#I somehow didn’t think to get ice about it until I was in the middle of the grocery store an hour after the episode had ended

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

the 14 year old edgelord in me keeps trying to compose deep poetry about coming to after dissociating. calm down babes. we’re all good here.

[puckinghischier]

Falling

Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary: reader gets hurt and nico is worried about her

notes: y’all i ain’t gonna lie, i went through a bit of a rollercoaster while writing this. i loved it at first, then halfway through started hating it, then somehow started loving it again towards the end. so if it seems a little all over place i’m sorry. also i know very little about how a dislocated shoulder works, so just pretended i didn’t if i got anything wrong. i hope y’all enjoy it!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

request: from my 400 follower celly - “A hears that B got hurt and rushes over in a panic to see if they are okay” where reader maybe gets in an accident or gets hurt in their sport (nothing major). Bonus points if you add “I can braid your hair for you- I mean, only if you want.”

[4.5k]

part 2

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. Nothing’s broken, just a nasty dislocation,” you attempt to calm your mother’s nerves, trying to unlock your apartment door with your good arm while balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder. “They reset it for me and told me to follow up with my primary care on Monday. Gave me some pain meds and sent me on my way.”

“Well, what about until then? What if you need help? What about work? How will you drive?” she rapid fires questions at you.

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry. Since it was a work-related injury, I’ll still get paid. And they’re paying all of the medical bills, so that’s all taken care of,” you make your way into your apartment, shutting the door with your foot behind you. “Everything else I’ll handle as it comes.”

She doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer, tsking into her phone, making you picture her trademark displeased headshake.

“What about Nico? Why don’t you stay with him until you’re back to 100%? I’m sure he’d be willing to help out,” she suggests, her tone switching from worried to suggestive.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed.

“Mom, how many times do I have to tell you, Nico and I are just friends. We work together. Just because you think you saw him look at me a certain way when you were visiting doesn’t mean I have to call him every time something goes wrong,” you tell her, placing your bag on your kitchen table.

Ever since your mom came in a few months ago to visit, she’s been on your case about making a move on Nico, it all starting when she witnessed Nico helping you across the ice during a pre-game practice while trying to get some action shots.

You work as a photographer for the Devils, not realizing that being able to ice skate would have been a nice addition to your resume.

Your college advisor arranged the interview for you right before graduation. You had no previous knowledge of hockey, having come from a football family. You told your advisor this, but she insisted you didn’t have to know anything about a sport to be able to take good pictures of it.

During the interview, you made sure to inform your now boss that you didn’t know how to skate, hoping it wouldn’t be a problem. He assured you that you could take pictures from the stands or the players bench, the chance of you having to step onto the ice slim.

For the first few months of your job, it was smooth sailing. You were mostly taking pictures from the camera holes in the glass or being told to cover locker room and arrival pictures. You worked with one other photographer, a seasoned sports photography veteran named Phil. Phil was a New Jersey native, having grown up skating, so he took over the duties of any major action shots the director wanted from on the ice.

Unfortunately for you, Phil’s wife had convinced him to retire early, losing his help right before the league’s short Christmas break.

Seeing as they had just hired you, and it was the middle of the season, the hunt for a replacement for Phil was put on the backburner, more important team matters taking precedence.

You were forced to take over Phil’s duties, meaning you were now responsible for any on the ice shots. You had found a way to slowly scoot across the perimeter of the rink, staying out of the way while also getting the shots you needed.

Your system was working well until the morning of a gameday, having gotten permission from your boss to bring your mother along to this particular practice, wanting to show her all aspects of your job.

For this particular game, the players were especially focused on practicing their skills and running drills during morning skate. You were doing your typical shuffle while clutching the edge of the waist-high wall when someone came zooming past you, causing your feet to start sliding uncontrollably, not being able to find your footing on the slick ice.

You felt the moment you were about to fall, waiting for the impact of your butt on the cold ice, but it never came. You felt yourself fall into a body covered by plastic pads, gloved hands shooting out to grab your upper arms.

You looked up, seeing Nico smiling down at you in amusement.

“It’s a bit slippery out here, huh?” he jokes, making sure you’re standing steady on your feet before letting go of you.

“Well, we are standing on ice, so….” You trail off, grabbing onto the wooden ledge again, preventing another near fall.

Nico laughs, looking down and shuffling his skates back and forth.

“Well would you look at that? We are on ice ” He flashes a smile, looking back up at you.

You stick your tongue out at him, earning another chuckle from the team’s Captain.

“You know, most people use these great things called ice skates when they try to walk on ice,” he tells you, lifting one skate up for emphasis.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff out a “Oh wow, why didn’t I ever think of that?”

“Just some food for thought,” Nico shrugged as he placed his foot back down on the ice, skating in a little circle, as if to say “See, told you so.”

You let go of the ledge to cross your arms, forgetting that you needed the stability. When you try to shift your weight from one leg to the other, you lose your footing again, this time falling forward into Nico. You let the camera in your hands fall, grabbing onto his biceps to stay upright, thankful for the camera strap around your neck.

His hands shoot out to grab your forearms.

“You know the sad thing is, even with the skates, I’d still be as clumsy, considering I have absolutely no idea how to use them,” you tell him, the two of you still holding on to one another.

Nico shakes his head at you, placing one of your hands on his forearm, moving you from in front of him to beside of him.

He starts slowly skating towards the bench while you shuffle your feet along, putting all of your focus on keeping yourself upright until you reach your destination.

When you finally reach the bench, you step off of the ice and let out a breath of relief.

“Thanks, Cap. Would’ve hated to make a fool of myself out there while my mom’s watching,” you thank him, looking over to where your mom sits, a smile on her face.

Nico follows your gaze and waves to your mom, matching her smile.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we? What if she found out her daughter was a skating fraud?” he teases, leaning in to whisper the last two words.

“It’s her fault for never taking me to the rink my town would throw up once a year at Christmas. Who knows, maybe I would’ve been a skating prodigy if given the chance,” you shrug.

A mischievous smile makes its way onto his face. “I think we should put that theory to the test,” he tells you, causing your eyes to latch onto his.

“Come again?” You raise your eyebrows and tilt your chin down.

“I mean, I can’t have some photographer out on my ice during practices that can’t even stand up,” he keeps his tone light, making sure you know he’s just teasing, “So, I’m going to teach you how to skate, and see if you really would have been a skating prodigy.”

He skates off, winking before resuming his practice.

You don’t have a chance to speak to him again until after the game, when you get at text from an unknown number reading “Rink, tomorrow, 2pm. I’ll bring skates, just bring your prodigy skills.”

After that, you meet with Nico twice a week for skating lessons.

The two of you quickly form a friendship, Nico bringing you coffee on gamedays and you slipping him snacks on the bench during games. You even started inviting him over for dinner after your lessons, insisting the least you can do is feed him to repay him for preventing you from making a fool of yourself on the ice.

Today, however, you did make a fool of yourself on the ice.

You were standing behind the net, telling the players to skate towards you so you could get some shots for the team’s Instagram account by request of the social media manager.

Once you were pleased with the amount of shots you had gotten, you left your spot from behind the net, skating slowly towards the benches, still a little wobbly on your skates.

You were looking down at your camera, thinking of how you’ll have to get Nico out here after the game to get some shots, knowing he’s currently doing pre-game interviews in the locker room.

You weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the pucks littering the ice in front of you, skating right into one and losing your balance, holding your camera up with one arm while trying to catch yourself with the other.

You felt the way your shoulder shifted, crying out in pain as players turned and started rushing towards you on the ice.

The team doctor came out and told you he was pretty sure your shoulder was simply dislocated, but sent you to the hospital to make sure nothing’s broken.

The ER doctor confirmed your diagnosis, putting your shoulder back into place before pumping you full of pain meds and placing your arm into a sling.

Which leads you to where you are now, back at your apartment, explaining to your mother why Nico can’t be at your beck and call.

“Honey, when are you going to realize that boy is in love with you? I’m telling you, the way I saw him look at you that day I came to visit, the skating lessons and dinners,” she starts, giving you her typical speech when you tell her Nico is just a friend.

“Mom, it doesn’t matter what you think you saw, we’re seriously just friends. And he’s busy, his schedule is too hectic to spend his time babysitting me,” you interrupt her, not wanting to hear her Nico speech for the thousandth time, regretting ever telling her about the skating lessons.

She sighs into the phone.

“I’m just trying to help you, you know…” you hear your mother start, but you tune the rest of her words out, focusing on the three loud knocks on your front door.

Your head turns to your door, the unexpected noise causing you to jump, the sudden motion tipping your bag over, the contents spilling all of your kitchen floor.

“Honey, are you alright? What was that?” your mom halts her one-sided conversation, worry in her tone.

“Shit!” you exclaim, watching the container of memory cards fly open, the small squares sliding across the linoleum floor.

You forget about the sling on your arm, crouching down and trying to reach for the cards with your bad arm, a searing pain shooting through your shoulder at the movement.

Letting out a loud yelp, you bring your arm back to its resting positing in the sling.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Did you hurt yourself?” you barely hear your mother’s voice through the phone speaker, not being able to think about anything other than the throbbing pain in your shoulder.

You hear three more pounds on your front door, this time a voice following the knocks.

“Y/N! Open up!”

You groan, trying to stand up, too many people trying to get your attention at the moment.

“Honey, talk to me. Is someone in there with you? I heard another voice,” your mother asks you as you stand, making your way over towards your front door.

“Someone’s knocking on the door,” you grit through your teeth, trying to think about anything but the pain in your shoulder. “I dropped my bag and tried to pick something up with my bad arm. I’m fine. Just hurts,” you tell her, opening your door to see a frantic Nico standing there.

His wide eyes scan your body, stopping once they see the sling on your arm.

You notice his wet hair and lack of socks on his tennis shoe covered feet.

“Are you okay? They told me you had to be taken to the hospital before the game started, but no one knew what really happened,” he rushed out, looking up at your face.

“Hey, Mom, gotta go, Nico’s at my door,” you tell her, a little stunned that the object of your conversation just appeared, hanging up the phone before she could make any comments about it.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” you ask him, pointing towards his feet, an amused smile on your face. The shock of seeing him at your door making you completely forget about the pain in your shoulder.

Nico looks down at his own feet, looking back up at you with red cheeks.

“Oh, uh, I couldn’t find my socks after the game and i couldn’t get you to answer your phone, so I rushed over to the hospital to see if you were still there, and they told me you left about an hour ago, so I hopped in my car and came over here to make sure you were okay,” he tells you, not meeting your eye.

You’re shocked at his confession, not expecting him to be so concerned about your impromptu trip to the hospital.

“Well, I’m here and still standing,” you awkwardly stand in your doorway, not knowing what else to say, thinking about how if you weren’t arguing with your mom over Nico on the phone, you might have gotten his calls.

“Yeah, I see that now,” he shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

The two of you stand there, not really knowing what to say to one another.

“Do you want to come in?” you ask him, moving out of the doorway to let him step into your apartment.

Nico shakes his head yes and walks past you, looking towards the mess on the floor in your kitchen.

“What happened here? Is this the crash I heard?” he asks you.

“Yeah, the bag fell and spilled everything. When I went to pick it up, I forgot and used my bad shoulder,” you gesture to your slinged arm.

Nico shakes his head at you, crouching down to pick up the camera disks all over the floor.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-“

“Well you’re sure as hell not trying to pick them up again,” Nico interrupts you, standing and placing the now full box of disks on your table.

You roll your eyes at him, walking over towards your fridge.

“So, what exactly happened? Jack told me you hurt your shoulder?” he follows you over to your fridge, watching you scan its contents, or lack thereof.

“Well, I was looking at my camera and skated right into a bunch of pucks on the floor, then was too focused on saving the equipment instead of remembering how to fall properly,” you told him, remembering his words during your first skate lesson, telling you not to catch yourself if you fall on the ice.

“See, I told you to just let yourself fall. Never try to catch yourself,” he echoes his words in your thoughts.

“Yeah, well, it’s a lot easier said than done,” you deadpan, shutting your fridge door and looking at Nico.

Your stomach growls at that exact moment, making you groan at your lack of food in your fridge, not having eaten since before your accident.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” Nico asks you, looking down at your growling stomach.

“Uhhh, breakfast?” you recall.

Nico’s eyes widen. “It’s almost midnight. Did they really not feed you at the hospital?” he asks you.

“Considering they were busy doing x-rays and scans to make sure nothing was broken or torn, no,” you walk over to your cabinets, finding them also bare.

“Alright, go sit down and I’ll order us something to eat,” Nico shoos you out of the kitchen, walking over and opening the drawer where you keep all of your takeout menus.

You wonder how he knows where your menus are, forgetting for a moment that he’s over at your apartment at least twice a week after your skating lessons. Sometimes more, the occasional movie night making its way into your weekly routine.

“What do you want? Sushi? Chinese? Burgers?” he questions, flipping through your menus.

For some reason, your brain chooses this moment to register how much you enjoy the sight of Nico in your kitchen, looking through your takeout menus and offering to order you dinner.

You think back to all the times he’s helped you make dinner, laughter filling every moment of your time together. You think about how he always wear his pjs when he comes over for a movie night, bringing a different chocolate candy to put in the popcorn each time. You think about how he somehow learned your coffee order without you ever telling him, bringing you a coffee every morning, even at away games.

You think about your mother’s words, and how you didn’t even have to ask Nico to come over tonight, or to give you skating lessons. You think about how you never have to ask Nico to do anything he does for you – which is a lot, you’re realizing – he just does it. He does it because he wants to, because he’s kind and caring and wants to spend time with you.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N, what do you want for dinner?” Nico snaps you out of your sudden revelation.

“Sorry, spaced out for a second. Must be the pain meds,” you tell him, knowing that your mind isn’t the least bit impaired right now.

“Okay, go sit down, we need to get some food in you then,” he fishes his phone out of his pocket, mumbling out “Can’t believe they pumped you full of meds on an empty stomach.”

You make your way to your couch, sitting down and taking your shoes off, making yourself as comfortable as you can.

You remove a stray piece of hair that fell onto your face, knowing how awful it must look.

When you fell on the ice, the claw clip that was holding your hair in its up-do broke, causing it to fan out over the cold, wet ice. Once you got to the hospital, you were put in and out of so many different machines, you can only imagine the tangled, matted mess it is.

You get up and go to your bathroom, finding your brush and trying to comb it out. The task proving to be difficult with only one hand. The tangles keep pulling your head back and hurting your tender scalp, but you keep trying, whimpering each time the brush gets stuck on a particularly bad tangle.

You don’t even hear Nico approach your bathroom, just a sigh and “I told you to sit down,” before the brush is taken from your hand and you see Nico’s reflection behind you in the mirror.

Without another word, he proceeds to brush your hair for you, ensuring every tangle is gone before setting the brush on your sink.

The two of you make eye contact in the mirror, neither one wanting to break the silence during the surprisingly intimate moment.

You clear your throat, looking down after the silence got too intense, causing Nico to avert his eyes as well.

“I really wish i could wash my hair, but i know that’s a no go tonight,” you chuckle, wishing your bathroom was a little bit bigger in this moment.

“I can braid your hair for you,” Nico starts, staring at you in the mirror, watching your eyes snap up to meet his. “I mean, only if you want,” he stutters out.

“Really?” you ask him, a little stunned.

“Yeah. I used to help Nina with hers all the time when I was younger,” Nico mentions his older sister, grabbing your hair lightly and starting to section it off. “Anytime she would have a sleep over I would always weasel my way into the party. So one day, she made me sit in a braiding chain and learn how to braid her hair.”

You let out a giggle, picturing a smaller version of Nico sitting at the end of a line of girls, braiding their long hair.

“Then, Nina claimed I got so good at it she always wanted me to braid her hair before her volleyball matches, then her friends all started wanting me to do theirs, too,” he continues talking, nearly lulling you to sleep with the soft movements of his hands as you listen to him speak.

“I think that’s adorable,” you quietly speak, closing your eyes.

“What can I say? When a pretty girl needs her hair braided, who am I to keep my skills to myself?” he jokes, making you wonder if he meant you or his sister’s friends.

“I’m sure it’s any little boy’s dream to have an entire volleyball team at his mercy, all those pretty volleyball players begging him to play with their hair,” you tease him, handing him the hair tie that you always keep on your wrist.

“I don’t know, I think playing with a pretty photographer’s hair is better, if you ask me,” he ties the hair tie around the bottom of the braid, reaching up to pull the braid loose, making sure it’s not too tight.

You keep your eyes closed, knowing he can likely see the redness on your cheeks at his words.

“Alright, eyes open. Need to make sure you like my work,” he places his hands on your biceps, making sure to keep his touch feather light on your bad arm.

He turns you around so you’re facing him, holding a handheld mirror that was laying on your sink in front of your face, allowing you to see the reflection of the braid.

You’re shocked to see the flawless Dutch braid that cascades down your back.

“Nico, you’re like…really good at this,” you reach your good hand to the back of your head, running it down the braid.

“Told you, I had a lot of practice,” he shrugs, setting the mirror down.

You yawn, the relaxing nature of having your hair braided allowing you to realize how tired you are from the day’s events.

“Nuh-uh, gotta keep you awake until we get some food in you,” he tuts, taking his hands and patting your cheeks.

You groan, leaning into his palms that stay resting on your face.

“C’mon, let’s get you changed and on the couch,” he motions for you to leave the bathroom.

You walk to your room, Nico helping you carefully remove your sling before leaving and giving you some privacy.

You change into your pajamas, somehow managing to get your arm into an oversized Devils shirt you found at the bottom of your drawer.

Nico is standing outside of your door when you open it, helping you back into your sling.

He stands in front of you, staring at you with a look that you can’t decipher.

“Is…everything okay?” you question him, noticing his stare after adjusting your sling.

His eyes snap up to you, seemingly unaware that he was even staring at you in the first place.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. I just- is that my shirt?” he asks you, pointing to your pj shirt.

You look down at the oversized shirt, trying to think of where you got it.

It had just showed up in your laundry basket one day, assuming it was one they gave you when you got your job, but Nico’s question makes you think harder.

You realize, suddenly, you do remember where you got it.

During one of your post lesson dinners, Nico had spilled his drink all over his shirt. You offered to wash it for him after he changed to a shirt in his duffel.

You meant to take it back to him after you washed it, but forgot about it entirely, packing it away in your pajama drawer.

“Oh, crap, it is. Do you want it back, I can go change?” you ask him, worried he’s upset that you forgot to give it back.

“No…no it’s fine. Keep it. I have plenty,” he shakes his head, glancing down at it once more.

The two of you make your way to your couch, finding something to watch on tv when there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of your food.

You start to stand to go get it, but Nico sternly tells you to stay put.

Rolling your eyes you sit back down, grabbing the remote and continuing to channel surf.

Nico’s gone for longer than you expect, causing you to sit up and turn back towards your kitchen, wondering what’s taking him so long.

You see him walking over to you, a tray full of food in his hands.

He had ordered from your favorite sushi place, figuring it would be the easiest for you to eat one handed.

As he sat down the tray on the coffee table in front of you, you realized what took him so long.

