#you will never guess what the inside of the sleeves were lined with

[mollypaup]

The problem with being autistic and trying to buy a new winter coat is that everything is that fucking awful silky texture now. You find a coat that is not this on the outside and then for some incomprehensible reason it is this texture ON THE INSIDE OF THE SLEEVES???

[luveline]

oooh what about a lil blurb about bombshell r and spencer where it's the first time in their relationship that one of them is super sick and the other has to take care of them?? if you're feeling up for it ofc!! love u jade <333

ty for requesting<3<3 fem, 1k

“I’m sicker than a sick dog. I’m half cough.” 

Spencer frowns at his phone where it lays on speaker at the breakfast table. “You are? What kind of cough?” 

“It’s awful, I can’t tell you. You’ll stop loving me.” 

Spencer smiles even though he wants to grimace. He told you he loved you a few days ago, and you hadn’t said it back, but you certainly hadn’t stopped liking him. You’re more obsessed with him than before, he’d argue. It’s a great feeling, almost as good as an I love you in return would’ve been. 

(He doesn’t blame you for not saying it. You’ve been officially dating for less than a month. He shouldn’t have said it, only he’d been lying in your bed about to go to sleep with your hand in his and he’d never felt anything like it, not home but safe, not home but comfortable, and so so wanted.) 

“I don’t think that’s true,” Spencer says.

“I’m gonna order some soup I think. What are you gonna do today?” Your voice is thick like you can’t breathe through your nose, but still yours.

“I’m gonna put my shoes on and come see you, I guess.” 

“Yeah?”

It’s a no brainier. “What soup do you want, Y/N?” 

He says your name like a compliment. You laugh down the line, which turns into a cough, and a pained moan. “Any kind of soup, babe. You’re really gonna come and see me?” 

“Someone has to take care of you. Ideally me.” 

“Too right.” 

When Spencer gets to your apartment thirty rushed minutes later, you’re already worse. He knocks on your door and you answer with a hand covering your face, your breath audibly shallow. “I forgot that being sick makes you ugly.” 

Spencer takes your wrist in his hand kindly. “Nothing can make you ugly. Come on, let me see.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“So am I!” 

You aren’t pretty, you’re stunning. You’re gorgeous. You’ve been the most beautiful woman Spencer’s ever seen since the moment he saw you, not just because of your looks, of which you take great care, but because of your heart, how kind you’d been to him and continue to be. Your confident personality has never once made you cruel. He couldn’t say the same for most people, so you could have snot running down your lips and a zit the size of Quantico on your forehead and he’d still think you were the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. 

“Come on,” he says again, “I know you’re still beautiful.” 

You let him pull your hand down, unveiling your puffy eyes and chapped nose. “I don’t know how I got sick so fast.” 

The tote bag he’d brought with him slips into his elbow and pulls down his sweater sleeve as he grabs your shoulder. “You said you looked ugly.” 

“I do!” 

“All you do is lie.” He gives you a small smile. Am I doing this flirting thing right? 

“I wanna kiss you so bad.”

Your audible heartbreak is convincing. “I’ll still kiss you.” His desperation is even more evident than yours. “I’d love to kiss you.” Even if it’s usually you who kisses him. 

You close your eyes and lean in for a kiss at the same time. Just one kiss, firm for a millisecond, no parting lips or tongue to be seen but just as good a kiss as any other. Spencer must’ve had about thirty of them now, yet a kiss from you never feels real. 

“I’ll look after you if you get sick,” you promise, pulling away. 

He was counting on it. He hates germs, hates being sick, but he loves you. Whatever happens is out of his hands. 

You seem a little unsteady on your feet, now Spencer’s looking at you. You’re wearing loose white pyjamas with blue flowers, and on your feet you have a pair of shoes somewhere between slippers and boots, brown fabric with fluffy white insides he’s seen you sporting on the jet from time to time when you’re at your most achingly tired. 

You look adorable and tipping. He eases out of his shoes, sliding the bag of tinned soup, crackers and about seventy dollars worth of cold medicine onto the sideboard so he can put his hand under your arm. 

“Let’s go back to bed,” he says, wrapping you in a supportive hug. 

“Forward,” you tease. 

You shouldn’t. Spencer thinks about intimacy with you and goes insanely pink everytime, though you’re far from new to one another. He especially doesn’t wanna think about it as you cross your room and flop down into bed with a tired sigh. “Come lay down?” 

“I’m wearing jeans.” 

“Did you sit down on the subway?” 

“No, I drove here.” 

“Come on, Spence. Your germs are fine.” You smile at the ceiling as he sits down at the top of your bed. “You drove here? You hate driving.” 

“It was quickest.” 

You drop your head into his lap. Your breathing is laboured. 

“You okay?” he asks you. 

“Just missed you.” 

“I brought you some stuff. Vapour rub and decongestant spray, painkillers, vitamins, everything.” He leans down as he wraps his arms over your front, a promise to look after you. “Try to take a deep breath, angel,” he advises sympathetically. “You sound really out of breath.” 

“Too much standing up.” 

“Standing up can be good for you when you’re sick. It stops you from getting idle diseases and bed sores, and walking is even better for you if you can manage it, it helps unclog your sinuses.” He finishes his fact, and he looks down at you all poorly in his lap, remembering very quickly how lucky he is to have found someone who listens. You didn’t interrupt. You wouldn’t have even thought about it, he’s sure. “But no more standing up or walking around. I’m gonna get you anything you need. You’ll be better in no time.” 

You give him your own grateful smile. “Thank you.” You scrunch up your nose. 

“Are you gonna sneeze? I got balsam tissues.” The damage to your nose has already been done. “Do you have any chapstick? We’ll rub some on your nose to stop it from getting any drier.” 

Your wrinkled nose worsens. “Thank you for coming to look after me,” you say weakly. 

He wants to say you’re his best friend in the whole world, but you’re more than that now. “You’re welcome,” he says quietly, ducking down to plant a kiss near your eyebrow. “I always want to look after you. This is just the first time you’ve let me.” 

You smile contentedly, your voice falling to a whisper. “Will you tell me you love me again?” 

Spencer doesn’t think he’s in any position to deny you. “I love you,” he says truthfully. “Thank you for letting me come over.” 

You turn your face into his arm. “Thank you for wanting to, handsome.” 

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

You're Still Here

Jason Todd x reader

Fluff

Warnings: none

-----------------------------

The night was quiet in Jason's apartment, the usual hum of the bustling city just outside these four walls replaced by the soft sound of a movie starting up. Jason was sat on the couch, looking as brooding as ever. But there was something different tonight. Instead of his usual solitary routine or rough training, he’d agreed to something... well, normal. A movie night. With you.

It had taken some convincing, of course. Jason was never one for downtime, especially not with the weight of his past bearing down on him. But tonight, he’d finally relented, mostly because you’d promised a movie marathon of his favorite action flicks—no Batman, no vigilante-related anything, just pure explosions and one-liners.

“Alright, what are we watching first?” you asked, settling beside him on the couch. You’d picked up some snacks on your way to his place—popcorn, candy, and soda—all the essentials for a perfect movie night.

Jason grunted in response, more focused on the TV screen than you, but you could tell he was at least trying. His eyes flickered in your direction briefly, as if testing the waters, but he said nothing. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy spending time with you, but... well, Jason wasn’t used to this kind of thing. Casual, relaxing fun. He was far more familiar with the dark corners of Gotham and the cold silence of a lonely night patrol.

You selected the first movie—a mindless action film, the kind with ridiculous stunts and no real plot, just chaos. It was perfect for a night like this.

Jason shifted slightly, his usual posture of stiff tension not quite as rigid tonight. Still, his body language told you there was something on his mind. You’d seen it before—the way he avoided certain touches, how he flinched at unexpected moments. It wasn’t hard to guess what was bothering him, though.

The autopsy scar. That damn scar.

You knew it wasn't just a mark on his body; it was a constant reminder of the worst night of his life. A scar that came with memories of betrayal, death, and resurrection. No matter how much Jason tried to cover it up, you could see the way he shifted uneasily whenever his sleeve was pushed up or when his shirt clung too tightly to his skin. It wasn’t the scar that bothered him so much as what it represented—the brutality of his death, the pain of being discarded and forgotten.

You nudged him gently with your elbow. “Hey, want some popcorn?” you asked, your voice casual, as if the two of you had done this a hundred times before. Jason didn’t answer right away, but you could feel the slight movement of his shoulder as he leaned just a little bit closer. His hand hovered over the bowl of popcorn for a second, fingers brushing against yours before he pulled away.

The touch was so brief, so subtle, but you caught it. It was enough to remind you of just how fragile Jason’s comfort zone really was. He wasn’t the type to openly talk about his insecurities, let alone face them head-on. But tonight... Tonight you had to hope that maybe, just maybe, he could be open with you. At least for a little while.

“Jason,” you said softly, “you know you don’t have to hide anything, right? You’re not... you’re not broken.”

He stiffened, just a little. You saw the way his jaw tightened, the usual tough guy mask slipping into place. But you pushed on, not letting him retreat.

“It’s just us here,” you continued, “and I’m not going anywhere. If you want to talk about it—or not talk about it—that’s fine. But you don’t have to pretend everything’s okay when it’s not.”

Jason’s gaze flickered toward you, his eyes dark and unreadable. His lips pressed into a thin line as he fought with whatever emotions were swirling inside him. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a deep, frustrated exhale, he spoke.

“It's just… it’s hard, alright?” His voice was raw, quiet. “Every time I look in the mirror, all I see is that damn scar. It’s like a mark, like... I’m still dead somehow.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached out and took his hand in yours. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but the softness of your touch spoke louder than words could. You didn’t need to say that you understood; you didn’t need to tell him that you’d never see him as broken. You just let your presence be enough.

Jason looked down at your hand, a scar on his arm exposed for just a second before he quickly pulled his sleeve down to hide it. The quick motion was subtle but telling. He was trying to hide from you... and maybe from himself.

But you didn’t pull away. You stayed close, letting the silence stretch between you for a few beats. Then you smiled, your voice gentle but firm.

“You’re still here, Jason,” you said softly. “You’re still alive. And you’re... you’re still you. And that scar? It’s a part of who you are, but it doesn’t define you.”

His eyes flickered toward you again, unsure, as if testing the sincerity in your words. For a second, you weren’t sure if he would pull back again, if the walls he’d built around himself would rise back up.

But instead, Jason exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his shoulders dissipate just a little. The tightness around his jaw softened, and though he didn’t speak, his gaze lingered on you—just a little longer than before.

The movie played on, and for once, neither of you were entirely lost in the screen. There was a quiet understanding between you now. You hadn’t cured all of Jason’s demons, but you’d given him something he didn’t know he needed. A safe space. A place where, for tonight, the scar didn’t matter.

And that, you hoped, was a start.

-----------------------------

Masterlist

[dizscreams]

HEY!! can i request jack champion with a girlfriend that’s like rlly introverted? like she can and will put off any juman contact as long as possible and hates having to ask for help cause she thinks she’s bothering people? ty in advanced 🫶🫶

HI YESYES!!

Without You — Jack Champion ★

PAIRING: Jack Champion x fem!reader

A/N: The requests were kinda the same so I just grouped them together heheee lowk reader and Jack are the definition of lalala and okokok in this 🤭

TAGS: @evanpeterswifeyy868 @ashlesys-blog @xyzstar @teyamsgirll @c8rdigan @aqellano @wenvierismycomfort @wekiamo @beary-rambles @aesthetixhoe @mbankfav

From first glance you and Jack seemed like polar opposites. He liked going out and meeting new people and you preferred to hold his hand and listen to their conversations. Jacks never minded it, he thought it was adorable. You were glad he was understanding about it because you always felt like you were holding him back, since you preferred listening over talking. What’s even worse is that small things like asking for a favor or speaking your mind made you nervous.

Regardless, he was always there to reassure you through it all.

Now you weren’t an actor you were just dating Jack, but you still got invited to big dinners and sometimes hangouts. You would hangout on set sometimes and during that time you got to befriend Devyn and Jenna. You weren’t as close with anyone else, but that didn’t stop them from inviting you to stuff. They liked your presence and that made you happy.

You didn’t always want to go out, most of the time it was just for the sake of spending time with your boyfriend. He had a busy job, which you respected, but it got lonely sometimes. So as long as you got to have his company you didn’t complain.

What happened today was a perfect example of a small thing that made you extremely nervous. The group had decided to go to the movies and you agreed to tag along. When waiting in line to get in you held on to your paper ticket tightly in one hand while the other was playing with Jacks sleeve. “You okay?” He asked you softly.

You smiled at him gently and nodded, he smiled back and continued to talk with Melissa and Mason. You tapped your foot on the concrete along to the beat of the song that was playing in your air pods. Well, Jacks AirPods. You left yours at home and your boyfriend graciously let you borrow his. You smiled at the memory. He was just so caring.

You guys made it inside and grabbed your snacks. When you finally made it into the actual theater, right on time for the previews, Mason had accidentally sat in your seat next to Jack. Jacks seat was at the end of the row so you couldn’t sit on the other side of him and you definitely weren’t going to tell Mason he was sitting in your seat. You looked at Jack, who was too busy getting comfortable to notice the small mixup, and slowly headed over to where Mason was supposed to sit.

You sat in the middle seat that was between Jasmin and Jenna. You gave them an awkward smile and sat down before glancing over at Jack. He gave you his sad puppy dog eyes followed with a pout and you gave him an apologetic look. ‘Sorry’ you tried to mouth to the boy, but he just cocked his head in response. You guessed he couldn’t make out what you said so you pulled out your phone and texted him instead.

I’m sorry for not sitting with you.

Jack <3 It’s okay, ml. Why aren’t you?

Mason accidentally sat in my seat lol

Jack <3 OH want me to ask him to move?

No, it’s okay.

Jack <3 What???

I don’t want to bother him 🤷‍♀️

Jack <3 Baby, you wouldn’t be bothering him. I promise.

It’s fineee don’t worry about it

Jack <3 Are you sure??

Ofc just enjoy the movie :)

Jack <3 Okay, I’m gonna miss you though :(

It’s two hours??

Jack <3 That’s a long time??

You smiled to yourself and turned off your phone so you could pay attention to the movie that was now starting. You were glad you had a loving and understanding boyfriend like Jack. But while you were content with the situation, Jack was not. He wanted to touch you and hold your hand. He wasn’t that clingy, he just missed you. So, he did the only logical thing he could think of.

Ask Mason to move.

“Psst”

Mason gives him a dirty look, “Dude what?”

“Can you move? You’re in my girlfriends seat,” Jack said giving him an innocent smile.

“What?”

“Dude just switch with her, pleaseee!” he begged.

Mason rolled his eyes and got up. You saw him walking up to you and you panicked a bit, you wondered if you did something wrong.

“Jack wants me to switch with you,” Mason told you sounding slightly annoyed. You looked at Mason then you looked over at a grinning Jack. You tried to hide your smile as you got up muttering a small, ‘Thank you’ to Mason before heading over to your boyfriend. You sat down and he immediately kissed your cheek.

“I thought I told you I was fine,” you whispered.

“And I told you two hours was too long,” he responded smugly.

You sighed and shook your head, smiling. What would you do without him?

