#The Diamond Rink AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nerdraging4point0 · 10 months ago

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Power Play // Chapter Three // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV.

Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

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The crowd is fired up as I squeeze between Dad and Jack on the home team's bench. The massive arena throbs with energy, flashing lights dancing across the packed stands and smooth ice. Blaring music competes with the deafening cheers of fans who arrived early just to watch warmups. On the Jumbotron above center ice, bone-crushing hits and highlight-reel goals from last season pump up the crowd. I bundle up in my cozy black fleece jacket, the team logo proudly displayed across my chest. My dad and Jack wear matching jackets and hats, pulled low to fight off the chill. I let my hair fall loose around my shoulders - an extra layer of warmth for my ears.

The arena plunges into darkness as the jumbotron fades to black. The crowd hushes in anticipation before a crimson glow washes over us. Bold letters flash across the screen: "Welcome the Rooks!" Our boys in black glide onto the ice - jerseys fluttering, skates carving arcs through the chill air. Moments later, a blur of gold and silver enters from the opposite end - the opponents have arrived.

The crowd roars as the Rooks and Pirates take to the ice. Fans decked out in black and red are on their feet. Across the rink, a sea of silver and honey gold erupts for the rival Pirates. The deafening cheers make the arena shake as the teams complete their warm-up laps.

Our players zip across the ice, passing pucks in a frenzied warm-up. They swing by the home bench, exchanging fist bumps with Coach on each lap. Sanders zooms over and bumps gloves with my dad, then swoops around to me. He flashes a playful grin, head tilted, and I can't help but smile back as our gloves meet with a thud. Then he's off again, swallowed by the sea of players circling the rink.

McClain, the towering goalie, glides around the net, his massive frame armored in pads as he gathers up pucks. Pierce and Dominick hit the ice, dropping into deep lunges to stretch out their legs before the game. The rink echoes with the sounds of pucks clacking off sticks and skates carving the fresh sheet of ice.

My eyes scan the team, catching Sebastian immediately. He skates effortless circles around the guys, poking their shins with his stick and shimmying his shoulders to get them loose. One by one, his energy infects them all until the entire squad is smiling and gliding around the ice, ready for a great game.

As I look out across the ice, a sea of adoring fans presses up against the glass, eager for a chance to get close to their heroes. McClain, ever the showman, casually skates over and bumps fists with a starstruck youngster, posing for a picture with the kid's beaming mom. Not one to be upstaged, Sanchez whips the crowd into a frenzy, waving his stick like a maestro conducting a symphony of cheers. The arena erupts into a thunderous chant as the fans, decked out in their red and black jerseys, stand as one to worship their idols.

Sebastian and Karlsson slice through center ice like greased lightning, buzzing the Pirates with some cheeky close calls before zipping away again. The defensemen swoop back around, circling like hungry sharks eager for the kill.Sebastian's grin says it all - he came to fight. To win.

I'm transfixed, leaning forward, trying to anticipate their next move. Jack notices me watching and flashes a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He goes back to scribbling plays, unperturbed. The easy confidence of it makes me smile too, even as Sebastian and Karlsson continue their dangerous dance, ready to strike.

“Those two are certainly a pair of daredevils, aren't they? Always pushing the limits and getting their thrills. I gotta admit, their bold style is impressive, even if it makes me a bit nervous. They really know how to walk that fine line between crazy and genius!”

With a few slick practice shots, McClain glides out of the net and Sanders swoops in to take his place. The boys fire off some blistering slapshots, testing Sanders' reflexes. Ruffilo starts showboating, swirling the puck in dizzying circles with his stick, playing a little game of keep-away from Karlsson. Sebastian cruises by the bench, bumping fists with dad and Jack as he passes. He drifts past me, brown eyes sizing me up through his mask's shield.

The warmups end and the team hustles off the ice, dad and Jack retreating to the locker room. I'm left sitting alone on the bench, mesmerized as the zamboni glides across the freshly scarred ice, smoothing it over for the game ahead. Jack emerges first, focused intently on the paperwork clutched in his hands, barely noticing me as he takes a seat. Suddenly, the announcer's voice booms through the arena, drawing all eyes upward as he begins introducing the Rooks players one-by-one on the jumbotron.

The crowd roars as Joakim Karlsson takes the ice with a nod to his adoring fans. "Number 18, Jake Sanders!" bellows the announcer. Sanders glides onto the rink, Southern California smile beaming beneath his helmet as he greets the stands. The cheers continue as each player is introduced, building to a fever pitch when the announcer calls, "Number 13, Noah Sebastian!" The arena explodes in shrieks and screams - no doubt from his legions of female fans. The heartthrob glides to center ice, flashing his million dollar grin and eliciting another wave of adulation from the crowd.

The energy in the arena is electric as the opening ceremonies wrap up. The anthem singer belts out a passionate rendition, players scramble back to the bench, jostling past me as I'm wedged tight between their muscular bodies. Sebastian vaults over the boards right in front of me, his rock-hard shoulder slamming me back against the glass. He rips off his helmet, his piercing eyes meeting mine for a split second before he drops down on the bench. I feel my heart race as his raw, aggressive energy radiates through the tight space. This team means business, and I'm caught up in their intense pre-game ritual, pulse pounding with excitement and intimidation.

"Listen up!" barks coach as he strides into the room. All eyes snap to him.

"Sanchez, you've got first line. Sebastian, Karlsson - you're on defense. Willow, Dominick, be ready to sub in."

He scans the bench, gaze hard. "It's time. Bring the heat today and leave it all on the ice. We've got a championship to win. Now let's go out there and crush 'em!"

The team roars, pounding fists and slapping sticks. The starting six spring over the boards, skates carving the fresh ice as they hustle into position. Sanchez glides to the faceoff dot, eyes locked on his rival Hemingway across the red line. Karlsson and Sebastian flex their gloves, sticks poised and shoulders squared, eager for the opening puck drop. The crowd hushes and the tension swells. My pulse thunders in my ears.

This is it.

Noah's POV

My pulse pounds as the puck hits the ice with a crack. Sanchez bodychecks Hemingway, both of their wingmen rushing in. No luck - Hemingway emerges with the puck, barreling towards McClain’s net. I rock back and forth on my skates, poised to strike. Hemingway feints, faking a slide my way instead. I surge forward, stick low, leveling him to the ice as I snatch back the puck. Twirling away from the wingmen, I pass it back to Sanchez with a flick of the wrist. The crowd roars as we regain control, hungering for more bone-crunching hits and lightning-fast plays.

Sanchez charges down the ice like a freight train, barreling towards the Pirates goal. He loses control and is thrown off his skates, the Pirates pounce on the loose puck and race toward our zone, the crowd roaring in anticipation. Sticks clash and skates scrape as the action explodes, both teams desperately fighting for control.. Jolly and I scramble back on defense, sticks flashing, bodies crashing, doing everything in our power to shield McClain. The puck squirts free and the pirates pounce, but Jolly throws himself in front of the shot, taking one for the team. I help clear the rebound as the crowd roars.

The puck is ours once again. Sanchez leads the charge, weaving through defenders like a snake. His wingmen flank out wide, drawing the defensemen with them. Sanchez winds up at the top of the circle, eyes locked on the net. He unleashes a blistering slapshot. The puck screams towards the goalie, too fast to react. Sanchez spins away, not daring to watch. The ref's hand goes up. Goal! The crowd erupts as Sanchez is mobbed by his teammates. Helmets clank together in celebration before it's back to business.

Ruffilo whizzes past, giving my stick a friendly slap as he crosses over. Gotta love that guy. As wingmen go, he's as solid as they come. We're tight, me and Nick - been roomies for a while now. Probably for the best we don't live with Jolly too, that'd be a bit much. Don't get me wrong, Jolly's my right-hand man on the ice, we're a well-oiled machine out there. But off the rink? Me and Nick kick back, bust each other's chops, talk a little smack. That's just how we roll. I've got his back and he's got mine, on and off the ice. We make a pretty good team.

I'm still trying to figure Sanchez out. He's obviously a talented center, and he gets the other guys pumped up, which is good. But I dunno, there's something about his attitude that rubs me the wrong way. Like, he acts like he's the main character out there, and the rest of us are just supporting actors. I don't wanna judge too quickly, he might just be really competitive. But that arrogance could cause problems if he doesn't keep it in check.

The puck rockets across the ice as The Pirates battle to get it to McClain. Jolly and I scramble to guard the net. A winger charges at me and I slide to block, but the guy jams his skates at my feet to trip me up. I spin away from the attack but lose my position, forced to go where he steers me. Hemingway whacks the puck toward McClain, who splits his legs and snags it in his glove. The crowd roars at the clutch save.

I scan the crowd, my eyes darting from the approving cheers of the fans to the nods of my teammates. But my gaze keeps getting drawn back to her. The coach's daughter. She's been here since yesterday, hanging all over her dad. I tried not to notice her at first - I'm here to play hockey, not ogle girls. But I can't seem to look away for long.

The way she moves, the cute little smiles she gives her dad. She's got my head spinning more than taking a hard check into the boards. I've gotta get my focus back if I want to play well tonight.

Coach would slaughter me if he caught me within 100 feet of his daughter. Hell, I didn't even know he had one until just yesterday. Can't blame him for wanting to keep her far away from us hooligans. If I had a girl that looked like her, I'd lock her in a tower. But damn, the second I saw her, something inside me snapped. My inner defenseman kicked in - I wanted to shield her from these animals, keep her safe. She's not mine...yet. But I'll be damned if I let any of these punks lay a finger on her. I'll knock 'em into next week if they even look at her wrong. That angel's gonna be protected at all costs. Coach better keep that beauty off the ice, 'cause she's got this enforcer feeling some type of way.

Sanchez is back on the ice, battling Hemingway for the puck like two bucks locked in a duel - even their wingmen keep their distance. Karlsson slaps his stick on the boards twice, jolting me back into the action. We watch Sanchez twirl and shove Hemingway, fighting for control. Then I see it coming - Hemingway's left winger charges Ruffilo, tripping our man and making him flinch, slashing down toward the dude's skates inches from his own. The ref's whistle pierces the tense air as he calls slashing on Ruffilo, handing him a two-minute penalty. The crowd erupts into a chorus of boos while Ruffilo glides to the box, shaking his head.

Man, I feel for my buddy out there. He didn't mean to. But did the ref see it that way? No chance. Two minutes in the box. Unbelievable. Now the rest of us have to pick up the slack while Ruffilo cools his heels. Me and Jolly slide in, McClain’s head on a swivel now that we’re down a man.

The puck rockets toward me as I skate backwards, eyes locked on it, guarding the goal with everything I've got. Hemingway winds up and fires a blistering slapshot through a seam in our defense. I dive, stretching every inch of my pads to block it, but the puck deflects off McClain's stick and glides into the corner of the net. The ref's whistle pierces the tense air. Hemingway's teammates swarm him as the crowd erupts. We were so close to stopping them. If only McClain had kept his focus. But it's too late now. The damage is done.

My blood is boiling so hot I can feel it flushing my face. I circle the rink to cool off before I explode. Nick's back from the box, his eyes narrowed to slits. He's out for blood.

Sanchez streaks up the ice with the puck, Pierce on his tail. But the Pirates' D shoves Pierce hard into the boards. Now Pierce is seeing red too. He grabs the bastard's jersey, drops his stick and gloves, and drags him along the ice. Pierce is ready to pound him into the ground right here.

We all grind to a halt, transfixed by the scene erupting before us. I charge forward, stick clattering to the ice, ready to drop the gloves as the D wads up Pierce's jersey in his fist. The ref circles like a shark, while Coach's screams echo from the bench. I glance over and see her leaning over the boards, eyes blazing, shouting breathlessly as she watches Pierce and his nemesis tangled together. Man, the intensity in her gaze is electric. Must be the adrenaline and testosterone coursing through my veins, but damn if she doesn't look sexy as hell at this moment.

Pierce and his rival crash together, gloves dropping as the ref struggles to pull them apart. The crowd roars as fists fly, the two tangled in a full-on brawl. Sharp whistles pierce the din as the ref forces them to their corners, both still straining against his grip. They're banished to the sin bin while tensions boil, leaving the ice open for Dominick to vault over the boards. He joins the nameless sub now skating for the Pirates, eager to capitalize on the empty space. The crowd pounds the glass, feeding off the raw intensity as play resumes in the wake of the fight.

We're locked in a never-ending battle on the ice, the clock winding down as overtime drags on. One more blistering slapshot, one more brick wall save, and victory is ours. Firing up my teammates, I skate around them offering as much encouragement as I can.

“Dom, Ruff, Sanchez - skate like your lives depend on it. Harass them, frustrate them, smother them! Don't give their stars an inch to breathe out there.” I skate around turning to our goalie “McClain, my brother - I need you to lay out and block every shot you can. Be our brick wall. We're too close to let it slip away now. One more stop, one more big play. That's all we need. Let's bring this W home in front of our fans! Now let's get out there and take what's ours!”

The boys erupt in a roar, heads bowed as they clench their sticks with white-knuckled intensity under their gloves. The ice shudders under the force of their voices. They're fired up and ready to battle, adrenaline pumping through their veins.

The puck rockets through the air and Sanchez snatches it, a warrior king charging forward as the black disc zips between him, Dom and Ruff. They weave a web of deception, bamboozling the opposing defense just long enough for Sanchez to whip around the net and slam the puck into the gaping goal mouth. The ref's whistle pierces the din and I hurtle my stick away, tear off my helmet and blaze towards my brothers. We collide in a crush of celebration as the rest of the team swarms the ice.

We separate carefully trying not to catch each other's blades. I slide back, regaining my footing before skating to grab my stick and helmet. On the bench, she bounces excitedly, hugging her dad in celebration of our victory. Her cheeks flush red with exhilaration, her smile radiant. She's tied her hair back in a messy ponytail, loose strands perfectly framing her face. I'm mesmerized watching her, knowing if she sticks around much longer, I'll either lose the championship or lose my heart completely.

#bad omens cult #noah sebastian #bad omens #noahsebastian fanfic #bad omens band #hockey player noah #hockey #bad omens au #bad omens smut #hockey romance #hockeyomens

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cobrakaisb · 2 years ago

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for the matt au:

building off of your insta post where z asks where the ring is at-imagine yn goes to Minnesota for a short visit during season and matt surprises her by proposing and the younger guys are completely shook when she returns to the rink one day

yes oml they would be so pissed lol

“are you wearing the ring?” nick asks as you walk into yost with your camera around your neck. “you mean this ring?” you reply, wiggling the fingers of you left hand in his face. “stop moving! i want to see!” keaton says, jogging into place next to you. you stand still, holding your hand out for him to see.

the second you came home from your weekend away with matt, with a bounce in your step as opposed to your normally sad demeanor, the boys knew something was up. you had been gushing about the ring to your roommates — nick, steve, and phil — since then. now, it was just a matter of telling the rest of the team.

“y/n! let’s see it,” luke shouts as you walk into the arena. the younger hughes is skating on the ice with some of the other guys when he sees you walk in. “who told you?” you ask. “lil jizzy. you know he can’t keep a secret,” luke answers, skating to the bench where you’re positioned. “yeah i know,” you reply.

“wait, who was there exactly?” steve asks as he joins the group gathered around you. “my family, his family, jizzy, z, cole, turcs, newhook, and a couple of our other friends. it was a total surprise honestly. i thought he was gonna wait until graduation,” you explain, twirling the diamond around your finger.

“your fucking engaged?” luca shouts, eyes focused on your ring. “yeah. matt asked this weekend,” you answer softly, feeling a little guilty. “and you said yes?” rutger asks. “mhm.” “wow that’s…that’s great…we’re really happy for you,” adam says, but his smile is forced. everyone knows it, even you. “thanks adam. i’m really excited,” you say, and he gets the message, they all do. you’re relationship with matt isn’t ending anytime soon.

#matt boldy #matt boldy x reader #matt boldy blurb #matt boldy imagine #luca fantilli #adam fantilli #matt boldy au #cobrakaisb writing

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kalolasfantasyworld · 5 months ago

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Hiya Lola, congrats on 100 followers! You really deserve them all with your amazing writing and art, also, it was just in time for your birthday! So it was also a little birthday present for you as well 🥰!

If I may be a little bit selfish; may I request a fic for YuNeva in the LPoL AU please 🥺? Thank you so much, and congratulations again 🥰!

Thank you Lyra! And yes it was a bit of a birthday gift for me 💕

Now I hope you enjoy mine ^^

I'm also explaining to everyone else, because I know I said x reader, but I simply didn't get the 3 x reader requests, so I decided why not trying to write something for Lyra's OC ship who I adore.

So thanks Lyra for trusting me with your precious ship. I hope I did them justice.

Let me present to you:

YuNeva in Let's Puck out Limits

(enjoy ^^)

It was by the end of the preseason, few days before their first tournament game that Yuno was gliding from one goal to another with just his puck and stick as companions. He needed to practice, needed to be faster as if wind if his attacks were going to work against Asta.

For that reason Yuno was greatly focusing on his footwork, making sure that his crossovers were immaculate and they probably looked this way from the outside, but he knew that he was wobbling. Just as with one swift movement he made a wrist shot lifting the puck of the ice and putting it in the right upper corner of the net he heard the ice rink’s door open. Another person set their blades on the cold ice surface.