Nico had put a toothpick in each piece of your sushi, knowing using chopsticks with your non dominant hand would have been hard for you. He poured soy sauce into a small container, allowing you to simply pick up each toothpick and dip it in the sauce before popping it in your mouth.

He had also ordered you a bottle of cherry coke, which he knew was your favorite, and placed it on the tray with the lid unscrewed and a straw peeking out of the bottle next to a glass of ice, just incase you wanted it that way instead.

You looked up at him, feeling that funny feeling in your chest like you did earlier in your kitchen, blown away at how he always seems to think of everything he can to help you out, even when you’re not injured.

You must’ve been looking for longer than you realized, because he cocks his head at you, confusion present on his face.

“What?” he asks, not understanding what’s wrong. “Did you not want sushi? I thought you said it was always the one thing that could cheer you up?”

You shake your head at him. “No, sushi is perfect,” you tell him, a small smile on your face as you look up at him.

He smiles back for a few moments, then started scooting the coffee table towards you so you don’t have to reach to grab your food. He moves around the table to sit beside of you, the size of the small table causing him to sit so close to you that you can feel the warmness of his large thigh against yours.

You once again think about all of the things he’s done for you without you even having to ask. Now including coming over after a game—no doubt exhausted and sore—and taking care of you without even thinking twice. Braiding your hair and calling you pretty. Staring at you unintentionally wearing his t-shirt. Modifying your food so it’s easier for you to eat with one hand.

You sit there, staring at the man you fear you’re falling in love with, already planning out the apology text you’re going to have to send your mom.

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 2

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Bashing of like...every IC member? I think Rhys gets the worst though, kinda depression?, isolation, Cassian is an idiot, slut-shaming?, discussion of SA

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

Azriel kept showing up. 

And Zahra kept letting him in. 

She had no fucking clue what possessed her. 

And yet every time Azriel showed up at her doorstep…she let him in without protest. 

He always brought food or he cooked. Always something to eat. And he always stayed until she had consumed an entire serving in front of her. 

She should tell him to stop. She should tell him to leave her alone.

But Zahra never said a word. 

Zahra couldn’t manage that. 

It wasn’t like she had had many private conversations with Azriel before. And she did get t to see a side of him that…she never seen before. The kind, gentle side with a biting sense of humour. She could be as bitter and cutting with him as she wanted to be and he gave back just as sharply…but it never got personal. They never hurt each other.

And she got to know him. Not the spymaster, not Rhysand’s most trusted spy….but Azriel. The male. Not the Illyrian warrior, not the fae…but just him. as a person. Azriel who loved good food and good books. Azriel who smiled and who was gentle and kind…and coaxed mice back outside with never-ending patience. 

It was strange, how easy it was to talk to him. How easy and relaxed it felt to spend time with him. How natural it was that he was there. 

As if it had always been the two of them cooking together. 

She shouldn’t get too used to it. It wasn’t going to last. Zahra knew it wouldn’t. But she allowed herself to bask in it. Just for a little bit longer. 

Bask in the feeling of…having at least one person in this new life that…dare she say it? Was like a friend to her.

A friend. When was the last time she had had one of those? 

She didn’t want to think about that.

Just like she didn’t want to think about it, when Azriel started showing up earlier, reports in hand and joined her in working at the rickety old kitchen table.

Zahra worked on the ledgers, sorting through the numbers. And he sat right across from her, reading through his reports, quietly sipping his tea. 

(He had brought better tea with him.)

Zahra had thought that he would annoy her… but they were utterly content with ignoring each other for hours at a time. No need for words or unnecessary conversation. Just the comfortable silence of each other’s presence. It was oddly…pleasant. 

And somehow his presence…it lit something inside her. When she dropped off the account ledgers the next time, she made a quick detour to a cheap antique store just a few doors down.

Zahra browsed through the shelves on the inside. 

It was a tiny shop, filled up to the brim with old stuff and odd trinkets from the past. And then she found something that made her pause. 

An absolutely ugly, oversized armchair with the most horrible plaid pattern…but it looked like it was made for wings. The one chair in her kitchen worked for Azriel because the back was narrow enough to slot through the middle of his wings, while the one she preferred wouldn’t have worked in a million years…but the couch she had…that was another story. No way that couch was comfortable for him. 

But this armchair….

It was perfect, if you were willing to overlook the absolutely hideous pattern. But Zahra kind of grew to like it with each second that passed. So she pulled on her best haggling skills and bought that monstrosity. 

And then Zahra had the seething hot realisation that she needed to get it home somehow. She felt a tug at the hem of her skirt and stared down to find a tendril of shadows tugging at her.

One of Azriel’s. She just knew it.

The same shadows that liked prowling through her rooms and pruning the sad basil plant on her windowsill… She was also quite sure that they had started to oil the hinges on her door, but she hadn’t yet caught them in the act.

“You don’t to be able to bring that home for me, do you?” She asked them drily. The shadows coiled in a way that made her assume that they were laughing at her. Or at least having fun. It was honestly hard to tell. But another tendril popped into existence as if to say ‚Yes, I can do that!‘ 

A moment later, the chair had disappeared.

Zahra just hoped it actually had been Azriel’s shadows and not another bunch that liked stealing stuff. The thought that she had just given a chair away to some random shadows for free was a slightly concerning one. Oh well. Hopefully, it would arrive at her house soon enough and not at some random place. She had just paid for a pretty decent sum of money for that monstrosity after all. 

She bought other stuff too. Like actual spices, so Azriel wouldn't need to keep bringing all of that with him every time...another couple of plates...A blanket for the living room...

She didn’t even know what possessed her to do that. It was like something inside of her just…woke back up again. She had been dead in more ways than one. But Azriel was slowly coaxing her back to life. 

She felt more alive than she’d done in a long time. She could actually feel her heart beating. Her blood rushing in her veins. She could…feel again. And it was such an odd sensation. 

To her surprise, the armchair stood in the middle of her living room when Zahra arrived home.

A little shadow wrapped itself around her wrist as she gaped at the monstrosity sitting in her living room. The shadow seemed proud of itself.

"Thank you," Zara said politely and the shadow ruffled up as it preened. It was honestly kind of cute. And it was odd to see it like this. A small little bit of…personality. So different from what she’d always thought the shadows would be like. 

Then the shadow disappeared again and she was left with…the armchair. Which was now placed right in the middle of her living room.

Damn it. She forgot about how absolutely ugly it was. 

But oh well. It fit right in with some of the flaking of paint in the rest of her house...and the rotting floorboards in one corner.

At least that armchair was comfortable. She had to admit it. There was something oddly charming about that ugly old chair. 

She sighed, ignoring the chair for the moment as she organised her spices in the kitchen and then went back to work.

Azriel showed up in the evening that day, blinking twice at the chair.

“Where’d you get that eyesore?” he simply asked in greeting. 

"Antique shop," Zahra gave back drily. "And I bought it for your wings, thank you very much."

That made him blink in surprise. "For my wings?" he echoed and his eyebrows shot up.  "You bought an armchair for me?" 

There was something about the absolute surprise in his voice that made her want to laugh. "Yes, I did, Shadowsinger," she confirmed. "And just for you, I will ignore that horrendous plaid pattern that is covering every inch of that hideous thing." 

His lips curved into a smile, something like fond amusement playing in his eyes. "What a kind thing of you," he returned with equal amounts of dryness. "To give me such a wonderful eyesore to keep my wings company." 

He dropped down into the chair and she had to admit that it was perfect for his wings. They slotted through the gap in the back and seat without problem and he looked like he melted into the cushions. 

"It may be the ugliest thing I have ever seen, but it is the most comfortable too," he admitted with a sigh.

A small smirk edged up her lips. "I know," she simply said. "So you are stuck with it now. Consider it as a present for all the food that you give me." 

He snorted in amusement.

His head dropped back and he looked up at her, his hazel eyes glinting in the dim light. His wings were flared all over the back of that chair and she couldn’t help but notice how damn huge they were. 

He was big. She knew he was, of course, but it was easy to forget when she saw him next to Cassian. But Azriel was broad and muscular all on his own…and his wings flared all over her living room really emphasised it. 

And for some damn reason, she had the sudden mental image of his wings wrapped around her. The thought was absolutely ludicrous and completely inappropriate. 

She firmly squashed the mental image and instead just focused on the fact that Azriel was still looking at her through half-lidded eyes. There was an amused, almost fond smirk on his lips. 

"Where do I get paint from?" she blurted out.

That made his eyebrows raise. "Paint? Why do you need paint?" he inquired as he sat forward and his wings folded back against his body. 

"I should probably do something against the flaking-off paint around here," she admitted with a shrug.

He pursed his lips in thought. “And I assume you’ll try to do this all by yourself.” That wasn’t a question. He sounded pretty damn certain what her answer would be. 

"Have you talked to your landlord?" he asked her. "Are you allowed to do that? I mean, whoever it is is probably going to be happy that you do something...to stop this whole house from falling apart, but still.” 

She rolled her eyes at him. "You know, this house is mine," she gave back drily. "I can do whatever I want with it."

Azriel’s brows shot up at that, an amused surprise in his eyes. “You own this place?” he echoed, clearly not having expected that. 

"I won it in a game of cards," she admitted drily. "The guy I won it from inherited it and wanted to get rid of it. Nobody wants it because it's out of the way, but I like it."

Her one and only time in a tavern had left her with the house. She should probably consider that beginner’s luck. 

“You won it in a game of cards…?” he repeated again, a note of genuine surprise in his voice. “Are you joking?” 

Her lips curled into a smirk. “Nope,” she said with great amusement. “Nine men's morris to be exact. The idiot lost it fair and square.” 

He was looking at her in a sort of disbelief, yet there was something like respect in his eyes. “Remind me never to play cards with you,” he said drily. 

She just shrugged. "It was just once," Zahra said with a sigh. "I went to one of the taverns...decided to get utterly wasted," she snorted. "I don't think becoming an alcoholic is for me, because I spent 3 days afterwards throwing up."

“The hangover must’ve been brutal,” Azriel commented dryly. "So you won a house in a game of cards."

She just gave a nod. “Pretty much, as ridiculous as it sounds. I do think it needs some paint though."

Azriel just snorted. "I think it needs more than paint," he said drily. "It probably needs to be demolished and built up again."

“It’s not that bad,” she protested, but even to her, that sounded weak. The place was a dump. It was a literal dump. "It has character," Zahra said, her resolve growing. "Just because it's a little broken, doesn't make it garbage," she whispered.

There was something sad in her voice and Azriel just looked at her, a certain quiet understanding in his eyes. And she cursed him inwardly, because he saw too much. 

He always saw too much. Saw through her defences and the walls that she’d built up. 

"You are right," he agreed. "It's a little bit broken. But I am sure can be fixed."

A sharp pang flared up in her chest at his words, as if that gentle acceptance and quiet understanding from him hurt. She pushed it down, refusing to examine the feeling too closely. 

"And there a few different shops in Velaris that sell...paint...and other...things to...improve a house."

"You mean to stop it from falling down onto my head?" she asked him wryly

“Exactly,” he responded with an amused smile as he folded his wings again. “And stop the drafty windows from letting in a constant, cold breeze.” 

Damn it…she had been hoping he hadn’t noticed that. But of course, he had, because he was observant. Far too observant. 

“And you know, maybe put in a proper lock at the door,” he continued drily. “And fix the leaking tap in the bathroom…”

Zahra rolled her eyes at that. “I like that dripping sound, it’s very melodic,” she said with sarcasm drizzling from her voice. 

It made him chuckle lowly. The shadows around him rippled and coiled in response to their master’s amusement.  “You have a strange concept of melodious sound, if you find dripping water to be in any way pleasing,” he told her drily. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, should I be swooning over the sound of a harp or the violin?” she rebutted with a sharp little snort. 

“Not necessarily,” Azriel replied with an amused smirk. “Any other sound would be better than that constant drip…Though I have been known to enjoy the symphony on occasion," he admitted to her. "Or even some of the taverns."

A snort of laughter left her lips at that, despite herself. “I can’t imagine you in a tavern,” she told him honestly. 

He shot her a dry look at that. “Why not?” he asked, raising a single eyebrow at her. 

“It just doesn’t fit,” she gave back bluntly. “You in your leathers, standing in the middle of rowdy drunks. Just seems so odd.” 

He rolled his eyes at that. “I know how to dress down,” he rebuked her drily. “And I also know how to blend in.” 

“You’d stick out like a sore thumb, even if you wore absolutely normal clothes,” she retorted. “Your muscles betray you, Shadowsinger.” 

He huffed at that and then leaned back into the armchair, arms folded. “Now you’re just being insulting,” he groused and she snorted. 

“Oh, did your ego get bruised, Shadowsinger? How terrible,” Zahra dead-panned, making him roll his eyes again. 

"Let's just see if I bother making dessert, for you if you continue that," he groused at her. "I got all the makings of caramel pudding."

“What?! No, wait.” She leaned forward, something like panic on her face. “You cannot dangle that in front of me and then not give in! I even bought you an armchair!" she told him, making him snort.

“It’s a hideous armchair,” he pointed out with a smirk on his lips. “You really think it’s a gift?” 

“Hey! You agreed that it was comfortable,” she protested. “And you can’t deny that your wings like it too.” 

He snorted as he stood up and walked into her kitchen.

She did get caramel pudding in the end. Of course, she did. Even Azriel wasn’t immune to some good old puppy eyes. 

***

Zahra bought him a chair. He wasn't quite sure what to do with that knowledge. 

The fact that she had thought of him enough to buy one for him…it was something he was still trying to process in his mind. 

With the idea that she had spent her own money not on something to make herself uncomfortable...with the fact that her own bed was a mattress on the floor...but she had made sure that the next major piece of furniture she bought hadn't been a proper bed...but instead an armchair for him.

The fact that she had deliberately put his comfort above her own…yeah, he still didn’t know what to do with that information. 

He also didn't know what to do with the information that he actually...he actually really liked her.

Maybe it had been there since the beginning and he just hadn’t noticed it. But the more time he spent with her, more she made him laugh or argue or just…talk. The more he started to like her and appreciate her company. 

She was quick-witted and smart...and so quick to bloom if anybody paid her any attention. And when it was just the two of them at her house...well, then it was...it was so easy. So comfortable.

He forgot to remember to make sure to not give her any reason to be scared of him because she never was. She didn't even blink twice if he came home with the carcass of a deer slung over his shoulder, only cleaned off the table so that she could help strip it.

She asked questions about what he was doing and genuinely seemed interested. Never judged or looked at him weirdly, because she just seemed to get it. Just took him being the spymaster in stride, because that was who he was. Accepted it almost like she accepted his shadows.

He didn't think he would even need to hide the blood that coated his hands, because Zahra didn't seem to care one way or another.

She didn’t even ask him where he had been during the day or what he did. She just accepted the blood and dirt that came with it. 

And quite frankly…if he did his work at her dining table or locked into his room at the House of Wind…who cared?

That dilapidated cottage at least had better company than his own brooding one.

And it never felt felt he was intruding on Zahra when she used him as free labour for whatever redecorating she was doing that day.

They replaced the floorboards…he helped paint the door…

In fact, he was willingly going to her house every night, like it was the most normal thing in the world to do. It probably wasn’t, but he didn’t care. Every evening, when Azriel was done with his duties, he simply dropped into her house. 

They cooked together. Illyrian recipes that he knew…then some that he didn’t know that he had asked his mother for, who had answered into a sprawling letter…recipes that Zahra knew from her human years…and then he brought a cookbook from the library in the House Of Wind and they did that too.

The one thing the two of them did agree on though, was that no dinner was complete without dessert.

They both had a horrible sweet tooth.

Unspokenly, Zahra was the one who lit the fire of the fireplace and the oven…who put food in the oven and pulled it out again.

Zahra didn’t say a word about it. She just did it.

He didn’t even think about who was doing what if he was being honest. He just enjoyed having a shared dinner and the easy conversations that were taking place. It became as routine as breathing, just being in her house and spending the evening with her. 

He tended to linger too. Kept staying with her. So that he doesn’t need to return to the House of Wind, try and fail to sleep and listen to Cassian’s and Nesta's enthusiastic lovemaking.

That was why he stayed. He really needed to avoid the lovebirds at all costs, because they were…just too damn loud. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so damn annoying. 

“If you want and ruin your back on my couch, be my guest,” Zahra said one evening and he froze, staring at her.

She had gained some weight. It looked good on her. No longer a back of skin and bones as she had been, but her cheeks were fuller, Her clothing filled out more.

His gaze briefly flicked up to the couch and the frown on his face grew. “Honestly, that thing is probably the worst place to sleep,” he muttered. “But…I think I prefer it over listening to my brother and his mate going at it.” 

“Nice,” Zahra said with a snort, seemingly unbothered by the comment. “Seems like they know what it means to respect your need for sleep.”

Azriel snorted at that too. “Not quite,” he retorted with dry amusement. “They just don’t care.” It was the damn truth. Cassian and Nesta didn’t even bother putting up any kind of noise-mutting spell to spare his already poor sleep. 

Still…if he stayed there…” Aren’t you worried that I…” he trailed off.

“What? Ravish me?” Zahra drawled. “You had every chance at it for weeks and you haven’t touched me. So no, not really, Azriel.”

“I simply don't want to overstep my boundaries,” he found himself saying quietly. "I wouldn’t force myself on you," he continued with a quiet severity in his voice. "Not ever." I am not a brute," he added firmly. 

“Oh trust me, I don’t think you're a brute,” Zahra told him dryly. “If you wanted to force yourself on me, then you would have done it weeks ago.” 

He nearly flinched at the matter-of-fact way she said that. 

“I would never do that,” he choked out. 

“You are a good man,” Zara said quietly.

Something in his chest flared at that. A mix of shame and guilt, because he was so far away from being a good man. “I don’t want to give you any reason to fear me,” he said quietly, the words tumbling out of him before he could even stop them. 

Her expression softened at that and he held his breath. His shadows coiled, as if they were holding their inhale as well, waiting for her response. 

“It’s funny…” she began quietly and he had to forcibly keep himself from leaning in. “You have never given me a reason. Never.” He blinked at that, a small sense of surprise flaring up in his chest. 

“I…have never once been scared of you,” she told him bluntly and he stared at her incredulously. Because how could she ever say that? How could anyone not be scared of the spymaster of the Night Court? The male who was rumoured to be the spawn of nightmares and death? 

“Don’t look so surprised,” she deadpanned at the sight of his undoubtedly shocked face. “Honestly, you’re the biggest softie I’ve ever met.” 

“I am not a softie,” he protested with a sharp frown on his face. “I am a literal Shadowsinger. I am anything but soft.” He told her firmly. 

“Sure…” she said with a sarcastic roll of her eyes, clearly not believing a word he said. “You are a terrifying man for sure, Shadowsinger.” He bristled at her cheeky tone. “That’s why you come over here every night and feed me.”

“I-” he paused, not knowing what to rebut with that statement. It was true. He came over every, single night to share dinner with her, to…just spend time with her. 

Zahra just laughed, patting his cheek and then disappeared into her bedroom. “Good Night!”

Azriel let out a long breath and just shook his head at her retreating back. Sometimes he had no idea what to do with her.

