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wintersera · 8 days ago

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"so are you ovulating?" || ningning x succubus!reader

notes: i actually wrote this fairly quick, but finding the right pics for the moodbaoard actually pissed me off erm.. but first of all FIRST NINGNING FIC WE CHEERED (a/n i forgot to say this was a part two of the succubus!reader thing soooo here’s the link!)

cw: tail sex (kinda), succubus!reader, top!ning, bottom!reader, mentions of a singular man

wc: 4k

after the ‘feeding on your unnie’ incident that had happened a few months ago, your performance was phenomenal. with all that energy you gained from that one night, plus some extra other nights following from then with jimin unnie, it was as if your every move, every note and every emotion was amplified by tenfold. you were on fire and the audience could feel your passion for performance burning brightly with every stage you did.

your mentors and managers commented on how energetic you had been for the past couple of months, how your performances were absolutely phenomenal, the knetz weren’t on your ass - which was surprising since almost half of them were all the time. the western fans said that you were, quote on quote,“serving cunt” in the recent solo weverse live you did… whatever that meant. even your own members were surprised at how active you were throughought day and night.

but like everything in life, things weren’t bound to stay all too well.

a few days ago you tripped on stage, and to make matters worse, it was in front of your fans. the audience heard a small little thud and spotted you on the ground looking at the ceiling for a few seconds before you stood up embarrassingly. luckily this was the first take, you had other opportunities to do your very best with the smidge of energy you had left.

knowing your fans, particularly your stans - either they’d make a meme out of you spacing out on the floor, or, they’d spam hashtags all over twitter saying “SM PROTECT YOUR ARTIST” or something around those lines.

not only did that happen, but whilst you were preparing to record your lines in the studio, that familiar pain you would get whenever you were starved from energy came back ten times worse; it felt like you were being pierced in the stomach.

jimin noticed your pained expression and squeezed your shoulder in reassurance as she entered the recording room, but it kind of translated wrong in your head, causing you to moan out loud into the mic in front of your directors - not to mention you could hear yourself through the headphones echo. jimin chuckled lightly “what’s up with you?” then left the room a moment afterwords.

fast forward to the present day. a mundane and repetitive one. you had a photoshoot early in morning and a small meeting sometime in the afternoon and then you were free to do whatever you wanted afterwards. you thought that maybe some vocal lessons later in the evening would distract you, but you were pretty sure your vocal teacher was out with his husband drinking today. good on him, it buys you more alone time, and alone time makes you think about what to do about your situation.

on to more pressing matters, aka your raging desire for sex.

it randomly hit you hard while walking back from the company to your local seven eleven. you thought to distract yourself with buying a sweet treat for everyone, but instead you began to feel dizzy “ouh.. this isn’t good” there wasn’t a bunch of groupies following you around the block to your own misfortune, and it was still bright outside.so what was there to do about that urge?

it’s not like you could message jimin unnie out of the blue and ask to fuck. where was the decorum? plus you’re in the middle of promotions, what if you drain too much energy that she’s unable to perform the next day.

and it also didn’t help that your internal monologue was fucking you up.

“shit, do i just ask the manager to… NO- ew what the hell am i thinking? he’s way older than me. nevermind. why did i think about that jesus christ.”

your options were slim. it was either wait for night, go to the practice rooms and prey on a cute trainee, with consent of course - or go ask jimin unnie again and risk exhausting her even though you just started promotions…

you wondered who was at home right now.

you recalled ning going straight back home as soon as the meeting had finished. you could always ask? i mean she is your unnie after all, it wouldn’t hurt to ask to her.

ah, but it would be awkward though. it’s not like when jimin unnie walked in on you tweaking out and then you had to shamefully ask her to “help you out”. either way you had to go home and do something about it. being out in the open wouldn’t be good for you anyway. anymore stress and you could lose your mind, probably going out of your way to do something that would be highly illegal, and you wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

–

on the way home you couldn’t suppress your excitement. you had already made up your mind to ask ning if you could, you know, do something nasty. multiple scenes were made up in your head. she could bend you over the table, press you against the wall and limit your restrictions with her pretty hands, or maybe she could shove your head into the pillow and pound into your desperate pussy.

as opposed to jimin, you never caught ning wound up in her own thoughts, nor staring at you in a sexual manner. whether it was pracitce, a stage, any event with the members, or an upcoming show, you had never caught her once. maybe she did look at you while you were dancing promiscuously as a joke. even so, her expressions were so nonchalant that even if she was, you would never be able to tell… though that thought alone excited you even more. who knows what her pretty little head was thinking about.

although jimin said to tell the other members about who you actually were to prevent you from being too awkward to ask your members for help, you refrained from doing so because well… you’re just like that, what else. how were you gonna do it anyway- hold a meeting in your apartment around the dining table and say that you need sex to stay active and alive? then what, they’ll eagerly accept the fact that you literally need to be inside of them, or vice versa, so you can get up on stage and preform as if it was a regular ass day.

those five minutes you spent daydreaming and thinking about telling your members were stopped abruptly by the door in front of you. when did the walk home become so quick.

then you started to think once again.

would ning be the type of person to go out of their way to help you? yes she’s that type of person, however, does that mean she would willingly want to have sex with you… god, you don’t know her ‘that’ well. you’re close, close as how close a lifetime friend could ever be, but still, things would be weird if she ultimately says no to your request.

“you’ve been staring at the door for an awfully long time y/n. are you coming inside or do you want to stare at the door a little longer?”

fresh out of the shower, yizhuo greets you with a friendly smile followed by a giggle. her towel sticking against her body showing off the curves of her hips.

oh fuck, why does she have to be wearing that now.

“did you just finish showering? also, girl… get back inside. what if someone sees you with just a towel on” the aroma of your shampoo wafted through the air “you smell good…” you all were tight on money this month, so you all shared things like perfumes, shampoos, pretty much all products you and the other members owned. each time either one of your members had applied your shampoo, god, you had such perverse thought about them, wanting to ravage them until they couldn’t walk or even stand

“yeah i ran out of mine- and yours was newly opened so you know” she had been looking way too good recently, not saying that she never did look good, but there was something about her that made you feel extra desperate and needy. the wetness between your thighs spoke for themselves

“let’s go in. i need to talk to you quickly before my brain explodes” yizhuo cocked her head in confusion, reluctantly following your lead, closing the door behind her as you walked into your guys’ apartment.

you followed behind her as she led you to your shared bedroom, looking up because you didn’t want to turn yourself on even more by staring at her ass “wow, the ceiling looked nice. a pretty beige colour… what the hell am i doing” you thought to yourself with a heavy sigh, looking back down and regretting it immediately. you noticed that yizhuo turned around as you locked eyes with the front of her cream coloured bath towel.

as perceptive as yizhuo was, she noticed a little black swish behind your back. she just played it off, too tired from all the practice, so she thought she was hallucinating a tail or something of the sorts.

now, being both the youngest and the least serious members of the group, you rarely ever had a heart to heart. to talk one to one with each other with the tone you had used, yizhuo must’ve thought that there was some topic you couldn’t bring up with the eldest “hey what’s up? it’s been a while since we last talked seriously” her damp hair against her soft looking skin, the fresh scent of soap and the way she looked at you with worry in her eyes. it almost drove you off the edge. she was so tantalising that you almost missed your cue to speak.

“uh- um, you know how we’ve been besties since i came to korea right?”

“yes”

“and you know we said that we’d always tell each other anything right?” you glanced around the room, avoiding her gaze while your fingers unconsciously played with the fabric of her bedsheets.

“yes…?” ning pondered for a while “…are you going to confess your undying love for me, is that what this is?” she cackled.

“WHAT? no, no- i think that might be less shocking than what i’m about to say” you take a deep breath in hopes to stifle the sound emitting from your booming heartbeat “okay so like, hypothetically speaking, would you have sex with any of the four of us?” for a god awful few seconds you sat tensely, waiting for yizhuo to say something.

“are you trying to redirect my attention from a more important question girl?” her eyes rested on your face, heartily laughing until she released you were being totally serious.

scratching your arm, you let out a sigh. it would be better to ask her directly wouldn’t it “you don’t need to analyse me like that. i was just saying-”

you could charm her into agreeing, but in the long run you’d feel like a horrible person. charming a person came with moral problems, and you strictly told yourself that you would never do that to a person. ever.

“yizhuo… can we- can you do me a favour?” your stuttering caught her attention. you simply couldn’t bring yourself to ask, it’s strange out of the blue.

“mhm mhm, what do you need”

“you”

“me?”

“yes.” with every fibre of your being you held back a variety of different ways to scream out ‘JUST FUCK ME’ biting your lip to help fight back a blush. it’s odd to blurt out ‘im a succubus. let’s have crazy passionate intimate gay sex right here right now’

hold on- does she even know you’re a succubus? “listen, it’s going to sound absurd and you probably think i’m not sober, but can you hear me out” it was still weird to outwardly say that you were in fact this demon thing that sucks people dry, literally. saying it to jimin was no easy feat, but you were obviously losing your damn mind that day. and then you have the other two members too? now was not the time to think about what you’d do in the near future, you were hungry and yizhuo was right in front of you, practically naked “are you, by any chance, okay with maybe” your gaze darted around the room before you locked eyes with her “maybe having… sex? maybe?”

“ohhh, okay i see how it is. you’re ovulating” she spoke with a dead serious tone.

you were losing your mind. you couldn’t tell if she was fucking with you or not. but in all honesty, yizhuo did think you looked like you were ovulating with the way your thighs pressed together. yup, ovulating.

your heart began to race as you increasingly became desperate within seconds. you felt feverish, hot to the touch while your head throbbed. almost a whole two months without tending to your needs ended up with you succumbing to the symptoms “please yizhuo. i need you to do something, anything- i feel like i’m gonna die actually”

“woah woaah, let’s calm down. you’re not gonna die silly. is it just-“ yizhuo paused for a while, coughed and maybe even hesitated to say the word “sex. is that all? it can’t be too bad. plus if it’s with you, i don’t mind…” yizhuo’s words were genuine. it put your mind at ease.

“you don’t understand though. it’s like… it- i don’t know” you pout at her with the remaining energy left in your body “it’s alright- i’ll ask other people, it’ll be okay” sluggishly pushing yourself off yizhuo’s bed.

“no no, i get it. you wanna relieve stress, i get it” from what you could understand, yizhuo was trying her absolute best, trying to relate with your problem “we’ve all been there. the company doesn’t allow us to go out and meet other idols like that so it was eventually gonna happen. i mea-“

“it’s not about that, yizhuo” your eyes darken, a desperate sigh emitting from your lips “ah, whatever…” with trembling hands, you held yizhuo’s in yours, momentarily silencing her as you sit back down on top of the smooth sheets of her bed “if you’re not okay with doing ‘this’, then will a kiss be okay?” there was a hint of softness to your voice, the rest shrouded with seriousness “it won’t be enough for me, but it’ll keep me… sort of stable” you shut your eyes as you press your forehead against hers, sharing the warmth “please, that’s all i ask for”

she whispered “a kiss? i can do that. it seems fun.”ning, inches away from kissing you, smiled sheepishly. her gaze drifted briefly towards your lips before finally shutting her eyes “and if it’s with you i think i’ll be okay”

you took this as your opportunity to kiss her softly on the lips. a quick peck really. a surge of energy coursed through your veins for half a second before coming to a stop.

that’s all the energy you’ll take from her, and the most you’ll take for the next couple of days “mmm… thank you yizhuo” though it was a sweet couple of seconds before it broke off, the sweetness of her lips left a longing impression on you.

yizhuo asked for “one more kiss?” growing in confidence, she leaned into another, her eyes fluttering shut as she melted into your embrace. though you were unsure, you gave into the moment, savouring her delicate lips. her fingers tentatively reached for your shirt, grabbing you and pulling you in closer. as the kiss intensified, yizhuo’s hands journeyed down your back, directly pushing down so your chests were pressed together “do whatever you want…” her breath hitched as you trailed down kisses from her jaw down to her neck, taking the time and effort to not accidentally leave a huge hickey there. you replied by pushing her back onto the bed, the loose towel that wrapped around body fell apart easily, exposing yizhuo’s pretty tits. she paid no mind, letting you do whatever you pleased.

“god, you’re so pretty” you climbed onto the bed, straddling yizhuo’s waist as you carefully removed your t-shirt.

she burned holes through your face, why was she staring so hard all of a sudden? “how are your eyes are pink, y/n” taken aback, she sits up and examines your face. she raised her hand and waved it in front of you “is this thing real?” tilting her head in confusion.

“it is real- mmh?” a jolt shoots right up through your spine and then down to your core out of nowhere. ning held your sleek black tail, rubbing her fingers against the weird leathery texture, caressing and prodding at your poor flimsy, slightly erect(?) tail, as you let out a soft sigh. “yizhuo…” you mewl pathetically “that- that feels weird”

“does it now?” her tongue darted out, licking the centre of your heart shaped tail with the ever so subtle tug at the corner of her lips “sensitive much” a couple more licks and kisses to your tail and you were pretty much done for.

time to time you forget that you have some sort of libido increasing, aphrodisiac power. the kiss you two shared may have affected her. well it definitely did. the increase of confidence radiating from the older girl was way different in comparison to her usual self. cause by now you’d expect her to be a little more gentle with you.

flipping positions, yizhuo held you down with her two hands with a devilish look on her face “if it’s sex you want, then i’ll make sure to fuck you till your begging for me to stop” her hand travelled down your tail, stroking it as if she was stroking your dick. never before had someone do something like that to your tail, but my god did it feel so fucking good.

she toyed with it, prodded and poked the tip of it and sucked it with her pretty pink and plump lips. the other hand cupped your chest, fondling over your boobs to get a feel for her own satisfaction “i could get used to this…” being on top of you, she had the advantage to do whatever she desired, and also because you were too weak to move at all “what do you want y/n? want me to fuck you with my tongue or my fingers. you choose”

you chose the latter.

throwing your head back onto the fluffed up pillows, yizhuo waisted no time and went to her destination. not one, but two fingers pushed deep inside of your pussy, stretching you out so good. her lustfully hooded eyes looked down at you, absorbing in the expressions of your pleasure contorted face “how’s it feel? want me to add another for you baby?”

unable to answer her question with words, you nod eagerly, wanting nothing but her fingers to fill you up. so she did, adding in a third finger since you asked to cutely with that nod of yours. now knuckles deep inside, that same devilish grin spread across her face. you unconsciously buck your hips up, smiling wearily at yizhuo “so.. so deep” your moans urged her to immediately start moving. she started out nice and slow, curling her fingers at different intervals to squeeze out those lovely moans of yours. every thrust, she explored your spongy walls, testing out the waters to see which place hit the best for you. then as time went by, she gradually built up her pace until she came to her desired speed.

three fingered merciselessly pounded hard into your tight cunt, your juices leaking and dripping onto yizhuo’s bedsheets, and the sounds of your wetness leaving the chinese girl in awe. noticing the way your hips began to meet with her speed, her hand that played with your tail slowly slided towards them, holding you down by the stomach “let me do all the work” driven by your moans, she leans down to press a hungry kiss on your lips, then leaving a hot trail of kisses down from your neck and onto your perky nipples.

swirling around the hardened bud on your chest, a guttural moan catches her attention “you like it when i suck on your tits, huh?” her thumb pressed against your swollen clit as she muttered those words, all the while still paying attention to your sensitive tits. she enjoyed the way you tried to wriggle your hips in attempts to move them, and how your hands clutched the sheets with pure desperation. she felt hazy, maybe a little bit tipsy somehow, but all she wanted to do was fuck you until you were screaming her name.

as her fingers continued to slide against your walls, hitting the right spots at an intense speed, you felt a knot form in your stomach. you were so desperate for relief, needing to buck your hips into her palm to get that sweet friction you felt on your clit, but she didn’t allow you to do that; her hand still resting on your stomach to stop you from squirming “yi-yizhuo~” you whined, teary eyes staring at her with a pitiful look “please yizhuo.. r-rub my clit please~”

and who was she to deny you.

though she didn’t do exactly what you wanted, she did something way more better. moving away from your nipples, she lowered herself down onto the bottom of her bed to shove her face right between your thighs. tongue darting out her mouth, she gives a few kitten licks on your clit, savouring the sweet essence of your pussy for a starter. those tiny kitten licks turned into something much more. the tip of her tongue circled against your heat, occasionally wrapping her lips around to give you a quick suck before continuing to lap your soaked folds up to your sensitive clit.

the stimulation drove your crazy. you never knew that yizhuo was so skilled at this. still thrusting those three fingers inside of your now pulsating cunt, at the hot and wet kisses and licks she left on your clit, she knew - and you knew, that you were on the verge of toppling over the edge. but it wasn’t enough for her “is that good, hm? does my needy baby want me to fuck her harder?” yizhuo somehow had the strength to speed up, fucking your hole as she moans at how well you’re taking her.

those words vibrated from your core and sent shivers across your spine, leaving goosebumps all over your skin - in which also made you clench around her fingers.

fuck, it was way too damn good. you felt your legs shaking, jaw opening wide, stomach tightening and that course of hot pleasure travelling through your entire nervous system “close- close yizhuo.. don’t stop” your words came out slurred, a few unintelligible praises and swears being ripped out of the back of your throat as you felt yourself on the edge.

with one final deep and hard thrust, your jaw slacked open as your orgasm was pulled out from your body, legs twitching and spasming as you repetitively screamed out yizhuo’s name alongside even more praises. for a minute your body fell limp against the bed, exhausted from the mind blowing orgasm yizhuo gave you, and also from the built up stress you had from promotions.

now full of the sexual energy you gained from yizhuo, you spring upwards, patting yizhuo’s head gently “t-thank you… i feel refreshed…”

the older girl finally sat up after she cleaned you up. wiping her face and chin from the juices that dripped all the way down, she flashed you a smile “with that tail of yours, and those pink eyes, you’ve got to be a succubus… right? to answer her question, you nodded, cheeks red from her straightforwardness.

