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myfictionaldreams · 1 year

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Day 2: Roleplay - Ghostface!Steve Harrington

Summary: It had been your idea to dress up for Halloween as characters from Scream but what happens when you forget it’s Steve under the mask.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, consensual non-consent (CNC), roleplay, fear play, mask kink, being chased, discussion of safe words, groping, fingering, edging, hair pulling, rough sex, hand over mouth, creampie

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“I think I'm getting old”, came the frustrated grumble from your tired, fussy boyfriend Steve Harrington. His words weren’t boisterous as he muttered them under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck and staring down at the costume laid out for him on the bed.

Not reacting to him immediately, you continue applying the eyeshadow to your eyelid, smiling as you peeked at him in the mirror, his hands resting on his hips. Biting your lip to refrain from grinning or laughing, you innocently asked, “Why’s that Stevie?”

“Because I don’t want to go to this stupid party! I just wanna stay in and watch movies”. Steve began running his fingers through his recently washed hair, the ends curling gently over the tips of his shoulders but fluffy in texture as he had yet to style it with spray and gel.

You placed your brush on the dressing table and gave him your full attention in the mirror's reflection. “It's not a stupid party; it’s a Halloween party! There’s a difference”, you say enthusiastically to try and perk up his spirits. Steve continued to look down at the bed, only raising an eyebrow in a half-ass attempt at showing his excitement, so you turned on your stool, facing directly towards him. Sighing forcefully, you stood and approached with long, sweeping steps. “Come on! It’s only this one party, and then we can stay in for the rest of the year!” Trying to use all your manipulative tactics to sweeten him up. Fluttering your eyelashes up at him, your arms circled his waist, lifting his strong arms to settle over your shoulders.

Steve finally managed to tear his gaze away from the costume and towards you, but only so he could dramatically pout out his full bottom lip, his long, thick eyelashes curling up and nearly stroking his eyebrows as you melted into his warm coffee-coloured eyes. He was so handsome, and he didn’t even have to try.

Your nimble fingers slid beneath his shirt to feel the soft skin of his hips as you continued to try and elevate his excitement, “It’ll be fine, Steve, I promise”. Lifting onto your tiptoes, you captured his pouted lips with a brief, sweet kiss.

“It’s just not the same as they used to be. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive us there so it’ll save us some time to get back home again?” Steve asked as his hands smoothed over your bare shoulders, pulling you flush against his body and his warmth seeping into your skin.

You pulled away a step to give him a deadpan look, “It’s only a block away. I’m sure you’ll survive, and anyway, if you hate it, we can leave at any point”.

“Promise?”

“I promise, but we are still going. I’ve spent way too much money on the costumes to let them go to waste”, you explain whilst pulling out of his hold and sitting back in front of the mirror to continue finishing your makeup.

Steve’s attention returned to his costume, picking up the black cloak and white mask and holding it out in front of him. “Ok, I can take a quick guess as to who I’m dressing up as, but who are you supposed to be?”

You were still in your underwear, but to show him who you meant, you quickly flicked on the shoulder-length blonde wig and turned to him. “I’m Casey Becker, you know, Drew Barrymore, the girl that got killed at the start of Scream. I’m her after your Ghostface character kills me”, you explain whilst pointing to the wool cream jumper covered in splotches of deep red fake blood to match the stains on your neck and chest.

“Right”, Steve mutters before chewing on his lip, fingers once more returning to stroke through his hair before he reluctantly moves to the bathroom to continue getting ready, costume in hand.

You smiled triumphantly to yourself and continued getting ready, dressed in the simple jeans and once-cream jumper now decorated with fake stab wounds.

Waiting impatiently for Steve, with your arms crossed and foot tapping on the floor, you gently knocked on the bathroom door, asking, “You ready in there, Ghostface?”

As if he was waiting for you, the door swung open almost immediately, making you jump back on instinct, but the sight before you caused a deep warmth to flush through your body. The white scream mask was resting on the top of his head, pushing his hair out of his eyes so you could still see his face, but seeing Steve in the black cloak was doing something erotic to your body; you knew this outfit would be the right decision.

Steve's mouth opened as if he was going to say something, but he noticed how you shifted your weight from one foot to another, watching your eyes unfocus as they travelled up the length of his lean body, and he knew that you were becoming aroused. Confidence pumped through his veins as his spine straightened so he could pump his chest out slightly before casually leaning against the door frame, his ankle crossed over the other.

“Let me guess, you’re into this? You little freak”, he trailed off as he visually inspected your costume. Even though it wasn’t revealing anyway, his pupils expanded as he bit his lip hungrily.

Blinking quickly and shaking your head, you tried to snap your attention back to him and not all of the nasty thoughts of him wearing this costume whilst pleasuring you. Glancing away from him, you tried to remain casual and calm, “I don’t know what you mean, Harrington. Come on, let’s go, we’re already late”.

The two of you walked in the moonlight, the streetlights blinking from being faulty, but that didn’t stop the two of you from swinging your clasped hands between your bodies. Steve still had his mask pushed up onto his head so that he could watch his step and still look towards you and his vision not be distorted.

“So what is it that you like? Is it the violence? The costume? The evilness? The murder”, he extended the last word as he dipped his face and knocked his forehead against your cheek as you pushed him away laughing.

You didn’t answer him, but he was sure to have noticed how warm your face was and the unsubtle looks you were giving him from the corner of your eye. To be frank, you were near enough drooling over him in the slash killer costume. You weren’t sure what it was; maybe you were falling into the fantasy, knowing the character was a psycho killer but had your beautiful boyfriend's face, knowing he wouldn’t hurt you but still looked scary and murderous.

Steve continued talking, not phased by your silence, “Maybe I should wear this costume when we get home, especially as it’s getting you so hot and bothered. I haven’t seen you like this since I was in my scoops ahoy sailors outfit”. His sizeable, warm hand squeezed yours to show he was teasing as his shoulder bumped into yours.

“Will you stop it? We’re nearly there, and then you can go and annoy someone else”, you say matter-of-factly.

Steve scoffs, “Why would I want to do that when I seem to be doing such a good job of annoying you?”. Without missing a beat, he released your hand, but only so he could wrap his arms around your waist to spin you around on the spot, causing you to scream out and kick your legs to try and make him put you down.

“Steve, stop!” you laughed despite the harshness of your tone. Thankfully, when he finally placed you back onto your two feet, he kissed your lips, then returned to holding your hand and tugging you along for the rest of the journey towards the party.

Once the two of you had arrived, he kept his mask down, which was where you became even more confused and momentarily forgot that it was Steve and not a random guy. Especially as he kept quietly stalking up next to you, and after a few times of you jumping in freight, he found his new favourite game for the night; the drinking and the dancing were not his priority with his plans for the night.

Steve even managed to sneak into the bathroom as he overheard you saying to Robin that you were about to go and use it. He hid behind the shower curtain, waiting for you to use the toilet before sliding behind your warm body as you washed your hands, his hands caging around you, forcing your hips into the countertop.

You screamed in fright as his mask hovered close to the shell of your ear. “What’s your favourite scary movie?” he asked, trying to use a low voice to copy the movie.

For a second, you forgot it was Steve, the thumping from your heart showing your anxiety until it all returned to you. Glaring at him in the mirror whilst clutching your chest, you chastised him, “Steve! You scared the fucking shit out of me, stop doing that!”

Steve only laughed at your reaction, loosening his hold around you enough that you could turn in his arms and push up his mask to see his hair wet from sweat sticking to his forehead and a broad smile across his handsome face.

“Sorry baby, I didn’t mean to scare you; it’s only me! Anyway, I don’t know why you keep freaking out; you’re the one who wanted me to wear this outfit”.

You were about to continue telling him off when he cut you off with a simple press of his lips against yours, lingering for a second and capturing your breath before pulling away, his lids heavy as he stared at the area where you were both just connected. He always knew how to win you around again, and you instantly found yourself forgiving him for the jump scare.

Gently you shoved his chest before gripping a handful of the black cloak, mumbling, “Asshole, I thought we were supposed to be a team”.

