#she smelled like bubblegum in her car and she wore everything pink

[jordanshenessy]

Just got into a car accident and now im finally home Skdjjdnd everyone’s fine but our cars are not 🤪

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x WednesdayAddams!reader [3.2K] 18+

It took a lot to get you really worked. Like really, really annoyed. You preferred your moods cool and indifferent, face passive, eyes sharp, never letting anyone know you cared. Then Steve Harrington came along and made everything infinitely more difficult. Because where Steve went, attention and girls - and oftentimes, boys - followed. 

And that wasn’t something you liked. In fact, you didn’t enjoy it at all. You were used to the looks, the whispers, the bitchy comments about the clothes you wore, the rumours about ritual sacrifices, vials of blood, hidden tattoos on your skin that were apparently the sign of a long lost cult. But hey, Eddie was seemingly a part of that too.  

You could handle all that, the stares, the uneasy looks that lingered on you for too long. You didn’t like it, but you could keep your expression passive and sullen enough that eventually they gave up and got bored. 

The attention Steve garnered was different. Because he was really pretty and dressed nice, he smelled good and had perfect hair and a cool car and sometimes when he smiled, even you felt your breath hitch and catch. So some girls got brave, got bold, and they’d come too close and forget you were there, confused and puzzled at how Steve could possibly want to be with you when you were so… what did they say?

Scary? Intense? Weird? Creepy?

You could handle those names too, you leaned into them, in fact. Wore them like medals and wielded them like weapons but then girls in bubblegum pink lipstick pressed themselves against your boyfriend and suddenly you didn’t know the meaning of the word passive. 

You cared. And your face showed it. 

So you barged through the crowd of the party, all sharp elbows and pointed glare, eyes fixed on the girl in the pastel skirt who had her fingers at the collar of Steve’s shirt. And when she clocked you coming towards her, eyes flashing, teeth practically bared, she stumbled back from the boy and had the right to look terrified. 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up and he tried not to smile. He hadn’t done anything wrong, no, in fact, he was in the middle of pulling away from the girl when you appeared. But you were flushed in the cheeks and your expression was much more than just its usual sullen pout. You were worked up, lips twisted, eyes filled with a fire he didn’t usually get to see in public. 

He briefly wondered if you’d pick a fight, if the small switchblade he knew was tucked into your boot would make an appearance. He found Eddie’s eyes in the crowd of drunk college kids, both boys amused but still on edge, both waiting to jump into something they weren’t sure they’d be able to split up. 

But your hand found Steve’s and you were leading him away from the girl and Eddie and the crowd and the party, pushing through people who smelled like tequila until fresh air hit you both square in the face and the music was a dull thud. 

“Where’s your car?” You asked it in a tone that was nothing short of demanding, all business like as you held onto the boy’s hand and searched the street.

 The sidewalk was lined with abandoned vehicles, most owners willing to return for them tomorrow in favour of getting black out drunk and stumbling their way through town in the early morning hours. There was the thudthudthud of the distant bassline from the party you’d left, a song on the stereo that you’d really didn’t like and Steve was pulling at you, trying to coax you to look at him. 

The boy could read you like a book and you still weren’t used to it, so you kept your eyes on the cars and scanned the roofs for the maroon shine you were so familiar with. 

“Sweetheart, I’ve only had, like, three beers,” Steve started to tell you softly, “but I don’t think I should—”

“I don’t want you to drive us home,” you told him, finally turning and tilting your chin up to look at him. “Where’s the car, Steven?”

Maybe it was the way you looked, filled with fire and determination, maybe Steve just knew you better than you’d ever thought, but he stared at you for a second too long before he was breathing out a little heavier than before. He swore under his breath, whispered your name like another kind of curse and then he was taking the lead, his hand swallowing yours and pulling you around the block. 

He didn’t say anything when the BMW came into sight, sitting shiny alongside a grassy knoll, most of it hidden by the beginnings of a patch of woodlands, away from the other cars and houses, only kept company by Eddie’s van. 

Steve didn’t open the door either, instead he leant against the side of the car and fixed you with a look that was knowing and spilling over with affection. He knew why you’d pulled him away, he knew why you looked like a thundercloud - black dress, dark eyes, lips downturned and pretty. 

He still didn’t say anything - he wasn’t stupid. 

To call you out on your emotions whilst they were still punching at your chest could be deadly, a fight he’d never win ‘cause he’d never be able to catch you when you pulled away and ran. So he pressed himself to the metal of the car door and spread his legs a little and kept his hands at his sides. 

His eyes were already darker than they normally were, a little hooded as he watched you, waiting, as if he knew what was coming, what you wanted. 

Needed. 

Many mornings and days and nights spent in Steve’s bed, lacking in clothes with kiss swollen lips had led the boy to believe you were some sort of succubus, an expert in making him fall apart, hardly any effort needed. You always disagreed, hiding your embarrassment with your face pressed to his chest as Steve teased you between kisses. 

