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kquil · 10 months ago

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JAMES POTTER | LIKE LOVERS DO

REQUEST : hiiiii :) if/when u can, smith like this with james or remus lupin? @bobs-fav-cat

(art is by gyung_studio on instagram)

SUM : you and James Potter are just friends —friends that act like they’re in a loving relationship.

TAGS. : modern au ; muggle au ; idiots in love ; james loves giving you princess treatment ; and you love returning his affections ; just friends being friends ; hehehe~ ; they’re in denial ; domestic fluff ; selfcare session ; biker james? ; james being a sweetheart ; reader being absolute wifey material! ; james and reader being so in love it’s sickening ; the type of sickening that makes you puke rainbows, glitter and love hearts ; mutual pinning! ; slightly based off a tiktok i saw once ; happy ending where they get together ; so much fluff ; scheming gremlin friends ; lily, dorcas and marlene as cupids for reader ; remus, sirius and peter as cupids for james ; idiots in love

LENGTH : 3.6k

“They should wear a sign,” Peter laughs as he and his close friends eye the pair of oblivious idiots across the room, “one that says ��we’re actually together no matter how much we deny it’,”

“You said it,” Sirius raises a hand and the two high-five each other before sniggering between themselves.

Across the hall stood you and James. It was a networking event disguised as a formal company party. And even though you and James weren’t each other’s dates to the event, James wore a matching tie to your chosen dress. The two of you unanimously decided to go with the excuse that you had both gone shopping for an outfit together and unconsciously bought matching things. It was only natural because you two were such good, close friends.

From a distance, the three watch as you lift your left foot up through the high side-slit of your dress and draw attention to your unbuckled heel with a frown. James’ hazel eyes focuses onto your heel as well and immediately places his flute of champagne on a nearby table to help you, as if it was second nature to him; it is second nature to him— taking care of you. He’s kneeling down and re-buckling your heel for you as your hand tentatively places itself on his broad shoulder for balance.

Once James is finished, he stands back up with a grin, takes up his flute with one hand and wraps his other around your waist to pull you into his side with a smile. Neither of you flinch at the closeness, in fact, you snuggle further into your best friend’s side and tuck your head under his chin so he can place a kiss onto the crown of your head.

“Wanna bet on who folds first?” Remus speaks up with a devious smirk, Sirius and Peter eagerly voicing their predictions and placing their bets.

“Oh Jamie!” you gasp and smile widely as your best friend presents you with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, “They’re beautiful,” he helps the floral arrangement into your arms with a satisfied grin, a fondness in his eyes as he watches you savour the scent of the pretty blossoms.

“My pleasure, my dear,” he regales dramatically as you giggle, “I passed by the florist on my way back from lunch at the pub with the boys and thought you’d like them,”

“I do like them,” you lean forward and kiss him on the cheek, “you’re so thoughtful, thank you for thinking of me, James,”

His warm smile softens further and he kisses your temple lovingly, “of course,” aside from the lingering scent of your shampoo and conditioner, James picks up on something more appetising, “what’s that delicious smell, angel?”

“Oh!” reminded of your earlier activities, you lead him into your kitchen where you proceed to find a vase for the arrangement in your arms, “I was baking—”

“Treacle tart!” James cheers and does a goofy little dance in the middle of your kitchen, his excitement obvious.

“It’s almost done so you popped in at just the right time,” you giggle softly whilst transferring the arrangement into your chosen vase. With a pleased hum, James presses up behind you and places his large hands on the curve of your hips, his thumbs tenderly stroking up and down until he eventually pushes the hem of your shirt up, caressing your soft skin beneath.

“Mmmmm… lucky me,” he whispers happily into your shoulder, where he begins trailing kisses up your neck. His words send a shiver up your spine and you resist the escalating urge to turn in his arms and lead his lips to cover and press against your own.

You’re just friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

James can’t get over how cute you are.

Even when you’re doing the most mundane things, he can’t help but find you adorable. Like right now. Even with a bright green clay mask on your face, you are adorable, perched on his lap with your knees on either side of his thighs as you spread the same treen mask over his skin.

“Stop moving, Jamie!” you chastise gently whilst stifling a giggle.

“You stop moving,” he counters playfully and emphasises his words by placing his big hands on your hips and squeezing your curves briefly. Your only response is to laugh and do your best to continue applying an even coat onto his face.

“….there!” you huff and set aside your tool to close the clay mask tub, “all done, no thanks to you!” He tickles your sides in retaliation as you climb off his lap and reach for your phone in order to set a timer. His antics were a brief distraction as you bless him with your tinkling giggles.

“For how long do we keep this on?”

“15 minutes,”

He pulls a face, one that makes him look like a duck as he ponders over his thoughts. He looks so ridiculous, especially with the green mask on his face — it was only naturally for you to burst out laughing, “what should we do until then?”

“Stop talking,”

“Wha—?!”

“Not like that, Jamie,” you coo as he pouts dramatically, “we have to stop talking soon or else the mask will crack too much as it dries,” he makes a long noise of realisation at your words and nods obediently, zipping his lips before throwing away the imaginary key.

No matter what he does, he’s always making you laugh. You’re sure that, even if you’re temporarily banning him from speaking, he would still be able to make you laugh and your clay mask will end up looking like a dried up riverbed.

You have no complaints, though.

You weren’t expecting it but you still weren’t too surprised when you see James waiting for you outside — just in time to pick you up after a night out with your close girl friends. He was wearing one of your favourite sweaters of all time, it was soft and big (big enough to make him appear deceivingly smaller than you know his figure is) and is the warmest thing you’ve ever worn.

“James!” you call out, happy to see him. The build up of fatigue from the whole night melts off your aching limbs like powdered snow under golden sunbeams. Running to him, he greets you with his heart-stopping smiles.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers as soon as he has his arms wrapped around you.

“Stop it,” you sigh into his shoulder, your face buried into the soft fabric of his sweater, “I look a mess after tonight,”

He pulls away, enough to meet your eyes and examine your face without having to remove his arms from around you, “If this is you looking a ‘mess’, then I wonder what type of beauty you were earlier tonight,”

His comment makes your heart soar but you don’t let it show on your face, even when he wiggles his eyebrows comically to emphasise his flattering remark. Instead, you narrow your eyes at him before slipping out of his arms and biting your lip at the confused, pitiful whine he lets out. You don’t leave him miserable for long, however, as you’re quickly reaching down to lift up his sweater so that you could pull it over your head and burrow yourself inside. Like the living furnace he is, you’re greeted by such a comforting heat, you forget that you’re both still outside in the wet cold of the night.

Throwing his head back, James laughs and wraps you up in his arms again, laying his cheek against the top of your head through his sweater. The first time you ever did this, he wasn’t shy about saying how much he loved it. And now, you’ve made it a tradition to do this often during the autumn and winter months. Admittedly, you loved cuddling him like this too; it’s more intimate and you love being surrounded by his warmth. It was a bonus that his scent literally has you in a choke hold under there. You’d happily suffocate on the smell of his cologne, laundry detergent and natural smell. But it also feels as though you’re falling into a trance by some alluringly scented spirit.

“As much as I love holding you like this, dear, I’m still on a mission to get you home safe so…” he looks down at you, hazel eyes turning soft at the adorable sight of you cuddled up to him under his sweater, “can my princess please let me help her into my car and drive her back home safely?”

You didn’t respond, only pouted and whined to express your dislike of pulling away from him as well as the warmth of his soft sweater. James knew instantly what to do. You two were best friends after all; it was a requirement for him to know all your needs telepathically. It was an awkward shuffling of limbs but James managed to slip off his sweater without needing to lift it off your figure and hoists you into his arms before you could start grumbling at the loss of his embrace.

“Not long now — my princess will arrive at her carriage soon~” he sings in a whisper beside your ear, smiling fondly at your soft giggles and adoring the way you wrap your arms around his neck to cuddle him close before needing to pull away so he can carefully sit in his car’s passenger seat.

“Oh, come on!” Marlene gives an exasperated sigh as you examine the array of snacks laid out before you. In your peripheral, you observe how Lily doesn’t make any moves to stop Marlene from pestering you; instead a small smirk tugs at the corners of her lips, secretly enjoying and wanting to take part in Marlene’s badgering.

“You come on,” you throw back with a light-hearted glare, “I thought we were going to buy snacks for movie night, not grill me on my friendship with James,”

“Friends, huh?” Dorcas arches a brow as Lily stifles a giggle beside her. All three were eyeing you mischievously as a heat flushes across your cheeks.

“Stop it you guys,”

“We’ll stop as soon as you stop playing the friendship game with James!” Lily bargains, unable to hold herself back anymore, and you try your hardest not to roll your eyes while your cheeks flood with a familiar warmth.

“We’re just friends,” it was a painful admission but you’d rather have what you have right now with James than ever risk sabotaging it.

Marlene examines a strand of her golden hair as Lily leans against her side, “James acts more of a boyfriend to you than just a friend,”

Dorcas speaks up with a hint of impishness, “and I can prove it~”

“How?” you challenge, raising your chin ever so slightly in silent provocation. But Dorcas has no reaction, she just continues to smirk at you.

“I’m gonna need your phone first,” you hesitate from the devilish sparkle in her eyes but eventually relent, cursing the weakness that was a result of your aching heart. Dorcas types away on your phone for a moment as Marlene and Lily peer over her shoulder and snicker at what they read. She doesn’t allow you to read the message she typed out before hitting send and handing your phone back

It takes a moment for you to get over your shock and look through the message she sent. It was sent straight to James, lovingly named as ‘My Idiot ❤️’ in your contacts, and it read: ‘James, this scary looking guy keeps following me around in the shop and it’s creeping me out! I can’t find the girls either �� what do I do?’. Your jaw drops and you can’t find any words to voice whatever it is you’re feeling; a mix of anger, upset, shock and creeping curiosity over what they have planned.

Not a minute goes by and your phone is getting rapid notifications from James messaging you, he even tries to call you but the girls snatch your phone away before you could answer. They shake their heads at you and you huff, crossing your arms. You would have protested more from the rising anxiety you feel over having to lie to James but you were so curious. In the end, you reluctantly accept their plotting and try to prepare yourself for what’s to come.

For a minute, the message notifications stop from your phone and Lily feels her phone buzz from inside her bag. The three giggle as Lily rushes to take out her phone. From the side lines, you continue observing everything with your heart pounding rapidly in your chest. Lily types back a response and all three look up at you in unison, their eyes swimming with mischief.

“I’m setting a stopwatch to see how long just-friend-Potter gets here,” Marlene snickers and you groan, Dorcas and Lily giggling on either side of her. As much as you love them, they’re such a nuisance sometimes…

You could only guess that Lily sent him her location and now all of you were left patiently waiting for James to appear.

Not even 15 minutes passes before James comes storming into view, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in all black and without his glasses. Even without his glasses on, when James glances over and catches a glimpse of you, recognition crosses his unfriendly features and he storms over. Within seconds, he’s pulling you into a warm embrace.

“Oh thank god,” he breathes a sigh of relief and presses his face into your hair, “you’re okay… —are you okay?” you look up as he pulls away and searches for your eyes, squinting to be able to do so without the aid of his glasses.

“Y-yeah, I’m alright. The umm, the creep disappeared a little while ago,” you muster a small smile of reassurance, still uncomfortable with lying to him, before managing to softly ask your burning question, “why aren’t you wearing your glasses?” habitually, you feel about for the breast pocket of the leather jacket he has on and pull out his circular specs.

As you carefully clean his lenses on your shirt, he goes to explain, “I wanted to look scary so that creep leaves you alone,” you’re quick to realise that without his glasses he would be forced to squint so that it looks like he’s glaring. It also clicks in your head that he wore all black so he could look even more intimidating. It was unusual for him to wear just black, normally that was Sirius’ thing, but you’re not complaining; James looks really attractive dressed in black, his hair tousled around messily and without his glasses on.

“Thank you, Jamie,” he grins boyishly after you put his glasses back on for him, taking a moment to adjust them until they sit aligned and comfortable. By habit, you comb your fingers through his untamed hair and James, in turn, presses a kiss to your temple.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, princess,” your heart skips a beat at the nickname — he’s called you that so many times but he’s reserved it especially for you and it makes you feel so special, “do you want me to give you a ride home?” he lifts up the motorbike helmet in his hand, which you immediately recognise. Your curious eyes meet his hazel hues and he smiles bashfully, “I borrowed Sirius’ bike to get here quicker…” he shuffles around his feet, nervous under your gaze —he hate lying to you too, “okay okay… I took his bike without asking but I promise to give it back as soon as I get you home safe!”

