#holland <- pool guy

[pineappical]

Every time I see your blog title my head fills in Heeley going "YOU WERE IN THE POOL???" and it makes my day better lol

holland really did embody the plot armor in that last stretch with the fight scene though LMAO

[junkithinkabout]

Why I hate MCU Spider-Man

I'm going to preface this by saying that I do NOT hate Tom Holland nor do I think he was poorly cast or a bad actor.

Tom Holland could have been an amazing Spider-Man, he's got the small nerdy vibes that are low-key needed for the role to work properly, brown hair, brown eyes, cute as a button-- all that crap.

But damn did the writers do him dirty.

Spider-Man is a lone wolf, he has friends eventually but especially in his first years he's notorious for squaring up when anyone in a mask approaches him. But that's just the tip of the iceberg.

Peter Parker does NOT like shield, he doesn't like people knowing who is he what he's doing, where he's going, and above all else his goal is to help the little guy.

Of course there are stories that pull this off well, Ultimate Spider-Man did a good job of having Peter working with a team and SHEILD without straying too far from the character.

He's your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. And the MCU ruined that.

Instead of being a traumatized genius who's full of rage and sass in equal measure he turned into some wimpy UwU nepo baby. (This is not helped by the fact that I also dislike Tony Stark, All Tony Stark's MCU or otherwise)

And as previously stated I hate it.

Now my reasons for hating it are far more petty than I'd like to admit but I'm here for transparency so here it is. Tom Holland Spider-Man has infected my fan fiction, spideypool, spideydevil, angst fics, happy fics, gwen fics, MJ fics, Spider-Man in general, all of my fics.

I do NOT want Dead Pool and MCU Spider-Man kissing and or dating in ANY circumstance where with my boy comic or Amazing or literally any other conglomeration of Peter Parker's it can lead to some really interesting dynamics and fun times.

And I know-- he's current MCU he's going to be popular people love what's going on right now, but please please for the love of all things unholy keep your little nepo baby 50 feet or MORE away from anything I love at all times.

[imsogonesposts]

I'll Always Be Right Here

|| ao3 || steve masterlist || requests are open!! ||

summary: You need to be comforted after the events with the demodogs, Steve is more than happy to oblige. (wc: 1142)

warnings: its mentioned that reader almost died

It was late at night, far later than any of you should have been out, and Steve had just dropped off Max and Dustin at their respective houses before making his way to yours. You hadn’t been involved with the Upside-Down prior to tonight. You were only thrown into the mix after Dustin had run into you and Steve on your way to a date, claiming he was in a “life or death” emergency. You hadn’t known at the time that that “life or death” emergency would involve monsters from another dimension. 

Steve had finally reached your house, parking outside your home, as he turned his body to face you with a small, weak smile. “I’m really sorry you got mixed up in all this, honey. I didn’t think these things would come back, but if they did, I never wanted you to have to be involved.”

“It’s fine,” you quietly replied, eyes trained forward, staring a hole through your garage door. 

You never knew that alternate dimensions were a real thing, that creatures, monsters, could come from it. That your quiet,"safe" town held more secrets than you ever thought possible. 

You had gone with Steve and the kids to an abandoned junkyard to lure Dart, a creature had Dustin found, only to lure two demodogs instead. Steve had told you to stay inside the bus with the kids, but when one of the creatures got too close to him, you couldn’t not help your boyfriend. One of the demodogs had then attacked you, and if Steve had been just a second too late, if he hadn’t been paying attention, who knows what could’ve happened. You could very well not be sitting in Steve’s car like you were right now. 

“Honey,” he said softly, gently placing a hand on your arm, breaking you out of your endless spiral. “You’re okay now, yeah? You’re okay, I’m okay, everyone’s okay.”

You couldn’t tell if his words were more for your comfort, or his. You had seen how scared he was when the demodog was on you, how he hugged you tight to him as if he was scared to let go once things had died down. You could only nod your head yes as Steve’s hand began to run up and down your arm, trying to soothe you in any way he could. 

“You said you guys have been through all this before?” You ask. Steve nodded his head yes, hand still trailing up and down your arm. He had briefly told you that the year prior, when going to Jonathan’s house to make amends, he had been caught up trying to help him and Nancy defeat a monster called a demagorgon, and that the demagorgon was from a place called the Upside-Down, which had something to do with the disappearances of Will Byers and Barbara Holland. “How did you… cope with it all?”

Steve only glanced to the side, contemplating your question before softly replying, “To tell you the truth, I had to sleep with the light on for a few months. I had nightmares a lot too, still do sometimes. I don’t think the fear ever really leaves you, it’s kinda always there in the back of your mind. Like I’ll be walking near the pool at my house, and everything will be fine, and suddenly out of nowhere, I think I see the demagorgon, but then I blink and it’s gone, and I don’t know if it's my brain’s playing tricks on me or if it’s really there one second and gone the next.”

You gingerly take his hand in yours, causing him to return his gaze to yours. In his eyes, you can see everything he doesn’t voice out loud. The fear that still lingers, the comfort he needs, and mixed with it all, the love and worry he has for you, the fear that he could have almost lost you. 

“I’m sorry I brought you into this mess,” he softly repeats. 

You shake your head no, leaning over the car’s console to hug him, one you’re sure you both equally need after the night you’ve had. 

“Do you think you could spend the night?” You softly ask after pulling away from the hug.  “I don’t think I can be alone tonight.”

Steve doesn’t even think twice before nodding his head yes. “Yeah, of course, baby, yeah. Head inside, I’ll park the car around the corner and I’ll come in through your window, alright?”

You nod your head yes, Steve moving to give your forehead a quick kiss before you make your way out of the car and into your house. 

About five minutes later, you heard a small tapping at your window, startling you until you turned around to see it was only Steve, sending you a small wave as you moved to open the window, letting him in. 

“I left some clothes out for you,” you whisper, helping him inside. He sends you a grateful smile as he tumbles in, whispering the word “ninja,” as he moves to close your window. 

You began settling under the covers of your bed as Steve changed into an old shirt and a pair of sweatpants you had stolen from him. You weren’t sure if he had ever noticed the clothes were even missing from his closet. 

“Light on or off?” He whispered. 

“On,” you whispered back. 

Steve nodded, shoulders loosening the slightest bit at your choice before moving to get under the covers as well, draping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him so there was no space between the two of you. You couldn’t find it within yourself to mind. It was nice being held like that, swallowed by his warmth and embrace. 

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “So much,” a kiss to your nose, then your lips. 

“I love you too,” you whispered back, smiling at the kisses he was giving you. “Thank you for spending the night.”

“Course,” he replied, lightly squeezing your waist as he pressed another kiss to your skin, this time to your cheek. “I need it as much as you to be honest, I don’t know… I don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened to you.” He kisses your forehead again before pulling you closer to him, resting his chin on top of your head. 

“I’m okay,” you whisper, not sure if your words are bringing either of you much comfort. You had come so close to uncertainty. What would the demodog have done if Steve hadn’t gotten to you in time? Kill you, or just hurt you? “I’m okay,” you quietly repeat. 

Steve’s hold on you only tightens as he kisses the top of your head. “Try to get some sleep, baby. I’m right here, I’ll always be right here.”

[thollandsgirl2013]

Hi! I was wondering if you could possibly do a tom fic where the reader gets the job as toms personal assistant at first she thinks that he's a stuck up celeb but as time goes on she finds out that hes not like that and develope feeling for him but she knows that she can't like her boss like that so when a guy asks her out she agrees. When tom finds out he acts kind of like a dick to her because he's jealous and he later crashes her date...

Hi, thanks for requesting! I hope you enjoy the story and that it’s everything you imagined.

-----------------©®©®©®©-----------------

𝐓𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Parings → Tom Holland x Personal assistant! Reader

Warnings → Jealousy, angst, Tom being a dick, complications, fluff

Summary → Y/n gets hired as Tom Holland's assistant, develops feelings for him, and navigates jealousy and complications.

First Impression:

The moment you stepped into the house, you could tell that working for Tom Holland wasn’t going to be easy. His manager had warned you about his demanding schedule, the endless last-minute changes, and the occasional moments when he could be difficult. But you had brushed it off. Celebrities were all the same—demanding, self-absorbed, and too used to getting what they wanted.

You weren’t here to fawn over him like his fans. You were here to work.

The house he was renting in Atlanta for Spider-Man filming was massive—bigger than you’d expected. The modern interior had sleek furniture, high ceilings, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a pristine backyard with a swimming pool. It looked more like a luxury Airbnb than a home.

His assistant—the one you were replacing—kept glancing at the clock on her phone, her fingers drumming anxiously against her clipboard. “He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago,” she muttered, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

You crossed your arms. “Is he always late?”

She hesitated before answering. “He tries not to be. But his schedule is… a lot. Don’t take it personally if he’s a bit distracted.” Her tone was kind, but there was something behind it—relief, maybe? Like she was glad to be handing off this job to someone else. “Tom’s a nice guy, but—”

Before she could finish, the front door burst open.

Tom Holland stepped in, slightly breathless, dressed in a fitted black t-shirt and jeans, sunglasses pushing back his messy curls. He had the effortless charm of someone who didn’t have to try—shoulders broad, posture relaxed, that natural confidence that came with knowing he was one of the most recognizable actors in the world.

But instead of flashing a Hollywood smile or offering some overly charming introduction, he just let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Sorry, sorry, I got held up—” His gaze landed on you, and for a brief second, his expression shifted. You weren’t sure if it was curiosity, mild interest, or just exhaustion. “Are you the new PA?”

You met his eyes evenly. “Yeah. I'm Y/N.”

There was a pause. He studied you, as if trying to figure something out, then gave a small nod. “Right. Uh, welcome to the madness, I guess.”

That was it. No smugness, no arrogance, no fake enthusiasm. Just a simple greeting before he turned to his outgoing assistant. “Everything set for today?”

She nodded quickly. “Yeah. I already went over the essentials with Y/N. You’ve got interviews later, and wardrobe fitting at three.”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing again. “Right. Great.” He turned back to you. “You jump into things fast, huh?”

“I don’t see the point in wasting time.” Your voice was even, professional.

That made him smirk—just slightly. “Good. You’ll need that attitude.”

You weren’t sure if it was a warning or a compliment. Maybe both. Either way, you weren’t convinced yet. Celebrities could be charming when they wanted to be.

And you had a feeling Tom Holland was no exception.

--------

The Shift

It started subtly. You didn’t even realize it at first.

You were used to high-maintenance bosses—ones who barked orders, never said thank you, and treated assistants like they were disposable. But Tom? He was nothing like that. Sure, he had his stressful moments—days where his schedule was overwhelming and he got snappy—but he always apologized afterward. Always.

“Sorry for being a bit of a diva earlier,” he’d mumble, scratching the back of his neck after a long day. “I really appreciate you, you know?”

And that was the problem.

He made you feel seen.

It was the little things that got to you. The way he noticed when you were exhausted and shoved a protein bar into your hand. The way he called out your name with that soft British accent, always warm, always familiar. The way his brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he teased you, his smile contagious.

It was dangerous.

Because one day, you realized you weren’t just working for him. You liked him.

---

The Moment You Knew

It happened during a late-night shoot. Tom had just finished a grueling scene, and you were waiting off to the side with his usual bottle of water. His hair was damp with sweat, his body slumped with exhaustion as he took a long sip.

“You're a lifesaver,” he muttered before plopping down onto a chair beside you.

You laughed. “It’s just water, Holland.”

“Yeah, but it’s you giving it to me. Makes it better.”

Your breath hitched. It wasn’t flirting. It wasn’t even said with any sort of intention. But the way he looked at you—tired, grateful, fond—made your stomach flip.

You needed to get a grip.

---

The Coffee Shop Incident

The solution? Dating.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself when a guy at a coffee shop struck up a conversation.

It had been a rare morning off. You were standing in line, waiting for your latte, when a tall guy with an easy smile and kind eyes slid into the spot next to you.

“Hope this isn’t weird,” he started, “but I noticed you from over there, and I was wondering if I could buy your coffee?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh—uh, that’s nice of you, but—”

“Come on, let me be a gentleman. Least I can do after rudely eavesdropping on you talking about how exhausted you are.” His grin was teasing but friendly. “Rough job?”

You hesitated. He was attractive, funny. Normal.

And more importantly, not Tom.

“Yeah,” you admitted, “it’s pretty demanding.”

“Then you definitely deserve a pick-me-up. And maybe dinner sometime? Only if you’re interested.”

It should’ve been an easy answer. And maybe it was.

Because if you said yes, it meant you weren’t falling for Tom.

“Sure,” you said, forcing a smile. “That sounds nice.”

---

Tom Finding Out

You didn’t mean for Tom to find out.

But, of course, he did.

It was later that afternoon when you were on set, double-checking his schedule for the next day. Tom was scrolling through his phone when he casually said, “So, what’s this I hear about you going on a date?”

You froze. Looked up.

He wasn’t looking at you, but his grip on his phone was tight.

Your stomach twisted. “How did you—?”

“Harry mentioned it.”

Of course. Harry, who had casually dropped by the set earlier. You shouldn't have shared it with him.

You forced a casual shrug. “Yeah. It’s nothing serious.”

Tom finally met your gaze, his expression unreadable. “Who is he?”

“Just… a guy from a coffee shop.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He was bothered.

That realization sent your heart into a tailspin.

You didn’t want him to be jealous. But a small, terrible part of you did.

Tom let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Right. A guy from a coffee shop.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Didn’t know you were looking to date.”

“I wasn’t,” you admitted, voice quieter. “It just… happened.”

A beat of silence.

