#might write more for this prompt bc i like it

[idkwhatever580]

More than you’ll ever know

[{pairings: Natasha romanoff x reader}]

{prompt- Natasha comes home from a long mission to find y/n curled up in her hoodie.}

(she/her pronouns I might use they/them in the mix as well. Just whatever I write lol)

[|warnings~ cursing probably. Tad bit of angst not a lot but lots of fluff|]

An; I actually hope this turns out good bc idk what to do if y’all hate it. It’s probably gonna be cringey but I live for that anyways sooo hope y’all enjoy!

————————————————————————————————————————

Nobody’s pov?

Natasha walks into her room and sets her duffel bag down on the floor with a sigh. She immediately looks around for her girlfriend and frowns.

“What the fuck?” She mumbles tiredly.

She takes a good look at her room and sees everything a mess. Trash and clothes everywhere. The sheets are a stray and the floor is covered in dirty laundry. Natasha huffs.

All she wanted was to come home from her week long mission to her girlfriend and the least she expected was a clean room.

She quickly realizes that y/n isn’t in their room and she decides to leave the cleaning for later and switches over to the task of finding her beloved.

She steps into the hallway and says “Friday? Where is y/n/n”

“Mrs. Y/n is in the third floor lounge room ma’am.” The ai quickly replies.

She mumbles a quick thank you and starts her trek to find her girlfriend.

Natasha steps in the elevator and Friday already knows where she wants to go so it starts moving. Natasha stretches her aching muscles a bit and the bell dings.

She steps out to find the lounge in a similar state as their room except for there is a mound of blankets on the couch. She smiles knowing that the amount of blankets y/n uses is unreasonable but cute.

She silently walks to y/n’s pile and slowly uncovers her one layer at a time.

Y/n’s Pov

I am sleeping in the lounge and I feel my blankets being torn away from me.

Okay maybe torn is a bit dramatic but hey I am the girl I’ve always been.

I quickly grab the hand that is above my face to stop them from touching me. Although my eyes are closed I grip their wrist tightly and say,

“If you so dare say one word I’ll have Natasha beat your ass when she gets home”

I hear a familiar chuckle and my eyes open widely and I see my girlfriend. I immediately jump over the edge of the couch into her arms and she says,

“Are you gonna make me beat myself up?”

I glare at her as I pull away from the embrace and then I look around and finally realize how bad it’s gotten.

Usually whenever Natasha leaves I can handle myself but sometimes my mental health gets worse and I find myself unable to get out of bed. So that’s where this has gotten me.

I look at Natasha and she has a concerned look on her face and she says,

“Детка, what’s all this?”

I suddenly break and tears start welling up. I feel awful for having her come home to a depressed mess like me. I quickly try to give her an explanation.

“I don’t know! I- I just stopped picking things up and then next thing I know it’s a whole depression room”

I hide myself in her neck and a few tears fall, but she comforts me and says,

“Oh, Детка, you always know you can ask anybody in the compound for help. Don’t just lock yourself up. Come on. Let’s go to our room and get you in a bath.”

I look down and nod my head. Instead of making me walk she carries me like a koala and I hang onto her tightly.

She gets a bath running and helps me in and then I say,

“You’re not getting in with me?”

She smiles and looks down at me and says,

“I’m gonna do something really quickly okay? I’ll be right back just relax.”

I pout but nod my head nevertheless knowing she probably has to go give some paperwork to Nick or something like that.

After about 10 minutes she comes back in and I smile at her.

“You’re such a cutie”

I say to her. She sits down on the toilet next to me and smiles and says,

“I’m the cutie?”

I nod my head and explain further,

“You’re so baby girl. Like. Just cutie pie.”

Natasha chuckles a bit. Oh god. How her laugh makes me blush. Even after two years of dating she never fails to give me butterflies.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called cute before… most people would say that I’m quite the opposite.”

I pout at her words and quickly quip,

“Well then, I guess most people don’t know you and that’s literally so tragic because if I never met you I don’t know what I’d do.”

She smiles at me and says,

“Why don’t we get you out and let’s watch some movies?”

I hum and get out. She helps me dry off even though I protest she doesn’t let me do it myself, so I just let her do her own thing.

She gets me my favorite pjs and we go to the room and I freeze.

Everything is gone and cleaned. All the trash. All the clothes. I look to Natasha and say,

“Did you do this?”

She shrugs her shoulders and says,

“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.”

I roll my eyes and give her a kiss on the cheek. We get into the bed with fresh sheets on them and I immediately cuddle into her side. She goes for the remote and I shake my head and say,

“I just wanna lay here with you. No tv. No nothing. Just us”

She smiles and nods her head and says,

“I like that idea. I love you.”

I smile and kiss her softly. Deliberately avoiding saying ‘I love you’ back to her knowing it’s a pet peeve.

She pouts and I find it so cute and she says,

“Say I love you back.”

I look at her and say,

“Why?”

She fake gasps and says,

“You have to if you love me! Do you not love me?”

I shrug my shoulders and say,

“Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.”

She pouts at me using her words against her and she says,

“You’re mean.”

I look at her and decide to be nice again so I say,

“And you’re the smartest, kindest, most loving, cutest, person on this earth. I love you so so much more than you’ll ever know.”

She blushes and smiles at me. I look at her and say,

“I’m sleepy”

Then as if on queue, a big yawn comes out from me, and Natasha giggles a bit. She snuggles closer to me if that’s even possible and says,

“Sleep baby. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow”

I groan when I remember that Natasha and I are training together. I’ve gotten out of training with everyone else this past week knowing they’d never make me do anything since Natasha romanoff is my girlfriend, but she won’t let it slide.

I decide to worry about it tomorrow and just focus on the fact that my baby is home and all is well in the world. Even if it isn’t.

——————————————————————————

An: I hope y’all like it! It’s a bit long but I couldn’t find a good place to finish it. And I wanted to add more lol. Please please please leave some constructive criticism for me lol. I need to work on my writing I’m sure. And feel free to leave requests anywhere :)))

#fanfic #avengers #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

[a-little-unsteddie]

sleepless nights

written for @steddiemicrofic’s december prompt, pine. not sure if it makes sense at all, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i think it does and i like it.

wc: 508 || prompt: pine || rating: g || tags: semi-nonverbal!steve, insomniac!steve, pre-steddie

—

Ever since July, Steve often found himself unable to sleep. It wasn’t every night, but it was definitely more of them than he’d ever care to admit. He would lay in bed, staring at the unchanging popcorn ceiling, willing himself to fall asleep, to close his eyes and let sweet unconsciousness take him.

Those nights, it didn’t matter how much Steve wanted it, sleep eluded him. So, instead of laying there uselessly, he would get up and pull on some clothes, grab his bat, and head outside. To the forest.

Mostly, he didn’t pay attention to where he was going, Steve would just wander the woods. He lost himself, most of the time. Zone out, listening to the sounds of the woods around him, letting it soothe the anxiety that more monsters lurked around the pines.

This was one of those sleepless nights.

He couldn’t remember how long he’d been walking, but the moon was high and bright in the sky, casting the forest in a dim light. The steady crunching of the leaves beneath his feet helped him focus on nothing at all, instead letting his attention wander.

“Harrington?”

The sudden voice startled Steve badly enough he prepared to swing at the intruder before logic caught up and he was able to stop himself.

“Woah, woah, woah!” the voice continued in a panicked tone, which Steve thought was understandable, given he was definitely about to swing his nail-studded bat at him.

