#Sloooowburn

[tara-the-quiet-bookworm-2016]

Sweet Like Candy (Yandere! Graves x Female Reader fic.) Chapter One)

Summary- You were just a normal young woman, living your life, going to school and work, spending time with your friends, and completely unaware of the man that had been watching you for months. A man that will do everything and anything to make you his...

Authors Notes- Been a hot minute since I wrote anything Yandere on this site. And now I'm dipping my toes in the COD MW 2 pool with a Yandere! Graves' fic. Now the first chapter in kinda vanilla nothing over the top so yeah. But I hope you enjoy. Now on to the story.

Chapter One.

It was a warm summers day, and you lay curled up on your nice comfy bed, absolutely refusing to leave it. However, your alarm clock had other plans as the moment you think of drifting back to sleep it begins to blare, making you jump and grumble. Time for work, and god you are so tempted to just call in sick to work. But you know you can't one you promised your friend Sara you'd take her shift for today, and two you need the money. And honestly though you might bitch and moan you really did love your job at the cafe down town.

Sighing you rolled out of bed, and on to the floor with a groan before getting to you feet and heading to where your bathroom was, intent on getting ready for the day. Stepping into the shower you turned on the water as hot as can be, your fingers running through your hair. as you let your thoughts go. Telling yourself that after work you would need to focus on your homework knowing it was due in a few days. But that seemed to be easier said that done these days and not because of work leaving you burned out. You could never put your finger on it but lately you've constantly felt like you were being watched.

Of course at first you had brushed it off as exhaustion and the fact that you had just moved into your new one bedroom apartment. A small, some what cramped apartment that was...okay. Considering it was your first apartment and rather small, but the rent was cheap and it was also close to your work as well. And commuting to school would be easy as well. But that didn't stop you from feeling like someone was constantly watching you, perhaps it was paranoia considering you lived alone?

'Or perhaps it's just your mind playing tricks on you.' You thought, as water cascaded down your naked body. 'This is your first time moving out on your own. So of course you're a little nervous.' Nodding to yourself you turned off the water, wrapping a towel around yourself as you stepped into your bedroom, moving to your closet you picked out your outfit for the day, and tried in vain to shrug this feeling off. 'Of course it would probably help if you had curtains in your apartment.' You told yourself, as you looked to your bedroom window that looked out at the street, watching as people went about their lives unaware that you existed.

Giving your head a shake you turned away from the window and walked off, heading to the living room you grabbed your purse, making sure you had your phone and keys on you as you headed for the door. And as you descended down the stairs and out the door of your apartment unaware of the person lurking in the shadows, watching you.

***

From the shadows Phillip Graves watched as you walked down the street. A wide smile on his face. There you were right on time, as always. Graves pushed himself off the wall of the building he had been leaning against as he waited for you to leave the safety of your apartment and head to the cafe you worked at. The place Graves had first saw you, and where Graves found himself fixating from the moment you looked at him, a bright smile on your lips as you greeted him.

And for Graves it was at that moment time seemed to stop for the man. Remembering standing in the doorway of the cute little cafe Graves had thought to try out after constantly driving past it on his way to and from work. After all a man in his position wouldn't be able to get half the stuff with out caffeine and your cafe happened to be the only one close enough after the cafe he used to frequent closed down for some reason.

But the cafe you worked at soon opened up, and for Graves it must've been fate as the moment he stepped through the doors of the little cafe was the moment he had met you. Graves smiled remembering how you looked went the bell chimed above the door, and you greeted him. And for Graves it seemed like time stopped as he stood in the doorway. His heart skipping a beat as he moved closer to the counter you were sitting behind.

Graves remembered how his heart skipped a beat when you smiled brightly at him as he somehow managed to get his order out. Black coffee with sugar. And if he was at any other place he would have paid for his drink and gone about his day. But for some reason Graves had decided to stick around, finding a seat with his drink, eyes glued on you. And every once in a while you would glance in his direction as you went about your day. And since then Graves decided to make the cafe you work at his new favorite place, and not because of the coffee or baked goods it sold.

In fact just seeing you had become the highlight of Grave's day as time went on and he managed to strike up a conversation with you. And during those times he found out that you were a bit younger than him and in school, studying to become a vet, your hobbies included video games and hanging out with friends. Now while YOU didn't think that anything you told Graves was overly interesting. But Graves hung on to every word, a small smile on his lips.

And then from then on Graves found himself frequenting the little cafe every single chance he got. Eyes fixed on you as you worked, he knew he shouldn't be so focused on you, told himself that you were too young for him. But despite that Graves found himself fixating on you. Hence why he constantly found himself lurking outside the shithole apartment, constantly waiting for you as you headed for work.

Pushing himself off the wall of the building he headed for his truck. Intent on heading him. Thoughts of you filling his mind, a faint on his lips. He didn't know what it was about you, but Graves hoped as time went on that you would finally see him.

Getting into his truck he drove home.

Authors Note- Yeah, sorry this isn't the greatest first chapter I've ever written. And like I said it's been a while since I wrote anything Yandere. But I assure you things will pick up in the next chapter or two.

Also you can find this fic on my AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YandereQueen1987

[fennasinbog]

One Who Travels Like a Lover | Steddie Big Bang Snippet :)

hey everyone! I've been writing a fic for the @steddiebang. It will begin posting on ao3 on October 1st, but I wanted to share a bit of the first chapter ahead of the release! I'm honored to be working on this project with @anarmel, an amazing artist who's creating some beautiful art to go along with the fic. I can't believe this is finally happening! peep a chapter one + art snippet under the cut... in the words of my poor beta:

Chapter One: The Frozen Cemetery

EDDIE

He wakes with a start – a heavy weight across his chest and the remnants of panic in his throat. The fear consolidates as a choked gasp, an impulse to sit up and run. The thing on his lap seems unmovable. He leans up to inspect it more closely, confused, and comes face to face with a goopy, horrifying heap of demogorgon. He holds back a surprised whine, painful where it rattles through his lungs; drops back, stills, tries not to breathe. Does what he always does in the face of danger: plays dead and hides.