If Steve had dared burst the bubble, he would have said the same now. ‘Cause you were watching him with an intensity that made his chest ache, moving slowly towards him, hands reaching for the pockets of his jeans, finger curling there and holding. You were all smoke and black ink, short dress skimming your thighs, eyes dark with kohl, layers of necklaces and chains glittering as you moved. 

He hasn’t even been able to bring his hands to your waist before you were pushing up onto your toes and pressing your mouth to his, top lip catching his bottom and enticing the softest moan from him. Steve’s hands caught your face, fingers splayed across your jaw and cheeks as he steady you both, your kisses growing quickly growing urgent. 

There was a greediness there he never experienced a lot. A messy, hot push and pull of your lips on his as your fingers curled deeper into his pockets so you could pull him close and keep him there. Your chest burned with it, whatever semblance of casualness you thought you still had going out the window as your breath picked up to a harsh pant. 

Steve’s thumb pushed at your chin, coaxing your lips apart so he could lick into you and you whined at the lack of control you suddenly had. So you pulled back, lips swollen, hair messier than before and levelled the boy with a gaze that once made him think you were angry. 

Now Steve knew better and he let out a soft groan before reaching for you again. 

“Baby—”

“Back seat,” you told him, and your voice had lost the edge it had once had, words a little clumsy and feeling too big for your mouth because god fucking damnit, you were itching for the touch of the boy. 

Steve fumbled with the keys, dragging them out of his pocket that you had finally released, dropping them on the sidewalk before he managed to open the car. He let you slide in first, swearing hotly at the sight of you crawling across the back bench, the hem of your dress skimming up a little too high to be decent. 

As soon as Steve bundled in after you, the door slamming shut and keeping out the sounds of the party and the forest, you were on him, bare legs either side of his hips, knees pressed to the worn leather seats and your hands in his hair. 

Steve loved you like this, bold as ever but only in a way he’d ever get to see, new expressions on your face that only he could elicit. He liked you on top, face close to his so he could watch you fall apart, so he could watch each pretty feature of your face change before you remembered not to show it. 

Flushed cheeks, sleepy, droopy eyes, parted lips, lashes that fluttered, brows that knitted together when you were about to come. 

He got to call you pretty, got to whisper it against your lips and into your neck and you were too far gone to act as if you didn’t like it, like you’d ever be able to hide the way his voice and his sweet words made you clench down on him. 

You wasted no time in taking what you wanted, lips crushed back to Steve’s as he parted them for you, as eager as you were and his hands under your dress, warm palms pressed to the tops of your thighs. The dark of the night swallowed you both up, far enough from street lights and houses that the shadows painted you both shades of blue and lavender, hands hidden from sight as they pulled at belt buckles and dress straps. 

You were too far gone to consider foreplay, not needing the soft touches that you usually loved so much but missing the feeling of Steve’s fingers sliding between your thighs all the same. You sat up on your knees, grunting a little with the effort of it as you pulled at Steve’s belt, the leather snapping before it was dropped to the floor, your fingers on the button. 

Normally, Steve would try to slow you down, would try to coax you back to a pace that meant he could nip and suck at your skin, and slide his fingers across all the spots he’d taken his time to discover. But you were a little wild with it and the boy didn’t dare interrupt, so he sat against the seat instead and let you have your way with him - head handing back against the chair, jaw slack, cheeks pink and eyes glazed over. 

He had absolutely nothing to complain about. 

He watched you slip your underwear down your legs, black cotton and lace edges, falling to the footwell in the back of his car and Jesus Christ, he couldn’t let you forget about them or Eddie would never shut up. 

Steve hissed at the cool air that hit his stomach when you pulled at his jeans and the boy lifted his hips enough for you to wiggle them down his hips. And then your hand was seeking out what you wanted inside of his boxers, small fingers wrapping around the hard length of him. He groaned, a filthy sound that came from the back of his throat and it had you clinging to his shirt in a desperate, greedy way. 

With no reason to wait, you lifted onto your knees and lined yourself up with his cock, your thighs already slick and sticky with want and Steve swore at the feel of himself bumping against your entrance, twitching at the way you whimpered when the head of him slid against you clit. 

Then Steve was grabbing at you, but hands clutching at your waist so your dress rucked up and all he could see was skin and the press of himself against you. He swore, pupils blown wide as he tried to regain some clarity and he was panting, forehead touching yours. 

“Babe,” he gasped out, breath punched from his chest ‘cause you were still dragging the head of his cock through your wet folds. “Baby, slow down, yeah? You’re gonna hurt yourself, don’t want you to— oh, fu-uck.”

Steve wasn’t bragging, he was definitely too big for you to take in one fell swoop, especially without the thickness of his fingers stretching you out and working you up beforehand. But you were impatient and greedy and somewhat competitive, stubborn to a fault and the face of the girl with the bubblegum lips was still printed in your mind and you needed to get rid of it. 

The thick, heavy throb of Steve inside of you seemed to do just that. 

The stretch was the good kind of painful, a too full feeling making the hook in your stomach pull itself taut and you clenched down around the boy as he swore, head thrown back and neck exposed. 

