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#Rumple Uses Magic
caliburn-the-sword · 7 months
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emma made me viscerally uncomfortable from season 3-6 and the reason is because it was like watching a barbarian multiclass as a cleric. like girl stop with the magical energy blasts!! just hit him with your sword!!! punch him in the face!!!!
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martianbugsbunny · 9 months
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Saw a post t’other day that was like “Wonder what it would’ve been like if Neal had been around for the fight between Emma and Gideon” and as much as I like him, I just know Neal would’ve taken one look at Gideon and decided there was too much of Rumple in him and he probably would’ve been even more reluctant than Emma to believe he wasn’t evil. Neal would’ve been too obsessed with making sure Emma and Henry didn’t become collateral damage in what I’m sure he would view as Rumple’s mess to spare a kind thought for his enslaved brother.
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askthedarkone · 1 year
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What are three words that best describe you?
Cautious. Loyal. Thinker.
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hotluncheddie · 2 months
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eddie, steve
.🥞✨
‘uh, the pancakes with bacon please, extra syrup? thanks.’
eddie knows that order. he makes it every saturday night, so late it’s almost morning.
but he’s never heard that voice before, never heard it so close, right by the pass window.
he swallows. turning from the sink in the back to face out into the diner, someone’s sat at the counter, right across from him.
the most beautiful boy eddie’s ever seen.
he’s looking right at eddie, cheeks slightly pink, fiddling with a still wrapped straw. he looks perfect and cozy and adorable, hair sleep rumpled and in a hoodie that swallows up his soft lines, making him look even softer.
‘coming right up.’ eddie rasps, his own cheeks colouring.
but the boy, he smiles. ducks his head, looks up at eddie through his lashes.
eddie’s a fucking goner.
-
steve can’t believe it. his eyes are even bigger this close up, big and brown and sparkling with life.
his hands are just as nice this close up too, delicate but capable as they move around where steve can see. he sticks his tongue out a little when he concentrates. it’s adorable.
he’s the prettiest guy steve’s ever seen.
he puts steves finished pancakes in the window with a little smile, rings the bell and seems to blush even harder. almost cringing at the sound. it’s makes steve laugh, he’s cute.
and they’re still the best pancakes the midwest has to offer, at denny’s, at 3am. even sober and nervous and exited like he is.
steve can’t help closing his eyes like always when he takes his first bite. always blown away by their sweet fluffy texture. and he makes his way through them a little quicker than normal, without robin to distract him.
they taste as good as normal but he’s right there. right there watching steve eat them. something about it makes him feel shy, barely daring to look up from his plate. but when he does the line cook has the softest smile on his face and steve relaxes, tucks his hand under his hoodie to rest on his stomach like normal. finished his pancakes.
when steve looks up again, the guy is staring at his empty plate, kind of stuck in space. but then he vanished for a moment and the door to the kitchen opens. and he’s coming over, picking up the syrupy plate and he has freckles, bats tattooed on his arm.
he’s so close. he’s so pretty this close.
the prettiest guy steve’s ever seen.
‘eddie?’ steve blurts, exited, finally able to read his name tag. his names eddie.
his name is eddie.
eddie’s cheeks get pink, the tips of his ears. he looks at steve with wide eyes ‘yeah?’ he asks, voice small and confused.
steve grins at him. ‘your names eddie.’ and he watched eddie’s smile bloom, he has dimples.
‘wha’ eddie clears his throat. ‘what’s yours?’ and steve feels his heart burst, feels like sunshine and crisp leaves.
‘steve.’ he says, a little breathless.
‘steve.’ eddie whispers.
‘when do you go on break?’ steve asks, heart beating in his throat.
eddie just shrugs, eyes still wide. ‘whenever. as long as there’s no customers in.’ and steve realises he’s the only one here. it makes him blush more, for some reason.
‘make us another batch?’ he asks, deciding to be brave, leaning over the counter, just to be a little closer. ‘we can share.’ and it’s so worth it. to see the smile grow on eddie’s face, watch him nod, watch a curl slip out of his bun. watch him work his magic through that little pass window. stealing glances at steve as he goes.
-
watching steve enjoy his food is even better close up. even better than eddie could’ve imagined.
they’re sitting in steve’s usual booth, eddie’s where robin normally sits, he finally has a name for the cool girl steve hangs out with. gets to hear a little about how they met, can tell he loves her, so much. it’s sweet, his eyes shining as he talks.
so is the way steve cuts the pancakes, sweet, pushing perfectly stacked mouthfuls towards eddie to have. pancake, bacon, pancake. all covered in syrup, sticky and delicious.
eddie never really even liked pancakes much, more of a waffle guy. but sitting here, watching steve eat them, laughing and smiling at things eddie says. jaw just a little soft, upper lip smattered with hair. watching steve sigh and stretch when they’re done. that hand coming to rest on his stomach again, the way it always does, every saturday night.
eddie knows he’ll always love pancakes.
-
‘how do you get them to be so good?’ steve asks, hand circling eddie’s wrist loosely, stopping him before he goes back to his job, an orders come in, he has to go. but steve needs to ask, wants to know. wants one more moment with him.
eddie smiles, takes steve’s hand and kisses the back of it. and it’s so out of place, at denny’s, at 4 am that steve giggles, almost manic. it’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to him.
‘they’re made with love sweetheart.’ eddie says, looking up at him from his bow, kissing his hand again before walking away. the napkin with steve’s number on tucked safely in his back pocket.
steve’s forearm scrawled in the black ink of eddie’s own.
steve goes home and falls straight to sleep. so late its almost morning, like every saturday night.
he dreams of brown eyes, and syrup.
<3
fin.
ty for reading! mwah!
@xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @spectrum-spectre @stevesbipanic @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @acedorerryn @scoops-aboy86
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PART ONE: SOMETHIN' UNHOLY Steve Harrington x fem!reader x Eddie Munson[6.4k] Steve and Eddie shared a lot of things, you’d noticed. Just smut. More smut.
You nodded, mumbled some nonsense and buried your face into Steve’s chest, let Eddie pet at you. This? That? That was normal, not the first time Steve had pulled you onto his lap to get a little love, Eddie’s hand soothing over whatever part of he could reach, joining in on the touching.
It was the first time you’d done it naked though, bar the rumpled dress that was nothing more than a strip of fabric around your waist. And when you eventually caught your breath, you shuffled back, kneeling between the two boys, gaze flickering between both of them. 
Steve was smiling, almost shy, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from the way he’d loved on you, licked you clean until you cried. One hand cupped the back of your neck, thumb soothing down the pretty line of your throat and you wondered if he could feel the way your pulse was thrumming. 
He could. 
“Do you trust us?” He asked you, bringing you back into him, being awfully greedy with you but he really couldn’t help it. Not when he could still taste you on his tongue. And beside, Eddie didn’t seem to mind, patient, lazy, knowing he was always included. 
You nodded, breathed out a “yes,” and let yourself fall back into Eddie’s touch when his palms smoothed over your bare shoulders, playing with the ends of your hair. 
“You’ll tell us if you wanna stop?” Eddie whispered, nudging at your cheek with the line of his nose, encouraging you to tilt your head for him so he could push kisses to your jaw. 
Your lashes fluttered, you blinked, everything a little sparkly, the world soft like cotton as your two boys touched you all sweet and lovely. 
“Mhmm,” you agreed.
“Even if you wanna just slow down,” Steve added, “you’ll keep talkin’ to us, yeah baby? We don’t have to-”
You almost whined, a soft sound of protest leaving your lips as you wrapped your hand around his wrist, held his palm to your neck and shook your head. 
“I want to,” you told him, ‘cause Eddie has whispered how Steve was gonna be first to slide himself inside of you and you couldn’t stop thinking about it. 
It had been a long time coming, hadn’t it? 
And there was something about the way Eddie watched the two of you, eyes hooded and hazy, tracking the way you both touched each other like he was learning how to play a new instrument, fingers twitching when Steve’s curled into you, thumb tapping out the same beat on your hipbone when Steve licked and licked and licked and-
“That’s my girl,” Steve murmured, a kiss pressed to your lips with the praise and your cheeks burned. 
You thought about the boy behind you, wondered if Eddie had anything to say about Steve’s words but he was smiling, knowing, all too aware of how this dynamic worked. 
Eddie could touch and tease and kiss and slide himself snug inside you, he could talk all pretty, whisper all filthy and tell Steve how you liked the way he put his hands on you. 
It could happen this once, it could happen two, three times more. It could go on for weeks, maybe months, god maybe more. But Eddie knew and you knew, that you were Steve’s girl first. 
Shit, even Steve knew. 
It was something cosmic, something a little magic, inevitable like the way June turned to July and the sun came up in the morning. It was some soulmate kind of shit, a slow dance across kitchen tiles and basement party carpets, sidewalks at two in the morning, neither of you knowing when it would end. 
Just that it would. And Eddie wondered if maybe, just maybe, he’d fit in somewhere along the way. That maybe tonight wouldn’t be all he got, like this could just be the beginning. 
But no one was ready to talk about that. Not yet, not now, not like this. 
Not when your two boys were crowding either side of you, still far too dressed with their cocks pressed hard against the confines of their denim jeans, eyes glazed over as they looked at you. 
So you licked your lips and tried not to sound too shy when you said:
“Clothes off.”
Neither argued. In fact, both were silent as they pulled off their shirts, giving your greedy eyes the lovely view of their bare chests, Eddie pale and inked where Steve was suntanned and freckled. Eddie only managed to get his jeans and his boxers down past his hips before you were on him. 
You coaxed the boy back onto the sofa, Eddie huffing out a laugh, one hand flying to tug at his curls as you took his cock out of his underwear, the elastic snapping back against his skin. Eddie swore, sighed, tried his best to keep his lashes from fluttering closed because fucking hell, he really wanted to watch what was about to happen.
“Christ, princess,” Eddie huffed, “that’s it.”
You made a noise of agreement, palm curling around the hard length of him, ducking down to lick a stripe over his tip. His hips shot off of the couch, a strangled sound falling from his lips and Steve smirked, big hand covering your own on Eddie’s thigh, both of you pushing him back down.
“Easy, Eds,” Steve chided, “you gonna let our girl make you come?” 
Eddie nodded, eyes hooded as he watched you through his lashes, whining until you took pity on him and took as much of him as you could in his mouth. 
“Ah, shit, shit,” he groaned, one hand falling into your hair, careful to be gentle with you so that Steve didn’t get too riled up and scold him. “Fuckin’ hell, you look so pretty.”
You whined around his cock, flushing at the praise all whilst Steve dragged your rumpled dress down your hips and legs, throwing it into the corner of his living room. 
“Yeah?” Steve asked, kissing his way down your spine, following the arch of your back as he got you naked. He was still kneeling behind you, admiring all your bare skin, the freckle on your hip, the way Eddie had his head thrown back and was panting. “Does she look good with her mouth full?”
He was popping the button to his own jeans, tugging at himself, trying to relieve some of the pressure that he’d felt since the party, since he first kissed you. Steve’s hips stuttered against his own, a groan caught in his throat because he was staring down at the curve of your ass pressed against him, popped out as you balanced your hands on Eddie’s thighs, your mouth making filthy, pretty noises as you sucked at him. 
“Jesus, yeah, yeah, she does,” Eddie breathed out, his hand moving to cup at your face so he could feel the way your cheek bulged with him. He ran a soft thumb over your bottom lip, almost too tender for the dirty things you were doing to him. “Can feel her throat, s’fuckin good, ohmygod-”
You whined as you took him deeper, thrusting your hips back into Steve, desperate for him to touch you, to do something, to do anything. Both boys watched you, grinned at your impatience and Eddie hissed through his teeth as the head of his cock nudged at your throat, your tongue laving the underside of it as you bobbed over him.  
“You want Steve, sweetheart?” He cooed, watching his friend pet at your hips, tapping at your thighs until you spread your legs for him. You were held up by your forearms on Eddie’s knees, hands wrapped around his cock, Steve’s palms curled around your hips. “Gettin’ antsy, huh? Don’t think you’re ready for him yet, Harrington’s fucking packin’, did you know that?”
He watched your lashes flutter, felt you suck at him a little harder and Eddie gasped out a laugh, gathered your hair from your face in his fist so he could watch your eyes turn glassy. 
“Oh, she’s excited, Stevie,” Eddie smiled and the other boy twitched in his own hand, cock throbbing, cheeks flushed.
“Shut up, Munson,” Steve mumbled and you couldn’t help it, the contrast of his shy voice and the way he had a tight grip on your hip made you look back. 
You let out a huff of breath, an almost gasp that sounded a little strangled because Steve was fucking slowly into his own fist, hips twitching every time he stroked his palm over the head of his cock. 
It was big. Thick too, and you were already struggling to take all of Eddie but the sight of Steve made you rub your thighs together. 
“Jesus Christ, Steve,” you tried to laugh but god, it still sounded like a whine. “You’re gonna break me.”
Eddie snickered, wrapped his own hand around yours and stroked over his cock, both of you watching the way Steve’s cheeks went pink at your attention, your words. His eyes were hooded, darker than normal and his lips were parted, still glossy with you. 
“Told you,” Eddie grinned. “S’gonna feel so good though, isn’t it princess?”
You stroked over him a little faster, wrist twisting as Eddie’s own hand fell away to let you take control again. You nodded, pushing your face to his thigh so you could close your eyes for a second and just breathe. You were overwhelmed in the best way, four hands petting at you, naked body fizzing with attention and heat, the slick between your thighs only getting worse. 
Eddie’s hand soothed over your hair, coaxing you to look up at him, your cheek to the denim that still covered the top of his leg as you kept up your movements on his cock. His thumb pulled gently at your bottom lip, letting it fall back into place with a soft ‘pop’ and he groaned, breath ragged.  
“You can’t wait, can you?” He murmured, looking from you to Steve, “can’t wait to feel Stevie stretch you out, huh? S’that what you want? How long have you wanted it, princess, tell us.”
You clenched under his attention, at his soft cooing, his fingers tracing the lines of your face and instead of answering, you took his cock back in your mouth, just enough so you could suck at the tip and let your tongue play slide over him. 
And while Eddie gasped and moaned out obscenities at the feel of your mouth again, Steve pulled at your hips with both hands, tugged you back against him so the length of his hard cock slid along your ass, tucking himself neatly against you, holding you there and waiting. 
You could feel him throb, already wet with you and his palm smoothed along the arch of your back, swept back your hair so he could see your mouth around Eddie. 
He tutted, tsked, “c’mon, babe, you gotta answer him, I wanna hear.”
He crowded over you, placed a sweet kiss on your shoulder, another under your jaw. Steve nosed at your cheek and it still made your heart stutter to have him so close. His lips found your ear and you could feel his smile, the curl of his lips. 
“I wanna know,” he whispered, eyes on Eddie as he hooked his chin over your shoulder. The boys exchange a smile you didn’t see, Steve’s hands sliding over your sides, Eddie’s in your hair. “Hmm? Tell me how long you’ve wanted me for, baby, m’goddamn desperate to know.”
You moaned around Eddie’s cock, a soft gurgle coming from your throat that made Eddie’s hips jump. You pulled back, placed a sweet kiss on his tip that made the boy whine, and turned your head so you were cheek to cheek with Steve. 
His cock was nudging at you, slick against your folds, hot and heavy as you both slowly rocked together, trying to ease the desperation between you both. 
“A while,” you whispered before correcting yourself, “a long time, too long, fuck- Steve, please.”
You pushed back, harder than before, overcome with need and the tip of Steve’s cocked slipped inside of you, making you both cry out. The boy’s hands flew to your hips, grabbed you and kept you still, his chest heaving at the way your cunt fluttered around his head. 
“Fucking hell,” Steve groaned, head thrown back, eyes closed, jaw clenched. He whispered your name, over and over and over like a prayer, kept you from moving back any further as he twitched inside of you. “You gotta stop baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself like this.”
His instructions made you whine and you tested him, wriggled against his hold on you and managed another half an inch of him. You were gasping, barely taking half of Steve and already so full. 
Eddie’s hand found your chin, tugged at your gently to make you look at him whilst Steve reared back, some of his cock still snug inside you. Eddie smiled at you, pouting at your glassy eyes and turned up brows. 
“Oh princess,” he cooed, taking his own cock from your hand, stroking himself over with the wet you’d left their front your mouth. “You gotta calm down, you’re getting yourself too worked up.”
He kissed your mouth, a soft, sweet peck as his thumb pushed at your cheek, making your lips push out into a squished pout. 
“Poor Steve’s about to blow a fucking gasket, huh?” Eddie grinned wickedly, ignoring the way the other boy cursed him out. “You clenching down on him, yeah? That pretty little cunt getting tighter and tighter around Stevie’s dick?”
Steve let out a low moan when you did exactly what Eddie had described, your body seizing up on him like you couldn’t help it, like you were desperate to pull more of him in. 
Another kiss from Eddie, on your cheek, your forehead, still grinning as Steve panted and tried to cool down behind you, hands grazing over your ass. 
“He’s right though,” he mused, working his fist over his cock, stroking slowly, lazily, enjoying watching the way you squirmed around his best friend's dick. “We don’t want you to hurt yourself, sweetheart, you gotta take Steve nice and slow, huh? Let him help you.” 