Except.

Except, it isn’t what he does anymore, is it? He did cross an interdimensional gate – walked straight into hell out of his own volition – and stayed even as the bats closed in. He had fought even as it became clear the battle could not be won. Earned his laurels, if you will. Died, perhaps, in Dustin’s desperate, trembling arms. Shit.

The creature remains quiet, unmoving. Eddie holds his breath and slowly examines its body, looking for a sign of threat. There are no tensed muscles, no biting teeth or grasping claws. It’s unnaturally inert, Eddie thinks, death-like — and only then he realizes it is not breathing. An encounter with a demogorgon corpse sounds slightly more appealing than dealing with its living counterpart would be, and that is what Eddie focuses on as he wriggles his way out from underneath it. It takes a while, partially because he keeps feeling sick as he pushes gangly demogorgon limbs away and mainly because the effort pulls at the tender scar tissue that seems to cover half of his body. He frees his last foot, and lies back on the floor for a second, exhausted and shivering, before standing up.

It’s cold as balls, colder than Eddie ever remembers the Upside Down being. There is, however, Upside Down ash floating in the air, like glitter suspended in a lava lamp. He looks up to the sky, a murky mass of gray clouds, half-lit, like the sun is frozen in a permanent state of dusk. Grey meets gray in the horizon, where the clouds turn into fog and obscure the top of a barren mountain. A mountain range, more like, as it stretches around Eddie in every single direction. He is in a valley, it seems, treeless and dead, nothing but rock mountain at his back, and a downward slope ahead. A slope filled with demogorgon remains, by the looks of it. An ash particle caresses his cheek and melts. He catches one with his hand and watches it dissolve. Snow. Snow and ash. Eddie remembers some of Dustin’s tales about the Russians, how they took Harrington and Buckley, and wonders if he’s been taken too. Taken all the way to Russia? He shivers. It truly is awfully cold and dark, and he might not be alone, not when he has woken in this unknown place, surrounded by a wasteland of demo-carcasses. The sun doesn’t look like it will fully set, but night might be coming and he doesn’t want to risk spending it out in the open. He needs to move, find cover.

A quick review of his various pockets turns out a miscellaneous collection of lighters, pens, gum and store receipts. He has a flask of whiskey, but no water or real food, and only a hunting knife for protection. Worst case scenario, he thinks bitterly, he could chuck a ballpoint pen at a demobat and hope for the best. He peeks at his stomach, reluctant, as if knowing the state of it will suddenly make the wounds and scars real, and flinches at the sight of it – marred, dirty, torn up. It looks bad – bad enough that he should be dead, either from blood loss or an infection. It doesn’t hurt. He can’t believe he hasn’t died already.

Water, his brain supplies, voice sounding eerily close to his father’s. A ghost of the past, perhaps, but a ghost in the right nonetheless. He needs to find water – to clean himself, to drink. Water and shelter. He sighs, lowers the hem of his t-shirt over his mangled torso, and tightens his grip around the knife. Down into the vale of shadows it is.

–

People knew of Edward Munson Sr. They knew he moved to the outskirts of Indianapolis with nothing but a dream and a young bride. They’ve heard that he lost her years later to a cancer they could neither prevent nor afford to treat. They imagine him jaded, angry – and then use that anger to explain the felonies and imprisonment. Which, Eddie thinks, is not entirely inaccurate. His father had been angry. And jaded. He would be too, he thinks, if he had found his mom and then lost her. Edward Munson the Felon, that’s what his dad is, a cautionary tale to those thinking of making their way out of Hawkins to pursue a better life. He had wanted and he had failed, and look where that had got him. It made all the cowards feel better about their conformity – made them feel comfortable hating people who, like Eddie, still hoped to make it out of their silly little town.

Eddie ponders this as he makes his descent towards the center of the valley, zigzagging along the way so his unstable limbs won’t accidentally send him rolling down the hill. He’s thinking of his dad because, although nobody knows, he was one of those people who knew an ungodly amount of stuff about the mountain. The mountain, the wars, useless historical factoids. When things were good, Edward had sat Eddie next to him on the sofa and spoken over documentary narrators to tell him about survival in the wilderness. Eddie back then had been bored, sometimes, and he definitely hadn’t known to appreciate those rare moments of peace and companionship. He had sat through plane models lectures or rambling bivouac building rants, and ignored them. It broke his heart a little, in hindsight, realizing that his dad and him had been similar in that regard – so taken by random mundanities and so eager to share their passion for them with anyone who would listen. His dad had not been a good dad, not like Wayne is, but Eddie had also, perhaps, not been a good son.

It is his dad’s advice that guides his movements now, slow and steady, as he treks downwards and reaches a small gathering of trees. Trees often mean water, he knows, but also, with any luck, animals or insects. He hypes himself up with a muttered chant of “insects are metal, eating insects is metal” and approaches the forest, knife held up at the ready. Most trunks are burnt, which isn’t good news, and the ground is razed and covered in pebbles. There’s moisture, though – frost covering the leaves of a very-much-alive fern. He runs his fingers over it, gathers the frozen droplets and allows them to melt on the palm of his hand. The ground is wet. Eddie continues to walk through the ferns. He stops a few paces ahead, coming face to face with a small, frozen stream. The clouds continue to roll overhead. The night-dusk isn’t getting any darker. Eddie heaves a deep sigh and drops to the floor. He pulls out the flask, going over the order of operations:

A sip of whiskey for encouragement.

Ice from the stream to clean the wound.

The rest of the whiskey to disinfect it.

The flask and a fire to boil ice into drinking water.

His head pounds a little as he tries to puzzle the steps together, an underlying headache that might be both dehydration and exhaustion.

Sleep.

