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coryosbaby · 1 year

Text

Ultraviolence - E.L & C.M

(Pt. 4)

Fandom: “Scream Vi”

Pairing: stepbrother! Ethan Landry x fem! Reader, Chad Meeks Martin x fem! Reader, Ethan Landry x Chad Meeks Martin

Warning: stepcest A/n: It’s finally here ‼️ I apologize for the wait yall 🤝(stepbrother x stepsister), threesome, double penetration, oral (f & m recieving), cum play, daddy kink, degradation/praise, switch! Reader, switch!Chad,dark! Ethan, dom! Ethan

A/n: It’s finally here ‼️ I apologize for the wait yall 🤝

You’ve been hanging out with Chad a lot recently.

It’s the first thing Ethan notices after the whole ‘fucking at a party” ordeal. And the second thing he notices, is that you have gotten really extroverted.

It’s been a few weeks, so the change makes it course over time. But you’re so much more different than before; where you once wore your little outfits with a shyness to you, you now strut around like you own the place. You speak more, present yourself more. You’ve also went to a few parties here and there. And honestly, Ethan can’t blame you for that. You’re beautiful and perfect, and why would he expect you not to think it yourself? And why wouldn’t he expect you, as a young woman, to go and make your own decisions?

It’s just that, Ethan hates change.

At the beginning, you were supposed to be his. His little secret, his little doll to play with and fuck. And now Chad has joined the mix, and it’s all different. It makes his head spin.

Your parents, Chad, and Ethan are at the kitchen table when you come barreling down the stairs. Its a hot day, like most of this summer, and your cheeks are red and flushed. You’ve been getting sunburn a lot more, it seems.

Chad has been staying over a lot more, too. Maybe partly to hang out with Ethan, but the doe eyed boy knows it’s more than that. Because the moment he’s left alone, Chad is somehow ending up next to you. His hand always rests on your knee, and you always tilt your head back and giggle at what he says. It’s ridiculous.

You smile brightly at Ethan, and move over to kiss Chad on the cheek.

“Goodmorning, guys!”

Ethan scowls at your affection, at your happy demeanor. He doesn’t like to be left out. but then you’re pressing a kiss to his cheek, too. That surprises him, and his eyebrows raise. Your parents don’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in the conversation about bills they’re having to care. And maybe you don’t seem to care, anymore. You aren’t as discreet, aren’t shy to touch Ethan or actually spend more time with him in front of your parents. Maybe it’s better this way.

Except for Chad.

“Goodmorning, bunny.” Chad’s eyes follow your form, and he smiles up at you. “You look pretty today.”

The fucking nickname.

Chad’s been calling you that since the night of the party, when he had went home with you and Ethan and tucked your body into your bed and kissed you goodnight. Ethan had stayed with you, after that, and held you until you went to sleep. Chad had thanked him, and Ethan can remember it all clearly now: the expanse of Chad’s jaw as he spoke, his hazel eyes looking at him in appreciation. He had had a nervous flush to his cheeks. Ironic, considering what they had just done. He had almost looked...cute.

Wait, what?

And this is what brings Ethan to immense confusion. He stares at the bowl of fruit loops in front of him, and contemplates what the fuck he just thought.

And then he looks over at Chad again, from across the table. He’s letting you sit in his lap, and he’s feeding you a piece of toast.

You both look good, today. You’re wearing a tiny pink crop top, and a little skirt hangs low around your hips, thigh highs and garter belt showing. Ethan notices that you’ve been wearing them a lot, recently. And Chad is wearing one of Ethan’s Coldplay tee shirts, one Ethan has seen him in a thousand times whenever he stays over.

But now, he notices, it fits him quite well.

He audibly groans, and loudly. You and Chad’s eyes go to him, eyebrows raised, and he tilts his head back and sighs.

“I’m going upstairs,” he grumbles. The chair makes a loud scraping sound as he gets out of it, and you cringe. You notice the way his hands are clenched at his sides as he walks up the stairs.

“What was that about?” Wayne asks. He’s clearly uninterested; his reading glasses are perched on his nose and he’s looking at the mail. You shrug. Sometimes you wonder if he even has a personality, honestly.

It’s later that night, and Chad is staying over again.

He’s asleep beside Ethan, and he’s snoring softly. Something he’s been doing since high school; Ethan’s bed is like his own.

And when Ethan’s eyes are resting against his pillow, he hears the door open.

He knows it’s you, can smell your strawberry perfume from a mile away. He turns over, and lifts his head up to look at you.

You nervously twiddle your fingers and whisper.

“I’m sorry I woke you up.”

He shakes his head, looking down at your pretty pink nightgown and your bare feet sliding across the hardwood floor.

“You didn’t. What’s wrong, angel?”

“I uhm—“ you hesitate, and Ethan notices the tears going down your face. He sits up immediately, careful not to wake Chad, and moves over to you and pushes you out of earshot. He holds your face in his hands.

“You can tell me.”

“I just had a n-nightmare, that’s all..”

He wipes your tears away and pulls you into a hug. He’s sweet, pressing kisses to your cheeks and holding you for a moment so you can rest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

You hesitate, but then nod.

“We can go outside next to the pool, if you want,” Ethan suggests. And when you agree, he’s quietly pulling you down the stairs. When you open the sliding door to go outside the concrete is warm underneath your feet; it’s a hot summer night, but not hot enough to be excruciating. Just enough to bring comfort. You sit down beside the pool and let your bare feet rest in the water. Ethan sits down beside you, his fingers brushing against yours.

“What was your nightmare about?” He asks.

“We got caught.” You murmur. “In the dream, we got caught. And they wouldn’t- wouldn’t let me see you..”

Ethan frowns. He doesn’t like thinking about that fact.

“We won’t get caught, honey.” Ethan coos. “And even if we did.. nothing will stop me from being around you. Nothing.”

The way he says it makes you shiver. His tone is dark, and you can see the way his fists are clenched at his sides. And when he relaxes, he begins to speak.

“Can I ask you something?” He says.

“Of course.”

“Do you like Chad?” He already knows your answer. There’s no need to say it.

“…Do you?” You glance at him, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “Maybe.”

You place your hand on his thigh, and softly draw circles into clothed skin. He sighs and begins to relax. His hand goes up to cup your cheek in his palm.

You hesitate when his lips almost touch yours.

“We shouldn’t. Not here.”

“Oh c’mon, baby…” his teeth nip at your earlobe, and that’s all it takes before he slips his fingers underneath your nightgown.

“Don’t you want to make your big brother proud?”

And after, after he’s inpaled you on his thick length beside that pool, after he’s filled you full of his cum, he carries you back into his room. Chad surfaces when he feels your body land next to his. His eyes crack open, and in the darkness of the room, he can smell your sweet scent.

“Y/n?” He questions groggily, and you let out a little giggle.

“Mhm.”

“C’mere.” His hands guide your head to his chest, and you curl up against him eagerly. Then the boys eyes furrow in confusion.

“Wait, where’s Eth?”

“Right here, man.” Ethan says from the other side of you.

“Oh shit, hey!” Chad says in surprise. He can be so dumb sometimes.

And then he’s clearing his throat and muttering.

“You can- you can move closer.. If you want to.”

Ethan ponders, and then he’s nodding as a smile is plastered onto his face.

“Sure.”

He curls his body up, cheek resting on you shoulder, and his hand goes to lay across Chad’s lower stomach. Chad, yawns, and grabs Ethan’s hand as he goes back to sleep again.

Ethan doesn’t really care that Chad is here anymore.

I mean, he’s his best friend, right? And best friends always share.

Even each other.

And that’s evident now as Ethan’s lips are attached to Chad’s with an imminent longing.

It’s the first time they’ve kissed; and although it should be awkward, it’s not. Things have just always flowed between them like that. It’s easy.

You giggle as Chad moves from Ethan’s mouth to yours, lips swollen and kiss bitten. He’s got his shirt off, Ethan with his pants unbuckled and hair mussed. It seems that deciding to go to Chad’s apartment was a good idea.

“I told you guys you should’ve kissed sooner. I knew there was something going on!” You say. Ethan rolls his eyes. He hates when you’re right.

“Yeah, yeah, princess.” Chad teases. “Why don’t you take that little top off and come suck me off, hm?”

“Why don’t you let Ethan do it?”

Chad lets out a breath, and his cheeks become ablazed as he sees the look Ethan gives him.

“You want that, Chad?” Ethan asks. The boy nods, pretty eyes incredibly dark from the intimacy of the whole situation. The fact that he has the most beautiful girl and boy in his bedsheets right now is making his brain fuzzy.

Ethan grins, big frame moving over to push Chad down onto the sheets below him. He huffs.

“Why do you always have to be so aggressive about everything?”

“Bite me.”

“Maybe.”

The thing about Chad is, with you he’s so used to being in control. But when it comes to Ethan, he really just wants to sit back and submit. He doesn’t really know why; maybe it’s the other boy’s cockiness that makes him seem so intimidating, something about his build and that grin he gives Chad whenever he tells him about one of his shitty hookups. He’s never felt this way about another guy, but he doesn’t hate it. And as Ethan pulls down Chad’s briefs and pulls the boy’s thighs over his own, he whines.

“Eth, c’mon.. I want you to use your mouth. Please?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard Chad beg. And honestly, it sounds like something you’d like to hear more often. You watch as Ethan grabs Chad’s hard length in his hand, the tip flushed and leaking precum.

“No. Don’t be greedy. Besides, we still have to make our bunny feel good, don’t we?”

Chad flushes, arm going up to cover his face.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby. Bunny, C’mere.”

You crawl on your hands and knees over to Chad. He smiles, going up to press a kiss to your lips.

“I’m gonna take my cock out, sweet girl. Think you can use your hands on me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl.”

Your hands reach into Ethan’s pants and you pull him out. You sigh in content, lips wandering over his biceps as you stroke his cock. He groans, leaning back to kiss you again. Chad makes a noise of displeasure, and it gets Ethan’s attention. He chuckles, hands going to stroke his thighs.

“Do you need something?” He jokes.

Chad pouts. “I want a kiss, too.”

“Poor baby.”

And then Ethan is pulling Chad up. The boy whines, lips crashing against Ethan’s again. He smiles into the kiss. Your hand is still stroking him, only steadily, but begins to increase in speed as his tongue goes into Chad’s mouth. Ethan groans harshly, pulling away.

“Little minx. Come give Chad a kiss.”

You smile, leaning over to give him one. Chad’s eyelashes flutter shut at the feeling of your soft hands going up to stroke his hair.

“Good boy..” you whisper. Chad keens, forehead resting against yours.

“Am I really?”

“Of course you are. Now lay back down, okay?”

His body goes down onto the bed and Ethan pulls him back over his thighs again. You move to the end of the bed, near his head. Your fingers softly stroke his face. His eyes flutter shut, and his mind becomes engulfed in the many sensations. Ethan begins to stroke him again.

“Oh! God..”

The boy can’t keep still, his hips chasing that beautiful friction. Ethan spits down on him.

“Good fuckin’ boy. I bet you wanna cum so bad, don’t you?”

“Yes!.. c-can bunny ride my face? Please?”

The nickname and the fact that he’s still worried about your orgasm makes you smile.

“Yeah, baby. She can.” Ethan replies.

You remove your panties, Chad looking up at you with a dazed look and his face contorted in pleasure. Your wetness trickles down your thighs as you sit down on the boy’s face. His reaction is immediate; the moment your pussy is close to him, he grabs you by your ass and holds you down onto him. His tongue rubs your swollen clit with vigor, and you gasp. Chad loves eating pussy, but you’ve got to top all of the other ones he’s become familiar with. Your juices are perfect, bitter and sweet all at once, making his hips fuck into Ethan’s hands more. If he could just sit there and take your wetness down his throat for the rest of his life, he would.

“Look at that,” Ethan coos. “Both my babies look so precious. Does his tongue feel good on your little clit, sweet girl?”

You nod aggressively. Your hands are dripping your tits harshly as you bounce up and down on him. “Feels s’good, daddy.”

“Yeahhh, that’s my fuckin’ girl. Bet you want both those little holes used, don’t you? Want them dripping both our loads?”

The thought of it makes your eyes roll back, and Chad moans underneath you. You feel your orgasm nearing, tummy tightening.

“‘M gonna cum.. oh! God, pleasepleaseplease-“

“Yeah. Go on, cum on our boy’s face.”

And when you do, you’re tilting your head back and obeying Ethan’s orders, just like you always do.

The next day Ethan is bending you over the desk in his bedroom. He’s harsh, hips slapping your thighs in the most filthy way. The door lays wide open because no one is home. Ethan’s hands are wrapped around your throat. His grip is incredibly tight, and he pulls your body against his in an unnatural bent position. He’s fucking you, so careless, as if you’re nothing to him. And although that’s not the case, the incredibly large cock kissing your cervix seems to deem otherwise. Sounds leave your sweet mouth as he pounds your little cunt, whispering dirty praises.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight- love this pussy so much, fuck!” He groans, his cock twitching.

“I know s-sir, feels s’good…”

Your legs shake, body trembling, your sticky wetness coating Ethan’s cock, and he spreads you apart to watch your pussy be pummeled by him.

“God. Look at you, baby. Yeah, you’re my good little slut. So pretty..”

His hand reaches around and he begins to aggressively rub your clit. Your juices gush out and fall down your thighs, your orgasm drawing near. And with one last squeeze to Ethan’s gigantic length, you cum. He groans, and his hips are stuttering as he fills you up for the third time that week. The fact that you aren’t pregnant is beyond the both of you.

When Ethan pulls out, your body lays limp against the wooden desk. Drool is all over your chin and lips. You smile, dazed, and let out a small giggle.

Ethan smiles, bringing his hand down to stroke your back.

“You okay?”

“‘M perfect, E. Can you help me up, please?”

He does, ever the gentleman, and brings you over to his bed. You stumble a bit, due to the process of getting up too quick and because of your sore legs, but you manage. And when Ethan joins you on the bed, he’s pulling your body against his equally nude one. His softening cock rests softly against your hip, and he kisses your cheek.

“Go to sleep, sweet thing. I’ll clean up.”

You nod, eyes droopy, and drift off.

Ethan really did mean to clean up. But your hair smelled so nice, and he hadn’t got a lot of sleep the night before. So, he falls asleep against your back, his lips pressed against your shoulder blade.

You were both so content that you never heard the sound of the door opening and closing. The sound of your parent’s voices carrying throughout the house. And when Ethan’s dad decides to make a trip upstairs, when he walks past Ethan’s room, his booming voice makes you both jolt awake.

“What the hell is going on here?!”

1K notes · View notes

pillowspace · 2 months

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The Magnus Archives Fic Rec List

Press the read more for recommended fanfiction of The Magnus Archives! Never heard The Magnus Archives and are interested?

Current number of fics: 85

last updated March 18th, 2024

These are all works that I have personally read at least a couple thousand words of and enjoyed myself, so this list will reflect my own reading habits

If you are the author of a fic, you can request your work be removed from the list. Everyone should be comfortable

Table of Contents - 1. England Jonmartin-centric, 2. Scottish Safehouse Period, 3. Gen or Background Pairings, 4. Time Travel, 5. Highly Alternate, 6. Gerrymichael, 7. Other, 8. Updates (note: some categories tend to overlap. Only one will be prioritized)

England Jonmartin-Centric

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Full, Riotous Bloom by BigTed

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding…” Jon looks at him. Looks at him. The look of a boss whose employee was late three times last week, the look of a man who was just busy doing something really important and now he’s here, doing this instead. “...why he stole a grieving family’s oven gloves.”

Martin has a run in with a deadly Leitner, leaving him choking on his unrequited love.

M | Words: 66,962 | Chapters: 13/13

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fell in your opinion when i fell in love with you by Athina_Blaine

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“This is the Magnus Institute, not a creative writing course at university. If that doesn’t agree with him, he can leave.” There was a thud and the sound of rifling tapes. “He can take his bloody tea with him.”

Martin’s fingers tightened on the saucer. Oh.

Martin knows better than to talk about it. It's fine. He's fine.

Part 1 of it's only when i hit the ground it causes all the grief

M | Words: 18,987 | Chapters: 2/2

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Just a Little Bit Pet-tea by arthureameslove

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Martin makes Jon tea for the first time about a week into his transfer. It’s horrible. Gag-reflex inducing. Somehow sporting all the wrong flavors.

For some reason, he does not have the heart to break this to Martin.

Little does Jon know that Martin actually makes wonderful tea. Just not for him.

G | Words: 13,335 | Chapters: 3/3

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Misshapes, Mistakes, Monsters by ZaliaChimera

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

The Archives are his and stepping away from them, even for a night… it’s strange. Like he’s pretending to be someone else.

Like he’s pretending to be human.

Jon and Martin attend Jon's Oxford University Reunion.

T | Words: 7,969 | Chapters: 1/1

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Say You Love Me (Learn to Lie) by iamcringebutiamfree

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker

It shouldn’t have been surprising to learn that Martin hated him. He had been, he knew, a truly terrible boss - he’d treated Martin horribly, caused him to lose his home, nearly gotten him killed. Really, it had been ridiculous to ever think that Martin wouldn’t hate him.

Still, Jon had been trying, in his own way, to make it up to him. There wasn’t exactly a card at the drugstore that said, “I’m sorry I berated you for six months and caused you to nearly be eaten by a swarm of worms of potentially supernatural origin,” but he’d been trying. He brought Martin breakfast every morning, made sure the breakroom cabinets were stocked with his favorite blends of tea, and had tried to work some genuine praise into his feedback of Martin’s work. None of it was the direct apology that his conscience told him he really ought to give, but Martin had appreciated it. Or seemed to, anyway.

Jon wasn’t certain what motivated the decision he made next - whether it was guilt or spite or something else. He could, he knew, be quite petty when the situation called for it. Either way, he made up his mind then and there to prove Martin wrong. He was going to be the best fake boyfriend he could be.

A Fake Dating AU!

T | Words: 37,889 | Chapters: 10/10

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a consideration of tropes by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Do you know much about cataloguing?” Jon asks, a little out of breath from the stairs.

Martin, mid-trolley, rolls his eyes. The gesture he makes at the shelves around him is only emphasised by the book he’s holding.

“What exactly do you think I do here, other than sit around and wait for angry patrons to yell at me?”

“Think of what you’re going to yell back?” Jon says, and Martin’s mouth twitches into a smile.

Asking the very important question: what if Jon and Martin had a gentle archives/library romance, and kept running into tropes? What if there was mutual pining involved? Only one bed? Fake dating? Hurt/comfort? Or perhaps, a soft and happy ending?

T | Words: 40,966 | Chapters: 8/8

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It Serenely Disdains to Destroy Us by trill_gutterbug

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin gnaws his lower lip. “Do you think he’ll - I mean, do you think it’ll be…”

Melanie's smile becomes a little less of a grimace. She claps his shoulder. “Martin. It’ll be fine. It’s only temporary. He’s not moving in.”

Martin chuckles. “Yes. Of course.”

Jon's flat is being fumigated. He is not impressed. Martin offers his spare bedroom.

T | Words: 13,048 | Chapters: 1/1

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terror management theory by prismatical

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Melanie King & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Basira Hussain & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist (briefly)

“It’s a preexisting condition,” Jon explains, sipping more bitter tea. “I sort of got—hm. You know Spiderman?”

Tim raises an eyebrow.

“Heard of him, yeah.”

Jon nods, studying his tea.

“It’s sort of like that,” he says. “A spider killed and ate me when I was a child, and now I can’t stay dead.”

Resurrection isn't all it's cracked up to be.

T | Words: 36,587 | Chapters: 1/1

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Clutching Daffodils by Gemi

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight.

It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs.

He always liked the idea of it.

And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.

NR | Words: 7,624 | Chapters: 1/1

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a little love, a little sympathy by Did

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

And then Jon is snarling into his face, demanding what are you hiding with a strange, bright-eyed intensity Martin has never seen from him before, and Martin thinks god, maybe he should just come clean about his CV, Jon thinking he's a fraud can't be any worse than Jon thinking he's a murderer-

Martin opens his mouth to speak. To his absolute horror, what actually comes out is: "I used to pretend to cry because I liked how nice you were to me when you thought I was upset!"

G | Words: 3,308 | Chapters: 1/1

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all resistance wearing thin by DivineProjectZero

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin Blackwood would do anything for Jonathan Sims. The Web made him that way, after all.

T | Words: 4,799 | Chapters: 1/1

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Sam nie pojmuję, jak w twe zajdę progi by Mad_Maudlin

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin's been acting odd since Jon came back. Well, odder than usual.

