#who am i kidding with that tag. i barely post about my fics

[outtathisworld-imagines]

Masterpiece

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Pairing: James Buchanan Barnes x F!Reader

Warning: Fluff, some angst and violence, pregnancy mention, suggestive themes, like two swears, secret marriage trope always has me in a chokehold. Flashbacks are blocks of italic! Not proofread 🥲

A.N: Lol sorry this is a long one and I even cut it down 🥲

Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

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“I’m almost thirty years old mother, I don’t need a babysitter.” You grumbled sitting next to her, she was too distracted with her phone to pay attention to you. “I need to get back to my work.”

“Hmm, oh, yes. I know.” She just about managed to shoot you a smile for a second before being engrossed with the screen again. “But I’d rather be safe than sorry, you’ll be under surveillance just until things settle down. The team are trustworthy,” she paused and placed her phone on her lap. “Most of the team are relatively trustworthy.” Your brow almost shot to the roof of the car from your forehead. “Don’t give me that look, dear. There’s reports that your shadow security team has been compromised- that’s a risk I cannot take.” She sounded like she actually cared.

You sighed and sunk into the seat even further, your hand mindlessly going to the chain around your neck with a gold band attached to it. A remedy to soothe your anxious thoughts.

She was right, you had heard rumours but didn’t want to believe it, you thought your drastically different career choice to your mother would distance yourself from trouble. How wrong you were.

Your relationship with her was an odd, distanced one. She barely knew anything about your life since you became virtually estranged from her after your father’s death, both of you engrossing your time in your respective careers to cope with the grief.

She publicly rose to the top in the world of security, you hid away in an art gallery in the lower east side selling and curating pieces. It was in your art gallery you met the love of your life, a love transitioning from getting slices of pizza after he visited the gallery to standing at the end of an aisle as you became husband and wife.

Just the two of you. The world didn’t know about you both- it was the safest option- especially with his past and his evolving future.

You followed her through the building, an unknowing feeling in the pit of your stomach. “How long am I going to be here for?” You asked.

“Until it’s safe.” She sternly replied, not giving you any choice in the matter as she lead you into a living area. “It might be worthwhile staying away from the gallery for a few weeks too-“ you opened your mouth to protest and she held up a finger to silence you. “No, Y/N, no. Not until we have the all clear.” She stubbornly put her foot down and your shoulders fell as well as your face, plastered now with a frown at her words. “I’ve summoned them all here to meet you.”

“How did they even find out who we are to each other?” You asked.

She shrugged “These people, Y/N. They will do anything to find something that is your weakness.” She said and you almost felt touched that you were a weakness of hers, a once frosty demeanour thawing in front of your eyes. “Plus they can access most records for a high enough price- must have done that with mine. Likely my medical records and that’s how they have eventually tracked you down.”

Yelena was walking with Bucky, the others trailing behind them as they went to meet with Valentina. “She’s wanting a security detail on her daughter,” she explained.

Bucky let out a snort “Daughter? I had no idea she had kids?” He replied.

“Just the one apparently.” John added as they approached the doors.

You turned as the door opened, your eyes locking to one person in particular. It had been three months since you saw him in person.

The one person you promised to have and to hold, the person whose hand you held while making that promise, who you shared an unbreakable vow with, for better and for worse.

Till death.

—•—

Three years ago…

It was his therapist that suggested art, he wasn’t quite sure why, but he had found himself one day outside a virtually empty gallery- aside from one person standing inside. He almost attempted going to the Metropolitan museum or another large gallery, but he didn’t want to be amongst the crowds. He opened the door, a bell gently dinging as he stepped through the door.

“Hello, can I help you?”

Bucky politely smiled “I just wanted to look at some of the art of that was okay?”

“Sure! Just let me know if you need a hand with anything.” You got back to typing an email for a client interested in a piece. Bucky took you in for a moment, the well tailored dress and pristine hair and makeup.

Almost as if you were a piece of art on display too.

He slowly wandered around the space, each piece of art as interesting as the next. He just didn’t know how. He cleared his throat to grab your attention, your head raised up with a smile and you walked over to him. “How can I help?”

“What is this supposed to make you feel?” He asked, pointing at a painted scene in front of him.

You smirked and shook your head. “I can’t tell you that, that’s been you and the art.”

Bucky tightly smiled, his head dropping as if to silently say ‘Of course that’s the answer’.

“I can help you try to understand it through something I do if that would help?” You suggested. Bucky agreed, happy enough to try anything if it would assist him, not just with the art but his journey through therapy too. “Okay, I always find it best if you sit,” you pointed to the small seating blocks behind you.

Bucky chortled “I thought that was art too,” you giggled and encouraged him to sit.

“I look at it for at least solid ten seconds, edge to edge and everything in between.” You say focused, Bucky mirrored you. “Then I close my eyes so my vision is not blurring my feelings.” You did just that and Bucky followed suit. “Does this help?”

A new surge of emotion washed over Bucky like the finish on the painting. “It does.” He was beyond amazed.

You opened your eyes again and watched him for a moment, a soft smile dancing over your face. It always brought you such joy seeing someone truly enjoy art for the first time. It was a bonus if they were as cute as he was. “I rotate my pieces on a weekly basis, most things sell but I get new pieces in each Thursday. You can pop by anytime to view them.”

Bucky opened his eyes, pleasantly surprised to find you looking at him. “I’ll do just that.”

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” You extended your hand out to shake his.

“I’m James Barnes, but you can call me-“

—•—

“Bucky?”

Your voice was tight. Surprised and shocked…and feeling very on the spot all of a sudden.

“You know each other?” Valentina asked, her eyes darting between both you and the super solider.

‘I thought I did,’ you both had the same thought running through your mind.

Bucky opened his mouth to reply but you quickly got in there first. “From when I read about him,” you practically vomited your words. “Yanno, online and…stuff.” She slowly nodded, not wanting to address the new tension in the room.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Yelena,” a girl with blonde hair introduced herself to you with a smile “Welcome to your temporary home.”

You bashfully smiled, your stomach feeling like it had the weight of the tower you were standing in pressed on it. “Thank you, I’m Y/N…” you briefly paused, unsure what one of the plethora of surnames you could go by to use. “Y/N Y/L/N,” your father’s surname was a safe, old faithful. You saw the face of your mother droop ever so lightly at the mention of it.

“I’ll show you to your room, Y/N, you’re in good hands here.” Ava smiled and you followed her down the hall, your eyes meeting Bucky’s again and seeing a whirlpool of emotions in them.

“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart! I hope you settle in well!” Val lightheartedly shouted to you before intensely scowling at the thrown together team, shooting them a deadly glare. “Keep. Her. Safe.” She bit out with a pointed finger. “Because I promise you there will be dire consequences none of you will want to face if she’s put in any danger.”

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” Bucky lowly spoke and Val turned her attention to him. Bucky’s head suddenly spiralling at being thrown this new information.

Val hummed “Yes, well, now you do. I expect her to have someone with her at all times, ideally, she doesn’t leave this tower until everything is sorted. I’ll be in touch.” She turned on her heel and the clipping noise slowly disappeared with her.

The team turned to Bucky. “You okay?” Yelena asked with a tone laced in concern.

Bucky nodded, swallowing thickly with a tight smile. The wedding band hanging from his dog tags suddenly feeling like it was weighing him down.

—•—

Two years ago…

Since the day he stepped through the doors of the gallery, Bucky had visited each week since, every Thursday for new art.

He was becoming a permanent fixture in your gallery.

You were leading him through as you often did, being his personal guide on a weekly basis. Bucky even had bought a few of the specialty curated pieces you sourced for him on visits. “This is a new one from-“

“Do you wanna get dinner?”

He quickly asked, as fast and erratic as the Jackson Pollock hanging in the corner of the gallery space. You blinked, you could see his chest racing almost dangerously fast as he kept facing forward at a painting. You smiled, biting down on your lip at his offer.

“Like actual dinner and not Pizza from Milo’s on the corner?” He reiterated and you giggled.

“I’d love to.”

And that’s how it officially started. Dinners became more frequent, then drinks every now and then afterwards, then one night back to yours and then nights at his and so on.

Months later you found yourself wrapped in his arms, both of you bare and catching your breaths, his most recent painting purchase at the end of the bed. “Do you make your own art?” He asked while looking at it.

You glanced up to him with a small, yet sad smile. “Not really, not often. I don’t have much time to dedicate to that too if I’m being honest.” You admitted. “The gallery is my focus.”

“What got you into art?” He asked, your late night talkings becoming more and more meaningful and deeper as your relationship developed.

You deeply sighed with a lazy smile, appreciative he was so interested in you. “My parents were polar opposites in supporting my passion, my mother was absolutely against it while my dad always pushed me to pursue what I loved. I stayed with my dad most of the time after the divorce, we went to the MET gallery every Sunday morning with pencils and papers and would draw one painting each before going to a diner for pancakes. We did that right up until he died when I was twenty.” Your smile had fallen a little and Bucky gently stroke your cheek to soothe the ache he knew you carried.

“What about your mom?”

—•—

Bucky quietly yet frantically knocked on your bedroom door, you opened it and hastily pulled him in. “She’s your mom?!” He quietly yelped “You didn’t think to bring up that Valentina- the most prolific person tied to this country’s security- is your mother?” He ran a hand through his hair “Jesus, I knew you had a strained relationship with her but now I know why.”

“Do you think it’s that easy to drop into conversation?!” You just as quietly argued back, unsure of the volume tolerance between the walls. “And, hold on just a minute, you work for her?!”

Bucky swallowed “I work adjacent to her,” he calmly replied. “Besides that’s not the point here-“

“All those ‘trips’ to Washington? How many were actually to here? To carry out her dirty work-“ he cut you off, just as you did to him.

“I try to help keep this country safe! It’s above board!” He snapped back and you felt rage surge through your veins.

With a huff you turned and walked to the window “You didn’t answer the first question.” Your voice was faltering. The facade was cracking from the whirlwind of emotions you had faced within the last few hours. “I thought you were still part of congress.”

You heard his footsteps approach you “I was just trying to protect you- protect us!” He said. “I wanted to keep you safe.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” A tear slipped down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away. “I would have understood, I’m your wife, Bucky. I would have supported you.”

“I could ask the same,” your head snapped around. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged a shoulder “Val- my mom and me- it’s just hard to sometimes wrap my head around, never mind dragging someone else into it. I wanted to protect you too, I didn’t want to draw attention to us incase anyone got to you.” Bucky’s eyes softened and he approached you with open arms. “I was trying to make sure it would always be just us.” A promise you both made the night he proposed.

Both your hearts in the right place.

He pressed a long kiss to your temple. “I missed you,” he admitted. “Everything’s okay. It still is just us.” He pulled back a little and tried to reassure you with a smile “Even if you did read about me online…” he teased and you playfully rolled your eyes before he placed a gentle kiss against your lips.

He felt you smile, his body melting against yours as it always did. “I like what you’ve done with your hair,” you pulled back taking a proper look at him. He smiled, reaching for the engagement and wedding ring kept safe under your top on your chain. He brought them to his lips and kissed them “I missed you too, so much.”

You then took in your room and sighed, he noticed. “You want me to grab some home comforts for you? I can go down to your apartment, get whatever you want.”

Your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness. “I’ve got some stuff with me, but I’d love my blanket actually,” you let out a broken bubble of a laugh “I sleep with it every night because it still smells like you…” you softly spoke. “I know we’ll have to maintain a distance here-“

“Anytime you need me for anything, even if it’s just a minute together, you got all mine.” He said, his hand gently cupping your face. “I’ll head now, you can spend some time with the guys and get to know them if you like? They are actually okay.” Bucky smiled to himself before turning serious. “Expect Walker.” He deadpanned and you laughed.

“I love you.” You called out to him just before he vanished from your line of sight.

Bucky turned with a smile “I love you too.”

—•—

One year ago…

“What’s all this then?”

When you walked into his one evening there was a table set up clad with arts and craft supply’s and lit by candlelight, a bottle of your favourite wine chilling at the end.

“Well I had seen it online and was talking about it with my therapist and Sam, it’s a ‘Paint and sip’ night. I thought you’d enjoy it?” He nervously licked his lips. “Do you?”

You absorbed in the tiny little details you knew Bucky meticulously thought about, a smile forming on your face just as quick as the tears of joy in your eyes. “I love it,” you quietly said and embraced him in a hug.

You sat down on opposite sides of the table and got started. “I thought we could manifest through art?” Bucky had said. “What your thoughts and feelings are and show each other at the end…?”

You nodded and started painting, he nervously picked up a brush and started on his own canvas with a trembling hand. He occasionally glanced up to you, saw your brow creasing in focus at points before you caught his gaze and smiled at him, his worries melting away. “I’m ready if you are.”

“I am,” he said.

“Are we doing a countdown or…?” Your fingers eagerly rested on your canvas.

“You first,” Bucky encouraged and you turned around your painted picture. “Is that us?” He warmly grinned and you nodded with a smile.

“That’s what I manifest. I manifest us.” You confessed. “I love you, I love that you did this for me. It means so much.”

Bucky reached across the table and squeezed your hand too before revealing his masterpiece to you.

It was a picture of a ring.

“This is what I manifest.” Bucky’s voice shook. “I manifest us too.” He stood up, your chest was thumping erratically as he came beside you and got down on one knee, causing your breath to hitch. “You make me feel more than any piece of art ever could. More than anything in this world- period.” He presented a ring to you, just like the one he painted. “Will you marry me?

—•—

“I can help with dinner,” you said, the team’s eyes on you now as you stood awkwardly by the door. “Please, I wanna feel useful.”

Yelena nodded and encouraged you forward “You can help Bob with the table if you like?” You happily accepted, wanting to repay the team for being forced to watch you. You grabbed some plates and took them into the dining room.

Bob was there already sorting out some cutlery. “Oh, hi!” He waved “Thanks for bringing the plates through.”

“That’s okay, I’m happy to help,” you placed them on the table. You knew a little bit about Bob, what your mother was responsible for, it made your heart sink with guilt. “I’m sorry for what she did to you,” you quietly spilled your internal thoughts.

Bob twiddled with his fingers before setting a place “It’s not your fault, besides, I signed up for it.” He told you. “I was in a bad place and I thought it would help.” The sigh that left his lungs reached your ears.

You paused and an idea popped into your head.

“Have you considered art?”

When Bucky reached your apartment, an uneasy feeling suddenly washed over his skin. He glanced over his shoulder not noticing anything out of the ordinary.

He grabbed one of the holdalls from your closet and grabbed things you might need. Blanket of course, some extra clothes and the canvas of the ring he painted for that hung by your bed, he wanted to make your space in the watchtower feel a little more like home.

He did a double check over and that’s when he noticed a little red light, hidden but not hidden well. A camera. He picked it up and squinted at it before unplugging it and placing it in his pocket.

When he went back downstairs and locked up again, he recognised two men from before he entered in the same black car. When they caught him looking they drove away.

But not before he got a photo of the license plate.

—•—

6 months ago…

“I’m hoping to run for congress.” He told you one night over dinner.

Your eyes widened and so did your smile, not letting any of your internal worries for him show as you played with your engagement and wedding ring. “That’s amazing, Buck! I’m so happy for you!” You hoped he would be safe, you needed him to be safe. With Bucky’s past, you knew his future- especially a political one- would be just as dangerous. Maybe you could make a call that would ensure that he would be kept safe.

Your internal pondering was cut short as he continued. “Lots of visits to Washington…” he paused. “Some even say that buying somewhere is ideal.”

You swallowed hard, enough for him to notice. “Washington isn’t that far. We can make it work.”

He nodded, his eyes falling to the table. “I want to keep you safe. I want to make sure you’re safe.” He said and you nodded, understanding that to the world he was still the winter solider and you were a gallery owner but with each other you could and would be husband and wife.

You reached across to him, your hands meeting in the middle. “Then let’s just keep it between us and our two witnesses. The less people know the better. The safer.”

—•—

Bucky watched as you paced on the phone a few days later. Being stuck for four days in the tower was starting to drive you insane. You did have moments of respite, nights being held by Bucky before he snuck back to his own room. You also did some painting with Bob, talking to him about art as you did, it made you feel close to your gallery despite being stuck inside.

“You okay?” He asked as you tossed down your phone and then yourself on the sofa, just the two of you in the living room.

“I need to get to the gallery,” you said and he looked at you with concern.

“Y/N…”

“James…” you used the same tone back at him. “But seriously, I gotta go because my insurance won’t cover me if anything happens with the art on the walls if I close for a period of time. I told them it could be a month and they said I’m not covered unless the artwork is in the safe.” You huffed, running a hand through your hair.

Bucky pulled you to him, pecking your forehead before you rested against his chest. “I can go, get everything put away for you.”

“Has to be me, I have a biometric finger-pad along with the lock on my safe. Only I can access it.” Bucky held you tighter, of course that was the case.

You heard footsteps and pulled away from each other, acting as casually as possible. Bucky looked to you and then his band of misfits. “Guys, there’s something we need to do.”

You were grateful they accompanied you.

All of them.

You appreciated the hands helping you out as you cleared the gallery walls, Bob asking the odd question about a piece, Yelena already picking out something she wanted to buy, Alexei and John trying to understand a contemporary surrealist piece, and Ava taking note of what you had going into the safe. Your heart was striped raw just as much as the space you stood in. “Hey,” Bucky pulled you from your thoughts “That’s everything.” You sharply nodded, Bucky noticing the tears starting to gloss over your eyes. “You’ll back here soon,” he tried to assure, trying to sound certain for your sake before whispering “We’ll be back here together soon.”

“I’m just gonna lock the safe, won’t be a minute.” You went to the back of the gallery and listened for the soft click to confirm the safe had closed. You gathered your things from your desk, your eyes catching the light of your security camera suddenly going off. “Huh..” you muttered to yourself.

Suddenly a barrage of gunfire went off and you fell to the floor of your office screaming. You could hear Bucky yelling and you frantically tried to get to your husband. You were picked up into Alexei’s arms along with Bob. “We need to get you out of here!” You burrowed yourself into him as you were taken back to the car you all came to your gallery in, Alexei practically throwing you in the footwell of the backseat as he pulled out a gun and shot at someone following you. “Guys! Let’s go she’s out!” The team all reconvened in the car as John drove from the scene, Ava carried out another task with Yelena. Bob was in the backseat with you, Bucky was trying not to let his mask slip but his jaw and fists clenched with every sob from your mouth. He was desperate to comfort you.

When you arrived at the watchtower, you remained in the car. Bucky, ignoring the puzzled glares from the team carried you back bridal style to your room as you cried into the crook of his neck and gripped onto your shirt. He shut the door with his foot and placed you down on the bed. “Baby,” he lay you down before he engulfed you in a hug as you brokenly sobbed into him, asking a never ending string of ‘why’s’.

You pulled away from him “I wanna be alone.” Your voice shook “I need to be alone.” You asked in an almost demanding tone. Bucky suddenly understanding where you got certain quips from. Despite you not looking like Valentina, you sure had traits of her personality at times. Bucky nodded in understanding, placing a kiss to your cheek before doing as you asked.

He shut the door as you shut him out.

Bucky remained close however, he sat by your door until you were ready. The sound of clacking heels drew his attention from his feet to his mother-in-law Val. “Where is she? Is she okay?!” He had never seen her look so fearful before.

“She’s in there, wants to be alone.” He replied.

Valentina ignored him and pounded on your door, rattling the handle that you had locked from the other side. “Honey, it’s mom, can I come in?” She called. “Please, sweetie.” She thudded in the door again. Then a little harder.