Then he nodded. “Well. Hope he knows what he’s getting into.”

It was said lightly, playfully. But there was something underneath. Something that made your chest feel too tight.

And when he walked away, you realized—this wasn’t just about you trying to get over your feelings.

This was about Tom.

Because if he didn’t care, why did he look like he did?

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

The Jealousy Begins

It started subtly. Small things that you could almost brush off.

Tom, who was usually warm and teasing, started acting… different. Cold. Distant. He stopped joking with you, stopped asking if you’d eaten, stopped waiting for you when you walked together on set. Conversations were strictly professional now—short, clipped responses with no warmth behind them.

At first, you thought he was just stressed. Maybe exhausted from filming. But then, it got worse.

---

The First Snap

“You’re late,” Tom muttered the moment you stepped into his house.

You blinked at him. “I’m two minutes late.”

“Still late,” he said flatly, not even looking up from his script.

You frowned but chose not to argue. “Here’s your schedule for the week,” you said, setting your tablet down. “You have—”

“I know what my schedule is.”

His tone made you pause. Sharp. Dismissive.

You inhaled quietly. “Okay. Well, just a reminder that your fitting is at three, and—”

“I know,” he repeated, flipping a page aggressively.

You swallowed down the irritation bubbling in your chest. He’s your boss. Losing patience wouldn’t do you any favors.

Instead, you nodded, shifting the topic. “I also confirmed the interview slot for Friday. Do you want me to go over the questions with you later?”

Tom let out a breath, shaking his head. “I swear, sometimes I don’t even know what you’re doing half the time.”

The words made your stomach drop.

Your fingers curled around the edge of your tablet. “I'm sorry?”

“I asked you to follow up on the promo photos last night. Did you even bother?”

You blinked, surprised. “Yes, I did. I emailed the team, and they said they’d send them by tomorrow.”

Tom huffed, clearly unsatisfied. “And you didn’t think to remind them to speed it up?”

Your jaw tensed. “I did. But they said that’s the soonest they can send them.”

Tom scoffed, shaking his head. “Right. Whatever.”

You stared at him. “Did I do something wrong?”

Finally, he looked up. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp. “You just seem distracted lately. Thought maybe you’d be more focused on work, but I guess you have other priorities now.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist.

But instead of snapping back, you just straightened. “I’m doing my job, Tom.”

“Sure,” he muttered under his breath, looking away.

You didn’t push further. Instead, you gathered your things and excused yourself, biting the inside of your cheek the entire way out.

Because for the first time since you started working for him, it didn’t feel like Tom Holland was just your boss.

It felt like he was mad at you for something else.

And you had a sinking feeling you knew what it was.

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

Crashing Your Date

The date was going great—until he showed up.

You had been pleasantly surprised by Liam. He was charming in an effortless way, with an easy smile and a confidence that wasn’t overbearing. He was the kind of guy you should be going for—someone normal. Someone who didn’t make your job feel like an emotional battlefield.

You were at a cozy Italian restaurant, laughter spilling from your lips as you twirled your wine glass between your fingers. The warm glow of candlelight flickered against the table, casting soft shadows as you smiled at something Liam said. Just as another laugh escaped you, a voice suddenly interrupted.

“Huh. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Your body went rigid.

No. No way.

Slowly, you turned your head, already knowing who you’d see.

And there he was.

Tom stood beside your table, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but his eyes? Stormy.

Liam glanced between the two of you, a polite but confused smile on his face. “Uh… hey?”

Tom ignored him. His gaze stayed locked on you. “You didn’t mention you’d be here.”

You inhaled sharply, willing yourself to stay calm. “Because it’s none of your business.”

Tom let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “Right. Of course.”

Liam frowned, clearly picking up on the tension. “Wait, you’re Tom Holland.”

“Yeah, mate, I am.” Tom’s tone was sharp, lacking any of his usual charm.

You shot him a warning glare. “What are you doing here?”

Tom smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just grabbing some food.”

“Alone?”

His smirk faltered for just a second before he recovered. “Well, you’re the one who usually does that.”

Your blood boiled. “Unbelievable.”

Liam shifted awkwardly. “So… you two know each other?”

“She’s my personal assistant,” Tom answered before you could.

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. There was an edge to it, like he was claiming you.

That was it.

You stood abruptly, plastering a polite smile onto your face. “Excuse us for a second,” you told Liam before grabbing Tom’s arm and dragging him outside.

The cool night air barely registered as you spun on him.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Tom stepped closer, his jaw tight. “My problem? Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’re out with some random guy like it’s no big deal.”

You blinked. “Because it is no big deal.”

His eyes darkened. “Yeah? So you don’t like me at all?”

Your breath caught.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The streetlights buzzed faintly above, casting long shadows around you.

Then, softer, he asked, “Why him?”

Your stomach twisted. “Because he’s not my boss.”

Tom let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his curls. “So that’s the only thing stopping you?”

You hesitated.

And that hesitation was all he needed.

Tom took a step closer, and then another, until the space between you was almost nonexistent. You could smell the faint traces of his cologne, something warm and familiar.

His voice dropped, low and insistent. “If I weren’t your boss,” he murmured, “would you still be here with him?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Tom tilted his head, searching your face. “Answer me.”

Your voice barely came out. “No.”

Tom exhaled sharply, like he had been holding his breath.

And then, before you could even process it, his hands cupped your face, and his lips crashed onto yours.

The world tilted.

You gasped against his mouth, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

The kiss was desperate, almost messy, like he had been holding back for too long. Like this had been building up for weeks, maybe months, without either of you daring to acknowledge it.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing uneven.

“Please don’t go back in there,” he whispered.

Your heart pounded. “Tom—”

“I’ve been a jealous asshole because I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else.” His voice was raw. “Tell me I’m not crazy.”

You swallowed, your hands still fisting his shirt. “You’re not crazy.”

His lips curved slightly, but it was barely there. He was still searching your face, still waiting for something.

Slowly, you reached up, fingers grazing his cheek.

And just like that, he kissed you again.

This time, you kissed him back.

And outside that small Italian restaurant, under the glow of the streetlights, you stopped pretending you didn’t feel the same way.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

[stevieschrodinger]

So I've had a couple of asks about what Eddie's life was like in The Upside Down, along with questions about Eddie's POV of the rescue and what he initially thought of Steve. One of the ways I thought about doing this was writing it documentary style with Barb playing David Attenborough, I have since rejected this idea in favor of possibly incorporating some of my ideas into the fic itself at a later date, so here is a portion of the rejected documentary idea, just for fun.

“Hi, I’m Barbara Holland, you might know me from such things as dying in Steve Harrington’s pool.”

Barb adjusts her glasses, clothing still immaculate despite her surroundings.

“I’m sure that you’re all very familiar with The Upside Down by now, however, today we will be focusing more on the local wildlife, more specifically, the lifecycle of the Demo creatures that populate this world.”

Barb walks, indicating the demobats chittering in the dead looking trees, she carefully picks her way over the twisting vines that cover so much of the floor, coming to a little puddle of murky looking water, she crouches, disturbing the surface with a finger.

“Democreatures are opportunistic hunters, and they take the same attitude to mating. Encounters are brief, and often violent in their intensity. All Demogorgon carry eggs as well as the ability to fertilize eggs, however they do not reproduce asexually. Here we see a batch of fertilized eggs, left to fend for themselves. Very few of the total number will hatch, the conditions here harsh. This is why the demo gorgons produce such a great amount of eggs, to increase the chance of successfully reproducing.”

Barb lifts a finger from the murky water, a single egg clinging to it, inside, something tadpole like wriggles around furiously.

“This tiny little guy will, one day, grow into Eddie Munson.”

[liyliths]

౨ৎ ⋆ ｡˚ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

summary: your first few weeks in your new town, hawkins, are honestly anything but normal. you quickly find yourself caught between making new friends and keeping your distance, all while dodging the king of douchebags, steve harrington, and his clumsy attempts to get to know you, all on your first day. and, with a cherry on top, a strange figure in the woods makes you question if hawkins has a wildlife problem—or something much stranger. spoiler alert: it's not just deer.

“I’m throwing a party at my house this Friday. Food, drinks, pool, no parents, all the fun stuff. I wanted to invite you… it could be good for you, meeting new people and all!” Steve raised his eyebrows in that signature way of his, the one that usually made it hard for people to say no to. Y/N turned to look at the boy, her eyes narrowing with a hint of defiance in them. She deliberately reached into her back pocket to play her music again, looking forward to the parking lot—completely unbothered. “---Sha la la, la la, la la, la la, l-la te-da Just like that” “Jesus, this girl’s got a stick up her butt.” Steve thought to himself.

pairings: steve harrington x reader

warnings: cursing, steve's horrible friends, otherwise none!

word count: 4.1k

────────────────────────────────────────────

𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 “Uptown girl She’s been living in her uptown world I bet she’s never had a backstreet guy”

Music blared through a girl’s headphones as she made her way onto the campus of Hawkins High. Different voices strung through the air as she walked through the chaotic parking lot, with some students parking their cars and others being dropped off by parents. It was lively, with skateboarders tipping their boards and walking into school, bikers putting their bikes in the designated rack, while others got off the yellow school buses, making their way onto campus.

The girl clutched her school books to her chest, walking toward the main entrance to meet her campus guide. Her hair was styled in a voluminous fringe, wearing a white top paired with blue jeans, and a brown belt to add color.

“I bet her momma never told her why I’m gonna try for an uptown girl She’s been living in her white-bred world”

“Are you Y/N Smith?” A soft voice sounded faintly through the sound of music, coming from a girl with glasses and a short light red hairdo. Y/N glanced over to the girl and paused her Walkman, taking her headphones off and putting her attention on the girl.

“Sorry?”

“You’re Y/N Smith, right?” The girl repeated herself, looking at Y/N before looking down at her clipboard. She had a friendly demeanor, but didn’t quite seem the popular type.

“Yes,” The girl nodded. “And you are?”

“Barbra Holland, but you can just call me Barb. I’ll be showing you around.” The sweet girl smiled.

“Nice to meet you.” Y/N offered a tentative smile.

𝐀 𝐅𝐞𝐰 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

As the lunch bell rang signaling the midpoint of Y/N’s first day at Hawkins High, she found herself navigating the bustling cafeteria. The girl was on the search for her guide from this morning, hoping she could sit with her instead of being a loner, not wanting to sit by herself. Or even worse—eat in the bathroom stalls, which was usually where she found herself at a new school.

The cafeteria smelt of hamburger mixed with other scents, alive with chatter and laughter, with students jostling for seats and trays laden with food. Other students were in line for lunch while some found their seats with their friends, the cafeteria growing louder with conversation by the second.

As Y/N spotted the girl who showed her around school earlier in the day, Barb, she made her way over to her table. She noticed she was sitting with another girl with mid-length brown hair. It was styled in a half-do, with a pretty flowery top and skirt, making her look neat and put together. 

Summoning her courage, Y/N made the final approach to their table, a tentative smile on her lips. Barb and her friend looked up, their expressions warm and welcoming as they gestured for the girl to join them.

“Hey Y/N, glad you found me. Would you like to sit with us?” Barb smiled at the girl, inviting her before she even had to ask.

Grateful for their invitation, Y/N nodded and took a seat across from Barb and her friend. “I’m Nancy, it’s nice to meet you.” Barb’s friend introduced herself, reaching out her hand to shake the girl’s.

“I’m Y/N, thanks for letting me sit with you guys.”

As Y/N settled in and quietly listened in on the girl’s conversations, she couldn't help but feel a pang of self-doubt creeping in. They’re probably just letting her sit by them to be nice, they’ll push her away eventually if she doesn’t herself.

What’s the point of getting close to anyone right now?

Putting aside her doubts, Y/N hesitantly joined the conversation, listening intently as Nancy and Barb chatted animatedly about their classes and upcoming plans. They were warm and inclusive, making Y/N feel more at ease in their presence.

“Y/N, how are you liking Hawkins High so far? We don't usually get very many new students,” Nancy questioned, observing the new girl. 

“It’s been okay, definitely different than what I’m used to. Thanks to Barb, I’ve found my way around alright.” Y/N politely smiled, fidgeting with her fork.

"Well, if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Barb and I are here to help." The brown-haired girl smiled across from her.

“Thank you, Nancy.”

After some more light conversation, Barb showed Y/N the way to the rest of her classes, but her brain scrambled and she forgot where to go for sixth hour after lunch. She looked around the halls, lost, glancing at the number for her class on her paper schedule, looking back up to read the classroom door numbers to try and find a match.

“Hey there, new girl, you lost or something?” An unfamiliar masculine voice echoed in the girl’s ears, glancing up to see a tall, brown-haired boy, whose hair was styled fancily, falling almost perfectly in front of his face. 

He had light brown eyes that reflected golden in the sunlight—wearing a nicely fitted navy button-up shirt with jeans and Nike blazers. He had slightly tan skin, and if you looked close enough, you could see a few moles that complemented his face. He stood across the hall from her, hand on hip, watching her gaze land on him.

“Not exactly lost, just—finding my way around.” Y/N shifted uncomfortably, clutching her books to her chest, not wanting to ask anyone for help, let alone talk to any more people.

“Well, lucky for you…” The boy leaned against the lockers in the hall, practically beaming with confidence. “I’m an expert navigator. The name’s Steve, Steve Harrington.” 

Cautiously, the girl replies. “I’m Y/N, Y/N Smith.”

“Smith, huh? Sounds mysterious. You hiding any secrets?” Steve raised an eyebrow at the girl before rudely being interrupted, by what seemed to be a friend.

