mardybum

22, two ducks

[honeycoyotes]

Hi!

I'd like to request Arthur Morgan with a female reader. She gets all giggly when she's nervous. So, when a simple kiss becomes a make out session she can't stop giggling. I think he'd find it cute, but also a bit confused by it.

Anyways, thank you for reading my request!

Arthur shushes you for a third time.

"You tryin' to wake up the whole damn camp, woman?" He chuckles exasperatedly, drawing his head back from the fragrant slope of your neck. His eyes are turquoise glass in the light of the dwindling oil lamp as the shadowy marionettes of your silhouettes mingle on the canvas wall.

"Sorry, sorry..." You murmur on a slow, steadying exhale, lower lip curving under your teeth in a valiant struggle against a smile. He grunts and shifts his weight on the too small cot, propping himself on his elbow beside you, a sinewy arm curled over your middle to keep you from tumbling off the side. You briefly close your eyes, summoning your most serious thoughts, finding him studying you with something like fond bewilderment upon opening them.

"You good?"

"I'm good."

The corner of his mustache twitches in a lopsided smirk, his gaze trailing to your cupid's bow. "Good."

He kisses you, tentative at first as if to test your resolve. Then again with warm fervor, a soft rumble of satisfaction in his chest as the welcome press of his tongue parts the seam of your lips. On instinct your legs open in tandem, making room for the thick weight of his thigh to slot between them. You break for air, a throaty sigh on your rum-spiced breath, and Arthur's mouth finds the corner of yours, then the arc of your jaw, then your ear, then--

You erupt with giggles.

"Jesus." He scoffs and lifts his head, no malice to be found in the roll of his eyes. "What is wrong wit'chu?"

"I--" You can barely speak, your whole body shaking with the effort of containing yourself.

"Am I ticklin' you or somethin'?"

Cheeks stinging from smiling so hard, you wipe an errant tear with the back of your hand. "I -- yeah, maybe it's that." You giggle again, thumbing his chin scars to feel the rasp of his beard. "It's 'cause you're all whiskery."

"...Y-y'want me to get up an' shave, or...?"

"No, no, no." You laugh and quickly shake your head, settling back down on the cot in a display of good behavior. "I'll be quiet. I promise."

His eyes narrow at you doubtfully. After a beat, he lowers his head ag--

You cackle.

Arthur growls under his breath, and the lines of his face crease at you with such typical seriousness that you have to turn away, your body wracked with silent, uncontrolled laughter. He cracks a smile.

"You're a strange bird, you know that?" He shakes his head. "Actin' like you ain't never been kissed or somethin'."

"I'm just - happy, Arthur." You reply, the corners of your eyes crinkling not with mirth, but affection. "That such a crime?"

He huffs softly, eyes averting, the tips of his ears a dusty pink. "Naw. Reckon it ain't."

You gentle, your palm coming to rest at the back of his head to pull him close. He resists.

"You gonna act right this time?" He furrows his brow at you, as playful as you've ever seen him. "Or am I gonna have to kick y'out and make you go curl up with Uncle by the chicken coop instead?"

Before you can answer, a pebble hits the outside of the tent, square in the shadow of Arthur's head.

"Will you shut the hell up in there? Some of us is tryin' to sleep."

Arthur shoots a glare at the wall. "Yeah, yeah - God forbid you miss out on the beauty rest, Marston. Ain't got no more mirrors left for you to break."

You hear John curse under his breath as he retreats. Arthur lifts his palm from your mouth and gives you a crooked grin.

"Now...where were we?"

He turns his head, blows out the oil lamp, and your laughter fills the dark.

[weskersl3ftnut]

Ooooo this was so good!!! The dialog is extreamly on point, I could see arthur actually talking like this! Omg and the part with John genuinely made me laugh, love this 😆

[chicksdigbadboys]

A song

Steve Harrington S4 x Reader

Steve hasn’t taken his eyes off me in hours.

Not when Dustin and Eddie argue about Vecna. Not when the lights flicker. Not even when Robin trips over absolutely nothing.