Bucky sighed as he stood and walked off, Valentina not even glancing twice as she pleaded with the door. He caught up with Ava and Yelena before going out and picking you up something he knew would make you feel a little better. An hour later he arrived back with dumplings, Valentina was on her knees still begging you to open up, dried tears on her face.

Bucky knocked your door this time. “I got you dumplings from the place you like on the outskirts of Chinatown.” Valentina’s brow creased at his words before stiffening at the sound of your door unlocking.

The second she saw you she wrapped her arms around you. “Oh my sweet girl, I’m here. You’re okay.” She peppered kisses on your temples. Bucky saw how drained you were, how you looked like you were on the verge of crying yourself to sleep before he called out to you. Your mother led to your bed, holding onto you tightly, you glanced up to Bucky with heavy eyes as he passed you the takeout box.

He left you with her and sat outside by your door again.

An hour later she emerged. She closed the door, letting you rest after falling asleep while crying. She looked at Bucky who stood as she emerged. “I want every single one of them dead. I don’t care how you do it- just get it done.” Bucky had seen many looks from Valentina- just not this one. A new, cold, darker demeanour that even terrified him. A look of a mother willing to do anything to protect their child.

“Ava and Yelena got one. He’s in the basement.”

Her expression turned to an unreadable one, Bucky feeling ill at the sight. She turned on her heels and made her way to the basement. “Well, why didn’t you tell me about our…guest.” She malignly spat out.

“Woah, Val, are you sure seeing them is a good idea? You’re upset-“

“I’m perfectly fine,” she said calmly. “Or I will be when I watch you and your group of misfits break every single bone in their body for traumatising my girl.” She tightly smiled and walked to the elevator, Bucky followed. “Yanno, I’m glad you care about her, weird that it’s so intense, god, it’s really full on.” She shifted in the spot she stood. “She could have picked anyone,” she started speaking, watching the numbers go down as they approached the basement. “I’m glad she picked you.” The air left Bucky’s lungs and he slowly turned to look at her, a smug smile on her face. “Oh c’mon, you thought I didn’t know?” She snorted while raising her brows. “Just confirmed it for me seeing the rings around her neck tonight.”

“Val-“

“Was she beautiful?” She asked. Her eyes giving her away as a tear slipped down her cheek. Bucky jolted his head, silently prompting her to elaborate. “On the wedding day. I know she would have been but I just-“ she sighed. “Was she beautiful?”

“Beautiful doesn’t even cut it…” he quietly said as he reminisced, mentally picturing you at the end of the aisle and then eating wedding cake in your pyjamas the next morning for breakfast.

The doors opened and Val strode to the interrogation room. “Just wait until I get my hands on his son of a bitch.” She hissed.

“Her apartment was bugged too, they are still getting images from a camera I found there, I think they have tailed her for a while. Got a photo of a licence plate that they are running too.” He kept up with Val’s hastily walk “As soon as we get anything-” the two of them were suddenly brought to a halt. Frozen in place. The door to the room was wide open and the shooter they captured was gone. Val rushed in and found a note on the table that read: ‘You take one of ours, we take yours.’

—•—

Three months ago…

“Out of all of the sights in Washington,” you snaked your arms around Bucky’s waist as you approached him from behind as he made breakfast. “This is the best one.”

You felt the low hum from a laugh under his breath “What you after, gorgeous?” He turned around and captured your lips. “Another round?” He smirked, hands roaming over your bare frame as you wore nothing but his dress shirt. You giggled against his passionate kisses, four months had passed since you took your vows, a month since he left to pursue his political career.

He grabbed your thighs with his strong hands and you jumped, legs wrapped around his waist. He led you back to the bedroom and laid you on the bed, kissing down the valley between your breasts. “Jeez at this rate I’m gonna end up-“ you cut yourself short with a clearing throat. Bucky noticed.

“Gonna end up what?” He kissed your stomach. Then paused, gazing at it before looking up to you. “Oh…” the bedroom suddenly had a conversation hanging in the air that neither of you had intently discussed. His hand unintentionally grazed over your abdomen and you reached for it, holding it in place.

You swallowed hard before smiling and squeezing his hand. The question being silently answered by you first. Bucky responded with a wide grin and kissed the hand that lay atop of your stomach before happily pouncing on you.

—•—

Gunfire filled the building, Yelena’s voice shouting over the system “Four enemies! They have Y/N.”

Val looked at Bucky with wide eyes, he did what any son-in-law dreamt of and shoved her in a storage closet, told her to stay there and keep quiet before closing the door. He rushed to your room, bedsheets askew, streaks of blood on the floor, the painting of the ring thankfully unscathed and the dumpling box empty. He did a sweep, checking under the bed and in the bathroom.

That’s when he saw it, when he saw almost half a dozen.

Poorly concealed pregnancy tests.

He picked one up. Then another. Then another. All with the same conclusion.

“Shit,” he tossed them back and ran. “Where is she?!” He yelled out, his lungs burning and his body filling with adrenaline.

“Bucky!” John called him over “They have a helicopter, she’s the roof!” Bucky and the team all hurried to the roof and saw you with a gun to your back and tears flowing through your face. He stormed out, much to the dismay and chides of disapproval from everyone.

Bucky raised his own gun and held it out “You’re not taking her anywhere! None of this was ever her fault.”

The man that had his grip on you laughed “She’s leverage. The ultimate blackmail.”

Bucky smirked without a hint of amusement. “No she’s not. She’s my wife.”

Within seconds you found yourself in the ground, the piercing sound of two gunshots ringing in your ears as blood pooled around your body. You tapped yourself down, no signs of injury, the same couldn’t be said for the man who captured you or his helicopter pilot. You looked up, Bucky holstering his gun before crouching down to you, the second shot that took out the helicopter pilot coming from your mother who stood at the edge of the building and clearly ignoring Bucky’s requests.

He scooped you up “We need to get you both checked out.” You tensed in his arms at his whispered words. “You did a shit job trying to hide those tests,” he tiredly laughed and kissed your forehead.

“Well, this has been a family get together to remember!” Val called out and Bucky stoped in his tracks, looking at you and your wide eyes. “And remember Bucky, you’re my son-in-law first, winter soldier second. Never tell me what to do again.” The team’s jaws dropped simultaneously at the news. “Art collector third now I guess courtesy of Y/N!” She wildly laughed.

Bucky shook his head and before he knew it, shot a comeback in her direction.

“Actually, I’m now the father of your grandchild.”

[sir-teddy-of-bear]

so finished watching My Adventures with Superman and i honestly loved every minute of it, it was so cute and fun and more importantly true to clark’s character in a way that not a lot of recent superman media is.

and don’t get me wrong most of the superman media i consume, i love because i love superman and have since i was a kid and watched christopher reeves for the first time

but my adventures with superman was just very good!! like it had all my favourite aspects from all my favourite superman media and it was extremely fun to see clark be silly and figure out his powers and get into trouble with jimmy and lois.

i enjoyed the trio’s dynamic so much and reminded me of my own friends which i always think is a sign of good media- like doesn’t matter what we get up to, we’re doing it together and more often than not we can laugh about it.

i LOVED how babygirl they made clark too because yeah he just is, his magical girl transformation was great and his little :3 gave me life.

i loved the conspiracy theorist angle for jimmy, it’s just really fun, i like to imagine that even before they knew lois that jimmy was taking clark out on camping trips to find local crypids and i am so tempted to write a silly fic about various crypid hunting trips they go on and jimmy live blogging them.

i loved loved loved lois!! she’s goofy and girlboss and wants her story but would never do it at the expense of someone she cared about, i’ve seen people complain about her jumping off the building to get clark to reveal himself but in the original movies lois throws herself into niagara falls to try to get his confession. she’s just the amount of weird and driven and caring that lois is meant to be and i loved that !!

but yeah!! i liked it!! and i hope this means we get another season of it!!

[creating--memories]

╭─────────────.★..─╮

Doubling Back to You: A Pazzi Series

╰─..★.─────────────╯

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Wc: 2.5k

Themes: au, troubled ex-WNBA!p, basketball coach!a

Authors note: hi loves. This is my first attempt at an au fic and I actually had a lot of fun writing it. I think it made me excited to write again. If y’all like it plz lmk and I love feedback so feel free to send. thanks for reading 💞 also should I make a tag list?

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

5:30 am. Azzi was used to early mornings, but for some reason today, the sound of her alarm felt like a sharp knife splitting through her eardrums. She sighed as she fumbled around with her phone alarm frantically smacking the screen hoping to hit snooze. She groaned as she pushed her brushed linen comforter off of her and sat up in bed. Stewie, who had been sleeping peacefully beside her stirred lightly in the spot he nested in her bed.

“Why did I choose this profession, Stewie?” She pondered as she patted the small dog's head.

Her work at the university wasn’t exactly riveting, but it was stable. Something grounding in her life that often felt meaningless. Which is why she took up coaching basketball at Central High. The kids weren’t the nation’s top recruits, but damn they sure had heart. Azzi began coaching a few years ago, she had heard about the job from a family friend who worked at the school. Her resume was chock full of basketball accolades from her high school and college career, 20 years of her life neatly wrapped up into a one-page laminated piece of paper. She had told the recruiter about her desire to inspire local youth in their basketball dreams and to give back to her community, which was true, but was also a cover-up for her desperate grasp on the one constant in her life that had been slowly slipping away from her.

The job was supposed to be temporary, just a way to make money and occupy her time post-grad. She thought maybe she would move to New York, or LA, get into sports journalism or fashion, she always had an interest in that sort of stuff. But as the years passed by, she fell into a routine and those dreams faded away into the background of the mundanity of her life. She would work mornings in the admissions office at UMD and then spend her afternoon coaching girls’ high school basketball. It wasn’t the job of her dreams, but it had purpose, and it brought consistency, something Azzi had always tethered herself to.

The brunette sauntered over to her en suite bathroom, wincing slightly as she flipped on the recess lighting. She brushed her teeth and washed her face slowly, always waking up earlier than she had to so she could take her time with her morning routine.

She threw on a cropped long sleeve and an old pair of UMD sweatpants from her college days, tossing a matching zip-up hoodie in her bag, a more school appropriate outfit for later.

She quickly brewed herself a cup of coffee in her to-go tumbler, leaving room to add ice from the machine at work. Her freezer had broken about a month ago, and she had meant to call her landlord to get it fixed, but she had fallen into a habit of making her iced coffee at work and stealing ice from the teacher’s lounge on her way out, and her broken freezer got pushed to the end of incomplete tasks on her to-do list. for time’s sake, she dismissed her broken freezer qualms, and gave a quick kiss to Stewie's head, her coffee in hand, and whisked out of the door of her apartment.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Paige sat idly in the Laguardia airport lounge, her Amy’s drive-thru veggie burger and fries barely touched on the table in front of her. She clicked the side of her phone on, checking the time.

11:31 AM

Her flight had started boarding 15 minutes ago, but she was still sitting in the lounge, thinking that maybe if she was the last person on the plane, she could put some distance between herself and the reality of what was waiting for her in Maryland.

She sighed softly as she shoved the remnants of her food back into the paper bag that laid on the table and checked her boarding pass once more before heading to her gate.

SEAT ASSIGNMENT: 27B

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me she muttered. With how quickly everything had happened since she’d gotten the call from CPS, notifying her that her cousin’s daughter had been taken from her custody and that Paige was the closest relative of age, she had booked a last-minute flight to DC, the only thing left basic economy, landing her in a middle seat. Taking care of a teenager wasn’t exactly on Paige’s list of list of New Year’s resolutions, for Christ's sake the last time she took care of a living thing was her ex’s cat, that she almost fed dog food, something (she didn’t realize was indeed lethal to cats) which she didn’t hear the end of for the rest of their relationship. Despite this, Paige couldn’t leave family, not when she was more than capable of providing (financially, at least) for her cousin’s daughter. And after all, it would probably only be a couple of weeks.

She settled into her middle seat, politely slipping between the older couple sharing her aisle. She opened up her phone to send a quick text to Charisse, the social worker handling her cousin's case: About to take off, be there by 3. And switched her phone into airplane mode.

Paige took a deep breath and started praying. Something to calm her usual flight anxiety mixed with the anticipation of her return to the DMV. Since she left the WNBA, she had made it a point to live the most predictable life she could. The uncertainty and expectations of her life in the league had hurt her in more ways than she could count, and when she left, she vowed she would never lose control of herself again. But for the first time in a long time, sitting on this plane waiting to take off, she felt the familiar feeling of fear brewing in her stomach. For the first time in a long time Paige Buecker’s didn’t know what was next.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“Alright girls, one more set of sprints and you can get the hell out of here”

Azzi’s voice echoed through the gym, cutting through the sound of sneakers squeaking on the laminated wood, and the hip hop music blasting from her XL JBL speaker.

A corral of groans erupted from her team at her commands.

“Any more of that and I’ll add another set”

Begrudgingly her players began their laps across the gym.

Azzi wouldn’t call herself a tough love kind of coach, but she sure as hell pushed her kids. Just because they didn’t necessarily have as much funding as some of the prep schools in the area, and they weren’t being constantly scouted for AAU teams, she wanted her girls to reach their full potential, or at least as much as she could provide them.

After a while, Azzi decided she’d tortured them enough and she blew into the tin whistle between her lips and motioned for the girls to stop their running.

“Alright good work girls, now go upstairs and change, you all stink”

The players let out cheers of relief, and made their way to the locker room, each one pausing to high five Azzi as they ran up the stairs. As the last of the girls trickled out of the gym she made her way across the room to start picking up the practice jerseys her players had discarded into a pile. *Ugh you guys really do stink*, she laughed to herself as she began throwing them into the mesh bag she held. She had placed the last practice Jersey in the bag when she was startled by a low voice calling her name over the music still playing from her speaker.

“Excuse me, um, Coach. Fudd?”

Azzi turned around, coming face to face with a tall blonde woman, her hair slicked back into a low bun, a pair of black trousers and simple cross necklace shimmering and isolated against her crisp white tee.

Wait, she thought to herself.

“Holy shit, you’re Paige Bueckers” She blurted out.

Before her sudden and mysterious departure, Paige wasn’t just a great player, she was sensational. Paige was widely known both in the basketball and non-basketball world. And as someone involved in the sport, of course Azzi knew who she was. She had only played against her once, back in their AAU days, when they were still kids, but even then, she was amazed by Paige’s abilities. Azzi had followed her career all throughout UConn and then to the league, the wings, then the Valkyries, and last but not least, the liberty. She even still had a few of her #5 jerseys stored away somewhere in her closet. But just like everyone else, when Paige had mysteriously quit the WNBA and basically disappeared off of the face of the earth 3 years ago, she hadn’t heard about her whereabouts since. So now, seeing the blonde superstar standing in the dingy high school gym in the middle of her hometown, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit starstruck.

“Shit- I mean sorry, I don’t usually cuss this much. I mean, yes coach Fudd that’s me, but um you can call me Azzi, just coach Fudd to my players.” Azzi stumbled over her words, trying to do some damage control to the start of this awkward encounter.

Paige chuckled lightly. Usually, any mention of her previous career felt like a dagger in the chest, a painful reminder of one of the lowest points she had been at, as well as the disappointment of leaving the longest constant in her life behind. But something about the curly haired woman in front of her, in a UMD sweatsuit, holding a sweaty bag of yellow practice jerseys, she found endearing. It didn’t hurt that the woman standing in front of her was absolutely gorgeous, her brown eyes looking up and her and dimples peeking out of the curve of her smile.

“Nice to meet you Azzi, I’m Paige, but I guess you already knew that” she flashed a cheeky smile and extended her hand.

Azzi reached for the blonde’s extended hand and shook it nervously, hoping her hands weren’t too sweaty. She chuckled at the blonde, still ever as charming at 32 as she was at 16. She cursed herself for not putting in a little more effort into her appearance this morning.

“Um, what can I do for you Paige?”

“I just wanted to introduce myself, I’m Elena’s temporary guardian, she’s been having a tough time with all this, and basketball is one of the places she can forget about all of it you know”

Azzi had been notified about Elena’s change in guardianship, but she didn’t know the details of her situation, but she did notice that Elena had been pushing herself extra hard the past week, staying hours after practice, getting shots up, running plays by herself. Azzi never pried, just left the door of her office open while she practiced, a silent *I’m here if you need to talk*. She couldn’t fully relate to Elena’s situation, but she understood the feeling of pouring yourself into basketball when it felt like the rest of your life was falling apart.

“Yeah, she seems extra focused on basketball lately, I remember being that age, pushing yourself into basketball when life got too hard”

Paige’s face hardened for a moment, a reminder of a previous time in her life where basketball was her escape instead of her kryptonite. Even after three years of scrubbing anything basketball related from the soundtrack of her life, the reminder of her old passion opened a floodgate of memories, but imagining Azzi, as a teenager just like she was at one time, not giving a care about anything in the world but basketball, unexpectedly filled her with a sense of nostalgia.

“Yeah, I remember those days” she said quietly.

A slight awkwardness fell over the both of them, Azzi, just like the rest of the world was aware of Paige’s sudden departure from the WNBA, but didn’t know many of the details, but from their interaction it seemed like it was painful.

Paige began to turn towards the doors to leave, but before she could turn Azzi reached for her.

“Hey, any chance you would want to come watch practice tomorrow?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wasn’t quite sure she said them. Maybe it was because she wanted her to get the opportunity be involved in Elena’s extra curricular, or maybe she didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to hang out with her childhood idol (and crush for that matter), or maybe it was because as much as she could tell that Paige’s journey had been painful, she wouldn’t forgive herself if she didn’t at least try to show her there can still be joy in basketball.

“You know, for Elena” Azzi quickly added.

In any other circumstance, Paige would have immediately shut this down. Being involved with basketball was too painful, she swore she would never step foot on a court again, but since she already broke that promise, for Elena’s sake, and maybe her own, she finds herself saying yes.

“Yeah, I think I could make that work.”

“You know, for Elena” she adds teasingly.

Azzi’s smile immediately spread across her face. Her dimples even more prominent than they had been before. This will be good for Elena, she thought to herself. She didn’t mind the opportunity to see more of Paige either. It had been a while since anyone has gotten her all hot and bothered.

“Cool, well, see you tomorrow then.” Azzi said matter of factly.

“See you tomorrow, Azzi” responded the cheeky blonde, and turned on her heel out the door and to the parking lot.

[threewaywithdelusion]

You Me Her

Since AO3 is down and I'm sure people are losing their minds looking for fics (I am people), I'm posting some of my fics over here. If you look in the tag "Mia writes fanfic" you can see all the fic I've posted on tumblr. If you prefer to read on AO3 now that it’s back up, you can find this fic here

Robin was the first person to notice something was wrong with Steve Harrington. 

By the end of the day, everyone had noticed. People were whispering up and down the halls, wondering what had happened to Steve since yesterday to make him act so drastically different. He hadn’t flirted with a single girl all day. He’d told Tommy Hagan to ��knock it off” when Tommy had started tormenting a freshman. He’d treated his friends weirdly – avoiding Jason Carver, a sophomore on the basketball team who he’d been training, losing patience with Carol Perkins’s snappish remarks, freezing up when some cheerleaders talked to him. 

Robin heard all of this second-hand. King Steve was so notorious that even the band kids were gossiping about his personality transplant. Multiple people came up to Robin to share some tidbit of gossip that they insisted proved that Steve had been body-snatched. 

But Robin didn’t need rumors to know that Steve Harrington was different. She’d known since first period, when he’d walked into Ms. Click’s class on time and without a bagel. Steve had barely glanced at Tammy, even as she’d looked at him from under her lashes, beautiful and enticing. Instead, Steve had, for the first time in his entire life, looked at Robin. 

