This one's for @bus-ghoul, @utterfailure, @au79burger, and @extrastrengthvirgin, who all requested a follow-up to the prompt from earlier in the week with Robin and Nancy at the library. So here's some more of that!
When Robin skids to a stop in front of Nancy’s study carrel, Nancy snaps the index card she’s been scribbling notes on back into its little plastic box and gets to her feet.
“What took you so long?” She starts gathering up the books she’s taking with her, then stops and turns to look at Robin again, more critically this time. “Were they closed?”
Robin can’t believe how pretty Nancy looks with her brow furrowed and her lips bent in a little frown. Robin wants to kiss the vertical line between her eyebrows, and the thought occurs to her in an almost hysterical rush that Nancy might want that, too. Nancy, who talked her up so much that all her friends thought Robin was her date.
“Robin?”
“Uh . . . what?” Robin croaks. Some part of her is still repeating that word to herself—date date date.
“My coffee?” Nancy prompts.
“Oh!” Date! Date! Date! “Right, yes.”
Nancy’s frown only deepens. “Yes . . . they were closed?”
“No,” Robin says. Technically, she realizes, she’s already gone on a date with Nancy, even if she didn’t realize it. She’s been on a date with Nancy Wheeler! She wants to laugh, but tamps it down. “Sorry, it’s been a weird morning. What were we talking about?”
Nancy narrows her eyes at Robin. “Are you OK?”
“Definitely not!” Robin admits cheerfully, earning her another shush from somewhere nearby. “But it’s fine, don’t even worry about it!”
Because the thing is, if she’s already been on a date with Nancy, then that really takes all the pressure off asking her out. She doesn’t have to wonder whether Nancy likes her back, or if she’ll deign to be seen with her in public, because she already knows the answer.
Somehow, her reassurances don’t seem to set Nancy at ease. “Is this about earlier?” Nancy asks warily. “Because I know I shouldn’t have snapped at you, it’s just midterms and everything, and—”
Robin waves a hand. “You don’t have to make excuses. I get it. Things are hectic, and here I am making a mess of everything while you’re just trying to finish up your papers.”
“You don’t—” Nancy begins to protest, and it’s sweet of her, really, to try and defend Robin, even if she was the one casting aspersions a little while ago.
“Oh, no, trust me. I’m definitely good at screwing things up. Like, the other day, this pretty girl asked me out and, like a complete and utter bonehead, I didn’t even realize it was a date, so I spent the entire night talking to someone else when I could have been hanging out with her.”
Nancy has gone very still. She’s looking at Robin with a cautious expression—almost, Robin thinks, hopeful.
“And you wanna know the crazy thing?” she goes on. “I’ve had a crush on this girl for ages. So, like, her asking me out was almost too good to be true, you know what I mean? I guess that’s why I didn’t realize what was happening. Like, never in a million years did I ever expect her to see me that way, so when she did, it just didn’t even occur to me I could be so lucky.”
“I thought it was pretty obvious,” Nancy says primly, a blush rising to her cheeks, “but I guess I could have been clearer.”
Robin laughs. “It’s all right, I think I get it now.”
if ur still taking prompts! that ronance boxer fic got me thinking about nancy experiencing gender euphoria! so gender exploration with maybe a lil something with robin being a supportive girlfriend?
I don't know if this is quite what you were hoping for, anon, but it's what I wound up with!
“I should just return it,” Nancy says, gazing longingly at the mirror.
“No, you shouldn’t,” Robin counters from the bed.
Nancy runs her palms along the tailored sides of her jacket against her waist, so nipped it gives even her slender frame the impression of a hourglass figure. “It was so expensive.”
“Worth it,” Robin insists. “Seriously, Nance, it’s like it was made for you.”
Nancy sighs. “It really does fit well.” She loves the way the skirt hugs her hips, the slippery slide of the lining when she moves.
“It fits incredibly well,” Robin agrees. “And the color is great on you.”
It is a good color, a plum so dark it’s almost black—so far from the lavenders and mauves she favored in college, but purple’s never failed her yet. She bites her lip. “You don’t think it’ll look, I don’t know, frivolous? Over the top?” The bullpen is a sea of greys and beiges these days. “I don’t want to seem like I’m trying to stand out.”
Nancy catches sight of Robin’s grin in the mirror. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’re gonna stand out no matter what you wear.”
Nancy turns to face Robin now. “So you’re saying I should return it.”
Robin rolls her eyes. “That is not what I’m saying at all.”
“Because if it doesn’t matter what I wear, then I might as well not waste half my paycheck on a suit I probably won’t even work up the nerve to wear.”
“What I’m saying,” Robin says pointedly, “is that it makes you look smart and sexy and extremely in-charge. Which is to say, it makes you look like you.”
Nancy feels, of all things, a knot forming in her throat. Because that’s what she thought, too, standing there in the fitting room in her stocking feet. That was why she hadn’t been able to put it back on the rack and leave it behind—because wearing it made her feel something she’s been chasing ever since that internship at the Hawkins Post, maybe even longer than that. She feels powerful in this suit in a way she never really did in all her frilly pink blouses in college, or in the unobtrusive grey blazers she started wearing in college, just to blend in.
“Have I ever mentioned,” Robin says, reaching out to take Nancy’s hands and draw her closer, “the crush I had on Hildy Johnson in His Girl Friday?”
“You think?” Nancy asks demurely, pleased by the comparison.
Robin nods, slow and serious. “We should get you a little hat.”
Nancy rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “I think I’m going to leave matching hats to Rosalind Russell.”
