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pencil-n-pen · 3 months ago

Text

I’M STILL TRYING EVERYTHING

⋆° 𐙚 ₊🧦☕🧸₊°⋆ ೀ₊°⋆

previous | kofi | masterlist

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

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I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.

-mirrorball, taylor swift

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summary: you’ve never had a date or a relationship that either didn’t work out or end in disaster. now that you have spencer, you’re determined not to let it happen again

cw: referenced bad past relationships, very very vaguely referenced past domestic abuse that honestly could be taken a different way, referenced child abuse (readers parents are STILL not it) again this is a criminal minds fic so references to graphic violence

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort (do i even need to say this? you all know who i am) insecurity, like one line of misogyny and it’s in the past and not brought up again, spencer being soft n worried, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, spencer is just as gone for reader as she is for him honestly he's just a sap

a/n: back by popular demand !! seriously guys, you have no idea how much the support and comments and reblogs and asks means to me 🥹 the overwhelming amount of love for the first fic made me so happy when people started asking about a sequel i knew i had to !!

read the crossword on the collage for a surprise :)

this one goes out to all my girlies who’ve ever felt like they needed to be less in order to get a boyfriend or keep one. we’ll have our soft love just the way it was meant to be

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Spencer is a really good boyfriend.

Like… a really good boyfriend. You’re not sure if this is how having a real boyfriend is or if Spencer is just like this.

He’s so good to you. He’s just so- so him. You can’t explain it. Can’t put it into words.

He’s very patient with you. You’ve never explicitly stated it, but he’s picked up on your previous relationship experience- or more accurately, your lack thereof. The morning after you’d gone home with him, night consisting of nothing but easy sleep and warmth, he’d asked you out for real. Asked you if you’d go on a date with him, and you’d agreed, a giddy smile fixed firmly on your face.

But you still worry.

All it takes it one conversation with your parents to push things over the edge.

“Yes, dad. He’s very good to me.”

A laugh crackles over the line. “I tell you, your mother and I never thought we’d see the day.”

The words twinge uncomfortably in your chest. “Hey, I’m not that bad. I’ve just been focused.”

“More like uptight.”

“Dad—“

“You know, you still haven’t come out to visit your poor old parents since getting this so-called cushy job. And now you’ve got this boyfriend. You’re too young to settle down. Don’t you think we should meet him?”

Sometimes conversations turn so quickly they leave you stranded— scrambling to pick up pieces of what you thought was going to happen and piece them together to make something new. Something for the new route the conversation has taken.

You couldn’t hold back your sigh if you tried. “We haven’t been dating for that long dad, I don’t want to spring this on him—“

“Sweetie, if we don’t meet him now, why might never meet him. Who knows how long he’s gonna stick around?”

(Sometimes, in moments like these, for just a split second, you wonder how a father could say something like that, to his daughter. You wonder why, wonder what you did wrong. And then, you imagine Hotch saying those same things, and you can’t, and it almost makes you feel a little better.)

Your blood runs cold. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“Well, you know how things have ended in the past. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him before he’s gone."

You don't dignify his words with a response.

"Come on, honey. I'm just joking with you."

"It's not funny."

"Don't be like that--"

"Goodbye."

You hang up, snapping the phone shut with a sigh.

The older you've gotten, the more conversations with your parents end up like this. You suppose it's the way you 'wasted your potential' or 'never made something of yourself.' They've always held resentment ever since you decided to become an agent. So you know not to take what they say to heart, because their words only come from a place of disappointment and displeasure. It's not a reflection of who you really are or what you've really accomplished.

Or at least, that's what Hotch told you when he'd overheard one of your phone calls. It meant more than you'd let on.

But your Dad's words linger in your head. They're irritating and sharp where they claw around in your head because they're true.

You can count on one hand the amount of romantic endeavors you've had. And from those, they all ended horribly. Your parents lost sympathy towards the end of your attempts, muttered words of needing to try harder to keep them, that you should be satisfied that somebody wanted you at all, that you should try to be less... you.

Try to be less... you, dear. The books and the facts- nobody wants those. Put some more effort into your appearance. Otherwise you'll end up all alone.

You'd tried to take their advice, of course. But the relationships that were fathered your parents direction were not loving. There was nothing soft or gentle or warm about them. You'd never felt more unlovable.

So when the incident with the shooter happened and you were lying on the lecture hall floor, blood coloring the carpet deep scarlet, you'd vowed to never let it happen again. That you were going to use your intellect and wit and passion for what you wanted to do- you'd promised yourself that if you survived, you would try to make your life your own, one step at a time.

This, of course, is easier said than done.

It's easy enough to refuse to let yourself get involved with men who are clearly only interested in your for your badge or your body --though the latter happens so rarely you really don't have to worry about it-- because you don't care about them. They're blips on your radar.

But Spencer? Sweet, sweet Spencer who makes you hot-cocoa and binge watches Doctor Who with you, even the later seasons, which you know he doesn't like as much but you love. Spencer who always has a grounding touch to offer, or a quiet command when you need him. Spencer who puts you first.

But there's a limit to these things, right? As far as you've seen, romantic relationship's are transactional, or conditional. Sometimes both. He can't just... keep doing this forever. It's too kind. Too sweet. It'll come to an end soon. Like, like the honeymoon era in early relationships. That's all it is. Plus, he's older than you, and you have no illusions about your unavoidable impulsiveness and naivety.

You've been told that your standards are too high before. "Struck by the hopeless romantic's arrow," your brother had said once, back when you were still in school, crying over a boy who'd told you that he didn't want to date you because you were too smart for a girl.

"That's not being hopeless romantic. There's no such thing as being too smart for a girl."

"There isn't," He'd amended, "But you're not going to have an easy time finding a guy. You of all people can't really afford to be picky."

He'd been right, in the end. So you're just... having a hard time figuring out how genuine Spencer's actions are. Guy's don't really act all romantic in the context of you. You've been told your whole life to be happy with what you get, and what you've had in the past is decidedly not lining up with how Spencer treats you.

It's a nasty little thing in your ear. Is it real? Does it matter as much to him?

When is it all going to end?

Rossi make's an offhand comment during a mission that you talk a lot when you're excited about the subject at hand.

JJ agrees. "It's a little unnerving when the subject is the bruising patterns of strangulation."

That little voice comes back.

Too much too much too much too much too much--

"It's useful," You protest, mouth dry.

JJ snorts, "I'm not sure about that. We need to know that the victim was strangled, not what happens to the body during blunt-force asphyxiation."

You'd grown quiet then, let the chatter and musings of the rest of the team wash over you.

Is that something Spencer finds annoying? You have always found things other's view morbid and disturbing fascinating. But JJ is right. No one wants to hear about that.

You brush the comment off, square your shoulders, get back on with the case.

Be better. Try harder.

You don't seen the furrow of Spencer's brows from where he's been watching you, or the quick look he shares with Hotch.

You'd never really thought about how clingy you can be before Emily makes an offhand comment about it while the two of you wait in line at a coffee shop. There's a couple in front of you, the girl all over her partner, kissing and giggling and hugging them close.

"Ugh," Emily groans once the two get their coffee and move on. "I could never understand the appeal of all that. I mean doesn't it feel stifling?"

A little stab of ice in your stomach.

"I don't know. I think it's nice."

"No, thank you. If I were her partner, I'd feel smothered."

You think about that conversation every time you take Spencer's hand or lean into his simple touches. They're invasive little things, the thoughts. It's not hard to pull back on all the touching. You never really ask for them in the first place- always too nervous to come off clingy. But you suppose just taking, taking, taking is just the same.

A quick shake of your head, not leaning in, a quiet "I'm fine." and that little nagging fear of smothering begins to quiet. It doesn't leave, but it does get quieter. For a little while, at least.

The hard part is trying to be less without noticeably being less. Spencer's smart- and he's a profiler. If you pull back too much too quickly, he'll notice, and you don't want to talk about this yet. You just need to make sure he'll stay. That things won't—

That you won't find out too late that you don't mean as much to him as he does to you.

That's the kind of thing that can't happen again. But ascertaining his true feelings and desires is difficult, because this is all kind's of new territory for you. You want to believe it's real. You really, really want to believe it's real.

But it's never been real before, so why would it be real now?

You've asked around (subtly and carefully, of course) about the type of girl Spencer's dated or drifted towards in the past. You know he said he wanted something soft and sweet, but you can't help but think that you're not really either, nor are you in line with his type. All things considered, you're a mess. Something tired-eyed and hollow is how you feel most days. Some sort of creature perhaps? You're honestly not sure what you are. You've spent your entire life being singled out or otherwise othered- always too smart or too different or too weird or too much or too loud or too quiet or too shy or too, too, too. Always too something. You have never been called soft or sweet. In a demeaning way, sure, but never with the quiet reverence that Spencer said it with that night.

It feels like a balancing act, a bit. Holding all those too much parts so close to your chest with one hand and shoving the ones you think Spencer wants with the other hand.

You could probably drop the one hand. The one holding the bad parts. But you're just not convinced he'll stay. You're not sure that he won't look at them with some form of disgust or pity or something else terrible.

You know the balancing act isn't sustainable— you'll fall eventually, and everything will come crashing down, but until then, you just keep trying. Trying to see if he'll stay, trying to see what to do if he won't. How to ensure he will, if that's something that's possible.

The act does not hold up for as long as you hoped it would. It comes crashing down with a glass. Literally.

You and Spencer are in the kitchen on a rare weekend off, cooking and drinking wine and swaying to some little old love song.

It should be perfect, except you're worrying that you look ugly while you're dancing, and you're probably singing off-key, and he maybe wants you to shut up so he can hear the song or dance in peace.

He reaches towards you and you just— your brain shrieks for a moment, all senses going into overdrive and you jerk backward, and your elbow knocks into your wine glass, and it falls, shattering behind you with a deafening crash.

Your entire body tenses, waiting for yelling or sighing or something, because you broke the glass, there's crystalline shards everywhere, the wine red and it looks like blood, maybe it is, maybe you're bleeding because the glass was really close to your foot when it fell but you're not sure because you can't really feel your feet or your fingers or—

"Don't move," Spencer says, voice serious, and tears well in your eyes, because this is when it all ends isn't it? "I don't want you to— honey?"

"Yes?" You croak.

His eyes are swimming with concern as he takes in your hunched shoulders, shallow breaths, and scared expression.

Understanding flickers in his features, and you resist the urge to hold your breath.

"Nothing is going to happen to you because of the glass, okay? Everything is fine. We're fine. I'm not mad. See? I'm not mad. I just don't want you to cut your feet on the glass. I'm going to clean this up and get your slippers, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe, voice hoarse. You wring your hands nervously as he leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies to clean the mess, heart beating so fast and so hard you're shocked you can't see it through your shirt.

He's not mad. He's not mad. You're not in trouble. Your parents aren't here. You're not grounded. You're not in trouble. He's not mad.

You're silent while he cleans, focused on getting your breathing under control while he babbles quietly about the history of glass making and the significance of types of wine glasses. The facts and history wash over you in steady waves, easing the tension in your shoulders bit by bit.

"I didn't think you were going to hit me, Spencer."

He continues cleaning. "It's okay if you did. I would never blame you for that."

"But I don't," You say, suddenly desperate, "I know you wouldn't, I've never been hit, not like that."

He's quiet for a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with how you've been acting recently?"

You freeze. "What do you mean?"

He looks up, leaning back on his knees. Making himself smaller, you realize. He's trying not to scare you again.

"You're dating a profiler. Also, I speak fluent you, and you've been chewing all your hangnails again. You only do that when you're stressed and pretending like you're not."

Your finger's twitch at your sides.

His hands come up slowly, and he rubs the length of your waist and hips. "We don't have to talk about it right now, but I think we should soon. I don't want you hurting all by yourself. You've had enough of that. That's what I'm here for."

He finishes cleaning up the glass, and finishes cooking dinner- he'd assured you he'd turned off all burners when the glass hit the floor, so nothing's burnt.

Once you've both eaten, he steers you towards the couch and wordlessly puts on Doctor Who.

The Pandorica is just about to open when you finally decide that if you don't start talking, you never will.

"My parents think you're going to leave me."

Spencer makes a wounded noise in his throat. "Why do they think that?"

"Because it's happened before. I'm, um. I'm not very good at getting into relationships. Or keeping them."

"But that's not your fault."

You sniff hard, rubbing your face with your sleeve. "It is though, isn't it? At least a little. I know I can be a lot. I know I'm not easy to—"

You cut yourself off, but the words hang in the air anyway; unsaid.

I'm not easy to love.

"Anyway," You say, pushing through the lump in your throat. "I just thought. I don't know. I was worried that you'd get fed up with me."

"No," He whispers, voice raw and full of something a lot heavier than fond. "No, no baby. I like that you're clingy and you ramble when you get excited, because it means that we get to talk about something together."

He shifts on the couch, sitting criss-crossed, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. "You know what else I like?"

You scoot over, mirroring his position. "What?"

"I like that you always know when I need you. Even when I don't think I do, you're there. Because I do need you. This isn't a one-way street."

His words hit you straight in your chest. "Oh."

He smiles, brows a little scrunched, brown eyes a deep pool of fondness and a splash of concern. "Yeah. And I'm thinking you need me a little more than you want to let on."

The seam of your pajama pants suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Amazing, the wonders of a sewing machine.

"Maybe."

"Mmm," He hums, "So if I need you, don't you think that you're allowed to need me?"

Your fingers pick and twirl a loose thread around. "...Yes?"

A large, firm hand covers your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. "Yes. Not only are you allowed to need me, I want you to need me. Cause you know how you're always worried about being the best girlfriend? Well, I'm always worried about being the best boyfriend."

That makes you look up. "Really?"

He chuckles again, a little puff of air fanning your face. "Yes, really. I assure you, contrary to your past experiences, this is one of those bare minimum things in a relationship."

"That does not," He continues, immediately catching the brief flicker of doubt and shame on your face, "Mean that it is your fault at all for how you were treated in the past. You wouldn't expect me to suddenly become an expert in veterinary medicine just because I've been to the vet's office a few times, right?"

"When did you go to the vet's—"

"Shh, I'm being a good boyfriend," He holds up a hand, lips quirking up when you can't suppress a tiny giggle, "But seriously. You had no frame of reference, right? And you were being told it was your fault. But it wasn't. You didn't deserve that."

He lets his words hang in the air for a little while and allows you time to process this new information.

"What do I do now?"

"Well," He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, curls tickling your forehead, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here. Just three things. You have to keep letting me need you, let yourself need me, and one last little thing."

"What?"

You're so close your breaths are mingling.

"Let me show you what this is supposed to look like. How a man is supposed to treat a pretty girl. His pretty girl."

"Oh, well," Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach doing flip-flops, "That sounds pretty hard. I don't know how I'll hold up."

His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb sweeping strokes under your eye.

"You say that now, but I know what happens to you when I get romantic. You swoon."

You laugh. "I do not swoon."

"You will."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It isn't a kiss-kiss. He's kissing you just to kiss you; just to let you know that he's here, that you have him.

It's sweet and perfect and exactly what you need.

Letting yourself need Spencer is marginally easier now that you know he needs you. Now that you know you're not going all in for someone who isn't.

He also starts needing you a bit... louder.

It's late evening, and most people have gone home except you and a couple other members of the team, all still working on paperwork.

Except Spencer, who's decided to drape himself over your shoulders like a cat, his chin resting on your head.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Either finished it or it can be done later."

You shift your shoulders, smiling at how his grumbles vibrate against your back.

He moves his head, pressing his cheek to your head instead of his chin, heaving a deep sigh.

"Your hair smells good."

"Like what?"

"You're shampoo. Yours always smell better than mine."

You continue to work through your paperwork, Spencer a continuous and solid weight against your back.

"Is this even comfortable for your back at all?"

"Doesn't matter. Need girlfriend time."

He can't see it, but you're sure he knows how hard you blush.

Spencer's cooking the two of you a late breakfast in the kitchen of his apartment, hair still all mussed from sleep. He's quite the sight. You can't stop staring.

You're sitting on the counter, still dressed in your pajamas, legs swinging.

"You wanna know something cool?"

"You know it,"

"Butterflies and moths can drink blood and tears. There's nutrients in them. Purple Emperor butterflies are especially known for this. It's called mud-puddling."

"So you're telling me I should make sure I bandage any open wounds before I go to a butterfly house?"

"I guess. I can't imagine they'd be able to drink enough blood to actually cause any damage."

"Maybe we'll have to go to a butterfly house. For research."

"Should we get dinner afterwards?"

"We'll deserve it, you know, for all the hard research we'll have done."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."

Spencer's bed is infinitely more comfortable than your bed. You're pretty sure it's a combination of the fact that it's the only thing in the entire world that smells so much like him and the fact that he spent part of his large FBI paycheck on a fancy mattress. Back support is very important to him.

You're doing a little reading before bed, shamelessly sprawled all over him while he does his own reading. You've got a leg hooked over his hips, the other tangled with his legs, and your arms and head pillowed on his chest. You move a little every time he takes a breath, and more than once you've paused in your reading, mesmerized by the feeling.

He shifts under you, setting his book down on his night stand and making himself more comfortable.

"Should I move?"

"No," he says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him, face pressed to the crook of your neck. He breathes deep, scruffy stubble scratching against your skin. "Like you close. Good for sleep."

Even with the lamp on, and your book in your hand, you fall asleep soon after him.

It's an ordinary evening for the two of you. Discarded dishes sit on the coffee table in front of the t.v, neither of you paying them any attention, wrapped up in each other and eyes glued to the screen.

You look up at Spencer who's watching Doctor Who with the focus of a man who's never seen it, even though you know for a fact he's seen it before, several times in fact.

"I want to know the things you like," He'd said simply, the one time you'd asked why he takes your nightly Doctor Who watching so seriously.

And tonight's no different. Tonight, he looks... well, he looks like Spencer. His face illuminated by the TV screen, his hair all mussed from you running your hands through it earlier.