And then, sometime in the morning – or the night, or whenever he woke up – find food. How long has it been since he last ate? He’s not hungry, he doesn't think, but, then again, he’s nothing but a blur of fear and pain.

Clean. Drink. Sleep. Find food.

The list isn’t long but it seems daunting nonetheless. Nancy Wheeler would’ve managed something better – more detailed plans and a more masterful execution. He wheezes. Pushes his headband back. It reminds him of Wayne and the way he would, on occasion, pat his head. “Oftentimes, boy, doing your best is good enough,” he would say.

He takes a deep breath and does his best.

–

Eddie wakes to darkness, again. The embers beside him are still warm, but he’s cold, still. He checks his surroundings first, restless, but there’s no movement. His wounds, the second object of his attention, are clean, or as clean as he’s been able to get them. Some of them were already closed, some of them tender – hundreds of unattractive gouges and bites connecting like spider-webbing tendrils. His skin is blackened in some spots, burnt-toast-like, but it no longer looks like the worst parts of a butcher shop back room. The thirst is gone, he’s happy to notice, but the hunger has doubled in his sleep. There’s a half-sharpened stick by his boot, the last of his efforts before his tiredness claimed him, so Eddie makes quick work of carving it into a spike with his hunting knife. He pauses when he’s done, looking around before he stands. He tests out the weight of his newly-acquired, pointy spear by shifting it back and forth between his hands. He has a hunting knife and a hunting spear, which means he’s only missing some prey. Poetic really, when the hunted becomes the hunter.

He steps on the coals, choking them off until they stop smoking, and sets off through the ferns and rocks. He could’ve kept the fire for cooking, he thinks as he pushes forward past a particularly large plant, stick aloft, but then, perhaps, something could have found and cooked him. Not that there seems to be anything around. Not one meager creature. Zero. Zilch, not one single miserable-

Something brushes past Eddie’s legs. He yelps, tightens his grip on the stick until it turns white-knuckled, twists around in a panic and stabs at a… large rodent? The mousy animal manages to avoid his spear and takes off through the scrub. Eddie blinks as it fades into the distance, heart hammering in his throat, before his instincts kick in and he starts running after the thing. Whatever it might be, this could be it. This might be the one source of food he finds – the one animal that he can eat that won’t try to eat him back. He jumps over a tree root, swerves right after his prey, half-runs-half-slides down brash rocks and dirt trails. They abandon the forest, rush past it and further down the valley. Eddie’s feet skid on rounded pebbles but he continues on – on until he’s sweating, until his stomach feels like it might rip open anew, until he sees the mouse-capybara-squirrel start to dig into the ground ahead and he plants his feet. Throws the spear, as if fancying himself a javelin thrower. And he might as well be because he strikes true and the animal falls dead. Eddie walks up to it on trembling limbs, heaving from the exertion, and stares at the dead creature unseeing. It’s not like anything he’s seen before, not with its thick legs and large snout. It looks like a mutant rat, and wasn’t that a thing that had happened once? Dirt-eating mutant rats?

He sits in front of it, spent, and promptly realizes he’s never– He’s never had to prepare an animal for cooking before. Does he- Is he supposed to skin it? He shudders at the thought. Pushes it away. He removes the spear and grabs the cat-sized mouse. Rat. Rodent. Decides to look for flat ground and start another fire, which is a thing he can do. He walks around an impressively large mound of spiky rocks and freezes. Drops the mouse-cat in awe.

The valley ends ahead, not even 100 yards away, and at the bottom is the icy expanse of a frozen lake. It spans the sight, the opposite coast blurry in the distance, and Eddie’s dumbly reminded of Steve Harrington diving into lover’s lake. It is most definitely not Lover’s Lake, he doesn’t think, but the chance of it – of the underwater gate in its center, of the kids on the other side of it – makes his heartbeat quicken. He has to force himself to slow down and pick up the rodent, to remain vigilant as he walks closer to the shore. There are demogorgon carcasses on the beach, flaccid and motionless like stranded jellyfishes, and he toes at a couple of them to ensure they’re dead.

They are.

Comforted by his apparent loneliness, Eddie sets up the fire, trying to remind himself that he won’t be able to cook on the ice. That the lake is large, and the trek to its center seems long. That he needs to eat. He’s distracted as he walks through the motions, distracted as he prepares the rodent and sets it over the flame. The numbness is welcome, and the hope thrilling, and he wipes the blood off his hands without realizing, lost in the overwhelming nature of it all.

–

He leaves this fire burning when he’s done, aware that it might betray his position but hoping it will guide his way back from the indistinct flatness of the ice plain, if need be. He walks carefully but with purpose, occasionally slipping on the icy surface. It’s a slow process.

The wind is awful out on the open, finding every exposed inch of his skin and whipping at it relentlessly. Eddie thinks that he might never forget the chill and burn of it against his hands. That he might never feel his hands again.

Time warps as he walks – it could have been ten minutes or ten hours by the time he spies something in the distance. There’s a boulder breaking through the ice. He will climb it, he decides, use it as a vantage point. The rock is rough under his fingers as he pulls himself up. He tucks both his hands into his armpits right after reaching the top. He scans his surroundings, comes to learn that the lake continues on farther than he thought, its length broken up by a large hill in its center and smattered with tiny rock boulders here and there. Eddie tilts his head, amused by the fact that the mountain in the center looks like nothing and everything at once. It could be just rock, but also the silhouette of a sleeping woman or a huge hibernating lizard. The thought is funny, briefly, but quickly turns terrifying when the ground under his feet starts vibrating and shifts. Eddie drops to a crouch, eyes wide with fear as he tracks the movement, the way it fades into the ice, the way it creaks and cracks like a joint being popped. The ice doesn’t break, not when it runs several feet deep, like the lake might be frozen all the way through. The tremor stops, ground shifting under him again. Eddie stays still, horrified, mind fleeting through the possibilities. Perhaps he stands on a dormant volcano. Perhaps it was just a mild earthquake. He waits a couple minutes before moving and is just about to descend from the boulder when it moves again and sends him careening down. He hits the ground painfully, rolls onto his back, breathing hard and ragged. The rock keeps moving, he registers. It happens over and over again: the bone-chilling creaks of movement and the temporary bouts of stillness. It is only when he attempts to regulate his own breathing that it clicks – the boulder breathes.