He turned around recognising her platinum blonde hair tied in a low braid, fair complexion and a purple training set. A figure skating one. Her name was Neva. Yuno knew that much. His captain William Vangeance seemed to be some sort of a guardian to the girl and she was allowed to work on her figure skating skills whenever the rink was free.

They passed each other quite a few times, exchanged curious, shy looks, but none of them ever spoke up. Yuno was not the first one to start a conversation and Neva did not seem any better. She started circling on the opposite side of the rink warming up and starting with some little jumps.

Yuno skated over to pick up the puck with his stick, but he could not peel his eyes of the figure skater… there was just something in the way she moved. How beautifully she glided on the ice, shining as if she was a diamond and her footwork… it was amazing.

Maybe..?

Yuno turned his head to the side.

“Not a chance,” he muttered and started playing around with the puck. He kept to his side of the rink.

However as the practice progressed he subtly gazed at the girl much more often, admiring her balance and skills. Neva was no better than he was, Yuno could sense her eyes turning to him from time to time, before lifting into a jump and finishing a sequence. That crossover was immaculate…

Yuno furrowed his brows determined. He was going to ask. If asking Neva to give him some footwork tips was what he needed to do to get better, he was going to do so. He gripped on his stick and skated over towards the girl.

“Hi,” he raised his hand shyly, because openly asking the girl was not his strong suit.

Neva wobbled, clearly surprised by him initiating contact. She halted catching herself. Her platinum hair slightly covered her face. Her lips were pressed together. Then Yuno felt his breath hitch… because she looked up. He had never seen such pretty eyes before. They were a light hue of purple and they shone like two precious diamonds.

He blinked, not sure how to start, completely thrown off.

“Hi,” Neva’s eyes were narrowed. There was a question in her gaze, but strained with a drop of mistrust.

“Hi,” he repeated himself flatly, suddenly brought down to earth.

“Yuno, right?” The girl asked.

“Yes and you’re Neva.”

This was awkward. Why was she looking at him this way? He had no ulterior motives for approaching her, there was no reason to feel this way. Yet for some reason his breath got stuck in his throat.

“Do you need something?” she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Your crossover,” he pointed at her skates.

Neva looked up at him for the first time curious, not suspicious.

“It was really good,” Yuno would brush through his hair if not for the helmet on his head. He finally raised his eyes at her. “I want to learn.”

“Learn..?” Neva blinked, not really following.

“How to skate like you do… graciously,” he muttered.

“It’s not easy,” Neva straightened up, but she gripped her wrist with her hand. “Figure skating requires you to commit… sacrifice.”

“Will you teach me?” Yuno blurted out.

He had no idea why he did it, but as silence prolonged he started to realize it was a bad idea. A very very bad one. After all, none of his teammates did not become friends with Neva for a reason right? He never understood it, but maybe she did not need friends. A perfect diamond, all on her own.

He turned away, gripping his stick.

“Not a chance,” he muttered under his breath as he pushed away from the ice.

“Okay…” he heard a whisper.

Yuno froze on the spot. He blinked surprised, before once again facing Neva. Her head now raised high and there seemed to be a challenge in her gaze. Purple eyes glittered beautifully.

“I will teach you,” her voice was confident.

For some reason its sound made Yuno’s heart beat faster.

#I did my best #black clover #black clover oc #not my oc #Neva Belmonte #yuno grinberryall #YuNeva #Yuno x Neva #Let's puck our limits #LPoL #LPoL one shot #black clover au #black clover one shot #black clover fanfic #ice skating au #Lyra 💕#requests

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redcloverlocomotive · 7 months ago

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Heyo! Sona time!

So I made a personal sona, with inspiration from card suites (and their symbolism) and an answered ask by @roller-rink-pizza-tower-au (both sources under the Keep Reading). It's fairly simple, but I think it will allow more flexibility since I'm still new to drawing.

For the time being, my sona's name is RCL (Are-see-el). Might make something later on, but I do like the sound of RCL.

Also, just for fun, each head represent different emotions/state of mind.

The Club is creativity & passion.

The Heart is adoration & emotional well-being.

The Spade is thoughtfulness & consideration.

The Diamond is personal concerns & physical well-being.

Initial inspiration from @roller-rink-pizza-tower-au:

Here's the [link] just in case.

Additional inspiration from Pinterest:

One last fun fact: I mostly associate with the Club and Heart! :D

#digital art #ibispaintx #my art #redcloverlocomotive #rollerrinkau #my sona

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carolmunson · 2 years ago

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old times. (stella's version - rockstar!eddie)

let's revisit our life as stella rink in the rockstar!eddie universe. another day another crossover, check out libby's version here. catch up with the rockstar!eddie au here.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, drugs and drinking mention (mild), pregnancy talk, general tension, puking/pregnancy sickness, very sweet and overbearing eddie, all around deeply fluffy.

“What heels should I wear?”

“It’s a house party with some of my old friends, Stell, why do you wanna wear heels?” Eddie asks with a laugh, coming out of the bathroom with a towel slung around his hips. He looks at you through the water droplets falling in his eyes from his curly bangs and smiles at the outfit laid out on the bed. Some little red number and nylons, four different pairs of heels laid out at the base of the hotel's California King bed.

“It’s not that kind of party, sweet thing. I told you,” he shakes his head, “just jeans and a t-shirt. There's no one to impress.”

"Are you sure?" you ask, turning to look in the mirror on the wall, tapping out a crease the concealer under your eyes.

"I'm sure," he encourages, "You want one of my shirts?"

"It's gonna be cold, right?" you wait for his confirming nod and start rifiling through the hotel dresser full of way too many clothes for a four day trip.

"I'll give you a sweatshirt, honey," he urges, tugging on a pair of old ripped jeans over a pair of boxers, "Just be comfortable, you're not supposed to be stressing out like this."

You roll your eyes playfully at him while he approaches you slowly, dimpled grin plastered on his face. A scratchy smatter of facial hair had come through over the past couple days that he hadn't bothered to shave and it tickled you while he leaned in for a kiss.

"It's bad for the baby."

Ever since you saw the little pink plus sign on the test, Eddie had taken any chance he could to say, "For the baby." He'd taken to calling you 'mama' in a Wayne like drawl ever since the blood work came in. He'd buy any onsie he saw in a store, always picking up one in a new state with some cheesy saying on it like, "My Daddy went to Texas and only got me this onesie!" He asked his manager to contact their merch developer to start making little Corroded Coffin shirts three weeks into the pregnancy. He asked the contractor on for the Hollywood house to start planning the nursery with him. There wasn't anyone more excited to be a dad than Eddie Munson.

Before you know it, you've found yourself in a pair of boot cut jeans (perfectly tailored of course) and white on white Adidas shell toes. A turtle neck and one of Eddie's Corroded Coffin sweatshirt's kept you warm on top -- not something you'd ever wear to a party in The Hills, but The Hawkins Daily probably doesn't care that you're not in Versace's SS RTW '94 collection.

You didn't look as glamourous as you would with a whole team, but at least your nails were done and your engagement ring sparkled brilliantly next to your diamond studded wedding band. Your small gold hoops hugged your earlobes -- you just needed something to add some pizzazz. You felt so tired and bloated these days, everything made you sick -- you deserved to feel pretty.

"You ready to go, lil' mama?" Eddie asks, rubbing his hand up and down your forearms to keep you warm. He looks so casually cool, you almost wanna shove him off you. Beat up old Reeboks from the 80s, ripped jeans, some stupid crudely drawn on shirt that said 'Hellfire' on it from years ago that wore tight against his adult body -- but still effortless, still sexy.

You blame it on the leather jacket and his over decorated battle vest. That had to be it.

You nod, heading down the back exits of the Indianapolis hotel to the parking garage where you loaded into Eddie's old van from high school. He preferred to drive this around when he was back home, brought on less attention than one of the Jeeps or Jaguars you both had lying around in California. While the outside still looked dingy and untouched, the inside had been redetailed and updated to keep up with the times. New carpeting, new sound system, updated leather seating, air conditioning, anything you'd want in a mid90s car -- it was in 'Charlene' -- named effectionately after one of Wayne's ex-girlfriend's who let Eddie have it when it wouldn't start anymore.

The ride felt simultaneously short and long, the rolling of your stomach in the car paired with the anxiety of being with a group of people you didn't know was inching up your throat. You looked pale in the side view mirror, pinching your cheeks hurriedly to bring some blood back to your face.

"You feel okay, honey?" Ed asks, "Want me to pull over? Did'j'you bring your water with you? I brought some if you need it."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," you assure. You're not fine, but it's better not to worry him. You weren't sick. Just nervous.

"Should I have just gone to Wayne's?" your heart sinks when you ask, "I don't want you to feel like you need to entertain me all night or anything."

"You know Dustin – you met everyone else at the wedding," Eddie says, putting a hand on your thigh, "It'll be okay. We're just gonna do a short campaign for D&D -- you can watch. You'll get to see my acting chops."

When he winks at you, you melt. It's been five years and you still feel like a teenager every time his gaze lingers on you for a little too long.

"You're gonna put me out of business," you joke back, "Hollywood's next girl next door, huh?"

"They're gonna beat down the door to book me," he replies with a faux-seriousness that makes you giggle, "Gonna outshine all you little bitches."

The rest of the ride is filled with laughs because he knows you're nervous. He knows you don't feel good. And sure, Wayne would love to have you tonight and make you dinner and talk about the baby but Eddie so rarely gets to show you the old him -- the version of him before he was famous. Before he ever did heroin -- when all he did was sell weed and comic books out of Hawkins Comics & Gaming Expo after dropping out of high school in '83 so he could get his big break.

Every trip to Indiana was a holiday or so short they'd only be there a night. You both almost exclusively saw Wayne, either staying at the trailer -- since he gifted the house Eddie got him to a new single teen mother who'd found her way to Forest Hills two months after the renovations had finished -- or in a hotel in the bigger cities. You both never had the time to show each other your old lives, even after all these years together. So when Will Byers got on the phone during one of Eddie and Dustin's weekly calls and invited him to his birthday party -- Ed cleared his schedule to make room for the occasion. He hadn't seen the guys in a while, not since the wedding in October, and before that it was during his stint in Hawkins after 'the incident' in Toronto.

When the van pulled into the driveway, already littered with cars, and your nerves pooled back in your stomach. It wasn't just not really knowing them well that was making you nervous, it was them not really knowing you. The press about the sex tape was just starting to die down -- but had they seen it? Did they know about it? Did they watch Eddie on Leno? Did they hear about the broken microphones when he got in a fight with Howard Stern? Did they know about how Eddie had to pay to get Howard's studio redone?

"He shouldn't have talked his shit, then, baby," Eddie shrugged when he got the legal papers in the mail. You'd never seen him so angry in his life than when Howard called you his 'whore wife'. The clip of Eddie saying "Excuse the fuck out of me, but what did you just say about my wife? Do you wanna lose your fuckin’ teeth man?" Replayed on a loop on all the metal radio stations before playing a Corroded Coffin song.

Were these guys going to judge her the way the press had? Should she mention the pregnancy? Did they already know? They had to have known. Eddie called Dustin minutes after you both found out.

"It's gonna be fine, Stell," Eddie knocked you out of your running thoughts with his soothing voice, opening your door on your side of the van. He offers his hand to help you out, he always does, like a prince helping you out of a carriage. You walk hand in hand to the door and you can feel the coolness of his wedding band against your skin -- it's the only gold jewelry he wears, even though you offered to get it in platinum. 'I want it to stand out, baby. Want everyone to know I'm Mr. Stella Rink.'

Eddie rings the bell, pressing a kiss to the top of your head while your other hang grips the handles of the bag of treats and expensive champagne you brought. The champagne you can't drink. The charcuterie board with cold cuts that you can't eat. Your stomach lurches again.

You're greeted by all the boys when the door opens and they all start to scream -- low and vibrating yells from men in their mid and late 20s who just wanna be boys again. Your nose is hit hard with strains of four different colognes, weed smoke, and beer and you grab Eddie's arm in a panic. Fuck.

"Oh, shit, shit shit," Eddie starts, "Sorry, sorry, can she use your bathroom. I think she's gonna puke."

"Yeah, of course, c'mon, c'mon in," Will is so immediately caring that you want to cry. His hand on your back while he and Eddie lead you to the bathroom around the hall. You drop the bag of food and liquor outside the door before you run inside to wretch, closing the door on both men behind you.

"Sorry man," you hear Eddie explain, "She's pregnant so she's just, y'know, like, puking everywhere all the time."

"It's totally okay," you hear Will assure.

"Not surprised she's pregnant," you hear another voice say with a snicker, "We all saw it on the news."

"Hey," you hear Eddie's voice get lower while another heave of bile comes out of you, "Watch your mouth, Wheeler."

There's silence and then the sound of a smack on the back, "I'm just kiddin' man. Fuckin' love you guys."

You finally think you're done, rinsing your mouth out in the sink.

"Do you guys have mouthwash?" you call out, hearing their murmur of conversation.

"Behind the mirror," Mike responds. Your sigh of relief at the Listerine is audible and the boys snicker and you laugh too. This is ridiculous. What were you so nervous about? This was going to be fine. Just fine.

Eddie's waiting for you outside of the bathroom, offering his hand again when you emerge, "You okay?"

You nod and he picks up the snacks and wine while leading you to the kitchen. He puts the champagne in the fridge, maneuvering it amongst hundreds of beer cans and a covered grocery store cake. You go to open the snacks before Dustin stops you.

"I got it, Stell," he urges, "You should sit down."

"Henderson," you say with a cocked head, "I'm pregnant, not dying. I can put out snacks."

"Look, I'm just doing what I'd do for Suze," he says, "If I'm here, you're not lifting a finger."

"And where is Suze and the baby now?" you ask with a smile.

"They are in Utah to visit her parents and her brother's and sisters," he explains matter of factly, "And...lucky for me, I couldn't take off work this week to go visit them, too."

"I'm sure your thrilled," you laugh. He puts a finger to his lips and laughs too, fatherhood suits him so well. Despite being five years younger, Eddie has gotten so much wisdom from Dustin. Asking every question that comes in his head, picking Suzie's brain about pregnancy even though you have to keep reminding him that all of this is different for every couple.

Eddie puts a plate in front of you full of snacks you can have and strokes your hair, "Do you want water? Soda?"

"Can I have a Heineken?" you ask with a hopeful smile.

"No," he singsongs, "But you can have a Coke if you want?"

You frown, "Fine, fine."

Eddie opens it for you and places it next to your plate, barely biting into a cracker before the doorbell rings again. You've started your conversation back up with Dustin and Eddie to tune out the ruckus at the door and you swear you hear it -- but you can't be sure.

"Libby!"

Absolutely not.

There's no way.

You peer a little past the wall of the kitchen blocking off the view of the front door to see a glimpse of her hair falling over Will's shoulder and you know if she's here -- so is he. Your heart races in your chest, sweat building under your arms and in your hairline like you're going to be sick again.

You peer over a second time to see Steve on one knee taking off her shoes for her and bite back a scoff. You feel Eddie's hand on your shoulder and your attention snaps to him, "What're you lookin' at, baby?"

He follows your line of site and sees them, too. Eddie's regualr smile falls to a thin line, "What the fuck?" he mutters quietly.

"Of course he's taking her shoes off for her, can't do anything herself," you huff.

Eddie squeezes your shoulder, "Don't," he says with a shake of his head.

"Don't act up. You're just gonna make yourself upset," he warns. You both had a right to be mad, but Eddie didn't have the energy for negativity anymore. Lucky for him, you have enough energy for the both of you.

"I'm so sorry, dude. I should've told you," Dustin said. Their conversation is muffled while shock rings in your ears. You watch her give Will a gift, their jovial conversation, her dolled up outfit. Lucas and Mike giving her hugs hello. She sparkled. The life of the party. Her miserable hulking jock boyfriend hanging behind her with her purse in his hand.

You look back down at your plate of snacks -- you wanna puke again but you don't know if you need to puke again. You hear Libby and the rest of the crew maneuver into the livingroom, laughing and joking as they go. Her smile is so evident in her voice and your heart can't help but break at the sound of it -- she was your friend, too. Once.

It's not long before you hear it, the familiar stomps of a one Steve Harrington entering the kitchen with a cigarette between his lips. The interaction feels like it's happening in slow motion when he stops in front of the table.

"Shut the fuck up," you say under your breath, "You're joking."

Eddie instinctively steps in front of you, one hand sneaking behind him to stop you from talking -- ‘I got it.’

Steve stands there, dumbfounded at first, and then shakes his head.

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me," he mumbles, looking straight at Eddie's face. It had been over a year, but rage surged through Eddie's system for a moment before he took a regulating breath.

"Uh, Eddie um, I just got my car uh, detailed -- wanna check it out? See if they did a good job?" Dustin offered, trying to break the tension.

"Yeah Henderson, that sounds like a great idea," Eddie agreed slowly, keeping his eye on Steve while the boxer turned on his heel to go back to the livingroom.

It was no longer a question of whether or not you wanted to puke.

You needed to puke.

Eddie and Dustin headed outside while you barreled back down the hallway to vom, turning the water on so no one would hear, praying that this would be the last time. After a couple of dizzying minutes, you gather yourself, rinse with Listerine, and cautiously head to the door.

