#because they should all just kiss already

[dmitriene]

cw: nasty simon.

accompanying your bluecollar mechanic boyfriend simon riley to his work, you do it more often than not, dragged with him to just sit prettily in the corner of the room while he works, staining himself in machine oil while changing it to some poor bloke that barely knows how things work, getting his shirt all soiled with black, absorbing stains, his gloved hands greasy, sinewy muscles pumped with the strain of working day and webbed over with swelling veins, as you glance curiously over every inch of him.

all these things make him messy, checking the fluid levels, rotating tires, repairing or replacing some obsolete parts in people's cars, doing a lot of long talk by explaining some of the curious ones what exactly he did right now, leaving simon's short hair damp with sweat that drips down his forehead, trailing over his angled neck and dipping below his exposed collarbones, shirt outstretched and worn, hanging low enough to expose his chest, right where it's dappled with darkening hairs and layer of softness.

flushed cheeks decorated with patchy stubble and smudges of soot that often mixes with oil simon gets on his gloves, leaving fat smears on his skin as he tries to wipe off the annoying sweat, and it's less for his own comfort than yours, because he leaves his working place here and there to indulge in your uninterrupted attention, walking in closer with his mouth clashing over yours, sloppy with sharp bites and insistent licking of his tongue inside, filthy with loud, lewd sucks that escape from between you, and he moans unabashedly, cock already strained hard.

simon get's you drunk off the taste and smell of him, smoky, sweaty and leaving a tang of metal in it's wake, something to savor when he gets back to work, hearing the distant rumble of another approaching car, leaving you yet again to watch and nibble down at your kiss swollen, spit moisten lips, bothered by the slick that now oozes out of your pulsing pussy to soak in your panties, and he sees it in the way your thighs cross together, lip tucked beneath your teeth, eyes getting that dazed, sweet look he loves to see.

he get's a handful of your perky ass after asking you to give him a screwdriver from a box laying on the floor, making you all but bent down and present your ass in the air for him to smack, small, stinging slap ringing out along with a squeaky shriek you get out, batting his groping, roughened hands away, but the guy simon talked with walked away for a short smoke, so you lean into the teasing touch, whimpering when his fingers catch at your clothed mound, circling, purring at you to wait just a bit more till his shift ends.

folding your body at the back seat of his truck should he close the service shop, your legs dangling in the cramped space, spread open wide and held tight with simon's calloused, digging fingers coiling beneath your bent knees, his body bowed forward, trapping you against the leathery seat and a closed door as his engorged cock rams into the hot, gripping clutch of your drippy cunt, shaking the vehicle from the force of his thrusts, your delightful sobs and mewls answering his molten groans of your name, splitting your hole beyond repair.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[inkedinshadows]

Helloooo hope you’re doing well 💝💗

I was wondering if you can write for azriel ( from the prompt list) 2 and 4? I think it would be such a cute idea, and you would write it so well (love u)

thanks for ur time!! 💝💝

Life's Bright Side

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

A/N: I love u too anon, I'm doing well and I hope you are too 🫶🏻 I had so much fun writing this one and it didn't even take me that long bc one thing about me is that I'm a sucker for slice of life 🤭

Prompts: "Baby, I love you, but please go to bed."* + "You're always so cheerful... it's kind of adorable."

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word count: 1.1k

*had to change it to "go to sleep", hope you don't mind <3

Azriel had never understood how you did it.

Your day had been a long one. He hated the Court of Nightmares, but more than that, he loathed seeing you in such a place. His bubbly, chirpy mate didn't belong among those cruel, scheming people.

Yet you never let the occasional visits bother you. While he returned from the Hewn City brooding and in a foul mood, you were the opposite.

He watched as you danced through the room, the dim light catching on the sparkly black dress you were still wearing. You were softly humming a melody to yourself, a simple tune you had picked up yesterday while strolling along the Sidra with him.

A small smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. Even without trying, you always managed to lift his spirits. His shadows were already swaying in time with your song.

He remained silent as he undressed, listening as your humming turned into quiet singing—whispered words he couldn't quite make out, but he was fairly sure you were making them up as you went.

When he looked back up after pulling on his sleeping clothes, your dress had been exchanged for a nightgown and you were perched at the vanity table to remove your makeup. One leg crossed over the other, your foot bounced in time with your tune.

“How do you do that?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

Your eyes met his in the mirror, a small smile forming as you wiped the cotton pad over one eye. “Do what?”

Azriel shrugged, stepping up behind you just as you stood. He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on the top of your head.

“You’re always so cheerful,” he murmured, meeting your gaze in the mirror again. His lips quirked. “It’s kind of adorable.”

You chuckled before turning in his arms. “Life's too short to be grumpy and pessimistic.” Pressing a kiss to his lips, you added, “You should try it sometimes, my love.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He leaned down to stop your teasing with another kiss, but you slipped out of his grasp and padded toward the bathroom.

“Baby, you're immortal,” he pointed out, following you to lean against the doorframe while you washed your face. “How is life too short?”

“Well, it's not,” you conceded, turning off the faucet. Azriel waited patiently as you dried your face before you continued. “But maybe tomorrow a vase will fall from a balcony while I'm walking underneath it, hit me in the head, and kill me instantly.”

Azriel raised a brow.

“What?” you said with a smile. “You never know. Just because it's unlikely doesn't mean it's impossible.”

He shook his head, but he couldn't stop the slow smile forming on his face. “I'm beginning to think you're crazy. Not cheerful, just straight-up crazy.”

“And it took you this long to figure that out?” You grinned, patting his arm as you tried to slip past him.

Tried, because Azriel caught you before you could, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against him. A sound that was both a laugh and a yelp escaped you as he lifted you without warning.

“Listen,” you tried to defend yourself, though it was hard to speak between fits of laughter. “All I'm saying is that everything has a bright side. We just have to look for it.”

Azriel carried you to the bed, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. Gently, he lowered you onto the mattress and leaned over you.

“Oh yeah?” he mused. “So what's the bright side of a vase falling on your head?”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “It made you laugh,” you said simply. “You picked me up and carried me to bed. And now you're on top of me. It’s my favorite position, I'll remind you.”

Azriel’s low chuckle skittered along your skin. “This is not your favorite position, my love.”

You grinned. “You know me so well.”

With a shake of his head, he shifted off you and lay beside you, pulling the blankets over you both as you reached to turn off the lights.

In the dark, you nestled close to him. Your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around you, and you reached down to intertwine your fingers with his. Your thumb traced slow, idle circles over the back of his hand.

“Did it work though?” you whispered into the quiet. “Did I get your mind off the Hewn City?”

Azriel breathed in the delicate scent of your shampoo as he brushed a kiss to your shoulder. “You did. Thank you, my love.”

“I could always give you something else to think about if you need it,” you suggested.

He didn't, actually. But something in your tone—the slight note of amusement, perhaps—made him question what you were up to.

“Is it going to be another one of your ridiculous questions?”

He could picture your smile as you replied, “Maybe. Do you want to hear it?”

Azriel took a deep breath, knowing he would regret it but still curious to find out what you'd come up with this time. “Let's hear it.”

You didn't answer right away. He felt you squirm slightly in his arms and realized you were trying to stifle your giggles. When you finally settled enough to speak, your voice was so pensive that Azriel braced himself.

“If you wake up tomorrow,” you began, “and find out I've been turned into a giant spider, what would you do?”

Azriel sighed. This was his fault, after all. He had encouraged you.

“That's even worse than the last one,” he muttered.

“You said I would make a lovely worm.” You hummed. “But what about a huge spider? Or wait, even better, a Middengard Wyrm?”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer. “Baby, I love you, but please go to sleep,” he murmured, though his lips betrayed him with a faint smile.

Your soft laugh echoed in the silence. “Alright, alright,” you conceded. Azriel thought that was it, until you added, “The question is trickier and you need to think about it. I get it. You can tell me the answer in the morning.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, but his smile was now impossible to hide. You felt it against your skin as he kissed the nape of your neck.

If entertaining your nonsense questions before falling asleep was the price he had to pay to be with you, then he'd gladly endure them again and again just to spend another night by your side.

It was just like you'd said. Everything had a bright side if only he looked for it.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[raebiis]

I was thinking about this last night, so I’ll share the idea I had here:

Organized crime- not (explicitly) the mafia bc that’s just gauche. But their roots are the same. This is temporarily from the love interest’s POV, so I’ll refer to them as MC for now. Also, this was more meant to be a sort of ‘warning’ to the MC but they’re drawn in anyway- it gets much worse when romance is involved… tbh I just love a good toxic relationship.

The MC (who I personally imagined as Al Pacino’s Micheal Corleone- a little fanfic just for me- but to each their own) is witness to an argument between two sisters. One is the ‘leader’ and the other is… not ignorant, but also not completely informed.

The other is a recovering addict who relapsed and the leader found out about it. The leader confronts the other and there’s an ensuing argument/one sided screaming fest while the other cries and tries to shift blame.

She blames it on her longtime boyfriend (there’s history there).

It’s a mistake.

“Oh,” leader says, suddenly calm. And why does she look a little amused? “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” cries other, unable to recognize the danger through her tears.

“Are you absolutely positive that it’s his fault?” Leader clarifies. “And this is how you want this to go?”

“Yes,” other insists.

“Okay,” leader says, and leans in to press a kiss to others head, “then just rest here and I’ll take care of it.”

And other would know better, should know better, if not for the relief of leader no longer being upset with her.

It’s only when leader pulls a gun from the drawer next to her that other catches on. But it’s too late, leader has already silently ordered the goons to keep other there and out of the way.

Other is begging, pleading, but her words fall on deaf ears. Leader brushes past MC on her way out, and MC turns to watch her out of the window.

Other’s boyfriend is outside, having just exited the shed out back. He looks up at Leader and begins to smile before she raises the gun- his face hardly has time to shift in horror before-

!!!

Leader takes her time meandering back to the house, other’s wails can be heard all the way down to the lake at the bottom of the hill the house sits on.

When leader enters again, MC can feel their heart racing and they take a measured step back. But leader doesn’t even notice them.

She sets the gun aside and goes to her sister, gathering her in her arms and shushing her tears.

“It’s alright,” says leader, “don’t worry. I’ve taken care of the problem. You can start to really work on recovery, now.”

And other blubbers out something that sounds a lot like a confession to having lied. Her boyfriend was innocent?

Leader’s smile is unsettling when she pulls back and cradles her sister’s crying face (she already knew). “Don’t say that, other. Because if he wasn’t the source of the infection?”

Her thumbs press deeply into the hinge of her sister’s jaw, and her smile is long gone by now.

“That means I’ll just have to cut deeper.”

And other has a look on their face- understanding, despair, and the unconditional love of siblings forged in fire. Other knows to forgive leader is to invite more pain, but how could she not? Leader is her sister, and her sister has been by her side all these years. And her sister isn’t always terrible. Most of the time she’s kind, generous, gentle…. That’s gotta mean something. It has to make up for all the times leader is cruel.

Doesn’t it?

(And, of course, we see the same happen to MC. They’ve seen the warning signs, but leader at her best is just so charming and so loving- how could they ever not love her? Why, even in her most wicked moments leader is only expressing the depth of their unfathomable love. Leader hurts them to save them. Right?)

fucked up hurt/comfort. the person who stabbed you tends to your wound. the person who killed your loved one helps you grieve.

[aakeysmash]

Pregnancy cravings

Farmer!Sukuna’s masterlist

Farmer!Sukuna thought dealing with your pregnancy cravings would be a walk in the park. I mean, come on, you two are basically self sufficient: he’s literally a farmer, what could you possibly crave that he doesn’t already have planted or stored?

Your cravings hit at the start of your second trimester. You’re barely showing, and probably the fact that nothing you eat stays in your stomach for more than two hours isn’t helping your case.

It’s winter and it’s snowing: your fields are currently covered in snow, your chickens are huddled up in their coop, your cows are sleeping in their heated stable… and you? You’re reading a book right in front of your fireplace. Sukuna gets home with his arms full of logs to keep the fire alive all night. He sets them on the ground before plopping down next to you with snow clinging to his hair.

“Get off, your nose is cold,” you mumble, pushing him away when he tries to give you a kiss. He raises one of his eyebrows, kissing you on the cheek either way (two times, to spite you). You let out a dramatic whine.

He chuckles, ruffling his hair and wetting your book’s pages with a couple of snowflakes. Annoyed, you roughly close the book, and turn around to give him a piece of your mind, just to find yourself wrapped in his arms.

“I said get off,” you repeat, softer, leaning in despite your words. His body heat is doing a better job than the fire at thawing the chill from your limbs.

“And I don’t care,” he replies nonchalantly. He kisses your temple, cocooning you deeper into him by opening his legs and tucking you into the space in front of him. You grumble something unintelligible.

“How are the only two people I can stand doing today?” He asks you, rocking you side by side. Seeing you pregnant makes him feel uncomfortably soft. And seeing you pregnant with his child? Oh god.

“I want ice cream.”

He stops.

“Huh?”

“More like your offspring wants ice cream,” you sniffle from under his jaw.

“I don’t think we have any in the freezer,” he responds, looking you in the eyes. Your lip starts wobbling.

“But I want it,” you brokenly say, trying to swallow your sobs. His heart clenches.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to have it today,” he says, and immediately regrets it when your eyes well up with tears.

“C’mon, don’t cry now, it’s just ice cream,” he tries to comfort you. Apparently he does a horrible job, because you start bawling.