“y-yeah. you’re right… wanna go again?”

“only if i bottom next”

#wintersera #ning yizhuo smut #ningning smut #ningning x reader smut #ningning x fem reader smut #aespa smut #aespa x reader smut #kpop smut #kpop girl group smut

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stylesparker · 1 year ago

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closer than friends

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

WARNINGS: season 1/2 era, friends to lovers, sweet love confession, Dean being Sam’s wingman

A/N: my first supernatural fic is finally here!!! It’s been a long while since I’ve had the motivation to write, and I’m so glad I was able to get this out and share it. Please reblog if you enjoy!! <33

"How many times are you gonna shift in your goddamn seat, woman, jesus christ." Dean glances over at you from the wheel for the fourth time, watching you rub your eyes and knock your shoulder into the side of the Impala's door again.

"It's not my fault the passenger seat isn't made for comfortable napping, Dean."

You hear Sam chuckle from over your shoulder; this makes you look back to find him comfortably nestled into the corner of the backseat with his sweatshirt tucked in the crook of his neck so he can lean against his door without discomfort.

You huff, "I don't want a word from you."

"Says the girl who called shotgun and fought for the front seat all morning."

"What did I just say?"

Dean rolls his eyes, "Okay, knock it off. We're finding a place to sleep tonight."

While Dean focuses back onto driving, you try your hardest to find a suitable position that would allow you to sleep for awhile up until you guys made it to whatever hotel you were staying in for the night. You'd like to blame the Impala for your sleep deprivation, but you've slept in it before just fine, so you know the car isn't the problem. Even though you're going on just over 36 hours of no sleep, your mind won't shut off. The events of the case you were working on for the past couple of days play like a movie in your head, reminding you of how it ended over and over again.

You swallow quite harshly, and shift in your seat again. Something soft smacks the back of your head and you whip around to see what Sam's hit you with, but it's just his sweatshirt, and he's already leaning against the side of the car like he was before, almost as if he hadn't moved at all.

You mumble out a quiet "thank you," and you don't bother to even listen for any sort of reply before you're stuffing his sweatshirt underneath your head and forcing yourself to go to sleep. It's not long before you hear Sam's soft breathing from the backseat signifying that the boy has finally fallen asleep himself. You almost gave up until you saw Dean turn down his music just a little, side-eyeing you as he looked between you and the road.

"Is that better?" He asks.

"It was fine before."

"I'll keep it like this anyway."

You hum in response, and he goes back to humming his own tune to follow along with the music. With Sam's soft breathing in the back and Dean's low humming, you finally find something else other than your mind to focus on, which ultimately leads to your eyes lulling shut and you drifting off to sleep.

When your eyes start to peel back open again, the car is stopped and there's light rain patter on the wind shield. You lift your head causing Sam's sweatshirt to lightly fall into your lap, and at the same time the door opens revealing a slightly wet Sam waiting for you.

"C'mon, we're here."

"Slow your roll, Sammy, I just woke up." Your head lolls back onto the seat, and you let your eyes close once again, forgetting about Sam who's standing in the rain waiting for you to get out.

"Alright, let's go."

You shiver and grumble a slight protest as you feel his cold hands slip underneath your body to grab you and pick you out of the Impala. He knocks the door shut as he cradles you close to his chest as to not drop you, and as he locks the car. Your ear stays smushed against his front as he carries you, allowing you to feel the soft pitter patter of his heart beating in his chest.

"What time is it?" You mumble sleepily.

"Close to ten."

"That's it?"

"Yeah." You nod, not replying this time so you can nod back off in his arms. You're back to being fast asleep once again by the time Sam reaches the room Dean picked out for you, and he tries tucking you into your bed as gently as possible so he doesn't accidentally wake you up. In the short process you only mutter something unintelligible to Sam's ears as he finishes pulling the blankets up, so he ignores it and kisses you on the forehead, bidding you a good night before he retreats back to the room he's sharing with Dean for the night.

It's much later when you're rudely roused from sleep by a nightmare; you sit up straight in the bed with your hands by your sides clawing at the sheets, your eyes wide and unfocused, much too scared to figure out where you are or how you've gotten there. It takes a second to realize you're in a motel room, and now, the sheets that were once neatly laid over your body are haphazardly thrown towards the end of the bed, practically hanging off and hitting the floor. You take a shaky deep breath in and out, taking your trembling hand and placing it over your heart in an attempt to regulate it.

After a couple minutes your breathing is sort of back to normal, but your shakiness hasn't stopped. At that point, you're aware you won't be falling asleep again anytime soon, so you sit up further and throw your legs off the bed to go and find something to busy yourself with. In the corner there's a chair that you notice has your bag on top of it, and there's a small table next to it with a notepad. Your curiosity pulls you towards it, and when your feet reach the table, you're able to make out Sam's sloppy handwriting.

If you need us. - S

Next to the writing is a key card, which you can obviously assume is the one to their room. You pick it up and turn it over a few times, debating on whether this dream was something worth needing them for. In your head, needing was the same thing as bothering and it was never used as a positive term. But you know that if you spend another minute in that bed you might actually start crying and drive yourself crazy over the dream, so you take your chances and hope one of the boys will let you sleep in their bed or at least talk to you for awhile and get your mind off of it.

When you open the door and step outside, you become acutely aware of the cold air on your arms and legs rather quickly, and you begin to wish you were wearing a sweatshirt instead of one of Sam's shirts and a pair of shorts. The chill encapsulates you, making you hasten your step towards the room down the hall with the number specified on the key card. Once you make it to the room, you're pushing yourself up on your tip toes because, despite your sock covered feet, the ground is still horridly cold and you're hoping to get off it as soon as possible. Although, you find yourself unable to let yourself in once you find yourself standing in front of the door. You give it a good five minutes before you work up the nerve to finally pat the key card on the handle to allow yourself in the room. Once you've pushed open the door a crack, you're able to perceive a bed-side lamp turned on, and Sam leaning against his headboard next to it.

His head snaps up from his book at the sound of the door being pushed open, but he relaxes when he realizes it's you.

"Hey," he says softly. He's in the brown sweatshirt you were passing back and forth earlier, and he's weirdly still in a pair of jeans, but at this point you're used to seeing Sam and Dean wearing their jeans to bed.

"Hi," you respond back, even softer.

Sam likes to think he's pretty good at perceiving your body language, especially after knowing you for so long; so when he notices your trembling hands, your flushed cheeks, and your frantic eyes, he knows that you've had a nightmare.

He's not gonna ask why you're there since he knows why, so he only pats the side of the bed next to him and asks, "You wanna' join me?"

You're quick to nod your head and cross the room to join him, and it's only then when you're on the bed that you notice Dean isn't in the other one.

"Where's Dean?"

"Oh, he left to drive around. He's probably at a bar, or sleeping in the car somewhere." He says casually.

You hum, "Couldn't sleep?"

"Neither of us really could. He asked if I wanted to come with, but I didn't really feel like leavin'." Sam left out the fact he didn't want to leave you here alone, since he doesn't like leaving you anywhere by yourself. Dean doesn't either, but he doesn't get fussy over it like Sam sometimes does when you fight them on it.

"I can't either," you say quietly.

With some of your hair dangling in your face and your flushed cheeks, you look sort of delicate in Sam's eyes. You look sad, but when you look at him you have a gentle smile covering your lips, and when you look away your mouth curves downward again, only slightly, to where you might think he won't notice, but he does.

Sam's always stayed observant of you, even when you think you're the one who takes all the mental notes of him.

He reaches out, lifting the hand closest to you and letting his palm rest gently on top of your shoulder.

"You okay?" He almost looks like a puppy when he asks, and it's pitiful. For you mostly because he's cute, but why should he look like that when you feel like you're gonna start crying any minute.

You don't even want to answer because if your mouth opens you're either gonna say you're fine, or words describing the terrors you experienced in your sleep are going to come pouring out of your mouth and you won't be able to stop until you're a sobbing, pitiful mess and you could not handle being that way in front of Sam.

You couldn't.

But looking at him looking at you so fondly, it's like he's trying to tell you he'll comfort you the only way he knows how and he's gonna fix all your problems with a touch or two alone. Like the way he wants to hold you will melt all your fears into nothing and the way he wants to kiss you will make you forget any of it even happened. His eyes speak more than words could express in this moment and you don't even care if you seem desperate, or needy, or anything really. You allow yourself to fall forward into his awaiting arms, and when your head meets his chest, you can't help the first sob that escapes your lips.

You sound so tired, and the way that you're crying so harshly makes him feel like you're tearing yourself apart inside, like each breath is ripping off another piece of your heart.

"Honey..." he breathes out gently, wrapping his one arm around your neck and his other only comes up about half way so he can hold your head close to him under his chin. You've fallen completely into his side, your head against his chest and one leg practically in his lap, but he doesn't seem mind. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You consider it for a moment; you probably would feel better opening up to him about the case you just worked, considering he was also there and knows how hard it was, but you also know opening up to Sam makes you feel close to him. Intimate almost. You’ve never been one to share your thoughts or feelings generously, and you think that must have just came with the messed up childhood, since Sam and Dean are pretty much the same way. But as the years went on, the boys got much better at opening up to you than you did them. Although, if there was anyone that could get you to talk, it was Sam.

Today, you decided, would not be one of those days.

You shake your head, "I'm okay, I'm okay. I'll be fine." You know by his soft sigh that he doesn't believe you, but luckily he doesn't push it. "Can we just stay like this for a little while?" You whisper shyly, despite knowing he wouldn't say no to you.

"Yeah," he strokes your hair softly, "Yeah, of course."

You lay comfortably against him as he slowly but surely calms you down, holding your head and rubbing your arm gently as you let out sad little sniffles. Once you've relaxed, you murmur something into his chest that he thinks might have been a thank you, but before he can ask you've already fallen asleep.

About an hour later after the two of you have fallen asleep, Dean unlocks the door and enters the room slightly shitfaced but more so tired. He freshens up in the bathroom so he doesn't wake up feeling even worse in a couple of hours, and he doesn't even notice you're there until he's trudging out of it, eyes wide and feet frozen to the floor as he takes in the image of you and Sam cuddled up to each other in Sam's bed. He manages to put his fist against his mouth just in time to cover up a surprised laugh, taking in the sight of his little brother in the same bed as their best friend.

"This is gold." Dean smiles mischievously, pulling his phone out of his pocket to capture the moment. "Just friends my ass." He mutters.

...

"Dean, if I have to hear you say that girl's name again one more time, I'm going to chop your head off. I don't care how good she was at su-"

"Alright, alright, let's quiet down shall' we?" Sam pats your shoulder and looks around the cafe to see if anyone heard you bickering with Dean about last night's one night stand. Dean laughs loudly as he lets himself into the corner booth that the three of you chose while you were walking in.

"What, you nervous someone's gonna hear us, Sammy?"

"It's 8 in the morning, Dean. Let's be a little respectful."

You hide your giggle, "Yeah, Dean."

Dean rolls his eyes, glancing at Sam as he ever so casually throws his arm over the back of the seat behind you, looking at the side of your face to see if you've taken notice. You're picking your nail, completely oblivious. He almost rolls his eyes again.

"Well," Dean straightens up, "Let's see what we have on the menu today."

"Don't act like you're not going to get the same exact thing you get every day," you comment, not even looking up from your nail.

"What's with the attitude, sweetheart? Didn't sleep well?" Sam's smile quickly turns to an annoyed frown as he makes eye contact with Dean, silently sending him daggers to keep his mouth shut.

You squint your eyes at him and open your mouth to come back with a retort, but the waitress walks up before you get the chance to say anything.

"Are y'all ready yet, or would you like a few minutes?" She asks kindly.

"Can we have a couple more minutes?" You say, since the three of you haven't even taken a look at the menu yet. She nods and retreats, leaving you alone with the boys once again. Sam and Dean grab their menus and you quickly realize there isn't a third, so you go to call the waitress back, but Sam nudges you just before you do.

"It's fine, just share mine." You huddle close next to him, resting your chin on your hand as you survey the food options as Sam does the same. He's so close his hair just so slightly grazes the skin of your cheek. Dean raises his eyebrows when he notices Sam's leg has started bouncing and he covers up his laugh with a cough just as he did last night, busying himself and acting clueless as the two of you look up at him.

"You alright?" You ask jokingly.

"Yup, totally fine. You guys ready yet?"

"Yep. How about you, Sammy?" He clears his throat and doesn't say anything, but he nods his head in response, which has you eyeing him weirdly. You choose to ignore it and let Sam order for you while you kick Dean under the table to stop being flirty with the nice waitress, and he only winks at you before he gives his order too.

When the waitress departs from your table, Dean lets his eyes follow her just for a second before he's turning back to the two of you, and he gets this questioning look on his face when he realizes the two of you are blankly glaring at him with the same narrowed eyes.

"What," he throws his hands up in defense, "I can't admire a good-looking woman?"

You and Sam glance at each other with a knowing glance right before you look back at Dean and say, "What's with you today? Why are you acting so..."

"Strange." Sam says. He leans forward on the table, "Why do you look like you're up to something?"

"Huh? Me?" Dean points to himself, "I'm not up to anything. I'm just being plain old me."

"Yeah, sure." You laugh him off and start a side conversation with Sam that has the two of you forgetting about Dean for the moment. Dean always knew Sam liked you; it's so obvious, at least to him. But he wishes he'd realized before how clearly obvious you are too. He doesn't know if he wants to throw up or throw a party.

...

A couple weeks later

"One or two rooms?" The lady asks.

"One please." Dean replies, handing the lady one of his debit cards that probably had some weird made up name on it. When Dean turns around with his debit card and the key in hand, you and Sam are looking at him weird like a couple of toddlers.

"Really? One room? Since when have we done that?" You questioned.

"Since you and Sammy boy over here started sharing a bed every night. I'm not gonna pay for two rooms when you don't use yours." Dean quickly catches on to how he's embarrassed the two of you so he adds, "and besides, I'd rather you stick with us anyway. Keep the team together." He pats your shoulder with a smirk and leaves the two of you behind. Sam spares a glance at your face and he's a bit surprised to find that you're just as taken aback as he is, but you don't say anything and you follow Dean rather quickly.