His hands on your hips only tightened, holding you there so you could adjust and Steve could take a minute to pull himself together. But as always, you became impatient and Steve gave you what you wanted, his touch letting up just enough so you could wiggle experimentally over his cock. The soft scratch of his coarse hair pressed against your clit just right as you started a slow grind over him, every inch of his cock snug inside of you. 

Steve lost it almost immediately, panting and cursing until the windows steamed up and the air smelled like sex, hair sticking messy to his forehead as he gazed up at you with hooded eyes and pink, parted lips. He ran his mouth the more you moved, dirty moans mixing with hot praise and sweet nothings every time you rocked your hips over his. 

But you gave in almost too quickly, the pleasure too much, legs shaking from the need to have more, to feel more. So you fell into the boy, forehead touching Steve’s and your open mouth lingering over his, parted lips just touching as you keened high, his hands on your ass as he lifted his hips back up to yours. 

“Steve,” your voice was the softest he’d ever heard it, hands fisting the shoulders of his shirt as you clung to him and begged, “please please please, Steve.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed back, voice sticky sweet, lips like honey as they mouth down the column of your throat. “Look at you, fuck, you’re desperate, huh? So pretty,” he murmured, lost in the way he could slide in and out of you so easily, the folds of your cunt sticky wet when he soothed his fingers over your clit, breath hitching when he felt himself push back into you. 

You closed your eyes in response, lashes fluttering shut and fanning over your cheeks, lips parted as you let out quiet moans and Steve knew. He knew you were hiding your eyes from him, ‘cause they were turning glassy, wet and wide and unbelievably fucking pretty, glittering with want and need. 

So he let you tuck your face into the crook of his neck, hands palming at your ass under your dress, fingers digging into the soft skin there as he helped you move up and down on top of him, bouncing you on his dick until you were biting down on the pulse under his skin. 

“That’s it,” he told you, “c’mon, baby, lemme feel it.” 

And maybe it was the intensity of it all, maybe it was the way you were clinging to him like you thought you were going to lose him, maybe it was just that way he knew you’d switched off that protective front. But he didn’t hesitate to keep talking, voice low and hot and hushed in your ear, al whilst fucking himself into you, hips thrusting up from the seat. 

“Needed this,” Steve groaned, “huh? You did, I know, I know. Got yourself all jealous and needed to get your hands on me, yeah?” Steve waited for you to pull back and roll your eyes at him, maybe you’d shove your palms to his chest and take back the control until he was the one whining but only pushed your face closer into his neck, your hands pulling roughly at his hair. 

“Fuck, Christ, fuckfuckfuck,” he gasped out, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck when you clenched down on him again and let out a pretty moan by his ear, fingers tugging impatiently at the curls on the nape of his neck. “Don’t need to be jealous, no, shit, no way… allyoursallyoursallyours.”

You pulled back to kiss him after that, his words tugging at something in your chest and you felt entirely too overwhelmed, feeling too much once and it hurt and it crested and you pushed your lips messily to Steve’s only to gasp out:

“M’gonna— fuck, Steve, please.”

Steve was sure he’d never heard you sound so sweet. He made sure to hold your face with one hand whilst the other thumbed over your clit, a constant, steady circle as he held you by your jaw. No hiding, not anymore. Not for his favourite part. 

He knew it was happening by the way your brow crumpled, the tiny furrow above the bridge of your nose and then your lashes were fluttering. 

“C’mon, pretty thing,” he coaxed roughly, voice a rasp ‘cause he was as desperate as you and he needed to fall apart just as much as you did. “Keep those eyes open for me, know you can do it.”

You whined but did as you were told, hands dropping back to clutch at the boy’s shirt, the front of it created from where you pulled and grabbed. Then Steve pressed down on you a little firmer, thumb slipping over your clit with a slick, dirty sound as he kept pumping himself into you, the filthy noise of skin on skin filling the car between each of your moans. 

Your lips fell apart, your head dropped back, you seized up and cried out and Steve wasted no time as he pulled you into him by the back of your neck, his hips stuttering wildly as he felt you tighten around him, legs shaking as he kissed your lips in whatever way he could as you whispered his name over and over. 

He thought you might glare at him as you pulled yourself back, breathing only just returning to normal. Because how dare he suggest you were jealous? You liked to remind people on a daily basis that you didn’t have emotions, face sullen, eyes on Steve as if you were sharing an inside joke. 

Instead, you reached out to smooth away the messy hair that was sticking to his forehead, your legs still pressed to his and you leaned in to slip your lips between his. A soft kiss, slow and longing and filled with almost as much want and need as there had been at the beginning. When you pulled back - only just - and Steve opened his eyes, he saw that same burning in your gaze, the one you’d usually try to hide, along with the slight lip of your lips, an almost smile. 

Just for him. 

“Mine,” you whispered. 

[dcnatural]

Is There Somewhere

Word Count: 2392

Pairing: Harley Quinn x Poison Ivy

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn meet to finish unfinished business, and Ivy recalls a magical night the duo had shared.

