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boxofbonesfic · 11 months

Note

omg i would love a dark!Peter or a Ransom prompt 👀 it can just be an idea, or a specific scene or scenario, whatever strikes your fancy 💖

Ok! Ransom x plus size reader: college au, fwb. Ransom doesn't want to be seen with her cause she's fat and she's cool with it cause she's literally just here for the d while she gets her degree right? Ransom's an ass but that dick is bomb and no feelings are involved so perfect. But then Ransom gets addicted to the p and wants her all to himself, still on the dl tho. His changing feelings don't come out till she meets someone and breaks it off with Ransom. Reader doesn't think anything of it but Ransom COMPLETELY loses his mind and starts stalking her, blowing up her phone, etc. Not caring if everyone knows now. Reader is CONFUSED and MIFFED!

Title: Breaking

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Plus Size!Reader

Word Count: 5,374

Summary: Ransom wasn’t eager to stake any sort of claim on you—until someone else does it first.

Warnings: College AU, Stalking, Kidnapping, Darkfic, Plus Size Reader, Manipulation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, MINORS DNI!

A/N: thank you so much for this lovely prompt! i really hope you enjoy this little ficlet. ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics

Ransom had found it kind of funny at first, when you’d stopped responding to his rather crassly worded “U up?” texts. It wasn’t until the third text in half as many weeks had gone completely unanswered that he’d tried calling instead—and found you had blocked him completely.

What?

That wasn’t like you. Not like Ransom had taken time to really know you, but ghosting just didn’t seem like it belonged in your playbook.

“The number you have dialed cannot be reached at this time. Please contact your service provider if you believe you have reached this message in error.”

It had taken a little finesse, Ransom laying the charm rather thickly on your friend in his business management class, the one whose name he could never remember.

“She has a boyfriend,” she’d said, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger with a nervous giggle. “But I’m, um, single.”

Which brings him to now.

You weren’t the sort of girl he usually took out on dates, and, looking back on it, you’d picked it up rather quickly. Your requests to meet at parties or the bars his frat brothers regularly visited were answered with vague no’s. Or, more often than not, ignored outright until you stopped sending them. It wasn’t your fault—he had a reputation to think about. Though tonight, ironically, his reputation is the furthest thing from his mind.

What is on his mind, is you.

Ransom’s lip curls as he watches Isaac drape an arm across your shoulders, squeeing affectionately. He doesn’t know him well—they haven’t spoken much beyond the idle chit-chat around the keg. It turns his stomach, the thought that he’d finally realized just how much you meant to him, only to have this—this boy-scout steal you from right under his nose. Out from his fucking bed.

Ransom isn’t used to coming in second place. It’s never happened before, losing something he actually wants. Isaac seems happy to be next to you, not embarrassed or hiding behind baseball caps and wide sunglasses. Not like Ransom. He’s angry—at you, a little, but mostly at himself. It’s not hard to recall how you felt underneath him, all soft skin, soft curves, and fuck. He hates himself for not savoring that last time more, for not knowing it was going to be the last time.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Ransom Drysdale didn’t get dumped—he was the one who did the dumping. And, he, thinks with no small amount of derision as he watches you from across the bar, I didn’t get dumped. We were never together. You can’t break up if you’re not together. The thought rings hollow even in his own head as he nurses his fifth beer of the night. It feels stupid-no, superficial, now; the way he’d only drop by your dorm-room after midnight, showing up without calling or texting and knowing full well that you would let him in.

But not anymore.

You’re too far away for him to hear it, but when you laugh, you tilt your head back, attempting to cover your wide grin with one hand. Pretty, he thins to himself, taking another long swallow from the bottle. Fuck how had he not noticed how pretty you are when you laugh, before? Had he just never seen it? Now that it occurs to him, Ransom’s hard pressed to find a memory that isn’t just sweaty skin, and hungry words growled into the curls at the nape of your neck.

Fuck.

Those were his favorite nights, the ones he spent digging his fingers into the softness of your hips while he sank in to the hilt—Ransom shudders. Even through the condoms you insisted he wear, the memory of your slick, tight heat is enough to send a hot, jealous pulse through his veins.

“We’re not together,” you’d said, crossing your arms stoutly as you stared up at him. “Condom or nothing.”

Probably doesn’t make Isaac wear a fucking condom. He takes another bitter swallow. He doesn’t know what’s worse, the thought of you fucking that Leave it To Beaver reject, or you fucking him raw. Both make him see red.

“Right, Ransom?” Someone claps him on the shoulder, and Ransom nods wordlessly. He isn’t paying attention, not to them, not with you here. You lean over to say something to your friend, the same mousy one who’d volunteered herself in your place. Ransom scoffs into his beer.

“Three fucking weeks.” He mumbles, draining the bottle before placing it down almost too hard on the bar-top. “How’s it get serious in three fucking weeks?” He waves at the bartender, signaling for another.

“Ran, we’re heading out.” Theo jerks his head towards the door. “There’s a party at Jude’s place. Hella girls.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Drunk ones.”

Ransom shrugs bad-naturedly, grimacing. “I’m going to stay here,” he says evasively, casting another sour look at you as his lip curls. “I don’t feel like pulling your head out of the toilet tonight.”

“Whatever, man.” Theo rolls his eyes, squaring his shoulders. He follows Ransom’s eye across the bar, and smirks. “Just because you’re not getting your dick wet with your porky little sidepiece anymore doesn’t mean the rest of us have to stay here and mope with you all weekend.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol warming his gut, but Ransom’s up before he’s really got a chance to think about it, his hands on Theo’s shoulders as he shoves him backwards, hard. The other man stumbles backward, and Ransom squares his shoulders.

“Don’t fucking talk about her like that.”

“What, now you care, all of a sudden?” Theo scoffs. “Dude you wouldn’t even let her come in through the front door—”

Ransom doesn’t know when exactly he grabbed a handful of Theo’s thin hair, holding his head still while he drives a frenzied fist into his former friend’s face as everyone watches. He comes to as he rears his fist back again, the sound of his name distant in his ears, like it was spoken through glass.

“Ransom!” Your confused face in the crowd is all he can see—which is why Theo’s sucker punch catches him off guard. It makes his ears ring as stars explode in his right eye. The world tilts as Ransom stumbles, and the television static in his ears is replaced by yelling. The warm wet trickle from his nose is blood, staining the tips of his fingers red as he holds his face. Theo’s not doing much better, blood pouring from his nose, and an ugly, swollen bruise coming to bear on the right side of his face.

“Fuck you,” Theo mumbles, drawing the back of his sleeve across his bloody lip. “Fucking asshole.” He storms out, a few of their frat brothers trailing behind him as he goes.

“Are you fucking serious?” The bartender throws down the towel in his hands, before smacking them against the bar-top. “I’ve fucking told you guys about bringing that bullshit in here—”

“I was just leaving,” Ransom snaps, shoving his hands into his pockets. He hates that he can feel your eyes on him too; watchful, judging. Theo’s gone by the time Ransom makes his way outside. It’s almost winter break, and the icy night air feels good against the hot, painful throbbing in his cheek.

“Ransom.” He turns, scowling at you over his shoulder. “What the fuck was that?” He shrugs miserably.

“Nothing.”

“It didn’t look like nothing.”

“What do you fucking care?” The venom on his tongue flows easily, likely aided by the liquid courage currently sloshing around in his gut. “You blocked me. You have a boyfriend.” He doesn’t know what he’s expecting from this confrontation, but your distinct lack of a reaction feels like more of a slap in the face than anything else. You blink at him, one eyebrow quirked as if in question.

“Yeah, I did.” Why does it hurt? Ransom’s rejected hundreds of girls—some as he was fucking pulling out of them, so why does this feel like a fucking knife in his back? “I figured you wouldn’t care much, Ransom, considering.” He hates this, hates how he’s the angry one and you’re calm—the roles should be reversed. They would be, if not for that niggling, irritating feeling that you should be his, just his. He doesn’t want to admit that you’re right, that you’ve got him pegged dead to fucking rights.

“How would you know?”

“You don’t sneak girls you like in through the basement entrance.” You retort smoothly. You’ve had a lifetime of this, of learning to live in your body, of learning to weather other people’s reactions to it—it’s Ransom that’s unfamiliar with rejection, unsure of how to handle the fact that the “r-train” isn’t enough to keep you coming back for more despite his treatment.

“But I do. I do like you.” He says, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t do this. It doesn’t have to be a thing. We can just, we can go back to how it was before.” This time, you do react, your face screwing up as you regard him first with disbelief and then anger.

“Why would I give up being in a relationship with someone who actually likes me, who is willing to be seen with me in public places and with his friends— you know what? I don’t need this.” You mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. “This is what I fucking get for trying to make sure you’re okay. Silly me. I thought we were mature, here.” You gesture between the two of you before another dry laugh bubbles out from between your lips.

“Have a good night, Ransom.”

No, no, don’t leave! The desperate thought makes his throat tight. You can’t leave me. He stumbles exaggeratedly as you watch, falling against the bus stop with a groan. The plan lays itself out before him neatly like lines on a map.

“God fucking dammit—Ransom!” You huff irritatedly. He leans against the pole, counting the seconds until you come over to check on him. You do, and he moans pitifully. “Can you walk?”

“No,” he hiccoughs, swaying cartoonishly as you try to help him stand. “Ju-hic-just go. I’ll be fine.” You blow an exasperated breath out as you straighten him up. She doesn’t talk to her parents. He licks his lips as you pull out your phone, holding it up to your ear as you wait for someone to answer on the other end. She told me that when we were smoking, that one time.

“I obviously can’t. How did you get here?” You say, holding your hand over the mouthpiece as you scowl up at him.

“Theo d-drove.” The house is only a ten minute drive from here. Fifteen, tops.

“Yeah, I’m just going to head back to campus. No, I’m gonna take an uber. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow, Isaac.” The little smile that curls at the corners of your lips makes him sick. “Yeah, you too.” Ransom leans on you heavily, and you don’t seem to notice when he presses his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo with relish. Fucking Isaac.

“I’ll get the uber,” he says, slurring the words deliberately as he fumbles with his own phone. “M’sorry, Princess.” He taps the screen clumsily, selecting Home instead of Dorm, before hastily stowing it back in his pocket.

“Don’t call me that.” You snap sharply. You try—and fail—to stand Ransom on his own two feet. Instead he hangs over you, draped over your shoulders with his chin resting on the top of your head.

“Why?” The question comes out petulantly. “You used to like it.”

“Stop.”

The familiar feel of your body pressed against his is sweet in a way Ransom hadn’t anticipated. The attic’s secure. Quiet.

When the car pulls up, Ransom allows you to wrangle him into the back seat, where he sprawls across your lap when you sit down beside him. You don’t say anything to the driver beyond a mumbled hello, which suits him just fine. Ransom plays up the drunk act, asking the driver a nonsensical question that makes you whisper at him to be quite.

“Sorry. Just trying to get him home.” You reply, pushing uselessly at his head as he settles into your lap. Soft. He can’t help but run a reverent hand across your jean clad thigh. Love how soft she is.

You’re so distracted trying to keep him from getting comfortable that you don’t notice the cab is heading away from the dorm until the driver turns down the private road.

“Wait—wait, I think you made a wrong turn somewhere,” you say, leaning forward to talk to the driver. He shakes his head enthusiastically, and points at his phone’s GPS.

“No, I followed the directions,” he protests, and Ransom hides his snicker in a groan. “This is the address.”

You lean back with a dissatisfied sigh, and look down at Ransom.

“Let me see your phone.” He unlocks it and hands it over, his face a mask of innocence. You notice the mistake immediately, leaning forward again. “Could you turn around and take us back to Harvard campus, please—”

“This trip was already way out of my route,” the driver grouses, frowning at the two of you in the mirror. “And I don’t think he’ll make another trip. Looks like he’s about to puke any second.”

“He’s fine.”

Ransom retches, and watches as the cabby’s face twists angrily.

“He’s not! I’m sorry, I’m done for the night. Maybe someone else will be able to pick you up.”

The finality in his voice makes Ransom giddy, and he clutches his stomach, gagging. He’s never thrown up—he’s not a fucking freshman lightweight, he’s a fucking Sigma for chrissakes—but he’s willing to let the two of you believe he might. You bite your lip, teeth sinking into its pillow softness as you try to undo what Ransom’s done.

“M’sorry. Didn’ mean to put in the wrong hic place.”

You nod stiffly. “I know. I guess… Well, this place has plenty of couches, right?” There’s little humor in your joke, but Ransom makes sure to laugh a little anyway, nodding.

“My grandfather won’t mind if you sleep in one of the guest rooms. Promise, Princess.”

“Ransom, don’t—”

“We’re here.” The driver cuts in as the car pulls to a stop in front of the house. “Sounds like you guys have it all figured out.”

—

As expected, the only people home are his grandfather, along with a few odd members of the staff. They’re easy enough to convince, Fran and Marta ferrying him upstairs to his room while he mumbles incoherently. You help too, tugging the blanket up over him after pulling off his shoes with a grunt. It feels nice, having you care for him like this, your soft hands on his face.

It feels right.

“I’ll get the guest room set up for you upstairs,” Fran says on her way out. “I’ve got a t-shirt around here somewhere.” Ransom doesn’t catch your answer, but that doesn’t matter much, not when he knows where you’ll be. It’s strange, how he’s impatient now, here at the home stretch, but he is. The smell of you, the taste, the feel, it’s all he can think about now that he’s so close.