The three of you head back to the Impala to grab your bags before heading to the room, and when you go to take out yours, Sam slides in front of you and grabs his in one hand, and yours in the other.

"Sam." You say impassively.

"Yeah?"

"I am fully capable of grabbing my own bag."

"Oh I know. I'm just getting a quick work-out, since you know, your bag is like 50 pounds from all the clothes you carry.

"It is not, I barely bring anything with me!"

"You might be right, but if I may ask, how many of the shirts in here are actually mine?"

You pretend to think, "Um, probably like two. Maybe three."

A wide grin spreads across his face as he laughs at you, "Now you're lying! Half my wardrobe is in here!" Sam pushes the cracked door open with his behind and holds it open for you, standing to the side with his foot on the door. Dean's bag is at the end of his bed and he's already crashed on the bed nearest to the door.

"Hey, it's not my fault your clothes are more comfortable than mine! I don't know who decided that men deserve softer clothes."

"Well, in that case," he dropped the bags, "be my guest."

"Oh, how sweet. I like how you think you had any choice in the matter."

"Haha, very funny. Do you want the first shower?"

"You can take it, I had it the other night. Besides, I need to figure out which shirt I'm stealing tonight. I was thinking of the blue one, or actually, maybe the green-"

"Oh my god, I'm leaving." He rolls his eyes, but you can see the amused smirk on his face as he heads to the bathroom, and gently closes the door behind him. You giggle to yourself as you pull out his blue shirt from your bag and a pair of pants since it's a bit chillier tonight.

He's out of the shower pretty quick, and when he emerges from the steamy bathroom, you're next to Dean's bed whacking him repeatedly with a pillow.

"I told you to stop snoring!" You yell at him.

"Hmph, stop hitting me, crazy woman!" He mumbles sleepily at you. You stop hitting him when you notice Sam watching you, and he wants to laugh at how cute you look, like some kid who's got caught doing something they're not supposed to.

"What, he was bothering me."

He smiles, "I don't doubt it."

He doesn't realize that you froze mainly because he came out in a pair of sweats and no shirt, with his hair dripping wet and a towel around his shoulders. Dean peaks his eyes open and grumbles when he notices the way you're looking at him. You hear Dean, which breaks you out of your temporary trance.

You drop the pillow and give him a sheepish look, "I'm gonna- I'll take my shower now." You nod, promptly leaving the room after you grab the clothes you had set out on your bed. Sam watches you leave, more than a bit confused might he add, suspicious of the way your mood had suddenly changed. Once he hears the water running and the curtain pull back signifying you're in the shower, and can no longer hear him, he settles on the bed and asks Dean a question.

"What happened?"

"You happened, you idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said. I'm sick and tired of watching you two pine after the other when you clearly love each other, so for gods sake- no, my sake, tell the girl you love her and get on with it!"

Sam's face is hysterical, and if Dean weren't so tired right now he'd be laughing, but he's exhausted in more ways than one, so all he can do is shut is eyes and hope his little brother makes a move on the girl who's been his practically since the day they met her.

"D-Dean... I can't just-"

"Yes you can, and you will." Dean finalizes. "At this point I'll just do it for you. It's unbearable." Sam huffs loudly, flopping back onto the bed.

He lays there and stares at the ceiling for awhile until he hears his brother's soft snores coming from the other side of the room; when he sits up and runs a hand through his hair, he hears the shower turn off and your light humming become more audible.

He takes a final deep breath just as you walk out of the bathroom with your hair combed nicely and your warm pajamas, perfectly ready for bed. Not exactly ready for your best friend to confess his undying love for you. He wants to crumble at the sight of your smile.

"You okay?" You ask gently. "You look a little pale."

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," he waves you off, "When am I not fine?"

You laugh softly, "Do you want me to answer that?"

"Actually no." He gives a soft laugh of his own before his eyes land on his brother again, thinking over the words that were spoken to him just minutes prior to you walking out of that door. You were so near, so close to their conversation, and you have no idea. He can't help but think that maybe you'll be taken aback, shocked beyond belief, or traumatized enough to the point you yell at him and leave him for good. Or, maybe... possibly... there's a small chance you do feel the way that Dean says you feel, and in just a few moments the entirety of your relationship will change. Well, no matter what it'll change.

He just hopes it's what he feels it might be.

Sam's face snaps up to you quickly, like he's just had a sudden thought, and his eyes hold yours for a beat too long before he asks, "Can we go outside for a second?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." He gets up and takes long strides towards the door, you just a foot behind. He opens it and leaves it open for you to slide through, and he's standing there with his hands in his pockets facing away from you. You give him a questioning glance, but he doesn't see it.

"You have the key?" You query.

"Um..." he pulls out the card in his hand to make sure and you giggle at him, but he just nods, putting it back in his pocket, gulping strangely, "Yeah, I got it."

"Okay." You whisper softly, closing the door quietly behind you. You're silent for a moment, giving him a second to see if he'd speak first, but he doesn't. "You okay, Sammy?"

"I'm in love with you."

Not even a beat later, those words exit his mouth, and everything changes. The atmosphere that was once light, comfortable, and knowing, has shifted to one of fearful eyes, harsh breaths and unspeakable tension. His hands, once unafraid to grab hold of you, now remain glued to his side, flexing and itching to reach forward and touch your skin. His heart is beating so fast he feels like it's getting torn out; each individual piece of it being sliced and picked carefully from his chest as if he were on an operating table.

He can't tell if the look on your face is fear or shock. Probably both. But he doesn't know if it's good or bad and it's scaring him.

"Say something." He breathes out, with a drop of desperation.

Your mouth, hung open for a brief amount of time, now closes, and you gulp just like he did before he uttered those five little words.

"What did you say?" you murmur, looking like you just got pulled from space.

He repeats himself. "I'm in love with you."

You don't say anything again, but he continues.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to say that." He interrupts himself with a laugh, a scared, almost detached sounding laugh, but one nonetheless. You stare at him as he goes on. "For weeks I've had these moments where I look at you and all I can think about is telling you how I feel, but then some part of me ruins it and then I forget about it until you do something again that makes me want to say it again."

"Which, I swear is every two seconds because all you have to do is look at me with those eyes and all I want to do is grab your face and tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me and how I can't stand sleeping next to you one more night without you knowing that I can't sleep without you anymore. I need you by my side, tucking your head under mine. It's not that I can't because I could, but I don't ever want to again. I could live a hundred lifetimes, all of them with you in them, but if you weren't mine, if you were someone else's, I wouldn't dare live another."

When he notices the tear streaking down your face, he finally reaches forward to hold your cheek in the palm of his hand. Your own comes up from your side to grip tight onto the wrist that's holding your face, and he can tell that you've noticed he's shaking.

"Sam..." Your voice comes out unsure, "Are you sure?"

"Am I sure?" He questions you, giving you an incredulous look. "Sweetheart, I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

You're holding onto him so tight, he just knows what you're going to say next.

"I love you." You thought it would come out a whisper, but it sounds stronger than you expected. You close your eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. "Oh, Sam, I love you so much."

His smile is brighter than a thousand suns, and his forehead drops against yours, staying there as you breath the other in; this new confession bringing in a wind of fresh air that has you feeling like you've both earned a pair of new lungs.

"I thought you might say that." He utters quietly, making you laugh and hit his chest lightly.

"Oh, shut up. Then why were you so scared, dumbass."

"I was confessing my love for you, either way I'm gonna be nervous!"

You smile cheekily, "Your love for me..."

"Don't act like you didn't know." His other hand comes up to hold the other side of your face, tilting your head up more to see you clearly.

"Maybe. But I had my doubts too." You confess.

Sam shrugs, "Well, without Dean I probably wouldn't have said anything for another decade, so-"

Your mouth drops open, "You finally gained the courage because Dean forced you to?" Sam stays still as you gape at him, and he smiles nervously.

"Does it help if I was thinking about it first?"

"Oh my god." You groan dejectedly and drop your head forward onto his chest. He holds the back of your head as he shakes with laughter.

"Okay, okay, be mad at me, whatever. Am I getting my kiss now?"

"Who said you were gonna get one at all?"

"Don't mess with me."

"I wouldn't dare."

...

The next morning, Dean groggily peels his eyes open to the morning sunlight peeking out of the curtains, and grumbles, questioning the time. It's around 8 am, which surprises him because he would have expected you or Sam to have woken him by now. At the thought of you guys, he turns over and manages to find himself alone in the dingy motel room. The bed covers are torn from the top of the bed, more settled towards the end of it, showing that you guys obviously slept in it, but there's no sign you or Sam are even still here.

Suddenly, he hears the low growl of his Baby pulling up outside, making him swing his legs out of bed and trudge over to the door. He swings it open, getting ready to yell at the both of you for going anywhere without him, even if it was breakfast, but his eyes widen and his jaw drops at the sight he's seeing.

You and Sam are standing close together near the trunk, leaning against the side, but mostly the other. Sam's hand, that isn't holding the grocery bags, is holding your hip, and you're looking up at him with a mischievous look in your eye. Sam says something which conjures up a giggle out of you, which then has Sam smiling brightly at the sight of you. He leans down and kisses you straight on the lips, holding you there for a moment before he pulls away to catch his breath. Both of you stand there, unaware of Dean's eyes on you, but neither of you would even really care if you did.

Dean's shocked expression turns to one of accomplishment. He nods, satisfied, and smiles like his brother just did. He sighs.

"Kids."

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester #supernatural

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artdcnaldson · 1 month ago

Note

Been thinking about Patrick teaching Art how to masturbate

Patrick lowering himself down onto his stomach and between Art's legs on their pushed together beds, encouraging Art to continue despite his clear embarrassment.

Coaxing him into bringing his other hand down to his balls, only to end up doing it himself because the blonde's hands are shaking too much.

Once Art begins to get closer, so does Patrick. His hot breath fanning over Art's tip as he encourages him breathlessly.

Art shooting thick ropes of cum, half of which lands on his best friend's tongue, dribbling down his chin

And Art cums a lot and Patrick only wants to help. Sucking Art's tip into his warm mouth, licking his slit as he swallows him down

-🕊

I started shaking and vibrating reading this my god

Art jerking off as fast as he can the few random times Patrick leaves their hotel room while they’re at tournaments. He’s really, like, clinical with it— he just wants to cum as fast as possible. There’s no exploration, no teasing. He spits in his palm the same way Patrick showed him and fucks into his fist until he cums.

Patrick went out expecting a blowjob, and winds up getting stood up after the girl gets cold feet, so he trudges back to his room, already pent up and buzzing under his skin. It’s just his luck he walks into the room to see Art propped against the headboard of his bed, fist blurry from how fast it’s moving.

“Jesus Christ, dude, you’re gonna give yourself a friction burn.” Art yelps in surprise, throws a pillow over his lap to cover himself up, like the damage wasn’t already done ten times over. Patrick doesn’t give a shit. He relishes in making Art blush and squirm. He throws himself onto the bed, between Art’s thighs, and grins up at the blond. “You still jerk off the exact same way after six years?”

Art’s face wrinkles. “How else could I do it?”

So many ways. So, so many ways. But Patrick tries to be casual about it. “Dunno… you don’t touch anything else?” He tries not to act interested, like the answer won't plague his every waking moment the second it passes his lips.

"Dude, I don't finger myself. 'm not a girl," Art says, but the whiny affectation it comes out with doesn't help.

And fuck, that wasn't even what Patrick was thinking, but knowing that Art's mind went there... fuck, it does something to him. Patrick tries his best to push that thought deep, deep into the recesses of his mind and brings a smarmy little grin to his lips. It helps to hide his desperate interest.

"Yeah, but what about here-" he flicks Art's nipple and the blond squirms, which, incidentally, makes him buck up against the pillow. His cheeks burn hot and he tries and fails to make his glare look deadly.

"No." Art snaps. "I told you, I'm not a girl."

"I'm trying to help, you know. For old time's sake, you dickhead." He's trying to do more than just help. Patrick was the fucking king of hidden intentions. Of leading Art to do something for his own benefit. "It can feel better."

Art swallows, nose twitching slightly. It reminds Patrick of a bunny being led into a snare. He's not entrapping Art, of course. If Art just... told Patrick to fuck off, he'd go. Of course he would. He'd find some other hot tennis player to suck his dick.

"It can?" Art's pretty eyes are earnest, his pupils swallowing up all that pretty blue. Patrick smiles like the cat who got the cream and tugs the pillow away. When it lands at the headboard, he tries to ignore the large wet spot on the case. He's so hard in his shorts he thinks he'll pass out.

"Yeah," Patrick says. He grabs Art's wrist and moves his hand back between his thighs, past the twitching length of his dick. He moves his fingers over Art's and guides him to squeeze, so he's cupping his balls. The way precum dribbles from his tip isn't lost on Patrick. "Feels good."

Not a question, just... the first thing that he could think of. But Art nods regardless, his hand shaky as he gives a small squeeze. Patrick's eyes train on the expanse of his throat as Art's head falls back.

"God—" Art pants. "That's... yeah—"

Fuck yeah it is. Patrick swallows— all but licks his lips with big hearts in his eyes like a cartoon character. "Do it again. While you jerk off."

Art gulps and Patrick tracks the bob of his adam's apple. The blond exhales shakily and takes his cock into his trembling hand, his grip lax and hesitant. His other hand just barely teases over his sac, making his balls twitch and draw up. Fuck, Art’s so pretty— shaved smooth everywhere, flushed pink and needy, slick with pre.

Patrick wants Art’s cock stuffed down his throat so badly that he’s dizzy with it. “Let me, you’re not doin’ it right—“ Patrick says, and he replaces Art’s hand with his own. The blond whines and bucks up into his fist, legs kicking out.

“Patrick—“ He groans, but he doesn’t move Patrick’s hand, doesn’t squirm out of reach. “Fuck, Pat—“

Patrick swallows, moves closer. Art’s knuckles practically skim his jaw each time his hand reaches the head of his cock. His hips buck like he’s seeking the warmth of Patrick’s mouth. God, he wants that.

“See? Feels good, huh?” Patrick goads. He gives another firm squeeze and Art sobs pathetically, little ah, ah, ahs punched out from his lungs. Art nods, his curls plastered against his forehead. All of his words escape in breathy whines— yeah, feels good, so fucking good, Pat, god, please, please please please don’t stop, need it, do it again, fuck—

Patrick feels Art’s balls draw up, knows he’s going to come before Art even has a chance to warn him, not that he’s particularly verbose about it. All he manages is a mumbled, “Nnngghh— coming, coming—“ and he’s shooting warm, thick ropes of cum.

Art comes a lot. He’s always known the blond makes a mess, but Patrick never dreamed he’d be on the recieving end of a fucking facial from good Christian boy Art Donaldson himself. He feels Art’s cum paint his face, practically glazing him. It drips into his open mouth and he moans without thinking, his eyes fluttering shut as art comes and comes and comes.

When he’s finally spent, Art sobs weakly, collapsing back against the pillows. Patrick opens his eyes, licks the taste of Art’s spend from his lips, and looks at how fucking messy his cock is, dripping with pearly white. Patrick leans forward and licks, the same way he’s teasingly licked Art’s face, or his hand when they’re messing around. A long, messy lave of his tongue that makes Art’s toes curl into the duvet, muscles twitching until Patrick finally relents.

“Fuck,” Art says, breathless, exhausted, satisfied. “That’s… that was… I’m not gay.”

Right. He runs his hand through the cooling cum on his chin and smears it across Art’s face until his whines in protest and kicks Patrick off. “It’s not gay,” Patrick assures him, wiping his face with that same fucking pillow from earlier. One of them would have to sleep on it, but they could use the flip side. “I was just teaching you again. Don’t worry about it.”

Art nods, trying to convince himself through sheer delusion. That it wasn’t gay, that he didn’t like it, that he doesn’t have feelings for Patrick that can’t be explained away as being best friends.