“Preying on the new chick now, huh King Steve?” A boy with fluffy hair smirked as he slung his arm around Harrington. He looked smug and had pale skin, with dark hair and freckles covering his face. 

“Get off me Tommy,” Steve shoved him off. “I’m just trying to help show her around,” He rolled his eyes.

When Steve finally stopped bickering with his friend, he turned to see the new girl nowhere to be found. Frustration flickered across his expression.

“You scared her off, Tommy!” He pushed his friend’s shoulder, slightly irritated—mostly disappointed.

Tommy snorted, unfazed by the reprimand. “She doesn’t seem all that worth it anyway, man. I mean—did you even look at her? She looks like a total priss anyway!” His words dripped with derision, a smug grin spreading across his face as he continued to mock the girl who had piqued Steve’s interest.

Steve’s frown deepened. “No, douchebag, there’s something about that girl…” He spoke with a mixture of curiosity and determination, a spark of intrigue lighting up his brown eyes. There was a challenge there—something different from the usual girls he encountered.

Tommy rolled his eyes and laughed, the sound grating on the brown-eyed boy’s nerves. “That’s what you say about every girl, man. Get a grip.” He shook his head, clearly dismissing Steve’s fascination as another fleeting whim, losing interest in the conversation.

“We’ll see about that,” he muttered under his breath, ignoring Tommy’s dismissive attitude. He couldn’t help but feel that this girl was a puzzle worth solving.

Y/N had turned her back on the commotion from the two boys, her steps deliberate as she made her way into the bustling school halls to find her own way to class. The fluorescent school lights above cast a harsh glow, reflecting off the polished floors.

The girl weaved through the crowd, her hair catching the occasional draft from the overhead vents, causing loose strands to brush against her face. She reached up to tuck them behind her ear, her fingers brushing against the cool metal of her Walkman clipped to her waistband. Music still played softly through her headphones, a comforting barrier between her and the overwhelming noise of the high school.

As she walked, Y/N couldn't help but notice the cliques forming in the hallways—the jocks congregating near the gym doors, the popular girls giggling by the water fountain, and the band kids chatting animatedly near the music room. Each group seemed to have its own territory, and Y/N felt like an outsider navigating through a maze of established social structures, knowing most of these kids had known each other since grade school.

Filing in with the crowd, she kept her head down, avoiding eye contact with others as she ventured her way to her next class. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before her, a labyrinth of identical doors and bustling students. 

But despite the noise and the crowds, the girl felt a strange sense of calm. She was alone, but in that solitude, there was a certain freedom—a chance to observe, and to slowly, cautiously—find her place in this new town.

𝐀 𝐅𝐞𝐰 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

The bell rang, announcing it was the end of Y/N’s first day at Hawkins High. She liked Barb and Nancy, and she hoped they would like her too. Yet the same question lingered in her mind; was it even worth it to make friends when she didn’t know how long she’d be in Hawkins?

But she could see right through that boy from the passing period—the typical, arrogant, rich white boy who messes with any girl he could get his hands on. He was cute, but too full of himself and wrapped up in his own world.

Y/N pressed the play button on her Walkman in her back pocket as she finally made her way out of her last hour, putting on her headphones for her ears to be met with the comforting sound of music.

“My brown eyed girl You my, brown eyed girl Do you remember when We used to sing”

As the girl made her way through the school's exit doors, her music suddenly stopped, and she felt a button on her Walkman on the side of her waistband click. She was quick to turn around to pin down who or what paused her music, visibly annoyed—only to be met with a familiar face.

That boy from the hall—more like official douchebag now, Steve Harrington.

“Why would you do that?” She snapped, agitated—with the boy immediately getting defensive, throwing his hands up to the side.

“Sorry, sorry, I was calling your name in the hall, but you didn’t hear me.” Steve gestured to her headphones with his hands.

“Right.” She walked off with a flat expression, but the brown-haired boy was quick to follow her.

“I was wondering—” he paused, unsure if he should continue due to the girl's uninterested face as she made her way toward the parking lot, her headphones still on, but no music playing. 

"I'm throwing a party this Friday at my house. Food, drinks, pool, no parents, all the good stuff. I wanted to invite you… it could be good for you, meeting new people and all!" Steve raised his eyebrows in that signature way of his, the one that usually made it hard for people to say no to.

Y/N turned to look at the boy, her eyes narrowing with a hint of defiance in them. She deliberately reached into her back pocket to play her music again, looking forward to the parking lot—completely unbothered.

“---Sha la la, la la, la la, la la, l-la te da Just like that”

“Jesus, this girl’s got a stick up her butt," Steve thought as the music from her headphones blared once again. He glanced back at his friends, who were a little behind him, shrugged, and kept walking beside her. He reached into his jeans pocket, grabbed a note with his address written on it, and handed it to the girl.

“At six, I’ll see you there.” He raised his eyebrows, his voice muffled through the girl's headphones as she reluctantly grabbed the note from him, watching him retreat to his group of friends.

Shaking her head, Y/N glanced forward, being met with the familiar appearance of Hopper’s vehicle pulling up in the parking lot in front of her. The girl was relieved, quick to open the door, setting her things down in the foot room of the passenger seat, and climbed into the car. 

“How was your first day, kiddo?” Hopper was quick to ask as the girl closed the passenger door.

“It was alright… the people were nice. I’ll survive,” She shrugged, to which Hopper gave a small chuckle. 

“You’ll survive, huh?” He mocked in a joking manner.

“Yeah,” she gave a small grin, proceeding to hold up a note to the man, waving it around. “I got invited to a party.” 

“It was by that boy that was walking with you, huh,” Hopper noted his observation, his tone covered by a sense of protectiveness.

“You already know the rules though, kid. No parties. No boys. Especially at my house.” He eyed the girl, his eyebrows raising as he put the car in drive.

“I know, I don’t want to go anyway.”

After Hopper dropped the girl off from school, the chief continued his day back at the police station. Y/N was seated on the back patio of the trailer that sat on a lake. There was a slight breeze as her hair danced with the wind, her eyelashes fluttering at her sketchbook on her lap. Beyond the lake, trees covered the land, and the sound of cicadas chirping filled the girl’s ears. It was cooling off, and sunset was in a few hours.

Her pencil glided across the sketchbook page, detailing the lake and the landscape around it. She added a few finishing touches, looking back up to see details of the trees, but her eyes went wide, a bit frightened—as she was met with the same sight of the ethereal orange and red glow in the woods she had seen at the trailer park in her father’s backyard.

The girl sketched the sight with curiosity, adding the orange and red hues to the drawing. As she looked up again to continue sketching, a tall figure—similar to the one in the woods before, moved in the tree line.

A bit unsettled, she closed the sketchbook and watched as the colors began to fade from the woods, with the figure nowhere to be found. She rushed inside to read the time on the clock, 5:41 PM. Hopper should be home by six-fifteen. She’ll be alright.

Probably just deer anyway.

She brushed off what she saw, ignoring how unsettled she felt, making her way into the kitchen. “Shit,” the girl cursed at herself, realizing she left her toast in the toaster when she got home from school after getting dropped off.

She sat her sketchbook down on the kitchen counter and cleaned up the toast. She truly did consider going to Steve Harrington’s party on Friday, but she knew how it would turn out. He and his friends were douchebags anyways, and all they’re probably going to do is drink and smoke.

And then she began to remember the rules Hopper had set in place when she moved in with him. “I get off work late usually, it depends, but I always want you home no past 9. And no boys, no drugs, no parties…  you already know. And don’t answer the door if you don’t recognize the person there. Most importantly, no lies. If you’re going somewhere, write down where before you leave so I know. That’s all I ask of you.”

It was frustrating, having limitations and rules as she’d been used to her independence—taking care of herself during the decline of her father.

After her mother passed away, she was practically on her own. Of course, her father also made up rules along the way and would punish her for whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. But she knew she had to respect Hopper, whether she liked it or not.

As the girl sat in thought doing dishes in the sink, in the corner of her eye, she was met with a dark figure moving past the trees outside the window in front of her. Startled, she dropped the dish she was cleaning on the floor, seeing glass shards cover the floor. She let out a strained sigh, trying to shake off the fear nagging at her, assuming it was some sort of wildlife, beginning to pick up the mess.

While she cleaned up the kitchen, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling rising in her system. The glow from the woods again, the figure… suddenly, she heard a car engine pull up. 

Footsteps approached the trailer, and she heard the familiar sound of keys jingling to open the front door. She watched the door open as the familiar sight of Hopper entered the trailer, taking off his chief hat and throwing it onto the couch with takeout in his hands.

“Got Chinese for our movie tonight. Won’t be able to do it on Friday like usual this week,” The chief announced, setting down the food on the coffee table in the living room. 

“You’re home early,” Y/N announced, reading the clock, 5:51 PM, watching as Hopper gave a small nod, busy ridding his uniform jacket. “Quiet day.”

“Have you been seeing any animals around lately? Like deer or something?” She questioned, still uneasy from what she saw.

“Sometimes they come around. Why, did you see one?” Hopper questioned, plopping down on the couch, leather squeaking.

“Yeah, I’ve been seeing a lot lately,” Y/N hesitantly responded, knowing there was no explanation for what she saw—which was most definitely not deer.

𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲

“So you’re telling me, the Steve Harrington invited you to a party, and you’re not going?” Barb emphasized her words as Y/N walked through the high school halls, passing peers toward the cafeteria.

“Yeah, he invited me on Monday actually, but I think his friends convinced him to do it.” Y/N looked over at Barb, shrugging. “It’s not that big of a deal. I can’t even go… not that I want to anyway.” She continued, opening the doors to the lively cafeteria.

“You’re really going to turn down King Steve?” Nancy chimed in, her tone sharp in her sarcasm as she emphasized the silly nickname. There was something about the way she said it that made Y/N pause, but she quickly brushed it off.

“I don’t know why you guys are making it seem like such a big deal. He’s probably invited so many other people anyway… and why does everyone keep calling him that? It’s ridiculous,” Y/N shook her head as she grabbed a food tray.

“It’s what everyone calls him!” Barb answered, trailing behind Y/N. “If you went, imagine how popular you would get, and you’re brand new to Hawkins!” She added, trying to convince the girl.

Nancy, however, gave a half-hearted smile, her eyes not quite meeting Y/N’s. “Yeah, because apparently, Steve Harrington doesn’t have enough girls following him around already,” she muttered, her voice carrying a hint of annoyance.

“I don’t get why ‘the Steve Harrington’ is such a big deal. And I’m not interested in the popular crowd anyway,” Y/N mocked. “He seems like any other popular, rich, arrogant douchebag. I mean, look at his friends, and his hair!” She continued, watching as Nancy’s eyes flickered over her shoulder, suddenly widening along with Barb’s.

“Oh my god, what is it now?” Y/N turned around, only to be met by Steve Harrington—and his hair. God, his absurd hair.

“What about my hair?” Steve asked, his eyebrows furrowed together in question, his hands automatically reaching up to smooth it as if he could fix whatever she was criticizing.

“Oh, nothing…” Y/N shook her head, looking up at the boy, a bit startled by his sudden appearance.

“Well, you’re still coming to the party tonight, right?” Steve asked, his gaze fixed on her. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she prayed that he didn’t hear the rather harsh words she’d just said about him and his friends.

“Uh,” she started, “Yeah, I can’t go.” She continued, watching as the boy's expression fell into utter disappointment.

“What, your parents won’t let you?” Steve questioned, slightly pouting, his lips formed into a small frown.

“I guess, and I’m not exactly the party girl anyway,” Y/N shrugged, glancing to the side where she caught Nancy staring at the floor, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Well, if your friends went, would you go?” The boy came up with an idea, with Nancy’s eyes flicking up to Steve’s. “I’ll go,” She chimed in, lightly elbowing Barb as she hesitantly nodded. 

“I’m not going either way, sorry.” Y/N shook her head, confident in her answer.

“Just consider it! You can always sneak out.” Steve winked, turning his head to the sound of his friends calling his name, getting distracted.

“Okay, I’ll see you guys tonight, at six!” He pointed toward the girls, shuffling off to his lunch table.

“Y/N, you should really go to the party,” Nancy suggested, but there was something off in her tone, almost like she was trying too hard to sound casual. “I mean, it’s Steve Harrington. Not everyone gets that kind of invite.”

“No—no way,” Y/N refused stubbornly, insisting on not going.

Nancy forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Fine, have fun missing out!” She mocked Steve’s words with a hint of something Y/N couldn’t quite identify—was it jealousy?

Barb, noticing the tension, chimed in. “I’m sure it’ll be fun… or not. I’m not really a party girl either, but I think I’ll sit this one out,” she said with a light laugh, but Y/N could feel Nancy’s lingering gaze, making her wonder if there was more to this than just a party invite.

“You guys can go without me, I’m sure you’ll have fun if you end up going,” The girl gave a slight shrug to her friends, walking past them to grab her lunch.

“Steve Harrington, rejected by the new girl? No way,” a girl sitting next to Tommy at Steve's table scoffed, her voice dripping with disbelief. 

Carol, with her light red hair styled to perfection and a face full of makeup that highlighted her icy blue eyes, leaned in closer to the conversation, clearly savoring the moment. Her fair skin contrasted sharply with the dark eyeliner that made her stare seem even more judgmental.

“Stop it, Carol,” Steve muttered, trying to sound nonchalant as he waved her off, but there was an edge to his voice. 

He slouched back in his seat, attempting to brush off the sting of rejection. He hated how it was becoming a topic of discussion, especially with Carol and Tommy around. They thrived on gossip, and he wasn’t in the mood to be their next punchline.

“Come on, Steve,” Carol pressed, her tone teasing but with a sharpness that cut through the cafeteria noise. 

