#this fic was a labor of love

[wolfie-bee]

Tension

read it here as a twitter fic

Kara's intense stare is focused dead ahead, but she can't control the way her body reacts when her hand briefly brushes against Lena's. Her eyes are automatically drawn to the depths of those seafoam eyes at the exact same time that Lena's eyes find hers. 

Lena had always been open with her as Supergirl, but there’s a rigidity present in the way she holds herself since she’d been brought into the D.E.O for questioning. Outwardly, she was the picture of calm, but Kara was privy to the messy thundering beats of her heart since they'd accidentally discovered the true identity of Reign in her lab.

There's a brief uptick in its rhythm now when their eyes meet, a curious heat lingering heavy in the space between them. Kara expels a short breath, blaming the extra sensitivity on her brief solar eclipse induced fainting spell a few minutes ago. But that shouldn't cause the tingling sensation climbing up her arm. It's potent and Kara can't help wanting to brush against Lena again with the way that Lena's gaze lingers on her too.

She forces her eyes away, but they betray her in the way that they slide down to the tight fitted form revealed by the elegant cut of Lena's dress. She swallows a rough breath, unwilling to acknowledge the heated flush that paints her cheeks and colors her neck. 

Her fingers curl into shaky fists as they quickly walk into the command center and remain clenched as they stand inches apart, listening to the others formulate a plan. 

Kara refuses to acknowledge the ache present in her bones as her strength slowly ebbs away. That eclipse being caused by the Worldkillers' ritual was just a minor setback. She stands tall, posturing, expertly fending off the concern of her friends and her sister. It works well, almost too well, and soon they all shuffle out of the room following Brainy as he discusses the complexities of extracting Sam from the Valley of Juru. 

A sharp wave of vertigo makes Kara stumble, one that abates slightly when she walks to the far corner of the room, closer to the windows, closer to the slowly eclipsing sun. 

“Agent Danvers was right,” Lena says conversationally. Kara startles a bit, now realizing that Lena hadn’t followed the others. Her ears ring as Lena’s voice takes on a tinny quality. “You should have stayed in the medbay.”

"I'm fine." Kara automatically rebuts, lifting her aching head to challengingly lock eyes with Lena. 

"Oh? Is that why you look like you're two seconds away from fainting at my feet again?"

Kara prickles, indignation warring in her veins and a rebuttal on her tongue that doesn’t quite make it past her lips when she stumbles, back crashing against the wall behind her. Her vision blurs, breath stuttering for a moment before it comes sharply into focus when the blaze of Lena’s warm hands touch her face. The touch anchors her to reality, to this room, as perspiration beads on her forehead.

“Don’t go to that valley.” Lena insists. “You know you won’t have powers there.”

There’s concern in those seafoam eyes, even after they’d just been arguing about the ethics of Lena having kryptonite. Kara feels a little exposed beneath them, a little too sensitive to hold their challenge. 

She’s also slightly alarmed that she didn’t see or hear Lena coming. Her eyes burn, the telltale sign of heat vision rimming her irises and she blinks hard, desperately trying to suppress it as her super hearing detects another faint uptick of Lena’s heartbeat. There's something achingly soft in the layers of those beautiful eyes, something that sparks that magnetic burn of attraction low in Kara’s abdomen.

“I have to go.” She answers resolutely. 

A moment passes as they study each other, then Lena’s gaze turns flinty and the softness of concern shutters away beneath the guarded intensity of anger.

“Why are you so stubborn?” She huffs, ripping her hands away from Kara’s face. Kara breathes out sharply, reeling from the sudden loss of contact.

“And you aren’t?” She fires back. 

Lena scoffs. "I'm not the one losing control of their powers."

“And I’m not the one using kryptonite in experiments.”  

Lena grounds her teeth, a vein flickering in her jaw and Kara clamps her mouth shut.

“I told you that I did it for a friend.” Lena stiffens, lifting her chin. “And I’d do it again.”

"Kryptonite can kill me." Kara points out. "What did you expect me to think?"

"That I only used it to subdue Reign."

Kara's jaw tenses and she struggles to stand completely upright, grasping onto the ledge at the window for support. She doesn’t expect Lena to immediately step back into her space, concern etched in the pretty layers of her eyes even as indignation lingers heavy in them. The heat of her curves press into Kara’s side as she slips an arm around her waist in assistance. Kara’s face burns, but she lets her arm fall around Lena’s shoulders so that she can manage to stay upright. 

But before she can butt in to continue her argument, Lena continues. 

"Minutes before the briefing you fell in a dead faint at my feet and for a few seconds everyone in here thought I was suspect number one."

Kara deflates at the worry that shakes in Lena's voice, even as the implications of her words wound her.

"So you tell me, Supergirl, if you were me, would you be able to trust anyone in this building?" 

"I trusted you, Lena." Kara answers. “I vouched for you.”

“Not enough, evidently." Lena grits out, and Kara realizes belatedly that she’s leaning a little more heavily into her as Lena’s other hand reaches out to curl in tight over Kara's shoulder where it bunches in her cape.

One little graze of Lena's fingers directly against her skin is enough to burn Kara. She's not exactly sure what's happening, why all of a sudden she can't control the urge to be closer, but the spicy notes of Lena's perfume hangs heavy in the air and Kara can't help but imagine her mouth pressed to that freckle on her neck. She clears her throat, mentally trying to clear those thoughts away when Lena tries, and fails, to drag her away from the wall.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking you to the medbay." She huffs, that vein in her forehead making an appearance as she considers Kara. They square off in a stare that ends with Lena straightening her posture and sticking her nose in the air. “Fine, then. I’m getting Agent Danvers,” she announces, detangling herself from Kara’s embrace. 

Kara reacts immediately, sliding an arm around Lena’s waist and pulling her back in. Lena stumbles in her impressive expensive heels,  hands landing firmly on the glyph on Kara’s chest. Their eyes meet and Lena flushes deeply, a pretty color that stains her beautiful ivory skin. Kara’s eyes get stuck there a moment too long for Lena not to notice.

"No." Kara manages to find her voice to say.

"Let go of me."

"You're gonna make them bench me."

"You're incorrigible!"

"And you're trying to get me taken off this mission."

Lena shoves against her chest, the warmth of her curves still solidly molded to Kara's. "You can't even stand without support!"

"It'll go away."

“And what if it doesn’t? There’s a fucking solar eclipse outside and -”

“I’m aware.”

"You're such an unbelievably stubborn, arrogant, egotistical…."

"Don’t hold back now."

"...idiot!" Lena huffs, pressing in hard against the glyph on Kara's chest. 

"Yeah well why do you care what I do?" Kara fires back, annoyance slithering up her spine as Lena's frustration leaks out in an annoyed little huff.

"I don't," she insists, pointing an accusing finger against Kara's chest. "I just don't want to be here when you fall on your stupid, handsome face again and they accuse the nearest Luthor of killing you."

"Well you don't have to be here wh -" Kara stops abruptly, the words now registering in her brain. 

Her eyes widen as Lena's heartbeat spikes like she hadn't meant to say that. Kara can't help the quiet delighted chuckle that falls from her lips. 

"You think I'm handsome?" She asks, a smug smile curving the corners of her mouth.

Lena growls in frustration, reaching up to tangle her fingers in her hair. 

"Listen here, you overgrown space puppy –"

"That's handsome overgrown space puppy to you." Kara snickers.

The fingers in Kara's hair clench tight against her scalp. "I should have just let you fall." 

Kara winces, even more alarmed that she could feel the pain from Lena's tight hold. But not enough to stop goading her, if only to keep her close, to revel in the addictive scent of honeysuckle clinging to her skin and the warmth of her body pressed so closely to Kara's.

"Oh? But then you'd miss out on our banter.” Kara teases. “This is how we connect now, Lena."

Lena raises an eyebrow. "The only thing I'd love to connect is my fist to your pretty face."

"Handsome and pretty. You seem awfully fond of my face."

"Shut up!" Lena huffs and Kara’s eyes are automatically drawn to her fluttering pulse as she stubbornly tilts her chin. Her eyes narrow dangerously but Kara just smiles, tightening her hold around her waist. 

“Make me.” She goads, unable to help herself from pressing in a little closer. 

She hears the light hitch in Lena's voice, feels her warm breath stutter against her skin and finally notices the dangerous glint in her wide blown pupils. Kara wants to kiss her, she realizes belatedly, she wants to kiss her best friend. Lena’s eyes are so mesmerizing and they fixate on Kara's mouth when she drags her tongue across her lower lip. 

And then, Lena loses it.

Before Kara can form a coherent thought, Lena’s mouth crashes into her own, a hungry torrent that draws her in like a moth to a flame. Her hands catch on Lena’s slender hips as the kiss deepens, a raging inferno of want that Kara hadn’t realized lay beneath the surface. Her mouth is impossibly warm and so soft, Kara can't get enough of her kisses. It's downright scary how much it excites her, how her stomach tumbles over itself and that buzz between her thighs pulses with electric heat. Lena’s lips are liquid fire, awakening a fierce need within Kara.

Her skin feels like it’ll burst apart from the heat of Lena’s body but she can’t seem to care. She’s Icarus, flying too close to the sun as she dips forward, meeting her in the throes of another kiss. The fingers in Kara's hair slacken and Kara deepens the kiss, a devastating dance that slithers like a heated caress through her body.

Lena groans, a sound that vibrates against Kara’s mouth as she clings tighter to Kara’s cape, kissing her with a needy passion that surprises Kara with its intensity. There’s nothing soft about this kiss as it merges into another, but it's warm and wet and Kara’s already too far gone at the skillful way that Lena’s tongue parts her lips.

Kara breaks it too soon to gulp in air that she doesn’t need, overwhelmed by the intensity as her hands reach up to rid Lena’s hair of that tight ponytail. Her eyes are hazy with want, lips red and tempting and Kara wants, oh she wants so feverently her heart is ready to burst.

Lena’s hands smooth down the material of her supersuit to settle on the crest of the House of El and she lets out a soft growl, dipping forward to bite down harshly on the column of Kara's neck. Kara arches against her, a hollow whimper parting her lips as Lena's tongue drags over her sensitive skin to soothe the burn. Kara uses the brief reprieve to switch their positions.

Lena stumbles beneath her and Kara really didn't think this through as Lena’s back smacks hard against the cold wall behind. Kara’s hands land just a few inches from her face, digging finger indentations on either side and trapping Lena between the heated cradle of her hips. There's surprise in those electric eyes, eyes that blatantly stare back at her until Kara breaks it in favor of leaning in to press a kiss to the column of Lena’s throat. Lena’s breath hitches when Kara’s lips teases against her skin and she whimpers, a sound that Kara wants to hear again. 

Kara presses in softly, lips dragging against the delicate line of her jaw. Lena breathes out a wispy sigh, heartbeat loud in Kara's ears and Kara nuzzles in closer as Lena's fingers comb through her hair.

"Lena." Kara breathes out. Lena hums, a tiny sound that vibrates against Kara's mouth. She presses kisses against the hollow of her throat, mouthing at that freckle she's been so distracted by, tracing the silky softness of Lena's skin.