IM SORRY ITS SO SHORT AND LAZYYYY! I wasn’t sure how to go about this but regardless I hope you enjoyed. If you want more shy reader I’d totally be down to do it this was cute 🤭

[norizzsainz]

🌶️ NFY : MCDONALD'S FOR P

[ carlos sainz x singer!fem!reader ] [ wc ] 0.9k words

[ summary ] carlos' and y/n's breakup comes as a surprise to many of their friends. no one ever thought the couple would ever break up, but alas, y/n was always ready to do whatever was best for the love of her life — even if it meant breaking up with him.

[ loki's lines ] this was so much better in my head, contemplating if it should've just stayed there

previous | masterlist | next

━━━━━━━ DECEMBER 03, 2023

max would've burst into laughter on any other day when he saw the way you had arrived at his doorstep.

you wore a hoodie; the strings tightly tied until only your eyes could be seen.

he offered a small smile as your eyes met; brows raised when you lifted a bag to his face.

“mcdonald's for p,” you mumbled. “got you and kelly some food, too.”

max tried not to let his smile fall as he heard your voice, the hoarse tone letting him know you had a really bad cry session — or even multiple of them.

“come on in,” he stated, nodding you inside as he stepped aside after taking the bags from you. “thanks for the food. p will love you forever.”

you only let out a tired chuckle at his words, not adding anything more. max frowned at your lack of response, realizing something was really wrong with you.

you loved p more than anything, and the fact you didn’t say much about max’s words were enough of an indicator as to how bad the situation was.

“aw, babes.” kelly walked towards you with a frown. “what are you trying to do? suffocate yourself?”

“honestly, right now, i'd love that,” you commented with a sigh, wincing as kelly untied the hoodie. “thanks, kels.”

the frown on kelly's face didn't fade; her brows furrowed as she sat you down on the sofa. she observed you well, her gaze softening as she met your bloodshot eyes.

“this isn't like you, y/n. what's wrong?”

max's heart shattered as he watched the way your face scrunched, trying to hold back the inevitable tears that made their way down your face.

you covered your face with your hands, crying harder when kelly pulled you into her embrace, trying to offer any sort of comfort.

“y/n ...” max stood next to you, patting your hair gently as his girlfriend rubbed your back. “tell us what's wrong so we can help.”

“h-he said we had t-to break up.” max frowned, exchanging glances with kelly as you hiccupped over your words.

“carlos? was it his idea to break up?” kelly inquired, confused.

you pulled away from the hug, meeting her gaze. “not carlos.” you shook your head, wiping away your tears with your sleeve.

max tilted his head. “who was it, then?” he asked, waiting for your response.

“his dad. he said we had to break up.”

the couple’s eyes widened, never having guessed your ex-boyfriend’s father would’ve intervened in the relationship and forced you to break up with him.

“what? why the fuck would he do that?”

max sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa you sat on, fisting his hands by his side as he looked at you. 

the man’s frown never faded, staring at you. “why did he tell you to break up with carlos?” he asked, teeth gritted to control his anger.

“he said i was messing up carlos’ focus,” you mumbled, looking at your feet. “told me to break up with him if i genuinely care about his career.”

“so, you broke up with him?!” max raised his voice, flabbergasted by your words. “what the fuck, y/n? why would you do something like that?”

“because i love him, max.” the couple’s hearts shattered as they heard the crack in your voice. “i broke up because i love him.”

“you can’t be serious, y/n.”

“i hate this more than anything, but i’ll have to deal with it. i know how hard carlos has worked to come this far, and i can’t just sit still, knowing i’m the reason he’s fucking up his dream.”

max frowned, shaking his head. “just because he fucks up his races doesn’t mean you are the reason for it, y/n,” he stated, trying to make you understand.

“i am, max. i know that very well.”

“come on, you know–”

“five times, max,” you countered, looking at him. “five times, carlos purposefully did not qualify for the races because he wanted to be there for me,” you confessed.

you watched the way kelly’s face dropped, while max’s expressions remained stoic.

he had noticed too. he knew.

you saw him take a deep breath, biting his lip as he contemplated what to say.

“so, do you think his performance will become better now that you’ve broken up?” max inquired, raising his brows. “because if he doesn't, then this would all be in vain, no?”

“this is what his dad asked for, and i–”

max shrugged. “you are just fulfilling his wishes, obviously. this ‘fucking up his focus’ was just a sad excuse,” he said.

“his dad never liked you, babes,” kelly spoke, patting your back gently. “don't you think this entire thing was just some excuse to get you guys to break up?”

you buried your face in your hands, trying to control your breathing as you sat back on the sofa. everything was overwhelming you right now, and it was sending your brain into overdrive.

these were the moments when carlos would be there for you; listening to your thoughts and sorting them out for you.

but, he wasn't going to be there for you anymore. you had to deal with this on your own.

“whether it's an excuse or not,” you stated, looking at your friends through your teary eyes. “we've broken up now.”

“and that's–”

“and that's that.” you were stern with your words. “i'm tired of all this. i just want some peace and quiet, okay? just wanna forget about this all and go back to living life as i normally do.”

kelly nodded supportively. “if that's what you want, that's what we'll do,” she said, pulling you into her embrace.

“we got your back, y/n,” max added, wrapping his arms around you two. “forever and always.”

you smiled into the hug, utterly failing to keep the tears from falling down.

“thank you for being there for me, guys. i love you both so fucking much.”

[webslingingslasher]

omg what if Peter gets trouble a gift for x-mas BUT trouble didn't bother with a gift for him bc she thought that he wouldn't care about her enough to get her a gift

'what's that?'

'oh!' peter holds out the package, when you stare at the printed santa wrapping paper, he nudges it a little. 'it's for you.'

your entire stomach dropped, you knew you should've gotten him something. you were so convinced it would be stupid, but now you're eating your words.

'c'mon, trouble. what, never got a gift before?' it's fine, you could play it off. you hesitantly reach out for the box, it's even got a bow on top.

'no! i just... haven't gotten yours in the mail yet.' it's fine, you could figure something out. you had two days before he left for home.

'you didn't have to get me anything, trouble.' you peer at the gift, 'ditto, parker.' peter waves you off, 'just open it, c'mon!' you hide your guilt with a smile.

gently tearing the paper, you're met with a gift box. it has a reindeer and a penguin hugging, you peek up at peter, he's itching for you to see what's inside. 'open it, open it!'

handing off the scraps of paper, peter crushes it into a ball, keeping an eye on your face. the gift is revealed, a gray hoodie, with a spider-man mask emblem on the left top corner.

your heart expands three sizes, your thumb runs over the raised embroidering, it's high quality. 'isn't it awesome? i saw it when i was shopping for may like, three weeks ago. i just had to get it for you.' he's so excited, he was proud to know he found something he knows you'd love. and you got him nothing in return.

'okay, okay, put it on! cause there's kind of a part two of the gift.' you feel terrible, it's hard to push back the love for the clothing over the overwhelming hurt you have over getting him nothing. you knew you shouldn’t have talked yourself out of it.

you didn't want to be in peter's spot. something to give and then receive nothing in return. a subtle hint that one cares more about the other.

your silence has peter tone down his excitement, maybe he was a little off with his gift. 'do you not like it? i can return it and you can pick... no! why are you crying? is it that bad?'

you shake your head, using the back of your hand to wipe a stray tear. 'oh, whew! for a second i thought you hated it, but nope, peter picked good. so good you're speechless and crying, look at me go.'

proud. boastful. meanwhile you're solemn and glum.

'seriously, trouble. put it on!' it's the absolute least you could do, he already went miles ahead of you. the cardboard falls to the floor when you pull the fabric up, it's a bigger size than you'd normally wear. 'that's part two. i got it a little bigger so i could wear it and get my scent on it for you.'

your heart’s about to burst open, it's fleece lined and ultra soft over your skin. 'i wore it when you weren't around, so it should smell like me.' you bring a sleeve to your nose, it does. it smells like a giant peter hug. his hands pulled the hoodie over your head, a dopey smile took over his face.

'super cute. it's your superpower.'

with that, you fall into his chest with a sob. it's not a good one either, arms wrap tight around you, his cheek resting on your head mashes the cotton further down. 'i lied!' you clutch his shirt, shame spills out.

'about what? that you like it?' your head thrashes, he couldn't be more wrong. it was your most favorite possession now that it's been added to your collection.

'i didn't get you anything!' you pull him tighter to you, terrified he’d push you away and tell you he hates you. 'i'm so sorry,' you breathe in and out deeply. 'i was going to but then i didn't think you would get me anything and that's not the point of christmas but i didn't want to make you feel weird and, and,'

'i made you feel weird?' it's not the right word. 'no! i just...' peter pushes you back, his hands cup your face to force you to look at him. 'made you feel bad?' you nod, he guessed correctly.

'i meant it, trouble. you don't have to get me anything, i just saw it and thought of you. it's not a big deal, i promise.' that made you feel worse and he can see it.

'stop it, stop. you heard me, right? i got that weeks ago. christmas was just an opportunity give it to you, but if it was april or june or whatever the fuck month, i still would've bought it.' featherlight kisses to both cheeks. 'it’s a just because gift, christmas was just an excuse to give it to you, okay? you've gotten me plenty of those before, i don't need one now.'

'i'm so sorry, peter. i promise i'm gonna get you something, i mean, it won't be a christmas gift because you're going home and i won't be able to give to you until you get back so then it just becomes-'

peter grins, like he's thinking quicker than you are. 'a just because gift? like the one you're wearing?' you were the one that fucked him over, yet he's the one making you feel better. it still works.

'yeah. i think so. but, it will have christmas wrapping paper.' a stoic nod, 'of course. i mean, that's the only stuff i had in the house. it's not like i chose that pattern on purpose.' (he did. but he'd die before he admitted that to you.)

you look down at your new hoodie, you love it. your hands run down the front, it's so, so soft. you look back up, peter loves that you love it. 'not a christmas gift?' peter shakes his head, 'psh. of course not.'

your words lower, you reach up on tippy toes for a kiss. 'just because?' hands on your hips as peter leans in has your stomach fluttering, it's been a minute since he's kissed you so soft and slow. 'just because.' 

[scoops-aboy86]

Last Party of the Summer

Prompt Used: Pool party (@thehairandthebanished) and make-up sex (@steddiesmuttyseptember) | Last Party of the Summer | Rating: E | CW: hurt comfort, weight gain, body image issues, mildly intoxicated sex | Additional Tags: chubby Steve Harrington, miscommunication, breakup to makeup, makeup sex

also on Ao3

It’s hard to keep tabs on someone at a crowded pool party without being obvious about it, especially while working at getting drunk. But Steve, pausing to shotgun another beer, thinks he’s doing pretty good all things considered. He’s not glaring literal holes through Ed— through Munson’s stupid leather jacket, at least, so he can’t be that obvious. Even Tommy hasn’t commented on it, and Tommy isn’t one to notice things and not run his mouth, so there you go. 

He’s not being obvious at all. 

Then, out of nowhere, Eddie emerges from the crowd and uses a firm grip on his upper arm to propel him from the side of the pool back inside the house. Steve hadn’t even realized he’d lost track of the guy among their peers, which only adds to the unreal feeling of being frogmarched up the stairs and into his bedroom, ringed fingers burning like a brand through the sleeve of his t-shirt. 

“Alright,” Eddie snarls after kicking the door shut behind them. “You are the one who ended things, so what’s your fucking problem, Harrington? Mad that the riff raff got in to supply this dumb shindig with party favors?”

Indignance kick-starts Steve into scowling and yanking his arm away, crossing them across his chest. (But also, hearing his last name roll off Eddie’s tongue when just a few weeks ago he’d been ‘Stevie,’ ‘baby,’ ‘sweetheart’ makes something twist painfully in his chest.) “Watch what you’re calling dumb, Munson. You’re the one who snuck in uninvited.”

“It’s called working. It’s what some of us have to do when we don’t have daddy’s money to fall back on!”

The words make Steve take a sharp step back, because Eddie knows his parents throw money at him as though it’ll make up for never being around, never paying much attention to him unless there’s something to scold him for. How he’s gotten checks in the mail after making the winning shot or run or lap in an important match or getting a good grade on a big test, but they’re never there to actually see any of it; how he feels more like an employee or an investment than a son. 

And maybe it’s because he’s toeing the line of drunk, but his eyes sting. A little. 

“That’s a low fucking blow, freak,” Steve sneers, blinking hard. His crossed arms tighten further over his chest like he’s trying to keep something from breaking out, and he doesn’t care about the way Eddie’s face twitches. He doesn’t! “But I guess that’s par for the course with you, isn’t it? Never pull a single fucking punch.”

“I’ve pulled plenty,” Eddie sneers right back. 

Which is. Oh. That’s worse. 

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, huh?” And Steve can hear his voice going humiliatingly tight, there’s just nothing he can do about it. Fucking beer. “I told you to go, what’s the point in dragging me up here just to rub it in more, huh?”

Almost worse, what if someone had noticed them going up the stairs together? He could’ve withstood that before, when they were still… But now Steve is all alone, painfully unwanted even by the town loser, who must have pulled his punches long enough for the sake of getting laid for a while, just like all the girls who had ever found Steve wanting after a few dates. All he wants is his own sad business to stay pathetically his own, but Eddie just had to be out selling tonight. 

“Maybe I just wanted a little fucking closure, Steve.” Eddie leans back against the closed door, like he’s trying to get as far away as possible without leaving the room, glaring. There’s nothing soft in those eyes now, not anymore, not even as he says Steve’s first name instead of his last. A concession? No, it must just be a lapse. A lingering habit of familiarity, soon to be broken. “You kicked me out without any warning, and now you’re following me around with this look like I’m the one that did something wrong. Rub in what? What the fuck did I even do?”

Steve feels his jaw drop. “What did you do? Are you stupid or something?”

They’d been in Steve’s bed, plaid comforter kicked to the floor in their hurry, too wrapped up in each other to give even half a shit about the chaos of sheets around them. And maybe Steve had been a little self conscious about taking off his shirt that night, because it was between sport seasons and he hadn’t been keeping up with his workouts lately, too wrapped up in Eddie and shared joints that set his mind free from what Eddie called the ‘shackles of conformity.’ He’d still done it, stripped as eagerly as if he’d never noticed the way a few extra pounds had gone to his ass and belly lately. Because surely Eddie wouldn’t care. It was conformity to worry about that kind of shit so much, and Steve was trying to be better. To be someone Eddie could not just like, but respect, too. 

At first it was fine. Eddie pounced on him like he usually did, with a demanding kiss before lavishing attention on the constellations of Steve’s moles that lead from check to neck and further. He latched onto a nipple, teasing at the quickly tightening bud with teeth and tongue until pulling back in satisfaction and diving for the other. Then further down, raking his blunt, black-painted nails down Steve’s sides until he reached his waist, gripping… then, unusually, pausing. And then, then he’d—

“You laughed at me,” Steve spits, and oh god his eyes are really stinging now. That’s all he’s got, that four-word complaint, but it’s anything but little. Humiliation and hurt and shame coiling in his gut and making all the beer he’s downed tonight churn unpleasantly, because he’d been stupid to think that what they’d had wasn’t as superficial as everything else in this stupid town that Eddie wants to ditch the second he graduates. Everyone knows what the Freak of Hawkins High thinks about jocks. Probably sits around snickering to himself in his free time about how Steve’s let himself go—

“When the hell did I laugh at you?” Eddie is still pissed, still scowling at him, but there’s an undercurrent of bewilderment in his voice. (Steve recognizes it from the time he’d tried to explain the rules of baseball.) “Before or after you shoved me off, bare ass fucking naked, and told me to get my shit and get lost?”