T | Words: 3,118 | Chapters: 1/1

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Mundanity by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Inspired by @ themlet's post on Tumblr: Jon has to deal with normal human interactions. Martin helps (sort of). Featuring high school reunions, knitted sweaters, and conversations on the bus ride home.

T | Words: 3,097 | Chapters: 1/1

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Musical Mechanism by Darblesify

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Martin has always used music to cope. One day he's playing music music out loud in the archive and Tim and Sasha realize the main singer's voice sounds familiar.

AKA Martin's favorite band might happen to be the one Jon was secretly a part of in college.

T | Words: 21,411 | Chapters: 8/8

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Misfiled and Misinformed by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker

Jon and Martin are married. Tim and Sasha know this. What they don't know is that it's to each other.

T | Words: 2,507 | Chapters: 1/1

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look no further by inkyindigo

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin just wants to keep Jon safe. Sometimes the easiest way to do that is to bodily remove him from harm's way.

or, a collection of times Martin picks Jon up.

T | Words: 15,145 | Chapters: 8/8

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Touch Me, Even if it Hurts by AuralQueer

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Alice "Daisy" Tonner

People don't really touch Jonathan Sims unless they want to hurt him. That's mostly fine. Jon has never been a tactile person, and he doesn't need anyone but himself.

Except the world is falling down around him, and loneliness aches, and sometimes he'll take anything - even cruelty - just to feel human again.

*A story set between s1 and s4, looking at Jon's relationship with touch, friendship, and his own humanity.

T | Words: 6,540 | Chapters: 1/1

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I'll bring the motion by callmearcturus

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

A long series of kidnappings and international flights leaves its own special mark on someone. Before the Unknowing, Jon is a mess.

Martin helps.

(based on this amazing art by linecrosser)

T | Words: 3,127 | Chapters: 1/1

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thanks for the company by lukeskqwalker

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin had been baffled by how easily he spilled his guts out to this odd stranger. Now, Martin is more baffled by the baggy My Chemical Romance t-shirt he's wearing, paired with tasteful plaid pajama bottoms.

Or, Martin gets a visitor in his dreams. Reliving the same 14 days of loneliness every night isn't as bad when you have company.

T | Words: 4,314 | Chapters: 1/1

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stranger, stranger by blueskiddoo

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“Sure,” Georgie says, still laughing at him. At least someone is having fun. “Don’t you have assistants for that kind of thing?”

“Yes, but…” He huffs, scratching the back of his neck. “I wasn’t going to ask one of them to download an app called...Lover? Lov-rrr? I don’t know how you say it.” He flaps his hands dismissively. “There are--unions and such. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

jon makes a fake account on a dating app to investigate a statement. tim sets martin up with fake account on a dating app to boost his self-confidence. it goes exactly how you might expect.

G | Words: 36,771 | Chapters: 11/11

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i wanna find a home (i wanna share it with you) by heartshapedguy

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Have you got anywhere to stay?” Jon asks him, briskly. “Friends, acquaintances, maybe, who you could stay with…?”

Martin flushes, deeply. “I, I mean— n-no, not really,” he stammers, and then goes even redder. “Or, just, y’know not that I’d want to, to. Put in the middle of this. Put in danger of, of worms.”

“Ah,” Jon says, “No, of course, that makes sense.” Why drag anyone else into this mess? Seven people died during Prentiss’s initial hospitalization; the collateral damage of roping someone from outside the Institute into her orbit doesn’t bare thinking about. “In that case…” Jon feels like there’s some alternative solution, one he’s just not thinking of at the moment, but it evades him, and Martin needs somewhere safe to stay. “My couch is quite comfortable. You’re welcome to come and stay with me until you figure something else out.”

Martin is held hostage by Jane Prentiss for two weeks, and can't go back to his flat. Jon offers him a place to stay until Prentiss and her worms can be dealt with, and they can be sure he's safe.

T | Words: 65,951 | Chapters: 19/19

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true kinda love by Did

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

So. Martin isn't expecting anything to happen. But then, one day, something...does happen. It happens when Martin is passing Jon in the hall, and stops to ask how he’s doing, because Jon always looks a little bit like hell these days, and it makes Martin feel like he has to do something, and useless small talk is pretty much all he can do, so that’s what he does. And instead of grunting or shrugging or mumbling something dismissive, Jon replies, with perfect, involuntary clarity, "Every part of me aches, and I would just about kill to have someone rub my shoulders right now."

There's a positively deafening silence as they both come to grips with this unprecedented turn of events. Then they both start talking at once.

"Ah," says Jon.

"Wow," says Martin, at the same time.

G | Words: 5,053 | Chapters: 1/1

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hey stranger by ennuijpg

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker

It’s a late night Tesco run, how eventful could it be? It’s not like Martin is going to run into his boss who’s wearing something absurdly different from usual and get the most acute form of whiplash possible from seeing him, right?

(Based on this post about alt jon on tumblr because it's all I've been thinking about of late.)

T | Words: 2,701 | Chapters: 1/1

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Sun-kissed by Rauchendes_GNU

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner

Martin doesn’t have any freckles. Jon has watched him and the others for a while now, and he knows that everyone has freckles. Tim is absolutely covered in them, and he seems to get more and more every day as Sasha seems very determined to kiss every part of Tim that is not yet covered in tiny dark spots.

Everyone has been loved by someone at some point. Everyone has been kissed, no matter if a platonic peck on the cheek or a heated kiss on the mouth. Everyone but Martin, it seems.

Or: Jon realises Martin has never been kissed. He rectifies that right away.

T | Words: 3,407 | Chapters: 1/1

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skin deep by isthepartyover

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker & Jonathan Sims

“Hello, Martin Blackwood speaking.”

“Oh thank god-” a woman’s voice answered, rushed and panicked, and Martin immediately closes the folder he was leafing through absent-mindedly and snaps his head towards the door. “Sorry, oh god, I’m Georgie, I’m Jon’s friend, I don’t know what to do-”

(au where georgie calls martin post burn)

M | Words: 3,125 | Chapters: 1/1

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Take Care of You (And I'll Take Care of Me) by Mad_Maudlin

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

When Martin Blackwood met the new research assistant, his heart skipped a beat. Too bad Jonathan Sims seems to hate him.

(A soulmates AU)

M | Words: 20,386 | Chapters: 6/6

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Somebody That I Used to Know by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner (background), Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker

(Minor) SPOILERS FOR MAG 161!!!

Jon gets replaced by the Not!Them. Life goes on.

T | Words: 6,358 | Chapters: 1/1

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a six-step process by bluejayblueskies

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Martin stands next to him on the train. His hand rests just beneath Jon’s where it grips one of the metal poles, and Martin takes care not to brush against him despite how crowded the car is. Jon considered telling Martin, when they first got on the tube, that it was okay—that his touch would be… well, it wouldn’t be bad. Not like Nikola's. But he’d stayed silent, allowing Martin to cultivate a careful space between them. They’ve been silent for the past twenty minutes as they’ve passed by station after station on their way to Martin’s flat in Brixton.

Jon adds 24 hours onto his mental countdown of the time he has left until he’s allowed to break down and tells himself that he can manage. It’s… important to have goals, he thinks. He splits this one into steps.

Step one: get to Martin’s flat without crying.

Part 2 of touch prompts

T | Words: 2,138 | Chapters: 1/1

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who's there? by bubonickitten

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Jon has a panic attack after Elias shows him exactly what happened behind the door after Mr. Spider took its victim.

Martin helps him calm down, and Jon tells him the story of his first Leitner.

Part 2 of thresholds

T | Words: 6,139 | Chapters: 1/1

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Clothes Have No Gender by kristsune

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Jon wears a skirt to the Institute for the first time, and gets reactions he hadn't expected.

NR | Words: 1,846 | Chapters: 1/1

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northwest 6 to gale 8. rain. poor, occasionally good. by chewsdaychillin

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

A voicemail made up of a female robot and Jon’s professional work tone tells him to leave a message, but Martin hangs up before the beep. He’s not even sure he can speak, let alone put this into words.

‘Hi Jon, sorry to call at four fifty-two AM. My mum just died and I don’t know what to do or how to feel. Call me back when you can! Love you, bye!’

AUish where Jon is alive when Martin's mum passes away, helps him grieve and heal (and they maybe admit to being in love)

Part 1 of northwest 6 to gale 8

M | Words: 35,828 | Chapters: 9/9

Scottish Safehouse Period

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Resigned, Though Not to Fate by inkfingers_mcgee

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“You’re really suggesting this,” Martin says, voice pulled thin.

“Yes.” No hesitation.

“You would- actually do it?”

“I would.”

“With me.”

“Yes, Martin.”

“Why?” Because love is blind, says something cliché and cruel in the pit of his gut. Christ, he never was much of a poet, was he?

Or,

When Jon asks Martin to Quit the Archives with him, Martin says yes. Things don't go as planned. In the Scottish Highlands, they hurt, and they heal.

(Re-written as of 22-12-27; see chapter 9 for more info.)

T | Words: 145,748 | Chapters: 9/9

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nor any more youth or age than there is now by Ravenesta

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

The local Primary school has a new teacher. He is, to say the very least, odd.

A series of statements regarding the interactions of the townsfolk with one Jonathan Sims, never formally given.

T | Words: 6,512 | Chapters: 1/1

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There's a 15th Fear, and it's Teenagers by captloverboy

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Georgie Barker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Melanie King & Jonathan Sims, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood & Basira Hussain, Basira Hussain & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Helen | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Helen | The Distortion & Basira Hussain, Helen | The Distortion & Martin Blackwood

What if Jonah didn't ruin everything? Didn't send the end of everything statement? What do Jon and Martin do now? Get a job, I guess. A teaching job, for Jon, though it was hardly his first pick. But sometimes your boyfriend looks *really* excited when he suggests it, and I mean, you know literally everything. It can't be that bad, right? Right?

T | Words: 26,140 | Chapters: 14/14

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the Teacher from the Magnus Archives by Athina_Blaine

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Hey, everyone, welcome back to my channel. My name is Maggie Abernathy and today we will be continuing our investigation of the, uh, eldritch monster slash English teacher who calls itself Jonathan Sims.”

Maggie is determined to catch Mr. Sims via her channel, and then everyone would see how cool and smart she was, right?

T | Words: 5,993 | Chapters: 1/1

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Please Don't Tease Me Like You Did Before by bazemayonnaise

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin is grinning at his phone when Jon comes home. This is not an unusual occurrence, but Jon can sense that the particularly smug smile being levelled at him means that whatever is entertaining the man has something to do with Jon.

“Yes?” he asks once he has dumped the day at the door. “What have I done now?”

Part 1 of Jon and Martin teach at a Scottish Catholic School

G | Words: 5,380 | Chapters: 1/1

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beloved of jon by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“Oh,” says Jon, numbly. “You don’t. Remember? Um. It’s complicated. What… what do you remember?”

Martin seems to shrink in on himself a little. It hurts to watch, especially after how Jon’s seen him so painstakingly grow back into his openness over the past few weeks.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t – I don’t.”

“But you remember me?” says Jon, and he tries to keep as much feeling out of that question as he can.

---

For no reason that Jon can tell, Martin forgets.

T | Words: 12,739 | Chapters: 1/1

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every good intention (is interpretation) by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

They’re standing entirely too close to each other in front of the hotel desk when the clerk asks them whether they’d like a double, twin, or two singles, and Martin absolutely bottles it.

‘Uh,’ he says, at exactly the same time as Jon says, ‘Oh.’

———

There’s a conversation that Martin and Jon need to have after the Lonely. Unfortunately, they are - historically - fairly terrible at putting stuff into words.

G | Words: 11,227 | Chapters: 1/1

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These words that make a home in my chest by arthureameslove

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

The moment Martin leaves the Lonely is the moment he realizes that it has taken something from him. He is left with the realization that the Lonely fog had been the only thing keeping him whole, keeping him from feeling the aching hollows of his own sorrow.

Speaking makes it worse, so he doesn't. He almost expects Jon to leave, to grow tired of him, incomplete as he is. But Jon doesn't.

Or, Martin is mute after leaving the Lonely, and he and Jon learn how to be people again, together, in the comfort of the Scottish Highlands.

T | Words: 16,060 | Chapters: 7/7

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hello my old heart by firebirdsuite

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

T | Words: 15,864 | Chapters: 1/1

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i’m almost me again, you’re almost you by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

After a second Jon steps in towards him, close enough that Martin flinches, but all Jon does is put two fingers under his chin with his free hand and raise it until Martin can’t duck away. Jon has never touched him so casually before – at least, not until today, and it raises a lot of thoughts and feelings that Martin is trying very hard not to process.

Much like a lot of other things that have happened, he thinks. Not that it’s horrible or terrifying or numbing like everything else has been: it’s just another thing on the list of things he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

---

In the wake of the Lonely, there's a lot that Martin doesn't really want to think about.

G | Words: 12,928 | Chapters: 1/1

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Prenons-nous la main by luftballons99

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

T | Words: 6,027 | Chapters: 1/1

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Diary by luftballons99

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Not for the first time since they ran away together, a camera reel of all the things they don't know about one another whirs behind Martin's eyes, and he can't help but look at all the sprawling magnetic tape and wonder if they’re going to wind up a romance or a tragedy.

or: Office parties, garage bands, and the joy of being known.

Part 1 of showing your hand

T | Words: 5,178 | Chapters: 1/1

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the umbrella by Wildehack (tyleet)

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

"And to think—all of Jonah Magnus’ carefully laid plans, the centuries of scheming, the murders, the sacrifices, all of that work could have been completely undone if Martin Blackwood had gone back for an umbrella" - holdthosebees

M | Words: 4,662 | Chapters: 1/1

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ready to call this love by yewgrove

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

How is Martin supposed to tell Jon that he panicked, stupidly, when the lovely old lady down the village asked him what they were doing in this part of the world? Got the shopping! Oh, by the way, we're married now! Whole village thinks we're on our honeymoon, hope you don't mind!

Part 1 of it is what you have.

G | Words: 5,650 | Chapters: 1/1

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Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? by pantsoflobster

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“Jon,” Martin said. “I have made a grave mistake.”

Jon whipped his head up, nearly tossing the elastic from his messy bun. “What? What’s wrong? What--what did you do?”

“I... might have invited guests for dinner.”

Jon stared blankly. “What, here?”

“Seeing as this is where we live at the moment, yes.”

---

In which a week in the safehouse turns into a fake-married sitcom, because they deserve to worry about social ineptitude instead of the apocalypse for a minute

Part 1 of this is not the house that pain built

T | Words: 5,391 | Chapters: 1/1

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Bergamot, Buckskin, and Lace by Qpenguin98

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Jon's never been a touchy person.

T | Words: 3,061 | Chapters: 1/1

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be kind, i beg you by gauras

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“Fine,” Jon says, and he tries to ignore the sulky tone of his voice, “fine. What do you suggest?”

Martin pauses, like he’d not expected Jon to give in so easily. Jon’s never been particularly agreeable, but he still feels vaguely offended by the blatant surprise. “W-we,” Martin stammers, clears his throat, continues on much more confidently, “we go in together.”

Or: it takes close quarters and a full 24 hours to finally get them on the same page.

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T | Words: 14,946 | Chapters: 1/1

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tides turning by gauras

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

There's more than one way to say I love you.

T | Words: 20,858 | Chapters: 1/1

Other Scottish Safehouse Period fics: see unassigned supplementals by bibliocratic in Other

Gen or Background Pairings

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a deeply annoying child by ajkal2

No Archive Warnings Apply, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, blink-and-you-miss-it Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, BUT NO SLASH WHILE ANYONE IS A CHILD

Jon is hiding under the desk.

----

There's a child in the Archives, who shouldn't be there.

G | Words: 9,631 | Chapters: 1/1

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Head in the Lion's Mouth by renwhit

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Danny Stoker & Tim Stoker, Danny Stoker & Jonathan Sims, Basira Hussain & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Danny Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Past Tim Stoker/Sasha James, Danny Stoker & Helen Richardson, Danny Stoker & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Danny Stoker & Melanie King, Basira Hussain & Tim Stoker, Basira Hussain & Danny Stoker

He fell into a deep bow, smiling the whole while. “I’m the ringmaster, of course.”

“Is that skin— Is it yours?” Old wood groaned as the Archivist shifted his weight. “Originally.”

“It is!” the ringmaster said as he swooped back upright. “Nikola decided I wore it well, so she let me keep it. Why do you ask?”

The Archivist gave him another once-over. “You just… you look familiar. Like someone I know.”

On relearning, reconnecting, and redefining.

Part 1 of Come What May

M | Words: 157,202 | Chapters: 17/17

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reach inside (to find your heart is beating) by ivelostmyspectacles

No Archive Warnings Apply, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker

This is Tim, opening the door enough for his tired, careworn face to peer through the crack; Jon sees the genuine horror on his face as he takes in his boss, bloody on his doorstep, and he thinks– maybe– he thinks he might be safe here.

“Christ.”

Chapter two added January 17th!

T | Words: 5,774 | Chapters: 2/2

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Fractals Upon Fractals by cedarbranch

No Archive Warnings Apply, Michael & Helen Richardson

“There was never meant to be two of us,” said Helen.

Or: Michael and Helen play a game of chess, and work out what it means exist in duplicate.

G | Words: 1,652 | Chapters: 1/1

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Other gen fics: see Time is Hard by Serazimei in Time Travel

Time Travel

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Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, x2!, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking.

The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him.

"I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.

--------

Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

T | Words: 53,319 | Chapters: 12/12

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Déjà Vu by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker

Sasha remembers being unmade.

Tim remembers being Unknown.

Jon and Martin remember being unwound.

All of them think they're the only one.

--------

The S1 crew wakes up in the past with memories up till the moment they died.

T | Words: 37,652 | Chapters: 4/4

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Reflection by LazuliQuetzal

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Emma

Jonathan Sims, researcher at the Magnus Institute, is seeing a ghost. Of himself.

Of course, it’s not really him, no matter what secrets it knows, or how many arguments it brings up. So if it tells him to do something?

Obviously, he’ll be doing the exact opposite.

(AKA: Jon is an idiot, past and future, but somewhere along the way it all cancels out.)

(Expect general spoilers for S4 and specifically, MAG 158.)

T | Words: 51,527 | Chapters: 10/10

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Time is Hard by Serazimei

No Archive Warnings Apply, Michael | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael Shelley & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael "Mike" Crew & Michael Shelley

The Eye isn't happy with how the end of the world turned out. Neither are Jonah and Jon. There is no other option but to rewind time and go down a different path. But time is hard for The Spiral and The Web likes to meddle.

This is how Jon finds himself back in his eight year old body with all his memories, some of his powers intact and a strange bracelet around his right wrist. Saving the world, Jon realizes soon enough, is much harder when no one takes you seriously.

Part 1 of Diverging Times

M | Words: 170,443 | Chapters: 60/60

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The Cube Rule of Food Identification by bluejayblueskies

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Martin stands abruptly. His chair spins away from him, wheels squeaking on the cheap lino floor. The tension between him and Jon has reached never-before-seen levels. Tim could probably cut it with a knife. Or a particularly sharp spoon.

Then, Jon lurches forward and half-clambers atop the desk and kisses Martin, and Tim drops his sandwich.

Or, season one Jon and Martin receive memories from the future mid-argument, and Tim and Sasha receive emotional whiplash.

T | Words: 1,630 | Chapters: 1/1

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a map of what matters most by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Is that a body,” Tim blurts before he can stop himself, rising to his feet. Martin looks, if possible, even more scared.

“He’s alive!” he hisses, almost defensively. “It’s not - it’s not Gertrude again, I didn’t kill him, he just – I don’t know what happened to him, I just found him in the stacks like this.”

“And you dragged him up here?” Tim says, and then registers several things at once – the build, the hair texture; the little round scars peppering a pair of thin hands and an awfully familiar face. “Wait, is that Jon?”

----

Jon stumbles back into an earlier Archive, looking for a way to fix the world. (Or, mom says it's my turn for the obligatory time travel au)

T | Words: 20,604 | Chapters: 6/6

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) by OllieoftheBeholder

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker

“So...you’re from the future. In the past. Why?”

“You want the short answer or the long one?”

“Short,” Martin says after a moment’s deliberation. “Until I decide if I trust you.”

The other nods, as if he expected that answer—which, well, if he really is Martin from the future, he probably did. “To stop the world from ending.”