Kara’s hands drop to her hips, as her leg slides absentmindedly between Lena’s parted thighs, drawing a stuttered breath from Lena as her kisses move along the curve of her reddened cheek. 

Everything about Lena is so addictive. Kara leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. She can't get enough of the softness of her skin, the warmth of her lips and the enticing scent of jasmine clinging to her shiny soft hair. The way she grinds against Kara's thigh sends sparks of arousal through her and she's never felt this turned on in her life.

Her hands slide down, moving over the curves hidden by the knee length dress and Lena closes her eyes and spreads her legs, the dress pulling tight as it bunches higher on her thighs with the motion. Kara burns, heat smoldering in her abdomen and Lena arches against her touch, so responsive and so kissable. 

Kara's hands eagerly map the slope of Lena’s thighs, moving the dress further up to palm at smooth pale skin. 

Lena’s touch burns where her hands move over her biceps and Kara presses forward, directly against warm heat. The sound that Lena makes is high pitched and needy and Kara wants to hear more of it, has to hear more of it. 

"Kara," Lena breathes her name, nails raking along Kara's scalp. Kara moans, feeling it all, as Lena draws her into the throes of a heavy, distracting kiss. 

Her hips move against Kara’s thigh with their own gravity, urging Kara on and Kara has to curl her hands around her hips, controlling their mindless motion. The quiet noises she makes against Kara’s mouth are earth shattering. The airy notations of it vibrate against Kara’s mouth, making the air around them buzz against Kara’s skin.

“Kara please,” Lena begs, “Kara.”

The repetition of the name draws a stillness to their movements and Kara draws back a little, eyes hazy and head still foggy as Lena studiously avoids her eyes.

"Lena."

"I'm sorry." Lena tenses against her, swallowing roughly. That freckle on her throat bobs with the effort and Kara's mouth waters. "I…I don’t know why I said that."

That manages to break through the haze and Kara’s heartbeat spikes, an irrational fear, as every scenario of this going the wrong way flashes through her mind. Guilt sweeps up her chest, heavy and potent and she draws a bit more space between them. She can’t go on unless the truth is out there for Lena to parse and not hidden in the depths of deception.

“I know why.” Kara begins softly, regretfully removing her hands from Lena’s waist and the thigh lodged desperately between her legs. Lena makes a tiny noise of protest that she tries to smother by clearing her throat and Kara's face burns but she lifts her chin, meeting Lena’s eyes. “My real name is Kara Zor-El.”

The anger returns to Lena's eyes with full force and for a split second, Kara thinks that she’s just lost her best friend. 

Kara doesn't expect Lena to reach out, clamping her hands against her shoulders like she was going to push her way. Instead, she does the opposite and Kara ends up right back where she was, with her thigh lodged desperately between Lena's legs and her hands pressed to the wall on opposite sides of her head.

"You lied to me." Lena grits out, fingers digging into the pads of Kara's shoulders. Kara winces, concerned that she could still so clearly feel pain from that. She swallows roughly, nodding sadly.

"I didn't at first. I was going to tell you. I wanted to but I-"

"Just wanted to toy with me as two different people?" Lena supplies and Kara's brows crinkle as Lena loosens her fingers.

"No Lena, I would never -"

"Treat me like a Luthor?" 

"No!" Kara vehemently rebutts, moving in to gently frame Lena's face between her hands. Lena stiffens a little but she doesn't pull away. "I trust you." Kara breathes.

"But -"

"I admit that I was surprised by the kryptonite. It feels like nails running through my veins and I….it reminds me of…”

“Of?”

"I watched my planet die." Kara answers immediately, forcing her voice not to shake. "I was stuck in the Phantom Zone for twenty four years. I lived through your brother turning the sun red. I found my aunt only to lose her again and I…" Kara stops, turning her head away. She swallows roughly, removing her hands from Lena’s face as her trembling fingers clenched into fists. "I'm familiar with pain."

Lena's jaw flexes and she looks away, eyes shadowed with something like regret.

"I…" Lena starts, a contrite frown pinching her brows.

"But….if I had to trust anyone with it, I choose you, always."

There's a beat of silence between them, one that pulses with heat and smolders like embers when their eyes meet in the middle of their muddled emotions. Lena’s eyes soften - a feat that stirs threads of desire within Kara. Kara fully lets her go, ready to step back as Lena remains frozen, her lipstick less lips parting as she assesses the sincerity of Kara’s words. 

Kara’s stomach flutters, skin buzzing as Lena’s eyes stare into her soul. The staring lengthens as Lena's eyes flicker between hers and then slowly drift down to her lips. Kara's face burns at the look in those eyes and then they're sinking into each other, foreheads pressed together as their breaths mingle in the space between.

"I'm still so angry at you." Lena breathes out. Kara closes her eyes, accepting it all. "And we obviously need to talk some more about this, but you're taking me to that valley with you to rescue Sam."

Kara's eyes fly open. "What -"

"Sam is my friend too."

"Lena."

"And sue me if I don't feel like sending you off somewhere that you could die, especially when I'm dying to kiss you again."

Kara laughs, one that gets swallowed by Lena's eagerly awaiting mouth. This kiss is sweet, lingering, deep. Lena melts, tilting her head back as Kara drifts forward, kissing Lena soundly.

Lena releases her then, panting against her lips as their eyes flutter open. She's a mess, a pretty mess, Kara thinks as she curls a finger through a stray curl and Lena drapes an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. Kara sinks into it, tucking her face against Lena’s neck as Lena’s fingers comb through her hair.

"We have less than two hours until totality." Lena says determinedly. "If we're going to stop that eclipse, we need to get you back to the medbay first."

"Lena," Kara protests, one that fades when Lena leans back and lifts an eyebrow. Kara swallows down her objections and instead gives a little eye roll. 

"And then," Lena starts, her voice taking on a smoky quality as her hand tangles with the one Kara's still got pressed to her thigh. Lena slips their hands beneath her dress to press directly over that heated wet spot on her panties and Kara nearly chokes on the rest of her words. She stutters, face flushing as Lena's lips curve into a dangerous smile. "You owe me, Supergirl."

“Yes ma'am.” Kara answers, leaning forward to seal her promise with another sweet kiss.

Happy Supercorp Sunday everyone!! You know the drill, this fic was written on Twitter today in response to the gif tweeted above by the inspirational gif Master @CSIRJen thank you to everyone who's gotten this far, I know this one was a bit lengthy especially for a twitter fic 😂 and special thanks to my awesome friend bibliowormlibrarian for her invaluable inputs in this fic and for helping me in my pursuit to twist canon into even more supercorp 💗

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #tension #s3x17 scene extension #my writing #my fics #happy supercorp sunday #supercorp twitter fic #twitter fic chaos #this fic was a labor of love #jen requested and i said bring it on challenge accpted #and then my friend lara had to rescue me in plot land with her amazing insights #i watched the first few minutes of 3x17 to write this #its supposed to be kinda spicy idk #enjoy ig? #supercorp are so attractive #do yourself a favor and go admire the way they strut through the deo in jen's gif on twitter #identity reveal #gay seggs-ual tension #spicy kissing #season 3 supercorp my beloved #took a knife to canon and now there is no l@mes or kr@ms in the rest of the episode 🙂 #just pure supercorp vibes 🔥 🥵

[antidotetogo]

When the Lights Go Out

by the larenttrap (antidotetogo)

Art by @wendersfive

Part of the @onedirectionbigbang

“Louis, what do you have to say about how last week ended?” the reporter asks. There’s a moment of silence. Harry is looking at the reporter, but eventually gives in and looks down the table at Louis. He’s looking straight ahead, as if Harry isn’t even in the room. “If you can’t take the heat, then get out of the kitchen.” Harry leans forwards, placing his arms on the table and leaning onto them to get as close to his microphone as he can while looking at Louis. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Louis turns to him, his icy blue eyes meeting Harry’s. “Driving is your fuckin’ job, act like it.”

In its near eighty years of existence, Formula 1 has never had an out gay driver. In 2017, Harry Styles signs a contract with Scuderia AlphaTauri alongside his childhood friend and competitor, Louis Tomlinson. The next decade of their careers is some of the most tumultuous press–on and off the track–Formula 1 has ever seen. _______________________________

aka the one where Louis and Harry are childhood friends to enemies to lovers over the course of 15 ish years.

#ITS FINALLY HERE #i am so happy to finally be able to share this fic #its such a labor of love #and ive spent so much of my time of the last 4 months on this #larry #when the lights go out #larry fic #larry au #one direction big bang #my fic

[hai-nae]

meant to post these sketches a few days ago? a week? but, well, life.

#red dead redemption 2 #my art #my fics #arthur morgan #rdr #rdr2 #rdr2 fanart #young arthur morgan #and a wee little hs of wolf!arthur #today is the first day of the last 3 ive gotten to eat more than a single meal a day #my bp dropped at work n since it was a vision black out i had to post up in the friggin stall like batman on a ceiling so i didnt fall #which sucks since i have a manual labor job but luckily i didnt reach the shakin stage just kept gettin the dots n focus static #been sleepin n readin to avoid attention on hunger pains since i had no energy for drawin #finally got to have dinner last night since we got some money and i gotta say i dont miss the feelin of chokin on food i wanted so bad #man i love tags most ppl dont read em n i get some catharsis to vent in em

[sam-loves-seb]

i'm not the way i was -- chapter 1

“Why the hell are you here, Ian?” Mickey’s tone is defeated, and his shoulders barely hold their shape. He’s tired. Exhausted, really. Ian can see that in every line of his body, every curve of his face. There’s so much that Ian wants to say to him, so much he wants to scream across this phone line connecting them, but he can’t. His head is a mess, in more ways than one, and no matter how fast he tries to parse through his tidal wave of emotions, he can’t figure them out. He broke up with Mickey. Right? Only now, he can’t really remember why. “I don’t know,” Ian says honestly, and hopes it’s enough. (It’s not.)

// s6 rewrite: what could have happened if mickey didn’t go to prison

read the rest on ao3

@shamelessbigbang @whaticameherefor

#here it is #my labor of love #the first chapter of it anyway #i'm not the way i was #gallavich #sbb #shameless big bang #sbb12 #my gallavich fic #my shameless fic

[backhurtyy]

not your intended dose

"Based on these symptoms and the tests we ran, I’m diagnosing you with type one diabetes.”

Jamie blinks once, twice. He expected— well, he doesn’t know what he expected. To have more of a reaction, maybe. Fear, relief, sorrow, something other than the sort of numbness and vague sense of confusion that he feels now. Something other than a spark of recognition, because—

“Ain’t that what Nick Jonas has?” He asks, squinting into the distance. “And Nacho?”

or,

jamie is diagnosed with diabetes. it changes everything, and also nothing.

