#Erica: you shouldn’t be

[lavnderwonu]

writing a wonwoo fluff drabble tonight… who is surprised…???

[unholyfudgebiscuits]

The Truth of Witches

Witches… 

Derek hates witches. 

His life was cursed enough as it was and now they had happened to stumble upon a coven? An actual coven! It had happened so quickly, the packs hadn't even had time react before they were engulfed in a plume of yellow smoke.

He guesses he should be grateful no one was hurt... Deaton had called it a lucky break but he doesn't particularly feel lucky as he stares around the room...

He hadn’t wanted to come to the Martin Lake House. Not with what the Druid had mentioned was essentially a truth spell that both his pack and McCall’s had been drenched with. He had planned to hole himself up in the loft, wanted to wait until the magic ran its course and he was safe from this… This ‘pack bonding experience’ Scott had put together. It hadn’t worked of course. 

Deaton said they needed to stay together. That the witches might come back and Derek couldn’t leave when the betas were vulnerable. It was decided to come to the lake house. Away from parents and friends and anyone not yet in the know of the supernatural of Beacon Hills. Derek had been against it and surprisingly, so had Stiles but they had both been overruled. 

So now they sat in a circle in the white room, playing a game of truth and … truth, each beta taking turns in asking the other a question. 

Derek doesn’t participate of course. Even though the members are good at boundaries and the game is surprisingly vanilla for a large group of high schoolers he’s not taking the chance. He does sit and listen though and it’s…nice, finding things out about the betas. 

How Boyd’s favorite color is yellow and Lydia’s never had a cavity. How Scott wanted to be an astronaut when he was younger and Isaac learned how to play piano from a neighbor who’d invite him over when his dad got too loud. Erica had always wanted children but was told she’d never be able to with her seizures. Kira couldn’t cook and Liam had been allergic to bees. 

It wasn’t until Lydia zoned in on Stiles that Derek felt the atmosphere shift. 

“What do you think is the most attractive thing about Derek?” 

It wasn’t a secret Stiles liked him. Stiles himself had been very vocal about it actually. Shamelessly winking at the alpha any chance he got, leaving him smily faced notes and calling him stupid nicknames of ‘My Sourwolf’ and ‘Big Bad’. It had been annoying at the beginning and then familiar and finally falling to the category of stupidly endearing. 

He didn’t growl every time the little human beta flirted with him anymore. He expected it at this point. The stupidest, cheesiest pick up lines that Derek could almost admit ended up being charming more often than not. 

He didn’t dislike Stiles. In fact, now that he was forced to be honest with himself he could admit he probably had a crush on the little goofball too. He was just… so different than anything Derek had ever imagined in a mate, he wasn’t sure how to process it. But he did like him. Really liked him… Was practically smitten with the idiot if anyone would have asked him about it under the spell. 

He’d never admit it. Not out loud. Not when he still woke up screaming from the memories of Kate and the fire. Not when he’d find himself frozen in the middle of a store isle after catching a glimpse of blond hair… When Jennifer’s real face warped over a normal passerby’s on the street... 

Stiles didn’t deserve to have a partner with that sort of baggage. Shouldn’t have to deal with the nightmares or sudden bouts of unexplained anger. When Derek would loose himself to moments of frustration and silence that were brought on by nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat... Stiles deserved someone who wasn’t damaged.

So he did what he had grown so good at doing. He buried those feelings and wants, rolled his eyes and pushed the human to an arms width degree of safety and hoped for it to pass. 

But it didn’t pass. 

Stiles was determined and with sidekicks like Lydia it was inevitable that something like this would happen. 

Derek steels himself for the answer. He had heard the string of praises before. Had stomached all he could take about what people thought or felt or wanted from his body. Maybe it had been flattering once. Maybe others thought he was conceited or narcissistic now but the compliments rung hollow at the best of times and degrading at the worst. 

He didn’t want to feel that from Stiles. Could almost taste the revulsion of it as he tried to prepare himself for the inevitable list of ‘appealing’ characteristics. 

Kate liked to gush about his ‘pretty blue’ and later ‘red eyes’ enough times to make him sick. And Jennifer ogled at his ‘incredible physique’. Even Braeden would unintentionally tell him how 'sexy' he was without knowing how the words used to turn his stomach. 

He crosses his arms and bows his head and waits to hear a similar speech as the heaviness in his chest threatens to choke him. 

“His smile.” Stiles says without missing a beat and Derek’s head whips up to meet his warm gaze.

The world stops spinning for a second because it’s the last possible thing Derek expects and the only one he’s never heard. 

“W-What?” He asks quietly. 

“I like seeing you smile. You don’t… not very often but it’s really beautiful when you do. Your eyes get all crinkly and you have a little dimple on your left side.” Stiles said matter of factly. Derek can’t make himself breathe, can’t stop looking at the human sitting across from him. “It’s my favorite thing, when I can get you to laugh.” Stiles says with a grin.

Derek's whole body shudders, a knot forming in his throat and he stands so quickly the chair he's sitting on topples over. He can't blink fast enough to stop the sudden wave of tears so he turns, rushing out of the room and into the cool night air.

Stiles follows a few minutes later, finding him leaning heavily against the fence railing.

“Derek? I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t.” He says, shaking his head as he stares out over the lake. “Y-You didn’t… I just…” But he can’t explain it. He doesn’t know how to say what he really wants to say and Stiles stands patiently  as he digs his claws into fists. “No ones ever…” 

Stiles takes a tentative step towards him. “Ever… liked your smile?” He asks gently and Derek shrugs. 

“I guess no one ever cared if I did smile.” 

A look of anger shutters across Stiles' face before it flickers back to concern and he moves closer. He cautiously reaches to touch Derek’s hand, the movement startling the other enough to turn and Stiles tugs gently at his fingers. Blood drips down onto the gravel and it takes longer than it should for Derek to loosen his grip.

“I do.” Stiles says. “I care.” Derek nods weakly.

“Its not because I’m in love with you Derek.” Derek whips his head to look over at him and Stiles rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I mean, I am… In love with you that is. But that’s not why I said it. I mean before all that. Before anything else you’re my friend and I just want you to be happy. Even if I’m not the one that makes you happy…I just wanted you to know that.” 

It would be easy for Derek to scoff and shake it off and tell himself that humans lie. Any other time… But he can still feel the warmth of magic rushing through his veins and when he himself opens his mouth to tell him it doesn’t matter he can’t. The spell won’t let him because the truth is, it does matter. It matters more than anything and the truth is, that Stiles is being honest. Completely honest. And Stiles doesn’t lie, not even without the witches’ influence. 

It takes a moment for Derek to anchor himself back to reality but he realizes that Stiles does make him happy. And that he wants Stiles to be happy too. Despite his head and past experiences and cursed family name telling him it's a bad idea...

He reaches towards his hand this time, linking their fingers together and when Stiles gives him a wink he returns it with a smile.

[abibliphobiac]

Guys, I hate to break it to you, but I’m rewatching Teen Wolf as an adult and:

-Derek isn’t an interesting or even good character til like season 3

-Isaac and Allison shouldn’t have been a thing (but could’ve been something w Scott 👀)

-Boyd and Erica should’ve had more time and been flushed out more

-Kora felt very thrown-in and wasn’t given any respect frfr

-Isaac my Beloved sassy man you are missed every scene you’re not present

-ALL of the characters should have been flushed out more (but oh well, ig that’s what fanfic is for)

-Peter pisses me The Fuck off

-The storylines are so ???

-Some of the scenes are corny as HELL

-Some of the scenes are COLD AS FUCK bruh

-Stiles and Malia were actually really great together imo

-Malia is so fuckin funny on god

-Dylan O’Brien is. THE actor fr

-I really like Scott and Lydia’s friendship and would’ve liked it to be explored more 💕 (platonically)

-Stiles needed the time away from Lydia to love her in a way that wasn’t toxic or obsessive (and yet still has some concerning tendencies)

-EVERY. SINGLE. FEMALE. CHARACTER. Deserved so much more development and time without a male counterpart. Period.

-Especially Kira, Braeden, and Lydia

-PUT SOME RESPECT ON KIRA and please 🧎🏻‍♀️ let overpowered characters BE OP and not two hits and down fr

-I need more Dread Doctors content in my life for Reasons™️ and I will not be elaborating unless asked

-Theo is a character that exists almost solely in The Grey and y’all ain’t ready to have a civil conversation about how well Cody played the nuances of him

-Hayden is fine, Hayden and Liam is ? such a high school relationship I can’t complain but I don’t love

-the beast was 🤣 like cmon guys

-Ducalien👌🏼 (but not the cgi)

-Theo and Liam are a Fantastic duo, romantic or not (but they should’ve been canon ngl)

-We deserved more Mason content TBH

-Also, Corey? I better not see any hate for that little shithead ya hear? He’s my annoying little brother and I’ll protect him and Morey til I die.

- more puppy pack was A NEED in general

And so much more that I can’t articulate at the moment.

[lavenderstobins]

Eddie’s in danger.

He knows he’s in danger because there is a four year old beelining for him, trying very hard to appear like she’s not rapidly advancing towards him.

When Josie finally stops, she’s right in front of him.

He has no idea what might’ve spurred this. Best to play it safe. “Hey, kiddo.”

Josie blinks innocently at him. “You broked Steve’s mug.”

Shit. The mug. It had been an accident—he’d balanced it too precariously when he’d been doing the dishes and it had slipped. They have plenty of mugs so it shouldn’t have been an issue, except… it was Steve’s lucky mug.

Steve loves that mug. He always drinks out of it if he needs the good luck that day and swears that it never fails him. If he sees it has broken, he’d take it as a sign of, like, the worst luck ever, and that would be the end of that.

The break had been clean, at least. The pieces are currently hidden away in a shoebox until he has time to get the glue to fix it. It’ll be an easy enough fix, so Steve should be none-the-wiser.

Except.

“The luck mug,” Josie continues, presumably trying to raise an eyebrow but instead raising both of her eyebrows high up her forehead. It takes everything inside him not to snort at the sight.

“I’m fixing it,” he replies. Maybe this can be a lesson about white lies, or doing good, or something. There’s probably a lesson here, right? “Steve won’t know it ever broke.”

Josie blinks up at him again. “Be shame if he did.”

Eddie’s smile fades. “What?”

“Be shame if Steve knew you broked his mug,” she repeats, fixing him with a stare that’s oddly reminiscent of Erica.

Is he… is he being blackmailed by a child?

“Josie,” he starts, leaning forward so that they’re eye-to-eye and taking on a desperate tone. “You can’t tell Steve, okay? Nobody can know about the broken mug.”

She sighs heavily. It would be comical if not for the way his heartbeat has increased.

“I know,” she says, shaking her head. “But maybe I not know.”

“Don’t know,” he corrects, then squints. “What do you mean?”

“I know you broked his mug, Deedee.” Her tone is serious. “For Baby Sapphire, I not know. Baby Sapphire make it go—” She mimes an explosion with her hands, puffing out her cheeks. “Bye-bye.”

“Baby— What?”

Josie pulls out a crumpled catalogue page out of her pocket and holds it out. On it, in the corner, is a small, bug-eyed, blue plastic horse labelled Baby Sapphire. It’s the ugliest thing he’s ever seen. The nose isn’t even long enough for the horse to breathe. It’s like the pug of ponies.

Eddie looks up, meeting Josie’s pointed stare. It’s a battle he knows he’s already lost.

“Not a word,” he instructs, tucking the paper into his pocket. Josie brightens, beaming up at him, then skips away, merry as ever.

This is his life now. Blackmailed by a preschooler.

—

“Did you know Josie’s resorted to blackmail now?” Eddie says offhandedly. He’s sitting on the kitchen counter as Steve chops carrots, watching Josie play with her new toy from his view of the living room doorway.

“Earlier than I expected, honestly,” Steve says, not looking up. “What did she have on you?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh, not on me.” Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “I watched her extort Mike earlier.”

Steve glances at him, frowning. “Mike’s been out of Hawkins for two days.”

Fuck.

“I think Robin’s calling for me, actually.” Eddie slides off the counter, backing away as Steve’s eyebrows raise in amusement. “I’d love to continue this conversation, but, duty calls.”

“Robin’s out with Max!” Steve calls as Eddie makes a hasty retreat to the living room. “You’re fooling nobody, babe!”

Josie looks up as Eddie closes the door behind him, ugly horse in hand. Moments later, Steve opens the door again, one hand on his hip.

“What did you do?” He swivels from Eddie to Josie. “Josie, sweetie, what did Deedee do?”

Eddie stares at Josie, practically feeling the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Josie shrugs, still playing. “I no know.”

He’s filled with relief. Steve doesn’t look convinced.

“Are you sure?” he presses. “It’s important to tell the truth, Josie.”

She stops, then, squinting up at him. “Always?”

“Always,” Steve confirms.

“Like when you said Bel eated Mama’s food but it was you?”

Steve falters, mouth falling open. A huge grin spreads across Eddie’s face.

“You what?” Eddie asks delightedly. “Stevie, you didn’t blame our cat for eating Robin’s leftovers!”

“Okay, you know what?” Steve holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back. “Keep your secrets. Let’s not ask questions anymore.”

Eddie’s already laughing, though. “Steve, Rob almost took Bel to the vet because she thought she’d eaten fried rice.”

“I know!”

“And you offered to drive her there!”

“I know!”

—

[now on ao3]

[beckwritesfiction]

Forbidden Lab Partners

pairing: Isaac Lahey x Female Reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: Minors, do not interact! brief mentions of reader being abducted, porn with a plot, reader is a virgin, teen angst, mutual masturbation, dry humping, setup for part two

author's note: This is my first request in a while, but I did promise this to an antonymous reader months ago. See the post here. I'm inspired again, so here it is! This wasn't beta read, so excuse any errors. I was my own beta reader, which sometimes means missing a few mistakes.

It was hard for you to wrap your head around Scott McCall, the guy who you grew up with, being a werewolf. Your twin brother, Stiles, was his best friend, and it meant you were around him a lot. It was hard for Stiles and Scott to hide the truth from you for as long as they did, but Stiles thought it was for the best, and kept the secret to protect you. It was easier when you knew the truth, especially when it came to covering for Stiles with your dad.

Isaac Lahey wasn’t a stranger to you. He was your lab partner first and, at the command of Derek to get leverage over Scott and Stiles, your kidnapper for a short period of time. Scott saving you and Stiles’ crisis about what would’ve happened had you gotten hurt was how you found out the truth about werewolves. It also made you fear Isaac, which you didn’t think was possible. He was the nice, quiet guy who was way better at science than you. There were many times when you noticed the bruises, but you were far too afraid to bring it up.

His sharp turn from quiet loner to bad werewolf was disappointing to you—no matter how many times he insisted that Derek told him, Erica, and Boyd that they shouldn’t actually hurt you. It had been weeks since the incident, and the last thing you heard about Isaac was from Stiles: he was staying with Scott.

Your lab partner was sick, and instead of sitting with someone from the lacrosse team like he had for a while, Isaac sat beside you.

“Hey,” he said, his tone resembling the Isaac you knew; not the one Derek had created.

“Hi,” you replied, deciding it was best to leave it at that. He had something to say, and it was best to let him say it.

“I know I’m not really supposed to talk to you after what happened, so I’m sorry if I’m bothering you. I just… I wanted you to know that I wasn’t really thinking about anything other than doing what I was told. I didn’t realize I had a choice until Scott showed me that I do. I’m sorry about what I did. I should’ve told you we were going to hurt you when I took you that day.”

“I’m not that good of an actress, so I probably would’ve ruined your plan.”

“I’m still really sorry. You were the nicest person to me before people started noticing me. I was too afraid to talk to you back then beyond mitochondria and bacteria. I wish I would’ve.”

“That would’ve made it harder for me to forgive you.”

“You forgive me?” he asked hopefully.

“Everyone makes mistakes. Probably not on such a large scale, but not everyone has the problems you have. So sure,” you assured him. “And now the tables have turned. Well, maybe not. No one ever noticed me. Then or now. It’s the Stilinski curse.”

“I did,” Isaac admitted. “I do.”

All you could do was look at him. You were so surprised. Isaac wasn’t sure how to interpret the look on your face, so he added very quickly, “Sorry. I didn’t intend on making a move when I came over here. I really just wanted to tell you that I regret what I did, and I’m sorry. And if I could do it all over again, I’d be the one saving you, not throwing you in the back of a car.”

“Oh, so you’re making a move?” you asked with a smile. His smile was uncontrollable, and he had to look away at the board.

“You probably shouldn’t. Stiles said you’re not allowed to talk to me. And I’d definitely have a hard time following that rule if you asked me to hang out with you.”

“You wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from meeting me later to work on our project together? We’re lab partners again, right?”

“I don’t have a car, so you’d have to pick me up,” you said, your heart beating quickly. He made you nervous, and it would be a lie if you said he always made you this nervous. He was cute before, but now there was something so different about him. The bite that turned him into a werewolf not only gave him confidence, but a few more inches in height, and possibly even more toned arms. You went to all of Stiles’ games, even if he warmed the bench most of the time. You’d noticed Isaac’s arms before. And they were very different post-bite.

“I don’t, either,” he replied, looking a little conflicted.

“You’re… what you are now,” you decided to say, resisting the urge to say werewolf in public. “If you really want to, you’ll find a way to my house. My dad’s working overtime right now, and Stiles asked me to cover for him in case Dad comes home early. That means he’ll be out super late.”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod, biting back a smile.

The first time he was in your room, there was a certain tension that neither of you could ignore. He kept his distance, and you appreciated that at first. You actually did your work, and he helped you even when you didn’t need it. It became a regular thing, and you met so many nights in a row that you did most of the project when you still had weeks before the due date.

On the fifth night, he moved your hair out of your face when you were reading beside him on your bed.

“Do I scare you?” he asked. You hadn’t flinched, but your lack of effort in finding ways to touch him was a little discouraging.

“For a while you did. But it wasn’t just you. It was a really fucked up way of learning that your brother’s best friend, who’s really like a brother at this point, is a werewolf, and so is your lab partner, and that guy with a beard that sometimes shows up for reasons that aren’t obvious to you.” You rambled on a normal basis, but you rambled even more when you were nervous. “It was just a lot for a while. But no, you don’t scare me.”

“Were you just waiting for me to make the first move, then?”

You averted your gaze, laughing nervously. “I don’t really… I mean, maybe. Yeah, I guess so.”

“You just tried to say like three things at once and all of them are confusing to me. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to hang out with me like this.”

“I’ve just never really hung out with anyone in any capacity other than the literal sense of just hanging out. So when you look at me and make the world’s most intense eye contact, it freaks me out because it seems like something else should follow. And I’ve never done that before. So, it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that I… feel like I’m going to embarrass myself. So I avoid it because it’s easier than having this conversation.”

“Wow,” Isaac said, surprised by your honesty, and how quickly you spoke. “Well, I’m not trying to have sex with you. So don’t be nervous about that. Just because I look at you doesn’t mean that’s the immediate next step. I’ve never done that, either, so—”

You got to your feet, the embarrassment of the moment overwhelming. Being on your bed with him was unbearable.

“No. No. Um,” you stopped, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t think because you flashed your hot werewolf eyes at me that you wanted to rip my clothes off and have sex with me. I was talking about something way tamer. You know, like the time you do ten steps before sex.”

Isaac sat up, moving to the edge of your bed. “That’s fine. If it makes you feel any better I’ve never kissed anyone because I really wanted to.”

“Was… traumatic for you?” you asked, trying to be sensitive despite the burning in your cheeks.

“What? No. Not like that. I meant that it was all for show,” he assured you.

You sighed, relieved. “Oh, okay. Good. I thought this was moving in a much more depressing direction. Something even more depressing than me being sixteen and never having kissed a boy.”

He got up, towering over you in your tiny room filled with your childhood memories and very specific interests.

“You’re working yourself up. I can hear your heart racing,” he said.

“You can hear that?” you asked, panicked. Your heart raced a lot because of a lot of things he did. Sometimes even stupid things that were embarrassing for anyone to know that you found hot.

“Yeah. Werewolf stuff. It’s cute, though.”