“Before!” Steve can’t believe this. What is Eddie trying to do here, pretending he doesn’t know? “Right before that! When you… felt my stomach.”

Face burning at the admission, Steve is looking anywhere but Eddie and doesn’t know what to make of the sputtering noise at first. Until the lack of response gets to him and he glances, then focuses, then frowns, the tight cross of his arms loosening infinitesimally in distraction. 

Eddie is just… standing there, pointer finger held aloft in a ‘hold on a second’ gesture, his other hand pressed hard against his mouth and his eyes downcast in deep thought. 

It’s the same thing he does when he has a light bulb moment about a new plot point in a campaign and is trying to sort out in his head how all the threads of it mesh with what’s already there. The recognition makes Steve’s heart ache, regardless of how baffled he is to see it in this context. 

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters after a second, rubbing his hands over his face and sighing heavily, a hint of frustrated growl to it. “Well… fuck, okay.” 

He presses both hands together, tapping both pointer fingers against his lips and breathing out heavily through his nose, and finally looks up to make eye contact. 

“Okay, I just heard it how you must have heard it, and that’s—” A grimace passes across Eddie’s expressive face. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Steve. Pretty insulted that you’d just assume I even would, but that’s… that’s not the point.”

Steve blinks and keeps blinking, hard, not sure how the argument has turned into… this. He’s still mad, hurt, everything he was a minute ago, but now he’s confused too. And kind of indignant, a little unsure, half ready to tell Eddie to just get out again. “What? Dude, I heard you!”

“Not a laugh!” the metalhead insists. “This is so—For fuck’s sake, Steve, I liked it. I was excited, and I… I fucking giggled, alright?”

And… what?

“Giggled?” Steve repeats. 

“Yeah,” Eddie bites back, embarrassment coloring high on his cheeks. “Like a goddamn schoolgirl. I wanted to bite you there, you asshole,” he adds, but it lacks heat. His voice has gone tired, the fight draining out of him as he realizes—and as it occurs to Steve, if he’s telling the truth—that what they’d both been hissing mad about was a complete and tragic misunderstanding. 

“But… I don’t get it,” Steve says numbly. Maybe it’s the beer catching up to him, but his conviction is wobbling now and he feels off kilter. He shuffles a few more steps backwards until he runs up against the bed and sits so fast it feels like falling. “I’ve let myself go and you… I thought you…”

He’d been so sure. That laugh has been ringing through his head ever since he’d heard it, but suddenly it sounds like a caricature, like something out of a cartoon. 

Not how Eddie sounds at all.

“It’s not ‘letting yourself go’ to not be skin and bones, man,” Eddie says, shoving both hands in his pockets and looking down at the toes of his own sneakers. “Some padding never hurt anyone. I like it, alright?” Defensive, defiant, but… a little subdued now. 

Sad, Steve thinks, and then suddenly that’s all he can feel. It hits him that he’d pushed Eddie away, ended things between them… for no reason? 

His shoulders are already hitching up before he even registers that he's crying, wetness trickling straight down to dampen the hair at his temples. It’s been weeks. Weeks of being angry—he’s so tired of it, but the only alternative was to feel horribly lonely so he held onto it anyway, a rope burn on his soul to distract from the pain of his heart cracked in two. 

And he’d known as he watched Eddie earlier tonight that his gaze bordered on more pathetic than mad. Not quite cooled off enough to realize on his own that he’d made a mistake, but enough to recognize it now that reality (and Eddie) stares him in the face. 

It’s over for no reason. Eddie hates him now and if it was just a dumb misunderstanding then, then Steve absolutely deserves it—

The bed dips at his side. Not close enough that they’re touching, but that it happens at all is a surprise. And then Eddie murmurs “Stevie?” so hesitant it makes Steve choke. 

It’s the barest hint of an olive branch, and he’s absolutely going to blame the beer for how it makes the tears drip faster. He hasn’t felt this pathetic since the car ride home after one of the few basketball games his dad had ever bothered to attend, where Steve had missed not one but two easy free throw shots. 

“I’m so s-stupid,” he gasps wetly, and immediately feels even more pathetic for saying it out loud, as if it’s not obvious. He turns away, away from Eddie, trying to hide—his face, his body, everything. This is the worst pool party ever and he’s never drinking again. 

“You're not stupid, you dumbass. Hey.” Eddie touches his shoulder, keeps his hand light but there when Steve tries to shrug it off. He sighs heavily, almost a huff. “It’s not stupid to react to me pressing a button I didn’t know was there. Look—Would actually saying something instead of jumping right to kicking me out been better? Absolutely. That really fucking hurt, man.”

“Sorry,” Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “And sorry I called you a freak. You’re not, I don’t… I don’t really think that.”

There’s a pause, and then Eddie squeezes his shoulder. “Thanks, man. I’m, uh… sorry for the crack about your dad and calling you an asshole.”

“I am an asshole.” Steve’s eyes are already shut; he squeezes them tighter until colors start to bloom across the inside of his eyelids. “Fucking ruined everything over some stupid thing that was only ever in my head, so I… I deserve this. But you didn’t and I’m sorry, I hope you—” and here his throat tightens up, because he wants to say I hope you can forgive me, but that would be even more pathetic than he’s already being. “I hope you find s-someone who treats you better.”

This pause stretches out for a lot longer, so long that Steve would think Eddie had left if not for the remaining dip in the mattress and the hand-shaped brand on his shoulder. He’s just waiting for the agreement and for Eddie to finally leave for good, holding in a wordless, futile scream for when he’s alone. Fuck the party downstairs, he’ll call the cops himself if he has to just to clear them all out, and suck up whatever punishment he gets if the Hawkins PD decides to notify his parents. 

Finally, after a thousand fucking years of that scream burning a hole in Steve’s throat, Eddie says quietly, “Or, you could just… not do that again. Think you could do that for me, Stevie?”

Absolute fucking whiplash. 

Steve is so shocked he actually turns back to look, and all it takes is the sight of the other boy’s big brown eyes and the softness there, the tender flaming hope in them. “Yeah,” he croaks, doesn’t even think he sounds like himself anymore but at least he gets the word out. “Yes, Eds, please—”

And then Eddie is on him with a bruising kiss, scrambling to kick his shoes off while Steve scrambles at the black leather jacket, pulling it off to grab desperately where Eddie’s bare sides show through the intentionally ripped shirt beneath it. Ripped denim rasping against swim trunk fabric as Eddie straddles him, grinds down hard, refusing to let either of them up for air. Steve is just as hungry for it, just as desperate. 

It’s different. They’ve still got their residual hurts, he can taste it in the way Eddie bites at his lips, bites all the way down to his neck and sucks a dark claim on the side that Steve can’t help arching into with a moan. A breach of their unspoken rule not to mark each other because they can’t be out, not in this town and definitely not while they’re still only going into their junior and senior years, respectively—but Steve is in just the right mood not to give a shit about that right now. Although…

“Door,” he gasps, trailing off with a whine when Eddie rolls his hips down into his again. “Did you lock it?” 

Eddie pulls back fluidly with a curse under his breath, which Steve takes as a no. “Get these off while I’m gone,” he says, voice rough, and tugs at the waistband of Steve’s swimsuit. A second later he’s on his feet, backing away with a smoldering stare until Steve gets the hint. 

With a jolt, Steve shoves the trunks down, bracing his heels on the bed to tug them over his ass. His cock bobs free, and his breath catches at the way Eddie keeps watching until he backs into the door. 

“Good boy,” Eddie breathes, turning the lock behind his back. “Scoot back on the bed. After tonight, I’m going to make sure you’ll never think I’d laugh at you ever again.”

Steve does as he’s told, partly because he’s still shivering from the good boy (what is it about Eddie taking charge and calling him that, gets him every time) and partly because Eddie turns away to his tape player. Downstairs, it sounds like the party has seeped into the house; the living room speakers are thundering out don't you want me baby? at a volume that will probably spur the neighbors into action—morons. But all the better that the door is locked, if the party is going to ramp up unchecked; it’s only a matter of time before couples start breaking off to find any free privacy they can get. 

Eddie puts in a mix tape, one of the ones he’d gifted months ago for what he’d called Steve’s ‘auditory re-education,’ and moves the smaller player close to drown it out.

In that cocoon of some of the metal songs that Steve actually likes, Eddie comes back to bed stripped out of his jeans and shirt. He crawls up between Steve’s legs until he’s hovering over him face to face. Then he gathers up Steve’s wrists, moving them to cross against the headboard above his head, and Steve lets it happen because it makes breathing pick up, makes his pulse throb faster between his legs. 

“Keep these here,” Eddie says, and then kisses him so gently that Steve is shaking with the need to pull him closer, to have more. But the second he reaches to do so, Eddie catches him again. “Stevie…”

“I missed you so much,” Steve groans. Pouts, too, but lets Eddie replace his wrists above his head, not sure if he’s fully forgiven yet—doesn’t m is if this is penance or a reunion, or to what degrees it’s both. “Eds, please—”

He’s interrupted with another kiss, just as gentle and slow, but so unchaste it makes him feel like he’s melting. And then Eddie murmurs against his lips, “Missed you too. Let me show you, sweetheart.”

Before Steve has a chance to answer, Eddie wraps a hand (when had one of them left his wrists?) around his cock and drags a slow thumb over the head. 

“Just keep your hands up here for me and be good.”

With a shuddering breath, Steve tries. He keeps his hands in place while Eddie nuzzles down the front of his shirt to the soft swell of his stomach, no less noticeable than their last night together. (Watching what he eats is hard, okay? He’s a teenage boy, he gets hungry. And maybe he’s still a little bloated from the beer even though he can’t really feel the alcohol slowing him down anymore.) There’s a faint red line, visible when his shirt is lifted, where it’d pushed slightly over his waistband all night; Eddie presses a gentle kiss to it and sighs.

A good sigh, like this is exactly what he’s been waiting for. Steve’s heard it before when taking the other boy in his hand, in his mouth—and even if his mind is inclined to overthink it, his body is hardwired to respond. Precome dribbles onto Eddie’s fingers, easing the glide as he slowly, slowly starts to stroke. Makes Steve shiver with dueling sensations of shame and pleasure because Eddie is still kissing the little pooch of his tummy, free hand kneading gently over the softness at his side, starting to tip the scales with how good the combined attention feels. 

“That’s it baby,” Eddie tells him breathily, almost crooning. “That’s it…”

And slowly, slowly Steve starts to relax into it. He does try to look away a few times, overwhelmed, but Eddie answers each attempt by turning his face gently back and staring him down while kissing him more, tummy and soft sides and chest. Leaving love bites here and there. The sounds Eddie makes, pleased hums and low moans and quiet praise and Steve’s name, over and over. 

It feels like coming home. 

The next morning, Steve wakes up to Eddie kicking the door shut behind him as he comes back into the room. 

“Everyone’s cleared out, but you do not want to look out there,” Eddie announces, setting a tray piled high with easy breakfast foods (scrambled eggs, bacon, buttered toast, jam, poptarts, fruit), two mugs of coffee, and a jug of orange juice on the bed with a flourish before crawling back into it himself. “At least not before noon.”

Steve doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t care, because Eddie is here. Eddie is here. With a breakfast that perfectly suits his level of hungover—not bad, but not great. 

“Eds,” he starts, another apology ready to spill out, but Eddie pops a piece of toast into his open mouth and settles at his side. 

“We’re good,” the other boy says simply. “It was a dumb misunderstanding that made you feel hurt and sad and made me feel hurt and pissed off, but it’s untangled now. Just never try to dump me like that again and we’ll be fine, alright?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve agrees quickly through a full mouth. He’s struggling to chew the big bite that had been shoved in, reaching for Eddie’s hand. Eddie loops an arm around Steve before letting him take it and twine their fingers together. As soon as he swallows, he adds, “I don’t want to dump you.” Not ever again, he hopes, but it doesn’t feel like the right time to say so. Not right now, not something so big that it’ll sound like a grand empty promise right after making up. 

But Steve is pretty sure the fact that it hurt so much to push Eddie away means he’s capital L in love with him. 

“Good.” Eddie kisses him, a hint of sweetness on his lips that suggests he sampled some of the jam while cooking. “Now, eat up sweetheart. That makeup sex wiped me out, and we’ve got a lot more celebratory banging on the schedule for today. Gotta keep that strength up.”

And, he has a point. Steve feels the grumbling of his empty stomach, along with the easy throb of all the little marks Eddie had left on his body the night before as a form of… of worship or something. Reminders that maybe letting go isn’t such a big deal. Because if he skimps on breakfast when it’s what his body wants (needs), sooner or later he’ll get restless and cranky and risk ruining everything all over again. “Yeah, keep my strength up,” Steve agrees, feeling his face heat a little. But Eddie beams at him, starts fussing around with the pillows so they can recline comfortably while they eat—while offering Steve forkfuls of scrambled eggs and bites of this or that, really—and slowly, slowly relaxes into feeling like everything’s going to be okay.

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @irishvampireboy @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls @theseaofdespair

[beingawriteriskillingme]

15. "I'll keep kissing you." "Until you're sick of it?" "Until I can't think of anything else but you." For Gojo? Like s/o was feeling insecure if he really wants to date her but this is how he reassures her that he loves her dearly?

Quite The Romantics {Gojo Satoru}

A/n: thank you for requesting, I hope you like the outcome

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem! reader

Trigger warnings: mentions of self-doubt, insecurities and overall angst, implied sexual activity

Being in a relationship with the strongest sorcerer alive was easy. The late night calls that signalled missions, him worrying about his students, the higher ups... everything was manageable. It helped that you were also a sorcerer so you knew what the dangers were and Gojo didn't have to keep things a secret in order to protect you.

Being in a relationship with the most handsome man you've ever seen was not easy. It had been a mutual agreement to keep things lowkey and so far it had been fine. The students knew about you two and they were fully supportive and excited when they saw the two of you together inside the school grounds but things were not so simple outside of campus.

Gojo and you didn't share a home, yet at least since he had been pestering you for a month to move in with him; having a huge and luxurious apartment always had its perks. So when it came to dates there were only two options: either Gojo would pick you up or you would meet him at the date spot.

With your line of work, the latter was what usually worked best.

Tonight's date had been marvellous. From the food to the music to the view, you had to hand it to him; Gojo Satoru had taste. And even after the date, when the two of you returned to his place... everything was perfect. Perfect apart from one thing.

"Where's your little mind travelling?" Gojo returned from the bathroom, grey sweatpants on and a white towel on his head. The usual scent of sex had now been replaced by the smell of his body lotion and shampoo: roses.

You were a little hesitant to reply and in your mind it was only natural. Who wouldn't be nervous when the love of their life was asking them what is going?

"Oh no!" He plopped next to you on the bed, a small smirk on his face. "Can I guess?" He nuzzled his face in the crook of your head, his arm already wrapped around your waist.