Robin gives an expressive shrug. “If you insist,” she says, and then in the same breath, she reaches up and yanks the price tag off the jacket, pulling it off with a snap of plastic.
“Robin!” Nancy gasps.
She tosses the price tag and the little paper envelope of spare buttons over her shoulder, unrepentant. “Now you have to keep it.”
“But—”
“You deserve it, Nance.” She takes Nancy’s hips this time, maneuvering her so she’s perched sideways on Robin’s lap. “Even if I hated it—which I very much do not, by the way—I’d still tell you to keep it, because it makes you so . . . I don’t even know what to call it. It just looks right on you. It looks like it feels right on you, like something you didn’t even maybe know was missing just fit into place. Am I right?”
Nancy nods, embarrassed to admit this, even to Robin.
Robin kisses her lightly, so gently it makes Nancy blush, just a little. “Then you should keep it.”
“I’ll think about it,” Nancy says, but she knows she’s going to keep it—and not just because Robin likes it. “But if I lose those spare buttons just because you wanted to make a point, there will be consequences.”
Robin smiles and leans in to kiss her again. “I can live with that.”
Since you're writing smut... I have come to make a cowardly anonymous prompt:
Robin & Nancy fill in a kink checklist & learn new things about each other.
So there is a kink checklist in this, but it actually didn't turn out to include much smut. Sometimes that's how the cookie crumbles!
No explicit sex, but probably rated mature all the same. Kink negotiation, but surprisingly not all that in-depth?
“I think . . .” Nancy is choosing her words carefully, but she’s already thinking six steps ahead, judging by her faraway expression. “. . . if we’re really going to do this, we should probably . . . talk things over first.”
“OK,” Robin says easily. She’d expected as much. When Nancy doesn’t go on, she asks, “Like . . . now?”
This surprises a laugh out of Nancy. “I was thinking more like next week? I want to do a little reading first.”
Now it’s Robin’s turn to laugh. “Of course you do.” She hesitates to ask the next question, but she can’t leave it unsaid. “But you’ll at least think about it? You don’t think it’s too . . . weird, or gross, or, I don’t know, anti-feminist or something?”
This time Nancy’s surprise isn’t charmed, but concerned. “Anti—? What?” She shakes her head. “Robin, yes, of course I’ll think about it.” She reaches out to squeeze Robin’s hands in hers, reassuringly tight. “I’m definitely interested. I just . . . want us to take our time, so we don’t jump into something and find out we’re over our heads. Is that OK?”
Robin nods, feeling dumb for asking, but Nancy leans in and kisses her cheek and she can’t feel too bad about anything then.
“Will I at least consider it?” Nancy parrots, laughter in her voice as she trails kisses along Robin’s jaw. “Seriously? This is all I’m going to be thinking about.”
*
True to her word, about a week later, Nancy turns off the TV after dinner and presents her with a typed checklist. It’s ten pages long.
“Is it already time to renew our lease?” Robin jokes, and then her mouth goes dry when her eyes land on a word on the third page that is definitely not in any lease agreement she’s ever signed.
“I was thinking we could each fill this out, and then compare our answers,” Nancy says, and it’s cute how pleased she is with this idea, even if Robin doesn’t quite get it.
“Like a Cosmo quiz?” She suddenly has the mental image of the two of them lying on their stomachs, kicking their feet up in the air and picking mostly As or mostly Cs. “Do you wanna braid each other’s hair and talk about our crushes, too?”
Nancy deflates a little. “Or we can do something else, if you want,” Nancy says, only a little resentfully. “I just thought it would be a good idea for us each to have time to think about what we do and don’t want on our own, so there’s not as much pressure to decide in the moment.”
“That’s . . . a great idea,” Robin says, impressed. Of course it is, because this is Nancy, who does nothing by half measures.
Nancy ducks her head and smiles, preening just a little. “Good.”
Robin stares down at the sheaf of papers in her hands, which has clearly been typed up on Nancy’s clunky old electric typewriter. “Did you type this up yourself?”
Nancy flushes, just a little. “I couldn’t find a checklist that I like, so I made my own.”
Robin laughs, delighted, and sets aside the papers so she can tackle Nancy against the couch cushions. “I love you,” she says, climbing on top of her. She kisses Nancy once and then again, and then a third time for good measure. “This is going to be the sexiest questionnaire I’ve ever filled out. The people at Gallup are going to be so jealous.”
*
As it turns out, it is sort of sexy to fill out Nancy’s checklist. There are definitely plenty of things on the list that Robin marks as a hard no and resolves never to think about again, but there are a lot of things curious about, too.
There’s also a lot of stuff on this list that she’s never heard of before, and she’s not exactly inexperienced. True, she’s not the most adventurous lesbian in the world, but she’s got a lot of friends who do, and they all talk, so if she’s stumped, that means Nancy did some seriously in-depth research to put this list together. Most of the unfamiliar terms she can work out from context, and those she can’t, she takes great pleasure in springing on Nancy at the most unexpected moments.
“Hey, Nance?” she asks from the living room, while Nancy is making coffee one morning, like she’s asking about a crossword clue. “What is ‘dacryphillia’ a love of?”
To her great satisfaction, she hears a spoon clatter to the floor, and Nancy’s muttered curse.
But all teasing aside, Robin is trying to take the checklist seriously. Nancy went to all this trouble to do things right, and Robin wants to honor that commitment. She’s also genuinely curious to find out her ow answers to some of the questions Nancy’s thought up. She takes her time with the questions, concertedly trying to imagine a situation I which she might be turned on by doing some of the things on the list, or having them done to her. She’s always had an active imagination, and, perhps unsurprisingly, it’s not a terrible burden to imagine having sex with Nancy. There are more than a few sex acts she wouldn’t have guessed she was interested in in the slightest, but the moment she imagines Nancy in the place of some anonymous leather-clad dominatrix, she starts to see the appeal. More than once she works herself up just thinking about one of the activities on the list—so much so that when Nancy gets home from work early one afternoon, she’s wryly amused to find Robin masturbating with the checklist lying abandoned on the bed beside her.
