#i was looking at my copy of my favorite book and it’s a little beat up but i think it shows how much i love it

[ninemelodies]

i know that there are some people out there who like to keep their books looking pristine and unread but. i think there is something to be said for books that are obviously well read. love can take physical form and it is most obvious in a book that’s been read a lot.

#max speaks #i was looking at my copy of my favorite book and it’s a little beat up but i think it shows how much i love it

[writerslittlelibrary]

We can be your family

masterlist part 2

summary: having been in the foster system all your life, you don't expect much when your case worker tells you you're being moved again. what happens when the car suddenly stops in the most expensive neighborhood in all of New York…

pairing: Natasha x teen reader, Maria x teen reader, Blackhill

warnings: mentions of abusive foster families, vague mention of sexual assault 

genre: fluff

words: 3542

a/n: this one was voted for the most, and I'm so happy it was. I was super excited to write this and I love the idea of foster parents Blackhill so much, I think they're adorable. I hope you like it and please let me know what you think and whether you'd want more foster family Blackhill :) 

maybe I’ll make this a two parter or a series, seeing as I found this already pretty long but I do want to write more about it

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

It was late when the car came to a stop. It had been two days ago when you were told you were going to have a new foster family. You had been moving around all your life, having been left at the door of a police station merely days after you were born. You had never met your parents, and you were put into the foster system almost immediately. 

No one had ever adopted you, which unfortunately for you meant that you were still going from foster family to foster family, sometimes even group homes when there were no foster families available. 

In your life, you had learned it was best never to connect with your foster families. Usually, it didn't take very long until you were off to the next one anyway.

And so, two days ago when the service worker called, you had started mentally preparing for the next mess you were going to be thrown into. You had learned that most foster families were only in it for the money, and that was often very noticable, ever after the first day you'd be there. Often, they didn't care much for you, which was fine. You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. It was the times they did care for you when you had to be careful.

When they did care, they'd usually have a long list of ridiculous rules, all of which you had to follow. When you failed to follow their ridiculous rules, there'd usually be some type of insane punishment, which more often than not ended up with you hurt, usually because you'd take a beating.

You were a little nervous to meet a new foster family, worried they'd be another collection of horrible people that called themselves a family, yet, you weren't quite fond of the family you were with now, so you didn't care much.

For now, you'd simply hold on to the hope that this new foster family would be better than the old one. 

When your case worker came, you'd already packed. Seeing as you had never owned a lot of objects, you were done rather quickly. All your stuff easily fit in one trash bag, your valuable objects, such as your beloved stuffed bunny and your favorite book were all put in your school bag.

When you had gotten into the car, you definitely didn't expect much, but when the car drove through one of the most expensive neighborhoods in New York, you were definitely surprised that that is where the car stopped. 

Either your case worker was gonna leave you at the dumpster, or your new foster family is rich rich. 

Alice opened the door for you with a smile, and she got your (trash) bag from the trunk. You held onto your school bag tightly as Alice walked inside the huge apartment building, you following closely behind. When you were both inside, Alice walked to the large reception desk at the left side of the lobby. A man dressed in a neat suit sat behind it.

You had never ever been in an apartment complex fancy or rich enough to have a security guard in the lobby. 

You were standing next to Alice as she told the security guard you were there for a Miss Romanoff and a Miss Hill. You were looking around the large and beautiful (and extremely fancy) lobby, too busy to even notice Alice mention two women.

The man typed some numbers on some device, then pointed Alice towards the elevator. Alice walked towards it, and you followed suit, too nervous to even spare a glance towards the security guard. 

Even the elevator looked fancy, and to say you were surprised when Alice pressed the penthouse button would be an understatement. 

When the elevator made it all the way to the top, Alice let you walk out first. There was only one door in front of the elevator, and you figured the penthouse was the only residence on the floor. You turned to Alice, who stood there waiting for you to knock on the door. You took a deep breath and took a few steps forward, pressing the fancy looking doorbell. How rich were these people if they even had a fancy looking doorbell?

The door opened soon enough, a brunette standing in the door frame with a smile on her face. She looked nice, but in your many years of experience you had learned that looks could be very deceiving. 

“You must be y/n,” she said as she looked at you, and you were too nervous to do anything but nod. She gave you a kind smile before shifting her gaze to Alice, glancing at the trash bag with concern. Alice took a step forward, extending her hand to the woman. 

“You must be Miss Hill. I'm Alice, we spoke on the phone,” she mentioned as she shook the hand of Miss Hill. “I am indeed, I'm so glad you could make it.”

Miss Hill stepped aside, allowing you to look into the penthouse. 

“Please come in, my girlfriend will join us shortly,” she said, and you took small steps into the apartment. Girlfriend? You could've known. She looked too well dressed to be straight…

Alice followed you inside, and stood awkwardly in the little hallway as Miss Hill closed the door. She walked in front of you and went to the right, walking into an expensive looking kitchen. It had a kitchen island, and around it were a few high stools. 

“You can sit down right here if you want. Would you like anything to drink?” Miss Hill asked, and you just shook your head. She then turned to Alice, who also shook her head with a smile. “No thank you, I'll be going shortly,” she stated as she set the trash bag next to the kitchen island, reaching into her own shoulder bag for a few papers.

She pulled out a map with documents, just as another woman joined you. “Oh, Miss Romanoff, so glad I got to see you too,” Alice stated as Miss Romanoff walked towards her, shaking her hand with a small but pleasant smile.

Miss Romanoff went to stand next to Miss Hill, both standing across from you as Alice handed the map to Miss Romanoff.

“Here are the last documents, and I will be going then. If you have any questions don't hesitate to let me know, my number is somewhere in there. Of course there will be some surprise inspections, and if you would like to get rid of the child please contact the number at the bottom,” Alice stated, and you grimaced at the words she used. 

Natasha was uncomfortable with the use of words as well, but you missed the worried glance she sent you and she took the documents from Alice. 

You just kept your gaze on your hands, picking at the skin around your fingers as Miss Hill walked Alice out. When she returned, she took a seat, Miss Romanoff now sitting as well. 

“So, y/n, I am Natasha, and this here is my girlfriend Maria. It is so nice to meet you,” Natasha smiled, but you kept your gaze on your hands. When Natasha noticed you weren't going to reply, she continued speaking. “I know this must be very scary for you, but I just want you to know it's a little scary for us as well. This is our first time fostering anyone, so if we make any mistakes you just let us know okay?” Natasha asked, and you just nodded your head.

“So where are all your bags? Is someone bringing them over later or?...” Maria asked, and you glanced at her slightly before pointing towards the trash bag. “Those are my clothes…” you said in a quiet voice, and it took everything in Natasha to not say how ridiculous that was.

“Okay, we'll just have to get you a proper bag then, huh?” Maria said kindly,  before standing up. “Would you like to see your room?” Maria then asked, and you nodded as you stood up too, going to grab the trash bag. “It's okay, I got it,” Natasha mentioned as she bent down, picking it up. “It's just this way,” Maria said as she led you through a hallway. 

She opened a door that carried an empty name plate, pushing it open and standing aside. 

“We didn't really know what you liked, but we tried our best. If you would like to change anything, maybe paint a wall or get some decorations you just let us know okay?” Natasha said, and you nodded as you put your school bag down by the bed, sitting on it. 

“All this is for me?” you asked as you looked around the room, taking in all the objects already in it. The desk and cabinets were empty, so were the walls, but the room was massive. 

Natasha nodded with a smile, walking into the room and turning to the door on the right. She opened it and stepped aside. “This is your bathroom, and right there is the closet,” she said as she pointed to another door next to the bathroom. 

“I have my own bathroom?” you questioned in disbelief, and Natasha nodded with a smile. 

“There is another closet right here,” she said as she opened another door, a small, undeep closet revealing itself. At the door hung a mat with little pockets, all filled with different snacks and treats. 

“We didn't really know what you liked, so we just bought a little bit of everything. These are all yours and you can eat them whenever you like. If anything ever runs out or if you would like some other snack or treats, just let us know and we can get it for you,” she explained, and you nodded with a small smile as you stared at all the treats and snacks.

You had never really gotten any treats or snacks, and you didn't exactly have your own money to buy it. 

Maria stayed at the door, wanting to give you your space while getting used to the new environment. “We'll just go and get started with dinner, so we'll leave you to settle in a little bit. Is there anything specific you'd like to eat? We can always order something, I'm never one to skip a good take-out meal,” Maria smiled, and Natasha walked to her side. 

You shrugged, not really knowing what to say. 

“We could order pizza? Or maybe sushi? Anything is okay,” Natasha pushed when she realized you weren't going to say anything yourself. 

“Pizza?” you asked quietly, and Natasha smiled and nodded. “Pizza it is. Do you want a specific one?” Natasha asked as she pulled out her phone, and you shook your head softly. 

“Just a margarita pizza please?” you asked, and Natasha nodded.

“We'll just be in the kitchen if you need us,” Maria told you, and she and Natasha left the room, closing the door behind them. 

You dumped your clothes on the bed, throwing the trash bag aside and going through them. Most of them were old and worn, but they still fit so no one ever decided you needed new clothes. After you folded them all neatly you walked to the closet, surprised at how big it was. Your clothes didn't even fill 10% of the closet, and you wondered if rich people really needed that many clothes.

Natasha and Maria seemed like really nice people, and even though you'd never admit it, you were excited you got to be with them. 

Of course you'd never trust some so fast, but until now they seemed nice and decent. The closet full of snacks definitely made you like them a little more, but you were still hesitant. You'd been in other families where they seemed nice at first, but the moment you'd make a mistake they'd beat you. You shuddered at the thoughts, grabbing a little bag of your favorite candy you found in the closet. 

You sat on the bed and took out your stuffed bunny, sitting against the headboard and holding the bunny close. 

You were scared and intimidated at this new place, but you were also happy you weren't at the other home anymore. Until now, this place seemed like a much better home to be.

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

After dinner, where you had mainly kept quiet and tried to avoid the questions they asked you, you went to your room and went straight into your bed. 

You didn't sleep the entire night. You didn't know these people, and you were afraid they'd come into your room and hurt you. That happened once, in a foster family you had about a year ago. The foster father had gone into your room and he had touched you, hurting you more than you ever thought was possible.

Since that foster home, you'd always stay awake the first night, wanting to be ready if one of the foster parents did come into your room.

Of course, tonight, nothing happened. Natasha and Maria had gone to bed shortly after you had, and the entire apartment was quiet. When the sun rose the next morning, you knew you had to ask either Natasha or Maria for some electronic device.

You didn't have a phone or computer, but you were homeschooled and followed an online program. With all the moving around and switching homes, it was always difficult to find a high school you could consistently go to. And so, you had gotten an online course and some data to login. However, you'd need an electronic device for that, and you didn't have that. 

When you walked into the kitchen around 8 am, Natasha and Maria were already awake. Maria was sitting at the kitchen counter, doing something on her laptop as she ate some toasts. Natasha was scrambling some eggs at the stove.

When Maria noticed you, she smiled and closed her laptop. "Good morning. How'd you sleep?” she asked and you shrugged. “Fine,” you said even though you knew damn well you hadn't slept at all. 

“How do you like your eggs?” Natasha then asked, turning to you shortly before focusing on the eggs in the pan again. 

“Scrambled is good,” you said as you sat down at the counter as well, preparing yourself to ask your question. After you took a deep breath and Natasha put some toast with eggs in front of you, you looked up, not really facing anyone but the counter top.

“So I was wondering…” you started carefully, and both Maria and Natasha looked at you as they waited for you to continue.

“I am doing online school, and I was just wondering if there is maybe an electronic device I could use? I don't have a phone or anything, but I do kinda need it…” you finished, your eyes darting around to Natasha, Maria and then back to the counter top again. 

“Of course. We can do some shopping today, to get you some essentials,” Maria said as she got up, opening the fridge and grabbing some orange juice.

Your eyes widened slightly. They couldn't possibly mean they'd buy you a phone, could they? 

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

After breakfast you, Maria and Natasha had gotten into their car. Their very expensive, very beautiful car. Natasha drove as Maria sat next to her. After about half an hour's drive, you arrived at a mall, and Maria opened the door for you. You thanked her and got out, following Natasha and Maria as they walked inside. 

Once inside, the first place they headed for was an apple store. You were shocked to say the least, really hoping they weren't going to spend so much money on you. 

When you entered the store, a worker came towards you three, asking if you needed help. Natasha said yes and asked him for the best phone they offered. 

The worker led you there, and Natasha thanked him as she picked it up, examining it. You stared at the phone wide-eyed, but more so at the price. That phone was higher than 1.500 euros, and you didn't believe they'd actually buy that for you.

“Well, it looks great, what color would you like?” Natasha smiled as she went to pick up a box from the shelf. 

You shook your head in shock, not believing they'd buy something like that for you. “I meant… like a device you have… that I could use… I didn't mean…” you stuttered out, and Natasha smiled as Maria laid a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Listen, sweetie, we just wanna get you everything you need. I promise you that we want to do this, okay? And you don't have to feel guilty that we're spending money on you, because we want to,” she told you.

Natasha looked at you too, smiling reassuringly. “We have plenty of money, and we can buy this for you easily. I promise you,” she explained.

“Okay…” you said quietly, still a bit unsure. 

Natasha smiled and walked towards the phone cases, Maria, with her hand still on your shoulder followed her. “You can pick out any case you like,” Natasha explained, and you nodded as you picked out a clear case. Natasha smiled as she took it from you, putting it in her basket. Why did she need a basket? 

After picking out the phone case, Natasha walked towards the ipads, looking over them and settling on the most expensive one, convinced that that would be the best. 

You were about to protest, but before you could even open your mouth, Natasha turned to you. “You can't possibly do online school on a phone now, can you?”

“I really don't want you to spend so much money on me…” you told her, and she smiled at you before picking up the same color ipad the phone was. Then she turned to you, putting her hand on your shoulder. 

“We want to get you whatever you need, and the money is not an issue for us, I promise you. Please let us get you what you need,” Natasha told you, and you simply nodded. 

Natasha smiled and made you pick out a case, putting a keyboard case in her basket as well, claiming it was so you could use the ipad for school. You insisted you didn't need it, but Natasha just said they'd buy it just in case then. 

After the most expensive trip to a store you had ever taken, resulting in an iphone, an ipad and airpods you really didn't expect them asking if you were okay to go to another store.

You said you were fine, and so you walked into another store where Natasha and Maria got you all kinds of things. All things for your bedroom, either to decorate or use. They had told you to pick out whatever you wanted, and after a lot of reassurance you had picked out several books, notebooks, some pens, markers and pencils, and some other stuff you liked.

They also let you pick out new covers for your bed, and after you told them you were fine with the cover that was on now, they told you that was one of their covers so you could pick some new ones out. 

The cover currently on your bed was a new one Natasha and Maria had bought especially for your arrival, but you didn't need to know that. They wanted you to pick something you liked, and soon enough you left the store with some pillows, stuffed animals and new covers.

Everytime you came out of a store, you three had to take a trip to the car to dump the stuff you bought before you could continue your shopping spree, but at the end of the day you really had fun.

You felt a little bad that they spent so much money on you, but with their constant reassurance that they wanted to do it and that they had plenty of money, you felt a little better about it.

After you had gotten back home, Natasha and Maria both helped you put all your new stuff away, and you think you thanked them at least a thousand times for everything they bought you. After everything was put away, you went to the kitchen, sitting on the stool as the apple store bag was still on the counter. 

Maria started dinner as Natasha sat down with you.

You opened the bag and took out the iphone first, opening it carefully and setting it up. Natasha helped unpack the case and handed it to you when you had set the iphone up. 

You couldn't help but smile at your very first phone. You weren't old or anything, but you were definitely at an age where it was odd you still didn't have a phone. When you unpacked the ipad it was the same. You unpacked it and set it up, while Natasha took the cases out of the packaging and handed them to you. 

After everything was taken care of, you thanked them once again, and they once again told you it was their absolute pleasure. 

Maybe this foster home would be different…

(if you’d like to be on a permanent tag list, so you’d be tagged on every fic I post, please let me know:))

#black widow #marvel #natasha x reader #mcu #avengers #natasha romanoff #natasha x daughter #natasha x reader platonic #blackhill #blackhill x daughter #maria hill #maria x reader #maria hill x reader #maria x natasha #natasha x maria #blackhill x daughter!reader #blackhill x reader #domestic blackhill #foster parents blackhill #foster parent natasha #foster parent maria #blackhill x daughter reader #blackhill x teen reader #blackhill x teen #natasha romanoff x daughter #natasha romanoff x reader platonic #natasha romanoff x teen reader #maria hill x daughter #maria hill x teen reader #marvel reader insert

[augustjustice]

Got You By My Side

AO3 Link

Eddie is pulled from deep, dreamless darkness by the sound of a vaguely familiar voice, speaking slow and methodical in the distance.

“Then Frodo felt himself falling, and the roaring and confusion seemed to rise and engulf him together with his enemies. He heard and saw no more.”

More acutely than any of the countless times he’s read this book in the past, Eddie feels Frodo’s pain, the memory of those interdimensional monster bats screeching and clawing and flapping the last image he can conjure before that long, silent blackness overtook him.

The sweet, soothing voice lilts on, unspooling one of Eddie’s favorite stories with all the warmth of covering him in a fluffy blanket. “Frodo woke and found himself lying in bed. At first he thought that he had slept late, after a long unpleasant dream that still hovered on the edge of memory. Or perhaps he had been ill?”

In real time, Eddie blinks his eyes open, the white ceiling overhead spinning slightly before his vision clears. Tilting his head in the direction of the sound, Eddie finds Steve Harrington sitting in an uncomfortable looking hospital chair, the battle outfit Eddie last saw him in replaced by a long-sleeve blue Henley and light wash jeans, a worn copy of The Fellowship of the Ring cracked open on his knee.