You give a small giggle and wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into his muscular chest. It’s an embrace that James eagerly returns, petting your hair whilst speaking over your head once he finally spots your three friends.

“Are you guys okay too?”

“Gee, thanks for the concern, Potter,” Marlene rolls her eyes as Lily and Dorcas crack up, “yeah, we’re good,”

“Good, good,” James immediately goes back to focus on holding you close and kissing the crown of your head, affectionate and sweet. You could always rely on him to be there for you no matter what and the thought made butterflies explode into a fluttering haze in your stomach.

Dorcas had proven her point.

It was clear now that James prioritised you over anyone else. And you didn’t know whether to be flustered and scream for joy or melt into a puddle of goo.

“She’s not my girlfriend so shut up,” James huffs and groans as he rolls over to lay on his stomach across the length of the sofa whilst Remus, Sirius and Peter sat in a scattered array about the living room.

“Says the motorbike thief,” Sirius hisses playfully, shooting a superficial glare at his long time best friend/non-blood-related brother.

“She really does act like your girlfriend more than your friend, Prongs,” Remus chimes up, setting his book aside as Peter offers him several cubes of chocolate.

“I don’t get why you two don’t just date each other,” it was Peter who speaks up this time and James can’t help but roll his eyes that even Peter was on his ass about this.

“That’s right! You don’t get it!” they wait for him to continue with a ‘so’ before demanding something but James just presses his burning hot face into a cushion and has a silent tantrum.

“I’ll prove you wrong!” Sirius claims boldly and when James looks over, his biker friend was rapidly typing away at his phone, “I’ll give it around 20 minutes until she gets here,”

James raises a brow, “Who?”

“Your not-girlfriend, of course!”

“What did you say?” Remus asks what they were all wanting the answer to.

“Oh nothing~ just that Jamesie-kins over here is really upset over something but doesn’t want to tell us why so we don’t know what to do to help him feel better,” Sirius fakes a pout and watery eyes as James gapes at him, horrified.

“HOW IS THAT GONNA PROVE ANYTHING?!”

“If she gets here in 20 minutes then that means she prioritises your hurt feelings over going to her favourite over-priced restaurant with Pandora,” James’ eyes nearly bulge out.

“That’s today?!”

Sirius’ devious smirk was answer enough.

“I say 10 minutes!” Peter bets.

“15!” Remus adds on.

Remus wins the bet when you get there 14 minutes after Sirius’ text message was sent. Your arms are piled up high with James’ favorite junk food snacks, ranging from sweet to savoury. Over your shoulders, you wear your fluffiest blanket (James’ favourite) as a cape and rush forward to drape it over him. No time was wasted as you silently move around their shared flat at lightening speed, putting on the TV and switching to his favourite, comfort show, laying out his snacks on the coffee table and putting the kettle on before snuggling down under the blanket with him. It was a tight fit for the two of you on the sofa but neither of you minded; you were both cuddle bugs and enjoyed the closeness.

“Get out, you three! Leave Jamie and I alone!” you speak for the first time to shoo the three boys away. They happily oblige, Remus smirking as Sirius and Peter cough up their betted amounts and close the living room door behind them.

For a long moment, you merely stay there, your arms wrapped around James’ shoulders, one hand lovingly petting his hair as your other presses his face into your chest. James wasn’t shy about voicing how this was his most comforting position for cuddles and it made his heart race that you had cancelled your long awaited plans just to console him.

“What’s wrong Jamie?” you finally ask, voice soft and slow with patience, “Sirius told me you weren’t feeling so well… but you’re not ill? Are you?” he feels you press the back of your hand against his forehead to check his temperature as he finally locks his strong arms around your midsection and pulls you even closer, “No you’re not, thank goodness,” he falls in love with the relief he hears in your voice. He loves falling in love with you over and over again; it’s so easy, “what can I do to help?”

He doesn’t know why he held back for so long. It was all so clear now. The fact that your eyes sparkled around him the way his did when he looked at you was so unbelieved before, he kinda just voluntarily blinded himself. But now, it was like he was seeing colours for the first time. James just can’t believe it took Sirius, of all people, to make him realise it. What a joke… he almost wants to laugh. But he can’t, not when his heart was ready to beat out of his chest for you.

“Jamie?”

“…a kiss…” it was a whisper but you heard him so clearly. And he knows because he heard your breath hitch.

“—what?”

“I want a kiss…to feel better,”

Not wanting to raise your hopes, you press a kiss to his forehead and your heart deafens your ears as it beats loudly against your eardrums.

“A proper kiss,” he raises his head and pulls up to level his lips with yours, his hazel eyes melting your gaze, “like lovers do,”

You’ve waited so long for this moment that you couldn’t even fathom that it was actually happening and your entire world slowed to a standstill. It wasn’t until James had pressed his full lips against yours that you felt your senses come to life with so much intensity that you felt like you wanted to faint. But you wouldn’t dare miss your first kiss for anything.

Like lovers do, you kissed. Like lovers do, you embraced. Like lovers do, you whispered sweet words, a life long promise, to one another, “I love you,”

A/N : this started off as a timestamp that i sneakily wrote this request into (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ i didn’t know how to conclude it at first but i just kept writing and writing and now it’s finished haha! i hope you darlings enjoy the read! and i would also like to humbly tag my beloved moot @diputy for reasons she understands on a deep level (⸝⸝⸝• ω •⸝⸝⸝) ♡

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @fallencrescentmoon @topaz125 @xxrougefangxx @starchaser-lily @probablypossesedbysatan @agent-tempest @ghostgardn @rosalyn-s @seungtelevision

#james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter one shot #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter fanfiction #marauders fic #the marauders #marauders #james potter x reader fic #james potter x y/n #marauders x reader #james potter oneshot #best friend james potter

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sunlit-mess · 5 months ago

Note

Do you have any headcannons for Radioapple (or more specifically Alastor) regarding how they are domestically/homelife?

For example: Like does Alastor like to read to Lucifer? Do they only have pancakes for breakfast due to Luci’s love of them?

something typically cheesy I'd puke rainbows

Either out for dates or have their secret spots/places

Taking their sweet time in the mornings and before bed ( like little casual banters while doing their own thing but interacting at the same time through minimal physical touch or whatever )

Routine / like- they exchange chores ex. if one cooks then the other washes the dishes after

FOR ALASTOR:

Mostly takes over chores before Lucifer does ( much like when you are ahead before your mom does any chore )

May seem distant but he takes mental notes of little to big things about his partner ( knowing more about em' ) and does something for it later... It mostly surprises the other

When tired, he can't help but crave the other's presence so he tends to seek him out without explanation

#messyr #radioapple

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ckret2 · 10 months ago

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Chapter 37 of human Bill is this close to wriggling out of the Mystery Shack, featuring: Bill getting alone with Wendy and chatting about teen stuff.

Meanwhile, downstairs,

Bill meandered through the house, munching on a jelly, hot sauce, jalapeño, and sprinkles sandwich.

Everyone was out, the Mystery Shack was closed for the day... Bill was pretty sure this was the first time he'd ever been completely alone in the house since his capture.

What sort of mischief could he get up to?

He headed upstairs to change out of his wet clothes; nice not to have to do it in the tiny curtained bathroom for the sake of the nudity-fearing easily-scandalized humans. He hated to peel off his hoodie—even though it didn't quite make him feel like himself, it at least did a terrific job of hiding how unlike himself he was—but if it wasn't dried out by the time the older humans got home, they might confiscate it to launder it, and then it would be even longer until he got it back.

The things he had to worry about these days were so pathetic.

To go with his makeshift bed, Bill had recently been generously granted a makeshift dresser: an ancient apple crate into which he could shove his ill-gotten clothing. His entire wardrobe combined barely filled half of it. He mourned for some of the garments he and Stan hadn't managed to smuggle out. Galaxy camo. Puking kangaroo jacket. Rainbow cheetah-tiger print leggings. When he took over this place again, he was making himself a full set of dining chairs with real human legs, and then he was putting those leggings on all the chair legs.

He pulled on a tank top and fresh leggings, spread his wet clothing out to dry, and went looking for trouble.

This was a perfect opportunity to get Soos's electric piano out of the floor room; knowing a piano was right there was driving Bill crazy, but he didn't want the humans to overhear him playing and didn't want to lower himself to asking for headphones.

Or he could have a solo dance party. His body ached to dance. He played music with Mabel from time to time, but they had to keep the volume down to levels nobody else would complain about, and he wasn't about to risk dancing when his jailers could yell at him for it. He was pretty sure the boombox was in the kids' bedroom; but after the damage Dr. Illing left on the door, Bill might be able to get in if he could figure out how to get through it. The dentist had managed to get through with the same curse, after all, hadn't he?

Although that gave Bill another thought.

A couple of interesting things had happened on the night the dentist had broken in.

First: Stan had shoved Bill, back first, through the door from the living room into the gift shop. Bill didn't know how Stan did this. All he knew was that the door was closed, Bill was shoved, and somehow the door... permitted him through, and then he was on the other side. He didn't understand it. But it happened.

And second: Stan told the dentist that that door was load bearing, and then had told Bill he'd only said that to keep the dentist from touching it or else he might accidentally figure out a way through, even when he didn't know how it opened.

What did this mean? Bill wasn't quite sure. It was all pretty mysterious. But, it sounded like... it was possible to get through the door... without... opening it?

It didn't make sense to him. But maybe it didn't need to make sense. Maybe it was good that it didn't make sense—because the curse prevented doors from making sense to him, so maybe the only way around them was embracing a solution that seemed like nonsense. Maybe if he recreated the conditions he'd experienced when he was pushed... and if he focused not on the door, not on opening it, but on just... trying to walk into the next room, completely ignoring the existence of the door... perhaps something would happen?

He eyed the door thoughtfully, chewing his jelly-jalapeño sandwich. It was worth trying. He wondered whether tripping on the step was a necessary part of whatever process had gotten him through the door, or if it was optional. He decided he'd try it without the tripping and only put it back in if that didn't work.

He turned his back to the door, shut his eyes, and walked backwards.

There might be some validity to this method. There were some places that could only be accessed by walking backwards. Some fairy domains, for instance. The hidden fairy court outside Portland. He flinched when his back hit the door; he told himself to ignore the door—don't think about the door—and keep walking. He wasn't trying to open the door, he told himself—he wasn't trying to do anything with the door—he was merely trying to walk to the next room. The door didn't matter to him.

And somehow, he kept moving.

The door simply let him through.

He didn't stop walking until he felt a rug under him and knew he must have made it into the gift shop. He opened his eyes and stared in amazement at the door, gently swinging closed again in his wake. What happened there? It was magic. It had to be magic. Were doors even real? Were they just illusions that looked and felt like solid walls until you tried to pass through them? Was that what the curse had forced him forget—did doors not really exist?

He laughed in confusion. "What...?"

"Oh hey, how'd you get in here?"

Bill nearly jumped out of his shoes. He whipped around to face the voice. Wendy was standing under the curtain into the museum.

Right. Yes. An explanation. How did he get in here. "I genuinely and honestly do not know!"

Wendy nodded. "Okay."

"What are you doing here? I thought the shack was closed."

"Hanging out with the baby dragons," Wendy said. "Sometimes when the shack's closed and I need a break from the house, I kinda... use my key to let myself in and hang out with the displays?"

Bill nodded slowly. "All right." He hadn't kept a close eye on the Corduroys once Raina was gone, but he had some ideas why Wendy would want to get away.

"Please don't tell Soos I snuck in?" Wendy asked. "I don't think he'd mind that much, but—still. It's a... It's not a work thing. I don't want my boss to know."

"Don't tell Soos I snuck in?" Bill countered.

Wendy pursed her lips. "All right, that's fair."

So, here they both were. Not exactly what Bill was planning for the day; but, it meant he could have a little uninterrupted conversation with Wendy without his jailers knowing. It was an invaluable opportunity. Bill would have to use all of his cunning to spin this situation to his advantage. He had to choose his next words extremely carefully.