He’s watching me like if he blinks, something will take me.

Finally, he makes his way off the coach, storming towards with me with intention. Grabbing my wrist gently but firmly, pulling me to my bedroom, not bothering to tell anyone else. As we reach my room, he shuts the door behind me. I sit on my multicolour sheets looking at him expectantly.

“We need to talk about something.”

I pause where I’m sitting on the bed, brushing my hair over my shoulder. “That tone never leads to anything fun.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Steve says, jaw tight. He moves closer, kneeling in front of me so we’re eye level. His hands land on my knees, warm and steady, even though I can tell he’s freaking out inside. “If Vecna—” He stops, swallowing hard. “If anything happens, we need a song.”

I blink. “A song.”

“Yeah. Like Max. Music pulls you back. Grounds you.” His thumbs press a little too firmly into my legs. “You don’t go anywhere without me, and you keep headphones on you at all times. Got it?”

Overprotective doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Steve,” I say gently, cupping his cheek. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t know that,” he snaps, then immediately softens. “I just- I can’t lose you, okay?”

My chest tightens, but I smile anyway. The sight of his puppy dog eyes making me swoon, I sigh before caving. “Alright. A song.”

His shoulders relax just a bit. “Good. So… what is it?”

I pretend to think, tapping my chin. Then, casually, “Never, Never Gonna Give Ya Up. Barry White.” I preach proudly.

Steve freezes.

“…What.”

“It's a great song,” I add sweetly.

His face twists like I just told him I enjoy eating cereal with water. “Absolutely not.”

I laugh. “What? It’s romantic.”

“It’s sexy,” he argues. “Do you know how weird it would be if you’re floating in the air, possessed by a murder monster, and suddenly Barry White starts crooning? It is not Vecna appropriate,” he argues.

My face drops as I send him a deadpanned look.

"Vecna appropriate?" I shake my head in disbelief. "Barry White is iconic, if I'm fighting for my life I want to have him whispering in my ear while I do it." I joke.

I slide off the bed before he can stop me.

"Ew." Steve scrunches his eyes up as he shakes the thought from his head, "Why can't you just pick a normal song? Bowie? Madonna? What is wrong with you?" Steve rants, waving his hands about.

I ignore him, crossing the room and setting the record on the player. “Steve.” I grin playfully.

“Don’t you dare- ”

The music starts.

Smooth. Sensual. Deep. Dramatic.

Steve groans. “Oh my god.” Pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes dramatically.

I turn toward him, already swaying, letting the rhythm take over. I sing along softly, dragging the words out, letting my hips move just to mess with him. Rubbing my hands slowly up my sides, trying to ignore the laughter bubbling up at myself.

“Don’t,” he warns, but I see a smile cracking through now.

I step closer, hands moving to slide up his chest, lowering my voice as I sing the one part I know he can’t escape.

“Never, never gonna give ya up…”

“That’s- that’s unfair,” he laughs, hands landing on my waist. “You’re weaponizing Barry White.”

I tilt my head, pretending to seduce him like I’m in some over the top romance movie, singing nonsense between the real words, making it dramatic and ridiculous. He breaks completely, laughter spilling out as he shakes his head.

“If Vecna sees this,” he says, breathless, “he’s gonna leave on his own.”

I grin and pull him into a slow, clumsy dance. “See? It works.”

He sighs, resting his forehead against mine, arms tightening protectively around me. “I still hate the song.”

“But you’ll remember it,” I say quietly.

His smile softens. “Yeah. I will.” He sways with me, just a little. “And if anything tries to take you, I’m dragging you back. Even if it is this creepy song.” Gaining a beaming smile from me.

The record spins. Barry White hums. And for a moment, Steve Harrington lets himself loose. Revelling in the fact we are together. Through it all.

[chicksdigbadboys]

I saw mommy kissin' Santa Claus

Steve Harrington x f!reader

The preteens aren't enjoying Christmas like they used to, burdened by nightmares of faceless monsters and the countless deaths they had witnessed. Being the designated babysitters of the group, you and Steve have a childish plan in mind to cheer them up.