Fortunately, the memories of the past few days aren’t far from the edges of Eddie’s mind, or he might think he really was dreaming.

“Harrington?” Eddie manages to call groggily, Steve’s name cracking in the middle, and, Christ, his throat feels like someone fucked it raw with a sandpaper condom.

Beside him, Steve freezes, jerking his head up to blink at Eddie with wide, startled hazel eyes. Then he’s tossing the book aside, down onto the edge of Eddie’s bed as he launches himself out of the chair.

Eddie barely has time to register the movement before Steve is throwing an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a fierce hug.

“Eddie!” Steve is so close, face pressed into Eddie’s hair, that Eddie can feel it when his warm breath tickles his neck, like he’s letting out an exhale he’s been holding in for days. “You’re awake! And about time, too, dude. We thought–we thought we lost you.”

Maybe Eddie actually did die, because this kind of overly-affectionate response from Steve totally seems like something that would be conjured up in his own private fantasy land.

Turning on a dime, the sugar-coated reverie that seems straight from Eddie’s dreams is disrupted just as quickly and abruptly as being doused awake with cold water. Because Eddie has barely had time to register the arms around him before Steve jerks back just out of reach, smacks him once lightly on the shoulder, and demands, “What the hell was that, Munson?!”

“Ow,” Eddie whines, even though Steve has done little more than jostle him, “wasn’t being mauled by demo-bats enough, man?”

“Shit!” Steve swears, and the speed with which guilt mars his expression is genuinely impressive–if a little concerning. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie reassures him automatically as Steve smooths a hand down his arm, brow furrowing with worry as he checks Eddie over. “Seriously, dude, I’m alright.”

Steve shoots him a deadpan look.

“Yeah, kinda think the doctor might disagree with you there, buddy.”

At the mention of doctors, Eddie stiffens automatically. Right, shit, he’s in a hospital. Hawkins Memorial, a public place, with people beyond the band of heroic saviors that have formed around him the past few days.

Doesn’t exactly seem like the safest place for a wanted man.

“Uh, Steve?” Steve looks at him in question. “Shouldn’t I be, like…making a break for it before, you know. The cops bust in here and haul my ass to jail?”

“Oh, that! No, dude, don’t worry,” Steve waves a dismissive hand, “you’re totally in the clear now. Hopper and the feds did their typical scary CIA shadowy cover-up deal, so you’re good to go. All the charges against you have been dropped.”

A long beat of silence falls over the room, Eddie trying to make sense of the sentence.

“...You’re talking about the late chief of police, right? That Jim Hopper.”

Steve scratches a finger over his sideburn, tilting his head to one side as though he’s only now registering the sheer absurdity of what he just said.

“Yeah, so, turns out…not as dead as we thought, apparently.”

“Okay, well…cool. Cool, cool, cool,” Eddie mutters to himself.

The last time he had seen the police chief, he’d been giving Eddie a fairly strong warning about local speed limits and not giving everyone on the road additional white hairs. He’s too afraid of the answer to ask if Hopper had come back from the dead or not.

Clearing his throat awkwardly helps Eddie register again just how damn dry it is.

“Not that I’m not enjoying the emotional whiplash of this reunion, man, but,” Eddie rubs a hand uselessly at his Adam’s apple, “I kinda think I might be dying of thirst here.”

Steve is up like a shot all over again, quickly filling a small paper cup with water from the sink in one corner of the room. As Eddie sits up to take the proffered drink from him, he can’t help but let out a pained hiss, his abdomen burning from the sudden shift in his position.

“Hey, hey, hey, whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy, man!” Steve chides.

He does that a lot, Eddie has noticed, guiding the freshmen brats, even Eddie himself through battlefields and portals and the horrors of the Upside Down with a hand hovering near their backs as if he’s going to catch them if they fall, all the time tutting like a nervous mother hen.

It’s stupidly endearing, which is something Eddie never thought he would think.

“I promised Henderson I’d watch you like a hawk,” Steve says, pressing Eddie back into the pillows with a gentle hand, “so lay back and just let me help you, okay? Jesus.”

Eddie can’t quite suppress his grin at the way Steve fusses, tutting as he helps guide the small cup of water up to Eddie’s mouth, scolding him with a quick, “You’re gonna spill that if you’re not careful, Eds.”

If the Eddie of two weeks ago could see him now, he would not believe it.

As Eddie drains the cup eagerly, Steve absently tells him to wait right there and then disappears into the hallway.

Eddie snorts, even though there’s no one around to hear it.

Yeah. Like he’s going anywhere in the state he’s in.

When Steve gets back, he’s not alone, his boyish charm having apparently summoned a nurse from whatever front desk she was manning. Eddie puts on a brave face as she checks him over carefully–vitals, flashlights shined in his eyes, the works–and compliments his progress with a genuineness he definitely wasn’t expecting to find inside Hawkins city limits ever again.

Once she leaves again with a promise to send in the doctor as soon as possible, Steve is tugging the chair right back up to Eddie’s side, now turned around so he’s sitting in it backwards. He studies Eddie, wide brown eyes shining with genuine concern that makes something inside Eddie flutter, despite how desperately he tries to tamp down the feeling.

“How’re you feeling? Seriously?”

“Kinda like somebody ran me through a wood chipper,” Eddie admits, gesturing to the gauze bandages draped all up and down his body.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Steve actually looks apologetic, like he’s somehow responsible.

Ridiculous, the guy is ridiculous. Eddie can’t believe how wrong he was, that he really thought Steve was just some callous, arrogant rich kid, like…a week ago.

“Looks like you’re now an official member of the ‘Upside Down bat chow’ club.”

“Well, hey,” Eddie inclines his head towards Steve’s chest, “at least I’m in good company.”

Steve makes a noise of acknowledgment, tugging his Henley up just far enough for Eddie to see the contrast of white bandages against his tan bare skin. Eddie forces his eyes not to linger, breath hitching in a way that has nothing to do with pain.

“But, you know, maybe you wouldn’t be if you’d just listened to me,” Steve points out petulantly as he drops the hem of his shirt.

Spell broken, Eddie lets out a huff of laughter.

“Anybody ever tell you you’re kinda insufferable, Harrington?”

“Takes one to know one,” Steve shoots back easily before the stern edge seeps back into his voice. “I thought I told you not to be a hero, man. Why did you do that?”

“You really wanna know the answer to that?” Eddie asks, sobering slightly. When Steve nods, he takes a deep breath and barrels on. “Well, I just asked myself, ‘What would Steve Harrington do?’ and even though I would have scoffed three days ago…seemed like the most obvious answer.”

Steve lets out a disbelieving noise, rolling his eyes, which startles another laugh out of Eddie.

“I’m serious, dude! You’ve got this whole…level twelve Barbarian, tearing into bats with your teeth th–” at Steve’s confused look, he amends, “I mean, uh this…badass, action hero at the end of the world thing going for you, and, when I realized you guys still needed a distraction, I just thought…I’d channel a little bit of that, overcome my own natural cowardly tendencies to run.”

“Man, I seriously can’t believe you,” Steve is shaking his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He reaches forward, nudging Eddie’s leg gently. “I’ve got news for you, Eddie. Cowards? Don’t do that.”

Eddie shrugs sheepishly, tugging a strand of hair up to his mouth to chew on, not quite sure how to take the compliment.

Steve smiles at him a beat longer, not saying anything. Then, his eyes seem to cloud over, expression growing distant like he’s lost in thought.

Eddie fidgets, playing with his rings as one hand taps an uneven rhythm against the blanket, feeling pinned with Steve’s eyes still settled on him. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“Earth to Stevie,” he waves a hand in front of Steve’s face, watches the way he shakes himself out of whatever reverie he had just slipped into, “where’d you go, man?”

Steve bites his lip, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed about being caught.

“Just thinking.”

Eddie leans towards Steve, eyebrows raised, expression expectant.

“...about?” he finally sing-songs, drawing the word out in a needling tone, not able to take the suspense a second longer.

“I ran, too, you know,” Steve says quietly, the mood in the room sobering immediately. At Eddie’s questioning look, he continues, “The first time, with Nancy and Jonathan. That thing came out of the walls, and Nancy told me to run–that’s what I was talking about, how she almost shot me that one time–and…I did. I ran. This shit is scary as hell, man.”

Eddie sucks in his bottom lip, mulling over Steve’s words.

“But…you came back,” he hedges, guessing, but based on everything he’s seen from Steve, he’d bet money he’s right. “I mean, total assumption on my part, but–”

He waves a hand in Steve’s direction, a silent here you are.

“Yeah, sure, I did. But so did you when it mattered. There–” Steve shoots Eddie a pained, apologetic look, “look, Eddie, with Chrissy…I know you don’t want to hear it, but there was nothing you could have done at that point. And if the cops had found you there, you probably would have ended up in jail. But you went back to distract the demo-bats. You kept them away from us when we were going after Vecna. So. Guess that makes you a hero, too.”

Steve huffs out a weak little laugh.

“Even though, like I just said, I explicitly told you not to be one.”

“What, you expect me to start taking orders now from Steve Harrington?” Eddie teases, eyes sparkling. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain, man.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, screw your reputation, no more pulling death-defying stunts like that, alright? Cuz I might not be around next time to pull you out of it. Besides, you’re way too important to the kids for that shit.”

“What, you want me to leave all the monster-hunting to the experts, Harrington?”

“No, dude,” Steve reaches over and shoves Eddie lightly, the movement careful, his hand big and warm where it wraps around Eddie’s shoulder, “I just don’t want you to die, okay?”

Those kind brown eyes are on him again, drinking Eddie in like Steve was afraid he might never see him again. It’s all too much, the feeling that this is all really just some fantasy come to life trickling in again, and Eddie has to avert his gaze, swiveling his head as he lets out a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle.

“Well, hey,” he deflects, sweeping a hand over the bandages covering his stomach and torso before tapping just below the mauled spot on his cheek, “At least I took the ‘don’t be cute’ part to heart, right, Harrington?”

Steve finally releases his shoulder, but his eyes are still trained on Eddie. Eddie thinks the scars are going to end up looking pretty badass, sure, but…there’s still an edge of insecurity lurking just below the surface of his bravado. He hopes Steve can’t see it, ferret out the cracks in his performance.

But he suspects he can.

They haven’t known each other long, not actually known each other, at least, but Eddie’s gathered in that short time, just from the easy way he fell into answering Eddie’s questions, anticipating what he needed to know, that Steve picks up on a lot more than most people give him credit for.

“Yeah, no,” Steve’s shaking his head, floppy waves falling across his forehead, “Pretty sure you’re literally incapable of not being cute, Munson.”

Something in Eddie’s chest seizes. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that Steve is totally flirting with him, even his faux-annoyed tone not seeming too far off the mark from a bit of pig-tail pulling.

“Bet you say that to all the girls,” Eddie quips back, because he’d started flirting with Steve in the Upside Down with all the devil-may-care gusto that came from knowing he might die tomorrow and now apparently he’s chronically incapable of stopping.

Steve has his arms crossed over the back of the chair, his chin propped up on them, looking irritatingly nonchalant and cool. Which…Eddie guesses is a lot better than looking like he’s seconds away from hauling off and punching him, but it’s still making him nervous.

He lifts one shoulder, a casual half-shrug, and then says, like he’s not tilting Eddie’s entire world on its axis, “Just the pretty ones.”

Eddie’s entire face heats up, flushing to the roots of his hair.

He can’t remember the last time he felt this flustered and tongue-tied. Probably not since Chrissy Cunningham deigned to smile at him, wide and sincere, at the middle school talent show, he realizes with a bittersweet pang.

“The rumors are true,” he manages to squeak out, “you’re a smooth talker, Harrington.”

Steve grins, wide and bright, looking inordinately pleased with himself. It’s the happiest Eddie thinks he’s seen him since this entire thing started.

“So they tell me,” he agrees, and then has the audacity to wink at Eddie, the bastard.

Eddie isn’t even sure where to go in the conversation from there. Usually, he’d like to think, he’s not too bad at this, can flirt and tease with the best of them. Hell, he has been flirting with Steve on and off for the past few days.

But that was before he lived, and before Steve, to Eddie’s complete confusion, started giving as good as he got, coming back with lines when previously he had been the one blushing and batting Eddie shyly away.

Fortunately, Steve cocks his head to one side, considering, and then breaks the silence for him.

“You know,” he starts, voice soft, “I was jealous of you, too.”

Eddie gawps at him like a fish, nearly as surprised as he had been by what seemed to be Steve’s undeniable flirting. When he manages to get some small semblance of control over himself again, he lets out a short, disbelieving bark of laughter.

“Steve Harrington, jealous? And of little ole me?” he presses a hand to his chest, batting his eyelashes briefly, a theatrical display to cover up the genuine shock still coursing through him. “Why the hell were you jealous, Harrington?”

The corners of Steve’s mouth turn upwards, a self-deprecating twist to them as he reaches up and runs a hand up through that infamous hair of his. Eddie tries not to let his train of thought get derailed wondering if those locks are as soft as they look, how they might feel running through Eddie’s own fingers.

“It’s gonna sound…so stupid. It’s just that…Henderson, you know, he’s a complete and total pain in my ass, but he’s also–he’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a little brother. And, I don't know. I guess the kid did kind of have stars in his eyes around me when I first started looking out for him. Except, it didn't feel like it did when all those kids in high school wanted to hang around just because I was popular and I could get them status, or because I had a big empty house full of free booze. It felt like it…mattered.

“But after they started back to school this year and joined up with Hellfire, he and Sinclair and Wheeler, they just went on and on about you, man, how cool they all thought you were, how you ran their little fantasy board game or whatever and they were all super into it, and I guess I just started to worry I was being…replaced. Like they were all growing up, and they wouldn’t need me in their life now that they had found somebody better to look up to.

“And I started to remember how you were in school. You were just so–unapologetically yourself, like you never gave a shit what people thought about you. Back then, I could never do that, and I guess…I started to wish that I had. Been more like you, I mean,” Steve looks up at him then, with a soft smile that would have broken the hearts of a thousand Hankins High girls. "So, yeah. Guess I got a little jealous, Eddie. That I was being replaced by Eddie 'the Freak' Munson."

Steve winces a little on the name, looking sheepish.

"Except it turns out, Henderson was right all along. Eddie Munson? Actually a totally great guy," he claps a hand over Eddie’s knee, giving it a fond squeeze.

Eddie blinks at him, dumbfounded into silence.

“Come on, dude,” Steve says quietly, the tips of his ears going pink as he jostles Eddie’s leg lightly, “don’t just leave me hanging out on a limb here. Say something.”

“That–was the most surreal thing that’s happened to me this week. And,” Eddie holds up a finger, “I’d like to remind you, an interdimensional portal opened up in the ceiling of my trailer.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, nervous at the edges.

“It wasn’t that weird,” he protests.

“Oh, no, man, it totally was. You, Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington, former King of Hawkins High, just admitted, out loud, that you wished you were more like me, Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson. That ranks in…at least the top ten weirdest moments of my entire life.”

Steve nudges Eddie again.

“Forget I said anything.”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie tells him with a wide, dimpled grin. Then, he places his hand over Steve’s wrist, jostling him right back. “You come up with that pretty speech all by yourself, Steve?”

The smile Steve shoots him is lopsided.

"I had a little help from a friend."

"Oh, so," Eddie waves a hand between the two of them, "we're friends now?"

The glint in Steve’s eye turns mischievous. "Just think how much it will freak everyone in town out."

Eddie throws back his head, letting out a delighted cackle.

"Harrington, you’ve really got a way of persuading a man."

They grin at each other for a moment, soaking in their own giddiness. Eddie thinks dizzily that this must be karma’s way of paying him back for some of the worst of it, the past few days of vicious bats tearing into him and a mob on his heels. And some part of him thinks it almost makes up for it, the terror and the pain still radiating in his side, if it only means Steve Harrington’s going to keep smiling at him like that.

"Are you still jealous, Stevie?" he asks, and despite the goading edge to the words, his question is sincere.

"Nope,” Steve pops the ‘p’ with his lips, “Not anymore. If anything, it sounds kind of nice, having another pair of hands on deck to help corral those little runts when they get out of hand. It's like herding cats sometimes, I swear."

"Yeah," Eddie falters. Steve’s words concretize the promise of friendship he’s offering, conjuring up a real, solid image of that karmic more Eddie was just imagining. "I guess that doesn't sound too bad. But careful, Harrington. Might start to sound like we're married, or something."

Eddie recognizes the way Steve ducks his head, a faint blush spreading over his cheeks, from their conversation in the Upside Down woods, and he knows this time that he’s been the one to hit the head on the flirtatious nail.

“Speaking of, where are Henderson and the other munchkins, anyway?” he asks, momentarily steering the conversation back to safer waters. “Earlier, you said something about him forcing you to look after me?”

“Okay, first of all, I did not say forced,” Steve argues, his lips drawing down into that disgruntled, petulant frown Eddie has started to grow stupidly fond of. “But, Dustin…yeah, he’s alright. He was here ‘til visiting hours ended last night. Mrs. Henderson had to practically drag him away so he’d go home and get some rest.”

The memories come rushing back, Dustin limping to Eddie’s side to hold him in what he thought were going to be his final moments, and relief washes over him.

“Which is why I’m on babysitting duty today,” Steve adds.

“Well, that is your job now, right?” Eddie teases. “Babysitter extraordinaire.”

“Yeah, yeah. No TV after dinner unless you eat all your vegetables, Munson,” Steve wags a finger at him for the full effect, and Eddie has to bite his lip to keep from laughing, “and don’t you forget it.”