And with that, Eddie winked at Steve and coaxed you forward, helping you slide off of the other boy and the motion made you both whine at the loss. You suddenly felt awfully empty and you were about to complain but Eddie manhandled you back onto the sofa next to him, lifting you like it was nothing. 
“Lie down, pretty girl,” he ordered softly, patting his lap, “c’mere for me.”
You did as you were told, eager to rest your head on Eddie’s thighs, watching the way he kept palming his cock, wondering if he’d feed it back into your mouth to let you suck on. 
But then Steve shucking off his jeans and moving between your legs, kneeling on the couch cushions in front of you and nothing else fucking mattered. His hands were warm on your thighs and you felt him tremble, once, twice, grab onto you a little tighter and you wondered if you’d wake up the next morning with Steve shaped bruises on your skin. 
He ducked down into you, one of his hands curling around Eddie’s thigh as he nudged your nose with his, brown eyes burning into your own. His pupils were blown wide, lips cheeks still flushed and and for just a second, selfishly, it was just the two of you. 
“You still okay?” He whispered, watching you for any signs of hesitation and when you nodded eagerly, eyes unblinking and needy, he smiled, kissed you soft, licked into you filthy and said, “atta’ girl, baby.”
Steve pulled back, nodded at Eddie in a way that seemed like a thank you for allowing Steve to have these small moments with you. But Eddie understood. Steve needed them and so did you, he saw it in the way you looked at each other, the way you gazed at the other before things moved forward. 
“Ready, pretty girl?” Steve murmured, giving his heavy cock another pump or two, lining himself up with your cunt and teasing at your folds. 
You gasped, tried to arch up to him but Eddie was quick to soothe you, carding a hand through your hair and running a finger over your mouth. Your tongue caught him, hummed around his digit as he slid it into your mouth and both boys groaned at the sight. 
Steve slid forward, inch by inch, stopping to pant and squeeze at your hips when he was half way inside you. You were glassy eyed, breathless, the stretch of him a pretty burn and you were already full, so full. 
“Oh good girl,” Steve moaned, “that’s it baby, you’ve got it, you okay, huh?”
You made some sort of noise, a high keen and Steve swore as you tightened around him, trying his damn best to not let his hips jerk forward. It took another second or two, a slow slide of his cock that made you gasp and when he was finally seated inside of you, Steve dropped his chin to his chest and tried to control his breathing. 
“Jesus fuck,” he gasped out, like he was fighting for control. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, sweetheart, so good, so good for me, huh? So goddamn good.”
Eddie laughed lowly, making a sweet noise of excitement as he leaned over your body and sighed at the sight of you both. “Oh, look at that.”
He spread your folds with a finger and thumb, groaned filthy at the view he got of Steve’s thick cock snug inside of you and he gave your clit a little tap. Your response was borderline ridiculous, hips snapping up off of the sofa, taking Steve deeper still and both you and the boys moaned at it all. 
“Fuckin’ prettiest thing ever, huh?” Eddie choked out, smoothing a calloused hand over the soft of your tummy, holding you down as Steve lifted your thighs, hitched them to his hips and gazed down at you. “Look at you two, just goddamn perfect, am I right?”
You nodded, blissed out, already drunk on the way your boys had made you feel. 
“C’mon, big boy, I wanna hear all her pretty noises.”
Steve tapped your hip to gain your attention, your gaze snapping to him and he lifted his chin, eyes glazed over as he asked a silent question. 
‘Can I move?’
You lifted your hips in response, watched his eyes roll back and then he was rocking into you. A slow, maddening in and out of his cock, your cunt making filthy noises, loud enough for Eddie to swear and groan out like a man possessed. 
You watched him fist his cock, hand moving quicker than before as he trained his eyes on where you and Steve were joined, his jaw slack, lips parted as he let his free hand cup your tits, fingers pinching your nipples a little mean. 
Then Steve was panting, skin slick, boxers shoved down his hips just enough to let his cock move in and out of you. He made the prettiest sounds, eyes flicking from where your cunt was wrapped around him to the hand that Eddie used to stoke himself. His hair was a mess, eyes drooping with pleasure that made him feel boneless and when you whined at Eddie in order for the boy to give you his cock to suck on, Steve almost fell apart. 
He hitched your legs higher, claves against his chest and ankles at his shoulders as he pressed kisses to the inside of your knee, pressed up against you in every sense of the word. It felt like he was turning you inside out and you could help but take Eddie a little deeper too, gagging a little as you let him slip down your throat. 
Both boys were messy about it, gasping and swearing, calling you the sweetest names, moaning out something dirty and every touch of them had you warm, begging for more. Your cheek was pressed to Eddie’s thigh as you sucked on his tip, panting hard about him as Steve picked up the pace and made your toes curl. 
It was all consuming, having both of your boys like this. Steve alone would’ve been enough to make you cry, a white hot crackle of emotion mixed in with the best kind of pleasure; rough hands, sweet lips, soft words, but Eddie’s fingers around your throat made everything worse, made everything better and when he looked down at you, he stuttered, lifted his hips almost too much and sighed. 
“Oh sweetheart,” he whispered, wiping away a tear that rolled down your cheek, catching it before it disappeared into your hair. “You good, yeah? Doin’ so well for us, that pretty mouth feels so good.”
And as if he wasn’t happy with all of your attention on Eddie, Steve dropped a hand to your clit, thumb brushing over it lazily as he slowed down, made you cry for him instead and Eddie’s dick slipped messily from your mouth as you chanted Steve’s name. 
He set a punishing pace, slow and hot, a steady rhythm that had you seeing the entire solar system, his thumb barely pressing down on you in sloppy circles, dangling what you wanted just out of reach. 
You whimpered, legs flexing against Steve’s chest and he grinned, sucked a kiss to your calf and let your legs fall back to his hips. He leaned over you, lifted his chin at Eddie so the other boy could cross the rest of the distance over your naked frame and give his friend some love too. 
You watched them kiss above you, an awfully sweet exchange considering where their dicks were but it made you clench around Steve and it was sinful the way you saw him smile against Eddie’s mouth at the feel of you.  
Unholy, you thought again, the two of them, the way they made you feel. 
Unholy. 
It was downright filthy, watching their tongues slip in and out of each other’s mouths, your head pressed back into Eddie’s thigh and he petted at your hair, as if to tell you they hadn't forgotten about you. Steve’s fingers on your cunt was nothing more than a tease now, a soft touch that kept you on edge. 
You whined, made soft noises of protest as your hand tried to bat Steve’s out of the way, tried to rub hard and fast circles over yourself the way you liked it but your impatience was enough to garner the attention back to you. 
Both boys were back on you, a little meaner than before, hands rougher as Eddie caught both of yours in one of his, pinning them over his lap and laughing at your pout. 
Steve leaned down to you instead, grinning at Eddie before he kissed you sweet too, nipped at your bottom lip and nosed at your cheek. 
“S’wrong?” He asked, voice impossibly soft. He was honey and caramel, sticky sweet, a hint of something dangerous and all flirt. “Huh, baby? Feeling left out?”
You nodded and whined, tried to arch your back and lift your hips, pulled at your wrists but Eddie had you captured. He tutted, grinned dirty at you and wanted to burst. 
“Yes, yeah, shit, please,” you cried, pouting at both your boys. “Steve, Eddie, I-”
“What?” Steve interrupted, “what d’you want?”
“A kiss,” you whispered, “another kiss.”
Eddie made a little sound of amusement from above you both, stroked a thumb softly over the inside of your wrist. “Ain’t she sweet?” He cooed, and if it had been in any other situation, you would’ve rolled your eyes and slapped at his arm for his cheek but you could only moan at him. 
“Yeah?” Steve pouted, trying hard not to smile, “Is that all? Pretty baby, d’you want a kiss from Eds?”
You were frantic in agreeing, sighing sweet, straining against the hold both boys had on you and Steve was fucking throbbing inside of you, moving minutely, a slow, soft rock of his hips every now and then. 
Eddie let you go only to slide out from underneath you, your head falling softly to the couch cushions as Steve settled back onto his heels and spread your legs wider, pushing himself into the cradle of your thighs. 
“Go on, give our girl a kiss.”
It’s like they planned it, like they knew you inside out. 
Eddie grinned, smiled a little wild and roguish and it was so pretty, the way he looked at you. He settled onto his knees like Steve, bent by your head as he crowded over you and slanted his mouth to yours. 
The second your lips parted under his, Steve squeezed at your thighs and started fucking his hips into you, groaning at the way you keened prettily into Eddie’s kiss. The boy swallowed your sounds, licked into you dirty, his tongue a hot, soft slide over your own and the feeling of his top lip pressed to your bottom was maddening.  
It made you dizzy, the way both boys filled you up, the way they both seemed to know what you wanted, what you needed, how you liked it. Eddie’s hands came to cradle your face, tilted your jaw so he could kiss you deeper and eventually, it was nothing more than your open mouths pressed together as you cried out both their names. 
Steve was making sounds that you’d think about for a while to come, soft grunts and dirty whispers under his breath as he pushed you and himself closer to the edge. And Eddie was cooing, pressing the smallest of kisses to your lips in between filthy words.
“You gonna come, princess? Gonna come around Steve’s big cock? You are, aren’t you? I bet he can feel it, huh, Harrington? Is her pretty little cunt gettin’ tight for you?”
Steve let out a strangled gasp, a hand falling to hold at your side, fingers splayed across your ribs, thumb pushed to the soft of your stomach and his hips pistoned in and out of you. You felt yourself get impossibly wetter, a warm and then cold touch against your clit and despite Eddie’s curls blocking your view, you knew Steve had let a line of spit drip from his tongue onto your cunt, used his fingers to rub it into you. 
“M’gonna come, m’comingcomingcoming-” you were surprised the boys knew what you were saying, your words a sticky babble that got caught in your throat as you sucked in air and squeezed around Steve, hands flying to Eddie’s hair to tug at it. 
“Oh fucking hell, there you go, there you go,” Eddie was groaning, kissing every part of you he could reach while you pulled at his curls, tried to keep him close. 
“Christ, shit, good girl, baby, good fuckin’ girl,” Steve panted, fucking you through the way your back arched and your ass lifted off the couch. He grabbed your hips, pulled you into him until your were splayed across his thighs and fuck, shit, he lost all semblance of control. 
“Takin’ me so good, baby, so good, so good, shit,” he gasped out, hair falling into his face, nails leaving half moons on your skin and you cried out for him the whole time, his name leaving your lips in a messy whisper. “M’close, gonna come, let me come inside you, huh? Can I? Please baby, pleasepleaseplease-”
You nodded and thanked god for birth control, unable to say no to the way your best friend was begging to fill you up. You felt his hips stutter and still, the thick weight of his cock twitching inside of you as he let go and you knew then that this wasn’t the last time you let this happen.  
It was like you weighed nothing, the way Steve scooped you up. Your skin was as slick as his and felt boneless, messy and fizzing with aftershocks as Steve gathered you back into his arms and fell back into the couch with you. 
Your legs were spread over the outside of his, straddling him as the messy slick of you and him slid against his thigh and you whined at the sensation. Your arms were around his neck, forehead pressed to his mouth as he panted against you, lay kisses along your hairline and whispered to you how good you were. His cock softened against you and you tried to catch your breath, heartbeat quickening once more as you saw Eddie move to stand between Steve’s spread legs.
Steve kissed you soft and sweet, caught your face between both hands and smiled at you until your blurry gaze focused on him. Warm, brown eyes, freckles over his nose, a mess of hair and a pretty blush coloured bruise on his neck that you barely remembered giving him. 
“Hey there, sweetheart,” he murmured, “you with us?”
You were sluggish in the way you nodded, pushing your lips to Steve’s an unbelievably greedy need for him still and your voice was hoarse when you answered.
“Yeah, I’m good,” you whispered, “so good, Stevie.”
Steve knew what you meant, what you were saying, how you were talking about him. ‘Cause he felt the same, had the same rapid heartbeat that fluttered under your own but he could only nod and smooth his hands down your sides, pulling you into him so your back arched real pretty.
“Gonna let Eddie feel you too, hmm?” Another kiss, four hands on you, squeezing at your ass, pressing nicely at the small of your back. “He’s been so patient, hasn’t he?”
You squirmed, let Steve help you onto your knees as he held you over him, your hands curling around his shoulders for support. Eddie gripped your waist, swiped his fingers through your folds and hissed, pumping his cock in his fist a few times, painfully hard from the time you’d spent taking it down your throat. 
“You ready, princess?”
Eddie looked at Steve when you made a whine, a whimper, watching as the other boy’s gaze took in your hooded eyes and slack jaw. Steve grinned, looked back at Eddie over your shoulder and nodded.
“Yeah, she’s ready, Eds.”
The boy gasped out as he sunk himself into you, cock already throbbing at how you gripped him, hot and wet and tight from how hard Steve had made you come. He was intent on doing the same, hands bracketing your hips, one clasped over Steve’s as both your boys held you.
Eddie set a fast pace, hips rutting into you as you pushed back, bouncing on his cock as Steve murmured dirty words of praise from underneath you. His head was thrown back onto the sofa, eyes hooded as he watched you and Eddie through his lashes, feeling greedy as he brought you down to him with one hand on your jaw, kissing the moans from your mouth as Eddie sped up.
“So good for us,” Steve murmured, kissing a line across your jaw. He cooed at your whine, hooked your hair behind your ear and grinned something filthy when Eddie landed a sharp smack against your ass. “Like that? Yeah? Fuck, she liked that Eddie.”
The other boy swore, hips stuttering as he tried to control the urge to come already, gasping at the way your cunt fluttered around him with every thrust, every tap at your ass. He wanted it pink, rosy, matching the way Steve had marked up your neck, evidence of them on you everywhere. 
“You feel fuckin’ amazing,” Eddie groaned and Steve watched the way his brow crumpled, a lovely, pretty glow to his cheeks as his mouth fell open in a silent grunt. It was all too familiar. “Christ, m’already so close, fuckfuckfuck-”
Steve laughed a little mean, eyes glittering at the other boy as you keened, pushed your face into Steve’s neck to bite down and suck at the skin there. He petted at you, fingertips creating trails of goosebumps across your spine and he squeezed encouragingly at your thighs, helping Eddie keep you up, ass popped out real pretty for them.
“You hear that, sweetheart?” Steve said hotly against your ear, eyes still trained on his friend. “You’re makin’ poor Eddie lose it, he was talkin’ such a big game before, wasn’t he?”
Eddie swore, kept fucking you, glaring at Steve with as much heat as he could despite the way his cock twitched and jumped inside of you at the other boys taunting words. 
“Pussy’s too good, huh, hot shot?” Steve raised his brows, smirked at Eddie and wasn’t all surprised when he bent over you, made you groan into Steve as he sandwiched you between them.
Steve was ready, hooked his fingers into the chain that was glinting prettily around Eddie’s neck and he gave it a little tug. “You wanna come again for us, gorgeous?”
You lifted your head, eyes glazed over, lips swollen from all the attention and Steve swore up and down he’d never seen a prettier sight. You let your forehead fall against his, brought a hand back to your shoulder to tangle your fingers in Eddie’s curls and hold him there. 
“Fuck, yeah,” you gasped, “already close, Eds, can feel you everywhere, shit, keep going.”
It was enough to send him over the edge, a sinful groan coming from deep in his chest as Eddie let you and Steve hold him to you both, chest to your back as Steve’s handsome features went slack with awe as he watched you both.
He let go of your hip to reach under you, hand blindly brushing over Eddie’s wet cock as it slid in and out of you, making the other boy hiss. He hummed an apology, found your clit, sticky and swollen between your folds and made you jolt as he pressed down on it.
“Steve, fuck, sensitive,” you cried out, eyes fluttering as Eddie heaved out another wrecked gasp. You were close, he could feel it, your cunt squeezing at him and he fell forward, head to your shoulder as Steve fed him his fingers, silver chain still tangled between.
“That’s it,” Steve praised, eyes on both of you, “look at you, so pretty together, look so fuckin’ good, Jesus. Want you both to come, yeah? Gonna let Eddie come in you, baby? Let him fill you up too?”
That was it. The rubber band snapped, a hot, sharp rip as pleasure seared through you, Eddie chanting your name as he rutted into you, hips slamming into your ass as he came. Your release came in a soft cry, lashes wet with tears that Steve kissed away and his voice was a lifeline in your ear as you clung to him, falling forward to crush you face to his neck.
You came down with hands stroking at your hair, your back, Eddie hissing as he slipped out of you. It was dizzying, the silence that followed. Not awkward, not uncomfortable, just a static buzz in your head that felt like an electrical current.
Both of your boys were livewires, kissing down any piece of bare skin they could reach, neck, shoulders, arms, back, hips, calves, ankles. You hardly heard Eeddie leave, content to stay on top of Steve, legs aching as you breathed him in, a mix of mint and cologne, smoke from the party, sex and summer and fucking Eddie. 
“You okay?” he whispered, hands cupping your jaw to lift your tired head. Your eyes were closed but you nodded, smiled when his nose nudged yours. “Lemme see your eyes, baby, huh?”
Baby. Even after sex. It made you warm. Made you hope that this - whatever it all was - wasn’t over.   