And he’d smiled at her. Not a polite acknowledgement of her existence – which still would have been more than Robin had ever gotten from him – but a huge, friendly smile. The kind that would have had most girls falling at his feet. 

Robin glanced behind her to see if Steve was smiling at someone else, but unless Steve was smiling like that at Fred Benson – even more unlikely – he was definitely directing that expression at her. 

Robin spun back to Steve, unsure what her face was communicating. Confusion, maybe, or wide-eyed shock. 

Steve didn’t look offended or surprised by her reaction, just gave her a dorky little wave and sat down. 

Robin stared at the back of his head, still trying to process what had just happened. Tammy turned to Robin, scanning her up and down. Robin knew she was just trying to figure out what about Robin had caught King Steve’s interest, but her scrutiny made Robin feel all hot anyway. It was Tammy, looking at Robin intently. With purpose. Taking in Robin’s stupid perm and her smudgy makeup and her layers of jewelry. 

Robin blushed. 

Tammy turned back around. 

Ms. Click began talking, but Robin didn’t hear a single word for the rest of class, lost in thought. She alternated between loud mental screaming about the fact that Tammy had looked at her and staring at Steve Harrington’s famous hair and wondering what the hell had inspired him to notice her existence. 

Robin was packing in a daze at the end of class when Steve gave her another smile before leaving. Robin accidentally met Tammy’s eyes, which were just as confused as Robin felt. 

Tammy bit her lip, which was pink and soft-looking. “Robin? Did you talk to Steve over the weekend?”

Oh my god. Tammy was talking to her. It wasn’t like Tammy never talked to her, but every single time it made Robin lose her mind and babble like a freak. 

Robin just shook her head instead of risking opening her mouth. 

“Oh,” Tammy said, looking disappointed. “But you like him?”

“No,” Robin said honestly. “I don’t even know him.”

“But you like him,” Tammy said, and this time it wasn’t a question. “I saw you blushing after he smiled at you.”

“I guess so,” Robin said. What else was she supposed to say? She couldn’t tell Tammy that she didn’t give a damn if Steve Harrington looked at her and that the blush had been all for Tammy. That would send Tammy running the other way.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Tammy said. “A lot of girls like Steve.”

She didn’t mention that she was one of those girls, but she didn’t need to. Robin knew. 

Maybe it would be okay to pretend to like Steve. It would give her and Tammy something in common and it would help her hide in plain sight. Steve was the perfect fake crush for a lesbian, pretty and athletic enough to be an acceptable crush, but unattainable enough that she would never have to act on it. Robin had never faked a crush on him before because of the principle of the thing, but now that she’d accidentally already done it, she might as well keep up the pretense. 

“Today must have been a fluke,” Robin told Tammy, trying to sound both reassuring and lovelorn. She didn’t want Tammy to see her as a threat. She wanted her to see her as a friend. “I don’t think Steve even knows my name.”

***

But Steve kept smiling at her for the rest of the week and on Thursday, Tammy asked Robin if she wanted to hang out after school. 

“Really?” Robin asked. Then, “I mean, yeah, sure. Sounds fun.”

So Robin went to Tammy’s house with the rest of Tammy’s friends. Apparently they did this every Thursday — Friday and Saturday were date nights, which made Thursday the perfect girls’ night. 

They went up to Tammy’s room, which was like peeking into her mind. The other girls paid no attention to the room, probably having seen it a million times. They settled on the floor, spreading bowls of chips and chocolates around and pulling out magazines and nail polish. But Robin couldn’t help but try to take in every detail of the room. The walls were pink and the curtains and bedspread a gauzy white, giving everything a bit of a princess feel. But there were posters on the wall, and not the kind Robin had expected. There weren’t handsome movie stars — these were girls with guitars. 

“Who’s that?” Robin asked, pointing at a poster of a girl with long straight hair, standing over a microphone and holding a guitar. 

Tammy twisted to see who Robin was pointing to. “That’s Emmylou Harris. She’s incredible. She was one of the first women to really make it big in country music.”

“So you want to be like her?” Robin asked. 

Tammy blushed a little, playing with the end of her long blonde curls. “I mean, I don’t know if I’m as good as Emmylou Harris. But that’s the dream.”

“You’re really good,” Robin said sincerely. “I heard you singing Kiss On My List before class the other day and it was-“ captivating. life-changing. beautiful. “Really good,” Robin finished lamely. 

“Thank you,” Tammy said, looking touched. 

One of Tammy’s friends — Olivia? — rolled her eyes. “Tam, we didn’t invite Robin here to talk about your singing. We want to hear about Steve Harrington!”

The two other girls — Karen and Melissa — giggled and nodded their agreement. 

“What did you do to get his attention?” Olivia asked Robin. 

Robin tried not to obviously deflate. She wanted to talk to Tammy about her passions, see the way Tammy lit up when she smiled. She didn’t want to gossip about stupid boys, especially not Steve Harrington. 

But that was why they’d invited her over. Her fake crush on Steve was her in with these girls, with Tammy, and she had to make them believe her if she wanted to be invited to spend more time with him. 

“I don’t know,” Robin said honestly. “I’ve sat behind him all year and I didn’t think he knew I existed. And then all of a sudden on Monday — bam! — he’s acting like he knows me.”

Melissa hummed, passing around bottles of nail polish. “Maybe it’s your hair? Did you perm it recently? Cause Heather Holloway says Steve has a thing for girls with curly hair.”

Tammy frowned at her own hair and shook her head. “Robin’s hair has been like that all year.”

Tammy had watched Robin closely enough to notice what she did with her hair? Robin bit down on a smile, grabbing blue nail polish from Melissa. 

“Did you go to the party last weekend?” Karen asked. 

Robin shook her head. She’s actually spend last weekend reading a book, listening to her language tapes, and playing board games with her parents. Nothing that could be remotely considered cool. 

“Did you look particularly pretty on Monday?” Olivia asked. 

Robin shrugged. “I think I just looked how I always do.”

Tammy put on a Kris Kristofferson record then sat down beside Robin again. “I guess we’ll just have to watch what he does in class. Collect more information.”

“I guess so,” Robin said, hoping Steve forgot her existence soon for her own sake. She didn’t know what she would do if he actually asked her out. 

But maybe if he kept giving her attention she could keep this new friendship with Tammy, at least for a little while. 

Robin sighed, loud and long. 

“Don’t worry,” Tammy said, “We’ll figure it out.”

“And you don’t… mind?” Robin asked. “I know you like him too. I don’t want to break girl code or something.”

Robin had never worried about breaking girl code before, for obvious reasons, but she’d seen girls fall out over liking the same guy. 

Olivia snorted. “Please. Girl code doesn’t count when it comes to Steve Harrington. He’s slept with half the school.”

“Yeah, everyone knows he’s just a good time,” Karen added. “He doesn’t actually date girls for real.”

“I went out with him for two weeks in middle school,” Melissa said. “We made it to second base and then he dumped me for Erica Tanner.”

“You’re in good company here,” Olivia promised. 

Tammy still hadn’t spoken. Tammy was  focused on painting her nails bright pink, a color Robin would never choose for herself but that perfectly matched with Tammy’s pink cheeks and pink lips, which she was biting. 

Because Tammy cared, Robin realized. Steve might be the school slut, and he might never date a girl seriously, but Tammy liked him for real. 

Melissa, Olivia, and Karen were now arguing over whether Melissa’s two-week fling with Steve Harrington counted as a relationship. They seemed sufficiently distracted, so Robin dropped her voice low and leaned into Tammy’s space. 

“Do you mind?” she asked Tammy. “Because I can back off.”

“No,” Tammy said, smile pretty and entirely a lie. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Robin didn’t know what to do with that. Was Tammy trying to save face by not admitting she had a real crush on Steve Harrington? Was this her way of testing if Robin was worthy friend-material? How was Steve fucking Harrington Robin’s key to getting to know Tammy and also the one who was mostly likely to ruin this new friendship?

“Okay,” Robin said, staring at her nails so she wouldn’t have to figure out what facial expression was appropriate. She cleared her throat. “So you were telling me about Emmylou Harris?”

***

Steve Harrington came up to Robin at her locker on Friday, when she was getting the books she needed to take home for the weekend. 

“Hey,” he said, like it wasn’t supremely weird that he was approaching Robin Buckley, band geek and wallflower and no one who ever should have caught his eye. 

“Hi?” Robin answered. 

Steve ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you want to go to the diner with me? We could get milkshakes.”

Robin stared at him. Was this a joke? A prank? Had one of his friends dared him to ask out the weird band kid?

“What?” Robin asked. 

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. He looked nervous, which was crazy. He was Steve Harrington and she was just Robin Buckley. 

“I can drive us,” Steve said. “And I’ll pay.”

“I’m not going on a date with you,” Robin said. It was a gut reaction, but a second later Robin couldn’t help but wonder if she should have said yes. What was she going to tell Tammy about why she’d turned down her supposed crush?

But why was Steve Harrington even asking her out in the first place?

Steve didn’t look offended at her rejection, but he did hurry to say, “I know. I didn’t mean as a date.”

Robin looked down the hall. A group of cheerleaders at one end was watching them, giggling and tittering. Had the cheerleaders put him up to this? Girls could be vicious, but trying to embarrass a girl by having a boy ask her out seemed like a more guy type of prank somehow. 

“You want to hang out with me just as friends,” Robin said skeptically. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. 

Robin rolled her eyes. “Right. Thanks, but no thanks.”

“I mean it,” Steve said. “I want to be friends.”

He was lying. Robin didn’t know why, but he was lying. Maybe he thought that if she hung out with him as “friends” she would eventually change her mind and agree to date him. 

“Why?” Robin demanded. “Why would you want to be friends with me?”

Steve opened his mouth, then paused. He thought for a few seconds before he said, “You seem cool.”

Robin snorted. “I’m the furthest thing from cool.”

“No, I know,” Steve said. “I mean you seem… interesting. Nice. Fun.”

“You don’t even know me,” Robin said. “We’ve never spoken, and now all of a sudden you’re interested in me? I don’t buy it.”

“It’s true,” Steve said. He jumped as a hand landed on his arm and then Carol Perkins was there, staring Robin down with disdain in her eyes. 

“What are you doing?” Carol asked. 

“I was asking Robin to milkshakes,” Steve said. 

Carol gave Robin an up-and-down and it didn’t feel good like when Tammy had done it. Carol wasn’t admiring her. She was looking at Robin like gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. 

“Are you that bored of going out with pretty girls?” Carol asked, voice all fake-interested like it was a real question. 

Steve scowled, shaking Carol’s hand off his arm. “Robin’s pretty.”

Carol rolled her eyes. “She’s not terrible, I guess, under that bad perm, but she dresses like a dyke. If you want to rebel and date a freak or a charity case, you can do better.”

Robin flinched violently when Carol said the word dyke. She fought to keep her expression straight even as her heart raced and her lungs constricted. 

Did Carol Perkins know? Or had she blindly thrown out an insult, hoping it would hurt?

“Don’t call her that,” Steve snapped, his face dark and furious. He looked frightening enough that Robin skittered back half a step. 

Carol didn’t look scared of Steve, but her mouth did drop open in shock. 

That was fair. Robin was shocked too. 

Was Steve defending her?

Maybe this was what it meant to be a girl Steve Harrington liked. Maybe he didn’t like Carol calling Robin a dyke because that was an offense to his own masculinity. That was the only thing that made sense. Robin had heard Steve throw around gay slurs just last week, so it couldn’t be the word itself that he had a problem with.

“Seriously, Steve?” Carol asked, haughty and judgmental. “You can’t actually like her.”

“Robin is great,” Steve insisted. 

Carol rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’ll remind you of this when you come to your senses.”

With that, Carol spun on her heels – red hair smacking Steve in the face – and walked away.

Steve’s posture loosened, like he had also perceived Carol as a threat. 

“I’m sorry,” he told Robin, looking sincere and apologetic. 

Robin hated him. 

“Stay the fuck away from me” Robin told Steve. 

She slammed her locker and walked away, clutching her books to her chest to hide her shaking hands. She kept her head up as she walked by the cheerleaders, who laughed loudly as she passed. 

***

Steve kept smiling at her whenever he walked into Click’s class, but he didn’t try to ask her out again. 

He looked a bit like a kicked puppy every time she glared back at him, but Robin didn’t care. 

“What are you doing?” Tammy asked one day after class. “He’s going to give up on you if you keep glaring at him like that.”

“He asked me out as a joke,” Robin told Tammy. 

Tammy frowned. “Are you sure it was a joke? I don’t think he would do that.”

“I’m sure,” Robin said darkly, thinking of Carol hovering and the cheerleaders watching. Did Steve believe what Carol had said? Was that the joke: to put Robin in a position where she had to either go on a date with a man she didn’t like or else turn him down and confirm she was a lesbian? What kind of girl said no to a date with Steve Harrington?

Tammy bit her lip. She had on bright pink lipstick today. It would have looked tacky on anyone else, but it made Tammy look like a pop star. Robin wondered if the lipstick was flavored. She wished she could kiss Tammy and find out.

“You don’t mind if I flirt with him, right?” Tammy asked, echoing Robin’s words at her house last week. So far, Robin hadn’t been invited to girls’ night again. 

Yes, Robin thought. Yes, I mind. I mind so much, but not for the reason that you think. 

“Not at all,” Robin said. “It’s like you said, girl code doesn’t apply to Steve Harrington. Go for it.”

So Tammy kept trying to get Steve’s attention. He was nice to her. He never outright ignored her when she talked to him, but he never talked to her for longer than politeness required. He would always turn away, missing the way Tammy’s face fell. 

And he kept fucking smiling at Robin. Picking up her books when she dropped them. Apologizing to her when he got bagel crumbs on the floor, even though she’d never mentioned how much it annoyed her. Turning to catch her eye when someone said something funny, like he thought she was someone he could share inside jokes with. 

Slowly, Tammy stopped smiling at Robin. She started flicking annoyed glances in Robin’s direction whenever Steve gave Robin attention. Started snapping at Robin whenever Robin tried to sympathize with her about how much of a douchebag Steve Harrington was. Started avoiding Robin unless Robin directly started conversation with her. 

Steve Harrington was ruining everything.

***

“What are you doing?” Robin demanded. She’d chased Steve after Ms. Click’s class, following him to the little alley out by the gym. She was going to be late for math, but she didn’t care. She needed to talk to him before he ruined everything. 

Steve frowned as he lit up a cigarette. “What do you mean?”

“In Click’s class,” Robin said. “Tammy is practically throwing herself at you but you never even look her way. And I don’t talk to you at all, but you keep trying to talk to me.”

A flash of something crossed Steve’s face, but Robin didn’t know him well enough to read his expressions and it was gone in a heartbeat anyway. 

“You don’t want me to talk to you?” Steve asked.

“Yes!” Robin said. “No. I don’t know. Why won’t you flirt with Tammy?”

Steve’s face scrunched up. It was a face Robin had seen before when they were taking tests in class – it meant Steve had no idea what was going on. “You’re upset because I’m not flirting with Tammy Thompson?”

“I don’t get it!” Robin said. “She’s really nice and she’s a good singer and she’s really pretty. Objectively. I mean, she seems like the Steve Harrington type.”

“Right,” Steve said, his lips twitching like she had said something funny. 

“So I don’t get it,” Robin said. “She’s right there, and I don’t even try, but you keep looking. What’s so special about me?”

“Oh,” Steve said, like he had just realized something. “She’s jealous of you.”

Robin shuffled but didn’t say anything. Of course Tammy was jealous. Steve sat next to her every day, did he really not see it?

“And you don’t like that,” Steve continued, like he was figuring something out. Unfortunately, he was figuring out entirely the wrong thing. Robin wasn’t here to talk to Steve about her friendship with Tammy, she was here to find out why Steve didn’t like Tammy and why he seemed to like her. 

“It’s not about me,” Robin said. 

“Right,” Steve said, inhaling his stupid carcinogens. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Robin asked. She was pretty sure she was smarter than Steve Harrington, so she didn’t know why she was the one feeling lost in this conversation. 

Steve stubbed out his cigarette against the wall. “I’ll fix it.”

The late bell rang. Robin wanted to ask Steve what he’d understood from this conversation, but she really did need to go to math class. Arriving late wasn’t a good way to fly under the radar. 

“Okay,” she told Steve, not quite sure what she was agreeing to. 

He gave her another one of those big smiles as she left the alleyway. It made something churn in her gut. 

She wanted to be the kind of girl who got excited when Steve Harrington smiled at her like that. She wanted Tammy Thompson to smile at her like that. She wanted to fall in love with someone who loved her back, and she wanted to not get chased out of town by an angry mob with pitchforks for it. 

***

The next time Robin walked into Ms. Click’s class, Steve was flirting with Tammy. 

Robin had to stop in the middle of the aisle, feeling like she’d just been punched in the gut. 

Tammy was leaning into Steve’s space, twirling her blonde curls around one finger. Steve was smiling at her, arm stretched over the back of her chair, listening attentively as she spoke. 

Robin forced herself to walk mechanically to her desk. She took her notebook and pencil case out of her backpack and very carefully arranged everything on her desk, doing anything she could to prolong looking up. She didn’t want to watch this. 

After what felt like the longest few minutes of Robin’s life, Ms. Click began talking. Robin risked looking up and saw that Steve had pulled his arm back and Tammy was sitting in her own seat again. 

She couldn't stop seeing them wrapped up in each other. 

At the end of class, Steve walked out quickly, the way he always did. Robin wondered if he always went to smoke behind the gym and that was why he ran away so fast. 

Tammy whirled to Robin, squealing, her face lit up in a beautiful smile. 

“Robin! Did you see that!”

Tammy hadn’t started a conversation with Robin in two weeks. Robin managed a real smile in the face of Tammy’s happiness. 

“I did,” she said. 

“I think he likes me,” Tammy said, almost shy, playing with the bracelets on her wrist. 

“Yeah,” Robin said, ignoring the sinking feeling in her gut. “I think so too.”

***

The rumors at band practice told Robin that Steve was still flirting with other girls. He seemed particularly interested in Nancy Wheeler, who was a priss and a nerd but who was pretty and definitely his type. He seemed to be slowly wearing her down. 

It made Robin furious. So Steve Harrington had a crush on Nancy Wheeler, fine, that made sense. But if he really liked her, and the rumors said he was absolutely head-over-heels, then what was he doing playing with Tammy and Robin? What the fuck was he up to?

***

A week later, Steve didn’t run out of Click’s class at the first sound of the bell. Instead he turned to Tammy and Robin and said, “I’m having a party at my house tonight. You’re both invited.”

“I’ll think about it,” Tammy said, smiling like this was a game. It was. They all knew Tammy would be going to see Steve and she was just trying to play it cool. 

“Cool,” Steve said. He met Tammy’s eyes, then Robin's. “I’ll see you there.”

Tammy waited until he walked away, then did a little shimmy of excitement. It was kind of lame, but also hopelessly endearing. Robin liked when Tammy didn’t try to act cool around her. 

“You’re going?” Robin asked dully. 

“Of course I’m going!” Tammy said. “This is going to be so much fun! You’re coming, right?”

“Yeah,” Robin said, her mouth running before her brain could catch up with it. Tammy wanted her there. What else could she do? “I’ll be there.”

***

Robin got her dad to drop her off at the party. She was willing to bet she was the only teenager being dropped off by their dad, but her parents weren’t the type to be upset about her going out and they trusted her to drink responsibly. Plus, Robin couldn’t drive, so she didn’t know how else she was supposed to get there. 

By the time she arrived, the party was already in full swing. Music came from inside the house and a few people spilled out into the yard. 