A figure came into focus in front of him, first the wild hair, then the Hellfire shirt, and Steve knew exactly who had found him.

“Munson.”

“Whatcha got there, buddy?” Eddie asked, voice concerned. Steve blinked slowly and glanced at the bat.

“…a bat.” he explained uselessly.

Eddie hummed, all high-pitched and whiny, “Yeah, bud? What for?”

Steve pondered this for a moment, “..monsters..” he settled on.

Eddie didn’t look relieved at that answer, and held out a hand, “Why don’t I take that from you, sweetheart?”

Steve blinked, looked at the bat, still poised for a swing, and slowly lowered it into Eddie’s hands. The metalhead immediately looked more relaxed, but still concerned about Steve.

“Let’s get you somewhere…not here,” he said, gently trying to coax Steve with him. Unable to really fight back, and not really wanting to, Steve followed his lead.

“What..” he tried speaking, but his voice got stuck in his throat. Eddie looked at him curiously, so he tried again. “Why…in the woods?”

“Nothing important,” Eddie assured, “at least, not more important than getting you out of here.”

“Like your voice,” Steve mumbled, suddenly feeling the exhaustion that had been hidden behind the fear, the unending anxiety that something was still out here.

“Do you?” Eddie asked, effectively distracting Steve from his thoughts. “Luckily for you, I do too.” he said jokingly, before starting to talk about anything that came to his mind. He talked about his band, the nerd club the kids were also in, his uncle, anything to keep Steve distracted.

At least until they got to his trailer.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #pre-steddie #this almost ran away from me #but it didn’t! #this time #might write more for this prompt bc i like it #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie microfic #prompt: pine #unsteddie writing #sleepless nights

[thaliagrayce]

Errand Boy, Assistant, Ambassador

Link: ao3 Pairing: Jason Grace/Nico di Angelo Fandom: Percy Jackson & the Olympians Tags: Pre-Relationship, Role Reversal, Ambassador of Pluto!Jason Grace, Champion of Hera!Nico di Angelo

Word Count: 7,835

Summary:

“Woah!” The other boy righted him and patted his shoulder. “Careful, you might…” The end of his sentence trailed off into nothing as he caught sight of the glower Nico was sending his way. He looked way too normal to be in a place like this. He had blond hair that looked like it was supposed to be short, but had been forgotten about for a while. His eyes were so blue they were almost electric, and they were getting wider and wider as he stared. Nico almost looked behind him to see if there was anything more interesting than a scrawny and hopelessly lost half-blood, but didn’t have time to get too confused. “Nico di Angelo,” the boy whispered.

(or; the first few meetings of Nico di Angelo, Champion of Hera, and Jason Grace, Ambassador of Hades.)

Hey y'all! I know I usually put the content of the fic itself here, but this one is a little long for tumblr, so it's just the link to ao3. Happy Jasico Bingo month! I hope you like it :3c

#jasicobingochallenge2024 #prompt: role reversal #fanfiction #jasico #thunderworld #mj talks #my writing #i liked this idea a lot and i hope you have fun with it too #i really wanted to do a role swap without doing a camp swap or a god swap #bc i think i remember both of those showing up on the prompt list??? i might be mistaken but like i really thought they were there #so i had fun figuring out how i wanted to do that and this is what i came up with :3 #pretty light on the romance but they'll get there eventually #to be clear: they'll get there eventually in my heart. thinking about writing anything more at this point makes my brain hurt

[my-gf-is-kazuichi-soda]

Trans girl Kazuichi x trans boy Gundham

and then Gundham had to get Kazuichi to pull over (I mean they weren't driving that fast and it was the middle of nowhere but you get the idea).

the car is a Datsun 510.

#soudam #kazuichi x gundham #kazuichi soda #kazuichi souda #gundham tanaka #my art #kazuichi is still unlearning traditional gender roles and comp masculinity but she's working on it! #like. she could have just offered to take Gundham on a ride without this idea of ''that's what boyfriends do right?'' she figures it out th #she doesn't think of gundham as ''a girl'' btw she just defaulted herself to ''guy'' by accident. #also the ''I'm around a guy so I have to act masculine" kind of thing creeps up for her and gundham's learning not to feed into that #might make a comic where they have more communication issues but this one was a smoother situation #also I'll work on writing gundham dialogue bc I am always so embarrassed about it. I always feel like he's ooc when I write him :/ #but I was tired and the prompt was cars so this was mostly kazuichi-based. I'll work on gundham next time #this is a different au from my selfship and sondham not a polyship btw #I can tell you right now gundham's earring and the lightning bolt on his face might disappear/reappear bc I keep forgetting them

[toxicrevolver]

Tagged by @serendipminie thanks for the tag!!!

1) Make yourself as a villain

2) Write a simple origin story if you want (etc. what happened to drive you into becoming this way)

Have 2 pics bcs l couldn’t decide if I liked the top layer filter thingy or not. The concept was inspired by the fact I don’t sleep enough. (Heads up my pronouns are it/they hence the use of ‘it’ so often)

After suffering from so many sleepless nights, it finally gave in. It allowed the darkness to overtake them, hoping to finally end its sleepless suffering. But instead, the darkness consumed their soul, turning them into the thing everyone feared. It just wanted sleep, but alas, now they never will.

Now, instead of being tortured, tormented, and ridiculed by the monsters that go bump in the night, it became that very thing. Suffering more and more. Sleep now evading them for all eternity. Its red eyes pierce the darkness, shrouding those who see it in fear. Inky claws reach forward, yet they grasp at nothing, eventually scraping along the walls and floors.

It just wanted to sleep for fucks sake. But now. Now they’re the monster everyone will be raised to fear.

Tagging (no pressure!): @haahka @boysbeloving @loveable-sea-lemon @we-survive-endlessly @rainknow and anyone who wants to participate can blame me if they’d like!

#tag game #hi my wonhyuk friend!!! #about the weirdo who runs this blog #toxic revolver writes #<- that’s my writing tag! #I have some stranger things head canons and stuff in there #also we’re just adding all the tags so I can potentially find this later #the idea seems like it might be cool for a character idk honestly #I may or may not have gotten carried away with the writing bit #I actually love writing so feel free to tag me in more writing things if you want!! #I don’t write nearly enough anymore #idk if I even fit the prompt bcs I feel like I went more monster than villain but potato potahto #also also. #I’m on mobile. if you see any typos you can either let me know or no you didn’t see anything

[baladric]

If you want 2 characters to throw together who have never met may I suggest Csevet and iana?

hold on hold on wait hold up wait a minute wait hold hold on ho—

Csevet was not entirely sure why he was surprised by Iäna Pel-Thenhior. He had met people of much higher influence than this upstart Amaleise composer, even before his precipitous elevation to the position of secretary to the Emperor. He had met people of much greater flamboyancy, too, possessed of much louder voices who baffled and amused him in much the same way. He had met talented artists and could carry a conversation on libretti as well as any musical layman, and had gotten much drunker, much faster with much more scrupulously tailored men.

And so he was not sure what it was, exactly, that surprised him. Or perhaps unsettled was the word.

Pel-Thenhior laughed at some joke of Min Vechin's, his head flung back on his neck, a show of earnest delight, and no, no—there was too much of kinship with Pel-Thenhior for Csevet to label the drifting feeling that had been with him all evening unsettlement. He recognized too much of Pel-Thenhior's manner, too much of the energy coming off of him for anything of that ilk. It was ever so difficult to be wary of a fellow marnis.