You only see her feet in the corner of your eye, blocked by everyone surrounding her before you open the door. The cool March air kisses your face like a lover back from war, catching on the sweat of your clammy skin. You shut the door, making sure it's not locked, and scan the street for a sign of your husband.

"Over here," he calls from across the street. You jog over in your sneakers, Eddie looks you over, "You get sick again?"

"Yeah, but s'fine," you nod, "I'm okay."

Eddie reaches into his jacket pocket, hearing the crinkling of plastic, and his hand reappears with two gold wrapped candies.

Ginger chews. The only thing that kept your stomach settled these day. Eddie bought them in bulk the moment you found something that helped and kept at least 50 of them on him at all times, lest you felt even the slightest bit ill.

"Here, baby," he offers, holding the candies out on his outstretched palm, "You'll feel better. Think you need to eat something real, soon. You didn't eat a lot at breakfast."

"Ed, I'm fine," you assure, taking the chews and horking them down. You just don't want to feel sick anymore. He takes out his keys and hands them to you.

"I got a big bottle of Evian in there for you, go grab it," he instructs, "You're gonna just get more sick if you're dehydrated."

"Honey," you say with a warning edge, taking the keys, "I know. I can take care of myself, okay?"

He frowns, "Just tryna help."

You sigh with a smile, pecking his cheek, "I love you. I appreciate it. M'sorry." You cross the street again, catching Libby and Will in an animated conversation through the window and avert your eyes to the van. You grab the Evian and crack it open, practically chugging it behind the coverage of the passenger door -- heaving breaths out of your mouth when the bottle leaves your lips.

"Trying to pretend it's a real party, Stell?" Eddie teases, "Sucking that down like it's Moet."

You roll your eyes, "Fuck off, Munson."

"We're gonna go back inside, sweet thing," he says, tilting his head over to Dustin, "You need a minute?"

"Um, yeah, gonna let the ginger set in first and then I'll come in," you smile.

"I think they ordered pizza, that sound good? Want me to see if I can get you something else?" Eddie smiles.

"No, no, pizza's fine honey," your smile is tight while you watch them walk back in, the sound of too many voices and music peels through the open door.

You take a few deep breaths to steady your nerves, looking at yourself in the side view mirror again. You sigh, you’re sure you look fine to everyone else but you look bad to you. You step half way up and in to the van to open the center console, fishing out a spare blush and lip gloss that you kept there for emergencies. Your touch up helps make you feel a little refreshed, but still came the daunting task of going back into the house.

You crept in the door quietly, seeing Eddie and Dustin laughing with Mike and Lucas, standing like pretend grown men in a circle. You scan the base of the couch again and see Libby’s socked feet, taking a swig of your water while you position yourself next to Eddie. His arm naturally finds its way around you while he talks and you feel safe again. The vibration of his chest while he speaks, the scent of his cologne mixed with less and less cigarette smoke while he works on quitting before the baby comes. His presence lulling you back into security without as much as a word.

Lucas and Dustin walk away to help set up the table for the game, while Mike continues to talk to Eddie about guitars. Wheeler wants to get a new one but he isn’t sure he has the right adapter for his amp and your brain glazes over in boredom. If you never heard about amp adapters again it would still be too soon.

“Technology’s moving too fast, babe. The sound is getting too manufactured.” He’d complain throughout the house like a grumpy old man.

Will calls Mike over and they start talking about playing, you hear Libby’s voice in the background and your head swims. When the conversation pauses, Eddie looks down at you and smiles, “You look pretty, you put a different blush on?”

His ability to still notice the little things makes your heart leap, “The one in the car. Felt like I sweat all my makeup off after puking.”

“You look like a million bucks, mama,” he winks, pulling you in tighter and kissing your forehead, “Gonna go help set up sweet thing, why don’t you go put some food in your body with that water.”

You chug your Evian to stop from fixing your mouth to say something bitchy. It’s hard to let him take the lead, to have him suggest how to care for yourself in this state. You want to tell him to mind his business, to snap at him — but he’s doing it from a place of love and you know that. You’re not good at having someone take care of you like this. You never let him do it before.

There was someone at this party who had told you that to your face.

You get out of the way, padding into the kitchen and grabbing a handful of pretzels and tossing them on a plate, your previous snack plate thrown away. You gather some cheese curls, M&Ms, chips, anything in a bowl for eating and pile it high. Munching on it while you watch the party set the living room up for the game. Dice and maps and papers being passed out to eachother. Beers and weed being offered.

You're only half listening while you came back over to the table where everyone was sitting in fold out chairs or the couch, only to realize there was no seat for you. Eddie turns at your movement, sitting on the end. He scans the room, there’s space next Libby on the couch but that’s not happening so he spreads his legs a little farther, patting his thigh.

“C’mon,” he says quietly, “S’fine, honey.”

You perch yourself on his lap and watch him look at your plate, he opens his mouth to say something but then closes it — plucking a chip off and popping it in his mouth, then another.

“Really looking forward to this birthday campaign, Byers," Eddie says across the table, "Never thought Wheeler could come up with something so creative."

"Rude," Mike scoffs, "But, even though I'm definitely that creative -- I didn't write it. Libby wrote it." You look down at the pretzels on your plate as if they are much more interesting than anything else.

“You wrote it?” Eddie asks gently.

“Yeah, I mean, I just threw it together,” Libby assured, “It’s nothing special.”

“No, no,” Eddie urges, “It’s good. It’s really good.”

Bile creeps up your throat.

Good enough to kiss her at the bar again? You shake it out of your mind. You’ve moved past that. He can compliment her and have it not mean anything more than that. He complimented Max's hair at your wedding, he compliments your manager Simone all the time. You bite into a pretzel — it’s incredibly dry. Eddie’s hand finds your hip and your mouth runs drier. Did he touch you after so that you wouldn’t be mad? Why are you thinking so far into it?

You reach down to get your water but he beats you to it, putting his character sheet down with his other papers to open it for you.

“I can do it, Ed,” you assure gently, “You’re busy.”

“I'm never too busy for you, Stell,” he whispers while the conversation continues around him, “I just — I’m sorry.”

You stay on his lap, snacking, feeding him snacks while he pays attention to everyone else.Minutes pass, they feel like hours while you watch everyone else laugh and joke with each other. Libby is glowing -- completely in her element, and you're here in your husband's sweatshirt feeling like hurling every five seconds and no one cares about you at all.

You need air.

You get up and fish into Eddie's pockets while he talks, grabbing a handful of ginger chews and the dregs of your Evian bottle and walk over to the kitchen to the back door. For the second time that afternoon, the cool wet air feels good on your face.

You shut the door behind you and take a deep breath, putting your head down and leaning forward with your hands on your knees at the exhale.

"You too?" you hear. It's a gruff voice. A voice you know well.

"What? Not havin' fun, Harrington?" you ask dryly, rolling up slowly, vertabrae by vertabrae.

"Could ask you the same thing," he says with a shrug. You turn to look at him, still big and hulking as ever. Sunglasses over his eyes and a cigarette between his lips. You look at eachother for a moment, you can feel his eyes through the lenses -- the honey eyes that looked like daggers the last time you saw him. The honey eyes that rounded like saucers when you told Libby to leave while she still could. Looks like she didn't heed your advice.

He takes a small step toward you, "Want a smoke?"

The box is nearly empty and you don't smoke Marlboro's anyway, "I'll pass."

He shrugs, taking one of the remaining cigarettes left and popping it between his lips.

"So, when're you due?" he asks while he brings up his lighter.

"Excuse me?" you ask, eyes narrowing. You cross your arms protectively over your chest.

"When's the baby due?" he asked again on his exhale, blowing the smoke away from you.

"Who told you?" you look at him quizically -- it's not like him and Libby would've found out any other way but this party. You weren't announcing to the press until you were at least 12 weeks.

"No one," he smirks, "Any other party I've seen you at you're normally stumblin' around with some Cliquot and chain smoking by now."

"I am not," you huff.

"And fuckin' Munson hasn't broken out any party favors yet so either you're knocked up or you finally put him on a shorter leash," his smirk widens while he takes another drag.

"Get his name out of you're fuckin' mouth, Harrington," you spit. You see his jaw clench, like he's holding back.

"See you haven't changed much," you mutter, opening your bottle of water only to see that there's nothing left. Steve drops the butt of his cigarette, stomping it out with his shoe before turning to one of the coolers outside and fishing out a Sprite.

"S'not as fancy as Evian but," he cocks his head while offering it to you, "Might settle your stomach."

You peer at it, and then at him, slowly reaching for the dripping can, "Thanks."

It comes out more apprehensive than you expect. You walk over to the picnic table that seems decades old, sitting down on the damp old wood of the bench and opening the can -- catching the bubbles as they over flow. You see Steve fish a Sprite out for himself and head over to you, lighting the last cigarette in his pack. You jaw clenches.

"Uh, congrats though," he says, flipping his glasses to rest on his head and running his hand over his face. You nod, feeling a little uncomfortable -- it wasn't pregnancy making you sick at this point. It was the threat of where this conversation could go, and you had a sharp tongue today. It was the fear of Eddie coming out here and causing a scene because -- despite it being over a year -- he wouldn't want you out here alone with King Steve.

"You know what you're having?"

"Twins."

Steve chokes on his Sprite, turning around to spit the liquid out onto the yellowed grass. He turns back around, wiping his mouth.

"Good fuckin' luck," he breaths, shaking his head. "Fuckin' twins."

"I know," you say quietly, toying with a piece of splintered wood on the side of the table, "I haven't told Eddie about it yet."

"The fuck you mean?" Steve asks, concerned, sitting down on the bench opposite you.

"I just found out before I came down here," you confessed, still toying with the splinter, "He was already in Indiana when I went to the 7 week appointment -- that's when they saw two of them in there. Fraternal. I'm due in November."

"Shit," Steve mumbles, "Uh...you okay?"

You nod, "I'm nervous he's gonna freak out. He's excited but I know he's so nervous about being a dad. He's so scared he's gonna fuck up -- I feel like this will be too much for him."

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," you say, shaking your head while the rest of you shivers, "I don't even fucking like you."

He barks out a laugh, "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Rink."

You laugh with him and for the first time, there's a subtle softness between you that hadn't existed before.

"Um," he starts, "Not sure it's my place to say this but -- I think Munson'll be fine -- he's off the heavy shit, right?"

You nod, looking at the opening of the Sprite can, the liquid reflecting the sky above you. Your shoulders tense at him mentioning Eddie's drug use -- 'How're those veins holdin' up Munson?' Eddie hadn't touched anything beyond weed and a few bumps of coke (off your body) since '92.

"He's been off for two years," you say, ripping the splinter of wood off the table and tossing it into the grass.

"See? Already ten times better than my folks. You’ll be just fine," Steve says softly -- you'd never hear him speak like that. So inward, almost calm.

Your eyes meet, holding each others gaze with understanding before Steve slides his glasses back down.

"Drink," he demands, his chin jutting towards the can of Sprite.

"Pfft. You sound just like Ed," you groan with an eye roll.

"What, is he finally bossin' you around?" Steve lets out a chuckle while he puts his last cigarette in his mouth.

"No one bosses me around," you snip, eyes reaching the sky, "God he just doesn't stop it's so fucking --"

"Steve," you hear Libby's voice behind you, her socked feet at the door frame. She tip toes clumsily in the dry grass, light on her feet as she does and gets behind him, reaching into his pants pocket.

"Baby, what're you --"

"There it is," Libby says with a smile, his wallet in her hand. She fishes through it, grabbing a few bills. She looks over at you, but doesn't make eye contact, "Oh, hey Stella."

"Hi Lib," you say to the rotting plank of wood at the center of the picnic table. You try to stifle a laugh from how clear it is that she's really been enjoying herself.

Steve looks up at her blankly, and she grins down, "The pizza's here, Stevie. I don't want Will to have to pay for it on his birthday."

She turns to tip toe back to the door with the cash in hand and he follows, her socks dirty with wet soil and grass. You don't hear it, but you know he's scolding her for something -- his fingers gentle around her chin while he talks to her.

He comes back when she disappears into the house and sits back down -- the bench creaks.

"She's having fun," you smile, "Happy for her."

"A little too much fun," he takes a drag of his cigarette, "That Sprite isn't there for you to look at, Rink."

You roll your eyes but take a sip of it anyway, "I know you're not telling me what to do. Must be the roids talking."

He catches your mean smirk and smirks back, his eye roll rivals yours. You're almost impressed.

Steve looks at the house, seeing Libby in the window with the boxes of pizza and his brows soften behind his glasses. He takes a moment, like he's considering something.

"Look, Rink -- what I did..." he starts, lifting his glasses to rub one of his eyes, "In Toronto and Malibu..."

"Steve it's --"

"No, no, shut up -- stop," he says, resting his glasses back on his nose, "What I did, what I said -- it was shitty."

He pauses, you sit in silence for a moment.

"I shouldn't have done that."

"Yeah, you shouldn't have," you agree, taking another sip of Sprite -- you're annoyed that it is making you feel better.

"Everything I said was the truth, so -- I'm not apologizing to you," you say with a smile and a shrug.

"Fuckin' Rink," Steve shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, attention turning to the door again where Libby is standing.

"Come eat!" she calls. Holy God, you're fucking hungry.

"Go," Steve instructs, and you wanna snap at him too, but whatever demons are growing in your uterus are really begging for cheese and sauce. You get up, looking behind you while Steve works on finishing his cigarette and step into the house.

"Shoes off, baby," Eddie says when you see him in the kitchen, a plate of pizza in either hand. You kick your Adidas off and scurry over to the front door, leaving them with the pile of everyone else's before meeting your husband back in the kitchen.

"You want veggie or pepperoni?" he asks, holding either out in front of you.

"Veggie," you choose, taking the plate of his hand. You turn to see Libby waiting at the door for Steve, a plate of slices in her hand -- offering it to him when he comes in the door. Your heart sinks. You want to believe it's a good relationship, you really do -- but when you see her like this, this contrast of her bubbly nature with the group versus her obedient meekness when he's around -- you worry. Eddie catches you staring and looks at you through heavy lids, his lips a straight line.

"What?" you ask, "What's that face for?"

"Don't be sneakin' around on me," he warns, "I don't like that."

"Baby, it's fine," you say lightly, "I wasn't sneaking around -- you were busy! I just needed some air."

"It's not fine. I didn't want you to see him again," he says through a bite of pizza, "And definitely not by yourself."

"Oh stop," you click your tongue, "Put that fake macho attitude away."

"I'm so macho, what do you mean?" he quirks his brow while he gets in your face, dimples deepening when he smiles into a soft, pizza saucey peck on your lips. You look at him, his eyes are a little glassy and blood shot.

"Are you stoned?" you ask with a laugh.

"Eh...not a lot, enough that this tastes like the best pizza I've ever had," he laughs back at you.

"C'mon, lets sit," he urges, giving you a tiny pat on the ass to get you out of the way of all the moving parts in the kitchen. You cozy up next to him on the oversized recliner by the couch and look at the maps and dice left abandoned on the table.

"Are you winning?" you ask, taking a bite of your slice. Fuck, you might not be stoned but this is definitely the best pizza you've ever had.

"It's not that kind of game, baby," he smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the edges when he does.

"Oh, sorry," you blush, "I didn't know."

"S'okay," he says with a stretch of his arm, wrapping it at around you while he folds his now empty paper plate with his free hand.

"You having fun?" you ask, shoveling another bite of pizza into your mouth.

"Feel like I'm back at a highschool party," he blushes, "Excited to get to the making out part of the night. You know there's this girl I have a crush on? Her name's Stella. Think she'd wanna be my make out partner?"

"Oh, so wild," you play along, "I know her. Do you want me to ask her if she likes you?"

"No, no, she'd never go for a guy like me," he fake frowns, "I'm a loser in a rock band."

Almost as if on cue, a Corroded Coffin song comes on the radio and you playfully lean over him to turn up the volume on the stereo. Eddie covers his face with his hands, biceps bulging in the tight fabric of his shirt.

"Oof, so embarrassing," you tease. The party, sans Libby and Steve, clamber over to join in on the teasing, but it all turns into hype when they start screaming the lyrics at him. He peeks over his hands and then drops them, screaming the lyrics with them.

You feel the air around you get hot at the sight of him air guitaring the exact right chords, his face getting confident and concentrated like when he's really playing. He notices your stare, looking up to shoot you a wink but when you blush at him he can't help but pull you into a kiss. It's lewd and sloppy, like how you'd make out at California parties when you both had too much to drink. You know deep down he misses that version of you, but he can always find her when he kisses like this.

The hype turns into childish playful groans of disgust and teasing coos, "Ewwwww, don't be gross."

"Get a room!"

"No wonder you have a baby on the way," Mike teased. The grouped lulled in quiet, everyone blushing but not at dark as Wheeler. Your eyes flit quickly to Steve and Libby, and a strike of guilt pangs in your chest. She didn't know. How would she?

Always good at breaking tension, you make a joke at the expense of yourself, "Don't act so surprised, you all saw it on the tape."

They probably had. It was all over the news.