“But I want it! And I hate that I want it so bad! You know how much I hate playing the weak and fragile woman part, why are you being mean?” you wail, shoving him away and getting up. You quickly go to the kitchen to drink a glass of water, the duvet that was covering you mere seconds ago acting as your cloak.

“No, babe, I’m not-“

You snap your head back angrily, levelling him with a hostile glare. “Yes you are! You’re being mean when it’s your fault I’m like this!” You motion to your body.

“Actually, you begged for it, wife,” he shrugs, a corner of his mouth lifting. He doesn’t expect the punch you throw at his chest.

“Don’t ever come near me again,” you seethe, drinking your water and flying up the stairs. He sighs, rubbing his temples, wincing when he hears you sniffle again.

After ten minutes he knocks on your bedroom door- the same one you not-so-gracefully threw in his face.

“C’mon. Get out,” he grits out. Who knew dealing with a pregnant woman would strip him of the little patience he still has left?

“No. You value me less than ice cream.”

He sighs. “What can I do t’ make you forgive me?” He hears the soft pit pat of your sock-clad feet on the floor before the door creaks open. From the last few months, he'd say your mood swing should be finished by now.

You gently lower the handle, looking at his condescending espression. Then you sag your shoulder, gazing at the floor.

"You big crybaby. C'mere," he smirks, opening his arms. You bury your head in his shoulder, and he pats your hair mockingly.

"I still want ice cream, though," you mumble.

"I'll go get it at the city right now if ya stop crying," he chuckles. He widens his eyes, realizing that... he caught himself too late.

You abruptly step back. He winces.

"And you'd leave me here all alone?! Why don't you love me anymore?!"

[captain-huggy-bear]

Luke would be the type to keep his private life very private so him having a gf only really his family and friends in michigan know so the devils have no clue and i could see the boys always trying to get luke to hookup with people for like a whole season till next season when they finally learn luke has had a gf the whole time

Oh boy, 100%. He always just politely tells them he's not interested in dating anyone or having a casual hookup or pretends he doesn't notice what they're doing. Jack 100% does not help, he finds it hilarious when any of the guys are trying to get Luke to talk to some random girl in a bar, but he will 100% confirm to you that Luke is the most loyal boyfriend you could ask for. I also see Luke feeling guilty about it even though he hasn't done anything, so every time he gets back to the apartment he's telling you if you live together or phoning you if you don't and basically confessing his 'sins', like 'i'm so sorry, baby, Marky tried to get me to go out with this blonde and she wouldn't stop touching my arm and I told her I wasn't interested and I only love you.' Definitely reaches a point where he breaks and just goes 'STOP! I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND' and all the guys are just like 'why the hell didn't you tell us this sooner?' Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

"Hey, C'mon, Rusty! What about the blonde at the end of the bar?" Curtis points to a young woman around Luke's age, platinum blonde hair, little black dress, who's eyeing Luke like he might be candy. It doesn't flatter him, if anything it sends a sick feeling to his gut, a roiling discomfort because only you're allowed to look at him like that. You can eye fuck him, no one else. He feels objectified.

"Curtis, I've told you I'm not interested. Not my type." Not his type because his girlfriend is his only type and there's only one of you. It doesn't matter if 100 attractive women all tried to get his number right now, he wouldn't care, wouldn't give it out because you're the one he wants. Literally no one compares to you, he's smitten, whipped, absolutely in love.

"C'mon, seriously! You didn't go out with anyone all last season! Not even a hook up, you're celibate, man! You're young, you should be having fun!" Curtis knocks his shoulder with a grin and Luke just grips his beer tighter, feeling a familiar frustration at the situation. He spent all of last season dealing with the boys trying to goad him into hook ups and flings, throwing women at him like it was their duty to get him laid. He hated every minute of it.

"Yeah, Lukey, you were practically celibate, a monk," Jack chimes in, arm thrown over Luke's shoulder with a grin, the irony of his words not lost on either of them because Luke was definitely not celibate last year. He just wasn't hooking up with random strangers, because he'd started dating you, because you were the only person he wanted to see, to kiss, to sleep with and that still stood firm and true.

"Just go talk to her, maybe you'll get lucky and go home with her tonight! C'mon, what's wrong?" It's Dougie that chimes in this time and Luke wants to die. He wants to die. Or alternative go to your apartment and curl up with you in bed because this is the worst.

"Yeah, are you scared, Lukey?" If Jack wasn't his brother he'd have killed him already, killed him for encouraging all of this bullshit for a year, knowing full well that Luke wasn't single. But, he can't because his mom would be upset if Jack died...he rolls his eyes at him instead, shrugging his arm off of his shoulders.

"You're not secretly a virgin or anything, right, Rusty?"

"Fuck off, Lazar." He snaps, not because it would matter if he was, but because it's stupid that that's the only reason people can comprehend he wouldn't want to sleep around. Maybe it's just not his thing to have hook ups? Maybe he's focusing on his career? Maybe he's already in love and anything else would be cheap and insignificant in comparison?

"Oh, that's hit a nerve, some truth in that?" The guys are all grinning at him like they think they've got it all worked out and it just...it makes him snap, slamming the bottle of beer he'd been cradling to the bar top.

"No, y'know why I don't want to go talk to some random fucking blonde in the bar or hook up with whatever girl you throw my way? Because I've got a fucking girlfriend, okay? I'm not virgin! I'm not celibate! I just don't want to fuck a girl that isn't my girlfriend!" Luke's breathing heavy by the end of it, red it the face because it is so fucking annoying to constantly be bugged about it and he just wants everyone to get off his back. He's happily with you, he doesn't need random hook ups and he certainly doesn't need his team mates trying to get him laid like they have some moral duty to do so.

The way they look at him makes him feel stupid because suddenly they're all calling out variations of, "Dude! Why the fuck didn't you tell us this sooner?!" and he realises that maybe he could have solved this all months earlier by just saying he was seeing someone...like a normal person, maybe? But he'd wanted to keep things private...

He flounders for an explanation, mouth opening and closing, running a hand through his mess curls like that might help his brain to function.

"I just...it was new and...we were keeping it private."

It's Marky that turns to look at Jack, "Did you not know about this?"

"Oh, I knew." Jack is all smug enjoyment, leaning back against the bar and winking at the blonde Curtis had been trying to set Luke up with. Satisfaction rolled off him in cocky waves.

"Why they hell did you let us shove girls at your brother then?" Curtis asks, shocked, nay baffled because Jack had just spent an entire season practically encouraging the behaviour all while knowing full well Luke was dating you.

"It was funny," He shrugs with a grin and mentally Luke is considering whether the price he'd pay is worth putting itching powder in Jack's underwear drawer or maybe if cutting his hair in his sleep would be a better punishment since he can't rip another set of braces off him like Quinn did.

"That's messed up, Jack!" "Yeah, man!"

Luke sighs as the guys all ripped into Jack, downing the last of his beer and grabbing his phone off the bar top.

"Fuck this, I'm going to see Y/N."

"Ohh, you're girlfriend!?" And just like that Luke knows...he knows he's not out of the woods, it's just that the woods have changed from teasing and taunting him about hook ups, to doing so about his girlfriend.

Fuck, he hates being a younger brother.

[steddieas-shegoes]

because it's yours

for @steddielovemonth using the quote prompt: "If there is love, smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples. I'd love your face no matter what it looks like. Because it's yours." - Stephen King

rated t | 1250 words | no cw | tags: post-vecna, eddie munson lives, pre-relationship, injury recovery, first kiss, getting together

▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️

Eddie’s not allowed visitors in the hospital, at least according to Wayne and Hopper. It’s for his own safety, they say.

Steve knows that’s partially bullshit. He’s good at sensing bullshit. But he plays along anyway, convinces the kids to just visit Max and they’ll plan a welcome home party for Eddie when he’s released. It gets harder by the day, especially when all the news they hear is that Eddie is healing well and should be good to go home even sooner than they thought.

No one tells them when he’s released.

Steve only finds out because he walks by the room Eddie’s been in, and instead of the door being closed, it’s wide open. There’s unfamiliar voices coming from the room. It could be doctors or nurses, but something makes him pause and peek in the doorway.

It’s an older woman and what appears to be her adult children, all of them having a very serious conversation about how she needs to be more careful while gardening.

Steve leaves before he’s caught eavesdropping.

He considers stopping by Dustin’s, see if he’s heard the news. Maybe the kids found out first.

Who is Steve to Eddie really?

Just because they gave each other looks and flirted a little and Steve carried him out of the Upside Down and-

He swallows the hurt and decides to go straight to Wayne’s new trailer. It’s just outside of town, easy to get to even with the damage done by the cracks. He’s been there a few times to check on him, even helped him set up his cable.

When Wayne opens the door, Steve knows something is off.

He doesn’t invite him in. Instead, he steps onto the porch and closes the door behind him. He gives Steve an awkward smile instead of his usual warm, comforting one.

“Is he home?” Steve asks.

“He’s sleeping,” Wayne allows. “He’s still recovering.”

“Do the kids know he’s home?”

“Son, he-“

“Why is he hiding? Everyone’s worried and just wants to make sure he’s okay. No one would keep him from resting!” Steve hates that his voice pitches higher. His hands are shaking. He’s never spoken to an adult he respects like this. “We just wanna know he’s safe.”

“He is.” Wayne sighs. “I told that boy no one was gonna stay away for long. He insisted everyone would forget him. I said no. He didn’t listen.”

Steve’s eyes dart over to the window he knows goes to Eddie’s bedroom. He’d been the one to help set it up when Wayne moved in.

“Can I please see him? I’ll be quick. I won’t even tell the kids yet. I just need to see,” Steve begs. “Please, Wayne.”

Wayne wordlessly opens the door and gestures for Steve to come inside.

He leads him to Eddie’s room, reminding him with a look to be quiet and not wake him up. Steve gives an understanding nod and walks into the room.

There’s sunlight sneaking through the blackout curtains, just enough to light up the bed that Eddie’s already wide awake in. Steve can’t help the smile blooming on his face.

Eddie looks scared, though.

His eyes are wide, and he’s pulled himself to the farthest corner of the queen sized bed. His hair’s a mess, proof that he probably was asleep just before Steve got here.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve waves. He doesn’t come any closer to the bed. “I just wanted to get eyes on you. Feeling alright?”

Wayne’s standing in the doorway behind Steve, probably trying to determine if he needs to step in or ride this out. If Eddie asks, Steve will leave. He doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable.

“What’re you doing here?” Eddie asks.

Steve watches the way his jaw moves around the words, how his mouth twists differently, like it’s taking more effort to talk. The scar going across his cheek, up into his temple, and down to his neck seems to be the cause of it. It’s still an angry red, stitches visible in some places where the bites must’ve been deeper.

He walks forward slowly. Eddie doesn’t stop him. Neither does Wayne.

The scar is big. It’ll always be big, though Steve has plenty of experience with scars and knows it’ll fade into a paler pink than it currently is. It’ll be a reminder, every day, of how he almost died. Eddie will have this memory every time he looks in the mirror, every time his own fingers brush against the ridged skin.

Steve cups the side of Eddie’s face that’s scarless.

Eddie gulps.

“Is this why you didn’t want anyone to visit?” He whispers.

Eddie doesn’t answer, but his eyes closing and head tilting down is answer enough.

“Eddie, look at me.”

Eddie opens his eyes.

“Do you really think a scar could scare any of us away? After how we found you, a scar is the least of our worries. You don’t have to hide from us.”

Steve’s not sure if Wayne’s still standing in the doorway, too focused on the way Eddie’s holding his gaze now. He’s lost weight and he’s still pale, but he’s alive. He’s still beautiful.

Maybe even more now.

“You’re alive. Everyone just wants you alive.”

“I’m gonna look even weirder now,” Eddie rasps out. Steve wonders if there’s damage to his throat, something his voice may never recover from entirely.

“I dunno. I think it’s pretty badass. Since when do you care about looking weird, anyway?” Steve smirks. “The Eddie Munson I know would find a new ridiculous story to tell every time he’s asked about something this cool.”

“I was leaning towards making people believe I got in a fight with a dragon,” Eddie shrugs one shoulder. His cheeks are red, warm underneath Steve’s touch.

“And won.”

Eddie leans his head forward, resting his forehead against Steve’s. “Of course I won. A knight in shining armor saved me.”

“You saved everyone else first. Don’t forget that part of the story,” Steve reminds him.

“A hero’s brave sacrifice…” Eddie mumbles. Steve chuckles. “Maybe true love’s kiss?”

“Isn’t that supposed to break a curse?” Steve whispers, suddenly nervous about all the times they flirted before. Flirting is harmless until it’s not.

“You’re right. In this case, it’s the curse of never kissing a nice guy.”

“And you think I can break that curse?”

“Can’t hurt to try.”

It’s a little awkward at first, mostly because parts of Eddie’s jaw are still numb from nerve damage and moving in certain ways is difficult. But once Steve adjusts, and they both giggle against each others’ lips, it’s easy. They fit.

Eddie tries to deepen the kiss, but he is still healing, and he has to pull away when his stitches tug painfully.

“Your battle scars won’t matter to any of us. They damn sure don’t make you less beautiful to me. Everyone misses you,” Steve rubs his arm, the one with no visible bandages. “Can I at least bring Dustin over later? Let him see that you’re actually alive and the hospital and government haven’t been lying?”

“Is that what everyone thinks?”

“You have to remember we’ve been through this a lot. Hopper was dead until he wasn’t. Anything can be faked.”