But he also couldn’t resist the smile that tugged on his lips and he moved over to the couch, curling up on it and trying to make himself comfortable as much as possible. 

Even when it was a far cry from a massive bed in the House of Wind…it was the best night of sleep he had in ages.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he fell asleep fairly quickly. And even his shadows seemed to rest easy, coiling around his body and the couch like a cocoon. 

And for the first time in a long time, his dreams weren’t plagued by nightmares. 

He was awake before dawn, stocking up the fireplace and moving silently across the cottage so that Zahra could still sleep a few hours.

And then he winnowed to the House of Wind for a quick breakfast. He was out there preparing the training rings before anybody else.

It also meant that the shadows were happily trembling around him.

Which was good, because he still had a question to ask them.

“How high are the chances that you cheated at cards so that Zahra would get that house?” He asked the shadows drily.

There was a tendril of shadows assigned to each family member. Only so that Azriel would know where they were at every given moment. He never asked the shadows for more, he respected everybody’s privacy as well as he could…but…But this hadn’t let him go for weeks.

No answer.

He hadn’t expected one.

“Of course,” he said with a sigh. “You like her.” It wasn’t a question.

We do! The shadows answered brightly. She treats Master well!

His lips curled up into a slight smirk at that. They were right. She did treat him well. She never treated him like an intimidating male…she just treated him like any other person. With respect. With kindness. 

Teasing him.

He chuckled to himself at the memories of her teasing him, the way they bickered as if that was the most usual thing in the world. 

She isn’t scared of us like the other ones, the shadows whispered softly.

It was clear who they meant with that comment. Elain and Mor both. Zahra seemed to find the shadows more fascinating than anything. Talking to them even sometimes. In response, the shadows doted on her. Happy for once not to be ignored and outright feared.

He hummed his agreement at that. She wasn't scared of them…and they were growing quite fond of her. Which…he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. 

She’s pretty too, Master, the shadows commented quietly.

Azriel paused in his work at those words. Yes, she was pretty. With her tawny skin and dark brown hair…and green eyes….Her skin seemed to bloom with health. The way her body had filled out, her hips gaining more curves, her face getting softer. 

Though it did surprise him that the shadows made that comment. They had never done something similar about any other female…even females he had bedded.

That was certainly a surprise. He had to pause and think about it for a few moments. The shadows had never made any sort of comment like that on another female. On any female in fact. Yet they thought her pretty. That…was a thought he filed away for later. 

She doesn’t have a mate either…she’s free of…romantic entanglements, the shadows continued quietly. If you wanted her….

He froze at that. “Are you trying to convince me to pursue her?” He spoke out loud to the shadows. 

You like her. She would make you happy, the shadows responded. What’s the harm? 

“There is no harm,” he mumbled to them quietly, his fingers curling tighter around the handle of the spear that he was holding. “Nothing except that she would likely not be interested.” 

And he was done with that. Done with being turned down. Done with never being a choice.

If he just stayed her friend…he got to spend time with her…he got to listen to her laughs and giggles. He got to be treated by her with kindness and respect. Why destroy that?

It would be cruel and selfish to ruin the friendship he had gained by trying to turn that into anything else. She trusted him. She treated him like a person. And he wanted to keep it like that. 

And Zahra deserved better than him still being half hung up over Elain. Her sister.

Though to be quite honest…he had let that go. Elain had chosen Lucien and that was that. Azriel was more pissed off about how Rhysand was treating him than anything.

Though he never showed it, he was quietly furious at how Rhysand was treating him. After he had agreed to back off…he had hoped Rhysand would stop acting like an overprotective mother hen. 

He didn't.

And then Mor's Mating Bond with Emerie had snapped and apparently that meant that Rhys was now waiting for Azriel to have a meltdown.

Which he wasn't going to have, thank you very much.

He could think that how Mor had treated him had been utterly unfair...and he could still wish her nothing but the best.

The only thing that he had wished for had been a single conversation with his friend. But she didn't seem to want to have that and so Azriel hadn't pushed. Maybe it was better that way.

It was better that way, he was sure of that. The…closeness they had once shared was gone. Maybe forever. But he was more or less alright with that.

They could all leave him in peace and he would do the same for them.

He made that calculation without Cassian, who came bounding into the training ring with all the energy that Azriel was never quite sure where his brother got it from.

He had barely even put down his spear that Cassian bounded into the training rings, his face split into a broad grin. It was clear that his…morning activities with Nesta had been enjoyable as usual. 

“There you are,” Cassian said with a boisterous grin, clearly not noticing the rather sour mood that Azriel was in. “You look....surprisingly well rested," Cassian said, cocking his head to the side.

“I slept well,” Azriel answered simply, pointedly avoiding eye contact with his brother. He knew damn well what Cassian was going to be asking. 

“You slept well,” Cassian repeated, drawing out every word and making it clear that he was not going to let that go. “Care to specify where?” He asked point blank and Azriel’s jaw tensed. 

Azriel could not suppress the low growl that came from him at that. He was not in the mood to be teased by his brother. And he was also not in the mood to listen to another innuendo-filled conversation about Cassian and Nesta’s sex life. 

“Not one word about that,” he told his brother firmly and Cassian just laughed. 

“Oh come one.” He drawled. “I have to get my fun somewhere. Everyone else is mated already. I have to bother someone!” 

It wasn't supposed to hurt him. He didn't think so. But it still did. It cut. Sharp and deep.

The words cut deep, much deeper than Azriel would have wanted to admit. His jaw tensed and his hand clenched around the spear so hard that it might have creaked. He knew it was a joke…but it didn’t change the fact that it had stung. 

And Cassian didn't seem to notice that at all. "Come on, give me details!"

“There are no details to be given,” Azriel said simply, his voice carefully neutral. “Just because I am not spending the night and listening to the two of you going at it like rabbits, does not mean I have someone in my bedroom.” The words were harsher than he had intended. 

“Don’t tell me you do it in some grimy back alley with a random wench?” His brother teased him and Azriel’s temper flared. The Shadows curled and snarled around him, his temper snapping. 

“I would thank you for not speaking about females that way, and no I am not ‘doing it in a back alley’”, he retorted with a low growl in his voice.  “You should stop talking before you piss me off,” he warned his brother through gritted teeth.  It took all his willpower to make sure that no shadows lashed out. This was Cassian. His brother. 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Cassian raised his hands, clearly seeing how his words had affected his brother. “I was only teasing. You can be so damn tense about some things. You need to relax,” he said and Azriel had to resist the very real urge to throttle him. 

[moonstruckme]

hi, love! just wanna say first of all that i love your writing and your account. keep up the good work!

second of all, i was wondering if i could put in a sort of specific request? i'm currently on my period and the bloating is making me feel really bad about my body ☹️ so i was hoping maybe you could write a fic where Steve comforts Reader when she's going through something like that?

feel free to disregard this if it's too heavy of a topic, i know it can be triggering to talk about things like this for some people.

wishing you all the best! 🫶🏻

- @honeysuckleharringtons 🍯💛

Thanks so much babe!

cw: period cramps, insecurities arounds stomach/bloating

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 861 words

You think your favorite place has to be lying between Steve’s legs, with one of his hands clasped in yours and the other on your boob. If you focus really hard, you can hear his heart beating underneath your ear. You’re watching some mindless sitcom, trying to distract yourself from this blessedly mild round of cramps and silently debating whether having chocolate ice cream is worth getting up and going to the store to get it. But if Steve keeps running his thumb over the back of your hand like this, you might melt right into the couch and then the decision would be made for you. 

It happens so gradually you almost don’t even notice. Steve knows to be gentle with you when you’re sensitive like this, his hand massaging the fat of your boob kindly before grazing lower to rub at the skin just beneath it. Then it goes lower still, and you tense when he dips under the hem of your shirt and takes a handful of your stomach in his grasp. 

Your boyfriend doesn’t seem to notice that you’ve stopped breathing, kneading at the supple chub of your middle absentmindedly, but you lower your hand to his, bringing it back up into comfortable territory. Then he looks at you, a questioning glance out of the corner of his eye. You pretend not to see. His hand drifts slowly, tentatively, back towards your stomach. 

“Don’t,” you say softly, taking it again before it can get there. It’s not a reprimand so much as a gentle request, but still, Steve’s eyebrows furrow. 

“What’s the deal?” he asks, echoing your mild tone. “I thought stomach rubs were supposed to help with cramps.” 

You soften. “That’s really sweet of you,” you tell him, “but I’m okay. I just don’t love the idea of my stomach being, like, perceived right now.” 

“Perceived?” Steve angles his head to see you better, hand resting on the flat of your chest. “Why, what’s wrong with it?” 

“It’s just bloated.” You sink a bit further between his legs, avoiding his stare. “It’s like, remember that time I came over without telling you and you didn’t want me to see your hair first thing in the morning?” 

“Yeah, you mean the time you told me to stop being a priss and get over it? That time?” 

You chuckle. “Right, well, I guess it’s kind of like that.” 

Steve hums, playing with your fingers distractedly. “Okay,” he says after a minute, “I just want to preface this by saying that I really like you, and I think you’re smart and cool. Okay?”

He leans over until he can see your face, and you nod warily.

“You’re being stupid.” 

A laugh startles out of you, but Steve doesn't give you a chance for rebuttal. 

“You’re hot, babe.” He says it deadpan, like it’s a fact he had to memorize in school. “Like, smoking hot. The idea that you would give a shit, much less think I would give a shit, about your stomach being bloated is insane. And you trying to keep me from touching it is, like, practically criminal. Aren’t your tits bloated too?” 

“Um,” you hesitate, somehow more self-conscious than you had been when this began, “yeah?” 

“Right,” he says proudly. “And not to be a creep, but I’ve kind of been enjoying the shit out of those for the past couple of hours.” 

“Steve.” You laugh awkwardly, squirming underneath his gaze. “That’s different, and you know it.” 

He shrugs, looking you plain in the face. “Not to me. Listen, babe,” he drops his voice into a more sincere register, “I like you—your stomach, your tits, all of it—all of the time. And I think it’d make you feel better if you let me rub your stomach for you right now, so just let me, and if I start to find you any less hot, I promise to let you know.” The implication in his tone is clear: like, when pigs fly. 

You look at him for a while. Steve can surprise you with his stubbornness sometimes. His eyelashes don’t so much as flicker under your perusal. 

“Okay,” you sigh, getting comfortable again in his lap. “Fine, have at it.” 

“Yes,” he hisses, his hand going back down and taking in a greedy handful of your swollen belly. You start to tense, nerves making your head go staticky, but gradually you’re able to relax. Steve with his hands on you is no foreign thing. He starts to push down tentatively, asking you to coach him on where you need it the most until he’s gently massaging over the ache. You let your eyes slip closed. You honestly hadn’t expected it to bring quite so much relief. 

“Did Robin put you up to this?” you ask quietly. 

Steve’s soft chuckle confirms your theory. “You’ve got her to thank for the chocolate ice cream in the fridge, too.” 

A smile spreads across your face, and you can hear him laugh again at how blissed-out you must look. “Remind me to give her a hug the next time I see her.” 

“You could just give it to me instead," he says. "I’ll pass it along.”

[avaf00rd]

Fridge

Little shits pt 2

Kyra Cooney cross x teen!reader (platonic)

actually finished this shockingly quick. (Not proof read). Submitting it now and going to sleep. So it’s bad.

I had a Leah fic that was pretty good but then half didn’t save in the draft. And rewriting is the worst. I’ll try to get back into it tomorrow if I can promise.

Enjoy bbys

——————————————-

“shit.” Kyra blankly said as she made a huge dent in the mcfoord new fridge. Don’t ask how.

“How the fuck did you manage that!” You exclaimed checking out the massive mark left right in the middle of the fridge.

You and Kyra had been in Baylor against Katie and Caitlin for a few weeks now. It was hilarious to all of you. You were also all getting great content for the Arsenal new YouTube channel where different players would do vlogs of game days and other activities.

“Ok everyone Kyra just broke the fridge” you sighed running your palm over your forehead looking back into the camera

“It’s not definitely broken. We can just undo it” she said. You grabbed the camera to point it towards her raising one eyebrow.

“It’s as big as a bowling ball” you said. Kyra turned to you and the camera with a blank expression.

“I say we grab the toilet plunger.” Before quickly getting up to find it.

“If I were Katie I would rather have massive dent on my fridge then have the fridge smell like my own shit.” You sighed as u sat down on the stool. You two were truly truly fucked this time. Some of your pranks included putting pictures of drunk Caitlin all around every second cubby at the training grounds. This round it was slightly lighter by super gluing the lids to their foods in the fridge. Lame right? Kyra somehow managed to pick up a random pot and accidentally charge it straight into the fridge. You forgot about the camera as you were lost in thought thinking about how badly you fucked up this time. Brand new fridge for their brand new place. It was over.

“Ok no plunge but I did some googling. We just need an ice cube” you guys were the definition of blind leading the blind. So of course you grabbed an ice cube and placed it on the large dent 10 times its size. “Is it working” Kyra asked holding the camera towards you and the ice cube. You slowly turned your head around to face her wiht a blank expression reading no you fucking idiot.

A knock on the door made you both share a look of panic. “The pantry” Kyra pointed intending that you just run away from this problem.

“No dumb ass” you said before getting up and walking to the door. You were nearly 100% it wasn’t Caitlin and Katie as you walked the hallway before twisting the handle.

“Hey tiny” Leah said in surprise to find you here.

“Hey Leah”

“What on earth are you doing here” she questioned

“We need your help” you said hopefully. Kyra peaking around the corner to be seen with a sad smile and a nod. Leah slightly chuckled before following you down the hall. Where you stood from afar with Kyra pointing to the fridge. Leah just bursted out laughing.

“Shit you did this” she chuckled checking it out.

“Yes what do we do!” You slightly yelled. Kyra still in shock from what happened.

“Don’t worry about it. They might be mad but Katie was telling me a new fridge and oven was arriving so it doesn’t really matter-“

“This is the new fridge!” Kyra exclaimed

Leah jaw slightly fell “you’ve truly done it again children”

“Leah please answer. What do we do?” You asked desperate for help.

“We wait until they get home” she said softly before filling up a cup of water for herself and sitting at the dining room table on her phone.

You waited around 20 minutes doing nothing. Kyra on her phone, probably researching how to fix it. And you now just sitting next to Leah looking out the window. It might not seem like a big deal. But a brand new expensive fridge, with a possible non-fixable problem was defiantly a big deal to your young minds. You just had a plan in your mind. Offer to pay to fix it. If you can’t fix it. You and Kyra will go halves on a replacement. Kyra tried to rebuttal when you brought up that plan, but quickly shut up when she realised it was the only option.

This was amusing to Leah. The panic in your faces made her laugh. The whole team was just waiting for something to go terribly wrong.

“Let me get this straight you were trying to superglue all of their food? Aha! That’s good” Leah exclaimed with a goofiness in her voice. You and Kyra just sat their blankly. Kyra soon chuckling at the thought of how this whole situation is kind of funny.

A rattle of keys on the front door made your heart completely stop. “Oh hey Leah. And girls. Oh shit what did you do” Caitlin asked with a smirk on her face kind of ready to see the next prank. Just so she could then plot her next one.

“Ok ok so” you put your hands on both their chests before they could walk much further. “We were doing a light hearted prank right. Then we made a mistake. Dear Kyra here-“

“-we both made a mistake ok! We are very very sorry and we will pay for this.” Kyra said. You both stood in front of the three older girls with your hands behind your backs. Apologising like a five year old who just stole lollies.

“Huh” Katie said confused towards the girls, while Caitlin walked into the kitchen to put her bags down.

“Kyra Cooney cross!” There was a yell across the flat. A somewhat fuming Caitlin voice coming from the source. Katie quickly following to see.

“It wasn’t just me!” Kyra quickly defended in panic.

“You did this!” You said to Kyra . Then looking at the two other girls

“I’m gonna head” Leah waved before leaving behind all of you.

“I’ll pay to get it fixed. Even though I didn’t do it” you said to them. Mumbling the last part, targeted towards Kyra.

“Bet your ass you guys will” Katie said

“This is new” Caitlin said looking at the fridge

“That we both know. And we are very very very very sorry a million times” Kyra said pointing between the two of you. You just nodded next to her.

“Sleep with one eye open. Next one will be serious” Katie said smirking. Plotting her next prank.

“You two can go” Caitlin waved you and the 21 year old off. Kyra nodded quickly zooming down the halls.

“Send me your bank details!” You said before walking out. Forgetting the camera on the bench. You went to grab it before heading out again.

“Bye gooners!” You said. Before turning the camera to Kyra who was waiting for the elevator next to you. Who turned around and poking her tongue out.

[romcomxb]

Pete and Bradley were the hotheads of the family, always at each others throat, and it pissed Tom off to no end. Most of the time he was there to diffuse the arguments before they got to the point of Bradley and Pete saying things that they couldn’t take back, but the one time he wasn’t, it didn’t go very well. At All.

Bradley was your typical angsty teenager, but the fact that Tom and Pete weren’t his biological parents added a whole new dimension. Him and Pete were always going at each other for the smallest things, though they almost always resolved just as fast as they blew up. The tension between them reached its peak when Bradley was around sixteen, seventeen.

One day after school, Pete and Bradley had an argument, a big one. Ice was at work late that night, so it was just the two of them. Pete said something that must have triggered Bradley and within seconds they were in the middle of a full out yelling match. They both said things that they didn’t mean, and regretted saying instantly. Things along the lines of ‘fuck i wish you’d just left when you had the chance’ and ‘well if i’m such a shit parent, maybe i should have left you for a foster family to fuck up instead.’, were shouted across the kitchen bench. (of course neither of them meant this, they just had trouble regulating their tempers sometimes).

By this point, Tom had just got home from working late, and as he opened the door, Bradley stormed out, car keys and wallet in hand.

A furious Pete was hot on his heels, and he almost nocked over poor Ice for a second time, but he caught his husband in time. ‘Bradley! Bradley i’m sorry! I did’t mean it- fuck- Bradley covet back here!’

A very frantic Pete watched as his son slammed the door of his car and slammed on the accelerator, probably stalling at least once. Tom was immediately by his husbands side, confusion evident on his face.

‘The fuck was that?’ He muttered as the pair watched Bradley drive off. Pete was distraught, he knew how dangerous it could be driving in the emotional state that Bradley was in. He’d done it himself more than a few times, and counted himself lucky that he was still here to tell the tale.

‘Fuck- I- Shit-‘ Was all he could get out, his hands constantly running through his hair. ‘I-i’m sorry- i’m so sorry- fuck’

Ice sighed and pulled the wide eyed man into his chest, his fingers slowly interlocking in Pete’s hair. ‘Shhhh- hey- it’s okay. Bradley’s a smart boy. He’ll be fine.’

Mav nodded, his face still buried in Ice’s shirt.

‘What the fuck did you say to him?’

‘I-‘ Pete straightened up, his eyes still downturned in shame. ‘I told him that we shouldn’t have adopted him- shoulda let someone else take him- it- it just slipped out in the moment and you know I don’t mean it-‘

Ice sighed ‘Oh Pete- Jesus you really didn’t think that through did you?’