“How ‘bout Team Kate Bush and the rest of the Vecna Slaying Squad…they alright?”

The way Steve’s face sobers immediately, mouth pulling into a taut, grim line is enough to make Eddie flinch in anticipation.

“I mean, everybody made it out in one piece, except…Max is in a coma. She’s a few doors down.”

Steve nods his head in the direction of Red’s room, and Eddie feels like he’s been doused in a bucket of cold water.

“Shit. Shit. Do they know when–?”

Steve shakes head, anticipating the end of Eddie’s sentence. He’s immensely grateful that he does, because he’s not sure he could have finished it.

“The doctors–they aren’t sure yet,” Steve admits, running a finger over his top lip, looking as tense as Eddie feels. “I checked in on her this morning, before I came down to sit with you, and she was…stable, pretty much the same as she has been. Lucas was there. I think he’d stay around the clock if they’d let him.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Eddie notes softly.

The boys had told him, about Sinclair and the tough little red-head who lived just across the way, their on-again, off-again romance that was very much off by the time Eddie met them.

But he’d gotten to see it first hand, the last couple of days, the way the two were practically attached at the hip, circling around each other, getting closer and closer. He had to agree with the whispered, giggled assessment he’d overheard Nancy and Robin make during their impromptu RV road trip. They really were cute.

His chest panged at the thought of hard-headed, mouthy Max laid up in a hospital bed, silent and still. Eddie felt like he was too fucking young for this shit, so the fact that this band of brave, fresh-faced little sheepies had to deal with it? Was too unfair for words.

“But, hey. We already had one miracle today, right?” Steve pats a hand on Eddie’s leg. “You’re awake. So, who knows, maybe another one is…right around the corner.”

“You make…an excellent point, Harrington. Can’t stop believing in the impossible now,” Eddie reaches out, places a hand over Steve’s wrist for a second and squeezes. “Red’s steely. Way tougher than I am. Hopefully she’ll be back up and at ‘em in no time.”

The half-smile Steve gives him is a grateful one, and Eddie returns it easily, letting his fingers linger where they’re pressed into Steve’s warm skin, reveling in the fact that Steve seems no more eager to shake him off than Eddie is to pull away. Finally, he pulls his arm up and away, still tingling with the phantom sensation of holding onto Steve for even that one moment.

Steve’s lips part, like he’s about to say something…but then he’s snapping his fingers, a stricken expression coming over his face.

“Oh, shit, I meant to tell you already,” he runs a hand over his forehead, fingers combing up through his hair in a gesture that seems almost…sheepish, “Hop also promised the Feds were gonna loop your uncle in on…well, not everything, obviously, but on where you were, at least. I’m not sure when they’re gonna tell him. Soon, hopefully.”

At the mention of his uncle, Eddie’s heart gives a painful, hopeful little lurch in his chest.

“Christ, Uncle Wayne,” he mutters. Screwing his eyes shut as he buries his face in his hands for a moment, he feels like he’s taking that first desperate lungful of air you gulp down after you’ve been holding your breath for ages. “It’ll be…so fucking good to see him, man.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Steve agrees softly.

Eddie wonders if he just imagined it, that brief stiltedness in Steve’s voice, the stiffness of his posture, there and gone so quickly it’s impossible to tell.

“And Robin’s supposed to stop by later, her parents are gonna drop her off. She said she’d bring up some lunch. So pretty soon you’ll have more than just this handsome mug around for company,” Steve circles his face with a finger, an amused smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

“Aww, but I like that face of yours, Harrington,” Eddie needles, walking that exact same line between ribbing and flirtation. He’s pretty damn proud of the blush he manages to prompt across Steve’s cheeks. “Okay, so, Buckley and the shrimps are all accounted for, but…where’s Wheeler?”

Steve’s mouth draws downwards, brow furrowing.

“Oh, uh, which one? Mike, or–Nancy?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, and, he’s not proud to admit it, but a little ripple of envy washes over him. It’s that same spike of jealousy that had reared its ugly head in the Upside Down, when he tossed his vest to Steve to break up the burgeoning couple’s moment, stop their familiar, playful banter.

He’s the one that brought it up, but it still serves as a bracing reality check–Steve’s flirtation with him is probably little more than a distraction, something Hawkins’ resident Casanova in all likelihood doesn’t even realize he’s doing.

"Your betrothed, of course,” Eddie’s voice comes out sounding harsher than he means for it to, far more like it does when he’s pushing the buttons of the resident jocks from the top of a cafeteria table. “When's the wedding, by the way?"

Steve frown deepens, looking taken aback, like he’s been pushed off-kilter. And even though that’s usually the very reaction Eddie is looking for, in that moment, he feels kinda like he should apologize for being an asshole when Steve’s honestly been nothing but nice to him.

Steve doesn’t give him the chance.

“Nancy’s with Jonathan,” he says slowly.

Eddie wilts, feeling even guiltier than before.

“Hey, man,” he stretches his hand out uselessly, his instinct to reach out with another soothing touch even though he’s not sure he deserves to. Before he can make contact, he lets his fist drop to the thin mattress, holding himself back. “I’m sorry.”

The fucked up thing is, he means it. Steve’s a great guy, and even after only a few days of getting to know him, Eddie knows, deep down in his chest, that if anyone deserves to be happy? It’s him.

Steve shakes his head, and now he’s the one looking annoyed, and, maybe, just a tiny bit frustrated.

"No–no, dude,” he slashes his hands through the air, like he’s calling a…time out, or something, as if they’re in one of his sports games. “There's nothing to be sorry for. It isn't like that."

And even if he is trying to be less of a dick, Eddie can’t help but raise a skeptical eyebrow at that.

“Yeah, okay, Harrington,” he says doubtfully, “I mean, I saw the two of you down there. The looks you were giving each other–that’s the kind of stuff people write songs about, man.”

“You’re seriously not listening to what I’m saying, dude.” Chin propped up on his arm, Steve gives yet another exasperated roll of his big, far too pretty eyes. But then his expression smooths out, something contemplative in the line of his mouth. “I thought about it a lot, you know, what you said. What everyone was saying, really. About signs of true love and all that. And the thing is, diving down there after me–Nancy would have done that for any of us. Robin, the kids…she’d have done it for you.”

Eddie doesn't know how to describe it, the feeling that washes over him with the realization that Steve's "us" had included him.

"Me and Nance? We’re just friends, okay? That’s all we’ve been for a long time, now. And the idea that we should try and be anything more than that…chalk it up to temporary insanity caused by demo-bat bites and the threat of the world ending. Again."

Shocked and a little chastised by the revelation, all Eddie can manage to let out is a soft, “...Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve gives him a pointed look, like he’s been a total dumbass about things, which feels…pretty fair, if he’s being honest. “Oh.” Then, in an undertone that makes it seem like maybe he’s just talking to himself, he murmurs, "Besides, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even want kids."

"...What?" Eddie asks, wondering if whatever sweet, sweet pain reliever they've got him on means he missed a step in the conversation.

"Nevermind," Steve dismisses, rubbing a hand over the nape of his neck as his eyes briefly dart toward the ceiling, avoiding Eddie’s gaze, “The point is…there’s nothing going on there. Really.”

“I–yeah, I, um. Got that. Now,” Eddie assures him. “That’s…good, Harrington. I mean, just so long as…you’re alright with it, right?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Honestly, I am. Things with Nancy…they didn’t work out for a reason. We just weren’t right for each other, in the long run. And I do still want to, you know…to find ‘the one,’ I guess. Somebody who really gets me, who just…fits,” he steeples his fingers together, imitating puzzle pieces interlocking, “slides right into place, kinda like they’ve been there the whole time. Like it was with Robin, and the kids–only romantic, this time, of course–but, like…that feeling you get when somebody comes into your life and…you honestly can’t even remember what it was like before, without them. Does-Does that make sense?”

The way his eyes dart over to Eddie, a spark of anxiety in them, it feels like…it matters, to Steve, that it does.

“No, yeah, I totally follow you, man. That all sounds…pretty awesome, honestly.” And even though Eddie has vocally branded himself as a cynic for years now when it comes to romance, it honestly does, making something flutter in his chest at the picture Steve has painted. He ducks his head, hiding behind the sweep of his bangs as he asks, “You, uh…you got anybody particular in mind to play the starring role in your future love life?”

When he risks a glance back up at Steve, he finds himself on the receiving end of that same look so familiar to the many swooning girls of Hawkins, a confident tilt to the pink curve of Steve’s lips, the glimmer in his dark eyes knowing but sweet.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think maybe I do,” Steve leans forward on the back of his chair, conspiratorial as he lowers his voice, “Now, all I gotta do is figure out if they’re interested too.”

Twisting a strand of hair absently around his finger, Eddie lets out a nervous giggle, the sound coming embarrassingly close to a titter. “Come on, man. You’re Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington. It’s pretty much a guarantee with you.”

“You’d be surprised,” Steve snorts. Then, he bites his lip, expression tetchy with a new anxious, anticipatory sort of energy. “Hey, I’ve, uh…got something for you.”

The next moment, his face disappears. Eddie attempts to lean forward, see exactly what it is Steve’s doing, but the straining feeling in his stomach won’t let him. Accepting defeat, he contents himself with tugging on a loose string on the starch white hospital sheets, trying–and failing–not to wiggle in place impatiently.

When Steve pops back up again, he’s holding a plastic War Zone shopping bag Eddie can only assume was tucked somewhere beneath the chair he’s been sitting in. After plopping the item gently in Eddie’s lap, Steve reaches inside and pulls out one denim corner, tugging the piece of clothing out to show him.

It’s Eddie’s battle vest, the one he had abandoned in the RV when they marched off into their own real life battle.

“I haven’t had a chance to wash it,” Steve’s nose wrinkles slightly at the blood stains, left behind from his own scarring over bites, “I can do that for you, if you want. Before you get out of here.”

Eddie looks from the vest–outfitted with all his painstakingly selected pins and patches–to Steve, then back again. He remembers how Steve had looked in the darkness of the Upside Down, hair wild, open wounds and chest hair barely covered underneath the denim flaps. Like some otherworldly warrior.

“You can keep it,” he says, looking right at Steve as he nudges the bag in his direction, “it looks better on you anyway.”

“No, man, come on,” Steve argues weakly, once again demonstrating Eddie’s newfound ability to fluster the Steve Harrington, a skill he’s definitely planning to continue taking full advantage of, “it’s your thing, I-I can’t–”

“Hey, man, I’m serious,” Eddie catches Steve’s hand in his own, a gesture that might be a casual, jocular exchange except that Eddie keeps his grip firm, the touch lingering, “you keep it, Steve.”

He swipes his thumb once over Steve’s pulse point, a reflexive, absent movement that draws Steve’s gaze downward. When he pulls his hand back, the fizzle of energy remains in the air around them, electrifying.

Steve ducks his head, almost shy as he tucks the vest back into the bag.

“Alright,” he agrees quietly, “far be it from me to argue with the invalid.”

“That’s right,” Eddie crows, triumphant. He snaps his fingers in the air for emphasis, letting some of his showy, over-the-top dramatics come back into his demeanor to dispel the intensity of the moment. “Patient privilege, Harrington. Besides,” he shrugs, trying to maintain a cool, casual air so he won’t choke on his next words, “now you can wear it to Corroded Coffin’s next show.”

Cocking an eyebrow at Eddie, Steve lets a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. “Oh, so I’m invited to see you play now, huh? Not afraid I’ll cramp your style?”

Eddie shakes his head, earnest. “Couldn’t possibly, Stevie boy. You’ll be the most metal person there, since I’m pretty sure no one else is gonna have ripped apart a bat with nothing but their teeth. Not unless Ozzy suddenly breaks down in the middle of Bumfuck, Indiana.”

Though Steve looks mostly bemused, there’s also a faint, pleased flush of pink dusting his cheeks. “You know I still have no idea who that is, right?”

“Oh, don’t worry, big boy,” Eddie gives his arm a quick pat. “As soon as I’m outta here, I’ll teach you.”

“Alright, Eds, you’re on,” Steve agrees, dipping his head, almost coy as he looks up at Eddie through his lashes, “It’s a date.”

Despite the casual way Steve threw out the offer, like it’s no big deal, Eddie’s pulse trips into double time, racing in his chest.

“Cool,” he says, dazed, and, embarrassingly enough, he has to clear his throat when his voice cracks a little, “yeah, okay, cool. It’s a date, then, Stevie.”

Fortunately, having Steve Harrington beam at him makes sounding like a complete idiot totally worth it.

They sit in the silence for a moment after, just smiling at each other dopily. If anyone else could see them right now, their respective reputations really would be in tatters.

Eddie thinks that’s alright with him.

Despite the giddy energy in the room, however, a wave of exhaustion washes over Eddie, like the adrenaline from everything has finally gone out of him. He yawns, pressing the back of his hand over his mouth to try and stifle it.

Steve shifts in his chair, alert as he scoots a little closer, that now familiar concerned look settling over his face.

“Tired?” he asks.

“More than I thought I was, I guess,” Eddie admits, albeit begrudgingly.

“Yeah, well, surviving heroic stunts will do that to you.”

“You’d know all about it, wouldn’t ya, Stevie?” Eddie yawns again, not bothering to hide it this time, just grimacing a little when the motion stretches his side. “Besides, think maybe you wore me out, big boy, with all this sparkling conversation.”

The tips of Steve’s ears tinge, pretty and red.

“Want me to keep reading to you instead?” he offers, picking up the paperback from the edge of the bed and waving it at Eddie.

In the name of pure, good old fashioned antagonism, Eddie can’t help but tease, "I didn't know you could read, Harrington.”

"Hey, butt head," Steve smacks half-heartedly at his leg with the paperback, "which one of us graduated, you or me?"

"Point taken," Eddie laughs, light and pleased with himself, "but who said I could read?"

Steve cocks an eyebrow at him, the corner of his mouth twitching, like he’s fighting back a laugh of his own. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Takes one to know one,” Eddie sing-songs, parroting Steve from earlier. Then his eyes go round, inching forward on the bed excitedly. "Will you do the voices? Oh please please pretty please tell me you'll do the voices."

Steve’s face scrunches up, adorably lost. "What voices?"

Eddie slaps a hand to his forehead, flopping dramatically back onto the thin hospital mattress as best he can.

"What voices? ‘What voices,’ he says. Oh, Steven–"

"Steve," Steve corrects automatically.

"Steven," Eddie continues, ignoring him, "say it ain’t so."

“What?” he huffs, but a smile has crept back onto his face. “Stop speaking in riddles, dude, this isn’t one of your games.”

“The character voices, man! What else?”

“Oh, right, the character voices,” Steve repeats, deadpan. “Eddie, how the hell am I supposed to do some sort of voices for a book I’ve never even read before?”

“Steven,” Eddie says solemnly, ignoring Steve’s eye roll, “it’s simply not The Lord of the Rings if you’re not doing a full, dramatic reading of it.”

“Well, jeeze, teach me how to do them, then,” Steve challenges, flipping the paperback around to hand over to Eddie.

“Alrighty, big boy,” Eddie takes it, then pats the empty side of the mattress, “hop on up, and I will.”

Steve pauses, seeming surprised, and in that moment’s hesitation, Eddie wonders if he’s going to gently brush him off. But then he’s standing, rounding the bed to the side where Eddie’s palm is still resting, and gracefully sliding in beside him.

“This okay?” he asks, careful of Eddie’s side even as he wraps an arm around his shoulders to help get them comfortable, shifting close enough the book can rest open across both their laps.

“Mmm hmm,” Eddie hums, basking in the warmth that comes from having Steve pressed right against him, the clean scent of his cologne wafting through the air.

He gestures down to the paperback with a flourishing hand.

"Now, transfix me with your magnificent storytelling skills, oh brilliant wordsmith."

Steve shakes his head, letting out a snort of laughter this time.

"You are so weird."

“Aww, but you like it, Stevie boy.”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a shrug of one shoulder, so earnest and unabashed it nearly takes Eddie’s breath away, “I do.”

Steve begins to read again then, voice loud and clear. And as the pair of them giggle and bicker over the book, Eddie interjecting corrections in the form of line readings in his particular theatrical cadence and Steve’s own performance getting sillier and more over-the-top the longer it goes on, for the first time in more than a week, Eddie knows deep down in his gut…that everything is gonna turn out just fine.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my stuff #my things #my fic

[starrystevie]

based on this post because i couldn't read it and not picture it as anything but steddie

the house is quiet. it's steve's favorite time of the day when everything feels still, comfortable and warm, like a cozy cocoon that his family has built around themselves. daisy is curled up at his side like a personal heater, her head resting peacefully on steve's stomach as they snuggle in bed. he knows eddie will come in after finishing up the kids' bedtime story and yell at him for letting the dog on the bed, but steve knows he'll get away with it once they both turn puppy dog eyes on him. he always does.

steve's just about to put his bookmark in between the pages of his book and turn off the bedside light for the night when there is what can only be explained as a commotion on the other side of the house. it startles both steve and daisy, her big head perking up immediately, cocked to the side as she tries to place the sound before jumping off onto to the floor. steve follows quickly and is standing fast enough that his vision goes a bit blurry.

he hasn't had this fear in a long time. he hasn't felt the need to reach for the bat under his bed in years. his heart starts to beat a tick faster, but then he hears it.

they're laughing.

both he and daisy make their way down the hallway to the kids room where streams of multicolored light spills out over the hardwood from the mini disco ball josephine just had to have. he doesn't even make it halfway to their room when he hears just what they're all laughing about.