"Go on." You sighed and turned on your side, facing him. Something about the way he hugged you felt comforting and you knew he knew it. It was a small trick Gojo always had up his sleeve that not even he knew how he had found out.

"Is it about the girl that came up to me while I was waiting for you at the restaurant? Don't be shy with me honey." He giggled. That bastard knew what he was doing and your silence wasn't helping your case. "I knew it." He pulled away from you with a smile.

You didn't want to admit it. Mostly because you were confident in yourself and in your relationship with him. But there were times when you could see other people flirting with him and something in you broke. You weren't nearly as confident as him, nor that much of an outgoing person and your ego was in normal levels. So what was stopping him from breaking up with you to find someone else?

Being in a relationship with Gojo Satoru only had perks. Gojo knew you better than anyone. He knew how to make you laugh, how to make you moan, how to make you stop crying. He also knew how to touch and kiss you.

"What are you doing?" You tried pushing him away but he was strong and he wasn't letting go of you. Pushing him away, especially when laughing at the same time, was never easy and you knew it, but you still did it anyway. Not because you wanted him away from you but because you wanted to piss him off.

"I'm kissing you." He laughed, placing another small peck on your collarbone before travelling up to your neck and then your cheeks and then your mouth.

"Haven't you kissed me enough already?"

"I'll keep doing it, I don't care."

"Until you're sick of it?"

"Until I know you know I can't think of anything else but you."

[honeysuckleharringtons]

Mm i just think Steve has a ton of sweaters, some snug that fit him well and some that are purposely big so he can drown in the warmth and comfort. And his mind would stop as soon as he sees you wearing one of his sweaters

went a lil silly and wrote a cutie lil blurb about steve's girl wearing his sweater, hope you enjoy! 🫶🏻

Fall-ing In Love ~ S. Harrington

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 0.5K

warnings: none, just tooth-rotting, pumpkin scented fluff

extra notes: all photos in the collage are from pinterest! dividers are by @firefly-graphics!

send me steve thoughts | ask box

The air was crisp, the scent of your favorite cinnamon candle burning in the living room wafting through the air as the menu credits of St. Elmo's Fire played from the television. Freshly plated pumpkin squares sat on the coffee table next to two mugs of milk, the scent only adding to the aroma of the candle. The scene truly looked like something straight out of a romance movie, and the only thing missing was your leading man.

Just as you checked your watch, the familiar sound of the car engine turning off rumbled outside, prompting you to leave your spot on the couch and head for the door. Instinctively pulling open the door, you greeted Steve with a soft peck before moving to let him in.

The boy's jaw was just about on the floor as he took in the sight in front of him—you, all wrapped up in the sweater he'd forgotten a couple days ago, looking absolutely beautiful and perfect. It was a navy blue number, one that fit him snuggly but seemingly swallowed you whole. You had to curl the ends of the sleeves into your fists, effectively making paws out of the material, so they didn't drag or get caught in any of the snacks you'd made.

"Woohoo," you called, waving a hand in front of his widened eyes. "You good up there?"

He blinked a couple times, bringing himself out of his thoughts. "Just wondering how in the world I got so lucky enough to end up with the prettiest girl this side of the Mississippi."

A blush crept up your cheeks as you flashed a shy smile his way. "You think I'm pretty, Stevie?" you kidded, hitting his chest jokingly. "I never would've guessed."

A deep chuckle fell from his lips as he pulled you in for a hug, his lips pressing softly into your scalp. "I think you're very pretty. The prettiest girl in the whole galaxy."

You shot him a playful look, a smirk tugging at your mouth. "What made me get upgraded in the last ten seconds?"

And with that, he was back to his normal self. Not that Steve wasn't sappy or absolutely in love with you, but that was just the bonus version of Steve. The Steve you'd fallen for was sarcastic and playful and knew exactly how to create the perfect balance of charm and romance. "I take it back. Your sarcasm has you back down to 'prettiest girl this side of the Mississippi'," he joked, slapping you playfully across your denim-clad butt.

In a matter of seconds, you were back in the living room, Steve's face practically glowing as he took in the display in front of him. "Woman, you spoil me."

You brushed a delicate kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, arms wrapping around his midsection. "It's easy to spoil someone when they love you the way you love me."

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he commented, lips meeting the top of your head once more.

Your eyes met his, a knowing smile splayed across both of your mouths. "Well, for one, you'd have no one to share your sweaters with. And for two, you'd die of pumpkin deprivation."

"And that, my love, is a world in which no one deserves to live."

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @ducky-died-inside @awkotaco24 @liberhoe @princesseddie @aftermidnightwriting @manuosorioh @esoltis280

[clownsuu]

i have so many curious questions about the designs for each of your characters. like, home having big floaty cloud hair?? how do you decide/design them?

I always wanted to talk a sec about my Home's design lmAO so I guess I'll take a sec to do a lil ramble about him

Cw me ramblin my ass off HDHDHJD

Every time I make a design for a character, I always gotta look at everything about em in some way and try my best to implement each iconic aspect of them in their design- from minor to major differences

So like his head, his blue flow-y hair was inspired by his roof and what's underneath his building (that little black void with the swirl- it somehow translated to whispy curly hair in my lil noggin). His colors of his facial hair is obviously colored according to his normal version (red facial hair/brick, a yellow line for the door). I also wanted a way to implement his windows, cause it's a very iconic look for Home, so boom, g l a s s e s (I was gunna put bumps underneath the frames but it looked weird so I just gave him long ass lashes)

His stitched up body/outfit is mostly inspired by the armchair wally sits on that has a very noticeable Barnaby print in the back. Although iv never really drawn it, Home's pants have patches of every single character's skin on it (yes the spots for Barnaby and Howdy would be fluffy LMAO). And his shirt, although it doesn't look like much, the two color patches on his shoulders are color inspired by the trees behind him, and his sleeves obviously of the greenary around him. (also his race, Iv debated what athnicity he'd be since there were two (or three for both) to choose from (wally being afro-latino), and iv ultimately decided Latino, since a large part of my family is such and I know a lot more on that culture being born in it)

As for age? Home himself to me just f e e l s warm and comforting, he has big soft eyes and is literally a Home, so what kinda person makes you f e e l (likespiderman) like home while also being one? A more elderly figure, specifically that one elderly person you feel so comforted being at home with as a kid, smothered in love and happiness and never wanting to leave smhhh. I just wanted him to make you feel like at home whenever ya get a hug by him.

Also his relationship at first wasn't actually gunna be Wally's father, moreso just a guardian, but after he was done being colored and such (and I got a lotta comments sayin he looks like wally) I just went "f it" and made him wally's dadpa (nobody can really choose if it's father or grandfather- I say father since wally is a grown ass man, but other says grandpa cause home is so old looking lmAO, so he gets to be both).

I didn't want his relationship with wally to be anything NEAR negative, but rather a huge comfort and support Wally has with a guardian (yeah adults can live with their parents it ain't that weird). One of my biggest drives for it was cause Wally is heavily neurodivergent coded, and the last thing I wanted was to have a large scary figure in Wally's life terrify and heavily dictate Wally's choices to a point Wally is completely suffocated and extremely uncomfortable. Not only that but lock Wally inside refusing him to do what he wants and getting upset over the smallest things? Complete nightmare! Specially someone who's neurodivergent! Sure I like the suspense and drama in a alternative universe, but in the main one I'd rather not. At least for me anyway (as a neurodivergent whos gone through similar things).

[kitty-tea]

Can you write a smut story with cedric where the reader is shy, introvert and not very bold (the complete opposite personality of the reader from your other cedric story) and cedric is a gentlemanly soft dom?

I'm going through a edric obsession rn and I read your other story. It was really good and well written, but I'm nothing like the reader in it, so I couldn't relate to it 🥲.

New girl

Link to masterlist

Cedric Diggory x Muggle!reader

Summary: Cedric notices a new girl in town.

Hi sorry this is so late I started this story shortly after receiving the request in my inbox but then I kept having to rewrite and re-edit every time because I wasn’t happy with how my story was turning out, but I’m finally done!

I thought it’d be interesting to write a fanfic about Cedric with a Muggle!reader since I’ve never read any before

Warnings: NSFW, smut, oral sex, nipple play, pet names, shy!reader, might contain typos, p in v sex, all characters are of age, 18+ only!

After telling his parents his plans for the day, Cedric headed out to the same familiar coffee shop in town he’d gone to since before he could remember. He expected nothing but the same tables, chairs, customers, and workers when he walked into the cafe. What he wasn’t expecting was a new employee, you.

He could see you wiping the counter, too focused on your task to notice him until he said hello. You let out a gasp. Apparently, you were one to get startled easily. You had on a black Henley top paired with matching black leggings, and your hair was in a bun that was as big as the cinnamon rolls in the pastry case with some hair left framing your blushing face.

“H-Hi, how can I help you?” Cedric thought that little tremble in your voice complemented so well with this adorable shyness you were displaying.

“I’ll take a latte and a slice of peach pie. For here.” He said, sounding cool and confident.

After you rang up his order, he took a seat not far from the counter. It was a small cafe, with enough room for only about five tables to be lined up. With there being no other customers inside, he was able to savor the silence that was occasionally broken by the sounds you made with your footsteps as you worked behind the counter.

As you brought out his food and drink, you gave him what looked to be a half smile, but it wasn’t a type of rude or lazy half-smile. It was more of a customer service smile that you weren’t trying to overdo.

“Here you go sir,” you set the plate and cup down, careful not to mess up the heart that was crafted onto the latte. Cedric thought that you did a lovely job on it, and he wanted to let you know.

“Thank you. It’s a lovely heart by the way.” He smiled.

“Oh, I’ve only just started working here a few weeks ago.” You fidgeted with your sleeves and the hem of your little apron around your waist.

“You must be new in town.” He guessed, more like stated.

“How did you know?”

“I’ve lived here my whole life. I don’t meet new people everyday.” He said. “My name’s Cedric, what’s yours?”

As quickly as you looked into his eyes and told him your name, your eyes went back to where they were looking at originally.

“Thanks again,” He tried making eye contact with you to ease you up, but it apparently had the opposite effect as you kept looking down and nodded before retreating to the counter.

Cedric was used to girls at school throwing themselves at him and following him around like a lost puppy. Now it was his turn to be the lost puppy.

Cedric told himself that he wasn’t technically stalking you since he liked to go to that particular cafe since before you started working there. It was his little routine during the summer holidays for him to sometimes walk over there and get breakfast. It also happened that he noticed that you were there almost every weekday for the opening shift.

It caught him by surprise when he was taking a late afternoon walk around town and he saw you coming out of the cafe after it was scheduled to close. You huffed as your purse fell from your shoulder. Before you could bend down to pick it up, Cedric had it in his hand, ready to hand it over to you.

“Thank you.” You said as your eyes met his. “It’s Cedric, right?”

“Yeah, you remembered my name.” He let the corners of his eyes crinkle in its own way of smiling. “You just got done closing?” He asked, pointing to the sign that said “closed” just because he loved to awkwardly point out the obvious in front of a pretty girl.

“I had to cover for someone today. Normally, I work the opening shift.” You were still holding onto that habit of occasionally looking down while in his presence.

“I see.” He nodded. He had to come up with another question to keep you talking. “How do you like it here?”

“It’s nice and quiet. Although I’ve seen some strange families around here.” Strange families? He knew exactly which strange families you were referring to because he was a part of one of them.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with people who are different. They’re what makes this town unique.” You said quickly, as if you were worried you insulted his hometown.

“Yeah, I pretty much grew up with this entire town, I know what you mean.” Cedric said. He then reminded himself that he got so distracted by talking to you that he forgot that you had to get home. “Sorry if I’m holding you up. It was nice talking to you. I’m sure you have to get home.”

“It’s okay. I was actually going to the park.”

“Me too.” No he wasn’t. “Maybe we can go there together?”

“Really? I wouldn’t want to impose.” You looked down at your worn out shoes.

On the short walk to the park, you and Cedric talked and got to know each other. He told you all about his life except for the part about him being a wizard and how he used to attend a magical boarding school while you told him about how you and your parents moved here from a big city after you had finished school.

As the first sign of sundown became visible, you and Cedric said your goodbyes to each other, but before you could leave, he asked you, “Would you like to go out with me sometime this week? Like on a date?” He assumed from your conversation with him that you had no current boyfriend, so the chances of you saying yes were increased. Unless, he was wrong and some other guy had asked you out already which he would feel down about if it were true.

“Are you sure you want to go out with me?” You started fidgeting with your sleeves, blushing.

“Absolutely.” He brushed a strand of hair out of your face, making you look up at him. He wanted to melt as soon as you made eye contact with him, showing the sparkle in your eyes.

“What time do you get off work?” Cedric asked.

“At one.” You said.

“Perfect. I’ll meet you there tomorrow.” He cupped your cheek in his large hand and placed a light kiss there.

As he was laying in bed, Cedric looked out at the dark ceiling above him. The last thing he remembered before closing his eyes was that he was thinking about your beautiful smile and how couldn’t wait to see it again.

A couple months had passed in his new relationship and Cedric dreaded having to be subjected to his parents’ questioning about how he was going to tell you he was a wizard, or if he’d already told you which was why he didn’t bother telling them he was seeing someone. He knew when the time was right, he’d tell you everything you needed to know about him. You had given him no reason to feel as if you’d judge him no matter what. He was lucky you weren’t one of those nosey girls to pester him about meeting his family or ask of any secrets he might be hiding.

The day did come when he felt ready to tell his parents that he was seeing a Muggle. Of course they knew he was seeing someone. It’s a parent’s job to know everything about their kids, so it was inevitable that they’d want to meet you.

It was on one of your days off that Cedric invited you to lunch in his home with his parents.

He had warned you his parents were a bit unusual themselves, but you assured him not to worry. What he didn’t tell you was that they were the way they were because they were wizards who weren’t very knowledgeable about Muggles.

As soon as you hopped off your bike in front of Cedric’s house, you noticed the lack of cars in the driveway, something you weren’t used to seeing in front of other homes, but you brushed it off.

You were happy meeting his parents was without a hitch. Mr. and Mrs. Diggory told you what a delight you were to have around as well as saying you seemed like the right girl for Cedric.

After his parents left to go attend to magical business (not that you needed to know what it was) Cedric was alone with you in his bedroom.

“What’s this, Cedric?” You asked as you pointed to a Mooncalf plushie he forgot to hide in his closet. His eyes widened even more than the plushie’s as realization sunk into him.

“It’s… just something I drew as a kid and my parents made it into a toy.” He came up with that excuse.

“It’s so adorable! I love how big its eyes are! Can I hold it please?” You begged. He didn’t see any harm in it. It wasn’t like you stumbled upon the real thing.

Once he nodded in approval, your smile widened as you grabbed the toy off the bookshelf and wrapped your arms around it.

“Aww, I wish this was a real animal, don’t you?” Cedric thought you looked adorable when you were mesmerized like you were at that moment.

Of course they’re real. They’re magical creatures called Mooncalves. He wanted to tell you.

“But you’re real. And way cuter than that thing.” He took the plushie out of your hands as he placed it back into its proper place before stepping forward and encircling his hands around your waist. You blushed at the close proximity of your faces before the both of you felt your lips being pulled to each other’s.

