball I wouldn’t be so damn pissed!”  She let her eyes travel over her colleagues and for the day, teammates.  “What happened to what I taught you at the batting cages, huh?”

*

“Hey guys!” you smile as you approach the Abbott Elementary team.  You slow your steps as you start to feel the tension radiating off them. The game hasn't even started yet and it seems something has gone down. And gone down badly at that.

“Hey!” comes the bright greeting as Melissa turns to greet you, slinging the bat over her shoulder as she slips her free arm around you in a hug, pressing a kiss to your hair.  “I was starting to worry you weren’t coming.”

“And miss all the fun?” you laugh.  “Not a chance.  I would have been here before now but my hunk of junk on wheels had other ideas.”

Melissa shakes her head.  “You really gotta let me have my cousin have a look at that.”  She leans in close, lowering her voice to whisper into your ear.  “Or you could have just stayed at mine last night like I suggested.”

“Then neither of us would be here on time,” you smirk.

*

“Okay, I get threatened with having my nails pulled off one my one but she gets Momma Bear Schemmenti defending her pitching?  How is that fair?” demands Ava.

Gregory turned to look at the Principal.  “You want to say that to her face?”

“Hell no!  I ain’t got a death wish and the reason I built my bunker wasn’t to hide from her!”

*

It’s your turn to bat.  The moment you were dreading.  It wasn’t as if you were a star pitcher, but at least when you were throwing almost everyone’s attention was focused on the person holding the bat.  Now you were the centre of attention. 

You push yourself up from the bench, forcing a smile as your little Abbott family cheers you on.  You hesitate at the edge of the pitch, however, nervous to step up to the plate.  Taking a deep breath, you’re about to take your place when you feel warm hands settle on your hips and get a whiff of familiar perfume as Melissa nuzzles into your temple. 

“You okay, babe?”

“Just nervous,” you admit.  The scores are close and Melissa’s mood has been tempestuous to say the least. 

“What you got to be nervous about?” she asks.  “You got this.”

Feeling her press closer to you, you find your forced smile settle into a more natural expression.  She sways her hips behind you, moving your with her as her hands stroke down your arms, finally settling the bat into your grasp.

“Just remember all the lessons I gave you and you’ll be fine.”

You chuckle.  Those lessons were imprinted in your mind.  You’d never found baseball attractive until it meant that Melissa Schemmenti was pressed  tightly against you as she guided you in the how to achieve the perfect swing. 

She presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you a final smack on the rear as you head for the head for the home plate.  “You got this!” she calls after you, a wide smile on her face. 

Settling yourself on the home plate, you raise the bat, eyes on the pitcher as you wait.

“You better hit this,” comes a voice from behind you.  “Because she’s going to kills us if you strike out.”

You can’t help but grin.  “You’re not scared of Ms Schemmenti are you?”

“You kidding?  You and Barbara Howard are the only two people here who aren’t!”

*

You grin as Melissa comes back to the table bearing pitchers of drinks for everyone.  Her mood has improved drastically since your team won thanks in no small part to a fantastic hit from Ava that sent the other team scrambling and some impressive sprinting from Janine. 

She slides in next to you, a possessive arm finding its way around your shoulders.  It never fails to make you feel warm inside, that she is so open in her affection towards you.  She is never shy letting her actions proudly declare you as hers.  “You were great out there,” she tells you.  “Look pretty hot in team colours, too.”

“This from the sexiest woman on the pitch?”  What else were you meant to say? You’d have to be blind not to see how the softball uniform clung to her hips and showcased her delicious curves.

“What can I say, winning looks good on me.”

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti

[ashes-writing]

stranger things ● summer of 86 pt 2 ● e.munson

warning

eddie is oblivious to being flirted with, flirty reader / PDA / eventual filth. this is very much an attempt at 'idiots in love'. mentions of alcohol / w**d, other vices, a little angst here and there, seasons 1 through 4 obviously did not happen, barb is gay and we're here for it + internalized fear and guilt, maybe some self esteem issues and anger pent up because it wasn't fun to be 'different' in the 80's in a small town ( barb +robin because they're gay and that was frowned upon back then, + eddie bc the 'freak' thing and small towns will cling to whatever they see you as with their dying breath, trust me on it ), mentions of depression / gifted kid burnout ( reader / you ), mentions of previous bad relationships (reader/you) ...

reader/you are the oldest byers + female. reader/you also have a very specific backstory / personality / female parts. I've kept everything else vague as I can, babes. This is self-indulgent and I am not sorry at all.

word count

roughly 3k. for the context necessary, see ( part 1 ). welcome to part 2, babes.

(( are we sick of me being back on my bullshit yet? lmaooo ))

summary

– it’s the summer of 86 in Hawkins, Indiana. And all Eddie Munson has to show for himself so far is his diploma and his job as a record store clerk / manager. you’re back in town for the first time since 83, fresh off a break up and you’ve just made the life-altering decision to drop out of college. all your plans are abandoned and it’s driving you crazy. Enter Eddie Munson, a guy who lives by no plan other than whatever will make him happy in the moment.

A summer romance? Or more than that? Who knows.

(( my summaries are traaaash. look, it’s a record store employee!rocker Eddie thing, alright? Alright. Also, i decided we needed hints of mechanic!eddie and biker!eddie cos he's getting a motorcycle, babes. ))

taglist + shoutouts

-- to be added to my taglist please ( click here ) or let me know if it's not letting you add / you want me to do it. if you joined for steve/gareth other characters and do not want to be tagged, let me know.

@eddiemunsonspantschain i had to tag you in this bc i know you love him and i love you. feel free to ignore babes!

@tbmunson bestie.. babeeee.. babesss... i really hope you like this because you're my inspiration and you're amazing and also, you didn't talk me out of it, so.. oopsie?

@allelitesmut your tags and comments always leave me feeling 🥰🥺 and i cannot even begin to thank you enough. seriously. they make my day. i'm so glad you enjoy this!

@caravelofthesun

@chaoticcancer

@dylanwritesgood

@just-a-blue-nerd

@slyisbehindyou

other links

masterlist ● eddie's masterlist ● about + rules

The plain white flier catches your eye as you leave Big Buy with the groceries your mother sent you out for. You pause at the community bulletin board as your eyes dance over the bold wording.

Live music tonight. 8 pm. The Hideout. Be there… if you dare.

You laugh a little. “It’s probably some kids in Jane and Will’s grade and they’re playing Flock of Seagulls.” you muse, but then the name of the band catches your eye and you raise a brow. “Corroded Coffin? That’s.. Actually kinda clever.”

A throat clears from nearby and you look up from the paper to lock eyes with the amusement filled doe eyes of Eddie Munson, the hot record store manager. He’s chuckling. “Have just a little faith. I’ll have you know Flock of Seagulls isn’t in our setlist a single time, babe.”

And the way babe just rolls right off his tongue has you snickering quietly. But it’s also got the lovely little after effect of butterflies in your stomach. Your hand raises, catching in long and thick hair. “There isn’t, huh? I won’t hear “And I ran.” A single time?” you question as you try to stop it from happening but you can’t and you wind up stepping right up into him. You’re pretending to pout. “That’s uh.. That’s too bad. I was really looking forward to the cheese factor.”

“Whitesnake. That’s just as cheesy and I can stomach singing Slow an’ Easy.” Eddie’s trying so hard to behave himself but the way you’ve just stepped up to him really close has a lump forming in his throat. And your sweet and creamy perfume has his head spinning as it hangs heavy in the air all around. He just barely stops his hand from resting way too close to your hip but doe eyes are roaming. All over you. He’s careful about it, he looks you up and down in a way that somehow does and doesn’t make you feel like a hunter studying his prey just seconds before he moves in for the kill.

You laugh softly. “You don’t have t’ go to all that trouble.” you flash him this little grin that leaves him wondering if you’re flirting with him or just being nice and then with a little wink, you explain, “I work at the Hideout two nights a week now. So I’m gonna be there.”

His heart feels like it’ll beat right out of his chest. And he tries to keep himself calm. He tries to seem as if this doesn’t bother him one way or another but… It’s the first time in the history of ever that he’s been just a little too excited for a live gig, like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Yeah? Since when?” he’s laughing softly. He shakes his head at himself, it’s stupid, he’s probably stupid, standing here in the front of the grocery store making his most pitiful attempt to flirt but if he had one tenth of a clue what he was doing to you right now..

You’ve stepped even closer. There isn’t a sliver of space left between your bodies. When you tilt your head, your hair falls away and it exposes a deep purple patch of hair beneath the top layer of your hair. He’s staring at that deep purple patch as he rubs his chin thoughtfully, mesmerized by what’s happening.

It’s not even that hot today and he feels like the air is so heavy he can barely breathe.

You’re playing with the design emblazoned on the front of a black sleeved white raglan. You look up from doing that and laugh quietly. “Since last week? Angel, she uh.. She needed a bartender. I tended bar in Boston for a while.”

“Oh you did, huh?”

“Mhm.” you answer. Biting your bottom lip and Eddie catches himself getting way too caught up in staring at the way pearly teeth dig against plush skin.His breath hangs in his throat for a second or so when you go back to toying with one of letters on his Hellfire Club t-shirt. “Among other things.”

Eddie chuckles. “Other things, huh?”

You laugh softly and nod. “A girl’s gotta eat, Eddie.”

You’ve stepped away a little and before Eddie can stop himself, he’s the one stepping closer. “Maybe you’ll have t’ tell me about it sometime, ___.”

You’re laughing again. But there’s this pained look you get when he says it and it has him studying you intently for the next second or so. He realizes that maybe Boston wasn’t the fun time you pretend it was so he adds in a quieter tone, “If you want to.”

You nod. “Maybe so.” and you don’t want to take your hand off the front of his t-shirt but you know you have to. You should really get going.

“I hate to, but.. I need to get the groceries back to my mom.” you give him a little smile and then  you’re stepping away. Gathering your bags. By now, Wayne has walked up to Eddie and he’s heard -and observed, most of the conversation that’s taken place, so he nudges his nephew. “Don’t just stand there, kid. Didn’t I teach y’ anythin’?”

“Huh?”

“Carry out some bags, kid.” Wayne grumbles, rolling his eyes in exasperation as he gives his nephew a light smack on the back of his head and laughs. “If you’re gonna hit on her, at least do it right, kid.”

“I wasn’t.”

Wayne chuckles. He got the distinct sense that you were definitely being more than a little flirtatious with his nephew. Eddie might stand there and tell him he wasn’t doing the same right back, but.. He’s known his nephew, he’s raised his nephew long enough to know damn well that Eddie was.

Eddie gives his uncle a dirty look but he catches up to you in the parking lot, just as you’re stopping at a Pinto that definitely looked as if it’d seen better days. He taps your shoulder and waits until you turn around.

You’re laughing softly when you find yourself body to body with Eddie Munson all over again. Eddie’s brain stammers, for a second or two, he forgets what to do with himself. You’re staring up at him with your head tilted just slightly all over again. Amusement gleaming in your eyes. “Something you want, Eddie?”

“I thought I’d..” he gives up on words and gestures to the groceries left in your cart. “Help you put those in your car.”