"dad, do the voices! you always do the voices!"

by the time steve is leaning against the open doorway, he sees it: his home. it's his kids, josephine and winnie, sitting up excitedly in their beds. winnie's damn near falling out of her bed as she tries to sneak peeks at the pages of their bedtime story. and it's eddie, salt and pepper hair piled on top of his head with glasses almost falling off his nose as he reaches his hands up to imitate some sort of soldier or king or something steve can't figure out.

eddie's yelling some speech with a big boisterous voice, the girls are shrieking with smiles wide enough to split their faces, and steve can't do anything other than take it all in. daisy pushes past him and goes to jump on joey's bed, kissing her into another laughing fit.

"my king!" eddie says once he's spotted steve, bending to one knee with a closed fist over his heart. josephine pulls herself up to her knees on her bed to copy her dad and winnie, who will do anything her big sister does, follows suit. "to what do we owe this most wonderful pleasure?"

eddie's smiling this mischievous grin, his eyes twinkling like the stars the girls stuck to the walls, and steve feels that familiar tug in his heart that always seems to come around when he thinks about how damn lucky he is. he playfully rolls his eyes in opposition of how much love he feels and hurries across the room to press a quick kiss to the top of his head.

"at ease," steve murmurs, his voice a little flat. he's not as good at the fantasy voices as eddie is. "just had to come see what all the ruckus was about."

eddie scrunches his nose, standing back up and pressing a kiss of his own to steve's cheek. he can hear the girls behind them faking a gag, winnie's tiny elongated 'ewwwww' barely audible over how loud joey's acting is. when he gets a good look at them, josephine has found a way to lay across her bed to play dead and it forces a giggle out of winnie.

"why do you guys have to be so gross all the time?" josephine says, picking her head up only to drop it back down, eyes closed and tongue sticking out.

"to annoy you, obviously." steve's response it dry enough to have eddie chuckling at his side. "how much longer do you have?"

steve nods to the book and eddie looks down at where his finger is holding place. he scans over the pages, eyes growing larger when he realizes just how far away the end of the chapter is. he pulls the hand painted bookmark off of the girls' bedside table and sets the book down despite the groans it gets him in return.

"looks like we're done for the night, fair maidens."

"do we really have to be done, dad?" winnie's trying her hardest to get eddie to pick the book back up. her lip is pouted and her big brown eyes are wide enough that even steve almost caves to the 4 year old, but eddie's shaking his head and tucking her in instead.

"just for tonight, nugget," he whispers against the side of her head as he presses a kiss to her temple.

"but daaaaad-" josephine starts, fighting against steve as he tries to pull the blanket up to her chin.

"nope, no buts, joey girl. it's a school night anyway. you guys can read more tomorrow night."

with the girls grumbling, the two dads trade off kissing them each good night and steve flicks off the bedside lamp to leave only the disco ball flickering rainbow colors over the room. daisy curls up next to josephine who promptly picks up her covers to settle over them both.

when the door clicks shut, eddie lets an arm loop around steve's waist, bringing him in for a soft kiss. they pull away with a smile, crow-footed eyes crinkling in the low hallway light.

"sorry that we got too loud." eddie looks sheepish in that endearing way that he knows will get him of the hook, but steve just shakes his head before reaching his hand up to pick the reading glasses off his husband's face.

"no need to be sorry. you know i love seeing them that happy."

when they turn off the light for the night, tangled around each other before flopping onto their sides of the bed, steve breathes in deep. he gives his husband a kiss goodnight and doesn't think about the bat under his bed. instead, he thinks about his family, winnie's big brown eyes and josephine's toothy grin and eddie's hand forever in his own, comfortable and warm in the home they built around each other.

#WOW this got very long pls forgive me #steddie #steddie headcanon #my writing #steddie as dads! we love to see it #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #Steve harrington #Eddie munson

[theold-ultraviolence]

Lots of emotional/smutty fluff with modern!aemond dealing with all his emotional scars with his with his girlfriend maybe as a fic? You have my favorite modern aemond

"I'm About To Make You Feel" • Modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary: Aemond takes a comment that you make about an actor's eyes to heart. CW: hurt & comfort, fingering & grinding. Words: 1.4k A/N: I was like, 'I'm working on the vday requests and cannot put out a full on fic rn, I'm just gonna write some headcanons..........and then here we are. Hope this is the right balance of emotion/smut for ya, friend, thank you for requesting!! x

His downward spiral that week begins on a cozy monday night. 

Aemond had come back home from work with a couple of VHS tapes he’d gotten at the one surviving video rental store in town that he frequented. They were having an Al Pacino week special, as he’d enthusiastically told you after dinner, while kneeling in front of the TV in your shared apartment to plug the VCR to the TV. He’d rented copies of Dog Day Afternoon and Serpico. 

When everything had been set, you’d brought a couple of hot drinks and blankets to properly nestle yourselves on the couch and unwind after a long day. 

“Gosh, Al Pacino was so hot in the 70’s, wasn’t he?” You murmur idly, to which Aemond only hums in affirmation. 

And then you wince, the second it leaves your mouth, realizing what you’d said a second too late. “It’s the eyes! He has such big, dreamy eyes!” 

“Hmm.” Aemond tenses a bit, but keeps on watching the film.

You turn to look at him with fear that what you’d said had bothered him somehow, but his profile looked calm, with his lips pursed in their usual pout and eye glued to the screen as Al Pacino screamed at the cops circling the bank he'd robbed.

You seriously did not mean to hurt Aemond, it was just something that slipped from your mind without being filtered first – you’d always loved Al Pacino for his eyes. 

But then later that night, when you settled for bed, he was quietter than usual. He wasn’t distant or anything, but, by now you know perfectly well how to read his different shades of quietude.

You didn’t question him, not wanting to intrude, knowing that when something bothered him, it took him a long while to process his feelings before talking them out with you. 

But then Friday night rolls down, both of you already settled in bed.

You have a habit of reading a little bit together before going to sleep. You’d finished your book before him, so he gladly takes you in his arms to pillow your head against his beating heart, while he continues to read. Your eyes had started to close – so soothed by the rise and fall of his chest. 

When suddenly, you hear a little sniffle.

It's so quiet, if you were more asleep you would’ve missed it entirely. Immediately you look up at him and find silent tears streaming down both sides of his face. Something you’d discover was that the tear duct on his left eye was still intact, regardless of his missing eye – a fact that made your heart contract each time you saw Aemond in pain. 

“Aemes, what’s the matter, darling?” you whisper, sitting up and tenderly caressing the side of his face, thumbs wiping away the tears. 

“Nothing, just the book I’m reading.” He dismisses, and while there might be some truth there – he's reading something with a depressing plot you’d teased him about earlier – you know how it is with him. Things sometimes snowball for him, things add up until he ends up admitting to you that he might not be as strong as he makes himself out to be. 

“Aemond…” 

He sniffles once more, takes a deep breath and finally turns to look at you. 

“Are the eyes important for you?” He mumbles. 

“What?” You know what he means, and you hate yourself for it. It had been an honest slip and you hadn’t meant any harm. “No, darling! is this about the Al Pacino thing? You know I don’t care about that! You know I love you, right? All of you. I wouldn’t change a thing.” 

You frame his face in your palms, leaning in close enough to kiss. “Look at me, Aemond.” 

His watery lilac eye pierces you, pleads for you to take over and be the stronger one for just this moment. 

“Aemond, I love you, all of you. There’s not an inch of you that doesn’t drive me wild. I think you’re the most attractive person in the whole world, and I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

You giggle, biting your lip when you see the lines of pain slowly vanishing from his handsome face. 

“You’re just saying that.” 

“No! I’m not! I mean it. You’re so perfect, Aemond, inside and out.” 

You take his book from his hands, place it on the nightstand and straddle his lap, hands on the elegant column of his neck as you lean down to kiss his sharp cheekbones – a kiss for each one, with all the love you possess, whispering in between kisses as you trail downwards, to his angular jawline and chin. “I love every inch of this perfect face.” 

You don’t mean to, but you start grinding your hips against him in autopilot, while your thumb caresses the scarred side of his face, the little dent where his eye used to be, as you kiss the corner of his right eye.

“And you’ve no dark circles under your eye, babe, what the hell do you even do?” 

He huffs out a laugh – the corners of his eye wrinkling a little bit, before he closes it, relishing in your touch and snaking his arms around your waist. He plants one foot on the bed to add more friction to your grinding.  

“I want you, Aemond. All of you. I want you so bad, all the time. Please, never ever doubt that.” 

“You want me?” He hotly whispers against your lips – your kisses getting even more heated. His desperation to be comforted transforms into ardent desire as the minutes tick by.

“How bad do you want me?” He smirks against the corner of your mouth. 

And there he is. 

“You really wanna know?” You tease, kissing down his neck, nibbling his protruding Adam’s apple, and then the spot where you feel his pulse quickening frantically. 

“Hmmm…” His big hands sneak underneath your pajama pants and panties, confidently groping your ass, his stroking of your skin both reverent and rough, loving and demanding.

Then he grabs the hem of both of your garments and brings them down the globes of your ass and thighs, not fully removing them just yet. 

“You really wanna know?” You giggle wickedly, taking his hand and bringing it to your pulsing core. Softly, his fingers trace the outline of your pussy lips – caressing your skin before the pads of his forefinger and middle finger dip inside your soaked cunt. 

He grins widely at the sensation, at your warmth, and your juices pooling around his fingers, hugging him so tightly.

Suddenly he can’t remember why he was feeling so down, when you were already so fucking wet after making out. He figures not anyone can have this effect on you. 

He remembers that the first time you had sex, you’d confided that you had a hard time getting aroused after being single for so long, and being so accustomed to the mechanical intensity of vibrators. But with him? You’ve always been so pliant and ready. A sopping puddle right here on his lap, in a matter of minutes.

And it’s all for him. 

“Do you feel how much I want you? How much I adore you, and need you?” You whine as you start to undulate your hips to the rhythm of the pumping of his fingers - as you look at him, so completely debauched, with your racing heart overflowing with love. 

“Oh darling…” he quietly moans, while hooking his fingers just right, so deeply inside of your throbbing cunt, making sparks fly in your vision.

With his other hand, he pulls down his own pants to reveal his erection – cockhead glistening with precum, a sight that makes you salivate. 

He starts stroking himself while gazing at you passionately, before whispering in your ear. “I’m about to make you feel just how perfect you are for me, my love. I’m about to make you feel how thankful I am for everything that you do for me.” 

The next morning, when the VHS tapes are due at the video store, you both step outside of his car looking absolutely ridiculous, limping your way to the returns section. 

One thing about Aemond is that he’s a man of his word.

And did he make good on his promise of making you feel every hard inch of gratitude he deposited right into you. 

You laugh to yourself, looking at the Serpico poster on the tape while still feeling the burn on your thighs as you walk, which makes you think...Al Pacino could never.

#aemond targaryen #modern!Aemond #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #female reader #reader insert #fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #modern au #house of the dragon #hotd #ewan mitchell #my writing

[jqhotchner]

love of my life

one

spring happened to be the best moment in your life. your first kiss was in spring, first date was in spring, first time was in spring, and the man you’d spend the rest of your life with, you met him in the spring time. most importantly you have your first baby in spring.

you and harry couldn’t be happier with your lives. unfortunately all good things must come to an end.

you met harry at one of the first few tours one direction had. your little sister was obsessed with the band. your dad, having amazing connections, bought the tickets and you took your sister to see the band live. your dad had got two backstage passes and you could tell your sister was gonna pass out just by how she looked.

finally getting to meet the boys you didn’t expect to fall in love. but the curly haired boy was beautiful. plus the accent wasn’t all bad either.

you didn’t wanna get ahead of yourself but he didn’t even miss a beat. he asked you out that night. since, you two have been inseparable. falling in love with a pop star wasn’t easy though.

you’ve seen front hand what that could do. your dad, being a lawyer, had many celebrity clients. you had met so many people in your life. and some of them even opened up to you as you got older. and the things you’ve heard.

the hate fans give people simply because they’re dating their favorite musician or actor. you knew if you wanted to be with harry you had to keep your relationship extremely private.

and you have, since the very beginning! the two of you were careful. very careful! no one knew who you were and the media made harry out to be a player.

the truth was you’ve started dating when you were fifteen, he was sixteen, got engaged when you were twenty-one, and got married a year later.

now you’re thirty and you have a beautiful daughter together. and still no one suspected a thing.

until the day you got caught

you two were enjoying each other. it was your first night out since having maybelle. she was currently with her grandparents while you and harry spend a evening out. harry has been planning his tour while filming two different movies.

the two of you rarely get to catch up. you missed your husband dearly but you knew he loved his job. seeing the smile on his face as his fans scream the lyrics back to him. it was something magical.

harry talks about the movies he’s starring in. he enjoyed the cast on both sets. you just loved listening to him. his eyes shining bright.

“babe, you’re gonna love my policeman.”

you hum as you sip your wine.

“what’s that look?”

“it’s just the movies aren’t always as good as the book. i don’t wanna be disappointed.”

harry playfully rolls his eyes at his wife. you just shrug your shoulders. harry continues to talk about the cast. the two of you were too busy enjoying each other.

normally more self aware of your surroundings. making sure paparazzi wasn’t around or a fan wasn’t taking pictures.

today you just wanted to enjoy each other. unfortunately the paps had been called when a ‘fan’ spotted harry on a date with a mystery woman.

neither of you noticed. after awhile harry grabbed the check and paid. he leaves a generous tip before he grabs you hand and kisses the back of it.

you lean your head on his shoulder as you walk towards the car. he opens the door for you before getting into the car himself and driving off. neither of you ready for the storm that’s coming your way.

you weren’t paying too much attention to the tv. it was just white noise while you played with your four month old daughter.

you never knew you could love a person so much until you had maybelle. she was your life! she looked so much like harry. her eyes were even a beautiful green.

she had harry’s dimples as well. you basically birthed a photo copy of your husband. harry kept telling you she had your nose and your smile. but the only thing she had of yours was your skin tone. you didn’t mind though, she was just adorable.

“next topic, harry styles.”

“oh, look may, they’re talking about daddy.”

her head turned when you called his name. she looked at the tv and smiled when she saw her father. her body bouncing up and down excitedly.

“looks like our pop star is in another relationship!”

you roll your eyes. it’s been years and they’re still labeling your husband as a womanizer. sure he had a lot of female friends. but you know all of them personally. plus you trust your husband completely. he loved you and he’s proven that time and time again over the years. you didn’t care what the media thought.

“he was seen on a lunch date with a mystery woman. we have no idea who she is but she sure was cuddled up to the superstar.”

you turned your head and gasped. their you were on tv. how the hell did they find you? you wanted to shed tears. instead you grabbed your cellphone and called your father.

“daddy,”

“i was just about to call you darling. ive seen the news.”

“what can we do?”

“i can try to find the son of a bitch and sue his ass for everything he’s worth. it’ll take some time but ill get it done, baby.”

“daddy, this isn’t—i have maybelle now. i gotta protect her first.”

“i know darling. we’ll make sure she’s safe from any media outlet. have you talk to harry?”

“no, called you first. i—i don’t think he’s seen. he would have called me.”

he was most likely busy filming. you knew when he was done for the day he’d have multiple notifications.

you just knew you needed to prepare yourself for what’s to come. for the sake of your sanity and your family.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles x black!reader #harry styles fake ig #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #jqhotchner #love of my life jq

[avatar-anna]

Matilda

summary: Harry reflects on his time spent with professor and writes a song about it

The Professor Series

The Professor Series

Harry sat alone in the studio, his song journal opened to a blank page in front of him. Everyone had left for the day already, but he decided to stay behind. There was nothing worth going back to, anyway.

“What’s going on with you?” Mitch finally asked him an hour ago. It was the third unproductive day of the week. Harry remained unusually quiet all day, not wanting to contribute to any ideas being thrown around the studio.

Harry didn’t answer his friend’s question, because the truth was too painful to admit. He was heartbroken, and he only had himself to blame.

Not that Mitch or anyone else on his team would understand. No one knew about the extraordinary woman he met in Cambridge, his professor.

Why he thought not telling her who he really was would be a good idea, Harry had no clue. But he’d done it, and now everything was completely ruined.

Y/n was gone, she didn’t even want to see him before she packed up and left to move to a different country. That stung, and it made him frustrated that she didn’t want to hear him out, but he also knew Y/n. She was overwhelmed and he had broken her trust, something he knew she didn’t give to just anyone.

What hurt most of all was that he never wanted to be one of the people in Y/n’s life to hurt her. She had such a gentle soul, had put up with so much. So many people had already been so cruel to her, including her family, who was supposed to show her love. Harry wanted to be someone in her life that was consistently good.

Tossing his journal to the side, he went over to his bag and pulled an old, beat up copy of Matilda by Roald Dahl. Harry had never read the novel before meeting his professor, but now he never went anywhere without it.

It was Y/n’s, a favorite of hers, so much so that it didn’t live on the overstuffed shelves of her Cambridge townhouse. No, it sat on her bedside table where she had easy access to it at all times. Harry had seen it the night he slept in her room. He’d never seen the inside of her bedroom before then, but when he finally did, he soaked up every little detail like a sponge. The light airiness of it all, the antique furniture, stacks of ungraded assignments waiting for her on her desk, the plain, yet finely made bed clothes. But above it all was the little stack of novels by Y/n’s bed, Matilda sitting on top.

“I’ve read hundreds of books, but this one remains my favorite,” she said when she noticed him staring at it.

“Why?” he asked her, not out of judgement, but out of curiosity.

She shrugged. “I don’t know, I just...saw myself in Matilda, I guess.“

“Well, what’s it about?”

Y/n explained, had even recited her favorite parts from memory for him. Her eyes lit up the way they always did when she talked about something she was passionate about, and Harry couldn’t help but smile.