“That’s reassuring,” Eddie groans. “Yeah. Bring everyone by tomorrow. I’ll even shower.”

Steve kisses the top of his head. “Do you need help?”

“With showering? I just might, big boy.”

The way Eddie smiles is different now, but Steve loves it all the same.

[marauroon]

i heard you're taking in requests? 👁👁

marauders x forgetful reader?? like misplaces a book or an article of clothing?

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭-𝐦𝐞-𝐧𝐨𝐭 (𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲.𝐦)

you can always count on your boys to make sure you don’t forget anything in the mornings

poly!marauders x gn!reader | 1.0k | fluff | masterlist.

The scent of fresh coffee drifts through the air, mingling with the warmth of early morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. The flat is quiet in the way that all homes are just after waking—a few soft footsteps, the occasional yawn, the distant hum of the city outside.

James is already up, of course. He’s the only one of the four of you who voluntarily wakes before the sun, somehow chipper even after his morning workout. He moves through the kitchen with practiced ease, filling mugs with coffee and humming under his breath.

You’re not quite as functional.

“C’mon, love, up and at ‘em,” Remus murmurs beside you, his voice still thick with sleep. His hand smooths over your shoulder, gentle but insistent. “Don’t want to be late,”

You groan, burying your face in your pillow. It’s far too early for this. “Five more minutes—”

“You said that ten minutes ago,”

Remus chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple before sliding out of bed himself. Without the warmth of him beside you, the sheets feel colder, and you reluctantly peek an eye open.

Across the room, Sirius is sprawled in the other bed, his face half-buried in his pillow, dark hair a tangled mess. One arm is slung over his head, the other dangling off the side of the bed. Completely dead to the world.

“Is he—?” you start, voice still rough with sleep.

“Alive? Yeah,” Remus answers, tugging on a jumper.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes as you finally push yourself up. The moment you do, the morning chill nips at your bare arms, and you shiver. “Why is it so cold?”

“Because it’s February,” Remus says, glancing over at you with a knowing look. “You should probably wear a coat today,”

Right. That makes sense.

You finally manage to swing your legs out of bed, the floor cool against your bare feet. Remus watches, his expression teetering between fondness and exasperation as you shuffle toward the wardrobe, half-aware of what you’re doing.

It’s a struggle, pulling on clothes when you’re still mostly asleep, but you manage, albeit sluggishly.

By the time you make it to the kitchen, James is there, dressed in his usual workout gear, his hair damp with sweat from his run. He grins when he sees you, already holding out a steaming mug.

“Morning, love,” he says, pressing the warm ceramic into your hands. “You look like you need this,”

You take the coffee with a grateful hum, cupping it close to your chest. “You’re a lifesaver, Babe,”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” He winks before turning his attention to the rest of the kitchen, setting out breakfast with a practiced ease.

The sound of footsteps shuffling down the hall signals Sirius’s arrival. He stumbles into the kitchen, still half-asleep, hair sticking up in a dozen directions. He’s wearing one of James’s hoodies—one that’s far too big on him—and a pair of boxers, looking as if he’s barely conscious.

James hands him a mug without a word.

Sirius takes it, lifting it to his lips without even opening his eyes. “‘M not awake,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

“You don’t say,” Remus deadpans, leaning against the counter with his own cup of tea.

Sirius finally cracks an eye open, fixing Remus with a sleepy glare. “Shut up, Moony,”

James laughs, ruffling Sirius’s already-messy hair before turning to you. “You’re gonna need an umbrella today,” he says, nodding toward the window. “It’s supposed to rain,”

Right. That makes sense too.

You take another sip of coffee, letting the warmth settle in your bones, willing yourself to wake up properly. The flat hums with quiet, domestic ease—James moving about the kitchen, Remus flipping through the newspaper, Sirius slowly coming back to life with every sip of his drink.

It’s mornings like this that make you feel most at home, wrapped in the easy comfort of them.

It’s not until you’re gathering your things that the problems start.

“Where’s my bag?” you ask, scanning the sofa. It’s not there.

Remus sighs from the doorway. “You left it in the bedroom,”

Right. That makes sense.

You retrieve it quickly, only for James to call after you as you reach for your shoes. “Love, you’re not seriously going out without a coat, are you?”

You blink, looking down at yourself. You have a jumper on. That should be enough, right?

Remus is already holding out your coat, his expression patient.

You huff, taking it. “I was getting to it,”

“Mhm,” James hums, clearly unconvinced.

You pull the coat on, grabbing your bag before heading toward the door. Just as you reach for the handle, Sirius’s voice stops you.

“Oi, you forgetting something?”

You pause, frowning.

Sirius lifts an eyebrow, taking another slow sip of his coffee before nodding toward the table. Your keys.

Right. Of course.

You mumble a thanks, grabbing them before finally stepping outside. The cold air nips at your cheeks, and you burrow further into your coat. Remus locks the door behind you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he pockets his own keys.

“Did you pack your lunch?” he asks as you step onto the street.

You freeze.

His sigh is long-suffering.

James laughs behind you. “What would you do without us?”

You roll your eyes, already turning back toward the flat. “Probably starve,” you admit.

They don’t disagree.

[starcurtain]

More Phaidei Fics I Want to Read

1. Obligatory "fish out of water" fic (mostly AU because the timeline would probably not match canon, but we do what we want here!), taking place after Mydei and the Kremnoans first make it to Okhema. Okhema is already harsh on outsiders, let alone on a conquering "barbarian" tribe infamous for bringing strife to so many other city states. Mydei doesn't know the local customs at all, and while he doesn't care the slightest about how these pathetic Okhemans see him, the trouble he keeps getting into is affecting the reputations of innocent Kremnoans too. He's got to find a way to blend in, at least enough to stop costing his fellows any chance of finding paid work... Too bad the only person who is willing (and has time) to help is Phainon (who isn't native to Okhema either but done a much better job of learning to get along with the locals). The guy thinks he's the Titans' gift to Amphoreus just because he beat Mydei in a duel once. It was only once! And why does it matter whether we eat standing up or lying down? What are you laughing at, Savior Complex?! Or, tl;dr: The culture clash comedy one where Phainon and Mydei teach each other entirely opposing sets of manners, and come to learn a lot more about one another in the process.

2. Also obligatory omegaverse where Mydei is an omega born with a unique constitution: he's built like an alpha, snarls like an alpha, and dominates his opponents like an alpha. He even smells like an alpha, especially when he's in heat, so the only people who ever figured out his secondary gender were his doctor and his parents, all of whom are dead now. The whole world thinks Mydei is an alpha, and his reputation as an indomitable warrior prince pretty much hinges on people continuing to believe that. The problem is, Mydei wouldn't actually mind getting to live an omega's life, at least the part about finding a mate and starting a family. Only, who in the world would want him for a mate? Any alpha hunting for an actual omega would never think to look in Mydei's direction, betas would just be confused, and even those few alphas who are attracted to other alphas would only end up disappointed after discovering Mydei isn't one. He's nobody's ideal partner, and he'd mostly made peace with that--until Phainon. Until that upstart alpha from the middle of nowhere knocked Mydei down in a brutal spar and then pulled him up with the gentlest hand, and suddenly it mattered that no one would ever want Mydei. It mattered a lot. (Of course, the long and short of it is that Mydei is the man of Phainon's dreams, and after a series of setbacks and miscommunications and lots of silly angst, they'll find their way to a happy ending.)

3. After discovering Mydei's weakness for sweets and cute things like pink pomegranate juice, Phainon decides to engage in a bit of light-hearted teasing: He starts sending Mydei exceedingly adorable gifts and fancy candies under the guise of a "secret admirer." The joke is on Phainon, however, when it turns out Mydei finds the gifts quite charming and is determined to discover the identity of the mysterious gift giver. A reasonable person would quickly give up on the joke to avoid getting caught, but Phainon has always been weak to chasing thrills--and maybe this whole thing about being Mydei's "secret admirer" isn't too far off after all... (The real joke is that Mydei, realizing immediately who the gifts were from, invented an entire "hunting my admirer down" story just for the fun of watching Phainon squirm--and, well, because keeping the whole thing going, being showered with attention by his rival, doesn't feel too bad at all.)

4. The opposite fic: The one where Mydei's completely mismatched online personality accidentally catfishes Phainon and causes some very silly drama. Mydei's (anonymous) teletweet account is full of cutesy chimera kitten memes, aesthetic pictures of food, heart emojis, and overly punctuated (with exclamation points) recaps of shopping trips in Okhema's market... Can anyone blame Phainon for thinking this is the account of a cute girl who is refreshingly earnest about her love for chubby seals and pink milk tea? But as Phainon becomes closer and closer to "Fig Stew" online, things get more and more complicated--because he's also been getting closer and closer to his real world companion Mydeimos lately. Both Fig and Mydei are wonderful, and Phainon can barely bear the thought of losing either of them in his life. Trying to get closer to them both would be way too dishonest, but choosing one over the other... What should he do? Meanwhile, Mydei is in trouble. He wasn't planning to set up some secret identity or anything; it's not his fault Phainon mistook him for a girl online! There's nothing weird about dudes posting sparkling kitten gifs, godsdammit!! But now the charade's gone on way too long to come clean, especially since Phainon seems so invested, and... well, can you blame Mydei for not wanting to give up on the closest thing to a relationship he's ever managed to start? tl;dr: Online mistaken identity hijinks fic.

5. The required-in-every-fandom time travel fic (with bonus fake dating)! Through an outpouring of Oronyx's power, Mydei and Phainon end up in the bodies of their future selves, who, it turns out, have not only managed to end Amphoreus' war and revive Castrum Kremnos, but... appear to have also... gotten married?!! Now Mydei and Phainon have to not only find out exactly how their future selves managed to save the world (so they can accomplish the same task) then look for a way back to their own time--they've got to do all of that while also pretending to be a happily wedded pair of rulers to avoid raising everyone's suspicions. This would be a whole lot easier if either of them knew the first thing about being actual kings... or about relationships. The slightest slip up could create ripple effects that change the entire timeline permanently, but--no matter how nerve-wracking it might be to admit, after seeing the future in store for them together--there's nothing Phainon (and Mydei) won't do to make sure things go exactly as they should.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Melting Pot IV

McFoord x Child!Reader

Ruesha Littlejohn x Child!Reader

woso-dreamzzz Kids x Child!Reader (Kiddo)

Summary: Sports day with a bunch of hyper competitive people

"Ouch!"

Caitlin sighs, massaging her temples as she comes down the stairs.

It had already been a loaded morning, crammed full of everything and nothing at the same time.

"Stop it!"

She'd only been upstairs for a moment, separating Gremlin's kitten from your own.

They were two vastly different cats.

Gremlin's Spicy was angry, a walking ball of fuzz that leapt first and asked questions later. He was liable to throwing up hairballs while making eye contact and bringing in dead rats from the railroad tracks.

Your Baby was the opposite, a demure little lady who groomed herself all the time and took naps on your blanket. She craved affection and wound herself around ankles whenever anyone even so much as looked at her.

Two vastly different cats like their vastly different owners.

"Hey!" Katie snaps as Caitlin turns the corner," Gremlin, knock it off! Leave your sister alone!"

A very clear bite mark is on your wrist as you sob, curled up on Katie's lap as she struggles to get your sister's shoes on her feet.

"I've got her," Caitlin says, nudging her girlfriend away," Go and put Kiddo in the car."

Usually, a Saturday morning meant a chill day.

Sleeping until noon and having some brunch. Most of the time pancakes, sometimes waffles if Katie could be bothered to get out the waffle maker.

But today was Sports Day at the school so you were all up bright and early to make it there in time.

Caitlin already knew how this was going to go though.

Gremlin would get hyper competitive and most likely push someone over in her haste to win and you would linger at the back of your pack of peers with no hint of athletic ability in you.

Your little sister was much younger than you so she was separated with the other nursery age girls while you were included in your class.

"That wasn't very nice," Caitlin says as she slips the leash straps over Gremlin's shoulders," You know your sister is sensitive. Why did you bite her?"

Gremlin shrugs. "Dunno."

"Well, I think you should apologise."

"Dragons not say sorry!"

"And dragons don't exist," Caitlin replies, hoisting Gremlin up onto her hip," Maybe you should think about that."

You've stopped crying by the time you're all in the car, a few fingers in your mouth and the other hand out for Katie to hold during the drive, Gremlin's ring of teeth marks displayed so obviously.

"Sorry," Your sister mumbles to you, kicking the seat in front of her.

"For?" Katie prompts.

"Bitin' you."

You mumble your thanks through your fingers just as Caitlin pulls up in front of the school.

She can see a few of the parents she knows well heading into the gates.

Life working at the fire station tended to bond people.

Leah is corralling Bean inside while Jordan (who used to work at the fire station but left after one too many near death scares) crosses the street with their Bug. Lia, their constantly exasperated admin person, is crossing the street with her Guppy as well, joining up with the two of them with a smile.

"Alright," Katie says, turning to look back at her two daughters," Remember what I said about today?"

"It doesn't matter if we don't win because you'll still love us the same," You recite through a mouthful of your fingers and Katie smiles.

"That's exactly right."

You hold Mammy's hand as you all cross the road.

Mammy holds Caitlin's hand. You hold Mammy's. Your little sister holds yours.

She raises your wrist up to her mouth and you tense but all she does is give you a little kiss on the bite mark.

"Sorry," She says again.

"It's okay."

Gremlin smiles at you and you smile back,

"Hey," Katie says, swinging your joined arms," Ma's over there."