It won’t be easy keeping you, he knows that, but nothing good comes without a challenge, right? And with the right motivation, Ransom knows he can make you fall in line. The house quiets around him, and distantly, he hears the sound of first Fran’s car, and then Marta’s. He forces himself to wait a few minutes more, and when he emerges out into the still air of the hallway, he smiles.

The door to the guest room is ever so slightly ajar, and Ransom slides inside. You sit up sharply, and for a moment only sound between you is the quiet settling of the house.

“What are you doing?”

“I came to check on you.” He can’t see your face in the dark, but he can see the shape of you, silhouetted in the pale beam of light streaming in from the tiny window above the bed.

“I’m fine.” The words are stiff. “You should go to bed.”

He doesn’t. Instead, Ransom turns and closes the door securely behind him, slipping the key into his pocket. The sound is deafening in the quiet, and he knows you hear it too.

“Have you texted Isaac, yet?” He asks, cocking his head. The room is small, shaped oddly by the sloping roof, and Ransom himself takes up the bulk of it standing in front of the door. You seem to shrink a little in response, and your hesitation answers the question truthfully, before you’ve even spoken.

“Y-yes. You should go to—” The way your hand strays under the pillow to feel for your phone tells him the opposite. Ransom licks his lips.

“Have you fucked him yet, Princess?”

Your gasp is audible.

“Don’t—don’t call me that. Ransom go to bed. You’re drunk.”

“Have you fucked him?” He repeats it, dropping to his knees on the bed.

“Get out!” You make for the door too late, and Ransom grabs you, wrapping an arm securely around your waist as he breathes a relieved sigh into your bare shoulder. Your frustrated struggle turns panicked at the sound of metal clacking against metal. “No, Ransom no—” The handcuffs he produces from his pocket aren’t the padded ones he’s used with you before—these are the real deal, and he clamps them tightly around your left wrist, looping it around the bed-frame before capturing your right. You’re writhing and fighting, but it’s easy to ignore the pain as he locks his arms tight, waiting for you to tire yourself out.

You’re wearing just a t-shirt, and Ransom palms the heavy weight of your tits through the soft cotton with a soft groan.

“So you haven’t fucked him.”

You open your mouth to scream, and Ransom laughs.

“Nearest person is two floors down, Princess,” he breathes, a low, satisfied hum rumbling in his chest as he draws his fingers through your messy hair, before tangling his fingers in it to tug your head back. His teeth scrape at your throat. “You can scream if you want to,” he mumbles against your pulse. “You know I like it when you’re loud.”

“Ransom, stop. You’re—”

“Drunk?” He answers smartly, before shaking his head. He cups your face with one sure hand, stroking your lip with the pad of his thumb. “I know you feel bad, Princess. You let me fuck that juicy cunt so quick, you thought you needed to make him work for it.” This close he can see your face, can see the guilt you quickly try to bury because he’s right. The answer is there, written in the way you turn your head away from him, trying to hide your face in shadow. Ransom doesn’t let you, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers as he forces you to stay still, to look him in the eye.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You spit hoarsely, and Ransom laughs. “You’re fucking drunk and-and—get off me!” You shrill, bucking against him uselessly. If he’s drunk, that’s what he’s drunk on; the heady sensation of knowing the truth with absolute certainty.

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” He sneers, pressing you down into the mattress. The smell of your skin is intoxicating, like orange blossoms and fucking sunshine. “Fuck, Princess, I missed this.” It’s almost reverent, the way he slides his hands down over your hips, slowly working a knee between your stubborn thighs. Your borrowed t-shirt rolls up as Ransom spreads your legs, grinning at the sight of white lace between them.

He draws a finger over the curve of your cunt before cupping it.

“Why’d you block me, Sweetheart?” He asks, tracing the shape of your puffy lips through the cotton.

“You didn’t want me!” You hiss through clenched teeth. Ransom clucks his tongue at you, shaking his head, before delivering a stinging slap to your cunt. You feel it through the cotton, of course, whining and writhing underneath him as you cry out. “You’re fucking crazy—” The palm of his hand cracks sharply against you again, and it cuts your complaint short as the words disappear in a pained gasp.

“Be honest with me, Princess.” He says, grinning as you try to wriggle away from him.

“You wouldn’t even be seen with me!” Your voice cracks. “It’s not fair, Ransom!”

“You want me to stake a claim, Sweetheart? I can do that,” Ransom breathes, pushing the shirt up over your breasts, groaning at the sight of your puffy nipples. He draws his thumb across one, watching, enraptured, as the flesh pebbles underneath his touch. He trails sloppy, heated kisses up the side of your throat, nipping at the skin until you whimper. He mouths at your skin, sucking at the purpling bruise until he pulls away, satisfied.

“We can think of a more permanent solution later.” He leans back with a satisfied sigh. It feels good to mark you, to watch the bruises spread like ink on your pretty skin.

“Please, Ransom, just go!” You sob, the chain rattling against the bed-frame as you try unsuccessfully to loose yourself from your restraints. “We-we’ll just pretend it never happened!” You nod at him, like you’re trying to encourage him to do the same, your wide eyes fever bright. “It’ll be just like before—”

“Why would I want that?” He asks, reaching down to tug your panties tight, pulling the fabric tautly through the lips of your pussy like dental floss. “I don’t think you’re really grasping the situation, Princess, so let me spell it out for you.” Ransom spreads your legs wider as you stare up at him with fearful eyes.

“I don’t want things how they were before.” He snarls. “Things are different now, Sweetheart. You made them different.” Ransom slips his fingers underneath the elastic of your panties, and begins tugging them own your thighs, ignoring your whimpered pleas to wait and stop. You kick at him, a frenzied wail working its way out of your throat. True to his word, he ignores it, sliding down your body until he’s faced with the slick patch between your thighs.

“Ransom—” His name is a hoarse wail as he attaches his lips to your cunt, his tongue seeking out your traitorously swelling clit. He grins against you, dragging his tongue noisily through your folds, moaning. This is perfection, he muses dimly, lapping at you as you whine. You can’t deny how good it feels, not when he can see the evidence glistening on your quaking thighs, taste it on his tongue. You’re gasping, those precious little choking noises filling his ears as you try to swallow down the sound of your pleasure.

“Can’t fucking get over how good you taste, Princess,” he mumbles, reveling in your yelp as he sucks harshly on your swollen bud, spreading you wide with his fingers. You shake, your body jackknifing as you murmur nonsensically. He’s always loved that flavor—like fresh peaches, why do you taste like fucking peaches—

“F-Fuck you!” He doesn’t let you cum, though, pulling away to flick softly at your clit with his thumb. He draws the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away the evidence of your body’s betrayal with a sly smile. A hoarse little whimper escapes you, and Ransom clucks his tongue, before reaching down to palm himself through his sweats. His cock his hard, so hard it almost hurts, thick drops of precum gathering at the reddened tip. He reaches for his phone with the other hand, the shutter noise clicking as he snaps a few pictures of your tear-stained face.

“N-no, no—!” You voice your displeasure with a whine as Ransom pans the camera down your body, like he’s trying to map it out for posterity’s sake. “No pictures, please, please!” Your wild, watery eyes are frantic as you plead with him. “Please don’t, Ran, please don’t send those—” A hot pulse shoots through his body at your desperation, and his cock throbs.

“A minute ago you were just telling me to go fuck myself.” He quirks an eyebrow at you over the top of the phone. “So which is it?”

“Please don’t send those.” You swallow thickly, the sound audible. “Please.”

He has no intention of sending them anywhere—except maybe to Isaac with your face cropped out, of course. But he smiles lasciviously anyway, blue eyes narrowing. Ransom runs his tongue across his lips, still tasting you on them.

“Let’s make a little deal, then.” He tugs his sweats down, and the fat, veiny length of his cock springs out. Ransom hisses softly as he spreads a sticky drop of precum across his tip with his thumb. “You’re going to end it with Isaac.” You open your mouth to complain, but Ransom forges ahead, ignoring you. “We’ll be exclusive, you and me, Princess.” He forces your thighs open a little wider. “Just like you want.” Ransom’s practically giddy with the thrill of it as your full lips begin to tremble and fresh tears track down your cheeks.

“I—I don’t want you!” You gasp, your attempts to buck him off only succeeding in wedging him further between your frantically kicking legs. Ransom clucks his tongue at you.

“I don’t know about that, Princess,” he says, slapping a hand against your swollen cunt, cupping it roughly. You squeal as he draws a finger through your slick, still throbbing folds.

“Not sure if you’ve ever been wetter.” Ransom presses your thighs to your chest. He asks, licking his lips. “It’s all up to you, of course.” Ransom lies so easily it doesn’t even really occur to him that he’s doing it.

“You tell me to go, I’ll go. But I can’t say what’ll happen to that footage.” He shrugs. He’s got no intention of leaving this room, not really, but he doesn’t mind pretending. “But if you were my girl, I might be able to swing deleting it. After all, what would I need it for? Got the real thing all to myself.” He dips the tip of a thick finger into your entrance. “Get it, Princess? No more scholarship. No more shitty dorm-room. I’ll take care of you.”

You’re so easy to read like this, your guard down and your desperation front and center. He can see you weighing the options, trying to parse out the best win for yourself in this devil’s bargain. He can see you testing the weight of your future against the events of this evening, and coming up far short. Ransom’s not stupid—and neither are you. You know what happens to girls like you when these things make their way into campus chatrooms and local reddit pages.

“You’ll really delete them?” You ask meekly, your mouth trembling. “You won’t… you won’t show these to anyone?” Ransom grins wider, drawing an X across his heart with the tip of his index finger.

“Cross my heart.” Ransom steadies one hand against your hip, his fingers sinking into the soft curve of it as he aligns himself with your entrance. His eyes roll as the head of his cock meets your cunt with a lewd, wet squelch. He’s getting impatient—after all, it’s been more than two weeks since the last time he’s been inside you, and his cock twitches hard against you at the thought.

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry Princess, you’ll need to speak up.” Ransom leans down over you, his hard eyes locked on yours. “Again.”

“I said fine!” Your quiet voice is strained. “Fine. I’ll—I’ll break up with Isaac—” Ransom kisses you, swallowing the rest of your words eagerly. He gorges himself on your mouth, sucking your tongue fiercely before pulling away to worry at your lower lip with his teeth until it’s swollen and red.

“Oh Princess.” He breathes. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.” He watches with dark glee when your eyes go wide as he begins to press into you, the head of his cock forcing you open. “No condom this time, but that’s alright, isn’t it?”

“Ransom!”

“M’right here,” he breathes, his hips jerking as your slick, puffy cunt sucks at his tip. “Fuck.” Ransom watches your eyes roll as you sink your teeth into your lower lip. “I know you missed it too, Sweetheart,” Ransom grits the words out through his teeth as he sinks in, his toes curling as your wet heat envelops him inch by precious inch. “You can admit it.”

The warm euphoria that spreads down his spine as he bottoms out draws another curse from his lips. You feel like fucking slick velvet inside, your walls clamping down on the girth of his cock like a wet fist. It’s hypnotic, pulling out only to thrust home again, his ears barely registering the groan of the bed-frame beneath you. The space between his temples is buzzing—your compliance, the feel of you around him, the knowledge that he’d won—Ransom’s delirious with it.

What’s even better is he can see it, plain on your face how much you’re enjoying it—how much you hate yourself for it. It makes every mumbled curse, every moan he wrenches from your unwilling throat all the sweeter. Ransom clucks his tongue at you as he leans down to capture your lips again. They’re pillow soft and swollen from his teeth.

“It’s my fault.” Ransom drives his cock into you, groaning. “I was stupid, Princess, I know. But I know what I need, now,” he says, hooking an arm beneath your thigh, lifting it so he can sink in even deeper. “Just you.” The shameful little wail that escapes your throat as you clamp down around him is almost enough to make him cum with you, cursing and crying as you do. He hangs on by the last fraying thread of his self control.

“Shit, shit, shit—”

“See?” He laughs, rolling his hips into yours with heavy strokes. “You need me, too.”

God, he loves seeing you like this, loves being the one to break you apart—loves knowing he’ll be the only one. It’s that thought that does it, aided by the miserable way you mewl his name as you cum again. His hands are tight on your hips, sinking into the heavy curve of them as he growls your name roughly in your ear. For a moment he’s lost in it; his forehead resting against yours as you milk him.

He stays inside you for a few luxurious minutes, basking in the feel of your cunt before pulling out. Ransom slaps his still hard cock against your oversensitive clit and you whine, your hips jerking. He can’t help but admire the mess he’s made, dragging his tip through your slick, sticky folds.

You watch him with red-rimmed eyes, your brows furrowing as he rises from the bed, pulling his sweats back up over his hips. He doesn’t reach for the keys, but instead slides his hand underneath your pillow to remove your phone.

“Ransom let me out, now.” Your voice is high, panicked. “You promised—”

“To delete the pictures.” He finishes, nodding. As you sputter, he removes his own phone from his pocket, and faces the screen towards you as he selects the pictures and videos from the photo album, and there’s a swooshing sound from the phone’s speakers as they disappear. “And I’ve deleted them.” Frantically, you rattle the handcuff chains against the bed-frame, trying desperately to dislodge them as Ransom sighs.

“You’re just going to hurt yourself.” You keep trying anyway, ignoring him your terrified sobs grow louder.

“Let me go! You fucking promised, Ransom, don’t leave me here—”

He cocks his head at you.