I should have known something was going to go wrong the moment Steve put on the beard.

It wasn’t the cheap cotton fluff or the pillow we’d stuffed under his shirt, or even the jolly red suit that somehow made him look both adorable and extremely confused. No, the real issue was the hat. The thing was enormous - oversized, floppy, and slouching so far over his eyes that he looked like Santa had pregamed with a gallon of eggnog.

“You sure you can see in that thing?” I whisper as we creep down the Wheeler’s basement stairs.

“I can totally see,” he whispers back, which would have been more reassuring if he wasn’t already gripping the banister like it was saving him from a slow death.

This whole plan was my idea. The kids - our kids, really, even if they weren’t ours- had been dragging through December like the holiday joy had been siphoned out of them. Nightmares, memories, too many monsters that didn’t belong anywhere near fourteen-year-olds. They’d stopped talking about Christmas lists, stopped arguing about ornaments, stopped doing that annoying-but-endearing thing where they tried to trap each other under mistletoe.

Steve and I weren’t good at big emotional speeches or deep conversations. We were good at distraction, though. And nothing says distraction like a 6’2” Santa Claus who trips over air.

We reach the bottom step. I squeeze Steve’s hand. He puffs out his chest like he’s about to deliver the State of the Union.

“HO HO H—”

He steps forward, immediately catches his foot on the edge of the carpet, and goes down like a fallen tree.

Even the lamp doesn’t survive. It topples off the table in dramatic slow motion, hits the floor, and goes out with a sad little thunk.

Silence.

The six kids Mike, Lucas, Dustin, Will, Max, and El stare at the scene like they’ve just caught an intruder in their fortress. Which, in their defence, they kind of have.

Dustin is the first to say something.

“…Is Santa dead?”

Steve groans from the floor. “M’fine…”

I rush to help him up, struggling with this heavy weight, especially due to the massive suit he was wearing. “Surprise?” I say weakly, throwing a sheepish smile to the group of unimpressed kids.

Max folds her arms. “This is the surprise? Steve in a homemade Santa suit? It's kind of creepy.”

“I was aiming for magical,” I mutter.

But then Steve rights himself, beard crooked, hat over one eye, pillow belly lopsided and it’s like seeing a newborn deer attempting to stand. When he tries to ho-ho-ho again, he accidentally inhales half the beard.

Dustin snorts. Then Lucas grins. Will tries to hide his smile behind his sleeve. El just quietly giggles. Even Mike, reigning king of Cynicism, cracks a tiny smirk.

“Dude,” Mike says, “you look like you fought the actual Santa in an alley and lost.” Followed by a 'wouldn't be a surprise.'

Steve adjusts his hat. It only falls further over his eyes. “I’m here,” he says in the most uninspiring Santa voice ever attempted, “to bring Christmas cheer.” I swallow a laugh, the love I felt for him swelling at the sight.

He takes one dramatic step forward - and bumps straight into the overturned lamp again.

This time the room erupts.

Not little laughs. Not polite chuckles. No they lose it. Max nearly falls over. Lucas is wheezing. Dustin is laughing so hard he slaps Mike’s arm like that’s going to help. El's face has become the colour of a tomato and Will’s actually crying. Mike is doubled over, hands on his knees, shouting, “OH MY GOD, STEVE STOP MOVING YOU’RE A HAZARD.”

And watching them, really laughing, eyes bright, weight lifted for one moment, I feel something warm bloom in my chest. Not the Christmas kind of warm. The relief kind. The kind that tells you the people you love are still reachable beneath the things that haunt them.

Steve finally manages to get the hat out of his face and looks over at me, cheeks red, eyes wide.

“Was it… good?” he whispers.

I grin and grab his hand, helping him up from the floor. Nodding my head over to the still hysterical group, his face glows with pride before he sends me a grin. Shaking my head, I lead him back up the basement stairs, which took longer than anticipated due to Steve's struggle.