Unless you knew what you were looking for, the Gotham Garden Motel was hard to spot. Squeezed between two warehouses on the road leading to Arkham Island, the building seemed abandoned: the glass of the windows was covered in dust, making it impossible to see anything in the other side; the sign which announced the name of the establishment was missing some letters and the neon lights had long stopped working; the roof was missing a couple of tiles and the white paint was peeling off the outside walls, which were covered by cracks. It was a miracle the place was still standing.

Despite the decrepit state of the motel, its driveway was often filled with cars and people were seen going in and out at a regular basis. If one dared to open the rotten wooden door, they would find themselves inside a shockingly well illuminated reception. It even had a waiting area, which included a tube television and a coffee machine. An employee in a cheap cotton uniform sat behind the large desk, alternating between watching a soap opera and scribbling something on the notebook open in front of them. A door reading “Employees Only” leads into the office, a separated area with two large window panes that could be used to spy on the reception. 

They didn’t ask for IDs and only accepted upfront payments made in cash, the registration was as simple as writing whichever name you wanted in the book and leaving the money. You would then be given a key to your room. This discretion was the main reason behind the motel's popularity. Whether you were a cheating husband, a drug dealer or a high tier super criminal, if you wanted to have a clandestine meeting, this was the place to come. Everyone who visited the motel was involved in some shady business. The whole premise of the place was that you could come, do your shit and leave, no questions asked.

That's why the clerk didn’t bat an eye when Poison Ivy came striding in through the front entrance, placed a wad of cash in the front desk, signed the visitor’s log, took the key for room 93 and headed to the staircase without saying a word. Nor did the clerk find it unusual when, fifteen minutes later, Harley Quinn burst in and raced upstairs, not even bothering to close the door after her.

Room 93 was located on the fourth floor. Unlike most hotels, which the room’s number indicated their respective floor, the Gotham Garden didn’t use this rationale. Instead, the numbers had been randomly assigned; a brilliant idea that occured to the first owner after getting wasted in a bar downtown. Therefore, there was no intuitive way of finding your room, and the guests were required to carefully read the maps plastered to the walls of the staircase.

While the reception gave the impression of belonging to a decent place, the rest of the hotel matched the state of the outside. The red carpet covering the floor had a thick cover of dust and mold, the lamps in the ceiling were either burned out or flickered inconsistently. Cockroaches crawled around, and one could hear the screeches made by the rats inhabiting the wall. Each door had been painted with a different color, but now the ink was faded and everything looked like a lifeless gray.

Harley verified if the hallway was clear before tapping on the dark-blue door. Dressed in a black hat with a wide brim, overly large star-shaped pink sunglasses and an old trench coat, she looked like the most comical spy in the world.

The knock caused Ivy to jump from her chair, and she stumbled to reach the door. She gave a quick glance at the bathroom mirror to ensure that her vivid red hair was well combed and her shirt was in place. Her heartbeat was frantic and she took a deep breath to calm herself, inhaling the lavender scent of her perfume.

Ivy sighed as she contemplated the girl before her. “Didn’t I tell you to be discreet?”, she complained as Harley skipped inside.

“This is discreet, Pams. No one can recognize me with these glasses. Betcha you wouldn’t have known it was me if I hadn’t told you I was coming disguised”, she replied as she removed the sunglasses and tossed them aside. They skittered through the floor before stopping underneath the wardrobe. 

She then took off her hat, letting her blonde locks cascade down her back. The colorful streaks had been washed off, with only ghostly remnants of pink and blue to evidence the product of Harley’s latest post-break-up-hair-makeover. It only made sense that now that she was back with the Joker she would try to erase any change she had made during their time apart.

The darkened windows didn’t allow much light to pass through and, despite being early afternoon, Ivy had turned on the twin lamp shades that decorated the nightstands, their floral pattern casting shadows in the threadbare arabic rug that covered the floor underneath the bed.

Harley sat in the far end of the bed, back propped against the wall and legs stretched over the mattress. “So, what’d you wanted to talk about, uh?”

Ivy paced around the room, she couldn’t bring herself to look at Harley. “How could you go back to him?”, the words left her mouth in an urgent whisper. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision and she felt the urge to brush them away. Tears were a sign of weakness and weaknesses weren't a luxury she could afford. In fact, the last time she had cried was back when she still was Pamela Isley, on that fateful day that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Her last tears had been shred when she laid on the floor, dying only to be reborn as Poison Ivy.

Harley idly played with her hair, curling it around her well manicured fingers. She didn’t know how to reply to that. Why did she return to the Joker every time? Why did she still love him when all he did was hurt her? She knew it was an abusive relationship, she hadn't spent years training as a shrink for nothing, but she couldn't find the strength in herself to cut him out of her life. For better or for worse, he had shaped her into who she was now. She feared that without his influence in her life, she would go back into being Dr. Harleen Quinzel, and honestly, the prospect of normalcy terrified her.