“ Oh, so you wanted an excuse t’ talk to me, hm?” you’re teasing him gently. And you’re well aware of it, too. But you can’t resist because the heat that rises to his cheeks and the smile that tugs at kissable lips, oh wow.. You’d do anything to be the cause of those two things. Anything.

Eddie flips you off. “I can go back in, sweetheart.” and he’s laughing. Now he’s the one teasing. When you pout up at him, he chuckles all over again. “Maybe that’s exactly why I came out here. You’re not supposed t’ call me out on it though, woman.”

You laugh a little more. Toss your hair so that it settles over your shoulder. “Oh. Right. I’ll keep that in mind next time, Eddie.” you’re giving him that playful little look and his head’s spinning all over again. He just knows that the second he’s back inside the Big Buy, he’s going to spend at least five minutes collecting himself from all this.

He helps you load the remainder of the shopping bags into the back of your mom’s car and then he closes the hatch , giving the car a firm pat. Your little brother Will and your stepsister Jane wander over from the arcade nearby and Will spots Eddie, giving him a wave. “Hey! I didn’t know you and my sister knew each other!”

You laugh softly. “Wait.. Is he Eddie the Banished?”

“Yeah!”

You shift your gaze up to Eddie. “You play that game too? You’re just full of surprises aren’t you, Eddie Munson?” and you step up to him again because Will and Jane, after a little whispering, have walked away with the empty shopping cart to place it in a cart return nearby.  “Your brother is a damn good dungeon master.”

“Yeah, he’s always been really creative.” you’re laughing softly. “I made his costumes though.”

“Oh you did, huh?”

“Home Economics in 9th grade?” you laugh and he does too.

Will nudges Jane, nodding to where you and Eddie stand. “She’s flirting with him. She didn’t do that before. Like.. you remember? She barely talked to anybody.”

Jane laughs softly. “So maybe Boston was a good thing.”

“Or maybe my sister’s been replaced by a pod person.” Will’s joking, he laughs quietly. “In all seriousness.. I’m glad she’s letting everybody else see the side of her she always showed me and Jonathan.”

Jane nods. “Me too. I think she likes him. Max told me..” she trails off and Will clears his throat. “Max told you what?”

“That whenever we.. Girls I mean.. Whenever we want to flirt, we tend to get touchier. And she’s got her hand on his arm right now, see?” Jane nods to the way your hand rests against Eddie Munson’s bicep as you throw your head back to laugh at something he’s said.

They finally make their way back over to your mother’s car and you give Eddie another little smile and laugh. “I’ll see you tonight, Eddie.”

“You know where I’ll be, ___. Maybe after the gig.. Maybe I can buy you a drink.”

“If it’s soda.” you laugh and smile, giving him another bold little wink as you nod to the car. “Alright you two. Let’s get the groceries home, yeah?”

“Hey. Mike’s mom is for sure doing the Hellfire night thing. It’s gonna be on Saturday though. Not Saturday night. And it’ll probably be at the park.” Will tells Eddie before he ducks into the shotgun seat of his mother’s car.

Eddie watches you drive away and he’s joined by Wayne who takes one look at his nephews face and starts to laugh so hard he’s immediately doubling over. “Who is that, kid?”

“ ___ Byers. She uh.. She went to Hawkins High too. Graduated the year I was supposed to the first time, actually.” Eddie answers, giving a little shrug. Wayne chuckles. “Hopper’s stepdaughter, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Hopper’s an alright guy. I think I’ve seen her around a few times, too.” Wayne shrugs. And then, mostly to get a rise out of his nephew, he smirks at him. “So.. when’s the wedding, kid?”

“Shut up.” Eddie laughs and shakes his head. “Girls like that don’t date guys like me. I’m still trying to figure out how the hell she’s still talking to me in light of… y’know.” he goes quiet and Wayne sighs, nodding. “People are assholes, kid. But not all of ‘em. Maybe you met somebody who doesn’t hold with what everybody else thinks, huh?”

“Or maybe she just doesn’t know yet, man. We need t’ get goin. I’m fillin in for that prick Hargrove down at the garage this afternoon. Idiot called in with a hangover.” Eddie rolls his eyes and laughs. “Kinda knew it was coming though.”

Wayne chuckles. “Yeah, let’s get you down to the garage, kid.” and as they pull the van out of the Big Buy parking lot, Wayne speaks up. “I don’t do mushy shit.. But I’m.. I’m proud of you, kid. You’re not only the first Munson to finally graduate.. But you’re provin’ to me you’re gonna be okay at this adult shit so far.”

Eddie smiles and laughs. “You don’t do mushy, you’re right.” and as the laughter dies away, he speaks up. “I uh.. Thank you. For everything, man. Because you didn’t have t’ take me in when Al got sent up.”

“I wasn’t gonna let you end up with strangers, kid. You’re my brother’s kid. You’re family.”

Eddie smiles to himself even more. 

“How much longer until you pick up that motorcycle you’ve been eyeing, kid? Still say there’s no harm in getting a safe vehicle.” Wayne mentions and Eddie laughs. “I’m getting the motorcycle.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying, right?” Wayne chuckles. 

Eddie thinks it over. “Next weekend, I think.” he’s grinning at the thought of owning a motorcycle, the second of his little list of dream purchases. “I go pick her up next weekend.”

“I’ll warn everybody.” Wayne jokes. Eddie flips him off and gets out of the van, disappearing into the garage’s back exit.

Wayne chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “He’s a good kid.”

–

The bar is packed wall to wall when you burst in, yelling at Gin behind the bar that your mom’s car tried to burst into flames on you on the way over. Angel is laughing and shaking her head as she tosses you your apron. “You haven’t just broke down and gotten your own wheels yet?”

“Not until I don’t have two grand hanging over my head. But I’ve been looking, trust me. I’ve got my eyes on this sexy little red Trans Am?”

Angel’s laughing even harder.

“What? It’ll match the only shade of lipstick I wear.” you shrug it off. And you wander down to the end of the bar. Some of the guys who work the afternoon shift at the factory are sitting there, watching a game of pool in the back room.

“What can I get ya?”

Wayne chuckles as he looks up and sees you. “Soda. Waitin around t’ drive somebody home.” he nods his head towards the front of the bar and you glance over. You can see Eddie's band setting up and you find yourself staring at Eddie. And maybe it's a little too long that you stare, but you honestly don't care. He's almost devastatingly beautiful, you simply can't just.. resist a few stolen looks.

You go to grab the group of men a round of sodas and bring them back, setting them down on top of the bar. 

Up front, Corroded Coffin is getting ready to start their set. You’re drumming your fingers against the hardwood surface and humming along. Angel’s talking to one of the regulars at the opposite end of the bar.

And then a stockier guy with a blond mullet and piercing blue eyes wanders over and you laugh to yourself because he’s nothing if not bold. He locks eyes with you and he gives you this little smirk. “Get ya anything?” you ask as you wipe down the top of the bar.

“Tequila shot?” Billy Hargrove asks. Studying you intently. Because you look familiar.

You look up at him and laugh. “Yeah, I’m gonna need to see some id.”

“No problem.” Billy pulls out his license and shows it to you. “Now your turn.. Because there is no way you’re old enough to be working back there.”

“I just turned 21 actually.” you pop a bubble with your gum. The fact that he’s hitting on you isn’t lost on you, you’re just.. Deliberately ignoring it because looking at his ID reminded you that yes.. You do know him. And apparently, he hasn’t changed at all in two years.

He still wears his stupid cologne strong enough to strangle someone with it’s essence. He still thinks he’s the hottest shit in this town. He still thinks girls are supposed to just throw their panties at him and you read him like a book not even a second after he sat down on the stool in front of you.

He’s staring at your self cropped Metallica concert shirt. “You’ve seen ‘em?”

Billy Hargrove is more than a little shocked. He never would’ve taken you as a metal fan back in high school.

If anything, you were the kind of girl he’d have assumed listened to oldies.. Classical or some shit.

You laugh and nod. “Seen ‘em? I was up right in the front row. I could’ve caught Lars’ drumstick.”

Billy chuckles. You pass him his tequila shot and he slams it down. Watching you again. You walk away. Wandering over to the makeshift stage set up in the front of the bar because the bathrooms are close.

As you place a hand on the doorknob to the bathroom, you lock eyes with Eddie.

Eddie chuckles, nodding to your shirt. “Nice shirt.” he mouths and you give him a thumbs up before disappearing into the bathroom.

As you’re washing your hands after you’ve used it, you gape when you hear Eddie announce that he’s gonna play a newer song tonight. One he only just learned in March. When he starts to play the opening to Master of Puppets, you’re gaping.

“Holy.. Okay, he’s amazing.” you mumble, mostly to yourself. You wind up making your way out of the bathroom and finding a seat. Dragging it closer to the front. As you watch lithe fingers make the guitar in his hands come to life, you can’t help but think of the old saying..

Guitarists are notorious for being good with their hands. And you’re really trying not to but.. As you sit and watch Eddie Munson play Master of Puppets, you can’t help but wonder to yourself just how true that really is.

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x byers!reader #<- my writing ● eddie munson #<- warnings | open flirting - PDA - idiots in love trope ● seasons 1 through 4 did not happen - fix it fic ● some adult content. see above. #<-warning | heavily personified reader ● female parts / specific hair + clothing / personality + taste / petnames or nicknames #fandom ( stranger things ) ● season ( post 4 complete au ) ● character ( eddie munson ) #-- okay so apparently we're also getting a dose of mechanic!eddie and biker!eddie in that he will be the owner of a motorcycle. #-- i'm not sorry about reader being a byers. just if anyone is wondering. i am trying to leave her/you vague as possible though. #-- it's kinda self indulgent. i'm writing what i wanted to read lmaooo. #-- more barb/robin in the next chapter i s2g. also other stuffs. #-- also i promise i'm going to update gareth eventually. i'm still figuring that one out.

[littleladymab]

For prompts what if this one with MaulObiTine: C is trying to sleep alone, but they can’t, so they drag B and A from whatever they’re doing and into bed 👀👀

KICKS YOUR DOOR DOWN, AT LONG LAST, I COME BEARING OT3!!!!!!

also holy fuck new glass animals single dropped yesterday and i sure did have that on loop as I wrote please groove as you read

Perhaps it is the opulence that gets under Maul’s skin. The silks of the bedsheets that are too cool without another body to warm them. The sheer amount of space that echoes his restless tossing and turning. The fact that he has the luxury to lie here and stare sleeplessly up at the canopy overhead. 

There is nothing that needs his attention, but it calls to the others. 

Like fuck he’s going to suffer this misery alone. 

Maul’s grumble as he rolls out of bed turns into a growl as he tangles in the sleeves of the robe that was left for him by an attendant trying to be helpful. He ties the sash half-heartedly around his waist and stalks out of the room in search of Obi-Wan. 

It’s easy, despite the enormity of the palace. Obi-Wan is a barbed hook stabbed through his breastbone and all he has to do is tug on the string that connects them. Years have let the wound heal, but nights like this — alone and trapped in silence — knock the hook loose so that it aches, reopened and tender. 