They have one last chance to fix this - one last chance to prevent the Eyepocalypse, to save the world - to save their world. It all hinges on which is the greater force: greed...or love.

Part 1 of leaves 'verse

T | Words: 299,536 | Chapters: 60/60

Highly Alternate

Alternate universes will remain in the other categories, but this category is for alterations that are especially notable in their severity. This will also include any fics where Jon has an important alignment with a different fear entity, whether that be instead of the Eye or in tandem

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The Witch's Cat by Champagne

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“That’s the Witch’s cat,” Tim says, and grins at Martin. “Jonathan Sims, the town’s Witch, said that he’ll marry anyone that manages to get the key from the cat’s collar.”

G | Words: 12,584 | Chapters: 1/1

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What Belongs to the Sea by TwoDrunkenCelestials, WhyNotFly

No Archive Warnings Apply, Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“My grandmother taught me about selkies,” said the tattooed man. “Said it’s good luck for them to grace your ship. To treat ‘em right, and they’ll guide you safe.”

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to believe.

M | Words: 126,367 | Chapters: 36/36

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school's out for the summer by kiaronna

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Various Background Relationships, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas

The thing is, Jonathan Sims is someone you’d call the police on if you saw him hanging around a school, those frazzled clothes and bags under his eyes, the frantic muttering and thousand-year stare.

Yet there he sits, headteacher of The Magnus Institute for Gifted Young Minds.

The name’s a bit misleading, it is. They’re in a bad part of town. The parents are either terrible or absent, and the kids—

“They’re monsters,” his new and handsome coworker grins, when Martin’s signature on his contract is barely dry. “Absolute monsters. Get too close and you’ll lose some fingers. Or maybe your mind.”

“They’re babies,” is all Martin can feebly manage, in reply, and Tim’s eyes narrow at the fondness in his voice.

“You’ll learn.”

T | Words: 26,088 | Chapters: 2/2

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See the Line where the Sky meets the Sea by The_Floating_World

No Archive Warnings Apply, Jonathan Sims & Simon Fairchild, Jonathan Sims & Michael "Mike" Crew, Jonathan Sims & Gerard Keay, Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims/Oliver Banks

When Jon is a child he looks into the infinite abyss of space. The Vast looks back into him.

T | Words: 59,336 | Chapters: 7/7

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rituals by doomcountry

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.

T | Words: 8,492 | Chapters: 1/1

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ships passing in the night by Zykaben

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Tim meets and befriends the new professor on the staff, Jonathan Sim. Tim has also been casual friends with Martin Blackwood for the past year.

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for Tim to realize that the two of them are married to each other.

T | Words: 5,027 | Chapters: 1/1

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all the flowers of all the tomorrows by ivelostmyspectacles

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker & Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims

Martin owns a flower shop.

He starts crushing on the guy from the Magnus Institute, but why does Jon keep needing so many flowers for workplace deaths, anyway??

T | Words: 13,745 | Chapters: 1/1

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The Good Ol' Days by SingingInTheRaiin

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

When Jon moves in with his grandmother he becomes fast (if somewhat reluctant) friends with one of the neighborhood kids, a boy named Martin.

Years later, they find each other again at the Magnus Institute, and whatever mysteries they uncover there, they will solve them together.

T | Words: 107,489 | Chapters: 40/40

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How Particular, My Fondness of You by cedarbranch

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Jon risks a glance over to Georgie, expecting sympathy, or perhaps a grave expression of solidarity. Instead, he’s met with a fond smile. “Oh, Jon,” she says patiently, reaching over to rub his back. “You poor thing. You’re lovesick.”

Jon recoils. “I am not,” he says accusingly.

A college AU in which the whole gang works at the library, Jon is emotionally repressed, and the anonymous Facebook page knows all.

Part 2 of Magnolia Verse

T | Words: 29,263 | Chapters: 1/1

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because light reverses, because the dead return by 1248, Tiili97

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

"Very well then, officer, take me away. And Martin?"

"Yes, Elias?"

Elias opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again with a shake of his head.

"Actually, never mind. I will see how it plays out."

Martin let out an annoyed sigh as Elias left. Always so goddamn cryptic.

Hopefully Jon and the others would be back soon to make sense of things.

Here's a hypothetical question: What would happen if no one noticed that Jonathan Sims survived the Unknowing?

What if they looked at his stopped heart and still lungs and decided he was dead?

What happens when you bury an Archivist?

T | Words: 9,491 | Chapters: 5/5

Gerrymichael

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Echo Chamber by orphan_account

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley

“Look, if you’re another, uh, avatar of a horrible eldritch demon god come to assassinate me in a spooky manner, could you get it over with quickly? I haven’t eaten all morning and I’m starving.”

The thing that calls itself Michael stares.

“And this sandwich cost most of my weekly salary,” Gerry adds after a belated moment.

Part 1 of Spirals and Eyes

T | Words: 21,439 | Chapters: 1/1

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Break Me Like A Pattern by TheLibraryBat

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gerard Keay & Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay & Gertrude Robinson, Gertrude Robinson & Michael Shelley

The year is 2011. Michael Shelley is living his life in circles, blissfully unaware of the betrayal that awaits him in the summer. Gertrude Robinson has plans to enact and plans to destroy. Emma Harvey is hiding a book in the dark place at the back of a cupboard.

When Gerard Keay walks into the Magnus Institute - two years sooner than he was meant to - everything changes.

This is an (eventual) Archivist Michael AU, exploring how certain events might have played out, had one key player been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Part 1 of Archivist Michael AU

M | Words: 215,290 | Chapters: 40/40

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Choke Chain by dramatispersonae

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/The Distortion

Things Gertrude Robinson possesses: decades of experience killing, containing, and otherwise thwarting supernatural beings, an uncompromising drive to destroy the Rituals and the people who would see them completed, Gerry's loyalty. Things Gertrude Robinson apparently also possesses: a monster on a magic leash.

NR | Words: 14,814 | Chapters: 1/1

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Make Me Feel Like I'm Lost by dramatispersonae

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gerard Keay/MichaelGerard Keay/The Distortion

Gerry meets a door that is not a door. And a person that is not a person. Remarkably, he does not get eaten. He would probably like to keep it that way. (Or, in the process of trying to avoid death by nightmare hallway, Gerard Keay accidentally charms the nightmare hallway)

Part 1 of As One Door Closes

NR | Words: 11,963 | Chapters: 1/1

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Fill The Gap Between You And I by dramatispersonae

No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion

Michael, like a cat, expresses affection with gifts of dead things. Gerry's trying not to be in the business of collecting strays.

Part 2 of As One Door Closes

NR | Words: 7,377 | Chapters: 1/1

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The Life Of Letting Go by dramatispersonae

No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion

Gerry suffers a workplace injury. Michael has concerns.

Part 3 of As One Door Closes

NR | Words: 3,235 | Chapters: 1/1

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Fever Dreaming by dramatispersonae

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion

Gerry encounters a plot by a nascent avatar of the Corruption. It should be straightforward enough to deal with, especially considering his apparently ongoing... "alliance" with Michael. But when have things in his life actually been as simple as they appear?

Part 4 of As One Door Closes

NR | Words: 42,284 | Chapters: 5/5

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Please Don’t Eat the Flowers by Sloane

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion, Razor/Wendy, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Instead of retiring to open a book shop, Gerry ends up working at a flower shop run by American lesbians in London. This leads to a brush with the Distortion, who just wants to buy some lilies, the Magnus Institute finding out he’s still alive, and... well, a normal life was never really in the cards for the likes of Gerard Keay, was it?

Oh, and those lesbians who run the flower shop? There’s more to them than meets the eye—bad Beholding pun intended.

(No knowledge of Maniac Mansion required; I take lots of liberties to slot it into TMA’s universe. UNDER MAJOR REVISIONS. Please see last chapter if you’re a new/returning reader for details..)

M | Words: 77,314 | Chapters: 33/?

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Ode to Joy: or, michael distortion's guide to naming yourself by fromthepinnacletothepit

No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley

Michael Shelley is sacrificed to the Spiral before he has the chance to come out, even to himself. Now, as an avatar of the Spiral, his identity is even MORE painful and confusing. Alone and filled with pain he doesn't even know how to name, he searches for acceptance in the one person who ever really knew him-Gerry Keay.

***

“What do you want to be called then,” Gerry says and wraps his arms around Michael’s back.

This conversation hurts. This question hurts. Everything hurts, so long as no one knows about his gender, so long as he has to go on being someone he’s not, someone he just can’t be anymore. He doesn’t know how much longer he can stand it.

“I dunnooooo,” he says, grinning, but inside he knows his name isn’t Michael. It’s just not. He doesn’t have a name. He never has. And it’s absence is like a hole in his chest.

The creature that might as well be called Michael, it supposes, if you have to call it anything, thinks about this conversation while it sits on the ceiling of its hallway and slowly digs grooves into the plaster with its fingers.

Gerry, it thinks desperately. I have to find Gerry.

G | Words: 14,513 | Chapters: 1/1

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Save That Heart for Me by cedarbranch

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael

Gerry has just filled up his mug with coffee when it hits him. It’s a faint but sharp pain, zinging through his left wrist. He exhales a puff of laughter. That’s the third time this week. Whoever his soulmate is, they’re having a rough time.

T | Words: 5,577 | Chapters: 1/1

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call me your harbor by insertcleveracejoke

No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael

There was the matter of the owner. It could not be said that most people, when asked about their mental picture of what the owner of a bookstore should look like, would answer angry-looking goth covered in burn scars from the neck down.

He also had a terrible dye job.

Or: five times Michael went to Gerry's domain for help, and one time the opposite happened.

Part 1 of the bookstore AU

NR | Words: 4,488 | tChapters: 1/1

Other

Fic types I have not read enough of to lend it its own category. If I read more fics of its type, it'll be moved to a new category

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unassigned supplementals by bibliocratic

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Oneshot #54: home improvement: or: Jon and Martin vs. IKEA

Oneshot #55: united front: or: Martin helps Jon with his statement hunger . (Set 159/160)

Oneshot #56: evolution: or: There is an uneasy alliance at first, between Jon and the Archivist

(Short TMA JonMartin one-shots, individual warnings in chapter notes, now with a fully-functioning contents page)

G | Words: 73,687 | Chapters: 56/56

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onto a vast plain by yewgrove

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

The world ends. They get married.

Part 2 of it is what you have.

T | Words: 10,313 | Chapters: 1/1

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Out There, Somewhere by Artyphex

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

"I'm sorry, you were found alone."

Jon survived the apocalypse and now will go to the end of this new, unfamiliar world to find Martin again.

T | Words: 54,080 | Chapters: 8/8

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enemy of my enemy by beeclaws

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker

Jon comes back from his time with the Circus a little worse for wear. Tim has some feelings about that.

M | Words: 6,263 | Chapters: 4/4

Updates

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a map of what matters most by gruhukens added to Time Travel - Mar. 8, 2024

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) by OllieoftheBeholder added to Time Travel - Mar. 8, 2024

How Particular, My Fondness of You by cedarbranch added to Highly Alternate - Mar. 18, 2024

call me your harbor by insertcleveracejoke added to Gerrymichael - Mar. 18, 2024

tides turning by gauras added to Scottish Safehouse Period - Mar. 18, 2024

a six-step process by bluejayblueskies added to England Jonmartin-centric - Mar. 18, 2024

who's there? by bubonickitten added to England Jonmartin-centic - Mar. 18, 2024

because light reverses, because the dead return by 1248, Tiili97 added to Highly Alternate - Mar. 18, 2024

Clothes Have No Gender by kristsune added to England Jonmartin-centric - Mar. 18, 2024

northwest 6 to gale 8. rain. poor, occasionally good. by chewsdaychillin added to England Jonmartin-centric - Mar. 18, 2024

#the magnus archives #tma #magpod #magnuspod #jonmartin #jmart #teaholding #gerrymichael #doorkeay #fanfiction #fic recs #fic rec #fic rec list #fanfic recs #mag pod #magnus pod #i need to read more time travel fics 😭

291 notes · View notes

thatsdemko · 10 months

Text

like he would- l.stroll

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: Lance stroll x fem!reader

warnings: not intended for minors + long(I’m sorry for that) + teasing + begging + fingering( f receiving) + lighthearted jokes

a/n: I know the image is of toronto but this fic is based in Montreal. shoutout @oconso for letting me borrow your lance knowledge for parts of this fic! enjoy everyone☺️🫶

《 the following content has ideas that are not intended for minors. 》

it was supposed to be lights out and away we go, but instead you’re stuck in the pitch black with nothing but candles and cellphone flashlights during a power outage playing all sorts of games with the drivers.

lando sits to your left, Carlos on your right, Charles and Pierre sit across from you with Lance. the man who had somehow managed to snag a few drivers attention when he started asking you and Fernando bizarre questions out of pure boredom.

that’s how this game of never have I ever, truth or dare, fuck,marry, kill, and many others you couldn’t remember now began. it all began with Lance asking if Fernando would rather be a sugar daddy or a sugary baby. the answer surprised you both.

power outages like this don’t often happen in the middle of free practice. it was an odd event that the so called pinnacle of sports had something like this happen that lasted for over two hours thus far. boredom was hitting everyone, and that was how you all seemed to be gathered around in a corner of the Aston Martin garage.

“okay, so I think it’s Pierre’s turn to ask a question.” Carlos keeps track, finger pointing at the Frenchman who taps his chin scooping out his next victim.

“y/n! you’ve been awfully silent, Cherie.” his grin turns into a smirk as he adjusts his seated position on the ground more towards you. you can only see the glow of his beautiful blue eyes in the candles and lit up cell phone flashes, but he’s got a deviled look that makes your stomach twist in knots.

“who would you fuck, marry, and kill: me, Charles, or Lance.” he pulls his knees tight into his chest, chin resting against the top his kneecap, “pick wisely!”

you laugh nervously, not because of the question— god no it was so easy. you knew exactly who you’d pick in a heartbeat to marry, fuck, or kill. it was admitting it to all three drivers that became the hard part.

“well for starters, Charles I’m so sorry.” you turn to the Ferrari driver, who nods in understanding, “it’s not you, it’s me.” you say, it’s somewhat sarcastic and there’s some truth to it. you could never see yourself marrying Charles, he was far beyond your league and your personalities were a bit different. he was someone you’d maybe kiss, but never go any further.

“Pierre,” you mock his previous state, finger resting against your chin, “I’ll marry you.” you point to him shaking your finger up and down, “I think you’d treat me right.”

“and I wouldn’t?” Lance interrupts, hand resting to where his heart sits, he plays hurt that gets a laugh out of everyone in the circle, “I thought we had something?”

if you had it your way, you’d fuck and marry Lance, but you couldn’t admit that to them. you couldn’t admit that the man who sits directly across from you on the floor, criss-cross applesauce, was the guy you’d let fuck you until a headboard fell off, and then marry you the next day.

you and Lance had nothing serious. the occasional flirt, a text message here and there, but it never left the first stage. it never got any more serious than that, and despite the many hints at wanting the next level, like a date or something, he never got the very obvious message.

“we do—“

“but only fuckable?” he cuts you off, and you can tell he genuinely is upset. it was his idea of the silly little game. it was his idea to start asking fuck, marry, kill. but it was he who couldn’t stand the results.

“you’re not just fuckable, Lance.” you admit, lucky that the light isn’t back on for everyone to see your rosy red cheeks. the air around you was beginning to feel warm despite the cool temperatures of Canada, you were throwing off your teal green Aston Martin jacket to cool off from the heat of embarrassment.

“it’s a game, man, she wouldn’t actually kill me.” Charles reminds him with a smile and a pat on the back that seems to calm him, “I’m sure if Pierre said your name twice she’d pick you for marriage and sex.”

you’re not sure why he’s riled up, but luckily enough the emotions slip him and he’s back to his giggly self answering the questions and dodging the dares.

“you should really apologize to Lance.” Carlos collides his shoulder with yours. his head nods in the direction of the Canadian across from you who lucky enough is engulfed in a chat with Fernando.

he can feel your eyes on you. it makes his skin crawl, his heart jump out of its cavity. he wonders what you’re talking about. he wonders if it has anything to do with him or if you just have a staring problem. he admits that being overly dramatic about the choice was wrong, but it still stung. the very idea of you even marrying someone that wasn’t him burned a hole in his heart.

he wasn’t going to just be fuckable.

—

“hey,” you enter his motorhome, to-go bowls of salad and soup rest in your arms as you carefully move up the steps, “brought some food for us.” you smile setting it all on the table and he joins you.

“you know, if you were my girlfriend, I’d kiss you for this gesture.” he unwraps the steaming hot container of chicken noodle soup, you find it cute that he warms his hands up over the steam.

“yeah?” you ask back, beginning to dig into the hot soup, “if I was your wife I’d slap you for that comment.”

he shakes his head blowing at the hot contents on his plastic spoon. you watch him carefully slurp the broth that burns his tongue and he spits it right back out, “too hot.” he quickly sips his water bottle before his eyes fall on you.

“do you need a kiss to feel better?” you fake a pout pretending to care that he burnt his tongue. he plays along nodding, “take care of me, y/n.” he frowns.

you move from your seat at the table, about to press your lips to his cheek when he turns his head, hands cupping your face, his lips land on yours. it shocks you for a moment, how smooth the move was. he’s pulling you down into his lap, each of the nerves in his fingers itch to remove your sweatshirt.

“Lance,” you break away from the kiss, resting your hand atop of your chest to compose yourself. the past thirty seconds had been much of a whirlwind. looking down at him, he’s out of breath too, chest visibly rising and falling, “we can’t do this on the bench.” you say removing your legs from around his body allowing him to sit up.

your words hardly have a second to register in the air, he’s already standing up once again cupping your face with his hand, lips hovering dangerously over yours, “so the bedroom then?” he asks, thumb pad swiping your cheek while his other hand pushes hair off your shoulder.

the bedroom in the motorhome was cramped and small. it was a full size bed with barely any wiggle room for movement in the room, it’s not the ideal place, but where else could you go? he had to be on the track in an hour, there was enough time to kill in that tiny hot space.

you just follow him in the room and watch him quickly discard his teal green shirt that clung to him. you watched his hands pull the back of the neck over his head to reveal the tattoo on his rib cage. your eyes scan his body up and down, tongue licking your bottom lip like you were ready to devour him.

“don’t be shy, we’re friends here.” he climbs onto the bed, lips connecting with yours, he carefully dips you down onto the mattress, his hands ride up the back of your shirt, and swiftly unhooks your bra, “I want to see you too.” he nibbles on the bottom of your lip, before pulling away allowing you to remove your shirt and bra.

his imagination was short of everything that’s underneath your clothes. he’d pictured every curve of your body, but when you finally revealed it to him it was somehow much different. your breasts were his fascination, seeing how beautiful they were, he couldn’t help but rest a hand on one of them.

“you’re beautiful.” he whispers, half naked body colliding with yours. his skin was warm, but his hands were cold, carefully you felt them ghosting your skin all the way down towards your naval.

you were tired of the kissing, the sucking on each others skin, you needed him in you. you needed to feel him. all of him.

“fuck me, Lance.” you pull away, hand pressing over his vocal cord you say it one more time, “fuck me.” you release your hand from his throat and watch him remove his joggers and boxers before rejoining you in bed.

his pointer finger trails down your stomach, stopping just below your jeans, “you sure?” he asks, his finger moves to rest atop the cool metal button holding everything together.

all you can do is nod, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat. his finger swiftly undoes the button and zipper, the jeans come off your body in one quick motion leaving you in just your wet panties.

he licks his lips before carefully pulling the material down your legs, your pussy throbs when his fingers touched you down there, you were impatient with how slow he was moving.

he carefully tosses your panties to the side, hand carefully spreads your legs apart for himself, he props himself up with his hands on both sides of you, his chain hovers over your lips, “what did you want from me again?” he asks, smirk tugging at his lips, you quickly smash yours against his to wipe it off.

“fuck me, stroll.” you repeat, and his body goes down on you, tip barely nudging your entrance you’re met with a gasp when you feel him in your center. the strokes are even, and slow, his hips grind against yours at a steady pace.

his chain is mesmerizing as it moves up and down across your face, you reach up with your teeth, pulling on it to bite from screaming. you can feel yourself clench around him, little moans and grunts escape both your lips, you feel him go further in your core, it’s painful but you’re greeted with an inkling of pleasure that makes your legs shake as they wrap around his torso.