Bill said, "Hey, as long as we're here, wanna chill on the roof or something?"

Wendy considered that. She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

Nailed it. Wendy was such a pushover.

####

Wendy led the way up the ladder. "Guess you need me to open the lids for you, huh?"

Bill laughed "'Lids'?"

"Shut up, you know what I mean. The—" Wendy gestured at the trap doors leading to the roof. "The roof lids."

"Yeah, I'd really appreciate if you'd get the roof lids."

Bill was slower to climb up. He'd never used a ladder in this body before; and as he climbed over worn mossy shingles he could faintly see three places where he would lose his footing and fall, and he had to creep carefully around them to avoid those futures. But then, at last, he was on the roof hangout spot.

"What the heck is that stink?" Wendy asked. "It smells like an outhouse crawled up here to die."

"You remember that giant eye-bat Soos had to chase off—?"

"Oh, yeah. He closed the shack and gave me the day off while you guys were dealing with it. I didn't know the repellant smelled this bad."

The only other time Bill had ever been up here was when he was haunting Dipper's dream, and of course that hadn't been the actual roof. It was a much cheerier spot than it had seemed in a midnight dream. Feel that breeze. Look at that sunlight.

And, for the first time in nearly a month, Bill was outdoors without any kind of cuff to restrict his movement.

Granted, he was also thirty feet off the ground, in a body that was controlled by gravity, with no way to climb down. But still.

"Dude, you look like you're worshipping the sun," Wendy said.

Bill was standing at the edge of the roof, facing the sun, arms outstretched, head tipped back. He supposed he did. "We're distant cousins. Inside I'm a hundred billion trillion suns."

Wendy laughed. "Listen to you. You sound like—some kind of hippie or something." Wendy took a seat on the pool chair. "You're still grounded or whatever, right? That's crazy for a full adult."

Bill laughed wryly. "Yeah. You can't imagine." For lack of another chair, he sat and leaned back against the slope of the roof. "It's condescending as all get out, and I hate it. But, hey." He shrugged. "It could be worse. I mean, they haven't tried to kill me yet."

Wendy laughed. "'Yet'."

"Yet. So I guess I can put up with it until..." Until what? "Until I... figure out somewhere else to go."

"Ugh, I hear that," Wendy said. "I'm dying to get out of this dumb town, it's so claustrophobic—and I've only been stuck here half as long as you. But I'm, like, sixteen, I can't just leave." She sat up, gesturing off into the distance. "But as soon as I finish high school, I'm taking off for Portland."

She settled back on the chair. "What about you? Where are you going when you get out of here."

"All over the planet!" He laughed. "I'm not kidding, I'm going everywhere. I've waited an eternity to see the world in person—rather than just seeing it vicariously through images and what people I meet remember about it."

"Oh yeah, I get that," Wendy said. "My mom had a postcard of Death Valley that's objectively super boring—it's just this desert with a wall of rock in the distance—but as a kid, I was fascinated by it anyway? This little glimpse into another world? It doesn't seem like a real place, so flat without any trees. I'm used to this." She gestured out at the mountains cradling Gravity Falls. "I wanna see places like that, it's just so different."

"Bet you'd fit in around there. I hear there's some tough gals living near Death Valley." And most of them prayed to golden triangular statues.

Bill stared at the sky a moment, willing a small cloud not to block his sunlight. It ignored his commands and its edge brushed over the sun's perimeter. "I'm not a big fan of flat places," he said thoughtfully. "Honestly—sure, I complain, but I really do like this stupid hick town. I like mountains and trees and weirdos."

"We've got a lotta weirdos."

"Highest volume of weirdos per capita in the United States. Gun to my head, if I had to choose any one place in the universe to be stuck... it actually might be right here." At least if he'd had the option of choosing captivity without the pending threat of execution. "But—if I had to choose between this one place and the entire rest of the universe? I'd choose the universe."

"Yeah, wow, that's deep." Wendy nodded. "Can't relate though. I flipping hate this place."

Bill cackled. "Oh, go on, tell me how you really feel!"

"I'm serious!" She got to her feet, staring off toward the idea of Portland in the distance. "I'm getting a job and starting college in Portland and leaving! I'm never cleaning up after my dad and brothers again! And they'll just have to deal with it."

"What if your friends stay here?" Bill asked. "Are any of them as eager to escape?"

"Eh. I figure everyone kinda loses touch with their high school friends and just makes new friends in college. Right?"

"Wow! Cold." He was a little impressed.

Wendy was silent for a moment, contemplating the horizon. "Honestly, I kinda feel like I'm... outgrowing them. Or—maybe not yet, but I will by the time I graduate. You know?"

"I get that! It's hard to be the coolest kid in the crew. No one can live up to your amazing example, but you've gotta put up with them anyway."

"Pfff. Shut up, man."

"But hey—listen, I've been where you are. I've gone through this. When I left school, I never spoke to a single kid I used to know ever again. I didn't want to. I don't regret it."

"I keep half forgetting that you're out of college and everything. No offense, but you look like, fifteen."

"Eh. Everyone thinks I look younger than I am."

Wendy sat again on the end of the pool chair. "What was the place you grew up like?"

Bill considered the question for a moment. "Flat."

Wendy laughed. "No wonder you like mountains. Grass is always greener, huh?"

"Sure." The sun was completely covered now. Bill already felt colder.

####

"Come in, come in," Fiddleford said, holding open the door and waving his guests in. "Welcome to my workshop!"

The Northwest Manor had an enormous formal dining room with warm brown marble tiles, festooned in rich red velvet curtains, overlooked by the taxidermy head of an elephant that Preston used to boast his grandfather had personally hunted (with the help of some hired locals, who'd taken care of tedious unimportant details like "setting up the camp" and "finding the elephant" and "shooting the gun").

Fiddleford had decided the marble floor made this the least flammable room in the house, tore down the curtains, named the elephant Johnny, shoved the long dining table against one wall to serve as a lab table, and hauled over all his makeshift engineering equipment from the junkyard in Tate's pickup. Now, the original purpose of the room was all but invisible beneath what was unmistakably a redneck mad scientist's laboratory. An oil drum in the corner could be brewing anything from moonshine to rocket fuel. Fiddleford's raccoon wife peered down at the visitors from atop a rumbling machine made from three cars' chassis.

"Sit, sit!" Fiddleford swept grease-smeared papers and half-finished doohickeys off four former dining chairs, and dragged the chairs around a three-legged folding table. Stan, Ford, and Soos took seats. Ford leaned over to see whether anything was propping up the legless corner, and only found an abandoned paper wasp nest on the bottom of the table.

Fiddleford crouched barefoot on his seat. "Thank you all for coming."

"So what's all this about?" Stan asked. "All Ford could say is you might be on the verge of a breakthrough on the Bill gun."

"Am I ever!" Fiddleford smacked the table excitedly. All three guests grabbed it to keep it from tipping over. "I've been cogitatin' up a way to remake its fuel!"

"And you've found a way?" Ford asked.

"Why, you bet I have maybe!"

Stan said, "You're still working on the fuel? Is that the only thing we're missing? Last year I stole a bunch of nuclear waste to power the portal, is that not an option?"

"Unfortunately, no," Ford said. "The Quantum Destabilizer can only be fueled by a paradoxical element that's inert when observed but radioactive when unobserved—but it doesn't exist in this universe. It's called NowUSeeitNowUDontium."

Stan grimaced. "I can guess who named it."

"It's clever," Soos said. "Very evocative."

Stan asked, "So, we're here to help make an element? Just so you know, I flunked chemistry, but I didn't do half bad at a community college course on auto mechanics." Stan looked around at the cobbled-together machinery filling the room. "Just in case that's relevant here."

Fiddleford waved off Stan's offer. "Naw, Soos can handle the equipment just fine."

Soos saluted. "You've got it!"

"I need you two for something else." Fiddleford hopped out of his chair, grabbed Stan and Ford's arms, and tugged them from their seats. "This way! Bring your chairs!" Soos quickly followed them, bringing his chair too.

As they crossed the room, Ford asked Stan, "You took a community college course on auto mechanics?"

"Eh. Thought it might help me figure out how your dumb portal works."

Ford smiled crookedly. "Did it?"

"Not one bit!"

Fiddleford led them to a machine that looked like a combination between a trash can, a lawnmower engine, and a rollercoaster-like maze of old lead pipes. He pulled the cord to start the engine, and the whole contraption rumbled ominously. "This is my miniature particle accelerator!"

"What's it do?" Stan asked.

"It accelerates miniature particles!" Fiddleford pointed halfway across the room at several CRT computer screens welded atop a sideways filing cabinet atop a sideways refrigerator. Wires spilled out of the cabinet drawers. "Soos can monitor the whole thing from over yonder."

"Aw, sweet." Soos put his chair in front of the monitors and sat. "Check it out, dudes, I'm like a nineties hacker!" He pulled a keyboard and an old video game joystick out of the fridge and pretended to type lightning fast. "Boom. I'm in."

Fiddleford pointed at the trash can. "And in here I've recreated the environmental conditions of the Dontium's native paradox universe."

"Amazing," Ford said, crouching down to inspect the pipes. "How did you do that?"

"I stuck a cat in a box and stuck the box in the trash can."

"I see."

Stan eyed the trash can, vibrating like mad from the lawnmower engine. "Is, uh, the cat alive?"

"Maybe!"

"Should... should we check?"

"Stanley, please," Ford said. "The cat-in-a-box thought experiment is a very unstable paradox. It's only good for a few days at most before breaking down; we can't risk disrupting the delicate conditions inside the box."

Stan blinked, baffled. "All right. Sure." He shrugged. "I was never much of a cat guy, anyway."

"Sitcher chairs either side of the accelerator, here," Fiddleford said. "Now! Dontium's properties change dependin' on whether it's observed or not. To synthesize it, it needs to be observed, and not. You followin' so far?"

"Yes," Ford said. "No," said Stan.

"Perfect!" Fiddleford clapped his hands on their shoulders. "You're doing stupendous so far. Now, in the paradox universe, I reckon one fella could just doublethink his way into producin' Dontium. But we've got to do it with two brains that are as near to identical as possible. Which is why I need you two! Twin brains are as close as we're gonna get if we don't wanna wait to grow a couple clones."

Stan gave Fiddleford a skeptical frown.

Fiddleford turned to Ford. "I need you lookin' right at the particle accelerator, at all times, to keep it under observation—but not think about it! The longer you can do that, the more the potential energy of the thoughts you're not thinkin'll build up, and since you know more about Dontium than Stanley does, you can generate more potential energy faster."

Stan's skeptical frown deepened.

Fiddleford went on, "And Stan, I need you to not look at the accelerator at all costs, but don't stop thinkin' about it once. You 'n' Ford's thoughts and non-thoughts will work like the plus 'n' minus poles on a magnet; it'll attract the mental energy outta Ford, into the accelerator between you two, and jump start the matter synthesizin' process." Fiddleford pointed at a hose snaking across the floor to the fridge. "And that'll pump the fresh Dontium into an old milk jug in the fridge! Soos'll keep an eye on it so it don't turn radioactive."

Soos fished around in the fridge until he found the jug, with the hose duct taped to the opening. A gas gauge removed from a car was attached to the jug. "Efficient," Soos said. "Sorry—you said so it doesn't turn radio-what?"

"Don't worry, you'll do terrific!"

"Heh, okay!"

If Stan's skeptical frown got any deeper, he'd pull a muscle. He looked to Ford for backup.

Ford was stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, I see. It's all scientifically sound."

Stan threw up his hands in defeat. "Okay. Fine. So all I have to do is look away from the particle-whatever while thinking about it while Ford looks at it without thinking about it? That's it?"

"That's it," Fiddleford said. "But! If you start or stop thinkin' about Dontium before we've got a critical mass in the jug, it'll all vanishify, and we'll have to start over!"

"Eh." Stan shrugged. "How hard can it be to keep thinking about your weird science project while I'm sitting right next to it?"

Ford considered the challenge of deliberately trying to not think about something while he was staring straight at it, and frowned. "I'm... going to need a distraction."

####

Dipper had circled half of Main Street, digging through the businesses' dumpsters in search of a sleeping nest of Fremont Nightwigglers, before it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, Bill had lied to him about where they nested. And now he was sweaty, bruised, and stunk to high heaven.

Well, great.