“Why would I leave you?” He asks, slipping both your phones into his pocket as he stands, stretching. “Winter break’s just starting,” Ransom says with a smile. “And I can’t think of a better way to spend it.”

the end

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

#chris evans smut #chris evans fic #chris evans x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale smut #ransom x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom x y/n #dark!fic #dark AU #college AU

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ladamedusoif · 9 months

Text

Café Crème

Javier Peña x f!reader (one-shot)

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: ~ 1k

Rating: Explicit (18+; MDNI)

Content/warnings: oral (f receiving); established relationship; Javi enjoys a healthy breakfast; Javi hates embassy coffee; smut; this is literally just smut.

Summary: Your boyfriend Javier likes mornings at your place for more than just your coffee.

Notes: I keep getting sent to horny/self-deprecation jail by @julesonrecord and @lunapascal. Now, while I’m an abolitionist this is at least a productive carceral system because your punishment results in smutty little thots that turn into smutty little ficlets. And then @julesonrecord gives you a title you can’t resist. ☕️

This is my first time writing for Javier Peña. I enjoyed writing this little morning “fun”, please enjoy reading.

Javier Peña loathes what he refers to as “embassy coffee”. Correction: “shitty embassy coffee”.

You learned this early in your relationship. The first time Javi took you out for dinner, he’d savoured the strong black coffee served at the end of the meal. The white coffee cup with its gold trim had looked comically tiny in his large hands.

“God, this beats the fuckin’ pigswill they call coffee at the embassy. Only the Americans could come to Colombia and still serve up shitty coffee.”

You’d added a little cream to your own coffee, stirring as you watched him talk, interspersing sips with deep drags on his cigarette.

“I know somewhere you can get good coffee. Fresh ground beans, French press - definitely not pigswill.”

He looked at you, cocking his head in curiosity. “Oh? Where?”

You’d smiled and arched a brow. “My place, tomorrow morning.”

That was a year ago. With Javier now spending most nights at your apartment, the morning coffee ritual had become a near-daily fixture. Whoever wakes first takes charge. Boil the water. Shower. Grind the beans. Stir. Brew. Press. Serve.

You blink awake first, Javi still sleeping soundly with his body tucked against a pillow. You reach for your favourite vintage silk robe and quietly pad out of the bedroom. Your apartment is in an older building and its layout is eccentric, to say the least: the bathroom is accessed via the narrow, galley kitchen.

You put the water on to boil while you shower, as usual. Washed and wrapped in your robe, it’s not long before the noise of the coffee grinder rouses Javi. He shuffles into the kitchen, dark hair sticking up every which way and a hand scratching at the stubble on his jaw.

He’s wearing an old Texas A&M T-shirt and a pair of the boxers he keeps at your place for the mornings. You’d had to convince him to wear them, arguing that Señora Hernández in the block opposite did not need to see just how, um, gifted your boyfriend was. And especially not at 7.30am.

“Morning, mi amor. Just going to put this on to brew.”

Javi grunts and plants a kiss to the crown of your head as he squeezes past you in the narrow kitchen, hands pressing into the soft flesh on your hips as he heads for the bathroom and his shower. You know him well enough now to know that Javier Peña is essentially non-functional until his shower and coffee.

You place the lid and plunger at the top of the French press jug, and rest your hands on the countertop as you wait for it to brew. You can hear Javi humming lightly in the shower, the scent of your bergamot shower gel gently wafting into the kitchen. The running water stops.

He always looks fucking delicious fresh out of the shower: wet hair combed back, starting to curl up at the ends; T-shirt slightly clinging to the damp skin of his broad torso; jaw freshly shaved and moustache trimmed. You slyly glimpse at him out of the corner of your eye, not wanting to let him realise you’re admiring him so intently.

Fuck. He’s so goddamn hot.

As he nears you, Javi’s scent becomes more obvious and more intoxicating. Bergamot, toothpaste, mouthwash, shaving foam. The heady combination goes straight to your core.

His shoulders are pressed against your back. One arm on the counter, one trailing on your hip and waist, seeking the edge of your robe.

“I know what you’re after.”

You feel the bristle of his moustache against the side of your neck and you moan lightly. A kiss combined with the lightest of nibbles to that sensitive place at the crook of your neck.

“Do you?”

You bite your lip and try to keep it casual, as if you aren’t already getting wet for him.

“Coffee, right? Can’t start your day without it.”

Another kiss, this time to your shoulder where the skin is exposed. You feel those long, thick fingers edging inside your robe and against the soft skin of your tummy, inching to the underside of your breast.

“That’s not the only thing I can’t start the day without.”

You turn to face him, still pinned between his arms but now placing your hands on his forearms. You cock your chin as you meet his gaze, a little defiant, perhaps, but more teasing. More willing him on, asking him to do his worst.

“Oh? What else do you need? What else do you want for breakfast?”

He does that half smile that devastates you, arching an eyebrow as he lifts a hand and trails a finger along the line of the soft, silky fabric that barely covers your chest. “I want…” A soft kiss to your décolletage. “This.”

You can feel your core pulsing now, slick gathering between your legs. Still, you try to retain your composure.

“Anything else?”

He loosens the belt of the robe and lets it fall open, exposing you. Moving one hand along the curve of your waist and lightly grasping the flesh of your hip, he brings his mouth to each of your nipples in turn, swirling his tongue around them, sending your hips bucking upwards. “And I need this.”

You notice that he’s begun to move his way down your body, throwing the robe fully open as you lean back against the kitchen counter.

“What else is on the menu?”, you gasp, feeling like your knees might give way.

He’s on his knees in front of you now, T-shirt clinging to his damp, post-shower body. He gently encourages you to part your legs, before trailing his mouth up the inside of your thighs.

Slowly. Deliberately.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

He finally reaches your wet folds and, looking up at you for a final time, grins. “Best meal of all, cariño.”

Those lips. That mouth. That tongue. On you, in you, sucking, lapping, as if you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

It’s no time at all before you come with a gasp and a shudder, your release soaking him as he moans in delight. With a final kiss to your thighs and belly he pulls himself back up to standing and kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself as he wraps you back up in your robe.

“I’ll have that coffee now, if that’s okay, baby?”

#javier peña fanfiction #javier peña smut #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña one-shot #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javi you absolute menace #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #cafe creme fic #further adventures in big hands regular sized mug

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wisteriagoesvroom · 2 months

Note

gax + corporate/law vibes + ‘The powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.’

gax?? gax!!

power (you make some points): a gax ficlet

rated m, ~1.2k words now also readable on ao3

author babble:

bear in mind i wrote this before i knew more about the Gax Lore i.e. karting together, actually being nice to each other blablabla. you could also just retrofit the vibes and hopefully they still work. anyways!

will throw this up on ao3 when i’m not sitting bleary eyed in an airport

————

If there was one thing that Max Verstappen wouldn’t tolerate, it was George Russell having the monopoly on good PowerPoint presentations. Max had won all four years of debate in College, as well as the dubious title of “most radical deployment of Google Slides templates” at his MBA, and he was not about to be usurped by the other guy in his department who actually knew how to use an animate transition.

“You missed an indent there.” Max says, pointing at the monitor. Yellow and red lights wink at them from the outside, as if to say: you’re both in your mid-twenties, quit wasting it on a computer screen at 11pm on a Wednesday, maybe?

Max is not staring, very determined not to look at his teammate’s facial expression. But George is almost certainly rolling his eyes right now.

“Was coming back to that, alright?” George huffs back. Max is very professional most of the time. But something about how wound up George is, how insanely pedantic he is about everything from semicolons to coffee cup placement for the Directors to taking insanely detailed minutes that nobody except Max reads after the meetings – well. What is it that Nietschze once said? We hate in others what we most identify with about ourselves. Or was that from Twitter? Max does not really use Twitter except to look at Bloomberg News updates and cat videos, so he does not know. And anyway Nietzsche never made a six figure salary.

“It would just be easier if you would let me do it.” Max says.

“Fuck right off, mate.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like me to.”

“Not now.”

“Just share the link to this. I’ll do it.”

“We agreed to take turns on this.”

“Yes, Russell. But sometimes, the rules are meant to be bent.”

George swivels his chair to Max, then. Fully attempts to pin him with his gaze, commencing an awkward stare-off that lasts way too many seconds and makes Max once again realise that George’s eyes remind him of the expensive fish tank he saw at the Partners’ sushi dinner once. Max doesn’t think those same fish were the ones they ended up eating. But he does remember that dinner because it was the one where the Partners had dangled the promise of a huge promotion if they could help carry the company merger across the line successfully. The problem is, there was only one spot.

George’s distracting aquatic orbitals aside, fortunately, Max (i) never backs down, and (ii) has been told that he has the dead-eyed emotional stare of a robot missing an empathy software upgrade sometimes.

And clearly, the powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.

Max leans back in his chair, stance all mock-relaxed. “Do you want to be out of here before midnight, or not?”

“We’re expensing the Ubers either way, so it doesn’t make a difference to me, mate.”

Fine. If George is so hyperfocused on The Tasks that he’s forgotten the fun part of being Questionably Close Coworkers, so be it.

Max deploys the nuclear option.

He sticks his leg out, nudging the toe of his Pradas onto George’s slacks. And strokes his foot halfway up to a sensitive point on George’s thigh. Max may even flutter his lashes a little.

To his credit, George does not react. Merely swings his eyes like a lamp to Max’s face again. His hand does, however, goes still on the mouse.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“I don’t know.” Max feigns. He knows that George hates, more than anything, anyone getting dirt on his precious Ralph Laurens. But at least he has his attention now. “Was hoping we could move onto the more fun part of the typical evening activities. Maybe.”

“We shouldn’t be doing that again anyway.”

“George.”

“What?”

“That is not what you said the last, hm, fourteen times that we have done this, eh?”

“Who’s counting?”

“I thought you were the most careful of rule followers and data analysis, knapperd.”

George is a human being, but Max is almost certain the other man shakes himself like he’s preening right now.

“Well. It’s what the team likes me for, and it’s what I’ll keep doing.”

“Oh yes. Surely we must keep in mind the team. And the shareholders. They are very important.”

“Quite.”

“But should we tell them that you like it so much, George. When I do this.” Max says. Rising up, fully crowding George in, hands gripping the cool handles of the computer chair. Leaning in to nibble the side of George’s neck.

George swallows. Max watches his throat move.

Next, Max mouths the words onto the side of George’s jaw, stubble prickling his mouth. “And this.”

The click of the mouse continues steadily as Max moves his mouth to the shell of George’s ear. “And let’s not forget. This.”

Max tilts George’s face up fully, then. George’s face is flushed, eyes sparkling, all surprise at the sudden change of pace, but eager, too.

When Max seals his lips over George’s, George groans, and his hands shoot up to Max’s waist immediately. It doesn’t feel quite like winning a deal or a pitch does for Max, but the completion comes pretty damn close.

Max sweeps his tongue into George’s mouth. George opens willingly, like he always does. In the back of Max’s logical brain, a warning sign blares that the computer chair may not be able to support the weight of them both – because they spend a lot of time pretending they don’t work out together at the gym but Max knows exactly what George’s deadlift PB is and it’s pretty damn high for a scrawny looking dude.

And despite the keening protest of said chair, the two of them are both lost to it now. Max jams one knee between George’s legs, George nibbles hungrily at Max’s lower lip, Max thrusts his hips all needy, and maybe if Max is nice about it George might suck him off under the table, and–

Outlook chimes again.

“Blasted piece of shit.” George says, breaking away. His hands go still at Max’s waist. “Why we’re using G-Suite and Microsoft Office at the same time I will never know.”

George squeezes his eyes shut, as if making himself stop this is causing him physical pain. Maybe it’s that or the workflow incompatibility when George tries to move his custom Excel-Trello gantts into a third party API.

And Max won’t lie. He kind of likes it when George gets so irritated about these things. When he cares a bit too much. Because what is Max but exactly like that, too.

“Hazards of a merger, I guess. But without that, I would never have met you, no?”

George makes a noise like he knows what Max means. The other man straightens his shirt collar, and Max runs a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, because George had made a passing comment at the bathroom sink once about it looking good.

Sleeping with the person competing for the same Chief of Staff position is possibly the worst decision he could’ve made, and Max once dyed his hair platinum blonde. But, they’re stuck here together. Hell is a slightly more tolerable place when Satan’s right hand man looks this good. And knows his coffee order without asking.

Besides. Max is not bothered. He knows that the promotion is his. This is just a minor plot inconvenience.

Later, they will expense the uber back to George’s place, where Max will put his mouth on George’s arse, and give him a practical demonstration of the three different ways he’s learned to elicit pleasure from the male prostate.

George will whimper and whine the whole way through it, and after they’re both sated, they’ll both roll over to check their emails, barely concealing their smiles. They will pretend that what’s happening between them could be as clean as their zero-email inboxes. As if their connection is not violently seeping through containment.

All in the name of team bonding. For the firm. Yes.

(Or this is what they tell themselves, to maintain the illusion, anyway.)

#gax #max verstappen #george russell #f1 rpf #3363 #6333 #max verstappen x george Russell #wisteriawritesstuff #if this feels out of character I am sorry simply LOOK AWAY #but I enjoyed it #snipey type A assholes #but they’re MY made up snipey type A assholes #prompt fill #THESE WERE MEANT TO BE DRABBLES 😭#anyway

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lundenloves · 11 months

Text

welcome to my projection.

i write sometimes. it’s primarily just to pass the time instead of moping around my room like a lazy bastard but hey-ho, some people seem to gravitate towards the nonsense i write. british comedies by the looks of it *hitting my chest with pride* humour me or i’ll fall into another spiral ‼️

all works listed are owned by me unless stated otherwise, do not copy or use any of my material as your own. minors do not interact. also take note that everything i write is fictional.