27.6k | rated t | diabetic!jamie, established royjamie, hurt/comfort

written for @royjamiebingo for the boss ass bitch challenge, fulfilling the prompts candles, sharing clothes, hospital, love letter, and “i don’t know what happened”

bingo card below the cut for anyone who’s curious to see where i'm at :)

#holy fucking shit #it's. done #if you guys know me you know how long ive wanted to write a fic with a diabetic character... i cant believe i finally did it #i hope you enjoy it <3 #it has been a labor of love and im so genuinely proud of it #anyways #royjamie #royjamiebingo2024 #jamie tartt #roy kent #ted lasso #nellie.fic

[yonemurishiroku]

The beautiful thing about the labor of my love is that Jason managed to immortalize Nico even when his time had stopped. Both of their times have ceased. They would both live on, differently frozen in time, but eternal all the same.

#nico di angelo #jason grace #jasico #the labor of my love #god nico #deity nico #dead jason grace #yone au #yone writing #yone fic #memories fade but the feelings stay

[alrightbuckaroo]

tender eyes that shine

1/1 | Rating: M | 16.1k | A Carlos Reyes character study in which Carlos learns to love himself a little more, even the soft parts. | All the thanks in the world to @bonheur-cafe for beta reading this one <3

Carlos is eight years old.

His favorite food is pizza flavored Kraft macaroni and cheese, his favorite movie is Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron , his best friend is a stuffed koala named Kique, and at this very moment, he’s heartbroken over the passing of his abuela.

“No llores, nieto,” Carlos’ abuelo tells him during the wake of her funeral. Gray clouds are scattered across the sky and coating the somber event in an even more somber tone.

His abuelo crouches down, his joints cracking and popping as he stoops to Carlos’ eye level. He raises a calloused thumb and wipes away the tears that are still falling from Carlos’ wide brown eyes.

“Men like us,” His abuelo continues, his words casting a wide net. ‘Men like us’ is synonymous with anyone that looks like Carlos, has his skin tone, or shares his namesake. “We don’t let the world pity us, we can’t let them see us as soft.”

Carlos nods, wiping away any new tears that are starting to fall. The right sleeve of his charcoal gray suit now comes away colored a staunch black where Carlos’ tears have dampened it.

For some reason, the way his abuelo says ‘soft’ ricochets off of Carlos, as if it were stone and Carlos is a thin sheet of glass nestled into a window pane. It’s left a dent, an imprint, an impression, but hasn’t done enough damage to cause a crack.

Carlos’ bloodshot eyes shine with hesitation as he asks, voice small and insecure, “Reyes men don’t cry?

“Reyes men don’t cry,” His abuelo confirms.

continued on ao3.

#ah! it's finally here! my favorite little labor of love is ready for consumption! #here's hoping this one makes every kind of sense #i was up until 5 a.m. trying to proofread this one in one sitting and somehow it got 200 words longer??? #fic: tender eyes that shine #series: how to be a human being #my writing #carlos reyes #tk strand #911 ls #911 lone star #tarlos fic #911 lone star fic #tarlos fanfic

[formosusiniquis]

the bells, the joy (together in darkness)

Robin Buckley & Steve Harringto WC: 11963 | T | Tags/Themes: hivemind, Post S3, Scoops Troop Friendship, Nonbinary Steve and Robin, Blink and you miss it Steddie and Buckingham pre-slash AKA It's the Stobin Hivemind fic y'all! thank you very very very much to @spectrum-spectre for beta-ing this for me!!

Steve has never done LSD before. Which is the kind of statement his father would call ‘qualifying’ and ‘implies other kinds of wrongdoing, Stephan.’ Like the time he’d said he hadn’t smoked anything other than cigarettes that weekend. Apparently the ‘that weekend’ was a qualifier that got his very small pot stash flushed, and forced him into a second transaction with Eddie Munson in as many weeks.

Yeah okay maybe there were worse things, as far as punishments go.

Qualifying or not though, Steve has never done LSD. Not after the weekend he spent reading the supposedly true diary of a supposedly real teen that had been left on his bed. Like mother, like son, his father had sneered when he'd caught Steve curled up with it, like the whole plan to keep him from becoming pot-addled and destined for the gutter, or whatever, hadn’t relied on his gossipy nature.

It was mostly stupid, the book, but Steve figured it didn’t hurt to stick to weed. The stuff about that he knew for sure was totally fake.

Except now, he wishes he maybe knew a little bit more about what LSD was supposed to feel like. So he knows how to portion out blame for his current state. It’s currently 50% Upside-Down-Shit and 40% Russian-LSD-Shit and 10% Concussion-Shit, but if he’s being fair he’s blamed the Upside Down for about half of everything that’s gone wrong in his life since 1983. He’s willing to acknowledge that maybe the blame breakdown should be readjusted for this one.

“Hey Robin?” Trauma changes people, makes you want to stay close to the people who are changed the same way you are. Robin had shown up at Steve’s house the Monday after everything, trumpet case and duffle bag in hand. Apparently, she had walked from the school where she was supposed to be catching the bus to Band Camp, like she does every year. Apparently, when you undergo traumas heretofore unexperienced by any teen ever, Russian torture and flesh monsters, it’s okay to skip Summer Intensive to move in with your new best friend without telling your parents. Apparently, if you’re the kid that the Band Person, Director, wants to keep happy because in addition to the billion and seven languages you can play any instrument with a mouthpiece -- except trombone, slide positions, Steve had pretended he knew what that meant -- then you can just leave school to deal with your ‘mall fire smoke inhalation’ at your ‘aunt’s house’ instead. Apparently this is fine and Steve doesn’t need to worry about any angry former hippies beating down his dore because ‘what they don’t know won’t hurt them.’

So he can call out for Robin, without raising his voice because he knows she’s there. Somewhere in the house, the weight of it changed now that someone else is in it with him. He can call out even though he’s pretty sure she’s holed up in his Mom’s library on the ground floor, because he can feel her in the back of his brain and he knows she’ll hear him.

Drifting in an unfocused middle distance, he can imagine Robin. Curled up, she knows she’s been called for but isn’t in any hurry to comply, Steve will wait. He's fine with waiting, at least for the five minutes it will take for her to finish her chapter. He can see her, slotting her bookmark in place and sitting up straight for the first time in hours. She stretches, uncurls from the window seat that Steve also favors, gently sets the book down before letting a foot dangle and brush the floor to actually stand. And she leaves the library. She starts to feel closer, her presence looming stronger in his brain and Steve aware of himself in his own body. Then he hears her feet on the stairs.

“What is it, Dingus, did you know your Mom has a whole collection of French books? I’m in the middle of a bunch of lesbian short stories.”

“Yeah, she speaks it, not sure why.” He answers absently, “Have you ever done LSD?”

“I’ve had half a pot brownie and gotten way too high before.”

That’s not really the same thing, Steve thinks.

“I know it’s not really the same thing, Dingus, I was using it as a framework.” She flops facedown on the bed beside him, wiggling into what he’s started thinking of as her side. A lucky coincidence that she prefers to be tucked in on the side closest to the wall. Probably because she’s never seen anything burst out of one.

“Okay don’t think that, cause now I’m never going to be able to sleep again, I don’t think you’ve got enough space for us to pull your bed into the center of your room.”

He can see the way she imagines it. His bed, an island in the center of the room floating in a sea of plaid. Something about it is even more unnerving than if it stayed up against the wall.

“Not a good look.” He doubts anything will come from the walls again anyway, the Upside Down has proven to be surprisingly adaptive; it doesn't seem to attack in the same way twice. It makes it harder to be prepared, but he’s less worried about not being able to protect Robin in the middle of the night.

“Savior complex. Your mom has psychology books down there too. What does she even do?”

“Reads mostly. Do you think there’s anything down there about LSD?” He doesn’t think this is normal.

“Nice leap, Steve, I don’t think there are many drugs that link your brain with your coworker.” She says coworker, but he feels friend. Even that concept isn’t enough to describe the depth of warmth and affection that he feels wash over him as she thinks.

He lets the silence hang for a second, thinking but not sure what yet. His thoughts are slower to arrive and more jumbled in these early days post-concussion. His right hand curls, his fingers flex. First and third finger tap, then one and two, then none, one and two, and two, and none.

Robin’s knee jostles the bed as her leg bounces just a little.

“I think something else happened to us.”

“Wondered how long I’d have to tap your fingers for you before you got there with me.”

Read the rest on AO3

#platonic stobin #my fic #steve and robin #scoops troop #scoops troop friendship #untitled stobin hivemind fic #now has a title #which is a reference to a song for lya which i don't really recommend but whatever #nonbinary steve harrington #nonbinary robin buckley #autistic robin buckley #neurodivergent steve harrington #the author gives steve their own quirks and lets the audience diagnose as they will #enjoy!!! its been a nine month labor of love please like it!!

[oldmanffucker]

"House is a brat. Of course he is. And Wilson is, of course, a brat tamer. Anyone who expects anything different should be pointed to the neurology department. Wilson should get an honorary PhD in House-Wrangling for all the time and energy he’s spent in the field taming him. He’s an expert in playing House’s body like a fiddle. In knowing what strings to pluck to get just the sound he’s looking for, knowing exactly what he needs and how much, knowing exactly how to take him right to the edge and pull him back. To peel back his skin and suture back up the wounds. Wilson can get House to open up for him so beautifully in his role as Daddy as no one else can. Can dip him down into the caress of subspace where House is pliant, and happy, and little and, for once, quiet. But of course, even Wilson is bound to stumble, to miss a beat, when Greg House is involved, cagey as he is about his ‘feelings’ or 'childhood'."

(excerpt from this fic)

#labor of love etc #wilson accidentally triggers house mid-scene and takes care of him #i think it's touching and sweet #but if that sounds triggering then beware <3 #text post #house #house md #gregory house #hilson #james wilson #fic #my post #link #daddy cw

[elvensemi]

Been working my ass off on a double length update for the premier of A Place Among the Stars, my original sci-fi... debut? I guess? In that it's my debut into sci-fi. Guys I've worked so hard on it hhhhh I hope people like it. There will be some teaser art coming out soon-ish.

It'll be releasing April 28th thru Patreon.

In May, I'll also be releasing a free ebook that contains the first few chapters from each of my stories, to allow you to sample Khajit's wares (is that joke too dated). Once it drops, please feel free to download it and also send it to every single group chat you're in that has a book recommendation channel lmao. Remember: you can't beat free!

#adventures of a fic writer #this is my equivalent of the 99c sales that authors do just to get eyes LOL #anyway yes please love a place among the stars it has been a labor of extended love #it's my first time writing a sci-fi novel and also my first time creating a brand new universe from scratch by myself #there's so much tradition you can lean on in fantasy or real world settings #sci fi is a lot more creative honestly... i've read so much in preparation for this AND THEY ARE ALL VERY DIFFERENT!! #which is fun because you can get away with just about fucking anything #but daunting because you have to explain a lot more #did I fall back on my old faithful “multiple perspectives”? yes absolutely

[supernovaa-remnant]

Ad Aeternum

Description:

Ad Aeternum: To Eternity "Like humanity finding life on Europa, he muses. Just as life is an inevitability wherever there is liquid water and heat, perhaps there's an inevitability about him and Dream, too."