Robin headed inside, dodging around a few couples making out against the hallway walls. Tammy was probably here already, right? Robin passed through the kitchen, filling a red solo cup with a tiny amount of vodka and a lot of coke. Jason Carver was there, flirting with Chrissy Cunningham, who was blushing at the attention. 

Robin slipped into the living room and that was where she found Tammy. She was standing against a wall, surrounded by Olivia, Melissa, and Karen. Tammy was holding a red solo cup and staring out at the other end of the living room. 

Robin followed her gave to Steve, who was talking to… Eddie Munson? Robin watched with her jaw slack until Steve came away with a grin and a joint between his fingers. 

That made sense, actually. Of course the only reason Steve Harrington would ever speak to Eddie Munson would be to buy drugs.

Robin went up to Tammy, hovering at the edge of the group as she said “hi.”

“Hey,” Tammy said, giving her a distracted smile. 

“I like your dress,” Robin said. She wanted to say that Tammy looked good, but that wasn’t a safe compliment. 

“Thanks,” Tammy said. “I got it in Indy.”

“It’s cute,” Robin said. It was — pink and ruffled at the edges and unlike anything anyone else was wearing. Something that screamed Tammy Thompson. 

The music went quiet for a moment, and Robin spun around, trying to figure out why. Carol Perkins was standing by the speakers. 

“Let’s play a game!” she said, blowing a bubble with her gum like the picture of teenage insouciance. “Truth or dare.”

She sat on the ground, Tommy Hagan and Steve Harrington sitting beside her. A few more jocks joined — Jason and Andy from the basketball team, Chrissy and Fiona from the cheerleading squad. Heather Holloway and Patrick and Brenda. 

“We have to join!” Tammy said. She grabbed Robin’s hand and dragged her over to the circle.

Robin complied in a daze. Tammy was holding her hand. Tammy’s hand was soft and warm and not sweaty at all and Robin could die happy, Tammy’s hand in hers. 

Tammy released her as soon as they got to the circle and Robin felt suddenly bereft, taking a seat mechanically beside her. Melissa, Karen, and Olivia sat on Tammy’s other side. 

Steve Harrington was looking in her direction, eyebrows up, and Robin scowled at him. Steve smiled, hands up like he was saying don’t shoot, and Carol noticed and shot Robin a glare. 

“Tommy,” Steve said. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Tommy said. 

Steve grinned. “I dare you to let Carol take a body shot off you.”

Tommy scrunched up his face. “Don’t you mean I should take a shot off her?”

Steve blinked, absolutely nothing behind his eyes. “What do you mean?”

So Tommy lay down and balanced a shot glass on his stomach, so low it was practically on his hips, and Carol grabbed it with her mouth, tipping her head back to drink. Robin didn’t like Carol at all, but she had to admit there was something attractive about it, about the long line of Carol’s throat as she drank the shot and the dainty, self-satisfied way she wiped her mouth afterward. 

From there, they kept going around the circle. 

Heather Holloway gave Andy a lap dance. Fiona admitted to having done mushrooms. Jason Carver was dared to kiss the prettiest girl in the circle, which made him turn to Chrissy Cunningham and say “A good girl like you deserves better than some drunken kiss during truth or dare. What do you say I take you out to dinner tomorrow and then give you a kiss on your front porch at the end of the night?”

Chrissy’s smile was disarmingly wide. “Yeah,” she said, nodding. “That sounds nice.”

“It’s a date,” Jason said. A few of the boys hollered and whooped, patting Jason on the back and shaking him a little. Jason looked bashful, hiding a smile behind a sip of his drink. 

“Finally!” Carol Perkins said. She turned to Chrissy. “He’s been pining over you since last year and it took him this long to work up the guts to ask you out.”

Jason screeched at Carol, who ignored him and winked at a pleased-looking Chrissy. Robin was hit with the sudden realization that Carol Perkins could be nice, when she wanted to be. 

Melissa got dared to swap clothes with Patrick, Karen revealed she’d shoplifted a pair of earrings once, and Olivia admitted to having made out with a boy in the school janitor’s closet. 

Then it was Tammy’s turn. 

“Truth or dare?” 

“Dare,” Tammy said, something brave in her eyes. 

A few of the girls conferred together — Carol and Heather and Fiona — before turning to Tammy with smiles on their faces. “We dare you to shotgun with Steve.”

Tammy’s eyes went wide. Robin didn’t think Tammy was the type to smoke weed, but Tammy pressed a confident smile onto her face. Maybe she didn’t want to back down from a dare. Maybe she just wanted a chance to press her mouth against Steve Harrington’s. 

Steve looked at her from all the way across the circle — if he, Tommy, and Carol were the North Pole, Tammy and Robin were the South, the antipodal point — and raised the joint questioningly. 

“Okay,” Tammy said. 

Steve took a drag off the joint and crawled across the circle. Tammy met him in the middle and he was gentle as he used one hand to tip her chin up, pressing his lips against hers and exhaling. Robin could only really see the back of Tammy’s head, but she was hit by a burning jealousy at the way Steve so casually touched her. 

It felt like it had been years since Tammy had held her hand. 

Tammy sat back beside Robin, a pleased little smile on her face. 

“Band kid,” Carol said, smiling meanly. “Truth or dare.”

Robin shuffled uncomfortably. So far all the dares had involved some kind of sexual display with the opposite sex and Robin did not want to kiss a boy or give him a lap dance. But she also had a lot of secrets she didn’t really feel like sharing. 

She should pick truth, right? Worst come to worst, she could just lie. It’s not like any of these people would ever know — none of them really knew her. 

“Truth,” Robin said. 

Chrissy started to say something, but Carol spoke over her. “Who was your first kiss?”

Robin’s cheeks flamed. Carol was doing this on purpose. 

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet,” Robin said, trying to sound casual. It wasn’t that unusual, at least in the circles she ran with. 

But Carol reacted with extreme shock, her eyes going wide, her mouth dropping open. “Ever? That’s so sad!”

“Not really,” Robin said. Everyone was staring at her. She’d spent months trying to fly under the radar, and now they were all watching her and it was just as terrible as she’d thought it would be.

Carol kept going. “But why haven’t you kissed anyone? Aren’t there any boys you like?”

It would have been fine if Carol hadn’t paused a little, put more emphasis on the word boys. But Carol knew what she was doing, insinuating exactly what she had when she’d stood with Steve by Robin’s locker. 

Everyone in the circle was staring at Robin. Jason Carver looked disgusted. Tammy pulled back a bit from Robin’s side. 

Robin felt like she was going to throw up.

Then Steve Harrington scoffed. All eyes moved to him, to see what the King was going to say. Steve was relaxed, weight back on one hand, legs kicked out in front of him. “Not everyone is a slut, Carol.”

The like you went unspoken, but Robin saw it land. Carol’s face scrunched up with real hurt for a second, like she wasn’t sure why Steve was attacking her. 

Tommy, sitting between them, gave Steve a what the fuck look as he pulled Carol into his side. 

Steve either didn’t see any of this or pretended not to. He turned to Patrick, sitting next to Robin on the opposite side as Tammy, and said “truth or dare?”

Robin relaxed. It was over, right? They weren’t looking at her anymore?

She glanced around the circle and it seemed like everyone had moved on. A sneaky glance at Tammy showed that she wasn’t sitting as close to Robin as before, but she also wasn’t looking particularly repulsed. Maybe she had just forgotten to move back again. 

Robin didn’t really believe it. 

She tried to calm her racing heart as the next few people went. But when it was Steve Harrington’s turn, she couldn’t help but tune in. 

“Steve,” Tommy Hagan said. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Steve said, like every teenage jock ever. 

Carol leaned over and whispered in Tommy’s ear and Tommy grinned. “I dare you to kiss Robin Buckley.”

Robin’s blood turned to ice. Once again, all heads in the circle swiveled to her. 

Robin didn’t want to kiss Steve Harrington. She had been saving her first kiss because she wanted it to be special. She could have pretended to like a boy, to kiss a boy, to date a boy. But she had wanted to save all her firsts for a girl — to have them be real and meaningful instead of a stupid farce. 

She didn’t have a choice though. Not after what Carol had implied earlier. If Robin didn’t kiss Steve, she would practically be confirming that she was a lesbian. 

Robin looked to Carol, who was smirking at her. 

“Yeah,” Robin said shakily. “Okay.”

Steve was watching her intently, something indecipherable in his eyes. He got to his feet and crossed the circle, kneeling down in front of her. 

Robin didn’t think she’d ever been this close to a boy. He smelled like hairspray and beer, and his eyes were brown and serious as she watched her. 

He gave her the same friendly smile he’d been giving her all semester, then leaned in to whisper in her ear. His breath was uncomfortably hot on her skin as he said, “trust me.”

Then he pulled back and squared his shoulders, cocky and unapologetic about it. He smirked around the circle, a boy proud to be showing off that he was kissing a pretty girl. 

Robin was going to throw up. Her heart was pounding and she was going to have to kiss a boy and Steve had been playing games with her all semester. 

Robin closed her eyes, preparing for the kiss and also trying to hide the hot tears she could feel building up. 

She jumped a bit when Steve’s hands landed on her face. He wasn’t holding her jaw delicately like he’d done to Tammy. Both of Steve’s giant palms where splayed across her cheeks, one of them half caught in her hair, dragging it in front of her face. Great. Her first kiss was going to taste like hair and that wasn’t even going to be the worst part of it. 

Robin kept her eyes screwed shut as Steve’s skin pressed against her lips and his nose bumped hers and — those weren’t Steve’s lips. 

Steve was close, yes, so close they were sharing the same air. So close that it probably looked like they were kissing. 

But this was a stage kiss. Steve’s thumb was over Robin’s mouth, his lips pressed to one side and hers to the other. 

Robin opened her eyes in shock. She couldn’t really see Steve — he was too close not to be blurry — but his eyes were pressed closed, brown eyelashes fanned over his cheeks. As if this were a real kiss. 

Where had basketball-playing, prom king Steve Harrington even learned what a stage kiss was? This couldn’t be standard practice for the popular kids — they played these games as an excuse to kiss each other, not to fake it.

And more importantly, why was he doing this? Was he that opposed to kissing her? Or had he somehow noticed her reluctance and decided to protect her while allowing both of them to save face?

Steve used his hands to tilt Robin’s head and she followed without resistance. He pressed closer, moving her back, and they still weren’t kissing but it probably looked like they were making out. Like he was into this. Like she was.

Robin closed her eyes. She could figure out the mystery that was Steve Harrington later. Right now, she had to help Steve sell this. 

She raised her hands to Steve’s shoulders, pulling him closer, hoping he wouldn’t misinterpret her sudden ardor as a request for a real kiss. 

He let out a little moan, his nose brushing hers as he tipped his head, and she smiled against his thumb. Holy shit. They were totally faking it and everyone was going to think she was a good enough kisser to make Steve Harrington moan.

After a long moment, Steve pulled back, simultaneously slipping his thumb to the side so it wouldn’t be over her mouth. 

He stayed in her space a second longer, eyes locked with Robin’s. He seemed pleased with himself, or maybe with her shocked expression. 

He licked his lips and Robin copied him automatically. Her lips tasted like beer and smoke but it was from Steve’s hand, not his lips, and that made all the difference. 

Someone wolf-whistled. 

Steve backed away, returning to his seat next to Tommy Hagan. Robin was speechless as the room returned to focus.

Carol looked pissed. Tommy was elbowing Steve, leaning in to tease him. 

“Damn, Harrington,” said some basketball jock Robin didn’t know. “I didn’t know you were into band nerds.”

“That was a hell of a first kiss,” another one said. 

Steve smiled, cocky and pleased and bashful all at once. He was a better actor than Robin had ever given him credit for. 

Tammy nudged Robin, and that’s when Robin realized she was still staring at Steve, dumb with awe. 

As everyone turned to Tommy Hagan, Tammy leaned in and whispered, “it looks like you really enjoyed that kiss.”

She was trying to smile, trying to gently tease like a friend would, but Robin could see the heartbreak in her expression. Robin wished she could tell Tammy that it had all been for show and that she hadn’t actually kissed Steve, but Tammy had pulled away at the accusation that Robin was a lesbian and only been okay touching her again after that performance of a kiss. 

This wasn’t a world where Robin got to have both Steve and Tammy. 

“Yeah,” Robin said, surprised to find she was telling the truth. She was glad she’d been dared to kiss Steve and not any other boy here. There were apparently layers to Steve Harrington, who she’d thought was nothing more than a pretty, empty-headed, girl-obsessed jock. 

She kind of wanted to know more about him. 

She glanced across the circle. Steve was watching Tommy try to do a handstand, until Tommy overbalanced and fell into Steve’s lap, making him yelp. Steve laughed as he leaned over Tommy, asking if he was okay, and Tommy’s eyes lit up in a way Robin recognized. The way she had probably lit up when Tammy had taken her hand. 

In that moment, Robin felt like she understood something about all of them. 

Carol’s frozen smile as she watched her boyfriend beam at Steve. The way Tommy pretended to fumble a bit climbing off Steve’s lap, if only to stay there a second longer. And Steve’s sharp eyes, catching Tommy’s adoration and Carol’s pain. 

“You’re too high, man,” Steve said, waving his joint in a big circle. Giving Tommy cover in case anyone else had noticed what Robin had. 

“Way too high,” Carol agreed, snatching the joint from Steve’s fingers. She took a long drag, then blew the smoke out, passed the joint back to Steve, and curled into Tommy’s side. 

Tommy and Carol looked like the picture of a happy couple and Robin realized it was another type of performance. Had Carol known before she started dating Tommy? Or had she fallen in love with him first, only realizing he liked Steve when it was too late to stop her heart from being broken?

Robin didn’t want to feel sympathy for Carol Perkins, who had tried so hard to ruin Robin’s night. But she pitied her a little, watching her playact at being happy and realizing that they were all doing it. All these stupid popular kids were just pretending to be shiny, happy people and the rest of the school was buying it, standing too far away to see the imperfections that would have been obvious up close.

Steve met Robin’s eyes across the circle, bringing the joint to his lips. His eyes were perfectly clear, pupils small, not like someone who had been smoking at all. Another slight of hand, like the stage kiss. 

“I think he likes you back,” Tammy said. 

Robin looked at Tammy, who was faking a smile just like the rest of the popular kids. Why hadn’t Robin seen it before? Tammy was brave and Tammy was kind, but she hid those parts of herself, trying to seem just as cookie-cutter perfect as the rest of the people in this circle. 

Robin didn’t want cookie-cutter perfect. She wanted real. 

She still didn’t want to break Tammy’s heart, so she said something she didn’t really believe about Steve. Not anymore.

“Maybe,” Robin said. “But like you said, he’s just a good time. He’ll be over me in two weeks.”

***

On Monday, Robin found Steve at his locker after school. 

His eyes went wide as she came up to him and he smiled at her. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Robin said. She kicked the toes of her converse together. She’d spent all of yesterday doodling on them while watching tv. Maybe it was stupid, given how close Carol had come to outing her, but Robin was feeling a little bulletproof. She’d written I may not go down in history, but I’ll go down on your sister in pen on the whites of her shoes. 

Steve looked down at her feet and smiled. “Nice artwork.”

Robin froze, even though there was no way Steve could read her shoes while standing up. “Thanks,” she said stiffly. “I thought they could use some, uh, personality?”

“I like them better this way,” Steve said. 

Robin cleared her throat. “Do you, uh, wanna get milkshakes? You’re paying, of course.”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “I’ll buy you however many milkshakes you want.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Do girls really fall for this desperate act?”

“I’m much cooler around girls I’m interested in,” Steve said. Robin believed him this time. He’d put his thumb over her mouth and then swaggered like he’d kissed her and she trusted him in a way she hadn’t before. 

She was dying to know why he’d done it.

“So it’s just your friends that you bribe into liking you,” Robin teased. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, shameless. “Usually more with free rides and arcade money, but I’ve used ice cream before.”

“You’re so weird,” Robin blurted out. Then she froze. It was practically social suicide to call Steve Harrington weird. 

But Steve didn’t get mad. He just laughed and said “you have no idea.”

“Yo, Harrington,” called a  basketball player walking down the hall. “Hurry up, you’ll be late for practice.”

“I’m not going today!” Steve called back. “I’m sick.” He gave a very unconvincing cough. 

The basketball player rolled his eyes. “Lovesick, maybe.”

Steve scowled playfully. “Fuck off, man.”

“I’ll tell Coach you’re too pussy-whipped to play,” the basketball player said. 

“Don’t you dare!” Steve called. Robin expected him to sound more offended at being called pussy-whipped. No teenage boy wanted to be told he would do anything a girl told him to do, even in exchange for sex. And Steve was definitely not getting sex. But the insult rolled off Steve like water off a duck’s back. “Tell him I have the flu.”

“Sure, sure, whatever.” The boy rolled his eyes as he disappeared around the corner. 

Steve closed his locker. “Ready to go?”

“You’re not going to basketball?” 

“No,” Steve said. “We’re getting milkshakes. I’m not giving up a chance to make Robin Buckley my best friend.”

“Aren’t you, like, first chair?” Robin said. She watched a lot of basketball games by virtue of being in band, she knew it was called starting line. But she enjoyed seeing Steve’s face scrunch up at her words.

Steve groaned. “God, that is annoying. Remind me to stop calling Dustin’s campaigns his nerd practices.”

“Who’s Dustin and what are campaigns?”

“A kid I babysit, and a Dungeons and Dragons game.”

Robin blinked. “Dungeons and Dragons? That Hellfire game?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “He’s not in high school yet, so he doesn’t play with Eddie as his DM, but I’m sure he’ll join in a few years.”

DM? Was that some Hellfire term?

Apparently the new Steve Harrington knew the terms to nerd games. He stage-kissed lesbians at parties and thought it was worth skipping basketball practice for a chance to be Robin’s friend.

“Who are you?” Robin asked. “And what have you done with Steve?”

“I’m a time traveller from the future,” Steve said. 

Robin laughed. What a nerd. “No, really.”

Steve started walking backwards down the hallway, keys swinging around his fingers. “I’ll tell you over milkshakes.”

He held a hand out to her, beckoning, a hopeful smile on his face, and it didn’t feel like a joke anymore. Robin had no clue why, but Steve Harrington really wanted to be her friend. 

Robin peeled herself off the lockers and took Steve’s hand, their fingers twining together, letting him pull her outside. 

[iamaslutforjatp]

WIP Wednesday

I got tagged to do this by the wonderful @beaconfeels, thank you lovely <3 here's a little post-basement drama from my big Stetopher fic!

Derek storms up to him with a snarl, getting right into Stiles’s face as he demands “What would you know? You’re just a human whose friend got bit! You’re talking about things you know nothing about. You shouldn’t even be involved!” Stiles is tired, he is sore, and the way Derek is forcing him to lean back by looming into his space is aggravating his injuries. Gerard’s words from the night before are still echoing in his head, and Stiles has had enough. He’s so fucking done being underestimated. He gets a tight grip on the fury-fueled adrenaline coursing through his system and pushes. Before Derek can even blink, a burst of energy surges out of Stiles with the force of a cannon blast in the small space between their chests, and Derek is thrown into a tree twenty feet away. He lands in a heap at its base, splinters of bark raining down around him.  Derek barely has time to shift up to his knees before the sound of Stile’s voice echoing through the air has his head whipping up. His eyes are huge as he gapes at Stiles in disbelief. Stiles has taken a few steps towards him, eyes blazing and his face twisted into a fury the likes of which Derek has never seen on his face. “I am so fucking tired of being underestimated and seen as the weak little human sidekick. You say none of this is my business? Bullshit! It’s been my business since the day I was born. I’ve been learning magic since I was a toddler. I have been tidying up your and your pack’s messes almost as long as I can remember. I spent the eight years you and your sister decided to fuck off and abandon Beacon Hills working my ass off defending this territory and protecting this town. I put wards around the boundaries for the first time when I was 13 and have updated them more than a dozen times since! I took on responsibilities and monsters that no kid my age had any business facing. So, no. You don’t get to tell me that I’m just some weak, defenseless human who’s only in this because my friend got bit. At this point, I have more business being here than you do! This has been my territory to protect for the last eight years and I am not going to step back and let some whiny, entitled little shit trying to play big bad alpha destroy everything I worked so hard to protect! You don’t get to ignore everything I say just because it offends your poor, fragile little ego. Did I hurt your pride? Well imagine how bad your betas were hurting last night when they were tortured by a sadistic psycho because you were too stubborn and prideful to let this little human help you!”  Derek stayed on the ground the entire time Stiles yelled, eyes wide and chest heaving with his shock. By the time he’s finished screaming, Stiles is panting too, his face red and his eyes blazing, clutching one arm around his ribs as he hunches, every heaving breath making his ribs ache. His split lip has cracked open again. He can taste the blood.