It wasn't your week with Rue but she's still come to your sports day and the only hint of athletic ability you possess is put into running over to her.

"Ma!" You cry and she hoists you into her arms instantly.

"Look at you! Looking good, kiddo!" Rue says, bouncing you up and down as you lean into her, breathing in her familiar smell. "You ready for today?"

Your stomach suddenly starts swirling a little.

You know Katie's views on your sports day performance. You don't know Rue's.

"I won't be very good," You say softly, barely above a whisper.

"You don't have to be good," Rue says decisively," Listen, I've got permission from your Mammy that after this is over, we can go to that fancy bakery you like and get some cakes before I take you back to her. Would that be nice?"

"And we can get cupcakes?"

"As many cupcakes as you like!"

Like you thought, you don't do overwhelmingly well at sports day.

You lag behind in the races and in the big jumping. You do fairly well at throwing the beanbags into the hula hoops but that's about it.

Sports day finishes with the sporty girls winning like everyone thought and a big barbecue to celebrate.

Your little sister eats a lot, Caitlin gets you cotton candy and your mothers even end up being civil.

"Caitlin," You say as your eyes rove around the school field," Why are the mummies and big sisters stretching?"

"Huh?"

Caitlin has a piece of beef hanging out of her mouth.

You point.

Over on the far end by the fence, Alexia and Jenni are stretching their legs. Leah is a few feet away doing the same. Alessia is jumping up and down a few times, warming up her muscles.

Even Katie is doing the same, chatting away to one of Bear's mummies.

"Well that's for the parent race."

"Parent race?"

"Uh-huh." Caitlin takes a wet napkin to Gremlin's face. "So the mummies can all race each other to see who's the best."

"But why?"

"Because adults can be competitive too. They get bragging rights."

That sounds...

Well it doesn't exactly sound weird.

Mammy and Caitlin work at the fire station together and you know all the firefighters there are super competitive with each other.

You didn't know that other adults were competitive too.

"Be careful, Magda," You hear one of Princesse's mummies say," You're not as fit as you used to be."

"Please," Princesse's other mummy scoffs," I'm not letting anyone beat me."

"If you pull a muscle, you get no sympathy from me."

You turn back to Caitlin in alarm. "Is Mammy going to hurt herself?"

"No...Probably not...Hopefully not."

That doesn't fill you with much confidence as Katie takes her place on the starting line.

It's carnage the moment the start is called as adults shove each other and get their legs tangled and fall to the ground in heaps.

Katie goes crashing into the ground in a heap with Leah, Steph and Lucy. Alexia and Jenni collide with each other and Irene. Mapi somehow trips over herself.

Against all odds, it seems, Duckie's mummy Jessie comes first.

Squish's mummy Frida is second and Conejita's mummy Caro ends up in third.

"Get off!" Katie says, shoving the pile of people off of her as you, Caitlin and Gremlin approach.

You crouch next to her.

"It's okay, Mammy," You say," You didn't have to win. I still love you the same."

[whiskis]

A/N: Hi there! For those who don’t know, first part is here. (If that link doesn't work, try suscribing for free to Patreon and check this one) Enjoy!

Orc professor (part 2): late for class

Orc x chubby fem!reader || power dynamics, dom/sub undertones, exhibitionism (kinda), oral sex, size kink, age gap, degradation, praise kink

“If you want to show me your pussy, my cum better be leaking out of it. Do you understand?”

His words still echoed in your brain when you were getting dressed the next morning. You were already wet, and you fingered yourself to the memory of his dick in your pussy last evening. You were a bit sore, but the fact that you could still feel him made everything more intense, hotter… sexier. And it made everything so much better.

You decided to wear your pencil skirt this time, and blame it on your bad luck, but you spilled your coffee all over it. Cursing yourself, you changed as fast as possible, but not fast enough that you could get to class early as you knew you should.

By the time you arrived, he was writing something on the board. “Good morning, sir,” you enunciated very slowly, looking at him for directions as you saw the other few students entering behind you.

He turned around and stared at you with such intensity you felt your whole body react. You were almost panting, biting your lip not to groan out loud. “Good morning. You can sit down while I go to my office for a second.”

The other two students nodded and he passed you on his way to the door. He looked at you in such a way that you knew what you had to do without him having to say anything. You let your stuff on your usual seat and smiled at the girl who sat next to you, mumbling about going to get some coffee before class. She nodded with a smile and you had to stop yourself from running to his office.

You arrived just in time for him to pull you inside by the waist, pressing you against the door and kissing you senseless just like he did yesterday, his tusks feeling incredible against your jaw. His hands were traveling up and down your body, groping your ass and your thighs as he grunted against your lips.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your lips, pulling back and passing his hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture. “You were late. And I thought you regretted what happened yesterday. I was freaking out, little human. And then you walked out like nothing happened looking hot enough to eat and smelling like me… Good goddess. Do you know what you do to me?” He pressed his hips against your middle and you moaned at the feel of his huge hard on.

“I- I can feel it,” you stuttered, your voice quivering when his hands squeezed your ass, parting your cheeks and letting one of his fingers rub over your lace covered asshole.

“You have no idea. And now I can’t even fuck you properly. I can’t ruin you the way I want because you were late.” He punctuated each word with a squeeze and a roll of his hips. You panted, so horny you were about to burst and he didn’t even touch you. “Goddess, you smell so fucking good…” He whispered, burying his face on your neck and inhaling deeply.

“I’m sorry… I- I spilled coffee on my skirt and had to change and then I forgot a book and have to open the door again and…” Your rambling was interrupted by his lip covering yours again, swallowing your explanation as he grunted, his hands massaging your ass-cheeks once again.

“What do you have after my class?” He asked, his breathing labored, almost desperate.

“A couple more classes,” you told him, mentally checking if you could skip any of them. But you knew you couldn’t. You knew you shouldn’t. You were a damn good student… Even if you were fucking your way through one of your subjects.

“Shit.” He passed his hand through his hair again, messing it up and making you want to whimper. “Okay, okay. I have classes after lunch, but I’ll be here around four-ish. Does that work for you?” You nodded fervently. “Okay, I expect you to show me how sorry you really are for being late and depriving me from what I was promised.”

“I can… I can give you my panties now,” you offered, feeling the lace sticking to your pussy lips like a second skin because you were that wet.

“I don’t want them. I want you to be feeling how wet I made you all day. I want you to be uncomfortable and thinking about my cock deep inside your pussy until you are so horny you are desperate to come. Until you know how slutty you really are…” You moaned, his words igniting a fire inside of you that made your brain short-circuit. “Now, compose yourself, we have a very interesting class ahead. I’m sure you are dying to know about the survival strategies of cacti,” he said with a laugh, making you let out a choked giggle. You weren’t expecting him to joke. Shit, why did that make him hotter?

The class was boring, but you didn’t even care about it. You didn’t care about anything but the feel of your wet panties against your pussy and his words resonating inside your brain. He made a point of looking directly at you a couple times, going as far as to ask you something about what he was saying, just to huff in annoyance when you didn’t answer correctly. But he smirked in your direction and that was enough to send you spiraling into a thousand of new horny thoughts.

You left his class as fast as you could, trying very hard to look normal when you passed him, but his knowing smile only made your clit pulsate harder, your core clenching around nothing and making you want to beg him to take pity on you and fuck you right then and there. But you were stronger than that, so you left his class on your way to the next one.

You didn’t take a single note the rest of the day, your brain filled with possibilities and images of his hard dick. The feel of his lips against yours, and the ideas of how would feel against your lower lips… Your brain was running a mile per minute, and you couldn’t focus on anything that wasn’t the rub of the lace against your clit. It was exhilarating and maddening at the same time, and by the time four rolled around, you were on the edge and you had to run to his office in need of release.

You knocked rapidly, and when you opened and saw him there, shirt rolled over his big green forearms and glasses pushed down on his nose you almost came right there. Fuck, he was so fucking sexy it wasn’t fair at all.

“Come on in,” he said as soon as you closed the door behind yourself.

You tried to lock it, but he shook his head… Oh shit, that made you even wetter. The idea that you could get caught. That somebody could just walk in and know how much of a slut you were, that you were fucking your professor for a good grade…

You moaned and he chuckled. “Come here, little human, I almost hear your brain short-circuiting.” You walked to him, your steps measured so you wouldn’t fall. Your knees feel like jelly, and your pussy is so wet you are sure he can hear it from the desk. “So… Did you think about what you are going to do to redeem yourself from not meeting your end of our deal this morning?” You nod. “Go ahead, tell me.”

You’d been thinking about it all day. Your whole brain occupied by thoughts of his cock inside of you, against you, spilling in and over you… But there was one thought that surpassed all others. “I- I want to suck you off, sir.”

He smirked, his tusks framing his plush lips in a way that made your clit tingle. “Is that so? But you have such a tiny human mouth, I don’t know if you’d be able to fit me…” He teased, making you blush. You gave him your panties everyday, and that’s what got you to blush, him teasing you… Incredible.

“I will. It will. It will fit, sir,” you stuttered. This orc made your brain so fuzzy you could barely process words correctly anymore. You could barely talk when he was close, especially now that you were moments away from sucking his dick down your throat.

“Prove it then, little slut.”

You dropped to your knees so fast you moaned when you hit the floor, the spark of pain focusing your brain for a second. But the second you touched his big-as-tree-trunks thighs, your brain disconnected again. Only heat and lust left behind. You pulled down his fly in a slow movement, staring up at him as he looked back at you with an indescribable look.

You took his dick out and gasped again. You already saw it, you had it inside of you, but it was nothing compared with the realization that you were about to fit that inside your mouth. Maybe he was right, and it wouldn’t fit.

His eyes were tender when he looked down at you. “Relax, you don’t have to take all of it, just whatever you are comfortable with. I like you submitting to me, but I don’t want to hurt you in any way. Do you understand?” You nodded, relief running down your body and making you even hornier.

“Okay,” you whispered.

And then you launched.

You pulled out your tongue and started mapping the veins of his huge shaft one after the other. His hands were gripping the arms of the chair with such force you could hear the leather breaking. You smiled against his dick and he grunted, one of his hands fisting your hair and urging you where he wanted you more. You complied, you wanted nothing more but to be a good girl for him, a good slutty human for him.

You took his head into your mouth, your lips so stretched it was almost uncomfortable, but you liked it. You loved the feel of his cock inside your mouth, it was exhilarating in a way you weren’t expecting. You weren’t one to like giving head in general, you preferred to go down on girls than guys, but definitely wasn’t your go to activity, but right there… You fucking loved it.

You rolled your tongue around the tip, teasing the underside where you knew he was especially sensitive. He moaned over you, his fist pulling at your hair and making you moan around him, which made him almost whimper and let out a series of curses that would make a pirate blush.

You kept going at it, you couldn’t get past a few centimeters, he was too wide for you to get him to the back of your throat, but by the glassy look in his eyes you understood it was enough. You were messy, your saliva getting everywhere as you bobbed your head up and down.

He was looking down at you reverently, and you couldn’t hold back a few more moans, who made him thrust up accidentally. You pulled back coughing, eyes teary and a few tears rolling down. He groaned at the sigh, and you felt your clit pulsating with your heartbeat. You were so close to coming, you wanted nothing more but to touch yourself. You threw your body to him again, but he stopped you with the hand tangled in your curls.

“I want to fuck your pretty face, would you let me, little slut? Would you let me use you like my personal fuck toy?” You whimpered, nodding against his thigh as he pulled your head back by the hair. “Such a good girl for me, already so needy and desperate. Look at you… You look so dirty like that. Remind me to take a pic so I can enjoy you later,” his words made you emit a guttural moan.

The idea of him taking pics of you like that, make up running and lips swollen… it made you feel hot. It made you feel so horny you could feel your juices dripping down to the floor under you, your panties so wet they couldn’t hold your gushing pussy anymore.

“You like that? You like me having pictures of how pretty you look all fucked up? Why do I even ask, of course you do, you are such a little slut for me. Now open up.” You obeyed and he directed his dick back against your welcoming mouth. “Tap my leg three times if it’s too much, okay?” You nodded again. “Words. How many times?”

“Three. I tap three times if it’s too much,” you repeat, breathless already.

“Good girl.”

And then he started a brutal pace. He used his hold on your hair to direct your movements, moving your head forward until you couldn’t take it further and then retreating. Repeating that process until something inside of you gave out and you felt him slip inside your throat. It was almost too much, you couldn’t breathe, but your eyes rolled back into your head at the sight of him in pleasure.

He pulled back to let you breathe, looking down at you with reverence. “You look so fucked out I want to ruin you. Would you let me ruin you, little human?” You nodded, unable to form words. “Such a good girl for me.” He pulled your head forward and started to fuck your mouth in earnest.

Your brain was fuzzy, your pussy so wet you could feel it dripping down, and your clit asking for attention. The weight of his cock against your tongue, his hand on your hair and his curses over you were driving you insane.

“Touch yourself for me, little human. Come around your tiny fingers. Show me how much you like sucking my orc cock,” his permission was enough, your hand traveling down your body and rubbing frantically against your clit, over the lace.

His pace became erratic, and your fingers rubbed so hard you were almost afraid to set your clit on fire. But it was so good, the combination of sensations so intense you were about to come.

“I’m about to come. Do you want it? Do you want to swallow my come or do you want it in your face, little slut?” You sucked harder, pushing your head further down, swallowing around him to indicate you wanted it. You wanted to swallow him whole.