But she couldn't tell Ivy all of that, so she did what she knew best and created a diversion. "You know, your hair’s fantastic today. Are you using a new shampoo?"

As if moving by their own accord, Ivy's lips curled into a smile. She cursed herself. She should be angry, sad, outraged. But there was something about Harley that always made her let her guard down. Harley had the gift of bringing happiness into Ivy's loneliness. And perhaps that was the reason why that betrayal had hurt so much.

Ivy collapsed into the bed, careful not to get too close to Harley. She wasn't sure if she could deal with so much proximity right now. Not in this bed, at least. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wonder. To travel back to a week ago, before the Joker sweeped in again and took Harley with him. Back to when it had been just the two of them, hiding in this same room while they counted their loot and laughed about the stupidity of the guards of the jewelry story they had just robbed.

That day had awakened something in Ivy, and she had thought that her friend felt the same. But clearly she had been wrong. 

In her mind she relieved it all, every single detail of that fateful day, from the smell of the strawberry bubblegum Harley had been chewing to the sound of gold clittering against gold.

* * *

The first thing Harley had done once they were secured inside the room was to remove her jester suit, the sweaty outfit was sticking to her skin and making her itchy. Stripped to her underwear and tube socks, she had then proceeded to catalogue every single item they had stolen, listing the retail price in a chart. 

Ivy had offered to help, but Harley had her own system and every time the redhead tried to do something she only mixed it all up. So she had given up and was texting her usual fence to ask when they could meet.

"I love this song", Harley shouted when the radio began to play a slow pop ballad. She seemed like a completely different person from the concentrated woman she was seconds ago. Climbing off the bed, she began to dance, with a grace that only the ones who had trained for years were able to do. She moved like air, arms swaying to the rhythm of the music and hips rocking back and forth in matching pace. The whiteness of her skin was a stark contrast to the black and red socks she wore, and Ivy’s gaze lingered on those long and slender legs. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to have those legs tangled around her own body, to have those hands caressing her skin. 

“Come dance with me”, Harley asked, tugging Ivy’s arm and trying to pull her to her feet.

Ivy shook her head. “I don’t dance.”

Harley rolled her eyes and pouted. “Pretty please, for me! It’s boring to dance alone.”

Faced with the other girl’s plea, Ivy couldn’t find in her the strength to say ‘no’ and so she relented, allowing Harley to pull her up. Ivy’s movements were awkward, her body rigid whereas Harley’s was fluid. She misteped and tripped, but Harley was always there to catch her before she fell.

The song ended and another began, and they kept swirling around the room. The soft melody brought them closer, Harley’s arms embracing Ivy’s waist, chests pressed together and faces inches apart. Harley suppressed a yawn, eyelids fluttering shut as exhaustion began to take over. She nestled her head on Ivy’s shoulder, taking advantage of her friend’s taller stature. 

The rest of the world faded away, all that Ivy could think of was the intoxicating feeling of Harley’s lips brushing against her bare skin. Outside, a car passed by, the headlamp shining even through the dirt glass, creating a brief spotlight for the two girls.

A false move caused Harley to trip, and they stumbled, Ivy’s back landing on the saggy mattress with Harley on top of her. For a moment, time stood still. They laid over the white sheets, not moving and barely breathing. A tension hung in the air between them, an unvoiced desire that previously neither had felt. 

Then, before Ivy knew what was happening, Harley leaned down and brought her mouth to Ivy’s, hovering like that for an instant before closing the remaining distance. At first, the touch was light as a feather, barely there. Then, with renewed passion, Harley pressed harder, Ivy’s lips welcoming her. Ivy didn’t protest as Harley slid the strapless leotard out of her body, the garment falling to the floor near where Harley’s own jumpsuit laid.

When Harley pulled away, it was only so she could lay a trail of wet kisses. She sucked, licked and bit every inch of exposed skin, venturing further down with each second. She stopped at Ivy’s navel, looking up in search for permission, and Ivy remembered how to move for just long enough to nod, before collapsing back onto the bed. 

Every nerve in Ivy’s body was on fire. Her mind was numb. She felt nothing but Harley. Harley’s mouth. Harley’s fingers. Harley’s skin. Harley. Harley. Harley. The name echoed in Ivy’s mind with every beat of her heart. Ivy clutched tightly at Harley’s arms, the firmness of the muscles underneath her fingers ensuring her that this wasn’t just part of her imagination. Ivy felt herself coming undone under her friend’s touch. She couldn’t think she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t breath. All her worries and fears that clouded her brain faded away until only Harley was left.

* * *

“Pammy?”

Harley’s voice pulled Ivy back to the present and she snapped her eyes open. “I thought we had something.”

“We did. We do. You are my best friend. I love you. I really do”, there was a note of sadness in Harley's voice as she spoke.

Tears spilled out of the corners of Ivy’s eyes. “But you love him more.”

Harley nodded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”

“No”, Ivy interrupted, sliding out of the bed. “It’s fine. I was foolish to believe you would actually leave him for real. I just wish I could let this go, forget it ever happened.”

