#and she’d be like ‘me neither you stupid boy’

[suja-janee]

(Mostly) Harumi centric doodle page for a friend

#mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mortal kombat #harumi shirai #tomas vrbada #mk smoke #kuai liang #mk scorpion #hanzo hasashi #I still don’t know how to feel about her and Kuai Liang #unless nrs releases more content #I dunno I think they have potential to be a cute couple but for now it’s still sus #also! I love to hc that harumi got Tomas to open up to kuai #cause uhhh the Lin Kuei kinda killed his family #so harumi is like ‘ey bro they’re not so bad when you get to know them… except for bi Han… fuck that guy’ #bi Han would highkey make a tree house and put up a ‘no girls allowed’ sign and she never forgave him for that #if bi Han ends up being the reason she dies in this timeline it would kinda be funny cause he’d be like ‘I never liked you’ #and she’d be like ‘me neither you stupid boy’ #and he’s like ‘yknow what this isnt even about kuai liang anymore- screw you’ #doodles #my art

[pasukiyo]

Hey, ignore if u arent still doing requests but I've had this storyline in my head for ages and I think ur a perfect writer for tom. Basically, the reader is a muggleborn but she attends Hogwarts and it's like half term where they are all home for a break. Shes either avery or lestranges adopted sibling and it's kinda been kept a secret from tom because.. well yknow shes a muggleborn lol(he knows about her now because her adoptive brother had to explain before bringing Tom over) anyways so hes at every or lestranges house for some reason (you make it up) and shes in her room, her adoptive brother needs something so he asks tom to get it from her desk in her room and they preferably have 🌶 time. Sorry if it sounds stupid but I've been thinking about this for ages!!😭

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!reader 8,104 words warnings: smut. sort of angst. also lots of prejudice against muggle-borns. read part two here. notes: reader is hufflepuff and muggle-born in this one. summary: every year, the lestranges will hold a christmas party for only the oldest of pure-blood wizarding families. every year you are locked in your room while the party rages downstairs, but everything will change when tom riddle is invited to this year’s party. everything…

 The Lestrange name definitely held some irony, considering how strange the family truly was. The Mother sent an owl at lunch, the rolled parchment dropping onto the plate in front of Tiernan Lestrange. On either side of him sat Clarence Avery and Liam Mulciber, who gazed down at the rolled parchment sealed with the Lestrange family crest with sparkling irises. 

 “Is it for the party, Lestrange?” Avery asked as Lestrange took another bite of his sandwich, dusting his hands off before finally taking a hold of the parchment, untying the ribbon keeping it closed. “More than likely,” he replied as the parchment unraveled, his mother’s handwriting gazing back up at him in inky black cursive letters. 

 ‘To my dearest son,

 Tell your friends they’re more than welcome to join us on Christmas Eve for the party. Invite that Head Boy you were writing to me about too. I am most interested to meet him, since you speak so highly of him. Remind the Girl that she is to not speak of the party, I simply cannot have any more of her kind in the house. I will see you at King’s Cross Station, my darling. 

 With all my love, your mother.’

 Of course, the Girl referred to the Hufflepuff sitting all the way across the Great Hall at her own House’s table, her head down as she ate, so as to not catch the attention of her brother or any of his friends. She didn’t choose this family— and if it were her choice, she’d be far away from them— and neither did they. 

 It was the fault of whomever it was who dropped her onto the Lestranges’ doorstep in the wee hours of the morning when she was only an infant. The Mother had given birth to her son only a few months before, and found the crying baby on her doorstep to be quite a burden. 

 She asked herself why the Mother and the Father even bothered keeping her, for even before they learned of her blood status, they hated her. Perhaps it was to uphold their reputation— taking in a child who wasn’t theirs? It was the perfect foundation for the story of a kind-hearted pure-blood family— how could the Lestranges let that opportunity go?

 Of course, behind closed doors, she was treated less than a family member, some would argue far less than a house elf. She may as well have been a house elf if you ask her. She was treated like how they believed anyone of her kind should be treated— a mudblood deserved to be treated like the rubbish they are, they’d say. 

 Up until she got her Hogwarts letter, she believed them. She believed she deserved to be treated this way, that she deserved to be put through the torture that came with living with the Lestranges. She believed she had filthy blood, demon blood. 

 But all of that changed the second she first stepped foot into Hogwarts. Of course, the Lestranges were at first very against letting her attend Hogwarts— mudbloods shouldn’t be taught magic, they’d say— but even they could only take so many letters flying through the fireplace or popping up in the stew before they gave in. Of course, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone of her blood status— “you are not to tell anyone of your filthy blood status,” the Father had told her with an accusatory finger in her face. “As far as anyone is concerned, you are pure-blood. So I expect you to act like it.” 

 Her school robes and supplies were not as grand as Tiernan’s, and she wasn’t allowed an owl or a cat or a toad. But she told herself that she would make do with what she had, and she felt at least a little bit grateful that the Lestranges didn’t give her tattered secondhand, even third-hand clothes, even if she knew it was all for the act. 

 When the Lestranges found out she had been sorted into Hufflepuff however, oh, it gave them all the more reason to ridicule and torture her back at home. “Of course the mudblood is in the weakest House,” the Mother would mutter beneath her breath as she and her husband read the letter their son had written. “We were fools to think that old ratty hat would sort her into Slytherin.”

 Tiernan and his friends— they made certain that her life at Hogwarts was just as bad as her life at home. Of course, Tiernan was the only one who knew the truth about her blood, Avery, Mulciber, and the others just tagged along because they found it funny. They loved calling her names, making her trip in the hallways, pulling pranks such as jinxing her school books so that they may not open no matter how hard she tried. 

 And still, she didn’t dare stand her ground, for she knew all too well that the Mother and the Father would catch wind of it, and make certain that she’d be on the first train back to King’s Cross Station. So instead, she dealt with Tiernan and his friends, just like she learned to deal with everything else. 

 But Tom… Tom Riddle was different. 

 Tiernan Lestrange and his friends worshiped the ground Tom Riddle walked on, and it was no secret. She remembered when she first saw Tom, all the way back in the Sorting Ceremony in her first year at Hogwarts. She remembered hearing his name ‘Riddle, Tom’ being called and she remembered watching as he approached the platform, settling himself down onto the stool. 

 She remembered the way their eyes met and she swore her knees turned into jelly when she gazed into those dark ravines he had for irises. And she remembered when the Sorting Hat exclaimed “Slytherin!” hardly before it had even touched a hair on his head. 

 And she remembered how disappointed she felt when she was called up to be sorted, the Sorting Hat put her into Hufflepuff. She wanted to be a Slytherin— she wanted to be wherever Tom Riddle was. 

 In all her time at Hogwarts, she’d never even spoken a word to Tom Riddle. They’d pass each other in the halls, but thanks to her brother, she’d never been given the chance to even tell him hello. And Tiernan made it clear that she never would. 

 So life went on, and she got older. She hoped that over time, she’d forget about Tom. But it was hard when he was made prefect, and when he was given the Special Award for Services to the School, and when he was made Head Boy at the beginning of their seventh and final year. 

 She remembered her fifth year during all the attacks on muggle-borns vividly as if it were only yesterday. She remembered how frightened she was when she realized it was muggle-borns whatever it was was attacking. She remembered the panic she felt when Hogwarts was on the brink of being closed— she couldn’t have that! She belonged at Hogwarts, not out there with the Lestranges where she was treated like vermin. 

 At least here, she could pretend to be someone she was not. 

 Of course Tiernan was no help, always taunting her and teasing her that she’d be next. She remembered when she heard that it was Rubeus Hagrid who had freed the muggle-born killing beast, how although she felt that it could not be Hagrid, she felt a sense of relief when he was expelled, when all the attacks had stopped. 

 And of course it was Tom Riddle who caught him. And of course it just made her admire him more and more. 

 But she would keep her distance. She’d admire him from afar. She couldn’t begin to imagine the torment Tiernan would put her through if he found out she liked Tom Riddle. 

 “Yes! Looks like we’re invited, Mulciber,” Avery exclaimed, pumping his fist. Tiernan rolled his eyes at his friends, “you’re invited every year,” he replied, just as Tom entered the Great Hall, and they fell into silence as he approached. 

 She could see Tom over the tops of the heads of the Hufflepuffs in front of her, and she slowly sat up to get a better look. That was when Tom blinked up and she swore their eyes met, just for a moment, before he settled down into his seat, disappearing behind the heads of the other Hogwarts students. She felt herself flush as she hunched over her plate again, a small smile creeping onto her face. 

 “My Lord,” Tiernan Lestrange nodded as Tom settled himself between him and Liam Mulciber. Tom nodded in acknowledgement as he placed a few pieces of chicken onto his plate, and Tiernan’s gaze flickered from him to the rolled parchment in his lap. “My mother sent an owl,” he said, and Tom hummed in reply, nodding. Still, he said nothing. 

 Tiernan shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, and Tom, with his eyes slightly narrower than before, peered up at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say. Tiernan turned pink beneath Tom’s stare, and he presented the letter to him, Tom’s dark eyes flicking down to the inky black words on the scroll. 

 “My family, we… we hold a Christmas party every year,” he said, and when Tom glanced back up at him, he flushed again. “And you would’ve been invited! But it’s only for the oldest pure-blood families, and, well…” Tiernan trailed off when he saw the shadow looming over Tom’s already dark gaze, and Mulciber and Avery shifted in their seats uncomfortably. 

 Tiernan cleared his throat again, “but I’ve been speaking very highly of you to my mother. She wants you to come,” he said, his lips curving into a smile. Tom pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he stared back up at Lestrange, handing back the parchment. “Yes, I know. I can read, Tiernan,” Tom said sternly, and Tiernan clawed at his knees to prevent himself from trembling. 

 “Yes… well…” Lestrange said shakily as he rolled back up the parchment, slipping it inside one of his pockets. “…I’d really love it if you come. We’ll all be there— me, Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, Nott— and our families too, so you can meet them all!”

 Tom took a bite out of one of the chicken wings on his plate, placing it back down before wringing a napkin between his hands, gesturing towards Lestrange’s robes with his head. “Who is your mother referring to when she speaks of ‘the Girl?’” He asked, and heat crept back into Tiernan’s cheeks until they glowed scarlet. “Oh, you know… my sister…” he muttered, and Tom’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t she refer to her daughter by name?” Tom questioned, turning his body to fully face Tiernan, his interest piqued. “What does she mean by she ‘cannot have any more of her kind in the house?’”

 The other boys leaned in to hear what Tiernan would say next, and he knew now that there was no way to get out of this. He’d have to tell the truth not only to his friends, but to his Lord. 

 “Forgive me, my Lord, for asking this of you,” Tiernan hung his head and muttered lowly towards Tom. “But I must ask that you promise you won’t tell another soul about this. This goes for all of you, too,” he said towards Tom and the rest of their group. Lestrange gazed into each of their eyes and held contact for a moment with each, to make it known that he was serious. 

 Tom shrugged, “I promise.”

 Tiernan inhaled a shaky breath, before finally saying, “she… as you know, is not my sister,” he began. “And she’s not pure-blood, either. She’s a mudblood.”

 Mulciber, Avery, and the others all leaned closer and broke into a sea of murmurs, “that sure explains a lot. But a mudblood? In the Lestrange family?” Tom remained silent as he stared at Lestrange, beckoning for him to continue. “Her filthy muggle parents left her on our doorstep after she was born. My mother and father took her in purely out of the goodness of their hearts,” Tiernan sat up and stuck out his chest proudly. “And they kept her, even when they learned where she came from. So you see now why she never comes to the party. Mother always tells guests she’s never home for the party anyways.”

 The boys all laughed and ridiculed her while Tom, again, remained silent, staring absentmindedly down at his plate. He wasn’t sure what to think, how to feel. All this time he’d spent watching her, only catching glimpses of her from afar when he felt a gaze on him, watching as she turned away whenever she saw him with Tiernan and the others. 

 All this time he secretly lusted after her, the outcast of her family, the black sheep of the family. All this time he felt some sort of connection to her, all this time he felt he could relate to her because he, too, felt like an outcast. The outcast of the orphanage he grew up in, the outcast of the Gaunt family, the outcast of his muggle father’s family. 

 Tom Riddle never belonged anywhere, but he belonged here, at Hogwarts. And he knew she felt the same. 

 But would things change now that he knew she was muggle-born? Should he feel disgusted with himself now for ever thinking of pursuing her, for ever thinking of taking her in whichever way he pleased? Was it wrong of him to still lust for her, to still think of having his way with her? 

 Tom was clever but this, this he wasn’t sure of. 

 “So where has she been hiding during the parties?” Liam Mulciber asked, and Tiernan Lestrange snickered. “Mother and father force her up into her room. Says they’ll punish her accordingly if they hear even the smallest of noises coming from her room,” he replied, the boys erupting into another fit of snickers. Tom was still silent as he stared at his plate— he suddenly didn’t feel like eating. 

 The next day, she and a group of other Hogwarts students waiting to go home for the holidays gathered at Hogsmeade station, waiting for the arrival of the train. She snuck glances over to where Tiernan and his friends stood together, Tom in the middle of them all. She flushed and turned away when his head began to turn, and she moved to hide herself behind a few of her fellow Hufflepuffs, safe away from Tom Riddle’s view. 

 The train’s whistle echoed as the train emerged, slowing down to a stop before them. She dared gaze back over to where Tiernan stood with his friends as she waited for the doors to open, and when she did, Tom was no longer looking her way. She let herself stare for a little moment longer before she felt someone tap her shoulder, and blinked at the Hufflepuff girl in front of her with brown skin and shoulder length black hair she recognized as Clara Wingrave. 

 “Are you coming?” Clara asked, a furrow in her brow. She blinked and nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat back down. “Yes, sorry Clara,” she mumbled as she followed the Hufflepuff girl onto the train, sliding into the seat opposite the one Clara chose. She sighed as she settled herself into the seat just as footsteps thundered through the train, and she hardly had any time to register what was happening before their compartment door slid open, revealing none other than Tiernan Lestrange, Clarence Avery, and Liam Mulciber, Tom and the other three boys nowhere in sight. 

 Clara narrowed her eyes at their intruders, “hey, go find your own—“

 “Shut it,” Mulciber hissed towards her. “No one allowed you to speak.”

 Clara’s glare hardened as Tiernan leaned down to block his adopted sister’s view, his lips curving into a cheshire grin. Her hands balled into fists, and she suddenly felt the strongest urge to slam them right into that crooked smile of his. 

 “Mother sent the owl this afternoon,” Tiernan muttered, and he needn’t elaborate, for she was already used to the rules she was forced to follow every year during the annual Lestrange Christmas party. “Oh yeah? And let me guess…  I’m not to speak of the party, I’m not to attend the party, I’m to stay up in my room and if I make even the smallest of noises, I’ll be punished accordingly? Is that all?” She asked quietly, so that the girl across from her could not hear. 

 Tiernan scowled and grabbed for her throat, much to Clara’s shock as she shrieked, giving her a firm shake. She pressed her lips closed and gazed into Tiernan’s dark umber eyes as they gleamed with mischief. “You dare give me attitude?” He tsked. “You just wait. I’ll tell mother and father about this and—“

 “—Tiernan? Won’t you leave her alone for Merlin’s sake, the train is about to leave.”

 She along with Clara, Tiernan, and his friends snapped their heads to the open compartment door where the Head Boy now stood, a furrow in his brow. He narrowed his eyes every so slightly, and he looked irritated. She flushed when she saw him and turned away as Tiernan released her, dusting off his clothes. She glimpsed up at him as he turned to leave, not without making sure to flash a dirty look her way over his shoulder before he slid the compartment door closed behind him. 

 “What the hell was that about?” Clara gasped and shook her head in disbelief. “I know it is common for siblings to fight, but that was just absurd.”

 She shook her head as she shifted in her seat, gazing out the window as the train began to move, and Hogsmeade station grew further and further away until it disappeared altogether. 

 “He’s not my brother.”

 The train ride back to King’s Cross Station seemed to go by quicker than usual, much to her dismay. She wished she could stay on the train forever rather than have to go back to living with the Lestranges, and wished that she had an invisibility cloak so that she could hide and be on her way back to Hogwarts within the hour. 

 But, since she didn’t, she sighed as she collected her bag with her few belongings and exited her compartment, stepping out of the train and onto Platform 9¾, where her eyes immediately fell upon the Mother and the Father where they stood, eyes narrowed when they fell upon their muggle-born adopted daughter. She huffed as she made her way over to them, standing beside the Mother with a considerable amount of distance between them. 

 “Where is my son?” The Mother asked through gritted teeth, and she shrugged her shoulders. “He and his friends should be getting off soon,” she replied, not daring to turn to look at the Mother. Sure enough, almost as soon as she finished saying it, there stepped out Tiernan and his friends, Tom Riddle close behind. The other boys left to greet their own parents, but Tiernan and Tom made their way over to where she stood beside the Lestranges, and she flushed. 

 Why was Tom coming over here?

 “Tiernan,” the Mother smiled, drawing her son into her chest for a hug. “And you must be… Tom, is that right? Hogwarts’ Head Boy?”

 She glanced over to where Tom stood, a charming smile plastered his face and she could feel heat creep back up her neck. She turned away from him before he could catch her staring.

 “It is nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Lestrange,” Tom greeted them, shaking Mr Lestrange’s hand and giving the top of Mrs Lestrange’s a polite kiss. “Oh!” Mrs Lestrange giggled. “I like this one. The manners!”

 Tom flashed his best smile but snuck a glimpse over to where the Lestranges adopted daughter stood, her arms crossed over herself as she looked anywhere but at him. He eyed her up and down just as Mrs Lestrange clutched either of his forearms, and he was forced to tear his attention away from the girl behind her.

 “Tiernan here tells me you’re from the orphanage?” Mrs Lestrange asked and Tiernan felt like shriveling away beside Tom. Tom only nodded in reply to which Mrs Lestrange tutted, “how about this? You’re welcome to come and stay with us for the holidays. We’d be delighted to have you.”

 She froze at this and her lips fell agape with the intent to protest, but nothing came out. She knew nothing she said would matter anyways, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle being around Tom for the entirety of the holidays. She’d been comfortable leaving him at a safe distance away from her at school, but now she’d have to deal with seeing him at the Lestranges? She simply wouldn’t be able to trust herself being around him for so long. 

 “Thank you for your hospitality,” Tom beamed as Mrs Lestrange fussed over him, leading him away from the platform, and she, the Father, and Tiernan followed close behind. Tiernan made a point of ramming his shoulder into her every once in a while, and it took everything within her to control herself, to not shout or push him away. The Father saw this was happening but did nothing to stop it. 

 It wasn’t longer before they finally entered the Leaky Cauldron and made their way to the fireplace, and they each grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. The Father went first, then Mrs Lestrange, and Tiernan before it was down to her and Tom. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had ever been alone together, and she forced herself to look away as he stepped into the fireplace. 

 Tom was no stranger to her shy nature. He tilted his head to try and get a better look at her, watching as she peeked over at him only to find he was staring, and looked away again. He smiled, exclaimed “Lestrange Manor!” and he was gone, leaving her alone. 

 Soon, she too was back in the Lestrange Manor, and she nearly ran into Tom where he stood just before the fireplace. Her palms instinctively fell onto his back to find her balance, and oh, how she felt she’d explode where she stood. 

 It was the first time she had ever touched Tom, and she truly did not expect him to be so warm. Tom glanced back over his shoulder when he felt her hands on him and swiftly stepped out of her way, feeling her touch lingering on his back where she had touched him. Something ignited within him at that touch, and every doubt he had about still wanting to pursue her seemed to fray away. 

 He wanted her. 

 “Welcome to our home!” The Mother exclaimed with a smile as she dusted off the shoulder of Tom’s coat where some ash had fallen, letting her palms soothe back down all the way to his elbows. “Tiernan will show you where you will be staying. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

 She began to follow Tiernan and Tom as they headed for the staircase leading to the next level, but just before she could, the Mother grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her backwards to face her and the Father. She scowled down at her adopted daughter as soon as she made certain Tom was out of sight and leaned down until they were eye level. 