Tags:

Rating: Teen Fandom: Dream SMP Relationships: Dream/Wilbur Soot, Dream & Wilbur Soot, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Wilbur Soot, Dream, JSchlatt, Karl Jacobs, George Not Found, Background & Cameo Characters

here she is!! my pride and joy, and the labor of my love: Ad Aeternum <3

(it's a locked fic, so if you'll need to be logged into an ao3 account to view it)

#c!dreambur #madduo #dsmp #dsmp fic #<- how many main tags do I dare to use #dreambur #c!dream #c!wilbur #ad aeternum #<- for my own blog organization #dsmpshipping #<- that's the tag right? anyway it's an ambiguous relationship #but it can very easily be read as romantic #so yeah :3 #y'all I started this fic ~8 weeks ago it's been such a huge labor of love <33 #I'm so happy to finally post it #writing from the void #<- yippee new writing tag

[familyvideostevie]

on the ground

vecna tries to get steve and you try to save him | 4.3k, fem!reader, thank you to my dear @mrsrobinbuckley for this request and help with making it happen. this is the angstiest thing i've ever written, and it's a lot of steve and the love of his friends, but it's got steve x reader too! cw for mentions of neglect, a small mention of abuse, and plenty of negative thoughts from vecna. but steve gets saved by the power of love (and the eagles bc i love them), don't worry!

Steve has thought about what he'd see if Vecna wormed into his brain. It's been hard not to -- in the moments he's not worrying about Max or Eddie or you or the rest of his friends he's wondered.

Wondered if he's fucked up enough to be on the hit list. Maybe he'd be back at the party with Nancy and it would be a worse version of his already miserable memories. Or maybe it would be his parents coming home and wishing he wasn't there at all. His dad telling him he's a disappointment, finally caving and slapping him like Steve's always thought he wanted to.

It's stupid then, in hindsight, that he didn't even consider that Vecna would use you. You, his best friend, his heart, you who loves him so much and so well that Steve doesn't figure it out right away when it finally happens. Nancy, Robin, Eddie, and Dustin have gone through the portal and Steve kneels to boost you up to the rope. He takes his eyes off you for a second as you look up at the rope and back at him before stepping on this thigh.

But then something shifts and the trailer smells like someone spilled gasoline, the sharp, acrid scent making Steve wrinkle his nose and blink a few times. The lights flicker and he shakes it off because of course weird shit is happening. He's about to go into an evil hell dimension to destroy a zombified telekinetic serial killer.

"C'mon," he says, patting his thigh. "Up you go." But instead of putting your boot on his leg you plant it to his chest and shove him to the ground. He sprawls on his back, the breath knocked out of him.

"Hey, what the hell--" he sputters, but you interrupt.

"Stevie," you croon, but it's a sickly sweet tone he's never heard from you before. He tries to blink away the shock as his skin starts to crawl. "You can just stay here. We don't need you." His brain tries to catch up to what's happening because he knows this isn't right but the words cut all the same.

"I don't need you. I've never needed you," you continue. He tries to scoot back down the hallway of Eddie's trailer as you step over him, a cruel smile on your face. "None of us have ever needed you, Steve. Why don't you just go home?"

He knows something is wrong. He's trying to remember what's wrong, he knows what it is, but he feels so small on the ground and you're saying these awful things he's only ever thought to himself before.

"Go home to your empty house. Go home and rot, Steve Harrington."

__

You're trying really hard not to scream into Steve's slack face as you fist your hands in his jacket and shake him.

"Steve, Steve, please hear me," you gasp. "Steve, please." Panic claws at your throat and tears are hot at the corners of your eyes. His own are milky white and his whole body is still in front of you. It was one thing to see it on Max and Nancy, but another entirely for it to be Steve. Steve, who you never thought Venca would go after. Steve, who is the center, the protector, the heart.

You'd only looked away for a second before turning back to crack a joke about getting him on his knees and he was just frozen. Your blood ran cold and you yelled up through the gate that Vecna was here and he had Steve. Eddie dove through the portal with Nancy, Robin, and Dustin on his heels.

The metalhead looks like he's going to tear his own hair out. "There weren't fucking symptoms! You didn't have any symptoms, Harrington!"

"What do we do?" Dustin yells, voice cracking. "What do we do? Do we keep with the plan? How can we when he's---" Robin pulls him to her and they cling to each other. You know you're crying now, the tears hot on your face.

"No," Nancy says. "We need to save him first. We will save him first." Her voice wobbles but she sounds determined, the same tone she used before diving into the lake, the same way you've always known her to sound. Nancy Wheeler will not lose.

"Tapes!" Robin cries, reaching for your shoulder. "Tapes. Just like with Max." You look away from Steve for just a second, barely seeing your friend as you look at her. She's chewing on her lip but her hand is gentle, soothing. She believes you can save him, too.

"What's his favorite song?" Eddie asks. He isn't running, he isn't panicking anymore, though he's pale and frantic. Somehow, Nancy's conviction has spread through the room and all of them are ready to save Steve. "Do you know it?"

"Yeah." You look back at Steve's unmoving face and frame it with your hands. "Eagles. 'Peaceful Easy Feeling.'"

"Fuck, that's sure as shit not in my collection." But then Eddie snaps his fingers as the solution comes to him. "Wayne."

"What?" Dustin asks. He moves to Eddie's side and looks up at his friend with desperate eyes, a hand clutching at Eddie's jacket.

"My uncle has that one, I'm sure of it. Henderson --" he looks down at Dustin and claps him on the head -- "go with Wheeler into my room and find my walkman, okay? It'll be on my desk...somewhere."

"Where are Wayne's tapes?" Robin asks. "I'll help you find it." She and Eddie start to tear open covers and empty drawers around you but you barely notice them. Steve's face is dirty in your hands, small cuts dotting his mole-marked skin. The gash around his neck is crusty and weeping a little and you know his entire torso is a mess. You start to cry in earnest, unable to muster the bravery that your friends are showing.

"C'mon baby," you say. "Come back to us. My sweet boy, Steve, come back to me."

__

Steve is really fucking fed up with all this Upside Down shit happening to him. You go to apologize to the school loner once and all of a sudden an entire hell dimension is ruining your life. What a fucking world.

But right now Steve is more scared than he's ever been, the ugly words from not-you echoing in his mind as he finds himself in his own living room. It's dark in a way that warps real life and it's too quiet. Where are you? Where is everyone? He makes his way to the front door only to find a blank wall. Something about the entryway bugs him, and he realizes that the walls are covered with pictures of his parents. Family photos he's seen before in the boxes in the basement, but in these he's nowhere to be found. And they look happy.

"See how little you matter?" The voice echoes throughout the house, so loud Steve feels like it's going to burst his skull open. "They're not even here. No one is here for you."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Steve mutters. His hands are shaking but he knows there is a way out of this. He just has to hold on. Near-blind panic sends him running for the patio door which mercifully opens. But it opens into his backyard covered with vines and black dust, the pool pulsing a dull red. He creeps towards it despite himself, peering over the edge only to see the decaying remains of Barb at the bottom, something he's only ever seen in his nightmares.

Steve screams and backs up, tripping on a root and landing on his back on the stone. The breath rushes out of him and he can't seem to get it back as he gasps.

"You did that," Vecna says. "And for what? A girl who never loved you?" Steve knows it to be true but it shouldn't matter. He carries that around every day and he's learned to live with it. Because now he has you --

"No matter how hard you try, Steve Harrington, no one will love you."

"Not true," Steve pants. "Not fucking true!" He's crying now because he's just so fucking scared and he doesn't want to die, he really doesn't, he wants to get out of here and back to you, back to his friends, he has to so you can finish the plan and save everyone if only he could breathe.

"Why don't you just give up?" Vecna says. His voice is so loud in Steve's head that he thinks his ears are bleeding. "Do you know why there's no one to torment you but me, boy? No warped versions of your parents, your friends, that girl who you left behind? Because no one cares enough. You are alone."

"I get it, I get it!" Steve shouts, annoyance drowning out his fear for just a second. But a second is all it takes because then he sees it -- the mist. Max told him about the mist. He jumps to his feet and starts to run towards it faster than he's ever run in his life. He imagines that he's running home, running towards you, and even when his legs start to ache and his lungs are burning and he's still so damn scared he runs. He knows you're trying to save him. He just needs to keep running.

And then the grass of his yard turns to puddles of red and the sky changes from black to red and everything is red and Steve wants to throw up. It's just so much blood. And in the center of it all is Vecna.

"Holy shit, you're ugly," Steve pants. Fear and adrenaline pulse through his veins and he figures that if he's going to stall, he might as well lean in. "I didn't get any of the warm welcome gifts. Kind of rude, dude. Nosebleeds are cool." Maybe he can annoy Vecna enough that he'll give up.

"I'm in all of your heads, Steve Harrington." Vecna flexes a hand that ends in fingernails so long and sharp Steve swallows at the sight. "The games I play are useful sometimes, but other times it's best to get to the point, don't you think? I can snuff any of you out at any moment. And I will. But you've left your pound of flesh in my world already, so we'll start with you."

__

Your hands shake as you slide Eddie's headphones onto Steve and hit play on the cassette. If any song was going to work it was going to be this one. It's the song Steve puts on when you're driving together, the song you listen to after you have a nightmare and stay up talking until the morning about the future, the song that was playing when you told him you loved him for the first time. A part of you that is pure fear wonders if it'll be enough, if you're about to watch the world end here in Eddie's trailer, if you're about to watch Steve die.

Your heartbeat is loud in your ears but you can hear the tinny sound of the Eagles and Dustin's heaving breaths and the occasional sob coming from one of you, you don't know who. And then Steve starts to lift into the air ever-so slowly and a scream is ripped from you. You hurl out of Robin's embrace where you were clutching each other and wrap yourself around Steve's waist.

If he's going to go, he's going to do it in your arms. You won't let his last moments be anywhere else.

But Dustin is quick behind you, grabbing Steve's legs and then Robin and Nancy and Eddie follow, keeping him from crashing into the trailer ceiling. Everyone is crying, holding on with all of their strength, and you know that this might be it.

"I love you, Steve!" you shout. "I love you! Come back! Fight him!" Who knows if he can hear you, but you have to try. You have to try.

"I love you, man," Dustin sobs. "I love you!"

"You're my best friend, Steve!" Robin screams through her tears. "I love you. Get back here!"

"Come on Steve," Nancy cries. "Come back!"

"You gotta come back, Harrington," Eddie says. "Get the fuck back here! We love you!"

__

Steve is pretty sure this might be the end, actually. He sure as hell tried but damn, those vines are fast. He's pinned to a pole that is slimy and really irritating the shit out of his already fucked neck and he's trying not to look at the three other bodies around him. Max doesn't seem to be there, which is a small comfort. How did she get out of here? If he somehow manages to worm his way back to life he's going to tell her that she's the bravest person she knows.

"Let go, Steve Harrington. You're not needed there." Vecna takes his time as he stalks forward, long nails dragging through the red. "They're fine without you. They're better without you."