She realized now how stupid this had been. Nothing she did could ever change Harley’s mind. She needed to get out of that room, she needed fresh air.

“Ives, come on”, Harley pleaded, rushing to grab Ivy’s arm before she could leave.

Ivy twisted out of her friend’s hold and opened the door. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”

The door closed shut behind Ivy and Harley allowed her body to fall to the floor, back against the scrapped dark blue paint. A sob escaped her lips and she buried her face in her knees, shielding herself from the world. She felt alone. Her best friend had abandoned her. And perhaps I deserve that, Harley thought. She didn’t know which was her worst mistake: falling in love with the Joker or with Ivy.

Outside, Ivy inhaled the fresh afternoon air and began the long walk back to the Botanical Garden. She hadn’t meant to fall in love that night, but now it was done and there’s no way of fixing it. She wished Harley could leave the Joker, not just out of jealousy but because she knew her friend deserved better. I could offer her better.

The dusk had settled over Gotham when a figure wearing a trench coat and hat left the Gotham Garden Motel. She opened the door to a green car and, with the motor rumbling, she took off into the darkness.

[sterekchub]

Getting cursed or something like that (could be whatever) but leads to stiles expanding bigger and bigger and Derek gets all hot and bothered

It’s super short! Just getting thoughts out of my head in my free time at work :) 

Beacon Hills annual County Fair was the only excitement intown over the summer. It was only a couple of ride intermixed with plenty offood and various vendors, and overall had a rather sad turnout, but Stiles andScott went faithfully every year.

A booth is set up with a badly written Madame May’s Potions on apiece of cardboard. The older woman sat behind the booth reaches out and grabs Stiles’wrist as he passes

“You look like a young man in love. Want to impress someone?Become what they’ve always desired?”

She holds up a small vial of violently pink liquid.

“No thanks,” Scott said hurridly.

“Totally have to have it,” Stiles laughs. “It’s probablyjust sugar water or something.”

“This is a bad idea. You don’t mess around with witches.”

“It’s the County Fair. Not like there are real witchessitting in booths all day to make a few bucks.” Stiles hands the woman somemoney, uncorks the vial – which despite the color sadly tastes nothing likebubblegum – and then promptly passes out.

Scott moans. “Derek is going to murder me.”

***

Stiles wakes up, groggily opens his eyes to see Derekglaring down at him, and quickly shuts them again.

“Um…I’m sorry?”  

“You’re an idiot!” Derek roars. “What possessed you to drinkan unknown potion from a witch!”

“It was just a carnival! I figured it was like palm readingor something. How was I supposed to know she was a real witch?”

“You run around with a bunch of werewolves,” Derek snarls,“maybe that should have given you a clue.”

“Maybe if you actually used your words and told me what youwere into I wouldn’t have been tempted!”

Scott interrupts them. “I’ll take the vial to Deaton and seeif he can figure anything out and then Erica and Boyd and I will track down thecarnival to the next town over. She’s probably still there.”

Stiles waits until they leave before the turns to Derek.“So, if this does work, what’s going to happen? Wait – if you’re into werewolfsex will I turn?”

“Stuff you should have thought of before drinking unknownsubstances.”

“So you do have a thing for werewolves. Fully shifted? Wolf form?Or – ”

“ – I don’t have a werewolf kink, Stiles.”

“So what is it?”

“Guess you’ll find out.”

“Funny. You know you don’t have to be embarrassed, right?”Stiles puts a hand on Derek’s arm. “Seriously. I’m pretty open to everything. Imean, not everything, obviously. I’d prefer not to be a big, fuzzy wolf but, hey, wecould figure something out.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m going to talk to Deaton.”

“I bet it’s a leather or bondage kink!” Stiles shouts afterhim.

“No, Stiles.”

***

Derek wakes up when Stiles tries to silently untangle himselffrom the bedsheets and get dressed. It takes him a good few seconds to shimmythe pants up around his thighs and then even longer to get his jeans to fasten.Derek feels slightly guilty at the small thrill of arousal he feels watching,made only worse as Stiles begins to curiously grab the small amount of pudgearound his waist. He was nowhere near being chubby, just slightly softer thanbefore. Stiles keeps squeezing his newly softened body, moving from his stomachto his chest and then to his love handles.

Derek lets out a strangled from the bed. “Stiles.”

Stiles turns around and flings himself onto the bed next tohim. “Dude. This is way better than becoming a wolf. And this totally explainsall the staring while I’m eating! Last week at the pack meeting you lookedready to bend me over the table.”

“You ate almost an entire pizza, Stiles.”

“I was hungry. Scott dared me. You don’t just turn down atriple dog dare.”

“You are actually twelve.”

“Yep,” Stiles replies, popping the ‘p,” “and a twelve yearold who now knows you have a total chubby kink!”

“I didn’t want to tell you for a reason.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to watch me eat an entire boxof donuts right now?”

“No. You don’t need to do that just because you think I’minto it.”