And it just kind of all hits you at once. You know.

"I love you."

He looks down at you, his expression soft and surprised. When your words register, his expression is so sickeningly fond and happy you can't help but lean in, burying your face in his chest. He rubs your back consolingly, then presses a little kiss to the crown of your head.

"I love you too."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

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maskedbyghost · 22 days ago

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part 1

He doesn’t go after you.

Not when the front door closes, not when your footsteps fade, not even when he hears your car start and pull away. He just stands there, staring at the space you were standing in a few minutes ago, like he’s trying to remember if he said anything at all or if he just stood there like a fucking idiot, watching the only person who ever gave a shit about him walk out without looking back.

He should’ve said something. Should’ve stopped you. Should’ve begged you to stay. But the words wouldn’t come out and his throat felt too tight and he thought maybe you were bluffing because you’d said it before, said you were tired, said you couldn’t keep waiting, but you never actually left.

You left this time.

And now it’s quiet. Not the kind he used to like when things got too loud in his head. This is the kind that sits in his chest and presses down and makes him feel like he can’t fucking breathe. He looks around the house, and everything is still here—your shoes by the door, your mug on the counter, the blanket you always used still crumpled on the couch—and it’s all exactly how it was, except you’re gone and nothing feels right anymore.

He thought he’d have more time. He thought maybe if he kept you close and didn’t mess it up too bad, you’d stay. Even if he didn’t say the things you needed to hear. Even if he never reached for you first. Even if he kept holding all that shit inside and pretending like it didn’t eat him alive to feel like he was never enough for someone like you. But you were always there. You stayed longer than you should have. You gave him more chances than he deserved.

And now you’re gone and all he’s got left are all the moments he let slip by without doing anything.

He sits on the floor with his back against the wall because his legs don’t feel steady and his hands won’t stop shaking and the house still smells like you but he knows it won’t last. He knows eventually the shampoo will fade, your coffee won’t be on the counter in the morning, and the bed will stop being warm on your side. He knows he ruined it. He knows he waited too long to be the person you needed him to be. And he doesn’t even know how to fix it because he’s not sure he ever knew how to be that person in the first place.

He misses you. That’s the only thing that comes through clear. It hits him all at once, so hard it makes his eyes burn, and he wipes at his face like that’ll stop any of it from coming out, like he hasn’t already messed everything up beyond fixing.

He didn’t think you’d really go. He didn’t think you’d stop loving him. He thought wrong.

And now all he can do is sit here and try to remember the last thing you said to him. And wonder if you’ll ever say anything to him again.

PART 3

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gonna go hide now.

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tachiara @marispunk

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon riley imagine #simon riley #simon riley angst

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deansbeer · 20 days ago

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COACHELLA, BABY.

꒰ . ⋮ minors do not interact .ᐟ ֹ ꒱

☆ synopsis. vinnie fucks you dumb at coachella after carrying you on his shoulders all hot and sweaty.

☆ kari notes. like missy elliott once said "get ur freak on" <3 ummm i will say writing for him took me back to '23 and it made me SOOOO emotional ???? (ur probably wondering how tf do u get emotional writing smut ….. i don't know.) s/o to all my vinnie girlies !!! this one is dedicated to u 🤍 + divider creds to me.

you don't even realize how good you've got it until vinnie's crouching down in front of you with that stupid half-smirk and his hands extended like he's about to carry you across a threshold.

"c'mon, baby," he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours through strands of messy, sun-drenched curly hair. his skin's glowing, flushed from the heat and a few drinks, chain around his neck glinting under the setting sun. "get on."

you blink at him, confused for half a second before you realize what he means. "on your shoulders?"

"unless you wanna keep jumping like a chihuahua trying to see over people's heads."

you roll your eyes but grin, because he's right. the crowd's thick, the music's good, and you've been struggling to see the stage for the last ten minutes. and vinnie? well, he's tall and broad and annoyingly strong, so you don't hesitate. you climb onto his shoulders, hands bracing on his head as you settle in, your thighs around him, your short little dress riding up dangerously high — not that either of you mind.

his hands grip your legs, steadying you, and he lets out a low whistle.

"jesus. you're not wearing anything under this?"

you lean down just enough to murmur into his ear, "not a thing under here."

he groans, head tipping back just slightly, and his hands squeeze your thighs. "you're gonna fuckin' kill me, baby."

but he doesn't ask you to get down. doesn't tell you to fix your dress. he just stands there, solid and proud, letting you dance on his shoulders as the bass shakes the desert air. his hands linger on your legs, warm and possessive, fingers brushing higher than they should in public. you don't say anything about it. you just smile and keep moving to the music, knowing full well he's getting the best view of the night.

later, when the sun's down and the sky's dripping in neon, you find a quiet rest tent tucked a little off to the side. it’s not really private — nothing at coachella is — but it's quieter, away from the crowd, dimly lit with soft cushions and low couches, the kind of place people come to cool down or make out for a few minutes in between sets.

you barely make it through the flap before vinnie's got you pressed up against one of the tent poles, his mouth on your neck, his hands already sliding under your dress like he's been waiting all day.

"you have no idea what you did to me out there," he mutters, biting at your jaw, his voice already rough. "you think i didn't feel that little pussy against the back of my neck every fuckin' time you moved?"

you gasp when his fingers slide between your thighs, two knuckles deep in your heat before you can even catch your breath.

"vinnie—fuck—someone could see—"

"and i don't give a fuck," he groans, curling his fingers just right. "you're mine. let 'em see for all i care."

you whimper, legs shaking, and he pulls back just enough to drag you toward the couch in the corner — low and wide, with a ridiculous little armrest that's not meant to be used like this. he bends you over it, your chest pressed to the cushion, ass up, dress bunched around your hips like a fucking ribbon.

he groans when he sees you. "fuck. look at you. look at this beautiful ass. all for me."

his hands palm the curves of your ass, thumbs digging in, fingers spreading you open. he's not shy about it — not with you. not after everything you've done to him today.

you hear the sound of his belt, the low clink of metal, and then he's behind you, cock dragging through your folds, teasing your entrance.

"so wet already," he murmurs, lining up. "you been thinkin' about this all night?"

you nod, but that's not enough for him. he grips your hair, pulls you up just enough to make you moan, his voice like gravel in your ear.

"say it, princess."

"yes, daddy," you breathe, eyes fluttering shut. "been thinking about you fucking me since the second you picked me up."

he growls and drives into you in one hard thrust, your mouth falling open in a silent cry. the stretch burns in the best way, your fingers gripping the cushion as he sets a rhythm — rough and deep, his hips slapping against your ass with every thrust.

you try to hold back your noises, try to keep quiet, but it’s impossible. the music is still thumping outside, but here, inside the tent, it's muffled — and that only makes everything feel louder. the wet sound of him fucking into you, his low groans, your soft cries.

"gotta be quiet, baby," he pants, one hand covering your mouth while the other keeps your hips in place. "don't want 'em hearin' how good i'm fuckin' you, huh?"

you whimper against his palm, eyes rolling back, the pressure building fast. he leans down, mouth hot against your ear.

"you love this shit. don't even care who hears. fuckin’ filthy girl."

you nod, a mess under him, your orgasm cresting with every thrust. he feels it — the way your walls flutter, the way your body starts to tremble — and he doesn't let up.

"that's it, mama. cum for me. cum on my cock like the good girl you are."

you choke on the moan that rips out of you, muffled by his hand, your body convulsing as you come hard, legs shaking, nails digging into the cushion. he fucks you through it, not stopping, chasing his own release now.

"goddamn," he groans, pulling out just in time, stroking himself once, twice, before he spills across your lower back, thick ropes of cum painting your skin.

you're both breathing hard, the air thick with sweat and sex and the distant thrum of music. you collapse forward onto the couch, dress still hiked up, thighs trembling.

vinnie leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your spine.

"coachella, baby," he murmurs with a grin.

and you laugh, breathless, because yeah — it's definitely one for the books.

@ deansbeer is tagging you .ᐟ @titsout4jackles @daylighted @soldiersgirl @bluemerakis @heartsforvin @slvthrs @lowkeycasanova @jensenacklesballsack @h8aaz @bluestrd @ultravi0lence14 @blue-d @stereotypicalbarbie @tinas111 @cupidzbunny @kamisobsessed @acaibcwl @coquitokisses @americanvenom13 @samslovebug @starzify ╱ wanna follow the chaos? join my taglist <3 + library!

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andvys · 2 months ago

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The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter six

⭐︎ The killing time. Unwillingly mine.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, post apocalypse, gore, mentions of death, killing zombies, mentions of blood

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Another kind of tension starts building between you and Steve the longer you spend time on the road.

Word count: 10k+

Author's note: Things are getting interesting y'all. This is only gonna get better from now on hehe. And a quick reminder, @hellfire--cult helped me with this chapter as always (this is our baby) (Also, I think it's so easy to tell who writes what parts. Roe always writes in past tense, while I write in present tense and most of the time I'm too lazy to fix it oops)

⭐︎ series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter ⭐︎ next chapter

☀︎

Eddie bops his head to some 70s song as he drives on the lone and abandoned highway, tapping the steering wheel, he hums along. Nancy is in the passenger seat next to him with her feet on the dashboard and a book in her hands.

Steve sits on the bench across from you, his hands are on the table, fingers playing with his switchblade as he looks out the window. It’s raining today. Your eyes follow the raindrops that roll down the windows.

There is a comfortable silence between all of you, only the sound of the music and the rain fills the big RV. It’s almost odd how normal this feels like you are just a group of friends going on a road trip and not one trying to survive while making it to the other side of the country after the world ended.

It’s easy to pretend at certain moments. When you are driving through parts of the country that had been untouched by the upside down. Where nature is still blooming and alive, where the roads aren’t blocked by abandoned cars. In those moments it’s easy to pretend that you are just a group of friends doing this for fun. But those moments of pretend only last for a few seconds, until you take a look at your clothes that you can’t stand anymore or when you eat another bowl of something canned but worst of all; when you have to look over your shoulder after every step that you take, fearing something or someone creeping up on you and your friends.

“Guys,” Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “There’s an exit in about two miles, should we try our luck or keep driving?”

Nancy stops reading her book, narrowing her eyes as she looks outside.

Your eyes meet Steve’s. He raises his eyebrows at you, knowing that you have been desperately looking for new clothes.

“Yeah, we could try.” Nancy shrugs before she goes back to reading her book.

Eddie’s eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror.

“What do you say, sweets?”

You don’t notice the way Steve huffs or the way he rolls his eyes as he sinks back into his seat.

You nod, smiling at the metalhead.

“Let’s try! We all need warmer clothes!”

“Alright, the exit it is,” Eddie grins.

Steve watches the way your smile widens as you still look at Eddie, the way something glints in your eyes as you sigh in contentment keeping your gaze still locked on him for a few more seconds before you look outside again.

Something in his chest stirs, something unpleasant. He suddenly doesn’t taste the mint flavor of his gum anymore as something sour settles on his tongue. His stomach twists in a way it always did when he was a teenager, when he watched others get what he wanted.

You are not something he wants. He has no interest in you. You are a friend, that’s all. But annoyance bubbles up inside of him whenever he watches your interactions with Eddie. Whenever he sees how sweet he is with you and how his flirtations make you blush.

He wonders if you like him.

He isn’t sure if he would like it if you did.

It troubles him more than he would like to admit and it brings up scenarios in his head that he finds unpleasant to even think about.

Your squeal startles him and pulls him out of his thoughts. You jump up, wasting no time to grab your gear before you make your way out of the RV.

Even though it’s Eddie and Nancy who call out to you, it’s Steve who runs after you first. With his rifle slung over his shoulder and his trusted bat in his hand. He gives Eddie and Nancy a stern look, “stay here, I’ll go with her. Keep the motor running.”

Eddie frowns, shaking his head, “I was the one who saw the sign, dude–”

“You stay here, Munson.” He glares at him before he looks down at Nancy. “Both of you.”

He doesn’t give them the chance to even utter a single word before he takes off after you, looking over his shoulder to give another pointed look at Eddie who rolls his eyes at him.

Steve grumbles your name in annoyance as he watches you struggle with the crowbar.

“You can’t just run out like this, just because the area looks safe doesn’t mean that it is safe!” He mumbles. Frustration built up in him.

“Shush, Steve!” You say cheerfully. “I have hope that I will find clothes here!”

He scrunches his face up and squints his eyes as he looks at the sign above the store, it hangs loosely from the wall, broken and shattered and covered in dirt. The windows are still intact and the door seems to be locked. The mannequins are still clothed as well so yeah, maybe you do have a chance.

“You don’t know what could be in there just because this door is locked doesn’t mean that there aren’t other ways to get in–”

A loud click echoes through the empty streets, followed by a cheerful squeal from you. You look over your shoulder, grinning at him proudly.

“Only one way to find out,” you shrug. Putting the crowbar back into your backpack, you reach for your machete again. You press your palm against the dusty door but he stops you with his hand on your shoulder.

“I’m going in first,” he sighs, pushing you behind him slowly.

You give him an innocent smile, blinking up at him in satisfaction.

“I won’t argue with that.”

Steve snorts, rolling his eyes yet again.

“What a surprise,” he murmurs under his breath. He takes another look around, ignoring your eyes that are set on him.

He gets that feeling. Every time something bad is about to happen, he gets that certain feeling that unsettles him. For the longest time, he couldn’t place it and he didn’t understand it until that bad thing had already happened and he realized too late that something was warning him.

It changed after Robin’s death.

But right now, he feels calmness inside of him, nothing unsettling. Yet, he is still careful when he takes the first step inside the abandoned store. His grip is tight on his bat, his eyes scanning the place as he tries to pick up on any sign that something is in here. He is quiet on his feet and he is on full alert.

Just like you are.

You are right behind him, ready to sling your machete at anything that may come running out of the shadows, ready to make you both its feast.

But the store is clean aside from the dust that covers every surface.

You make your way through every aisle. You check behind the cash register just to be sure. You look for any open windows or other ways inside this building. Steve insists on checking the break room by himself but you don’t let him. You follow him, covering his back just in case.

“Alright, it’s clear in here,” Steve whispers.

You watch the tension fall from his shoulders and from his face and you see the way his features soften after he takes a deep breath.

Despite living in a world like this, so unlike from the one you grew up in. You don’t share this tension and this fear with him but you also didn’t lose your best friend and watch her get ripped apart before you. You understand him. Even if you don’t feel the same, you understand him.

He doesn’t want to see that happening again – to anyone.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have jumped out of the RV the way I did.”

Steve swallows, nodding in agreement. His hazel eyes glare a little into yours.

“Yeah you’re right, you shouldn’t have,” he mumbles, sighing. He wants to roll his eyes again when you look down with a guilty look on your face. He hates it when you do that. “It’s fine, let’s get those clothes, sunshine.” He nudges your shoulder with his finger, giving you the smallest smile when you look up at him again.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Please look for a new jacket, a warmer one!”

He chuckles softly. His eyes follow you when you walk away.

“You too.”

Excitement rushes through you so strongly that you don’t even know what section to check first. It’s been so long since you had last stepped foot into a store that still looked so normal, like it has been untouched by this world. This store froze in time, just like the clothes in it, the fashion that was in trend while the world was ending.

Bright colors you normally would have picked, you skip. They don’t fit into this world.

You start by looking for a pair of new jeans before you move onto sweaters, picking some out for Nancy as well. You want to pick the pastel colors out for her so badly, thinking they will suit her but it’s always best to go for clothes that blend in better outside, ones that don’t attract unwanted attention.

The items start piling up on your arm and you end up getting a cart, something that makes Steve chuckle when you finally bump into each other in the shoe section.

“We need to gear up on winter clothes, how are you gonna survive with that?” You ask, frowning at the clothes in his basket. You see some knitted sweaters, t-shirts and wool socks but no sign of what you told him to look for. “You better get that jacket or I’ll get it for you, Steve.”

You glare at him and it only makes him want to chuckle even more – not because he is laughing at you. But because he thinks that the frown on your face is adorable. You threatening him is adorable.

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands up in surrender.

Your eyes keep scanning the basket and they light up when you notice the socks he threw in there. The Garfield socks.

A smug smile stretches across your face and you look up at him a little evilly.

“You wear Garfield socks?”

Steve looks down into his basket and his cheeks light up suddenly, blushing red. Though he shakes his head when he raises his head to look at you.

“They’re not for me,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. “They’re for Eddie. He’s like obsessed with Garfield. He had Garfield pajamas at home, I’m pretty sure he packed his Garfield mug into his box somewhere.”

A giggle falls from your lips. You tilt your head to the side, pouting softly.

“Aw! Eddie is so cute! I adore him!” You say before you turn around and continue your little shopping spree.

Oh, so you adore him now?

The unpleasant feeling in his chest spreads even more as he stares at the back of your head. His eyebrows are scrunched together so strongly that there is almost no space left between them.

A huff falls from his lips as he forces his eyes away from you. He gets up, glaring down at the socks in his basket.

“Cute,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes again.

“Get yourself a jacket, Steve!” You call through the store, reminding him yet again.

“Yeah, yeah…” He mumbles as he finally listens to you and goes on a hunt for a warmer jacket. His thoughts are troubled though and he doesn’t even know why. He doesn’t like the thought of you liking Eddie. It’s not that he wants you to like him instead. It’s just that he thinks it would make things complicated in your group when you are all growing closer.

He has been through that before and it only made things awkward. When he was so desperate to feel something again and he set his eyes on his ex-girlfriend again, almost ruining the friendship that just started blooming between them. He confessed his undying love for her when all he wanted was to feel something real. She was the only real relationship he had. Every other relationship was short lived, superficial and meaningless. No one ever bothered to actually get to know him and not the guy everyone liked; King Steve.

He thought she was the exception, that she wasn’t like the others – and she wasn’t. But she never planned on sticking around either and he crashed hard when he realized that he was never something real to her like she was to him.