→ request info | taglist

→ couples counselling one 1.4k | two 2.4k | f!oc | angst, mentions of sex although nothing explicit

[ aleta and javier peña have been married for ten years, only now do they realise love isn’t reciprocated between them anymore. ]

→ home comforts req | 1k | gn!reader

[ you're struggling to cope after the DEA. fortunately, your partner is there to help you. even with awful jokes. ]

→ dad!simon masterlist

[ where you’ll find your favourite big broody man turning a page in this fatherhood bollocks. a journey. you may even get emotional but don't blame me. thanks. ]

→ ¹ when it rains, it pours smut 6.3k | f!oc

[ after relentless drunken encouragement from 141, simon riley decides to take a girl home whom he's caught eyes with a few too many times. what he doesn't expect however, are the unknown feelings in his chest after her simple acts of affection and pleasure he was always deprived of. ]

→ ² pouring through rainfall part two of the above | 3.4k

[ thea and simon meet again, their year told through seasons and summarised to the ending we all wanted. ]

→ therapy session 2.5k

[ mandatory therapy at base as set by price. simon is not for it, uncooperative mf with glares and the lot featuring a price cameo omg ]

→ johnny's scene 1.3k

[ simon refuses to come to terms with soap’s death and it eats at him. his grief follows him into the house and you’re growing tired of it, ultimately resulting in a fuck off argument. explosions totally happen. or not. ]

→ general headcannons

[ late night thoughts, thrown together with zero process ]

LONG DRABBLES ↓

→ simon hates photos | 500 words

→ pregnant with his third child | 700 words

→ that’ll do, johnny req | 1.1k | gn!reader

[ your soulmate, johnny mactavish. that’s it. that’s the ficlet. ]

→ price teaches you how to smoke req | 700 wc | gn!reader

[ praise, price and cigars, what more could you want? ]

COMFORTABLY NUMB (dr!price au)

〔 you’re slotted right into the service of doctor john price, an elite head of division and self titled marmite character — you either love him or hate him. you personally can’t quite decide, but he knows for certain that you’re not for him. what will you do after being forced to learn under his wing? 〕

→ ¹ welcome to the nhs 3.1k | check warnings

→ first hc

DAMON ALBARN

→ platforms 120k | f!oc | 18+ | complete fic ✓

[ “I’ll show you where things are, and then you can shut up and put your head down. You work for me now.” His accent was sharp.

"I work for money, not for you." In which Amelia's already testing Monday morning is ruined even further by a certain irate man. The two automatically don't get along and soon become sick at the thought of each other. What happens when Amelia finds herself working for the enemy? ]

#masterlist

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ladykailitha · 1 year

Text

Stranger Things Fic Master List

Hello! I am updating my Master List so that it's easier to find what you're looking for.

About Me

She/Her. I won't put my age up here because I'm ADHD riddled and will leave the same age up there forever so...just know I joined in 2012.

Long time fanfic writer. I've been writing since 2012. I’ve written for 9 different fandoms though my first and most prolific is that of BBC’s Sherlock clocking out at 62 published stories and an untold number of stories that are unpolished and unpublished. My next prolific and most recent is Stranger Things. I got pulled into Stranger Things by way the Steddie phenomenon that exploded after July by a few different people, but mostly Kedreeva who I started following for Good Omens (which is another fandom I’ve written for).

I love tagging games I just have such anxiety about them (before not having enough people to tag, now afraid of leaving the wrong person out) so I don’t really do them. I want to so badly though. Sorry! Still love everyone who thinks of me though.

I enjoy ask games because I LOVE info dumping. Someone makes a comment or says something nice in the tags and I want to just overflow them with love and information. But I’m never sure how that will be received so I don’t (anxiety really is horrible).

My inbox is always open. Come drop me a line, gush about your favorite story, or just wave hello.

I am pro-ship, pro-back button, pro-kinktomato (your kink is not my kink and that's okay; essentially). I have personal squicks, but I'm not going to call out someone who likes them. I will, if I feel strongly about it, make my own post about it, however. Like Eddie's age and Steve's style. But I won't say anything to you, if I don't like what you post.

I will block, report (if necessary), and delete hate of any kind. Directed at me or anyone else. I leave anonymous asks on, because I'm shy and sometimes like the option to say something without it being linked to this blog and wouldn't deny that of someone else. But hate in my inbox will never be answered.

Every Wednesday, I do WIP Wednesday where I will post which stories I'm working on that week and you can send me asks for your favorites so they get done faster. It's lots of fun so come join me each week.

I have a tag list for each story, but I also have a personal permanent list that I've curated from those that have either requested it or have been such fans that it seems remiss not to tag them in new things. I do have a hard limit of FIFTY per story and yes, that does include those on my permanent list. You can be asked to be removed from the list at any time, I won't be hurt by it. People's feelings change and evolve and if that means they don't want to be tagged, that's fine.

My masterlist only includes my Stranger Things fics, but the tag #ladykailitha writes will have some of my The Sandman headcanons, ficlets and story ideas, too. Everything else is on my AO3.

Story Key

If it has an AO3 tag after the summary, it's been beta'ed and posted on that site. No tag? Not up there yet.

If there is a (+) after the title that means I think it has the potential for a longer story.

If there is an (*) after the title it means I have expanded it to a full fic and the link to said fic will be the post itself.

Any thing brackets () will be major ship (usually Steddie), number of words, and rating. If there is no ship, that means there wasn't one.

The rating will usually be T for teen but there are a few that aren't. G is general audience. M is mature (this usually sex, but also sometimes dark themes) and E is explicit. I don't think I have anything that's rated E, but if I do it's sex.

Completed Stories

Ficlets (Less Than 1000 Words)

MORP+ (Steddie 233 G)- Steve hosts backwards prom for the misfits and freaks of Hawkins that wouldn’t fit in at the regular prom (not limited to the LGBTQ kids, but that was the main draw).

El Hopper, Avenging Fury (Steddie 249 T)- Steve dies in the aftermath of defeating Vecna and El has some opinions on that.

April Fools (Steddie 288 G)- Steve and Eddie gets couples t-shirts from Dustin. Eddie is amused, Steve not so much.

Erica and the Carebear Movie (308 G)- Missing scene: Mike and Dustin go to Erica to get her to play with Hellfire and meet more resistance then they expected. All because of a movie. Or author finds out Carebears 2 came out the night of the game/session and makes it Mike and Dustin’s problem.

Feral Steve+ (340 T)- Steve being rescued from having gone feral at the end by everyone.

Cat Dads (Steddie 444 T)- Eddie brings home a box full of kittens only intending to keep one, only Steve falls in love with one of the other kittens.

Steve and the Stick of Life+ (Steddie 451 T)- Steve makes a deal with an other to protect those he loves, the catch? Every time he protects someone it burns up a little bit of his life, shortening it.

Smooth Operator Steve- (Steddie 500 T)Steve decides to ask Eddie out. He cranks the charm up to eleven.

Sun-kissed and Moon-glow (Steddie 525 words G)- Rockstar!Eddie and Model!Steve on the red carpet. Steve gets asked about the grumpy one being in love with the sunshine one. Steve’s response is surprising as it is thoughtful. (Steddie 525 words G)

Sad Eddie Time (Steddie 683 T)- Eddie realizes that Steve’s been giving him adoring looks when he sees that look on Steve’s face with his new girlfriend, Becca. (Ends happily)

The Rake and the Knight (Steddie 745 T) - Steve and Eddie are both gay, but hide it in very different ways. Steve sleeps through the female population of Hawkins High looking for a connection. A rake of the highest order. Eddie charms his way out of dating by being so chivalrous (having them home by nine, only kissing their hand) that they tend to break it off with him as they seek for more.

Target (Steddie 702 T)- Steve has something to prove to Eddie. A boy who has been running all his life from people who hate gays. Eddie worries that dating Steve will put a target on Steve’s back. Too bad Steve’s into that. AO3

Thirteen (Steddie 803 T)- Steve comes out to Robin, Nancy, and Eddie, saying he’s known since he was thirteen he liked boys. All thanks to a boy that was kind to him his first day of middle school. Eddie hears the story with some shock and more than a little awe. He was that boy. AO3

Love is Loving the Person For Who They Are (Steddie 871 G) - Just Eddie tell Steve he’s perfect the way he is, no changes required. AO3

Short Fics (1000-5000 Words)

Steve’s Bad Date (Steddie 1046 G)- Steve goes on a date with another guy to a haunted house, the date ends badly when Jeremy pushes Steve at the actor to get away. The actor gives him the fake ax to chase his date. From that one TikTok video. AO3

I’ll Be Your Knight (Steddie 1336 T)- After Eddie is back home from the hospital, he hears a strange sound outside his window. Click Strike Fwoosh Clack. Repeated, over and over again. AO3

The Rockstar and The Teacher (Steddie 1547 T)- Steve and Eddie have been together for a decade, but due to Eddie being a rockstar and Steve a teacher, they aren’t out to the public, Steve isn’t even out at all because of the stigma around gay men and children. But it all comes crashing down when someone decides to take the choice away from in the most brutal way possible. Steve goes into crisis mode and comes out swinging.

All My Firsts Belong to You (Steddie 1655 G)- Steve finds out he’s the side piece for his first boyfriend when said boyfriend posts his engagement to a woman on social media. A boyfriend none of his friends are aware he had. Eddie finds him on the verge of a breakdown and they learn some important things about each other. AO3

Skate Circles Around Everyone (Steddie 1907 T)- Steve can’t skate. Well. That’s not strictly true. He hasn’t skated since his dad decided it was feminine and Harrington boys don’t skate. So he’s a tad embarrassed by the fact that not only does Eddie skate well he should be out there winning gold medals and shit. But Eddie decides to teach Steve how to skate instead of showing off on the ice.

The Promise (Steddie 1915 G) - Eddie is caught looking at Steve’s bookshelf, but when Steve shows him his favorite book, a little note flutters out of it. Intrigued Eddie has Steve tell him the story. A story that as it goes on, Eddie recognizes. Because Steve’s first kiss? Is Eddie’s too. AO3

Love is Kind (Steddie 1942 T)- Steve finds out his girlfriend was only with him because she thought he was rich. And breaks up with her on Valentine's Day. He's got everything laid out for the perfect date, so he calls Eddie to help him eat it. Turns out planning the perfect date is easy when you learn that love is supposed to be kind. AO3

Crossroads- Steve has a choice. Either go back inside with his mom and give up everything he has fought for in the last five years and live the life his parents want. Or he can runaway with Eddie. Just get in his van and drive forever. (Steddie 2049 words G) AO3

It’s Just a Kiss (Steddie 2420 T)- Steve loves it when Eddie talks. He gets so excited. But Steve keeps getting distracted by a place on Eddie neck, that he just wants to taste. Normally Steve impulse control is iron clad. Not today. AO3

Telling it Like it Is (Steddie 2884 T)- Jonathan and Steve don’t even like each other. But Jonathan knows that there are something that only he can say that Steve would accept. He just didn’t think it would spiral like this. AO3

Fake Boyfriend (Steddie 3060 T)- After most of the older teens have gone off to college, Eddie goes over to Steve's to hang out. When he finds Steve on the phone with one of his co-workers, he tells Steve to pretend Eddie is his boyfriend to get the guy to back off via notes on his notebook. It works better than he could possibly dream as the more Steve describes his "boyfriend" the more it sounds real. AO3

Soft (Steddie 3224 T)- Steve gets Eddie a necklace with the money that he had put down on ring for his very newly ex-girlfriend. Everyone around Eddie is telling him it’s an act of love. Eddie isn’t so sure. AO3

I See You Shiver With Antic--ipation! (Steddie 3495 T)- Eddie and Robin are taking their friends to a midnight showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show where they all dress up. Only thing don't go quite according to plan when Steve gets self conscious about his costume. Now it's a race to get the belle to the ball, Eddie has just the fairy godmother in mind, his old friend Janice former Hellfire Club member and now makeup artist.

We Love Steve (Steddie 3700 T)- As far as love confessions go, that couldn’t have gone worse for Eddie. Especially since it ends with Steve crying in his arms because he thought the confession was a joke or prank. Because no one would want Steve. He’s bullshit. Eddie tells the party and they decide to throw a surprise party. His birthday would be best, but an “We Love Steve” party would work in a pinch. The problem? No one knows when Steve’s birthday is. Cue Eddie to the rescue. Holy Shit, Steve’s birthday is Halloween. AO3

New Year’s Eve (Steddie 3816 words M)- Sequel to The Magic of Christmas Steve’s Christmas present to Eddie makes for a wonderful night out, Steve’s mom, be damned.