As you continued making out with Cedric, you started to feel a dull ache between your thighs that only got stronger.

It was only when he heard a soft moan come out of your mouth that he pulled away and looked at your flushed face.

“Do you want to take this further?” He asked, searching all over your face for any sign of discomfort. It wasn’t that you were uncomfortable, you were shy and unsure of how to proceed with what was going on, but you still felt like you could trust Cedric.

After giving him consent by nodding your head, he led you to his bed where your back hit the soft mattress. A tiny whimper escaped you as you felt what you assumed was his erection bumping against your clit through the thin cotton of your shorts, sending a powerful, tingling sensation throughout your body.

“Does that feel good, Sweetheart?” Cedric’s deep voice brought you back from your pleasure-induced mini-trance. “I can give you more.”

“O-Okay.” Your response came out as a choked out whisper. Cedric was a patient person. He took his time admiring how sweet you looked as he slid each piece of clothing off your body until he unhooked your bra, which made you instinctively cover yourself.

“Don’t hide yourself from me, please.” His voice sounded like a gentle plea as he pried your arms off your chest. “You’re beautiful. I want to give them the love they deserve.” He cupped his large hand around one of your breasts, giving it a light squeeze.

You let your eyelids close as he continued massaging both of your breasts, giving them equal attention until you felt something warm and wet around one of your hardened nipples. The sensation of your nipple being sucked on felt too good for you to keep quiet.

The sweet little noises coming out of your pretty mouth did nothing to soothe the painful erection restricted in Cedric’s clothes. He needed more, and he could sense you did too.

With a plop, his mouth left your nipple, and you opened your eyes, a noise between a breathless sigh and a moan leaving you.

“How about I take off my clothes? Would that make you feel better?” Cedric asked as he ran the back of his pointer finger over your heated cheek. You nodded.

How could he say no to your cute face with your lips pouted looking like you were ready to suck on his cock?

You watched him like he was the most exciting thing in the world as he stripped off his T-shirt and jeans, revealing his muscles. He gave you a brief smile before hooking his fingers beneath the band of his underwear and pulling them down.

You couldn’t stop yourself from gasping, your eyes going wider than they’d ever been, making Cedric smirk at the effect he had on you.

He intertwined his fingers through your hair as he used his other hand to guide your face upwards until you were in a kneeling position with his dick in front of your face, less than an inch away from your lips.

“Come on, Sweetheart, let me see those pretty lips suck me off.” You let another soft gasp escape you as he put his thumb on your bottom lip slowly prying your mouth open.

He couldn’t comprehend how he so badly wanted to just lose it right there and shove his dick straight into your warm mouth and feel your throat closing and gagging around him. That wasn’t going to happen now because he reminded himself that he had to be patient with you and let you adjust and get comfortable, something he was also willing to do, reveling in your innocence and shyness.

“That’s it, good girl.” He praised you as you reached out with your tongue to lick the tip before wrapping your lips around it completely. “Just like that. You can go deeper if you’re ready.”

The feeling of having a cock inside your mouth was completely new to you, but it wasn’t unpleasant. You took a few experimental licks before deciding you enjoyed how the round tip felt on your tongue. You were curious and excited to find out how the rest of him would feel, so you wasted no time in running your tongue along the entire length, eliciting a deep groan from him.

“Was that good?” Your voice squeaked out, the loud plop of your lips disconnecting from him bringing him out of his thoughts.

“It was perfect.” Even though he didn’t get to cum, Cedric told himself it was okay. Maybe next time. He had already made up his mind about wanting to do this with you again.

“Why don’t I take a turn and make you feel good this time?” He ran his fingers through your hair before letting them trail along your neck before pushing you back towards the pillow you previously propped up against.

“I can take these off.” His thumb circled along the front of your panties before feeling your clit through the cotton. “I really want to see all of you.”

You were quickly starting to get dizzy from the pleasure of having Cedric rubbing the swollen, aching nub between your legs. The only thing on your mind at that moment was how good it felt to have that soft pressure on that sensitive area.

Cedric couldn’t get enough of staring at the blissed out expression on your face. He knew he was experienced enough with his fingers to be able to make you cum just from that if he wanted to.

Instead, he pulled his fingers away just before tugging your panties down, letting the delicate material glide along your soft thighs before tossing them in the same pile as your other clothes.

Before you could think about closing your legs, Cedric grabbed one of your ankles and maneuvered it so that his torso was between your thighs.

One look was all it took to know your pussy was already wet and eager for him to insert something into it. He could start small with one finger and add more until he stretched you out good enough before you were ready.

“How does this feel?” He asked you as he inserted his pointer finger into your hole.

“I want more… please?” It took him by surprise to hear how needy, but small your voice sounded, but he was more than eager and willing to fulfill your wants, so he added a second finger and curled it upwards.

That was when your eyes widened and your mouth started to twitch around a high-pitched whimper.

“Right there! Please!” You pleaded for him to give you more of that pleasurable sensation with his fingers, but unfortunately he pulled away, making you gasp at the new emptiness.

“Is this all for me?” Cedric asked as he brought his fingers to your face. Your wet and sticky juices coated them, its shine and gloss thick, making his fingers almost look like a sweet treat. It might as well have been just that for Cedric, having popped them into his mouth. You watched in awe as he licked off every drop of your arousal from his fingers without breaking eye contact with you.

“Darling, I think it’s time both of us give each other pleasure.” He smiled at you as he leaned forward, using one arm to prop himself up as he nudged the tip of his hard cock against your folds.

“Don’t you agree?” His deep voice whispered through your ear, making you melt as you lazily nodded along.

Holding onto the soft flesh of your hips, Cedric sheathed himself inside of you.

“Oh bloody hell, you feel so good.” He grunted as he felt your walls squeezing around him. “You’re doing so well.”

With his encouragement, you were prompted to become more responsive as you started to pant and moan louder with each thrust that became quicker. That was when you felt a pressure inside you start to build up.

To make that pressure even more intense, Cedric started rubbing your clit in circles. Your body was so close to convulsing around his dick at this point. It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds that you had shut your eyes as the pleasure overtook your entire body, and you saw stars behind your eyelids.

“Oh my God… Cedric!” You gasped. “I just finished…” You ended the sentence with a whisper.

“I’m almost there too, Angel.” He said to you with that same hushed tone as he continued to thrust into you with the same deep but measured pace as before until he gripped the pillow next to your head. A loud grunt left his throat as he bit his lip.

As if he had momentarily lost control of himself and regained it, he slipped out of you before he stroked himself one last time.

You looked down at your breasts and stomach where he had spilled himself and then up above you where he was catching his breath.

He let his head hang low above your shoulder, while your fingers glided over his back once. He returned the action except this time his agile fingers started at your cheek then your neck and shoulder before ending at the curve of your waist. He continued this a handful of times, seeing as how it seemed to soothe you, compelling your eyelids to shut slowly.

When a couple of minutes had passed without a peep from you and Cedric was absolutely sure you were asleep, he dug his wand out from his bedside drawer before casting a spell, cleaning the both of you up before tucking you under the blanket and joining you with his arm around you.

[luveline]

I am humbly requesting a steve zombie au where the reader gets hypothermia hehehe😌

ty for ur humble request babe ♡ steve zombie au —steve freaks when you show symptoms of hypothermia. fem!reader 2k

"Steve, I think there's something wrong." 

Steve raises his head to show he's listening, keeping his gaze on the map. You say it through shivers, sleeves pulled down over your makeshift mittens. "What's wrong, honey?"

He's noticed you aren't yourself today, and he thinks a soft tone is the least he can give you. The stupid map in his hand is tattered, creased down the middle from folding and unfolding. He thought getting to Michigan would be easy, walk in one direction and keep on, but you both need to eat and rest and the weather is too cold to go any further. He needs to find a residential, tonight. 

"I feel off. I'm tired and I…" Your mumbling drifts off. 

Steve shoves the map under his arm, "What? Tell me." 

"Cold," you say, slurred, offering your hands. "I can't feel my fingers." 

You're wearing socks over your hands, the best gloves Steve could offer. He takes them with a severe frown, unhappy when the cold of your skin permeates through. You're ice. 

"And you don't feel well?" he asks, feeling up your arm to your neck. 

Steve digs under the layers of your shirts, hoodie, coat, feeling for your pulse. It feels alarmingly slow. He'd never guess from looking at you how slow your heart is pumping. 

Steve doesn't know everything, but he knows you're not supposed to be this cold for this long. You shiver as his fingers warm your neck, a pained hum coming from the very back of your throat as he pulls you in for a hug. 

"Okay," he says, rubbing your back even though he knows it's pointless. "Don't worry. We can't stay outside anymore, huh?" 

Steve aches to have to drag you down road after road, stretches of streets littered with little protection to offer. The roadside stores here are rocked by the elements, windows smashed and ceilings caving in. You're stumbling by the time a crop of houses appear in the distance, lethargic. Steve thought it was bad that you were cold, of course, but this is a more primal fear. You're not cold, you're freezing, actively freezing. 

"You're okay," he says again, his gentlest reassurance. "Sweetheart, just a few more minutes. See that house, the big brown shutters? That's where we're going. Can you do it?" 

"I can do it," you murmur. 

"I know, but it's my turn to ask stupid questions." 

Dead trees line the street, a planter of flowers by the door turned to crisps. Steve props you against a beam of wood holding up the angled porch roof and opens the screen door. He tries the handle on the interior. It's locked, a good sign. 

He's admittedly feeling the adrenaline of your imminent demise. Furious with the world and circumstances and himself for letting this happen, Steve kicks the door down with three big kicks. The bang rings like a shot through the entire neighbourhood, he imagines, but there's no time to worry about it. 

"You have to–" little gasp, Steve's head hurts, "have to sweep the house," you say as he pulls you inside. 

If there's something in here, he has to risk it. Out of options. 

He's as softhanded as he can manage dropping you into a seemingly intact couch. The room appears untouched from whoever left it, rather plush, it's a room Steve would've liked to live in. 

He grabs your face. You meet his eyes, startled. 

"I'm going upstairs for blankets. If something happens, you yell for me as loudly as you can. You don't have to say anything, just scream. Seriously." 

"Yeah," you say breathlessly. The last street of walking and the few steps has exhausted you. 

"Don't sleep," he says severely. 

"No, I won't." 

Steve dumps his bag on the floor. He backtracks to the porch to grab yours and wedges the splintered door closed using your bag as a temporary stopper. 

You must be hypothermic, cold for days, too cold to sleep last night, and it's all Steve's fault. We can do it, he'd said, just another push. He hoped for better standing further out of Indiana. None of it will matter if you get sick. 

He spins to walk up the stairs, falls weak and rushes back into the living room to check on you. 

"Everything's okay," he says, taking your face again into his hands and kissing your forehead. It's purely selfish. 

You touch his elbow. "I know." 

Steve takes off his jacket and puts it over your lap. The house is vaguely warmer than outdoors but it's far from enough to make a difference to you. Heart in his throat, he bounds up the stairs and onto the landing, an L-shape with one bedroom straight in front and four doors on left. The smell of gore coming from the closed master bedroom explains how it could be this clean; it wasn't uncommon at the start of the apocalypse for people to lock themselves in, kill themselves and their families. He has no interest in seeing it, nor unleashing the mould spores that come with decomposition. Whatever blankets were in there are worthless now. 

He takes a left and opens the door with a slam. A teenage bedroom not unlike his own back home, a simple comforter on the bed. He grabs it and tosses it on the landing, dipping into the second room. Bathroom, nothing worth having. The third room is a utility room with a jackpot of folded sheets, towels, padded quilts, and a comforter rolled into a log. He throws everything onto the floor and forgets the fourth door, arms fit to burst with fabric as he descends back downstairs. 

"Steve?" you ask.

"Yep, yes. I'm here." He drops the blankets at your feet. "Are your clothes damp?" 

"I think… no." 

"I'd tell you to take off your jacket," he begins, shaking the biggest comforter out over you as he talks, "but I want as many layers as possible. Come here, sweetheart. Lift your back a little." He tucks you in like a pastry. "Good. Good, thank you, sweetheart." 

"You're being very nice," you mumble, your eyelashes twitching like you've dimes weighing down your eyelids. 

"I'm always nice." 

"No," you say, your head falling back into the couch cushions. It's a family couch made of soft fabrics, not the showy leather piece you'd expect in such a mammoth lodging. "You're okay, though." 

Steve piles blankets on top of you. The cold is eating at him too, his nose stiff, his hair standing on end as gooseflesh ripples over his arms. 

When you've been sufficiently sandwiched, he feels your face again. You're already warmer, his hand creeping down into your shirt to feel for your pulse. Ropey. 

"Sweetheart, I need you to try and perk up," he says, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. 

"Not feeling perky." 

"Ah, but you're always perky. You're my sun, 'cos I'm so awful," he says, panic lining his plea. "You are. I'm going to make you something hot to eat." 

"Hot air?" you ask, slinking further down into your hump of sheets. 

"I think we might be in luck." 

He speaks too soon, really. The cupboards are lackluster. The can of soup he'd been hoping to find doesn't materialise. But there's a small can of ravioli, enough salted fish to make any tom cat happy, and a jug of water beneath the sink. He looks at it and sighs in relief. You have two litres of rainwater in your bag, and that had been the rations. This is one less thing to worry about. 

Steve makes sure that there kitchen door and the patio doors in the lonely dining room are locked, taking a big cooking pot from the pantry (depressingly empty bar a bag of sugar spilled on its side and a sack of grain) and a saucepan from atop the stove. He checks the gass but he's never that lucky, resigning himself to a typical campfire when it doesn't work. 

"Steve, put it back on," you say as he comes back in, your eyes a little wider, slightly more alert. You've pulled your arms out from under the blankets, with his jacket in your hands. 

Steve has kissed you before. You haven't talked about it out loud —he'd like to think a lot has been said in hand-holding, in spooning, and in you hand carding through his hair. He's eager to kiss you again, dumping his findings to hold your wrists. "Thank you," he says, kissing you clumsily, your lips cold. "Now put your arms in. I'll pull the blankets up." 

"Can you kiss me again?" 

"I'm trying to make you some hot water." 

"I'm warm enough already. Please?" 

Steve kisses you again. This time, he closes his eyes, puts his hand against your jaw. The sound of your lips pressing to his seems loud in the quiet. 

He pulls away with a final peck. "Are you feeling warmer?" 

You blow breath up your face. "Bet so." 

Steve rolls his eyes and turns away to make a campfire in the stolen pot. He'll boil some water in the saucepan for you to hold like a risky hot water bottle, and make some warmed ravioli. It'll be sweet. And tomorrow, if you're feeling better, he'll scavenge for supplies in the neighbourhood. Tonight, he'll burn the kitchen chairs. They don't need them anymore. 

"Settle in," he says, opening his backpack for the fire starters and matches. "We'll stay for a while, okay?" 

"Yeah, okay. Sorry for the fuss." 

"Are you kidding?" He can't look at you. He'll probably cry. "It's cold. You were cold, and we didn't– I knew your coat wasn't good enough but I just thought… well, it's my fault. It is. And I– I care about you so much," —he says it in a rush, true but unused to admitting his feelings to you or anyone— "I can't do this without you. I'll take better care of you, I swear. It won't happen again." 

"You know what would really warm me up?" you ask. 