That was all it took. He growled over you and pushed his dick as far as he could before you felt the first shot of his come in the back of your throat. He pulled back a little to avoid chocking you, the final spurs of his release filling your mouth to the brim, some of it dripping down your chin.

The second he opened his eyes and looked down at you, his dick still in your mouth, you were done. You flicked your clit one last time before you melted, pulling back and spilling the rest of his come over your boobs as you cried out your own release.

Your vision whited out, your ears ringing as you felt your body moving as he pulled you up onto his lap, his hands caressing your back as he whispered sweet nothings that your brain couldn’t process.

He took some tissues from the box on his desk and carefully cleaned your messy face. “You didn’t take the pic,” you told him.

“We didn’t talk about it beforehand. I wouldn’t risk stepping over your possible boundaries like that.” Your heart skipped a beat. “But don’t worry, we’ll have more opportunities if that’s something you’d enjoy…”

“We will?” You asked, a bit confused but a spark of hope blooming inside your chest.

“I’m not letting go of your sweet, sweet slutty pussy anytime soon,” he told you, kissing your forehead as his hand traveled down until it met your dripping panties. “I would like this panties now, thank you,” he whispered against your ear, you could sense his smirk on his tone, making you laugh so hard you snorted.

Reminder that you can find all my other stories over @monstersflashlight

[solxamber]

Hello, Sol! For the Valentine's Event, I'd like to request the following: [Lilia, romantic, "Lovesong" by The Cure]

Here's a lyric video for the song!

Thanks a lot for making this event ^^

Lovesong || Lilia Vanrouge

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Lovesong by The Cure

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 600

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Established Relationship

Lilia Vanrouge has seen the world shift and change before his very eyes. He has walked across battlefields soaked in crimson, has stood before kings and warlords with unwavering resolve.

He has fought, he has won, he has lost. He has been the shadow that haunted enemy lines, the whisper of fear on the wind. He has been a protector, a guardian, a father.

He has lived a life that should have turned his heart to stone.

And yet, with you—

With you, it softens.

When you speak his name, when you look at him like he is not just the remnants of a past era but someone worthy of love, he feels something unfamiliar stir in his chest. Something warm, something light. Something that feels like home.

When you greet him with a kiss, a soft press of lips against his cheek, he feels a kind of magic that no spell could ever replicate. He feels whole in a way he had forgotten was possible.

You do not ask him for stories of the past. You do not seek to unearth the ghosts he has long since buried. Instead, you stand beside him in the present, laughing as he tugs you into a spontaneous dance, twirling you through the air as if you weigh nothing at all.

You let him pull you into his world of whimsy, and you do not mind when he drags you into harmless trouble.

And oh, how he adores you for it.

He does not tell you this outright, of course. Where would the fun be in that?

Instead, his love spills out in other ways.

It is in the way he always finds a reason to brush his fingers against yours, fleeting and electric. It is in the way he watches you when you aren’t looking, a rare softness in his gaze, a smile just shy of wistful on his lips.

It is in the way he always comes back to you, no matter where he has wandered.

He has never been one to stay still for long. He has lived his life moving, changing, slipping through the cracks of history like a shadow. He has left behind places, faces, names—because that was simply how things were.

But you—

You make him want to linger.

You make him want to carve his name into time, to exist, to stay, to love.

And so, when he rests his forehead against yours, laughter still lingering between you both, his voice drops into something softer, something lower.

“I do hope you know,” he murmurs, “that no matter how many lifetimes I may live, no matter how many places I may see… I will always find my way back to you.”

It is as close to a confession as he will allow himself to make.

But you do not need words to understand.

You already know.

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut at your touch. There is something achingly gentle in the way you hold him, something that makes his heart clench with a feeling too vast to contain.

He has lived for centuries. He has seen war and peace, love and loss, the rise and fall of empires.

Lilia has spent a lifetime wandering, a lifetime saying goodbye.

But for you—

For you, he lingers.

He will always keep a part of you with him.

And when he whispers in your ear, voice soft with something unspoken, you do not need to hear the words to know their meaning.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[bootsukki]

the first time tsukki buys you flowers, it’s almost by accident.

he’s on his way to your house after practice, passing by a small flower shop, when a bouquet of soft yellow tulips catches his eye. he has no idea why he stops to look at them—maybe it’s the way they remind him of you, always bright and warm. checking his wallet, he enters the shop and buys them.

truth be told, he doesn’t expect much of a reaction from you, you have been dating for four months and he doesn’t even know if you like flowers (he knows you’re not allergic though because you always tend to the school garden with one of your friends) and when he arrives, he just shoves them into your arms.

but, when your eyes widen in delight, your fingers tighten around the stems and you look at him like he’s just handed you the stars, he knows he’s fucked.

you cling to his arm all the afternoon, giggling every time you look at the flowers and kissing him endlessly, he feels his cheeks burning.

“I should have just brought you candy.” he mutters, pretending to be annoyed.

but he does it again. and again. and again.

sometimes, he starts picking up flowers on random days—after practice, when he sees sales on his konbini… you react the same way, eyes bright, arms thrown around him, pressing kisses to his face. he mumbles under his breath but he never pulls away from your hugs and precious kisses he cherishes so much.

he continues doing so when you go to tokyo to study and he stays in sendai. every two weeks, without fail, a bouquet arrives at your doorstep, always with a note scrawled in his familiar and neat handwriting, “try not to kill these before i visit you, pretty.”

and when he sees you again, you throw yourself at him in the middle of the train station and, like always, he lets you. because he’s missed this and you.

even after college, the flowers never stop.

the day he thinks about proposing, he goes back to your old text messages, finding your messages and pictures about every single bouquet he has given you and asks for a special bouquet filled with one of every single important bouquet he has given you, from the tulips to the roses he gave you last anniversary.

as he hands you the bouquet and goes down on one knee, you tear up and nod, hands shaking as he puts the ring on your finger and he knows he made the right choice by choosing you.

the morning of your wedding is a blur of soft laughter and excitement as you sit down on the chair to start getting your makeup and hair done.

but before they can start, yachi clears her throat, drawing your attention.

“i have something for you.”

yachi grins, stepping aside to reveal the most beautiful bouquet resting in one of the vanities.

you gasp—the bouquet is a masterpiece filled with pastel calla lillies, clemantis, veronicas and slipper orchids. you stand up, reaching out for the flowers, brushing over the beautiful petals. and then, you see your name written in his familiar handwriting in an envelope.

baby,

i’d like to say that i planned all of this from the beginning, that the first time i bought you flowers, i already knew i would be doing it for the rest of my life, but the truth is that i didn’t realize until i saw your beautiful eyes and gorgeous smile when you saw the yellow tulips.

i love your smile and i wanted to see you smile. you looked at me like i had given you the world and you held to them like you never wanted to let go.

so, i kept bringing them every chance i had. do you remember how sad you were when the wind ruined the bouquet i gave you during your last finals weeks? i got so mad and sad that i ran to the store at nearly 2 am to buy you some and get them sent to you the following day.

i am not good with words, you know that so i guess that i found everything that i wanted to say through flowers: i miss you, you’re the best thing that has happened to me, i love you, i want to spend the rest of my life with you…

i think that this one is the most special one. do you remember all those late night work i had to do? i lied, sorry.

i was getting special lessons from the florist down the street: how to prepare a bouquet, how to cut the stems perfectly so they last longer, how to take care of them… all of that so i could get you what i think it is the prettiest bouquet of all the ones i have gotten you although i don’t think they are as beautiful as you are but i have selected them because their delicate colors and smoothness makes me think of you and i don’t know, i wanted to remind you that you are always on my mind.

holy shit, you and me forever. FOREVERRRRRRRRR (if you see tear marks while you read this, those are NOT mine).

i love you baby, i’ll wait for you at the end of the aisle so, take a deep breath, wipe those tears (I know you are probably crying) and see you soon. can’t wait to make you my wife.

-kei.

you clutch the letter to your chest as tears spill freely onto your cheeks and your friends laugh softly, cleaning their own tears as well.

“is it too late to use this as my wedding bouquet?”

[pomefioredove]

can i order a sugar cookie, #18, with frosting and dry fruit please 💕💕 love your work

coughs weakly

order #18, sugar with frosting, dry fruit

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ intent to bite

summary: a miscommunication leads to sharing a small bed with lilia tropes: only one bed, first kiss characters: lilia additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, who is an adult, a lil suggestive

"Told you this was a bad idea," Grim mumbles.

"Why am I stuck with Sebek, anyway?! I should be with my hench-human!"

You hold a finger to your lips. So much for hoping Grim would mind his manners on this trip.

"We've been over this," Silver says, carrying a six or seven bags inside the house. "Malleus will take the first guest room, Lilia and the Prefect will take the second, because it has two beds. Sebek and I are sleeping in the lounge, where there's a dog bed for you."

"I'm no dog!"

"That's not-" Silver sighs, looking to you for help. You have nothing.

Then, there's breath on your neck and a voice in your ear. "Oh, don't look so glum. It'll be a fine bonding experience for you boys!"

You jolt, and Lilia giggles into your ear, the airy, cheerful sound almost as teasing as the prank.

Grim sighs. "I bet Sebek snores like a lawn mower..."

"And you don't?" you mutter, much to Lilia's delight.

"Khee hee. Personally, I'm tickled by this! The Zigvolt family is as welcoming as ever. Oh, Malleus, do you need help with that?"

The smaller fae leaves to hold the door open for Malleus, while Grim repeats "tickled??" in a grumble. Silver sighs again.

"It's been a long journey. We'll all feel better once we've slept,"

"This can't be right,"

You stand in the narrow doorway, overnight bag in hand. The guest room is dark, but you can still feel how small it is. There's no way two people can fit in here.

Lilia peers over your shoulder. "What's- ah. I see,"

Your eyes adjust to the darkness. There's only one. There's only one bed.

"Now, this is unfortunate. Our rooms must have been mixed up. And Malleus has already retired, poor thing..."

You look at him. "What are we going to do?"

"Do? Why, sleep, of course,"

"Where?"

Lilia smiles and pats your head, as if you were an adorable kitty cat rather than a very tired and disgruntled adult after a full day of travel.

"In bed, my dear. Unless you were planning on taking the bath,"

He slips under your arm and into the room, tossing his bag on the floor with no regard or interest for the clothes and trinkets that spill from it.

You follow, putting your own things away as he makes himself comfortable on the bed. "Well?"

"...You can't honestly act as if this is normal,"

Lilia giggles. "What are you so afraid of? I'm not going to eat you,"

You listen, if only a little, sitting at the edge of the bed, as far from him as possible. Why is this making you so nervous?

"I'm just not used to it. That's all,"

Shit excuse. He can tell, too, if that smirk of his is any indication.

"Ah, I see. You think, hope, perhaps? that I'm going to make a move on you, as the kids say,"

Your eyes widen and you stumble over yourself, trying to come up with a rebuttal, an excuse, a lie, anything at all.

His smirk sharpens. Literally- his fangs dig into his lower lip, and he sticks his tongue out at you.

"If you're going to be this tense all night, you won't get any sleep. I'll tell you what-" he says, sitting up. "I will graciously allow you one kiss to sate your curiosity. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Now that's just unfair. "That's- what makes you think I would-!"

You stumble some more, and he drinks in the sight of you, flustered and nervous and oh-so close to him.

Lilia lets you argue with yourself until you're spent.

"...Fine,"

He claps. "Very well. Come here, Prefect,"

You sigh, but cross the bed, anyway, feeling the soft, handmade quilt underhand. You can't believe you're going to do this in Sebek's house, of all places...

Curse this fae.

You sit before him, far more vulnerable than you would have liked.

"Very good. But you could come a little closer, don't you think?"

Again, you listen. You sit on his lap, straddling his thighs, much to his delight.

"Better," he mumbles, perhaps more to himself than to you, because then his hand is holding the back of your head and his mouth is on yours.

Lilia doesn't give you much, and you know that's his intention. The kiss is much too chaste for him, and much too slow for you, but passion and pace were never a part of the deal.

You let it go.

And with some reluctance, you part from him, warm and jittery. That wasn't enough, and he knows it.

"You look like you have something you want to ask," Lilia says, his fingers brushing over your neck, feeling the beating of your heart in your pulse.

"...No," you lie.

He smirks again, baring his fangs as if warning you of his intent to bite.

"Khee hee. Don't worry, desire is nothing to be ashamed of. And we all have our little secrets... I, for example, may have asked Malleus to switch rooms with us."

Despite what Silver had said, you can't imagine sleeping now.

[promptedwordsmith]

When you make their favourite meal

Caleb

The moment Caleb stepped through the door, the rich, savory scent of braised chicken wings filled the air, stopping him in his tracks. His sharp purple eyes flickered with curiosity before settling on you, standing in the kitchen with a proud yet slightly nervous smile. His gaze softened immediately.

“You made this?” he asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it from you.

You nodded, wiping your hands on a kitchen towel. “I know you’ve been busy, so I thought… well, you always cook for me. I wanted to return the favor.”

Caleb was quiet for a moment, taking it all in—the warm, homey smell, the sight of you standing there, the effort you’d put in just for him. A slow smile curved his lips, something rare and unguarded.

He stepped forward, slipping an arm around your waist as he pressed a slow kiss to your temple. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “I hope you made extra, because I’m eating all of it.”

The table was already set, and as soon as you placed the plate in front of him, Caleb wasted no time. He took the first bite, and the instant satisfaction in his expression made you grin. His usual composed demeanor cracked, revealing something far more open, more boyish—genuine delight.