Looking back now, Harry was so consumed with being in her bedroom and seeing her face without the mask obstructing it, that he didn’t realize how sad it was that Y/n’s favorite book was Matilda. It hurt his heart to know that a soul as kind and gentle as Y/n’s had been hurt so badly by the people who were meant to love her. But he couldn't deny the similarities between his professor and Matilda.

His memories and recollections of his time with Y/n were painful, yet Harry thought of her often. Because with the pain was the warm, cozy feeling that he'd felt when he was with her. He missed laying on the floor of her townhouse and talking about books and stars and the origins of constellation names, he missed the blunt, almost harsh honesty with which the professor spoke, he missed her collection of sweaters and mismatched socks and the smell of jasmine that lingered in her apartment. He missed the Emperor, he missed the little snort Y/n made when Harry made her laugh.

But most of all, he missed the person he was around her. Y/n was quiet, and more intelligent than Harry would ever be able to comprehend, but she imbued him with a confidence, a sense a self that he'd never felt around anyone, not even his own family. Their relationship, their friendship, was technically built on a lie, but Harry had never felt more like himself than when he was with her.

Opening up Y/n’s copy of Matilda, Harry began to read. Again.

Sometimes Matilda longed for a friend, someone like the kind, courageous people in her books.

Harry didn't know how many times he'd read this book since he'd taken it from Y/n’s desk, but that line always stuck with him. For its poignancy and the notes Y/n had made next to it in the margins and on post-it notes she'd stuck there. There was different colored ink around the quote, marking a new thought for each time she reread her favorite book.

Matilda is like me. School is very lonely without friends.

Naive. Kind and courageous people only exist between the pages of books.

I think I met someone Matilda might have longed for. He's very kind. Nice eyes.

I was wrong. But it's fine. Everyone in my life has turned out to be a disappointment, why would this be any different?

The last two notes were obviously the most recent entries, and obviously about Harry. Reading it never failed to stir butterflies and make him feel even worse for betraying his professor's trust.

Tears sprang his eyes. He wanted her to know that she wasn't wrong, that he was the kind of friend she'd always wanted.

But he hadn't been, had he?

Harry hid a huge part of himself from Y/n, had let his own fears and insecurities get in the way of being truly connected to someone. It was nice to be a version of himself that he hadn't been in a long time around her, but she deserved the truth. Harry had just been too cowardly to own up to his mistakes. And by the time he worked up the courage, she found out by looking him up online.

He couldn't tell her everything he wanted to say now, but he could do it in a way that might one day reach her, even if he did never see her again.

“Nothing about the way you were treated ever seemed especially alarming 'til now,” Harry wrote, and from there he scribbled harshly in his journal until it was done.

Staring at the song in front of him, he didn't know if it should have a place on the album or if he should just keep it to himself. Either way, he felt the tiniest bit better after writing it.

Harry packed up his things to go home. As he walked to his car, he pulled up a contact on his phone and hovered his phone over the call button. To call or not to call. Y/n wouldn't answer anyways, but sometimes he would call just to hear her voicemail.

He didn't this time, thinking he'd tortured himself enough over everything that happened for one day. Instead he called Mitch, who did answer.

“Hey, I think I have something.”

#harry styles #harry styles x professor yn #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

[abilouwrites]

HOW YOU GET THE GIRL

Mat Barzal x fem!oc reader

Series Masterlist

Two

I dont like when guys ask me out, because the answer is always no. And the answer never changes; and I doubt it ever will. My coworkers are all married or in a relationship with someone even at the bookstores. Hell, the sixteen-year old has had a boyfriend longer than I've been working there.

For a time I believed it to be asexuality, but thats not what it was. I still think; dream and hope for someone to love me, but thats just what I don't want. I used to be able to see myself getting married to someone; when I was nine and didn't know how horrible my parents marriage was to each other.

When I was nineteen I thought something was wrong with me, I was stuck in the thought that I was unloveable. I want to date; dating would be fun. But dating leads to marriage and to me. Marriage means being trapped, and I don’t do being trapped.

The guy from last week comes in again, a little more flushed and with a friend this time. He’s nervously chewing his lip and looking over at his friend for reassurance, “no dude, chicks dig Romeo and Juliet, I’m sure that’ll get you a yes” I overhear a tall bald guy say as he assuringly pats or slaps the brunettes back.

His hands are shaking as he gently places the hardback copy of Romeo and Juliet, “just this” he quietly mumbles looking down at the cover, “have you read it?”

“Yeah, a few times but I’ve never been to fond of that kinda romance” I reply as what I assume his friend shakes his shoulder in a brocode way I have yet to understand.

“Really?” His voice pitches up, “w-what you uh— uh why?” He frantically questions his entire face pales

“Uh oh, I really hope you’re not setting a date on Romeo and Juliet for christs sake” I murmur, “not speaking for every girl but, it felt too quick. How can you know if you really love someone in just barely a week” I clarify, “I just” I shrug not finishing my thought, “do you still want to get it?”

“Uh.. maybe” he looks down and taps his thumbs against the counter, “what romance books do you recommend?”

I grin, wide and toothy because this is my favorite question and thing to ever talk about, “oh boy am I glad you asked. Liz, will you cover me?” I request and she nods.

I take his hand and lead him to the classics, Jane Austen, Emily Brönte, Charles Dickens. “A lot of these are like classic books but Jane Austen is really the one you want to woo a girl”

“I’m very positive no one says ‘woo’ anymore” his friend juts in and Mat as I remember faintly; gives him a dirty look.

“Whatever. Pride and prejudice is my all time favorite” I say; gently pulling my baby out of her shelf.

“Wow.. I think my sister’s made me see the movie” He faintly says; I can barely hear anything over the beat of my heart.

“Which version?” I ask nervously

“I think the 2005 version” and I almost sigh in relief, “is that good”

“Very. Very good”

He smiles at me and his friend nods as I lead them back to the register, “that’s everything right?” I ask scanning the books

“Yes, uh yeah” He smiles nervously and goes back to chewing his lip, “you know how the uh New Jersey Devils are playing against the Islanders tomorrow night?” He asks handing me his card

“Yeah… Why?”

“I uh, I’ve got by the ice tickets and I was gonna have one of my friends come with me but he— his wife just had their baby so you know.. and you like hockey and I like hockey so it might be— nice if you wanted to go with me?” He blabs out, nearly gasping for breath after finishing, then he continues, “you don’t have to come— obviously I know it’s last minute and you probably have plans with someone or uh yeah..”

“No.. I don’t have plans tomorrow night”

“Great— I mean not great that you don’t have plans but great that you can come with me” He nervously chides

I laugh and smile, “I would really, really love to go to the game with you” I confess.

“Yay, just uh do you get breaks?” He asks

“Yeah, I’m just about due for a break”

We stand outside together; his poor friend long forgotten, “what’s going on?” I ask sitting at one of the small tables and drinking some tea.

“Ok uh, I..” He flushed and puts his head in his hands, “I won’t be sitting with you.. I’ll be on the ice…”

“Oh. Wait what?” I ask, looking up at him as he tangles his hands into his hair, “what do you mean you won’t be sitting with me?”

“I’m not just a hockey fan. I play. Hockey I play on the Islanders.. those who have girlfriends or wives get to invite them to games and I know we’re not- I’m not implying that but uh you like hockey and I thought it might be nice” he chokes out

“Ok so— what?” I gasp out, “I didn’t think you were much a joker” I’m fighting back laughter

“I’m serious”

“Oh”

“Its totally fine if you don’t want to come anymore but uh. Yeah” he shrugs rubbing his eyes nervously and chewing his lip cracked.

“I mean.. I haven’t been to a game in a while… so.. yeah that would be nice” I shrug

He sighs a big sigh and nearly flips the table with his weight before righting it.

“Can I get your number then? So I can pick you up.. I’ll bring you a jersey” He requests sliding his phone out

“Yea” I pick his phone up and type my number in, setting my contact name and typing in a hello with his name.

“I will see you.. at 5 thirty ish?” He asks, “and don’t worry about eating before, actually maybe eat a bit but I want to take you out to dinner after”

I smile and brush my hair out of my face, “should I wear leggings? Jeans?”

“Uh.. long pants probably, jeans would look good”

“Thank you, I will see you tomorrow night”

“It’s a date”

And I don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not.. because I’m too scared to fall in love. Or to even risk it.

#hockey #nhl #nhl fanfiction #louiseabilenewrites #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal my beloved #how you get the girl mat barzal #mat barzal x oc #mat barzal series #mat barzal edit #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal smut #mat barzal #mathew barzal #mat barzal fluff #mathew barzal x reader #mat barzal x fem reader #mat barzal x female reader #mb13 #nhl blurb

[deathbecomesthem]

Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader blurb

This takes place in @jo-harrington's Store Manager Verse, one of my favorite AUs out there.

For my @dr-aculaaa, I hope you like it.

It’s stupid. January in Hawkins is too cold for this, and your intestines are not capable of tolerating the amount of dairy you’ve been consuming. And yet, here you are again, walking under the fluorescent lights guided by something you don’t fully understand. Butter pecan with whipped cream and a cherry on top - you’re sweating at the thought of choking down yet another sundae.

You walk past the entrance, shiny white tile bright in the already glowing fluorescent atmosphere amongst the shops lining the long hallway. Waldenbooks calls to you, so you pass the open door without looking inside to see the real reason you’re spending another afternoon in the mall instead of at that little cafe just outside of town. Your anxiety is relieved immediately when the smell of paper freshly printed with ink invades your senses. 

“Hello.” The man behind the counter, his angular features casting shadows on his face, extends his perfunctory greeting, and you nod before making your way to the end of the fiction section - A thought D. You have no real reason to be here, and not enough cash to spend while also being able to afford that sundae that will make you nauseous for the rest of the night. You pick up a copy of Seeds of Yesterday. The combination of the smell of the paper and the feel of the pages flipping under your thumb immediately relaxes you. 

Deep breathes, you ninny, you think to yourself. You have no grand plan, you never do. You come here because…. because of a reason you have not been able to fully accept in your own mind. You come here because of the way your belly flutters, like the wings of a hummingbird beating inside your skin when you see those red lips curve up into a smile.

You put the book back on the shelf and walk along the back of the store, each firm step of your boots a grounding movement. You run a finger along the spines of the thrillers while you make your way back to the front of the store, waving at the man that is still standing stock still at the cash register. You shiver a little, his icy blue eyes follow you as you turn left and head back to the ice cream shop. You pass a group of middle school girls, huddled together and giggling. You look inside Claire’s and see a younger girl sitting in the high stool at the front of the shop, a woman with glasses and hair pulled into a ponytail held by a black velvet scrunchie holding the piercing gun to a small earlobe. You see the music shop just past your ultimate destination and think you’ll stop by on your way out, maybe pick up a cassette of Hunky Dory so you can listen to it in the car. It’s your favorite, and the new car has a tape deck. 

On que, just like every other time you’ve entered the shop, you hear his voice from behind the counter say, “Ahoy! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me?” Steve Harrington doesn’t remember you. He never does. His smile is always the same, a small smirk climbing up on the left. His full lips are glossy, and you’ve started to wonder if he’s wearing mascara. This is not the same boy that sat next to you in Mrs. Click’s history class last year. 

“Uh, hi.” You never know what to say to him, so you look past him, “can I get-”

You’re cut off by a voice coming from the other side of the swinging door behind Steve, his co-worker finishes your request while setting down a container of maraschino cherries in front of him, “- a small butter pecan sundae, extra whipped cream and a cherry on top.”

Robin Buckley. Your heart skips a beat, and your ears hear the whoosh of blood rushing. She’s looking for the ice cream scoop, so you steal your glances. You can deny it all you want, but not while you’re standing in front of her. Sweet freckles kiss every corner of her face, and you wonder, yet again, if you’ll ever have the opportunity to count them. When you close your eyes at night, you desperately try to conjure a true image of her face. You run your fingers along her skin, numbering every brown fleck and kissing each one in turn.

Steve’s voice breaks your reverie, “oh, yeah. I’m sorry, I don’t know how I could have forgotten the order of such a lovely lady.” Robin scoffs, and she looks at you from behind the plastic without lifting her head. A quick glance. You think maybe you see a little pink coming through on her cheeks.

“I got it, Casanova. Why don’t you go unload the shipment, hm? I won’t count this one against you.” Robin nods to a whiteboard leaning against the wall. It has tally marks under the heading “You Suck”, and you snicker at the sight.

Steve puts his hands up, a feigned expression of hurt across his features, “I don’t need this abuse. I’ll go put the shipment away.” You and Robin look at each other again, both of you biting back grins, while Steve pushes his way back through the swinging door.

“What’s it like working with Steve?” You whisper low, leaning over the counter a little. You’re watching Robin’s clever hands scoop ice cream into a paper cup.

“You know, it’s not like I thought it would be. He’s not so bad. If he’d only stop flirting with every pretty girl that comes through the door.” Robin flicks her eyes up to you. They’re wide, as if she’s shocked by her own words, the faint pink on her cheeks turning crimson before your eyes.

“Oh, yeah. Well, as long as you two get along,” you pretend to not notice the tremble in her hand. Her nervousness is a crack. It’s a door standing barely ajar, and you decide to reach out and place your hand on the wood. See if you can ease it open more before it’s slammed shut. 

Robin sets the ice cream up on the counter next to the cash register, and you reach into your back pocket for your wallet. The chain jingles slightly as you fiddle in the billfold for a 5. You push back the nauseated feeling when you think about the ice cream you need to eat to keep this game going and a surge of confidence runs through you. No more bloating. No more stomach aches. 

“What time are you done? I’m heading to Tape World after this, you should come with me.” Your hand is steady, money extended to the girl you’ve been pining after since last year. You watched her watch Tammy Thompson watch Steve Harrington. That’s always how these go, though. Everyone watching, no one seeing.

Robin looks at you, eyes darting back and forth between your own. She smiles, punches buttons on the machine in front of her, and fiddles for your change. “I’m actually clocking out in 15 minutes, if you don’t mind waiting for me?”

“15 minutes? Sure, I can wait.” You take your ice cream, and can feel her eyes watch you as you make your way to a booth in the corner. You watch a couple enter, and Robin’s eyes are drawn away from you. It’s the woman that was holding the piercing gun to the little girl’s ear a few minutes ago, and Eddie Munson. They’re smiling at each other shyly. You look back down to your ice cream, sigh, and take a bite. Maybe, some day, Robin would look at you the way Eddie’s looking at the girl by his side, and you’ll never have to eat another ice cream sundae again.

#robin buckley fanfic #robin buckley x fem!reader #robin buckley fluff #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you

[fictional-love-is-my-life]

Hi... I am so happy to see my request finally come true...

So here I am with another request and I have some particular theme in mind

Human optimus prime x reader. Optimus is an English teacher where the reader studies.

One day the reader finds a letter stuck in her book which she borrowed from the Library to find a beautiful poem (which optimus left accidentally). She decided to compliment that so she wrote something of her own...and returned it

And then she and that writer (optimus) started to talk anonymously through this type of letters eventually to find out about each and and confess falling for each in 2 line poem like

"roses are red,

voilet is blue

My heart beats so fast

When I think about u"

Fill the gap as u like...u can change it a bit as well

Thank you in advance if you are doing it

If not...it's fine also no biggie

Have a great day or night ❤️🩵💙

Hello hello! Thank you for this request and thank you for being so patient with me. I have finally finished it!