Steve blinks and suddenly the deconstructed house from hell is gone and he sees something else entirely. Something that punches the breath out of him and makes him sag into the vines. It's the kids messing around in a park. They're all there, even Eleven and Will, and they're happy. And, well shit, there's you and Robin. Everyone is safe. Everyone is laughing and he doesn't know how he knows but he knows that in this world where no one is harmed, where there aren't any monsters, where he doesn't exist. Because what purpose would he serve if there was nothing to protect you from?

"No purpose. You're finally getting it," Vecna hisses and the vision fades. The smell if iron and decay fills Steve's nostrils once more. "So why don't we make that a reality? Get some rest, Steve Harrington."

For a second, just one second, Steve considers it. He's so tired. Everything hurts and he wants to close his eyes for just a second. He tried to protect everyone, he tried to protect you, but he failed. So what's the point?

You. He lets himself imagine your face, your eyes and your cheekbones. Your smile when you see him, your laugh when he cracks a stupid joke. The warmth of your hands on his face. Come on, Steve, he can almost hear you say. Come back. He wiggles his fingers. It feels like the vine is a little looser than he thought. He repaints the scene Vecna showed him, placing himself next to you. He thinks about Robin, her hand on his back when she hugs him and how she calls him when she can't sleep. He thinks about Dustin and their handshake and the polaroid you took of them that he keeps on his dresser. He thinks about Lucas and Erica and how they both like the exact same kind of pizza but Lucas gives her the last piece every time. He thinks about Mike and Nancy and how they forgave him, how they keep forgiving him. He thinks about Max. About the letter in his glove compartment. How he never, ever intends to have to read it, but how he needs to be the one to tell her so. And Steve thinks about you.

I love you, Steve, you say. I love you so much.

Wait a second. He actually hears you. You're screaming his name and is that...the Eagles?

"Steve!" Your voice thunders through the Upside Down and it's that more than the music that shocks Vecna. The vines slack just enough for Steve to drop to the ground, his knees smacking painfully into the stone and coating him in red. He scrambles to his feet and doesn't think twice before he starts running. He doesn't know where he's going, but your voice is loud in his ears, the music alongside it.

And I want to sleep with you in the desert night

With a billion stars all around

"And she dumped the entire drink on his head!" Steve chuckles from his spot in your lap and you yawn. It's almost morning and the radio is soft in the background. Sleep eluded him tonight, and you stayed up and talked until his mind was no longer darkness and death.

"You must be exhausted, I'm sorry," he starts but you press your fingers over his lips.

"Nope," you say. "Can't hear you. No apology zone. Plus, they always play the best stuff at night for the truckers." Steve reaches over to turn the volume up and it's that Eagles song he's caught you humming a few times. You do the same now and run your fingers through his hair and his eyelids start to close. He's safe and you're here. He's okay.

Cause I get a peaceful easy feeling'

And I know you won't let me down

"Again?" you say as Steve turns the dial on the radio. "This song is always playing when I get in the car."

"Cause I call in and ask for it." He pulls out of your driveway and heads towards Dustin's house. "I know you like it."

"Really?" He knows you were just joking but he wasn't. Well, the first time was coincidence, but after he saw how you lit up he's called a few times to make it happen again.

"Maybe." He smirks. "You'll never know. Maybe my car is just magic." You reach over and pull his hand from the steering wheel to smack a kiss on his palm. He feels his cheeks heat and the way you're looking at him might just make him crash the car. "What?"

"You're magic, Steve Harrington."

'Cause I'm already standin'

On the ground

"Did you hear what I said?" The diner is nearly empty but you speak quietly anyway. Steve holds the fry he was about to eat a few inches from his face, his hand frozen in mid-air. It's just a regular Friday night and you look beautiful in this awful lighting, makeup a little smeared from the party you've left, eyes wide as you wait for him to answer.

"Shit. Yeah, I heard you." You've only just rocked his entire world and made his heart beat so fast he's a little concerned it might burst out of his chest . He drops the fry and grabs your hand from the sticky table. "Can you say it again, just to make sure?" He knows he's grinning like an idiot and it must spur you on.

"I love you, Steve." He promises himself that whatever happens in his life, he's going to remember this moment. Because it's a perfect one.

"Yeah, that's what I thought you said." He winks at you and then he realizes what's playing on the diner radio. "Do you hear what song is playing?" You frown at him and he laughs, bringing your hand to his lips so he can kiss it. "It's the Eagles, baby. Our song. I didn't even call it in this time!"

"Steve--"

"Oh, sorry," he says. "I love you, too." Your smile is like the sun.

The memories sweep over him unbidden but they keep him going until he sees the impossible right in front of him: himself in the air and you, Robin, Nancy, Eddie, and Dustin clinging to him and shouting how much you love him, how much you need him. His eyes leak hot tears because he wants this to be over so badly and it looks like he might make it. He's loved and he's needed and he's going to fucking make it.

"C'mon, Harrington," he begs himself, one foot in front of the other as he hurtles towards the vision and --

__

Steve crashes to the floor and takes you all with him in a pile of limbs and tears and gasping. He opens his eyes and sees you first, your nose inches from his own before you collapse into him. Warm hands press onto his arms, his chest, his legs, and everyone talks at once.

"Steve, thank Christ--"

"--God bless the Eagles, man --"

"--Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god--"

"--We love you so much, Steve, never do that again--"

"--I'm gonna murder Vecna so hard--"

And you, loudly sobbing into his chest, planting kisses on every part of him you can reach. "I love you," you whimper. "I love you so much."

"You guys," he croaks, and everyone falls silent apart from the sniffling. He looks around at your relieved faces and he can't believe Vecna made him think for even a second that he didn't belong here. "How did you--" He can't finish the thought. Robin clutches his hand like a lifeline and sags into Nancy's side. Dustin smiles so big Steve can see every one of his teeth.

Eddie's hand claps him on the shoulder. "The power of love, man. Well, and the Eagles."

Steve thuds his head on the ground, closing his eyes and breathing in deep, tasting the stale air of the trailer. "Fuck," he says. He feels for the most part like none of it happened -- his legs don't burn, his clothes are clean. A few tears escape but otherwise he'd have thought it was all a bad dream, but he's never been that lucky. Your weight on his chest is grounding, though it brings back the dull throbbing of his various wounds.

"Can we get off the floor?" he asks. Everyone scrambles off of him immediately and you and Robin haul him to his feet. She slides in to give him a embrace and kiss on the cheek, eyes watery as he smiles at her. He sways a bit as she jostles him but manages to stay upright, your hand tight around his wrist. No one says anything but he feels all of your eyes on him. "Christ, guys." He goes for a joke and misses by a mile. "Stop looking at me like I died."

"Too soon, man," Dustin mutters. "Shit." Steve shrugs and reaches out to pat the boy on the head.

"Sorry," he says, sheepish. He looks at you, your hand still attached to him like you're afraid he's going to float away. Which, well, he can't exactly blame you for. You keep yourself as close to him as you can, eyes red and wide as you search his face for something. You're desperate to ask him how he is but don't know if he even knows.

"Let's all take a breather, okay?" Nancy suggests, eyeing the two of you. "Steve, sit down or something. Dustin, let's radio everyone and tell them to standby. We need to regroup and fast." She pulls Dustin with her to Eddie's room with the radio, a hand on Steve's arm as she passes him. The look between them speaks volumes, conveys everything they can't articulate. It's a look you know and understand and it gives you confidence that things will be fine. And, fuck, Steve is glad she was here to help. She'll know what to do next.

"Let's get everyone some water," Eddie mutters and crowds Robin into the kitchenette to give you and Steve some semblance of privacy as you pull him to sit on the ground by the front door.

You realize you're gripping him so hard he's going to bruise and you loosen your hold, sliding down to weave your fingers together. Did all of that really just happen?

"Steve, I --" you start but he interrupts you.

"Are you okay?" he says softly. "Your hands are still shaking." Your lips part in disbelief.

"How the fuck are you asking me that?" You reach out with your free hand and gently wipe away the tear tracks from his face. "I'm not the one who was just cursed!"

"Yeah, well," he croaks. "It didn't take. I've got nine lives or something." Your hand on his face seems to crack through the numbness, the shock, and he starts to shake. "We have to keep going. He can get to any of us, he said, at any time, what if he comes back for someone else--"

He reaches for you and you go willingly, climbing into his lap right there in the trailer, Eddie and Robin muttering feet away. You don't care. You have to touch him, to hold him. "Steve. Hey, we're gonna get him. We're going to figure it out." He buries his face in your neck, hands coming around you a little too tight but you don't care. You almost lost him, he almost died.

"I can't believe I got out," he whispers. "It was so...it was the freakiest shit I've ever seen. Thank you for--"

"Don't thank me for saving your life Steve," you say as you press kisses to his temple. "You got yourself out and we helped. You're Steve Harrington. You're brave and you're good and you made it. And I love you." There will be time later to talk about what he saw, to work on healing the old wounds Vecna opened. But first you're going to rip him limb from limb.

"Yeah," he says. "I know." And he does know. Your voice is stronger than the lingering echoes of Vecna in his mind. God, he loves you.

He loosens his hold on you and takes a deep breath before pushing it all down for later. "Okay, we have to figure out what's next." The crackle of the radio is loud enough that you can all hear it, hear Dustin furiously telling the Creel unit to regroup as you figure out your next steps. You move out of his lap but not far from him, hands still intertwined as everyone returns to the main room.

"Hey Nance," Steve says, a small smirk on this face, eyes hard as steel. "Think I can get a turn with the shotgun when we find this fucker?" Without warning Eddie bursts into laughter that spreads to the rest of you. It's a little unhinged, a little hysterical, but it fits.

"God damn, Harrington," he says. "Thank Christ we have you."

Tags: @cheerupbarry @srrybutno @97soroka @sunlitide @gloryofroses19 @carpediem1219 @themarvelousbee @sunshinehollandd @katsukis1wife @imherefortea @spideyboipete @lonelywidow @louderfortheback @actual-mom-steve-harrington @steveharringtonscarkeys @pennyllanne @ducky-is-dead-inside

want to be added to my tag list? send me a message and specify for steve, eddie, or both! reblog, send feedback, requests open, masterlist here!

#this was a labor of love and i don't know how i feel about it but its my longest fic ever and if you read it u get a kiss #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you

[liamlawsonlesbian]

i can feel the sun on you

Alex checks his notifications and sees a missed call and a whatsapp message from his editor at the Herald: No press conference today, unfortunately. There’s a link to a story at the end of the text. From the headline, Alex can see that the prince he was supposed to cover is sick. He clicks the link just to see if the press conference has been rescheduled yet. His heart leaps into his throat. There, staring up at him from the screen, is the beautiful stranger from last night. Unless Alex is very much mistaken, Hereditary Prince Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Rainier Grimaldi, Marquis of Baux, heir to the throne of Monaco, is asleep in his bed.

Or: Charles is a prince under pressure. Alex is an aspiring novelist trying to make ends meet. They find each other in Buenos Aires.