When those old feelings came back, he didn’t realize that it wasn’t because he wanted her back. It would have been stupid to want someone back who hurt him like that. He was just desperate to feel something again after every failed date and every failed almost-relationship. He wanted to feel even if it was hurt.

Now he knows how stupid it was to almost ruin the new connection that was growing between them – a genuine friendship. It took him a while to see that they were always better off as friends but when he finally did, it started to make sense why they didn’t work.

If he could tell his 17 year old self that he would move on from Nancy Wheeler and lose all the feelings he ever had and become friends with her instead, that teenage boy would probably stare at him in horror.

Steve stumbles around the store, lost in his thoughts as he throws more clothes into his basket. When he is done, he starts looking for you, going through one empty aisle after the other before he finally finds you. It takes him a moment to realize the section he walked into and when he does he freezes a little. A blush creeps onto his cheeks when he looks around the items. The soft colors, the lace, the frill. The mannequins dressed in lingerie.

He scratches the back of his neck and takes a deep breath but it gets stuck in his throat when he finds you standing in the corner, holding up two different types of panties. A pink pair, laced. And the black one is a… thong. Steve blinks as he stares at you, unable to look away even though he knows he should. He knows he should give you privacy. Step away and pretend like he has seen nothing but he can’t.

His blushing cheeks turn red, glowing like they haven’t since god knows when. His body heats up as his mind takes him to places it hasn’t been since years but when he watches you stuff both panties into your backpack, the boyish part in him just can’t help it.

Steve never wondered what you wore under your clothes before, now he knows and it does little to mend the heat in his body. It awakens something in him that died a long time ago.

God. He needs fresh air, he needs it now.

He takes a few steps back, trying to be quiet and discreet but when he turns around, he walks face first into the poorly dressed mannequin, pushing it over and causing it to crash into the other one. It all goes so quickly, he can’t even reach out to catch them before they stumble to the ground loudly.

“Fuck,” he curses through gritted teeth. He shuts his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath before he slowly turns around to face you again despite the blush on his cheeks.

Your eyes are wide and by the expression on your face, he knows that you have flinched.

You look between him and the two mannequins on the ground. Your heart is pounding in your chest from the sudden noise that startled you but you start calming down quickly when you realize that it wasn’t anything to freak out over but something to laugh at.

You have never seen him like this – eyes wide, cheeks red, awkwardness written all over his face. He looks embarrassed and his hands are still frozen in the air after trying to catch the mannequins.

He looks like a teenager caught staring at boobs in a magazine for the first time.

You have to admit, it’s quite a sight, amusing to say the least. You just know that he is beating himself up over this and you can’t help but start giggling, wanting nothing more than to tease the poor guy.

“Do you need me to leave you guys alone?” You ask, giggling as you point between him and the figures lying on the floor.

“I-I’m what…?!” He shakes his head, not getting your joke.

You snort and reach for your cart, you start pushing it towards him, smiling smugly as you stop beside him.

“I thought you were some sort of playboy back in the day?” You smirk, blinking up at him. You want to giggle again when you realize just how red his cheeks actually are. “What kind of playboy starts blushing because of a few naked mannequins?”

Steve knows you’re enjoying this, he can see it in your eyes, they’re flashing with mischief and the smirk on your lips might be a rare sight but it’s so strong right now.

You don’t give him a chance to reply to your teasing comment. Your giggle echoes when you continue your way out of this section, beginning to hum in satisfaction while he still stands there.

“I’ll be outside!” You say with a sing-song voice.

Steve closes his eyes and he finally breathes again.

If only you knew why he is blushing the way that he is.

By the time he comes out of the store and makes his way back into the RV, Nancy and Eddie are kneeling on the floor, looking through the stuff you got for them and for yourself. He avoids your eyes when he walks in. His cheeks are still burning, he can feel that.

“You know me so well, sweetheart.” Eddie grins at you as he holds up a Metallica shirt. “I don’t even have to go in there myself.”

You smile at him proudly.

“Maybe to grab a jacket,” Nancy shrugs as she tries on the olive colored one you got for her. You reach over to her, fixing the brown color.

“Thanks,” she smiles at you.

Steve clears his throat and takes out a black jacket from the basket he carried the whole time, not giving the metalhead on the floor time to react before the jacket hits him in the face.

A grunts leaves Eddie’s face as he catches it before it falls on the floor.

“Give a guy some time to react,” Eddie mumbles as he unfolds the jacket, holding it up to take a look at it. “Fancy.” He squints his eyes as he looks at the price tag. “See, this is what I love about the apocalypse, we can just grab whatever the hell we want. This thing would’ve cost me a liver back then, now? I can just take that shit and go.” He chuckles to himself as he puts it on. “Fits perfectly, thanks man!” He finally looks up at Steve and his grins widens instantly when he notices the red cheeks. He raises his eyebrows at him, tilting his head to the side in question.

Steve huffs at him which only makes Eddie more curious.

“I got you a bunch of panties and socks as well!” You say to Nancy, taking the items out of your backpack and throwing them onto Nancy’s lap.

Her blue eyes widen and she quickly puts the packs of panties away, hiding them from the male eyes’.

Eddie furrows his brows. Amused he looks down at your lap to find the flimsy material, lace and ruffles. He doesn’t think anything of it, though his eyes instantly move back to Steve’s and realization rushes through him quickly.

A smirk tugs at his lips when Steve starts glaring at him, threatening him with his eyes to keep his mouth shut.

Steve knows that Eddie won’t let him live this down. Blushing over a few panties? Ridiculous.

“And for you,” you say, throwing packs of socks towards Eddie and Steve. “For the cold nights, I know the most important part is to keep your feet hot. So we can just wrap them up in many socks. Oh! And–” You pause, shuffling through your bag with a determined look on your face. You fish out something else, something that makes Steve’s embarrassed face even worse. Boxers.

He was so distracted by your underwear, he didn’t even think of getting some for himself and for Eddie.

The metalhead grabs them, nodding. “Cool.”

Steve scratches the back of his neck as he finally sets the basket down on the floor. Taking a seat on the bench, he grabs them from your hands and gives you an awkward smile, not keeping eye contact for long as he looks down at the size. You even got the right one.

And as if Eddie can read his mind – “how’d you know the size?”

“My lazy brother would ask me to get some for him whenever I went shopping, you’re about his size. Steve’s a bit bigger,” you shrug, replying so nonchalantly before you get back to your clothes as you begin to fold them.

Nancy and Eddie share a look, holding back their laughter when Steve’s flustered face gets even worse.

“I bet he is,” Eddie cackles, earning a punch to his shoulder. “Ow! Dude! Take that as a compliment–”

“Munson, I swear to god,” Steve glares at him.

Nancy shakes her head at them, snorting quietly. To her surprise, you pay them no mind.

Eddie rubs his shoulder, still laughing. His eyes widen when he looks down into the basket, a surprised gasp falling from his lips, “are these Garfield socks!? Oh, I love you so much, Harrington!” He says dramatically which makes you giggle loudly.

Steve’s cheeks burn even hotter and he gets so incredibly flustered when you look up at him with lightened up eyes and a grin stretched widely. He tries not to stare but he can’t help it, not when your eyes shine like this and you look up at him so… happily.

He can’t help but hate that feeling that rises up inside of him. He refuses to admit that it is there.

Maybe he would feel better if someone told him that you would be in the same exact state only a few days later.

Weeks have gone by since you left Hawkins and by now you have gotten into a routine. From the start, you quickly realized that Eddie and Nancy are somewhat inseparable and usually stick together – whether it’s perimeter checks, night watch or scavenging for food. It’s always Eddie and Nancy.

You switch up sometimes and either you or Steve replaces one of them but usually it’s those two together. They’re simply inseparable. That’s how you imagine Steve used to be with Robin.

At first you suspected that there was more between Eddie and Nancy. That they were in a secret relationship or that they were just friends with benefits but you quickly came to realize that those two could never see each other that way. They are best friends, it’s clear as day. Their banter is sibling-like, just like Nancy’s and Steve’s. – You never bothered to ask how those two met or how their friendship blossomed. You know that they have known each other far longer than they have known Eddie but you never tried to find out what made them become friends.

They don’t seem to have much in common and Steve behaves more like a big brother around her than a friend. A grumpy older brother.

You look over your shoulder, glancing at the RV. The golden light in the living room shines through the tiny window. You wonder if Steve is still napping. It’s yours and his turn to do night watch.

You look back into the fire you have started, tugging your jacket tighter around you, you rub your palms together, trying to catch more warmth.

The wood crackles before you, the wind blows softly against you. It’s still warm for fall. You have lost track of time but if you had to guess, you would say it’s october. The leaves are red and orange and the air still smells of fall.

You squint your eyes when you notice the two figures in the distance. You don’t reach for your machete or your gun, recognizing your friends instantly. They both carry gallons of water from the stream down the hill.

You push yourself up from the camping chair and make your way towards the RV to wake up Steve. You walk up the stairs and open the door, making your way inside and closing it softly behind you, not wanting to startle him.

You furrow your eyebrows when you don’t hear him snoring or moving around the RV.

“Steve–”

A loud click echoes through the silent space and before you can even blink or move, the door to the bathroom opens and Steve walks out. Almost naked. Your eyes meet his and you see how wide they get when he sees you. His towel isn’t even around his waist, he barely manages to cover himself, quickly placing it in front of his crotch.

You freeze.

You should move. You should apologize. You should hold your hand up before your eyes and turn around again, leave the RV and pretend like nothing happened but you can’t. You are frozen in place, unable to move, unable to look away. In fact, you can’t stop looking. You can’t stop staring at him or at his wet skin. At the water dripping down his face and his hairy chest. At the flush in his cheeks from either the hot water or from running into you dressed in… nothing. His hair looks even longer when wet, darker too. His eyes are looking into yours intensely.

You swallow harshly.

Unable to keep your eyes from taking him in fully, from letting them run up and down his body. His arms are strong, his muscles aren’t huge but defined. There’s thick veins coursing through his skin, through his strong hands.

Something in you stirs. Something in your belly heats up and starts to burn.

He is handsome.

You knew that much already but you haven’t looked at him in this light yet. He has a pretty face and pretty eyes. His smile is contagious. His hair is gorgeous. He is tall and his shoulders are broad. He is a handsome man, obviously.

But he is also hot.

Steve Harrington is hot.

Maybe even the most attractive man you have ever set your eyes on, the longer you look at him now. Your body certainly never reacted this way before. You have never gotten weak in the knees and you have never stopped breathing over a man. Your belly never burned and your mouth never watered either.

This is not good.

This is so not good.

You can feel your cheeks burning and your heart pounding and you can’t seem to snap yourself out of it.

You don’t even notice how he is looking at you.

It was embarrassment that flashed in his features first before he noticed your reaction.

You are flustered. You are blushing. You are checking him out. He can see the way your wide eyes take him in. He can see how your throat bobs when you swallow.

Something in his chest stirs and his lips curl into a smirk. He can’t help but feel flattered but also smug. He forgot what it’s like to be looked at like this.

He fastens the towel around his waist, raising his chin up a bit as he gazes down at you. He clears his throat, pulling you out of your stupor.

“Like what you see, sunshine?”

You blink a few times before your eyes meet his face again and you notice the smugness in his features as he caught you eyeing him like you’re some animal, hungry over something you never tried before.

You want the ground to swallow you whole. You can tell that he is amused.

Your cheeks feel like they have been touched by fire. Shame fills you and panic rises up inside of you. Your eyes widen and you quickly take a few steps back.

“I didn’t know you were taking a shower!” Your high pitched voice bounces off the walls in the RV. “I’m sorry!” You quickly turn around, not realizing how close you were to the door until you walk face first into it, your forehead hitting it harshly.

As though you weren’t embarrassed already.

“Oh my fucking god! Are you okay!?” Steve asks behind you, already taking a step forward.

You scrunch your eyes shut, ignoring the sting in your head. You quickly open the door and make your way outside.

“Yep! Yeah, I’m great!” You say loudly before you rush out and shut the door behind you loudly. Startling both Nancy and Eddie who just put the gallons of water down by the steps.

Worry flashes in her features when she notices you rubbing your forehead while Eddie raises his eyebrows at you, squinting his eyes as he takes in the look on your face.

“You okay, sweets?”

“Mhmm,” you nod your head quickly, avoiding their eyes. “I’m okay, yeah. I’m fine.” You mumble as you make your way back over to your camping chair. Picking up your water bottle, you open it and raise it up to your lips.

Nancy matches the confused look on Eddie’s face. She turns her head to look at him, raising her eyebrows at him when he looks between you and the door to the RV.

Realization crosses Eddie’s face when Steve comes out a minute later. His hair wet, a flush to his cheeks, plaid shirt unbuttoned at the top, sweatpants and the smell of body wash fills the air.

Oh.

You have seen something you weren’t supposed to see.

It isn’t hard to figure that out when he takes another look at you before he detects the smugness in Steve’s eyes.

And even if he didn’t notice then, he certainly would have noticed all the days after.

Not only do you avoid Steve’s eyes whenever you can, you are also clumsier. Way clumsier. Whenever you turn to look at Steve, you falter in your step and Eddie notices. Noticing you are in a very weird state around Steve, which Eddie kind of figures why by now, he takes the opportunity to patrol with Nancy while you and Steve do chores in the RV. Washing clothes, preparing foods, getting lumber, getting water, trying to spare you from spending time with Steve alone in the dark while walking.

Gladly, as the days pass, Eddie can see you becoming calmer, and it seems that your initial shock is gone, but you are still clumsy.

You are startled when Eddie comes up from behind you as you are cleaning your boots behind the RV. He clears his throat as he leans against it, facing you, shoulder against the cold metal and his hands in his pockets. You tilt your head in question, wondering why he suddenly approached you.

“What is it?”

“Sweetheart… Did you see Steve’s dick?” You feel the earth swallow you whole as you stumble backwards and the boots drop from your hands. Your entire body heats up, sweat appearing on your fingertips as you quickly shake your head, almost breaking your neck.

“N-No! Why– Why would you think that!?” Eddie chuckles at you, shaking his head.

“You are fucking obvious. You are literally tripping over everything, princess. You can’t look the man in the eye. You saw something you shouldn’t have seen.” And your heart is beating out of your chest as you swallow harshly, looking down at the floor as your cheeks remain heated up.

“I– I didn’t mean to… He was only covered in a towel and I– I thought he was sleeping! I was only going to wake him up and–” You cover your face with your hands in shame. “I’m so fucking stupid! I should have, I don’t know, made some noise, or knocked or–”

“Okay, calm down. So you didn’t see his dick.”

“No–”

“Then what’s the problem?” You uncovered your face, and rationally, there shouldn’t be any problems. There really shouldn’t. He was just a man… a very… handsome, hot, and attractive man.

“I– I stared a little too much because of the shock and… I feel like I invaded his privacy way too much…” You kind of lied. You are embarrassed to your core because you were caught red handed, staring without any restraint, checking him out completely and he even made fun of you for that.

Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Princess, I bet it’s not the first male body you’ve seen. If anything, Steve probably felt flattered, and he doesn’t seem bothered by it. You’re worrying too much.”

You take a sharp breath at Eddie’s words but somehow manage to calm yourself down a little bit more… way more. Eddie knows Steve, more than you do, and if Eddie tells you this, it’s because it’s truly what Steve is feeling. You give Eddie a small nod and he smiles at you, his fingers pinching your cheek, making you wince as you pull away.

“What was that for!?”

“For being an idiot. It’s four people in one single RV. We will run into each other either naked, jerking off, or changing clothes. We don’t have individual bedrooms or separated bathrooms.” And that makes a lot of sense, making you nod again, a small smile appearing on your cheeks.

“Yeah… you’re right.” He then smirks, looking out at the horizon where some buildings are spotted.

“Yep. So prepare yourself, cause it’s yours and Stevie’s turn to go scavenging.”

You found a neighbourhood that looked quite untouched compared to ones you have been in, in the past few weeks. You broke into old homes, trying to find canned food and some snacks, even if stale. But you had no luck, all you found were empty shelves and dusty storage rooms.

This one looks quite promising.

The windows are intact, no shattered glass is visible. The doors are closed as well. No monsters, people or infected are around. At first sight at least.

Eddie looks back at you from his spot in the passenger seat, winking at you as he is chewing on some peanuts.

“Good luck.”

You hold onto the strap on your backpack, digging your nail into the material. You pick up your machete and take a deep breath.

Steve looks down at you. With his backpack on, a rifle slung over his shoulder and a crowbar in his hand, he is holding onto the doorknob, waiting on you.

“Ready?” His kind eyes meet yours.

You nod, humming softly.

“Don’t come back with expired chicken noodle soup, please.” Nancy says, earning a glare from the metalhead beside her.

“We’ll try,” Steve chuckles as he gives her one last nod before he opens the door. “Let’s do this.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, following him out.

He closes the door again once you are out. You look around you, keeping a tight grip on your machete just in case.

It is quiet between you both, you don’t make much conversation as you make your way through the abandoned neighborhood. You are both too busy looking out for any sign of life or death.

You don’t notice the way Steve looks at you, the way he glances at you every once in a while. He isn’t blind or stupid, he noticed that shift in your behaviour after the incident in the RV. He couldn’t help but think that it’s cute how you suddenly turned into a klutz – all because of some naked skin.

“Let’s check this one out,” you point out to the blue house with the huge front porch.

“Lead the way,” Steve nods, flipping the crowbar in his hand.

You and Steve continue to walk and work in silence. As you go into the first house, you cover each others’ backs as you clear the building first before you begin to scavenge. You split up once you deem it safe. Though you aren’t so lucky there, nor in the second or the third. All you find are some canned peaches and two cans of corn. One bottle of painkillers and an old first aid kit.

You make your way through the neighborhood, going through one house after the other. But it isn’t until you make it to the last one, to the huge house right by the forest, that you get somewhat lucky.