“There’s got to be something up with her. Maybe she’s just playing hard to get, or maybe she’s not interested at all. I mean, who could turn down you?” The sarcasm in her voice was thick, as if she found the very idea ridiculous.

Steve sighed, rubbing his temple with frustration. “Maybe she’s worth getting to know, you know? I want to see what she's really about,”

There was something about Y/N that intrigued him—her guarded expression, the way she wasn’t immediately taken in by his usual charm. It was different, and maybe that was what kept her on his mind. 

“Yeah, if she actually wanted to talk to you,” Carol cut in, a smirk playing on her lips as she leaned back in her chair, clearly enjoying herself. 

Tommy, who had been listening with an entertained grin, decided to jump in. “Or maybe King Steve finally met someone who isn’t falling at his feet—"

“You just don’t quit, do you?” Steve snapped, and the outburst caused a few heads to turn their way, but Steve didn’t care. He was tired of the mocking, tired of everyone acting like they knew him better than he knew himself.

“Touchy, touchy,” Tommy scoffed, raising his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk remained firmly in place. “Just saying, man, maybe she’s not into the whole ‘King of Hawkins High’ thing. Maybe you gotta' try a different approach.”

Steve didn’t respond, just stared at the table, lost in thought. He hated to admit it, but Tommy might have a point. Maybe Y/N wasn’t impressed by his usual tricks. Maybe, just maybe, he’d have to be someone different to get through to her.

────────────────────────────────────────────

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[ken-dom]

March Magic

Holland March x afab!reader

4k words

∘₊✧ Summary: Three times Holland March couldn't get it up, and one time he could.

∘₊✧ Authors’s notes: I've missed Holland, but upon a rewatch of The Nice Guys, he crashed my doors down and proceeded to experience erectile dysfunction in my living room so. Here you have it. Thank you to the wonderful K for beta reading and being the best as usual!! The warnings are pretty wild on this one so... strap in.

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: NSFW, erectile dysfunction, crying, passing out, smoking, oral sex, shotgun kissing (both the pussy and the mouth), mention of bee mating rituals/bee death, hand job, blow job, premature ejaculation, Holland having hyperspermia as usual, kind of established relationship, general wet cat pathetic energy

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

‘Mmh- I uh- I’ll be right back,’ Holland mumbled against your kiss-swollen lips, ‘wait there- don’t move-’

His body clumsily moved off the bed until he was stood, stooped over you with lips still attached to yours until you dropped back onto the bed and finally freed him.

‘Don’t be too long, sexy,’ you winked at him as he slinked off toward his adjoining bathroom, and he huffed a faux coy laugh.

What the fuck did he need to go to the bathroom for at this late stage? Maybe it’s where he keeps the condoms, you thought, relaxing against his luxuriously soft pillows. Makes sense, he probably hasn’t used one for a while, what would be the use of keeping them by the bed?

Meanwhile, Holland let out a long, steadying exhale. You hadn’t noticed. Jesus. How he’d got this far without you trying to grope him and realising what was going on (or not going on), he’d no idea, but he’d managed to distract you long enough by pressing his thigh between your legs while kissing you sloppily and needily, and you seemed to drink it up, moaning into his mouth and writhing against him.

Hell, he could feel your heat through his trousers and wondered with a smirk whether he’d need to get this suit dry cleaned and make up an excuse about the mysterious wet patch just above the knee.

Your fingers in his hair were sending shivers down his spine, and heat was pooling in his lower belly, and you kept breathing his name, and it was all so incredibly fucking hot, but for reasons he didn’t want to acknowledge, his dick just wouldn’t respond.

He slipped into the bathroom and clicked the door shut behind him, collapsing against it and closing his eyes. He didn’t bother to switch on the light; he could feel the room spinning, he didn’t need to see it too.

His hand slid down over his flaccid cock, and for a moment, he thought, Pathetic, but then he tried to focus his thoughts back to you. Back to the way your body felt pressed against his, the way you uttered his name like a desperate, horny prayer, how good you’d feel when he finally managed to get it up and bury himself inside you.

He palmed himself over his trousers halfheartedly, knowing deep down it was a lost cause, and with his voice lower than a whisper, he uttered a shaky, ‘March, March, he’s our man! If he can’t do it, no one can. Maaaarch!’

Not even a twitch.

He slid down to the floor and sobbed, banging his head back against the door, and the darkened room turned suddenly darker.

Until the morning, when he found you asleep on the bed, clutching his pillow in lieu of the man himself.

****

‘Wanna taste you-’ Holland slurred against your throat. He wished he could smell you, smell the perfume he could taste, bitter against his tongue, but at least he could bury his face between your thighs and intoxicate himself in you that way.

There was also the small problem of his cock not playing ball again, despite tearing your clothes off, his hands exploring every inch of you, despite you telling him you needed him in that sultry, seductive voice that drove him wild.

He wasn’t going to leave you dissatisfied and alone again, no matter how far gone he was. Not this time. Come on, March.

He felt you nod, heard the desperation in your whine of agreement, and slipped lower, realising as he gripped your thighs to spread them apart that he still had an unlit cigarette propped between his fingers from when you’d kissed him while trying to light said cigarette. Who could blame you for getting distracted by those gorgeous, sparklingly sad eyes and pressing your lips to his instead?

‘Oh shit- give me a second-’ he mumbled, more to himself than to you, but as he moved to drop the cigarette, you grabbed and held his hands firmly against your thighs to stop him moving it away. When he looked up at you, questioning, you reached for the lighter on the nightstand and lit it for him.

‘Carry on,’ you smirked.

Holland swallowed hard. That was the hottest thing you’d ever done. Well, the second hottest, besides actually letting him eat you out whilst smoking, which was about to take first place.

‘Jesus…’

He took a long drag, partly a need, since he hadn’t smoked in a hot fifteen minutes, partly a show for you. He relished in the way you bit your lip as you watched his eyes sliding shut at the brief satisfaction at the nicotine hit. He exhaled slowly too, relishing in it as though it were giving him the pleasure he should be feeling from you.

Fuck. He shouldn't be focusing on that right now. He dragged a soft fingertip through your slick folds and felt you shudder. Taking another drag, he exhaled right at the moment he dove down to wrap his lips around your swollen clit, smoke spreading a tingling warmth around your exposed core.

Somewhere between lapping at your folds and devouring your clit, Holland realised he’d neglected his cigarette and the consequences could be… fuck, stop thinking- just-

Feeling your thighs clench around him, he half-reluctantly pulled back for another drag, and to flick some loose ash into the ashtray by the bed, and you whined in protest, already so close you could feel your bundle of nerves throbbing in the absence of his tongue. Holland sure worked fast, but he was easily distracted, too, and you couldn’t even blame him for this since this was technically your idea.

This time, as he exhaled, his tongue dipped inside, the smoke hot against your cooling slick as it swirled back out of your entrance and up around your folds, and, admiring the combination for moment, Holland licked a stripe right up to your clit to start right back where he’d left off.

He carefully slid a finger inside this time, too, surprisingly delicate in his movements as he beckoned, stroking that spot inside you that made your toes curl so precisely as his mouth took care of the rest.

Jesus, he sure knows his way around down there- 

‘Fuck- f-fuck- Holland-!’

Your climax was so close you could practically taste it, and so could he, but there was the small complication of his cigarette still burning by your thigh.

Hips rolling to rut against his tongue as he lapped eagerly, fingerfucking you with enthusiastic vigour, your back arched off the bed and your fingers found their way into his messy sun-kissed hair, and just as your breath turned ragged, he pulled away again for another nicotine hit.

Not only did he leave you exposed to the cold air without his mouth covering you, but his finger apparently couldn’t continue to fuck into you while he was focussing on the cigarette, either. He’d never been great at multitasking and obviously the Camel was just too delicious to try. Fucking hell.

‘Tease,’ you groaned weakly, and Holland, sobering slightly (only very slightly, and very, very briefly) finally realised what this was doing to you and shoved the end of the cigarette into the ashtray, diving back down to finish the job properly, almost choking on the combination of smoke and pussy in the process. God, it tasted incredible together and he was so into it that it took no time at all for you to get that simmering feeling right back.

He felt your orgasm approach, and then shake through your body, felt you turn limp after the high subsided, and carried on for a while, softer and slower, until your thighs were clamping around his head again with oversensitivity and he ate you like a man possessed once again.

Just as your second orgasm approached, Holland seemed to slow, so you jerked your hips to spur him on, but suddenly he felt heavier too, and when you called his name in frustration, he didn’t answer.

You guessed he’d finally passed out, and propped yourself up on your elbows. You inadvertently slid your folds over his handsome nose as you manoeuvred, gasping at the sensation which, although subtle, tipped you over the edge. Your breath caught and your blood boiled and every fibre of you trembled with pleasure you hadn’t expected. 

His finger, although still, was still firmly thrust inside you and your walls clenched hard around it as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from yelling out and waking him.

Jesus… I’m gonna have to ride that nose for real, you mused when your thoughts turned coherent again, and then you began the process of sliding out from beneath him and dragging his messy, half-dressed form further up the bed and onto his pillow for some rest.

You cleaned yourself up before sinking into bed beside him to sleep, but you left his moustache soaked with your essence. You knew it would drive him wild in the morning, and maybe it would be the push he needed to finally chase his own pleasure.

****

It wasn’t.

He woke to you suckling at his neck, your arm thrown around his waist from behind, fingers toying with the waistband of his trousers.

His head was pounding when he woke, and with just one eye half open, he turned into you, a big dumb smile pulling at his lips.

His lips felt dry so without even thinking he licked them, tasting you immediately and groaning.

‘You taste incredible, you know that?’ he croaked, your fingers now working on the button of his fly.

Holland had absolutely no recollection of how last night ended. He could taste you, sure, but he barely remembered how he’d ended up in bed with you this time. He was a detective after all, though, and what kind of lousy detective would wake up with their lover wrapped around them, fingers teasing at their belly, their taste fresh on his lips, and not put together that he must have spent some time downtown? 

And you did taste delicious. Fuck, he really wished he could smell you.

He wanted you. He needed you. Since the moment you’d laid eyes on one another. And right now, he was so thankful to wake up with you already trying to satisfy him despite what a mess he probably looked. And yet, as usual, he couldn’t perform. 

‘Wait-’ he breathed, hand flying down to wrap around your wrist and gently ease you out of his trousers before you actually felt how soft he was.

‘What’s wrong, baby?’

Holland’s eyes snapped shut, his hand dropping yours to press his fingers into his eyelids instead.

He knew this would be it. 

‘I- I can’t-’ he tried, gesturing vaguely to his cock. ‘It’s not your fault. I just- I can’t-’

He cut himself off with a dramatic, choked out sob, and scrambled for a cigarette on the nightstand. There was only an empty packet and he dropped himself back onto the bed, whimpering, shoulders shaking as tears began to roll down his cheeks.

‘Fuck! I’m pathetic, I’m-’

He felt the mattress bounce as you moved away and whimpered, knowing he’d likely never see you again.

He did, though. A split second later when you sat cross legged beside him and popped a cigarette between his lips, offering a light, which he gratefully accepted.

The first inhale relaxed him more than he could comprehend, and he shuffled up to sit against the headboard, trying to steady his breathing.

‘Thank you,’ he said huskily. He meant it as gratitude for not leaving, but you handing him a cigarette masked thay enough for him not to feel more pathetic than he already did.

You placed a hand on his thigh. It wasn’t suggestive of anything other than comfort, and he appreciated that.

‘Take your time, ok?’

His brow furrowed, but he nodded anyway. Why would you wait for him?

‘Besides, when you eat me out like that, I’m hardly in a rush,’ you smiled, playfully.

Holland managed a small smile at that too.

‘That’s the March Magic,’ he muttered.

‘Oh, so that’s what you call it?’

‘Call what?’

‘Shotgun kissing my-’ you pointed between your legs.

‘I did what?!’

‘You don’t remember? Jesus. It was good, anyway. You’re good, March. And I’m sure when you’re ready, your cock will be just as delicious.’ 

He turned weak at your choice of words, turning temporarily dizzy as you absentmindedly licked your lips.

‘Wanna kiss me? Just kissing. Nothing else this time, ok?’

He whined and nodded again, leaning forward to enjoy the most tender kiss he could remember since- well. For a while.

You could taste yourself on him, but not for long as your mouth filled with his second hand smoke and you choked a little. You kept your lips pressed to his, though, tongues sliding together sweetly, with no expectations beyond this simple affection.

You felt your own cheeks grow damp and knew he was crying again. But you didn’t stop. He needed this, you realised, and you were more than willing to give him whatever he needed right now.

‘March,’ you whispered when you eventually pulled back for breath.

‘Mmh?’

‘How about you get yourself cleaned up while I run out to grab us some lunch? I can run you a bath?’

‘Yeah,’ he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Yeah that would be really fucking good actually.’

****

‘That one’s a keeper.’

‘Huh?’ March was trying to get to sleep, but his mind was whirring with thoughts of how you’d cared for him today.

How you’d washed his hair after he sunk into the warm water, covered by bubbles, laid him some fresh clothes out for him, shared a nice lunch together, and spent the afternoon watching a movie and laughing and kissing. 

He hadn’t thought about his little problem all night, and you were to thank for that. 

He was pretty sure he was falling in love actually, and his thoughts were so occupied with the joy and despair that came along with that old, familiar feeling reigniting inside him, that he couldn’t fall asleep. The fact that he’d barely drank a thing today probably contributed to that too.

Maybe he should-

‘Don’t even think about it.’