Mav just shook his head in shame.

To make a long story short, Bradley spent the night tearing down highways, and probably should have died but somehow he came out of it unscathed. The next morning he woke up curled in the boot of his car with drool dripping down his chin. Once he had time to clear his mind a little he made the drive of shame back home.

Ice and Mav were both at work when he got back, Bradley set about making an apology dinner, as per the family’s tradition. If you fucked up, but couldn’t find the words to properly apologise, you would make dinner. And do the washing up. No need for words. Not until everyone was ready.

It was a rule Ice had instituted a few years back, and had worked wonders in keeping the family running.

Once the older two returned home, Bradley had made all but a feast, it was an impressive sight. The relief that shone in both their faces sent another wave of guilt through the teen, and he went to say something, to apologise, but Mav quickly shook his head.

‘After dinner. Okay?’

‘But-‘

‘You’re safe. That’s what matters.’

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

cat got your tongue - Cole Caufield

Word Count - 3k

Requested - Yes a mutual dared me weeks ago to write a entire fic only about Cole Caufield's tongue.

Author's Note - thank you as always for reading. 💞🫶🏻 This literally took me forever to write because writers block is very real even when you love an idea, also I got this request back in the middle of July before anyone wants to come into my asks. I'm not sure if I like this ending, but that might just be me being my biggest critic.

Warnings - oral receiving but I think that's kind of obvious given the title of this fic. 🤣

Summary - Cole finally convinces you to come to one of his games, but what happens when all you can focus on is the way he sticks his tongue out during a celly.

Tonight was the first time that Cole has finally convinced you to come to one of his games. To be fair you did just meet the guy a month ago in a bar. Unlike Cole, you did not know everything when it came to hockey which could have been one of the reasons that you weren’t pressed on going as soon as Cole brought up the idea. But his constant insisting that turned into begging which was kind of hot finally got you here. In the back of a shared Uber with your friend who actually knows hockey and said she would tag along to explain what the fuck everyone is doing on the ice. At the end of the day trying to learn all the rules of a sport you never even watched was hard. 

Just to mess with Cole a little, you did purchase one of his jerseys which granted a lot of money. But your friend who came along with you to the game, insisted to “do it for the plot.” So here you both are, you in his jersey, entering the arena. Due to the amount of time it took to get through security, you weren’t able to be in your seat until after warm ups had already started. Your seat was center ice but a few rows back purely because you told Cole if he thought your ass was sitting front row at your first ever NHL game, you would simply walk out because you didn’t wanna accidentally end up caught on TV looking like someone who had no idea what was happening around her. 

As soon as Cole saw you, he skated over to the bench although you couldn’t see what he was doing talking to one of the trainers you assumed. He then skated over and started bouncing what looked like the nearest puck on his stick as many times as he could and then passing it over the glass. A fan tried to take it, but he shook his head no and pointed at you. Then he threw another one over for the little boy who was a couple seats down from you, before skating off continuing on with warmups. 

“Why was that kind of hot?” you whispered to your friend. 

“Wow who knew a basic white boy would have you down this bad?” she teased.

“Bitch shut up.” you said before you finally looked down at the puck. Cole must have asked the trainer for a marker and signed the puck before coming over. 

You look hot with my name on you. Meet me in the tunnels after the game. 

Deciding not to tell your friend about the message you look up to see Cole sitting on the bench now making direct eye contact with you as he watches you read his message. Nodding your head yes and mouthing ‘okay’, even from the other side of the arena the smile that spreads across his face is seen clearly from your seat. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cole was literally playing like his life depended on it tonight. Now granted you might not understand all the little detailed rules when it comes to hockey. But you knew an assist was a good thing, in period one alone Cole had 2 assists and something about the way that he got one knee skating for a celly with his tongue slightly sticking out. Something that is so simple, made you feel your stomach drop, getting more and more turned the second time he did it. 

During intermission, you and your friend went to the bathroom and maybe it was the 3 beers you consumed but somehow you both started joking around about what your friend calls “your new fetish Cole’s tongue.” Jokingly you stuck your tongue out ever so slightly. Not realizing in that millisecond your friend took a mirror selfie, your side to the mirror the famous ‘22’ on display with Caulfeild, sticking your tongue out ever so slightly with your butt teasingly pushed up. Honestly, you kind of looked hot in the picture and made a mental note to ask your friend to send the picture to you later. 

As the first intermission was about to end you just made it back to your seat. Cole was able to pull off another assist during the second period. Your friend who has been a fan of the Hubs her entire life told you that you're never allowed to miss a game again because if this was how the rest of the season was gonna go they might make it to the playoffs. All you could do was chuckle at her superstitious behavior. But stopped when the fans around her were agreeing with her when she told them this was your first ever game, Cole invited you and this is how he was playing. 

“Oh my god please stop. I don’t want my life to end on twitter. Y/B/F/N.” you begged, taking your hand and covering her mouth. She drunkenly agreed to stop and both of you turned your attention back to the game. Even when he wasn’t on the ice, your eyes couldn’t leave Cole. Every once in a while he would catch you staring at him and making a teasing face back at you, pecking his lips, or sticking his tongue out extra far in order to get an air sip of his water. Every time he did all you could think about was his tongue wrapping around the clit or lapping your pussy like it was on display right now for thousands to see. Every time he was on the bench and went to lick his lips you found yourself squirming in your seat. All your friend could do was roll her eyes at your behavior. 

Somehow you made it to the third period, but that’s when Cole scored a goal. You swear it was just to tease you, he skated past your section sticking his tongue out and wiggling it. “Fuck” you mumble to yourself. 

“Y/N there are children around. Stop ya nasty!” your friend says as she can’t help the laugh that escapes her. Your mind couldn’t stop thinking about sitting on top of Cole’s face or him on his knees with one of your legs over his shoulders. As you rolled your hips against his tongue dragged. - 

Suddenly your brain was brought back to real time as the final buzzer went off. Everyone around you cheered as the HUBS won a shutout - which your friend just told you is what it’s called when the other team doesn’t score a single goal during a game. But to be perfectly honest you weren’t really paying attention to your friend explaining any more slang hockey terms, your eyes focused on Cole as he skated around the ice with his teammates celebrating. The crowd was going crazy as it was the only shutout in what seemed like a lifetime, you could feel the energy of the crowd as you felt your body slightly move with all the jumping fans around you. Cole finally looked over at you from center ice and smiled. He titled his head towards the tunnels slightly reminding you of the puck and the note written on it, you nodded your head yes as you felt your cheeks heat up slightly from anticipation. 

Slowly the crowd started leaving once the boys were leaving the ice, finally there was enough room for you and your friend to make your way to the steps. 

“Hey thanks for coming by the way.” as you stop at the top of the steps. 

“It was fun. Are you ready to go?” 

“Actually Cole told me to meet him in the tunnels after the game.” you admit a light blush still painting your cheeks. 

“ooo okay have fun girly. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. Text me when you get back to his place.” As she wraps her arms around you to hug you goodbye quickly. 

A laugh escapes your lips at your friend's words. “What do you mean ‘his place'?” Making a quotation sign with your hand. 

“Well we both know you aren’t going home tonight. You know you'll be busy with him, I’ll just check your location.” 

Before you could open your mouth she turned around and was gone. All you could do is laugh as you stood there and watched her walk away. Quickly you turned around and started walking towards the other side of the arena where the tunnels were. Somehow managing to find your way around, you pulled your phone out to text Cole that you were waiting outside of the locker room for him after being stopped by security, but thankfully the pass Cole gave you just in case came in handy. Standing against the wall scrolling Twitter while you waited for Cole to be done. 

Somehow the fan girls work faster than you could have ever imagined because someone made a gif of Cole’s tongue sticking out as he skated against the glass during his celly earlier tonight. Watching the gif over and over your breath caught in your throat as all your thoughts form earlier tonight just wanting to want Cole sink to his knees in front of you and eat you out came flooding back. Imagining your hand in his hair helping his face grind against using his tongue for nothing else except your own pleasure. Your mind was wandering and you could feel yourself dripping at the thought of making Cole sink to his knees, you refusing to pull his hair at first as punishment for teasing you all night. 

Lost in your own thoughts you didn’t even hear Cole leaving the locker room or coming up to you. Cole knew you were lost in your own world and decided to scare you by running up to you from behind wrapping his arms around you and leaving a wet kiss on your cheek. All that could be heard in the mostly quiet hallway now since he was one of the last players out was his laugh as you squirmed in his arms. “Ew Cole let me down.” you shirked in a high pitch voice he laughed in response spinning you around one more time before setting you down. 

“So how did you like watching me play?” he asked, finally facing you, still trying to hold you as close as possible. 

“It was good. It was actually kind of hot watching you play.” you admit with a smirk on your lips. 

Cole gives you a puzzling look as he questions, “oh yeah?” in a teasing tone. 

All you do is flash him a cheeky grin as you admit, “yeah watching you do your little celly on the ice was so hot, but I just kept watching you stick your tongue out all night.” Leaning up to his ear despite no one being around you whispered, “all I could think about was getting you to sink to your knees so I could ride your face, one leg over your shoulder, my back against the wall and not let you touch yourself as punishment for teasing me all night. My hands in your hair pulling and tugging as much as I wanted. All while your tongue is busy, so you can’t even beg me to let you touch yourself to give your hard cock some relief.” 

As you lean back only far away enough to see his face, his mouth is ajar in shock at your words. It’s as if he’s processing your words and for the first time in his life he’s quiet for more than a minute, you decide to further tease him while he stands there frozen. “What’s the matter baby boy, cat got your tongue?” A smirk on your lips as you watch him blink, as if his brain has finally caught up to the world around him. 

“No, not yet.” His voice is an octave deeper than before filled with lust. Suddenly he’s pulling you down the hallway towards the parking garage. “But it will be.” 

But just as you were about to exit the stadium to enter the connected parking garage, Cole made a sharp left turn down a separate hallway. “Where are we going?” you ask. 

“Oh, we're making your words reality mamas.” As he opens a door and suddenly you find yourself in some type of equipment storage closet. In the corner is an extra medical bed, and there are sticks everywhere along another wall. But you don’t have too much time to examine the room before you feel Cole behind you after he locks the door. “ Kissing down your neck, blowing air into your ear and all you can do is compliment him by sighing at the feeling. 

Quickly you regain your composure and turn around in his arms, finding his lips and kissing him hard. Fighting for dominance, and smirking when you slip your tongue into his mouth, he moans as a response and you can feel your underwear being damp from the sound he makes. Pushing him off of yourself quickly. You take a step back, you're against the wall now as you unbuckle your jeans. He says to you “have I told you how pretty you look with my name on your back.” 

Holding your hand up against his chest to stop him from getting any closer to you.”naw ah ah. Let’s put that tongue to good use, less yapping yeah?” Even though you phrase it as a question, your tone is stern and demanding. Taking your left hand that wasn’t on Cole’s chest you move it to his shoulder slightly pushing him down so he’s on his knees. The way he glances up to you with his now darker blue eyes could have made you come right there. Trying to take a breath without showing him how much control he really does have over you at the moment. Pulling your jeans down the rest of the way and stepping out of them, slipping your shoes so you can slip your skinny jeans off the rest of the way. 

Looking down at Cole in a full suit, suddenly deciding he’s in too much clothing as he kisses your exposed thighs in front of you. “Take. Off. Your. jacket.” 

“Yes Momas.” he says, taking his suit jacket, refusing to lose eye contact with you. He tosses the jacket somewhere behind him joining your jeans. He sticks his tongue out to tease you more as you throw your right leg over his shoulder. 

“Don’t even think about teasing Cole.” you grunt. He moves your underwear to the side swiping up and down your cunt in quick motions. “You wanna be a good boy right?” you ask as you tug slightly on his hair. 

“Hmm.” he moans as a yes on your clit, closing your eyes at the taste. Taking your hands you tug hard on his hair. 

“No, gotta keep your eyes open. I wanna see you while I grind on your face.” As you start to lightly roll your hips, Cole’s hands find the flesh of your ass and back of your thighs. He pulls you closer and starts kneading the soft flesh looking directly up to you as he moves his tongue down to your hole. Pushing in and out teasingly as his nose bumps his nose against your clit. “Fuck Cole.” you moan as you push your shoulders against the door, throwing your head back, closing your eyes at the feeling. Your hands go under the jersey finding your boobs squeezing them through your bra trying to play with your nipples. And then you feel Cole move his head so slightly causing a new angle as you roll your hips against his face even harder. “Fuck right there baby. Don’t stop.” you whine. So much for being in control but right now you couldn’t give a fuck with how good Cole was making you feel. 

Cole goes back up with his tongue to do circles over your clit driving so crazy. You don’t even realize one of his hands leaves your ass and his fingers find your hole abusing it even more than his tongue was a minute ago. “Fuck Cole I’m close.” you warn and that’s all you have time to grunt out before your vision blurs and you feel your legs shake, if it hadn’t been for Cole holding you upright you would have fell. He continues to eat you lapping up all your juices until your legs stop shaking and your breathing isn’t so ragged. 

Gently he removes his face from your pussy, careful to keep a steady grip on your legs so you stay up right. He slowly makes his way up to you, pulling you into a kiss so you can taste yourself and all you can do is moan in response. “Usually it takes more than a guy eating you out to feel this tired but holy shit Cole.” you mumble leaning your head on his shoulder closing your thighs. 

“Come on, let's get you dressed.” he says, reaching down for your jeans that were thrown away earlier. 

“No.” you whine. “ I’m not leaving you with this.” As you gently take one of your hands to slightly cup his bulge in his suit pants. He hisses in response. “See your in pain.” you complain.

“I’ll be fine. You just said your tired baby.” he argues. Looking back over at the medical examination bed in the corner of the room you get an idea. Slowly taking one of his hands you turn and walk backwards towards the bed guiding Cole with you. Letting go of his hand, you slip your underwear off the rest of the way and throw in his direction. He catches it on reflex sucking in a breath as feel the medical table behind you. Slowly you climb on and scoot all the way back. 

“I’m not too tired for you. Take what you need. Be good for me, make me cum again baby boy.” you beg as you lay down and spread your legs for Cole to have a perfect few of your still dripping pussy from your first orgasim. 

“Fuck. how did I get so lucky to get you.” he mumbles to himself as you watch him undress and make his way over to you.

[mountttmase]

Seeing Stars

Note - thank you to the anon that inspired this yesterday 🙊 I think we all deserve a night like this with masey moo. Feedback would be very much appreciated 🩷

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 2.1K

Warnings - smut and fluff

‘I still can’t believe you know how to drive this thing’ you laughed, watching as Mason expertly drove the yacht you’d rented for a few days out into the ocean. He didn’t go too far, still able to see the twinkling lights so the town behind you but you were far enough away from everyone else to feel isolated.

‘We used to get boats all the time on trips, I thought it wouldn’t do me any harm to learn how to drive one. Comes in useful don’t you think’ he winked but you could barely hear him over how turned on you were. Just watching him drive a car was enough to get you going but a boat? It was a whole other story. ‘I’ll anchor up here yeah?’ He asked but you just nodded.

It was a spontaneous trip, you weren’t even sure if you were allowed to be out here but apparently mason had got it cleared. Promising you a night of good food, clear starry skies and lots and lots of kisses and you felt like you’d be stupid to pass up the opportunity.

You weren’t sure if it was a good idea, but he’d wanted to organise the whole evening down to a tee. Under normal circumstances you would of made sure to help him but this was his gift to you for your first anniversary and you knew he wanted to treat you so you kept out of the way and let him plan your special evening.

Once the boat was settled, he told you to wait where you were so he could set up and you listed to him tinkering about as you looked up at the clear sky. You lived looking at the stars and mason knew this, hence why he wanted to bring you out here and around ten minutes later he was coming to get you. Telling you to shut your eyes as he lead you towards the front deck before pulling you in front of him to reveal the surprise.

‘You can open your eyes now baby’ he whispered in your ear, his beard lightly tickling your face and neck and once your eyes had adjusted to the scene in front of you, you couldn’t help but let out a surprised gasp.

All your favourite snacks were dished out in little bowls, your favourite drinks in an ice bucket were off to the side and your favourite flowers sat proudly in the middle of the picnic blanket as tiny tea lights set the cozy scene. Your eyes pricking at the thoughtfulness and you melted into his body as he kissed your shoulder.

‘Don’t worry, they’re battery lights. Thought it would be better than me starting a fire unintentionally’

‘Mason, this is beautiful’ you whispered, letting him lead you over to take a seat amongst it all before pouring you a drink. ‘Cheers to us’ you giggled, clinking your glasses together as he let out a little giggle before kissing your cheek softly.

‘Cheers to us, baby. And cheers to the best year of my life. I love you, so much’

‘I love you, too’ you whispered back, eyes never leaving each others until he dipped his head to place a heavy kiss on your lips.

You had an amazing time, feeding each other every so often as you took a little trip down memory lane. Reliving all your favourite moments from your first year of your relationship until you were laughing so much you had tears in your eyes.

Somehow throughout the conversation you’d ended up on his lap, legs either side of his as you straddled his thighs as you both looked up to the sky. Mason was trying to impress you by pointing out all the different constellations he knew, and you were pretty impressed, but before long he couldn’t keep his lips or hands off you and began to press gentle kisses to your neck.

It wasn’t much longer before you couldn’t take it anymore, dipping you head so you could pull him in for those long slow kisses that made your head spin as his hands traveled under your dress to grip your bum. You subconsciously rolled your hips onto him but you were distinctly aware that the pair of you were outside so when he attempted to lift your dress up you pulled back.

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ He pouted, lips swollen from the copious amounts of kissing you were doing and you couldn’t help but think he looked adorable. The blush across his cheeks sending your mind into orbit but you were aware of where you were and how inappropriate getting intimate out here would be.

‘Mase, we can’t. We’re outside’ you giggled, the feel of his lips on your neck again like heaven and when he pulled back you could detect that cheeky twinkle in his eye which meant you knew he was getting his own way.

‘Baby, look around. There’s no one here, It’s not like someone can just walk passed. We’re in the middle of the ocean love, no one can hear you scream’ he joked, thumbs gently rubbing circles on your back as he knew it eased your mind but the nervous gulp you took down let him know you still needed a little bit of convincing. ‘Do you honestly think I’d wanna do this if I wasn’t super certain we’d be fine.’

‘No’ you whispered, watching his eyes light up ever so slightly.

‘This body, it’s all for me right?’ He asked, pulling your dress up and over your head so you were left sat in his lap in just your underwear. You were nervous, not able to speak so you nodded your head to let him know you agreed and the soft look on his face melted you. ‘Well you know how selfish I am. Do you think I’d let anyone else see you like this?’

‘No’

‘I wanna take care of my girl’ he breathed, fingers gently pulling the straps of your bra down your shoulders before kissing your collarbone. ‘Are you gonna let me?’

‘Yeah’ you breathed, taking in a sharp breath as he continued to kiss over your chest whilst unclasping your bra from the back. As soon as it was off he was smiling up at before before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips and you felt yourself shiver from a mix of his touches and your skin behind exposed to the night time air.