Patrick taught him again, the way he did before. Only this time, he taught Art that when he wants to come hard, all he has to do is think about dark curls and blue eyes and a smarmy fucking grin.

#🕊️ anon #artrick

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loveinhawkins · 6 months ago

Text

ao3

Eddie falls asleep in the back of the RV. Steve watches it happen in stages, after the stop at The War Zone—driving a little further out for a food shop, away from prying eyes.

He announces that the coast is clear when the roads become reassuringly empty. For the first time in days, he relaxes into the rhythm of driving: he’s triple-checked that no-one’s tailing them, and if it weren’t for the hastily bought weapons, he could almost pretend that…

He glances at the rearview mirror, sensing movement. It’s Eddie, standing up from where he’d been huddled against the back of Steve’s seat. He looks like he’s relishing the freedom to stretch his legs—Steve thinks, with a pang, that he’s probably sick of hiding—and takes his time on his way to the back seat.

Keeps his balance for the most part, only stumbles once, briefly latches onto Robin’s shoulder with a sheepish smile, says something like, “Role reversal, Buckley,” and she laughs.

He settles with the kids in the back. Clearly tries to give them the most space, folding his legs awkwardly in the corner almost like he’s already back to hiding again, but they won’t let him; Dustin wiggles along to create more room, and Erica pins Eddie with a look—the most Steve can make out is, “You look like a…”, but whatever she says makes Eddie snort, then smile with obvious affection.

The next time Steve looks to find Eddie’s reflection, he’s relaxed into his seat, legs stretched out in front, the edge of one sneaker bouncing up and down absent-mindedly—but growing slower and slower.

He’s talking to Lucas, the speech drowned out by the RV engine; Steve can still see how it makes Lucas relax in turn, even giggle, which has been an all too rare occurrence lately. How Max, despite carrying the heaviness of the Walkman, looks on with a spark in her eyes.

If Steve had to guess, he’d say that Eddie doesn’t mean to fall asleep. Maybe it’s the motion of the RV or the angle of the sun through the windows. Maybe it’s just that he finally feels safe.

Either way, his blinks get longer and longer, and then he’s drifted off, out completely, and Steve watches with something close to pride as the kids all get off the bench in silent agreement—Max confidently lifting Eddie’s legs and swinging them up onto the cushions like it’s second nature. He barely stirs, head nodding a little until he’s lying down properly.

Steve splits the last of his cash with Nancy on the food. They make a trio with Robin for heading to the store, the kids on what they’ve dubbed ‘Eddie watch’ and what Steve has dubbed, “Yeah, I’ve left it running—that still means no driving unless, like—actually no, I’m not even gonna—yeah, Dustin, I’ll get you more Pringles, Jesus Christ.”

And because he’s weak, he still ends up caving to Max’s loophole that yes, if demodogs and/or bats and/or people that just look at them funny show up, she’s got permission to floor it; he’s not gonna tell her he’d scoped the place out well before he’d parked.

Ten minutes later, laden with bags, Nancy says, “We could use somewhere with more space. For…”

She indicates the supplies of a more grim variety than snacks.

Steve thinks about it, then exhales with a little laugh. “Yeah, I’ve got somewhere.”

Robin eyes him curiously. It’s like she’s heard through the laugh, can somehow feel the thing that wells up in the back of his throat—only for a second; he’s used to pushing it back.

She squeezes his shoulder. He pats the back of her hand before driving away. Sometimes words spill out between them, ever flowing. Sometimes they don’t need words at all.

There’s a strange kind of thrill in feeling the tires go right over the grass. Feels bigger than what it is—like something’s finally been unearthed.

They’re all quiet as the group starts to filter outside. Steve looks over his shoulder: Eddie is still fast asleep. His lips move every so often, drowsy half-formed words.

Steve wonders what he’s dreaming about. He hopes it’s something good.

He lets everyone go in front of him—Robin snatches a bag of food out of Dustin’s hands, whispering fondly, “That one’s mine, you animal.”

Nancy hesitates just outside, then turns back into the RV to sit on the step.

“It’s just…” She tilts her head to the side with meaning. “I don’t think he should wake up alone, you know?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, me too.”

And that’s how they end up sat together, half in the RV and half outside. Nancy dangles her feet above the grass—she could reach it, of course, but it seems deliberate, like she’s enjoying the breeze.

Or trying to, at any rate: there’s still a restlessness to her, an anxious pinch to her face, like she’s one step away from jumping to her feet and—

Steve squeezes her knee—hears the way she exhales, like she’s finally caught her breath.

“Food first,” Steve says gently.

She nods belatedly, like the words take a little while longer to reach her. “Food first.” She rustles through one of the bags, brings out something wrapped in foil. “Robin said this is for you…?”

Steve chuckles. It’s a sesame bagel: bacon, egg, and cheese.

He gives half to Nancy.

They eat in companionable silence—just listening to the breeze and the occasional shout of laughter: Robin’s formed a circle with everyone up ahead, a chaotic game of duck, duck, goose, which is a ridiculous choice because her run is ridiculous, and Steve feels his cheeks ache with a smile at the grass stains already on her shirt, as Dustin and Lucas pull her down in some kind of duck-goose uprising, and Max gets Erica up on her shoulders, joining the fray; and underneath it all, he can hear Eddie hum slightly in his sleep, but it’s not a noise of distress—like he knows subconsciously that he isn’t alone.

“Here,” Nancy says.

When Steve turns to her, she’s got a packet of chips open between them. Salt and vinegar.

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but—

“You remembered,” he says through a rush of affection; it hits him square in the chest.

Nancy smiles. “Can never forget you and Mike fighting for the last packet.”

Steve knocks their knees together. “Yeah, he fought dirty.”

They laugh together, hushed but heartfelt.

There’s a streak of ketchup across Nancy’s face that she hasn’t bothered wiping away. She looks years younger somehow—looks lighter, like the food in her stomach has settled something intangible.

Her smile turns even softer, thoughtful, and warmth settles behind Steve’s eyes.

I’m sorry, he thinks. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what…

You never deserved to hurt.

“Did you get changed in the dark?” Nancy says, eyes bright with mirth.

It’s so sudden that it startles Steve right out of his thoughts, a welling emotion halted.

“Excuse me, Nancy Wheeler?” he says with a faint grin.

“Steve Harrington,” Nancy returns teasingly. She ruffles a hand through the back of his hair with easy affection, “There. That’s more like it.”

“Am I presentable now?”

“Oh, you’ll do.”

She rests her chin in her hand, just considers him—but it’s a gentle kind of look. Almost like they’re back in English class, and he’s just answered a question without stumbling over his interpretation, and he glances across to her desk, finds her watching him with pride.

“You suited the denim,” she says sincerely. Mimes how he’d shrugged into Eddie’s vest.

Steve feels touched in a way that he can’t fully place, like she’s said something else. Maybe she has.

“Thanks,” he says.

They both look over to the field at a cry of victory. Dustin’s found the stash of 3 Musketeers, holding it aloft like he’s just won a science trophy.

“Hey,” Nancy calls, laughing, “at least one of those is mine!”

Steve can feel her shift, about to stand, and impulsively, he says, “Nance, wait.”

She’s stood already in the split second it took for him to speak, but she turns back.

Steve stands up. Hugs her.

He tries to put all he doesn’t know how to say into it; he does his best, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. Thinks of how he swept her into an embrace next to the school lockers, her surprised shout of laughter, if you can be this for her, she’ll be happy, you’ll be…

And maybe she’s heard some of it, because her hold tightens around him, like she’s saying, you never deserved any of it, either.

She pulls back. Claps his shoulders to make him sit back down, and they both giggle slightly, both vulnerable. Nancy’s eyes are shining at the corners. But Steve knows they’re the good kind of tears.

He feels them, too.

Nancy nods, smiling wide, blinking in quick succession before the moment’s gone.

He nods back.

And then she’s running over to Dustin, and it almost looks like she’s flying, like she’s sixteen years old again, and nothing ever…

Steve has to close his eyes for just a second. Breathes through it.

Minutes pass before he catches a change in Eddie’s breathing—hears him shift and sigh as he stretches.

Steve tilts backwards, just enough to see Eddie slowly drifting awake on the bench.

“Hey,” Steve says as soft as he can, so Eddie can go back to sleep if he wants; so it can just be part of a dream.

For a moment, it looks like that’s exactly what Eddie will do. But then his eyes find Steve’s, and they light up in recognition.

And he smiles. Sits up.

“Shit, did I really…?” The rest of the question’s lost to a yawn, and he stretches again, rubs a hand across his face to wake himself up.

“Yup,” Steve says. There’s one last bag by his feet, which he picks up to put in Eddie’s view. “This has got your name on it, man.”

Eddie sits down next to him. Steve shifts closer as he hands the bag over, feels the gentle press of Eddie against his side, the warmth left over from sleep.

Eddie whistles at the assortment of food. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Yeah, no—like, thank Dustin, not me.”

Dustin had rattled off a list of Eddie’s favourites—“Actual food this time, Dustin, he’s not surviving on just cereal, it’s depressing,”—which Steve had written hastily on the back of his hand.

He knows that Eddie’s seen the evidence of the list on his skin, faded as it is from the dying pen he’d used, because he smiles when he says, “Mm-hmm, I will,” like they’re sharing a secret; and then he looks off into the distance, squinting against the sun with a hand over his eyes, barks a laugh. “Besides, he looks kinda busy, uh… I don’t actually know what he’s doing. Killing Buckley, maybe?”

Robin’s joking yell punctuates Eddie’s words; it looks like she’s somehow recruited Lucas over to her side, because Dustin’s trying to flatten the pair of them; Erica’s got Dustin’s thinking cap on backwards, while Max shouts, “That’s a foul!”; Nancy’s sat crosslegged, eating candy and throwing out words of amused encouragement.

Eddie chuckles so fondly. He eats some of his share, then sighs with contentment. He stands but doesn’t go far at all, drifts over to a patch of ground like he’s drawn to it. Sits down. Runs his hands through the blades of grass and flowers, even the weeds; it makes Steve smile.

He follows.

They sit close to each other almost like they’re still sharing the step, even though there’s more than enough room to…

Eddie keeps watching the roughhousing. His eyes crinkle at the corners. He looks… happy.

He sighs again, leaning back a little, “This is nice. Who’s idea was it to come here?”

“Nancy’s, really,” Steve says.

But he can tell that Eddie notices the evasion—there’s a barely perceptible twitch of his eyebrow as he listens. He’s getting almost scarily good at it, Steve thinks, but it’s not done in an intimidating way; it’s not like Eddie wants to catch him out in something. It’s more like he… just wants to know. Like he cares.

“But you knew a spot?” Eddie prompts.

“Yeah, I…”

Steve could still avoid it—could just say carelessly, ‘cause we drove past it, duh, and Eddie would let it drop, he knows he would. But…

“I came here when I was a kid. Like, years ago. It was summer, and I think the car broke down or something? So we had to wait for…” Steve shrugs, but it’s just movement for the sake of it, trying to conceal the way his throat’s tightening in slow increments. “It was… I liked it,” he adds. Nods towards the kids. “I thought they might like it, too.” He tries to laugh, “Guess that’s kinda stupid to—”

“I think it’s sweet,” Eddie interrupts firmly. “This place, it’s…” He smiles at Max’s squeal, Lucas lifting her up in a bridal carry. “It’s perfect, Steve.”

Steve tries to smile, because it is perfect, but that suddenly makes it hurt all the more. He’s gripped by a fierce, desperate urge to seize the weapons and burn them, to just let everyone fucking rest, to tell them they don’t have to do it anymore, they never have to—

“Steve,” Eddie says, soft, dismayed—sitting up and touching Steve’s hand where it rests in the grass, so delicately, so kind—

Steve swallows; he must not have pushed it all back in time. He doesn’t want to know what his face looks like, but he can guess, can feel the telltale burn in his eyes—and wavers on the brink. Almost falls. But he catches himself, only just, and when he’s forced to quickly swipe at his eyes with the back of his hand, he reasons that it’s okay. Only Eddie can see.

Still, he should—

“Sorry,” he waves a hand, tries to laugh at himself again, “just ignore me.”

When Eddie smiles, it looks as if he’s only doing it because he’s taking his lead from Steve. His eyes speak for him—like he’s thinking, you’re breaking my heart.

“Ignore you? Shit, man, that’s hard. Have you seen you?”

It’s said with a ridiculous amount of theatrics—so obviously done to lift Steve’s mood. But there’s a note of sincerity that Steve can hear above everything; Eddie isn’t hiding it.

Perhaps he doesn’t need to, either.

“I’m more than just a pretty face, Munson.”

He expects Eddie to laugh. And though he does, it’s quieter than he’d expected, and he says, “Oh, I know. Trust me.” He’s looking at the kids as he speaks. “They’ll be okay, you know.” He doesn’t say it like a platitude. He says it like a promise. “Wheeler, Buckley… me. We have them, too.”

And Steve doesn’t know how Eddie could ever accuse himself of cowardice. God, if you could only hear yourself, he thinks.

“I don’t want—I know. I know you do. I just—just wish—”

His voice fails him.

Eddie tilts his hand, palm up. Steve could act like he’d never seen it all. It’d be easy.

He takes Eddie’s hand. Breathes, and tries again.

“I just wish we didn’t have to—”

It’s as far as he can manage.

Eddie squeezes his hand. Murmurs, very gently, like a memory, “And so do all who live to see such times.”

Steve doesn’t need to ask. He can feel the weight of it through the words alone. Focuses on Eddie’s touch, the way his fingertips brush against Steve’s knuckles, over and over.

And then Steve lets go, but not before squeezing Eddie’s hand in return. Twice. He doesn’t know Morse code, but he hopes he’s understood.

He watches the kids play again. Glances over to the side when he feels another touch, Eddie’s shoulder briefly skimming his. This time he can tell it’s accidental; Eddie’s swaying a little where he sits.

“Shit, sorry. It’s the sun, it’s,” he yawns, “it’s making me…”

Steve’s reminded of the boathouse; of Eddie’s sunken face at Skull Rock.

“You’re just exhausted, Eddie,” he says.

He stands, briefly places his hands on Eddie’s forearms, tries to shield him from the worst of the vertigo. He feels Eddie jump beneath his touch, a forcible jolt back from the edge of sleep. Visceral.

Steve’s chest hurts.

“Wait there,” he says. “I’ll be right back. Hey, try to not fall asleep just yet, ‘kay?”

“M’not,” Eddie says, not very convincingly.

When Steve returns with a pillow from the RV, Eddie is lying in the grass, flat on his back. One hand floats in front of his face, fingers curling like he’s playing guitar chords—like he’s doing it to keep himself awake.

“Dude, that can’t be comfortable,” Steve says. He bends down, taps Eddie on the forehead, which makes Eddie blink slowly, looking at him upside down. “Can I…?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Eddie says softly. It sounds like I trust you.

Gently, Steve cups the back of Eddie’s head, moves it up ever so slightly and puts the pillow in between him and the ground. Eddie settles onto it with a sigh.

Steve moves away, sits back down; Eddie turns to lie on his side, facing him. His cheek presses into the pillow, one leg bending a little, like this is how he lies in bed; there’s a fragile vulnerability to the sight.

The sun draws attention to the grass in his hair. The slightest trace of freckles underneath his eyes; they’ll come out more in summer, Steve finds himself thinking. He wants to be there to see it.

It was summer when he first thought a boy was pretty. That day the car broke down, but his dad was laughing, making the most of it; he’d walked and walked to buy ice-cream and returned victorious to the field, where Steve was waiting with his mom.

They weren’t the only families there—the spot had been much busier years ago: people using it as a pit stop on road trips, Hawkins locals mixed in with folks from out of town, so it felt like the whole world was to be found here, stretching out before them in the grass.

Steve had seen the boy playing tag—it was over in barely a flash, but he still remembers how he held his breath when their eyes met, without understanding why.

He’s pretty, he’d thought, it was the only word he had for it—an instinct from his mom teaching him words, bouncing him on her hip, oh, Steve, look at the pretty flowers.