He dragged himself home, braced for Bill to mock him for falling for such an obvious lie and Mabel to tease him for smelling so bad.

But when he reached the shack, there was no sign of them.

Waddles was still contentedly wallowing in the mud around Stan's (really bizarrely painted) car. That wasn't necessarily weird; over the school year Mabel had gotten used to Waddles letting himself in and out of the yard by the back door flap, and now she was convinced that he'd grown big enough that the local wildlife had more to fear from him than he did from them. But even so, if Mabel and Bill had gone inside, it was weird that she'd leave Waddles outside unless she was coming back out. Dipper patted Waddles as he passed—Waddles curiously sniffed at his clothes—and headed into the house.

"Hello? Mabel?" Dipper called. "I'm back."

There was no response.

"Mabel?" After a pause, Dipper tried, less certainly, "Bill?"

And still silence. All the lights were out. The shack was deathly still.

The hairs on the back of Dipper's arms stood up. "Mabel?! Mabel!"

He ran to the office and called Mabel's cell phone, only to hear the credits theme from Believe In Yourself—her latest ringtone—playing down the hall. He ran to the living room. Mabel had left her phone on the table next to the chess board.

Maybe Dipper could believe Mabel had gone out without taking her phone. And he could just barely believe she might take Bill away from the shack, although even for her Dipper found that a stretch. But even at her most naive and absent-minded, he couldn't believe that she'd do both. She wouldn't go out alone with Bill Cipher without a way to call for help.

Which left only one other option. Something had gone terribly wrong.

"MABEL!" He tore through the house, opening every door, checking every room twice, every corner and cranny where Bill might be skulking or Mabel might be tied up. He took the elevator down to Ford's study—nothing—and then down to the basement, in case Bill was trying to repeat his stunt from the first day of summer break.

Nothing.

Where had Bill taken her?

####

"... and Tambry and Robbie have been insufferable all year," Wendy went on, capping off her list of recent grievances with all her friends. "First they break up in the first week of school, then we all hang out over Labor Day weekend and by the end of it they're making heart eyes at each other again, they said it was just the stress of a new school year that made them fight? But then they started fighting again and broke up a month later, then after Thanksgiving we find out they're back together, then right before school lets out they break up again, then suddenly they make up for Christmas and spend the rest of winter break glued to each other, then break up again..." She flung her hands out in exasperation. "And then just—kept doing that! They've been back together since school got out and they seem fine, but I'm just waiting for the next I-don't-know-what-I-saw-in-him text from Tambry..."

"Spring break?"

"What?"

"Did they get back together over spring break?"

"Yeah, we barely even saw them. How'd you know?"

"I have an instinct for these things," Bill said airily. That was one heck of a Summer Love potion overdose. Sometimes a large dose could linger through the next summer vacation or two in weakened form—but to be strong enough to hit every vacation in between, including the single day Monday holidays? Wow. Shooting Star really went to town on those two.

"If they break up again, I'm gonna start spraying them with water whenever they look at each other," Wendy said. "This is their last chance. I am not putting up with their drama anymore."

"I'll give 'em until the end of August," Bill said.

Wendy looked at him suspiciously.

"Let me know how close I get!"

"Maybe we should set up a betting pool," Wendy muttered. "Will you still be in the shack in August?"

Bill huffed. "I hope not." He just hoped he'd be leaving as a triangle rather than as a corpse.

"Man—all this talking about being stuck in town and the guys acting stupid is making me restless." Wendy stood, stretched, and pulled out her phone. "Sorry for dumping all my emotional junk on you. You sorta give off these... worldly, mentor-y vibes?"

Bill's chest puffed up. "Please," he said magnanimously, "feel free to talk to me about anything. I'm always happy to lend an ear." After all, who knew what might end up useful?

"I think I'm gonna see if the gang wants to hang." (And here Bill thought she'd outgrown them. But of course, without them, who else would she hang out with? It wasn't that bad, being the coolest kid in a pack of nobodies. Good for the ego. Better than being alone.) Wendy nodded toward the ground. "You wanna sneak out and come with?"

It was tempting. It was so tempting. But he had no idea when Stan and Ford would be back—or where in town they were right now—and if they found out he'd managed to get out of the shack, he'd probably be locked in the cellar until his execution day. He couldn't be stupid. He could only afford to risk it if he was making an escape... and if he tried to escape now, where would he go? Where could he go? With no ID, no money, no phone, nothing but the clothes on his back and a wretched body?

His best odds of getting back to the Nightmare Realm were in the basement of this very building; Kryptos wouldn't answer his calls; and he didn't have any way to reach any of his human followers from here. He wasn't even sure how to look them up. He could list off the dreams, life histories, and phobias of a dozen of his most devout worshipers; but did he know any of their phone numbers?

"Nah," Bill said. "Can't risk it." He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to live with this much fear. (He told himself he wasn't afraid.) "But, thanks for the offer. Maybe the jailers will lighten up and figure out it's not the end of the world if I go outside for a couple of hours, then we can talk."

Wendy shook her head, giving him a worried look. "Dude, the way you keep talking, I'm pretty sure this whole thing is this close to being illegal. Are you sure you're—you know—okay here?"

Oh, he loved that. She'd known the Mystery Shack household for years, and yet she was almost ready to take his side against them. He'd love to say he wasn't okay, please get him out of here—

But then what? Then she'd confront the Pines, and the Pines would tell her who he was... He held back a sigh. "Sure I'm okay! Hey—if I was in any real trouble, don't you think I'd have said something to Darryl at Rainbow Club by now? Come on."

"I guess," Wendy said; and then pressed, "You're sure, though?"

He'd worried her too much. Oh, this would be great if he were in any position to try to escape. As it was, though... how did he walk this back?

Come up with a story. Something believable.

Bill sighed heavily. "Okay, listen. Here's the thing. Thirty years ago, I... had a miscommunication with Ford—you've heard about part of that mess—and before I could straighten things out with him, everything with the portal happened, and it festered thirty years before we met again. He's gotten paranoid! That's what all this is really about: his paranoia. So yeah, sure, he's taking this waaay too far." He rolled his eyes. "Buuut, if I want to get his trust back, I have to play along with the crazy rules he thinks will keep him safe. And I do want his trust back. I like having him as a friend." And that was true. It was true, wasn't it? Sure, it was now. He decided it was.

Wendy nodded slowly. "Hey," she said. "Quick question. Have you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome."

Bill laughed. "Oh, come on! I don't like him that much."

And now that Bill had laid the groundwork, if he decided later that he could make use of Wendy's help, all he'd have to do was say Ford had finally tipped over the edge and he needed help escaping. Maybe that would even slow Wendy down from believing the Pines if they tried to tell her who he really was.

They headed back down into the gift shop, Wendy taking the lead and Bill trying his best not to fall down the ladder.

Bill tensed at the ghostly sight of Dipper trailing through the gift shop, in and out of the museum, and through the vending machine; but a second glance confirmed he was seeing an afterimage, not a premonition. Dipper wouldn't be back upstairs for a few minutes. What a narrow miss; he couldn't imagine how much trouble he'd be in if Dipper had noticed the roof lids left open.

"Oh, cool, Nate replied. Got at least one person to hang out with." Wendy stuffed her phone back in her pocket. "Hey—if you ever need a break from the craziness around here, you know how to reach me." She paused. "By walking backwards through the employee door, I guess."

"Ha! I'll keep that in mind." And maybe it would be useful someday.

Wendy waved as she headed out the gift shop exit. Bill returned the wave as he—thinking not about the door, thinking only about the living room and about walking straight into it as though nothing were in his way—backed through the doorway and into the next room.

He was getting good at this. No door would ever hold him again.

He meandered upstairs to check on his drying clothes, and found someone had left the bathroom door open. Had Dipper done that? He'd probably needed a shower after Bill had sent him digging through every dumpster in town. Ha. Well, good; Bill needed a quick shower too, lest the lingering stench of eye-bat repellant give away that he'd been outside while the jailers were gone.

He crept around the ajar door, peeled off his clothes, and climbed in the shower.

####

Dipper's foot bounced anxiously the whole elevator ride back up to the gift shop.

Not here. Bill and Mabel were clearly gone. Bill must have overpowered her while they were outside (and Dipper wasn't there to protect Mabel), and then—what—carried her off somewhere? Where else might Bill go?

Dipper ran outside—without noticing the breeze stirring the curtain that hid the roof ladder.

He circled the shack searching for any sign of where they might have gone; and then he grabbed his bike and pedaled frantically into the woods.

####

(Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate a comment! Next chapter is The Stupidest Chapter You've Ever Read. This is a boast.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #wendy corduroy #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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bubbless-s · 3 months ago

Note

I love love LOVE your page. Your Harry Potter fics are my favsss. Your Kyle and Kenny headcanons were LITERALLY SCRUMPTIOUS, I WILL KEEP EATING IT UP.

But if I could, may I request the main 3 SP boys x reader please? Separately of course. Maybe they’re dating and having a sleepover together. Just hc’s on what they’d do at a sleepover with a partner.

If you could, fem reader would be preferred, gender neutral is okay though.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Pillow Fights and Stolen Hearts₊ ⊹ ᶻ !! ␥

- ʚɞ genre: fluffy! (as always no gender implied.)

- ʚɞ warnings: none (devider)

→Masterlist

Kyle Broflovski

ೀ⋆ He definitely begged his mom for this.

ೀ⋆ His mom allowed with the rule of the door being open.

ೀ⋆ You suggested the sleepover firstly and got him hooked.

ೀ⋆ “What will we do on the sleepover? Play truth or dare?” after Stan showed him the powers of truth or dare he is willing to try it out with you. A little tho! He isn’t awaiting it with heart eyes!!

ೀ⋆ Our lovesick fool made a little list of things just incase if you guys runout of things to do.

ೀ⋆ “Do you have games on your phone?” -Ike

ೀ⋆ Kyle got you a rose too! He gave it to you when you arrived at his house.

ೀ⋆ Imagine the surprise on your face when you open the door to Kyles house only to get a rose shoved to your face. A very well decorated rose at that.

ೀ⋆ The fun part is when night came.

ೀ⋆ Kyle being Kyle couldn’t sleep at all.

ೀ⋆ Why you may ask. 1. He has the worst bed hair ever! 2.What if he kicks you in his sleep?! 3. Can’t stop staring at your sleeping face

ೀ⋆ It was the most anxious sleepover to him BUT you know after rain rainbow comes.

Stan Marsh

✧ Stan had this planned out for months.

✧ He carefully planned each step like the “master mind” he is. He totally sucks at it but eh

✧ First he will impress you with his guitar skills then ask you to come over to his place for a sleepover.

✧ It was a solid plan until he almost puked out of nervousness.

✧ But things did work out in Stans favour nonetheless!

✧ This loverboy was over the moon that you agreed and went out to buy all the snacks in the world with his pocket money.

✧ Not to mention he brushed his teeth 12 times because you guys w-will..will kiss..such a blasphemy..!

✧ Stan also made a very romantic questionable playlist.

✧ “You deserve better.” - Shelley

✧ When night fell Stan and you found yourself under the covers.

✧ Sleepy but still talking. Too invested in the conversation but too sleepy to continue..

✧ The problems solution was a sweet kiss and a even sweeter goodnight bidding.

Kenny Mccormick

৻ꪆ Kenny was thrilled to have a sleepover with you.

৻ꪆ Finally he was going to see what your room looks like!

৻ꪆ Asking him to come over wasn’t hard at all, you just asked as someone would do normally and Kenny cut you off saying yes. If it was a comic it would definitely have big “!!!” marks at the end.

৻ꪆ When he did arrive at your place y’all did the casual things. Watching TV together, snuggling under the covers, Kenny chasing you to tickle your sensitive spots—

৻ꪆ Yea you heard me ladies, gentlemen and non-binary sillies, Kenny chased you till you were breathless only to trap you underneath him.

৻ꪆ For some tickles. You had to cry and beg for release!

৻ꪆ When night began its reign Kenny became more quirky.

৻ꪆ He would always steal kisses or his hands would wande—ahem Kenny Im trying to keep this family friendly.

৻ꪆ Anyway! Kenny is the best cuddle buddy out there if you are cold he will pull you closer to himself, if you are hot he will loosen his arms.

৻ꪆ If Kenny happened to be awake later on his thought could begin to wander to more evil places.