“I haven’t even gotten to the good parts, baby.” he grunts looking down at you, your eyes are welling with tears, lips sucking the cool silver chain around his neck, he couldn’t think of a more beautiful sight to see.

you let go of the chain, throwing your head back against the pillow beneath you, he’s got one hand against your hip, the other holding him up above you when he bulldozes into your clit. the bundle of nerves send a shockwave through your body, his name rolls off your tongue that echoes back against the tiny four walls of the bedroom. he does it once again, this time his tip barely touches but it’s enough to make you whine.

“Lance,” you breathe out, watching his eyes focus on you, “touch me.” you beg, pulling on his chain and he dips his head down for your lips to touch his, “I’ve been so good.”

“have you?” he asks, quickly pulling out earning a breathy whine from you as your fingers dig into the skin of his shoulder blades, “do you want me to get Pierre? your husband? maybe he can treat you right?”

you shake your head, “no, no you treat me right.” you say, shaky hands cupping his cheeks, “you’re all I need.” you whisper, “but why don’t you touch me like my husband would? or should I call Pierre for that?” your smirk is a dare that he can’t turn down. he pulls away from your body for a moment, index and middle finger delicately wipe across your wet folds.

“Lance,” his name rolls off your tongue long and whiny, you’re squirming under his touch, “again.” you beg, legs spreading further apart, so he see the moisture between your inner thighs.

you’re more than just wet for him, you’re glistening in thick cum already. he can’t help the way it makes him feel, he takes his index finger and swipes some of it up for a taste, “you taste good.” he whispers before using the same index finger inserting it inside of you just like you asked.

your body tenses at the feeling of him. your hips buckle as you push them upward for him, “would he fuck you like this?” Lance asks, his fingers bump your clit for a brief second, “answer me, darling, could he fuck you like this?”

you shake your head, “no, he wouldn’t.” you reply feeling him touch you once more, legs convoluting your body releases the cum you can’t hold back anymore.

he’s smiling looking down at you before pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead, “good girl. now come on, mrs.stroll we’ve got to get clean up before we head to the track.”

688 notes · View notes

petersprincesss · 2 years

Text

Liar - Peter Ballard x Reader

You're sent out to the lab to inspect a leak in the ceiling. What you end up finding is much more interesting.

Howdy! This is my first time writing in Stranger Things, so it's nice to meet ya'll! I'm open to continuing this work if you are interested in it, but I really wanted to get this first section out in the meantime. Thank you for reading!

Rating: Explicit

Category: F/M

Relationships:

Peter Ballard/Reader

Peter Ballard/You

001/you

001/reader

Characters:

Peter Ballard

Henry Creel

001

Vecna (Stranger Things)

Martin Brenner

Additional Tags:

Dom/sub

Smut

Choking

Edging

almost noncon

dubcon

dom peter ballard

Insurance Adjuster. Such a glamorous title. Unfortunately, it seemed to bring more boredom than excitement, and checking out a leak inside Hawkins Lab sounded like it was going to be par for the course.

A man named Dr. Brenner had requested someone to come out and look at the damage a few days ago. As much as you didn’t want to make the drive to the remote location alone, it was your turn in the barrel.

The outside of the lab was nothing to write home about. Dull, gray concrete shrouded the exterior, the building cradled by dead trees and subdued brown grass. You pulled your car into a spot near the main entrance, noting the covert nature of the structure.

After making your way through the secure entrance, a receptionist led you down the dimly-lit hallways in promises of helping you find Dr. Brenner. You clutched your legal pad close to you, careful not to look too curious or let your eyes wander too far. You had heard this establishment was not friendly toward outsiders, and did its best to keep whatever secrets it was hiding to itself. A part of you was genuinely surprised that they were letting you inside, but it was your job, and you knew all too well that many large companies would take whatever handouts their insurance would give them.

Once you reached a heavy wooden door that bared Brenner’s name and title on its frosted glass window, the receptionist knocked gently. A voice on the other side instructed her to enter, and she opened the door, allowing you to step inside his office.

“Dr. Brenner, I’m-”

“Y/N,” he cut you off, already aware of who you were, “thank you for coming out on such short notice.”

Dr. Brenner stood from his noble wooden desk, removing a pair of reading glasses from his broad nose and set them on a stack of paperwork atop his workspace. He stepped around towards you and gave you a rather unassuming handshake.

“Not a problem, sir. Would you mind showing me the area of concern?” You requested, readying your notepad for whatever descriptions he may offer.

“Yes, of course, it’s just down the hall,” he informed, reaching behind you to hold his door open, allowing you and the secretary to exit. Dr. Brenner guided you further down the hall in the opposite direction you came, parting ways with the woman who led you there.

The hallways were grim, the entire building reeked of disinfectants and unidentifiable chemicals. The passages reminded you of a hospital that was somehow less homely than any medical setting you had been in before. The sound of your footsteps in stride with another slid across the smoothly glazed white tiles and echoed in your ears.

“The leak started roughly a week ago, we believe. It’s in a corner that doesn’t have a high volume of traffic, so I’m afraid it may have gone unnoticed for some time. Luckily, we were able to shut off the water a couple of days back, so the damage has not spread further,” Dr. Brenner described as you both came to the end of a corridor. A brown stain had formed in the tiles of the ceiling and the scent of mold crept into your nose. You clicked your pen and began jotting down a description of the damage. It was a rather unexciting blemish, and you shook your head to yourself, knowing that this would be another case of corporate greed.

“Have you seen damage anywhere else? Is there a floor above this?” You asked, still scrawling chicken scratches in your yellow notepad.

“It had to have been a pipe above these tiles. The room above this remains undamaged,” Dr. Brenner explained.

“Understood,” you nodded, clicking your pen and looking up to study the well-dressed gentleman, “I’m going to need someone from maintenance to get a ladder so I can move the tile and take a peek at where the leak originated.”

Dr. Brenner exhaled a bothered sigh, “Of course. Let me call-”

He was cut off by the secretary practically sliding around the corner, “Dr. Brenner!” She breathed, “you have a phone call!”

“Donna, can’t you see I’m a little preoccupied?” The doctor huffed.

“It’s urgent,” she remarked sternly, still attempting to catch her breath.

“God dammit,” Dr. Brenner muttered under his breath, “I’ll send someone from maintenance to help you. Please stay here until they arrive. Oh, and please do report back your findings to me upon your exit.”

The white-haired doctor stepped purposefully after the receptionist, leaving you alone with the blotch on the ceiling. You stared at the corner they disappeared around until the sound of their footsteps receded, hearing only the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you.

“Please do report back your findings to me upon your exit,” you mocked under your breath, attempting to fill the eerie silence, “Whatever you say.”

Time practically stood still in the desaturated aisles. What exactly was behind these white tiles anyway? What could be so important? You checked your wrist watch. Barely two minutes had passed. You could have sworn it had been at least five. Your eyes trailed up and down the smooth walls, the bull-nosed edges on the corners of the walls in stark contrast to the strict lines of the stack-bonded glazed tile. Looking back towards the ceiling and the stain that had now become your only company, you noticed a red light glowing in the corner of the hallway. A little black camera watched you, surely tracking your every move. The red eyeball taunting you, reminding you that although you may feel lonely, you are not alone.

“I don’t have time to wait for this creep to send someone. There has to be a janitor somewhere.”

You confidently strode off, marching down the hallway, rounding a different corner than the one the doctor and receptionist had vanished behind moments ago. All of the doors and hallways blended together. Some doors were double, some only single, but all painted the same drab off-white, none marked as to what was behind them. Doors, white tile, and cameras all becoming more and more of a blur with each corner you turn.

Finally, you come across a door with something to give you a clue.

That was all the text on the outside had to offer. Ten.

“Ten of what?”

You tuned the handle out of curiosity, but unsurprisingly, it was locked. Determined to find someone, you continued down the hall.

“Not helpful.”

Finally, another set of double doors, although not marked. As you approached, the sound of a child’s laughter danced in your ear. Cautiously, you stepped closer, shifting your weight to the front of your feet inside your modestly-high heeled shoes in hopes of gaining more insight as to what a child could possibly be doing in a place like this. You leaned onto one of the doors, gently enough to make sure you could only listen and not open the door and give yourself away. More giggling emanated from behind the door, the sound of children scurrying about and chattering with each other.

Your curiosity had you in a chokehold now. You had to know what was behind the door, Dr. Brenner be damned.

You pushed benignly on the door, careful only to open it exactly the width of your eye. You took a deep breath as your body hovered closer to the opening, peering inside what felt like another dimension.

Your eyes were met with a site you wouldn’t expect. Children, all wearing hospital gowns bustling about, each playing with a toy or a friend. The walls, although still white and sterile, had tiles running through them, colored in the order of a perfectly neat rainbow. Red blocks in orderly stacks, silver marbles clattering together on a wooden board, and toy cars humming along the clean vinyl floor. Nothing out of its place, yet nothing overly polished either. Your eyes trailed all throughout the room until they were met with another set of eyes, staring directly at you, unwavering in their gaze.

You jerked away from the door in shock. You were certain you were not supposed to be seen, and this would be your only warning. But your mind flashed back to the pair of eyes. A sea of blue amidst the insipid chaos, shaded only by a slew of the softest blonde hair.

You leaned back onto the cool tile next to the door, taking a deep breath. Just as you closed your eyes and exhaled a sigh of relief, the door swung back, and that blonde hair made an appearance again. The man beneath it was taller than you had expected, standing over you by a decent measurement. His body was clothed in a pressed white shirt and clean-cut trousers. A black leather belt cut a noticeable contrast through his waist that you couldn’t help but survey. Elegant lines of white shrouded him in a mystery that you couldn’t help but desire to solve.

“Can I help you?” The voice beneath the blonde locks spoke. His tone was light and delicate, asking you genuinely.

“Oh, I uhm,” you sputtered, your brain a jumbled mess, trying its best to process everything you had just taken in, “My name is Y/N, I’m here with the insurance agency, I was looking for a janitor and I must have gotten lost, I was just looking-”

“It’s okay, I know this place is confusing. Let me get you where you need to be,” he offered kindly, a delicate grin spreading across his lips.

You smiled back, biting the edge of your lip nervously. You couldn’t help but admire his charming features, and you welcomed the company of someone so helpful and alluring.

“My name is Peter, by the way,” he spoke as the two of you stepped down the hallway. He clasped his hands together behind his back, looking over to you.

“Pleased to meet you, Peter. I appreciate your help, I’m afraid I got a bit turned around…” your voice trailed off. You weren’t sure how truthful to be. Your eyes darted up towards yet another camera in the ceiling, staring down at the two of you.

“It’s okay, this place feels very complicated at first,” he reassured you. He was so understanding and mellow. Your heart rate returned to a normal place, sensing you were now protected and guided.

“What, um, what exactly was that room? I didn’t expect to see children here,” you let out a nervous chuckle, hoping he would find humor in the situation as well.

“Well, it’s a bit of a story. I’m assuming you weren’t told much before you came here, right?’

You shook your head, “Nearly nothing. I’m just an insurance adjuster looking at a leak in the ceiling.”

You could sense Peter was ready to lay a truth on you that you may not have been ready to receive, when you heard a determined pair of footsteps advance on the two of you from behind.

“Ah, Y/N, Peter, I see you two have met,” a familiar voice spoke. The pair of you turned around to see Dr. Brenner, now standing at your heels.

“I caught her sticking her nose where it shouldn’t have been,” Peter spoke. Your eyes shot over to his, but he denied you his warm eye contact.

“That was my greatest fear,” Dr. Brenner sighed, placing his hands on his hips and tilting his jaw back towards the ceiling.

“What? No, I-” You began, but you were cut off

“She claims she’s an insurance adjuster, but I’m not sure I buy it,” Peter said, finally turning his gaze back to you, running his eyes up and down your frame as if to gauge your abilities.

Your eyes met his again, but they were not the same cerulean pools of comfort you had seen before. They now presented as icy and dominant.

“What? No, Dr. Brenner, you spoke to my agent, he sent me here, you know that’s the truth,” you began to plead.

“Did she see anything?” Brenner quizzed.

“The Rainbow Room,” Peter responded, his voice now void of any emotion, cocking his head to one side, his face dropping any kindness it previously held.

Dr. Brenner let out an exhausted breath in frustration as he closed his eyes.

“Get rid of her. Make sure she does not return,” he demanded.

Dr. Brenner turned sharply on his heel as Peter grasped ahold of your elbow with such force that you dropped your notepad, your pen clattering on the floor.

“Come with me,” Peter instructed, dragging you away towards what you only hoped was an exit.

“Peter, no- Dr. Brenner! Please!” You cried out, trying to jerk yourself away from his tenacious grip.

The two of you shuffled down the hallway, practically dancing as you attempted to slip his grasp. You noticed his cheekbones flex as he clenched his jaw, determined to keep you at his side. You had a solid feeling that you could out-run him, given the opportunity, it was only a matter of freeing yourself beforehand. You turned your elbow inward, writhing your arm away from him and felt your only chance. You wasted no time breaking into a sprint, your legs striding as fast as your body would allow, your toes jamming into the front of your shoes with each step.

The corridor came to an end with a tight corner, and as you slipped around the side of the wall, you felt a strong palm slap onto your wrist and nails digging into your skin.

“Peter, please! Please, just let me go!”

“Not a chance, sweetheart,” Peter taunted, pulling your arm behind your back, pinning your wrist between your shoulder blades in an uncomfortable predicament. His other hand met your once-freed forearm and latched onto you, taking no chances on your escape.

You thrashed beneath his hold, both of you panting and grunting at the futile attempts to defeat the other. Fed up with your squirming, Peter slammed you into a closed door, flipping your body around so you were now face-to-face with the once loving and trustworthy orderly, his hands locked onto your shoulders, holding you steady. His eyes bore into yours, his pupils darting back and forth between your right and left eyes as if searching for something he had not previously detected.

“What do you want from me?” You asked desperately, willing to offer anything in exchange for your freedom.

“I want you,” he began, his eyes trailing away from yours and down your neck, “to behave.”

You writhed beneath him again and his eyes shot back up to yours.

“Can you do that?”

“Go to hell.”

You spat directly into his eye, hoping it would catch him off guard enough to release you. He clenched his eyes shut tightly, tilting his head to the floor and tightened his grasp on your shoulders, sliding them down to your biceps.

“You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that,” Peter grinned up at you.

His right hand left you momentarily to reach down and open the door you were plastered to. You fell back into the room once hidden by the doorway and attempted to stay on two feet. Your eyes scanned the room, hopelessly searching for anything that may aid you. You were met with only black square tiles lined with silver framing, a one-way mirror on one wall and a desolate silver table across the vacant room. Your eyes flashed up to the camera in the corner, only to find that the red light that had stared you down so dauntingly before was missing.

Peter stood in the doorway, his face tilted downward disapprovingly and his eyes peering upward from beneath his eyebrows.

“Peter,” you breathed, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your feet slid discreetly away from him.

“Yes?”

“I trusted you, I need you to trust me too.”

“Oh, I trust you entirely,” he began, stepping into the room, sliding his slender hand around the door’s handle and closing it behind him, never letting his gaze leave your frame, “I know you’re telling the truth.”

“What? But then, why… why are you doing this?” Your heart was racing inconsistently, never certain what was coming.

“Can’t you see? This was the plan from the beginning.”

Peter’s face changed again, as if he was a shifting creature that defied the laws of Earth. His intimidating stare turned back to a grin, but it was not the same delightful grin he offered when he first exited the Rainbow Room.

“I don’t understand…” your voice trailed off. You fell motionless as he stalked towards you.

“From the moment I saw your lovely little eyes peek into that room, I knew I wanted you. I felt your presence long before you leaned against that door.”

You wanted to question how any of this was feasible, but with everything that had transpired within the last twenty minutes alone, you had learned to stop questioning what constituted reality inside the Hawkins Lab.

A burning within you knew you felt the same. The way those sapphire eyes gleamed when you first locked eye contact with him, the fact that you couldn’t help but glance down at his leather belt and the pleats in his pants, how his flesh felt against yours, how easily he tamed you, all of it, playing on a loop in the back of your head as you watched his body close the gap between yours.

“I know that’s what you want too. I felt that the moment you stepped in here as well,” Peter taunted. With the door closed, the two of you were fully alone, completely forsaken by anyone else.

He was right. You knew he was completely correct. But here? Now?

Your body shifted, feeling the adrenaline switch from a fight or flight response into pure lust. The tension between your shoulders released as you felt your foot delicately take a step towards Peter.

“Please, Peter,” you began to beg as your bodies drew in closer. He reached out a hand towards you, placing his index finger beneath your chin and his thumb on top of it, tilting your jaw up towards him.

“Please, what?”

“Please, I do want this,” you heard yourself gasp.

Your breath hitched, your stomach dropping so rapidly you could hardly register any signals in your brain. Peter brought a gentle hand up to the small of your back, his eyes still perforating yours, edged with grandeur desires of ownership.

“Good.”

You looked down at your feet, standing so timidly between his wide stance. Your eyes instinctively fluttered shut as he brought his face forward, his lips brushing against yours dearly. He kissed you with the possessiveness you didn’t know you craved, his tongue adventurously exploring the gap between your teeth and bottom lip, swiping back and forth as if asking permission to venture further. Your shoulders relaxed, your hands falling faintly at your sides, your knees ready to buckle. You expected your body to fold and bow before him, and you likely would have if it weren’t for his stern hold on your lower back, pulling your torsos together effortlessly.

You inhaled sharply as you pulled away from his kiss, your eyes floating up to meet his. You couldn’t help it any longer, the heat in your abdomen was ready to ignite, you needed him now. Your fingers crawled up to the collar of his polished white uniform, your nails drawing invisible lines, tracing over his chest as you began to undo his top button. Peter grasped your wrists with a jolt, halting you instantly.

“Ladies first,” he instructed.

Peter released your wrists and his hands darted for the buttons of your blouse. He took his time, delicately removing a button from its assigned spot and sliding it out from beneath the fabric. Seconds turned into hours in your mind, your frustration mounting.

“Fucking… waste of time,” Peter growled, digging his hands under your collar and pulling away in opposite directions. An orgasmic sigh lept from within you as the buttons of your blouse popped off individually and trickled down onto the vinyl floor, leaving your heaving chest exposed for the orderly to explore.

Both of Peter’s hands found their way to either side of your head, nesting in your hair behind your ears as he selfishly kissed you again, practically swallowing your tongue. You rested your forearms on his shoulders, crossing your wrists behind his neck as he leaned into you forcefully. His right hand trailed down your neck, his fingernails carving a path from your ear to your collarbone.Your hand found its way to the back of his skull and you gripped a fistfull of that soft blonde hair that had caught your eye previously. Peter’s kiss stopped, his lips trailing rapidly down your cheek to your neck, sliding his hand away to make room for his teeth to graze your hastily rising pulse.

You moaned gently into his ear resting comfortably beside your lips, each breath praising him and thanking his actions. Peter’s hands left your upper body and his fingers began sliding up your thighs beneath your skirt, practically clawing at your skin. His thumb settled gently on your center, sending a slick shiver up your spine that erupted in a wanton moan escaping your lips.

Peter rested one hand atop your shoulder, his other finding its way to your waist. His forehead lifted up and pressed into yours, his eyes just inches away, his breath falling into you with a heat that demanded your attention. He stepped back into you, each of you falling into a familiar dance as he guided you towards the silver metal table on the opposite end of the room. His thumb wavered back and forth, tenderly massaging your cheek as he looked through you. The back of your thighs finally met the cool edge of the table he escorted you to.

“Sit,” he instructed, placing both hands at your waist and lifting you slightly so that your legs dangled off the ledge. Both of his hands relaxed on either side of your neck, his thumbs rubbing along your jawline.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he confessed.

“You won’t,” you promised, knowing you meant it.

“Are you sure?” Peter asked. His voice reverted back to the kind and caring fashion that you recognized when you first met him.

“I’m positive,” you breathed, frightened that you might have to concede to begging him if he didn’t give you what you needed immediately.

“What if,” he began, his voice trailing off as he turned his face away from you for the first time since you had stepped into the room together. He physically bit his tongue as if he was afraid to confess his thoughts.

“What?” You panted, growing more and more impatient, “What if what?”

“What if I want to play rough?”

Your chest heaved, your heated breath bathing his porcelain skin, your stomach dropping further into your abdomen.

“I want you to be rough with me,” you practically ordered.