"Did you see that horrible little production of Seleno when it toured, the—"

"Oh!" cried Min Vechin, soft hands flying to cover her grinning mouth. "Oh no, yes, yes, with the—"

"The horse!" Their voices played a riotous counterpoint, both of them practically shouting before dissolving into rib-cracking laughter.

Were this a properly formal occasion, rather than a post-performance soirée in the more private of the Court's gardens, Csevet would have left them to it. It helped also that he was slightly soused.

"Was that the one with the tremendous wigs?" Csevet asked, with a gesture meant to encompass girth as well as height.

"The ship wigs!" Pel-Thenhior said—exclaimed, declared, ejactulated. "Yes! Absolutely wretched fucking things!"

"Oh, I hate those," said Min Vechin over the rim of her glass. "Impossible to sing in."

"And absolute murder on the neck," Pel-Thenhior agreed.

"I seem to recall," Csevet said, "that a literal model ship fell out of the soprano's wig mid-duet, and the mid-soprano—Hal... Hmm. Hallelan? Havenan?—"

"Oh no," said Min Vechin, just as Pel-Thenhior said, "Halleïan."

"Mm," Csevet said, sipping at his wine. It was far too sweet, as it had been every other time he had tasted it since switching himself over from the red in the hope of slowing the progression of his drunkenness. He sipped again and applauded himself internally for not grimacing. "Halleïan spent the rest of the scene skittering about, trying to pick up all the pieces of the ship—it broke rather spectacularly on impact—while still carrying her part of the trio right after, and I recall thinking that there was not a chance in the world that she was being paid enough for that."

"We never are," said Min Vechin, far enough into her cups herself that she made a most unbecoming facial expression.

"Please tell me Alffris stepped on a piece," said Pel-Thenhior, naming the vicious excuse for a love interest in the first act of the opera, who was always famously (scandalously) barefoot for the scene that followed. Csevet bit down on a smile.

"No," he said, "but he did accidentally kick a little bit of hull right over the lip of the stage and hit the concertmaster in the eye."

Min Vechin wailed, and Pel-Thenhior roared with a fresh bout of laughter. Csevet had become well-acquainted with the particular pleasure of making his staid, anxious emperor laugh, so he was less effected than he would have once been by the act of reducing such a self-possessed person as Mer Iäna Pel-Thenhior to riotous mirth—but the moment did give him the jolt of clarity he'd been looking for all evening.

Pel-Thenhior laughed, and across the parterre, Othala Celehar's ears lifted. As they had done all evening.

And as Pel-Thenhior sobered—tonally, at least—he shot a golden, glowing glance at the othala in turn. As he had done all evening.

Ah, Csevet thought. So it was not Pel-Thenhior that had surprised Csevet, but whatever that was—subtle enough to be getting on with, but not quite so to have escaped Csevet's finely-tuned buggery barometer. (As Basreiët called it.)

Csevet scanned the small gathering until he found Cala Athmaza, lanky and tragically sober at Maia's back. He lifted a pale eyebrow in query, to which Csevet replied by darting his gaze between Pel-Thenhior and Othala Celehar, and smiled smugly. Cala’s eyes narrowed.

Finally, Csevet’s depressingly unfaltering romanticism had done him a service—there was love even for downtrodden, withholding othalas with uncomfortable callings, and Csevet was about to win ever so much money.

"Now I don't mean to pry," Csevet said, swirling his wine in anticipation of stirring the shit. "But I've heard that opera people tend to have very polarizing views on the works of Mer Mezhaär."

Iäna Pel-Thenhior's howl would have put the Wolves of Anmura to shame.

#csevet aisava #iäna pel-thenhior #tge #the goblin emperor #witness for the dead #this one might actually be nothing but I HAD FUN #thank you anon i love you and am kissing you on both cheeks #if anyone needed to know why i don't write about iäna more #it's bc i cannot turn my opera brain off and it gets insufferable SO fast #the writing tag #prompt fill #ask #anonymous ask #the backstory on this is iäna got invited to premiere his latest opera at the ceth'opera for maia specifically and the court in general #maia was VERY excited to meet him and everyone else was like well yeah ok now we have to make this happen

[sengenism]

just realised how i usually dislike or feel indifferent about shounen mcs but senku and gon hxh are the only ones who actually manage to enter my top fave characters of their respective fandoms... they're so well written

#like i dont consider every other character in dcst well written tbh theyre quite one dimensional #but it doesnt affect their likeability to me i still enjoy their characters v much #me being a danganronpa fan might play a part actually dcst characters r all talent based like them #but senkus the only dcst character who has rly good writing imo and im so glad for that #hes so hopeful but not in a way that i find annoying idk #he has such a deep trust in humanity despite his character being all like ughhh affection ugghh i only care abt science #but he loves humanity so much and i just RAHHGHHH cant relate but it makes me want to believe in it too #i wanna reread dr stone but i dont rly have time but i wanna re-experience that hope #senku's relationship with his dad.... the way his dad struggled for the future bc he believed in his son #and as for gon i could never be a gon haterrrrr #like ppl hate him for his selfish tendancies but that just makes him more unique to me #he is like. 10 and now 12. dudes a child he does things based on his emotions yeah #the way he lacks the gift of discernment bc of his childlike manner and all #just makes him better #rant post ig bc i rmbr i have this acc and now instead of annoying my irls w my talks and i can speak to the void here #what prompted this was seeing one of those x > y twt post involving senku #LIKE DO NOT SPEAK ON HIMMMM

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <3

#more of the same today :3 #basically more of the event in hsr and then whatever i wanna do #but yeah it's sunday so breakfast day :D #might find a prompt list or something when i try to write bc I'm struggling for ideas #tempted to like bullet fic the wedding one (either as a in-between step or the final product) #bc i want something for it (i'll announce the date... likely sometime this week) #but my brain's struggling to write rn so it's likely a good compromise #anyways #i hope you'll have a good day/night!! <3 #morning rambles

[yeonban]

If I was the police or some other organ of justice and this was the guy I kept failing to catch even after he willingly walked into the highest security prison on Earth to talk to his bestie I would simply hand in my resignation and join him

#muse: nikolai gogol. #Kolya is continuously alternating between giving me depression the likes of which no one has ever experienced before #and making me wonder if depression is even real bc looking at him puts me in such a good mood that sadness might as well be a myth #That said there IS one thing that was put on Earth just to cause me misery and it's my exam paper due in 2 days that I need to write Today #I'll probs be reaaally scarce the next um. 2? 3? days or so. BUT AFTER THAT. /AFTER THAT/. say goodbye to your peace #Btw feel free to send me more stuff for Kolya (prompted or not) bc my bday gift is every single book from irl Gogol's works #so you can imagine how much muse I'll have for him bc reading those will be the first thing I'll do w my free time!