৻ꪆ But he wouldn’t do that to his darling..

৻ꪆ Until you woke up funny shapes drawn all over your face.

#south park #south park x reader #kyle broflovski headcanons #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle x reader #kyle broflovski #south park kyle #stan marsh #stan marsh x reader #south park stan marsh #stan marsh headcanons #kenny mcormick headcanons #kenny mcormick x reader #kenny mccormick #south park kenny #south park x you #south park x y/n

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lovebugism · 1 year ago

Text

YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN, KID | the beginning.

summary: a year after the end of the world, you and steve share one cigarette and two confessions. (6k)

listen to: "as the world falls down" by david bowie

tags: f!reader, roadtrip fic, friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, angst & comfort, post st4, selective canon divergence (some things happen, some things don't), reader goes by the nickname "scout" TW panic attacks, conversations about grief, steve harrington smokes but he's still hot, outfit inspo (not indicative of what r's body type/skin color/etc.)

a/n: kinda surreal that i'm posting this because it's something i've been working on/thinking about for Months. i put so much time and effort and tears into this series so pleasepleaseplease enjoy it! as always, let me know what you think! let's watch these two (sort of) friends run away and fall in love with each other, shall we? <3

JOURNALS | MASTERLIST | SPOTIFY

★。＼｜／。★

The beginning of the rest of your life starts in the murky alleyway outside The Velvet Lounge.

It’s pretty fitting, actually. You feel like you’re close to dying anyway.

The lightning strike of a panic attack comes first as a cold hand around your throat. The clawed talon of a long-gone monster strangles you — sucks all the air out of your lungs and leaves you gasping for a breath you know won’t come.

A second later and the light-up dance floor beneath your feet begins to sway. You blink, and it becomes the desiccated terrain of the Upside Down — again, and the glowing rainbow tiles return. Eventually, it becomes impossible to discern the real from the imaginary.

You feel a bit like the world’s caving in on itself as you stumble through the bustling crowd. The thumping of the heady bass strums throughout your body as you squeeze between a mob of sweatier ones. The merciless pounding makes you forget that your heart’s no longer beating.

The heavy breeze of a summer night smacks you in the face. There is no fresh air outside the buzzing nightclub, just more emptiness.

You lean against the brick wall, clutching desperately onto your chest as you stumble from the exit. The world around you starts to spin on its side, going blurry like you’re being pulled underwater.

You’re drowning, but none’s coming to save you.

To everyone else, you’re just a girl that’s had too many. The girl that’s lost too much.

You duck into the dark alley with the intention of withering away there.

A warm hand brings you back to life.

“Shit, Scout,” Steve Harrington curses behind you. “Are you— Are you okay?”

You’ve never heard the nickname leave his mouth so gently. You don’t think he’s ever touched you so softly, either. It’s all so foreignly tender compared to the war raging inside your skull — you think it would’ve made you weep if you were capable of catching your breath.

His presence is only startling in the sense that you hadn’t expected to find him there.

It was pretty much the reason you’d slinked through the dimly lit passageway in the first place — to die completely and utterly alone. The flickering orange lamplight and damp brick made this place more adequate for puking college kids, canoodling couples, and conniving Ted Bundy’s of the world. Not pretty Steve and his pretty clothes and his pretty hair.

You’re more humiliated at having been caught than you are alarmed by it.

You figure you really shouldn’t be. He’s already seen you at your worst. On your deathbed, crying so hard you puke, so far gone from the world that you’re practically a ghost — that kind of worst.

But for some reason, his wide palm on your shoulder makes you feel fragile. Small. He stands fathoms above you and you’re nothing but an ant under his sneaker — a little delicate thing he could crush completely if he wanted.

Instead, Steve holds you.

His long fingers cradle your trembling shoulder in a steady embrace. A warm reminder that you’re not alone in this gloomy alleyway that still thrums with life. That, in some ways, you’ve never really been alone at all.

“Yeah,” you answer finally, nodding but not looking over at him. You swallow through a tightening throat. “I just… I just need to, uh… to catch my breath.”

Steve eyes you with a gaze swimming with apprehension.

Your shoulder presses into the rough brick while your other hand clings desperately to your chest. Your fingers dig into the soft cotton of your shirt like you’re reaching for your thundering heart. Each of your breaths is ragged, forced, worked for. You grunt your way through every impossible inhale.

Facing away from him under the dim amber streetlight, he can barely make out your profile. He only gets glimpses of your scrunched face and the tear that glimmers gold on your cheek. But with his hand on your arm, he can feel the rapid up-and-down motion of your heavy breaths. Panic sizzles off of you and onto him like static shock.

“Yeah, it was getting kinda crazy in there, huh?” he says within a halfhearted laugh. “I didn’t know people like Duran Duran so much.”

It’s nothing more than a feeble attempt to get you to laugh.

And it works. Sort of.

You’d lost sight of Steve somewhere around the time “Girls on Film” came on. Nancy’s drunken hand pulled you to the dance floor, and every other tipsy woman followed right behind you. He hadn’t seemed to care much about dancing, though. He just sat in the corner booth with Robin until Vickie came by and stole her away. The last you saw him, he was sitting alone at the bar with a basket of chicken wings before disappearing entirely.

But he hadn’t disappeared, you figured. He was just here, in this eerily empty alleyway, trying to get away from it all just as much as you were.

Steve sees the corners of your mouth quirk upward in a grimacing sort of smile. A scoff sounds from your throat a moment later. He thinks that might be the sort of laugh you get from a girl who doesn’t have much to find humor in anymore.

Your newfound relief is his own.

“You okay now?” he asks once you’ve caught your breath.

You nod and settle back against the brick. The fabric of your shirt sticks to the prickly clay. “Yeah,” you repeat, more truthfully this time. “Thanks— Thank you.”

You’re forced to mourn the warmth of the broad hand on your shoulder when he pulls away from you.

He doesn’t stray far, though. He remains at your side with his back to the brick — his frame much taller than your own, broader too. His woody cologne swirls with the purer scent of a summer night and the distant smell of beer. He holds within him an air that can only be described as all-consuming. He’s exactly the feeling of everything warm despite the several inches that separate you.

Steve offers you the lit cigarette in his left hand, and for a reason you can’t name, his kindness takes you by surprise. You’ve fought a monster with the guy, but he still feels like a total stranger to you sometimes.

He sees you hesitate and thinks that this might be the first time either of you have been alone together. You don’t have anything in common except for the party. Without one of the members to accompany you, the fact becomes a heavier weight to bear.

It’s sort of like a peace offering — this half-gone cigarette. A ‘hey, I know we aren’t really friends, but maybe we could be.’

You take it. “Thanks…”

Steve watches you puff from the stick. You hold the thing between your thumb and forefinger, pinching it as you bring it up to your mouth. The huff you take isn’t a deep one, probably the fault of your still staggering breaths, but your eyes flutter shut on the exhale like you’re grateful for the nicotine fix.

He realizes then that he’s never looked at you before. Like, really looked.

Like a ghost, you tend to blend easily into the background, floating around in the shadows without ever being seen. You’re only out tonight because Robin and Nancy forced your hand, but in your darkened outfit — cropped tee, plain skirt, worn boots, all varying shades of black — you threaten to blend in with the night. You do it all with the finesse of a girl who’s all but disconnected herself from the world.

You catch him staring when you hand the cigarette back.

You don’t look weirded out by his prying gaze — quite the opposite, really. You cower under the attention, chin tilting toward your chest and a sheepish smile hinting at your lips. Embarrassed without any actual reason to be.

“Wanna tell me the real reason you came out here?” Steve asks you, covering the serious inquiry with a joking lilt.

Your brows furrow as you watch him bring the cigarette to his own mouth. He’s got this look on his face — raised brows, wide eyes, and quirked lips — almost like he’s teasing you.

You breathe out an awkward laugh.

“What do you mean? I just told you.” You try to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. It looks more like you’re wincing as you shift your weight on your feet. “I just needed to—”

“To catch your breath,” Steve finishes for you, smoke billowing from his pink lips. The grey lingers between you for a moment before disappearing entirely. He nods with a lopsided grin before handing you back the cigarette. “Yeah. I heard you. I just don’t believe you.”

Your eyes go wide. He can’t tell if you’re shocked by his bluntness or if you’re embarrassed at having been caught so quickly. Maybe a healthy mixture of both.

Your throat tightens all over again. You swallow thickly as you turn away from him and it feels like you’re forcing down a too big pill. The back of your eyes burn with unshed tears, so many stinging needles that you force yourself to blink away.

And even though you’re just trying not to cry at the reality of the situation you’ve spent a year hiding from, to Steve it looks like you’re searching for a way out. Your gaze snaps to the opening of the alley where nicely dressed people bustle on the other side, their conversations far away and muffled.

He hadn’t meant to make you uncomfortable. He just thought you could use a friend, considering you were only just recovering from the windswept panic spell.

“Look. You— You tell me why you’re out here, and I’ll tell you why I am,” he offers, partly to make you feel better.

The other half of it, which he finds it startling to admit, is that he doesn’t want you to leave.

He’d spent fifteen minutes by himself in the dark — half comforted by it, half frightened. Despite his distant unfamiliarity with you, he’s weirdly comforted by your presence. Steve’s seen enough people walk away from him to know he doesn’t want you to join them.

You look at him again, more glassy-eyed than you’d been before. Your sniffle is nearly inaudible. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “You know… A you-show-me-yours, I’ll-show-you-mine kinda thing.”

It sounds a lot weirder coming out of his mouth than he expected it to. It makes you laugh, though, so it feels sort of worth it.

“That sounds really pervy,” you tease with a more sincere smile.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just— Maybe just ignore that last part, yeah?” he stammers stiffly, laughing softly at himself shortly after.

You finally take a hit from the cig between your fingers. Your gaze falls to your boots.

They were a gift from someone you knew a long time ago — someone you don’t know anymore because they’re gone.

It was a well-loved anniversary present you’ve worn every day since you got them. They’re a bit tattered now, obviously worn on the platformed bottoms. You don’t know how many times you’ve glued the soles back together now — or how many times you’ve tried to wash away the faded bloodstain by the laces that refuses to come out.

It’s as stuck there as the memories in your head are.

And even though you’ve never talked about it out loud, you think you could write a million words about how looking at the stain makes you feel — about all the thoughts that swirl within you at the sight of it and why you can’t throw them out despite it all. You’d write about the boy who bought them for you, whose name it’s still so hard to say — the boy who you loved who was gone.

It was just easier to shove it all down.

You kept your grief horribly discreet, like a poorly stitched-together wound.

If you couldn’t even burden yourself with it, why should you expect anyone else to?

But here Steve goes, offering to let that raging wound breathe.

Something about the ultimatum makes it more comforting. It’s a lot easier to tell a kept secret when you know another hidden confession is coming right after it. You don’t know if you’ll ever get this chance again — to shield your grief with someone else’s.

“Okay,” you answer suddenly before exhaling the gray from your lungs. You outstretch your hand to give him the cigarette back. You try to smile. “You first, though.”

Steve puffs from the stick before he answers you. For a moment, it’s nothing but muffled conversations and a stifled bass that rattles the brick. The quiet is noticeably less suffocating than all the quiets you’ve known before — less lonely now that you’ve got someone to share them with.

“I hate parties,” he summarizes with a shrug.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need a little more than that,” you joke.

He flicks the end of the cigarette to dispel the ash. Grey specks fall to the damp concrete. When he hands it off to you again, your fingers brush his own. Your skin is much cooler than the humid summer air surrounding you.

“I mean, I used to like parties. I think,” Steve explains, still rather vague, gesturing with wild hands like you’re used to. “Really, I just liked to drink, you know? ‘Cause everyone liked me when I was drunk. I was the popular guy — Mr. Funny, Mr. Cool. But, uh… I guess somewhere down the line, I forgot how to have fun like that.”

“Forgot how to have fun?” you repeat with a sad sort of laugh. Your brows scrunch and your swim with sympathy. The streetlamp casts sharp shadows on his chiseled features, but he still looks at you so soft — eyes sweet with the tenderness he holds there and smiling just the same.

It’s hard to believe that the King of Hawkins High could’ve ever felt anything other than total elation when he had a whole ocean outside his front door on Fairview Lane.

“I think they have a name for that these days, Harrington.”