Human Optimus Prime English teacher x Female student Reader

This is set in a college, reader is at least 20+

~~~~~~

English has always been one of your favorite lessons. Something about it intrigued you, especially the poetry lessons. It may have helped that it was taught by your favorite teacher.

Mr. Prime stood at the front of the class, a poetry book in his hand. All eyes were on him as he spoke, talking about many of the techniques used by the author of said book.

The bell rang, indicating the end of class. Most of the class was happy and eager to leave. But the sound made you sad, you could have listened to Mr. Prime for another couple of hours. Yet you obeyed the bell since you had a few other classes to attend that day.

“Now, if anyone is interested in reading this, I do highly recommend it. You can find a copy in our own library here on campus.” Mr. Prime stated, then began saying his farewells to the students. You smiled at your favorite teacher, feeling a small burst of energy as he smiled back at you.

~

After finishing all your classes for the day, you headed to the library. It was late in the afternoon, making you doubt that the poetry book Mr. Prime suggested would still be there. But you thought you would check, just in case. To your surprise, it was still available. You reached out, grabbing the book. It was a little aged, the spine was worn and some of the pages were bent at the corner. That just meant it had been well-used and well-loved.

You checked out the book, tucking it away into your bag. You were going to look at it back in your dorm room, as you were starting to get hungry.

You grabbed food from the small café on campus, then headed to your dorm room. You were happy to have one of the rooms on the college grounds, it meant you never had to walk too far for anything whether it was classes or a quick meal.

Entering the small room, you tossed your bag and food onto the bed. You were done for the day, so you decided to change into more comfortable loungewear before climbing onto your bed. You pulled out your food, eating while you went through your bag.

You tugged the poetry book out, placing it in your lap and using one hand to open it. The moment the pages came loose, something fell out. It was a single piece of paper with writing on it. The handwriting was beautiful, neat, and well-written. It was a poem. You hummed in amusement, of course, it was a poem stuck inside a poetry book. It must have been left behind by the last person who checked the book out.

Curiosity got the best of you, so you began to read it.

You re-read the poem over and over at least 5 times. It was beautiful, soul-capturing, enlightening. The words stuck in your head on a constant loop. You knew it was just a random person's work, but the way the words were written, it felt as if it was a letter made just for you.

It was so inspiring that it made you want to write your own poem, in response to them.

You worked for hours, writing then scratching out the words and starting again. After going through at least ten pages of your notebook, you finally had something you felt was good enough. It wasn’t as good as the poem you just read, but it was still good.

~

A few days later you had finished the poetry book you took from the library. It was about time to return it. You picked it up, then spotted the poem that fell out of it sitting on your desk. Your own poem sat next to it. You wished you could find the author and tell them how much you loved their work, but you knew you’d never find out who wrote it.

Part of you wanted to keep the poem, but at the same time, you didn’t. It was so beautiful, that you felt it needed to be shared with the world. You grabbed a post-it, writing on it “This was beautiful”. Sticking the post-it on the mystery person's poem and put it back into the book. Your own poem caught your attention.

Before, you hadn’t been confident sharing your poems with other people. But the idea of sharing it with others anonymously didn’t seem so bad. You also thought it might be quite funny, giving the next person to check out the book two poems to read. You hoped someone would appreciate your work. You took another Post-it writing “Mine is not as good” and stuck it to your poem. You then placed it into the book behind the first.

You took the book back to the library, checked it back in, and placed it nicely onto the shelf. You felt happy and a little excited, you wondered who would get the book next and what they would think of it.

~

Once it was out of sight, you forgot about the poetry book. It only returned to your memory when you were in the library a couple of days later. Curious you made your way to the literary section; you dragged your finger across the books searching for it.

There it was, in the middle of the shelf. Its worn-out spine made your stomach flip in excitement. You wondered if there would be another addition to the poems, who it would be by, and what it would say. However, there was also the possibility that the poems would have been taken.

You picked up the book and opened its pages. The pages instantly opened themselves, revealing a single piece of paper. It was the same beautiful hand writing from the first poem, obviously from the same writer. Yet it was different. It was new!

You instantly started to read it, still standing in the middle of the library’s aisle. It started by quoting a line from your poem, then continued on its own, saying how much they loved your poem and how beautiful they thought it was. They wrote how they felt alone in their own poetic dreams, and that your words were like a song to their heart.

Your stomach fluttered as you read the poem, in complete disbelief that they liked your work. It made you ecstatic, your creative energy bursting. You had to respond and thank them for their words.

You rushed over to an empty table in the back of the library, pulling out your notebook. Scribbling away, you tried to put your emotions into words. You had to express how much their words meant to you. You finished the poem with a few lines about how much you enjoy poetry and how the act of writing poems gives you joy, like a fresh flower on a warm summer’s day. Once you were happy with your poem you tore out the page and stuck it into the poetry book.

This time you kept the mystery person's poem. Their words meant so much to you, so this time you were going to keep it to yourself. You gently put the poetry book back on the shelf and rushed out of the library. You thought about sticking around, waiting to see who would come to pick it up. But you also thought that might be quite creepy, so you just decided to leave.

That night you lay awake; your stomach filled with butterflies. You lay on your side, staring at your desk where the mystery person's poem sat. It’s words circling in your mind. You imagined who the author was, what they looked like, what they sounded like. You could hear their voice in your head as you read their words, and you wondered if they sounded the same in real life. You pondered if they were thinking about you as well.

~

The next morning you got up early. Even though you had barely slept you felt energized and excited. You rushed over to the library, getting to it before it even opened the doors. Tapping your foot impatiently you waited for the library staff to arrive. Eventually, they came, your heart pounding as they slowly unlocked the door, allowing you inside.

You rushed inside, beelining for the poetry section. You scanned over the shelves, then looked again. The book was gone. You felt a sting of disappointment, replaced a few seconds later by excitement. If it’s gone, it could mean the mystery person has it. Could they have already read your poem? Were they currently writing their own response? You couldn’t wait to find out.

Since the book was not there, you left the library and made your way to the food hall for breakfast.

Classes dragged by slowly, though it didn’t matter as you weren’t paying attention anyway. Your mind was on the mystery person, wondering what their next poem would say.

That same afternoon, you skipped over to the library, once more looking for the book. Yet again it was still gone. Obviously, they must be taking their time to return it. Either that or someone else took it.

You felt sadness and worry at the thought of someone else taking the book. It was your only way to communicate with the mysterious person and you couldn’t picture anyone else getting their hands or eyes on their poems. You sighed and left the library once more. You would just have to check the next day.

~

The following day, you had an early class, so you were unable to go straight to the library. You made your way after the second class, moving at a brisk pace.

You didn’t know if it was fate or just pure luck. But the book was there, waiting, calling your name. You grabbed it, instantly opening it to find a single page.

Your heart skipped. Giddy you took the book and checked it out. This had become something fun and special, so you were going to take the poem back to your room to read it. And once you had, you would take your time to create the most perfect reply.

~

You and the mystery author traded poetic letters for two weeks. Allowing each other at least a day to take the book home and write a response. They were constantly on your mind, their words and the possibilities of who they were. You were desperate to meet them, but you didn’t know how to initiate it or when, terrified you might scare them away by asking to meet.

Every other day you rushed to the library. Your face had become well known, and it became a little joke between the staff that you always took out the same book. You never minded though, any other time you would have thought it was also strange someone took out the same book every day. But you were too preoccupied with enjoying the situation. It was fun, exciting, and exhilarating to get secret poems from a mystery person.

You made your way to the library once more, waving to the library staff.

“Back again! No need to ask what for. You might as well just take it; we know you’ll bring it back.” An older lady laughed. You chuckled; she wasn’t wrong.

The book was there in the middle of the shelf. The paper on the spine was almost completely gone, showing how often it had been taken and handled over the past few weeks. You felt a bit bad for the poor old book. It had brought you so much happiness, so you decided to try being more delicate.

You gently took the book off the shelf and opened it.

Instead of the usual single page, there were two. One was the poem, and the other was a post it. You read the poem first.

"Roses are red,

Violets are blue

My heart beats fast

When I think about you"

Your stomach flipped. Heat spread across your face as a blush formed. They put into words exactly how you felt about them. You didn’t even know this person, but they had enraptured your heart entirely. You could feel the crush coming with each poem, but this just secured it. And by their poem, perhaps they had a crush on you as well.

Your mind swam with ideas of them, and their words that you almost forgot to read the post it. You finally remembered and looked at the small yellow paper.

“You are constantly on my mind, I must meet you if you would like to. I understand if you may not be ready. On Friday, at 5pm I will sit at the bench outside the library.”

Your heart pounds so hard in your chest that you thought it might explode. They wanted to meet you. You were excited, but also incredibly nervous. Were you ready? What if you went and they were disappointed? Or what if you were disappointed?

You shook the negative thoughts from your head. You had been thinking about meeting them for a while, now was your chance and you were not going to mess it up. You take the poem from the book, sticking it into your bag. From your own notebook, you tore out one page and wrote “I’ll be there”.

You stuck the torn page into the poem book and placed it back onto the shelf.

~

Friday came quicker than you were ready for. You sat in your English class, staring at the clock. Usually, your attention would have been solely on Mr. Prime. But today, you thought about 5pm and meeting the mystery poem author. Your heart raced with every second. You began to plan out your outfit in your head, mentally prepping what you would wear and how you would style your hair.

You were knocked out of your thoughts by your classmate and friend nudging you. You turned to her a little annoyed that she disturbed your train of thought.

“Does Mr. Prime seem different to you?” She asked.

For the first time in that period, you looked at your teacher. He had a huge smile on as he talked, his suit was neatly pressed and he had a flower in his pocket. He looked cute.

“I don’t know, he’s just happy.” You shrugged.

“Yeah but, different happy. Happier than we’ve ever seen him.”

“Is that a bad thing?” You asked.

“No.” Your friend muttered. “I was just saying…never mind.”

You immediately began daydreaming again, picturing how the meetup would go. You practiced what you would say and how you would act.

Soon the bell rang and you were able to rush out of the classroom. English had been your final lesson of the day, so you rushed back to your dorm room to try on all your clothes. You had to find the perfect attire for the meet and you only had a few hours to do so.

After going through half your closet, you finally found the perfect outfit. A cute and flowy dress, you styled your hair and accessories to match. Once you were fully dressed you checked the time on your phone. 4.15. Your heart skipped, a small pit of anxiousness sitting in your stomach.

You breathed in and out slowly, calming yourself. It was a big day, and you hoped nothing went wrong. You really hoped they showed.

You decided to leave, thinking there was no harm in getting there a little early. They may have thought the same thing and could have already been there. You made your way to the library, your heart beating hard as you came around the corner. Your eyes instantly locked onto the bench outside.

It was empty. Your heart dropped, and you quickly looked at the time. 4.40. You still had 20 minutes, so there was no reason to get too panicked. Just because you were early didn’t mean they were not going to show.

You sat down and waited patiently, scanning over all the people who walked past, wondering if they were the ones coming to meet you. Nervously you kept checking your phone, the anxious pit getting heavier as it got closer to 5pm.

Eventually your phone read 5.01pm.

Yet you continued to sit alone. You reassured yourself that sometimes people were late.

5.05

Maybe they were caught up with something.

5.10

Maybe they forgot and they were just now on their way.

5.15

Maybe they said a different day? You pulled the post-it out from your bag, reading it and re-reading it. It definitely said Friday at 5. Your heart felt heavy, your bottom lip wobbling as you tried hard not to cry.

5.30

How long were you supposed to wait? You felt awful. You didn’t want to leave in case they arrived, but you also didn’t want to stay for too long. The idea that they weren’t coming was too painful, and you were about to just go home and cry.

You checked your phone one last time. 5.36. You rubbed your eyes, trying to stop tears before they even formed.

The sound of running caught your attention, making you look up. Mr. Prime was running over to you, his dress shoes clacking against the pavement, his tie flying in the wind as he ran. He stopped just before you. He smiled and said your name.

“Hello, Mr. Prime.” You said, wondering why he was running to you. Have you forgotten something? Maybe you hadn’t given him any homework, though you didn’t think so.

For a few seconds, you just stared at each other. He looked down and saw the yellow post-it in your hand, then took a seat beside you.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” He said, his voice sounding a little ashamed. You were about to ask what he was late for when he continued talking. “One of the students was asking for help on their project and I could not get away. By the time I finally told them I had to go, it was already 5, and then I had to run over here from my office. I do apologize for keeping you waiting.”

He then pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. It was your poem. Your mind finally clicked the pieces together. Your mind swirling with the realization that your English teacher was the mystery poet you had been talking to for the past few weeks. You tried to keep your excitement from bursting out. You had no idea what to say, all your preplanned conversations were gone. He sat there, smiling at you. His smile completely took your breath away. You had always thought he was cute, but sitting there now, finally revealed as your mystery poet, he was incredible.

“It’s ok.” Was all you could mutter.

“I’m so glad I got to read your work. It always brought a smile to my face and brightened my day. You’re a very talented poet.” Mr. Prime complimented.

“Me? You are much more talented. Your poems are so beautiful, Mr. Prime.” You replied.

“Please, call me Optimus.”

You nodded, repeating his name over in your head. He wasn’t who you expected. Never in a million years would you expect your professor to be your mystery crush. But you weren’t complaining, and you definitely weren’t disappointed. He was brilliant, and you were happy he was the mystery poet.

“I asked to meet here because I wasn’t sure where to take you or what you may like. As you were my mystery poet and I only knew so much from our exchanges.” He chuckled. Your heart fluttered when he called you ‘his’ mystery poet. “I’d like to take you to dinner if you’d like?”

“I would like that.” You grinned; your face hot from a fresh blush. Optimus suggested a nearby restaurant, one you were quite fond of. He then stood and offered you, his hand. You took it, linking your arm with his as you walked away from the library together.

The dinner was perfect, and conversation flowed easily between the two of you. You had so many similar interests, and your differences only complimented the other. After dinner Optimus took your arm once more and walked you back to your dorm, wanting to get you there safely. He paused halfway there, standing in a quiet part of the park.

“I wish to confess something, and you can tell me if I make you uncomfortable.” Optimus started. You guessed where he might be leading with the conversation, and you were very excited if you were right. “I have thoroughly enjoyed sharing poems with you. The experience was a joy, and I wished it could last forever. But the more we exchanged, the more my heart would flutter when I thought of you. I didn’t know who you were, yet your words made me feel like I did. I knew I had to meet the real you, so I could put a face to the beautiful words. And what I see now, is the words were just a reflection of their gorgeous author.”

Heat pulsed through your body from an extreme blush. He had such a way with words, written or spoken. You didn’t know how to respond, though you didn’t need to as he continued speaking.

“This may sound silly, as I only knew you through your words. But I had grown a little crush on you. And now, after meeting you in person, and enjoying the perfect night with you it has grown. I have fallen quite suddenly for you.” He confessed. His own blush was prominent on his face, even in the dim street light.

“I feel the same.” You burst out, not wanting him to be the only one to confess. You wanted to make sure it was known, so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable being the only one to pour his heart out. “I feel the same and have for a while. I have loved sharing our poems, but I knew I had to meet you. I was scared to suggest it, worried I might scare you away. You asking to meet was one of the happiest days of my life.” You grinned happily, doing a little happy bounce as you talked.

Optimus giggled, his own smile lighting up his face.

“I am so glad.” He cheered. Optimus gently took your hands in his. They were warm and gave your hands a soft squeeze. “I would like to continue this, and start having more official dates.”

You felt as though you were going to explode from happiness. You wanted to dance and sing from joy, but you kept yourself calm and just squeezed his hands back.

“Yes, I would very much like that as well.”

For a few seconds, you stared at each other, still holding hands. Optimus looked as though he wanted to say something, but was a little nervous to do so. You had never seen him act nervous before, but you found it adorable.

“May I kiss you?” He finally asked.

“Yes.” You replied immediately.

Optimus leaned down. You raised yourself a little to meet him halfway, not wanting him to bend too far and hurt himself. The gap closed, and your lips met his. His lips were soft and warm and fit against yours perfectly as if they were made specifically just to kiss you.

You kissed for what felt like an eternity, though it was most likely just a minute. You didn’t want it to end, the feeling was so magical and soothing. Optimus was the first to pull away, a happy smile across his face.

“Accidently leaving my poem in that book, was the best thing I have ever done.” He commented. You giggled.

“Well, me taking your suggestion and picking the book up was the best thing I ever did.” You smiled.

“Oh, then suggesting the book was also the second-best thing I have done.” Optimus added. You laughed, Optimus chuckling along with you. “I shall get you back to your dorm now, as it is getting late. But I look forward to progressing our relationship.”

“As do I.”

Optimus leaned down to place one final kiss upon your lips, before walking you the rest of the way home.

#ask #transformers #optimus prime #human optimus prime #optimus x reader

[batfamily-brain-rot]

Still Standing (Jason Todd x Reader)

Made this a year ago, I'm finally putting this onto tumblr cause I'm working on a fan comic and I may take elements of this for the comic but I'm not sure yet. Anyways if you guys want me to write more things like this or if you do want this to become a part or even a prequal to the fan comic (which already has a name that's currently secret) let me know.

(Inspired by @ohboi_ohboi on tiktok who asked for someone to write a fic on there idea. Reader hating on jason todd for being a spoiled wiseass, while jason todd laughs his ass of knowing the reader has Red hood merch I got a little bit of soft angst in there but don't worry I bring the humor back in. I also wrote this in an hour, I swear I blacked out and woke up to a 1000 word fic... I may write more for this later and may clean it up more but it is almost 2 am right now and I have a final to do tomorrow morning.)

(Reader Pov) 

It was slow that day at the cafe, the sun had begun to set as I began to shut down the cafe early. That's when this asshole came in, fifteen minutes before closing… Again.

“Hey, would you look at that, my favorite barista is working tonight!” Jason smirked as he made his way to sit on ‘his’ stool by the front counter.

“I just wiped that counter down, asshole.” I rolled my eyes, “Let me guess, your usual?”

He faked a gasp, “Do you talk to all your loyal customers like this?” he laughed at his own joke as he pulled out the same beat up copy of classic romance anthology, “and yeah my usual.” 

I grabbed the cup I had already made previous to his arrival, “here.” 

“What, did you miss me so much that you had my order ready for me?” he slid over a fifty and winked, “Keep the change.” 

I scoffed and took the fifty, “Ha you wish dick weed, that was actually going to be mine. We just seem to have the same order.” I broke the fifty and put the amount he own into the cash register and pocketed my ‘tip’

“You know, for someone that hates me coming in you sure don’t mind the tips I leave.” he laughed before taking a sip of his coffee.

I raised a brow, “Listen here money bag, the only reason I tolerate you coming in this close to closing and staying so long after is because of your tips.” I rolled my eyes as I began to close out the register, “And for someone who always brings a book you never seem to get much reading done. Trying to sound out the words? Maybe you should have your daddy get you a tutor.” 

He closed the book and leaned his head on his hand, “I’ve read this anthology fourteen times already, I bring it as an excuse to why it takes me so long to finish my coffee.” 

“Don’t you have a library in that manor you live in? Can’t you read something else?” I brought the money into the back and put it in the safe before returning, “And what takes you so long to finish then?” 

“I enjoy the classics, it's comforting to read something you know the end to.” he takes another sip of his coffee and takes a moment to answer, “I like our talks.” 

“Well I don’t so can you hurry it up? I’m sure your butler needs to tuck you into bed or something.” I sat on the stool at the end of the counter, about three stools away from him.

“Ha now that's a good one I’ll have to write that down.” he rolled his eyes and shifted in his chair to face me, “What is it that drives you so insane about me? It can’t just be my good looks, is it my winning smile and bad boy facade?” 

“Ah so you admit it's a facade?” I pinched the bridge of my nose, “It pisses me off you go around flaunting your money while everyone else in the city has to try and stay afloat with multiple jobs and dodging the idiots who cause chaos for everyone.” 

I hung up my apron and grabbed my Red Hood jacket from the coat rack. When I turned my attention back to him he had a shiteating grin on his dumb face.

“Oh what now dipshit?” I sat back down and waited for whatever shit he was about to spew from that pretty mouth of his. 

“Oh it's nothing… Just find it interesting you’re a fan of red hood… that's all.” he took another sip to stifle his laugh. 

“And so what if I am? He’s the only one that actually realizes some people are better off dead.” I groaned and crossed my arms, “Let me guess your one of those batman cultists who think that everyone deserves a chance to change even when they’ve blown through hundreds of chances to change.” 

His face scrunched up as he tried not to laugh, “Oh god no. I wouldn’t say I’m a fan of Red Hood but trust me… I fully support and believe in his ways.” 

I squinted trying to figure out what was so funny about all of this. I sighed and checked the time before looking back up to him, “It's officially ten minutes after closing can you hurry up?” 

He took a long slow sip before setting the coffee down and kicking his legs up on one of the stools between us. I sharply kicked the stools towards him causing him to tumble back, he tried to catch the counter but hissed in pain before hitting the floor. 