Peter grinned, exhaling a sigh of relief that you were up to his challenge. He had waited so long to be with someone like you. To please someone as angelic as you. He wanted so desperately to satisfy you, to draw shameless moans from within you and hear them spill out of you, removing your control.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed his hair back out of his face and slipped back into his domineering headspace.

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

You obeyed him, leaning back onto your palms allowing your thighs to glide across the frigid tabletop. Peter knelt down onto one knee, leveling his eyes with your center. He watched you intently, his cherubic eyes never leaving yours. He wanted to relish in every movement you made.

His touch glided up your legs once more, his curious fingers hooking around the top of your undergarments. Never breaking eye contact, he slipped them out from beneath your skirt, dragging out the process to a glacial pace that further accelerated your winded breaths. The chilled, conditioned air breezed over your delicate skin, sending a surge of goosebumps down your body. Once your undergarments fell to the floor, he stood back to his full height, rising above you. His arm stretched out and he slipped a hand over the front of your neck, feeling your hurried pulse beneath his touch.

“Someone’s anxious,” he remarked, tilting his head inquisitively.

“I’m ready for you,” you told him. You had a premonition he wanted you to beg him to go further, beg him to ruin you, but you weren’t ready to give in so easily.

“I don’t think you are,” he disagreed, “but I think you can prove me wrong.”

“And how do you want me to do that?” You smiled up at him, longing for him to tame you.

“Beg me.”

Your heart sank, not out of disappointment that your vision had come true, but out of pure lust. You bit your bottom lip, lowering your chin to your chest so you could stare at Peter innocently below your fluttering eyelashes.

“Please, Peter.”

“Please what?” Peter questioned. His grip tightened slightly on your throat, pushing just roughly enough that you felt your heartbeat rise inside your brain.

“Do you want me to make a mess of you?” He asked.

“Yes, please. Please make a mess of me,” you begged.

“Good girl.”

Peter eased his grip on your neck and reached down to unzip his white trousers. You watched his slender hands feverishly, your mind racing with endless possibilities. You instinctively edged yourself closer to the brink of the table, widening your legs so he could take you immediately.

Peter pulled himself from the opening of his zipper, guiding himself towards you. He stopped just as he touched your entrance.

“You sure you want this?”

“Peter, fucking fuck me!”

He wasted no time, pushing into you swiftly. He let out a pornographic groan as you tightened around him, feeling your warmth engulf him entirely. You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning. You wanted to hear every delirious note that left his mouth.

He set a rhythm at once, wasting not a precious second inside you. His moans flowed into you and you sent them back, the two of you inhaling and exhaling each other’s desire. His right palm slithered around the back of your neck, pushing your head down so your vision was filled only with him thrusting into you.

“That’s right, watch me fuck you,” he praised. His left hand wrapped around the back of your knee, pulling you up onto him. Fingers still in place, his thumb snaked around your throat, pushing delicately into your trachea just enough to keep your breathing under his control. Both of your hands found his shoulders, the ridges of your nails clawing into his shirt, helplessly looking for something to ground you amidst the intense waves of pleasure cascading inside you.

“God, Peter!” You exclaimed, formal sentences now foreign to you.

“God can’t help you,” Peter snarled.

His clench changed positions to your throat, pushing you supine onto the table, causing you to tighten your grip onto him. He slammed an open palm down onto the metal surface next to your head, drawing his face up next to yours so that the tips of your noses brushed against one another. A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead, the next drop forming beneath a now-tangled mess of blonde strands. Your arms fell back openly around you as you ratcheted your head back, allowing him further access to your neck. Your ankles crossed together behind him, nudging his body closer to yours.

Peter buried his face between your shoulder and head, his lips grazing your ear, presenting you with his animalistic moans up close. The sound alone was enough to send heat waves from your head to your core. Peter bit down on your soft flesh, gnawing tenderly beneath your earlobe. You felt like a teenager again, knowing you would walk away with blue and purple petals blooming within your skin that would demand attention, declaring that Peter Ballard fucking owned you.

“I’m going to c-” You began to say, but just as the last syllables left your tongue, Peter pulled away immediately, rising back up to a stance, removing himself entirely from you.

“Did I fucking tell you that you could cum?” He catechized emotionlessly, raising one eyebrow.

“N- No, I-”

Peter laid down a hard smack on the inside of your thigh, mere inches from your tender core, forcing you to emit an unexpected squeal.

“You don’t do fucking anything unless I tell you to,” he instructed.

“Yes, Peter,” you nodded, knowing you’d commit any acts necessary to have him inside you again.

“Good. Flip over.”

You followed his commands, the tips of your toes barely touching the floor while you supported yourself on your elbows, your flushed cheeks meeting the table’s surface.

His foot kicked the inside of your ankle, spreading your stance farther apart. Peter shoved your skirt up so it rested ambiguously atop your hips, then shifted a hand to the crook of your pelvis, pulling your entrance up to meet him again.

“Give me that,” he commanded, snatching your wrist and twisting it so that it was pinned against your back in a familiar fashion. Each muscle and tendon within you felt stretched to its limit, your body attempting to keep his precarious positioning of you with whatever strength you could still identify.

More gradually than before, Peter sunk back into you, swiftly bottoming out. He accelerated back to his previous pace as if he was anxious that he wasn’t going to have enough time inside you. His grip crawled away from your hip to push his messy blonde mane back once more. Peter’s fingers then tangled into your own hair, wrapping themselves around each lock so he could force your head up and curve your spine backwards.

Each thrust into you only brought you closer towards your climax, you were running out of time to ask for his permission to release, and you knew he could feel it creeping closer.

“What’s the matter, Y/N, are you trying to hold it for me?” Peter chuckled, yanking your hair back harder towards his chest. The sound of him speaking your name between each labored breath alone nearly pushed you over the edge.

“Yes, oh my God, Peter please!”

Peter unleashed a devilish smile and shook his head.

“Poor little Y/N, can’t keep herself from cumming even when she knows she’s not allowed to.”

His cocky arrogance and handsome grin mixed with the pressure building on your cervix was too much, you felt yourself step off the edge and fall aimlessly into a heaven you didn’t know could be found on Earth. Your brain let go, each wave of pleasure detonating within you with a force you were unaware you possessed.

“Fucking hell, you’re going to make me cum,” Peter grunted.

He released his hold on your hair and wrist, focusing his touch on your hips, greedily pulling you back further onto him. His words were a blur to you, hanging in the empty room, waiting for you to return to your body and register them. A warmth engulfed your torso, drifting from your core, up your back to your brain. You felt Peter release inside you, his grasp still anchored to your hips.

The two of you waited there motionless, attempting to fill your lungs with enough air to bring you back to reality. Your eyelids fell heavy, your entire body strung out from the intense shockwave he had given to you. Shaking with satisfaction, you brought your arms in front of you, immediately feeling a soreness emanate from them as you pushed yourself back up to a standing position, your skirt sliding down over the dripping mess Peter had just made of you.

Peter clutched the back of your neck once more and spun you around, crashing his lips into yours. Although still fully in control, that gentle spirit that first attracted you to him broke through, a glowing and peaceful aura returning to his electric touch.

“Thank you,” you gasped, breaking away from him, unsure of what else you could offer up.

“No, thank you, Y/N,” he replied, those polite blue eyes penetrating yours.

“I think I should, um, probably leave. I mean, I don’t want you to get in trouble,” you offered. Reality’s gray tones set back in, and you knew the doctor you had met with at the beginning of this ordeal would likely be looking for both of you at this point.

“What makes you think I’m the one in trouble here?” Peter asked, his eyes glazing over, “I’ve only just started with you.”

#peter ballard smut #peter ballard x you #peter ballard #peter ballard x reader #peter ballard x y/n #jamie bower #jamie campbell bower #001 #001 x you #001 x reader #001 x y/n #001 smut #henry creel #vecna #smut #fics #my work

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phoenixstark1708 · 6 months

Text

the daughter of an archangel

chapter 1

sooo..... this is my backstory in my marvel DR, major trigger warnings, this also crosses over into supernatural later, but i havent even written that yet.

trigger warnings: abuse, torture, blood, death, fucked up timeline, etc.

pairings: later will be sam/dean winchester, and even later will be bucky,

in this, endgame/inf war doesnt happen, i took plenty of creative liberties.

summary: (this is written in first-person) phoenix is a girl who was created by the nazi organization HYDRA, and she meets the winter soldier on a mission, i cant say much more without spoiling future chapters. will try to proofread but no promises.

word count: 2,654/10,649 - that ive written so far.

change of POV's will be indicated

“Get up you stupid pig!” the guard said, in a thick Russian accent, banging the cell door with his truncheon. He shone a flashlight in my eyes, making them burn from the lack of light for the past two days. I stretched out my sore muscles, wincing from the scabbed-over cuts all over my body. After days of no contact with anyone, just me and the cold, dark cell. Somehow being dragged away for training almost feels like a blessing. I stood and allowed him to cuff me. at this point, I know the drill. “so, Angel, how was your weekend?” He asked while holding my shoulder, guiding me out of the cell – the only place I’ve known as home for my whole life – literally. I was born in the damned bullpen. My mother died during birth, I guess having twins really had her beat.

On the way to the hell chamber – sorry, training room - I saw him, I saw Benjamin. For the first time in weeks, I saw my twin. He looked rough. Probably just had a sparring sesh with one of the winter soldiers. he’s always been smaller than me, But there was something different. he seemed especially weak. I haven’t eaten anything in what I assume has been around 4 days. He probably hasn’t either. They were always doing this, trying to weed out the weaker members. Its grim, but I knew he would die soon. It was clear that I was stronger, and if it came down to it, I would kill him without a second thought. After all, that’s how I was trained. I was bred, raised, and trained to be ruthless. And that is the only reason that I am still alive. HYDRA has no room for error.

As I walked into the training room, I saw the winter soldier, long, brunette hair, with a metal arm. The only time ive ever seen him is in cryo-sleep, he looked so peaceful, so harmless. The man standing before me was soemthing different entirely. His eyes were blue as ice, and just as cold. He looked right through me, almost like a drone. “this is her first mission. You will be supervising her.” he hands the man with a metal arm a file containing four pictures of senator james martin, whos been a public neusence for hydra for a while. The winter soldier grabbed me by the arm and dragged me through the door.

It was a quiet drive on the Harley, at the moment, we were just n full assassin gear. My small arms were wrapped around his waist, making him clearly tense up. His metal arm was glinting in the moonlight as we pulled into a nearby parking garage, a birdseye view of the gathering senator martin. “I will stay up here while you go inside. As many casualties as possible. No survivors.” He said gruffly, setting up the rifle. “They won’t let me in. I’m wearing a costume.” I said, my voice gravelly from days of no use. He glanced down at me for the first time, and gazed at me for a moment, before pulling out a T-shirt that had the senators face on it, and a pair of grey sweatpants. “Change into these, keep your weapons concealed until my signal.” I quickly stripped. he turned away, giving me privacy. I was more then used to being watched, so this was surprising. I fixed the too-large clothes, and looked harmless. Instead of looking like an eight-year-old assassin, I looked like a normal kid.

There was something in the winter soldier’s eyes that I didn’t recognise, almost like affection. I walked down the stairs of the parking garage, feeling his eyes on me the whole way. Slowly, I crossed the street, nearly getting hit by a truck that I didn’t know to look for. As I made my way to the entrance of the granite building, I noticed trucks outside, like the kind I saw at my home, - armoured trucks. I, of course thought this was normal. “Careful, there are hostiles in the building. Captain America and the black widow are protecting the target.” His voice came through my earpiece. “I don’t know who they are” I whispered back. “You will. They won’t want to hurt you, use that to your advantage.” And with that, he went radio silent.

As I walked barefoot through the large doors, I spotted a woman in a similar outfit to what I wear, only without the red skull. She spotted me immediately, and I tried to disappear through the crowd. I was unsuccessful. A man in a red, white, and blue uniform grabbed my arm gently, holding a shield in his other hand. “Who are you kid?” He peered down at me “I’m here to see my daddy.” I said, feigning panic. I pulled my arm out of his grasp and ran toward a random man, tugging on his shirt. Shield guy turned away before he could see the man push me away. I stayed by him, trying to convince the people that he was my father. I got a little turned around, when a perverted looking man grabbed my wrist “hey sweetheart. You’re gonna come with me now.” He said, his voice just as weird as him. The man in the jumpsuit put his hand on his shoulder “why dontcha leave the girl alone pal.” He dragged him away.

Just then, his signal came, by shooting the senator in the gut, taking him down. The panic set in immediately. People running around screaming like headless chickens. The man with the metal arm burst through the door, sealing off the only accesable exit. I grabbed the first person I saw, they just happened to be the senators daughter. She couldn’t have been more then seventeen; I snapped her neck. I unfurled my wings and tripped some old man with them. I stabbed him in his corroded artery, a fatal blow. Killing got easier the more I did it.

The fight went on like this for a while, until the red-haired woman pushed me to the ground “stay down kid.” seeing me pinned down, the man i was on the mission with began to make his way over to me. I waved my hand, and the woman went flying, hitting the wall with a thud. Oh yea, something I forgot to mention; I'm not a normal person. In addition to having my DNA spliced with the peregrine falcon, giving me wings, and the ability to fly, I was also experimented on with energy from the soul stone, one of the six infinity stones. Ergo, I had ‘powers’. The winter soldier stared at me, shocked, his brief moment of distraction caused him to get a wooden chair to the head. He shot the dude that hit him.

The man in the flag costume, and the woman ran. Smart. Tactical retreat. I ran to every person I saw, and killed as many as I could. Once we were sure that there were no more targets, the winter soldier grabbed me, and threw me on the motorcycle behind him.

We stopped at a motel that charged by the hour… if that tells you anything. “we will stay here for a while. You need to get clean, I know that the hoses hurt.” he said, a hint of compassion in his voice. Hes right. They used fire hoses to ‘clean up’ whenever any of us got dirty. I walked into the bathroom and stripped. I didn’t close the door, because I assumed I wasn’t allowed to. I didn’t know how to use the shower so I just sort of stared at it, waiting for it to turn on. The man walked in, turned the handle of the shower, and left. I jumped when water started to spurt out of the faucet. I stepped into the water slowly, gauging the temperature before completely immersing myself into it. My muscles involuntarily relaxed at the sensation of the warm water. I began rubbing the dirt off of my limbs when the winter soldier walked in.

He didn’t look at me, but made a damp washcloth and started cleaning his wounds. They were worse then I assumed, and I coudnt help but observe him while washing the rest of the dirt off of my body. I only sustained minor cuts and bruises in the fight, but he had deep lacerations on his face, presumably from the chair. I stepped out of the shower and stood there, a towering three-foot-seven-inches, short for my age. He glanced at me and handed me a towel while dabbing his wounds “whats this for?” I asked “dry yourself. They will notice our absence if were not back soon.” so, I dried myself off, and put on my uniform, running my fingers over the red skull with tentacles, like a squid. I giggled, imaging it wiggling its tentacles.

Bucky

The little girl was looking at her uniform, giggling. For a moment I thought of two young girls in brooklyn. I was a teenager with sisters… what? No, I wasn’t. I am a weapon for hydra. Whats going on? I was steadily bleeding from the prick who hit me with a chair, we needed to get back to base. She suddenly looked up at me, concern evident in her sweet, blue eyes. “are- are you okay? You're bleeding,” she frowned. “Let me help you. I can make people feel better.” I skeptically sat on a bed near where she was standing. She slowly reached over to me; I shied away when her hand got close to my wound, remembering the various punishments I've had over the years. I am a wild animal. I need to be controlled. She looked into my eyes, the child-like glimmer long gone. It's unfair; all children should have that. No. She is not a child; she is a weapon. That’s it- like me. She gently laid her small hand on my head near the cut. All of the sudden her eyes started glowing, a certain gold color I'd never seen before. Her hands began glowing the same, and my head started tingling.

I immediately felt better. I can't explain it, but she somehow lodged herself into my memory, unintentionally. And I knew I would never forget her. She looked at me worried, noting the glazed look in my eyes. “are you alright? I'm sorry if I hurt yo-” I cut her off “My name is Bucky,” I blurted out; I had no idea where that came from. “You need to call me Winter, or ‘the winter soldier’, otherwise they’ll kill us both” she looked at me confused and alarmed “okay… I will” “we need to go back.” so I took her small hand, gently, and led her to the HYDRA-issued motorcycle we came here on. The drive back to base was cold. I could feel it in my bones. I couldn’t help but wish I could help her warm up. I didn’t know what I was feeling, but I knew HYDRA wouldn’t like it. I am a machine. Not a man.

I rode up to the gate “солдат?” soldier? “миссия успешна. приветствую гидру.” mission successful. hail hydra. The gate opened, and we rode into the garage. She was immediately ripped off the back of the bike and dragged away. “you are late. The camera in your suit shows you made a ‘pit stop’. She had an effect on you. You will both be heavily punished for this.” no. I practically jumped off the bike. I grabbed the mans neck and snapped it before being sedated. The last thing I heard before I got knocked out was “well, after we make them watch, we’ll have to wipe him again.” I woke up strapped to a modified autopsy table. Modified so I was reclined enough so that I had a clear view of the girl. And she had a clear view of me. One of the doctors walked in with an array of surgical instruments “doctor- sorry- creator! Thank goodness! I was scared we were taken by the bad people!” the little girls face lit up with relief. The doctor sighed and placed his kit on a surgical tray, the knives clattering against the cold steel. “child, птичий урод.” bird-freak “you have been very bad. And you know what happens to bad children.” he put on surgical gloves, and picked up a Sickle Probe, the device that dentists use. He walked toward her slowly “creator, im sorry! It was a mistake! Please. Im sorry” she cried out. however, she didn’t struggle against the restraints. “it is too late to apologise freak. You will be punished.” “yes sir.” she slumped against the autopsy table, keeping her fear-filled eyes on the doctor. He walked up to her small body, and turned off the magnetic cuff, allowing her arm to fall. The monster grabbed her arm, and stuck the hook of the sickle probe into the inside of her elbow. She began silently crying from the pain, blood slowly dribbling from the wound. He slowly dragged the hook down her arm, toward her wrist, tearing her skin. The blood was flowing heavily now, and he was trying to stifle her cries. After reaching her wrist, he put the probe down and picked up a rusty razorblade.

He moved to her chest, and drug the blade down her sternum, and to her lower stomache. She was crying freely now. “heal yourself.” she did as she was told, her eyes glowing gold, and the wounds shimmering as they healed instantly. He grabbed a klein tool – essentially a broader pliers. He walked to her bare feet, and clamped down on her small toe. He bent it to a sickening angle, causing the bone to snap with a disturbing CRACK. She screamed. He used the wire-clipping part of the klein tool to cut off a patch or skin on her foot. He grabbed a knife, and made slow, deep, and deliberate cuts all over her body. After nearly an hour, he decided hed had enough of that. he only reason she was still alive was because she wasn’t fully human – she couldn’t have been. “heal. Now. Not your foot though. You will deal with that.” she did as she was told. She was exhausted. She collapsed against the table before he shocked her with a set of jumper cables rigged up to a car battery. While watching this, I struggled against the restraints so much, my wrist began to bleed. Every time I screamed for them to let her go, my restraints would get an electrical charge. I was muzzled like a dog. Reminding me that I am no better then one. I am one. She screamed every time he cut her, shocked her, stabbed her, or tore the skin off her flesh. When she screamed, the building would shake. Not figuratively either.

She was clearly more powerful than she could see. She could easily kill him, she could kill everyone in this god forsaken building. HYDRA had control over her mind. But not in the same way as they had mine. They beat her down, made her feel powerless, made her think wrong is right, and right is wrong. I have to get her out of here. The doctor made his way over to me “judging by your reaction, she made an imprint on you. Well, time to forget her!” he said, laughing malevolently. “no! You cant-” I was cut off by a blow to my temple. They dragged me to the Memory Suppressing Machine. A white hot pain ripped through me. I couldn’t remember the mission, but I could remember a girl. A sweet, young girl. I knew I should protect her. As far as they're concerned, I don’t remember a thing. “Желание. Семнадцать. Ржавый. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный. Возвращение на родину. Один. Товарный вагон” my trigger words.

let me know if you wanna be tagged in pt2

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jjsstars · 7 months

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lydiaweek2023: Day 2, Favorite Relationship

|| for @lydiamartinappreciation event

|| just for tonight — on my ao3 | 1k+ word count

|| tags : post canon, lydia/scott, they’re both 20, drinking, make out sessions, mentions of past canon relationships (& thiam)

The auburn liquid in her glass swirls as Lydia spins the glass against the bar top, this night hasn’t been nearly as fun as she was hoping it’d be. Everyone from the pack is home for Christmas from college, it’s the first time in two years that Lydia’s seen most of them as she always had to skip out on holidays at home to work.