He stands in a rush, still a bit dizzy, hip bone sore where it crashed against the ice. He looks around wildly, watches as the rocks in the distance, the few of them piercing the ice nearby, shiver sporadically. Holy shit. They are alive. They breath in synch, impossibly slow. Eddie is out of his mind with fear, half-sure he is making it up. He stretches a hand to touch the rough, crab shell-like, surface of the rock and feels the hum of a tired heartbeat underneath it. He removes his hand, finds it slimy from touching the living rock. Goopy. Demo-creature goopy. The world around him quietens, dampened, as he stares at his hand in confusion. Glances at the rock and at his fingers once again. He feels his pulse in his temple, hears it within his ears like an amplifier has been plugged into his brain. It cannot be.

He twists to look at the large mountain growing in the center of the lake and he doesn’t have to search hard at all before it takes the shape of what it actually is. Gangly, gigantic limbs. A head like a flame. A mountain-sized creature out of both his worst nightmares and the kids’ unlikely but obviously true retellings: the mind flayer.

[captainkingsley]

Mollymauk doesn't have a permanent home. He still travels for the better part of his days, sometimes with Yasha, or Fjord and Jester, and seldomly with Beauregard and Caleb — the last duo does some delicate work and they bring him along when they need the extra dexterity. 

He's gotten rather good at being sneaky, actually, having taken some pointers from Veth. He knows how to make his jewelry more silent, has had the coat he wears now made into something double-sided like Beau’s so he can flip it to a darker side and hide in the shadows more efficiently. 

So much of his time is spent going from tavern to tavern, inn to pub, staying in hovels and nooks and crannies where he can get a few hours of sleep before rushing to the next destination.

 It's similar to his days where he'd run off to 'choir practice', only this time his friends know what he's doing when he's away. 

Last week, he'd gotten a corrupt minor politician ousted from a small town, and for extra humiliation on the way out, he'd ensured the man's clothing all wound up mysteriously dyed in bright, garish neons as opposed to the delicate white and silver he was known for. The week prior, he'd forced a mean-spirited woman out of her job at an orphanage, and before that, he'd helped Kiri play a more low-stakes prank on a local tutor who'd been pocketing money from families' homes. 

(He'd cornered her the day after to let her know that the consequences would be more dire if he caught her again; he wanted Kiri to have a good example, of course, and hadn't threatened the woman then.)

So on and so forth, his months have passed. But now he can feel his heart longing for some company, for some quiet after his vigilante-ing. He loves doing it, of course he does, but he misses the quiet of home. 

Home being the Nein, not a building. But most of all his home is one particular wizard, and he's already looking forward to feeling the scruff of his beard and hearing the quiet rumble of his voice as he heads down the side road from Rexxentrum to the little cottage he's become so familiar with. 

He thinks he'll stick around for a bit this time. He needs to rest. 

The outside is so quaint, evidence of local stray cats in the garden; Caleb can't kick the habit of feeding them, it seems.

Deep breaths.

He knocks on the door. 

He's not even sure if Caleb is home, now that he thinks of it — he hadn't checked in with the sending stone beforehand. 

There's no answer, so Mollymauk digs through his various pockets and bags until he finds the keys Caleb had given him so long ago — Veth had gotten a set, and Beau as well. Molly's set was the first, though, which makes his heart feel warm.

Unlocking the door, he lets himself into the cottage. It's dark, quiet, obviously untended for a few days. He must be out on a job with Beau — he'll send a message to the both of them soon. For now, Molly hangs his coat up and rolls his shirt sleeves up, preparing to clean up the remnants of absence and make himself something to eat — Caleb won't mind, he's sure. 

————

He falls asleep in Caleb's bed later in the evening, touching the sending stone to his forehead before he drifts off.

"Hey, love," he says, the gentle blue glow of the stone both a comfort and a thing that gives a feeling of longing at the same time, "Planning to be home anytime soon?"

There's a long pause. Molly almost worries he'll fall asleep before Caleb replies, but then he hears that gentle, smooth voice from the stone. 

"I will be home next week. My home is open to you if you are around, Mollymauk.” Caleb sounds both tired and just the right amount of sweet to make Molly’s heart skip. He holds the stone after Caleb’s voice fades out, wanting to reply but knowing he’s already expended the charge. After a moment, he presses his lips to it in a quiet, longing hope that Caleb is perhaps doing just the same, and then he sets it onto the bedside table and pulls the blankets up and over himself.

————

Caleb being out of town for the week means that Molly has free reign of his cottage. He puts the time to good use — the first day, he sets about cleaning up any dust and things Caleb has left out before his excursion. He’s generally very tidy, especially regarding his work, and so Molly’s work on that is accomplished rather quickly. Then he goes a bit further than expected, pulling the rugs and the blankets out to wash and hang to dry. 

Caleb’ll be happy, he tells himself.

Now, over the past few years, he’s been learning from Yasha on how to cook. To homemake, really. She’s taught him to hone the skills he started to focus on during the circus days — to sew, to mend. He patches up a few things in Caleb’s closet, things he knows he’ll wear around the house like his bathrobe and the comfortable slippers by his bed. And with the money in his coinpurse, he sets off into the city proper to find himself something similar.

A colorful magenta robe catches his eye. It’s soft, and there are turquoise slippers in another shop that he takes a liking to. 

It feels like making a home for himself. Putting something of his own into Caleb’s home, nestling himself into his life. Something about that makes him feel giddy.