Steve turns on his heel. "Let me make you something to eat." 

"Not hungry, just cold." 

Steve tamps down a giddy smile into one more respectable. "Let me feel your pulse," he relents, lifting the heavy layer of blankets to climb inside. Its roasting, the warmest he's felt in weeks, and your arm is alive as he slides into your side. 

He puts his hand against your neck, waiting for a steady bump. 

"Am I cured?" you ask. 

Steve sighs in relief. "You're cured." 

You wrap your arms around him. Life with you and in this situation is an endless rise and fall. Something shitty happens, you scrape by, and, as a victory, he gets to hug you in the end. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Steve asks. 

"You just said I was cured, Steve," you mumble, digging your face into his shoulder. "Just. Stay here. Keep feeling me up." 

"Not what I'm doing." 

[hbyrde36]

Midsummer Nights (AKA Summer Camp Fic)

WC: 3665 | R: Explicit (for eventual smut) | Ch 2/? | AO3

Ch 1 <-

Chapter 2

“You look like shit,” Robin said, sitting down across from Steve at their usual table in the dining hall, letting the tray she held slam down on the tabletop a little bit harder than necessary.

Steve winced, the loud sound making his head throb painfully. If he didn't know better he’d think he was hungover. “Thanks.”

“I know how much you value honesty.” She shrugged and pushed one end of the tray towards him so they could share, eating a few bites of egg before passing him the fork, trading it for a piece of buttered toast.

No wonder people thought they were a couple. 

“I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” he said between mouthfuls of the fluffy scramble. Camp food had never been this good when they were kids, but ever since Hopper found Alexei, mealtimes had actually become something to look forward to.

“First day jitters?” She asked.

“Yeah… and–uh, we had that late arrival?”

“Right, Hopper said. Oh no, did the guy come in all rude and loud in the middle of the night?”

“No, nothing like that. I was still awake anyway. He’s just so—” Steve heaved a sigh, the love-sick tone of it giving him away as easily as if he’d said the words aloud. He pushed his end of the tray aside, laying his head down on the sticky surface of the table. 

“Seriously, Steven?” Robin leaned in to hiss quietly. “Are you telling me you have a crush on this guy already?”

“You didn’t see him,” he whined.

“Neither did you!”

He raised back up with a huff. She just didn’t get it. “Sure it was dark, but I saw enough. Trust me. Long hair, tattoos, piercings.”

He’d seen a little not in the dark too. 

The second Steve woke up this morning his eyes had fallen once again on the other boy still fast asleep in his own bunk. Half his face was covered by the corner of his quilt, but the sunlight peeking in through the cabin’s small windows fell on the other half, shining on the darkest of dark brown curls, and revealing the long sweep of eyelashes resting on his cheeks. 

Robin swiveled in her seat, looking frantically around the hall. 

“Don’t bother, he’s not here yet,” Steve mumbled, miserably.

She pouted, digging back into their communal plate. 

“He plays guitar, Rob—guitar! Or, I assume he does since he brought one with him all the way from England.” Steve stared off into the middle distance, fantasizing about ringed hands flying across a fretboard. “Imagine what he can do with his fingers.”

Robin wrinkled her nose, frowning. “You have always been a slut for a British accent, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised.”

Suddenly, the double doors at the center of the dining hall burst open, and whether he’d intended to make a spectacle of himself or not, there he was on full display. 

The boy.

The one Steve had fallen head over heels for without sharing so much as a hello, without the other boy even knowing Steve existed, with all attention on him while he slunk inside with bleary eyes, frowning as he made his way slowly to the food line.

Though it was late June and sweltering outside, the stranger wore a pair of long black jeans, their slightly oversized hems hanging loosely around a pair of black combat boots. His shirt at least was short sleeved, but also black and emblazoned with the fading name of some band Steve had never heard of. 

Drool pooled in Steve’s mouth.

Honestly the whole look was really doing it for him, he sort-of had a thing for alt guys, but the poor dude was going to melt in this heat if he kept dressing like that.

Steve was abruptly brought back down to earth as something small, wet, and a little bit squishy pinged him in the cheek. The blueberry projectile bounced off his face, landing smack in the middle of the remainder of their scrambled eggs.

He cut Robin, who didn’t even have the decency to look guilty, a sidelong glare. “What was that for!” 

“You’re staring!” She whisper-shouted.

“Everyone is staring!”

“Not like they want to eat him! The rest of us are simply observing. Like watching a bear at the zoo… If that bear had his ears gauged and wore a wallet chain.”

Steve picked one of the small cartons of milk off their tray, sipping from it to stop himself from saying exactly what he’d like to do with that wallet chain. All the better to wind his hand around and reel his crush in for a kiss with, as far as he was concerned.

Robin looked back over her shoulder to take another peek at the dark-haired boy.

“And black nail polish.”

Steve snorted a laugh, a bit of milk dribbling out of his nose in the process.

Robin lost it, her cackling laughter mixing with his own to echo loudly through the metal building, drawing all eyes to them—including the object of Steve’s affection.

Shit.

The newcomer’s head whipped around in their direction, a scowl already painting his features as he and Steve locked eyes for a heart stopping moment.

Steve dropped the other boy’s gaze quickly and threw a hand over his own mouth, reaching across the table to swat Robin on the shoulder and get her to shut up too.

“What?” she asked, turning around and making an obvious show out of it. 

Steve wanted to crawl under the table and hide. He risked another glance and—yup! Mr. tall, dark, and hot-as-fuck was still staring daggers at the two of them. 

“Oof.” She spun back, grimacing.

Steve groaned. “He probably thinks we were laughing at him now.”

“Nah,” she waved a hand in an unconvincing show of casual confidence. “I bet that’s just his face.”

“Do you have any friends other than me?” Steve asked. 

Because sometimes… sometimes he wondered.

“No comment.”

As they finished their breakfast Steve kept his eyes firmly on his own table, afraid that if he tried to keep tabs on his new crush he’d get caught staring again. By the time he and Robin were done eating and he got up to deposit their last bits of food and the plastic flatware in the trash, he’d almost convinced himself that she was right. Not that the boy he liked always wore a perpetual look of irritation, but that his sour mood likely had nothing to do with them. 

It was hot out, it was early, and the guy had to be exhausted after a long day of travel and too little sleep.

Too distracted with his thoughts, Steve didn’t hear the footsteps or the jingle of chains approaching. He added the now empty tray to the pile to be washed, turning to head back to his table without looking and accidentally shoulder checked someone coming up behind him.

Hard.

“Oi!” The dark-haired boy cried out, stumbling back with flailing arms.

Steve reached out automatically to steady him, gripping his slender waist. “Sorry!” 

The boy made a face, shaking off the touch as he reared back. “Bellend,” he spat under his breath, walking away before Steve could say another word. 

Mortified, and surely red in the face, Steve shuffled back to his seat.

“Smooooth,” Robin said, drawing the word out.

“Shut up.”

She reached across the table to pat his hand, half comforting, half patronizing. “What did he say to you, anyway?”

“He called me a bell end?” Steve said, a little unsure. He’d heard a decent amount of slang from other countries before, but clearly not enough. “I don’t know what it means but I'm pretty sure it wasn’t good.”

“I think he–” Robin snapped her mouth shut, sealing her lips tight but laughter bubbled up in her throat and inevitably spilled out anyway. “Basically, he called you a dickhead.”

“Great,” Steve grunted, “even insulting me he sounded hot. I’m so pathetic.”

“What else is new?”

A sudden shrill, ear-piercing tone cut through the air, the feedback from Hopper’s ancient microphone threatening to burst all their eardrums as he switched it on, giving it three quick taps to test if it was working. 

“Good morning!” The older man bellowed, mouth too close to the mic, as usual.

There were a few quiet, half hearted returns of his sentiment from some of the older staff, while the rest only sat in silence. 

“I said… good morning!” Hopper tried again, obnoxiously. 

This time everyone, even Steve and Robin, gave an enthusiastic response, if only to move the announcement process along.

“That’s more like it. I want to take a moment to welcome all of you, new and returning staff alike, to the start of pre-camp 1999! As always, the owners and I are looking forward to making this summer even better than the last, and that starts with all of you. I’ve gone ahead and broken you into groups of two. When I call your name please see my wife, Joyce—” Hopper pointed down one end of the room, raising his voice as though it wasn’t already booming through the large speakers situated on either side of the hall. “Wave your hand, honey, so they can find you.”

The small woman—who’d been Steve’s surrogate mother every summer for as long as he could remember—stood, beaming as she raised her palm up high.

“She’ll give you and your partner your assignments for the day. Lunch will be grab and go, so just wander back in here whenever you feel like you need a break and remember to drink plenty of water!”

Steve and Robin shared a glance, letting out matching sighs of relief, sure that Hopper would pair them together.

However, the feeling was short-lived. 

After only a handful of other pairs were called, Hopper shouted, “Buckley! McNulty!”

Son of a bitch.

“Who’s that?” Steve asked, annoyed, watching an unfamiliar redhead a few tables away rise, wiggling her fingers in Robin’s direction before trotting over to where Joyce sat.

“That’s Vickie, she’s new,” Robin swallowed audibly, turning to him with wide eyes. “Oh my god, Steve, I can’t believe he’s doing this to us! She’s so pretty, how do I even talk to her?”

“Oh how the tables have turned,” Steve teased. “Karma! That's what you get for making fun of me all morning.”

No sooner had Robin got up and walked away, subtly giving him the finger behind her back, when Hopper called out the next two partners.

“Harrington! Munson!”

Unease crawled up Steve’s throat. 

Another unfamiliar name. With the smallest shred of hope he thought back to meeting Argyle the day before. Had he said his last name?

Steve didn’t think so, and one look around the room confirmed his fears. 

A head of thick, dark, wild curls was already making its way towards Joyce.

Great. 

Steve got up, rushing behind the other boy, catching up just as Joyce was rounding her table, standing on tip-toe to throw her arms around his shoulders.

“Oh honey, it’s so good to see you!” She pulled back, looking Steve up and down like a proud parent who’s just realized how much you’ve grown. “I’m sorry about separating you and Robin, but we thought it’d be better to pair new folks with those who were more familiar with the camp.” She stepped away, grinning as she looked between him and the other boy—Munson—who’d temporarily lost his scowl in favor of a polite, if tight-lipped, smile. 

“You and Mr. Munson here, are gonna take on the boathouse and waterfront area today.” Joyce went on after consulting her clipboard. “There's a checklist on the wall just inside the door of the building.”

Munson tipped his head in a nod before walking off towards the bathrooms.

Joyce met Steve’s eye with a raised brow. “He’s a quiet one.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed absently, still watching the other boy’s back move away with half an eye. 

“Good thing he’s got you,” Joyce said, with a wink. “I'm sure you’ll do your best to make him feel welcome.” 

After he finished helping to wipe down tables, Steve found Munson already out by the boathouse, easy enough for even a newbie to locate, being the only building near the lake and dock. He had his eyes closed, kicked back and lounging on an upturned canoe smoking a cigarette, face tilted up to the sun. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

Like a scene from a music video, it was as if this guy was ripped right out of Steve’s dreams and made real. For once he was thankful for the heat. He could blame his sudden sweat and red cheeks on that.

In an effort not to startle Munson and have yet another embarrassing encounter before they’d even exchanged first names, Steve made sure to drag his feet a little through the dirt and stone as he got close.

When that elicited no reaction, he cleared his throat, stopping near the end of the canoe, casting a shadow over Munson’s spot.

The stunning figure pursed his plush lips, blowing out a long plume of smoke right in Steve’s face, and finally cracked one eye open, squinting up at him. 

“I–um, y-you can’t smoke on campus once the kids are here,” Steve stammered.

Oh god, why was that the first thing he said?

Munson rolled his eyes, sliding off the side of the boat to stand, pinching the end of his cigarette between his fingers to put it out before slipping it into his pocket. “Got it, boss.”

“Um, S-Steve? I-I mean, I'm Steve.”

Aaand, he continued to sound like an idiot. 

Awesome. 

Steve managed to resist the urge to smack himself in the forehead, but only just.

After a long pause the other boy raised a single pierced eyebrow. "Call me Eddie."

“Eddie.” Steve nodded dumbly as he slowly backed away. “There’s… checklist. I’ll just—” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the big roll up door that would open the boathouse, and finally managed to tear his eyes away from Eddie, turning to open it up.

The list of tasks was expected enough. Less expected was how much of a disaster he’d become.

Steve skimmed the paper over as he took it and the clipboard off the wall, taking a few deep, calming breaths before walking back out to face Eddie again, and promptly choked on his own air.

Eddie had pulled a small object from his pocket, and with a casual flick of his wrist, a blade appeared in his hand. He bent down, setting it against his inner thigh, carefully slicing through the thick denim all the way around. He tore the last few inches by hand before repeating the process on his other side. 

The reveal of long pale legs had Steve practically hyperventilating, a situation not helped in the slightest when Eddie proceeded to set the blade to his shirt sleeves next. 

Steve must have made a sound or something, because Eddie glanced up as he finished cutting his homemade tank top to go with his new shorts, finally noticing him standing there. 

Eddie’s lip curled in a sneer. “What you looking at?”

For a second Steve could only stand and stare openly, his brain completely offline. He’d already seen the ink decorating Eddie’s forearms—a swarm of bats and some creepy puppet guy—but now he could also see an unusual dragon on the boy’s upper arm, and with the sleeves of his shirt now cut out and wide, Steve got a peek of even more artwork on his chest.

“I-I w-wasn’t… I mean, y-you—you’re…” Steve sputtered as his brain booted back up slowly.  

“Whatever, mate,” Eddie said, pointing his pocket knife in Steve’s direction before flicking it closed and slipping it from sight. “And before you talk to me like I'm a bloody moron again, I know kids and knives don’t mix.”

“Right,” Steve nodded, running a hand over the back of his neck. He dropped his eyes back down to the list. Maybe if he focused on the task at hand, he could stop digging this fucking hole for himself.

First order of business was to drag the rest of the boats and kayaks outside, check them over for wear and tear and stack them on their racks. 

They moved around each other in silence, only interacting when they had to work together to move the two longest canoes. When that was done and it was time to place the chairs out to the sandy shore of the lake, Eddie was dripping sweat and obviously struggling, but seemingly refused to ask for or suggest a break.

Steve had them sort the lifejackets next instead, something they could do sitting in the shade with two ice cold bottles of water. 

More than once Steve opened his mouth to say something in conversation, anything to break the building, palpable tension, but each time he cringed, remembering how badly he flubbed things so far, and thought better of it. A wise move considering that every time he forgot to rein himself in, and accidentally stared at the other boy a little too long he’d earn a new dirty look.

They took a late lunch, only sitting down long enough to inhale a few sandwiches each before returning to work. 

Soon enough the day was nearing its end, and the only things left to do were take stock of the fishing equipment, and swim out from the dock to place the buoys and rope floats for the season, demarking the swimming area from the rest of the lake.

“My trunks are up at the cabin…” Eddie trailed off, the most words he’d spoken at once since they started. 

“I’ve got it,” Steve offered, shedding his cargo shorts to show his swimsuit hiding underneath. “I don’t mind, if you’d rather check the rods and tackle.”