You did as Steve asked, opened your eyes, lashes fanning over your cheeks as you blinked. He was close, tip of his nose rubbing sweetly over your own, back and forth, back and forth until you couldn’t take it anymore and pushed into his hands until you caught his mouth with yours. A soft kiss, short and lovely, just because after all those years, you felt like you could. 
Eddie returned with a warm washcloth and a pint glass of water, not breaking the bubble you had both created, but slipping back inside it, slumped into Steve’s side as you leaned over to give him a kiss too, just as good as Steve’s. Both boy’s tsked and cooed as Eddie cleaned you up, hand gentle between your legs and between the three of you, you downed the cold water, throats burning from all your noises, lips rosy from kissing.
The heavy silence returned, thick and warm and comforting like a blanket, a lovely soft hold around all three of you as Steve eventually led the way up to his bedroom, all of you holding various discarded clothing in your arms. You let Steve wrestle you into one of his shirts, old and stretched out, the collar hanging loose around one shoulder but Eddie just kissed the bare skin on show as you fell into bed beside him.
Steve slid in on the other side, bare chested and still unbelievably warm, like the sun lived in the spaces between his ribs, a pretty, pretty contrast to Eddie’s smoke and bourbon scent, hands decorated with cold, silver rings as they traversed your sides. 
No one said anything when you pulled both boys into you, Eddie curled around your frame like a backpack, his chest pressed to your spine, curls spilling wild and messy across the pillow you shared, just like him. It let you lay yourself across Steve, cheek pressed to his heart, a grounding thudthudthud under your ear, his hand in your hair and his eyes fluttering closed when you pressed one more kiss to the hill of his collar bone.
 “We’ll talk in the morning?” you dared to whisper into the dark, “about this?”
You didn’t sound scared, or regretful, both boys noticed, just unsure, hesitant, like you were expecting rejection, even with the way they were still glued to your sides. They were all encompassing, their bodies following the lines of your own as they settled into sleep and you. 
You felt Eddie nod, the line of his nose brushing up and down the back of your neck and he squeezed the arm he had around your waist a little tighter. Reassuring. 
“Yeah, princess,” he whispered, voice scratchy, full of sleep and smoke and sex, “we can talk in the mornin’.”
Steve backed up his sentiment with a thumb pressed to your cheek, a soft tap that made you look up at him, neck craned to see the way his eyes shone down at you in the low light. 
“We’re ready to talk whenever you are.”
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transmunsons · 4 months
Text
Little Eddie Munson whose favorite movie growing up was Sleeping Beauty. Or rather, it was his mother’s favorite. She loved the dragons and fairies and princesses and magic.
Eddie watched her face, open and excited, as it was lit up by the reflected glow of the theater screen. The light washed away the crease line between her eyebrows that always became more prominent after talking to his dad. It was the only wrinkle she had. The only one she’d had time to form.
Eddie remembered the way she had leaned down and laughed quietly after Eddie frantically asked her what would happen to the prince. How she told him to wait and watch. And maybe Eddie was too young to fully grasp the plot, but his mom was patient and explained it to him in the parking lot as they walked back to their car, hand in hand while Eddie stomped on every leaf he saw.
Two years later, Eddie stood next to his dad wearing the frilly dress he’d always hated and stared resolutely at his Mary Janes. He’d kicked and screamed that morning, but his dad eventually convinced him that Mom would want her little girl to look her best today and don’t you want that? So he’d complied. Hours later, the rotund man at the pulpit would not stop talking about how Elizabeth Munson used to light up a room and how we would all miss her so terribly.
Eddie was just tall enough to see into the casket. She looked like she was sleeping. Like she was only a kiss away from coming back. He watched as his dad pressed his lips to her hairline, watched as the lid closed and she was lowered into the earth.
All this flashed before his eyes as he stood alone facing down the hellish swarm of bats. A scream—a roar—ripped itself from his raw throat as he challenged the monsters, goading them into attacking. He wielded his jury-rigged spear and trash can lid as if they were a sword and shield, taking down as many bats as he could.
But Eddie was no prince. He was knocked to the ground and held down, laid out like an underworldly buffet for the vicious bats to sink their teeth into. And they did. It hurt like hell, too. By the time Dustin hobbled over to him, Eddie had stopped screaming. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that the bats weren’t gnawing on him anymore.
It’s not how he thought he would go, bleeding out in the arms of a fifteen-year-old. It’s not fair, but he’s a Munson. They don’t get happy endings.
He heard Dustin calling his name as his eyes slipped away to stare at the inky excuse for a sky, splintered with red. He never knew how much he loved the sun until it was gone.
Big, brown cow eyes framed by blocky eyebrows overwhelmed his field of vision. Steve.
He felt a hand on his cheek and then—oh—Steve was kissing him.
He could vaguely hear Steve shouting instructions at someone, or multiple someone’s, he wasn’t sure. Then his lips were back on Eddie’s, pushing air into his lungs. Ah, so it wasn’t a kiss. Damn shame.
“Steve, he’s mumbling something”
“He’s delirious”
The world was moving. Flashes of light passed by periodically. He was still lying down but not in the dirt anymore. The lights were… street lamps. He was in a car.
Thankfully he couldn’t feel his body. He knew this wasn’t good and probably meant that he was in so much pain that he went into shock. He was trying to ignore that.
Frantic voices surrounded him and he was lifted out of the car. The movement jostled him too much and all the pain came back in a tidal wave of blinding white. He promptly passed out.
Eddie woke up covered in so many bandages he could barely see any skin. He felt gauze on his jaw and neck and tried to touch it, but his hand was yanked to a stop by the wrist. He was handcuffed to the gurney.
“I tried to stop them.”
He was met with the sight of Steve Harrington slouched in a plastic chair wearing a rumpled deep red sweater. Through fallen strands of hair, Eddie could see that the skin under Steve’s eyes was tinged purple.
“They said it was just a precaution, to make sure you wouldn’t run.” Steve looked mad. “Hopper’s out there working on getting you uncuffed.”
Eddie must’ve still been delirious. “Hopper?” He croaked.
“Long story,” Steve twitched his mouth into a smile.
“I always knew that guy was a tank,” Eddie stated.
Steve let out a laugh. It was a glorious noise. Eddie wanted to come up with a million ways to cause it again.
“How are you in here, you know, if I’m so dangerous?” Eddie rattled his cuff.
“I can be quite charming,” Steve leveled him with a grin and a raised eyebrow.
Eddie made a disbelieving hmph.
“You doubt the charm?” Steve looked playfully offended.
“Oh, I doubt.”
Steve scoffed.
“You’re not nearly as cute as you think you are,” Eddie lied. “So how’d you get in?”
Steve stared at him for a second before fishing something out of his back pocket. The ring of keys jangled and flashed in the light where Steve held it. “Lifted it off a nurse.”
In Eddie’s book, that was far more impressive than schmoozing his way in. He told him so.
“Thanks,” Steve looked down. If Eddie didn’t know better, he’d say it was downright bashful.
“They lowered your security to just, uh, that,” Steve gestured to the handcuffs, “after your alibis were confirmed.”
“My alibis?”
“Yeah, you’ll be a free man as soon as you sign some paperwork.”
Of course there was a catch.
Beeping from the machines Eddie was hooked up to filled the room.
“You saved me.” Eddie whispered. He remembered strong arms pulling him off the ground, one under his knees, one cradling his head.
He took a good look at Steve sitting there beside him, with his sweater and his stolen keys. He looked wrecked, like he hadn’t had a good night's rest in days. His honey brown hair shone in the harsh hospital lights. Eddie thought he looked fucking regal.
Eddie realized two things at once. 1: he might be falling in love with Steve Harrington and 2: there was a big, fat, unmistakable “F” on his medical bracelet for all to see.
He heard the beeping of his heart monitor increase.
“Hey, what’s wrong, are you okay?” Steve was suddenly very close. His hand hovered near Eddie’s shoulder.
“Where’s my uncle?” Eddie asked, trying to calm his breathing. He kept staring at it. They’d at least gotten his name correct.
“He left to get some food, he’s been haunting your bedside for the past week.” Steve’s face was right next to his, trying to meet his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Steve turn his head to look at Eddie’s wrist. “What are you looki—oh.”
Steve covered the bracelet with his hand; his palm was big and warm. “It’s alright. None of the kids know.”
Eddie felt his stomach drop. “And you?”
“I know,” Steve had the decency to look embarrassed.
“I had to cut your clothes off to bandage your wounds,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, “I put two and two together when I had to correct how some of the doctors referred to you.”
“And you’re cool?”
“Yeah, man, I’m cool.” Steve smiled. “I swear on Dustin’s mother.”
Eddie chuckled and then immediately cringed when his sides contracted. “Don’t-don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry.”
Screw falling, Eddie was firmly in it now. Steve was being so casual and normal about what should have been ground-shaking information to him. Grass is green, the sky is blue, Hawkins hosts a hell dimension, and Eddie Munson has tits. Had tits, anyway.
Steve had to sneak back out before he got caught and Wayne eventually came back with some turkey sandwiches. They had a tearful reunion where Eddie explained everything and Wayne told him he believed in him the whole time.
Some men in suits came by and watched as Eddie paged through a Bible’s worth of documents. An undead Hopper stood glowering at them from the corner.
Eventually, Eddie was discharged and immediately tackled by a gaggle of young teenagers. Mike, Dustin, and Lucas apologized for almost readmitting him when he yelped and told them to be careful.
Eddie and Wayne settled into their tiny new two-bedroom near main Hawkins. Wayne grumbled that it was too far from Forest Hills, but Eddie knew he enjoyed having his own room for the first time in years.
The school didn’t let him attend class physically, but they sent him work to complete so he could finish the year. He was determined to walk.
Steve and Robin would drop by to hang out. Robin said it was enrichment for Steve since he didn’t have any other friends his age, and Steve gave her a noogie in response. Robin and Eddie bonded over their shared freak status while Steve seemed to be thinking about something very hard.
During one of these visits, Eddie found himself alone with Steve on the roof of his van. Robin had some band thing, so they’d driven out to a field armed with a six-pack or two and a small mountain of junk food.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow across the field and turning the grass to gold. The plaid blanket they’d spread on the roof was covered in crumbs and empty wrappers. Eddie watched Steve’s profile as he brought the beer bottle to his lips, as the liquid traveled down his throat. He stared at the slope of his nose, how his eyelashes brushed against his cheeks.
“Alright, it’s your turn, hit me,” Eddie said.
Steve looked out at the treeline thoughtfully. “Okay, who was your first crush?”
Eddie groaned. “I’ll tell you but don’t laugh.”
“I won’t!” Steve was already smiling.
“Promise?”
“No, I’m not gonna promise, what if it’s really funny?”
Eddie pulled up his legs and buried his head between his knees. He mumbled the answer.
“What was that?” Steve teased.
“I said it was Prince Philip!” Eddie admitted.
“From the cartoon?”
“Don’t laugh!”
“I’m not,” Steve laughed.
“It was my moms favorite movie as a kid and she took me to go see one of the re-releases. I was four and I was obsessed with him. My mom thought it was adorable.”
“It is adorable,” Steve leaned back to rest on his elbow.
“What about you?” Eddie leaned down to join him, “Who was your first crush?”
“It was, uh, Laura Jackson in fourth grade.” Steve picked at the label on his bottle. “She let me bum fries off her lunch when my mom forgot to give me money, which was all the time.”
“Did you ever tell her?”
“Yeah,” Steve huffed a laugh, “about every month. Shot me down each time.” He mimed shooting a gun into his own heart and flopped down with his tongue hanging out. Eddie chuckled and Steve resurrected with a self-satisfied grin.
“And you kept trying?” Eddie asked.
“I guess that when I know what I want, I kind of just go after it.” Steve looked over at Eddie. His eyes weren’t actually a true brown, they were hazel like the forest floor. He was looking at him with an indescribable expression. “All I have to do is figure out what it is that I want.”
Eddie looked away, heat crawling up the back of his neck, and lit a cigarette. He took a drag and let it sit in his lungs before blowing it out again.
“I think it’s my turn again,” Steve said. “Let me know if it’s too far.”
“Well now I’m getting worried.”
“Just—you don’t have to answer, but,” Steve picked a crumb off the blanket, “I noticed you don’t go on any dates.”
“That’s not a question, Steve, and not a lot of guys are lining up to gain the affection of Hawkins’ most notorious accused serial killer. Being gay isn’t a walk in the park even without the social stigma of acquitted murder. Let alone the fact that once my pants came off they’d run for the hills.”
“So you’ve never…?”
“Well,” Eddie flushed, “Let’s say I give better than I get.”
Steve seemed unfazed. “What kind of guy would you go for, if you could?”
You, Eddie doesn’t say. Instead,
“He’d have to be kind,”
“Of course.”
“And caring,”
“Naturally.”
“And totally reckless, an absolute daredevil. And ideally he would be madly in love with me, and he wouldn’t care how I was born.”
Eddie was describing the Steve who appeared in his fantasies. The one who showed up in shining armor to save the day. The one who slew monsters with his teeth. More importantly, the one who dropped Robin off at school every day, hours before his shift, just because he wanted to. The one who made sure the freshmen were safe. Who delivered fresh groceries at the Mayfield trailer every week since August.
“I need to confess something.” Steve broke off Eddie’s train of thought.
“What?” Eddie started running through a million possibilities in his head but before he could really process them, Steve spoke again.
“Robin didn’t have a band thing.” His face was so close to Eddie’s, he could see dust on his eyelashes. “I asked her not to come.”
“Why? You two are practically attached at the hip.”
Steve’s eyes flickered back and forth between Eddie’s like he was searching for something. “I wanted to do something together, just the two of us.”
The sun was kissing the treetops across the field.
Eddie had the all-too-familiar feeling that he was missing a crucial bit of information, a tickle in the back of his mind that often occurred when he was staring down a blank test or missed a social cue.
Steve plucked the cigarette from Eddie’s slack mouth, took a deep pull, and placed it gently back on Eddie’s lower lip all without breaking eye contact. Eddie let it fall to the blanket, holes be damned.
“What’s going on here?” Eddie demanded, sitting upright. “You know I’m gay, you can’t do shit like that to me.”
Steve copied his position and exhaled the smoke, taking a second to check that the camel was put out. “My god, Eddie, I’ve spent the entire evening hitting on you and you haven’t said a damn thing!”
Eddie closed his mouth with a clack. He blinked to recalibrate his brain. “I thought you were straight?”
“We spent an hour last week ranking the asses of male musicians. I still say Springsteen deserves first.”
Eddie flailed his hands, “I don’t know! I thought that’s what straight dudes did with their friends. Everything you guys do seems incredibly homosexual, how is a poor guy like me supposed to tell the difference?”
“I sang to you on the ride here!” Steve said through an incredulous smile.
Eddie recalled the slightly pitchy but otherwise impressive rendition of “Your Kind of Lover”. Thinking back, he should’ve noticed the emphasis Steve had put on the chorus, but he was a little distracted by the way Steve’s hair had bobbed as he nodded his head to the beat, fingers tapping on the wheel.
Now, under the weight of Steve’s gaze, the attention felt like too much. It wasn’t fair how the setting sun illuminated Steve’s tan skin. The man was fucking glowing like Helios himself. A drop of sunlight pooled in the hollow of his collarbone just above where a thatch of hair peeked out of Steve’s white undershirt. Eddie nervously licked his lips.
He let a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "You like me," Eddie poked his finger into Steve's shoulder.
"Nice of you to finally catch on," Steve poked him back. "I was starting to think I misinterpreted all your ogling."
"I do not ogle," Eddie sniffed, "I admire. You haven't seen yourself from behind; if you had a music career, I'd rank you above Springsteen."
"You sure know your way to a man's heart." Steve said flatly.
"Ya know, when you gave me CPR in the Upside Down, I thought you were giving me true love's kiss." Eddie confessed.
"That's adorable."
A siren whooped in the distance. Instinct took over Eddie's body as he scooped bottles and wrappers into his arms and tried to scramble off the roof. He registered Steve doing the same next to him, and in their haste they knocked into each other, slipped off the van, and tumbled into the grass.
Eddie ended up laying on top of Steve, holding one of the beer bottles at the base of his throat.
"Hi," Steve said breathlessly.
"Hey," Eddie let the bottle roll to the ground. They'd landed on the side away from the road. He watched through his van's tires as the police car sped past their location without a second glance.
"Are you okay?" Steve asked.
"I'm fine."
Crickets started chirping in far-off woods and Eddie thought he might've heard a bullfrog croak.
Steve tucked a piece of Eddie's unruly hair back in place and settled his hand against Eddie's cheek. The sun had just set and Steve's eyes were huge in the low light. Warmth bled through his shirt where it pressed against Eddie's bare forearms.
"D'you know how long I've liked you?" Steve whispered. His breath ghosted over Eddie's lips.
"Tell me," Eddie whispered back with a smile.
"Back in school, I thought you were kind of an ass-"
"I thought this was about how you like me."
"I'm getting to it. I thought you were a jerk, but after I became friends with Dustin, I noticed how much more comfortable he seemed. You made him a space where he could be himself. That's what you do. You make everyone around you more comfortable in who they are because they watch you be proudly yourself.