The People That See You (Steddie 4178 T)- Eddie makes a stupid comment about Steve trying to impress his old friends, only for Steve to overhear it. Now Eddie has to fix it and he doesn’t know how. Only there is someone in his friends that use to hang out with Steve in middle school. Cue Brian (the unnamed CC member) spilling the beans on Steve Harrington. AO3

Exit Eddie Pursued By Steve (Steddie 4788 M)- Eddie sees Steve in the ugly step-sister ballgown and likes what he sees, so Steve invites him backstage after the play. Things take an interesting turn when Steve suddenly marks Eddie as his boyfriend. Every doubt, every insecurity Eddie has is almost instantly foiled by Steve’s inner romantic. AO3

Mid-length Fics (5000-15000 Words)

A Valentine’s Day to Remember- Steve hates Valentine’s day. It’s bad enough when you’re in a relationship. But way worse when you’re single. Enter Eddie to rescue. Steve’s POV (Steddie 5276 T): AO3 Eddie’s POV (Steddie 5032 M): AO3

Meet Me On the Dance Floor (Steddie 5578 T)- Steve, Robin, and Eddie take Will to his first gay bar after he turns 18 and awakens somethings for Eddie when he finds out Pretty Boy Steve is bisexual. And doesn’t dance. Well he does, but like a drunk muppet. Mike finds out and learns some pretty deep shit about himself he didn’t he had buried. Deleted Scene AO3

The Places We Hide (Steddie 6667 T) - A series of moments where Steve wants to be found. And learns to ask for help. AO3

The Subtleties of Steve Harrington (Steddie 6960 T)- Summary: Steve has a problem. One he really doesn’t understand. The people closest to him think he’s straight. Well, there are few exceptions. He just wasn’t expecting Eddie and Robin to be in Camp Straight Steve. In a series of vignettes about the people closest to Steve and Eddie finding out that maybe Steve is subtler than they thought.

Staking My Claim (Steddie 6962 T)- Steve gets rescued twice by the Corroded Coffin boys when someone seeks to stake his claim on Steve. Steve wakes up under the tender of the Corroded Coffin boys and finds out that family can be found when blood relatives fail you. AO3

What Do Shovels Dig? Graves (Steddie 9711 words T)- After Steve has breakdown when Jonathan comes to talk to him thinking it’s another shovel talk. When Jonathan finds out that other than his family and El, everyone has given Steve a variation of the talk, he runs to Eddie. And between the Byers, El, and Eddie, they force the Party to realize the harm they’ve caused and makes them apologize, too.

Ser Stephan of Harring’s Town (Steddie 10222 T)- The gang finally convinces Steve to join the next campaign. But to help him out Eddie and Dustin create the character based on Steve, their own beloved tank and barbarian. They learn more about the hidden depth of Steve. Extra

Little Runaway (Steddie 10,500 M)- Steve’s on the run from his dad when outs himself as gay. So Dustin turns to the least likely of help. Eddie Munson. Eddie doesn’t even like Steve. But he’s a Munson and Munsons’ have a thing for strays. Extra

The Eddie Munson Guide to Dating an Oblivious Jock (Steddie LuMax 11150) - After Vecna Max is having trouble convincing Lucas to date her again so she turns to the one member of the party who is dating a jock: Eddie Munson. He breaks down his tips for dating an oblivious jock. Bold = the guide. Italicized = their conversation. Standard = examples Eddie is giving Max for each step.

Across a Crowded Room (Steddie 12840 words M)- Modern, no monsters AU. After they all graduated from high school the older teens drifted to other parts of the country. And while Steve and Eddie have made short trips to see each other, usually with the whole, they really haven't spent much time in the same room in years. That all changes when Eddie is able to spend a week in Chicago with Steve and Robin. But when Eddie sees Steve for the first time in years, he gets scared. Will have the courage to walk across that crowded room to be with Steve?

Long Fics (15000+ Words)

The Magic of Christmas (Steddie 17012 T)- Businessman Steve hires artist Eddie to do painting of the Party’s D&D characters for Christmas. Watch as over the next six months as the two men fall in love.

If I Rescue You, Will You Rescue Me, Too? (Steddie 19435 M)- Steve realizes after the aftermath of Vecna that he’s in love with Eddie. When he finds out that he was trying to get enough money to get to the Ozzy Osborne/Metallica concert in Indy in a week, he decides to woo Eddie via the most important concert of Eddie’s young life.

Batshit Soulmates (Steddie 20590 words T)- Soulmates were granted to a vast majority of the human population. And of those that didn’t have them, the best they could figure out was that they didn’t need soulmates because they were the best humanity had to offer. Of those that had soulmarks they were related in someway. A pair of different colored hearts. Matching flowers. Things like that. And when you met your soulmate they glowed the same color and felt warm to the touch. Steve hasn’t met his yet. All that changes when Eddie Munson is accused of murdering Chrissy Cunningham. (Just an excuse to have Steve and Eddie fighting off the bats together back to back, really)

In the Midnight Hour (Steddie 20985 T)- Steve thinks that Eddie’s night visits are Vecna toying with his mind. Until one night Steve comes to the starling realization that Eddie IS back and it’s up them to save him.

Grief (A Friend Indeed) (Steddie 22212 T) - Eddie and Wayne have to go back to Kentucky when Eddie's grandmother (and Wayne and Al's mother) passes. Steve comes along when Eddie suggests that he would feel better if he came. Along the way they learn about each other's pasts and find out that they are each other's future.

The Harrington Pattern (Steddie 26980 words T)- Steve is a secret history nerd who likes to sew. By example he teaches the younger members of the party that not conforming to societal standards can look different for everyone.

Star Child(Steddie 27100 words M)-Steve Harrington formerly of the boy band The Kings, is set to co-headline with Corroded Coffin Indiana’s first Love Loud concert as they are all hometown boys from Hawkins. Steve suggests a duet with frontman Eddie Munson. Low Key in Love, by The Struts and Paris Jackson. Sparks fly as Steve tries to court the frontman Low Key. But this is Steve, when has he ever been low key? Meta Extra Scene

Oh, For a Muse of Fire!- (Enemies to Lovers Steddie 34275 T) Steve just needs to pass one class in order to graduate from college and get his art teaching degree. Live Figure Drawing. A class as far as he is concerned is cursed having failed it a total of three times. Only now Joyce Byers is teaching the class with Eddie Munson as her model. He’s going to fail, he just knows it. Especially since Eddie is more than a little hostile and Steve can’t figure out why.

All My Roads Lead Back to You (Steddie 37530 T)- It’s been twenty years since Vecna was defeated and Eddie and Steve have gone their separate ways. They are suddenly thrown back together when their kids join the same band. Will they finally realize that what they’d been looking for their whole lives is each other or will they miss out on true love? Again.

Not All That Glitters is Gold (Steddie 37890 words M)- Steve is an escort with Starcourt Services, who provides omegas to alphas with the money for all sorts of accommodations: arm candy at social events, rut servicing, multiples (including orgies), and sometimes, just sex. Steve is highly sought after, but after a run in with Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson at a fundraiser for a US senator, his world is turned upside down. No monsters/omegaverse AU. Rockstar Eddie/Sex Worker Steve. Mature (especially in later chapters). BTS Meta Further Meta

Can Anybody See Me? (Steddie 39594 M)- I just wanted to write a fic where someone notices that Steve isn’t the same person anymore and see him and the changes he’s made. Because I hate how everyone dogs on Steve for being the dumb jock in seasons 3 and 4. * * First Book in the “The Boy with A Bat” series

Royal Pain (Steddie 58461 T) - No Monster Modern AU. Eddie and his band, Corroded Coffin, have a steady gig at a bar in Indy where they play every weekend. Eddie's life takes a left turn when his regular tattoo artist, Max Mayfield, moves to New York with her boyfriend Lucas Sinclair, newly traded to the New York Knicks. Now needing a new tattoo artist, Jeff recommends "Royal Pain", which even Max agrees is a good shop. On arrival, Eddie is shocked to find Steve is the shop's artist. They hit it off, and slowly move from the barest of acquaintances to boyfriends. Meta

AO3 Exclusive Stories

Stories that aren't here on Tumblr.

In order of published:

Eddie’s Big Stevie Rescue- (Steddie 3647 words T) Eddie goes out to a bar in Indy to blow off some steam. But the bar is lame and he decides to leave. But before he can get even two steps from his booth, Steve Harrington literally falls into his lap. A drugged Steve that is need of help. Eddie to the rescue.

This Wound Is More Than Skin Deep- (Steddie 4126 words T) Eddie and Steve are struggling post Vecna with their wounds and Eddie blows up at Steve and sets off a series of events that changes how they see each other.

My Sweetheart- (Steddie 1448 words T) Steve breaks down after hearing Eddie call someone else ‘sweetheart’ and revelations are had.

Bravery- (Steddie 3682 words M) Eddie is a virgin and wants Steve to take it. Steve agrees provided Eddie agrees to be his boyfriend. Eddie agrees.

Home- (Steddie 3250 words M) Eddie finds Steve naked in his bed, so he does the decent thing and sleeps on the couch. In the morning there are revelations in and out of the bedroom.

Love Story Alibi- (Steddie 4810 words T) Steve decides to get Eddie off in the most unhinged way imaginable. At a town hall meeting, lying about... well pretty much everything. Almost.

Works In Progress

Well Met by Moonlight (Steddie M)- Steve is the Harrington Pack alpha. Eddie is the newly bitten vampire outcast. They are the most unlikely duo but somehow they find a way to make it work. Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12

Never Hold Back Your Step (Steddie T)- Continuing after “Can Anybody See Me?” Steve is struggling after the play trying to navigate his new relationship with Eddie, dealing with Nancy finding out he’s gay (and her bad reaction to that info) and just trying to keep it together. He graduates from high school but Eddie doesn’t. He doesn’t get into college and now he’s stuck trying to pretend to be “King Steve” so that his spunky new co-worker Robin Buckley doesn’t find out he’s gay. And oh yeah what’s this about Russians in the mall? Steve is cursed, he just has to be. The Boy With a Bat Book 2. Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5

Icarus (Steddie M)- Eddie and Corroded Coffin make it big and Dustin is their biggest fan. Or was. His new favorite band is The Fallen. They’re very theatrical and it drives Eddie up the wall. Until Dustin drags him to a concert that will not only change his mind. But rock his world. Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8

Everything I Ever Wanted (Steddie M) - Sequel to Not All That Glitters is Gold. A series of vignettes about things Steve wanted in the first story that he wanted that he was able to achieve through his relationship with Eddie. Pt 1 Pt 2

Sweet Home Indiana (Steddie T)- Sweet Home Alabama AU. Eddie is a successful tattoo artist in Seattle and is engaged to be married to Chrissy. Only there is one problem. Well, technically three. You see, back before the Supreme Court ruled that gay marriage was a right and not a privilege Eddie had gotten married in a couple of different states to different people. But now that's it's legal, he's a bigamist and he has to get his exes to divorce him. Which is easy enough for two of the three, not so much for the third. You see the third just isn't just any ex, it's the ex. Steve Harrington. So now he has to go down to Hawkins and try to convince the person he thought he was going to spend his life with to divorce him. Something much easier said then done, especially when Eddie finds himself falling back in love. Pt 1

Paper Hearts (Steddie T)- Hawkins High is selling paper hearts to help raise for senior prom. $3 for red romantic hearts and $1 for pink friendship hearts. Steve hasn't dated anyone since the horrific breakup with Nancy on Halloween and so he decides that he's going to send pink hearts to senior girls who wouldn't normally get any hearts at all. When Eddie hears about this he can't help be intrigued. It goes against his very well curated Munson Doctrine. But as events keep throwing them together, Eddie learns there is more to King Steve then meets the eye. Pt 1

Find My Shade By the Moonlight(Steddie T)- In the fifth season of the landmark MTV series Fear, they take five college age adults and drop them into the ghost town that is now Hawkins, IN. After the earthquake in 1986 the town was evacuated due to a leak at the now defunct Hawkins Lab. Steve, Eddie, Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan must now complete tasks or dares over the next two nights, tapping out before completing the task forfeits your chance at $5000. All five will be tested to their limits, but will any of them come out of the experience unchanged? (Steddie T) Pt 1 ON HIATUS

Snippets, Headcanons, and Rants

Plot Ideas

Steve’s Meltdown- Steve gets overstimulated when everyone is calling his name. Ideally a great idea for a comic, not sure I’ll do anything with it.

The Cutting Edge AU- I’ve gone into detail on this, so I’ve put up the link here. Steddie

Munson: Unsolved- An idea I had for an no monster AU here. Steddie

*The Fallen- Steve in a metal band like Sleep Token were the band wears masks. Steddie

Can You Speak Truth to Power- Medieval AU. King Steve and jester Eddie. Everyone else is here too.

Continued Medieval AU- The masquerade at the end of the story.

*Omegaverse- My idea for a Steddie omegaverse if I were to do one.

Season 1 AU- King Steve turns over a new leaf and forces his friends to do the same.

Strip Club AU- Eddie runs Hellfire Strip Club and is their top dancer. In comes Steve and rocks his world.

Stardust AU- My rundown of what I would do with the ST cast in a Stardust AU.

Feral Steve and Kas Eddie- just an AU I had that had Steve in the coma at the end instead of Eddie and Eddie waiting by his bedside.

Midsummer’s AU- Steve is a foundling of Titania and Oberon. Yup that Titania and Oberon.

Code Pink- What started out a cute little idea for a one-start ballooned in what will probably be a full series at this point.

*Werewolf!Steve and Vampire!Eddie World Build- my write up on the world of my latest AU I’m working on. It’s going to be fun! Let’s hope I actually get vamp sexy times, because my two other attempts at Vampire!Eddie(Kas technically) have been angst fests so...yeah!

Scarlet Pimpernel AU- Just a little idea about Steve as Sir Percy by day and the Scarlet Pimpernel by night.