Eddie looked away quickly, clearing his throat as he did an about-face. He waved a hand over his shoulder, which Steve took to mean he’d accepted the division of labor.

The lake was cool and refreshing after so long in the sun, and Steve felt his mood lift for the first time all day, even welcoming the tickle of pondweed on his feet while he treaded water, carefully tying the ropes out where they belonged. He took his time swimming back in, reveling in the feel of water gliding over his skin until he reached the doc where Eddie’s black-clad form was already waiting. 

Steve wondered how long the other boy had been watching him. 

They were done for the day, Eddie could have just left, but instead he leaned out over the edge, reaching a hand down to help Steve out of the water. Though the ladder was only feet away, he took it, the skin of his palm tingling at the contact.

“Thanks,” Steve breathed, lips parted.

The second he was safely on the dock Eddie let go, clenching his fist at his side as he spun and walked away without a word.

Steve watched his retreating figure make its way up the hill to the road that led to the cabins, and couldn’t help thinking, this was going to be one long summer. 

”He hates me,” Steve bemoaned, for the umpteenth time, while he and Robin stomped through the thick undergrowth, searching for the path that would lead them through the woods along the edge of camp property to the not-so-secret clearing where counselors got together to party after sundown. 

They’d find the spot one way or another. Steve could already see the flickering light of the bonfire in the distance and hear the sound of music drifting through the trees, tinny and staticky from the blown speakers of Jonathan’s old boombox.

“Are you sure you’re not overreacting?” Robin asked. “You said he pulled you out of the water, that doesn’t sound like someone who hates you.” 

Steve shook his head, not that she could see him in the dark. They’d have to remember to bring a flashlight next time.

“Maybe he’ll be here tonight,” she said. “You could offer him one of your disgusting lukewarm beers and bury the hatchet once and for all.”

Steve harrumphed, hugging the six pack of rattling bottles to his chest. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just another stupid crush that’ll go nowhere, anyway. Let’s face it, I'm destined to get my heart broken by straight boys for the rest of my life.”

Robin stifled a giggle.

“What now,” he groaned.

“You think Eddie… is straight?” She asked in a horrible, and frankly offensive, English accent. 

Steve could only hope she never did it in front of the boy in question. 

“You don’t?” He asked.

“He’s some flavor of gay, I'd put money on it,” She said emphatically. “Whether he actually knows that about himself yet or not? Remains to be seen.”

“How do you do tha—ow!” A sharp sting had Steve sucking air through his teeth, slapping at his neck to ward off mosquitos. “How do you read people like that?” 

“Well, in this case, uh… I have eyeballs?” 

Steve rolled his eyes. He wasn’t convinced she was right but he couldn’t deny that her assessment had awakened a small spark of hope in him. Even if she was wrong, or if Eddie just simply didn’t like him like that, it couldn't hurt to keep trying to make friends.

Right?

Unfortunately, when they finally entered the clearing and Steve took a look at the faces gathered around the fire, Eddie was nowhere to be found. He spent the next two hours sharing half a tree stump with Robin and getting drunk about it.

When he eventually stumbled back to his cabin for the night, he found Eddie still fully dressed, snoring loudly, face down and completely passed out on top of his covers. 

Adorable. 

Steve kicked off his shoes and followed suit, only pulling off his shirt before falling onto his own still made-up bunk. 

It was too warm for blankets anyway.

Thanks as always to the lovely @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.

Permanent taglist (open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog 

@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1 @rocknrollsalad

Fic taglist (open): @mrsjellymunson

[thatseventiesbitch]

Fictober 2 - "It's been a long time"

"Are you nervous?" Donna asked Eric. He was fiddling with the sleeves of his dress shirt as they approached the funeral home.

"I mean, kind of. It's been a long time."

"Yeah," Donna agreed softly. Ten years... it had been ten years since they'd last seen him. And now this.

The funeral home was surprisingly ornate inside, with high, white ceilings and large wall-to-wall windows that let in a generous amount of autumn sunlight. A long line of mourners, dressed in dark clothes, snaked around the entryway. Donna stood still for a moment, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar crowd and unsure of their place in it.

Eric seemed just as unsure as she was. He gestured towards the front of the line. "Should we - um. Sign the guestbook?"

Donna nodded, and grasped his arm. They followed the line to the end, where two weeping people stood close together. From their facial features and clear familiarity, Donna guessed perhaps a father and daughter. They looked up to acknowledge Eric and Donna, and she gave them a sympathetic smile.

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

The words, though meant to be reassuring, caused the younger woman to burst into tears again. Her father rubbed her back.

"He's my cousin," the man told Eric and Donna. As he said it, Donna nodded. Even though she'd never actually met any of his family members, it made sense. He looked just like him. He carried himself the same way. "We were - " the man's voice wavered. "We were very close."

Eric cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, and Donna grasped his elbow tightly, almost like she was afraid he'd dart off any minute.

"How did you...?" the man's question trailed off, implicit. How did they know him?

Donna glanced at Eric's ashen face, and realized quickly that he wasn't going to answer.

"Um, we're - we're friends of the family," she decided on, but she quickly glanced to the floor. Was that even true anymore? She wasn't sure.

It didn't seem to matter to the man. He wasn't going to interrogate them - only their own guilt did that.

"Thank you for coming," he clasped Donna's hand gratefully. "It would have meant a lot to him."

"I don't know about that," Eric mumbled.

"No - no, trust me when I say it would." The man shook his head, and his daughter - who had composed herself - nodded along. "He didn't like to show his emotions much, my cousin. He didn't like to show weakness or to express his affections. But his family meant more to him than he'd ever admit. And if you were friends, then he considered you family."

Donna smiled at the man kindly. "I'd like to think so."

He squeezed Donna's arm. "I know so."

Eric cleared his throat and nudged Donna. They'd reached the front of the room, to the receiving line. She turned around, and her heart caught in her throat. There he was.

His hair - unlike Eric's - wasn't thinning with age but it had darkened, and he wore it closer cut to his scalp. He'd stayed in shape, but wore a starchy navy blue suit that he was clearly uncomfortable in. His hands were clasped behind his back, his icy blue eyes nodding along with what the sniffling older woman in front of him was saying. Someone must have insisted he not wear his sunglasses, because they were hooked into the top of his dress shirt rather than on his face.

"Hyde," Eric whispered, next to her. He was just as awe-struck.

Donna's heart started to thunder in her chest, and she grasped Eric's hand tightly in hers as they got closer and closer to the front of the line.

Hyde greeted each guest warmly, often with a hug or a handshake. He wasn't the surly teenager from the basement anymore. Next to him was Angie and a man she suspected was Angie's husband. They had two young girls, who were clinging to Angie's skirt. But Hyde appeared to be alone.

Finally, they were next.

W.B.'s cousin and his daughter stepped forward.

"Steven," the man said affectionately. He opened his arms to Hyde, and they embraced.

"Uncle Arthur. Hey, thanks for coming." He looked beyond Arthur, to his daughter. "Corrine. You came all the way from Florida, huh?"

"Anything for Uncle W.B." Corinne had tears in her eyes as she and Hyde, too, embraced. "You know, he was my godfather."

"A real stand-up guy, your father. One of the very best."

"The very best," Hyde echoed. But his voice had gone flat. He'd made eye contact with Eric and Donna.

Eric went rigid beside her, but Donna pulled him forward.

"Hyde - I - I just - oh my god, we're so sorry - "

He lifted an eyebrow and smirked. "'Bout W.B.?"

"About everything." Eric finally found his voice. It cracked as he continued. "About your dad, about - " he hesitated. "You know. Everything."

"We should have tried harder to stay in contact," Donna added. "After everything that, you know. Happened."

Hyde shrugged. "Yeah, well. I wasn't very easy to find for a while."

"I know." Donna swallowed. "Hyde we were - we were worried."

But he shrugged, and smiled. Then his jerked his thumb in the direction of his sister, his family. "Well, I was fine." One of his nieces ran by, and he ruffled her fluffy afro affectionately. He nodded to Eric and Donna. "Your daughter. She about this age now?"

"She's ten, Hyde."

"Wow." He rubbed his chin. "It's been that long, huh?"

"Way too long," Eric said.

The two old friends met eyes. Hyde's were uncharacteristically soft.

"Thanks for comin'," he croaked. "It means a lot."

[keysorsomething]

Into the Hyena's Den

Part three !! I hope you enjoy it :) 1 | 2 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 Cross-posted on ao3

You knock softly on Nikto’s door, checking the halls like you check the roads before crossing them. You're sure someone is hiding in some dark corner of the hall. Damn, you're really going to get in trouble for this, aren't you? You already had three of the snoopiest bitches on your tail. This visit was going to be the hot gossip for the next few weeks. And that was not going to go well for you in the slightest.

You can already imagine it, being called into König’s office and being scolded about fraternizing. Like he isn't guilty of that.

There's a thought that flickers in your mind for a moment, that you two will be the talk of the site and then Nikto will get distant one more. Something in you does not want that to happen. Perhaps you'll have to bribe Horangi. And Roze, but most importantly Klaus. Or blackmail. What are they gonna do? You work in a PMC, are they really going to go after you for blackmail and not any of your war crimes?

You think not.

The door creeks open, cautiously. He's worried about this too, you think, but the thought process is quickly shut down by his hand on the back of your head pulling you into the room. You make no noise of complaint. Partly because who would complain, and also because you don't want to draw any attention to the situation.

The door slammed once you were inside the dim room. You look around. The room is dark, there's a faint light from somewhere but you can't locate it. And it's not messy—there aren't any clothes or dirty dishes or anything out of place and the bed is made—but it's not clean either. It's crowded, piles of stuff neatly sorted all over everywhere.

His guns are neatly lined up against the wall, biggest to smallest. With the exclusion of his handguns and side arms, which are in boxes stacked in the opposite corner. At least that's what you're guessing is in them.

His arm extends, guiding you to sit on the bed. An instruction you follow.

“Sooo..” You're incredibly nervous, and he doesn't like small talk, but you're trying to small talk him. You just need to figure out what to small-talk about. God damn small talk standards and social norms. You're not good at it when you're hands aren't shaking and you're not sitting on the bed of a man that is very physically capable of snapping your neck all the way around like it's the fucking Exorcist. 

“Нет,” He replies firmly. He’s in more comfortable clothes, something you’ve never seen before. He’s wearing a tight-fitting black t-shirt, short-sleeved. His pants don’t match it at all, being loose-fitting sweats. His mask is still on, though. Honestly, you’d bet his mask is always on. Even in the shower.

“N-nyet?” You reply, confused. 

“Shush. You are not with us to talk,” He instructs, coming to the side of the bed. He moves his hand to instruct you to scoot over, which you do. Your eyes stay on him intensely as he lays down in the bed, sliding under the covers. “You are here to help us sleep,” Part of you is sad that he boils it down to that. You can never be sure if that is what Nikto means, this is just because you make him sleep better, or if this means more to him and he just can’t put it into words. You imagine it’s hard for him sometimes, to admit weakness like that. To admit he has a soft spot, a hole in the impenetrable fortress that is his off-putting demeanor and aggressive disposition. Or maybe you’re just assigning him that, like when you feel guilty for having to choose between two inanimate objects, even though you can’t actually make one of them feel bad for not being chosen.  

So you let out a soft sound of agreement and nod, instead of trying to talk anymore. He stares at you expectantly for a moment longer, so you clamber under the sheets and let him wrap his arms around you, laying his head on your chest. It’s a firm grip around your waist, like he’s never held another person like this before, or the iron-clad grip of a child holding their favorite plushie. Your hands very gently meet his back and the top of his head. You’re trying to get comfortable like this, the way that the hard metal of the blast plate pushes into your skin from through your shirt, the way your chest can’t fully rise due to the pressure of holding him, the miserable heat of being in an already warmer than you expected room with another being on top of you, and his death grip keeping you from adjusting your position even an inch. It’s not the worst thing to happen to you since you’ve come to KorTac, but that doesn’t make it any more comfortable.

Your hand on his back starts that slow stroking motion that you always had with him. You close your eyes, trying to get comfortable with the weight of a fully grown man on your ribcage. He rolls his head into your chest, and you fight the urge to wheeze or let out any sounds of discomfort. It wasn’t that you weren’t enjoying the moment, it was just the metal being pressed into the skin hurt. More than just a little bit. He stops moving his head after a moment, letting out a breath he must have been holding. His whole form melts into you. The lack of tenseness, of distrust, it was out of character for him. But it was wholesome. A moment of surrender, of peace, in a life that was doomed to be full of fighting. And the fact that you were giving it almost made up for the metal digging into you.

You let out a soft, reassuring sound, telling him you’re still there. And there’s no way you’re leaving. Not anyway at all. The downward strokes turn to gentle circles into the back of his shoulders as you whisper nonsense to him. A mix of his name, shushing, “I’m here”s and “you’re okay”s leave your lips as you mumble. It makes him relax even further if that is possible. You’re not even sure if that is possible.

You look down at him, and he seems at peace. You’d like to imagine that he was smiling under all that fabric, so you will. You aren’t sure how comfortable it is to sleep with that on your face, or if he could even breathe right like that, but you don’t question him. There’s no reason to poke the bear lying on your chest. Especially since you’re trying to tame it. 

But, as you study his face, you notice something new. Normally, when he closes his eyes, his face is a flat void. You can’t even tell he’s human, or he’s wearing a mask. It’s all a single, 2-D shape that he calls a body. And when his eyes are open, the blue pierces through a still darkness, one that melts into the rest. He looks more like a living shadow, in all dark and clinging to the walls. His face always seemed to be a flat, pitch-black surface when he closed his eyes because he was always wearing eyeblack. He had neatly painted on every surface of skin that was exposed by the eye holes of his mask, with no streaks, marks, splotches, or fingerprints. Though it would fade over time, you often noted. Over the weeks he would leave it until he had to repaint it. But now, as you look down at him on your chest, you notice another thing you had never seen before. There is no void. He’s not some faceless being in your arms. You see the faint, deep-brown shaping of his brows, his long eyelashes, the scar that covers the right side, but most importantly, the pale gleam of his skin in the little light.

He had washed the eyeblack off. And he had done it just for you.

[nkirukaj]

The Radio Demon & the Billboard Doe (4)

Pairing: Alastor x Fem! OC

Warnings: Swearing!

Genre: Angst? (Mostly Humor here)

Word Count: 3.1K

<Chapter 3

4. You're Welcome

9 AM was still quite early, so she didn’t speak to anyone when she was leaving the Hotel. Charlie tries to call after her, but Voe ignores her, knowing it would take her some time to find the V tower once again. Once she did find it and entered the building it was 8:59 AM. 

“Excuse me? If you’re here for the event, the line is over there.”  spoke a secretary pointing to a line of women that Voe had completely missed when she walked in—a line of nicely dressed, but very tired and annoyed women that lead right out the door. 

“Um, is my name written down somewhere?”

“Huh?” said the secretary, with her hand in her mouth “Who are you?”

“I’m Voe, I was contacted directly by Velvette.”

“Hmmm,” she scrolled through her computer “What did you say your name was?”

“It’s Voe.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I don’t have a Vogue here.”

“It’s Voe!” 

“Yeah, Vogue.”

“VOE”

“How do you spell that?”