‘Good choice’ he winked, your face flushing as your need for him grew but his hands on your hips were pushing you up and off of him. ‘Need you to lay down for me’ he whispered, clearing some stuff out of the way before helping you lay down on the deck. Thankfully you were on the little padded section but you would of taken him anywhere at this point. ‘I’m gonna make you see stars baby, literally and figuratively’ he told you, lips training down you body as he kissed you but you couldn’t help but laugh at the cheesiness of his words causing him to make his way back up to be eye level with you. ‘Something funny?’

‘No Mase’ you chuckled ‘But those are some pretty big words for you’

‘You watch that mouth before I put it to good use’ he winked, kissing the tip of your nose before working his way back down again. You figured he’d go straight to where you needed him but you knew what mood he was in as soon as he stopped at your chest, tongue flicking over your hardened nipple whilst he gently played with the other one and you could help but threat you fingers through his hair in attempts to keep him in place.

He was off again soon though, kissing his way to your other boob to give it the same treatment before travelling south. You wear aching for him at this point so you helped him as much as you could to take your underwear off before he got settled between your thighs.

You could feel his lips everywhere, kissing all over your thighs and just around where you needed him and you knew what mood he was in. He wanted to savour you and tease you into oblivion but you were ready for him so you lifted your hips in hopes he’d get the message but the chuckle against your thigh made you huff.

‘Easy baby, I’m getting there’ he told you, hands pushing your hips back down to the deck and just as your were about to tell him off he stole the words out of your mouth by licking a stripe up the centre of you.

The moan that left your lips was unholy, stopping yourself from being too loud but then remembering no one could hear you so you let him know how good he was making you feel. Grinding yourself down onto his mouth so you could get more from him and you could tell he was enjoying it just as much from the tight grip on your hips.

‘God, Mase. You’re so good at that’ you told him, fingers gripping his locks as you held him to you like you were in some sort of trance and you could tell he was feeding off your praise so he could get you to your high as quickly as he could and soon enough it was hitting you like a truck.

You were still coming down from your high as you watched him strip down to nothing between your hazy eyes. He tongue had made you feel weak but he sight of him now was waking you back up again. You let him gently push apart your thighs even further before get got settled, fingers threading through yours so he could give them a quick squeeze but the gentle smile on his lips made your heart thump.

‘You ready?’ He breathed, his tip pressing against your entrance and as soon as you nodded he was pushing his hips forward, eager to feel you around him and you whimpered as he finally bottomed out.

His forehead came to rest on yours, lips just touching as you breathed into each others mouth before your heavy breathing turned into moans that he captured with his lips.

He was being slow on purpose, not sure it’d it was the boat wouldn’t rock too much or if he was dragging it out to make it feel better but this wasn’t just sex. He was making love to you and you felt your body burst into flames at the intensity of it all

‘I can’t get enough of you. Never have been able to’ he whispered against your lips and the shiver that ran down your spine made you arch your back and expose you neck to him. He didn’t waste time latching onto it and sucking on your sweet spot lightly.

You were quite certain you’d never felt this good before. The setting, the stars in the sky and the man of your dreams slowly rocking himself into you were driving you insane and the sinful sounds you were making together made you want to roll your hips into him even faster.

‘Slowly, baby, I’m not going anywhere’ he laughed, squeezing your fingers that where still threaded through his before kissing you deeply. ‘Roll over for me yeah?’

You did as he said as quickly as you could, eager to feel him again as he quickly got back into position and the slight weight of his body laying on top of yours just turned you on even further. You could feel your high building, arching your back again so he could hit the right spot inside of you and you felt your vision blur slightly as his teeth sunk into your shoulder, a whimper pouring from his throat as he tried to hold back but you were ready to go. Trembling as you came for the second time of the night and you knew he did the same straight after from the way his hips sped up before he slumped over you.

‘Happy anniversary, my love’ he chuckled, rolling off of you so he could pull your body flush against his and you giggled into his neck as you held each other as close as you could.

‘Happy anniversary, Mase’

Thank you so much for reading 😌 I'd really like some feedback so please feel free to drop me an ask or whatever you feel comfortable doing, I'd really love to hear from you 🩷

[awesomerextyphoon]

Change of View

Summary: You got fired, but one grocery run changed things.

Pairing: Slight Sam Wilson x Black Female Reader

Rating: 16+/Teen

Word Count: 697

A/N: I'm sorry I've been gone for so long. I had to deal with some things.

Back to Masterlist

“Hey, sis. So, I got fired. Again. Please call me when you have the chance. Thanks.” You pressed send hoping she would actually call you back soon for once. 

You just had to forget your umbrella in the office that night and catch your boss cheating on his pregnant wife with your ‘hot’ coworker. 

Now you’re the one paying. 

“Fucking asshole.” You muttered trudging your willful feet past the crosswalk. 

This was the 3rd job in eight months! You were an avid saver, but still! 

Why did this shit always happen to you?! 

The gentle stream of raindrops did well to conceal your attempts of not bawling as you made your way to the metro.

You decided to buck up and make some homemade ice cream tonight. You needed today to end on a better note. 

–––––––

Walking down the aisle bleary-eyed, you were lost to the outside world. Until you bumped into a wall of muscle in the middle of the aisle. 

“Ow! I’m so sorry!” You rubbed your forehead in embarrassment.

The man reached out his hand, “No, it’s okay! Are you alright?”

Taking his hand, you got up and dusted yourself off, “Yeah, I’m fine-“ you gasped stopping dead in your tracks to see Sam Wilson, Captain America, staring back at you with concern.

Sam raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure?” 

You forgot to talk. You forgot to move. You just stood there staring and gaping like a deer caught in headlights.

“Um, you can close your mouth now.” 

“Shit!” You swore under your breath hoping he wouldn’t think you a dumbass. 

You had to make up for lost ground, “I didn’t know I would walk into Captain America. I should’ve worn better makeup.”

“Heh. I’m hardly worth the trouble.” Sam chuckled while rubbing the back of his neck. 

“You were a little taken aback by his easy-going nature

“So, what brought on these tears?” Sam asked noting your puffy eyes and slouchy shoulders. 

“I got fired for almost outing a cheater. I came here to get ingredients for homemade ice cream.” 

“Sorry about your job,” Sam consoled before his slyly suave smirk, “But, homemade ice cream sounds like a good time.” 

“Well, I got a sweet tooth and I’m a picky eater so this comes with the territory.” You admitted now being used to seeing such a person. Your eyes widened at his somewhat hidden weariness through the bags under his eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

“I just got back from a long mission and the press keeps hounding me comparing me to Steve and whatnot.” 

“It’s hard sometimes, you know?” He murmured. 

Even Captain America can have a bad day.

Maybe a cookie will help.

“Um,” you reached into your handbag, “I have a cookie if you want it. I was gonna save it for later, but looks like you need it more than I do.” Handing the hero a large glazed cookie. 

“It’s Lemon Ricotta.” You blurted worried he might think it poison. 

“Thanks.” Sam accepted the cookie, but not before his hand whispered against yours.

He cautiously took a bite before moaning deeply, “Damn!” 

You were surprised no one came over, he was so loud. 

“This is one of the best cookies I’ve ever had!” Sam praised.

“C’mon, it’s not that good.” You deflected shifting your eyes to the floor.

“Seriously! I’ve had one $200 cookie Stark has at his lavish parties and it couldn’t hold a candle to this!” 

Your face brightened at the compliment, “Thanks! It’s one of my favorite recipes.”

“I’ll bet,” Sam concurred after finishing the cookie.  

His eyes lit up for a moment before grabbing a pen and paper, “Hey, if you’re looking for a new job, I know a former colleague who's looking for an apprentice.” Scribbling a contact and then offering to you,  “The pay is amazing!” 

“Just say Sam Wilson referred you.” He winked. 

You took the paper and placed it into your handbag without (somehow) blustering.

Sam turned to leave, happy you would at least consider, “Have a good one.” 

“Thanks again!” 

“Good luck.” 

With a confident breath, you resumed shopping. You had a good feeling that things were finally looking up.

[satansapostle6]

fire and ice | james cook

Cook’s interest is piqued when an old childhood friend moves in across the street.

Warning: Mature themes/language. Drug use. Sexual content.

part one. those girls.

Cook was in need of something to get his day going when he left the house that morning. He had just woken up and was completely sober, no alcohol, and no spliff. Yet. He was about to be on his way to school, before he saw her.

New neighbors had moved in across the street a few days before, but James Cook hadn’t really seen any of them, until this very moment. The new neighbors, it seemed, had a daughter. Most likely his age. Cook was stunned for a moment, forgetting where he was as he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, just looking at her.

There was something so strongly familiar about this girl, as if he’d seen her before, as if he knew her. But he thought it couldn’t have been; she’d only just moved in. Cook studied her features eagerly as he took in her appearance.

Her white T-shirt sporting the logo of a popular beer, he was delighted to find, had no undergarments beneath it. Her jeans, he thought as he slowly scanned her tall form, were fitted, at least in the right place. She had long dark hair, with bangs that hid eyes that, even from a far, were quite alluring.

Already having made his decision, he ran straight across the street as he saw her walking in the same direction he was meant to head in. He had to shag this girl, he knew.

As he ran up behind the girl, he was frustrated by the fact that she wasn’t particularly alerted in any way by his presence. He’d assumed that since he’d ran up to her, she’d at least look to see who was just behind her, but she didn’t really seem to notice any as she kept walking.

“Got some sort of death wish, do you?” Cook asked her as she finally turned her head.

“No more than anybody else,” she responded.

He smiled, appreciating her devil-may-care sort of nonchalance.

“What’s your name, death wish?” he asked her.

“Why don’t you tell me yours?” she challenged softly.

Cook grinned, enjoying whatever game she was playing. “I asked you first,” he pointed out with a foolish expression on his face.

“I already answered your first question,” she pointed out patiently.

“Alright. Fair enough,” he conceded. “I’m Cook.”

He saw as the girl paused for a moment, thinking before she finally spoke.

“You wouldn’t happen to be… James Cook, would you?” she said finally.

“Why, have we shagged before?” he asked eagerly. “If so, that’s nothing to me, I’ll do it again.”

“Absolutely not,” the girl scoffed, crossing her arms. “We were ‘best mates’. In primary school. Remember?” she teased.

Cook froze, petrified as he traced his memory as far back as he could, trying to place this girl’s face.

“Wait, wait…” he trailed off in awe, slowly able to place her brown hair and green eyes, “Wheeler?! Bollocks, Tiffany Wheeler?!”

”That’s me,” she nodded, watching with satisfaction as he lost his mind over the fact.

“Fucking hell! No way that’s really you!” he cackled in disbelief. “I remember you used to let me copy off you in second year!”

“You said it made us best mates,” Tiffany nodded, watching him as he reminisced.

“I did. We were best mates,” Cook insisted. “You were the only one who didn’t laugh at me cuz I didn’t know my letters.”

“You still seem like you don’t,” she pointed out.

He just laughed, jumping up in excitement as he lazily threw an arm around her.

“We’re still best mates!” he jeered, playfully tousling her hair as she laughed.

Cook was just as she remembered from when they were small, loud, rambunctious, and excitable. He looked how she would’ve imagined even before, disheveled and reckless with his short, messy hair and collar half sticking up.

“Okay, Wheeler,” he beamed, still following her more so than walking alongside her. “We go to the same college?” he wondered.

“Probably,” she deduced.

“So… Since we’re, you know, best mates, and classmates, and neighbors, and such,” Cook trailed off, somehow sounding as if he were speaking with a mouthful, “Come to my place later? Like… you know. Come?” he grinned.

“Fuck no, Cookie,” Tiffany said firmly, much to his disappointment. “I’ve already heard enough about you.”

“Really?” he demanded. “From who?!”

“Friends.”

“You’ve got friends already?” he realized.

“Yeah,” she nodded, intentionally giving him nothing.

“Like who?” he questioned skeptically.

“Effy. And Katie. And Karen,” she said pointedly.

“You’re friends with them?” Cook asked skeptically.

“I mean… I don’t really have friends,” she said with disdain, not a particularly social person. “But if I did, they’d be Effy and Karen. And Katie, I guess. I met Effy and Katie at a pub. Then we saw Freddie, and he spotted Karen. She told me she liked my top.”

”Fucking hell,” he remarked. “You’re one of those girls, eh?”

“‘Those’ girls meaning?” she interjected.

“You know,” he responded playfully. “The kind you mostly just have to wank to… They show you enough, but they’re usually too good to give it up to you.”

“…If that’s how you want to see it,” she said indifferently.

“You know, Wheeler,” Cook thought as he lingered behind her, “You certainly grew up nice…” he smirked, only for her to nearly shove him into the street.

*****

Cook was seated in English beside Freddie and JJ, his closest friend since childhood. There was an empty seat next to Cook, and he knew exactly what he wanted with it once he saw Tiffany Wheeler come through the door. All eyes were on her when she walked in; most of the people in the room had never seen her before, and she was certainly worth looking at.

Cook watched as even some of the people he knew were taken with her. JJ was the first to spot her, giggling awkwardly and avoiding eye contact as he realized a pretty girl had entered the room. Freddie noticed her too, but went back to pining over Effy once he realized that she was pretty, but not Effy.

Naomi spotted her, but just rolled her eyes upon seeing all the boys in the room glancing in the same direction. Emily Fitch looked at her for just a moment, while her identical twin, Katie Fitch, excitedly waved her over, pointing to an empty seat next to her.

“Hey, Tiff!” Katie called.

Effy Stonem’s cold blue eyes were trained on Tiffany, as if finally recognizing an equal.

Effy watched with great interest as Tiffany saw Katie, and smiled politely, before spotting Cook, who was now grinning and looking to the empty chair next to him. Effy allowed herself a little smirk as Tiffany knowingly walked past and sat down next to Cook, who turned to greet her pleasantly.

“How you doing, Tiff?” he asked her.

“Alright,” she shrugged.

The two of them both faced forward, separate smiles plastered on their faces.

-

part two.

[foulwitchknight]

I Want You To Want Me: Part III

Steve was persistent he’ll give him that. He thought he’d get bored by now but it was now month 3 of his pursuit and he seemed as determined as ever to win him over. Eddie didn’t know how long he could keep fending him off for. His resolve was honestly crumbling with each visit. Steve had memorized his schedule and came to the country club every day he worked. He’d even started bringing him expensive treats. Eddie was honestly flattered by his efforts so he decides to invite Steve over to dinner. He wanted to see if he could nip this in the bud and was curious how Steve would react to his world. Eddie figured he’d take one look at the trailer and go running back to his rich Alpha suitors. The thought made him sad but he was confident that that would finally make Steve lose any desire to be mates. He was surprised that Steve seemed thrilled and excited by the invitation. He kept asking what he should wear and if he should bring anything which Eddie thought was really cute. It secretly made him soften even more towards him. Wayne however was shocked he’d invited a Harrington into their sacred space. Neither one was a big fan of the clan up until that point but Wayne decided to trust Eddie. If he’d invited the boy over, there had to be something special about him. Steve arrived promptly at 7 on Friday. He’d brought with him a pie from Wayne’s favorite diner which Eddie had offhandedly told him about one day while he’d been distracted at work. He didn’t think he’d remember. Eddie could tell it's already scored some points with Wayne but that didn’t mean he’d go easy on him. The first hour of dinner was awkward. Steve seemed misplaced sitting at their counter eating from their mismatched plates. He could tell how nervous Steve was because he was talking a mile a minute to try to fill up the silence. His hands moved rapidly as he explained how he accidentally flushed Goldie the goldfish down the toilet when he was three. In the middle of his impassioned story him and Wayne exchanged an amused look with Wayne raising an eyebrow as if to say: You sure he’s a Harrington? It was pretty shocking to see this side of Steve. They’ve only ever saw Harringtons being suave and charming. It helped crack the remaining ice especially when Steve mentioned sports. Steve’s extensive knowledge on the topic was coming in handy. Suddenly his usually stoic uncle was chatting with Steve like he was already apart of the family. He knew Wayne definitely liked him though when he made Steve promise that he’d come over on Wednesday to watch a big basketball game together. Eddies plan certainly didn’t go how he expected. Maybe Steve isn’t such a long shot Eddie thought as he walked him to his car. He was still trying process what happened at dinner so he was mostly silent during their brief walk. Somehow though as they are saying their goodbyes they end up kissing. It was better than Eddie had ever imagined and by his scent Steve enjoyed it too. He watched Steve drive away feeling hopeful for the first time ever that things would work out.

[melodramaticatheart]

Do You Want To Get In Trouble? - Xander x Max

word count: 756

book: tig series

ship: Xander Hawthorne x Max Liu

“Xander will you stop looking at me like that for the love of god” Max wasn’t asking Xander she was ordering him, Max had somehow gotten some blizzard in her hair and the boy couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. “How am I looking at you?” He asks knowing the answer. His brothers had often pointed out that when he looked at Max it was like seeing a puppy in love. Xander stated that it was most likely untrue but deep down he knew they were right. Max had grown to be his comfort person, the one he could share everything with, even in the middle of the night when an idea sprung to his head she was always ready to listen, always matching his energy. He scrambled for a napkin somewhere in the Dairy Queen bag. “Y’know I must thank you for helping me experience my first official blizzard,” Xander said, finally finding a napkin and handing it to her. “I can’t believe you’ve never had one, it really makes you think maybe growing up rich isn’t so great,” Max said with a crooked smile, finally getting all the ice cream out of her hair. “Let’s get out of here and do something fun” She suggested once a moment of silently staring at the parking lot passed. “What you wanna do?” Xander said starting up the car they stole from one of Oren’s men. They weren’t even supposed to be out of the house but the fall semester was starting soon and neither of them would see the other till Christmas. Sneaking out was the only way they could get away from all the nerves at the Hawthorne Manor. The games were starting in three months and the energy was palpable. “Let’s give your brothers a heart attack.” Max smiled evilly, he could already see an idea brewing. Max kissed Xander pulling away with mischievous eyes.

“Do you wanna get in trouble with me, Xander Hawthorne?” 

“I thought you’d never ask”

Thirty minutes later they had flower seeds, a shovel and dirt in the trunk of the car. Xander and Max’s idea of trouble was actually not bad at all, just illegal. They decided they would plant peonies so when the school year ended they could come back and see how they’d grown. They both chose where they wanted the flowers and started working. It wasn’t until Max and Xander were doubled over laughing at a joke that they noticed a police officer pulling up in a golf cart. The man couldn’t be older than forty, he held up a flashlight and asked for them to identify themselves, they stumbled up still laughing when they said their names “Uh I’m Maxine Liu, and he’s Alexander Hawthorne.” Max said, looking absolutely delighted at the use of Xander’s full name. “Ok well if you don’t know, what you’re doing is illegal and I need to write you guys a fine.” The officer stepped closer looking at the dirt on the kids' jeans. He took out a notepad and gave Xander a paper. “I need you both to leave now, or I will need to take you to the station.” The officer explained “Yes,” Xander looked closer at the sir’s name badge “Yes, Officer Koplan.” He repeated already picking up the empty packet of flower seed packets and Max picking up the small shovel. “You kids stay out of trouble for the rest of the night, you hear me?” The officer's accent was thicker now as he yelled after Max and Xander. 