Mollymauk then takes the time to wander the city and find things for the rest of his week without Caleb — some food, fresh vegetables and meat to cook, some fruit kept chilled by the ice-boxes made by the mages of the city. A bottle of rather nice wine — not too expensive, but just nice enough that he’ll wait until Caleb is home to crack it open. Until then, some ale to take home.

He passes through the rest of the market, down the brightly decorated streets and shopfronts. 

A silversmith’s storefront catches his eye.

Something in his chest feels hollow.

He bites back the feeling and continues on.

————

By the fifth day of his week without Caleb, Mollymauk has finally accomplished a task he’d told himself to accomplish:

He has a single, lovely, soft loaf of bread. It had taken trial and error and a sending stone message to Yasha and Veth both, asking why his bread was sinking and deflating, and after some failed attempts that wound up on sticks in the yard for birds to pick at, he’s got one good loaf of homemade bread.

Caleb is going to love it, he hopes.

He wraps it in the paper on Caleb’s kitchen counter, puts it in the little box he’s got set aside for bread and goes into the rest of his night. A long, hot bath is just what he needs after hunching over the kitchen table and then the sink, scrubbing his mess until the kitchen looked better than when he’d arrived. 

The tub is filled up, Molly sets some candles up to light the room — better than full lamplight, really — and settles in, sinking down until he can submerge his entire head for a few moments to soak his hair. Wiping the water from his face, Molly sinks back against the tub to relax, the tension in his shoulders and back finally being washed away by the heat.

Then he hears something peculiar.

Familiar.

The warping sound of a teleportation circle activating, then footsteps through the main entryway, the living room. 

Caleb’s voice calls out.

“Mollymauk?”

Molly, feeling a rush of delight, almost wants to jump from the tub and run straight into his arms, but he resists. He resists and tries to keep his voice even as he calls for Caleb,

“I’m having a bath, dear.” 

Moments pass and Caleb’s head pokes from behind the door. He looks tired. Rumpled, really.

“Care to join me?” Molly says, lifting his leg until his foot rests on the edge of the tub. Caleb laughs, undoing his scarf and hanging his coat over the door.

“Gladly.” He says, and before Molly knows it, he’s got one rather exhausted wizard in his arms, needing a good scrub, just like the old days — well, perhaps not quite as bad, but still. 

“You’re back early,” Molly says, settling in against Caleb’s chest once his hair has been fully scrubbed through and it feels soft and warm between his fingers. Caleb’s arms circle his waist, his beard brushing his shoulder as he cuddles in close.

“We got what we needed.” Caleb says, and then, “You cleaned my home?”

“I figured you’re so busy all the time…” Molly says. “I thought it would be nice. That you’d like it. I also went shopping.”

“For?”

“A few things.” Mollymauk turns slightly, just enough so he can lay his head on Caleb’s shoulder and look upward at him, mindful of his horns. “Some very good wine I’ve been waiting to open up.”

Caleb smiles at him.

“Well,” he says, “Best we finish up in here and get to that, ja?”

Molly can’t find an argument against that.

And they do get to it — the wine is sweet, and Mollymauk’s bread is decent enough that Caleb compliments him on it, even as he puts perhaps more butter and honey on it than needed. He’ll get better at baking the more he does it, he figures, and Caleb is simply being nice. 

Doing more baking for Caleb sounds like exactly the sort of thing Mollymauk wants to do, come to think of it. Maybe even help him keep the cottage looking nice while Caleb goes off to work in the academy, take a break from his own adventuring to be there for him to come home to.

Should he?

Mollymauk thinks it over as he watches Caleb in his worn maroon bathrobe, the orange and black patches where Molly has sewn over, brushing butter from his beard with a napkin. It’s domestic, it’s strangely charming, it’s mortal and human and sweeter than anything Molly could have ever expected to feel such a compelling want for.

He thinks, maybe, he might just be more in love with Caleb than he’d really thought.

And maybe sticking around for a bit is what he’s meant to do.

He says nothing about it, of course, that would be far too forward — but when he kisses Caleb before pulling him off to bed, he thinks Caleb might already know.

[sheisjoeschateau]

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Hi, I'm Misha. Thank you for diving into my stories and supporting my writing :)

My fanfics [+this blog] are dedicated to Steve Harrington. All fanfic series, one-shots, blurbs, etc. listed below are written by me. Do not repost or share anywhere without proper credit. Thank you.

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"Oh, so we DO love Steve..."

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

[PART I] | [PART II] [PART III] | [PART IV] | [PART V] [PART VI] | [PART VII] | [PART VIII]

[Part IX - blurb] | [Part IX - full]

[Part X] | MORE COMING SOON

SUMMARY: WHEN THE UNEXPECTED NIECE OF MURRAY BAUMAN GETS THROWN IN THE MIX, THE GANG HAS NO IDEA JUST WHAT THEY'RE IN FOR. SCRATCH THAT - STEVE DOESN'T KNOW. YOU GET ALONG WITH EVERYONE WELL. YOU BANTER WITH THE ADULTS, WHO APPRECIATE YOUR HELP. THE KIDS LOVE AND WORSHIP YOU. YOU'RE HELPFUL ALL AROUND. BUT AS FAR AS STEVE IS CONCERNED, YOU'RE JUST NUISANCE. AFTER ALL, YOU'RE THE REASON HE LOST THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE AND MISSED OUT ON A LIFE THAT "COULD'VE BEEN." IF YOU HAD JUST KEPT YOUR SORRY ASS OUT OF THE PICTURE... IF YOU HAD NEVER GONE WITH NANCY AND JONATHAN AFTER THEY LEFT YOUR WHACK-JOB UNCLE, MURRAY BAUMAN'S, BUNKER? HE WOULD BE HAPPY. SO F*CKING HAPPY. BUT HERE YOU WERE. YOU WERE BASICALLY THE COOLER (...AND SURE, MUCH MORE ATTRACTIVE) FEMALE VERSION OF MURRAY BAUMAN. YOU WERE SARCASTIC, QUICK-WITTED, TOO SMART FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, AND APPARENTLY BUILT FOR THE WAR. SURE, YOU WEREN'T AS BRASH AS YOUR UNCLE. BUT IN STEVE'S EYES, YOU WERE SOMEHOW FAR MORE OBNOXIOUS. HE DOWNRIGHT HATED YOU.