He’d known even then it was a thought he couldn’t share—like how a child comes to know that they’re not to touch a hot stove.

He’s pretty.

Steve could tell himself that he doesn’t know why he’s remembering it now. But it would be a lie.

Eddie’s tugging idly at the grass, but his hand keeps going slack, twitching with oncoming sleep.

“You know how t’whistle with ‘em?” he asks clumsily.

His eyes are closed. Steve stills his hand, slips a blade of grass out from his loose hold.

“No,” he says, drags it through his teeth like he’ll miraculously make it whistle just by doing that.

Nothing happens, of course; the grass tastes just a little sweet on his tongue. He takes it out from in between his lips and lets it go, to be lost on the wind.

When the taste dissipates, he misses it.

“Yeah, me neither,” Eddie says, amused. His voice is lilting with exhaustion. “My uncle tried to teach me once, but I couldn’t… maybe ‘cause… still had some of my baby teeth… maybe that makes it harder?”

“Maybe,” Steve agrees quietly. He picks some grass out of Eddie’s hair, as lightly as he can. “I’ll ask him for some tips.”

Eddie smiles at that. “He’ll like you,” he says.

He’s half-asleep, Steve reminds himself. He hardly knows what he’s saying.

But he can’t help feeling pleased at the thought.

“Oh, yeah? You think so?”

“Mm-hmm. He likes…” Eddie yawns. “Likes everyone I like. And I… I really like you.”

It’s said so easily. Like it’s simple.

Maybe it could be. Just this once.

Steve feels emotion creeping up his throat, resting heavy on his tongue. This time, he doesn’t push it back; he speaks through it.

“I really like you, too,” he whispers.

Eddie hums sweetly, like he’s heard even when almost all the way to dreaming. “Think there’s a trick to it,” he mumbles, and Steve realises he’s talking about whistling again, lost to a childhood memory.

Stay there, Eddie. Rest.

“A trick?” Steve says in hushed tones.

“Yeah, I… remember he’d… he’d say…”

Eddie falls asleep mid-sentence.

Steve watches him. Angles his shoulder to create shade, shielding him from the sun.

He looks over at the kids: they’re playing tag with Robin now, Nancy joining in—a little quieter, like maybe they’d seen…

If he unfocuses his eyes just slightly, he can almost see his dad coming over the hill with the tubs of ice-cream. His mom smiling, sunburn on her shoulder, and Steve hit with a wave of inexplicable sadness, like he already knew, she’ll never be this happy again.

Eddie sighs in his sleep.

Steve feels a subtle change in the sun on his skin, the afternoon dying.

Stay, he thinks. Mouths it with childish hope, stay, like he’s still the boy who fell asleep right here, in between his parents, wanting the day to stretch on and on—the one who couldn’t outrun the feeling, even then, that he was coming to the end of something.

#do you ever think about just how much Steve loves them all #gay steve harrington #implicit but it’s there #steve harrington fic #pre steddie #steddie fic #steve and nancy #steve and the party #eddie and the party #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #steve x eddie #steve and his parents

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sexlapis · 11 months ago

Note

i know requests are closed and im sorry but i need this so i dont forget 💖 actor!toji looking at edits on live and hes like “so yall see me like this” and the fans go wild

actor!toji on live!

okay i’ll make an exception once.

𝜗𝜚 actor!toji (x implied gn!reader)

sfw, crack, tiktok (bc that’s it’s own warning), suggestive, horny toji fans, toji has reading glasses, petnames (‘kid’) he’s a little rude but when is he not :), old man toji <3

〆(・∀・) : me after not writing abt actor toji for like a month 😊🤗

masterlists

actor toji masterlist

“hey, everybody,” toji said, waving to camera as if he didn’t fumble and struggle in front of his fans for the past ten minutes trying to get his phone to stand up securely. he looks cute, dressed in a navy blue hoodie with nothing underneath and his dark hair was a messy mop atop his head.

now he just sits in his chair at his dining room table, watching the viewer count rise and rise to absolutely ridiculous numbers.

“fourty thousan-fifty thou-sixty thousand?! didn’t know i had so many fans..jesus christ…”

honestly, toji had no idea what he was doing and he was a tiny bit nervous. this was his first ever “live” (something that he did not know even existed until you told him) and he had no idea how to entertain his fans or what they really wanted. but they seem pleased with him just staring at the camera in confusion and admiring his handsome face.

toji proceeds to read some of the comments in the rapid moving chat of chaos. here, starts the beginning of his own demise.

many comments are sweet, kind, praising him for his talent and acting skills, some were just spamming their country flags and names, a rare male fan is asking to see his guns collection, others asking about his upcoming projects but the majority of them are…not exactly PG in the slightest.

toji’s eyes could bulge out of damn skull at some of the explicitly and complete shamelessness of his fans. he knew they found him attractive, but this was a whole other level of depravity.

“what the fuck…” toji whispers in awe, mouth agape as his eyes scan through the chat, his eyes being fed with the most desperate and thirsty comments he has even read, “you guys are sumthin’ else…”

his one sentence just pours fuel on the, already blazing and large, fire, the chat moving so fast that is starts to lag.

“why’d i even speak..”

he actually takes time to read each comment that he can see (and stomach) and one of them catches his eye.

“watch your edits on tiktok? i have edits? what’s an edit?”

the chat blows up even more, commenters begging and begging him to watch these…edits.

“alright, alright, i’ll watch these “edits”,” toji says to the camera, before pulling out another phone, one that is clearly quite old, jagged edges and a cracked camera, a raggedy phone case and just overall not in the best condition it could be in.

“‘what is that ancient ass device’ eh? this is my main phone,” he replies to a comment, showing his phone to the camera to his fans can see, “‘s fine, works perfectly. and it’s not “ancient”. it’s actually a nokia. pft, dumbass kids.”

toji can feel himself being flamed in the chat. even more so when he pulls out his reading glasses.

“yeah, ‘m fuckin’ old. jesus.”

he squints, scrolling on his beaten up phone with his index finger, “y’know, ion even really use tiktok, i only got it so _____ can send me videos of whatever the fuck. i swear, that kid sends me a million videos per day..” toji sighs, smiling at the thought of you, “ahh, they’re just so dumb.”

toji, after a long time of searching through trial and error and directions from his fans, eventually finds the search page of tiktok.

“alright, what’d i type in then? just ‘toji’? ‘toji fushiguro’?” he looks for answers in the chat, but find himself getting frustrated at the lack of actual responses to his question. he tuts, “i’m just gonna search ‘toji fushiguro edits’ and see what happens.”

he does just that and the results are…very interesting.

right in front of his very eyes are miles and miles of edits of himself, created by his fans, their depravity exposed for him to see, some of who were probably watching him at this very moment.

“jeeeeesus christ. ‘dunno what i even expected, honestly,” he scrolls through them, audios changing constantly as he does so, his eyes wide and wondering, “i’m actually impressed…”

toji pressed on one, and he watches it, the edit flashing in the reflection of his glasses as he watches. his open mouth slowly turns into a smirk of amusement and all out disbelief, the audio of the video being something about… ‘needing someone older’?

“so you guys see me like this?” he asked, expression incredulous and he breathes out a small chuckle, “buncha little fuckin’ freaks.”

the chat seems to like that. a lot.

his chat is once again flooded with comments from hell…hell for people driven purely by lust, that is.

toji huffs, “how old is this person anyway?”

he seemingly clicks on the account and reads their username. well, almost.

“‘tojis little cu-woah!” he almost drops his phone out of his hand, jaw on the floor, “how old are you! sixteen?! toji looks to the camera, eyebrows furrowed before slamming his phone on the table and pointing at his fans through the screen, “go do your homework! and be in bed by nine. actually, no scratch that, eight! christ…sixteen years old, oh my god…”

he continues to mutter to himself, completely baffled at how some of his fans are so young and just so…out of their minds. his skin crawls at the thought of a sixteen year old liking him in such a way.

toji shivers, “god, where are your parents?” he questions and continues to search through the edits, before finding one that looks safe, innocent and PG.

he was proven wrong however, when the audio was a woman rapping about being put in full nelsons-

“okay, that’s enough!” he slams his phone down again on the table, “i’ve seen enough,” and then he reaches for the camera, not even caring about his viewers. he mutters a, “crazy fuckin’ kids” before abruptly ending his “live” and going to take a nap.

the next day, you have sent him over ten videos on tiktok, all of them being edits of him from the day of the live, most of them containing the clip of when he called his fans, quote, a “buncha little fuckin’ freaks” unquote.

toji sighs at them, secretly entertained that you must be watching these deviant edits of him too.

〆(・∀・) : no i have not forgotten abt actor toji

#actor!toji #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji x self insert #toji fluff #toji crack #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x self insert #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro fluff #toji zenin x reader #toji zenin x you #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you

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janeyseymour · 8 months ago

Text

Love Thy Neighbor- pt 12

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10. Part 11.

Summary: What happens after Melissa catches you kissing your ex-husband?

WC: 2.65k

Melissa comes in just as Jared plants his lips on yours. You push him away weakly, your stomach absolutely killing you as you do so.

“What the fuck?” your girlfriend rages. There’s a fire in her eyes that you’ve only seen a few other times, and they’ve never been directed at you. It’s… terrifying to say the least. Jared just looks smug as he looks to her.

“What? Babe, did you not tell Melissa that the two of you were through and we were back together?” he asks, feigning confusion- although it’s very clear to both you and Melissa that he knows exactly what he’s saying and doing.

“Mel, it- it isn’t what it looks like,” you try to tell her, but you know it’s no use. She thinks she knows what she saw.

“Fuck you. Fuck both of you,” she points a finger at the two of you. She turns on her heel and storms out, slamming your front door as she goes. That startles Ellie out of her slumber, and you hear her cries from the living room. Ellie hates loud noises, and she always has- she can’t handle them when she’s just woken up. Across the hall, you can hear Melissa slam her own front door too. Somehow, it shakes your side of the hall again.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” you hiss at your ex-husband as you do your best to rush to your daughter’s side. You collapse on the couch next to her and pull her into your arms as much as you can, peppering kisses to her head in hopes of calming her down.

“Momma! Why did the house shake?!” your little girl whimpers into your chest. “Where’s Mel? I want Mel.”

Jared sets himself down on the couch next to you and has the audacity to try to twist what happened to your daughter. “Melissa isn’t happy that Momma and Daddy are getting back together. I doubt you’ll see much of her again.”

“Jared, I said to get the hell out,” you seethe as you continue to run your fingers through Ellie’s hair. “We are not getting back together, Ellie. And you will continue to see Mel, I promise.” You just hope that you can keep that promise. If you and Melissa are through, you can only hope that the redhead who has wormed her way into your daughter’s heart will continue to be there for Ellie.

“I’m trying to comfort my daughter,” he tells you and continues to gently rub the little girl’s back.

“Jared, if you are not out of this house within the next ten seconds, I swear to God,” you close your eyes and threaten him angrily.

“What are you going to do, Y/N?” he tells you. “I’m not leaving.”

“Elizabeth, go over to Melissa’s, please,” you say seriously. “She’ll watch you while your father and I talk.”

You’ve never seen your little girl move so fast, and she’s always running around. She sprints out the front door, leaving it open and knocks frantically on your neighbor’s door.

“Mel, please! It’s Ellie!”

The door whips open, and at the tears and the fear in your daughter’s eyes, Melissa scoops up your little girl. She presses a soft kiss to Ellie’s head as your daughter hides her face in the crook of your neighbor’s neck. Melissa glares at you through the opening in your door before turning back into her own living space.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you shout at Jared. “You cheat on me, you leave our family and our life, and then when I’m finally happy again, you come in and ruin it all!”

“I came back to say I was sorry and that I wanted to get back together!” he yells right back at you.

“And I told you very clearly, that I wanted no parts of that! And then you drag our daughter into it?! Jesus Christ, Jared. If I had known that this was the-” you cut yourself off to gasp in pain at the terrible pain on the right side of your abdomen. “If I had know that this was what our lives would turn out to be…”

“Don’t you dare fucking say that,” he hisses at you. “We made Ellie together, and you cannot go and say that you would wish her away.”

“I would never wish my child away- like you did, and for what?! To go sleep with her babysitter!”

“And I realized that I fucked up!”

“No fucking shit!” you scream. “We had the perfect life! The perfect family! And you went and fucked it all up! And now, now that I have the perfect life here with my parents and my little girl and my girlfriend, you find your way back and manage to fuck all of that up too!” That gets the attention of Melissa and Ellie. The redhead hasn’t closed the door to her apartment, and she can hear and see the two of you perfectly from where she holds Ellie close to her on the couch.

“I didn’t fuck anything up! You fucked it all up by moving across the country and being gay!”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with me loving who I love! What is wrong is that you decided to become a dirty, rotten-” He smacks you clean across the face. You cry out in pain as a hand flies up to your face. But you regain your composure again because the slap across the face pales in comparison to the absolutely searing pain in your stomach. “Get the fuck out of my apartment. And don’t think that I won’t be filing for-”

You get cut off again, but this time it’s by Ellie and Melissa. You hadn’t realized that the redhead had kept her door open and that yours was still ajar. Both of them had just witnessed your ex-husband lay his hands on you.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Melissa seethes. “Get the fuck away from her, or so help me, God.”

Jared stands from his place. “And what the fuck are you gonna do about it?”

“Ellie,” you cut in. “Your room, now. Headphones on.”

Your child, for once, doesn’t follow your orders. Instead, she marches herself straight up to your ex-husband. “Don’t hit Momma!”

He, in a fit of rage, raises his hand. Before he can strike her though, Melissa rips him away from the couch. You pull your daughter as close to you as you can, terrified of what might happen. You know Melissa has a temper on her, and you also know that she isn’t one to back down from a bare knuckled fist fight, even against a man as fit as your ex-husband. Luckily, her adrenaline takes over and she’s able to throw him out the door before slamming it shut and locking him out.

She shouts through the door, knowing that he’ll hear her, “I wouldn’t try anything else, asshole!”

He continues to yell and scream about how she has no right to take his child and wife away from him before the redhead reaches for your phone and calls the police.

As Jared continues to shout at you through the door, Melissa turns her attention to you. Your cheek is bright red, and the outline of Jared’s hand is etched into your skin.

“Melissa, I-”

“Don’t,” is all she says before she walks into your kitchen and grabs an ice pack.

“But I-”

“Don’t worry about nothing,” Melissa tells you as she presses it to skin gently. She smirks. “He’s fucked. I got it all on video with my phone set up on the counter in my apartment.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper as you cling to Ellie.

Your little girl is hysterical as she clings to you just as much. “Momma, I didn’t- I didn’t like that. I didn’t- I hated that!”

“I know, I know,” you mumble into her hair. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Melissa does her best to help soothe your daughter, but nothing really works because watching her father strike her mother and then almost being hit herself has Ellie quite shaken- and with good reason.

Jared is still yelling at all three of you through the door about how this isn’t over- how he’s going to get you and Ellie back. Thankfully, Melissa has the sense to go into Ellie’s room and grab her headphones to help block out the noise. Still, your little girl is more shaken than you’ve seen her before. It feels like forever before the police show up at your door. They cart him away before knocking.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for this!” you hear Jared threaten as they pull him down the hall. You go to stand up to answer it, but your girlfriend gently pushes you back into the cushions with your daughter before going to open it.

“Schemmenti?” the officer asks. “Damn, I should’ve known.”

“I didn’t do nothin’ this time, Jerome,” the redhead smirks before sobering. “I called because that asshole was laying hands on my girlfriend.”

“You two know each other?” you look between the two of them curiously.

“I told you I know guys in almost every department, didn’t I?” Melissa turns to you before inviting the man in blue in.

The officer take your statement, Melissa’s statement, and Ellie’s statement before they leave with a promise that a restraining order will go through for the three of you against your ex-husband. Ellie shocks everyone in the room by stating that she never wants to see her father again- that she didn’t like the mean side of him and doesn’t want him to hit her.