Isaac took this rare moment—one where you were rendered speechless—to kiss you. He moved his hands to your face, and leaned down to kiss you. It wasn’t until that moment that you realized just how much taller he was than you. When you kissed him back, initially a little unsure of yourself, your instincts made you move onto your tiptoes. Just as you felt as though you were really getting into it, he stopped.

“Pulling away to see a frown isn’t the most encouraging thing,” he said, smiling.

“Well, I didn’t really want you to stop. Couldn’t you hear that while eavesdropping on my heartbeat?”

He laughed. “I don’t do it on purpose. I can’t help it. It’s just… sort of there.”

“Alright. Well, why don’t you eavesdrop while you kiss me?”

When he kissed you again, you expected it. What you didn’t expect was for him to move his hands to your waist, then go lower until he was able to pick you up. Being level with him was very different, and once you got over the initial shock of being picked up, you kissed him even harder. Everything you ever read about now made sense. It did feel electric, and you didn’t want it to end.

Isaac waited a short period of time before he put you down on the bed, moving so that he was on top of you. Instinctively, you parted your legs, making room for him to be even closer to you. You found that you liked the weight of him against you, and he liked that feeling, too.

His hand caressed your leg until he moved back to your waist. It made you think that you should touch him, too. Before your mind could explore all options and choose the best one, his lips began to shift. The unfamiliar sensation of someone kissing your neck was definitely something you liked. Your heart skipped a beat, and a pang of warmth spread through your body. You moaned, surprising yourself. His grip on your waist tightened, and it made you move your hand to his hair.

Your fingers grasped at his short curls when the kisses turned into something more dangerous. There was a chance, as he sucked gently at the soft skin of your neck, that he could leave marks. But neither of you were thinking like that.

The only thing that stopped him was something completely unintentional on your part. You were so lost in the moment that you—or, more accurately, your body—wanted more. You shifted your hips, grinding yourself against him. Then you stiffened, and he pulled away so he could look at you.

“I want to die right now,” you blurted out. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“But you want that?” he asked, searching your eyes. You had no choice but to look at him, and you could tell that he wanted you. That was a confidence boost that you didn’t even know you needed. All you could do was nod.

He went back to kissing you, grabbing your hips and repositioning you so you were pressed against him perfectly. The way you gasped made him kiss you even harder. He moaned, too, and the feeling of him moaning while kissing you was exhilarating. You were doing that to him?

Any over-analyzing was impossible when he moved his hips, his large bulge pressing against your core. The sensation was not unfamiliar to you, but it was unfamiliar to have someone else doing it for you. The sighs that escaped your lips only made him continue, and his grasp on your thigh tightened every time it was a moan instead.

Your arm wrapped around his neck, and it only made his muscles more evident. Just as you felt lightheaded—the friction he’d created built up a tension that made every part of you feel heavy and extremely needy—he stopped.

“I just need a second,” he said, embarrassed. He was a werewolf but it somewhat didn’t help his stamina in this case.

You were a virgin, but you were not clueless. “Just keep going. I don’t care.”

Isaac knew that continuing would mean there was a chance he’d have to figure things out for you after, but it was too tempting to worry about that. When it seemed like he was going to kiss you, he bowed his head, burying his face in your neck. Not to kiss you there, but to stifle his groans.

It was undeniably hot, even if it was less than a minute before he came, still moving against you as it happened. Male orgasms weren’t something you’d ever seen or completely understood, but you liked it. You moved your fingers through his hair, unsure if it was what he wanted, but hoping it was. You liked the way he moved so desperately, sporadic as he came down from his high.

He lifted his head, his face flushed. It made you smile, and he mirrored your expression.

“I’m not going to be the guy that asks you if you came,” he said. “Sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologize for doing the thing you do when you… do this.”

This time, it was you that kissed him. You had no intention of judging him, especially not when what he was apologizing for turned you on even more. He grabbed your waist again, and moved so that you were on top of him. The idea of it was more intimidating than how it felt. It wasn’t clear if it was what he thought you were going to do when he switched positions, but he didn’t protest when you moved onto his leg. In fact, he sat up, leaning against your wall. You liked it better that way, and you didn’t know if he guessed or if he’d sensed it.

Kissing him was enough to pick up where you left off, but when he moved his hand into your hair, and gently gathered some in his hand, that was enough to earn another moan. The movement of your hips on his leg ensured that it wasn’t the last. He almost couldn’t believe it was happening when just one week ago he was banned from speaking to you. He still was, but you were breaking that rule together. And you were doing a lot more than breaking it.

You only stopped kissing him when you were close to finishing, unable to focus on anything other than maintaining the rhythm that was getting you there. You closed your eyes, tightening your hold on him. Your chest pressed against his, and he couldn’t ignore that feeling that did to him. His hands guided your hips, wanting to grab you, yet knowing you didn’t need the help. Him touching you like this was enough, and your orgasm washed over you, lasting longer than you expected. It was intense; blurring your vision and leaving you breathless. It was only when it was over that you considered you might’ve been loud. Your thighs burned as you got off of him.

“Do you… do that a lot?” he asked, not thinking before he spoke. He had looked at you too long, too transfixed on how you looked when you were on top of him.

“What do you mean?” you asked, even though you were pretty sure that you knew. You didn’t want to tell him that you did, and he think you did it with other guys before him.

“You know…” he trailed off, fixing your hair. “You just seemed like you knew what you were doing. I liked it.”

“I’m a virgin. I don’t have a lineup of guys on speed dial,” you replied, making a joke feeling like the only way you could talk about it.

“I could be. I really like you, and I liked this.”

“I think you’re underestimating how often I do it.”

“I’m not that far away.”

You couldn't believe you were talking about this, but you felt comfortable enough with him to, and that meant something.

“Is that all you want? I just want to know before I overthink this. I overthink everything.”

“No. Unless that’s all you want.”

“We’re not even supposed to be talking. Scott said he’d rip your throat out if you even looked at me again.”

“Doesn’t that just make you want it even more? We’ll go on a secret date. I’ll figure something out. No one will know.”

You couldn't fight the smile that appeared at the idea of that.

“If we did this before our first date, then what are we doing after?”

“Hopefully something where I don’t cum in my underwear in the first few minutes.”

You laughed, then moved closer to him. “I liked it. Watching it happen, I mean. It helped me along, I guess you could say. I can’t wait for the real thing.”

He tensed momentarily, then said, “You have to. Someone’s in the driveway. I should go.”

Isaac kissed you one last time, then went out your window. It wasn’t how you thought your day was going to go, but it seemed like it would be hard to top.

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part two)

(part one)

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there in silence, waiting. It’s making him insane. The seconds pass too slow; the seconds pass too fast. His mind is a storm; his mind is empty. He’s feeling too much; he’s not feeling at all. He paces the room; he sits catatonically against a wall. He needs to get out of here; he needs to stay. 

He’s been here before, just barely over a week ago, tense and anxious and despairing and waiting for news. But waiting to hear if Eddie will ever remember him again really should not feel this much worse than waiting to hear if Eddie will ever fucking breathe again. Steve thinks there must be something wrong with him. He’s being selfish and stupid. His pathological fucking need to be loved is not what’s important right now. Eddie is alive and awake and okay and that’s the only thing that really matters. That’s the only thing he should really care about.

Steve’s pacing again now, yanking his hands through his hair as he does laps around the room until Eddie finally appears in the doorway. 

Eddie must’ve just cracked a joke or something because the nurse is laughing as she pushes his bed into the room and he’s got this adorable grin on his face. Steve’s heart twists in his chest and he nearly bursts into tears all over again because god does he want nothing more than to press a kiss to those dimpled cheeks. 

“Good news, boys,” Eddie announces. “My brain is fully intact.”

“There’s no physical permanent damage to his brain,” the nurse elaborates. “His amnesia is likely a result of psychological trauma and the temporary disruption of brain function from blood loss and lack of oxygen that occurred at the time of his injury. But there is no obvious reason why he shouldn’t regain his full memory, given time.” 

So there’s hope. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. 

“That is good news,” Wayne agrees. 

Steve asks, “How much time?” 

The nurse gives an unhelpful shrug. “Impossible to say. It could be anywhere from days to months, or even years. I’m sorry, there’s no way for us to know.” 

Years. “Okay.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He can keep it together. He can. “Thanks,” he tells the nurse. “I, uh-” He makes the mistake of looking at Eddie who looks right through him, and Steve can’t keep it together anymore actually. “I gotta update the kids,” he mutters, backing his way towards the door. Wayne nods in acknowledgment; no protests this time at Steve’s excuse to leave.

“See ya, Harrington,” Eddie calls after him, casual, impersonal, like they're nothing more than acquaintances passing by each other in a high school hallway.  

Steve can’t get out of that hospital fast enough. 

He makes it to his car in record time, slamming the door shut and sinking heavily into the driver’s seat. A ragged sob tries to claw its way up his throat now that he’s finally alone, but he forces it back, staving off his breakdown for just a little bit longer. As much as it was an excuse, he really does have to update the kids. 

Steve fishes his walkie out of the glove box. “Code - whatever, I don’t know. Code Eddie,” he says. He doesn’t remember the kids’ system of codes, nor would he be sure which one this news falls under even if he did. 

“Is he okay? Is he awake?” comes an immediate, eager response from Dustin. “Over.” 

“Yeah, he’s awake, and he’s fine, except he’s got pretty bad amnesia. The doctors say it should be temporary, but right now he doesn’t remember anything since May of ‘85,” Steve explains, trying his best to keep his voice even.

“Steve, come pick me up and take me to see him,” Dustin demands, “right now. Over.” 

“Me too. Over,” Mike chimes in before Steve can respond. 

“And us,” Erica adds as well. 

Steve pauses for a second, both to steady his own breath and to make sure no one else wants to jump in on this too, before he reminds them, “He won’t know you, any of you.” 

“I don’t care,” Dustin says, bossy as ever. “Just come get me. Over.” 

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Steve mutters to himself. He sucks in another breath; it wobbles dangerously. He’s just about reached his limit on how long he can keep himself from falling apart. “I- I need a minute, alright?” he manages through the walkie. “Can you just give me, like, an hour? And then I’ll take you guys to visit Eddie.” 

Steve doesn’t wait for a response before he slams the antenna closed, tosses the walkie aside, and finally, finally lets himself shatter. That sob rips free from his throat, followed by another and another and another. Tears flood from his eyes; his nose runs. It’s an ugly, gross, visceral cry that leaves him exhausted and raw and aching to be held by the time the last sob shudders out of him. Drained and hollow, he craves the embrace of someone who knows him, someone who loves him. 

He sweeps up his broken pieces, wipes the mess of tears and snot off his face, and drives to Robin’s house.

“Steve, oh my god.” Robin pulls him into a hug the second she opens the door and sees the look on his face. Steve clings to her. “What happened?” 

“Eddie’s awake,” he mutters dismally. 

“Oh! Not the tone I’d expect you to deliver that news in, but okay.” Robin pulls back, looking at him with narrow-eyed concern and confusion as she analyzes his puffy eyes and red nose and swollen lips. “And you look like you’ve just been crying because…?”

“Because he doesn’t remember me, Rob,” Steve sighs. “He doesn’t remember anything from the past 11 months.” 

Robin’s eyes go wide now. “Shit,” she says, so plainly it startles a short laugh out of Steve. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shit.” 

She asks him more questions as she walks down the hallway so they can talk in her room. Steve once again reiterates what was said at the hospital. 

“So you didn’t tell him you two were a thing?” Robin asks, closing her door behind them. 

“Of course I didn’t.” Steve flops back onto her bed. “I didn’t want to spook him.” 

She sits beside him. “You didn’t want to spook him,” she repeats, looking down at him with raised eyebrows, “but you told him about Vecna.” 

“Well, yeah. I just-” He lifts his arms to gesture vaguely into the air as he tries to explain himself. “I mean, imagine how you would feel if you woke up in a hospital and some random guy you’ve spoken to maybe twice was by your bedside telling you you’ve been in a relationship with him for the past 9 months.” 

“Uh, I don’t know, dingus, probably about the same as I’d feel if said guy told me I’d nearly died fighting some evil twisted creature from a hell dimension,” Robin retorts.

Steve drops his hands onto his chest with a huff, shaking his head. “No, trust me. He seemed far less surprised by that than he did to hear that we were even just friends,” he says, a bit bitterly. Tears are pricking at his eyes again as he looks up at his best friend. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me, Robin. All he saw was King Steve.”

Robin softens, snark replaced with sympathy. “That sucks, Steve. I’m so sorry.” 

Steve sighs in agreement that yes this really fucking sucks. He sits up and scoots back so that he’s slumped against the wall, hitting the back of his head against it. “I think I’m a horrible person,” he admits, just venting now, “because of course I’m glad Eddie’s alive and all I really want is for him to be okay, and I know the nurse said he should remember eventually, but there’s still some sick part of me that thinks maybe it would’ve hurt less if he had just died.”

“I don’t think that makes you a horrible person,” Robin assures him as she settles next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “I think you’re just grieving, and grief is weird sometimes.”

“It was one of the worst things I’ve ever felt,” he mutters, “when he looked at me without recognition. To see it on his face, just the- the absence of everything that we’d built. I’ve never felt so- so- I don’t know, it was like I couldn’t breathe. He just- he doesn’t know that I love him. He…he doesn’t know that he loved me...” 

Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s not that he’s lost someone that he loves, it’s that he’s lost someone who loves him. Because Eddie’s not gone, just his love for Steve is, and that’s what’s tearing him apart. It’s the fact that there’s one less person in the world who loves him. It’s the fact that Steve’s got this big gaping hole inside of him that’s always made him so desperate to be loved, liked, wanted, needed; and his biggest fucking fear is becoming obsolete. He could probably trace it back to his parents, the first to forget him, the first to stop loving him, but the fact remains that now Eddie has fulfilled that fear too. Now Eddie has carved that pit a little deeper, a little darker, validating the voice that whispers within it and tells Steve that he is forgettable, unlovable, so easy to abandon and erase. 

“Well, I love you,” Robin tells him, like she can read his mind (which, at this point, she probably can). She slides an arm around his shoulders, hugs him close. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

Fragile as he is right now, Steve falls apart again in her arms, and she holds him together. Because she knows him, because she loves him.

It’s a quieter cry this time, soft and sniffly. Whereas the last one wracked through his body and left him fatigued, this one flows from him almost gently, and when his tears finally subside and he lifts his head from where it had been buried in his friend’s shoulder, Steve actually feels a little bit better, a little bit stronger. Which is good, because he’s gonna have to face Eddie again soon. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly as he pulls away from Robin, wiping at his eyes and glancing at the clock on her nightstand. It’s definitely been an hour by now, probably more. He stands. “I have to go, I promised the kids I’d take them to see Eddie.” 

“Then I’m coming too.” Robin stands with him. “For moral support.” 

Steve gives her a grateful smile. “I love you so fucking much, you know that?” 

“Yeah.” She grins at him. “I know.” 

~ 

The nurses have changed his bandages and upped his morphine, so Eddie’s considerably hazy now but at least he can raise his headrest and prop himself up a bit without nearly blacking out from pain. He’s boredly flicking through channels on the shitty TV in front of him, alone since Wayne had to leave for work, when Harrington returns followed by a very unexpected group consisting of Robin Buckley and four strange children. 

“Sorry,” Harrington announces their presence with an apologetic shrug, “I know you don’t know them anymore, but they insisted.” 

“Eddie!” a pudgy, curly-haired kid shouts before Eddie can even react, coming barrelling towards him and trying to hug him. 

“Ow!” Eddie yelps, pain flaring even through the extra morphine. “Fucking Christ, kid! Be careful!” 

The kid jumps back immediately, eyes wide. “Shit. Sorry.” 

“S’fine,” Eddie grumbles.

The kid looks at him expectantly for a moment before seeming to realize, “Oh, right, you don’t remember me. I’m Dustin.” 

“Ah, so you’re the guy I sacrificed myself for,” Eddie mutters, and Dustin looks a little sheepish. That means these must be ‘the kids’ Harrington had been talking about earlier. He surveys the group for a second. “Actually, I think we have met before,” he tells Dustin. “And you too.” He glances at a pale, dark-haired kid. The other two - a Black boy with a flat-top and a younger Black girl - look less familiar, though. “There was this, uh, open day thing at the high school for next year’s incoming freshmen; I talked to you about Hellfire.”

“Yeah!” Dustin’s whole face lights up, so bright and infectious it makes Eddie grin too. “Yeah, you did!” 

“So you guys joined the club, then?” 

This sparks a very animated conversation about D&D, the rest of the kids (Mike, Lucas, and Erica, as they soon reintroduce themselves) gathering around his bed now too to join in. It makes him feel a bit more like himself again, familiar, normal. Except, of course, for the fact that they’re not only talking about how they defeated Vecna in Eddie’s “totally epic” and “sadistic” campaign (adjectives courtesy of Dustin and Mike respectively), but also filling in more pieces of the story of how they defeated him in real life too. Still, it’s nice, fun. He totally understands how he could’ve gotten attached to these kids.

At some point, Eddie glances over to find Harrington hanging back and just watching them talk, fondly, wistfully. Robin whispers something to him and he sort of smiles, just a trace, and whispers something back. They seem close, intimate. Eddie wonders if they’re dating, and then he wonders why that thought makes him feel a bit sick. He waves them over. Harrington looks like he’s about to protest, but Robin gives him a Look and he allows her to grab his hand and drag him to join the crowd around Eddie’s bed. 

“So, what’s your deal, Buckley?” Eddie asks her. He doesn’t know her very well, they’ve only crossed paths a few times in the bandroom, but right now that makes her the most familiar person in the room to him. “Are you and Harrington a thing now? Is that how you’re involved in all this?” 

Robin wrinkles her nose and drops Harrington’s hand. “Ew, no. Definitely not.” 

“She’s my best friend,” Harrington says. 

Eddie snorts, doesn’t know why he finds that so comical. (He’s starting to get tired and it’s making him loopy. Or maybe it’s just the morphine.) “You've got a funny choice of friends nowadays, don’t you? Me and band geek Buckley and a bunch of nerdy freshmen.” He looks at Harrington with incredulous amusement. “Who would've thought, huh? Steve Harrington, collector of geeks and freaks.” 

Harrington doesn’t seem to find it as funny. He shrugs. “Yeah, well, it’s better than King Steve, collector of asshole bullies and shallow one-night stands.” 

“Yeah, ‘course it is,” Eddie agrees through another huff of laughter that breaks off into a yawn. “Didn’t mean it as a bad thing, Stevie. Was a compliment.” 

“Alright.” The barest hint of a smile flickers across Harrington’s face now, but then he’s looking away and corralling the kids and saying, “We should head out, let you get some rest.” 

And Eddie kind of wishes he’d stay.

(part three!)

taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy (only tagged people who explicitly asked to be tagged; if you would like to be added or removed from this list please lmk!)

[mrspasser]

I'll lay my head down here

Sterek fanfiction Stiles needs a place to sleep. He chooses Derek.

Also available on A03.

image source

“I’m not sleeping on the floor again, you assholes!” Stiles throws a balled up burger wrapper at the infuriating werewolves who took over his intended sleeping space. 

Isaac bats the greasy paper ball away with a quick flick of his hand, hardly having to look at it. “You snooze, you lose, Stilinski,” he says meanly, as he snuggles deeper inside the couch pillows to drive his point home. “Besides, I gave up my bed, I shouldn’t be the one to sleep on the floor.”

Stiles perks up when an idea crosses his mind. Upstairs, in Isaac’s room, are Lydia and Cora. Maybe he could -

“Don’t even think about it, Stilinski!” Jackson cuts his unspoken thought off with one sharp remark. He glares at him from his spot on the couch he’s sharing with Isaac: one asshole werewolf on each side. The guy is extra touchy because Lydia picked Cora as a sleeping partner over him - which is more than fair, if you ask Stiles, both Lydia picking Cora over Jackson and Jackson being sour over getting the cold shoulder from his girlfriend.

“I’m sorry, Stiles, I don’t think you’ll fit,” Allison offers apologetically from his right. She’s squeezed in the large armchair with Scott, who’s already fast asleep and snoring softly. 