“You know you don’t have to try them all out all by yourself,” Nancy says from the doorway to their bedroom.
Thank you, anon! I forgot my own advice from the first one of these and wrote something (kinda) angsty.
No serious warnings for this one--just misunderstandings, and some classic Nancy Wheeler passive aggression.
“Oh, shit!” Robin looks on in horror as the precarious stack of books Nancy had so carefully piled on her study carrel comes toppling down. The noise it makes, Robin is fairly certain, can be heard all across the Boston metropolitan area. Possibly she’s just triggered a sonic boom. Heads whip in their direction, and a great round of sanctimonious shushing rises up like a tidal wave.
“Robin!” Nancy hisses. “I told you not to touch that!”
“Well, they do say a little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” she jokes, trying to cover her chagrin. The look of exasperation on Nancy’s face makes Robin snap her mouth shut and start picking up the fallen books in silence.
Nancy is gathering up heaps of notecards that took the chance to spring free of the plastic box Nancy was storing them in, scattering all the way into the stacks. “Everything’s always a joke with you,” she mutters under her breath.
Robin feels herself flush—kind of impressive, given that she’s already humiliated herself so thoroughly—and dips her head to focus on the books she’s stacking. She’s starting to think coming here was a mistake—not just accompanying Nancy to the library, but coming to visit at all. It’s midterms, after all, and she could have just waited to see Nancy at home over spring break, but her semester ended a few days earlier than Nancy’s, and she’d thought it would be fun to drive back to Hawkins together. Nancy had sounded enthusiastic when Robin pitched the idea of a road trip—at least, Robin had thought she did. But now that Robin’s actually here, it feels like her presence is more of a nuisance than a welcome distraction.
Robin’s been trying to tell herself it’s just exam stress, but it’s getting harder and harder to convince herself that's true. After last night, Robin’s seriously considering just shelling out for a bus ticket back to Hawkins. And now, of course, she’s gone and made things worse.
Once she’s stacked the fallen books back on the desk again—probably not in the right order, but at least they’re not sprawled on the floor—she takes a careful step back and says, “I’m gonna go get a cup of tea from that place we went yesterday. D’you want anything?”
“I’m fine,” Nancy huffs. Then, thinking better of it, “Coffee—”
“—black,” Robin finishes, “I know. Promise you won’t leave before I get back?”
Nancy rolls her eyes, which Robin figures is as much reassurance as she’s going to get.
It doesn’t take her long to make her way out of the library and get in line at the little café around the corner. It’s sort of a relief, actually, to be out in the fresh air, away from the anxious silence of the library and Nancy’s own inexplicable bad mood. If only Robin knew what she’d done wrong—before she caused a massive book avalanche, that is. Nancy’s mood has been sour ever since they left the party last night, and Robin can’t for the life of her figure out why.
She’s trying to decide whether she wants Mystic Mint or Calming Chamomile when someone taps her on the shoulder. She turns to find a fresh-faced girl standing behind her. Robin knows they were introduced at the party last night, but she can’t quite recall the girl's name. Rebecca or Regina or Ramona, something like that.
“Robin, right?” the girl says.
“At your service,” Robin says, and then, for some totally unknown reason, she gives a little dramatic twirl of her hand like a Victorian gentleman doffing his cap. No wonder Nancy's so sick of her.
The girl quirks a bemused, almost pitying smile. “How’s Nancy doing this morning?”
“Annoyed at me, mostly,” Robin says, trying to be sanguine about it. “What can I tell you? I’m just really good at getting on Nancy Wheeler’s nerves. It’s a talent, honestly. I should put it on my resume.”
The girl—Renata? Romilda?—laughs incredulously. “I mean, I’d be pissed, too, if my date spent the whole night talking to someone else.”
Everything around Robin goes silent. All she can hear is the ringing in her ears. “Uh—what?” she croaks.
Roberta-or-Roxanna says is saying something, but Robin isn’t listening. It feels like that single word has replaced the sound of her pulse in her ears—date date date. Is that what last night was? Is that why Nancy was so weird about asking if she wanted to go to the party, assuring Robin over and over that they didn’t have to go if she didn’t want to? Is that why she’d worn her dressy shoes, the black ones that pinch her toes?
Now that she thinks of it, the place they had dinner before-hand was a little nicer than she’d expected it to be. And their table had been kind of secluded in the back, with those fancy candles. Maybe that would explain why Nancy had been so irritated when Robin started toasting her breadstick over the open flame.
She thinks back to how Nancy had introduced her to her friends at the party. She hadn’t said, “This is Robin, my friend from home,” or, “Robin and I went to high school together.” She’d just said, “This is Robin,” and Robin remembers thinking how strange it was that all of Nancy’s friends had glanced at each other like they knew exactly what that meant. She’d thought at the time they must have heard some embarrassing stories about her from their time in Hawkins. Only maybe that hadn’t been it at all.
She realizes, absently, that she’s holding up the line. The barista is staring at her, waiting for her to order, and the other people behind her in line are starting to get impatient, and Roseanna-or-Rowena is looking at her like maybe she’s left the planet.
“I’ve gotta go,” Robin says, to nobody in particular, before peeling out of the line and running out of the café without a second look back.