When both of them got back to the Hawthorne house they did not expect Jameson and Avery to be having a cup of coffee at nearly one in the morning. “Max, Xander, what were you guys doing out at this hour?!” Avery said her eyes widening when she saw the shovel “We promise we didn’t kill anyone.” Max said grinning “We just got fined for being so funny and attractive.” Xander said getting the shovel from Max’s hand. Jameson was trying hard not to laugh. “How about I accompany you with taking the shovel back outside,” Jameson said clearly wanting to get away from the conversation he and Avery were having. 

Once the boys were outside, Avery and Max just stared at each other till Max was looking down trying to cover her smile. “Man, you guys really like each other,” Avery said putting her hands in her jean pockets. 

“Shut up.”  But the only thing both girls could do was grin at each other.

⊹‿︵‿୨ི୧‿︵‿⊹

requested by @s-rosie

wasnt gonna post but @art-of-fools held me at gun point

[obimaulartfire]

October 26th- "Seduction" for the @sithobiwanevent

Mini-fic connected to this piece under the Read More tag! I had so much fun with this prompt, hehehe

Maul walked down the neon-lit streets of Coruscant, out of the Jedi Temple. The mission he just finished had been hard, but successful.

His clone commander offered to take him out in celebration, but Maul turned him down. He wasn’t the social type; he preferred to do things on his own terms.

Besides, he felt…it, again.

“It” was a presence that had been following him like a shadow for the past few years.

It felt like fire and ice at once; cool, prickly fury mixed with a warm affection. At least, that was what the Force told him.

“It” never hurt him. In fact, it was often a comfort when he felt completely alone in the world, whether that was in the Temple, out in the street, or off-world. When he was sorrowful, overwhelmed, or angry, it was nearby like a cold pillow on a hot night. But it felt stronger than usual today, like it was about to smother him.

Therefore, he couldn’t risk anyone else getting in the way. Today was the day he would find the source.

He walked down the street, keeping his sixth sense open and his eyes over his shoulder. There were so many people here; any one of them could be the source of the Force presence. Frustrated, he grumbled to himself as he walked towards no destination in particular. But then, he remembered that the presence only made itself known when he was alone.

He chided himself. Was he really about to put himself in danger for the sake of his curiosity?

This is stupid. He was a Jedi. If anything came at him, he was more than certain that he could win in a fight.

While he thought, his feet took him down the back streets, towards a part of town that he knew would have no one in it at this time of night. He got there, found an open alleyway and walked in. And he waited.

He felt the presence, but couldn’t see anyone. Of course. He’d never seen the source of the presence, so it was unlikely that they would simply reveal themselves immediately.

He grit his teeth and gathered up his courage.

“Come out. I know you’re there.” he said, trying to hide the slight shake in his voice.

There was no answer. Until there was.

“You’re calling for me? What a surprise.” said an elegant, icy voice.

Maul spun around, and his hearts dropped in his chest. He recognized the face that appeared before him immediately.

Ten years ago on Naboo, his master was killed by none other than the man before him. He was older now, had grown out a beard and his hair, but otherwise looked exactly the same. His yellow eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, silhouette outlined by the multicolored lights around him. Maul didn’t know his name, but he did know him, and always would. It was impossible to forget the one who stole your loved ones.

Despite this, he radiated the exact same presence. That same Force signature he felt when he was alone in the Jedi Temple in the middle of the night. Now, instead of it being a background hum, it wrapped around his mind and threatened to crush him with its force.

Somehow, it was still comforting.

“You…” Maul started.

The man interrupted.

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous to walk alone at night? You could get hurt.” he said with an outpouring of protective affection, and walked closer.

Maul instinctively backed away, towards an alley.

“Why? But you- I killed you. I thought-”

His eyes darted to the man’s right arm and leg. They were advanced prosthetics now, but made almost no noise as he strode forward. Maul had cut those off. He remembered pushing this man down the reactor shaft, so why was he alive? Why was he here?

Maul made a soft grunt when he turned and his back hit the wall. The man came closer to him, and leaned over; their height difference becoming apparent.

“Your questions have easy answers.” he said, though Maul had asked no questions. It was like he knew what he was thinking.

He opened his prosthetic hand, and took Maul’s hand in it; a gesture of reverence.

Maul flinched at how cold the metal was, but did not pull away.

“The simple answer is that you killed me, and I came back.” he said, lacing his fingers with Maul’s. “I’ve been obsessed with you ever since you cut me down on Naboo. You’re the only person who has ever defeated me, undone me. I should hate you for it, but instead I find you… fascinating.”

Maul swallowed thickly, his hearts pounding in his chest. He’d never had anyone be interested in him before, not to this degree. It was intoxicating, and it drew him closer.

His mouth moved, looking for words to say. They came out jumbled and choppy.

“So all this time. When I was alone, and I was sad, and I felt a presence. That- that was you?” 

The man raised his prosthetic arm, and pinned Maul’s arm against the wall.

Without thinking, Maul wrapped his fingers around the metallic ones, to ground himself.

The man leaned closer, his warm breath brushing Maul’s lips.

“Does that disturb you, my dear?”

Maul stared up into glowing, yellow eyes. It was very strange. Though this whole situation should scare him, Maul found himself incredibly calmed, almost hypnotized by the man in front of him. He didn’t want him to go.

“No.” he replied, and meant it.

“I’m glad.”

Before he knew it, Maul was kissing him. He lost himself in the moment of finally coming face-to-face with the presence that, in some way, kept him sane for the past few years.

But, when the man pulled away, Maul looked at his face again and remembered who he was looking at. This was his master’s murderer. And yet despite himself, he couldn’t pull away.

“This… this is wrong.” he said, his sense finally coming back to him.

He shouldn’t feel safe around this man. He should run. He should pull out his lightsaber and finish the job he started years ago. So why? Why didn’t he pull away?

“Is it, now?” he replied, conversationally.

“Of course it is. You killed my master. I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be doing this.” he said.

I shouldn’t want this. He thought.

“And yet, here you are.” he said, with a light chuckle. His breath tickled, and his beard brushed against his cheek.

Maul found himself kissing him again. One hand was pinned to the wall, but the other grabbed at the bow on his back, pushing him closer. Force, what was wrong with him?

The kiss ended too soon. His master’s murderer pushed away from him, ever so gently, and looked into his eyes.

“Come away with me, Maul. I could teach you so much.”

Maul swallowed and nodded his head.

At this point, it wasn’t even a question.

He took his hand, and pushed down his own self-loathing for saying ‘yes.’

[sevikasleftpussyflap]

Hi flap! Feel free to ignore this if this idea isn't all that interesting, you probably have a lot going on rn, sending you love. But anyway this is the ask: A love interest who can move Sevika? We know Sev has had it ground and beaten into her by Zaunite reality that people are fundamentally worthless and expendable, so let's say this person gets her to feel human again. Like truly move her on a deep level and make her feel like a person worth loving, somehow. Maybe it's a small glow of a feeling that she instinctively pushes away but it happens

A/N: It's been awhile, I'm rusty, and I hope I got this right!

Warnings: Short section of smut, Sevika being a fool in love

As one could easily guess, camaraderie amongst her fellow Zaunites evaded Sevika like the plague. Sure, there were a few she regularly swindled in various games of her liking. Some that offered a seldom amount of words that stretched across rounds, the easy silence euphoric after a long day. Those few had enough respect from Sevika to earn themselves a nod in their direction when she passed by, if she were feeling particularly jovial.

Sevika also had a few favorites at the brothel but it’s not like she went there for friendship. Anyone she met there she viewed as a tool, a stress relief to make her life just a tad easier, her work more efficient. No one to write home about, if there even was anyone to write to. Long before Sevika had dedicated her life to Zaun, the notion that she was worth anything had been beaten and choked out of her by enforcers and the mines they had her in when she was barely old enough to hold a pickaxe. 

So, no. No friends (the closest she could think of was- Janna -Silco, that’s how fucking far she was from friendship), no ‘lovers’ (unless you counted those she paid), and no desire for either. Just fucking enemies. Like Vander’s girl. 

That was before the new shit-for-brains recruit. 

Sevika hadn’t thought much of you. Easy on the eyes, but annoying as shit, proved by your incessant attempts to get buddy-buddy with her every damn day. She didn’t think you’d be this much of a pain, for sure.

You, however, were insufferable. Jinx was the one who hired you because of course you befriended that little monster. You could make friends with an axe murderer, which, admittedly, Sevika does classify as some kind of murderer. Not that she’d ever admit you managed to chip away at her cold exterior enough so that when she thought of friends she thought of you and she’s definitely not happy about it.

It’s the way you come to pester her everyday after shift. The way you refill her drink without her needing to ask when she’s in the middle of a round. The infuriating way you switch her over to water after her fourth cup, claiming her blood is more alcohol than water at this point, to which she implies she’ll be seeing what yours is made of if you don’t get her more whiskey. And see it she almost did, after you took a bullet for her at the docks. Sevika will never forget or understand the feeling of her heart collapsing until she verified you were wearing a vest.

She still fucking hates you, but you might just be the best friend she’s ever had. 

After that, Sevika deemed you worthy enough to break her no-fucking-coworkers rule- which she never even thought about doing before, seriously what were you doing to her-

A kiss was as far as Sevika went (because she has some class) and because your body needs to recover first (the only bruises she wants on it are from her).

The ice cubes clink at the bottom of her empty glass, breaking her out of one of her numerous attempts to think of a way you repulse her. Sevika much prefers that feeling to this new, unpleasant one. 

A slight limping gait catches her attention from halfway across the room, headed towards the poker table where she is currently situated. The frustrated groan that leaves her mouth is paired with the slamming of her cards on the table, alerting the now-cautious group of players that their game is now over. You were supposed to be resting- is that a skirt?

A few of the guys glance curiously at the brief half-smile that sneaks its way across Sevika’s face. Contrary to popular belief, they’re intelligent enough to know it has nothing to do with the stack of coins nearly toppled in front of her. 

Sevika catches herself and knows a glare will just prove she has something to hide, so she tries bluffing that her shitty hand is the cause of her joy.

“Another winning hand. Thought I’d save you the tears.”

It’s surely not you, who’s headed her way in some cute little getup. 

And then there’s that. You had started dressing up for her. She can only assume, because you started doing it a week ago- ever since that kiss- and only hung around her before heading home for the night. 

“Hi.” Your warmth reaches her from both your tone and body with how close you’re standing next to her chair. 

“Why are you out of bed?” Sevika, feigning composure, gives you the same no-nonsense tone you always ignore.

“Just came to see how bad you were losing.”

Sevika pointedly sweeps her gaze across the array of gold and silver and uses an embarrassing amount of effort to keep her tone gruff.

“Yeah, don’t know how I’m recovering from this one. Why are you out of bed?”

“Missed you.”

Fuck.

Sevika gracefully jolts to her feet, muttering a ‘see ya, boys’ like some kind of whipped dog, and guides you to the nearest private room. It just so happens to be the bathroom. Romantic. Not that she hasn’t ate someone out on this very sink, but this is you and it feels wrong and like it’s not enough and neither is she-

As soon as the door is locked, her lips are on yours in a kiss so gentle it’s painful. The whine you give when she pulls away is just as agonizing.

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that? You were shot, busted ribs, could’ve punctured a lung-”

“It’s not that bad.” 

Sevika’s almost grateful for the anger that resurfaces and allows her to get a reign on her emotions. The unsavory ones, at least. 

“Not bad? You were shot. With a bullet-” 

Your lips quirk in an effort to stifle some smart ass remark that’ll have Sevika putting her fist through a wall. You’re not disciplined enough to conceal an eyeroll.

“I was wearing a vest.”

“Doesn’t fucking help.” A cracked tooth throbbed in protest as Sevika’s jaw clenched, the nonchalance of your almost-death leaving a pain in her heart she was unfamiliar with. It kept her steady, prevented her from falling back into the blood-red rage she found herself in when you were lying on the ground, so she kept applying pressure until the searing pain cleared her vision. 

“Helped a lot, actually.”

Something splintered. Sevika did wince this time. Your eyes flash with worry and that was somehow more painful.

“Hey, what happened?” Your fingers brush against the light bruise on her jaw. After you were hit, you woke up in Singed’s hellish medical room with a drained-looking Sevika by your side. That had been where you two shared your first kiss which is about the only good memory you have in that room. 

“Someone had to finish the job while you were sitting on your ass.”

Sevika’s hand comes to wrap around your wrist, circumferencing the soft skin with little hassle. Her thumb rubs soothing lines over your veins and the same pulse she had to check with shaking hands. 

“Sooo, these guys. I’m assuming they’re… past tense?”

Her glare doesn’t change, yet you somehow, infuriatingly, pick up on the question in her eyes.

“Yknow, the ones who shot me. You… evicted them from this realm? You-“ 

“I fucking killed them.” Sevika says slowly, though her anger hardens the words.

“Oh. Cool.”

“You have two choices,” Sevika digressed, finally reaching her limit of your avoidance of her command. “You can either go to bed yourself, or I can bend you over and make sure you can’t leave that bed.”

…

Sevika noses her way between your breasts, lips peppering small kisses on her trail until she gets to the nasty purple bruising on your abdomen. Her eyebrows furrow for just a moment before she continues her wordless apologies, her reverence, her gratitude against your skin. The elastic of your panties comes into reach, which Sevika pulls back to lightly slap against your hip with a half-grin. 

“Ow, you fucker-”

“Oh, so now you know what pain is?”

Your head goes back hard against the fluffy pillows with a dramatic huff, looking truly affronted by the teasing. Sevika’s lips purse, taking in the expression she finally sees on your face instead of her own. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” 

The way your head snaps upwards, eyebrows raised in interest, has Sevika chuckling against your thigh.

“Well, I mean, if you’re offering-”

The fabric tears as easily as paper in Sevika’s scarred hands, the destruction only a fraction of what she could truly cause, before they go back to cradling your thighs as if you were a delicacy. 

“Okay, yeah, you’re definitely buying me another pair because- ohmygod.”

Her tongue parted your folds like the petals of a flower, your thighs going lax enough for her to spread them more and settle inbetween. The reverberations of a pleased hum have you canting your hips towards her mouth, her nose, anything of hers you can feel against you before the remaining elastic around your hips is once again snapped against your skin.

“Sev, I swear.”

“Stop moving, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“You hurt me.”

That tongue begins lazily working between your legs. Your body sinks into the pillows as easily as butter, any past transgressions well and truly forgotten. As if it were possible to hold a grudge with two fingers working their way into you, tongue delving deliciously over your swollen clit, Sevika takes a moment to press a kiss to your center.

“Sorry, baby.”

…

“It was the mini skirt, wasn’t it?”

“I trusted you with my one weakness.” Smoke spilled from her lips, though her dry tone was from a pleasant kind of exhaustion. “And you exploited it.”

“You caught me.” The luminous blue of Sevika’s scars disappear under your tracing finger until they find her cheek. A much larger hand cups yours and holds it to her face, preventing its escape. 

You’re much more preoccupied with the serene smile adorning her lips, the rarity rendering you stupid enough to comment on it.

“Your smile is so fucking pretty.”

Just like that, it falls faster than your heart plummeting in your chest. She doesn’t seem pissed, you hope, but concentrated like she’s processing some valuable intel. That thumb of hers is running over your veins again.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“But why?” You whine, horribly exaggerated, to see her roll her eyes and scoff. You swear you hear a barely audible ‘brat’ muttered underneath your pouting. While you’re being honest, you add, “It’s now one of my favorite expressions of yours.”

“Doesn’t that make it more special? The rarity?” Sevika tries in what you assume is an attempt at placating you.

“True. But I could never tire of seeing it, Sev.” You never would have thought this balls-to-the-wall method of being vulnerable and sharing emotions would have gotten you this far, but she hasn’t kicked you out yet. 

That notch appears between her brows in reminisce of her usual disgruntled expression and you startle her when you huff out a laugh. “Or that one.”

[thewrittingpan]

Painting Lies 3

Phinks x reader, Fetain x reader, Shalnark x reader

Tigger and content warnings include but are not limited to: blood, gore, violence, kidnapping, abuse, mental health issues, trauma

Wc: 6501

Tumblr links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Ao3: Here

You think you remember the two blonds being there, but you also remember your legs being twice their usual size. Honestly you just stared at the ceiling for a bit wondering what the hell was going on in your head. For all you know you did get into a fight with a giant blanket yesterday but also you felt like you had somehow completed an entire treasure collection in that game you played. Everything in the dream was too close to reality for your liking.

“Hey Phinks?” You looked out into the hall to see if he was up.

“What?” The door across the hall from you opened.

“Weird question, did we have a staring contest during dinner or did I dream that?”

“That kind of happened.” he went to close the door.

“Okay, did you play video games yesterday with me watching?”

He looked at you terribly confused, “no?”

“Did we set up the table?”

“No, shalnark did.”

“Did I go to the basement? Does the basement have a whole art studio too? Because I dreamed there was like some art supply store or something in it and I feel like I'm going insane.”

“Yes to both.”

“Okay okay, now the part that ia really fucking with me is that i swear i woke up in the middle of the night-”

“You did.”

“-and you and the other guys were there-”

“Correct.”

“Then I got kissed goodnight by the three of you? And like some drink that you see moms in movies make for kids after a nightmare?”

He stood looking at you, you had no idea what he was thinking, honestly he looked as confused as you were.

“That didn’t happen, those two just wanted to see you before leaving.”

“Weird.” You mumbled to yourself. “It all felt like stuff that happened or could have.”

Everyone had dreams that left them confused when they woke up, or well you think everyone does. Waking up from them can vary, like with every other kind of sleep. When it came to “what the fuck happened who am I” level of confusion dreams waking up in anyway that left you dazed was not a good thing. What you personally think is worse is when you don’t feel like you have been asleep, or when you think you haven't had a dream.

Your thoughts fizzled out until you could have been a cartoon character with smoke coming out of their head. Confusion sticks, the whole day would probably feel off, and hell you might just fall back asleep with how just trying to think through it all was driving you mad.

“Are you going to spend time around the house or in your room?” Phinks was leaning against the door frame.

“Oh-“ you sifted through your ideas to keep yourself entertained.

There were the new games you’ve been given, but the clearly visible camera in your room had been creeping you out. You had some books but part of you couldn’t stand the idea of reading at the moment, something in your bones felt like they couldn’t find a comfortable way to sit to read. Maybe you could draw- there was that sketch you wanted to paint.

“I might go paint something?” You asked him.

It felt like you were allowed to go paint down there whenever, or that was the ideal goal they had with showing you it. Though there was something about this house, even with Shalnarks advice of Phinks being surprisingly soft, you felt like you were standing on an inch of ice and it was already waiting to break.

He nodded, “Not a bad idea, just don’t go past the curtain, Fetain doesn’t like anyone touching his things. I’ll make something simple to eat, I’m not much of a cook so you’ll have to put up with it or make your own food.” He walked past you towards the kitchen, “I’ll stay down there to make sure you don’t go poking around in things you don’t want to see.”