Vecna’s No Good, Bad Time Travel Trip- Henry Creel tries to time travel to make sure he isn’t defeated. Only he keeps making it worse for himself. Like way worse.

The Dating Game- Steve is the contestant and Billy, Tommy, and Eddie are his choices. This is Steddie, so of course he picks Eddie.

Twofer- Secret Garden AU and *Steve is a tattoo artist AU.

In Plain Sight Crossover- Eddie goes into WITSEC after Vecna and he and Wayne gets new names. All is going well, the Party has mourned and moved on for the most part. Jimmy (Eddie) and Nate (Wayne) are happily in their new lives. Until Tommy Munson comes back and kidnaps Wayne because he thinks Wayne is in WITSEC due to hiding lots of money. Eddie has to contact Steve for the ransom money.

Famous!Steve and Rockstar!Eddie- Steve is former reality star and Eddie is frontman for Corroded Coffin. Eddie meets Steve at a club concert and finds out that his “fans” bullied him for not dressing like a metalhead and refuses to perform. The next day Robin shows Steve the video of the rant Eddie gave before walking off stage and Steve realizes it was about him.

Little Black Book Snippet- Eddie uses his little black book he keeps for his drug deals (for accounting purposes mainly) to get Steve out of a jam involving a same sex honey trap.

5+1 Steddie Fic- Five times someone walks in on Steve and one of the older teens thinking they’re having sex but they aren’t and the one time everyone walks in on Steve and Eddie actually having sex.

*Reconnecting AU- Steve and Eddie’s kids are part of a rock band together. Harry Munson on guitar and Edie Harrington on drums. When the kids realize their dads are each other’s biggest what ifs, they decide to set them up.

Stevie Slut Hour- Steve likes to cruise gay bars dressed as someone else, Eddie meets him during one of these tours and doesn’t know it’s Steve. He finds out later, though.

Pride & Prejudice AU: Steve is Darcy, Eddie is Lizzy and the gang’s all here, too.

Insane Asylum Steve: Steve has a breakdown as disassociates the plot of the TV series, with the cast making appearances in Steve’s life in different ways.

Gran Turismo AU- Steve and the rest of the Scoops Troupe is the best pit crew in NASCAR but his world is turned upside down when the owners stage a stunt season of players of the game Gran Turismo. Eddie is assigned to Steve’s crew. Enemy to Lovers, speed run. ;)

*Sweet Home Indiana- Eddie finds himself in a bit of bind when he goes to marriage license to marry to Chrissy and they tell him he’s still married to the guys he married before gay marriage was legalized a cross the country. So now it’s a race against time to get divorced so he can marry Chrissy. Two of them are easy, the third one? Not so much. Steve Harrington isn’t just any ex. He’s the one that Eddie always regretted letting go of. Sweet Home Alabama AU.

LadyHawke AU- How I would do a Ladyhawke Steddie and keep it medieval.

Steve is a Musical Genius- Steve just picking up whatever instrument Corroded Coffin needs to fill out a song and suddenly he's on tour with them and Eddie still isn't sure how it happened.

Headcanons

Department of Energy- An ask I got from a nonny about Steve’s dad being Brenner and my headcanon that Sr Harrington is HEAD of the DoE.

Halloween Costumes- Eddie, Steve, and Robin dress up as the main trio from Star Wars.

Steve and Robin’s Tattoos- my thoughts on what those might be.

Eddie and Steve Arm Wrestle- I had been seeing a couple posts and a comic, saying/showing Eddie being obliterated in an arm wrestling match with Steve. And this was my headcanon on that. Eddie would cheat. :D

Corroded Coffin Headcanons- just my thoughts on the boys in the band.

Rants

Steve’s Style- Just a little rant I did about how people keep trying to change Steve’s style to fit with Eddie.

Dear ST Fandom- My reminder to fans to put the Corroded Coffin boys in post season 4 fix-its and give a reason Eddie is at Steve’s instead of home with Wayne. (People don't this much anymore but it was a problem when I joined.)

Eddie’s Age and Ships- My rant on how we forget that Eddie is much older than most of rest of the cast and how that reflects on the ships.

Character vs Author Knowledge- This was about "The Harrington Pattern" but it extends to all stories really.

Would Steve Stay w/ Max or Eddie at the Hospital?- A rant I went because someone was stupid in the steddie tag.

Steve isn’t the douchebag everyone claims he is- just my thoughts on season 1

Takes Me Out- just things that send me out a fic.

Eddie’s Hair and the Unnamed Freak- just me ranting about people always putting Eddie’s hair up in fics and the Dougie problem.

Eddie’s Buzzcut and Steve’s Connection to Hawkins- what it says on the tin

Fandom Wank- My thoughts on shit going down in the Stranger Things fandom at the time (Jan. 2024)

#My writing #Stranger #steddie #byler #jancy #ronance #rockie stranger things #ladykailtiha writes

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sage-lights · 2 months

Text

spinning out, waiting for you to pull me in

“Hey,” Amanda's voice quivers. She physically can't look Angela in the eyes when she greets her. Fuck, this shouldn’t be happening right now. The day has barely started and Amanda already feels like running away from everyone.

Angela looks at her skeptically, “I would say ‘Good morning,’ but you look like yours has been pretty terrible already. Everything okay?”

Amanda collects herself enough to muster a sort-of smile and shrugs. She watches as Angela furrows her brows, contemplating something. Before Amanda can insist that it’s no big deal, she feels herself getting tugged towards the back of the office and led between the costume racks.

“Spill. What’s up with you?”

“It’s nothing, honestly,” God, Amanda feels like she’s a teenager again. It’s stupid that she’s this upset about it.

Angela scoffs and rolls her eyes, “Oh, come on, Amanda. Don’t give me that bullshit. We both know something is wrong,” her tone softens once she sees Amanda’s eyes start to become glassy, “It’s not stupid to be upset.”

She laughs a little, “How did you know that’s what I was thinking?”

“Because I know you. And I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“I appreciate you checking in, Ang,” Amanda sighs, “But I really shouldn’t be getting into it at work.”

“I know we’re coworkers, but we’re friends too, right? It’s fine if you really don’t want to talk about it, but I’m here for you,” she grabs Amanda’s hands and gives them a gentle squeeze. That simple gesture was enough to break down the final brick of Amanda's wall, and suddenly, everything came spilling out.

Two nights ago, she had gotten a call from Ian telling her that she didn’t need to come in for work the next morning, which Angela already knew, seeing as she was the one filling in for Amanda yesterday.

What Angela didn’t know, however, was how Amanda’s jaw tightened when she saw the close friends stories of her coworkers, her friends, having fun while she wasn't there. How she had to stop herself from spiraling as she rewatched the videos over and over again. How disappointed she felt in herself for letting this affect her.

Angela lets go of her hands. Amanda’s heart drops for a moment, thinking that she’s overstepped boundaries and came off immature, until she feels Angela hug her.

“We missed you too, you know?” Angela leans away slightly to look up at Amanda, arms remaining around her waist.

"I hate that I'm feeling this way. It feels so high school of me to be sad about my friends hanging out without me. And it's not even like you all planned to see each other! This is our job and," Amanda bites her lip, hesitant to admit, "I guess the kid in me remembers what it was like to get excluded from things. For the longest time, I was convinced it was a me problem. Maybe I never got over that."

"I get it, but you're right. It's a job where none of us have control over who's scheduled on any given day. It's not just a regular hang out between friends. Because if it was, I want you to believe me when I say we'd want you around every single time."

This time, Amanda is the one that pulls Angela into an embrace, "What would I do without you, Angela?"

"Probably cry alone in the gender-neutral bathroom." Angela laughs.

Amanda has to admit, Smosh is a pretty sweet gig. After all, it brought Angela into her life.

-----

word count: 587

title from: "satellite" by harry styles

i think it's literally been 4 years since i wrote fanfic but! i woke up with such bad amangela brain rot this morning that the thought of them is actually making me ill right now. i wrote this ficlet at 8am in class on the doc i use for taking notes, so it's not my best writing...yeah! hope you enjoyed it!

#amanda lehan canto #angela giarratana #amangela #smosh rpf #smoshblr #smosh fanfiction

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riseswiththesun · 19 days

Text

tell me what you really feel

mini drabble/ficlet based off this comic by @mayskalih! i saw her first hc about this and had wanted to write something but then she did the comic and i literally got up and wrote this sksks so thank you for the brainrot LOL

not sure when the canon time frame of this would be I kinda made it vague, so you can imagine it how you want tbh lol, I kinda imagine them a bit older, so like canon divergence/post canon

ao3 link

word count: 2.5k

title inspired by lyrics from the song like or like like by miniature tigers

He hates to admit how much the words sting when Sokka says them.

Lovebirds.

Zuko feels like he did as a child; the way he feels is almost petulant, wanting something he knows he cannot have. The way feelings he can't quite discern—anger, jealousy, sadness, bitterness, perhaps, he isn't sure, and he doesn't even really want to know—pool at the bottom of his stomach, leaving him uneasy. But he knows all of this is so painfully trivial, pathetic even, how such a nonsensical word almost sends him into a downward spiral of emotions.

But Sokka only confirmed what he’s expected—what he’s known.

He’s seen the way that the two of them smile at each other, the way she seems almost happier, lighter, brighter, around Aang—something he would be foolish to think she would ever be around him. And so even though he’s been clinging to their few brief moments of amicability, the few moments of vulnerability, and the few brief touches that he’s clung onto more than he likes to admit, he knows his place. He’s grateful for the forgiveness he’s been granted, and that, albeit unfortunately, will just have to be enough.

Zukko never wanted to come to terms with these feelings—if that’s what they even are. He’s tried to tuck them into the back of his mind, being content with where they currently remained—something he didn’t want to grapple with. But now, the painstaking realization has hit him that his feelings are large and grand, knowing that it’s more than just admiration or maybe even something as menial as a crush. He cares, feelings that feel large and grand in a way that he can’t quite comprehend. But he knows that he likes how he feels understood, and he likes how he feels that he’s not someone who’s broken, and he likes that he feels that he is someone who is capable of doing good things—of making a change, of becoming good again. And even aside from that, he likes that she is all things good, that she is hope, that she is someone who deserves better—which is something that he knows that he is not.

So because he cares, he allows for the upturn of his own lips as he watches the two of them, the sun casting down glowing rays—something almost out of a picture, and he thinks to himself: this is what she deserves, what she wants.

And because he cares, cares in a way that it aches in the deepest swells of his chest, he turns to Sokka, nodding in agreeance, the same smile on his face as he speaks.

“You’re right, Sokka,” he says almost breathily, forbidding any sort of indication of the affliction that hangs low in his throat to show in his voice. “We should help them.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Katara feels a shift—something is off.

It feels harmless at first; she doesn’t think much of it. It starts with Sokka’s calculated glances towards her, almost as if he has some sort of intention behind his stares. He has the same look on his face when he talks about war plans or whenever he’s discussing something concerning logistics—he’s plotting, but she doesn’t know what.

She sees the way he and Zuko share mutual looks, almost as if it’s something they’re in on together. It felt harmless at first, the way they’re insistent on certain things, guiding her to certain parts of the camp, directing her to do certain tasks that normally they wouldn’t have her do, but then it crosses into a certain territory where it raises flags, and she knows that something’s off, but she can’t quite figure out what.

It makes the energy within the camp feel strained—she can tell that Sokka is being sneaky, like he’s hiding something from her, or maybe even all of them, which only floods her with additional anxiety—something she already feels she has enough of, and doesn’t need more of at a time like this; Toph is indifferent as always; Suki constantly looks as if she’s worried, almost as if she knows what’s going on, but refuses to say much of anything; Aang tries to keep spirits up, acting as he always does, which that much she can appreciate, her one small semblance of normalcy; but then there’s Zuko, who she doesn’t know how to describe his behavior, but all she knows is his is the person’s behaviors whose bothers her the most.

She hates that once she finally found herself comfortable with him, almost seeking him out, almost desiring to be near him, he’s decided he no longer wants to be near her, taking every opportunity to push her away. Every instance in which she attempted to even talk to him, whether it be for something small, or even when she tries to seek out his assistance, he’s quick to call someone in replacement of him.

Katara huffs to herself, feeling exasperated by everything that’s been going on the last few days. Part of her feels like she’s being dramatic, something everyone wouldn’t hesitate to tell her, but she knows that something is wrong, and she hates that it bothers her so much.

She finds herself roaming aimlessly around their campsite, searching for some form of respite, anything at this to put her mind at her ease. She sees Aang and Zuko sitting and talking, prompting her to try and join them, hoping talking with them could jog her spirits even the smallest bit knowing the two of them are two people that as of lately, are the only ones who she feels like understand her most.

“Hey,” Katara calls out as she approaches them, a smile on her face, “Can I join you guys?” She takes a seat before they can even answer, assuming she’ll receive an eventual yes. She somewhat receives one in the form of Aang’s returned grin, but Zuko’s body stiffens at the sight of her. The smile she saw from afar has been replaced by a face she once deemed as cold—an expression she didn’t associate e

“U-uh,” he hesitates, quickly standing up. “I-I gotta go…” Walking away before the two of them can question his reasonings for leaving.

Aang and Katara share confused glances, before both their eyes follow Zuko to the other side of their camp, joining Sokka in whatever it is he seems to be doing. Aang gives her a shrug before he continues the conversation, but Katara no longer has any interest in talking, her mood seemingly gone sour.