“This is perfect,” he said between bites, barely pausing. “I mean it. The sauce, the seasoning—you got it all right.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You really like it?”

He glanced up at you, giving you a look that said, Are you seriously asking me that? He reached for another wing, effortlessly devouring it before shaking his head with a smirk.

“Like it?” He gestured to his nearly empty plate. “I love it. Is there more?”

You laughed, already reaching for the extra batch you had set aside. “You’re unbelievable.”

Caleb’s eyes gleamed as he accepted the second helping, his expression unreadable for a moment—until he spoke, his voice quieter this time. “You didn’t have to do this… but you did.” He met your gaze, his usual intensity softened by something else. “I like taking care of you. But it feels nice… being taken care of too.”

You squeezed his hand, and in that simple moment, Caleb understood—this was love, given back in the way he understood best.

Rafayel

The moment Rafayel stepped through the door, his nose twitched, and his eyes widened in delighted surprise. The scent of his favorite meal filled the air, rich and warm, something he hadn’t had in far too long. His usual languid grace disappeared in an instant—he was at your side within seconds, arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace.

"You made this for me?" he asked, voice muffled slightly against your shoulder. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes bright with something almost childlike. "You really made this?"

You laughed, pressing a hand against his chest to push him toward the table. "Of course I did. Now sit down before it gets cold!"

He obeyed—mostly—but not without making a show of dragging his chair closer, his expression full of mischief as he picked up his fork. He scooped up a bite, inspecting it dramatically, as if he were a food critic about to judge a five-star meal.

The second it touched his tongue, his face twisted.

"Did you… mix the salt and sugar up again?" he asked, setting his fork down with an exaggerated frown.

Your heart dropped. "What?! No, I— I was so careful this time—!"

His lips twitched. A telltale smirk flickered at the edges of his mouth before fully blooming into his usual grin.

You gaped at him, realization dawning, and then slumped back against the counter in relief. "You’re awful!" you groaned, throwing a napkin at him.

Rafayel merely laughed, catching it mid-air, before promptly ignoring it in favor of shoveling another bite into his mouth—then another, and another, eating like he’d been starved for weeks. "It’s perfect," he admitted between bites, his words slightly muffled. "Seriously, I could eat this every day. You should make it again. Like, tomorrow. And the day after."

"You’re insufferable," you muttered, though warmth bloomed in your chest at his obvious delight.

He only grinned wider, reaching over to tug you down onto the chair beside him. "Maybe," he teased, bumping his knee against yours, "but I’m your problem."

You rolled your eyes, but as you watched him happily devour every bite, you couldn’t help but think—if he wanted this every day, you’d be more than happy to make it for him.

Sylus

Sylus doesn’t look up immediately when you enter his office, his focus still locked onto the documents in front of him. He’s been working for hours, lost in his endless calculations and strategies, barely acknowledging anything outside of his own mind. But when you set the tray down in front of him, the scent of the meal catches his attention. His crimson gaze flicks up, sharp as ever, and then his brow raises—not in judgment, but in surprise.

“You made this?” His voice is smooth, laced with intrigue.

You nod, feeling slightly self-conscious under the weight of his gaze. You could have ordered something, could have asked one of his many personal chefs to prepare his favorite meal, but instead, you went out of your way to make it yourself. The effort shows—not just in the careful arrangement of the dish, but in the tiny smear of sauce on your jaw, evidence of your time spent in the kitchen.

Sylus leans forward, resting his forearms on his desk, his eyes locked onto yours. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he reaches out, taking your face in his hand. His fingers are cool against your warm skin, his grip firm yet careful. You freeze under his touch as his thumb brushes against your jawline, wiping away the stray bit of sauce.

And then, without breaking eye contact, he brings his thumb to his lips and licks it off.

Your breath catches. Heat floods your face, a reaction that only seems to amuse him further. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, deep and rich with satisfaction.

“How sweet,” he muses, tilting his head slightly, watching the way you squirm under his gaze. “You went through all this trouble for me?”

You swallow, trying to find your voice. “Of course.”

Something flickers in his expression—something unreadable, something softer beneath the usual arrogance. Without another word, he picks up the tray and sets his paperwork aside entirely, pushing it away as if it no longer matters.

He takes his first bite, savoring it, eyes flicking up to you once more. His smirk is subtle, but there’s a rare sincerity behind it.

"It’s good," he murmurs, voice laced with something softer, something real. "You have my full attention now, darling. Tell me—what else do I owe you for such a thoughtful gift?"

Xavier

When you arrive home after a busy day of shopping with Tara, the apartment feels unusually quiet. You make your way through the entryway, setting down your bags, and catch sight of Xavier asleep on the couch, his silver hair spread out messily across the cushion.

It’s rare for him to be so still, especially after such a long day, but he hasn’t stirred even when you entered. He’s usually alert—always on guard, always prepared—but today, he looks like he’s finally let himself rest. His chest rises and falls steadily, the soft sound of his breath filling the room.

You smile softly, your heart tugging at the sight. He’s worked so hard lately, his missions never-ending, always pushing himself past his limits. You’ve been wanting to do something nice for him—something small to show your appreciation for how much he does, for how much he means to you.

You quietly slip into the kitchen, putting your shopping bags aside, and start preparing his favorite meal. The scent of cooked food soon fills the air—the warmth of it feels comforting, almost like the home you’ve built together. The process feels like an act of love, each step taken with care.

When it’s ready, you pause and take a breath before returning to the living room. Xavier is still asleep, his expression serene. You walk over to him, crouching beside the couch and pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then another on his jaw, and one more on his forehead, each kiss soft, careful, trying to wake him without startling him.

His eyelids flutter, and soon, he blinks up at you with groggy blue eyes, trying to make sense of the moment. “Mmm…?” His voice is rough, and he yawns, reaching out with a half-smile that says more than words could.

You lean in and give him one last kiss before pulling away, quick and playful. He reaches for you, his arms still heavy with sleep, but you’re already standing, laughing as you help him up and gently push him to the table.

He sits down with a smile, his eyes still sleepy but grateful. You place the plate in front of him, and when he picks up his fork, he takes the first bite, savoring it as though it’s the most important meal of his life. His gaze lifts to meet yours, and his smile deepens.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice warm, eyes glimmering. “You’re so good to me, you know that?”

You smile back, heart swelling with affection as you sit beside him, happy to see him so content.

Zayne

The day had been longer than usual for Zayne. His normally composed demeanor had been tinged with a faint weariness, the weight of the long hours spent at the hospital starting to show in the slight furrow of his brow. You noticed it—how he seemed a little more quiet than usual, how he sighed a little more heavily when he sat down, how his eyes lingered a moment longer on the clock than on the charts in front of him.

You knew exactly what you had to do.

When you heard that his shift was nearing its end, you slipped into the kitchen, pulling out the ingredients for his favorite meal—a dish you knew would comfort him, a warm, homey meal he rarely had time to enjoy. The scent of simmering broth and spices filled the air as you worked, each movement deliberate, each step taken with the intent of giving him a small moment of respite.

By the time the meal was ready, the sun was just beginning to set, casting a soft orange glow over the city. You packed it carefully in containers, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you imagined his reaction.

You arrived at the hospital just as Zayne’s day was coming to a close. His office door was slightly ajar, and you knocked softly before stepping inside. He looked up in surprise, clearly caught off guard by your presence.

“Hey,” you said, your voice light, but there was warmth in it. “I brought you something.”

He blinked, his stoic expression softening as he stood up to meet you. “You didn’t have to,” he said, his usual calm demeanor laced with genuine surprise.

When you revealed the meal, his lips curved into a small but pleased smile, a chuckle escaping him. “Well, this is a first,” he teased, eyeing the carefully packed containers. “I wasn’t expecting you to bring me dinner at work.”

You laughed, feeling the tension in your chest ease. "I hope it’s as good as you remember," you said, waiting for his verdict.

He opened the containers, his eyes lighting up with the familiar sight of his favorite dish. “You even got it right,” he murmured, impressed. Then, his teasing nature returned as he looked at you with an exaggerated frown. “But no utensils?”

You hissed in realization, scrambling for something to use, but Zayne just chuckled. “It’s fine,” he said, reaching into one of his desk drawers and pulling out a pair of disposable chopsticks. “These will do just fine.”

He dug in, the first bite making him pause for a moment, savoring the taste. “This is... perfect,” he said between bites, his eyes softening as he glanced at you. “Thank you.”

He offered you some of the meal, but you waved it off. “I already ate,” you said with a smile.

As he finished his meal, he stood and leaned down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. “I really appreciate this,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet sincerity. “I’ll see you soon.”

And with that, he was off, rushing once again to tend to a patient, but not before giving you one last glance—his eyes filled with a warmth that stayed long after he had left.

[sidekick-hero]

Sing Me A Love Song

rating: t | cw: off-screen domestic violence | wc: 5.6 k | tags: fluff, modern au, love songs, first love, bartender Steve and Eddie, platonic hellcheer, Jason Carver being an asshole as usual, hurt!Chrissy (off-screen)

AO3 LINK

My fill for the @steddielovemonth Day 1. Prompts: 🎵 You and Me - Lifehouse and ❣️"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." - Plato

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." - Plato

“You don’t understand,” Eddie groans, raking a hand through his curls. “If I don’t get this done, I might lose my contract.”

Chrissy doesn’t look impressed. She wipes down the counter in front of him, barely sparing him a glance. “I still think you’re being dramatic. You already have, what, ten songs? Isn’t that enough for an album?”

God, he wishes she were right. She should be right. Ten songs isn’t a lot, but it’s enough. Maybe he could throw in a cover, remaster one of his old tracks, stretch it to eleven. A solid number. A prime number, even—Jesus, he really needs to stop talking to Jeff.

But none of that matters. Because the problem isn’t the number.

The problem is the clause in his contract that requires one of those songs to be a love song.

Why did he agree to that? Oh, right. Desperation.

He needed the deal. Needed the money. Because Wayne’s life depends on it. And if Eddie can’t pay for his treatment, his uncle—the one person who’s always been there for him—will die.

So, yeah. It was either this record deal or selling a kidney in Tijuana.

“It’s not enough, Chris. I need one more song. And it’s like—” He exhales sharply, gripping his hair. “It’s like I’ve never written music before. My head’s empty, my hands are clumsier than a toddler’s, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t fail. I just can’t.”

That finally makes Chrissy pause. She sets down the rag, brows drawing together as her bright blue eyes search his face. “Eddie… this doesn’t sound like it’s just about an album.”

The bar is empty. No one’s here to overhear when he finally breaks.

Wayne’s diagnosis. The impossible cost of his treatment. The record label that dropped him like a bad habit the second he was outed—one stupid drunken mistake and suddenly, he was toxic. The desperate, humiliating scramble to find a new label, the rejection after rejection until he finally landed in Chicago, closer to Wayne, signing this contract.

Signing that clause.

Chrissy listens without interrupting, her hands folded over his. When he’s done, she exhales.

“A love song? Why would they insist on a love song?”

Eddie shrugs. “Something about bad boys with a secret soft side pulling in fans.”

She snorts. Loudly.

“Oi!”

“Eddie, sweetie.” Her grin is infuriating. “When I first met you during our shift, I thought you’d be mean and scary. But the moment you tried to slide over the bar and ate shit instead? Yeah. I knew you were just a giant dork.”

It’s impossible to fight off the answering grin tugging at his lips.

“I should be offended, but you’re not wrong. Just don’t tell anyone, okay? I have a reputation to uphold.”

Chrissy hops onto the bar, swinging her legs as she leans in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Then, more gently, “Look, don’t overthink it. Just write about the first guy you fell in love with. First love’s always a hit.”

Yeah. If only it were that simple.

“Great idea. Know any guys willing to fill that spot?”

Chrissy blinks. “Wha—” She stops, eyes narrowing as she really looks at him. “Wait. Are you— Is this your way of telling me you’ve never been in love?”

Eddie gives her finger guns. “Ding, ding, ding! The pretty young lady wins the jackpot.”

She just stares at him. Eddie braces himself, expecting pity, but all he finds in her eyes is warmth. Understanding.

Chrissy exhales. “Well. Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bartending wasn’t exactly the glamorous, fame-laden career Eddie had dreamed of. But it was something he was surprisingly good at—always had been. Even back in high school, when he worked at the local dive bar just to buy himself and his band a weekly gig.

More importantly, though, it paid the bills.

Most of the first half of his record deal advance had gone straight to Wayne’s medical expenses. A small chunk covered recording costs, but food and rent were a whole different story. Maybe, if he actually delivers this album, the rest of the money will be enough to buy himself a place. But that’s a big if.

So, for now, bartending it is. It keeps a roof over his head, food in his fridge, and—maybe the best part—it gave him his first real friend in this city: Chrissy.

She keeps him sane on the bad days, when the anxiety sinks its teeth into him and won’t let go. And when he told her the embarrassing truth about his love life—or complete lack thereof—she had been nothing but kind. She offered tips, boosted his ego with her sheer bewilderment that someone like him had never been in love, and insisted it was only a matter of time.

Eddie isn’t so sure.

Most of his time is spent combing through Wayne’s medical reports or checking in with his nurse. He calls every day. Visits three times a week, taking the long trip back to rural Indiana to be with the only real father figure he’s ever had.

His nights—except Tuesdays and Wednesdays—are spent at the bar. Sure, plenty of the regulars are hot, and a few of them are actually nice, but Eddie isn’t naïve. He doesn’t expect to show up to work one day and suddenly have the man of his dreams stroll right up to him and say—

“Hello? Are you Eddie, by any chance?”