Just like in the ones before, you clear the building first. Covering Steve’s back as he walks ahead of you with the rifle in his hands, aimed at anything that could come running out of any room.

Your steps are quiet on the floorboards, barely audible. You learned how to be resilient and quiet in this world, tiptoeing through it to save your life, to prevent unwanted attention.

There is something eerie about this place. You can’t figure out what it is but there is something. The silence is nearly deafening. The energy is off. You can feel something in your chest but you can not tell what it is.

When you get to the last room and Steve opens the door with his rifle, he takes a look around before he finally allows himself to breathe again. He turns around to face you, nodding as he swallows.

“It’s clear.” He mumbles, slinging the strap of his rifle over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna check out the kitchen.” You whisper, looking down.

He nods at you, trying to make eye contact, something you haven’t been so fond of lately. “Alright, yeah. I’m gonna check out the bathroom, see if there’s any medicine around.”

You take one last look at him before you part ways. You make your way downstairs, quickly. Determined to find some food and get out of here before it gets dark – you need to set up camp before that. You step into the kitchen and take a deep breath.

You try to ignore that heavy feeling that is cursing through you the longer you are in here.

You open the cabinets and find a pleasant surprise. Peanut Butter. Canned vegetables and fruit. Cans of meat and tuna. You want to squeal but you restrain yourself.

Dropping your backpack onto the counter, you start throwing the cans in, putting in as many as possible. You go through each and every cabinet, filling up your bag in the process until there’s no more space left.

You will be eating well tonight.

A smile appears on your face when you open the door to the storage. Your eyes widen at the amount of snacks on the shelves. You grab one of the empty boxes on the ground and start filling it.

Through all your excitement, you don’t hear the creaking of the floorboard in the hallway or the faint grunting sound coming from the basement.

“We found a gold mine, Steve!” He hears you calling as he makes his way down the stairs. A smile appearing on his face. He opens his mouth to reply, though the words get stuck in his throat and his blood runs cold when his feet hit the ground floor again, just as the door to the basement opens and an infected comes stumbling out, sniffing the air and grunting as though in hunger.

He realizes too late that he didn’t check the basement before.

Steve’s heart is pounding in his chest. He doesn’t move, not yet. His face hardens as anger flashes in his eyes. It wasn’t an infected that killed Robin but he holds just as much hatred for them as he does for the monsters.

He reaches for his crowbar, slowly, not wanting to startle it. The quieter and slower he moves, the less it will pay him attention. They don’t see but they smell and they hear. Just like Steve can smell the decay. He scrunches his nose up and tries to halt his breath. The skin is grey, almost blue. Bloody tear stains on its cheeks. The clothes are ripped and reeking, he can smell it from here.

He takes a step forward, slowly bringing the crowbar up, aiming at the infected’s head, ready to take a swing and let it be over with.

“Eddie is gonna flip out, I found Honeycombs!”

The infected suddenly flips his head into the direction of the kitchen, startled and lured in by the sound of your voice. Steve’s heart falls to his stomach when he hears several footsteps running up the stairs of the basement. More infected. More sick ones ready to feast on you.

Fear grips at him so strongly that his heart nearly beats out of his chest as he makes a run for the kitchen, knowing that the attention is on him now too. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is grabbing you and getting the hell out of here.

But there is no time and he knows it.

You are standing with your back to him, one foot inside the storage room and you turn around startled when you hear his fast and loud footsteps. Your eyebrows furrow and you open your mouth again to question him but he doesn’t allow you to. Steve takes the final step towards you and cups the back of your head, pressing his other hand to your mouth as he signals with his eyes to keep quiet.

Only then do you register the other footsteps and your eyes widen.

He jumps into action once more, pushing you further into the way too small storage and stepping inside with you, not wasting a single second to shut the door and lock you both inside, just in time before all the infected come tumbling into the room in search for the two of you, in search for fresh meat.

He maneuvers you around until your back is pressed against his chest, until your whole body is pressed against his front. His hand is still over your mouth, his arm now fully wrapped around you as he holds you against him. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, you can feel his hand shaking against your skin.

Your own heart is racing, your knees threaten to buckle and if it wasn’t for him holding you, you are sure that they would.

Fear rushed through you when you listened to the grunts and the screeches out in the kitchen. You didn’t hear them before, you didn’t hear them creeping up on you.

A cold shudder ran down your spine when you realized what could have happened if it wasn’t for him.

A shaky breath falls from your lips as you raise your arm up and you wrap your hand around his wrist, needing to hold onto something. In turn, he holds you tighter against him, pressing himself further into you, allowing you to feel his body heat, the warmth he always radiates.

“Shh,” he whispers into your ear as though to reassure you, thinking that you are scared.

You aren’t scared. You never are.

You feel startled.

You close your eyes for a moment and he removes his hand after a few seconds, allowing you to take proper breaths. He still keeps his arm around you and he tries to move back but there isn't much space in this tiny room.

You listen to the infected outside, surprised they haven’t found their way to this door yet. You are in deep shit and you know that it will take a while until you will get the chance to sneak out, unless you decide to fight your way out but you know that there are too many. It’s too risky. Too dangerous.

And you hope, you really hope that Nancy and Eddie won’t come looking for you and stumble right into this mess you two have gotten yourselves into.

You take another deep breath and you lean your head back into his chest as you keep your hand around his wrist, your fingers touching his skin. Through the adrenaline and the anxiety creeping up on you, you don’t even feel his breath on your neck or register the palm that has settled on your stomach.

You are too focused on the sounds outside this room. On the footsteps. On the groans. On the hungry monsters. You don’t notice how there is barely any air left between your bodies. How your body is pressed against his fully. How his chest is on your back. How his chin is resting on the top of your head. His arms fully wrapped around you. Him. His crotch against your butt. His bulge.

If only you snapped out of it and looked back.

Steve’s jaw is clenched. His heart is pounding for different reasons now. His breathing is heavy and his skin is burning, worse and worse the further you press yourself against him, the more he feels you on him.

It feels good. It feels nice. And he can’t help but curse at himself for feeling this in such a moment.

He blames it on the lack of affection he felt in the past few years. It isn’t because of you.

No, absolutely not.

Your scent is sweet, soft, gentle. The touch of your hand is soft. You are curling into him, showing him that you feel comfortable with him, that you feel safe with him. He would be lying if he said that it didn’t stir something within him.

You don’t know how many minutes pass of you standing stuck in this tiny room, listening to the groans and waiting for the right moment to make your escape but when the silence in the kitchen greets you again and their footsteps disappear further into the house. You tilt your head back and look into his eyes. You silently agree to make a run for it, to try your best to sneak out.

You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the fight you know will happen. There is no sneaking out and getting away so easily, ever.

You lean down to pick up the machete you placed against the wall earlier and turn around to look at him once more and Steve gives you an encouraging nod.

You turn back to the door again as his hands slip from your body. You close your eyes for a moment and take another deep breath before you wrap your hand around the cold doorknob. You twist it and push it open slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible.

You step out, tiptoeing out of the room. You ignore the pounding in your chest as you look around the empty kitchen, keeping a tight grip on the red handle of your machete.

Steve steps out right after, covering you instantly as you bend down to pick up your heavy backpack.

He glances at you, brown eyes filled with anxiety when the cans clatter in your bag.

You shrug at him. You won’t leave this here. You tilt your head into the direction of the backdoor in the kitchen, the one that leads out into the garden.

Steve nods at you, motioning for you to go first.

You twist the machete in your hand, taking one last look around before you turn around and creep over to the glass door. You unlock it as quietly as you can, squinting your eyes and cursing inwardly when the door creaks as you open it.

“Come on,” you whisper as you look over your shoulder at him, glancing into the hallway to make sure that nothing heard you yet.

“Go,” Steve whispers as he places his hand on your back and pushes you out of the house, quickly following and shutting the door quietly. Only as he breathes in the fresh air does he notice just how strong his heart is pounding against his ribcage, how shivers run across his whole body.

While he needs a moment to recover, you are already making your way down the porch, securing the area before you look back at him.

“Let’s get out of here,” you whisper, tilting your head at him.

His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you, wondering how you are so… calm.

“Yeah,” he murmurs under his breath. He tries to control the shakiness in his hands, holding the cold metal of the crowbar tightly as he makes his way down the stairs. His boots hit the grass and he steps up beside you. He takes another look at the haunted house before he turns his back to it and follows you away from it and closer back to the road where the RV is parked.

You spot Eddie leaning against it with a cigarette between his lips as he swings his axe back and forth while Nancy kneels down beside him, looking up into the sky.

“I left the box in the kitchen,” you frown, sighing loudly. “Eddie’s Honey Combs!”

“I’m sure he’ll live–”

A loud crash echoes through the neighborhood, startling you both. You turn around just in time to see an infected jumping through the now broken window, screeching loudly as it runs straight towards you and Steve.

Steve’s eyes widen and he presses his hand on your chest, pushing you away before he swings his crowbar at the infected. It hits the ground from the impact, grunting loudly, though it doesn’t take long until it jumps back into action, ready to pounce on him.

Your heart skips from the adrenaline that curses through your veins. You throw your backpack on the ground and grab your machete with both hands as more infected come tumbling out of the broken window.

Ready to make you and your friends their dinner.

You don’t have the time to count how many there are but the groans and the screeches fill the space around you quickly. You swing your machete at the infected that once was a woman, stabbing through her head with the sharp blade, the body falling limply to the ground.

Eddie curses behind you as he finishes off the male infected with his axe – ‘motherfucker’ falling from his lips several times.

Nancy’s shotgun goes off a few times and you already worry what kind of attention that sound must have attracted, what kind of things the sound has lured in just now, what kind of monsters are on the way here now.

“Steve!” Eddie yells as he watches one of them jumping at him, taking him down and pinning him on the ground. It’s teeth clatter as it tries to take a bite of him.

Steve grits his teeth and clenches his jaw as he tries to fight it off, though its hands are strong, way too strong. He hears the shots going off around him. He hears Eddie’s voice calling out to him. He feels his heart pounding stronger than ever. Everything stops moving for a moment, time slows down and he looks death into its eyes.

The infected, a male, something that used to be a man, maybe a teenager. It’s struggling, fighting for his flesh, trying to lean down further, trying to take a bite out of him, craving his flesh, his blood.

Though he notices something else. There isn’t only death in his eyes, there is something else – something like fear, something like grief, sadness. It looks at him like it’s hungry but it also looks at him like it's begging. Begging to do something, begging to make it all be over.

And suddenly it is.

A clear cut appears in his neck, black blood oozing out as its head tumbles off and the body stops struggling against him, though still twitching. He wastes no time to throw it off him, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath again. It takes him a moment to recover. He brings his hand up to his neck, his throat hurting from the inside as he continues to breathe in the cold air. He raises his head to look at his savior, expecting Eddie or even Nancy but not you. For some reason he didn’t expect you to save his life, let alone like this.

Blood is dripping from the blade of your machete. Your chest is rising up and down heavily, worry flashes in your eyes as you look down at him.

“Are you okay?” You ask, needing to make sure that he is fine.

Steve nods, blinking in surprise. He furrows his eyebrows as he takes a look around, at the dead bodies on the ground, the twitching bodies.

Nancy and Eddie are frozen in place as they both look at you, stunned. Eddie even more so than Nancy when the head you cut off rolls before his feet and he looks down, wide eyed.

“Steve,” you whisper, eyes softening when you notice his heavy breathing. “Are you okay?” You ask again.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat as he slowly pushes himself up, nodding, wiping the blood of the infected that had fallen on his cheek with the back of his free hand.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he mumbles, trying to smile at you. He ignores the weird feeling in his chest when it dawns on him that you have saved him.

You have saved him.

You nod, tearing your eyes away from him. You make your way over to Eddie.

“The brain.” You clear your throat as you swing your machete, giving it a snap so that the excess blood leaves the blade. “You can cut off the limbs but the bastards regenerate. Their arms go all… gooey and reassemble. Like watching ground beef have a life of its own and just… dragging itself to other parts.”

Steve and Eddie stare at you like they can’t believe what they have seen and what they hear.

Nancy’s eyes widen, her lips part as she tilts her head at you.

“...Like the mindflayer in 1985…”

You nod. You remember what they told you. You look down, scrunching your nose in disgust as blood seeps through the grass. You remember the first time you killed an infected. You remember it clearly… a kid… You had tried to talk to it. You had tried to sing to it, maybe a lullaby, but nothing worked. You had stabbed it in the heart and it still lived, cut off the arms and it regenerated and you were sobbing as you looked at it, at how many times you had to kill it.

You realized it was the brain you needed to kill when you desperately, in a panic attack, smashed the skull in. You were crying afterwards, but then it was just hatred. Hatred towards these things, these monsters, and now all of that was directed at a person. A person who caused all of this. Someone, something, that was already dead from what your friends told you… but hatred nonetheless… Because it didn’t spare anyone.

“We can bring them peace like this…” You mumble as you stab through the head, causing the body to stop moving – even if decapitated.

While Eddie huffs in surprise, looking up at you pleasantly surprised. Steve’s eyes are still wide. He is not only stunned by your action, he is also surprised by the way you handled your machete.

You are swinging it the same way he swings his bat.

“We have to move. My gun was loud enough.” Nancy speaks once again and you nod, bending down to wipe the blade on the grass, trying to get most of the blood off. They all knew the blood doesn’t infect or give you any sickness. It’s the venom. The venom in their teeth.

“... Do you guys think we can eat it?” Eddie suddenly asks, making everyone turn their heads completely stunned to look at him. When nobody replies, he looks up to all of you, shrugging with a frown. “What!? It’s an honest question!”

“Are you out of your mind, Eddie?” Steve asks, still trying to wrap his head around everything that happened.

“Look, it’s fresh, and it’s–”

“Human!” You yell as you all start making your way to the RV. Eddie scoffs at you all as he stands next to the door, waiting for everyone to get it.

“Nuh uh! Their bodies are all purple and some have those petal thingies the demogorgons have, pretty sure they’re not human anymore.” Eddie smirks at his train of thought and all he gets its a punch to the gut. A straight ass punch. Light, but still enough to make him bend over slightly. “Wheeler, what the actual flying fuck–”

“Stop saying nonsense.” She says as she finally steps in the truck, you follow, snickering under your breath but you almost fall over when the weight of your backpack throws you back down and onto Steve’s chest. You heard an ‘oof’ leave his lips as his arms grabbed you.

“You okay there?” And memories flushed to you. At the time, you hadn’t noticed it. At the time, your mind was occupied by the sounds of the infected outside. Now you remember it all. His body against yours, his chest against your back, his hands on your mouth, on your stomach, pressing you against him as if his life depended on it. Then, his hips and his–

You felt your entire body flush over again, and even if you didn’t have his chest against your back right now thanks to your backpack, this closeness was new. You moved away from him and gave him a nod, trying to avoid looking straight at him.

“Yeah– Yeah, I’m fine–” Steve hummed and grabbed the straps of your backpack, and you gulped as you helped him take it off. Another grunt came out of his lips as he lifted it up a few times.

“What the hell are you carrying in here, Sunshine? A fucking machine gun?” His words caused you to look at him, a giggle escaping your lips as you shook your head.

“Better. Food! Lots of it!” Eddie’s voice chimed in, tilting his head to the side.

“See, if we tried to have some of that meat, we wouldn’t have to eat canned food–”

“Munson, catch.” And Steve threw the backpack towards Eddie, who was smiling with his dimples showing, his hands grabbing onto it, only for him to be slammed against the side of the RV with a thud. The weight of the backpack threw him back at the impulse, a surprised yelp escaping his lips.

You started laughing with Steve as you both stared at Eddie who grunted when keeping the backpack up in his hands.

“You are both very mean… I was joking! It’s called ‘clearing the tension’.” He says as if matter of factly and he heads back into the van, groaning under his breath as he struggles to carry the backpack in. Steve stands next to the door, a soft smile on his lips as he nods at you and then at the RV.

“Ladies first.”

And that shouldn’t have made your stomach turn the way it did. This was something common for men to do but– This was the first time it happened with Steve. Or at least, that he said that. Making it known he is letting you go first. Maybe he did it before but never spoke out loud of it, so you never noticed it… Now you do.

You cleared your throat and nodded, shooting him another small smile as you walked up inside the RV. His eyes followed you, his image of you having changed completely as he turns to look at the bodies you have killed, the decapitated smashed head that was about to bite him, to eat him, to turn him.

Just when he thought he got to know you, or figure you out completely, you come up with something new. You startle him each time, but nothing stunned him as much as this one thing did. Your months of survival showed, letting him remember how you traveled alone for most of the time, and how you had to save yourself many times.

You were new. Curiosity invaded him, something he should avoid. Questions he wants to ask, but the farthest he can be of knowing about you, every single detail, the better it will be. But the fucking curiosity, the want and the need to ask you so many things and get to know you entirely, to save him from surprises, like the one that happened just now.

Because these surprises impressed him. You are impressing him. And he doesn’t like that. He looks back to step inside the RV, closing the door behind him, and then seeing how excited Nancy and Eddie look as you beam, taking the cans out of your bag, the snacks, the beverages. You looked so proud as they praised you for finding a ‘jackpot’ and Steve couldn’t help but smile.

You are an enigma… and he hates that he wants to figure you out.

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @pretentious-blonde @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry @sherrylyn0628 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @micheledawn1975 @keepingitlokiii @littleromanoff2005 @sunshine-mrk @xxladymjxx

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington blurb #stranger things angst #grumpy x sunshine

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arkhambug · 3 months ago

Text

JASON TODD hearing you try to mask your accent

“and, that isn’t—,” you enunciate, and jason doesn’t even hear the rest of what you’re saying. your words are coated in some weird neutral accent, and he’s sure you’re not even trying to sound any specific way other than not how you do. you’d started off normal, with that pretty southern twang, but somewhere through the conversation it was like a switch was flipped and you’d eased yourself into whatever this was.

he tries to tune back in, to listen to what you’re saying, but his brows are knitted together, and his nose is crinkled, and he hates this. “the hell are you doin’, ma?”