 “Listen to me, girl, and listen to me good,” the Mother said lowly. “You are to be on your best behavior while we have a guest in the home. You are to stay up in your room for the holidays except for meals, do you understand me, girl?”

 She blinked— normally, she’d hate the fact that she had to stay up in her room all hours of the day, but instead, she felt relief surge through her. At least she wouldn’t have to see Tom, at least she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself in front of him. 

 “Yes, Madam Lestrange,” she said as the Mother released her elbow, and the Father stepped forward, leaning down to eye level.

 “And you mustn’t leave your room under any circumstances during the party tomorrow evening,” he muttered. “If I hear even the smallest of sounds coming from your bedroom, I will punish accordingly and do understand, I will not show mercy.”

 She heard this rule every year, but still to this day, the way the Father threatened her sent chills down her spine. “Yes, Mr Lestrange,” she nodded and when the Father waved her off, she walked as fast as she could towards the stairs, practically sprinting up the steps and down the hallway until she finally reached her bedroom. 

 Tom and the rest of the Lestranges were already in the dining room when she finally bounded down the steps, and he could tell Mr and Mrs Lestrange were using all the self restraint they had within them to not blow up at her, most likely for his sake. He watched as she sat down across the table from where he and Tiernan sat, carefully only placing a small selection of food onto her plate. 

 He glanced back over to where Mr Lestrange sat on one end of the long dining table before looking over at Mrs Lestrange on the other end. Neither paid her any attention, or showed any intention of speaking to her. She didn’t seem to want to talk either. 

 “So, Tom, Tiernan tells me you’re exceptional at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Mr Lestrange said, shaking Tom from his thoughts. He forced a small smile as he nodded, wiping his hands on his napkin. “Yes, actually, I wish to become Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher one day.”

 She listened as she finished her dinner as quickly as she could, but she didn’t stick around to hear the rest of Tom’s story. She gazed over at the Mother who only nodded that she may be excused before she gathered her plate and hurried off to the kitchen where the Lestranges house elf cleaned. 

 “Thank you for the food, Gimbel,” she nodded at the house elf who only nodded back as she set her dirty plate on the pile of unclean dishes the house elf had stacked on the countertop. She hurried back upstairs where she shut herself in her room, sighing as she fell onto her mattress. 

 All she had left to endure was breakfast tomorrow morning, and she’d be free of seeing Tom for the rest of the day. She rested her arm over her eyes, her heart beating against her chest. She couldn’t believe the boy she’s been pining after since her first year is in her house, staying in only a few rooms down from hers. How she wished she could talk to him, to treat him like a guest rather than act like he wasn’t even there at all. 

 She even, for a moment, wished she was a true member of the Lestrange family, so that she could be treated as an equal. 

 Tom hardly saw her for breakfast the next morning, for as soon as he and Tiernan had entered the dining room, she was seemingly finished with her food, and once again scurried off towards the kitchen as she did the night before. Tiernan scoffed when he saw this as they took their seats on one side of the long dining table, loading their plates with biscuits and bacon and eggs. 

 “I apologize for her… strange behavior, my Lord,” Tiernan muttered to home as Tom took a sip of milk. “She’s always like this, you see.” Tom didn’t care to listen to whatever else Tiernan had to say about his adopted sister. Tom had already made up his mind about her, it was how he’d find the chance to talk to her that was the problem. 

 She seemed to avoid him like the plague, and he knew he more than likely wouldn’t be seeing her at all the rest of the day, since the Lestranges locked her in her room while they hosted their party. Tom was clever, so surely he’d be able to find a way around it?

 But as the time for the party to begin approached, he still came up with nothing. He had no excuse for wanting to see her, and with Tiernan practically breathing down his neck, he hadn’t any chance of sneaking away any time soon. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to see her at all when the party began and Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, and Nott all came rushing towards him and Lestrange. He had no space absolutely no space and no time to sneak away. 

 “Don’t worry,” Lestrange was saying to his friends. “The mudblood is upstairs in her bedroom. Won’t be coming out at all tonight, that one.” The boys snickered as they called her names and made jokes about her, but Tom wasn’t listening. Even though it seemed as if all hope of seeing her tonight was lost, he was still thinking of every possible excuse he could come up with to sneak away. 

 But fortunately, he wouldn’t have to contemplate for much longer. 

 “Blast,” Lestrange cursed, feeling around his pockets. Clarence Avery furrowed his eyebrows as he watched his friend, the others soon joining in. “What is it?” Liam Mulciber asked as Lestrange emptied each of his pockets, coming up with nothing. “Left my damn wand in my room,” Lestrange muttered, and Tom perked at this. Lestrange turned to Tom and stepped closer to murmur close to his ear, “forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord, but I simply do not trust the others. Will you go upstairs and retrieve my wand for me? I can’t go upstairs, mother and father said I need to stay down here.”

 If Tom was the type, he’d laugh and jump up and down at the request. All day he had been trying to come up with some sort of excuse to slip away from the party, and now he finally had one. He cleared his throat and nodded, “of course,” he said to Lestrange before making his way over towards the staircase, but he did not stop at Tiernan’s bedroom door as he passed. 

 Instead, he walked a little further down the Lestranges upstairs hallway, stopping at the last door on the left where she was, the black wooden door the only thing separating him from her now. Tom raised a fist to the door and knocked, and for a moment, it was silent on the other side. 

 Who could possibly be knocking at her door?

 She knew it could not be any of the Lestranges, for they would’ve just burst through the door without any respect for her privacy anyways. It couldn’t be Gimbel either, the house elf never came to her room. She grew weary as she closed her book and set it down on the mattress beside her, clearing her throat before murmuring a low, “come in.”

 She watched as the handle to her door twisted and it swung open, and when she saw who was standing there in her doorway, she felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. She’d only ever dreamed of Tom Riddle being in her bedroom, but never before did she actually think he’d really come in here. 

 But there he was. There Tom Riddle stood, closing the door behind him and turning to gaze at her where she sat on her bed, his eyes entrancing as they were dark. Even from across the room, his irises seemed to pull her in like they were magnets and she was metal, and she lost herself further and further into his soul…

 “Forgive me,” Tom said, and she blinked. Those were the first words she had ever heard him direct towards her. “I would not usually barge into a lady’s room like this.”

 Fire raged across her skin, up her neck, and to her cheeks until they were seared with flame. She suddenly had the strongest urge to open the window, wondering if she had broken into a sweat yet or not. 

 She blinked again, and the corner of Tom’s lips curved into a soft smile. He knew he already had her wrapped around his finger. 

 “Your brother thought he left something in here,” he said, gesturing towards her desk against the far wall of the room. “May I?” 

 She could not think of anything Tiernan could have possibly left in her room, but she wouldn’t dare question Tom, so instead she nodded, and she watched as he strode across the room, opening her desk drawers and sifting through its contents. 

 Of course, Tom wasn’t searching for anything. But she needn’t know that yet. 

 “Hm,” Tom hummed, closing the drawers he had opened and turning to face her again, leaning back against the wooden desk. “Perhaps, your brother was mistaken.”

 She felt small underneath Tom’s gaze, and she felt as though she could curl herself into a ball right now and shrivel away. But instead she sat still on her bed, unable to speak, unable to move. Tom chuckled and she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth, mentally cursing herself for being so shy. Typical Hufflepuff, she could imagine her adopted brother sneering. 

 “You know, you should really join the party,” Tom said, hoping to break the ice between them. She soothed the skin of her arms with her palms and rubbed at her elbows, shaking her head. “The Mother and the Father won’t let me attend,” she managed to speak at last, and she gulped down the lump in her throat. 

 Although Tom already knew the answer, he still tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Why is that?” He asked, and she swallowed again, forcing back down the truth. She dropped her head and shrugged, “because I’m different.”

 Tom blinked, and he suddenly felt like he was ten years old again, still living at the orphanage he grew up in. For over ten years, he grew up unlike all the other children, and even at an early and young age, he knew that he was different. It wasn't until Albus Dumbledore came to visit him that he finally understood why he felt this way. 

 It was different in her case, because at least she knew why she was different. But they were still treated the same, like they were misfits, rejects, outcasts. It was then that he understood the connection he felt towards her with a different meaning, that he first noticed this string tethering them together. 

 They had both been lost before, but just like he had found himself, she could be found too. Tom could be the one to find her, for he seemed to be the only one who understood her. 

 Tom’s footsteps permeated her bedroom as he made his way over towards her bed, setting himself down on the mattress beside her. She flinched when she felt the bed dip beneath his weight, and it was then that it occurred to her just how close he was. 

 They had never ever been this close before. 

 “Why are you different?” He asked, gazing down at her as she peered up, their eyes meeting closer than they ever have before. For a moment she said nothing, only continued to lose herself further in the dark depths of the treacherous caverns that were his eyes. He studied her— her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her lips. 

 It was no secret that she was beautiful, even Tom could admit that. But she was vulnerable, it was clear the moment Tom met her eyes again. And Tom could work with vulnerability. 

 “Well…” she trailed off, contemplating how much she should tell him. Tom’s fingers grazed against her knee and she trembled, her eyes flicking down to his hand and back up to his face. “You can tell me,” Tom said warmly. “You can tell me anything.”

 She blinked. Never before had she heard those words. Nobody has ever wanted to hear her story before, for they all thought they already knew it all by now. She was the child who was left on the Lestranges doorstep as a baby, the child the Lestranges took in to ‘raise as their own’ because they just couldn’t bear giving such a young girl away since they were so kindhearted. 

 So never had she ever thought she’d be given the chance to tell someone about herself, to let someone read her story. But there was something about Tom, and she felt like she could trust him. 

 “I’m… I was left on their doorstep as a baby,” she began, and Tom nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I was… I am muggle-born…” she trailed off, wincing as she searched Tom’s face for disgust, but he didn’t even recoil. He only gazed at her with that same patient stare, waiting for her to keep going. 

 So she did. 

 “They hate me for it,” she added. “For having dirty blood. I’m not sure why they kept me, I could’ve been a Squib or not even a witch at all for that matter. Thankfully, I got my Hogwarts letter when Tiernan did.” She wrung her hands together in her lap, Tom’s warmth drawing her even closer to him. “It certainly didn’t help that I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin.”

 She swallowed the lump in her throat back down again, and Tom let his palm rest on her knee again, his touch warm, like a kiss from the sun itself. She felt relaxed when he touched her, despite how nervous she actually was inside. 

 “They treat me… so bad,” she whispered. “They treat me like I’m nothing.”

 Her voice wavered before it broke, and when it was clear that she wouldn’t be able to continue, the hand that had previously been resting on her knee retreated so that it may instead reach her face. Gently, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her face up to his, her teary eyes searching his for something, anything she could hold onto. Warmth, comfort, reassurance, hope, anything. 

 So Tom would tell her what she wanted to hear. 

 “You are not nothing,”  Tom murmured, and her lip quivered the longer she stared at him. “You are somebody. Don’t let them take that feeling away from you.”

 She blinked and her brow softened, her vision blurring with tears. She was somebody. Tom Riddle thought she was somebody. 

 And somehow, that seemed to be all she needed to hear. 

 A silence ensued and they only gazed deeper into one another’s eyes. With the grip still on her chin, he drew her near and he leaned down to meet her halfway, his lips pressing against hers softly, as tenderly as he could. He felt the way she shuddered under his touch, as if his kiss was a tranquilizer, and she was becoming limp and pliant, all for him. 

 So he kissed her deeper, he kissed her harder. His tongue was warm in her mouth as she let him reign dominance over her own, her hands shaking as one cupped the side of his face and the other grabbed his bicep. 

 This was what Tom Riddle had been fantasizing about for years. To have her compliant beneath him, to have her completely under his control. He loved how easy it was, how easy it was to have her. Although he’d admit, this connection he felt towards her was growing, and it was growing at an alarming rate. As he pushed her down onto the mattress and trailed his kisses down from her lips to her jaw, he found that his heart burned, as if she had set it aflame, and this feeling was foreign to him. 

 He had no idea what this tenderness he felt was, whether he dared call it love or not. For eighteen years, he was under the impression that he couldn’t love, that love simply just wasn’t in the cards for him, and he was completely okay with that. 

 But this feeling, whatever it was he felt for her, came unexpectedly, and he was unsure whether or not he should embrace it or push it away. 

 For now, he worked at unbuttoning her blouse as he sucked marks into her neck, his tongue swirling around her collarbone. 

 She pressed her lips together to contain her noises as Tom slipped her blouse from her shoulders and down her arms, discarding it down onto the floor altogether. He made quick work of her brassiere, his lips previously kissing her collarbone venturing down between the valley of her breasts, sucking marks onto either mounds of flesh. 

 “T… Tom,” she mewled as he pressed a kiss to one of her nipples, kneading her opposite breast with his palm. He hummed in reply, gazing up at her through hooded lids as he sucked the erect bud, releasing it with a wet pop before doing the same to the other. She squirmed beneath him and squeezed her eyes shut, arching her back up off of the mattress. “T… Tom, I… they will punish me if they hear me.”

 Tom smirked against her skin as he released her nipple from his mouth and kissed down her stomach, past her belly button, all the way to the hem of her skirt. He pushed himself up by the elbows as he hooked his fingers over the hem, beginning to tug them down her thighs. 

 “Then I suggest you stay quiet,” he said simply as he removed her skirt from her ankles, her panties soon joining the sea of clothes on the floor as well. 

 She sank her teeth down into her bottom lip so hard when he placed a kiss just above her aching clit, she feared she’d draw blood. Tom eyed her through his hooded stare as he teasingly dipped his tongue past her folds, testing the waters. He watched as her face scrunched and she kicked her legs, arching her back at just the simplest of touches. 

 So eager, he thought. 

 He soothed her stomach with one of his palms as he pecked her clit, watching the way she trembled and writhed, whining behind closed lips, silent pleading for more. Tears broke past the glossy barrier of her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks like crystals, and he smirked as he pressed his lips down against her heat, sucking her clit as it throbbed and ached to be touched. 

 She threw her hands down on the mattress on either side of her, her fingernails clawing at the sheets as he flicked his tongue up and down her slit, humming at the taste of her nectar on his tongue. She tried to watch as he lapped up the juices spilling down her folds before flicking his tongue against her bud again, but she couldn’t even hold herself up, much less keep her eyes open for longer than a few seconds. 

 “P… please,” she mewled quietly as one of her hands ventured down between her legs to grip at his hair, and she ground her hips against his face, eager for more. That was when Tom stopped and pried her hand away from his head, and she blinked up at him through her bleary eyes. 

 “Do you want to come?” He asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, shouldering it off of him and tossing it to the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. She gaped at the sight of his chest, but he grabbed her face again and forced her to look at him, squishing her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question.”

 She trembled and felt her walls clench at his words, nodding up and down. “Yes. Yes please,” she whimpered as he tore his hand away from her face to work on his belt, tossing it and his trousers away until he stood before her completely in the nude, in all of his glory. 

 He was beautiful. And he was already beautiful to begin with but this, she never could have even imagined how he looked underneath the clothes. He wasn’t muscular or built like a statue or even a Quidditch player, but still, his arms and torso were toned, and his cock…

 She could feel her patience slipping away the longer he kept her waiting. She watched as he took a hold of his cock and stared down at her, maintaining eye contact as he gave himself a few pumps, his other hand absentmindedly stroking up and down her slick. She bit down onto her lip as she gazed up at him, watching him in anticipation for what was to come next. 

 Tom leaned back down to her face and captured her lips with his, unable to resist the temptation any longer. He kissed her again and again and again as he slipped inside of her, her moans muffled by his mouth on hers. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dug her fingernails into his skin, etching crescent moons into his flesh. Tom broke their kiss and let his forehead drop onto hers as he rocked his hips into her, slowly at first. One of her hands slithered to cup the back of his neck as tears streamed down the sides of her face, never feeling this good in all her years. 

 Tom let his gaze fall upon her face again, her eyelids squeezed shut but her face scrunched in pleasure, every once in a while muffling her sounds by pressing her face into his shoulder. He began to thrust harder than before, her legs wrapping around his waist and squeezing, beckoning him further inside of her. So he fucked her harder, and harder and harder and harder as if he intended to break her, to shatter her into a million pieces. 

 And maybe that was the goal all along. 

 Never has Tom felt this good, never had he felt so intoxicated by another person, and never did he believe he could be so attached to someone else before. Part of him hated it, part of him wanted to throw it away and stomp on it and set it on fire. 

 But the other part of him embraced it, another part of him felt powerful as he fucked into her with reckless abandon, powerful having someone underneath his control. He never imagined another person could feel so good, he never imagined someone else could make him feel so infinite. As far as he was concerned, he was doing just fine on his own. 

 But this was different. This was on a whole other level of power. He felt strong, even when she clenched around him and gushed around his cock, even when he felt himself so close to the edge, so close to releasing himself for another person. 

 He pushed away from from her and groped her chest with one hand, holding onto her shoulder with the other as he fucked her harder than before, without a care for how much noise they were making. He’d make it up to the Lestranges, he’d go down and tell them it was him making all the noise, it wasn’t like they’d punish him. 

 For now, he focused on chasing his release, on the way she felt around him, on the way he was so close to climax he could practically taste it. She sobbed beneath him and her lips fell agape with the intent of screaming his name but he clapped his hand around her mouth before she could as he thrusted again and again and again until finally he released, and warmth surged through her. 

 Tom’s chest heaved and he fell on top of her as she cried, motionless beneath him. Sweat made her skin glisten and tears made her cheeks swollen and sticky, but he found that he admired her all the same. 

 This warmth in his chest was new, and it was a feeling he couldn’t quite place or put a finger on. But if whatever it was could make him feel like he was on top of the world, like he was the most powerful being on this Earth, like he was infinite…

 …then surely he could learn to embrace it. 

a/n; oop this is the longest imagine i’ve ever written 🙈 thank you so much for the request anon! i wrote this one up pretty fast because i really liked the idea, it definitely wasn’t stupid! so i hope this is close to what you’ve been imagining!! and feel free to send in more requests if you’d like! i love writing requests!

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza 🥹🫶

#tom riddle x you #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut #wizarding world #harry potter fic #harry potter fandom #harry potter imagine #harry potter #tom marvolo riddle

[rosewaterandivy]

the verbal thing comes and goes

Summary: eddie's first study(ing) date with an appearance from hawkins own lothario.

Warnings: eddie’s senior year 2.0, no Upside Down, scary smart debate team captain reader, NHS president and tutor nancy wheeler, ap music theory nerd and general nuisance robin buckley, pretentiousness alert - you have been warned!

W.C.: 1973

Eddie’s early, for once in his life.

He stands on the Wheeler’s doorstep worrying the strap of his backpack with his thumb. It’s Thursday, and he’s nearly done with his second read-through of Notes from the Underground. Turns out, reading Russian literature and annotating it at the same time is a bit of a commitment. So much so, that scribbling in his Hellfire notebook has fallen by the wayside.

He has highlighters now (yes, plural); who the fuck does he think he is?!

A guy who wants to stay in the same English class as you, that’s who.

Which brings us to his earlier than usual arrival for the study group.

He pushes the doorbell and hears the chimes clang from inside the house. There’s a bit of grime on his cuticles, he’d been fucking with an oil change for the van a few hours ago. Luckily, there’s not a smear of brackish fluid left on the pristine white button.

Mike loafs to the door and opens it with his usual fanfare, which is to say, none.

“What’re you doing here?”

“You mean at your house? Where your sister is? Who’s in my group for this English project?”

Each rhetorical question brings Eddie incrementally closer to Mike and inside the house, who backs away slowly, dead eyed stare and all.

“Psh, get outta my face twerp.” Eddie says, ruffling Mike’s stupidly long hair.

The door shuts behind him and Mike inclines his head toward the stairs, “Think they’re waiting on Buckley, you can head on up.”

Mr. Wheeler grunts in agreement from his lay-z-boy recliner in the living room.

Briefly, he wonders if he should take off his shoes. There’s a pile by the door and carpeted stairs, even Mike is wandering around in socks. And Eddie doesn’t want to be rude, or responsible for whatever mud he’s probably tracking in.

After toeing off his Reeboks, he takes the stairs two at a time and follows the sound of voices down the hall.

It’s an idyllic scene.