When at the top of the stairs, Steve places his hand on my shoulder gently, inviting me to turn to him.

"Another genius plan from the dream-team." He wiggled his eyebrows, hand falling to my waist. I planted my hands on his chest moving closer with a chuckle.

"Oh, that was all you St Nick, believe me." I joked, before looking down at the Santa suit. My mind toying with an idea. "So how long did we rent this suit for?" I questioned innocently, fiddling with the buttons that barley held it together.

Steve gave me a suggestive face, before leaning in closer.

"Long enough." He claims, half joking when he nips my hip, half not. I laugh on instinct of being tickled.

Looking up at him, beard now pulled down to his chin, the hat still half covering his eyes, my chest warmed. Maybe he could do this for our own kids one day. Leaning forward I captured his lips into a soft, meaningful kiss. Immediately responding back, Steve held me close to him, deepening it.

It would've almost been perfect.

If I hadn't heard the loud gag, gasp and laugh from the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh god. Mom's kissing Santa Claus again." Mike spoke dryly, gaining a laugh from the rest of the group.

[chicksdigbadboys]

Last Christmas

Steve Harrington x Hopper!reader

warnings: angst, angst and more angst don’t hate me

Heat from the fire crackling radiated across the room, warming the bodies and encouraging the room to be peaceful.

However, heat was the last thing that cabin needed.

After the dramatics of the last battle Hawkins endured, everyone decided spending Christmas in a cosy log cabin was just what they needed. Sledging in the snow, drinking hot chocolate by the fire, being together in a circumstance that wasn’t life or death. The tension seemed to follow though.

Everyone knew about the events that took place last Christmas, however they assumed after witnessing the longing looks, prolonged touches, instinctive throwing themselves near eachother at any sign of danger and saving the world together - once again - that they could maybe bare to be around each other for one week.

Evidently, that was a stupid thought.

Last Christmas

Steve’s red jumper blended in with the assortment of decorations well, he seemed in place. Like he belonged in such a domestic setting. The sound of water splashing, as he buried himself in the dishes without a second thought. You admired that, especially due to the fact you didn’t expect it, king Steve tainting all good thoughts you had of him at one point. However, not now. Not at all.

You were in love with Steve Harrington, no doubt about it.

You didn’t know whether it was the fact he’d thrown himself in the midst of danger, several times, in order to protect the kids - or even yourself - or just his charming grin and stupid floppy hair.

Alas, you didn’t do a thing about it. Not because you didn’t want to, god did you want to, but because of the amount of loss you had already. You lost your sister, your mother walked out on you and your father sacrificed himself in the summer. So, you didn’t dare allow yourself to get close to Steve, despite the natural pull you had to him.

That was until everyone had retired to bed. Christmas day almost over, only the quiet hum of some cheesy Christmas song and littered paper crowns surrounded both you and Steve. The only ones awake. It really was a disaster waiting to happen.

Still slightly buzzed from the amount of booze you had throughout the day, you fought an internal battle before coming to a decision.

Approaching the sink where he stood, you joined him, nudging his shoulder. He looked at you, not realising you were still awake, with a soft glance.

“Need a tea-toweler?” You joked, waving a red towel you’d picked up. A chuckle left him.

“Sure, knock yourself out.”

As you dried, you pretended not to notice his lingering gaze and touching of hands as you passed dishes, not to mention the butterflies that escaped in your stomach every time he spoke. That was until he said something you couldn’t ignore.

“Y’know, I think we make a pretty good team. Me and you.” Steve tested, glancing at you quickly before focusing on the soapy water once more.

“Yeah, well we’ve done a lot together, saving the world too many times now, not to mention you’ve been my designated shoulder to cry on.” You joked, knowing he’d supported you through the death of your father, whilst sheepish from the statement. Ignoring the way your cheeks warmed. He sighed, almost seeming frustrated.