“what do you mean?” you push out, trying so damn hard not speak how you’re used to, and every word is wrong, not how it should sound coming from that pretty mouth. and jason shoots you a look, one that very much conveys ‘you know damn well what’ with a heavy frown, and you cave in an instant.

you try to explain. that you don’t want to sound like a hick, or a country bumpkin, or uneducated, because you’re not uneducated. and there’s reasons, of course there are, and they’re all stupid to him. coworkers mocking you, or friends making a poorly timed joke. maybe an overheard conversation, just something. but the one that stands out the most is that you don’t want his friends, or his family, or him to think of you that way.

and that’s the most stupid, by far, because how could his brilliant, wonderful partner ever worry he’d think you’re uneducated? he’s seen your brain work, seen you solve things in half the time it takes him to, and that’s when you’re giving him a chance.

and he drags you to him, across the couch, and pulls your face into his chest, and kisses the crown of your head. and he sings your praises, a million words of reassurance — about how you’re the smartest person he’s ever met, about how he could never think that, about how he’d kick someones ass for even insinuating that you weren’t as brilliant as you were

and it doesn’t fix everything, but it makes it okay, even just for a minute. it helps.

yeah idk how to end this????

straight up was gonna just give up at the fifth paragraph and call it

but anyways!! im insecure abt my accent and i want a big ass sweet man to hold me and kiss me and tell me my accent is pretty and that it doesnt make me sound dumb like people say it do 💪💪

#— cicada speaks #RAHHH BACK ON MY BULLSHIT #got a request asking for more southern reader and jay so expect more bullshit later too #lowkey angst w comfort but it’s fine #i wnat him so bad #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd #southern reader #jason todd x southern! reader

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comicaurora · 4 months ago

Note

A bit of a strange question, but if there were any of your videos you were to "remake" today for any reason (ex: you feel like you misrepresented the original text or spread misinformation), which would it be and why? None of them is a perfectly valid answer

Again: bit of a strange question, but I've been thinking about my own creations and how I could have done so much better with some of them, but I also know that is a sign of my growth and constantly chasing "what if I did this instead" isn't always healthy for nurturing a creative mindset, and I was wondering what your opinion might be as a Creator of Things with a bit more experience than I

There's been a few trope talks where I've thought later of other angles I could've explored that might warrant sequels or part 2s, but I don't dislike any of the summaries enough to justify a rework.

I always find "I could've done this better if I made it now" to be a bit of a fallacy. I'm only better at making things now because I made all those earlier things. If I knew everything I'd learn from making a project before I started the project, it wouldn't come out the same.

I think when it comes to the "rework remake perfect" instinct, it helps to zero in on what the impulse is really grounded in. In my experience, more often than not, it's not actually about making the art better, except incidentally. It's usually about showing that you are better. It's demonstrating your competence and your higher standards and your skills, and more importantly it's overwriting the proof that you were once less than perfect. If people look at your old work and think that's all you're capable of, they'll be judging you poorly!

If that's the motivator, it's a very unhelpful one. You can't control for being harshly or incorrectly judged. It's a fruitless effort to stave off potentially upsetting outdated criticism, and it's not even going to work. Fear of critique is an unreliable and untrustworthy motivator.

If it really is about making the art itself better, perfecting your magnum opus with your newly leveled-up skills, that's a little more solid. But from where I'm standing, it's always better to use those skills to make something new instead of polishing something old. The older, unpolished work has already acquired its audience that finds it appealing for reasons that might never occur to you. Trying to bury or overwrite it just deprives that audience of the thing they like, and maybe makes them feel bad for having liked it in the first place. Also, usually when you look back on the older work, you'll conclude that the problem is everything and it'll need to be torn down and started from scratch. I know when I revisited the first three chapters of the comic, when I let my critic brain spin up, it wasn't shading or lineart I wanted to fix - it was panel composition, overall pacing, the entire structure of the chapters as a whole. I would've had to make them all over again to be happy with them, and they wouldn't be the same story by the end.

I've been thinking a lot about the Discworld through this lens lately. It ended up over 40 books long, but everyone agrees that the first two are not what you should start with, because they're the worst ones. They're entirely parodic, purely referential of at-the-time major fantasy series, and borderline mean-spirited in places. If you haven't read Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser and Dragonriders of Pern, you're not gonna understand like a full 50% of The Colour Of Magic.

It's clear that when he started in on them, Pratchett was entirely focused on taking the piss out of a genre he found mostly shallow and unimpressive. But the Discworld wouldn't leave his head, and everything he made fun of he clearly eventually found himself overthinking. He'd make little one-off jokes in the early books about Dwarves having no women and a hundred words for gold, and then twenty books later he'd have a Dwarf gender revolution make waves across the Disc, and then he'd write Thud!, a book that delves deeper into the nuances of Dwarf societal structure than Tolkien ever did.

If you look for them, there are continuity errors everywhere in Discworld. In his introductory book, Carrot defused a dwarf bar full of rowdy brawlers by guilting them all into writing to their poor lonely mothers back home. Shortly thereafter, Carrot will be outraged at the mere concept of an openly female dwarf. Pratchett even eventually wrote Thief of Time, a book that loosely explains that the Disc makes no sense because history has been broken and put back together incorrectly twice, and therefore any continuity errors are because of that.

He's the writer. He could've gone back and fixed it, edited the reprints to be less disruptively discontinuous with the later books. Instead he continuously moved forward and allowed the world he made to grow without cutting it off from its roots. And because he didn't bury his older, far worse work, we have the privilege of following the Disc's evolution from the very start, and seeing how this shallow, stock fantasy world parody became something incredibly rich and complex without ever pretending like its early installments never happened.

Anyway, that's why I think it's better to move forward. You make more good stuff that way.

#asks #not aurora #writing stuff

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theyluvivi · 3 months ago

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six fit under by the weeknd.

toxicex!reader x toxictaken!matt blurb. ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ you just can't let him go.

warnings.ᐟ.ᐟ: dom to subby matt. meanish reader?? she knows it's wrong but she doesn't gaf. fem receiving. fingering. (matt the munch🙂‍↕️)

You shouldn't be here. You have one of the most important exams of your life tomorrow, but you here you are. At Matt's frat. You're steering away from every drink you're offered, every alcoholic game that your friends want you to play because you know what's gonna happen.

One way or another, you're ending up in Matt's room by the end of the night. You hate admitting it yourself, but he's your Achilles' heel. You can't stop yourself from giving into him.

You run one of your hands through your hair, letting out a deep sigh. "You good?" One of your friends asks, seeing the distressed look on your face. "Fine. I'm fine." You say, beginning to walk off towards the kitchen.

One shot won't hurt.

Five won't be that bad.

Ten won't lead to a terrible hangover. You can handle it.

You can't remember how many shots you took. All you know is that frat boy who said he could take more shots than you is probably throwing up.

You're stumbling off to the bathroom when you realize that you left your phone somewhere in the kitchen, you groan. You just need to check how your makeup looks and maybe pee, then you'll be back in there.

You stumble back as someone bumps into you. "The fuc—?" As soon as you look to see who bumped into you, his cologne fills your nostrils.

"Matt." His name files out of your mouth before your brain can catch up with your actions. He looks you up and down, "You look good."

"I know." You say, "Where ya going?"

You raise an eyebrow. You both know that you know exactly where you're going, you know this frat like the back of your hand.

"Bathroom." You begin to walk again just for him to block your way. "Matt." You say sternly, searching his eyes for the reason he's doing this and you're met with lust. Pure lust.

"You should come to my room."

"I need to check my makeup." He rolls his eyes. "You know I have a mirror in my room." You know know that, you remember when you caught him fucking some girl in front of it.

"Need to pee too—" You try to walk off, but he grabs your wrist, "Come to my room."

"Matt." You say sharply. You're trying so hard to resist, trying so hard to get him to back off. "Please?" He says, low and whiney.

You bite your lip. "Will you finally leave me alone after?"

He nods.

"Fine. Move."

You can see him staring at you from the corner of his bed as you push up your lashes and bend down slightly to fix your dress as you fix your twisted bra. "You look good."

"I know." You repeat. "Like....really, really good." He stands behind you in the mirror. You didn't even hear the bed creak when he got up.

You barely have to blink before his lips are on yours. Your eyes flutter shut. God, how you missed the feeling of his lips against yours.

It's embarrassing how much you let him get away with. He picks you up and wraps your legs around his waist as he carries you over to his bed.

When he throws you on his bed, it's like deja vu, the good kind. A moment you wouldn't mind staying in as his chain dangles in your face, and your eye contact becomes sinful.

Until the thought that he has a girlfriend appears in your mind. You swerve his kiss. "I get you all the way to my bed, and you do thi-?"

"You have a girlfriend."

"Oh, c'mon—" He says, staring down at you with disbelief in his eyes. "Knees."

The way his body instantly responds to your command makes you smile. You wonder if his new girlfriend knows he has this side to him.

You sit up slowly, admiring the sight in front of you. She probably doesn't, the first time you tried to be in control Matt freaked the fuck out.

He stares up at you with those puppy eyes. He knows what those do to you. "You're terrible." It comes out way softer than you wanted it to but you can't think with the way he's looking at you.

He smirks. "You let me kiss you." You scoff and cross your arms. "Before I remembered you had a girlfriend."

"Don't you want me to fuck you?" He presses, parting your legs and pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "Remember that time I fucked you so hard you couldn't go to class in the morning?"

You avoid his gaze. Your panties are soaked, to say the least. "Yeaaah, let's refresh that memory." His hands slip up to the hem of panties, "Couldn't move, had me carrying you 'round all day...Let's go back to that. Let me take care of you, baby."

His words are getting to you. Bad. You won't give in, you won't. You remember how your heart broke into a million pieces when you found out Matt was cheating on you. You won't do that to another girl.

Yet, you still let him slip off your panties. "Fuck, you're dripping, sweetheart. You were craving me, huh?"

You won't give in. You won't give in. Yet you make no moves to push him away as he presses soft kisses from your inner thigh up to your core.

Fuck it.

You pull his head back his hair, causing him to let out a whimper. "You're not fucking me."

"What—?"

You tug on his hair harder, making him whine. "You're eating me out." He eyes you with disobedience, "Do you seriously think you deserve think to feel good after what you did to me? You're lucky I'm even letting you near me."

The venom in your words is wounding, but he still doesn't think you're serious. "Y/n—"

You lean foward and tug his face to you. Making him let out the most pained sound you've ever from him. "One more fucking word Matt. One more word that isn't you saying yes, you're not even gonna get this. I'm gonna storm out of here, find your girlfriend and telling her what a fucking asshole you are." He gulps as you threaten him gravely, but the tent in his jeans gives off another emotion than scared.

"Th...that hurts." He whines. "What's it gonna be, Matt?"

"I'll...I'll eat you out." He mumbles. "Louder."

"I'll eat you out."

You finally let him go from the deathgrip you have on his hair. "Are you gonna be a good boy?" He nods eagerly. "Say it."

"I-I'll be a good boy for you... Mama."

"Good boy." The way his ears turn pink almost makes you feel bad for how mean you just were to him. Almost.

He wets his lips and leans in before licking at your clit, he eyes you. You tilt your head at him, knowing exactly what he wants. "Gotta do more than that if you want praise, baby."

He furrows his brows together. Matt slips his fingers inside you, making a scissor motion. You gasp at the stretch. You haven't been the most sexually active ever since you guys broke up.

"T...tell me I'm doing good, please?" He mutters against you, causing you to moan. You want to, but you'd rather see him needy and wanting.

You bite your lip and refuse to let out any moans as you watch the attention he's paying to your clit increase and feel his fingers reach deeper inside you. "Ma, pleasepleaseplease—" He mutters against you again, placing sloppy kisses down your pussy. "M being a good boy, isn't that what you wanted?"

You let out a loud gasp as he reaches that special inside you, "S-see— m making you feel good? Please?"

You can't take it anymore. Him thrusting into that spot repeatedly with his fingers causes you to fall flat against the bed. "Yeah— you're being a really good boy Matt— being ah— such a good boy for me—" You say, getting interrupted by moans. It only spurs him on more, making him latch onto your clit.

You practically scream. "Matt— matt— ohmy— Your back arches off the bed. "Please." He whines, taking a break from sucking your throbing nub. "Can you feel clenching down on my fingers."

"Wan' me to come for you—?" You choke out. "Please, Mama, been so good for you."

"Fuck—fuuuuck— baby, m coming!" You scream, coming all over his face. You whine as he spreads your legs wider to lap up your release.

You pant heavily as you come down from your high, squirming as you feel Matt still working in between your legs. "M..matt." You say weakly, he ignores you. Pussy drunk.

You pull him by his hair. He pouts, slowly pulling out his fingers. "Just wanna taste you." He says, hair sticking to his face from your release.

You smirk down at him. "Bet you're all hard from that, huh?" He nods slowly. "Tell you what," You sit up, "Make me come again, and I'll think about letting you fuck me."

The way he immediately tries to dive back into you makes you laugh. You have to throw your doggy something.

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @whore4mattsturniolo @domizzzsstuff @sosasturns

#theyluvpeach★#sub matt... NGH #sub matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #x reader #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo

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shiningstarwrites · 5 months ago

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How Arcane Characters Would Tease You

Trigger Warnings: Playful teasing, flirtation, suggestive undertones, and light embarrassment.

• Vi thrives on playful physicality when teasing you. She’ll corner you against a wall with that trademark smirk, leaning in just close enough to watch you squirm. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Or is it just me?”

• She loves catching you off guard. If she sees you zoning out, she’ll casually drape an arm around your shoulders and whisper, “Daydreaming about me again? Happens to the best of us.”

• If you try to tease her back, she’ll laugh and pretend to let you win for a moment before flipping the script. “Oh, you’re getting bold, huh? Careful, sweetheart—I might like that.”

Caitlyn

• Caitlyn’s teasing is subtle and refined, but it always leaves you flustered. She’ll lean in close under the pretense of adjusting your collar or brushing off dust. “There. All fixed. Though I think I’ve distracted you more than I helped.”

• She loves making sly comments during serious moments. If you get flustered over something small, she’ll chuckle softly. “I didn’t know you could be this adorable. Should I be worried?”

• Caitlyn has a knack for watching your reactions carefully and pressing just enough to make you blush. “You’re not used to this, are you? Don’t worry—I’ll go easy on you. For now.”

Jinx

• Jinx teases with pure chaos and energy. She’ll randomly steal your hat or glasses, putting them on and spinning around dramatically. “How do I look? Like your new favorite person, right?”

• She loves poking fun at your flustered reactions. “Aww, are you blushing? That’s so cute! Wait, hold on—do it again!”

• Jinx is the type to lean in like she’s about to whisper something serious but instead says something ridiculous like, “Guess what? You’re stuck with me forever now. Deal with it.”

• She’ll playfully mock your nervous habits or mannerisms. “Biting your lip again? Geez, you’re gonna drive me crazy.”

Ekko

• Ekko teases with quiet confidence. He loves leaning into your space and saying something simple but disarming, like, “You always look this good, or is today special?”

• He’ll lightly call you out when you’re too flustered to respond properly. “You’re not this quiet when we’re talking about other stuff. Something on your mind?”

• If you try to brush him off, he’ll chuckle and lean in closer. “Oh, I see how it is. You’re playing hard to get now. That’s cute.”

• Ekko’s teasing always feels warm and intentional, like he’s daring you to match his energy. “C’mon, don’t just stand there—tell me what you’re thinking. Or do I already know?”

Silco

• Silco’s teasing is intense and deliberate. He thrives on subtle power plays, like brushing a strand of hair from your face and lingering just a moment too long. “You’re awfully quiet. Do I make you nervous?”

• He loves making you second-guess his intentions with cryptic compliments. “You’ve certainly caught my attention. I wonder if you even realize how much.”

• Silco enjoys watching you try to compose yourself under his gaze. “Careful—you might blush yourself into a fever if you keep looking at me like that.”

• His voice drops an octave when he teases, making every word feel heavier. “It’s fascinating, really—how easily I seem to unnerve you. Not that I mind, of course.”

#arcane characters #arcane #teasing #vi arcane #jinx arcane #caitlyn kiramman #viktor arcane #arcane silco #headcanon #arcane headcanon #vi x reader #jinx x reader #caitlyn x reader #arcane jayce #silco x reader

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jamesmcalover · 5 months ago

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cinematic

Fred Hechinger x afab!reader

Warnings: fluff, awkwardness???

Summary: reader works at the cinema and a really cute blonde man walks in one day

3.5k words

Tiny pearls of sweat were beginning to run down my forehead, which I quickly wiped away with the sleeve of my work uniform. It hadn't been a busy day at all, but it was hot.

"They still haven't fixed the AC," I mumbled to Nick, my co-worker, who only shrugged his shoulders. He was busy filling up a bucket of popcorn for the customers he was currently serving.

It wasn't even a hot summer day, but it still felt like a sauna behind the counter. All the machines designed to keep the food warm also kept us warm, turning our workspace into a humid, sticky mess.

"Excuse me," someone said behind me. I turned around quickly, ready to put on my best customer service voice, only to freeze mid-sentence. A very pretty blonde man was standing in front of me. He was wearing a blue shirt with the Metro Goldwyn Mayer logo – the one with the Lion – on it. He must have really enjoyed movies. His eyes were a really pretty shade of blue that made it hard for me to focus.

I blinked, trying to shake the daze from my mind. Get it together, I reminded myself.

"Hi, how can I help you?" I asked, forcing a professional smile.

"Hey," he said, smiling. I noticed a small gap between his teeth. "Could you point me to Theater 4?"

The request was simple, but something about the way he asked it made me stumble over my words for a moment. I could feel his gaze lingering, as if he was waiting for me to answer, but all I could think was how familiar his face looked.