HE WILL FOREVER HATE YOU...

BUT WILL HE?

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"You're there. You've always been there."

Steve Harrington x OC!fem!reader Childhood friends to lovers. Sloooowburn. Angst. Romance. Smut with plot. Action. Told from second-person view, reader is Nicole (character from S1), different POV, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, pre-S1-S4, eventual post-S4 universe.

[PART I] | [PART II]

Summary: Steve Harrington was six years old when he met you: Nicole St. James, the girl who carries the other half of him. Since 1972, the two of you have been inseparably tethered by the soul. You give Steve a home in his big house with no parents, and he gives your introverted heart a longing for someone. The King of Hawkins High and princess of this small town, you tell each other absolutely everything...except that you are in love with each other.

Everything changes that one afternoon at school, when you catch the school's social outcast -- Jonathan Buyers -- has been stalking Steve, his posse and his girl, Nancy. Little do you both know, the monsters in your favorite fairytales are real. And you're both going to have to fight them together.

You both share the best days and worst days, through childhood and teen years, until you both find yourselves roped into the perils that exist beneath your feet in Hawkins.

But through it all, despite all the doubt, Steve knows one thing: you're there. You've always been there.

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"At the Chateau, We'll Be Alright."

Steve Harrington x Jonathan Byers x fem!reader A crossover au inspired by Saltburn and Call Me by Your Name. Additional Inso from Joe's theater performance as in Spring Awakening. Song Inso: "Chateau" by Djo

Strangers to best friends to lovers. Slowburn. Angst. Romance, with polyamory themes and schemes. Smut with hella plot.

[MULTI-PART SERIES] COMING SOON. Click here for a preview.

Summary: The reader lives with her parents at a fancy chateau, in France.  This year, her father offers their home as a housing sanctuary to a select student or graduate.  He decides to invite two graduate students to live with their family over the summer, coming from different working class backgrounds, and help with their academic paperwork as a professor of archaeology.

Steve Harrington: a rich kid from a swanky boarding school with a bad boy reputation and too much charm for his own good.  Surprisingly, his grades say otherwise.  A’s and B’s, his parents claim that is seeking one-on-one tutoring so that he can progress in his studies — but it sounds more like an excuse to ship him off for longer periods of time, giving them an out for having their son around during the summer.  The pretty boy’s all about ladies…but that’s only because he hasn’t met a boy who awakens his bisexuality.  Yet.

Jonathan Byers: a kid from the lower working class, excelling in his studies and AP programs at the same boarding school as Steve which he only got into because of community sponsorship and grants.  Quiet wallflower, little to no friends, a bit cynical.  A closeted gay, he’s more determined to stick with being perceived as “ace” than come out of the closet.  Until he goes to stay at a chateau with a handsome boy, and a beautiful girl who understands him.

Twists, turns and terrifying risks, you all put your hearts on the line that summer at the Chateau. Add the reader's cousin Eddie into the mix, along with her best friend Robin, Steve's ex-girlfriend Nancy, Jonathan's estranged mother and your progressive parents alongside Steve's absent parents -- it's a cruel summer.

[mercysmourn]

if i said sloooowburn platonic to romantic bard emperor x asexual policy wonk forbidden touch romance with repression that goes so bonkers hard that you'll start chewing the book. then would you read it. must i tropeify everything. can't you just know that if i point to a book and all i can say is 'haha!' it'll blow your tits right off. please. trust me. take my hand. read the lays of the hearth fire duology today

[wrightworth-anonymous]

Barnaby Brooks Jr. / Kotetsu T. Kaburagi

Swap!AU Canon, sloooowburn, and Illustrated by @kitamars!

12.8k words (in this chapter)

Summary:

Barnaby loves being a hero: it's a career path he chose for himself because he saw the chance to help people in the way his parents had always encouraged and taught him to, and to really make a difference. He even likes the media aspects of it, the interviews and the photoshoots and the tours with Blue Rose. Every job has its downsides and its long days, but it's something he truly loves to do.

Being partnered with Kotetsu might change that. 

[plots4us]

i play ( female idols & ocs ), from ( a variety of groups) and i am looking for ( f/anyone ) with ( anyone ). i’m looking for the following ( angst, friends to lovers, fwbs, sloooowburns ) plot. this plot will be for ( psl ). this plot ( will ) be chemistry based, ( will probably ) contain mature themes and will be ( para or headcanon ). feel free to message at ( lifefrights on chats )

.

[foxghost]

nano, day 21:

there is only one bed (ok, two twin beds, parked together)

[lukeswife]

two more people from h*gh sc*ool requested to follow my insta,,,,,like no plz i made this separate account 2 b free of you All,,

[aroaceconfessions]

I love reading romance stories, but every time I read them I'm reminded of how aro I am lol cause if the romance in the story makes logical sense, then I'm sold, like, if we're dealing with soul mates or some shit like that I'm like okay okay I get it, we're dealing with magic and shit here, awesome, it's a fantasy story, cool, or if it's like a looong ass enemies to friends to lovers or a sloooowburn where they explain how some of the things the other says resonate with like shit from the other's past or something, if they show this two characters slowly fitting together and being absolutely perfect for the other, making each other happier and growing together, if I'm capable of racionalizing it and I understand exactly why they fell in love, then I'm like fuck yeah, be crazy in love, you silly little fucks, go off queens! be in love, fuck yeah! But... when I bump into stories were they fall in love in like a month or from the second they look at each other they are like "attracted to each other", if they can't explain how or why they're in love? If they just look at someone and suddenly get nervous?? for absolutely no reason at all??? except for like the attraction or whatever???? Nah, that's bull lol cause attraction is not a thing I experience, so it sounds so freaking fake to me. Like, imagining a soul mate mark or something like that creating a magical gravitational pull or some shit that pulls people together or whatever than it's easier for me than thinking of just... people feeling like that without the magical factor... like how they're just, like attracted to other people? without a reason??? Now that's insane