Steve’s gloved fingers tipped your chin so you’re forced to look up at him as he gave you a condescending head tilt. “Aww, you don’t have to be scared of me, Princess. I won’t hurt you. Unless that’s what you want, hmm?” his voice lowered as he pushed his body further against yours, his chest brushing against yours as his face dropped closer. He was so close that you could smell the beer on his breath, and you were entirely ready to fall into whatever he had planned, which, with the look he was giving you, was something naughty.

However, all of your hopes and dreams for having a quick fuck were destroyed as Steve dramatically bellowed, “Maybe I’ll gut you like a fish! Blah”, he began to act out, stabbing your stomach with the retractable plastic knife that was a part of the costume.

A heavy sigh left your mouth as you rolled your eyes, pushing past him as he pretended blood was spurting out of your middle, mimicking actions and being his usual goofy self. Usually, you’d be laughing with him. Still, damn, you were distracted and highly hopeful for the other things you had planned, slightly disappointed that he hadn’t gone through with them, especially as you were only seconds away from sinking to your knees and submitting to him.

The party continued for a few more hours, and Steve was more than ready to leave; having stopped drinking at midnight, he was getting to the end of his social battery. You were, too, so the two of you, thankfully, exited the silent streets hand in hand. You looked significantly different from when you’d arrived; the wig was missing as others had been trying it on, and now, it had disappeared, and the make-up and fake blood had mostly sweated off from your brief stints of dancing.

On the other hand, Steve still looked effortlessly beautiful, with his outfit still looking the same, but you were sure he must have been sweating under the thick, dark material.

Halfway home, your steps were abruptly halted as Steve stopped, patting over his clothes, looking for something, and cursing loudly when he couldn’t find it. “Shit, fuck! I left the keys at the party!”

“What! Steve, I’m not walking back there. Why did you even take them out of your pocket?!” you rub your tired eyes, frustrated and adamant that you wouldn’t walk the small distance back to the party.

Steve gave you an apologetic smile, and his lips pressed together firmly. “I’m sorry, babe, I’ll only be a minute; just wait here.” He turned and began jogging back to the party, around the corner and out of your sight.

Standing in the quiet Halloween night, the chill from the autumnal breeze ran more profound than just your skin as you became instantly unnerved by being on your own as the streetlamp at the end of the street continued to flick on and off. Rubbing your hands up and down your arms to try and keep yourself warm, you quietly whispered to yourself for Steve to hurry up, wanting nothing more than to be in bed with his arms wrapped around you.

“Come on, Stevie”, you pleaded under your breath, the warmth of it fogging in the air in front of your face. Dancing on the spot slightly, you moved your numbing fingers down your sides to slide them into your back pockets to steal some heat, but then they were interrupted by the cool metal of your door keys. “Shit!” you fumed, not remembering that you’d had the keys on you the entire time, and Steve didn’t forget them and had made a wasted trip.

Staring in the direction he’d left again, you internally cursed yourself, knowing that Steve would return pissed off and irritable with you. Deciding that it would probably save some time if you also returned to the party to find Steve, you took a single step back down the street, but a branch crack splintered through the air. Your head twisted toward the noise, but all you could see were twisting, endless shadows that even the occasional flash of the street light couldn’t illuminate.

Taking a deep breath to try and steady the nerves that were tremouring through your body, enough so that you clasped your fingers together to see if that would cease the movements. Maybe you were paranoid, but you could have sworn someone was watching. You wouldn’t even say it was paranoia anymore as you were sure someone was watching because the hairs along your arms and the back of your neck stood on end.

MybMaybe was just some drunken kids from the party or someone in one of the homes that lined the streets looking out of the window to see who was standing on the sidewalk. However, you couldn’t spot any curtains opening or see any drunken person stumbling with their steps.

You weren’t sure what to do; usually, when you felt uncomfortable or frightened, you would be with Steve, and he’d do anything to pull you out of the situation. You could run back to your home, but then you’d be there all by yourself, and then what would happen when Steve left the party to find that you weren’t waiting for him anymore? Maybe you could go back towards the party and meet Steve, but that also meant you’d be walking past the area where the loud noise had come from.

“Is anyone there?!” you shouted in the general direction of the noise, hoping it would draw people's attention or frighten off whoever was there.

“Don’t you watch scary movies? You’re never supposed to shout who’s there”. Out of the shadows creeped Ghostface, his mask down and the plastic knife in his gloved hand at his side.

Thankfully, for once, due to your body being on high alert, you instantly remembered that this was Steve and not a stranger and recognised his voice, which had been challenging to do at the party.

Clutching your chest, you sucked in a greedy breath, “Steve! You fucking scared me. Why the hell would you do that?” Steve didn’t respond. He just casually strolled forward, almost swaggering with his steps, masked head tilted slightly. Trying to calm your pounding heart, you nervously pulled the keys out of your back pocket to show him, I’ve got the keys. I’m sorry, I didn’t even know I had them in my jeans pockets”. You rambled on, the nerves continuing to take over your body as he didn’t say anything, just taking step after step towards you.

The keys in your hand rattled from your shakes, and finally, instinct took over as you took a giant step backwards, away from Steve. Your thoughts were all over the place. This was Steve; you could tell by the height and build, and it had been his voice that had spoken/ However, the way he was walking towards you like he was searching for his prey, his next victim, the thrill of it all gave you the wrong reaction, despite your fear, you were getting turned on by it.

Warmth bloomed in the apples of your cheeks that spread through your chest and deep into your abdomen, nipples pebbling beneath your jumper and rubbing against the inside of your bra. With each step that Steve took forward, you’d take one backwards, a game of cat and mouse ensuring.

A moment of silence passed, the two of you just staring at one another, until he lifted his fake knife and your eyes were drawn to this as he drawled, “Aren’t you going to run, Princess?”

It was an automatic response, the flight or fight intuition kicking in as you immediately ran. You ran like there was an actual killer after you, adrenaline and fear pulsing through your veins that helped keep your instincts on high alert as you ran toward your home. Even though your home wasn’t far away, it still felt like an eternity of running, the muscles straining and chest burning from sucking cold air desperately as you finally collided with your front door.

You’d been unable to hear Steve close behind you, but you didn’t waste any time, fingers trembling as you pressed the key into the lock and turned, rushing inside, slamming the door closed, and flicking the lock.

You waited, listening and waiting for him to bang on the door, but only silence greeted you from outside and the thumping of your terrified heart and heavy breaths in your ear. Steve didn’t turn up; even as you looked through the door's peephole, he still wasn’t there, so you took a few steps away, frowning in confusion.

Then it dawned on you. The back door. The back door, where Steve knew where the keys were hidden in the plant pot.

Spinning quickly, your sneakers squeaked on the hardwood floor as you’d intended to run to the back door to check it was still closed, but a prominent dark figure blocked your route. Once again, you knew it was Steve, even from how he was breathing heavily, the outline of his broader form and the faint smell of his aftershave that you could smell now that he was closer.

You weren’t entirely sure how far he wanted to go with this playing around, but you were not going to ruin the moment and willing to see just what Steve had in mind.

Taking a shaky step backwards away from the figure, you lifted your hands, palms up in defeat. “My boyfriend will be home soon, and he’s big; he’ll kick your ass”, your voice wobbled, which was half put on by you but also a little bit truthful with the anticipation.

Ghostface chuckled lowly, his head tilting, and the dominance and lure of the sight had your insides clenching with need.

“Oh, your boyfriend won’t be helping you tonight. No one will”, Steve stated confidently and didn’t give you any warning before he bolted forward. The rush caused you to jump and scream, turning and running in the opposite direction, but it was a useless attempt as his arms wrapped around your waist, pushing forward until you were flush against the wall, his chest hard against your back. You struggled and whimpered in his hold, trying to sound as desperate as possible, but Steve held firm but not enough to hurt.

The mark was next to your ear as he growled, “Now, where do you think you’re going, huh? I thought we could have some fun. What do you say?” You struggled against but mostly so you could grind your ass against his hips, showing him you wanted to keep playing.

However, your lack of words had your boyfriend freezing, the tone of his voice softening as he whispered, “Colour?”