The room erupts in cackles and you laugh into Eddie's hand while it claps over your mouth, "Shh, shh, stop." His giggle in your ear is infectious. You reach up to touch his hand, your finger sliding over his wedding band as a reminder that he made all the changes he said he would. He put in all the work he promised. He's still going to meetings and still seeing a shrink -- he's even brought you with him a few times.

'Eddie mentioned he thinks you might have some issues with letting go of control.'

'I think you don't know what you're talking about.'

In your peripherary, you catch Steve pull away from her touch -- renderring her visibly upset. She gets up and heads to the hallway and part of you wants to get up and go after her, but your attention turns to Steve. His eyes lock with yours and he gives you a look like 'See what I'm dealing with here? What did I do?'

You look back at him flatly at first because he knows what he did. You motion your head toward the hallway at him mouthing a small 'Go!' He huffs and bobs his head with another award winning eye roll because he knows you're right.

Mrs. Fuckin' Munson.

Both of them disappear in the darkness of the hall and you watch as Max and Will's gaze follow them.

"It's okay," you assure them quietly -- it grabs their attention. Will was better, but Max always got flustered when you spoke to her or paid her any mind. You weren't a stranger to people being star struck around you -- but you wished it wouldn't happen around Ed's friends. Especially when he just wanted to be normal.

"Stell, you wanna hear a story about how Eddie struck out with a super hot babe at Hawkin's Comics back in '85?" Lucas asked.

"Yes, absolutely," you nod feverishly, "I want every painstaking detail."

"Oh god is this the story with --" Eddie starts, flush blooming on his cheeks.

"Yep, with the magic trick," Lucas interrupts with a laugh.

"Oh yes! When he punched her in the face?" Mike adds. Eddie's head falls into his hands, grin plastered on his face behind his palms. His face matches the can on Coke on the side table next to him.

"He punched a girl in the face?" you gasp but it turns into a girlish laugh -- a mean girl laugh that you thought you threw away in grade school. You run your hand over his back in soothing circles.

"Who knew he'd be Hollywood's heartbreaker a year later," you tease, "Tell me everything."

You listen to the tale intently, Eddie eventually finding comfort resting against your chest to feel the vibrations of your laugh under him. His eyes lull when your fingers graze over his scalp, running through his hair -- an absentminded soothing action you did without realizing it. He can't wait for you to be a mother -- he knows you're gonna be great at it. You've already spent so much time taking care of him, how different can some rugrat be?

When the story is over and everyone is nearly crying with laughter, your stomach lurches.

"Oh shit," you groan, wretching nothing, "Fuck, sorry, hold on."

You race to the bathroom for the third time only to be met with the closed door opening to Steve and Libby. You wretch again, looking at them while they look at you.

"Sorry, please -- just, please move -- " you plead, shoving past them and shutting the door on their backs. You heave into the toilet. Undigested chunks of pizza and veggies plopping down into the water unceremoniously -- the fizz of the Sprite crawling back up your throat burning while it mixes with your stomach acid.

"Ugh, shit," you groan as another hurl rolls through your body -- up your back to your neck and out of your mouth. Your coughs and sputters turn to more upheavels until there's nothing left to throw up. You take a few deep breaths, resting your head on the cool porcelain on the toilet seat -- not even caring at this point if its dirty.

With wobbling legs you get up and rinse your mouth for the third time that day, splashing some cold water onto your cheeks. The knock on the door makes you jump and you wait to hear Eddie's 'Baby, you okay?' come from the other side, but it doesn't.

"Hey, Stell?" it's Libby asking for you.

"I got you some water. Can I come in?" she asks. Your heart races. Steve you could handle -- but you don't know if you can handle this. You hesitate for a moment, looking at the door then back at yourself in the mirror, then back at the door again.

You reach for the handle and click it open, revealing her and her glassy stare -- cup of water in her hand, and one for her in the other.

"Uh, here."

You reach for it, your mouth and joints suddenly feelings the strain of dehydration, and gulp some of it down. Letting out a 'thanks' with a sigh.

You're silent for a second, mulling over your next move. You could just walk away and go back to your husband or you could grow the fuck up. You and Eddie have had countless talks about their hookup. He never shyed away from it, always doing his best to be as open and honest about it to quell and insecurity you might've had. It didn't kill you that he'd had a little crush on her, you had little crushes on plenty of people -- you worked along side the most beautiful and charming people in the world. At the end of the day, the ring was on your finger -- his vows were a short novel that he got bound in leather and gave to you the night before your wedding. He still knew your Big Mac order. He still knew you'd always take a sip of his regular Coke when you ordered diet.

"Do you wanna go outside with me? I just really need some air," you offer. You see her eyes widen, but she nods while you walk into the space she made for you in the hallway. You walk ahead, slipping your sneakers back on and finding Eddie back in the game with the boys. Steve sitting in darkness off to the side with his sunglasses on -- what a putz.

Eddie's character voice is low and gravely but animated -- some kind of accent lacing the words but you know it's his poor attempt at Northern Irish. He turns his head when you giggle as he finishes his sentence, sneaking behind him and reaching into his jacket pocket for some ginger chews.

"You okay?" he murmurs to you.

"Yes, honey," you whisper, grabbing the candies and sneakily slipping out his box of Camels and his lighter to slide into your jean's back pocket.

"Your character seems really cool," you smile into a kiss on the side of his head from behind, "You sound great."

"Thanks," he blushes, still whispering with you while the other members continues.

"I'm gonna step outside," you say with a rub to his back and he nods before joining a huddle with Lucas, Dustin, and Will to plan their next steps. You turn back to Libby and motion towards the back door, heading back outside towards the picnic table -- the sun begginning it's descent. You shivered a little in your sweatshirt -- you should've worn a coat or maybe another layer. You watch Libby as she comes outside, sitting across from you with her back towards the door.

"Hi," you say softly, with a smile, "It's been a while."

"Yeah," Libby nods. There's a permeating silence, neither of you knowing how to start the conversation. The last time you'd seen each other had been so cold. You had only kept up through seeing whatever brand deals she might have garnered, or running into some of Steve's fights on TV. Sometimes when your makeup artist had worked with her she'd give you her insight, but it had never been enough. Apparently Steve wasn't hovering so often.

"So how do you know these guys?" you ask, because this was the last place you ever thought you'd see Libby and Steve. She lights up at the question, easy and middle ground.

"Oh, I was really close with Will in high school. Some seniors were picking on him and I...sorta yelled at them," she explained.

She giggled at the memory, "How about you? How do you and Eddie know this bunch?"

"Eddie started living with his uncle when he was around 10 and then sarted working at Hawkin's Comics after he dropped out of high school in '83," you say it like you've heard this story a thousand times before, and you have, "The boys used to come in and buy new issues and some Dungeons and Dragons play books, eventually they started a little club and stayed friends after. I'm sure since you knew them back then you might've heard about it."

"He stayed friends with the boys for the most part, but stayed really close with Dustin -- so when he was here last year after um -- y'know -- everything. They sort of all got a chance to reconnect. And here we are."

"I bet it's weird, huh?" she asks with a shrug, " Not knowing many people, being far from home."

"And I'm sober for it," you complain with an eye roll. Your chin goes to rest on the heel of your hand, leaning on the table.

"Congratulations, by the way," Libby cracks a shy smile, "On the baby and the wedding."

"Thanks," you smile back, "I'm due in November. Y'know I thought I'd be so relieved once the wedding was over after all that planning but -- with y'know the tape and all the press -- and then getting pregnant it's been...it's just been a lot. Kinda lonely."

"I saw some pictures," she responded, "You looked really pretty."

Your heart breaks, "I wish..." you trail off for a moment, unsure if you should say what you're thinking.

"I wish you could've been there."

"Me too," she says, eyes casting down towards the table.

"It was fun, and all the boys were there -- and Max. You would've had a good time," you say, and then pause to think, "Maybe not Steve. He doesn't strike me as good at dancing."

Libby laughs, "Steve never dances."

'Not much of a dancer but good enough in bed that you stayed with him this long? What kind of rhythm is he even working with?' you think. You laugh too, but it fades out when your heart swells -- it's better to be honest.

"Not just the wedding though. When the tape came out and -- everything that went down. I wished you'd been around. It's hard y'know, when everyone is talking about how much of a slut you are for having sex with your own husband," you confess, "And then Jesus, everything with Ed and Howard -- so embarrassing."

"I only had my sisters and my mom for a while. It just would've been nice to have a friend around, too. Someone who understood," you pause for a beat, "I missed you."

You grab the box of Camels and his lighter from your back pocket to open it. It's half full, which is impressive since Eddie bought this pack last week -- really following through with cutting down. Any other time, this pack would've been gone by noon at the latest. You hold the box out in your hand across the table -- not the olive branch you thought it would be, but it'll do.

"Wanna light?" you ask, "It helps sometimes just to smell it around me. Takes the edge off."

You're surprised at how quickly she reaches for the pack, fishing out a cigarette and lighting it with one fell swoop. The kind of speed you see back stage at fashion shows or in the back alleys of the studios you shot at.

"You're telling me," she mumbles through a drag.

"Didn't realize you were one of us now. Are you that stressed out?" you asked. There was no way things were going that badly already. You watch her look over her shoulder with a nervous shiver, certainly looking out for Steve.

"It's just like you said," she says before blowing out the gray haze, the scent hits your nostrils and your heart finally stops thrumming, "to take the edge off sometimes. Steve doesn't know."

"I'd imagine not," you tease.

There's a moment of silence while Libby takes another drag. Smoking suits her, she looks more established -- more grown up. Sure of herself.

"I missed you, too," she says. You think it's the pregnancy hormones that make you want to cry. You both smile at eachother, eyes shining in the cold air. It would've been a different year entirely if you had just stayed friends.

"Is—has everything been okay? With Steve?" you asked. The answer seemed obvious since they were still together.

"Yeah, things are good. They're..." you watch her consider the answer. No longer under the watch of America or her family, but someone who'd seen some of Steve at his worst, "...they're much better. He's been going to therapy, it seems to be helping," she admitted.

You laugh at the confession. King Steve sees a shrink. Of course.

"Ah, that explains it," you grin, fiddling with Eddie's zippo on the table. She laughs with you. It's nice to laugh with someone else other than Eddie.

"I'm sure that was a terrifying moment for you," she jokes, tilting her head towards the house. It was at first, talking to Steve one on one -- but then maybe it wasn't.

"I definitely didn't wonder if you had him cloned and rewired," you tease before reaching out to her across the table, "And you? How have you been?"

"Good. We're back on the road next week, Steve has a fight in Chicago," she explains. You knew that life.

"Any more Prada shoots?" you ask. Your mind wanders for a brief moment if Steve ever ended up giving her the card you wrote her.

"Maybe. But...I don't know, ever since we came back to Hawkins, I've been...no, it's silly," she waves her hand, making a face -- but you want to know what she wants.

"No, I know it's not! Come on, tell me."

"I've been thinking about...maybe taking some classes. I wanted to go to school, before I met Steve, and I'm just...wondering if maybe I still could," she says nervously. Like a secret she'd been keeping for years.

"Libby, I definitely think you still can," you encourage, "I think that's a great idea."

"Ah, I don't know. We'll see. What about you? How far along are you?"

You pull your hand away -- you're excited but almost a little exhausted by talking about the baby -- babies, you keep having to remind yourself. But you know it'll only get worse the more you start to show.

"Not very, just due in November. I mean, I'm scared shitless, but I'm excited. Eddie's nesting more than I am and he's not the one puking every five seconds," you can't help but get exasperating at his constant flitting about -- but thinking about him with a baby makes your heart melt.

"But...he's gonna be a great dad," you confess, your cheeks heat up for a moment.

"Yeah, he is," she agrees, "And you're gonna make the best mom, Stell."

You gulp and shake your head for a second, "I dunno. You think so?"

"I know so," her smile genuine and warm and you want to reach up and give her a hug but something moves behind her that catches your eye.

You spy Steve at the door way and your eyes flick to the lit cigarette in her hand while she talks. He takes a strong step forward, eyes meeting yours -- he puts a finger to his lips with a devilish smile as to warn you not to reveal his unfortunate surprise. You want to roll your eyes while she takes her next drag, but you know it'll give it away.

He comes behind her and cups his hand under her jaw and you stifle a laugh while she sputters out the smoke into his face.

"Hey, angel. Whatcha doin'?" he asks, you can sense he's less than happy about her currently predicament. Another reminder why he probably didn't want you hanging out with Libby in the first place.

"I-I was just keeping it lit for you," she says with rounded, mischevious eyes. You giggle, which makes her giggle, while he makes a face -- and you know he doesn't appreciate it.

"You think that's funny?" he asks down at her, but you know he's asking both of you.

"No -- " she starts, her voice falling into something small and meek. A familiar head of shaggy curls appears behind Steve's hulking frame. Fuck, you forgot your husband was here.

"Stell, babe, have you seen my Camels?" he asks while he jogs out, slowing down to a confused stop when he sees all three of you outside. He stands next to you, seeing the box of cigarettes and his lighter on the table -- a lit cig in Libby's hand.

"Okay, so when did you start smoking?" Ed asks, furrowing his brow.

"She doesn't," Steve says down at her. It's the only slight interaction they've had all night. You cringe.

"Sure you don't want it, Stevie?" Libby asks, offering it to him. He gives her a look and shakes his head -- tossing the cigarette into the grass.

"I don't smoke that nasty shit, and neither to do you," he almost looks offended that she asked. Eddie turns his attention back towards you, shoving his hands in his coat pockets -- his exasperated breath floating out in contrast to the cold air.

"What're you doing, huh?" he asks, "It's freezing out, you have no coat on. You've barely eaten. You're a foot away from someone blowing smoke around you. C'mon Stell, it's bad for --"

"For the baby. Yeah, yeah, I know, Ed," you sass. He picks up the box and puts it in his back pocket, lighter shoved in the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

“Well, I hate the break up the Girl Scout meeting over here," Ed announces dramatically. You notice Steve's jaw tick.

"But I need to get you some dinner,” Eddie says, his hands giving your shoulders a soft squeeze, “Let’s go say goodbye inside so we can get going.”

“Ed, no, I’m finally having fun,” you complain.

“Don’t argue with me, please,” he says softly, “You got sick three times and barely finished your pizza. Let’s go get something that agrees with you. We can go to the diner.”

“No,” you half whine, grabbing Libby’s hand across the table.

“Let’s go, Stell,” he urged, annoyance and edge building on his voice — feeling Steve’s eyes on him while his wife blatantly doesn’t listen. Eddie turns and walks towards the house, expecting you to follow him but you stay on the bench and cross your legs. They tighten when Eddie turns back around half way to the house in the grass, frustration clear on his face.

“Stella Lynn,” he growls, "Get over here, now."

You huff, and you swear you can hear Steve snicker under his breath. 'You finally lettin' him boss you around?'

"Sorry, I have to go," you frown, getting up and taking a step over to him.

"You're being a buzzkill, Ed," you say loudly enough for them to hear. He takes a few steps back to meet you, putting his arm around you while he scowls.

"What's our agreement, these days -- hm?" he asks, not even caring that the other couple is there watching you, "If I don't get to do cocaine -- you don't get to what?"

"Don't get to start shit," you reply with a frown. You know Steve is snickering and you'd give anything to be back in the ring in Toronto to give him a right hook that you actually know how to do now.

"So let's go," he repeats.

"Just give me like, one second okay?" you ask, pecking him on the cheek. You scurry back over to Libby and Steve and interrupt their conversation.

You meet Steve's eye and before he can speak you put your finger in his face but your face is playful, "Don't."

"555-4823," you say down at Libby on the bench, "That's my new number. Call me literally whenever."

You hurry back over to Eddie who pulls you back in tight at the waist, leading you back into the house. The warmth envelopes you like a hug, you hadn't even realized how cold you were until you came back inside.

"Everything good out there?" Dustin asks, his concerned stance matching Eddie's from outside.

"Everything's fine, Henderson," you singsong, "Don't let Munson get in your head."

He smiles and reaches forward to pull you into a tight hug, "I'll see you guys tomorrow, okay?"

You hug him back tightly, letting go to go around with Eddie for the rest of your goodbyes -- Max nearly falling over herself when you reached forward to wrap your arms around her. Eddie smiles when he watches you interact with his friends, a little heart broken to take you away just as you started to loosen up but he planned to make more trips home now that you were about to start a family together.

You hear Steve and Libby come in while you make your exit, the door shutting behind you when you hear Will call out to her.

"You have fun?" Eddie asked, opening the van door for you. He helps you in, but you shake your hand out of his when he reaches for it. Eddie frowns but shuts the door for you before appearing on the other side.

"Yeah, it was fine," you smile, "Talked to both of them."

"How'd that go?" he asked, apprehensive. The van chugs to life when he puts the keys in the ignition, pulling out of the driveway.

"Good. I think," you nod, "I think it's good."

"I don't wanna go to the diner," you confess when he pulls onto the road.

"No? What'd you want?" he turns, and then focuses attention on your tummy, "Better question, what do you want?"

"I think McDonalds," you admit, making a face. He pulls a face that doesn't match yours, he's frustrated with you.

"I don't think that's a good choice, baby," he says softly.

"You don't really get to tell me wh--"

"It's not that I think it's a bad choice because it's unhealthy, it's a bad choice because you've barely put anything else in your body -- you need nutrients, babe. You didn't even take your vitamins today," he says, his voice raising slightly to talk over you.