I was going to write something sad for this, and then I remembered that I could just write smut LOL
Thank you for this, dear @crushcandles! I hope you enjoy it!
Thanks to everyone who's already sent me Stranger Things femslash prompts! I've already got a few more lined up, but please keep them coming!
Explicit sex behind the cut. No serious warnings, although if the thought of someone putting their whole body weight on top of you isn't for you, maybe give this a miss. Also I guess it kind of vaguely counts as temperature play?
Robin wakes to find that the other side of the bed is still empty. When she slides her hand across the sheets, they’re cold under her fingers. If she listens carefully, she can hear the clatter of Nancy’s typing from the living room. So she’s still working, then, at—Robin squints at the luminous display of Nancy’s alarm clock—two-thirteen A.M.
Robin groans into her pillows and reaches blindly for the covers, which seem to have wandered off while she was asleep. The bedroom is surprisingly cold, the air raising goosebumps on the bare backs of Robin’s thighs. She rubs one socked foot against her ankle and whines. It’s not that it would be difficult to get up and pull the sheets off of the floor, it’s just that she’s loathe to give up what little warmth is left between her body and the mattress. Still half-asleep, she can’t stand the thought of getting all the way out of bed to retrieve the sheets, only to climb back in and find they’ve lost their last vestiges of heat. She’d much rather lie here and feel sorry for herself that Nancy’s not here to warm her up—just for a minute or two.
“OK?”
Robin cranes her neck to look over her shoulder, and can just barely make out Nancy standing in the dark doorway of the bedroom. She’s wearing Robin’s stretched-out old IU sweatshirt, which is oversized even on Robin, almost comical on Nancy.
“’S cold,” Robin mumbles, her sleep-muddled complaint coming out petulant.
Robin can practically hear Nancy’s amusement at her expense, but she just hunkers down against the mattress and says, “Someone should come warm me up.”
A moment later, the mattress sinks down beside her, and then Nancy is pressed against her back, so warm she’s almost a brand on Robin’s chilled skin.
“Like this?” Nancy murmurs into Robin’s hair.
“Mm-hmm.” The weight of Nancy’s whole body is delicious, pressing her hips against the mattress.
Nancy dips her head to nuzzle Robin’s neck and says, mock-saccharine, “Did you miss me?”
Robin whines again—pathetic in a different way, this time. “Uh-huh,” she says, and squirms a little for good measure.
Nancy laughs, and then slips one hand between, Robin’s body and the sheets, past her hip, finding the seam of her with unerring precision. “Is this what you want?” she breaths against Robin’s ear, her voice husky, not teasing anymore.
“Yeah,” Robin gasps, jumping under Nancy’s touch.
Nancy doesn’t hesitate after that, working Robin’s clit roughly in the tight space beneath her body. It’s unbelievable how fast Nancy can turn her on. Robin wasn’t even thinking about sex a minute ago, and now she’s aching for it, so eager for Nancy, and, fuck, it’s good, as she rocks her hips into Nancy’s touch, their combined weight bearing her down against the quick, sweet movement of Nancy’s fingers.
“Feeling warmer now?” Nancy asks, and all Robin can do is nod, sweating where Nancy’s breasts are pressed against her back, and slick between her clenched-together thighs. Her breath comes in shuddering gasps, flaring humid across the sheets. She feels wrapped up in Nancy, held, lit from the inside.
“I’ve been thinking about you all night,” Nancy breathes as she leans down to kiss Robin’s neck. “Kept telling myself that when I got to a stopping point, I’d come in here and wake you up so I could fuck you.”
Robin sobs, her cunt hot and tense under Nancy’s touch. Every inch of her skin tingles, and she feels sure if someone were watching, they’d see sparks crackling where she’s rubbing against the sheets.
“I can’t believe how good you looked, all sprawled out on the bed like that, waiting for me,” Nancy continues. “Almost makes me want to leave and come back, just so I can admire you some more.”
Robin fucks her hips back against Nancy’s hand, desperate for even more friction. “Nancy, please.”
“Please what?”
How can Nancy’s fingers move so quickly? Robin’s head is spinning, her hips trembling. “Please, please,” she gasps. She can’t remember what she was supposed to say.
Nancy’s breath is hot against her cheek. She’s hot, she’s so hot, she’s going to die of it, she’s sure. “Did you want to come?”
With a desperate shudder, that’s exactly what Robin does, a hot, slick clench against Nancy’s fingers, hips jerking helplessly. She feels Nancy buck on top of her, almost thrown off Robin’s back by the intensity of the tremor that shakes her.
“Oh, fuck,” Robin gasps, when she can breathe again. Nancy is still touching her, lazily now, with none of the wicked intent of a moment ago, just appreciating how luxuriously wet she is. “Fuck, Nance, you’re so good to me.”
Nancy kisses her hair, breathing in deep the scent of her sweat. “Not too heavy? Want me to get off of you?”
“Not yet,” Robin says, though her eyelids already drooping. “Just a little longer.”
OK, this one's for @bus-ghoul, who said, "Robin and Nancy for whatever reason shop at the mall (that somehow didn’t burn down)." Thanks for this prompt! I love a girl-world shopping trip! I didn't wind up setting this at Starcourt, but there is shopping at the mall, so hopefully that works! I also, once again, made this kinda angsty. Whoops! All Feelings! No serious warnings on this one, though.
“Are you sure you girls don’t want me to drive you?” Nancy’s mom asks fretfully.
“Yes, Mom,” Nancy says, not for the first time. Somehow, Nancy’s impending departure for college has activated her mom’s protective streak way more than any of the nightmarish events of the past few years ever have. Nancy figures her going away to college probably feels real to her mom in a way that psychic children and extra-dimensional sinkholes never did.