Huffing out a laugh at his concern and momentary slip of the roleplay, you whispered against the wall, “Very fucking green”. You found it endearing that he still ensured you were okay and wanted to continue.

That seemed to be the last of the friendly acts, however, as Steve pushed harder against your body until your cheek was firm against the cool wallpapered wall, the plastic of his mask against the back of your neck. His gloved hands shifted lower over the front of your body, over the mounds of your breasts, your jumper-covered navel and past your hips until he was cupping your jean-covered cunt with a deep moan that rumbled against your back.

It was an automatic response to mewl and rolled your hips into the hold, feeling the pressure from your underwear digging into your clit but needing more. Your noises turned back into whimpers as his fingers quickly snapped over the button of your jeans, and his hand disappeared beneath the material until he was cupping you again, but this time directly to your skin. You pulled your hips away this time, but primarily because of the uncomfortable material; his gloves were cheap synthetic material and were rough against your sensitive, throbbing clit as his palm pressed against it.

Steve chuckled, the tips of his index and middle finger close to your entrance, and for a moment, you were worried he was going to finger you with the rough material; you weren’t sure it would feel nice, but this wasn’t what he was laughing at. “You’re such a desperate little thing aren’t you? I can feel how wet you are through the gloves”.

Your entire body warmed in embarrassment. You should have guessed that he would have felt how turned on you are, especially with how you could feel the slick gathered in your underwear, but you hadn’t considered him feeling it through the gloves.

Ghostface, always the one to tease and humiliate, then did something that had your gasps turning into surprise and shock. The pressure of his glove hand disappeared from between your legs, and from your position, you could see it disappear beneath his mask, where a sucking noise could then be heard as he devoured the juices from the fabric gloves.

“S-St-“ his name was on the tip of your tongue, mostly on instinct to submit to him by moaning his name, but you were also cut off by a deep, gravely groan as the man trapping you against the wall showed you just how much he loved your taste. His hips rolled against your lower back first, thrusting his clothed but painfully hard cock into you, then his hand reappeared from beneath the mask, but this time without the glove as he’d pulled it off with his teeth and dropped onto the floor.

“Why is it you always taste so much better when you’re scared?” he continues to taunt, and you knew it wasn’t a normal reaction, but your pussy clenched so hard that Ghostface had to wait a moment before he was able to push his fingers back into your underwear and his middle and ring finger penetrated your eagerly awaiting hole.

You rose onto your tip toes whilst attempting to back into him to rub yourself against him, but he held you firmly against the wall. His fingers did not waste any time either as they gathered the slick to coat the entire length of his two digits and pumped in and out with a slight curl as he pulled out.

Once more, it was on instinct that your hips were rocking to match his movements, pleasuring pounding into your core as your eyes closed, whimpers slipping from your parted lips that you wouldn’t be able to hold back even if you tried to What’s more the position was adding to the thrill, your hands sprayed and pressed against the cool wall, your cheek aching from the pressure of being pushed forward and the warm body surrounding your entire back with the plastic part of his masks against the back of your head as he rested his temple against you, watching and listening to every little noise that he caused you to make.

Ghostface doesn’t stop pleasuring you, his fingers continuing to pump into you as his palm occasionally pressed firmly against your clit, adding more stimulation. You were a sopping wet mess that could feel that familiar tightening between your legs. Where his fingers curled, and strokes began to harden as your orgasm tingled on the very edge; just one or two more movements and you’d be right there.

But Ghostface knew you were getting to that point, could hear and see how close you were, and he wasn’t having that, not yet anyway, so he swiftly pulled his hand out of your underwear.

“Uh uh, I don’t think so. Did you really think I’d let you cum? Definitely not; where would be the fun in that?” he laughs to emphasise his mocking, making you feel degraded and mind-muddled from needing him to continue pleasuring you but also wanting to push him away so he could stop being so mean.

With your minimal room, you tried to force your elbow into his stomach, but he could already sense your move and began sharply tugging on your hair with his still-wet fingers. His other arm circled your middle, helping with his grip and plan to move you away from the wall. Due to his taller size, he could easily manipulate you to walk in the direction of the kitchen; both of you can only walk without hitting any furniture due to muscle memory and the thin slither of light streaking through the blinds from the blinking street light.

Breath rushed out of you as Ghostface pushed you over your wooden table, your hands and face again pressed against the surface. You were dazed from the fingering, so you didn’t immediately react when he roughly pulled down your jeans and underwear until they were discarded somewhere in the darkness. In actuality, you sighed in relief from having the air breeze over your aching cunt and only responded with your own needs as your hips wiggled enticingly towards the man behind you.

This was rewarded with a sharp smack to your left arse cheek, halting any fuzzy happiness you’d been wrapped in. A leg shifted between your legs, shifting them further apart as the sound of clothes shuffling was heard from behind you as Ghostface began to lift his cloak and bunch it around his hips.

You weren’t able to see him correctly over your shoulder, but your pussy clenched with anticipation, especially as you were only able to see the mask. It still scared you, but knowing it was Steve only made you back up into him until his cock was suddenly being thrust between your arse cheeks.

“Careful now, Princess, don’t want to be stabbed with something now, do we?” Ghostface chuckled right before he slipped his cock, inch after inch, into your pulsing hole. He wasn’t slow; he moved with intent, wanting it to be overwhelming, which is just what you wanted, and automatically, you raised onto your tip toes even whilst leaning over the table.

“Fuck!” you shouted, eyes shutting as all thoughts focused on the fullness you felt between your legs and the desperate need for more.

“Nope, none of that, don’t want the neighbours hearing or your boyfriend, got to keep nice and quiet whilst I fuck whats mines”, Ghostface grunted sharply as the hand that was still gloved now wrapped around your mouth, so you were forced to breathe heavily out of your nose.

On instinct, you gripped his wrist but didn’t pull away and just tried to concentrate on controlling your breaths as his hips began to move in short, quick rotations. In and out, sloppy fast thrusts that had deep warmth radiating from your cunt and down your thighs.

Sweat was gathering over your body from behind, stimulated and so close to Ghostface, who was also like a human radiator with all his clothes layers. You could feel that he had been wearing jeans as they brushed with each thrust against your sensitive thighs, and it only again reminded you that this was Steve as your hips shifted back to meet his.

It didn’t take long for you to feel the pressure increasing again like it had just before you moved away from the hallway wall. You wanted to cum, no, you needed to cum, wanting to soak Ghostface’s jeans with your juices, wanting to be good for the fake murderer and show that you could cum on his cock.

“You wanna cum? I can feel you getting tighter”, Ghostface asked next to your ear, his voice rough and gravely from where he was out of breath.

He momentarily released his cover of your mouth to allow you to speak, “Yes, please!”.

Ghostface wanted to laugh at your polite response, already knowing you were slipping into a submissive headspace from the way you were backing up to meet his thrusts and holding onto his wrist like it was your lifeline. But he wanted to keep the roleplaying going for a little longer, even though he was desperate to hear your sweet orgasmic mewls.

His hand again covered your lips as he tutted, “No, I don’t think so. I’m going to cum first, and then you can cum, but not until I do.”

You cried against his palm, feeling like your breath was stuck in your throat as you tried to control your euphoria, but it was difficult to do that and breathe through your nose.

Dizziness swayed through your mind as you slumped against the table, releasing your hold of his wrist as you needed to try and control yourself. Ghostface noticed the change and would have kissed the back of your head if he didn’t have his mask on, so he finally allowed you some comfort by releasing his hold on your mouth, letting you suck in deep breaths that filled your lungs.

This allowed him to hold onto your hips, holding you still and fucking deeper, his bulbous tip brushing against your cervix and thighs bruising into the edge of the table. Faster and harder, he moved, chasing his orgasm until finally his balls tightened to his body, and his shaft hardened with each spurt of hot seed that began to coat your inner walls.

You could feel it and hear Ghostfaces’ orgasm, and you finally relaxed the mental torture of holding back your orgasm and came with him. Your walls clenched in quick flutters that helped to milk the last drops of Ghostface’s cum before he collapsed over your back, mask resting on your shoulder and hands on either side of your head.