He laughs and turns to press his shoulder into the brick. He’s facing you now, and it feels much more like he’s looming over you.

You remain against the wall, still a bit overwhelmed by the presence of a boy who never would’ve looked your way a year or more ago. It takes everything in you not to duck away from him completely.

“Well, I was only having fun because I was drunk, right?” he elaborates, brown eyes a golden amber beneath the flickering light. They twinkle looking down at you.

“Sure…” you shrug to humor him.

“And, like, I can deal with the hangovers and everything no problem, you know, but the… The waking up the next morning. The remembering, I guess. Remembering everything I was trying to forget when I was drinking. That’s… That’s the worst part.”

You don’t realize how intently you’re looking at him at first. Every quirk of his rosy mouth, every twitch of his bushy brow, every glint of his chocolate eyes as he divulges a deeply held secret doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Behind all the pretty hair and expensive clothes is a boy much sadder than you could’ve imagined.

Something bigger had done a number on him. Something more than the end of the world.

His upturned gaze returns to you and you realize you haven’t blinked once.

You do a rather shit job of pretending you weren’t just staring. You haphazardly turn away again, handing him the cigarette despite not having put your mouth to it.

“Yeah, I— I get what you mean…”

Your words seem to surprise him. His brows pinch like he was more prepared to be made fun of than empathized. He takes the cig from you with an absentminded hand. It goes quickly forgotten.

“You do?”

“Well, not so much with drinking, but… It happens to me in the morning sometimes,” you shrug, feigning nonchalance, and trying not to seem like it’s a phenomenon you’ve experienced every day for a year and a half. “It’s, like, that split second of bliss right before the grief comes back, right?”

Steve blinks owlishly. Then nods.

“That half a moment where nothing bad’s ever happened to you, and it’s just the sun shining on you before the… the bad shit comes back again. Like it never even left.”

And Steve, who’s never met another person who could so easily understand him and that otherwise indescribable feeling so perfectly, is stunned into silence.

Maybe it’s his fault for keeping it all to himself, like a love letter he can’t bring himself to unfold. It’s entirely likely that he could find a million people in the world who’ve felt all the same feelings he’s garnered over the past couple of years. It still wouldn’t hold the same weight as being understood now — being understood by someone who’s been through the end of the world with him.

Being understood without all the empty words.

“Yeah,” he nods finally, clearing his throat. His cheeks glow red when he realizes he’d forgotten to speak because he was too busy looking at you. “Yeah, exactly— Shit!”

The sides of his fingers sting with a sharp ache. The cig in his hand drops to the ground, half the size of his pinky. There isn’t much left of it now, and that’s why it burns him so. It hits the concrete, more ash than stick. The skin of Steve’s finger blackens as it blazes.

“Oh— Are you okay?” you grimace.

Steve snuffs out the burning cigarette with the toe of his sneaker.

“Yeah, I— I just wasn’t paying attention,” he dismisses with the shake of his head, more so at himself than anything else. It’s the first time he’s had an actual conversation with you, and he’s already embarrassed himself twice. He’ll count himself lucky if you care enough to talk to him again.

“Your go, Scout,” he offers suddenly in a measly attempt to get the attention off of him and his blunder. He wipes the ash from his pointer and middle finger on his jeans. “See if you can out-miserable me.”

You roll your eyes at him, still smiling. “What is this? The trauma olympics?”

“C’mon. I’m kidding,” he assures with a lilt. He reaches out to nudge your arm with his knuckles and, like before, his touch is almost too soft for you to feel it. The act of platonic intimacy takes you momentarily by surprise.

His smile is crooked. His eyes glimmer with honey. “I was kidding,” he repeats.

“It was just that, um— that song,” you answer. It comes out more choked than you expected it to. “They started playing that song.”

Steve’s brows furrow. “What song?” he asks. Not pressing. Only curious.

“That one that… that Eddie played when I…”

“Oh.”

“I used to love that stupid song— I mean, obviously. It sorta saved me from what should’ve been an unavoidable death, so…” You manage to laugh at yourself as you ramble.

Steve can’t find it in himself to do the same.

He’d been terrified when it happened to Max — when the kid he was involuntarily babysitting started to float in midair, nearly succumbing to the curse of a monster that should’ve been make-believe. He was relieved when she fell back down again, but you? He was certain you were a goner.

You were too high up and Eddie’s guitar was too far away. The beginning notes of I Was Made For Lovin’ You were too grim and Vecna’s claws were in too deep. You were too distant, too banished.

For several agonizing seconds, you were destined to remain a stranger to him.

But here you are now, sharing cigarettes and secrets.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you shake your head at yourself. “But, um, anyway. Yeah. It’s just… Sometimes things will happen, you know? Like I’ll— I’ll hear a song or… I’ll see something that reminds me of him— of Eddie. And it’s just like…”

“…Like you’re in the Upside Down again?” Steve finishes gently for you when he sees that you can’t.

You nod, wordlessly for a moment, until the words catch up with you.

“Like nightmares, but when I’m awake,” you force through a closing throat. “And they’re so real. Like… I can— I can hear him. I can hear him talking to me, and I’m— I’m holding him, and I can feel him breathing, you know? He’s still breathing, but—”

You take a staggering breath in. For a moment, Steve’s scared you’re tumbling headfirst into another panic attack.

His attentive eyes flit between your scrunched up face and the trembling hands you hold out in front of you. You’re cradling something that isn’t there anymore. You look down at your palms with a horror that tells him you understand that, too — that the person you used to hold isn’t able to be held anymore.

“I can feel the… the blood. And it’s just… It’s all over me. And I’m losing him. I’m losing him all over again—”

You hiccup a measly sob when your lungs force you to take a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It puts an end to your rambling. You’re grateful enough for it. You’d already said more than you were planning to — more than you thought you’d say in a lifetime.

You think you must sound deranged, talking about a corpse like it’s still a warm body you hold every night.

In some ways, it is.

You sniffle and blink back burning tears. Your smile edges on sincerity. “So, what do you think, Harrington? Did I out-miserable you?”

Steve scoffs in the place of a real laugh. “I didn’t have a dog in that fight, did I? What you went through… I mean, I shouldn’t even be complaining.”

“Hey, c’mon,” you scold gently. “We both went through shit. It was all bad, no matter how you look at it. Just because we didn’t go through the same stuff doesn’t mean what happened to you is any less important.”

You just barely catch his cinnamon eyes going glassy before he turns away from you entirely. His stubbled cheeks blotch with varying shades of pink, glowing with an emotion he can’t keep hidden. He looks down at his dirty sneakers because he can’t bare to look at you now.

Understanding, that’s what this is. Understanding without all the empty words.

It’s still hard for him to believe them, though.

In the grand scheme of things, what happened to him wasn’t so terrible.

He wasn’t under any sort of curse. No one he cared about was irrevocably hurt, either. And he didn’t have to hold someone he loved in his arms while they bled to death — doesn’t have to feel like he’s still holding onto them a year after it all.

Despite the marred scars on his mind and body, Steve convinces himself that he has no reason to be sad — even though that’s not really how sadness works. Grief isn’t the kind of thing you can just will away, but he beats himself up when he can’t — when the heartache wins.

It’s a never-ending cycle. A loop he’s been stuck in since he was seventeen. A portal he was terrified would never close.

Now, at least, it feels sort of possible.

“You shouldn’t talk like that, Scout,” he jokes after the urge to weep has passed. He tilts his head to his shoulder and smiles a crooked grin. “I’m gonna start to think you like me.”

Without missing a beat, you retort: “Please, never ever think that. That would completely shatter my reputation.”

You both laugh with the knowing that it’s all just a joke.

You never had much of a reputation because you spent your whole life being invisible. You liked it best that way because never being seen meant nothing was ever expected of you. You’ll happily take someone you went to school with your entire life never knowing your name than any bogus Hawkins High royalty status any day.

Steve, better known by his title of King, wishes now that he’d taken a page out of your book. He learned the power of invisibility far too late.

“Who woulda thought, huh?” the boy sighs, chocolate eyes turned up to the velvet blue sky. “You and me… being friends.”

You arch a brow at him. “Oh, is that what we are now?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve scoffs like it’s obvious. “They didn’t tell you? You fight monsters together, and you’re bonded for life.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. I mean, why do you think me and Henderson are so close?”

“So you’re saying you would’ve never been friends if it wasn’t for the end of the world?” you reiterate with a challenging squint.

“That’s almost exactly what I’m saying. Yeah,” he nods with his pink lips jutted softly out. “If none of that shit ever happened, I’d still be that raging douchebag I used to be. My life would be… so much different.”

“Worse?” you press.

He thinks for a moment.

Without the whole end-of-the-world thing, he never would’ve met Dustin. He never would’ve gotten closer to Robin. Nancy never would’ve had a reason to break up with him, and he figures he’d have long settled down with her by now. They’d be that miserable couple that somehow manages to make it.

He’d probably still be friends with Tommy Hagan, too, getting drunk at parties he’s too old to be at. He’d still be the King Steve everyone loved and hating every second of it.

Fighting monster after monster changed him for the better. Even with its horror, how could he ever take that back?

He winces at the realization. “Yeah…”

“So you’d do it all over again?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“I think so, yeah.” Steve’s smile is shy as he ducks his gaze, peering at you through his lashes. “I’m a total idiot, right?”

Your brows pinch together as you shake your head. “No. I don’t think so… Actually, I think the end of the world looks pretty good on you, Harrington.”

He knows you don’t mean it how it sounds. He gets the feeling you’re talking less about his appearance and more about why he’s standing out here in the first place — talking to a girl he’s halfway known all his life whose name he didn’t know until she almost died.

For the same reason — the one that’s brought you to him and this alley — he jokes back: “It looks good on you, too, Scout.”

Again, you laugh with the understanding that you’re joking. For the most part, at least.

You’re both so weathered with grief, looking much older than your years, forced to wear your woe all over. For whatever transformation the trauma might’ve done internally, it hadn’t done anything on the outside than leave scars that won’t fade.

When the laughter subsides, a silence roars to life.

Not a total one. You can still hear the pounding bass from inside The Velvet Lounge and the muddled chatter of people coming in and out of it. It’s not a totally uncomfortable one either, which is far more than you thought you could ever say about talking to Steve The Hair Harrington.

But it’s still sort of heavy in its way. Likely with the idea of what the both of you know and of everything you’ve confessed out loud.

Now that it’s all out in the open, Steve’s got no idea how to move on. How is he supposed to joke around now? How does he say anything but sorry to the girl who holds all her grief in her eyes?

“Hey, Scout?” he calls quietly.

Your leftover grin hasn’t yet faded. “Hm?”

“I’m… I’m really sorry.”

The smile ebbs entirely.

“Why are you apologizing?” you ask with the shake of your head, almost flinching at the sudden condolence. “You didn’t… You’re not the one that killed Eddie.”

“I know. I just… I feel like I should— like I should say it, you know?”

“That’s the worst part about all of this, I think. Like… you lose someone, and no one knows how to talk to you anymore,” you confess, a sad smile hinting at the very corners of your lips — so soft it’s barely there. Your gaze falls to your boots again. “Everyone just feels so sorry for you all the time. All anyone ever wants to do is talk about what happened like I don’t have to think about it enough, you know? It just… It makes it impossible to move on.”

Steve winces. He can’t ever say the right thing. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop apologizing,” you tell him, laughing. “I’m not saying that— I’m just… I’m just saying. I think it’d be easier if I didn’t have to stay here. You know, where everything happened. If I could… Like, if I could just go, I think that maybe I could get better.”

“You could,” Steve affirms with a nod.

Your brows furrow. “Get better?”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs, amber gaze flitting between your glittering eyes and his dirty sneakers. “And… And leave. You know, if you wanted to.”

The thought alone makes you laugh. “By myself? With no car? Barely any money?”

“You wouldn’t have to go alone,” he promises.

“Yeah?” you scoff, still grinning like it’s all a joke to you. “And who would want to run away with a girl with a broken heart?”

He answers without thinking and with a lopsided smile. “The boy with nothing to lose.”

Your smile fades with the heavy weight of his offer.

It isn’t just about running away. It’s about running away together — two people with nothing in common besides a mutual hatred for a dark wizard from the underworld, ditching a town that hasn’t done shit for them, and pretending like nothing’s ever hurt them.