Chalex Roman Holiday AU, 12k, Rated T for Themes

#my fic #aaaaaahhhh asjfd;lkfj #this was such such a labor of love #i can't believe it's over #chalex #f1 rpf #chalex roman holiday #i can feel the sun on you

[soleilnomoon]

HEYYYY 2/20 REQUESTS!! LETS GOOOO

ice cream sundae, nougat, neapolitan rose, ice cream cake with honey and caramel!!! for trafalgar law as I'm a one trick pony

give us the pirate x marine angst!! the tension!! the forbidden love!! getting caught by Law and forced (not really, reader wants this badly but has an act to uphold) to play his lustful game where reader ends up throwing out the act in the end and just wants him, and he gives and makes them stay on his crew after!

"don't think I'll let you run back to your shitty marine corps, you're staying with me. but first, I need to punish you some more for all those times you've stopped my crew..."

"oki bb, whatever you say~💅✨😘"

let's pretend i didn't take 100 years to finish this request, however!!!! i had so much fun (i love enemies to lovers sfm, as u know ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡) so sorry it took forever, but it's here at last. i hope you enjoy bc i def had way too much fun writing this.

6.5k words (i know omg, i know shhh), fem reader, nsfw, 18+, mdni; angst angst angst, fluff? don't know her; she doesn't exist here. smut, obvy bc that's what i do ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა enemies 2 lovers, babey. feat. cutesy things like alcohol, public exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), pussy slapping, lil bit of nipple play, other stuff probably; idk law is a mean bitch bc he can't handle his feelings; reader is a marine who has zero self preservation obviously. both of them need to shuddup and kiss. (if u see spelling/grammar errors no u didn't; also the section in italics is a longass flashback i'm not sorry).

“because i am the kind of woman who leaves scars” — anaïs nin

ONE, TWO, THREE

when you received your promotion earlier on in the year, you assumed the higher ups would loosen their leash and let you do as you please. to your inevitable disappointment, they haven’t; you learn this the hard way when several thick stacks of documents are left for you to review on your desk one brisk morning. you scoff, fight the urge to set them on fire, and plop down on the cushioned chair. with your boots propped on top of the desk and feet crossed at the ankles, you close your eyes and sort through the running list of tasks you need to complete before you can set off for the new world.

it's never your intention to think about trafalgar law, but somehow he always finds a way to sneak into your thoughts throughout the day. agitation works its way slowly through your veins, teeth clenched as you grind them against each other. it’s even worse at night, where you find yourself twisted in your bed sheets, tossing and turning, plagued by dreams where his hand wraps around your throat almost too easily. instead of fighting him off, you’re always breathless and mesmerized, lips parted and wanting — his amber eyes holding you in place, seeing through all your thick layers and steel walls that you’ve erected to protect yourself.

no one’s ever penetrated them before and survived.

it's terrifying and unsettling that you always wake up panting, trembling fingers clutching the front of your shirt desperately, sweat pooling around your temples, curls frizzing from the humidity. you fear that your heart is beating hard enough to incapacitate you and you clamp your hand over your mouth as if it’ll prevent you from screaming out in frustration. if you keep your eyes closed, you can still feel his hands around your throat; if you keep your eyes closed, you can ignore the guilt that accompanies those dreams and tread the dangerous path towards impossible fantasies.

an unsteady tightrope that you tackle head on — one foot in front of the other, blindfolded and nervous, unsure of what awaits you at the end.

there’s nothing abnormal about a marine trying to figure out a pirate’s next moves, but your case is a little different. irritated at yourself, you kick your feet off the desk and knock the documents over; the pages float through the air and you laugh as you ignore the mess. you suppose you’ll sort through it all later. the transponder snail rings loud enough to startle you, but you take your time answering.

you pop a mint into your mouth and chew thoughtfully, not bothering with pleasantries as your voice denotes your irritation. “what is it?” you’ve never been one to be polite when speaking to other marines — no matter the rank; and since your mood still hasn’t lifted, you don’t bother pretending.

“oh, absolutely not,” you grit out, brows furrowed, a frown settling on your lips. the commodore refuses to let up, berating you for your past failures and reminding you that as a captain you need to be setting a proper example for your subordinates. right now, the commodore was not happy with you; and if he’d let you explain the situation, then maybe he wouldn’t feel so inclined to lecture you like a child.

“right but—” you’re cut off by another long diatribe of his and the longer he speaks, the angrier you get. “well if you’d listen, then i could—” again, you’re unable to get a word in; you try several times over to no avail. irritation swells inside of you, an itch you can’t quite scratch yet; you clutch the receiver tightly and end up hanging it up once more foolishness is spewed your way. it’s ridiculous that headquarters wants you to drop your current mission and focus on capturing law. they refuse to let you shirk any responsibility as you let him escape the last time you crossed paths. you knew the decision would come to haunt you, but you didn’t think it would be this soon. and while you had a very valid reason for letting him go, you still can’t forget the last thing he said to you before slipping away. it follows you around throughout every day, an unrelenting reminder of your incompetence.

weakness is not an option, even if the enemy in question tends to throw your world into chaos whenever he sees you.

FOUR, FIVE, SIX

you’re nursing your fifth shot of vodka when trafalgar law approaches you; the pub is dingy, overcrowded, but popular. you’re not much of a fan, but the alcohol is cheap — business is always booming. since you typically don’t wear a uniform regardless, no one seems to recognize you — it could be the fact that most of the patrons are drunk or exhausted or a combination of both. you’re too damn tired to make any arrests so you drink to your sorrows and ignore the ache on your face and shoulder.

he slides into your booth, opting to sit right next to you, leg bumping against yours without a care. you cast a sharp glance his way, scowling as you knock back the shot. there’s something off with him tonight; he’s much too relaxed — in all the years you’ve been pursuing him, you’ve never seen him with a devil-may-care attitude. until now.

“bold of you to assume i won’t take your head right here and now,” you say lightly, alcohol sitting heavily on your chest; you’re sure that that’s the reason why you suddenly feel out of breath, but you steel your features in his presence and trace the tip of your finger around the rim of your shot glass. you observe him through your lashes, eyes trailing along his jaw, admiring the distinct features that you can never tire of. if he was uglier, then you’d have no problem dealing with him. but he’s not. it pisses you off.

law pauses, mulls over your words, and tilts his head as he studies you. “that’s the thing,” he leans forward, crowds your space until you back yourself against the wall, wary and critical as you narrow your eyes at him. if he gets any closer, you might not be able to resist whatever nonsense he’ll tout your way. his voice is unnecessarily hypnotic, but if you voice that out loud, he’ll never let you live it down. “you’re not in a position to act right now.” how he knows that is beyond you, but you suck your teeth and roll your eyes.

“don’t test me, i’m not in the mood.” not that you ever are in the mood to deal with him, but he doesn’t need to know that. “now, leave me alone.” you’d rather ignore his presence altogether, but he’s doing that thing where he makes you squirm under his gaze; you try to hide it, but he catches the movement, eyes dipping lower as he takes in your appearance.

it's hot out and you opted for something breezy and short, sleeveless and stress free. you blame the vodka for bringing an uninvited heat to your face when he leans in again; and you blame the vodka for not giving you time to defend yourself against his sorcery. because that’s what it is — that’s what you keep telling yourself, anyway — why else would you inhale deep enough to commit his cologne to memory.

absurd. foolish. this sort of behavior will get you killed.

and yet—

he snorts — a surprise to you both — and coughs to clear his throat. “what will you do if i don’t?” you almost slap him, but keep your hands balled into fists, nails sinking into your palms to keep yourself grounded. it’s not the words that get to you, but the rich timber of his voice drips onto your skin, permeating through the layers, its huskiness mixing into your blood.

his is a voice you’ll never forget, and you hate that so fucking much.

frowning, you fold your arms against your chest, cheeks slightly puffed, that heat still lingering on your face as you try to steady your heartrate. his eyes are hawkish, raking over your body in broad sweeping motions; you watch his throat as he swallows, and suddenly you’re very aware of his proximity. you’re both silent for a long moment, but when you part your lips to speak, you choke on your words as law tugs on your plump bottom lip with his fingers.

you stare at him incredulously, but you don’t move; normally you tell him off, give him scathing words and go back and forth until you’re both too tired to continue. to make matters worse, your tongue darts out and briefly flicks against his finger. a harsh current of electricity shoots up the length of his arm, making him retract his hand quickly. he gives you a hardened stare, jaw clenched, eyes narrowing before muttering something under his breath. you catch the words, “ridiculous” and “unnecessary” and “how irritating.”

you want to point out that he’s the irritating one, but you’re still reeling from what you’ve done. shame settles onto your shoulders, makes it hard to move around. so you order another drink. you half-expect law to leave, but he doesn’t, which is strange. very, very strange. you don’t bother talking to him but find that you can’t ignore his presence any longer. his knee presses against your thigh and he leans against the palm of his hand while his elbow is propped on the table. always silently watching, crafting contingency plan after contingency plan — you’re a wildcard that needs to be dealt with. swiftly.

it must be an act of pure possession that forces him to snatch the shot glass out of your hand and chuckle darkly when you try to grab it back. the words that fly out of your mouth are tart yet welcomed; he’s comforted by that sort of behavior, because it’s predictable. and it’s your predictability that will allow him the chance to escape with his crew. when he brings the glass to his lips, you feel your annoyance reach its peak.

“don’t. you. dare.”

it's your drink, he needs to get his own. granted, you definitely don’t need to drink anymore; but you’re committed to wallowing and throwing a pity party that you don’t want law to interrupt. the vodka floods his senses as soon as its in his mouth, you watch in horror as he finishes your drink, a small smirk prancing onto his lips when he places the glass down. he’s testing your patience, you know that, however it doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his shirt, fisting the fabric as you bring your face close to his.