The two of you were breathing heavily, too lost in the moment even to talk before he moved first. Starting with a gasp, Steve pulled off his face, and you could see over your shoulder that his hair was drenched, sticking to his forehead and face gleaming in the small streaks of light.

“Fuck, it was warm in there; they need to make them with a small fan inside or something, holy shit!” Steve sits up slightly but still leaning his hands on either side of your head, and he catches your eye and grins, showing all of his teeth and eyes crinkling in the corners. “As much as I’ve loved this, I’ve missed kissing you” he dipped his face and kissed your cheek, leaving a few drips of his sweat on your skin, but you didn’t care, not when he was looking at you in a way that was making your heart race.

“So that mask, we’re keeping it, right?” you finally speak, voice hoarse as you try to smile over your shoulder at him, feeling his cock softening within you.

“Oh, for sure, you kinky little minx”, he agrees, kissing your cheek again.

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington one shot #stranger things #stranger things smut #mine*#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ghostface steve harrington #ghostface!steve harrington

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rogueddie · 2 years

Text

Steve doesn’t wrap up in wool or thick clothes. It’s something that Eddie notices slowly but, the more he does, the more concerned it makes him.

He tries to point out that he should wear scarves, gloves, winter coats. He starts pointing out that Steve is shaking, any time he notices. He tries to be subtle, to gently coax him into taking better care of himself, but he never does.

“Here,” Eddie had snapped one day. He’d taken his own mittens off and grabbed Steves wrist before he could pull away.

“Don’t, Eddie, stop,” Steve had complained. It sounded more like petulant whining. “You’ll get cold!”

“Remember to bring your own then!”

Steve hadn’t taken the gloves off, thankfully, but he had been in a mood the rest of the day. He almost always had his arms crossed, sending glares Eddies way and pointedly looking at his hands.

It had been worth it though. Steve started wearing the gloves more. Eddie had to get a new pair, but he didn’t care. Steve was warmer.

And it worked the same with his scalf. He bought a new one before forcing his usual on Steve and, from then on, Steve started to wear that scarf as much as the gloves. He refused to admit it though, huffing that it was just to get Eddie off his case.

When Eddie tried to hand off a coat, though, Steve gave it back at the end of the day.

The next time Eddie tried, he also handed it back. The third time, Eddie wore a thick jumper so he wouldn’t have the excuse of Eddie getting cold on the way home again. Still, he gave it back.

“You know, you can keep this,” Eddie finally points out. “I have more than one coat. I’ve been trying to wear this one out anyway. Keep it.”

“No, uh, that… that’s ok.”

Eddie frowns at him, pushing the coat back towards him. “You need a coat, Steve, your flimsy jackets aren’t enough.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Take the fucking coat, Steve.”

Steve ducks his head- which is what makes Eddie finally realize that it’s not the cold making his face go pink. “N-no, uh, just… I’m fine, really.”

“Steve? Why won’t you keep the coat?”

“You need it.”

“The real reason.”

“I don’t know,” Steve mutters, scuffing his foot against the floor, shrugging.

Eddie sighs, slipping the coat back on. “Alright. I’ll stop, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“What?”

“You can tell me, you know? I’m sorry if I made you feel like you can’t.”

“No, no, that’s not- that’s not it!”

“What is it, then?”

“They don’t…” Steve flushes a deeper red, turning away from him, crossing his arms. “They don’t smell like you anymore, ok?”

Eddie stares for a moment. “Huh?”

“The… the gloves and scarf. It- they don’t…”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Sorry, it’s… sorry.”

Eddie blinks again. He’s pretty sure his brain must be melting out his ears, or he’s having a stroke, because there’s no way he’s hearing what he is. He must be misunderstanding.

“Eddie?” Steve finally looks back to him. “Have… have I made you uncomfortable?”

“They don’t smell like me,” Eddie echoes. “So… what you’re saying…?”

“You know what I’m saying,” Steve mumbles, running a hand nervously through his hair.

“No, no, I don’t. I really… my mind is going a mile a minute, Stevie, you need to spell this shit out.”

Steve shuffles, hesitating for a long moment. “I like wearing your things… because they’re yours. Because I like you.”

“... Alright.”

“Alright? What- is that it?”

Eddie quickly ducks down, grabbing a handful of snow and shoving it down the front of Steves shirt. He screams as he hurries to pull the snow out. He very quickly grabs his own snowball, trying to retaliate, but Eddie easily catches his wrist.

“I’ve been so worried about you being cold and catching hypothermia or some shit! Jesus Christ, Steve, I was about to start pulling my hair out.”

“Sorry?”

“You’re such a dumbass,” Eddie grumbles. “You could’ve just said you liked me too.”

“Too?” Steve perks up immediately, grinning.

“You’re insufferable.”

“But you like me?”

“Unfortunately, yeah. Yeah, Steve, I really like you.” Eddie shakes his head, laughing at Steves little victory fist pump. “Fuck, you’re a dork. Just for that, I’m taking you on a real shit first date. We’ll go to this run down little dinner, real greasy food, it’s some nasty shit.”

“Does this mean I can kiss you?”

Eddie tugs him closer with his own scarf so he can kiss him first, beating him to the prize.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #christma22k

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lisbeth-kk · 5 days

Text

Sherlock fandom

A Delicate Flower

Martha Hudson may seem frail and vulnerable to people who don’t know her. Those who have made her acquaintance in one capacity or another, retracts their claim quite quickly. Even the British government has a secret appreciation for her. She’s a force of nature, just like her two tenants upstairs. Speaking of…

“NO! Absolutely not!” John shouts.

Martha picks up on Sherlock’s protest but not his exact words. Therefore, she hurries to grab a tin of biscuits to bring upstairs. It’s been silent for weeks, and she has begun to wonder if John has tamed Sherlock into a boring adult.

When she emerges in the doorway to 221B, she regrets that she didn’t bring popcorn. Sherlock’s tantrum is at least a seven on Martha’s secret scale. (Mind you, not only consulting detectives have those.)

“It’s my blog, John!” Sherlock exclaims. “To do with as I please. You’ve said it yourself that it’s too scientific. Adding you into the equation, will make it much more interesting. People want to know things about you too. I don’t understand why it bothers you to this extent.”

His hands have done significant damage to his curls. He looks like a mix between a deranged scientist and a petulant child. In Martha’s book he’s habitually both.

“Well, it does,” John counters defiantly.

The good doctor is childishly stubborn sometimes, but he rarely budges if the topic is important to him. More often than not, it’s the delicate flower of a genius that gives in when he realises that the battle is lost. And then, he craves the physical closeness only his army doctor can provide.

Martha looks around, trying to discover what the argument is about. When she realises what it is, she’s glad she didn’t choose the popcorn, or John would’ve needed to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on her.

She stifles a laugh and Sherlock stares daggers at her. He actually stomps his feet like a toddler, and a choked sound escapes her throat.

Petri dishes with different ash samples are placed on the kitchen table. Each item is carefully marked. Martha only glimpses a few that are in her field of vision.

John’s shoelaces – Wool from John’s favourite jumper – John’s pants (the red/sexy ones)

Martha leaves the biscuit tin on the table and descends to 221A to indulge in her herbal soothers.

Murmuring voices half an hour later tell her that peace has been restored. For now.

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

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@raina-at @meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely

@jolieblack @peanitbear @phoenix27884 @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982

@meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie

@lhrinchelsea @missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12 @jawnscoffee

@gay-ass-bitch @acumberlockedgirl @williamholmeswatson @whatnext2020

(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #mrs hudson #sherlock #john watson #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock fanfic #FFF271 #tantrum entrance #he knows ash

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chere-indolente · 1 year

Photo

Newlyn Fisher Clothing Set

I come to you today with this little historical seaside fashion interlude (before going back to work on more 1880′s sets). This set includes cable knit sweaters in high and low waisted, and variations on traditional fishermen smocks. More pics and download below

This set is partly inspired by the works of the school of Newlyn, a group of painters known to have depicted the surrounding of Newlyn, a Cornish coastal town, and its many fishermen in the 1880′s to 1900′s. And here is the painting that I referenced in the promo picture.