That voice again. Who the fuck-

Holland turned, frowning to find his old pal, Bumble wedged right between you and him, hogging the covers.

‘Bumble. What do you want?’

Bumble took a long drag of his cigarette. 

‘Listen, I’m telling you — that one’s a keeper.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I’ve been stuck on. You really think so?’

‘You can’t even fuck and you’ve got room service and cigarettes being lit for you and kisses on tap. Yeah I think so.’

‘That’s not why I lov- I mean-’

Bumble chuckled. Holland frowned.

‘You worked the March Magic, huh?’

‘How do you know about- what? No. I mean. I- yeah but that’s not-’

‘Look, March, when killer bees fuck, the bee with the dick usually dies. You get to cum and live to tell the tale! You’ll be fine. You just gotta relax.’

Holland felt hazy. This was almost too much information to take in. But he remembered the relaxing part. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. Just take it easy. Your dick’ll be hard in no time. Night.’ 

‘Night, Bumble. Thanks for the pep talk.’

Holland yawned, and Bumble was gone.

****

Holland shifted in the warmth of the morning light. Something was off.

He stretched his legs and rolled onto his back to look at you, see if you were awake yet, see if he could figure out why he felt kind of… weird.

You were sleeping soundly beside him, your arm still draped over his middle beneath the sheets. Nothing unusual there, over the last couple of months you’d come to stay over with him more nights than not when he wasn’t working a case, and even then he’d sometimes find you in his bed when he returned home, and thanks to this he’d actually slept in his bed instead of finding a spot somewhere he felt safe. You’d made bed safe. You’d made him feel safe.

He smiled at the thought, and tried to shift his focus onto this feeling he was trying to place. It must be early – he’d not woken up before 10am for as long as he could remember and the clock on the dresser said 08:07.

He propped himself up to take a look around the room and actually screamed when he saw the huge tent formed in the sheets between his legs.

Jaw dropping, Holland fell back onto his pillow, muttering wildly, ‘Am I dreaming? Jesus, am I actually hard? Is this real?!’ 

He poised his thumb and forefinger over his other forearm and laughed, loudly and heartily, pinching his arm so hard he hurt himself and let out a little yelp mid giggle. It was real! He was awake, and he was hard.

Head spinning, Holland called your name in an excited whisper at first, turning himself to lay face to face with you and careful not to accidentally prod you with his raging hard on. What a nice problem to have to worry about! He let out a little, ‘Ha!’ at the thought.

He called your name again, louder this time, gently gripping your shoulder in sheer excitement. He hadn’t even considered yet that you’d want to actually do anything with his boner. He was just so thrilled that his dick still worked, he wanted to share it with the whole world. There was even a fleeting moment that he considered calling Healy, but he shook the thought from his head and tried to focus.

When your eyes blinked open, although taken aback that he was awake before you, you automatically smiled at his gleeful face and leant forward to kiss him, but in the buzz of excitement, he completely missed his cue and rolled away to demonstrate the tent in the sheets once again.

‘Look! It works! Ha! It really works!’

‘Jesus…’ you breathed, propping yourself up to get a good look at the size of him. ‘Holland… that’s so great, baby, I knew you could do it!’

‘It’s all thanks to Bumble!’ he smiled like an idiot. You didn’t ask.

Giddy, you sang out his little mantra; ‘March, March, he’s our man! If he can’t do it no one can! Maaaarch-mmh!’

His lips joined with yours then, cutting you off until he pulled back to get another look at the magnificent sight of his dick in full working order.

‘Holland…’ you started, and he hummed in your direction. ‘May I… touch you?’

All of the breath seemed to exit his body like a juice box being crushed underfoot. He wheezed out a, ‘Yes- please!’ followed by a slightly more coherent, ‘Touch- lick- anything. Go nuts!’

You slipped your hand back to his stomach, gradually pushing lower until you reached the waistband of his pyjamas (another new development; he wasn’t sleeping in his suits nearly as much these days).

‘Holland, are you sure you’re ready?’

‘I’ve been ready for months,’ he sighed, ‘it’s just a shame my schwanz has taken this long to catch up. Listen, I-’

‘It’s alright,’ you stopped him, feeling his body tense up, knowing where his thoughts were going. ‘I know it might be… quick. I don’t mind. Actually it’s kind of hot…’

Holland relaxed. Jesus, why did you have to be so understanding – and in such a sexy way? It was jarring. It felt nice. It made him fall for you all the more, and knew then that Bumble had been right about you. Holland had no intention of losing you.

Your fingers ghosted over his tip, and your palm slid down to feel out the length of him before you wrapped your fingers carefully around the base and pumped slowly. You planned to learn his body like he was learning yours, to memorise every response your touch elicited, know every trick in the book to drive him wild.

You glanced up from the hypnotising view of your hand stroking him beneath the sheets to see his face already slack with pleasure, mouth agape and eyes shut in bliss. Jesus, he was receptive. Delicious.

You moved your hand up to swipe your thumb over the tip, and discovered that not only did it cause his hips to buck, but there was already a thick bead of precum waiting for you there. 

He was moaning almost nonstop at this point. Your fist moved faster and Holland began to writhe. Actually writhe beneath you – legs trembling, toes curling, didn’t have a clue what to do with his limbs, or his hands; other than try and grasp at the bedding.

‘Jesus! F-fuck! Oh!’ he cried, loud and desperate, and you were so tempted to bring him off like this, to pump him furiously until he stained the sheets, but equally you craved more.

You wouldn’t ever say this to him, but the thought wouldn’t leave you alone; what if he couldn’t get it up again for a good couple of months and you’d passed up the chance to taste him when it was given so beautifully to you? No. You had to grasp this opportunity with both hands. Or, as the case may be, with one hand and your mouth.

Keeping your movements steady, you shuffled down, pushing the covers lower, too, and got your first proper look at his hard cock. It was quite the sight; as long and thick as it felt, handsome, steadily leaking – fit to burst actually. 

You wasted no more time, carefully kissing his tip first, slowing your hand a little to test the waters without overwhelming him, and he whimpered so prettily you almost lost composure.

As your lips wrapped around his tip and you sank down lower, sucking, swirling your tongue, keeping your hand pumping fast where he wouldn’t fit, you suddenly felt bitter heat coating your tongue.

Not just coating your tongue, filling your mouth. You did your best to keep going, to suck and lap and massage him through his peak, but it wasn’t just his drawn out screech of pleasure that was distracting you, it was the amount of cum he was still spilling all the while. Despite swallowing down what you could of the never ending hot rope, choking a little on the sheer volume, it still dribbled out past your lips, dripping onto his legs and stomach and the surrounding sheets that he was balling into tight fists.

When you emerged from the mess to crawl up over him and check he was doing ok, you were faced with the most blissed out, fucked out, sated, dumb smile you’d ever seen on his handsome face. He’s never looked more peaceful, and, as much as your core was throbbing after what you’d just done, you wanted more than anything to let him rest.

So you did. You settled on his chest, not caring about the stickiness drying between your flush bodies or around your lips, and listened to his heart, steady in his chest.

‘Fuck,’ he whispered after a long pause. ‘That was- fuck…’

You smiled to yourself, sure that after so long, anything he could get would have felt incredible, but you still took a little pride in the fact that you were the one to experience it with him.

‘You want me to make breakfast?’ you offered gently.

‘I want you to be my breakfast, does that count?’ he smirked.

‘No, Holland, I just want you to enjoy the moment. Don’t worry about me.’

‘Oh, I’m not worried.’

Holland shifted beneath you and you felt the beginnings of another erection stiffening his cock.

Your eyes widened as his opened, and your gazes locked.

‘You fixed it.’

‘Holland, please,’ you laughed. ‘I did not fix your dick.’

‘Of course you did, it’s the only explanation! Anyway, look, do you want to fix its current problem?’ His hips thrust upwards to nudge his now rock hard cock against your thigh to make sure you felt it.

‘Holland, if you’re not fucking me the March way within the next minute, I’m out of here.’

He laughed again and it occurred to you that you’d never spoken to him this early, or heard him laugh so much in a morning.

‘The March way?’ he raised an amused eyebrow at you.

‘Yeah.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I’m hoping you’re about to show me.’

And show you, he most certainly did.

[steddieficrec]

do u have any recs for fics where eddie accidently comes out to steve or steve accidently finds out and eddie panic’s thinking steve is gonna hate him but steve obvs doesnt

This took forever I know! But I wanted to actually make a list and ended up finding new ones that I love and some re-reads. I hope you enjoy it.

Pretty, Pretty Boys by starsdontsleep

(1/1 I 4,097 I Teen)

Steve knows that Eddie is gay, what he doesn't expect is to hear so many details about the guys that the metalhead has hooked up with or is interested in approaching. He also doesn't expect to feel so bothered—so annoyed and uncomfortable about it.

Or, 5 times Steve was unhappy about Eddie being with or talking about another guy. 1 time Eddie was unhappy about Steve doing the same (but didn’t need to be).

Questions & Answers by starsdontsleep

(1/1 I 6,781 I Mature)

Steve doesn’t have a problem with Eddie being gay, but he does have questions which end up leading to practical demonstrations.

smoking guns (hot to the touch) by fivecenturiesverse

(1/1 I 7,590 I Teen)

Sure, they've saved the world, but the best part of that really is that it doesn't end there and in a town where everyone thinks he murdered a girl, he's at least got Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley. It's really not his fault he accidentally starts living at Steve's house, he was invited, after all. There's a mystery too, about Barbara Holland and Steve's pool.

“Your boner is digging into me,” says Robin, and Steve snorts a tired sort of laugh. “I don’t have a —” “You do, I can feel it. Gross.” “Okay, but it’s only a little one,” he says in a small voice which sounds like he’s impersonating someone. “Are you ever going to let that go? I peed a little bit when the Russians got the torture devices out, okay?” She sounds amused, though. Eddie jolts. “Russian torture devices?” Robin carries on like she didn’t hear him but Steve catches his eye and he’s grinning. “How do you even have a boner dude? You were definitely having a nightmare I know your twitching means a nightmare… Did you have a boner over Vecna?”

Dirty Words by morningberries

(1/1 I 10,207 I Explicit)

Steve gives Eddie a lesson on dirty talk, but things start to get carried away.

OR

“Fuck, Steve.” Eddie pulls at the hem of his shirt, desperately trying to stretch it beyond his crotch where he is most definitely about to tent his pants. Maybe if he wore boxers it would have been easier to conceal. “I don’t think we should do this.”

“It’s okay. It just means we’re doing good, right?” Steve slides his hips forward, making his sweats tighten against the bulge between his own legs.

Eddie lets his eyes linger there for longer than he should. There’s no way that Steve is getting turned on by all of this, but shit, he is. The proof is in the pudding—if the pudding is his dick that is suspiciously growing under the heather grey fabric.

Turn Your Back on Mother Nature by gr0gu

(4/4 I 16,996 I Teen)

It wasn't supposed to go like this.

Steve was supposed to work with Robin at the Family Video, flirt with the many many girls who came to browse the expansive selection of VHSes, go on some dates, and hopefully find The One.

It was supposed to be a notably upside-down free year.

And, hey, for what it's worth? He wasn't supposed to be pinned down on a mattress by Eddie Munson either.

And he certainly wasn't supposed to be enjoying it.

But that's getting a bit ahead of things

The Worst Mixtape Ever Made by nbfutureboy

(10/10 I 17,999 I Mature)

“It’s a gift, so you gotta listen to the whole thing, okay? I think-- I think it’s got what it takes.”

There’s an art to making a mixtape - and Steve Harrington has decidedly ignored all semblance of art in creating a mixtape for Eddie Munson. Too bad Eddie’s fascinated with how impressively terrible his song choices are.

took you for a working boy by pukner

(6/6 I 46,823 I Mature)

"Do you--Harrington, do you know other gay people?" "One," Steve says, and then, after a moment, "and a half." "And a half?" Eddie boggles at him, "What does that mean?" "He's figuring it out!" says Steve, defensively, "Taking his time, y'know? Whatever, the point is. It's cool you're gay, man."

Eddie comes out to Steve, and Steve's heartbroken about it for some reason. Eddie thinks Steve's dating Robin. Everyone else thinks Steve and Eddie have been dating this whole time. Robin doesn't get paid enough for this shit.

Also, Hawkins has been cracked open like a badly-baked cake, and everyone's settled into the most mundane apocalypse possible. Eddie Munson starts a radio programme about it.

Meanwhile, Steve gets his nails painted, and outsources a crisis he isn't having.

start by pulling him out of the fire by pricklywhicket

(10/10 I 85,554 I Explicit)

Eddie Munson died on March 27th, 1986.

This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.

No, wait. That’s not right. That’s Hitchhiker's Guide. Or was it Restaurant at the End of the Universe? Whatever, not important.

Eddie Munson died on March 27th, 1986.

Except…he didn’t. He couldn’t have. Because Eddie Munson is currently arguing with himself in his fucking head about sci-fi quotes, which doesn’t feel especially like something that a dead person would have the capacity to do.

The bats had killed him. There had been pain, and the sick sensation of tearing flesh. He’d had to swallow past a mouthful of his own blood to tell Henderson he loved him. Surely those were symptoms of imminent death.

And yet.

On April 1st, 1986, Eddie Munson opens his eyes in a dim hospital room. There’s a gasp from his left, and he tries to turn his head towards the source.

“Easy there, kid. They’ve got you trussed up pretty good.”

Eddie doesn’t need to see him. He’d know that voice anywhere, in any universe, hell dimension or otherwise.

“Uncle Wayne?”

A story about the families we find and the love that finds us.

Steady as He Goes by StrangerThings1975

(14/14 I 86,759 I Explicit)

Steve and Eddie are under the misconception that they dislike each other.