He waves her offer away. If he’d try to squish himself in the chair with them, neither one of them would sleep a wink all night. Same goes for the couple in the other available chair, although Stiles is more sure to survive the night with Scott and Allison than with Boyd and Erica. That only leaves - 

“You could try Derek?” Allison blinks innocently at him. 

Stiles huffs a laugh, letting the sarcasm bleed through in generous helpings. “Yeah, right.” He leaves it at that, too tired to hope to put up the proper facade of pretending to dislike the Alpha werewolf. Hey, we all deal with our crushes in our own way! Stiles has to do what he can when literally living with a pack of wolves, who can smell pheromones and who knows what else.

Eventually, he settles for stretching out on the rug that Lydia made Derek buy a while back. It’s not overly cushiony, but it’ll do the job. It’ll have to. Besides, he hasn’t had a proper night of sleep in four or maybe even five days, staying up researching and worrying most of the night. The Big Bad is dead, the worrying is over and his research paid off: he should be able to sleep now, right?!

At first, Stiles uses his hoodie for a pillow, yet after about twenty minutes he gives up and pulls it back on because he won’t be able to sleep if he’s cold. Derek patched up most of the holes in his loft and it’s actually resembling a nice apartment these days, but it’s still the middle of the night in February and Stiles is lying on the floor without a blanket or a pillow. He misses his own bed. His comforter. His pillow. His other pillow, the one that’s older than him and oddly lumpy, but it was the one that was in his mother’s bed until the day she died. It hasn’t smelled like her in a long, long time. Stiles has also washed it a couple of times during the years, he’s not that much of a pig, despite popular opinion. But it’s familiar and comforting and he still takes it with him for sleepovers with Scott. 

He considers whether or not he would’ve brought his pillow if this impromptu sleepover had been planned in any way. He’s known Scott since kindergarten, he’s his best friend. He wouldn’t say or even think anything bad about Stiles still needing a special pillow to sleep even when he’s almost twenty one years old. And while he knows most of the people in this room for five years or even longer and trusts them with his life, that doesn’t mean that they’re not a bunch of dickheads who will tease him every chance they get.

It’s a pointless thought exercise, because nothing about this sleepover was planned. They were supposed to kill that wyvern during the day, when it slept in his creepy little cave. That's what all Stiles’ research was for! He even found a way to kill the beast without having to hack it to pieces, which was nice because in the end he was against animal cruelty, you know? But then there were witches, two of them. They weren’t planned, neither was the ensuing fight in the woods. The unexpectedness of it all had left everybody antsy, especially the werewolves. And even though they recouped with a movie night and a nice pack pile, nobody wanted to be very far away from the others. Hence the impromptu sleepover that had Stiles sleeping on a rug, between the coffee table and the couch. Which wasn’t fair, because he totally knocked a witch out with his bat! He did his fair share and pulled his weight and what not. The least he deserves is a nice night of sleep.

Another hour later, Stiles is sore all over and chilled to the bone. There’s no way he can sleep like this. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he whispers to the leg of the coffee table that he knows has Isaac’s claw marks on it. 

As quietly as he can he makes his way upstairs on the rounding stairs. On the landing there’s three doors to choose from: the one on his left leads to Isaac’s bedroom, where Lydia and Cora are sleeping. The one in the middle is the bathroom - with a bath, for heaven’s sake, Derek has a tub! - and that leaves the master bedroom on his right. The Alpha’s den. Stiles has never been inside it. He even doubts if Isaac has set foot in the room very often, besides for cleaning purposes.

Stiles never really intended to go into Derek’s room, because despite what the others seem to think, he actually values his life. And his dignity. He thought it better to take a chance with the girls, take on the risk of Jackson wanting to kill him the next morning when he discovered Stiles had slept in the same bed as his girlfriend.

But…

The door to Derek’s bedroom is cracked.

Stiles can see inside. 

He can’t see that much, with it being the middle of the night and the only light coming from a gap between the curtains in front of Derek’s window. But the moonlight is just right, illuminating the sleeping form of the Alpha in the bed. A bed that is more than large enough for two people and Derek is neatly sleeping on one side of the bed. If Stiles is quiet enough he might even be able to slip into the bed without waking Derek. The werewolf got hurt pretty badly today and healing always takes a lot out of him. There’s a pretty good chance the guy is sleeping like a log.

Stiles takes a deep breath. He’s gonna risk it.

***

He didn’t think he’d actually do it, but after a few minutes of indecisiveness on the landing, Stiles quietly tiptoes into Derek’s bedroom. He rounds the bed to the unoccupied side of the mattress and gingerly lifts the tip of the blanket.

“You’re not getting in with your jeans on,” Derek says, without opening his eyes.

Stiles yelps and he’s already stammering halfway through an apology when he suddenly shuts his mouth. His back teeth actually click together. There’s a few seconds of silence and then: “You’d let me into your bed?”

“Not with your jeans on,” Derek repeats. Usually he wouldn’t do this, but he’s been listening to Stiles toss and turn downstairs for a while now and with all of his pack members sleeping peacefully, he’d like the last one to get some rest too. Besides, Stiles would continue to keep him up with his restless behaviour otherwise; Derek just can’t seem to tune him out. It’s been that way for years already, maybe even from the beginning.

“O-kay.” He can feel Stiles staring at him in the dark and he patiently waits for the decision he knows the boy is gonna make. No, not a boy. Stiles will be 21 this Spring. Derek has seen him grow up, literally and figuratively, along with the rest of his ragtag pack of teenagers. Stiles still wears jeans and plaid most of the time, but the garments don’t hang as loose on him as they did when he was 16. He’s grown into a handsome young man, with a good head on his broad shoulders. Derek counts himself lucky to have Stiles as part of his pack, to have him close. Not as close as he sometimes might wish, yet Derek is always conscious of not playing favourites. So he usually keeps Stiles at an arm length and takes care to treat him just like everyone else. It helps that the two of them elevated snark and banter to an effective communication style. Despite all the sarcasm and barbs, Derek is pretty sure there is no-one in his pack who sees through him like Stiles does. It was scary at first and it made him lash out, but Stiles stood firm. Derek is immensely grateful that he did.

There’s the rustling of clothing hitting the floor, jeans and a shirt, then the blanket lifts and Stiles scoots underneath. Derek feels him settle in behind his back, a foot or so away. “Thanks,” Stiles whispers in the dark.

“Go to sleep,” Derek grunts, eager to go to sleep and not think about the young man who is sharing his bed.

***

Derek’s bed is pretty comfortable, Stiles thinks to himself as he digs himself in. Oh, who is he kidding?! Derek’s bed is amazing. The mattress is just the right combination of firm and soft, the pillow hugs his head and shoulders just right and the comforter is warm but still light to the touch. It’s a million times better than his bed at home, even when he’s not counting the fact that he’s sharing the bed with a hot werewolf.

Yet Stiles can’t sleep. 

Yes, the pillow is heavenly. Yes, the mattress allows his tired body to finally relax. Yes, the comforter hugs him nicely. But there’s something missing and Stiles knows exactly what it is. His pillow.

He needs to hold something. He needs to be able to curl around something. Or someone, his traitorous brain suggests as he feels Derek move across from him.

“Why aren’t you asleep, Stiles?” Derek asks in that long-suffering tone he uses when Stiles is doing something to annoy him. Which is pretty often, although Stiles knows the annoyance is mostly for show these days. He has turned onto his back, his eyes glinting in the moonlight where they are looking over at Stiles.

“Can’t,” Stiles laments, trying to catch the comforter between his arms in lieu of his dearly missed pillow. It doesn’t really work, because the comforter also has to cover Derek’s bulk and there’s little left to use. Little to none, especially when Derek snatches the comforter back from where it was probably leaving a cold gap on Derek’s other side. The sudden move has Stiles sort of falling over from where he was laying on his side. He’s more on his front now, filling up the space that was between them at first. He can feel the warmth of Derek’s body from just a few inches away. It’s actually kind of comforting.

“Try harder,” Derek commands and he closes his eyes again.

Stiles thinks of answering ‘Yes, Alpha’, but thinks better of it. It might make Derek move again, to push Stiles out of bed instead of pulling him in to have a cuddle. So he stays quiet and closes his eyes, focussing his mind on the almost tangible presence of Derek’s bare shoulder mere inches away. Derek is warm and smells nice and if Stiles was a werewolf, he’s sure he’d feel even better about having his Alpha so close. Yet even though he’s not a werewolf, he still enjoys it. A lot.

He falls asleep.

He knows that, because he wakes up at some point, at an unknown hour of the night. He’s warm, so warm. And comfortable, even though his pillow is a lot firmer than he remembers it being. It also moves a little, because his pillow is Derek and the Alpha werewolf gently moves his arm in what Stiles suspects is a more comfortable position. He would panic about sleeping half on top of Derek if he were not so damn comfortable. It’s hard to keep his eyes open. Surely if Derek wouldn’t want him sleeping on him, he’d push Stiles off. Instead, Stiles feels Derek’s arm wrap around his back, accompanied by a soft sigh from the Alpha.

Stiles sleeps.

***

Derek is not the first to wake up, although he is certainly not the last. He becomes aware of the world with Stiles wrapped around his torso, his head pillowed on Derek’s chest. He’s only a little surprised by how good it feels to wake up like this and it takes a while before he brings himself to carefully move out of Stiles’ embrace. The boy mumbles a little, but doesn’t wake up. Derek watches him for a moment, standing beside his bed. He’s not sure how to feel about this, except for some embarrassment about wanting to crawl back into bed and slot himself back into Stiles’ arms.

Downstairs, most of the pack is still asleep. Isaac has his arms wrapped around Jackson’s lower legs, as if he’s cuddling a particularly bony teddy bear. Jackson is still asleep, even snoring softly. Scott snores too, curled around his girlfriend in the large armchair. In the other armchair, Boyd is watching him carefully, his arms wrapped around his sleeping girlfriend. 

“Morning,” the dark man rumbles quietly, not to wake Erica.

“Morning,” Derek answers, keeping his voice down as well. “Coffee?”

Boyd inclines his head in thanks and Derek ambles on to the kitchen, where he finds Lydia, immersed in a science journal. She has a cappuccino sitting in front of her, the cup half empty. “Good morning, Derek,” she says, briefly glancing up from her reading material.

“Morning,” he repeats, busying himself with the coffee maker. He brings a cup to Boyd when he’s done and returns to join Lydia at the table. He sits back in his chair, his coffee in front of him, to catch the rays of pale sunlight that slant through the high windows. It’s quiet in the loft, with most of the people still sleeping and the ones that are awake quietly starting up their day.

He sips from his coffee, listening to the sounds of Cora waking up and going into the bathroom. She comes downstairs not long after, dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt - same as her brother, her bare feet hardly making a sound. He points to the mostly full pot of coffee on the counter when she enters the kitchen and he gets a hair ruffle as thanks from his little sister. She pours herself a cup and leans against the counter, enjoying the sunlight on her face just like he is. 

It’s Stiles who comes down next, although Derek can hear from the way he drags his feet that he’s barely awake. Why he’s not sleeping in like he should be, is anyone’s guess. He expects Stiles to stop in the living room, to wake up Scott or maybe even Jackson if he’s feeling particularly cheeky, but he doesn’t. The footsteps pretty much make a beeline from the stairs towards the kitchen. Derek opens one eye from where he closed them against the sunrays to see Stiles shuffling towards him in his boxers and T-shirt, rubbing a hand over his face and yawning soundlessly. His hair is standing up on one side. He’s wearing socks, navy blue ones with a red line near the toes.

The werewolf opens his mouth to point his packmate towards the coffee maker, but before he can say anything, Stiles has reached his chair and slings a hairy leg over his lap. He plonks down unceremoniously and lays his head on Derek’s shoulder, arms wrapping loosely around his waist. 

“You were gone,” Stiles mumbles disapprovingly, his mouth moving against Derek’s collarbone. And just like that his heartbeat evens out and he’s fast asleep again.

Derek sits frozen in his chair, his heart beating loudly inside his ribcage. If Stiles were awake he could probably feel it pound against his own chest. His hands hover uselessly on either side, not knowing whether to wrap around Stiles or pick him up and toss him to the floor. 

Stiles is oblivious, his sleeping body moulding easily against Derek’s. He’s warm and pliant, just like he was when they were sleeping together in Derek’s bed. 

When he chances a look at Lydia across the table, she’s already watching him steadily with a sly smile playing around the corners of her lips. “Glad to see you two finally got your heads out of your asses,” she comments eventually, before primly taking a sip from her cappuccino and going back to her reading.

Behind him, Cora snorts quietly in amusement. She comes up at his back and puts a hand in his hair again, running her fingers through the short strands. It’s grounding and Derek only notices how much he needs that when she lightly scratches her nails across his scalp. 

“He’s cute like this,” his sister remarks and even though he can hear the humour in her voice, he can also hear the truth in her heartbeat. “Best not wake him up, big bro.” She runs her hand through his hair one last time and then she wanders off, leaving him to carefully wrap one arm around Stiles’ lower back.

Slowly, Derek feels himself relax. The loft is quiet and peaceful and Derek is in his own little bubble, with the sunlight on his face and Stiles in his lap. Almost automatically, he starts to rub his hand slowly up and down Stiles’ back. Aside from some sleepy snuffling, there’s no real response. Derek picks his coffee back up and slowly drinks it, tilting his face towards the sun. It’s a nice morning.

[loveinhawkins]

Eddie lingers by the Lite-Brite, while Robin and Nancy thunder downstairs in search of the bikes; Steve can hear the echo of their voices as they go, Robin insisting that she get, “—the coolest looking bike, Nance, that’s only fair considering your goddamn outfit nearly strangled me,” followed by Nancy’s answering laughter.

Eddie doesn’t look like he’s heard them at all. Looks like he’s in a world of his own, actually.

His fingers trail through the air, creating a path of golden shimmers. His eyes are wide, entranced, and he suddenly looks so peaceful that the sight actually threatens to choke Steve up.

Maybe it’s a small thing compared to everything else. But Steve thinks it’s monumental: how despite every horror that he’s witnessed, despite everything, Eddie’s still reaching for the light.

The thought is familiar, a reminder of how he’d felt just minutes before, hearing Dustin and Erica’s triumphant giggles—hope and affection catching in his throat.

He’d almost forgotten that all of this could be fun, too.

Eddie’s fingers keep weaving—he doubles back on himself several times, like he’s trying to draw the light into his palm. There’s no discernible pattern to his movements, no half-formed words Steve can make out—he only sees Eddie’s complete and utter contentment in doing nothing but this: just drinking the moment in.

It makes Steve think of how he used to consider the Fourth of July as a kid. Before the big fireworks show, when it felt like time had slowed, like the whole world had narrowed down to just him and a dazzling sparkler in his hand.

Steve watches on, leaning against the doorframe; he wants—suddenly, desperately—to give Eddie all the time in the world.

But he has to settle for counting out increasingly long seconds in his head. Then he suppresses a sigh, gives a gentle tap, tap along the wall.

“Eddie,” Steve says softly. Then, when Eddie still hasn’t heard, just a touch louder: “Eddie.”

Eddie startles, blinking rapidly. His eyes refocus, land on Steve—but a slightly dreamy, captivated quality remains, as if he’s still seeing an afterimage of the lights.

“Oh,” he says, sounds almost sheepish.

“Hey,” Steve says, smiling. “You doing good over there? You look like you found proof that, like, Santa’s real or something.”

Eddie chuckles under his breath, but he doesn’t reply.

His hand returns to that spot again, dipping in and out of the light like he’s sat by a creek, fingers dragging through the water.

“Y’know,” Eddie begins, so quietly. Achingly wistful. “If it was all like this… I wouldn’t mind it.”

The feeling hits, tugs on Steve’s breastbone. It doesn’t hurt.

He keeps looking at Eddie, at the flickers of gold reflected in his pupils, and he silences the part of himself that insists he shouldn’t have time for this, and just thinks it anyway.

You’re beautiful, Eddie Munson.

That’s all. Nothing else, no qualifications.

Maybe here, things can be simple. Just this once.

Eddie drops his hand. The light fades away, but he’s staring at Steve, like something else has inexplicably been lit up right in front of him.

“What?” Steve says.

“Nothing,” Eddie says, almost a whisper. “Sometimes I just. I just think. You, um—you look at me like…”

Slowly, slowly, Steve steps further into the room.

“Like what?”

Another step.

Eddie shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. Adds nonsensically, “Must’ve been a trick of the light.”

“I don’t think so,” Steve says.

He reaches out a hand. Feels the warmth beneath his palm.

Eddie lifts his hand, so hesitantly. He edges ever closer, until the shimmery trails from their fingertips begin to merge into one.

Until their hands intertwine.

For a moment, Eddie stands frozen, and Steve’s ready to draw back.

But then Eddie inhales. He’s not looking at the lights, not anymore.

He’s looking at me, Steve thinks.

Perhaps has been for a while.

“Yes?” Eddie murmurs, lips barely moving.

“Yes,” Steve says.

He leans in.

The kiss is a small thing, really. Warm, tentative touches—a stumble before finding each other in the dark.

Such a small thing.

But to Steve, it’s monumental.

He feels it in his chest, like a tidal wave, and as he brings a hand up to cradle the side of Eddie’s face, he thinks that the lights are somehow in his chest too, like they’re both swallowing flecks of gold until they’re glowing with it, until the beams’ll shoot out of their fingers, their toes, the ends of their hair.

And here, in this house that’s frozen in time, it somehow feels like they’re stealing more of it, precious seconds, minutes—hell, give me hours, Steve thinks euphorically, give me years—

“Steve!” calls Robin’s voice distantly, and they both jump. “Get your ass in gear or I’m gonna slash your tires.”

“Uh, have a little patience, puh-lease!” Steve returns, a role reversal from all the times she’s run late for him to pick her up.

Eddie blinks, looks as if he’s holding his breath again; his eyes flicker over Steve’s face, like he’s expecting him to pull away.

Steve doesn’t.

A tender, lovely smile spreads across Eddie’s face.

And then they’re laughing into each other’s mouths.

And laughing leads to more…

“Harrington,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling too much for it to come across as remotely serious.

“Just a little longer,” Steve says—feels like he’s back in high school, joyful and silly.

Eddie laughs breathily; Steve presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, swallows the sound.

“If Buckley slashes your tires, you’re gonna have to, like, book it alongside us.”

“Or we could share a bike.”

A disbelieving, fond chuckle. “Steve.”

Eddie breaks away only to lean back in and kiss Steve’s cheek instead—and for some reason that’s the thing to make Steve’s breathing truly catch.

They’re still holding hands; he rediscovers that fact when Eddie grins slyly and pulls him to the door.

“Let’s go.”

“All right, all right, jeez.”

The room is left in darkness, but they’re laughing as they race each other downstairs—and though the shimmers have dissolved, they’re still leaving light in their wake, wherever they go next.

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part eight

art by @piaart !!!

author’s note: 18+! mdni! it's been months!! it's scary posting this ahhh!! hope you guys enjoy it, tho ;) part one/two/three/four/five/six/seven. ao3 link.

The floorboard creaks beneath your feet, shifting your weight as your eyes adjust to the darkness. Worn candles are lit along the floor, guiding you to the basement. You’re in Terzo’s foyer but have no memory of driving here, of even entering his house. Something carries you forward, floating to the door that creaks further open the closer you get. Is he down there? Does he need help with something? You try to think, to remember any kind of detail but there’s nothing you can grasp. The door swings open wide now, a red fog beginning to roll across the foyer’s carpet.

Something’s wrong.

A crash comes from down the stairs, discordant piano cords ringing in your ears. You want to run, torn between away and down to see if he was okay. But all you can do is take measured steps, your hand gripping the rail to keep you steady as you descend. There’s a dim red glow in the center of the room, unable to make it out from the ever thickening fog. A jaunty tune fills the room as if to guide you along. It’s becoming clear that Terzo isn’t here — he would have made his half-dressed self known by now. You walk toward the light, your body only allowing calm steps while your heart thunders in your chest.