[his-breath-catches]

This is my fic, my pride and joy that I started writing in July on my phone every spare chance I got that wasn't spent on pinterest

The summary doesn't really apply yet because it's all just setup atm but in the three chapters ive completed we have hits such as

mike has a major crush on eddie

does that make him gay?

bi lumax bi lumax bi lumax

will byers smoking cigarettes

sharing beds

no homophobia like at all

background steddie (i think? i dont know where i left off with that i have like one thousand words left of the chapter im writing rn)

i love all questions comments concerns critiques please help me become a better writer

also fair warning its a sloooowburn

[missnxthingg]

i'm truly thinking about a small harrison series when flawless is over. i'm not sure if it's gonna be a sloooowburn or a enemies to lovers. someone to ramble on about it with me? oh, and would you read it? which one do you think is better?

[m1smatched-starsigns]

Fireheart!

I’ve said before that I think Firestar is pretty versatile and very shippable, but I ought to make it clear that I regard Fireheart and Firestar as two different cats -- the same at their core, except Fireheart didn’t find a lot of his leader-y confidence until he was Firestar, and that makes a small difference here.

Anyway, let’s start with the obvious:

Fire/Sandstorm is obviously endgame and my personal favorite, but I don’t see them as soul-mates and I’m not even sure that they’re the most compatible Fire-centric ship... I like their contrasting personalities and how they function as a couple, and I think that ultimately Fire needs somebody like her who can put the pressure on him when need be, but is also very steadfast in her own opinions and can articulate them well. Even when he doesn’t agree with them, he needs to hear the other side before he makes his decision. Fire is also drawn to her own personal brand of fire, and I think he sees her private tenderness and her respect as very rewarding. She means a lot to him. 

Fire/Cinderpelt has a lot of potential, especially in fanfiction. Never in a forbidden romance relationship, but certainly if Cinderpelt was never injured, or learned how to be a warrior with her limp. We saw as a medicine cat she was also very firm in her beliefs, and she could ask Firestar the hard questions he didn’t want to address; we also know that they have the ability to trust each other deeply and totally, which is soo important. Which that being said, Cinderpelt was forced to mature into this solid cat after her dream was stolen from her; if she remained in training without injury I don’t know if Fire ever would have looked past her childish apprentice moons. I think they would work best if she learned how to serve with her injury. On the surface, I see this being one of the sweeter Fire ships, with lots of snuggles and less arguments.

Fire/Longtail seems to be an up-and-coming ship in the fandom, like it’s finally caught fire. I see the appeal and I think they could make a believable couple, but not as Fireheart... as Firestar. It is canon that Fire can not stand a bully, and he shared a rocky relationship with Longtail until he became deputy, but more so after he became Firestar. They do become genuine friends so I have no problem believing they could mesh as a couple, but it would be a sloooowburn romance.

Cats I won’t elaborate on, but I think would be a fitting partner: Mistyfoot (not -star), Graystripe, Leafstar. 

Cats I do NOT think he would be drawn to: Dustpelt, Leopardstar, Blackstar, Cherrytail, Ferncloud. 

Cats he might be drawn to but should run away from: Spottedleaf.

[sovonight]

owlbehr replied to your post “alone, together | atton/exile, kotor 2[[MOR] The exile wakes in...”

Omg. Write a fanfic of them please. A sloooowburn. Ugh. You write so well, and draw so beautifully!

thank you so much! i would but i don’t think i could write a slow burn to save my life

[ishgard]

Gaius/Ahru please thank you-

Thank YOU, darling dearest. Shoving the bulk of it under a cut to spare you all the gratuitous length of it.

(Ultimate Ship Meme)

General:

Rate the Ship -  Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - Depends on the verse, but hopefully a “til death do us part” deal. 

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - Sloooowburn. A lot of reluctance and coming to terms, but once it starts it catches like a wildfire. 

How was their first kiss? - Quiet, with white knuckles pressed into dirty clothes; frustration and desperation barely held in check, the glow of anger and reluctance slowly easing into something gentler, and a little sad. 

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Gaius. Ahru’s not opposed in the least but it’s the furthest thing from her mind both because it “has to be” and because she wants it to be. He isn’t wont to beating around the bush though, so he’s very straightforward and blunt about it. She playfully whines that he could be more romantic about it, to which he, with no trace of humor, asks if she really expects something like that from him. She laughs and shrugs, but nearly jumps out of her skin when he actually gets down on one knee. 

Who is the best man/men? - Theirs would likely be a quiet, and private, wedding. But in the event of there being guests and some level of fanfare, most likely Arshadaya, Alphinaud, maybe K’jhir. 

Who are the bride’s maid(s)? - Fianah, Dreyll, Yulania.

Who did the most planning? - If it was a wedding that required such (for some big bells and whistles wedding, it’d likely be of SOME level of political necessity), probably neither of them tbh - but Ahru would actually get more interested and involved than she’d ever readily admit to.

Who stressed the most? - Ahru. Big time. Is she happy? Sure. Terrified and confused? Abso-fucking-lutely.

How fancy was the ceremony? - Ideally, not at all. Quiet and simple, it would actually more of a simple exchanging of vows between the two in a special place (which could vary depending on timeline/AU). At the height of political arrangements though, we’re talking Rasler & Ashe levels of fance.Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Solus. Lahabrea is the guest of honor who essentially brought them together and gives a lovely toastfajwoege. I’m fucking joking.

Sex:

Who is on top? - They typically switch things around quite a bit, actually. They can both be pretty… ‘dominating’, but Ahru is a HARD switch and Gaius likes the view just fine when she’s on top.