[alwaysmoncheri]

𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

summary: in which best friends, y/n henderson and steve harrington get caught up in their feelings while paranormal activities occur in the small town of hawkins, indiana

cw: fem!reader, I wrote this a long time ago(I apologize for everything cringe), shit writing, first person pov, implications of sex, 1k

<3

The day seems to drag on incessantly as I drown in my own pool of sorrow.

As I'm sitting at lunch, Tommy and Carol crack their typical 'humorous' remarks, triggering an unsettling feeling within me.

"I still think that creep killed him." Tommy says referring to Jonathan while spooning food into his mouth.

"He's such a freak." Carol comments, laughing.

Steve shoots his friends a look before he glances at me with a concerned expression. To my surprise, he rests his hand on my thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze, leaving it there, before returning to his food.

Steve doesn't bring up what happened last night.

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

"The brown current ran swiftly out of the heart of darkness, bearing us down towards the sea with twice the speed of our upward progress. And Kurtz's life was running swiftly, too—"

I slump in my seat, absorbing this incredibly boring lecture as the day reaches its conclusion. Suddenly the office lady walk in and halts the teacher's speech.

Thank god.

"(Y/n) Henderson and Nancy Wheeler? If you would come with me, please," She says motioning for us to walk with her.

With exhaustion dragging me down, I rise from my chair and shuffle after the lady through the classroom door to the empty cafeteria - a tense scene awaiting. There, Mrs. Wheeler sits, across from two officers, who look at Nancy and I with stern expressions, which causes my heart to quicken with anticipation.

Nancy sits down next to her mom and I sit myself down next to Nancy.

"We're here to discuss the whereabouts of your friend, Barbra Holland." One of the deputies says, with a notepad in hand.

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

"So, this argument you and Barbra had... What exactly was it about?" The officer, Powell asks.

"It wasn't really an argument..." Nancy says hesitantly, "Barb just wanted to leave. I didn't, so, I... I told her to just go home."

"Then what?" Powell asks.

"Then I went upstairs to put on some dry clothes." Nancy continues.

"And the next day," Powell says, "You guys went back and saw, a bear, you're thinking?"

"We don't know what it was... but we think..." I pipe in, "We think maybe it took, Barb."

"You need to check behind Steve's house—" Nancy starts.

"We did. There's nothing there." The other officer, Callahan, says shaking his head, "There's no sign of a bear."

"And there's no car." Powell finishes.

"What?" I say, as Nancy and I glance at each other.

"Look, we figure that Barbra came back last night and then she took off, went somewhere else." Callahan says.

"Has she ever talked to either of you about running off?" Powell asks, "Leaving town, maybe?"

"No," Nancy says shaking her head, "No, Barb wouldn't do that, ever."

"She wasn't maybe upset about the fact that you were spending time with this boy?" Powell asks, "Uh, Steve Harrington?"

"What? No." Nancy says uncomfortably.

"Maybe she was jealous because she saw you go up to Steve's room?" Callahan presses and Mrs. Wheeler looks at Nancy pointedly.

"It wasn't like that." Nancy argues.

"Like what?" Callahan asks.

"Steve and me... We're..." Nancy's starts, "We're just friends. We just talked."

Callahan looks down at his notes and I avert my gaze to the window, hiding my jealousy.

"Now was this before or after you changed out of your clothes?"

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

After riding my bike home, I grab a snack from the fridge as the phone begins to ring. I walk over to the phone holding it between my shoulder and ear. Opening the wrapper for my snack, I take a bite while answering the call.

"Henderson residence." I say into the phone.

"(Y/n)?" I hear Jonathan's voice through the speaker.

"This is she," I reply.

"Uh, could you help me with something?" He says hesitantly.

"Of course, what is it?" I ask, leaning against the wall.

"I need to organize Will's funeral and I just can't do it alone." He responds solemnly.

"Oh..."

"You don't have to, I just—"

"No, no, it's okay Jonathan," I say, reassuring the boy, "Pick me up in ten minutes?"

"Okay."

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

Jonathan arrives at my house approximately ten minutes later. As he drives us to the funeral home, my thoughts wander to the difference between riding with him and sitting in Steve's car. Jonathan's car is cold and bleak while Steve's car is warm and causes my emotions to buzz with excitement.

Jonathan pulls up outside the funeral home and we both head inside. An old man greets us with a sad smile and guides us over to view the available caskets.

"It's made of soft wood with a crepe interior," The old man says gently, "Uh, now, I don't know what your budget is but over there, we have copper and bronze." He says leading us over to more caskets.

Nancy walks in through the entrance, her steps slow and hesitant. Jonathan and I notice her arrival, prompting her to offer us a wave that mirrors her anxious demeanor.

"Can you just give us a second?" Jonathan stammers before we walk over to Nancy.

"Of course." The man says kindly.

"Hey." Jonathan greets.

"Hey, Nance." I say.

"Hey..." She says, "Your mom, um... she said you'd be here."

"I just... can we talk for a second?"  Nancy continues nervously.

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

"It looks like it could be some kind of perspective distortion, but I wasn't using the wide angle." Jonathan says looking at the taped picture Nancy hands him after we sit down on a bench.

"I don't know. It's weird" He continues handing the picture back to Nancy.

"And you're sure you didn't see anyone else out there?" Nancy asks.

"No." Jonathan replies, "She was there one second and then, um... gone. I figured she bolted."

"The cops think that she ran away." Nancy says sadly, "But they don't know Barb."

"And we went back to Steve's... and we thought we saw something..." I say.

Some weird man or...I don't know what it was." Nancy finishes with a sigh before looking at Jonathan.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here today." She stands, "I'm so sorry."

"What did he look like?" Jonathan says abruptly.

"What?" Nancy asks turning back around.

"This man you guys saw in the woods." Jonathan says, "What'd he look like?" He repeats.

"I don't know," Nancy stammers, "It was almost like he... he didn't have—"

"Didn't have a face?"

<3

next chapter . masterlist . steve harrington masterlist . taglist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part thirty-one] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, smut (mdni)

word count: 2.3k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

additional smut warnings: edging, orgasm denial, spanking, protected sex

It was in fact, not the last time you would sleep with Minho. Despite saying so, you continued to sneak into his room every night after Jisung fell asleep. You’d fuck, sometimes twice, and then go back to the room you shared with your best friend like nothing happened. To say that the guilt was eating you alive would be an understatement. But for whatever reason, you didn’t stop. 

All it would take was a single look from Minho, a glimpse of him shirtless in the pool, a smirk directed at you, and you’d decide you needed him. You were so weak when it came to him. It was pathetic.

Minho always let you do the initiating when it came to sex. He never pushed, but he didn’t exactly try to deter you either. At first, you convinced yourself that it was just because he was like every other twenty-something-year-old guy: always horny. Never one to turn down getting laid when the opportunity presented itself. But every time you hooked up, you’d notice things that seemed to suggest otherwise. 

Like how he always put your pleasure first. That could simply be attributed to him being a good lover, but it felt different. It wasn’t like he was trying to get you to cum as fast as possible so that he wouldn’t have to worry about it when it was his turn. No, he took his time with it, wanted to make it last because he genuinely enjoyed making you feel good. It seemed like each time you had sex he was trying to make you cum more times than the last. And then afterward, when you were both still catching your breath, he’d hold your hand, play with your hair, coax you into staying five extra minutes, things that friends with benefits don’t do. 

You’d be a fool to fall for him. But it was far too late for that. You had wanted him before you ever slept together. Before he kissed you for the first time. And now that you’d had him, you didn’t want to go back. 

You can tell Minho feels guilty too. You see it in the way he looks at Jisung when his back is turned. He’s less vocal about it than you but you know it’s there. 

-

The second to last day in Bali is spent hiking. Your foot had mostly healed by then, but the news was still devastating to you. 

“Do you ever read the itinerary?” Jisung groaned upon hearing your complaints. 

“I like being surprised.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” he said, calling your bluff. “You’re just lazy.”

You gasped and held your hand to your heart, feigning offense. Jisung rolled his eyes at you. 

“Come on, get up, get dressed. It’s matching t-shirt day.”

“Nooo, I forgot about that.”

“You only have to do it one more time after this,” he reminded you. 

Only one more time. That’s right... there was only one more stop on the trip before you all flew back to Seoul and spent the last two weeks of summer there. You expected to feel relief but you were filled with anxiety instead. You couldn’t pinpoint the reason as to why but you suspected it had to do with the whole fucking your best friend’s brother behind his back thing. 

“You still with me?” Jisung asked. “Did you zone out?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“S’alright. We better start getting ready, though.”

You nodded absentmindedly and made your way over to your suitcase to grab a change of clothes. You were moving on autopilot, not even aware of what you were doing until suddenly you were fully dressed and ready, sitting between Felix and Minho at the kitchen bar as Jisung blended up a smoothie for the four of you. 

You couldn’t remember brushing your teeth or putting on sunscreen but your mouth tasted minty and your skin was sticky from the lotion. 

Minho nudged your elbow. “You okay?” he asked. 

“Fine.”

Jisung glanced at his older brother and then you, sliding your smoothies across the counter wordlessly. 

“Thank you,” you practically whispered as you accepted yours.

Did he know? No, if he knew he certainly wouldn’t be speaking to either of you. But did he suspect? It wasn’t like you and Minho were being that careful... he could have easily picked up on what was going on. 

You tried taking a sip of your smoothie but it wasn’t melted enough to go through the straw. 

“Here,” Jisung said, leaning over the bar to stick a spoon in your cup. 

“Thanks, babe.”

He winked at you. “No problem.”

Okay, so maybe he didn’t know and was just annoyed with Minho. That could also be an explanation. 

Jisung’s parents assured you that the hike was an easy one but you were still skeptical. Hiking in general was an activity you preferred not to partake in, regardless of the level of difficulty. 

You liked getting out and going places... that were inside.. with air conditioning. Hiking, kayaking, cycling, all on the list of no’s for you. You were simply not an outdoorsy person. You’d much rather go to a tasting at a local brewery or sit through a play in a language you didn’t understand. To be fair, the trip had a good balance of both, so you couldn’t complain too much. The Hans, on the other hand, were outdoorsy people so you should have seen it coming anyway.

Getting to Campuhan Ridge required a short bus ride over to the site for the walk. You sat on Jisung’s lap since it was so crowded, listening to him argue with Felix about fruit. 

“They are good for you!” Jisung cried in exasperation.

“All I’m saying is that that much sugar can’t be healthy.”

“It’s naturally made sugar- I’m the one in culinary school here! I know what I’m talking about!”

The hike turned out to be relatively easy, as Nikki and Dom had claimed it to be. It wasn’t too high up either. Views of rice terraces and forests stretched on for miles in each direction, greenery as far as the eye can see. 

The only downfall was how hot it was. You were sweating not even ten minutes in and the baseball cap you were wearing did nothing to block out the sun. 

You stopped somewhere in the middle of the walk to take some pictures. It had been Nikki’s idea since she’d brought her Nikon along with her, but Jisung also asked Minho to take a couple pictures of just the two of you while Felix did the same thing for their parents. 

You wrapped both of your arms around Jisung and smiled as wide as you could manage. Jisung smiled too, squeezing your hip. 

“Okay, now do something different,” Minho directed. “The smiling is boring.”

You shrugged and raised yourself on your tiptoes to kiss Jisung’s cheek. “O-okay that’s good too,” Minho muttered. 

Jisung chuckled quietly, his body vibrating beneath your lips. It made you lose your balance but your best friend caught you before you could stumble.

“Woah, you alright there, y/n?” Dom called as he, Nikki, and Felix rejoined the three of you. 

You clung to Jisung and laughed. “Yes, thanks to him!”

“It seems like I’m always catching her,” he sighed. “Where would you be without me?”

“Dead, probably.”

His mother smiled fondly at your little display and you patted yourself on the back internally. You still had a role to play, after all. 

The sun had drained everyone so you headed back to the resort early. Felix and Minho went to pick up some take-out food while the rest of you showered off the day and waited for them to return. 

After dinner, you ended up in Minho’s bed again. It was routine at this point. Pretend like you’re going to bed with everyone else, wait for Jisung to fall asleep, wait fifteen more minutes to make sure he’s really out, and then sneak off to Minho’s room. His room was all the way on the other side of the treehouse thing you were staying in which was both fortunate and unfortunate. It was fortunate because it wasn’t close to Jisung where you might accidentally wake him up, but it was unfortunate because it meant you had to walk through the entire place in the dark to get to it. 

“Took you long enough,” Minho had grumbled when you showed up. 

“Aw did you miss me that much?” you teased. 

Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood to take his time with you because in a matter of minutes he had you pressed face down on the mattress as he fucked you from behind, holding on to your hips so tightly you thought he might leave bruises in the shape of fingerprints. 

It was a position the two of you hadn’t tried together yet but you were already loving it. Minho could go faster and deeper than when he was fucking you in missionary and it had you on the edge in record time. Except he wasn’t letting you cum.  

For whatever reason, every time you warned him that you were close, he would slow down or come to a complete stop, waiting until the feeling had passed to start again. He even held you in place so that you couldn’t fuck yourself back on his cock and finish yourself off- he’d learned to do that after you’d tried to do it the first time he denied your orgasm. 

“You’re so mean!” you sobbed, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. He’d stopped again, ironically rubbing your back soothingly as the pleasure ebbed away for the umpteenth time.  

Minho just laughed and pulled you up by your hair so that he could look at your face. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes you are! I need to cum and you won’t let me!”

“That’s your fault for telling me you like to be edged.”