The tip of your foot hits something and the whole room clears of fog, leaving you in front of a piano. Your heart clenches, a chill traveling up your spine as you take in it’s appearance: painted bright red with intricate wood carved decorations in black. The same as the rotary phone. You reach for it, fingertips drifting along the smooth wood. It’s warm to the touch. You try to will yourself away but you’re stuck, your feet glued to the floor and your eyes unable to look at anything else.

Your breath catches as your fingers drift down to the keyboard cover, an overwhelming urge to press the keys taking hold. Just has you reach it, it snaps open on it’s own, a claw wrenching from beneath it and catching you by the wrist. A scream rips from your throat, your body finally responding to the danger, lurching back but you’re caught. The tips of the claws are golden, the rest of it scaly and black, burning your skin. It tears into your wrist, blood spilling from the wound as it nearly rips your hand clean off.

“PAPA!” You scream as you wake, lunging forward in your bed. Sheets and blankets are twisted around your limbs, trembling and breathing heavily as you realize where you are.

It was a dream.

The day is a blur. You find yourself unable to focus on one thing for very long until your mind wanders. To him. To your time together. How he touched you. Then your nightmare. How the claw that grabbed you resembled his gloves, the ones he wore when he forced you to drink, when he kissed you so hard that you saw stars. More often than not you find yourself with your head in your hands, wondering how you let yourself get into this mess. You hooked up with your obviously unwell boss.

But you liked him.

You’re really in it now, aren’t you?

“You know, you could have let him know you aren’t interested anymore,” Catherine says pointedly. Your gaze falls to her, eyes wide and your eyebrows raised. Oh, that’s right. You’re out to dinner.

“I… I’m sorry, I really am… I’ll shoot him a text.” You murmur and take out your phone, only to see a message from Terzo. “The last few days have been a blur…” Voice trails off as you open the message.

You've plagued my thoughts since yesterday... I can still taste you on my tongue. Come to me soon, ‘fetta. I need you again.

Your phone drops from your shaky hand.

“Dude, what is going on with you? You’ve looked like a ghost this entire time,” Erica snaps, frustration in her voice but the concern in her eyes is real. Your head falls into your hands, shaking it slowly. No, no — you shouldn’t tell them, should you? Lifting your head, you see the concern in both of their eyes and know you can’t keep it from them.

“I… hooked up with my boss.”

Silence falls over the table. A fry falls out of Catherine’s mouth. It’s unbearable. You feel embarrassed, you want to curl up and disappear into thin air and leave them to have a normal dinner without you.

“Well, are you going to tell us what it was like or are you just going to sit there looking crazy?” Erica finally asks, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. Catherine mirrors her position, both of them waiting with bated breath for you to spill the details. You feel your face heat up but you are actually able to smile.

“He kissed me… on Thursday before the date,” you pause after Catherine gasps, “he thought I was dressed nicely for him. It was… awkward to tell him I was going on a date. There’s been tension this whole time, I think. But the kiss was good. Not to be weird about your brother, but he uh… he’s not a very good kisser.”

“Gross,” Catherine grimaces.

“Sorry. He wasn’t really what I thought he was.”

“I could have told you back. So was… Terzo, right? Was he upset about the date?”

You drum your fingers on the table, thinking on how to answer. There are some things you shouldn’t go into details on. “He wasn’t happy, that’s for sure. Gave me the cold shoulder for most of Friday but… then we made out. And Saturday morning, we…”

Erica looks like she’s going to jump out of her seat, like this is the most exciting thing she’s ever heard. “Oh my god. Is he packing? He was in a band, right? Usually that means… you know.”

“I… I mean… Okay, this doesn’t leave this table.” Your voice drops and the both of them lean in to be able to hear. “We haven’t had sex yet but he fingered me and I thought I was going to lose my mind from how crazy it felt.”

They’re squealing now and you laugh, feeling at ease and normal. Just a chat amongst gals. This is what people do, right? The back of your mind buzzes despite the anxiety that bubbles just below the surface. You’ve made it this far in this new world but tomorrow you were due back to his house for work.

Dinner ends with warm hugs and words of encouragement from your friends — along with playful threats about what they'll do to Terzo if he hurts you. A weak smile spread across your face. Deep down, you know he’s capable of things you don't fully understand.

You drive home in silence. Both hands on your steering wheel, eyes ahead and focused while your mind wanders. Seeing your friends was good for you. A reminder that there’s more to life than just him despite how all encompassing he feels, even when he’s not around.

*****

You let your bag drop to the ground, slinging it from your shoulders as you enter his foyer. Sunlight spills through the stained glass windows, illuminating the room. There’s no fog, no candles burnt all the way down to the floor and no piano music. Nothing like the nightmare you had. You clear your throat and lean over to your bag, unzipping it to pull out your laptop.

Twinkling sounds floats through the floorboards causing you to freeze.

Piano.

The color drains from your face as you drop your bag, your laptop with it. Terzp doesn’t have a piano. The thought repeats in your mind over and over again. You nearly trip over your feet as you make your way to the basement door, open just a smidge. It swings open with ease just as the playing picks up again, light and dainty. Hesitating for a moment at the top of the stairs you recognize the song - Your Mother Should Know. It’s been years since you’ve even thought of it but it’s unmistakable. You half expect to find Terzo in all-white and a tailcoat.

It’s a pleasant thought but you’re expecting the worst. Your nightmare. Is there a creature in the basement? One with scaly, sharp claws? Did it get Terzo?

Your steps quicken, nearly running down the stairs. He has to be here, nothing could ever happen to him, right? Your vision is blurring from how shaken you are, your legs like jelly as you force yourself down until you reach the bottom of the stairs. Your heart nearly stops. The piano that wasn't there before but appeared in your dream, is in the center of the room. Black and red. Shiny. Just like that phone—manifesting out of nowhere, as if conjured. Did you dream of it’s arrival? Are you the one that brought it here?

You must be losing your damn mind.

“‘Fetta?”

Your eyes dart to him, startled by his voice to find him seated at the piano bench. Your breath catches at the sight of him. He slowly stands and he’s in an immaculate white suit adorned with delicate golden details with a matching vest completing the ensemble. He Is. You’ve watched the music video (more than once) but seeing him wear it is a whole new feeling. All he’s missing is the tailcoat. The pristine white fabric seems to make his face paint and mismatched eyes sharper. With a serious look, he moves swiftly toward you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly against him in an embrace.

"I was worried you wouldn't come back," he gasps against your hair, his voice thick with emotion.

“What?” You manage a chuckle, finally feeling like you can breathe again. “We’ve been flirting through text all weekend.” The piano has already faded from the forefront of your mind, swept up in him and only him.

Terzo’s arms squeeze around you, and he lets out a sigh against your neck. "I thought maybe you'd change your mind," he confesses softly. "That maybe the weekend gave you time to think better of it." He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression vulnerable.

You're speechless. All your earlier fears dissolve as you realize he'd been wrestling with the same doubts. Before you can respond, his lips find yours in a tender kiss that quickly deepens with need. His hands slide up to cradle your face as he kisses you like he's been starving for it, like those two nights apart were an eternity. You melt against him, your knees going weak as he steals the air from your lungs. The world narrows until there's nothing but the press of his lips, the warmth of his hands on your face, and the thundering of your heart in your chest. Your eyes slowly open, the piano catching your gaze again.

“Where did this come from?” You whisper against his lips. Terzo leans back but his large, gloved hands stay on your cheeks, thumbs stroking the delicate skin beneath your tired eyes. Both of you shift your gaze to the grand piano.

“It’s a gift… eh, from a former bandmate.” Not exactly a lie. The truth is it appeared in the basement with a thunderous explosion of keys after he avoided the hell phone for a full night. “I like to noodle, you know.” He’s slipped into his charismatic self, lips curled into an easy smile as he presses his forehead to yours.

Concerns about the piano fade and to be honest, it’s impossible to focus on anything other than him when he’s like this. Terzo’s nose brushes against yours, his gaze expectant and intense. You find yourself kissing him this time, your fingers drifting up the golden details of his jacket. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him with a soft rumble that makes you shiver.

You break away reluctantly, breathing hard. "The contractor's coming any minute," you whisper against his lips.

Terzo groans, throwing his head back in dismay. "What are they doing todaaay? Don’t they know that… ehhh, that I’ve spent two lonely evenings without you?” He whines as his lower lip juts out in an exaggerated pout. You slip free of his grasp and start for the stairs.

"They’re working on the porch, Terzo. Don’t you want a nice swinging bench to lounge on?" You stop midway to let him catch up with you.

"Only if you're there with me," he purrs, stalking behind you. He nearly grabs you again but you manage to wriggle just out of reach. A knock at the door makes you both jump apart, and Terzo lets out another dramatic groan.

"I'm making coffee," he grumbles before hurrying you up the stairs with a playful pat to your backside. Reaching the top, you watch him disappear into the kitchen as you run your trembling fingers through your hair with an unsteady sigh. He’s gotten you a tad worked up. A quiet, more urgent knock jobs your memory of the contractor. You put on your most friendly face despite your rosy cheeks and greet them.

Terzo pushes the button to start the drip as he listens for you. As soon as he hears the front door creak shut he is slinking to the foyer. Your faint voice mingles with the contractor’s, bright and friendly. He holds his breath, taking careful steps until he’s at the stained glass window beside the door. Your figure is blurred through the glass but he still cannot look away, transfixed on you and the way you interact. The last two nights were torture — yes, the both of you texted but he yearned to hear, feel and see you again.

He wasn’t going to let you out of his sight, not for a moment.

His hip bumps the entryway table as he tries to get a good view, knocking a few things off of it. Growling, he leans down to clean up only to come face to face with his severed head. Anger sears through him as he snatches up the magazine, his tight grip crinkling the pages. His other hand traces the jagged scar along his neck as bile rises in his throat. The photoshoot had been out of sight out of mind for a while now, his focus solely on you, but just seeing his father and the Cardinals taunting him again sets something alight inside.

“What are you doing?”

Terzo spins around quickly, shoving the magazine back onto the table with a barely contained rage that turns into something else at the sight of you. Your cheeks are rosy just from the look he gave you, your eyes wide and eyebrows raised in surprise. He was caught, so why not confess.

“I like to watch you, mio toppolino,” he purrs, slinking closer to you. “Shouldn’t be much of a surprise at this point, eh?” The suspicion in your expression tickles him. You truly are the cat to his mouse - willing to play the part and continue the game.

You shake your head, trying to focus on work instead of his flirting. "The contractor needs to discuss some details with you about the porch. Something about wood types?" But Terzo is already moving closer, his gloved hands finding your waist.

"Mmm, very important business indeed." He nuzzles against your neck, making you squirm. "But first..." His lips brush your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

You manage to wiggle free of him again, convinced that he likes it as much as having you in his arms. "Work first! Then we can... discuss other things."

The rest of the afternoon passes in a pleasant haze. Terzo hovers near you as you work, finding excuses to touch you - a hand on your lower back as he peers at your laptop screen, fingers brushing yours as he hands you coffee. The contractor comes and goes, and you make decent progress on mocking up the renovations you’ll pitch for the guest room.

But every time the piano's melody drifts through your thoughts, unease settles in your stomach. His old bandmate? You've never heard him mention anyone from his music days, not once. The piano seems just as aware of your presence as you are of its. You catch Terzo watching you sometimes, his expression unreadable behind that charming smile. There's something he's not telling you. But as his arms wrap around you from behind and he presses a kiss to your temple, you push the doubts aside. For now.

“Let me play you something, ‘fetta,” he murmurs, “anything you want to hear.”

"Play me something from your past," you say softly, curiosity getting the better of you. "Something you wrote, maybe.” Terzo goes stiff behind you, slowly drawing his lips away from the side of your head. He gives a low hum and starts to walk toward the piano, his shoulders slumped.

“I wasn't much of a writer," he admits, lingering in front of it before gently pressing some keys. "I only wrote one song during my time in the band and even that’s difficult to find. Perhaps for good reason, must not be very good.” Terzo’s eyes flicker to you, the hurt and sadness in them evident. You swallow thickly. This has been a topic of his life that he has avoided speaking to you about. In fact, he’s gone out of his way to not answer questions, diverting your attention to something else.

Terzo sits at the bench, fingers suddenly dance across the keys with practiced confidence, playing a haunting melody that fills the basement. You listen to it carefully, unable to place it after a few moments — even though you’ve listened to his offerings on repeat since viewing the acoustic performance.

“It’s nice, though,” you hum, crossing your arms as you near him. Terzo’s face breaks into a smile, dimpled cheeks and bright eyes looking back at you. It’s impossible not to smile back, not to bask in the light of his attention. You shuffle over to him, practically skipping, and end up hovering by him at the piano. “Did you ever play on stage?”

His lips twitch, eyes darting away from you to focus on the keys in front of him. “Ah, no… no, I did not. My job was to frolic and sing, you know this, mio toppolino,” he says, shifting on the bench as he starts another song: Absolution. You watch his fingers dance across the keys with practiced ease. Terzo’s earlier hesitation seems forgotten as he loses himself in the music, those mismatched eyes half-closed in concentration. The song builds, and you find yourself swaying slightly, entranced by both the music and the man playing it.

His eyes snap open and there's something wild and magnetic in his gaze, filled with such raw desire that it makes your head spin. “I think I would… quite like you kneeling between my legs while I play, ‘fetta.” Heat floods your cheeks at his words, but you can't deny the thrill that runs through you at the suggestion. His fingers continue to dance across the keys as he watches you with dark, hungry eyes. The melody shifts to something slower, more seductive. You recognize it: Cirice.

Knowing how much you enjoy this game, he parts his legs to make space for you as you sink to your knees. Your hands slide up his thighs as you settle between them, his fingers never missing a note. The haunting melody continues to fill the basement as you look up at him through thick lashes. His mismatched eyes are fixed on you as he plays flawlessly from memory.

"Go on… you know what I want," Terzo purrs, his voice barely audible over the piano. Your fingers work at his belt buckle, tugging it free with deliberate slowness, careful with his fancy outfit. His growing arousal is evident beneath his tailored pants, straining against the fabric. You palm him through the material, his fingers stumble on the keys, the melody faltering for just a moment.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve fantasized about this.”

"I've wanted this since my second day working here," you confess between heavy breaths.

"Really?" His eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise, a delighted grin spreading across his painted face.

"Mhm. I mean, most days you would wander around in a robe which didn’t leave much to the imagination..." You trail off, blushing.

"So was that what made you want to get on your knees for me, ‘fetta?" His tone is playful but his eyes betray genuine curiosity. "My sculpted body? Or was it my devilishly handsome face? My charming personality?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

You can't help but laugh at his antics even as heat rises to your cheeks. He’s being ridiculous but it’s this that draws you to him most.

"All of it," you admit with a soft smile. "The way you make me laugh, how dramatic you can be, your confidence... even if half of it is just for show. I like every part of you."

“Does this really appear to be for show?” Terzo’s voice drops dangerously low, his eyes flickering down at his lap.

You glance down pointedly at the obvious bulge straining against his pristine white pants. "No, that definitely seems quite real to me," you say with a teasing smile. His fingertips move to brush along your chin before pressing his thumb to your bottom lip.

"Perhaps I should stop talking and let you get back to work, yes?" The way his thumb presses against your lip makes your pulse quicken, and you can't help but dart your tongue out to taste the fabric of his glove. His sharp intake of breath at the action, only fueling your desire to please him. Your hands run over his thighs as you inch closer, settling on his zipper. Unzipping them, he springs free with a rumbling groan. Even his cock is beautiful - thick and elegant like the rest of him.

His breath hitches as you take him into your mouth, the piano melody growing more erratic as you work. Your tongue swirls around his length while your hands grip his thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath your fingers. The music stops completely when you take him deeper, replaced by a deep moan. His gloved hand tangles in your hair, guiding your movements as you bob along his length. His other one grips the edge of the piano bench, the wood creaking beneath his fingertips.

You press your tongue to the underside each time you reach the head, then swipe it along the tip, savoring his taste. Your grip on his thighs tightens as you feel him twitch in your mouth. The sounds he makes only fuel your enthusiasm - you're enjoying this as much as he is, thighs pressing tightly together. His gloved fingers tighten in your hair as his hips start to thrust shallowly, unable to control himself any longer. "Dio mio, tesoro..." he pants, his voice strained and desperate. The sound of his pleasure echoes off the basement walls, making you moan around him in response.

His hips buck up sharply, forcing himself deeper into your throat. You gag around him but don't pull back, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you take his full length. The sound of your choking only seems to drive him closer to the edge, his moans growing more hoarse. With a final thrust, he spills down your throat with a strangled cry of your name, his body trembling beneath your hands.

You slump forward, resting your forehead against his thigh as you catch your breath. His gloved hand gentles in your hair, stroking soothingly as you both come down from your high. After a moment, he tilts your chin up to look at him, his painted face soft with affection.

A deafening crash behind you makes you yelp, jumping straight into Terzo's arms. The piano keys slam discordantly as something heavy falls against them. Before either of you can react, the basement is plunged into total darkness as the power cuts out with an ominous hum.

"Merda," Terzo hisses, his arms tightening protectively around you.

"What was that?" you whisper against his chest, heart pounding.

"The piano, it's, eh, it’s... very old. Sometimes the pedals stick, the hammers fall." His voice is strained as he speaks, one arm still wrapped around you while the other fumbles in his pocket. "Let's go upstairs, tesoro. No reason to stay down here in the dark."

Before you can protest, he's scooping you up into his arms. You catch a glimpse of his face in the dim light from his phone screen - his jaw is tight, eyes darting around the darkness behind you. You want to ask more questions, to point out that falling hammers don't explain the power outage, but something in his expression makes you hold your tongue. His secrets. He would always have them, wouldn’t he?

There’s been something off about Terzo from the start and you ignored it. You continue to ignore it.

He carries you swiftly up the basement stairs, kicking the door shut behind him with perhaps more force than necessary. You drop from his arms with ease, feet finding the ground to steady yourself. Terzo's hands roam your form possessively, fingers digging into your hips.

"You couldn't possibly leave now, tesoro. I would be all alone in the dark." His voice is playful but there's an edge of desperation beneath it.

A sudden whoosh makes you both jump as the fireplace roars to life, flames leaping high and hot. You stare at it in shock, but Terzo merely glances at the fire before turning back to you, acting as if nothing unusual just happened. The questions bubble up in your throat - about the rotary phone in the guest room, the piano, all the strange occurrences in this house. But would asking push him away? Make him shut down completely?

He presses a soft kiss to your cheek, seemingly oblivious to your inner turmoil. "I'll figure out dinner, eh? And fix us some drinks." Terzo voice is forced, an underlying unease that he can’t quite hide. There's fear in his eyes. You see it for the first time - raw and unguarded, a flash of genuine terror before he masks it with his usual charm. It makes your stomach twist.

He gives your hips one final squeeze before releasing you.

You feel dizzy. Sinking to your knees on the plush rug, you watch the inexplicably lit flames dance in the fireplace. The heat washes over you but does nothing to warm the chill that's settled in your bones.

[sunshine-daisies-library]

Speak Now | Steve Harrington x Fem!Ex!Reader

Summary: You were called in as a last ditch effort by Dustin to convince Steve to back out of an arranged marriage with Kimberly Astor, the heiress of a multi-million dollar company. Only issue is that you were uninvited to the affair, but the kids you used to babysit have another plan. 

Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, drug abuse, exes to lovers

Based on Taylor Swift's song, Speak Now <3

You shouldn’t be here. You’re being serious, you really shouldn’t be here. But when Dustin called you and pleaded for you to drive over two hours from Chicago to your hometown, you knew this wasn’t a call to ignore. You weren’t the type of girl to barge in on a wedding.

But then again, you knew Steve wasn’t the type of boy to marry the wrong girl. 

“Thank God you came,” Dustin runs over to throw his arms around you. He lets out a sigh of relief as he tosses his entire weight onto you. You stagger back as you try to keep him standing, but it had been far too long since you had seen the boy, he had grown faster than you expected. Three years was enough for him to shoot up and tower over you. No longer was he the short curly haired boy you watched over on weekdays to get some pocket money to go on dates with Steve. Now, he’s nearly an adult, packing his things for college and using his free time to call his favorite people: you and Steve. Separately, of course, because you two were no longer a thing. 