“You have no idea good with this I am. Like, soon-board. I would have gained weight years ago except, broke college studentbudget and all that. I’m a little upset this was all the potion did…it doesn’teven jiggle.” He pokes at the fat resting on top of his waistband. “Unless youlike me only at this size?”

“Stiles, I’m finewith you at any size. Deaton said it was her idea of a practical joke andshould only last a few days. ”

“But if I was to try to put on a little more weight…”

He can smell Stiles arousal at the thought. Derek gets tohis feet and wraps an arm around Stiles’ waist, dragging him back to the bed. Hewould have no objection to seeing Stiles bigger. Flabbier. More for Derek tograb onto it.

“You’re still skinny,” he growls.

Stiles grins. “We can fix that.”

***

The next morning, Stiles’ jeans are inches away from even buttoning.

“So I think the potion might still be working.”

“Lay down and suck it in.” Stiles does and it takes a fewseconds of struggling, but he manages to get them buttoned. He pokes at hismuffin top

“Or maybe I’m just bloated from yesterday.”

“I’ll pick up some bigger clothes, just to be safe, and wecan talk to Deaton tomorrow.”

“Can we get food first? I’m starving.”

Derek agrees, trying not to watch the slight wobble in Stiles’ step as he walks around. Even watching Stiles walk to the car drives him crazy. Stilescan’t have gained more than thirty pounds in the last two days, but the suddenadded mass to his form has given him a slight waddle in his gait. Stiles decidedto wear the tightest jeans possible, his chubby sides spilling out, not quitebeing hidden by an equally tight shirt. Every time he raised his arms, theshirt rode up over his gut. Stiles just grins at Derek and pulls it back down,as if he knows Derek is fighting the urge to pull him back to bed so he cantouch every inch of Stiles and his belly.

They go to a diner a few miles out of Beacon Hills ratherthan chance anyone noticing Stiles’ sudden weight gain.

Stiles orders a burger with fries and a milkshake. Derekdoes his best not to stare, but Stiles eats like he has been starving. When he’sfinished eating, he waves down the waitress.

“Can I get another burger?” He rubs his stomach, smilingslyly at Derek. “One just isn’t enough for me.”

The waitress leaves and Stiles starts fidgeting under thetable.

“What are you doing?”

“My pants are really right,” he lets out a small sigh as hisbelly surges forward. Derek feels his entire body temperature rise. “Going tohave to get bigger sizes if I keep eating like this.”

“If you keep eatinglike this?”

“Dude, tell me you haven’t been staring at me all daywanting to grab this.” He shakes his gut, laughing at the red flush thatcrosses Derek’s face. “Imagine another twenty? Or fifty?”

Derek’s eyes flash as he shifts in his seat, wishing theywere back at his loft. “Only fifty? Eating like this every day you’ll be morethan that, Stiles.”

“I’m up for the challenge.”

“So greedy,” Derek smirks, “no wonder you’re getting fat.”

***

Derek notices when he wakes up his arms are once againwrapped around a much thinner body. He quietly slips out of bed and getsdressed for work, sending a quick text to Stiles before he leaves.

looks like it woreoff. call me if anything comes up.

Derek is sitting through yet another long and unnecessarymeeting when his phone buzzes, indicating Stiles must have finally woken up.  

something came up.Out of chocolate chips

He sends Derek an accompanying picture of a towering stack of pancakes smothered in maple syrup and whipped cream. Derek excuses himself early from work to bring Stiles lunch. 

[theoddcatlady]

School Days

It was never easy telling someone their ‘perfect little angel’ was a bit of a monster. Especially when said ‘angel’ was likely this way due to improper parenting.

I knew this would be the case the moment I brought up Rachel’s behavioral issues to her mother, Eliza Jane.

Eliza was the daughter of a wealthy recluse, their family had been involved in medical business for apparently the last century. They owned several hospitals and even helped design some of the newest state of the art equipment. Things that could create the absolute smallest incisions with no scarring.

But with wealth can come pride. Entitlement.

“This isn’t a laughing matter, ma’am. We need to talk about your daughter’s behavior towards others.”

I’m not going to lie, Eliza’s appearance made my skin crawl. It wasn’t the albinism, not really. It was the fact she wore such thick black wigs that contrasted so sharply with her skin and made her look like a doll made of china. The large pink eyes and frail frame didn’t help.

Eliza lowered her hand, she had stopped giggling but a smile was still on her face. “I’m really not sure there’s a problem, Ms. Matthews,” She said, her voice so soft it was barely above a whisper. I always had to strain my ears to hear her.

I pressed my lips firmly together. “Mrs. Snow. If this was just a strong willed child, I’d overlook and even guide such emotion into a constructive outlet. But this is different. Rachel is in the second grade and she still throws a tantrum at the smallest thing that does not go the way she wants it.”

“She’s used to getting her way at home, that’s all.”

I wanted to scream. Deep breath, I cannot scream at parents, I love my job, I just hate the bad parents. “That… that is not a trait that should be encouraged. Especially when interacting with others. This week alone, she’s slapped three other girls for wanting to play something other than toss the ball.”