[boolger]

The werewolves of Stonemill ☆2☆ COD

[Chapter 1] ☆ [chapter 2]

MDNI ☆ MDNI☆ MDNI ☆ MDNI ☆ MDNI☆ MDNI ☆ MDNI

(These first two chapters aren't too dark, so they will be posted here. The rest of the fic will only be updated on A03)((unless I decide something else))

☆ Fem!reader x Poly!TF141☆ explicit ☆ wip ☆ 2/12 ☆ 2.7k words.

☆summary: You had been living your best life in Stonemill for a little over half a decade by now. A lone shewolf living in the town and working at the local bar, surrounded by a lush nature to roam through at night, a perfect piece of Paradise in Montana. A place you DO'NT want to share with any other werewolves. So, when a group of men turns up, buying a big house and stinking of alpha werewolves, you're territory is threatened - and these men doesn't seem to get it into their thick heads, that they need to leave. In fact, the assholes become rather interested in you, trying to get you to join their pack. You just want them to leave, one way or another - but it seems like they won't take no for an answer.

☆tags: Dead dove don't eat, werewolves, mention of graphic violence, dark!141, poly!141, afab!reader, omegaverse, dub-con, non-con, werewolf AU, foursomes, fivesomes, heat, scenting, hunting, killing animals, chubby reader, forced bonding, kidnapping, non-con touching, non-con drug use.

(These first two chapters aren't too dark, so they will be posted here. The rest of the fic will only be updated on A03)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“Fae!” 

Luna barely made it inside the bar before she was yelling your name, making you jump at the sight of your friend, almost spilling the beer, worried for just a second - until you saw her grin. Oh, that kind of grin meant she had news, or well, gossip to be more exact.

You finished filling up the glass for one of the regulars, smiling at the older gentleman who went back to watch some sort of sport show at the small television in the corner with the others. 

“Faefaefae-” Luna didn’t even stop, almost crawling over the desk, as you gave her shoulder a gentle tap.

“Calm down,” you said, before turning around and getting her a bottle of sparkling water as you knew she preferred, “tell me then, what is so important that you’re screaming my name?”

Technically it was just your nickname, but those tended to stick in this town. Not that you minded. First halloween in Stonemill, where you dressed up as a fairy and your fate was sealed. 

“Somebody bought the Johnson family house,” her voice was in a dramatic whisper, eyes wide, “full price even.”

That did make you pause and blink. The Johnson family house was at the edge of the town and had, in fact, been owned by said family for generations - until the last one, who ended up being the only family member left, elderly and without kids of her own. Miss Johnson had tried selling the house for years, but Stonemill wasn’t well known, nor was a lot of people interested in buying a giant house that needed well, a lot of love. In the time you had lived there, Miss Johnson had lowered the price three times.

“Full original price?”

Luna nodded, like an excited pup.

“- And Miss Johnson?”

“Over the moon! She got enough money to get that lil two bedroom apartment near the Franks and Hales, and there won’t be any stairs there and enough space for her to use her walker too.”

You felt yourself smile. You weren’t close with Miss Johnson in any way, but it was hard not to know each other at least vaguely in a town like this. She was a big part of the elderly community but after falling about a decade ago, she had struggled with chairs - moving closer to the other elders would be good for her. 

“That’s good, bless her heart,” you answered, “I’m really happy - do you know who bought it?”

“Yes! well, no I don't but–”

“- but you heard gossip?”

“Excuse you,” Luna touched her chest with a mocking, horrified expression, her red curls almost bouncing “I am a good christian woman, I never gossip.” You rolled your eyes as you picked up a glass, beginning to clean it.

“Tell me then, oh great Christian woman, what didn’t you hear then?”

“Well, Miss Johnson said that it was a lot of handsome strange men,” the words made you frown but Luna merely waved her hand at you, “yeah, I was confused too, but I talked to the couple that lives nearby and the guy said that it’s a group of four men, all veterans, apparently used to be a squad.”

“That doesn’t make them weird–”

“They’re British, Fae.”

“... Ah. I see Miss Johnson’s point.”

“Anyways - neighbor said he is pretty sure some of them is gay, but his wife said it probably wasn’t all of them and that we shouldn’t judge, but that they all seemed very polite and nice, but that they probably wanted to come here to retire, ya’ know?”

“Luna,” you took a deep breath, having to stop yourself from pinching the bridge of your nose, “how do you even know all of this?”

“Mailman - and the butcher.”

“Hah. Of course.” you wanted to roll your eyes at the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

“BUT! you know what this means, Fae?” She almost lit up again and you raised an eyebrow, putting the glass away. 

“That we’re officially 154 town folks now?”

“Yes! SO! New people to date!” Luna sounded incredibly proud of herself.

“I - Luna you’re a lesbian,” you pointed out, your friend just rolling her eyes, grin not faltering for a moment, “It’s not for me, you idiot! For you!”

You wanted to deny that the thought didn’t catch your interest. Your cheeks felt warm and though you let out a huff, trying to not seem bothered, both you and Luna knew it was a lie. One of the regulars, further down the bar giggled at the two of you and you sent him a stern look.

Why did they care about your dating life? It bothered you. 

Looking back at Luna, her head resting in her hands, freckles standing in a stark contrast to her sunburnt skin, her green eyes shining in the unnatural light of the bar.

“No.”

“Ya’ haven’t even seen ‘em!” Arguing with Luna, on a night like this, where she was full of energy, had been out in her garden half the day without enough sunscreen, was almost impossible; after several years of knowing her, you knew that. Yet, here you were.

“Neither have you, dipshit.” A part of you wished that there would appear more thirsty bar goers, just so you wouldn’t have to defend your singleness. Finding a partner that wasn’t a wolf and wouldn’t ask too many questions was tough to say the least. At the same time, finding a partner who was a wolf, meant letting another wolf, a stranger, into your territory. The urge to gag overwhelmed you for a moment.

“But-”

“No - now, do ya’ wanna talk about something other than planning my dating life?”

The ginger pouted.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Hours passed, you returned home from your shift at the bar, taking the usual walk home, smelling slightly of beer and cigarettes as always. It was like a rhythm that had settled in your body after living here half a decade.

Cars passed, lights illuminating your body for mere seconds, a person or two greeting you as you passed them, wishing you a good night. Stonemill was considered a rather safe place. There was the occasional bar brawl, but they were often nice enough to take it outside and figure it out on their own. 

Whenever you walked home on nights like these, bathed in the last colors of the sunset, you liked to imagine you were in a music video, like the ones you grew up watching repeatedly on youtube.

The thoughts of the newcomers had drowned in your mind, by another local drama, then by a heartbroken lady who came in not too long after Luna had annoyed you about being single.

No, you just enjoyed the air, much nicer than the big city air you had grown up with. 

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

It was two days later when you stepped out of your door, to go get groceries, that the scent in the air made you physically gag - gripping the door frame, to stop yourself from falling over. 

Wolves.

There were fucking wolves in the area. Strangers, in your fucking territory. 

How dare they?? For a non-human, it was clear that this area was yours - you made sure of that, making sure it stank of your scent. You rubbed your muzzle against house corners, against trees, hell you pissed several places on the regular, too. 

You had to close your eyes, breathing through your mouth for a couple of seconds, building up your courage to take another sniff. You needed to know who the hell this was, how many, whether they were alphas, betas or omegas like you.

You took a deep breath, this time with your nose, wrinkling it at the scent. It stank of alphas, definitely more than one, if you had to guess by the mixed scents.

Right. You wetted your teeth with your tongue, the urge to let your wolf form free overwhelming for a second. To find the intruders, as quickly as possible, attack them, show them that this place wasn't open for them. Groceries afterwards.

Hopefully it was just a pack passing by, though they had definitely been in the area for a couple of hours, if the potent scent was anything to go by.

Following your nose wasn’t quite like following the maps app on your phone. It forced you to use an instinct you mostly used when hunting. It was like the world  around you didn't matter, though you tried not to look too weird as you sniffed your way towards the unknown goal. Smiling and greeting as familiar faces passed you, either on foot or in their cars.

The house at the edge of the town was a dull green color, worn by the weather by the years, begging to be fixed - but it needed more than just a new paint job for the house to look nice again. It was a fixer upper, as Luna had described it once. With the stream nearby and the forest curling into the backyard, it was a big and beautiful house, where a big family could live. Usually you wouldn’t even be hesitant to get close, because Miss Johnson would always be sitting in the window, watching the street - waving at you with her boney fingers and big grin, her little poodle always next to her.

No more.

The scent was overwhelming, even as you stood around 20 metres away. A big truck was in the driveway, getting unloaded by several big men. They were chatting among themselves and you didn’t need to be a genius, to know that these men were the ones mentioned by Luna. British veterans. 

Hiding behind a tree wasn't your proudest moment, but you needed to be able to look at them in peace, just for a bit.

Tall, all four of them, clearly strong as they easily carried the bigger furniture pieces and moving boxes. Some of the neighbors were helping, chatting. One of the loudest of them wasn’t even British, if the Scottish accent was anything to go by as he chattered away. He wore a knee-brace, blue shorts and black t-shirt, hair in a fucking mohawk. A big grin as he argued to another one of them that it was his knee, not his arms that were broken, as he took another box.

The one who looked worried - or well, his upper half of his face looked worried - was wearing a black facemask, short clipped dark blonde hair, scars littered all over his body and face. A pair of pants and long sleeve shirt, despite the warmth. You couldn’t hear what he said exactly, drowned out by all the other voices and noise from their moving.

A black man appeared, wearing a cap with the british flag - and the prettiest face you had seen for a long time. Smiling politely as their neighbor asked about something, wearing a gray t-shirt that was a tad too tight on his arms and a pair of long shorts. You already knew all the housewives and older ladies were going to try to marry off their daughters to him.

Then, finally, the last stranger appeared. 

He wore a boonie hat of all things, t-shirt too but an open flannel over it that was folded up to his elbows, exposing his tattooed arms. He was big too, but looked much older - mostly due to the beard that looked like it had stepped out from a history book.

The wind had been hitting your face, letting their scents come to your hiding spot. Alpha. All fucking alpha, potent with their wolf scent, which meant they had probably changed yesterday. 

The urge to create a scene, to snarl at them, humans be damned and get them off your territory was overwhelming.

At once, the wind changed. Before you realized, it was too late, the wind curling along your short hair.

The man with the beard was the first one to quickly turn his head, your gazes instantly meeting as he sniffed the air. Fuck. As if on cue, the three others froze, their faces instantly turning towards you too, but you were stuck in some sort of staring contest with the first man.

The moment he grinned, like he knew something you didn’t, you slipped away into the slim alleyways of the two houses near you, escaping to the back of the enclosed gardens, away from the gazes of the four alpha wolves. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to fight you did - but it wasn’t the right time.

You barely remembered what you bought in the grocery store - bringing home the oddest mixture of things that you didn’t care about either. You barely ate, just sat around your house… waiting.

Watching the sun going lower and lower on its travel across the sky.

It was dark when your wolf had you get up, howling and snarling in your mind, begging you to let her come out, so that you could go to the house and scare the alphas off.

But you didn’t. Reason with them, you told yourself, try communicating before going directly to violence… Besides, the more logical part of you feared not winning the fight. Your wolf didn’t particularly like the idea of communicating.

Pulling on your boots, your thick jacket since it was cold and you weren’t - hopefully - going to shift, you needed to keep your warmth. A dark knitted beanie pulled down to your ears, a scarf and you were off. You didn’t look scary, you knew that. You were smaller than them, chubby and had short hair, but according to Luna, a mean stare. Your wolf form was more dangerous with her teeth, but alas.

You didn’t go through the town this time, foregoing the usual streets, in the hopes of not catching unwanted attention. Instead you crossed through the forest, the trip a little longer, but the scents familiar and shadows easier to hide in.

The closer you got to the Johnson Family house, that wasn’t the Johnson Family house anymore, the more their scent began to return, making you wrinkle your nose - and this time a small growl left you.

Minutes passed as you calmly walked in between the trees, knowing the place like the back of your hand. Maybe you ran your bare fingers along a couple of trees, to leave a little more scent behind, who knew.

It took a little while, time almost slowing down the closer you got. As you got closer, you began to mind your sounds, trying to be as quiet as possible. It was easier in your wolf form, but you made due, making it to the stream in their backyard - you didn’t cross it, keeping it between you, since it would give you a good head start, in case it was needed.

You stood there for a moment, watching the usual dark windows, lit up, picking up the vague sound of laughter and moving. For a moment, just a short moment, you imagined what it would be like to have your own pack. To have somebody to rely on, someone to spend your life with, to run free with, letting your wolves free and enjoying nature. The next moment, you wanted to hit yourself for even thinking about it.

You let out a little howl, giving away your position, letting them know you were near. Everything stopped within the house. Only because of your non-human genes, you were able to hear rough talking, though you couldn’t pick out the words. You waited. A few moments later, the backdoor opened and you braced yourself, ready to turn and run for your life in case it was wolves that barged out.

Instead it was the man with the beard, hat forgotten in the house, bare feet and a hurriedly put on leather jacket. His eyes ran over the garden, before it landed on you.

The stench from the house of male alphas hit you like a brick wall, but you stood quietly, waiting, even as the anger grew inside of you with every second that passed.

The man turned towards you, having the audacity to grin at you as he stepped down from the wooden back porch, down towards the stream.

God you wanted to rip his throat out.

[prev]

[mayrose713]

Just wondering when your stray kids pack book will be updated. Stumbled across it and now I'm obsessed 😍

Beautifully Cruel World-Update

Series Masterlist

I am again soo sorry for lack of chapters. The last you guys heard from me I was stressing about trying to get SKZ US tickets which I am happy to say I did get 2 field tickets for Arlington so if anyone's gonna be there hope to see you.

But the reason for no update is just a few days after I got the tickets I was at work when I got a text from my aunt. I don't talk to most of my moms family as you guys know from the fic as it is based on my life but she had told me my great-grandmother had a heart attack. My great-grandma is a 92 year old women who is the only grandma I keep in contact to that is biologically related to me. She was able to go home but then 3 days later while I'm at work again I get a call from my mom who was barely 24 hours out of rehab telling me my great-grandma was going back to the hospital and would possible be put on hospice.

Right now I am waiting for more updates on her as it isn't really looking good. If things take a turn for the worse I may have to fly back to where I grew up which we all know I won't be looking forward to but because of it I've been kind of having some writers block as my mind has been everywhere else. I've been trying to write when I can so I'll try to get chapter 14 posted soon but right now there's gonna be some time between chapters. Again I'm sorry but I'll also keep you guys updated as I know

Lots of love ~MayRose

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[bidisasterevankinard]

Motivation Monday

as i've written some words today I hope posting will keep me motivated to continue with my every day goal and end this fic soon. more from Tommy doesn't want kids (or as i decided to title it "I give up my dream because I want you more(what if I am scared to dream the same?)")

“I went to talk to Maddie but Josh was there and he helped me to see that I was dreaming about kids, yes, but that, you and our future is more important for me. I want you Tommy. I don’t care that we won’t have kids, be fun uncles and have pets if you would want to, will be enough for me. Just having a chance to love you would be enough for me. I don’t need anything else.”

“Evan,” Tommy grabs his neck with one hand and the other under his chin, making him look him in the eyes, blue to blue with barely inches between their faces, “are you sure about it? I don’t want you to be unhappy because of me.”

“I won’t be if I can love you. A little bit sad and full of longing from time to time? Yes, not gonna lie. But till I have you near me it’s nothing more I need.”

Tommy kisses him and Buck feels tears on his face.

“No one ever chose me. Not even my parents. They always chose each other, but not me,” Tommy whispers to him and kisses him again. “Thank you for choosing me.”

Buck cups Tommy’s face, loving the slight prickly feeling of Tommy's stubble on his skin, “I’ll always choose you, Tommy Kinard. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Good,” Buck smirks, “now ask me again.”

Tommy chuckles, “Evan Buckley, do you want to make this house officially ours?”

“I do.”

They kiss, sealing the promise of a happy life together in a kiss and Buck can't wait for Tommy's next shift, when he can safely research all the ring options and choose the best.

np tagging @theotherbuckley @diazheartsbuckley @typicalopposite @hyperfocusthusly @actuallyitsellie @perfectlysunny02 @powersuitup @bekkachaos @wikiangela @hippolotamus @diazsdimples @bewilderedbuckley @devirnis @desert--moonchild @queerbuck @watchyourbuck @epiphainie @evanbi-ckley @repressedqueen @racerchix21 @pirrusstuff @aringofsalt @saybiwithme @half-oz-eddie @lavenderleahy @leashybebes @cliophilyra @cal-daisies-and-briars @bigfootsmom @bi-buckrights @manwolfdiaz @monsterrae1 @marvelousbuckley @mmso-notlikethat and anyone who wants to

[ladykailitha]

Baby's First Christmas

Hello and welcome to my Christmas AUvent Calendar! Every day from now until the 24th I will be posting a ficlet that is 500-1500 from an AU I've done over the years.

All stories will be marked with the tag #12 aus of christmas so you can follow along as I will only be tagging my permanent list for this (it would get too confusing otherwise).

The next one on our list is: omegaverse! You can read the first story here and its sequel here. All links will be to the first chapter, but the chapter itself will have links to the rest of the story.

Steve is fretting about making Winnie's first Christmas special and oh boy does he deliver!

First fic here.

~

Steve was fussing. Eddie knew his spouse and mate was fussing but after the third time Steve snapped at him, Eddie raised the white flag of surrender and nicely backed off.

Steve was bound and determined to make sure little Winnie had the best first Christmas possible. Never mind the wee lad was only six months old and wouldn’t remember it or the next two for that matter.

But Steve kept saying it wasn’t what he could remember, it was that Steve made it magical for him. Which was why Eddie had wisely decided to stay out of it. He knew Steve was only doing this because his own Christmases as a kid were white and sterile and boring. Something he did not want for Winnie.

Plus Eddie was not going to turn down the chance to spoil his babies. So he let Steve do whatever he wanted and Eddie tailed behind with the credit card. Yes, yes. Technically Steve’s card could max out his and still have a lot left over, but it was the principle of it all and after talking to Steve about how he wanted to spoil his family, Steve relented too.

Right now in the center of their entryway was a giant fifteen foot Noble fir tree decorated in red and white with presents already piled up under the tree.

Everyone was going to be there, even Chrissy who had requested the week off and got it. She was Starcourt’s brightest jewel now, especially after Roxie took her under their wing.

And Steve couldn’t be happier for her.

It was nearly time for their guests to arrive and Eddie had to admit, Steve knew how to throw a great party.