Maul finds Obi-Wan standing over a table displaying maps of a war that he swore is no longer his. He rubs absently at a spot on his chest with one hand and fusses with his beard in thought with the other. 

“How did I know you would be looking for trouble,” Obi-Wan says without looking up as Maul slams a hand onto the holo table to demand his attention. He doesn’t even have the gall to look away from the readout of troop movements. His hand over his mouth isn’t enough to disguise the smirk, though, nor is the light from the map enough to wash away the bags under his eyes completely. 

“I came looking for you,” Maul counters, reaching over and snatching up the remote for the holo table. 

“Am I trouble?” Obi-Wan lifts an eyebrow with the question.

“You’ll be in trouble if you keep ignoring me.” With a deft press of a button, Maul turns off the map display. Then, because he can, and sure maybe he is feeling a little troublesome and more than a little frustrated, he crushes the remote. 

To make a point. 

Obi-Wan frowns as he watches the bits of tech rain down over the deactivated table. “Alright, my dear, you’ve made your point,” he says. 

“Don’t my dear me just because you think it will get you out of trouble.” Still, Maul notes that the tension in Obi-Wan’s shoulders eases, and he stifles a yawn. “Where is Satine?” 

At this, the other man’s eyebrow lifts in a delicate arch and amusement curls the corners of his lips into an infuriating smirk. “Oh, is that the plan?” 

Maul curls his fingers into a fist around the front of Obi-Wan’s Jedi robes and yanks him down to kiss that smirk off his fucking face. “Shut up.” 

Obi-Wan chuckles against the kiss and sighs as it ends. “She’s probably in her office getting more work done, knowing our duchess.” 

He’s not used to hearing these words. My dear. Our duchess. Just like he’s not familiar with the amenities that are freely given so long as he is here as a guest. 

Just like he’s not familiar with the affection that is freely given as Obi-Wan startles him out of his thoughts, tracing the shell of his ear and running the tips of his fingers over the new earrings there. Ones that Satine gave him as a gift, simply because she thought they would look nice. 

“Bold of you to think that she will be ready to sign off for the night just yet,” Obi-Wan muses idly, following his own internal monologue. 

“You just get me there,” Maul growls, shoving a hand against Obi-Wan’s chest. Not to push him away — merely making a show of force. 

Obi-Wan rocks back on his heels then swings forward again into Maul’s space to steal a kiss that Maul lets linger longer than he normally would. “I look forward to seeing how this goes,” he murmurs against Maul’s lips, the smirk softening into a smile. “It will be nice to sleep at a reasonable hour, I think.” 

It’s already late in the evening, somewhere after midnight. Maul has been left alone most of the evenings for this past week until the restlessness finally forced him out of bed this night. He harrumphs in response and follows after Obi-Wan. 

He doesn’t have that sort of connection with Satine. Yet, he thinks, fingering the earring that dangles from his lobe. Obi-Wan’s pain is deep and old, settled and familiar in his chest. Her’s will be sharp and bright when it does strike. 

Obi-Wan navigates the halls of the palace with thoughtless ease, and Maul wonders just what he feels when he searches for Satine. What the wound she has caused in his heart feels like, what teenage love feels like when it breaks — how it differs from anger turned to something sweeter. 

Or is it that he just has memorized the routes around the palace? The number of steps and turns it will take to get from the map room to Satine’s study? Maul doubts it is as mundane as that, though. Obi-Wan is too much of a romantic for it to just be that.

Satine, golden hair loose from its coiffure from dinner and hanging around her shoulders in gentle curls, startles as her door opens. “Oh,” she says, a breathless laugh escaping her. “I didn’t hear you knock.” 

“That is because we didn’t knock!” Obi-Wan chimes, hopping up onto the edge of her desk. “Maul came and distracted me from my late night ruminations, and I believe he intends to do the same for you.” 

Her eyes flit from the man across from her to where Maul lurks back by the door. To his surprise, she sets aside her stylus and holds out a hand to him. “Is there a problem with the accommodations?” 

Maul’s feet obey the wordless summons until he is just shy of her touch. He hadn’t thought this far forward. He can’t pull a trick like the one he used on Obi-Wan. And saying yes, they’re too big for just one person sounds absolutely pathetic.

So he tries to channel that suave ease that Obi-Wan always seems to have. Maul reaches towards her, curling his fingers around the strands of her hair to tuck them behind her ear. “The sheets are far too cold,” he says, his voice low and gruff and he hopes it doesn’t sound as stupid as it felt to say. 

Satine’s jewel deep eyes search his, her lips parted ever so slightly and he can hear the hitch of her breath. 

From the other side of the desk, out of the corner of his eye, Maul can see Obi-Wan duck his head briefly to possibly hide a laugh. Maul makes a note to reprimand him later for that. “Oh, is that the problem?” And then to Maul’s surprise, he feels Obi-Wan’s warm, calloused hand grasp his chin in a light but demanding grip. He tilts Maul’s face away from Satine, forcing him to break the eye contact. “I can certainly help with that,” he murmurs and this time the kiss is deep and languid. 

As much for show as it is for the pure enjoyment of it. 

“You’re being absolutely awful,” Satine murmurs. “I still have work to do.” 

“Great news, my love: The work will still be there.” Despite his words being for Satine, Obi-Wan’s gaze holds Maul’s steady — the small smile meant only for him. “If, of course, we can tempt you away.” 

“And I bet that everyone waiting for those reports are already asleep,” Maul adds and Obi-Wan’s smile brightens even as Satine sighs in frustration. “Just saying.” 

Obi-Wan releases his chin and lets him look back to Satine, slumped in her chair and resting her head against the delicate tips of her fingers. But her eyes are focused as she watches the two of them. More alert than she had seemed when they first walked in, that’s for certain. 

Maul holds his hand out to her this time. “As your guest, I think I’m allowed to demand a little more of your time.” 

She laughs, turning her face into her palm as if that can dampen the expression. “Alright, you fiends. Give me a moment.” 

But Maul doesn’t want to run the risk of her turning a moment into an hour, so he takes her hand and pulls her to her feet. 

A sound of surprise spills out of her as she stumbles into his chest, but the laughter is still there. “You win!” she gasps through her laughter. Without looking she closes the cover to her tablet with a definitive click. “I’m done.” There’s a moment of shy hesitation, and then she leans in towards Maul— 

He retreats two steps. Enough to keep a firm grip on her elbows so she can keep her balance at the sudden loss of his presence. 

She frowns at his withdrawal. And when she tries to close the gap again, he retreats. Step by step, her confusion turning to delight as he leads her away from her desk. 

Step by step until his back hits Obi-Wan’s chest. 

Satine uses this opportunity to press in against him, slender fingers tracing the edge of his robe as she lifts up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her palms smooth up his chest, curling around his neck as Obi-Wan’s arms encircle his waist from behind. 

She sighs in satisfaction as the kiss breaks. “Much better.” 

“The plan was to get back to the bed,” Maul grumps, sandwiched between the two of them and the easy exchange of touches. 

“In a moment,” Satine says as Obi-Wan’s lips press to the curve of his throat and her hands slip beneath the robe to better map the planes of his chest. 

And this time, at least, he can’t find it in him to object. 

#star wars #the clone wars #what era i this truly set in i don't fucking know #don't ask me i'm just here for a good time #obimaultine #obi wan kenobi #maul #satine kryze #LOOK AND FEAST UPON MY OT3 FANDOM #it's not that spicy but maybe i'll commit to the bit later and make it longer and post it to ao3 #because i gotta do everything myself around here #where was I? oh right #a lil miss fic #lil miss writings

[honeyoru]

resonance (steve harrington x superpower! reader) chapter six

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

content warning for blood, gore, & death!

“Well fuck,” you sighed, handing Lucas back his binoculars. The roaring echoed throughout the grounds. “And you said those things came from under the lab?”

“It might not look like it, but that building is full of secrets,” Dustin said. 

Don’t I know it. You snorted, ignoring the weird look he threw you.

“Do you think there’s anyone inside?" Max asked hesitantly.

At the boys’ stares, she rolled her eyes, a little sassiness peeking out through her shock from finding out monsters really exist. “Anyone human?” 

“If there are, they probably aren’t alive,” Lucas said bluntly, wincing apologetically at Max’s sharp intake of breath. “Sorry.” 

You adjusted your braid, silently agreeing with the boy.

“It’s on lockdown,” Dustin mused.  “Something must have happened.”

“Yeah,” you heard Steve scoff from your side. “Those fucking things happened, which is why none of us are going near that building.”

“That’s right,” you nodded firmly, catching his eye. “None of you are.” Glancing back at the building, you decided it was time to break away from the group. “This has been, like, super fun, but I’ve gotta blast.”

“Hey!” you heard Steve shout to your back as you began teleporting down the hill carefully, taking caution to squint hard into the darkness before popping a couple of yards at a time. He cursed from far behind, pulling a giggle from you as the group had clearly begun to sprint after you disappeared. “What are you doing?” 

“Didn’t we already have this conversation?” You called back wryly, glancing a little at the dark trees around you. You realized you were near the area where Hopper and El had found you. 

Shuddering a little, you continued towards the lab with cautious eyes, passing the barbed fence that surrounded the building into the entrance of the grounds, and noticing a couple of cars parked in front. You were just about to teleport again when the sound of clumsy, loud footsteps clamored from behind you. 

You groaned. Hopper did say they were persistent. 

“Quick question,” you said loudly with a bright, dazzling smile when you realized they were determined to follow you. You abruptly spun, nearly whipping Lucas in the face with your braid. “What exactly is your plan here? You’re gonna just waltz in behind me?” you asked snarkily, waving your arm around. “With what, just a slingshot?” You put your hands on your hips, mimicking Steve, who looked supremely pissed off at the boys. “From what I just saw, neither one of you can go hand-to-hand with those dogs, so why would I let you come with me? You’d just be a distraction.”

Dustin and Lucas began to babble defensively about their fighting skills, causing you to stare at them with an open mouth. “Jesus, do you two have no sense of self-preservation?” You looked at them again, absolutely stunned. “No.” At your sudden change in demeanor, they paused, freezing a little when you leaned close to their faces, playful tone nowhere to be seen. “This isn’t a game, you can’t just throw yourselves in danger without knowing how to defend yourselves and no, a slingshot with a few rocks doesn’t count,” you added when Lucas began gesturing towards it again. “You’ll get someone hurt or worse, killed.” You couldn’t look at Dustin without thinking of what your mother had told you all those years ago. 

You shook your head. “You aren’t coming with me into that lab, because I have a job to do, and you need to lea—” Your lecture was cut short by the sound of leaves crunching from across the clearing, and in no time at all you had quickly swept the group behind you with your hand, pushing them a few feet away. You pulled your knife out and scanned the perimeter, ready to attack. You wouldn’t let Henry hurt them, if he decided now was the time for a reunion with you. 

But it wasn’t Henry, you realized soon enough. 

It was just two teenagers, a boy and a girl, who had walked away from their car, no doubt trying to investigate the noise your group had been making. You wanted to roll your eyes. “Seriously? Does everyone in this town just enjoy late-night walks through the forest?”