“Yeah, but not just that.” He cleared his throat, “I mean always, like now, like in normal life.” Forcing it out, he was nervous. You could see it.

“Yeah. I know, it great.” You spoke dumly, brows furrowing as you felt you were missing something.

Catching you off guard, he shook his head, pulling his hands from the now murky water. Turning to you he grabbed the towel remaining in your hands, drying his hands before slapping it down on the counter. Looking at you intensely, determination in his eyes.

“What I’m trying to say is.” He forced, before hesitating slightly, doubt pooling in those eyes that made your knees tremble. “I think we could make a great team, on the outside. Like together.” He attempted once more, raising his brows at you.

The puzzled look on your face remained, trying to decipher where his point was. Realising this, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Why the hell did I take advice from Dustin and Robin.” He muttered more to himself than you, “Look, I can’t get you out of my head, all I think about is you all day everyday. Your smile, your laugh - goddamn it those eyes. I- I need you, I’m in love with you.” He blurted out, eyes widening slightly with the shock of what he’d just confessed, with a sprinkle of hope.

Your eyes widen and your stomach drops. Shit.

You didn’t know whether it was the booze or the soft golden glow that the kitchen light beamed on to him, which made him look like an angel, but you pushed yourself forward and smashed your lips to his.

It took him a moment to gather himself, before he grabbed your waist like a lifeline, moving his lips in sync with yours. Desperately.

Eventually, you found yourself on the rug in front of the fire, wrapped in each other. Kissing ferociously, barely allowing yourself to breathe. Not hesitating to remove each other’s clothing and showing each other what words couldn’t express.

This Christmas

The sharp atmosphere sliced your skin, along with his eyes, on you constantly. You continued avoiding him, something you were becoming a professional at.

The entire party felt it, awkwardly trying to involve the two of you, which ended up in another argument. They were tired of it.

You got up, the emptiness of your glass feeling prominent, as it had been the only thing you had glared at for the last 45 minutes. Pouring yourself some liquid courage, the eyes followed. Taking a sip, you couldn’t hold your eyes back from wandering over to his body, sitting on the sofa. A sharp sting hitting you. It wasn’t at the sight of him, it was the girl curled up beside him, whispering into his ear.

When you’d discovered he’d brought his girlfriend to the lodge you’d cried for hours, hating yourself and the incapability to pluck up the courage and love him, as he deserved. You knew you couldn’t. The fear of losing him too dire.

Which is why that cold, boxing day morning you did what you did.

Last Boxing day

Staring at his sleeping figure, which felt like for hours, you mentally face palmed. How could you have been so stupid. Forcing yourself to move, you slowly removed yourself from him, flinching when he stirred.

Successfully peeling yourself away, you grabbed a small posted note from the table, along with a pen. A tear running down your face as you scribbled down the four words that tore you apart.

Sticking it on his chest gently, you rushed upstairs to pack your case, lucky it was so early nobody was awake. Before you rushed to the door, not sparing him a second glance before running away, as you always did.

It wasn’t long before he woke up, the memory from last night lingering in his brain, allowing a flame to ignite inside of him. However, this flame was quickly extinguished as he sat up and noticed the note on his chest.

‘I can’t, i’m sorry.’

The words stabbed him like a thousand knifes. He stumbled up quickly, wrapping a blanket around his waist before crashing towards the phone that sat on the wall. He rang. No answer. He rang again. No answer.

[chicksdigbadboys]

Vegas, Baby!

J.Potter x reader

James Potter x F!Reader

“Vegas, Baby!”

An ache was the first thing I was encountered with, a dull throbbing, yanking me out of a peaceful slumber. An overwhelming amount of senses flooded me as I stirred, the smell of sweat, cigarettes and Potter. Potter?

The recognition sent me flying up, which was more difficult than usual due to a muscular arm laying over me - which was now flung somewhere within the pile of tangled limbs and white bedsheets. The throb in my head now more apparent as well as the state of the, previously untouched, hotel room. Empty champagne bottles littered the floor, sending a pang through me with the thought of my bank account, littered clothes, beer bottles and almost every miniature liquor bottle from the mini bar emptied and discarded. Another pang for the bank.