[oatbugs]

please delete your philosophy gpt-3 post. it's most likely stolen writing.

philosophy?? idk which one you're referring to sorry. also no . if it's the poetry one, see in tags. actually see in tags anyway. actually pls look at my posts on AI too . sorry if it's badly worded i'm very tired :')

#GPT3 is a large language model (LLM) and so is trained on massive amounts of data #so what it produces is always going to be stolen in some way bc...it cant be trained on nothing #it is trained on peoples writing. just like you are trained on peoples writing. #what most ppl are worried about w GPT3 is openAI using common crawl which is a web crawler/open database with a ridiculous amt of data #in it. all these sources will obviously include some published books in which case...the writing isnt stolen. its a book out in the open #meant to be read. it will also include Stolen Writing as in fanfics or private writing etc that someone might not want shared in this way #HOWEVER . please remember GPT3 was trained on around 45TB of data. may not seem like much but its ONLY TEXT DATA. thats billions and #billions of words. im not sure what you mean by stolen writing (the model has to be trained on...something) but any general prompt you give #it will pretty much be a synthesis of billions and billions and billions of words. it wont be derived specifically from one stolen #text unless that's what you ask for. THAT BEING SAID. prompt engineering is a thing. you can feed the model #specific texts and writings and make sure you ask it to use that. which is what i did. i know where the writing is from. #in the one post i made abt gpt3 (this was when it was still in beta and not publicly accessible) the writing is a synthesis of my writing #richard siken's poetry #and 2 of alan turing's papers #im not sure what you mean by stolen writing and web crawling def needs to have more limitations . i have already made several posts about #this . but i promise you no harm was done by me using GPT3 to generate a poem #lol i think this was badly worded i might clarify later but i promise u there are bigger issues w AI and the world than me #feeding my own work and a few poems to a specifically prompt-engineered AI #asks #anon

[noahtally-famous]

looking through my ideas and pairings for the rarepair prompts and I just realized I don’t have a single heterosexual pairing

#idk whether to add one in just so I hit all grounds or not #emwayne was one of my pairings for one of the prompts but since i havent watched all of the reboot i dropped it #it's just yaoi and yuri going on round and round #and i've so many ideas too like it's to the point where if i have time i might do more than one prompt listed for a particular day #anyway im rlly excited for this im just hoping i have time and motivation and drive to write them #instead of just rotating the ideas in my head lmao #they're all different pairings too. but some of the characters will be the same for more than one prompt bc im an avid multishipper ghjdkhf #im just. rlly excited thinking of some (all) of my ideas!! #kit speaks #noahtally-famous #kit stuff

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

Whumpay Day 15: self-hatred

late s3 (idk what the timeline is like tbh, but according to fandom wiki page on Holly, Pusher happened in November of 1995??) | tagging @today-in-fic and @whumpay2022, tysm! :D

Scully is alone in the office in late February, 1996, when there's a hesitant knock at the door. It's Saturday, she's already got plans for the weekend — she's meeting up with Mulder tonight to catch him up on the case she's been studying while he was out complainingly recovering from a sprained ankle, then dinner with her mother tomorrow, because it's her birthday and Maggie wanted to do something. She only came into the office to collect some of her things that she'd forgotten the evening before, then got distracted trying to organize the scattered papers across the desk.

(She would love to blame Mulder for that, but the fact is that she leaves things behind, often untidy, almost but not quite as much as he does. It's a gamble as to which of them will eventually tidy things, though, and to how they'll be organized.)

She looks up, surprised to see someone else down here on a weekend, with the beginnings of a reproach on her lips if Mulder has decided to come in when he'd been expressly told — ordered by Skinner, Scully, and another doctor who'd agreed with her — to stay out of the office at least until Monday. Instead, Scully is surprised to see another agent she recognizes standing in the doorway and looking like she was about to head home.

Holly Patton is willowy and dark-haired and gentle, and her unassuming nature and soft face would make her a good undercover agent if she weren't just as soft-spoken. Instead, she excels at the work she does in the Computer Records office. Scully has spoken with her a few times at mixers, or when relevant to a case; she interviewed the slightly younger woman when she was a victim of Robert Modell back in November. Now, prim skirt suit covered by a grey wool coat and a bag slung over her shoulder, Patton looks more casual than Scully has ever seen her, and distinctly out of place.

"Agent Patton," she says, surprised. "I didn't expect to see you here." She didn't expect to see much of anyone here, seeing as most people working today are tucked away in cubicles or haunting their bullpens.

Patton smiles and tentatively steps into the office. "You can call me Holly," she offers. "I'm not a field agent, after all."

"Alright." Scully smiles, ignoring her instinct to comment that field agents aren't any more important or respectable than those who spend their careers in the Hoover building.

Holly glances curiously around the office for a moment, then looks back at Scully. "It's your birthday tomorrow, right?"

Scully blinks. "Yes," she replies, and her quizzical look must give her away because Holly quickly shrugs and offers a sheepish smile.

"I work in records," she offers in explanation, and Scully nods, suddenly understanding a little bit. "Anyway, I um... I saw your car in the garage and wanted to come down and say happy birthday, and also thank you."

"Thank me?" Scully blinks, confused.

Holly adjusts the bag on her shoulder — fairly new, by the looks of it — and nods. "For being so compassionate after what happened with Robert Modell. I don't really understand what you and Agent Mulder do down here, but you stopped that man, and-" she hesitates. "And you were very kind to me."

Scully glances back down at the stack of unorganized papers she'd forgotten she's been holding, taps them on the desk to straighten them out, and sets them down. "Of course," she replies. "Nothing that happened was your fault, Holly."

"I know that," Holly says quickly, like she's still not sure of it. Scully suddenly thinks of Mulder flinching away from her touch after the events of that case like he thought he didn't deserve it. "But it felt like it was. I took a week off work just to try and deal with it because I felt so ashamed of what I did to A.D. Skinner." She hesitates to meet Scully's eyes, but eventually she does. "You told me several times when you questioned me that it was okay and I shouldn't hold any of it against myself, but I still did. I thought it was my fault for letting him control me. But then I thought, you know, if Agent Scully who doesn't even believe in mind control like that is believing and is telling me I'm not to blame for it..." She trails off with a shrug, and Scully stays quiet, listening. "I wanted to come talk to you before," she admits, "But I never had a good enough reason until now."

Scully bites her lip, thinking. "Thank you for that," she says quietly, because she's not sure what else to say.

She's never really considered her impact on others, only thinks of helping them; especially with others at the FBI, she mostly thinks of the too-common animosity toward Mulder. She thinks maybe she doesn't take into account enough those like Holly, or Agent Pendrell, or even Skinner. Their battle isn't meant to be against others; it's meant to be for others.

"You don't need a reason, though," she adds. Holly looks at her, confused. Scully smiles. "You're welcome to come down here anytime you want, even just to talk." She wants to remind her again that what Modell did to her wasn't her fault — she and Mulder had certainly been over that enough, and she has no taste for victim-blaming, even self-inflicted — but she doesn't; it's not the time, and she thinks, hopes, Holly already knows.

Holly returns her smile, brightening noticeably. "Okay," she says. "Maybe I will." She turns to leave. "Thank you again," she adds, pausing. "And I hope you have a really good birthday."

"Thank you," Scully says again, as she watches her leave as quietly as she came. Maybe that's all there really is to say.