God damn your big mouth. You didn’t even remember telling him that but you didn’t doubt that you had because it was true. You did like being edged but this was torture. 

“Don’t listen to past me! Listen to present me!” you begged. 

“Nice try.”

“Fuck!” 

He started moving again but slowly. It wasn’t enough to make you cum but it did make you even needier. You gripped the bed sheets as he thrust into you over and over again, trying in vain to get him to go faster.

“Always so fucking wet for me,” Minho hissed, slapping your ass lightly. You yelped in surprise. “Shh, baby.”

“I’m trying!” you whispered.

“Try. Harder. Then.”

You wanted to quip back but the words died on your lips as you felt the coil in your stomach tightening again. You didn’t tell Minho this time, hoping that he wouldn’t notice. He did, of course. Your pussy was fluttering like crazy around him and you weren’t able to control it. 

Minho stopped completely, this time snaking an arm under your body so that he could pull you up on his lap. You cursed under your breath at the change in angle. 

“You were about to cum without saying anything, weren’t you? Fucking brat.”

“I forgot?” you mumbled. 

He scoffed in disbelief. “You’re really testing my patience, you know that?”

“I guess it’s a good thing it turns you on then.”

Minho let out a sound of annoyance and brought his free hand down to your cunt so that he could rub your clit. The smirk fell from your face immediately. 

And then he started moving his hips, just enough so that your g-spot and your clit were being stimulated at the same time. 

You whimpered out that you were close when you felt your orgasm approaching again, which seemed to please Minho. But he wasn’t going to let you off that easy. 

“You want to cum? Beg for it.”

“Please, Minho! Please let me cum, I’ll be good, I promise!”

You didn’t hear what he said next because your ears were ringing from the intensity of your climax. You were vaguely aware of him cumming right after you but you didn’t register much aside from his body going tense underneath yours. You rode out your orgasm until the spots in your vision subsided and your legs stopped shaking, flopping onto the bed like a ragdoll. 

Minho was quick to lay down beside you, having recovered from his orgasm much faster than you had. 

“That wasn’t too much, was it?”

You shook your head. “It was perfect. I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard in my life. Not even by myself.”

You probably shouldn’t be feeding into his ego so much, but considering how good he was in bed it was at least a little deserved. 

He grinned proudly and rolled onto his side to kiss you. “I’m glad.”

-

You took another shower before going back to bed. That had become another part of your routine since you started sleeping with Minho regularly. You’d take a shower before dinner for the sake of appearances, and then you’d take a second shower after messing around with Minho. There was no way you could just hop back into bed with Jisung all sweaty and gross. It would be a dead giveaway, not to mention disgusting. 

The second shower always made you feel dirtier than it did clean. It felt like you were washing off the evidence not only literally, but figuratively too. You supposed that was to be expected, though. What wasn’t to be expected, however, was your best friend waiting outside of the bathroom for you when you got out of the shower. 

You jumped when you heard his voice, nearly knocking your head against the wall. Your eyes had yet to adjust so it was hard to see him but he was there, arms crossed over his chest defensively. You already knew what he was going to say before he said it but the question made your blood run cold nonetheless. 

“Is there something going on between you and Minho?”

sorry for skipping out on the taglist again- I'm babysitting tn so I'm posting from my laptop (lmk what you think though i always appreciate feedback!!)

add yourself to the taglist here!

[panicky-pansexual]

@91divoc This ones for you🗣️‼️

So basically the first/main Spider-Man AU I worked on was Spider-Edward. (I don’t know why I picked him specifically it just seemed to fit)

He’s way younger in this AU compared to my normal humanization by about 20 years and the only reason why I made it that was was because I was going to try and show him being Spider-Man through the years Peter B. Parker style.

His universe is based off of Toby Macguire’s Spider-Man but he himself is based off Andrew Garfield’s Spider-Man.

Of course you can’t have a Spider-Man without a Deadpool and that’s exactly the role I put James in because fuck you /j

Honestly I associated James with Deadpool as a half-joke because 2x5/Spider-Pool haha funny but the longer I left him as Deadpool the more I couldn’t unsee him in that role. I even gave him the two voices in his head from the comics!

It might be because they’re both pretty flamboyant characters (one’s just a bit more unhinged) but I honestly couldn’t really see James as any other character.

Also Rosie’s there as a Gwenpool stand in!

Gordon and Henry were both villains in this AU. Henry being Green Goblin and Gordon being Doc Ock. (Which shall I say was the best decision I’ve ever made cuz GOD DAYUM)

Their lore/origins collide with each other as follows: Gordon, being overworked, gradually loses his sanity which leads to the creation of the octo-arms (he makes them as an attempt to lighten work) only for them to backfire, creating Doc Ock.

Later, Henry dies (never really figured out how I just knew it would be the equivalent of the Flying Kipper crash), his death being the stand in for a sort of Uncle Ben tragedy, and Gordon attempts to revive him. Henry’s revival succeeds, of course, but leads to the creation of the Green Goblin.

I would also like to add that I have so many sketches of Doc Ock Gordon that I wanted to add but I couldn’t find them 😔

Meanwhile, in a separate universe, we have Spider-Thomas! This is the only drawing I have of the AU but him and his universe were based off of Tom Holland’s Spider-Man with Percy standing in as Ned/the guy in the chair (but I also planned on them becoming a Spider-Man in the AU later sorta similar to Miles Morales) and Rosie being the MJ stand in.

And that’s all the information I have! (I never knew how badly I needed to share this)

[mendesblurb]

Happy Canada Day Rai!

May I request a blurb where reader x shawn watch the sunrise together ♥️

Sunrise

Shawn Mendes x female reader

Word Count: ~275

Warning ⚠️: fluff,maybe grammar error and maybe some punctuation errors.

A/N: I didn’t really edit this, I’m so sorry anon, it took me forever to finish this too and also sorry that it’s short 🥺

You sat down on the cozy blanket as Shawn sat behind you with his arms and legs draped around you, holding you close,” It’s nice here,” He sighed, shaping the words against your skin, and his breath felt hot on your neck.

“Mhmm,” You hummed, cradling yourself more to him.

Together you enjoy the sight of the sun rising as it casts an orange reflection on the water. At the same time, Shawn would occasionally nuzzle his head against your neck and gently kiss along the exposed skin in his reach while trailing along the backside of your ear and leaning down to your shoulder to drag his lips along it gently.

This time you and Shawn were very determined to actually watch the sunrise and not fall asleep like the last time.

You let yourself soak in his kisses and the beauty around you for a moment longer, just watching as the light painted the sky a brand new color before turning to him, “I have a wild idea.”

He sighed, already knowing what you mean and starts shaking his head at the thought of it, “Oh no,no, No!”

“Cmon...,Please!” You pleaded as you stood up, choosing to still slip your dress straps off your shoulders and letting them slide down and pool around your ankles.

“Y/N...” He muttered, looking around him to see if anyone was nearby.

“Baby, relax; we’re in the middle of nowhere,” You drag him closer to the water, “No one will see us,” You grin widely again before silencing his further protests with a kiss on his lips, “I promise that.”

Shawn let himself melt into the kiss before agreeing to strip out of his clothes and join you for a swim.

———————————————————————————————

Thank you for reading guys... feel free to like, reblog, follow my account, leave a comment and my chat is always open for random chats or requests... appreciate every single one of you... ❤️

Taglist (open) : @monikamendes @holland-styles @bvttercupbby @lonelyreputation @badreputationlove @shawn-is-my-giant-jellybean @benito-mi-vida @swiftmendeshoran @yournameoneverypage @shawn-is-bruh @mendesbhraanth @perfectlywrongsm @imaginashawnn @smendes-forever @nervousmendes @whenyoureadyholland @shawn-youth @myboyshawn @camilalewiss @camilalewisss @theregoesmyherojd @nanijaac1 @shawnieeboyy @silverswallow @inlovewithmendes-blog @mendeslola-blog @mendesx123 @23kofmendes @jellyloml @chipofmendes @poohmendes @wutheringmendes @shawnmendesbuddy​ @chocochipcookie305

Story Code: 06122345

[atmilliways]

The Haunting of Harrington House

@steddiemicrofic

written for ‘Suck’ | wc: 480 | cw: ghosts, death, implied blood, Steve has issues with thinking he deserves life | rated: T

In which the Harrington House holds darkness within, and Eddie, for all that he’s a monster now, is kind.  Or: An absurdly brief Haunting of Hill House (2018) AU. Kind of. With a vampire. The Upside Down is closed off and Vecna is dead, but Steve’s house has always been like this and will continue to be so even if it stands empty until it rots. Sorry Barb. 😔

Also on Ao3

When Vecna is dead, Steve goes home.

Alone, because—“You know why,” he’d told Robin. She’d backed off with a worried look over her shoulder.

The specter of Barbara Holland glares at him as he lets himself in. “So, that’s it?” she snaps at his back as he trudges up the stairs. “The bad guy’s dead and I’m still stuck here?”

“Told you,” Steve mumbles.

The Upside Down killed Barb, but she died on the property so she belongs to the house.

For all that he’s still alive, so does Steve.

When Vecna is dead, Eddie wriggles out of his hiding place in the Upside Down and looks for a way home.

With the gates sealed, he searches along a barrier he can smellheartastetouch but not see. It’s lonely work, but he’s ripped enough native creatures apart now that they leave him alone.

He finds what he needs beside a pile of bones in an empty pool.

When Eddie crawls out of his pool, Steve doesn’t hesitate.

"Steve," Eddie gasps.

He dutifully steps forward with a towel. Sure, death doesn’t usually change people this much—clawed fingers, pointed ears, teeth too long and sharp—and Eddie definitely hadn’t died here, but.

He gathers Eddie up and doesn’t think much about how cold he is. The dead are always cold.

When morning comes, Eddie nuzzles Steve’s neck. He’s hungry after living off of monsters, and Steve smells so good.

He should have warned Steve before passing out, he knows, but he hadn’t expected to wake up in bed with him.

Steve sleepily hums in question.

Eddie can only whimper in reply.

There’s a long pause, then. . . . “You can.”

And once invited, he’s too hungry not to bite. He makes it gentle for Steve, though. Makes it good.

When Eddie talks about leaving, both of them, Steve digs his heels in. Or maybe the house does for him, sucking at him like quicksand. The ghosts come out of the shadows, Barb and so many more, to demand that he stay—always ready to remind him that he belongs here, with them, with it.

He can’t go. He could never.

Then Eddie grabs him with warm hands, grips him tight and won’t let go except to flip off the dead. He’s warm. Steve gave him that. And he says, “You can.”

Eddie carries him, pausing only to grab car keys. He bundles Steve into the BMW kicking and screaming, because the teeth of Harrington House sank in long before Eddie’s and ripping them out hurts. Even driving, Eddie lets Steve squeeze his hand as hard as he needs.

The warmth and pain remind Steve that he has life in his veins; he doesn’t have to live with the dead as though he belongs with them.

They only drive to Robin’s house, but it’s enough. This time Steve has no intention of ever going back.

[jeynearrynofthevale]

Just watched the Connor McDavid: Whatever it Takes documentary and my main takeaway is that he’s insane but here are a bunch of random notes and pics:

““If it was up to my mom, we probably would’ve been a skiing family”

The drive, that’s who he is, he’s always been that way, since he was probably 3 or 4, he refused to let his parents help him get dressed and he would carry his bag everywhere, the bag was bigger than he was

“He’s intense and he’s competitive”

Bobby Orr said when he was 15 that he was gonna be the greatest skater to ever play

Tracy Wilson: Olympian and skating coach “what I love about Connor is it’s all about power, doesn’t matter how it looks, it’s about getting there”

Kassian “we haven’t seen a player like that in the game in maybe forever”

McDavid “at the end of the day, you’re still playing an nhl game, but that’s not much to hang your hat on” in reference to being out of the playoffs

“Right on the post square and I just felt the pain right away, thought I’d just broken my leg into a couple pieces”

They keep replaying him going into the net at top speed and it’s fucking horrible to watch

He whispered to me “I think it’s broke”- Kassian

“I was having flashbacks to Stamkos’s energy and I know stammer really well”

Stamkos texted therapist: “did he break his tibia?”

“If I could do it all over again, you’d like to take it back”- giordano

Team physical therapist asked if he could move his leg and told him he could either try to get up or call the gurney. Connor said “no, no, no” and stood up even though he was worried and thought his leg was going to give out”

“I held it together until we got though the tunnel and then I was just a mess” it took them 10 minutes to get back to the room

He said “stop, just give me a second”

3 guys had to hold him up the way back

Lauren “it was really hard when he called me, he just said “I think I broke my leg””

Brian “he was really upset and in pain, as a parent it’s hard”

Kelly: “it’s the worst thing in the world”

“Maybe in hindsight it would’ve been better if it was broken”

Never realized the infamous scene where Leon squeezes Connor in the hallway is from this.

Grade 2 strain of his pcl

“Hey dad, just want you to know I’m going for a second opinion in Colorado Springs”

Doctor told him it was a full pcl tear where tears on bth sides of his miniscus, “tore the popliteus right of the bone”

Full reconstruction of the knee, pcl, and popliteus would require a year recovery, doctor said he needed to do it asap, within a few day

“He was distraught, very, very under described”

His mom wanted him to have the surgery

Surgical intervention is to give it stability back

Had to make decision in 48hrs about whether or not to operate.

“He was very emotional and it was very difficult for him to talk.”