"You're the bravest, smartest, kindest man I know. I think I started falling for you when you told me you were wrong about me, you know, being an asshole. No one I've dated has ever recognized how much I've changed. You saw me, the real me."
Steve looked so sincere, eyes wide as he held Eddie's face. Eddie wanted to hide in his hair.
"You're gonna make me fall in love with you, Harrington." Eddie warned.
Steve grinned, "You promise?"
"Steve?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm gonna kiss you now."
"Okay."
Eddie didn't have nearly as much experience as Steve, but he held his own. His hands raked through Steve's hair, felt him do a full body shiver when he tugged.
Eddie smiled against his lips.
“Shut up,” Steve murmured.
“I didn’t say anything.”
Eddie was pulled back into the kiss by the back of his neck. He tilted his head, coaxed Steve into opening his mouth. Steve did something with his tongue that would’ve made Eddie go cross-eyed if his eyes were open. One of Steve’s hands crept up Eddie’s thigh until it rested on his hip, a thumb touching Eddie’s side where his t-shirt had ridden up.
Eddie moved to properly straddle Steve as he switched to latch onto the side of Steve’s neck. The hand on his hip gripped him tight as Eddie settled. Steve made a desperate noise and arched his back, grinding up to meet him.
“Eddie,” Steve said hoarsely. Eddie hummed in acknowledgment as he laid open mouthed kisses on Steve’s pulse point, skating his hands up Steve’s arms to squeeze his biceps.
“Eddie, we gotta slow down,” Steve pulled a reluctant Eddie off his neck and stroked his cheek with a thumb.
Steve gave him a sweet, lingering kiss and Eddie nipped at his lower lip as he pulled away.
“If my giving you CPR was true love’s kiss, does that make me your Prince Charming?”
“I should never have told you that,” Eddie groaned against Steve's collar.
-
cross-posted on ao3
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shanastoryteller · 4 months
Note
HAPPY HALLOWEEN GRANDMA!! You already know what I want, nay, what I crave when the days get shorter and the only thing that brings me any solace is my favorite rarepare. Please, Tonks x Percy siat - specifically something abouth Tonks telling Percy about her powers maybe, just an incredibly intimate scene please and thank you 😩🧡
The first time Percy rushes to the St. Mungo's on the heal of a battle and bursts into Tonk's room, he doesn't understand why he'd needed to threaten his way in in the first place. She's stripped to her underwear and looks perfectly fine.
But there are three healers surrounding her and completely ignoring him. "Time?" the oldest asks, her hair pure white and her face a layer of wrinkles.
Tonks closes her eyes. "Eighty seconds."
"External first," she says briskly. "It doesn't do us any good if you bleed out."
She breathes out.
Then blood floods across her body, soaking the bed instantly as wounds big and small erupt over her skin. In some places he sees flashes of what he thinks are bone.
Tonks doesn't scream as magic starts flying, and he doesn't either, keeping himself plastered to the wall.
"Internal," the healer says.
What little of her skin he can see beneath the blood pales and they're casting more healing spells, longer and more complicated the any he's heard before.
"Head," she says. "Go slow."
Tonks swallows and then there's another rush of blood as her eyes roll and she passes out and all three of the healers are flinging spells with a speed and intensity he didn't know was possible.
He's almost grateful that he can't see what injury they're treating.
Then the other two step back and the old healer casts a diagnostic spell that Percy tries to interpret and can't. Her shoulders drop and she says, "Good," casting a scourgify to take care of the blood and pulling the blanket over her with a flick of her wand.
She turns, noticing Percy for the first time. Instead of anger, she just raises an eyebrow. "You're the boyfriend, then?"
He really hates what that implies about how often Tonks needs to be treated by healer quite this talented. "Is she going to be okay?"
His stomach had twisted itself in nots but it finally starts ease when she gives a short nod. "We'll let her get some rest and keep her overnight from observation." She tilts her head to the side. "I'd kick you out, citing the no visitors policy for this ward, but you're already here. Seems like a big of wasted effort."
"A bit," he agrees, pulling a chair next to Tonks's bedside and collapsing into it. "Thank you."
~
Tonks wakes up slowly, feeling the hospital sheets that she hates with the smell she can't stand and she's already trying to figure out how she can get herself released early without bringing Nanu's wrath down on her.
She pushes herself upright - or tries to. She can't mover her arm.
She looks down, alarmed, but her arm is just being used as a pillow.
By Percy, who's asleep and hunched over her bed. Percy, who needed to be coaxed and cajoled into leaving his desk for so much as a tea is here. He doesn't even have any scrolls or work spready out. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't, but he's just here, and from the way his clothing's rumpled he's been here for a while.
Tonks's heart feels so full.
She's going to marry him.
He only just accepted that they were dating, so she'll give him some time before introducing the concept of marriage, but she knows. This man is going to be her husband someday.
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pyramultimuse · 1 month
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A darkened Heart
@fxckin-blackbeard with Dark One!Killian
Killian had been hunting this crocodile skinned bastard for years. Always out of reach, taunting him, making his life hell and hurting the ones he cares about must. He was so close, he's gotten the blade he needed to kill Rumple once and for all but the trickster had gotten to Blackbeard. The dark one got him to make a deal, all Edward wanted to do was protect Killian but the price had been his heart, in turn the emotion of love he had for Hook. When Edward came to him to show his newfound powers and the deal he struck it was the worst thing. Edward unknowingly struck a deal with the very enemy they had been hunting together.
There was no time to scold his lover for how stupid this was, that life was not worth living without his love. They had to kill Rumple quickly, Edward's fire powers proved useful in this plan so Killian could use the dagger. It was close, but Hook managed to get up close and personal to the dark one and plunged the magical blade into his chest. Though what he learned in that moment was that there is always a dark one, those powers then flowed into him as Rumple died.
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adhdannieedison · 5 months
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You know what drives me nuts about the way people treated Regina Mills?
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1. If she was a king not a queen, and she plundered villages in the name of the kingdom, they’d have called her powerful and assertive. She ran the kingdom itself better than Leopold ever did.
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2. She was not the cause of Emma’s bad childhood, because Snow and Charming didn’t lose Emma the day they put her in the wardrobe - they lost her the day snow gave her name to Rumple. The dark curse was coming, even if Regina decided not to cast it Rumple would have found someone else (likely Zelena) and Emma would have been written into it still because of Snow and Charming. Also, they could have chosen to live a cursed life but with Emma by their side, they didn’t have to send her away to become the saviour. They chose Emma saving their kingdom over themselves saving Emma. Blue lied, Gepetto bribed, and Jimeny kept his ‘morally sound’ mouth shut. Emma’s fate was sealed, whether Regina cast the curse or not.
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3. She was so lonely, scared, and hurting - and they all acted like she was meant to be so grateful. (TW for forced marriage and SA in this one! Read with caution) The EF characters were all there to watch it happen, and Emma and Henry studied that story book too. At what point did it not stand out to anyone that the king was (even by the pictures in the story book) an old man complete with grey hair, and he was marrying a newly 18 year old girl for the sole purpose of her being a replacement second-rate version of Eva. Not a woman, a GIRL. She was SOLD to him. She was magically locked in the castle, spent years all alone while forcing a smile on her face while she was trapped inside her prison of hell - and everyone acted like she was supposed to be grateful for it?! The proposal itself was as a reward for saving a life. She wasn’t power-hungry, she intended to be a stable boy’s wife on the run. Some jewels and a crown were NOT an equal consolation prize for her grieving, sorrow, or virginity. Her thirst for power in the EQ years was a result of her having absolutely none in her ‘marriage’ (her captivity).
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4. The faries (especially Blue) knew how awful Cora was treating Regina. (TW Hints to Child Abuse) They could have saved her as a little girl, but they were too scared/pathetic to. Rumple set her life of torture in motion many many years before she was even born. Her destiny was a life of pain, and no one cared enough to help. Even her father who meant everything to her stood by.
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5. Emma and Henry in season 1. Don’t get me wrong I’m SwanQueen till I die. But Emma had no right whatsoever to Henry that first season. She acted like his adoption meant absolutely nothing, like those 10 years Regina raised Henry with love and care and devotion while she (by her own choice!) didn’t - were worthless. I could write an entire other post on this. But Emma also had no idea storybrooke wasn’t a normal town, so as far as she was aware she knew she was committing felony kidnapping. With a prison record. I mean how can she possibly think that was better for him, than with his mother who everyone including his teacher confirmed never harmed him. Regina was the adoptive mother Emma used to DREAM of when she was in the system, which is exactly where Henry could have ended up and she damn well knew it. Yes Regina was strict, probably too strict while trying to hold desperately onto him. But every time Henry (who was a little brat in season 1 let’s be honest) said Emma was his real mother (despite her giving him up), ran away to be with Emma, lied to Regina, called her Evil (when she’d never done anything ‘evil’ in front of him or to him) it literally felt like he ripped her heart out of her chest. She didn’t deserve that. At all. She loved that boy with everything in her. He was her true love, that never changed.
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aclowntiny · 10 months
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🦉 Seventeen as Hogwarts Students 🏰
This picture filled me with so much serotonin 🥹 y’all can refer to these headcanons as the basis for all the Hogwarts AU fics I’m going to be writing 😌👀 get ready I can’t believe I held out this long 😂
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S.Coups
☆ When the sorting hat was placed on his head, it paused in thought for a moment as it decided between Slytherin and Gryffindor. In the end, though… “Must be Gryffindor!” His caring heart won out the ambitious houses’ battle! At least, that’s what the hat said, and Seungcheol is determined to prove it right!
☆ Seungcheol is a Half-Blood, but both of his parents are wizards, so he grows up pretty chill on all the purity stuff but not knowing much about how people with no powers live. It’s definitely a curiosity for him, though.
☆ His favorite subjects are Defense Against the Dark Arts because he likes the idea of being able to protect others from harm and Charms because he likes small, quick, useful spells.
☆ He signs up for Ancient Runes because it sounds cool then highkey regrets it. It just kind of goes over his head.
☆ Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team right here 😌 Athletic and a great leader, Seungcheol is honored to receive this role even though it’s so obviously well-suited.
☆ Intimidating AND adorable. Seungcheol’s Patronus can do it all! His guardian takes the form of a Rottweiler dog: brave, loyal, protective, sweet to those who it cares for 😌
Jeonghan
☆ When the Sorting Hat hits his head, it immediately rumples in confusion. “Oh, you’re an interesting one, aren’t you?” It waffles between Hufflepuff and Slytherin before finally declaring… “Can you hear him trying to bargain? Must be a Slytherin!” Jeonghan, for his part, just laughs.
☆ The Yoons are an old wizarding family and their son knows next to nothing about the Muggle world. Thusly Jeonghan makes up a bunch of bullshit at school about Muggle life to convince everyone he totally does. It works every time…so long as no Muggleborns are present at least.
☆ Jeonghan adores Charms class because it paves the way for so many useful spells and gives him a whole arsenal of things to use. He also loves Divination aka bullshitting class because he thrives, duh 😌 the professor loves him, too, because he participates so much and knows what to say, but somehow it escapes his notice how often his predictions are actually accurate.
☆ History of Magic is a lot to remember and not an interesting enough class to give him the drive to study hard, so it’s his hardest subject.
☆ He plays on the Quidditch team because his friend convince him to, but man does it turn out he’s a skilled Beater. This man is a menace with a Bludger.
☆ Thinking of his happiest memory, Jeonghan exclaims “Expecto Patronum!”, unsure what to expect until he sees the burst of light come flying out, taking the shape of a little crow that lands on his shoulder. Not what he was expecting, but the bird charms him immediately with the way it playfully tries to get his attention.
Joshua
☆ “Oh, aren’t you a fun one?” Joshua, frankly, isn’t sure how to take that. Try and be more fun? “What are you planning?” The hat chides, bringing a slight flush of embarrassment to his face. “Lot of crafty ones this year, eh? We have another Slytherin!”
☆ Joshua’s a Muggleborn, so sometimes he feels like a fish out of water, but man is he liking the air. He wants to see it all, understand all that’s moving around him, and use magic to his advantage and enjoyment as much as possible!
☆ Being skilled at languages, Joshua takes up Ancient Runes as an elective and actually really likes it. Decoding is fun and it could prove useful if he decides to become a Curse-Breaker. He also likes Potions because it’s a nice, calm class.
☆ Transfiguration lowkey stresses him out, like what if he goes to transform his stuff and it never comes back??? Or a person?
☆ Slytherin’s Keeper. Good luck trying to score when Joshua is on the pitch 😌
☆ A bunch of other students ooh and ah at Joshua’s stag Patronus because that’s the one famous people get. Or something like that. The tall, antlered figure is elegant, imposing, and yet with a gentle side as it bows its head to its caster regally.
Jun
☆ “You spend a lot of time thinking about others.” Junhui’s eyes widen- he wasn’t expecting to have so much revealed through the hat. “I- I try to,” he replied modestly, at which the hat chuckles. “An innocent mind. Hufflepuff it is!” He’s still trying to wrap his head around how the hat read him and what it meant as they help him off the stool.
☆ He’s a Half-Blood, his mother being a witch and his father a Muggle. He got more experience with Muggle culture than his brother did, so he ended up getting to bond over showing him non-magical inventions 🥹
☆ Care of Magical Creatures is absolutely his favorite class, like Jun gets so excited every day they meet wondering what amazing being he’ll interact with next. The day they had a kneazle cat was pretty much his favorite day at school ever. He also enjoys Muggle Studies because it gives him lots of materials for letters home to his lil bro 🫶🏻
☆ Doesn’t really have a class he hates, but Arithmancy takes the most work so 🤷🏻‍♀️
☆ He tries out to be a Hufflepuff Chaser, but doesn’t make the cut 💀 avid fan and watcher of Hogwarts matches who sometimes tries to follow the commentator up to his post.
☆ Can’t suppress a grin in Defense Against the Dark Arts when a cute little striped cat bursts from his wand, turning around to rub against his legs.
Hoshi
☆ “Bravery aplenty!” Exclaims the Sorting Hat, which makes Soonyoung grin even wider, his excitement growing, “Eager too. A hard worker, sure, but this one’s too daring for Hufflepuff. Better be Gryffindor!” “Yes!” Soonyoung knew he’d be happy anywhere, but he wanted to be sorted with the lions and it looks like he got his wish!
☆ Soonyoung is a Half-Blood. Pretty much all of the Kwons are wizards, but somewhere up the family tree are some Muggleborns, maybe even a Muggle or two. All are welcome in Soonyoung’s family, so he grows up with little understanding how anyone could care about things like that!
☆ Loves to fly! It’s his favorite thing ever, like good luck getting him out of the sky. He also likes Defense Against the Dark Arts because it’s an active class, one where he can move, duel, and practice being in a real-life situation.
☆ Feels like History of Magic is all in one ear, out the other 🤕 that class is a cram before the test vibe for sure.
☆ One of Gryffindor’s Beaters. A little too excited about it, so some accidents have nearly happened but hey, it makes for an exciting game 🤷🏻‍♀️
☆ When that time comes in Defense Against the Dark Arts, a bunch of his friends tease him that he’ll have a small Patronus like a hamster or something, but he insists it’s going to be a powerful tiger, and he’s right 😌 is too overjoyed at the sight of the glowing tiger to rub it in their faces, though 🐅 big memories and emotions = big Patronus??? Not guaranteed, but in Soonyoung’s case certainly!
Wonwoo
☆ “Smart kid,” the Sorting Hat comments when it’s set upon Wonwoo, “sure, you’ve got a bravery about you, you’re kind, but you’re a Ravenclaw!” Wonwoo just nods, thanking the hat- he agrees with the verdict, happily joining his table.
☆ Being a Muggleborn, Wonwoo has a drive to learn about how magic works. Why do some people have it? Why don’t witches and wizards seem to know this or care, especially if they care about bloodlines so much? He also wants to be one of the best just to put the people who doubt him in their place.
☆ One of the few Hogwarts students who actually enjoys Arithmancy and History of Magic. To him, they’re just calm subjects he can focus on and pore over, which is kinda his study method anyway tbh. It kinda works out though because then they go to him for tutoring.
☆ Boy is good at everything, none of the classes are really a struggle for him. Divination seems like the biggest waste of time, though, once he gets in there.
☆ Joins Quidditch as one of Ravenclaw’s chasers. He isn’t sure how much he’s going to like it, but he loves being part of the team! Quite an adept scorer.
☆ People all assume it’s going to be a cat, but Wonwoo casts a polecat Patronus. So, you know, he gets it in the name even though it’s more rodent. Polecats are crafty, comfortable in their home groups, and probably more similar to their caster than everyone might have originally suspected.
Woozi
☆ “Someone’s a hard worker,” comes the Sorting Hat’s teasing comment upon touching Jihoon’s head, “you’ll study well, won’t you? But that dedication…that’s Hufflepuff for you!” Jihoon is a bit surprised, his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape at the news, but he likes to think the hat is right: he’s dedicated to his dreams, hardworking. Maybe that is his home.
☆ Being a Muggleborn, Jihoon has a bit of a tough time adjusting to magic. In some ways, he’s almost a bit resistant simply because he doesn’t want to rely on waving a wand for every little thing he could handle himself.