#so. number one: i adore holly. she's my precious innocent child. #number two: scully trying to navigate interactions with other women is SO FUNNY #and number THREE: she and holly seem pretty familiar when they talk in gethsemane/redux i and like. I'm v attached #to the idea of them lowkey being friends #scully needs more friends and holly seems like a good one #so i wanted to kind of take a look at how that friendship might have developed #also i wish we saw more of holly in the show shdjdnsnsn she was a sweetie #this is my love letter to this very minor character but i do badly at outside povs so i kept it in scully's #and tbh she's. quite obsessed with mulder at this point shdjdnsj. #it's a holly story but with msr throughout #this is only loosely the prompt but like... Holly having some self-hatred after everything w/ Modell bc somehow she blames herself #for letting him get inside her head #Lu writes #whumpay2022 #txf #the x files #txf s3 #ish... the timeline is weird tbh #dana scully #holly patton #fox mulder #msr #(in spirit) #txf fanfic

[thecreelhouse]

ok wow hi hello new followers!!! pls read the read before following link in my bio if you haven’t yet!!! thank u for a warm welcome back 2 fic posting wow!!!

#i’ve been a part of this fandom since the first season but haven’t posted fic for it till after s3 dropped #so it’s wild anything of mine got 200 notes in a day??? #happy y’all like the lil prompt!!! 🥹💜 #i have a non smut one coming up that’s more hurt/comfort but i might not get to it for a lil while bc of plans coming up but !!!! #feels so good to write again even if it’s silly smut

[aaaghhhhhh]

politely ignoring chap 1081 as i write a fluff-ish Polar Tang snippet for daily prompt 12. the snippet ends at Punk Hazard and nothing bad happens after, ever

#oda is fucking allergic to letting law have happiness this fucking sucks man #also im still behind on the prompts bc day 12 exploded and i didnt have time to do 13 as well #shit. today 13. metaphors and smiles. 100 words. doable. #14 is uh. prompt is 'romantic'. idk what 2 do. i might just write more lawcav fic and be like: yeah. thats romance. they kiss #also bc i miss lawcv fic daily prompts are pulling me away bc i got behind. saadddddd.

[evielmostdefinitely]

Your writing is insanely good!! I desperately need more of jealous/possessive young!snow making it clear to reader that she’s his and only his. bc “If you ever let another man touch you, I would cut his fucking hands off on the steps of the Capitol Building for everyone to see.” floored me

jealousy, jealousy |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: as requested above, coriolanus is jealous. briefly mentions jealous girl so tagging it here for those to read.

contains: dark, possessive, jealous coriolanus. established relationship. slight manipulation (it's coriolanus).

You were being polite, he knew that. These things were boring and you were simply finding a way to keep yourself occupied, the rational side of Coriolanus told himself that as he watched you from across the room. 

Vulcan was simply a friend, the two of you had gone to Academy together, all through primary and secondary schooling. His family was on the council, which meant your schooling would have been together. Coriolanus didn’t despise him, tolerated him, truly. He thought he was respectable and well mannered, and gave lots of funds to his cause. 

Why did he have to touch your arm like that?

Corio’s grip was so tight on his glass he was sure it would shatter between his hands, cut his palms, slice the skin and trail blood all over the white, marble floors. He had half a mind to do it, maybe that would pull your attention back to him. Have you by him doting and fussing over him, cleaning the glass out of his wounds, bandaging him up because he trusted no one but you. 

Your laugh was crystal, trilling through the air straight to his own heart. How bitter it made him that he wasn’t the one making you laugh. 

Instead, you were laughing with your school friends, Vulcan the center of your attention, entertaining you. 

“Pardon me,” Coriolanus nodded to Dr. Gaul and the others, passing his glass to an Avox. “I must go see the Mayor.” He bowed out politely, always poised, even when his belly was burning with jealous rage. 

He bypassed the Mayor, heading for you instead. “Oh,” Your friend saw you before he did. “President Snow.” She smiled, nudging you gently. 

You turned, and for a moment, Corio’s jealousy was wiped away. Your dazzling smile, eyes lighting at the sight of him. It made his own heart flutter. “Darling,” You greeted, reaching your hand out for him. “Are you finished?” 

Coriolanus could tell the champagne had taken its toll on you, loosening you more than he would have necessarily liked. He chose not to mention it, taking your hand politely, pulling you to him gently. “For now, I just have a break.” Corio muttered, eying the man in question, Vulcan, who had taken a step back. 

“Vully,” You grinned, your gaze leaving him. Corio bristled at the loss of your attention, even more at the nickname. How dare you? “You must tell Coriolanus the story. He’ll find it so amusing.” 

“Oh, I’m sure he has his own that would rival mine. He mentored the games with Lucy Gray.” Vulcan said politely. 

“No, you must tell the story.” You insisted with a grin. “Corio, Vulcan was in the games after yours, and he had to mentor the feral child from District Ten-” 

“-I hate to interrupt.” Coriolanus gritted, teeth bared in a tight smile he tried to pass off as genuine. “But I need you for a moment.” He looked down at you, hand wrapping around your bicep firmly. 

You frowned, lower lip jutting just slightly. “Oh,” You deflated. Coriolanus was sure he might kill the man in front of him, who still looked at you with the watchfulness of a hawk- a predator. How you were missing this, Corio wasn’t sure, but he’d protect you from it. 

“Excuse us. We’ll be right back.” You smiled softly at your friends, lifting the train of your dress, stepping with Coriolanus. 

“Where are we going?” You frowned, clutching his arm to steady yourself, walking through the doors. “Who are we meeting?” 

“You’re drunk.” Coriolanus hissed, jaw clenched in fury. 

You frowned, looking up at him carefully. “I’m not drunk.” You protested. “I only had two glasses-” 

Corio scoffed, his hand tightening around your arm. “Two? Were they spiked then?” His eyes narrowed at the thought, cutting down to you. “Did you get them yourself or did he get them for you?” 

“Did who get them? Corio, please,” You pulled back on his grasp with a whine. “You’re hurting me.” 

Corio loosened his grip, pulling you into an empty hallway. “Did he give you those drinks? What have I told you about taking anything from people? They want to hurt us, hurt me, and they know that if they go for you-” 

“Coriolanus,” You snapped, cutting off his erratic ramblings. “Please, I-I did not take a drink from anyone. I got it from my private bottle, poured it myself.” 

Corio’s chest still heaved, the burning wildfire coursing through his veins. He felt primal need, furious anger that raged through him in a way he hadn’t felt since his days with Lucy Gray. When he was so insecure, so unsure- when he attacked the man at her show, beat him on the stage for touching her. That seemed tame compared to what he wanted to do for you- what he had done for you. 

“What’s the matter, my love?” You hummed, cupping his cheek gently. “Why are you upset? Is it the Heavensbees, I told you my father said he’d speak to them-” 

“-No, it’s not-” Coriolanus huffed, pulling away, hand rubbing down his face in exasperation. He tried to keep from shouting at you, always feeling sick after. He took a breath, composing himself. 

“Were you talking about Vulcan?” You asked, looking up at him, even as he avoided your gaze. “You think Vulcan would poison me?” 

“Maybe not poison but drug you.” Coriolanus sneered at the mention of his name. “Get you unconscious and take advantage of you. The way he was all over you, you can’t say I’m far off.” 

Your mouth rounded in clarity, biting back a smile. Coriolanus was jealous. Positively green with envy- well, more red, with the flush creeping up his neck.

“Corio,” You hummed, holding his hand in yours, purposefully pressing the band of your ring into his skin. “Vulcan is just a friend. We’ve grown up together.” 

“I’m not sure he knows that.” Corio spat, squeezing your hand back. “Entertaining you like that. Flirting.” He scoffed in disgust. “Down right inappropriate doing that with a married woman.” 

“He wasn’t flirting.” You rolled your eyes at his dramatics.

“Oh?” Coriolanus countered in challenge, brows raised in feigned amusement. “He was just touching you then for… what? Friendliness?” 