“We’ll be fine, Mrs. Wheeler,” Robin pipes up, from where she’s standing by the passenger side door, just waiting to get in. “I promise. It’s not even an hour’s drive.”
Nancy’s mom still looks torn, but finally she sighs and takes a twenty dollar bill from her purse. “Why don't you get yourselves a nice lunch while you’re out shopping.”
Over the roof of the car, Nancy sees Robin’s eyes widen. And sure enough, once they’re finally on the road and Robin has finished fiddling with the radio, she says, “What does your mom think we're going to get for lunch? Caviar and champagne at Hotdog on a Stick?”
Nancy shakes her head, as if it’ll help her shake off her mom’s worry. “She just wants us to have a good time,” she says, feeling defensive now, even though she was irritated at her only a few minutes ago.
“I’m pretty sure it’s scientifically impossible to have a good time shopping for twin XL sheets and shower flip-flops.”
“Do you want me to drop you off at home?” Nancy threatens, without much heat. “Because I can still turn around.”
To their mutual surprise, they do actually have a good time. College Mall is doesn’t have quite the same selection as Starcourt did, but it’s also not backed by nefarious Russians. It shouldn’t be fun, shopping with someone who has objectively terrible taste, and who thinks Nancy has awful taste in turn, but it is.
“Seriously, Wheeler?” Robin asks, when Nancy picks up a perfectly nice set of sheets with pale pink roses on them.
“What? What’s wrong with these?”
Robin laughs. “Nothing, if you’re Laura Ashley!”
“Well," she says indignantly, "which ones would you pick?”
Robin gets a devilish look in her eye and leads Nancy across the bedding section, weaving between the displays. “Just look at these beauties!” she says, doing jazz hands in the direction of a set of sheets in an eye-searing geometric pattern, every angle somehow in startling disharmony with the next. Nancy actually feels a little dizzy looking at the fabric, something she hadn’t previously thought was even possible.
“They’re hideous,” Nancy says.
“I know,” Robin says, with barely-restrained glee. She holds the package up for Nancy to take a closer look, which only makes the design worse. “Isn’t it great?! It’s like someone vomited non-Euclidean geometry all over your bed. Imagine if a—if someone brought you back to their dorm and you start making out only to find that under their comforter. Instant hilarity.”
Nancy blinks at the mental image. “I guess it would be sort of a mood killer,” she admits, though her dating history’s been marred by some pretty lamentable bedroom décor, and that never stopped her.
Robin nods sagely. “Good for weeding out the faint of heart.”
“You should get them,” Nancy says firmly, though she doesn’t think the sheets are any less ugly now than she did a minute ago. But they make Robin laugh, and it's nice to see her toothy, sidelong grin.
Robin shrugs, setting the package of sheets back down on the shelf. “I’ll probably just bring some sheets from home,” she says, her voice carefully casual.
Nancy remembers too late Robin bemoaning the fact that her scholarship to IUB doesn’t cover room and board. It hasn’t escaped her notice that Robin’s got one shopping bag to Nancy’s three.
“D’you want to get some frozen custard?” Nancy asks abruptly. “My mom’s treat.”
“Yes, I absolutely do,” Robin says, with such seriousness that Nancy can’t help but laugh.
Nancy can’t help thinking about it, though, as they make their way to the food court and order their frozen custard, Robin shoving the remainder of the twenty dollars into the tip jar out of sympathy. She can’t help thinking how different their college experiences are going to be—Nancy almost a thousand miles away at Emerson, Robin here in Bloomington, not even an hour away from home. Nancy has a merit scholarship, too, but her parents are paying for everything it doesn’t cover without batting an eye, while Robin’s been talking about getting a part-time job on top of her work-study. Nancy’s not even sure when Robin will find time to take someone back to her dorm to make out.
That hasn’t escaped her notice, either, the little pronoun game Robin plays sometimes—when she talks about dating at all. Nancy’s never asked outright, because she’s afraid to shatter the tenuous friendship that’s developed between them since spring break. But between her vehement insistence that she and Steve are just friends and the way she looked at Susan Sarandon in The Hunger that one time they all tried to do movie night, Nancy’s reasonably certain that the someone Robin would be bringing home would be someone a little like Nancy herself. Probably not just like her. Someone cooler, with edgier taste in music. Someone who wouldn’t pick sheets with dainty little rosebuds on them. Someone with red hair, most likely, if Nancy’s not mistaken. But someone—at least in some particulars—not entirely unlike Nancy.
And Nancy doesn’t really know what to do with the way that knowledge sits inside her, the way she thinks about Robin leaning back on her elbows on her dorm room bed and feels a pang of jealousy for the girl who’ll get to push her down on the worn-soft sheets she brought from home. But it’s a moot point, because even if Robin’s interested in girls, it’s not like she’d attracted to girls like Nancy, and even if she were, in a few weeks they’ll be half a continent apart, and Nancy’s tried the long-distance thing and it didn’t work out great the last time, so what’s the point of even entertaining the possibility?
Even so, as she watches Robin sneak her spoon out to steal a taste of Nancy’s yogurt, she does think about it.
another ronance smut prompt for you if you’d like to write it! no pressure if not!!
but literally just robin with a strap
OK, this one's sort of a cheat, because a while back, @crushcandles sent me an ask about exploring the D/s dynamic in Ronance, and I started working on a PWP that did just that, which happened to involve Robin wearing a strap. Then couldn't quite decide how to finish it, and I kind of lost steam. So when I got this ask, I decided to use it as an opportunity to finish that fic. Two birds with one stone, I guess? Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
Explicit sex behind the cut. Strap-on sex, including a woman's strap-on being referred to as her "cock." A little bit of reflection on gender and biphobia. D/s, orgasm denial or at least control to some extent, overstimulation. I dunno, there's a lot of sex in this one.