He loudly groaned as he sat up and rubbed his shoulder. 

“I am so sorry, usually you catch yourself. I didn't think you were actually going to fall.” I made my way over to him, “Are you alright?”

A loud pop came from his shoulder as he pressed on it, “it's fine, just a shoulder injury.” he laughed as I helped him up, “rough housing with my brother went a little too far and we went down a flight of stairs.” 

“How are you walking around jesus christ are you a tank?” I stared at him, I felt my face scrunch up in confusion.

He chuckled, “I have been working out thank you for noticing.” he rolled his eyes, “You know, paid a personal trainer with my dads money.” 

“Ugh I hate you so much.” I crossed my arms and fixed the stools, “I should kick you back onto the floor.” 

“And yet I’m still standing.” We sat next together in silence for a moment as he drank his coffee. 

“I was practically homeless as a kid.” his words were unsure as he stared distantly ahead of him, “Had to steal to make sure my mom and I could eat… I tried to steal the rims off of Bruce’s car and he decided to adopt me instead of pressing any charges.” he laughed a bit, “Like who does that?” 

My eyes widened as I stared at him, “I had no idea.” 

“Why would you?” He finished off his coffee and looked at me, “I give large tips and flaunt what money I have because I remember what it's like to be poor. I don’t know if the money will last, if Bruce gets tired of the issues I bring, it can get taken away… just poof gone… I can help people now, I can have a little fun now too, why not do it now just in case you know?” 

I placed a hand on his shoulder, “well that explains a lot… you have daddy issues.” 

#jason todd #batfamily #batfam #red hood #bruce wayne #batman #redhood x reader #jason todd x reader

[celandeline]

Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (8)

My bikini has never gotten as much use as it does here. It seems like the only appropriate thing to wear, with the sun beating down as it does, even for activities that are decidedly not water-based. Like now, as I follow behind Venetia, her copy of Harry Potter and a water bottle tucked under my arm. 

The grass grows steadily rougher and taller as we get further from the house, and begins to scratch at my ankles. “And it’s just a field?” I ask. 

Venetia rolls her eyes, looking back over her shoulder to me. “It’s tradition, Evie. Everyone that comes here for the summer has to participate. No exceptions.”

“It’s just a little weird, right?” I ask. “Getting naked just to sit in a field?”

“You’re telling me you’re not curious at all about what Ollie’s hiding under his shorts?” She says. 

“Not really.” I say, honestly. 

“Farleigh then?” She says, teasing. 

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “No.”

I can tell by her grin that she doesn’t believe me at all. 

As soon as we reach the edge of the real field, the line where the grass reaches my thighs, Venetia starts to strip, untying the strings of her bikini and letting the bits of fabric fall to the grass. A little ways into the tall grass, Felix and Farleigh’s heads can just be seen, Farleigh’s sunglassed eyes pointed in our direction. 

When Venetia’s fully undressed, she takes her book and the bottle from me, and traipses into the grass. Nerves flare up as I start to undress, trying to ignore the eyes in the grass, watching. I let my top drop first, and then the bottoms, and then quickly make my way into the grass, finding a spot between Venetia and Farleigh, just like the dinner table seating. 

“You have a tattoo.” Farleigh says. 

It forces me to look at him, and I steadfastly look at his face and not any lower. “I do.” I’d sort of forgotten about it, considering that it’s not usually out in the open, hidden away on my hip. It’s small - a little set of plastic vampire teeth. 

“What’s it for?” He asks. 

“Halloween.” I admit, a little shamefully. “It’s my favorite holiday.”

On my other side, Venetia laughs. “So American.”

I make myself more comfortable, and bring my sunglasses down from my hair and back where they belong. It’s weird - but I’m not the only one that’s naked, and it’s a good opportunity to get rid of my tan lines. Venetia dives back into Harry Potter, seemingly unbothered by the nakedness. I can’t wrap my head around the dynamic between her and Felix - I would never want to see my brothers naked, much less willingly. 

As subtly as I can, I turn, and take a peek at Farleigh from behind my sunglasses. I can’t help that he’s hot - a bitch, sure - but undeniably hot. Long, lean and gorgeously brown, he’s ridiculously my type - something I’d been missing at Cambridge. Something about being one of the most prestigious schools in England seems to make the student body so… boring. Classic, some would say, but the same Ralph Lauren polo and sweater combination gets tired after a while. 

Still, I’m not sure if I like him. He really is a bitch, for lack of a better word. The way he talks to Oliver, to Pamela - about Venetia, last night on the steps outside - is just plain mean. I can’t know what goes on in his head, but the way he’s so outspoken to Oliver and Pamela, and the way that he so aggressively questioned me last night - he called me a guard dog, but I could just as easily use that on him. Fierce towards outsiders, and barely rewarded for it. 

The rest of this house, eccentric as they are, fall easily into patterns. Farleigh is the one I can’t understand. 

My thoughts are broken by Venetia’s voice. “We’re over here, Ollie!”

Felix perks up as well. “Hi mate!”

I shift, propping myself up on an elbow to get a look at him. “Hey.”

Farleigh stirs, an amused grin coming over his face. “No trunks allowed in the field.”

I expect Oliver to balk, considering how he wears his shirts buttoned all the way to the top, but he strips with almost no hesitation, and continues on his way over to where we’ve camped out in the bush. My eyes widen.

“Well well well.” Farleigh says, still amused, but now in a different way. 

“Leave him alone.” Felix says, gesturing for Oliver to come sit by him. 

“Good for you.” Farleigh says, and then tips his head towards me. “What a twist.”

“I know.” I say, keeping my voice low enough that hopefully only Farleigh and Venetia can hear me. I turn to look at Venetia, peering over the top of my sunglasses with a knowing look. 

“Stop it.” She hisses, shooting me a sharp look, and then flicking her eyes toward Farleigh, turning my implication back around on me. 

I roll my eyes, and move my sunglasses back into place. I hate that she’s right.

< previous part | next part >

#saltburn #saltburn x reader #farleigh start x oc #farleigh start x reader #farleigh x reader #farleigh start

[panelshowsource]

could you make a post about all the books from comedians you own/have ordered and which are your favorites I want to buy all of them but don't know where to start ++++++++ would love to know if you know of a way to order a signed copy of David's book if I don't live in the UK

you know, in a stroke of what may be relevant information, i'm actually an editorial director by day and even used to be a literary agent here in nyc — none of which is obvious on account of my billion rushed typos and...just...general existence :) (i promise i'm supremely carefully handed in my editing!!! and have a lot of resources, at my job hahahahaha oh god maybe i shouldn't have mentioned this!!!) — but i'm really no book critic and have no idea how my tastes stack up against what a lot of you are looking for. i'm happy to share some of my general, poorly articulated internet thoughts but it may be more worth checking out goodreads or talking with others who have more experience with autobiographies (which a majority of these types of books are)!

to begin with a disclaimer, one of my friends texted me recently, "why do you only watch sad movies?" i love sad films, sad music, i love to cry, catharsis, sentimentality which is always a little self-indulgent. it's a bit ironic, because this is a comedy blog and you guys know me as someone who loves to find things to laugh about and i fill my life with so much silliness through his huge, life-long hobby, but, all the same, that is only one side of me, i guess. i'm saying this now because you're about to hear me talk briefly about a few somewhat-to-incredibly sad books and be like "oh i didn't know this what i was getting into" 😅

books i do recommend:

just ignore him by alan davies — this isn't a book review but i am self-conscious about just how i describe this book, because it's so sensitive and i carry a lot of respect for alan. at the time of publication, alan actually didn't want any of the press to know and/or discuss the most tragic elements of the book, so readers wouldn't be influenced in any direction before confronting it themselves. (it's okay to talk about now of course, and anyone should know there are major trigger warnings for death, child abuse, sexual abuse, and pedophilia.) it is a sad book about his earliest years: the complexities and nuances of male power and manipulation, of unimaginable loneliness, of a lost child. alan said it wasn't cathartic to write—that is was indeed very painful—but the vulnerability, the commitment to shirking himself of the painful silence he endured for most of his life, is exceptionally moving. alan's writing can be quite thorough, even flowery, in creating vivid places and images, so so much of the heaviness feels piercing and even disturbing. if you read other comedians' books, a decent majority of them are written in the style of standup or, say, a ted talk — with performance in mind, specific structures and beats that mimic how they'd tell these stories on stage. i would argue this is quite different to that, that while the writing is in a style and structure that benefits being read aloud this is a very different alan to alan the performer. and, very honestly, i'm really not an audiobook person, not to mention listening is a wholly different experience to reading — but the audiobook for this is phenomenal: alan narrates and, while of course it's his story so he'll tell it best, he is a very gentle, thoughtful storyteller. this will be you by chapter 4:

moab is my washpot + fry chronicles by stephen fry — the first and second of his three autobiographies covering some of the most sensational times (stephen is willing to admit) of his childhood and teen years + his rise to fame through the cambridge footlights. these are good reads for 1) stephen fry fans duh and 2) people who can enjoy the inspiration of auden, waugh, wilde, wodehouse, quintessential english writers who inform the foundation of stephen's relationship with literature and appreciation. stephen is painfully honest — and often sorry for it, apologising for what he perceives to be his shortcomings — and you can't help but feel, even early on in the first book, that his view of his own world is somehow even more subjective than everyone else's views of their own worlds. maybe it's because he's so judgmental, maybe it's his oscillating mental health, maybe it's the shocking thrust with which he was confronted with the wideness of the world...i'm not sure, but stephen's life through stephen's eyes is so very stephen-y. i think that's why we love him‚ though i can see some people loathing the less admirable sides of him, which he does show, so don't read this if you want to maintain some image of him that helps you cope or keeps you perfectly entertained. if you're not british, the fry chronicles is an especially good read to scratch some of your anglophilic interests (lotsss of namedropping and backstage chat)!

delicacy: a memoir about cake and death by katy wix — one of my recent faves and another book that isn't thoroughly funny. told in 21 vignettes either centered around or vaguely related to cake, katy talks about her school life, grief and loss, self-esteem and body image, misogyny — in ways that are just...matter of fact...opposed to lessons learned or things she's working on through therapy. she's accepted a lot, but she's also afflicted by a lot to this day; she's capably honest about where her reality stands. for this reason, it can be a bleak and certainly very raw read. i listened to the audiobook for this one, which was nice, but i much recommend the actual written book as the vignettes are in different formats (short story prose, letters, email exchanges) that often anchor time and place, intention, even the little peeks of light of comedy. katy's writing is very lovely, both my heart and mind were touched.

back story by david mitchell — a mildly vulnerable, moderately insightful, and quite humorous exploration of david's up-and-coming years. i really appreciate the premise — due a bad back and sciatica, he begins taking very long walks every day, and these walks trigger memories and anecdotes as he passes certain places — that really doesn't come off as a gimmick. it's a very easy read (or listen) and what i'd consider an uncomplicated, unproblematic bio, but it would be difficult to enjoy if you're only a casual fan of david mitchell or only like him in his most recent dad years, as it was written in his peep show heyday and is so much about those years of his life, his relationship with robert webb, etc. a good intro-to-the-genre book and the very first britcom book i read way back in 2010!

i also really enjoy graham norton's books — especially for the goss, but he's a great writer and his debut fiction novel got quite good reviews! — and tim key's books of poetry, though you really need to be a fan of tim key to read tim key :')

books i do not recommend:

before & laughter by jimmy carr — this book is much less of an autobiography (details are scant and anecdotes are few; it's cute when he refers to karoline as "my girl") and much more a collection of 1) jimmy's interpretation of contemporary comedy and what it means to be a comedian, and 2) how that journey, and his evolving attitudes, shaped him + became advice he would offer to others. this is why he calls the book adjacent to self help & motivational speaking. i don't think it teaches you anything new about him — literally or as an writer — so i don't recommend reading it, though the audiobook (where he's truly performing the writing like a ted talk) is an easy listen. a lot of people will not understand that jimmy is overwhelmingly sincere in regards to all of the topics and personal philosophies the jimmy nearing 50 espouses. he's someone with very studied, thorough personal philosophies (if you've seen him on podcasts talking about his life and career then you'll know just what i mean) and he explains them deftly, but they can feel a bit...how should i say this...flat to people who have heard a lot of it before, in hollywood movies or from their own parents or wherever. he didn't write this just for another stream of income — he is passionate about these conversations and that counts for something. overall i already knew a bit about the guy and didn't need this.

my shit life so far by frankie boyle — i have never read one of frankie's fiction novels (crime is really not my thing, so someone needs to let me know if richard osman's book series is a smash because i'm only going to check them out if i'm convinced to), but as a long-time fan of his, knowing how much of a wordsmith he is, and how intentional he is in everything he says, i was surprised by how dull i found this. his shit life was just that — uninteresting, meandering. his anecdotes may have worked better aloud than on paper, but they didn't grab me. you learn a bit about his young adulthood, but like jimmy he's intensely private and i could feel that distance between us even while reading an autobiography. it didn't work for me, super sad about it :(

can everyone please calm down? by mae martin — instead of criticising this book, i'd rather just make a disclaimer or two. if you are already engaged in queer discourses and dialogues, you are not going to learn very much from this book. both the descriptive writing and presentation of research is "accessible" to the point i'd call it more adjacent to YA than adult literature; if you prefer more creative, complicated, and/or signature writing styles, this book is not for you. if you are a big fan of mae martin and would appreciate an overview of their journey on the identity spectrum (going so far as to even rejecting it, in some capacities) in one place, then this may be convenient — but even then, at this point, it's somewhat outdated. imo a well-intention skip.

phil wang and tom allen are two more i think don't convince me with their writing, but i'm still making my ways through a couple of books and could probably talk more about this later!

i have never made this kind of non-fiction bio a priority on my long reading list, so i still have a lot of exploring and catching up to do, but i'm finding that i do prefer the books that explore the events of comedian's past as well as those that walk the reader through experiences in the comedy & tv industries. there are a lot of books about mental health and identity, which may be more of what many of you are looking for (sara pascoe, fern brady, jon richardson, and more).

okaY PHEW SORRY i always type too much 😒

first, as for david mitchell's new book, you can order it signed from waterstones as they ship to the usa — and it's currently half off!!!!! if you want to buy it unsigned from a usa retailer amazon is cheapest and target & bookshop are the cheapest non-amazon options :) an audiobook is coming out as well, so i do believe i will be able to add that to googledrive before too long, but no guarantees on a good time frame!

you can go here to download any of the ebooks & audiobooks i have on my googledrive!

#a #long post

[mikathemonster]

Hi! Could you please write a dialogue prompt 4 with Thranduil? Thanks!

“the interrogation”

author’s note: of course! this prompt seems very canon as something the elf king himself would say, so i’m excited to dive into this for you <3 I'm gonna stray a little further from my normal way of writing Y/N by making them a person who somehow woke up in their favorite book, “The Hobbit”!

Pairing: Thranduil / Gender-Neutral Human Reader

Word Count: 886

summary: after waking up in the world of your comfort book, you find yourself in the midst of a terrifying power: the Elvenking.

content warnings: I mixed the lore of the book and the movies together for this

DO NOT REPOST OR COPY. MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

Anxiety rushed through your body as your heart seemed to be leaping out of your chest with each beat. You were being led through the twists and turns of some sort of extravagant castle as two elven guards held you firmly by the arms. Where they were taking you, you weren’t sure. A tiny voice in the back off your head wondered if you were dreaming, but the pain from the guards’ grips was more than enough to reassure you that this was your new reality.

How you had come to find yourself in this new world was beyond the comprehension of your mind. The last thing you remembered was being curled up on your soft, worn-down couch while reading your favorite book, "The Hobbit". It was a tale you knew well, as you had read it countless times when in need of a pick-me-up. You hadn't seen all of the movies yet, as you usually fell asleep halfway through the second one, but the book was usually enough to satiate you. It had been another cozy night of reading when you had fallen asleep in the middle of the chapter "Flies and Spiders", and the next thing you knew, you had awoken in some sort of woodland realm!

Oh, how you desperately wished you could return to your cozy couch and your soft blankets, but it seemed those pleasantries were far away from you now, and incredibly out of reach. 

More twists and turns led you to a wide room, all entirely made of tree branches and wood. In the center lied a magnificent throne of ancient antlers, its steps leading down to the space you now occupied. A cold, regal voice cut through your thoughts, and suddenly your eyes shot up to look at the person before you.

"First you have me deal with lowly dwarves, and now there's another? Who are you?" He sat proudly on his throne, and you found yourself speechless at his beauty. His long hair draped over his shoulders delicately as you met his cold gaze. He was like a star, cold and distant and icy. You couldn't believe the sight before you. Slowly, things started connecting in your mind. Dwarves, elven guards, oh no.

This was Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood. And your very life had now been placed in his beautiful hands.

"We found this one an hour ago, reports say they simply appeared in a cloud of smoke before the gates," one of the guards said, and the king's brow tensed. He wasn't happy.

"Some dark magic, then?" He stood, slowly descending the stairs as he approached you. "And yet, you come without weapons or anything other than the clothes on your back. Tell me, who are you?"

"Y/N," you said, finally finding your words. "And you must be Thranduil, King of the elves.” You spoke carefully, treading lightly with your words.

“So you know who I am,” he said. “Good, then you must know of my intolerance for outsiders. Speak quickly of your intentions and perhaps I’ll do you the mercy of imprisoning you.”

“Prison?” You said, eyes wide. Oh no, you couldn’t imagine living the rest of your life in the prisons of Mirkwood.

“I’d speak quickly if I were you,” he warned. “You’re losing my interest, and that is very dangerous.”

You searched your brain for the words to speak, now panicking. “I came here from another realm!” You said, trying to re-iterate your predicament in a fashion that suggested you were much more wise than you found yourself to be. After all, you knew this story like the back of your hand, and it was the only leverage you seemed to have right now. “Another realm filled with scrolls, and I am the reader of those scrolls.”

“What scrolls do you speak of?” He raised his brow, leaning closer.

“Scrolls of the histories of this land. I know the past, I’ve read the present, and I’ve seen the future!” You had no idea where you were going with this; at the very least, you were trying to save the skin on your back. And you were hoping to god that your favorite author’s tomes could help you.

“Such as? Prove to me you’re not some petty liar.”

“You’ve imprisoned Thorin Oakenshield and his company for his refusal to pay you back that which was rightfully yours!” Please believe me, you thought. “He aims to reclaim the Lonely Mountain and defeat the dragon that lies in its depths.”

“So you’re a liar and a spy. Guards, take them away.”

“No, please!” You cried out desperately. “The gems, they were for your wife! The White Gems of Lasgalen!”

The king froze in his place as he returned to his throne. Finally, you thought. Surely you had him now! He raised a pale hand that was decorated with rings, his voice cutting through you as he issued out another order.

“Guards, unhand them.” He said, turning around to face you as he approached. You swallowed hard, your heart thrumming in your chest as everything seemed so unknown right now. Time seemed to freeze as you fell to your knees, your limbs now free.

“It seems that you would know more than I would like,” he chirped. “So enlighten me, Y/N. What else do you know?”

#thranduil #thranduil x reader #thranduil greenleaf #lotr #lotr x reader #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fic #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fanfic #lotr fanfic

[mirkwoodmunson]

there was a wonderful lovely silence

there was a wonderful lovely sound

eddie munson x f!y/n

2.7k words

you spend a cozy night hanging out at eddie’s place

contains: fluff, smut, praise kink, dry humping, stoned sex, pet names tw: cursing, drug use (weed) disc: i do not give permission to share my content outside of tumblr; please reblog and do not repost; my content (even sfw) is not meant for minors; i am not responsible for the media you consume online

Nights like these were your picture definition of comfort; for you, it didn’t get any better. It was late — a weekend, but still too late to be awake yet — however there was an unspoken agreement between you two that staying up later meant seeing each other longer, more time nestled into and absorbing the others’ calming aura. It meant dozing together late into the next morning and staying in bed with each other till the very last possible second.

And it was raining — not torrential, not sprinkling, but a perfect middle — a steady hiss outside the cracked window, the noise of it pattering against other trailers and yard furniture and the tin roof all a white noise in the background. Lightning flickered like a bulb going out in a dark room, a beat of a few seconds…and soft rolls of thunder far off in the distance.

Then inside- inside was, bliss. Just above the dull sound of the rainstorm was your music — yours and Eddie’s — he’d slotted in a tape and rotated to you with a high smile, eager and mutely saying ‘wait. just listen…’ You narrow your eyes curiously and match his smile, wordlessly saying back ‘I’m listening, I’m listening.’ Before hearing what very much isn’t his music, but yours — one of your favorite songs. You grin. He grins back, holding up a finger, ‘just you wait,’ before going back to sitting under your legs at the end of his bed. You both quietly bop along in place, and the song that follows is very much one of Eddie’s — loud and rough as he cackles and starts playing guitar with your leg. He’d made a playlist of both your favorites and that fact alone makes your giggles warmer and smile fonder as he rocks out on your limb.

Eddie’s room was a haven for you both, his bed doubly so, and where you’d usually find yourselves spending time on weekend nights when Wayne worked overtime shifts. His sheets — of course — carried a deep implanting of his scent, and anytime you had the chance you buried yourself in them, breathed it in and masked yourself in it and made sure to carry it home with you when you left. You were sunk into the warm sheets, lay back into his pillows while he carried your legs in his lap and balanced upon them whatever managed to grab his attention. Currently his notebook was laid over your lower extremities, while he hunched over and doodled around a growing column of lyrics. His brown curls hung on either side of his face, ‘perfect chance to just, look at her,’ but your smile admitted you could see his brown eyes admire you from their corners occasionally for minutes at a time. He still looked. You looked too.