The temptation to scream just grew stronger as Eliza shrugged. “She knows what she deserves, and she wants to get it,” She said, as if that should explain everything.

“It’s not how I run things in my classroom.” Put the foot down. Be stern. But kind. “Your daughter can follow your rules at home, but here, she needs to play nicely with others. She’s one of my most intelligent students, she can learn to follow the rules.”

Eliza cocked her head to the side. “But what if she doesn’t want to?” She questioned.

What the actual hell.

“… I’m afraid that’s not an option. Not to mention Rachel’s violent temper has crossed a line today.” The reason I finally had to call in her parents. I still had no idea where Mr. Snow was. Eliza said he didn’t like to leave the house, but I think I just got blown off. “During a disagreement with a classmate, Rachel took a pair of scissors and started hacking away at the other’s hair and face. It’s lucky she didn’t take out an eye. The parents won’t be pressing charges,” likely because the Snow family would bury them in lawyers, “but this is dangerous. If she’d had something sharper, or had gone for the neck, it might not just be a few stitches and some ice to help the other girl heal. Now, I’m going to be clear. If there is one more infraction from Rachel, I’m going to have her suspended and talk with the staff about a permanent expulsion. She might only be a little girl, but the seriousness of the attack against her classmate is far enough.”

I felt the temperature of the room drop as Eliza’s eyes narrowed and she frowned. For several seconds, she stared me down, before she finally sighed and stood. “If that’s how it must be… I suppose Rachel should study from home now. Away from students who have such a disrespect for her.”

I was blown away by the utter denial of this mother. Every parent loves their child, but Rachel was a down right sociopath! Before I could recommend therapy for the child, Eliza walked out in a huff. As if she was the one who had her time wasted.

Well, that settled that. After clearing up the classroom a bit and making sure the doors were locked, I headed out.

God, I could use a smoke. I’d mostly kicked the habit after college, but every now and then the itch crawled in the back of my throat. I had a pack in my car for days like this. I made my way over to my car and pulled out my keys, only to drop them as I attempted to put them in the lock. I groaned and went to my knees to pick them up.

When I looked under my car I saw a pair of legs on the other side.

With a startled scream, I jumped back up and backed away.

There was no one there.

After running around the car a few times, armed with my keys between my fingers, I realized I’d been paranoid and seeing things. Kicking myself, I opened my car door and got inside.

Screw today. I could use a smoke now. I pulled one out of my glove compartment and lit up right there.

When my head started to spin like the globe in my classroom, I realized my cigarette had a funny taste.

I woke up chained by my wrists, neck, and ankles to a desk in a windowless room.

“Ms. Matthews! Ms. Matthews!”

A wadded up ball of paper bounced off my head. I groaned and attempted to get up. The shackles on my ankles tightened considerably and started to cut my skin until I sat back down with a bump.

Everything in this classroom was old fashioned, from the desks the two children sat at to the chalkboard. I glanced around wildly, but there was no sign of another person other than the children, who were clearly free.

And one of them was Rachel.

“Hi, Ms. Mathews!” Rachel waved. “This is my cousin, Marshall! He’s my age!”

The boy got up and bowed. “How do you do,” He said before he said, those shiny blue eyes looking like a plastic toy’s.

My face felt cold. So did my hands. I swallowed before I spoke. “Rachel? Where am I?” I asked.

“My private classroom! Mother said I could use a private tutor!” Rachel said with a giggle. She wadded up another piece of paper before tossing it at my face. “Now teach us! Teach us! Marshall’s last tutor had to be sent into the garden, so teach us both!”

I shook my head. No way. This could not be happening. This could not be happening to me. This had to be some form of gruesome nightmare.

Rachel sighed before looking at Marshall. “Show me that thing you did to the servant who stepped on your shoe, I wanna see it…” She whined.

Marshall beamed before he stood up, going into a crafts box on a shelf and pulling out a pair of scissors. “I had a knife to do it last time, but the scissors will do,” He said before walking to my side and yanking on the chain.

The chains pulled me flat against the desk, whamming me in the forehead so hard I saw stars. I groaned in pain, but it was nothing to what happened next.

I felt the scissors clutch the skin between my thumb and pointer before it snipped down. I screamed in agonizing pain, unable to move due to how tight the chain was pulled. Marshall laughed as he moved onto the next finger, snipping until my left hand was entirely mutilated.

I smelled his bubblegum toothpaste as he leaned down beside me.

“Teach us before I move onto the other hand.”

When I was allowed to sit up, I clutched my mutilated fingers to my chest, sobbing. I’d always been weak to pain. Marshall was back at his desk, smiling as ever.

“First lesson is mathematics, yes? I wanna work on division today, get up to the board and show us some division!”

The shackles on my ankles clenched so tightly I felt blood running down into my socks as I forced myself to the board. It was too painful to write with my dominant hand. I had to start getting used to writing left handed. I had no choice.

“R… right, let’s start with the basics… cut up a pie in so many pieces…”