☆ There’s something so inspiring to him about looking at the stars, so he looks forward to Astronomy class. He also enjoys Transfiguration, the ability to make something new totally amazing him. He wonders what it feels like to transform like that.
☆ Defense Against the Dark Arts is kind of a boisterous, stressful class in his mind. All the running around and fighting isn’t really his style.
☆ Has enough other extracurricular stuff going on that he passes on Quidditch tryouts, but enough good friends play that he tries to make it to every game he can!
☆ At first, he isn’t sure why a bat Patronus would suit him, especially when everyone thought he was going to get a cat, but bats are known for using their voices to guide their way. They rely on their music and take time to trust, and Jihoon sees that as he bonds with his little guardian. Both of them take time to themselves, but thrive best in their circles when they come out of their shells.
DK
☆ “Bad thoughts don’t often cross your mind, do they?” The voice of the hat muses upon its placement atop Seokmin’s head. “And you’ve a big heart, yes, indeed… most definitely a Hufflepuff!” Seokmin claps, happy to be in a house with some friendly-looking people and a bit shy to hear the hat say such nice things.
☆ Seokmin is a Muggleborn, both of his parents so proud to have magical children. He thinks it’s super cool too and always says he knew all along his family was magical 🥲 all the magical stuff absolutely amazes him, even the most tedious things are things he wants to experience!
☆ He loves Care of Magical Creatures because omg look! A unicorn! A real-life hippogryph!!! Bowtruckles! It’s all so unbelievable, yet so real, like dreams have been laid out before him. That’s the same reason he looks forward to Herbology, like where else can you see sentient plants?
☆ Loves every class! They are all exciting! *Ancient Runes has entered the chat* Ok, maybe classes can be stressful.
☆ He wants to get over his nerves on a broomstick, so to do that he tried out for Quidditch and makes Seeker. He likes that position because it’s a little removed from the pandemonium of the game and he can think like a Snitch 😌
☆ He’s honestly expecting a small animal, not feeling very brave as he shouts “Expecto Patronum!” but well aware he’ll just be ecstatic if he gets any animal form. Imagine his surprise when he gets a magical creature, a beautiful unicorn leaping from his wand! “I- I made that???” He grins, immediately reaching up to try to stroke its mane, awestruck at the beautiful, pure creature even if he doesn’t realize how perfectly it suits his heart.
Mingyu
☆ “You’re a bit bold, aren’t you?” Mingyu nods, thinking he’s supposed to answer the hat. “Not exactly the most courageous…” “Hey!” “Confident, confident certainly…” “M-hm,” he nods again. “You believe you have skills to offer Hogwarts.” “Yes,” Mingyu agrees. “Send this one to Slytherin!” The hat chuckles.
☆ The Kims are an long line of wizards, Mingyu one of many Pure-Blood sons. He doesn’t know much about Muggle culture, frankly, but has more privilege in lifestyle than he does prejudice against people with different blood.
☆ Potions ace. So good at it sometimes the other students are salty at him, but he just shrugs. It comes naturally for him, whether it’s preparing the ingredients or knowing just how much to add. He also likes Divination just because it’s fun. What do his tea leaves say? He legitimately wants to know.
☆ He does have a fear of flying, so broom lessons are not his favorite 😅 he’ll stay on the ground, thank you.
☆ Obviously does not join the Quidditch team, but is on the stands cheering super loud at every game!
☆ Everyone can’t help but tell Mingyu how perfect his husky Patronus is once it manifests, the goofy, vocal, affectionate dog running around practically looking like his twin!
The8
☆ As if drawn in by his aura, the hat muses as it rests upon Minghao’s head. “An artist, eh? Kind, forgiving, wise, and very calm too. A bright one. Ravenclaw, certainly Ravenclaw!” Between what he felt was a suitable sorting despite telling himself he’d be happy with anything and all the attention, Minghao practically glows at the hat’s words.
☆ The Xus are a Pure-Blood family, but Minghao’s parents are both avid Muggle Studies enthusiasts, so their son grew up with lots of knowledge and no prejudice. They all see magic as a chance to help others with less.
☆ Nature is important to this boy here, so Herbology is where his gifts lie. He’s so gentle with the plants and genuinely appreciative of them all, it’s a rewarding class to be able to track their lives. Following the movement of the stars is another joy of his as well as sketching the sky and making star charts, so Minghao does great in Astronomy too.
☆ There’s no class he really hates, but his magic isn’t as Charms-suited as it is focused on creative magic, so those quick spells actually take him more time.
☆ Because he likes flying, he tries out to be Ravenclaw’s new Seeker when the position opens up and earns it 😌 he’s so calm yet fast as he flies, it looks like he always knows exactly where his little gold friend is!
☆ People make jokes about his Patronus being a frog or something of the like, but they’re sure proven wrong by the beautiful swan that slides out, skating gracefully on the air around Minghao.
Seungkwan
☆ The moment the Sorting Hat hits Seungkwan’s head, it shouts out “Oh, we have a loyal one here. This one is a Hufflepuff!” A very decided ceremony for Mr. Boo 😌 he’s both shook at how little time it takes and happy the hat thinks he’s loyal.
☆ A Half-Blood! His mom is actually Pure-Blood, his father a Muggleborn. He loves magic, but also really enjoys learning about the Muggle world. Totally open to differences. Would even consider marrying a Muggle.
☆ LOVES Care of Magical Creatures. One of the students who almost always volunteers for demonstrations because he wants to touch all the animals! Unless they’re, like, giant bugs or something that’ll try to kill him, of course. Muggle Studies is really fun because it’s a way to connect with a part of his heritage and understand others. It gives him social ground with Muggleborns and even non-magical people he’ll interact with in life.
☆ Who made Arithmancy a class??? It stresses him out just to look at 💀 You’re allowed to drop electives, so he straight-up nopes out of Arithmancy and signs up for Divination instead.
☆ He enjoys flying, but being up that high and being chased by sporting goods that want to break your bones? Nah, he’s good, thanks. It’s much more fun to watch and offer comment, so Seungkwan becomes the school Quidditch commentator…and often gets chastised by professors for sassing rival times and whining about missed shots that were so easy, come on.
☆ Really really hopes his Patronus is strong enough to take an animal form, so when it comes out looking big he’s kind of proud yet shook. The light forms a dolphin that bobs back over to his owner, leaping in circles in the air around him and bringing a smile to his face.
Vernon
☆ “Interesting mind on this one, eh?” Those are the first words the hat speaks when it’s set on Vernon’s head. “A perfect fit for Ravenclaw, this one!” He’s proud. His mother was a Ravenclaw during her Hogwarts days, part of the most artful and creative-minded house. He can’t stop smiling all night!
☆ He’s a Pure-Blood wizard, his maternal grandmother having actually attended Beauxbatons before settling down in England. His father’s side always attended Hogwarts, so the school is really what joined his family. People tend to assume Vernon’s a Muggleborn, though, just because he looks so spaced out or amazed sometimes.
☆ Yet another lover of magical creatures right here! They love him right back too 😌 other students get jealous of how much they approach Vernon. He’s also quite good at Arithmancy, there’s just something about it that clicks in his head.
☆ Accidentally set something on fire in Potions class once. Enough said.
☆ Enjoys playing Quidditch for fun with his friends, but doesn’t try out for the formal team. He’s happy to support Ravenclaw alongside his classmates.
☆ Can’t help but laugh when his Patronus comes out as a small turtle. It’s cute, though, he and others defend it, a good embodiment of happy memories.
Dino
☆ Another pretty fast sort. “You’d make it in Gryffindor, sure,” the hat mutters, “but I believe your place is in Slytherin!” And with that, Chan is off to his table! He’s a bit surprised, having expected Gryffindor, but hey, Slytherins are ambitious, so the hat’s probably right. He’ll do anything to succeed.
☆ The Lees have a whole-ass family tree on display- they’re Pure-Bloods. A little proud of it, but frankly Chan himself doesn’t care, almost feeling that much more like being the one to break the line just to shut them all up about it.
☆ Defense Against the Dark Arts star! That one kid that always gets called up to show everyone how to do it right 😤 such a natural dueler and just really good at dispelling negative vibes 😌 he also enjoys flying a lot, it just helps him feel free to soar into the air!
☆ Conversely, he has a lot of difficulty in Potions class, which makes him want to double down on it so he’s no longer stressing about it!
☆ Slytherin’s Seeker 😌 he’s such a nimble flyer with great control, Chan was born to play this role!
☆ He lowkey wants something big and intimidating like a dragon or a rhino, so when a small burst of light appears he fears he’ll be disappointed. The moment the otter slides into view, though, all he can do is smile and reach for it, taking its hand to run after it and play, too.
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theartofdreaming1 · 2 months
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Some more Captain Swan (or would this qualify as Captain Duckling? idk)
This started out as a simple, mindless ouat doodle, but then my brain decided to come up with bits and pieces of a story for this while I was working on it, so... If you're interested, you can read the basic premise under the cut:
Basically, we have bar wench Emma teaming up with infamous pirate Captain Hook to bring down the Dark One: Killian has finally gotten a way to get rid of the damn crocodile and Emma has learned of that while the crew of the Jolly Roger stopped by the tavern she works at; for Emma, it's about getting her son back (Neal/Baelfire is still Henry's father in this AU, but left the realm to escape his father, so Rumple's trying to use Henry to track down Neal, i guess)... Anyway, Emma steals onto the Jolly Roger (to steal whatever magical item required to best the Dark One or to stowaway on board, your pick), gets discovered by our good captain ('feisty lass' that she is, she still manages to hold a dagger to his throat before he gets the best of her - there are on his ship, after all), she reveals why she's doing this in the first place - to reunite with her son - and they strike an accord to work together as they share a common goal... Shenanigans ensue, (and no, there is connection/bond between them that's growing closer over time, Emma is absolutely positive of that, thank you very much ;), plans go awry - they are chased by a monster of some sort, Killian decides to fight it off, to give Emma some more time to flee - she has to make it back to her son, after all - and tells her to go, to leave him behind... (but we know she doesn't listen... she never does ;)
Something like that, I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (and hey, if any Captain Swan writers out there feel like writing that story for me, let me know - I'd love to read it!)
(Also, I'm kind of happy how dynamic the poses in this drawing have turned out! I reworked the lineart a couple of times, not sure if I was wasting my time but while I liked the og sketch, I think the end result is a definite improvement)
Og sketch/doodle:
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7-percent · 4 months
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Another excerpt from Inferno (working title), the sequel to @totallysilvergirl's Drawn to Stars. Let's get Roberto Zanardi's POV.
Per carità di dio. I thought I was braced for seeing him again. Yet when I walk into the case room, I’m seared once again by the same lightning bolt as when I first laid eyes on him back at New Scotland Yard.
He’s still so beautiful, painfully so, and my heart constricts in my chest. The rumpled white linen shirt, his dark glasses dangling from the pocket. He looks warm, his raven curls a bit damp. The years we’ve been apart fall away and I have to look away lest my attraction become too apparent, so I can’t gauge his reaction to seeing me.
But I can and do register John Watson’s fury at recognising  me — he curses that he should have known.
Ah, Valentina hasn’t told them I’m the team leader. I’d urged Alfiero not to name names, lest it lead to an instant refusal. And perhaps that would have been wiser; if he’d known, would Watson have allowed this meeting to take place? For that matter, would Sherlock have agreed to come?
I’ve been completely torn, my heart divided against my head. I’m late to this meeting because I had to try once more to convince Alfiero to do without Holmes and Watson, only to be overruled yet again. I left that rendezvous both dejected by my failure to persuade him and oddly agitated at seeing Sherlock again. I must be honest, too; the case has been going badly enough for the past two months that I can use all the help I can get. But at what price?
......
So many times I’ve realised at the end of a difficult case that it would have been quicker and so much better if Sherlock had been working with me. From the very beginning, back in London on that trafficking case, it had been my fantasy to entice him to Rome, not just to my bed but to my side, as my partner. Together, we’d have been invincible.
Yet now, when the opportunity presents itself, I find myself hesitating. Of course, John Watson complicates things. The man who squandered his chances to love Sherlock had whistled, and Sherlock had gone running back to him, leaving me broken. At least he’d had the decency to marry him. Under Italian law I couldn’t do that even if he had wanted me to.
But he did want me, once. He didn’t just say it, he showed it. If that month with him hadn’t been so intoxicating I could have accepted it when he left me; but we were good together, I know we were. I saw how he blossomed when we became lovers, how his body relished being worshipped, how he loved bringing me to my knees. Conversation was easy, dancing was just another form of lovemaking, and he was happy with me in Rome. Until he wasn’t.
So despite wanting Sherlock to work his not-exactly-magic on the case, I’m apprehensive about working with him on it. Am I even capable of behaving normally around him? Functioning normally? To go by my racing thoughts and distracting memories, I may not be; I’m barely keeping up my end of the conversation, fading in and out of my memories of the past (and perhaps, wishes for the future). And this case is vital. Definitely dangerous, too: all the more so with Sherlock as a clear and present distraction. If he does join me, will he be more help or hindrance?
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rosewaterandivy · 6 months
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ii. let me dream of you
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summary: interrupted dreams, meddling friends, and a storm.
pairing: s.h. x witch!reader
w.c.: 3.6k
warnings: my blog is 18+ MDNI; vague allusions to magic and the like, carpenter & flannel-wearing Steve.
a/n: here she is, as promised! i would like to thank alice hoffman and her exquisite prose, for bringing us the ULTIMATE autumn vibes with practical magic.
Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated! Reposting, however, is not. Enjoy! 💜
Series Masterlist | Playlist | Currently spinning:
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On the tenth day of the tenth month, you’d decided that you’d had enough. Sick of waking up breathless and in an inferno of heat, a fever you couldn’t possibly sweat out. Haunted by kind hazel eyes and a soft smile, a faint cloud of wood and sap taunting you at every turn. 
You were good on your own.
Always had been.
And the arrival of a carpenter down the block had changed nothing.
Except that now you would wake at odd hours of the night, only to see a warm amber glow from his house down the way. Mimicking the purple hue from your own room, you were sure. Interrupted sleep, walking around in a daze, hallucinating that you’re seeing him in places he ought not be— in your kitchen, at your favorite cafe, in your dreams.
Tangled in the well-worn sheets of your bed. Resplendent and golden in the early morning light. Your fingers threading through his hair as rough, warm hands slid down your sides to grip onto your hips, giving a gentle squeeze. His arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling your body flush with his as you settled in his lap, an agonizing ache spreading steadily throughout your body. 
His hot mouth traveled up your neck until his lips met yours with a soft groan, the sound setting your skin ablaze as you sunk into him more, desperate to be close. Skin to skin. Your fingers flexing in his hair as you ground your hips into his, reveling in the low whine that managed to slip up his throat. 
It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. His taste and warmth and the sounds that he made making your head go hazy in the best way as you thrummed with need. Desire swooping low in your stomach to leave the most tender of aches. Your body begged for him. You could never get enough. You felt crazy.
Your mouth met his neck in a soft suck, his breath catching in his throat as you licked and bit. Nosing along the column of his throat to settle just beneath his ear, infatuated with the dusting of freckles and moles there. 
It felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest, pounding against the cage of his ribs looking for a way out. Skin erupting in goosebumps when your sweet breath caresses his skin.
“Thought about this before?” You asked softly, scratching your nails down his shoulders until you could squeeze his biceps.
“How did you–”
“Could feel it,” you admit with a smile to his pulse point, pressing a kiss there just so you could feel it thrum against your lips. “I don’t know. Just … could tell.”
He squeezed your hips harder still, pulling you closer against him, not even an inch of space between your bodies and yet still not close enough. His chest was heaving, hips arching up against his will, dying to relieve some of the ache.
“Me too.” He murmured the confession up to the ceiling, his voice just above a whisper. “Want you so badly.”
You reached down to feel the hard length of him through the rumpled sheets. The small catch in his breath encouraging you to rub your palm over him. You looked up as his head tilted back, neck on full display, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat alluringly.
“Then take me.”
His heart skipped a beat, your words doing more to him than he thought possible. Words he’d imagined falling from your kiss-bitten lips more often than he’d care to admit. He wanted more, needed more. Needed you to say all the things he’d been feeling and too afraid to admit. 
And then Steve’s heart plummeted, his eyes blinking in the warm sunlight as his alarm blared on the nightstand. He looked around his empty bedroom in confusion, his brain lagging on what was happening, your hazy form slipping through the recesses of his mind and then it dawned on him.
A dream.
And a wet one at that.
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Up at the shop, things were picking up as summer turned to autumn and you couldn’t recall the last time you had a day off. Everyone in town, it seemed, had a sudden hankering to descend upon Bell, Book, & Candle in preparation for the season.
The phone rang as you finished with a customer. Excusing yourself, you left to answer it only to find Tracy with the receiver in her hand nodding along and taking notes on a scrap of receipt paper. “Of course, we’ll be here to let them in. Thanks so much!” She chirped a goodbye and placed the phone back in its cradle against the wall. 
“Who was that?” You asked, stepping behind the counter to check the day’s to-do list. Most of the items had been crossed out— Inventory, Call in replen order, Front window display?, Bank deposit, File invoices. But something had been added to the bottom of the list in Tracy’s handwriting: H & M - 8 PM.