Namely, that Nancy has one of the most certifiably girly rooms Eddie has ever had the misfortune to see. But also, that you’re seemingly dressed in pajamas which consist of men’s plaid boxers, socks scrunched around your ankles, and an oversized t-shirt with a warped Tweety Bird face plastered on it. Your hair is up and off your shoulders, tied back with an obnoxiously bright scrunchie, and your face is freshly scrubbed.

It looks like a sleepover, if the legends are true, but neither you nor Nance are currently jumping on her bed and hitting each other in slow motion with pillows, a dusting of goose feathers filling the air.

“Hey Munson,” you greet, patting the spot next to you, “Take a load off.”

Well, shit, he’s certainly got a load alright.

He slings his bag to the floor and leans back against the foot of Nancy’s bed, taking a seat next to you.

“Didn’t realize this would be an all nighter Wheeler.”

Nancy glances up from her notes at your soft laugh. But before she can reply, there’s a clatter from below and Mike bellowing something about food.

“Oh, Rob must be here,” she says with a smile. “She said she was bringing pizzas or something.”

The three of you make your way down to the kitchen, where Robin has been cornered by Mrs. Wheeler. Her blue eyes are wide as she clutches the edge of the pizza boxes, nodding along politely with whatever Nancy’s mom is going on about.

“Oh Bucks,” Eddie says, swooping in to take a box before she can crush it, “For me? You shouldn’t have!”

Robin looks relieved, mouths thank you from where she’d been stopped by the counter. She’s just come from her job at Family Video and is still wearing the stupid vest to prove it. It’s got cheesy buttons like ask me about our newest releases! and Eddie has half a mind to do so.

That is before Steve Harrington comes swanning into the room with a few cans of soda. He stops short, surprised with Eddie’s presence at the Wheeler’s kitchen table. But then you trot in the room, lost in conversation with Nance and he sees Steve’s eyes blow wide as a blush warms his cheeks.

He’s looking at you because of course he is. The universe can’t seem to cut Eddie a break without throwing King Steve a bone(r).

It’d be comical if it wasn’t so typically teenage tragic.

For Eddie, that is.

“Oh, uh, h-hi,” Steve stammers in greeting, “I just grabbed whatever since I didn’t know what you’d like.”

It’s all Eddie can do not to roll his eyes.

Buckley had mentioned Steve not having as much swagger with the ladies as of late, but damn, Eddie didn’t think he’d have to witness it.

Still, it’s not as though he feels sorry for the guy.

Not when you give Steve a smile in thanks, but nudge Eddie’s shoulder with your hip.

“Outta my spot Munson.”

The contact of your thinly veiled hip against his jacket has got him spinning. If he wasn’t wearing the damned thing, he could’ve felt the warmth from your skin. He grunts and shoves over, sticking to monosyllables until he can get himself together.

Mrs. Wheeler eyes him briefly before stepping out of the room, a lingering glance that says watch yourself as she settles in the living room.

Seated around the table, various hands grab for slices of pizza that land in greasy splotches on paper plates. Robin is talking a mile a minute about someone who returned Fast Times stopped at a very pivotal point in the film.

Steve rolls his eyes and pops the tab of his soda. Leaving Eddie to beg Mike’s earlier question:

“What’re you doin’ here?”

This said between bites of pizza, stringy cheese decorating his lips. Spying his predicament, you toss a paper towel at his face and continue listening to Robin’s tales of Family Video.

“Could ask you the same,” Steve replies with a measured tone.

“English project.” Eddie pauses to take a swig of Mountain Dew, “Now you, Harrington.”

“Rob doesn’t drive, so I dropped her off.”

“Dropping off implies leaving, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He’s adopted a curt tone, as if he’s offended by Eddie’s rationale. So he decides to drop it for now.

And sure enough, Steve eventually does leave. Right after hauling in Robin’s overstuffed backpack and trumpet.

Eddie notices how Steve’s eyes linger on you, flitting to and fro, and tries to tamp down the roil of jealousy in his gut.

It’s only once the group is back upstairs and working on the project, the door minduflly cracked open at Mrs. Wheeler’s behest, that he feels himself relax. After all, he can’t dedicate too much of his time to feeling like a possessive meathead with Nancy delegating.

Currently, you’re all huddled over your novels and passing around copies of notes on each text. Nancy’s are neat and tidy, Robin’s are a downright mess, but yours are something else. Color-coded with a key in the upper right-hand corner of the page, not a smear of ink to be found. It’s like the Holy Grail of notes.

They also smell faintly of your perfume.

Eddie’s notes aren’t as batshit as Robin’s, but there are plenty of sketches to be found in the margins. He hopes they’re acceptable, he’s never really willingly taken notes over a book before. Much less, painstakingly copied three sets of said notes for distribution.

He’s more familiar with a different type of distribution.

Speaking of which:

“Shit, I gotta go.”

He hastily packs his bag while Nancy lists off his task for the project. You��ll see each other in class, obviously, but there won’t be another study session until next week. NHS is rolling out their individual tutorials, and she’s got stuff for the school paper. Debate team meets weekly for practice in addition to their class, you’ve got to start prep for research on a few topics. Robin has band shit and life shit, as she calls it, so everyone is pretty much swamped until then.

Even Eddie, with his tutoring from Nancy and Hellfire meetings and Corroded Coffin practices and shows. And, apparently, there’s another meeting with Mrs. Meloy next week to see how he’s “adjusting.”

He says his goodbyes quickly and dashes down the stairs, surprised to hear the sound of you behind him. He turns, tugging on his shoes, inquiring, “Nance forget to tell me something?”

You smile with a shake of your head, “Nah, just thought I’d see you off.”

“Ah, yeah. Prime time for creeps, good lookin’ out.”

He gets a laugh out of you, which lights something in his chest with a dull warm glow. Shouldering his backpack, he makes way for you to open the door and follows you onto the porch.

The last of the summer sun eeks across the sky leaving bands of creamsicle orange and pink behind. You glance up, exposing the delicate tendons of your neck, the elegant slope of it. And it’s all he can do not to press his lips to the sweat gathering in the hollow of your throat.

Eddie clears his throat instead and stands there awkwardly as you enjoy the summer evening. The air is humid, and a dampness permeates the otherwise pleasant moment. You sigh softly, having taken your fill of the sky for now, and turn your gaze to him.

He feels like an ant under a magnifying glass might, not used to the attention and fearful of what’s to come.

“I expected you would’ve called by now,” you say casually, with a fond pull of your lips, “But you’re just full of surprises Munson.”

He scuffs the toe of his sneaker against the pavement and shyly glances down. He notices the weight of his bag now, the sweat beginning to bead along his skin. It’s uncomfortable and his van is within sight, he’s so close and yet so far.

All because you’re staring at him, attempting to have a conversation with the guy who said he doesn’t read much and yet had some of the finest penmanship and annotations you’d ever seen littered all across your copy of Dune.

He’s surprising and you like surprises well enough, but Eddie is becoming more and more of a mystery to you which is somehow even more appealing.

Of course, he knows none of this.

All he knows is that a pretty girl in a Tweety Bird shirt and boxers is looking at him with a secret smile on her face, and he feels like he’s hurtling toward oblivion or humiliation.

“Maybe I lost the note?”

Lies. It’s squirreled away in his most prized possession, a battered copy of Tolkein’s Fellowship of the Ring.

“How tragic,” you tease, “If only we had been taught to memorize things like phone numbers and addresses.”

“Yeah, that would be something.”

You laugh, “Oh, wait. Lucky for you I have it right here.” You tap your temple with a manicured nail, and pull a face as if you’re about to snarl but your eyes are bright and teasing.

“Look,” Eddie says, a laugh falling from his lips, “Maybe I was giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Oh really,” you drawl, arms snaking across your chest. “When a pretty, smart girl gives you her number and offers up her time and expertise, you, Eddie Munson, think twice?”

“Generally, from past experience, yes.”

You kiss your teeth and let out a soft tsk. “Well, don’t.”

“Think?”

The smile you give him could launch a thousand ships.

“About this? Not even once.”

And with that, you turn on your heel and walk back into the Wheeler’s house leaving him dazed and more than a little confused.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #fic: ibciyd #eddie munson fluff

[wandasgf]

II. DARK LEGION. mdni. 18+. series masterlist

pairings: wanda maximoff + mutant!reader

summary: you and wanda talk... kind of

warnings: slight violence

wc: 1.8k~

< previous chapter | next chapter >

It’s a stupid question, Wanda knows that. Of course you know about the prophecy, why else would you be here? There is no way that you just happened to show up out of nowhere without knowing. You nod, and you’re happy your hands are occupied in your pockets to stop them from twitching or fidgeting, you haven’t had this many eyes on you in, well, a while. “Agatha spoke to me about it briefly,” you pause for a second, “but I’m not entirely familiar with what it seems to be talking about.”

You hope Wanda understands what you mean when you say that without having to say it explicitly. You’re familiar with who Chthon is, but what you don’t know is what exactly the Darkhold means by Wanda being ‘born from Chthon’ and simply because of the nature of the God, you’re not sure she would be willing to discuss it so openly and in front of everyone. You’d been thinking about it for a combined few hours now, trying to figure out what exactly is meant by the word ‘born’. You were actually largely confused by the fact that this prophecy was in the Darkhold at all. That, however, was something you could think about later.

Agatha cuts in before Wanda can speak and effectively seals both of your fates, “Wanda, dear, why don’t you take our Hunter to the library? You two can discuss the prophecy while the rest of us come up with a plan. Maybe some of Tony’s gadgets can help track down Lilith.” She smiles after she’s done and you both know you can’t say no because it wasn’t really a question. You should just leave, really, go back to that middle of nowhere town and forget all of this even happened, but you still can’t shake that nagging feeling in the back of your head. The one that tells you this is something you have to do whether you want to or not.

It’s quiet as the two of you walk to the library, the only sound being your footsteps on the floor and the occasional bird chirping outside when you walk past an open window. It’s not an entirely awkward silence, it’s just that neither of you are particularly willing to start a conversation. You’re focused too much on trying to remember exactly where the library is just in case it becomes useful in the future, and Wanda’s trying not to focus on the way her heart speeds up when you're near.

In order to ignore the way your own heart seems to be beating out of your chest, something that hasn’t happened in a long long time, you attempt to make small talk. “What,” you pause for just a second, trying to figure out which question you want to ask, “did Tony mean when he said ‘new’ loverboy? And what’s so funny about me not being a boy?” It comes out a little awkwardly, not used to talking with people lately. And, admittedly, you realize you sound a little childish asking this particular question and something tugs at the nerves in your forearms when you do. It gives you a feeling you’d rather not think about.

Wanda merely glances at you, “I don’t believe that has anything to do with the prophecy, does it?”

You inwardly wince. Wrong question to ask, then. Your people skills clearly need work, but Wanda is also clearly guarded and doesn’t seem to want you around. She’d sounded unhappy, but cordial at best when she greeted you merely ten minutes ago. You can’t blame her, though, you’re not that happy to be here either. However, you can be cordial, too. There’s no need to act familiar with her, because even if it feels like you are, you’re not. “Of course, my apologies. That was rude of me to ask.. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped.”

It really is none of your business what Wanda’s past relationships were or if she had any at all, you’re not sure why that was one of the first questions you asked, it wouldn’t usually be. What you do know is that the pulling in your nerves has shifted to a pulling at your veins that spreads through your body and you’re certain that it has nothing to do with Wanda now. You try not to let it show, but something outside of the compound is beckoning you towards it, calling for every essence of your being.

Your head snaps to the side and quicker than Wanda can even open her mouth to ask why you’ve stopped walking, your dagger is unsheathed and lodged into the chest of some… thing, pinning it against the wall and watching as the holes where its eyes would be glow green before they go dim and the creature turns to ash with a shrill screech. You’re not sure what it is and neither is Wanda, but the pulling in your veins has stopped and you feel the tension leave your body.

“What was that?” Wanda’s eyes have widened slightly as she looks between you and the pile of ash on the ground. “I…” you’re hesitant to say it, not wanting to face the facts, “believe it was sent by my mother.” You re-sheath the knife when you’re sure that was the only one. Wanda hadn’t even noticed you had it, otherwise she might have been more hesitant than she already was to go to the library alone with you. Even though she has no reason to suspect you’ll hurt her. In fact, part of her knows that you would never.

“What a—” Wanda thinks of what to say, not wanting to say anything to offend you, but knowing a thing or two about bad ‘parents,’ “nice welcome present.” She settles with, and you actually laugh a little. It’s quiet and it’s mixed with a bit of disbelief, but it’s a laugh and Wanda almost doesn’t hate the way it makes her feel warm inside. “Yeah, it almost makes up for the missed birthdays.”

The rest of the walk to the library is quiet and uneventful. Since there was only the one creature in the hallway and you couldn’t sense any more, the two of you decided you’d just tell Agatha after she was done whatever it was she was doing and perhaps she could tell you what it was. It wasn’t quite so tense with you and Wanda now, a little joke goes a long way, but neither of you attempted to make any small talk afterwards. You don’t feel the apprehension radiating off of Wanda anymore and she doesn’t feel the need to run away radiating off of you.

The library is nice if not a little dusty, as if the Avengers don’t make use of it nearly as much as they should. If you had a library like this you would be in it all the time. The bookshelves are a deep brown color and you run your fingertip across the length of one of the smaller shelves. Real wood. The room itself is huge and the walls are lined with bookshelves. There’s space in the center of the room with a large wooden table and a few chairs, but the rest of the space is filled with rows of bookshelves. You wonder just how many topics are covered in all of these books and if any of them have anything to do with what’s going on right now.

Your fingertips graze the spines of a couple of books as you make your way to the table, stopping to peer around the room. Wanda doesn’t speak, just observes as you take in the compound’s library. She had been enamored with it when she first moved into the compound and it seems to have the same effect on you. She’s noticed that the older books are the ones that catch your eye and for reasons she’s largely ignoring, files that detail away for later.

You reach into your back pocket and grab the envelope, taking it out and setting it on the table without really looking. It slides a little when it hits the wood before stopping. You don’t speak at first and neither does Wanda, waiting for you to figure out what you want to do, watching the wheels turn in your head as you look up at the ceiling. You take a breath before you look at the witch. There’s not exactly any point in keeping secrets, you decide.

“You know, I wasn’t going to come. When Agatha sent me that letter,” you gesture to the wrinkled envelope on the table, “I was fully prepared to ignore it. After all, it’s not exactly custom to agree to help someone you haven’t seen or spoken to in fifteen years, but there was something nagging me in the back of my mind, telling me I had to at least figure out what it was she wanted. But now that I’m here… I don’t think that’s what it was at all.”

Wanda’s breath catches because she knows what you’re going to say next and she doesn’t know if she wants you to or not. She feels it, too, the pull in her chest, and it’s like she can almost see the energy that connects you to her and her to you. She doesn’t entirely hate your presence anymore and it’s scary. It’s scary because it’s only been about 30 minutes and she can’t tell if these are her own feelings or if she just thinks she’s feeling this way because she’s supposed to. It’s scary because no one had ever made her feel anything more than indifference in less than a week. Up until she’d met you, hell, up until ten minutes ago, she had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t want anything to do with you, but now that you’re here she doesn’t know if she can ignore that pull. It’s almost infuriating. It was something she was going to ignore until you brought it up, but now that you have—

“I still don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing here, but,” your voice pulls Wanda back to the present and she knows she has to stop you before you continue. “Don’t… please,” it’s a plea because she knows once you say those words there’s no taking them back, once the universe knows, there’s no taking it back, “I know, but it hasn’t even been a day and I,” her next words make bile rise up in her throat, “I have Vision.”

#alice's series ! #alice's fics ! #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine

[sweetandgentlecreature]

Sweet Tooth

Author’s Note: Hope you’re hungry for a third helping of Somethin’ Sweet! This one’s my favorite so far, so let me know what you think. Don’t worry, the next one’s gonna bring the heat, so stay tuned. Enjoy! ❤️

Summary: Summertime in Texas isn’t for the faint of heart, but neither is Merrin. AKA: Sy needs a cold shower.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female OC 

Warnings: Adult language and suggestive situations. Two idiots in love.  I am an adult, and due to the nature of this content, all works created by me will be rated for those 18 years and older. Minors, DNI.

Merrin was melting. Sure, maybe some of it was more figurative than physical, but as a transplant from Coroado fighting to make it through her first Texan summer, she was almost positively dying. She learned quickly that, around here, air conditioning wasn’t a luxury; it was a necessity. The humidity rivaled even the most expensive conditioner in her arsenal, so leaving her hair down was out of the question. Her thighs stuck to every pickup truck bench seat, every plastic lawn chair, and every diner booth they came into contact with. She’d gotten pretty good at the ole peel-and-shimmy to wiggle her way out again, but there’s just no graceful way to do that on date night. Underboob sweat. Ass sweat. Eyebrow sweat? She didn’t even know that was a thing, until now. At work, she hid in the walk-in freezer as often as she could, and cussed every time the front door chimed with each new patron that walked in. 

Right on cue, when those stupid little bells rang again, Merrin sighed. She imagined ripping them down from their place above the door and pitching them clear out into the middle of the street, but only for a moment. “Gotta pay the bills,” she reminded herself, and closed the heavy door behind her again. Daydreaming in the ice vault would have to wait. 

Afternoons in the bakery were always slow. Stealing a quick glance at her reflection in the glass on the front of the oven, she dusted off the front of her apron and pushed through the swinging doors to get behind the counter. “Hello! How can I– Well, shit.”  

His laugh came from somewhere deep in his gut as he leaned against the bar beside the bakecase. 

“Well hello to you too, darlin’. Expectin’ somebody else? Must’a been waitin’ on yer other boyfriend, huh.” 

Sy crossed one ankle over the other and smiled. It was rare for him to get a day off, so today was a nice change of pace. The only problem was that he just couldn’t sit still. The yard needed mowing, the old fence at the edge of the property line needed mending, and the tree that had fallen on it needed split. By lunch time, he couldn’t bear to stay away any longer. After a quick shower and a shave (just a trim. Gotta keep his woman’s seat warm, ya know), he made his way to her. That cocky son of a bitch knew exactly what power he held over her, coming in here looking like that, and he played it to his advantage every single time. Damn him.

Merrin rolled her eyes at him and laughed. Clayton’s always been nothing but trouble, yet he seemed especially mischievous this afternoon. The poor bastard never did have a very good poker face. 

“You’re not my boyfriend, Sy. You haven’t even been a boy in a very long time.” 

If the saying goes “not to toot his own horn,” Clayton Syverson had a train whistle. Back in the day, his reputation with the ladies preceded him. Sy was just as perplexed as he was fascinated by Merrin. He’d never met a woman quite like her. She had a good head on her shoulders, and the kindest heart he’d ever seen. Nobody was a stranger for long, at least in her eyes. So fuckin’ smart, smarter than he’d ever be, with both book smarts and common sense to boot. Effortlessly funny in a way that almost made him jealous. Soft in all the right places, both physically and emotionally. Feminine, yet not too delicate. And that body. Jesus Christ. The things he’d do to her, if ever given the chance…

But that’s the thing about Merrin. She knew it just as well as he did. From the moment they met, she’d been keeping him at arm’s length. Sure, the attraction was there, as was the chemistry. Sy’s a fuckin’ dreamboat, and she’d have to be blind not to see that. Merrin’s not afraid of much, but the uncertainty of where he’ll be in just two month’s time…She wasn’t sure if she could cope with that. So instead of opening herself up to him, instead of giving in and just enjoying what time they did have together, Merrin had decided that they could just be friends. Just friends. That was reasonable enough to ask, wasn’t it?  Men and women could be just friends, and only friends…couldn’t they? According to Sy, it seemed that just wasn’t the case. Maybe it was unfounded optimism, or just plain stupidity. Maybe it was just that he wouldn’t hear it. Either way, Sy wasn’t ready to give up on her yet. What she hadn’t anticipated, though, was just how ridiculously stubborn Sy could be. Stubborn as a fuckin’ mule, and Merrin was the one stuck shoveling shit. 

“Boyfriend? Did I say boyfriend? I’m sorry, sugar. What I meant to say was boy-friend. Ya know…a friend that’s a boy.” Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he gave her a playful wink. “A man-friend, if ya’d like.”