And at first, you’re shocked. Who wouldn’t be with such an offer thrown at their feet? But then, and more than anything else, you’re confused. Why would Steve want to run away? you think to yourself. Why would he want to run away with you?

When the bolt blue finally dissipates, you’re left with a simmering feeling of disbelief.

Steve shouldn’t want this, and he shouldn’t want it with you.

“You’re drunk,” you conclude, smiling because it’s a joke again.

“Yeah. Maybe,” Steve shrugs with his gaze pointed to the sky. The stars are hidden beneath layers of light and pollution. They’re out there somewhere, but he can’t see them — not from where he is now. He looks back to you, a sheepish smile playing on his pink mouth. “But… I’m not.”

“Would you seriously want to leave?” you squint. With me, you keep to yourself, unsaid.

“I’ve, uh— I’ve been wanting to for a while, actually. Even before all of… this,” he confesses, waving his hand out into the ether. He grins in reminiscence, but not the fond kind. “My dad— he’s just been dogging me about work and college and everything, you know? I think he wants me to be the same big shot business douchebag that he is, and I get it, but…”

You lean closer to him, brows furrowed. “But what?” you press.

Steve exhales a sad laugh. “I really don’t wanna end up like my dad,” he admits — a thought he kept like a thorn in his side finally said out loud. “And I’m scared that, if I stay here, I will.”

“So you’ve just been looking for a way out. All this time?” you wonder aloud. While I thought you were on top of the world, you were wanting out of it.

Steve shrugs, then nods.

“And a girl with nothing to lose?” you joke.

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly to himself. “That, too.”

You turn away from him again, deep in thought. Steve mourns your gaze — its attentiveness more than anything, the way you look at him and seem to understand him without saying a goddamn word. He didn’t think that was possible before now.

You think to yourself for a moment. Mostly because it’s something you know you should think about before you do it.

How will you pay your way? Where will you go? What will you do when you get there?

What will your parents say when they notice you’re gone? How long will it take before they do?

Who’ll feed the stray cats outside the trailer park?

Who’ll leave flowers at Eddie’s grave once a month and clean it when it’s ultimately vandalized by assholes who still think he was a mass murderer sent from Hell to do Satan’s bidding?

There’s a lot of questions you don’t have answers for.

What little you do know, though, you’re certain of.

You know there’s nothing left for you in Hawkins.

You don’t have much family — especially not since Eddie — and your friends aren’t really your friends. Sure, Nancy invites you out from time to time, but she’d never call you to dish about secrets and shared trauma in this way. Sometimes you think they only include you because your boyfriend died, and they all saw what it did to you.

And you also know that there’s nothing holding you back but grief. To absolve yourself from it all, to finally move the fuck on, you’re going to have to leave it all behind. It’s not like you’d be missing much anyway.

You’re still a ghost because you live in a soul-sucking town full of people who only want to talk to you when it’s to remind you that the only person you’ve ever loved is dead.

Nothing has brought you back to life quite like this boy and his secrets and offer to run away.

You think you’d been an idiot to walk away from it. From him.

“Fuck it.”

Steve almost flinches at how feverishly you turn to face him again.

His brows raise to his hairline, honey eyes going wide at the abrupt nature of your sudden reply. “…Fuck it?” he echoes, not nearly as confident as you’d said it — just grateful that you’d said it at all.

For a boy who always expects rejection, your innate acceptance of him and his previously kept secrets makes his chest swell with so much warmth that it’s started to burn him. He can feel his ribcage turning to ash and his heart melting as he speaks.

“Fuck it,” you nod, more serious than he’s ever seen you.

You turn to face him fully, something you’d been too timid to do just minutes ago. You’re more sure now — of him, of this. The proximity between your bodies forces you to tilt your head up to look at him. Similarly, his chin falls to his chest to peer at you.

Tucked away in this alley, you’re made of shadows and shades of gold. The lamplight still flickers over your heads. The brick still shakes with the drumming, muffled bass. You don’t realize until now that you can feel your heart beating again.

“Let’s do it,” you shrug with a blast of hopeful anticipation swelling in your chest, more optimistic than you’ve been in a year. “Nothing to lose, right?”

Steve grins.

“Nothing to lose,” he repeats, reminding himself of the fact when reality starts to set in on him. Even if he fails, even if it all goes wrong and he’s waking up in his childhood bed a week from now, he can’t get any lower than rock bottom. Besides, now he’s got you to fall back on, right?

“Fuck it.”

★。／｜＼。★

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #yoyok

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cosmicwhoreo · 11 months ago

Note

seeing as ur cookie ocs/children (not sure what to call the little specimens) are,well,cookies-

If you could somehow (really no idea how you would) eat them,would they taste like anything in particular??

Oooooh~! A FUN ONE!!!

And for scale, I'm going to rate the edibility of each of my confectionary darlings on a scale of 1 to 10. starting with...

Horse Apple Cookie- 2/10

Uncomfortably bumpy and bitter, downright unpalatable on the taste buds. I mean... You CAN eat him and not really suffer too much in the long wrong. But nobody would recommend it... And frankly, the constant screaming of conspiracy nonsense and the fact he hasn't showered in two weeks just lowers his grade by like 1 point.

HoneyCrisp Cookie- 9/10

Actually tastes pretty good. Sweet and juicy, almost like a jolly rancher!

Grand Reef Cookie- 1/10

Uuuuuh... Maybe in his prime he tasted like rainbow sherbet ice cream like his colorful corals would lead you to believe. But nowadays...? Raw sewage. Feels and tastes like biting into a moldy apple. Uncomfortably squishy and black, like tar. Guarantee you will get violently ill from trying to eat him... He only gets a point because he will be constantly comforting you and giving all these sympathetic and apologetic pats and hugs the entire time you're puking your brains out from tasting him...

Dr Prawn Cookie- 5/10

Tastes as you'd expect. Shellfishy and meaty. But there is an uncomfortable crunch...

Sea Anemone Cookie- 4/10

Apparently you CAN eat anemones... Weird, but I guess fried anemone is a delicacy to some regions, I don't know. Tastes like shellfish, but she's too smol to really even be considered a light snack. And frankly, why WOULD you wanna eat a face like that? She's just excited to meet a big friend~!

Gold Choco Cookie- 0/10

Several problems would arise trying to chew on Goldie... Firstly, is trying to CHEW him; as his body is roughly 85% hard metal and high voltage wiring. He's hardly even dough at this point... And if you somehow managed to get by that, he tastes like oil and metal and leaves a buzz of static in your mouth. There's only a slight aftertaste of rich chocolate... But you'd have a better experience eating a chocolate-covered floppy disk before cracking a molar on his stale ass...

#asks #cookie run kingdom #cookie run #crk #cookie ocs #cookie run oc #Sea anemone cookie #gold choco cookie #grand reef cookie #dr prawn cookie #horse apple cookie #honeycrisp cookie #my children

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the-dark-parade · 2 months ago

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WARNINGS! THIS STORY CONTAINS... angst + fluff + lilia×fem reader

A/N: Dear souls, my apologies. I have not finished the previous fic yet, and I'm already starting in the next. For the moment, that is paused. Yet again, I hope my work pleases you. If you are not comfortable with this, feel free to leave. If you would like a version with male reader instead, please request it. Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated.

(inspired by @solxamber so you should def read their stories)

Now, the parade completely skips its first destination, and goes to the second!

Part 1,

THE RANT. and how hell began

(if only I didn't read that story...)

-----

"So girlie pop, have you SEEN the new fic going around lately? Like I've been going cray cray over it, and I swear, it's worth it!" My friend gushed, then proceeding to send you the link to it on AO3.

You internally rolled my eyes, already knowing that it's definitely going to be shit. She always does this, recommending you things that are 'top tier' just for them to have 0 kudos or comments other than the one she gives.

You sighed, thinking of just humoring her...

You hoped for the nth time that this wasn't another one of those random shitty fics she found in the sea of fanfictions.

So you clicked open the link.

And guess what you found?

You found the one, the only, (well not the one and only, but you get the gag) the shittest fanfiction of shit fanfiction.

Not the shittest of the shittest, but the writing kinda was.

There were spelling mistakes and bad grammar and usually you would be fine with that. As an experienced A03 and manga reader, you already prepared yourself for such things. But there was at least one. Every. Ten. Words. Or less.

It drove you crazy. And don't even get started on the plot.

Magical fantasy. It's a magical fantasy, you get that right? And by the way, it's medieval. Not that it's a bad thing, you love that troupe!

(live laugh love medieval novels)

BUT.

BUT!!!

Why... WHY WERE THERE FUCKING BOMBS AND MECHANICAL ENGINEERING BLOODY TANKS AND NUCLEAR BOMBS?!?!

Like what the fuck-

Ahem.

Anyways, the main gist of it was that you have the POV of the main character whose name is not even mentioned at all! At all!!

Like you'll think there would be at least 1 scene where it pops out but spoiler alert! It doesn't.

And he's called, what, the Knight of Dawn? The Dawn Knight?!

What kind of cringy-ahhh name and title is that?!

Like okay man, I get that you're being emotionally manipulated by Mr. Humpty Dumpty fatty pants WHOSE NAME WAS EVEN MENTIONED.

"Henrick Istvan" more like a Hen-ick isn't van. Simply disgusting.

You just have to applaud the author's skill for writing horrible characters.

Manipulator, ugly, fat (not fat-shaming he's just that ugly and fat), too ambitious, etc etc etc.

The Knight of Dawn - you're just calling him KOD cause why not - life was absolute hell.

For this guy and his guy, he fought the faes. He went head on to fight the faes and battle in the war as the war commander on the first lines.

He fought, trained, sharpened his weapon, cut down his enemies, maybe some spicy times with his wife, but that was all.

His personality was so...

He forgave Humpty Dumpty for disrespecting and guilt tripping him so many times, so much that you would puke rainbows and sunshines like he was in the story by now!

Classic "too kind and innocent" main character.

All in all, that book was absolutely shit. It was so repetitive, yet you couldn't stop myself from clicking the next chapter.

Well, you suppose there was another reason too, and that said reason was how the chapter flipped to the faes point of view every few chapters.

They were.. much, much, much crueller than the KOD.

But it was natural, knowing they were the villains in the story.

Yet your heart couldn't help but to get drawn to them every word, dynamic, expression and behaviour they said and did.

You may have gotten obsessed with the right hand man of the main villain herself, but switching topics...

And what came next was absolutely jaw-dropping. And not in a good way.

After the tanks came, soon they made a bomb.

A BOMB.

A LITERAL, ACTUAL, BOMB.

And of course, the enemies were wiped out.

The book ended anticlimactically.

The buildup, the plot devices, everything!

All gone.

Man, what was the author thinking?!

And then the story ended there.

RIGHT THEN AND THERE.

From that, you had gotten SO ANGRY that your blood pressure spiked, and-

...

...am I dreaming?

This is an unfamiliar ceiling.

A/N: dear souls, stay tuned for part 2! Thank you for reading if you read.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst fanfic #disney twst #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia x reader #lilia x you #twisted wonderland lilia #lilia x fem reader #lilia x mc #you are the mc #i hope this is okay #twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader

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dangerpronebuddie · 5 months ago

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Tease Tidbit Tuesday!!

Tagged by @tizniz @daffi-990 who both shared AMAZING stuff y'all should show some love!! 🩵💚

The writing beans just aren't here right now. I have a lot of asks for the Make Me Write game and I am so grateful for y'all, I promise I'll answer them as soon as the beans return... Whenever that may be. I don't know if I've shared this snippet before, and even if I have, I am again because it's one of my favorite parts. So, have some of Madney and Buck's conversation from Everything Comes Out Teenage Petulance:

“So there's a mistake you need to correct,” Chim says. “What do you keep doing that makes the week reset?” “I don't know,” Buck exclaims in frustration. “If I fix an earlier mistake, does it make the week reset? If I fix the one mistake that hasn't happened yet, does it do anything?” “Wait,” Maddie says, holding up a hand. “What mistake hasn't happened yet?” Oh shit. She's going to kill him. She'd have every right to. “Each Thursday I've been through, there's this basketball game I talk Chim into going to with me because Eddie has been going with Tommy,” Buck begins. “Every time I… end up hurting Eddie.” Chim frowns, wide eyed, like it's the most absurd thing he's ever heard (which is impressive considering he just learned time loops exist). Maddie's brows draw together. “But… it's an accident on a basketball court. It happens,” she shrugs. He ducks his head. “Evan,” she says in the same way she used to when he was a kid and did something spectacularly stupid. “You didn't mean to hurt him, did you?” Buck shrugs helplessly. “I don't know.” She blinks and the beginnings of a scowl take over her expression. Buck scrambles to explain himself. “I was pissed, you know? Seeing him and Tommy being such good friends after only two weeks, I felt left out.” She half tilts her head, her eyes wide and horrified. Buck might just puke. “And I guess I was trying to get his attention,” he adds feebly. “Well that's not how you get someone's attention,” she snips. “You clear your throat, you tap them on the shoulder, you don't hurt them.” “I know,” Buck says, “Maddie, trust me, I feel awful.” “Good. Don't do it again.” She gets up to refill her coffee. “In this loop or any other one you end up in, Evan.”