By the time Nancy climbs on top of her, Robin is already desperate. The slide of Nancy’s thighs as she sinks down onto Robin’s strap is smooth as silk, and her weight, slight though she is, adds a tantalizing pressure as the base of the toy pushes against her.
Robin lets go of the strap as Nancy settles herself, circling her hips experimentally with a gratified sigh. Before Robin can even roll her hips, Nancy is lifting up again and sliding back down, fucking herself on Robin’s cock.
There was a time, once, when Robin might have hesitated to call it that. She’s known her share of women who don’t think of things that way, who might, even, consider such a turn of phrase a sort of betrayal. She’s known plenty of women, too, who would be insecure if their girlfriend—especially a girlfriend who used to date men, who was maybe a little too eager to see Eyes Wide Shut because she still hasn’t gotten over her adolescent crush on Tom Cruise—liked getting fucked this way, but Robin loves it.
She loves looking up at Nancy above her, at her small, soft breasts bouncing as she rides Robin’s cock. She loves, too, the way she can put her hands on Nancy’s hips and feel her moving, see her muscles flex under her pale skin. The sight of Nancy slipping a slender hand through her dark thatch of pubic hair to touch her clit is one Robin thinks she could watch forever. She loves how she can feel it when Nancy is about to come, her thighs starting to tremble as she bears down on the pleasure pooling in her hips. Nancy’s curls fall wild around her when she throws her head back, and Robin would have to be an idiot to pass on such a luxury, to say nothing of the lean column of her neck, her wet and parting lips. And perhaps most of all, she loves feeling Nancy use her for her own gratification, the way she won’t stop until she’s satisfied and there’s nothing Robin can do but keep giving it to her.
Still shivering from her orgasm, breath hectic in her chest, Nancy leans down to capture Robin’s lips in a kiss. “You feel so good inside me,” she says. “If you fuck me just right, sweetheart, maybe I’ll let you come, too.”
A moan punches out of Robin, her cunt clenching hard between her legs. Nancy licks into Robin’s open mouth, a teasing flick of her tongue that makes Robin’s hips buck. Nancy is so wicked like this, all cruel mischief and selfish self-gratification—dangling what Robin wants right in front of her, always holding it just out of reach.
“Do you want to come tonight?” Nancy murmurs, lips still close enough that Robin can almost taste another kiss.
Robin groans and nods her head.
Nancy draws back enough so that Robin can see her smirk. “Do you think you can do it?” She circles her hips again to remind Robin of the pressure of the strap—close to her clit but not quite near enough to get her off. “Can you fuck me well enough to earn it?”
“Uh-huh,” Robin moans, so desperate for her—to make her happy, to make her come, to take whatever Nancy will give her.
“All right, then,” Nancy says. She leans in close, so that their bodies are almost flush, and presses Robin’s wrists to the mattress, which sends a hot flush of need through Robin from scalp to toes. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The rhythm Nancy sets this time is punishingly fast, fucking herself on Robin’s cock as quick as she can. Robin rises to meet her, snapping her hips hard enough to make Nancy cry out. Robin is drenched in sweat within moments, the muscles in her belly shaking with the effort of keeping up with Nancy’s pace. But, god, the sight of her when Robin fucks her is worth it. Even if Nancy decides she doesn’t deserve to come tonight, it’ll be everything Robin needs just to watch her like this. She’s so serious, chasing her orgasm like she pursues anything she wants—recklessly, relentlessly, without hesitation. And the stunned pleasure that breaks across her face as Robin grinds her cock into her just right is so gratifying. Robin did that to her. Robin can give her what she needs.
Robin wants to get her hands on Nancy, but Nancy’s grip is firm on Robin’s wrists. The moment she tries to lift an arm, Nancy redoubles the pressure against the mattress. “Don’t you want to be good for me?”
The question makes Robin groan, cunt clenching between her braced legs. She does want to be good for Nancy, always, always, but, god, she also wants to come.
“Tell me,” Nancy says, rocking herself rough and shallow to meet Robin’s thrusts. “Tell me what you want.”
Right now, it’s all Robin can do to breathe. Talking—let alone in full sentences—feels like asking too much. But it’s Nancy who’s asking, so she tries to focus. “Wanna fuck you till you can’t stop coming.” She’s not even sure that makes sense, but Nancy moans above her and kisses her encouragingly.
“What else?” she gasps.
Robin can tell from the breathless note in Nancy’s voice that she’s close again. She’s letting the close clench of their bodies help her along, rubbing herself off against Robin’s hips, and it makes Robin weak to feel Nancy using her like that. Robin likes to be of use.
“What else,” Nancy asks sharply, and, fuck, Robin was supposed to be talking.
“Wanna make you come,” she hurries to say, tongue-tied with lust. “Wanna give you what you want, all of it, till you can’t take it anymore. Wanna taste it on you, how good you feel, how well I made you come.”
Nancy comes with a shout, the way she used to be self-conscious about, and Robin loves it, loves her loud and unrestrained, loves the wild tremor that shakes her so hard she dislodges herself from the strap. She keeps rocking, though, pressing her hips against Robin’s leg, her belly until her orgasm finally recedes.
“Oh, fuck,” Nancy says, when she finally catches her breath. She lets up her grip on Robin’s wrists and immediately Robin wraps her arms around Nancy’s waist, holding her close. “That was so good,” she says, catching Robin’s lips for another kiss. “You were so good for me.”