“the fuck did i just say? what is your damn problem?” your anger is rolls off of you — lethal and toxic, spreading through the air — but it only furthers his interest in you, although he’ll deny that later on. he’s not sure why, but he grabs your chin roughly and runs his tongue along your lips. your breath stills, and you wonder if maybe this is all a dream; since you’re properly distracted, he releases your chin and grips your neck, long fingers pressing into the sides. firm enough to make you gasp, but not hard enough to cut off your breathing completely.

you can feel your pulse skyrocket, and while you try to keep calm, you can’t; not when he traps your bottom lip in between his teeth, not when his other hand runs along the inside of your thigh, and not when you inhale sharply and lean forward to kiss him impulsively. you completely take him off guard, as he fully expected you to fight him a bit more. law rubs his thumb along your neck before squeezing it again, slanting his lips against yours, tongue stroking hotly and licking inside your mouth. you were upset he took your drink, but you can taste the alcohol on his tongue — it’s more potent than the other five shots you downed previously.

his hand inches higher, fingers gliding underneath your dress, goosebumps pricking your skin mercilessly with every swipe of his tongue. you place your hands on his chest, the warmth from your skin nearly burning through his clothes. this is a mistake; he knows it, he should’ve left you alone — but he knows that’s easier said than done. besides, you’re one of the few constants in his chaotic life right now. he kisses you to sate his growing appetite, but it’s not enough; if anything, it only stokes the mania that he keeps locked away. ravenous and unyielding; he knows better than to open that door just yet.

your lips are softer than he imagined, plush and inviting, supple enough to stir certain feelings that he continues to ignore. his annoyance still lingers as his arousal builds inside of him; he didn’t think you’d be this pliant, didn’t think you’d allow him to squeeze and caress your thigh like that. in all honesty, you just aren’t thinking; he’s taken that away from you — all your logic and sound judgement — and when the tips of his fingers graze the front of your panties, you let out a soft whimper that nearly makes him forget himself.

he swallows all your doubts and worries, gives rise to a feverish madness that whirls inside of you; turbulent, accosting in nature, a force to be reckoned with. he only meant to tease you, but in return he set himself up for failure; his cock strains inside of his jeans, the front pressing painfully against his half-stiff length. if he doesn’t stop soon, if he doesn’t find a way to purge you from his system, he might never be able to stop touching you.

law’s fingers stroke along the front of your panties, the fabric growing damp as he rubs firm circles on your clothed cunt. you nearly leap out of your skin, whine pathetically against his lips, legs spreading as he applies more pressure. a small voice in the back of his mind reminds him that he’s wasting time, but when he tugs your panties to the side, when his long fingers work their way inside of your needy hole, he forgets himself. your walls are warm and tight, and squeeze around his fingers as soon as he starts to move them.

the pace he sets is slow enough to annoy you, but you moan against his lips, he plunges his fingers deeper — enjoying the way your pussy clenches around his fingers with each thrust. impulse coats your tongue, makes you kiss him wildly to gain control of the situation; your hips roll forward, desperate to chase the high that is just outside of your reach. he pulls away, chest heaving, eyes darkening as he keeps moving his fingers; you’re left in a daze, fury rising at your inability to resist his charm and at the shameless way you let him handle your body.

it's pride that prevents you from calling out his name, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you stifle the wanton noises that rattle around the back of your throat. because he’s determined to not let you have your way, he plucks his fingers out of you and admires the way your slick wetness drips slowly down the length of his fingers. appalled and embarrassed enough to want to hide forever, you look around to make sure no one is paying any attention.

“wipe them off,” you whisper loudly. law looks at you briefly, an idea forming as he pulls you close and swipes his fingers along your lips. they glisten under the dim lighting, and you can feel a flush take hold of your entire body. before you can say anything, he licks the remainder of your arousal off his fingers and then licks your lips again.

“sweet.”  he blurts it without thinking — more so an observation than anything else, but he berates himself internally for not keeping the comment to himself.

your thoughts scatter, a shiver gliding down your back as you watch him with widened eyes. it doesn’t take long for your brain to start functioning normally again, but the residual embarrassment will stay with you for the duration of the night. after smacking his hand, you scoot away in the hopes of ridding yourself of the moment. absently, you lick your lips, mind replaying that small series of events over and over, tipping your sanity over the edge.

“go away,” you say again, as you try to quiet the thundering beats from your heart. you squeeze your thighs together, ignore the way the ache keeps growing, and hope that whatever spell he cast on you disappears once he leaves. you’re surprised that you can formulate coherent statements, as you’re still trying to sort through the haze from your arousal and your rising anger. “you had no right—”

“relax, relax,” he says nonchalantly, shoulders loose as he grins devilishly at you. “you’re making quite the scene. i’m sure you’d like to keep your identity hidden in here, right?” you swallow back your retort, eyes roaming around the pub as you take in the various pirates that have gathered there. he makes a solid point. if you cause a scene, you won’t be able to fight them all; you’d certainly try, though. he can tell. brows knitted closely together, you consider your options, but ultimately decide to back off.

“fine.” it’s difficult for you to let things go, but you don’t need anymore broken bones; your subordinates are still resting, so you can’t risk putting their lives in danger all to shut trafalgar law up. “are you done? can you leave, now?” because it unnerves you that he still hasn’t moved away.

the issue is that he doesn’t know how to leave you alone; he hates the power you hold over him, the one you wield without trying. and then you have the nerve to act clueless; he’s certain you know exactly what you’re doing, and he won’t believe otherwise. still, he shouldn’t linger any longer, because if you decide to change your mind — which, he suspects, could happen if he pushes you hard enough — then he’ll draw more attention to himself than necessary.

he takes the initiative to slide out of the booth and regards you coolly, that stoic mask he’s infamous for returning in full force. with a tilt of his head, he says, “we’ll play again another time, firefly,” and strides out of the pub without looking back at you. once the night air hits his face, a burst of clarity follows; it takes a lot for him to keep walking, to inhale through his nostrils to calm himself completely. by the time he reaches the polar tang, he’s agitated all over again. his crew mates know better than to ask questions, and he motions for them to start preparing the ship for the next voyage.

if any of your subordinates find out what happened, you’ll be ruined. still, you can’t say you detested any of it — if anything, you feel more invigorated than before.

SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE

that memory drives you to act; reminds you that you have a mission to uphold, that as a marine you must prioritize the safety of the public over whimsical fantasies about a man who intentionally tries to catch you off guard whenever possible. if the commodore caught wind that you not only let law escape, but that you kissed him too. you gather the scattered documents together and sift through them quickly; you know what is expected of you. if you don’t catch law soon, they’ll demote you; and not that you care about promotions or titles, there’s a certain level of freedom awarded at your status as a captain.

you refuse to give that up.

it doesn’t take long, but you gather a small group to travel with you to the new world; they’re not the bravest, but they’re stealthy and creative. you don’t need brash idiots who will run into battle without thinking things through — not that you have room to talk, you’re much more reckless than you let on. it takes a little more than six days to reach your destination, a lovely island full of lush plants and flowers, with lively towns and villages. you reach the island before the heart pirates do and bide your time until they discreetly dock along the coast.

it's been two months since the last time he saw you and he’s yet to find some semblance of peace because of it. while law prides himself on being able to multitask, to be able to think several steps ahead of his enemy, he can admit that you tend to divert his plans without even trying. insomnia prevents him from properly resting, although that’s due to the way his thoughts are often haunted by the memory of your lips on his. if he closes his eyes, he can still picture the way you struggled to keep quiet, the way your pussy kept sucking his fingers back in; he should be disgusted and ashamed, except he’s not.

and even as fatigue settles over his bones, weighs him down, chaining him to his bed, his mind still won’t let up. it’s because he hates you, that his cock won’t let up. he hates how you can’t seem to take a hint, hates the way you insist on chasing after him, and hates how you defy his expectations every single time. it’s almost always late at night when he dreams of you — writhing underneath him, skin littered with bite marks and bruises courtesy of the brutish way he handles you — and he’s always startled awake, desire coiling around his legs, restricting his movements as he fists his cock.

it's out of hatred and annoyance, it’s what he keeps telling himself — even after he bites his fist to keep from moaning out loud — but the lie gets harder to tell as the days go on.

bepo takes note of law’s change in demeanor, confers with penguin before confronting their captain with his theories. law sighs loudly, irritation coming to a boil, festering underneath his skin as he tries to listen calmly.

“i’m staying one step ahead,” he says smoothly, flipping through a medical textbook and ignoring the pointed looks from shachi; he’s read this book before, but they don’t need to know that. “what do you think will happen if we don’t eliminate her soon?” his notoriety has caught up with him; there’s very few islands he can frequent openly without having to worry about the navy catching him. not that he actually worries about that, but still. it’s rich, though, coming from him — and bepo almost points it out but refrains when he catches the look on law’s face, the one that chills him to his bones, makes him shrink back and keep quiet for the duration of the morning.

law grinds his teeth together, ignoring the guilt that plagues him; it’s not bepo’s fault, but he’s on edge and doesn’t see a clear way out just yet. he instructs his crew to scope out the area and set up camp; he’s not too concerned with any navy interference, but one can never be too careful on the grand line. it’s intentional when law loudly announces that he’s heading to town alone, already discovering one of your subordinates before carrying on; he leaves his first catch behind for his crew to deal with, while he waits for you to find him.

you don’t know why you thought this would be easy; infiltration is your specialty, but with this lot you’re not able to be as discreet as you hoped. you’ve had to shush a few of them several times already, much to their annoyance — although, they don’t voice that out loud, instead opting to mumble under their breaths to one another instead. you don’t care, though; you’re focused on the mission at hand. you follow law as quickly as possible, going from street to alleyway — but when you take the wrong turn, you can’t find him anywhere.

it's suspiciously quiet around you, which is when you notice that the others are nowhere to be seen. great. just great. you’ll have to scold them later, but for now, you’ll just do the job your damn self. after an hour of searching, of combing through the crowds of people in the hopes of spotting law, you nearly give up. a familiar hand grabs onto your arm and pulls you into a nearby alley. you stumble and law uses the momentum to shove you against the wall — weathered bricks crumbling as you look up at him. anger courses through you, but before you can act, he smiles slyly and confusion takes hold of your face.

“before you say anything,” he starts, voice smooth and intoxicating, “your men are being held captive.” it’s not that he cares enough to tell you, but he thoroughly enjoys the way desperately try to steel your features to appear unaffected by his news. “they’re not your usual crew,” he muses out loud, eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out if he’s missing something.

you simply shrug, opting for nonchalance — even though you can feel your heart leap out of your chest when he moves closer to you. “what can i say,” you pause, lick your lips, mind racing as you try to buy some time, “i have a lot of men under me.” an unintentional slip of the tongue, one that simultaneously impresses and infuriates him; mostly because he now has an image of you fucking other men and he doesn’t like that. at all. jealousy prompts him to keep your wrists bound together, the restraints digging into your skin as he drags you back to the shore. he could’ve easily transported both of you to the polar tang, but he wants to teach you a lesson instead. you struggle to keep up with his long strides and curse at him behind his back; although it’s mildly entertaining to him. at the thought of running, you remember his previous threat — that he’d fuck you publicly, in front of your men and his — and behave. somewhat.

your skin flushes at that, your mind wandering as you consider your options; if you let law have his way, you’ll be proving the commodore right. you refuse to let that old bastard have the last word. you don’t realize you’ve made it to the ship until you see your men being held hostage by law’s crew. if you can slip away from law long enough, you might be able to help them escape — and, as if he can sense that very thought, he glances over at you sharply, dark brow raising, almost as if he’s challenging you to do just that.

you doubt you’ve ever hated anyone as much as you hate him right now.

“two options,” he says suddenly, voice permeating the air, menacing and matter-of-factly, “i let you go and eliminate your men.” you make a face at that, the frown semi-permanent as you wonder if the second option is any better. “or, i let them go and keep you.” he hadn’t meant to say it like that, and bepo gives him a knowing look that he conveniently ignores. the answer is clear-cut, and, without hesitation, you tell him to let your men go. he smiles at that — every bit as devilish as they say — and while he half-expected your men to bargain, to plead for mercy, they don’t.

it rubs him the wrong way for some reason.