"I'm not made of fucking glass, Ed," you snap, "This whole week you've been up my fucking ass, I'm so sick of it. I know how to take care of myself."

"Stell..." his voice softens, "I'm just trying to help you."

"Well, don't!" you smack the console between you -- your voice was petulant but you didn't care.

"Okay," he says, his voice calm. He doesn't want to fight with you, not after a good day. Maybe you'll be happier after you eat something. He keeps one hand on the wheel, knowing the roads well, the other slides over to you with his palm outstretched, "You wanna hold my hand?"

You look down at it and pout, sliding your fingers in to lace with his own, "Yeah."

Eddie smiles at your admission – something about your little mood swings these days was fun for him. Much easier now to reel you back in from being scathing, all he had to do was be a little cuter than normal. (And he was already pretty cute to begin with, if he does say so himself.) Ed pulls into the drive through, your order never changing, and before you know it you're back on the road with two hot bags full of burgers and fries on your lap.

"Want me to bring you to one of my old stomping grounds?" he asked with a smile, "We can pull over and eat instead of going to Wayne's right away."

"Oh, is it where you punched that girl in the face?" you tease. He huffs, spare hand reaching up and squeezing your cheeks while he keeps his eyes on the road.

"You're cruisin' for a bruisin', Rink," he laughs, teeth gleaming behind his lips.

"Nah, it's where I used to go hook up with nerdy babes from the shop," he blushed, turning down a heavier treelined road -- the mist of the rainy day settling against the warm orange lights.

"I'm sure they were throwing themselves at you," you mocked.

He turns to look at you, mildly offended, and scoffs, "I'm sorry. Have you seen my dick? Of course they were."

You giggle with him while he turns into an empty parking lot, a lone car further to the back. Eddie looks at the car and back at you, "Think it's a couple of kids?"

"Yeah, probably," you nod. He grins.

"Wanna go ruin their night?" he laughs.

"Ed, c'mon, let them have their fun. No one was interrupting you when you were screwing around," you chide, but as you pull closer you see the bounce of the car.

And the car is familiar.

"Oh even fucking better -- it's Harrington," Eddie is giddy at the realization, leaning on the horn with an evil giggle.

"ED!" you yell, swatting at his hands, "Stop! Stop!"

Ed turns on his high beams, able to see through the slight fog of the back window.

"Is that Steve's ass?" you ask, peering forward while Eddie beeps the horn again.

"Hey, don’t look at that," Eddie snaps, covering your eyes while he pulls away -- Steve's middle finger pointed directly at him. When you squeal out of the parking lot, you roll deeper down the road and onto the backway to Wayne's -- pulling in front of his trailer without getting out.

"Wanna eat in the back?" he asks, "We could fool around after."

"Just like with your nerdy babes?" you tease, "I can't wait."

You both hop out and meneuver to the back where he slides in close to you, passing your food over. You don't wait for him to get situated, your stomach growling at the smell of salt and cheese -- your saliva might as well be whatever oil they dunk the fries in.

"Woah," he says with raised brows, "That little gremlin is really hungry, huh?"

You swallow hard, gulping down a sip of your diet Coke.

“Little gremlins,” you say to the floor of his van.

“Hm?” he asks, “You know I can’t hear you all the way when you mumble, baby.”

The only perk of him losing some of his hearing in his right ear is that he can’t always catch on, but you knew you couldn’t keep this from him any longer.

“Gremlins,” you repeat, “As in plural.”

Eddie looks at you, eyes wide, like he’s trying to understand what you’re saying.

“As in two,” you say softly, pausing for a moment while he nods with your words, “As in twins.”

“Twins,” he repeats, his voice normal before his eyes blow. It hits him, finally, what you were saying.

“TWINS?!” you let out a breath of relief when he smiles, “We’re having TWINS?!”

“When – what — when did you find out? Why didn’t – how were you – we’re having TWINS?!” the food is left forgotten and fries skitter across the carpet of the van. He pulls you in before you can explain and kisses you, hard and intense, lips trying to move through his smile but he can’t stop grinning into your mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me when you found out?” he asks, resting his foreheard against yours, “Did they tell you yesterday?”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him, tears pricking your eyes, “I don’t know, I was scared you were gonna get stressed out or – or – be mad.”

“Be mad?” he asks, “Stell, you’re having our babies. By proxy I don’t think I’m ever allowed to be mad at you for the rest of my life. Especially not for having twins.”

He kisses your forehead while he continues, hands massaging the sides of your scalp, “Do you think maybe you’re a little stressed out and instead of owning it, you decided maybe I would be stressed out when you told me?”

You give him a look, “What, you see a shrink for two years and suddenly you think you know everything?”

“Oh, so I’m right,” he nods with a smile, your look doesn’t subside.

“I get that you’re stressed, because two is a lot – and we don’t even know what it’s like to have one,” he soothes, “But you’re gonna be the best mom. I keep telling everyone about how great you’re gonna be. I know you’re scared, but I’m here with you the whole way, okay?”

Your lower lip wobbles, and a few tears sneak their way out, “Okay.”

You are scared – but no one would hear you say it outloud. He pulls you against his chest, instinctively stroking your hair like he always does when you start to cry. His excited breaths steady so that yours can, too.

“Can we go tell Wayne?” he asks, “He’s gonna lose his fucking mind.”

You nod while he lets you go to pick up the mess he made, shoving slightly at your shoulder when you lean down to help.

“Please let me,” he mutters, “Let me do it, just go inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

You can’t help but sigh while you open the van doors and slide out. His shoulders tense at the sound.

“You gotta let me take care of you one of these days, Rink,” he says while you linger outside with your hand on the door. He scoops up the fries and puts them in one of the empty bags before crunching it up and hopping out of the van to meet you.

“Deal?” he asks, offering his empty hand to you.

“Deal,” you smile.

“Okay but you can’t just say deal and then not actually mean it,” he rambles while you walk towards the door of the trailer.

“Oh my God, Munson. You’re being so insufferable right now.”

“Will you two stop yellin’ out here!” Wayne calls from the window, “They can hear you two counties over.”

You both giggle. Still just two kids under the pregnancy. Under the sex tape. Under the wedding rings. Under the fight in Toronto. Under rehab. Under separating. Just two kids holding hands who don’t know how to be quiet when the street lights are on.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson rockstar au #rockstar!eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie #stranger things au #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #boxer!steve #boxer!steve harrington

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antimonyandthyme · 2 years ago

Note

athy, i was rereading your superhero au and i cane up with something... so in ice rink meltdown part charles' fire hurts seb meanwhile in last piece michael's fire didn't hurt seb, it was only warm, so... is charles fire is that much stronger or seb subconsciously letting his shield down near kid or michael never intended to hurt his boy at all ... Any way, i feel for them <3

Oh you noticed you noticed I’m hollering you noticed! I’m giving you a big kith! Thoughts under the cut!

Well if you recall in training sessions with Charles, Sebastian seemed to walk through Charles’ fire with absolutely no trouble. So what gives?

A hint to Sebastian’s power, especially from that last scene with Mick—maintaining his invulnerability requires conscious thought. He isn’t just invulnerable by default. He is, because he wills it to be.

So yes! When Charles warms him up after Sebastian takes a dive in the ice skating rink (well, pool, courtesy of Charles), it hurts because Sebastian isn’t diamond scaling himself in that moment. Maybe he’s a little too distracted by how hopeful and determined Charles looks, breathing warm air into Sebastian’s chilled skin.

Yes, Charles is a class S fire elemental, but I’d say where he is at the moment, Michael’s power exceeds his. While Charles controls fire, Michael turns his entire body into a living, breathing, endless furnace. He is the literal embodiment of the sun. If he wanted to, he would’ve burnt right through Sebastian, invulnerability or no. Subconsciously, even with whatever it was Michael was going though (which I will flesh out in some other snippet), he recognized it was Sebastian holding him. (His boy, you are so correct.) So he dialed down the temperature, even while knowing it would lead to his capture.

(Does Sebastian know? Of course, of course. Sebastian knows he wouldn’t have lasted ten seconds against Michael if Michael truly wanted him dead. Does Sebastian hate himself for how it all turned out? Yes.)

Why are all supe backstories tragic you ask? Because!!! Because!!!

Anyway I’m so glad you’re enjoying this universe, I really hope to write much more of it!

#athy texts #superhero au #michael/seb #sebchal #fanfic #rpf

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wagner-fell · 3 years ago

Text

As Alastair Carstairs slid onto the rink once more, the olympic stadium was so quiet the only sound to be heard for miles was that of his skates cutting through the smooth ice.

While his fabulous attire caused a massive ripple the surprisingly heteronormative men’s figure skating community, his movements only caused a slight ripple in the fabric of his navy blue skirt. The silver diamonds flowing downward like manufactured tears silently clinked against each other. The color scene of his costume perfectly matched the streaks in his hair and the gold hoops and silver studs along his upper earlobe were just icing on the cake.

Thousands of Iranian flags surrounded him, all encompassing walls of green, white and red. It was Iran’s second year placing in this particular sport and the second year of Alastair’s career outside of the junior league. Only Charles Fairchild was idiotic enough to believe this was a coincidence.

Alastair stopped directly in front of the second place winner and spun around to face the crowd. He blew a kiss to his younger sister, Cordelia. The camera zoomed in on her as she jokingly swallowed it.

When the gold metal was draped over Alastair’s neckline, the audience’s cheers roared so loud people watching from the comfort of their homes were forced to refuse the volume by several bars in order to keep their hearing intact. The people witnessing it live lost that hope during Alastair’s free skate routine.

Barbara dropped her brother's hand and stuck both her fingers in her ears to block out the noise. While Eugenia hurriedly stood and lifted Tomás into the air in an act of celebration. (A feat that would become nearly impossible in just a few short months.)

Once returned to the ground, Tomás fixed his attention to the boy on the screen again. Beautiful.

Tomás had begun skating on recommendation from his physical therapist to ‘get active’. Not the smartest decision on her part, for he had injured, to some degree, every bone in his body from the leg down. But it kept him busy and his family loved going to his competitions an embarrassing amount.

Throughout the entirety of his career, Tomás had been mediocre at best. However watching the god in human form known as Alastair Carstairs skate lit a something in him he hadn’t even known was there. A desire to excel.

Tomás closed his eyes and imagined being able to do something as breathtaking as what he’d just witnessed.

One day, he promised himself, one day.

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

This is a short snippet from my contribution to Alastair Month, Born To Make History! If it isn’t already obvious from the title and general plot, its a Yuri on Ice!!! Thomastairs AU

Featuring: Tomás Lightwood of Spain, Alastair Carastairs of Iran, Matthew Fairchild of England, James Herondale of Wales, and Kamala Joshi of India (Plus Cordelia as Iran’s champion fencer)

@adoravel-fenomeno @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @lifewouldbebetteronmars @light-bane08 @thechangeling @thomas-thedavid-lightwood @the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @hardlymatters @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @arangiajoan @noah-herondale-lightwood @foxglove-airmid @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @sandersgrey @maxboythedog @shelvesofgold @book-dragon-not-worm @hahahax30 very sorry if I forgot your name from the tag list. Lmk if you want to be added/removed from the tag list!!

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sweetchup · 5 years ago

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Cute Little Princess

Anonymous said: Anything with phinks please 🥺 I love this big dumb gym rat sm

Type: Phinks x Princess Reader

Au?: None (Is in the same timeline as N.E.R.D.S)

Word Count: 3,000

Warnings: Angst

Author Note: Oof you give me my boi Phinks and say anything?! Get ready my friend cause I know the perfect thing 😤👏👏. Also I used a small reference to my one of my favorite childhood shows if anyone can catch it. It’s very small though.

So today’s a Tuesday, an average taco Tuesday for mister Phinks Magcub. Well that’s what he would like to say right now.

“So Mr Magcub, you’re a wealthy businessman from the Mimbo republic?” A women says, laughing before taking a sip from from her expensive wine.

“W-why yes I am ma’am.”

Why couldn’t the boss have picked Nobunaga or even Machi for this mission? Phinks was currently stuck in the Royal Castle of the Fushi Empire. Chrollo had wanted someone to get close to the royal family in order to collect information on where their famous Dragon Eye collection was located. And of course, Shalnark, being the ass he is who was originally chosen, had to drop out at the last minute. So, Phinks had to cover for him.

Phinks is snapped out of his thoughts as the Emperor puts down his wine glass. He wipes his stubbly chin with a cloth before looking at Phinks.

“So, Mr Magcub, you said you are interested in marrying one of my daughters, if I’m correct? Which one catches your eye?” The Emperor questions, moving his hand to point at his 3 daughters. The golden robe the emperor was wearing flows in the wind from an open window as he does so.

Phinks turns to look at the girls in front of them. They were all incredibly beautiful but one had caught his eye since he first stepped into the room. It was the youngest daughter of the Fushi Emperor, (Y/n) Fushi. No one could lie that the lady was absolutely gorgeous, with locks that look like pure silk and bright diamond like eyes. She also wore a very nice light jade green and white Hanfu that made her look like a little princess. But, as much as Phinks want to choose her, he knew that the best choice for the mission would be the eldest daughter, Himiko.

“I actually like your eldest daughter, Himiko. Her long blond locks against her pink kimono really catch my eye.” Phinks says, smiling at the princess. Himiko and the middle sister giggle like crazy and whisper to each other. He’s now actually thankful that one of the old men back at Meteor City taught him proper etiquette and how to be a gentleman. Cause if he didn’t, he probably would be hanged by now.

The king chuckles at his daughter’s antics. “Well Mr. Magcub, I’m sure my daughter would love to be your bride.”

Phinks smirks to himself. What a sucker. “Please, no need for formalities, call me Phinks.”

————💥✊🏻💥————

“So, did you finally get it?” Phinks says as he leans against the windowsill. Watching the greens of the prestigious castle garden move under the moonlight gleam.

“Yeah we got it, it was pretty easy too. The Dragon Eye collection is in fact already back at the base. Also the Boss wants you back by sometime tomorrow or the day after that. So you’ll probably want to get a move on.” Nobunaga's voice says from the phone.

“Yeah, yeah. I know, I’ll be there.”

Phinks hangs up the phone and lets out a sigh. Finally, after 2 weeks stuck here, his life will go back to normal. He could finally get out of this uncomfortable green tang suit he’s been wearing. Huh? It’s you again. Phinks looks out at the window as you begin to climb the garden wall. While he’s been here, Phinks has noticed that it’s a nightly thing you do; you climb the wall, leave for hours on end and come back tired. What are you? One of the twelve dancing princesses?

He truly wonders what you go off and do. Phinks suddenly smirks to himself. Well, it is his last night here so it wouldn’t hurt to follow. Who knows maybe you're some secret stripper or lady of the night? He whistles to himself at the thought. Man that would be awesome if that is the case. He surely hopes so.

And, in a flash, Phinks is out of his bedroom, with his small bag of stuff slinged over his shoulder. After quietly jumping through the trees, he is following you down the winding streets of the capital city. It was pretty easy too since you're not wearing a cloak, after all there’s really no need for it in the first place since no one knows what the princesses look like.

You, the youngest princess of Emperor HuinYa Fushi, was slipping past people in the crowd, wearing an old Hanfu from one of the servants. Your heart is pounding as you look past the many street lanterns and open shops for the night. No matter how many times you sneak out, it nevers gets old. Afterall, you believed this sight was much more beautiful than being back at the castle. Trapped like a bird in a cage. You, honestly, just wanted to explore the world, seeing everything it has to offer. The good and the bad.

“Miss! How about a nice refreshing Bing Tanghulu? It’s only two for 25 quien.” The salesman shouts, pointing a candied strawberry skewer right at you. The man’s silliness causes you to break out in a giggle and you reach into your pocket to grab some money. Once you have the 3 silver coins needed to buy them you go to give it to the salesman.

“Here—“ “Here. She’ll take two strawberry ones and I’ll take a grape one.” You freeze as you are cut off by a man’s deep voice and an arm slinging around your shoulder. You look up as the mystery man who holds out two of the sticks to you and gasp in shock. “Phinks?!?”

“Hiyah sweetheart.” Phinks says and smirks, taking a bite out of a candied grape. You shakily grab the two sticks from him as he leads you away. How did he know you were here? Did he follow you? You look around worriedly. Wait, is your whole family at the market tonight?

“What are you doing here?!” You whisper-shout. You were probably ghostly pale from worry, though that is probably hard to see due to how dark it is out. But still, you don’t want your father to find out you're sneaking out every night. He won’t ever leave you on your own again, if he found out.

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

“W-well…” You just sigh in defeat causing Phinks to chuckle. Oh god what a mess you got into. You better hope your father and sisters aren’t actually here. You're suddenly startled as Phinks ruffle your hair.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, It’s just me. I just wanted to see where you run off to every night. Mind showing me what you do?” You bite your lip as Phinks says that. It would be fun for someone to join you for once. But… could you trust him? He might be your sister’s fiancé but they have been only engaged for 2 weeks. He’s also acting differently right now than what he is usually like. “Come on. Lead the way?”

You look up at Phinks as he pats you on the back. You guess, it wouldn’t hurt for some company for one night. Right? You giggle and grab him by the arm, dragging him down the street. “Ok! Come on then. It’ll be fun.”