Robin whines against her, and then gasps as Nancy’s thigh catches her dripping cunt.
“Is that what you want?” Nancy asks, pressing harder so that Robin quakes. It’s not going to take much to get her off. If Nancy just stays where she is, Robin’s pretty sure she can get enough friction to tip herself over the edge.
“Nance, please,” she begs. Nancy likes it when she does that.
“Is it?” Too late, Robin hears the mischief in Nancy’s voice. “Because I thought you said you wanted to taste me.”
Nancy slips her thigh from between Robin’s legs and Robin lets her head drop back on the pillow in despair.
“Well?” Nancy asks, impatiently, though she’s smiling down at Robin with that wicked smirk of hers.
“I do,” Robin croaks.
“Do you want it more than you want to come? You can only have one.”
The ultimatum makes Robin’s hips jerk, and she thrashes her head on the pillow for a moment, because it’s either that or come unraveled.
“Which do you want more?” Nancy asks, and as she speaks, she reaches down to take hold of the strap, which is still slick from inside her. She pumps her fist up and down, and this time the angle is just right so the base of the strap rubs against Robin’s clit.
Robin’s toes clench, and her thighs strain to lift her hips into the pressure. She could come like this, she can feel it, Nancy jerking her off with slow, steady pulls to her cock.
“Is all you care about getting off,” Nancy continues, in that deliciously judgmental tone of hers, “or do you want to do what you promised you would do and eat me out?”
Robin groans, pushing her hips up into the sweet pressure of the strap one last time before she says, “I wanna taste you.”
“Good girl,” Nancy says, and lets go of the strap. It bobs, forgotten, as Nancy climbs up Robin’s body to straddle her face.
Robin moans into the dark between Nancy’s thighs. She’s so wet against Robin’s tongue, the taste of her so rich and thick. It doesn’t matter if Robin never gets to come again, she thinks feverishly, not if she gets to do this for Nancy. She’d wait forever, it Nancy asked her to.
“Hands on my thighs,” Nancy says in a warning tone. “I don’t want you trying to touch yourself while I can’t see.”
Robin wouldn’t, but she puts her hands on Nancy’s thighs anyway. She loves the flex of Nancy’s muscles under her fingers, the way it lets her pull her in closer. Nancy rides her face fast, fingers working furiously on her overstimulated clit. Robin’s head spins, her hips rocking in time with Nancy’s, her forgotten cunt throbbing below her bouncing cock.
It doesn’t take long before Nancy’s coming on Robin’s tongue, her thighs shaking against Robin’s ears. Even once she’s come, Nancy keeps rubbing her clit, drawing her pleasure out a little longer. Robin revels in the knowledge that Nancy is as loathe to let this end as she is.
When at last she climbs off Robin’s face, Robin shivers at the sudden chill of the cool air meeting the spit and slick that’s smeared across her face and throat. It makes her feel filthy in the most delicious way, debauched for Nancy’s eyes only. She closes her eyes and breathes in Nancy’s heady scent, licks Nancy’s wetness from her lips. She loves being covered in her, loves the thought of waking up tomorrow and still being able to smell traces of Nancy on her skin.
“I love seeing you this way,” Nancy says from somewhere too far away. “And you love it, too, don’t you?”
Dazed with desire, too exhausted to give a coherent answer, Robin nods.
“Do you want to show me?”
Curious, Robin cracks her eyes open to find Nancy sitting down by her feet, watching her fondly. “Hm?” she manages to ask.
Nancy smiles, and runs a hand up Robin’s leg. Even just that light touch feels exquisite, in the state Robin’s in, makes her tremble with a much more intimate touch might. “Do you want to show me how good I make you feel?”
Of course Robin wants to, she wants to give Nancy everything she can, but she doesn’t really understand what Nancy is asking her to do. The trailing touch of Nancy’s fingers on her calf is so good, she almost wants to cry. When she tries to ask, all that comes out is a whine.
“Will you make yourself come for me, sweetheart?” Nancy asks, more pointedly. “Can you do that?”
Robin blinks, head spinning. “But . . . ?”
Nancy leans down and drops a delicate kiss on the side of Robin’s knee. “I changed my mind,” she says. “You were so good for me, I think you deserve it. But you’re going to have to do it yourself.”
Robin wants to sob. She wants to come, has been desperate for it all night, but she’s so tired now that all she can think about is curling up beside Nancy and falling asleep.
“Can you do that for me?” Nancy asks, almost wheedling.
Robin nods. With stiff fingers, she loosens the harness just enough that the strap slaps against her thigh. When she slips her hand between her legs, she can’t help but moans at how wet she is. Her vulva is sensitive from the pressure of the strap, but the ache is good.
“Legs open,” Nancy insists. “I want to see you.”
Her thighs burn as she draws her legs up and out, exposing the hot core of herself to the open air. She can feel Nancy looking at her, and that’s almost as good as a touch. She imagines it like a wave lapping against her as she rubs her clit.
“You’re so wet for me,” Nancy says admiringly. “I don’t think it’ll take you long to come, at all.”
Robin quickens her pace, wanting that to be true.
“You were so good for me tonight,” Nancy says, and Robin shakes. “Only thinking about what I needed, always putting me first. You fuck me so well, sweetheart, you’re so good to me.”
Robin feels herself flush all over, her legs shaking. “Nancy,” she gasps. “Please.”
“Are you going to come?”
Her hips are shaking, her breath frantic in her chest, but she can’t feel it, the closing of that circle inside her that means she’s close. She whines urgently, tossing her head against the pillow. She pressed harder against her clit, willing her aching arm to move faster, fuck herself better. Nancy wants her to come, she has to give it to her.