"Uh, sure," I said, shaking myself out of the moment. "It's down the hall, to your left. You can't miss it."

"Thanks," he said, smiling at me again. My heart skipped a beat.

He turned to walk away, and I found myself watching him go, that same nagging feeling settling at the back of my mind. Where did I know him from?

"Well that was awkward to watch," Nick's voice startled me, snapping me out of my daze.

I turned to look at him, my heart still fluttering from the interaction. "What do you mean?" I asked, trying to sound casual, though my voice betrayed me with an edge of uncertainty.

Nick gave me an amused look. "You were staring at him like a deer caught in headlights."

I flushed, feeling both embarrassed and annoyed. "I wasn't staring," I muttered, half-defensive, half-embarrassed.

"Uh-huh," Nick said, his grin widening. "So, you don't know who he is?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean? Should I?"

Nick's eyebrows shot up. "It's Fred Hechinger, dude. You seriously don't recognize him?"

I stared at Nick, confusion written all over my face. "Fred Hechinger?” The name didn’t ring any bells, and Nick could see my blank expression clearly.

"I thought you were a film nerd," Nick said, raising and eyebrow as I struggled to connect the dots. "His face is on every poster and screen in this building right now."

My gaze instinctively shifted towards the big infor screen advertising the newest movie, Gladiator II. The bold poster featured the man that I had just spoken to, alongside Pedro Pascal and Paul Mescal.

"You really didn't recognize him?" Nick asked.

I felt my cheeks heat up as the realization hit. "I… I mean, I thought he looked familiar, but I wasn't sure," I admitted, flustered. "No wonder I couldn't stop staring. I bet he thinks I'm some weird fan."

My stomach flipped at the thought. I'd been acting like an awkward idiot in front of a pretty well-known actor without even realizing who he was.

Nick smirked. "Well, if you're gonna act like a fan girl, at least do it when I'm not watching."

"Shut up," I muttered, rolling my eyes. I still couldn't shake the feeling that I'd made a total fool of myself. "I didn't know, okay?"

The rest of my shift dragged on in boring monotony after the brief encounter. Nick had already clocked out, leaving me alone behind the counter. With the last movie nearing its end, I began cleaning up, wiping down the counters and restocking the shelves with candy.

The quiet hum of the soda machine and the muffled sound of a movie playing in one of the theaters were my only company. I tried not to think too much about earlier, but Fred's face kept popping into my mind.

I was deep in thought, wiping down the popcorn machine, when the sound of footsteps startled me. I turned around quickly, half expecting it to be my manager reminding me to lock up. Instead, it was him.

He looked slightly sheepish but undeniably charming, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. "Hey," he said, his voice soft and a little hesitant.

"Oh," I stammered, caught completely off guard. "Hi. Um… Can I help you with anything?"

He smiled, one of those soft, slightly crooked smiles, and shook his head. "No just... thought I'd come back and... I don't know," he said, his gaze flickering down for a moment, like he was gathering his thoughts. "It's quieter now."

I blinked, caught off guard, then glancing around the empty lobby. "Oh yeah. We're almost closed," I replied, trying to sound casual, "How was the movie."

He ran a hand through his messy blonde hair, and shrugged. "It was good. A little intense, but I like that kind of stuff."

I tilted my head. "So, you're a movie buff?"

"Something like that," he said with a small grin. I looked at the poster on the wall behind him again. He looked nothing like the character in real life, his face was much friendlier, much more approachable. I knew that he was an actor now – thanks to Nick – but I didn't want him to know I knew.

"Have you seen Gladiator II yet? I heard it's a pretty good movie," I said, trying to act cool.

"Yeah," he replied, a slight laugh escaping. "A few times, actually."

"Oh, so you're one of those people who rewatch movies over and over again?" I teased lightly, folding my arms across my chest.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You could say that. It's, uh, kind of a special project to me."

"Special how?" I asked, tilting my head again, genuinely curious.

He hesitated for a second, his grin faltering slightly, before shrugging. "It's the biggest movie I've ever been in."

I blinked at him, momentarily thrown off. I wasn't expecting him to admit it so casually. "Oh. You're... an actor."

"Yeah," he said, his grin turning slightly sheepish.

"That's, um, really cool. I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you earlier. I'm… kind of bad at keeping up with celebrities. I, uh... I'm Y/N, by the way."

"Fred," he said, offering a slightly crooked smile. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. And don't apologize, honestly, it's kind of refreshing. Most of the time, people either freak out or start asking for pictures."

"Guess I missed my chance to fangirl, huh?" I joked, trying to lighten the mood. He chuckled, and for a second I was distracted by how cute he was.

He tilted his head, his smile widening just a bit. "Well, since you missed your chance to fangirl, how about grabbing a drink instead?"

I blinked, not entirely sure I'd heard him right. "Wait… are you serious?"

"Yeah," he said with an easy shrug, though there was a hint of nervousness in his expression. "If you're free after your shift, of course. Unless you have better plans, like, I don't know, reorganizing popcorn buckets or something."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Reorganizing popcorn buckets is a pretty thrilling way to spend an evening, but I think I could make some time."

"Great," he said, his smile widening. "I'll wait."

"Wait, really?" I asked, startled.

"Yeah. Unless you'd rather bail," he teased, leaning back against the counter like he had all the time in the world.

Never in my life had I gotten things done so fast. I wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline of Fred watching me doing my work or excitement of knowing I was going to grab a drink with him – or both – but I managed to close up that cinema in record time.

As I grabbed my bag and headed toward the door, Fred straightened from where he'd been leaning against the counter, hands stuffed casually into his pockets. "Ready?"

I nodded, trying to suppress the nervous fluttering in my stomach. "Yeah. Do you have a place in mind?

He tilted his head, considering. "I passed a bar a couple of streets over on my way here. Looked low-key. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

We stepped outside, and the cool night air was a relief after hours spent in the sauna-like heat of the cinema. The city felt hushed, the kind of quiet you only get after dark, punctuated by the distant sound of cars and the faint hum of streetlamps.

The walk was short, but I couldn't help stealing a few glances at him along the way. Under the soft glow of the streetlights, he looked so different from the posters plastered all over the cinema. Less polished, more real. And when he caught me staring, I felt a blush creep up my neck.

"You know," he said, a teasing edge to his voice, "I think you do recognize me."

I scoffed, looking away to hide my embarrassment. "I already told you I didn't."

"Mm-hmm," he hummed, clearly unconvinced.

"You don't mind hanging out with your local cinema employee, do you?" I joked after a brief pause, trying to ease the tension I felt rising in my chest.

Fred glanced at me, a small smile playing on his lips. "Not at all. You're better company than half the people I've met."

The bar wasn't crowded, which was a relief. The dim lighting and faint buzz of conversation made it feel intimate without being suffocating. Fred held the door open for me, and I thanked him, stepping inside and scanning for a spot to sit.

We slid into a booth near the back, and Fred leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "What would you like to drink?" He asked, so I scanned the menu quickly.

"I think I'll just go for a beer," I replied to which he nodded and excused himself to go over to the bar and get our drinks.

The faint hum of a jukebox lingered in the background, and the soft glow of fairy lights hanging above gave the place a cozy, low-key vibe.

When he came back with two ice-cold bottles of Heinecken, I thanked him.

"I could've payed myself, you know?" I said, offering him a playful smile.

He waved his hand dismissively, setting the bottle in front of me. "Don't worry about it."

"Is this what you usually do after a movie? Find a random bar and invite strangers?"

Fred smirked, shaking his head. "Nope. This is a first, actually."

"Oh, so I'm special, huh?" I teased, leaning back against the booth.

"Something like that," he replied, his grin widening.

For a moment, we just sat there, sipping our beers, and the comfortable silence felt surprisingly natural. This wasn't something that happened to me, not in real life. Actors didn't stroll back into empty cinemas to chat with nobodies like me. And yet, here he was, smiling across the table like this was the most natural thing in the world.

"So," he said, leaning back against the booth, his gaze settling on me. "You still haven't told me your movie recommendation. What's something you think I have to watch?"

I tilted my head, pretending to think hard. "Hmm… depends. Are you looking for something fun or something that'll emotionally destroy you?"

He chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Emotionally destroy me? Sounds intense."

"Sometimes you just have to sob hysterically over fictional characters," I said, almost laughing at myself for that weird comment.

Fred thought it was funny, though, and laughed, warm and genuine. "Okay, hit me. What's the most devastating one you've got?"

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, and listed off a couple of films, my enthusiasm growing as I talked. He listened intently, his gaze fixed on me, and it was only when I stopped talking that I realized how closely he was watching me.

"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing," he said, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You just… really light up when you talk about this stuff. It's nice."

I felt my cheeks heat up and took a sip of my beer to hide my embarrassment. "Well, you are talking to a cinema employee. Movies are kind of my thing."

"And here I thought this was just your day job," he teased, his tone light.

"Well, it is," I said, laughing. "But it doesn't mean I don't love it."

He nodded, taking another sip of his drink. "I get that. It's nice when work doesn't feel like… well, just work."

"Exactly," I said, smiling. "And you? What's the best part of your job?"

Fred hesitated, his expression softening as he thought about it. "I think it's when people connect with something I've done. Like, when they tell me a character or a story meant something to them. That's pretty special."

I nodded, leaning forward slightly. "That makes sense. And I guess playing an emperor probably didn't hurt, huh?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "So, you did recognise me!"

I felt my face getting red and hot immediately. "I'm sorry, I just- I didn't wanna seem like some weird fan. I've probably made it really worse now, though."

Fred's smile softened, and his eyes held mine for a moment longer than I expected. "I think it's cute."

My face burned even more, and I ducked my head, letting out a nervous laugh. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"I'm not," he replied, still grinning as he took another sip of his beer. "It's nice. Refreshing, even. You don't get that a lot in this business – people pretending they do't know you."

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "To be fair, I actually didn't know at first!"

"Which is even better," he teased, his voice warm with amusement. "Honest confusion. It's a rare thing."

I peeked at him through my fingers before lowering my hands with an embarrassed smile. "Well, good. I'll just keep being 'refreshing,' then."

"If you had recognized me, what would you have done? Freaked out? Asked for an autograph?" He asked with a playful grin and I laughed, shaking my head. "No way. I probably just would've stared at you more than I aready did and made it even more awkward. You know, like a real professional."

He laughed too, the sound bright and genuine. "Well, I'm glad you didn't. I like this version of you better."

The way he said it, so casual but sincere, sent a flutter through my chest. I smiled, trying to play it cool. "You don't even know me yet."

He tilted his head, his expression soft. "Then let's change that."

And just like that, I felt the flutter again, stronger this time. I leaned back in my seat, trying to suppress the goofy grin threatening to spread across my face. "Alright, Fred. What do you want to know?"

"Everything," he replied simply, his tone light, but his eyes serious.

For a moment, I just stared at him, caught off guard by his answer, but I couldn't stop myself from smiling. "That’s a tall order."

He shrugged, leaning back with a playful smirk. "We've got time."

And somehow, sitting there in that dimly lit bar with a half-empty beer in my hand and Fred Hechinger watching me like I was the most interesting thing in the room, I believe him. There was something about the way he looked at me – like I wasn't just another face in the crowd – that made me feel seen, and it scared me how much I liked it.

I don't remember how long we sat there, lost in conversation. The bar seemed to dim around us, the hum of other patrons fading into the background until it was just the two of us, trading stories like old friends.

Eventually, the bartender gave us a look that said it was time to go. I glanced at my phone, surprised at how late it had gotten. "I should probably catch the last train," I said, half-apologetic.

Fred stood with me, pulling on his coat. "I'll walk you."

"You don't have to do that," I replied, but he was already waiting by the door.

Outside, the city felt different – quieter, softer, as if the night itself had been holding its breath for us. The walk to the train station wasn't long, but it stretched just enough to let the silence settle between us, comfortable and charged.

When we reached the stairs leading down to the platform, I turned to him. "Well… thanks for tonight. I had fun."

Fred smiled, hands shoved in his pockets. "Me too." And there it was again. The way he looked at me, steady and unassuming, like he wasn't in a rush to let the moment end.

He reached a hand out to my face. I noticed it slightly shaking. He carefully brushed a single strand of hair, I haven't even noticed it was in my eyelashes, out of my face.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost as if he was afraid to break the quiet between us. His hand lingered for half a second before he pulled it back, tucking it into his pocket again. The corner of his mouth twitched into a sheepish smile, and I wondered if his heart was racing as much as mine.

I swallowed, my heart fluttering at the unexpected closeness. "It's okay."

I tried to find something to say, anything to fill the space, but my mind felt blank—too full of the way his touch had made my breath hitch.

The streetlamp above us cast a warm glow, and in its light, he looked almost unsure.

"I should–"

"I want to see you again," he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm.

My breath caught, and for a moment, all I could do was stare at him. He looked so certain, like it wasn't even a question worth hesitating over.

"I mean… if you'd want to," he added, the confidence faltering just slightly.

I couldn't stop the smile that tugged at my lips. "Yeah," I said softly, my pulse quickening. "I think I'd like that."

Fred's face lit up with a grin, one so genuine it made my stomach flip. "Good."

For a moment, we just stood there, neither of us moving. It felt like the kind of moment you didn't want to break, like holding onto it a little longer might make it last forever.

But the distant rumble of the approaching train reminded me that time didn't wait. I shifted, glancing toward the stairs. "I should probably..."

Fred nodded, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. "Yeah." He hesitated, then added, "Text me when you get home?"

Before I could respond, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled receipt from the bar we were just in. He smoothed it out awkwardly, then handed it to me. I took it, unfolding the paper to find his number scrawled across it in slightly messy handwriting.

I smiled, feeling a flutter in my chest. For some reason, this felt like the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me. It meant he’d been thinking about giving me his number back at the bar. "I will."

He stepped back just enough to give me space, his hands back in his coat pockets. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Fred."

I turned and descended the steps, the sound of the train growing louder with each step. At the platform, I glanced back one last time. He was still there at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against the glow of the streetlamp. He raised a hand in a small wave, and I waved back just as the train doors slid open.

As I sank into a seat by the window, the night’s events played over in my head like scenes from a movie, too perfect to feel real. But as the train pulled away, I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁

part 2!! <3

#fred hechinger #fred hechinger x you #fred hechinger fanfic #fred hechinger x reader #fred hechinger fanfiction #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year ago

Note

not pressuring u but pls write for art donaldson:)

Warnings: Established relationship, Stanford era, Sleepy Art Donaldson being The Sweetest, hints of subby Art, smooches

"...You're doing it again, you know."

"What am I doing?"

"You're distracting me, Art."

"How? I'm laying still and I'm being quiet."

"You're staring at me."

"I'm not staring."

"Art."

"I'm not."

"What do you call it, then?"

"...Watching."

You turn your head, brows raised in disbelief, lips pursed as you try to fix him with a stern look. It doesn't hold. How can it, with the way he's smiling at you?

You can see how tired he is from the slow blinking of his heavy lids. It's a wonder that he's still awake; he's been curled up in your bed for the last half hour as you've tried to finish up a paper. It's nearly midnight, and you know that he's been up since six that morning. Between classes and practice, he's had an insanely long day.

"You should be sleeping," You scold.

"'m not tired."

"Bullshit."

He chuckles softly, rolling onto his side and nuzzling your pillow.

"I'll wait."

"For what?"

"You to come to bed."

"Are you just going to stare at me until I do?"

"'Course not...I am gonna watch you, though."

You smile, sighing and saving your work before shutting your laptop.

"Alright."

"You're finished?"

"No, I'll finish it tomorrow."

"You sure?"

You hum affirmatively, stepping into your bathroom and cranking the faucet on. You make it through washing your face before you see movement in your periphery.

"I'll be there in a second," You promise as Art drifts into the room. "I'm just gonna brush my teeth."

Art cuddles up behind you, arms curling around your middle as he presses his face into your neck, drawing in a deep breath.

"You miss me already? It's been two minutes," You tease before lifting your toothbrush.

"Not just two minutes," Art insists. "Barely saw you today." He tips his head up, nuzzling your jaw. "I was thinkin' about you."

You smile, leaning down and rinsing your mouth out, wiggling your hips back against him as you hinge forward. Art groans low in his throat, thumbs dipping beneath your shirt and gently sweeping over your sides.

"I was thinking about you, too," You admit, turning to face him.

"Really?"

"Mhm. All day." Art's smile widens as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. "We goin' to bed now?"

"In a minute." Art leans in, brushing his lips against yours. You smile, sliding a hand into his hair and parting your lips, teasing your tongue tenderly against his. He sighs into your kiss, hands snaking around your back to draw you closer into his chest. You break the kiss slowly, giving his hair a gentle tug and grinning as his eyelids flutter, a sweet flush spreading across his cheeks.

"Come on," You urge. "We can't have you sleep-walking through practice tomorrow."

Even with your eyes closed, in the dim room, you can still feel it. You shift a little, adjusting your covers.

"Art," You warn softly, "You're still doing it."

Art's hand cups your face, his thumb sweeping across your cheekbone.

"Baby," He murmurs, "If you were in my place, you'd stare, too."