————————— Cableknit Sweater ————————

———————————————————————————

This is the sweater from the Werewolf pack without the little laced up strings on the shoulders (why do you always add these unnecessary details EA ? 😅). I’ve made a short version (S) for my high waisted needs and a long (L) version, for both masc and fem frames, as well as both adult and children.

Cableknit sweaters originated from Ireland, in the Aran Islands, though other types of knitted jumpers called gansey already existed in the British, Irish and Channel isles. They were created between the 1890′s and 1900′s. They were initially knitted with unwashed and undied wool. Both the natural lanolin from the virgin wool and the knitted patterns made for water resistant sweaters and as such : good alternatives to the previously used ganseys made of oiled wool died with indigo.

These Aran sweaters slowly became some fashionable sportswear item during the 20′s and 30′s, and later reached its peak popularity in the 50s’ and 60′s worn by the likes of Grace Kelly and Steve McQueen.

40 solid swatches

for adults and children

2 lenghts : S & L

——————————— Vareuse V1 ——————————

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Vareuses are a style of fishermen smocks with a V neck. This style was typical of Brittany fishermen though I have seen depiction of Norwegian fishermen for example sporting this style of smocks on 1880s paintings too. While I couldn’t find substancial informations on their origins and date of appereance, vareuses seem to have been used at least as far as mid 19th century and were still worn as work wear up til the mid 20th.

It is said that traditionally fishers wore different colors depending on their fishing style : yellow ones for those shellfish picking, rust colored ones for those using fish traps, red ones for oyster farmers and blue ones for those fishing in the open seas.

Fishermen smocks were oiled to be water repellant and worn on top of clothes and knitted garments to protect them from water and keep them relatively clean.

On this 1st version of the vareuse I’ve not put any clothing “underneath” to allow for warm weather and for combinations with accessory shirts or turtlenecks.

33 solid swatches

for adults and children

——————————— Vareuse V2 ——————————

———————————————————————————

This 2nd version of a vareuse include a cableknit jumper sticking out of the V neck collar. The set also includes an overlay to pick the color of said cableknit jumper.

33 solid swatches

39 solid swatches on the cableknit overlay (located in the right wrist section)

for all ages

————————— Cornish Crewneck ————————

———————————————————————————

Similarly to the vareuse, the crewneck is a style of fishermen smocks. This style is traditionally associated with Cornwall, in the north west of England. Cornish crewneck smocks were used similarly to vareuses.

33 solid swatches

for all ages

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Download : dropbox — simfileshare

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pseudowho · 10 months

Text

The Accumulation of Little Despairs

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

Pure Nanami Kento fluff, written as per request for @nn-hh192 who is needing a bit of love.

As the Reader struggles with low mood, Nanami is on hand with the perfect words and the perfect date.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami Kento understood how depression could build slowly. At his least resilient, every small insult to his stability of mind was placed on his shoulders like a rock. Before he knew it, he was a broken man.

He watched this accumulation of despairs in you as the winter rolled in. Struggling to make it out of bed in the dark mornings, you missed your train. You had a needless argument with a co-worker. You saw tales of war and genocide, thousands of miles away, and felt so helpless. Your clothes didn't fit the way they used to. You noticed more and more people, homeless and cold on the streets, and there was not enough of you to help.

As you started to see your world through a grey filter, Kento did all he could to love you, to take the pressure off you. You were barely lifting a finger at home, but not needing to because Kento had it all in hand. He tried to talk to you, to encourage you to open up to him, but you were too numbed to engage. He watched as the fiercely independent you, became tired and listless, and it broke his heart.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You woke, bleary-eyed, to warm kisses on your temple, and the mattress shifting beside you. You smelled Kento's warm morning smell, and buttery pastries and coffee. Nosing your way over to Kento under the covers, he chuckled as your hand reached out, patting around for food.

"We're going out today," he said, sipping his coffee as you groaned, "and you're in no way obliged to smile about it. But I think we'll have a good day."

You groaned again, a noise of pure disagreement. Giving you an affectionate squeeze through the duvet, Kento remained quietly present while you ate and drank.

"Where are we going? Can it wait?" you wheedled. Going out would mean getting dressed and pretending to be fine. You were sure you didn't have it in you.

"It's a surprise," Kento reassured smoothly, patting your bum as you scooted to the bathroom. Soaking in a hot bath, you psyched yourself up for pretending to be enjoying yourself.

Kento was a quiet flurry of activity, you heard outside the bathroom door. He slid soon after into the bathroom, looking everything but his usual neat and trimmed self. He hadn't shaved, dark blond shadows adorning his handsome face. His hair was soft and floppy, unstyled. He wore his oldest black jeans and jumper, comfy boots, and a big black wool overcoat. Puzzled, you raised an eyebrow at him as he held out a towel for you.

"Come on. Time to go." You wrapped yourself up, going to get dressed, the pressure of looking your best significantly lessened by your lover looking so...sloppy. Opting to match his dour palette, you were soon wrapped up, make-up free, warm, and he gripped your hand, pulling you out the door with no arguments.

Kento had set the engine running, warming the car up in advance and you sighed as you climbed in, glasses steaming up, nose red from the cold. You realised with a jolt, seeing the car clock, that it was already early afternoon.

"You left me in bed so long," you chastised Kento softly. He hummed, taking your cold little hands in his and pressing them gently to the warm air vents.

"You seemed to need it. Besides, where we're going, it's more fun when the sun's going down." Car sliding back out of the driveway, Kento's arm stretched round the back of your seat, you blushed, still having such a crush on him despite being together for years. As he drove, he put on a playlist he seemed to have made to match your mood perfectly. A warm coffee cup was pressed into your hands. Your eyes pricked with tears, feeling ungrateful that despite all his best efforts, you still did not feel happy.

Reading you so easily, Kento squeezed your hand, bringing it onto his thigh, stroking your palm. He kept his eyes on the road as he spoke to you, "I'm not under the impression that one lovely day out is going to make all of this go away for you, so don't feel pressured into being cured. I just think you deserve this. I want you and your company even when you're not feeling your best." He reached over, wiping a few small tears from your cheeks as you sniffled, handing you a handkerchief. You laughed, tickled that your love was absolutely the kind of man to carry handkerchiefs.

You parked, walking arm in arm through the cold, boots crunching on old snow, to a busy covered market. Sizzles, shouts, and the delicious smell of street food poured out to you. Nobody was well-dressed. The food looked invitingly homely. Despite your recent breakfast, your stomach rumbled.

Kento surveyed the food stalls, rapping your hand in his against his thigh as he hummed. "I was thinking...a bit of everything.". You laughed, not realising how completely serious he was when he visited a dozen food stalls, one after the other. By the time you had found a table, your arms were laden with food trays and you shared a long meal, talking about everything and nothing, at points stretching out minutes of comfortable silence as you people-watched in each other's company. Full to bursting, Kento warmed considerably, seeing small smiles start to grace your lips, enjoying your eyes twinkling as you teased him. He'd take every tease you gave to see you smile again.

"Ready?" Kento pressed, hand out to you, fingers wiggling.

"For what?"

Kento shook his pocketed hand, which was heavy with jangling change. "Arcades," he whispered, unusually excited, "We used to go all the time at school, but I haven't been since..." he tailed off and you squeezed his hand, knowing that losing Yuu had cut Kento's childhood abruptly to an end. Clapping your hands together, you stood.

"Come on then. You can kill Curses, but how good are you at dancing?"

Kento groaned, feigning reluctance as you dragged him through the backstreets until you reached the sprawling neon lights of a huge arcade, buzzing with teenagers. The sun was going down, your nose pink with cold and excitement; you gazed at the lights, the claw machines, the ra-ta-ta-ta of arcade guns, feeling your heart swell with childish joy. Kento's heart swelled too, eyes soft as he drank in your profile, arcade lights dancing across your glasses lens.

"Can you win me something?" you wheedled to Kento, pressing your hands from one claw machine to the next as you tried to decide which plushie was the cutest.

"Not yet. How do you expect to beat me at Resident Evil if your hands are full?"