“You called,” you respond, pulling away. “Besides, it gives me a reason to see you munchkins again.” 

“I think we hardly classify as munchkins now,” you hear a voice from behind you. In comes the gang of kids you used to spend nearly every waking day with, all visibly older and dressed fancily for the occasion. Mike, the voice you recognized, leads the group and comes to hug you first. 

You can barely reach up to hug him. “Mike!” you exclaim. “Jesus, you’ve gotten so big.” 

Max steps forward and gives you a small smile, never the one for physical contact after everything that happened. Her glasses frame her face beautifully, and her matured features cause your eyes to water. “Enough of the waterworks,” she tells you firmly. Max cocks her head at the bride’s family, all dressed in tacky pastels. The mom swats at her youngest son’s hand as she pushes his blond hair back. “We have more shit to deal with now.” 

“Is she that bad?” you ask your friends. 

Will grimaces along with Lucas and his far from little sister. Erica was never one for hiding her emotions on her face, and that habit seemed to have stuck as she aged. “She was just yelling at some bridesmaid,” Will replies with a sigh. “Pretty sure it was Steve’s cousin, too.” 

“She looks like a pastry,” Eleven deadpans, causing Max to elbow her. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh at Eleven’s directness. Things never change, you suppose. “Where is he?” 

Everyone knew who he was. It was the very reason why you drove all this way. 

“No clue,” Dustin answers, hands shoved in his pockets. “Kimberly has been bothering him about everything needing to be perfect,” Dustin’s voice went high-pitched and unbearable to imitate the rich heiress Steve called his fiance. 

You never knew why Steve got himself into this. Pleasing his parents was the last thing he ever wanted to do while you were dating. What happened in the three years of leaving Hawkins that made him switch up? This wasn’t the Steve you knew, and you knew from the moment Dustin called that you had to stop Steve from ruining his life. 

Music starts to play, ringing through the halls of the gothic church you were standing in the middle of. The wedding was starting soon. The bells and gonging sound eerily similar to the sounds of the grandfather clock Max vividly described when she was in the hospital after Vecna’s attack. It sends shivers down your spine but you quickly regain your composure. 

“We gotta go,” Max informs you. “Steve made sure to get us seats in the front. You’ll be okay from here?” 

“Yeah,” you reassure them. “I’ll be fine, promise.” Parting ways, you spend the last few minutes looking around for that familiar mop of brown hair. In the distance, you see him and he instantly takes your breath away. 

He’s wearing a pressed suit that shows no sign of wrinkles or age. It’s definitely new and tailored for him, no doubt thanks to his mother. In his suit pocket is a neatly folded white pocket square, and beside it was a freshly picked rose pinned to his breast. He looks like a daydream, but deep down, you knew he was living his worst nightmare. 

This was all wrong. He hates stiff suits and having his hair slicked back. He never wanted a fancy and lavish affair for a wedding; he always wanted it to be intimate and surrounded by his loved ones and definitely not his snotty relatives. And Steve hated roses. It reminded him too much of his parents’ materialistic relationship. The one where his mom thought it was perfectly suitable to drink her problems away with wine and the occasional scotch. It was also the one where his dad would just shower his mom with designer purses and roses whenever she found out he was sleeping with yet another unreasonably young secretary. 

A pained expression rests on Steve’s face as he trails behind the minister. You call out to him through the sea of people. After the third call, he finally perks his ears at your voice and turns to face your direction. A look of surprise replaces his sullen expression. It’s been three years since he’s last seen you. Three years since you broke things off to move to Chicago. How did you end up back in Hawkins? 

‘What are you doing here?’ he mouths to you.

You’re weaving through the crowd, trying to get to him. ‘Saving you,’ you mouth back. 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, but before he can do anything about it, he’s nudged forward by a groomsman. Reluctantly, Steve moves forward and walks down the aisle. 

You don’t lose sight of Steve, hiding expertly behind the curtains as the procession continues. He walks down the aisle to the organ’s music that reminds you of a death march. You closely watch the rest of the members of the family follow behind Steve. You were so concentrated on the procession that you didn’t realize Will’s older brother standing behind you. 

“L/N what are you doing here?” Jonathan whispers. 

You jump in shock, gripping the dusty white curtain close to your chest. “Jonathan!” you whisper-shouted. “Nearly scared the shit out of me. I’m here to stop a wedding.” 

“Where do you need me?” Jonathan instantly asks. You cock an eyebrow at his eagerness. “Listen, I’ve met Kimberly. Steve and I were never best buds, but I’m not going to let him toss his life away for a nasty person like her. Especially not when you’ve loved him all this time.” 

You open your mouth to correct him but Jonathan is quick to cut you off. “Cut the bull, N/N, we both know the truth. You never stopped loving Harrington, but what I can’t wrap my head around is why you left him?” 

“I wasn’t going to string Steve along for a hopeless long distance relationship,” you shoot back. “I had to move to Chicago for my job. I knew Steve would come with me no matter what I said, so I cut things off.” 

Jonathan presses his lips together in a thin line but doesn’t say anything else about the topic. “Why are you hiding, anyway?” 

You roll your eyes, peering over the curtains to see the flower girls tossing petals along the pathway. “Seems like I was uninvited by his lovely bride-to-be.” 

The music instantly changes as Kimberly walks out in her enormous dress. Her face exudes class and elegance as she takes calculated steps down the aisle. “Fucking pageant queen,” Jonathan mutters under his breath. 

“She looks beautiful,” you compliment shortly. That’s all you’re willing to say about her. From a distance Steve is looking through his bride, eyes only on you. He wishes the one walking down this aisle was you. 

The rest of the ceremony is a blur to you. Words go in your ear and out the other, and you almost didn’t realize the most important part of the wedding has started. 

“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony,” the minister read aloud from his book. “speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Taking a deep breath, you emerge from the curtains and raise your hand. 

Horrified looks from everyone in the room but you only look at Steve. Relief floods his face and his shoulders finally relax. 

“You don’t want this,” you speak directly to him. “I know you, Steve. You don’t want any of this.” 

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Kimberly cuts in, facing the minister. “Steven wants this. Right, Steven?” 

“For the last time, my name is Steve,” Steve huffs at his now-ex-fiance. “And I don’t want this. I just want you.” His chocolate brown eyes peer over at you, and a small smile reaches his lips. “I’ll meet you out the back door.” 

Following his instructions, you run out of the church, dodging angry relatives and their shouts. Keys in hand, you hop into your car and start the engine. Pulling out of your spot, you drive down to the back door where Steve is. You quickly unlock the door as Steve practically jumps in, avoiding the yells of the bridesmaids and dodging the bouquets tossed at his head.

Steve lets out an exhausted huff as he loosens his tie. A giddy smile is on his face as he looks back at you. You can’t help but share a similar expression as you step on the gas. 

“Thanks for saving my neck out there,” Steve tells you gratefully. 

“Anything for you,” you respond, glancing over at him. He still looks the same as ever, if not more handsome. Your heart honestly never stopped beating for him. “If I didn’t make it clear earlier,” you clear your throat awkwardly. “I’m still in love with you, Harrington.” 

Silence follows and you can feel your heart beating out of your chest. Soon enough, your worries are calmed when Steve takes one of your hands off the wheel and covers it with his. 

“I got that, dummy,” he chuckles softly. 

You sigh in relief, laughing quietly along, too. “So, where to?” 

You couldn’t get the glint in his eye off your mind when he smiles at you.

“Where’s the nearest chapel?” 

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 7

part 1 | part 6 | chapter 1 on ao3

cw: panic attack, ptsd flashback to minor character death, graphic depictions of… food? lol

Dinner is exactly as chaotic as Steve expected it to be. He and Claudia take opposite end seats with a glass of red wine each, and the kids take the middle and start acting like a pack of caffeinated raccoons: talking over each other, scraping forks against plates, stretching their entire upper bodies across the table and dragging their sleeves through the side dishes instead of just asking someone to pass them the butter; Steve’s starting to wonder if any of these kids have ever eaten at a table before, or if they maybe just wandered in from the surrounding woods. Feral asses.

When they do start asking for things, he regrets wishing they would, because Lucas goes “Erica, can you pass me the salt?” and Erica sneers “I don’t know, can I?” and Mike jabs “Whatever; nobody says ‘may’ anymore, you dork” and Claudia gasps “Michael!” and it all escalates from there until Dustin tries to catapult lasagna off the end of his fork and hits Steve in the side of the head with a glob of warm cheese.

Silence falls around the room.

The cheese plops onto his plate.

“Sh-ii-it,” Dustin breathes, face stuck in wide-eyed shock.

Steve gives Claudia an imploring look.

“Why don’t we clear the table for dessert?”

The commotion starts up again in double time, everyone scrambling to clean up and clear the room before Steve starts bitching about them messing up his hair (and his plate, and his clothes, because the cheese splash sent a spray of little tomato sauce droplets splattering all over him, and isn’t that just perfect; he’s gonna have to hand-scrub the stain out of his khakis), so it’s just him and Dustin left when Dustin’s elbow catches and tips over his wine.

The liquid spills onto his plate: dark, and red, oozing into the uneaten scraps of sauce and cheese and pasta to form a viscous, fleshy sludge. Red like his dad’s office, like his father’s mangled thigh, and it’s just food it’s just food it’s not blood it’s not blood but he can’t fucking breathe, can’t hearing anything beyond the wet, gasping sounds his dad made the night he died, and then he realizes that he’s making them, mouth moving fruitlessly around air that won’t pass, trapped in the bottleneck of his choked-off windpipe.

“Steve?” Dustin asks, and his voice sounds far away. “Shit, shit, Steve! Can you hear me? Are you choking? I know the Heimlich, just- just hold on!”

He snaps out of it when Dustin pulls him halfway from his chair, gets his fists under his ribs and all but punches the air from his lungs. It sets off a nasty coughing fit that leaves Steve snotty and ready to hurl, and he braces himself with his forearms on his knees and stares hard at the ground until the hacking finally stops.

There’s a scuff on his sneakers.

He can’t replace them any time soon.

A moment to catch his breath, and Dustin’s shaking him by the shoulders. “Are you okay??”

Steve keeps his head bowed. “Yeah.” He needs to get the fuck out of here. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He rises from his chair, grateful that everyone else already cleared out before they could witness his little moment, that the blare of the TV from the family room covered the sound of his retching coughs; more grateful still that they won’t notice him now, scampering out of here with his tail between his legs. “Hey listen, man, I’m not feeling so well,” he says absently, fishing his keys from the pocket of his jeans. “Can you get your mom to drive everyone home?”

“Shouldn’t you stay?” Dustin frowns in concern. “If you’re sick? You can go lie down in my room or something, it’s—”

“—Nah, man; I mean, thanks, but…” His hand trembles around his keys, the muscles in his calves screaming bolt, bolt, bolt. “I just- I gotta go.”

He makes a break for it, rushing out the side door so no one else will see him leave (and he knows it’s fucking rude to head out without saying goodbye, but he’s also pretty convinced he’s going to combust if he doesn’t go right now.) “Tell your mom I said thanks, okay?”

“Tell her yourself!” Dustin chases after him, clumsy and slow across the darkened yard. “Dude, will you slow down? Talk to me!”

Steve throws himself into his car like there’s a demodog on his heels. “I’ll call you!”

“What the fuck!” Dustin shouts, but Steve’s already gone.

—

part 8

tagging a few people i know have been following along 🩷 @slowandsteddie @paintsplatteredandimperfect @stevesbipanic @pennyplainknits @ledleaf @hellion-child @formosusiniquis @missjashin @runninriot @xpaperheartso @steddieas-shegoes

[fandoms-in-law]

A Monster's Strength

Summary: Steve becomes an Upside Down monster in season 2, able to shift between monstrous and human forms. It changes a lot about the outcomes of the next two times the Upside Down comes back when he can hear Vecna for all that time.

~

Steve didn’t mind that he was some kind of monster now. It made sense really, since all the films he’d seen of them included being turned by a bite and he was not letting anyone else get in close combat if he could defend them. He could take plant creature traits for getting in between the dog things and the kids.

No, what annoyed him about it all was that it somehow gave his dad a mental connection to him. He did not need his own brain insulting him constantly, disparaging all the things he does to help people and threatening the kids even more than that.

They were good kids, okay? Sure, they definitely had attitudes and could use some humility and manners, but they were good. He wasn’t going to do anything, whatever the voice said. His old man could get stuffed.

~

“Are you listening, Steve? I expect more of you than this!” For once his parents had come home and so far Steve had been having a great time ignoring his father’s presence just as effectively in person as he did the man’s voice in his head.

‘Kill him. He’s annoying and it will increase your strength.’ The words were hissed as a lot of the ones in his head were, but for the first time in ages they got a reactions. The glass of water he’d just got fell to the floor.

His dad would never ask to be killed so the angry voice could not be him. It had to be someone else and that someone was likely to be connected to the monsters of Hawkins: Not a happy conclusion to make.

‘Finally, you get it. You can’t resist.’The voice started, going on to give orders but Steve forced himself to focus on his dad’s yelling and cleaning up the broken glass. It didn’t get more power or more of his attention just because it wasn’t his dad’s voice. If anything the realisation made him even less inclined to listen to it.

~

“Hey Dustin, you need to stop.” Steve didn’t like to interrupt his friend but he’d been talking about their last run in with the Upside Down for twenty minutes and he could feel rage pouring into him from the same place the voice originated.

“But it’s good too-” Dustin started to protest.

Steve glared at him, freezing the words and feeling some of the monster shift overtake him, “No. Not to me it’s not. I’ve got control but I’m not the only one hearing with my ears.”

“Your dad’s telepathic link I don’t believe in.” The words were sarcastic and paired with an eye roll.

He shook his head. “Whoever the voice belongs to said to kill my dad. This is probably someone behind the monsters and he’s wanted you dead a lot. Please change the subject!”

Dustin stared at him for a moment, falling serious as he took in the shift and breathed deeply before nodding. “I’ll tell everyone else to avoid it too.” He resolved, reaching for his bag to radio the other kids immediately. “Would watching Star Wars help?”

Steve shrugged, trying to focus on looking human again, “Sounds good.”

~

“Henderson, this is a terrible idea.” Steve said into the silence of the lift, getting Robin and Erica’s attention too.

Dustin frowned at him, gesturing around them. “I get that being trapped isn’t fun but no idea was said recently.”

“It’s back and we’re heading to it.” He replied cryptically, tapping his head. “There’s a celebration going on. Is your radio working?”

“Shit!” Dustin exclaimed, jumping up to get it. “I’ll try it. You only learnt that now?”

“I ignore it as much as possible but there’s nothing to do here!” Steve snapped back, turning to the girls apologetically, “We shouldn’t have got you involved, but I’m getting you out.”

Robin stared at him in some fear, confused and upset over the way he was speaking, “Have you cracked? What are you talking about?”

Steve didn’t reply. For one of the first time he shifted deliberately, reaching up to the ceiling as he did so. Going down was a horrible idea if he was hearing encouragement to do so. Instead he’d use the strength of being a monster to get them going up, through the ceiling of the lift.

~

“Why do you know how to get through the vents?” Murray challenged after Erica had demanded on helping them infiltrate the Russian base again.

Dustin gestured at Steve and Robin, stating, “Climbing up a lift shaft didn’t work out for us.”

Hopper and Joyce turned to glare at them then, “What?”

“What?” Dustin replied attempting and failing to sound innocent.

Hopper moved closer and Nancy crossed her arms, pursing her lips in a silent demand for an explanation.

“You know how Steve’s a monster and hears a voice from the Upside Down?” Dustin reluctantly began again.

“Yes,” None of the adults seemed happy that he was delaying the explanation still.

Steve moved forwards to take over, “We were trying to figure out a Russian message he intercepted, and break in to the base, when the voice started thanking me for coming back to it so we decided not to do that and get out of there. Issue was we were trapped in a lift at the time so I broke through the ceiling and got these three up with me, but couldn’t work out what to do after that.”

“So I suggested the kids escape in the vents while Steve and I found another way back or waited for the lift to go up again.”

Hopper grumbled before replying, “The trying to fight Russians is concerning but at least you backed off when monsters were a threat. Does Steve need to be kept out of planning? Can that voice hear what’s said around you?”

“I don’t know.” Steve replied, trying to remember if it had before or not. “It does know who I’m around so probably. He didn’t mention the rage that had been regularly pushed on him since the first time it happened around Dustin, or that the voice was between extremely annoyed and victorious right then.

Dustin nodded, “It reacted to me talking about our victories before.”

Hopper nodded, “Okay, and are you fine with following orders without an explanation or full plan given to you?”

“It’s what’s needed.” Steve agreed, straightening, and picking one of the empty shops to go into so the group could make plans without getting overheard.

~

Since the time in the lift, Steve had actually tried to pay attention to the voice in his head, and even started being able to hear it when it wasn’t trying to influence him. He’d learnt that it wasn’t fully defeated after the fire destroyed Starcourt and that there was a new plan being made.

Nobodies names were known by the voice but there were things which Steve thought he should be able to use to identify them mentioned from time to time.

Occasionally it felt like it was taunting him, talking about the girl who died swimming and the one who left her to do so, but when the voice started mentioning the little sister, the pest whose brother fell in line, Steve wasn’t going to ignore it any more. He listened as closely as he could and learnt of the voices frustration with Max listening to music, then went to find her.

She didn’t have her walkman with her when he got to the Mayfield’s trailer, but Steve turned her back inside when she headed over to him, “Max! Play your music as much and as often as you can.” He ordered.

“What?” She looked at him as if he was talking nonsense, but headed into her room with him following anyway.

“I don’t know, but it’s not good in here if you aren’t listening to it.” Steve tapped his head again, wondering why that was the best way he had to explain anything.

She eyed him dubiously, “You mean the voice prefers me listening to music or gets pissed off that I do it so much?”

“The second, so do it more.” He urgently repeated.

“Fine, then.”

After watching him leave, Max decided to do one other thing before listening to music all night. She called El to warn her that something seemed to be starting with the Upside Down again and they would probably need all the help they could get.

~

“Harrington? What are you doing here?” Eddie jumped, spinning from where he’d been hovering over Chrissy’s body, wishing there was something he could do when the door slammed open.

Steve was looking around for something to fight, his bat half raised until he grunted, “Shit, nothing actually came through? No gate formed? Tell me you saw something do that, Munson.”

“No? She floated and then shit just-” Eddie tried to explain but his words choked off when he tried to describe what had happened.

The bat was hefted over Steve’s shoulder and he tugged Eddie towards the door. “Police’ll blame you, come on.”

“Steve?” Max called, looking like she’d been wandering towards his car when she spotted where he was.

Steve shook his head, “Stay out of there Max. Just learnt what’ll happen if you turn your music off and give it time so headphones on! Tell everyone I’ve got Eddie.”

~

The group had gathered at Steve’s house after the news had spread that something more had happened and were both getting Eddie up to speed with everything they’d gone through and trying to learn what to expect about this go around.

Steve had left the group a few times to get control over the rage being poured through him at hearing their past victories though he was very sure in his ability to control and ignore it now. This time when he returned Nancy and Robin were looking at him curiously.

“Can you tell who else is a target?” Robin asked.

“It doesn’t say names. We’re lucky I figured Max out from what was said. Nancy might be a target too but I’m not sure if those bits were intended to taunt me instead.” He explained.

Nancy held her reporting notebook out. “Write down any descriptions you’ve heard that could be about victims. We might not be able to figure them all out but even one more or a number of how many are targeted would help.”

~

Fred died the next morning as Nancy took him to try learning more as a reporter and she was ready to go on the warpath.

She’d asked Wayne all she could about the earlier murders he thought were similar to Chrissy’s and had et him know that Eddie was safe and in hiding for the time being, that her friends would do all they could to help them both.

As soon as she got back to everyone else she looked at Steve and said his name.

He jumped up nodding and confusing Eddie who had been distracting himself from how bad things looked by trying to explain DnD to him. “Blindfold and headphones, I know.”

“Time to plan.” Nancy explained curtly with a grim smile.