#Art Donaldson x Reader #Art Donaldson x You #Art Donaldson/Reader #Art Donaldson/You #Art Donaldson fic #Art Donaldson imagine #asks #replies #anon

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mamawasatesttube · 1 month ago

Text

pondering the issues tim and kon would have to work through in their relationship... like. kon's thing for attempting so earnestly to be what his partner wants him to be that it impedes his ability to communicate, vs. tims constant struggle with the hero/personal life balance.

imagine: kon shows up to pick tim up for date night, but tim forgot about it bc he's so wrapped up in a case. he's crunching numbers he's deep in a research hole he's in the zone. so kon taps at the window and he's like hey :) you're welcome to hang out but i really won't be any fun for a bit, im so close to cracking this. it's not anything urgent right it can wait an hour or two?

and kon thinks about reminding him they have reservations for dinner. but even if tim goes oh shit and gets changed real fast, his brain will be on the case the whole time and kon knows it. so he pastes on a smile and goes oh yeah no it's nothing important, i was just saying hi on my way to metropolis :). and he knows tim Really Is in the zone bc tim doesn't even notice how fake that smile was

and the thing is, kon really thinks he did what he was supposed to do here. if he feels hurt, it doesn't matter because he did what A Good Boyfriend Should Do. besides, helping people is more important than his feelings. so if he feels hurt about this he should simply get over himself and stop it.

except like that's not actually how feelings work. oops

but tim realizes kon showed up for date night the next day when he glances at his calendar. and he's like FUCK. and then immediately Why Didn't He Tell Me???? Why Did He Just Leave Again???? ? ???? kon???? and he tries to apologize to kon but kon's like no you didn't do anything wrong ! and tim is like. uh. yes i did? (holding flowers with immense confusion)

he's trying to get kon to tell him what he can do to make it up to him, if there's anything kon particularly wants to go do, what's a date idea kon wants!! and he doesn't understand why this seems to be making kon shrink in on himself a bit because he's?? trying?? to fix it???

but he hasn't realized that the issue is that kon thinks, on some level, that prioritizing himself in a relationship in any way is how he gets dumped. like he wouldn't consciously say that's what he thinks. he'd deny it out loud. but that's how he secretly feels on the inside: that having needs or wants, that expecting reciprocity from his partner, leads to him being left behind.

and so finally tim has to drop the "no really what do you wanna do??" angle to just sit on him and cup his face like hey. hey. i don't know what's going on in there but i can tell you're like Genuinely Upset (kon Haha what no I'm not!!!) but for some reason you keep saying i don't have anything to make up to you. which is Not True, Kon. can we accept that. i DO have something to make up to you and i WANT to make it up to you.

gotta cup kon's cheeks and gaze earnestly into his eyes like he's a sad lil puppy dog. listen. kon. i have a bad habit of letting the hero stuff in my life eat away at the rest of it and i am trying So Hard to be aware of when im doing it, but sometimes i fuck up because it's a hard habit to break. but i Will, because, like, this is the kind of thing that's ruined Every relationship i have ever had and i refuse to let it ruin us!! im Gonna be better for you bc you deserve better. and also because i know the rest of my family will be single until the day they die but I Refuse, okay. bruce and dick have fumbled every single relationship they've been in and i Won't be like them kon, im gonna do right by you or die trying, but you gotta talk to me for that, okay.

and kon's like. wow way to drag literally everyone in your family but i do actually feel a little better now. and tim's like fuck yeah B) was it the throwing dick and bruce under the bus that helped? i'll do it again anytime. especially bruce. listen bruce fumbled wonder woman do you know how bad that man is at relationships??? the fumbler for REAL.

and kon giggles despite himself and then manages to finally let go of some of that tension in his shoulders, heaves a big ol puppydog sigh, and plonks his face into tim's shoulder. he needs a minute but he finally admits, okay. yeah. it didn't feel great, and i should've told you it was date night that night itself. as for what we could do now, um... i'm not entirely sure... and tim's like not to worry! in my infinite wisdom i have ☝️ made a date night idea spreadsheet.

and like, the point is kon realizing that actually a good partner would like him to talk about his feelings and needs and wants. and tim realizing once again that He's Not Gonna Be Like Bruce He Refuses To Be Like Bruce. Rip To Bruce But He's Not Gonna Fumble A Bad Bitch. finally they go to the aquarium together or something and take a lot of silly fish selfies, and tim buys kon like 5 gift shop plushies. yippee!

#rimi talks #timkon #man maybe i should actually tag this #rimi writes #because um. why is this so many words #anyways. partially copied over from some thoughts i had on discord a few weeks ago but. longer. much to ponder #bc the thing is like of course they have issues to work through right #but also they are besties and they know each other and they Can communicate. and work through those things!#its about the actively being good for each other :)#tim #kon

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ghostedgwen · 23 days ago

Text

You Should See Your Faces | s.black

note : yeah I am speedrunning this masterlist. not sure if I should do a second part to this but ion feel like writing angst involving the black's prejudice with everything going on atm

warning/s : just the usual pureblood prejudice, mostly fluff if we ignore those underlying themes, you have a sister (idk if that warrants a warning), sirius black is the cool rock star bf of your dreams/hj

Sirius Black’s greatest spit in his family might just be the fact that he is destined to be with the muggle girl who always smiled his away, living 5 windows down from his ancestral home.

Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife.

Sirius Black, in all his life, could never have guessed that his soulmate would be a muggle. But is bloody fucking funny the more he thinks about it. "Hey there, rock star."

You didn't give the tattoo in your arm much thought as the sentence written on it was too general. Anyone could say it and at any moment, it would drive you mad trying to draw your own fate from one silly sentence. "Was wondering when you'd finally say 'hi'."

You tug your scarf to fix it around your neck, looking out through the window to see that snow is falling, you grin to yourself at the sight.

You didn't mind the snow at all, unlike most people who hated it, the cold has always been comforting to you.

Having always enjoyed the opportunity to crunch snow under your boots, you always looked forward to fall and the snowy days that came right after.

"Off to build a snowman?" You heard your sister call out to you, her voice obviously mocking you. You roll your eyes.

"Fuck off," you yelled out to her and opened the door. "I'm gonna grab some snacks for tonight, got any request?"

You waited for her to answer you, growing impatient as you kept your hold on the knob.

"Get me dark chocolate, thanks!"

You yelled back an 'okay' and walked out, closing the door behind you and you breathed in the smell of snow. You always loved how the cold prickled your skin.

You were careful on your way down the stairs, looking around the street to see it all covered in snow. You smile at the sight of a few kids playing, throwing snow at each other.

The memories of you and your sister having snow ball fights playing in your mind, you turn your head further down the street. There, you see him.

That kid that you practically grew up with but you barely saw him enough. Your sister insists he isn't real and you have an imaginary friend, but that imaginary friend grew up as well.

His hair long and past his shoulder in soft curls, tattoos littering his arms and smoke escaping past his lips as he clutched a cigarette in between two bony and pale fingers.

He's pale, like snow, and it was contrasting with his stark black hair. You can only guess what colour his eyes are, definitely light from what you've seen.

He seemed to have felt the weight of your gaze when he turned, he was a good distance away and you managed to give him a smile like you always did.

He returned it like always, even curtly nodding in your direction. God, he was so hot and you always thought so - way before he even had the grunge-y rock star look.

You basically watched him find his style and evolve into whatever that is.

You give him a slight wave and turn away, heading off to the store like you originally planned.

While at the store, you find yourself looking at a set of scarves being displayed. You eyed one that was black with dark grey stars knitted into it.

You stood for a good minute until it dawned on you who they reminded you of - that hot neighbour of yours that you have never talked to.

You contemplated, wondering if it would be too weird to give a gift to a stranger - but is he really a stranger? You've known him since you were 12, you just never got to actually talk to him.

Without thinking deeper into it, you grabbed the scarf and proceeded to checkout with your basket of sweets. If you chicken out of giving him the scarf, you can always just dump it on your sister.

You almost felt proud of yourself as you exit the store and walk back home, and in your way, you found that he has disappeared again. Not even a trace of cigarette ashes in the snow to prove he was even there.

Your mind was taken off it by the instant sight of your sister in the ugliest jumper opening the door, eager to grab her chocolate.

You grip the gift in your hand, you had even bothered to wrap it in the darkest gift wrap you could find. You found it too funny to wrap such a gift in bright Christmas packaging.

In the end, you settled for leftovers from your previous crafting shenanigans. A big sheet of black postcard paper cut into the proper size to wrap around the folded scarf.

You didn't bother sticking a card in it, you thought he'd laugh at that.

Dashing past your door so you can avoid your sister, and her possible teasing if she probes and find out you're giving a gift to your imaginary friend - you were lucky to spot him again.

He was standing outside like always, just looking straight ahead as he smoked. You figured he couldn't smoke inside his home, hence he's always outside.

You slowly approach him, cringing at the sound of snow crunching under your boots. You always loved it but not at this moment, not when you could tell he knew you were coming.

He was acting casual, not yet turning as the sound of your footsteps in the snow drew closer and closer and it was only when you stopped - a good distance from him - did he turn to address you.

"Was wondering when you'd finally say 'hi'."

"Hey there, rock star."

You both said at the same time, your jaw went slack instantly at that. You instantly look down at your arm and found the tattoo glowing, and glowing until it got too bright that it disappeared completely.

You can tell he was also watching his as he lifted his own arm alongside yours, his tattoo glowing until both your arms were empty - the tattoos were gone.

"Just my Yule luck, eh?" He chuckles and god, his voice was as hot as him.

You look up to get a good look at him. What the fuck? As if eh wasn't already perfect from your distant view of him, the image is complete now.

He has piercing grey eyes with hints of blue in them and they looked like crystals to you. Why did such a fine specimen end up being your soulmate?

"I'm ____," you offer him your hand, the tattoo now gone and he gives you a charming grin as he accepted it. Introductions were in order.

"Sirius, yep that's my name. If you got complaints then take it up to my Mum, doubt she'd like that very much."

You stared as he laughed at his own joke. "Like the star?"

He paused, not having expected you to get the reference to his name. "You know of it?"

You snort. "It's my favourite, the dog."

You could almost swear his eyes twinkled at your reply, and he let out a bark of laughter, shaking your hand excitedly before pulling away. "Oh this is bloody rich," he seemed to be finding something so funny while you are unsure what that is.

"Something funny, Sirius?" You asked.

He shakes his head and turned to his left, throwing a look at the house next to him - then turning back at you. "Oh nothing, love," you pointedly ignored the butterflies in your stomach at that. "Just, life is funny is all."

"Nevermind you," you roll your eyes and handed him the wrapped gift. "I was gonna give this to you. Merry Christmas."

He looked pleasantly surprised to be given a gift, he accepted it without hesitation and you watch him open the gift. Not even wasting a second to wrap the scarf around himself.

"Whad'ya think, love?"

You bite the insides of your cheeks. "Very fitting, brings out your eyes."

He laughs. "Everything brings out my eyes."

And you didn't bother interjecting that.

"Blimey, it's like the world had wanted you to defy your entire lineage, mate!" James exclaimed, holding back his laughter.

"What are we talking about?" Peter asked, just entering the dorms after visiting his girlfriend in the Library.

Remus greeted him, "Pads is talking about his soulmate."

"You finally met her, then?" Peter asked.

Sirius gives a proud nod and jumped on James' bed to lounge with him, the taller boy laughs this time, barely containing it. "Pads here got himself a muggle soulmate!"

"Bloody hell!" Peter's eyes almost bulged out his eyes.

James continued laughing as Sirius smacked him with one of his pillows. He ignored the action.

"It's too fuckin' rich ain't it?" James could almost cry. "Tosser got sorted into Gryffindor and has a muggle for a soulmate, you're really just born to be your family's karma."

Remus could be seen smiling as well, barely laughing but his amusement was visible on his scarred face. He turns to Sirius who appeared happy, despite the laughter and the joke of it all.

"What's she like then, Pads?"

Sirius turns to him, and Remus could almost see heart visibly form in his irises at the thought of you. "She's great, fuckin' perfect for me if anything. This must be what havin' a soulmate is like, she's just right in all the right ways, and places," Remus rolled his eyes at his wink.

"You are a dog, but you already knew that." Remus turned away to regard Peter instead, opting to ask him about his own soulmate. "How was your girlfriend, Wormtail?"

Sirius turns to James who had stopped laughing and was just watching him. "Our bloody Pads is besotted, would you look'a that?"

Sirius laughs, but didn't dare deny it. "Playtime's over, really lucked out so I'm done with all that."

"How about it then?" James frowned. "She's a muggle, isn't she? How are you supposed to go about this?"

Sirius only smirked. "Type of person that she is, she'll fit in just fine."

"You should introduce her to us some time." Peter spoke up, just finishing up his short chat with Remus about his girlfriend. "I want Demi to meet her too."

Sirius thinks about it for a moment. "This summer might be good, I'll find a way around my family, and we can all get together."

The rest of that day back at Hogwarts was spent catching up on their holidays. Ever since Sirius has completely pulled away from his family - he's anticipated his return to Hogwarts more than ever.

But for the first time, he couldn't wait to get out of Hogwarts to see you.

the end.

masterlist

#sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black marauders #sirius #sirius black #harry potter marauders #marauders era #marauders imagines #marauders x reader

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fabricated-misslieness · 10 months ago

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: tyler owens x gn reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.39k | part 2

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: not communicating and not talking about your feelings (not miscommunication since you don't even communicate)

☾⋆☆⋆☽

There's too many beds.

The one night where you guys don't manage to make it to a motel, there's too many damn beds.

The camper van can fit pretty much all of you at once, not that the seven of you will do that anyway. Dani and Dexter have claim on it, as the drivers, and will probably accept two more comfortably.

In Lilly's van there's the backseat and the floor, but if we're counting, for how many beds there are by technicality, the two front seats as well.

You always have tents and sleeping bags around too, just in case you guys can't drive everyone from any recently unfortunate communities to the nearest hotel (although you'd certainly try). To give a rough estimate, about a dozen tents?

Then there's Tyler's truck, the two front seats and the back seat, and the truck bed. It's a bit short, but it can fit plenty people curled up.

So what to choose?

You should probably stay in a car. Much more heat that way, but who's gonna take you in? The designated drivers obviously prefer their own cars, so... Dexter's campervan is pretty spacious? Then again, so's Lilly's, and to be honest she's more of a vibe than the other two, but also why would you need vibes if you're just sleeping?

Maybe you should start a fire, huddle around that? No, that's a hazard, nevermind the fact you only know how to start a fire in theory.

Let's stick to a car, then. Lilly or Dex & Dan for space... Lilly, sure, why not?

As you start heading over to Lilly's van, you hear a sharp whistle. You don't have time to wonder who it's from, as Tyler spins you around.

"You're coming with me." He proclaims, taking you by the shoulders, and you can only laugh.

"Why me?"

Tyler grins, walking you unceremoniously towards his truck bed. "Because you're you, dove." That alone sounds rather intimate, so he fixes his mistake quickly. You're just friends, after all. "And Boone kicks people in his sleep, Lilly's hair gets everywhere, Dani steals the blankets, Dexter snores, and Ben...it's pitiful how he squeezes himself into the corner whenever he's sleeping next to someone, so we always give him his own space."

Right, all good points you'd forgotten.

"So why exactly am I better?" You tease, stopping in your tracks so Tyler bumps into your back and stay close.

"You're warm." And at first it seems like that's the only thing he'll say, your only benefit, as he pauses; but then the rest comes spilling out like a toad strangler. "You're also soft, you don't steal the blanket, you don't complain when I suddenly start talking and you don't snore."

Tyler doesn't mention that the two of you cuddle when you bunk together, and that you bunk together often. He doesn't mention how tonight he'll let you cuddle up on his chest, or perhaps how he'll press his nose against yours and let you play with his hair, because simply mentioning it will mean you'll have to talk about it.

You don't want to talk about, you think; and neither does he. You don't want to talk about how there's something different with the way he slings his arm around your shoulder, or the way you knock your head against his, or how he always gives out your share of whatever (pizza, cookies, etc.) before anyone else, or how you always offer your help to him no matter what.

They're always easy things to ignore, his skinship is not conditional and neither is your kindness, but there's something about the way you look into his eyes when you say thank you, and something about the way his touch lingers.

You don't want to put your finger on it, at least not this season. You'll say it again the next season, and the next, but you ignore that.

"So then I'm your favorite person?" You turn around and bonk your fist against his chest.

He whistles again, drawn-out like he does in awkward moments, but you know it's only playful. "Don't push your luck, dove. You're like... top 5!"

"Top 5? Aww," You feign offense, plopping your hand over your own chest now, "I didn't make it to top 3?"

He splays out his hand and begins to count on his fingers. "There's my mom, then my dad, then the family dog, Liam from the rodeo, and then you."

"The family dog?" Your eyebrows furrow, and the acting seems a bit too real until the look on your face gives away to a memory of his dog giving you kisses. "Oh, yeah, okay. I get it."

"See? You get it." Tyler chuckles, spins you back around and keeps on walking.

The spot you guys picked today is drier than the last, which is something you're thankful for. It's quite far from any town, but the streetlights that adorn the far off road make you feel a bit safer that civilization is just around the corner. There's a light breeze, not too cold and not too fast, and the stars! Oh, the stars.

They're damn nice out here cause they're actually visible tonight, a little less light pollution, you think. It's certainly a lot brighter than, say, NYC or Washington.

"Ain't they pretty today?" Tyler comments, his hands on your shoulders squeezing.

"Yeah. Sparkly too. You know any constellations?"

"No," He hums, his voice holding a bit of lament. "I tried, once. I tried taking a class in college. Astrology."

"How'd that go?" You ask offhandedly, hopping onto the bed of the truck.

"Ended up being too stressed with my main curriculum and dropped the class before it got too far." He fixes a tarp over the top of the truck bed, over the exoskeleton, so not much light will shine over your eyes when you try to sleep.

"The smart Tyler Owens got too stressed?" You ask as you help him up.

"Being smart doesn't mean I have good time management." Tyler says as he sits next to you, and you shrug. Suppose he's right.

"Still pretty though." You hum, leaning your head against his shoulder as you look up.

"Yeah." He agrees. His arm comes to wrap around you naturally, running up and down your side. "Have you ever tried to come up with constellations with... I don't know, whoever you were looking at the sky with?"

"You know what? I don't think so." You raise a finger, tracing a path in the stars for a moment, trying to find something interesting.

He finds one before you, pointing at a group of stars in a weird glob shape. "There, a cloud!"

That alone gets you to let out an ugly, surprised laugh; despite how ugly you might've thought it to be, he thinks it's cute. "You trynna cloudgaze with stars, cowboy?"