“V-O-E?” her frustration building exponentially

“Ohhh. I have a V-O-E here, is this you?” she turns the computer with a picture of her on it. Voe stares at this woman as if she were insane.

“Yes,” she says annoyed

“Mmk.” She turns the computer back and begins typing “Okay, so I guess we can start now.” The secretary stands and approaches the line “OKAY! IF ANY OF YOU BITCHES ARE SHORTER THAN 5 ‘3FT OR TALLER THAN 5’10, YOU ARE DISMISSED!” 3/4 of the line moans in annoyance and leaves. Almost enough models to fill Pentagram City alone. “IF YOU’RE WEARING FLATS, YOU’RE DISMISSED. AND DON’T EVER CONSIDER COMING BACK IF YOU’RE WEARING SNEAKERS!” Another couple hundred models left the premises.

“AND LASTLY IF YOU ARE UGLY LEAVE AND NEVER RETURN!” 

“How do we know if we’re ugly?” a woman on the line asks

“If you have to ask that, then you are.” most of the women are gone, leaving Voe and one other model. Voe goes to stand next to her, she shoots Voe a smile, and Voe gives back what she thinks might be a smile.

“Okay! I’ll call the boss now!”

“Melissa!” Another demon came from a different room “You’re yelling again!”

“Sorry,” she looks sheepish. Melissa turns to the models “I’ll take you to the boss now.”

After being led up the stairs, Melissa knocks on a door.  A voice with a distinct British accent responds, “Come in!” Melissa knocks again. “Come IN!” the voice sounded more annoyed. Melissa knocks once again and the door is thrown open to reveal a beautiful demoness with deep brown skin, and hair that’s red on the top and blue at the bottom, tied up in a large ponytail. She’s wearing a red two-piece outfit with mismatched striped sleeves. “I said come IN!” She glares at Melissa “Don’t just stand in the doorway!” she says to the aspiring models who follow her inside. Melissa takes up the rear closing the door from inside the studio.

“Stand here,” the demoness calls from over by a desk, pointing at a slightly raised area in front of some U-shaped mirrors. They scramble to stand there quickly. The demoness stands up from her desk drawer, holding a tape measure, and approaches them with it “I am Velvette, but of course, you already know that and chances are that you’re here to make your dreams come true. You think you have what it takes to survive in this industry? Well you DON’T” She glares at the both of them “I’m just seeing you both so I can know which one of you is the least trash.” she squints “Names.” she orders. There’s a pause where they are both confused about what to say “NAMES?!” Her eyes widen and she raises her voice with anger

“Umm, Molly?”

“Is that a QUESTION?!”

“No! It’s Molly!” her voice is quivering

Voe’s hands are shaking and she has an overwhelming urge to pull at one of her ears “Voe.” Her voice comes out sounding flat and her tone is indecipherable. 

Velvette raises a brow at her. “Ahh…yes. Voe the Beau, is it?” the fashionista looks her up and down. 

Voe nods once “Indeed,”

“Hmm,” was all Velvette responded with. She paces back and forth silently, looking over at the potential hires every few minutes with her piercing gaze. Voe wondered what was taking so long, they were just standing there. The other girl, however, had begun shaking and sweating under Velvette’s watchful eye, to the point where it became noticeable. After about an hour of silence and short glances, Velvette walks back up to them and says “No. 9” pointing at Molly and Voe respectively. The girl, Molly runs off crying and tripping over her shoes and Voe stands there confused by her statement.

“What are you waiting for?” 

“You to clarify.” Voe’s mouth is something like a straight line when she says this. Confused, but not wanting to look angry

“Clarify what?”

“What ‘9’ means”

Velvette rolls her eyes “You don’t know how to tell time? Come back tomorrow at 9! Now leave!” She points to the door. 

Voe walks toward the door still a bit confused. How was I supposed to know what that meant? But brushed it off. Guess this means she got the job! 

______________________________________________________________

Usually after doing things in the morning, Voe would come home and crash into a nap, but today she was filled with energy from her visit to vVv Tower. She sat in the parlor eating a plate of spaghetti that she found in the fridge and turned on the tv. The first thing she saw was a girl with blue skin, black sclera, green pupils, sharp teeth, and dark brown puffy hair being interviewed on 666 news.

“Hi, I’m Katie Killjoy!”

“And I’m Tom Trench!”

“Nobody gives a fuck who you are Tom! And we are here with the Vees newest discovery! Introduce yourself, sweetheart!”

The camera focuses on the petite demoness who speaks with a high-pitched voice. “Hi, you can call me Sugar. Sugar Cube!”

“Sugar has been working with the Vees for about a month now and she’s seemed to become an instant celebrity overnight! What do you have about that Sugar?’

“And do you taste as sweet as your name implies?” Tom speaks up and Katie growls at him

Sugar’s eyes are lidded and sensual “I wouldn’t say it was overnight. It takes so much practice and…. confidence? I’m sorry I’m so nervous.”

“Well that’s alright Sugar, you could just be staring at the camera and there’d be at least 2 things I’d be happy about with your performance!” Tom interjected

“I swear Tom, shut the fuck up. What’s it been like working with the Vees?”

“Pretty cool, you get so many opportunities and you can meet so many great people”

“And what people have you met?”

“Umm…lots.”

“Like…?”

“Ummm..he Vees?” 

Laugh track plays over the scene. Katie looks clearly envious “You’re lucky you’re pretty Sugar.”

“Me too,” she says

“Aww, what the fuck! where’d my spaghetti go?!” Angel Dust can be heard from the kitchen. Voe slowly places the plate on the coffee table. Angel enters the parlor. “Hey, have you seen my-“ she spots the plate and just stares at her with flat brows “What the fuck.”

“In my defense, I thought it was up for grabs.”

“It had my name on it!”

“How do you put your name on spaghetti?”

“It was in a container? With my name on it?”

Voe picks up the container out of the garbage and checks it over, seeing Angel’s name on it “Hot damn, my bad. Do you like, want it?”

He plops down on the couch “No, just shit ask next time damn.”

“Okay,” she sits back down and puts his legs over her lap. “Hey, do you know that girl?’ She points at the tv

“Huh?” Angel is scrolling through his phone

“That girl on the tv”

His eyes glance up and focus on who she’s pointing at “Holy shit.”

“She says she works for the Vees, so I thought maybe you might have seen her?”

“Rumor has it that you’re getting a billboard right in the middle of Pentagram City!” Katie continues 

“Well, that’s only a rumor, but I’d love for it to be true someday.”

“Well, you are living the dream Sugar.” Katie turns back to the camera “That’s all for tonight on 666 News and before it cuts off she shoves Tom off his seat

Voe frowns “I wanna be on a billboard.”

“Holy shit. Someone’s gotta get her some cue cards.”

“So you do know her?”

“Yeah, we work together.”

“Oh, she does porn too?”

“Yeah...” he says not really listening anymore. Voe gets up and throws the rest of the spaghetti in the trash, which definitely gets his attention.

“And then you wasted it?! What the fuck?!”

______________________________________________________________

Voe had taken to playing music out loud in the hotel: full speaker, no headphones, nothing. Whenever she was happy she couldn’t help but dance, which is what exactly she was doing when she heard a knock on her door, she had idea of who it would be, and was confirmed to be correct once she opened it.

“Is there something I can do for you, deer man?”

Alastor’s are only slightly open, and he’s holding his cane as though he used it to knock with “Yes, my dear in fact there is. Your,” he pauses, raising an eyebrow before saying “Music, is quite loud. I would advise you to turn it down.”

“Is it bothering you?” She leans on the doorframe 

“Well, now that you mention it, yes.”

“Why?” He tilts his head, confused by the question “Did you hear it from somewhere else, or just walking by?”

“I heard it from my room.”

“Where’s your room?”

“Right upstairs.”

“That’s not that far, plus you have those deer ears. I’m not sure it’s as loud as you think it is.” She smirks “No one else has complained. How do I know that you’re not just being a nag?”

“Can you not just be respectful and turn it down?”

“But then I can’t hear it.”

“If you turn it down a singular notch?”

“Then that wouldn’t make much of a difference to you, now would it?”

“How do you know? You haven’t done it.”

She takes out her phone and presses the ‘volume down’ button once, which has no perceivable difference in the amount of sound. “See?”

“Hmm. Very well.”  his brows are flat “Enjoy your ‘music’ on your…” he cuts his eye. “What is that?”

��It's a speaker," she said, looking up at him with a hint of annoyance as he poked it with his cane.

"That is not a speaker. It's a box with small holes in it. Speakers have large funnels to project sound and a place to play your record or radio. This is not a speaker."

"It's a speaker," she repeated. "Modernized. It's for phones, iPads, computers, and stuff."

Alastor looked shocked and disgusted, but his smile never faltered.

"Where does the record go?" he asked.

"There's no record. We barely even use CDs anymore."

"What in hell is a CD?" Alastor asked incredulously.

"A 'Compact Disk'," Voe explained. "People used it to play music. But that doesn't matter because people don't use them anymore. This," she pointed to her speaker, "connects to my phone," she held up her smartphone, "via Bluetooth. It's a wireless technology that allows devices to communicate with each other over short distances," she added, looking up from her phone. "It plays the music that I have saved on my phone."

Once Voe finishes and takes a breath and looks up, Alastor seems as if he is going to short-circuit from the vast amount of information he was just given. Voe sighs again. 

“You don’t get it at all.”

“Not at all,” he hits the top with his cane

“Hey, watch it.” She turns serious “Do not damage my property.” 

His smile grows at the idea of irritating her “Enjoy your ‘music’ on your ’speaker’” he walks out in a pompous manner, somewhat bouncing with each step.

“They are not theoretical things,” she mumbles. She turns to go back into her room, before doing a double take. She tilts her head, watching Alastor leave. With each step, his coat raises a bit, she squints looking as hard as possible. “Is that a tail?” her jaw drops open with delight.

The next morning Angel was rushing around the parlor, looking like anxiety incarnate.

“Oh shit, Val’s gonna kill me if I’m late again,” he mumbles to himself.

Voe strolls through the parlor without a care in the world. “Val?”

“Valentino. That’s his boss.” Husk spoke from behind the bar before lifting a bottle to his lips 

“Really dude? It’s not even 9 am.”

“This is my breakfast,” he said taking another swig

“Are you headed to V tower?” 

“Yeah, don’t distract me toots.”

“Oh! I’m headed over there! We can go together!”

“Sure, but I’m leaving now!”

“Okay!” She skips out the door right behind Angel 

Reaching V tower, it felt a lot larger and less friendly than it had when Voe came the first time, maybe because of the lack of models, maybe because of how quiet it was, or maybe because of the look of terror on Angel’s face, when they entered the front doors. There stood a giant moth man decked out in bling and a fancy fur coat with a red top hat donning a striped feather.

“Angel,” he spoke in a sickly sweet voice, “What did I tell you before?”

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” Angel lowers his head, and Voe is confused by the gesture. She’d never seen him look like this before. She looked up at the moth man, he was incredibly tall, and the way he put his hand on Angel, made his face contort into something awful while the moth man’s smile grew.

Velvette finally entered the room at that point, while Voe was examining the two men, bringing the moth’s attention to her. “There you are!” she said

“Oh my,” the giant moth approaches Voe and Velvette “You are gorgeous. Do you need a job? Because I could make you-“ he bends down, then kisses and slightly licks the back of Voe’s hand, leaving a residue of red saliva “A star.” His eyes stare up as hers stare down. He smirked, and she almost sneered. 

“Fuck off Valentino, she’s mine!” Velvette interjects

“You’re Valentino?” Voe spits, shocked by the information

“In the flesh Hermosa.” He spreads his wings as a display of dominance “I see my reputation precedes me.”

“Indeed it does,” she confirmed, wiping his saliva off her hand

“Come with me and I could make you bigger than she” he gestures to his comrade “Ever could. Especially someone like you. I don’t have any plus-sized girls.” He stares at her like he’s starving and she’s a piece of meat. Voe’s body temperature began rising exponentially and-

“Like I said Val, fuck off! I found her first!” Velvette begins pushing Voe in the opposite direction towards her studio while flipping Valentino off. Voe takes one more glance back, and the moth wiggles his tongue and blows her a kiss before she shivers in disgust, looking back at Angel as he is dragged the opposite way.

“Okay, stand perfectly still,” Velvette instructed her while she stood in front of the mirrors. Voe does her best to do so, as her new boss snaps once, twice, three, four five times to find an outfit that works for her. “Hmm, no no no. None of these are working!” She snaps again and again, changing the outfits every second, but she remains unsatiated “This isn’t working, get down!”

Voe does as she was told. Velvette looks her up and down “I want to use you, but none of my clothes fit you right. Melissa! Bring me my measuring tape!” Melissa scrambles in to bring her the tape that was right beside her “Stay still.” she is instructed once again 

Velvette measures her height “Move your arms! Spread your legs” She does everything oh so quickly. “Your body doesn’t fit my current regime, but I like it. And your face. You’re very pretty, you’re welcome. So I need to do something special with you if I want to use you. Wait! What if I created a new line centered around demons with your body type? Yes of course! I’m a genius!”

“Call it ‘Respectless’, ‘cuz I heard that’s your thing.”

Velvette’s eyes widen “Listen, I’m the brains of this operation, so don’t give me your ideas again unless I specifically ask for them! But that idea is so good that I’m going to use it and take all the credit for it, got me? Great!”

“Got it.” she purses her lips “So when are you going to start making the line?”

“Hmm, you’re doing an awful lot of talking for a model, but if you must know I’m going to do it right now!” she looks giddy and intrigued, looking at Voe as if she were a puzzle to solve. “We’ll go with shades of pink because those do look good on you, I will say, you do know how to pick a color, you’re welcome. But your body seems a lot more soft than what I’m used to.” Velvette walks up to Voe and grabs her waist while staring her directly in the eye “Yep, I was right, you’re soft.” So I need clothing that will either offset that or something that could highlight and compliment it “How do you feel about your body? Now I want you to speak, let’s go chop chop!”

“I like my body.”

“You like it? Is that all? Give me something deeper, something more, do you stare at yourself in the mirror?”

“Sometimes,”

“And what do you see?”

Voe blinks “I see me.”

Velvette rolls her eyes “And what else?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question.”

Velvette walks up to her “What do you feel when you look at yourself? Need an example, alright. When I see myself in the mirror” she walks to the center of the line of mirrors “I think I’m that #bitch. I’m smart, I’m sexy, and I’ve pretty much got it all. Now what about you?”

Voe stops for a moment to think “I don’t think about it at all, I just am.”

“You are what?” 

“The one.”

She raises her brow and steps closer to her “The one what?”

“The one to be. I’ve got charm, confidence, and the skills to back it up.”

“Yes…and…?” She inches closer and closer

“And I don’t apologize for being me.”

“Because you are…?”

“I’m a bad bitch!” She felt hyped up by Velvette

“Yes! You’re a bad bitch, and don’t you forget it! Now that is the vibe I want to get from this new line. It’s based on you.”

“Wow, that’s-“

“Nope! Now we’re back to not talking.” She cuts Voe off once again.

A/N: 'Sugar’ is NOT my OC. She was created by @michaelasworlds-blog from 'Sugar, Spice, and Nothing Nice!' and I was allowed to use her. Let's just say the stories are synced!

Chapter 5>