Who is the one to instigate things? - Usually Ahru, but he’s been known to catch her by surprise.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - Man what a question. Depends on how hot and riled they were, or just what exactly they’re -doing-. Is “as long as it takes” a valid answer? Unless it’s a quicky between the bookshelves, I’d say half an hour is the absolute minimum but honestly there are so many variables here.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - And then some. IoU’s in the form of oral and… ‘handiwork’ are also valid.

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it. (they’ve got the full range going on. dirty talk isn’t unheard of, but super rare)

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - Two; a son, the elder, named Alphaeus and a daughter named Valeriana. 

How many children will they adopt? - One; a Garlean boy orphaned as an infant who all but immediately bonded with Ahru - they named him Anastasius. 

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - I’d say it’s fairly even but the methods are very different; Gaius is unflinching, Ahru is whining or making faces the entire time.

Who is the stricter parent? - Oh come on, have you met Gaius? He does have a somewhat surprisingly soft side though that’s probably come with age and just time and life in general. It’s true with all of his children, but perhaps especially so with Valeriana, whom he spent a lot of time with during her youth which was often spent in and out of infirmaries. Not that everyone else was absent, but… well this answers already getting long and off-course. It’s still Gaius.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Either or, but Ahru will show them an even cooler way to go about it.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Gaius wouldn’t forget, but Ahru is surprisingly really into it. She loves making lunches for everyone - if she forgets, there’s something wrong.

Who is the more loved parent? - -scrunches up face and frowns at this question in it’s entirety- 

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? Gaius. Ahru WILL, but she’d just really rather not, and he’s much more suited for it. He seems to almost find it fun passively (or not-so-passively) intimidating particularly rude teachers.

Who cried the most at graduation? - Gaius might have had a glean in his eye - one that Ahru kept peeking at in anticipation of a tear finally falling - but really it just ended up making her even more weepy to the point she finally lost it.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Depends… on the situation. If we’re doing this legit, Gaius. If we’re busting them out, Ahru.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Both! Well, Ahru technically, but Gaius lends a hand often.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - They both have their nitpicks, Ahru is fairly adventurous, but if she doesn’t like something she’s basically got a grudge against it in all forms. Gaius is silghtly less adventurous, and likes to know specifics and details about new foods before he decides whether or not he’ll try it.

Who does the grocery shopping? - They rotate, but generally Ahru has a (surprisingly?) easier time getting in and out of markets quickly and efficiently. Going together is most ideal though.

How often do they bake desserts? - O f t e n. Gaius has a surprisingly sweet tooth and Ahru… a less surprising one. Couple with this with Ahru’s fondness for making sweets/desserts and making -him- food and you’ve got a recipe for… a lot of desserts.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Meat lovers, hands down, but they wouldn’t shy from some greens.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Gaius. Ahru wouldn’t necessarily FORGET (though sometimes she might get busy and yeah… forget a little bit), but Gaius? Absolutely on top of it, and he knows she’s been busy (lbr he probably is too but he wouldn’t hold it against her) and will get some slightly sadistic satisfaction out of seeing her flail about when she realizes. 

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Ahru, she hears about plenty of new restaurants and places in her travels. On top of that, Gaius knows she doesn’t LIKE going out generally, so except on rare or special occasions, he’d leave it up to her. When he DOES suggest something, she’s generally become more and more open to it, trusting his judgment.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? - Also Ahru. She’s a very adept culinarian, but she’s slightly more likely to get distracted or forget about something.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Gaius; Ahru will, but she’s often a bit more careless and scattered, or hurrying off to safe the world again.

Who is really against chores? - See. Ahru. But listen… when it’s the right person (see: Gaius)… Ahru actually really likes being told what to do. You can throw that in with the dirty laundry.

Who cleans up after the pets? - Ahru, as they’re mostly hers she takes full responsibility, but Gaius is not opposed to helping, or teaching Caesar new tricks.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Before Gaius, Ahru absolutely. Nowadays she’d sigh and, not wanting to disappoint him, refrain from half-assing it.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Ahru, though only marginally - albeit once again depending on the who and the why of it. 

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Gaius, and he’s keeping it for himself too.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Ahru - it’s a place to hide away and just relax. Gaius is more of an ‘in and out’, clean up and move on sorta guy. The longest, however, are when they share a bath, which is at least a weekly occurrence - so long as they’re not on opposite sides of the world.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Caesar accompanies Ahru on a number of her travels, both the more adventurous and mundane, but if she’s got down time, Gaius will usually take him out, or they’ll go together.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Ahru is usually pretty festive, and enjoys researching new and foreign holidays, too. So fairly often, but she gets tired and lazy about it from time to time as well. Gaius isn’t particularly interested in these things, or the superstitions and beliefs that permeate them, but enjoys Ahru’s enjoyment. Which in all honesty, is usually just about shiny lights and pretty or cute decorations, or the general spirit of kindness or whatever else a holiday is about, as opposed to anything remotely rooted in religious beliefs - for the more religious-leaning holidays at least. 

What are their goals for the relationship? - Peace, almost hilariously enough. “Together we will usher in a lasting peace,” were the words uttered once from a conquerer to an adventurer, and though they’ve taken on a very different meaning, that’s more or less the heart of it; A gentle peace that they can find with one another even when the world is going mad.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Ahru, 1000%.Once it annoyed him, but he’s come to understand and be grateful for the fact that she -can- sleep these days.

Who plays the most pranks? - Good god, Ahru. Ahru ever and always. But Gaius is catching on, and applying a lifetime of tactical and warfare prowess…

[under-and-over-the-moon]

Interesting… tell us more about that historical/fantasy!au 👀

So it is still very preliminary and the lore needs a lot of refinement but I'm thinking felix, sloooowburn, e2l, and vague religious themes because apparently every story I write needs some religious tie-in 😅