There was food laid out and drinks of all kinds. Eggnog both alcoholic and not, same with the cider. Hot chocolate and of course a wide range of Christmas cocktails all doled out by people Steve had hired.

Steve laughed as Winnie was handed off to another of the people who loved him. First it was to Grandpa Wayne, then to Robin. When it time for a diaper change, Jeff grabbed the little one and had him in a new diaper within minutes.

Eddie came over with a couple of mugs of eggnog and handed Steve one, then slid his newly freed hand around his waist. “You did good, Stevie. There isn’t a person out there that isn’t having a good time. Your son especially.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks, babe. I love seeing everyone so happy. I never thought I’d have a family like this. I thought it was going to be me and Robin against the world for the rest of our lives. But looking at our family I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

The night wore on and everyone left, leaving the small and happy family to rest from a great night.

The next morning after opening all the presents and fantastic breakfast made by Steve, they all curled up on the sofa watching the lit tree.

“What’s up, sweetheart?” Eddie cooed once Winnie had dropped off for his mid-morning nap. “You barely touched your breakfast.”

“I have another Christmas present for you,” Steve murmured and pulled out a white tube from his robe pocket.

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “What more could you give me, Stevie?”

Steve handed him the tube and Eddie took it gingerly. He looked down and saw he was holding a pregnancy test. A pregnancy test with two pink lines.

His eyes went wide. “Is this for real? I’m not dreaming?”

Steve giggled and then pinched his sided, causing Eddie to squirm. “It’s real, you dork. Winnie’s going to have a brother or sister next year.”

Eddie scooped Steve up and hauled him up on his lap. “You beautiful creature, you! Another baby!”

“I kind suspected I might be last week when my heat was so mild,” Steve murmured into Eddie’s neck, “but it really hit home when I threw up the eggnog from last night this morning.”

“I’m sorry I slept through that,” Eddie said, “but I love the surprise. Best Christmas present ever.”

Steve could only agree. The lights glimmered and softly music played somewhere in the distance.

“If it’s a girl can we name her Elizabeth Robin?” he asked softly, his own eyes starting to droop.

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie said with a fond smile. “We can name her after my mom and your best friend. I think Wayne would love that too.”

“Mmmk,” Steve mumbled as he too fell asleep.

Eddie looked down at his mate and just boundless joy erupted from him. Steve had absolutely succeeded in giving them all the best Christmas anyone could ask for.

~

Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12

Tag list: CLOSED

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8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[antimony-medusa]

Gonna be honest with you though if someone outright says “don’t ship my character with other people” or something to that extent regarding smut or whatever I don’t think there should be any ambiguity

I get your point about the nature of fanfic being inherently encroaching upon people’s images so that levity should be extended to otherwise uncommon avenues but I really believe hardline boundaries should be respected, end of, no discussion. If I see people violating creators’ boundaries for their characters Or themselves (and these can be intertwined, it’s not up to the audience to pick apart their boundaries, cuz I’ve seen people try to do that) I’m not going to judge them fairly and I feel like neither should you.

Lines can be crossed and intimacy (not even necessarily romantic!) is a very different monster than the other avenues of storytelling because of how it involves real life relationships seeping into character relationships. Its’s uncommon for people to be like “I wrote A’s character being tortured because I feel like A is tortured in real life” but they Can and Often do that with ship work. So I don’t know, I feel like you’re not affording this the right nuance.

Alright, so, this is another post I'm gonna slap with a discourse and long post warning right away, buckle in.

Yeah, I hear what you're saying, and this is not an uncommon opinion to have! It's still the opinion of twitter/x so far as I know, and I think it's probably the opinion of the bulk of dsmp fans here, as well. I know my posts get notes once they start circulating in hermitblr, but I don't kid myself that I have the majority view. I am posting to explain my views expressly because I know a lot of people don't agree with me!

And in this case we do have a difference of opinion. There's two sort of points as I see it in your posts— we have hardline boundaries about shipping/nsfw from some people, and everyone in the fandom should be abiding by those no exceptions or be thrown out of the fandom; and we have shipping boundaries but not boundaries for other things because shipping is uniquely boundary-crossing and terrible and invasive, in contrast to anything else we can do in fandom.

Taking the second part first, I just don't think that's true. Let's not forget, boundaries discourse started with SMPLive and SMPronpa, and it was not the shipping that caused the discussion, it was the death games. The first real fandom reckoning we had with the notion of boundaries as mcyt fandom was over gore and murder and portraying people in violent ways. Shipping was barely a blip on the radar. The way the discourse has developed now, shipping is framed as the absolute worst thing anyone could ever do with your public image, and everything else is fine, but that is not the case for everyone. Recently the Pirates SMP creators were asked repeatedly for their boundaries (bothered on twitter, really) until they gave them and thus we saw people being fine with shipping but not wanting family dynamic, or being against both shipping and gore, or being fine with shipping but not wanting to be gender bent or trans headcanoned, etc. Not everyone feels the same way about the same things, despite the us-american cultural viewpoint that romance and sexualization is uniquely bad but gore and torture is fine, that everything else is fine.

Like, if we're looking at DSMP, I think there are a lot of creators who would feel just as strongly if not stronger about fics in which their character died of a terminal illness than they would about a fic in which they kiss someone, for understandable reasons. But I see those tropes in the tags regularly!

I think if we are honest with ourselves, if we are going to hardline boundaries about things that are uniquely invasive or bad to do to a creator's character with the view that we are putting all of this up for the creator's approval, we need to accept that this excludes us from writing anything where a character is abusive or is tortured or dies of a terminal illness or is psychologically broken or is age regressed or is neurodivergent or is queer if the cc is straight or trans if the cc is cis or cis if the cc is trans or straight if they're gay— the list of things that would be weird to do in the face of the real guy is really long. And it has most of our favourite tropes on it!

I love writing autistic philza. It would be really fuckin' weird to go up to Philza and tell him about how I write his character as whumped and autistic. Come on now. (But that's within boundaries, so that's— fine? I really don't think it's fine!)

Which is why my stance is that we should be thinking critically about these things, and keeping the fandom seperate from the creators. Some of these things are just not for the creators. They're fine but they shouldn't go on twitter. Y'know?

The idea that shipping draws uniquely on the real person and leads to invasive behaviour but nothing else does— that nobody does "I wrote A being tortured because I think A is tortured in real life"— Look. I have been in the fandom a long time. I remember how all the abused tommy narratives fed right into people assuming his family in real life were abusive— and talking about this on twitter! Where he and his family could see! People did this with WIlbur and Techno too!

I remember people reading about trans tommy and then truthing that the creator either was transmasc or was going to come out as transfemme any day now, publically, on twitter and in his chat. I have seen people she/her tubbo to his face on twitter, with fancams. I have been in chat when people who have clearly assigned Phil "dad" start asking WILDLY invasive things in TTS. If you think that shipping is the only fandom behaviour that can lead to people drawing directly from the streamers for their work and treating the creators weirdly about it, you simply have not been paying attention.

The way the fandom insists on treating benchtrio as children despite the fact that they're almost twenty and viciously attacking their friends for treating them as adults and chiding tommy and tubbo and ranboo for inappropriate behaviour. The list goes ON.

So. The recieved DSMP wisdom is that we should TTS the streamers to check if it's okay if we write a fic in which they die of cancer. We should DM them on instagram to ask if it's okay if we write them as a gender or sexual identity they don't share. We should show up in their twitter mentions to ask if it's okay if we write them as a physically abusive parent.

No????????

My view on that is that it is frankly bizzare it is that we have decided that "asking creators for detailed instructions regarding porn or gore" (especially in TTS! When they're fucking at WORK and can't step away! Stop doing this to the hermits!) is normal and fine and responsible but "post your shit in appropriate places and leave the creators out of it" will make you a monster.

Once again, the experience of someone coming up and saying "i think of you as age regressed" and someone saying "i found this fic where you're age regressed" and someone saying "can I write a fic where you're age regressed" is not that different. In all cases you know that the person has been thinking about it and putting it out there, and in all cases you didnt seek out this information, it was brought to you. In all cases it's weird. Just do not bring this information up to them!

If you just think about it for a while, you see that there is an entire host of things that would be weird to force into the view of a creator, especially when you consider that half the time we got these clips from TTS information when we have no idea if the person answering knew the context of what they were being asked, if they were specifically aware of the creator/cc divide that the fandom works with, or if they felt pressured into it. Oh yeah, let's take a TTS clip from Tubbo when it was 2 in the morning for him and he was deep in a minecraft mod when someone asked him about alters and delusions and he was like "oh you mean like— when they can't help it? I guess that's fine." That definately counts as freely given, reversible, informed, enthusiastic and specific consent to show him anything we want at all times forever. That's never going to make him uncomfortable.

Think a little here.

So I think there's a lot of the fandom that we should not be putting up for the approval of the creators, and if we don't have a firm answer on if they would like potential edge cases, we should probably be thinking about it and keeping it away from them (and I would err on the side of caution), we should NOT be showing up in the TTS to ask them about narratives in which they're institutionalized, or making them a GOP conservative in fiction, or if Wilbur was canon about seeing them as a bottom, or whatever bizzare thing someone is cooking up now. Honestly if you think to yourself "I don't know if the creator would like seeing this", I would be much more comfortable if the two choices we were picking between there were "simply don't write it" or "write it but keep it away from them", and "harass the creator for an answer on this subject and only write it if they say yes" never entered the equation at all.

And to return to your first point, if we already have a class of fiction that we are keeping away from the creators because basic intellectual curiosity would show that it would be weird to show someone, I don't think it's the end of the world to go "okay, creator doesn't like NSFW, so we also keep the NSFW away from them, keep this shit off twitter, block them if you create it, don't show it to them" and then we archive lock it and continue on our little weirdo on the internet ways.

Now, I don't expect to convince you of this, the phrasing of your post does not indicate that you're open to discussion on this topic. That's fine. Nobody has to agree with me. But I grew up conservative christian, and I have already had people try and get me to throw people out of the community for their perceived sins where I was like "well, I really don't think this is that bad", and I'm really resistant to being forced to do that again. I don't think it's a healthy way to run a fandom, to be shunning people for what they're doing in fiction. Harassing creators in chat? Sure, I will block them from my events as untrustworthy. That's hurting someone in the real world. Writing something that I don't vibe with privately on the archive for an audience of 50 people? That is not doing harm to real people. As long as they're not showing it to the creators, I don't count that as offensive.

How's that for nuance.

[mmelete]

Hi! Thanks for the tag @sprite-and-the-bunnydragons!!

How many works on ao3? 30.

Total ao3 wordcount? 166k. That's a lot more than I thought!

Top 5 Fics by Kudos?

Twilight Loves his Kids! (Goat kids. baby goats) - this kind of surprised me. This was my first fic in the "Who has Kids Again?" series, and I was nervous about posting it. Then I remember checking it an seeing that it had so many kudos and I was like WHAT.

The 'Wise Old Man' is actually not Old (Or Wise) - First time-centric fic of mine, I enjoyed writing it.

As Ancient as the Sky Itself - ugh. This fic...I don't really like this one at all, I took so long to finish it (barely), I honestly could NOT figure out how to end it....the fic ended up bleeding into the Four-centric one...askjdhksaljhf. no comment.

Four (Young) Mice - ASDKAHSFHSAJ THIS IS THE FOURTH ONE. I'M DEAD SERIOUS. this fact alone made me smile sadfhashdf well deserved. I love my four fics <3

Legend and the Baby Rabbits - my least creative title, but my proudest work. I loved writing this, it was so fun and reading everyone comments made my entire week!

4. What fandoms do you write for? Linked Universe and Legend of Zelda.

5. Do you respond to comments? I used to be pretty diligent about it, but then I got busy over the holidays and just...stopped. There's so many unread comments in my inbox now...sigh. I still appreciate every single one! I love comments <3

6. Fic with the Angstiest Ending: Ooooo...the first and last chapter of my Febuwhump. First chapter is Malon hearing about Time's death, and the last chapter is Legend getting teleported to an alternate reality where Marin and his Uncle are alive, he can't stay and has to leave them, again.

7. Fic with the happiest ending: umm....er maybe...Number One Hero? Ravio is mistaken for Legend, and the town throws a party for him. Lots of fluff and brotherly bonding.

8. Do you get hate? ...i wouldn't call it hate, but I unfortunately am a panster and often I forget what I had planned, so details get jumbled and i update sporadically, so I've had like maybe one or two comments about that. I also didn't understand how to moderate comments earlier and got a hate comment and I just deleted the chapter and reposted it 💀

9. Do you write smut? No.

10. Do you write crossovers? ...not yet. FMAB is rotting in my brain and i have an idea for an LU x FMAB crossover but it's going to stay in my drafts for a while lol.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? ...not that I know of lol.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not yet, but I wouldn't mind at all as long as the person credited me!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic? No. I'm not a very good planner, so I feel like it would be difficult to collaborate on that, but I'm not against it though!

14. All-time favorite ship? Uh...of all time? Serena x Ash Ketchum (coughs). But in loz...MALINK!! My beloved. And Spirit Track Zelink, SKSW Zelink...lots of zelink lol.

15. WIPS you want to finish but doubt you ever will? ...I don't have a good track record for this, but I'd like to finish all of them before I leave the LU fandom (which probably won't be anytime soon).

16. Writing strengths? Unlike real life, my dialogue is very banter-y and witty. It's easy for me to write.

17. Writing weaknesses? ACTION. SPECIFICALLY BATTLES. ohh my god...I don't undersatnd how people write such fantastic and epic imagery while I stare at my docs like "swords. blood. sweat. ok monsters are dead now"

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue? I like it. Not in giant paragraphs that I have to google translate, but the occasional phrase can be fitting for a particular character or situation.

19. First Fandom you ever wrote for? Linked Universe!

20. Favorite Fic you've ever written? Oh...Number One Hero did not get as much love as I expected but I loved that one and enjoyed writing that...and Four (Young) Mice is good (it's LU Four, so obviously lol). I also loved And You, My Prince (fable/legend <3)

phew that was a lot! No pressure tags! @poposusz @fithesworddweller @crazylittlejester @readingismyhobby24 @kilgoreontralfamadore @raycatz and anyone I forgot!

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #8004:

Alright, I just wanna get many, many things off my chest because it was a drama that has ran rampant in the Resident Evil fandom, specifically in the Leon Kennedy tags and anything related to that tag. I am someone who avoids content like incest (pseudo incest in the case of step fantasies), mutilation in a sex scene, and underage, and I even filter those tags or block people that write that content or a keep scrolling. But to the antis in the tags that literally barely even know about Resident Evil lore and it shows, they can’t do that. They have t resort to invading the tags with their complaints and telling people who are using dead dove fics to cope with their own trauma to “keep it private.” You cannot be goddamn serious right now. We’re doing this whole ignoring the voices of actual victims and also calling them predators now? Are you kidding me?

It gets worse, because I came across another one who straight up said, “it’s ironic that these people have minors DNI when they write underage shit.” It is STILL MINORS DNI for a BIG FAT REASON. It’s still PORN that minors have no business interacting with. And also, the people that write or consume stuff like this doesn’t reflect their morality, but I guess none of them are ready for that conversation because they never were. And these are all grown ass adults too, by the way.

And the unnecessary call out posts of people who have said that they were SA victims or are just normal everyday people or are 18 or 19 just wanting to write whatever it is they want. One of the SA victims who wrote a bit of Leon dead dove fics was targeted for harassment, and it got really bad to the point where they had to defend themselves.

Some of the dead dove fanfics I saw while scrolling past them also had content warnings since Tumblr is ran by a staff that doesn’t care about their users, so there is literally no excuse.

The trivialization of the terms “pedophilia” and “CP” has gotten so bad that if there was someone being called out being a predator, some people will not react with reporting the person immediately, they will instead be skeptical and say, “is this for real or is this about the dead dove Leon Kennedy drama again?” Like this is what’s gonna happen and I won’t be surprised, I’m just going to be pissed off. Plus, there’s probably predators on here right now, in real time grooming a minor and it’s gonna be ignored because of this BS. So congratulations, Antis you are actively helping groomers that are on here hurting real life minors as we speak by trivializing the term CP to mean gross underage fanfiction and pedophilia to mean a writer who makes gross fanfiction.

Meanwhile I and many others who just wanted to read some good fanfics of Leon just wanted to chill in the tags but thanks to all of you antis doing this, I can’t even touch any of the Leon Kennedy tags. Also, Resident Evil has had a canonical serial killer and rapist, incest subtext, a man wanting to marry and have sex with a zombified female character after kidnapping her, and RE6 had sexual elements with the weird clone storyline and that Deborah Harper boss fight, but I guess none of you knew any of that because you guys either barely know anything about Resident Evil lore, or you guys did know that, but chose to target the dead dove writers because they write something you hate and are triggered by, and I don’t even know what’s worse.

To end this off, you guys are SO comfortable harassing people, calling out people and when someone reveals their trauma, you actively IGNORE IT. Or, you equate their real life pain and suffering to fiction. I have absolutely no hope for any of you and you have made the RE fandom a less safe place for people.

Sincerely, a Resident Evil fan so sick and tired of the drama.

[si1verghosts]

you and me found love (lost under the shade)

re4r leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.3k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking, smoking, sex | tw: illusions to suicidal thoughts; author's general preoccupation with death and dying

read on ao3

title: falling asleep on a stranger by pierce the veil | art: taft bridge under the rain [#127] by carmonamedina

a/n: i honestly don't know if i am doing this whole tagging thing right idk how to tag on here so sorry if i missed anything.... anyways, this is the first thing i've managed to finish in months - i did not imagine the first leon fic i'd actually post would be reader insert but here we are!! i hope u enjoy :D

not beta read - all mistakes my own or done purposely due to my general disrespect for the grammatical conventions of the english language.

i do not own leon, yadda yadda, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chat bot and/or writing generator.

-----

"I can't be what you want," Leon had said, voice even. "Maybe you should try to find someone else; someone who can… be around."

Someone who can give you a straight answer. Someone who doesn't come home bloodied and bruised and can't tell you why. Someone who doesn't make you feel like it's all just a lie. 

You had never heeded any of Leon's suggestions before - "You should go," he had whispered after that first night, and the second, and the third - but you wish you had; so you give it a shot now. 

You let your friend set you up with the guy in accounting at her job she had been telling you about for months. "And get this - he always wears a tie bar! He just seems so put together," she had raved to you over drinks the weekend prior.

Accounting, tie bar, put together. Nice, neat, safe. 

You had shrugged, "give him my number."

He's waiting for you outside the bar when you arrive, jogs over when he notices you approaching, holding his umbrella out over you. It's unnecessary - the cold precipitation is hardly a mist, barely coating the strands of your hair. "You look beautiful," he smiles. It feels rehearsed, platitudinous. You thank him, letting him guide you inside. 

His hand brushes your arm as he helps you out of your jacket, skin soft. You pull away with the shock of it, covering with a small wave of beckoning. He falls in behind you as you traverse the familiar path through the room to your usual spot, settling in before he can manage to make a show out of pulling out your chair.

Same table, different seat; back against the wall - it's a whole new perspective. No longer focused solely on the person across from you, it's as if the whole world falls into your line of sight. It suddenly makes sense why you always found it so difficult to hold on to Leon's attention.

He slinks away to acquire your requested vodka soda from the bar. You pick at your nails until your fingers shake, shifting to look out the windows. The rain has picked up, pelting the glass and obscuring the view. You long for your car and the pack of menthols tucked away in the glove box, nobody to quit for now. 

He returns with your drinks, water for himself - "trying to cut back on carbs, you know? I've been making real progress with my lifts lately." 

"That's great," you smile. 