Yeah totally not threatening or creepy in the slightest. Hell part of you felt like a horror movie character right now, that vague warning only made you want to see what was down there. As you gathered your sketches your mind ran wild. The stairs in this unfinished basement were creaky wood. You looked at your feet as you descended, the wood was nice and sanded, with no nails that you could notice. Yet your mind drew with jagged lines, poorly put together stairs covered in splinters. That would be too empty, not enough visual interest but something could be drawn from those mental images of stairs. Maybe if something was spilling down the stairs it would be interesting, something twisted hidden in the shadows or beneath the stars themselves, something hard to notice but once you do it’s shocking.

You pulled out a pre-stretched canvas. For a while your hands hovered over two, each size would have its benefits, the smaller ones could make the figure have a “weaker” tone. Though the larger would allow the grotesque details you were longing for. Yet you could alter your concept slightly and “zoom in” on a smaller canvas, get up close and personal with the spine. You propped them both up so you could more easily compare them while sorting through your sketches. You tore them from the sketch book with a strange chaotic need. They were spread out across the cold concrete floor. Scattered and overlapped so they could all be seen without taking up much space. It was a kaleidoscope of paper and ink, and you were the crazed lunatic who had created it.

“You’ll have to pick those up when you finish painting.” Phinks stepped down the stairs holding a large plate full of scrambled eggs and waffles. “Or do you think you’ll need to have them spread out while working?”

“Do you have tape?” You asked, “Something stronger than a basic office tape, I could hang them on the wall?”

“Eat some, I’ll find some.”

The food was weirdly over and under done. The waffles had parts that were slightly more runny than they should be but the eggs were concerning. Parts were crispy and almost burnt, while the rest was fluffy, almost as if he had gotten distracted and almost made a bad omelette.

“Duck tape and packing tape.” He placed one roll of each on the table beside you.

“Oh, thanks, that’ll work fine.”

He was quiet, but it wasn't the same way Fetain is. Fetains silence was a threat, one you had grown used to. He had this weight to him that was impossible to ignore when alone, though he easily blended in and was easy to ignore in a group. Phinks was almost the opposite. You never noticed him when it was just him, though that didn’t mean you trusted him in the slightest. There was a comfort to him, familiar almost, half memories of moments with an old friend or a split second where you almost felt like you were sitting in the room with a long forgotten family member. Warmth tried to spread through you, you desperately wanted to trust him when you felt the familiarity, but how could you when you knew nothing about him.

You taped away. Deformed figures, haphazard diagrams and sketches of anatomy from memory. While each sketch held some semblance of a thought, a firework of an idea, sometimes you found that the best ideas grew when you worked without a clear thought. Molding fog and light created forms and shapes that you may overlook, sometimes you could compare them to an instinct, or a deep need to connect with something you had yet to fully understand.

These things made the beginning difficult but one of the most fun parts of it all. Every thought could be quickly scribbled out, fulfilling the urge to create, but not held back by perfection. It was wild, untamed, which made it unpredictable. A great idea could last a second before flickering out while a bad one could haunt you, not because the idea’s roots were rotten but because the branches had been infested by a failure to succeed.

You stared at the sketches of green bruises. The needles poked through skin, emerging from the bones themselves. Single drops of blood would sit atop the skin, staining it, drying deeply into the grooves. If the dirt and grime of the depicted horror went untreated it would stain not only the mind, but cling to the body like death itself, unable to be removed with hours upon days of scrubbing. It would always feel dirty, and you could always end up permanently stained.

This gorey twist that you adapted in your work was a little strange, even you had to admit it. You didn’t like the idea of torture porn when it came to horror movies, which some found surprising, clearly you didn’t hate it, but there had to be something gained from it. In your pieces you wanted each graphic mark to mean something, there needed to be a story you could read into if you wanted, but often they became reflections of struggles. It was relaxing, in the way that snapping and throwing something can make you sigh and sob after the frustration was finally released.

The thing about art is that it sucks ass. While it can be a weight off your shoulders and drain all of the stress out of you, it could just as easily make you want to stab someone’s eyes out. Staring at pins and needles for long enough just made you want to see your eyes shut so you didn’t have to see them everywhere else. Even closing your eyes made you think of the horrible blotchy shading that just did not want to work because you didn’t think and added too much water to your paints. Hell every time you groaned in frustration your fucking kidnapper look scared. So you tossed the brushes in the sink and worked on scrubbing out the paint before you ruined them right away.

“Do you usually work in these long multiple hour sessions?” He asked you over the sound of running water.

The water was cold, dangerously so. Your fingers toyed with the hair gently mixing small amounts of soap into it. This rhythmic movement helped calm you down and get out of the “holy mother of cats why won’t things go right” headspace that you got stuck in.

“Yeah, that’s common, anything less than three is an oddity.”

“I guess I just didn’t understand how hard it was.”

“Every job is kinda like that.”

You left the brushes on a spread out towel to dry. The pallet of rapidly drying paint was still there and there were a few reasons for why you didn’t clean off the paint; it’d ruin the plumbing, it was half dry anyways, you didn’t care, and it was fun to peel off later. If that little thing could give you some control maybe it would be worth it to wait and try to earn a way out.

Part of you felt like you were giving up too easily, that you had already lost your will to fight when you woke up that first day. Yelling at yourself wouldn’t do anything and you knew that but you felt like it was your fault. Perhaps you’re just the circus elephant tied to nothing. Yet you didn't blame yourself, or at least not as much as you think you were supposed to. Playing along and being good allows for you to be taken as a cute little pet that might be too frightened to try anything. Maybe other kidnappers are different.

You looked at Phinks from when he was leaning back in the folding chair balancing on its back legs. He was large, so much strength loomed over him, making him seem like the biggest in the room. Some damn part of him made you both think he was some jockey asshole like in movies and tv, or some large warm hearted man, though the latter seemed like a stretch.

“You’re starring again.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About?”

You gathered up the sketchbook you had ripped a handful of pages out of. You should lie. Shalnark said something like “he wasn’t perceptive” right? What if you were wrong? What about telling the truth? Would he kill you in anger? Slam you into the wall? Be the manifestation of the shadows from the covered half of the basement that had been driving you crazy, pulling you back and deep down into its maw, screaming as you die from-

“Just say it, I’m in a good mood, I don’t want it ruined with some anxiety attack because you’re scared to say someth-.”

“I don’t know how to feel.” You didn’t turn back to him as you walked towards the stairs, stopping at its feet, so he knew you weren’t trying to run away. “I don’t want to upset you or the others and risk dying or something arguably worse. I feel like everything has to be said correctly or not at all so I don’t find out someone is secretly more delusional than a damn LSD trip.”

You heard the chair squeak a bit as he stood up and walked towards the stairs, he didn’t stop like you and slowly started climbing them, slowly so you could continue.

“I should be scared, angry, maybe I should try to kill someone, or myself, try to escape? I don’t know, I can’t do any of those. I don’t want to, I hate how nice my room was, there was so much thought, so much detail, it felt so real, so close to my messy room. It creeps me out, enjoying the food, the room, the clothes, even the personal products make me feel like I graduated from a top academy with no debt and no depression.”

You lead him down the hall towards the living room. “I haven’t even looked outside you know, somehow I feel like it’ll make or break the dream. I think it might make me try something stupid, make me snap or something. I want to feel okay but I don’t, and when I don’t want to feel okay I do!” You ripped the curtain open, startling yourself.

“Did the window change anything?”

Woods. Beautiful moss covered trees that stretched far. The fire kissed trees rained down their leaves and it looked gorgeous. It reminded you of that date with the cats, the betrayal, of this fuck up of yours. It was something akin to heaven in your eyes, a perfectly twisted picture.

“I miss home.” You said finally tears slipping through your horribly masked emotions. You turned from the window stepping away from its bright light and into your dark room. You didn’t close the door fully behind you, it was very easy to look through the gap.

The blankets were smooth but when you burrowed into them to avoid everything, they felt fluffy against your skin. Even as your breath filled the underneath of them with hot air that felt suffocating, you accepted it with open arms. Stale warm air was unpleasant but it felt like the first warmth you’d felt in eons. The world outside this nest was cold and cruel, and you felt chained to the bed the more you thought about it.

The room's gentle darkness left you thinking as you tossed and turned. You fought back sobs but didn’t care about the tears that leaked down your face. Your sweetest boy laid next to you, his paw resting atop your hand as you faced him and the wall. You longed for the comfort of your real bed, sitting on the small balcony with your cat as he stared wide eyed at the birds.

Maybe you could have avoided this. Maybe if you had kept to yourself, avoided people like you had grown accustomed too, you could have continued your life. It didn’t change the fact that you were here now, but you were haunted by it. Those dark eyes at the damn exhibit. Why did it have to happen? Were you a fool? Were there any signs that you could have noticed? No matter how much crying you did or didn’t do you hated every second you were left to think about anything. Each damn second made you manic, and every other one made you depressed and unable to move. You felt so nauseous that soon you just vomited and sat on the bathroom floor headhung as you finally sobbed.

It was loud and obnoxious, you were lucky only one other person was home. It bounced off the walls. Phinks could definitely hear you. It was the kind of sob that was scratchy and full of angry screams, perfect for a tantrum that would destroy everything in a close area. You felt like a toddler who had been told no when asking for candy, a brat who wanted something. It felt like you were the problem even if you were just a victim of your surroundings. Yet you screamed and cried until your throat was sore, until it felt like it could have been bleeding, and you choked on the bubbling sobs as snot filled every airway.

You laid in a puddle of yourself, not moving when the front door opened and slammed shut. Unblinking as keys jingled down the hall with heavy footsteps. Looking with tired weak eyes, up at Phinks who stood, with plastic bags in hand, his face red and his eyes looking at the wall instead of you.

“It’s late, Fei and Shal want you to have a routine but they're not here… come stay up late and watch a movie or something? Shal bought some of your favorites and ones you’ve talked about! I have some chocolate, or popcorn if you’d like? I’m not sure what you all like when it comes to movie snacks…”

Your voice was so scratchy it hurt to hear you speak. “Please…” you whined as he helped pull you up and onto the living room couch.

He handed you the bags, a multipack of tissue boxes, an assortment of chocolate, popcorn, beer, teas, sodas, chips... You dug through it all and he returned with blankets in hand and a stuffed animal he knew you were attached to, that they all knew you were attached to.

He sat next to you, draping the blankets over you. He pulled a box of tissues out handing one to you. “Use the bag as a garbage bag for now.” He laid out everything haphazardly. He gently pulled your head down onto his lap and pressed the remote into your hand.

The blue glow of the tv puts you to sleep soon enough. It didn’t matter if it was one movie or ten, you were asleep, as soon as you were Phinks was too. You used his lap as a pillow, and Phinks leaned back, his head tossed over the couch’s back, his mouth hung open with a light snore as the tv eventually turned itself off.

In the morning you woke up when the keys turned to open the door’s lock. It made you jolt awake as the door was pushed open. Shalnark was clicking through his phone as he carried in a handful of something.

“Oh, you’re both up? How was the movie night?”

You sunk into the blankets giving back into your exhaustion. “Okay.”

You said it mostly to avoid any upset feelings on his end, the movie night was a nice way to avoid it all. You hated it considering everything, but those few hours of just zoning out at the tv and falling asleep to your favorite movies made you fell like home. You could imagine it so vividly it is what lulled you to sleep, the house didn’t have that smell of the three men, it was your home filled with cat fur, paints, and gesso.

You could feel the canvas frame from when you had to custom build one for a commission. Having to stretch it yourself, and you struggled to pull it back enough for it to hold well. The frame was obnoxiously large, you couldn’t fathom how they had the money to commission it or why they’d need one this size. That one had become a secret favorite, it was in someone’s private collection, an anonymous commissioner. You remember them sending someone to pick it up, which was strange, but if someone had that money how weird could it really be?

“Fei will be appearing soon, he has to drag something down to his office.” Shal giggled to himself speaking without catching his breath. “He’s surprisingly very interested in the work he brought back. It’s like a cat that got a hold of a mouse and doesn’t want to let it go.”

He set his envelope of papers down on the table, and sat down next to you on the couch. He was in front of you really, your back pressed firm against the couch nearly sinking into the cushions and the framework. Shalnark was turned slightly so he could face you and Phinks easily, his knees pressed against the front of the couch and one of Phinks’ knees. He breathed in deeply, his breath pushing both his stomach and chest out, he sort of chuckled as he sighed and leaned over to rest his head on the sofa’s back next to Phinks’ shoulder.

“I missed being home.”

Phinks and you didn’t say anything in response. Maybe Phinks secretly hated Shalnark, well, obviously not, but his silence kind of confused you. He cared deeply about the two from what you could tell, but who's to say you were ever good at reading the room. Your view upwards was obstructed by Shalnark hovering-leaning over you. Phinks moved his arm, you could see its shadow crossover you briefly, but you didn’t see what he did. Shalnark sat there resting with the two of you, this serene glazed look to him. He looked so pleasant, his hair hanging in his face, and his eyes closed.

He did eventually move, while he seemed content that was in no way comfortable to sit there for long. Shal eventually collected his things and ran off to go put them away. You gathered up the mess from the night before. Phinks took the trash out, you saw the cement steps out front as the door opened, and cool air rushed in to kiss your cheeks. The cat with wide eyes watched him complete his chores from the window, while you avoided looking at them. It was easier to stay busy with wiping the table and stacking the coasters in a neat pile in the center.

You kept wiping the table. Slow circular motions as you dazed off. The window just hurt you. Its clear glass was a mirror of your betrayal and gentle suffering, every damn time you saw that view it reminded you of the damned date. That date would remind you of his hands in your hair as you sobbed into his lap. What kind of suffering is this all? To be cursed with the inability to act, but blessed with a comfort of home and kindness. though it came from triplet tyrants. What tragedy had you fallen out of?

You went about giving yourself chores, dusting the shelves and tv stand, sweeping the kitchen floor, making a few pancakes with a box mix you had found, then cleaning up the mess you had made. Your hour or two of small chores only could keep you distracted for so long. You could hear Shalnark from his room, typing away on a keyboard and flipping through papers. When you walked past the basement you could hear things being moved around. It was faint and muffled, almost like you were hearing things, you wanted to go down there, the curiosity haunting you, but I’d anyone scared you the most it was Fetain.

You pushed open Phinks’ door. He had looked up at you as you did, but he didn’t say a thing, just motioned for you to come in. It was simple, navy sheets that were wrinkled, a strange mixture of pillows that didn’t have matching cases. There were some clothes lying around the room and the closet was open. He had a simple fold up chair in the corner and some green running jacket thrown across it. He didn’t have curtains, just the plastic blinds though some were bent and damaged. The closest thing to decoration was a digital clock on a wooden stool made bedside table and high quality at home gym equipment on the floor and tucked away into the closet.

“Need something?”

“I’ve never seen your rooms.” You half ignored the question, “and I don’t want to work on my painting when Fetain is working.”

He hummed, and you sat down on his bed looking at his window with the blinds pulled shut. “I hate it,” you said quietly to yourself, not knowing fully what you meant. “I might drive myself crazy. I keep trying to make things make sense, but I don’t get it.” You flopped down and rolled over, you didn’t look up at his face, didn’t acknowledge if he was looking at you or listening. “I think I’m ignoring half of everything to try and pretend that I’m okay.”

His hand rested on your head, his fingers playing with your hair. “You’re putting up with it well, though coming from me that doesn’t mean much.”

You grabbed his hand and his shirt. Pulling yourself up, straddling his waist. “Why couldn’t you have killed me? Torture me? Why not just make my life a real living hell? I feel like I’m burning but there’s nothing there, I keep thinking I’m drowning but I’m not!” Your hand trailed up to his neck, your nails pressing into his jugular, as you pinned him down to the bed. He laid there with his eyes wide but he didn’t move. “Please give me a good reason to hate it here! Please, I can't understand what’s going on! I didn’t ask for this. I don't know what I’m here for!” you screamed at him, though it wasn’t loud, just desperate. “I can’t do anything.”

His hand grabbed your hip and his other grabbed your neck, and he flipped the roles so he was hunched over you. His nails pressed into your skin. There was no weight to the threat. His hands while touching you, felt like they were hovering.

“You’re allowed to be angry, you don’t need permission for it.” And his hands were lifted away. and he was back on his side of the bed laying just like he was earlier, as if you never disrupted him.

Then you cried, you laid there curled up in a ball next to him. He never touched you, until you reached out and touched him, pulling yourself into his arms. He held you then gently and quietly until you relaxed and laid there half asleep and exhausted. His hands cupped your cheeks and you were held close to his face, his mouth a meare inch from your nose.

“I’ll do anything for you, even if you don’t like us or being here. We will do anything to keep you safe. I’ll make you as happy as I can, I swear to you I will.”

You heard Fetain come up from the basement when the door slammed shut. He was lighter than air with his footsteps so when he walked into Phinks’ room and ended up next to the bed you nearly screamed. “Try to sleep at ten and wake up at six. You need good sleep routine.”

You nodded, Phinks had mentioned it right? Ten to six seemed reasonable. “Exactly 6 am?”

“Roughly. Take time to change, one week to do yourself.”

“I’ll try to do it.” You nodded and a yawn slipped from your lips.

“Take nap, us three will talk work.” He waited for Phinks to get up.

Phinks patted your shoulder, “stay here and sleep for a bit we don’t want you dealing with our work stuff yet.”

“Okay.”

But Feitain hovered for a second longer than he needed to, just quietly looking at you with this deep thoughtful look in his eyes, yet he left without saying anything.

They had a habit of leaving you alone with your thoughts. Thankfully your cat at least sits with you when you need it, most of the time.

There was nothing to do with them all being busy. Something told you not to poke around for answers about what they were discussing. Even though you weren’t gonna search around for answers your mind wandered. It was a gross wandering similar to how one could lay in bed and gaze up into the darkness and just sit there. Rambling and turning whispers in your thoughts flashing images of blood gore and violence. How could anyone imagine what their jobs could be? You were used to surrounding yourself with images of oozing guts, but just beccause you had been decentized to it didn’t mean that fucking kidnappers who seemed more than used to living isolated was something you could handle.

You ran your hand back from the cat’s nose to his ears. He pressed himself so firmly against your hand that his eyelids were slightly pulled back as he demanded all of your attention. You could feel him breathing on you, his soft purrs are loud as he clung to you. When the fur around his face is pushed back his whole meringue look changes to one of a rat. His eyes while blown wide into dark saucers continue to look up at you fondly, his fur looks like a front facing bald eagle. There’s a reason you hardly ever see those angles, it’s less flattering. There’s less pride and a slicked back edge that is perceived as coolness. This is what that sweet cat looked like from this angle, his poofy roundness disappeared and strange looking from the front, while you never truly have looked too explore the other angles of the strange hair-do, the adorably crafted ugliness makes you melt into him as he melts into you.

As you lay there thoughts bubbling up worries and anxiety scratching away at your insides, this sweet fluff keeps you grounded. As was his task, he was an unofficial emotional support cat, nothing more than a pet that kept you mentally stable and provided both a comfort and reason to live. It was easy on the days where the paints seemed poisoned to be unable to reason and find out why you were alive. You wondered if everyone questioned this at times perhaps that’s why your artwork seemed so desperate, why you just cling to an intestine rope to pull you closer to answers and people who relate. It’s not something you can say for sure but even now, after a few years of this cat he kept you perfectly content to question but not give up.