“I also got in touch with Marco about the child support,” Melissa tells her guy. He nods with a chuckle. The man in blue heads out not much later, leaving you with your girlfriend (you think she’s still your girlfriend) and your daughter.

“Melissa, I-”

“Not right now,” is all she says. “All that matters right now is getting Ellie to calm down, fed, and in bed, and then we can talk, okay?”

You nod. You know she’s right.

“Give me five minutes to go change into my pajamas and grab my phone, and I’ll be back.”

“Promise?”

She just kisses your temple in lieu of an answer before heading across the hall. And she is back in the promised five minutes- it actually only takes her about three to return back to you.

“You started on dinner?” she asks, not quite sure what else to say in the tense air.

“Nothin’s been cooked,” you sigh.

“Pizza it is,” the redhead tells you as she heads into the kitchen. She returns a few seconds later with the heating pad in hand and some Midol to help alleviate your pains. She pulls Ellie into her arms before gesturing for you to lay your head in her lap. You follow her instruction before she hands you the supplies. You smile at her gratefully.

By the time the pizza has come, you’ve fallen asleep and Ellie isn’t hysterical anymore. You wake up with your head on a pillow as opposed to your girlfriend’s lap, and the redhead and daughter are both quietly eating dinner when you look into the kitchen. When you really listen in, you can hear Melissa trying to soothe your daughter’s fears over what happened earlier today.

“Daddy said that he and Momma are getting back together, and that I won’t see you anymore though,” Ellie sighs sadly. “I don’t want you to go… I love you, Mel.”

“El, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I am not leaving you, or your momma, for you to believe me,” the redhead assures your daughter with yet another kiss to her head. “I love you both so much.”

“‘M just scared,” your little girl admits quietly. “I already losed Daddy, but he isn’t my favoritest anymore. I don’t want to lose you Mel. You’re my one of my favoritest people, and I know your Momma’s favoritest too. ”

“I think you take the title of your Momma’s favorite person in the world,” Melissa smiles at your daughter. Then she validates your child’s feelings. “And I understand that you’re scared, but I promise you that I am here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere if I can help it. I don’t wanna lose my two favorite people either.”

Your heart swells at that admission. She still loves you- Jared may not have ruined your relationship after all. You had thought that maybe she was just playing the part for Ellie, but it’s confirmed now in your mind that you aren’t losing Melissa in your life. Deciding now is a good time to make it known that you’re awake, you pull the blanket that had been draped around you with you into the kitchen and kiss both of their heads before settling in your chair. Almost immediately, Ellie is wiggling her way into your arms and holding onto you tightly.

Dinner is quiet and tense, and so is the hour that you all spend on the couch before putting your little girl to bed.

Melissa, as much as she just wants to get your daughter to bed, fully puts herself into character as she reads Ellie’s favorite bedtime story with all of the theatrics that she would usually use- and it feels so good to hear your little girl’s giggles against you, especially after the shit that hit the fan today. But when it comes time to leave Ellie in her room, she doesn’t want any of it.

“Momma, I’m scared,” she whispers as she clutches your shirt desperately. I want you and Mel.”

You can’t blame her for that. So you simply whisk her away and into your own bedroom. Melissa follows, of course she does.

It doesn’t take long for your daughter to fall asleep between you and the redhead, the day’s events exhausting her. And when she starts to snore softly, you know she’s out for the night.

You turn your head to look at Melissa. “Mel, can we talk?”

“Yeah, hun,” the redhead sighs. “Listen, I’m sorry I stormed out. I thought-”

“I know what you thought you saw,” you tell her softly. “And I-”

“Can you let me get this out?” your girlfriend asks. “I need to get this off my chest.”

“I’m listening,” you promise.

“I’ve been cheated on before too, as you know,” she mumbles. Then she clears her throat. “I thought that you really were getting back with him and that you were just stringing me along… that the reason you didn’t tell me about meeting him at first was because you were planning on getting back with him. And I- Y/N, I’m so sorry. I- I should’ve known, but my emotions and fears got the best of me, and I reacted before I could be rational.”

You reach across your daughter curled up into you and squeeze your girlfriend’s hand gently.

“I understand,” is what you say. “I totally understand. But please… please know that I don’t want him. I only want you. I want to get past all of this drama with him and then just focus on us and the life that we’re building together.”

She smiles at you with warm eyes. “That’s all I want to do too.”

“We’re gonna get through this,” you promise her.

She pushes herself up on her elbows just slightly in order to kiss you gently. “We’re gonna get through this. We’ll get everything with him straightened out, I’ll make sure that you get the child support money, and we’ll start our lives together.”

The next morning, when you wake up with Ellie on top of you snoring softly and Melissa's arms wrapped around you, you know that maybe... just maybe, everything will be okay.

AND THAT FOLKS IS THE END OF THIS SERIES UNLESS SOMEONE GIVES ME REASON TO WRITE MORE :) 🤍

tags: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

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intheshadowsbehindyou · 7 months ago

Note

Mercs x gn reader who’s blind? They’re not a fighter or something but they help around keeping the base in check or something, they have really good hearing.

Can tell the guys apart from their footsteps, even catching Spy off guard when they noticed him sneaking about.

One thing they want to familiarize with the Mercs are their face shapes. They may not see them with their eyes but they picture them to match their voices. GN Reader adores being around these noisy men.

TF2 Mercs with a blind reader (Most notably Spy..)

Warning: Brainless imbeciles

EDIT: I MISREAD THIS ASK IM SORRY THE BLIND READER IS A MERC AAAAAAA

Scout:

-He is wracked at first with the misinformation surrounding blindness. At first, he thinks your world is completely dark. Night-time type of darkness and you have no ways of seeing his shape whatsoever. Which might be half true for some of you, but imagine his awe when you look directly at him after being spoken to. You could hear this idiot nagging from a mile away.

- “Wait, so do you know i’m white?” “I’m blind, Scout. Not stupid.”

- He’s clearly been unsocialized to those with vision impairment. It shows in his borderline stupid behavior. Waves his bat in front of your face and then winces when you angrily grab it and yank it away from him. Thats when he discovers that blind people typically don’t enjoy that. Gee, you learn something new everyday!

- Runs really fast by you on the battlefield and your face follows the exact direction from where he came from to where he was going. He saw this for a split second and needless to say, he envies your heightened hearing. You had a mildly interested expression the entire time. As if trying to discern if that was an enemy scout or not. Hmm, no. It’s definitely your scout. Nobody else uses that pretentious ass expensive cologne from tuefort’s strip mall. You wanted to gag.

- You could hear him easier than any other merc. His footsteps were simply too evident and easy to identify due to the rhythmic fast-pace. Like an annoying fly buzzing past your ear. (In all honesty, you’re not too far off.) Scout gave himself away way too easily and it concerned you a bit.

——————————————————————-

Soldier:

- “LOOK ME IN THE EYES WHEN I’M SPEAKING TO YOU, ROOKIE!” Soldier says confidently. You glare and say “Well I’d do that if I could see where your fucking eyes are.” aaaaand cue soldier’s immediate realization and instant guilt. These men seriously just speak out of their ass impulsively like babies.

- Bumps into you on accident in the hallway a few times and you certainly don’t need vision to know he opens his mouth in protest before immediately closing it and apologizing profusely for not being mindful enough toward your position. In fact this is beginning to happen a lot more than the other mercs for some reason.. The other ones EASILY move out of your way or make space politely. Yes, even Spy and Medic.

- You approach him one day; and you ask him if he might consider he has vision problems as well. Soldier quietly ponders the thought before audibly shrugging. You shake your head and ask him if he has any blurry vision, blind spots and whatnot. He mentions the top half of his eyes are pretty much dark. You blink for a second, then reach out to touch his head. Feeling something hard and metal.. You pull it off his head and he’s like “HOLY MOLY MARY MOTHER OF ROCKET JUMPING CHRIST! YOU FIXED MY BLINDNESS, PRIVATE! YOU MUST BE A DESCENDANT OF THE GOOD LORD JESUS!” Yes, it was his oversized helmet.

- You rub the bridge of your nose for a moment, utterly fucking tired and it’s not even ten yet.

——————————————————————

Demoman:

- SAME HAT! Sort of. Demoman is missing an eye, and his blind spot is annoying. You’ve both sort of unintentionally bonded over your poor eyes and after memorizing where his blind spot was, you make sure to walk up behind him in that exact area to startle him. Which usually results in both of you howling in laughter.

- You nervously ask demoman to be your eyes on the battlefield one day while anxiety is quite intense. Demoman shakes his head in irritation. “Ye do know I have horrible depth perception, everybody and der mother is movin at mach 10!?” and you respond “Great! We’re fucked.” You were indeed not fucked. Both of you managed to tough it out by ears alone. You make a great team and demoman is blessed to have you. You protect each other expertly.

- If you happen to have a white cane by any chance, prepare to do childish pretend sword battles with him during dinner time. Don’t worry, he’s using a broom. God knows that eyelander would actually try to kill you and everyone else in the room. Miss pauling is very displeased by your guys’ table manners.

————————————————————————

Engineer:

- You inspire him a bit. He was always a bit secretly doubtful of his own abilities after losing his hand in battle. It gave him a nagging insecurity that he’d fuck up in some way, or was no longer qualified due to his disability. You completely destroyed that insecure side of him. The way you effortlessly kill and complete your missions has made him feel better.

- You’re in his workshop one night, and you’ve memorized pretty much the entire layout of the room as this point. Minus maybe a few annoying bolts on the ground here and there that you dance over. You approach him and put your hands on his shoulder. Which he responds to by rubbing your left hand. “So uh, are you making some weird contraption that’ll fix my eyesight or something?” You ask as a joke.

- Engineer sounds offended by such a thing. “You don’t feel broken, do you? I’m not doing that.” He says sternly. “You’re not broken, Y/N. If you want I can make somethin’ partner but there’s nothing wrong with you and I don’t want you to feel that way. You’re no toy to be fixed so that everyone else is somehow comfortable! If ‘em boys are bothering you why I oughta—“

- You sigh in slight exasperation from the random dad rant but in the inside you’re thankful for his words. You hug him tightly in gratitude to shut him up and then feel a cold metal touch your arm. You look down, unable to discern the shape of the object. But it’s undoubtedly robotic-feeling. “Whats that?” You ask. Engineer pauses. Realizing he had taken his glove off. He realizes now’s a good time to remind you he’s on your side. He strokes you with his metal hand to soothe you. “Let’s just say we aren’t too different in some respects, sugar.” And his words is what makes you realize what it is.

- You drag the metal hand to your cheek and feel the cool claws against your skin. The thumb of the machinery rubs your chin.

————————————————————————-

Heavy:

- He figures out you’re blind right away and he genuinely doesn’t give a shit. He finds everybody equally annoying, like I said beforehand. You’ll notice as aforementioned he moves out of your way in the hallway however and aids you around the building whenever you ask him. He seems to care.

- He asks you how big he is from your perspective. You can answer that pretty confidently. The truth of the matter is that he’s the most recognizable due to his large body, rumbling voice, and massive footsteps. He nods and slightly smiles with reassurance. Good. Even those with eyesight problems know he’s dangerous. excellent. Just the way he likes it.

- Heavy fully trusts in your abilities and makes no attempts to help you in battle unless you ask. He’s seen you bash heads in one too many times without much thought and it’s safe to say they made a great call hiring you. Clearly you don’t let being blind affect your work whatsoever. In a weird sort of way, he feels oddly proud of you but won’t ever voice it outloud.

- You save him from a Spy and this causes a distant, disheveled look in his eyes as you run off and he stops whirling his gun. It isn’t often his kindness is rewarded like this. (Also now he’s wondering if he should ask Medic to give him supersonic hearing.)

———————————————————————-

Pyro:

- Pyro doesn’t realize you’re blind at all at first. It’s just not something they think much about when accessing new friends. His mind isn’t on scoping out their inherent “flaws” but rather scoping out how well you treat the others around you. Which is an odd thing for Pyro considering they’re quite content on vandalizing shit, disregarding people’s worldly positions and their feelings on it, and overall being an unforgiving nutcase who’d 100% bite off all the heads of their animal crackers and put them back in the box.

- Once they figure out you’re actually not here to cause damage, they seem to warm up fast. Pun intended. I think the moment they realize something’s wrong is when they silently point out a sniper around the corner with their pointer finger and you don’t even flinch. In their stead, Soldier audibly reminds you. This causes pyro to re-think how you might perceive some stuff.

- They begin to psychoanalyze you more out of habit. You seem to disregard a lot of certain visual stimuli in favor of sound. Without even asking you they figure out after a while that you’re blind and quickly adjust their behavior to better accommodate you. Instead of pointing at danger for example, they grab your hand and make you point at it… Which works, I mean. But he could just speak, y’know? It’s not like you can’t hear them better than anyone else over that gas mask.

- Pyro figures out how to convey signals to you without having to do the hard task of speaking. Two taps on your shoulder meant spy, one tap meant sentry around corner, and so on. Not only did this hide his intentions from the enemy team but helped you team up with them quickly.

————————————————————————

Sniper:

- Ugh.. Sniper is much like Scout in the sense that he has no clue how to respond to a blind person. He quickly assumes you’re inept at first and begins prioritizing your position on the battlefield more than anyone else. Shooting down key targets that get too close to you; or get in a quarrel with you. It’s flattering really but you can hold your own in a fight just fine. This is affecting your performance.

- You admittedly lose your mind and yell at him. But to be honest he had it coming with his stupid assumptions. Sniper doesn’t even complain nor move a muscle as you shout at him and storm off. He immediately feels regretful and tips his hat forward. Once again he’s lost another potential friend to his own behavior. “I was only trying to keep you alive.” He mutters to himself as he turns away. Unbeknownst to him, you heard it.

- Convinced, you sigh and walk back to him and run down the fact that you’re independent, and that you appreciated it but it’s important you complete things by yourself. Then you bitterly apologize for yelling at him. You could have swore you heard a soft “Sorry too…”

- This unexpected softness from a hard rough and tough guy like Sniper is what makes you reconsider him. He’s willing to fess up and apologize for having a bias. He just sucks at it. You forgive him hesitantly and you learn to not regret that later. Because he soon learns that you’re simply equal to all the other mercs and treats you as such.

———————————————————————-

Medic:

- Come on now, really? He already has his hands on your medical history the moment you walk through the door. He doesn’t skip a beat whenever idly scanning for things he should keep note of. Medic never even asks you if you’re blind. He simply acts as though he’s always known. Opening doors for you, directing you if you truly need it. Aggressively shoving the other mercs out of the way to make way for you so he doesn’t need to tend to BOTH your wounds.

- At first you suspected him to go crazy over time and check your eyesight curiously like a wet specimen in a jar. But his indifference is.. Slightly unnerving. You decide to enter his office and hesitantly remind him that you’re blind. Because you genuinely don’t know at this rate.

- “So..?” He asks. Rather rudely at that. You want to exhale loudly in anger so badly. Why was everyone in this fuckin’ place so mean?? Medic takes his glasses off and readjusts the position of his desk papers. “Should I act upon this more and enforce more adjustments?”

- “No—“ You say slowly. “I didn’t know you even knew. Normally you’d go crazy with curiosity whenever someone is even mildly different than you in an attempt to understand them.” You tell him. This causes him to sort of put his fist to his lips and snort. Holding back a laugh. “What? You think I haven’t met a blind person before? You’re forgetting i’m a doctor. Plus that just means we’re safer with you around. I’d rather not be backstabbed a thousand times each round anymore.”

- Agh.. That explains it. That yellow folder on the table with the blurry photo of your image also explains it.

—————————————————————————-

Spy:

- FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- His poor pride is in pieces on the ground whenever you’re nearby. The other mercs can visibly see his fists clench into a ball and swear they see his eye twitch. Scout especially wonders if you’re going to be the one who finally blows his lid. Why? JUST WHY? Why can you hear him when nobody else can? He’s like a magician the way he disappears into the shadows. So why does it not affect you?