He leans in, beginning to chatter away excitedly about weights and protein and bicycles and Wall Street. His cologne reeks of business school, of polo shirts and white picket fences and 2.5 kids. You hope you are nodding at all the right moments. His tie bar catches the light of the Budweiser sign hanging behind you, silver glinting red, as if informing you you aren't.

It's hard, much harder than it reasonably should be but you've forgotten how to do this. Leon and you hardly spoke; the silence was easier - until it grew violent from your overreliance. 

You catch the ring of the doorbell over the drone of his voice, a familiar shape of blonde hair and brown leather entering your peripheral vision. You turn, a sick sense of satisfaction slithering up your spine. 

Shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in his pockets, he shakes off the water droplets clinging to his hair like a dog. He picks his head up, blue eyes and dark circles meet your gaze almost immediately.

You raise a brow, I took your advice; happy?

He spins around, setting the bell off again as he slips out the door. 

"I'm sorry," you interrupt your date, who had been entertaining himself, seemingly never even recognizing your shift in attention. "I'll be right back." 

You are out the door a second later, shoving your arms back into the coat you thankfully remembered to grab, shielding your skin from the rain clouding your vision. Blinking away the droplets from your lashes, you spot Leon making his way down the sidewalk and take off after him, catching up as he nears the corner. 

You call to him, voice near enough to stop him, but only for a moment. "Go back inside," he throws over his shoulder, continuing forward.

You want to reach out and grab him, make him turn to look at you, but his shoulders are set in a tense line. Your touch is sure to set him off like a slingshot. 

Steeling yourself, you dart around him, blocking his path. You find yourself in front of him without any idea of what to say. You gape at him stupidly, chest heaving from the exertion of chasing him down; maybe you should've asked what's-his-name for a good gym recommendation before you ran off.

Leon entertains you for a moment before he huffs, eyes narrowing, "what are you doing?"

It's an excellent question - one you had never bothered to stop and ask yourself. 

What are you doing? 

Why did you agree to go for drinks? Why had you put on the dress Leon had carefully unzipped and let pool around your ankles just a few weeks ago? Why had you asked Mr. Tie Bar to meet you at the bar you knew Leon always popped into after work? 

Fuck. 

You swallow harshly, "trying." 

"Trying?" Leon reiterates, almost laughing. "And what is it that you are trying?"

Normal. To get over you. To make you mad. Honesty. To make you look at me. To make you want me like I want you. Safety. To hurt you. To get you to say something, anything. Trust. To get you to make me stay. To get you to stay. 

You feel yourself frown, the familiar pressure of tears building behind your nose. You try to swallow the feeling but it just mixes with the venom stuck in your throat, bubbling back up after mutating into a bitter twinge of anger. "What the hell does it look like, Leon? You told me to try to find someone else - that's what I'm trying."

He rocks back on his heels, crossing his arms. "Well, it doesn't really seem to be working out, does it?" 

"It was going great, actually." You smile, hoping it's not as hollow as you feel. 

"Oh, yeah?" He cocks a brow, lips pulling into a sly smirk. "Then why are you out here with me?

"You," you huff, at a loss. His words seem to be coming easier than ever while you choke on every one. You shrug, "You looked upset when you left."

"And I'm sure that's exactly what you wanted, right?" His smirk stretches into an acetous grin. "Came to relish in the tears, huh? Sorry to disappoint." He moves to brush by you, but you plant yourself in his path once again. 

"I can't believe-" you start, but stop short. Because you can believe he'd think of you that way - you'd never given him a reason to think otherwise. 

You think back to the silence that had made its home between the two of you, realizing you had used it as a confidant, letting it absorb everything you should've given to Leon instead. 

"I just wanted to check on you, see how you are doing." Your voice comes out as small as you feel under the weight of Leon's gaze. It's ironic - all this time you just wanted him to look at you, and now you wish he'd turn his eyes anywhere else. 

He snorts, short and irascibly, "I don't need you worrying about me."

"I know you don't, Leon," you throw your hands out, rainwater flicking off your skin with your exasperation. "You've made that very clear. But I can't help it - I'm going to anyways." 

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?" You half-yell, half-whine. You cringe at the sound, feeling slightly delirious; freezing cold and nearly begging him to let you care. 

 "Because you can do better." His voice is even once again, feelings stacked neatly away and locked up tight. 

"You don't get to decide that for me," you spit, ears ringing with the echo of your too-loud voice. 

"Yeah," he nods. "I do." 

He steps around you again, intending to disappear down the side street. But this time you grab him, fingers latching onto the slippery leather of his jacket, his arm as tense as a bowstring under your grip. 

"Let me go," he requests without turning to look at you, voice still even, even, even. It's a courtesy, he could easily pull free - but you are sick of his kindness, his courtesies; that's how you ended up here. You don't want them anymore.

"Make me." 

"Let me go," he repeats, slower and thicker. 

"No." If you want me gone, you'll have to force me. You don't say it, but you know he got the message when his shoulders slump, fight draining out of him all at once. 

With the thrill of victory that ripples through you, you make the mistake of loosening your hold on his jacket. He seizes the opportunity, twisting your arm and grabbing you by the bicep, pulling you close. He is running hot despite the chill of the rain, you have to force yourself not to relax into his heat. 

A moment passes, and then another. Neither of you move. The precipitation falls in sheets around you. You can't bring yourself to care. 

Your gaze slides from his chest to his neck to his jaw, backtracking the path of a stray raindrop. You chance a glance at his eyes, finding they are already on you, steely blue shimmering with the light of the streetlamp behind you. 

You love him. 

You wish the ground would crack open, allowing you to freefall straight down to hell. You imagine that would feel better - less painful - than this. 

You love him, and your skin burns with the feeling of it. You want to throw up. You want to kiss him. You want to pound your fists against his chest, curse him for doing this to you. 

You settle for allowing a sob to escape your throat. 

He releases you from his hold instantly at the sound. You scramble to grip his jacket to keep yourself upright - it's pitiful, the teeth of the zipper biting into the skin of your hands. The sharp pain comes as a tether, gifting you the space to ground yourself, to shove the tears back down. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, tight and clipped. "I didn't mean to-"

"No," you cut him off, voice rough, grating. "It wasn't. You didn't hurt me."

"Okay," he mutters. 

You laugh. You love him and you can't help but laugh, sinking into the insanity of it. 

You feel him start to stiffen again, unsure. The feeling of his discomfort building under your fingers forces you back into yourself, realizing where you are, that you've been causing a scene on the corner down the block from his apartment. 

You release him, but you don't step away, tilting your head just enough to take in the sight of him - parted lips and a handful of freckles, blonde hair tinted green by the neon sign over the entrance of the convenience store a few feet away. 

"I'm sorry," you croak out, drifting back; wishing the rain would melt you down, suck you into the storm drain. That's the only thing that could pull you from him, you think; swirling down the gutters with the cigarette butts and the fallen cherry blossoms until you're laid to rest at the bottom of the Potomac. 

His nose twitches. "For what?"

That I can't find someone else, can't force myself away from you.

That I love you, but can't tell you.  

"For," you throw your hands out, weaker than before. "All of it."

He nods, "It's okay."

You don't want it to be, but you suddenly feel exhausted. Too tired to fight, to pull any more truths from him. 

"Take me home?" You request, you plead. 

He nods again, holding his hand out to you. "Yeah."

You intertwine your fingers with his own, the roughness of his callouses and scars soothing in their familiarity. 

The walk to his place is short. You don't bother trying to shake off the water before entering, leaving a trail of raindrops up the stairwell, down the hall, through his front door, across his apartment to the tiled floor of his bathroom. 

He reaches into the shower, cranking the hot water, allowing the stream to heat up as he helps you out of your wet clothes. He removes the drenched fabric piece by piece - jacket first, then your dress, unzipping it with even more care than the previous time. It doesn't slip off with the same ease, but his gentle fingers pull it from your skin until it falls away. He crouches to undo your shoes, allowing you to step out of them before reaching up and rolling your nylons, guiding them down your legs. 

He moves to do the same with your underwear, fingers resting on the waistband as he glances up to you, silently asking your permission even though he already has it, always will. There's no heat behind his actions, but the tenderness sears your skin all the same. You nod, a low ache settling into the center of your chest as he slides them off you before standing. You unclasp your bra; he doesn't comment on the matching set.

The steam of the boiling shower envelops you as you undress him in turn. You struggle with his belt buckle, stiff fingers uncooperative. He takes over and you drop to your knees to untie the laces of his boots, finding them mercifully secured with single-knots. You make quick work of them and he reaches down to help you up, moving you out of the way before he kicks them off. 

You assist him in pulling his shirt over his head, peeling the cotton away from his skin. You unbutton his jeans as he removes the clips from your hair, wet strands falling limply in front of your eyes. 

"Go ahead and get in, I'll go throw this stuff in the wash." His voice is mellifluous, sickeningly soft. 

It makes you feel like a kid, incompetent and helpless. You hate him for it. You hate yourself for twisting his kindness into something dark and disgusting. 

"I can help," you offer, because that's all you can do; already leaning down to collect your things. "You have to hang the jacket, it's-"

"Wool. I know," his hand brushes your back lightly, "it's okay. I'll be right back."

You straighten up, allowing him to guide you across the bathroom and help you into the tub. You slowly ease your way under the hot stream as he slides the shower curtain closed. 

You watch the shape of him through the cloudy plastic, shucking off his jeans and pulling off his socks. The sobs you had just barely choked down twice before make another escape attempt, clawing at your throat as you watch his shadow collect your clothes and move down the hall. 

You shut your eyes against the sudden emptiness of the room, against the tears and the silence and the panic; against the loathing and inferiority. You take the coward's way out, turning away from it all to hold your face up to the showerhead. 

He returns quickly, rustling around for a moment before slipping into the tub behind you. His presence awards you the bravery you needed to crack open your eyes, to clear your throat. "You're wrong, you know."

Exhaustion overshadows his amusement as he hums in question, "about what?"

Picking your hand up, you reach out slowly to slide your fingers along his collarbone, circle the puckered scar on his shoulder. "That I can find someone better." 

He scoffs, dropping his head, hair fluttering down to obscure his face. 

You move your hand to his neck, thumbing his jaw. "If anything, it's me who doesn't deserve you, Leon." 

He shakes his head, but you ignore the action, continuing before he can protest. "Nobody can take care of me like you do - not even myself. I'm sorry" - for needing you, for burdening you; for loving you even though I'm unworthy of it - "for pushing you. I understand there are things you can't share, but I want whatever you can."

You sigh, shifting your hand at his neck to pull him to you; he follows you easily, achingly. "Even if it's just this." 

He nods minutely, hooking his arms over your hips and resting his forehead on yours. Answer delivered on a breath that floats across your lips, "alright." 

You remain in his arms, his agreement echoing in your mind in time with the beat of your heart in your chest. Seconds morph into minutes, only moving when the water begins to grow cold. 

You wash first, your shampoo and conditioner still on the rack next to his own. Leaving him under the stream, you make your way to his room after wrapping yourself in one of the towels he'd brought into the bathroom. 

Home. You had asked him to take you home and he brought you here, despite your own place being just a few blocks further in the opposite direction of his from the corner you had been on. But his assumption was right; this - he - was home to you.  

The emptiness of his apartment was unsettling at first, but it quickly grew comforting - no regrets staining the carpet; no photos on the dresser of you as a girl you don't remember being. Here you could be untethered from the past you didn't want; white walls graciously offering a clean slate, even if you didn't deserve it, didn't earn it. 

There is a shirt of his waiting on the bed for you, a pair of your pajama pants in the drawer next to his. Your stomach turns at the sight - no wonder he had tried to push you away; you had subconsciously settled into his space, his closet and his bed. 

Your mug in the sink, your pills behind the mirror - the reckless domesticity of it all is startling, terrifying. He had given you an inch and you had taken a mile, too eager for the chance to be something new. 

You pull on the clothes, making your way towards the balcony, a wave of nausea rolling through you under the soft cotton. Outside, it's still raining, translucent ropes sluicing off the overhang of the roof. 

You almost immediately regret stepping outside, feeling as if it's a betrayal of the care Leon took to get you warm; but you needed it. The chill of the air forces your thoughts to line up, to wait to be addressed one by one.

His hand leading you home, your wool coat hung to dry, his shirt waiting on the bed for you to occupy - each act a silent invitation; the realization stirs inside you, grips your collarbones from the inside. 

Could it be…?

You should ask him, but you've asked for more than enough tonight. 

He slides open the glass door, sweatpants low on his hips; the lamp on his nightstand illuminates him from behind, feathering out all his sharp edges. Maybe it's not love; maybe it's just lust, desire - a need so great it's all-consuming. You have no point of comparison to use as a frame of reference, to assist in finding the distinction. 

"I was away for a few days, there's not much in the fridge. Is ramen alright or do you want to order something?" He asks and it's love, you are suddenly sure of it. 

You turn; the sight of Leon in the buttery glow of the bedroom acting as a beacon, guiding you through the terror. "Ramen is fine."

[double-vandammage]

Title: Rude Awakening

Word count: 2,573

Rating: 18+

Ship: Bret Hart x Shawn Michaels

Tags/Warnings: Enemies to lovers, Bret POV, Handjob, Blowjob, Alcohol

Also posted to my a03: aa_beatrix

Here is my first fanfic in probably 6 years. I'm so nervous about it, but I hope you Hartbreak shippers like it. I'm fairly new to this ship so please be gentle. 🥹 Thank you to the encouragement of my sis @taydaq, @imabillyami, @crxssjae, and @superkickme 😘

Let me know if anyone wants to be tagged in future fics, I do plan on writing more. 🫣

Bret sat silently by his motel window, watching the rain gently glide down the glass. What a shit day he had, it was only fitting the weather was also terrible. The promo he had just cut with Shawn weighed heavily on his mind. He was so tired of the little prick. Night after night he had to observe Shawn flamboyantly parade around the stage. Not only did he have to watch the annoying spectacle, but also endure the man occasionally shake his bare ass at the crowd. The fans ate it up and he couldn’t fathom why. They were close once, it seemed a lifetime away. Thunder cracked, startling him from his thoughts. The universe was telling him to relinquish any thoughts of Shawn for the rest of the evening. He didn’t want Shawn in his head more than was required, especially while he was alone in his motel room. Bret made his way to the bed, climbing under the covers and slowly he drifted to sleep.  

Abruptly there was an aggressive and continuous rap at his door. Bret was barely able to open his eyes as he dazedly glanced at the bedside clock. The time read 2:00AM. “Who the fuck-?” he grunted as the knocking became louder. He whipped the blanket from his body while quickly swinging his legs over the mattress. “I’m coming dammit.” he spat, stumbling to the door in his sleepy stupor. He put his eye to the peephole. “Jesus Christ…” none other than a Heartbreak Kid disruption. “Hey! Big daddy cool! Open up big sexy!” Shawn half yelled, half giggled. Bret opened the door, “wrong room shithead. Some of us are trying to sleep.” Shawn was drenched. He had clearly spent some time in the rain. “Whoa.” Shawn raised both hands up in defense. “This isn’t Kevin’s room?” Bret made a show of moving his hands up and down his own frame, “clearly it isn’t you asshole, what are you drunk?” Shawn put his index finger and thumb together, “Mmmm…maybe just a pinch.” 

Rolling his eyes, Bret took in Shawn’s appearance. He was soaked, so much so he had created a pool of moisture on the motel floor. He was a mess. “Do you know which room Kevin is in?” he asked, not wanting Shawn to be his problem this early in the morning. “Hmmm…well I thought this was his room…so I guess…no.” he said with his signature smile, chuckling to himself. “You wouldn’t mind if I bunked here tonight, eh Hitman?” Shawn asked while running a hand through his wet hair. Bret thought this must be some cruel joke the universe was playing on him. The last thing he wanted in his room was a drunk wet dog named Shawn Michaels, but he couldn’t let him wander aimlessly up and down the halls, slamming on random doors, and calling for big sexy. 

Bret crossed his arms, “shit. Fine. Do not drip on anything.” Shawn grinned, “Thanks Hitman, you’re the best there is and ever will be.” he said, pushing Bret to the side and slapping him on the arm. Bret closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “The bathroom is to the left, I can get you something to change into.” He closed the door and turned to find Shawn already on the bed. “Are you fucking kidding me Michaels? You’re super fucking soaked. Get off the bed, now.” Shawn rose, propping himself on his elbows. “Oh man…I am?” he asked, real concern in his voice. “Uh, yeah. Get up.” Bret demanded. Shawn moved almost intentionally slow, the blankets getting more and more saturated. 

“Dammit Shawn. Get your ass to the bathroom.” he said, grabbing Shawn’s arm, shoving him towards the open doorway. “Alright, alright. Ya don’t gotta be so touchy.” Shawn almost immediately began stripping off his flashy costume. He shook off his vest and began removing those hideous chaps he insisted on wearing. He kicked off his boots next and in doing so Shawn had noticed Bret leaning against the door frame observing. Bret in an instant knew exactly what he was about to do. Shawn turned, his back facing him and commenced shimmying his tights down to wiggle his ass at him. “Like what ya see Hitman?” he taunted. Bret kept his face stoic, but could feel his cheeks beginning to flush. “Stop that shit and just get cleaned up would you?” he urged moving away. Shawn smirked, pulling his tights completely off. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”  

Bret began pulling the blankets and sheets off the bed, discarding them onto the floor. He could hear the water start to run and eventually steam wafted outside the door. He pulled out a plain white t-shirt and gray sweats from his suitcase for Shawn to wear. Bret climbed back into the bed to try and get some more sleep before they had to be on the road again. The shower stopped and after a few minutes, he felt the empty side of the mattress shift. “Absolutely not boytoy.” he murmured. “Oh come on Bret, there’s not even a couch in here.” Shawn whined. “Not my problem. This is already obnoxious without having dry blankets, you are not sleeping up here.” Shawn in a child-like tantrum, huffed off the bed and onto the floor with one of the pillows. Within minutes he was fast asleep.

Outside rain still poured and thunder intermittently boomed, a particularly loud burst was enough to rattle Bret awake again. The clock registered at 5:00AM. He could hear Shawn’s slow and steady breathing, surprised Shawn didn’t also wake. Rolling to the opposite side of the bed, Bret peered over. Shawn was lying on his side facing him. Long blonde hair fell down around his shoulder and pillow. His bangs draped over his eyes. Shawn was beautiful, anyone could see that. Bret found his eyes had lingered, observing the white t-shirt he let the man borrow had slightly uplifted, revealing a small glimpse of Shawn’s tanned stomach. Quickly he averted his gaze and rolled back over. Squeezing his eyes shut, focusing on the sounds outside in an attempt to stifle an unresolved hunger he had no business feeling towards the Heartbreak Kid.

Unable to rest, he again got out of bed to reside by the window in the lone chair. He needed air. He opened the window just enough to feel the cool misting of rain against his face. Minutes later he heard Shawn stirring, a small groan escaping from him as he stretched. Shawn sat upright, dreamily looking at Bret. “Can’t sleep Hitman?” he mumbled. Bret ignored him, keeping his view to the window. “I gotta take a leak.” Shawn yawned as he shuffled towards the bathroom. Bret listened as Shawn fumbled around in the dark, hearing the toilet flush and sink run. He came out in the middle of another yawn, “Fuck me, I’m gonna be sore. You think people will believe me when I say I’m sore after spending the night in the Hitman’s room?” he laughed. “Don’t even joke about that shit Shawn.” Bret spat. “I’ll kick you out right now, don’t test me.”