~

Eddie had tried to figure it out. He’d listened intently to the stories the group had shared, but Steve’s involvement after the second time was always tied to either Robin or Dustin. Nothing had covered why they thought Steve knew who might be targeted or how he’d know to get Eddie from the trailer park and it didn’t seem like it was maliciously done, just a detail that Steve didn’t want to be present for the explanation of.

After Nancy and Robin had made a plan, taken a call from the airport to learn even more help was on its was, and made back up and alternative plans with that information, he finally asked, “What’s with Harrington?”

“He’s part monster, connected to the place the killings are done by.” Nancy bluntly stated.

“So he’s our spy?” He asked, glancing over at the guy, waiting with Dustin watching them as if also waiting for the conversation to be done.

“Yes and no.” Robin replied this time, smiling at her friend, “It spies through him on us too and tries to make him attack us instead of it. We’re not sure what makes him able to fight or resist it when nobody else this happened to can.”

Eddie frowned at her, “This has happened to other people?” Sure there had been mentions of possession in their stories, first with Will Byers and then with seemingly every mortality from the Starcourt fire, but that didn’t sound like the people had been turned into monsters as much as used to form one giant one.

“We do know! It formed the connection right as we defeated it and was weak then, but tried to control him anyway. That meant he got stronger at resisting it while it gained strength. It’s never gonna control him now.” Dustin exclaimed, hurrying over having given up wanting to let Steve know what he needed to do immediately.

Robin shook her head at him, “That’s just your theory, Dustin. And no, the other cases were possession not the weird monster shift he’s got.”

~

The Byers arrived before they moved into the plan to end it that Nancy had come up with. Nothing much about the plan changed except instead of Steve being taken into the Upside Down with her and Robin he was now being led through it by El, with the other older teens following further behind them.

He was fairly sure they were acting as back up, while he and El were meant to fight Vecna face to face, except his control had never been put to the test to that extent. He wasn’t going to let the girl beside him get hurt though and had never questioned that.

“KILL HER!” The yell rang through the house they’d entered at the same time it reverberated in Steve’s mind.

He shifted in response to it but stepped ahead of El, leading the way up the stairs. “No.” He stated firmly.

“KILL HER BEFORE SHE KILLS ME!” It came again and now he could see Vecna, and the vines surrounding him. They’d been on all the walls of the house and Steve was fairly sure could have caught them to prevent their ascent at any time if Vecna hadn’t expected to be able to order him around now they were so close together.

He carried on walking until barely a meter separated them. “I said no. I’m killing you instead.” His grip tightened on the gun that had been given to them as they set off. “El, are you ready?”

“Ready Steve.” She nodded, raising her hand and pushing as he started firing, switching to attacking with claws and teeth as soon as he was out of bullets. Other shots echoed through the house but if any hit Steve he didn’t feel them, entirely focused on killing the voice in his head or helping El to manage it.

The end of the fight was black for him, but he didn’t feel hurt, just relished in having a silent head aside from his own thoughts.

~

“You can wake up now Steve.” El said, stepping up beside him where he leant over a bridge.

He’d been dreaming for a while. Steve had known he was dreaming because there was nobody else around and no trees or vines anywhere.

Sometimes he’d be walking along a beach, or through a city, surrounded by skyscrapers. Most often though was like this, walking through endless fields, alongside rivers until he could cross them.

“We managed to kill Vecna.” He replied, certain.

She nodded. “You need to wake up. We miss you.”

“Am I still a monster?” He asked instead of agreeing. He didn’t feel like he was and when he’d been in the city he had tried to shift, wondering if the dream world had a security force to kill monsters. Nothing had happened then.

“No. The Upside Down is entirely gone now, and that means your infection is gone too.” El explained. “The lab did some tests and found out what it was. Nancy and Robin went in armed to demand they release you when they tried refusing to let visitors in.”

Steve sighed, looking along the river again, “I’ll come home.”

[justwhisperingfantasies]

Girl At The Rock Show -9-[smut 18+]

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Characters: Reader. Jensen. Megan. Mac [o.c] Robert [o.c] Erica [o.c]

Mentions of: Jared. Alex. Josh.

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Drinking, Smut, Unprotected Sex [no!], Fingering, P-I-V

You guys are amazing. Seriously thank you for every heart, reblog, and comment. I love hearing your feedback. 🫶

Please do not copy my work.

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Jensen

He felt the corner of her mouth twist into a smile on his chest. "Would this happen to be the same baseball game your nephew will be playing in?"

He chuckled. "Yes."

"The baseball game your family will be attending?"

"That's the one."

"Jensen Ross Ackles. Are you asking me to meet your family?"

"Maybe..." He teased, gliding his finger through her hair. "What if I was?"

"I would have to inform you that this is a big step"

He chuckled again. "Oh, I was not aware."

She giggled. "You sure you're ready for that, Ackles?"

"I wouldn’t ask if I wasn't baby."

She lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest she peered into his eyes. He raised his brows. "Whatcha doin?" he asked

"Looking for any sign or nervousness or uncertainty." She razzed him.

He smiled. "And how’s that going for you, darlin’?”

“I think you got a little bit.”

“I think you’re full of shit too.” He retorted, her laughter echoed through the room, making him smile.

She crawled up his body until they were nose to nose. “I can see a smidgen right.”

A soft squeal escaped her lips as he shifted his weight, rolling her on to her back. Hovering over her, he pressed his lips to hers. “Trust me, you ain’t gonna find any in there.”

She smiled. “Ok.”

“Yeah?” his face lit up

“Yes Jensen, I would love to meet your family.”

Jensen

He woke up with the weight of her head missing from his chest. His arms stretched, as his hands searched for her, but found nothing. 

He pulled on a pair of sweats and headed downstairs. 

He stopped and leaned on the kitchen doorway, a smile spread across his face as he took in the view. She was sitting on the bar, flannel pjs covering her crossed legs, sipping coffee, watching one of her drama Netflix shows. Her hair in a messy bun, wearing one of his Family Business hoodies. 

“Well good morning sleepy head.” She smiled at him.

“Good morning sweetheart.” He replied. 

She sat her coffee down and uncrossed her legs letting them dangle as he moseyed over. He rested his hands on her hips, stepping in between her legs. She took his face in her hands, bringing his face to her. He kissed her lips then started placing kisses all over her face, making her giggle. He placed another on her lips and reached for her coffee. Her eyes went wide when he brought the mug to his lips. He smirked and took a sip. “Sir! That is mine.” raising her playful tone.

“Alright, alright. No violence needed.” 

“Smart choice, Ackles.” 

He smiled. “How long have you been awake?” He asked, walking over to the coffee maker.

“Eh, for about an hour, I couldn’t go back to sleep. So, I came down and made a breakfast casserole. It’s done, just turned it down on low to keep it warm.” She hopped off the bar and made her way over to the stove.

“You could have woke me up. And shouldn’t you be more careful?!” he sipped his coffee.

She pulled out the casserole and sat it on the stove. “Shush. No high hopes.”

His brows arched “Says the girl who would drink A beer yesterday.”

“I had to drive.” She exclaimed  “Grab the sour cream for me, would ya?”

“I can do that.” He poked her side making her jump as he walked past.

“You’re really pushing it today.”

He laughed as he handed her the bottle.

“Do you have anything planned for today?” she asked.

“I have to go to the brewery and take care of a few things. My brother said something about going fishing, but I don’t know if he wanted to go today. Why what’s up?”

“Mac asked about watching Supernatural today,”

Her phone started to ring, she hit the ignore button as private caller showed on the screen.

“I didn’t know what you were up to.” She said, sitting her phone back on the counter.

“Am I not invited to supernatural day?” He asked in a dramatically offended tone as they made their way back over to the table.

She giggled. “You are always invited. I just know if you had something or anything planned for us.”

He took a bite. “Damn baby, this is so good.”

She smiled. “Another one of Mama Jo’s recipes.”

He playfully sighed. “I guess Mac can have you today, But I get you for dinner.” He winked.

Jensen

“So, I’ll pick you up at 6?” He asked her, walking to her car. 

“It’s a date.” she winked at him

He smiled leaning in to kiss her.

“Drive safe.” He opened the car door for her. She got in. He dipped his head in the car and kissed her again. “I love you baby.” He smiled.

“I love you too, Mr. Ackles.” She returned his smile 

Reader

“Hey.” You shouted walking through your front door.

“Kitchen.” Mac and her dad yelled at the same time.

“That sweatshirt is kinda big there, don’t ya think?” Robert asked you as you sat beside him.

“It’s her boyfriend’s.” Mac teased.

“Please tell me you're not back with.”

“No dad. Her new boyfriend, not really new though it's been almost a month.”

“A month? You've been dating this guy for a month and I don't even know his name?”

You chuckled. “It's Jensen.”

“Jensen? Huh. Not a very common name.  Where’s he from?”

“Dallas.”

“And what does this Jensen do?”

“He’s an actor.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Has he played in anything?”

“Lots actually.”

“[Y/n] would you like a cup of coffee with your interrogation?” Mac laughed.

You chuckled. “No thanks.”  She furrowed her brows, relaxing them as her dad’s head turned towards her.

“Anything else Robert?”

“Just 1 more.” He turned back to you, “When do I get to meet him?”

“Soon,” you looked over to Mac. “Last night, He asked me about meeting his family.”

You looked at your phone screen as it started to ring. Private number. You hit the ignore button.

“Oh. So, you guys are like serious?” She asked sarcastically.

Your phone rang again. You sighed when you read private number again. Robert held out his hand, you handed it over. 

“State trooper Goodwin. How can I help you?” He handed your phone back. “They hung up. Hopefully they don’t call back.”

“Let me grab a shower and we can start.” You gave your adopted father a kiss on the cheek. “I will check with him and see what his schedule looks like.” He nodded with a smile, and you made your way upstairs.

Reader

You sighed when your phone started to ring again, you pulled your shirt over your head and strolled over to your dresser. A smile spread across your face when you read his name.

“Hello there handsome”

“Hey babe, don’t be mad.”

“That’s not what you wanna hear at the beginning of a conversation.”

“So, TMZ was at the airport the other day.”

“Oh, of course they were.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just a picture of us hugging. They didn’t say anything mean. Just that I might have a new girlfriend.”

“Ok.”

“OK? You’re not mad?”

You chuckled. “No, I’m not mad. Kinda comes with the territory of dating a celebrity doll face. Did you really think I’d be mad at you?”

“Not so much me. Just the situation. I’ve had a couple buddies lose girlfriends because of it.”

“At least they weren’t mean.” A question forced it's way out of your lips. “Is it a bad thing if people know you have a new girlfriend?”

“Seriously?”

“Just askin’.”

“ Well don't.... So, whatcha doin?” He changed the subject.

“Just got dressed.”

“Booo!”

You chuckled. “What are you up to?”

“Bout to pick Jared up and meet Josh out at the lake.”

“Tell sasquatch I said hi.”

He snickered. “ Will do. Oh, yea, dress fancy tonight.”

You heard a soft chuckle, as you let out a hefty sigh. “Fine. But it better be worth it.” you teased. 

“Oh it will be.” You bit your lips at his husky seductive tone. 

“Have fun. Tight lines.” 

“Did you really just use the term tight lines?”

“I'm from Michigan, baby. You come out of the womb with a fishing pole in hand.”

He laughed. “I’ll see you later, pretty lady.”

“Not if I see you first, doll face.” you hung up, making your way down the stairs.  “Let the supernatural marathon commence!!”

Reader

You took one final look in the mirror. “Are you sure I look, ok?”

“Really [y/n]?! You are gonna knock his socks off.”

You glanced over your shoulder. The borrowed black dress did make your ass look good. Your eyes moved up your bare back to the halter tie at the top. Your hair in a classy bun with curled strands dangling out here and there. You let Mac go a little extra with the make up. The smokey effect she blended perfectly on your eyelid really made your irises pop.

“Be right back.” Mac was back in a second. Black heels in one hand and a silky black shawl in the other.

Fastening the straps of the heels around your ankle, you heard the car. 

You grabbed the shawl, along with your black clutch, and made your way to the stairs. He knocked on the door when you got to the bottom.

You opened the door, and you felt the warmth spread through you as the fluttering began in your stomach. His soft locks were brushed back, a pin striped, black suit clung to his perfect body. The first three buttons were undone, showing off some of his sexy chest. A big smile spread on his face as you checked him out.

Jensen

She opened the door, His brows raised, as all the air left his lungs. He shifted his weight, trying to steady his wobbling knees. God she was breathtaking. She always looked good, but all dolled up in that sexy black dress. ‘Good lord’

“Good evening Mr. Ackles. “

“Good evening,” he choked out. “Babe. You look amazing.”

She smiled. “Me? Have you looked in a mirror?”

He chuckled as his cheeks turned pink, sticking his elbow out  “You ready?”

 “Absolutely.” She slid her hand in the crease. “I can’t believe you drove the Porsche.”

“Well, a deal’s a deal.” He winked at her. She started to step in front of the car, his elbow caught her hand.

 Her jaw dropped slightly as a small gasped slipped out. “Now?!”

He smiled and held up the keys . She squealed as she grabbed them and practically skipped to the driver’s door.

“Can you do this in heels?” He teased as she released the e-brake.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just tell me where to go, Ackles.”

Jensen

“Not too shabby darlin’,” He held his elbow out again as she made her way around the car. “At least the tires are ok.” She sighed, making him chuckle.

“Good evening.” The valet greeted, as he approached.

“Evenin’.” Jensen said, handing the keys to the man.

Jensen opened the she let out a small whistle as she walked through it. “This place sure is fancy.” She spoke in a whispered southern accent making him chuckle.

“Reservation for 2. Under Ackles.” he told the hostess.

Right this way Mr. and Mrs. Ackles. He smirked at (y/n) not correcting the young lady. His hand automatically went to the small of her back as she followed the hostess. She glanced over at him as his hand slid down further. “Sorry,” she smiled.

 Jensen slid her chair out for her and slid it back in. He sat in the seat beside her.

“Your waiter will be with you shortly, here’s the wine list if you need anything just let us know.”

“Ok thank you” the young lady walked away. Jensen grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers  “Well Mrs. Ackles,”

 Her smile fell. “You should have corrected her”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He brought her hand to his lips kissing the back of it. She shook her head with a smile.

“Can I get you started with a drink from the bar, or we have a nice 1982 Chateau Margaux on the list tonight?” The waiter asked as he approached.

“No thank you, water is fine.” Jensen looked over to her.

“Same. Extra lemon please.” She told the waiter. He nodded and walked away. Her face turned to Jensen with a confused look “You’re not drinking tonight?”

“Nope.” He affirmed.

The waiter brought back the waters with extra lemons on the side “Are we ready to order?” Jensen looked over to you

You go first he chuckled “I’ll have the 12 oz New York strip medium, no sauce or toppings, with the Yukon gold pommes purée.”

The waiter looked over to her. “Can I have an 8 oz tenderloin filet, well done, no sauce or toppings, with steak fries please.”

“Of course. We will have it out shortly.” He took your menus and walked away,

Jensen smiled. 

“What?” she asked.

“Fries?”

“Steak fries. I got a steak.”

He laughed. “Touché.”

“So  did y’all catch anything?”

“Jack and shit, but it was really nice to hang out with my brothers, Josh is excited to meet you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, especially after Jared’s review.”

“What can I say, I'm pretty awesome.”

He chuckled. “You’re not wrong.” He took another drink of water. “How was your day?”

“Good. Mac’s dad was at the house when I got there today.”

“How’d that go?”

“Well, I had to explain the oversized hoodie. Which led to him asking when he gets to meet you.”

“And you told him…?”

“That I would ask you about it and see what your schedule looks like.”

“Should be easy to set something up. Not a whole lot going on right now.”

“I can’t wait to see his face when he meets you.”

“You didn’t tell it was the guy from the show his daughter is obsessed with?”

She chuckled. “Like he would have believed me.”

Jensen opened his mouth but was cut off by the food.

Jensen

“That was amazing, babe.” she said walking out the door.

Recognizing him the valet nodded and walked off. Jensen stayed silent, his eyes looking into the distance. 

“Are you really giving me the cold shoulder right now?”  she asked, looking up at him and tilting her head. He couldn’t stop his eyes from glancing down at her, she was so damn cute.

 “And how long do you think that’s really going to last Mr. Ackles.” She stepped in front of him and slid her hands up his chest. He felt the anger melt away as her arms wrapped around his neck. He leaned in to kiss her as her lips got close she leaned back slightly aching her brow. “You gotta talk to me to get kisses.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine, but next time you pay the bill behind my back, I’m gonna bend you over my knee.”

“I can’t wait.” She challenged, making him smile.

Reader

The only light in the dark house came from the flickering tealight candles that led up the stairs. You flashed him a smile and took his hand, following the trail laid out for you. You pushed the bedroom open, and your eyes filled with tears as they scanned the room. The glow of the dancing flames filled the room while soft country music played in the background. You stepped in and your eyes found the rose petals scattered on the bed and some arranged in a heart making you laugh out loud.

"That was Jared's idea, he said it was classy and romantic. I told him it was cheesy and cliche. He said if anything you would get a good laugh out of it. You can destroy it if you want."

"Absolutely not. It's beautiful." you said in a dramatic tone making him smile.

He swaggered over to you. “Not compared to you.” He matched your tone, making you laugh again. His arms wrapped around your waist as his lips found yours. Yours found their way around his neck. His hold tightened as your feet left the ground, deepening the kiss. He returned your feet to the ground; you rested your head on his shoulder as your hips swayed with his. 

You stepped back, sliding your hands back down to his chest, pushing the suit jacket they made their way to his shoulders, your eyes followed it as you pushed down his arms, you brought your eyes back to his as it fell to the floor. His viridian gaze locked onto yours as his fingers found the small zipper on your hip and pulled it down. His fingers gliding up your back raising goosebumps, his fingers gripped the dangling end of the halter tie and pulled. The dress fell to the floor, you brought your lips to his as your fingers started undoing the buttons on his shirt. His fingers grasped your ass as his tongue pushed past your lips, making your fingers fumble with the last button. He chuckled softly against your mouth. 

You unbuttoned his pants as he slid his shirt off, a groan left his lips when your fingers brushed against his length, as you slowly pulled the zipper down. He shimmied out of his pants, making you giggle. A small yelp left your lips as he grabbed you up and took you over to the bed.

He smiled as he loomed over you. He brought his lips close to your ear. “You really are beautiful.” His hot breath sent shivers down your spine. He trailed kisses down your neck, going up the other side once he got to the hollow of your throat. Finding your other ear. “Just perfect.” His words made you smile. He thrusted his hips, brushing his hard shaft against you, muffling your whimpers with his lips. You walls clenched as he took your breast in his grasp, kneading gently. His fingers wandered down, finding your clothed clit. You moaned as he started tracing circles, his lips found your ear again. “And those sexy little noises you make mmm.”

He pushed your black lace thong aside, your core throbbed as his fingertips teased your entrance. He groaned, feeling how wet you were for him already. He slowly slid 2 fingers inside you, making another moan escape you.

His fingers started pumping in and out as he rose to his knees. He bit his lip, watching your hips writhe in pleasure.

You felt the tension in your stomach as the pleasure rippled through your body, he smirked and began to pump them faster. Making your walls clench around his fingers as the tension reached its peak. 

You heard him groan as he curled his fingers, as soon as he hit your spot the tension snapped and your moans echoed through the room as your orgasm crashed over you. He slowed his fingers, as your walls pulsated. 

Bringing his fingers to his mouth he moaned as he tasted your sweet juices, licking them clean. He pushed his boxers down and fell back on top of you, his arms catching his weight just before he crushed you, he laughed in response to your giggles. His thumb stroked your chin, as he stared.

“What?” you asked with warm cheeks.

He smiled. “Nothin’.” He leaned down, his lips hungry lips captured yours. Your hands slid up his back as he lined his tip to your entrance. Your fingers gripped, as he moaned you named burying himself inside you. You could feel his cock throb against your walls as he stretched them.

“You ready baby.?” He asked, kissing your jawline.

“Yes.” You whined.

He drew his hips back, pleasure coursed through you again as he thrust back inside you, praising him with moans of his name. Your nails dug into his back as he increased his speed, causing him to thrust harder.