“Jonathan?” Dustin exclaimed from behind you as they came closer under the moonlight. 

Max pointed her flashlight toward them, harshly illuminating their faces. “Nancy?” Steve asked, and you recognized the inquisitive girl from the store. 

“Steve?” both of them responded, clearly not expecting to see him here. 

“Jesus Christ, not the name game again,” the redhead rolled her eyes, making you grin as you walked away from the group to teleport to the security booth. 

You weren’t surprised in the slightest when they began to follow.

“What are you two even doing out here?” Steve’s voice echoed throughout the clearing. 

The girl, Nancy, responded. “We're looking for Mike and Will.”

Mike and Will are missing? You hummed. That seemed odd, but then you remembered how many times the phone had rung earlier. Could it have been them? Or Joyce? Shit, you thought suddenly, what if they were here for an appointment? 

“They're not in there, are they?” Dustin said, clearly on the same wavelength as you. 

“We're not sure,” Jonathan responded. “Why?” 

The screeching from the building answered his question, more or less.

Straightening your spine, you berated yourself for allowing yourself to get distracted. You quickly scanned the old security panel for any sign of power, pushing at the defunct buttons. The group had caught up and moved in around you, also hitting every button they could find as if it would help. Letting out an irritated sigh, you squeezed by Jonathan, ignoring the teen’s reddening cheeks as your body slid by his. “Uh, who are you?” 

“That’s Y/N!” Lucas answered for you while he slammed the defunct power lever up and down. “She has superpowers, just like El!” 

You heard Nancy answer. “We can see that, thanks.” 

“She saved our asses,” Dustin rushed out, shoving Jonathan out of the way to hit more buttons. “We would have been demodog food if she didn’t show up.”

"Demodog?”

“It’s like a demogorgan but a dog! It’s a compound!”

“She literally just pushed us back with her mind when we heard you!”

“Can you please finish this somewhere else?” you asked from the gate that blocked the lab’s front doors, teleporting to the other side. “Preferably far away from here.” 

“No, Y/N!” Steve exclaimed, putting a hand up to the fence. “Let me go in with you!”

“Wait,” Nancy shook her head bewilderedly. “You’re not actually going in the lab, are you?”

You shot her a dumbfounded look back, as you thought it was fairly obvious that yes, that was what you were doing. “If there’s a chance either of those kids are inside with those things, then obviously I’m going in.”

Shooting a pointed glare to the two kids you knew would try to follow you, you bid them farewell and a stern, “Don’t follow me,” and teleported to the front of the lab, wordlessly throwing the doors open with your mind. You spared a glance back, seeing Steve and Jonathan yanking down the younger boys from the fenced-off gate where they were, once again, trying to follow you. 

You couldn’t help but snort at their determination before you threw the doors open.

The lab you knew in the future didn’t exist yet, that much you were certain. You felt like you had just entered a horror movie scene. A silent emergency light flickered, illuminating various bodies throughout the halls that once smelled like artificial cherry. 

Now all you could smell was the terrible stench of blood. Lucas was right. 

You took a deep breath and buried your emotions, easily forcing the part of you that was fucking horrified deep, deep down. In all your time working for the lab, you’d never seen this many mangled bodies all at once. 

Silently popping down the hallway, you carefully avoided the deceased staff and their puddles of blood. This was all for naught, however, as the power was suddenly slammed back on and you heard the doors to another hall further away from you be thrown open. 

Your arms went up in a defensive stance at the sound of pounding feet, ready to face whoever was coming, but instead, your jaw dropped at the sight of a familiar man who was running with a child in his arms. 

“Hopper?” you exclaimed, utterly surprised. Guess that explains why he was late.

His eyes bulged out. The poor man was clearly in a state of panic when he yelled your name. “What the hell are you doing in here?” He looked you up and down before casting his eyes all around you, no doubt looking for El. 

“She’s not here,” you said, and you saw utter relief pass through his body at the statement. “And I’ve been tracking those demodogs all day, saw them earlier this week and meant to tell you about it but you know,” you waved nonchalantly, stepping a bit further away from a body on the floor near you. “You said you hated me and all that.”

He snorted and had just opened his mouth to argue when a younger voice piped up from his other side. 

Another kid had been hiding behind him. “Who’s not here?” 

Well hot damn, you thought, recognizing the scowl he was sporting and the bowl cut on the other kid Hopper was holding. Guess Mike and Will are here.  

Deciding it was better to have this conversation another time, you turned back to Hopper. “I ran into your other hooligans, they’re all waiting outside.”

He cursed and then looked up, jerking back to face the doors he had just kicked through as if he suddenly remembered the danger you all were in while you chatted amongst the bodies. “Shit, Bob and Joyce! They were supposed to be right behind us—” 

“—I’m on it,” you cut him off. “Take them outside, they shouldn’t be here for this,” you gestured towards Mike and Will.  

“My car is out there too,” he said, already stepping over a leg to start walking towards the entrance. “I’ll hand him off and come back for you.”

You nodded, cracking your neck and took off the way they came. 

“Be careful!” Hopper screamed behind you, no doubt planning the thousand different ways he planned to lock your ass in his cabin for good if you managed to come out of this alive. 

An eerie silence enveloped you once more as you teleported down the hallway. It didn’t take long to find Joyce, her wailing practically echoed down the halls as you stumbled upon an entirely too gruesome sight after pushing through another set of doors. “Jesus.”

You assumed the man on the floor was Bob, who looked like he had only just been taken down by one of the creatures. It was still gnawing at his intestines, yanking them out to nibble at like they were hors d'oeuvres until you finally thrust your arm out to choke it, throwing its lifeless body towards the wall with barely a glance.

“No!” Joyce let out an earth-shattering scream, one that would have really shaken you if you weren’t so focused on the other three demodogs that had entered the space. You stepped in front of the adults, holding your hands out to begin flinging the monsters around like they were ragdolls. “Joyce,” you called out. You were hesitant to take your eyes off of them to see how Bob was doing, certain they’d pounce if your attention was elsewhere. Grunting, you slammed the stupid things into the ground repeatedly until they stopped moving. You would have rather enjoyed torturing the creatures a bit, given how fond you had grown of Joyce. Hearing her like this was almost unbearable, and you felt the dark part of yourself yearning to make the reason for her pain suffer.  

But alas, you breathed heavily, barely wincing at the gross noises that were erupting from the dogs, no revenge for me tonight. You killed the last one, sparing a glance at the door that more creatures were currently heaving themselves against, and knew you had to get out of here. You pulled a vending machine in front of the door, hoping it’d hold them off until you left. “Joyce, we have to go.” You felt a drop of blood streaming down your nose from the exertion, which hadn’t happened to you in quite some time.

“Not without Bob,” she insisted, refusing to abandon him. You wiped your nose, looking down at the man with pity.

Poor bastard, you thought grimly. Joyce’s hands were bright red from where she was hysterically trying to stop the bleeding from his side to no avail. “I won’t! I can’t leave without him!”

“Joyce,” you repeated, your mask cracking just a bit at her pain, knowing she’d never be able to stop that bleeding. Kneeling beside her, you took note of his injuries, frowning even deeper when you realized they were undoubtedly fatal. You looked into his eyes and swore you could already see the light slipping out of them. 

He mumbled incoherently, whispering nonsense. Joyce began to plead with you. “Y/N, can you do something? Anything.” She begged. “Honey, you must know something to help him. Please, please help him.”

You steeled yourself again, setting the mask back in place, and mentally flipped through every first aid method, power-related or otherwise, that you’d been taught, coming up short. The monster had pulled his intestines out for fuck’s sake, and he’d already lost too much blood. It was pooling around where the two of you were, and Joyce was fucking covered in it. 

There was no solution. Even if you managed to close the gaping hole in his body, there was no way Bob could live. 

“I can help him pass peacefully,” you eventually said, knowing you were about to crush her. “Make him feel no pain and… see something else, in his mind.” 

She screamed in response. You’d never felt guiltier.

Hopper suddenly burst into the hallway, halting when he saw the man on the floor.

“Joyce…” you heard Bob say weakly. “I love you.” 

You turned your head to the other door again, where the vending machine was being slowly but surely nudged out of the way as the dogs continued to pound at them. Fucking hell. 

Joyce heard them too, and she met your eyes, nodding after biting back another wave of tears. “Do it.” 

You instructed her to hold his hand, so he’d feel the woman he loved as he passed and placed your own on Bob’s forehead. Swiftly you entered his mind, easily constructing a landscape that you thought would be peaceful for him. 

He lay on a picnic blanket in a grassy meadow, one you knew existed not too far from the Byers’ house, his head in Joyce’s lap as she sat in a pretty sundress with a glass of lemonade. They were smiling. 

For a last-minute mind vision, you did pretty damn well, considering the situation you were in. You remembered Joyce telling you of the date he had taken her only a couple of weeks ago, the one she claimed made her feel like a teenager again. 

And with her name on Bob’s last breath, you closed the eyes of a man you’d never met but had heard so much about before slipping out of the empty void that now remained.

“Kid, we need to leave now, ” Hopper yelled, cocking a gun you hadn’t noticed before in the direction of the dogs, eyes frantically darting between where you sat and the doors. 

Joyce was still sobbing, and you stood up slowly, locking eyes with Hopper. “Take her and leave. I’ll meet you outside,” you said calmly, cracking your knuckles and pulling out the hunting knife. 

“What the fuck? No! ” he screamed but went to grab the woman anyways, gently pulling her into his arms. “There’s too many of them! If they’re breaking those damn doors down, you’re coming with us!”

“I said I’ll meet you outside Hop,” you firmly stated, evenly staring at him. “I can teleport, let me give you a headstart. Don’t worry, this won’t take long,”  you cracked a smile. “Give me, like,” you shot your eyes towards the dogs, “… two minutes, tops.”

Hopper had the foresight to pick Joyce up and throw her over his shoulder by the time the doors broke open. “If you’re not back in two minutes, I’m coming back!” he repeated, turning on his heel and running the hell out of there. 

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as several of the dogs crashed through the entrance, piling on each other towards you.

Exhaling, you burst into action. 

Rows and rows of teeth snapped at you, slime and spit flying with gusto on you. One lunged towards Bob and all at once, you saw red. 

…

Panting a little, you yanked your knife out of the last dog that was in the room before taking off in a sprint towards the entrance, knowing that more must have been coming from the distant roars that echoed throughout the building. 

After jumping over the dead monsters, you slammed those damn doors closed again before teleporting to the front of the lab, nearly slamming into Hopper. 

“Two minutes, my ass ,” he spat, pulling you in for a quick hug before shoving you toward his car, noticing the way you winced. “Any of that yours?”

“Some,” you responded, trying to quell your shaking from the adrenaline (and residual fear) rushing through your body. Though you were wearing all black, you were fucking soaked in blood. You could feel it drying on your clothes, splattered across your face, and after looking down, noticed it had stained your hands as well. 

One of the dogs had clawed down your left arm, and a slow stream of red was flowing steadily from the rip in both the sweater and jacket you wore, but as far as you were concerned, compared to Bob, it was barely even a scratch.