But most of all, she hates the feeling in her chest, something almost like a tear in her heart, that occurred the second that Zuko left, taking all the air in her lungs with him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Zuko concludes that solitude is the best course of action.

He knows that he’s doing the right thing, the honorable one even, but it doesn’t make it any more bearable. He almost wishes that he felt the petty rage and jealousy that he felt with Mai—anger, at least, is an easier concept to grapple with.

But he finds that whatever this is, he can only take in strides, the gravity of his feelings being a harsh reality that he’s been forced to come to terms with. Each time Zuko aids in this plan of theirs, he knows it’s for a greater purpose, one that he would put above his own desires and feelings (something that the Zuko before would have never considered), so he continues, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

Though despite being someone who's changed, valuing those who he cares about, it’s in his innate being as a person to at times, wallow. So he concludes that solitude is in fact the best course of action. Because in isolation, there he can bask in his emotions without fear of being questioned; there is nobody to judge his seemingly childish tantrums, when all of it just feels so unfair, and why him; but most of all, there he can live in the bliss in knowing he’s the only one who knows just how much his feelings have amounted to, and just how much he may have fucked up in allowing them to get to that point.

So he keeps to himself in the moments that he can, doing whatever tasks he can alone, cherishing the few moments of privacy he gets to wrestle with his emotions. He clings to whatever noises around him, hoping they can somehow bring him back to earth, but it’s normally much to no avail—the crackle of the fire and the buzzing of insects in the night sky only provide cursory background noise to the never ending state of chaos of his mind.

In Zuko's mind, he feels as though there’s a constant influx of emotions, so much so that he almost doesn’t feel smaller hands against his back, jolting him out of his thoughts, stopping him in his tracks.

“Hey, Zuko,” a voice that could belong to nobody other than Katara calls out from behind him. He feels his body stiffen at her touch, no longer used to the close contact, even in the few instances it had occurred. Zuko turns to face her, her face showing clear signs of displeasure, but before Zuko can even question why, she keeps talking. “Why are you avoiding me?” She asks, anger, or maybe even hurt, Zuko thinks, hanging in her voice.

His eyes go wide, but he quickly tries to regain his composure, not wanting to raise any sort of concern. He thinks to what he’s done for the entirety of the week whenever Katara’s had any sort of issue, knowing there’s a better solution than him to her problems.

“Let me go get Aang…” He says gently, trying not to make matters worse.

Her face scrunches at this, releasing out a huff—she’s upset. Zuko tries to think of what he could’ve done to upset her, all he’s done since they’ve made amends is try his hardest to do right by her, and he feels like he constantly keeps coming up short, only confirming what he’s known for so long—she deserves better.

“You’re not going anywhere—you don’t need to get Aang, this has nothing to do with him,” she starts, closing the distance between them. Zuko can see the telltale signs of her anger, the face she makes when she’s fed up with all of them, when they’ve pushed her buttons too hard, or worn her patience too thin—the furrow between her brows, the narrow of her eyes, the rosiness in her cheeks, the exasperation in her voice. “What’s wrong, Zuko? Why are you avoiding me? Why is it that every time I try to talk to you or ask for your help, you suddenly call Aang or leave?” She asks angrily, before her voice gets quiet, as if she’s nervous to finish the rest of her sentence, “Did I… do something?”

Zuko didn’t think there was a feeling that felt worse than how he already did, but the look on Katara’s face, one that had just been filled with anger, that now holds so much hurt, is enough to make him fess up to the whole ruse—he doesn’t want to leave any room for misinterpretation.

“I-I wanted to help you and Aang!” He blurts out. “Sokka told me you liked each other, so we’ve… been trying to help you two. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea but… that’s why I’ve been doing that, for you two.”

Her face twists, this time not in anger, but what he thinks is annoyance. Katara lets out a pained huff, pinching her nose and closing her eyes, almost as if she had to take a moment to process his words.

“You two are idiots,” she sighs.

This time, it’s Zuko's turn for his face to scrunch up, but for him, rather than anger or annoyance, it’s in confusion. He raises his brows, leaning against the wall behind him, “What?”

Katara steps closer, cutting the distance between them from arm’s length to inches away in just a few seconds. She leans in, pressing her hands against the stone wall behind him for support. Their faces are so close he can feel her breath tickling his cheek, he feels his heart racing and his palms growing sweaty, the result of too many emotions and her presence alone.

“Zuko, I don’t like Aang…” She says. “I like you.”

He blinks at her, feeling dumbfounded. The words hang in the air, almost as if they’re waiting for Zuko to take them and physically make himself process them, screaming at him to comprehend the gravity of what she means, but Katara, instead, does it for him, giving him no time for things like insecurity or misunderstanding. She closes the distance between them, pressing her lips onto his.

At first, Zuko feels his body tense—one too many shocking proclamations have occurred, leaving him incapable of processing things at a normal rate. By the time his mind has finally processed her words, I like you, his body finally has caught up to reality, taking him out of the state of limbo he’s since been existing in—those few seconds between before and after her profession—he feels Katara pull away, just after he’d finally become accustomed to the way her lips felt against his.

He feels his cheeks flush, seeing the way she looks at him, waiting for his response. Her eyes have a look in them, softness almost, something akin to hope, Zuko thinks. They stare at one another, at a loss for words, both too scared to break the silence between them, the only sound their bated breaths and the drumming of their heartbeats.

Zuko has never been the best at emotions or words, he thinks the best course of action in this scenario is just doing. So this time, it’s Zuko who leans forward, cupping her cheek affectionately before pressing his lips onto hers with a confidence he didn’t know that he had in himself.

And though Zuko isn’t perfect, and he still has so much to learn, so much growing to still do, maybe he is deserving of good things, and there are people who are capable of seeing the good in him too. He thinks that maybe later they can talk more about their feelings and specifics and whatever other misunderstandings may have occurred, but for now, he enjoys the way she feels underneath his touch, a feeling he wants to tattoo in his memory, a moment like this he will remember forever.

All the feelings of self doubt and insecurity and the little voices that scream inside him, you aren’t enough, begin to dissipate with every little press of her mouth against his. It feels sweet and it feels new and it feels like the good in life that he’s been searching for.

When he finally pulls away, he looks at her, admiring how the fire casts a glow on her face, her cheeks rosy, and her lips plush. Her eyes sparkle, and Zuko never realized, or at least he’s never allowed himself to admit just how beautiful she really is.

He feels a warmth settle inside him, the corners of his lips upturning. And there’s more that he wants to say, but his mind, always an influx of emotions, albeit this time, positive ones, settles on: “I like you too, Katara.”

#zutara #atla #zutara fic #zuko x katara #zk #vi’s drabbles

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transskywardsword · 2 months

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so i love this post by nello-0 and i just HAD to make something inspired by it so have a lil bullet point ficlet

link, general, bearer of the hero's spirit, chosen by the gods, who totally had not been scrubbing latrines not even a week ago for lippin' off to a superior officer without even the rank of private to his name, had thought the Other Link was eight when the kid showed up, trailing behind the rest, a keaton mask on one hip and a too big sword on the other

(he'd see other masks, later, each cared for with adoration and feral protection, like they were real people and not chunks of wood, and one mask, reserved for the heat of battle, the power in it so old that the master sword would seem jealous at times)

The Other Link was not eight, it seemed. he took a great dislike to being called it, despite his chubby, tiny legs and chubby, tiny arms, and chubby button face. link told him such the first time they met, in the midst of a screaming match with the princess--

(his superior officer, superior officer, what was he doing?)

(this was a child, a child in a warzone, and regardless of how many promises of fealty he might swear, link was a hero to the people first and a Hero to the Princess second, and people included children too far in over their heads--)

"i will not serve behind some tiny, chubby eight year old!"

his hands move fast and proxi works just as fast to translate, though her twinkle toe voice does little to tame the snarl on his face, the fury in his fingers

"I'm not eight" Other Link spat

(his voice carried an accent that spoke of a nonnative hylian speaker, faded in a way that spoke of a childhood spent elsewhere and a life lived far from home, as if he wasn't just tall enough to only just see over the war table)

(where did such long, deep vowels come from? such bright, rolled 'r's?)

(it reminded link of a summer day, of time spent running barefoot through shrubbery and crawling up trees, of a child's dream)

"excuse me, kid" link signed, "I'll gladly watch a ten year old get run through instead!"

Other Link huffed, blowing curtain bangs off his face, and stormed out the war room, the most childish thing link had ever seen

"i will not" he tells his princess, "lead a child into battle."

he leads a child into battle.

Other Link was not ten. He drinks like an adult, but has a kid's taste in liquor, taking the moonshine when the flask is passed to him and pouring shot after shot into milk. it must taste terrible

it leaves a mustache on his tiny little face. a baby faced thirteen then. teenagers drank while hating the taste, and no one over the age of thirteen drank milk

Other Link was not thirteen. He fights like he's lived a thousand lives, like the blade is an old friend, the grip of his too-big sword as natural in his hand, and his eyes are ages old. no child fights like that, even at thirteen. no teen knew how to move so fast, how to have such control over gangly limbs, how to have such proper balance. hells, link was nineteen, and every inch he still somehow grew put him off his game for at least a week-- teens were nothing but growth, and the changes didn't phase Other Link at all

"okay." link finally signs, dropping beside Other Link during meals, snatching hardtack from his hand. it is stale and salty. they are running low on rations, and link has been slipping Other Link his own for days now. growing kids need food. stress stunts their growth

could that be it?

stress stunting growth?

the princess knows, knows something about this strange kid with his strange masks, a history, a place where he'd come from, the title he hides from them all.

"hero of--" she whispers behind closed doors, "hyrule's greatest hero, the hero across ages..."

link knows jack shit about heroes. he dropped out of school not long after learning to read and still counts his fingers for long-division

"okay. how old are you?"

Other Link snatches back his hardtack, scowling.

"I'm seventeen. eighteen soonish."

link laughs. Other Link doesn't.

"okay. how old are you really?"

Other Link still isn't laughing. He just stares, smirks, and goes back to his rations.

"keep guessin', city boy." he says. "go on. maybe you'll get a prize if you do."

years later, at the end of the war, the Hero of Time stands before him, just turned nineteen and still only just reaching link's elbow. link loves him so much it burns, and letting him go through that portal back to his somewhere-home is like cutting out a part of him.

"kid." he says instead with a nod of his head. Other Link grins.

"see ya around, city boy."

with time as fucked as it often proved to be, link was surprisingly sure he would

#my writing #hyrule warriors #hyrule warriors link #oot link #ocarina of time link #loz: hw #scarfy

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tennessoui · 5 months

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Playmaker au!! Love it ! Ahhhh! Just read the snippet and the dynamic between obi wan and ahsoka is so interesting! Do they ever get along? Those lines about qui gon 😞 💔

Since its kind of reverse pbatmb (but not really) is rex anakin’s second? Or, as his apprentice, is ahsoka?

Oohhh is cody obi wan’s assigned body guard / baby sitter?

oo i like this question!! i've been writing ahsoka and obi-wan as hating each other, and i really like it that way - i'm not sure i want them to ever get along, and i think anakin would find that really amusing.

ahsoka is like his apprentice, but not necessarily his second i think. like if anakin were to die, rex would step up into his role. ahsoka's position is more nebulous. sort of like anakin's training her into being another him but she hasn't really earned second in command yet....

and i feel like her having a loose title like apprentice makes her hate obi-wan more because her place is more undefined and could slip at any moment....and then this guy who is obviously a rat just comes in and anakin KNOWS he's a rat, anakin's been told thousands of times that ben isn't who he says he is and anakin knew anyway even before that. so why isn't he dead??? ahsoka had to claw her way up into anakin's regard and if she slips, if she fails to meet his expectations, then she's punished (in one ficlet, anakin has snapped her finger because she fumbled a drug shipment....that obi-wan told the cops about) and obi-wan gets away with anything and everything?? immediately?? how unfair is that?

also i feel like it's probably ahsoka who calls the cops on obi-wan after obi-wan kills savage, the intruder. like she must have heard it happening so she probably calls them to arrest obi-wan just to give him the middle finger lol

good thing anakin hasn't found out about that tho

#asks #playmaker au #vaderwan #as for obi-wan and cody #i bet cody is obi-wan's body guard for one day and anakin says no never mind #i do not want another man in charge of obi-wan i cant trust him #(and by him anakin means obi-wan)

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caplanbuckybarnes · 30 days

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Okay, you want some fic titles? How about: "Hello, My Old Heart" "The Kermie to my Piggy" "Flower and Garden or Food and Wine" - BONUS, this one has to involve Disney World somehow "Wordle Cheat" "Going Off Grid" Annnnnd now that I've scared you, I hope something comes from one or more of these.

this was sitting in my drafts, idk how long it's been, holy moly.

Hello, my old heart

Genre: angst

I'd write this for stucky x reader, tbh. you grew up together i nthe 40s.... enlisted in the army with steve and bucky when they joined.constantly always got shit for joinging because you were a female, but you always had your boys to protect you.

They were your first loves, truly. you had all of your firsts together; kiss, relationship, heartaches, everything. but that all changed when bucky went missing in the line of duty. you and steve searched everywhere for him, with no luck.

Then cap went missing. and you searched everywhere you could in order to find him. But when you boarded the plane to locate them further, the plane crashed.

you'd woken up decades later only to discover that Steve and bucky were alive and healthy-- and MUCH bigger than you remembered.