 Heavy pants and moans filled the room as your walls started tightening  around him, the tension almost to its peak again. “Jensen.” You whispered.

“I know baby,” he pounded harder. “Come on. I wanna feel it.” He groaned, nibbling at your neck.

Your release crashed over you again, sending shock waves of bliss through you. He pushed you as far as he could and with a loud moan he pulled out. You felt the warm liquid ooze on your stomach as he kissed your lips and then nuzzled your nose with his.

5“You know if we used condoms this whole clean up thing would be easier.” You smiled at him as he dried your stomach.

“Or I could just cum inside you.” your jaw dropped. A grin stretched across his face as his eyebrows jumped “Yea that shut you up.” he teased.

Reader

You finished brushing your teeth and turned the light out and stopping in the doorway, staring with adoration, he laid there on his back, arm resting across his forehead, his chiseled chest on display, boxers pulled low enough to display that v he had, his socked toes wiggling along to the music that was still playing.

His eyebrows raised as he looked over at you. “Can I help you?”

“Nope, I’m good.”

A smile spread across his face “You gonna come cuddle or just stand over there like a creeper all night?”

Jensen

He watched as she took a bite of bacon. “So?” He asked 

She smiled. “Close, but no cigar baby.” His face scrunched. “Still delicious though.”

“You could just tell me ya know?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”  she teased, making him laugh. “Do you have anything exciting today?”

“Depends on what you call exciting, The first half of my day will be spent on a zoom meeting, probably gonna be a lot of them in the next few weeks while we get scheduling and all the final details for countdown. And then I’m going to the brewery to do an inventory check and make sure everything we need is on order.”

“Never a dull day with you.”

“Nope, What’s on your schedule today?”

“Well let’s see.” She pulled her phone out and signed into her office’s daily schedule app. “I have a newborn checkup, a 3-year checkup, an ear recheck for a 7-year-old, a sports physical for a 12-year-old, and another newborn checkup. So far. If calls come in, they schedule with whoever is available.” 

“So, what do you do if you don't have time spots filled?”

“Charting, help other doctors, help any nurses if they need it, just whatever needs done. Around the office. “

“Never a dull day”

“Nope.” She smiled. “I’ll ask Erica today. What day were you thinking?”

“Either Wednesday or Friday. You don’t go in on Thursdays, right?”

“No, that’s my on-call day.”

“Noted.”

“So, I’ll meet you at your place when I get done?” he asked, walking to the driver side of your car.

“Sounds good.”

He laughed “Alright drive safe baby I love you”

“I love you too” She stretched on her tip toes and kissed him

Reader

“So, the 2 newborn checkup mamas left great reviews for you today.” Erica told you as she walked across the lot with you. “Keep up the good work y/n!”

“Will do boss. Have a good night.” you told her reaching for your door handle. 

“You, too.”

You sat down in your car and started it. You waved as Erica drove by you. Thinking about the kids you helped today, as you pulled out of the parking lot your mind began to wander. 

If you had a baby, would he look just like Jensen? He would be such a good dad. You smiled as you pictured it. He’s holding a little bundle of joy, swaddled in a blue blanket, bright green eyes just like his daddy. The proudest smile on Jensen’s face.

“Lucy, I’m home.” You yelled walking through the front door.

Mac sat in the recliner on her phone. “Hey babe.” She giggled. “Not you. y/n just walked in.” you nodded at her and walked into the kitchen.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket when it started to ring. Your smile turned into a frown as you read, private caller. You hit the red icon and laid your phone on the counter. You opened the fridge grabbing a bottle of water, Mac walked in and sat down at the bar. You swung the fridge door closed.

“Alex says hi.” She smiled.

“So, that’s a thing now?”

“Kinda, maybe, we’ll see.” She Stammered making you chuckle. “He did invite me to the Dallas convention.”

“That sounds fun!!”

She got up and got into the fridge. “Beer?”

“No thanks.” you held up your water 

 She peered at you, closing the fridge door. 

“What?”

“I have a question for ya.”

Your brows arched.

“Are you...” she hesitated. “Never mind.”

You sighed, “Probably not, but I would feel horrible if I was and I drank.”

“Hm. Well it’s kind of bad timing.”

“Well, it’s not like I planned it.”

“Did you use protection?” your face scrunched as you looked down. She signed.

Reader.

You popped your head out of the closet when you heard your bedroom door open. Jensen had his phone to his ear. He blew you a kiss and held up a finger.  You nodded and went back to getting dressed.

“No. It’s not like that.”

“I know, but you don’t need to.”

You walked out of your closet, finding him sitting on the edge of your bed. He looked up and winked at you.

“I’ll take care of it. I gotta go.”

“Just don’t worry about it.”

“Bye.”

“Baby!!” he exclaimed

“Well, that sounded intense.” You commented.

“Eh, just work stuff.”

You knew he was lying. “How was your day?”

He motioned you over, hugging around your waist once you got close. “Better now.”

“Hey guys!” you heard Mac yell through your door as she knocked.

“Yea.” You answered.

“Have you seen this?” she held her phone up as she approached you.

She had a TMZ article pulled up. You read the headline under the photo of you and Jensen from the previous night outside the restaurant “Jensen Ackles Remarried?”

You felt him tense.

“I told you; you should have corrected her.”

“Oh man, can you imagine, if you were showing.” Mac remarked.

“So, we are telling people now?”

“Not people. Mac. And she figured it out.”

“Still.”

“Still nothing. At least I didn’t lie to your face.”

He scoffed. “And when did I lie to your face, sweetheart?”

“Just work stuff?”

His phone started to ring, a different ringtone than usual. He raised it to his ear, holding your stare. “Hey mama.”

Jensen

He felt a pang in his chest as he watched her sleep, curled up on her side facing the other direction.

He didn’t know if it would help or hurt if he cuddled up behind her, so he stayed on his back where he was.

His phone started to vibrate. “Hi Megan,” he whispered.

“Hey Jensen, can you talk?”

“I can whisper.” His voice soft, still watching her.

“That works. So, we got TMZ to retract the article, but it’s out there. Everyone is talking about it on social media. “

“So how do I make this better?”

“Jay, I know you love her, but there’s only one way to completely keep her out of all this.”

“Not an option.”

“I know. I’m just sayin.”

“No.”

“Ok, well then you need to embrace it. Introduce her to your fans, do a live, take her to the Dallas con. Let your fans get the chance to know her. Show them why you love her.”

“And the paparazzi?”

“Well, it kinda comes with the territory of being with a celebrity.”

“That’s what she said when the first pictured got out.”

“See she gets it. I think she will be fine.”

“Ok, ill call you tomorrow and you can help me set up the live.”

“Alright. Get some sleep Jay, everything is going to be ok.”

“Thanks Meg.” He sat his phone on her nightstand after he hung up.

She rolled over. “Did you get everything sorted out?”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“In and out.”

“You know what might help?”

She chuckled and scooted closer to him, resting her head on his chest. He left out a sigh of relief.  ‘That’s better.’

“Are you still mad?” he asked his fingers finding her hair.

“Are you gonna tell me who was on the other end of that phone call?”

He clicked his tongue. “It was Heather.”

He felt her muscles tense up. “As in your ex?”

“Yes. She just wanted to make sure.”

“You weren’t married to a gold digger.” She cut him off.

“I told her it wasn’t like that.”

“Yeah, but that’s what everyone is thinking.”

“The important people know it’s not true. I’m sorry about all this and for lying, I was just trying to keep my drama away from you.”

“Jensen, if we are going to do this its not just your drama. We face everything together. No matter what. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“And don’t freaking lie to me again about anything.”

“I promise baby.” He kissed the top of her head.  “Megan and I have a plan to make this better. It includes a Supernatural con if you’re interested.”

“Uh absolutely.”

He peered into her eye as his fingers lifted her chin. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for an uncertainty.”

She laughed. “You won’t find any in there, doll face.”

Tag List

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@nightxcreature @impala67rollingthroughtown @mariahoedt @manicjk @kr804573

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@iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @1313diana @lmg14 @spxideyver @aand13b

@phoenixqueen @spxideyver

[ltash]

Operation Esclipse

Ch-1 "Dead Drop & Ghost"

"SimonRiley-CODxMI6x'femOC'reader"

“I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.”

The corridors of CIA headquarters were bathed in pale fluorescent light, clinical, sterile, and cold, much like the people who walked them. Simon "Ghost" Riley sat still in the briefing room, clad in his tactical blacks. His skull mask lay in his lap, his sharp eyes scanning the room from beneath the low brim of his cap.

The tension in his jaw was steel-forged. He didn’t like this place. Too many liars in tailored suits. Too much blood in the walls.

But he was here because Kate Laswell had summoned him. And when Laswell called, you came.

The door clicked open.

"Ghost," Laswell said, entering with a tablet in hand. "We’re waiting on two more."

Ghost gave a subtle nod. He didn’t need to ask who.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door swung again.

Rose entered first.

SAS. Codename: Rogue.

His partner. A sniper so precise she could split a matchstick from a mile out. She had her auburn-brown hair pulled back into a high tactical ponytail, sharp eyes beneath thick lashes, and that unreadable look she always wore when she was on duty.

Right behind her was August Walker, also known inside the CIA as Hammer. He wasn’t just an agent. He was Erica Sloane’s personal weapon. Built like a tank, always cocky, always watching. Ghost had seen men like him before. Men who smiled while they twisted the knife.

Walker leaned in toward Rose, muttering something Ghost couldn’t hear, and she laughed.

Ghost’s fingers twitched on his mask.

Walker glanced over and locked eyes with him. Held it. Smirked.

Smug bastard.

Ghost clenched his jaw.

Laswell interrupted the moment. "Take your seats. We’ve got a potential nuclear crisis. Berlin. You’ve been selected because of your... overlapping priorities."

She tapped the tablet, projecting a holographic image of a known Russian arms dealer.

"We believe Viktor Makarov is attempting to acquire plutonium from a defunct Soviet bunker outside Berlin. IMF intercepted chatter that matches Task Force 141's intel. This mission will be a joint operation with MI6 and the CIA. Ethan Hunt is already on the ground."

Rose’s eyes flicked to the screen, her face taut with focus.

"Ethan Hunt?" Ghost asked, voice low.

"Your father’s there," Laswell added, glancing at Rose.

Ghost didn’t miss the tiny flicker in her expression.

"Your mission," Laswell continued, "is to infiltrate a black-market auction Makarov is attending and recover intel on the location of the plutonium. Ghost, you’re on overwatch. Rogue, you’re embedded with surveillance. Hammer handles extraction."

Walker leaned back in his chair. "About time we worked together properly, huh, Ghost?"

Ghost said nothing. His silence was louder than gunfire.

---

Berlin – 48 Hours Later

Rain fell in needles. The wind howled down alleys like a living thing. Berlin was dark, dirty, and angry tonight.

Ghost adjusted the scope on his M14 from a rooftop three clicks from the objective. In his comms, static crackled.

"Rogue, eyes on target?" he muttered.

"Copy," Rose’s voice whispered back. "Target moving toward the south corridor. He’s got two guards. I’ve got a window in ten seconds."

Ghost scanned his angle. He could see the backs of the Russian convoy entering the old Bundestag ruins, converted now into a private auction house for war criminals.

He could also see Walker. And he didn’t like it.

"You shouldn’t be down there with him," he said.

"You don’t get to tell me where to be, Riley," she snapped, but softer than her tone should’ve been.

Ghost exhaled. "I don’t trust him."

"You don’t trust anyone."

"Exactly."

"Eyes forward, Simon," she whispered. He hated how good she sounded saying his name.

Flashback: Six Months Ago, Prague

Rain on cobblestones. A surveillance op gone hot. Rose crouched behind a stone wall, rifle smoking.

“Sniper team, fall back!” someone yelled over the radio.

She was bleeding, cornered, and out of options, until a shadow moved behind her.

August Walker.

He dropped two hostiles without blinking.

“Come on, Rogue,” he said, offering a hand. “You owe me a drink after this.”

She hated him instantly. And then he smiled.

-----

Inside the auction house, Rose moved with perfect control, dressed in tactical black under a server’s coat. Her eyes scanned faces, wealthy dealers, rogue generals, and warlords with cigars.

She spotted him.

Makarov.

He stood beside a tall steel case.

The plutonium core.

She murmured into her comms, "Visual on package. Confirming identity. I’ll need Hammer’s code to access the manifest."

"Where the bloody hell is he?" Ghost growled.

"Right behind me," she replied.

Walker appeared beside her like a shadow. He leaned close, far too close.

"Did you miss me, Rogue?"

"Just give me the code."

He smirked and tapped it into her device.

The screen lit up. Location coordinates. Shipment logs. One word blinked red: Kashmir.

"Ghost," she whispered. "The nukes, he’s moving them to Kashmir. We need to..."

Gunfire.

Suddenly, chaos exploded. The ceiling blew inward. Glass rained down. Someone had tipped them off.

"Extraction compromised!" Walker shouted into the comms. "Move now!"

Rose ducked behind a stone pillar as bullets ripped through the air. She returned fire, her SIG barking thunder.

Ghost was already off the rooftop, ziplining down, his rifle slung as he dropped into the rear alley.

"Rogue, I’m inbound!"

"I’ve got eyes on Makarov! He’s heading out the side..."

Gunfire cut her off.

Ghost found her behind an overturned table, bleeding from her arm.

"Rose!"

"I’m fine," she said through gritted teeth, reloading. "Go after Makarov!"

"You’re my bloody mission now," he snapped, pulling her up with one arm and covering them with suppressive fire.

Walker burst through the side, engaging two masked gunmen near the vault.

"He’s gone!" Walker shouted. "Makarov’s slipped out the back!"

Ghost gritted his teeth. He hated this. He hated everything about how close Walker stayed to Rose.

She stumbled. He caught her.

"You’re hit."

"It’s nothing."

"Bullshite."

------

Ghost POV

He hated watching her bleed. Hated watching him near her even more.

Walker acted like he owned the ground she walked on.

But she wasn’t his.

And if Ghost had anything to say about it, she never would be.

Sirens screamed in the distance.

Walker barked, "Chopper’s two clicks east. Let’s move!"

They exited through smoke and gunfire, with Ghost’s arm firmly around Rose, Walker flanking them like a shadow. The mission had failed. Makarov was gone. The nuke was headed to Kashmir.

But Ghost knew something more dangerous had just begun.

He saw it in the way Walker looked at Rose.

Possessive. Obsessive.

And in the way Rose didn’t see it at all.

--------

Later That Night ,

Safehouse Bravo, Berlin Outskirts

The safehouse was silent save for the low hum of fluorescent lights and the hiss of boiling water in the kettle. Rose sat on the edge of a steel-framed cot, arm wrapped in gauze, blood crusted on her sleeve.

Ghost leaned against the wall near the entrance, arms crossed.

"You should sleep," he said, voice like gravel.

"You should stop staring at me like I broke your favorite rifle," she muttered.

He didn’t smile. But something in his eyes flickered.

"I saw the way he looked at you."

She froze, not looking up. "I’m not yours to worry about, Ghost."

"I’m your partner. That makes it my job."

She stood. Walked past him. Paused at the door.

"You didn’t answer the question."

He didn’t.

And she didn’t look back.

In the corner, behind closed lips, Ghost whispered only to himself.

"That’s the problem."

Outside, thunder cracked across Berlin. And somewhere far east... in Kashmir... the clock had already started ticking.

[strangersteddierthings]

Gut Instinct: Interlude - Eddie

[Art] [Ao3] [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Interlude]

A/N: Friday evening from Eddie's POV.

-

“Holy shit,” Jeff says, “you actually do know King Steve?”

Eddie almost gives himself whiplash from how quickly he looks from Erica to Dustin and, holy shit, the Keg Stand King himself, Steve Harrington.

“I told you he’s awesome,” Dustin says in a tone that implies Jeff’s an idiot. “Come on Steve, sit beside me. I’ll help you with the rules.”

“Hold up,” Eddie says, rounding to Harrington. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights for a moment, which is hilarious to Eddie. Who knew Harrington could be startled? However, any joy he might have gotten from startling Harrington is fleeting, because Eddie doesn’t trust why he’s here. Why he would agree to sub. Harrington’s always been bad news, and Eddie doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw him, no matter how nice he is to look at. “Your character is?”

“Oh, uh, tiefling paladin, oath of the crown,” Harrington says, trying to catch Dustin’s eye in what Eddie thinks Steve believes is a subtle way.

Eddie shoots a glare at him. No way Harrington came up with that character. It had to have been made by Dustin, which Eddie would normally count as cheating and kick someone out for, but… Well, he’s got to admit a little intrigued. Harrington might not have made his own character, but he pronounced tiefling right and knew to say the subclass. “Right. And why’d you agree to sub?”

There is a small pause before Harrington simply says, “Dustin asked.”

He’s got to admit to some surprise here. He didn’t think Harrington could actually care about other people, but he seems genuine. Honest, almost. “Fine.” Eddie watches as Dustin steers Harrington to an empty seat. Eddie takes his own spot back on the throne. If Harrington is going to play, he’ll need to tweak the battle a little. Having another higher-level paladin in the group throws off his carefully calculated challenge rating. Easy enough to tweak. A few more minions can join the fight, and Vecna can still be deadly as he is now without changes. He’ll see if he needs to up the hit points for Vecna after the first combat encounter. If they breeze through that, Vecna’s definitely getting a boost.

Also... Well, also, Eddie’s almost a little excited that Harrington’s going to see this side of him. Yes, Harrington was witness to more than his fair share of cafeteria rants but that’s different. That’s Eddie acting out against the system because it’s rigged in favor of people like Harrington, and against people like Eddie. Here, Harrington will get to see Eddie perform.

While plotting, he does take the time to eavesdrop at bit. Specifically on Harrington.

“Hi. I’m Steve.”

“I know,” Gareth says, and he couldn’t sound more disinterested in talking to Harrington if he tried. Eddie’s a little proud of him.

“Right. And you are…?”

“Gareth.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“We’ve met. Like four times,” Gareth says dismissively and Eddie grins behind his DM screen. How many times had Harrington dismissed them? He knows he shouldn’t be feeling this vindicated. And yet…

There’s a bit of a pause before Eddie hears Harrington ask, “Isn’t Lucas in this club, too?”

“Well, yeah, that’s why you’re here. To fill in for him. ‘Cause he’s in the basketball game,” Dustin answers.

“And he’s okay with missing this game?”

“Well, uh, he doesn’t exactly know he’s missing it?” Dustin says it like a question and Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes. There’s no way Lucas Sinclair, budding athlete that he is, doesn’t know he’s missing this game. He made his choice.

“I’m sorry, what?” Harrington says.

“He asked us to get Eddie to postpone the game, but Eddie said no. Besides, Mike’s leaving the state tomorrow morning and we’d have to wait two weeks to play again otherwise,” Dustin explains, “and, uh, we haven't seen him since he asked us after the assemble to tell him that the game would not be postponed.”

Eddie finally lifts his head to watch the exchange. He can’t see Dustin’s face, as Dustin is facing Harrington, but that leaves Eddie with a perfect view of Harrington.

“That’s bullshit, Henderson,” Harrington’s raises his voice. He doesn’t have an expression on his face that would suggest anger. It’s more disappointment, but either way, Eddie’s not about to watch Harrington bully one of his sheep.

“Watch it, Harrington,” Eddie snaps, matching Harrington’s energy. “You don’t get to bully people around here.”

“That’s not- right, sorry. Just, can we postpone for like ten more minutes?” Harrington asks.

“Why the Hell would we do that?” Eddie is bewildered, he’ll admit that. Why does Harrington need ten more minutes?

“So I can go tell Lucas this game wasn’t postponed, like he thinks it is,” that bit hissed in Dustin’s direction, “and he might only be going to the basketball game because he thinks this one isn’t happening.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, a bit dumbly. Has he read Lucas all wrong? Is he more nerd than jock? It’s strange that Harrington might be the authority on that matter, but he seems terribly invested in these kids. Maybe Eddie has read Harrington all wrong? Maybe he really has changed, and is just here to make a bunch of kids happy? “Fine. Ten minutes. We’re starting without you or Sinclair if it takes longer than that.”