A cacophony of swearing screeched from the back seat when you hopped into the car. Dustin, Steve, Lucas, and Max were inside, talking over each other as they gawked at your bloody form. “What the hell happened? ”

“Nothing much.” You panted, pulling off the jacket and yanking your sweater over your head shamelessly, leaving just your sports bra on. “Lots of dogs, lots of death.” You looked at them wryly. “Glad you two boneheads finally listened and didn’t follow me, that would’ve been like, ten years' worth of trauma for you.”

“Are you okay?” Steve asked just as Hopper jumped inside the car and tore like a bat out of hell into the forest. Jonathan and Nancy had already taken off with Joyce, Mike, and Will. “I know you’re like, covered in blood, but it looks like you’re bleeding too.”

“Just a parting gift from one of Dustin’s pets.” The look of anguish that washed over the kid’s face made you snort. “Kidding, ‘tis but a scratch,” you sighed, watching your bright red hands continue to shake. You couldn’t force your flat tone to sound upbeat at the lame joke, the memory of Joyce’s screams still echoing inside your mind. 

“You’re covered in blood and quoting Monty Python ?” Dustin asked bewilderedly. “What the hell?”

“Doesn’t look like just a scratch,” Max commented, shoving her way closer to you. “Hope you have some good stain remover, Chief. Blood is hard to take out of fabrics and that seat’s gonna have a gnarly smell if you don’t take it out immediately.”

“How do you know that?” you heard Lucas ask.

“Harrington!” Hopper barked suddenly. You were all tossed to the left as he drifted through a sharp turn down the dark road. “There’s a first aid kit in the back. Help her, that cut looks deep.”

“I’m fine , Hop,” you said, but twisted around to watch as the group scrambled to find it. They bickered even in chaos, shoving each other in the tight space as if it’d help locate the kit faster. 

“Got it!” Lucas exclaimed, holding it out like a trophy. 

Steve snatched the kit from him and leaned in close to you over the console, looking carefully at the cut. “Don’t think you’ll need stitches,” he hummed after he eventually stopped the bleeding, quickly using hydrogen peroxide wipes to clean it. 

“So Upside Down monster germs… how do those work?” you asked, bracing yourself against the sting of the wipe. “Think it’ll get infected?”

“What, afraid you’ll get superpowers or something?” Steve teased, his eyes flickering up to meet yours warmly. With him this close, you noticed his eyes were a deep hazel with flecks of gold inside. 

Hopper cleared his throat a little too aggressively and you suddenly felt the man’s eyes burn into your skin, knowing damn well he was thinking of the much older Steve you had mentioned knowing in the future. 

“Keep it in your pants, Harrington,” Dustin said loudly, shrinking back only slightly when he received a glare from the older boy.  You snorted. “So, Y/N, how do you and Hopper know each other?”

You blinked at the kid’s audacity. 

He blinked back. “You called him Hop,” he explained. “And he hugged you. I’ve gotten hurt plenty of times in front of him and he’s never even asked how I’m doing.”

“Twisting your ankle on the way to the restroom isn’t the same as taking on a hoard of monsters, kid,” Hopper rolled his eyes. 

“Besides,” you laughed, glancing at your newly wrapped arm courtesy of Steve, who snorted at Dustin’s indignant noise. “It’s none of your business.”

“That’s not fair!” 

You rolled your eyes, turning back around to the front. “Tough shit,” Hopper huffed. 

“But—” 

“—It's not up for debate Hender—” he cut off with a spare glance at you. “ Dustin. She just saved all of our asses back there and since you kids have found yourself wrapped up in this shit yet again instead of being safe at home, I’d suggest you stop talking,” he stated in an irritated tone. 

“Why don’t you take them home?” you asked, watching the road ahead of you for any stray demodogs.

“Can’t break up the Scooby-Doo gang this late in the game,” he muttered furiously, flying through a stop sign. “As annoying as they are, they’ll always find a way to group up and at this point,” he looked back at the kids in the rearview. “It’s safer for us all to be together. We need to figure out what the hell is going on.”

“All that blood,” Max cut in, and a wave of melancholy washed over the group. “Is everyone in the party okay?”

“It’s mostly from the demodogs,” you replied gently, aware of how much of a shock this whole night must have been for her since she wasn't in this chaos last year. “And um, Bob’s.” You lowered your head. “It’s Bob’s too.”

You found yourself silent, along with the rest of the car’s occupants, for the rest of the drive.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington/reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington x you #stranger things au #fnlyroe #stranger things fic #fnlyroe:resonance

[gwilin-stay-winnin]

ok u mentioned this in a tag game from a bit ago that u could see gwilin with almost anybody in the game, but im wondering if theres a perfect npc for him in ur eyes!! or u could tell me about him/ur oc lol. im curious what like personality traits u think would complement his

Oh you bet your bottom dollar there is. Or, I guess, 'are'? I preface my response here stating that this is all specifically regarding Farmboy Gwilin (of the FGCU).

Aicantar – He is well-read in history and archeology, like his uncle, which Gwilin loves, since his reading tastes are similarly inclined. Aicantar scratches a scholarly itch for Gwilin–he never the had the opportunity to participate in an academic setting himself, and isn’t even sure the experience would’ve been all that gratifying for him, but you just know he’d relish the chance to be able to live out that unrealized dream vicariously through Aicantar. Plus, think of all the steamy nights spent in that museum in Markarth, where you’re not sure which you like best: the heat coming off of your lover’s skin, or the heat being released from the steam of the Dwarven machinery turning all around you.

Urzoga gra-Shugurz – God I love her so much. And Gwilin would, too! He’d get into a tumultuous relationship with her after they bump into each other on the road while she’s transporting prisoners. “Outta my way, beanpole,” she’d say, and it would be love at first sight for him. Gwilin would learn that Urzoga isn’t as scathing as she seems, once you get to know her (she has a soft spot for theatre, and, like Gwilin, is a skilled woodworker). She’d propose after like three months of them seeing each other. Gwilin would say yes, but later realize they rushed into things, and they’d part ways. Later on, they’d bump into each other on the road again, and start in on that familiar, ill-advised script: “Why did we ever split up?” “How come it didn’t work out between us?” etc etc.

Lurbuk – They’d meet while Gwilin was staying at Moorside. Lurbuk would confess to him, after a few drinks, the deep insecurities he feels regarding his abilities as a bard, and Gwilin would assure him he’s heard worse, which would disarm him immediately. They’d totally hit it off because, despite having little musical talent, he’d discover Lurbuk is incredibly well-versed in musical theory, and really does possess the heart and soul of a poet. A few kisses later, and Gwilin and him would find themselves in a long-distance relationship carried out by courier. Lurbuk is a pillow princess and Gwilin is a sub vers, so the sex they’d have whenever they’d get to see each other isn’t explosive or whatever, but neither of them consider sex to be a focal point of their relationship and there’s a lot of love and trust, so it’s always fun for them, regardless.

More generally, Gwilin would have a FIELD DAY with the ladies in Riften. I’ve mentioned this before, but he often travels there with Temba to make deliveries and chummies up to the barkeeps of all the places he visits so they give him pointers for good spots to go to draw or people they think would be willing to act as models for him. I could totally see him chatting with Keerava at The Bee and Barb one night, and when he asks her who might be willing to be his muse, she's like “Well, it's just for art's sake, right? You ever draw an Argonian?"

Gwilin would go into it very professionally, but Keerava would come on to him halfway through the sitting and he'd fold like a lawn chair. He’d have similar trysts with Constance Michel, Marise Aravel, and Nivenor (who he’d later feel very gross for having slept with, because she’s an asshole). This happens for two main reasons: 1.) Gwilin’s got paramour energy out the wazoo and 2.) Riften is a city of corruption, greed, and paranoia where most folks spend their days either fretting over who might plunge a dagger into their back, or plotting who they’ll be plunging that very dagger into next. Gwilin is a sensitive artist who cares little for money or status and trusts easily. You can put two and two together here.

The two people from Riften he’d have more of an intimate relationship with are Threki and Valindor. He’d throw himself into Threki’s arms completely, falling head over heels for her and her commitment to speaking out against Ulfric even from within prison. He’d plan her escape with the help of Valindor, and end up falling in love with him as well, in the process–for many reasons, not the least of which is Valindor got to grow up in Valenwood, as Gwilin never did, and so being with him helps him feel connected to his culture. They would make a lovely throuple <3

Now in regards to Temba, Gwilin has a HUGE crush on her, which he would never ever try to materialize because he’s afraid of what would happen if they got together and then broke up. He doesn’t think Temba would be the kind to want to stay friends, so he’d probably lose his job and have to leave Ivarstead. He’d hate for that to happen. After all, Wilhelm and Lynly are his very best friends on Nirn :D

Final point insofar as NPCs: the College of Winterhold has an intricate polycule Gwilin has been trying to integrate himself into for years, but he never makes it past the initial screening process. Too intense for him. Doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying, though. hehe

In short, the personality traits which most meld with Gwilin are those that are reflections of, but at the same time extensions of himself. Humor is central to any relationship he maintains, romantic or otherwise, and he infuses it into the loudest, most exciting moments as easily as he does into the quietest, most intimate ones. He loathes affluence. He fits in best with people of an equally strong or stronger personality than his own. Any benign impulse he has, he absolutely must follow through on, though it's easy to talk him out of something that could get him hurt if you know him well enough. Finally, sexually speaking, he loves having his efforts to take the lead be frustrated (he enjoys being indulged in this regard).

Below you'll find some graphics I made to illustrate some of the personality traits/interests involved in the first three relationships I described, just to give an idea of how they'd bounce off of/complement each other.

can you tell i'm autistic

A heem heem anywayyyyyyy. This post is already kilometric so I won’t even get into my OCs. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK, THOUGH!! It pushed me to organize all this info I had floating around :D

#it'd been a while since i made an effortpost like this 😭 #tesblr #tes #gwilin #gwilingang #rentfree #depictions #hi1quastion

[cdyssey]

Some fluff ideas I’ve been wanting to do myself for work wives 🥹💓💝💘: ice skating!! (with the girls or a field trip or a date??) one of them isn’t very good, and the other is good enough to hold onto and guide and giggle at when one falls.

Or Janine invites the work fam out to a dinner on the last day to celebrate another good school year and everyone comes!! Special bonding moments and work wives come out and everyone cheers lol

One more: au where mel and barb live together happily and spend a cozy snow day at home thanks to a torrential blizzard/storm. They do all the blissful domestic things like bake/cook, watch movies, cuddle, read, dance, etc. Either the girls are smaller and they build forts/play, or they’ve grown up and moved out by then, whichever! :’)

WAH, TY for the excellent prompts! I'm posting the third one in this ask, but I'll keep the others in my prompt list just in case I want to revisit them later.

AO3 Link

CW: Alcohol Mentions

—

“Hell to the no,” Melissa’s firm voice appears over Barbara’s shoulder, and before she knows it, the gradebook that she had just discretely opened is unceremoniously plucked from her hands and replaced with a mug of hot chocolate. Because Melissa made it, it has all the works: a shot of Bailey’s, a whipped cream topping, and a delicate caramel drizzle. “You’re not working on a snow day!”