You blushed under his gaze, Corio towering over you, stepping towards you until you were pinned to the wallpaper, his icy gaze holding you there. 

“If I recall, my beloved, you were quite upset when a friend of mine touched my arm. Nearly clawed her eyes out, causing a scene until I had to drag you out of the library because you were so upset.” Corio’s voice was dark, rasping with that gruff tone that had you throbbing, tummy flipping with rushing heat, cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

“That-That was different.” You stuttered, avoiding his gaze. 

Corio’s finger hooked under your jaw, pulling your eyes back to him. “Was it?” He tilted his head to the side, a predatory look in his eyes. You wanted to drop to your knees right there. “So the rules don’t apply to you?” 

“Corio, I-I wasn’t purposefully trying to upset you.” You huffed in exaspiration. You really weren’t, you didn’t even know that it had upset him so greatly. 

“Neither was I, but that didn’t stop you from being furious with Clemensia, did it?” Coriolanus lifted a brow, head tilting in challenge. 

Your nose scrunched at the mention of her name, lips twisted in disgust. “No,” You grumbled, looking away from his eyes. “Corio, don’t be mad at me. I didn’t know it upset you. I thought it was innocent, truly. Vulcan is just a friend. You know my heart belongs to you only.” 

“It might have been innocent for you, but I don’t trust him.” Coriolanus gritted, pressing you against the wall. “I want you to be careful, my love. You know the dangers of the world. We never know who’s conspiring against us.” 

“I know, Corio.” You whispered softly, eyes rounding so sweetly up at him. “I’ll be careful. I’m sorry.” 

Corio’s thumb brushed over your cheek softly, smiling at you- your heart skipped with joy. “You’re mine. You know that?” 

“Of course,” You hummed sincerely. “I wouldn’t want to be anyone but yours.” 

Those words, the look in your eye, it drove Coriolanus right over the edge. Hands cradled around your jaw, he kissed you with fever, body pressing right up to your own. His hands roamed over the silk material of your dress, squeezing, grabbing anything he could. 

You squealed with delight when he pushed you into your shared bedroom, dragging you down the halls of the Capitol mansion until he reached your private wing. He practically pounced on you, holding you so close to his own skin. Sucking deep brusises into your jaw and neck, each mark a new claim- mine, mine, mine. 

He’d make a call later, wire funds to someone who would ensure that Vulcan was dealt with. You’d hear of the news and run to him, rambling and upset about how he was right, how you didn’t know how you missed it. He’d soothe you, remind you that’s why he was here for you- to look out for you. Your father would approve even more so, another round of donations poured right into his funds, helping build his legacy. For now, Coriolanus was content between your legs, feeling you underneath him- the way you whined, squirmed, clawed at him. How you babbled his name over and over- begged for him, and for him only. His perfect girl, for no one else.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #tbosas #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x oc #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x capitol!reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus x you #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x you smut #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #tbosbas x reader #tbosas x reader #peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x reader #president snow #young president snow #tbosbas fic #ficrec #tbosbas #thg series #thg #the hunger games

[ghosttotheparty]

saw this prompt @newgrangespirals @steddieas-shegoes; needed to write it but also i kind of derailed it bc my brain has a mind of its own and its focus is steddie so i apologize also on ao3

He’s met with silence. 

Eddie supposes Murray Bauman must only ever be met with silence after speaking; he doesn’t seem the type of man to hold an easy, casual conversation. Especially now. 

Even Argyle is silent, his fork stalled on its way to his mouth as he looks from Murray to Jonathan, whose face is red, then Nancy, who’s equally flushed. 

Eddie looks at the table, his vision blurring. His hands are shaking.

“Murray,” Joyce says in a lethally calm voice. Eddie had forgotten she was here. “Go.”

“What do you mean, go?” Murray says, his voice quieter like he’s starting to sense what he’s just done. “We’re in—“

“Murray,” Joyce snaps. Eddie flinches. His fingers are knotting with the hem of the tablecloth, his food uneaten on his plate. “Go. I will deal with you later.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Murray’s chair scrapes across the uneven tile floor, and his footsteps retreat. And then there’s silence again. Tense, tense silence. 

“Steve,” Nancy says quietly, and Eddie looks up at her, glaring even though she hasn’t done anything to him. Jonathan looks at her too, anxious. Joyce sips her water, her hand shaking, and Hopper has his head down, his face hidden in his hands. 

“I’m good,” Steve says shortly, and Eddie looks at him, his stomach flipping. Steve is smiling a little, but it’s an awful smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He pushes his plate away with a breath like he feels just as sick as Eddie does, and he nods, but he doesn’t look like he’s really here. “I’m…”

“Steve, it— it wasn’t—“

“You told him my name,” Steve snaps, looking at her across the table, his eyes wide. Nancy looks like she’s going to start crying, and Eddie finds that he really doesn’t care if she does. “And you still…”

He laughs. Dryly, humourlessly. Eddie feels like he might throw up. 

Steve closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose the way he does when he feels a migraine coming on, and he laughs again. 

“Steve—“ Jonathan tries to say, but Steve just holds his hands up, shaking his head. 

“I’m just…”

He pushes his plate farther away, moving his chair back with a loud scrape, and then he’s leaving too, going upstairs. Eddie watches him go, watches Robin get up to follow him before she deflates, seeing the way Steve gestures for her to stay, to leave him alone. Robin’s hands are shaking, and Eddie can practically feel the anger radiating from her. 

The silence is back after a door slams upstairs. 

Joyce sets her glass down loudly, and she puts her hands flat on the table next to her plate, taking a deep, shaky breath. Hopper says her name softly, but she holds a hand up, shushing him. 

“I have never…” she starts slowly, her voice shaking with anger. “I have never been more disappointed in my life.”

“Mom—”

“Jonathan,” Joyce snaps, fixing a look on him, and he falls quiet. “…I did not raise you to be the other man. And Nancy, I…” She puts her hands on the table again, taking a measured breath before she looks at Nancy. “I am not your mother, but I think I am well within my rights to say I’m disappointed in you, too.”

“Ms Byers—”

“I don’t want to hear a word out of either of you,” Joyce says calmly before she touches her face, rubbing her chin anxiously as she stares at her plate in front of her. Nobody is eating anymore. Eddie still feels sick, but he also feels like he’s blended into the wall, like everybody’s forgotten that he’s here at all.  He looks at the table, at the fraying tablecloth that’s clutched in his fingers. 

“Unbelievable,” Joyce mutters to herself. “I can’t…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Nancy takes a shuddering breath. She might be crying. 

“Eddie, dude.”

Eddie looks up, his eyes meeting Argyle’s. He’s looking over at Eddie anxiously, his head tilted a little bit, and as they look at each other, the others look at Eddie too. And suddenly he isn’t in the wall, but he’s the centrepiece of the table, the showstopper, the freak. 

It’s like they all remember what Murray said at the same time. 

“Eddie,” Joyce says, her voice softer than it was a moment ago. Kinder. Eddie looks at her. “Honey, if… if it is true. None of us have any problem with it.”

If it is true.

They all know it is. Eddie can tell just by looking at them that they all know. 

He feels so… small. Like he’s fifteen again. Like he’s new in high school, like he’s walking down the hallway and feeling all the stares, the eyes and eyes and eyes looking, watching, analysing, judging. Even though Joyce’s gaze is kind, and Hopper gives him a slight nod when their eyes meet. 