“Oh, just the construction company confirming our appointment.”
“Appointment for…?”
She gestured to the built-ins, “The teak? Your new neighbor mentioned it the other day.”
“Yeah,” you huff, “As a suggestion. One I haven’t had the time to consider.”
“Well,” she drawled with a saccharine smile, “Luckily for you, I’ve had the time and I think he’s onto something.”
“Hmm,” you hum, as if considering her point. “Do you also happen to have the money this will set us back?”
Mouth turning up at the corners, she propped an elbow against the desk. “Thought you could just magic some out of thin air. You’re a Callahan, after all.”
Eyes rolling, you scoff and turn back to the task at hand. The oft-dreaded inventory; you grab a pen and a legal pad, trotting off to the stock-room. Getting off of the shop floor was a blessing, nevermind that it was late in the day and you’d be closing up soon— customer after customer needing special attention or clamoring that the item in question wasn’t there, when it was clearly right in front of their noses.
Tracy can handle the stragglers of the day, besides she loathed inventory even more than you did. Mollified by the gentle pitter patter of rain falling on the roof, you let your mind wander. Business was good, Tracy and the aunts were doing well— no complaints there. But something was niggling at the back of your skull, darting to and fro before you could get a good, hard look at it. Annoying, yes but not distractingly so. 
The blue bic pen scratches against the paper as you note specific items and quantities, starring those that are running a bit low, prioritizing any with ample back stock for the shop floor. Making your way around the room from shelf to shelf, you lost yourself to the familiar routine.
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Eddie and Steve were finishing up a job, an installation of a washer and dryer for a new mom. She’d offered them refreshments and checked on them every so often, occasionally with the newborn in tow. 
Steve was checking the input while Eddie wiped down the machines to clear any dust that may have settled. He eyes Steve, wondering what could’ve gotten into the man— up at odd hours of the night, walking from one room to the next only to forget why as soon as he’d arrived, and a faint, hazy look in his eye.
“You remember Trish?”
Steve grunts. “That Wiccan chick you dated?”
Eddie rolls his eyes, “She was pagan, but yeah.” 
He pockets the rag, steps back to allow Steve some room to assess the laundry unit.
“You remember that reading she gave you?”
A snort. “Once you fall in love,” he quotes with a laugh, “It’ll be forever.” 
He couldn’t help but disagree. While his conquests were plenty, and true, he didn’t love most of them, but there had been a few.
“Tell that to Nance.”
Now it’s Eddie’s turn to scoff. “Nah man,” He says, following Steve out into the kitchen. “You didn’t love her, not really.”
Steve ruefully bites his bottom lip. Yeah, maybe. “She’s better off now anyways.”
A clap of a warm hand to his shoulder as Eddie gives him a shake, “That’s the spirit!” And leaves to let the client know they’re done.
Steve grabs the tools and eyes the kitchen table, something from IKEA and already showing wear and tear. Knows he could do better— salvaged wood, something study and timeless. He leaves their card on the table and steps out the door.
The woman waves from the living room, still in conversation with Eddie, who is currently holding the baby for the time being. He nods to Steve, a signal that he’ll be done soon, before turning back to the conversation. 
He tosses the tool belt into the bed of the truck begins to roll down the sleeves of his flannel. Steve’s so wound up, he can’t think of anything but you, the Callahan girl with the shop on main street. The soft purple light from the house down the block. He’s started carrying a knife around with him, in order to whittle some odds and ends from scrap lumber. Something, anything to do to keep his mind off of you.
Met you all of one time and he wants you so bad, that he’s fucking you in his head when he should be doing things like paying attention to pedestrians as he’s driving or helping his widowed neighbor with her garden and hedges. Steve had always run warm, but now he’s so overheated that the cuffs of his shirts are singed. He’s hard constantly, ready for something that looks as if it’s never going to happen.
“Ready to go?”
Steve settles into the driver’s seat and sighs. As the engine turns over, the sky takes on a darker hue, more gray than blue with rolling clouds. 
“She was nice,” Eddie says, flipping through invoices from the passenger seat. “Said she might be calling us for a kitchen reno.”
Steve scoffs, “That kitchen doesn’t need a reno, just a table that isn’t a piece of shit.”
“Yeah,” Eddie’s lips curl up in a smile, “Told her about your carpentry skills, dude.”
He hmms in response. 
They pull up to the house on Willow Lane, Robin already bounding out of the garage to meet them. She’s got a few pieces of paper in her hand, and begins rattling off names and addresses for estimates.
“And, oh–” She follows them into the workshop, Steve shouldering his tool belt while Eddie frantically scribbled on a legal pad. “Tracy at Bell, Book, & Candle called to say the service entrance will be open for you.”
Steve furrows his brow, “Tracy?”
“Yeah,” Robin confirms, “Eddie did an estimate for her a few days ago. Re-oiling the teak built-ins? She won’t be there but the owner will.”
He stills. “Oh, right.”
Eddie smirks, and elbows Robin conspiratorially. “Y’know, I just remembered I promised I’d help Robs tonight.”
“Yeah!” She chimes in, “With the uh, thing.”
He stifles a laugh, “Uh huh, the thing.” Eddie turns to Steve, “You can handle this solo, right, big boy?”
Steve, for his part, is in a daze and while he registers what they’ve said, it never seems to reach him. Bell, Book, & Candle, isn’t that Callahan’s place? He’s got a lump in his throat just thinking about you. Already imagining the things you could do if the two of you were alone together. Steve could forget the reason he’s there in the first place if he’s not careful. He could make a very stupid mistake.
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“Fucking Christ!” 
“Shit, I am so sorry,” Steve says, letting the service door shut behind him. He sets a small toolbox down and reaches to help you up. 
Startled by his sudden arrival, you’d dropped a blown-glass cloche on the floor and fell in a heap against the industrial shelves of the storeroom. Tentatively, your palm meets his as you allow him to pull you up. His grip was strong and comforting, and you couldn’t help but admire the way his arm flexed ever so slightly as he pulled you up.
“You okay?” He asks, checking you for any nicks or cuts from the glass. 
Steve hasn’t had an easy life, and it shows on his face. There are lines and hollows underneath his eyes that he’s too young to have, and there’s a good bit of loneliness there too, plain for anyone to see. He’s not the kind of man who hides things, but he’s trying desperately to hide his interest in you.
And failing. 
In fact, you can’t quite believe the way he’s staring at you. Would somebody really have the nerve to stand in the storeroom of your business and look at you like this?
Apparently, Steve Harrington would.
“Let me, uh,” His eyes dart to the shattered glass behind you, “I’ll clean that up, just–”
“It’s fine. I can–”
“No, it’s my fault.” He says with a shake of his head, dodging your concerned eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
When you softly chuckle, Steve looks into your eyes and sees himself upside down. He finds himself in a pool of twilight, drowning, going down for the second time, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He remembers hearing some old wives' tale about how witches caught you this way—they knew how much most men loved themselves and how deeply they’ll let themselves be drawn in, just for a glimpse of their reflection.
Narcissus and the pool. 
Steve has no intention of spurning you like poor Echo, no nothing like that. He intends to go on drowning for a very long time.
“Takes a lot more than that to scare me,” You reply with a soft smile. “Broom is in the supply closet.” A nod to the corner of the room. “I’ll meet you out front?”
Your hair has slipped out of its rubber band. You’re wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, the sleeves keep sliding down your arms even though you’d rolled them up, you’re out of sorts but surprisingly patient. You’re beautiful all right, at least by Steve Harrington’s estimation, you’re exactly what he’d dreamed you’d be, except right there in front of him.
Close enough to touch. 
“Sure thing.” He says, watching you leave the room. 
Steve shakes his head, but that doesn’t clear up the matter. All it does is make him see double. Momentarily there are two of you before him, and each one makes him wish he weren’t here in an official capacity. He forces himself to get the broom and sweep up the glass shards. Thinks about the soft brush of your skin against his, wonders if you’d let him kiss you slow and deep, undress you leisurely in a warm amber glow. 
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Later, in the cool calm of Bell, Book, & Candle, it takes everything you have to keep your nerve and look at Steve. He looks right back at you, irises like crisp evergreen. So quickly that you have to lower your gaze to the floor. 
A recollection of warning from the aunts, that one must be extremely careful looking into eyes like his. Women have lost themselves for a lot less than a glance. You shudder to think of the girls and women who would brave the bluestone path at twilight, desperation roiling off them like so much heat. 
Some came for vengeance, others out of desire. But they all came seeking love.
You would sit at the top of the stairs while the aunts did their work. The hearts of doves pierced seven times, taffeta charm bags stuffed into purses and pockets, a sense of magic crackling through the air. And you swore to yourself that you’d never end up like them, that losing your wits and falling in love was just not for you.
One-night stands a town or so over, frenzied touches in the backseat of cars, tongues and teeth battling for dominance, spit and slick aplenty. A spinster, you were not. The system worked well, allowed you to get out your frustrations, sexual or otherwise, and avoid the curse of the Callahan women.
That each man they loved died.
So no, you wouldn’t fall in love. Couldn��t subject someone to a fate like that, closed off your emotions, and kept your distance. Despite the ringing of the telephone, the calls and messages went unanswered from former paramours. They knew the deal, a one-time thing. It didn’t matter how many bouquets arrived at your doorstep, or cars idling in the street as the light turned green, people distracted enough to cause a fender-bender or two.
“Had a dream about you, I think.” He says, helping you to clear the shelves of product.
The blood drains from your face. Clearing your throat, you keep your voice light. “Oh, yeah?” 
Steve hums, “Mmhmm.” Furrows his brow and tries not to stare while you bend over to pick up a box from the floor. “It was …” He trails off, not used to remembering his dreams. 
It was a new development, having dreams instead of nightmares. One he’d happily take if it meant having you, the peal of your laughter against skin warmed sheets, the soft caress of your fingers trailing down his neck and chest mapping the scars of years past, the taste of you on his lips.
He shakes the thought loose and goes back to the task at hand.
“Good?” You supply to his unfinished thought.
“Yeah.” He smiles at you, so pretty it could launch a thousand ships. Pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, “Real good.”
Breath catching in your chest, you give him a polite smile in return and ignore the swoop low in your stomach.
While Steve is sure you’re deciding whether or not to judge him a liar, he can feel his heart flopping around like a fish in his chest. He’s heard of this happening to other men. They’re going about their business one minute, and suddenly there’s no hope for them. They fall in love so hard they never again get up off their knees.
Not that he would mind getting on his knees for you, if you were to ask.
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Some people believe that every question has a logical answer, there’s an order to everything, which is neat and based on purely empirical evidence. But really, what could it be but luck that the rain doesn’t begin in earnest until Steve starts to sand down the teak shelves of Bell, Book, & Candle.
Lightning, like love, is never ruled by logic.
So when the first bit of it cracks across the sky, you’re watching. While Steve is busy with the sander, you approach a candle and blow on the wick until it catches with flame. A dim amber glow in the creeping dark. Eventually, all the candles are lit and when the storm crashes onto Main Street and cuts the power, Steve barely notices at first.
Because he is so fucked.
He was even before you started lighting the candles, but the soft golden light somehow makes it worse. His vision has never been the best, but even he can make you out in the dark. But now, the candlelight flickers and licks across your skin. Curves illuminated in the soft light, beautiful and radiant.
You smile bright and bite your tongue between your teeth, the whites of them flashing in the light. The scent of a struck match ushers out the scent of you in his nostrils; he misses it. 
Another crack of lightning, close enough to feel the charge, feels himself flush with a white hot heat. With a close call like that, it makes perfect sense that he shakes and drops the belt sander.
The silence stretches between you.
“Sorry,” he breathes out, nice and slow. Steve allows his gaze to linger, drawing against the planes and curves of your face. It’s enough to make his breath catch in his throat when the flicker of candlelight warms your skin.
And this is where he falters. 
Steve doesn’t like being unprepared or out of control. He thrives with a plan, a clear objective and goal. 
You were never part of the plan. Or, any plan really.
The day Steve Harrington met you was the day the world ceased to turn.
He’d never been so struck by someone before.
So unmoored.
He’s keenly aware that there are only a few feet separating the two of you. Not that he minds; he’s close enough now that the scent of you–salt and musk–slightly overpowers the woodsy candles you’ve lit. He far prefers the former.
Knows he would only have to take a step or two to the right to pull you into his orbit. 
There’s a chill in the air as the first thunderclap sounds. The rain falls heavily after that, the worst of the storm whirling through. It floods the room with brisk air and the crisp tang of rain.
He pulls you toward him, warm fingers tilting your chin up to look at him. Somehow, he’s got you tucked and pressed against him, back settled against the shelves before you can register what’s happening. You’re baffled when it hits you, the realization flashing across your face under a crash of lightning.
The green of his eyes is impossible, even in the dim candlelight. But even more than that, what makes your heart stutter in your chest, are the flakes of gold, like a halo dusted around his pupils. You don’t know how you missed it before; Steve looks at you, flushed and dazed, and it all falls into place. 
Oh shit.
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seancekitsch · 11 months
Text
Wow, I can get sexual, too: an Adrian Chase x Reader fic- chapter 5
series masterlist here
warnings: eventual smut, masturbation, twitter nude culture, the very slightest dub con but not really just saying this to be safe, mutual pining, idiots in love, perv!reader but also perv!adrian, light exhibition, manhandling, oral sex, sweet sex, smut with feelings but its still kinda dirty
a/n: here we go!! its the final chapter!! we have finally reached the smut!!! its finally done, unless there's enough interest for an epilogue or a little drabble series with adrian and this reader character!!! thank you so much to all the people who have read this series and enjoyed it, and especially the two anons (123, and 4) who inspired the whole series!! you guys are the best!!
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Adrian practically throws you up the stairs to his apartment, anytime you move slower than he wants you to he grabs you by the hip and boosts you up a few more stairs. Eager, eager, so incredibly eager for what comes next. He dodges around you on the last few steps and jams the key into the door to open it for you, allowing you to step into his dark apartment first.
“Well, here’s where the magic’s going to happen!” Adrian announces, and you step further into the living room. It looks… messy. The blanket you were using the other night is still on the couch, haphazardly flung and rumpled like. Oh right. He laid there jacking off with it under him that night. You feel yourself shudder as you hear the door click. There’s no turning back now. 
Quickly again though you’re in his arms, this time he kisses you like a snow squall, rapid and covering the skin of your face, smearing your make up with his lips. He kisses like he’s trying to memorize the details down to the pore, to leave no centimeter unexplored or felt. You kiss back as you can, managing to catch a cheek or a chin or a corner of a lip when you can but you can’t keep up, his affection a tidal wave against you. All you can do is melt into his touch, firm and strong but wildly gentle. 
You’ve never been held like this. Held like you could break, sure. Held like you’re a rag doll to throw around, also sure.
Adrian is the perfect combination of the two, so gentle and careful like you’re something to worship but his fingers dig into your scalp and your waist like squeezing the apple that tempted Eve, squeezing so hard it could bruise. You hope it does.
He leads you carefully further into the room, until your back hits the counter of his kitchen island. Adrian wastes no time pushing your jacket down your shoulders for you to shrug it off and throw it onto his kitchen floor, not even breaking the kiss through the entire action.
His greedy hands then travel to your thighs, pushing up your little skirt until it reaches the bottom of the curve of your ass.
“Wait-,” you stop him before he can pull it up any further.
He pulls back, a question clearly painting his expression.
“Not like that! Let me take my shoes off, these things are killing me,” you reassure him, and he visibly untenses in relief. He releases you from his tight hold, not completely though, finger light touches of his hands still on you as you move past him to take off your boots at his front entryway.
Alright, time to slut it up, you think, and you bend over almost completely to unzip the shoes. You know what Adrian probably sees, your skirt pulled up too high and giving him a full view of your ass and panties. Briefly, you wonder if he’s the kind of guy that likes upskirt photos. 
You'd send him one, definitely, or as many as he would ever ask for. You'd send little videos too if he wanted. Anything really, you're realizing. Damn, you think, down bad doesn't even begin to cover what I feel for him. 
Adrian can't resist from touching though, and as you step out of your boots he puts his hands on your hips again, squeezing before they slide down slightly, letting his palms feel the soft skin of your ass, before moving back up again. His motions like a question, asking for more. He repeats the motion again, and this time you wiggle your ass a little in his grasp, prompting the quietest of chuckles from him under his breath. 
You straighten back up and lean into his touch, starting to fall in love with the feeling of his hands on your hips.
“I have maybe an un-sexy question,” you broach, the thought bugging your mind since before he picked you up.
“I don’t know how that could be,” Adrian says, and presses up behind you, “Everything is sexy coming from you.”
He punctuates that by grabbing your waist and a grind of his hips against your ass, letting you feel every inch of him behind the denim that rocks against you. Fuck, how are you gonna even do this without losing your mind?
“How did,” you cut yourself off with a low moan, letting yourself lean back into his grasp, “how’d you get a hold of my set? Well, the bottom half.”
He looks at you for a moment, and then his eyes widen in recognition like he had already forgotten the conversation in the car. 
“My panties? Black satin with teal stitching?” you further supply. 
“Oh yeah, I mean, you don't lock your windows,” he replies, “You really should, unless that's like a thing for you and you want to do this again and you want me to come in through them or something.”