- He’s superior in every way and he knows it. So why is it whenever he’s lightly walking along the hallway to have a smoke break that you turn around and greet him? Truly, nobody else walks as gently and lightly as he does. His footwork to your ears is like a tiptoeing predator in the bushes the way he walks so slowly to achieve stealth. He freezes in place and grits his teeth everytime you do this… Then suppresses his own unholy wrath and stumbles away.

- .. You’re making him needlessly paranoid. He can’t work under these conditions. If you can sense him, then surely eventually the other team will? Congratulations on singlehandedly causing this old man work related silent panic attacks. His hair is falling out more than usual and he’s staring at himself in the mirror, with a dead gone expression. Staring into the void. He’s dissociating now.

- Tries to outsmart your own heightened senses in any way he can. The closest he’s gotten is maybe sneaking into your room while you were asleep to check your drawer and you woke up due to the sound of the drawer opening. After rolling around to face him, his cat-like eyes in the darkness disappeared as fast as they came in. WHOOOOSHHHhh went his cloak. You could even hear him tapping his watch in the process. Really, you didn’t understand how he was such a huge threat to the other team.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #mod spy #spy x reader #medic x reader #demoman x reader #heavy x reader #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #sniper x reader

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stevethehairington · 2 years ago

Text

i’ve seen so many fics and threads and posts about virgin eddie who comes way too fast the first time he and steve do anything even slightly heavier than some light making out, which i LOVE — don’t get me wrong

but, consider:

virgin eddie who comes way too fast the first time he and steve do anything even slightly heavier than some light making out, who was so focused on trying (and failing) not to come too soon, who is so embarrassed in the aftermath of doing just that, that he doesn’t even realize that steve ended up beating him to the punch.

they’re on the couch in eddie’s trailer. wayne’s out so they have the whole place to themselves.

steve’s sitting with his spine pressed against the back of the couch, and he’s got a lapful of eddie. eddie’s knees are on either side of steve’s thighs, digging in high by the crease of his hip, and he’s poised above steve, holding himself up.

his arms are around steve’s neck, and steve’s are around his waist — low on his waist, as in, almost groping his ass low.

steve’s chin is tilted up and eddie’s is tilted down so their lips can meet in the middle in a heated kiss. a messy kiss. wet and hot and a little bitey at times and a lot overwhelming. steve’s mouth is something else. warm and velvety, sweet and sure. he knows how to use his tongue, and he’s not holding back with it.

eddie’s trying his hardest not to blow his load right then and there.

this is the furthest they’ve gone yet, this high intensity, borderline bump and grind makeout session — because that’s what it is. a borderline bump and grind.

in this position, eddie’s dick is caught between them, still tucked away in his pants, but trapped between his own body and steve’s abdomen. every time steve shifts, his stomach brushes against the bulge in eddie’s pants, and eddie nearly whines from how good that ghost of a touch feels. he can’t help himself when he rocks forward, just a little, just enough, desperately seeking out that delicious friction. he can feel steve below him, too. the tent in his pants just grazing eddie’s ass every time he moves.

it’s driving him insane, and eddie is seconds away from exploding.

and then — oh, oh shit. fuckingfuckfuckfuck.

eddie explodes.

far too soon. christ, steve didn’t even get a goddamned hand on him. his pants didn’t even come off — hell, the fly didn’t even get undone!

eddie breaks the kiss and buries his face into steve’s neck, breathing heavily against the soft skin there. hiding his embarrassment where steve can’t see it.

steve, for what it’s worth, doesn’t seem to notice. not at first, anyways. one of his hands slides up eddie’s back, his touch soothing, while the other stays against eddie’s hip. “shit, eddie,” steve breathes into his hair.

when eddie doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move from steve’s neck — that’s when steve notices something’s up.

“eddie?” he asks. “hey, what’s wrong?”

eddie groans. shakes his head. doesn’t move.

“eddie,” steve repeats, drawing his hand back down eddie’s back. “talk to me, come on. what is it? did i do something?”

and jesus, no. steve didn’t do anything but be his perfect, sexy, stupid self.

well. time to face the music.

with another muffled groan, eddie pulls his face from steve’s neck. it’s burning, flaming, so red that he probably matches the blanket spread over the arm of the sofa.

“i fucking— i didn’t fucking last, okay? i shot off like a god damn fucking firecracker in, like, ten seconds flat, jesus christ.”

he shoves his hands over his face then, not wanting steve to see how embarrassed he is. how fucking humiliated.

only, steve doesn’t laugh. doesn’t tease eddie. he doesn’t even try to console him, either. instead, he curls his fingers around eddie’s wrist and tugs at his hands until he can pull them away from his face. he drags one down to his own crotch. presses eddie’s palm against the front of his shorts and— oh. they’re wet. like he — like steve came in his pants too.

just as quickly as eddie.

oh.

“you know, if you made it ten seconds flat, i must’ve only made it five,” steve tells him, and the thing is — the thing is. he means it. he’s serious about it.

holy fuck.

“you—”

steve nods, before eddie can finish that thought. “yeah,” he says. “i fucking did. because of you. because you’re so fucking hot, eddie. and you were just— just moving that like, right in my lap, and that was just, fuck, way too much — in a good way. in the best way. i just— couldn’t handle it.”

steve’s cheeks are rosy, like maybe he’s a little embarrassed about it too. but that sparkle in his eye, that smile stretching that pretty mouth of his — he looks pleased. delighted, even. like coming in his pants — eddie making him come in his pants — in less than thirty fucking seconds is the highlight of his god damn day.

what really gets eddie, is that it probably is.

“you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about,” steve promises, reading eddie without him having to even say a thing. “i like it when you ‘shoot off like a god damn firecracker’,” he echoes eddie’s words back to him. “it’s hot. it makes me feel fucking good, eddie.”

“oh,” eddie breathes. he hadn’t considered that.

“besides,” steve says, letting go of eddie’s wrist so he can snake his arm back around his waist — so he can dip his hand back down to his ass. “we’ve got plenty of time to work on your stamina.”

“yours too, apparently,” eddie shoots back, finding some of that confidence he usually carries in spades, letting a grin unfurl across his mouth.

steve barks out a laugh. “mine too,” he agrees. his hand slips into the back pocket of eddie’s jeans and cups his ass through the fabric. he gives it a squeeze and quirks an eyebrow. “race ya?”

eddie’s laugh is swallowed by steve’s mouth as he recaptures it into another searing kiss.

oh yeah, eddie thinks, nipping on steve’s bottom lip, giving his hips an experimental roll that pulls a groan out of steve, lets have some fun with this.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #mack writes #macks ficlets

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mitchellpete · 1 year ago

Text

Firsts

summary: You’re bad at playing hard to get, and you don’t want to let the opportunity slip. Maverick gives you your first motorcycle ride.

pairing: pete “maverick” mitchell x gn!reader

tags/warnings: maverick being flirty, shy!reader but also not really?, some drinking mentioned, overall fluff

word count: 1.4k

A/N: i feel terrible that i keep making excuses not to post so i'll let you guys have this one. i don't know who's still on top gun tumblr but i hope you guys are still around. and that you guys like this! it was supposed to be a drabble but..?? ANDDD one more thing: my request page has updated also!

“Wait, you’ve never been on a bike before?”

“I’ve been on a bike. I’ve never been on a motorcycle.”

Maverick scoffs and then cocks a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips in his frail attempt at reading you, or at least pretending he knew you.

Except he doesn’t, because out of the many outings at the bar, tonight had been the first time he’d spotted you. You were ashamed to admit that it was kind of flattering having him follow you around for a good half an hour, even after you locked eyes with mustache Hawaiian shirt blonde guy across the room. Ah, it was all a game. But God, was Maverick pretty. And charming. You couldn’t decide whether you were bad at playing hard to get or if you simply didn’t mind being the game.

(It was definitely the former.)

Panic filled you later that night when you watched him slip his jacket on on the opposite side of the room. He was still distractedly rambling with his friend, however, and you took the opportunity to push past at least 5 people and make it out of the door before he did.

What to say or do the moment he stepped out? Your head was empty. But hey, he’d see you out there, make another flirtatious comment, make you blush and then it’d go on from there, right? God, please.

This had to have been like the fourth time you’d seen him. He was most certainly the prettiest out of all the aviators that confidently waltzed into the bar every time you and your friend met for drinks.

Miramar. A lovely place, truly.

Beautiful, too. The sunset is beginning to form, and you step towards the wooden fence separating the sand from the small parking lot in front of the building. A packed bar, only a few vehicles. You wonder if any of them belong to Maverick. You pray that he walks this way at all.

The beach in front of you is littered with people, families, couples. There is chatter everywhere, drowning out the sound of the bell on the door behind you, or the sound of his voice if he happens to be walking out, talking to his friend.

That’s why when you eventually zone out maybe a good ten minutes later, you don’t notice that he’s already walked past you, striding towards the vehicle closest to you. The motorcycle. Red, black, adorned with decals that match the patches on his pretty jacket. You wish you’d noticed.

He’d certainly noticed you, watching you avoid his gaze as he swung a leg over and took a seat. “Going for a swim?”

FUCK.

Tongue in your cheek, you meet his eyes. “No. I.. needed some air. Where’s your friend?”

“Where’s yours?” A cheeky smile spread on his face as he reached for the handles.

Oh, he’s sooooooo—

“Inside. I’m uh, actually waiting for another friend right now. She’s picking me up soon, I think.” Lies, lies, lies.

“In a car?”

“On a motorcycle, actually. How fast does yours go?” Jesus Christ. You know nothing about motorcycles, by the way.

He leans slightly forward, intrigued by your response. “Faster.”

“Hm.” You glance out at the shoreline again, at the sun turning bright orange. You feel the warmth on your cheeks. Stupid. You’re playing hard to get again, for fuck’s sake. He’s too pretty, it makes you nervous.

Lucky for you, he breaks the tense feeling in your stomach with a laugh. “Actually?”

He sticks the key into the ignition, filling you with the slight panic from before that he’s slipping away.

You fake a snicker, although it comes out dry and humorless. “I’m kidding. I don’t know a thing about motorcycles.”

The sudden rev of the engine startles you, and he smiles. “Some people are just meant to look pretty on the back of ‘em, I think.”

There was already a warmth to your cheeks, but now it’s heat. “Well.. that sounds like fun.”

Furrowed brows. “Wait, you’ve never been on a bike before?”

You snicker again, this time for real. “I’ve been on a bike. I’ve never been on a motorcycle.”

Maverick scoffs and then cocks a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips in his frail attempt at reading you, or at least pretending he knew you. Playfully rolling his eyes, he revs the engine again and waves you over with his hand. “Come on.”

Your face falls. A different kind of panic. “Huh?”

“Just a quick ride. Before your friend gets here.”

“A-are you sure?”

“You’re scared?” He grins.

“I—No. I just..” You hesitantly make your way over, your legs suddenly weak. “I drank a little, so I don’t—”

“Can you relax?” He laughs again, his laughter as pretty as he is. “It’s not scary, I promise. Here, step on that part. Just hold onto me and hop on.” He points down below and then sticks his arm out for you to grab.

“I’m not scared,” you mumble as you manage to perch yourself on the space behind him, careful not to grip his arm too tight. “I think you’re a little strange, is all.”

“How so? You gotta hold onto me, sweetheart.” Another engine rev. What is his deal?

You lean forward as much as you can, pressing yourself to him and wrapping your arms around his middle. The seat behind his is slightly raised, and your face absentmindedly presses into the back crook of his neck. It’s too late to pull back when you realize, and the heat in your cheeks starts to burn. Nevertheless, you go through with your accusations.

“Well,” you begin, conscious of your voice as to not be loud in his ear. “You follow me around the bar for some stupid bet, and.. now you’ve forced me onto your bike.”

Ha. As if you hadn’t planned all of this. Sort of.

Another pretty laugh. “It’s a motorcycle,” he mocks you.

That gets a laugh out of you, squeezing your arms around him a bit as he starts to move.

“Although, I do have to say—” He halts, a foot firm on the ground, and turns to look you over his shoulder. “Out of anybody I’ve followed around the bar, you’re the only one I’d give a ride to.”

God. You think you’re already in love with him. “That so?”

He presses his lips together and nods, fake serious.

Pressing your forehead to the back of his jacket, you chuckle. “I guess that means I owe you something.”

“I’ll start driving on one condition,” he offers, his tone playful.

“Hm?”

“Give me a kiss.”

Oh boy. It’s easy by now; you’re already melting into him. Glancing up, your surroundings become a blur and all the outside chatter, the bell on the door and the sound of the other cars go completely silent as you lean your neck to reach. It’s a peck, but it’s complete; all of your lips feel the soft skin of his cheek, plump from a smile under your kiss. And then your chin goes to rest on his shoulder, and next thing you know, you’re off.

There’s suddenly wind; you weren’t prepared for your hair to flow, as he took off from the parking lot and immediately down the road.

You’re clinging onto him with all your might, maybe a little scared for a moment, but then it starts to feel nice. You don’t even recall the moment he’d slipped his aviators on; perhaps the little kiss you gave him left you in awe instead of vice-versa, or maybe it was the drinks you’d had earlier? Maverick says something but you barely hear it, your stomach fluttering in excitement as he swerves between cars to get out of their way, to fly by beyond them on the road and to make the moment about just the two of you. Nobody else on the road.

He turns onto a different road, this one longer and less crowded, and you squeal as he starts going faster. A euphoric feeling overtakes you, and even in the wind, through the sound of the engine and Maverick’s muffled voice, you’re convinced you can’t let him slip away after this one either.

“Maverick!”

Wind, wind, wind. The engine.

Tapping a hand on his side instead, you catch his attention. He slows down just a bit, momentarily glancing over his shoulder again before looking back at the road.

“You wanna stop?” he yells.

“No!” you shout back. “I just wanted you to know something!”

“What is it?!”

You lean closer to his ear, face in the crook of his neck again. “I was lying! There is no friend!”

He grins. “I know!”

#top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick x reader #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fic #maverick x reader #pete mitchell x reader #top gun headcanons #pete maverick mitchell x reader #maverick x you #top gun 1986 #pete mitchell #*#mav

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queerdiazs · 10 months ago

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what to do when evan buckley breaks into your house at 3:17 in the morning | 2.9k, teen

“Quit moving!” “Ow! Ouch!” More cheese gets hawked in Eddie’s face, powdery and slimy and gross. “Jesus Christ! What are you doing to me?” Discombobulated, Eddie worms out from beneath the intruder, stutters to his feet, and flicks on the light above the sink. He blinks fast as a hummingbird’s wings till his eyes adjust and then screeches, “Buck?” with utter disbelief and very major irritation. Whatever slight fear he felt at having an intruder in his hose vanishes, replaced with absolute confusion. At his feet, ruddy-cheeked and messy-haired, Buck sits cross-legged on his ass. He’s wearing a pretty maroon satin-like button down rolled up to his forearms and that pair of Levis that hug his thighs like a second skin and the goofiest, prettiest smile Eddie’s ever seen—even with shredded cheese shoved between his teeth. Holy shit, again. “What’d you do that for?” “Me? Me?” Eddie puts his hands on his hips and scoffs, irked in a way he hasn’t been since he caught Chris staying up after bedtime to play his video games. He’s even wearing the same black tank top—life imitates bullshit, or whatever the saying is. “What are you doing in my house? It’s three in the morning!” Buck blinks. “Oh,” he says, giggles, and wipes the mix of drool and cheese off his chin. “This is not my house.” “No, it isn’t.” Eddie runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. He counts down from ten, slowly, two times, and then puts his hands on his knees and leans down closer to Buck’s face. “What the fuck, Buck?” “Mm. That rhymed.” Eddie makes a face. “Are you drunk?” Buck nods his head. “No way,” he fibs, giggly and cross-eyed. This close, Eddie can see how glassy his blue eyes are. He’s not hammered, but he’s not exactly sober, either. “Maybe a li’l bit.”

read the rest on ao3

#me: i'm gonna focus on hoa eddie and get her finished before s7 starts #also me: what if i watch lethal weapon tv show and get obsessed with it #also also me: writes this silly thing instead of working on hoa #FULL FUCKING CIRCLE PALS LMAO 💅#anyway i'm just cackling #buddie #buddie fic #911 #911 fic #my fics

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aerodaltonimperial · 3 months ago

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(Forced some words just to make sure I could. Short, silly ficlet. Whatever these two got going on is not normal.)