~~~~~~~~~

At one point he’d pulled out his Special Tray, a worn floral dinner tray upon which he laid out a few papers and a little pile of loose weed; he opens a small jar and sprinkles in some kief for a bit of an extra kick. The tray sat upon your legs, he begins carefully rolling a few joints while you happily remain still for him, nose buried in a copy of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, both of you humming along to the music and exchanging soft glances here and there.

When he missed your voice, he’d simply peer at you; those big doe brown eyes watching you over the top of your book expectantly, eyebrows lifted. You smile, meeting his eye, and then glance down to your book and read aloud the next few sentences.

“There was a terrible ghastly silence…

There was a terrible ghastly noise…

There was a terrible ghastly silence…”

You give your own dramatic lilt, holding the book in one hand and holding up your other with splayed fingers in matching dramatic gesture. You look at him and his eyes are crinkled and sweet, and his smile is hidden behind the book but it fills and swims in his eyes and even when he looks back down to what he’s doing the expression remains and you find yourself smiling too as you keep reading, heart thrumming.

~~~~~~~~~

He’d made two joints, and the second was just being lit, Eddie the gentleman burning off the tip for you and letting you have the first good hit. He watches you exhale it slowly with his lidded, glassy eyes and he licks his lips, watches the thick smoke plume waft upwards from between your soft lips. You catch his gaze and a slow, sleepy-high smile spreads. You catch his gaze, and Eddie’s heart catches in his throat. He smiles dumbly and can’t look away as he reaches for and keeps missing the joint you hold out to him, eliciting a snort from you.

~~~~~~~~~

The rain patters outside, and the tape player serenades you both. The tray, notebook, and your book have all been set aside on the bed, resting where Eddie had been prior — but now, he’s strewn beneath you where he clutches you to him with a gentle greed, hands splayed against and smoothing over your back with his legs tangled into yours. You lay over him, pressed close, and cradle his head in your arms like it’s the most precious and fragile and most beautiful thing you’ve ever held in your arms because he is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever held in your arms. And right now he questions reality because you are too, and he can’t believe — even still — that he gets to have nights like these at all and share them with you.

You breathe each other’s air and lazily work your mouths, bitter with weed but you’re both drunk on the flavor of the other and it’s sweet nonetheless, getting to consume and bask in each other. Eddie’s mouth is as restless as his hands, tongue dipping in and out of your mouth and licking your lips, teeth teasing and nipping, attention stolen by your neck and cheeks and jaw and chin and eyelids and forehead. Strong, firm hands are steady against your figure but can’t decide where to touch, where to hold you, so they touch and hold you everywhere; fingers dragging down your spine before clutching desperately to the rise of your ass, pulling you into him as he rumbles a groan and slides his hands back up to repeat the process. It leaves you breathless and huffy, his attention, and even while receiving it you whine into his mouth for more,

“please touch me more.”

It’s a growl now, but low and in his chest where you can feel it against yours, and his eyebrows furrow while he attempts to keep calm despite how hard you’ve just made him with four words. With ease he carefully twists you down onto the bed and now settles into you, slotting your thighs together, his hair hiding your faces but unable to mask the sounds of your kisses, the quiet noises of pleasure.

A particular roll of your hips as his lips find the angle of your jaw makes him lose his breath, panting a moan against your skin as one of his hands skips to grab your waist, the other propping himself up on one side of your head. He hisses softly and nips your earlobe, breath hot and puffed against the sensitive skin there.

“Do that again, babygirl, and I’m gonna lose my mind,” his voice is cracked and heavy with a hunger for you, one hand holding you still as his nerves settle.

Oh, no — no this would not do. You whine as Eddie stills you and the kisses pause, your hands slid beneath his band tee and flush against the heated skin of his back, feeling his muscles ripple as he shifts and stiffens above you. You can feel his now fully hard cock against your thigh, a layer of boxers the only barrier, and following that expert rise of your hips you now feel a wet patch of precum beginning to form. Eddie’s own thigh likewise was pressed gently into your crotch, though the lovely pressure is momentarily removed from you against your wishes. You whine again.

“Eddie,” you plead, craning your neck in an attempt to catch his lips, nipping the lower one between your teeth as your hips roll again, trying to find that pressure.

His hold on your hips tightens but he smiles — crooked and endearing as he waits a moment before giving into your want and softly pecks your lips, your cheek, jaw, finding your ear again and exhaling a whisper of a breath against it.

“Shh shh shh, I got you, honey…I got you…”

At his leisure he allows yourselves to find that pressure against each other once more, carefully slotting and pressing yourselves together and picking up a slow, steady rolling of your hips. He feels your cunt, hot and damp against his thigh behind your underwear and God does it drive him crazy to feel you grind it needily into him, pleasuring yourself on him as he does the same to you.

“Fh- fuck, y/n, fuck…”

He lets your waist go and holds your flushed cheeks in his hands instead, while yours clutch the junction just below his ass where his thighs meet it, guiding him to grind his achingly hard cock against the plush inside of your thigh. Your eyes are locked, red and glassy and lost in each other, eyebrows knitting together as the pleasure builds and builds. Always he presses light pecks to your face, lips, watching you beneath him, quietly encouraging you and praising your efforts.

“Goood girl~” He hums. “Getting off against my leg, hm? Fuck… making me hump you while you grind on me… God, you’re such a good girl, y/n.”

You purr a moan in response; his words, the gravely tone of his voice as he utters them, sends a deep shiver down your spine and you feel an ache building in your crotch, making you grind harder, rutting into him in uneven, desperate humps. Your thigh collides more against his cock as he carries on the grinding of his own hips, flexing and shifting beneath him, making him tremble and his hips jerk desperately for something rougher, deeper. But he could wait on that. Tonight you were both sleepy and high and nestled into a comfortable, needy state, just wanting that pressure; just wanting to hold each other and grind and feel that steady build up to an explosion that would send you into an easy deep, restful sleep hidden within each other’s arms.

You feel yourself soaked against him, as well as the growing patch of warm precum and the ridges of his cock as it presses and slides, grinds against your thigh. Eddie moans above you, breath hitching in his throat as he inhales to groan another right against your temple, dropping his forehead against the side of your head as he begins drawing out his thrusts, nuzzling into your hair and breathing you in. You wind an arm around his lower back and bury the other hand into his hair, tugging his face back up and around to meet yours, eyes fixating on each other once more before sliding closed as your mouths find each other again as well.

It’s quiet and tender, eager and desperate the way you writhed together, still mostly clothed and too tired to do anything about it, both of you struck with that deep, aching yearning that often hit when you smoked together; just needing to get off and wanting to help each other through it before inevitably passing out in a nest of hazy arousal.

The tape clicked, finished, now the storm outside the only thing mixing in with your sounds —moaning and whining into each other’s mouths, panting as lightning flickered against the room’s soft illumination, a deep groan from Eddie as thunder rumbles low, your thigh lifting firmly into his crotch. You suck his lower lip and tighten the grip in his hair.

“Fuck, baby, you’re- fuck-“

“Eddie, please,” you whimper beneath him, your head falling back, chest heaving as you breath, squeezing his hips against you as you tremble beneath him.

“Aww, getting tired, babygirl?” He coos at you, before sucking just beneath your chin. “Soo sleepy, hm?”

You let out a long, barely audible whimper, pathetically rocking your quivering hips. He slides his hands to them and easily lifts them, pressing you firmly into his thigh and flexing it.

“High n’ sleepy, always gets you so horny, hm y/n? Makes you so needy, yeah? Makes you want me to touch you?” The tender lilt of his voice asking those questions, the eroticism burns in your crotch and you whine, digging your fingers into the skin of his back and tugging his hair. He laughs, deep and soft, and doesn’t press for an answer — he knows you couldn’t possibly form a coherent sentence right now, and just keeps grinding yourselves together, marring your exposed neck as he does so.

“Your pussy’s throbbing, sweet girl, so fucking wet on me; y’gonna cum? Mm? Gonna cum humping my leg — fuck —like a good girl— my good girl…”

You shiver and moan under him, clinging to his body and rocking with him as he controls your hips, indeed unable to help the pulse of your cunt as the feathery touch of an orgasm teases your senses. You can tell he’s getting close too, struggling to keep a rhythm as he lays sloppy kisses between wavering moans. You pull him in and tuck your head into his neck. Eddie breathes against your ear and the sounds he feeds directly to you bring that deep ache forward and your back arches and your whole body trembles while you mewl into his neck, he holds you tight and mutters his encouragements.

“There you go…that’s it… doing so good, baby… I’ve got you, you can cum…let go, I’ve got you…there you go…” He can barely keep his voice level, though, all of it coming out in a breathy, moaned jumble. His cock was so achingly hard against you…

Your combined sounds grow muffled as you nuzzle and shift further into each other, bodies shivering and tiring as they work against each other, Eddie’s hips humping down onto your thigh as he pulls yours against his; sheets rustling and skin sliding together, the hiss of the rain.

There was a wonderful lovely silence…

Your bodies shudder together, moans catching in your throats as you grate your thighs and crotchets together earnestly, chasing the snap of the coil; a flood of release.

There was a wonderful lovely sound…

You reach it first, body locking up beneath Eddie as you languidly grind your hips, he pulls you in even deeper and nudges his thigh against you, drawing out the shivering moans that you now realize are spilling from you freely while he mouths at your neck, his movement faltering. You feel the room spin around you as the waves of your orgasm flood you. When you begin to hum groggily and catch your breath, tugging weakly at his hips, panting beneath him as you gaze up with dazed eyes, Eddie’s fingers dig into your hips and he smiles dumbly before nosing against your heated skin. His muscles pull taut and his hips jerk into you, as he stutters out a long, deeply satisfied moan and you feel the wet patch against you get warmer and larger; his cock throbbing against your thigh as he cums his boxers.

There was a lovely wonderful silence…

~~~~~~~~~

Eddie is wrapped around your side, face shoved into the crook of your neck and arms wrapped around you, your own curled up into you between your chests, calmed and lifting slowly in time. Eyes closed you just leave yourself in his hair, breathing that scent, breathing Eddie, every inhale calming you further and sending you on your way into that deep restful sleep as you cling to each other. Eddie snuffles and shifts, pulling you in further as you hum softly and pull a bit of his shirt into your fingers.

There was no better sleep than ones like this.

#eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #mine

[marshmallow-bg3]

Roux | Half-Elf (Wood) | Bard/Rogue | He/him | 30ish

Favorite weapon: Crossbows are his true love. Dual-wields small ones. Especially loves the sound of them reloading. It must be a sexually transmitted thing because he picked it up from Gortash and passed onto Astarion.

Most prized possession: Elaborate Reliquary full of notes, books and letters with Gortash's name or handwriting on them, the Prayer for Forgiveness, his own letters to and from Gortash. Yeah, he's moved on. Just about.

Deepest desire: To love and be loved. He's such a romantic idiot. If only Bhaal let him have that, he'd stay daddy's perfect little murderer much longer.

Guilty pleasure: Killing during sex. He doesn't do it anymore because guilty. But gods, the pleasure!

Best-kept secret: He ate a piece of that roasted dwarf in the goblin camp when no one was looking. Cannibalism in general, he keeps it very secret.

Greatest strength: Fast recovery. Both physical and mental - he bounces back pretty quick and carries on. Some trauma never heals, but he doesn't dwell on it.

Fatal flaw: WIS 8

Favorite smell: Engine oil, tobacco and that faint scent of death that Astarion mostly (but not entirely) disguises with bergamot, rosemary, and a hint of aged brandy.

Favorite spell or cantrip: Vicious Mockery, Tasha's Hideous Laughter and Otto's Irresistible Dance.

Pet peeve: Off-key singing or instrument playing.

Bad habit: Picking at his scabs. Would have had way less scars if he just stopped. Drives Halsin mad.

Hidden talent: None. Doesn't have many talents but makes the most of them daily.

Leisure activity: Playing music, singing, songwriting.

Favorite drink: Mermaid Whiskey.

Comfort food: Honey.

Favored display of affection (platonic and/or romantic): Hugs, cuddles, snuggles both platonically and romantically. Romantically: serenading (Astarion rolls his eyes dramatically but secretly enjoys it), love bites.

Fondest childhood memory: When his Lathanderian foster family caught him elbow deep in a jar of honey, but instead of beating he got laughed at, a bath and more honey. He discovered kindness that day. (No one tagged me, I'm just copying others because I want to talk about my OC.

Tagging @surreealism because you should share more about Tallon!

#baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #resist!durge #roux the murderbard #precious little bhaal-babe #marshmallows in faerûn