You try to hide how concerned that statement makes you, seeing as you didn’t realize until now that you didn't lock your windows. How long have they been unlocked? Is that like some kind of potential security breach for the task force? Your bedroom and office are full of weaponry and classified files that you really thought were more secure than they apparently are. 
“Good to know,” your tone falters a little, but you continue to lean back into him, loving how his jeans feel against your bare legs. 
“Is that weird?” he asks.
You feel like the answer should be yes, but you can't say that word. 
“Let me blow you,” you offer instead of an answer. You pull yourself from his grasp begrudgingly and turn around again, and you hear him whisper
 ‘Cool. Not weird.’
Under his breath while you reach for him again. This time you lead the kiss, pulling him in as you teasingly bite his bottom lip. Sure enough, he opens his mouth and his tongue darts out to tangle with yours, each tasting each other and trying to pull one another deeper into each other. 
You kiss feverishly, all hot and all encompassing, both trying to be as close as possible and all over each other.
“Ugh, I just wanna touch you already!” Adrian exclaims as he pulls back breathlessly, his fingers roughly raking up your satin underwear. God, his calluses feel amazing mixed with the sensation of how smooth and soft your panties are. He pants as he tries to regain his breath, his hands never leaving contact with you as your skirt just gets pushed higher and higher. 
“Just wait,” you giggle, slowly lowering yourself to your knees, “I wanna touch you first. Been thinking about what's under these jeans for a few weeks now.”
He looks a little shocked as you say this, but his hands move quickly to undo his belt and button of his jeans for you. You unzip his jeans and push them down over his ass the rest of the way, and he stops you momentarily. You wait, a little awkwardly, while he steps back and pulls his sneakers and jeans completely off, leaving only his boxer briefs as he takes his place again in front of you, nodding at you to let you continue. 
“What do you think about when you make those tweets?” you ask, your right hand coming up tentatively to test the waters and cup his length over his underwear. 
Adrian sucks in a breath, basically hissing at the contact as his eyes fall shut; so sensitive to the touch. You massage him, feeling around for what you're about to get. You've seen it more than once, but seeing it on twitter and actually seeing and feeling it in person seem like two extremely different things. You can tell just by your hand he’s long, and heavy. He's going to be a handful. And a mouthful.
“You,” he gasps out, and he sounds strained, “I think about you.”
“Like this?” you ask, and then stick out your tongue to flatten it against his clothed cock. He moans and his head falls back already, fully giving in to anything you'd do to him. How easy would he be to dominate? You briefly wonder, as your tongue works its way up his length. Your hands make their way to his hips, then to the waistband of his boxer briefs. 
“Is it like this?” you ask as you pull your mouth off of him, and your hands start to pull his boxer briefs down. 
He nods, finally opening his eyes and looking down at you, his pupils blown wide and face flushed. Adrian’s gently puts his hand on the back of your head; it feels like he’s afraid to thread his fingers between your hair or push your head down on him as he lets you take your time.
You have to break eye contact to look at him, even more handsome in person than on twitter and he’s not even fully naked yet. 
“Take your shirt off,” you whisper, and he obliges you.
You take his shaft in your hand, not tightly, just barely, and you kiss him where his hips and his left thigh meet. You kiss him again, and then rest your head there for a moment. You revel in the feeling of your skin on his, the feeling of him and you connected. You breathe deeply and then kiss the patch of skin again, before moving towards the head of his cock. 
You give the head a little kiss, a little exploration of what's to come. Salty precum dots your lips, tasty and light. You kiss it again, and once more again, before you open your lips.
Gently, you ease your lips farther and farther down the head, then even more down the shaft. You let Adrian adjust to the heat and wetness of your mouth before you hollow out your cheeks, only doing so after getting yourself most of the way down his shaft. You take the time to slowly push yourself up and down his shaft, letting yourself feel every inch and letting him feel every centimeter of you. You don't stop pushing against him until he pushes at the base of your throat, and then you slowly pull back, and then in again.
His hand now finally travels to the back of your head, guiding you and holding you still as you bob up and down on his cock, letting your tongue swivel on the underside of his cock. He moans loudly, openmouthed and tries to keep eye contact as best as possible- but Adrian keeps closing his eyes, keeps squinting and screwing his eyes shut as he winces and pants under your tongue. 
“Please,” he whispers, a little lilt of a moan to his voice, as he tightens his grasp on you scalp slightly.
“Please.”
You take this as your sign to pick up the pace, working him faster and trying to take him deeper and deeper. You feel pride swell in your chest when the tip of your nose just barely brushes his pubes at one point, you’re proud you can do that on him specifically. You've never been one to specifically want to give a blowjob, but with Adrian you want to give the best blowjob in the world. Briefly you wonder if he’s ever gotten a blowjob because of his twitter but you push the thought away quickly because you don't want to think about it. Somewhere deep down you want to be the only one. 
That only invigorates you to work harder, to push yourself further down on him, to hollow out your cheeks more, to-
“Get off— shit,” he gasps, roughly pulling himself out of your mouth, “don’t wanna finish there, wanna— wanna give you…”
“Got it,” you confirm, rubbing your jaw that’s sore from use.  You can't deny that it's a little disappointing he won't let you finish him in your mouth, but you trust Adrian. 
Immediately Adrian drops to his knees himself, taking over for your hand and replacing his fingers with your own. His thumbs rub tight circles against your jaw muscles, massaging out any kinks or pains that would ail you come morning before they can even take root. This has, never ever, never been your experience. You've never sucked a guy off and then immediately been cradled and massaged so gently, never have you experienced Adrian's big beautiful eyes staring at you with the craziest amount of admiration and care that you've ever seen. The tiniest smile grows on his lips, and you try to match it despite him massaging and mashing the muscles in your cheeks. 
“Okay… I have maybe an un-sexy question myself,” Adrian says, breaking the sweet silence that hung between the two of you.
“Shoot,” you encourage him, hands coming up to meet his hands on you. 
“Okay so…. So when we watched Fargo,” he trails off. 
You already know where this is going, you already know what he’s going to say but you have to let him get there on his own. 
“When we watched Fargo and you kept staring at the mirror, were you thinking of my tweets?”
He lets the question hang in the air, and so do you, opting to move your head ever so slightly and kiss his thumb before you answer him.
“Full honesty?” you ask, lips still against his thumb. He nods. 
“I came to one of them seconds before you texted me to hang out that night,” you admit.
His expression clouds and darkens, but doesn’t harden. He still looks at you with the utmost admiration but there's something else there, something strong and lustful in his gaze. 
“Get in front of the fucking mirror,” he whispers, authority in his tone. 
You stand up immediately, stopping about three feet in front of the mirror, about as far as Adrian stops in his videos. Adrian behind you kicks off his socks and boxers and comes up behind you fully naked, the beautiful image from the tweets finally completed because this time you can see his face.
He makes eye contact with you in the mirror, smiling wide at you as his arms come around you, first as a hug, but then his hands start to play with the hem of your top.
“May I?” he asks, as if his dick wasn't just in your mouth. You nod, and he wastes no time pulling your top over your head. He freezes after he throws it on the ground, however, when he finally spots your bra. You can see in the mirror as his eyes pull themselves back and forth across your chest, taking in as much of you chest as he can in this bra, the black satin and teal stitching and your cleavage pushed just perfectly by the cups. 
“Do you like it?” you ask, feeling emboldened and not shrinking under his gaze. He nods wordlessly, still transfixed on your chest. 
“I got this set because it reminded me of you,” you admit. It matches his uniform perfectly, and it was crazy the set did so while fitting your personal style so wonderfully. It was all comfort while still sexy and matched his signature colors. 
Adrian freezes, eyes going wide at your confession, he finally looks at you instead of your chest with an unreadable expression. He turns you around in his grasp, still unspeaking and wide eyed. 
And then he kisses you again, tender and romantic and a completely different way than he was earlier tonight. When he pulls away, it’s only to start kissing the top of your chest that he can reach over the bra. Adrian licks and sucks at your chest, pulling sighs and whimpers from you as he leaves not even a centimeter of skin untouched, Adrian himself reveling in the reactions he can cause.
“Fuckin’ love it,” he mumbles against your chest, his fingers finally raking themselves over the cups of the bra, thumbs tracing over the teal stitching.
“Love that you were thinking of me,” he continues, and then bites down on your collarbone, not enough to break skin but certainly enough to make you yelp.
“Fuck, Adrian,” you whine; his teeth drag along the collarbone until he drops his head down again to press a kiss to your cleavage, and then slowly traces his tongue down your sternum. His hands travel lower and now start to push your skirt down instead of up, the stretchy material giving under his pressure and dropping to pool at your feet. His mouth returns to your neck and your jaw, kissing sloppily as both of his hands go straight to your ass and squeeze. His hard cock presses against the black satin of your underwear, and all that goes through your mind is the thought of him staining them with cum.
“See what you fuckin do to me?” he asks, as he thrusts himself against the fabric, “Feel it?” 
You nod, and sigh as you practically fall into his embrace. Your hands travel up and down his chest, which you’ve touched and even stitched up before, but you’ve always wanted to touch it like this. Your fingers play with the little smattering of chest hair he has, and dance across pert little nipples. They trace along scars and feel his muscles. He squirms when you reach his ribs, pulling back slightly to wiggle away.
“Sorry! Fuck, ticklish,” he admits, trying to regain his composure quickly.
You laugh, and then wrap your arms around him again, careful to not tickle him again. The hug doesn't last long though, and his grip on you turns rigid again. 
“Face the mirror,” he demands, and you once again turn in his grasp to face the mirror. You take in his appearance as well as your own, already looking messed up and wild despite the fact he hasn't even touched you yet, and the fact that he looks like the adonis he is in all of his twitter videos. 
His hands work their way around to the front of you, and quickly push beneath the elastic lace confines of the sides of your panties. His left hand working at the hip and his right delving under the satin that hides the apex of your thighs.
“I’m gonna make you get off in front of this mirror,” he whispers low against the shell of your ear, not in his normal voice, but in the one you recognize as Vigilante about to kill someone. You shiver. 
“Maybe next time we’ll film it,” he whispers, and dips his hand lower to finally make connection with you. You gasp as his middle finger slides so easily through your folds, you should be embarrassed how wet you are without even being touched, but the noise he makes has you swelling with pride instead. Adrian moans, loudly and uncontrolled, and drops his forehead down against your shoulder.
“Feel what you do to me?” you throw his words back at him, a challenge given how fuzzy your brain is from just this alone. He nods against you, and then continues his movements. 
He slides his fingers back and forth, getting them nice and wet and slick. You watch his knuckles in the mirror, stretching and bulging the satin fabric until they disappear, his middle finger pushing into your heat. 
You sigh deeply at the feeling of his thick finger splitting you open, one of the thick fingers you've spent time watching and studying from the scarring from being Vigilante to the calluses from being a busboy. Fuck, how you've daydreamed about these fingers specifically.
He thrusts once, twice, and then adds another finger. From the way he shifts his hand, it has to be his ring finger. He slides into you so easily, like you were made for taking him, so wet and ready. You can't help the way your mouth falls open, the way you lean back against his strong frame; you're practically putty in his hands, he can mold and manhandle you in any way he wants. Your hands reach back to run your fingers down his hips and thighs, gentle, slow strokes of your fingers.
He picks up his pace thrusting his fingers, in and out in and out, His free hand groping from your hip now to your breast, caging you in against him and holding you in place. He lifts his head up from your shoulder and starts kissing your neck again, whispering and sighing against your neck. He laughs when he’s pressed his lips against your throat at the same exact moment he pulls a loud moan from you with his motions.
“You wanna come for me, cowgirl?” he mutters, switching the angle of his hand to push himself deeper and allowing himself to rub the pad of his thumb against your clit. Your body jolts the second his thumb comes in contact with you, shaking as if you've been electrified.
“Please,” you beg, “Please, Adrian. Make me…”
You trail off, instead giving him another moan as his thumb circles your clit. He picks up the pace, sending you higher and higher pushing you close to the edge. He bites at your neck again sharply and you yelp pitifully; this time you're sure he has to have broken skin.
You start to shake, knees buckling as you know the end is coming, and now you're gasping and mumbling half words, chest heaving under his palm. Adrian speeds up again, his hand almost losing its rhythm as his trusts go harder, deeper…
And then nothing. Just nothing. Emptiness. You whine at the feeling of Adrian’s hand pulling itself from your panties, his other hand still holding you in place and keeping you standing.
You pout when you make eye contact with him in the mirror, and he smiles devilishly while he licks the fingers that were just inside you, until his resolve break and he moans on his own fingers.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, but something about his tone tells you Adrian isn't sorry at all. 
You arch your brow at him questioningly.
“I just figured, I don't know,” he mumbles again, and you turn yourself in his grasp. He’s still rock hard, cock brushing against you as you move. 
“I thought I could take you to bed and do this right.”
Oh.
Oh you really like the sound of that, more than anything dirty he could say at this moment. You don't even mind the fact that he just teased and edged you like that.
But words fail you, instead you nod and kiss him sweetly on the lips, and he immediately leads you backwards to the bedroom while his arms are still wrapped around you. 
He only stops to fumble with the door handle, jiggling it before he can get it open before continuing to guide you backwards, his mouth not leaving your lips or face at all until the backs of your knees touch the edge of the bed. Adrian breaks the kiss only long enough to pick you up, lifting you in his strong arms and throwing backwards onto the bed. You gasp as you bounce against the mattress, his soft duvet cushioning your fall and puffing up around you, plush and full.
The bed dips as Adrian props a knee up onto the bed, giving him better leverage to reach for your underwear, finally pulling off the offending piece of black satin that's kept you from being bare for him this whole time. He pulls the garment down your legs so quickly, there's that Vigilante precision, and throws them up into the air behind him.
Adrian crawls the rest of the way onto the bed and between your thighs before they can even fall onto the rug behind him. He presses his body against you fully, resting most of his weight on you as he slowly rocks his hips again. His cock catches between your folds a few times, and he gasps each time. When the head of his cock bumps against your clit, you whine, pathetic and needy.
“Adrian, please fuck me,” you urge, “Need you so bad. Need to feel you.”
His head drops down close to yours, and stares into your eyes, intense and long. Then, he surprises you. Adrian tilts his head to kiss the tip of your nose, gentle and deliberate. 
“Anything for you,” he whispers, and pulls away from you to reach for his bedside. He digs around in it for a moment, and you sit up under him.
“Oh, you don't need to. I’m on the pill,” you offer, seeing as it's clear to you he’s struggling to find a condom in his messy bedside drawer. Which is comforting. If he was banging the people that replied to his tweets he'd know exactly where those condoms would be. It's good to know that it's only you. You haven't had sex in months before this, since before you joined the team really. Since that one weird date with a Scarecrow henchman back in Gotham that you keep trying to scrub from your memory. God, especially right now. This moment is… the last possible case in which you want to think about that date. Gross.
“You trust me?” he asks, and he sounds genuinely surprised as he stops pushing around charger cords and what looks like receipts and takes his glasses off to keep them safe. You nod eagerly, reaching for him to pull him back down on top of you. He readily lets you guide him, and he props himself on his elbows, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as he kisses you again. 
“You're gonna be my downfall, like Superman and Kryptonite, or the Flash and being a fucking weirdo,” he mumbles against your lips, and you smile against him.
“You're mine too, then,” you agree, and he grinds his hips up into you again. He grinds again, before you adjust the angle, reaching down to guide his cock into you, squeezing the base as he slides in with the same ease as his fingers did, despite his size. Thimble is the funniest nickname for him, you think. You feel like the wind has been knocked out of you by the time he bottoms out in you, full and stifled by him. You feel your chest heave as you adjust to him, and he pauses to give you time. His hand comes up to your ribcage, thumb running along the underside of your chest soothingly, and you nod, giving him the okay to move.
He thrusts into you roughly, as hard and deep as he can possibly go, barely pulling out before thrusting in again. Quickly you can feel your high approaching again, Adrian stretching you out and filling you so totally and completely, the friction between your bodies feeling like the closest thing to heaven you'd believe in. You gasp out his name over and over like a prayer, arching into him to chase your high.
Adrian himself seems like he wont last long either, the way he’s sweating and groaning as he practically wraps himself around you while he fucks you, his rhythm already faltering with his enthusiasm. 
“I like you,” he groans, “So. Fucking. Much.”
Your head falls back at the confession, a high pitched moan leaving your lips. He takes that as all the encouragement he needs, his hands reaching down to grab your legs at the knees to pull them up, his thumbs pressed into the back of them as he pushes your knees as close to your shoulders as they will go, and speeds up.
“That's right,” he says, “Let me have it, let go.”
The change in position does it, and you practically scream as your orgasm comes crashing down around you, like the floodgates opening, and stars explode behind your eyelids. Everything is Adrian, Adrian, Adrian.
Adrian follows quickly after, pulling out to release on your stomach, hissing at the cool air when it comes in contact with his cock. He releases your legs, letting them fall down against the duvet, your whole body shaking as you come down from it all. He props himself up on his knees as he moves to push your hair away from your forehead and kiss your face. His hand moves between the two of you, to your stomach to try to wipe his mess off of you. You stop him from reaching for tissues with a hand wrapped around his wrist.