Phinks smirks as he runs with you. You even looked gorgeous running through the crowds under the blurred red and yellow lanterns. He kind of wondered what it would be like running with you hand n’ hand after some sort of robbery or heist. That would be fun but oh well, at least you’re showing him what you do for fun.

————💥✊🏻💥————

This is not what Phinks expected when you said this is what you do for fun.

“Kick his ass, girl!!”

“Come on!! I bet a lot of money on that guy.”

“Hell yeah!”

There he was standing on the sidelines in an underground small stadium, watching a princess he found cute as fuck in an illegal underground fighting match. Who knew you were an enhancer as well. Phinks is knocked out of his confusion as a rumble shakes through the arena. You had just roundhouse kicked the guy out of the rink and right through a stone wall.

“And that's match! (Y/n) wins by K.O!!” The referee announces, holding up your arm. The crowd breaks out into cheers and boos. Phinks grumbles, some of the people who bet on that guy were just sore losers.

“Phinks!” Phinks looks up to see you running and leaning on the railing of the fighting floor. Damn. Phinks felt like he was melting into the floor as you came up to him. You honestly looked like his dream girl; You looked so cute with diamond shining eyes, your fragile doll-like features and your silky hair pulled out of your face. But, with you covered in sweat, bruised up a little and covered in the blood from the other guy, you also looked so hot and now ten times better than he first met you in his opinion. “W-what did you think?”

Phinks chuckles as you look nervous, waiting for his opinion. “That was awesome. Good job! I didn’t even know you knew nen.”

“Ah-h yeah. I got initiated into it after some of the older members gave me a heads up for a championship match I was supposed to take part in. I was honestly so thankful for them.” You say, remember back to about 2 years when this had all started. Wow…it had really been that long ago. Oh, wait a minute! “Phinks!”

Phinks hums in response and raises an eyebrow. You blush in embarrassment and look down, fumble with the rope like railing. You can’t believe you're about to ask this, “D-Do you wanna do a match?”

Phinks is shocked for a minute before smirking and jumping up over the rope. You light up like a kid on Christmas as soon as you see him step into the ring. “Sure sweetheart. But, I ain’t going easy on you.”

“O-ok! Hey Ref, I have a challenger!”

Phinks smiles as he watches you run off to the ref to explain the match and your challenger. Honestly, he’s positive at this point that you're his dream girl. He suddenly frowns as he realizes something.

He has to leave tonight…. crap.

“Phinks!!” Phinks looks up as you stand on the other side of the ring. “Ready?”

Phinks smiles and nods. The match bell rings signaling the fight has begun. He’ll deal with that problem once it comes. But right now, it’s his time to have fun.

————💥✊🏻💥————

“Awww man!! I can’t believe you beat me~ I for sure thought I was going to win.” You whine as you and Phinks make your way through the now dark and practically empty streets. All the lanterns were out so the only light provided was from the big full moon dropping into the horizon, though you didn’t mind since it was such a clear night out. A perfect night to watch the stars. Well, it technically would have been but you were so distracted by the fun you were having that you didn’t realize how late it is. The sun will break over the horizon any second now and you better get back to the castle.

Though that was the least of your concerns, Phinks was acting weird. He hadn’t answered you or smiled at all since you two started walking back to the castle. The only thing he did other than walk behind you and act like a puss is he kept on weirdly checking his phone every couple of seconds. Like he was waiting for something. Did something happen while you weren’t looking?

You hear a small grumble from him as he checks his phone again. That was it. You’ve had enough of his antics. You stopped dead in your tracks and turned around to face him. “Phinks! What’s the matter with you?”

Phinks blinks a couple of times before pushing past you, grumbling something under his breath. That ass! You weren’t having any of that so you grabbed onto his arm and pulled him down onto the ground. Phinks glares at you as he lands on his ass, “What the hell was that for?!”

“That’s for not listening to me! Now, what is wrong with you? I thought we had fun tonight.”

Phinks tches and mumbles, “Well it’s not like it’s ever going to happen again.”

“W-well why not?!”

“It’s just not alright!” He shouts, brushing himself off as he stands up from the dirty ground. You glare at the man in front of you, a golden hue surrounding him since the sun has just begun to rise over the horizon.

You were just so confused as he just stalks by you again. What did he mean by you two wouldn’t do this again? Of course you two could. He’s going to be around the castle for practically 3 months before he gets married to your sister. “Of course we can do this again!! We could do this every once in a while or even every night. Your marrying my sister in 3 month—“

“I’M NOT MARRYING HER!” Phinks shouts angrily, stopping in his tracks; His back facing you. You froze in place.

“W-why not… I don’t understand…”

Phinks chuckles darkly at that and he reaches to the front of his shirt, unbuttoning the collared shirt. “Of course you don’t…well I’m going to spell it out for you, sweetheart.”

With a flick of his wrist, Phinks pulls down the top half of his green tang suit down. You gasp a little as you see it. In the golden light of the sun, you see a big spider tattoo with the number 5 on it. He is…

Your throat and lips suddenly felt very dry as you attempted to speak. “Y-you’re part of the phantom troupe... So, you were after…”

“Yeah. I was after the Dragon Eye Collection this whole time. And now that we have it, I’m leaving and never coming back.”

You stood there frozen as you watched him finally turn around and walk past you. You stare at the ground unable to look at his face as he places a warm hand on your head.

“I was going to walk you back but I doubt that’s needed. So long, (y/n).”

And like that Phinks is gone. Yet you could still feel the strange warmth that his hand provided on the top of your head. You laugh for a second before hot bubbling tears cascade down your face. How strange this is. How strange it is that a man you’ve only known for two weeks has made you this happy in one night. More happy than you’ve ever been.

You curl down into your knees as you sob. It hurts. Your heart really hurts. You’ve never felt so lonely and empty before.

————💥✊🏻💥————

Phinks walks through the bamboo shoot forest outside of the capital city. He’s lost in his thoughts when suddenly his phone finally dings. He looks at it for a second before he finally chuckles.

“Too late for that now, boss.” He mumbles to himself, looking at the text written out.

Boss: Well based on what you told me, since she can take care of herself she is fine to stay, but she also can’t interfere with troupe activities. Bring her at the meeting tomorrow so the members can meet her. I’m honestly curious as to why you picked her.

It was honestly way too late. Maybe if he hadn’t told you right then and walked you back to the castle then, maybe you two would be together right now? No, it would be inevitable at that point. He would have to leave eventually and he highly doubts you would go with him. You're a princess after all and he’s just some pathetic street rat.

Phinks sighs and brushes his fingers through his hair. Man, you really drive him crazy.

“Phinks!!”

Phinks blinks as he hears a faint voice yelling in the distance.

“Phinks!”

There it is again. Wait, he recognizes that voice.

“(Y/n)!” Phinks run off in your direction as he sees you also alone in the bamboo woods with a backpack on your back. You smile, with your tears streak cheeks stretching, as you also run over to him. Clutching onto him like your life depended on it. Phinks finally smiled for the first time that morning as he heard you mumble 5 magical words into his jacket.

“Don’t leave me behind, idiot.”

Maybe, just maybe, hope wasn’t all lost for that spider.

Bonus:

“Crap another group of guards. This is the 10th search group out to look for you today.” Phinks mutters angrily, as you two hide from them in a bush. You sigh, kind of sad that you were making Phinks go through all this trouble for you.

“I’m sorry Phinks. Maybe I really should have stay—“

“Don’t you dare say that, sweetheart. Now that you're with me you aren’t ever going back.” You blink a couple of times before giggling and holding on to him tight.

“Thank you Phinks…”

“Hey Paul. Did you hear a giggle over there just now?”

You and Phinks freeze. Crap!

#hxh #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #phinks magcub #phinks #phinks x reader #hxh scenarios

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a-chlolix-blog · 2 years ago

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From The Diamond Rink AU, did Chloé have good friends from her roller derby team? Did she’s becomes a art club member like Alix and what’s kind of hobbies when she’s in class? （＾ｖ＾）

Chloé IS actually good friends with everyone on her roller derby team, but she isn't in the Art Club. She's big on posting her stunts and posing in her roller derby uniform and/or stunt gear online though.

Alix IS still in the Art Club, but instead of being into wild street art, it's more of an elegant style. She shows off her artistic ways through her gemstone designs. She's totally have an accessory for every occasion.

#Ask CC #AUs #The Diamond Rink AU #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir

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astaralys · 4 years ago

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Frozen modern AU oneshot: Waddle

Oneshot collection can be read on: FFN | AO3

[Kinda backstory Kristanna chapter? As always, you guys can headcanon the timing] In which Kristoff and Anna go ice-skating.

---

"I want a penguin!"

"Too bad. I'm all you've got." He puts on the smugness only to annoy her. Anna is already strong enough when she's not terrified, and the way she's gripping his forearms now tells Kristoff he'll definitely find bruises the next morning.

"Hey, I think I got the hang of it! Let go, Kris, I can totally—oh my god, don't let go!"

Kristoff grabs Anna before her pinwheeling can bowl over a family of four. "You were saying?"

Watching another kid glide past on a penguin skating aid, Anna huffs, "I can't believe they don't have those helper penguins in my size. How can they just assume all adults know how to ice-skate?"

"You assumed you could ice-skate."

"I thought it'd be like horse-riding!"

"Gee, I wonder where the rich girl got that idea from."

"Says the vet student who smells like horses."

"What was that? Let go? Sure, I'd be happy to—"

"No no no no no! I take it back! I'm sorry!"

Kristoff wants so badly to take a photo of Anna looking like Bambi on ice. But that would require him to take his eyes off of her, and that's been getting harder and harder to do lately. So he chuckles and takes her hands again, ignoring the diamond ring stabbing into his palm, calling him an idiot.

"You know what else I can't believe?" Anna blows a piece of hair out of her eyes. "That this pop up Winter Wonderland is ending tomorrow, and Elsa's going to miss it. How could she forget? I reminded her at breakfast this morning."

"She didn't forget."

"What? You think she's avoiding me? Is she mad at me?"

Shit, Bjorgman; you weren't supposed to say that out loud. "No, ah… I meant that she never forgets anything because she's, you know—Elsa. She probably just got stuck in a meeting and didn't have time to message you. Maybe she's already on her way."

Another lie, no longer as white as snow. Kristoff knows Elsa isn't coming. Not to an ice rink.

It still feels weird that he's the only one who knows. As weird as it was for him to stumble on Elsa's Mini Cooper after a shift at the animal shelter last winter.

It wouldn't have caught his eye if not for the way it was stopped in the middle of the deserted street, engine running, headlights cutting through the snowy night. It had only got weirder when he knocked on the window, and a glamorous young woman he'd never seen before dazedly said, "Kristoff?"

Then something seemed to snap back into place behind her wide eyes. She launched into flustered apologies—something about the gym and her sister showing her his Instagram, and she was so sorry for inconveniencing him like this; was her car blocking his?

It was, actually. But what came out of Kristoff's mouth was: "Hey, are you okay?"

He hadn't expected her lips to tremble, or for her voice to shake as she explained that her car had skid on black ice. It was fine; the car was fine. She would be all right once the shock passed.

Yet her breath began hitching shallowly after 'ice'.

"You don't look so good. Why don't you call your sister?"

That summoned a flinch so violent that the car jostled—that was the moment Kristoff knew that it wasn't a tow truck the woman needed.

It wasn't until he coaxed her into the passenger seat and squeezed himself behind the wheel that he realised what his actions must look like to a woman on the verge of a mental breakdown.

When he turned to explain himself, though, she wasn't even looking at him. Just curled up in a ball on the seat, face buried in her knees, blonde hair shimmering like a ghostly curtain in the dark.

"Do you, uh, want me to leave you alone?"

A tiny shake of her head.

So Kristoff cleared his throat and spent a ridiculously long time adjusting the seat. Then he looked up the address she whispered to him. Neither of them spoke during the drive—until her phone rang over the car's Bluetooth and made them both jump.

The woman's demeanour instantly changed when she saw 'Anna' on the screen. "I need to take this," she croaked, wiping her cheeks. "Would you mind…?"

She spoke as if they weren't sitting in her car, which he practically used to kidnap her. He really wasn't doing himself any favours if she changed her mind about his Good Samaritan act. It would have been smarter to call the police, or some sort of helpline. It wasn't too late to stop the car and get out.

Concentrating on the slick road, Kristoff mimed zipping up his mouth.

Then he nearly ran a red light when the woman answered the call, and a startlingly familiar voice tumbled through the speakers.

Oh, Kristoff thought as flashes of strawberry blonde hair, donuts, and a twenty-kilo weight plate zipped through his head. That girl. The not-Anna. Ah-na.

If only he had known back then that it wouldn't simply end with him seeing Elsa home. That, one year and a second winter later, these two bothersome sisters would still be in his life.

The thing is, Kristoff isn't sure he would have done a single thing differently, even if he had known.

Anna still doesn't know that Elsa wasn't home late because of traffic that night. She has no idea that her sister is terrified of ice. She definitely doesn't know that Kristoff almost changed gyms the next day, because meeting her sister mid-panic attack was weird enough, and if there was one thing he hated as much as animal cruelty, it was complicated relationships.

Besides, Anna Arendelle was obviously a people person. That was more than enough reason for him to stay away. So he did.

Or tried to.

They kept running into each other. Kristoff's work and study schedule had him returning at the same time every second day, and Anna kept chatting to him while they worked out next to each other. She kept ribbing him about his abysmal cardio, and he kept teasing her when she tripped on barbells running off to answer her fiancé's calls. They kept going for donuts downstairs.

Kristoff kept missing the signs that Bulda and Cliff wouldn't stop talking about all through his life. They had made it sound as fantastical as fairytales, too grand to overlook; too world-changing to sneak up on you over time. If you didn't fall in love with someone at first sight, Kristoff believed, then it would never change. Simple. Uncomplicated.

Stupid.

"Yoohoo!" Anna waves her hand in front of his face. "Still with me, penguin?"

Kristoff blinks and focuses on her. Freckled cheeks flushed from the cold. Rosy lips exhaling puffs of warmth he can just feel brushing against his own lips, ever so faintly. And he has to remind himself to be grateful for the ice; it may be as cold and hard as the ring on her finger, but its existence is all that keeps him from drowning in her.

Smirking back, Kristoff yanks her beanie over her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'm with you, Feisty Pants. Now, let's see if you can do one round without landing on your butt."

#this was supposed to be fluffy #then Kristoff decided to pine #context for those who haven't read the other oneshots and are confused #Anna is engaged to Hans here #frozen fanfiction #frozen modern au #kristanna #these days are precious #my writing

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westallenfun · 5 years ago

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Diamonds at Jitters - 1/1

WestAllen secret santa gift

From: @backtothestart02

For: @lyta2323

Note: I hope you enjoy! I hinted at it in parts, but this is a sequel to my fic, Love at Jitters, if you haven’t read it.

Synopsis: College!AU - It’s Christmas Eve. Barry has a special surprise for Iris.

The snow fell light and fluffy outside Iris’ window, signifying winter had finally come to Central City. And on Christmas Eve no less.

She had a date with Barry later – they’d managed to squeeze an hour into their calendars for just the two of them amidst family gatherings where they showed up part of the time for both their families and extended families. Iris couldn’t explain why, but she was unspeakably nervous. Not that there was anything to be nervous about, but still. It had been 10 and a half months since their first impromptu date. They’d been through a lot – Iris’ birthday, meeting the parents, Iris’ brother, Barry’s idol, their best friends/roommates, a handful of not-very-serious arguments, and probably the most passionate sex Iris had ever been party to.

But Christmas. Christmas felt big.

Iris’ phone buzzed on her vanity where she stood applying her make-up and making sure this pair of earrings was truly the one for this particular short-sleeved, black velvet dress with matching heels.

Seeing the name, she smiled, and hit the answer button and then the speaker.

“Hey, Lin. What’s up?”

“You sound happy,” Linda Park said, cheeky as ever.

“It’s Christmas Eve. What would I have to be unhappy about? It’s my favorite holiday. And-”

“You’re hoping Barry goes down on bended knee.”

Iris nearly choked on her own breath.

“W-What?” she wheezed.

“Aha! I knew it!” Linda cheered.

“You don’t know anything,” Iris said, trying to get herself focused again now that her lipstick had been drawn in a crooked line across the bottom of her cheek. “Barry is not proposing tonight.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. We’re having a romantic dinner just the two of us, and then we’re going to his side of the family and then mine tomorrow.”

“So. Just the two of you, huh?”

Iris sighed and rolled her eyes. There was no stopping her best friend when she got ahead of herself.

“What are you doing tonight? Are you getting together with Peter again?”

She gagged through the phone.

“I guess that’s a no.”

“That’s an ‘oh, God, no’.”

“Did something happen? I thought you really liked him.”

“Uh-uh. My body liked his body.”

“Ah.”

“Once he started talking about his life and his job and his passions…oh, my god, I couldn’t stand it.”

Iris chuckled to herself.

“So, what are you doing then?” There was a moment of silence. “Lin?”

“Hmm? Oh, um… you know…”

“Don’t tell me you’re spending Christmas Eve alone.”

“What?” she squeaked. “No way. I’m a party animal, you know that.”