3rd opinion in LA: 2nd doctor is right about the issues but thinks the surgery is risky and doesn’t believe in it, wants to try to rehab it

Had to make that decision at 22 in 24 hours

Pcl cut right in half, back of knee joint completely torn, popliteus also completely torn, lateral and medial meniscus are both torn, crack in front of tibia from where he hit the post

“Hockey is my life”

He wanted to hear that he didn’t need surgery

His rehab guy literally lived with him

7 days a week, 10 hrs a day

50% chance to get him maybe skating again by end of summer

He was in a hyperbaric chamber daily for 40 days, 2 hours at a time

Claustrophobic in a literal tube

“At one point, doctor cleared him to flex his quad muscle”

They had to keep the injury as secret as possible, didn’t tell Ken Holland how bad it was

He would call his mom right after every mri appointment

He was in the pool all the time working on his knee

While rehabbing, his core specialist was like “might as well work on everything while we’re stuck here” and they worked on his core, pelvic floor, rotational movement, spine, everything

Gymnastics coach also helped

Didn’t want him to skate till September

He went on the ice with just his dad on his doc’s recommendation before September

He was so happy to be back on the ice with his father, completely changed emotionally that day

You can really see how much he loves just skating

He was so happy to know that even if he couldn’t fully heal he could still go on with the brace and skate

He’s so smooth in these skating exercises while in an insane brace

“One thing to be out there playing the game but another to do it at the level he was capable of”

Tracy Wilson did in their own words “edging” with him for afternoons, taking him through all sorts of movements and exercises without his brace

Opening night started to look like a possibility

He wanted to be there for training camp

He decided not to participate in biosteel

He wanted to play in all 7 exhibition games even though most veterans only did 4

“Like my first game all over again”

Seeing him on opening night was incredible for his training people

Okay, seeing the canucks slashing at him and shoving him into the boards in the home opener is now making me so protective

“He willed himself back”

[dr-futbol-blog]

Home, Pt. 4

Sheppard and Teyla continue exploring what is basically Sheppard's mind. They have this exchange:

Teyla: What is it? Sheppard: I was just thinkin' again -- about Doctor Weir and everyone else on Atlantis. Teyla: Of course. I am sure she is fine -- as I am sure they are all fine. Sheppard: Yeah, I'm sure.

This once more confirms that they all have different realities: Weir is still back on Atlantis on his. But this is also an example of something we see multiple times later: Sheppard cares so much about Rodney that he's unable to put it into words. to verbalize it, but Teyla, being both observant and empathic, figures it out anyway.

There are several times when Sheppard talks about some heavy emotional stuff and just tacks Rodney on as though he's an afterthought ("Even Rodney") because he just can't deal with the thought of losing him. He's using humour, he's using sarcasm, he's using flippancy, he's using any and every technique he can to distance himself from the fact that he is actually the one called to constantly put someone he loves Rodney in danger and this fear is certainly not lessened by the fact that he loved and lost someone who served under him (Capt. Holland, as we learn in Phantoms, S03E09) for which he very much blames himself.

Viewers that don't understand what Sheppard is doing probably get whiplash from Sheppard and McKay being best friends one moment and Sheppard talking about him to other people like he doesn't even care the next. Oh, he cares ("Deeper than words, my friend, deeper than words"), he cares so much that he has to try to trick cruel fate into leaving McKay alone by talking about him like he doesn't. Like not admitting it would keep his guilt-laden ill fortune, the bad karma of past mistakes, from getting someone he loves killed. Again.

Here, he's unable to speak Rodney's name ("and everyone else"). But Teyla, being the empath that she is, picks up on this and tries to alleviate his fear with "I am sure they are all fine".

He looks so goddamn sad.

Here he is, back home with a beautiful woman with everything a man could ever want. And he looks like he would rather be anywhere else.

The fact that we transition from this conversation directly to McKay just confirms that Weir was not who he was actually thinking about, who he was worried for.

Sheppard's frat party with the dead friends and former crushes is interesting. We see Sheppard watch a bikini-clad hot woman dive in the pool and yet he's clearly more comfortable inside, fraternizing with the dead soldiers, and all the other dudes out and about. Who are all these people? Likely, they're all people from his past. There's his sixth grade teacher (and who hasn't had a crush on a teacher?), there's someone that wouldn't date him whose name he can't even remember. Likely he hasn't invented any whole-ass people but filled the room with people from his memories.

Also? We are lead to believe he is pointing at this woman in the pink tank top as the person who wouldn't date him because she is the only woman in the frame and she's lit up. But there are four people behind Mitch and Dex here, and Sheppard could mean any one of them. He does not mention this person's gender, just says "You wouldn't date me!"

The heteronormative viewer is going to make the obvious interpretation. But by a sheer numbers game, this person is much more likely to have been a guy. The likeliest candidate is the one to the right of the woman taking a sip of his drink since he's the one Dex actually turns to look at once Sheppard points out this person that refused to date him (and Sheppard's own eyes also look very much to the right of the frame). And when Sheppard picks up his gun, this guy cowers behind the woman in pink like he's expecting to get shot.

There are hot women in the party, yes. But there sure are a lot of good-looking guys there, too. Maybe there are too many people he's found attractive at one time or another as he seems to be getting hot under the collar:

The last person he looks at (in fact, he looks at this guy in the striped shirt three times) before he has to open his jacket to cool down? This guy:

But, like. The mainstream audience saw the bikinis and nothing else.

The bikini-clad women also distract from their reminiscing about how Sheppard spent half the night sitting and "talking to this guy" in Afghanistan two days before his friends were killed outside Khabour. This is clearly weighing on him. The fact that just attempting to connect with another human being always seems to lead to people close to him getting killed. Again, we transition from this discussion directly to Rodney.

It may be that the house is so full of people, seemingly completely random people from his life, that he was trying to conjure someone to turn up there but couldn't manage it (because the mist wouldn't allow it). We start from his team members who appeared just when he was feeling lonely and thinking about the people he had left behind at Atlantis (Rodney), we know there's someone really smart (Rodney) there being a teacher to a sixth grader, someone he wanted to date (Rodney?), very attractive people (Rodney?), geeky poorly dressed people (def. Rodney). We start with his team members and we end with Ford, who finally comes in the door with a bunch of pizzas. He kept trying to get something to happen, someone to appear, which began with his dead army buddies and finished with Ford. Just saying, there were a lot of people there.

In the end, the alien mist brings them all together into the gate room, suggesting that they live out the rest of their lives in a shared reality. Something pretty interesting happens. The mist tells them that they are now experiencing a shared fabrication. Rodney is shook by this, likely taking this to mean that they have access to each others' minds.

He almost looks at Sheppard but then averts his eyes. Clearly, he wants to look. A few moments pass, he looks more and more apprehensive, and he finally interjects with "So none of this is real? The cute brunette, of course, I should have known! How do you go from, 'You're a pig, but I like your cat,' to, 'I missed you'?"

First of all, he makes no mention of the cute brunette being a woman so for Sheppard, this could mean anyone. Second, this is the thing that McKay chooses to share of his own reality quite unprompted with the others here.

Third, Sheppard looks all kinds of unhappy about hearing him say that. Like this entire thing is in reaction to McKay, the cute brunette and the cat:

He's looked more or less upset the entire episode but suddenly he looks like his cat just died. Weren't you just in a house full of hot people you conjured up from your past yourself, Major? Is it even possible to interpret this as something other than an acute case of jealousy?

And yet he forgets it as soon as McKay starts flirting with him again:

Sheppard: The dead people were a -- dead give a way. McKay: Dead people? What were you doing?

This. This flirty rejoinder was more important to McKay than food and water and their bodies being unconscious on the ground on some alien planet since all of this he only realizes once he has it out of his system, once he has had the chance to reconnect with Sheppard. They actually double-team on the alien mist and when McKay steps up to him/it, Sheppard does the same apparently to place himself between Rodney and fake!Hammond if need be.

When the mist suggests that they make the most of the time they have left, Sheppard gives McKay this look:

McKay is out of the frame, Weir is standing between them so your average Joe viewer, if they pay attention to their looks at all, might interpret him as looking at Weir when that is not what he's doing at all.

When all is well and they wake up on the planet, the episode ends with Sheppard doing something that he loves doing: watching McKay work. He glances back at Teyla and Weir to see if they can see him looking but the episode fades to black with Sheppard and McKay's back-and-forth, once more in their own little world even with these other people around them.

This scene also circles back to the beginning of the episode. There, Sheppard was very obviously trying to not look at McKay. This was emphasized by the placement of Ford and the DHD between them. In this final scene, Ford and the DHD are also placed between them but by this time, they are having a conversation right over them, with Sheppard leaning over the DHD to get closer. They are having a back-and-forth regardless of any and everything that is between them and around them.

It's so familiar. It's so domestic. All is right with the world.

[fastcardotmp3]

(I really wanted to have my apocalypse ronance fic done by Halloween and that's simply not happening, so have this little guy instead <3) ronance; horror filmmaker!Nancy; future fic; 1k words

Over the course of the ‘90s, a collection of unconnected but similarly themed horror movies are made and released.

Minuscule budgets and narrow theater releases, they don’t go very far at first. In fact, they don’t go anywhere for a couple of decades, only gaining traction with a DVD release and a flash in the pan of a cult following.

They aren’t sequels of each other, these movies, but they have a great deal in common to the point where in the early 2010s an online community starts connecting not just themes, but also characters whose names may not align even though their stories do, a haunted town or house or swimming pool which might as well all be the same version of Hell.

Each cover boasts a promise of fake blood and big screams but never gets across the great deal of sincerity tucked between cuts in the film strips, no, it’s up to audiences to find that.

And eventually? They do.

No one knows who N.W. Holland is, the name listed as director and writer and producer and on and on endlessly into the credits, a pseudonym from the looks of it and one which stopped being used around the new millennium if IMDb is to be trusted. They talk about them though, this mysterious figure who made four films which are considered life affirming or changing to any number of fans.

They debate gender and political affiliation and whether or not they went to film school or just figured it out on the job. They talk about the tells in their writing and try and find them in newer movies with different directors, trying to catch their mystery in the real world beyond those four films.

They seek and search and wonder and bite each other’s heads off and still all the while…

All the while Nancy Wheeler stays in the shadows.

“You have to do it.”

“No, I don’t,” she shakes her head definitively, leaning against the kitchen counter in a modest two bedroom home in central Indianapolis.

“Come on, Nance!” Robin laughs all sharp with disbelief, the sheaf of papers clutched in one hand fluttering in the wind created by her gestures. “Look at this! I mean look at it.”

“I’ve seen it,” Nancy shrugs, turns to set her mug down and give herself a refill from the carafe behind her, effectively turning her back on both Robin and this conversation.

The sound Robin makes in response is a familiar one, that sort of fond frustration when Nancy is being intentionally obtuse about something coming out in a huff of air.

“Nancy.”

“It did what it was supposed to!” Nancy says with no shortage of indignation, but she also knows, no lacking in anxious unsteadiness either. “That’s why I let you read it, because it’s— it’s a final product as-is.”

“You and I both know that isn’t true,” Robin says, gentler this time, holding those endlessly heavy pages between them like they weigh nothing.

Although, Robin has always been good at that, hasn’t she? Taking Nancy’s baggage for what it is and storing it securely and carefully on her shoulders?

Robin Buckley is a thing of wonder, the way she wormed into Nancy’s heart and life, made a cozy little home there long before Nancy herself even realized. It was like waking up, the day Nancy started to understand what they were, years behind the times as far as Robin was concerned but finally having gotten enough of the rot out of her system by way of four movies about a best friend lost too soon and the girl who failed to save her.

(The horror of the final girl, that's what the forums call it. Nancy just calls it Hawkins.)

Nancy loves her and Nancy knows her and being known in return is something she is still, twenty-five years on, learning to cope with, but it’s just.

“It’s been fifteen years since I made a movie, Robin,” she exhales, heavy as she slumps back against the counter again with her arms crossed like she’s sixteen and protecting her soft bits again. Maybe she always will be.

“It’s been fifteen hours since you wrote one,” Robin drops the screenplay on the table to her right in a punctuating smack! of a sound.

“I just had to get it out of my system,” Nancy breathes down towards her feet, even as Robin steps closer, steps into her space, steps right up in front of her, “it’s not like the others, I don’t need to say this one out loud.”

“Nance,” Robin breathes, guiding Nancy’s gaze up to meet hers with hands on her cheeks, thumbs tracing just beneath her eyes, the thin frames of her glasses. “This is the one you need to say out loud the most.”

Nancy’s eyes sting. Her arms unwrap so her hands can fall to grip at Robin’s waist.

There’s a community online who would likely agree, but it’s not their opinions which Nancy cares about in this moment. Just Robin. Just the way Robin sees it in black and white right there on the page, typed on the same typewriter she’d used on the first one in 1991.

“It’s been so long, it’s so obvious I haven’t written in so long.”

“Sure,” Robin shrugs, wiping a stray tear before it even makes it to Nancy’s cheek and smiling like there’s joy to be had here, “but that’s the point. I can see it, all that time between the last one and this one.”

“Because this one isn’t as scary?” Nancy scoffs, but Robin just holds her more firmly and leans in until their foreheads touch.

“Because in this one you forgive yourself.”

Nancy cries. She sobs, standing in the kitchen of the home she’s built with this woman, just an hour from the town where her childhood was stolen from her, but a joyful home despite it all.

She breaks down and lets herself be held on this day, because what they both know is that it’ll start tomorrow.

There is a community online that’s been searching for more stories from N.W. Holland for decades, and they’ve never found them because they didn’t exist.

One year from now, a script folded and paged through and dog eared will turn into exactly what they’re looking for, but it will take some time for them to realize.

It’s finally her story, complete in its resolution and its forgiveness, after all.

It’s only right it finally bares her name.