You and Kento spent hours playing games, going through multiple pockets of change. You took several shocking first-person shooting game wins, Kento taking his revenge by being a dark-horse on the dance machines, small crowds of teenagers gathering to egg you both on as you became more chaotic together, more sloppy, tapping your feet on each other's pads as you tried to cheat wins from each other. Tears of laughter shone in your eyes as Kento became increasingly frustrated with the janky mechanics of the driving games, so you pulled him away to the claw machines.

Kento felt his manliness on the line, unashamedly competitive as he won you two delightful plushies. Completely sated, you felt your social battery running low. Pulling you close to him with one arm as you walked out of the arcades, Kento rattled his pocket one last time.

"Room for a doughnut?"

"Always. Extra tummy for dessert."

Finding a fresh doughnut stall on your way back to the car, you picked for Kento (a simple glazed ring) and he picked for you (a sweet pink heart, oozing with raspberry jam). Your drive home was warm, smooth, full of comfortable silence. You felt your eyes drift shut, eyelids occasionally glowing with orange as streetlights rolled in and out beyond your vision.

When you arrived home, kicking off your boots together, Kento held your shoulders for a moment, keeping you in the hallway. "Wait here," he urged, "it'll take a few minutes to warm up." Answering your questioning look with a sweet kiss to your forehead, you stripped out of your snowy coat as you heard Kento rattle about in the living room and kitchen.

Taking you by both hands, Kento walked you into the living room.

"A...kotatsu?" The heated table, plush with blankets, sat adorned with two steaming bowls of instant ramen. Pillows piled at the end opposite the television created a mini fort for you to curl up in, a selection of your favourite childhood movies stacked beside the sofa, ready for choosing.

Sniffling with gratitude again, you and Kento slipped into pyjamas, and you sighed with delight as your feet slipped under the heat of the table. Eyeing the love Kento had poured into this, you grasped his cheeks, pulling him in firmly for a kiss, scattering dozens of tiny kisses over his cheeks and eyes.

"Thank you," you pressed. Kento huffed.

"This is the bare minimum you deserve, I promise. Wait until I really get going."

Warm and safe, you realised, snug in Kento's arms, you'd never again have to weather your bad days alone.

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industrations · 1 year

Text

I'm scared that I’ll forget the way it feels.

It’s dark and cold in the small, dingy London flat. Remus doesn’t remember the last time he’d been able to pay for the electricity bill. He’s sitting on the ground in front of the sofa; sometimes, it feels safer. His hands are freezing, and his bones ache. He pulls the wool of his jumper down over his shaking fingers as he reaches for the video camera, turning it on.

Lily’s freckled face comes into view, her emerald eyes bright as she looks up at him behind the lens. “Come on give me that.” There is some rustling as Lily takes over the camera, and he himself comes into view looking awkward, scratching his head.

“Why Do I have to do it? It’s my camera.”

“Because you’re always filming us, and I want to have memories of you too.”

“Lily-”

“Come on, show them!” The camera shakes as Lily hops excitedly. They’re in Lily’s kitchen, and there is flour covering all the surfaces. He sees himself turn around to pick up a lopsided cake. Sixteen candles make a circle around the wobbly letters. ‘Happy birthday Sirius’

Remus quickly switches through the following videos. Peter’s cheeks are red from the cold as he changes into wormtail, jumping through the fluffy layers of snow. James is on his broom, telling them to watch as he does tricks, diving and soaring through the air. At a party, Marlene, Mary, and Lily standing on the table singing the lyrics to Dancing Queen.

His breath catches at the first sound of the barking laugh that spills out of the tiny speakers. Sirius is as beautiful as Remus always remembers. They’re by the ocean, and his black hair whips around him wildly as the shallow waves lick at their feet.

“Moony, moony watch this!” Remus watches as Sirius creeps up to James, jumping on him and dragging him into the waves. James shrieks as they both hit the water.

“Padfoot, you bastard!” They’re laughing and start wrestling, trying to pull the other under. Remus presses the arrow button, and the next video appears.

Sirius in bed, his hair strewn around the pillow around his head like a halo. Mismatched sheets rumpled around him. He lazily turns to face the camera and scrunches his nose when he sees that Remus is filming. “What,” he says, trying to look stern, but his eyes tell a different story.

“Tell me what you just said.” Sirius buries his head into the pillow, and Remus pokes his side, making him jump. “C’mon pads, own up to it.” Sirius turns his head slightly, peeking out with one eye, cheeks flushed with a wide grin.

“I love you more than James.”

The screen goes black. And it’s cold, so very cold. Remus shakes as tears drip onto the tiny screen. He runs to the bathroom and dry heaves into the toilet. His lungs ache from all the smoking. But above all, it hurts; it aches so much as the memories flash before his eyes.

Every week. Every single week, Remus does this. He sits on the floor in his tiny, freezing flat and pulls out the camera. Every week, he clicks through the videos, heart pounding, burning in his chest. Every week, his breath catches when he hears that laugh. And every week, it stings and nags and throbs, eating at his insides. But Remus is scared. Scared that he’ll forget the way it felt, the way it feels. He takes out the camera every week again and again to prove that this was real. That he was real.

#i-#i'm sorry #i'm in a mood #uhm #yeah.#no excuse really #remus lupin the love of my life #writing tag

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fundjumpers · 7 months

Text

Red Wool Jumper: A Must-Have For Every Wardrobe!

What ignites warmth and style simultaneously? Is it the vibrant hue of crimson, or the cozy embrace of wool? Our red wool jumper marries both, crafting a garment that's as striking as it is snug. Its rich color commands attention while its soft texture invites the touch. Find out more about this fashion essential by reading this article and visiting this website.

#red wool jumper

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neiptune · 2 years

Text

all over me

(gojo x female reader)

wc: 2k

warnings: angst, you won't find any comfort here my friends

There's only one place Satoru usually stops by in Shibuya and although he's prayed he would so many times, he certainly doesn't expect to find you in it

Sweat runs down Satoru’s back as he takes one hand out of his pocket to push up dark sunglasses, annoyance taking shape in the creases between his furrowed brows. He should’ve went for the cashmere jumper instead of the wool sweater but then again, he can’t quite remember the last time he had made a good decision. Not that he would ever allow anyone to know.

People are buzzing around Shibuya as usual and he has to offer more than one gentle smile to strangers profusely apologizing for bumping into him on their way to god knows what, god knows where. As he finally makes it out of Takeshita street the mob decreases in density at last, giving him the chance to take a deep breath: sometimes the drainage smell can rise to the surface and make the simple experience of taking a walk excruciating, but today Shibuya smells just right. Smoke coming from yakitori restaurants mixes interestengly well with the strong smell of fermented soybeans scattered in colorful stands and the sweet, fruity scent coming from the magnolia trees blossoming among shops and sidewalks.

Satoru comes to a halt right in front of it, old habits die hard after all. As usual, the Aoyama flower market teahouse comes with a consistent queue outside its pretty building. It’s a Tuesday afternoon and under normal circumstances he’d have to wait around 50 minutes to get inside but he’s, well, him, and he’s known for two things: dashing charm and generous tips. Sunglasses are graciously pushed over his forehead, lazy half-smile a blinding crescent moon as the lady in charge of the queue, name list in her hand, bows and motions him towards the entrance right away. There was a time when you would’ve rolled your eyes, with a sarcastic huff and a barely muttered you are shameless. When he was with you, Satoru had only been allowed to work his magic once: every other time, you had always forced him to respect the queue. Sure enough, each time, he complied. And that was the magic you worked.

He’s not bothered by the smell anymore, way too sweet for his taste. But every blossom, branch and flower still has your laugh embedded in it, so it’s alright, really. He wonders if this is still your favorite place to hide away in, where you’d catch up with your friends on rainy days, sit all alone with a book whenever you needed a break from reality, snap selfies of you two nestled between hues of an impossible amount of pretty flowers. Red, pink, green, orange, white, their scent lingering on you for him to savor it for hours on end, the way you’d jokingly push him away when he’d try to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck for the millionth time. Satoru gets a kick out of the way ill stitched wounds tear apart and resume their bleeding whenever he steps foot in this place, pain crashing over him in waves, the emptiness of his chest taking the shape of your absence all over again through a carving so painful not even the strongest sorcerer feels powerful enough to bear. But it’s only right. He doesn’t deserve smooth edges and being the strongest unfortunately means he survives the process every single time.