“Hey!” She pouts, craning her head to watch her wife retreat to the open kitchen again. But whatever she vaguely feels of indignation is somewhat curtailed by the sight of the other woman’s hips, the way they always swing a little hypnotically when she walks.

She bites her lower lip to stop a not-especially-innocent smile from rising to it.

“I was merely glancing!”

Taylor, kneeling next to the low coffee table alongside Gina, giggles lightly. The girls have been doing a thousand-piece wolf puzzle for the last two hours.

Well, more accurately, Gina has been doing the puzzle, and Taylor, who had just arrived from Manhattan last night, has been filling her mom and stepmother in on all the latest gossip from her job, starting with her two bosses “losing focus and having a consensual workplace relationship with each other” and continuing with her work nemesis getting on her last damn nerves.

("She never answers her emails! It's ridiculous!")

“You heard her, Mama,” she grins as Melissa brings two more mugs over for the girls. “Mel says it’s time for you to relax.”

“And whatever Mel says goes,” Gina muses, never once looking up from her puzzle, revolving a stray piece between her slender fingers.

“You got that right,” Melissa calls behind her, already sauntering away again—presumably to grab her own hot chocolate—and Barbara shakes her head at both of her daughters.

“I see my whole family is conspiring against me,” she sighs in mock defeat. “My poor kindergarteners…”

“They’re five. They'll live,” Gina quips, finally placing the piece somewhere in the middle. (It’s a part of the wolf's fur.)

“Mhmhmhm,” Melissa agrees vigorously as she circles around the sofa for what should be the final time—a steaming mug caught between her hands—and lowers herself next to Barbara, immediately and somewhat inelegantly pulling her knees up to her chest before leaning against her side. The younger woman vaguely smells like vanilla, having spent most of the morning baking cookies, and Barbara revels in it, smiles at her proximity. “Today should be a fun day. Who knows when we’ll get blizzarded in like this again?”

“Hear, hear,” Taylor says, fondly patting her mother’s crossed ankles. 

“And so what do you propose we do then, dear?” Barbara asks, arching what she intends to be a very serious brow, but the gesture immediately fails when Melissa, all but on top of Barbara, presses a light kiss against her cheek, nearly toppling them both over.

“Eh, we’ll figure it out.”

And so they do.

They spend another hour at least helping the girls finish the wolf puzzle, sipping on their boozy hot chocolate and simply chatting about everything and nothing. Taylor wants to go Christmas shopping this weekend; she still has to buy something for her dad and his now longtime girlfriend, a sweet woman named Carla. 

“Dad gives you his love,” Taylor says with remarkable ease as she sifts through the remaining puzzle pieces. The divorce had been hard on her at first—she hadn't wanted to understand that nothing had exactly happened between her parents... they'd just simply fallen out of love. But time has done a lot to heal that precise and aching wound. Just this past summer, when she took a few days off work to vacation with her and Mel on a cruise, she'd even told Barbara that she'd never seen her mother so at ease before.

It looks good on you, Mama, she'd murmured, squeezing Barbara's arm.

And I'm happy for you.

“He wanted to know if you’d maybe send him some of your fudge over."

“Of course,” she smiles warmly, overwhelmingly grateful at her daughter's casual tone, feeling a rush of affection for her ex-husband, now dear friend. He had always loved her baking, even when she was younger and not very good at it yet. “You can take a tin to him tomorrow if the weather has cleared up…”

Gina tells them about the experiments she and her team are working on at CalTech, something to do with microbial cultures; they’re researching how to more effectively identify mutated flu strains. 

“My baby girl is so smart,” Barbara effuses, reaching over and hugging her youngest around the shoulders, kissing her head, nearly knocking her horn-rimmed glasses askew. 

“Mommmmmmm,” she groans, though a grin crooks at the corner of her mouth. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“That's just what moms do, kid,” Melissa chuckles, the sound loud and lively, always filling a room.

After they finish the puzzle, they spend some time decorating the sugar cookies that Melissa baked earlier, listening to old Christmas albums on the record player. When they’re about halfway through the batch, though, some jazzy instrumental comes on, and Melissa suddenly grabs her hand, pulling her into the middle of their kitchen to dance.

“Melissa!” She laughs, color rapidly rising to her cheeks as her wife anchors two hands on her hips. “Down, girl.”

“Make me,” comes a low and saucy reply, making Barbara’s entire body twinge with delight. She laughs, and she relents, and she allows herself to be swept around the tiled floor, both of them bare footed and a little clumsy, but that’s what makes their attempts at dancing so fun. Melissa’s cheeks are rosy and soft in the golden light, her eyes twinkling beneath her long lashes, and Barbara is profoundly lost in her.

And yet, simultaneously, miraculously, she is so perfectly found.

“You think they’re going to do this all night?” She barely hears Taylor ask somewhere from the side.

“Probably,” comes Gina’s amused reply.

“God help us all.”

By the time the cookies are all decorated, it’s pretty much time for dinner. Melissa pulls the lasagna she had put on earlier from the oven, while Barbara tosses the salad, and the four of them eat together at the kitchen table. Between hefty bites of the delicious meal, the kindergarten teacher finds herself fondly staring at each member of her little family in turn—her beautiful daughters, her radiant wife. She’d never thought—in all the collected years of her existence—that it was possible to be as content as she is right now.

In this present moment. 

Having communion with the people she loves most.

And never having to feel as though she's betraying herself for it.

But she is content.

She is, she is, she so happily is, and tears suddenly well in her eyes.

She swipes at them as surreptitiously as possible, but she knows Melissa—always attentive to her—has already seen.

The younger woman places a hand on her leg beneath the table, the gesture soft, the meaning behind it implicit.

I know.

Once they’ve finished up their lasagna and cleaned up the kitchen, once they’ve all showered and gotten cozy in their pajamas, the four of them decide to wind down the night with a Christmas flick in the living room. The girls choose Elf, a childhood favorite of theirs, but not even an hour into the movie, both of them are fast asleep on the couch, Gina using her older sister’s lap as a pillow, Taylor lightly snoring.

Barbara, laughing silently, drapes a blanket over them and Melissa clicks the TV off, before together—without needing to say so much as a word—they pull their heaviest coats on and grab another thick blanket, quietly slipping out the back door and onto their glass enclosed porch. The blizzard has largely abated, though the snow is still thick on the ground, icing the world in white.

They turn the fire pit on and nestle on their favorite porch swing together, Barbara’s cozily feet tucked beneath Melissa’s thigh, the blanket wrapped around them both, and they watch sleet flurry down from the star-strewn heavens, dusting the trees like powdered sugar.

“I’m deliriously happy right now,” Barbara declares aloud, and it almost sounds like a confession of guilt on her oh-so-careful tongue. She supposes that makes sense—she has long associated her own pleasure with clear and damnable wrongdoing.

And loving Melissa Schemmenti had once been both.

Perfect happiness and unspeakable shame.

But now—the sadnesses of their past behind them, their complicated history untangled at the altar when they mutually said I do—all that is left is the joy. Sometimes, Barbara occasionally wonders if she isn't tempting fate by daring to be so whole in a world that assuredly isn't.

Mostly, though, after sixty-seven years of systematically caring too much about what other people think, she has learned to live in the present moment, in the warmth of her wife's hand laced in hers, in the simple brilliance of a star-strewn sky, in this minutiae of an eternity that God has so generously gifted her.

“Oh, yeah?” Melissa asks, her eyes bright in the gentle glow of the fire. 

Barbara smiles at her.

“Yes,” she nods. “Absolutely."

And she leans forward then to capture this infinitesimal moment—this slice of heaven—with a kiss, softly dividing the other woman’s lips with her own.

It is a silent night, perhaps even a holy one.

All is calm.

Barbara’s future is bright.

#work wives #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #taylor howard #abbott elementary #gina howard #s: abbott elementary #reginianwrites #this is genuinely the most fluffy thing i have ever written in my life haiodhfieihs

[serpekin]

@caelitus ( jellal ) said: “ i don’t know how you do this every day… ”

wide - eyed blink, guileless, she looked up from pouring their blue - haired guest a drink. “ eh? oh, you mean . . . ” emerald gaze followed the other’s line of sight, craning her neck to cast a cursory glance over her shoulder. splintered wood, spilt beverages, a cacophony of barbs hurled back & forth, the guild erupted into chaos — kinana turned back to face their guest, serene expression at odds with the mayhem rampaging at her back, glossy lips curved into an amicable smile. “ well, it grows on you, kinda like a . . . what’s it called? ” she set her jug down, pointer finger raised to her chin in a meditative pose, humming as she mused over the best comparison to make. a sudden snap announced her finding. “ like mold. a colony of toxic bacteria, even. ” a round table exploded to her right. a giggle rose up. “ fun, isn’t it? ” it was unclear whether kinana was speaking fondly or with sarcasm, a mix of both, perhaps.

a shadow passed over rounded features, sobering, flashes of insecurity riding the wispy fog of darkness — where her memory should be, a jumble of sensations impossible to untangle. her voice softened, as if she was divulging a secret. “ well, if i’m being honest . . . sometimes i feel like i don’t belong, y’know? ” slender fingers wrapped around the handle of her jug, clinging almost defensively, like she was afraid to let go. “ they’re all so right with each other, while i — ” kinana broke off abruptly, & she winced, realization making her recoil, abashed. she hid her uncertainties from the guild, but jellal, being an outsider, made her forget her reservations.  “ i mean! i’m grateful that they took me in, of course. they’ve been nothing but loving, even with the constant quarreling. it’s probably just the amnesia talking, honestly. ” 

kinana turned a wistful stare over her shoulder, lifting her jug off the table. “ sorry, i didn’t mean to unload on you like that, jellal. ”

#caelitus #❖ || •» in character . #trying to get a feel for her personality... #ty for the ask <3

[zoyazenik]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐜?