She had thought tonight would be filled with laughing and smiling like she remembers so fondly of the pack nights from high school, but things have seemed dull. It might have to do with the fact that Malia and Scott broke up, and so did Lydia and Stiles, the only couple that seems to have lasted is Theo and Liam but they never left Beacon Hills in the first place. She wonders if that’s why they work so well, if maybe her and Stiles would’ve stayed together if they never left this cursed town that Lydia still somehow finds herself longing for and loving.

“Want a refill?” Scott’s voice brings her away from her thoughts, he’s slipped behind the bar that’s in the Argents apartment and already has a bottle of whiskey in hand ready to fill Lydia’s cup.

“Might as well.” It’s not like she’ll be doing anything better with her time. Her mother’s over talking to Melissa, Noah and Chris with a cup of wine in her hand that’s only half drunk. They won’t be going home anytime soon and while Lydia could leave without her mother as they took separate cars, that seems a little sad. A twenty year old leaving a party before her own mother does, she refuses to be that depressing.

“You think Noah realizes we’re still underage?” Doubtful.

“Would he care? I’m a banshee and you’re a werewolf, he can try to arrest us but I’m not sure he has the balls.” Scott lets out a warm laugh that brings a smile to Lydia’s face, she’s missed him. More than she ever thought she would, she assumed that texting with Scott and calling with him would be enough for them, but the longer they’ve been apart the more Lydia yearns for him. To have him close again. Like he’s always been.

“Fair enough. You having a good time tonight?” Martin bows her head and chews her bottom lip, it’d be easy to lie to Scott, he might be able to tell off her scent and heartbeat change, but she doubts he’d ever say anything about it. He’d take the ‘yeah I’m great’ and nod along, letting Lydia pretend if she wanted to.

“Tonight isn’t as fun as I thought it’d be.” She says honestly and Scott nods along, pouring himself a whiskey despite the fact that it won’t affect him in the slightest.

“Yeah, things seem- bland.” His face scrunches up as he says it, eyes glancing over to where the rest of the pack are sitting. They’re all in their little groups, avoiding looking at their exes, having trivial conversations that Lydia got bored of two minutes in, sipping at drinks that have become watered down by melting ice. The parents seem to be having the most fun, they’re all laughing loudly and bumping into each others shoulders as if they’re the drunk twenty year olds. At least someone’s having a good time.

“Looks like I wore this nice dress for nothing.” It’s red and satin, thin straps slipped over her shoulders, gold jewelry on her neck and ears that pairs nicely with the dress. It’s too fancy for a party at Chris’s apartment, but Lydia wanted to look nice, wanted to enjoy tonight as much as she could. It feels like a waste now.

“No way, you look great! Beautiful.” McCall comes out from behind the bar to look at Lydia, as if he needs to see the heels she’s paired with the dress too, needs to look at all of her without any barriers blocking his view.

“Thanks Scott, you don’t look too bad yourself.” The black button up he has paired with a pair of formal pants is one of the nicest things Martin has ever seen Scott in, he doesn’t dress up much.

She makes a point to track over his features for an extra moment. Eyes lingering on how his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, on the two buttons up by his collar that are popped open and were probably never closed in the first place, on how he’s somehow gained more muscle since the last time Lydia saw him, on how nice it is to have him here in person and not over a phone screen.

“Do you wanna go out to the balcony?” He offers his hand to her and she smiles as she slips off the barstool to accept it. Peering back quickly over her shoulder, Lydia can see how Stiles is watching them, and how Kira and Malia are giggling in a corner looking two seconds away from kissing one another. Hopefully Stiles gets someone like that, someone to make him forget about Lydia.

“Can you feel the moon affecting you?” It’s a full moon tonight, shining brightly in the sky so its silver light can cast over where Lydia and Scott stand.

“Kind of but nothing too bad. Do you think it affects you?” The lore that Martin has read never gives a straight answer on if banshee’s are really affected by the full moon, but Lydia thinks she is. At least a little bit.

“I feel more energized but I don’t have as big of a reaction that you guys do.” Scott hums and slouches onto the balcony’s guard rail, something tired about the motion that makes Lydia feel a small spark of worry.

“Have you been doing good? I know we text but we haven’t had a serious conversation in a while.” She leans her back to the rail beside Scott, elbows rested back against the cold metal and head tipped slightly so she can see McCall’s face better.

“I started helping this pack that lives near my college, and it’s great to talk to other wolves and help protect the people of the town, but— .” He trails off.

“But you went to college to get away from the supernatural?” They all did, aside from Theo, Liam and Malia, who’ve taken over the job of protecting Beacon Hills even with the puppy pack having graduated last year.

“Yeah. And now that I’m here for Christmas Theo and Liam asked me to help with some hunters near by, I said yes, but I’m just tired. And I thought tonight would help me feel better but….” Lydia reaches to run her hand through Scott’s hair as he trails off again. She can see in his eyes how exhausted he really is, how the years of doing everything all the time is weighing on him. It’s been weighing on her too, her mind still races with voices of others, with predictions of deaths that she knows she can’t stop and even if she doesn’t know the people that the voices are talking about, it crushes her each time.

“Just forget about it for tonight.” She says and their eyes meet, Scott’s flicking to look at her lips before he hesitantly leans in, giving Lydia enough room to pull away if she wanted to but she doesn’t, she moves to meet him halfway and press their lips together.

“What are we doing?” It’s breathless once they part, Scott’s forehead pressed to Lydia’s as her hand curves around his jaw.

“Forgetting about everything. At least for tonight.” There’s a moment where Lydia thinks she overstepped and that Scott’s going to pull away, but then his hand wraps around her hip to pull her closer and they’re kissing again.

It’s not rough and desperate like when she’d make-out with Stiles, Scott’s softer, gentle in the way he moves his lips against hers and slips his tongue into her mouth. She finds herself getting lost in him. In the feeling of his hands moving smoothly up her back to slide back down to her hips, never venturing further down, as respectful as he always is.

“Take me home? Just for tonight.” She asks and ignores the swirl in her gut that tells her that she wants more than just tonight, she wants so much more.

“Absolutely.”

#lydiaweek2023 #lydia martin #scott mccall #scydia #lydia x scott #teen wolf #jj moodboards #jj writes

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lookingforlia · 1 year

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Clothes Haikyuu bois would wear pt-2

Characters: Kageyama , Hinata , Tsukishima, Yamaguchi

Kageyama

- his closet just consists of only black items

- he's a hoodie person

- also prefers plain shirts as well

- dispite everything I think he has a really good fashion sense

- owns definitely a bit variety of accessories like bracelets or necklaces

- wouldn't wear anything feminine or colorful

- his style leans more towards the e-boy side .

- whatever clothes he wears is pretty comfortable

- loves oversized clothes

- is into formal wear as well .

- you would see him in a blazer occasionally.

- he would rather die then wear a crop top or feminine clothes.

- the type to own doctor martin's.

Hinata

- he wears rompers a lot

- doesn't really care about fashion or aesthetic but still has one and a very decent one.

- his closet consists of random plieces of clothings that don't usually go well together but , when he puts it together it somehow looks good on him .

- his clothes are always oversized on him .

- likes caps and has an entire collection of them.

- always wears sneakers and socks too.

- Colorful socks with cartoons

- keeps it casual and comfortable

- another one who wears elevated sneakers.

- would not like feminine clothes even if it suits him well.

- he prefers bright colors cause he thinks monotones are gloomy.

Tsukishima

- alright his fashion sense is really good.

- always has headphones around his neck and the headphones matches his color pelette

- he's very lean so whatever he wears looks baggy on him.

- he somehow likes brown and earthy tones a lot .

- lowkey dark academia.

- doesn't like jewelery a lot but would own a few pieces since he got them as a gift from Yamaguchi.

- since he is really tall his clothes alsays look him real good on him.

- even if the clothes aren't pretty , him wearing them definitely makes it prettier.

- usually wears converse but also has a soft spot for loafers.

Yamaguchi

- polo shirts of all colors . He feels really comfortable in them.

- he is a huge fan of jackets or vests

- prefers dark colors more but can't deny that soft colors look really good on him too .

- wears both shorter and longer pants , he thinks all of it suits him well . And he's right tho .

- thrifts for clothes

- ends up wearing vintage sometimes , and always without fail rocks the look .

- he doesn't have a specific taste in clothes or aesthetic

- so he own a little bit of everything , and wears anything depending on his mood on that day.

- I think he doesn't mind wearing crop tops or anything feminine

- he really knows what to pair with what . Like , he always has a clue one what he's doing.

- Wears sandles or sneakers based on him mood.

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rocknrollsalad · 4 months

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🥦 A steddimas fake dating prompted drabble

✌️ based off this post - rather than explain why she isn't dating steve and tell her parents she's a lesbian, robin says steve is dating a guy. they rope eddie into the ruse and have a family dinner with the buckleys.

🧑‍🤝‍🧑 content/trigger warnings: period typical homophobia (implied but the opposite is what happens)

🍽️ word count: 2,405

“You guys can NOT mess this up for me!” Robin hissed, trying to keep her voice quiet as she backed the pair up against Steve’s car.

Steve already had his hands raised in resignation. The white flag waving without a single need. Eddie, on the other hand, didn’t give up so quickly. No matter how many terrified lesbians waved their fingers in his face. This night was going to be an absolute trainwreck and Eddie was here to see the carnage. Even if it meant sacrificing himself in the process.

“Tell me again how you two arrived at this plan,” Eddie said, purposely pouring gasoline on the fire.

“Munson!” Robin’s finger flew to his face, centimeters from his nose. Steve pressed his lips together to not laugh. “I don’t want to hear the word ‘plan’ out of your mouth again. Not ‘scheme’ or ‘idea’ or ‘proposition’!”

Eddie’s eyebrow quirked and he looked at Steve, mouthing “proposition” with a grin. Turning back to Robin he asked, “What about stratagem?”

“NO!” she said, throwing her hands up and walking in a little circle. Muttering to herself “I don’t know why I asked these two. Hiring the actual Three Stooges would have been smarter. Is it too late to get Martin and Lewis? It’d be less of a mess.”

“And probably gayer,” Eddie said.

“Stop winding her up, man,” Steve asked, leaning closer to Eddie.

“This is such a stupid plan. Somehow, with your combined brain power, you thought rather than coming out that it was easier to say Steve was gay? I mean, shout out to you for throwing your friend under a potential bus like that but wow.”

“We’ve been over this, she didn’t throw me under the bus,” Steve hissed, trying to keep that from Robin.

“No, she did. She took the risk that if her parents had any problem, you’d bear the brunt of it and she’d get off scot-free. Despite one of you actually having an interest in the same sex.”

“Both of us,” Steve corrected.

That was a shocking turn. One that hadn’t come up yet in all their round and round on the subject. Eddie blinked a few times and took that in. Good to know. “Alright, so the Hawkins branch of the Future Gays of America finally has enough members to hold meetings.”

“This is serious,” Robin whined.

“No it isn’t!” Eddie laughed. “It’s the opposite. The literal definition of a farce. If you wanted someone who was going to take this seriously, you should have said Byers was his boyfriend.”

“As if he’d agree to this,” Steve said in a way that made Eddie wonder if Jonathan’s name didn’t come up first.

“Okay, look, how about you just not be you for one night? A nice normal night with my parents and I won’t complain about your bullshit for, like, a week,” Robin pleaded. She looked so desperate it was painful to watch.

“A month,” Eddie countered.

“Yeah, okay, or I won’t. I’ll get worse, actually.”

Again, Steve stifled a laugh.

Robin got mean when she was tense. Eddie didn’t need to learn that or whatever "worse" was. “Fine, I’ll take the week.”

“Have you guys gone over your story?” Robin asked, pacing in front of them.

“Yeah, a million times! Eddie’s had a crush on me since we were freshmen and this whole end-of-the-world thing brought us closer.”

“Not my idea, mind you,” Eddie grumbled, hating how close to real life that was. Except for the actual dating part, of course.

“Didn’t ask,” Robin sneered.

Steve jabbed Eddie in the ribs, “We’re already here, we might as well do this.”

“Awww but sugar plum, I just wanted to set the story straight on how I became the luckiest man in Hawkins, Indiana,” Eddie cooed.

“We gotta cancel,” Robin said, deflating.

Steve physically put himself in front of Eddie, arm outstretched, and ready to take a bullet for his fake boyfriend. Leaving Eddie equal parts offended and turned on. Maybe this came with all the perks of a date.

“He’s just getting it out of his system now, Robin. Seriously. He’ll behave when we’re inside. Right?”

“I wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t going to nail the performance,” Eddie said.

“Fine, let's get this over with,” she huffed, heading toward her house.

“The chivalry,” Eddie whispered, doing his best overwhelmed damsel. Even fanning himself as he walked alongside his date.

“Take it easy on Robin, please. It’s a stupid mess we’re in but we’d do the same for you.”

Again, the chivalry was really working on Eddie. Something he didn't want to look too closely at. Yet not as much as knowing Steve was telling the truth. He could have asked either of them to pretend to be his date or help bury a body, they aren’t asking questions. They’re showing up with shovels.

Steve was also right in that Eddie wasn’t going to be a pain in the ass inside, he’d long learned the art of charming parents. It wasn’t easy to get a club together when the leader was rumored to be a satanic cult leader so Eddie knew how to be anything but.

Even after coming out of that insanity alive, even after seeing what demons are out there, and learning to be who he was but harder, Eddie was willing to hide that to help a friend. Robin wore pastels for him. Okay, it was more likely for Max but Eddie wasn’t going to split hairs. Not now, at least.

Before Eddie could make any last snide comments, a woman he could only assume was Mrs. Buckley was in the doorway Robin had left open.

“I just want to let you know how honored I am that you both feel safe enough to come here and be true selves. The hiding must be exhausting but know you’re always welcome here, any time,” She spoke softly, hands clasped at her waist until her speech finished and she pulled Steve in with one arm, Eddie with the other, and hugged them both while whispering thank yous.

When they were released, Eddie took a side step closer to Steve in hopes some of that chivalry was still there and he could fend off any other weirdly validating hugs. Of all the things they were prepared for, Robin’s parents weren’t on the list.

A heads up that they were walking into Woodstock would have been nice. If they wanted Eddie to behave, they shouldn't leave out major information. Eddie glared at Robin, trying his best to communicate that but she was busy settling the table and fussing with the flowers in the center. Or maybe they were weeds, Eddie wasn’t sure, they certainly weren’t answers to any of his questions.

Steve didn’t step in front of Eddie to protect him but did swoop in with manners far more practiced than Eddie’s. Shaking Mr. Buckley’s hand and talking about how pleased he was to be invited for dinner. He introduced Eddie with enough pride and award-winning smiles that Eddie blushed and couldn’t find anything more to say than “thanks”. For what? It was anyone’s guess.

Despite looking like he knew where the Grateful Dead was at this exact moment, Mr. Buckley sounded like a TV dad. With a clap of his hands, he said “I hope you boys like broccoli!”

Eddie turned to Steve, almost asking for confirmation of his feelings about broccoli. As they followed the Buckleys into the dinner room, Steve rubbed a hand between Eddie’s shoulder blades. Leaning close he whispered. “You’ve gone too far the other way, do you need help walking? I’m not sure you can anymore.”

“You didn’t wanna tell me they were hippies?”

Steve swallowed a laugh. “Whoops.”

“Fucking whoops,” Eddie whispered way too loudly.

Robin glared at them and Eddie understood the Medusa myth a little more. Steve, as always, was unbothered. He was some corporate schmoozing machine, everyone loved him. It was disgusting and Eddie couldn’t wait to watch a whole night of it!

“He just realized we forgot to bring something, y’know, to thank you for the meal,” Steve supplied and Eddie and Robin visibly relaxed.

“Steve, it’s fine. You know you don’t have to do that. You’re family here and, Lord knows, Robin didn’t bring anything,” Mrs. Buckley answered.

“Well, then we’ll have to help with dishes,” Steve offered. It worked perfectly, Mrs. Buckley was over the moon while making dismissive sounds. Something between camp and swooning, Steve really had an effect on people. Though not just middle-aged women. Eddie was in love. He also wanted to barf. Not to mention figure out what would get him out of dish duty.

Steve's improvisational skills mixed with survival in a way that had Eddie wanting to get him into a campaign. To see what he could really do. The club would never go for it but that never stopped Eddie before.

They were immediately ushered into the dining room, which felt odd. Eddie hadn’t been to a lot of family dinners but he’d imagined a lot more sitting around and talking first. It was hours before his “dinner time” and he didn’t know people ate this early.

On display in the center of the table was a large casserole dish, with some sort of goop in it. If Eddie had to guess it was something to do with cheese but he couldn’t get a good glimpse because the top was loaded with little broccoli florets. Each stuck in, lined up like crops, making it difficult to see the rest of the dish.

When Eddie was asked if he liked broccoli, he hadn’t been expecting this. A side dish alongside a nice piece of chicken, maybe? An edible forest was unlike anything he’d been served before. Fear rose but there were baskets of bread, so Eddie wouldn’t go hungry. He did wonder if there was a dog around to pass a few trees too.

“This has always been Robin’s favorite,” Mrs. Buckley explained, motioning to the forest resting in Pyrex.

"But clear the room afterward," Mr. Buckley laughed, waving his hand in front of his nose.

Robin was bright red and hiding behind her hands. Eddie couldn’t help but wonder if Wayne would embarrass him like this if the tables were turned. The mental “yes” came quickly and with a flood of stories he could tell to have Eddie hiding behind his hands. It was all followed by a note to never invite these guys over to dinner.

Attention focusing back on the Buckley’s, Eddie found himself watching as Steve pulled a chair out for him to sit. A simple gesture but something no one else had earned. His heart fluttered in a way he definitely needed to be ignored. This was all for show. It was for Robin’s parents so she could come out when she was ready. This was for Robin.

This was for Robin.

“I didn’t know we were going to be treated to Robin’s favorite dish,” Steve said with too much pride. The comment was dangerous and pushing a limit Eddie was told to steer clear of. A push only a best friend could get away with. However, Robin kicked him hard enough under the table that Eddie felt it, so he was glad it was Steve and not him.

“Oh we’ve been making The Enchanted Broccoli Forest for her since she could have solid foods,” Mrs. Buckley supplied.

Eddie couldn’t help but think, at this point, that telling her parents she liked to kiss girls was likely far less mortifying. She set this up and was doing nothing but losing. Meanwhile, Eddie, who had zero stakes in it, was winning. Twenty-one every hand here.

As Mrs. Buckley served each of them a heaping scoop of…forest, Mr. Buckley asked the question they all knew was coming. “So how’d you two meet?”

“One of his friends was having a pick-on-the-nerds sort of day, you know, and I was the winning nerd,” Eddie started talking, not sure where this was going. “I thought the arrival of more jocks meant I was losing my lunch money for sure but nope. Steve was all ‘you leave him alone’ and everything.”

Steve and Robin wore matching looks, each trying to tape Eddie’s mouth shut with their mind. Then bury him in the basement. Eddie couldn’t blame them, either. He did his best to look apologetic and thankfully the story was eaten up better than the casserole.

“So it was love at first sight from there?”

“Daaa-ad!” Robin groaned.

Ever the professional, Steve took over. “No, in fact, it took us three years to do anything about it. Which is kind of depressing but you can’t be too careful.”

“That and our job kind of exploded in that time,” Robin finally joined the conversation like a willing participant.

“True,” Steve said with a knowing nod. “It’s weird how much that got in the way of things.”

“Y’know, I used to live on a commune and no one there got all that hung up on gender,” Mr. Buckley said, looking at his wife with a lifetime of stories known only to them.

While the words upon arrival had been very affirming, that did more for Eddie and a soft smile sprouted. His shoulders relaxed and he felt like he’d got the first full breath into his lungs in hours. This had him more nervous than he’d let on. Not that it mattered now, the comfort was there.

Steve rubbed a gentle hand on Eddie’s thigh, just enough to get his attention. Maybe earning their supper a little too well, Eddie nodded. He was okay. Robin’s parents had moved on to share the story of how they met, something Eddie was certain he should be listening to. How could he though? He’d had a half hour of the Steve Harrington experience and his future was permanently damaged.