"The Kermie to my Piggy"

Genre: Fluffy

You'd always had silly nicknames for Tony; batsy wannabe, millionair daddy, iron clad bod. But recently, with him having Morgan around teh place a lot more often now that Pepper had tragicially passed away, the three of you started watching Sesame Street together... Eventually,. he'd called you Misses Piggy and the nickanbme had stuck until your wedding day years later.

"Flower and Garden or Food and Wine"

Genre: Fluffy

"Look, the castle!" Excitedly, you tapped on Peter's arm, nearly giving him an injury in your haste as the CInderella's castle came into view as you walked into the parks.

"Y/N, I'm hungry," peter pouts, much to your excitement.

"LEt's go, i know where they have the BEST food in here!"

---

Wordle Cheat

Genre: Fluffy

"Is the damn solution your name, Bucky?" you asked, throwing a couch pillow at him from across the room, only to hit a lamp and see it crash to the floor.

"Maybe," he stuck out his tongue playfully as he successfully figured out the word you chose for the eighth time.

"I hate you," you pouted as he came over to you and gave your forehead a kiss.

---

Going Off Grid

"What the hell does this even mean?" you asked, looking at Tony for answers as you erad teh crumbled up note in your hand. "Tony, what the fuck is Steve doing? Is he suicidal?"

"My dad always claimed that Steve would have sacrificed himself to save Bucky. Tony shrugged. "I never understood his obsessions with Cap, but i know love when i see it."

"He shouldn't have gone off without anyone! he could get hurt!" you had enough discussions and left toyn's bedroom, ignoring every insticnt in your body to stay put as yuo readied yourself to find your best friend.

SEND A FIC TITLE FOR A SMIDGE OF A FICLET!

#sorry this took forever #cappy answers

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hopelessromanfic · 1 year

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GLADIOLUS

A Willel ficlet

It’s late one night when El comes into Will’s room after a nightmare, it’s routine by now after a few years of living together as siblings. She’s laying in his bed, the warm light from his bedside lamp illuminating the room in a soft glow.

He doesn’t shut it off, he knows it helps her just as it does him.

The room is silent as he waits for her to speak first, if she wants to. He is no stranger to silent nights following nightmares, taking comfort only in the others presence. A sign that they are still here, that they won the war waged against them from the midst of their childhood, despite how it bled into their adolescence.

She runs a trembling finger across her wrist, her breath shakes with each inhale.

“I wish it would wash away.” Her voice shakes too, her words bitter to hear, he’s sure they’re even bitter to the taste.

His eyes land on the two black marks on her wrist, just an inch south of her palm. A cruel reminder of all she’s been through, a sick mark of trauma that has just barely faded with time.

“I hate it.” Her voice is softer now, her eyes drifting from her wrist to meet his. “I hate it, Will.”

He understands. He understands in the same way Jonathan understands, how Max understands, Nancy and Dustin.

Physical marks left on them. His scar on his hip from his possession, Nancy and Jonathan’s scars on their palms from cutting them to lure the Demogorgon, Max’s loss of vision and the slow of her mobility, Dustin’s limp from his leg never healing quite right.

The scars fade over time, sure, but hurt like an open wound at the slightest glance. They serve as a reminder of what was taken from them, stolen from their tiny grips like they ever stood a chance. Cruelty branded, a permanent mark everlasting on their bodies. On their minds.

His eyes drop to her wrist, his hand cupping hers gently as he runs a finger along the dark marks on her pale skin.

“Maybe, when you’re eighteen, you can get it covered up.” He says, looking up to see her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Her head is cocked to the side.

“Covered up? I can do that?” She looks down at her wrist, her eyes a little brighter now. “With more tattoos?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want.” He traces along the numbers again. “Would you?”

She smiles, a gentle yet genuine smile pulling at her cheeks. She nods. “But what would it be?”

“Anything you want.” Will adjusts in the bed, his blanket falling completely into his lap and pooling around his legs. “Something you find meaningful or, if you want, just something you think looks nice. Something you like.”

She thinks for a moment, silence stretching on as she stares at the mark on her skin. Her smile only widens as the seconds tick by. He knows that look, the sparkle in her eye shining iridescent in the low lighting of his bedroom.

“A flower?” El glanced up at him. “I like flowers.”

“Hold on.” He smiles, getting up from the bed and making his way over to his bookshelf. He searches for a moment, producing an old cloth-bound hardcover book, the golden accents shimmering in the dim lighting of his lamp, the title ‘The Language and Poetry Of Flowers’ glittering. “Did you know flowers can have meaning? Like, symbolization of different things.”

“Really?” His sister perks up then, craning her neck to see the book as he flips over the cover and carefully leafed through the pages. His eyes skim through the words as he glances up, nodding with a small smile.

“Really.” He stops at the page he was looking for, grinning a bit to himself. “Mom loved picking flowers from the meadow when she was little. Hawkins gets some pretty diverse kinds of wildflowers, so my grandma got her this book so she could learn what they meant. These ones were always her favorite, but they’re native to South Africa, so she only ever saw them through her book.”

He turns the book towards her, the page showing a mix of pink and red and yellow flowers. She stares in awe.

“Gladiolus?” She breathes, a gentle hand caressing the page.

“It’s Latin for sword,” He leans closer, his finger pointing out the text below the picture. “Some people believe Gladiators from Ancient Rome wore them as protection. But it’s also means strength and courage, to overcome. Just like you always do.”

“I love it.” El sniffs a little, her eyes wetter than they had been before. “It’s perfect, Will.”

He smiles, reaching over to his nightstand and ripping out a page from his sketchbook before marking the page and handing the book to her. “Here, so you have a reference when you decide to get it.”

“Could…” El chews on her lip, her fingers fidgeting with the corners of the book. “Could you draw it for me one day? I want it to be from you, if that’s okay.”

Her words twisted into his chest, squeezing around his heart like a warm hug. His face broke into a smile.

“Of course,” He says, taking the book back from her outstretched hands. “I’d love to.”

She smiles at him, laying back in the bed with an expression of serenity. Her hand fell from her wrist for the first time that night and suddenly, it felt like everything would be okay again.

#willel #willel fic #willel ficlet #will byers #el hopper #el hopper byers #the byers family #byer hopper siblings #byler #<- target audience as well #it’s 6am when im finishing this #i haven’t slept yet but i couldn’t get the idea out of my head #El’s tattoo #idk if Will would ever be a tattoo artist but I do know that he would gladly design tattoos for his friends/fam #fluff #willel fluff #slight angst #if you squint #didn’t proofread bc im too tired :)

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artfulusername · 4 months

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You know what I'm going to do? I've gotten to a fun point in this ficlet (okay, it's going to be longer than that). I'm going to go ahead and post Part One of this unnamed thing.

Enjoy!

Title TBD

John Constantine felt like a proper idiot standing outside of Nanaue’s favorite sushi place. He had a large tray in hand and realized that he had no idea where his ex was staying these days. King Shark rarely strayed from Hawai’i of late, but there was still more ground and ocean to cover than he’d considered in his haste to see if there was something to Dream’s nonsense.

The King of Stories could have just as soon been making the whole thing up to get rid of an inconvenient third wheel. John wouldn’t put it past him. So, there he was. Wishing he could smoke and cursing his cousin’s name for rendering him unable to do so. Instead, he rolled the toothpick around with his tongue and held the tray one-handed so he could fish his phone out from his pocket.

He scrolled through the local news. Maybe there was a pattern of missing persons. Nanaue wasn’t as prolific with his meals as he had once been, but maybe there was a trail he could follow. Perhaps he should have been more focused on the area around him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been so fucking startled when a hand clamped around his bicep, jostling the sushi for a moment before John balanced it properly again.

Great. He was getting jumped or kidnapped. His usual bloody luck. Why had he come to Hawai’i again?

His fingers tightened around the edge of the tray, the plastic digging uncomfortably into the pads of his fingertips. “Oi! What’s this all about?” He turned his head to look at whoever had snagged his arm. His gaze met a well-muscled chest in a tight black t-shirt. And then it lifted. Ah. Shark tattoo on his throat. That was certainly a sign.

By the time his eyes met his assailant’s through dark sunglasses, a leaden weight sank in his stomach like an anchor. “Boss wants to see you,” came the rumbled answer to his question. At least his ex had good taste in minions. If he lived past walking through the front door, he’d say as much.

“Well, isn’t this a coincidence? I came here to see him. Got an offering and all.” He lifted the tray as much as he was able. “Take me to your leader.”

Not even a smile.

John was still amused even as he found himself unceremoniously shoved in the back of a cushy black SUV. If he was being driven to his doom, at least he was going out in style flanked by a pair of men who’d put half of the Justice League to shame. There were certainly worse fates.

“Is it going to be a long drive? Sushi doesn’t keep well. Hadn’t really thought beyond getting it. Probably should’ve sorted out my destination first.” Drumming his fingers atop the plastic to fill the silence in the car, he swallowed past the lump in his throat. Sure. He had options. He could reach into his coat and pull out all manner of tricks to get himself out of this situation. But he had to try first.

He rested a hand on the tray, holding it steady. The other hand lifts just a few inches in the air. Not too fast. Nice and slow. He didn't want to unsettle his escorts. Still, the silence was suffocating. Something had to be done.

With a flick of his wrist, the radio leapt to life. Taylor Swift. What the fuck did he do to deserve a Swifting?

"I say 'I hate you,' we break up, you call me, 'I love you.'"

"Not a good omen," he muttered and flicked his wrist again. The station shifted. He'd accept the instrumental solo from Kansas' "Carry On My Wayward Son." It felt kinder. No less ominous, but at least it felt like something he could work with.

The driver and the guy riding shotgun exchanged baffled looks, but at least the radio stayed on. Thank goodness for small victories. John drummed his fingers on the tray's plastic covering. “Are we there yet?”

Yeah. He earned the press of a gun's barrel in his ribs. Fair play. No one liked hearing that question. “I'll take that as a ‘maybe?’” The gun dug a little more deeply into his side. That was going to leave a mark if they weren't careful.

The driver looked at the gun-toting goon in the rearview mirror. At least that's what John assumed from the glance. “Boss wants him intact. For now, at least.”

With a grumble, the gun-toting goon lowered his weapon. It rested meaningfully on his lap instead. At least his chances of being shot if they hit a bump had lowered. John appreciated the adjustment of the odds in his favor, however slight the tweak had been.

Look. With the way his day was going, he was going to take whatever he could get. The flight had been crap and then it had taken him forever to find some place selling the right kind of sushi. Getting shot would just be the icing on this shit cake.

He let out a breath and let the classic rock wash over him. At least he didn't have to wait too much longer. The car pulled into a parking lot and the goons pushed him out of the car. He held tightly to the tray, pleasantly surprised that it wasn't too jostled.

Everything looked just the way it did when he took it out of the restaurant. Sure, it probably wasn't going to put him back in Nanaue's good graces. But, hey, he could at least give it a shot. At the very least they could enjoy some fine fight before everything went to shit.

Honestly? John wasn't sure what to expect. It had been some time since he'd been around here. It looked like his ex was doing fairly good for himself. The building was nice. Big windows. It wouldn't have been his first choice, but he didn't blame Nanaue wanting to take advantage of the view.

It certainly was gorgeous. Lots of lush vegetation to enjoy. He tried not to gape as the goons walked him into the building. At the center of the building was, predictably, a multi-story aquarium. Filled with colorful fish, it was certainly an eye-catching centerpiece.

A goon elbowed him to get his attention. “Right. Yes. Nice digs you have here. I'll have to give your boss my compliments.” He offered a crooked grin. It was not returned.

They wound their way through the open, finely-furnished space. John felt every hour of his flights in economy. He could have sprung for business class, but it likely wouldn't have helped much for the level of grime he felt clinging to him. At the very least he could have showered before sushi hunting.

Foresight was not always his strong suit.

It was too late to do a sniff check now. At least he had the sushi going for him. Little good it would likely do considering how he left things. Maybe he should have gotten two trays. Or three. Or maybe something else entirely.

Nanaue wasn't looking his way as they approached. He was staring out of one of the large windows at the frankly breathtaking view of the ocean. Yeah. That explained why he picked the building. From what he could tell, it looked like there was even an easy route down to the beach. His ex had good taste in real estate even if his taste in men was a bit crap.

“You definitely have balls to show your face around here.” The rumble of Nanaue's voice always hit John like an ocean wave, leaving him weak-kneed and inwardly flailing.

He couldn't help himself. “You'd know.” Clearing his throat, he decided a clarification was in order .”About my balls, that is.” It wasn't his best choice. He saw that now.

Nanaue's head dipped. Whether it was in disappointment or amusement was hard to tell. Things could go either way. He offered no additional response. John could accept leaving him speechless.

“I brought sushi? The place has a 5-star rating on Yelp.” Yes, he checked reviews. He still felt a little weird about it. “Looks like it's a favorite of locals. That must mean it's quality.”

“You never really gave a shit about sushi before.” There was amusement in Nanaue's voice. “Why start now?”

That was a good question. It was one he should have anticipated. A smarter man would have had something smooth prepared. All John could manage was, “Because you like sushi?”

Nanaue finally turned and made a sharp gesture at John's escorts. John braced himself. Any moment, he'd be riddled with bullets. It just felt like a getting shot kind of moment.

And then he wasn't shot.

And then they were alone.

John held the tray up as an offering. “Sushi?”

#I write stuff sometimes #Fanfic #John Constantine x King Shark #John Constantine/King Shark #John Constantine x Nanaue #John Constantine/Nanaue #I'm having fun with this #And having fun is what counts

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