i was tagged by the incredibly lovely @kingsroad​​​​ to take this uquiz for my ocs!!! it was so much fun and i had a great little time doing it for my current muses!! i’m tagging @samwilsonns​​​, @impales​​​, @czernyss​​​ and anyone who wants to do it!!!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ the vampire ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ it is the loneliest day of a vampire's life, the first time they look into a mirror and see their reflection missing. drinking blood sucks too, don't get me wrong, but as a vampire you had to learn to hide from the sunlight, from your family, all your friends, because you were unavoidably different now and you didn't know how to explain that to them in a way they would understand. you could get stranger's blood in bursts, but what is life when you can't know someone for longer than the night lasts? you left everything behind because it was easier than trying to tell them. i just hope you know you're not the only vampire out there, and that there exist people who will understand your situation without a word. they'll sit with you in the dark for as long as you'll need them to.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ the harbinger ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ the harbingers have been through fire. you've got the scars to show for it. some people say harbingers are jaded- scary, even, to people who don't understand that the harbinger has seen the edge of the world and survived it. but being the harbinger means you're cursed to watch younger, brighter eyes fall for the same traps you did. trying to help isn't enough for you; you know what they're getting themselves into, and you want to protect them the way no one ever protected you, so why won't they just listen? it's frustrating. it's terrifying. no one should have to live through what you did, and i hope you know that you can't protect everyone but it's damn noble of you to try. it's not your job to save the world but i hope you know you've already made a difference to everyone who has taken your words to heart.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ the werewolf ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ there's something inside a werewolf that's sharp, thorns and barbs coiling up in tight knots of vine even on their best days. halfway through a conversation, you'll forget your happiness and the pain comes back in a flash. you never meant to, but the sharpness has done harm on your behalf. it's defensive. it's leftover artillery from a battle you spent so long fighting that it still doesn't feel like it's truly over, does it? you want so badly to be soft. to take the hand that you are offered instead of baring your teeth. and it might be hard to believe, but you are soft. you're the softest one out there. it'll just take a while to untangle those vines enough to know that very little is often life-or-death, and not everything touches to hurt.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ the harbinger ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ the harbingers have been through fire. you've got the scars to show for it. some people say harbingers are jaded- scary, even, to people who don't understand that the harbinger has seen the edge of the world and survived it. but being the harbinger means you're cursed to watch younger, brighter eyes fall for the same traps you did. trying to help isn't enough for you; you know what they're getting themselves into, and you want to protect them the way no one ever protected you, so why won't they just listen? it's frustrating. it's terrifying. no one should have to live through what you did, and i hope you know that you can't protect everyone but it's damn noble of you to try. it's not your job to save the world but i hope you know you've already made a difference to everyone who has taken your words to heart.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ the one who opened the door ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ you turn the door handle. you call out, "who's there?" and the crowd has the audacity to groan, to get frustrated with you. as if the gift of hindsight was something you had. how the hell were you supposed to know you were born into a horror movie? no one bothered to tell you. say, if instead this was an action film, or a fantasy, would they still be telling you how silly of a mistake it was to press further on your quest? they would've commended you for your bravery. you thought you were going to be saving a princess in a tower, not getting stabbed in the back by a killer in the shadows. how is that fair? it isn't, and none of that was ever your fault. it is not wrong to believe things are good. your trust, your optimism, it shouldn't ever be mistaken for ignorance or stupidity. we need more people who open doors. how else are any of us gonna move forward?

#this was such a cool one #i loved taking it #vaella targaryen #xenia qorgyle #celia belmont #avani #estryd #tag games

[icarusplunged]

@tamthingdraws​ said:

❛   abrupt .   kiss  my  muse  out  of  the  blue . [rus @ keon ;) ]

nonverbal prompts. ( accepting )

IT HAPPENS FIRST IN KEON’S ROOM. he has to admit, begrudgingly, that antares coming to check on him is... well, it’s unlikely he was forced to do it, given his strained relationship with the rest of their group.  it’s been a few weeks since antares’s anger reached out toward keon’s soul, a flightless, messy thing, a shaking thing, and pulled his anger out – since he began, then, to mend. hell of a plot twist, wasn’t it? of all people, the one whose throat he most wanted to carve out with his teeth was the one to snap him out of the stupor his father’s betrayal put him in.  the knock sounds while keon’s doing pushups in his room. for the first time in a while he’s begun training for strength rather than aesthetics — not because he doesn’t care about his appearance, but because he’ll need every advantage he can get if they ever plan on fighting his father.  at first he doesn’t answer, opting instead to finish the set even though ( or perhaps because ) every muscle in his chest and arms screams against it. another thing about training: it hurts. keon counts on it. he may have learned how to smile and laugh and put on a face, but underneath it the anger burns, and burns, and burns. it consumes him from the inside out. perhaps that’s why he punishes himself now, takes the soreness and eats the blows from training with his group members without complaint.  then . gods. after shrugging an open button-up over his shoulders to hide his back, keon yanks the door open to see him standing there. antares is alone. oddly alone, he realizes, before noticing that for once the bird isn’t with him. ❝ arct — antares, ❞ he corrects, his words slow with caution. ❝ what do you want? ❞ – as it turns out, nox was giving antares trouble. unsurprising, of course. that bird seems to crave mischief to a degree keon’s never witnessed before in an animal, even an intelligent one. then again, the derege family never had familiars around the house, not really. not being predators themselves.

oddly enough, antares doesn’t leave after he learns his familiar isn’t here. the conversation starts with him commenting on keon’s messy hair, which leads to a barb in return about how he looks shorter without the bird on his shoulder; predictably, a foot to the shin here and a playful shove to the shoulder there leads to a full-on roughhouse on the floor of keon’s room. 

it’s not hard to physically overtake the druid – he has the build of a goddamned willow branch – but something possesses keon to let him win this time, and somehow, he finds himself laughing. real laughter, for the first time in... what, years? it must be years now. it seems that somehow, the rest of his emotions have begun to bleed through the path anger carved through his walls. joy. sadness. spite, envy. something else he can’t recognize, right now, something that beats like a war drum in his chest as he lays on his back with his rival’s elbow digging uncomfortably into his upper arm, knee in his thigh.  whatever the feeling is, it’s mirrored on antares’ face as they meet each other’s eyes in the sudden stillness. star freckles, he thinks despite himself; they glow in the room’s dim light, pure white contrasted against the yellow glow soaking into the druid’s white-streaked hair. 

keon exhales, opens his mouth to speak, and then antares’s lips are on his.  the only way one could describe the feeling is an eruption of sparks in his chest, like a firework going off in a small box. his shoulder blade digs into the wood floor, cold against his back, but he doesn’t notice. in this moment, the world bleeds away into nothing and antares’s mouth on his is all that remains – all there is – a global encompassing light. then, like a lightbulb burning too strong, it blinks out.  keon’s eyes open to see antares above him, having shrunk away like he’d been stung. there’s confusion and dread on his face now. stunned into complete silence, keon says nothing and does not move; all he can do is watch the druid scramble to his feet and sprint out of the room, slamming the door behind him. and then keon is left with –  ( A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river                     but then he’s still left with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away                                                                         but then he’s still left with his hands. ) and oh, his hands are shaking now. it’s the come-down from a hard dose of adrenaline. it’s the slow-dawning realization that he has just been kissed by antares – another man, a man he despises – and it felt like the sun in his chest. but the sun burns and radiates. keon. his father’s voice in his head, edged sharp with banked fury. you’re disgusting, he says, and leather cuts across keon’s back. wrong. wrong. it’s wrong, it can’t have been him – this can’t be him. it can’t have felt good. perhaps it was surprise. just shock at the suddenness of it all. thought after thought piles atop the soft glow in his chest until its light, buried deep under layers of fear and pain and confusion and denial, snuffs out.

#ic. #keon drabbles. #child abuse cw #homophobia cw #{ i didnt mean to make this sad. i really didnt. } #{ and then. }

[recordkeep-ler]

(another fic, this isn’t rp-related, it’s just for fun/to show off what happens to rec when he’s sleep-deprived. also bc the lorax is fun to write)

“Please explain to me how not getting a more comfortable chair and givin’ yourself a lifetime of back problems is ‘protecting the forest.’”

Rec groans from where he’s feverishly writing notes at his desk. “Moustache, I’ve explained this to you a million times—”

“Oh, I know. I just brought an audience along this time.” The Lorax deadpans as small group of swomee swans and barb-a-loots shuffle their way into the doorway of Rec’s bedroom.

“It’s not rocket science, Meatboy.”

The Lorax quirks an eyebrow at Rec bungling his nickname. Meatboy?

“It always starts with ‘oh, I need a bigger chair’, then— no, wait.. it’s ‘office, chair, desk, staff’..” He mumbles, almost asking the Lorax what comes next in that sequence before remembering that the forest guardian has never heard the song upon which he’s modeling his logic. “Never mind. But that’s how they get you! It starts with the chair!” Rec shouts, whirling around in his chair and pointing furiously at Bill, prompting one of the swans to protectively tuck him under its wing. Even so, the cygnet’s seemingly-permanent smile does not leave his beak. “And then the..” Rec’s eyes start to drift closed, but he shakes himself back awake. “Then the next thing you know, you’re the CEO of the top factory in the country, selling.. I dunno, jams, thneeds, drugs, experimental fuels, paper.. Some other stuff I’m forgetting too, but it all comes from the trees!”

“Where do the trees come into this again?”

Rec freezes, mortified. “Oh my gosh, I forgot to say the part where I cut down the trees.” He slumps face-down onto his desk with an audible (and painful-sounding) thump. “What kinda Once-ler am I?!” He asks, anguished.

Bill quacks cheerfully in response to Rec’s antics, because of course he does.

“I mean, I don’t wanna brag, but I’m a pretty okay Once-ler.” Rec mutters, his attitude performing a 180 as he mumbles into the polished wood of his desk. “Even if I wasn’t, I couldn’t pull off green anyway.”

“When’s the last time ya slept?” The Lorax asks, approaching Rec to talk to him as a friend and not an authority figure.. or drag him to bed if necessary.

“Slept..” Rec muses, as if it’s some long-forgotten concept. “I’ve been doing my recommended amount of blinking. Does that count?” He asks, pinching himself through his glove to keep himself from drifting off again.

“Alright, that’s it, you’re comin’ to bed—” The Lorax shakes his head, pulling Rec’s chair away from his desk and beckoning the animals to come closer; Rec couldn’t put up much of a fight even if he was rested, but the Lorax just wants him in bed and asleep as soon as possible.

“You’re not my mom, Moustache!” Rec protests, stumbling out of his chair to try and walk away. “I know when I need to—” he topples over like he’s made of wet noodles as soon as he stands up, hitting the floor hard and making no move to get up again.

Alarmed, the Lorax carefully checks him over and prepares to ask if he’s hurt himself.. only to sigh in relief once Rec starts (loudly) snoring. “Yeah, the kid’s fine.” He whispers reassuringly to the still-concerned onlooking animals before grabbing Rec by his shirt collar and dragging him away from his desk and toward the direction of his bed.

#lerkimpails #recordkeepler #rec’s complaint box #scrap folder.. (non starter writing)

[cipher04]

Stranger Things Roleplay (doubling friendly)

Hello! With Stranger Things season 4 releasing, my muse for the fandom is sky high! I am 18+ and will only write with other people who are also 18+. All characters will be 18+, too. 

I am seeking someone to write as Nancy Wheeler. I am willing to double in return as anyone you want, even from a different fandom.

I would prefer to pair Nancy with Steve Harrington or a male OC if you are not a fan of Steve. If it must be Jonathan x Nancy, I can work with that, but I greatly prefer Steve. I don’t mind if you want to play an OC for your half of the doubling though!

Regarding the plot, I like a mix of romance and action. Ideally, I would love to begin with season 3 where they are graduated from high school. As I am not seeking a drama-filled romance for the story, I would simply like to say this would be a sort of AU where Steve isn’t a bad boyfriend. For example, in this world, Steve would have been more supportive of Nancy in season 1 when she was upset about Barb’s disappearance. He would have done more to help. Additionally, he would not have allowed Tommy and Carol to spread rumors or bully her. He would not have sprayed demeaning graffiti about her. Etc. So, I would like to begin in season 3 in a world where Steve and Nancy actually did not break up and still have their relationship after graduation. Then, we can jump into events of season 3 with this new dynamic between them and just explore them working as a team while exploring the overall world as a whole.