“Toru?” a timid whisper, one he’d recognize everywhere regardless of having been left without that voice for over two years now.

And sure enough you’re there, actually there, sitting at your own glass table with plants sprouting from underneath it, a giant plate of your usual order in front of you, mocking him, because apparently nothing has changed besides your absence in his life. He’s hated french toast ever since.

Satoru approaches your table, patiently ignoring the way his stomach has flipped at the familiarity of your voice paired with the nickname.

“Hey” he hasn’t seen you in so long, and this is all he can come up with. But it must mean something, finding you here at last after endless wanderings and cups of tea he doesn’t even like and flower parfaits and rose jellies. It must mean something, the fact that you invite him to sit, smile every bit as warm as he remembered.

“How have you been?” you ask right after he places his order, a hot mojito even in the middle of the afternoon, because he can’t hold his liquor and definitely can’t do this while sober.

“Good, busy. You know how it is” he grins with a slight shrug of the shoulders.

“I know how it is” your lips curl in a soft smile as you drag a forkful of french toast through syrup.

“You look great, by the way. Shorter hair suits you”

The way you shift nervously in your seat as you let out a uh, thanks signals your discomfort so he leans back ever so slightly, gives you space, hopes to be smart enough to reassess a lead he doesn’t actually have. With each sputter, his heart seems to be articulating all the words he’s been aching to say out loud for the past two years. I miss you. Come back. I’ll do better. Please. Please. Please.

And you know him well enough to sense that, whatever it is, it’s coming. So you brace yourself the best you can, with a deep breath and tense muscles, ankles crossed underneath the table pressing painfully to each other, toes curled in your sneakers.

“Let’s get dinner tonight” his slender fingers are closed tightly around the glass, in sharp contrast with the casualness of his pitch. The deep sigh you let out is a flag red enough but, frankly, he refuses to go down without a fight. What should he fear at this point? Humiliation? He’s been without you long enough to figure there’s nothing worse. He’ll handle humiliation.

“Satoru” the name rolls off your tongue as a warning but you can’t ignore the way your heart squeezes a little at the sound of it. You haven’t said that name out loud in forever and it still tastes every bit as sweet and dangerous as it did back then.

“What?” he challenges, impatient “it’s just dinner”

“I have to be home for dinner”

“Why?”

He’s not a dumb man, he knows what you’re about to say. Regardless, he needs to hear it before the glass shatters in his very hand.

“Don’t do this” you let out a shaky breath as you put your fork down, suddenly unable to stomach a single other bite.

“There’s someone” Satoru does his best not to make it sound like an accusation because it really isn’t. It couldn’t be, he wouldn’t dare.

Your gaze meets his and it’s hard to remind yourself that you’re a different person now that you’ve been away from his magnetic field long enough. Leaving came with the terrifying, inevitable need to learn how to be, who to be, on your own. You had been with him for so long it had been excruciating to find out, during those first months, you couldn’t remember how to be whole without the stupid amount of his cologne stinking up the small bathroom of your studio apartment, his chin resting on your shoulder, his fingers gently massaging shampoo in your scalp, his good mornings. His his his. Everything was a reminder of how much you had given and the unbearable, sweet time each piece was taking to travel back to you and try to fit in its original spot.

But they did, in the end. Most of them, anyway. Little by little, each part crawled back and you had to patiently pick them up and find a place to gently push them in. They didn’t fit with each other as well as they did in the beginning, he had made a miserable, imperfect puzzle out of you: one with pieces fitting with the wrong ones well enough not to make the subtle cracks noticeable to everyone else. You’d been left with a version of yourself you had to get to know from the start and the process had been so painful, so exhausting, you’d sworn you’d never risk any of that ever again.

Still, it doesn’t mean you don’t miss it. What you had was a kind of love that, to this day, you deem unrepeatable. Being with Satoru felt like knowing exactly where you were meant to be in the world: it was powerful and overwhelming, all consuming, a feeling strong enough to match the strongest there was. The beauty of it was that it was a balanced exchange coming from both sides, constantly created between you two in equal measure.

You’ve made peace with the thought that it won’t be possible to feel that way with someone that isn’t him, no even now that you’re in love and fairly happy, not even now that you’re free. Satoru is still there, all over you. But as much as you’re certain he’d still move heaven and hell and every other world or dimension available to make you happy, to keep you safe, it’s too late. It will always be too late.

“Yes” your reply is as dry as your throat.

Satoru remains silent, eyes focused on the glass of ice water in front of you, condensation dripping down onto the tabletop and forming a small puddle underneath it. The place is so fancy and yet cold drinks don’t come with coasters, it’s ridiculous.

“Does it compare?” the question comes out light, void of anger or bitterness. He wonders if you’ll still be fooled, even after so much time apart. Because no matter the way his whole being ached and burned and radiated with the disarming love he had for you, there was always a small, almost imperceptible part of Gojo Satoru he had always kept to himself. The same one that ruined everything, in the end.

“It doesn’t” you speak truthfully “but I’m happy”

He hums, pensive.

“I sure wonder what that feels like”

You shut your eyes for a second. It didn’t end with smoke and gunpowder, explosive fights, cheating or lying: you were too in love with each other to let any of that get in the way. It ended simply because he never thought it could end.

“It feels right” you push the knife a little deeper, not enough to tear him apart entirely but surely enough to make him feel it. And oh, does he feel it.

“Right”, Satoru repeats the word mockingly “I guess that means he’s the one. Better marry him fast”

The derision in his tone is just too much for you to bear. He’s still so good at pushing all your buttons until you snap, until you’re angry enough to forget the childish desire to safeguard his feelings. Why would he deserve such grace after everything he’d put you through?

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Satoru. He’s already asked and I already said yes”

For a moment, he thinks there must be a curse concealed somewhere around the crowded teashop, somewhere between leaves and branches and colorful flowers. Because why else would everything be still alive, breathing, moving? How are people chatting mindlessly around him, how is the sudden, light rain still falling outside? Why isn’t everything motionless or at least slowly crumbling in on itself?

The strongest always needs a fragment to hold onto, something only his that can be worn like armor. Memories nag mercilessly at the back of his mind: the day he’d met you, a few seconds of playful banter enough to make him grin and drop a nonchalant well, this is going way too smoothly to not let it be a date. How he’d always make sure to get up at dawn whenever you spent the night wrapped in silk sheets, rushing to make breakfast and brew coffee because he simply couldn’t risk you collecting your clothes and vanishing from his apartment while he was asleep. The way you’d convinced him to try out a skincare routine, giggling as you carefully massaged clay masks and serums and your favorite moisturizer into his skin. All the times you’d waited for him to come home, movies watched on his couch, late night hushed conversations about the future, how you’d rolled your eyes with a coy smile at his m’gonna marry you.

He meant every word, could’ve sworn he would’ve stopped breathing if left without your lips on his for too long. He meant it, Satoru just thought he had all the time in the world. Because you were his and he was yours, what on earth could’ve changed that?

So he’d stopped notifying you when missions would take too long, leaving you waiting for his return for days, sometimes weeks, not a call nor a reply to your texts. He became increasingly annoyed at the idea of having to hang out with your friends, because he was tired and just didn’t feel like leaving the house and maybe you should’ve stayed too: you hadn’t spent some time alone in a while after all. He’d started throwing around words and phrases you both hated: overreacting, attention-seeking, blowing this out of proportion, don’t ya think you’re being too sensitive?

He forgot birthdays, anniversaries, claimed he couldn’t refuse to go on that mission right on Christmas day, your gift left to collect dust, unopened on his bed. And when you started drifting away, he didn’t notice. Not until your suitcase was packed and your warmth was taken away from his suddenly too large, dull, dark apartment.