He was also a good muse, posing in ways during his naps. Belly up, his head laid back against a pillow, his front paws folded under his chin but his back legs sticking upwards like two towers, fluffy and off white. He laid his ways that made it hard to determine if he was a cat or strang fluffy void, even though lots of cats did that. No matter how many photos and squeals you let out, it never felt the same, there simply isn't a connection. No photo could replace your cat, because you knew just about everything about him.

Sometimes you wondered if you relied too much on the cat, you’d question if the kidnappers thought the same if you weren’t so preoccupied with anything else. Even in captivity it seemed like you never had time for anything. All your plans would get mixed up or you would get horribly distracted. You acted as if you were wandering naked in a dark maze with how time snuck up on you. With no one to truly tell you otherwise you gave into it when you could, which was most of the time. Hours would be spent gazing off into walls and corners as you painted in your own head, it didn’t matter if you pictured it or not, it was the mental motions of the act that kept you entranced.

A jiggle of a brush, a whirlpool of the paint thinner. Hell the actions are what lured you down into the basement again. You hadn’t been told to stay, hadn't been told not to. You may not have paid attention to the home as you were pulled down to the basement by your navel; the living was quiet though the three men hummed and buzzed with a quiet conversation. You continued onto the door opening it so gently and silently you might have well just phased through the door to begin with. The unfinished steps hadn’t groaned or creaked as you stepped on them even though they should. The door hovered open, the light peering and stealing across the floor to the hall now behind you. As a moth would you step down and forwards moving towards your painting.

At this moment your eyes flashed with one lucid thought, “something isn’t right.” It didn't take a genius to know this but somehow as you were drugged by your own relaxation and you had taken the liberty to forget about everything that had been a bright neon sign telling you something was amiss. You looked away from your studio and across the room at another’s.

It’s important to note that some people have a personal belief that art is in the eye of the beholder, regardless of whether each piece usually has an original meaning in the grand scheme of things. You had thoughts and ideas, messages and stories to tell through your paintings. Each a commentary on something since you didn’t believe in unthoughtful gore and brutality, that wasn’t to say it had no meaning, but that there wasn’t a personal thought being expressed even deep below the surface. In this belief of art interpretation all art has at least two meanings, the artist’s original suffering inquiry, and the viewer’s lack of understanding. With this in mind the scene behind the curtain is much different then one in your studio.

The curtain had always been a temptation, that’s a simple fact of the matter. Place a marshmallow in front of a child and most struggle to resist even with the promise of more. This curtain in your case was so much more than temptation. A temptation is often pictured as sweet and sugary, lustful even, not a need but a want. This curtain was so much more than that, it was thorn covered and speckled with a lifetime of warnings but it wasn’t sweet, there was no guarantee of safety but an expectation of more. Even then you peeled it back.

It was more than a treasure trove of goodies, it was a threatening pile of one. The lights were on and you were slammed into with information as you peared across it all, for instance the room was large, much larger than you thought it was. While most of it was still unfinished further back against the far wall was a much more finished section. That is what you noticed second but you just were too in shock to register the first yet. The furthest wall was finished, a simple gray paint and from it hung old custom paintings, things both long forgotten and new. They were strange to see though in comparison to your room when you had first woken up nothing crazy. The first thing you noticed was crazier, though not too surprising.

The wall was lined with a board, hanging from it an assortment of household tools and even more specialty ones. Mostly pliers, wrenches, screwdrivers of all sorts of sizes. There were spools of wire, rope, and bolt cutters. There were more too, there were tweezers, the heavy duty kind, expensive looking, stainless steel and with a rubber grip. Each item while normally not threatening was fucking horrifying. The blindfolded and gagged half-dead looking man would ultimately agree if he saw the line up. Yet the detail of the organization, to the bindings, and yes even the table he was on, made it look like a perfectly created scene. To Feitain, who you half-confidently assumed was the resident torturer, this must be something artistic or even religious, sometimes the two came hand in hand.

His hair was glued by brown dried blood, his nose broken, the bruising covering his cheeks and eyes from what you could tell from afar. There was no way for him to escape from his binds, strapped down to the table. The table itself looked to be something akin to an embalming table, slightly slanted towards a floor drain, some blood already leaking down from the man and dried against the table’s cold smudged metal. He had bruises down his arms and legs dark purple and splotchy. His ankle looked painfully enlarged, not enough to be a break but horribly sprained.

You should have screamed in horror, your heartbeat sped up like crazy after all. There was enough adrenaline that maybe you could have killed a person, not your captors from the look and attitude of them. If a captor can be so unconcerned like they were either they were morons or knew full well that they had perfect complete control. From a second kidnapped person being in the basement looking like a corpse it’s easy to decide which.

Looking on even in your shocked state you made your third discovery. There were bulkhead doors. A small flight of stairs led up to them. In your shock you continued to move like a ghost, even though your chest was pounding. It rumbled in your gut, twisted and stabbed at your lungs, and you looked upwards at it, upwards into the dark steps a small crack of light. Your cat in all his loving sweetness rubbed up against your leg, mewling softly. You walked forwards reaching upward towards the door, climbing the stairs and gently pressing to see if they’d open, to your surprise it did.

[flowerfan2]

Let in Light and Banish Shade

Just a little hurt/comfort Christmas Eve fic.  I hadn’t planned to get drawn into the Stranger Things fandom this year, but it happened.  Thanks to @kedreeva for that - and for answering my questions (and writing awesome ST fic).  Please reblog if you enjoyed this - I’m a newbie in this fandom and would appreciate it.

Wishing you all peace and joy in the new year.

____

Steve/Eddie, T, 2600 words.  A03.

It’s been months since they defeated Vecna, and almost as long since Eddie got out of the hospital, more stitches than skin but still somehow alive.  He knows he should be grateful to modern medicine or some shit, but it’s hard when he’s spending every other day hoping he doesn’t lose his mind from the pain in his head.

The headaches aren’t as bad as they were at first, and Eddie has figured out ways to avoid them, or at least try to.  He knows for sure that loud noises and bright lights can bring them on or make them worse, so he spends a lot of time holed up in his room, curtains closed and lights on dim.

Unfortunately, this really sucks, because Eddie is not so good at being quiet and staying still.  It’s driving him batty, and even if it’s not demo-batty, it’s still a problem.  He had thought for a while that he could still hang out with the kids, be their DM but just at a lower volume, but that didn’t work.  Dustin got him some kind of super-duper noise cancelling headphones to cover his ears, but then the kids just shouted louder and again, no dice.

He's able to kill some time every day studying for his GED.  As anyone who has ever met him could have predicted, though, it’s hard to focus on that for very long, even if reading didn’t make him feel like his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets.

Now it’s Christmas Eve, and to put the icing on the stale donut that is his life, he’s going to be stuck in bed with a headache instead of going to the Byers’ house for a party.  Robin stopped by the trailer a few days ago to tell him about it.  They’ve all been good about keeping tabs on him, Robin and Steve, mostly, since Nancy has been away at college.  Dustin, of course, can’t stay away for more than a day or two, and sometimes Max comes over, still limping but smiling more and more every time.  But even the most well-meaning visits are stilted.  Eddie wants to just be normal again.  To be able to carry on a conversation in more than a whisper, to hang out with a group of people all laughing and shouting over each other to be heard.

The invitation to tonight’s gathering featured Will’s drawing of a huge dragon resting quietly in a snowbank, looking out over a town filled with twinkling lights.  Even Hawkins can look pretty at Christmastime, Eddie has to admit.  Though there’s not much of a view from his trailer, even if the lights didn’t bring on a migraine.

Eddie is lying in bed, playing the game where he tries to figure out if his middling headache is going to get worse before it gets better, when he hears a knock on the front door.  This new (new-to-you, anyway) trailer’s door actually locks, and while he knows it won’t keep Vecna-level bad guys out, he figures it might at least slow down the good citizens of Hawkins that still think he’s a murderer.

Eddie slides out of bed and walks carefully down the hall, wishing he had socks on.  When he opens the door he’s not really surprised to see Steve, smiling shyly at him.

“Come on in.”

Steve nods and complies, his smile dimming as he gives Eddie an appraising glance.  “You look cold.”

That’s the least of Eddie’s issues, but also true.  His ratty t-shirt and old sweatpants don’t do much against the December chill.  “Yeah, well I was all cozy under my blankets until you came along.”

“Well, let’s get you back in bed,” Steve says, prodding Eddie in the right direction with a hand on his shoulder before shedding his coat and following him.

It’s not the first time Steve has shown up, packages in hand, delivering soup or cookies or even a box of Eddie’s favorite cereal.  Eddie knows Steve is fond of him, knows he hates how badly Eddie got hurt.  It’s part of what he loves about Steve, that he cares about his friends so deeply.  It’s pretty amazing that Steve includes him in that group.  He’s not always sure he deserves it, but on days like this, it’s awfully nice.

Eddie slides back under the blankets while Steve rummages in the backpack he brought along.  “Stay here,” Steve says, keeping his voice to that soft pitch he always uses with Eddie now.

“Where else would I go?” Eddie mutters.  He tries not to shiver, it makes his head hurt more, just lies still and wonders what Steve is up to.  A beep from the kitchen catches his attention, and then Steve is back.

“Close your eyes.”

Eddie blinks up at him for a minute.  Steve’s got on a dark red sweater, very appropriate for the holiday.  He’s probably just here to say hi before dashing back to the Byers’ party.  Dashing, indeed.  He thinks he might like this sweater even better than Steve’s sunshine yellow one.

“Eddie?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Close your eyes.”

But then I can’t see you, Eddie thinks.  “Why?”

Steve’s mouth quirks up at the corner.  “You’ll see.”

Eddie closes his eyes, and feels a warm, soft weight laid over them.  He touches it with his fingers.  It’s kind of a bean bag thing; Steve must have warmed it up in the microwave.  It keeps his eyes closed without Eddie having to think about it.  

“Robin’s mom went to some kind of spa getaway for work, and brought home a bunch of stuff.”  Steve shuffles closer and the bed squeaks as he sits down.  “Do you like lavender?  She had some oil, it’s supposed to be relaxing.  But I know smells sometimes make it worse…?” Steve trails off, his voice rising with the question.

“Let me try it.”  Eddie gives the proffered bottle a quick sniff.  It’s only barely scented, and doesn’t seem to make any more daggers shoot through his skull.  

“Pass the sniff test?”

Literally, Eddie thinks, and nods, careful not to dislodge the warm bean bag thing from his eyes.

A moment goes by, Steve shifting next to him, and then Steve touches his temples and rubs gently.  It feels great, Steve’s fingers tracing circles right where it hurts the most.

“This okay?”  Steve asks softly.

“Yeah, it’s good.”

Eddie doesn’t know how long it goes on. Steve’s fingers move up and down across his temples and across his forehead, so slowly and lightly that all Eddie feels is relief.

“Back here too?”  Steve’s touching his hair, sliding his hand back over his ears.

“Yeah.”

Steve continues massaging Eddie’s scalp, easing his fingers through Eddie’s hair.  He shifts a little as he goes, supporting Eddie’s head.  It feels amazing, and Eddie gives himself over to it, the gentle touches creating a soothing rhythm he wants to live in forever.

At some point Steve pauses, maybe thinking Eddie has fallen asleep.  Eddie takes the pillow off his eyes, lifts himself up on an elbow and squints at Steve through one eye.  “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Eddie hadn’t really meant to ask this question, but it’s been on his mind since Steve arrived.  It was bound to find its way out of his bruised head eventually.  

Steve bites his lip, then focuses on Eddie’s face and his expression changes.  It looks like he’s holding back a laugh.

Eddie considers, then turns his one-eyed squint into a full-on silly face, eyes scrunched together, mouth open and tongue out.  He even adds one hand on his head, fingers waggling.  

It makes his head throb, but Steve’s soft laugh is worth it.  “God, Eddie, I’m so-” Steve cuts himself off and rubs a hand over his mouth.

Something tightens in his stomach at Steve’s words.  “You’re so what?”  Eddie speaks louder than he should have, and Steve’s face falls as Eddie flinches at the sound of his own voice.

“Lie back down, come on, close your eyes,” Steve says softly, and he shifts, guiding Eddie back onto the bed, this time somehow rearranging them so that Eddie’s head is lying on Steve’s thigh.  The denim feels good under his cheek, and Eddie is in enough pain that he isn’t going to question exactly what’s going on.  If Steve’s really cool with this rather intimate approach to health care, Eddie’s not going to stop him.

Steve’s hand rests on Eddie’s shoulder, then he goes back to petting his hair, fingers sliding against his scalp.  Eddie relaxes into it, letting out a sigh of relief as the spike of pain fades.  It’s only then that he realizes that Steve has avoided answering his original question.  

“Did the party get cancelled?” he asks, trying not to think about how his lips are practically brushing Steve’s thigh as he speaks.  “Nancy not make it home yet?”

“No, she’s back.  Party’s still on.  But you couldn’t come, so I came to see you, duh.”

Steve’s Dustin imitation needs some work, but his deflection is clear as day.

“Last minute decision?”  Eddie waves his hand in Steve’s general direction, indicating his nice sweater and fancy jeans.

Steve takes in a long breath and lets it out slowly.  Eddie can feel his chest rising and falling behind his head.  There’s a pause, and Eddie thinks that Steve might be picking something up from the D&D sessions he’s been tagging along to, because the suspense is really building.

“I stopped by the Byers’ first, to say hi to everyone.  But I knew as soon as I found out that you weren’t going that I wasn’t going either.  I couldn’t have a good time knowing you were lying here hurting.”  

Steve’s hand on Eddie’s neck has stilled, and Eddie arches up against it.  He hears Steve’s puff of amusement as he starts moving again, the tension broken.

“Them’s some mighty strong words, Steve,” Eddie says lightly.  He’s wondered, from time to time, whether there could be something between them.  More than once there’s been a moment when he thought there could be.  This is one of those moments.

Steve doesn’t deflect this time, just keeps on touching Eddie, brushing his hair away from his face, stroking a finger along his cheekbone.  Eddie’s no genius, but he really doesn’t think they are still in platonic mode anymore.  

“What were you going to say before?  You’re so – what?”

In response, Steve suddenly shifts, sliding to lie down on the bed next to Eddie, catching Eddie’s head so he isn’t dumped off Steve’s thigh.  Before he knows it, Steve’s lying on his side facing him, his hand cupping his cheek.  Eddie briefly wonders whether he’s having some kind of hallucination, but when he blinks Steve is still right there.

“Eddie,” Steve says.

Eddie swallows hard and meets Steve’s eyes, hoping his heart doesn’t actually burst out of his chest.  “Yeah?”

“I was going to say, before I chickened out, that I am <i>so fucking glad</i> you’re alive.”  Steve’s voice is still quiet, but it’s got an intensity to it Eddie hasn’t heard before.  “I know it’s been hard, I know your scars probably pull and itch like mine do, I know these headaches suck and nightmares don’t make them any better, but you’re getting through it, you’re getting better, I see it, and I’m so glad to see it, glad is such a dumb word for how I feel, I mean, I” – Steve’s voice cracks, and he shakes his head a little and goes on – “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Eddie thinks he’s still breathing, must be, but it’s a near thing.  “I’m glad you’re here too.”  The double meaning is probably clear, but like an idiot, he rambles on.  “Here, you know, alive.  And, you know, here with me.”  He tugs on Eddie’s sweater as if to illustrate, and Steve grins.

“I get it.”

“You do, huh?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Steve takes Eddie’s hand, twines their fingers together, and brings their joined hands between them.  “You’ve been playing the guitar again.”

Eddie’s brain stumbles a little at this.  “Um, yeah, little bit, now that my head isn’t killing me every single day.  How did you know?”

Steve runs a thumb over the palm of Eddie’s hand and down to his fingertips.  “Getting your callouses back.  It’s cool.”

Eddie’s never been the subject of anyone’s attention like this before.  No one’s ever cared enough to notice details like this about him.  He must have let this thought show on his face, or maybe even spoken it aloud, because Steve just shrugs.

“’Course I noticed.”

He’s not sure Steve meant it to sound so profound, but he can’t help but hear it that way.  And Steve’s still holding his hand, lying here with him under the blankets, gazing at him like he’s never seen anything better. It’s overwhelming.

“Are you sure about this, Steve?  I’m kinda fucked up.”  Understatement.  “I don’t have much to offer you.”

Steve’s mouth quirks.  “Just a whole lotta love?”

“I’m gonna kill you, quoting Led Zep at me at a time like this,” Eddie mumbles as Steve leans in and kisses the words out of his mouth.

It’s a good kiss, Goldilocks perfect, not too hard and not too soft, with just a tease of tongue.  But it doesn’t go on for long before Eddie needs to stop and lay back down, his head spiking with pain again.

“It’s okay, relax,” Steve says, tucking Eddie’s head on his shoulder and pulling the blankets around them.  He feels Steve drop a kiss to his head.  “You’re okay.”

“What if we can’t ever kiss for more than thirty seconds because of my headaches?” Eddie whispers, mostly joking.  “What if it’s another Vecna curse?”

Steve laughs softly.  “We’ll figure it out.”

“You’re supposed to say ‘thirty seconds with you is more than enough.’”

“Oh, it’s definitely not enough,” Steve says.  “But honestly,” he says, voice lightening, “you’re right.”

“Fuck, Steve, I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Plot twist?”

“Of the best kind.”  

Steve lets go of his hand in favor of wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulder, his movements smooth and careful.  “I know you’re still hurting, if this is making things worse…”

“Oh my god, no, this is the opposite of making things worse,” Eddie says, letting himself snuggle closer, digging his chin into Steve’s chest.  “It feels great.  I mean, my head still feels like the demobats are tossing it around like a chew toy, but aside from that, all good.”

Eddie can practically feel Steve’s concern oozing out through his fingers as he cups the back of Eddie’s neck.  “Just rest, babe.  I’ve got you.”

Eddie obeys, sinking deeper into Steve’s embrace.  “You know, you’re kind of an awesome Christmas gift.”  Eddie lets his hand rest on Steve’s shoulder, his thumb gently brushing the soft skin on his collarbone.  “And here I thought I was just getting coal.”

“No way,” Steve says, almost affronted at the idea.

And even though Eddie appreciates Steve’s support, he can’t resist teasing back, his voice sinking low.  “Are you saying I’ve been good?”

There’s a pause as Steve takes this in and switches gears.  He hums softly, sending a shiver down Eddie’s spine.  “The best.”

Eddie’s not sure how he ended up here, but damn if he isn’t going to enjoy it while he can.  And if there’s a chance that this is real – that Steve Harrington is going to cradle him in his arms and whisper sweet nothings to him as he crawls his way back to the world of the living – he’s going to take it.  Turns out it’s not going to be such a bad Christmas after all.

Note:  The title of this story is from 1984's “Do They Know It’s Christmas?" - a song sung by a bunch of celebrities which despite its shortcomings raised millions of dollars for charity.