“You’re full of it today, aren’t ya, Big Guy?”

She saw it as clear as day, the way her words got the wheels turning behind that darkening gaze of his. No, but you could be. How dare he, the sinful fuck. The thought of being full of something made Merrin’s face burn a bright shade of embarrassed pink, and she turned quickly to distract herself by pretending to fold takeout boxes instead. “What do you want, Sy?”

“Well, see’s as yer not too busy, I was hopin’ ta steal ya away fer a bit. Got somethin’ ta show ya.” Sy looked down at his nailbeds as he spoke and picked at his cuticles. When he met her eyes again, he grinned. “That’s the thing ‘bout bein’ yer own boss, right? Get ta’ make yer own hours.” 

It was a tempting thought, closing up shop and disappearing for a little while. She hadn’t seen a customer in the last two hours, so…what’s the hurt in closing a little early? He had her wrapped around his finger, and she knew it. Defeated, she sighed and shelved the rest of the boxes. 

“Alright. Let me go close up in the back, and I’ll meet you ‘round front.” 

Sy felt victorious, as he watched her loosen the tie from around her waist and hung the apron on a hook by the door. Excited fingers drummed on the countertop in a quick victory dance. He smiled and fished the keys from the pocket of his jeans. “You got it, doll. Take yer time.” 

__

They rode together in the pickup with the windows rolled down, letting the radio compete with the roar of the wind as paved highway turned into an old gravel road. Merrin hadn’t made it out quite this far before, so she had no clue as to where he was taking her. Could’ve been to some of his old stomping grounds. Could’ve been out to the woods to hide her body, never to be found again. There was no way to tell the difference. Gravel let way for a dirt path a little further down the road, and soon enough, Sy was pulling off down a hill and into a grass lot filled with cars. He parked in an empty spot between two other trucks and turned off the ignition. Live music echoed down through the open field, as did the sounds of laughter and jovial excitement.

“I didn’t know the fair was in town!” 

Merrin felt lighter than air. She hadn’t been to a carnival since she was a kid. The smells of deep-fried-everything wafted in through her window and made her stomach growl. If there was one thing that Texas was good at, it was food. Sy cracked a smile and grabbed his wallet from the dash, stuffing it away into the back pocket of his faded Wranglers for safe keeping. 

“Tonight’s on me, babydoll. Whatever ya want, alright?” 

He hopped out of the truck and came around to the other side to help her down again. Merrin landed on her feet with a soft little grunt. She wasn’t quite built to climb in and out of that beast with grace. Dusting away a spattering of flour from her tight jeans, she almost wished she’d had the chance to go home and change. She did her best with what she had, all hulled up in the bathroom in the back of the shop, huddled over a hand mirror with a hairbrush and some mascara from the bottom of her purse. The thought made her shake her head. Jesus, Mer. It’s not a date. Right?

__

Sy led her through the maze of vehicles and off to the ticket booth.  Merrin wasn’t much for roller coasters or anything too steep, so they settled for the bumper cars and some carnival games instead. When he got tired of her kicking his ass, which was really just him letting her win, it was time to eat. Everything looked so good, and there was plenty to choose from, so they each got a little bit of it all to share. Sitting across from one another at an empty picnic table, Merrin groaned as she took a bite from a barbecued rib. When she looked up from her plate, Sy had stopped altogether. His mouth hung open just a bit and his eyes were wide. It made her giggle and blush, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand as she chewed. “What? Is there something on my face?” 

Sy grinned as he sat back to watch her. He felt a little silly, bein’ so jealous of a piece of meat. He’d do anything to make her eyes roll to the back of her head like that. Down, boy, he scolded himself. Don’t wanna spook her. Merrin read him like a book, shook her head and scoffed in distaste. She punctuated it with a kick to the shin from beneath the table. “Perv.”

He gasped, feigning surprise, and sat up a little straighter. The napkin that was tucked so carefully into the collar of his t-shirt fell into his lap. “What was that for?!” Sy wiped his hands down the front of his pants and sucked his teeth at her. “Ain’t no way ta’ be treatin’ the man who bought you those ribs.” 

“Is that so?” Merrin arched a perfect brow and accepted his jest as a challenge. If he wanted to be a pain in the ass about it, then so be it. Two could play at that game. She let her eyes flutter closed and let another soft little moan of pleasure escape from deep within. Licking her parted lips, Merrin groaned as she took another bite. She laid it on thick, writhing around in her seat as she polished off the rest of the meat from the bone, then licked her fingers clean, one by one. By the time she was finished putting on a show, she looked up at him again and chuckled. His face was beet red, from the tops of his ears and clear down his neck. A vein stuck out at his temple. He was fighting for his life, and she grinned as she watched him squirm. “Thank you, baby. They were great.”

Sy groaned lowly. He let out a deep breath as he decompressed, ragged and strained. If that’s how she acted over some smoked meat, he couldn’t wait to watch her unravel over some homemade brisket, some cheap wine, and a good, hard dicking. Until then, he’s a dead man walking.

“Lord have mercy.”

__

The horizon was painted in shades of pink and orange as the last few rays of light shone against the clouds. A cool breeze blew through the lowlands of the fairgrounds and sent the heat of the day dissipating along with the sun. Merrin and Sy sat on the tailgate of the tuck and watched as the fireflies dipped and danced through the treeline. Merrin let her feet swing freely from where they hung off of the end of the bed, humming softly to the band as they played. Sy was stretched out behind her, belly full and eyes getting heavy as he reclined back to rest against his elbows. Though she couldn’t see him, Merrin could feel the way his gaze lingered on her. Nice and slow, as if to memorize every curve and curl, every thread in her work shirt and every seam in her jeans. Goosebumps spread down her arms and a chill ran down her spine. Every nerve in her body was ablaze for him, until she just couldn’t take it anymore. There was no turning back now. She was too far gone.

“Damnit, Clay.”

In an instant, she was on him, grabbing a fistful of that faded Metallica shirt and tugging him into her. Sy let out a grunt of surprise, but quickly fell into line. He tasted sweet, like the banana split they’d shared just moments before, like the sticky chocolate syrup and whipped cream, but with a hint of something deeper. Something strong and addictive. Something that had her coming back for more. She wanted to savor this moment, to bottle it up, save it for a rainy day, but she just couldn’t make herself stop. She kissed him, and he kissed her, and she kissed him again until the burn for breath broke their embrace. 

Her hands trembled when she finally let him go, chest heaving and achy as she fought for each breath of fresh air. That’s when she saw it. That beautiful little speckle of brown hidden amongst the ocean of blue in his eye. Merrin couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before. Visions of little curly headed babies running around in the yard raced through her mind. They’d have her nose, her lips and sweet little smile, but it was their eyes that had her attention. They were as deep and as vast as the eastern Texas sky, each with their own constellations of honey brown mixed in. They were perfect in every way. They were his. 

Merrin cleared her throat before she spoke again. “White flag. I surrender.” She could feel the rumble of laughter in his chest beneath her, as he reached up to sweep away a loose strand of hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear. 

“Oh, darlin,” Sy smirked. “You never stood a chance.”

__

Taglist: please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

@geralts-yenn @peyton-warren @kingliam2019 @uunotheangel @deandoesthingstome @drewharrisonwriter @foxyjwls007 @melissareadsstuff @totalwool @summersong69 @caramariehurst @niallhorwen @warriormirkwood @summersong69 @mairablue @omgkatinka @evansabove1981

#henry cavill #captain syverson #henry cavill fanfiction #captain syverson fanfiction #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill one shot #captain syverson fic #captain syverson fluff #henry cavill smut #captain syverson smut #syverson fluff #syverson fanfiction

[bookgendrya]

Rich Girl x Poor Boy

“The Hand’s daughter.” Harwin went to one knee before her. “Arya Stark, of Winterfell.”

“I’m a ‘prentice smith, and one day might be I’ll make a master armorer[…]”

Forced Proximity

“I’m taking men and boys from the city,” Yoren growled as sharp steal scraped her head.[…] Afterwards he told her from here to Winterfell she’d be Arry the orphan boy.

“I did my work, is all. Bellows and tongs and fetch and carry. I was ‘sposed to be an armorer, and one day Master Mott says I got to join the Night’s Watch,[…]”

Found Family

She make much better time on her own, Arya knew, but she could not leave them. They were her pack, her friends, the only living friends that remained to her, and if not for they would still be safe in Harrenhal, Gendry sweating at his forge and Hot Pie in the kitchens. If the Mummers catch us, I’ll tell them that I’m Ned Stark’s daughter and sister to the King in the North. I’ll command them to take me to my brother, and to do no harm to Hot Pie and Gendry. They might not believe her, though,and even if they did…Lord Bolton was her brother’s bannerman, but he frightened her all the same. I won’t let them take us, she vowed silently, […]

I Hate Everyone but You

“She’s no use,” Gendry repeated stubbornly. “Her and Hot Pie and Lommy, they’re slowing us down, and they’re going to get us killed. You’re the only one of the bunch who’s good for anything. Even if you are a girl.

“Arry, come on! Lommy’s gone, leave her if she won’t come!” Stubbornly, Arya dragged all the harder, pulling the crying girl along. Hot Pie scuttled back inside, abandoning them…but Gendry came back, […]

Miscommunication 

“She’s my sister.” Gendry put a heavy hand on the old man’s shoulder, and squeezed.” “Leave her be.”[…]“Why did you say that?” Arya hopped to her feet. “You’re not my brother.” “That’s right,” he said angrily. “I’m too bloody lowborn to be kin to m’lady high.” Arya was taken aback by the fury in his voice. “That’s not the way I meant it.” “Yes it is.” He sat down on the bench, cradling a cup of wine between his hands. “Go away, I want to drink this wine in peace. Then maybe I’ll go find the black-haired girl and ring her bell for her.” “But..” “I said, go away. M’lady.” Arya whirled and left him there. A stupid bullheaded bastard boy, that’s all he is.

Love Triangle

He doesn’t like Ned. The squire seemed nice enough to Arya; maybe a little shy, but good-natured.

Forbidden Love

“You must be a lackwit, boy,” said Lem. “We’re outlaws. Lowborn scum, most of us, excepting his lordship. Don’t think it’ll be like Tom’s fool songs neither. You won’t be stealing no kisses from a princess, nor riding in no tourneys in stolen armor. You join us, you’ll end with your neck in a noose, or your head mounted up above some castle gate.”

Right Person, Wrong Time

As Arya was cinching her saddle girth, Gendry came up to say that he was sorry. She put a foot in the stirrup and swung up into her saddle, so she could look down on him instead of up. You could have made swords at Riverrun, for my brother, she thought, […]

There was life at the crossroads inn, though. Even before they reached the gate, Brienne heard the sound: a hammering, faint but steady. It had a steely ring.

“…till you stand before m’lady.” Renly stood behind the girl, pushing his black hair out of his eyes. Not Renly, Gendry. “M’lady means for you to answer for your crimes.”

#Day 8: Romantic Tropes #bookgendryamonth2023 #arya stark #book arya stark #gendry #gendry waters #book gendrya #gendrya #arya x gendry #gendry x arya #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones

[barnesafterglow]

the things you do

summary: steve just can't seem to keep you quiet - no matter who might be listening

pairing: fwb!steve rogers x fem!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: modern au, lots of dirty talk, slight d/s aspects, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, light spanking, gagging with fingers (but like, in a hot way), bad decisions probably, surprise ending ;)

a/n: i meant to finish to post this on the first of october but my brain said no so sorry! even tho this took me a lot longer than i anticipated, i really like it. also it might connect to another prompt for kinktober eventually (wink wink)

join my kinktober taglist or follow my library blog @theafterglowlibrary to stay updated 🤍

kinktober masterlist ─ main masterlist

read part two

“Shit,” you moaned, the feeling of the doorknob digging into your back only serving as more of a turn on for you. Steve couldn’t even wait to get through the front door before his hands were all over you. You hoped Mrs. Phillips wasn’t being nosy and looking out her peephole, otherwise she’d get a nice view of Steve pulling the front of your shirt down to leave bites along the swell of your breasts.

“Steve, we shouldn’t.”

“I don’t care.” His hand was on your throat, giving the slightest bit of pressure.

“Bucky’s home and -”

“I. Don’t. Care.” The pause between each word was punctuated with a squeeze to your throat. Not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know who was in charge. Finally, you relented with a small shake of your head, and he released his hand. “Good girl.”

Steve may like to take risks, but he wasn’t stupid. You both slipped your shoes off before opening the front door, and he swept you up, throwing you over his shoulder and he made his way towards his room. 

You were scared and thrilled at the same time. You and Bucky had been broken up for over a year, but he still didn’t know you had been hooking up with his best friend for the last few weeks. It wasn’t planned, and you had never even seen Steve that way before. But he happened to be at the same bar as you and Natasha, and after one shot too many, you were making out in a dark corner. He came back to your apartment and the two of you passed out in your bed. The next morning, he fucked you in the shower, and then there was no turning back.

Once Steve had you face down on his bed - the door shut and locked - he lifted your hips up enough to push your skirt up and your underwear down. His large hands came down on your ass, spreading you open enough to let out a low moan, before one came down to land a smack.

“Steve,” you hissed, scared of how loud it echoed in the silent apartment. Steve promised you he would be quiet, because neither of you wanted Bucky to hear. You knew it would be a hard feat, considering their beds shared a wall, but you were too desperate for him to protest too much at the time.

Now, you turned over so you were facing him.

“You’re gonna have to try harder to keep quiet, Steve.” His face spread into an easy grin, happy to take the challenge. In one quick motion, he had your skirt off your legs and was sitting you up to pull your shirt off. Taking you in, he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“No bra tonight? It’s almost like you were planning to get fucked.” His voice sent shivers down your spine, and he grazed the goosebumps that had spread across your arms.

“I’m always planning on getting fuck when I see you,” you said, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss. When you pulled back, your eyes fluttering as he bit your bottom lip, you realized you were completely bare to him while he was still wearing all of his clothes. You made a move to pull his shirt off, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head as he pushed you back into the mattress.

“Nuh uh,” he tsked. “If you wanna act like a slut, I’ll treat you like one.”

You knew it was mostly talk; Steve liked to tease you and say absolutely filthy things, but he always took care of you. He couldn’t fully turn off that good boy charm even when he was fucking your brains out.

Deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine, you wiggled until he let your arms go, and climbed back until your head rested against his pillows. His eyes followed your every move as you spread your legs, slowly sliding your hands down your body until they came to rest on your inner thighs, slowly inching closer to your core.

He stood still, taking you in until he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Deciding the teasing wasn’t worth it, he stripped - slowly, because he knew your eyes were on him, even if he wasn’t looking - until he was standing as bare as you were. Your eyes were drawn downward, biting your own lip as he wrapped a hand around his hard cock, lightly stroking as he settled his knees on the bed, just in front of you.

You knew it was revenge for your own little show, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care all that much when he looked so goddamn good.

His hands reached down to move your own, where one had been slowly circling your clit, and pushed them up your body.

“Why don’t you play with those pretty tits and let me make you feel good, huh?” It wasn’t a question. It never was with Steve - he knew your limits and would push them to the very brim before he asked for more.

Not trusting your own voice, you nod, tweaking your nipples as he lowered himself onto his stomach, hooking his arms under your thighs before pulling you closer to him. He shifted, spreading your legs as far as they would go, and spit directly on your core.

You couldn’t contain the moan that left you, and had to slap your hand over your mouth. Simultaneously, Steve slapped your clit, causing your hips to jerk up.

“Thought you were gonna be quiet. Can’t be letting Buck hear how pretty his girl moans for.”

It shouldn’t turn you on so much, the way he casually brings up you ex and his best friend, but damn if it didn’t send a hot rush through your entire body.

“That’s what I thought,” were his last words before his face was buried between your legs.

Immediately, your hands flew to his hair, trying to pull him into you, but he slapped your thigh, looking up at you expectantly.

You whimpered, hating to disappoint him, and brought your hands back to your nipples. You could see the pleased shimmer in his eyes, and he rewarded you by sinking two fingers into you. The stretch caught you by surprise, and another moan fell from your lips. In one fluid motion - almost like he was expecting it - he reached up with his other hand and shoved two fingers in your mouth.

Keeping eye contact, you closed your lips around his thick fingers, sucking and swirling your tongue around them. When the fingers inside you crooked - hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars - you moaned despite yourself, and Steve’s other fingers pushed further in your mouth, gagging you. Keeping you quiet.

The coupled sensation was enough to push you over the edge, and the only reason you didn’t shout Steve’s name were the fingers still heavy on your tongue.

Steve took it upon himself then to pull back he rested his face on your inner thigh and watched the bliss on your face, feeling you squeeze around his finger still buried in you.

It wasn’t until you were drifting back to your body that Steve removed his fingers and crawled back up your body, placing sloppy kisses and teasing bites along the way. When his weight finally settled on top of yours, he brought one back to your mouth, tapping your lips until you opened up; you groaned as quietly as you could at the taste of yourself.

Finally, he kissed you again, filthy and sweet - the way only Steve could seem to make it - with one hand cupping your jaw and the other teasing his tip at your entrance.

“You want it, baby?” You nodded, still not trusting your voice. But that wasn’t enough. “Yeah? Then use your words.”

“Want you to fuck me,” you whispered, voicing cracking.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Fucking tease.

“Want you, Steve - fuck.” He took no time to bottom out in you, no warning and no time to adjust. He always said it made you squeeze him that much tighter.

“Fuck, Steve,” you yelped, loud. Too loud. He slapped his hand over your mouth and the both of you stilled, waiting for any sign of movement on the other side of the wall. When you both assumed the coast was clear, he started rolling his hips, just enough to grind deeper into you.

“If you can’t keep quiet, I’ll have to shove those pretty panties in your mouth.” He said it like a threat, like both of you wouldn’t get off on it, which he damn well knew was wrong.

You wanted to last - wanted him to last - but you couldn’t help it when he was rutting so far into you. You thought maybe one day you would get used to it, but he was so big you’d guess that nothing could ever prepare you for how well he fucked you.

He could always tell when you were close, said he’d never felt anything as tight as when your cunt squeezed around him while you were letting go, said he’d never seen eyes brighter than when you exploded for him. He sent you a look of warning, taking his hand away from your mouth just long enough to flip you over on your hands and knees.

His hand pushed your face into the mattress, ensuring your moans would be, at the very most, muffled. He quickened the speed of his thrusts, and you shattered apart around him.

“Fuck, baby. Such a good girl, coming on my cock like that.” You were clenching so tight you were worried he might not be able to move, but Steve Rogers lived to defy expectations. That included the filth he spewed, too. “Did Bucky fuck you this good, huh? I bet he didn’t.”

Something about the taboo of it all - Steve fucking you so hard you could swear you brain was broken, him being all but certain he was the best fuck of your life, all while Bucky was just a few feet away - caused you to come again.

Your second orgasm was too much for him to hold back, and he spilled into you with a shout, fucking you through it until the only sounds were your heavy breathing and your mixed releases.

He finally pulled out and, despite his best efforts to keep you stuffed full, you could feel the mess of him leak down your thigh.

You collapsed onto your stomach, hoping to at least catch your breath for a moment, but your lover had other plans.

“I hope you didn’t think we were done, sweetheart,” Steve teased before manhandling you on your back and burying his face between your thighs once more.

-

On the other side of the wall, Bucky squeezed hard around the base of his cock, trying to stave off his orgasm, because he knew you all would be going all night.

And just like every other time - even the ones when you all thought he was gone - he stroked himself to the sound of your moans, to the sounds of the rough, messy, fantastic sex going on in the other bedroom.

The kind of sex he missed, the kind of sex he wished he could join.