I facepalmed, intensifying my headache before turning at the sound of a muffled groan. A bare back faced me, followed by a mop of dark curls. I whipped back around and screwed my eyes shut, praying silently this was a dream.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I muttered to myself, as if the word was a magical incantation that would allow me to escape from the scene before me. I had slept with James Potter, one of my best friends, and what was worse was the fact it didn’t disgust me as much as it should have.

“Sirius do we really need such profanities at this time in the morning?” A voice broke my thoughts, a husky mumble in the pillows bellow the figure beside me. Frozen in place, my thoughts raced. This will ruin everything, he won’t see me the same, how will everyone react? I need to escape, maybe I can run away before he even realises.

My scheme went south as soon as the mop of head raised, the arm that was previously playing seatbelt coming up as he rubbed his eyes.

“What time is it mate? I feel like I’ve been hit with a buldger, fuck m-“ The groggy voice was cut short when his tired eyes met my wide ones. I blinked as heat rushed to my face, still holding the sheet up to cover my bare chest. Suddenly feeling the need to find as much distance as possible, I shuffled back not considering the lack of room. Plummeting dramatically to the floor with an ‘oof’.

“Ah!”

“Y/n! What the-“

James leans over the bed where I had fallen and grabs me by the forearms, hoisting me up. Forgetting about the sheet I let go revealing my bare chest. The boys eyes go wide and mouth drops open before he drops me suddenly, covering his eyes as if I had burned him. Plonking back on the floor, I groaned before quickly grabbing the sheet once more and standing up.

“Fuck sake Potter.” I spoke to the boy, whose eyes were still covered. I rolled my eyes before spotting my bra and throwing it on - grateful I still had the dignity of underwear covering me, before finding a white button up and throwing it on.

“You’re not Sirius, why am I in your room? Why are you naked? Why am I naked?” The brunette rants, still covering his eyes and now well awake.

“You can open your eyes now.” I spoke dryly, hand on my hips as my eyes lingered on the well built man in front of me. If I didn’t know him, I would’ve been insanely proud of myself for pulling him back to my bed.

He hesitantly removes his hand before meeting my eyes.

“What the fuck happened?”

“You think I have a clue? I’m just handling this a lot more rationally than you are.” I quipped with an eye roll and a shake of my head.

“You don’t think we… we… you know” The boy questions, gesturing to the bed before clearing his throat.

I didn’t get the opportunity to answer before the hotel door flung open, to reveal a disheveled Sirius and Marlene who seemed to have a similar headache to me. Marlene holding the key card to the room we were meant to be sharing.

“Good Morn- Oh shit.” Sirius started before registering the sight before him. Marlene let out a loud gasp beside him.

“Did you guys hook up last night?” She accuses with a laugh “Finally! Remus owes me 10 quid”

Sirius bellows a laugh, taking in our embarrassed faces.

“No, we didn’t!” I claim with wide eyes as I look to James for reassurance.

“Well we don’t know we didn’t…” The boy offers sheepishly, before giving me small grin. I shake my head before huffing and turning to my open suitcase on the floor, suddenly becoming aware how bare I was to the room, avoiding a few bottles as I made my way over. Three loud gasps halted my steps.

As I turned to face the three they all looked as though they had seen a ghost, before the two behind the door laughed, stunned.

“What is it?” I questioned with concern, looking around trying to spot what they could be shock at.

“The- erm the back of my shirt y/n. Look at the back of my shirt.” The Potter boy stuttered out. I furrowed my brows before spotting a mirror in the corner of the room. Padding over cautiously, I turned in front of it before spotting the words written in red lipstick on the back. My stomach dropped.

‘Just Married’

Thank you so much for reading! If you want a part 2 please let me know, this is my first blurb.

This was roughly inspired by the episode in friend where Ross and Rachel get married.

Images at the top were found on Pinterest.