“Lemme taste,” you mumble, and Adrian looks at you with a face full of shock. 
“You really are going to be my downfall,” he remarks, but his hand starts to move up your body and closer to your face anyway. 
“Can you blame me? I wanted to earlier but you wouldn't let me,” you say with a pout, before taking his fingers into your mouth.
Adrian lets out a stuttered moan as you start to lick and suck, his taste salty and warm on your tongue. You take the digits into your mouth as far as you can, not unlike you did with his cock earlier. Honestly, you'd get addicted to it if he would keep making that noise. You lick his fingers clean, and he pulls them from your mouth gently. 
“You are…” he shakes his head, “You are something else.”
“In a good way?” you ask, teasing him, a wry smile starting to grow on your face.
“Yes. Of course,” he replies, completely serious. You let him help clean you up the rest of the way with tissues, and then immediately you pull him back on top of you, this time to cuddle. His head finds his way to rest on your chest and your hand finds its way into his hair to play with the curls. Normally, you'd find this part of it a little gross. You're tired, he's a little sweaty, you both kind of smell like booze; but tonight this is welcome, wanted even. 
“I like you too, by the way,” you whisper before pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “If that isn't obvious.”
“I was hoping,” Adrian admits, reciprocating the kiss by pressing his lips to your sternum. Conversation peters out to nothing. You both lay there in silence, moonlight bathing the room in blue, both minds and hearts racing equally, but the four walls humming in quiet stillness.
What now? Does Adrian even do dating? Shit, you hadn't even thought of that, and you can't even think about how you'd navigate this if he doesn't. Maybe you could have saved face if this was just a hookup, but you said it. Your feelings were out there. But his were too, weren't they? I guess it doesn't matter if he doesn't date, you think.
Adrian’s head shoots up from its place on your chest.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice full of concern. You sigh deeply.
“I’m just thinking.”
You look up at the ceiling; since childhood, you'd play a game where you look at the ceiling and try to find patterns. Sometimes you would just trick your brain into seeing something that isn't there.
“Are you regretting this?” concern is laced in his voice, you don't even want to know what his face looks like right now, “Do you want me to take you home?”
You shake your head immediately.
“No, Adrian,” you sigh, “I don't.”
“Then what is it?”
Adrian lifts himself up, resting on his elbow to look at you. His hand comes up to touch your cheek awkwardly, not completely comforting, but you lean into the touch anyway. 
Fuckit, you might as well put all your cards on the table. 
“Will this go anywhere?”
“You mean like… this?” he asks, and you finally look at him as he’s pointing between the two of you. You nod, feeling like you want to hide. 
“Cowgirl, look at me,” he commands, the hand on your cheek guiding your face towards his.
“Let's make a verbal agreement right now to only kiss each other, and I’ll be the best boyfriend ever, and we’ll have hot hot sex every night and watch Fargo together every week from now on.”
“Yeah,” you nod, “I’d like that.”
Adrian smiles widely, and lets himself fall back on top of you, hugging you tightly. 
“Fuck yeah,” Adrian half-shouts, muffled by the pillow near your head. He squeezes you tightly, and then lifts himself back up. 
“Gimme ten minutes and I’m gonna rock your world again, babe,” he says, all giddy smiles. 
An idea pops into your head, and you take his face in your hands.
“Why don't we make it a video?"
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frogayyyy · 9 days
Text
Jeeves & Wooster + Mirrors analysis
S1E01: Jeeves Takes Charge
under the cut because it got ridiculously long for just the first episode lol
We first meet Bertie as a dishevelled, hungover young gentleman currently being charged with petty theft. He stumbles home to a disordered house, with clothes all over the floor and cupboard doors wide open, then he immediately passes out on his bed. To put it lightly - he’s a mess.
Enter Jeeves.
Jeeves sweeps in and fixes the place up with what feels like a magic wave of his hand. He mixes a little restorative drink without so much as a word from Bertie (not for lack of trying). The drink doesn’t magically fix Bertie’s rumpled appearance like the flat, but the effect on his mind and spirit is clear.
Bertie stands in front of the large mirror in his living room, apparently inspecting himself and the effects of Jeeves’ drink.
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Despite his still ruffled hair and crooked tie, Bertie is viewing a reflection of a restored, fresh, well put together gentleman. He’s seeing an echo of a future self, one that accepts Jeeves into his life.
He turns away from the mirror and immediately hires Jeeves.
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This could indicate that Bertie sees what he wants to see in mirrors, the version of himself that he likes most. Or perhaps, rather than reflecting his outward appearance - the mask he displays to the world - the mirror reflects his inner mood and emotions.
After their first back and forth about Bertie’s outfit, in which Bertie asserts that he will wear the clothes he already has on, it cuts to Bertie on the station platform and we see through the steam that he is wearing the tweed suit Jeeves had suggested.
He inspects himself in the train window, seemingly coming to the conclusion that Jeeves was right and the tweed suit was indeed the better choice. This troubles him, not wanting Jeeves to get the wrong impression that just because he conceded on this occasion that he would continue to do so, and reasserts himself to Jeeves.
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W: Jeeves, I have to make one thing crystal clear.
J: Yes, sir?
W: I am not one of those who become absolute slaves to their valets.
J: No, sir.
W: Very well. We understand each other.
J: Perfectly, sir.
The phrase ‘smoke and mirrors’ comes to mind. As we know, eventually Bertie does in essence become an “absolute slave” to his valet, albeit willingly. Jeeves seems to know this perfectly well. The steam from the train serves as the ‘smoke’ obscuring the deception: Jeeves happily allowing Bertie to believe that he is in complete control.
I mention this scene because it highlights the beginning of an important evolution in their relationship. At first, Bertie strongly resists being “moulded” (“I’m not a jelly” as he said to Aunt Agatha earlier in the episode, though referring to a possible future wife) and Jeeves (falsely) reassures him that he isn’t.
However, even by the end of the first episode, Bertie starts to realise that he doesn’t mind these changes as much as he imagined he would.
Another important part of Jeeves and Bertie’s relationship is music. Music is used throughout the series to show the change in familiarity and ‘feudal spirit’ between them and the relaxing of their positions as servant and master.
The first time we see Bertie at his piano playing a simple call and response song on his own. When he asks Jeeves to join in singing the responses, we see Bertie through the mirror and Jeeves continuing his tasks.
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Jeeves obliges and joins in, but still adds the proper ‘sir’s at the end of every line.
Bertie is disappointed with this and asks Jeeves to sing it again but to drop the sirs. He pauses his task and moves forward closer to the piano, and now we no longer see them separated in the mirror but side by side.
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Although he can’t fully let go of etiquette, he tries to acquiesce and Bertie seems delighted with this.
Afterwards, they both move back to the mirror this time, firmly returning to their roles as master and servant as they prepare for dinner with the Glossops.
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This could suggest that the mirror is being used to show the barrier of propriety between them. Bertie being isolated in the mirror at first but inviting Jeeves closer and trying to get him to abandon his feudal spirit. Here, the only time Jeeves joins Bertie in the mirror is when he’s performing his duties.
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(Bertie realising he might not mind being moulded (not a euphemism) a little bit by Jeeves)
At the end of the episode, after Bertie escapes the engagement to Honoria Glossop and avoids being sectioned by Rodrick Glossop, we find them in the bathroom.
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As we view them both only through the mirror, Jeeves reveals that he did indeed ‘work the whole thing’.
J: Well, if you’ll pardon the liberty, sir, I doubt if the young lady would have been entirely suitable for you.
In contrast to his earlier remarks about not ‘becoming a slave to his valet’, Bertie now seems perfectly content to know that Jeeves was controlling the whole evening.
We no longer see them divided by the mirror - the barrier between master and servant. Although the mirror is still there, it’s not separating them anymore. Jeeves has revealed his plan and his intentions and has been allowed into Bertie’s space (in a private and intimate place as his bathroom, no less), almost elevated to his equal.
It’s also interesting to note that for Jeeves, the mirror is used when he confesses a truth - in this case his role in getting Bertie out of the soup and his reason for doing so. We see this again in future episodes 👀
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astarionsilverbough · 6 months
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"It should've been him.
"I know - I know better than most - I know we are born to die. It is the - the natural order, the mandated law of your kingdom. All living things must one day return to the earth whence they came, yes, but -
"And I know it is the ultimate sin to seek life eternal. Mortal flesh was forged from the same magic as the earth that sustains us. But...
"Oak Father - would it be sin to seek it for someone else? Would that not be the greatest show of - of love, of devotion, of..."
Heavy silence.
"Because it should've been him. The sun dwelled inside his bones. What is the earth without sunlight?
"What is the earth - without sunlight, Oak Father? Please - what is the earth without sunlight, what - what am I without him?"
Knees crashland in the moss. Hands plant in the grass. The dew of morning has long been licked away by passing deer; tears glimmer where the blades catch them. Hold them.
"It should've been him," utters the bereaved elf, head bowed with the weight of the grief that falls from his lips; "death - should never have been allowed to touch him!"
His nostrils furl in a snarl. The beast bites at the back of his teeth.
And where were you, druid?
He breathed his last alone, afraid. They said he had over thirty wounds. Was nearly unrecognizable. Your sweet sun-star. Your Astarion.
So where were you?
Halsin grinds his teeth together until his jaw aches. A rough-hewn sob punches from him and he curls his fingers into the rich earth, packing his palms with its soft flesh.
The amulet around his neck swings like a pendulum over the wounded ground.
You let him run. You did not chase after your mate, and your inaction killed him.
Fire shoots into his throat, billowing from the mouth of the wicked demon awakening in his belly. Halsin's vision goes white with the heat of it. He can't let it out. There is no fire. It is only bile and saltwater from swallowed tears.
When he thinks of Astarion's final moments, something inside the druid Halsin threatens to combust. Try as he might, he cannot seem to force the thoughts to stop; the cruel imaginings of the way he might've looked when he was found, rigid body twisted with the agony of a wicked death.
He would've been so cold.
Was he cold when he died?
Was the last thing he saw the sheer hatred burning in his murderer's eyes?
When the roar comes, it threatens to shatter him. The beast claws at the cage of his body but it cannot break out. He remains horrificially human in the throes of a grief so powerful Halsin thinks for a moment he might actually be turning into an infernal thing, some wicked new demon that would ruin the world.
Breathe.
He cannot. The roar throttles him.
A soft breeze passes over his hair.
Breathe, darling.
Fractured shards of ruined air slice through his lungs. He chokes on the taste of blood. Another gentle breeze caresses his face, his neck, his chest.
That's it.
Breathe. Let it pass.
Come back to me, Halsin.
To what? A world without you?
Halsin.
I'm right here, darling.
The breeze becomes warm flesh. A breath of life floods Halsin's lungs, coaxed into them by the hand on his chest as his meditation finally breaks.
With a ragged sound, Halsin opens his eyes and finds himself gazing at the sun.
"There you are," Astarion hums, thumbing over the apple of Halsin's cheek with a small smile.
The vampire is propped up on his chest, sunset gaze weary but so, so tender. His soft white hair is bed-rumpled and there are little indents on his cheek from the creases in his pillow. Halsin is moving before he's even aware of it, one big hand sliding into Astarion's hair. The elf holds his gaze as he allows Halsin to roll him back into the sheets, pliant and trusting when the larger elf cages him down beneath the bulk of his body.
Astarion is alive. They're in their room in Last Light and Astarion is alive, skin gloriously sleep-warm under Halsin's hands.
Exhaling a ghost that never was, Halsin presses his brow to Astarion's. The elf reaches up to push Halsin's hair back from his face, gathering it in an idle hand as he nudges the bridge of Halsin's nose with his own.
"I'm sorry," Halsin rasps, "I didn't mean to disturb you."
Astarion chuckles and passes his fingertips over Halsin's lips. He kisses them on instinct and Astarion bites his bottom lip, smile darting close to grin territory before his concern chases it away.
"The only time you disturb me is when you apologize for suffering, darling," Astarion murmurs. "Your heartbeat was so frenzied it pulled me out of my trance - you were whimpering as if you had a paw caught in a bear trap."
Halsin lets out a faint sound. Astarion nods slightly and utters, "yes, like that," against Halsin's lips when the elf finally breaks and surges down to kiss him. The vampire melts into it immediately, eyes fluttering shut as he lets Halsin lick into his mouth.
No words come to him. That's just fine. Astarion knows him - he's borne witness to the aftermath of Halsin's strange, nightmarish meditations before. Memories, all of them; sometimes they're of the battle against the Thorms. Sometimes they're of Isobel, the way her eyes had gone big as her body registered the glaive splitting it open in the middle.
And sometimes, they're the memories of his worst moments of grief in the long between of Astarion's lifetimes.
He has no words because none would do the memories justice. He could tell Astarion how he mourned, how viciously he grieved, until he was blue in the face - it wouldn't matter. Not because Astarion wouldn't care, but because it would not unburden Halsin whatsoever.
It would only serve to cause more grief.
No - there was no healing in the confession of his dark moments between Astarion's lifetimes. Healing comes here, like this:
"Darling," and it's breathy and aching, "let yourself feel me, really feel me. Bury it here, sweet boy - let it be gentle, now."
The words ignite in Halsin's belly. Astarion slides his arms around the big elf's massive shoulders and kisses over his cheek, hairless thighs whispering against Halsin's hips. The vampire wraps himself languidly around Halsin with practiced ease, lean body blooming in an exquisite arch beneath him.
When the scent of the slick entrance beneath the jut of his long, half-hard cock hits Halsin, the entire world narrows and the tendrils of cloying agony begin to ebb away. Splaying a hand over Astarion's belly, Halsin cups the back of the elf's head in the other and noses down the line of his throat, mouth parting over the faint echo of his pulse.
"That's it," Astarion groans quietly, hips rolling instinctively as he grows even slicker between his spread thighs. He radiates a sweet, intoxicating kind of need, the kind of need that makes Halsin's head spin and his cock throb and weep dewdrops over Astarion's groin.
"I'm here," the elf exhales against Halsin's ear. "I'm right here, darling, feel me. Touch me, Halsin, please."
A clever hand slides over the one Halsin has on his belly and guides it lower. With an absolutely dulcet little moan, Astarion steers him around the hard line of his cock and down to his cunt instead, pressing Halsin's fingertips right to his slick entrance with an aching whine.
"Let it go," Astarion breathes in elvish against Halsin's mouth, beautiful red eyes flickering over his face to meet his heavy gaze. "Be here with me. Don't stray from me now, Halsin - not when we've found each other again."
An echo of the plea he'd given Astarion in the Underdark. Tears bloom along the seam of his eyelids as he kisses Astarion deep, two fingers delving gently into the wet heat of his body. He uses the slick caught between them to prepare his cock, drawing a membrane of glistening spend over the head.
Their moans collide between their mouths as Halsin sinks home. Astarion's cheeks are tinged with pink, ears burnt red; by the end, the flush will spread down his chest. Halsin thumbs over a hardened nipple and massages the nape of Astarion's neck with the hand still cradling his head.
"Halsin," Astarion groans - it's a dangerous thing, that groan, because it makes Halsin think he might be a god - "darling, oh - I feel you in my throat, you're perfect."
And this is how he heals.
It's:
"Faster," and Astarion growls it against his jaw, blunt nails digging into Halsin's back. "Faster - ah! Yes, fuck - oh, fuck, Halsin - sweet boy, oh -"
Every plea is a prayer, each cry of his name a hymn; Halsin pants like a beast in rut against Astarion's cheek, one big arm wrapped tight around his lean waist now as he drives into the tight clutch of his body. Astarion's belly is a battlefield of spunk and sweat, his pink cock still hard where it smears through the mess.
This is how he heals.
Not through broken confessions that only bring more grief, but:
"Yours," Astarion whines, and Halsin is groaning like he's been driven through with a pike as he fucks into the vampire, finally chasing his own release; "you know I'm yours, you know I've only ever been yours - come on, sweet boy. My beast. Mark me, leave yourself inside me."
And it's obscene and it's aching and Astarion is clinging to him as if Halsin is the tree the storm is trying to shake Astarion from. Blue-white heat spirals up and down Halsin's spine. His sac tightens. The golden threads of tension in his belly snap and Halsin's skin ripples with a fleeting fever as he buries himself inside Astarion, unbridled moans and whimpers pouring from his kiss-bruised mouth.
"Oooh," groans the beautiful, divine thing beneath him, body relaxing as if Halsin's seed was the medicine it needed to do so. "That was a good one, wasn't it? My sweet beast - look at me now."
Halsin does. Astarion smiles. There's a hint of smugness to his smirk and Halsin revels in the taste of it - whiskey and sunlight on his tongue.
Gold.
Everything about him is... Gold.
"There you are," Astarion murmurs, voice thick with praise. Halsin's throat tightens. He wants to die looking up at the face beneath him. There are still pillow creases on Astarion's cheek and Halsin, wrought with a far softer kind of agony now, puts his lips to them and utters a faint prayer.
"Well you're welcome," says Astarion, hands gliding absently up and down Halsin's back, "but there's really no need to thank me, darling - loving you isn't exactly a chore."
This is how he heals.
Not in the bitter confession of tormented memories, but the creation of sweeter ones.
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