"Shut up." He laughs, knocking his head against yours. "You try, genius."

After a couple seconds, you point out a distinct...cone shape in the sky. "Unicorn horn."

"Unicorn horn?"

"What am I supposed to say, cone?"

"You could've said ice cream cone, a little more age appropriate, you know?" He holds out his hand, holding out a small gap between his index and thumb fingers to accentuate little.

"Yeah, well it has no ice cream, dumbass."

"Woah," Tyler withdraws, raising his hands in surrender. "no need to get so defensive, dove."

You slap his hands only to draw them back around you. He has no complaints about that. "Clearly we both suck at this. Let's just admire the stars normally."

He huffs out a laugh but turns his gaze back to the night sky without complaint. It's rather peaceful, this moment, and so nice. Maybe it's not rare that you get comfortably quiet moments with him, nor is it ever rare for Tyler to hold you close like this, but it doesn't make it any less endearing.

"Look!" Tyler breaks the silence suddenly, finger tracing a path in the stars. "A heart."

"You're kidding." You huff out. He's just playing with you, he has to be, especially after your miserable attempts at finding shapes in the sky.

Despite yourself, your eyes will the stars above you into the shape of a heart. Goddamnit, you think, because it's definitely a sign.

"I'm going to sleep." You tear yourself away from his grip and he laughs and tries to steal you back to him, but you fight briefly and end up winning. It's a nice victory, especially because you won over him, but it's not on par with actually finding something in the sky (and you're avoiding the sign).

Tyler chases after you, flopping down beside you. The tarp above casts darkness over the back of the truck bed, but a soft glow still shines through.

You sigh and tuck a hair of Tyler's behind his ear, to which he only laughs. "Jealous, much?"

"Oh, totally." You'd roll your eyes, but they're stuck on his.

"I won." He's triumphant, but you can only focus on how pretty his smile looks.

"You did." You reply, not fighting him on it, and slowly his amusement fades away with the deflation of his body.

"You're not making this fun." Tyler steals your hand, presses the back of it to his lips and notably does not pucker up and kiss. It might be payback, or it might be avoiding the obvious intimacy that kissing you is.

"It wasn't a competition, anyway." You remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

His attitude eventually exudes out of him with a sigh, and he lets go of your hand to push closer. His head rests below your chin, his nose against your neck, and it's not new, but it's not old either.

"I'm sick n' tired of you." He huffs against your neck as you take the opportunity to tuck the both of you in.

You hold back a laugh. "Oh, yeah? Tell me why."

His voice is muffled against your neck, and maybe the vibrations tickle, but you don't dare move away. "I won! We should be celebrating that."

"Celebrate it in your dreams." Despite it being practically the same thing as in your dreams, it actually sounds quite genuine.

"Don't be like that," Tyler whines. "let me stay up for a little while."

You put your hand in his hair, then, twirling strands around your fingers and scratching his scalp, and Tyler hates you and also loves you, because it feels so good that it pulls a groan out of him, but it's lulling him to sleep.

"You're cheating." He whines again. He's being rather childish, huh?

"It's way past your bedtime." You say in a sing-songy way. Curiosity takes over, and you pull his head away from you gently to look into his eyes.

They open once you pull him off you, just barely. Half-lidded, not by lust, but by sleep. "I just wanna hold you for a little while longer." He says, and you don't know how he does it, but his eyes have turned pleading.

"That's on you to try, cowboy." You huddle close again, allowing him to take up the same position as before.

Despite himself, Tyler sighs contently, wrapping his arms around your midriff. One of your hands is on his back, rubbing slow circles, and the other is back on his hair.

He's definitely not going to last long now.

"When's the last time you've ridden a horse?" Tyler babbles on to try to keep awake, but you can hear the sleepy lilt in his voice. "I think my last time was when I last visited home, before the season started."

"One sheep over the fence, two sheep over the fence–"

"Shuddup."

You laugh, hands smoothing over his hair again. You're not sure how you're not very sleepy right now, tucked under the blankets, in his warm hold. Maybe it's the subconscious thought of not accidentally hitting your head on the spare wheel above you, or the faraway feel of the ridges of the truck bed below you.

Or maybe it's wanting to tease him.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

You've kissed before, little playful things: cheek kisses for the camera, neck kisses to either scare you or tickle you, forehead kisses after particularly dangerous scares, hand kisses when he's trying to act all gentlemanly, temple kisses after hugs. You've never kissed him on the lips before, and actually, neither of you have ever explicitly asked for a kiss. They've always been given without question.

"Please?" He asks again, pulling back so that his forehead is off your neck.

Oh, he only wanted a forehead kiss.

You oblige happily, press your lips against his forehead and let out and exaggerated muah!

"No, not there." He pulls away almost entirely, scooting up to be face to face.

You'd laugh, if what he was asking you for wasn't a kiss on the lips. You can't lie, you've thought about it before, when the sun shines a particular way over his face at sunset, or when he's considerably too hot to ignore.

...you're going to have to talk about this tomorrow.

Except tomorrow is not today yet, and so you cup his cheek. You debate it for a moment, a yes or a no, but there's one answer clear in your mind, a yes.

You press your lips against his, and it's more subtle than that forehead kiss, and it feels so much more tangible, in a way. His lips move against yours, a languid thing, a soft thing.

You wonder if he's going to remember this tomorrow, if being as sleepy as this is equivalent to being drunk.

"Thank you." Tyler says as you part, and he settles back where he was, head against your neck. He seems satisfied now, willing to nod off.

"Don't mention it." You say automatically.

Okay you're definitely going to have to talk about this tomorrow. For now, though, you'll just hold him. It's a strange thing to say, but he's always been rather nice to hold, a big man to fill your entire hug, even if he does make your heartbeat spike.

"Goodnight." He says.

"Sweet dreams." You reply.

There's nothing else to think about but the feeling of him in your arms and the warmth of his body as your eyes draw closed.

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x gn reader #twisters x reader #twisters x gn reader #🌸 // success!#💞 // darlings #🤬 // swearshirt #🎟 // twisters #🎫 // tyler owens #🎫 // tyler

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peace-hunter · 2 months ago

Note

Hey! How’s it going?

I was just wondering what are the dynamics between Optimus and his thirteen ghostie siblings individually?

haunted au

oh boi.

i'm gonna warn you, there's some dynamics i've given more thought to than others and it shows. sorry about that.

also this got very, very long so i'm gonna put it under a read more.

okay here we go:

1- zeta is the strict older brother trying to keep OP alive at almost any cost. he still feels guilty for leading his siblings to their deaths and is maybe trying to atone for it by doing everything he can to get OP through a war. this mostly means pushing him harder than the rest of their siblings, because he wants OP to handle anything that comes his way.

and OP really wants to make zeta proud. he's low-key still in shock at receiving the Matrix and terrified of messing up in a way he can't fix, so he's really glad he has zeta to guide him through his stumbling even if more often than not he ends up self-conscious with the corrections he gets. he can't help comparing himself to zeta and feel like he's failing to measure up to him.

they have the hardest time out of everyone to reach a balance on how much zeta can influence optimus' decisions without it just being him dictating what should be done.

2- prima is a bit of a mother-hen and OP doesn't mind nearly as much as he probably should. seeing as zeta took the more strict role, prima found himself taking on a more supportive, almost care-taking one. he's the one that nags OP the most about taking care of himself and whether or not he's pushing himself too hard trying to be the Prime everyone expects him to be.

and OP feels like he should mind more than he actually does but it's just. it's nice. to be taken care of. he feels like he has to be strong for everyone else around him but prima makes him feel like it's okay if he's not sometimes. carrying the Matrix makes him feel so much older than he actually is most of the time, but sometimes prima treats him like a sparkling and it's. it's kinda nice.

prima is almost definitely the one optimus is closest to. partially because receiving prima's cog made them develop a bond that makes it easier for them to feel what the other is feeling which in turn makes their communication pretty open. but also because while with the others OP had to slowly lose his hero worship and learn to love them as just people, it's really hard to be star-struck by someone who is constantly nagging you about whether you're sleeping enough or not (/▽＼)

3- vector is pretty strict and a bit of rule stickler which does mean he and OP don't always agree on what's the best thing to do. they get along fine enough, they just... have a hard time vibing with each other.

OP spent his whole life chaffing against an unfair system and unjust rules, before finding out the horrible reason of why they existed, which makes him inherently suspicious of any kind of protocol he doesn't understand or doesn't see the point of.

vector loves protocol and rules and thinks they're there for a reason even if you don't always see it at first.

they struggle to find a balance until vector understands that OP doesn't just hate rules for the sake of hating them, he needs to understand why they're there and what purpose they serve before he acquiesces to follow them. once he gets where OP is coming from, it's a lot less frustrating to have to explain why certain protocols and rules exist.

and OP starts liking vector a lot more once he stops feeling like vector is trying to force him to follow useless directives that serve no purpose. once he sees vector is willing to sit down and explain to him why certain things are done the way they are, it's easier for him to not instinctively reject rules or protocols he doesn't immediately understand. he learns to trust that there's probably a reason behind everything and it's not always malicious. even if he ends up deciding he still doesn't agree with it, at least he's willing to learn more about it first.

4- alpha trion and orion have a mutual soft spot for the other and they enjoy spending time with one another very much!

AT was the only one that got to see Orion as a cogless miner trying so hard to make things right even when he had almost no power in his hands to do it. he was the one that saw a spark in him that could light up their world again. he saw the little bot that refused to stand down in the face of a giant injustice. and he will always love orion for that. for the hope he gave him in a time where everything seemed hopeless.

but he was also the one that set him and his friends in a path that led them to so much pain. he cannot regret it, revealing sentinel's lies was far too important and there was too little time to hesitate, but he does feel guilty for the part he played in what happened after. and it's that guilt that leads to him being more patient, more sympathetic to OP's weakness when it comes to megatron.

and to OP alpha trion will always feel a little larger to life, even after their size difference isn't as big as it was before. to him alpha trion will forever be the person who took the blindfold off his eyes. the one that confirmed that orion wasn't crazy for thinking things weren't right. that not only told him he, and everyone else, deserved the right to choose what they wanted to be, but also enabled them to make that choice.

he lowkey imprinted on alpha trion back in that cave lol

and on a more lighthearted note they both really enjoy spending time in the archives! they bond over a shared love for history and the importance of accurate records. and orion spent a lot of time listening to alpha trion's voice back when he used to sneak into the archives. he can barely believe he now gets to listen to the real thing and not just a recording!

he can't help but think that maybe in another world, in a better life, if he was very lucky, he could've worked in the archives under alpha trion's tutelage. he knows it's only a fantasy. but it's a nice one.

5- solus and optimus get along pretty well! she doesn't give him as much grief about megatron as the others do, not because she doesn't think it's a bad idea, but because she's kinda curious about it. she's very much a "let's see where this goes" kinda gal, even if she's relatively sure the results will go badly. so while she will let optimus know exactly what she thinks of megatron, she also lowkey doesn't discourage him from his attempts at reconnecting with him. she can respect the hustle of trying to fix something everyone else has deemed irreparable.

and optimus appreciates this! not quite enough to let solus take control of him so she can mess around in wheeljack's lab, but enough that he will hang around and act as translator so those two can bounce ideas off each other for far longer than he would otherwise lol

6- micronus shares OP's distaste for rules he doesn't understand or agree with so the two of them (and amalgamous) will team up against vector when they feel he's being particularly overbearing. the bond that rebelling against authority (an older sibling) creates between two people cannot be understated. their relationship is a simple one but very close nonetheless. micronus is one of the most affectionate of the group and he made OP feel very welcome into the family very quickly. he's also one of the most lighthearted about their situation. he thinks that as long as they're all together, not even the pits could be such a bad place to be in. his good attitude is contagious and OP gravitates towards him whenever he starts feeling a little too down.

7- alchemist is a more gentle, even tempered and lowkey presence. so while he and optimus don't spent a lot of time one-on-one, the time they do spend together is pretty nice for both of them. sometimes OP needs just a nice, simple conversation that won't touch of heavier topis and alchemist offers that. he tells optimus stories that weave science and mysticism so tightly it makes OP wonder how anyone can think they're irreconcilable with one another. he does give optimus high grade recipes he's pretty sure could kill someone if not prepared carefully enough tho lol

8- nexus on the other hand is loud, wildly creative and unpredictable. there is a reason he's the first one that discovered how to levitate in ghost form. the fact he couldn't turn if off afterwards is irrelevant. he's full of good humor, loves pranks and always has a joke on the tip of his tongue. OP loves him very much but he does find him a bit... grating at times. he understands why nexus tries to make all of them smile and laugh as much as he can but... he can't help but wish he wouldn't try so hard all the time. he's certain that as orion he would've not only taken it in stride, but even joined in. but as optimus he just... he no longer finds smiling as easy as he used to. nexus attempts at making him smile only emphasize how much more effort it takes nowadays.

9- onyx was a little bit intimidating to optimus at first, but once he got over his awe at the slightly mystic prime, he found himself enjoying his company pretty easily. onyx has a different perspective on many things, much more spiritual than the rest of his siblings, and while optimus doesn't always get what he means, he enjoys listening to him anyway. and the way he describes flying almost makes OP wish he had wings too.

10- amalgamous and optimus get along pretty well thanks to amalgamous' gentle but free-spirited temper and their relationship only strengthens upon the discovery that both of them have a natural irreverence for authority figures. the bond that being rebellious together creates is a strong one. the fact they're also authority figures does not escape their notice, but they're firm believers of the "i am not excluded from 'fuck'em' when relevant" mentality so it's fine.

amalgamous is also one of the firsts that starts pushing back the moment he feels zeta and vector are putting too much pressure on OP or imposing their opinions on him too much. while prima will speak up on behalf of optimus' well-being more often, it is amalgamous that defends optimus' independence most fiercely.

11- quintus is another quiet presence that doesn't make a lot of waves except when he feels compelled to speak up against the more ruthless approaches their siblings suggest. but otherwise he doesn't stand out as much as the others do. optimus' gets the feeling it wasn't always like that, the stories the others tell him of better times before the war hinting at a wild creativity and idealism he can't quite see in the quintus he knows. but the way even those hints vanish entirely once they start speaking of the war makes him wonder if they're related.

12-liege maximo is maybe the closest any of the primes get to being optimus' brother in every sense of the word. they're all family, they're all siblings, they all love each other but it is liege that makes optimus understand what the cain instinct means.

liege teases OP constantly and is delighted at the fact optimus is not afraid to give back as good as he gets. everyone else is a bit too over-protective of the kid in his opinion and it is his duty as fellow younger sibling to keep the baby of the family humble.

and OP is glad he gets one person he can be a little glitch with. as Prime there's an unspoken... decorum or property everyone around expects from him and he's... not like that. he misses being able to joke and mess around with his friends, he misses being able to be a little immature and even rude and not worry about whether it'll cause a political or social scandal.

and it's not like he's not close to or relaxed around the other primes, but there's still a little part of him that can't forget he used to hero-worship all of them and that part of him still screeches any time he's kinda rude to them. he's working on it.

but liege manages to get under his plates like no one else, he gets to the irreverent little glitch remnants of orion that optimus buries deep down inside himself most of the time and it's fantastic. the fact he can see liege visibly enjoys their little spats also helps.

on a gentler note, sometimes when OP is struggling to fall asleep, liege will tell him stories to pass the time. after all, storytelling is lying adjacent and liege is a very good liar. they both enjoy it more than they'd like to admit.

13-megatronus' relationship with optimus is... complicated. but maybe not exactly the way people expect it to be.

yes, at first the mere sight of him made him want to violently sob but like. what didn't make him want to cry those first few days. yes megatronus was a reminder of Dee, a painful one even, but so was literally everything else. dee was so ingrained into every single aspect of orion's life, it would've been easier to name the ones he wasn't.

when he couldn't even do vital tasks, like eating or sleeping, without it being a struggle to not crumble under the devastating guilt and heartbreak festering inside his chest, seeing megatronus is like. not even in the top ten of his list of issues tbh.

and afterwards, by the time when every day is a little easier to get through, he already got to know megatronus enough to see him more as person and less as dee's idol. of course it's not right away, not completely painless, you don't erase years of memories of someone you used to hold dearest to your heart just like that, but it's. it's a start.

he gets to make his own relationship with megatronus, his own memories with him, untainted by the pain of losing dee.

and their relationship in itself it's pretty nice. megatronus is a little overprotective of optimus (why the fuck is he so tiny???) but he doesn't really get the chance to be overbearing with it because. well. what can he really do. so instead it manifests into teaching optimus how to defend himself the best he can. the kid has pretty good instincts already but megatronus wasn't the greatest warrior who ever lived for nothing. he still has a lot he can teach OP.

and OP loves learning from him. he doesn't enjoy fighting, but he loves learning new things and the rush of getting a new move right is addicting. he also knows that if he gets through his training fast enough they're ahead of schedule he can get megatronus to tell him first hand stories of events he has read about hundreds of times.

no one is as good as alpha trion in telling stories, but megatronus is a close second.

their main point of contention is, of course, megatron.

megatronus is very bitter over what megatron has done with his name, his t-cog and his legacy. there is no hiding that, not even if he wanted to. and he doesn't. he's the most outspoken in his disdain for his actions and, after a while, the mech himself. at first he tried to be comprehensive and not push optimus too much, because he knows how much dee meant to him, but there's a point when he's just. done. with the topic. he believes there's only one solution to the war is and he wants optimus to understand it before he has to pay too high a price for his hesitation.

and optimus... cannot accept that.

logically, he knows megatronus is probably right. he knows that there'll be a line megatron will cross and won't be able to come back from.

he knows it will be then his duty to stop megatron no matter what it takes.

but... not yet. please. not yet.

and megatronus won't say it doesn't disappoint him. he just knows that optimus' reluctance to kill megatron will blow up on his face one day. but it's fine. what's family for if not to say "i told you so" while helping to get you out of trouble.

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