No wonder the girls at school were falling over themselves to be with Steve. Eddie was ready to fight these two old hippies just for being good hosts because it was cutting into this fake date. One where Steve paused things to make sure Eddie was okay and comforted him when things got weird. It was so over the top that it worked and was the most cared about Eddie had felt in a long while.

As much as Eddie liked bickering with the guy and purposefully picking fights, he didn’t mind a bit of kindness it seemed. He also wanted to return it but had no idea how so it fluctuated between just doing what Steve had done minutes before and overthrowing a country for the man.

Eddie had harbored a crush since Steve’s freshman year but tonight he fell for the man. Good thing their breakup had already been plotted. There was an end date to this show. Of all the dumb choices Eddie had made in his life, agreeing to this might be in the top ten. Working its way to the top five. But hey, he got a shit ton of broccoli out of the deal.

#hey everyone come see what i wrote now #challenge: steddimas #fake dating au #steddie #i really likethis one gang

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thevagabondexpress · 2 months

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character profile: jessie martin

Jessie was unarguably the roughest of the five of us, she dressed like Han Solo and she had tattoos and she'd carried plasma pistols before she joined us and West made her trade them in for something nonlethal.

Jessie Martin is the Vagabond's engineer. Lifted off Westhaven Station, Jessie is the dictionary definition of the kind of lawlessness the Badlands usually represents: rough, tough, a brawler with as many vices as she has tattoos (which is to say, a lot of both), she doesn't speak much and when she does it's grouchy and concise and with a heavy German accent (ja?). She's also bisexual and very promiscuous about it, enough to drive Adalia and Mari nuts because they're usually the ones left cleaning up the social and emotional ramifications of her various one-night stands.

Jessie doesn't do romance, but her crewmates and friends have long suspected she's not aro so much as she is brokenhearted. Someone wrecked her up somehow along the way and she's too proud to look it in the face and try to heal. Finlay suspects it wasn't a someone, but a something, no doubt tied to her years on the hellscape that is Westhaven Station.

Jessie's vices are paired with a terrible workaholism. When she's not drunk or gambling or in bed or a combination of those, she's holed up like a hermit in the bowels of the Vagabond, often making upgrades if there's nothing to be fixed. She loves the ship—people have even joked that Jessie might be in love with her. She's not, for the record.

Having spent most of her teen years as a Westhaven rebel, life as an ion stormchaser has been . . . disorienting. While it's unarguably among the most intense careers West and Mari would choose, for Jessie it's a de-escalation from fighting day in and day out for life, rights, and supplies against Ixony Rath's overpaid thugs. She's been trying to learn the meaning of relaxation but things still feel too quiet, too slow-paced. She still sleeps lightly, she's still waiting for the cops to come kicking in her door.

Jessie doesn't really have what most people would consider hobbies, unless you count smoke breaks and reading mechanics magazines. She's long wanted to be an artist but until just recently her lifestyle hasn't allowed for it, and she hasn't yet realized it's available to her now.

@faithfromanewperspective @remylong @chaoticpotatodemon @quantummeep @tleeaves @chaosandtwo

#jessie martin #these savage stars #impossible keys #crater of grace #crater of grace character intros

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racingliners · 2 months

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Helmet Watch 2024

*cracks knuckles* I'm back to yell about driver helmets.

Like talking about and rating all the liveries last year, I had a lot of fun doing the same for the drivers helmets, so helmet watch has returned for 2024! (Under a read more as to not clog up everyone's dashes, with the drivers listed in alphabetical order by surname.)

NB - I'm just doing the "core" helmet designs, as if the drivers come out with one-off helmets at the rate they did last year I wouldn't have any free time.

Alex Albon (Williams)

Like the 2024 Williams livery, it's an evolution of last year's design. Though with less sharp angles and using something much more bubble font-esque.

We still have the double As which is neat and I also loooooooove the baby pink and navy blue combo, especially with how much pink is on the helmet. It will really pop against the dark blue livery of the car.

8/10

Fernando Alonso (Aston Martin)

Pretty much a copy and paste from last year's helmet with a couple of minor tweaks. But in saying that I do feel that the minor adjustments make the design look a lot less busy. Like last year the colour scheme is great and it'll look great with the car, and I love the Aston Martin wings by the visor, it's one of my favourite details.

7/10

Valtteri Bottas (Sauber)

Any feelings I had about Valtteri taking forever to drop his 2024 helmet design have been immediately forgiven. I absolutely love this Northern Lights inspired design so so much. Both because of how unique a design it is but also the execution of it is just gorgeous. I love all the inclusion of the North star and all the different constellations, and that the number 77 has also been written like waves from the aurora. I would genuinely buy a mini-helmet of this I love it that much.

10/10

Pierre Gasly (Alpine)

I absolutely LOVE this one. The splashes of white and the subtle gradient shading adds so much dimension to the whole design (proof that if done right monochromatic designs can absolutely work!). I also just love the shade of pale blue as well, it's going to look really nice with both liveries Alpine are running this year.

10/10

Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes)

Misty eyes aside about this being the last core helmet design from Lewis as a Mercedes driver, I do absolutely love this. It's pretty much another copy and paste from last year, minus the rainbow band on the top. I'm glad that Lewis kept the rainbow lines otherwise the contrast between the neon yellow and purple would look quite jarring. But like last year I absolutely love it (apart from the exposed carbon at the top)

9/10

Nico Hulkenberg (Haas)

JMD Helmets really do never miss. Like his helmet from last year I love the paint splatter effect and I really like the choice to change it from orange and purple to acid green. I'm unsure on what to make of the purple and green combo as it def plays into the whole Hulk nickname, but the shades chosen do look good together.

9/10

Charles Leclerc (Ferrari)

Currently kissing Charles on his pretty little head for the addition of the dark metallic red accents. It's so pretty and adds a lot of dimension to his helmet design (while I did like his '23 helmet, it did feel a bit plain). I also really like the pattern on the base of the number 16 going round the helmet, it's been done in just the right font size and colour that again adds some more dimension instead of looking busy.

8/10

Kevin Magnussen (Haas)

This is a complete 180 from his previous helmet designs, and while I have zero idea what the inspiration is I really like it!

The bright splash of turquoise is really nice (I will always love fun colours on helmets) and it complements the parrot design really well. (Again, I don't know why Kevin has put a parrot on his helmet, but it's fun so I'm allowing it). I would never have thought to pair turquoise and marigold together, but somehow it works, and both looks really nice on the off-white base.

8/10

Lando Norris (McLaren)

I genuinely cannot fault this. I love that it's glossy, I love the neon yellow, I love the abstract black detailing. My new favourite helmet design of Lando's

10/10

Esteban Ocon (Alpine)

I am so happy to see Esteban carrying on the red and black colour scheme from last year. While I don't love this design as much as last year's (the big carbon fibre E is a tad off putting) it's still a really solid design that will not only stand out against the Alpine livery, but against the rest of the grid's helmets too.

He also gets a kiss on the head for keeping his helmet glossy instead of matte

8/10

Sergio Perez (Red Bull)

I'm unsure how I feel about Checo's helmet this year. On the one hand it does have a more cohesive colour palette than last year (and I LOVE the traditional Mexican inspired patten on the blue base), on the other it does feel a bit simple. I also wish the Red Bull logo with the white outline had been used instead, the text is a bit hard to read against the blue. But I do enjoy the splashes of yellow that do well to set his helmet apart from Verstappen's

6.5/10

Oscar Piastri (McLaren)

Another evolution of last year's design and I love the version for 2024! For me Oscar's helmet was too busy last year and I feel like it's been streamlined. My favourite part, the colour palette, has remained unchanged and like last year I just love how bright it is. I also really like the pattern on the medium blue base, it adds a really nice dimension to the overall design. However I do miss the silver holographic detailing from last year's helmet, it's a shame it didn't make the cut.

9/10

Daniel Ricciardo (Racing Bulls)

This is a colossal upgrade on last year's helmet (the tan and blue colourway was not it). And while the grey and silver colour scheme is plain, it definitely helps the flame design look a lot better than on last year's helmet and will look really good against the bright blue RB livery.

As with Gasly's helmet I also like the gradient shading, and the chrome (!!!) silver outline going around the flames.

7.5/10

George Russell (Mercedes)

I am so glad George stuck with a blue design instead of the acid green he trialled at some race last year. It's a really gorgeous shade of blue that looks stunning with the Mercedes W15 livery, and I really like the little bits of darker blue shading and the blue visor (again I don't talk about matching visors much but I do appreciate them!!).

He also gets a bonus point for having the black parts painted instead of carbon fibre.

8/10

Carlos Sainz Jr (Ferrari)

Again another copy and paste from last year, but thankfully with less black. It looks so much brighter with just having the black on the top. I like that the design is a even more abstract than his design last year, it definitely makes it look different. And of course the red and yellow colour scheme means that it will look really good with the Ferrari livery

7/10

Logan Sargeant (Williams)

I really, really want to like this design but the American flag just completely takes me out of it. If it wasn't there this helmet would be gorgeous because imho it's not needed as the white and blue with the red accents already does a great job in showcasing Logan's home country colours.

Apart of that, the design is really nice and it will look so stunning with the car, it just has an echo of a Haas US GP livery 😭

5/10

Lance Stroll (Aston Martin)

A moment of silence for the fallen Aston Martin wins, they were very pretty 😔

Lance's helmet design for 2024 is a throwback to the design he ran in his championship winning European F3 season, but refreshed in Aston Martin colours. I did have a somewhat negative reaction upon seeing the exposed carbon but the more I look at it the more I'm on board with it. It definitely helps that it's all over glossy. Also shoutout to Lance's continued commitment to the Aston brand by having the flashes of neon lime to match the car's livery, I will always appreciate a proper commitment to the bit.

7/10

Yuki Tsunoda (Racing Bulls)

The Japanese maple leaves are baaaaaaaack!!!!!

I'm not so sure on the navy base... but then I also don't know what colour base I would switch it out for that would look good and also complement the Racing Bulls livery. But Yuki's helmet was one of my favourites last year so I'm really happy to see a version of it back for 2024.

7/10

Max Verstappen (Red Bull)

ngl I do like this a lot more than his design from last year. I love the cobalt blue (oh how I wish the RBR would be as bright as this) and I especially love the silver chrome accents, if they were a little bit thicker and more prominent I'd like them even more.

I also want to shoutout the red/orange duo-chrome visor, I never talk about them enough but I love it when the colour of the visors complement the rest of the helmet design (in this case the red and yellow in the Red Bull logo)

8/10

Zhou Guanyu (Sauber)

No notes. And dare I say, best helmet on the grid. I just love the pairing of all over black with the hints of the porcelain pattern and silver holographic accents. It's sexy as hell.

10/10

#Formula 1 #Helmet Watch #2024 #Helmet Watch 2024 #Helmet #this took forever to put together bc the drivers took their sweet time in putting their HQ helmet pics out #but spoiler alert the drivers once again out designed their teams

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averagewriter-inthedark · 2 years

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5 Long Years 💔 | Everett Ross Imagine

Takes place during Avengers: Endgame

Marvel Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Everett Ross x female avenger!reader (romantic), Avengers x reader (platonic)

Content Warnings: angst, profanity, fluff at the end, mentions of death & violence | Female reader (she/her) | wc: 3k

Premise: Five years has gone by since Thanos erased half the universe. Among the fallen was CIA agent Everett Ross, friend & ally of King T’Challa as well as longtime partner of Avenger Y/n L/n. Having met after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D and Hydra, Everett and Y/n’s relationship was bound to have conflicts of interest yet they somehow managed to keep it going for nearly four years. Then the call to action against Thanos caused what little of the strands holding them together to shred. And when five years of grief and torture over regret pass, Y/n takes the opportunity to get her love back—even if it means she may never see him again.

Note: I freaking love Martin Freeman & I’m so excited to see him again in the upcoming Black Panther: Wakanda Forever and Secret Invasion. There’s not many works for Everett Ross, so expect to see him a lot on my list of works.

———————————————————

“We can’t keep doing this, Y/n.” The one sentence shatters the very last piece of hope Y/n had. Though Everett looked just as tortured as her, it didn’t bring an ounce of solace.

“You’re giving up?” She spits at him, anger flaring up inside her. “Just like that? After everything we’ve been through the past three years you’re going to throw it away like trash—!”

“What more do you want me to say?” He shouts back aggravated, hand coming up to his forehead. “We knew this could happen—and now it has, so if you want to avoid going to prison I suggest you make your escape now.”

“And you want to make sure I won’t come back,” Her accusation proved true by the look he was giving her. Tears threatened her eyes, but she would not cry. “So, you’re breaking my heart to ensure it. You want this—,” her finger motions between the two of them, “To end on this note, Everett? Seriously? I thought you were better than that.”

All the man does is sigh, turning away from her. It made Y/n scoff, “You can’t even look me in the fucking eyes.” The sound of her moving closer to him echoes across the floorboard, but Everett remains still. Gulping, her eyes bore into the back of his skull as her voice goes low, “Did you even love me, Ev?”

That gets him to turn, and Y/n could see the conflict in his eyes, like he didn’t want to give an answer. “Don’t make me answer that, Y/n.” He heard her make a sound, breath catching in her throat. It pained him to know he was making her feel this way, but he had to. Secretary Ross caught onto them and would be banging on the door any second. Everett needed to get Y/n out by any means possible.

Even if it meant she hated him forever.

“Because you can’t or because you won’t?”

“It doesn't matter why,” he snaps, causing her to flinch. Immediately he wanted to apologize and explain why he was hurting her. But Everett could not—for the sake of her safety. “It’s over, Y/n, and you need to leave. Now. Because I won’t stop them when they come.”

“So that’s it then,” the laugh she gave was void of any humor. Waving hands,Y/n steps away from him, no longer saddened and instead looks at him with anger. “This is all because of Mr. Secretary, isn’t it? Gotta keep your ps and qs so you don’t lose your job. How typical—just when I thought you were not like the rest of those government dogs on a leash.”

“Last I checked, you were once one of those dogs,” he bit back, now glaring at the woman. “We were not so different, you and I, it’s how we fucking met, Y/n. Before you decided to run and be a goddamn criminal.”

There it was. The word that hung over the air and poisoned it like carbon monoxide.

Y/n stood frozen, mouth slightly agape. Even Everett felt the blood drain from him. He fucked up. Neither one couldn’t believe he called her that after two years of assuring Y/n he never thought of her as one. That what she did was the right thing—even if the government thought otherwise. He could already tell what she was thinking. ‘It was always a lie.’

The lone tear finally fell from her eye, shattering Everett’s heart. When he tried to step forward saying, “Y/n—,” a beep from her burner phone went off. Taking her eyes off him, Y/n removed the flip phone and opened it to reveal a message from a number she recognized as Steve’s.

‘Banner called. Something’s happened in New York, Tony is MIA. Need to find Vision & Wanda—will explain on the jet.’ It ended with the address she was to meet them at.

Closing the phone, Y/n took a deep breath before exhaling. “Well,” she whispered, not letting the emotion get to her. It took everything in her to not look at Everett. “I guess this is it then. Have a nice life, Agent Ross.”

But he didn’t have a nice life, because three days later Everett Ross was among the billions of people who vanished from existence the day Thanos came to Earth. Taking Y/n’s heart with him.

Every second of every day was filled with regret and shame. Regret at how things ended that day. If she had known it would be the last time she’d ever seen Everett, Y/n would’ve never said the things she did. Of course he said some messed up things too, but the situation they were in was a difficult one. Both were in the wrong, but now Y/n was having to deal with the consequences.

Five long years later and the feeling of anguish still lingered like it did when she discovered Everett was gone. Dusted. Just like Sam, Wanda, and Bucky. She didn’t know where he vanished from until she managed to get a hold of one of the CIA agents he worked with who hadn’t been dusted. The news had Y/n bolting into a storage closet to hide away as she sobbed into the darkness. “I’m sorry,” the agent said to her, with sadness in his eyes, “One second he was next to me. Then the screaming started and when I turned back all I saw was dust and the files on the floor.”

“I’m sorry, Ev,” she cried, falling against the wall and letting her body slide to the floor. “I’m so sorry.” People passed the door, hearing her sobs but paid no mind. Just continued walking to their destination while also trying to keep it together. They were going through the same and in need of their own storage closet to cry in.

It took a month before Y/n had the courage to go to his apartment—where thankfully, no one had taken claim to it yet. The world was in shambles with people scrambling to seek refuge. Y/n couldn’t blame them. Finally there were homes and shelter available, but there was always the hope something would happen. An opportunity. And Y/n was going to make sure Everett had his home when that happened.

The first few months consisted of sleeping on the couch before migrating to the guest room. Not once did Y/n enter his bedroom—she couldn’t bring herself to go into it even after years passed. The memories were too much. All Y/n could think about were the nights she would sneak in through his window. It would be on average a weekend every couple months to get Secretary Ross off their backs since the old man didn’t trust Everett when he said they’d broken off after Y/n backed up Cap during the Accords drama. If she closed her eyes, Y/n could feel his arms wrap around her as lips grazed her ear, “No trouble I see.” And she would smirk in return, “You really think I would bring trouble to your door, Ev?”

While time passed, Y/n went through a major change not only in appearance but how she viewed life. In the beginning there was alcohol, but drowning away in the substance would only worsen her state. It made her feel sick. Like it was doing a disservice to her friends by loosing herself in such a way. Instead she focused on training day to day and helping Nat whenever the Avenger needed her. It kept her busy. Y/n liked that, having some sense of normalcy despite the her world being far from it. Several tattoos now adorned her body as well as piercings all along her right ear.

The only appearance she ever made in the public eye which hadn’t been Avenger business was attending Tony & Pepper’s wedding. It surprised her to even have an invite, but was grateful nonetheless. There was a forced smile every time someone asked how she was doing and Y/n’s reply was always the same, “Taking it one day at a time.” Once the toast to the happy couple was over, Y/n handed them their gift with hugs and promises to keep in touch before making her leave. The second she was safe in her car Y/n broke down.

Then one sunny day in 2023, there was a knock at the door. With Steve Rogers on the opposite side. “We’ve found something. You got time to talk?” He didn’t even have to explain, Y/n was out the door with Everett’s leather jacket hanging on her arm, “I’ve got all the time in the world, Cap.”

After test runs and developing a plan of action, the time came for the Avengers to attempt the impossible. In the blink of an eye Y/n was back in 2014 on the planet Morag alongside Rhodey and Nebula. It seemed to go smoothly for the three, although they could’ve gone without having to watch Peter Quill dance his way to the Power Stone. “So he’s an idiot?” Rhodey voiced what they were all thinking. The woman sighed, letting her head drop onto the rock in front of her, “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Once the stone was secured, Rhodey instructed the two to set their navigators. “This better have been worth it,” she muttered, scanning the device until it was on the correct course. The helmet encased her head before she was zooming through the Quantum realm for the second time that day.

Landing back on the platform, it didn’t strike the woman that the Nebula standing next to her was not the same one she left with. Although she noticed the dazed look on her face, scanning the facility like it was the first time she saw it, Y/n simply brushed it off. They just did a time heist—all of the Avengers were relishing in the feeling they pulled it off. Thor pulled her into a hug laughing, but the happiness is short lived when they realize they are missing a certain redhead. “Clint, where’s Nat?”

As much as they wanted to take the rest of the day to mourn the loss of their Black Widow, the team had a mission to finish. They gave themselves an hour at the dock before returning inside to put their own gauntlet together. Y/n handed Tony the Power Stone, happy to be rid of it knowing it was going to help bring Everett back. “You okay, pipsqueak?” Tony asked, putting the gem in the compartment with the others.

Placing the cup of water on the table beside her, Y/n nodded with a small smile. “I think I’ll finally be able to rest once we finish this.”

“Me too, kid.” He said with a sigh. “Me too.” It didn’t bother her Tony called her a kid. Until Wanda, Y/n was the youngest of the Avengers and therefore was known as the kid of the group. Even when she was pushing 30 during the Accords. Now she was nearly 40 and at the point where nothing surprised her.

With the gauntlet in hand, the team—minus Nebula—circled Banner as he attempted to put the glove on. “You got this, Bruce!” She shouted from behind Steve. The brightness caused her to look away and the second Banner fell after snapping they all rushed him. “Bruce!” Y/n crouched beside his head while Clint clicked the glove away. “Hey buddy we got ya.”

In the midst of her friend's state, Y/n hadn’t realized her phone tucked in the pocket of her suit was going off. When she looked up to see Clint was speaking into his with tears in her eyes, that’s when it hit her. She backed away from Bruce, instantly retrieving the device and unlocking it to see a missed call. The name on the screen nearly caused her knees to buckle. 1 missed call from ‘Ev’.