Eddie’s chest feels so tight he can’t breathe, each breath shallow and weak, and he’s kind of lightheaded, and he feels fucking nauseous. 

“I, uhm.” He clears his throat, his stomach churning, and he untangled his fingers from the tablecloth, taking a sharp breath. “Excuse me,” he says quickly, breathlessly, moving his chair back so fast it tips on the uneven tiles. He feels like he might pass out as he goes upstairs, hearing Argyle say something quietly behind him.

Upstairs feels even quiet than downstairs. Like every room could have an echo. 

Eddie finds a room that’s empty except for some cardboard boxes, and he shuts the door behind himself before he goes to the opposite side of the room, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to the wall. It’s cold. 

He’s breathing too fast, and his head feels light, like if his eyes were open his vision would be dark. He wraps his arms around himself tightly, squeezing as he exhales until he wheezes, until there’s nothing in his lungs, and then he inhales as slowly as he can. In, in, in, until he can’t anymore. He holds it. Exhales. Does it all over again. 

Until he can breathe without suffocating. 

He turns to rest his back on the wall, and he slides down to the floor, closing his eyes and pulling his knees to his chest, exhaling shakily. 

He’s never felt like this before. 

He feels so… lonely. 

He feels almost cold, even though sunlight is streaming through the window, beams of golden light glowing across the floor. 

He cries. Even though he tries not to. He can’t help it, and the tears are absorbed by the sleeves of his hoodie. 

Steve’s hoodie. Eddie hates that he’s wearing it, even though Steve brought it just for him. Even though Steve specifically made sure he brought a black one, even though it smells like Steve. Eddie hates that Murray noticed that it’s Steve’s. 

He stays there for a while. Until the sunlight dims. 

He only lifts his head when the door breaks open, and Steve’s voice says, “Eddie?”

Eddie stands quickly, wiping his face and sniffling as Steve finds him and shuts the door behind himself. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, his voice wavering. “You okay?”

Steve nods. He doesn’t look like he’s been crying, but his eyes are shining blankly. And Eddie aches. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really have to. Steve blinks at him, hesitating. 

“I kind of already knew,” he says like it’s a question. “I just…” He exhales, swallowing, and Eddie knows he’s talking about Nancy and Jonathan. It. “I, like, convinced myself I didn’t care? That it— it didn’t matter?” 

Eddie listens, leaning against the wall, watching Steve push his hair back anxiously. 

“I mean— the world was ending, who gives a shit if— if I get cheated on? It’s so fucking stupid.” He doesn’t seem to realize he’s even talking to Eddie. He’s just talking. Saying what he didn’t say downstairs. “But I’m so… Jesus. Hearing it out loud, like— like Murray was fucking proud, like it was funny, I’m just… I don’t know.”

Steve deflates, leaning against the door, looking at Eddie, and his eyes are shining. 

“Embarrassed?”

“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, Steve,” Eddie says softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“...I trusted them,” Steve says quietly, weakly. 

“You trusted them,” Eddie repeats. “What they did is their fault, Steve, you didn’t do anything wrong. Trusting them wasn’t wrong,” he adds adamantly, watching the way Steve’s eyes shine. “You thought they were— they were trustworthy. You didn’t know they’d do something like that.” 

Steve sniffs, looking at the floor. His cheeks are flushed, and Eddie hates himself for thinking he looks beautiful. 

“You have every right to feel hurt,” Eddie says gently. Steve looks at him. He swallows. “And to feel angry.”

“What about you?” Steve asks quietly after a moment. Eddie blinks. 

“What about me?” 

Steve looks at him. His eyes flick back and forth between Eddie’s for a moment, intent and searching before he speaks. His voice is so soft. Kind. 

“He just outed you in front of all of us,” he says quietly. “You’re not angry?” 

Eddie blinks again. 

Steve looks at him so kindly. Eddie likes being looked at like this. Like Steve is listening to him even though he isn’t speaking. And Eddie realizes that Steve just knows, that he doesn’t question it. That he knows how Eddie is feeling, but is waiting for him to say it himself.

Eddie’s lip quivers, and he feels like a child again. 

“I…” He hesitates, taking a breath as a wave of nausea washes over him again. Steve just looks at him. “I’ve never come out to anyone,” he says weakly. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. “I’ve never gotten the chance to. My— My dad found some zines in my room when I was fourteen, and I didn’t… I didn’t have to say anything.” His voice is shaking. He’s never told anyone about this, not even Jeff. “The only time I ever heard that man say anything about God was when he was trying to beat the queer out of me,” he says, laughing the way Steve laughed downstairs. Humorless. Almost hysterical. “And he— he called Wayne to tell him everything because he…” 

Eddie trails off, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. 

“I told myself no one would ever know when Wayne took me in, but I swear it was like overnight, the whole town knew,” he chokes. “Because of— of my hair, or my clothes, or— or because people associate queerness with evil and— and Satanism, I don’t fucking know, but everyone knew and I…” 

He covers his face, his face hot with embarrassment as a sob escapes him, and it feels so stupid to be so upset right now, but Steve just waits patiently, listening and looking at him. 

“People keep taking it,” Eddie chokes, his face wet with tears now, looking at Steve desperately. “It’s mine, and people keep taking it from me.” 

Steve nods. 

And then he’s coming close and wrapping his arms around Eddie, and Eddie is crying into his shoulder, his hands clutching at Steve’s shirt the way they clutched at the tablecloth earlier, his fingers gripping the fabric so tightly his knuckles ache. He’s shaking. But Steve’s hands feel steady as they run over his back, and Eddie wants to die. 

Because Murray told them to have sex. And Steve is still here, holding Eddie while he cries, even though he knows Eddie is gay, even though Murray told the whole table that Eddie likes Steve, that it’s so painfully obvious that he likes Steve. That he’s pining, yearning. 

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his face into Steve’s neck, his shoulders shaking as he sobs, and Steve moves a hand to hold the back of his head, his fingers pressing into Eddie’s curls to cradle his skull. And it’s almost fucking tender, and Eddie doesn’t know how he got here. Or where he’s going to go. 

Steve is murmuring to him. Quiet I got yous and It’s okays, his voice breathy and soft in Eddie’s ear. Eddie melts against him, and Steve holds him tightly, swaying with him, rubbing his back and scratching his fingertips over his scalp carefully the way he does when Eddie has nightmares. 

Eddie whines into his neck, choking on his breath, and Steve’s arm tightens around his waist like he’s preparing to catch Eddie if he falls. 

“I know,” he whispers softly. “It’s not fair.” 

Eddie shakes his head. 

It’s not fair. 

It’s fucking bullshit. 

The whole world thinks it knows him better than he knows himself. Even if they’re fucking right. It’s not fair. He’s never gotten to speak for himself, never gotten to really introduce himself. 

He aches when he finally stops crying, his fingers relaxing but still holding Steve’s shirt loosely, and his hands are sore. Steve runs his hand through Eddie’s hair. He waits, holding Eddie close even though he isn’t crying anymore, touching him gently, kindly, as Eddie catches his breath. 

“You know what I’m angriest at?” Eddie asks softly after a few moments, his voice weak and breaking from his crying. Steve touches his head again. 

“What?” Steve whispers. 

“...He’s fucking right.”

Steve is quiet. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut as they burn again. 