Maybe one day.

read part two here

kinktober taglist *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

@treatbuckywkisses @sgt-barnesveins @bucky-barmes @opheliastark @sweetascanbee @writing-for-marvel @sophiejayneevans @christywantspizza

#kinktober #kinktober 22 #tiff's kinktober #tiff writes #the things you do #steve rogers #steve fic #steve smut #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fic #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel #mcu #dirty talk prompt

[fleshbarbie]

failed valentines attempt - robin buckley x reader

contains: robin & reader in an established relationship, angst with happy ending!

summary: excited to spend your first valentine’s day with your girlfriend robin, you can’t help but feel hurt when you find out she’s ditching you for a certain someone.

word count: 3.7k 

-

waking up on the morning of february 14th 1986, you couldn’t fight off the overwhelming feelings of both excitement and nervousness when you remembered what day it was, and the plans you had made for them. you were finally in a relationship on the one day that being in one was celebrated, you no longer had to wander down aisles at the store that were overly decorated in the colour pink, with heart shaped boxes of candy and teddy bears stocked in full on the shelves, wishing you not only had someone to buy you them, but to be able to actually buy them for someone else. that day had finally come.

you had been dating robin for almost four months now, after silently pining after her for longer than you could remember. you were certain you had fallen head over heels the second you met her, the way her gorgeous blue eyes connected with yours and her perfect, plump lips curved up into a welcoming smile as your boss introduced you to her as the newest employee at scoops ahoy. that day had felt like years ago now, though realistically it had been barely two. you bonded straight away, getting to know each other as you endured your first shift at the ice cream parlour with her alone. you had expected it to be quiet, maybe even awkward as the clock ticked by slowly but to your surprise, and delight, robin spoke with you as if she’d known you her whole life. the two of you spoke about anything and everything: her favourite movies, the weather, the ‘dingus’ known as steve that would be working tomorrow who, according to robin, would definitely attempt to flirt with you, what she dreamt about last night, the list went on. before you knew it, six hours had flown by and you were leaving with only one thought in mind ... robin buckley.

and now here the two of you were, in an official relationship and yet again working together in a whole new store with the boy who had become a great friend to both of you, spending summer trapped in a secret russian lair under the mall had a way of bonding people. steve was actually the one who brought the two of you together, sick of spending every shift listening to both of you talk about how much you liked the other, he actually couldn’t believe that neither of you had picked up on the fact that the feelings you held for each other were mutual. he had never seen two people more in love. so one day, he took it upon himself to trick robin into talking about you which wasn’t hard, as soon as you were out of earshot she was soon rambling on about how cute you looked in the uniform, ‘how come she can pull off everything? like, how is that actually possible?’ she had scoffed, and whilst she was distracted with the thought of you, with a mischievous smirk steve had caught your attention and gestured for you to come over, acting as if he needed help with something but as you approached, your heart wildly pounded in your chest as you caught the midst of robin’s ramblings.

“i mean, even at scoops steve! she even managed to pull off that stupid sailor uniform we had to wear, and not even you, steve ‘the hair’ harrington made that outfit look good! you know? (y/n), she’s just so naturally beautiful and she doesn’t even try. it’s unfair how she makes me feel so nervous and giggly like a little kid, without even realising it- wait, are you even listening? what are you staring at?”

she followed his line of sight, her mouth falling agape and her eyes widening at the sight of you stood only a few feet away from her, clearly having heard every stupid word that had just come out of her stupid mouth. shit.

“i’ll leave you two to talk.” steve broke the tense silence, now smug with pride at how his plan had worked and you had walked straight into his robin shaped trap. if she wasn’t so terrified about what was going to happen next, she would’ve given him a quick punch to the shoulder, she was making a mental note to not forget to do it later.

you took slow steps towards robin who was still frozen, not completely processing what had just happened, that the crush that had kept her up at night had now just been exposed to the person responsible for her sleepless nights. the fact that you’d hadn’t run, or looked angry was a good sign she guessed, or she hoped.

“hey.” you whispered, not sure what else you should say.

she stood straight, scratching the back of her neck with an awkward laugh. “uh, hey .. i thought you were in the romance section?”

you nodded, “i was, but steve wanted me to come over. thought he needed something, clearly not.”

yep. she was definitely punching him later.

“maybe if he put this much effort into his own love life, he wouldn’t be pining after half of hawkins.” robin muttered, more to herself than you but it caused you to giggle at the playful dig at your friend which in return caused her to laugh too, the tension surrounding the two of you quickly dissolving.

“um, if it means anything .. i think you pulled off that horrendous, striped sailor uniform better than i did.”

the freckled teen couldn’t fight off the warm blush that quickly showed on her face, her brain short circuited and she stuttered out a response to the flirtatious comment. “w-wow, uh, i mean, thank you, uh- i mean as long as i didn’t look as ridiculous as i felt, i have to count that as a win don’t i?”

you smiled remembering the exchange, how nervous she was during it, especially when she asked you out on a date at the end of it. and that was the begging of your amazing relationship, one that you thanked your lucky stars for each and everyday, you still couldn’t completely comprehend that she was your girlfriend who loved you. and now here you were, waking up with a whole day of fun stuff planned that included a romantic picnic date and a stack of incredibly cheesy gifts to give to her at the end of it.

you pulled up outside of robin’s house, taking a peek over your shoulder to double check that the gifts you had bought were neatly hidden underneath the blue blanket that you’d be using later to sit on. when you were satisfied that you couldn’t see them peaking out anywhere, you unbuckled your seatbelt and jumped out of your car, practically skipping your way to the front door attached to your girlfriends house. with a few knocks, you waited patiently and smoothed your hands over the dress that you had chosen for the day. despite it being february, the sun was actually shining bright so there was no need for a thick layered outfit, perfect weather for a picnic.

the door in front of you opened with a quick whoosh of air that sent your hair flying behind your shoulder, a few strands tickling your now exposed neck but you were barely phased by it when your eyes landed on your girlfriend who had clearly put in some effort for today which was made obvious by the makeup that enhanced her features and the ironed clothes, something you had only ever seen her care about once or twice. not to say that robin wasn’t someone who cared about her appearance, she always made sure to look presentable she just didn’t feel the need to put in as much time as some people in hawkin’s did but honestly, she somehow always seemed to look better than they did anyways. or maybe you were just biased.

her hair had been straightened, the blonde strands framing her face perfectly and you wondered how long it would be before she messed it all up with the amount of times she was bound to run her fingers through it. her makeup consisted of mascara, eyeliner, what looked like a very lightly applied blush and some chapstick, minimal just as robin liked it. and lastly, her outfit consisted of a black shirt that had s little bit of white detailing, paired with blue jeans and her usual scruffy converse.

“hey gorgeous, see something you like?” the teasing comment put a stop to you checking out robin, who had a playful smirk, amused she had caught you.

“nothing i haven’t seen before, sailor.” you winked, which earned you a scoff and a gentle shove at the mention of the nickname you had gifted her with a week after you’d began working at scoops.

“stop being such a dork.” she grumbled, though the amusement was still bright in her eyes. “if i had known this is what valentine’s day did to you i would’ve taken a week or two to prepare myself.”

you laughed at that, leaning forward on your toes slightly so you could grasp her hand in yours, intertwining your fingers as you nodded in the direction of your car. “come on! i have so much planned, you’re gonna love it.” you practically whined, eager to get started.

“just give me a sec, need to get my bag.” she smiled, giving your hand a squeeze before she pulled you into her house, so you were now stood by the welcome mat as she jogged further into the house to get her bag.

you waited patiently, expecting the whole ordeal to only take up a few seconds but then, the familiar sound of her house phone echoed throughout her home and you knew you’d have to wait a little longer. no biggie, whoever it was probably wanted her mom and it’d only take a few more seconds for robin to let the other person know she wasn’t home, promising to let her know that they had called when she next saw her.

oh, how wrong you were.

it was a minute or two later when robin came rushing back to where had left you, with a troubled look now taken over her before playful smile. the change in demeanour instantly had your brows furrowing in concern, what had happened?

“hey, is everything okay?”

she shook her head, “no! it’s vickie, her stupid boyfriend just broke up with her, today of all days! she wants me to come over and give her a shoulder to cry on, you don’t mind do you? i promise it won’t take too long.”

you stood silent for a moment, a little stunned at the newfound information. now you didn’t want to sound completely heartless, but seriously? robin had to go over right now? did vickie not have any other friends, preferably single ones? you felt for her, you really did, being dumped was hard enough to deal with without it happening on a day like today, but that didn’t mean she had to take robin from you. especially given the history of robin having a crush on the girl before the two of you got together.

but with robin looking at you with those blue eyes of hers, desperation shining clear as day, you didn’t have the heart to tell her no or start any argument with her about it.

so with a slow nod, you gave her the permission she was waiting for. “okay, but please don’t take too long. i really wanna enjoy today with you.”

she grinned and brought you into a tight hug, her arms wrapping securely around your shoulders as your head rested on her chest. “i swear i’ll be back in an hour, maybe even before that. i just need to cheer up, give her a few words of encouragement. ‘you’re better off without him, he’s not worth your tears’, the usual.”

you huffed a laugh, slowly pulling back from her embrace so you could give her a short and sweet kiss on the lips, “you’re a good friend rob.”

she smiled at that, her hands moving to caress your face on either side. she leaned in and brushed her nose against yours, her lips just hovering over your own. “i love you.” with that said, she leaned in and pressed another kiss to your waiting lips, this one a little deeper than the last one, her lips moulded against yours perfectly and you wanted nothing more than to stand there and enjoy it for hours, but you wanted her to get back so you could get on with your day.

so reluctantly you pulled away, smiling at the pout on her face. “i love you too, now go. you’ve got fifty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds left.”

she rolled her eyes affectionately, quick to give you one last peck to your cheek before she hurried off with a wave and a promise not to be long. you watched her from your spot at her front door, as she clumsily jumped onto her bike and began peddling down the street, only retreating into the house once she was out of sight.

you entered her living room, deciding to sit on her couch and watch whatever was on the television until she returned.

-

it had taken you three hours to admit defeat and drive home, with your heart weighing heavy in your chest and your eyes stinging with tears everytime you caught sight of the unopened gifts in the backseat of your car. you had high hopes that your girlfriend wasn’t going to let you down, and that within the hour she would’ve been back with you, rambling on about what she had said to vickie and how much of a dick her now ex-boyfriend is, but you hadn’t even received as little as a phone call from her to let you know she’d be a little longer than expected.

you had made it home and ignored the wondering glances from your family, as they watched you run up the stairs to avoid them seeing the tears that were now starting to fall down your cheeks. the safety of your bedroom broke down the barrier you had held up all the way home, allowing you to cry into your pillow at your failed attempt at making the day memorable.

maybe you were being dramatic, over emotional even, which was a term you hated using. but you had been looking forward to today since you’d entered february with robin still by your side with no hints of disappearing anytime soon. you had been planning it for a long time, wanting your first (and robin’s first) valentine’s day to be memorable, something you could look back on for years to come and smile about together, as you admired the gifts you had bought for one another. but now you were left with only sour memories, a day you had spent alone, waiting for your girlfriend to remember you existed and were waiting for her, only she never did and you couldn’t help but wonder if she cared more for vickie than she did for you.

why else would she still be with her?

you couldn’t be that mad at her, this was the first time she had done something like this and knowing robin she probably just lost track of time and hadn’t realised she’d been there hours now. but it still hurt, a lot. especially when the sky outside darkened, and the clock displayed the time in big red letters: 6:52pm ... and still no sign of robin. she’d officially been at vickie’s house nearing eight hours now, and still hadn’t bothered to even call. she obviously hadn’t returned home yet, if she had she would’ve noticed you weren’t there and came over to check on you.

you almost wondered if something bad had happened to her, why else would she still be gone without letting you know anything? but then, just before your mind began to spiral and imagine every worse case scenario it could make up, your mother interrupted your train of thought.

“(y/n)! there’s someone at the door for you!”

you jumped out of bed, your fluffy sock clad feet softening your footsteps as you approached the steps and began walking down them. you had changed into your pyjamas and cleaned your face free of any makeup when you finally stopped crying over the mess that today was, finally accepting that robin was not coming to see you anytime soon. but now she was here, at your door with a face that reeked of guilt and sympathy when she caught sight of your attire.

you took a step outside, ignoring the chills running through your body at the drop in temperature, deciding to focus on the no doubt awkward conversation you were about to have instead, hopefully your family were not eavesdropping.

“oh my god (y/n) baby, i don’t even know where to start! i’m so sorry, i’m such an idiot i swear i kept trying to leave- well i was going to tell her i had somewhere to go but everytime i was about to bring it up she kept getting really upset all over again! she just wouldn’t stop crying and i didn’t want to leave her like that, you know? it felt mean, and selfish and i just- sorry i’m rambling again aren’t i? i’m just really sorry, i just don’t want you to be mad at me.”

you watched her as she spoke, and you knew the words were genuine, you didn’t doubt that for a second. the moon did a good job at reflecting off her glossy eyes, a clear sign she was about to let a few tears fall. and when she spoke, her voice was a little raspier than usual, and it trembled at certain points, another sign the poor girl was seconds away from crying. all she waiting for was your response.

you sighed, crossing your arms over your chest and lowering your gaze to the pavement beneath your feet. “i’m not mad, robin. i just wish you had at least called me or something, why didn’t you?”

“i didn’t want her to feel awkward, if i called you to mention being longer than i intended to be she probably would’ve felt even worse about having me there. i didn’t want to upset her anymore than she already was.”

you frowned at that, yes she did have a point but that was her practically admitting she was more concerned about vickie’s feelings than yours, wasn’t it?

“so you thought it’d be better to just leave me at your house without a word? not even a five second ‘hey (y/n), i think i might be longer than expected?’ could’ve saved me a lot of waiting around.”

“i know! i know, that would’ve been the best thing to do but i wasn’t thinking that at the time. i didn’t even realise how late it was until her dad came back from work and asked if i was staying for dinner, shit (y/n) if you could’ve only felt the way my heart dropped when i realised the time.” she shook her head, as if she didn’t even want to continue the sentence.

you remained silent for a little bit, still unsure with how to feel about the whole situation. on one hand you couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her, you knew she didn’t leave you behind with any malicious intent, it was a genuine mistake, robin just being robin and not knowing how to handle the situation when two people needed her at the same time. but on the other hand, you were still rather hurt that the day had been wasted, the day you had spent almost two weeks planning.

eventually you sighed, “it’s okay robin, we’ll just talk about it tomorrow.”

she shook her head at that, and you furrowed your brows in response.

“no, i don’t want to leave it until tomorrow. i don’t want to go home and get in bed on bad terms, i won’t be able to sleep until i know for certain that we’re okay and you’re not mad at me.” she seemed desperate, and your heart ached at the sight. you always struggled to see robin hurting, whatever the reason behind it was.

“i’m not mad robin-“

“no, you are!” she cut you off, taking a step closer. “you keep calling me robin and i’m only robin when you’re mad at me or in a bad mood, or-“

you cut her off this time, by closing the gap between you both and grabbing ahold of both of her hands in an attempt to soothe her. “babe, i’m not mad at you.”

you said it slowly, and watched her whole body relax as the world sunk in.

“i’m just, a little upset. i was really looking forward to today, you know spending time with you and spoiling you? i could barely sleep last night because i was so excited, and it’s just ... upsetting because we didn’t get to do anything.” you showed her a sad smile, and she wondered if you could heart her heart break in her chest at your words. “but it’s okay, we’ll just have to do it another day.”

“tomorrow.” she instantly spoke, barely a second after you had stopped.

“we can’t rob, you have a shift tomorrow.” you reminded her, but she only gripped your hands tighter in response.

“i’ll call in sick o-or get steve to cover for me! he will, he owes me.”

your lips quirked up slightly at that, the first hint of a smile since you had been with robin this morning. noticing your almost-smile made robin smile, relaxing even further at the realisation that you really weren’t mad at her.

“are you sure?”

“positive.” she nodded.

“okay, tomorrow.” you confirmed, “just please, don’t leave me again. i don’t care if the mindflayer itself decides to make a comeback, it’ll have to wait for us to finish those chocolate smothered strawberries i got us before we interact with it.”

she laughed, and your heart warmed at the sound. it was something you’d never get sick of.

“oh i don’t know, i think taking down a giant, spider looking monster again would be a very badass valentines story to tell the grandkids in fifty years time.”

you both grinned at each other, the usual back and forth between you both was definitely one of the reasons you were quick to fall for her. and you both knew everything was going to be okay.

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley fic #robin buckley fluff #robin buckley angst #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #maya hawke x reader #robin buckley

[theminecraftbee]

The room is a dim basement room. It has no windows. There’s a liquor cabinet, though, and a bookshelf full of notebooks, and a table and chairs, and a candle lighting the place. The candle doesn’t let off much smoke, but it’s steadily alight, indicating that the room’s oxygen content is still acceptable. A small, blinking device next to it confirms that any other electronic device in the area is well and truly dead. There’s tape sealing the door, so that no one can see the flicker of the candle inside.

There’s a bottle of brandy on the table. The glasses suggest neither party is bothering to savor it. It’s not a brand worth savoring, anyway; for all Scott could easily afford the expensive stuff, that’s not what he feels like he should drink while he’s down here.

He’s slumped forward on the table, hair askew. The hoodie he’s wearing doesn’t fit, because it isn’t his; neither are the sweatpants. He knows for a fact his contact is laughing at him for that. Whatever. She’s one of the only people who gets to know he has enough of a personal life to steal sweats from someone else anyway. May as well take advantage of that while he can. It’s not all impeccably-designed bulletproof suits out here.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Pearl says from across the table.

“Fuck off,” Scott says.

“...are you already drunk?”

Scott huffs. “So what if I am, huh? It’s not like I need to be alert while you’re out here in full costume.”

Pearl peels herself off the wall. She’s a relatively muscular woman wearing red and black. Her face is masked with a simple red circle. A lunar eclipse. Scott still has no idea how she sees through that thing. He’d made fun of her, back when she chose the getup for her criminal activities. Told her she looked like an evil dinnerplate or something. She’d told him in turn that he looked like a pretentious dork in his chosen costume. Judging by the whispers through the Hero Association about the two of them, though—

God. Through his Hero Association, or just about his. 

“Promoted to Vice Commander, huh?”

“I’ve sold my soul,” Scott says, and he takes another deep swig of his brandy. 

“You already did,” Pearl says.

“God, I hate you,” Scott says.

“It’s a good thing the feeling’s mutual,” Pearl says.

“I wish we’d never fucking met,” Scott says.

“I killed someone yesterday,” Pearl says.

Scott’s quiet.

“You can’t go telling me that,” Scott says. “That’s another thing to hide. You can’t just—Pearl.”

“I know,” Pearl says. “I know. But for all everyone’s scared of me, I normally manage to avoid—”

“Hah. We were both there when—”

“I know,” Pearl says. 

Scott sighs. He pours Pearl a glass and pushes it across the table. Pearl takes off her mask. Her eyes are rimmed red, and her face is covered in splotches. She’s always been terrible at hiding she’s been crying. She’s been terrible at it since they were ten, and had both quite suddenly realized that if it had been hard to have their powers alone, it was even harder once there was evidence they weren’t both just going crazy.

He’s hated her since he was eleven, really. Took the year to realize he probably would have always seen what his powers gave him as useless nightmares, otherwise, but after that, well. The feeling’s mutual, at least. He wouldn’t have been able to stand it, if the feeling hadn’t been mutual.

(A girl who can see deaths, and a boy who can see alternate universes. They make quite the pair.)

“I probably kill more people,” mutters Scott, halfway between a consolation and a competition.

“Not with your own hands.”

“Yeah, does that make it better? I’ve sold my—you know this. You know this.”

“Yeah,” Pearl says. “Yeah, I know. Thought I should congratulate you on succeeding.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome!”

They’re both quiet for a while. Pearl takes a drink from her own glass and grimaces. “You can afford better brandy than this,” she says.

“Fuck off,” Scott says. “I can buy the cheap stuff for this.”

“Your taste is stupid,” Pearl says primly. “Next time we come down here to plan, I bring the drinks.”

“Right. Planning. Because we’re doing so much of that today.”

Pearl sighs. “Does Jimmy know you’re here?”

“Jimmy doesn’t exist, as far as you’re concerned,” Scott snaps. “I buried the man’s documents myself.”

“Eclipse will make anyone exist for the right price,” Pearl tells Scott.

“Jimmy doesn’t, or you don’t,” Scott snaps, voice low.

“Oh, now you’re sounding like a Vice Commander.” Scott gives her a two-fingered salute. Pearl shrugs. “Just saying.”