So right now he needs it, that fragment. Hadn’t you called him heartless, once? It’s best you keep believing that. You may even be right: there’s not enough left of his heart anyway. He sure hopes you’ll be treated right this time, he wants to wish for your happiness and he does. But the desire for whatever joy expects you to never surpass the one you felt when you were with him is stronger. He will always hold onto that selfishness because it will be all he’s left with while you’re out in the world without him, forever.

“You never even replied when I asked” his smile is bitter, incredulous.

“You never meant it”

Fragment or not, that’s a lie he wouldn’t dare speak out loud. He could never agree with what you just said because, in his life, Satoru never meant anything as much as he did when he rambled endlessly about making you his wife, perfect wedding venue, guest list and witnesses already on his mind. Ring sitting in his secret drawer, still there, to this day.

He gets up and your gaze softens as you watch him put his sunglasses on again, some cash tucked under his empty glass. Of course you still care for him, you always will. And it’s not like it doesn’t hurt, the way this encounter went.

“I hope you find it, too” you mutter with a strange taste in your mouth, one not even all the tea in the world could wash away.

“I will” he flashes you a smile “try to stick around with this one, hm?” doesn’t even give you the time to let the petty words sink in as he gives the two-finger salute and turns around to exit the shop. Eye for an eye.

Whilst wandering through a wet and still overwhelmingly bustling Shibuya, Gojo Satoru chuckles to himself until a broken, boisterous laugh crawls all the way up from his throat. Pedestrians turn their heads in his direction but that only makes him laugh harder. Because how could they get the irony? He’s only had two people in his life that he’s called best friends at some point, only two people he’s loved with every fiber of his being, and he has lost both.

That’s probably the one curse he’ll never be able to exorcise.

#gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x you #gojo angst #am i honestly shitting myself bc i'm writing for the first time for someone so popular and who so many people already write beautifully?#the answer's yes #therefore feedback will be sosososo appreciated #thank you!!!!

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wisteria-cherry · 2 months

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heyaa

saw you were on the lookout for a marauders x reader fic request? well, here is your savior 😌 (also if you write it you'll be my savior so it's an all win situation right?)

how about a Remus x reader, where they're kinda wandering around outside the castle during winter (snow gazing date, is that a thing?) and although reader is already wearing remus' woolen sweater and we'll equiped for snow, they (or she, or he, whatever you prefer writing with) are freezing and so they cling to Remus and like he takes their hands to put them in his pockets and stuff...and yeah it's all fluffy and cute and warm

is that clear lol ?

anyways byeeeeee

omg my savior🙏🙏🙏 she’s a little short, hope that’s okay..!

warning: tooth-rotting fluff

“it’s beautiful.” you remark as you walk side-by-side with remus, gazing at the snowfall from your favorite overpass at hogwarts— a beautiful wooden pathway, with a roof to protect from harsher weather such as this.

“dare i say not as beautiful as you?” remus glanced down at you, bundled up in his ever-cozy wool sweater, and cracked a smile.

“if i didn’t know better, rem, i’d say you were hitting on me.”

“let’s not be presumptuous, now.” remus looked out at the snow. “i’ll blush.”

“your cheeks are already pink.” you retort.

“that’s because it’s cold, love.” he looked back at you with honey-colored eyes. it was a crime, really, to have such beautiful eyes. surely you must be a criminal, then, to have fallen for such eyes. “yours are much redder.”

“because i’m cold.” you huff.

“that had better be satire, that’s my best jumper you’ve got there.”

“you told me i could wear it.”

“that i did.” remus agreed. remus stopped in his steps, leading you to stop as well, and he turned to lean against the banister. he lifted his arm up. “c’mere.”

you gratefully tuck yourself under his arm, pressing yourself against remus, who, despite the cold, was incredibly warm. maybe he was hiding the possibility that his actual best jumper was the one he was wearing right now. remus’ arm settled around you, hugging you close. he gently kissed the top of your head, much to your delight.

“pretty thing.” he murmured against your hair.

“cold thing.” you hum in response. despite the addition of remus’ body heat, you were still shivering, and your ears were still bright red.

“can’t have that, now can we?” remus replied. you feel his arm move from its position around you, the wool from his and your (technically also his) jumper sleeves rustling. his hand takes yours, and he faces you, using your hand to guide you to do the same. his other hand finds your other hand, and he studies them, as if admiring a work of art.

“didn’t i tell you to wear gloves?” he inquired, raising a questioning eyebrow as he looked at your red knuckles.

“maybe.”

“what am i going to do with you?” he tutted, taking your hands and moving them behind him, sliding them into his back pockets. you look up at him earnestly; he was truly the sweetest boy you’d ever met. in that moment, you were sure you’d never fall in love with anyone else ever again.

“come on, now, you.” remus released your hands, and now wrapped his arms around you, bringing you into a hug you wished would last forever. you rested your cheek on his chest, and he rested his chin on the top of your head. the both of you continued to look out at the scenery. fluffy snowflakes fell lazily from the sky and landed on the powdery wonderland that hogwarts became each winter.

“i used to hate winter.” remus admitted, not once taking his gaze away from the view.

“really?”

“yeah.” remus confirms. “i thought that all winter did was hinder people, and track snow in the house, which would then melt and get everything damp.”

“pessimist.” you accuse lightheartedly.

“realist.” remus corrected. “besides, that’s changed.”

“has it?”

“it has.” remus confirmed. “i started liking it when i saw how much you liked it.”

“really?” you felt your heart flutter. this was easily one of your favorite sides of remus— the romantic side. more often than not, he hardly even realized he was being romantic; in his eyes, he was just stating the truth. but there was something so incredibly beautiful about the way he worded each truth that you just wanted to give him the world in exchange for one more.

“really.” he confirmed.

“hey.”

“hm?”

“i love you.”

“i love you too.”

#marauders drabble #harry potter marauders #the marauders era #marauders drabbles #the marauders map #marauders map #the marauders #marauders era #marauders #remus john lupin #young remus lupin x reader #young remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin

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qnewsau · 2 months

Text

Tom Daley models jumper he's been knitting at Paris Olympics

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/tom-daley-models-jumper-hes-been-knitting-at-paris-olympics/

Tom Daley models jumper he's been knitting at Paris Olympics

Tom Daley isn’t just an Olympic champion. The gay British diver is also a talented knitter.

When he hasn’t been up on the board going for medals at Paris, Tom Daley has spent his downtime in the stands with his needles and wool.

The Olympics aren’t even finished yet but Tom has revealed that he’s already finished knitting his latest creation – a special Paris Olympics commemorative jumper.

Tom’s jumper is in the shades of red, white, and blue to match both Tom’s UK flag and the Paris flag, with the intricate Eiffel Tower Paris 2024 logo across the front.

Tom knitted his initials “TD” on one sleeve and the number 5 on the other to represent the Olympians’s fifth time competing in the Olympics.

He showed off his work – which you can see more on Tom’s separate knitting Instagram account – in new videos on social media.

@tomdaley I FINISHED MY SWEATER! What do you thunk? @Made With Love ♬ original sound – Tom Daley

@tomdaley THE MAKING OF MY SWEATER #paris2024 #olympics @Made With Love ♬ Summer Vibes – GRLN

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Tom Daley won silver medal at Paris Olympics

Last week, Tom Daley and his British diving partner Noah Williams won silver in the men’s synchronised dive at the Paris Olympics.

His first silver medal is his fifth, completing Tom’s set alongside his three bronze and the gold medal he picked up in Tokyo.

After winning gold, Tom took a long break from the sport.

But the British star said he returned for one reason – to impress his six-year-old son Robbie.

“Robbie was like, ‘Papa, I want to see you dive in the Olympics’. And that was that,” Tom told BBC Sport last week.

“When your kid asks you to do something, you do it.”

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A post shared by Tom Daley (@tomdaley)

Tom Daley’s husband Dustin Lance Black and their two sons Robbie and Phoenix cheered Tom on at the Paris Aquatics Centre.

“Doing it in front of my son who asked me to come back is so special. He’s six years old now and I think he might remember some of this,” Tom told BBC Sport.

“I now have [medals] of every colour, I’ve completed the set.”