Eddie looks up from where he’s been taking stock of the liquor and locks eyes with the most ridiculously gorgeous pair of hazel eyes he’s ever seen.

It’s like grabbing a live wire. A jolt of electricity races through him, buzzing under his skin, making his heart slam against his ribs and his stomach do an actual, literal flip.

What the fuck is happening?

“I—uhm, yeah, that’s Eddie. Me. I mean—me is Eddie. Goddammit.” He squeezes his eyes shut for half a second, mentally kicking himself. “I’m Eddie. That’s right. How can I help you?”

The guy in front of him looks like he’s this close to laughing, biting down on a full bottom lip, hazel eyes twinkling with amusement. But he holds back, tilting his head slightly before offering a warm, easy smile.

“I’m Steve. Steve Harrington? Chrissy said she’d give you a call—told you I’d be covering for her for the next six weeks.”

She had done no such thing. Eddie would remember if she had.

Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t heard from her all day. Not that they text constantly, but there’s always something—a meme, a random thought, a conversation that drags out over days. It’s Thursday now, and the last time they talked was Tuesday night, when she asked about Wayne.

His stomach twists.

“From the look on your face, she hasn’t done that.”

Eddie exhales. “Uh, no. No, she hasn’t. What happened? Why does she need someone to cover for her?”

Six weeks. That sounds serious. That sounds… bad.

Steve’s expression softens, but his voice is firm. “It’s not my place to say, I’m afraid.”

That just makes Eddie’s anxiety spike. He should appreciate that Steve is protecting Chrissy’s privacy—normally, he would—but right now, it’s just frustrating. Besides, Chrissy has never mentioned a Steve before. And he tells the guy as much.

Steve nods like he expected that. “She’s a friend of my best friend and roommate, Robin. That’s how we met. She asked me to help out, and that’s all I can tell you, man. I’m sorry.”

He does sound sorry. And Eddie does care about Chrissy, which means he needs to talk to her, not interrogate some guy she apparently trusts enough to take her place.

Steve must read something in his face because he adds, “If you want to call her, I can handle things here. Just tell me what to do.”

It sounds more like a question than an offer, like Steve isn’t sure where he stands and doesn’t want to overstep. Eddie has always had a problem with authority, with people telling him what to do. Steve doesn’t know that, but it still rubs him the wrong way for half a second—until he realizes Steve isn’t telling him anything. He’s offering.

Eddie hesitates for a beat, then exhales sharply and nods. "Yeah, okay. Thanks. Just start by restocking the bar—I’ll show you how to place an order for liquor and supplies when I get back."

Right now, he needs to hear Chrissy’s voice. Needs to know she’s okay. Everything else can wait.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Turns out that Chrissy’s asshole of a boyfriend—ex-boyfriend now, thank fuck—had grabbed her so hard during a fight that he broke her wrist. The only good thing about it was that it had finally been the last straw for Chrissy. She kicked his sorry ass to the curb.

Eddie had hated Jason from the second he walked into the bar, all possessive grip and territorial bullshit. Throw in the holier-than-thou attitude, the obsession with “purity” and Christian values, and the way he sneered at Eddie the moment Chrissy’s back was turned? Yeah. He saw this coming from a mile away.

They talk for a few minutes, and Eddie promises to stop by her place tomorrow. He’ll bring ice cream, they’ll watch some cheesy rom-com, and he’ll do whatever it takes to cheer her up.

When he walks back into the bar, his face must be as thunderous as he feels because Steve actually winces.

“She told you what happened, huh?”

Eddie nods, grinding his teeth. “Fucking asshole. I wish I’d run him over with my van when I had the chance.”

Steve doesn’t even blink. “Amen to that. Robin’s already plotting his demise. You two should team up. I volunteered to get rid of the body, because Robin’s not exactly… athletic. Can’t dig deep holes, can’t lift heavy stuff. But she’s scary smart—probably knows some undetectable poison or something. What’s your specialty?”

Eddie hates what happened to Chrissy. Hates that she had to go through it. But hearing Steve talk like this, hearing how much her friends care? It makes him feel a little better. And the fact that he’s apparently included in this unhinged murder plot now? Yeah.

Maybe he got lucky, after all.

“I’m creative and ridiculously good at planning—years of being a Dungeon Master. No one thinks of as many scenarios as I do. I’ll cover every possibility. They’ll never catch us.”

They grin at each other, and for the first time since hearing Chrissy’s small, shaken voice, Eddie feels like himself again.

Steve grins. “Perfect. We’ll make a great team.”

And just like that, the weight on Eddie’s chest lifts a little. It’s easy with Steve, like they’ve known each other longer than just—what, an hour? He’s funny, sharp, and clearly good to the people he cares about.

And, well. It doesn’t hurt that he’s stupidly attractive.

They slip into working together without much effort. Eddie shows Steve the ropes while stealing little glances when he thinks the other man isn’t looking—at the way his fingers move deftly around the bottles, the smooth way he leans against the bar when talking to customers, the stretch of his arms when he reaches for a glass on the top shelf.

He’s a natural. Charismatic as hell, too. More than one customer lingers just a little longer when Steve serves them, and Eddie is absolutely not annoyed by that. Nope. Not at all.

“You know,” Steve says at one point, when the rush has died down, “you’re not bad at this.”

Eddie scoffs, tossing a bar rag over his shoulder. “Not bad? Please. I’m great at this.”

Steve hums, eyes twinkling. “If you say so. I guess I’ll have to stick around to see for myself.”

There’s something in his voice, something that makes heat curl in Eddie’s stomach. A challenge. A tease. A promise, maybe.

Eddie leans in, close enough to catch a hint of cologne and something unmistakably Steve. "Yeah?” he murmurs, smirking. “Guess you will.”

The air crackles between them, heavy and charged, until a customer clears their throat and pulls them back to reality.

Eddie straightens, fighting back a grin as he goes to take the order.

He has a feeling working with Steve is going to be very interesting.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Turns out he was right—working with Steve is definitely interesting. It’s also confusing and exhilarating. And, honestly? It’s driving him insane.

Steve is everything Eddie never knew he wanted or needed. None of the guys Eddie’s ever hooked up with or tried dating were even close to being like Steve. And maybe that had been his mistake all along.

Because Steve makes him feel things he didn’t even know he could feel. He catches himself daydreaming about kissing the moles on Steve’s neck and face, wondering what it would be like to run his fingers along the smooth line of his jaw. He catches himself thinking about what he could ask Steve next, wanting to learn more and more about him. Eddie wants to make him laugh, wants to tell Steve about his day, about the last book he read, ask him what he thinks of a certain song or movie.

It’s like every little moment with Steve only deepens the curiosity, the pull. And Eddie can’t seem to stop himself from wanting more.

And yet, he can’t bring himself to take it any further than the harmless flirting they’ve been doing. Steve never seems to mind Eddie’s over-the-top flirting—calling him pet names, throwing himself at his feet dramatically, draping himself over Steve and acting like personal space is a suggestion, not a boundary.

One night, after another intense moment between them, the air crackling with something Eddie can’t quite name, he comes home, sits down, and writes it all out. He lets all these feelings he doesn’t even really understand pour onto the page. Every thought, every feeling—the longing and wonder, the joy and insanity of liking someone, wanting someone so much it’s almost physical.

A few weeks ago, he would’ve been bouncing off the walls with excitement at having written his first love song.

Now? He has a hard time bringing himself to care, because all he wants is to tell Steve these things. To have the courage to look into those beloved hazel eyes and make Steve understand the depth of what Eddie feels for him.

Now, all Eddie wants is to take Steve home and never let him go.

That’s why he’s struggling to feel as joyous as he should when Chrissy tells him she’ll be back next week.

Eddie’s wiping down the bar when Steve steps up, leaning against it with a casual ease that makes Eddie’s heart skip, like it always does when Steve’s close.

“Hey,” Steve says, a little more softly than usual. “You heard from Chrissy?”

Eddie pauses, glancing up, not quite meeting Steve’s eyes. “Yeah. She’s coming back next week. Gonna be back at the bar on Monday.”

“Ah, that’s great,” Steve says with a smile, but there’s something in his tone that doesn’t quite match the words.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You don’t seem so excited.”

Steve shrugs, the movement casual but his gaze fixed on Eddie now. “I mean, I am. I’m glad she’s doing better. Just… I don’t know. Things’ve been good here, you know?”

Eddie’s pulse quickens, his mind racing. He knows exactly what Steve means. Things have been good. They’ve been intense—charged, even. And now, with Chrissy coming back, it feels like a door he’s been carefully edging toward might slam shut.

“Yeah, I get that,” Eddie says, trying to sound casual even though his throat feels tight. “It’s been… nice, having you here.”

Steve’s lips twitch into a smile, a little teasing. “Nice, huh? Just nice?”

Eddie meets his gaze then, the air between them thick with unspoken words. “Yeah. More than nice. I—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

Steve doesn’t let it slide. His eyes narrow slightly, and he leans in, his voice lowering. “No, come on. What were you gonna say?”

Eddie hesitates, heart pounding. He wants to say so much, but the weight of it is too much. Instead, he grabs a glass, fills it with water, and hands it to Steve, forcing a smile. “Doesn’t matter.”

But Steve isn’t buying it. He takes the glass, but his eyes stay locked on Eddie. “It does matter. You matter, Eddie.”

There’s a long silence, and Eddie feels like he’s about to drown in it. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

“Hey,” Steve says, his voice softer now, “don’t worry about it. I get it. Chrissy’s your friend.”

Eddie nods, but it doesn’t feel like he’s actually hearing him. He’s still stuck on the fact that the connection between them has shifted somehow. And now, Chrissy coming back just feels like the beginning of the end of whatever this is.

But all Steve does is give him that reassuring smile, and for a moment, it feels like maybe he’s not as worried about it as Eddie is. Maybe.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” Eddie murmurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

Steve’s expression softens. “Me too, man.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

On Sunday, Eddie gets a visit from Chrissy. He’s just in his pajama bottoms, pouring himself a cup of coffee when the doorbell rings.

“Chris! What are you doing here?”

She steps into his flat, pressing a fleeting kiss to his cheek as she brushes past him. “I’m happy to see you, too.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Just surprised to have you drop by like that. I’m always happy to see you, you know that.”

He follows her into the flat, where she’s already made herself at home at the kitchen island, pouring herself a cup as well.

“Yes, I know, I was just teasing you. I wanted to drop by to see how you’re doing.”

“You’ll see me tomorrow at work.” He tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but he probably doesn’t succeed. He really needs to work on his poker face.

Chrissy eyes him like she can see right through him, like maybe she’s already read his mind. Eddie knows better than to think she hasn’t. She’s sharp like that.

“Yeah, and something tells me you’re not doing so great because of that.”

That’s his girl—blunt and straight to the point. Eddie considers brushing it off, pretending he has no idea what she’s talking about, but he knows better. She deserves his honesty.

“No. I’m not really. Not because I don’t want you back,” he adds quickly, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “I missed you, Chris. Like crazy. You’re one of my best friends, and I’m so happy to have you back.”

She nods, her small hand curling over his in a comforting gesture. “But you don’t want Steve to go.”

“How—”

Her smile is soft and amused, like they’re in on some private joke together. “You’ve been talking about nothing but him for the past few weeks, Eds. I’ve never seen you take to anyone so fast. It took me months to get you to talk to me about anything but work. And you and Steve are sending each other memes and texts all day.”

Then, with a mischievous gleam in her eye, she adds, “Besides, you should see your face when you talk about him. I’m just waiting for you to start twirling your hair or kicking your feet.”

“Shut up! I’m not doing that.”

“Might as well be, with the way you’re acting. You like him.” She singsongs.

Burying his face in his hands, Eddie groans dramatically. “God, I hate you.”

Chrissy pulls his hands away, her fingers warm as she gently makes him look at her. Her face is a picture of seriousness, though a hint of a smile still lingers at the corner of her lips. “No, you don’t. You just know I’m right. I told you it was only a matter of time until you fell for someone. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Eddie glares at her, but there’s no real heat behind it. He stays quiet, his eyes darting around the room like he’s searching for an escape. When he doesn’t say anything, she raises her brows, giving him that ‘I knew it’ look. “See? Now you can write your love song!”

He mutters something under his breath, too low for her to hear.

“What was that?”

“I said... I already did,” Eddie says, a little sheepish, but trying to keep his cool. “It’s actually pretty good, I think. One of my best.”

Chrissy’s eyes light up, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Eddie, that’s awesome!”

Eddie shrugs, though his expression is far from pleased. “Yeah, but it’s not enough. He’s still leaving after tonight, and then... I’ll never see him again.”

Chrissy waves a hand like she’s brushing off a bad thought. “That’s such a load of crap, and you know it. We can totally visit him and Robin. I’ll invite them over! You’ll still get to hang out.”

Eddie sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe, but it’s not the same. I won’t see him every day, won’t have an excuse to talk to him, flirt with him. We’ll just be... acquaintances.”

Chrissy taps her chin, looking like she’s piecing things together in that genius way of hers. “Okay, but... have you ever thought about just telling him?”

“Stop saying that like it’s easy,” Eddie demands. Okay, whines. He’s aware he’s acting like a petulant child instead of a grown-ass 26-year-old, but honestly? He doesn’t care. This shit sucks. No wonder he never bothered with it before—falling for someone is exhausting.