“Oh, yeah? So whose party are you going to?”

“Well, now nobody’s, since the biggest party of the year Peter will be at.” She frowned, disappointed in the predicament she’d created for herself.

“I can cancel,” Iris started to say, but even as she did, she was glad Linda cut her off with a negative. Despite the weird nerves she had, she was really looking forward to seeing Barry tonight and exchanging gifts. She didn’t want to cancel.

“No. You are not canceling. No way in hell am I gonna let you miss your own proposal.”

Iris rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“Okay, so what are you going to do then? I can’t have my best friend all alone on Christmas Eve. Single shouldn’t mean solitary confinement.”

Linda blew locks out of her face.

“Don’t you have a brother?”

Iris brows narrowed. “Linda, no.”

“I’m not gonna sleep with him,” she said, appalled.

“Good,” Iris said. “He’s practically a baby. And he just got out of a serious relationship.”

“How serious could it be if they’re still teenagers?”

The silent tension could be cut with a knife.

“Okay, okay…just thought he could use some company. Like, the platonic kind. Maybe ice skating? I used to do that with my brother back home.”

Iris was skeptical but finally reluctantly agreed.

“I’ll give him a call.”

“Great! Maybe I can get him to drink the spicy hot cocoa they have at the rink this year. I bet it’ll blow his mind.”

“He doesn’t like spicy food.”

“Even better.”

Iris’ wariness increased tenfold.

“Relax,” Linda said. “I’ll bring him back in one piece and untouched. You have my word.”

With everything inside her, Iris really wanted to believe her best friend.

“I’ll talk to you later, Lin.”

“Later, Babe.”

Click.

Trying to put the image of her player of a best friend and her sweetheart of an 18-year-old baby brother aside, Iris nearly jumped when the phone buzzed again. But this time she was ready – her make-up fixed and earrings chosen – even as her cheeks burned with anticipation.

“Hey, Barry,” she said, almost a purr.

“Hey.” His lovestruck tone melted her always. “You ready?”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip as she started to fantasize about undressing him – until she realized he couldn’t see her.

“Iris?”

“Ah, yes, I’m ready. I’ll be down in a sec.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“’Kay.”

Five minutes later Iris was downstairs looking at the nervous wreck that was her boyfriend pacing back and forth in the lobby.

“Babe,” she called out, more than once because he was so absorbed in his own thoughts to register her voice. Finally though, he stopped pacing and looked at her and his jaw dropped.

Iris slid her warm wrap down her arms so he could get a full look at her dress.

“Not too shabby, huh?” She grinned, her eyes twinkling.

He closed the space between them and took her in his arms.

“I’d ravish you right here if we didn’t have plans for the night,” he said against her lips.

“And if there weren’t cameras,” she said, pointing them out to him.

His shoulders slumped, and she laughed, adoring every second of the expressions that crossed his face.

“We can do this though,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his face down to hers for a quick greeting kiss.

“Mmm, that’s pretty good,” he murmured against her lips. “How about another one?”

She granted his request but then made a point to pull away just as he started to take charge with the clear intention of a passionate make-out right there in her apartment lobby.

“We have a date,” she whispered, and he sighed.

“Yes…yes, we do.” Then he jumped back, eyes wide. “We do!”

Iris laughed and looked at him strangely.

“So…should we go then?” she asked.

“Yes!” He grinned. “Let’s go.”

He took her hand in his, pulled her out of the building, and revealed to her their mode of transportation for the night.

A long stretch limo with their own personal driver.

“Ms.?” The driver opened the back door for her to step in.

“I…thank you.” She slipped into the vehicle and Barry rounded the other side. “Barry,” she half-scolded. “This had to have cost you a fortune. I know it’s Christmas Eve, but-”

He silenced her with a drugging kiss.

“Mmm, okay, talk later.”

He grinned against her lips and gave the driver the signal to drive to their destination.

…

A cold wind whipped against her face as Barry led her up a long, winding staircase with his hands over her eyes.

“Barry, are you sure this is the most practical thiii-” She gasped, tripping over a step.

Wrapped around her back, Barry made sure she wouldn’t fall.

“Probably not,” he said. “But we’re almost there.”

“Almost where?”

Barry peeled his hands away as soon as he guided her through the final door.

At first glance, the table set before them looked like a beautifully romantic setting on the top of an otherwise bare rooftop. But for Iris, she knew exactly where they were.

“Jitters?” she blanched, turning to face him – which was difficult when she was facing the candlelit table for two with roses and lights and two men, one playing violin and the other a cello, whisking her away into a romantic fairytale.

But she managed, because damn it, she was in love with the man who had prepared it all.

Barry chuckled.

“There’s no surprising you, is there?”

She shook her head, a million questions buzzing in her mind.

“It feels special to us – or to me at least. I mean, it’s where we-”

“First met,” she finished, smiling.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

When she said nothing more, he guided her to the table and pulled her chair back for her to sit on. Then he rounded the small table and nodded to the musicians to begin.

“This is so romantic, Barry,” she marveled sometime later when he was pouring champagne.

“Is that your way of saying you like it?”

“I love it, and you know it.”

Barry’s eyes twinkled when their eyes met.

“I was hoping you would.”

“I should’ve expected something like this, but I just…didn’t, I guess. But wow, Barry, I’m…” She licked her lips. “I’m in love.”

She’d said the words before, and to him too, but it never ceased having an effect on him, one that was drugging for her to witness.

“I’ll never get tired of you saying that,” he said, then reached across the table to take her hand in his own and kiss the back. “I’m in love too.”

“With me,” she said, her eyelashes fluttering of their own accord.

“With you,” he confirmed, and pressed his forehead into her palm.

Iris didn’t know how much more of this she could stand. She’d gotten nervous over the prospect of him proposing tonight when Linda had teased her about it, but now she couldn’t imagine him not doing it. Not on such a perfect night as this. She imagined telling all her friends and family – Barry better have asked her dad for his permission to marry her or he’d have a fit. Tradition was tradition, and Joe West took it very seriously.

But she wasn’t worried. Barry Allen was the only boyfriend her dad had actually taken to, even if it took some family game nights to get him to that place.

God, could he just ask her already? He didn’t even need a ring right now. If he would just ask, she would say yes. She wanted to so badly it almost hurt.

“Dance with me,” she said, the soft music and gentle wind blowing around them. The December chill was nothing. The heat rising off their skin kept them warm.

Barry lifted his head and smiled. Then the two of them walked a little ways from the table and began slow-dancing.

“I love you, Iris,” he whispered, his face against the top of her head as she rested hers against his chest.

“I love you, Barry,” she said, voice muffled against his jacket but clear as day to his ears.

“I hope it’s not too much to say I think we’re destined to be together…”

She shook her head against him. It used to bother her when his certainty regarding fate and destiny and them was used so early in their relationship. But now she believed it almost as fervently as he did.

“Not too much, Bear.”

He licked his lips. “You sure?”

Iris smiled and looked up at him.

“Our second date was you taking me to meet your parents. If I didn’t run away then, I’m never going to.”

He sucked in a breath. “Good to know.”

She pulled his head down and gave him a sweet kiss as the music carried on the wind.

“Oh, Iris,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers.

“What?” she teased, loving when she made him weak in the knees.

“I really wanted to wait until after we’d eaten.”

Her eyes flashed open.

“Wait for what?”

He pulled back and dug around in his pocket for what felt like an eternity.

“Oh, my God…” fell past her lips when she saw the size and shape of the velvet box in his hands.

His gentle smile turned into a smirk.

“What… What is that?” She couldn’t look him in the eye. She was almost shaking.

“Your Christmas present.”

“Huh?”

Her brows furrowed as disappointment engulfed her. Maybe it wasn’t an engagement ring after all. It could be earrings for all she knew. And here she’d let Linda’s claims get to her, convincing her she’d be engaged by the end of the night.

But then he got down on one knee, and he opened the little velvet box, and the most dazzling engagement ring shone up at her, sparkling in the moonlight, candlelight, and Christmas lights strung around the rooftop.

“Iris West…”

She swallowed hard.

“A lot of people would say you and me meeting at Jitters 10 months ago was just a coincidence, but I don’t believe that. You know I don’t. I’m not a ‘It’s just pure luck’ guy. I’m a ‘there’s no coincidences’ guy. You walked into my life right when I needed it, and now, Iris…I can’t imagine my life without you. I love you with my whole heart, and I always will.”

He pulled the ring from its case and stuffed the box back in his pocket. He took her hand in his and let the ring hover over the tip of her ring finger.

“Will you marry me?”

Tears filled her eyes and she nodded for several seconds before she could speak.

“Yes! Yes! Of course I’ll marry you, YES!!!”

Barry slid the ring onto her finger, then jumped to his feet and kissed her. The musicians clapped wildly before starting a peppy tune as Barry picked Iris up and spun her around, inhaling her light giggles like oxygen before setting her down again.

Smiling so much her cheeks hurt, Iris finally lifted the diamond to eye-level.

“Wow, it’s beautiful, Barry. Really.”

He smiled, proud of his selection.

“I’m never taking it off.”

“Well, maybe in the shower…or for dishes…”

“Nope. Never. It’s mine now. It’s never coming off.”

He swooned, staring at her, never looking away.

“Besides,” she said innocently before looking up at him. “Who says I’m going to do the dishes?”

His jaw dropped, and she laughed. He got up and leaned across the table and kissed her to silence them.

Then his suit caught on fire from the candlelight, and Iris threw her glasses of champagne and water on him to stop the flames.

“Well, at least it happened after the proposal,” he said, and Iris stood up again, pulling him away.

“Dance with me again,” she said, and he wrapped his arms around her, guiding her into a slow spin. She kicked off her heels and drew herself closer to him.

“I’ll never stop,” he said, and she knew this time he wasn’t talking about dancing.

She felt the shivers trickle down her spine as she repeated the sentiment.

“Don’t ever.”

#the flash #westallen #westallen secret santa #submission

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nerdraging4point0 · 10 months ago

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Power Play // Chapter Four // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV.

Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Two days. Forty-eight hours. That's all I get to train before they toss me headfirst into the role of head athletic nurse. Just a couple days shadowing Naomi and then - bam! - she's gone on early maternity leave. And if that's not enough, I can't find a single affordable apartment in this insane city. I was so determined to make it on my own, but after 24 fruitless hours of searching, Dad insisted I take an apartment in the complex where the hockey players live. Move in ready next week, free rent, close to the rink. I should be grateful, right? I mean, it gets me out of Dad's place at least. But now it's game day and I'm nowhere near ready. My head's spinning and my stomach's in knots. I have no idea what I've gotten myself into. This is way too much way too fast. Breathe, girl. Just breathe. You've got this.

My heart pounds as I frantically take stock of my supplies. Tape, ice packs, ace bandages - check. It's not that I don't know how to treat injuries. As a nurse, wounds and fractures are second nature. But this - this is new territory. I didn't sign up for the intensity of trauma care on the sidelines. My expertise is in orthopedics, urology, neurology - slower paced clinic work. Not split second emergency response.

I sit on the sidelines watching warmups, taking in the sights and sounds of the rink. There's a smattering of early bird fans already in the stands, but more are still filing in, arms loaded with popcorn and hot dogs. The boys glide and weave across the ice, firing pucks into the gaping net, muscles coiled as they launch themselves into sharp turns.

McClain and Sanders emerge from the tunnel, bundled in pads and skates. They ease towards the goal, McClain positioning himself between the posts while Sanders hangs back, stick resting casually on his shoulder. The other players start peppering McClain with shots - his glove flashes out, quick as a cat's paw, snagging the pucks from the air. He drops into a butterfly, legs splaying wide to kick away rebounds. I can't take my eyes off him, enthralled by his reflexes and fearless focus.

My stomach is in knots as the warmups wind down. One by one, the players skate over to tap fists with Coach and Jack before heading off the ice. Sanders, Dominick, McClain, Ruffilo - they all make sure to bump fists with me too. I force myself to take some deep breaths as the opening ceremonies begin. I watch anxiously as the puck drops for the first faceoff. The boys look sharp, moving the puck around cleanly, getting some good chances early. My nerves start to settle just a bit seeing them come out strong in these crucial opening minutes. But I'm still on the edge of my seat, ready to jump into action at a moment's notice.

I've got my eyes glued to the ice as the Avalanche roar down the rink with the puck, making a beeline for McClain's net. Sebastian bursts forward, moving in to intercept. Sticks clash and sparks fly as he battles for possession. With a mighty swing, he breaks free and shovels the puck away. But his opponent doesn't take kindly to being shaken off. As Sebastian streaks up the ice, the guy charges after him and slams their bodies together, crushing them both against the boards. The glass shudders from the hit - you can feel the aggression pulsating through the arena.

My eyes are glued to Sebastian as he shakes off that nasty hit. The guy is seeing red, flexing out the arm that just got plastered into the boards. He's back in position now, still fuming, and drives hard to defend the net again. A few more plays and another try for a score but McClain is quick as ever and snags the puck. Sebastian eases up to circle back, but that same goon swoops in and crunches him into the wall again. Suddenly it's mayhem - helmets flying, sticks tossed, bare fists grabbing jerseys, going for faces. The refs dive in to break it all up. My heart's pounding as I take it all in. This game just got heated.

As the whistle blows, Coach bellows for Sebastian to hit the bench and sends in Dominick. My stomach drops. Sebastian's face is as red as his jersey as he skates over, and I shuffle closer, dreading what I'll see. His lip is swollen and split open, a trail of blood oozing down his chin. Coach grabs Sebastian's cheeks and gives him a stern once-over before nodding my way. Our eyes meet briefly before Sebastian clambers over the boards on wobbly skates, weighed down by pads and gear.

My heart races as I rummage through my bag for the gauze and antiseptic. I gently dab the wet gauze on his rugged, battered face, taking care not to hurt him. He winces ever so slightly, pulling back as I tenderly clean the gash on his lip.

"This will need some ice," I murmur, transfixed by his mouth. The wound isn't deep, but it would still hurt if I tried to kiss it. Stop it, Sarah.

"I could just lay on the rink, would that help?" he jokes, flashing me a roguish grin.

I can't help but smile, lost in his sparkling eyes. Even bruised from the game, he makes my stomach do somersaults. As I gently dab the last of the blood from his rugged face, I ask for his hands.

He turns them palm down, rough and shaking. I trace my fingers over the tattoos marking his skin, checking for any hidden injuries. Through my gentle touch, I feel his warmth, his strength. Our eyes meet and my heart flutters. I take his hand in both of mine, lightly pressing each knuckle, thrilled by his closeness. He doesn't flinch. If he's in pain, he doesn't show it. Or maybe it's just the adrenaline.

"Looks good," I say, my eyes lingering a little too long on his handsome face. "Nothing too badly damaged."

He smiles, though it turns into a wince as the wounded side of his lip curves up. "Just my pride," he replies ruefully.

"Ah, pride," I tut, leaning in conspiratorially. "A tricky thing to find once lost. But if I happen to stumble over yours rolling around, I'll be sure to scoop it up and return it to its rightful owner." I give him a playful wink, unable to keep from flirting. Even banged up, he's cute as hell.

NOAH'S POV

As I hop over the boards and back onto the ice, my legs feel a little shaky. I skate slowly back to position, my head still spinning. Man, her smile just melts me every time. So sly and sexy. And that hair... She's such a little fox. I can't stop thinking about her. I've got it bad for this girl. Focus, dude! Gotta keep my head in the game. The way her black and red scrubs hug those round curves of hers. Alright, deep breaths. Back to the action.

I'm back defending our goal after that goon got himself tossed for busting my lip. The blood's dripping down my chin but I've got no time to worry about that. We're up 4-2 with the clock winding down. Karlsson and me, we go together like peanut butter and jelly defending our net. A winger tries to blow past me but I plant him into the boards. I knock the puck loose and pass it off to Karlsson but their center snags it. I shake off the winger clinging to me and slide across the crease to rob the center's shot. I scoop up the puck and send it flying down the ice. I'm throwing hits left and right, keeping their forwards outside our zone. The final horn blares and we've done it again - chalk up another W. My jersey's soaked with sweat but the pain doesn't matter.

I'm beat as we drag our battered bodies back to the locker room. My muscles are screamin' under these pads after the torture session on the ice. That bone-crunchin' check into the boards left my shoulder throbbing with a deep bruise. I grunt and roll my arm, trying to shake out the pain.

The locker room erupts when we stumble in. The boys are hootin' and hollerin', dancing around half-naked and drenched in sweat. I toss my stick and lid in my stall and collapse on the bench, rip off my gloves and gingerly touch my busted lip. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as I wince.

I peel off my jersey, wincing as the sweaty fabric sticks to my skin. The pads come next, and I sigh in relief as my shoulders are freed from their restrictive embrace. The locker room falls silent as all eyes turn to me. I run a hand through my damp hair, pushing it back from my forehead.

As I sit on the bench, spent from the game, a shadow falls over me. I glance up to see Little Fox standing there, ice pack in hand, trademark smirk on her lips. She holds out the bag, ice cracking inside, and I take it slowly, letting my fingers brush hers. Her eyes trace over my bare chest and I see her throat tighten as she swallows hard. She wants me. My teammates watch us, eager for the show.