Please keep in mind that none of this is set in stone. This is just my preference. If you have different desires, please feel free to bring them up. Also, I am not replacing any partners, just looking to add more. 

#roleplay #rp #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things roleplay #stranger things rp #doubling #doubling rp #nancy wheeler

[ashes-writing]

h a n d s | stranger things ; s.harrington

|| taglist,babes + req rules + send ?s + masterlist + kinktober masterlist ||

** graphics made by me courtesy of pinterest + google image search. The kink used for this prompt is one of my own personal ones, and it's quirofilia, which basically means I have a thing for hands..**

𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ; 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊

Summary ;

--- His hands have always turned you on.

Pairing ;

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

--- no physical description given beyond having female parts.

Warnings ;

--- minors, abso-fuckin-lutely not. In addition to the prior, lustful touching, kissing, teasing heavily implied. Heavy emphasis on hands / mouth.

Taglist ;

--- the people listed below are the only ones I have on my stranger things taglist. If you'd like to be added, click the little link up top.

@tbmunson bestie, this is for you because after we talked this came together so fucking well, ahhhhh. you're amazing, alright?

@allelitesmut

@aries-arcade 

@aurumbelis

@chieflawyerpastatoad

@cole22ann 

@ebonybloom 

@heyaitsklaudia 

@hoeshii 

@krys-orion

@letsbedragonstogether 

@liberhoe 

@m-rae23 

@multi-fandom-lover7667

@musichealsscars 

@oflavenderandevie 

@scoobiessnacks 

@secretsicanthideanymore 

@sparkletash

@star-light30

@suits-and-smirks 

@thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles 

@thechoiceslookgrimm 

@untitledarea

@untoldshortsofthefandoms 

You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear Barb Holland’s soft laugh from behind you in the doorway. Nancy walks up behind her and nudges her, nodding to you. “What’s she staring at?”

“Steve. She’s been watching him with the dopiest grin for about a minute now. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it feels good that we’re not staging an intervention and dragging her out of her room because of that breakup, but…” Barb’s words trail off and Nancy leans in to whisper, “I wonder if her little crush on him has come back yet?”

“From the looks of it, yeah.” Barb laughs softly.

She taps you on the shoulder and you nearly jump out of your skin, whirling around to face her with your cheeks on fire and a hand in your hair. “I uh.. I smelled something good so I came out to investigate. Did either of you know he could cook?” you’re biting your lip and the faraway look in your eyes has both Nancy and Barb sharing a look and then looking at you before bursting into laughter.

Steve clears his throat from the kitchen, nodding to the way the three of you are huddled together in the doorway, talking back and forth. You don’t notice the way his eyes fix on you and linger, moving over your body really slow, his own cheeks reddening as soon as his gaze settles on your legs and he realizes that you’re wearing a baggy shirt and nothing else. He swallows hard and bites his lip, glancing from you to Barb and Nancy, back to you. “What’s goin on?”

“Nothing.”

“We just came by to see if we were going to have to drag ___ out of her room by the hair.” Barb gives you a gentle and concerned smile and Nancy does the same, speaking up to add, “We just wanted to make sure you were okay.” addressing you directly.

You manage a weak smile and shrug. “It is what it is.”

You’re not paying attention to it when he does it, but Steve’s eyes settle on you and the concern in them is clear as day. Both Barb and Nancy pick up on this, nudging each other as Barb nods to the door of the apartment. “Maybe we should uh… Go run that errand.”

“Huh?”

Barb nudges her friend just a little harder, practically shoving her through the front door and out into the corridor of your apartment building. You laugh softly and shake your head as the two of them disappear, the front door shutting behind them. “That wasn’t weird at all.” you muse quietly, stretching a little before you turn around.

Steve is leaning in the doorway now and he’s staring at you intently. “They were worried about you.” and it goes unsaid, but he’s also thinking that he’s been worried about you himself. You manage a second weak smile and nod, shrugging like the breakup with your only boyfriend to date isn’t a big deal. It hurts, but it’s not killing you like you thought it would. You’ve just been taking some much needed time for yourself the past few days.

To stick close to home. Close to Steve, even though you cannot, under any circumstance, let yourself even attempt to admit it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Steve snaps his fingers in front of your face and you blink, your daze starts to thin out. You can feel your cheeks burning up and when you realize how close he’s standing to you -or how close you’ve migrated to him because one of you moved and honestly, you were so zoned out staring at him that you’re just not sure who moved,  you swallow hard, swallowing down a quiet whine. He’s gazing at you now, trying not to get lost in your eyes.

The pasta in the pot is boiling and you nod to it. “Your um… noodles.” you mumble quietly. Steve swears under his breath and makes his way into the kitchen, turning off the stove eye. You wander in behind him and before you can stop yourself, you’re standing close but not too close -at least hopefully you’re not too close, so when he turns around, it puts you both body to body again.

“Hey, since you’re finally out of your room, you can try something.”

“Please?” your stomach growls as soon as you go quiet and Steve’s looking at you in concern all over again. You bite your lip as you stare up at him. When he reaches for the soup ladle, your eyes fix on his hands.

Strong and muscular. Every movement it takes to scoop soup into the ladle makes veins stand out just slightly. You’re clenching your thighs all over again before you can stop yourself because you’re thinking about other things he can do with his hands and you’re getting wetter by the second. You want to kick yourself because this is quite literally out of the frying pan and into the fire for you, but if you have to be honest with yourself, Steve Harrington has just always been the boy you’ve pined away for in secret. He’s always been the one you really wanted, you just won’t let yourself have him.

Steve’s holding the spoon up to your lips after he’s blown on it. “It’s kinda hot.” he warns as you open your mouth, wrapping it around the spoon. And the entire time, all you can do is stare at the way his hands hold the spoon. His fingers and the veins on them have your full attention, so much so that you almost forget to swallow the bite you’ve been given to try.

You groan as the taste of creamy chicken noodle soup rolls down your throat, bursting. “This is good.” you mumble as Steve pulls the spoon out of your mouth and chuckles.

You’re still staring at his hand, transfixed.

When he catches on to it, he swallows hard. Drags a hand over the back of his head and this makes your gaze move upward, hone on the way his hand is buried in his hair. You shake your head to bring yourself back into reality and he’s stepped closer to you all over again.

When he rests the back of his hand against your forehead, you can’t stop the little whimper that leaves your mouth. You raise a brow as you make yourself look him in the eyes, praying to any god who might be listening that he didn’t just hear the sound you made.

Unfortunately -or fortunately, he did.

And it’s starting to click for him.. The way you’re always staring at his hands, especially when he’s using them to do things.

He smirks a little, chuckles quietly. “You stare at my hands… Like a lot.”

“What?” you scoff, eyes widened in mock offense, “I do not!”

“You do.”

“Do not!” you argue back, giving a little pout as you stick out your tongue. Steve’s the one with the staring problem now, watching intently as your tongue rolls over the outline of your lips. Lips that he’s thought about kissing a time or two, even if he doesn’t quite know how to admit it.

“Fine..” Steve chuckles quietly after making himself stop staring at your mouth, “Then you won’t mind this.” his hands skim up and down your sides and you do it again, you whine just like you did a few seconds ago when he first noticed the way you’re always staring at his hands. Your eyes dart down for a split second and you swallow hard, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat at the way his touch feels. Clumsy and gentle. Tentative. Like he’s trying to tease you a little, but he’s also honoring your personal space at the same time.

Which is honestly the last thing you ever really want him to do.

He’s stepped even closer to you so the second you melt against him just slightly, it closes all the space between you both completely. “I saw you stare at my hands again.” he’s teasing you in a husky murmur against the shell of your ear, making you look up and meet his gaze, pouting a little. But the way you’re all flushed right now gives you away so much more than you realize.

“Yeah? Well I saw you stare at my mouth.” you’re sassy when you say it and he chuckles. The sound is lower. Deeper. Your thighs squeeze together tighter and you tilt your head a little to look up at him, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. And bingo, wouldn’t you know… Big brown eyes are glued to your mouth as you bite your lip.

And you’re going back in your mind, you’re trying to convince yourself that he doesn’t stare at you as much as you stare at him and you’ve almost got yourself convinced until you feel his hands skimming up and down your sides all over again, settling on your hips as he pulls you back into him all over again and thick digits squeeze down against your hips like he’s trying to hold you there, as close as he can get you. He removes a hand from your hip and you’re pouting about it until his arm is wrapped around you in a lazy sort of half-hug.

You finally manage to pull yourself together enough to look up at him and you slow blink, dazed to find that he was already staring down at you. And now, you’re standing here staring at each other quietly. Your hand raises and settles palm down against his bare chest and he can’t stop the quiet groan when it comes. Or the way his hand squeezes your hip just a little tighter and this in turn, rubs you against him just the slightest. 

His eyes dart down, settling on the way your hand is against his chest and he feels his breath hang in his throat all over again. The air is getting thicker, you feel it and you’re half wondering if he does too but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. 

Staring down at the way your hand looks so delicate against his chest has him getting hard and he’s too dazed to really stop and think about it. He’s realizing how much shorter you are than he is too, with your forehead hitting him right between his pecs. It’s always been a turn on for him, so this doesn’t help matters any.

You’re not sure why you do it, but when he raises a hand to push your shaggy bangs out of your eyes, you raise your other hand, grabbing hold of his wrist. Keeping his hand against the side of your face and god help you, all you can do is stare up at him, not saying anything, neither of you making any real move to separate from the way you’re pressed dangerously close to each other.

Your breath catches in your throat when he finally does something and what he does is to step into you so that your lower back meets the edge of the counter. Then he’s towering over you, an arm raised to hold a pot hanging overhead back so that it doesn’t swing down and in between your faces as his mouth drifts closer and closer to yours. You reach up and place your hand on the column of his neck, pulling his mouth down and against yours completely. Your legs wrap around his waist as your tongue slips between his lips and you caress his face. Steve’s breath catches in his throat and he gasps into the deepening kiss. His hand settles on your thigh, fingers splayed, squeezing your thigh. When he feels the way you cross your legs behind him to pull him into you even more, he groans quietly into the kiss. Your other hand raises and your fingers drag over his scalp. The kiss finally breaks so that you can both breathe and you pull apart just a little, but you’re melted against him. He reaches out and grabs your jaw, giving a gentle squeeze as he gets you looking up at him again.

“Why do you stare at my hands all the time?”

You stumble for an answer at first -at least one that doesn’t seem weird, but then you open your mouth and the truth comes out. “Your hands, they uh… They turn me on, okay?”

“Shit.” he blinks slow, eyes fixed on your mouth intently and this prompts you to ask him why he stares at your mouth. 

“Your mouth turns me on.” he chuckles, going a little red in the face, dropping his gaze to your bare legs for a second or two. You make him look up at you, licking your lips when he’s looking. He gives a quiet whine and you lean in, pulling him into another kiss….

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x fem!reader #kinktober #kinktober 22 #kinktober22 #kinktober 2022 #kinktober2022 #<- minors absofuckinlutely not. a general warning for my adult themed content #-> please read all warnings before reading #<- female reader ; vague description (female parts)