And then Steve is shifting, holding the back of Eddie’s head, and Eddie blinks his eyes open to look at him. Steve looks into his eyes intently, and it’s almost too much, but Eddie can’t look away, his hands tightening on Steve’s shirt. 

“About everything?” he whispers softly. Tentatively. 

Eddie looks back and forth between his eyes, and he nods. 

He feels sick again. He can’t breathe. 

Steve’s hand moves to Eddie’s face, and he’s so fucking warm. His thumb brushes over Eddie’s cheek so lightly Eddie can barely feel it. And Steve’s face relaxes, like he’s deflating, as he touches Eddie’s face, as his other hand presses into the small of his back. 

“I really fucking hate him,” Steve breathes. His eyes flicker across Eddie’s face, and they linger on Eddie’s mouth. Eddie whispers his name. Steve hesitates, stammering silently for a moment before, “Can you say it?”

Eddie steps back a little, and their hands fall even though they’re still close enough for Eddie to see the green in his eyes. 

“...Say what?” he asks hesitantly. Steve looks at him, his eyes shining, and he looks so desperate suddenly. 

“Everything,” he says breathlessly. “I wanna hear it from you.”

Eddie’s eyes fill with tears, but Steve looks like he’s begging, and Eddie is weak. 

“I’m gay,” he says softly, whispering like he’s worried someone outside might hear. “And I…” He takes a breath. Steve’s eyes look back and forth between Eddie’s like he’s looking for it. “I have, like… a huge fucking crush on you.”

Steve’s eyes drop to Eddie’s mouth like he’s watching his lips form the words. Eddie is trembling. Steve suddenly feels like he’s across the room, like he’s far away even though they’re standing so close. 

“I might fucking be in love with you, Steve, I…” 

He chokes on his breath, and Steve is touching him again, reaching for his face and wiping away his tears carefully, stepping closer. Eddie’s hands find his waist, and he grips his shirt again. 

Steve says his name. 

It always sounds so nice in his mouth. 

“You don’t– You don’t have to,” Eddie says, trying to tear himself away, closing his eyes as Steve holds his face and wipes his tears. “I know, it’s…”

“Eddie,” Steve whispers, his hands tightening on Eddie’s cheeks, and he’s so close now, their noses almost brushing. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

 Eddie’s eyes widen. He leans back to see Steve clearly, and Steve looks so nervous that Eddie aches. 

“Really?” Eddie asks weakly. 

“I…” Steve pauses, brushing his thumbs over Eddie’s cheeks and licking his lips, hesitating. “I might be fucking in love with you too,” he whispers. 

Eddie closes his eyes, exhaling as Steve strokes his cheeks again. He gasps for breath when Steve’s forehead touches his, his hands tightening on Steve’s shirt before he slides his hands over his waist gently. He can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric. 

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” Steve asks again, his breath soft on Eddie’s face. 

“Yeah,” he chokes. 

Steve’s palms press to Eddie’s cheeks, and Eddie’s hands clutch at Steve’s waist desperately when Steve’s nose nudges his, when their lips brush. He feels like he’s dying. 

But Steve kisses him so softly, so sweetly. Holding his face tenderly in his hands and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling away to look at him, to check, even though Eddie is holding him against himself, even though Eddie’s chin lifts like he’s subconsciously searching for his mouth again. 

Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and Steve is smiling at him. It’s such a soft smile, and Eddie forgets everything that’s happened today. Except Steve’s lips on his. 

“Please,” he breathes. Begs. Pleads. 

Steve kisses him again. One of his hands slides to hold the back of his head again, his fingers threading into Eddie’s curls, and his other shifts down to Eddie’s neck, his fingertips slipping under the hoodie as his thumb brushes over Eddie’s throat so lightly it tickles a little bit. Eddie’s hands press to Steve’s waist and slide to press into the small of his back, and he’s probably wrinkling the fabric of his shirt, but neither of them cares as they tilt their heads, as their lips part. 

They pull away to look at each other after a few moments, close enough that they’re sharing breaths as they both breathe hard, as Steve’s fingertips scratch over Eddie’s scalp lightly and Eddie’s eyelids flutter for a second. And then Steve is tilting his head and leaning down to kiss Eddie’s neck, his fingers twisting in his hair to hold him in place, and Eddie is dying, letting out a whimper as his eyes close and his hands reach for Steve’s arms. His fingertips dig into the soft flesh of his upper arms, squeezing as Steve presses a slow kiss under his ear. His mouth is so warm. 

Steve kisses him when he lifts his head, and Eddie kisses him back desperately, reaching to wrap his arms around his neck, whining when Steve’s hands find his waist and pull. 

Then Steve pushes, reaching up to hold the back of Eddie’s head, and Eddie stumbles back, his fingers tangling in Steve’s hair and tugging when his back hits the wall.  Steve’s hand blocks his head from the wall, and Eddie smiles against his mouth, gasping when Steve’s tongue slips across his lip. 

“Steve,” he gasps, lightheaded as Steve sucks on his lower lip, as one of his hands slides under the hoodie to touch his skin. His palms are a little rough with calluses, scratching the sensitive scar tissue on Eddie’s waist lightly, and Eddie groans. 

Steve pulls away with a gasp, looking at Eddie desperately, frantically, his other hand holding his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, and his lips are shining, and his hair is a mess, and Eddie wantshimwantshimwantshim—

“Do you wanna leave?” Steve asks, his voice rough, and Eddie looks at his mouth, still panting. “I… I don’t wanna see any of them, I just…” He’s breathless too. His hand runs over Eddie’s scarring again almost mindlessly as his thumb brushes his cheek. “Do you wanna go?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. 

Steve smiles softly, his eyes shining at him, and he leans in to kiss him one more time, caressing his cheek. (Caressing. Jesus.) Eddie hums, savouring it before they part with a quiet, slick noise that seems to echo in the empty room. 

Eddie feels lightheaded again, but he’s smiling like he’s sleepy as Steve shifts his hands to press his chin up, smiling at how pliant Eddie is. Eddie laughs under his breath, his hands holding Steve’s shoulders. 

“I’m so fucking… relieved right now,” Eddie whispers, his head falling to rest on the wall behind him. Steve kisses him again before he pulls him close, hugging him tightly. 

Eddie buries his face in Steve’s neck, wrapping his arms around him tightly, wanting to jump up and wrap his legs around his waist, to cling to him like a koala, wanting to climb inside him, to be as close as fucking possible. Steve exhales roughly, pushing a hand into Eddie’s hair. 

Steve holds his hand as they leave, ignoring the others that are gathered in the living room, even though they’re clearly waiting for the two of them. Eddie lets the door slam shut behind them. Steve drives. Eddie reaches over and puts a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently as he looks out the windows and watches the world go by. 

He’s kind of anxious about this, whatever it is. Anxious that he isn’t what Steve thinks he is, what Steve hopes he is, anxious that he isn’t enough for him. 

But he’ll try his best, he knows he will. He’ll bring Steve fucking flowers, he’ll write him fucking poems if it makes him smile. He’ll ravish him the way he deserves, touch him the way he likes, tell him every chance he gets how fucking beautiful he is. He’ll kiss him good morning and learn how to make his coffee just right. He’ll memorize the pattern of his moles and name constellations on his skin. 

He’ll remind him every single day, as long as Steve lets him have him, what he deserves. 

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie prompt #steddie one shot #steve harrington one shot #eddie munson one shot #stranger things #stranger things one shot