Scott considers arguing harder. Instead, something in his stomach shifts, and he pours a full glass of brandy. It’s not how you’re supposed to drink the stuff. He might have a good tolerance by now, but he fully expects to wake up with the worst hangover he’s had in years tomorrow. He deserves it.

“You uh… got enough alcohol there?” Pearl says.

“Got unclassified access to the Black Ops files when I was sworn in,” Scott says.

“Jesus,” Pearl says.

“I sold my soul,” Scott says. “I’m in charge of that now.”

“Jesus,” Pearl says again.

“And I kept thinking about the plans we had to—I can’t just dismantle that, Pearl. I can’t just—what are we doing?” Scott realizes his shoulders are shaking. “What are we doing, Pearl? The best of all possible endings? Don’t make me laugh—I can’t see this universe once we’re in it. Who are we to decide, huh? Who are we to, to try to…”

Pearl watches him for a while.

“I could have told you it would be bad,” she said.

“Do you think I didn’t know that?” Scott snaps.

“I killed someone yesterday. It’s not uncommon,” Pearl says.

“Great, so we both deserve to be executed!” Scott says, throwing his hands up. “Some of them started in the scholarship program, Pearl, they were scouted at sixteen!”

“And we were eleven,” snaps Pearl, and Scott shuts his mouth and looks away.

“Yeah, well. That’s not the Association’s fault, is it.”

The air hangs heavy. It smells like booze and candlelight and misery. Distantly, Scott wonders if Pearl was maybe right, asking if Jimmy knew where he was. The only other person on the list of people allowed to know Scott has a personal life, and he’s going to be disappointed in Scott again. Great. Scott’s lucky that, legally, the man doesn’t exist; if someone who legally existed was mad at Scott, he might just finally have to do something about it.

“You’re right,” says Pearl, finally. ”What are we doing?”

She slumps forward in her chair. She knocks back her own drink, but doesn’t pour herself another. Scott isn’t surprised. It’s not safe for both of them to be drunk. If the newly-promoted Vice Commander of the Hero Association is caught drinking with an infamous information broker, it’ll be the end of their house of cards. Scott’s powers helpfully decide to show him what happens at this juncture in that universe. Scandal, collapse, corruption—the worst part is, he thinks, is that it can’t even be all that different from this universe, only that the guy on the inside trying to change anything won’t be in power to do so. Maybe it would even be better.

Pearl ‘slits her throat’ in the night, his powers inform him. It’s not a suicide.

Scott can be selfish about that much. So can Pearl. They can’t be caught.

“I already knew most of it,” Scott says, finally. “But I’m in charge now. I sign the orders, right next to the Commander. I sign the ones his name can’t be caught on, too. I’m in.”

“Who better to lead than a man who can see the future?” Pearl says.

“You know that’s not how it works,” Scott says.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taunted you,” Pearl says.

“Jesus. Don’t apologize. You’ll make me think you’re an imposter,” Scott says.

“Yeah, well, the plan goes forward,” Pearl responds.

“Sure. Yeah. The plan goes forward,” Scott agrees. “The plan goes forward.”

Pearl reaches her hands across the table. Scott looks at them and, after a moment, reaches his own across to grab them. They sit there, holding each other’s hands, for a while, and it’s almost like they’re ten, and every horrible future the two of them can see flash by as possibilities is the end of the world, instead of another messy quagmire of maybe-just-as-bad-as-this-one. It had seemed much clearer then, really. It had seemed much easier. Scott doesn’t know. Maybe they were just stupider as kids.

Then again, he’d hated Pearl by eleven. He couldn’t have been that stupid.

He squeezes her hand tighter.

“Do good by them?” Pearl says, and it’s quiet and pained.

“Yeah,” Scott says.

“Okay,” Pearl says. “Okay.”

Slowly, Scott lets go of Pearl’s hands. He grabs the brandy again. He pours another glass. “I’m gonna get blackout drunk now,” Scott says.

“Sure. Just for tonight. I reserve the right to be sad and drunk next time,” Pearl says.

“Great planning,” Scott says.

“Yeah, well, we’ve still got a few hours,” Pearl says.

“I hate you,” Scott says.

Pearl smiles, for some ungodly reason.

“Yeah, me too.”

They stay there until Scott’s too drunk to stand up straight, and then Pearl lifts him around her shoulders and gets him outside to a cab. In the clothes he stole from Jimmy, no one can recognize him anyway. He’d think the hair would be distinctive enough, but apparently not. He won’t be caught today.

He muddles forward into the one future he can’t quite see.

#a bee fic #scott smajor #pearlescentmoon #no smp tag on this one because it's entirely au and like technically a hc au but scott is here #alcohol #implied/referenced violence #...this is completely without context atm this is me. warming up on a particular au. this has NOTHING TO DO with the plot of that au #you can in fact probably ignore this ficlet for that au. which is. the only reason i'm posting it #anyway. i think we should do more in aus with the insane dynamic that was double life scott and pearl #and this isn't exactly like that but these charaters are a LITTLE inspired by that #see you in like. several months! #me writing whatever this is: aren't superhero aus fun guys

[biillyhargroves]

It’s months post-Starcourt, but the “fire” is still a mainstay on every local station. Newscasters pluck experts out of the woodwork, investigators and fire marshals, even a conspiracy theorist or two, and every stupid interview fades into the background as the mundanity of Hawkins, Indiana settles across the town like a well-worn blanket. It has become a part of the local color, rolled out at events, when cameras spotlight the new mayor, the new police chief, the high school sports teams trotting out in thinner numbers than before.

Steve skulks away from all the pomp and circumstance of the pep rally, the echoes in the gym sealed inside as the heavy metal doors slam shut behind him. He shoves his hands in his pockets, glances right and then left, over his shoulder and back again. Why is he nervous? He shouldn’t be nervous. He checks his watch, taps it as though the hands are lying to him, as if he needs to shake them awake. Time is moving too slow. He decides to trek out early.

This is for Billy. Steve repeats this in his head over and over again, a reminder, because Billy is healing but the healing is slow, and he’s in so much pain all the time, and nothing is touching it, — nothing is helping him. Steve’s pretty sure that Neil’s restricting his medications, that he’s not giving Billy the best chance at getting better, and the mere thought of it makes his blood boil. His heart breaks at every wince, every sharp inhale, every coiled muscle. Steve has held Billy, sobbing, in agony, for too many nights. He can’t just do nothing. He feels useless and he hates it. He has to do something. He has to help somehow.

The thought entered his brain sometime in the last week, on one of the many sleepness nights he’d spent hunkered in the dark of Forest Hills Trailer Park, the trailer empty save for Max dozing on the couch in the living room, Billy curled miserably in Steve’s lap in the bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, stroking Billy’s tear-stained cheek. “I’m sorry, baby. I know it hurts.”

He’d already shaken every last orange bottle cluttering the nightstand, all of them empty. Max had scrounged in the bathroom but only came up with a few Tylenol capsules and some kind of muscle cream, neither of which would do Billy much good. Neil was supposed to refill Billy’s prescriptions, had snatched them from Susan’s hands when she’d offered to do it, but so far he’d only come home with brown bags of bourbon and the occasional six pack.

Steve had been holding Billy, rocking him, trying desperately to comfort him, when the arc of Eddie Munson’s headlights across the way caught his attention. An idea formed, and now Steve is sitting at a rickety picnic table in the middle of the woods staring at the black lunch box Eddie had slammed onto the wooden slats.

“It’s not for me,” Steve says, leaning over to peer into the box, reaching in and frowning at the little baggies of weed. He plucks one up, sniffs it, is surprised to find that it’s not some knock-off. He’d almost expected oregano. Such disappointment would align with his mood.

“You don’t have to lie, Stevie,” Eddie says, coy, teasing, as if he thinks that Steve is trying to keep whatever reputation has clung to him since high school.

Steve shakes his head, admits the truth, “It’s for a friend.” Well, a half truth. He eyes Eddie, wondering how much he can trust this boy he’d barely looked twice at since elementary school.

“Sure, man,” Eddie shrugs, still not believing him. “As long as your friend can pay.”

Steve resumes his shopping, sifting through Eddie’s supply. “You got anything stronger than this?” he asks, pinching a baggie between two fingers.

Eddie whistles. “Harrington still likes to party.”

“Listen,” Steve says, harsher than he means to, and Eddie stills. “It’s— I’m…” He sighs heavily, flings the weed back into the metal box and scrubs his hands over his face. Eventually he says, “It’s for Billy.”

“Oh.” Eddie’s features soften.

“I know his family moved out by you,” Steve says, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know how much you’ve seen of him.”

“Not much,” Eddie admits. “I know he was in the fire,” he says. “That he got hurt.”

Steve can’t help but snort — derision, disgust, annoyance all bubbling to the surface. “The fire,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Then he remembers himself, recalls the purpose of this particular mission. He composes himself, says, “He got really hurt. It’s bad. I’m…worried about him.”

Steve isn’t sure he likes the way that Eddie looks at him when he says, sincerely, “Yeah. Sure.” He looks like he knows something. Hell, he probably does. Steve gets sloppy when he’s nervous, and visiting Billy sets every nerve-ending ablaze. He doesn’t doubt that he’s parked too close to the trailer once or twice, that Eddie may have seen the Beamer cut through the back entrance of the park.

“I just want to help him,” Steve says.

Eddie looks down. He digs a bitten-down nail against the knotted wood of the table, bites his lip, scuffs the heel of his sneaker against the dirt beneath him. “I like Billy,” he says after a while, and when he looks up Steve can tell that he means it. “I mean, I don’t know him well. Not like you do.” Again, that look, that wisdom, that knowledge. “But I like him. We smoked together a couple times. He’s a good guy, underneath it all.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “He is.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment, and then for two. Steve finds himself anxious, worried that Eddie might decide that he doesn’t like Billy enough to help him. Then Eddie takes a deep breath and asks, “How bad’s the pain?”

“Really bad,” Steve answers quickly. “If it’s a scale of one to ten, he’s off the chart. He’s supposed to be on— I…I don’t remember the name of it. But, his family…” This isn’t Steve’s business, not his story to tell. He bites his tongue, keeps it simple. “Money’s tight. He can’t always get his meds. But he can’t survive on baby aspirin and ibuprofen, you know? He’s not in good shape.”

Eddie takes this all in and then he asks, “Will you be with him tonight?” When Steve fumbles, Eddie clarifies, “All my stronger stuff’s back home. I don’t carry it around — too expensive, not worth the risk. But for Billy…” He opens his palms. “I’ll stop in. He can take what he wants. But someone should probably stay with him. I’ve got prescriptions. Safe enough. But, new meds and all, and if he’s as fucked up as you say…”

“I’ll be with him,” Steve says. Eddie smiles and Steve thinks that he’s got him, that he’s got them, all figured out.

For his part, Eddie keeps his promise. He arrives at the trailer under the cover of night. Max is gone for the night, a much-needed sleepover with El granting a brief reprieve. Steve is on the couch with Billy lounging against him pretending not to be uncomfortable. The pain gets worse at night, and Steve can feel in setting in, can tell by the way Billy’s muscles spasm and tense, by the soft little whines that escape when Billy shifts in his spot.

Steve is relieved when Eddie knocks on the door, a feeling that is only half-tempered by Billy’s lack of reaction to Eddie seeing them together, so close, so exposed. Billy’s shirt is off, the fabric too scratchy and painful to bear. Only a thin veil of gauze hides the worst of his still-healing injuries, red, angry scars snaking out from beneath them. Billy barely moves away from Steve, even grabs onto him to help ease himself upright, as Eddie lets himself inside.

The transaction is swift, easy. Eddie presents pill bottles like offerings and Billy turns them over in his hands, selecting a drug with a name he recognizes. Eddie is casual, friendly; he charges a nominal fee that Billy scoffs at even as he downs the pills, dry-swallowing in one gulp.

Eddie lingers after the exchange, settling at the far end of the couch, watching music videos with Steve and Billy as the night stretches on.

It’s not long before Billy begins to slump against Steve, body uncoiling as he snuggles close, his head tucked beneath Steve’s chin, resting on Steve’s chest. Steve holds him there, cards a hand through Billy’s hair, wants to cry because Billy isn’t and he’s so damn grateful for that.

As Billy drifts off, Steve looks to Eddie, opens his mouth to thank him, but stops when he sees Eddie’s furrowed brow, his frown. “What’s wrong?” Steve asks.

Eddie blinks, tries to look away from the roadmap of scars cross-crossing Billy’s back but can’t. “It wasn’t a fire,” he says plainly, eyes flicking to Steve’s, “was it?”

Steve is quiet for a long while. He holds Billy closer, as though afraid that confessing the truth will somehow take him away. He’s spent so many nights dwelling on the look of him, small and bleeding, gasping for breath, on the floor of the mall. He’s spent so much time scared of losing him.

“No,” Steve says eventually. “It wasn’t a fire.”

Eddie slides closer. He places his hand on top of Steve’s, which is holding Billy’s. He looks like he might say something, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, squeezing Steve’s hand, which squeezes Billy’s. Steve finds he likes the feeling, the warm weight of Eddie’s quiet understanding, his gentle support.

#harringroveson #harringrove #mungrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #eddie munson #and then they all became boyfriends the end #this started as a headcanon and then i got carried away #steddilly #stilldie #lex writes fics

[ladywaffles]

Mav and Rooster for #13, please!

mav & rooster + nudging the other one

i still do not know the meaning of brevity. send me a pairing and a prompt!

It should be a joyous occasion.

The prodigal son has returned home. Neither he nor Maverick died on their mission from hell. Ice, with his non-existent immune system, survived a lower respiratory infection, which turned out to be pneumonia, which nearly went septic. None of them managed to start World War Three, despite the fact they were all grasping at straws by the end of it.

And yet…

Maverick, Ice, and Bradley sit gathered around the dining table. It’s the same table Bradley remembers from his childhood, pockmarked with Sharpie stains, key scratches, and one notable gash from the summer Ice taught him how to properly use a steak knife.

They’ve all taken their usual seats: Ice at the head of the table, Maverick to his left, and Bradley to his right. When his mother was still alive, she would flit between sitting next to Maverick and Bradley on a whim. She’d always say she never could choose between her two boys.

Dinner is on the table in front of them. Maverick pulled out all the stops and made a spread fit for a holiday party. A rib roast, roasted potatoes, garlic green beans, and a slice of coconut cake for each of them from Ellen’s Diner across town.

They sit in stilted silence, looking at each other. Ice is glaring at Maverick. Maverick is staring at Bradley. Bradley is resolutely trying not to make eye contact with Maverick. He does not dare look in Ice’s direction; Ice is the Iceman after all, and he can feel Ice’s cold gaze from his own chair, thank you very much.

Ice taps his fingers on the table. Bradley’s learned, in the weeks since he came home, that it’s how Ice gets Maverick’s attention so he can sign. Maverick does not look at Ice at all, continuing to have a one-man Western showdown with Bradley.

Bradley trains his eyes on the table. He can just barely make out the outline of his sophomore year campaign posters for student government, if he squints. He’d tried new markers that year, in hopes of sparing the poor table more Sharpie stains, but the ink bled straight through the poster board and settled into the wood, permanently.

Ice taps the table again.

Maverick raises his eyebrows at Bradley, then kicks his ankle under the table.

Ice signs Maverick’s name, adapted from the sign for pilot: a sideways I-love-you with the fingers facing out like bull horns, and each hand forming an M instead of the normally straight palms. Maverick kicks him under the table again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bradley sees Ice look up to the heavens, as if to ask for divine intervention to get Maverick to behave. Bradley bites the inside of his cheek. Ice knows better than anyone that Maverick lives up to his name. He might have mellowed out some with age, but he’s still Maverick at heart.

The F-14 that’s currently parked at North Island should be more than enough evidence of that.

Ice clears his throat and opens his mouth.

“Don’t!” Maverick whips his head to Ice. “The doctors said five more days before you try to talk again!”

Ice raises one perfect eyebrow, as if to say, Gotcha.

“Ice wouldn’t do that,” Bradley fills in, the words muttered under his breath. “He’s not stupid.”

Maverick kicks him again, but Ice looks pleased. At least one of you has some goddamn sense in this house, he seems to say. He feels the air moving as Mav winds his leg back, but he’s getting wise to his old man’s tricks, so Bradley beats him to the punch and sends the toe of his shoe straight into Maverick’s ankle.

Maverick smiles, a glint in his eye. Before he can act, Ice grabs both of their wrists.

The message is clear: knock it off.

“He started it,” Bradley says, throwing Mav under the bus.

“I did not!”

Ice rolls his eyes. They all know very well who started it.

“Why are you kicking me?” Bradley asks.

“Because when I went with you to get the replacement parts for the Bronco last weekend, you said you’d ask Ice what you told me when we had dinner this week.”

Ice turns to look at Bradley head on. He might be almost forty years old now, but sitting in his chair at this dining table from his childhood, with Ice’s full attention trained on nothing but him, makes him feel like a naughty teenager again.

“Oh, yeah,” he says sheepishly, glaring at Maverick as he does. “Yeah, I did say that, huh.” Thanks for throwing me under the bus, Mav.

Maverick only smiles. I give as good as I get, kiddo.

“Well, you know I’m rotating back Stateside for my next deployment, and I was wondering… Well, I wanted to ask…”

He bites his tongue. Why is it so hard to ask this of Maverick and Ice, the two men who raised him? His parents, for all intents and purposes?

“That is, base housing sucks. And I’ve still got Mom’s house, but I’ve been meaning to get the carpet ripped out and new floors put in for literal years now, and if I’m gonna do that, then I might as well get around to all the other updates and renovations I’ve been meaning to do for literal years now, and—”

“Bradley wants to know if he can move back in for a few months while he gets the house fixed up,” Maverick cuts him off.

Ice huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up, you old geezers,” he sulks. He’s sure they enjoyed his squirming. It was probably the highlight of their very boring week.

Ice reaches out and squeezes his hand. Yes, he mouths. Of course.

“Sucks to be you, Maverick,” Bradley says as he serves himself a generous helping of potatoes. Ice tries to hide his smile in his own plate, but he isn’t fast enough.

Maverick smiles. “See? I told you! What did I say? Come on, let’s eat.”

Ice glares at Maverick again. He signs something that Bradley can’t translate for himself yet, but he’s been in the hot seat with Ice enough to know that Maverick is not even close to off the hook for whatever it was that Ice wanted to talk about.

Maverick scowls at them both, and then kicks him under the table. Again.

#top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #ask #lamby.prompt #starrybouquet #thank you for the ask!

[tickle-bugs]

Needling Away

Summary: When Clark skips a team-building acupuncture appointment, Lois offers to make it up to him personally with a massage. AU where Jimmy knows Clark’s secret and tries to protect him but Lois is on to both of them.

Lois has officially backed herself into the corner of all corners and she knows it. 

She’s almost positive that Clark is Superman. She still has questions, so many goddamn questions, but it fits so neatly in her brain that she’s getting tired of ignoring it. Clark’s just a nice, small-town boy who conveniently disappears whenever crime is happening, who shows up to work tired and bruised, and whose muscled chest is the exact softness and density as the super-pecs she’d just pressed her cheek on last week.

She knows that chest. At this point, it’s denial. 

“Hey guys.” Lois bumps open the door to their supply closet of an office. She sets down coffee and bagels for the three of them. 

“Hi Lois!” Jimmy looks up from fiddling with his camera. Clark waves shyly at her. His gaze hangs on her with awe of witnessing the sunrise. She looks away, face burning. 

“I brought you something.” She fishes out a crumpled envelope from her pocket and cringes at the state of it. She smooths it out. Takes a breath. 

“I know we’re still fighting to move up, but…I couldn’t have done any of this without you guys. I figured…if you’re anything like me, you’re probably stressed out of your minds, sitting up at night trying to figure out who Superman is--”

She meets Clark’s eye. His eyes widen. She clears her throat and looks away.

“I thought we could use a break.” She hands Clark the envelope. Their fingers brush as he takes it. He opens it gently and takes out three peach-colored vouchers with tiny text. His eyes skim quickly before he peeks up under his lashes. 

“Acupuncture?” He adjusts his glasses. Jimmy takes the envelope from him and reads it over, muttering under his breath. 