Shawn cautiously made his way to stand in front of him. “Come on, would it be so terrible? Maybe this is exactly what you and I need.” Shawn said, reaching out a hand to brush the inky strands of hair from Bret’s face. Bret caught his wrist, stopping him. “Don’t.” Shawn only invaded his space more, moving his leg to part Bret’s thighs. His free hand tilted Bret’s chin upward so he could meet his stare. “I know you look at me. Just like I knew you were looking at me over there.” he said, nodding his head in the direction of the bed. Bret jerked his head away irritated, but Shawn hadn’t released his grip. Shawn lowered himself, his mouth inches from his ear, “I like it when you look at me…”.

Bret felt many things for Shawn Michaels. Desire he could always snuff out, now he wasn’t so sure. Shawn closed the space between them, placing his lips to Bret’s temple. Bret involuntarily let go of Shawn’s wrist, finding he was nuzzling into Shawn as he continued to trail light kisses around the side of his face. “Touch me Bret…” Shawn sighed into him. Bret moved his hands to Shawn’s waist, tugging him forward so the younger man was situated between his thighs. Shawn moved his hands to cradle his face, lifting him slightly from the chair into an eager kiss. Bret let his own hands find their way under his t-shirt, running his fingers up Shawn’s back. “Come here.” Bret breathed against Shawn’s lips, guiding him to straddle his lap. 

Shawn smiled into their kiss, feeling Bret’s growing excitement beneath him. Shawn slid his hand down, teasing at Bret’s erection. “I knew you always had a hart on for me.” he joked. “Do you ever just shut the fuck up Michaels?” Bret gasped in between Shawn’s stroking. Their mouths fought for the upperhand, Bret captured Shawn’s bottom lip and bit down roughly. Shawn withdrew, taken aback, “Damn hitman.” he snickered, testing his lip for blood. He hated Shawn and this was probably a huge mistake, but all he wanted to do was make Shawn shut up. Swiftly he grabbed Shawn by the thighs, hoisting him up, and threw him to the bed. Shawn bounced onto the mattress, promptly grabbing at Bret’s shirt to yank him forward. Bret landed a quick peck to Shawn’s mouth before moving to devour his neck. Strategically he removed the pesky white t-shirt from Shawn, creating a makeshift tie to bind Shawn’s wrists.   

He ran his tongue down to Shawn’s shoulder; tasting sweat, motel body wash, and a hint of rain water. Not an ideal flavor, but damn did it taste good on Shawn. Bret flipped Shawn effortlessly onto his stomach, keeping hold of his bound wrists. He swept Shawn’s hair to the side, kissing the nape of his neck. Shawn arched into him, craning his neck to meet Bret’s lips. His fingers felt for the waistband of Shawn’s sweatpants, sliding his hand under the fabric, not surprised to find he wasn’t wearing underwear and grasping his cock. Letting go of his wrists, he tapped the side of Shawn’s hips, signaling Shawn to prop himself on his knees. Shawn read him easily as if inside the ring and elevated his backside, pushing against Bret’s groin, breaking their kiss and keeping his face down to the mattress.

“Holy shit, Hitman…I want you.” Shawn sputtered as Bret began to steadily pump Shawn’s dick. “Fuck, I’ve always wanted you, Bret.” he mumbled into the bed. How long had Shawn wanted him? Was it nearly as long as he wanted Shawn? Over the years he had indulged himself in the occasional sexy boy fantasy and every time he loathed himself for it. He was a complete hypocrite with each jab at Shawn for shooting that girly mag. Now he had Shawn under him, unapologetically jerking him off. He brought his free hand to clasp Shawn’s throat, easing him upward so he could relax against his chest. Bret continued his deliberate rhythm, relishing the low moans and the way Shawn began to thrust into Bret’s hand. “Jesus. Don’t stop.” Shawn whimpered, burying his face into Bret’s neck. He could tell Shawn was getting close, his panting becoming more rapid.

The feeling of Shawn nestled into his body was intoxicating. Sure, they had their physical history in the ring which was intimate in itself but maybe Shawn was right after all. Maybe this was exactly what they needed. What they couldn’t settle on the mat, they could settle behind closed doors. Bret pressed his lips to Shawn’s forehead, “You know I still hate you?” he said, his words muffled against Shawn’s skin and damp hair. “This doesn’t change anything between us.” The hold he had on Shawn’s neck became a little tighter. “Even with my…dick in your hand, you still…manage to be all business.” Shawn choked out as Bret’s pace began to quicken. Bret covered Shawn’s mouth, muting the wail expelling from him as he erupted into Bret’s hand. Shawn clawed at his hold with his own constrained wrists, his hips rutting wildly into Bret’s palm as he rode out his orgasm.       

Bret released Shawn, letting him drop to the mattress. He lay there exhausted, chest heaving and glistening with sweat. Shawn twisted his wrists from the tied up shirt, easily exiting his confines. “Bret baby…” Shawn with eyes still glazed over, rolled to face him. “Please, let me make you feel good too.” he begged, crawling between Bret’s legs to play with the drawstrings of his sweats. He lifted Bret’s shirt, kissing gently at his stomach. The touch of Shawn’s lips pressing at his skin made him shiver and the thought alone of the blonde going down on him was damn near enough to make him come. Against his better judgment, he leaned back and let Shawn take control. 

Shawn slid his sweats and underwear down, revealing his throbbing erection. Without much pause, Shawn took him into his mouth. He let his eyes flutter shut, Shawn clearly had done this a time or two. His mouth felt so warm, so good, his tongue hitting all the right places. He clutched at Shawn’s hair, allowing his fingers to entangle themselves. “God damn Michaels…” he managed to groan as Shawn licked up the length of his cock. He wasn’t going to last much longer. Shawn was unrelenting as he held tightly to Bret’s thighs, keeping him in place as his hips bucked desperately into the heat of Shawn’s mouth. He couldn’t help the mangled cry Shawn managed to pry out of him as he came. “Holy shit.” he breathed, unable to form anything else articulate. 

The rain seemed to intensify outside the window, brisk air filtering in and caressing their moist bodies. Shawn had positioned himself on top of Bret’s stomach, his chin resting on crossed arms. “I bet you didn’t hate me just now.” he purred. “Fuck you.” Bret smirked, propping a hand behind his neck. His dark eyes met Shawn’s baby blues. “What now?” Shawn asked. Bret’s other hand traveled down to brush the hair from Shawn’s face, tucking a rogue lock behind his ear. “I don’t know. We have to get up soon.” Shawn emitted a breathy sigh, “Let’s stay like this a bit longer.” he insisted. The Heartbreak Kid’s eyes closed as he leaned into the way Bret lazily threaded his fingers through his golden hair. 

Internally Bret felt the need to run, this dangerously bordered on affection. He should shove the younger man away, tell him to get lost, and figure out what to do before their next show. However, his needs and wants were very different. He had said nothing would change, but deep down he knew neither of them believed that. Would they fall back into their rivalry or back into bed? What was to follow after, they couldn’t know now and they didn’t have to address it just yet. This sweet silence was preferred to all the bullshit they put each other through. Even if they had got it wrong, they could figure out the details later. Before the other knew it, the sound of the rain mixed with their slow breathing lulled them to sleep. 

This quiet moment was theirs to keep.

[abyssal-author-and-artist]

My blog is generally pretty lighthearted and I stick to reblogging art and fic and fun stuff, but you know what. I feel like I need to say this.

I am a trans teen in the US. I'm seventeen, so too young to have voted. I'm terrified for my life right now. I usually post about college but I'm actually concurrently enrolled in high school still and the kid who sits behind me in first period government is a massive Trump fanboy. I'm going to have to go to high school Monday and talk about the election. I'm going to have to hear my deadname called and hear people in my super conservative high school talk about how happy they are Trump won. Everything is terrifying. I walk outside of my house and I'm scared I'll be shot. Several months ago I promised that I'd kill myself if that bastard won.

He did and I'm still here.

I'm not thriving. I'm not living my best life. I'm barely living. But I'm surviving. I'm coping. I'm trying my goddamned best. It's hard. I want so bad to just go and take as much medication as I can and slit my wrist for good measure and pass away in my sleep. But I'm still here. And I will be here.

I am in so much pain. But I'm living on spite and determination and everything I can scrape together. I know I need support and those around me need support. So consider this a support masterpost.

Support:

First thing you should see if you're a trans person in the US.

Here's a link to the Trevor Project and here's a link to their suicide hotline page. They've already saved my life once before. Please note - they recommend calling if you need immediate support. Donate if you can, please.

This post is both a suicide hotline masterlist and a post mentioning how something feels deeply wrong here with this election.

On the topic of something being wrong, sign this petition. I'm only seventeen but I did this and it might not feel like much but if we couldn't shoot that bastard (I am not pro-gun but I am when it comes to him) then we'll do the next best thing. Here's the link to the petition itself. Make sure to check the post every once in a while - the original petition got taken down and this is important.

I follow a lot of gimmick blogs, so I got to see this post encouraging us to be loud. Because we should be. Because if we die they've won and my mom didn't smoke weed on the steps of the state capital of Colorado to legalize it just so her son could roll over and die.

Here is the Tumblr Hot Beverage Masterpost, as I've taken to calling it. My personal favorites are the London Fog in the replies, earl grey with milk, honey, and vanilla (in the tags), and some additions from me are hot chocolate with peppermint melted into it, earl grey with lavender, caramel apple tea, and really anything else you can think of. Trust me. This post works better than you think.

Read this post if you haven't seen it already. It's half poem, half Tumblr being Tumblr, all wonderful to read.

Things I just like to see:

PM Seymour and Bettina Levy both have shown their support for everyone struggling right now. It might not be much, but I still really appreciate it and seeing support can really help.

The cat with the kind and reassuring face. No other context.

Four panel comic of hope. Because you're more than enough.

Can't find the post where I found this but this is a link to a virtual toy where you can make your own galaxy.

Please. Eat something. Drink a hot beverage. Draw, write, read, knit, sew, sculpt, bake, do something that helps. Reach out to friends, even if they're online friends. Talk to someone you trust. Make vent art. Write vent fics. It doesn't matter what you do as long as it helps.

Do not roll over and die. Live. Live on spite. Live on determination. Live on shitposts and live on heartfelt stories like this one. If you have anything to add to this post please do. Add more resources. Add more love to this post. I know I'm just a guy on the internet saying shit, but I still care about everyone who sees this post.

[gremlin-girly]

Day 12: Skiing

Characters: reader, Ransom Drysdale (Knives Out), Blaine (Hot Tub Time Machine)

Pairing: childhood best friend! Ransom x reader

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF, another meet cute, childhood friend!Ransom, ski marshal!Blaine, just so much sass, minor injury, innuendo, meet cute if you squint (because it's me), also you get cookies so win win, jealous!ransom

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be translated, copied or reposted or put through an AI machine

Summary: Your best friend since childhood brings you to a chalet to get some R&R, with 100% no ulterior motive...

Word count: 1.8k

Divider: @/saradika-graphics

A/N: I have never watched the hot tub time machine... now I will. This inspired another fic that is stuck in the WIP machine. Im actually posting all of the finished fluffcembers ASAP, there's some that aren't quite finished yet but they will be in the next week (Wonderful Life is overtaking me) - Love, Grem x

Prev | Next | Flufftober 2024 | Fluffcember 2024 | Navigation @fluff-cember

Whatever possessed you to let your best friend Ransom Drysdale convince you to go skiing with him, you had no idea.

You were a danger on the slopes and you knew it. You were a terrible skiier. Ransom knew his way around the slopes, irritatingly, like it was second nature and insisted you could be the same if you put a little bit of focus into what you were doing.

Never one to not terrorise you at any given opportunity, Ransom convinced you to follow him up the slope on the lift, promising that you'd be on the baby slope.

The baby slope, it turned out was the smallest mountain of the three. Only very skilled kids were flying past you and you were clinging to Ransom for dear life.

"Ran!" You squeak as he sets up. You're feet are sliding in your skiis, slowly inching your way down the slope.

"Just relax." He chuckles, pushing at your shoulders. "You'll be fine."

You were not fine.

You barrelled down the mountain at breakneck speed only managing to slow down when your legs cross in front of you and you dive head first into the ski marshal near the bottom of the slope; screaming all the way down.

"Hey! Woah!" The ski marshal huffs angrily, just barely holding you up as your feet splay awkwardly. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Sorry," You pant, embarrassment flooding you as you hear Ran's cackling behind you, skiing down behind you utterly relaxed. "It's my first time."

His lips twitch upwards and you fight back a groan.

"First time skiing." You clarify and glare behind your shoulder at Ransom who's slowing to stop.

"I can tell." He chuckles. "You're a danger on the mountain."

"Tell me about it." Ransom's voice calls from behind you.

"You're a turd Ran," You puff, hurriedly letting go of the poor marshal's puffer jacket when you notice you're still clutching him. You glare over at Ransom again, who gives you a shit eating smirk as he strolls up behind you with his skiis on his shoulder.

"Pretty dangerous." The marshal adds seriously, raising an eyebrow at Ransom. "I don't need those sorts of ski shenanigans on my mountain."

"Ski shenanigans?" Ransom rolls his eyes at the ski Marshall. "What are you? God of the mountain?"

Said ski Marshall is helping you stand steady as your legs slide out in opposite directions.

"Maybe I am." The marshall huffs at Ran and once you're steady again, gives you a stunning, charming smile. "The name's Blaine."

Embarassment aside, you give Blaine a once over. A soft mop of brown hair and piercing blue eyes that tell you he takes his job seriously, perhaps even too seriously. However, it's his stupidly good looking face that makes you giddy and giggly as you let him take your hand as you introduce yourself.

"Blaine?" Ransom scoffs and you elbow him in the ribs.

"Shut it, Hugh." You growl at him and he scowls at you. You return Blaine's smile. "Thanks, Blaine. I'm sorry about crash landing on you."

"Not a problem." Blaine reaches to a pocket on his snowmobile and pulls out a flask, wiggling it at you. "Here. Hot cocoa. Should help the nerves."

Warmth rushes to your cheeks as you thank him, taking the hot flask in your padded hands and sipping it carefully. Blaine seems pleased about making you blush and Ransom glower and gives you another stunning smile.

"You're more than welcome to stay here for a bit. I could use the company."

"Hrmph." Ransom puffs his chest and tries to look unaffected that you're not paying attention to him. In fact, it irks him more that you don't even cast a glance in his direction when he harumphs.

Shit-eating smirk gone, Ransom sighs, mentioning to you and Blaine that he's going to finish skiing; but it falls on deaf ears. Grumbling to himself and stomping to the ski lift Ransom knows he has to do something. This whole holiday had been his idea, his plan to finally get you alone to himself, where he could finally be honest with you without the prying eyes of his family butting in and ruining everything.

He'd be dammed if some smarmy ski marshal swept you off your feet before he did.

Snow swept up and brushed his face as he flew down the mountain, opting for a different route to avoid your giggling and gooey eyed expression with the annoying God of the Mountain Blaine. God he hated him.

How could he win you back? How could his grand plan be over before it started?

The cookies.

Your favourite cookies he'd brought to surprise you with. The ones that were a pain in the ass to find - the ones you loved a ridiculous amount; they'd been taken to the room with the bags.

Maybe all was not lost.

He knows he has to ski down the slope you're on (with Blaine) and he knows he should go further along so that he doesn't spot you both. But he doesn't.

Ransom slows as he skis past, watching your rosy cheeked smile as you giggle at something the idiot has said. Bile raises in his throat as anger seeps into his soul and he focuses his eyes forward. You should be laughing with him. Making all of the cute faces you always have done and snipping at him when he teases too much.

Mayyyybe taking you up the mountain was a bad idea.

Maybe.

Undeterred in his plan Ransom makes a beeline for the chalets as soon as he's ditched his skis, his plans for the evening growing arms and legs as he thinks about how to get back in your good books.

When you finally head inside to find your room, you text Ransom to let him know you're heading to shower and change out of your skin gear wondering where he'd disappeared to.

You'd gotten Blaine's number, much to your own excitement, and had wondered if a ski chalet romance was on the cards for you. Smiling to yourself as you approach the large oak desk at the main reception, you wonder if Ran would mind if you ditch him for a date at some point during the trip.

The receptionist stalls your shower by about ten minutes, claiming to have lost the second key to your room and it doesn't strike you as odd until you're 200 yards from the door that she said second key.

"That penny pinching bastard," you mutter, trying the handle and finding it was unlocked. "RAN!"

You're frowning already as you open the door wider and find the lights in the hall are off. Unless there's an axe murderer somewhere in your chalet, Ransom must have taken a diva nap; making your irritation spiral.

Flicking the light on in the hallway, you're surprised to find the floor covered in petals. Are you sure you have the right room?

"Ran?" Your voice is quieter now as you tentatively step inside the threshold. "You in here?"

The living room light is off but there's a warm glow emmanating around the door, where the petals stop. You place your skis down quietly, removing your snow gear while your heart beats furiously in your ears. Surely this was the wrong chalet?

The door creaks as you push it open gently, peeking inside. Ransom is pacing before the fireplace, lit candles basking him in that delicious buttery gold glow. Your eyes drop in front of him, to a table filled with...

"Are those choc chip shortbread rounds?"

Ransom startles and glares at you slightly before softening. He'd also changed out from his snow gear, into his sweater and some loose slacks. He clears his throat, hoping you think the pink of his cheeks is because he's warm.

"Uh, yeah. Had them shipped in." Ransom tries to be nonplussed. "I didn't know if you'd want hot chocolate," he grits out, folding his arms. "But there's tea as well."

"This is for me?" You squeak, walking forward and taking a sweet biscuit. They were your favourites; only a specific brand could reach the perfect blend of buttery goodness with the simple delicacy of a chocolate chip and it was hard to get in the US.

"Who else would it be for?" Ransom huffs, but glances over to you when you hum with delight after a bite of your shortbread.

"It's sweet Ran." You comment and then think of the petals in the hallway, and the stalling of the receptionist. Your eyes narrow at Ransom.

"You... planned this." You say slowly, inching towards him.

"Yeah, duh." Ransom rolls his blue eyes at you like its going out of fashion.

"No, no. You planned this for me." You repeat still eyeing him. He refuses to look down at you, looking at a very interesting dust bunny in one of the alcoves.

"You... we're jealous." You state beginning to smile. "But you had all of this ready anyway."

"Im not jealous." He grumbles, fixing his arms. "How'd you know I had all of this ready? I could've paid someone to get this on a whim. There's no-"

"I know those cookies take at least two months to get delivered." You grin when his lips pull into a thin line. Gotcha.

"O-oh. Right. Well. Maybe this chalet had some left over." Ran argues pathetically, trying to win a game he'd already been bested in.

"Yuh huh." You give him a knowing look and when his eyes sparkle when he finally looks at you properly. "You're a terrible liar."

Ransom's shoulders sag and he sighs but you lean up slightly to ghost your lips against his before placing the rest of your shortbread between his teeth. He looks confused for a second and then frowns at you, eating the cookie hurriedly and grabbing your wrist before you move away, pulling you back against his chest.

"Tell me," you murmur, holding his muscled arm wrapped in the softness of his sweater. "Tell me why you did it."

"Because I like you. A lot." Ransom murmurs back into your ear.

"And you were jealous." You tease and Ransom puffs in annoyance, tickling the skin on your skin. You can hear your heartbeat again, thunderous like last time, but you find yourself smiling.

"A little." His arms wrap around you, caging you against him. His lips are warm when they press against your temple and it's like your body takes a screenshot. It's a tender and warm kiss that makes you feel ready to puke butterflies. You feel slightly foolish for not acting on anything sooner.

"How many other ploys did you have planned to win me over?" You wonder at loud and Ransom chuckles, making your body shake with the vibration.

"Is now a bad time to say that this chalet only has one bed?"

Your head falls against his shoulder as you groan. "Ransom."