(tags below the cut! As always, please let me know if you want to be added/ removed):

@lover-of-mine @loveyouanyway @kitteneddiediaz

@ronordmann @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell @exhuastedpigeon @hippolotamus @diazsdimples

@thekristen999 @monsterrae1 @actuallyitsellie @diazheartsbuckley @wildlife4life @theotherbuckley

@rainbow-nerdss @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @lunarspark-cos @idealuk @shipperqueen6 @slowlyfoggydestiny

@misshiss727 @lin27 @jshadow01 @orangeboxfox92

@thegeekcompanion @emilybahu @lemotmo @awolfnamed-nyx

@kaseysgirl86-blog @darkrose6578 @totallynotagoraphobic @dandelioncasey @bibuckbuckgoose @whatsgoodinthehood22

@lady-elaine @buckley-diaz-rules @buddiedaydreamer911 @monroemary @pirate-hunter

@tofanasmuse @gnoeltop @keynb @cassi-brooks @-syrup-sue @punkrock00 @shannonhutchins @lasagnatheory @aroqueerfandoms and anyone else who wants to share!! 🥰🩷

@nonspeakingkiku @eddiedisasterdiaz @drunkandsupportiveeddie @traumabuddies @epicbuddieficrecs @disasterbuck

#Maggie writes #911 #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 abc #fanfic #buddie wip #911 wip #fic: everything comes out teenage petulance #time loop fic #9-1-1 #tease tidbit tuesday

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matchadobo · 1 year ago

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KIDD; the captain has an allergy!

wc: 2061 summary: kidd has an allergy, he's allergic to... you. warnings: afab reader, none, just dumb kidd who can't figure out his feelings while killer tries to compartmentalize the captain's head to sort out his feelings for you, just fluff, a bit suggestive but no nsfw, kidd rambling abt you that's it

something's wrong with eustass kidd. he reckons that he's fatally ill. he feels like he could die any second. his chest feels tight, his muscles feel tense, his vision hazy, his body temperature skyrocketing, and his body perpetually weak most times of the day. he wanted to kill someone, the next pirate king shouldn't be so frail!

"man, i-huff-i feel like i'm having a-huff-a heart attack." the redhead clutched his chest tight, discarding his fur coat off and tossing it somewhere in the blond's quarters. killer looked quite offended that his captain interrupted his knitting.

"what's wrong with you?" killer started as he watched his captain sit by the edge of his bed, taking his vest off as he tries gathering air. "not a fever perhaps?" he stood up and placed the back of his hand atop kidd's forehead, he seemed to be sweating coldly. "talk to me, kidd."

"can you- huff- can you get allergic to someone?"

killer looked at his best friend like he grew a another head. it took him a while to respond. he cleared his throat and continued. "sorry, kidd but... whatever the fuck do you mean?" he tried searching clarity from his captain's eyes as he tried racking his lacking-medicinal-terms brain.

"this is fuckin' ridiculous, alright mate? don'tcha dare laugh at me." kidd started, leaning his arms back behind him as they supported his weight. after taking in a deep breath, he continued. "i think i'm allergic to name."

killer tried stifling his laughter but failed, receiving death glares from the other. "oh you're serious, damn." the blond soon realized and cleared his throat. "how did you... arrive at that verdict, kidd?"

"to start: whenever that fuckin' woman's around, she always makes my stomach feel funny. like i'm about to puke rainbows and shit." he started. "i feel all hot and my throat goes dry, like cat got my damn tongue." he moved his hands around for emphasis, mostly towards his head and chest.

at this point, killer's not getting enough credit for stomaching whatever bullshit his captain brings upon him. he's thanking all the gods there is for his mask because he can't muster how contorted his face looks from the dumb shit his captain is spewing. the amount of times his best friend rambles incoherent drivel about you will send him to madness the next time he hears about them and not see any development. it's nonsense like these that makes him rub his temples and would rather physically punt kidd to make that boneheaded captain realize what he truly feels about you.

the blond stared at him with a grim aura around him, "the fuck are you staring at me like that for?!" kidd protested.

"do you not realize that maybe- just maybe- she makes you feel something else more than... just a fellow crewmate? like i don't know maybe fucking love?" killer tried tiptoeing, piecing it out for him. that is until kidd just blankly stared at him, blinking his eyes as he waits for a word that he understands.

"love?! pft, hell no, shit doesn't sound like me. and that's impossible, i am in hate with her." he shook his head, crossing his arms. "that's why she makes me sick all the way to my stomach. she's a witch i'm tellin' ya."

killer worried at how serious kidd was at that last bit, the redhead's brows furrowed earnestly as he clasped his hands together. "and you think these are all uhh- symptoms for your allergy?"

"not just those!" he interceded, fist slamming down the wooden table. the impact shaking the cup of tea killer had before this disaster walked in. "my chest, i can't breathe each time she's there. just like earlier before i came in, she walked pass me and then i feel like she casted some kind of stupid witchcraft and then i suddenly struggle to breathe...! have i told you that i strongly think that she's a goddamn witch?!"

"yeah, that's twice now."

"i can't eat, feels like i'll throw everythin' up once she sits beside me. and each time she does, her touch feels like i'm bein' stung. she'll walk up to me with that annoyingly beamin' smile and bright fuckin' eyes, i just end up embarrassin' my damn self if i associate myself even further..." he downed the rum in his hands, "there it is! i feel fuckin' hot again! that woman really-"

"what woman?" you suddenly came around, peeking at killer's quarters. kidd jumped at your voice, knocking over things from the table and immediately falling off his seat. killer could be seen with a hand buried on his face, well in this case helmet. you let out a laugh at your rum-drenched captain who was sitting bashfully on the floor.

despite that, you sauntered towards him and squatted down. you took your hanky and unfolded it, drying his hair and wiping the residue liquid on the rest of his face. "what dumb shit are you up to again, captain?" you tilted your head to get a good look at him, but he refused to meet your eyes. you sighed, realizing he was too embarrassed to speak. "well, pick yourself up cuz you look stupid. also, it's not good to see the future pirate king on the floor, don't you think? whatever, see ya." you stood upright, waving to the two men goodbye.

"kidd, you alright?"

"you're right. i'm in love, am i?" he looked up at his best friend, fisting his pants bashfully.

killer rested his chin by his hands with a sigh, "about time you fucking realize."

"that's fuckin' funny, how could i be fuckin' in love?! cuz i hate that she shuts me up cuz i think she's right most of the time. i hate that all that i see is her, every minute for every day. i hate how her eyes shine when she smiles. i hate how she looks at me with that much faith that i'd make it. i hate how she calls me captain and it messes with my fuckin' head, drivin' my chest abnormal. i hate how i constantly want to be beside her. i hate that i always think about where she is and what she's up to. i hate that i am dying to know if she feels the goddamn same for this helpless sack of fuck that can't even pull himself towards her!"

"damn." killer clicked his tongue. "you really are crazy for her, aren't you?"

"from the beginning of it all," he shook his head in disbelief. how can a woman, manage to weaken eustass kidd like this?! just how?! "but i doubt this'd happen, have you seen her and have you seen me? she's way out of my league." he picked himself up, padding his bum with dirt and wiping himself with that hanky you gave. your perfume mixing with rum on his hands.

"oh? humbling yourself, kidd? now, that's not like you." killer countered.

"i-i'm not!" his ears turned red just as fast as he shot out a response. "she's just..."

"too precious you don't want to ruin her?" killer finished, the shock in kidd's eyes proved his accuracy. killer stood beside his best friend and put an arm around his shoulder. "come on, kidd. i look at the two of you and all i see are a couple of hardheaded crooks from the same mould with the same attitude, same stubbornness, and same passion for their dreams. she's tamer than you yes, more intelligent yes, more emotionally aware yes, and much calmer than you yes. that's exactly why you need each other, she regulates your storms and you give her peace a little peril. and trust me, i've seen how much she craves for your danger."

that bit made something primal awaken within kidd, something that he won't be apologizing for once it reveals itself later.

"so go, kidd. get her." killer gave him a little pat on the shoulder and pushed him out his quarters. a sigh of relief as he finally sees the end of this farce.

kidd took a deep breath and went on a search for you. he went looking for you in almost an hour, only to find you in his workshop as you mused at his trinkets and creations. "name, i've been looking everywhere for you. the hell are you doing here?"

"jeez, a hello would be nice." you rolled your eyes. "i wanted to tell you something."

"that's crazy, so do i." he shut the door behind him. he saw the shift in your expression as you heard his statement.

"you can go first." you smiled, making his heart skip a beat again.

"nah, you go."

"i insist. go on."

"no, go ahead."

"captain, just spit it out."

"you spit it out."

"you were the one looking for me, you go first!"

"well, you're the first one who said you were gonna say somethin'!"

"you know what?! neverfuckingmind! i can't with your dumb, stubborn ass!" you walked pass him. that is until he impulsively grabs your wrist and puts you back in your initial place.

you felt your skin burn at his touch, sucking in a deep breath as you regulated your rhythms from his firm grip.

"stay." he announced, seriously this time. you got a good look at his face, the faint light of the lantern along the little window by the other side of the room illuminated his sharp features. his eyes glowing with earnest and the genuine

need to say something he seems to be keeping for a while now.

he got closer and closer until your bum met with his worktable settled at the other side of the room, your hands holding at the edges for support as he got precariously close. you looked away as to not make your heart explode, mustering something up to calm yourself down. "w-why are you s-so clo-"

"look at me." he raised your chin with his index finger, directly locking eyes with you. "you aware that you've been driving your captain fuckin' insane ever since you set foot in the victoria?"

you furrowed your brows lightly, looking for any sort of clue in his honey eyes. your mouth was agape, too lost at the situation and too aroused at the proximity between the two of you. "from the way you always oppose me on the littlest things as you measure up to my stubbornness and knock some sense into me, to the way you usher me on to my dream like my pocket-sized cheerleader." he started, hypnotizing you with the fiery burn of his golden orbs; honey swirls swimming in them. "i love you." he placed a kiss on your forehead, down to your nose, to each side of your cheek, before pausing and waiting for the green light to your lips.

"well?" he raised a brow, keeping a milimeter distance away from your lips you could choke physically.

"tease." you replied, pulling him by his collar as you two clash your lips against each other. you wrapped your arms around his neck and he did too around your waist. it went on for a while before you two pulled away to get some air, panting in each other's lips. "your breath stinks of rum."

"as if that doesn't off you." he smirked, playfully tugging at your lower lips between his teeth. "so, what were you gonna say?"

"that i'm nuts about you too." you kissed his cheek. "funny how this whole shit works, right?!"

he threw his head back as he laughed. "all this time i thought i was the only crazy one."

"well, you're not very good at hiding how you like me so much." you teased, poking his cheek.

"shut it and kiss me more." he changed the topic, growling as he nuzzled his face by your neck. grinning as he elicited a little moan from you.

"have i told you how much i love your perfume?" he sucked in a deep breath, buttering your jaw and neck with kisses as the red pigment from his lips spanned further across your skin.

"no i thought you hated it."

"that's code for love, you dumbass." he breathed in your ear, making you giggle. he littered your neck with kisses, reveling at the fits of giggles he kindles from you.

i took this idea from an ao3 fic i read abt todobaku aND I CAN'T FIND IT ANYMORE! but anw i thought it'd be a good idea to incorporate kidd into this hehe. FINALLY FLESHED OUT A FIC IN SO LONG WOO

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