“Yeah! It’s supposed to help you relax. I’ve never done it, but Cat swears by it.” She sits on a table, gesturing wildly. She tries to dismiss the image of Clark looking up at her like that from her brain.

“This is so thoughtful, Lois. Thank you.” Clark smiles.

“Super thoughtful, but…Clark can’t go.” Jimmy elbows Clark in the ribs. He startles. They descend into a cyclone of whispers, doing that infuriating ‘best friend’ thing they do where neither of them speaks a complete word or thought. 

“I can’t? Oh. Oh! Right, yeah. Can’t go. Maybe I’ll give this to my mom, she’ll use it--” Clark starts to hand back the voucher. 

“Why can’t you go?” Lois frowns. 

“Uh…”

“He’s afraid of needles.” Jimmy blurts. Clark looks at him like a deer in headlights. Jimmy elbows him again and it seems to reboot him. 

“Deathly afraid, yeah. See one and I just, whew--I just pass out.” Clark laughs nervously. Lois’s heart sinks. 

“Oh.” She looks at her shoes. “Sorry, that was stupid of me. I should’ve asked you first.”

Clark’s warm hands gently take her shoulders. She looks up into his eyes, his smile, and is immediately at peace. 

“It’s a really nice gesture. The fact that you thought of me--” He grunts at another elbow to the ribs-- “and Jimmy was really kind. We appreciate you, Lois. We couldn’t do this without you either.”

“I will be cashing mine with haste.” Jimmy snaps his voucher, folds it crisply, and shoves it in his wallet. 

“I’ll give mine to my mom. She could use the break. Thank you.” Clark squeezes her shoulder. Lois nods, but she finds herself chewing the inside of her cheek in thought. 

 ……

That evening, Lois stands in front of Clark and Jimmy’s door for an embarrassing twenty minutes just raising and lowering her hand to knock. The inside of her cheek screams from the chewing. 

“Just knock,” she hisses under her breath, and her annoyance with herself drives her to knock a little too frantically. 

“Hey Clark? Is it okay if I--” The door slams open before she can finish-- “...come in?”

“Hi!” He beams. His hair is wet and curly from the shower and his hoodie looks so upsettingly soft. He’s wearing shorts, cozy ones, and the whole ensemble makes her want to chew on the drywall. He’s so cute. 

“Hi,” She breathes, totally cool and collected. They stare at each other for a moment before Clark’s eyes go wide behind his glasses.

“Oh god, did we have a meeting? I totally forgot, I’m sorry--”

“No, no. We didn’t. I just…wanted to see you.” She rocks forward on her toes. 

Way to sound desperate, Lane. 

Clark, adorably pink, opens the door for her. She steps into the apartment gingerly. 

“I should explain. I was thinking about the acupuncture thing. It was an excuse for us to spend some good time together and I messed it up. I really should’ve asked about your fear. I feel terrible.” Lois grabs his hand. It’s warm and soft to the touch. 

“You couldn’t’ve known. It’s not your fault.” He squeezes her hand. She pulls away. 

“Well, still, I felt bad that you were left out. I was thinking…maybe I could give you a massage? To make up for it?” Lois fiddles with her hands and watches him closely. His lips part slightly. He ducks his head, but Lois still catches the flush racing across his skin. 

“Wow, um…if you want to. I wouldn’t mind. You don’t have to, but—“

“I want to.” Lois smiles, and at last it feels natural. Clark awkwardly shuffles over to his bed and she follows. He sits stiffly, watching her with wide eyes. She stifles a chuckle as she sits behind him. 

“Get comfortable, Smallville. C’mon.” She pushes his shoulder. He lays down on his stomach, pillowing his arms under his head. He shuffles around a bit before he finally relaxes. 

“Can I go under your hoodie?” She touches his arm gently. He nods. She kneels beside him, sliding her hands up under the fabric. His back is warm and well-defined, almost foreign to the softness of his face. 

“Wow, you are…very tense. Your back’s like a brick.” With some difficulty, Lois starts working her hands into the dips and curves of his back. 

“Yeah, I’m just a tense….guy…” His voice breaks off into a murmur. Each muscle relaxes under her touch, like seams coming undone, and he lets out a sweet, soft sigh. Lois bites her lip on a smile. She’s never seen Clark relax like this before. Poor guy always seems like he’s a stiff breeze away from an aneurysm.

“I can’t believe you never did sports,” She hums. Her fingers trail upwards over patches of freckles and very faint scars. 

“I tried. It didn’t take. I like teams, but…I have much more fun getting to use my brain, I guess.” He shimmies in place a little bit. 

“So…how’d you get so strong?” She asks casually, timing the question with a push into Clark’s back. He groans and drops his head into his arms. At first, Lois fears she upset him, but then she catches the pleased sigh that follows after. 

“I started helping my dad with the farm and construction when I was very young. I guess it just built up over time.” He shrugs weakly. She narrows her eyes. It’s a good answer. Conveniently good.

Lois slots her fingers into his upper back. Clark full-body shivers to the point where she almost loses her balance. 

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Lois pulls her hands away. 

“Y-Yep, I’m fine! Promise.” He squeaks and gives a thumbs up, but his head remains steadfastly buried in the mattress. His ears are bright pink where they poke out from his hair. 

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

Lois’s smile creeps into something mischievous. She leans down towards Clark and walks her fingers up his back. She gives an experimental little scritch, like she’s removing shmutz. He lets out a small eep and cranes his neck to watch her. 

“Are you ticklish, Smallville?” 

“Uhh…” Clark laughs nervously, avoiding her eyes. “I feel like no matter what I say, this is going to end badly for me.”

“You would be correct.” She skitters her fingers over his shoulderblades and he trembles, giggling like a maniac. He wiggles in place, grabbing fistfulls of the blankets. Shivering, bouncy laughter tumbles out of him in waves, consuming each breath before he can turn it into syllables to scold her with. His upper back tries to crunch in on itself to no avail. 

“Are you ticklish in any other weird places?” She pokes along his spine and he jumps. He rolls over quickly, too quickly, trapping her hand behind his back. She raises an unimpressed eyebrow and tickles the back of his ribs. 

“I’m ticklish in very n-normal places, thank you--Lois!” He squeaks and arches his back, swatting uselessly at her newly-freed hand. 

“Like where?” Lois grins. Clark narrows his eyes at her. The process of squirming had sent his hoodie creeping up, exposing the carved line of a hip and a bit of his stomach. Lois’s eyes dart to it. She feints for his back again but instead dives for his stomach. His voice cracks hard. 

“I’m not falling for thaaaaat!” Clark crunches forward like a lawn chair, deep laughter punching out of him. Her fingers creep around to the back of his hips and he falls back onto the bed, threading his fingers up into his hair. His glasses slide off his face and she catches them, neatly setting them aside. 

“God, you’re adorable. What endearing weakness for Superman to have.” Lois watches him carefully. Clark’s entire face shifts from pink to red as his chest heaves, still twitching away from her evil fingers. 

“Superman?” He shouts hysterically, half-caught in a bubbly laugh, and Lois laughs with him, folding forward into his chest. His hand immediately finds her back. 

When she looks up, his face is so close to hers, close enough to see the dusting of freckles fighting the wave of blush on his cheeks. His eyes are teary at the corners, still sparkling with his smile. 

The door bursts open then, sending the two scrambling apart. There’s nowhere to go on a bottom bunk, though, so they just smack their heads into the bed frame above them. Lois falls flat across Clark’s torso. 

Jimmy pauses, arms full of takeout bags, and gives them a very knowing look. 

“Do y’all need a minute?” He smirks and sets down the bags. Clark hides his burning face in his hands. 

“Nope, no we do not--”

“Jimmy, did you know Clark’s, like, stupid ticklish?” Lois leans on Clark’s shoulder and grins. He looks between them, alarmed. 

“As his best friend, it is my job to know all.” Jimmy fishes his food out of the bags. “Like how his armpits are really bad, for example.”

Clark squawks in offense, but then he’s flat against the mattress and cackling as Lois acts on her new intel. He starts to slide off the bed, his hair falling upwards with gravity. The light catches his eyes and smile just right, forming a clear picture of--

Superman. Clark is…Superman.

He must see it in her face then, that she knows, because he just very shakily raises a finger to his lips. His gaze darts towards Jimmy and Lois follows. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” she murmurs, knowing now that he can hear it, and smiles. He lights up, then his face settles into a deep, very attractive smirk. His eyes flash with sparks and then Lois is under him, screeching through laughter she didn’t know she was capable of. His hands on her are a dream and a nightmare all at once. 

“Unhand her, fiend!” Jimmy launches himself at the already-crowded bunk, worming under Clark’s tree trunk arms. Lois can’t quite see in the tight space, but she does feel the two of them crush her into the mattress as laughter floats around them. 

“Jimmy, the food!”

“Should’ve thought of that earlier, Clark! Perish!” 

Lois accepts that she will suffocate here beneath these two dorks, and it will have been worth it.

#my fics #my adventures with superman #clois #ticklish!clark #clark kent #lois lane #jimmy olsen #they're my babies fr i love this show so much #clark being trapped in a comedy of errors trying not to reveal his powers to people who already know is my favorite

[petalouda85]

Birth

Fandom: Blades of Light and Shadow 2

Pairings: Tyril x f!human!MC (Kassandra)

Word count: 1.4k

Concept: Kade, Imtura, and Mal wait for news of the newest member of their family

Tags: @liviusofpella, @megas-choices, @starlight-starfury, @dutifullynuttywitch, @thosehallowedhalls @choicesficwriterscreations

AO3 link: x

A/N: Finally. The fic I’ve wanted to post for a very long time. I can finally reveal the name for Baby Starfury 🥰 after the emotional rollercoaster of Forever (in my Mind), you guys deserve a fluffy treat. Enjoy.

Reading had always been easy for Kade. Almost as easy as breathing. He could grab any tome and easily be lost in the words, his mind taken to places far away and times long gone, it all brought to life with his imagination. Tonight, however, it was hard to concentrate as his mind constantly drifted towards the cabin near to where he sat, his stomach twisting with the knowledge of what was happening inside. He tried to listen for any noise coming from the home, despite knowing it was pointless; Nia and Tyril had made sure of that.

Unable to focus on his book, Kade looked towards the other two that kept him quiet company in the homestead. Mal practiced a few quick movements with his dagger, stabbing into an imaginary foe, while Imtura stood off to the side, aiming and hurling her axes into a nearby tree, the bark splitting more each time. Boredom could rationalize their weapon practice, but Kade knew better.

A few weeks prior, when everyone had finally arrived in Riverbend, the villagers warned them of a group of elves that had recently traveled through. While no direct questions were asked, their apparent interest in the “Hero of Morella” had set off alarm bells in everyone and precautions were taken.

When Kassandra went into labor, Nia and Tyril had cast a spell over the clearing, masking the homestead, and then a silencing spell over the cabin. Once the door shut behind them, Mal and Imtura had pulled their weapons closer, ready to be grabbed at the first sign of trouble. Several hours had passed since then, the high afternoon sun now replaced by a bright moon; Kade reckoned it was past midnight already.

He snapped his book shut and leaned forward with a great sigh, rubbing his eyes and face trying to relieve the tension and growing exhaustion.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be an uncle.” He said softly. He must’ve been louder than he thought because in a split second, Mal stood before him.

“You and me both, buddy.” The rogue said, sitting down next to him. “It’s happening and I still have trouble wrapping my head around it. Elf boy and kit are going to be parents. Who would’ve thought the wet blanket and the life of the party would ever reach this point.”

“It is hard to wrap your head around it all.” Kade said. “For so long, it was just me and my sister. Now she’s having a baby.” He let out a weak chuckle. “It’s stupid to think so but, part of me is scared that she’ll forget me; a child takes priority after all.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Imtura said, pulling her axe from the tree before joining the two men. “I’ve travelled with Kassandra long enough to know that she’d never forget you or any of us. We’re all her family and nothing’s gonna change that, not even a new tiny landrat.”

“Would be nice if the little tyke made headway.” Mal said, letting out a loud yawn. “All this doing nothing is making me tired.” His yawn was replaced with a yelp when Imtura slapped him across his head. “Hey!”

“You can’t rush these things.” She scolded. “The tyke gets here when they get here. And that could be in the next 5 minutes or in the next few hours. Hells, little guy could already be here and Kassandra’s just not up for visitors right now. We just got to wait.”

“I know, I know! Doesn’t mean I can’t complain about the waiting. It’s not like we got a lot to do besides that and there’s only so many fake guys I can stab.”

“I’d offer a book, but I get the sense neither of you are readers, even when faced with endless boredom.” All three laughed.

“We’ll leave the reading to you, kid.” Mal stood up from the bench and pulled forth a deck of cards from his pocket. “Up for a game?” He asked the orc, who smiled.

“Always. Be ready to lose.” The two found a patch of grass to sit on and began their game. Kade watched them half-heartedly for a moment before opening his book once more, trying his best not to nod off.

He shut his eyes briefly and when he opened them next, his face was glued against the cover of the book and his back was stiff from the hard bench. With a groan, he sat up, a thin blanket falling off him. Looking around him, he found Imtura and Mal also asleep in the grass, their card game replaced by a now extinguished fire, and the birds singing their morning song as the sun’s beams began to peak through the trees. He stretched his back and checked the state of the cabin, finding the spell still on it, before moving towards his slumbering companions.

“Rise and shine.” Kade said as Mal woke up.

“Morning already? Nothing yet?”

“Nothing yet.” Kade moved to wake Imtura next. Soon, the three sat down for a silent breakfast, ready for the prospect of another day of waiting. After their quick meal, Kade returned to the bench and grabbed his book, ready to try reading it yet again, when a magical hum came from the cabin. He immediately abandoned the tome, jumping to his feet when some low noises could be heard from inside. The door clicked open, and everyone ran to it as Nia appeared in the frame, looking frazzled and tired. Despite her weary state, the priestess was smiling.

“Everything’s fine.” She quickly said, seeing the worry on their faces. “Mom and baby are doing fine. They were born just after midnight. They’re all cleaned up and have already been resting for some time.”

“Midnight? But-“ Mal began to protest but Imtura gave him another slap. The priestess fought down a snicker at his incredulous look before she opened the door a bit wider.

“You can come in but only for a little while; Kassandra’s still very tired.”

Kade ran in first, finding Aderyn preparing some food in the kitchen. He quickly sent her a grateful smile before dashing towards the bedroom, the others on his heels. The moment he stepped into the entrance way, he froze.

Mal unceremoniously bumped into him, but any complaint was quickly gone when the three heard the soft gurgling noises coming from the little bundle resting in Kassandra’s arms.

She was lying in bed, looking exhausted and worn out. Tyril, seated in a chair next to the bed, appeared exhausted as well but both were staring down at the bundle with immeasurable love and affection in their eyes. The two looked up as the visitors slowly entered the room.

“Hi.” Kassandra said, her eyes brimming with tears, before looking down at her child. “Look who’s here.”

Kade stood frozen in place for a moment, alternating his gaze between his sister and the child in her arms, before rushing to the bed and embracing her tightly, tears forming in his eyes.

“I’m so proud of you.” He whispered to her. He continued holding her, hearing her sniffle before she returned the embrace

“Thank you.” He gave her a kiss on her cheek before pulling away. He then quickly turned towards Tyril and embraced him too; it took the elf a moment to return the gesture.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

Kade pulled away and sat down on the bed, watching the child with pride swelling in his chest.

“Do you want to hold them?” Kassandra asked after a while.

“Yes.”

Gently, she passed the bundle to him, the man gawking down at the baby nestled in the blanket their mother had made for them. They were beautiful, dark-skinned and a barely visible black fuzz on their head. They looked almost entirely human, if not for their ears. Granted, they were shorter than the standard elven ears but there was no denying the point at the end of them.

“Hi.” Kade said softly and in disbelief. He took their little hand, the tiny digits not even wrapping entirely around his thumb. “I’m your uncle.” He turned to look at Mal, Imtura and Nia; none had a dry eye. “And your other uncle and aunts are here too.” He looked back to the new parents, who beamed with pride as they held each other’s hand. “What’s their name?”

Tyril looked to Kassandra, who nodded.

“Everyone,” Tyril began with a proud smile, “meet our daughter, Kaya.”

#tyril starfury #tyril x mc #tyril x kassandra #baby starfury #kade of riverbend #mal volari #imtura tal kaelen #nia ellarious #my writing #blades of light and shadow #bolas 2 #playchoices

[sailtomarina]

Somewhere Between a Quill and a Biscuit

Tap, tap, tap.

Hermione tried to block out the sound of quill on wood, hunching lower over her homework.

Tap. Tap, tap.

She could cast a muffliato, or move to her own room, but she’d been in the common space first. The very least Theo could do would be to stop. Making. Noise.

Tap.

“Could you not tap your quill?” Before she could restrain herself, Hermione had launched herself across the room from her chair to snatch the offending item from his grip.

He blinked up at her in surprise, and she refused to consider just how pretty she thought his deep green eyes were—not as bright as Harry’s, but darker and contemplative.

“Oh, sorry, Hermione. Just a habit.” He flashed dimples before lifting his hand in expectation. She handed him back the quill and went to return to her studies.

“We could probably use a break, you know.”

His voice halted her path and she turned around once again, a single eyebrow raised. “You might need a break, but I’m just fine.”

“You’ve been studying for hours.”

“This is how I always study.”

The Slytherin sighed and set down his quill. Reclining across the couch, he was the perfect picture of entitlement with his styled curls—how did he do that every day?—and trimmed nails drumming along his knee.

“Aaaaand, I’m saying I’d like you to keep me company while I take some well-deserved rest. Come on, Head Girl, sit with me.” He patted the narrow strip of cushion alongside him. The only way she’d fit would be if she perched on the edge or laid down against him. Neither option was acceptable.

“Fine. But I’m sitting in my usual spot.”

He grinned in delight, before bouncing up towards the fireplace.

“What are you—”

He tossed down Floo powder and shoved his head into the flames before she could finish her sentence. Mere moments later, he backed up to sit more appropriately on one side of the couch. He summoned a box of biscuits from the kitchen and started munching happily. She hoped he choked on them.

“Theo, who did you—”

Once again, Hermione found herself interrupted by the figure that stepped out of the fire and into their common room.

“Malfoy?”

He spun around mid-swipe, dust still clinging to his uniform.

“Granger?”

As if on cue, they both turned suspicious gazes towards the couch.

“Theo?” Their joint accusation sent the Head Boy into a fit of laughter.

“You two should see your faces. You’d think I murdered your children, or something.”

“This is stupid, I’m heading back—”

This time it was Hermione interrupting, cutting Malfoy off to demand an explanation. “Why did you summon Malfoy? I thought you wanted to hang out.”

“I do want to hang out. Why not with the two people I adore most?”

She groaned at the sparkle in his eye and the wink he sent their way. Even though she’d warmed to Theo Nott shortly after finding out they’d be Head Boy and Girl together during their eighth and final year, she thought it a stretch to believe him. How could he even begin to equate her to Malfoy? She knew they were best friends.

Now that she thought about it, Theo had repeatedly invited Malfoy into their shared dorm without ever telling her. She’d walk in and there they’d be, sitting on the chaise drinking their seemingly never ending supply of fire whiskey, playing chess by the fire, or reading on opposite sides of the room. Every time, she either turned right back around or went straight into her room.

This was the first time Theo had so clearly tried to bring them together. Perhaps the previous times weren’t a coincidence.

She glanced up at Malfoy and was surprised to see him already looking at her, his expression unreadable. They hadn’t talked to each other since his trial. Even then, their exchange had been nothing more than a “thank you” and a “you’re welcome” for her testimony on his behalf.

Just like then, he was the first to speak.

“Only if Granger is okay with it.”

For once, Theo stayed silent, as if waiting for her response. When she turned to her housemate for direction, he merely smiled encouragingly at her.

Hermione brought her attention back to Malfoy. He remained completely still as she studied him as thoroughly as one of her texts.

His once neat locks had grown long, spilling into his eyes. The unkempt look suited him in a way that would have only looked messy were he younger. Now, it signaled a freedom that matched his more relaxed posture. No longer did he thrust out his chest like some entitled heir to a vast fortune. While much of the Malfoy riches had gone into reparations for the war, she knew he still retained most of it; however, the pride that once accompanied such obscene wealth was nowhere to be seen.