“Oh my God,” Y/n whispered, more to herself. Tears poured out of her eyes before she could stop them—filled with crippling relief. They did it. They actually did it. With her thumb hovering over the call button, Y/n was seconds away from hearing his voice, but the horrifying sound of explosions ruined it. The phone fell from her hands as she gasped, glancing around to see dust. The ground shook and before she knew it Y/n was falling.

“Ahhh!!!” Her scream echoed, attempting to catch something to hang onto. She didn’t know where she landed, all Y/n could feel was the pain. “Steve!!” She coughed at the end, “Tony!!” Miraculously, the phone she dropped was right in front of her with an illuminating screen bearing Everetts contact photo.

He was calling her.

Not even caring about the pain in her side or the fact she didn’t know where the hell the others were, Y/n hurriedly answered the phone. The trembling in her hands migrated throughout her body. Y/n did her best to not sob into the receiver, “Ev?”

“Y/n?” Just hearing his voice after five years made her break.

“Oh my God,” she cried, hand going to her chest. The tears spilled down her cheeks, albeit happy ones. “Oh my God, Ev.”

He sounded like he was out of breath. There was commotion in the background indicating the chaos happening all around the world now that billions of people were returning after five years. “W-where are you? I—I—,” Y/n could just picture the look on his face while hearing his tone. It sounded scared, full of worry and anxiety. “I—I don’t know what the hell is happening.”

“Ev,” she tried to keep her voice steady, glancing to find an exit or any source of light. Her own anxiety rose at the thought of being trapped below rubble. “Everett, listen to me okay—I need you to stay calm.” It was comical, her telling him to be calm when she herself couldn’t even reckon that. “You’ve been gone for five years.”

There was silence on his end. She heard his breath catch and then, “What? What are you talking about? Th-that can’t be possible—I was standing next to Dickens and now—,” Ev cuts himself off, as though something caught his attention. “—and now he’s across the room looking at me like I’m a ghost.”

“Ev,” her voice went low, “it’s twenty-twenty-three. Y-you were among the billions on earth and across the universe to disappear when—.” She bit her lip, feeling another wave of tears surface. Fuck how was she supposed to explain everything to him over the phone. “When Thanos wiped away half of the population.”

“Five years?” He whispered, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. The shouts in the background were more frantic, and Y/n heard them fade out indicating Everett was trying to get away. “I—I—,” Y/n jumped at the sound of a loud *bang*, followed by rushing water.

“Shit,” she cursed when she realized the area she was in was starting to flood. Her feet were the first to submerge. “Shit!! BRUCE!! RHODEY!!” For a moment Y/n forgot she was still on the phone with Everett.

“What’s happening?!” He shouted with worry. “Y/n?!” On the other end all that could be heard was her pounding against whatever surface she was trapped in. It sent a flood of emotion through Everett, mostly helplessness at the fact he couldn’t help her.

“Is anyone there!” She screamed, voice cracking at the end. Everett was still screaming into the phone, demanding to know what was wrong but before Y/n could explain the device slipped from her hand. It splashed into the water—now up to her calves, and disappeared into the darkness. “No!” She bent down in an attempt to find it, “Goddammit—Ev!!” With no luck the woman could only let out a cry of defeat. She was alone. Water continued to pour in and fill at a rapid rate. There was no saying whether or not someone would find her.

Meanwhile, on the other end Everett was left frozen when he heard the rush of water before dead silence when the call cut out. “Shit,” he wiped the sweat from his forehead, bringing the phone away to see it had disconnected. The feeling of worry suffocated him.

Against protocol, Everett did the necessary means to track the location of the Y/n’s phone. Each second felt like a lifetime with Everett moving at a fast pace to the elevators. Finally he pinged the last cell tower Y/n was near, putting her at the Avengers Compound. Clutching his fist in victory, Everett dialed anyone and everyone he could, “Get everyone you know—I need EMS and all personnel at Avengers Compound stat.”

When hours passed and the chaos ended, Y/n felt like the weight was still on her shoulders. Yeah, they defeated the 2014 version of Thanos. Yeah, they won. But at what cost? Joining Natasha in the afterlife was none other than Iron Man himself. Tony did the unthinkable—he sacrificed himself.

Strange was right when their only chance was one in fifteen million. The one chance which took another friend.

Y/n didn’t even have the energy to flinch or wipe her tears as a medic tended to her wounds. There was a deep cut to her forehead—most definitely would need stitches, her side was on fire from the broken rip she stained. Blood coated her bottom lip and her left ear when a creature had ripped some of her piercings out. She was thankful none of her tattoos got messed up—even the one behind her right ear.

“Thank you,” she murmured with a hoarse voice when the medic handed her a water bottle. The cold liquid was refreshing and relieving against her throat. Y/n downed it in just a few large gulps.

“I just need to stitch this up,” they waved a finger around the gash to her temple, “then we’ll get you on the next truck out to the hospital.”

Y/n protested with a shake of the head, “No, I don’t need a hospital.” The medic looked at her with disapproval.

“You could possibly have a concussion. And a broken rib—.”

“Oh it’s broken I can tell you that,” the woman winced when she adjusted her position. Yeah, it was broken—or slightly fractured. The amount of times Y/n had broken a rib was not uncommon for the job she had, but the number was starting to become a concern. Being a superhero came with its flaws. “Don’t need x-rays because I sure as hell feel it.”

The medic tsked, “see. But you need X-rays, Miss. L/n.” They began to clean and stitch the wound.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” Y/n insisted, but they weren’t having it. They went to open their mouth, but were cut off by another voice entering the picture.

“I’ll make sure she gets to a hospital. Tonight.”

The whole world around Y/n froze. It was one thing to hear him on the phone after five years, but to know he was standing right next to her, Y/n was glad she was sitting. Otherwise she’d be on the ground.

Slowly, Y/n turned her head—a sob leaving her at the sight of Everett standing in his usual grey suit and silver hair. Not caring the medic was in the middle of stitching her, Y/n leaped from her position into his open arms. Head going to his neck, Y/n tightened her arms around Everett and cried. There was no stopping the tears.

“You’re really here.” Pulling away, Y/n cupped his face in her hands. Her tears mixed with the dried blood, but she didn’t care. Hiccuping, Y/n let her thumb brush over his cheek. “Oh, God, Ev—I can’t believe it.”

Everett’s own eyes shined, and a lone tear fell which she wiped away. He took one of her hands in his, pressing it to his lips. “I’m here, darling. I’m right here.”

The smile she wore was so wide. “You don’t know how happy I am, Ev. It’s been—.”

“I know,” he gently cut her off, bringing her closer to him. “Too damn long.” Y/n leaned into his touch, feeling another wave of emotion as their last conversation replayed in her head. As much as she wanted to forget it it continued to haunt her.

“I’m so sorry about that day,” there was a waver in her tone as she tried to keep it together. “I never meant what I said—I was angry and I regretted it every day. For five long years I wished I could take it back if it meant you never left.”

“I’m sorry too, Y/n,” another tear rolled down his cheek. Like the Avenger, Everett was feeling immense guilt and regret. For the entire time he was dusted Y/n had to live with the memory of their argument and knowing the last thing he called her was a criminal. What had been three days for Everett, was five long years for Y/n. “I should’ve never called you that—I was an asshole and you didn’t deserve my anger being taken out on you. I have never thought of you as—.”

“Ev,” she caressed his face again and touched their foreheads. “I forgive you. We were both angry and scared. Ross was pressuring you and I chose my path—knowing the consequences. The things we said are meaningless now. Jesus Christ, I don’t want to go another day with either of us feeling this way.”

“Me too, baby,” he agreed with a smile. The warmth and love filling Y/n was the best feeling she had in five years. As the two leaned in to finally kiss, a cough interrupted them.

“I’m sorry to break this happy reunion,” the medic sheepishly tapped the Avengers shoulder, causing Y/n to pull away. “But I need to finish stitching you up.” It was then Y/n’s vision caught the thin piece of thread hanging from her temple.

Everett blushed while the woman smiled shyly at the medic, “Sorry.” Sitting back down, Y/n leaned against Everett’s side as the EMT continued their work. It only took a few minutes before they were done and reminded her to go to the hospital. “Alright, boss,” she caved in. “I’ll go. Get it over and done with.”

“I’ll take her, don’t worry,” Everett assured, making Y/n roll her eyes. He gave her a pointed look, taking her hand and guiding her away from the ambulance. A few words between the agent and his colleagues were exchanged before they stopped by Steve to let him know they were heading to the hospital.

The captain nodded, bringing Y/n into a hug and replied, “I’ll meet you there once things settle.” They said their goodbyes, waving to the others as they passed until they finally reached Everetts SUV.

“I can do it myself, Ev,” Y/n groaned when he tried to help her into the passenger seat. It didn’t help that she was grimacing from the pain in her side. When she finally got her ass in the seat, the Avenger let out a huff.

The man glared, bringing the seatbelt around to buckle her in. “You’re hurt and I’m not blind.” His lips pressed to her cheek when she pouted. “Just sit tight, Y/n. Before you know it we’ll get you checked out and back home.” The one word sent a flood of euphoria to her veins.

“Home?” The softness of her voice had Everett pause when he went to shut the door. Gazing into her eyes, Everett could see how happy Y/n was just by the implication. It was enough to make her cry.

That his home was hers and vice versa.

Bringing his palm to her cheek, the woman instinctively leaning into it, Everett kissed Y/n and poured all his love into it. Her nose bumped with his, responding with the same affection. Hell, Y/n could literally feel her heart skip the second their lips touched.

“Home. Where we belong.”

#everett ross x reader #everett ross imagine #everett ross #everett ross x yn #everett k. ross #martin freeman #marvel imagine #marvel #avengers #avengers!reader #avenger imagine #endgame imagine #marvel fanfiction

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msmischief101 · 1 year

Text

♞Pairing: Steo ♞Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken, Liam Dunbar, Lydia Martin ♞Warnings: - ♞Words: 2163 ♞Prompt: Liam is protective over Stiles whenever Theo is around.

ao3

a/n: I lost the original ask 🙃 But hey, anon, this is for you!

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“Okay, can you stop with the—” Stiles gestures in the direction of Lydia’s face, narrowing his eyes slightly “— the judgmental expression? It’s getting on my nerves.” And his poor nerves have certainly seen better days.

Lydia merely huffs out a breath and crosses her arms on the table. Just because she's hiding her eyes behind oversized sunglasses doesn't mean Stiles didn't notice her eyes boring into his soul. It's nothing new. She's been staring at him for the past week as if her judgement would somehow make him change his mind.

Stiles thought they all agreed on giving Theo a chance without the option of allowing him to get into his pants — or his head. Neither will be good for anybody. Theo is a little too talented at getting into his head, mostly because he’s way too accepting of the darkness lurking just underneath his skin. It’s what makes him infuriatingly appealing. It’s what makes Stiles want to give in. However, Theo’s made sure Stiles knows why he’s come back, or rather, who he’s come back for. It’s easy to believe him. Trusting that he has changed his mind after everything that happened, that’s the real issue.

But Stiles isn’t here because he’s part of the pack. Stiles isn’t here because he’s a member of any pack in Beacon Hills. He’s here because Scott needs leverage over Theo, and he isn’t even trying to be subtle about it. Stiles agreed to come here to keep the peace. If they work together, they are capable of making sure the town is protected. As much as he hates Beacon Hills, it’s his home, his father’s home, and the home of people he cares about.

At this point, having Theo on their side has more advantages than disadvantages.

He props his chin on his hand, watching Scott pace back and forth while Theo is standing his ground, arms crossed over his chest. The posture and black v-neck make him look hotter than he’s got any right to be — it makes him look more like an alpha than Scott could ever be. It’s ridiculous.

It’s fucking ridiculous.

“You’re staring,” Lydia informs him.

Stiles all but jumps to his feet. “I need another coffee.” He snatches his empty cup, glancing one more time in Theo’s direction — this time, the chimera is looking back at him. Judging by the smirk, he’s very much not listening to anything Scott is telling him right now. Stiles hates how it gets to him.

Because it shouldn’t.

Huffing out a breath, Stiles slips into the McCall house. Liam and Mason are looking at him then back outside before putting their heads together again. Stiles has no clue what these two are planning — at this point he’s too scared to ask because they've been doing it for weeks — but they’re better company than Lydia recently because they are not trying to make him realise that dating Theo could actually be a good thing. Because it’s not. Not at all. He loves Lydia, he really does, but sometimes he wished she’d shut up about Theo. The fact that she’s a hopeless romantic is fucking obscure. The world is not a fucking Disney movie. She, out of all people, should know that. Love doesn’t magically fix everything and nothing is solved by the power of friendship. People lie, even to those they claim to love — and sometimes an apology doesn’t glue the trust back together that’s been shattered into a thousand pieces.

Life just doesn’t work that way.

He walks into the kitchen, narrowing his eyes slightly at the sight of the almost empty coffee pot. If he’s lucky, he’ll get half a cup out of that. Beautiful. Mason and Liam had one job. Just one.

And yet.

Stiles agreed to come to this stupid meeting, knowing full well he’s just here as bait to lure Theo into agreeing with everything. It’s not going to work. Theo isn’t stupid, and he knows most likely better than anyone else that this is nothing more than a charade. He’ll play along until he gets bored or reaches whatever goal he’s got in mind. The consequences of either outcome are a little scary to think about.

All he asked for was not having to talk to the chimera and a never-ending supply of coffee. Is that too much to ask for?

“I doubt the coffee pot will magically refill itself by glaring at it.”

“Please,” Stiles whispers, closing his eyes, and takes a deep breath, “shut up.” Being with Theo in one room may not be the last thing he needs right now, but it’s certainly pretty close to it. There are too many people in his head, attempting to tell him that he’s been right about Theo’s motives, but now he’s wrong because now there are feelings involved.

Whatever those feelings may be.

Stiles is pretty certain not a single person in this house had a conversation that really mattered with Theo. He spent hours in a car with Theo. He was the one who ran around Eichen House trying to find Lydia with Theo. He was the one who was allowed a glimpse behind the curtain. If anybody here knows how Theo truly ticks, it’s Stiles — and he really doesn’t need anybody to tell him otherwise.

“I’m just saying,” Theo mutters, and to Stiles’ delight, he does sound a bit annoyed, “I came here in hopes to find coffee because it seems like Scott is trying to talk me into a coma.”

That wouldn’t be the first time. Stiles runs a hand over the back of his nose. “You could just agree with him.” That way, they could all go their different ways and Beacon Hills would be more or less protected from whatever madness is army-crawling their way towards them right this very second.

“I will,” Theo agrees, reaching for the coffee pot still in Stiles’ hands. “For the right incentive.”

Stiles opens his eyes as fingertips carefully brush over his skin. It’s easy to forget how soft Theo’s hands can be — so much softer than you’d think from someone who rips other people’s throat out like it’s nothing. They’re also still touching. Because Theo didn’t pull his hands away, and he certainly didn’t take the coffee pot. Stiles doubts this has been his intention in the first place. Biting his bottom lip, he looks up and meets Theo’s eyes.

Fuck.

Theo’s smile causes his eyes to crinkle just a little. They’re bright too. His whole expression is painfully soft, and Stiles hates it. So much. So much more than he can put into words. Because Stiles has carved himself a place in this world, a place for after the McCall pack. He is still close to Lydia, Liam continues to care for him in a way that's not entirely unlike a brother, Kira remains his friend, but overall, Stiles is alone. He's accepted this part of himself, the darkness he cannot quite suppress — not after what happened to Donovan. After the initial shock of being without a pack, Stiles found a place for him in the shadows of Beacon Hills. He's content there. He's okay.

Theo's smile, however, is a promise to belong somewhere exactly the way he is; flawed and dangerous, loyal yet distrustful, ready to do what's necessary. Still, Stiles doesn't trust Theo, not entirely, not the way he should in order to join him or his pack. His words play on repeat. I came for Void Stiles. It doesn’t leave him alone. The words. The thought. The fact that Theo, despite offering him a place, didn’t come back for him. He came back for a version of himself Stiles will never become again. The nogitsune is gone forever.

And it’s going to stay gone.

“Stiles,” Liam pops into the kitchen, eyes narrowing immediately when he spots them standing close together. This isn’t the first time it happened, so Liam’s reaction is as predictable as they come. Within the blink of an eye, the young wolf is right next to him. His glare is fixed on Theo, and the low rumble in his chest has Theo chuckling.

He pulls his hands away, however, and crosses his arms. “What?”

“You know what.”

While Liam is glaring at Theo, and Theo is regarding the other boy with distinct amusement, Stiles decides he should probably busy himself with making coffee. This is a bomb waiting for a fuse, and Stiles is not going to be the one to light it. He will stay far, far away from this mess. The last thing he needs is being in the middle of whatever war these two have going on.

“Leave him alone,” Liam orders in a low voice.

Theo scoffs. To no surprise. Out of everyone here, Theo would be the last person anybody is able to boss around. Maybe it’s pride, or perhaps he’s just insanely stubborn; alpha or no alpha, Theo doesn’t listen to anybody.

Shutting the water off, Stiles studies the coffee pot.

No, that’s not entirely true.

“Stiles?”

Fuck.

“I said you should leave,” Liam interjects, and Stiles wonders if he knew the influence Theo and Stiles have on each other. It wouldn’t come as a surprise. Liam sees more than he lets on, and since Theo isn’t exactly trying to keep whatever is going on between them under wraps, Liam most definitely knows something. Just like Lydia does. At least, Liam isn’t fucking annoying about it.

Theo lets out an audible breath. “I’m pretty sure Stiles can make decisions for himself,” he says in a low voice, sounding actually angry for the first time in a while. “Once he stops hiding behind the coffee pot.”

Huffing, Stiles puts the pot down and turns around. “What?”

Theo holds his gaze, expression now very guarded. “Do you want me to go?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll go if you want me to.” There’s a poignant pause, one that hangs very heavy in the air. “And I’ll stay gone.” For good. The words are poison between them, making it suddenly very hard to breathe or even think.

Despite knowing that this moment would come eventually, Stiles really hoped he’d have a lot more time. But it’s not like he can drag Theo along forever. He will have to give at one point, and if he doesn’t do it now—

“Stiles,” Theo whispers, all the heat gone from his tone, “do you want me to leave?”

Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat. They’re both looking at him, quietly, almost judgemental in Liam’s case. Stiles never bothered to be unreadable, but he certainly doesn’t enjoy being an open book. He really wishes his lack of response could be read any other way than what it means. Pressing his lips together, Stiles runs a finger along the edge of the coffee pot. “You know—”

Theo cuts him off, “I wanna hear you say it.”

Stiles licks his lips. “Don’t—” the words get stuck in his throat. This is going to be a decision that will change his life. It’s a scary thought. Having Liam and Theo stare at him doesn’t make it any fucking easier either. He crosses his arms over his chest and pulls his shoulders up. “Don’t go.” On a second try, the words roll over his tongue so much easier than he expected.

“What?” Liam widens his eyes.

“Okay,” Theo says, lips curling into a small smile. “I’ll stay.”

Liam’s head whips around. For a moment, he’s staring at Theo without saying a single word. Then he takes a step forward, getting right in Theo’s highly amused face. “Break his heart, and I’ll mail yours to the first wendigo I can find as a Christmas present.”

Theo raises his brows and his gaze flicks from Liam to Stiles and back again. Although he doesn’t step back — after all, he’s never been one to back down from a challenge — he does seem to take Liam’s threat seriously enough. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better, Raeken.” After one more not particularly thrilled look shot in Stiles’ direction, Liam turns on his heels and stalks out of the kitchen. It’s not too surprising that Liam isn’t jumping for joy after the shit Theo’s pulled.

Stiles curls his fingers into his sweater, eyeing Theo a little warily. The world has not yet burned down, so perhaps this was the right decision to make. “What happens now?”

“I’d like to get out of here.” Theo offers his hand, smiling a way that makes Stiles’ heart and resolve melt so much faster than he’d like to admit. Everything it took was an ultimatum, everything it took was Theo telling him he would leave if Stiles told him to. But a life without Theo in it just doesn’t seem to be possible.

It’s something Stiles doesn’t even want to imagine.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles grabs Theo’s hand. “Yeah,” he says softly, “let’s get out of here.”

#steo #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #teen wolf #stiles x theo #theo x stiles #*tv:teen wolf #*w:complete #*s:steo

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