“It could be,” Chrissy says with that maddening calm of hers, like she’s solving a simple math problem instead of his entire emotional crisis.

Eddie glares. “Oh yeah? How do you figure?”

“Well,” she says, taking a casual sip of her coffee like she’s not about to drop a bombshell, “it’s not like Steve isn’t talking about you just as much.”

“He is?” Eddie all but shrieks, and Chrissy winces at the sheer volume. He claps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, sorry. He is?” he repeats, softer this time, though he still sounds way too giddy to play it cool.

Chrissy just laughs at him. “Yes, Edward. Steve talks about you, too. Or so I heard from Robin. And the few times we talked, he asked me questions about you.”

Eddie’s heart picks up speed, slamming against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. That’s something, right?

“What did he ask?” he presses, leaning forward like Chrissy is holding onto state secrets rather than just casual conversation.

She taps her chin, pretending to think it over. “Oh, just normal stuff. How long I’ve known you, what you did before coming to Chicago… if you’re single.”

Eddie freezes. The butterflies in his stomach go feral.

But then—like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head—another thought creeps in.

“Then why didn’t he make a move?” he asks, deflating just as quickly as he puffed up.

Chrissy just raises an unimpressed brow. “Why didn’t you?”

Fair.

“Because I’ve never dated anyone before,” Eddie admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Never felt like this for anyone before. I have no idea what I’m doing. I highly doubt Steve has been single all his life.”

Chrissy opens her mouth, then hesitates, like she’s conceding his point. Normally, Eddie loves to be right, but this time? He wants to be wrong. Wants Steve’s questions to mean something.

“I see your point, okay,” she finally says, then adds, “but maybe there’s something in Steve’s past that makes him cautious too. Ever think of that?”

Eddie frowns. “Like what?”

Chrissy’s face softens. “It’s not my place to say,” she says gently. “Let’s just say… love can hurt. And if you’ve been burned before, it makes you scared to touch the stove again.”

Eddie’s chest tightens, both at the thought of Steve getting hurt and at the way Chrissy’s voice dips—because she’s speaking from experience, too. Without thinking, he reaches for her, pulling her into a tight hug. Her head tucks neatly under his chin, her small frame warm against him.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” he murmurs. “You deserved better.”

She nods against his chest. “Yeah. And I’ll get over it. Just need some time. Just like Steve, probably. Maybe he’s not sure if he’s ready to let someone in again, you know?”

Eddie does know. Letting someone in after you've experienced the pain of losing someone, of mourning the presence someone once had in your life, it's scary as hell.

But maybe… just maybe… it’s worth the risk.

“I think I have an idea,” he says, and really hopes he’ll be brave enough to follow through.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Their last shift together goes by way too fast.

It’s weird. Like Eddie’s waiting for something to happen, anything. He doesn’t know what exactly—except that’s a lie. He does know.

He wants Steve to kiss him. Wants Steve to grab him, lift him onto the bar top, step between his legs, and cradle his face in those steady hands before finally—finally—giving him a first kiss that means something.

More than that, he wants Steve to tell him. That Eddie’s not crazy, not alone in this. That he feels it too—this maddening, electric pull that makes Eddie’s knees weak, makes his stomach flip, makes his heart hammer against his ribs like it’s trying to escape.

Steve does none of those things.

Instead, they pour drinks, chat with the regulars, do their jobs. And when the night winds down—when the last stool is flipped onto the tables, the floors are swept, and Eddie flicks off the lights—they step outside and fall into each other’s arms without a single word.

They hold on for far longer than what anyone would call normal.

Fuck normal, Eddie thinks, tightening his grip around Steve’s solid frame. Normal never made me feel like this.

Steve exhales against his neck, his voice quiet but soaked in something Eddie can’t name. “I’ll miss this,” he murmurs. “I’ll miss you.”

Say it, Eddie begs in his head. Please. Just say you feel this too.

But Steve doesn’t.

Eddie wishes that he were brave, wishes that he could bridge the metaphorical gap between the two of them by simply taking a leap of faith.

But he doesn’t.

So they pull away, exchanging promises to stay in touch, and Eddie walks away feeling like he just lost something he never even had.

Two weeks later, Eddie finds himself back at The Upside Down, waiting for Chrissy. But this time, he’s not behind the bar, taking stock of liquor bottles or wiping down counters.

He’s behind the curtain of the small stage they built at the far end of the bar, fidgeting with the strap of his guitar, his heart hammering and his hands shaking. The stage usually belongs to local bands on the weekends, filling the space with music that draws in bigger crowds.

But today is Monday. And behind the bar—his bar—is Steve, restocking the cabinets, just like he did the first time he stepped in to cover for Chrissy. Full circle, Eddie thinks, watching from the shadows.

Except this time, Steve is covering for Eddie.

Steve thinks Eddie had to leave for an emergency, an excuse Chrissy fed him about needing to see his uncle. Eddie isn’t exactly proud of using Wayne’s health as a pretext to lure Steve here under false pretenses. But what’s the saying?

All’s fair in love and war.

And if Eddie is going to do something about this mess of feelings, he’s going to do it in the way he knows best.

Through music.

“We’re ready,” Chrissy whispers, squeezing his arm. “Bar’s surprisingly full for a Monday, so don’t be nervous. The only thing that matters is getting your man.”

Eddie salutes her with a grin that’s only half forced. “Aye, aye, captain.”

Then, with a deep breath, he settles onto the small stool at center stage, guitar resting on his knee. The curtain pulls back, and suddenly, he’s bathed in the warm glow of the stage lights, staring out at the sea of faces in front of him.

But there’s only one face that matters.

His eyes find Steve instantly, standing behind the bar, frozen mid-motion with a bottle in his hand, wide-eyed and staring like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him.

Eddie taps the mic, wincing at the light thump it makes through the speakers. “Is this thing on? Yeah, sounds like it.” He clears his throat, nerves tightening in his chest. Here goes nothing.

“Hi, everybody. Some of you might know me as the guy who pours your drinks and listens to your problems, but tonight, I’m here as a humble musician playing a song.” His fingers flex around the neck of his guitar as he exhales. “A special song for a special someone.”

A ripple of murmurs runs through the crowd, but Eddie barely hears it. His pulse is pounding too loud in his ears.

“I ask you to be kind because—well, this is a love song. And I’ve never done that before.” He huffs a breathless laugh. “Written a love song, I mean. Or been in love.” His fingers tighten on the frets, his throat thick with something unnamed. “But then I met someone who changed all of that. Someone who makes me laugh even when I don’t want to. Who makes me want to rip my hair out with how much I want to touch and hold them.”

A beat of silence. His heart feels like it’s about to break his ribs.

“Someone who is kind and brave and quick-witted. A secret nerd.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “And the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

The room feels impossibly still. Eddie can feel Steve’s eyes on him now, burning, waiting. But he doesn’t dare look. If he meets those hazel eyes, he’s not sure he’ll make it through this without forgetting how to breathe.

He takes another shaky inhale, tilts his chin toward the mic. “So, yeah. Please be kind, because this is all new to me.”

And then—he plays.

All of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right I'm tripping on words You've got my head spinning I don't know where to go from here 'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do Nothing to prove And it's you and me and all other people And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you

The last note fades into the air, leaving the bar in a thick, charged silence. For a split second, Eddie’s convinced he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life. His fingers hover over the strings, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat.

And then—

The bar erupts into applause.

Someone calls his name, and he thinks he hears Chrissy cheer Bravo but Eddie barely registers it because his brain is still trying to catch up.

But then he sees him.

Steve.

Still standing behind the bar, both hands braced against the counter like he needs the support. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes wide and shining in the dim lighting. And then Steve runs a hand through his hair, shakes his head in what looks like pure disbelief, and laughs.

Not a mean laugh. Not a nervous one. A stunned, overwhelmed, delighted kind of laugh.

Eddie barely has time to put his guitar down before Steve moves.

He pushes past the bar, past the regulars clapping him on the back, eyes locked onto Eddie like there’s no one else in the damn room. Eddie stands frozen on stage, unsure what’s about to happen but aching for whatever it is.

And then Steve’s there, grabbing Eddie’s face in his hands and kissing him.

It’s not a shy, hesitant kiss. It’s everything. Warm, firm, desperate. Steve’s lips press against Eddie’s like he’s making up for lost time, and Eddie melts into it without hesitation, gripping Steve’s waist like he’s afraid he’ll disappear.

The bar goes wild.

Someone catcalls. Eddie hears Chrissy’s delighted I knew it! but all of it is background noise to the way Steve feels against him, the way his fingers tighten in Eddie’s hair, the way he lingers even as they finally—reluctantly—pull apart just enough to breathe.

Steve's forehead presses against Eddie's, his voice barely a whisper. "Please tell me that song was for me. Otherwise this is going to get awkward very quickly."

Eddie's laugh is joyous, relief palpable in every tone. "Of course. Who else would it be about?"

"I don't know, I've seen the looks you give Herbert," Steve grins, his eyebrows wagging. God, Eddie loves him.

Eddie kisses him again. "No, unfortunately my heart is set on you. Does your reaction to my song mean you feel the same?"

“You idiot,” Steve murmurs, but he’s smiling. Grinning. “You really think you’re the only one who feels this?”

Eddie exhales a laugh, overwhelmed and dizzy and so stupidly happy he can’t stand it. “I dunno,” he rasps. “You never said anything.”

Steve huffs, nudging their noses together. “Neither did you.”

Eddie grins. “Yeah, well. I wrote a song instead.”

Steve shakes his head, laughing again, and kisses him once more—just because he can.

[ink-stainedkiss]

Nerd Gojo Headcannons

A/N: I’m so sorry for my lack of activeness. please forgive me🙏🙏 I’ve had so much stuff with school and yesterday was my birthday so my schedule has been packed. I wanted to give you guys something small for now so my accounts not collecting dust, but i promise more will be coming in days prior!! Love you all!💕

Nerd!Gojo who is still completely shocked you chose him out of everyone on campus. Gojo was a known geek, someone who got excited about the latest comic and his grades never fell below an A+. Well lucky for him, you found the fact he was so nerdy to be extremely cute.

Nerd!Gojo who loves planning adorable dates with you, but it’s never commonplace. He will set up picnics right in front of a beautiful lake, taking you to a pottery class and giggling at how dumb your ‘masterpieces’ look, or simply creating a candlelight dinner in your apartment.

Nerd!Gojo who adores you and he makes it extremely known. For someone so shy when the two of you first met, he definitely has warmed up to you. Before, he was too scared to even stand next to you because he was afraid he would slip up and embarrass himself, but now he never leaves your side. You can’t exit the same room with him without giving him a long kiss goodbye, even if you're just grabbing ice from the hallway. Hugs, kisses, handholding, cuddles, you name it, Gojo loves it.

Nerd!Gojo who isn’t the best at taking care of himself. He often stays up late to finish homework or a project that could easily be done the next day, but unfortunately he’s a try hard and will force himself to stay awake until it’s done. Before you, he relied on energy drinks to keep him up and when all of the work was done, he would sleep the weekend away, barely leaving his dorm. Even now, you have to scold him for his unhealthy studying habits.

You were peacefully chatting with your friends, going on about the tests and assignments being piled on top of each other. As you spoke, your group’s eyes shift behind you, but you couldn’t turn before two lanky arms were sliding around your waist. Soft lips gently landed on your exposed neck and in your peripheral vision you saw a puff of white hair. Of course it was Gojo. Your friends did not hold back their cheeky looks, some of them turning and looking off in another direction while muffaling their giggles.

Blush rose to your cheeks instantly and you heard your boyfriend speak up,”Hi Baby.” He’s obviously tired, his voice groggier than normal, but he still has the energy to cover you in his love. You shift your body to face him, cupping his cheek, and you get a good look at his face. Like you expected, he looks on the brink of passing out. His usually bright eyes were a bit dimmer and there were vague shadows coating his under eyes. His own hand reached up and held the one of his face, turning his head to plant tiny kisses to your palm.

“Have you been sleeping?” Gojo sees the disappointed frown on your face, because you already knew the answer. He sighed, leaning into your touch,”Maybe.” The short response was enough to finalize your question. It didn’t help that he had shut his eyes and was practically sleeping against your palm. Turning to your friends, you excused yourself, dragging a half-asleep Gojo on your side the entire time you left.

Nerd!Gojo who knows he should listen to your stern lectures on why he needs to stop doing all nighters, but even if he felt like shit after, without fail the two of you would cuddle on his bed and take a long cat nap. You were never as tired as Gojo, so most of the time you would be awake, reading, or scrolling on your phone, while Gojo slept soundly on your lap.

Nerd!Gojo who may or may not do your homework if you leave it out. He tells himself he shouldn’t, since you tell him it’s not his responsibility to do your own work, but he can’t help it. You’re his girlfriend after all and it would be mean of Gojo to not fill out the first half of the paper and maybe the back half if he has time. (He does it regardless)

Nerd!Gojo who nearly cries when you get him a figurine of his favorite superhero character. He constantly gushes about how cool they are and doesn’t notice how you aren’t even listening to the topic, just focusing on how his eyes light up with pure joy. You have adapted to Gojo’s interest, never denying a trip to the movies with him to see a new action film he has been freaking out about. Holidays are like Gojo’s heaven because you always end up getting him another item for his very large collection. Each time you are smothered in kisses then dragged to his room to watch him rearrange his overcrowded stock.

Nerd!Gojo who is so thankful for you and some nights, wakes up to watch you sleep calmly. His fingers rake over your face and images of your future together flash in his head.