“What if I told you to stop?” Nancy asks abruptly.
It takes her a moment to understand what Nancy’s asking, but the moment she does, she takes her hands off herself and lies there trembling.
“You’d stop just like that?” Nancy asks. “Go to bed right now and not touch yourself again until I said you could?”
“Anything,” Robin breathes, not even knowing what she means. “Anything, anything, please, just make me.”
Nancy must take pity on her then, because the next moment, there’s a shifting weight on the mattress, and two fingers slip inside her. She cries out, writhing as Nancy fucks her. She tries to raise her hips to rock back into Nancy’s touch, but at this point it’s all she can do to brace herself for it, let it happen.
Nancy fucks her rough and insistent and Robin can feel herself unraveling, the circle inside her tightening at last. The shaking in her is beyond her control, and when Nancy crooks her fingers inside her, crooning to her, calling Robin her sweet girl and telling her how good she’s been, how of course she deserves this, Robin cries out and comes so hard her calf cramps.
“Sweetheart,” Nancy murmurs as she eases Robin down onto the sweat-damp mattress.
She’s crying, she realizes, in amidst her sobbing breaths. “Love you,” she gasps. It feels essential to say it right now. It’s maybe the only thing she knows in this moment, when her whole body is pushed to its limit. She wraps her trembling arms around Nancy’s neck.
Nancy holds her close until she’s still again, and then a little longer after that.
Robin/Nancy makes the other cry. You decide if it is in an angsty or horny way!!
And we're back! This one is a stone cold bummer, I'm afraid! Enjoy!
Robin knocks on the doorframe of the guest room, and Nancy blinks up at her, taken aback. She genuinely hadn’t heard Robin coming—too wrapped up in her own thoughts, probably. “OK?” Robin asks.
Nancy dips her head. “Yeah, of course.”
“Feel like celebrating?” Robin holds out a can of beer. “Steve found some in the fridge in the garage. It’s probably like a year old at this point, but if expired beer is the thing that kills me after everything else that’s happened, so be it.” She shrugs.
Nancy accepts the can, but she doesn’t open it, just holds it in her hands. It’s the same brand they were drinking the night Barb was killed, she realizes with a pang. It’s only fitting, she thinks, that all of this would end in the same place it began—for her, at least. She traces the blue lines on the can with her thumb, thinking about how much has changed since then. Barb probably wouldn’t even recognize what’s left of Hawkins—or Nancy, for that matter.
“I’m not really much of a beer drinker, myself,” Robin says, sitting down on the bed beside Nancy. “But, I dunno, it seems like we ought to mark the occasion somehow.” Robin pops the tab on her can of beer and holds it out to toast Nancy. “To doing the thing!” she says in a falsely bright voice.
Nancy smiles despite herself, and taps Robin’s beer can with her own. “To doing the thing,” she echoes, with significantly less manufactured cheer.
Still, she can’t make herself open the can and take a drink. It wasn’t the first time she’d ever had a drink, that night at Steve’s house, but it was maybe the first time she’d been drunk, and it has never felt as good as that ever again. Not that she’s had all that many opportunities, but every other time she’s let herself get drunk, it’s turned on her somehow—at Tina’s awful Halloween party, finishing the last of Murray’s vodka with Jonathan the night before he left for California. It always manages to wend itself back to the first time, and she’s got enough memories flooding back around her as it is.
“It doesn’t even feel real,” she says quietly.
Robin nods solemnly. “Yeah, well, we’ve been here before, haven’t we? It’s a real Charlie Brown and Lucy situation, only in this case the football is saving the world I guess?” She mimes snatching away a football from an approaching kick. “Fool me once shame on you, fool me five times, shame on some evil psychic monster man, I guess.” She takes a deep swallow of her beer, and Nancy thinks that possibly this isn’t the first one she’s had. “But at least we know that if the end of the world does start all over again, we’ll probably be able to figure out a way to shut it down. Just, like, on average.”
On average, Nancy thinks, they’ve managed to forestall the end of the world four times, never actually to stop it. The jury’s still out on this round.
“Y’know,” Robin says in a small voice, “it’s all right if you’re not, y’know . . .”
Nancy shakes her head impatiently. “If I’m not what?”
“. . . feeling like celebrating,” Robin says. She hesitates, then adds, “If you’re not OK.”
“I know,” Nancy says, sharper than she means to. “I’m fine.”
Robin finishes her beer with a wince and says, “See, I just don’t think that’s true. And, I mean, it’s nothing personal. I don’t really think that could possibly true for any of us.”
“I’m fine,” Nancy hisses, hating the way Robin’s trying to push this touchy-feely bullshit on her. “Maybe you’re not dealing with things, but I’m handling it.”
Robin laughs. “Brava, Wheeler. Really convincing. A+. Where’d you study? The Lady Doth Protest Too Much School of Dramatic Denials?”
“Can you for once just give it a rest?” Nancy snaps. “For once in your life take a hint? No? Well, then, here, let me spell it out for you: I – don’t – want – to – talk – about – it. Not to you, not to anyone, got it? Is that OK with you? I came up here to enjoy a little peace and quiet and you insist on shoving in where you’re not wanted, just like you always do. Just leave me alone.”
She regrets it the moment she sees the look on Robin’s face—stung, eyes suddenly glossy with unshed tears. But Robin just smiles, this horrible thin twitch of her lips, and says, “Sure thing, Wheeler.”
“Robin, wait—” But Robin’s already out the door, disappearing down the dark hall.
