#[ enjoy :) ]

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

✩‧₊˚ bad with words

Steb x reader

Summary: after an exhausting (undefined) meeting, you find a moment of peace in your home, with an old friend.

No spoilers, no dialogue, no use of Y/N. Set at undefined time. sfw as always (although be aware of sultry eye contact)

Warnings: profanity (fuck, said once), kinda short

A/N: I hope the three Steb fans out there enjoy this one ! English IS my first language, but this shit is not proofread. bon appetit

You don’t really register how exhausted you are until you leave the council meeting. 

As the door shuts behind you, your armour seems to turn to lead; giant hands press down on your shoulders, softly whispering to you to lie down and close your eyes. 

You do neither of those things. In fact, you do the opposite: you straighten your posture. You readjust the collar of your shirt, fix your breastplate. You even comb your hand through your hair. 

There is nothing more important than being strong, you tell yourself as you head down towards the stairs. Your appearance contributes to most of that strength. 

However, when you see who is waiting for you at the window downstairs, the facade gets considerably more difficult to uphold. 

He turns to you, his eyes wide and so unbearably blue. He bows his head at the sight of you; people often do, intimidated by your shining armour and the way you hold your chin up.

He does it because, unbeknownst to you, he can’t hold your gaze for more than five seconds. 

You don’t say a word. Your shoulder brushes his as you walk past, and that is enough for him to follow you, his gaze fixed on the spot between your shoulder blades. 

You and Steb have always been good at communicating nonverbally; words are rarely spoken when it’s just the two of you. But that is no bad thing. 

You listen to his steady footsteps, glancing at him when he comes up beside you. The stupid, traitorous part of you longs to reach for his hand. Thankfully, you are still somewhat in control of your own body; you keep your hands balled into fists by your side. He doesn’t notice (he does). 

You make it to your apartment without saying anything brash (although it is hard). Only when the door is locked and he is standing, half of his face lit up by the soft lights shining through the window, does your strength waver. 

You swallow, passing your dry tongue over your lips. Your heart is pounding. He is watching you in that strange way of his; curious, but not cruel. 

Your resolve crumbles all at once. 

You don’t cry; but your shoulders sag, and your knees wobble, and you stumble towards him. He catches you, looping his arms under yours, holding you up despite the weight of the armour you are still wearing. You sag against him, the hard lines of your armour digging into your skin. 

After a moment, he pulls away. You nearly cry then, your fingers digging into his arms. He tilts his head lightly, motioning for you to turn around. You furrow your brow at him. He pries your fingers off, gently guiding you back. He makes the same circling motion with his hands, and you obey this time, turning so your back is to him. 

Slowly, you feel the straps of your armour coming undone. Your breath stutters in your throat and your legs turn to jelly; but you don’t fall, don’t even sway. Even here, you need to be strong. 

As the plate that covered your back comes away, you begin to work at the bands wrapped around your forearms. Steb shifts and appears at your side, working at the straps over your shoulders. You let him, unable to pull away from the soft warmth of his proximity. 

Why are you doing this? You want to ask. You want to scream it until your throat is raw. There is a reason why you wear that armour- the illusion of strength, which he is so easily pulling apart with a simple twitch of his mouth. 

Your breastplate comes off, and you’re left in a soft white undershirt and the plates on your legs. He hesitates for a moment, facing you, and you nod, once, quickly. Your eyes shift away just as he gets down on one knee. His fingers nimbly unlace the remaining armour, leaving your boots untouched. He brushes his knuckles over a bandage wrapped around your calf; you shiver and almost gasp. 

He is painstakingly slow with it, careful not to damage any of your kit. When he’s finally done, he stays there, looking up at you with the prettiest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. 

Fuck it, you think. Your heart is pounding, your lungs are so tight you might pass out, and your legs might just fail you if he keeps looking up at you like that. 

You tug off your gloves, and you are vulnerable before him, dressed in soft white clothes, your armour scattered around you. He has never seen your bare hands before, and they are a sight to behold: soft skin, knuckles reddened, marred with old cracks. Your nails are broken and bitten. 

You take his face in your hands and draw him up. He stands, his own hands automatically finding your waist, then, almost nervously, going to cover yours. His eyes are wide, his skin soft against your touch. You had always wondered how this would feel. 

There are so many things you want to say to him in that moment. You feel bare before him; you may as well be out with it, all the grand feelings battling in your aching chest. He has seen you now, stripped of your weapons and armour, hands bare, eyes half-shut as you swallow all the emotion clogging your throat.  

But you’ve never been one for words, and neither has he. 

You think about kissing him. You picture it, and it amplifies all of your feelings tenfold. You picture his warm breath fanning your face; you imagine his eyes shut, his brow furrowed, that tic in his jaw finally loosened as your fingers brush over it. 

Before you are able to do it, your legs seem to give way, and he catches you, pulling you tight against him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he supports most of your weight, his face falling to the crook of your neck. If you concentrate, you can feel his mouth, not quite but almost kissing the skin there. You tighten your grip on him, as does he. 

You think about all the unsaid things that have passed between you. The looks, the brushes of your gloved hand against his; the absence of horror from his gaze, even as he watched you beat a man to death with your own bloody, bruised knuckles. All the times he has put his hand on your shoulder and squeezed softly, all the times you have brushed against his arm when you hoped he wouldn’t notice (of course he noticed, it’s you). You think about him, and all that he has done for you. It returns the strength to your legs. Enough for you to support yourself, push away from him ever so slightly, press your forehead to his and look directly into his eyes for the first time in a long time. He does not look away, unlike all the other times your gaze has caught his. He falters, and his eyes flitter for a moment, but as your hands come up again to cup his face, he seems to give up against whatever feelings are warring within him. 

All of the things you’ve wanted to say disappear, and you smile very lightly. 

Neither of you have ever been very good with words. 

You kiss him, your eyes shutting almost immediately. He kisses back just as eagerly, pulling you closer, his hand finding the small of your back. His mouth is just as soft as you pictured, and you can feel his fluttering gills against your cheekbones. He is still holding you up, even though you don’t feel you need it anymore. 

When you pull away, your heart is no longer pounding. Your breath is even, synchronised with his. 

And he smiles, and you smile back. 

[just-a-lil-otter]

Screenshot edits of an au I've been thinking of

There might be more soon idk

(Please excuse how bad the wings on Gregor look- I can't draw wings all that well)

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BASED ON THE MOST RECENT CHAPTER OF @fynnlivesinthevoid'S BILLFORD FIC

(Human!Bill design greatly based on @1spooky2me's Bill design cause i haven't thought of one myself )

[everblueocean]

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Moet je zien

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[dinosaurwithablog]

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good morning world   :)    ♥

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presented without comment

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So. Go buy books

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