“Thanks!” Harrington smiles at him.

Eddie’s self-aware enough to know why his insides flutter in the face of the full Harrington Charm directed at him. He scrunches his face in disgust at himself. He was, is, over the crush he’d had on Harrington. That was a blip on his radar of Unfortunate and Bad Crushes on Stupid Straight Boys. A lot of people made the list (he’s a hopeless romantic, sue him) so Harrington’s not special.

Isn’t going to be special. Eddie’s going to kill his paladin as quickly as possible and then kick him out to go watch the basketball game or something.

-

“Any moment now Steve's going to walk back through that door with Lucas. So, I hope you are prepared to have two extra players tonight. He's very persuasive. He'll get Lucas to come around. If anyone can, it's Steve. Just you wait,” Dustin is saying when Harrington steps back into the room. Not that Eddie was watching the door for him.

Harrington’s got a look on his face that isn’t pleased. Great.

“Oh no,” Erica sighs, “that’s your Disappointed Parent face.”

“I don’t have a ‘Disappointed Parent’ face,” Harrington says before turning his gaze to Eddie. “Eddie, Lucas thinks you don’t like him.”

“Why does he think that?” Eddie stands up from where he was sitting. He doesn’t like the tone in Harrington’s voice and he’s not going to stay sitting so Harrington can talk down to him, literally or figuratively.

“He thinks you don’t like him because he’s missed previous games. Thinks you don’t like him so much that he had to have Dustin and Mike ask about this game because he believes you’d have said no immediately to him,” Harrington steps further into the room, and Eddie watches as all his friends tense. Ready to jump to his defense if need be. Eddie’s tense, too, because this is the Harrington he remembers. The one who thinks his word is law, and everyone should obey. Well, Eddie’s not going just roll over. Of course the jock shows up in defense of the other jock.

“I don’t hate him, but the budding jock made his choice,” Eddie scoffs, dismissive.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, Eddie. ‘You don’t get to bully people around here.’” Harrington uses a deeper tone that Eddie thinks is supposed to represent Eddie’s voice as he parrots the words back to him. “It’s only okay for you to be the bully, huh?”

Eddie gasps, offended. “Of the two of us, Harrington, I’m not the fucking bully,” Eddie moves away from the table, rounding it to go get into Harrington’s face, but Gareth reaches out and grabs his elbow, stopping Eddie in his tracks. It’s the right call, because Eddie doesn’t want to have to fist fight Harrington in front of the club, but he’ll fucking do it.

“You don’t know shit about me,” Harrington fires back. “I was a dick in high school, yeah, but I grew the fuck up. You’re bullying a fifteen-year-old because he wants to, what, play sports? Making him choose between the two? That’s fucked up.”

“Again, I didn’t fucking make him choose!” Eddie growls back. Eddie didn’t! Lucas made his choice the day he tried out for basketball. Eddie knew it. Lucas knew it. Lucas’s friends knew it. The only one in the room who doesn’t seem to get it is Harrington, who must truly believe you can have your cake and eat it too. Unsurprising, Eddie thinks, since Harrington was born with a silver spoon in his goddamn mouth that probably already had cake on it. Ice cream, too.

“You did! By not postponing the fucking game! School sports have a set schedule, and you could have looked at it before scheduling Hellfire,” Harrington says. “Lucas is allowed to like sports and nerd things. And you two,” he pivots to point between Dustin and Mike, “are being kind of shitty right now. After everything you’ve gone through together, you couldn’t stick by his side for this?”

“Hey, I have to get on a plane tomorrow morning,” Mike defends himself. “If they postponed, then I wouldn’t have gotten to play!”

“So, it’s fine that Lucas can’t play, but terrible if you can’t? That’s a load of shit, Wheeler. Lucas is supposed to be your friend.”

“He is my friend-“

“Then act like it!” Harrington says. “Will and El aren't here anymore; are you really okay with losing Lucas, too?”

“That is not fair,” Mike’s tone is almost flat as he glares at Harrington.

“Steve, you’re being defensive, right now,” Dustin speaks up, giving Harrington a pointed look.

Those words cause a shift in Harrington for some reason. Eddie watches him deflate before turning back to Eddie and saying, “If you want Lucas to believe you don’t hate him, you’d go to the game, too.”

“Lucas can draw his own conclusion about how I feel. I’m not responsible for his emotions, Harrington,” Eddie growls. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he feels a little regret. He didn’t say anything untrue but it’s not how he really feels. He’s not usually this dismissive of Hellfire member’s feelings but Harrington’s mere presence has set him into fight mode and he realizes he’s saying things he doesn’t believe just to argue. Why is he trying so hard to get into a fight right now?

“You’re right, but you’re also older than him and should take some responsibility for how you act around him,” Harrington says, and Eddie feels shame. He fucking hates it. Only Wayne’s able to evoke shame from him, and it’s bullshit that Harrington’s doing it now. “He thinks you’re being shitty to him, on purpose. He thinks you treat him differently than you do Dustin or Mike. And that’s fucked up. He’s just a kid, he looks up to you, and he's been through enough.”

Eddie doesn’t argue back. Harrington is right. Eddie knows he’s right. That shame coils in his gut, and he’s pissed that it’s Harrington making him feel that way. That it’s Harrington who is pointing out Eddie’s shortcomings.

There’s a shuffling sound and Dustin is standing, shoving his things into his backpack. He doesn’t say anything, but he does look at Mike. The two seem to have a silent conversation because after a moment Mike nods, and begins to gather his stuff, too.

“So, you two are out?” Eddie’s asks. He tries to keep his voice neutral, but he feels a little betrayed. Of course, Harrington shows up and ruins everything for him. He should have known he’d never stack up against Steve Harrington.

It’s childish to think because Dustin and Mike aren’t picking Harrington. He knows that. He knows they’re picking Lucas, their lifelong friend.

And yet.

It’s like Eddie is fifteen and a sophomore again, getting picked last for PE games and group projects. Not being ‘cool’ enough, which had made younger him feel not good enough.

“Harrington’s right,” Dustin says as he swings his backpack over his shoulder, “Lucas does really want to be here. He sounded real upset when he asked us to talk to you about changing the day of the game. I also really want to play, it’s going to suck missing the final session, but it’s going to suck more to bail on a years-long friendship.”

“Yeah. Lucas has never bailed on us,” Mike adds, even though he sounds upset for agreeing.

Erica lets out a put-upon sigh, “he has bailed on me, but never when it mattered, I guess. I expect that you’re buying the tickets, Steve?”

“Unbelievable!” Eddie throws his hands in the air, anger in his voice, probably laced with the hurt he feels. This was always going to be the outcome. Ever since the first time Dustin brought up Harrington, Eddie knew he’d be second fiddle. He shouldn’t feel so upset by this but fuck, he does.

“A compromise?” Harrington offers. “Mike, when are you back?”

“Uhh, the plane is supposed to land Thursday afternoon; I’ll be back in town that night sometime.”

“Great,” Harrington looks to Eddie. “Can you guys play next Friday, or even Thursday night if Mike isn’t jet-lagged too much?”

“School’s locked up next week,” Dustin answers before he can. Which is fine, he was going to say the same thing anyway.

“What about your basement, Mike?” Harrington changes his attention to Mike.

“Won’t fit all of us,” Mike says. “It was barely enough room when it was just Dustin, Lucas, Will, and I. The table's not big enough.”

“Plus, it stinks like boy,” Erica wrinkles her nose, “unwashed, gross boy.”

“It’s not that bad!”

“Yes, it is,” Harrington says.

“Steve, I have a compromise,” Erica says. “Regarding a promise you made to me. For life.”

Erica now has Harrington’s full attention it seems, and also Eddies, because what kind of lifelong promise has Harrington made to this child? “Yes, Erica?” Harrington asks.

“We play at your house next Friday. You will provide snacks and pizza,” she says it like it’s decided, before pointing her finger at Harrington, then dragging her hand through the air to point at everyone, “and all you nerds will stop bickering like old people. You’ll also have to buy our tickets because I didn’t bring any money. In return, I will shorten your life debt to the day after I graduate from high school.”

“Done! Deal!” Harrington accepts instantly, easily, and with a lot of relief in his voice. What the fuck did he owe Erica? Eddie’s dying to know, because he’s curious by nature. Not because anything about Harrington actually interests him. “I’ll be buying all the basketball tickets, and just tell me what pizza you want. That work for everyone?”

“Your parents will be okay with that?” Dustin asks.

“Oh, they’ll be gone by Friday for sure so no issue. So, will that work for everyone?” Harrington asks.

Eddie exchanges looks with his friends, a silent agreement to go with whatever they want. He hopes they say no, but Jeff speaks an affirmative first, so he, Gareth, and Frankie parrot that yes.

Erica stalks up to Harrington, stopping just in front of him, hand out, palm up. With a sigh, Harrington pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and drops it into Erica’s hand. Erica says, “I’ll get back to you on the pizza I want. I’ll go buy tickets. Are you all coming?”

Gareth says, “Uh, Harrington’s not gonna buy-“

“I said are. You. Coming?” Erica repeats, hands on her hips.

“Yes,” Gareth answers, then looks surprised he did. Eddie’s surprised, too, but only a little. He really likes Erica. He’s not going to be in school when her time to really join the club comes, but he’s going to make sure Gareth recruits her anyway. Somehow.

Erica gives one nod and heads out the door.

Eddie just watches for a moment as everyone gathers their things before he heaves a sigh and starts to pack up, too.

It’s not until Harrington speaks that Eddie realizes he’s alone with him in the green room, everyone else having left already. “I'm sorry. I’m sorry for coming in here and like, immediately attacking you. That wasn’t cool of me.”

Eddie looks him over before scoffing. “It’s whatever, man.”

“It’s really not,” Harrington says. “I know that, like, a lot of work goes into this game and I’m sorry. So, like, if you want anything extra, or need something for the game next week, I’ll get it. I’ll help however I can.”

Eddie pauses in the middle of his clean up, to look up at Harrington and study him. Those were the last words he expects to come out of Harrington’s mouth. An apology? Surely he’s entered the Twilight Zone. Harrington not only looks sincere, but sounds it, too.

He hates how, ever since Harrington’s arrival, Eddie feels like he’s lost control of his emotions. He’s always been on a hair trigger when Harrington and his stupid, handsome face were near. It’s the one crush he was never able to fully get over. And he hates it. He hates that he feels anything for the ex-king of Hawkins High besides contempt.

What should he say here? Thank you? Fuck off?

When Eddie finally replies, he settles for, “I don’t know if I hate you or not.”

“That’s fair,” Harrington says quietly, sincerely, and Eddie hates that, too. Hates that he can see the Harrington Dustin is always praising. If even just a little. Speaking of Dustin.

“I’ve got to know, Harrington. How’d this group of kids get to be so important to you?” Eddie goes back to gathering up the stuff on the table, needing something to do or he’s going to do something stupid. Like let Harrington have his full attention. "Why is their continued friendship important to you?"

“I used to babysit them. Try and keep them out of trouble, which is impossible because they’re too fucking curious and smart. That’s a godawful combination, you know?”

Eddie lifts one corner of his mouth upwards in a smile he tries to fight back down because, “My uncle would agree with you.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t need a babysitter anymore but-“ Harrington cuts his words off, and when Eddie glances to him, he’s wearing a thoughtful expression. Harrington finally continues with, “But they’re family now. They can be a bunch of shitheads, but I love them. And they hate it when I say this, but they should get to be kids as long as they can.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes the time to process the words and he gathers up his things. Maybe he is wrong about Harrington. Maybe, he has changed. People are allowed to do that, Eddie knows, but he’s never witnessed it. Not really.

“Help me load what I’ll need for the session next week into my van and I’ll think about forgiving you for ruining this one,” Eddie says once everything is gathered.

“Yes!” Harrington agrees, a bit too eagerly and quickly. Like he couldn’t wait to be useful to Eddie in some way. Eddie shoots him a confused and concerned look before picking up the first stack of things and heading out. Between the two of them they make quick work of it all.

When they finally get to the gym, Dustin is sitting on the sidewalk waiting for them with their tickets. Eddie follows Dustin into the gym and watches with amusement as Dustin manhandles Harrington into sitting next to Mike. Dustin then sits next to Harrington, then pats the spot next to him while grinning at Eddie. Eddie looks up and sees that Gareth, Jeff, Frankie, and Erica have taken seats towards the top of the bleachers. He debates joining them but ends up dropping onto the bench next to Dustin.

“Oh, shit.” He hears Harrington say to himself.

“What, what is it?” Dustin asks.

“Brenda.”

“What?”

“Brenda!” Harrington hisses, “I, uh, I stood her up. To come to your game instead.”

Eddie swivels to look at Harrington, eyes wide and eyebrows raised in both surprise and delight as he asks, “You ditched a date to play DnD?”

Harrington and Eddie just look at each other for a moment before he watches Harrington blush with embarrassment. “Like I said. Dustin asked.”

Eddie shakes his head because he can’t believe Harrington. Steve ‘Lady’s Man’ Harrington ditched a lady because a fourteen-year-old asked him to. He turns back to the court, so he doesn’t give away how cute he thinks that is.

Wait. No. He doesn’t think anything Harrington does is cute. He doesn't!

Since he’s looking at the court, Eddie looks for Lucas and finds him just in time to see Lucas’s face light up when he sees the whole club sitting there. There’s that shame from earlier back, pooling in his gut.

Everyone stays for the whole game. They all get to see Lucas make the winning shot. Eddie finds himself cheering with the rest of the stands.

He joins everyone with swarming Lucas. He doesn’t push in and get close, the shame in his stomach keeping him at a distance, but he does make eye contact and gives two thumbs up. Lucas looks overjoyed at just that, and it’s suddenly too much inside. Too loud.

He needs to go.

He makes it halfway to his van before he hears Harrington again.

“Hey, Eddie, wait!”

Eddie does wait, turning as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Harrington. Not done turning my night upside down?”

“Nah, man. Just wanted to give you my number.”

“Your number?” Eddie says, voice a bit delirious because what the fuck. Why would Harrington want Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson to have his number?

“Yeah. So that when it’s closer to the Dungeons game you can call, let me know the time that works for you all. Maybe even drop off some of that stuff I helped you load before the game? Whatever makes it easier for you.”

“Oh,” why is he disappointed by that answer? What had he been hoping it would be? “Yeah. Sure. I don’t have a pen on me-“

“No issue. Already wrote it down,” Harrington says, pulling the paper from his pocket, offering it to Eddie.

He reaches out slowly and takes it, balling his fist around it without looking at it, eyes locked onto Harrington's face. The nearest light source is behind Harrington, so he can’t see the features of his face but that’s fine. He’s not looking for them. He stares, just looking. Harrington has not been what he thought he would be. Eddie’s not used to being wrong about things. Harrington confuses him, makes him a little crazy, and he’s got a week to unpack the why of that. Dare he say it, he might be looking forward to the game at Harrington’s house.

Eddie turns on his heel and heads off into the night without another word. If he stays any longer he might try something stupid, like asking if he and Harrington might have a shot at friendship after all.

“Okay then. Have a good night! See you next week!” Harrington shouts at his back and Eddie lets himself smile about it.

[heymickyursofine]

Things Change. Benny Weir X Fem!Reader

Summary: After months of ignoring Benny at all costs, you finally have a talk with him.

Warnings: Cussing if you count that, otherwise none! Let me know if I missed anything.

Months had passed since the last time you talked to Benny. 4 months to be exact.

You avoided him at all costs, even going as far as not to sit with the group at lunch, going off and doing your own thing.

Erica and Sarah would join you, the former more than the latter as she was the one who was the one in the group the most pissed off at Benny. Hell, she might have even been more upset than you. Her reaction to the situation made you feel sane like you were rational in your decision to cut Benny off and you made the correct one.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to kill him? Drain him of all his blood?” Erica looked down at you as you walked to her house. The two of you had been hanging out a lot recently, you loved it.

“I think so. I don’t think death should be his punishment, just losing our friendship.”

“Is there a difference?” She cocked her head.

You shrugged, “I guess not.”

“Do you think you’ll ever forgive him? I’m not saying you should, I'm only curious.”

You pondered. “I don’t know. I’m conflicted. I miss him a lot, even after everything he did. I don’t regret what I said, I was valid for that. It’s funny how someone can wrong you but you still miss them.”

It truly was. You didn’t think you’d be mad at Benny forever but didn’t know when you would forgive him. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Who knew?

Not you, that’s for sure.

In the following days after you chatted with Erica, you thought a lot about the situation. 4 months had been a long time to go without talking to Benny, and maybe that was enough.

You had no clue what to do. So when you showed up at Benny’s house on a whim you started to regret your decision. Your closed fist paused inches from the door.

You weren’t going to do this.

Letting out a sigh, you dropped your hand and turned around. What exactly were you thinking of doing?

Tell Benny you forgive him and that you love him the way he loved you?

Give him a kiss that’s so passionate it would put a romance movie to shame?

Oh my god… that’s exactly what you were going to do!

Idiot.

Absolute fool.

The self-respect you had for yourself was- “Y/N?” You froze. Oh no, this was happening. Do you run away or face him? That was your dilemma.

Those two choices kept replaying in your head and before you knew it, you were slowly turning around. “Benny. Hi.” You spoke through gritted teeth.

“Oh-oh my-“ You held up your hand to stop him from coming any closer. “Don’t.” He stood there, staring awkwardly at you, waiting for you to make the first move.

You let out a weak laugh, “This was a mistake.” Obviously.

“Don’t leave, please.” He could’ve begged, and by his tone, it sounded like he was.

“Benny, you have to know that I’m still mad at you.”

“I do. I swear I do Y/N and you have every right to be.”

“Yeah, no shit. You drugged me.” He grimaced when you put it like that.

“I know, and I’ll never forgive myself for that, but please come in. Let me explain myself.”

“I don’t know what else there is to explain Benny. You gave me a love potion because you thought that I couldn’t love you without it.”

“I-I did-“

“Did it ever cross your mind that maybe if you simply asked how I felt it could’ve gone in your favor?” Your words were laced with venom as you spoke, walking back up the stairs of his porch, coming to stand right in front of him.

“No-“

“Well you should’ve! You should’ve been rational and actually thought of the fact that maybe I could’ve loved you. Did you not think to ask Sarah or Erica if I liked you? Or even Rory?”

“Rory?” He asked, confused.

“Yeah! I talk to Rory you know—well actually you wouldn’t know. But if you had asked any of them you would've known that I was in love with you too, you idiot!”

You shouldn’t have been yelling, feeling bad for his neighbors, and his Grandma who might have been inside.

Benny’s mouth was wide open.

“What?” You spat.

“You-you were in love with me too?”

“Did I say that out loud?” You laughed unsurely.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I should’ve asked you first.”

“Why did you do it, Benny?” You whispered. “I didn’t think you could love me without it. It wasn’t the right way to do it. I don’t want to imagine what could’ve happened if it worked.”

“Why didn’t it?”

He let out a slight laugh, “You were already in love with me.”

“Well aren’t I lucky?” You spoke sarcastically.

“Yeah—uh, listen, Y/N, I’m really sorry. If I could take it back I would, I should have known it was stupid. Apparently, I didn’t learn from Delilah’s dog.” You almost laughed at the last part, remembering how well that blew up in his face, but you kept your composure. “I shouldn’t have drugged you.”

“So you admit it?”

“Well, yeah-“

“Then I forgive you.” You shrugged.

“R-really?” He stuttered out in shock, not expecting you to ever forgive him for his actions.

“As long as you promise to never put any spells in my drink again… we’re good.”

He smiled, “I promise. Thank you.” There was a beat of silence until he spoke again. “So, do you still love me?”

You rolled your eyes, “Unfortunately.”

He scoffed jokingly.

“Of course I do, Benny.”

“Lucky me,” He sighed blissfully.

—

Words from Micky: Part three is here! Thank you for all the love on the previous two parts, you guys are amazing! I do have some more Benny works that are in the chamber, but I currently am working on some full length fics over on my Wattpad.

PART 1 (HERE) PART 2 (HERE)

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