“I told you to put an AirTag in his luggage last time it was in the Elite locker room,” Matthew says. “You didn’t do it, and now—”

“I didn’t do it,” Nicholas replies, “because every time I walked over to that side of the room, he looked at me like he knew exactly what was I doing.”

Matthew groans. “Well, having him be suspicious then would be better than him being missing now!”

“Just text him again.”

“I’ve texted him five times,” Matthew says. “He’s answered none of them. He hasn’t answered me in days because for some reason, he never thinks he has to.”

“I asked the EA to figure out what happened with his flight, and she hasn’t gotten back to me,” Nicholas says.

“Dock her pay. This is ridiculous. We should have the flight numbers anyway if—”

“I asked him for his flight number earlier in the week,” Nicholas waves his phone around a few times. “He doesn’t answer me, either!”

“Okay,” Matthew says, “we’ll just—”

“He’s at the airport,” Darby interrupts, from the table behind them, and both Matthew and Nicholas freeze, then turn in tandem. Darby’s got his boots up on the opposite chair, like a heathen, and is scrolling lazily through his phone.

“What?” Nicholas asks.

Darby shrugs. “You chucklefucks have been talking about this, out loud, in catering, for the past fucking ten minutes. I just texted him.”

“Why do you even have his number?” Nicholas demands.

“And he answered?” Matthew says, incredulous. “Wait, what did you text?”

Darby reads from his screen: “‘Hey, where you at, you dumb bitch, I wanna punch your face in.’ And he replied, ‘Stuck waiting for car at airport, you clown college reject. You can beat me up when I get there.’” Darby lifts his chin to look at the other two. “He sounds cranky.”

Nicholas stares at Darby. “What?”

“Ask him how long until he gets here,” Matthew orders.

Darby grumbles, but his fingers tap into the screen. The room goes quiet, footsteps out in the hallway. Matthew waits with growing impatience—because first of all, what the hell is even happening where Darby gets responses from Jack before they do, and secondly, why has Jack decided that he is simply too important to answer them in the first place?

“Well?” Nicholas says. “What did you say?”

“Jesus Christ.” Darby sighs. “I said ‘ETA? Hate your stupid fucking face. Also catering has chocolate mousse pie today.’ And he replied, ‘Probably thirty minutes. Your ugly mug haunts my dreams. Save me a slice.’”

“I… “ Nicholas seems unable to complete his thought. “I don’t…?”

“What do you text each other?” Matthew asks.

“Threats,” Darby replies, breezy. “Vaguely sinister Instagram reels. A lot of knife and skull emojis. Although the other night we were promising to pick out each other’s coffins for Wembley; you guys got, like, a catalog for that? ‘Cause I’m gonna make his obnoxious.”

Matthew’s temples are throbbing. “What? No.”

“Ugh, fine. We’ll just do it online, then.”

Nicholas. “Hold on. You’re saying he always answers?”

“Jack? Yeah, he’s a fast replier.” Darby shrugs again, that absurd pink coat he insists on wearing every single day shifting around his shoulders. “Whatever. Now you know where he is. I gotta go get a slice of pie so I can smash it into his hair when he finally shows up, cause that’s gonna take forever to wash out, so fuck you very much, E-V-Shitheads.”

He gets up and wanders back over to the dessert table, while Nicholas looks at Matthew with alarm written over his features. “Fine him for the language?”

“I mean, yes, obviously, but…” Matthew’s a bit preoccupied now, in account of trying to figure out what on earth is happening here. “Should we be concerned about this?”

“Should probably be concerned about Jack not sending us his flight numbers,” Nicholas mumbles. “And the EA dragging her feet about it.” He watches Darby pick up one of the mousse plates. “This does not feel excellent.”

“No, it does not,” Matthew agrees, and then he looks at his own phone, where Jack has still not texted him back despite his five messages of where are you? with an increasing amount of question marks attached.

#tag so you don't lose this shit

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werepuppy-steve · 1 year ago

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steddie dads | wc: 669 | cw: none

Steve pauses outside the bathroom in the downstairs hallway, basket of dirty laundry tucked under his arm. The door is shut, which isn’t weird, but he can hear little splashes on the other side of it and what sounds like plastic bottles being dropped on the counter. Steve presses his ear to the wood and the whispered muttering tells him all he needs to know.

He needs to get these clothes in the washer first, so he takes the basket down to the laundry room before coming back to the bathroom. He doesn’t bother knocking, if he does, it’ll just make room for a hurried clean up. He turns the knob as quietly as he can (it’s not locked, thank God) but as soon as he opens the door, he’s hit in the face with a smell that makes his nose burn and his eyes water. Emma stands on her princess step stool in front of the sink, completely oblivious to him standing there.

The sink that’s filled with blue soapy water and smells like a Hollister store exploded.

Steve crosses his arms and leans against the doorway as Emma stays concentrated on whatever concoction she’s making, muttering under her breath in a way that undeniably makes her Eddie’s child. “What’cha doin’ there, Emmylou?”

Emma jumps and the bottle of lotion she slips out of her little hands and clatters on the tile. Her brown eyes wide as saucers and her mouth puckered in a tiny ‘o’ shape. It makes her look like an adorable fish and Steve has to clear his throat to stifle his laughter.

“Looks like an awful big mess in here.”

“I’m making potion.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Potion?”

“Mhm.” Emma nods, her curls, identical to Eddie’s, bouncing. “I’m a witch.”

Steve takes stock of the multiple bottles covering the counter; shampoo, conditioner, sunscreen, his and Eddie’s (expensive) cologne, lotion. You name it, it’s probably been poured in the sink. Briefly, Steve wonders if he’ll have to get underneath and unclog the drain. They’re definitely going over budget on groceries next week to replace everything.

Still, Steve can’t bring himself to actually be mad at her for being a kid and having an active imagination. He steps into the room and tries not to cough from the fumes wafting from the hot water. Christ, he’s gotta get Emma out of here and into fresh air.

“Well, Miss Witch, what do you say we clean all of this up and you can use those potion making still to help me make dinner? Dad’s gonna be home soon.”

At the mention of Eddie, Emma gasps and quickly scrambles off the step stool, but Steve is quicker. He catches her under the arms and puts her right back where she was.

“Not so fast, little lady,” he says, his hands on his hips. He will not be swayed by the pout his daughter is giving him. The very same pout that makes him cave to every ridiculous idea Eddie has ever had. He has to be stern. “What are the rules about messes?”

Emma lets out the biggest sigh her tiny body is capable of. “If you do the crime, you gotta do the time,” she mumbles.

Steve bends to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Smart girl. Go grab a towel and clean up the water, please. I’ll take care of the bottles.”

Ten minutes later, the sink is drained and cleaned and the bottles are thrown away, but the smell has permeated the room completely. Figuring out what to do about it is a job for later-Steve, so he shuts the door and gets Emma upstairs for her own bath before they start on dinner.

When Eddie comes home from the studio, he dips into the bathroom and Steve doesn’t bother holding back his laughs when Eddie drops to the floor and crawls back out, coughing like he’s a cat with a hairball.

“Jesus Christ, who made fucking anthrax in the bathroom?!”

permanent taglist: @yournowheregirl @judasofsuburbia @steves-strapcollection @thefreakandthehair @stobinesque @vecnuthy @scarcrossdlvrs @starrystevie @inairbinad @flowercrowngods @starryeyedjanai @matchingbatbites @corrodedbisexual @theheadlessphilosopher @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @wormdebut @legitcookie @corrodedcoughin @steddieas-shegoes @wynnyfryd @sidekick-hero

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#cj talks #🐣#cj writes #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie dads

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otherentrance · 4 months ago

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um. an analysis of martha & ten in s3e1 of doctor who or whatever

now when it comes to the tenth doctor's companions you only really hear about rose and donna. and that's great, that makes a lot of sense, i get it. but that meant i really had nothing to go off of with the introduction of martha jones in series 3 & setting aside the fact that i immediately loved her, it really struck me just how calculated the doctor was in that first episode in regard to letting her on

i think its fascinating actually, because in "The Runaway Bride" (the christmas special between series 2 & 3) the doctor had just lost rose. like it went: "Rose Tyler, i love you" *30 seconds later, Donna has entered the chat* "Who the hell are you?" so it makes sense that he's super out of it that whole special

a new end of world crisis is thrown on him, a new person is thrown in his life, & its all happening before he's had time to process the end of "Doomsday". by the end of the special i didnt get why donna didnt go with him, but i get it now

it was all just so much so fast. unfortunately, i dont think we know how much time has passed between The Runaway Bride & Smith and Jones, but he's apparently had enough time to settle two things:

despite his protests, there's no avoiding what donna made him promise. "find someone", "i dont need anyone", "yes you do. because sometimes i think you need someone to stop you.", "yeah"

the fashion in which he wants to go about finding said someone

in that first scene martha and the doctor have together, where the doctor is pretending to be a patient, right off the bat he's got this cheery neutrality to all the doctors-in-training crowding his bed. martha just happens to be the one called up to diagnose him, and he seems to like the way she reacts to finding out he's got two hearts

its interesting, she just takes it calmly, no freaking out or even mentioning it. this is a pattern with martha, she just accepts whatever situation shes in and rolls with it. and the doctor's got this look on his face when he looks at her in that first scene, neutral smile, raised eyebrows, he's curious he's probing the waters he's trying to figure her out

right off the bat, the doctor is curious as to what sort of person martha is. & i dont have the background of how he met rose (because im not watching doctor who in order) but im assuming, based on how it ended, that everything about her sort of happened to him. like she just burst into his life, blinding, and they crashed into each other

so it makes sense, indeed its incredibly human of him, to take the exact opposite approach with a new companion. he doesnt want to fall apart like he did for rose, so he's going in all experimental and curious neutrality and its fascinating because he's not even emotionally distant!

right, ten's emotions are something that gets talked about a lot, about how buried they are. its funny, ten is telling martha who he is instead of showing. (because if you're upfront with the things that hurt you then its all out in the open and you can put distance between yourself and the significance of your own experiences)

im getting ahead of myself. second scene they have together

ten comments on how smart martha is with the whole "if the air was gonna get sucked out it would have happened straight away, but it didnt!" thing. this objective observational approach to bizarre situations seems to be the first thing that draws martha and ten together. shes smart, and clear-headed, and curious. like he is

and then! and then and then!! "fancy going out [-side, on the moon, where there's no oxygen]?" "okay." "we might die." "we might not." "...good, come on."

good. good. like a teacher asking a question and getting the answer they want. the line is delivered slowly (which is saying something because jesus christ david tennant talks fast) and deliberately. if the question is "will you risk your life in the name of figuring out what's going on?" then the answer is "yes, not only will i risk my life but i choose to put my faith in the chance that i live."

curiously, i think it's this gift for hope martha has that ten is drawn to. i think he's been flying by the skin of his teeth, running on hope and running out of it, and martha is an optimist. a curious, smart, observant, optimist. god i love her already

(at the end of that interaction ten specifically points to the other woman with martha and says "not her, she'll hold us up". he's chosen his subject, and disregarded the other potential opportunities. its so calculated)

scene three, that balcony scene.

turns out they can breathe on that balcony, wahoo. martha remembers that party with her family and starts getting choked up. "you okay?" "yeah" "you sure?" "yeah" "you wanna go back in?" "no way, we could die any minute but all the same its beautiful"

ten sees her getting emotional and, briskly, asks if shes okay. she insists she is twice in a row and shoves down her emotions in favor of admiring the view. and who is this reminding me of?

okay so thats the fourth thing of note then. she's calm, smart, hopeful, and ignores her own emotions in crisis. and she finds joy in that view too! its beautiful! standing in the earth light.

she finally asks him whats happened, and he turns the question back on her. here we go, fifth thing. "extraterrestrial. idk a few years ago that would have sounded mad, but these days?" she pays attention. complete opposite of donna, she's caught up on the alien events going on and she believes them

moving right along: ten makes the decision to open up to martha, and tell her his real name. "what, people call you The Doctor?" "yeah" "well im not, as far as im concerned you've got to earn that title" "well i better make a start then"

i love this interaction. he's telling her his name and instead of ogling at the weirdness she says "earn it." like its a challenge. my current hypotheses, having not seen the rest of season 3, is that this is a unique quirk of their dynamic. martha wont just take his bullshit, or ogle at his space-alien-ness, or let him take charge just to follow after going "what the hell??". she'll catch right up with him and help figure out the mystery as well

ok scene 4

"if they're [jabloon, monster of the week] police are we under arrest? are we trespassing on the moon or something?" "no, but i like that! good thinking."

again, she's sharp. creative. and then the reveal that the doctor's non-human! oh youre kidding me, dont be ridiculous, stop looking at me like that. 13 seconds. "oh you're kidding me, you're not non-human" to "well shit, guess he is" in 13 seconds! she's marvelous! she just takes it!

fifth scene, the whole The Doctor is trying to figure out the situation and the companion is hanging back asking questions and trying to get their head around the whole space alien thing while he spits information a mile a minute. its crazy, she keeps up! like not just with how freaking fast ten talks, with what he's saying!

im a broken record, she just believes it all its wild. she recognizes the situation as a problem, accepting each piece of information as valuable and true, and works to solve it i love you martha jones

ok i cant sit here going scene by scene lets jump to the end shall we

scene i lost count. the tardis is parked in some back alley after a fiasco of that family party for marthas brother

the initial test is over, and martha's passed. the doctor wants to take a chance on her

"i just thought, since you saved my life and ive got a brand-new sonic screwdriver which needs road testing, you might fancy a trip?"

evidently martha cant say no to that so we, lovely viewers, are treated to a classic "its bigger on the inside!" scene. and ten's got that look on his face again! carefully cataloging her reaction, sizing her up.

coming full circle, martha asks about the doctors previous companions (again), and its fascinating comparing this scene with the opening of "The Runaway Bride"

where donna stumbled across rose's jacket, assumed ten had kidnapped her, and confronted him about it, thus throwing the hurt of loosing rose right back in his face, ten puts it all out in the open for martha right off the bat

im the doctor, ive got a brand new sonic screwdriver, the tardis is bigger on the inside, and the last one was rose. welcome aboard

even while throwing it all out in the open, ten quickly says "anyway" like he doesnt want to talk about it. when martha asks where she is (like donna did) ten assures her that rose is safe and fine. directly doing the opposite of how donna approached the subject

and still ten insists that martha isnt going to be "the new companion". that shes here for one trip, then back home. he knows donna was right, he needs someone, he promised her. he knows but he doesnt want it, yet. hes telling martha the situation while still walling off his actual feelings about it

which explains why ten reacts so badly to martha teasing him about that kiss from earlier. when she opens up the situation like he's flirting he shuts her down fast. but when she turns it into a joke, and says she's not interested we get "good." again

its a really clear pattern, the way ten assesses her this episode. he notices her cool headedness and observation and pokes a bit more. he shuts her off when she approaches territory he doesnt want her to. he responds with "good" when she responds with what he wants

he's drawn to her because they share a lot of key traits (accepting bizarre situations, intellect, high emotional regulation) & because she shows a few key traits that distinctly compliment his own (her hope, curiosity, and stubbornness). she doesnt marvel at him like other companions did (and will), and doesnt put up with his bullshit either. she makes fun of him for being "pompous" in a way other humans just worshipped him. she relates, accepts, understands, and humbles him in very distinct, important ways

anyway "Smith and Jones" was a solid episode & you guys dont talk about martha enough, shes amazing

#doctor who #tenth doctor #martha jones #david tennant #freema agyeman #the way ten approaches martha is just so human of him #like ik the whole point of doctor who is the humanity at the center of all this space alien nonsense but man #i really like reading into things #someone please put a word count on tumblr posts its for my own good

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