I stand tall in front of her, watching those dark eyes go wide. Her lips part slightly as she takes me in. "F-for your face," she stammers, pressing the ice into my hands before slipping away, a new bounce in her step. I grin as she goes.

Game on, Little Fox.

We roll into Sully's still riding high after crushing Washington 4-zip on the ice tonight.

That game was a brawl, I'm still aching all over. But hey, at least my mug is still pretty this time. The split lip from the last match is finally scabbing up enough that I can wolf down a burger without wincing. The shiner's faded and I clean up alright for a night out. The boys and I threw on our nicest threads, my black slacks and a soft navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off the ink running up my arms.

The second I open the door, this total dive hits me with that sweet stench of stale beer and chicken wings. Road signs and hilarious bar quotes plaster the walls from floor to ceiling. Three monster TVs behind the bar blast sports on full volume - college ball, NFL, and of course our boys lighting up the NHL highlights.

With the game pumping through the speakers and the home team plastered on every screen, Sully's is our scene tonight. Loud, messy, no pretensions - just how we like it after a big win.

We snag the biggest table in the joint and start pounding 'em back, one after another. The energy is through the roof thanks to that W. Jolly's already facedown in his third pint, trying to sweet talk the waitress in his sloppy Swedish. The swedish isn’t working but the way he is batting his eyes at her and has her laughing tells me she is into him.

Sanchez is working his magic on a couple hockey bunnies in the corner, likely wanting to take both of them back to the hotel with him. Meanwhile, Nick and Andy are talking trash and seeing who can balance more empty bottles on their domes. As for me? I'm just taking it all in, boys - the brews, the brotherhood, that sweet taste of victory.

"Check it out, McClain," Nick says, words running together as he balances a third bottle on his head, swaying to keep it steady. "It's all about that balance, bro."

Andy scoffs, clutching his six shot glasses in one hand and snatching one of Nick's to perch on his middle finger. "Balance? I'll show you balance, you little punk," he slurs back.

The dim lights of this hole-in-the-wall bar make it tough to see much of anything. Shadows dance across dark wood as my eyes adjust. The dance floor packed tight with bodies grinding up against each other to the pulsing beat. Through the mass of writhing shapes, I catch a glimpse of foxtail curls swaying in time with the music. She's gorgeous, sipping a cocktail through a black straw, full lips wrapped around it. Hips swaying hypnotically in that little red dress that hugs every curve. She laughs, head thrown back in delight, and her friend with the messy bun joins in.

I'm transfixed as I watch her move across the dance floor. The sway of her hips and bounce of her curls has me hypnotized. I down my drink in one gulp, no longer interested in anything else tonight. Pushing through the crowded club, I keep my eyes locked on her - my prize. A few eager ladies try to divert my attention but I'm relentless, driven by desire. I have to feel her body against mine.

Finally reaching her, I slide my hand across the curve of her hip, fingertips digging into the silky fabric of her dress. Pulling her into me, I bring my lips to her ear and growl, "Dance with me, beautiful."

The bass is pulsing through my body as I sway my hips to the beat. Me and my bestie Marissa hit up Sully's after the Kraken game for some much needed drinks and dancing. She looks bangin' in her tight black dress, fending off guys left and right. "Not worth your time, honey!" she says with a flip of her hair.

I laugh but I'm feeling that itch, you know? It's been too damn long since I've felt those hands on me, those lips on my neck. I wore this sexy red number hoping to lure in a hookup, but with Marissa running cockblock patrol, doesn't look like that's happening tonight.

Then, I feel it. Strong hands grasp my hips from behind and pull me back against a hard chest. Mmm I can't help but melt into him as we sway together. Now this is exactly what I needed after that hockey game. Looks like Marissa can't stop me from having a little fun tonight after all.

"Dance with me, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and sultry against my ear. I feel the rumble of it through his chest pressed against my back, sending a shiver down my spine. His hands slide around my waist, pulling me closer as we sway to the music. I'm intoxicated by his presence, melting into his embrace. Our bodies move as one, passion smoldering between us. His breath hot on my neck, his touch electric. This dance is full of promise, an invitation to something more.

I'm swaying to the beat, drink in hand, when Marissa leans in close so I can hear her over the pounding music. "I want details," she says, planting a kiss on my cheek and taking the drink from my hand before disappearing into the crowd.

I close my eyes again, letting this mystery man's hands roam as we move together. When I finally open them, I do a double take - it's Noah! Those intense brown eyes boring into mine with that look of determination he gets on the ice.

His strong hands grip my hips, pulling me flush against him. I know I shouldn’t give in, but the heat radiating from his body thaws my resolve. If Daddy found out his little girl was messing around with a player, he’d blow his whistle for sure. Not that his rules have ever stopped me before. That goalie with the dreamy eyes almost made me forget curfew back in high school. But getting caught now might mean so much more than grounded from prom. Still, a girl’s got needs. And this player’s touch tells me he knows exactly how to satisfy them.

"What's the matter, little fox?" His words are a sensual purr that makes my knees weak. The heady scent of beer, whiskey and woodsy cologne intoxicates me. I'm helpless against him, my body craving his touch despite the risk. My breath catches as his lips graze my neck.

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens cult #noahsebastian fanfic #bad omens band #hockey player noah #hockey #bad omens au #bad omens smut #hockey romance #hockeyomens #hockey player!noah

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dansiere · 5 years ago

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THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm. tagged by: @breselin, & @citialiin; thank you for the tag! I was planning on stealing it. tagging: @rosiqe, @noirtux, @goldgliitters, @ndeavor, @reminiscentsky, @battleshell, @ettards & whoever else wants to do this. Just steal it & tag me. -- go wild.

My muse is: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated [loosely affiliated mainly due to the fandom’s size. I am quite open to crossovers of any kind, really even if it takes me a while to open up.]

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO. [she is one of the deuteragonists; has been around since the pilot & while she has been sidelined during the epilogue, she was usually at least around with her story arc / actions having a huge impact on the overall story as such.]

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK. [I guess so? Then again, that’s an objective statement so I am just? Assuming? I personally find her general aesthetics to be quite amazing; she is a dance battler, graceful & elegant; a ballerina with a classical theme that runs through her design & attitude like a red threat. I have a weak spot for stuff like that.]

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK. [surprisingly, Pearl is considered to be the strongest non-fusion Crystal Gem according to the show (until Lapis Lazuli comes around). -- I assume prowess wise Pearl is high up next to Garnet & Rose whenever she can actually get her crap together due to having fought countless battles &, most importantly, survived the war in which she fought & shattered opponents thrice her size.]

Are they underrated? YES / NO / IDK. [partially yes, partially no. She is controversial for sure but just as popular. At some point, the show delved deeper into her issues & actually had her mess up quite severely; the fandom’s reaction was so harsh that the showrunners had to interfere by “apologizing for making her human”. Pearl has always been a target for extreme criticism; some of it justified, some just straight down ridiculous. -- It’s easy to forget what kind of complexity a character can offer when her resolution arc happens literally ten episodes before the show ends.]

Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO.

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. [Pearl becomes Steven’s guardian / mentor after the death of his mother Rose Quartz & can later be considered his stand-in mother alongside Garnet. It is safe to say that her actions have influenced Steven the most, both negatively & positively.]

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO. [she earned herself the title ‘The Renegade’ during the war for being the first (& arguably only) pearl that broke out of her conditioning; she used to be a wanted criminal / traitor to her own kind for 5000 + years until her record was cleared upon the beginning of Era 3 (aka official end of the Gem War). She is still being referred to as ‘The Renegade’ now & then; while she used to be proud of the title she has grown to resent it a lot these days.]

How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. [it depends on who you ask; Homeworld Soldiers? Well, they despise her; she is a defective Gem & a war criminal. She stands for all that is wrong with the rebellion; I mean a pearl who refuses to serve & calls herself an individual? a warrior? THE SCANDAL!! Some soldiers are afraid of her, call her ‘Rose Quartz’ terrifying renegade’, even. However, in her ranks aka the rebellion, she is being seen as a silent heroine. A celebrated war hero, Rose Quartz’s right hand & sole confidante (some even whisper that there is more between them).]

How strictly do you follow canon? — uh... well. Not really but... kinda? Steven Universe’s canon is messy & occasionally QUITE inconsistent. -- while it gives you vague details, some lore can best be compared to a gaping void. Thus my reason for partial divergence isn’t lack of good character writing (because Pearl is very, very complex even on screen), but rather inconvenient lore holes & SU’s habit of leaving important facts uncommented, “unshown” or just stuck between the lines. While I don’t mind deep analysis, some of those “buried facts” fly other people’s heads which leads to terrible, terrible fanon takes. -- in order to distance myself from that, I usually take canon & expand it with my own headcanons & metas based on lore / show analysis. I often alter / cut what does not fit my narrative BUT I always root my stuff in actual canon occurrences.

Sometimes, I just straight down change certain things that canon messed up in my pov. For example, in order to make it explicitly clear that she fell in love & rebelled on her own volition (even if it has been confirmed like ten times by now), my Pearl is around 1500 years older than the original & (in)directly served White Diamond before being handed to Pink (not the only reason for that change but well I will elude on it eventually). She was a default pearl with no customization & usually spent most of her time with organizing matters in the palace until Pink accidentally broke her customized pearl; Pearl was then 'poofed’ & handed over; she possessed a more sensible personality & a strict rule protocol that was supposed to help her “raise” Pink Diamond into the ranks of a ruler. Most other changes are rather minor but very important or essential to my portrayal (for example whenever “A Single Pale Rose” is concerned: Pearl suggesting the “sealing of the secret”, her not wearing the dress from the beginning, her not calling Pink “my diamond”, her arguing with Pink long before the fake-shattering took place, etc etc.); the epilogue series is another can of worms I will get to eventually but lemme just say I didn’t really like the way Pearl behaved / the plot-bound ooc-ness she sometimes yielded to & other stuff.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals. — well, she is a lesbian space rock from a strange universe; whose body is basically a manifestation of light? She is probably the most passionate being you will ever meet. -- if you are looking for a speedrun through human history, she is your gal. If you need someone to beat up some bullies, she will gladly come & smack sense into people; if you want to learn everything about Gemkind, sit down & listen because she won’t stop talking any time soon.

By definition, Pearl is a good person; the extreme loyal kind, absolutely & helplessly dedicated to a cause. She wears most of her emotions on her sleeve, comes off as genuinely caring, protective & trustworthy. She is empathetic & observant, she will always be there for you in one way or another. She is smart, loves to read & indulges in the higher arts such as (romantic) poetry, singing, painting, music (violin, piano, bass) & dance (predominately classic ballet / waltz but she has grown rather fond of jazz lately). Her knowledge about Earth & all that lays beyond is vast & if you ever want to see whatever is out there, she is the type to take you on a space tour with no questions asked. She fences, has learned to wield a lance, can engineer very well, has a very peculiar but... sorta adorable kind of humour that can either be hella obnoxious or super funny. There is no in-between. Pearl loves science, baking, housekeeping, ice-& roller-skating & is more than willing to take people along whenever she visits the rink. If you ask her for advice, she will gladly give it; if you need help, she will be the first to raise her hand. Pearl is orderly, has a strong sense of justice & a fierce, dedicated kind of resolve.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?). — Pearl. Is. A. Mess. No questions asked. She is an introverted, nervous, neurotic, grief-- & trauma riddled mess who loves to pretend & rationalize things to death. Her self-esteem is abysmal, she is extremely jealous, obsessive & possessive [to the point where she straight up murdered men just because they dared to be around her girlfriend]. Her mind is a compartmentalized mess of repressed memories & heavy, untreated cptsd woven into it; Pearl lives too much inside her head & gets overwhelmed by her emotions far too easily; she feels too much all at once & lets her temper get the best of her.

She is self-centred, does not seem to understand that words & reckless actions hurt people, believes that only she deserves to grieve Rose & willingly destroyed relationships just to soak in her own misery; self-destruction is her forte & she will indulge in it no matter the consequences. She is often high-strung, judgemental, always has to be right, overachieves & overdoes whenever a chance is given. -- she can be petty, arrogant & desperate for validation. -- Needless to say, Pearl is the kind of person that pretends to be fine for years but once she cracks she reveals that she is anything but. -- she cannot move on, hates men, & just is a lot to deal with. Getting in touch with her means you run the risk to get dragged into her mess, whenever you want it or not.

What inspired you to rp your muse? — first & foremost, my love for complex, purpose-driven female characters. I am a sucker for the “introvert, plagued lady” type & once parts of Pearl’s past were revealed during Season 1 I was sold. Pearl seemed relatable to me, extremely human & raw in her behaviour. While I love most of the SU cast equally, Pearl just wouldn’t let me go. Her aesthetic is amazing, her past intriguing. -- her connection to ballet & classical music, her elegant & graceful design just spoke to me.

What keeps your inspiration going? — music. music. oh, and music. Poetry, long walks (I am not kidding), analysis, meta & hc writing, discussions with writing partners or my rl partner @rosiqe.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO / I SINCERELY HOPE I DO? [ despite my emo peculiar take on the character, I do hope that people hear her voice whenever they read my replies. ]

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO / SORT OF? [ I wish I could post more but I am very, very slow & a perfectionist at heart. -- I try to compensate for my lack of actual hcs by rambling in my tags. Most part of the time said ramblings include personal headcanons or analyses of specific scenes that include personal takes on pivotal situations; while I gather & write them down eventually, it can take me a long time to get stuff done. -- it is easier for me to jus blabber on & on in the tags. ]

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO [ all my ask replies are drabbles, ngl. ]

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO / SORT OF? [... a sore topic. While I love my headcanons & have gotten quite proud of my writing over time, I constantly doubt myself regarding the “ic”-ness of my responses. I like to believe that I am doing rather well, but I am not confident, no. ]

Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO. [ it took me a long time to develop my style; while I always struggle to believe in my portrayal I am quite confident in my writing as such. I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but in general? I am proud of it. ]

Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO. / SORTA.

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal? — Well, yes. As long as it is the constructive kind. I love receiving feedback, may it be negative or positive. I will most likely try to discuss criticism with you; aka if you (i.e) tell me that Pearl shouldn’t have (C)PTSD, I will deliver canon proof & state my reasoning for my decision to implement it in my canon, etc. What I will not do is tolerate character hate or unreasonable hate towards my writing. Be assured that I will never headcanon something that has no solid footing in canon.

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character? — ABSOLUTELY. Send me random hc / meta asks, I beg you.

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why? — sure. As stated above, I will probably discuss stuff with you. The chance of me dropping a headcanon however are rather low.

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it? — Hm... it depends on what they don’t like. If it’s my writing, well, why are you following me to begin with?? If it is my take on things... well again, why are you following me? I stated in my rules what you should expect & that I will not water down specific aspects of a complex character. Disliking my portrayal is fine since I know that my kind of writing / analysis isn’t necessarily everyone’s tea but... again, why would you keep following me?

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it? — um. Not... well? While I will never excuse my muse’s actions, I dislike groundless bashing. In regard to Pearl... well. As stated above, I expected backlash the second I created this blog. Pearl is one of those characters the fandom either loves or hates; her canon relationship to Rose was branded toxic by a ton of people, people call her uncaring, salty, insane & straight up manic, she seemingly has no redeeming qualities, she is a bitch, too perfect (LOL) or arrogant & apparently has no character? I love it when people say stuff like that because... did we watch the same show? Is there a version of SU I don’t know? Please tell me, I wanna see it for myself! Some hot takes in this fandom are atrocious & make me want to commit a crime.

-- but I digress. I have spent too much time in her tag in 2014 + & I have seen quite the fights over the most ridiculous things; Pearl, in particular, got quite the flack for stuff that eventually got resolved in season 5 [which, again, was way too late but well]. In the end, clowns will be clowns, no matter what you do. I just don’t get why you would follow someone if you hate their character to begin with.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors? — yes, but please don’t be rude about it. I am German, English is my second language. I am currently learning Swedish / improving my Swedish so mistakes can always happen. Additionally, I am someone who posts her replies in the middle of the night & while I proofread a lot & most likely fix posts after I posted ‘em, some mistakes can still slip through.

Do you think you are easy going as a mun? — ... I like to believe I am but I know that I am overly passionate & I can come off as too strong or too fierce sometimes. I can be too much, I can be too excentric (I’m a Scorpio, Karen); I have strong opinions in regard to my characters & I will not hold them back. I criticise shows mercilessly & I will plough through canon as much as I please. Stans & I usually don’t get along. HOWEVER, I am a meme. I love lame jokes, I am awkward, & sometimes very, very insecure. In the end, I just wanna talk about my favourite characters & develop sth wonderful. I keysmash unironically, I use old memes unironically. I mean I have been writing for ten + years & I am about to smooth sail post the 24 age border aka I will turn 25 soon which renders me old according to tumblr standards. I am just here to have fun before the staff comes to lock my account down due to my status as an rp-senior. -- yeah... that is the kind of stupid ass humor I mean. I digress but... please, I am an awkward, rambling mess, just hit me up via dms & you will see what I mean.

#[[ this took me way too long honestly but I finally did it. If you find some spelling or grammar errors keep 'em. I got tired #njfuwefhe but yeah if you need some blog data?? This is prob your best bet ]]#ooc. 𝗮 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗱 𝘀𝗻𝗮𝗶𝗹 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗱.

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