“that eager to get rid of her?” he asks them, and they remain quiet before voicing aloud the opinions they were only brave enough to tell one another. apparently, you rub people the wrong way with your polarizing views, contrary opinions on most political matters; you always need to have the last say, and while you do your best to fight on what you believe is the right side of justice, you only do so on your own terms. the men you chose for this mission never had faith in your plan, and it could be because the commodore manipulated them into double-crossing you.

is it pathetic that you didn’t see it coming? you can’t blame them for bailing, but a bitter taste seeps up your throat as you try to stay focused. law gives them three minutes to get out of his line of sight and they push one another as they scurry away. he’d threatened them earlier too, that he’d kill you if they breathed a word to headquarters. they believed him — he could tell from the way their eyes widened, from how their shoulders tensed, and from how their hands shook. he had no intention of killing you, of course, but they didn’t need to know that.

you watch them retreat and let out a humorless laugh; it’s cut short when law leans in to say, “checkmate, firefly. time to play.”

TEN. TEN. TEN!

aboard the polar tang, law endures endless questions about why you’re still alive, but law insists that he has a plan — he always has one, even though his current one is unraveling slowly. he hadn’t planned on you caving, but he assumes this is a ploy on your part so that he can lower his guard. even though he removed the restraints around your wrists, it doesn’t matter; you know you can’t escape him now. you’ll have to bide your time until you can find an opening.

it's rare for law to venture into his room before nighttime, but he makes an exception to interrogate you — or, that’s what he tells his crew. you know nothing good can come from the two of you being alone together, but you’re currently at his mercy, hoping whatever he has in store won’t be too painful. he leans against the wooden desk in his room, arms folded against his chest as he watches you — eyes hawkish, tracking your movements with precision.

“strip.”

you blink at him repeatedly, even laugh and shake your head. “absolutely not.” you know you’re in no position to try and barter your way out, but you’d like to try anyway. law, however, doesn’t give you the opportunity. he closes his eyes, inhales sharply before repeating himself — the command latches onto your skin, burns you alive once he sets his eyes on you again. you don’t think you can refuse him the second time; not out of fear, but because he’s giving you that same heated look he gave you month ago in the pub.

you tell yourself that it doesn’t matter, that you can follow whatever asinine rules he’s set for this “game” and take your time undressing. it’s that audacity that makes him want you badly, the desire nearly taking hold of every rational thought in his mind as he takes in your hips and thighs. you inhale deeply, do your best to remain in control, but feel your nipples harden under his intense gaze, turning you into some blushing fool.

“get on the bed.” he’s never shared his bed with anyone, so this is all quite new for him, but he doesn’t voice that out loud and instead takes pleasure watching the way you comply without much of a fuss. you move to the center and before you know it, law’s pushed you onto your back, hand gliding down your stomach, fingers hovering over your pussy. if you inhale deeply enough, you’ll be forever consumed by him — and you’re having great difficulty trying to convince yourself to keep on fighting.

this isn’t exactly a part of his plan, but as he’s a quick thinker he’ll improvise on the way. you should have more self-preservation, but law flicks his tongue against your pert nipple before sucking on it selfishly. you let out a startled cry and place your hands over your mouth to keep from making anymore sounds. you refuse to let him have that satisfaction, but the longer he teases your breasts, teeth grazing over your skin, the quicker your anger fizzles out. you know better than to keep indulging, to stop this before it’s too late, but your mind grows hazy once he spreads your legs and instructs you to grab onto the backs of your thighs.

despite not being a connoisseur of the fine arts, law admires the way your slick arousal glides down your slit; he wonders, briefly, if you still taste the same. you’re much too aware of your own breathing, and when law’s mouth hovers over your pussy, you almost lose your mind. “don’t move,” is all he says before running his tongue in between your folds, making your hips buck against him. “what did i just say?” he glances at you, his cock stiff beneath his pants, making it difficult to concentrate. you swallow hard and nod at him, steadying your breath as he slowly crafts a very crude love letter on your pussy with his tongue.

in between strokes of his tongue, he tosses questions your way, fully expecting you to answer as you keep holding onto your legs. in the span of two minutes, he’s already extracted a few deep confessions from you — ones that he pockets for later, to investigate further — but you’re beyond caring at this point. your body burns as you try not to move, chest heaving, teeth biting down on your lip hard. it becomes impossible to pay attention to his words, and your wetness clings to the insides of your thighs as law continues to antagonize you in the best way possible.

you’re not sure how long you last like that, but when you sift through his dark hair with your fingers and tug hard, he pulls back to give you a look before slapping your pussy. the shriek you let out quickly turns into a moan when law pinches your clit. “don’t be a brat,” he warns, voice gruff and husky. your legs shake when he slips two fingers inside of you, tongue circling and swirling around your throbbing clit, as he thrusts his fingers in and out. your stifled moans annoy him, he tells you as much before sucking harder, fingers scissoring as your walls squeeze tight. his erection is partially to blame for why he's acting irrationally, but it’s also very much your fault too.

the last time he had his fingers this deep in your pussy, you had to keep quiet, but now? he’s interested in hearing what other sounds you can make.

“don’t close your mouth, i want to hear you.”

if you weren’t so captivating and alluring, he wouldn’t have any issues; but there he is, slurping on your pussy like the delectable piece of fruit it is. it’s a rush, really, and he doesn’t stop you when you roll your hips again, enjoying the shameless way you buck against his mouth. you’re not sure if it’s the way he holds onto your thighs, fingers digging into your soft skin, or if it’s the way he moans against your cunt, that insatiable hunger raw and feral, turning him into a man possessed. you tug on his hair again, harder this time, crying out as your orgasm brings a deep shudder through you. law doesn’t let up, tongue lapping at your wetness, not bothering to wipe it off his chin.

you watch him through your lashes, face growing hot as you watch him take his clothes off too. you’re not sure what comes over you, but you pull him down for a sloppy kiss, tongue brushing against his as he rubs the thick head of his cock in between your folds. he knows that if he doesn’t fuck you soon, he might just die. or, something close to it. the kiss is all tongue and teeth — fervent and sensual. you taste yourself on his mouth and completely forget that things have gone a little too far.

and just when you think you’re close to having the advantage, he bites your lip hard enough to draw blood and flicks his tongue out; it’s a sharp, coppery taste that fuels him to kiss you all over again — a euphoric delirium, deadly and carnal. you drag your nails down the hard planes of his chest, taking your time to commit each dip and curve of his muscles to memory. rather than let vulnerability catch him off guard, he grabs your face and runs his tongue down the length of your throat.

that lust-filled haze guides you onto your knees, ass playfully rubbing against his stiff length; he grabs you roughly, teases your entrance, and inches his cock inside of you before snapping his hips against yours. law burrows his cock into your puffy pussy, your soft, gummy walls clenching as he pulls out and slams into you all over again. your moans bounce around the room, swirling around his head, making him light-headed.

his girth is every bit as imposing as he is, but you take it without much issue, hips rocking against his, fingers grabbing at his bedsheets as you arch your back. law slaps your ass before fucking you harder, watching the way his cock disappears into your pretty pussy with every stroke. you feel another orgasm approach, his thrusts brutal, but delicious, making your toes curl as you shamelessly moan his name. if he was a better man, he’d take his time with you, let you get acclimated to his size, and hand you the reins.

but he’s not; he’s a pirate, after all.

he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you towards him, leaving behind open-mouthed kisses on the side of your neck and jaw. his hips stay close to yours, strokes getting faster and rougher, pussy squelching loudly, but you don’t ask him to stop — if anything, you keep chanting more, more, more. he dips a hand in between your thighs and rubs your clit, making your body convulse, voice growing hoarse from how loud you’re being.

when you cum you’re nearly incapacitated, eyes rolling back, cunt fluttering around his thick cock, squirting as his hips knock against yours. a merciless, unrelenting tempo, one that has you melting under his touch. he doesn’t last much longer, his cum thick and hot as it pours into you, dripping down his length as his hips slow down. you can hardly move, legs completely giving out, body like jelly as you plop down onto the bed. he runs a hand down his face and looks at you, a warmth invading his chest, making it hard to breathe properly. to combat that ridiculous feeling, he tells you that he’s far from done with you and that he has no plans on letting you return to the navy. if you had more sense, if you weren’t as obsessed with trafalgar law as he is with you, then you’d find fault with his words.

he tells himself he’s doing this to teach you a lesson, to punish you for all the times you’ve interrupted his journey, but he knows the truth — and, after seeing this side of him, the one where he’s completely tossed aside that mask he wears, you also know too.

#fic request #i finally finished omg #i feel like i say that every time lmao #500+ followers event #milestone event #🍭✨🍨sticky & sweet event🧁✨🍭 #one piece smut #one piece angst #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #trafalgar law #trafalgar law smut #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x y/n #law smut #law angst #law x reader #law x y/n #law continues to remain an absolute menace *washes hands* #i just need u to know this was a labor of love (◍•ᴗ•◍) #‘i can change him’ 🥴 #real clown girl shit on reader’s part but that’s just how it is #ottersdeservelove

[fireflywitch]

california show your teeth - fireflywitch (me! hi hello)

T/142K - complete

Fourteen months after a rash of unexplained disappearances tore an Indiana town apart, a new chief of police and his very normal, nothing-to-see-here family moves to Hawkins from Lenora Hills, California.

The Weirdos from Poplar Street

MADMIKE

Argyle, Do You Copy?

Zany, Jane-y

The Body Behind the Dumpster

Dear Billy Pilgrim

The Upside Down is in Indiana

Dig Dustin

Hide and Seek, Freak

The Vanishing of Michael Wheeler

The Real Monster

XOXO, The Mind Flayer

Will the Weary

The Flea Goes Back

The Spies

Close the Motherfucking Gate

E Pluribus Unum Et Undecim

The Monster and My Brother

Epilogue: California Rest in Peace

#ten months later and ITS HERE!!! #a true labor of love #i'm so excited #st fic #willel #byler #california show your teeth

[sunshinediaz]

tease tidbit tuesday 💨

i’m at work for a few more hours but i have plans (to sleep) when i get off so i’m doing this early + am sure i’ve already shared this but i’m sharing it again in hopes i can add to it in the coming weeks!

it’s from the burning house fic (NOT to be confused with the house fire fic, mind you) which actually has a real life proper name now, teehee

"Jesus Christ, Buck." He shakes his head and laughs, ugly and mean and rueful, and stares at the photos on the fridge. "Sometimes, I think caring about you hurts worse than getting shot."

i was tagged by my loves @wikiangela, @disasterbuckdiaz, @thewolvesof1998, and @daffi-990 mwah mwah

and i’m no pressure tagging @eddiebabygirldiaz, @eddiediaztho, @callmenewbie, @callaplums, @wildlife4life, @exhuastedpigeon, @try-set-me-on-fire, @fortheloveofbuddie, @folk-fae, @giddyupbuck, @honestlydarkprincess, @jesuisici33, @loserdiaz, @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy and whoever else wants to share 🫶🏼

#this fic is sooooo heavy and not only is it a labor of love but it’s also a challenge for me to #write something that isn’t silly and do it with grace? because lbr i’m a silly goofy dude sigh #but anyway! this fic SURELY won’t be over 50k? it’s casually mapped out to the point #i have the scenes written in very minor detail but bleh #tag games