He reminded her a bit of a certain dragon keeper, if she were being honest. Charlie always had this air of a sheathed wand about him—capable if required, but otherwise at ease with the world around him. She’d had a crush on her best friend’s brother for as long as she could remember. And now? Well, she thought this was the most attractive she’d ever considered Draco Malfoy.

She’d always thought him pretty, of course. Nobody else had white blonde hair as blinding as his; it shone across the Great Hall and Quidditch field like a beacon. His fine features had filled out. He’d grown into his once-lanky frame and towered over her. He now looked more akin to a Beater than a Seeker—maybe that’s why he hadn’t re-joined his house team.

The arms of Malfoy’s shirt were rolled up to his elbows, the pale flesh beneath littered with scars. From where she sat in her armchair, she was nearly eye level with the tattoo peeking out from his left forearm. He didn’t attempt to hide it when he noticed her looking. He simply raised a brow as if in challenge, waiting for her reaction.

“I’m okay with you staying.”

A whoop from across the room had them simultaneously rolling their eyes. The smile that followed at their shared reaction had her catching her breath—had he ever smiled at her before? She couldn’t remember a single moment in their past where he had, either in derision or as part of some cruel joke.

She knew this one was genuine. The sort of smile she’d seen him share with Theo when she was certain neither of them were looking. It was an open door.

So, she smiled back.

They’d thank Theo several months later, long after eventual friendship and their gloating third as the bridge. He eventually confessed to his meddling, having known about Draco’s crush for years. Hermione was constantly refilling their snack drawer because Theo insisted that the muggle biscuits she bought were “the best.” Draco and her would share another of their private smiles, knowing full well that the actual best biscuits were hidden in her bedroom far from sticky fingers.

Some secrets deserved to be kept, even from Theo.

DHRMonth Prompt: Week 1 - Hogwarts, September 2 - Head Boy & Girl

Cross-posted on AO3

WC 1193

Back to my 1k roots and my persistent love for Dreomione in any shape and form.

#dramionemonth #dramione #dhr fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger #draco malfoy #theo nott #dramione month

[sweeter-innocence-fics]

Summer Fic Week 2023 - Day 2: Tangled Up in You

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Work Summary:

You were supposed to have a tent to yourself, but unfortunately, Eddie snores.

Steve x Reader sharing a tent.

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 2192

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Summer Fics Masterlist.

Taglist: @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye

Taglist info.

Notes:

No Upside Down AU but Billy still beat the crap out of Steve that one time.

Warnings for reader being a bit of a scaredy cat, mentions of serial killers and strangulation, spooky stories, allusions to emotional abuse (steve's parents), the existential nightmare of your late teens/early twenties, implied ronance

---

You were the last one up.

That wasn’t strictly true. You’d gone to bed, and gotten up again. Alone in your tent, you’d spooked yourself, thinking that shadows were figures standing outside, or the branches whipping in the wind were animals coming to get you.

So you’d picked up your blanket and gone back outside. The campfire was little more than dying embers right now, but you were fine with that. It was oppressively hot and humid tonight.

The five of you had brought three tents with you: Steve was sharing with Eddie, Robin with Nancy, and you had the small one all to yourself.

Normally, you would’ve just squeezed three people into a two-person tent, but you got the feeling that Nancy and Robin had plans that didn’t involve you. Besides, it was far too hot to be squished in like that.

Somewhere behind you, you heard a twig snapping. You tensed.

It was probably nothing. It was probably just a branch, caught in the wind. Or a small animal.

Definitely not a serial killer. Definitely not a bear or a wolf or a mountain lion.

You strained your ears, not daring to turn around. It was stupid, but you felt you were safe if you stayed still.

Nothing. It was almost certainly-

Another twig snapped, and you whipped your head around. There was a dark figure standing between the boys’ tent and the girls’ tent. You twisted in your seat and lost your balance, falling into a heap on the ground.

“Woah, woah, hey.” A flashlight flickered on. It was Steve.

You exhaled. “What the fuck?” You rubbed your nose, trying to hide how fast you were breathing.

“I had to go pee,” he said. “You’re jumpy tonight. Can’t sleep?”

“The scary stories may have been a mistake.” Even so, it was hilarious to watch the way Eddie threw himself into storytelling. He was a real artiste.

Nancy, too, was a surprising one. She wasn’t a performer like Eddie was, but she knew how to tell a story. On her turn, she’d talked about a serial killer who broke into people’s houses to torture and kill them, and you had felt your skin crawling.

That had been where your mind had instinctively gone when Steve’s shadow had loomed over you.

“I can’t sleep either.” He flopped down on a rock beside you. “Eddie snores,” he complained, and you chuckled. “I was thinking I might just sleep out here. It’s hot enough.”

“All alone? And let the Hawkins Strangler get you?” you teased, jabbing him in the side.

“Shut up,” he said. He might’ve been good at hiding it, but you were pretty sure that Steve was just as shook up by the scary stories as you were.

“You wanna share with me, instead? I don’t wanna go back in there alone.”

“You sure?”

“I can’t have you sleeping out here. Come on.” You gathered up your blankets and got to your feet. Steve stared at you, still not sure if you were serious. “We’ve shared rooms, like, hundreds of times.”

“As kids.”

“What’s the difference?” There was a big difference, but neither of you were going to say that. You held out a hand to him. He took it, and you tugged him to his feet.

You didn’t speak as he followed you into your tent. He had left his sleeping bag in his own tent, but it was so hot out that you decided to spread yours on the ground and use it as a mat rather than a cover.

Your tent was just about big enough for two people to lie side by side without touching each other, but it was hard to get comfortable. You didn’t want to encroach into his space.

As you rolled away from him, tucking a pillow under your head, he said “Regretting inviting me in?” His tone was light.

“Nah, you’re good. If the Hawkins Strangler shows up, you’re closer to the door, so he’ll get you first.”

“No way.” You heard him shift slightly, so you rolled back over to face him. All you could see was his silhouette. He was leaning up on one elbow. “I used to run track. He’ll never catch me.”

“So you’d leave me to be strangled?”

“No, of course not!” He nudged your arm. “I’d lead him away, giving you time to escape.”

“How? I can’t drive Eddie’s van.”

“I’m assuming Eddie and Robs and Nancy have already fallen victim to the Strangler in this scenario?”

“Of course. Eddie’s alone so he’d be taken first. Robin and Nancy are… distracted, so he’d get them next. But you and me, we’re alert. We’d be ready for him.”

“I would be. I already told you. I ran track. I could draw him away from you if you could drive the van, but you can’t, so you’re on your own.”

“So you’d leave me to die.”

“In a heartbeat.”

You giggled. “I don’t believe you.” Steve chuckled quietly. “I think you’ve got a heroic streak, Steve-o. I don’t buy you leaving without me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, you did get the crap kicked out of you by Billy Hargrove when he was threatening Lucas that one time. That’s pretty heroic to me.”

Even in the darkness, you saw him wince. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Why? Do compliments make you uncomfortable?”

“Don’t,” he said.

You leant up on your elbow. Your eyes were adjusting to the dark now, and you could see that he was rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You amaze me sometimes, you know that? You used to think you were hot shit, when all you were was a rich guy who was good at sports, and now you’re getting all bashful on me when you’re one of the coolest people I know.”

He exhaled hard. “There’s nothing cool about working for the company my dad owns.”

You picked up your pillow and dropped it between you, and then folded your hands on top of it. He hadn’t technically started the job yet, but you knew it was the plan, after the summer was over.

His dad had gotten to him. No son of mine is going to work in a video store in his twenties. You could practically hear his dad’s voice booming in your ears. Growing up, you had been witness to far too many shouting matches between Steve and his father.

You’d been friends with him since elementary school, so you’d seen each other at your highest and your lowest.

“Fuck working for your dad. You like Family Video!”

“It’s not a career.” Even then, you could hear the echo of his father’s voice in Steve’s.

“Well, we both know you’d be a great fireman, or a nurse, or a teacher-”

“Nobody wants me looking after their kids.”

“Are you kidding me?” You slapped his shoulder lightly with the back of your hand. “You’re great with kids. If I had kids, you’d be the first person I’d call to take care of them.”

‘Ideally, you’d be their dad’ was what you didn’t say.

You had always thought you would marry Steve, ever since you were little. He was sweet and kind and funny, and he was your best friend.

Then high school happened, and you became very different people. You never hung out at school, and eventually you stopped hanging out at weekends too. He always had a party to go to, or a date with some hot, popular girl. He didn’t have space in his life for you anymore.

During senior year, things changed again. Nancy had dumped him, Tommy and Carol had abandoned him to hang out with Billy instead, and he was alone.

You had wondered if he would come crawling back to you then, but he didn’t. You had your own friends by that point, and no desire to revisit the heartaches of the past.

He had graduated quietly, and started working at Scoops Ahoy. That was where you reconnected. Robin was a friend of yours, and for a while, they were attached at the hip. Hanging out with Robin meant hanging out with Steve.

You had been reticent at first, but it didn’t take long to realise that the little boy you had always loved was back. No more King Steve. Just Stevie. Just the boy who punched a kid twice his size in the face for making fun of your shoes.

Except now he was taller. More mature. Handsomer. You wondered if you would ever stop fantasising about spending the rest of your life with him. It didn’t seem like it was going to happen at any point soon.

“Are you still awake?” he whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Good. You went quiet.”

“You went quiet first.”

“Yeah… Well…” He took a deep breath. “Do you really think I could do it? Be a teacher, I mean?”

“Steve…” You chuckled softly. “I think you’d do it better than anyone. I think-”

Just outside the door of your tent, there was a loud crunch. You gasped, scrambling away from the noise. Unfortunately, ‘away’ in this case meant towards Steve.

The back of your head hit his shoulder, but instead of pushing you away, he sat up, putting an arm around you. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered, and you weren’t sure if he was trying to reassure himself or you.

“Knock knock!”

You exhaled. Eddie.

“What do you want, Eds? It’s like, four in the morning,” you said.

“Have you seen Harrington? He wasn’t there when I woke up.”

You glanced at Steve, who huffed out a laugh. “I’m right here, Munson. Your snoring woke me up.”

Eddie made an offended noise. “I do not snore.”

You rolled your eyes. “Go back to bed, Eds. Stop sneaking around like some kind of ghoul. I nearly pissed myself.”

“And stop being so damn loud,” Steve added. “You’re gonna wake up Nancy and Robin.”

“Oh, I highly doubt they’re sleeping.”

“Get lost, Munson!”

“Alright, geez.” You could picture Eddie throwing his hands up in frustration. “If you’d have told me I was gonna be the fifth wheel on this trip, I wouldn’t have come.” It was a joke, but your heart felt like it had flipped over in your chest.

Eddie’s footsteps receded. It took far too long for you to realise that you were practically sitting in Steve’s lap.

“Sorry, am I crushing you?” You tried to shift off him, but Steve’s arm curled around your waist.

“Sometimes I think you’re the only person in the world who believes in me,” he said, sounding wistful. “You’re my best friend, you know that?”

“Don’t let Robin hear you say that,” you joked. He didn’t say anything. You realised, half a second too late, that he was trying to be sincere. You didn’t do well with sincere. It was easier to talk about your feelings if it was a joke. Still, you’d try. For Steve, you’d try. “You’re my best friend too. But you already know that. You’re like the other half of me.”

“Like my soulmate.”

“Exactly. Soulmates.”

Steve shifted, moving to lie back down. You felt yourself moving with him, until you were lying down with your head on his chest.

“Sometimes I get scared I’m gonna lose you,” he said. “’Cause you’re going off to college. You’re gonna meet some smart guy and get married and have babies and I’m gonna lose you forever.”

“Steve…”

“The ridiculous thing is…” He laughed mirthlessly. “That was half the reason I wanted to work for my dad in the first place. So I could travel around a lot. I could be close to you. And I might not be a smart guy, but I’d be a rich guy, and that’s almost as good.”

“Steve.” You leant up on his chest, forearm resting across his ribcage. You pretended that you couldn’t feel his heart thundering beneath you. “You don’t have to lose me. And you don’t have to work for your dad. I just want you to be happy.”

“You make me happy.” His fingertips brushed against your cheekbone.

“I’m not gonna run away to get married right out of college. Especially not if I have someone to come home to.”

“Someone like me?”

You swallowed. Your throat was dry. “If you want me.”

“Be mine?” He said it so quietly that if you hadn’t been holding your breath, you might not have heard him.

You pushed yourself up so that you could press your lips against his. His other arm came to wrap around you immediately. You splayed your hands across his collarbone, savouring the flavour of his lips. You could taste the marshmallows he’d been eating earlier.

He broke apart from you for a moment, and you rested your forehead against his.

“I wanna be a teacher,” he said, breathlessly, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“And I wanna come home to you every break. I want you to come see me at college. I wanna be yours, and I want you to be mine.”

“Baby…” His hands massaged at your waist, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ve always been yours.”

---

Notes:

Preview of tomorrow's fic: Set in the 'Even If It All Comes Crashing Down'-verse. You, Colin and the girls are moving house.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x y/n #summer fic week 2023

[jess-the-reckless]

I started out 2024 with a fervent prayer that it would be a nice, boring year with no major upheavals. Alas, that dream shat the bed before the end of February, so with one thing and another I've been a bit busy. Still chugging away with A Fete Worse Than Death, though, so here's a sneak peek of how pillow talk goes when you discover that your wife once spent part of the Cold War working undercover as a spectral chimpanzee.

________________________________

Crowley, champagne glass in one hand, flung back the covers. She patted the mattress next to her. “Get in,” she said. “Come on. Bedtime for Bonzo.”

Aziraphale slid down between the expensive sheets. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“No idea. Recurring brainfart, I think.”

Aziraphale plumped the pillow against her neck and settled in. She’d always loved this. As much as exploring each others bodies in bed was fun, sometimes it was just nice to talk. Whenever they were together she and Crowley had talked a lot, but it hadn’t been until they’d ended up tangled up beside the fire in the gardener’s cottage that their conversation had reached newer, deeper, more interesting levels. Sometimes the things they’d shared were profound, conversations carefully skirting the thing they had been unable to say out loud, and other times the details were small, and stupid, at least on a surface level. It was here, in a series of bedrooms, that Aziraphale had learned that Crowley hated Marmite almost as much as Aziraphale loved it, and that Crowley – for all her hair looked so shiny – sometimes fought a secret battle with dandruff. Aziraphale had consulted her library and determined that this delightful new level of conversation was that ‘pillow talk’ that lovers often did in books, and then had to make herself a very strong cup of tea, in order to remain sensible while grappling with the notion that she and Crowley were now lovers.

Pillow Talk – wasn’t that a film with Doris Day? The thought knocked something loose in Aziraphale’s mind. “Isn’t that a film, too?” she said. “Bedtime for Bonzo? I want to say Ronald Reagan, and I’ve no idea why that name rings a bell.”

Crowley blinked incredulously at her. “You amaze me sometimes. You know that?”

“Why? What have I done this time?”

“The man was President of the United States for eight years. You’re maybe the only living entity who can still write in cuneiform, but you remain wooly on Ronald Reagan? How?”

“I’ve been around for a long time, darling,” said Aziraphale. “I lost track of world leaders round about the time Alexander the Great was still handing out tips on intercrural. And there have been rather a lot of kings and emperors and presidents and such, especially lately. They’ve been going through them like lavatory paper in Westminster. Which one was Ronald Reagan again?”

“Cold War guy,” said Crowley. “Used to be in films.”

“How funny. I didn’t even realise he was an actor.”

“Neither did most people. He got upstaged by a chimp in Bedtime for Bonzo. Oh and that’s why it keeps coming back to me: it’s one of Satan’s favourite films.”

“Right,” said Aziraphale, perhaps even more confused than before. “Satan watches films starring chimpanzees?”

“Well, yeah. Eternal damnation. He’s got a lot of time on his hands.”

“I suppose so, yes. Was it a good film?”

“Fuck, no. It was a stinker,” said Crowley. “The chimpanzee playing Bonzo seemed to know Reagan was a wrong ‘un, too. She tried to strangle him with his own tie. Almost killed him, actually.” Crowley’s yellow eyes narrowed. “Wait…she wasn’t one of yours, was she?”

“One of our what?”

“Agents. Her name was Peggy. She was a girl chimp playing a boy chimp in the film, but in those days nobody minded if chimpanzees cross-dressed. She died mysteriously in a fire, and there were times when I wondered…well…if Downstairs had anything to do with her death.”

Aziraphale emptied her champagne flute in a long swallow, and topped it up. She had a feeling it was about to become one of those conversations. The kind where she needed a map.

“Right,” she said. “You thought Hell had murdered a chimpanzee? Why?”

“Because she tried to kill Reagan,” said Crowley. “Who was definitely one of ours, by the way.”

“An agent?”

“No, no. Just a very useful idiot. But it stands to reason that if you’ve got an idiot that useful to Hell, then your boss – what with omniscience being what it is and all – might have sent one of God’s creatures to…you know…” She pulled on an invisible tie and made choking noises. “…neck him.”

Too lazy to call room service again, Aziraphale miracled the bottle back to full. She was going to need a lot more champagne. “Crowley, are you seriously asking me if Heaven is in the habit of training chimpanzee assassins to eliminate future world leaders?”

“Yes,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale shook her head. “I think you’ve been watching too many James Bond films again, dear.”

“Nah. Like you always say, the Lord works in mysterious ways. If they’d known Hell had a target on Reagan’s back…I mean, that’s why they sent me.”

“You? To do what?”

Crowley shrugged, her bare, tanned shoulders bronze against the white linen. “Get in there and shake some things up,” she said. “The usual. At first I was like ‘don’t see what Satan sees in this guy’, but you didn’t have to know Ronnie for long to see that he was seething human crucible of vicious resentment and bile. He hated his fellow actors, especially the ones who were more talented than him, which was most of them. Including the chimp.”

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale. “You don’t think he set fire to poor Peggy, do you?”

“No. Although he wasn’t exactly crying too much about her death. It was pretty much ‘rest in piss, you scene-stealing monkey.’”

“How rude. She was an ape.”

“I know. And she was a scene-stealer, to be fair. Chimpanzees are naturally funny, whereas Reagan had all the comedy chops of a bucket of rendered animal fat. And it wasn’t just Peggy he had it in for. When he wasn’t being upstaged by a chimp he was busy denouncing his fellow creatives as Godless commies. He was a bastard, and a nuisance. All he needed to become a full-fledged monster was a little push. So I…pushed. How was I supposed to know it was going to end in trickle-down, AIDS deaths, and ketchup being reclassified as a vegetable? I just thought it would be amusing to spend some time as a chimpanzee.”

Aziraphale frowned, still no clearer than before. “Crowley, what are you telling me?” she said. “Am I to understand that you were the star of Bedtime for Bonzo?”

“No. Of course not. This was after Peggy died. Perfect, really – well, for me, not for Peggy. But it gave me an opportunity to play the role of a spectral chimpanzee. What better way than to taunt him by turning up as one of his funniest co-stars? It was only a part time gig anyway. I’d chimp up and then appear at his breakfast nook in the morning, or turn up driving his limo, with the hat and everything. Hats were a big part of it, actually. If you’re going to be a chimp you might as well wear a hat, because it’s funny. And I was hilarious. I had a fez at one point, and one with a propeller on the top, even though they’re kind of hack as far as comedy headwear goes. The viking helmet in the downstairs toilet properly freaked him out, though. Quite proud of that one.”

Fascinated, Aziraphale topped up their glasses. “All these years,” she said. “And I had no idea you’d spent part of the twentieth century as a chimpanzee. I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“Of course I can,” said Crowley. “I’m like if a medieval bestiary could own shoes. I spent most of the seventeenth century as a series of witch’s familiars.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. And not just snakes, either. I’ve got range.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “I’ve been black cats, hell hounds, bats, violent ferrets, suspicious toads – you name it. Regular menagerie, me. One time I was even a bewitched chicken in Norwich.” She winced at the memory. “That was an experience. Probably why I’m still quite elastic in the pelvic floor area, actually.”   

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